Training Trevor: An ABDL Age Play Romance (Safe Boys Book 3)

by Laurie Lochs

  Training Trevor

  An ABDL MM Age Play Romance

  Laurie Lochs

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

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  Prologue

  “Students," Principal Johnson announced, "please welcome your classmate Trevor to the stage!"

  I took a deep breath and forced myself to the present. Who the hell knew singing in the high school talent show would be so stressful? I’d been singing for as long as I could remember, but my first official performance was doing serious damage to my nerves.

  One, two, three, Trevor. Three quick steps and it's showtime. Once you start playing, the rest of the world falls away.

  I forced my eyes open and took a hesitant step towards the curtain. After peeling it back, I attempted to firmly stride but ended up sort of stumbling towards Principal Johnson, who welcomed me with a firm hand. "You'll do well, boy. I believe in you.”

  Something flickered in my gut. I glanced around the auditorium and tried to block out the nerves. I guessed this would’ve been easier if my skin wasn’t absolutely melting off my body. It felt like it was going to pool on the stage floor and everyone was going to see me entirely naked.

  I teetered towards the piano bench and gulped air. I clenched and felt the familiar crinkle of my diaper on my thighs. It hugged me, cradled me. Made sure I wasn't going to fall. I was only 16, but I'd been sneaking diapers for at least three years. In times of stress, they calmed me and held me.

  I brought my hands to the piano keys and inched towards the mic. "My name is Trevor and…” Nerves overwhelmed me before I got the words out. I blinked rapidly, staring at my fingers. But they blurred together, the ebony and ivory melting into chocolate chip ice cream. I glanced at the auditorium and saw hundreds of faces staring.

  I scrunched my eyes shut. "Hello," I said again, biting my lip hard enough to draw blood. "My name is Trevor, I'm a junior, and tonight I'll be performing an original song.”

  Dead silence. 10,000-leagues-under-the-sea silence. I brought my fingers down hard on the keys and was greeted by… Even more silence. My fingers were frozen. I couldn't sink them into the keys at all.

  I cast a second frantic glance at the audience. They were checking their phones. Watching the shy, timid kid who lived in community foster care after his parents died was dead last on their list of “fun things to do on a Friday night.” I could do nothing but force my eyes back to the piano and be done with my pathetic song.

  But before I opened my mouth, someone snickered in the audience. My immediate thought was that they were snickering at me, but then I remembered that in a room full of 300 people, there was bound to be something else that was funny, that was entirely unrelated to the boy on the piano in a pair of khakis, a black Ralph Lauren knit, and… A diaper that seemed to be sitting a lot higher on his waist than usual.

  Another snicker.

  This time, I whipped around. There was a group of students in the front row, pointing at my body. My heart leapt into my throat. I glanced down. My heart stopped the minute I saw it.

  Somehow or another, my sweater had ridden up halfway. My baby blue diaper with teddy bears and cartoon rattles was in plain view for everyone to see.

  "O-OhmyGod," I stammered. It was too late to yank my shirt down or pull my khakis up. I was glued to the chair, a sitting duck for all the boys and girls in the auditorium to snicker at before finding a new target to ridicule.

  Something suddenly rocketed through my body. I pressed my thighs together, but it was no use. I knew what was happening. Flames danced on my spine, rushing through my veins and pooling in the crack of my ass. My cock twitched and, before I could speak, a wave of warmth suddenly washed over me, coating my thighs. I moaned and let go in my diaper, unable to stop the flow. The audience snickered more loudly and various flashes emanated from the darkness behind me.

  They’re taking photos. They’re snapping photos of my diaper.

  I needed to move. I had to get out of this fucking room. I tried to break free from the bench but I couldn't lift my legs. Without warning, a second stream shot between my legs. I whimpered and pressed my legs together, but by now the warmth was gushing out of me, pooling around my hips and sinking into my taint and ass. I needed to pry open the piano and bury myself alive.

  Suddenly, a firm hand gripped my shoulder. It was Principal Johnson. “Trevor? Is something wrong?”

  I tried to respond but the words got stuck in my throat. I could only make a weird clicking sound that sounded like a dying chicken.

  Or a boy, dying of embarrassment.

  "Let's go, Trevor.” He grabbed my hand and tried to pry me from the piano. But I was glued to the bench like a rock. I didn't know if my diaper would hold up or if the contents would start to trickle out through the sides. The adult diapers for littles like me sometimes weren’t high quality and let pee out. The contents could seep through the fabric, my khakis, and trickle down the bench, or even splash onto the floor below.

  Principal Johnson didn’t give a shit about my diaper. He grabbed my shoulders and yanked me off of the bench. I tried to cry out but there was nothing I could do. He led me behind the curtain, away from the laughter ringing out from every direction.

