The White Room
Adrian and Caleb are moved on to a nursery as their training progresses.
Part 3: The White Room
The white room was, essentially, a giant crib. There was a little side area by the entrance with a pile of diapers, wipes, and towels and the like, and a six foot tall set of crib bars. Beyond the bars was a big padded area entirely for babies. There were simple toys - rattles and other brightly colored things that made noise when touched or shaken - and there were a variety of plush animals scattered about.
The wallpaper was a mockery of nursery wallpaper, an off-white background covered by playful little cartoon monkeys running, climbing trees, eating bananas, which would have been acceptable in any nursery if each of the monkeys weren’t drawn to look like it was jerking off with one hand while doing whatever else it was doing.
Mrs. P unlatched a door in the crib bars and led both boys in. She pulled a diaper off the shelf to put on the still naked Caleb, who compliantly lay down and let her put it on. Then got another diaper off the shelf and instructed Adrian to lie down. To his surprise, the diaper she pulled off him was wet; he hadn’t even noticed that he’d peed in it. She put a fresh one on him, then shepherded both of them to lie down near each other.
There was no bed in this room, just a giant padded floor, soft enough to sleep on, which was apparently what they were going to do. She pulled blankets over them, gave each of them a pacifier, closed and latched the fence behind her, and left them.
Adrian felt like his world had compressed to a point. There were no more trips outside, not even to the bathroom. It was suffocating, but two helpless littles babies had no hope of unlatching the fence. And the room was mind-numbing, carefully designed to have nothing that would be overly stimulating. Even meals became boring; Mrs. P only brought them some thoroughly homogenized, milk-based sludge that she gave to them in baby bottles. There was nothing to do but sink deeper into the fog of endless masturbation. Helpless little babies get to cum.
Pulled even deeper into the cycle of orgasm and helplessness, the few skills the two boys had held onto degraded quickly. The next day, Caleb didn’t bother standing up at all, and Adrian’s gait started getting unsteady so quickly that by evening he’d largely decided that walking wasn’t worth the trouble and had resorted to mostly crawling. Their speech slipped away, first to single word exclamations, and then to just grunts and yelps.
Adrian knew there was a wider world outside this crib, a world where people did other things and had hobbies and interests and jobs. But he couldn’t remember any reason to want to be out there. He had no concerns at all, nothing he had to think about or worry about, not even his basic bodily functions. And in exchange for not worrying, he got a life of nonstop easy pleasure, orgasming again and again into his diapers. Helpless little babies get to cum.
Adrian lost any interest in time; Mrs. P told him when it was time to eat and time to sleep. He had no idea how much time he spent that way; probably just a few days, but they felt like an endless, undifferentiated, empty expanse.
One day, Caleb woke up distressed. When Mrs. P came in, she sat on the floor next to him and said, “Caleb, your responsibilities today are speaking one word at a time and feeding yourself with your fingers.” Caleb listened eagerly. Mrs. P then provided Adrian with another bottle of whatever milkshake protein sludge she’d been feeding them, but gave Caleb a little plate with some strips of bell peppers and a piece of chicken, which Caleb proceeded to enthusiastically feed himself while Adrian sucked down his bottle.
Caleb was also excited to talk again, shouting out brief comments - “Done!” when he finished his food, “Diaper” when he noticed it had been used and needed changing, “Ball” when he wanted Adrian to roll him the ball. Adrian didn’t really understand what was happening to Caleb. Caleb seemed so excited, but to Adrian it seemed like a lot of trouble to remember how to do that stuff, and the endless cycle of eating, sleeping, and humming continued unchanged for him.
The next morning, Mrs. P spoke to Caleb again. “Caleb, you have an additional responsibility now. It’s also your responsibility to try walking clumsily some of the time.” And indeed, after that Caleb started crawling less, preferring to awkwardly waddle around the crib.
Adrian puzzled over Caleb’s new behavior. Not just the fact that he was suddenly starting to do things he hadn’t been, but that he seemed so happy about it, and especially so happy to show them off when Mrs. P was around. And the next morning, he awoke with a realization in his head: Caleb was beginning to act like a good little boy.
And once the thought was there, he knew what went with it: Good little boys get to cum.
Once he realized that, Adrian couldn’t orgasm again. He was still plenty aroused, but no amount of fidgeting and rubbing himself could get him to cum now. He got increasingly distressed. This wasn’t like before, where he’d known what he needed to do but didn’t want to do it. He didn’t even know how to be a good little boy. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten it with his other knowledge: he realized that he’d never known how to be a good little boy - after all, wasn’t that why his parents had sent him here in the first place?
When Mrs. P returned, he shrieked his distress at her. He wanted to be a good little boy, he wanted to cum, he just didn’t know how!
She knelt by him. “Well, Adrian, I think you’re ready for some responsibilities. Today, your responsibilities are speaking one word at a time and feeding yourself with your fingers.” Adrian was thrilled and grateful. All he wanted to do was be a good little boy, and Mrs. P was telling him how. And she put a plate of finger food in front of Adrian; Adrian dug through the fog of things he’d forgotten, remembering how to eat with his hands, and proceeded to do it with gusto, eager to show Mrs. P what a good little boy he was.
After he was done with the meal, he rubbed the front of his diaper until he came. It hadn’t, really, been that many hours since the last time, but after days and days of cumming every few hours, going half a day without had felt like torture. Adrian lay back and basked in the feeling as Mrs. P changed his diaper. Good little boys get to cum.
Then Mrs. P went over to Caleb and gave him his new responsibility: telling her when he needed to use the toilet. Then she took off Caleb’s diaper and cleaned him but, instead of putting him in a fresh diaper like she had Adrian, she put him in a pair of the colorful briefs like they’d worn before, this pair flyless and all blue except for a ducky on the front.
It was, in fact, a little satisfying to be able to do things for himself a little again, but mostly, carrying out his responsibilities turned Adrian on. Every time he ate with his fingers instead of using a bottle or shouted a word to communicate, he thought about how he was fulfilling his responsibilities, being a good little boy, and how that meant that he’d get to cum soon. Good little boys get to cum.
Every morning, Mrs. P gave them each new responsibilities, and the boys soaked them in excitedly, eager to show that they were good little boys. Caleb started walking all the time - in fact, often running around excitedly - while Adrian started toddling around clumsily, not quite remembering how to do it right. Walking this way felt less convenient than the crawling he’d gotten used to, but the fact that every step he made was being a good little boy helped, and every couple hours he’d sit down and rub the front of his diaper, turned on by the thought of all the clumsy steps he’d made. Good little boys get to cum. And Adrian and Caleb had both started speaking more; they weren’t using big words, and their sentences were still short and simple, but at least they were able to hold basic conversations again.