DREAMS Daycare - Chapter 4

“Silly sissy!!” Casey reprimanded, smacking Peter’s wrist. It wasn’t hard, it hurt his pride more than anything, but it certainly sent the Crayon in his hand across the room. “You don’t color with that hand! You use the other one, remember?”

Annoyed, Peter rolled his eyes, but thankfully Casey didn’t see. She knows he’s right-handed, but she–and all the other betasitters–insist he use his non-dominant one. Because he’s less trained with his left hand, it made the hentai picture he was coloring look wayyy more infantile. The overly large breasts and nipples of the woman in the picture created a stirring inside of his cage.

They were supposed to use glitter and glue today, so Peter used globs of Elmer’s to cover the splashes of jizz in the picture that was spraying over the poor girl like it were from a firehose, then sprinkled silver glitter over the top to give it a 3D/lighting effect. He was actually quite proud of it.

“Hmm…maybe art isn’t quite your strong suit.” Casey tisked, inspecting his work. She sat down in the tiny chair next to him. “But we still need to do a picture for the letter of the week! So what do you want to make for the letter ‘P’??”

All Peter did was grumble and shrug, still a little hurt that she didn’t like his coloring page, even though he was sure she was under strict instructions to degrade and humiliate him.

“We can do something you like, or something you do a lot.” Casey continued, “Like ‘Pee pee’ or ‘Poo poo’ or ‘Pampers’! Definitely not ‘Pussy’…”

“How about Penguins?” Peter suggested, “LIke the hockey team. I can draw their logo!”

“Hmmm…” Casey considered, “I don’t think that’s very appropriate for someone still wearing diapers and a pink dress.” She snapped like a lightbulb lit over her head, “I know! How about ‘Penis’?!”

Peter wondered how that would somehow be more appropriate than a Penguin, but he didn’t press the issue. It was best to just do as she said, he knew what happens to those who disobeyed their Sitters.

So Peter spent the next 15 minutes or so drawing a full-paged penis with every minute detail from veins to hair to balls, even tiny little wrinkles. It vaguely resembled Trevor’s penis he sucked on last night.  But that thought quickly evaporated when Casey suggested he color it brown. “Try not to drool on the paper!” she teased. “I know how much you like BBC!”

After the blocktime for Art was concluded, it was time for the sissies to clean up their undersized tables and prepare for lunch.  Obviously the lunches couldn’t be served on said tables–that would be too simple and convenient. No, instead the sissies all had to file into the giant highchairs arranged along the edge of the room that probably cost the Daycare a fortune. Something Peter undoubtedly saw reflected in his tuition.

Peter climbed into his designated highchair without incident. His plump, pissy pamper made him cringe as he pressed his weight down on it. Casey closed the tray down and locked it in place, setting his Peppa Pig lunchbox on top. There was a set of bibs in the cubby behind him, so she picked one out that read “Cum Dumpster” and attached it around his neck.

“Do you need the straps?” Casey asked, referring to the built-in wrist and ankle restraints.

Peter shook his head ‘no’.

“Are you sure?” she asked again, crooking an eyebrow skeptically.

Peter nodded, he knew what he was in for, he might as well accept it by now.

Casey shrugged, “Okay, I’ll trust you, but if you act up I will not hesitate to put you in the Genie! Do you hear me??”

Peter gulped, he knew it to be true, and he did not want to go back there.

Satisfied, Casey popped open the clasps of the lunchbox and lifted the lid. “Let’s see what we have today!”

She was just as oblivious as Peter as to the contents it contained. Her eyes widened, but didn’t look altogether surprised.

“Ohh my…” she gasped dramatically, “There’s three today!!” she said, pulling out the used condoms one by one. “Your Mommy and Daddy must have been very busy last night!!”

Peter shifted uncomfortably in his chair. While he somewhat expected it after bearing witness to the events the night before, it was still unnerving to find them in his lunchbox the very next day.

Casey laid out the other contents across the tray: tapioca pudding with a side of pureed prunes. “What a delicious spread you have today!” she teased, knowing full-well they were both disgusted by the options. Still, Casey went about her business like she would any other day, peeling open the pudding container, and popping open the bowl. She grabbed one of the condoms, turned it over one of the containers, winked at Peter, pinched her fingers along the tip, and slid them down the latex shaft, squeezing out every last drop of semen into the tapioca, and then another one into the prunes. She gave each one a slight stir with the accompanying baby spoon, not concerned with mixing the prunes with the tapioca as they ‘would both be going to the same place anyway’. Finally, she took a meager helping of the tapioca onto the tiny spoon and held it up, smiling.

“Bon appétit!” she teased, bringing it to his mouth.

Peter begrudgingly accepted it. Wrapping his lips around the tiny spoon and trying not to gag. He chewed the disgusting contents, despite not needing to chew at all. He honestly couldn’t remember what it was like to sink his teeth into something and tear into it like a real adult.. The flavor of cum didn’t much bother him anymore, he’d gotten used to it by now. It also almost made it better now that he knew where (or who) it was coming from, even if the owner of said semen happened to be his old best friend.

“Goood gurlll!!” Casey cooed, genuinely happy he was being so compliant. She pinched his cheek affectionately. Also platonically, but it didn’t stop Peter’s peter from stirring inside its cage.

A man down the row, however, didn’t seem to be having as great of a time.

“No!! NOOO!!” He screamed, slamming his bound, mittened hands down on the tray, kicking in his chair as much as the restraints would allow, and flopping his head back and forth as the Sitter in front of him was bringing a spoon close to his face.

