My First Story Road to Regresion (Prostrate Problems)

[naughty baby hubby]

The clock on the nightstand mocked Roy with its glowing red digits: 7:00 PM.  An absurdly early bedtime, even for a toddler, which was precisely the point Avril seemed determined to make.

"But the soaps don't even start for another hour!" Roy protested, the indignity of the situation fueling a spark of defiance.

Avril crossed her arms, her usual bluster tinged with a hint of unease.  "You never like them anyway, Roy. Always complain about the melodramatic plots and predictable storylines."  There was a truth to that, but it felt weaponized now.  "Besides," she continued, her voice softening a fraction, "an early night might help you get used to... the new routine."

She tossed the diaper pack at him, the plastic crinkling with a disdainful sound.  "Go on, use the loo. Put them on properly this time.  I'll check."

Roy caught the package, his jaw clenched.  He shuffled to the bathroom, the indignity a bitter pill to swallow.  He completed the task with a practiced efficiency, the frustration boiling within him.

Avril stood by the door, her arms crossed, a critical eye inspecting his work.  She poked and prodded with a coldness that sent shivers down his spine.  Satisfied, she gave a curt nod.  "Alright, back to bed."

Resigned, Roy climbed back under the covers, the scratchy fabric of the diaper a constant reminder of his new reality.  He watched Avril switch off the light, her silhouette lingering in the doorway for a moment too long.

By 10:30 PM, the house was shrouded in an oppressive silence.  The only sound was the relentless drone of the late-night news filtering from the living room.  Roy, wide awake and fuming, snuck a peek at Avril.  She was fast asleep, a peaceful sigh escaping her lips.

This was his chance.  He tiptoed out of bed, his bladder threatening to burst.  But as he reached for the bathroom door, the knob wouldn't budge.  Panic flared in his chest.  He rattled the handle, a silent scream trapped in his throat.

A creak on the stairs.  Avril.

She appeared in the doorway, her face a mask of fury.  She grabbed his arm, surprisingly strong for a woman her size, and dragged him back to bed.

A single, stinging slap landed on his thigh.  A punishment, a humiliation.  "Stay in bed, Roy," she growled.  "I told you no more bathroom breaks."

Tears welled up in Roy's eyes, a mix of anger and despair.  He whimpered, his voice choked with emotion.  Avril hesitated, a flicker of something akin to regret crossing her face.  But before she could speak, a dampness spread through the diaper, a silent testament to his defiance and her cruelty.

The room fell silent once more, heavy with unspoken emotions.  Roy lay there, his body a prisoner, his spirit broken.  He didn't know how he would endure this new normal, but one thing was clear: this wasn't the solution.  He had to find his voice, to fight for his dignity, even if it meant fighting Avril

[naughty baby hubby]

oy lay in a crumpled heap, the scratchy diaper a constant reminder of his defiance and its consequences. Shame burned in his gut, hotter than the dampness spreading through the layers. Sleep was a distant prospect. Every creak of the floorboards, every rustle from Avril's side of the bed, sent a jolt of fear through him.

The night stretched on in an agonizing loop. Each time the pressure in his bladder became unbearable, he'd inch towards the edge of the bed, only to remember the locked door, the echo of Avril's harsh voice. He'd clench his jaw, willing the feeling away, but his body had other plans. The diaper, initially a symbol of rebellion, became his reluctant prison. Each successive leak felt like a surrender, a tear in the already frayed fabric of his dignity.

By morning, a cold dread settled in Roy's stomach. He knew the inspection was coming, a ritual as humiliating as it was necessary. As the first rays of sunlight peeked through the curtains, Avril stirred. Her movements were deliberate, each rustle a harbinger of the coming indignity.

"Alright, sleepyhead," she announced, her voice laced with a sharp edge that sliced through the morning quiet. "Time to see if you held your water like a big boy."

Roy remained silent, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. Shame coiled around him, a suffocating presence that threatened to steal his voice. He deserved her scorn, he knew, for disobeying her rule. But the constant belittlement, the reduction of him to a child being scolded for wetting his pants, was a bitter pill to swallow.

