Secret Project Chapter 2

As before, feedback is very much appreciated! And I still can't say what this is for! 

Maya’s slaps are merciless and devastating, and Sally is at a loss for which contacts are the worst.

The swats to her thighs sting like a swarm of bees, each leaving angry red marks on her tender, bare skin, each eliciting a helpless, pained squeak into her gag.

The blows to her diaper, though, hurt less and impact her more. Though the pain’s muffled by a layer of thick, sodden padding, the way that each spank presses the results of her accident into her, reminds her that she failed and humiliated herself in front of her audience, it makes her squirm in embarrassment and shame.

But the occasional pauses, the rests where Maya pulls her hand away from the offensive and gently caresses the skin of Sally’s back and her delicate hair, that’s what drives her the most insane.

She wants to scream. (How dare you try and comfort me when you’re the one inflicting the pain?)

But another thought plays in her mind. (How the fuck did I get here?)

Sally remembers her defeat–being subdued by the vibrator, dropped to her knees, forced to pack her diaper full mere feet from the toilet. It’s hard to forget, and every spank to her diaper recalls that moment more intensely.

She remembers Maya coming in, taunting her, the subtle ways that the woman made Sally feel as small and helpless as possible.

Then…Sally was over Maya’s lap, and the spanking had begun, as though the world had shifted around them. Sally had a chair now–there definitely hadn’t been a chair in the room before, had there? Or was it always there, and she hadn’t been able to perceive it, because it hadn’t mattered to her audience?

Flailing, struggling, none of it seems to help. She’s going to be on Maya’s lap until the spanking is over, and there’s nothing she can do to resist that fate. If anything, she’s drawn in deeper into her role–she fights, she kicks and yelps and whimpers, not because she thinks it will get her away, but because if she shows her defeat and wears her humiliation like armor, maybe Maya will show a little sympathy.

Finally, it ends, the last few blows on her thighs raining down hard enough that she cries out with more volume than ever. Then, it’s over, save for a smug, taunting little bit of pressure; Maya rests her hand on the seat of Sally’s full diaper and presses down.

“Shh, shh,” Maya says, though Sally is perfectly quiet save for shallow breaths. “You took your spanking like a good girl–I think that deserves a reward.”

(A reward? Are you going to let me use the bathroom? Shower?)

Of course not. The reward, though part of her burns in desire for it, can only ever be more humiliation. Maya pulls Sally up, first seating her on her lap, then turning her so that they face one another. Sally wriggles, trying to pull away, but Maya’s firm grip pulls Sally down, her legs straddling one of Maya’s thighs.

“You did good, just enjoy yourself,” Maya coos, and before Sally can even try to ask a question through her gag, the taller, stronger woman begins to bounce her knee up and down, a rhythmic motion against the ground.

Each bounce raises Sally up just for a heartbeat, momentum carrying her into the air, and then down again to smash her weight into the mucky, full contents of her diaper. She’d packed it full–the suppository had left her unable to do anything else–and the heavy, squelching contents slosh against her skin with every landing, wafting the stink upward into a haze she can’t help but inhale.

It’s as bad as the spanking–worse, because at least there, the humiliation was broken up with pain. Here, it’s one note, played over and over ad nauseam, until Sally can’t think about anything except the state of her diaper, how she failed, how she was helpless from the start, how she never could have done anything except lose control, fall to her knees, and prove her infantile helplessness for all to see.

It had been inevitable, and now Maya makes sure that Sally knew it.

But she isn’t all cruel–once the lesson has sunk in, once Sally’s headspace is fully sunk into the seat of her diaper as firmly as her last accident, she gets her real prize. The vibrator begins to buzz, fast and intense, drawing out a gagged gasp of surprise and pleasure.

It doesn’t take her long. The spanking may have taken the burning need down a bit, but all of Sally’s intense edging had left her horny and desperate in a way that only one pleasure could solve. She wants this–just the orgasm, nothing else, but she’ll accept the rest to get her prize.

So, shuddering, thoughts laser focused on her helpless lack of control, relying on Maya’s firm arms to guide her as she bounces up and down, Sally shudders and bites down. She rides it out, pleasure so intense it almost hurts, and when the vibrator slows to a stop, she falls forward into Maya’s waiting arms.

“There’s my good girl,” Maya says, patting her back gently. “Now, let’s get you changed, okay? The experiment is over for the day.”

(The…huh?)

Maya doesn’t explain further, and with her gag in, Sally can’t ask. She wants to, but her head is awash with a soup of endorphins and it’s difficult to convey any requests. ‘Take off my gag so I can speak immediately’ doesn’t occur to her, she’ll ask when she can, if she can, if Maya will allow it and if her audience doesn’t put a stop to anything so reasonable as ‘telling Sally what’s going on.’

Maya guides her to the floor, gently laying Sally on her back, so that her diaper is easily accessible. Reaching for the nearest tape, Maya pulls it free.

…

Sally blinks. She’s in the room–or, maybe a different room, it’s so bland that she can’t quite tell. Sharp emotional whiplash courses through her–all the hormones and post-coital bliss had vanished. Like instantly switching from drunk to sober, she feels almost sick at the change, though there’s no expected headache or physical discomfort to accompany the stark mental shift.

Maya is gone.

Sally’s diaper is clean–no, that’s not right. Though it’s reasonably dry, and there’s no longer a heavy load weighing down the seat, she can feel a trickle of dampness dribbling into the crotch. She’s mostly clean, but a little wet.

