Trip's Sticky Kidz: Premium Explicit Content

Chapter 1
I've Got One at Home Just Like Him (Winter 2013)

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Chapter Description: The longest and most successful story I've yet written portrays a matriarchal society wherein adolescent boys are being virally regressed and sweetly tormented by girlfriends, sisters, mothers, and female pediatricians. This 51-page, 23,000-word story is now forever available at its rock-bottom price of $12. Contains physical and mental regression, masturbation, and diapers; and is famous for being very, very descriptive.

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At the time of its writing -- and, in fact, as of this writing -- "I’ve Got One at Home Just Like Him," at over 23,000 words, was the longest single AR story I had ever written. Upon its publication in February 2013, it also became my most commercially (if not critically) successful yarn, grossing well over $1,000 in sales. Customers reacted positively to both its infantilistic and pure-AR qualities alike, providing me feedback that spoke highly of elements such as extreme humiliation, attention to detail, and graphic descriptions of diaper use.

"I’ve Got One at Home Just Like Him," borne from an idea an anonymous client of mine had and drawing inspiration from non-trip AR classics such as "Boomerang" and "Peace, Quiet, and an Early Bedtime," depicts a near-future matriarchal society in which every male adolescent in the world is afflicted with a virus that de-ages them at the rate of one month per hour. Before long, teenage boys find themselves being treated as little kids and toddlers by doting mothers and vindictive sisters, and only a few of them resign themselves to their fates without putting up a fight.

Though its original price at publication was $20, I’m celebrating its one year anniversary by reducing it to its lowest and final price-- $12. "I’ve Got One at Home Just Like Him" spans 50 pages and contains elements such as female domination/male submission, masturbation, infantile behavior, both physical and mental age regression, a visit to the doctor, and public and private humiliations galore. As always, your satisfaction is guaranteed and you can order your copy (in the file format of your choosing) by PayPalling $12 to littletrip at live dot com. Be sure also to send an e-mail to that address letting me know what you’ve ordered and to which address you’d like the story sent.

Here’s a never-before-seen sample to whet your whistle...

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Dr. Tompkins donned a pair of latex gloves and proceeded to fondle Steve’s genitals, inspecting his miniaturized penis and testicles for abnormalities consistent with problems resultant from the concomitant regression of the teen’s reproductive and excretory systems. As she manhandled the humiliated boy, the doctor continued to converse with his mother with a seemingly sociopathic disregard for Steve’s increasingly delicate self-esteem.

“Has he been eating and drinking everything he’s been given?”

“Oh, yes, he’s very good about that.”

“Mm-hmm, and bathroom habits? Peeing, pooping, no accidents there... during the daytime, at least?”

“Talk to me, dammit!” Steve yelled. His voice sounded pained, petulant. “Talk to me! I’m 17 years old!”

“Nope, everything’s good there.”

“Stool nice and firm?”

“Why aren’t you talking to ME!?”

“Yes. Nothing out of the ordinary there.”

Steve stared at the ceiling and suffered the excruciating indignity of being unable to answer his own medical questions. No, not unable-- not allowed. He was being dismissed, ignored, as though he were the very elementary school student the pathogen’s illusion portrayed him to be. And there was his mother, calmly discussing with this vixen the consistency of his poops.

“Are you going to try cloth diapers this time, or go with disposables again?”

“Oh, disposables, no doubt about it. That was just 15 years ago... if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. That’s what I say.”

“You know, they have the most adorable large-size Pampers available if you want to get a jump on diaper training.”

“Do they?”

“Mm-hmm. I’ve been recommending them to most mothers so that the transition for their little ones will be less jarring. Gives them the freedom to decide when to poop their pants, so that when they no longer have a choice, it won’t be as much of a culture shock.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” considered Ms. Dimmick. “But I don’t think it’s right for my Stevie. He’s very independent. He’s a big boy.”

“Yes, he is a big boy!” Dr. Tompkins cooed, smiling down at the 8-year-old teenager on the table as she used the palm of her hand to gently squeeze each of the little acorns between his thighs. Steve was mortified that one of his dream lovers was already talking to him as though he were an infant. But that was nothing compared to what he saw when he blinked his vision clear and raised his head off the table.

Steve had an erection. A two-inch, rock-hard, plain-as-day erection. He hadn’t felt himself develop one... hadn’t felt the blood rush from the four corners of his body towards his trunk and into his organ, hadn’t felt the spongelike tissues inside his penis fill up and harden with reflexive need. All he had felt, all he had noted was the humiliation -- the pervasive, clutching humiliation -- that filled the hollows of his mind and ballooned through the waters of his soul like clouds of silt.

