Secret Project - Feedback Requested

I'm writing this for a project, but I can't reveal the details just yet. All I can say is that feedback and responses would be greatly appreciated - there will be more chapters of this to come. 

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Sally blinks, but the panic doesn’t set in until several seconds pass.

(Where am I?)

Sometimes, in the past, she’d woken up in an unfamiliar place. The foreign environment and the need to take it all in at once always disoriented her–having to piece together her arrival, how she’d gotten there, where she was, all while her body was still sleep-lagged and not fully awake.

This isn’t like waking up. She had blinked once and found herself in a new place, fully aware, and the assault on her senses came from all directions. She takes it in, but it’s as though her senses are coming on one at a time, discovering pieces of her surroundings before she can understand the whole.

Her arms are crossed over her chest–no, they’re bound over her chest, held down in a tight self-hug, like she’d put on a baggy jacket and had the sleeves tied together like a pretzel around her body. She’d never worn a straightjacket before, but after a moment she guesses accurately what’s pinning her arms down, without needing to look.

Warmth spreads over her crotch, and again it takes her a couple tries to guess why. (Did I spill something? No. Blood? Also no. It’s like–ah, I’m peeing.)

That too feels wrong–no warmth spreads down her thighs, nothing past her crotch, but she can feel more moisture spreading out. Something is between her legs–an acute bulk that rustles when she shifts her weight.

This time, she needs to look, but there’s more that takes up her attention.

Mostly, then hands pressed against her body. One looped through a strap over her chest, one pressed into the front of her…she’s not wearing pants, so her…

“Diaper?” she says aloud, and the person attached to the hands laughs, a gentle teasing tone.

“Good girl, you’re using your diaper, that’s correct,” she replies. “Just like you were told.”

Sally can’t see everything that’s going on. An audience watches her, paying particular attention to her diaper, to the way she reacts to her humiliations, but she’s blissfully unaware of their presence. For now, it’s just her and the strange woman.

She pulls away, slackjawed, looking between her diaper and the woman standing in front of her. “What–no, I didn’t–”

“Shh,” the woman says, a smirk spreading across her face. “If you want me to believe you don’t need your diapers, you’ll have to prove it. There’s a toilet just through that door–maybe you couldn’t hold it completely, but if you can keep from making a big, stinky steamy mess in your diaper, I might let you come out and play with the big kids.”

Sally doesn’t understand, but her body is still coming awake, still taking things in. The room looks–not clinical. A clinic would have a degree of comfort to it, it would be designed to help patients feel a little better about their situation.

The room she’s in looks scientific, but only in a way that makes her feel like a specimen being examined. It’s hastily assembled, almost as though it were an afterthought, not worth giving any real focus to because it’s not the object of her audience’s attention.

Why care about the set dressing? Her audience won’t remember what the room looks like, it’ll only remember the way she looks when she’s forced to fill her diaper.

Before she can ask another question, before she can make her brain obey, the woman pushes a rubber ball between her teeth, moving so swiftly and smoothly that by the time Sally recognizes the gag, it’s already locked into place.

It doesn’t silence her, but it renders her words into mere noise, so when she tries to object, it comes out as, “Buhh-mughga!”

The woman smiles again, warmly, like she’s watching a child present a crayon drawing and not facing a fully grown woman babbling into a gag.With straps going around and above Sally’s head, she can’t spit it out, and her hands are trapped in the straightjacket, so she can’t reach up and pull it free.

Her senses finally give her a full picture, and the result is claustrophobic. She jerks and twists, but her arms are held fast, with only a hint of wiggle room.

“The suppositories won’t leave you long,” the woman says. “If you want to use the potty, you’d best get started.”

And, with her role in the performance done, she leaves–the audience doesn’t care about her any more, not unless she stays to taunt and belittle, but that isn’t her role, it’s not why she’s here, so she won’t play that part.

The room is empty, save for the two doors–one leading to the promised toilet, the other to the path the woman had taken. With her gone, Sally is left alone.

Sally fights off the urge to just keep struggling in the jacket. It wouldn’t get her anywhere, she needs to make progress. Taking deep breaths through her gag, she centers herself.

It’s difficult to walk around with her arms bound–she wobbles heavily, and the diaper makes the waddle more acute than it’d otherwise be. Reaching the bathroom door, she leans her back against the perpendicular wall for support.

The bathroom door has a metal latch and a combination lock holding it shut. Next to the lock, a sticky note reads, ‘Combination is 1508 - A big girl should have no trouble opening it - Be sure to hurry, if you don’t make it to the potty, you’ve got another spanking in your future! - <3 Maya’

Sally’s eyes widen and her brows furrowed as she reads the note.

It carried an implicit message. If she entered the combination, she could use the toilet, avoid…a spanking, and…

(Where the fuck am I?)

And, because she was already in a straightjacket, already in a soggy diaper, she intuited another implication.

(She’s serious.)

