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Housewife's Humiliating Regression

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The last thing I remembered was sitting on our leather couch, wearing my pretty pink bathrobe, batting my extra-long (false) eyelashes at my gorgeous husband, and starting to feel drowsy. Ugh! What a day...

I vaguely remembered wrapping my nice, warm bathrobe around my body because I was cold - and the only thing I was wearing beneath it was my (double-padded) Wonderbra and skimpy red panties with the sexy silk fringes. My husband, Carl, likes to make fun of me for wearing bras all the time, even when it's just the two of us lounging around the house - and even during sex - but what can I say? A lady MUST maintain her appearance... and even after three years of marriage, I'd rather Carl think of me as the curvy, top-heavy vixen he fell in love with... instead of, you know... as a girl who's not, uh, particularly well endowed.

"Here. Drink this before you doze off, angel," Carl told me, handing me a glass of water and two of my pain pills.

"Okay... thank you, sweetie..."

Soon I was fast asleep.

One day earlier, I had been riding my horse at the Prairie Mountain Country Club - the most exclusive private club in town. I LOVED horseback riding! But my outing came to an abrupt halt when I was thrown from Buttercup, my beautiful coal-black Arabian stallion, while riding along the old Indian trail. I landed with a sick thud in the dirt, and the end-result was six bruised ribs, a hyperextended knee and a concussion.

When I awoke several hours later, Carl was carrying his suitcase to the front door.

"Carl...? Carl! What... what's going on?"

He walked to the couch and kissed me on the forehead.

"Oh, you're up. Hope you're feeling better, babe. Bad news: Old Man Peterson called me half-an-hour ago. He needs me to fly up to Chicago, ASAP. The client isn't happy and our biggest account is threatening to cancel their contract. Can you believe it?"

"What? You... you're leaving? But - but I need you, sweetie! I can barely walk!"

"I'm so sorry, babe. Believe me, I'd rather stay with you. But this isn't optional, and you know how Old Man Peterson gets when a client threatens to walk. ...You sure you're okay?"

I shook my head, trying to clear the cobwebs. Tears were beginning to swell in my eyes.

"Carl! You can't leave me now! I - I can't even get off the couch without your help!"

"Don't worry, babe: I called someone to help. And it won't just be her: She has two others helping her take care of you."

"Oh? ...Who?"

Two 20-year-old boys walked into the room with sheepish grins, along with a 20-year-old bleached-blonde girl in thigh-high leather boots.

My heart sank!

These weren't professional nurses. These were two stoner-boys from the neighborhood - plus their skanky girlfriend!

The McNally twins, Roger and Hank. And Deborah Jones, the neighborhood slut.

I knew the McNally twins VERY well. Too well: When they were younger, I was their babysitter. I looked after them from ages 11 to 18. But I quit watching them when their "interest" in me got out of hand.

Mrs. McNally tried to dismiss my concerns: "Don't be silly, Charlotte! They're adolescent boys. It's only natural that they'd be attracted to a pretty woman like you. It's just a harmless crush! They're only 18 and very inexperienced."

But it was more than a harmless crush, and I'm not so sure how "inexperienced" they really were. Believe me, those kids were weird and creepy! They were constantly trying to peek down my blouse, and every time I walked by, they had their hands down their pants!

The last straw was when I went to the bathroom to pee after sending them to bed. I know for a FACT that I locked the door shut - but somehow, it swung wide open - and both of those little pervs were standing in the doorway, gaping at me.

There I was, sitting on the toilet, with my jeans and panties around my ankles.

"GET OUT!!" I screamed.

But they just stood there, staring at me with their jaws wide open.

"Ooh, I see her underpants!" said one of the cretins, pointing.

I wrapped my arms around my waist and leaned all the way over so the twins couldn't see my pussy.

"I SAID, GET OUT!!"

"Uh, do you need help wiping, Charlotte?" asked Roger. "Heh, heh!"

"Yeah!" giggled Hank. "Spread your legs wide and we'll... heh, heh... wipe you real good! It'll be our little secret!"

My face turned bright red. I grabbed my shoe and threw it at their stupid faces!

"Get the fuck out of here! NOW!!"

Laughing like lunatics, they got the message and shut the door. (I could hear them arguing in the hallway about whether or not they "saw bush.")

That was two years ago. It was the last time I ever babysat them. Noooo thank you! Frankly, I thought it was ridiculous that 18-year-old boys would need a babysitter anyway - but I no longer felt safe around them. Because in addition to being a pair of socially-awkward pervs, they were both really, REALLY big. I'm guessing six-foot, six-inches, 300-pounds each - the size of NFL linemen.

And I'm really petite. I mean, really, REALLY petite.

