Good Girls, Part 1 of 2 [Tier 3 Exclusive] (Patreon)

ONE

He’s not the best husband, but he’s probably not the worst.

There are guys out there who hit their partners. Call them names. Treat them like absolute shit. But Trent’s never done that.

He’s got his shortcomings, sure. Probably drinks too much, if he’s being honest. Spends money on stupid things like power tools and golf clubs. And more alcohol. Spends a lot of time out of the house. Works a lot of hours. Flirts with waitresses and bartenders. And then there was that gal in Florida he met on that business trip last year…

Okay, so there’s a lot of shortcomings. But he certainly doesn’t think he’s the worst.

At this moment though, Melanie might think that he is.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

“Out,” he mutters.

“Out? Out where?”

“Why does it matter to you?” he asks. He intends for the question to be rhetorical, even though there are definitely answers that Melanie can offer–good answers too.

But she already knows that he’s made up his mind. She could try and convince him to stay. Maybe he could finish that project in the bathroom. Or he could just, you know, spend time with his wife. She’s tried to have that argument a thousand times before though, and it’s never worked then.

What’s that saying about the definition of insanity? Something about trying the same thing over and over again and expecting different results?

She lets him go. She doesn’t like that. Loathes that, in fact. It makes it look like she doesn’t care.

And that’s exactly how he takes it. See? I wasn’t wanted here anyways. He grabs his wallet, cell phone, and car keys off the counter and he’s out the door. He doesn’t even know where he’s going, honestly. Probably to the bar. But he doesn’t have to, he thinks. He could go anywhere. The world is his oyster.

While driving, he instinctively begins to turn off onto the road of his regular bar, The Quarry. He stops himself and stays on the highway. He needs something different tonight–a change of scenery. He drives a few more miles and takes the next exit. He doesn’t know this area well, but he’s pretty sure he’s seen some bars and eateries this way before. He’ll stop at the first one he comes across.

He arrives at Chubby’s, nestled in between a church and a lumberyard. This should be a good crowd, he says to himself.

The bar is pretty empty. Unsurprising, really. It’s a weekday night, and all the good sports are out of season for the moment. Maybe that’s not that bad of a thing, though. He can just sit at the bar, drink a little, and contemplate.

He’s halfway through a Jack and cola when someone sits at the stool next to his. His first instinct is to get pissy about it–it’s a wide-open bar and someone wants to take the seat immediately next to his?

But it’s a woman, and she’s pretty cute. And so she’s immediately forgiven. He scans her over quickly, liking what he sees. She’s young. Not too young for a bar, but younger than what he imagines the median age for this bar being. Blonde hair with dark roots–it looks like she dyed it herself at some point. Piercings in her ear. A little ring in her nose. Denim vest and black tank-top. Black skirt. A smattering of tattoos on her arms. Overall, kind of a badass-looking chick. He’s into it.

“Hey,” he says. Just to be polite.

“Anyone sitting here?” she asks.

He laughs. “If they come back for this seat, I think you could take ‘em.”

“Never seen you here before,” she says. She gets the bartender's attention and he points to her with recognition–immediately grabbing a bottle of beer from a cooler and sliding it down to her on the bartop.

“First time,” Trent says with a shrug. “You’re a regular?”

“A regular pain in the ass,” she says, smiling. This cracks up the bartender who snorts when he laughs.

Trent laughs too. He likes her. “I believe that.”

“Aw, come on,” she says, playfully slapping him in the arm. “You don’t even know me.”

He scans her over again. “I think I’m getting a good idea of who you are.”

“Yeah?” she laughs, waving over to the bartender again. “Lou, this guy thinks he knows me.”

Lou shrugs, mostly indifferent.

“You know me?” she asks Trent. “Tell me what you know. What have you got figured out?”

This is good. He likes this. Banter. Maybe it's flirtatious, maybe it's not, but it’s stimulating in a way that doubts The Quarry would’ve been tonight. Or home with Melanie.

“The hair,” he says. “The piercings and jacket. The tattoos. Your boldness. I dunno, you’ve got this edgy-punk thing going on. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. I like it.”

“Yeah?” she asks, smiling. “How do you think your wife would feel about it?”

