Chapter Description: Images for this story can be found at the following web...... https://sites.google.com/view/comedy-ars-characters/home
The paddle came down so hard on the mattress, that had it made contact with my buttocks, I knew I would have been a dead boy. As it was, I rolled out of the way in the nick of time and my nude body was now standing on her pillows with my back plastered against the back wall. I was breathing so heavily, I couldn’t speak. I didn’t think I would still be alive for more than a few moments.
Sammantha sat down on the foot of the bed and set the paddle down beside her. For another sixty seconds, she looked at me and I looked at her. Finally, she spoke.
“Derrek, I think I’m going to let you choose your own punishment.”
Her words shocked and puzzled me, but at least it sounded like she was no longer trying to kill me. I tried to take some deep breaths so I could respond. It took me another minute.
“What do you mean, Mom?”
“I’m going to let you choose between a spanking … or age regression … or a little of each.”
I said quietly, “I don’t understand.”
“Whatever you choose has to add up to eight. If you choose eight swats, then you don’t have to undergo any age regression with water. If you choose eight years of age regression, then you won’t have to get any swats. But that would make you a two-year-old … or worse if we don’t measure the water correctly. Or you could split them up. If you choose two swats, then you would lose six years of age with water. That would make you a four-year-old, but at least you wouldn’t be a baby.”
I looked at Sammantha with wide eyes, hardly believing what a horrible choice she’s laid before me.
“Take your time, sweety, I’ve got all night. You can do the math.”
Why is she calling me sweety now? She’s just given me the worst decision of my life. I remember people talking about caning in Singapore. The victim’s flesh would be ripped away with each swat of the cane. That’s what I saw coming if I chose Sammantha’s paddle.
“Mom, if I choose the swats, are you going to spank me with your hand or the paddle?”
“Oh, definitely the paddle. It wouldn’t be much of a punishment if I used my hand, now would it?”
I started to cry again. Now I saw her scheme. She never intended to spank me at all. Her nature is that she doesn’t want to injure anyone … but she knew I would never to be able to withstand even one swat from that horrible paddle. Instead of her doing the punishing, she wanted me to come to her and ask her to turn me into a baby. I was really screwed now.
“Mom,” I whimpered, “I’ve been trying so hard to be a good boy for you, I really don’t want to be a baby. It’s very demeaning. And it’s scary being a baby. I feel so helpless. And I don’t like wetting the bed all the time. It was bad enough when I was eight.”
“Oh, you won’t be wetting the bed, sweety … you’ll be wearing diapers.”
That thought only made me feel worse. “Will you make me stay a baby for a long time?”
“Oh, no. You can grow back at your own pace. Eight years should take you about four days to get back to ten. And you’re a lot more fun for me to play with when you’re ten. But you’ll have to wear diapers during your whole punishment time.”
“Even when I’m nine?”
I sighed … and peeled myself off the back wall and stepped off the pillows. Then I sat on the bed next to Sammantha. “I really am sorry for what I said, Mom. And I guess I have to accept my punishment.”
“So how many swats do you want, sweety?”
I looked at the terrible paddle and asked, “Mom, did they really hit college students in their butt with this thing?”
“Oh, yes … It was called hazing. If a girl wanted to join the sorority, she had to grin and bear it.”
“Oh, yes … but keep in mind my glutes were as hard as rock. It barely fazed me … Now why don’t you go over and sit at my desk. I’ll get you a sheet of paper and you can start making a list.”
“A list for what?”
“A list of all the things you’re going to need when you’re a baby.”
She handed me a pencil and my face turned really red. “Uh, I’m not sure what to write.”
“That’s okay. If you don’t feel like co-operating, then we’ll just do the swats.”
That got me to raise my voice. “Okay! Okay! I’m co-operating!” … (This was a truly embarrassing assignment) “I guess I’ll need a crib to sleep in.”
“Good, we can make another trip to Goodwill … Go on.”
“Maybe a high chair when I’m eating.”
“And a playpen?”
“What’s wrong, sweety?”
I whined, “I’m a 28 year old man, we were having great sex, and now you’re putting me in a playpen. Why are you doing this?”
“Because I love you, sweety. If I didn’t care about you, I would just let you do whatever the hell you wanted to do … and let you be as mouthy as you wanted to be. That’s why I think this punishment is fair. It will only last four days and it will get the intended message across. If you want to be respected, then you need to respect others … Okay, now what else would baby Derrek need?”
“A baby bottle?”
“Hmm, that’s more for infants. What would a two-year-old drink from?”
“There you go.”
“What about a bizzy-box?”
“Good idea … you’re co-ordination might not be up to par, so that kind of toy might come in handy. And what about a pacifier?”
