Babysitter Bondage (An Age Play Story)

by Shire, Devon

  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.

  Trevor lifted his other hand. Just to mock me and set me on edge, he wiggled his fingers on the air before lowering them back to my feet. I tried to yank my feet away, but the straps didn’t allow for much reach. Even if I managed to skip past his tickling fingers, that only made me graze them anyway, which sent those same tickled impulses dancing through my skin.

  “Naughty girl. You should know how to take a tickling, especially since you’re so mature.”

  I opened my mouth to respond. That moment of distraction was enough. His hands hot out and he started tickling both of my feet at the same time. He worked his fingertips beneath my toes, along the arches of my feet, and down to my heels. Working up and down, up and down, he made me laugh.

  All at once, my barriers crumbled, and I broke out laughing. I started loud and got worse. “No!” I cried between bursts of laughter. The air pumped from my lungs as those sounds kept coming from me. Despite my best efforts, it kept going on.

  Within seconds, my eyes started to water. I tried begging, “Please, no!” And I wanted to say more, except the laughter cut me off. I bucked against my straps, only it didn’t matter.

  As the tickle torture continued, I kept thinking about the seconds. Finally, Trevor paused. I kept twitching though as errant shots of nervous energy worked their way through my system.

  He sauntered back to the middle of the table. Along the way, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. He peered down at me, so controlling and in charge. He had me, and I feared I might lose control if I had to endure another round of tickling. Already, the pressure between my legs had intensified. Right then, it took a lot of self-control and discipline to keep from peeing myself.

  “Would you like another round?” he asked.

  I raised my head again to get a better view of the clock. It had ticked down a minute and a half. Only three minutes and thirty seconds remained. If I could just hold out and keep my diaper dry! It should have been so easy, and yet every moment made the pressure build.

  Trevor came to the center of the changing table. He touched two fingers right above my belly button. Licking my lips, I met his gaze and shivered again. I found no pity in his expression. Instead, he looked at me with amused disdain. He enjoyed my humiliation, my shame. He wanted to see me reduced to babyhood all over again.

  He started slowly once more. His fingertips hovered above me from both hands, almost as though he were about to play a piano. At first, I kept still, totally rigid while my nerves started to simmer and sparkle with the possibility of his touch. It was like simple proximity alone could force my cells to thrum.

  “Oh, look at that. I only have three minutes.”

  “You’re not going to win,” I said with a feral strain underpinning my promise. “I’ll hold out, and you’ll have to let me go.”

  “Only if you win,” he teased. “If not, I’ll get so many baby pictures. You’ll be so cute. I’m sure the diaper will look great on film. Hey, what do you think Mia would think of you like this? I’m sure she wouldn’t blackmail you at all.”

  The possibility of my little sister seeing me like this made me flinch. My body rocketed to one side, as far as the straps allowed. This made me brush by his fingers, and I felt the spark of ticklishness again. I jerked in response, and Trevor didn’t even have to move as I started to flinch against him, effectively tickling myself.

  The laughter pealed from my lips, my throat straining to keep up as my lungs tried to expel every errant sensation. My eyes started to water again and pitiful tears started to run down my sides as I smiled and laughed like a happily frustrated toddler. I pictured those little kids who get laid down on their backs, have their shirts lifted, and are blown in their belly buttons.

  That could have been me.

  I worked to free myself, my body twitching and yanking on the straps. They didn’t release me though, and before long, Trevor decided he had enough of this game. It wasn’t enough to make me tickle myself against his fingers.

  “Silly girl,” he said, and my eyes widened in fear because his expression shifted. Although he continued his patronizing smirk, something hardened around his eyes, and I knew he wanted to make me beg. He intended to break me.

  Two minutes, I saw, my sight blurry through the tickle-prompted tears. I blinked and my vision cleared, but by then I had to lock my eyes closed because my nervous system lit up.

  Trevor’s hands danced across my skin. It felt like he was everywhere at once, his digits playing across my skin. I felt his nails at different spots, his palms elsewhere, and it was all I could do to maintain my sanity. Everything turned into tickled fuzz.

  Worse, he moved with expert precision. He tickled one spot, then darted somewhere else only to hop to another fresh spot. He made sure to work one
body to maximum effect before shifting somewhere else.

  My defenses started to weaken. Between gusts of laughter, I felt a squirt between my legs. Clenching down, I stopped it at once, but something shifted. I knew that if this last much longer, I wouldn’t have a choice. I really would pee myself. I’d soak my diaper and it would be up to Trevor to decide when to change me.

