Youthful doctors

Do you think we could move this along a little more quickly, please? I have a date tonight—that thing where a man takes you out to a nice restaurant and pays for everything? You’ll know it when you get one. Point is, I’m really tight on time.”

“Among other things,” replied Jenny, flashing her identification card across the reader. “Speaking of which, I’m happy to hear the good news. You could use a good humping. Loosen you up a bit. And don’t worry if there’s blood—that’s supposed to happen the first time.”

“And you’d certainly know about ‘first times,’ wouldn’t you, Dr. Stiles?” Lori said. “After all, you’ve probably pretended it was yours a half dozen times.” Dr. Manning followed her Jenny into the laboratory, her curiosity with being called away at such a late hour trumped only by her impatience.

Dr. Jenny Stiles and Dr. Lori Manning—the former, salutatorian of their mutual graduating class at the Willowbrook Instititute of Biochemistry; the latter, valedictorian. Sorer than that point for Jenny was the fact that Lori was wearing her 29 years much more gracefully. Since their undergraduate days, they had fought over clothes, grades, boys… pasts, presents, and futures. A more antithetical pair there never had been, and yet, they remained in touch, partly out of necessity (as they worked on separate floors of the same laboratory complex), and partly because their lasting antagonism toward each other compelled each of them to excel in their respective research. In the end, it was good for them.

During the past couple of months, however, it was Jenny who had excelled; and, on this most fateful of nights, she was prepared to cash in her chips.

Jenny and Lori wound through the spartan lab, its tiles of drab grey interrupted only by cold steel tabletops, and made their way to Jenny’s research station. The biochemist picked up a syringe and presented it to Lori.

“Look,” she said, “but don’t touch.”

“And what is it that I’m looking at?”

Jenny smiled. She had earned her confidence. “It’s the cure for cancer, of course… nothing more. And certainly nothing less.”

Lori glanced disinterestedly at the crystal-clear fluid inside the syringe. She decided that, if it wasn’t water, it had about as much value, and she burst into laughter. “Thanks. Thank you for that. But, listen, I have to go. Thanks for wasting my time, though I do appreciate your dragging me away from my suitors for a few minutes. Absence makes the heart grow fonder for them. But you’d know about that, wouldn’t you, Mrs. Ex-X, Y, and Z?”

Jenny sighed in mock disappointment. “You don’t believe me. I didn’t expect you to. But I’ll run through the science for you. I’ll be vague, of course, to keep you that farther behind in your research. And I’ll use simple words.”

“Quickly.” Lori glanced at her watch and tapped her foot.

“What is cancer but the uncontrollable reproduction of malignant cells? It destroys whatever it touches, depriving healthy cells of the nutrients they need to live. Like age, it feeds and feeds, giving no quarter. It stands to reason, then, that the cure for cancer would begin with research into slowing and reversing the dividing of these replicating cancer cells. By, say, flipping the rewind switch and undoing the damage already done.”

“Your gift for imagination is second only to your curse for metaphor,” said Lori. “I’m outta here.”

“Not just cancer cells!” Jenny said, following behind. “Any cells. Curing cancer is merely the most relevant and pressing application of this science. But the possibilities are positively limitless!”

“Thank you, Bill fucking Nye,” spat Lori. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with somebody, and it isn’t Dr. Frankenstein’s illegitimate daughter.”

Jenny wouldn’t stand for being brushed aside again. She had turned the tide of humanity’s war against disease, and her intellectual superior wasn’t even willing to give her the time of day, let alone entertain the notion. The specifics of what transpired next were vague to Jenny – either she slipped by accident, or she was making good on her subconscious desire to illustrate to Lori the full magnitude of her scientific acumen – but, in any case, the syringe ended up in the base of Lori’s neck, most of its contents injected into her bloodstream.

“What the fuck!?” Lori howled, spinning around and removing the syringe from the invisible wound in her neck, only to slam it down on the nearest table. “What the hell did you inject me with, you little bitch?”

The drug reached Lori’s brain first. As with most injections, results manifested themselves instantaneously. Just as Jenny had explained, Dr. Manning’s brain began to reconstruct itself, its cells regressing in age and collapsing into each other, rejuvenating vitality long gone and reconstituting the whole of Lori’s mentality.

“What’s happening to me?” gasped Lori, a haze washing over her consciousness. The feeling one gets from losing track of a word, a name, an address—it came to Lori, and then, it piled upon itself in seemingly limitless quantities, forming a pillar of forgetfulness, then confusion, then idiocy… before collapsing into a pile of dust and slipping through her fingers, as if she had never learned all the things she had dedicated her lifetime to learning. What followed was a total purging of all of Lori’s post-graduate education, her undergraduate work, and even her high school studies. Multitudes of applied ideas receded into simple facts and were lost completely. Books and books of knowledge were lit aflame and left to burn in the wind. Algebra was there, and then it wasn’t.

