The Edge of Orgasm

Chapter 1
The Edge of Orgasm

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Chapter Description: Complete story. Five contestants in a reality webcast must prevent their own regressions-- but the catch is as pleasurable as it is agonizing. An idea by Coodie2.

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I - 1:59 AM

He checked his invitation to make sure he had the right address. Was a two-story house from the mid-19th century -- an abandoned abode that didn’t appear to have seen maintenance since its construction -- really where the producers of the webcast intended on filming?

“Dad?” asked Trace, the 16-year-old son from his current marriage. “Are you sure this is where we’re shooting?”

“Says so right here,” Edward replied. “‘Arrive at 2 AM at Jeffer Lane with your registered child. The live feed will begin when you enter the house.’”

Trace shrugged. “Might as well go for it.” His conjured up a facetious grin. “We need the money.”

Edward chuckled. “Hardly. But who’s gonna turn down $10,000?”

The duo walked in to fulfill their terms of the contract -- four hours in the house, lasting from 2 till sunrise -- not knowing what awaited them, but nevertheless closing the front door behind them.

II - 1:59 AM

“‘Arrive at 2 AM at Jeffer Lane with your registered children,’” Janet read aloud from her invitation. She and her kids stood outside the back entrance “‘The live feed will begin when you enter the house.’”

Adrian, 13 years old and the youngest of two kids from Janet’s current marriage, scoffed. “Looks like a dump to me. They call this a television studio?”

“It’s not a studio, numbnuts,” piped Kendra, Janet’s eldest at age eighteen. “It’s a house. An old house. That’s what makes it reality TV.”

“Anybody know what this webcast’s supposed to be about?” Adrian asked.

“No clue,” replied Janet. “The guy on the phone simply promised an experience we’d never forget. And they guaranteed us $1,000-- I can’t tell you how much that’ll help your mother out this year.”

The trio, nursing a cocktail of apprehension, curiosity, excitement, and greed, made their way into the unremarkable homestead.

III - 2:01 AM

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Edward Byrcan and Janet Bradley -- the latter of whom had once called herself Janet Byrcan -- were surprised to see one another, and unpleasantly so. Though their childless and utterly dysfunctional marriage had ended 19 years prior, they would never forget one another’s eyes. That’s to what intimacy leads... existential inescapability.

The three kids, who had never socialized as a trio, appeared to be getting along just fine. Trace and Adrian related on their mutual love of baseball, and Kendra had plenty of embarrassing anecdotes to share with Trace about Adrian’s early childhood. The boy blushed a deep crimson as the stories were told, but still, he felt a sense of belonging, even though he and his sister were not related to Trace by blood.

Kendra accepted this realization with open arms, of course, as she had already developed an affinity for Trace’s smile and charming wit.

And Trace, being the hormonal teenage boy he was, wondered whether he could work his game in a scant four hours.

IV - 2:20 AM

A modern public-address system had been installed in the house prior to the five “contestants’” arrival. It crackled to life as soon as the glowing-red digital clocks on the wall -- they were everywhere -- struck 2:20.

“Welcome, contestants.” The androgynous, mechanical voice boomed through every room of the house. “In a moment we will begin our game. As you can see, swiveling cameras are positioned in each room, allowing for uninterrupted access to the goings-on in this quaint little home. Everything will be streamed live to the internet for the next three hours and 40 minutes. When I say your name, raise your hands for the viewers at home.”

They did so in sequence. “Edward Byrcan, age 44; his son, Trace Byrcan, age 16, and his ex-wife, Janet Bradley, age 42; her daughter, Kendra Bradley, age 18, and her son, Adrian Bradley, age thirteen.

“The game is this,” droned the voice. “The doors have been locked from the outside, and the windows are barred. A harmless medical gas is being pumped into the house as of right now. At the moment of inhalation -- which, conveniently and unknowingly, you’ve all already experienced -- the lot of you will begin regressing in age at a rate of one year every 20 minutes.”