  My head seemed fuzzy, and I couldn’t think straight, but one truth became obvious. Trevor won. He beat me. Any more and I’d face an entirely different sort of humiliation. Getting diapered would make me blush for a long time, but at least he didn’t have any real proof I should be a baby girl. If I wet, then he would have it.

  On and on it went until I started to whimper out, “Please!” I laughed some more, “I surrender! I give in!” Each word had to be punctuated with more panicked laughter.

  “You’ll do the pictures?”

  “Yes.”

  “No more timer?”

  A minute remained.

  “Yes,” I said breathlessly because if this continued, then I’d have to wet my diaper. Okay, so he’d get the pictures but I could feel myself about to wet.

  Trevor paused. He rested one hand on my tummy, right beneath my breasts. Tapping his fingers along my skin, he made me tense and flinch and twitch. A couple stray chortles escaped my throat, but I could feel myself settle down. The pressure between my legs was intense, but at least I had maintained control of myself. If I could have some more time, then I knew I’d be able to rebuild my controls. I would be able to hold my need to urinate for a lot longer.

  “And you’ll admit defeat?”

  “You beat me.”

  His hand snaked back down into my diaper. I was hot and a bit damp from the sweat, but it wasn’t soaked yet. “No, I don’t think I’ve beaten you yet. What has to happen before you’ve really lost?”

  I started to shake my head slowly, unable to believe what he was saying. I could read his implications, but I couldn’t admit it, not yet as I started to plead, “No, please, I said I surrendered! You won! Okay? You won! You don’t need to do anything else.”

  “Silly girl,” he said, letting his palm hover over the length of my body. He raised his hand over my breasts, and my nipples hardened at the image of him touching me again. And for a moment, he rested his hand on my breast and tweaked my nipple. He circled my pleasure nubs with one finger, like an ice skater making figure eights.

  “Please,” I said again.

  “This wasn’t about some silly bet. This is a lesson. I don’t want to win a game. I want to teach you the truth. Tell me you understand.”

  Swallowing, I tried to hide, but I did as he wished, “I understand.”

  The second those words left my mouth, his fingers flew down to my sides. In one heartbeat, I was a sane, rational young woman capable of real conversation, debate, and negotiation. In the next heartbeat, a cascade of ticklish sensations burrowed through me, robbing me of any sense of reason.

  He teased me, dancing his fingers along my rib cage, down to my flanks. One hand shot over to my stomach to circle by navel while his other arm stretched out to give Trevor access to the back of my knees.

  I threw myself from side to side. I never fought so hard as I screeched out shrill laughter, fighting just to keep myself oxygenated while he made me spasm and buck. It was like his fingers had turned to hot magma, but instead of burning me, he made me laugh. He made it sound like I wanted to be there.

  In spite of the onslaught, I tried to hold on anyway. I was tied down, diapered, and utterly helpless. Unable to do something as simple as roll over, my only defense was to try to dodge his advances, but confined to a small changing table, I didn’t have much success. It took him moments to readjust, and before long, I couldn’t breathe or even open my eyes as the battering rush of sensations made me nearly insensate.

  It felt as though I became one set of nerves, a bundle of ticklish receptors. I felt his fingertips at the base of my feet, over along my thighs. Normally, only a few parts of my body might get ticklish. But now, it was like every patch of skin had been sensitized. Exhaustion or oxygen deprivation made me vulnerable everywhere.

  “Oh, poor girl,” he said. “Are you getting tired?” he asked as I whimpered and cried and smiled until my mouth hurt. It really did look like I was having fun. There was no trace of frustration or anger on my face. His eyes practically twinkled, “Just stop laughing when you’re not having fun anymore.”

  My eyes popped open, and for one slivered second, I managed to throw him a baleful glance, but then he tickled me some more and the moment had to pass. My anger got swallowed up in the onrushing motions and the need to laugh, and to laugh, and to laugh.

  Hyperventilating, I managed to stay strong until he chuckled down at me, stepped over to my shoulders and started to lightly touch my underarms. I shook my head, throwing my face from side to side. I tried to beg, but I didn’t know if anything came out. The storm of sensations was too much. My mouth stretched as wide as it could go as the laughter rushed out of me along with something else.

  As I bucked and struggled, pulling as hard as I could on the straps, always in the hope they might eventually wear down or break, something else happened.

