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Melanie handed me the mug. “He’s yours for a while,” she whispered. “Then it’s my turn.” Ethan didn’t suspect a thing. He’d been grinning all night at the party upstairs, leering at us like we were prizes. By 10:47pm, I made sure he’d downed three drinks, all of which contained chamomile and a splash of something far more calm-inducing. He slumped against the couch shortly after he finished the third drink. What a dummy. He should have known not to accept a drink from a near-stranger.
“Let’s move him,” I said. Melanie smirked. “I bet he never suspected this would happen when he chose to go to the party.” We carried him down like a ragdoll. His protests dissolved into snores by the third step. The diaper we put him in was size XXL, which was a mocking fit for his bulky frame. Melanie held him still while I snapped the tabs. Ethan twitched once, as if he was dreaming of escape. If only he knew. lol I reached for the laxative, sweetened to taste like vanilla. He gulped it down in a bottle, oblivious to his current reality.
Ethan didn’t suspect a thing.
We’d left him bound to the couch in the diaper, with the basement’s chill seeping through his jeans. Melanie circled him like he was prey. When he woke up, confused of course, she stopped and looked in right in the eye. “I hope you know this is payback. The texts, the follows, the way you think you can own women just by looking at us. We’re your karma, Ethan. You can’t get away with that anymore.”
The look on his face was of pure horror. “You’re a grown man, Ethan,” I said, cackling. “But you can’t even trust yourself not to wet the bed. Maybe it’s time someone else took control. Hmmmm?” He tried to struggle when the first wave hit. Writhing, red-faced, the telltale dampness spreading under him as his wetness indicator turned blue. Melanie laughed. “Look at you. All that bravado, and you’re nothing but a baby now.”
Hours passed. He cried, tried to bargain and begged for mercy. We brought him watered-down juice, force-feeding it to him in bottles, and wiped his face with rags. Melanie hummed as she worked. Her voice was a lullaby of cruelty. I watched, satisfied, as his pride dissolved like ash. When dawn seeped through the basement window, Ethan was silent. His hands trembled as he tried to meet our eyes, but we wouldn’t let him. Melanie untied him, then shoved a soiled diaper into his arms.
“Dispose of it,” she said. “And maybe next time, remember what happens to boys who think they’re men.” He ran away, gagging, as if the taste of humiliation clung to his throat.
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