Sally needs to enter the combination.

She takes a moment to inspect the combination lock. It has a spring-loaded cover over the combination, so that it’s difficult to reach. She tries pushing at the cover with her nose, but it won’t move, and even trying forces her to squat awkwardly, doing half a chicken dance, her padded butt wobbling in the Sallyr as she tries to keep upright.

Besides, even if she could get the cover to the side, there would be no way to turn the numbers without hands. Maybe her teeth, but they were gagged, and to remove the gag, well…

Sally needs her hands.

She steps back, breathing deeply, and feels a tentative, anxiety-inducing gurgle in her belly. The woman–Maya, probably, she had to be the one who wrote the note–had mentioned suppositories. Sally didn’t know how long it would take those to work, but by the early cramps, she didn’t imagine long.

Shutting her eyes, she takes a few deep breaths.

There aren’t any tools in the room she could use. Nothing sharp or hard that could be used for leverage. It’s all up to her.

She tries wriggling again, but this time, it’s not desperate flailing. There’s a little room for her arms to shimmy from side to side, and when she does, she can feel the strap around her back moving.

So, squirming, Sally moves within the jacket. With the little amount of play she has, it seems like it should be possible to wriggle free, to–

“Mmmph!” She squeaks, suddenly, as she feels a sudden, intrusive buzz start up in the front of her sodden diaper.

Bending over, she looks down and saw what she’d missed before. Attached by two straps on the straightjacket, held snugly in place over her diaper is a flat, plastic vibrator. Something had triggered it to start–her audience doesn’t want her to have too easy a time of it, and the distraction also serves to entertain.

Sally bites down on her gag and her cheeks flush. There’s only so much she can focus on at once. The claustrophobia, the restriction, and now the vibrator buzzing away, flooding her body with hormones and unwanted pleasure, it forces her down to the ground, sinking onto her butt.

Deep breaths. Just persist, make it through.

The way the vibrator works, pulsing into a layer of sodden padding, just makes it worse–the pleasure is coming through her diaper. Forcing her to acknowledge it, to think about it in the context of intense desire.

After a minute or so, the vibration stops, and the concern that it might kick back into high gear is just more motivation to keep trying. The gurgle in her belly, the insistent reminder of the suppositories doing their work, only motivates her further.

(The strap. It has play.) Sitting against the wall, she tries lifting her legs and moving her arms, shimmying side to side to get it out from beneath her, but there isn’t that much play. The strap holding her sleeves together won’t go past her waist.

She tries the other way. Pushing against the wall for support again, she stands, wobbles, and then pulls up.

Bingo. It takes a lot of wriggling and effort, but the sleeves move over her head.

Her arms aren’t free, but they have mobility. Sleeves cover her hands and a strap holds her arms together, bound so that she’s always making an O shape. With them in front of her body, though, she has a range of motion that she’d previously lacked.

Before she can celebrate this victory, though…

Bzzz.

Her face flushes again, and she is once again distracted from escaping her situation.

Sally can’t tell if the vibrator is turned higher, or if she’d just been left more susceptible to it by her first session of edging–her mind may not have enjoyed it, but her body’s reaction to the sensation is undeniable. The vibrator sent pulses of sensation through her sodden diaper and into her sex, intense pleasure signals carrying up her back and into her thoughts, killing her ability to focus on anything except a slight amount of moaning.

She bites down on the gag, taking deep breaths through her nose. (Don’t let this beat you.)

Another minute passes, and when it was done, she needs a few moments to recover, panting into her gag. The pressure in her bowels is more intense than ever, but she’s still able to hold it. She still has time.

Getting back to her feet, Sally already notices an improvement–with her arms able to move freely, she can balance, all the wobbliness gone. She doesn’t need to use the wall for support any longer.

Waddling back to the padlock, she tries again, pressing the sleeves of the straightjacket into the combination cover.

No dice. She can sort of get the cover to slide to the side, but when she does, there’s not enough play to get the small dial beneath to spin how she wants it.

Her attention returns to the jacket.

She can open and close her hands, beneath the heavy canvas. It doesn’t give her much control, but it gives just enough to grab things. Fumbling at her back, moving her arms together so she can reach as far as possible, she feels at the straps holding the jacket over her body.

Sally isn’t certain, but by wriggling and moving her back, she puts together a rough estimation of how it had been assembled. There were three buckled straps that were the lynchpin of the vest. If she could get those loose, there’d be enough play that she’d be able to get the crotch strap free, and once that was free, the jacket would just slide right off.

Simple. Not easy, but simple.

Sally refuses to contemplate the alternative to success–the pressure in her bowels releasing, and the subsequent threats that’d been made. She tells herself that the pressure she feels is just a ticking clock, and she lacks the time to think about why this self-delusion isn’t true.

So, she gets to work, pawing at her back. Going by sense of feel isn’t easy, especially when she has to work through layers of dense canvas, and her only way to manipulate things is to fumble through the jacket and try to squeeze whatever she can reach.

