Pulchre Infans: An Infant Beautifully

Chapter 2
Chapters IV / V

\\\//written by lola trechlyn//

//\\////\story by Otacon29/\\

/\\\characters by lola trechlyn

\//\and Otacon29//\\\\/\/////

IV ==--

“Now,” his mother continued, “get yourself put together. Marissa’s coming over in an hour.”

“Marissa?” Stephen was gradually reclaiming his cognition and functionality. “Why’s she coming over?”

“Her mother and I are going to the playhouse. Sort of a ladies’ night out to ring in the spring. We were hoping you’d babysit Marissa. I’m so, so sorry to ask it of you, particularly right after you’ve come in, but they’re flying to Lauderdale on Tuesday and this’ll be our last chance to unwind for a while.”

Stephen crooked an eyebrow. “I haven’t babysat for Mrs. Alexander in three years. Marissa’s a young woman. What in the world kind of 14-year-old girl needs to be babysat for one evening?”

His mother shrugged. “Mrs. Alexander asked; I didn’t. If I had to hazard a guess, well... Marissa’s developed quite a bit of a social life since going to high school and I’d wager her mom doesn’t want to come home tonight to a house full of beer bottles and boys.”

“She’s that kind of girl all of a sudden? I find that hard to believe.”

“Well, you know Mrs. A. The lights are on upstairs, but they’re always red. So, will you or won’t you?”

“Sure,” replied Stephen. He was actually rather interested to see his friend and next-door neighbor again, especially if she’d grown so dramatically in the intervening months.

Stephen first babysat little Marie in 2000-- he was 11 at the time, and she had been little more than a three-year-old pinball of pink energy, bouncing from one piece of furniture and one playful activity to the next. He hadn’t felt at the time that he was anywhere near ready to care for a child, if only for a late afternoon; what with his still having to change into double-thick training pants before snuggling into bed each night, Stephen saw himself as far younger and less mature a child than he actually was. He still did.

Nevertheless, his mother had advertised his precocious level of trustworthiness to Marie Alexander’s, and both women insisted, eager to have some time to themselves without worry or obligation.

Stephen and three-year-old Marie got along famously. He shouldered all the traditional babysitting responsibilities and eagerly indulged in every activity they shared. When they played Chutes & Ladders and Candy Land with each other, Stephen enjoyed it every bit as much as she had. They clapped at the same times and laughed at the same observations. She was already potty-trained at the time -- impressively young, in Stephen’s eyes -- so all he had to concern himself with in that regard was guiding her to it when she asked. Best of all, they were both avid thumbsuckers... and Stephen no longer had to hide it from present company.

“Just like me!” she squealed happily, pointing to Stephen on the first occasion he had forgotten himself and started sucking his thumb. The boy blushed with realization, but only for a second. He saw that Marie was sucking her thumb just as happily, and was actually expressing pride that the big boy she looked up to so much indulged in the same infantile habit.

Stephen kept his finger hooked around his nose, his lips around his thumb, and his smile on his face. “Just like you, kiddo.”

Mrs. Alexander left Marissa (who had begun insisting on her full first name the very day she entered first grade) overnight in Stephen’s care for the first time three years later. As with most young girls, Marissa was especially particular about being respected and trusted a few years above her age level-- she had the intelligence and maturity to back it up, which Mrs. Alexander attempted to sweep under the rug time and time again. It’s not that her mother wasn’t proud of her. But, ever since a car accident claimed Mr. Alexander’s life a year and a half prior, Marissa’s mother redoubled her efforts to keep the little girl in a titanium bubble.

Six-year-old Marissa resented the concept of being babysat, but if it had to be done, she was thrilled Stephen was the big kid doing it. The teenager had nothing but respect for the little girl’s accelerated mental and emotional development, and Marissa both appreciated and thrived on that fact. So, when the subject of their first overnight came crashing into Marissa’s world, she had no idea how to go about sharing her most closely-guarded secret with Stephen.

Ultimately, she was upfront about it, her resolve steeled by the reasoning that he probably wouldn’t be too judgmental. It wasn’t until her designated bedtime that Marissa, blushing and without one word, presented the training pants she wore to bed to Stephen.

“I hope you don’t think I’m a baby,” she finally whispered.

Saying nothing, Stephen turned around, reached into his closet, and tossed onto his bed a pair of the very trainers he himself wore to sleep at night. “I hope you don’t think I’m one.”