“Parker…” his betasitter, Rhianna, explained patiently, “It’s just a little cummy! It’s yummy! Lots of big girls and boys put it in their tummy all the time! And you will too!”

But Parker wasn’t having it, he was throwing an absolute tantrum.

“His Mommy just got a new Daddy the other day.” Casey explained to Peter, “He’s…not taking it well.”

Mrs. Olsen had now made her way over to the scene to supervise. “Parker,” Rhianna explained like she was talking to a small child, “If you don’t behave, we’re going to have put you in the Genie…”

But Parker wasn’t listening over the sounds of his own wailing. He was having a meltdown, like his midlife crisis had come to a climatic fruition all at once. Every time Rhianna brought the spoon to his mouth he would jerk his head away. Another betasitter tried to hold him still but was unsuccessful, he ended up headbutting the spoon away so that it clattered on the floor, spilling sticky globs of cum everywhere.

Mrs. Olsen breathed a hefty, remorseful sigh, like she was pained, then nodded. “Do it…”

The girls needed no further prompting. The one behind Parker’s chair rolled him forward, Rhianna joined her, some others stopped what they were doing with their own Littles in order to help too.

If Parker was crying before, he was definitely losing it now. But his wails quickly turned to begging.

“No! Please! NOOO! I’m sorry! I’ll do it! I’ll eat it! I’ll do anything you want! PLEAAASEE!!”

But the damage was done, the girls rolled the chair over to the ‘punishment’ center. Various spanking implements adorned the walls, spiky rubber mats littered the corners to kneel on for timeouts, there was even a washing station with bars of soap for bad-mouthed sissies. But the center of the area was the worst.

It didn’t look like much, just a clear plastic box. Peter thought it looked more like a coffin, and from spending time in it, he might have preferred to be buried in the dirt rather than the alternative.

The lid to the Genie had a tube running down from the ceiling as wide as air duct tubing. It snaked over easily as the girls lifted the plexiglass lid of the box.

“Please!! Don’t make me go in there!” Parker squealed, panicking. “Please! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!!”

“You’re gonna be…” Rhianna muttered, unclasping his restraints. It took four girls, including Mrs. Olsen, to cram Parker into the empty box and slam the lid closed, locking it securely. There wasn’t much room for him to move inside, but he still kicked and screamed as much as he could despite it blocking out most of the sound.

Rhianna stepped over to the control board by the box, looking up at Mrs. Olsen. Like someone pained with having to punish a child–but knowing it’s what’s best for them–Mrs. Olsen gave a grim nod. Rhianna didn’t seem nearly as remorseful as she pressed the brown button.

There was a whirring from the tube above the Genie. A hissing noise like when you send a capsule through the shoot at the bank. A rumbling in the ceiling, like it was thundering. The tubing shook as a mass of oblong balls moved through it. Then, suddenly, an avalanche of rolled-up diapers spewed into the coffin-like container. Parker squirmed and screamed as much as the box would allow, but he eventually ran out of room to do so. The dirty diapers were taking up practically every square inch of space until Parker was literally buried in the suffocating mass of pungent pampers. All Peter could see through the ball-pit of poopy diapers was Parker’s desperate hand pressing against the glass.

“Two hours.” Mrs. Olsen said regretfully, then wandered off while Rhianna set the timer into the board. Even Peter could see a slight smirk on her face as she did so.

The sitters all turned back to their respective Littles in a combative sort of way as if to say “would you like to join him?”

Casey loaded up another spoonful and brought it to Peter’s mouth. He accepted it gratefully, as all the men down his row did. Casey was so happy, she actually had a genuine smile on her face, not the one she got from teasing him, but one she gave for his rare glints of good behavior. But it still didn’t stop her from bringing the spoon to his mouth, and then pulling it away just before he could get it. Making him chase it with his mouth like a helpless, hungry loser.

About halfway through his meal, Peter stopped, feeling something on his insides.

“What?” Casey asked, but she knew him well enough by now, “Do you have to poop? I mean…” she corrected, slipping into her sitter voice, “does the wittle baby need to make poo poo’s?”

Peter nodded. It wasn’t a pressing issue, not like he had to go-right-this-second-or-he-would-die kind of thing. But he’d learned it was best to push one out as early as he could so he could get the Stew Time over with and into a fresh, clean diaper as soon as possible.

“Go for it.” Casey shrugged, like she couldn’t be bothered with what business he had to do. She continued to load up spoonfuls and put them in his mouth while he tried to push and load up his diaper. Of all the ways to poop himself, he preferred squatting down on his haunches. It was the position nature originally intended, so it flowed better that way. The worst way for him to have to do it was in the full, standing, upright position–which Jenn had made him do in places like Target on multiple occasions. The very middle-of-the-pack way to pack his pampers was to do it while sitting. It reminded Peter of when he actually got to use the toilet, but the toilet didn’t smush the contents back against you and leave you with a feeling of dirty disgust. Peter raised himself just a little off the chair while he pushed, trying to ignore the very knowing smirk Casey had spread across her face.

“All done?” she asked after he sat back down, cringing as the mushy filth squished and spread throughout.

Peter grumbled, face flushing, wishing he could flush everything away.

Casey sniffed and wrinkled her nose. She didn’t have to check his diaper to know the deed was delivered. She picked up another spoonful as if nothing happened, “Just a few short hours, then you can be changed!”

To Be Continued