3 members like this


Views: 3208 Created: 2013.07.08 Updated: 2013.07.08

A Master Plan

A Master Plan

Hey everyone. I'm new to the site. I enjoy writing and just finished this one up. There will probably be more to come. I hope you enjoy it! Feel free to leave suggestions if you have any.

I had spent a lot of time around the band. I went to their shows and parties. I knocked back more than a few shots. Tonight, there was a bonfire in the middle of winter in the middle of the woods. The bassist had recognized me from a few of their parties and invited me to a more private affair. It was the whole band and a few other girls. Truth be told, I only went because I wanted to get close to the guitarist. I hope that doesn’t make me a groupie. The guitarist, James, is the strong silent type. His shaggy, wavy brown hair falls in tufts over his big, sensitive eyes. He’s a good few inches taller than me, which isn’t typical of most men. He was almost always smoking a cigarette, which looked oddly attractive to me. He didn’t usually say much at the parties, but that was okay because his bandmates were loud enough for everyone. I guess he had picked up on the fact that I’d been spending much of the last few parties staring at him because he started to return those stares. They weren’t disgusted, but they weren’t suggestive. They just seemed really pensive, as though he was sizing me up.

I sat next to him at the bonfire and listened while his bandmates discussed the hockey game. I zoned out, and James didn’t look especially interested either. As I occupied myself by counting the sparks that shot up from the roaring fire, I felt something in my hand. My heart skipped a beat and I quickly exited my stupor. I looked down to see a note. I opened it up.

Meet me at Cabin 8 after the fire.

-J

I looked back at James, but he didn't look at me. I didn't want to call attention to him or to myself because I was actively trying not to look like a groupie. I just thought I would figure it out on my own.

After what seemed like an eternity of sports monologues, the band parted ways and went back to their respective cabins. Some of the guys were rooming together, but in a totally manly macho fashion. A couple other guys brought their girls of choice. The accordion player got the prettiest one, which is just beyond me. As everyone was milling around, I lost James. I mumbled a few “good nights” and then searched for Cabin 8.

Well, I suck at searching. I got lost almost instantly. It all seems like a blur. I approached one cabin. No, that was Cabin 2, and I could hear the bassist and at least one other girl in there. I walked down the long path, but there weren’t any other cabins on it. It just led to the main path. I walked a few of the other paths that were just like that. I found Cabins 7 and 9, but no 8.

I can’t remember how much time passed, but I was starting to get anxious. The holes in my cheap boots were worse than I thought, and my socks were soaked and freezing. My light pleather fall jacket was not holding up to the Adirondack winter. I was famished and had a pretty bad migraine. I could feel myself slowly getting weaker and weaker. It didn’t help that I had to devote my energy to investigating every little sound I heard. If I heard sticks breaking, I would turn around, terrified. If I heard something rustle in the bushes, I would do the same thing. I tried to calm myself down, but the tears started coming. Where the fuck is Cabin 8? Does James think I blew him off? What if I freeze to death out here?

I walked around a little while longer, still weak and still crying. I heard sticks breaking behind me, and when I pivoted around, I lost my footing and crashed to the icy ground. I hit my head pretty good, too. I still heard the sticks breaking, and the sound was getting closer. “Damn it, kid!” I knew that was James. That voice was deep, a little raspy from all the smoking, and at that moment, very angry. “Are you hurt?” I felt okay, albeit cold and sore, so I shook my head. He brushed back my hair to see where I hit my head. He studied that spot for a few seconds and then told me to get up. I already felt wobbly and weak, but I was determined not to make myself look like more of a fool. I slowly and gingerly got up, and it hurt like hell. I felt like I scraped my hip on a rock or a tree when I fell. My ankle was definitely twisted. I limped alongside him, trying to downplay my injuries. He must have picked up on that because he put my arm around his neck and half carried me back to the mythical Cabin 8.

I was still crying a little bit. I wasn’t in that much pain, but I was so embarrassed. I apologized for getting lost. “There are signs and arrows everywhere, kid. How could you not see that?” He pointed to a big sign that had a really obvious arrow and a really big CABIN 8. I must have walked right by that one, and I felt like a total idiot.