From that point forward, Stephen was, without question or exception, the teenager on whom Mrs. Alexander always relied for incident-free babysitting. Marissa never objected; by age 10, she had the social acumen and emotional culture of a 14-year-old, and at age 18, so did Stephen. They talked everything from music to movies-- saw themselves as equals and friends. She had quit sucking her thumb several years before, of course, but she had no problem with Stephen doing so as much as he wanted and whenever he wanted. In fact, she thought it kind of cute that such an upstanding and stately young man would so openly slobber all over his fingers like a toddler.

“Thanks,” said Stephen’s mother. “I’ll leave you to finish your unpacking.” She took leave of her son’s bedroom just as he was reaching back into his suitcase to remove another few handfuls of belongings.

Stephen obsessively rolled his mother’s vituperative words over and over in his head as he worked. Grow up and stop masturbating like a baby. Grow up and stop masturbating like a baby. He saw the sentence as a non-sequitur -- every fully-grown man on Earth jerked off now and then -- but that wasn’t what hung in his head. Stephen filed the sentence away after he determined there was nothing useful about overanalyzing it.

The experience had been startling enough, though, that he also filed away the notion of finishing off what he had started... twice. This, in spite of the aching, agonized balls that dangled in his jeans like lead weights. That was another thing Stephen missed about early childhood-- no directive organs but his brain and his heart.

He finished unpacking with time to spare. Stephen changed into a fresh pair of blue jeans, his old ones stained with pre-cum and stinking of unaccomplished sex. And, in a last-ditch stab at relief, he curled up on his bed, slipped his thumb into his mouth, and started to suck.

Stephen pulled his knees up to his chin and held them there, discouraging his futile erection from making a most unwelcome return.

V ==--

The sun set on the neighborhood at last. Fifteen minutes after their parents embarked on their respective evenings, Stephen and Marissa sat on opposing ends of the three-paneled couch, chatting up their reunion.

“I mean, I’m 14 years old,” Marissa spat in melodramatic disgust. “I think I can handle myself. I can’t believe that woman just assumes I’d throw a party.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” said Stephen.

“Oh, I totally would. But I still can’t believe she’d assume it.” Marissa took a sip of her Coke and smiled at her so-called babysitter. “If I had to go anywhere, though, I’m glad I came here. It’s great seeing you again.”

“You too! And you seem really happy.”

“So do you. Now, is that because you’re going to graduate in a couple months? Or is it because it’s your birthday tomorrow?”

“Shit, it is,” Stephen said, staring at the ceiling for a second. “I can’t believe it keeps slipping my mind. I guess they’re just not as important when you get older.”

Marissa leaned over and slapped the back of her hand against Stephen’s shoulder playfully. “That’s no way to talk, Stephen! Every birthday is important.” She handed him a small, sealed envelope. “Especially yours.”

“Aww, you got me a card?” Stephen smiled and started to open the envelope. “You didn’t have to do that. But I’m flattered you did.”

Marissa smiled and took another sip as Stephen unfolded the birthday card and looked it over.

On the outside, a cartoon drawing of a guy in his late teens or early 20s, with a blank face and his hands behind his back. “‘Time marches on, you grow up-- hair turns gray, eyes go brown.’” On the inside, a similar drawing of the exact same guy... only smiling around the thumb he’s sucking, with a stuffed dog clutched in the crook of his free arm. “‘Youth’s not gone, boy and pup-- it’s HAPPY birthday, so grow down!’”

Stephen looked up at his brightly-smiling friend in awe. “You... made this,” he gulped out.

Marissa nodded. “You like it?”

“I love it, kiddo.” He leaned over and gave Marissa a tight, warm hug. “Thank you.”

“Happy 22nd, Stephen. Now get your hands off my back and grow down already!”

Grinning, Stephen slouched back into his corner of the couch, Marissa nodding all the while. He shrugged, draped his finger over his nose, and nursed from his thumb, bathing it in warmth and wetness.

“Awww!” she cooed. “That’s my permanent little boy.”

Stephen felt a shiver up his spine. The card, her words, his thumb... everything just felt so right to him. Maybe constantly getting older, even as the fictional heroes of his favorite AR stories got to get younger, wouldn’t be so bad with people like Marissa in his life.

The shiver in his spine started radiating to his penis, and Stephen’s eyes snapped open. He had to get out of this situation right away, or he was going to pitch a tent in his pants right in front of her.

“Um... Maritha?” he slurred around his thumb. “May I be excuthed for a minute?”

Normally he wouldn’t have asked... he’d just go. But nothing made him feel littler than openly sucking his thumb in front of Marissa. And by request, at that.

“You may, little one,” she smiled. “But keep that thumb in your mouth!”