Avril pulled off the diaper with a practiced efficiency, the plastic crinkling loudly. Her nose wrinkled in disgust. "Well, you certainly didn't win any gold stars," she said, her voice dripping with disdain.

Despite himself, Roy flinched. He knew he deserved it, but the constant belittlement stung.

"Alright," she continued, her tone clipped. "Bathroom. Now. And this time, try to do a proper job. I'm sick and tired of finding skid marks in your underwear."

Roy shuffled to the bathroom, the sting of her words echoing in his ears. He did his business, a small victory in the face of his larger humiliation. Returning to the bedroom, he stood awkwardly, naked and exposed, the vulnerability a stark contrast to Avril's commanding presence.

"Let's see," Avril commanded, gesturing for him to turn around.

This wasn't just about the diapers anymore. It was about his dignity, his voice, his right to be treated with respect even in this vulnerable state. A surge of rebellion battled with the ingrained respect he held for his wife. But somewhere, a spark of defiance ignited.

"Avril," he started, his voice hoarse but firm. "Don't."

"Don't argue," she snapped. "This is about hygiene, not your bruised ego."

Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision. This wasn't the woman he knew, the woman who, despite her gruff exterior, had always been his partner. He felt like a small child, being scolded for a childish mistake. But this wasn't a mistake; it was a consequence of her harsh control.Roy squeezed his eyes shut, his voice catching in his throat. This wasn't about hygiene anymore, and they both knew it. It was about power, and Avril wielding it like a weapon. His defiance, however shaky, had shifted the dynamic, and Avril, used to being in control, was lashing out.

He took a deep breath, the vulnerability a raw ache in his chest. "Avril," he began again, his voice steadier this time. "We need to talk about this… about everything."

Avril's face hardened, but a flicker of uncertainty danced in her eyes. She opened her mouth to retort, then closed it again. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken emotions.

Suddenly, a noise broke the tension. A wet, squelching sound. Roy's cheeks burned with shame as he realized the indignity wasn't over. He hadn't cleaned himself properly in his haste to return to bed.

Avril's face contorted in disgust. "Honestly, Roy!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with a mix of anger and something akin to disappointment. The disappointment stung more than the anger. This wasn't the Avril who used to take care of him, even in his most vulnerable moments.

Before Roy could stammer an apology, Avril grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom, her movements brisk and efficient. "Here," she said, shoving it into his hand. "Clean yourself up properly. This is getting ridiculous."

Roy took the damp cloth, his hands shaking. He couldn't believe he was being treated like a child, but the alternative, another humiliating inspection, was unthinkable. Just as he finished cleaning, a stinging slap landed on his backside. The pain was sharp, but the emotional blow was worse.

Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision. "Avril," he choked out, his voice thick with hurt and anger. "That wasn't necessary."

Avril crossed her arms, her face unreadable. "Maybe not," she conceded grudgingly. "But maybe it is. You seem to have forgotten how to take care of yourself, Roy. Maybe you need a reminder." Shame burned in Roy's cheeks like a branding iron.  He stood awkwardly before Avril, the discarded adult diaper a testament to his failure.  The smell, faint but undeniable, filled the air, a constant reminder of his humiliation.

"Don't even think about putting those boxer shorts on," Avril said, her voice clipped but laced with a concern that surprised him.  She gestured towards a pile of clothes on the chair.  "Put these on instead."

Roy peered at the offering.  It was a pair of floral print, worn-out granny panties.  A wave of nausea hit him, a combination of disgust and a strange vulnerability.

"Avril, I…" he stammered, his voice thick with embarrassment.

"No arguments," she cut him off, her tone leaving no room for debate.  "These are the only things that won't get ruined until you learn how to clean yourself up properly."

There was a raw edge to her voice, a fear that peeked through the anger.  Roy realized this wasn't just about the mess; it was about something deeper, something that scared her.

He took the panties, the soft fabric a stark contrast to the scratchy diaper.  Slipping them on felt like another layer of humiliation, a symbol of his dependence.  But as he did, a strange sense of resolve settled over him.
The indignity burned in Roy's cheeks like a branding iron. Standing before Avril in nothing but the floral granny panties felt like a public shaming. The thin fabric offered no privacy, no security, and the constant reminder of his situation was gnawing at him.

