The Locker (Subscriber Exclusive)

Contains: Roleplay, play-bullying, confinement, messing, DDLG

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“Sign here. Initials. Need any help getting this inside?”

Simon shook his head. “I should have it. It’s not that heavy, just a bit awkward.”

The delivery driver glanced at the long package. It was an even six feet in length, rectangular, with a big ‘Do not bend’ sticker on it. “Alright then, well, enjoy.”

Dragging the box into his home, Simon propped it up against the wall and took out his phone. Pulling up Amy’s number, he sent, ‘Your surprise got here today.’

She responded with fifteen emojis, followed by, ‘OMG what? Seriously? Pics plzzzz!’

‘Give me a little bit to get it set up, baby, and it’ll be ready by the time you get home.’

‘But that’s an hour from now! I’m gonna dieeee’

‘Be patient.’

‘Dyiiiiiiiiing’

Peeling open the cardboard, Simon took out the contents, going first to the assembly instructions.

Amy was going to love this.

…

Excitement mixed with anxiety as Amy got home–Daddy had refused to send her pictures, even when he told her the surprise was built, and even though she knew what it would look like–she’d practically painted a picture when she asked for her present–she couldn’t wait to see it.

Throwing the back door open, she rushed inside, calling, “Daddy, I’m home!”

“In here, baby!” Simon called from their bedroom. “I’m just finishing up.”

She rushed inside, turned to look at the wall, and almost gasped.

It looked exactly how she remembered. Baby blue with a subtle gloss, cheap-but-sturdy combination locks dangling from the three handles. Daddy had somehow even found period-appropriate stickers, the kind that came out of vending machines with not-quite-dirty-words emblazoned on them, that faculty had always been too lazy to scrape off.

Her heart started to race as fantasies flew through her thoughts.

“Do you like it?” Daddy asked.

She stepped forward, eyes huge, brushing a hand against the cool metal. “It’s perfect.”

The school locker in their bedroom wasn’t exactly like the kind from her highschool–it was more idealized, like something out of a TV show or a cartoon, where reality was heightened and bullying didn’t come with the sting of real trauma.

“When can we use it?” she asked.

“This Saturday,” Daddy promised.

Her eyes widened and she pouted her lip. “But that’s almost next week!”

“It’s three days, and we’ve both got things going on until then–And from the fantasy you described, I think you’d rather we take our time,” Simon replied. “So don’t be fussy. A little patience won’t kill you.”

“But–”

“Saturday,” Simon said. “And just to make sure you’re ready, no squirties until then.”

“But–”

Daddy raised an eyebrow at her. A warning. “One more ‘Butt’ and you’ll be in diapers the whole time too, baby. Be good.”

She considered that, and then smiled mischievously. That wasn’t a threat at all, it was a promise. Looking him right in the eye, not the slightest bit flustered, Amy said, “But.”

He rolled his eyes and chuckled, taking her hand. “Alright then–let’s get you changed, naughty girl.”

She smiled, following him to the bed, but her eyes stayed on the locker, and the roleplay the two of them had already rehearsed. She worried she was asking too much, for Daddy to play into a fantasy that’d played in her thoughts for years. When Daddy laid her down and peeled off her skinny jeans, and when she saw his smile, she knew that he was looking forward to this as much as she was.

…

The day came. Daddy confirmed a few details with her, discussing elements of what exactly she wanted. She felt half like a kid waiting to go to Disneyland, half like a screenwriter plotting things out. Daddy promised a couple surprises, but for the most part, their scene would be built off of a mutual understanding–improvisation could come another time. And if she did have to back out, she knew her safe words, and once words were unavailable, she had other ways to communicate.

She was pent up–of course she was, she’d been in diapers for days and Daddy hadn’t so much as let her touch herself. But that buildup paled in comparison to the feeling she got when Daddy laid out her clothes.

A pastel blue top and deliberately-distressed skinny jeans, the kind that’d been popular back then. Hair ties for her hair. Even a pair of panties.

He told her to get dressed–he’d volunteered to dress her, but she wanted to do this for herself. Taking the clothes, Amy went into the bathroom, her fingers and toes tingling. First of all, she drank two big cups of water and a tab of ex-lax from the medicine cabinet, so timing would be right, but once that was done she turned to her costume. Excitement and anticipation all clamored in her head as she stripped out of her clothes, dressing up to look the part.

She wanted to look great. As good as she could–perfect, even. She took her time doing up her hair, her makeup, getting her hair in pigtails, adjusting her top so it was just so, working to ensure she looked like she hadn’t spent an hour dressing up.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she smiled. She had sparkles on her cheeks and a heart stenciled next to her right eye, so it’d almost look like she was an anime character when she winked. It might come off as ‘trying too hard’ to some, but she’d loved the look.