“I guess I should have just taken you with me. I didn’t want to make a big deal about this in front of the band, so I figured we would meet up later.”

“A big deal about what?” I asked as I wiped away my rather pathetic tears.

“I just didn’t want them to see me bring a girl back and then make a big deal about it the next day. They’re guys, that’s just what they do. I don’t like the attention.” I nodded in agreement even though I didn’t really understand. How could the lead guitarist of a famous band not like attention?

We eventually reached Cabin 8. It was beautiful. I couldn’t see much of the details because it was about 2am, but I could see that it was spacious and there were at least two fireplaces. I love fireplaces. However, my excitement was cut short when I saw the big staircase that awaited me and my twisted ankle. I started to limp toward it, still clinging to James, but determined to look like less of a fool. I put my foot out to climb the first step, and then I heard, “Are you kidding? Not with that ankle.”

Damn. I guess my injury was really obvious. He picked me up with relative ease. “Hold on tight, kid,” he whispered. I was too busy sliming my panties to realize that I was being carried up a steep and icy staircase when I was already injured. In any other situation, I would have been terrified. Instead, I just clung to him as instructed. I buried my head in the nape of his neck and took a big deep breath to smell that cigarette smoke I had somehow grown to love. James reached the top of the stairs and opened the front door without setting me down.

He carried me all the way to the bedroom and gently set me down on his bed. He took of my boots, one of which revealed my swollen ankle. “I wish I could have carried you the whole way, but I can barely walk on that terrain while sober in the middle of summer. Carrying you when it’s icy and I’m buzzed would’ve been interesting. But don’t worry, it looks like it’s just twisted.” As he said that, he tightly bandaged my foot back to where it was supposed to be.

When my ankle was taken care of, he started removing my clothes. I began to protest. I didn’t want sex. I was too humiliated and too exhausted. “I’m not putting you to bed in cold wet clothes, kid,” he said as he removed my jacket and sweater. I was lying there in jeans and a t-shirt, shivering and crying. I felt like I was his kid or something. After all, that’s what he kept calling me. He came and rescued me when I did something incredibly stupid. He carried me back to his cabin. He took care of my injuries. And now he was dressing me for bed. I continued to cry, and he continued to remove my clothes in a no-nonsense manner. He didn’t seem to have any strong emotions. Removing my clothes was quick, gentle, and methodical. When I was completely naked, he studied me for a moment. He paid special attention to my breasts and hips. Okay, he’s still a straight man. I might not have done irreparable damage.

He apologized for not having any panties to give me. “I would be a bit concerned if you did,” I said, jokingly. He cracked a tiny smile as he slid his fleece pajama bottoms up my legs. They felt so warm and soft and six sizes too big. He slipped a t-shirt of a band I’d never heard of over my head, and then zipped me into a big fluffy hoodie. He gave me a hug and a quick squeeze on the back of my head when he was done dressing me. I hugged him back as hard as I could, and I tried to conceal the goofy smile on my face. He didn’t hate me.

He left the room for a little while. I tried to stay awake, but I must have dozed off. I felt him shaking me awake. I opened my eyes and saw some delicious food. He made me a grilled cheese, alphabet soup, and hot chocolate. He insisted that I eat all of it, and I happily obliged. After I slurped down the last of the hot chocolate, he handed me a glass of warm milk and told me to chug it. I really didn’t want to. I hated warm milk. “You were out running around for quite a while. You’re dehydrated. Just drink, kid.” I drank the milk as quickly as I could. When I was done, he pulled a quilt over me and got into bed with me. I was too exhausted to do anything but lay there. He held me close and I again buried my head in him so I could smell that sweet, stale smoke. I fell asleep in absolute bliss.