For a split-second, he’s confused at how she could possibly know that he’s married, but all he has to do is look down and see that his wedding band is still on his finger. It’s not always there, of course. It wasn’t there when he was in Florida.

“There’s no crime in looking at a cute girl and thinking that you like her style, right?” he asks.

She smiles, taking a long swig of her beer immediately after.

“No, I suppose not,” she says. “What’s your name?”

“Trent. And you?”

She shrugs, which almost seems to suggest that either her name doesn’t matter, or that whatever name she gives isn’t her actual name. “Beth.”

He could question it or try to test his investigative skills–of which he has few–but he chooses to just accept it. He’s alone in a bar with a pretty young woman and there’s alcohol in front of them. For now, that’s all he needs.

“What do you do with yourself, Beth?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I’m an investment banker?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Not really. I’d believe it if you told me you were a comedian, though.”

“I don’t believe in defining myself by my job,” she says, swirling around her beer bottle. “I get paid, and that’s that. And when I’m not working, I like to get into trouble.”

His interest is piqued further. “Trouble, eh?”

She doesn’t answer him, instead just smiling as she signals Lou that it’s time for round two. He slides another beer bottle her way.

“How about you, champ?” Lou says to Trent.

He looks down at his glass, seeing mostly just melted ice at this point. “Yeah, I’ll take another.”

“Don’t drink too much, old man,” she teases. “It’s a work night, ain’t it? The missus will be mad if you come home all tipsy and smelling like another girl.”

There’s a lot he’d like to comment on. Starting from the top: “Old man? How old do you think I am?”

“Old enough for a wife.”

“I’m only 29,” he says.

She shrugs.

“And, uh, do you think I’m going to come home smelling like another girl?”

“I dunno,” she says. “Anything’s possible.”

“I’m just trying to imagine it,” he says. “What, exactly, is that smell like?”

Her lips twist into a coy grin. “You’d have to come closer and take a whiff.”

He got slapped in the face by a waitress at a restaurant a few weekends ago while on a golf trip with the boys. He thought she was sending signals, but he seemed to have been wrong. He didn’t really want to make that mistake again–thus the hesitation to just lean into her space and give her a good sniff. But, then again, Beth did seem to suggest that he could do that if he wanted.

“Well?” she says. “You going to come closer or not? I’m not going to bite.”

“Even if I want you to?”

“One thing at a time, buddy.”

He leans in towards her–he doesn’t have to go too far, as she’s leaning in his direction too–and he takes in her scent. Notes of…lavender. Cheap beer. Sweat. Baby powder?

“What do you think?” she asks. “Think you’d like going home smelling like that?”

He laughs. “I certainly wouldn’t complain.”

She points to his new cocktail. “Do you have any plans after that drink?”

For a moment, he thinks about Melanie at home. He almost feels bad, but he quickly shakes the thought from his mind.

“Nope,” he says. “You?”

She shakes her head. “Nope.”

He’s grinning like an idiot. “Cool.” He’s nervous he’s being a little too forward, but he says it anyway: “You live close by?”

“I do,” she says, shrugging again. “But…we don’t need to go back there.”

He thinks this is intriguing. Is there a Mr. Beth back at her place?

“But,” she adds, “we don’t need my place.”

“No?”

She points out the window on the far end of the bar. His eyes follow the direction of her finger to the parking lot outside. Directly underneath one of the parking lot’s lights is a large van.

“Shit,” he says, laughing. “Is that yours?”

“Yep.”

It’s an unmarked white utility van–the kind of vehicle a kid would imagine when their parents say not to trust strangers. It almost sets off a warning bell for him. Almost. But the cock is mightier than the brain. He doesn’t see the potential for danger, he sees only the potential for a place where he can bend Beth over while her pants rest around her ankles.

He takes a larger sip of his drink, as if hoping to get through it that much quicker.

She laughs, putting her hand on his lap. “Do you think I’m pretty?”

He nods. “I do.” This wasn’t a lie. True, she probably wasn’t what would normally come to mind when he thought of the kind of woman he was attracted to–but everything about her was working for him. She had this overall aggressiveness about her–both in aesthetic and personality.

“I don’t need much,” she says, taking another swig of beer. “I just like being told I’m pretty. That usually gets me going.”

“Yeah?”

“My pussy’s wet,” she says.

