Sweeter Than Sweet

Pogo awoke in a dark room, with his head down, laying on his stomach. His ass burnt horribly, as if he'd been whipped. He winced as he turned over to lie on his back. He wore a tight pair of.... wet jeans? A T-shirt, and nothing else.

"What the fuck?" He grumbled to himself. He couldn't see much. But he could hear the click of a door knob. Footsteps, and a light suddenly clicked on. There stood Manson, with oddly fond eyes, and a small smile.

"Well someone's up," Manson said gently.

"Where the fuck am I?" Pogo snapped.

Manson's eyes became fatherly. "Now, now. Don't curse," he scolded. The bigger man spotted Pogo's wet jeans. "Looks like someone had an accident."

"What?" The blonde gasped as he looked down at himself. A dark spot was spread over his crotch. Just then, he realized where he was. The room was painted a baby blue, with childish designs spread over the walls. In the middle of the room was a very, very big platform crib, with kitten printings painted on it. The carpet was soft, a sky blue. In the corner was a changing table. And surrounding him were stuffed animals, large and small. He stared around in fear. Manson loomed over his form, and lifted him with much ease. Pogo attempted to wiggle out of his grasp, but got a tender pat on his bottom.

"Don't squirm, baby. Don't you want to get out of those wet pants?" Manson asked. Pogo continued to squirm, pushing him away. He whined.

"I know, it's uncomfortable. Shh." Manson laid him down on the changing table, and proceeded to strip his wiggling lower half. Manson was patient... and seemed highly loving. He was making soothing sounds, and carefully peeled away the soaked fabric.

"Shh, I know. I know." He threw the pants in a hamper, and reached down to pick something up. "Hush." He cooed as he slipped a pacifier in Pogo's mouth. The younger man was shocked. He stopped squirming long enough for Manson to pull out a package of wipes. Then he spit the pacifier out.

"Asshole!" He cried. He yelped in pain when a sharp slap was delivered to his stinging ass.

"No, no. That's a VERY bad boy. You do not curse, unless you want a red bottom, little one," Manson scolded harshly. Pogo whimpered at the pain, as if his ass wasn't ALREADY red. Manson called him a bad boy? A little one? Scolding? PACIFIERS?! He was so confused. He hid his face in his hands, and felt tears stinging his eyes. A sob escaped his throat on accident. Another soon followed. His tears began to flow, and soon he was bawling. Suddenly, warm leather-clad arms were wrapped around him, and he was lifted again in a tight embrace.

"Shh, don't be scared baby. Daddy's sorry he yelled at you. You're not a bad boy... Shh," Manson cooed gently. One hand supported his ass, the other rubbed slow circles on his back.

Pogo moved back from him. "D-Daddy?" He whimpered.

How could he have POSSIBLY figured out his secret? His love for the maternal insticts in him. He'd always wanted to be diapered and cared for. With no responsibilities or worries. With a loving Daddy to care for him and gush over how cute he was. But now... now he was embarrassed, but enjoying the warm hug he was in.

"How about we get you all clean, how's that sound?" Manson crooned, "Do you want a bath?"

Pogo just burst into fresh tears and buried his face in Manson's chest. The bigger man held him close, and bounced him gently to sooth him better.

"Shh. Hush, baby, hush."

The keyboardist sniffled, and whimpered, "Why... Why are you being nice to me?"

Manson smiled lovingly. "I know how you want to be a baby. Just a sweet infant to be taken care of. John and Tim told me how you wanted me to take care of you," he explained. Pogo turned five shades of red, and dropped his head.

"Hey, now. None of that," Manson crooned, "Do you not want this?" He asked.

Pogo stopped. Was he really going to pass up this offer? He looked up, into Manson's eyes. "Can I have my paci now, Daddy?" He asked in a sweet baby voice.

Manson smiled warmly, and grabbed his pacifier off the changing table. He slipped it in his mouth, and kissed his forehead.

"There you go, little prince."

Pogo stared up at him, blushing as he lolled his tongue around the pacifier. Manson kissed his forehead again, earning a little squeak from little Pogo as he hid his face in his hands. Manson chuckled.

"Someone's shy," he teased, "Now does baby Stephen want a bath?" He cooed in gentle baby talk.

Pogo's eyes lit up. "Bathy!" He squealed happily through his pacifier. Manson chuckled and patted his tender pink bottom cheek.

"That's right. A bath. Then Daddy will make his sweet little prince a nice warm bottle before night-night." He sat him down on the counter of the bathroom and began to run a warm bath with bubbles scented lavender (Pogo's favorite smell). As the bath was running, he lifted Pogo's shirt over his head and threw it in the hamper as the water ran. By the time he was finished, he lifted Pogo and settled him in the warm water. The baby instantly regressed back to being a newborn baby and began giggling and splashing happily in the water. Manson chuckled and allowed this as he cleaned him up with a soft sudsy washcloth.

