🕑 Added 2025-02-14 17:27:14 +0000 UTC
Story #187: Clubhouse Baby 4
(Part 4 to the 'Clubhouse Baby' series)
(Content Tags: Messy diapers, humiliation, slice of life, ongoing story, boys babying boys, ABDL themes)
The failed invitation had given all three boys much to think about afterwards: Nash had awkwardly waddled his way out, his mind tormented by shame and frantically thinking of how he was supposed to clean himself up; Ashton was battling feelings of how much he'd enjoyed babying the ginger boy, and wondering if he was simply missing out on the caretaking duties of having a younger sibling; Tate was fighting his own jealousy, his mind fluttering with fantasies of what it would have been like to switch places with the babied boy.
What had allegedly started as a mean-spirited prank was now becoming a more complex matter.
As Tate and Ashton watched Nash plodding his way out of the clubhouse, with fumes of disgrace trailing behind his padded tushy, they turned to face one another. They'd given Nash another chance, but neither knew why the other was okay with that.
Tate wanted to live his diaper desires vicariously through Nash, and Ashton wanted another chance to treat him like the baby brother that he had never had, but both thought that the other surely could've have a legitimate reason to continue this.
It was Ashton who was the first to finally break the uncomfortable silence: "Haha, wow...I really didn't think he'd go that far. I kinda thought he'd bail whenever we pulled out the diapers."
Tate let out a laugh and nodded his head, "He's just really desperate, dude. He's a loser, remember? I'm surprised how fast those laxatives worked! He was dookin' in his pants in no time at all!"
This was how they had to frame it. In a bid to not come across as strange to the other, they both had to pretend that this had only been about humiliating the dork that had come in search of admittance. That was how Tate had sold the idea in the first place, that they wouldn't let Nash into the club, because they would filter him with something beyond the pale.
The other boys in their club hadn't been here today to witness it, but everyone had unanimously agreed that Tate's scheme was perfectly fitting for the kid that had crapped his pants last year. Nobody had suspected that Tate had ulterior motives; nobody had questioned why he'd been so adamant on going so far.
Ashton was the de facto captain of the club, and he'd been leery at first, since his preference had initially been to simply deny Nash's application, but he'd come around once Tate had painted a picture of what entertainment could be provided.
Tate picked up the onesie that Nash had left behind and neatly folded it, to put it alongside the package of diapers and other infantile goods that they'd acquired for this little joke of theirs. "So uh... You're okay with hitting him a second time, right? I know it wasn't part of the plan, but, umm..."
In the middle of all the fun, Tate had gotten ahead of himself by offering Nash a second chance at debasing himself. It really hadn't been his call to make, but he'd been pleasantly surprised that Ashton hadn't vetoed him on it.
Ashton scratched the back of his head with a sheepish grin, "Huh? Oh...That's fine. I didn't think we'd have so much fun, so there's no harm in doing it again. We should be able to get more members here next time too."
Tate nodded, though he wondered if having a larger audience would really be all that beneficial; he suspected that Nash had barely been comfortable enough to go through with things today, and that adding more jeering spectators could spook him away. While Tate and Ashton had been mocking him the entire time, there had still been a certain gentleness to it, more akin to boyish playfulness rather than cruel bullying.
There was no simple way to get that point across though; Tate feared he would be outed as a weirdo if he were to suggest that they keep it an intimate trio as today had been, especially since humiliating Nash had been the original plan.
While Tate pondered over this, Ashton was cracking open a can of soda and lounging back in a chair. "He was kinda cute, like, all dressed up as a baby, I mean."
Tate tilted his head in surprise and his cheeks pinkened, since his mind still had him self-inserting in the role that Nash had played. "Y-yeah? I guess so. Babies are cute, even if they're all big."
There was another awkward bout of silence in the clubhouse, with neither boy seeming to know what they should say next. It was like they were testing the waters with one another, trying to float out trial balloons to see where the other stood at the end of today.
"So, umm...What are we gonna do tomorrow? Like, to make it different? It's gotta be something we know he'll fail, right?" Tate asked, taking a seat next to his friend.
Ashton glanced over at the diapers, "Well...We can start with what we did today, and then just add more stuff. His initiation shouldn't change too much, since you pitched it as being something that matched his reputation."
It came as a relief to hear that Ashton was on the same page as him. Tate nodded his head and put his hand under his chin, "I'll think of some more stuff then. More baby stuff. How many times do you think he'll want to try again? How many times does he have to fail? And I mean...What if he somehow *doesn't* fail?"