The five contenders did the math, but only the middle-aged adults liked the conclusions they drew. Kendra shuddered at the thought of being released from the house as a rising first-grader. Trace stood, terrified, as he pictured himself a nursery schooler in training pants. But no horror was greater than that felt by Adrian -- who, to put it crassly, had just discovered masturbation, and was in no hurry to return to diapers and breastfeeding simply for the benefit of an exploitative reality show.

“Of course,” the voice continued, “there’s always a catch. Something to keep it interesting. It turns out that the speed by which the regression gas works is reduced dramatically by sexual activity of any sort. Conceivably, with enough energy and self-control, you could emerge truly victorious... only a few months younger, and with thousands of pounds to boot.”

The five contestants looked amongst each other. It was the most awkward exchange of glances in the history of reality television, and the viewers at home adored it. Edward and Janet wouldn’t have minded being 30 again, so at least they wouldn’t have to swallow their revulsion towards each other long enough to fuck... but what of their children? Would Trace and Kendra actually be willing to hook up? Would that be sick in some roundabout way? And what of Adrian-- was he shit out of luck?

Adrian smiled and limbered up the fingers on his right hand. He’d be fine.

“Unfortunately, there’s a challenge attached to that, as well.” The voice hissed and crackled through the PA system. “For, if anybody orgasms, the regression will be swift, decisive, and permanent. Infancy for whomever can’t hold back. Forever.”

The contenders had the same thought ride through each of their heads: Well, shit.

“This house is equipped with everything you’ll need,” offered the voice, without elaborating. “The game begins now.”

V - 2:30 AM

What the disembodied voice had failed to note was that the 20 minutes that spanned the time between the contestants’ ingress and the ostensible “beginning” of the game had already cost each of the participants one year of age. Consequently, Adrian was 12 years old by the time he found a location private enough for him to use his fingers to coax his penis to erection: a bathroom in the second story of the house that, though it had seen better days, boasted a toilet with a lid hardy enough for the slender, dwindling pubescent to perch upon.

Adrian sat down, unzipped his jeans, and fished his dick out of his fly. Adrian’s interpretation of “sexual activity,” as unglamorous as it was, nevertheless seemed to be doing the trick-- the tingles he felt rippling through his body as it was regressing had attenuated. His lone hope was to maintain a serviceable erection for the next two and a half hours without ejaculating.

I’ve lasted a long time before, he thought to himself as the ministrations of his nervous, fumbling fingers directed blood into his ever-plumping penis. What’s an extra two hours and 29 minutes?

Adrian let out weak little whines of pleasure and anxiety as his fully-erect unit began to leak pre-cum into his enclosed fist. Though he couldn’t deny his youthful ecstasy, the slipperiness of the natural lubricant cost the boy much of his confidence. Sunrise seemed another 12 years away.

Suddenly, Adrian’s mother knocked on the door.

“Sweetheart?” she called from behind the cracked and peeling wood. “Are you alright?”

Alright! Adrian thought as the turgidity of his erection tapered a little with the decidedly unsexy interruption. Perhaps if he could play with his pud while being distracted, he could evade ejaculation until the conclusion of the game, at which point he’d only have to relive the past couple years of his life.

“Just fine, Mom!” he yelled out, carefully managing his masturbation such that he could maintain the erection necessary for it to be considered a sexual activity, but not enjoying it well enough to cum his way back to babyhood. “Keep bothering me!”

“Alright, I’ll stop bothering you.”

“No!” shouted Adrian, fucking his semi -- which was growing again -- with his pre-cum-streaked fist. “Keep my mind on something! Something boring! Have you managed to sell the McCallister house yet!?” Fap, fap, fap.

“I’m coming in,” declared a very confused Janet. With that, she kicked in the door...

...at the very moment the pubescent boy’s burgeoning libido betrayed him.

VI - 2:33 AM

Adrian’s ejaculation was stingy and unremarkable, but his orgasm was as transcendent as that of any boy discovering sexual actualization for the first time. Janet Bradley stood, mouth agape, as she watched her youngest child reach climax. Weak lines of clear, sticky fluid pumped out of Adrian’s slit as honey from a bear container, coating his knuckles, staining his jeans, and dribbling unceremoniously to the tile below.

