The Brown Room, Again

By BlankRasa
published December 29, 2020
3128 words

Adrian and Caleb move back to The Brown Room and get ready to graduate as their new, improved selves.

Part 5: The Brown Room, Again

Like clockwork, Mrs. P arrived with their new responsibilities. Mrs. P announced that they’d be moving back to the brown room. The brown room was much as they’d left it, except that a set of weights had been placed near Caleb’s bed, and all of their own belongings had been removed except for Caleb’s sketchbook and pencils, which were piled neatly on the desk on his side of the room. That felt like it made sense; there was nothing Adrian had brought in his suitcase that he could imagine having a use for now.

Along with the move, they had new responsibilities: Adrian would be putting on his own clothes and using the bathroom on his own, and Caleb would be responsible for exercising to get strong.

Their lives changed at that point. Suddenly, instead of playing all day, they had chores that took up most of their time. Each day, the boys would wake up in their separate beds. One of them would walk over to the other’s bed and they’d jerk off together. Good boys get to cum. Mrs. P would put out clothes for each of them. They weren’t little boys any more, so she’d put out plain white briefs for each of them. For Adrian she’d put out either khaki shorts or jeans and either a polo shirt, a button down shirt with short sleeves, or, if they were really going to be working hard that day, a t-shirt. Caleb always got either athletic shorts or jeans, and most days a sleeveless t-shirt to go with it, and some days just an undershirt or no shirt at all.

They’d get dressed and do their regular chores around the house, preparing breakfast and cleaning. Then there’d be some project for them. Some days it was something around the house, like weeding or repairing something. Other days she’d loan them out to someone; over the course of a week they helped put in a fence at a farm, helped paint a house in town, and picked up a lot of trash. They no longer needed to be escorted there: she’d give them directions and they’d eagerly go off to do their chore, glad for the chance to be good boys.

It would have been unpleasant if not for how much it thrilled both of them to be a good boy. Whenever Adrian got sick of sweeping or picking up trash, he’d let himself zone out and think about what a good boy he was being. At some point, he and Caleb would find an opportunity to slip off and find a place to jerk off together - in a barn, in the bathroom, or just a slightly hidden spot in the woods when they couldn’t find anything better. On days when they stayed around the house, they didn’t even bother with that; whenever they felt the need, they’d just sit down to jerk off. Good boys get to cum.

They usually had some free time in the afternoon. Caleb always wanted to work out, and Adrian started to join him for the first part, sit ups or running some laps around the house - living a healthy lifestyle was one of Adrian’s responsibilities. And then Caleb, inevitably, wanted to keep working out after Adrian was tired, so Adrian would go off for a walk while Caleb lifted weights. The nearest farm was only about five minutes down the road, and many days Adrian would see someone from the couple who lived there out working, and he’d volunteer to help out.

He’d walk back past by the rock by the river where Caleb liked to sketch, and always found Caleb there, shirtless and freshly showered after his workout and drawing intently. Sometimes Adrian would hang out with him there for a bit, just quietly looking out at the river, and they’d walk home together.

One day, he asked, “Hey, Caleb? What’re you always drawing?”

Caleb shrugged. “Lots of stuff. It depends on my mood.” He paused considering. “It’s private, but you can look, if you want.” A little shyly, he handed the book to Adrian. Adrian took it carefully and flipped through, looking up at Caleb’s face every so often to make sure Caleb wanted him to keep looking.

Caleb’s style was detailed line drawings, a mix of landscapes and portraits. The portraits were mostly of three recurring characters. “Who’s this?” Adrian asked after one appeared a second time.

“Oh.” Caleb blushed. “Lucius is from a comic. He’s a burglar who tries to help people. Not a real comic,” Caleb clarified.

“You mean, it’s a comic you’re thinking about making but haven’t made yet?” Adrian asked. Caleb nodded, glad Adrian had gotten good at understanding him despite the difficulty he had making sentences now.

The sketchbook was thick, and many pages had multiple small sketches on it, so Adrian guessed it went back a year or more, and the improvement in Caleb’s skill was evident as Adrian flipped forward in it. “You’re really good,” Adrian told him.


Adrian could guess when Caleb had arrived here, partially because there was a particularly detailed sketch of the view from this very rock, but also because the sketches of the characters started changing.

Right after the landscape was a page with his three characters posing next to each other in briefs. On the following pages were sketches of them in action - fighting or climbing or sneaking - but always in briefs, and soon those briefs started to look more like the childish ones he’d been wearing for a while. Then there was another transition: first a noticeable dip in skill, probably from when Caleb got the book back when they returned, and then in the last couple pages he’d filled, the first efforts at sketching out new versions of his three characters, all much more muscular than before.

The last page had an unfinished outline of Caleb’s trio, in their newly musculed styles, having a sleepover. The lines on the most detailed of the three suggested that at least one would be wearing a diaper for it.