Stephen did. He got up off the couch -- in the nick of time to hide his developing erection -- and started up the stairs to his bedroom. He could hear Marissa giggle in satisfaction as she watched him, his thumb never leaving his mouth as he sought his destination. It was the very tableau of a single-minded little boy. Stephen had to make the last few steps to his bedroom in a kind of waddle, his fully-engorged cock pressing painfully against the fly of his jeans.

He moaned around his thumb as he shut the door behind him. He went for the lock, but, remembering its questionable efficacy, settled for wedging a rubber doorstop in the crack of the door.

Stephen knew he had to move quickly. He unbuttoned his jeans and unzipped his fly as he waddled his way towards his computer desk, grabbing a sock along the way from the pile of folded clothes he’d placed on top of his dresser. Stephen pushed his pants to his knees, sat down, dropped the sock onto the desk, and tapped away at his computer until it hummed to life. He didn’t even bother dicking around -- so to speak -- with the Internet; rather, he clicked his way into a folder of pictures he kept on his hard drive, placing a handful of them into a slow-moving slideshow mode.

The eager young man adjusted the fly of his boxers, already damp with pre-cum, until his throbbing dick popped out. Stephen leaned back in his chair and wrapped the palm of his hand around the base of his cock. His enlarged, twice-unsatisfied balls swelled up against his thighs. Gazing at the screen, Stephen again began the motion he had delayed for too long. His fist slid up the length of his slick shaft, squeezing a line of clear liquid out of its head.

The first picture depicted a girl, aged 18 or 19 but made up to look four years younger, kneeling upon a carpeted floor. She was smiling, chewing her bottom lip with her top teeth, holding one wrist behind her back with her other hand. The pose allowed full view of her outfit: a pink, frilly dress, translucent enough to reveal her two perfect breasts and an abnormally thick white diaper, expertly taped around her waist, its legbands tucked into her womanly thighs. Stephen was enraptured. He took the pre-cum from the head of his cock and proceeded to beat off with it, the slickness of the warm fluid helping the boy to pump all seven inches of his meat through his tight fist.

The young lady in the next picture was lying on her back, her legs sticking up into the air and bent downward, like a little girl playfully rolling around on the floor and kicking her legs. She had long, dark blonde hair, and her left hand was resting beneath her head; her right hand’s thumb was in her mouth, elbow sticking outward, her cheeks bent inward as if in a suck-in-progress. She was wearing a shrunken blue-and-gold football jersey, so her tits were out of view... but the sight of her diaper made up for it. Double-thick and wildly babyish, its waistband was clearly visible, but the legs she had up in the air obscured most of the whiteness. No problem. Stephen could see perfectly the crotch of the diaper wrap around between her legs and raise her ass an inch above the ground. A small, linear spot, tinting the whiteness darkly, had appeared along her vagina. She had just begun to wet.

Stephen slid his hand up and down his dick again, rubbing his thumb along the sizzling pinkness of its growing head. He kept on sucking his thumb as the slideshow continued. The third girl was feigning crying, but Stephen liked to pretend it was genuine. After all, there was no evidence to the contrary. She was standing in a locker room, surrounded by fully-clothed cheerleaders. Her legs were spread into a /\ and she kept her hands behind her back. Completely nude except for a diaper accented with a pink Care Bears waistband, her tits were perfectly round and each had a stiff nipple pointing straight to the camera. Her shoulder-length black hair fell on either side of a face that was completely screwed up into a baby’s wail. Tears streaked mascara down her cheeks and a line of drool had started to work its way from her open-mouthed frown down her chin. It was exactly how a toothless toddler, inconsolably upset, would have looked. And it was easy for Stephen to see why she was so upset-- all the clothed cheerleaders, her contemporaries, were caught in throes of uncontrollable laughter. Some were pointing at her with their arms outstretched. Others were hunched over, their palms on their knees, trying to catch their breaths. Not improving matters for the otherwise-naked cheerleader was the fact that her diaper was completely saturated with her urine. There was barely a white spot visible on its front or the area dangling between her thighs. And dangling it was; it was sagging practically halfway to her knees, pulling the front of her diaper down so far that a small amount of pubic whiskers were visible. She was keeping the diaper up by spreading her legs. The cheerleaders had ordered her not to touch it. If she lost control and peed for just three more seconds, the diaper would be past its breaking point, and its already-straining tapes would snap apart... two of the four already had. The over-abused diaper would fall from the cheerleader’s frame and slop to the floor with a wet smack, and she would keep on peeing, perfectly nude and in full view of her once-friends. Perhaps one of them would be kind enough to change her.