“Oh, no,” Janet said, only partially to herself. Were the voice over the PA system to be trusted, the worst was yet to come, so to speak.

The boy, beyond mortified by the realization that his mother had watched the byproduct of his orgasm dribble from his wilting penis, felt his panic redouble as the familiar tingling of regression returned with a vengeance. Adrian stood up, his eyes pleading with his mother to do something, anything, to delay the inevitable-- but “inevitable” is always exactly that.

Adrian whined as he became 10 years old, then eight, then six. As his jeans fell to his ankles and his t-shirt draped around him, his mother put her hand over her mouth, overwhelmed by the prospect of having to raise a baby all over again. All the feedings that would have to be scheduled... all the diapers that would have to be changed.

Her boy! The young man who performed so promisingly in school and was always ready with a smile or a socially-appropriate joke. The picture of the independent, precociously-responsible teen... back to being a drooling, rattle-smacking pants-shitter? It broke the woman’s heart.

And Adrian, who had been so proud of his budding manhood, so eager to get out there and find a sexually adventurous girlfriend, was struggling to cover up his pathetic nub of a dinky as his sausagelike fingers clutched at it beneath a roll of baby fat. The toddler’s shirt piled up around him as his body slid through its collar and, in moments, a one-year-old baby, wailing in despair and kicking his pudgy legs as he held on to his denuded penis, lay atop the clothes he had worn as a teenager.

The harried Janet recognized the look on her infant son’s face; it was the one he would evince whenever he was on the verge of making a yellow, spraying mess. It was instinct that led the mother to the bathroom closet wherein she located bags and bags of Pampers. The mysterious voice had been right-- “The house is equipped with everything you need.”

I’m still in here!! Adrian wanted to scream as he mother proceeded to diaper him, just as she had at the turn of the millennium. It’s still me in my head! Get me out of here! I’m NOT a baby! I don’t need diapers!

His wordless squeals, punctuated by the occasional spatter of baby babble, went unheeded. In a matter of seconds, the former teenager was taped securely into a pair of thick, disposable diapers... which he couldn’t help but begin to wet.

Adrian had never felt more defeated than when he felt hot urine explode from his miniscule dinky and saturate the very baby pants into which he had been imprisoned. As he bathed in the alien feeling of wet heat covering his genitals, inflating his diaper, and soaking his pudgy, weakened bottom, he stuck his thumb in his mouth and considered the misery of having to dirty a half-dozen such garments every day for another two years.

And his heart ached, knowing that the following 12 were to be the most humiliating and painfully boring years of his life.

VII - 3:05 AM

“Fuck me!” Kendra howled. “Fuck me!”

Trace and Kendra had been willing to hook up. Desperate times had called for erotic measures. After all, the aerosolized compound had already reduced Trace and Kendra to 13 and 15 years old, respectively, and they would have been horny for one another even without the pressures of time. The internet viewers savored every X-rated moment of the duo’s animalistic lust.

“You like that?” squeaked the 13-year-old boy scrambling and thrusting inelegantly atop his gradually (almost imperceptibly) dwindling partner. “You like it when Trace fucks you, don’t you, bitch?”

The pubescent cracking of the ersatz Casanova’s voice was patently ludicrous. It was merely the fear of their station that prevented Kendra from breaking out into uncontrollable laughter.

But something was about to go very, very wrong. It happened when Trace made the strategic error of clutching his yearning palms against Kendra’s plump, generous breasts.

He came.

Trace’s ejaculation was anything but ordinary. As a virgin who had no sense of control, and as an infrequent masturbator who’d been backed up for at least a week, the boy shot a load of such historic force and quantity that he felt as if his balls were working doubletime to deflate themselves completely. With devoted rhythm did Trace shove his shrinking cock in and out of Kendra’s pussy, and with pulsing certitude did his semen rocket through his shaft and explode through its head, painting Kendra’s insides with amorphous globs of hot, stinking manhood.

And it was indeed Trace’s manhood that he had shot. For no sooner did the last few dribbles of salty essence liberate themselves from his piss-slit did Trace begin to decrease in age. Rapidly.

