Babydoll fidgeted in the basement, standing up to pace along the cold concrete floor. She adjusted her top, a tight pink halter top that barely contained her tits and a tiny pink skirt with diapers underneath. She sucked her thumb as she looked in the mirror, her tongue absentmindedly licking against the empty space where one of her teeth was missing.

She wasn’t always Babydoll, she knew that. If you asked her what her real name was, however, you’d have gotten a blank look or a furrowed brow. She didn’t like thinking, it hurt, and things always got blurred and confused when she tried that. She knew Daddy wasn’t her real daddy either. Though again, she struggled to remember anything from the “before” time.

If you had told her she had been in the basement for 6 years, she’d have given another vapid look. Even the word basement was foreign to her. It was HOME. She was Babydoll and Babydoll always stayed HOME, H-O-M-E, when Daddy was gone. Sometimes it was for hours, sometimes it was for days. With most things, she struggled to track that as well. Minutes, hours, and days blended together for her. To her, there was only naptime, Daddy, and no Daddy.

No Daddy time meant boring. Of course, he took care of her. She had a Nintendo and a TV with a VHS player. She had some tapes of cartoons and tapes of special Daddy/daughter time. She had her teddy and her pacifier. Daddy left food in her little fridge if he was going to be gone for a bit and would leave her extra diapers if she needed them. And she had her bottle. Sometimes the bottle was yellow and warm and salty, sometimes it was cold milk, and sometimes, it made her feel very good. She’d rub and touch everything, and things would get fuzzy and she’d touch herself. She always drank all of that like a good girl. Most days now she couldn’t feel much of anything unless Daddy was using her or she was using it.