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Ever since they met, it had been a slippery slope back into his infancy. Which wasn’t what he had expected at all when he had asked Sister if she thought Perpetua would want to spend time with him.
The shift in their dynamic wasn’t immediate either, but something about that made it worse; Copia saw the train coming towards him, and willingly chose to lay on the tracks.
He should have been stubborn about the indignities. Were they indignities though, if they originated from good intentions? The padding spreading his legs apart would certainly suggest so.
But he was so desperate to spend time with his sister that he said yes to so many things he otherwise would have denied. Little, inconsequential things that quickly added up. Until he started agreeing to bigger wants from her—let her dress him, let her feed him, let her bathe him—and he had slid too far down the slope to try climbing back up now.
It was his own fault, really. Had he been better at taking care of himself like a grown-up, then Perpetua wouldn’t have had to step in like she did.
Not that Copia had ever been exactly proficient in that particular area.
Their day together, their very first day together, had been like something out of one of those Hallmark movies that Copia loved to rag on (but that the hopeless romantic in him still loved nonetheless). Or maybe it had been more akin to the beginning of some fairytale—either way, it wasn’t what he had been expecting at all. Of course he knew that the vitriol and fire he held onto had died down once he admitted to himself that beyond the jealousy and betrayal he felt, he just wanted to get to know the sibling he had so long been denied. What he hadn’t been expecting however was a new sort of fire to stoke the coals low in his belly the moment he locked eyes with his twin.
Eyes locked on one another, and suddenly there was the burn of desire and want, along with a deep-seated, almost instinctual knowledge that they belonged to one another. An immediate sort of click that drew them closer, as if no one else in the world had truly existed before this. Copia barely heard the spirit of their mother speak as he closed the gap between himself and Perpetua, her voice becoming white noise when compared to the thud of his heartbeat rushing in his ears. He had been too awkward to move in for something as familiar as a hug right away, but eagerly took up her hand in his and noticed the way she smiled and interlaced their fingers.
“Go on Cardi, say hi to your sister. She’s been waiting a long time to meet you,” Sister Imperator instructed, ghostly hand on his lower back as she guided him forwards.
For some reason, he felt like a schoolboy, and it reflected in his voice. Soft and shy as he stuttered through his introduction, gazing up at her. “Um, hello. It’s. It’s great to finally meet you, I’m, well, you know—”
“Copia,” she cut him off. Her voice was warm with affection that he wasn’t sure he deserved. Perpetua squeezed his hand then, as if sensing his uncertainty. Another thrum of connection shot through him. Belonging and completion, his mind told him. “It’s nice to meet you too. I’m—”
“Perpetua,” he finished for her, feeling simultaneously breathless and like he was breathing for the first time. There had been no real need in cutting her off, but the mirroring in their behavior seemed to delight their mother.
Even with her more youthful energy, the small clap she did was secondary to their studying of one another, as were her words. “Oh, look at that. Getting along already!”
At that moment, Copia had yet to realize the nature of that belonging. The ownership to one another. Not at the beginning of the day, but by the end of it, it began to take shape. All because of one little misstep; it was always one little misstep that was his undoing. He was talented in that way.
His misstep in question? The fact that he still hadn’t properly set up his own living quarters. That, paired with how he had had the brilliant idea to invite her up to his room, not wanting the day to be over yet. Just a little longer together, as if it could make up for decades spent apart.
All it took was one little question to cause a schism in their burgeoning dynamic and set it on a new path. They had been laughing at some stupid joke, sitting far too close together on his loveseat to be decent as his sister’s hand curled around the plush flesh of his inner thigh, when a comfortable lull settled between them. And in that lull, perhaps in want of more comfortable accommodations for what surely was to come, Perpetua had her realization. The apartment was shockingly empty.
“Where’s your bed?”
Copia stilled, his laughter dying down quickly and being replaced with an emotion he could not identify as Perpetua stood up to look around the space; he felt as if he were in trouble. But that was ridiculous, and he quickly brushed the thought away before it could overtake him.
“Eh, in storage, I think? I haven’t really had time to unpack…but this is nice, isn’t it?” he asked, tugging nervously at the cuff of his sleeve.
Months. He had had months to unpack. But he kept telling himself that this was all temporary, that he was out the door the first chance he got. That in the meantime he didn’t deserve need things like a bed because he was leaving everything behind. Why bother? Not to mention that everything felt like too much—more than it ever had, what with Sister’s death, taking over all of her responsibilities despite being ill-prepared to do so, the new tour cycle—and he had been expected to set up his rooms all on his own given that his office was already being set up for him. Now that all felt silly. There was no way he was leaving Perpetua by herself (like he had been left by himself, no).
She seemed mad. No, not mad. Disappointed, although Copia didn’t feel that her disappointment was aimed towards him. But she had grown concerningly quiet.