"All day?" he croaked, his voice thick with disbelief. "But what about…"

"Don't worry," Avril cut him off, a smirk playing on her lips.  This wasn't just about his incontinence anymore; it felt like a power play, a way to humiliate him further.

The rest of the day stretched on in a tense silence. Roy felt like an exhibit on display, every movement self-conscious, every noise amplified. He longed for the privacy of his own clothes, the feeling of normalcy, however fleeting it might be.

The sound of the doorbell announcing Avril's return ripped him from his reverie.  He braced himself for her inspection, for the inevitable scorn.

But as she entered, a brown paper bag clutched in her hand, a different kind of humiliation awaited him.  She pulled out the contents with a flourish, revealing a McDonald's Happy Meal. A childish grin stretched across her face.

"Dinner time, little boy," she cooed, the saccharine tone dripping with sarcasm.  "Did you miss your chicken nuggets?"

Shame burned hotter than ever.  He wasn't a child, and this wasn't a game.  The urge to lash out, to scream at her cruelty, warred with the fear of further punishment.

"Just put your diaper on and sit on the rug," she commanded, gesturing towards the living room floor.

Tears welled up in Roy's eyes, blurring his vision.  He shuffled to the bathroom, the childish meal a stark contrast to the adult diaper he was forced to wear.  He completed the task with a mechanical efficiency, the indignity a weight on his chest.

Returning to the living room, he sat on the rug, the scratchy fabric a poor substitute for the comfort of the sofa.  Across from him, Avril devoured her Big Mac, her every bite a cruel reminder of his childish meal.

[naughty baby hubby]

Weeks bled into one another, each sunrise revealing the same grim routine. The childish meal, the forced diaper change, the banishment to bed – a constant reminder of his dependency and Avril's dominance. The indignity gnawed at him, festering into a silent rebellion.

One morning, Avril stormed into the bedroom, her usual controlled demeanor replaced by frustration. "These disposable diapers are costing a fortune, Roy!" she exclaimed, tossing a receipt on the bed.

Roy flinched, the sound of money a fresh source of anxiety. He understood her frustration, but the way she phrased it felt like another jab.

"So?" he mumbled, trying to sound indifferent.

"So, we're finding a cheaper option," she said, her voice clipped. "Reusable terry cloth nappies and plastic pants. Consider it an investment in your… condition."

Humiliation washed over him in waves. Terry cloth nappies – the kind used for infants. The image of himself in those bulky contraptions sent a shiver down his spine.

The change was immediate. Each night, a ritual of forced vulnerability unfolded. Stripped bare, he'd stand awkwardly as Avril inspected him, a cruel amusement dancing in her eyes. She'd make a snide comment about his "little man" if he was aroused, another layer of shame heaped upon the indignity.

Then came the struggle with the terry cloth monstrosity. Unlike the pull-ups, this required her assistance. He'd hold his breath, hating the way his body felt so exposed, so utterly dependent on her. The plastic pants that followed only compounded the humiliation, the crinkling sound a constant reminder of his infantile state.

The mornings were no better. Waking up in the damp, clammy terry cloth, the need for a change was undeniable. Yet, the shame of requesting help kept him silent for as long as he could bear it. Finally, the discomfort would force his hand.

"Avril," he'd call out, his voice thick with shame. "Can you… can you help me?"

She'd appear in the doorway, a smirk playing on her lips. "About time, little one," she'd say, her voice dripping with forced sweetness.

The changing process would be slow, deliberate, her eyes lingering on him a second too long. Each touch felt invasive, a violation of his privacy. He'd clench his jaw, willing himself invisible, his resentment building with every forced smile.

One morning, as she finished cleaning him with a condescending sigh, Roy snapped. "That's enough, Avril! This isn't funny anymore!"

Avril looked at him, surprise flickering in her eyes. Perhaps she hadn't anticipated his outburst. "Funny? Roy, this is serious," she said, her voice losing its edge.

"Serious? You treat me like a child!" he retorted, his voice gaining strength with every word. "These stupid nappies, the inspections… it's degrading!"