"You're worried that he might get in?"
"Not worried...Just curious. If he was willing to do everything today, then he might not ever give up, and then he'd probably eventually win whatever challenge we give him. Do we just tell him no at that point?"
Ashton looked unsure of what the answer to that should be. He'd been completely against letting Nash into the club earlier, but now he was having second thoughts; he didn't necessarily see Nash as being a credible equal to have as a club member, but he did see Nash as being someone he might want to have around.
Of course, there wasn't an existing position in the club that would bestow Nash with the title that Ashton had in mind for him. Without some serious deception with his peers, he wouldn't be able to place Nash in the 'honorary' role of 'clubhouse baby'.
"...Probationary period."
"A what?" Tate raised an eyebrow, not quite as learned as his friend.
"A probationary period. That's what they give to new people at jobs who suck and need to get better. If Nash actually gets in, then we'll tell him he has to follow the rules of his probation for as long as we see fit." Ashton explained.
"Oh...Okay. So, like, what would that mean?"
Ashton pretended to think it over, as if he hadn't already been giving it a lot of his mental energy. "Could just make him keep wearing diapers and stuff to the clubhouse. He'd be more like a jester than a member."
Tate hid his smile, wondering if he'd somehow just gotten really lucky with things falling into place. A part of him had the hope that having a diaper boy in their club would somehow make his own feelings more acceptable; he had a desire to have other boys that would both accept and relish in the same things that he did.
He knew that was a longshot and a pipe dream, but if nothing else, he could continue to live vicariously through the red-headed boy. Maybe he could even convince Ashton to make this a reoccurring initiation for other new members!
"That'd be pretty funny. Besides, we did spend a lot on all these diapers and the other stuff; it'd be a shame to let it all go to waste after using it just once or twice." Tate said with a twinkle in his eye.
The two would chat for a little longer, and then Ashton would get up to leave. The afternoon was turning to early evening, and he needed to get home for dinner; Tate waved him off, but explained that he'd stay a little longer, to brainstorm ideas for what would come next for Nash.
Once he was completely alone in the clubhouse, Tate blocked the door and covered the windows. After everything he'd seen today, he couldn't go back home until he'd experienced some of it for himself. His parents worked late, so his presence wouldn't be missed for at least another hour, which would be plenty of time to indulge himself.
With a heavy breath, he picked up one of the diapers and started to unfold it. Nash was a little smaller than either him or Ashton, but the diaper's size should have been relatively comparable to what would fit a scrawny kid like Tate.
He hummed a little tune to himself as he stripped completely down, tossing his clothes on the plank floors. He'd been the one to buy the package of diapers for this little charade, and he'd had to suffer the agony of watching them remain unopened in his closet until today. It would have been suspicious to come to the clubhouse with one missing.
Tate fluffed the diaper in his hands and placed it on the round rug; he then carefully sat down on it and laid backwards. It was obviously harder to diaper himself than to diaper someone else, but with enough patience, he was able to secure it firmly around his waist, the top band intersecting with his belly button.
As he sat back up, it felt as if he'd died and gone to heaven, with a fluffy cloud now supporting his rump. How could Nash have complained about something so wonderful? The ginger boy had even worn two at the same time, which must have been even better!
Tate scratched his chin and wondered if tomorrow's challenges should involve triple-diapering, or even more! He blushed as he thought about how big and poofy Nash's butt would look like in more and more layers of padding.
"Maybe some physical challenges like that...Maybe an eating challenge too, with some prunes or something..." He mused, toddling back over to the table where the onesie had been left.
Tate put the 'Big Pooper' onesie on, just like Nash had worn, and while it was a slightly tight fit, he liked how tautly it pushed against his diaper. He only wished that he had a mirror that he could check himself out in, but he could only assume that he looked like Nash had, except with the addition of his backwards cap.
His eyes moved to the bottle of laxatives and he wondered if he should dare take a few; they had worked surprisingly fast on Nash both times, and he'd loaded his Pampers like a champ! The only potential problem was that he didn't know how long their effects would last, and he didn't want to go back home with the risk of pooing his underpants.
Feeling emboldened by everything that had happened today, he threw caution to the wind and dosed the baby bottle up with a similar amount to what he'd given Nash. He lived nearby to the clubhouse, so he'd have plenty of time to ride his bike home and take a shower before his parents got home.