Once her inspection of his apartment was done she leveled an odd sort of look at him, one that he would only later come to recognize as the look she gets about her when she has an idea and has made up her mind about something. In retrospect, he would come to understand that it was the moment she had made up her mind about him.
Perpetua hummed thoughtfully. “At least tell me if you have any pajamas? A blanket?”
“No? I mean, yes?” Again, there was that feeling of being in trouble. “Not in the traditional sense,” he amended. Copia did not realize that had been his final out, his last chance at things remaining equal between the two of them.
She nodded. “Okay. You’re coming to my room.”
There was no question about it, no offer, nor argument. It was simply to be, and so he did not fight it as she led him out of his living quarters and back down the stairs to her own.
So in spite of what he viewed as a minor hiccup at the end of that first day, it led to their first night together. One where they shared Perpetua’s bed at her insistence. Copia couldn’t help but marvel at the garden apartment itself, decorated in rich hues of purple that were lit silver by the moonlight pooling through the French doors to a private courtyard. She only just arrived, yet her quarters both looked and felt far more lived in. There was a brief, cold flair of jealousy in his chest, but the jealousy was mostly just hollow and sad. (It wasn’t fair. Why were hers prepared for her, whereas his own had not been?)
Perpetua muttered something about fixing that as she watched Copia strip down to his underclothes, intending on sleeping in just his vest top and boxer-briefs as he had been wont to do during his stubborn refusal to unpack. But it wasn’t something she acted on in the moment, and he took his own turn watching her undress and drinking in the sight of her willowy frame before she pulled on a short nightgown. One so short that he couldn't help but stare where the satin hem barely tickled the top of her pale legs. If she noticed his staring, she did not comment.
They slipped into bed together afterwards, like siblings at a sleepover. There was an urge to turn and face her, to talk in hushed tones about anything and everything, but the idea that he might screw things up more somehow kept him facing away from her, his fist coming to curl loosely by his lips as he sighed into the luxury of sleeping on an actual mattress and not stiff sofa cushions. There were only a few shared heartbeats between them as Perpetua closed in. She pressed her body flush up against his, the sharp angles of her melting into the rounded edges of him as they spooned. The arms that snaked around to hold him in the hush of the night were unexpected, but not unwelcome. Nor was the soft, hot breath that puffed in his ear as she traced her index finger around his nipple.
“You need some help, don’t you, C? …Mama told me that you do.”
They had been curious about each other, Sister said. It only made sense that Perpetua had asked her questions about him. About what he was like. About the things he needed. And of course Sister’s perspective of those things was tinted through a mother’s lens. But first and foremost she had always, always had a handler’s viewpoint of him. And it had only taken one day together for that viewpoint to bleed over into Perpetua’s own and color her perception of him. They were supposed to be twins, but one of them was still the big sibling, weren’t they? Meant to take care of the other? He wasn’t impotent, no matter what Sister or anybody else said about him, he didn’t need help. Why was she still meddling? Trying to set Perpetua up as his next handler? He was doing fine on his own.
Copia felt too betrayed to answer and could not find his voice.
“Don’t worry. I’m going to take such good care of you, baby,” Perpetua promised, kissing his temple.
The relief that washed over him caused him to shudder, and she shushed him gently as she tugged him closer. It would all be alright because they were together now.
The following morning he had been slow to wake, blinking away sleep to find Perpetua was sitting next to him cross-legged and watching him with great interest.
“Do you always do that?” she asked, amusement brightening her tone.
Always do what? Sleep? He had just woken up, so what could he have possibly…oh.
The realization of what she was referring to had him snapping his thumb from out of his mouth and wiping the drool off onto the sheets, but it was too late. What excuse could he offer when there was none? It was something he should have outgrown a long time ago, but the habit had a tendency to crop back up whenever he was stressed. (In truth, it had never left him.) “Oh, that. Sorry,” he apologized lamely, electing to ignore her question. Really, he wanted to ignore the entire thing. Anything to get back to where they had been headed when Perpetua had her hand on his thigh last night.
“Don’t be sorry. It’s cute.”
Cute? Did he want to be cute? For her, maybe. But not for something like that. The previous evening was still fresh, and he hadn’t yet come to terms with the fact that it was a foregone conclusion that she would be taking care of him.
Before he could argue that he wasn’t cute, she was leaning forwards, only a few centimeters separating them. “Is that why your teeth are like that?”
Why his teeth were….? Was it that obvious? Or had she been inspecting him while he slept? …Or had she simply tried to remove his thumb from his mouth only for him to whine and curl in on himself?
The possibility was much too probable for his liking.
“I thought you might have an overbite at first. Like me, see?” And here she paused, sitting back and pulling down her lip as she let her teeth rest naturally. Her teeth were crowded, crooked, and sharp, and the top row noticeably covered the bottom. Having shown him, she continued. “But yours don’t do that. You’ve got pacifier teeth.”