“Still got a little of the ol’ spirit, I see,” his mother acknowledged with a smirk from a few feet away.

“I should say so!” noted the doctor. “Well, everything here seems healthy, Ms. Dimmick. Sometimes the boys have a little bit of difficulty when the reproductive system, which isn’t really designed to develop in the other direction, regresses to a prepubescent state. Things can get tangled, misplaced... the surgery’s relatively simple, but invasive and unpleasant nonetheless. Steve has none of that in the cards for him. Your baby’s in tip-top shape.”

“I’m not a baby!” Steve squealed.

“Aww,” singsonged Dr. Tompkins, “I’m sorry, sweetie.”

Steve seethed.

Dr. Tompkins patted her gloved hand on his tummy. The boy’s erection waggled in the open air with the disturbance. “Turn over.”

“What?”

“Turn over. This won’t take but a minute.”

Reluctant, unknowing, Steve slowly turned his body so that his stomach was facing the sanitary paper of the examination table, so that the miniscule length of his shrunken stiffy was compressed between the material and his warm tummy. He dragged out the process, not knowing what was coming, not believing -- but also not dismissing the possibility -- that things could possibly get any worse.

Steve had his head turned towards the door, and he could neither hear nor see Dr. Tompkins as she fussed with her instruments on the other side of him. He could only see three-quarters of his mother’s seated body, her face lit with a warm and loving smile, the only thing that satisfied the boy’s need for comfort at that moment.

Then, silence filled the air.

Silence, and--

Steve felt a slight, rubbery pressure on each of his butt cheeks. Dr. Tompkins’s gloved fingers were spreading them apart. The boy bit his bottom lip, doubly ashamed that the very ass that had authored such a disastrously streaked pair of underpants was the very one apparently being examined by a doctor whose curiosity was bordering on the pathological.

An alien sensation. Small. Cool. Slick. At the exit of his body.

“This won’t hurt,” Dr. Tompkins said. “I promise.”

The sensation became invasive when Dr. Tompkins slid the tip of the lubricated thermometer past the pucker of Steve’s anus and into his rectum. The boy gave a weak, ragged whine as the cool length of the instrument pushed into his sphincter and was consumed inch by inch by his sensitive pink pucker.

Steve could still see his mother’s face, which was unchanged; but his own was screwed up, wavering with embarrassment, and leaking a line of mucus. He felt so ashamed. So, so ashamed. The teenager folded his lips inward on each other and bit down as he felt the thermometer settle into his rectum.

“The people working on the problem say we have to do things this way until they get a better handle on its properties, “ Dr. Tompkins explained to Steve’s mother. “It’s rectal from now on. I hope that’s not too inconvenient for you.”

“Oh, not at all,” Ms. Dimmick assured the good doctor. “My Steve doesn’t--”

At that moment, the knob turned and the door to the examination room swung inward. To this day, when Steven remembers the sequence of events that transpired immediately afterward, they cycle through his head in slow motion, just as they did on that very morning.

The door opened, and Lynn entered the room, her outstretched hand holding Ms. Dimmick’s vibrating smartphone.

Ms. Dimmick turned to accept it while Dr. Tompkins, her hand still on the thermometer, looked up, fully prepared to admonish the girl for entering the closed office against regulations.

And 17-year-old Steve Dimmick’s eyes went wide as the rectal thermometer inside him brushed up almost imperceptibly against his prostate.

Steve’s toes curled inside his socks. His fingers gripped the sanitary paper with such sudden verve that chasms in its fabric yawned open with audible rips. The boy bit his lip and involuntarily bucked forward, his erection twitching involuntarily and repeatedly as he fell headfirst into a dry orgasm right in front of the doctor, his sister, and his mom.

Lynn, her arm still outstretched, just looked at him. Looked at his miniaturized form, the glinting silver of the thermometer sticking out of his butthole like a flagpole, as he seized a few more times.

Looked at him... and grinned.

Ms. Dimmick finally broke the awkward silence. “Well? What’s the emergency?”

Lynn waggled the phone in her fingers. “Aunt Marla made her play in Words with Friends. It’s your turn.”

Fire burned within Steve’s core. He gritted his teeth in Lynn’s general direction.

“Hi, Steve,” clicked Lynn. “Looks like 98.6 from here.”

“That’ll be all, Lynn,” her mother intoned.

Steve’s penis, spent and deflated, retracted involuntarily towards his groin, wanting to avoid three pairs of prying eyes when it was time for the naked little boy to roll over and return to the chill in the midmorning air.

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thank you for reading...

...thank you for everything...

...and STAY YOUNG!

(C)2013-4 little trip

orders, comments, just to chat

littletrip at live dot com

IRC: littletrip on SorceryNet

 

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