He’s thankful he doesn’t have a mouthful of booze, because he definitely would’ve sprayed it all over her with an epic spit-take.

He was growing stiff in his pants. It wasn’t just that she had told him that she was wet. It was the sight of the van in the parking lot. Her confidence. Her scent–which he badly wanted to take home with him.

She slams her beer bottle down on the table, the hollow ringing sound it makes implying that it’s empty.

“More?” Lou asks from somewhere behind the bar.

“I’m good,” she says.

Lou laughs. Maybe he knows what that means.

“Just waiting on you now,” she says to Trent. “But take your time, of course.”

He takes another large swig of his drink. “Just a minute.”

Her hand travels up his leg into his crotch. She can feel his stiffening cock through the fabric of his khakis, and she gives him a playful squeeze. He moans a little, before looking around the bar to see if anyone else has noticed. There’s still barely anyone else there–and nobody seems to be paying attention.

“Hey now,” he says–though he makes no effort to stop her or remove her hand.

“Just sizing you up,” she says. “I like to see what I’m working with.”

“Seven inches,” he says with a confident nod. This is a lie, of course–he probably couldn’t clear six. Maybe five? He’s never actually measured. Still, he doubts she carries a tape measure in her pocket.

“Yeah?” She nods while stroking him again through the pants. “Sounds good to me.”

He’s looking out the window again as he slams down the last of his Jack and cola. He gets conflicted feelings from seeing the aged utility van under the street light. It’s kind of creepy. But it’s kind of hot.

This is going to be an amazing story to tell the boys when golfing next weekend.

“You’re not going to kill me, are you?” he asks.

“Are you into that?”

He laughs, putting his empty glass down on the bar–he even ate the ice. “No, not really.”

“Then I won’t kill you,” she says with a casual shrug.

“But you take requests?” he says.

“Maybe. Got something in mind? Want my hair in pigtails while I wear a cheerleader outfit?”

He’s tempted. “You’ve got one?”

“Not on me,” she says, laughing.

“Next time,” he says.

“Let’s get through this time first.”

“Fair enough. Why don’t I take the tab?”

She smiles, nodding. “That’s a lovely idea. You take care of that, and I’ll meet you outside.”

“You’re not going to, like, drive off, are you?” he asks.

She grabs his hand and steers it under the bar and into her skirt. He knows where to go from here and slowly slides his hand between her legs, feeling the dampness in her satin panties. Not just wet, very wet.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she says. “Not like this. Just meet me outside.”

She’s off her stool and out the door in the same minute, leaving Trent to wait for the bill. And for a few minutes, he just sits there, hoping that Lou will approach him and ask to settle the tab. Lou occasionally looks up at him, but makes no effort to approach him.

Trent remains as patient as he can be. The van is still out in the parking lot, after all–suggesting that this wasn’t all just some scam to get him to pay for her drinks as she drives off.

Eventually, Lou slaps the handwritten bar tab down without a single word. Trent throws some cash down on top of it. He’s almost tempted to wait for change, but he’s all out of patience. Hopefully Lou enjoys the generous tip.

He’s not drunk, nor tipsy. Maybe the slightest bit buzzed; just enough to mellow him. When his feet hit the pavement in the parking lot, he immediately heads in a straight line towards the white van. There’s still a voice in the back of his mind asking whether or not this is a good way. Human evolution in the modern age has instilled an instinctive distrust for old windowless vans in parking lots at night.

No, it’ll be fine, he thinks.

When he reaches the van, he’s a little confused. He doesn’t see Beth. The lights are off in the van. There’s nobody else around.

“Hello?” he asks. “Beth?”

What happens next seems to take place in a fraction of a second. Just an instant–so fast that he’ll forever tell himself that he just didn’t have time to react. And it’s true, the element of surprise is such that he doesn’t have a chance.

The double rear doors of the van flung open, and arms were reaching out to Trent. Not two–four. They grabbed him, pulling him into the van. First thing’s first, a thick cloth is wedged into his mouth and tied around his head. His arms are pulled behind him and bound together–either handcuffs or a zip-tie, he’s unsure which. His feet are also bound together in a similar manner. He’s left like this on the floor of the van, only able to wriggle and groan through the cloth. Neither person in the van seems especially concerned about this, and they climb into the front seats.