Sigh... Not only am I NOT naturally well-endowed when it comes to my breasts, I'm also short and skinny. My true height is only four-foot, 11 inches, not that I'd ever admit it (Thank God for high heels!). I'm almost 29, but without my padded bra, heels and makeup, I still get carded when buying a ticket to an R-rated movie! (And once on a camping trip, someone actually thought I was Carl's daughter! Can you believe that? The grumpy-old ranger wouldn't let me leave the campsite until my "daddy" showed up. I tried to stomp away, but he grabbed me by the waistband of my shorts and panties - and as I ran back to my tent, they were accidentally yanked to my knees! I fell face-first into the mud with my ass in the air... and when I looked up, my shorts and panties in the ranger's hand! It was the single most humiliating moment of my life.)

That's why I ALWAYS wear makeup and a "special" bra before I leave the house, or when I'm alone with my husband. It's why - when Carl turned his back and left me on the couch after my recent visit to the emergency room - I quickly grabbed my pocketbook and applied my makeup.

It's SO frustrating being an adult - and still looking like a little kid!

Anyway, after the bathroom incident, I refused to babysit the McNally twins. I tried to avoid them at all costs, but they still lived in the neighborhood and they always seemed to be lurking around. And they were constantly making stupid, immature "jokes" about my body, talking about how much fun it would be to fuck me... like, AS IF!

Now they were here - in my house?!

Their girlfriend, Deborah Jones, was even worse: She was a chain-smoking, pill-popping, dick-hopping super-slut who was notorious for getting drunk and making such a terrible racket, someone would invariably call the cops.

That someone was usually me.

"What's yourrrr problem, Chhharlotte?" she slurred at me last week, after I notified the police that an underage, 20-year-old girl was drinking vodka and blasting music at 3 in the morning.

"Just go home and sleep it off, Deborah," I retorted. "And while you're at it, go take a bath! You reek of cigarettes and sperm! Eww!"

"You think you'rrrre so much better than me, don't ya?!" she slurred. "Just 'cause you have them... them expensive clothes and - and fancy-shmancy makeup, ya think you'rrre the Queen of the whole neighborhood! Well, I gots newwzz forrr ya, Charlotte! *Hiccup!* One of these days, I'm gonna take you down a peg! And I'm gonna show everyone EXACTLY what yerrrr really like!"

"Take me down a peg?" I laughed. "The only thing you take down is your panties! Now get your skanky ass out of here or I'll call the cops again!"

That only made her angrier: "You... you BITCH! Without them rrrrich-girl clothes, you're nothin'! You act sooo smart and - hiccup! - sophisticated, but I see how badly ya want Hank and Roger to ffffuck you good! *Hiccup!* You - you WANT their cock! DON'T YOU, ya little midget!"

"Sorry, dear!" I sniggered, "but Freud calls your theory 'projecting.' Now go home, you pathetic cum-bucket! In life, there are winners and there are losers. You dear, are an ugly, unattractive LOSER. Now GO!"

"Go?! Or elssssse WHAT?!"

"Or else I'll bend you over my knee and whip your pimply ass, bitch!"

She staggered away, cursing me under her breath.

Unfortunately, Carl didn't know about these melees. Carl was an unrepentant workaholic; he was always away on business trips. In retrospect, I guess it was my fault for not telling him... but it was too late now - and the very last thing I wanted were these three nimrods in MY house!

"Carl! I need a professional nurse!" I pleaded. "Not three little kids from the neighborhood! I'm injured! I - I need professional help! ...No offense, kids."

"It's okay, Charlotte," Deborah politely answered. "I'm a second-year nursing student. Taking care of patients is part of our case work. And Hank and Roger do volunteer work with the Rescue Squad every Tuesday and Thursday. You don't have to worry your pretty head about a thing. We'll take EXCELLENT care of you."

"Yeah, heh, heh," giggled Hank. "You're in good hands! We'll make food for you, we'll do the laundry for you..."

"That's right, Charlotte! We'll even help you change your clothes... and take a shower... heh, heh!" giggled Roger.

"Carl!" I shrieked. But Carl was busy fiddling his iPhone, staring at the screen:

"Dammit... I'm running late. I gotta go, babe. Be back in three days. Maybe four. Well, five tops. Deborah, boys - remember our agreement: She needs 24-hour, 'round-the-clock care. Do a good job, and there's $500 for you when I return. Understood? $500! So long, sweetie!"

He blew me a kiss. And with that... he was gone.

Christ!

I nervously looked around the room: All three of the kids were leering at me with psychotic grins on their faces. The McNally boys in particular were eyeing me like I was a slab of meat.

I gulped, pulling my bathrobe tight.

"Don't worry, Charlotte," Deborah grinned. "Let me see your list of meds... that cute hubby of yours left a list. "Hmm," she read, "standard stuff... your pain meds every four hours, this one every two hours... Oh! I see you have one daily suppository."