She said it so matter-of-factly, but that didn’t make it any less embarrassing for him. Copia blushed, and moved to get up, tossing back the blankets as forcefully as he could as if to prove his point. “It’s called an open bite. Not fucking…pacifier teeth,” he hissed.
Perpetua only smiled, not dissuaded in the slightest by his little display. Like she thought it was endearing that he was fussy in the mornings—like she didn’t take his anger seriously. There was something sweet and caring in that smile though, and Copia wanted to believe she was well-intentioned, or that this was merely her version of sibling teasing. From what he had gathered already, she was kind of…different. He himself knew what that was like all too well, and was willing to overlook it. Especially when she stood to dress, once again providing a pleasant distraction.
Maybe this was a fairytale, after all. One of those fucked up ones, and not just because of the immediate and palpable sexual attraction he had for his twin sister.
A lot changed after that.
For starters, he wasn’t allowed to sleep by himself any more. That wasn’t how Perpetua had put it, but that was how it felt. What she had actually told him was that she wanted to fix up his apartment for him and that in the meantime he could continue to stay with her. It was a nice offer, and one he agreed to, though he had fully expected to be relegated to her couch after she had caught him sucking his thumb. If anything she had only silently encouraged the behavior, pulling him close in the early morning and murmuring soothing words to him as he breached back into consciousness. Cuddling him, making him feel safe and relaxed. The murmurings in the morning soon morphed into soft singing in the evening. Nothing from the family discography either, but instead simple, childish songs that should have filled their shared childhood; her favorite seemed to be My Only Sunshine.
It was silly and unnecessary, but Copia found that he thrived in small rituals like those and so he let it happen. If it made his sister happy to sing to him and to snuggle him, then what was the harm? There was something reassuring in imagining that they could have been comforting each other like this for years. Besides, a little pampering never hurt anyone.
His undoing would be in the small concessions.
After his sleeping arrangements came his wardrobe. Perpetua had ordered that some of his things be brought down from his room (he wasn’t even allowed to go in until it was all done so that it would be a big surprise for him, she said), but only a portion of his clothes seemed to have made it down to her room.
“You need new things,” was the chiding explanation he received. As if he were the one being ridiculous about it.
Most of the new items had a few things in common in that all of the pieces could be described as cozy. Big, squishy cardigans, thick wool socks, breathable linen shirts with matching shorts that had elastic waistbands. She had even gotten him new underwear, though why she opted for briefs he wasn’t sure. Perpetua had at least seemed to have kept in mind what colors he preferred, but some of the patterns were questionable. Things like stripes, while not his favorite, were okay. Little red birds that he couldn’t tell if they were meant to be a joke or not perplexed him, but not as much as the sweater that had the embroidered little bear on it. She seemed to especially like it when he wore that one.
The clothes fit a little loose, too, as if she expected him to grow into them. Which maybe she did, given that she had also become fairly obstinate that he eat properly—properly meaning three full meals a day with snacks in between, and not whatever bullshit he threw in the microwave around midnight after nothing but several pots of tea all day.
He felt like her little dress-up doll, but he couldn’t deny the comfortability of his new wardrobe. Even the tennis shoes she had gotten for him were cozy, not even needing to be tied thanks to the velcro straps. And it was only his casual wear anyhow. Until it wasn’t.
“A…bodysuit?” he questioned, holding up the latest garment she had given him. Laid out for him to put on, actually, because now she was picking out his clothes for him each morning.
Perpetua nodded, curls bouncing as she did so. “I noticed that you’re always trying to keep your undershirt tucked in. This fixes that. You’ll have one less thing to worry about!”
One less thing to worry about? Well…
Something about it felt like he was signing away another piece of himself. Copia fidgeted with the snaps on it as if to delay the inevitable. “Eh, I don’t know. Why does it even do this thing at the bottom?”
“That’s to keep it on, silly. Here, let me help you. Arms up for me,” she instructed.
It was second nature to obey. Copia lifted his arms, allowing her to undress him like a child. He averted his eyes from hers, cheeks tinged pink as he was stripped out of his pajama shirt (yet another thing she had seen fit to invest in for him were pajama sets), followed shortly by his pajama bottoms and underwear. He could have done that part, but he found that he couldn’t voice this even as she redressed him. Perpetua liked to help him, so what trouble did it bring him to let her? Though the quiet Good job, Cici, she breathed out over something as simple as him holding his arms up for her caused his stomach to flip. The nickname was new and blanketed him in an odd way, making him feel decidedly smaller.
He tried to ignore the way his cock gave an interested twitch when her fingers brushed over him, separated only by the thin fabric of his Star Wars patterned briefs as she squeezed the metal ring snaps closed around his crotch. The material of the bodysuit stretched tightly across his rounded stomach, more form-fitting than uncomfortable. It definitely wouldn’t come untucked, but there was a dawning dread filling him the more he thought about the way it fit. Something about the collar and the snaps…
“Pet,” he started, looking down at himself. “Is this a fucking onesie?”