“Is it okay if we skip that one, Mom? I can behave without it.”
“Get one just in case.”
“Let’s not forget a toddler car seat so you can ride in the car … and how much clothing do you need?”
“Since it’s only for four days, maybe get just one outfit for ages two, four, and six.”
“Good thinking, sweety. And what do we need to buy at Wallmart?”
“I hate to say it … but diapers?”
“And baby wipes for when you make a poopy diaper … You’ll be the first baby to shop for his own diapers, but you should get different sizes for the four days.”
I was so dejected. “Mom, I’m not looking forward to this at all.”
“It’s not too late to do swats.”
“Let’s just go to Goodwill.”
“Would you like some help, young man?” asked the clerk. “A boy your age isn’t usually shopping for a crib.”
I replied, “My family is expecting a new baby soon.”
“Do you know if it’s a boy or girl?”
“Oh, it’s a boy.”
“Well, congratulations. We do have a nice used crib over here for a good price. All the screws and bolts are in a bag. It’s got the mattress. And it only takes a few minutes to put it together when you get it back home.”
“I guess it’ll be okay.”
“What else do you need.”
“A high chair and a playpen.”
“Sounds like your baby is going to be well taken care of.”
The clerk showed me a collapsible fold-up playpen. Gee, that sure looks like fun. I’ll probably be sitting in it all day tomorrow … reminds me of a dog crate.
“And this high chair with the blue bear is especially for boys.”
(Hmm, yeah it looks like a perfect fit for a 28 year old man.) “I’ll take it, and thanks for your help … Oh, and do you have a toddler car seat?”
“We have several … Oh, and don’t forget to buy a poopy potty, very important.”
Sammantha had driven my car on this trip because it had a larger trunk than her Porsche. When we got to Wallmart, it really irritated me seeing her pick up a pacifier and baby wipes. I was mortified, thinking about my next four days.
“I’ll let you pick out your own diapers, sweety.”
(Thanks, Mom, it’s something I’ve always looked forward to. And you even want to put diapers on a nine-year-old. This whole evening is like a bullshit party.)
“Um, okay, Mom. I guess since they only sell Pampers and Huggies, I’ll get different sizes from each.”
When we got back home, I carried up all the crib parts to my room.
“Here’s a screw driver, sweety. From my experience, every guy likes to be a handyman.”
This was a very unpleasant task, putting together my own crib. Pretty soon, I’ll be too small to even climb out of it. I felt like a prisoner being forced to dig my own grave. I checked the latches to make sure the front could slide up and down. Soon, Sammantha will be lowering the latches so she can change my diaper. I already had an erection thinking about that. It felt so embarrassing. If I wet the bed at age eight, then I’d be doing it all four days. And what happens when I have to go number two? I guess that’s where the baby wipes come in. This role playing game totally sucks.
Sammantha called at me, “Are you deliberately working slow, young man? … trying to delay your punishment?”
“No, Mom. I’m hurrying. The crib is finished now.”
“Okay, but you have several more trips to make down to the car. You need to set up your playpen and your high chair … Oh, and don’t forget to bring up your diapers.”
I couldn’t help but cry each time I came up and down the elevator. Maybe Daniel was right. Maybe I should try to run away while I’m still ten and capable of running. But where would I go? I have no money. I have nothing. And I know that the world is unkind to runaways. So I guess I’ll stay with ‘the mom who loves me.’ Does she really believe that? I’m not so sure I do anymore.
I unfolded my playpen and made sure the tray worked on my high chair. I put my small potty in the bathroom. I’m not sure why I’m using the word ‘my’. I don’t want them to be mine.
I turned to Sammantha and quietly said, “I guess I’m ready now, Mom.”
“Okay, sweety. Why don’t you go toss all your clothes in the hamper and then hop in the tub? I’ll start the water first. As long as we’re doing this, I’ll give you a nice hot bath that will make you feel really good.”
(Banging my head against the wall would make me feel just as good.)
When the water reached a depth of six inches, Sammantha turned off the handles. She had to return to my room where my nude form was sitting glued to my regular bed and I held bunny rabbit really tight. I tried to sniff back tears.
She held out her hand and gently said, “It’s time, sweety.”
I so regretted ‘testing’ Sammantha (with my big mouth) and now I had to pay the price. I knew I had it coming. I had no one to blame but myself. Still, I was a very unhappy camper staring down at the tubful of warm water. I saw my ten-year-old reflection in the water, which at one time, would have scared me. Now, it was like saying good bye to an old friend.
Sammantha softly caressed my buttocks and said, “See you on the other side, sweety.”
Stories of Age/Time Transformation