Knocking on the bathroom door, she said, “Daddy?”

“Are you ready, baby?” he asked.

She nodded, heart pounding, then almost laughed at herself and spoke aloud. “I’m ready.”

“Safe words?”

“Red, or I knock three times quickly.”

“Good girl.”

She opened the door, and Daddy pushed her back, looming in an actual letterman jacket he’d acquired someplace and a 90s-era book back over his shoulder. “Hey, nerd. What’re you doing here?”

“Um–” Amy’s cheeks flushed, even though things had barely started. “I’m, um–using the bathroom?”

He pushed her–not forcefully, but enough to make her step back into the bathroom, making enough room that he could shut the door behind her. “I don’t think so,” he sneered, “Not when you’re such a dumb little dork you couldn’t even get my homework finished.”

That was enough to drop her fully into submission, even as a squeak of delight escaped her lips–she clapped her hands over her mouth, embarrassed at breaking character, but Daddy gave her a flicker of a smile to indicate he found it cute.

“I’m–” she started. “I’m sorry, I’ll have it done tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow’s too late,” he said, grabbing her wrist. “I think you need a lesson instead, about why cool guys like me are in charge, and stupid nerds have to do what I say.”

He pushed her down onto the toilet, and Amy had to suppress a giggle. Daddy was hamming things up to just the right level–exaggerated humiliation, and just enough physical presence to remind her that she was ‘helpless’.

The next part had been delicate to plan–Amy had some very specific wants for the scene, but very intently wanted to avoid any implications that might form in her mind. She wanted embarrassment, not fear, so she looked up at him and whimpered.

“Please, I just had to pee–” she started, biting her lip. It took a moment of effort, but the two cups of water she’d drank had filled her bladder up just enough, and on cue she started to flood her distressed skinny jeans, shading the pale denim down to a dark, deep navy. Pee trickled down her thighs onto the toilet seat, dribbling over the edge to a towel waiting on the floor to soak things up.

“Hah,” Daddy sneered. “Not just a dork, but a dumb baby dork. Couldn’t even figure out how to use the toilet when you’re sitting on it, huh?”

“I–” she meeped, her whole face a single uniform blush. “Um–”

“I think the best lesson for a silly little pants-wetter like you,” Daddy continued, “Is to make you into a dumb little diaper dork, don’t you think so?”

She started to nod, before remembering she was supposed to fuss first. “N-no! I’m not a dorky little diaper dump–I mean–a dumpy little–”

“A little diaper dumper?” Daddy asked. “That would be funny, wouldn’t it?”

And with that, he took a step back, reaching into his backpack to take out a vintage polaroid camera. He snapped a picture of Amy, and she watched it eject, all white for a moment, until he shook the photo paper for a few seconds and the image finally began to resolve.

She looked perfect–blushy from head to toe, her makeup was on point, and her pants-ruining accident was incredibly visible from the dark stains on her jeans. Amy reached out for the photo, but Daddy pulled it away, holding it out of her grasp.

“I don’t think so–if you don’t want this picture shown to everyone at school, you’re going to do exactly what I say, okay?”

Nodding meekly, Amy sank deeper into her role, genuinely worrying for a moment that someone might see that photo. “Okay!”

“Take off your wet clothes, potty pants,” Daddy instructed.

She obeyed, meekly wriggling out of her pee-stained jeans. She hesitated on her dark, yellowed panties, but ultimately removed them too, holding both garments uncertainly in her hands.

Reaching down, Daddy snatched her panties out of her hand and held it up for emphasis, raising the polaroid photo in the other. “Open your mouth.”

She shook her head.

“Open your mouth or this photo gets printed in the yearbook,” he threatened.

She obeyed, and he shoved the panties into her mouth, gagging her with the taste of stale pee.

As a slight concession to logic, Daddy already had everything he needed in his backpack–including the tape that he produced next. It looked like duct tape, with a plasticy gray sheen, though it was designed for use on skin and the adhesive wouldn’t pull out her hair. Regardless, he wrapped it around her face, layer upon layer, gagging her into complete silence. Soon she could only plead for mercy with her eyes, and to cap it all off, using a fat-tipped sharpie, Daddy wrote over the tape–’Dumb Diaper Dumping Dork’.

Then, from his backpack, he produced the centerpiece of the scene–the diaper. She was already naked from the waist down, and rendered almost immobile by a deeply submissive buzz of excitement, so it took little effort for Daddy to push her thighs apart. He wrapped the diaper between her legs, adjusting it just so, taping it down. From her seated position,  the change was rough and shoddy, but that worked in her mind. It wasn’t like it mattered whether she leaked or not.

