Re-Education Camp

Chapter 14 Baby Life

I'm not sure when I lost count of the days, I know I counted up to the 20s. One day I woke up and I couldn't remember if it was day 22 or 23. Then I started to think yesterday was 22 so it must be 23. That night I asked Dakota how many days I had been there and she began counting on her fingers, she counted each finger and held them up, giggled and said 9. I could no longer have a conversation with Dakota that was not like talking to a child and when I asked her to stop acting like a child she just giggled.

Even worse, I could feel it happening to me. I was struggling to remember things. Every night after Mommy tucked us in I would run through a list of facts in my mind, my name was Chris Henderson. I was 22 years old, my real parents were named Kyle and Elizabeth, and so on and so forth. I was having trouble getting very far through my list before falling asleep. Then one night I thought my name is Chrissy Henderson, I'm 22 years old. Then I realized I wasn't 22 years old, I was at least 23, and maybe 24 because I wasn't even sure how long I'd been here. Trying to remember everything was stressing me out, it was too hard to keep track of all these facts.

Still I knew that I needed to try my hardest not to forget things, I was supposed to remember my name and how old I really was. My body was changing now, like the others here I was getting chubby and my skin had changed. Every little imperfection had disappeared and now I had perfect baby soft skin. My coordination was starting to get worse, but I was still able to walk. Mommy now took us places with Baby Kylie and Dakota in a double stroller while I toddled along beside them.

I have been to the doctor three times now, on the third time they removed my cage and I looked down to see that my wee wee and balls were very small. I know this should have bothered me but the doctor told me how proud he was that I was doing so well and I knew I needed to play along so I smiled and said thank you in the most childish voice I could manage. My new cage was smaller and I was happy to get it's familiar feeling back.

The strategy that Natalie taught me to play along had been successful in keeping me out of trouble, I'd only had a couple minor spankings since my last bad punishment when Mommy had left me strapped in a stroller with a wet diaper all day. Over the weeks I discovered that not everyone here undergoing this treatment was as successful as me. There were three babies that always seemed to be getting punished, Jamie, Petunia, and Daphne. Dakota had told me that Jamie and Petunia had both been there about as long as she had, and were always causing trouble. Daphne just showed up a few weeks after me. They all three had different Mommies that Dakota said took pleasure in humiliating their charges.

On my first week Jamie was brought into the cafe for breakfast in only her diaper, mittens and a pacifier gag. Her eyes were blazing mad and wet from tears. Jamie had long blond ringlet princess curls and a soft chubby baby body that showed that she had been here for quite awhile. She was removed from her stroller and her Mommy attached her mittens to a ring on the wall. Everyone stopped eating as she addressed the room. "Jamie has been a bad girl, she said some very rude things and then tried to hit me and her sister, I want you all to see what happens to mouthy little brats." Her Mommy then pulled a paddle out of her stroller and yanked her diaper down and spanked her bottom until it glowed bright red and poor Jamie sobbed uncontrollably. Afterwards she was left standing and given a feeding bag that was attached to her pacifier gag.

Petunia was a confusing case, while the physical aspect of the regression therapy had done incredible things to the girls' body, the mental part of the regression therapy seemed to not be working at all. Petunia's Mommy seemed to think the best way to deal with this problem was to take the humiliating and feminizing babygirl treatment to the max. For all of us the clothing choices were exactly what little girls would wear flawlessly sized up for adults, some days it could be a dress, and some days it could be shorts and T-shirts, but Daphne's Mommy took it to the next level. She would come toddling onto the playground being pushed along by her Mommy dressed like a perfect little doll. Black Mary Jane shoes, lacey white knee high socks, layers of chiffon petticoat floating around her and making the most incredibly cute dresses flare out. Her Mommy gave her cute makeup with lots of blush, and her hair would always be perfectly tied up with cute ribbons and bows. Daphne was easily the cutest of all of us and she hated every second of it.

She would have her arms crossed and her face pouted in embarrassment, usually sucking on a pacifier because she said it helped her avoid saying things that would get her a spanking. Some of the babies would always come up and tell her how cute she looked and you could tell she was dying inside. Most days she would toddle around a bit trying to avoid others and usually end up crying somewhere. Eventually one of two things happened, she would have a tantrum and yell at someone, calling them braindead idiots, screaming she wasn't a baby, rolling in the grass and getting her perfect outfit messed up. This would result in a public spanking followed with a reward pacifier. If she did make it through an afternoon without a tantrum she would usually get a reward pacifier, Either way you could pretty much count on Petunia being completely stoned sucking on a pacifier by the end of the day.

Finally Daphne was our newest adult baby and there was definitely something strange going on. First off she was old, probably in her 60s, and I picked up the Mommies talking that Daphne was sent straight to the regression treatment and skipped the pink and blue part of the facility. I had yet to see Daphne not have a pacifier gag and not be in some kind of restraint. Her Mommy stayed with her at all times, often carrying her around and holding her. I had a strong feeling that Daphne, was not some random street protester like the rest of us, but someone like Natalie, a high level political prisoner.

Since our first meeting I'd seen Natalie around the facility many times but we never got the chance to actually talk. I desperately wanted to talk to her again, if not just to have an adult conversation, but truthly it was getting harder and harder to resist what the treatment offered. The treatment was only bad when I resisted it, when I accepted it and became a baby brain it was like being in a beautiful pastel fog.