Just a bratty girl...

Anon asked:

unsure if you're taking requests, but a mommy forcefully milking her little boy in an incredibly humiliating way (maybe in that cnc little universe, like the story with the pram fucking machine??) would be so incredible

You caught me on a good day, anon! I haven't taken prompts for a while (grad school is killing me), but this hit me in the right mood and 2000 words of ABDL smut later...

The referenced pram fucking machine story, if anyone's interested.

All characters in this piece of fiction are role-playing adults

*

"Jojo, stay close," Mommy calls across the playground.

She turns back to her friend and smiles. "Sorry," she says. "You know what they're like at that age."

Joel doesn't know if she's deliberately pitching her voice to make sure he hears. By that age, does she mean an adult man? Is that what she means while she laughs and her friend shakes her head in sympathy?

He'll admit that he doesn't look like an adult right now. Not with his short overalls with a snap crotch. Not with the pacifier clipped to the strap of his overalls. Not with the onesie under the overalls that's patterned with brightly-coloured cars and trucks.

Not with the thick diaper underneath it all.

He can't even walk properly, it's so thick. The best he can manage is a quick waddle. It's hard to be stealthy when you're forced to crawl or toddle like a -- well, like a toddler.

He sits back down in the sandpit and pretends to play with one of the plastic dump trucks. Mommy -- as she insists he calls her -- waves at him with a big smile. He forces a smile onto his face, though he thinks he manages a grimace at best. She blows him a kiss and he waves, holding his smile rigid on his face until she finally looks away.

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to keep sitting here for longer, slowly counting to two hundred in his head. He has to fight every instinct yelling at him to leave now, to run, she's not looking, he doesn't know when he'll get another opportunity --

He swallows the panic and keeps rolling the truck around the sand. Mommy likes it when he plays with toys. Ever since he woke up in her house, fuzzy-headed from the drugs still running through his system, naked except for a wet diaper, he's found that the best way to appease her is to act like a child. She always tells him to act his age, but she doesn't mean it literally. He hasn't had the chance to act like the adult he is for -- months? Has it been months?

He doesn't know. Time has blurred together into long stretches of humiliating diaper changes (and doesn't he hate how easily he uses his diapers now, how he doesn't even think about it before wetting himself, how sometimes he won't even realise he's pissed himself until he notices that it's wet and sagging) and playtime in his "playpen" -- a cage filled with toys that Mommy has set up in the middle of her living room. She puts him to bed in a crib every night, though she's promised that if he's very good, he might get a "big-boy bed" soon.

He's a little scared to think about what that might mean.

She keeps his cock in a chastity cage. She likes to tell him, "Little boys get up to all sorts of mischief with their willies." She unlocks his cage during bath time so she can clean him -- and isn't it awful, having her hands everywhere, touching every inch of him -- and sometimes, she'll slide a finger into his ass and stroke his cock until he comes. His semen goes thick and stringy in the hot bath water and she clicks her tongue at him. "Little boy made messy cummies," she likes to say, but she usually laughs and kisses the top of his head afterwards.

Joel grits his teeth and sneaks a look at her. She's completely engrossed in the conversation with her friend. Someone else has joined them, a man pushing a stroller. He sits on the bench with them and occasionally jostles the stroller, soothing whatever poor adult is trapped inside.

Joel supposes he should at least be grateful that he isn't one of the babies in this neighbourhood. They're kept even more restricted than he is. He's never seen one of them allowed to walk anywhere -- they're always in strollers of some sort, or in locking devices that force them to crawl. Some of the "babies" who are on the smaller side are even carried on their caregiver's hip.

Mommy often reminds Joel that he's a very lucky little boy who's allowed to run around and get dirty and -- best of all! -- play in the playground.

As though the playground isn't as disturbing as everything else. A children's playground with sized-up baby swings, built to fit adults. It always has at least another two toddlers playing, adults in diapers and humiliating clothes, all determinedly not making eye contact with each other while their Mommies and Daddies coo encouragement to play with each other.

Once, Joel did get distracted plotting an escape while he sat in the sandpit and moved a truck back and forth. He kind of noticed another little boy sitting close to him, but he definitely didn't notice the way they starting driving their cars closer together. He didn't notice that he suddenly had two cars in his hands and was crawling across the sandpit with them, chasing the other boy, who was giggling in delight. He didn't notice that he was making vroom vroom noises.

He didn't notice any of it until he heard the snap of a camera and turned to see Mommy crouching, phone in hand, a wide smile on her face.

He makes sure to stay focused this time. He reaches two hundred, then adds an extra fifty counts just to be safe. Another glance at Mommy to make sure she's still distracted, then he gets to his feet and starts walking -- waddling -- across the playground, making sure not to move too fast. He doesn't aim straight out of the playground; he wanders to the slides, making sure to look like he's just bored and trying to find something new to do. The last thing he needs is another Mommy or Daddy noticing him as he makes a break for it.

Another glance around the park to make sure no one's watching and Joel starts his not-so-casual path for the treeline. All he has to do is get into the trees and he can start running. All he has to do is get away, get this fucking diaper off, and then get help. He just has to get out of this neighbourhood, where everyone has subscribed to the same sick delusion, and he'll find someone who can help him.

