Lost Cause (3)

Chapter 2
Part Two

Chapter Description: evening

Charlie’s hands, t-shirt, and jeans were covered in casserole. His mother and girlfriend led him through the kitchen and to the bathroom as he toddled uneasily on his feet.

“Dear, would you grab his pants?”

Charlie stood on the bathroom tile, sucking his thumb and staring downward dumbly as his girlfriend unbuttoned and unzipped his blue jeans. The teenager’s head was clouded and slow-moving; he caught the occasional solid thought as a frog would a fly, but in general there was naught but a constant, heavy haze of humiliation and helplessness while his girlfriend undressed him in his mother’s view.

Emily slid Charlie’s jeans down to his feet and he stepped out of them, removing his shoes as well. His every helpful motion was guided by Dr. Tompkins’s post-hypnotic suggestions. The 16-year-old wanted to fight, to scream out as he helped his mother pull his t-shirt over his head and toss it aside, but he was so sedate, so willing, so controllable.

Relief washed over the ladies in an awesome wave.

Mrs. Burbank drew the water. “Charlie? Can you take your big-boy boxers off or do you need Emily’s help with that?”

Charlie pouted and pulled his thumb from his mouth. “I can take my pants off, Mommy.”

“Just checking.”

The boy placed his fingers upon the waistband and slid his boxers down to his feet, exposing himself in front of his mother and Emily. The blood rushed to his skin in a hot fire as he came to acknowledge his penis dangling limply between his legs in full and open view. When he settled into the warm, inviting water of the bathtub, he felt better, but not much.

“You see, Emily,” Mrs. Burbank began, “when babies get messy, you have to clean them up right away lest they get food all over your nice carpeting and upholstery.”

Emily nodded and soaped up a rag, sliding it along her boyfriend’s chest. “I see.”

Charlie seethed in humiliation, unable to act, as the two women ran a rag and a bar of soap over his body, along his abs and back, and down his legs. Mrs. Burbank dropped a blue, plastic tugboat into the water; this distracted the teenager long enough for his girlfriend to soap up his genitals. He giggled at her touch and developed an erection.

Charlie wanted to howl with rage. And he couldn’t, which made him want to howl even more. He struggled to fight the effects of the hypnosis and the drugs as his girlfriend inadvertently masturbated him in front of his mother. Finally, something was coming to him - control. He felt himself able to muster up ability to scream out, at last, from his mental prison.

“W...W...Whaaaaiiiieeee?” he whined, a tear rolling down each cheek. He was amazed he could provide as much resistance. If he kept working at it, he might be able to beat this thing. “Why you... ”...he sniffled...“Why you tweatin’ Charwie wike a widdle baby?”

“Because that’s all you are right now, little Charlie,” his mother replied. “Don’t you remember? Mommy gives you food, clothing, and shelter, and you give her peace by helping her this way. And now Emily’s here to help, too.”

The boy’s heart sank into his stomach.

“Emily, will you get Charlie’s diapers ready while I let out the water?”

Emily pulled her hands out of the tub. Charlie whined twofold...for losing the sensation of loving pleasure around his cock, and for the sudden realization that his girlfriend was going to be diapering him like a baby.

Please freak out, Emily. Please run away.

Emily dried off her hands. “Where are his diapers?”

“Down the hall, sweetie. His bedroom is the last door on the left.”

When Emily made it to her boyfriend’s room, her jaw dropped. Chuck Burbank, the meanest, toughest kid at Willowbrook High, the colossal prick, the cigarette salesman and vandal du ann?e... lived in a nursery. There was a toy box, a diaper pail, and a playpen with blocks, rings, and Duplos. Bears with balloons bedecked the wallpaper and iridescent stars dotted the ceiling. A mobile hung over Charlie’s crib, next to which was a foot-high stack of thick, white, disposable diapers.

By the time Emily returned with them, Mrs. Burbank had already dried off her son and laid him on the bathmat. Emily, for her part, was finally piecing together why her boyfriend was always so smooth and shaved.

“Emiwy?” asked Charlie.

“Yes?”

“Wet Mommy put me in dipees.”

Charlie burned with shame. He was jockeying for the lesser of two evils. But it wasn’t to be.

“Now, Charlie,” Mrs. Burbank said. “If Emily is going to be your girlfriend, we have to let her get some practice now, don’t we? Diapering a teenage boy is not the same thing as diapering a baby and she may as well know now for the times she has to change you.”

Emily nodded in agreement and Charlie started wailing. The teenage girl slid the double-thick diaper, white save for a blue band festooned with remote-control cars, underneath her boyfriend’s ass. Charlie squirmed and bawled, salty tears running down his face and moistening the bathmat, as Emily rubbed powder into the creases between his legs. Under Mrs. Burbank’s watchful eye she lubricated her hand with baby oil and slathered it over Charlie’s backside, eliciting a new round of whining cries from the teenager which crescendoed as he felt his girlfriend’s finger slide into his ass.

Charlie calmed down a bit as he felt Emily pull the thick diaper up between his legs and hold it to his tummy. He sucked his thumb - a counterintuitive way to allay his humiliation - as his girlfriend secured all four tapes and tucked in the legbands with her fingertips. Emily pronounced Charlie diapered and Mrs. Burbank voiced her approval.

Mrs. Burbank and Emily helped Charlie to his feet. The plastic of the thickly-padded, babyish diaper crinkled between the teenager’s legs.

Embarrassed beyond words, Charlie sucked his thumb earnestly as he toddled towards the living room, his awkward waddle supported by his mother and girlfriend, the sound of a rustling diaper echoing behind him.

Charlie felt like such a baby. Any semblance of the independent, tough-guy fa?ade he conveyed around his mother was gone. Whatever respect and allure he had curried with Emily as the edgy, bad-boy boyfriend was locked away, never to be seen again, hidden behind a fortress of shame and the tapes a soft, white diaper.

“Me hungwy,” Charlie whined.

“Of course you are, dear,” his mother replied. “Half your food ended up on your pants and in your girlfriend’s hair. How are we supposed to feed you when you’re such a messy baby?”

Charlie, nearly naked as the sun, stood in the middle of the room and turned to face the girls. Pouting, his lower lip stuck outward, he clasped his hands together and hung them limply in front of his diaper.

NO! No, dammit!!

“Me wan’ ba-ba.”

Mrs. Burbank sighed. Emily put her hand to her mouth and failed at suppressing a giggle.

“Emily, be a sweetheart and get your boyfriend his ba-ba from the cupboard. You can feed him some warm milk for his dinner.”

Emily nodded and walked to the kitchen. Charlie fell to his knees in despair. Course grains of dignity, of control, slid through his fingers like sand and were gone.

to be continued

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