Chapter Description: Clark has a disturbing non-nightmare that might indicate worse things going on with his psyche.
“Ready Mr. Gibson?” Cassie leaned into me and nuzzled my neck, giving me gentle kisses at first and then increasingly not so gentle nibbles on my neck. If we stayed still there much longer I was going to ruin her mother’s wedding dress right there in the Misty Brook parking lot in front of every single onlooker and well wisher.
“Ready Mrs. Gibson.” Damn it felt good to say that.
I picked her up, and held my breath so that no one could hear the slight strain I was under. I exhaled through my nostrils and kicked the door in. Hoots, hollers, and applause rained out to our ears while I turned sideways and shuffled through the doorway of the empty Braun Family Trailer.
Carrying has a special significance in the Little community. We get picked up and manhandled all the time. So the post wedding reception ritual depicted in far too many movies and television show had an extra level of significance. Cassie was showing me how much she trusted me. Me? I’d never felt bigger in my life, in more ways than one.
My bride reached out and closed the door behind us. My knees started to shake, my arms would have ached save for the adrenaline. I’d never been an athlete and an adult Little wasn’t an easy burden to carry. Cassie practically latching her face onto mine gave me strength.
She grabbed the back of my head and pulled at my hair and shoved her tongue into my mouth, moaning and saying my name in between gasps for ears. I leaned against the door and let her, trying to awkwardly hold her and grope her at the same time.
Like so many newlyweds, I imagine we looked awkward as anything. We weren’t completely inexperienced with each other, but in the throes and excitement of the moment, what little technique we’d developed was thrown out the window. The ‘house’ was ours for the night. My parents had booked a trustworthy hotel in Elizabeton, the next city over from Oakshire. My new in-laws had ceded us their space as a type of wedding present and were couch surfing with neighbors.
We’d talk of honeymoon and housing plans with each other and our folks tomorrow afternoon. Cassie and I were already eyeing a house in Oakshire proper and had a plan to make it work. Imagine us: real homeowners among the big folk instead of living out of modified trailers or hiding in gated communities: A dream come true for both of us.
That was for tomorrow, though. Right now, we had other more immediate plans. Cassie and I were going to do so many things in so many rooms that we would never, ever tell anyone about, and would snicker about privately to each other whenever Bert sat down on the old loveseat in front of the television.
While I sunk to the floor with my bride leaning into me and over me so that she was pinning me down, no thoughts came to me save one: This was a dream. Just a dream.
In the real world I was on my back, sleeping fitfully with a diaper spreading my legs apart, and my entire body save for my head and hands was encased in cotton that kept me warm to the point where I’d wake some nights in a sweat with the sheets kicked off. I had no hope of taking the jammies off. The snaps were too strong for Little fingers to affect. Same with the diaper and the tapes. To get naked without assistance would require a box cutter at the very least.
This really happened, though. This was a memory dream of a happier time that I sorely needed. The flash of lucidity was sudden, instantaneous, and did nothing to dissuade me from indulging in my own past.
Shirt buttons went flipping end over end as Cassie ripped open my dress shirt. She straddled my hips and started grinding on me. I thrust up and thrilled at her soft moan. My new wife slid off and started giving hurried, frenzied kisses to my chest. I yelped when she tried out sucking on my nipple. That might be something we’d work on or fade out in the future. I reached for the top of her head and started pushing her down towards waist. Physics and leverage made it impossible for me to actually enforce it.
Cassie took the hint and climbed off me just enough so that she could get at my pants.
There’s lots of different type of sex. There’s makeup sex, and breakup sex, and boredom sex, and apology sex, and of course good old fashioned love making among so many others. So much of the act is in the motivations, mental states, and emotions of the participants. The positions, pacing, participants, and implements all add to and modify the levels of physical stimulation, but it’s what’s going on between the ears of the people engaged that make the act something special.
Sex is like cooking in a way. Skill, equipment, and materials all play a factor, but the source and intent behind the meal should never be discounted. It’s why runny eggs on Mother’s Day or an overdone steak on a wedding anniversary can still be eaten with gusto because of the person serving it.
That night, neither of us was objectively any good at sex, but we were horny out of our minds and completely selfishly stupidly devoted to each other as a single being; our identities inelably intertwined as of that night.
