A Weekend At Sir's, Part 3 (Patron Exclusive)

This is going to be more than three parts, apparently! 

Contains: Messing, spanking, bondage, extreme edging, diaper rash. Intense consensual BDSM play. 

...

“Are you sure about this? I’m happy to try myself, you know I just want to see you smile.”

“Well that’s the thing. I don’t want to smile, I want to be fucked, punished, and humiliated within an inch of my life. I love you, but are you really going to be able to spank me until I cry? Can you keep going with a punishment if I’m begging you to stop?”

“...okay, that’s fair, but I can’t stand the thought of someone hurting you like that.”

“I want this. I want to make it through and come out the other side. Plus, I mean–it’s hot, that’s part of it.”

“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.”

…

A strap around my wrists held my hands down tightly. Another over my chest ensured my body couldn’t move. My collar remained around my neck, but a pair of buckles held it so securely that I could neither turn nor lift my head.

From the chest up, I was immobilized to the bed, which was set up at a slight angle so that my head was higher than my feet. All I could see was the ceiling, with a little U-hook, and Sam looming over me.

My only dress was the collar and my diaper, ruined, dripping from the enema that’d been pumped into me. No amount of inhaling seemed to help me grow noseblind to the stink, and the sheer mushy bulk squelched between my legs as I squirmed. An absorbent mat–I think it was just a puppy pad–had been laid out beneath me, so I wouldn’t stain the sheets.

“Your daddy says you rash easily,” Sir said, standing at the foot of the cot I’d been bound to. “Is that true?”

I nodded, as much as the collar would allow me. No point in lying.

“It’s time for your nap, I think,” he said, walking down to my feet and securing them in place. “We’ll see if your thighs are nice and raw for your spanking when I come and get you.”

I almost opened my mouth to object, but caught myself.

Sir saw the motion, responding as he got the thigh straps, so that I couldn’t move so much as an inch in any direction. “What is it?”

“I rash quickly, but–I mean, it’ll still take a long time,” I whimpered. “Hours.”

“I’m aware,” he said. “That’ll give you time to think about the mistakes that landed you here. But, to make sure you’re not too bored…”

Walking to the cupboard where more diapers were stored, he retrieved a device–not, not a device. It was obviously a baby mobile, with stuffed animals hanging from three of the four corners.

And on the fourth, there was a long cord, with a magic wand vibrator dangling from the end.

Using the cot as a stool, he stepped up over me, hanging the mobile from the hook on the ceiling. Once he switched it on, it not only began to spin, but the vibrator began to whir.

My eyes widened as I felt it brush over the front of my diaper. Everything up until this point had been enough of a turnon that even a slight sensation sent surging satisfaction stabbing up my body, but slight was all I got–the vibrator quickly rotated away, and I understood why I’d been strapped down on an incline–so that the vibrator wouldn’t bump against my ankles as it made its orbit.

“Night night, baby,” Sir said, switching out the lights. “I’ve got a baby monitor on. Feel free to make as much noise as you like.”

He left, shutting the door behind him.

Of course, the hidden message there was, ‘I’ll hear if you use a safe word, don’t worry,’ but the thought that he’d be hearing my moans and whimpers was what stuck in my thoughts.

Obviously, the idea of ‘naptime’ was an illusion. The mobile rotating above me took about ten seconds to make a full orbit, and every time it did, it brushed the vibrating head against my desperate erection, surrounded by a thick, squelching layer of decimated padding. I couldn’t do a single thing to try and make the sensation more intense, nor could I get away–it’d pass just long enough to be teasy, and then be gone before I could approach satisfaction.

The most movement I could accomplish was a tiny wriggle, which only sloshed around the muck in my diaper. Every time the vibrator came around, I gasped and moaned, huffing in my own stink in spite of myself, desperate for it to stay a little longer, whimpering as it left me once again.

And I knew I would be here for hours. Desperate. Helpless. A whimpering, pathetic little thing, unable to relax for long enough to think or focus, unable to achieve pleasure, only able to moan and gasp. The claustrophobia of restraint might have bothered me, if I could think about anything happening above my waist or below my knees, but my focus had all been stolen.

Time stretched. My cock felt like it was on fire, burning with hopeless need. I tried begging, pleading for Sir to come and let me have the vibrator for just fifteen consecutive seconds, but he didn’t come.

I felt like a man in the desert, burning with thirst, being given only a drop of water at a time. Never enough to quench my thirst, only enough to make me resent the moisture for its inability to help me.

I whimpered. I tried to break free of my bonds. I think at some point I cried out of sheer frustration, but it was hard to even remember clearly, my brain so clouded by the overpowering horny need that had consumed me.