Her gaze flicked to his suddenly, looking somewhat surprised. As if she hadn’t thought he would catch on quite so quickly. “It’s a bodysuit,” she reiterated.
Right, of course. How foolish of him to suspect it of being what it was. It was a bodysuit and nothing more.
It became customary to see Copia trailing after Perpetua no matter the time of day. Sharing a bedroom had done nothing to cease the breeding of their codependency on one another, leading to them arranging their schedules so that they overlapped as much as possible. And so he often found himself reaching for her, hand twisting the fabric of her clothes until she took mercy on them both and delicately removed his grip to take his hand in hers. While it garnered them their fair share of raised brows, it was ultimately deemed as nothing more than sweet, innocent behavior.
Most of the clergy members assumed that Perpetua was taking pity on her mentally and emotionally fragile baby brother. Nobody knew that Copia desired more, save for his sister.
But despite how handsy she was with him and all the lingering (often inappropriate) touches, nothing had come of it. Much to his immense frustration. Whether inadvertently or not, Perpetua was teasing him, and he was left lapping up the crumbs of what could be. Copia needed more so badly that it ached, but he would take what he was given. He wanted her praise and adoration, wanted to be the sole recipient of her attention. Which meant he kept making those small concessions and doing what she asked of him, if only to hear her tell him what a good boy he was for doing so.
Lately, she had tasked him with what she was officially calling ‘conceptualization’.
Perpetua had introduced the idea to him after they began to share an office space and do all of their boring grown-up work together. (That's what she called it, and he was inclined to agree.) All it took was one afternoon of him complaining about all the paperwork he had to do as Frater Imperator, about how it wasn’t any fun and how he didn’t even understand a good portion of what he was even doing for her to make more changes for him. Another promise of things being easier for him.
The following day saw that his desk was strewn not with paperwork, but a couple of drawing pads, crayons, colored pencils, and markers.
Copia wasn’t sure what to make of it at first, but that was okay; he knew Perpetua would explain as soon as he pouted up at her.
“Instead of all that yucky paperwork, I thought you might like to help come up with ideas for the band. Sets, costumes, stuff like that! You can even draw ideas for songs if you want,” she said, hand brushing through his hair. “You can be my little concept artist, drawing me lots of pictures… Can you do that for me, Cici? It’s a very important job.”
Never Copia, never Cardi, never C. He was only ever Cici now according to her.
It certainly felt more important than the monotonous forms he had been filling out ever since becoming Frater. And even if he wouldn’t get to perform, it was like a little part of him would be making it back onto the stage if he could contribute in such a way—in a way that he understood and was good at. At her question he nodded all too eagerly, ready to cast his former paperwork into the pit. Yes, yes he could do that for her. He would show her all of his ideas and impress her. But taking up the task Perpetua set out for him meant casting Sister Imperator’s task aside, didn’t it? And surely they hadn’t just been giving him busywork for months?
His excitement tempered, he asked, “But what about the other stuff?”
“I’ll take care of it.” She punctuated her words by pressing a kiss to the crown of his head before going to get to work at her own desk.
It was unspoken, but he knew she really meant I’ll take care of you. That was what she always meant, no matter what she said. And so Copia took up a crayon, red in its hue and seemingly sized with his chubby hands in mind, and started coloring.
Quite a few of his ‘concepts’ wound up pinned to the refrigerator door in their living quarters, a few got hung up in their office at Perpetua’s request (so that everyone could see and so that she could brag on him), and the rest she kept in a special portfolio binder that she had him decorate with stickers.
A part of Copia, perhaps the reasonable, adult part of him, hated how much he came to rely on Perpetua. Loathed and despised what he was becoming because of her. Her gentle treatment. Her kind words. Yet it brought on a flood of relief greater than any drug.
Maybe it had little to do with her changing him, and everything to do with her simply just allowing him to be.
That didn’t mean she wasn’t tugging him along on the path to self-discovery kicking and screaming. For as desperate as he was for her love and for all the embarrassment that came along with it for him, he wasn’t so keen on the humiliation he felt from outsiders peering in on what they had. It only grew worse the more control he gave to Perpetua and the changes she kept making. Whispers followed him throughout the ministry’s halls, even more so on the rare occasions where he was alone.
Where’s his big sister? Is he supposed to be alone?
Aw, looks like Frater Imperator has been sent on an errand. How adorable.
Shouldn’t somebody be watching him?
They thought him no better than some overgrown toddler apparently. How quickly his social standing had shifted to something smaller once more. Smaller even than he had been before his days as Papa. All the whispers and rumors shot a flare of shame through his core, but he could do nothing to correct them. Not when they were right about him. (Not when it filled him with an equal mixture of dread and anticipation.)