The van starts and begins to move. The occupants in the seats–one of which being Beth–is laughing.

His heart is racing. He’s sweating. He wonders if this is the final scene of his life. This is how it all ends–bound in the back of a van, coerced into it by his weakness for cute promiscuous women.

“You’re not going to die,” Beth says from the passenger seat.

He wants to take solace in that, but he also recognizes that this is exactly what a murderer would say.

Every instinct in his body urges him to continue to thrash around until he can get free and make an escape. He fights through that notion, opting to remain calm and collected until he can get a better handle on the situation. He looks up to the front of the van. He can’t see the driver’s face, but he sees their arm. Slender, smooth, a few tattoos. Distinctly feminine, he thinks.

Separating himself from the moment, he could almost laugh at this scene. Abducted by two females? Sounds a bit like something he’d conjure up in a fantasy of his own design.

“We just want to have some fun with you,” the person driving said. A feminine voice. “Bonnie said you seemed the type who liked fun.”

“Beth. I told him my name was ‘Beth.’”

“Right, right, whatever.”

“Not too much farther now,” the driver said. “You gonna be a good boy?”

A good boy? He found this to be a curious choice of phrase–playful in an alarming way.

“What was my name going to be?” asked the driver.

“Bunny? Is that what we agreed on?” answered ‘Beth.’

“Bunny and Beth? I don’t think we should both have B-names. It just doesn’t sound good to me.”

“Fine. What would you rather?”

“I don’t know. I like the vibe of ‘Bunny.’ I think it complements the more normal sounding name ‘Beth,’ right? So it’d need to be something that captures the same feeling.”

“Froggy?” asked Beth.

“No. Fuck no.”

“Kitty?”

The driver scoffed. “I hate that. You know what? I’m just going to stick with ‘Bunny.’”

“You can use Beth if you want,” ‘Beth’ said.

“I think Beth makes more sense for you.”

At some point, he felt that he could sense the texture of the road changing. They had turned off a paved–or at least better maintained road–and onto a road that might have seen better days. It was full of bumps and dips that jostled him about the back of the van. And just as he positioned his legs against the van’s wall to help stabilize himself, he could feel the vehicle slowing down. Soon after, it came to a complete stop.

Beth peered back at him from the passenger seat. “We’re heeeere,” she sings.

Both left the van, and moments later the back doors opened. There were his captors. One of them he knew already–’Beth.’ Dyed hair. Tattoos. Piercings. Still attractive, even if he had greatly underestimated her threat-level.

The other? Well, that was more interesting. Legs to shoulders, she was dressed similarly to Beth–black tee and black pants instead of a skirt. She’s curvier. Bigger breasts–though it seems like a terrible time for him to be making that observation. But her head is completely concealed by a Halloween mask of some sort. A cartoonish doll’s face.

Bunny, presumably.

Both girls reach into the back of the van, grabbing hold of his body so that they can pull him out. When they ease his legs down to the ground, his fight-or-flight instinct kicks in again and he makes a run for it. Yet, with his feet bound, he immediately just tumbles over to his side. A pathetic attempt at escape if there ever was one.

The girls just laugh at this.

“Don’t be silly,” Beth says. “We just want to play.”

He does feel silly, and stupid, for that little move. Escape is clearly not an option. Not now, at least. Maybe he bides his time and waits for an opportunity to present itself. Maybe these girls do whatever it is they want to do and they send him on his way later.

“On your feet,” Beth says as they both hoist him up onto his feet again.

“If we cut the tie off your feet, are you going to try and run away?” asks Bunny.

He thinks about it. It’s certainly tempting. He doesn’t know what they want from him, but if they figured that the only way to get him to participate was to remove his agency, it can’t be all that great. Running doesn’t seem advantageous either. He’s outnumbered and down a few limbs.

And so he shakes his head.

“Good,” Bunny says.

The tension in his ankles instantly dissipates, and he looks down to see the zip tie binding them together has been cut by Beth. It’s human nature to want to run right now, despite having said he wouldn’t. He could run right now. But he won’t. He was 70% sure that it was a better idea just to cooperate for now.

And then he’s 30% just genuinely curious about where this is going. Certainly the minority, but probably a higher level of curiosity than most other people if they were in this situation.