Grumbling into her gag, she works at it all the same, spinning in place to try and get a better angle like a dog chasing her own tail, until…

Cli-clack-clack-clack.

The sound of the metal buckle rattles as she pulls it free is pure relief, pure triumph. Just two to-

“MMpHH!” She squeaked, loudly, legs buckling beneath her as she the vibrator kicks into high gear.

This time, she knows it’s turned up higher just from the pitch of the vibration, but she also can’t deny that her body is more susceptible than ever. The mixed sensation, frustration, and simple burning feelings that it brought up from deep inside Sally make her forget herself, and she rides the pleasure with purpose. It isn’t just that there’s a vibrator pressed into her diaper, there’s something… more. She can’t identify what.

And, just before she can be pushed into a reluctantly anticipated climax, the vibration stops.

She sits up, and finally realizes the truth. The timing is too perfect for the vibrator’s control to be automatic, on a timer, anything. An intelligent observer was turning it off and on at particular times, and they seemed to know precisely how she felt, able to turn it off to deny her the climax she’d been made to want.

But… though she walks a circle of the room to look for one, she can’t see a camera, a viewport, anywhere to hide and watch. The door doesn’t even have a gap beneath it or a keyhole to peer through. Her audience is watching another way, and she has no means to even understand how.

It couldn’t stop her. Accepting that she’d have to deal with a malicious audience, Sally turns her attention to the second buckle. It’s harder in some ways, having to reach further down her back, but with the first buckle free she has a lot more range of motion. With only a minute of squirming, it comes free, and this time, knowing she’s got watchers, she braces herself.

It came, right on queue, and she leans back against the wall, biting down on the gag and riding it out. She doesn’t hide that she’s enjoying it, and she admits to herself that the soggy diaper carrying the vibration into her might actually make things better, rather than being a hindrance.

And again, it stops before she can climax. No pleasure to be had, just denial.

Only one buckle to go.

She knows she’s going to make it, easily. Her desperation is intense, but even if the intense vibrator sessions take minutes of her time away, she can last. It’s so close.

Sally just has to get the last buckle, which, now that she has a high range of motion with most of the jacket loose, isn’t difficult at all.

Bracing herself, anticipating the vibrator’s surging power, she waits a couple seconds. She’s left disappointed when it refuses to activate.

Frowning, she continues her escape. With all the other buckles free, she slides the straightjacket off her body. Though she feels a need to use the toilet, it’s not unstoppable.

For reasons she can’t quite explSallyn, she goes for the combination first, before stripping out of the diaper. 1508. (Is that 15-0-8? Or 1-50-8?... ‘1-5-08? Eh… oh, okay. There’s no ‘0’ on the combination, and no ‘08’. So it’s gotta be 1-50-8.)

Free fingers working deftly, she enters the combination.

And, as triumph is within her grasp, she feels the vibrator pulse to life.

The door swings open, but in that moment, her knees buckle. She falls to the ground, staring into the bathroom she’d unlocked–but she’s left paralyzed by the pleasure and cannot enter it.

It’s like nothing she’s ever felt before. Greater, more dominating than any sex in her memory, any pleasure she’d felt. The vibrator paralyzes her completely, rising in waves that give her just enough time to try and break free before it surges once more, throttling her mind. Her body craves the sensations, the feeling of a saturated diaper throbbing against her sex, and Sally cannot override how that feels.

She can only sit on the ground, staring forward at the toilet only a few feet away, hopelessly frozen in agonizing bliss as the pressure in her builds, builds, builds, and with her thoughts and body so far from her own control, there’s no holding back.

The edging may have lasted a minute, or ten, but it keeps her down until the suppositories do their work, and her diaper suddenly swells, the seat expanding as a sudden warmth sludges into it. It’s faster than she expected, more intense–one moment, her diaper was only wet, and in the next, it had bulged and sagged, muck bulging in the seat of her diaper.

Still denied her pleasure, Sally is left utterly defeated as the door behind her opens, and as the vibrator dies. Frustration pours over her, and the clarity she hopes for only comes in drips and dregs. She lost. She lost, she humiliated herself for all her audience’s pleasure, she bottomed out her diaper while moments away from victory, and she was helpless to change the situation.

Frowning, she looks down, a question in her thoughts that she hadn’t been able to consider, not until her thoughts were in her control again.

(…the vibrator had been attached to the straightjacket, hadn’t it? So how–)

The door behind her swung open.

Maya stepped in, making a show of sniffing the Sallyr, of ‘realizing’ that Sally had loaded her diaper like a helpless infant.

“That’s what I thought,” Maya declared. “Well then–I think it’s time for your spanking.”

It was exactly what her audience had wanted, and the fate Sally had been desperate to avoid.

But then, her wants didn’t matter.

She was there to be observed, not to be happy.