The New Narnia- Chapter 55: Going Crackers (Patreon)

Chapter 55: Going Crackers

My unfortunate protuberance

Seems to have its own exuberance

Anyone for M&M’s?

Delicious and appropriate

Anyone for Chewy Goobers?

Inexpensive

Anyone for buying the shit that I’m selling?

Because my stiffy has ruined my spelling

Erection

Erection

My unfortunate erection

Whoa

It’s ruining my life

It’s ruining my world

It’s ruining my ruining

Ruining, ruining my life

My life!

Tommy was speechless after hearing what had been read to him.  Absolutely speechless. He didn’t know if that book that the daycare drone had read to him was in English or something out of Lovecraft, but he couldn’t make heads or tales out of the scribbles on the page.  That didn’t stop him from obtaining the knowledge, unfortunately.  

The drone that looked like a daycare worker, just another manifestation of Annie’s power, was crystal clear on the key points.  The pictures she pointed to were disturbingly lifelike and realistic.  The only reason Tommy hadn’t wet himself out of fear was that he had lost his potty training completely.  Wetting himself out of fear would imply he had any say in whether or not he held it in at all.

That poor girl.  No. That poor woman!  Born in the completely wrong lifetime, sacrificed out of superstition and left to die.  But instead of dying, she found this strange world of dreams and fantasies and corrupted it.  

Not even in a purposeful or malicious way, it’s just that when you add an outside ingredient to something pure, it stops being pure.  Add chocolate syrup to milk, and it’s no longer pure milk.  The milk analogy was too kind, however. Annie was a drop of crude oil in a glass of water, making it undrinkable.

Fuck that, she was an oil slick in an ocean. For who knows how many centuries, she’s been robbing people of themselves, projecting her own insecurities and desires and hangups onto them, and taking away their personhood.  She took the form of the kind of care she’d needed at the time, but forced it on people who most certainly didn’t.

She was the victim who never learned compassion and moderation, and in return the power she’d stumbled onto twisted her into a victimizer, a mad mismatched god that lured others and sapped them of the very things that defined them till only what she wanted for herself was left.

Tommy was positively fuming about it! He hadn’t even noticed when the daycare worker walked away and reshelved the damnable book.  The only thing that shook him out of his furious fugue was catching a glimpse of Lil’ Miss Amanda Monroe.  She was trying to stand up and only succeeding to get her padded behind up in the air at the cost of planting her head and the palms of her hands down on the carpet, freezing her mid somersault.

Oh.  

Oh yeah…

Tommy had kind of done that too, hadn’t he?  He’d been a victim most of his life, and turned to abuse and projection and the first available opportunity.  Amanda liked it now, but could Tommy honestly say that she’d have liked this if given the choice?  Probably not.  Same likely for his fa-...for Charlie.

On the opposite side of the fence, Tommy realized that maybe he would have still signed up for this treatment.  It’s not like he was trying that hard to escape, merely maximizing his benefits.  If a pretty girl had come up to him and offered to put him in a diaper and coo at him and treat him like cutest widdle boy in the whole wide world instead of a gangly malnourished loser, he very likely would have signed up for it in an instant.  Not that there were any diapers that would have fit him without the benefit of magic.

Point being, Tommy realized, he had more in common with the mad god of Malacus than he’d like to admit.  He wasn’t as abused as she’d been in that story, but he’d lived his own life of rejection and neglect. He might not have chosen this for himself, but he certainly liked it, and there was more than just magical compulsion causing him to think that.  He might not have been as bad as Annie the Nannie, but he had still done something bad and gotten away with it.

And maybe after a certain point, the bad stops looking so bad and you start justifying things to yourself.

If Tommy had been the first person to find Malacus, and he’d gripped ahold of all of that power, would he be so different?  Would he have forced his needs and fantasies on others? It probably wouldn’t have been baby stuff right off the bat, but that’s only because the thought had occurred to him prior. Knowing what he knew now about himself, Malacus, and the lady who ran it, Tommy couldn’t say to himself that he wouldn’t have made similar choices and feel like he wasn’t lying just a little.