“I said FUCK ME!!” wailed Kendra, fully aware that her now-11-year-old partner had already shot his wad, but also rabidly unwilling to disengage. Her adulthood depended on continued sexual activity. And she was going to get it.

The exhausted, naked, and sweaty Trace did his best to keep shoving his quickly-wilting pud into his deranged partner, but as he slipped back to his elementary school years, he felt as if he was pathetically pressing a crescent of overcooked macaroni against a dripping clam. Kendra looked downbody and saw that the sobbing kindergartner was altruistically doing everything in his power to grant the beautiful girl a few more moments of sexual maturity before she too would have to say goodbye to it forever-- even as the tortured little boy hurtled towards his second babyhood with fierce rapidity.

Having nothing else between his legs with which to work, the toddler dropped between Kendra’s thighs and proceeded to eat her out. For several seconds, this seemed to keep the 15-year-old satisfied-- but, ultimately, Trace’s regression bottomed out at infancy and he no longer had the capacity to stand, let alone perform cunnilingus.

Trace clambered to his pudgy hands and weakened knees, looked up at the gorgeously nude Kendra with an expression of horror and humiliation... and began, uncontrollably, to pee all over her.

VIII - 3:48 AM

It had taken Kendra Bradley about half an hour to do all the things that had become sensible by circumstance. Her first impulse, like that of Adrian before her, was to finger herself for the two-plus hours that remained. But, after seeing the strong, sexy Trace reduced to an incontinent baby within a few fleeting seconds, Kendra had adopted a more fatalistic attitude, working more on coming to terms with her destiny than futilely discouraging its inviolable charge.

By 3:48, Kendra was 13 years old, and she had managed to bathe poor Tracey and secure him into a pair of nice, crinkly diapers before she herself showered.

She had to admit, the little tyke -- bawling and incomprehensible as he may have been -- was nothing short of adorable. He wasn’t the boy to whom Kendra had lost her virginity, but she almost wish he had been.

IX - 4:00 AM

I can’t believe it. Sixteen years old, in the best shape of my life... and now look. I’m a baby. A baby! ...Forever!

I can’t blame Kendra for wincing at the shrillness of my wailing as she holds my pudgy, diaper-clad body in the cradle of her arms. I’m sad. I’m sad and I can’t stop it. I can’t do anything about it. I may still have my mind, but I’ve lost control of my emotions.

And that’s not the only thing I’ve lost control of. The physical sensation can barely be put into words-- the release, the inevitable relief that ripples through my abdomen as the knot unties and the cramps and distension give way to pooping in my diapers. The emptiness I feel on the inside is the positive side of a coin whose inverse is stained with the hopelessness of the future I’ll never have.

But the mental feeling is beyond any relation. Kendra, the first girl I ever fucked, will forever remember me as Tracey-- the teenager in the body of an infant with a sagging and stinking diaper. My identity is gone. My manhood is gone.

I am nothing.

Two females -- one 36 years of age, the other 12 -- rendezvoused in the upstairs hallway. Both held one-year-olds whose diapers were in various states of ruin. The Bradley family had become a frazzled, anxious shadow of its former self... and Tracey continued to bawl his eyes out. He would have been screaming for his daddy had he the ability to speak, but all he ejected into the air were anguished squeals and babbling sputters that sent rivulets of drool down what was left of the tortured teen’s chin.

Little Tracey wasn’t the only member of the quartet who noticed Edward’s conspicuous absence.

“What happened to him, anyway?” asked Kendra, her voice lapsing into comic prepubescence.

“He must have wandered off in a panic,” Janet suggested, “to... you-know-what.”

Adrian giggled at that and started pooping his pants.

“Well, let’s go find him,” said Janet. “He’s somewhere in this house, and it’s not as if we can leave without him.”

X - 4:04 AM

“What the fuck do you mean you’re not giving me the money!?” Edward hissed, panicked, into the computer monitor. “I brought them here! I sacrificed everything! I’ll be changing my son’s diapers for the rest of his life!”

