Long Run To Captivity

Long Run to captivity

The running had done me no good. I was going to be caught by the two women who were chasing me. It was only a matter of how much longer it would be.

It all started with me finding the satchel with money in it lying in the stable. Apparently one of the women currently in hot pursuit of me needed to pay cash for a horse she was acquiring, and thinking I was alone, I had reached into the satchel and taken one of the wrapped stacks of bills.

A female cry sent me running, and a glance over my shoulder as I ran across an open field told me I had two female pursuers. The field was very wide and long and open, nowhere to hide, and I was running out of steam. The ladies were about half my age and in much better shape.

I stopped suddenly, and the two of them slowed to a walk, moving toward me angrily, rope at the ready.

"Let's be reasonable," I said. "How about I just give you the money?"

"Around here we don't take kindly to thieves," the woman closest to me answered. "Just surrender and we'll rope you up and decide what to do next."

I was beat. I couldn't run or resist. I fell to my knees and put my hands on my head, and the women closed around me and pulled my hands behind my back. One tied my wrists while the other wrapped her rope around my torso, pinning my arms against my sides while my wrists were tied behind my back. I was helpless.

"It's a long walk back," the woman in front of me said. "And we're going to make this as embarrassing for you as possible. I have half a mind to drape you over my horse when we get back, ride you through town all trussed up and hand you over right in the street to the first female officer I find."

I blushed in shame as the ropes were drawn tight around me. I had run for nothing, only prolonging my brief freedom, and now the two women had captured me, and now that I was tied up, they could do literally whatever they wanted to me.

Source: Image by Microsoft Bing AI Image Generator. Text is mine.

All Part of the Plan, Ch. 3

This caption is the third of a four-part series I'm writing with @boysrbabies! Catch up on Part One and Part Two first!

“Where do you think you’re waddling off to, mister?”

She caught me red-handed and she knew it.

“I….I…I…”

Why do I feel like some misbehaving toddler?

“You…what, baby?”

I race to think of an excuse. Any excuse. Anything but the truth.

My shorts are at my ankles before I utter a single syllable. Her hand grabs at my soggy diaper, squeezing it inquisitorially. She turns me around, peeking into the seat of my diaper.

This diaper check is no different than any other the last few weeks. She doesn’t ask to check my diaper—not since my first messy accident three weeks ago—she just does it, no matter what I’m doing. I doubt it’ll ever get any less humiliating.

What is different is the look in her eyes. Her sweet smile replaced by anger and accusation. She knows I tried to sneak off to change my diaper.

“Honey, what did I tell you about changing your own diapers? That’s my job. If I ever catch you sneaking off like this again, you’ll be very, very sorry. Do you understand me, sweetie?”

“I…yes…I’m sorry,” I mumble. It’s easier not to dwell on the endless baby names coming my way.

“Good boy,” she says before spanking my soggy diaper, firm enough to feel through my padding.

She wouldn’t actually spank me, would she?

As I waddle behind her to the changing table, silence only interrupted by the crinkling of my diaper, I can’t help but wonder how it ever got this far.

I used to be her boyfriend. Now? I hardly feel like an adult. She did just catch me trying to hide my dirty diaper like a toddler after all…

We haven’t had sex since she taped me in that first diaper. Sure, there used to be the soul-crushing handjobs on the changing table, but even those have become nonexistent.

“Baby, we need to talk. I’ve been thinking and, well, I don’t think it’s right for a diaper-dependent like you to have sex. My body is off limits to diaper boys, sweetie.”

“And it goes without saying you won’t be receiving any blowjobs, that would be…gross. Or handjobs. So from now on, your widdle guy will stay in safely wrapped in your diapee as long as I’m changing your diapers.”

Now all I can hope for is one-minute (if I’m lucky) “diapee rubbies,” the horribly condescending name she gave them. And only when I’ve been a “good boy” for a few days.

The longer I go without sex, or really intimacy of any kind—and despite what she says, diaper changes are not “intimate moments”—the more I slip into docile obedience. I feel fuzzy, lost, desperate to make her smile. I can’t explain it.

But…it’s more than that. The more control over my body I lose, the more control she gains over my life. The further I slip into diaper dependency, the more dependent I become on her—and she knows it.

It’s not like I could ever leave her. The cold, brutal truth is no woman would want to be with me. Not anymore. I’m not foolish enough to believe there’d be a second date after I load my diaper in the middle of a crowded wine bar.

I’ll do anything to keep her happy. Anything. Whatever it takes to keep her from leaving me.

Even if it means letting her treat me like a toddler to keep her happy. She won’t admit it, but she’s definitely encouraging and rewarding infantile behavior. I can tell she’s enjoying this.

Even it means surrendering my dignity, privacy, and independence. And enduring the never-ending, relentless humiliation that defines my new life.

I’m trapped. I know it. She knows it. I’ll eventually have to put my foot down and fight for my adulthood that’s slipping away piece by piece, diaper by diaper.

I’m a grown man, I don’t need my girlfriend to make sure my diaper isn’t leaking. I am perfectly capable of changing my own diapers.

“Hop up on the changing table, sweetums! Such a great job!”

But how can I stop this? What if I lose her?

“Wow, baby, you must love your diapers! You sure know how to keep a woman busy!”

What other choice do I have but to submit to this humiliating new life?

“Legs up, sweetums! Gotta get all the poopie you left for Mo—me!”

Did she almost say what I think she said?

“All fresh and clean! Doesn’t that feel so much better? No more ickies in your diapee!”

Ugh. It really does.

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dangerousangleofadream

2 months ago