Regarding choice, Amanda certainly didn’t choose to be stuck here and regressed, but her giggles said that she was enjoying it as much as she knew how.  Peeking between her legs she made eye contact with the boy and babbled something that could have meant ‘Hello’, ‘Why are you upside down?’, ‘Look at my butt’,  or any number of incomprehensible things.  There was absolutely no rhyme or reason to any of it.  To add to his cognitive dissonance, Tommy got a good look at the pale, nearly invisible yellow line going down the middle suddenly turn blue.

It wasn’t the wild electric blue like the algae in Malacus, but Tommy thought it was important.  His potty training had decayed to the point where the purpose of a  wetness indicator on a standard Pampers or Huggies didn’t mean as much any more.  Oddly enough- or perhaps not so oddly considering- the boy did know what was going on when Amanda finished her somersault, snaked her hands over her diaper and started giggling while rubbing herself.  

Awkwardly, just like when he was in middle school, Tommy placed his hands in front of his waist to mask just how hard he was getting.  Watching her masturbate on the floor like that, not breaking eye contact. The thick padding only hid so much!  It was taking an awful lot of willpower for Tommy not to start rocking his hips and gyrate against his palms.

One of the teacher drones ended the fun prematurely when it stepped in front of Tommy’s line of sight and scooped Amanda up.  “Ah ah ah, Amanda!  That’s a no no!” Amanda kept giggling, her attention now focused on the cooing and adoration being showered upon her by something resembling an adult.  “Not here, baby girl!  Do that at home when you’re in your crib.”

“Problem?”  Another called.  

“No,” the first answered.  “Just Amanda is exploring her body.”

The second seemed satisfied. “Oh yeah, they all do that from time to time, especially the new arrivals.”

“Yeah. No big deal.”

Tommy had a problem. It was a big deal to him.  He still had an eighteen year old’s raging libido without a toddler’s distractibility. He’d accidentally turned himself on and if he didn’t finish

“Bouncer,” he hissed under his breath.  “Where’s the bouncer?”  He tried to unfocus his eyes and gaze around the nigh infinite room, but had no success.  Frantically, he was able to find them, but they were full up and the twenty something year olds giggling mindlessly paid him no mind.

“Excuse me!” Tommy said, pulling on the shirt of a passing daycare worker.  “Can I have a turn on the bouncer soon?”  He still had one hand to his crotch to hide his shame.

The caricature of a caregiver didn’t so much as look back. “Sorry, baby.  You’ll have to wait your turn.” Charlie was right. This place could be petty; almost supernaturally so.  The simulacrum went to go on about its business but did a double take towards Tommy’s hand still clutching the front of his diaper.  “Do you need changed?”

Self consciousness overcame Tommy and blood rose up into his face.  Not enough blood, though.  “N-n-no?”  For once, Tommy was telling the truth.

“Let me see.”  It was nothing for the Malacus daycare worker to pry Tommy’s remaining hand away. She…it looked like a she…-it was so hard not to assign human attributes- bent over and stared at the little tent Tommy had pitched in his Pampers.  “Awwwww!” She said.  “I know what’s wrong.”

“You d-do?” Tommy sputtered

She tickled his chin. In that moment, with her dark shoulder length hair and twenty-something physique with curvy hips and perky breasts, she was a she.  Magical construct or not, she still had a woman’s voice and a woman’s form.  When he closed his eyes back on the couch, his hand became a she, so why not a mythical creature made of dream-stuff?   

“You’re just exploring your body, aren’t you?” she said sweetly.

“Yeah? No? I mean..” what did he say? What should he say? “I want to?”

Another tickle under his chin, eliciting a giggle.  “Okay. Let me help you with that.”

“Yeah?” Tommy blushed.

“Yeah.”  The magical android woman kept her grip firm on Tommy’s wrist.  “Let’s go get you some Graham crackers lil’ guy.”  She started walking and Tommy was helpless in tow, his feet chugging along behind.

“Graham crackers?”  Tommy echoed.  

“Yes,” the daycare worker said. “They’re very nummy, and they’ll help you with those urges.”

Incapable of charting his own course to the kitchen, Tommy turned his head to the side. Crawling, rolling, and drooling on the floor, naked save for their diapers, a gaggle of regressed men and women crawled and rolled and munched on the honey and cardboard like crackers.  Angela was among them, now, with bits of saliva and crumbs dripping down to her bear bouncing breasts.  

