Later at Miss Katie's House

[Mike D]

Happy new year readers!  Welcome to the latest (and I think the penultimate) chapter in the Mike and Sandra and Katie saga. This one occurs both in the past and a ways  into the future from the previous episode. We still don't really know what's going on behind the closed doors of the mysterious Regression Center. As always, all characters are 18+

I'm back. 

But I don’t have any idea where I am or how I got here. 

I’m sitting on the floor in a living room near a pile of toys and children’s books that aren’t mine. A few more are scattered here and there across the carpet. It’s nice carpet, but not a color I could live with. The furniture and décor are also unfamiliar and not to my own or Sandra’s taste. A little too spartan really. First home maybe? There are no pictures on the wall or any other clues as to the owner that I can see from my current vantage point. 

The presence of what I do recognize as my backpack in the corner behind me suggests that I’m meant to be here and therefore likely safe. I’m not really responsible for my backpack, even though it’s “mine”, and even though it goes with me everywhere I go outside the home. Some well meaning adult put it there or sent me here with it. My initial sensation of panic begins to ebb a bit. 

The mystery location is actually less of a concern in the grand scheme of things than the missing time. I don’t even know what month it is, much less day or date. How long have I been zoned out for? 

I’m wearing a plain tee shirt that doesn’t quite cover my belly and duck-print flannel pajama bottoms with a cuff at the ankle. Did they even make these for adults or did Sandra have to order them specially? There are no other clues from my attire. Holiday neutral and seasonally appropriate for bedtime at any time of year. 

The slightly soggy disposable diaper underneath my  pajama pants suggests that at least enough time has passed to allow for significant progression in my regression (what a strange concept that is)!

The last I can remember clearly, I was still in training pants. Something akin to a diaper, but not quite. And yet, I can vaguely recall wearing daytime diapers at times too. And being changed at daycare. Or was it playgroup? It’s all so jumbled! 

I shake my head trying to clear the cobwebs and reflect for a moment on the irony inherent in the concept of progression in regression. But then I have to remind myself that getting lost in thoughts like these is a very risky undertaking. They can trigger more zone outs. 

The zone outs started subtly. Waking dreams that I slipped into without noticing I’d checked out. Like falling asleep in front of the TV when you are still sort of aware of the show as it plays on, but when you wake up, you have no idea what has happened or how much of it you missed.

My first significant zone out actually occurred in front of the TV about three weeks after I started my sessions at the Regression Center.

It was like any other lazy Sunday night. I was cuddled up with Sandra on the couch watching some awful family comedy movie she had picked out. I needed to pee, but I was patiently waiting for the next commercial break.

All of a sudden, I was jolted back to reality by a shout of surprise from Sandra. A disposable training pants commercial was playing on the TV screen. And my pants were soaked.

Sandra had been very nice about it. In fact, after her initial expression of surprise, she had been nonchalant about the whole thing, even though I couldn’t explain to her how or why it happened. As if it were totally normal for a diaper commercial to prompt a full-blown wetting accident in an adult. As if everyone just lost time like that. 

I was cleaning up in the shower and feeling very sorry for myself when I heard the bathroom door open. Sandra had slipped into the shower behind me without asking for permission to join. She pulled me into her, her bare breasts pressing firmly against my back. 

We stood like that in silence for a minute or so, and then she began soaping my back with a soft, baby blue washcloth. I’d never seen her use a washcloth before, but this felt really good. The tension in my shoulders eased a little. 

She moved closer again, the cloth now working lower on my bottom. As it slipped between my cheeks, she leaned forward and whispered in my ear: “Awwwww is my boy upset because he did a wee wee in his panties?” 

I let out a small gasp in reply - prompted more by the invasiveness of her work with the washcloth than the sensitivity of the subject. 

Sandra nodded in sympathy and moved the cloth to the front. The fingers of her left hand now caressed the tip of my penis as she gently worked over my crotch and balls with the right. She whispered again: “It’s OK, Sweetie. Accidents are no big deal. It was bound to happen sometime wasn’t it?”

When I didn’t respond immediately, she paused her movements. Her touch felt amazing, and despite my shame, a growing part of me very much wanted this treatment to continue.

My voice quivered a little as I replied: “I guess so, but not like this!…I mean I didn’t even know it was happening, and then I was wet, and you shouted, and I felt like I didn’t know where I was or who I was. And I know I said I wanted to go to the regression center, but really I just wanted an excuse to quit my job. I didn’t  think it would be like…like…this. I didn’t even think it would WORK, and now look I’ve ruined the couch, and I just want to stop going and stay home with you instead…”

Sandra interrupted my rambled confession with a gentle “Shhhhhhh!” in my ear. She was stroking me again now with the washcloth. 

“Sweetie, it’s too late to stop treatment now. Or at least, you can’t quit all at once - you know that could cause a serious psychotic break that could leave you permanently baby-brained. You don’t want that do you?” 

I shook my head “no” even as a soft moan escaped my lips. Sandra’s work with the washcloth was exquisite. I was thrusting a little bit into her hand now, and feeling her match my movements with her own, her smooth pubic area keeping firm pressure against my bottom.

“No - you don’t.  Let’s just stick with it until Easter and then we can decide what’s best for you. Does that sound good, my sweet boy?” 

I nodded and moaned again, thrusting harder now. 

“Besides, I have to tell you that you looked absolutely adorable sitting on the couch, looking up at me with confused puppy dog eyes, and a wet patch on your pants. In fact, if you had put your thumb in your mouth at that moment, I probably would have just ripped your wet pants off and fucked you on the spot.” 

