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“Louis,” Harry calls from the kitchen. “Dinner’s on the table.”
Louis’ been mostly asleep for the last hour, dozing in the wingback chair as he’s about given up trying to get any work done. He stands and stretches, feeling his back crack in about three places. Harry had said that he’s got a good idea for dinner and wouldn’t tell Louis anything more, so Louis had said yeah alright, just nothing with mushrooms please.
He walks down the hall and when he gets to the dining room he sees what Harry was talking about — they’re having salmon tonight, which isn’t too out of the ordinary because Harry prides himself on his salmon, but next to his plate, where Harry has a glass of wine, Louis has…
A baby bottle.
Louis takes in a sharp breath, but he sits down without comment. He makes eye contact with Harry and immediately picks up the bottle, chugging half of it in one go.
Harry smiles, and takes a sip of wine.
—
For a long time, Louis wouldn’t share his kinks with Harry.
Sure, he knew what Harry was into. Knew Harry liked to dom and liked to take care of Louis in all sorts of ways, and he loved that for Harry. But Louis’ kinks were embarrassing, mostly because they didn’t make sense to him.
He wouldn’t say that he was ever truly into age play. No hate to those who were, it’s just that Louis loved looking at the cute, frilly dresses, the oversized pacifiers, the adult-sized doll furniture. He loved it all, right up until it came to actually acting like a child.
The second Louis thought about that, all the sexiness was gone.
And even short of that, he knew diapers were something he would never touch. He couldn’t handle humiliation, found nothing sexy about it.
So he wasn’t into age play, or at least he would never share it. But he would look it up sometimes just to see… the accessories.
It was after Harry accidentally walked in on him one too many times that they finally talked it out and Harry had calmly suggested that Louis might be into the idea of being a doll.
“I don’t think that’s a kink,” Louis had said.
“I think if it turns you on, it’s a kink,” Harry had replied.
—
Even making sure to get some salmon in his stomach, whatever Harry puts in that bottle works fast. Louis feels himself slowing down. He feels heavy, like it’s a lot of work to pick up his fork, or even to keep his head upright.
Harry’s already finished his dinner, and is just sipping the last of his wine now, watching Louis struggle. “Hey,” he says, eyebrows knitted together and voice full of mock concern. “You feeling okay?”
Louis tries to nod, but his head flops forward and doesn’t come back up.
“Oh dear,” Harry says, rising from his seat. “Looks like you need to rest. Here, let me help you to your room.”
Your room gets a thrill out of Louis. Harry only talks about your room on nights when they’re going to the play room, the one that’s usually kept locked when people are over, explained away as a storage closet.
Louis tries to walk when Harry helps him up, but he’s so heavy and slow, immediately stumbling and nearly wiping out on the floor.
“I’ve got you,” Harry mumbles, the smile clear in his voice. “Come on, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”
He hoists Louis up, and Louis does manage to lock his ankles behind Harry’s back and Harry carries him through the house and into a room at the back. Louis is sometimes very grateful for the insane amount that Harry is able to lift.
“There you are,” says Harry, leaning forward and letting Louis drop onto his back on a soft surface. He flips on the light and Louis blinks, staring up at a ceiling with stars painted onto it.
“Now, since you don’t seem to be feeling well, I’ll just make sure you’re safe,” Harry says. “I’d hate to see you accidentally get hurt trying to get up.”
Louis feels it as Harry brings straps over his upper torso and arms, and then over his ankles. He weakly moves about trying to sit up, just enough to feel the way he’s secured to the table. It sends a thrill through him.
“You know,” Harry says, leaning over him and brushing Louis’ hair back from his face, “I know when some people get suddenly ill like this they might lash out and hurt themselves, I’d hate to think I’d accidentally let that happen to you.” He disappears from Louis’ sight for a moment and returns with a number of matching pink accessories. “Good thing I have something laying around that might help,” he says.
It’s a script he’s used a million times before, and if it weren’t for the fact that Louis gets terribly turned on by it every time, he’d be rolling his eyes right now. As it is, he shivers as Harry packs his fingers into a ball and pushes them into the pink mitts, pulling them tight around his wrists.
It’s at this point that Louis starts to feel floaty instead of heavy.
“I’ve got these too,” Harry says, holding up more accessories of the same material. “And they’re not for safety, but they match and I think they’d look so cute on you.”
He’s very good at doing the one eighty, from caring to sinister, and Louis squirms a little as he feels Harry unbutton his skinnies and peel them off his legs.
“Just have to take these off first,” Harry says. “They don’t go together, and we have to make sure you look presentable.”
The cool air hits Louis’ bare legs and he shivers, but Harry pays him no mind, having discarded the trousers, he’s moved on to pulling the booties on that match Louis’ mitts. Louis feels them tighten around his angles and feels the familiar thrill zip through him.
Harry leans over his face again, and his smile has gone from one of concern and gentle worry, to a self assured confidence. “How are you feeling now?” he asks.
Louis tries to form words, but his tongue is thick in his mouth and whatever comes out is delightfully unintelligible.
Harry laughs. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say,” he says.
He turns and walks away, further into the room, and Louis tries to crane his neck to follow, but the sides of the padded table he’s on are arched, supposedly to keep him from rolling off. Harry returns a few minutes later, though, something pink and frilly draped over his arm.
“You’ll look great in this,” he says. “It matches your eyes so well.”