Ye gods why did this turn him on?!  The space in his Pampers wasn’t getting any smaller.

“Why are they eating it?” Tommy heard himself ask.

The daycare worker stopped her march to the kitchen.  “They had urges too.  This will help them. Gives them something to do besides play with themselves.”

Self-consciously, Tommy clutched himself harder and did his best to bring his knees together in a vain and illogical attempt to make himself seem ‘smaller’. “You mean like…it helps them…?”  He struggled.  What was an ‘age appropriate’ way to talk about cumming? Tommy desperately wanted to that out, that relief.  “It makes them have a special accident in their pants?”

He was quickly reimagining the seen in front of him as a strange kind of softcore orgy.  Everybody came. Zero penetration occurred.  Why didn’t Charlie tell him about this?  Why didn’t Nanny use this as a selling point?

He got a light chuckle in response, as if he’d just said the most patently silly and ridiculous thing imaginable. “Goodness, no,” the drone told him.  “If that’s what Graham crackers did, they’d just end up being naughty at school all the time. “This will make your pee-pee stay small and not feel so funny for a while.” As if to illustrate a point that was already well understood, the woman leaned over and started with her thumb and forefinger apart, then she pinched them together. “All better!”

Tommy instantly recalled a random bit of trivia he’d absorbed.  Graham crackers were invented as a way to stop chronic masturbation by a prude of a preacher who cared about those kind of things.  As far as Tommy could remember, the claim was largely bunk and if it worked at all it was more because it was hard to fuck in a food coma then any specific ingredients.  Those were normal Graham crackers, however.  What if the Malacus had its own brand.

Chemical castration via snack food. What a way to go.  

“Let’s get your pee-pee taken care of. You don’t need those funny feelings in you at daycare.”

Tommy started pulling and yanking his arm free and digging his heels into the carpet. The idea of some potion in cracker form making him impotent, even temporarily, felt like more of a violation than losing his status as an adult or having his potty training completely stripped.

To complicate matters, none of the fear he was feeling was counteracting his boner.  The sight of all those near naked people, most of them women, and the daycareworker’s chirping high pitched talk about his privates was more than counteracting the cold shower effects of looming impotence.

“Can I talk to Nanny?”

“She’s busy,” the daycare worker said, “looking for other good little boys and girls to come play here.”

Fuck!  Was that jealousy that Tommy was feeling! No time.  He hoped that she was as omnipotent in this place as she seemed.

His heels about to cross the threshold into the kitchen, Tommy opened his mouth, took a deep breath and bellowed out.  “NAAAAAAAAAAAANNY!”

The caregiver stopped.  All of them did.  Frozen in place, mid stride, pattycake, and even change.  All of their charges remained animated.  Where they could recognize that something was different, they seemed immune if indifferent.  A little twenty-eight year old in the middle of a change didn’t wait for his new diaper to be secured and nothing was stopping his stream from shooting out onto the carpet.  

A calm, gentle hand placed itself on Tommy’s shoulder.  The strong one that held his arm hostage slackened. “Yes, Tommy?”  Nanny said. “What’s wrong sweetie?”

“I don’t want to eat Graham crackers!” Tommy croaked out.”

He felt the mismatched goddess behind him. Felt her body heat against him and her breath blowing on the back of his neck.  He watched her shadow kneel down and her arms wind their way gently and protectively around him.  He gasped feeling her comparatively massive breasts brushing up against the back of his head.  How were they so soft yet full of milk at the same time?  

“Graham crackers? Graha-?” She stopped and chuckled lightly through her nose.  “Oh Tommy, were you being naughty?”  Being called naughty was adding more pressure.  “Silly boy.”

“I couldn’t help it!’ Tommy yelped.

“Of course you couldn’t.  You’re not a big boy.  The Graham crackers will help.”

Tommy trembled.  She was playing games with him.  She really did have a petty streak in her.  “I don’t want to eat those crackers.”

“They’ll make you feel better.”

“I don’t wanna.”  He couldn’t believe.what he was saying and how he was saying it. “You can make me feel better instead.”

“It’s only temporary.”  Nanny promised.  “I promise.”

“I still don’t wanna.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal.  And I’m very busy.”  

