Forty-Eight Hours - Part 2 (Patreon)

Richard had spent the morning in the crib. Mornings like this had an odd effect on him.

After his morning diaper change, Claire always locked the crib shit again and busied herself in the kitchen preparing whatever concoction she could come up with that day. Sometimes it would be oatmeal, sometimes it would be scrambled eggs. Whatever it was, his morning meal would come packed full of fiber supplements designed to make sure his 48-hour sentence was carried out to the fullest.

But while Richard waited, he stared up at the ceiling of the room from the crib and sighed. He had this odd feeling that he was looking up from the bottom of a cage, a cage that had been built around him. Or maybe it was a cage he had been thrown into. Like a pit, where all the lions were stuffed animals instead of the real ones.

Humans of all kinds had escaped pits, cages, even volcanoes before. Richard could escape this cage anytime he wanted to. All he needed to do was stand up, say the word, and he’d be set. He’d be free from prison. But that would also mean he wouldn’t cum either. He’d be stuck frustrated. His wife would do what she did last time. The irony wasn’t lost on him that it was October either.

The fact that Richard probably could jump up and hoist himself over the bars but actually couldn’t because it would deny him his “mighty need” was more humiliating than he’d ever give Claire credit for. He couldn’t help but feel while laying on his back that the thick diaper that pushed his legs out slightly, even with its infantile purpose, held him captive. When combined with his need to cum and his discipline, Richard’s crib wasn’t the punishment, it was his mind.

The colors around the room did this thing where they blended when he stared at them for far too long. It was as if someone had taken a paintbrush, fed him some LSD, and told him to imitate Picasso. The result was dizzying and intoxicating.

Richard knew this is what he needed to focus on. He needed to focus on anything else would be to think ahead to what amounted to a death sentence. The less Richard thought about the end of the green mile, the further away the end seemed.

But the back of Richard’s mind was already moving quickly. Claire had, after all, given him a road map for the weekend. She had planned to take him out, where people would see him. That had never happened before. And the thought scared him.

Richard adjusted himself slightly as his stomach growled again. This time a combination of hunger and a stirring need. He usually had his morning bowel movement first thing in the morning. But he also usually didn’t wear diapers for that moment.

Time was not Richard’s friend today.

The benefit of not thinking about what was to come worked wonders to calm the slight erection Richard had tried to gain that morning. Naturally, the cage had stopped that from happening, but his body did what it did best to win. It tried anyway. The other benefit of not thinking about what was to come was that the door swung open sooner than he thought and shocked Richard from his haze.

“Are you ready for breakfast baby?” Claire asked gently from the doorway.

Richard broke from his pastel dreams and responded. “Yes.”

Claire paused. “I’m sorry, baby, but that’s not how we answer mommy this weekend.” Her voice was a mix of sugary sweet, but still stern. “Do you want to try again?”

Richard forced himself to stifle a sigh. Clare didn’t always enforce this rule, but when she did, it meant that Richard would need to be careful with how he spoke to her that weekend.

“Yes mommy.” Richard said. That speak hurt his brain. He hated baby talk.

If every time he needed Claire, he needed to call her Mommy, then Richard had to be careful with how and when he called for her. He had learned that the hard way once before when he needed a diaper change as the time wound down on the last day towards orgasm a month ago.

But Claire smiled gently. She liked that her man sounded as needy as he looked.

“Let’s get you out of the crib then and get you some breakfast.”

Richard nodded. “Thank you… mommy.” His low voice sounded stupid when he said that. So fucking stupid.

Claire unlatched the crib's bars and lowered the side rail so Richard could climb over the side of his temporary prison.  She placed her hand gently on his bottom to help guide him. The move reminded him that he was thickly padded and reminded him of his place as the child in the relationship.

But when Richard went to stand, Claire took her hand and held it on his shoulders. “No baby, that’s what these are for.”

Claire had brought two kneepads with fluffy endcaps with her and slipped them on Richard. “You can crawl while you’re in the house this morning.”

And with that, she led the way into the kitchen.

Richard had thought about the juxtaposition before between the nursery and the rest of the house, but crawling after the woman and into the main living space was always jarring. The pastel swirl turned into a dark, modern space filled with sharp corners and clean glass. Both of them had modern sensibilities and had decorated the apartment as any two adults would. There was art on the walls, and a video game console under the flat-screen televisions.

But Richard didn’t have access to any of that now. No, as he crawled after her, he had to focus on putting one hand, one knee in front of the other. Claire walked ahead of him, her oversized hoodie covering up the short shorts she wore underneath them. Richard couldn’t help but stare to see if he could sneak a glimpse at what else was below. There was no doubt about it, Clare was attractive, and this dominant act of hers only spiced up the attractiveness. Even if weekends like this when things bordered on too far.

