A Weekend at Sir's, Part 4

Contains: Spanking, public embarrassment, BDSM

If you haven't read the previous parts, these are extremely smut-heavy and the ongoing story isn't critical, though it should still be very enjoyable. 

Also: One more part after this one. I promise this time, my outline won't change again!

I hadn’t realized, until I was over Sir’s lap, my bottom bright red and fully exposed, that I might have limits.

He’d begun to approach them.

All this was, in theory, my fantasy. I’d craved this, all but demanded it, thrilling at the idea of being utterly used and consumed.

SLAM!

His paddle, a piece of hard oak wood with four symmetrical holes drilled into it for airflow, smacked against me again, and I whimpered. He was still dressed, wearing his jeans, his shirt, but I was purely naked. The only thing on my body was the steel cage that trapped me, rendering me permanently flaccid. My vision was blurry, watery, occluded by half-formed tears in response to the pain.

It was the not knowing that did it for me.

SLAM!

I had all these ideas in my head, ways I wanted to be manipulated, tortured, denied satisfaction. Sam had fulfilled many of these. He was working on another right now, but–

I didn’t know if I could make it. I didn’t know how much was left. Whether I could expect any sort of reprieve today, or tomorrow, or whether I’d buckle and give up before–

SLAM!

I’d almost grown detached from the pain, like there were two versions of me. One was sniffling and crying, surviving the spanking by being too helpless to even vocalize a defense. The other considered the situation with the fraction of my thoughts still in my control.

Could I outlast this? I didn’t even know how long the spanking would be.

There were always my safe words.

SLAM!

I thought of my Daddy. Probably worried sick about me, no matter how much I’d reassured him that this was what I wanted.

Maybe he’d been right. Maybe it was too much. And I had promised–

…

“Promise me you’ll use your safe words if it gets to be too much? We went over some of what he had planned and–”

“No spoilers, Daddy. I want it to be a surprise.”

“But do you promise?”

“I promise.”

…

“Yellow,” I stammered, making good on what I’d told Daddy.

It was too much. I’d failed.

The paddle froze in mid-air, and I felt a puff of wind against me as Sam arrested the strike.

“Do you need a minute?” he asked. “Or something else?”

“A minute,” I said. “And…”

He set aside the paddle. He didn’t lift me up, or comfort me, but he gave me that moment of reprieve. The burning fire on my diaper-rashed, raw-spanked, bare ass barely subsided, but there were no staccato impacts stinging me at regular intervals.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I admitted. “I’m not…I don’t know if I’m strong enough.”

“Breathe,” he said, rubbing my back. “You’ve made it this far. Your Daddy told me you could do it.”

“But–” I said. It was the not knowing that got me. I could last in a spanking. I could last a lot of things, but without knowing where the end lay, I couldn’t gauge it against my limits. “I think…can I ask something?”

“Of course.”

That simple reassurance made me feel infinitely better. I’d known I was safe, in Sam’s ‘care’, but that affirmation still comforted me.

“I know I said I want it to be a surprise,” I said. “I think that was a bad idea. I need to know. I need to know, so I can be prepared for it and know I can make it to the end.”

He rested a hand on my back. “For the spanking, or for the weekend?”

“Both,” I said. “I–I’m sorry. I need both.”

“Sixty more spanks,” he said. “The last ten are going to be hard. I’ll tell you the rest after, okay?”

I sniffled, nodded, and put my head down.

I could make it sixty more spanks. “Okay. I’m ready.”

“Good. Take a breath.”

SLAM!

…

He laid it all out, and I felt my future stretch infinitely before me as the knowledge filled me with anticipation and dread in equal measure.

I would not be getting a single meal that wasn’t fed through a tube, a bottle, or, tongue in cheek, ‘squirted out of Sir’s cock’. I’d only be sleeping in dirty diapers, and naturally–I would not be allowed an orgasm until Daddy arrived to pick me up, at which point he would be the one giving me my ‘reward’.

That, all, I had expected, or at least guessed at.

But the rest…

I…

Only two thoughts rang in my brain, rattling around. The first: Oh no.

And the second: Oh, yes.

…

The next morning

Sir had a collection of truly impressive plugs. Small, large, textured, and even ones that vibrated.

He’d gone with the largest vibrating plug in the lot, filling me up. The pressure alone, forced into me, made me moan out with delight. But that was only the start.

The next part of my outfit, the diaper, seemed almost an afterthought at this point. Of course I’d be in a diaper–I couldn’t be in anything else now, could I? The fact that it brushed over my tender, bruised skin as a modicum of softness served to contrast the various unpleasant and incredibly hot tortures I’d been put through the day before.

And then…okay, so I wouldn’t say the clothes looked good, but they made me squirm. A bright yellow shirt with a Thomas the Tank Engine on it, elastic shorts. Entirely juvenile–the sort of clothes I wouldn’t be caught dressing myself in, but clothes that were safe for public wear.

Because, as he’d explained, we were going out in public.

He needed to get me a better…outfit.

My breakfast I drank through a hose, choking it down the same as my dinner the day before had been, followed by ‘dessert’ as I sucked Sir’s cock to completion. The degradation felt routine–of course my mouth was at his disposal, why wouldn’t it be?

But as he dragged me out to the car, plug resting squarely in my bottom, I felt my belly gurgle.

