Escape From Silly Times Daycare - PROLOGUE (Patreon)

Sunlight peeked in through the cracks in the blinds as the alarm on Michael's iPhone started to chirp. Michael struggled to crack open his eyes as he threw his large, weighted comforter from off of his body. He slumped his hand over and hit the phone to stop the incessant noise. His phone showed the same time it always did: 6:30 a.m. This was the start to Michael's day... every day.

Michael turned his eyes over to the other end of the bed to his wife, Phoebe, who was thankfully still sound asleep. Phoebe didn't work and Michael's habit of making noise early in the morning (i.e. getting ready for work) made it so he had to endure an earful from his cranky wife in addition to his early routine. So, as he slipped out from under the sheets, he made sure to do so without making a peep.

He quietly made his way over to his walk-in closet and slowly slid the door open. Rows of repeating articles of clothing were on either side - one shelf of khakis, one closet rod of grey suits. The only articles which offered a more colorful variety were Michael's button down shirts, which alternated between white or blue, and an assortment of ties to match with his outfit. The most standout tie was one covered in a pattern of dollar bills, which Phoebe had gifted him ironically enough with his own money to celebrate his first day at his new job three years ago. It was a novelty tie; obviously, he couldn't wear it to work but that didn't stop Phoebe from ranting at him that he didn't appreciate her gifts.

First, Michael stripped out of his sleeping outfit, including his dirty boxers, partially stained with the remnants of an especially exciting dream he had had last night. He chucked them into an ever-growing pile of his dirty underwear that was mounting in the laundry basket. These dreams were hazardous to the load of laundry, but they were pretty consistent since Phoebe had expressed her disinterest in having sex regularly.

Michael groggily changed into his typical outfit - white button down shirt with the top collar buttoned with a grey suit and a striped tie. After changing, he slid the closet door behind him, wincing in fear as Phoebe stirred at the sound of the door squeaking. With the door completely shut, he sighed a quiet sigh of relief, happy that he hadn't woken his wife up at the last possible moment.

Safely in the kitchen, Michael's breathing returned to an audible norm now that he was blissfully alone for the only time of his entire day. For thirty minutes, he was able to sip his coffee, eat his toast, and work on a few clues from Sunday's crossword without anyone interjecting and telling him what to do. Once the thirty minutes were up, he had to begin his drive to the office, which added to his alone time but was not nearly as relaxing as his morning coffee due to the overwhelming amount of traffic. It was a long commute into the city, which is why his alarm was set so early in the morning. He dreaded it; nonetheless, he grabbed his keys and braced for the flood of cars.

As the chorus of horns on the interstate surrounded him, Michael gripped his steering wheel and took a long, deep breath. Car horns were always the background noise to his yacht rock radio station, but Michael hadn't been able to come to terms with their daily occurrence; in fact, they only became more irritating with every commute. Michael turned up the current song, trying to drown out the roar of never-moving traffic.

"Arthur, he does as he pleases
All of his life, his master's toys
Deep in his heart, he's just, he's just a boy
Living his life one day at a time
And showing himself a pretty good time
Laughing about the way they want him to be"

The verse echoed in Michael's head until he was jolted back to reality by a shout, "Mike!"

Michael was sat at his cubicle in the office with his computer monitor turned on and his email opened to several unread messages. He must've gotten lost in his routine, mindlessly parking his car, making his way up the elevator, and setting up his work area as if he were on autopilot. As if he were a zombie.

The shout came from his coworker Jim, who was sat partially on the edge of Michael's desk but with both feet on the ground. He held up a folder of forms. Michael hated Jim for always showing him up at work and brownnosing the boss. Jim had the charisma that Michael lacked but made up for in actual work.

"Morning Jim," Michael managed. "How's your day so far?"

"Not bad, not bad," Jim responded. "Just had a meeting with Mr. Boss Man. Seems like they're going to announce who's getting the big assistant manager promotion later today."

Michael had his eyes set on that promotion since the former assistant manager left the position. He was a shoo-in, after all. He had the most sales of any of the agents, was always on time, and even stayed late most days. He didn't want to seem too excited in front of Jim since that was the sort of thing that would earn him some ribbing from his coworker, so he played it cool.

"Oh yeah?" Michael inquired, continuing the conversation. "You have any idea of who's going to get it?"

Jim looked around the office, raising his eyebrows as a sly grin grew on his face. "Well... it's me!" he announced. "That's why I just had that meeting. Oh gosh, I'm supposed to keep quiet about it, but I just can't keep my big mouth shut!"

Michael's heart sank. Of course Jim had schmoozed his way into the big promotion. Why would Michael even bother getting his hopes up? Jim must've noticed Michael's reaction because he immediately took the opportunity to dig the knife in deeper.