  “Boy.” He dropped to one knee and stared into my eyes. Suddenly, I was gripped by an urge to kiss him. "Did something happen out there? Is there a reason you’re so scared?”

  A hot, slick tear slipped from my eye. No, Sir, I wanted to say, nothing scared me, Sir. I’m just having a difficult night.

  "I'm sorry, boy. We have to move on to the next act."

  I stared at the ground. “I-I understand. Thank you for the chance to sing.”

  Principal Johnson patted my shoulder and told me there was nothing to worry about. But I knew he was lying. Stuffing what was left of my dignity into my black backpack, I gave a final smile to Principal Johnson and burst through the auditorium doors, sprinting down the halls. I ignored the "talent" lined up against the beige school walls and ran down the hallway until my lungs screamed for air. I didn't stop until I'd left the school and was heaving in shame and agony by the bike rack.

  "Oh my God," I gasped, gripping my rusty frame. My arms were shaking so much that some of the locks started to tremble in the starry night.

  They saw it, Trevor. Everyone in that room saw your diaper. They might have even seen you pee.

  My eyes burned. I unbuttoned my khakis and pulled them to my thighs, readying myself for a sel
f-imposed diaper check. I snuck my hand into my diaper and squeezed.

  Oh, God. It was full and wet.

  I sniffled and removed my hand, wiping it on my shorts. I fastened my khakis and swung my leg over the bike, unsure of whether or not the fabric would hold. Luckily it did. Just before I left the school forever, I glanced one last time into the night and stared at the stars.

  "You let me down, stars. You promised you’d protect me and help me get through my song. You didn't do shit. This is the last time I rely on you in my life."

  I pulled away from the bike rack and commenced the torturous journey to the Safe Boys shelter. When I arrived, I tore off my diaper, threw it in the trash, and drug myself into the shower to scrub the shame and embarrassment from my body.

  After I changed into my light blue onesie, I snuck away from the bathroom and buried myself in the bed. This sure as hell was the last time I relied on the stars for anything.

  And if diapers only brought me ridicule and embarrassment? Well, shit. This was the last time I'd wear one in my life.

  Chapter 1

  Trevor

  I took a deep breath and stared at the stage. Without warning, all the events from my botched talent show performance came rushing back. Even 3 years later, I hadn’t touched a keyboard since. But that would change tonight.

  Soon, the curtains would part and I’d be up there again, staring into the hostile audience laughing so hard I’d wet my pants.

  The stage manager shook me from my daze. “Trevor?”

  “Yes, sir?” I glanced at the man. He flipped his unwashed hair over his shoulder, and I watched in disgust as it fell over his forehead and ears. He was wearing a name tag that said Hi, I’m Joseph! and had the dingy gay club’s emblem printed on the front.

  “Ready?” he said with a grin. He clapped my back and ruffled my hair. I shivered and tried to get away from his grasp. Then, he turned and led me to the curtain.

  Anxiety billowed through me. I tried to bat it away but it was no use. I wiped my fists on my khakis and stared at the stage.

  Three quick steps. Then the world falls away.

  Except… Well, that wouldn’t exactly happen. After I was kicked out of Safe Boys youth shelter, the world didn’t exactly “fall away” while singing at all. It wasn’t like before, when I’d rush home from school and build worlds on the community piano or during the day, when I’d sometimes sneak away to the music room with Mr. LaBrie to practice piano and use the guitars.

  For years, my music was a secret club only I belonged to. I poured my heart into the songs, especially about the older boys at school and sometimes teachers. Once, I even tried to record a demo on GarageBand about a particularly enchanting boy named Charlie who liked staring at me during Spanish class. I spent all afternoon cutting up the vocals and making sure the piano sounded just right. While I recorded, I pretended I was singing to Charlie. I fantasized he was holding my hand and blowing me sweet kisses while I sang. But when I submitted it to record labels they didn't give it a second glance. I was 15 at the time and should’ve known better. All that mattered was that it was fun to dream. And music helped me dream.

  But lately, music didn’t give me wings at all.

  Ever since that one fucking night.

  My cock twitched in my pants. I tried to force the memories of rushing home after my botched talent show performance and frantically jerking off until I burst all over my messy diaper from my mind. The fantasies of exposing myself to the entire school while they laughed or maybe even pulled out their own cocks and started jerking in their seats while I stood on the stage, beet-red, the center of attention. But I was no longer 16. It was past time to move on. Yet the thoughts lingered, threatening to burst from my heart and leave it broken at the seams.

  I cleared my throat and directed myself towards the stage. A wave of anxiety overpowered me. Suddenly, I wished I were wearing a diaper. I didn’t care if anyone saw. I needed the plush fabric around me, kissing my body, protecting me. I couldn’t give a fuck that I’d vowed never to wear a diaper again. If I wet myself, the diaper would be there to catch my fall.