The ghouls especially seemed to be keyed into something that he wasn’t, although they weren’t as judgemental as humans; they were more curious about the dynamic shift—his personality shift—than anything.
Copia figured out soon enough what it was that they were keyed in on.
He was hard at work, filling in the details of what was sure to be another fridge-worthy concept art according to Perpetua. She had gotten him more things to color with, metallic colored markers, and he was busy adding lots of silver to his drawing of a skeleton horse. Because Pet liked silver a lot, so the horse needed lots of silver…horse bits? He wasn’t sure what they were called. That was beside the point. The fact of the matter was that he was completely absorbed in his drawing, but had been plied with plenty of apple juice in his special cup. (Copia was adamant that it wasn’t a sippy cup, but all it had taken was one juice-stained drawing incident for him to agree to what Perpetua carefully called a ‘lidded cup’).
It was only a matter of time before there was a pressing need in his lower abdomen. Only he had been so focused, that he hadn’t noticed it until it began to hurt.
But that was another thing: he needed to ask to go to the bathroom. At some point, it had become expected that he needed Perpetua to take him—Copia couldn’t even remember why or how she had come to that conclusion—but he didn’t mind. Not usually. Scooting his chair back, he went over to tug at her sleeve, earning a noncommittal hum. Good, she was listening then.
“Pet, I need to go,” he said, finding that he couldn’t ignore the urge to cup himself as another sharp pang rang through his bladder.
She didn’t look up from what she was writing. Something accounting related, judging by the numbers she scrawled and the calculator she had pulled out. “Go? Where do you need to go? It’s the middle of the day.”
Fucking hell, she was toying with him. How many times had they done this particular song and dance? Why be dense about it now? He started to bounce from foot to foot in an attempt to alleviate the need to piss, not caring how it must look. “Perpetua, please.”
Looking up and taking in the state of him, Perpetua tutted over him. “Do you need to go potty, baby?”
Satanas, how he hated this. He should be able to just go by himself, yet he couldn’t. Another pang, a final warning. Squeezing his eyes shut he nodded yes. Yes, he needed to go potty.
Perpetua took his hand away from where he was cupping himself and gave it a small squeeze, making a sympathetic noise. “Give me just a minute to finish this up, and then I’ll take you. You can hold it, right?”
Hold it? Copia thought he might cry. He couldn’t wait—he had messed up. But he went and sat back down, bouncing his leg to no avail. He had to hold it, he was a big boy…
But Perpetua was taking her time, and he had noticed the urge too late. With a choked sob, the dam broke not even five minutes later. There was nothing else he could do but let it happen. Dark, warm, and wet, the patch blossomed across his pants, covering his groin and pooling in the seat of his chair and soaking across his ass. Piss dribbled down his thigh and onto the expensive carpet below him. It took what felt like ages for him to finally stop pissing, sobbing at the relief and lingering soreness the holding caused. By the end of it, Perpetua was there, pulling him close and letting him cry into her stomach as she rocked him,
“C’mon, stand up for me. Oh, I’m so sorry, Cici, I thought you could hold it. Hush now, I’ll clean you up…”
Copia sniffled and allowed her to pull him into a standing position, though he felt very unsteady on his feet for whatever reason. She tried telling him that nobody would notice he had had an accident as she guided him through the halls, given that his pants were black. And while it might not be so obvious upon an initial glance that he had wet himself, the fact that he was crying would be enough to earn a second look, and then they would know, eyes more discerning as they tried to pinpoint the source of his tears.
He expected to be led to their room, but instead she was carefully helping him up the stairs towards his old living quarters. She was getting rid of him because of this, and he had already come to rely on her so much, he couldn’t go back to being alone after a taste of her care. Only when they reached the door she shushed him again, one hand rubbing calming circles on his back while the other rested on the door handle. “I’m going to clean you up, don’t worry. But I have a surprise for you too. I was gonna wait until tonight, but I think you need it now. Ready?”
Perpetua waited for him to nod before opening the door to his room and gingerly pushing him inside.
Or he had thought it was his room. It was really different than the night he left it. There was furniture filling the space, for one thing. Sugar maple furniture, light in color but sturdy. Various pieces stood out to him, but he was having trouble identifying some of it. There were a few obvious pieces, like a large rocking chair and what appeared to be a chest of some sort that had carefully painted teddy bears lining the trim. A toybox? Then there was a small bookshelf filled with picture books, a big fluffy rug spread out in the center of the room, and shimmery curtains drawn over the windows. Carefully framed nursery rhymes were hung about the room as well. It was all incredibly tasteful, but the picture it painted was a juvenile one. This was his room?