  I didn’t notice at first. In fact, Trevor was the one who stepped away.

  Panting and desperate to catch my breath, I didn’t even bother to look at him. But then I realized he stopped, and there could only be one reason. Fearful of checking myself, I peeked up at him and saw him grinning down at me.

  “Maybe now you’ll understand that you’re not a big girl.”

  I felt it then. A different set of impulses ran through me, ones I hadn’t experienced since I was a toddler. As a little girl, I probably spent hours and hours on potty training. I probably had to wear those stupid training pants that were basically glorified diapers. I probably had a few accidents too.

  But now I felt the stream. I felt the broken damn as my diaper started to fill. The hot wetness shot into the diaper to get quickly absorbed, but I closed my eyes and tried to stop it. I didn’t feel the expected shock or regret. Instead, I remained fairly calm against the background of gasps and booming heartbeats.

  Stop it, I thought, I only had to keep myself from wetting anymore. Later on I could feel embarrassed, but right then, I just had to regain control of myself.

  It didn’t happen.

  While my body calmed down, the flow kept going. Within seconds, the frustration started to rear its ugly head. I felt it simmer at the back of my neck and at the pit of my stomach. I was still wetting. But you weren’t tickling me anymore.

  “I guess some bells can’t be unheard,” Trevor said and gave my cheek a little stroke.

  I kept filling my diaper! I started to struggle again, like that might help. It was a silly, impulsive idea, but I couldn’t regain control of my bladder. Worse, because I had drunk so much, I had a lot. Before long, my diaper had been completely soaked.

  The stream finally ceased, and I fell back. I wanted to bury the sense of the wet diaper as it weighed down on me. Also, I stopped moving because I didn’t want to feel my weight shift.

  “Huh, these are pretty nice. Not one drop leaked out.”

  I kept my eyes shut. Trevor didn’t seem to mind, not when he could continue teasing me. Besides, he probably read my level of humiliation as my whole body turned a hue of cherry.

  I was in a wet diaper.

  I wet myself.

  I couldn’t hold it.

  Cinching my eyes open a fraction, I found Trevor smiling down at me again. My skin darkened another shade of scarlet. I must have glowed like a neon sign. “There, there,” he said and stroked my forehead, “Don’t worry about it. Accidents happen, that’s why you’re in a diaper, isn’t it?”

  He was baiting me again, daring me to resist, only this time I didn’t have any fight left me in. No
t at the moment anyway. I kept whispering at the back of my mind that this only proved I had to get away. I needed to firm my resolve and get smarter.

  Trevor expected some response. And if I didn’t offer one up, he would spank or tickle me again. Either prospect made me shiver. So, cowed for the moment, I told him what he wanted to hear. I chipped away a little more at my sense of self and self-respect, “Yes, Trevor, that’s why I’m in a diaper.”

  “Who’s the baby girl?”

  “I am.”

  “Say it. Say the whole thing.”

  I tightened my lips. Even if I had wetted myself like a mewling infant, some part of me clung onto the idea that was I a grownup. At the core of my being, I knew I was a woman. That was a hard fact of reality, only he wanted to train me to believe and accept something totally different.

  “I’m the baby girl.”

  “Yes, you are. Now do you want me to change you?”

  I did! I wanted it so badly, especially now that the scent had started to creep out.

  The color clouded my cheeks. I nibbled on my lower lip as my pulse exploded in my ears. It sounded like thundering horse hooves beating the ground. The percussion made it hard to think, only I concentrated and forced out those words, “Please, Trevor, please, I want you to change me.”

  “Change you how?”

  I needed a breath to understand what he meant. He was going to change me in more ways than one. Inhaling, I exhaled the words he wished to hear, “Please, change my diaper. I need my diaper changed.”

  “Good girl,” he said and patted me on the head. I loathed how he could do this to me. I tugged on the restraints again. It was a burst of frustration, one I immediately regretted. Shifting my body made the soaked diaper squelch. The roiling heat and moisture cut through my concentration, and I froze again. I hated that I didn’t get to move. It seemed as though I lost another layer of freedom just then.

  Trevor patted me again, then went ahead and released my ankle straps. “Now you’re going to be a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, Trevor.” I hated saying his name. It served as another reminder. Only that morning, I had come to his house to tell him to stay away from my little sister. It took hardly any time at all for him to get me to wet. Worse, I had to ask for a change.