Meanwhile, the same couldn't be said for Nash. After he'd waddled out of the clubhouse, his double-diaper filled with warm poop, he'd had a bit longer of a trek to get back home.
Sitting on his bike had been an icky affair, since the banana seat squished his pantload especially badly and smeared the contents of his diaper all across his buttcheeks; the muck had even spread to the front of his diaper, smothering everything in its wake. The second diaper's necessity was now coming into play, as he was sure that otherwise he might be leaking into his pants.
The effects of the laxatives would follow him after he left, leaving his tummy in a tumultuous state of thunder and fury. As he winced and pedaled his bike down the street, he could feel his gut cramping, and he couldn't stop sloppy farts from beginning an assault on his dirty diaper.
He groaned and cringed as he felt more magmatic mush squirting into the bubbling cauldron of poop that he called his diaper; Nash was still blissfully unaware of *why* he was pooping himself, having not figured out that he'd been drugged, and instead thinking that his anxiety had somehow brought this sudden surge of self-defecation.
His thoughts were less on the fudged Huggies around his waist, and instead were consumed by thoughts of how his initiation had gone. The crucible of caca, the trial of toddlers, however it should be referred to, had ended in failure, but he could take solace in the knowledge that he'd done well enough to get a second chance.
That had been the most surprising thing, and Nash took away the wrong idea from it, with the thought that they liked him enough to let him try again. They could have just as easily called it a loss and forever forbidden him from becoming a member of the club!
His gut suddenly burned and gurgled. Nash bit his lip and lifted his bottom a little bit off of the bike seat; with a grunt and a push, a powerful fart sputtered into his poopy diaper, and with it came another geyser of soft stool. He let out a sigh of relief as it settled into his pants and gingerly sat back down, just in time to make a turn onto his street.
Most boys would have probably recognized that his shame was the real goal of what had happened in that clubhouse, but Nash was desperate for validation and gullible enough that he didn't recognize a ruse whenever he saw it. He genuinely believed that every boy in the club must have gone through a similarly humiliating ritual of their own, and that his being 'baby' related, was merely a flourish added because of his public accident last year.
Nash carefully parked his bike near his garage and stepped off onto the concrete; his legs were bowed out and he knew that he must reek. He lived with his grandmother and his little brother, so he knew that he'd need to be sneaky about getting himself cleaned up. His baby brother was still in the middle of pottytraining, so Nash could stow his yucky diapers into the boy's pail, but he'd have to be really careful about it.
As he quietly snuck into his own house, his mind wandered and thought about how his new initiation might play out. Tate had said that it wouldn't be the exact same thing as what he'd done today, so he had hopes that it wouldn't involve diapers again! He was clueless to the fact that both Tate and Ashton had motives to keep diapers in the mix.
Even now, as Nash waddled up to the bathroom to clean himself up, Tate was back at the clubhouse with thoughts of what embarrassing things he should make Nash do tomorrow, and Ashton was at his own home, mulling over the strange feelings he'd suddenly started to have.
Tate had a notebook in front of him as he lounged on the rug, his padded posterior upturned, and his gut slowly beginning to cramp from the laxative-laced bottle that he'd chugged. He was letting his imagination fly in whatever direction it tilted toward, with the plan being to write out a bunch of possible ideas for what to do to Nash.
His own daydreams kept getting in the way though, as he wondered what it would be like for both him and Nash to be the diaper boys of the clubhouse, with their fearless leader playing the role of big brother, just as he had done today with Nash. The prospect of such degradation and infantilization was both tantalizing and comforting to him.
As he scribbled down a few more ideas, with childish doodles in the margins to better illustrate his thoughts, he felt the pressure growing in his bottom. Curling a smile, he clenched his pencil tightly between his fingers and let a big fart rip into the silence of the clubhouse interior. He allowed himself to drool a bit, getting his chin slick with the anticipation of what he was about to do.
The laxatives had loosened what otherwise would have likely been a strenuous bowel movement, and thus Tate didn't even have to position himself like a toddler to soil himself. With his tummy on the floor, he just grunted and squeezed his eyes shut, and mushy poop began to rapidly pile up in his diaper like a soft-serve machine with a broken handle.
It was an infantile ecstasy that left him grinning like a loon, but it wasn't something that he would be allowed to enjoy for too long. Mere moments after the explosion in his seat, there was suddenly a knock at the door to the clubhouse.
Tate froze, his eyes widening. Who could it be? And what was he going to do?