[Princess PowderPuff]

This story has really caught my attention, I'm looking forward to see where it goes from here.

Keep up the good work.

[naughty baby hubby]

Roy had settled, albeit reluctantly, into his new reality. Avril, surprisingly adept at the nightly ritual of terry cloth and plastic, became a constant reminder of his dependence. He, in turn, had resigned himself to the nightly wetting, finding a sliver of solace in the fact that the diapers were only required during sleep.

His prostate, however, remained a constant source of worry. It demanded a delicate balance – too much fluid, and disaster struck; too little, and sleep became a battle against discomfort. This precarious equilibrium reached a critical point during a trip to Tesco's.

Wandering the aisles, Roy felt a familiar pressure building in his bladder. He tried to ignore it, focusing on Avril's excited chatter about a sale on their favorite brand of tea. But the pressure grew, turning into a dull ache. He nudged Avril, his voice a strained whisper.

"Avril, love, I need the loo urgently."

A frown creased her forehead. "Can't you hold it a bit longer? We're almost done here."

Panic clawed at Roy's throat. He couldn't hold it any longer. His bladder felt like it was about to burst.

"No, Avril, please," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "I can't."

Seeing the urgency in his eyes, Avril finally relented. "Alright, alright," she sighed, steering him towards the restroom signs.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans. The toilets, illuminated by an ominous 'Out of Order' sign, mocked them. Roy felt a wave of despair wash over him. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a desperate attempt to contain the inevitable.

The shopping list crumpled in his hand as he reached the checkout line, his bladder a ticking time bomb. He stole a glance at Avril, her face etched with worry, but also a hint of annoyance. He understood. This wasn't ideal.

Then, it happened. A warm dampness spread across his backside, a sickening confirmation of his worst fear. Shame burned hotter than the spreading wetness. He froze, a statue of mortification amidst the hum of the checkout.

The cashier, a kind-faced woman with a nametag reading 'Margaret,' seemed to take an eternity to scan their groceries. With each beep, Roy felt like shrinking into the floor.

Finally, the receipt printed. Margaret, with a practiced smile, chimed, "There you go, love. Looks like someone had a little accident!"

Her amusement, though seemingly innocent, was the final blow. Tears welled up in Roy's eyes, blurring his vision. He mumbled an apology, his voice choked with shame.

Avril, her face contorted in anger, grabbed him by the arm. "Come on, Roy!" she hissed, practically dragging him out of the store.

Outside, in the cool evening air, Avril turned on him, her voice laced with ice. "Honestly, Roy! How could you be so… careless?"

Tears streamed down Roy's face. It wasn't carelessness, it was a malfunctioning body betraying him at the worst possible moment. The humiliation, the public exposure, it felt like a punishment far exceeding the crime.

But amidst the anger and shame, a spark of defiance flickered within Roy. He wouldn't let this break him. He wouldn't let Avril control him through his fear and insecurity.

He took a deep breath, wiping his tears with a shaky hand. "Avril," he said, his voice surprisingly steady. "This isn't my fault.  We need to talk about this… about a solution.  There has to be something we can do."

Avril's lips were pressed into a thin line, her anger battling with a flicker of concern in her eyes. The Tesco's debacle had been a wake-up call for them both.The humiliation piled on Roy like a suffocating blanket. Avril, her anger simmering, marched him out to the car park, the distance a cruel extension of his punishment.  He stumbled out, the dampness in his pants clinging to him like a shameful secret.

As Avril, opened the rear car door to give Roy some privacy and with a cold efficiency, pulled down his trousers and the wet pants, a spark of rebellion flared within him. This wasn't just about the accident; it was about the complete lack of respect for his dignity.  But trapped in his vulnerable state, all he could do was clench his jaw, shame burning in his cheeks.

She placed a Tesco carrier on the rear seat of the car and sat Roy now naked from the waist down on it.The indignity of the Tesco's carrier bag, a flimsy barrier between his bare skin and the plastic seat, was almost unbearable.  He felt like an exposed child, left to stew in his own misery.  The slam of the car door echoed in the empty car park, a punctuation mark on his humiliation.