He leans over Louis again, undoing the two straps holding him in place (not that they’re necessary), before gently hoisting Louis up into a sitting position.
Louis pitches forward a little before he can steady himself, his mitted hands coming up to brace him.
“We’re going to get this ugly thing off of you,” Harry says, holding him up by his shoulder with one hand and fingering the material of Louis’ Hendrix tee-shirt with his other. It takes a few minutes of struggle to get it up and over his head with the way Louis’ arms feel leaden and hard to move, but he’s successful eventually, the tee-shirt discarded to the floor and Louis’ chest bare to the world.
“I don’t know who dressed you in that,” Harry says, keeping up his running monologue. “With an outfit like that, no wonder you were such a cheap purchase. Don’t worry, I’ve got just the thing for you, you’ll be a great display choice in no time.
The pink, frilly material appears in Louis’ line of sight again, but he’s using all of his strength just to keep himself properly sitting upright that he can do nothing to stop Harry as he starts feeding Louis’ arms through the material.
It goes up and over his head, and then Louis is flat on his back on the table again as Harry is shimmying it down his chest. It’s a champagne pink dress with short sleeves that end in white ruffles, a babydoll cut with white buttons and a skirt with what he thinks are three layers of alternating pink and white ruffles.
And, from what he can tell, it covers almost nothing of his thighs.
“It’s perfect,” Harry breathes, manhandling Louis to move the skirt into place. “I knew I could get the size correct with a few tries.” He pushes his hands under the dress, up Louis’ thighs. “This is going to have to go, though. The color doesn’t match.”
Louis feels his cheeks heating up as Harry grasps his boxers and pulls them down, only briefly struggling to get them over the booties.
He feels cool air where they had just been and shivers.
“I don’t actually have any matching panties,” Harry muses. “But I can order some. You’ll be fine until then.”
Louis knows he’s supposed to complain here. He always complains here. But his brain is still moving slow and he doesn’t quite remember his line, so all he gets out is, “‘S cold.”
Harry glares at him. “Pretty girls like you don’t talk,” he says. He opens a drawer underneath Louis and pulls something out. Louis gets only a brief glance of it — a white paci with a pink strap — before it’s thrust into his mouth, the strap wrapped around the back of his head and secured to the other side of the paci.
It’s thick in his mouth, oversized in a way that will make his jaw ache soon.
Harry’s thunderous face goes back to a smile and he smooths Louis’ hair back again. “I’d say you’re ready to be put on display,” he says. He leans down and grasps under Louis’ back and knees, carrying him princess style off of the changing table.
This part is new, usually Harry brings him to the oversized crip and “puts him to sleep”.
Louis squeaks when Harry sets him down a little roughly in a large white rocking chair.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got a display base to keep you upright,” Harry says, and Louis finds that two pieces of curved metal come around from the back of the chair and wrap around just below his armpits, like a porcelain doll stand, keeping him mostly upright in the chair.
“There,” Harry says, apparently securing them in place. “And just to make sure you’re well positioned—”
He wraps thick padded material around the arm rests of the rocker, trapping Louis’ wrists and securing them over the end of the mitts. Then he leans down and does the same with his ankles, which pulls his knees apart seeing as the chair is quite large, and the short dress Louis has found himself in becomes significantly more scandalous as he can feel how on display he is.
Harry stands up and surveys his work. Louis tries to keep his head upright. The cloudiness is fading a little, but thanks to the mitts and straps he’s pretty stuck regardless.
“Well?” Harry asks. “A little thank you for how pretty I’ve dolled you up would be nice.”
Obediently, Louis tries to reply through his gag, although nothing intelligible comes out more than some muffled noises. Harry nods, though.
“That’s what I thought,” he says. “For being such a good doll, I’ll even give you a reward.”
This is very uncharted territory.
Harry leans down and puts his hands under Louis’ short skirt, making him jump. He’d been trying to ignore his half-hard cock, but now with Harry’s hands on him it’s significantly more at attention, and lifting his skirt. Harry slides something around his cock and tightens it just enough to be uncomfortable, and sits back.
“I think you’re pretty enough for a store window,” he says suddenly, changing the subject and leaving Louis very confused.
Suddenly Louis is finding himself turned around as Harry turns the chair to face the floor to ceiling window in the center of the room that looks out over their back garden.
He leaves a single kisson Louis’ head and then leaves.
Louis shifts. He takes in the ways he’s been secured to the chair, the straps on his wrists and ankles and the metal around his torso. He whines into the gag, feeling the way his cock lifts his short skirt and puts himself on display to the thankfully empty garden.
And then the garden isn’t so empty.
Because Harry walks out there, fresh glass of wine in hand, and surveys Louis through the glass with that crooked smile he has.
Then he puts his hand into his pocket and suddenly there are strong vibrations around his cock, hitting his balls and making him shudder and squirm, yelping in surprise.
He’s just a doll, though, on display for passers by in the garden to see, and properly secured to his display chair. He’s not going anywhere.
His cock sits at attention, lifting his skirts to give Harry just the show he was looking for, and Louis’ cheeks heat up as all of him tenses, uselessly.
The ring around his cock keeps the orgasm building and building in a way that wakes Louis from his drug induced paralysis faster than he thought possible, but he gets the feeling release isn’t on the horizon any time soon.
He’s just a doll, after all.