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Main >> Infantilist >> Ecstasy

Ecstasy
Author: little trip  

Chapter #: 3
Summary: When is a nightclub not a nightclub? When it's a night nursery. Contains female physical and mental AR, female punishment, male straight-to-gay TF, male diaper sex, and an explicit unbirthing in the final vignette. Strong hypersexuality, humiliation, and diapers throughout.
Updated On: 11 February 2010 - Words Count: 3423 - Number of Reads: 0
 
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Part III: The Night Nursery - Saturday Print
I can't stop, partying partying. --littletrip


Part III: The Night Nursery - Saturday


Saturday, 10:00 PM

It’s Nursery Night at Club Innocence, previously christened as Vices, and 25-year-old chemist and business owner Marcus is at the controls. The continued effects of many of his various Ecstasy analogues have drawn several couples to pay a visit-- ironically, as they would have, anyway. But this time, they have anomalies of nature in tow... toddling girls who used to be teenage boys, young men who can’t have orgasms unless they’re wearing diapers and sucking pacifiers, young lesbians who now see their girlfriends as forever their Mommies.

A sign overlooks the entrance to the club: Patrons Must Be At Least Six Months Old. Where once there had been a dance floor, there is now a series of playpens, high chairs, and couches for the beleaguered young adults finding themselves to be sudden parents. The bar, previously stocked with thousands of dollars worth of Tanqueray, Grey Goose and several highballs and tumblers, is now filled out with hundreds of dollars worth of milk, various juices, and baby bottles. The jukeboxes have been replaced with diaper pails and the music has switched from modern dance-pop to lullabies and Raffi. Piles of promotional pamphlets are now diapers in every shape, size, and gender. Innocence is now the largest nocturnal day-care center in the Greater Chicago Area.

No drugs will be sold tonight. But, in the grand scheme of things, any and all necessary damage has already been done. Marcus Halberstram intends on walking the floor tonight, enjoying the plights of his patrons, tormenting them and exacerbating their predicaments whenever applicable, and occasionally stepping into the men’s room to rub off a load into the toilet. He smiles in consideration of the fruits of his labor and opens the front doors to admit a brand-new clientele.


Saturday, 10:15 PM

Marcus had hired on an all-new staff of his own, consisting mostly of attractive, 20-something women with extensive infant care experience, to handle the needs of the “orphaned” baby babies and adult babies who had been single at the time of their transformation.

One of these young employees is dutifully spoon-feeding mushy peas to Samantha, a 13-year-old girl with the mind of an infant aged 18 months. Up until the previous evening, she had been 22 years old and a month away from entering law school. Now, she finds herself naked except for a diaper and a pretty pink bib, again petite enough to fit into a slightly-enlarged high chair, and learned enough to clearly and plainly articulate her disapproval of her current predicament.

“Me no wan bad peeeas!” she whines, tears streaking her cheeks. She kicks her legs violently in protest, crinkling her diaper; her caretaker, Rhonda, had long since switched her position to the side of the oversized high chair to avoid injury. “Peas yucky! Wan bananor!!”

“Now, now,” Rhonda chastises, shoveling another spoonful of mush against the closed mouth of the young teen. The green slop spills down Samantha’s chin and coats the bib covering her modest breasts. “You can have your ‘bananas’ later. Peas have goodies bananas don’t. And, you might be a big girl in body, but the baby in your head is gonna have to learn to eat yummy veggies and such so she can grow smart again.”

All Samantha understands is that she has to do things that make her unhappy now so that, years -- many, many years down the road -- she could be healthy and have a leg up. She can’t comprehend why doing something that would make her healthy and intelligent in well over a decade is worth tasting a bunch of disgusting garbage in the now.

She crosses her arms against her nearly-naked chest and purses her lips together tight, unsuccessfully fighting off further tears and sobbing as she feels herself pissing her diaper. She manages to give its pinkish appearance a definite citrus hue as she pouts her way into nightlong hunger. And, when Samantha’s made a wet crisis of her diaper to complement the wet crisis on her chest and torso, Rhonda decides she’s had enough.