Even getting turned down and talked to like a silly little puppy was arousing  Her hand went lower and squeezed his front.  “You don’t even need a change yet.  Not even a little wet.”  Her grip was so hard and she was so strong that he couldn’t even grind up against the palm of her hand.  “You’re being silly.”

“Please,” Tommy begged, trembling. “Please.”

A playful sigh filled Tommy’s ears. “Fine,” The Nanny said.  “But only because I like you.”

Three kisses and a tap was all it took.  One on the back of his head made him tremble. A second one on his ear made him shake. A final on his cheek and he was ready to explode.  Then a simple tap, more of a rub or a jostle to the front of his crinkling underwear, and Tommy was sent well over the edge, giving a full body blush right there in front of an oblivious crowd, throbbing a different kind of mess into his padded pants. It wasn’t the first time, but it was easily the most intense. Such sweet sweet release.

No magic, either. Tommy could feel it.  Harmful or not, evil or not, part of Tommy just couldn’t get over Nanny.

“Thank you,” he whispered.  

“Welcome,”  her voice was already turning into an echo, her scent being carried away on the air conditioned breeze.

Like a broken down carnival ride starting up, the daycare attendants sprung back to life.  A door leading to the outside playground sprung open and a whole herd of sweaty man-and- woman-children crawled inside, having been locked out.

“Let’s get you some…” The construct woman who had been dragging Tommy to the kitchen looked confused for a moment.  “Hmm?”  The worker’s eyes went down to just above Tommy’s knees.  “I thought…?”

She knelt down to get a closer look, checking Tommy’s diaper for lumps in the front instead of lumps in the back.

He sucked in his breath, when she patted and pressed through the padding against his now flacid penis. “Hmmmm….”

Pleasedon’tinsertyourfingerspleasedon’tinsertyourfingerspleasedon’tinsertyourfingers.

If she did check his diaper ‘the old fashioned way’, she’d find the sticky white mess he’d just spurted into the thick white cotton encasing him.  There was no way anything had had time to  be absorbed or dried up or whatever, and naughty was naughty.

“Well,” you’re not wet,” she frowned in confusion. “And it doesn’t look like you’re feeling frisky.  Did I already give you a Graham cracker or something?”

Still slightly pulsing, Tommy managed a shrug.  “I dunno.  I’m just a baby.”

“Good point.”  She got up and gave the man child a pat on the head.

“Tommy’s Mom is here!” A voice closer to the front called.  “Tommy to the front!”

Mommy?!  As far as he knew, Tommy had never been caught beating off by his mother.  Mommy would have said something. Mary Dean DEFINITELY would have said something. This was the closet thing.  He dug his hands into his armpits to stop them from retreating south.

The same construct caregiver that was about to make Tommy magically impotent scooped him up and carted him across the floor.  “Up we go. Time to go see Mommy!”

He was hiked over the dutch door and sent right into his Mommy’s arms, feeling embarrassed and more than a little ashamed.  Shame was becoming an exceedingly rare commodity.

“Sorry I’m early,” Mommy said to the caregiver. “Had some business in this part of town, and I figured I’d pick the kids up from school.”

“Oh that’s fine,” the caregiver said automatically.

Tommy, who was still cooling down, disagreed.

“How was your day sweetie?”

The lady thing on the other side answered for him.  “He did great. He’s working on exploring and fine motor skills and making new friends all the time.” There was a beat, like a robocall switching over to a different dialogue track.  “Though I think you should know that he might be starting to want to explore his body more thoroughly.  You might want to be careful of where his hands go during bathtime or changes.”

Crap! Really?! He was being ratted out and he hadn’t even been officially caught!  

Mommy bobbed him a little and Tommy buried his face in her hair.  “That’s fine.  Perfectly natural at his age.” She quickly added, “As long as do only do it inside your crib or when no one is looking at you.  You can hump your stuffies or rub yourself as much as you want.”

She knew?! Mommy knew?!  How? When? And she was talking about it?!  In front of another adult?!  Talks bout him being wet or dry or poopy he could handle.  He loved it, in fact!  But this?  From his friggin’ Mom?!

Mrs. Dean’s onslaught only continued.  “Perfectly natural,” she cooed. Then added.  “Just don’t hump your sister’s toys anymore.”  She gave him a light pat on the bottom that sent him reeling. No crackers needed, whatsoever.

“Moooooom!” He squealed. “Stop talking!”