Then and now and forever.
Cassie started loosening my belt and unbuttoning my pants. I propped myself up and watched her fiddle, her fingers made stupid with desire. I stared, transfixed, at her cleavage inside the wedding dress her mother had given to her and imagined. Oh the things I wanted to do to her in that dress before doing even things to her out of that dress. Neither of us would sleep till dawn.
“Here,” I said, unbuckling my belt for her. “Let me help.”
Instead of thanking me, she gripped my member through the pants as hard as she could. “I want you inside of me.” I watched her reach under the hem of her pristine white dress and heard the fabric scream out and tear as she ripped her delicate, thin panties off. “Now,” she panted. “Please.”
I pushed her back and rolled forward on top of her, gripping and grabbing at her chest, dry humping her. If I came, I came. I was young and virile and only a drink of water and three minutes away from another round. Fuck it. Chances were I wasn’t going to get the security deposit back anyways.
“Take me,” she begged. “Get inside me! Please!” Save perhaps ‘don’t stop,’ and ‘let’s do it in the master bed,’ I wouldn’t make my dear wife beg again that night.
Her legs spread open for me. Down on my knees I pulled my pants all the way down. I hadn’t bothered to wear underwear that night for this very reason. Still on the floor, I grabbed her by the legs and pulled her up to me. I leaned forward, entered her and felt…nothing.
Cassie opened her eyes, and stopped moaning. She seemed confused. “Something wrong?”
“Am I…am I in?” I grinded and thrust my hips, but none of the soft warm wetness or pressure or stimulation of penetration occurred. Was I humping the inside of her dress on accident?
“I…I don’t know…?” She said. “I thought so?” Cassie scooted back on her elbows, her eyebrows knitted in consternation. This wasn’t our first time. “Clark!” she gasped. “What are you wearing?!”
I looked down at my dick and didn’t see it. This was a dream, I knew. A nightmare. It was the only way to explain why I was wearing a Monkeez on my wedding night. “No,” I whispered. “No, no, no, no.”
A piercing, terrified shriek vibrated the past. The memory of my wife hiked her own dress up. Tears dripped down her face and snot bubbles inflated from out of her nostrils. The difference between her diaper and mine? Mine was still dry. “Clark! What’s happening?”
It hadn’t happened this way. Not at all. This was a dream. I was lucid. I could do anything I wanted. Then why couldn’t I take the damn diaper off?! My fingers gripped uselessly on the very edge of the tapes, picking and pulling at them, but the crinkling underwear might as well have been welded shut.
“Clark!” Cassie screamed. “I love you!”
We were no longer in her parents’ trailer. We were nowhere, two Littles in a vast empty blackness. The darkness slithered up around my wife’s waist and lifted her up off the ground. “No!” she screamed so that her voice rattled all the way into the back of her throat. “No! I’m not a baby! I’m not!”
I laid there in the nothingness, helplessly trying to get the diaper off. I had to do this first. I couldn’t save Cassie, I couldn’t save anyone if I didn’t get the diaper off first. Babies couldn’t help anyone, and I had to save my wife.
Cassie started getting farther and farther away from me. I didn’t know what giant had snatched her up and taken her away from me. I didn’t know where she was. “Claaaaaaaaark!”
I tilted my head to the colorless non-sky and begged whatever part of my brain was putting me through this as though it were some sort of angry god. “Please!” I shouted. “Stop it! Just stop it!” No answer but the crinkling in my ears came in reply.
I started begging and bargaining with my own subconscious. “Bring her back! Please! Just let me have this!” I didn’t cry, but that might have been because my brain couldn’t fully simulate the effect and feeling on its own. “Just this one thing! Let me keep this one thing!”
“Awwww,” Janet’s voice intruded as a booming serenade. “Poor baby is sad. He’s got some big feelings, doesn’t he?” Every single syllable was overloaded with syrupy sweetness. I could never remember Janet talking to me quite so condescendingly.
It wasn’t Janet’s voice. Not really. It was a gross parody of her; her at her worst, most baby crazy self; the terrible urge inside her that all Amazons struggled with and ultimately lost to.