Time stretched on, each minute an eternity.  Then, a car pulled up next door, two elderly women stepping out.  Roy froze, his heart pounding against his ribs.  He couldn't risk a glance, the fear of their gaze scorching him too much to bear.

Suddenly, Avril reappeared, her face a mask of forced cheer.  He braced himself for another verbal lashing, but instead, she turned to the women, a sickeningly sweet smile plastered on her face.

"Oh, hello ladies!" she chirped, her voice dripping with forced cheer. "Just dealing with a little accident. My big, silly husband here wet his pants!"

Roy wanted to crawl under the car seat, to disappear into the asphalt.  The casual cruelty of her words, the way she infantilized him in front of strangers, was the final blow.  He could have died of embarrassment, a slow, agonizing death by public humiliation.

The women, thankfully, seemed more bemused than judgmental.  They exchanged awkward smiles with Avril, then hurried into the store, leaving Roy in his personal hell.

Finally, Avril drove off , her smile gone, replaced by a steely glint in her eyes.  This wasn't victory, just another skirmish in their escalating war.

"Alright, Mr. Big Stuff," she said, her voice cold. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Roy remained silent, his body stiff with defiance.  He wouldn't play her games anymore.  He wouldn't be her little boy to humiliate and control.  He would fight for his dignity, even if it meant a battle.

[naughty baby hubby]

The car screeched to a halt in their driveway, the gravel crunching under their tires a harsh counterpoint to the suffocating silence between them.  As Avril flung open the car door, the familiar scent of their home offered no comfort.

"Get out," she hissed, her voice taut with barely controlled fury.

Roy, numb with shame, stumbled out, the damp Tesco's bag clinging to him like a second skin.  He longed for the anonymity of the car park, for the indifference of strangers compared to Avril's cold, calculating anger.

Inside the house, Avril grabbed him roughly by the arm, dragging him towards the stairs.  His bare legs scraped against the carpet, each step a fresh scrape on his already raw dignity.

"Straight to the bathroom," she commanded, shoving him towards the shower.  "Clean yourself up. We'll deal with this… mess… later."

The water, usually a source of comfort, felt like needles pricking his exposed skin.  He scrubbed himself clean, the memory of the car park, the pitying stares of the women, burning into his mind.

Emerging from the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist like a flimsy shield, he found Avril waiting by his bedroom door.  Not their bedroom, but the small, unused spare room at the end of the hall.

"In there," she ordered, pointing towards the spare bedroom that was use when Avrils grandchildren stayed.

He entered the room, a child's room, the remnants of a forgotten childhood taunting him with its innocence.  The single bed, adorned with a cartoon spaceship duvet, felt absurdly small for his adult frame.

Avril followed him in, her eyes scanning him with a dispassionate coldness.  She picked up his wet pants and trousers, tossing them disdainfully into the bin. you will not be needing them again she said coldly

"Alright, Roy," she began, her voice devoid of warmth, "let's see the damage."

He recoiled, his hands instinctively flying to cover himself.  The shame was a physical weight, pressing down on him.

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "This isn't a game.  Let me see if you've learned anything from this little… escapade."

Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision.  He felt like a small child being inspected, judged for his failures.  With a trembling hand, he pulled down the towel, revealing the vulnerability that felt like his greatest weakness.

Avril's lips pursed with disapproval, but there was a hint of something else – a flicker of something that might have been satisfaction, or maybe even control.

The rest unfolded in a humiliating blur.  A stern lecture, a forced change into a terry nappy and plastic pants, the indignity of being tucked into the small bed like a disobedient child at 5.30 in the evening.

As he lay there, the scratchy fabric of the sheets a constant reminder of his helplessness, Roy knew this wasn't over.  The car park might have been the stage for his public humiliation, but this, this was the true battleground for his dignity

The enforced slumber felt less like rest and more like a cruel form of solitary confinement. The indignity of the terry cloth nappy chafed against his skin, a constant reminder of his helplessness. Sleep, when it finally came, was fitful, haunted by dreams of public humiliation and Avril's cold, calculating gaze.

At the first sliver of dawn filtering through the blinds, Roy woke with a start.  His bladder, already strained from the day's ordeal, sent a sharp pang of urgency.  He winced, remembering the locked door.  Avril's twisted game was clear – another layer of humiliation, another reminder of his dependence.

