Laura's Transformation

Chapter 22: Unboxing

Slave Supply Net delivered the crate and the accompanying order of supplies in the gray early morning. Charles’s father had loaned them a quiet, experienced Maid Slave to handle extra household work, but Kate refused most of the help. She moved through the house in a whirlwind of focused energy—checking the nursery, arranging the new furniture, testing restraints, laying out clothes and diapers—her excitement visible in every quick, precise motion. Charles watched her from the doorway and felt something in his chest loosen for the first time in months.

Inside the crate, Lucy waited in the dark.

The regulated breathing of the gas mask and the faint rubber taste of the water tube had become background noise. Time felt elastic. Doubt crept in. They paid for me. They branded me. Why is it taking so long? Did they change their minds? The thought of being returned to the facility after everything made her stomach twist. She forced herself back to the mantras and waited.

When the lid finally opened, cool household air and soft light spilled in. Hands unbuckled straps, removed the gas mask and gag, and helped her sit up. Her joints were stiff. The white-and-pink ensemble was wrinkled from the journey. She blinked against the light, then remembered her training and slid carefully out of the crate and onto her knees on the polished floor.

“This slave greets her owners,” she said, voice rough from disuse. “This slave is ready to serve.”

Kate crouched in front of her, eyes bright. Charles stood a little behind, still slightly uncertain but watching closely.

“Your new name is Little Lucy,” Kate said. “You will call me Mommy. You will call him Daddy when he allows it. You are not an adult here. You are our baby. Do you understand?”

Lucy’s mind staggered under the words, but the conditioning supplied the only acceptable answer.

“Yes, Mommy.”

They led her into the room that would become her world.

It had been built as an oversized nursery. Everything was scaled for an adult body yet styled for an infant: a massive reinforced crib with high bars and internal restraint points, a changing table that could hold her securely, shelves of oversized soft toys, pastel walls, and thick plush carpet that felt almost shocking against her bare feet after months of concrete. Kate had designed or commissioned every piece with the specific purpose of keeping a former criminal, a fully trained bondage slave, as an adult-sized infant.

Kate forbade her from walking like an adult. Soft but firm spiked booties were fitted onto her feet; any attempt to stand upright would drive the short spikes into her soles. She would crawl or be carried. The white metal chastity belt was unlocked and removed. In its place Kate and the Maid Slave fitted an ultra-thick, 24-hour adult diaper and locked clear plastic panties over it so the padding could not be removed. The sudden, bulky pressure between her legs and the complete enclosure of her sex felt more immediately humiliating than almost anything the facility had done. Lucy had believed she understood degradation. This new reality landed harder.

A small ring gag was placed between her teeth and buckled, forcing her mouth into a permanent open pout. A frilly bib was tied around her neck. Speech became impossible beyond wet, babyish coos and muffled sounds. Drool soon collected at the corners of her mouth.

Kate informed her, almost gently, that she would have no access to a toilet. A specialized training kit had already been ordered—medications, scheduled fluids, and conditioning protocols designed to induce and then maintain total incontinence. Lucy’s bladder and bowels would no longer be her own to control.

They dressed her in a soft, pastel onesie that snapped between her legs over the thick diaper. The plush carpet and the padded interior of the crib felt alien against her skin—too soft, too kind, almost disorienting after the kennels and the vat and the shipping crate.

Kate prepared an enormous bottle of warm milk, already laced with a diuretic and a mild sedative. She cradled Lucy’s head and fed her slowly while Charles watched. Lucy drank because she was ordered to. The milk filled her stomach. The drugs began to work.

When the bottle was empty, Kate lifted her—awkwardly at first, then with growing confidence—and placed her into the great crib. Soft restraints limited her movement. Kate climbed in beside her, fully clothed, and curled around Lucy’s body from behind. One arm draped over her waist. Kate’s hips shifted in small, slow motions, lightly humping against the bulky diaper and the onesie as she settled.

Lucy lay trapped in the soft bedding, mouth forced open by the ring gag, clit buried under layers of thick padding she could not reach, the brand still tender above her sex, the new name and the new role settling over her like another set of restraints. The diuretic was already making her bladder heavy. The sedative pulled at her thoughts.

Mommy, she tried to think around the gag. I am Little Lucy. I am a baby now.

Kate’s quiet breathing and the faint, rhythmic pressure of her hips against the diaper followed Lucy down into a heavy, drug-laced sleep.