The inky blackness parted like a show curtain, and the image of Janet, still naked, strode forth; no longer panicked or uncomfortable; the beads of water and the pinkness of her skin from exposure to boiling water had been edited out. “It’s okay, baby boy. Mommy’s here. Mommy won’t leave you. Mommy won’t burn down your house and get herself taken away before you can say goodbye. Mommy loves you.”
I wanted to curse out this obscene construct. I opened my mouth to tell her to fuck right off and express how much I hated her. Yet when I opened my mouth, no sound came out. I couldn’t even tell her what I really thought of her in the refuge of my mind anymore. Even in my dreams I crinkled and waddled and toddled.
Janet picked me up and cradled me. The clothes I’d worn on my wedding night melted away. The diaper stayed on. “Why?!” I screamed. “Why?!”
Her hand squeezed the front of my padding. “Still dry!” she declared. “Maybe baby Clark is dehydrated?” Another symptom of the real world bled into my dreaming mind. I had to pee. My bladder ached and screamed at me like I had been holding it forever. Sleep was still one of the few times my bladder held up on its own, but I was waking up more times in a night. Like any muscle, being used less was reducing the threshold. Sleeping through the night was gradually becoming one to two to sometimes three humiliating pit stops.
Quietly, I prayed to myself that it would happen now.
She squeezed me again. “Uh oh…I think I know what’s wrong.” The bulge protruding out in front of me wasn’t entirely padding. “It’s okay,” dream Janet said. She tapped the very tip of my nose. “Mrs. B says it’s perfectly natural and Mommy can help you with both.”
The Amazon’s face left my field of view, and her breast filled up my entire vision. “No…” I whispered. “Please…” My limbs wouldn’t move. I could barely turn my head away. I felt her nipple brush against my cheek. Knowing no other apt comparison, my dream made it feel like the rubber teat of a baby bottle. Against my will, my head turned towards the source. My mouth opened up to scream, and instead I latched onto Janet’s breast.
Not knowing what breast milk tasted like, my tongue pretended to taste fatty creamy goat’s milk gushing forth.
I woke up in my crib. No scream. No tears. No dramatic gasping breaths. My eyes were closed; then open. My temples throbbed and I remembered to exhale.
My eyes cleared and the faint nursery night light brought the terrible silhouettes into full view. I didn’t sit up. I just breathed and shivered beneath the covers. I would not cry out. I would give Janet no reason to suspect that I’d woken up, or see me in distress.
Yet I could not sleep. I feared what would happen if I closed my eyes, and what I might dream of. Waking up from a nightmare was no guarantee that my brain wouldn’t just pick up where it left off the second sleep overtook me. Nightmares could be like that. So could subliminal messaging leaked in through supposed baby monitors…
Also, I really did have to pee. My bladder was full and my dick was rock hard as a result. That explained something. Neither condition was particularly comfortable, so I decided to solve one problem with another.
My hands moved away from my crotch. Feeling my diaper warm up from the outside would just weird me out further. I gave myself a test squeeze to confirm I was still dry and noted that I was. Thank goodness I still had that going for me. I counted to a hundred, trying to appreciate the feeling of a full bladder and dry pants. I also hoped in vain that counting might help me fall asleep, or distract myself enough that my erection would fade.
My nostrils flared and my bladder relaxed, singing in pleasure as I bathed myself in my own fluids. I took deep slow breaths while what felt like a never ending stream splashed against my hairless skin and was absorbed by thirsty padding. Being able to piss while lying down was a strange skillset I’d acquired. Most worrisome, but it felt more comfortable than standing and gripping the crib’s railing.
The warmth radiated around my nethers and I repositioned my hands to inspect the damage. The diaper was already starting to swell, but too much experience told me that it still had a way to go before it was anywhere close to leaking. Stupidly I bucked a little bit and felt my penis rub up against my hands.
Now exhausted, I inhaled and closed my eyes. A nightmare was a nightmare, but there was relief in knowing you could wake up from it. So I breathed deep and counted to a hundred…and nothing about my erection changed.