“Now,” Daddy said, snapping another photo. “Let’s give you some time to think about the essay you’re going to write for me–once someone finds you, that is.”

Her eyes widened–she’d almost managed to forget the next part, until Daddy grabbed her pigtails and pulled her out of the bathroom, into the hall–or, not the hall, their bedroom, but with the big locker against the wall it felt like a hall. Throwing open the middle door, he spun her around, gave her one last satisfied look, and shoved her inside.

Amy didn’t have any room to move–her arms were pinned to her sides, and her thighs were pressed together. There would be no leverage, no finding a way to escape, and gagged as she was by her own pee-soaked panties, she couldn’t even cry out for help.

Daddy slammed the locker door shut, and she heard it click. The only light she had came from the thin vents near the handle, otherwise she was fully trapped, fully helpless.

Then that went away too–With two strips of tape, Daddy hung a poster over those vents, printed on thick enough paper to block out any light. She was fully sealed away, able to hear only her own whimpers and her heart beating.

She whimpered in the locker.

Helpless.

Trapped.

Incredibly horny.

It was just as well she didn’t have room to move–if she could move her arms to her crotch, she’d have fingered herself right there, and Daddy would surely have come up with a fitting punishment if she spoiled the scene before it could reach its real conclusion. She tried rubbing her thighs together, tried humping in the dry diaper to just get a little friction, but there simply was no good way to act upon the frustration she’d consumed herself with.

At some point, her tummy gurgled. The laxatives took time to act, but she had time–she’d asked for lots of time. Daddy hadn’t told her how long, but it’d be long enough that she’d lose the war over her bowels.

She tried, anyways, struggling against the rising cramps and pressure, the growing need. Part of her wanted to give in immediately, to indulge, but without airflow, the concern of having no clean air to breathe for hours still gave her pause.

With no way to tell time, she could only estimate how long she lasted. An hour–maybe a bit longer, maybe a bit less, and then the drugs she’d taken worked their magic and her diaper swelled, mush piling into the seat. It pressed against her skin, held tight by the absorbent garment and the snug confines of the locker, and in seconds the tight box filled with fumes.

She whimpered into the tape. This had been a bit more intense than she expected, and shallow breathing only got her so far–her horniness had reached a crescendo, and still she was helpless to do anything except wriggle in her dirty diaper.

She had trouble thinking about anything other than her predicament; dragging her thoughts away from desperate arousal, and the seconds passed in a confined moment of supreme frustration.

Time passed. Every so often, she’d try again to wriggle a little pleasure out, but she couldn’t give herself what she wanted. Her bladder eventually gave way again, soaking the diaper further, and after that she stopped trying to hold it at all, dribbling as the need arose.

Finally, Daddy made a noise–he’d been in the bedroom the whole time, he wouldn’t leave, but now he made himself present. She heard him, and whimpered for help, “MMM!”

Amy all but yelled into her gag, thrashing in the locker, making herself heard. She had no words, but she could get loud, she could get attention, and–

And he came. He fumbled with the lock, and opened it. Her fantasy didn’t care how he knew the combination, what mattered was that he came, that he rescued her, that she was freed.

“Oh–Gross!” he said, pinching his nose. He’d changed clothes, though he still fit the role of a jock. Her rescuer. “Oh my god–Amy? Is that you?”

Eyes huge, she shook her head, pretending to be someone else.

“‘Dumb Diaper Dumping Dork’,” he read aloud. “That explains the smell–Amy’s just a stupid little pants loader!”

She moved to get out of the locker, but Daddy stopped her. “Wait a minute–don’t go stinking up the hall,” he said. “Little baby Amy–I think if you’re still in diapers, it must be because you like it, right?”

Her eyes were huge, and all pretense was gone. She nodded.

Thrilled at her submission, Daddy stepped forward, pressing the side of his hand into the squelching crotch of her diaper, pressing her body deeper into the locker. “Show me,” he instructed. “Show me how much you like being a helpless diaper dork.”

His hand provided the leverage she needed–thrusting forward, she rubbed her sex against him through a layer of soggy padding, without an ounce of shame. She just needed–

“Mmmm,” she moaned into her gag, slumping forward. Daddy had to catch her, finally lifting her out of the locker, resting one hand on the full seat of her diaper.

“I knew it,” he teased. “Little baby Amy has to wear diapers because she likes them.”

She nodded, as he carried her over to the bed. “Mmm–hmm!”

He laid her down, getting up onto the bed next to her. “Well then–let’s see how much she likes them, okay?”

Even gagged, Amy couldn’t suppress her giggle, and she nodded so emphatically it started to rip the tape.

“There’s my good girl,” Daddy said, breaking character for just a moment.

Amy didn’t care in the slightest.