“OK, that’s it.” Rhonda knows better than to spank 18-month-olds because of the frailty of their bodies. Samantha’s 13-year-old body makes the punishment possible. Without a word, the caretaker pulls the tray out of the high chair, unsnaps the belts holding Samantha in for safety, and guides her to the nearest couch. Within seconds, the back of the teen’s wet diaper is pulled down to her thighs and Rhonda begins administering her authority.

*WHACK*

“You willl obey Mommy!” Rhonda declares. Instantly, Samantha launches a salvo of genuine infant wails.

*WHACK*

“You will eat your peas and you won’t pout!” Samantha’s ass starts to turn red as she kicks and squirms in the better-developed woman’s lap to no avail.

*WHACK WHACK WHACK*

By the time the ordeal is over, Rhonda’s delivered enough swats to equal her petulant baby’s physical age. And Samantha is limp against Rhonda’s lap, completely exhausted, and entirely defeated.

The girl’s young mind doesn’t understand anything about “orgasm.” But, as she struggles to regain her breath, she decides she needs to misbehave a little more often.


Saturday, 10:50 PM

Paul had spent nearly two decades of his life enjoying a traditional, athletic, heterosexual existence. So had Chase. But, in the 24 hours since both of them had been separately duped by an unscrupulous X salesman, they had found themselves, in their fully-formed, 18-year-old bodies, trying to find somebody who could understand their spontaneous compulsion to wear nothing more than a baby-blue disposable diaper at all times. Struggling to explain their predicaments to furious shopkeepers shoving their diaper-clad asses out the front door. Bending over backwards to find other guys who could entertain their newfound lust for cock. As long as said cock is wrapped in a diaper.

They found no such luck until they ended up at Innocence. After bumping into each other and introducing themselves, standing in only their baby-blue diapers and shaking hands, it was only a matter of time before they realized their similar predicaments.

It is 50 minutes past opening when the two former high school football players find themselves, standing diaper-against-diaper in the middle of the makeshift nursery, slow-dancing to Raffi’s “Baby Beluga.”

Chase sighs and nestles his cheek against Paul’s naked shoulder, half-whispering into the boy’s ear about the circumstances he’d suffered over the course of the day. He feels his own cock, totally erect, straining against the restrictive confines of his diaper. He wishes there weren’t two thick, crinkly diapers separating his dick from Paul’s. But he can’t imagine wearing anything else, or anything less.

“I don’t know why I like this sorta stuff all of a sudden,” laments Chase, “but I know I do. I mean... I spent half the day sucking on a pacifier, the other half sucking my thumb. I keep pooping my diaper. I can stop it from happening, but I don’t. I look forward to it.”

“I know what you mean,” Paul replies. He had avoided developing an erection of his own because of his intense need to take a piss. As they dance, Paul heeds the call, sighing in sexual ecstasy as his penis spews hot urine against the front of his diaper, against itself. He moans softly against Chase’s neck as he feels warmth and wetness flood over his tightly-wrapped testicles and into his taint. He could’ve stopped himself from doing it, but he hadn’t. And, shortly after the flood is finished, Paul finds his equally-stiff diapered cock pressing up against Chase’s, whom he considered lucky to have just met. “I’ve been watching dork-ass shows like ‘Dora the Explorer’ all day long. I’ve DVR’ed the hell out of ‘em. And I’m so thrilled watching them, laughing along, clapping. I must have blown about five loads into my diapers today.”

Chase pulls his head back from Paul’s shoulder and smiles wickedly at him. “I managed four. I certainly hope you’ve got one left.”

Paul grins back. “As it happens...”

Minutes later, they’re on the floor of the nursery together, Paul laying atop Chase’s splayed-out body. They’re grinding their hard cocks together and making out with each other as if they’re seasoned gay men. But they’re still in their diapers; they need them. Not for peeing or messing, but for cumming. Each of them moan in turn, breaking their kiss just long enough to do so, before returning to it and feeling the shivers up their spine at the sensation of diaper-fucking one another.

Paul feels a bead of sweat drop off his face and land onto Chase’s. He’s dangerously close to cumming as he breaks their make-out session for a second time and descends to his sudden boyfriend’s stiff nipples, taking each in his mouth, slurping, nibbling softly.