“Goddamn it,” I whispered to myself. “Goddamn mother fucker.” I gave myself flashbacks to when I’d first started going through puberty. There were days in my teens where it didn’t matter what I’d been through or what stressors I was under; if I didn’t get my rocks off I would start having withdrawal systems. My body and mind had scabbed over enough from the constant infantilization that such things were again possible.
If I didn’t get some sleep, I’d be in an even worse mood all of Sunday. If I didn’t find a way to make myself cum I wasn’t going to go back to sleep.
I spread my legs and wriggled under the sheets. The fleecy jammies weren’t particularly enticing to my fingertips, but the pressure and feeling from inside my diaper felt strangely familiar if I didn’t think about it.
There were elements of pressure, and soft wet squishiness. My brain tried to keep reminding me of what it was, but my body didn’t mind so much. This could work, I lied to myself. This could be good enough for a quick jerk off.
But I couldn’t get a firm grip on anything and my hands slid around too much. The fabric of the pajamas and the soft plastic of the Monkeez reduced friction in a bad way and the bulk of the padding muted most of the pleasurable sensations I was able to excite out of me.
Every stroke sounded like I was opening up a bag of potato chips, however. Every time I tried to imagine Cassie on top of me, giving me the kind of love that I so desperately missed, I accidentally opened my eyes, afraid that a worried and concerned Janet would have rushed in at hearing mattress springs groan too loudly or more plastic rustling than was average for a Little rolling over in their sleep.
I was frustrated and ready and desperate. I wasn’t even close to finishing. I wasn’t inside my wife. I wasn’t inside anyone. And I was still too inside my own head to let my body enjoy what tiny amount of stimulation I could evoke.
My teeth gritted. This was worse than puberty. I wasn’t being actively observed when I was a teenager and if I was my parents were kind and embarrassed enough not to mention it. Janet wouldn’t give me the same courtesy. A stiffy in the shower nearly drove her into full overbearing Mommy mode.
Hadn’t Beouf made an offhand comment in her talk the other night? Something about looking the other way occasionally for Billy and Annie’s sake? Could I trust Janet to take that bit as gospel?
Ugh. Just thinking about it left a bad taste in my mouth. If I knew someone was listening in, even if we weren’t talking about it…ugh! This….this had to be secret! It just had to be! It had to!
Lion was still by my head, holding vigil over my prone body. I hadn’t stirred enough to knock him over. Beouf had said something else during her sex talk: She lost more stuffies during naptime in her rookie year of teaching than she was comfortable admitting.
It made sense in a perverse kind of way. A stuffed animal was something to grind and push against. It was something to muffle sounds, it had something resembling a body to grip and grab onto. Something that didn’t call out or moan. Something that a sex starved Little could close their eyes and pretend was someone else.
Lion went sailing through the air, over the top of the crib railing, and tumbled quietly on the floor. “No,” I said to myself. “Never.” I wasn’t going to do that to him. “Never, never, never, never.”
I was trapped in a world of giants who did whatever they wanted to me. That dumb toy was one of the few things that I was bigger than and had control over. “No.”
Staring at the stupid useless piece of stuffing laying on the ground gave me the tiniest benefit. My erection was wilting away. Growling in disgust, I sat up, curling my lip and struggling inwardly about whether or not I should go back to sleep.
A faint green dot caught my attention. Up over the edge of the crib railing, a tiny beam of emerald light no bigger than the twinkling of a distant star stood out. It was coming from the baby monitor. I knew my prison well by now. As many times as I had awoken in the middle of the night, as often as I’d stared up and whispered curses at that stupid box, I’d never seen that green light before. Ever.
I froze and stared up at it. Angry. Vindicated. Justified.
Outside my nursery…THE nursery…not mine….never mine…the hallway light clicked on. I laid back down on my stomach and turned my head away.
I felt Janet’s presence moreso than I heard her footfalls or the opening of the door. The woman could be deceptively quiet when she chose to be. Thanks to the nightlight, I saw her shadow glide across the room over to the monitor. The tiny click of a button being pressed was crystal clear in the silence of the room.
As stealthily as she had come in, my captor glided back out. When the door was open just a sliver, Janet tried her hand at one final subliminal message that night. “Good night, Clark. I love you.”
“Good night Janet,” I whispered under my breath so only that only I could hear, “I hate you.”