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."