When he finished, he handed the book back to Caleb. Caleb said, “I don’t usually let people see it.”

Adrain nodded. “I’m honored. They’re really good. You should keep drawing. And…I mean, I understand.”

Caleb nodded.

After a week, they weren’t getting new responsibilities much, and though Caleb had been wearing regular underwear to sleep in for days, Adrian was still wearing the absorbent underwear and clearly needed it, since he was wetting it each night. He finally worked out the courage to confront Mrs. P about it.

One night while he was washing dishes after dinner, he asked, “Mrs. P, could you please tell me when staying dry at night is going to be one of my responsibilities?”

She responded matter-of-factly, as if he’d asked what Malaysia’s major exports were. “Never. You’re going to be wetting the bed for the rest of your life.”

Adrian paused, surprised and a little upset. He struggled to find a polite way to express his dismay. “I’m very concerned to hear that, ma’am. May I ask why?” Even this upset, he couldn’t break the habit of speaking as politely as possible.

Mrs. P seemed perfectly happy to discuss the way the program worked in the same calm, factual tone. “Because it improves retention if participants don’t experience a one hundred percent restoration of pre-program skills."

It took Adrian a moment to parse that. “You mean wetting the bed is going to help me remember to be a good boy.”


“But Caleb doesn’t wet…” Adrian had been about to complain that Caleb wasn’t wetting the bed, until he thought about it. Mrs. P watched him think. “Caleb’s not getting other skills back.”

“Precisely,” she said. “The choice of skills is specific to the individual treatment plan."

Adrian thought about the way he’d been taking the lead when dealing with people on their trips outside the house. It wasn’t just because he enjoyed being unfailingly polite, addressing people as ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’, never forgetting a please or a thank you. It was also because Caleb still, after days and days, was only speaking in short, simple sentences. Or the way that when they walked into town, Adrian was the one who got all their lunch money from Mrs. P, and handled paying for it at the dinner because Caleb couldn’t remember how money worked. “Is Caleb every going to be able to talk normally, ma’am?” Adrian asked.

“No,” she answered.

Adrian tugged on the gap in the button down shirt he was wearing, thinking about the way Caleb’s responsibilities included intensely working out every day, lifting weights or running or doing exercises, something Adrian felt no desire to do. “Will he be okay?”

Mrs. P suddenly looked seriously. “Yes. He has a big family of people who love him and will make sure he’s taken care of. I wouldn’t have approved this plan otherwise."

Adrian nodded and pursed his lips, not even sure what to do with the new knowledge. “Thank you for the information, ma’am.”

Mrs. P smiled and nodded. “No problem. You asked very politely,” she added with a smirk, the complement immediately sending a rush to Adrian’s penis.

That night, while they were huddled together tightly in Caleb’s bed after their last cum of the night, before Adrian retreated to his own bed, Adrian decided to let his friend know what he’d learned. “Hey, Caleb? I talked to Mrs. P. She says that some of our skills, we’re never getting them back. Like, you’re not gonna talk in regular sentences or be able to handle money even after you leave.” He gulped. “And I’m not going to stop wetting the bed.”

Caleb sighed. “Oh. I wondered.”

“Caleb, do you know why she’s making you work out and not me?”

Caleb ran a finger down the center his chest; the effects of his workouts, plus the protein shakes Mrs. P was having him drink were just beginning to show, a little mass starting to accumulate on his skinny frame. “Before I came, I wrote her what I wanted. I wanted to fit in with my family. They’re all athletes, and I just like to draw. I guess I’ll be an athlete too, now.”

Adrian nodded. “You still like to draw, though.”

“Yeah.” Caleb nodded. “I can do both.” Caleb frowned, trying to put a complicated thought into words. “There’s a lot of space in my head now, enough for both.” He said it with a touch of melancholy, understanding that something else had been cleared out to make that space.

“Mrs. P did say your family will make sure you’re okay,” he assured Caleb. “Even though you’re…”

“Even though I’m dumb now.” Caleb said it calmly; he didn’t seem to mind, he just understand it was just part of being a good boy for him.

“Yeah,” agreed Adrian. “And if they’re don’t…I’ll give you my number. If you ever need help, you can text me. I promise I’ll help.” After what they’d been through together, Adrian felt a bond to Caleb, and couldn’t stand the thought of him ending up stuck somewhere because of what Mrs. P had done to him.

“Thanks,” said Caleb, and wrapped his arm around Adrian. Instead of going back to his own bed, Adrian drifted off to sleep there next to Caleb.

In the morning, Mrs. P informed Caleb that he’d be receiving his last responsibility - picking out his own clothes. By then, he’d fully learned how he was supposed to dress from a week of Mrs. P’s guidance, so Caleb picked out white briefs, a tight-fighting undershirt, and a pair of mesh shorts for the day. Adrian dressed in the clothes Mrs. P picked out for him: white briefs, of course, a green polo shirt, and another pair of khaki shorts.