Lori struggled to maintain a feeble grasp on her slipping intelligence, but she realized with horror that it was being destroyed. Pieces of hard-earned knowledge crackled and exploded in her cranium like tiny fireworks. It felt like a migraine headache had developed as the young woman’s brain actively approached its original state. Jenny’s drug had penetrated the nuclei of Dr. Manning’s brain cells and they had reclaimed all the energy—and emptiness—of Lori’s elementary school years.

Lori felt so outwitted. So dumb. And, most of all, she was scared. Scared to be in the presence of this vastly intelligent and incredibly cunning woman. Terrified to be held at her every whim. Ashamed to have been so careless as to let herself get taken in by her enemy, now her intellectual superior in every sense.

Dr. Manning felt so afraid, so bashful, so little. These feelings were foreign to her, as they would have been in any Type-A personality. More foreign still was the odd comfort Lori derived from pushing her stiff thumb into her mouth and sucking on it. In some long-lost corner of what was left of her mind, she knew it must have looked silly. But it didn’t matter. It just felt right. Lori’s eyes rolled back in her head as she wrapped her warm, silky tongue around the firmness of her left thumb and sucked on it with a tenacity she had long ago forgotten.

Did adults suck their thumbs? Wouldn’t she have to give that up someday? She didn’t care. Lori moaned and sucked her thumb and fell to her knees, her balance leaving her, her brain reverting to the developmental stage afforded to three-year-olds. She was still scared… and totally embarrassed to be acting so outwardly silly in front of her professional adversary. She could hear the peals of laughter erupting from Jenny and she hated every last one as they echoed in her toddler brain. She knew that, even though she was still the same size and physical age as the mean lady before her, she still had a lot of learning to do if she wanted to be a big girl.

Lori didn’t want to be a big girl. At least, not so soon. She found the idea frightening, a far-off spectre of responsibility and expectation. Uncertain of her kneeling position, she fell onto her rump, splaying her legs out in front of her. Lori looked up at Jenny, who was doubled over with laughter, and began to cry softly. Warm, salty tears trickled from the corners of her eyes and ran down her cheeks, streaking them with dark make-up. She wasn’t used to being such a big girl, in such a big, unwieldy body. She didn’t feel ready for it. Lori’s sexy, lacy pink panties, her C-sized bra, her black satin dress – everything she had picked out to impress… somebody? Who?... – were boring big-girl’s clothes.

Where were Lori’s training pants? Her dumb mommy had made her give them up so soon. That’s what mommies do, because they’re dumb. Lori knew the D-word was a bad word and that she shouldn’t use it, but she was feeling particularly vindictive. If Mommy was going to take away her training pants with the pretty pink My Little Ponies on them, then she was going to be taught a lesson of her own.

A venomous thought entered Lori’s mind and a weak smile crossed her thumb-sucking face. She let out a small grunt, pushed, and started to piss herself. Just as she had intentionally done time and time again, over 25 years ago, when she petulantly felt like protesting the confiscation of her training pants.

But something had changed. It happened when Lori’s brain regressed still further and was left without its potty-training. The warm trickle coursing over Lori’s vulva and soaking her expensive panties had begun as a gentle act of mischief but she had subsequently lost the volition required to control her muscles.

A bladder’s worth of pee began uncontrollably streaming out of Lori as she sat on the floor, helpless and pitiable. A fleeting spark of leftover adult intelligence flitted through the scientist’s brain and woke her up to what she was doing and that she had to stop doing it if she wanted to maintain her dignity in front of Dr. Stiles… and the spark was gone. Lori’s smile vanished and she proceeded to bawl, closing her eyes and throwing her head back to let out the dejection.

Jenny wiped her own tears of laughter away as she gazed upon the sight of her rival helplessly pissing her panties on the floor of the laboratory. Lori pounded her Prada heels on the tiling and sucked her thumb loudly, comically, as she cried, emptying her painful heat onto the floor in front of her.

Lori’s mentality continued to regress and her thumb was no longer enough for her. She wanted more! She needed still more comfort… she needed to answer to instinct! As her stream of piss slowed to a trickle and crept up her cold and delicate bottom, Lori grabbed her right foot and tore off her high-heeled shoe. She touched the tips of her toes to her lips and proceeded to suck on her foot, rolling over onto her side.