A woman on each arm now, and they lead him towards a small trailer home. He looks around for the first time since exiting the van. He has no idea where he is. They’re somewhere in the woods. Deep within the woods, if he was to guess–based on how there were no other signs of life around them. No sounds of cars on a highway. No other lights bleeding through the trees surrounding the small property. No light pollution on the horizon from any nearby towns. It was just him and them out here in the middle of nowhere.

“You can scream if you want to,” Bunny says. “Nobody’s going to hear you though. And I’m not just saying that. We scream out here all the time, and nobody’s ever come to investigate.”

“So when I remove the cloth from your mouth,” Beth adds, “can you please not make a whole scene about it?”

Easy for you to say, he thinks, But he nods anyway.

Beth loosens the knot at the back of his head and, again, he feels a release of tension. He opens his mouth as wide as he can so that the twisted rope of cloth falls out and onto the ground. Honestly, it feels good just to move his jaw again.

His first thought is whether or not he should say something now that he can. His second thought is wondering what it is he should say.

“I wish we had another round of drinks before all this,” he says. Beth laughs. He can’t gauge Bunny’s reaction–not with that mask on.

“Come on, inside,” Beth urges, and the women lead him inside, closing the door behind him.

He wasn’t sure what to expect from their home, and maybe the only surprise is how normal it seems. A couch and a chair. TV. Knickknacks and framed photographs. A stray book here and there. A sweater tossed casually over the back of the furniture. There’s no knife collection hanging from the wall. No bloody chainsaw in the corner. He’d hesitate to say he’s disappointed by the scene, but at the very least he’s more confused now.

“Should we untie his hands?” Beth asks.

“If I thought he’d be a good boy, maybe,” Bunny answers.

“For what it’s worth,” he says. “I…I can be good.”

“I know you think that, sweetie,” Bunny says, condescendingly patting him on the head. “But you don’t even know what we want to do with you yet. Maybe you’ll change your mind.”

Fair, though this again begs the question of what it is that they want to do with him.

“Let’s just get him back to the nursery,” Bunny says. “We’ll cuff him to the crib.”

“We should at least free his hands so we can take his shirt off,” Beth reasons.

“I don’t trust him. It’s fine, We’ll just cut off anything we can’t take off.”

“H-hey, wait,” he says. “Nursery? Crib? What the hell is going on here?”

Beth rolls her eyes. “We took that thing out of his mouth way too soon.”

“I didn’t agree to any of this,” he says.

“Please be sure to leave it in your review,” Bunny says, eliciting some chuckles from Beth.

They try to lead him to the hallway at the far end of the living room. He resists a little, dragging his feet instead of walking along with them–though it doesn’t seem to slow him down at all. He seems to have underestimated the strength of these women.

“All you have to do is play along,” Bunny says as they drag him down the hall. “We’re not going to kill you. We’re not going to chop off any of your appendages. We just want to have some fun with you for a little while. And when we’re done? You can go back to doing whatever it is you do.”

“Golf,” Beth says.

He turns his head to glare at her. “How do you know that?”

“Took your wallet out of your pants earlier, Trent Murphy,” she replies. “You’re a member of the Chestnut Country Club.”

It’s true, obviously. He doesn’t reply, as he’s too busy going over a mental checklist of what else was in his wallet. His ID. Cash. Credit cards. A photo of Melanie.

“He also had a condom in his wallet,” Beth says to Bunny.

Oh fuck. He forgot about that.

Bunny snorts with laughter.

“He told me in the bar that he’s seven inches,” Beth says. “But I felt his cock through his pants.”

“And?”

“I dunno. 5? At most.”

“Oh, come on,” spits Trent. “That’s not right.”

Bunny laughs again. “Hit a nerve, it seems. It’s the angriest I’ve seen him all night, and it’s when we insult his manhood.”

“Or lack thereof.”

Both women laugh as Bunny opens a door to the left in the hallway and they pull him into the room.

They weren’t lying. This is, quite literally, a nursery.

Teddy bears and hearts painted on the wall in soft pastel colors. Shelves of diapers, wipes and whatever else one would assume you need for a baby. A playpen with some toys in it. A padded table he recognized as a changing table from the time spent at his sister-in-law’s house.