Otherwise, she’s naked. A gag is locked in her mouth again–nobody wants to hear what she has to say–but her hands are free.

In the corner, she sees a steel cage, like a kennel that might hold a large dog, but sturdier. Against the far wall is a TV, an old tube style that probably weighed a billion pounds and had its own built in VHS player.

The doors are where Sally remembers, but the handles have been replaced, and new pin pads cover each. The trick of solving a combination lock is gone, replaced with some new puzzle. A clock on the wall counts down–it shows five hours and fifty nine minutes, with the seconds slipping lower and lower. Thirty three. Thirty two.

Finally, Sally turns to see a stack of worksheets on the floor, with crayons in a cardboard box next to them.

She has a good sense of what she’s supposed to do, but she isn’t interested in playing. Reaching down, she rips off the diaper.

…

Sally blinks and looks around.

She is in the same room, but she’s standing somewhere else. Her brow furrows. Did she…teleport? Did the room move around her?

Or did she lose time?

The clock shows that only a minute has passed–Five fifty eight and some seconds, not five fifty nine.

Looking down, she notes the constant–she’s got her diaper on again, still just ever so slightly damp, though the tapes are different–placed a bit higher, pulled a bit more snug.

She wants to say, ‘Screw this’, but the gag stops her, so she just thinks it as intensely as she can and rips the garment free.

…

Sally blinks, steps back, and stomps her foot. She’s moved again, a few steps over. Pressing both her hands into her face, she groans, muffling her exasperation. Only thirty seconds have gone by.

Her diaper…

(Fuck this, I’m not wearing a fucking diaper.)

She rips it free.

…

Sally-

“AAGGGGHHHH!” She screams, frustration coming through without any need for defined words.

Her diaper is still in place–though, looking closely, she sees that duct tape has been added, reinforcing the straining sticky tapes that’d lost their bite after being undone several times. It felt slightly cool, almost clammy, as though it’d been exposed to air for a while. Five full minutes had passed–apparently, some time had been needed to retrieve the tape.

Petulantly, Sally refuses to play the game. Knowing what will happen, she rips the tape free and yanks at the diaper beneath.

…

Sally yelped as she came to her senses.

Things had changed.

Her diaper was back–of course–but if it was held in place with tape, she couldn’t see, because it was beneath a ruffled pink onesie that zipped up behind her back. Her hands were no longer the tool they’d been before, either–canvas mittens were pulled over them, so while she could bat things around and probably pick objects up in a awkward fist, she couldn’t squeeze a zipper or get her fingers under tapes.

More acute, more distressing, she feels a solid weight in her bottom–cold, solid metal from a particularly heavy butt plug.

Twenty minutes have passed, and the countdown continues. Five hours thirty four minutes, something-something seconds, she doesn’t care about the precise count.

Though there’s nothing written in the room, no notes left for her, she gets the message. If she continues to throw a tantrum and refuses to play the game presented to her, it will only get worse. Right now, a distracting, intrusive plug and no more hands. If she did it again, she might find herself back in the straightjacket, or worse–who knew what other obscenities her audience would want done to her.

So, though she wants to continue to refuse, she crouches in front of the TV.

Looking at the black glass, at her reflection, she––

[Sally does not lose time here, and fully perceives things for a moment. What she sees, however, is withheld from her audience.]

–”What the fuck?” she yelps, stumbling back, landing on her butt–pushing the plug into her, reminding her of its constant presence.

She’s shaken, but she has to keep pressing on. Crawling forward, she presses the power button on the TV, then rewinds the VHS player to the start. The nostalgic whir of reversing tape calms her down a bit, and by the time it resets, her heart has stopped pounding.

When it plays, her pulse skyrockets again.

A woman with vaguely southeast-asian features faces Sally, wavy dark hair rippling over her shoulders and a confident smirk plastered on her face. Sally recognizes the face, but doesn’t understand how she’s seeing it here.

“In case you’re too little to properly understand the rules,” the woman says, “I’ve decided to give you this little explainer. If you can complete the worksheets, each will give you a letter–you do know your letters, don’t you, sweetie?”

The woman paused for a moment, to let her leering condescension hit with full impact. Sally just watches wide-eyed, confusion and fear clouding her thoughts.

“Well–if you get all the letters, it’ll tell you the combination to the door. Get the door open before your time is up, and you can have a grown up dinner, a diaper change and sleep in a grown up bed tonight. But, if you don’t, you’ll be fed through a bottle and you’ll be sleeping in the kennel behind you–and since I expect the special medicine in the bottle will make your tummy very upset, you’ll be wishing for a diaper change all night, but you won’t get one. You’ll be trapped.”

Sneering, the woman on the video reaches forward to something, and then the video ends.

Sally just looks at the black screen for a moment, at her reflection, until the black void of video turns to a blue, ‘no signal’ screen.

She looks at the worksheets for a moment, but her gaze can’t focus, and she starts to panic. It doesn’t make sense. She saw a detail she wasn’t supposed to, and now her confusion is risen beyond what the situation can bear.

Sally stands, and though her hands are bound by mitts and her onesie keeps her diaper in place, it’s not enough. She can still refuse to play–getting her hands under the hem of the onesie, she rips at it, tearing the fabric free. Maybe next time they’ll seal her in kevlar or tie her hands behind her back, she doesn’t care, she exposes her diaper–it’s a new diaper, apparently, there’s no tape and the patterns are different–and tears it free.

She doesn’t come back this time.