Mommy laughed.  Tommy slammed his eys shut and waited for her to sign him out.

How humiliating…

Like all parents, Mommy was oblivious to how flustered and embarrassed her small child was, wrote off his burying his face in her shoulder and clinging to her as overstimulation or even needing a big hug instead of a desire to crawl into a hole and die.

“Let’s go pick up your sister, and we’ll pop back home,” she told him, patting him on the back.

Tommy barely registered the next several minutes as his mother carried him to the front office and picked Katy up.  Evidently, she called head because Katy was there waiting for them.

In no time at all he was safely in his carseat and getting a kiss from his Mommy on the forehead, destroying the last lingering traces of feelings of anything resembling arousal.  Still, his muscles were tired and his body ached for rest.

Oxytocin and vasopressin had still been released.  He could fight sleep and come out the other side, but he really didn’t want to.

Drifting off in the car seat, Tommy laid back and felt his bladder empty. The warmth only served to make him smile and relax every other muscle in his body while he drifted off.  It lessened, practically negated, the chance of Mommy finding out what he’d done already.  He wouldn’t be here in the car long.  Home wasn’t very far away without all the stops in between.  It’d still be nice to just zone out and forget the last several minutes.

The question still poked at him.  What was he going to do about Nanny?

************************************************************************************************
An hour or so later…


Eighteen years. Charlie had been a diaper wearing baby for eighteen years.  Twenty-one if you counted the time when he was one the old fashioned way.  

Charlie technically never finished highschool.  Furthermore, the majority of media he’d been exposed to focused on simple shapes, bright happy colors, fun silly noises, and the occasional chewable texture. Until very recently, he had no one that he could talk to that would talk back to him in any meaningful way. If he hadn’t figured out how to subtly hump his stuffies in the middle of the night, he might have gone completely crazy, magic or no.  The guy didn’t have a whole lot going for him.

Charlie Watson was a lot of things: A loser; a degenerate; technically a dropout; functionally a baby; and evidently a deadbeat dad.  That last part still boggled his mind.  His own father had skipped town going out for a pack of cigarettes. Charlie had topped that by accidentally hiding in plain sight, erasing memory of his existence, and the only packs in his life held stuff that crinkled. Charlie Watson was a lot of things, but a dummy wasn’t one of them.

He’d had no idea that he was a father, nor had he any idea of just how damn lucky he’d been in signing his name in that blue muck all those years ago.  It had been a gag, a random bit of whimsy, like drawing his name in cement, a way to let that strange cave and anybody who came after him know that Charles Watson he’d been there.  Funny how that stupid bit of vandalism had preserved his mind all these years.  In a way it might have saved the kid’s marbles, too; given him the idea or something.

That thought made Charlie feel a little better about one of the last life choices he’d made.  The guy hadn’t been allowed to make many more ever since.    

“Charlie!” the teacher called.  “Mommy’s here.” Charlie looked up from the block tower he’d built up and knocked to the ground a couple times quietly pretending to be Ghidora.  

“Yeah yeah!” Charlie waved over the drone.  “I’m here! Over here!”

“All done blocks, little man!” The not quite grown-up said. “Mommy’s here! You can play blocks at home!”  She picked him up and started carrying over to the way back into the real world without further preamble.  Just like everyone always did.

“Pffft,” Charlie muttered. “I wasn’t playing blocks, you stupid bitch. I was playing Kaiju.”  

Charlie frowned to himself, and it had nothing to do with the sudden cramp in his gut.  That would work its way out of him in a couple minutes.  Probably before he got home.  Damn.  Charlie hadn’t played Kaiju in forever. That was real year one stuff.  Stuff he’d ironically grown out of, or so he’d thought.

Tommy really had reminded him of the dumb kid Charlie used to be, and in more ways than one. With Tommy into the mix, Charlie was starting to see patterns and relationships that he never had before.  Stupid random things made him see his past actions through a new lens, and tiny details that he took for granted were under a new level of scrutiny.

“Hello, Charlie!” Mommy gushed, peppering his cheeks with kisses.

Nearly twenty years on, and Charlie still managed a blush. “Hi Mom,” he said weakly.  “Did you have a good day at school?”