That did it. “Oooooh fuuuuuck!”, I groaned, as I came hard into the washcloth, my knees buckling and almost giving way. 

Sandra caught me and held me, slumped and panting in front of her. “Oh my - two accidents in one night!”, she teased, and then she continued to rock me back and forth under the warm water. 

Of course not every zone out was as climactic as that first one, but in those early days especially, it did seem like Sandra went out of her way to “reward” me every time I did something particularly babyish while I was out. Getting a blowjob in dirty training pants in the family bathroom at the mall was one of most unexpectedly erotic things that had ever happened to me. 

There were some triggers I later came to recognize (and to be wary of) in my more lucid moments: baby talk, commercials or other media featuring babies or toddlers, praise for accomplishing simple tasks, and certain smells associated with childhood comforts and care. I’m sure the regression center planted others as well, although it was likely overkill as I was exposed to all of the things I just listed  on a near constant basis by Sandra and the limited range of other adults I now interacted with regularly. It was next to impossible to avoid zone outs under these circumstances, even when I was aware of the triggers. A momentary slip into a daydream, a warm rush of dopamine, and I might not reawaken for hours, or days.

Or, as it now seemed, weeks or even months. 

It’s possible that one day I’ll just slip away into a permanent zone out - my adult brain permanently cooked, never to return. Or that the generally dopey feeling that seems to stick with me these days even when I am back will increase to the point that I truly need Sandra’s constant care and attention. 

But I don’t think that’s her intention, or how this stuff really works. Sandra likes me being aware of what’s happening. She wants me to retain the memories of lost battles in intimate, gory detail. There’s no fun in this change in status unless I’m aware of it. A permanently zoned out zombie baby is not her desired end state. 

So for now, here I am. Wherever and whenever this is. This is the most lucid and just generally with it I've felt in a long time. And it's only in times like these, that I can see just how close I am getting to rock bottom, and just how much I wish I could stop the unending cycle of soggy and squishy bottoms that come with it. 

The last time I snapped back to something like my adult self was somewhere around Thanksgiving I think, and I was definitely much fuzzier then. Still, I can remember pieces of time from before that: trick or treating and playing at the park for instance, and various other scenes of a familiarly babyish nature that seem to span months and seasons. Has it really been that long? 

Unfortunately, I had chosen to waste my previous limited time in adult space by picking a silly fight with Sandra over the color of the shirt I was wearing (like I said, I wasn't thinking perfectly straight). I can't remember anything after that, so I must have been zoned out between then and now.

I sit for another moment collecting my thoughts. The house is still quiet. I still have no idea where I am or who I am with. 

It occurs to me that I might be alone - which is disconcerting given the state of mind I was in just a few minutes ago. I’m not used to not having an adult at least within easy earshot. Dwelling on that thought threatens to provoke panic. And I know that panic, like any strong emotion, can lead to zone outs.

I manage to stifle an urge to cry, and instead climb unsteadily to my feet. Big boy Mike has the tools to solve this mystery.

I can see that the kitchen is empty, so I turn and walk towards a hallway. The crinkling from my bottom seems extra loud in the silence. I’m tempted to call out, but for some reason that seems a little scary in this quiet house. Who or what might reply? I resist an urge to put my thumb in my mouth. Keep it together, Mike!

At the end of the hallway is an open doorway with muted light coming through. Now I can hear a gentle humming that sends little electric shivers up my spine. I notice a faint smell of baby powder or lotion  in the air. The open door obviously leads to a baby’s room. 

I move closer, even though the rational side of my brain is ringing zone out trigger alarm bells. I can resist. I have to.

The shades are drawn, but enough sunlight is leaking through to see. In the corner facing me, a young woman sits silhouetted in a rocking chair, nursing a small baby and humming a lullaby. 

The sight floods me with a mixture of longing and melancholy. This is the intimate side of babyhood that I don’t get to experience. It’s not for me. I don’t qualify. 

Eventually, the woman looks up and notices me standing in the doorway. I still can’t make out her facial features, but as soon as she speaks, I know it is Katie. Another, stronger electric shiver courses through me as she says in a firm, yet gentle voice”

”Mike, sweetie, I’m just putting Cassie down for her nap and then I’ll come sort you out, OK?

“Please go and wait for me on the couch like a good boy.”

To be continued...

 

[Guilend]

I love this story. Though I am curious to see if Sandra will ever or has found out what Katie did and if anything will happen to Katie because of it.

[Mike D]

I don’t know. I honestly never have any plot lines in mind beyond the basic setting. I just start writing. We will have to see what happens when it happens. 

I don’t think Sandra would actually try to take revenge on Katie. In her heart, she knows what happened. And I think she likes the situation as it is now on that basis. Katie loved Mike. She instigated the affair. Now she can have him, but not in the way she wanted. In that sense, she already has her revenge. At least as long as the regression continues

And right now I can’t be sure if it will. Katie might agree to save Mike. But I don’t know how that will work. A lot more would probably have to be written to make that happen. 

Or she might decide to double cross him - again - and lull him gently back to drooling babyhood just as he thinks he’s making good his escape. The latter is of course a familiar plot element. I don’t know if I wanna go there. There’s other better writers out there for that.

Mike might just get up and walk out of that living room and into a new life where he avoids any and all triggers permanently.  But would that work? Stopping the treatment is dangerous….

Only time will tell. We might never get full resolution on any of these questions. 

[Eagle0769]

I'm sorry but did I miss something who is Katie?

[Mike D]

On 1/7/2024 at 10:50 AM, Eagle0769 said:

I'm sorry but did I miss something who is Katie?

She’s a recurring character in this little series. First appearance in earlier at daycare.