  Maybe it’s not too late. Tell the stage manager — Joseph, his name is Joseph — you don’t want to sing after all. He’ll move onto the next act. No harm, no foul.

  But I couldn’t do this. Not if I wanted to be a singer.

  I needed to take charge of my dream.

  It was too late to back down. I walked towards the keyboard and smiled weakly at the audience.

  But before I sank into the seat, I spotted the most beautiful man grabbing a cocktail at the bar.

  Chapter 2

  Ash

  I smiled at the bartender and waited for him to finish my Manhattan. He mixed the sweet vermouth with Canadian whisky, Angostura bitters, and a thimbleful of ambrosia because why the hell not. After topping it with a fresh Maraschino cherry, he slid it across the bar and winked at me.

  “Busy night?”

  “I wish,” I said with a laugh. I took the cocktail and set $10 on the counter. “Just here for the talent.”

  The bartender grinned. “Not exactly the best lineup we’ve had. But there’s a new boy with potential. Cute as hell.”

  I nodded and found a seat by the stage. I sipped the Manhattan. Sweet, with a kick. Then, I sat back and wondered why the hell I let my best friend Matt Draco talk me into wasting my Friday night at Minneapolis’ worst LGBT dive bar when I could be at my beloved BDSM club getting it on.

  Okay, maybe “getting it on” wasn’t exactly the right way to put it. That sounded all too much like I mixed business with pleasure, which I totally didn’t do. As the Dungeon Monitor at the Asteria kink club, my principle duty was keeping clients safe. Not having fun.

  Although I also liked fun.

  Everybody likes fun.

  My passion project started 5 years ago because there was a serious lack of ABDL-friendly kink clubs in the Minneapolis area. I knew how important the “friendly” part of it was firsthand. When my stepbrother Peter discovered I liked playing with littles, he accused me of being a pedophile. “You’re fucking disgusting,” he’d said, unwilling to hear me out or read the articles I’d sent him that distinguished in clear terms ABDL and pedophilia. It hurt like hell when he told my Mom I was running an “underground pedophile sex ring in Northeast Minneapolis.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d come home for Christmas.

  But that was to be expected. Family, or people who didn’t “get it,” couldn’t be expected to understand.

  But Peter’s rumors were bullshit. He knew nothing about the lifestyle. Because he’d never stepped foot in the club, he didn’t understand our Safe Check system, which I’d implemented the night I opened the doors. The Safe Check system ensured that patrons obtained consent every time they took part in a scene. Our moderators walked the floor, making sure nothing nefarious was taking place. While the last thing we wanted to do was curtail anyone's autonomy, it was a precautionary measure to keep everything above board. To make sure Subs, pups and Doms were obtaining consent.

  I'd be damned to hell if Asteria turned into a place of abuse. Not under my watch.

  The truth was I loved the club, and not just because it provided me with a full-time income. I managed the books, ordered inventory, and set up promotional events to get the word out around Minneapolis. Though the Minnesota kink community wasn't as big as New York or Montreal, enough kink-friendly Doms and Subs lived in the Twin Cities to generate abundant revenue.

  And, well… Promotional events didn’t hurt, either. To keep people coming back, it wasn't enough to provide a space where people could explore kinks and fetishes free from prying eyes. From the start, my vision had been an all-inclusive club where we mixed kink and LGBT entertainment. One of the best forms of entertainment we offered was our monthly talent night — I called it Sin and Songs! — where we invited a prominent local artist to perform.

  The only stipulation? They needed to do it in BDSM gear.

  L
ast month, we'd had a gorgeous drag queen give a stellar lip sync of Lady Gaga and Elton John’s Sine From Above set to a Mozart piano concerto while her Master led her around the stage on a leash. In January, a sexy Daddy performed an excellent rendition of the aria from Puccini’s Madame Butterfly in nothing but a cock cage. Our clientele was sophisticated, hence the classical. But I was trying to expand and open up new markets. If Beethoven and Bach were holding us back, I needed to switch it up to bring in more people.

  Which is why it was perfect when Matt Draco invited me to see a “special performance” at The Watering Hole, the worst gay bar in the entire Midwest. “You can’t miss it, Ash. One of the boys in the lineup is drop-dead gorgeous. I know you’ve been looking for a twink to perform at one of your sinful nights.”

  “A boy,” I said, correcting him. “Not a twink. A boy.”

  “Whatever. He’s beautiful, talented, and you’re going to love him. I’m going to personally order a hit on you if you don’t get here by 9:30.”

  I replayed Matt’s words in my head, waiting for the show to begin. I checked my watch. 9:31.

  I was about to order a second Manhattan when the curtain suddenly flew open. Out walked the most stunning young boy I’d seen in my life.

  Oh, hello. Aren’t you gorgeous.

  The boy walked to the piano. “H-Hello,” he stammered into the microphone. “M-My name is Trevor, and tonight I’ll be singing an original song.”