Richard entered the kitchen behind Claire and braced himself for what would happen next. He had put his money on oatmeal for breakfast. Richard hadn’t heard any pots and pans clattering around while he was lying in the crib that morning, and once in the high chair, his suspicions were confirmed.

Claire had taken the leg straps and arms straps, and neck braces and applied them to Richard. She relished the idea that he could not move, no matter how hard he tried. Instead, she’d feed him every bite. Because he couldn’t move, Claire fed Richard the oatmeal with an oversized spoon. Each scoop, each giant spoonful, she’d let the runny oats drip down the spoon and onto his chin, the sides of his mouth, and fall onto the bib he was wearing. Some of the mess even dripped down onto his thick diaper.

Richard, to his credit, had expected this. He was past the point of this bothering him. All he wanted was for the 48 hours to be over so he could have the much-needed release from his cage. Literally.

“Oops,” Claire said, her steely eyes boring into Richard’s. “You’re such a messy baby.”

Richard ignored her and watched as she scraped the bottom of the bowl. Mission accomplished.

Only it wasn’t. Claire pulled another bowl out of the microwave and began to feed him that one. And after that, another one.

Richard stomach began to become bloated from all the oatmeal and he felt like he was going to vomit. To Claire’s credit, most of the oatmeal was making it into his mouth, but she kept wiping his already messy face with an even more messy bib causing the oatmeal to crust over and smear. Finally, Claire put the bowl in the sink and left Richard to sit in the chair for a while and reflect on the food he’d just finished consuming.

Only that’s not all he could think about. Richard’s stomach had been doing flips over the last hour, reminding him that he needed to pass his morning bowel movement. Richard was always regular. He was always on time. And it was time.

Richard struggled in the chair slightly as he clenched his sphincter. He had no interest of messing in the kitchen while Claire sat down, scrolling through her phone and eating a breakfast sandwich she had made for herself.

As Richard watched, his girlfriend took a bite, chewed and swallowed, and wiped her mouth. It starkly contrasted with how he had been treated just moments before.

Richard’s urge was becoming more urgent now. But the usual things he would do to try and curb that urge weren’t available to him. He couldn’t cross his legs, they were spread out, attached to the side of the high chair. Richards's thick diaper was on full display in the perfect position to wet himself. Richard had done that already, several times that morning. But thanks to the stuffer Claire had put him in that morning, Claire had not noticed.

Richard’s urge grew stronger.

Claire took another bite.

Richard felt a cramp as he began to feel incredible pain.

“Um… mommy?” He asked timidly towards Claire who was sipping some water out of a glass.

“What is it baby?” Claire emphasized the word baby.

“Can I get out of the high chair now?”

“Nope.” Claire put down her water glass. “You can wait a little bit. I’m busy.” Claire grinned in his direction. “Mommy is busy.”

Richard wiggled slightly in the chair, his arms flexing slightly against the restraints. His abdomen was burning at this point. At any second, he’d have to make a mess, rather he liked it or not.

“Claire, please!” Richard gasped out.

But Claire just picked up her plate and left the room.

And that’s when Richard lost full control.

Only, that’s not quite how things work. Richard’s sphincter released and gravity pushed the mess towards his bottom. But Richard was still strapped to the high chair, meaning the moment the mess left him, and slight relief washed over him, the process hit a roadblock in the form of the bottom of the high chair.

There simply wasn’t enough room for Richard to mess his diaper. Richard panicked slightly. This has never happened before. Usually, when he messed himself, he was in the crib or by himself in the playpen in the nursery so he could squat and push out what he needed.

But at this moment, the highchair prevented him from getting automatic relief. Richard tried to lift himself up and push, but he was stuck. So he pushed harder and harder, straining to push the mess out. Slowly but surely, the mess began to ooze out of him and force its way into his diaper. The mess moved towards the back of the diaper, driving between his legs and filling the spaces it could.

Richard knew that at this moment, Claire had to have engineered this. Richard was never the type to mess himself on purpose. He found it gross and undignified. Richard wasn’t a real baby after all. No. But in this moment, strapped to the highchair, with straight posture, his arms and legs tied down, the 34-year-old was forced to become a willing, active participant in this infantile, crude act.

Richard has to participate in soiling his own diaper, focusing on pushing out the mess, and focus on being a baby. And it was all designed by Claire.

She was going to make him earn his orgasm this week, and he wasn’t going to be happy about it.