That's all he needs to --

A hand snags the back of his overalls.

"Whoopsie!" It's a man's voice, deep and light-hearted. He yanks Joel to a stop and lifts him into his arms like he weighs nothing. "Don't go too far there, kiddo. You don't want Mommy to lose you!"

It's the joking words that break Joel. He begins to scream and cry, shoving at the man, wriggling in his arms, trying everything in his power to drop back to the ground and get away. "You can't do this!" he screams. He tries to bite the man's hand, but the man snatches it out of the way just in time. "You can't treat people like this! Let me go, let me fucking go." His face is wet with tears and his nose is snotty. He was so close -- he was so fucking close --

"Oopsie." Mommy's voice makes Joel struggle even harder. The man tightens his grip on him. Mommy steps up beside the man, touching his arm in thanks. "That one's mine," she says. "Thank you so much."

"Any time," the man says. He doesn't put Joel back on the ground. "My little one was a runner for a while. They grow out of it."

"I hope so." Mommy's sliding something over Joel's arms. It takes him a moment to realise it's a little backpack with baby reins attached. The moment she has it fastened around his chest -- and of course it latches with a padlock -- the man places him on the ground. Still panicking and not ready to let go of hope, Joel tries to run. The reins catch him around the chest and yank him back.

"Sorry," Mommy says, but she's talking to the man, not to Joel. "I think my little Jojo is worked out. He doesn't usually have tantrums like that."

Joel wants to scream again, but the moment he opens his mouth, Mommy pops his pacifier between his lips. He knows that if he spits it out, she'll replace it with a gag. He begrudgingly sucks on it.

Mommy leads him back to the playground. He expects her to return to the bench and pack up her things, but instead, she takes him to the sandpit and makes him lie down. She spreads his legs and kneels between them. There are two "little boys" playing nearby, sneaking suspicious glances at Joel and Mommy out of the corners of their eyes, and she smiles at them. She undoes the snap crotches of Joel's overalls and onesie, then pulls them both up around his waist. She undoes the tapes on his wet diaper and Joel squirms as fresh air hits his wet skin.

Mommy doesn't usually change him in public. She's allowed him that much dignity at least, and now Joel's aware of how much the park has filled up, how many people are around, seeing his bare bum and caged cock.

Mommy reaches into her purse and pulls out an all-too-familiar key. She unlocks the cage around Joel's cock and to his embarrassment, he almost immediately starts getting hard. She laughs and strokes her fingertips over his cock. "Eager little boy," she says, and Joel wishes more than anything that his escape attempt had been successful.

Next, Mommy dribbles lube over two of her fingers and before Joel can even spit out his pacifier and protest, she's pushed both of them into his ass. He groans, making a broken, needy noise.

She moves her fingers slowly, pulling them almost all the way out, then pushing them back in all the way up to her knuckles. She trails her fingertips over the head of his cock, her touch feather-light. "Bad little boy," she coos. "Mommy can't take her eyes off you for a second, can she?" She nudges a third finger against the rim of his hole, but when he whimpers, she pulls it back with a laugh. "We'll work you up to it, little one," she says. "Maybe you should wear plugs inside your diaper for a while? Stretch you out so you're always ready for Mommy's fingers or her cock?"

His own cock twitches at the mention of hers. What does that even mean? Does she have -- is she going to -- will she fuck him? Is that what she's saying? He babbles behind his pacifier, not sure what he's trying to say.

If you had asked him earlier -- if anyone asked for his thoughts any more these days, beyond do you want to wear the froggy socks or the ducky socks? -- he would have said it was impossible for him to come solely from fingers inside him. Now, though, he isn't sure there's a way to stop himself from coming. His fingers are touching spots inside him that send sparks up his spine and to his cock.

He squeezes around her fingers and thrusts his hips, trying to get more friction on his cock. Mommy pulls her hand back and he thrusts into air. She doesn't return her fingers to his cock and he keeps thrusting into nothing. The two little boys have stopped playing entirely and are watching, open-mouthed.

He doesn't know how much time passes. Maybe an eternity, maybe five minutes, and he's coming all over himself. It spurts surprisingly far, all the way up his chest. Some even splashes onto his chin.

Mommy laughs. "Will that help you behave?" she says. She pulls her fingers out of him and wipes them on his inner thigh. "Maybe Mommy needs to pay a bit more attention to your willy and bum than she thought." She folds his wet, sticky diaper back over his crotch and starts taping it back up. "Mommy's okay with that," she says. She kisses his tummy and blows a raspberry, then fastens his onesie and overalls back up.

"Come on," she says, pulling him to his feet and leading him to the swings. She makes him climb into a baby swing. His legs dangle through two holes in the rubber seat, which cradles his around his crotch and bum. His bum feels strange, wet and open from Mommy's fingers. He can feel lube dripping into the seat of his diaper. His weight in the swing pushes his soggy, squishy diaper into him, making sure he feels every drop of lube, piss, and come.

Mommy fastens him into the swing and he sits there, helpless, his legs dangling. She pushes him and he has no choice but to swing, his diaper squishing beneath him, his soft cock rubbing the front of his diaper. He starts to cry quietly. Behind him, pushing her little boy, Mommy hums a happy little tune.

*

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