Except, well, everything seemed…off. Bigger. Too big for an actual baby. But for an adult?

“What the hell is this?” he muttered under his breath.

“He can’t complain the whole time,” Beth whined to Bunny.

“I know, I know,” says Bunny. “We’ll deal with that. One thing at a time.”

He opens his mouth, ready to protest whatever it is they’re going to do to him in here. He doesn’t know exactly what their plan is, but he can guess; he doesn’t want to be made into a…baby. But he stops himself from saying anything. Could he really expect them to care about what he wants?

“First thing’s first,” Bunny says. “We need to remind our little boy here that we are in charge here.”

“I…I know you’re in charge,” he says. “Or else I wouldn’t even be here.”

Beth laughs. “Sorry, what she should’ve said is that we want to show you that we’re in charge.”

Bunny pulls him over to a chair and she sits down. “Get his pants, please.”

Beth does as she was asked, and she unbuckles Trent’s belt before opening up his pants and pulling them down his legs. He tries, for half-a-moment, to wriggle about and resist but he knows he’s not going anywhere. Bunny is holding onto his arms behind his back as Beth removes his pants, and it’s not like he could go anywhere if he wanted to.

Beth pulls his shoes off, letting her pull his pants and boxers all the way down his legs and off. They’re all discarded–tossed to the side like it’s nothing.

Given a little more time, he probably could’ve figured out what was coming next. As is, and as Bunny tossed his helpless body over her lap, it came as a complete surprise.

It wasn’t until just a moment before her strong hand struck his ass that he realized what was happening.

He was being sp*nked.

Later, he’d try to think of the last time someone had put him over their knees to paddle his ass. He hadn’t been the most well-behaved young man, so it had definitely happened a few times over the course of his childhood. But never did he think he’d have to experience that again.

SMACK!

And yet, here he was, with a firm hand colliding into his ass with a surprising amount of force. It pushed a pathetic little yelp out of his mouth.

SMACK!

She’s not playing around, nor is she new to slapping bottoms. Perfect form and speed; figurative judges are giving her 10s across the board. It’s just the right level of impact–stinging, yet not so much that he can’t endure another slap. Or ten.

SMACK!

“Goddamn!” he shouts. From elsewhere in the room, Beth is laughing pretty hard. She might have already been laughing, but his little outburst has her in–as the kids would say–‘laughing her ass off’ territory.

SMACK!

“Ow!”

“I never get sick of it,” Bunny says. “They act like big tough men, you know? But I can just sp*nk it out of them every single time.”

SMACK!

“Unh,” he moans, uncontrollably.

“What was he like?” Bunny asks. “In the bar. Touch macho guy?”

“Nah,” Beth says. “He was a regular casanova. You know, gave me a good sniff. Touched my pussy.”

Bunny laughs.

SMACK!

“That’s for touching her pussy,” she says.

“I told him to!” Beth says, laughing.

“I would’ve slapped his ass again anyways. I’m not done yet.”

He expects another fierce slap, but is instead delivered a flurry of five or six sharp swats. The searing pain spreading through his backside pushes him well past his limits.

He thought he could handle it. As bad as the pain was, he believed he would endure and prove his manhood to these cruel strangers. Nope. Bunny had broken him. Tears welled in his eyes and his lip quivered. Deep inside himself, he was coming face to face with a realization he long suspected, but never wanted to admit–he wasn’t the man he often pretended to be.

“Jesus,” said Beth. “Is he…crying?”

“Does that surprise you?” Bunny said. “Sooner or later, all babies reveal themselves for who they are.”

Bunny’s hand stays on his bare ass now. She’s not striking him–she’s rubbing him. Soothing him. It takes a few minutes for his tears to dry up and for his sniffling to cease, but Bunny gives him the time he needs, gently caressing his bright red bottom while he composes himself.

“All done with that?” she says.

“Y-yes.”

“You should’ve given him a pacifier,” Beth says.

“Next time he throws a little tantrum,” Bunny says with a shrug, “you go get me one.”

“With pleasure. Anything to not have to hear that blubbering anymore.”

“I…I wasn’t blubbering,” Trent mutters.

SMACK!

“Fu…” Tears are in his eyes again.

