I slowly open my eyes to bars. Where am I? I attempt to sit up but my body feels so heavy and I allow myself to fall back against the soft matter. Am I in a cage? Bars surround me on either side as if meant to trap me. Scanning my eyes across my surroundings, I realize it's not a cage after all but rather a...crib?

I try to force myself to concentrate on the last events I could remember before I had somehow fallen asleep. I needed to get work...it was raining...I didn't want to walk.

I gasp once I recall Christopher had given me a ride. My body shakes as my mind struggles to accept the truth. He took me. Sasha was right.

I roll over and try to push myself up but the sound of crinkling stops me. What the hell? I look down and discover I'm dressed in clothes that do not belong to me; clothes I would never dare wear. A short, pink frilly dress covers my upper body. Decorated across the neckline are little white bows. I observe my feet covered in knee high matching socks. But that's not the worse part of the ensemble. I stare in horror at the diaper taped on my lower half. I grind my teeth in annoyance. What the fuck was going on?

I begin fighting my heavy limbs and pull the diaper off me and weakly manage to stand. My attempt to climb over the railing of the crib is unsuccessful as I land hard on the floor. I bite my lip nervously hoping the thud doesn't draw attention to my captor but luck is not on my side.

"Is my little girl awake?" I hear a familiar voice call. Quickly I pull the blanket out of the crib and cover my exposed body. This is so fucking weird.

Christopher enters the room and chuckles at finding me on the floor. "What are you doing out of bed? And all by yourself? Baby, you're too little for that." He picks me up off the floor as I desperately try to cling to the blanket shielding me. He pulls it from my grasp and sees my bottom naked.

"Little one," he says sternly, "you are to wear your diaper at all times." What the hell is wrong with this man and why is he treating me like a baby?

I begin pushing away from him but his hold on me is too strong and I am far too weak. Settling for fighting with my words I start shouting, hoping somebody hears me.

"I'm not wearing a fucking diaper. Let me go home, Christopher!"

Christopher places me on what appears to be a changing table. Where does he even get adult sized baby furniture? Now that I'm out of grip, I attempt to slip off the table and away from him but his hand presses firmly down on my stomach.

"Let me fucking go!" I shout again, kicking my legs out.

"You need to watch your language," Christopher responds calmly, "and you need to be a good girl for Daddy."

"What the hell are you talking about, you fucking sick freak?" I spat at him. This man was in no way my daddy nor was I a baby. I'm nineteen years old and this entire situation is ridiculous.

Without saying a word, Christoher lifts my legs in the air, exposing my butt. He starts to land multiple hard smacks upon it. I scream in protest, trying to wiggle away from the stinging hits. "Stop! Stop! Stop!" I shout angrily.

"You know how to make it stop, little girl."

A sound of frustration escapes my throat as he continues spanking me. This is so degrading. But as the pain continues to increase, I fear I cannot take anymore. With a choked sob I resort to begging, "please stop...please..."

"Stop what?" He stupidly asks as if he doesn't already know and lands another smack on my already blistering cheeks. "Use your big girl words."

I'm sobbing harder and ask him politely to stop spanking me. "And what do you call me?" He questions, laying a spank between each word.

I bite my lip, tears running down my face. I don't want to say it, I don't want to give him that power but the pain is becoming overwhelming. This is embarrassing. It is weird. And he's beginning to frighten me. I honestly thought he was a nice man, I thought he was my friend.

With my dignity evaporating I quietly whisper, "daddy."