Their chore for the day was at the library, helping haul book donations. The librarian who’d read to them, that day Mrs. P had brought them there, was still there, and she looked at them curiously, but never said anything. As always, chores turned them on, so shortly before lunch they took a break, locked themselves in the bathroom, and jerked off together.

The following morning, Mrs. P informed them that Caleb’s parents would be picking him up that afternoon. They had chores around the house, but mostly spent the morning in silence but together, exchanging looks. Eventually Caleb’s parents arrived and after a private, emotional hug, Caleb took his bag and left.

The house was lonely without Caleb. He did his chores that afternoon in silence. At dinner, he talked to Mrs. P.

“May I please ask a question?” Adrian said.

“How could I refuse such a polite request,” she answered, and Adrian squirmed at the sudden tightness in his briefs.

“Why is it like this? The program, I mean?”

Adrian didn’t really know how to ask his question, but fortunately, she understood. “You mean why spend weeks sexually and emotionally degrading you just to send you home as a good boy?”

Adrian swallowed and whispered, “Yeah.”

“You’re an impulsive boy, Adrian. You do things because they feel good, and you don’t think about the consequences. That’s how you ended up failing your semester. I don’t know a way to change that, to make you able to control your impulses. So we redirected them. The sex drive is very compelling, and we tie your desire to behave appropriately to your impulsive desire to satisfy your sex drive."

“Okay, but then, why not just make us good boys and skip the middle stuff?” He winced, realizing how critical that sounded, and knowing it wasn’t okay to talk to a grown-up that way. “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking, ma’am,” he added, trying to save it.

“No, I don’t mind,” she said with a small laugh. “It’s because it only sticks if you know that it’s necessary. You need to know that you have no impulse control. Adrian, pleasured yourself outside in plain view of the road, sat at the library in a diaper listening to a book for toddlers, and spent days crawling on all fours and drinking from a bottle, because it would get you your next orgasm. That’s who you are: you’d do anything, anything at all, for a good cum.

It’s because you need to know who you are. You need to know that you have no impulse control, that you’d do anything, anything at all, for a good cum. That’s who you are - it’s who you’ve always been. We’ve done you a favor by making it so that all you need to do for your next orgasm is to be polite and well-mannered and helpful to people, and you need to know that. Once you’re gone, away from the hypnotic conditioning in the music, you might think about acting differently, and you need to know that you’ll follow your impulses to much worse places if you do.”

Adrian’s cheeks burned, and fled upstairs to avoid discussing it more.

The next morning, Mrs. P told him that, like Caleb, his final responsibility would be choosing his own clothes. He picked out an appropriate set, another button down shirt with short sleeves and a pair of jeans over his white briefs, and went downstairs to do his chores.

“You’ll be going home tomorrow,” she told him. “Today you’re going to help me get ready for the first guest in our next cycle.”

Adrian spent hours helping her get the place ready, cleaning up the blue and white rooms from everything that had happened, putting the childish outfits back in storage, and so on. The new guest arrived in late afternoon, a guy named Logan about Adrian’s age but with at least six inches on him.

Adrian was busy outside with chores, so they didn’t meet until dinner, which Logan spent fuming and refusing all of Adrian’s attempts to make polite conversation. That night, before bed in the brown room, Adrian made another attempt to make friendly conversation, which was again rebuffed with a “Shut the fuck up, dork,” which ended that. Eventually Adrian stripped down to his briefs and got in bed, and Logan took a pile of pajamas and left to change in the bathroom.

While he was out, Adrian thought about Logan. Logan didn’t seem that nice, and it occurred to Adrian that maybe it would be better if Logan were a good boy. And thinking about how he’d helped get the place ready for Logan, Adrian felt like he’d done a little bit to help Logan along the way to being a good boy, and that made Adrian feel like he’d been a good boy, too. And so, while Logan was in the bathroom trying to figure out why he couldn’t climax, Adrian quickly had a very satisfying orgasm thinking about what was about to happen to Logan.

The next day, Adrian left with his parents, looking forward to his new life as a good boy. After spending a chunk of the ride talking happily to his parents about how well the program at worked, the conversation hit a lull. He got out the cell phone he’d finally gotten back and deleted dozens and dozens of messages from former friends he didn’t want to deal with any more, until there was just the one he’d gotten from Caleb yesterday, saying simply, “Wanna be roommates next year?”

Because, naturally, Caleb had enrolled at the college like his parents wanted. Adrian didn’t hesitate: he typed “Fuck yeah,” then realized before sending it that that wasn’t polite, deleted it, and texted back, “I’d like that very much.” And he thought about how much help Caleb would need next year making it through school, and then crossed his legs to hide the erection he got from thinking about how much he’d be able to help his friend.

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