Beth suddenly appears next to him, crouching down so that she’s mostly level with him as he continues to hang over Bunny’s lap. She wipes a tear out from under his eye before pushing something into his mouth. A pacifier, he assumes. It’s an entirely new sensation–the feeling of the rubber nipple between his lips and teeth.

“That stays there,” Beth says. “Or else Bunny puts you over her lap again.”

“And next time,” Bunny adds, “I get Mr. Ouchie.”

“That’s a paddle,” Beth says. “It’s, uh, big.”

He nods, hoping that it conveys compliance with their demands. He can’t take much more abuse on his backside–be it from a hand or whatever ‘Mr. Ouchie’ is.

“I think we’ve made our point,” Bunny says. “We’re in charge, yes?”

He nods, a rapid bobble that further conveys his fear of further smacking.

“Could you cut the tie on his wrists?” Bunny asks Beth.

“Are you sure?”

“He’s not going to give us any trouble. Are you?”

He shakes his head.

Beth seems convinced and she uses a pair of scissors to cut the plastic ring that binds his hands together. It’s liberating to have use of his arms again, though he’s only now processing the throbbing ache in his shoulders from having his arms pulled behind his back for so long.

“Let’s get the baby boy over to the changing table,” Bunny says.

Every fiber of his being wants–needs–to open his mouth and argue that he is not, in fact, a baby. It’s a miracle that he cobbles together the will to keep his mouth clamped shut on the pacifier.

Just let them do their thing. Whatever they want. When they’re done, you just go home and sleep it off. Wake up and pretend that none of this ever happened. Nobody will ever know.

He offers no resistance as Beth helps hoist him up from Bunny’s lap. Once Bunny stands herself, they escort him to the changing table. For a moment, he can’t help but think he’s being dragged down the prison hallway to the electric chair. He has accepted his fate, but it doesn’t mean that he’s happy about it.

He’s got questions. He won’t ask them now, and he might not ever get to ask them, so they’ll probably remain mysteries. But the presence of an oversized nursery certainly suggests that they’ve done this before. And they’ll do it again. How many men have come before him? Were they all captured in the same way? Lured to the van in the parking lot with the promises of sex?

There had probably been an enormous target painted on his body. He was, after all, the flirtatious out-of-towner with a wedding ring on. Easy pickings. He could just imagine these girls sitting in the parking lot, watching him pull up to the bar. Bunny had pointed to him as he walked up to the door. “Him. That’s the one.”

There’s no resistance offered as they pull off the last of his clothing. He’s lying atop the changing table now, naked and squirming like a newborn infant. Has there ever been a time in his adult life that he was naked in front of a woman without an erection? Not that he can think of. But now he’s thoroughly emasculated and reduced to nothing.

Bunny pokes his belly playfully. “Look at this adorable baby fat.”

“A few too many baby bottles?” asks Beth.

Well, maybe I do drink a lot of beer…

“He really told you seven inches?” Bunny asks Beth, jostling his shrunken penis with her fingertips.

“That’s what he claimed.”

“I’d love to see that,” Bunny says. “C’mon, baby. You can show us, right? Get all big and hard for us big girls. Show us all seven inches.”

It’s certainly an emotional conflict for Trent. On one hand, he’s been taken against his will–abducted–and is being held in a strange unknown place by two women who want to treat him like a baby. But on the other…two women are looking down on his naked body and playing with his cock–urging him to get erect for their amusement. And, dammit, that seems to be working for him.

Defying his wishes, his cock is coming to life in Bunny’s hand. He watches their eyes, and the more it rises, the more their eyes seem to light up. It rises. Rises. Rises. And then stops. The women look delighted–but not impressed. All three of them can see it: this falls far short of his claim.

If he was willing to talk, and he’s not, he’d remind them that he was at a bar and talking to a cute stranger that he didn’t think would abduct him and take his pants off to fact check. Nobody’s ever going to offer a realistic dick measurement.

“See?” Bunny asks, laughing. “Not big enough. Back to diapers for you, baby.”

It’s a punch to the gut, but not exactly a sucker punch. His cock could’ve been two feet long and they’d still be putting him back in diapers. This was just low hanging fruit for them to tug at while I was already at their mercy.

“What kind of diaper do you want?” Beth asks.