“Tsk-tsk. It’s all about the payment, isn’t it?” The shadowy figure in the Skype window, displayed on a computer terminal squirreled away in the basement of the house, seemed amused by Edward Byrcan’s apoplexy. “It always comes down to the money.”

“For me it does, you bitch.”

“What about the art?” asked the woman in a sarcastically self-righteous tone. “What about the hundreds of loyal AR fans wanking off right now at the sight of these teenage boys and girls becoming diaper-filling infants? It’s big business, Edward. But it’s not about the business. It’s about the art.”

“Fuck your art, Janice,” spat Edward.

“Who’s Janice?” A feminine voice from behind him.

Edward whirled around. There, standing at the bottom of the basement stairs, were his ex-wife and her daughter, each cradling a baby boy.

“Janice--” Edward sputtered. “Janice is our producer. Our benefactor. How long have you been standing there?”

Kendra’s face was stone. “Since ‘I brought them here. I sacrificed everything.’”

Edward’s heart sank into his stomach.

“Well,” said Janet, “I think it’s about time you sacrifice something else. Something that can’t be bought with all the dollars in America. Something you’ll never get back.”

Janet and Kendra set Tracey and Adrian down on a discarded mattress and advanced on Edward... the man for whom too much money had never been enough.

XI - 4:07 AM

Adrian crammed his foot into his mouth and slobbered all over his toes, delighting in the warm, sticky mess coating his bottom. Tracey wet his diaper for the first time since his transformation and curiously poked at its increasingly-saturated front panel. Gradually, the two of them were coming to accept the conditions of their new existences. In fact, they were almost ignorantly blissful, their accrued knowledge draining out of their ears with each babyish behavior they came to adopt. Tracey lost shapes and colors as soon as he ate what he pulled out of his nose.

Across the room, Edward Byrcan was experiencing the opposite of bliss. His ex-wife had him pinned to the floor at the ankles. Her daughter, approaching 11 years of age and the awkward pseudo-development that came with them, anchored Edward by the shoulders. The man was shocked and startled by the sheer amount of force the two ladies were able to exert upon him. Was it their lust for vengeance? Their frustration in light of the situation? Or had Edward subconsciously conceded that he had this coming to him... whatever this was?

Janet divested the struggling Edward of his blue jeans. Kendra couldn’t help but gawk at the sight of the man’s package bulging unremarkably through a pair of briefs that were definitely due for a replacing. The underwear was soon history too, though, and -- shortly after Janet directed her daughter to remove Edward’s t-shirt from over his head -- the humiliated Mr. Byrcan lay squirming, bound, and nude.

“Avert your eyes if this will offend you,” Janet said to Kendra.

“Not at all,” grinned the mischievous girl. “The game begins now.”

Janet Bradley descended upon her ex-husband’s cock and began to suck. Edward moaned out in a transcendent amalgam of fear and lust as his former lover bathed his sensitive organ in warm, silky wetness. He became hard instantly and his mind was flooded with all the memories of how expertly Janet performed fellatio -- and the extent to which she prided herself on her abilities.

The tingle that signaled Edward’s age regression began to fade as the sexual activity in which he was engaged allayed the dissolution of his adult identity. And man, he thought, can Janet suck a mean dick.

In no time at all, Edward felt his balls begin to boil and his orgasm start to build. As much as he sought the ultimate relief, he knew he’d have to let it go. Just this once.

“That’s enough, Janet,” Edward moaned. “You can stop now.”

But she didn’t.

“Stop, Janet!” howled Edward. He was approaching the point of no return. For all his squirming and thrashing, he wasn’t going anywhere.

But the woman kept sucking, slathering Edward’s shaft in her saliva, enveloping the man’s penis in her accommodating mouth, teasing his balls whenever possible. The man’s pleas fell on selectively deaf ears.

So Edward stopped begging... except in his head.

Stop, Janet.

Please.

XII - 4:11 AM

Kendra Bradley was only too happy to assist Janet in diapering the infant form of the latter’s ex-husband. Eddie was far more petulant than his son or Adrian had been-- understandably so, as the schemer had brokered his deal with Janice expecting to walk away hundreds of thousands of dollars richer, not 43 years younger.