As if hearing his doubts, Perpetua softly said, “This is your playroom. And this is the nursery.” The adjoining room, the one meant to house his bed, was decorated similarly to the main room. Only instead of a bed, there was a crib clearly meant for him. A crib, a dresser, and…a second dresser? It was larger and had some sort of pad on top with a little stepstool next to it. When Perpetua patted the top and instructed him to climb up, it occurred to him that it was a changing table.
It was all he could do to climb up and let her guide him onto his back. Through his tears he could just make out little stars that dotted the ceiling before covering his face as she began to strip him down. He didn’t want to be so naked, so exposed, in front of her. Not like this.
Delicate hands began to wipe him down with baby wipes, humming his lullaby to soothe him. “Ssh, you’re alright. Mommy’s got you,” Perpetua crooned.
With everything going on around him, it took a moment for what she said to catch up with him. When it did, Copia hiccupped and rubbed at his eyes. “Mommy?” he asked, confusion evident in his voice.
“That’s right, little bear.”
It felt right, but distantly Copia knew there was no coming back from this admittance. Perpetua wasn’t just his sister, but his mommy now too. That was what she had decided on their first night together, and he had done nothing to stop it.
So he laid back down, and only cried a little bit more when she pulled out the pampers. If she thought he needed diapers, then it must be true.
Taping him up, she patted his tummy. “There, all better. You were such a good boy for me. And you’re going to keep being a good boy, aren’t you? Think of how easy everything will be if you let Mommy take care of it.”
Mommy had been right. It was so much easier being her baby boy.
Well, easier in some regards. Like instead of having to do any sort of big boy work, he spent mornings in his playroom and spent afternoons having tummy time in what used to be his office. Then theirs, now solely hers. He got lots of special toys to play with, and all the teddy bear toast he could possibly eat.
Still, it was harder in other regards. Copia still wasn’t used to her coming up behind him and checking his diaper. As if he could no longer tell when he needed to potty. (He was well on his way to that being a reality, but he didn’t care for the reminder.) The soft poff-poff of the padding was still much too loud for his liking as well whenever she checked him in front of somebody else—which she had grown much more comfortable doing as time went on.
On days that Mommy didn’t work, they spent time together in the small garden courtyard off of their apartment. Copia would play in the soft grass looking for ‘treasure’ (good rocks), or even get some of the ghouls to play hide-and-seek with him. Usually Phantom and Aurora. That day he did neither of those things however, instead toddling around looking for a flower to give to his mama; there were some that she had patiently explained that he wasn’t supposed to touch, because they could make him very sick. But he wasn’t a baby, so he remembered which ones those were as his eyes scanned the garden. Not long into his search did he find ones that he knew were safe, tiny yellow blossoms like sunshine.
Crouching down to pluck a few of the blooms, he noticed a funny feeling in his lower tummy and frowned. Some days, he fought it harder than others to act like a big boy. He would fuss and kick and stomp, and sometimes be sent to the corner for it if he got too worked up. But he hadn’t been entirely dissuaded from stubbornly fighting her on certain things. Most often ‘certain things’ meant trying to earn back the things he had conceded to her. Mind made up, he went over to where she was sitting to present her with the flowers; maybe, if she liked them enough, he would earn potty privileges.
“Are these for me?” she gasped, as if she didn’t keep every flower he picked for her pressed in her diary.
Copia nodded shyly, tugging on the handle of his pacifier. “Mommy…” And it was always Mommy now, no more Perpetua or Pet, she wouldn’t answer him anymore otherwise. “Gotta potty,” he whined.
Mommy gave him a knowing look, like he was being coy about things. “That’s what your diapers are for, silly boy,” she said, patting over his padded crotch in reminder.
Her hands ghosting over his diaper made him feel all squirmy; the squirmy feeling only caused him to feel more set in the idea that he didn’t need diapers. He stomped exactly once, sneaker lighting up in his defiance. “Nuh-uh! I can go like a big boy!”
Crooking her finger at him, she beckoned him to her lap. Copia half-expected he would be getting a few warning swats for his attitude, but instead she merely had him sit, bouncing him a little on her knees even as her chair creaked in protest at their combined weight. The jostling did nothing to help his bladder, though he couldn’t suppress the giggle the movement drew from him.
“Aw, is that all it takes to get you to stop being fussy? Maybe we should get you a bouncer. Not sure they make any that can hold my tubby baby though,” she teased. Not letting up, she pressed down into the thick padding beneath his little shorts. “I thought you liked it when I change you?”
His face heated in humiliation. How could she possibly know about that? If she was changing him, that meant she was touching him—that was what he looked forward to, nothing else. Certainly not the way she crooned softly to him or dried his tears when he got too overstimulated by her touch. And definitely not because soaking himself in his own piss like the helpless little thing he was brought a delicious coil of shame to sit hotly in his belly.
Just the thought had him fidgeting in her lap as a second need began to fill him.
“Are you getting all hot and bothered by the idea of Mommy changing you?” she laughed.