The hours ticked by in agonizing slowness. The urge to use the bathroom became a dull ache, then a throbbing throb. Shame turned to a cold, steely anger. He wouldn't let her break him. He gritted his teeth, focusing on the sound of his own breathing, on anything to distract from the growing discomfort but to no avial. First a trickle then full flow his nappy filled.

Finally, a sound – the unmistakable click of the lock turning.  The door creaked open, revealing Avril, a smug smile plastered on her face.

"Well, well, well," she drawled, her voice dripping with mock concern.  "Look who decided to grow up again."

Roy swallowed the retort that burned on his tongue.  He wouldn't give her the satisfaction.  He simply stared at her, his jaw clenched tight.

"Seems like you had another little accident," she continued, her eyes gleaming with malicious amusement.  "Let's get you cleaned up, shall we?"

She approached him, her movements slow and deliberate.  He braced himself, the vulnerability a raw ache in his core.

"Hold still," she commanded, her voice cold.

With a practiced efficiency, she removed the sodden nappy, the stench hitting him like a physical blow.  Shame flooded his cheeks, but this time, it was laced with a simmering defiance.

"Shower, now," she barked, pointing towards the bathroom.

He complied, the hot water a welcome relief against the stinging dampness.  As he washed, a plan, fragile but potent, began to form in his mind.

Emerging from the shower, Avril called him to the master bedroom he found a fresh set of clothes laid out on the bed.  Relief washed over him, but it was short-lived.  Reaching for his underwear drawer, he found it empty.

"Avril, where are my underpants?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

"Underwear?" she echoed, a sly smile playing on her lips.  "Oh, those.  I thought a little… change might be in order.  Something more… appropriate for your little… regression."

She sashayed towards the wardrobe and pulled out a pair of brightly colored Spider-Man pants.

"There you go," she chirped, her voice dripping with false sweetness.  "These should do the trick, wouldn't you say?"

Roy stared at the childish underwear, a wave of nausea washing over him.  This wasn't just humiliation anymore; it was a blatant attack on his masculinity, a cruel attempt to reduce him to a helpless child.

"Absolutely not," he growled, his voice laced with a newfound steel.  "I will not wear those."

Avril's smile faltered for a second, surprised by his defiance.  Then, a dangerous glint entered her eyes.  She marched towards his drawers, yanked them open, and grabbed all of his adult boxers.  With a pair of scissors she kept on the bedside table, she began to snip them into shreds before his very eyes.

"These are the only options, Roy," she hissed, her voice tight with controlled fury.  "Those childish underpants or nothing.  The choice is yours."

Roy stared at her, his mind racing.  He wouldn't give in to her rage.  He wouldn't be a puppet anymore.  Taking a deep breath, he met her gaze, his voice steady.

"Fine," he said, his voice surprisingly calm.  "I'll wear the stupid underwear. The Spider-Man pants felt ridiculous enough, clinging to his skin like a second childhood.  But the sight of his empty wardrobe sent a jolt of fresh humiliation through him.  He stared at Avril, his jaw clenched tight.

"Where are my trousers?" he demanded, his voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in his hands.

Avril's smile widened, malicious and triumphant. "Oh, those?  Seems you needed a fashion upgrade as well.  Something a little… more playful."

On the bed lay a pair of pale blue dungarees, the kind usually worn by toddlers.  They looked absurdly small, the pastel color adding a final touch of childishness.

"No," Roy choked out, the word a desperate plea.

"Absolutely," Avril countered, her voice hard as steel.  "These or nothing, Roy.  Your choice."

He knew it was a trap, another layer of humiliation designed to break him.  The image of himself in those ridiculous overalls was almost unbearable.  He could already picture the smirks and whispers if he ever dared step outside like that.

Shame battled with a simmering anger.  He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing him completely broken.  He took a deep breath, trying to project a semblance of defiance.

"Fine," he spat out, the word laced with bitterness.  "But this is a joke, Avril.  A sick joke."

A flicker of surprise crossed her face, replaced quickly by a smug smile.  She grabbed the dungarees and approached him.