“Ohhhhhhh, FUCK!!” Chase calls out at the sudden stimulus. In seconds, he’s blowing a massive load into the front of his diaper, fucking forcefully against Paul’s own. His body stiffens and contorts every which way in response to an orgasm the strength of which its owner had not yet known. Chase ends up making his diaper practically as wet as Paul’s, even though he only had cum with which to work, whereas Paul had had a full bladder.

Paul leans down, presses his lips to Chase’s, and grinds his diaper one last time against that of his partner. They kiss deeply and passionately as Paul shoots his own semen against the fabric of his diaper. He squeals, he moans, he twists as he empties his balls into the cotton and plastic. At times, he feels as if he’s on the verge of fainting as his penis pumps jet after jet of sticky white stuff into his diaper. But, he’s fully conscious when he finally regains his faculties.

The boy falls unceremoniously on top of Chase, each of them enjoying the sensation of their sticky loads teasing their quickly-wilting cocks.

Chase gasps for air. “Paul... you think you got another load in that cock, maybe?”

Paul smiles down at the athlete, who had just performed as well as one. “No reason to waste a diaper on piss and cum when there’s a back of it perfectly ripe for use.”

“I look forward to changing you,” Chase offers.

They start making out again. The boys relish the afterglow. And the knowledge that, despite having each been straight, they’ve each found the love of their lives.


Saturday, 10:53 PM

I love the feeling of Paul nestled against me. Making out with me. Grinding his diaper against mine. It was weird, the pill I had taken the night before either giving me (or bringing out of me) a desire to be with guys in diapers. I’d had perfectly satisfying relationships with girls before.

I can’t even remember why I liked girls in panties to begin with. I like diapers. I like how they look on other guys my age. I like the way they feel when I’m wearing them. I like the way
I feel when I’m wearing them. I like the soft cottony inside and I like the secure plastic outside. I like the crinkling sound they make, and I like the smell of baby powder, and I like the illusion, however temporary, that I’m safe and little again. And the only thing I like more than snuggling under the covers, diapered, clutching a teddy dog and sucking my thumb, is putting another boy my age in that position and letting him know that he’s safe and little again. However temporary.

But I’m really, really liking this. Loving this. I love our cocks against each other, divided by nothing but the very diapers that drive us to this state. And when he pisses himself I can actually feel the warmth radiate into my genitals, and it drives me fucking wild.

And I ask him if he might have an orgasm waiting inside him, waiting just for me.

We’re on top of each other and it’s everything I’d ever hoped it could be. The weight of his masculine body weighing me down is practically enough to drive me over the edge. I’ve never been with any woman as hot as this man is. It’s confusing, but I let myself go, feeling him pump needfully against me, teasing our super-sensitive cocks against the space-aged material of our new baby diapers. He truly understands me. And that’s new.

It’s when he starts playing at my nipples with his mouth that I totally lose it. I can actually feel the pressure of my eyelids pressing shut, of my two rows of teeth practically crushing each other into oblivion, the sensation of my balls boiling and delivering a massive load to my aching cock. I clutch Paul’s diapered ass for leverage as I practically have a seizure, saturating the inside of my diaper with cum, kicking and thrashing like a maniac. I wish I could love him.

He kisses me, and I do.

And, soon, he’s blowing an equally considerable load into his own crinkly underwear, one that strains its already-soaked crotch to its breaking points. The sound of the tapes stretching, of straining to hold on-- I’d be aroused all over again if I hadn’t the desperate need to pee. And the unique sensation of warm liquid flowing over my most private, sexual areas, soaking them, massaging them with its cascading action, arouses me anew. I feel like such a big baby. And I wonder why this couldn’t have happened sooner.

I can’t wait to change him. To start our new life together, with no big-boy clothes getting in the way. We never shoulda left diapers. And, now, we never will.



Saturday, 11:35 PM

One of the more interesting “cases” present in the club tonight is that of Jessica Turner. Last night, the 19-year-old history major took a drug that quite visibly reduced her, in front of everyone, to the status of a one-year-old. We find her at present breastfeeding from her girlfriend of three years, Karen, kicking her feet noncommittally and struggling to adapt to her new status. For her mind is still 19 years old.

Jessie finds herself adapting to her new life slightly better than many of her peers. Her motto had always been to forget about and avoid lamenting the situations well beyond one’s control. She finds this wisdom useful as she wets her tiny diaper and swallows her girlfriend-turned-Mommy’s milk.