Her toes tasted funny. Lori couldn’t help but giggle through her tears. Though she was years away from knowing how to read, and though she couldn’t even purport to know how to match names to shades of colors, Dr. Manning took some solace in the fact that she knew that she had a foot, and that it was hers, and that she could put it her mouth and suck on it and it was fun.

But her wet panties bothered her. She didn’t belong in them, so cold, thin, and uncomfortable. She knew this because she felt insecure and icky and definitely not good. Lori needed to be cleaned up, to be cared for. Why wasn’t anybody taking care of her? Weren’t adults supposed to be paying attention to her needs?

Lori spat out her foot, stuck out her bottom lip, and crossed her arms.

Jenny rolled her eyes. “Entitlement complex much? Fortunately for you, I’m not without ideas.”

A few minutes later, Jenny returned from her locker, a duffel bag heavily loaded with supplies in tow. She pulled out a pair of maximum-absorbency adult diapers and a bottle of baby oil.

Lori smiled when she laid her eyes upon the familiar items. They were all for her! Her mental regression having stalled at twelve months of development, Lori clapped at the attention to which she was being treated as big sister Jenny helped her out of her other shoe, her dress, and her frigid, soaking-wet panties.

Then, that spark again. A dissociated glance, like being on the outside and looking in. Lori was an adult for a split second, and she knew that she was totally naked in front of her most bitter enemy—and she struggled to hold on, to muster up the will to fight the power of Jenny’s drug—and the spark vanished, just as swiftly as it had come.

Dr. Manning laid her bare ass upon the unfolded diaper, her naked, perfect breasts wobbling ridiculously from left to right as she squirmed on the thick surface. The biochemist returned her thumb to her mouth and sucked on it. The puffy, comfortable padding felt so unusual between her soft, feminine skin and the cold floor beneath her.

Then, the touch. Lori moaned audibly around her thumb as Jenny knelt between her legs and massaged the baby oil into her most private areas. With the businesslike and authoritative detachment the study of science had afforded her, Dr. Stiles slid her slick hands along the creases of Lori’s naked legs and around her shaved labia. Lori shivered in a tremendous paroxysm of ecstasy as Jenny moved her loving palms over her genitalia, and the sensation redoubled itself when the thickness of the diaper was pulled up between her legs. Lori’s toes curled in pleasure and she quivered as the inner surface of the infantile garment teased and tickled her in a long-forgotten, erotic way.

Reality once again came to Lori, and she realized that, not only had she allowed herself to be diapered by Dr. Jenny Stiles, but she had expressed outward enjoyment at the experience of being so helpless and cared for. The cognitive dissonance was too much for Lori and she burst into tears.

Jenny tucked in the leg bands of Lori’s diaper just in time to watch her colleague’s new tantrum. “Aww, whassa matta, Baby Lowi?” she cooed in the most patronizing tone she could muster. “Doesn’t Mommy’s little baby girl like being back in her nice, soft Pampers?”

Lori cried harder at the words. She wasn’t even sucking her thumb anymore; it simply dangled from her limp wrist and into her open mouth, a line of spit tracing her thumbnail to her tongue as Lori bellowed the 29-year-old’s wail of an infant mind. She beat her naked heels on the floor in pitiful frustration, her diaper crinkling loudly with every motion.

“Such a fit you’re throwing!” Jenny said, covering her ears melodramatically, but relishing the moment. “I should have known you were going to come out of this an oversized, obnoxious brat. Fortunately, Mommy’s medicine should be working its way throughout the rest of Baby Lori’s body by now… and that will certainly make my job easier.”

Lori stopped crying and jerked her head upwards in confusion, looking at Jenny over her naked tits and diapered crotch. What was she talking about?

Dr. Stiles’s timing was right on the mark. The drug had fully metabolized in Lori’s system, having been distributed to every single cell in her body – every bone, every muscle, every piece of tissue, visited by its rejuvenating powers and susceptible to its curative properties.

A shock of electricity lit up Lori’s body. Hairs stood on end. It was like an orgasm.

“No!” Lori shrieked. It was the only word she could locate. “No!” She gasped for air as her body began to reconstitute itself. Dr. Manning could feel her musculature reduce in tone and her skin tighten. The effects were swift and sure. And, by the time Lori had returned to her teenaged form and entered puberty for the second time, even a casual observer would notice that she was actually shrinking in size.

Jenny was surprised and pleased to find that Lori seemed to have a grasp of what was happening to her. The rapidly diminishing girl howled in fury and terror as she watched herself grow younger by the second. Jenny simply looked on in stunned silence, her rival’s legs contracting upwards and into the leg bands of the diaper.

