Lost Cause (3)

Chapter 3
Part Three

Chapter Description: night

And so it was that 16-year-old Chuck, now Charlie, lay on the couch, sprawled across his girlfriend’s lap, thickly and comfortably diapered, nursing a baby bottle of warm milk as his mother sat in her rocking chair, gazing on in approval.

Please let this end. Please send her home. Please don’t do this to me.

“So, what’s it like taking care of Baby Charlie during the weekends?” Emily asked, holding the bottle upright to encourage the flow of milk to her boyfriend’s mouth. Charlie twitched his toes in reflex.

“He’s really very little trouble at all,” Mrs. Burbank replied. “Usually he just sits around and plays with his blocks. Time and time again he’ll find a colorful show on the television; that’ll hold his attention for a few minutes. It’s so boring for him. So very boring and so very humiliating. You see, his mind’s still there--up in the attic, it’s still 16-year-old Chuck, big man on campus.”

Charlie whined around the nipple of the bottle as the warm milk slid down his throat. He could not conceive of a situation wherein he would feel more humiliated. His girlfriend continued to nurse him as she listened intently to Mrs. Burbank’s chronicle.

“But his volition... why, he has but the sentience of an infant. He plays with his stuffed animals, he drinks from his bottles, he eats his baby food from a high chair...”

The teenager’s face burned with shame. The bottle was almost finished. He couldn’t wait for this episode finally to be overwith.

“He even goes potty in his diapers.”

No.

The words echoed in Charlie’s head. A hollow tintinnabulation. They ricocheted and repeated.

Charlie whined as he sucked the last droplet of milk from his bottle.

“Don’t you, sweetie?”

“What, Mommy?” Charlie asked, turning to face his mother.

“Don’t you go potty in your diapers?”

Charlie shook and shivered, struggling to grasp one modicum of control, to save one iota of face with his girlfriend, but his lips seemed to move on their own.

“Yeth, Mommy. Me go poddy im my dipees.”

Mrs. Burbank smiled. “Why don’t you show Emily what a big boy you are?”

With a sigh of resignation, Charlie stood up off of the couch and walked to the middle of the room. His virgin white diapers crinkled loudly around his bottom as he baby-stepped. Emily and Mrs. Burbank stood side-by-side in front of him, eager to coach him on his performance.

Please, Mom. Stop this. Don’t make me do this in front of Emily. I will never, ever fuck up again, if you just--

Charlie felt a tear roll down his cheek as the first warm spurt of urine soaked into his diaper. He tried to hold back, to fight, but between his immediate need and the post-hypnotic suggestion, there was no hope.

The 16-year-old shoved his thumb into his mouth and let go. Waves of warmth flowed over his cock and down his balls, settling into his diaper and creeping up its backside. Emily giggled as she watched the white exterior of Charlie’s diaper gradually change to its yellow hue. The teenager’s face burned furiously as he emptied his bladder, feeling the trickle coursing through the creases of his legs like warm, pallid fingers. He couldn’t stop even if he had wanted to.

Emily walked behind Charlie and sized up his diapered butt. The urine had wicked back and caused his diaper to puff out. A lone stream of pee worked its way out of the legband and settled into the carpet.

Oh God. I’m leaking. I’m leaking in my diapers in front of my girlfriend. Please make it stop.

When it finally did, Charlie squirted out a few more drops, and jerked his thumb from his mouth.

“EMMMIWYYY!” he whined, loudly and in falsetto. “Me jus wen peepee im my DIPEE!”

Emily busted out laughing. “My, you certainly did! What a big boy we have here, with such a full diaper!”

Charlie seethed. He loved Emily, but he hated what she was doing to him. He hated every coo, every word of baby-talk, every sycophantic concession to his mother. The young boy’s mind was a torrid jungle of conflicting emotions. There simply wasn’t enough room for them all, and Charlie began to cry. To bawl.

“No, no, Charlie!” said Emily. “Emiwy wuvs hew widdwe baby!”

That made it even worse.

Charlie collapsed to his knees, his soaking wet diaper hanging at his hips, as he let out a genuine wail of despair. It was so loud that the portraits on the fireplace mantle shook. A thin line of spit amassed on Charlie’s bottom lip and trickled down to the inside of his diaper as he cried for his mommy, his girlfriend -- somebody to save him from this humiliation. Anybody.

“I wan’ my Mommy!”

More tears.

Charlie fell to his stomach and started beating his fists on the carpet. He pounded his feet as well, throwing a considerable tantrum as the last of his inhibitions were whisked away. He squirmed, and wailed, and bellowed.

“Pwease do not do dis to me! Pwease! Me be goo boy! Me be goo! Me pwomise!”

The teenager felt as if he were possessed. Small juts of pain struck through him as his toes pounded the carpeting.

“Pwease dun do dis to Baby Chawie!”

Emily and Mrs. Burbank took pity on the boy and sought to calm him down. They nestled beside him and wiped the tears from his eyes.

“Is my baby going to be okay?” Emily asked.

Charlie struggled to catch his breath. He sucked his thumb as hard as he could for several seconds.

“Yeth, Mommy,” he replied.

Mrs. Burbank brushed the hair away from her eyes. “Charlie, are you calm?”

“Yeth.”

“Charlie, I need you to be a big boy for Mommy. Can you do that?”

“Yeth.”

Reassured, the women stood up and contemplated how to get their 16-year-old baby to his crib.

Mrs. Burbank sighed. “Ni-ni, Charlie?”

The teenager didn’t answer. He simply rolled over, his muscles weakened by the mere power of suggestion, and rose to his knees and the palms of his hands. His diaper sagging heavily between his legs, Charlie began the long, shameful crawl to his nursery.

And Emily was there every step of the way, making sure he didn’t fall over, and giving him but one consolatory kiss when he did.

to be continued

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