Punishment, part 1

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Miss decided on my punishment for orgasming without permission, and I’m in diapers for the next month. Or as she put it, “until you learn to control your little messes. We’ll start with a month and see how you do.”

So far, diapers are the punishment I've found that I hate the most. At least, the way Miss uses them. I would gladly take the most brutal caning or whipping any day compared to being diapered. If you think I'm exaggerating about how severe it is, well you must not have ever been punished that way.

Forget for a minute about how humiliating it is just to be seen wearing them. Miss knows this, so she requires that my dresses are short enough to keep them visible at all times and I'm not allowed to cover them up. And also forget the embarrassing crinkling noises that follow me around with every movement, from the plastic pants she locks on over them. All of those are just surface level humiliations, and they pale in comparison to the deep shame that hits me every day when I have to soil myself instead of being able to use a toilet like every other adult on the planet. That awful smell. The complete degradation and indignity of having to wait to be unlocked for a change. And the annoying fact that it takes half an hour of scrubbing in the shower to clean myself up during changes. 

Then there is the heat and the unrelenting itching beneath the plastic pants, that if I'm not very careful can quickly become a nasty rash. Made worse when Miss. decides to add a little itching powder for some extra misery. And when she takes me out in public it just gets worse. Knowing there is no way to hide the rustling sounds or bulging pants that give away what I'm wearing. I can feel everyone’s stares, hear the snickers and giggling, and I know exactly what the laughter is about.

It’s the one punishment that has consistently had me breaking down and refusing to submit to it anymore. In the past I've torn them off and said "To hell with this". And yet here I am, this time without the option of getting out. The next month is going to be truly awful.