"What? I - I don't have a suppository!" I protested.

"You've been on pain meds, Charlotte, and you're still recovering from a concussion," she answered. "No wonder you're forgetful. Trust me, you have a daily suppository. It's right here on the list."

"What's a suppository?" asked Roger.

"Heh, heh... it's a pill that gets jammed up her pooper!" giggled Hank. "Heh, heh!"

"You mean the pill goes up her butt?" asked Roger, incredulous. "Like, you've gotta stick it inside her asshole? Wow! I'll totally volunteer to help her with THAT!"

He wiggled his pointer finger in the air and winked at me.

"Stop it!" I cried. "I'd remember if I had to take a fucking suppository! I don't! So STOP IT!!"

"Don't get so upset, Charlotte," Deborah told me. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about, and besides, I want you calm and relaxed. Look, I know we've had our differences in the past, but I have every intention of taking first-rate care of you. My nursing career is something I take very seriously."

I regained control of my emotions and began breathing slower: "Okay... Thank you. I appreciate that, Deborah."

"Hank, Roger: I need you to help our patient," ordered Deborah. "This is gonna be strictly by-the-books. Go grab her dirty laundry from the bedroom and run a load."

"Heh, heh! You said, 'load!'" giggled Hank. "But okay..."

"NO! Wait!" I squealed.

Everyone turned to me, looking confused.

"I - I don't need anyone doing my laundry," I stammered. "That - that's a nice offer, but you don't need to do that!"

That's what I said... but I had an ulterior motive: My personal laundry includes my... personal items. Meaning my, ahem, undergarments.

My panties and bras.

Specifically, my "enhanced" bras - i.e. my vast collection of Wonderbras, plus all my custom-made bras - the ones with extra padding sewed into the cups!

"Don't be silly," Deborah chided. "Doing laundry and light cleaning is standard homecare for a patient, and I want to earn that $500 from your hubby. ...Unless you have a good reason for us NOT to see your laundry? DO you?"

What could I say? I shook my head no...

The McNally twins shrugged and headed off to my bedroom. I gulped, praying that those two numbskulls wouldn't notice anything unusual! Deborah looked down at me with a suspicious expression:

"You know, Charlotte... you really shouldn't wear any tight clothes. You're on some powerful narcotics and sedatives. Limiting your body's circulation can be dangerous. I need you to loosen your bathrobe belt. It's for your own good."

Instead, I pulled my bathrobe belt tighter.

"I'll dress myself as I see fit, thank you very much! If I want to wear my bathrobe this way, I'm gonna fucking do it! Do you hear me?! Am I making myself clear? I'M in charge, not you!"

Deborah paused for a moment and frowned. Then her frown transformed into a wide, toothy smile. She reached down - and grabbed my belt!

"Hey! HEY!! You - you BITCH! LET GOOO!!"

She ripped the belt clean off my bathrobe, then hurled it to the other side of the room.

My bathrobe flew wide open! Red-faced and panic-stricken, I quickly pulled it closed... but not before Deborah got a good, long look at my bra- and panty-clad body.

Her smile widened.

"My, my!" she chuckled. "You really are a skinny little pixie! If it weren't for that nice chest of yours, you'd totally have the body of a little kid! Ha! Those are some fancy undies, by the way!"

"Fuck you! You - you have no right!"

"How much do those panties cost anyway? They're ADORABLE!"

"Shut up! G - give me back my belt!" GIVE IT TO ME!"

"Look, I'm not gonna let you hurt yourself while I'm in charge of your well-being. And that's final. The belt is confiscated, Charlotte."

Just then, the perv-twins walked past up, carrying big piles of my laundry in their arms - and each wearing a pair of my thong panties over their heads! They looked like gay superheroes! I nearly died!

"Hey, which way is the laundry room, Charlotte?" one of them asked.

"Through... through the door to the left," I mumbled, blushing furiously.

As they walked past the couch, Hank dropped one of my bras to the ground. It landed right next to Deborah's feet.

"No! Wait! Give that to me!" I yelped, reaching for it.

Oh, God!

Ignoring me, Deborah leaned over and picked it up, methodically examining its solid-foam interior. I was blushing so brightly, I could've glowed in the dark!

That BITCH was smiling so broadly by now, she looked like the Joker. She held-up the bra to the light, then stared directly at my chest! She stared and stared and stared - like she had x-ray vision!

"Well, well, well! What do you know!" she crowed.

I pulled the bathrobe as tightly as I could around my torso, lowering my head in shame.

Both the McNally boys returned to the room.

"Hey Charlotte, we've got the first load running in the washer," said Roger. "Say, 'thank you!'"