No creedo, no “method,” prepares her for what is to come. For, thanks to the clever use of extended-release fillers pressed into her drug of choice, she finds herself physically regressing once more.

Jessie pops her mouth off of Karen’s leaking nipple and gasps audibly as she realizes she’s experiencing the exact same sensation she’d suffered the previous evening. She had thought the worst had already come to pass. She is wrong. And she bursts into an infant wail, tears pouring from her eyes, as she shrinks in her diaper. When she reaches six months old, the wet garment is too large to be of any use to her.

She pounds fiercely, but weakly, against her Mommy’s torso, until Jessie becomes a three-month-old and no longer has the strength or will to fight against the inevitable. Almost as if by instinct, Karen stands up, cradling her girlfriend in one arm, and uses the other to remove her skirt and drop her panties to the floor. She returns to a seated position, her vagina readily exposed, as her tiny lover, all mental faculties intact, becomes one month old, then 14 days.

It is almost instinctual, the way Karen spreads her legs and sets the absolutely miniature and entirely fragile newborn between them. Jessie squirms around involuntarily, offering only the occasional weak squeak of a frustrated newborn as she becomes one week old, then one day.

The grown-up mind of Jessie scrambles in horror as an umbilical cord leaps out of her tiny belly button and snakes its way into Karen’s cunt. She can’t believe this is happening. It’s not real. It’s not possible.

In obedience, and in concert with the effects her own dose of last night’s X provided her, Karen finds her mind temporarily empty and driven to satisfy the suggestion sewn into her. She gently takes the feet of 5-minute-old Jessie, now unrecognizable as a screaming red newborn, and pushes the tiny girl’s feet into her vagina.

“It’sh better thish way,” Karen slurs, deeply under the influence of hypnotic suggestion. She is easily able to overcome the 60-second-old girlfriend’s protestations and slides the form more deeply into her pussy, until Jessie is up to her chest in the vagina she’d so often pleasured with her tongue.

Jessie is screaming but has no control over her motor function. She knows exactly what’s happening and is terrified at her own ability to develop any control over her predicament. Her limbs do whatever they may as she feels her body wrapped up in the warm wetness of her lover’s cunt. The 15-second-old girl feels the shroud envelop her up to her neck. Then, she can no longer scream.

The tiny girl’s last view of the world is of the ceiling of Innocence, framed by Mommy’s still-damp breasts. Then, she’s in Karen’s birth canal, ascending up into her uterus.

Karen gasps in relief as she finishes pushing the crown of Jessie's little head into her vagina.

Jessie's world is dark. In mere minutes, she finds herself in a new world-- warm, wet, and really quite cozy. But her grown-up mind can’t greet the circumstance with a distressed wail anymore. Her mouth fades away, her eyes close shut, and she un-develops rapidly in her surrogate mother’s womb.

Karen looks down and watches as her gigantic belly shrinks, and shrinks, and shrinks. She smiles in a druglike haze, eager to raise Jessie as her own.

The fetus that is Jessie dwindles and dwindles, from seven months after conception, to five, and then three. The girl is simultaneously amazed and horrified that she retains her adult consciousness the entire time. The sensation of being a tiny fetus, then a zygote, then a fertilized egg, is indescribable and inexplicable to anybody who hasn’t suffered such a fate.

Jessie screams out in her mind as she becomes a load of thick, sticky cum, rushing down to the entrance of Karen’s vagina, then rushing back upward. She fertilizes her girlfriend’s egg and begins her long, biologically slow journey of developing into a person.

Meanwhile, Karen is bucking and moaning at the greatest orgasm she’s ever had. She had never before felt the remarkable sensation of warm semen rushing up into her, filling her up. She rubs her tits and pounds her head with her fists and thumps her heels against the floor. It’s only after the storm is over and her fuzziness fades that she realizes that she’s pregnant with Jessie.

She realizes it’s going to be a long nine months. So does the still-conscious Jessie.

Karen pulls up her panties and skirt, secures them, and walks nonchalantly out of the club-nursery. As a responsible parent, she won’t be experimenting with drugs again for nearly a year.


NEXT:
Part IV: The Night Nursery - Sunday


Thanks for reading. -lt


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