"Let's get you dressed, little boy," she purred, her voice dripping with mock sweetness.

There was nothing he could do.  He stood stiffly as she maneuvered him into the overalls, the childish fabric brushing against his skin.  She fussed with the straps, her touch lingering unnecessarily long on his bare shoulders.

The indignity of it all was almost suffocating.  He felt like a small child being dressed by his mother, stripped of any semblance of control or dignity.  Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision.

As she clipped the last buckle, Avril stepped back, a satisfied glint in her eyes.  "There we go," she cooed.  "Doesn't that look adorable?"Avril took Roy in to the consevatory she returned with a tray, the aroma of sizzling bacon and sausage filling the room.  Roy's stomach growled, a traitor in his time of need.  But on the tray, instead of a plate, sat a bright yellow bowl filled with Cheerios and a plastic sippy cup overflowing with milk.

"Breakfast," Avril announced, her voice laced with a sickening sweetness.

Roy stared at the childish meal, a wave of nausea washing over him.   "I… I can't eat that," he stammered, his voice barely a whisper.

"Oh, come on now, Roy," Avril cooed, her voice dripping with mock concern.  "You wouldn't want to upset your tummy, would you?  Those sausages might be a bit too spicy for a little boy like you."

Her words were a cruel twist of the knife.  He wasn't a little boy.  He was a grown man, a prisoner in his own home, forced to wear childish clothes and drink from a sippy cup.

He opened his mouth to protest, but the words died in his throat.  He knew what awaited him.

As if on cue, Avril's hand shot out, a sharp slap stinging his cheek.  He recoiled, his face burning with shame and a fresh wave of anger.

"Don't make me repeat myself, Roy," she hissed, her voice low and dangerous.  "Eat your breakfast, or there will be consequences."

Tears pricked at his eyes, blurring his vision.  He was trapped.  He could fight back, endure the pain, and potentially face worse punishment.  Or, he could play along, swallow his pride, and bide his time.

With a trembling hand, he reached for the sippy cup, the plastic feeling alien against his lips.  He took a small sip, the cloying sweetness of the milk a stark contrast to the bitterness blooming in his heart.

"Good boy," Avril chirped, her voice dripping with false praise.  "Now, finish that up, and then we can see if you've earned a little reward." The click of the camera shutter echoed in the tense silence of the kitchen. Roy flinched, the childish cereal tasting like ash in his mouth. Avril held her phone up, a triumphant smile lighting up her face.  "There, perfect for the 'regression album,'" she said, her voice laced with a sickening sweetness.

Roy felt a surge of anger, hot and suffocating.  The idea of this picture, this grotesque mockery of his life, circulating among her friends, was unbearable.  He clenched his fists, the urge to lash out a primal scream.

"Don't even think about it, Roy," Avril warned, her voice sharp.  "Unless you want a repeat of last night, complete with a locked door and… well, let's just say your new outfit gets a little more… messy."

Shame and anger warred within him.  He knew she was right.  He wasn't strong enough, not yet, to fight her head-on.  But that didn't mean he had to surrender completely.

Taking a deep breath, he forced a smile, sickly sweet to match hers. "Baby album, huh?  Sounds charming.  Can't wait to see the captions."

Avril's smile faltered for a second, thrown off by his unexpected compliance.  "Captions?  Well, there's 'Roy's first taste of freedom,' or maybe 'Learning to eat like a big boy again.'"

He nodded slowly, playing along.  "Perfect.  Just be sure to get a good shot of the… full ensemble," he added, gesturing towards his ridiculous outfit, the plastic pants peeking out from under the overalls.As he forced a bite down, Avril disappeared into the living room, returning a moment later with a large, fluffy teddy bear cradled in her arms. It was a sickly pink color, its oversized smile mocking him.

"Look what I found," Avril cooed, her voice dripping with forced sweetness.  "This is your new best friend!  His name is Mr. Snuggles."

Roy's stomach churned.  A teddy bear, a name so saccharine it made him grit his teeth.  This was more than just humiliation; it was the complete erasure of his identity.

"Mr. Snuggles?" he echoed, his voice tight.