Stephen moaned, then popped his soaked digit out of his mouth and pushed his thumbprint to his nose. He inhaled deeply. Years of doing this while masturbating had led him to associate that smell, the scent of his wet thumb, not just with babyhood but also with naughtiness and orgasm. When he had his fill of that, Stephen slid his hand between his thighs and cupped his golfball-sized nuts in his hand. They were boiling with need. And with every stroke, with every fondle, Stephen was one step closer to sending three sessions’ worth of hot cream up his cock and exploding out of its tip.

So close... so close. I’m such a naughty little boy...

Another picture. Two girls: one blonde, one brunette. The latter was sitting, wholly nude and facing the camera, on the central cushion of a couch. The blonde was lying across her lap and was naked except for a diaper. Though seeing it from the side -- the diapered girl had her legs arched, knees in the air, bare feet on the rightmost cushion -- Stephen could tell the diaper had seen some use. The inner inch of its cross-section, the inch closest to her pussy, was solid yellow. And this diaper wasn’t rounded. It didn’t join the girl’s front to her ass with a perfect semicircle. No-- it was curved along her front, curved along her pussy, but squared between her thighs and her perfect little butt, its crinkly material being pushed outward by a sticky load she had allowed to leave her tummy, quite possibly wish a helpful push or two. Not possibly, Stephen thought. Likely. Push, squeeze. Feel the mush spread your cheeks apart and tighten your diaper against your cunt. Push, squeeze. Moan weakly with relief, then listen to your diaper crinkle and groan with the new stress. Feel the hot wetness of your piss stream into the other side of your it. Push, and push, and push, until you’ve emptied every last ounce of your dignity into the seat of your diaper. Pinch it off, the contracting of your muscle spraying a sudden, direct squirt of steaming pee into your diaper. And let go again. Feel it rush out of you and puff your diaper out with wetness. Drain yourself completely. Then fill yourself again--

--the girl with the messy diaper was being supported at the shoulders by the brunette’s arm. Baby’s eyes were closed. Her pert, pink lips sucked needfully from Mommy’s nipple. Jets of warm, smooth milk shot into her mouth; when it was full, liquid streaked out the corners of her lips, coating the sides of her face in crooked white canals. Both of the blonde’s hands were squeezing either side of the brunette’s perfect tit, as if trying to wring free every last drop of nourishment, even though it was coming faster than she could swallow. She needed more. More. More of Mommy’s tit. And, when she was done, she would be burped, then changed into another diaper for her to fill. Maybe Stephen could watch Mommy do the changing. Maybe Stephen could do the changing. Maybe Stephen could do the changing while shooting his load onto Baby’s own perfect, quaking tits...

Stephen came. He gasped shallowly, he spread his legs, and every muscle in his body tensed into stone. He massaged his balls with his left hand and kept pounding his slick cock with his right. It quaked. Then it shot. A huge jet, just a massive jet, two feet long, leaping out the tip of the boy’s cock and into the air, arcing downward and splattering audibly on the wooden desk behind his laptop.

I’m so naughty!

Stephen unclenched his muscles and he shot again. Another solid jet of hot, stinking cream, turning to horizontally-curling ribbons in the air before coming down on his monitor, front and back. He squeezed his balls. He squealed like a child. He kicked his feet helplessly in electrified jerking motions. More cum. A smooth line, warming the head of his cock as it blew out of it, colliding with various keys on the laptop’s keyboard. Stephen let go of his balls and grabbed his nipple through his button-down shirt. He bit his lip and kicked his legs again.

I’M SO NAUGHTY!!

A fourth shot, this one half as long but twice as pleasurable, streaking a straight line connecting the center of the laptop’s edge with the front side of the desk. He unbuttoned one button and pinched his other nipple directly with his fingertips with all his might. Another spasm, another shot-- so strong, so mind-blowing, that Stephen felt as if he were shooting his very manhood out of his aching balls.

“Ba-by Ste-bee SOOO NOTTY!!” he cried. His cock jerked again, spitting a short line of warm spunk down his fingers. Quivering, it drooled more cum on top of that. It never seemed to end. It just never seemed to end.

Eventually, it did. And, when it did, Stephen realized he hadn’t felt as exhausted -- or as wonderful -- in his entire life. He couldn’t open his eyes. He let go of his hardened nipple and let his hand slip out of his shirt and fall uselessly to his side. He held his hand weakly around his gradually deflating dick, sighing emptily as the warm semen on his hand started to cool.

It had been worth the wait.

....

 

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