Babysitter Bondage (An Age Play Story) (7 page)

The changing table.

My eyes locked onto it the second I reentered the nursery. The babyish scent of powder, soap, and lotion filled my nose.

As though he could read my thoughts and my worries, Trevor put his hand on my shoulder, “Get on the changing table like a good little girl.” It had straps. He was going to strap me down, diaper me, and dress me up like a little girl. Or worse.

My patient snapped. Yanking myself out of Trevor’s reach, I twisted around and crossed my arms over my chest. “No. Not again! You had me in a diaper once, and it’s not going to happen again. You understand me?” I almost barred my teeth like some sort of animal.

He wasn’t going to get me on that platform.

“Do you need a spanking?” he asked breezily. He was patronizing me again, teasing and mocking me all in the same question. He wasn’t about to listen to me. While I had been so good at maintaining my sense of self-control and discipline, that all broke. I snapped and tried to dart from the room.

I took three steps and got my fingers on the door knob when I felt his arms loop around my waist. He picked me up, lifting me off the ground. My heels spun against the air, and I managed to connect to the wall. Throwing all my strength into my muscles, I almost knocked him over, but Trevor stayed on his feet and carried me back to the table.

My back touched the surface. Right away, I heard the outer plastic layer crinkle. The plastic lurked just beneath the bright pink sheets. He expected there to be a mess on this table. The thought only sped my frenzy and made it impossible to think straight.

He grabbed my wrist and forced it above my head. With another motion, he looped the Velcro restraint into place. It was better than the metal shackles he used during bath time but not by much. With my free arm, I beat down against Trevor’s shoulder and back, but he shrugged off those blows as if I were some rabid kitty out to lick him into submission.

Even as I bucked and struggled, I had to recognize one simple fact. He drugged me again, weakening me into near helplessness.

The restraint tightened, and my right wrist became stuck, trapped over my head, lifting my breasts and making them jiggle pathetically each time I yanked or tugged. He grabbed my other hand and pulled it over my head as well. I worked to wiggle my hand free from his grasp, but his grip stayed firm until my wrist came down and crinkled the plastic cover. He took up the second strap and secured it.

Velcro. My face blistered with shame an impotent frustration. It was just Velcro. As a little girl, Velcro straps kept my shoes on my feet. There weren’t any locks or sophisticated cages now. He kept me down with so little effort. One pull along the tab would have freed me, but he left me trapped.

I growled and snarled, but Trevor simply stood over me. With my feet still free, I kicked up and down and threw my body from side to side, not that those struggles accomplished anything at all.

Trevor took a step back from the changing table and watched me. With his arms lazily crossed, he smirked down at me as I gave my struggles everything I had. I worked to free my wrists, even thinking clearly enough to hope that I could slip free. My body grew hot and clusters of sweat covered my body.

Finally, my energy reserves gave out. It took minutes, but I didn’t have anything left. Drained and exhausted, I couldn’t get out of the straps. As my chest rose and fell, I turned my head and glared at him.

“Oh?” Trevor asked innocently. “Are you done?”

My eyes narrowed, but I didn’t speak. Anything I said would just be used against me, and I didn’t want to give him another opportunity to tease or humiliate me. It was already so easy.

Trevor came closer and smiled down at me. He touched his fingers to my neck and lowered them down to the space between my breasts. He started to circle, tracing his fingertips around the mounds of my chest. “You are going to be a good girl,” he explained. “Before we’re done here, you’re going to thank me for diapering you and feeding you from a bottle. You’ll be such a good toddler. And if you can’t handle that, I’ll make you crawl because really, you don’t know what’s best for you. No, you don’t. That’s because you’re just a little, tiny baby. Deep down, you know this, and in time, you’ll admit it.”

“Never,” I hissed back at him.