"Can you sit up like a big boy?" Manson asked. Pogo nodded, and did so. He squeaked when Manson slipped the cloth between his cheeks, and scrubbed his thighs.

"Looks like naughty John whipped my little prince," Manson noted the pink in Pogo's flesh, "Poor baby. You weren't struggling that hard were you." He slid a gentle finger over one cheek, smiling at the little coo the baby emitted.

"Don't worry, sweetie. Daddy will make that all better," he promised in a sweet fatherly tone.

Tenderly, he scrubbed Pogo's arms and chest, also being sure to rub his cock clean. He knew the younger man wasn't in the mood for that, he was 'just a newborn baby', and Manson was his loving Daddy. Slowly, he worked strawberry shampoo into his hair. Pogo sighed comfortably, loving the feel of Manson's strong fingers in his hair.

"Well someone likes his hair washed," Manson chuckled.

Pogo smiled like a child. "I wuv my Daddy," he said in sweet baby talk, which he found made Manson melt.

"Aw, Daddy loves you too, baby... My sweet little prince."

A few more minutes of his hair being worked over went by. "Tilt your head back, baby," Manson said, guiding him back. Pogo obeyed, and allowed Daddy to rinse his hair with a crystal glass of warm water. He was very careful as to not get any soap in Pogo's eyes. When his hair was clean completely, Manson took up a fluffy black towel.

"Want to get out now?" He cooed.

Pogo reached up, "Pwease?"

Manson chuckled, "Alright, buddy. Come on." He took him up and rubbed him completely dry, even his feet, which made the blonde giggle. He dried between his bottom cheeks and dried his flaccid cock. He threw the wet towel in the hamper and wrapped another dry, warm towel around Pogo before picking him up and carrying him to the nursery. He sat him down on the changing table, and carefully laid him down. The little keyboardist was making little cooing sounds like a baby the entire time. Manson turned him over on the warm padded surface and began rubbing cooling cream over his bottom cheeks. Pogo made a sweet coo and looked at Daddy over his shoulder, sucking his pacifier gently.

"Feel all better, sweetie?" Manson crooned.

The keyboardist nodded happily, to Manson's satisfaction

"Now lets get you all nice and snug, okay?" He turned Pogo over and bent down to retrieve something from the storage container connected to the table. The baby was sure Manson was going to put a pair of underwear on him. But he heard the crinkling of something, instead. Manson surfaced with a bottle of baby powder, and a thick pad of some sort. Pogo's heart began to race. The older man unfolded the pamper and gently slid it beneath him after lifting his hips. The smaller man sucked his pacifier harder as Manson sprinkled a thorough amount of baby powder on his diaper area. Slowly and gently, he rubbed the fine amount over his bottom and softened groin. He then drew the diaper up between Pogo's thighs and taped it snugly in place around his waist with the tabs. The boy suddenly felt so safe and secure under the supervision of Manson. This was what he had always wanted with the man of his dreams; tender and loving Marilyn Manson.

To top off his sweet baby attire was a blue footed sleeper with kittens on it. Manson carefully dressed him in the warm, soft garments, sealing the finished zipping of the fabric with a pat on his thickly padded butt. Pogo blushed deeply, but thought he looked cute nonetheless.

"There we are! Does my sweet little prince want a ba-ba?" Manson cooed.

Frantically, the blonde nodded. He had always wanted to be nursed by Marilyn. In no time, he was being carried to the kitchen downstairs. He was in Manson's house. The singer sat him down in the living room in a soft mesh playpen with stuffed animals and other baby toys in it.

"Now you be a good boy, and Daddy will be right back," Manson said softly.

The keyboardist was in pure bliss, playing with soft blocks, stacking them and watching them fall. When Manson arrived with a bottle full of warm formula, he reached up.

"Is someone hungry?" The singer cooed.

"Me!" Pogo cried happily.

"Okay, lets get your tummy filled."

The baby was then lifted from his playpen, and carried to the couch. Manson sat with the squirming baby in his lap. Pogo wanted his bottle, so he was anxious.

"Now, now, baby. Don't fuss," he crooned. Slowly, he lay Pogo over his lap, supporting his head in the crook of his arm, and slipped the nipple into his mouth. The blonde began to suck erratically. The formula was so sweet and luscious.

"Aw, you must have been hungry," Marilyn crooned lovingly, rocking him slowly. The blonde stared up at him with shining eyes. The fond stare Manson gave him made him realize who he really was.

He was an innocent little newborn baby boy. Daddy's little prince.

He closed his eyes, still sucking contently on his bottle, as he slowly fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.