Taking on the appearance of a 15-year-old, Lori felt a field of pimples erupt on her forehead. A flash of her adult mind returned to her just long enough to deliver the memories Lori was grateful to have buried long ago. She had been the tall, awkward one, the girl the boys called “Pizza Face.” Despite the A on her science midterm, no cute boys would ever want to date her. All the make-up and cosmetic treatments in the world couldn’t change that.

Jenny nodded in approval, while Lori, noticeably shorter and thinner, ceased her caterwauling long enough to get one final look at her breasts. Her perky, perfectly-rounded breasts—the only thing about her body of which she’d ever been proud: Somewhere in her head, Lori knew that it was the last time she was going to be seeing them for a long, long time.

“Noooo…” she whined mournfully, watching as her naked C cups, the very ones which had lured so many men into her boudoir, constricted to the size of softballs, then tennis balls. Her protest decayed into a whimper. Lori’s tits became the size of Hershey’s kisses, then collapsed into her chest and disappeared.

All Lori saw when she looked down at her body was her diaper. Vanishing along with her breasts were her pimples, and all of her body hair, retracting itself into the follicles beneath her flesh. The little girl struggled with all of her unbalanced might, at last managing to work up the strength to move into a kneeling position, but the 10-year-old succeeded only in sending her now-oversized diaper sliding down her waist and onto the thighs below. The volume of Jenny’s laughter rose in direct proportion to that of Lori’s wordless bellowing horror.

Lori slapped her palms against the tile floor of the laboratory and pulled herself out of her diaper. Appearing to be a scant seven years of age, the girl crawled weakly toward Jenny and stared up at her, her eyes pleading.

“Nooo!” she whined again, taking a breath to snort and sniffle. A line of snot worked its way out of her nose and onto the floor. “Naaaaawwwww!” Lori was five years old, then four, then three. She beat her fists upon the floor. The tiny toddler reached forward, grasping for Jenny’s high-heeled shoe, hoping to claim whatever remained of the vindictive woman’s humanity.

But she didn’t make it. Utterly drained, and her regression nearly complete, the one-year-old Lori curled up into a limp little ball and pushed four of her fingers into her mouth. She felt her baby teeth recede, one by one, until she was doing little more than gumming her fist and squealing.

At last, it was over.

Jenny leaned down and picked up the infant Dr. Manning. She awwed and cooed at the tiny, naked baby, sticking her tongue out and giggling, savoring every individual moment of the woman’s final comeuppance.

For Lori, it was utter torture. Her mental regression, with its agonizing 99.99% completeness, still allowed for the occasional flicker of adult consciousness to return, wrap itself around the gravity of the situation, and convert into a violent body-shock of electric humiliation. And then it was back to her dumb, tiny, wordless (though certainly not quiet) new self.

Dr. Stiles hummed a cheerful lullaby and took on the persona of a caring mother, laying Baby Lori upon the nearest laboratory table and securely wrapping her in a much more appropriately-sized infant’s diaper—complete with colorful waistband, festooned with dancing angels.

Oh, how Lori wailed.

“My, my, what are we going to do with you?” Jenny picked Lori up and nestled her tiny form to her chest, cooing and dancing her fingertip across her nose. This only made Lori wail louder, balling her hands in tight, chest-beating fists. Jenny couldn’t believe how soft and perfect Lori felt, pudgy with baby fat and blessed with the untouched mind of a sweet little angel. If only she would just shut up.

Then, Jenny had an idea. The coup de grace—a means to silence Lori’s toothless peal… and the ultimate humiliation. A perfect nightcap.

Jenny unbuttoned her blouse, unsnapped her bra, and offered her breast to Lori. The well-endowed woman’s nipple poked forward in engorged offering. Lori’s eyes opened wide and she kicked and squirmed and tried to get away. Falling to the laboratory floor and snapping her delicate neck would have been a fate preferable to what was to come. But Jenny was too strong. And, in seconds, Lori’s toothless gums were pressed against Jenny’s areola, and the baby was suckling.

Jenny felt a moan escape her pursed lips. She rolled her eyes back at the sensation. It had been years since she had felt a pair of lips wrapped around her sensitive left nipple… and that had been her awkward, stumbling drunkard of an ex-husband. He had never provided the pleasure Jenny was feeling at that very moment. Lori’s instinctive nursing was so gentle… so baby-like. And Jenny felt like a mother.

A caretaker. The caretaker to successful, valedictorian, scientist-du-jour Lori Manning. Now nothing more than a needy, diaper-clad infant, dependent solely on Jenny for every want and need.