And I did rash–that much was certain. It was hard to notice at first, just a slight pinprick itch that my utter desperation completely overshadowed, but it grew, building in sync with my groaning, impotent need. The growing pins-and-needles discomfort eventually built to the point where I couldn’t notice, and the itch turned to stinging whenever my mushy mess sloshed against my skin.

The development of the rash was my only way of telling time. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t try to count the rotations of the vibrator to reckon minutes, I could only tell that based off of how tender and raw my thighs had grown, I’d been left in a hell of perpetual edging for hours. I rashed fast, but even still, that much time seemed like an eternity when my brain was fogged by burning, unrequited desire and the constant, noxious fumes of my devastated diaper.

When I began to worry that my cock was going to explode from the need and I couldn’t so much as squirm without my thighs burning, the door opened.

Sam walked in, switching on the light. “Did you get some rest?” he asked.

“No,” I whimpered. “Please–”

Reaching up, he caught the wand by its cable and switched it off, and the rotation of the mobile with it. “Would you like to cum, right now, or would you like a diaper change before tomorrow morning?”

“Cum,” I said, instantly. Without hesitation. Logically, a little part of me knew this was a terrible decision, but I couldn’t fathom the alternative.

“See,” Sam said, smirking down at me. “This is why you can’t be trusted to make decisions on your own. If I let you pick, you wouldn’t be able to walk from how bad your rash would grow.”

“But–” I mewled. “Please–”

“No. Do not ask again.” His voice broached no argument, and he began undoing the straps around my thighs.

Just the touch of his hand on the front of my diaper brought out a moan from deep in my chest, twitching beneath my ruined padding, but he untapped the diaper and pulled it free.

Little squeaking sounds escaped my throat, as I fought back the need to beg. He produced wipes from beneath the bed, icy cold against my tender, hot skin, wiping me down with smug condescension.

“Look what you did,” he said, as the cool wipes brushed over my stinging skin. The cold was what finally dampened my erection, though that burning focus on the need to go still throbbed at the front of my mind. “I’d barely need to touch you to make you squirt, wouldn’t I?”

I nodded.

“We’d better do something about that, then,” Sam suggested, sliding out the diaper from beneath me. The puppy pad I laid on was still filthy, but the relative squish wasn’t a fraction as bad as my diaper, and it gave him room to clean me up reasonably well.

Hoping I knew his meaning, I nodded quickly. “Please!”

“Once you’re clean,” he said.

Squirming, I waited for him to finish. I needed what he’d promised, I could barely stand the wait. The dirty wipes piled up next to me, but with my ankles, waist, and upper body still strapped in place, there was nothing I could do to move things along.

Finally, deciding I was clean, Sam walked away, to the dresser across from the cot. He took out an object, hiding it from my line of sight with his palm, though I heard the clink of metal as he carried it over.

He took my cock, still flaccid from the frigid wipes, and my heart sank.

“No–” I started. “Er–I–I’m sorry, sir, but–”

He only gave me a sharp look, focused on the task of locking the hard steel chastity cage around me, trapping me with my desperation, sealing away any chance of pleasure.

“Maybe, if you’re good, I’ll give your daddy the key,” he said. “Or I might just throw it away. It’s not doing anyone any good, anyways, and I think you’ll be more obedient if you’re not worried about trying to make your diaper sticky.”

“No!” I said again, tears coming to my eyes. My protests were incoherent and ill advised, but I wasn’t thinking straight enough to realize that his threat of permanent chastity couldn’t be enforced. The concept of being stuck with my desperation forever crushed me, and I had to try and convince him otherwise. “You can’t, please, just–no!”

“I think it’s time you had a reminder that you’re not allowed to use that word,” Sir said, reaching down to undo the straps on my feet.

I knew I was fucked, I knew my pleas would fall on deaf ears. I tried anyways. “Please, sir, just once–it wouldn’t take long, and I’ll be good after, just–”

With a hard yank, he pulled the strap free of my waist. “Every word you say makes this worse,” he warned.

My eyes were huge puddles, my whole person reduced to base emotions and drives. I had no greater identity, just desperation and urges and fears. A part of me, deep inside, thrilled at how I’d been debased, but that part of me wasn’t in control. My forethoughts just needed the one thing, and were willing to do anything to get it.

When he undid the strap around my wrist, I jerked upward, using as much free range of motion as I had to reach out and snatch the dangling vibrator. My plan was–well, not much of one. Hope I could use it, somehow, before he stopped me.

He grabbed my wrist before I could even switch it on, and the glare he gave me was furious.

“No,” he said, simply. “That’s enough.”

With a squeeze, he forced my wrist to relax and let go, the vibrator falling away.

My chafed, raw thighs were already burning, but as he undid the last of the straps holding me down, he said, “It’s time for your spanking. If I hear a single word out of you that’s not a safe word, at any point, it’ll be doubled. Do you fucking understand me?”

I nodded. I didn’t say a word.