"Hey, keep your head up," he feignedly encouraged. "There'll be other promotions. Now that I'm your supervisor, I can always put in a good word." Michael had to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes and groaning. "Speaking of being your supervisor," Jim continued. "I have some sheets I need filled out before EOD that I won't be able to get to because I have a lunch thing with a client. If I send you a link with those sheets, would you be able to handle those for me?"

"Actually, I..." Michael began to protest.

"Perfect!" Jim celebrated. "That'll be such a big help! You are such a team player!" He then opened his manila folder and placed one of the forms in front of Michael. "Also, before I go, could you sign and date at the bottom there?"

Michael began to look over the form. "It's just performance review stuff," Jim clarified. "All very standard."

That was enough for Michael to sign - if it would get Jim to leave him alone faster.

Jim took the form back and thanked Michael before leaving him to get to those Google sheets that needed to be completed. Michael opened Jim's link to a folder with a dozen sheets, each with hundreds of rows that needed to be math-checked and approved. He groaned, mentally rescheduling all the tasks he had planned to work on today. These sheets would take him all day.

And so they did. As Michael diligently did the math for each row and verified the result, he felt his mind wander to the reoccurring dream he had been having. The dreams never involved his wife, which Michael would sometimes feel guilty about. Last night, the subject of Michael's fantasies was Zendaya. She had busted down the door in a pair of sexy lingerie and crawled towards the foot of the bed, ravenous for his cock. She jumped on top of him before whispering sensually, "I want to feel it throbbing inside me."

Michael came back to reality, realizing that he'd have to redo the math of the last few rows as he hadn't even been consciously paying attention to the results. He looked around anxiously, worried that someone may have noticed the slight bulge in his dress pants. It was hard for Michael to focus on the task at hand, not only because of his sexual frustration, but also because it was so goddamn boring! And as Michael would get distracted, it would only take longer and longer.

A coworker stopped by at five o'clock to tell Michael about the happy hour happening in the lounge area to celebrate Jim's promotion, but Michael still had two sheets left to do. Regardless, he would rather jump out his office's sixth floor window than "cheers" to the tool who assigned him the extra busywork anyway.

At 8:00 p.m., Michael finally finished the last row and forwarded them back to Jim before shutting down his computer.

The drive back home wasn't as painful as the one that morning, mostly because the interstate was clear of rush hour traffic at this late hour. Still, the impatience to get home after a long day frustrated Michael. It was 9:06 when Michael made it inside his front door, which gave him an hour and twenty-four minutes to eat dinner, shower, and brush his teeth before going to bed.

Phoebe was in the kitchen as Michael walked in to reheat some leftovers. She wore a black see-through lace robe, which caused the immediate return of Michael's bulge. She had rollers all through her dark hair and she snacked on some potato chips with one hand as she swiped on her iPad with the other. She didn't bother saying "hello" to Michael before rushing towards him with the iPad.

"Babe!" she exclaimed in her dash, "Look at this bag! Don't you think it would look so great with my new heels?"

Michael glanced at the Prada website only briefly, not really looking but just out of a sense of obligation. "Yeah, definitely," he half-heartedly agreed before making his way to the fridge.

"I'm so glad you think so, baby!" Phoebe cheered. "Because I ordered it earlier!"

"Didn't you get a Prada bag like three weeks ago?" Michael asked as he pulled a cold dish of ziti out of the fridge.

"I know!" Phoebe said. "Now, I'll have options!"

Michael popped the ziti in the microwave before turning back to Phoebe. "Ok, honey, just..." he stammered. "We may need to be a bit careful with spending going forward. I... I didn't get the promotion."

"Oh, honey," Phoebe said with melancholy. "I heard. I'm so sorry."

"You did?" Michael questioned.

"Um... yeah," Phoebe responded. "Your... your boss called."

Michael sighed as the microwave beeped. He dejectedly opened the microwave door and grabbed the now hot bowl of ziti, throwing it on the kitchen counter as his fingers quickly felt the burn.

"Come tomorrow, that silly promotion isn't even going to matter," Phoebe declared as she grabbed her bag of potato chips and started to head upstairs. She paused though and turned back towards Michael, "Oh, before you take a shower, can you take the trash out? It's full. Thanks, baby!" She made some kissy noises and made her way upstairs.

Once Michael finished his dinner and took the trash out to the end of the driveway, he took a shower before joining Phoebe in the bed where she was reading Gone Girl next to the reading lamp stationed on her bedside table. Michael, horny from earlier, started to cuddle up to his wife and kiss her on the cheek. Despite his obvious hints, Phoebe would just smile and giggle shortly with her eyes glued to her novel. Michael figured his best chance would be to just ask, preparing himself for the usual rejection.

"Oh, baby," Phoebe pitied. "I'm in the middle of my book."

"It'll be quick," Michael bargained, knowing that was typically a bad thing.