And I knew why.

He’d drugged my breakfast.

The laxatives he’d given me weren’t strong, but they acted fast, and were persistent. My bowels longed to empty themselves, but the girth and size of the plug stopped it fast, and even if I hadn’t been sitting, I couldn’t expel the plug on my own.

Sir had doomed me to endless cramps, cramps and discomfort that would only end when I was free of the hefty, heavy plug, and that would mean a ruined diaper.

“You can ask me to remove the plug whenever you’d like,” he warned, “But I will not change your diaper until we’re home.”

In other words–I couldn’t. There was no way I’d subject myself to a shopping trip with a full, sagging, smelly diaper, so his promise of giving me a choice rang hollow. I’d have to put up with my cramps, whimpering and squirming and groaning every few moments as the chemical cocktail roiled inside me.

The drive from his isolated property took time, time for me to squirm all the while. I knew with the click of a button he could set the vibrating plug to stirring inside me, and both feared and anticipated that happening, but he didn’t click it yet.

I almost regretted asking what would come with the rest of the weekend. Knowing what we were shopping for made it worse than just knowing we were shopping.

He parked in front of the mall, a shopping center I hadn’t been to. It was in the opposite direction from home, the next city over from where I lived with Sam’s house in the middle space. A foreign environment to me, and one where I was unlikely to run into anyone I knew.

“Come on,” he said. “We need to get your outfit ready.”

He knew my measurements, he’d gotten them from Daddy. He could have had me purchase any clothes he wanted beforehand, or ordered them online. This trip was entirely to make me squirm. My bulky diapered rustled between my thighs, elastic shorts bulging ever so slightly from the thick padding, not enough that anyone out of the loop would overtly notice, definitely enough that they’d get a sense something was strictly juvenile about my attire.

Our first stop wasn’t a clothing store, but the food court, where he bought the largest soft drink available and passed it off to me. The message was clear–I had to drink it, so my diapers would get some use. I obeyed.

Only then did he lead me across the mall, towards a large clothing outlet, big enough that we wouldn’t be too obvious or stand out to a small group of employees.

Big enough that he could get away with dressing me however he wanted.

I shouldn’t have been surprised that, as we walked towards the women’s clothing section, I felt the plug inside me suddenly thrum to life. My cramps, which had almost begun to die down, returned with a force, and I stumbled and nearly fell.

Sir caught me by the back of my shirt, stabilizing me as I whimpered. The only thing greater than my discomfort was my arousal, my tiny cock straining in its cage. Too distracted by the buzzing, my bladder gave way–maybe because I’d been instinctually letting go as soon as I felt pressure, maybe because I really just couldn’t hold it anymore.

The vibration died, and he smirked. “Alright. Find me the shortest skirt you can, in your size.”

I considered cheating, finding something that seemed short enough without being the shortest, but even the second or third shortest miniskirt still wouldn’t do what I wanted. My diaper would remain on full display regardless.

The one I found, on a rack right next to the lingerie section, couldn’t have been more than six inches long. I held it up tentatively, and was rewarded with a pulse of horny buzzing inside my bottom, almost dropping me to my knees.

That was all the ‘yes’ I was going to get. I put it in Sir’s cart, and we moved on to finding a padded bra. That, at least, I had more leeway with–and, hesitantly, I picked out one that was black and a bit lacy.

My outfit chosen, he took me to the changing room.

I though someone might object to us sharing a room, but the attendant hanging up unpurchased goods didn’t even spare us a second glance. I also got a hint of why he’d chosen this room: There were no gaps under the doors, they closed solidly, giving us privacy.

“Strip down,” Sir instructed, turning on my vibrator.

I fell, landing on the bench seat in the room, which only pushed the plug a little deeper in. It was impossible to focus, and I struggled to obey, removing my shoes, my shorts, my shirt.

Sir pressed his hand into the front of my exposed, yellowed diaper, sagging so heavily the tapes seemed to be straining. “Not wet enough,” he chided, squeezing his fingers so that the sodden padding squelched around my cage. “I’ll need to get you another drink when we leave.”

I squirmed. Was he trying to make me leak? He hadn’t mentioned that particular detail.

“Get dressed,” he said, handing me the skirt and the bra. I struggled to pull them on, cramps and vibration seizing all my control and making my body tremble.

As I’d suspected, though, the skirt offered no dignity. Pulled high on my waist, the top just rested over the tapes of my diaper, the rest of the sodden padding bulging out obviously. No privacy, no respite from humiliation.

“Inspect,” he instructed.

I snapped into my position, fingers laced behind my head, so that he could observe the fit.

“It’s perfect,” Sir said, adjusting the fit of the bra on me so that it sat evenly over my chest. “We’ll get it. Now, this is your last chance–would you like me to take the plug out now, or wait until we get home? If we take it out now, we’ll check out and leave straight away to the car, I won’t make you wait at the food court to get another drink.”

I swallowed, knees shaking as I struggled to stay in my inspection position.

We wouldn’t be in the mall long, would we? And the smell wouldn’t have a chance to linger…but, on the other hand, last time I’d made the selfish decision, I’d been punished for it.

“I’ll keep it in,” I said, nodding slightly.

He smirked. “Good. You may relax.”

I did so.

“Get dressed in your out clothes again,” he said. “This is your outfit for tonight.”