“Hmm.” The sound vibrates in Bunny’s mask, reminding him that it’s there. If he weren’t so consumed with the dread of being put in a diaper, he’d probably be thinking about what Bunny looked like under the mask. He’d also wonder why she wore a mask but Bunny didn’t.

And though he wouldn’t think of the question until long after–Bunny was not someone he’d have recognized without her mask.

“I want these,” Beth says, trotting back with a thick bundle of plastic in her hands.

“Fairy Princesses,” Bunny coos. “You know these are my favorites.”

“I just think he’d look cute in them.”

Cute. He gets a better look at the diaper as it’s handed to Bunny–obnoxiously pink and girlish. He quickly accepts a few concepts that are entirely new to him for the sake of remaining focused on the moment–diapers of this size and style exist, and there’s a community of people buying them. Assumedly, not all the consumers are abducting people.

“Of course, I can’t put the baby in a diaper while he’s got a little stiffy.”

Beth laughs and shakes her head. “You’re the one who made that happen.”

“Well, we’ll have to take care of it before we get the diaper on. Otherwise it won’t fit right.”

“You want me to do it?” Beth asks.

“I think it’s your turn, yeah.”

“You’re so bad,” Beth hisses, possibly with some sarcasm in her tone. “You just like seeing me get worked up.”

“You’re going to love this,” Bunny says to Trent. “She gets all hot and bothered whenever she has to get a guy off.”

The idea of it certainly keeps his cock hard. It also seems to check out when he recalls feeling her damp panties in the bar. As poorly timed as the thought seems to be, he wishes that he had met Beth at another time, in another place, in a slightly different context.

But he’s suddenly distracted by the feeling of Beth’s slender fingers wrapped around his cock, rhythmically tugging at him.

“Do you like it better lubricated?” she asks. She gives him no time to respond, quickly spitting into her hand before going back to work on his shaft. For a few moments, the slick pleasure of her moistened fingers feels incredible, but her saliva is quickly absorbed or dried and the friction of her hand on his skin feels harsher than when she first started.

Not that he’s upset about it. The mild discomfort only seems to add to the warped sense of pleasure he feels. Keeping the pacifier tightly lodged in his mouth, he offers only misshapen groans.

“He certainly seems to like it,” Bunny observes.

“Mmhmmm,” Beth moans in response.

“And you seem to be enjoying yourself too, yeah?”

“Fuck,” Beth says. “Come over here. Feel my pussy.”

Bunny quickly scuttles behind Beth, sliding a hand up her thigh and under her skirt. And while Trent can’t see what’s happening within that skirt, he can guess. Not only that, but he can estimate the speed and motion of Bunny’s fingers simply based on the breathing and pattern of moans that Beth emits. Which, of course, only fuels his own pleasure.

With a series of messy and slobbery sounds from behind his pacifier, he climaxes into Beth’s hand, dribbling down her fingers and into his nest of pubic hair.

Beth doesn’t seem fazed, nor interested, in his accomplishment. She lazily releases his cock to focus on whatever magic Bunny is performing. Trent can only watch, though mostly relieved of the hormones he wished had for this scene, until Beth hits that point herself–shrieking and yelping with joy.

“That’s that,” Bunny says, slowly withdrawing her hand. “Everybody happy now?”

Beth takes a deep breath, struggling to compose herself as she runs a hand through her hair. “Ah shit. I forgot what we were doing for a minute there.”

“The baby,” Bunny says.

“Want me to get a wipe?” Beth asks. “I can clean up his little sticky mess.”

“Nah,” Bunny says. “He’s just going to make a big mess out of the diaper again soon anyways.”

And he’s thinking: I am?

“But I will take the baby powder,” Bunny adds. “And is the enema bag filled?”

“Not yet,” Beth says. “But I can do that right now.”

“You’re the best,” Bunny says, blowing a playful kiss to her.

She looks down at Trent. She’s studying him–seemingly analyzing him and taking in his essence. Her gaze makes him nervous. What does she see, and what assumptions can she draw from that? And how wrong–or right–would they be?

Likewise, he’s looking up at her. Up at that plastic mask. Behind it, he sees her bright blue eyes–it’s the only thing he knows about her.

“Oh, baby,” she coos down at him. “We’re just getting started.