"Fine," Phoebe agreed, much to Michael's surprise. She lifted her robe to unveil her pussy, dry as a desert. Michael, on the other hand, was ready to go and his precum acted as an instantaneous lube. He climbed on top of his wife and inserted himself; his tiny penis didn't cause any discomfort for his wife as he did so. As he thrust, Phoebe held her book behind his head, continuing to read as Michael did his best to pleasure her. She read about a paragraph before the sex ended with Michael whimpering and keeling over to his side of the bed. Michael gasped for air in pure ecstasy while Phoebe turned to the next page in her book. "That was nice, dear," Phoebe said simply, obviously not believing her own words.

It was 10:39 at that point and Michael closed his eyes as Phoebe continued her book. As Michael started to fall asleep, he thought ahead to the day that awaited him. It would be another average day where he would be used and emotionally neglected by his wife Phoebe, teased and condescended to by his coworker Jim, and rendered involuntarily celibate much to his sexual frustration; all the while feeling trapped in this never ending, soul-crushing cycle that made him feel worthless.

Michael was right about the details of tomorrow, but his overall conclusion was not correct - tomorrow would be anything other than an average day.

Waking up to his alarm at 6:30 a.m. was much the same as was his regimen of throwing his messy boxers in the laundry, getting dressed in a replica of yesterday's suit, and making his way downstairs to the coffee machine without waking Phoebe up.

However, as he sipped his coffee and worked on his crossword, he noticed Phoebe coming down the stairs in the same lace robe from last night. He set his coffee down and immediately began pleading, "I'm sorry, babe. I didn't mean to wake you up! I'll try and be quieter next time!"

"You didn't wake me up," Phoebe said morosely. "I came to say goodbye."

"Goodbye?" Michael questioned. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Michael turned to it as if something alien was on the other side; no one ever knocked this early in the morning. He looked to Phoebe for some type of validation, but she stared at the floor. After a moment, he walked over to the front door and opened it. Two large uniformed men pushed past Michael and entered the house.

"Hey!" Michael called after them, following closely behind. "Hey! You can't just barge in here! What's the big idea?!"

He made his way back to the kitchen where the two men were stood next to Phoebe. "I assume this is him?" one of the guys said, pointing at Michael. Phoebe silently nodded and the man turned to address Michael for the first time.

"You've been enrolled in a special program for reeducation," the man explained coldly. "Your program begins immediately and we are here to escort you away as soon as possible. You are required to leave all personal belongings behind or they will be confiscated from you at your arrival. If you resist, we are authorized to detain you through force. If you don't have any questions at this time, then we ask you to turn around and leave with us peacefully."

Michael's mouth hung agape. For seconds - what felt like minutes in his head - he was speechless. "Any questions?!" he finally responded. "Any questions? Yeah, I have a few questions. Phoebe, what are they talking about?"

Phoebe looked up at Michael with some shame. Her voice cracked a little as she spoke, "I love you, Michael. I really, really do, but... you're not the kind of husband I need. I need someone who can provide for me. Someone who bets on himself and wins every time. I need a real, supportive man."

"I provide for you!" Michael shouted back.

"You can't provide everything I need!" Phoebe claimed.

Michael scoffed. "All of this is because I didn't get the promotion, isn't it?"

"It's not just that!" Phoebe answered. "Our sex is terrible. I barely feel your prick inside me and it only takes ten seconds of me lying there like a starfish for you to..."

"Ok! Ok! I get it!" Michael interrupted, suddenly embarrassed that this intimate conversation was taking place in front of two strange men. "So what? You think you can just send me away to this 'reeducation' program and they're gonna teach me how to be a big, strong man for you?"

"No, that's not what they're going to teach you," Phoebe clarified. Michael was puzzled. It felt like every minute detail Phoebe dropped into the conversation changed Michael's understanding of the problem entirely. Why was Phoebe complaining about his inability to provide and please her if she wasn't going to send him away to a program that fixed those issues? She continued, "When you come back, things will be completely different. But, we can be together forever. And happy! It's for the best."

"You can't make me go," Michael said, standing his ground. "You can't take me against my will. That's illegal!"

"We have all the proper paperwork," one of the men said, pulling a piece of paper out of his uniform's inside pocket. Michael's eyes widened as the man unfolded the form to display to him. Michael's signature and yesterday's date were at the bottom, clear as day. It was his performance review forms - except it wasn't. He had agreed to something else entirely without his knowledge.

Michael turned to Phoebe with a look of absolute betrayal in his eyes. Phoebe looked away again, unable to make eye contact with him. "Jim?" was all Michael could utter in absolute disbelief at Phoebe's disloyalty.

"Alright, time to go," the other man said, grabbing Michael by the wrist. The other man held Michael by his other wrist and Michael complied as they lead him towards the front door.

An unfamiliar van was parked outside Michael's house. Michael was lead to the back of the van and instructed to climb inside. The van doors were shut, sealing Michael away from his mundane, everyday life.

Michael took one last look through the van windows as the van pulled away from his home, unaware of the experience that was waiting from him at his ultimate destination.