Drake sniffled as he gradually regained his composure, his mind whirling. It was now clear to him what had happened. He had wished to be normal, intending to return to his 18 year old body – but instead, Beldazarr had made him being a two-year old the new normal. His mother, and presumably everyone else, remembered him only as a toddler. In this warped reality, he was only a toddler. But no matter. He’d be damned if he was going to stay in this emasculating, helpless little body any longer. He moved towards the place where he’d seen the lamp fall… it was time to put an end to this nightmare.
“Eh-eh,” his mother chided, reaching out and grabbing him by one chubby arm. “And just where do you think you’re going?” She asked, slapping him lightly on the tush as if to warn him not to misbehave – or else another spanking would soon be at hand. “This way, young man,” she said as she half-dragged him from the room and his salvation. Drake looked back forlornly as he tottered after his mother, his little boyhood bobbing embarrassingly.
His mother led him into her bedroom and hoisted him onto her bed, lying him down flat. What now? Drake wondered despondently. His mom disappeared for a moment. Drake struggled to sit up, but his pudgy belly and clumsy little limbs made the process slow-going – he was only able to prop himself up by his bony elbows by the time his mother had returned. She was carrying a swath of white cloth. Oh no, Drake thought, unwilling to bear this new horror. “Maaaaa, nooooo!” He howled. “Don’ need a diaper!”
His mother merely raised an eyebrow in return. “Of course you do,” she responded, matter-of-factly, producing a bottle of baby powder seemingly from nowhere, and pushing him gently until he was again flat on his back. The teenager trapped in the infant’s body could feel the tears returning, unbidden, for the second time within minutes, as he redoubled his raucous sobbing.
“No!!” Drake squealed in between tears, kicking his tiny legs. “Pwease don’ diaper me!”
His mother ignored him, and instead knelt down to her son’s infantile form and lifted his little legs into the air. Drake burst into tears and pounded his pint-sized fists on the bedding in frustration, powerless to stop what was happening. His mother unfolded the disposable diaper and slid it under the toddler’s tiny bottom. Drake practically drowned in sexual humiliation as his mother rubbed powder over his private parts, his insignificant, laughable penis, into the creases between his pudgy legs, and along his baby-soft butt. Only by sucking his thumb could the teenaged infant allay the even more humiliating piercing of his babyish wail. Drake’s mother pulled the diaper up between her son’s weak, kicking legs and held it to his tummy, now soft with baby fat, then taped each side securely before tucking in the legbands. At last, 18-year-old Drake was as snugly diapered as any adorable little bundle of joy.
“Wah-- Waaaaahhhhh!!” Drake cried, thrashing around in a most infantile tantrum. The embarrassment was unbearable; the weakness of muscular strength horrifying. His mother placed him on his feet, where Drake stood, intermittently bawling and sucking at his thumb in an attempt to soothe his distraught mind. There was no use posturing, no way to hide from the truth – he was no longer a teen. Far from it. Now… now he was a two-year old, diapered tight from his plump belly to his scrawny thighs. To the casual observer, he was, and always had been, a little boy.. a toddler. Beldazarr had completely redefined his life – a life where he was now trapped inside the billowy confines of a diaper. Drake sniffled and picked at the bleach-white, imprisoning cloth, lamenting the loss of his maturity.