"Yeah, and your panties smelled GREAT! Heh, heh," giggled Hank. "More 'loads' to come!"

"Great... thanks," I mumbled, still beet-red.

"Boys," Deborah directed, "take the patient to the bathroom and run her a shower. I'm gonna dash home and grab some new clothes for her."

"A - a shower?!" I gasped. "Clothes?! I have my own clothes! And - and I don't need a shower!"

"Bedsores are a common concern after an injury," Deborah explained. "And I think I have some clothes that will fit you... more comfortably. Boys, take care of her!"

And she headed out the door.

Roger and Hank looked down on me. I felt so small - so tiny... I cowered on the couch.

"Please, guys," I begged, "I seriously don't need a shower. I've only been on the couch for one day. There's no risk of bedsores. Let's just forget about it. Go watch TV, or something."

"Sorry, Charlotte," Roger answered. "Deb's in charge. If she says you need a shower, you need a shower."

They each put an arm under me and lifted me off the couch, walking me down the hall like I was a helpless invalid. My feet weren't even touching the floor!

"Let me go, you faggots!" I screamed. "Let me go!"

Without my belt, my bathrobe flew wide open. ALL the way open! My thin, petite body was fully revealed - with only my bra and panties to shield my modesty.

"Wait! Wait! Let me pull my bathrobe closed! PLEASE!"

"Whoa! You've got a SWEET bod!" exclaimed Hank, staring at my near-naked flesh for the first time. "How you managed to grow those nice, firm tits on such a skinny body is a mystery to me - but bravo! Mother Nature treated you right!"

"Yeah!" added Roger. "Besides, if you're gonna be taking a shower, you don't need a bathrobe. Off we go..."

He yanked my pretty pink bathrobe off my shoulders - so it dropped to the ground behind me. Oh, God! I was being escorted to the bathroom by the perv-twins in just my Wonderbra and panties! I had NEVER been so embarrassed in my life!

One of them put a hand on my ass and gave a squeeze.

"HEY! Cut it out, asshole!" I hissed. "Move your fucking hand! I'm NOT your girlfriend and never will be!"

"Asshole?" giggled Hank, continuing to massage my butt. "Nah, not your asshole - just your ass-cheek. 'Sides, I gotta keep you steady so you don't tip over. This... heh, heh... is for your own good!"

Jesus! Kill me!

By the time we reached the bathroom, I was almost in tears... partly from rage, partly from humiliation.

"Great. Thanks for 'helping' me, you fucking perverts," I growled, crossing my legs and covering my bra with my arms. "Now go away! I can shower by myself! GO AWAY!"

"Are you SURE, Charlotte? Maybe you'd like for us to help you... heh, heh... wash behind the ears! Or behind your... heh, heh... other parts!"

I waved my fist at him: "Get out of here before I count to three! Do you hear me?! I'll DESTROY you! I'll DESTROY your lousy reputations! You do NOT want to mess with ME!! One! Two! Thr-"

Then Roger's cell phone rang. He held a finger to my lips and answered it:

"Hello? Oh, hey Deb. Yeah, we've brought her to the bathroom so she can shower. What? No, she's telling us to leave. Being a real bitch about it, too. ...What? Really? I mean... REALLY? ...You sure? We... we can really do that? Cool! You bet! Okay, bye!"

With a rude look in his eye, Roger grinned at me: "Bad news, Charlotte. Deb says we can't let you shower by yourself. Said it's too dangerous - you might slip and fall. Said concussions make you dizzy and prone to passing out."

I covered my body with both arms and glowered back: "Well, what the fuck is THAT supposed to mean?"

"It means," he said, as he pulled off his plaid shirt and unbuttoned his pants, "that I'm gonna take a shower with you."

"WHAT?!"

He stepped out of his pants. All he was wearing were his Mickey Mouse boxers - and a gigantic boner!

"NO! ABSOLUTELY NOT!! ARE YOU CRAZY?!"

"Sweet! I'll join, too!" volunteered Hank, peeling off his clothes.

Within seconds, they were both buck-ass naked... and their dicks were ENORMOUS! Much bigger than Carl's! I was shocked! I... I didn't know penises could get that big!

"Heh, heh," giggled Hank. "Look: She's staring at our cocks!"

"I'm not!" I protested, blushing again. "That - that's a lie!" But I couldn't look away...

Roger turned on the shower and waited a few seconds.

"Alrighty, Charlotte. Water's nice and warm. Strip off your undies."

"NO!" I begged. "I - I can shower while still wearing my bra and panties! Please don't make me get naked! PLEASE!!"

"But what's the big deal? We're both naked, ain't we? If we can get naked, so can you."

"PLEASE!!" I cried. "My husband doesn't even get to see me all the way naked! PLEASE!!"

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