“He did great,” Charlie mouthed along with the automaton that handed him off.  “He’s working on exploring and fine motor skills and making new friends all the time.”  The little snippets of meaningless drivel that the caregivers said to his mother was something Charlie had noticed a long time ago.  He couldn’t predict it based on the date or time, but after the first syllable he knew exactly what empty praise he was going to be subjected to.  He’d been doing this a long time.  Charlie wasn’t dumb.

Mom kinda was. She never noticed. To be fair, that might be the magic throwing a monkey wrench in the works.

Safe in her arms, Charlie counted down to himself while Mom turned to exit.  Three…two…one.

“Hmmm?” His mom jiggled the doorknob. It wouldn’t budge.  Charlie knew it was locked. It was locked.  Wouldn’t open up to Scrumpton until she signed him out in the log book.  Every perma-brat in here had to be signed in and out as they were dropped off and picked up.

The official reason was for liability purposes.  Signing their kids in and out ensured a clear chain of responsibility.   Standard stuff, really.  Just documentation so that if somebody came in with a scraped knee it was noted that it didn’t happen at daycare.  Based on the snippets of language he sometimes heard, and how many unfamiliar faces had come to play over the years, Charlie guessed that the door wouldn’t open until a kid was signed out.  Scrumpton very likely wasn’t even behind that door until Mom signed him out of there.

“Ma’am!” the daycare worker said. “You forgot to sign him out!” Right on cue.

“Oh!”  Mrs. Watson said.  “How silly of me!”  She about faced and went back to the book.  It was pretty small and plain, all things considered.  Its simple black plastic binding didn’t contain so much as a title card naming the place. Only three metal rings holding a scant handful of unremarkable white pages printed on with black ink.

There was no way that those handfuls of papers covered every regressed person just beyond the daycare’s dutch doors.  No chance in either Malachus or Hell, that half a dozen pages contained the names of every padded prisoner; Charlie had figured that part long ago.  

Once or twice, he’d unfocused his eyes the same way he did to see the near infinite expanses, twists and turns of the daycare’ interior, but it didn’t work on the sign-in log. To all appearances it was just a simple binder. Obviously, there was some other kind of chicanery at foot to make this operation seem more cozy and small-time than it really was.

Mom flipped to the front page and found his name, right where she had signed him in. The sign in sheets were pretty uniform.  Arranged into neat little columns, there was a spot for the child’s name’, a spot that read ‘parent or guardian’, a column for checking in, and a column for checking out.  It wasn’t that different from the sign-in sheet at the pediatrician’s office, all told.  The only difference was that Mom signed him in and out five days a week.

It took his mother a couple of seconds so that she could track down where she’d jotted down hers and Charlie’s name that morning, and then write the check out time.  So inefficient.

The gears in Charlie’s head suddenly started turning. Why?  Why that particular format?  A doctor’s office was one thing.  People didn’t go to a doctor’s office that often, so sign in records would only be needed for a particular date to prove that the patient was there.

Without the benefit of magic, searching through all those papers would be a pain in the ass.  Wouldn’t it have been easier, simpler, to give every ‘kid’ their own separate page in the binder and just have a parent sign them in or out next to the date?  Have a whole page that just said “Charlie Watson” that Mom could flip to and sign off on instead of having to search and scan.

Instead, Mrs. Watson had to write in Charlie’s name, then her own, then the date and time checking in, and a few hours later would have to skim down the list to see where she’d started and finish by signing him out..  Charlie’s mom had to do it, and logically, so did every other full time adult with their own babied adult child. Why? Why did she have to write out his name?

It didn’t make any sense. Malacus was land of fairy tales and old stories, but the daycare section was spot on and up to date.  Toys were never broken and the top of the line, always including the latest fads.  When the decorations on the next box of diapers switched, the ones underneath the daycare’s changing tables did the same day without Mom having to give them a pack.  With unlimited magical resources, they could have done a digital check in system or a thumb print or something.  Or keep a guard posted full time on a computer.

Why was something so simple to correct lagging behind?

Charlie Watson was a lot of things, but a dummy wasn’t one of them.  When he looked down at his mommy signing him out, he noticed that the ink on the daycare’s pen was a peculiar, almost electric shade of blue that glowed a little bit in the split second before drying.  

He knew.

Charlie sucked in his breath and whispered to himself, “I gotta tell Tommy…”