It was another shot of arousal sent straight to his dick, but he denied it with a shake of his head. No way was he going to look that desperate, as if his chubby cheeks turning ruddy wasn’t a dead giveaway for what he really thought. Too little too late for such things, but he didn’t understand that anymore. She pressed down sharply again, causing him an equally sharp inhale of breath. Were it not for his pacifier he would have bit at his bottom lip to try and contain the sound, but as it stood the colorful plastic muffled the noise well enough.
“It’s okay, just let go for me…”
Just let go? In her lap? There was something so debasing about pissing himself while perched on her thighs, and he had never had an accident while she held him like this. Ultimately this was another piece of himself that he was giving away to her; perhaps it was the last piece. But Mommy would take care of him, no matter how much of a mess he made. This was only another way to see how much she loved him, if she would be disgusted and toss him aside or reward him for doing as he was told…
For as unbearably hard as he was, his tiny cock couldn’t hope to so much as tent his pampers. Copia blamed the thickness of the padding, babyish cotton and fade-when-wet pattern successfully neutering any visual indication of adult desires in him.
And it didn’t take much for the tiny stars to begin to fade, even as tears welled in his eyes.
As he crumpled under her gaze, she tsked and bounced him some more as he emptied his bladder; the action wasn’t meant to soothe him, but to remind him of just how wet he was. The saturated heat encasing him only served to frustrate him more, his need to be touched suddenly feeling unbearable now that the need to piss had been alleviated. His hips jutted upwards involuntarily, giving a couple of desperate bucks into her hand as he continued to cry. Not with want, but with need. He needed Mommy to touch him or he would…explode, maybe? No, that was too close to the release he sought. Die? Definitely die.
She let him rut up into her hand for a minute more, enjoying how he whimpered and writhed in her lap. Eventually she let up and patted his thigh to indicate that she wanted him to get off of her. “Let’s get you changed. C’mon, Cici, stand for Mommy. There you go, good job!”
Copia wavered in place, scrubbing away his tears with chubby fists while she stepped away after having left him with the instruction to stay put. When she came back, she carried something tucked beneath her arm: his changing mat, which she spread out on top of the grass. He didn’t know why he couldn’t have gotten his diaper changed in the privacy of their room, or in his nursery, but he knew better than to argue if he wanted to be changed at all. So with a practiced obedience, he got down onto the mat and laid on his back to let Mommy take over.
Watching him spread out with a hunger in her eyes, she took in how his belly wobbled and pooled out as he got comfortable—he had filled out his new wardrobe and then some.
Divested of his shorts and his onesie unsnapped and pushed up until it rested beneath his tits, his sodden padding was on full display. With a couple flicks of her well-manicured nails the sticky tabs were removed and the front pulled down, fully exposing his erect little cock to the open air of the garden. Dappled light filtered down across his body, the slight shade meaning that he did not need to cover his eyes (as much as he may have wanted to if only so he could forget that she was changing him outside) as he looked up at the leaves above him. There was a slight breeze that, while otherwise might have been welcome in the midday heat, only served to remind him that he was still damp with his own piss.
Copia whined as soon as Mommy’s slender fingers brushed against him.
“Can you tell Mommy what you need? Use your words, little bear.” A pause, a delighted smile curled across her lips and showed off all those crooked, pointed teeth as she loomed over him. “Or are you too little to speak like a big boy? Is that it?”
He looked so sweet at her mercy like this, and she could no longer resist. Cleaning him up could wait until later since she was about to make an absolute mess of him.
Not bothering to remove his diaper, she moved to straddle him on top of his changing mat, cooing down at him when she noticed the uptick in motion as he nursed his pacifier harder in anticipation.
“Don’t be nervous. I’m here to take care of you, remember?”
This was new—never had she pinned him like this, all of her touches having remained innocent enough that he could be blamed for his own over-excitement. It was all Copia had been dreaming of for those touches to escalate, often literally so, resulting in tacky, white mornings. Yet a part of him wanted to push her off, disgusted and humiliated by the idea that she was planning to ride him with his pampers still beneath them both.
The wet heat that he lay in was nothing however compared to the wet heat of his sister slowly sheathing him. If he had been able to think straight, the idea that she wasn’t wearing any panties beneath her sundress might have clued him in on the fact that this was entirely premeditated. As it stood, his thoughts were already shrouded in that idyllic baby haze he lived in these days.
Still, some thoughts filtered through the soft cotton of his brain as he wondered how they got to this point. The ease of which lines were blurred between sister and mommy, the process undoubtedly expedited by her similarities to Sister. And not physical similarities; out of the pair of them, Copia was aware that he resembled her more in that regard. No, it was the firm and guiding hand she took with him that reminded him so much of their mother. Only it was better and more intoxicating than it had ever been with Sister, Perpetua’s hand steadied by additional warmth and adoration rather than a singular need for control. Her control was more loving. Why, oh why couldn’t he have been born of his sister’s blood and bone instead? Didn’t he deserve the safety and security of her womb? He wanted to curl inside of her, push her organs to their limits, and know that she would still love him even after the trauma of a breech-birth. Clearly this was how they were meant to be.