"Yes, darling," Avril chirped, oblivious to his discomfort.  "He'll be there for you whenever you need him.  Now, give him a big kiss, just like a good boy."

Roy's body rebelled.  The thought of kissing this childish symbol of his captivity was unbearable.  But defiance would only lead to punishment.

Taking a deep breath, he forced a smile and leaned forward, planting a dry peck on the bear's oversized snout.  Shame burned his cheeks like fire.

"See?" Avril beamed.  "That wasn't so hard, was it?  Now hold Mr. Snuggles close, alright?  And don't you dare let him go."

She placed the teddy in his lap, its weight smothering.  He felt like a child being forced to hold onto a security blanket he didn't want.

"And since you've been such a good boy," Avril continued, her voice taking on a patronizing tone, "here's a little something for you."

She pulled out a brightly colored baby rattle and a pink pacifier.  The indignity of it all flooded through him.  He wasn't a baby, he was a man!

"These are for if you need anything," she explained, her voice sickeningly sweet.  "Just shake the rattle and I'll come running.  And if you start to feel… fussy, just pop this in your mouth."

She held out the pacifier, its plastic form looking alien and grotesque.

Roy stared at it, his jaw clenched.  Giving in felt like surrendering, but the glint in Avril's eyes told him refusal wouldn't be tolerated.  He took the pacifier, the plastic cold against his skin, and shoved it into his mouth.

The childish feeling was overwhelming.  He felt like a caricature of himself, a man stripped of his dignity and reduced to a babbling infant.  A single tear escaped his eye, tracing a path down his cheek.

Avril, oblivious to his silent struggle, snapped a picture on her phone. "Such a good boy," she crooned, her voice laced with satisfaction. "Mr. Snuggles and his new friend.  This is going straight into your 'regression album.'"The indignity burned in Roy's throat like cheap candy. He sat stiffly on the living room floor, Mr. Snuggles – an unwelcome companion – pressed against his side. The pacifier felt like a physical barrier, muffling his words and forcing him to breathe shallowly.

Across from him, the television blared an endless stream of brightly colored cartoons, the childish images doing nothing to soothe his simmering anger.  Every now and then, Avril would glance his way, a cruel amusement flickering in her eyes. She seemed to take perverse pleasure in his forced regression.

Hours crawled by, each one a test of his endurance. Roy clenched his jaw, focusing on the distant memory of freedom, of coffee in the morning and adult conversations that didn't involve stuffed animals.

As the afternoon sun began to dip below the horizon, a familiar pressure built in his stomach. He hated to give her the satisfaction, but his body wouldn't be ignored.

He mumbled something into the pacifier, hoping Avril wouldn't catch on. She did, of course.

"What was that, Roy?" she asked, her voice dripping with mock sweetness.

Roy felt a flush creep up his neck.  He hated this game, this constant decoding of his muffled words.  He rattled the baby rattle weakly, a pathetic attempt at communication.

Avril let out a high-pitched giggle that grated on his nerves.  "Does Mr. Snuggles need a new friend?" she cooed, leaning closer.

Roy shook his head, finally pulling the pacifier out of his mouth.

"M-mum," he stammered, hating the childish word. "I need to..."  Shame choked the rest of the sentence.

Avril's amusement morphed into a smirk. "Need to what, Roy?  Can't you use your big boy words?"

Roy gritted his teeth.  He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of victory.  He pointed towards the bathroom, hoping the gesture would be clear.

"Ah, I see," Avril said, her voice laced with fake understanding.  "You mean you need to go potty?  No, no, darling.  Big boys use the grown-up word. Say it properly."

Her voice held a taunting edge, pushing him to his limit.  He clenched and unclenched his fists, a primal urge to lash out threatening to boil over.

Just then, an idea sparked in his mind.  A risky gamble, but maybe, just maybe, it would work.

He looked up at Avril, a forced innocence in his eyes.  "Poo-poo," he said, his voice mimicking the childish way she used the word.

A look of surprise crossed her face, replaced quickly by a strained smile.  "That's a good boy," she said, her voice clipped.  "Now hold on to Mr. Snuggles while I take you to the big boy bathroom."

[frillysissy]

Wonderful story, Keep going, you are very talented.