As my defiant remark dangled between us, unanswered, Trevor looped the two restraints over my ankles. He secured them with new Velcro straps, and I was trapped completely. I couldn’t tell if I wanted to torment myself further or if I just hoped for better information, but I pulled on the straps.

The ankle restraints held me just as well as those on my wrists. Now I couldn’t move more than a few inches. He had me trapped in this position. I couldn’t get free, not without his help.

Ignoring me, went walked back to one of the dressers, fished through it, and pulled something out. By then, I returned my stare to the ceiling. I didn’t want to look, and I didn’t want to know.

Within a couple heartbeats, my combined fear and curiosity got the better of me. I turned my head just in time to see Trevor return. He had a diaper, a small box of wipes, and a bottle of baby lotion.

I arched my back again, straining against the straps. The nylon strips stretched a tiny bit, but nowhere near enough to do me any good. I didn’t know how he had them secured, but it didn’t matter. In my drugged state, I was too weak. In reality, he probably didn’t need the straps at all. Maybe he wanted them to remind me who was in charge. Maybe he wanted to remove any illusion of independence on my part.

Trevor took out a wipe. Rather than start between my legs, he reached over and cleaned off my fingers, palms, and the back of her hands. He balled up the wipe and tossed it away. He took out a new one and used this one to clean my thighs and then down between my legs. My inner thighs shivered and I felt the quivers run up my spine. The wipe was cold, and the cleaning solution was impossible to ignore.

I raised my head and watched him. He returned my gaze and smiled because he was getting me clean and ready.

“Would you like some lotion?”

“No,” I remarked at once.

“Oh, that’s just because you’re shy. Let me get you taken care of, baby girl.” Trevor made it sound like a choice, as if I got a say in the matter, but I didn’t. He could play with me however he wanted. And that was exactly what he planned to do.

He picked up the bottle and squirted a liberal amount into his palm. He spread it across his skin, then rubbed it down between my legs, over my now smoothly bare pubis, and down along my lips. My stupid body answered his touch. The color danced through the surface of my skin, and I felt myself get wet again. I cursed myself, wishing I could shut down that part of my body.

Trevor smirked down at me. “You like that, don’t you?” He slipped his fingertips along my outer lips again until the heat got close to unbearable. “Do you want to come?”

“Yes,” I whispered, hating myself for it all the same.

“Too bad,” he said, removed his hand, and grabbed the diaper. With just a few inches to move my ankles back and forth, I kicked against the mattress. The blows were weak and pathetic.

Trevor unfolded the diaper and gave the side of my butt a little smack. The message was clear: obey or get punished. I remembered how it felt to get spanked before. The pain seared my nerves and my skin. No, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t take another paddling.

Groaning with unsatisfied desire, I lifted my butt and felt him slide the fresh diaper under me. Trevor pulled the front over my bare slit and smoothed out the ruffles. He attached the taped sides, first my left, then my right.

“Okay, baby girl, you can lower your diapered butt again.”

I bit down and refused to speak, but I did let my back relax until the diaper touched the sheets again. The thick bulk felt almost familiar, and yet I resented every second in this stupid thing.

“Do you like your new diaper? Do you feel better, knowing you won’t make a mess?” He sounded so absurdly certain.

“No. I don’t make messes! I wouldn’t make a mess! I’m an adult, Trevor! I’m an adult, and I know how to take care of myself. It doesn’t matter what I’m wearing. I don’t need a diaper.”

He grinned, “Not yet.”

“Never,” I spat back.

“So confident, so sure,” he told me. “Do you really think you can keep from using that diaper? Especially after so eagerly drinking your bottle.” The thinly veiled allusion reminded me of something. I felt a pressure between my legs. My bladder was full.

“I won’t use this diaper.”

“How about a little bet?”

I gazed back at him, uncertain of how I should respond. A bet meant I might win, but only if he didn’t cheat. Could I trust him? Hope brightened in me as I asked, “What if I win?”