Lori cried around Jenny’s nipple as the huge mound of flesh filled her tiny mouth. No milk came out, yet she couldn’t stop sucking. And, as she sucked, she felt herself loose her bowels, over which she no longer possessed any control. A torrent of disgusting mush spread the cheeks of her butt and emptied into the seat of her tightly-taped diaper. The sensation of warm crap spreading across what was once a soft, sexy, feminine ass was stomach-churning. And her stomach did churn, over and over, emptying a sizeable load of humiliating stink into her didee.

Lori kicked her tiny legs, squishing the mess around her genitals. She buried her face in Jenny’s tit and hoped her earnest suckling would take the humiliation away.

Jenny, surprised and overcome by her erotic reaction to the preceding events, stumbled backwards, feeling herself leak satisfied moisture into the fabric of her panties. She held Lori to her tit, pressing the baby’s head to her chest, moaning at the sexual sensation of her rival’s nursing and becoming increasingly wet at the prospect of her humiliation. She felt the mouth around her nipple, and the cries echoing in her head, and the loaded diaper against her hand. She took three uncontrolled steps backwards, fell into the laboratory table…

…and stuck herself with the still-unemptied syringe.

Oh, shit.

Jenny set the baby Lori upon the tabletop, took a few steps back, and rubbed her punctured rump. How could she have been so stupid? She may have left the syringe unattended… but she hadn’t created a drug potent enough to reconstitute her form with but a glancing pinprick.

Had she?

The answer soon came to Dr. Stiles. She had been more adept at biosynthesis than she had feared. As the drug’s molecular structure coursed through her veins and penetrated every cell of her body, bathing it in warm electricity. It felt like an orgasm on Xanax.

And Jenny began to grow younger.

She ran for the row of cabinets lined against the laboratory’s eastern wall. Jenny had been cautious enough to synthesize an antidote for her concoction in the event of overdose—but, sadly, its location among the rows and rows of esoteric substances was one of the first pieces of knowledge to go as her mind reverted back to the one she carried throughout grad school.

Jenny furiously tore open the cabinet doors, one by one, losing several months of accrued age with each passing second. As her body began to re-enter puberty and reduce in size, she felt her clothes seemingly grow larger around her frame. She paid no heed; Jenny simply opened cabinet after cabinet, shuffling through the myriad vials and test-tubes placed in cold storage, trying desperately to locate one with her handwriting.

Dr. Stiles fell backwards as her thrashing limbs got caught up in her blouse. Her body and mind regressed to their 16-year-old states, Jenny ripped her blouse apart, furiously attempting to regain control of her arms in time to find the antidote. She was grunting and groaning with every awkward motion—but all she could hear was the cheerful gurgling and clapping of Baby Lori somewhere in the background.

Jenny threw her blouse to the floor. Her bra slipped off her shrinking breasts and fell around her hips, getting entangled in her legs; she dove for the clasps and unsnapped them, freeing herself from her adult prison. The 13-year-old took a couple stumbles to the left, then to the right. Her contracting feet pressed against the top of her high-heels and fell out of them, causing the scientist to fall to the floor, clothed only in her skirt and panties.

Lori, yards away, laughed. And clapped harder.

“Shut up!” Jenny shouted, stunned at the crackle of her prepubescent voice. “Just shut up!”

Jenny squirmed, rolling around on the floor, growing smaller by the second and wrestling with her skirt and panties. By the time she had liberated herself from their confines she was naught more than a kindergartner. Her brain regressed right alongside her body… and, this time, it was Jenny’s turn to cry.

Dr. Stiles howled in dejection as she ran for the one cabinet she hadn’t opened. She couldn’t surrender… couldn’t accept defeat… not now! Tears streamed down the naked toddler’s face as she reached for the shelf which contained a vial visibly displaying her own chicken-scratch, circa 29 years old.

The shelf grew out of her reach. She jumped once, then again. Reaching, screaming, pleading, and failing.

Two-year-old Jenny lost her balance, fell to her ass, and screamed with every last modicum of her being.

And Dr. Manning, beginning to get used to the feeling of the thick, messy diaper separating her tiny legs, clapped and clapped. She fell over, giggling uncontrollably. What a fun show! What a happy ending!

Jenny rolled onto her stomach and lost another few months of age. Her muscles reverted to mere flab and baby fat spilled out of her spongy ribcage and filled every crevasse of her flawless, baby-soft skin. She lost how to crawl; she lost how to sit up; she lost the reason why she had gone to the cabinets in the first place.

She lost everything. Her wails of dejected terror joined Lori’s giggling in perfect harmony and composed a poetic tango, one which lasted deep into the night.