He whined as his tiny bottom was rubbed with oil. He sobbed as his one-inch penis was snowed upon by lavender-scented powder. And he wailed in abject dejection when the double-thick disposable diaper was pulled up between his chubby thighs, its four tapes secured with watertight attention to detail.

Janet crammed a pacifier into the infant’s mouth.

“Thanks,” said Kendra, liberating her open palms from her ears.

The ladies smiled down victoriously at the squirming man-baby as he soaked his diaper and shoved a load into its seat. Eddie didn’t even smile at his accomplishment. His emotions were infantile, and the 44 years of knowledge he’d amassed had already begun to bleed away.

Tracey’s and Adrian’s minds, however, were finally emptied, leaving nothing but a pair of giddy babies squishing and crawling all over one another in idiot glee.

“You know,” said Janet, “you can go upstairs and have some privacy if you want, Kendra. Makes sense to settle for reliving the past seven years rather than having to claw your way back up from infancy.”

Kendra thought for a moment. If she let the game run its course, she’d end up an infant and would, in fact, have to grow up all over again. But if she pleasured herself for less than two hours, she’d only have to repeat a handful of grades.

“Thanks, Mom,” Kendra replied. “I think I might.”

As she made for the stairs, Kendra glanced over at her baby brother Adrian and his new best friend Tracey, laughing and playing without a care or an obligation in the world, from then until the end of time. It was a resonant image. One that stuck with her.

Kendra Bradley found a comfortable room upstairs and masturbated to orgasm.

epilogue - 4:59 AM

At 30 years old, Janet Bradley felt like a million bucks. The mirrors in the abandoned house that had survived the ravages of time reflected a stunningly beautiful woman of vitality and verve. There was no doubt in her mind that she could handle the raising of four babies.

“Raising,” of course, was a misnomer, and Janet acknowledged that, as well. No matter. While immortality to an adult is often an austere and somewhat nightmarish existence wherein knowledgeable, thinking, and reasoning creatures are doomed to suffer watching their friends and loved ones die for all eternity, immortality to an empty-headed infant implies nothing but endless laziness, discovery, diapers, and -- of course -- the indescribable, paradise-esque pleasure of having one’s needs attended to at all times.

At 5 AM sharp, the locks to the house were released and the windows were unbarred. Hoisting her quadruplets into her embrace, Janet left the stead and greeted the rising sun with promise and resolve.

Something caught her eye.

It was an envelope, fluttering against a nearby tuft of grass with the assistance of a gentle breeze. Clearly it had been left upon the doorstep, but the wind had guided it a handful of meters away. Janet set her infant charges in the soft grass just long enough to intercept the envelope.

The return address indicated A Man No More, a limited liability company headquartered in Wisconsin-- far, far from this glistening Southern coastline. Having never heard of it, Janet shrugged off the identification and sliced open the envelope with her fingernail.

Inside was a bearer bond in the amount of $11,000.

Janet smiled. It wouldn’t be enough to cover diapers for a quartet of babies for -- well, ever -- but it was a good start.

The reinvigorated Mrs. Bradley loaded the foursome into her SUV and began to drive away from the house on Jeffer Lane. Suddenly, she slammed on the brakes and dropped her forehead into the palm of her hand. Something had just occurred to her.

What’s Mr. Bradley going to think of all this?

the end - roll credits...

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...author’s needlessly self-indulgent afterword

Trip here! Thanks for reading. I just wanted to say that, one week from tomorrow, fellow ARchive writer Nico and I will be celebrating our first anniversary. We’ve seen and done a lot together, from enjoying the film Young Adult to getting badly sunburned in the Atlantic.

The measure of happiness Nico has brought to my life can’t really be written about, so I’ll just say this: Thanks, AR Archive, for acting as a staging ground not only for fantasy, but for love.

~lt

You can check out Nico’s latest story, "Continue," on the first page (for now), on his story page, or on the AR Stories page.

 

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