He could tell I was tempted. Although we only met a few short hours before, Trevor seemed to read me easily. The idea bugged me, if only because I wanted to be mysterious, but then he saw me naked. He stripped me of my adult hairs.

“If you win,” he said slowly, “I’ll let you go.”

My heart jumped a beat. He knew I wanted this. He knew I wanted this so badly I could practically taste it.

“And if I lose?” I asked slowly, trying and failing to sound disinterested.

“If you lose, how about you pose for me? We could do a little photo shoot.”

I felt my blood pressure spike at the thought. I could imagine him posing me, putting me down on my knees or flashing my diaper from beneath some absurdly short skirt. The image set my teeth on edge, and yet, what choice did I have?

“How long do I have to hold it?” I couldn’t allow myself to imagine a wet diaper on me.

“Let’s say five minutes.”

“Just five?” That sounded too easy. There had to be a catch.

“Yup,” he said and took out his phone. With a couple swipes and clicks, he brought up a timer. The big numbers glowed white against a red background. He set it to five minutes. “Do you agree?”

There had to be some trick. I understood this completely, and yet I couldn’t think of what he might do. With time, he could have one. I mean, my bladder would make me wet eventually. It would be a simple question of biology, but he thought this could happen in five minutes.

Since I couldn’t figure out his strategy, I had to say yes. Some part of me hoped he wanted to hear me answer no. That way, he could tease me about how he gave me a chance, and I turned him down.

“I agree.” Upon hearing those two words, he tapped the start key. The timer started to click back from five minutes. I watched the four appear and again wondered what he had planned.

Trevor placed his phone on the changing table’s top and circled back around. If I strained and lifted my head, I could read the shrinking numbers from the corner of my eye.

When I returned my attention to my captor, I saw him standing at the foot of the changing table. Thirty seconds had already elapsed. I kept thinking of how time was on my side.

“Are you ticklish?”

I felt my heart jump too beats. It felt as though the world froze, and I got much, much smaller. Before, being naked and on display hadn’t really bothered me. I was reasonably comfortable with my body and exposed flesh.

Only now I felt every inch of my skin prickle with nervous heat. He wouldn’t! He couldn’t!

By then, it was too late to hide my reaction. My expression must have given away nothing but abject terror at the thought of being bound to this tabletop, nearly naked. Sure, he wouldn’t get access to my crotch or pubis, but the rest of me was on display, trapped. Worse, my arms were anchored over my head.

My breathing turned shallow.

“You haven’t answered my question,” he told me as he raised both hands and rested them on my ankles. It was a simple touch, neither light, nor teasing, and yet it seemed just the prospect of tickle torture made me wince.

Throughout my life, I carried basically one secret. Outside of the stupid crushes and white lies I might have told as a little kid, my biggest fear was someone realizing how ticklish I could get. I saw some of my friends tickle torture one another at slumber parties, and I always made sure to stay far, far away from those situations. If someone even grazed me, I would break out laughing. My first boyfriend discovered this about me; he tickled me until my eyes watered and I couldn’t breathe. Then he’d do it some more, the jerk.

Now Trevor seemed to have figured this out.

“Please, don’t.”

“But you said you’d never use that diaper. Didn’t you? A few strokes shouldn’t really change that, especially if you’re actually a grown up all the way down to your core. Are you?”

“Yes,” I growled, hating the way he had me boxed in.

“Let’s see about that,” he said. Faster than I could track, his hand darted out and he stroked the length of my instep. For once, I managed to keep my mouth locked shut.

Lightning pulses of tickled energy darted up my foot, though my leg, and pummeled the back of my head. I wanted, more than anything, to exhale in a burst of laughter. That was just one stroke from one finger.

He moved methodically, tracing the same line, this time with two fingers. My skin percolated, and the heat seemed to bubble through me. I felt like a soda can ready to explode, yet I held on. I bit down, locking my jaw in place and tried to inhale and exhale through those tormenting sensations.