He could only pray to Lucifer to truly be her special little boy in the next life, to have her carry him in every way and only know Her from the very beginning...
There was an obscene pop as his pacifier was ripped from his lips, pulling him back to the present moment. His noise of displeasure turned into kitten mewls as Mommy bent down and shoved her tongue down his throat. Their teeth clicked together from the force of the kiss, but Copia didn’t mind the discomfort. Not when the rest of his body was alight with her.
She pulled back, a string of spit between them. “Do you need to make stickies? Can you say that for me, baby?” she coaxed as she straightened back up. There was another roll of her hips as she kneaded the dough of his stomach with her sharp nails, leaving red lines alongside pale stretchmarks.
“Mommy,” he keened. Words, where were his words? “Pl-please…”
“Aw, someone remembered his manners! But that doesn’t tell me what you want.”
Another drawn out whine. “Stickies,” he finally managed, voice offset by his need. “Want to make stickies.”
“What, inside of Mommy? Is that the kind of baby you are, Cici?”
Copia nodded fervently. Yes, that was exactly the kind of baby he was. He wanted to fill his mommy with his cum because he didn’t know any better.
His thoughts became entirely drowned out by what could only be described as a pleasant sort of television static when bliss overtook him, somehow dragging him further down the rabbithole. Copia grew completely pliant beneath her, struggling to find the coordination to caress her like he wanted. They would both have to settle for the uncoordinated stuttering of his hips as he spilled into her and the desperate pawing of his hands on her hip bones. Her walls clenched around him as she rode out her own orgasm before rolling off of him, leaving him breathless on his changing mat.
Blinking away spots in his vision, he turned his head to see Mommy digging around in his diaper bag. He complied when she tapped his thigh with a gentle command of ‘up’, legs quivering as he lifted his weight up for her. Swapping out his wet diaper for a fresh one, cleaning him up of their combined cum and his stale urine before rubbing cold cream on his inner thighs and powdering him. The feel of her hands on his softening cock was almost too much, the flesh still sensitive and needing to cool down. By the time he might have been able to get hard again, Mommy had already taped up the front of his diaper with the pink tabs. This time, it had hearts printed across it instead of stars. Onesie pulled back down and snaps closed, she forewent putting his shorts back on.
Like moving underwater, he was helped to his feet and led back to their room, something about needing to put him down for a nap reaching his ears but the words sounded distorted. Something about getting one of the ghouls—Dewdrop, maybe?—to get all of the stuff up out of the garden too. Things that were of no consequence to him as she guided him to the bed, handing him his stuffed bear as she told him…something. Speech had lost all meaning then.
This, too, was new. Or at least, his understanding of it was. Before all of this, he just knew that it felt like he was slipping away from himself after the rush of climax emptied his head. That it was something to be fought against. Now, Copia knew what that feeling meant and let it wash over him for once; he always became so helplessly little after he came. But it was okay to give into the feeling, because he knew Mommy would take care of him. Rolling over with a small huff, he kicked his socked feet until the sheets got all bunched up at the foot of the bed. Wasn’t Mommy going to get in bed with him? He wanted to be held. Really, he deserved to be held after doing such a good job at making stickies for her.
But she was nowhere to be seen, and the realization that he was alone had tears pinpricking hotly in his eyes before he could stop himself.
Mommy was gone forever, and he was alone, and, and…
And she was suddenly at his side, hefting him up to rock and shush him. Copia fisted a hand in the fabric of her dress, unwillingly to let her go. How dumb did he have to be to believe she was gone just because he couldn’t reach out and touch her?
“I told you I would be right back,” she said, swiping his tears away with her thumb. As an afterthought, she pried his plushie from his mouth, ignoring how drool-soaked the teddy was. “Such a baby…but that’s alright. You know why? Because you’re my baby. Here, look what Mommy brought you.”
Sniffling, Copia still didn’t quite understand what he was being told, but took in the sight of the bottle she was angling towards him as if he had. He babbled softly, reaching for it with the hand that wasn’t deathgripping Mommy. Instead of giving it to him however, she readjusted the both of them, leaning back against several pillows propped up on the headboard as she guided his cheek to rest atop her chest. Gently, as if in suggestion, she nudged the nipple of the bottle to his lips.
Eyelashes fluttering down to meet freckled cheeks, he took it into his mouth and let the sweet, warm milk coat his tongue as he nursed, pretending that it was actually her breastmilk that softened his body. From her body, just for him.
The next life. The entirety of her. It could be all for him—if he were lucky.