I woke up in absolute terror. James was yelling. I was cold and damp—oh shit. Oh shit. I WET THE GODDAMN BED! I don’t know how that could have happened. I hadn’t done that since I was 5. I cried and apologized. Never before had I felt so pathetic. He had to come rescue me last night, dress me for bed, feed me, and now tend to a very wet bed. I couldn’t hear what he was yelling because I was crying too hard. He came by my side of the bed and yanked me to an upright position. He aggressively gripped both sides of my head and pulled my hair slightly. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he asked between clenched teeth as he angrily stared into my crying eyes. I couldn’t respond.

Before I knew it, he had yanked me out of bed and torn off my very wet pants. He slung me over his knee and gave me the first bare-bottomed spanking of my life.

I screamed. “Please James! Please! Stop! I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I don’t even know how it happened now. James!” That’s what I wanted to say, but I’m not sure how it sounded between sobs. He had me firmly pinned on his lap with one heavily tattooed arm while the other one let loose on my bare ass. I don’t know how long the spanking lasted, but it felt like an eternity. When it was all over, my ass felt like it was on fire. I was sobbing uncontrollably. Any dignity I tried to maintain last night was long gone. He lifted me off his lap, carried me over to a closet, and set me down in front of a bunch of bars and cuffs. He lifted each of my arms and securely fastened each wrist with a leather strap. He then connected those straps directly to one of the bars so I was unable to move. I was on my knees, still wet and cold, and having just received the most vicious punishment of my life. I was shaking and sobbing while James stormed off.

I heard him moving around outside the closet. He was moving boxes and grunting and swearing under his breath. I fought my restraints and cried and begged him to untie me, but to no avail. He just told me to stop whining “like a little bitch.” He came back a few minutes later, considerably calmer than he was when he savagely spanked me. He grabbed the back of my head and gave it a little squeeze like he did when he dressed me last night. He stroked my hair gently with one hand and removed my restraints with the other.

He sat me before him and looked deep into my eyes. “Sweetheart, I’m sure you didn’t mean to do that. But that doesn’t change the fact that you ruined my clothes, bedding, and mattress. I’m surprised you didn’t flood the whole cabin. You’ve made it more than obvious that you can’t be trusted on your own, and I don’t mean just about the bed. I had to take care of you last night, too. I am placing you under my care indefinitely.” I didn’t know what that meant. He didn’t show much in the way of emotion, even when he called me “sweetheart.” He gave me a long, tight hug. “You won’t have to worry about anything for a long time, little girl.”

Ignoring the look of concern and confusion I surely had on my face, James carried me down the hallway and laid me down on a bed in a different bedroom. He restrained my arms and legs again and told me to relax. Despite his reassurance, I was still trembling. He returned with thick cloth diapers, plastic panties, pins, powder, and cream. I started crying and protesting.

“Please, James. Please don’t make me wear these. I promise it won’t happen again,” I pleaded. He ignored my begging and stuffed a pink pacifier in my mouth. He tied it around my head and fastened it with a silky pink ribbon. “Shush,” he teased. He undid the restraints around my ankles and was extra gentle with my injured one. He lifted my legs high over my head and began to rub my raw, spanked bottom with a thick white cream. “You have a very raw bottom, little girl. I’ll take good care of you so that you don’t get a rash.” He rubbed the cream deep into my skin with the dexterity possessed only by guitarists.

When he was done, he set my bottom on top of the thick cloth diapers. He pulled them up between my legs and pinned them on with suspicious skill. Then he shook out the plastic panties and stretched them over my diapers. It took a lot of wrestling to fit them over the thick mass of cloth, but he finally fit them on and tucked in the protruding bits. The panties were just awful. They were white with little pink hearts and there were rows of lace on the butt. I felt so humiliated.

I must have made my discomfort obvious. I was squirming and trembling and crying and fighting my restraints. He knelt down next to me and caressed my cheek with his inked hand. “You’ll get used to these, sweetheart. You’ve made it evident how badly you need them. You can wear panties when I think you’re ready for them.” There was no way he could do this to me. I began to protest through my pacifier.

“What is it, sweetheart?” He kept calling me that. I wasn’t sure if I preferred that to “kid.”

“You can’t keep me here like this. Your band will wonder about me.” He laughed at that.

“They’ll wonder about shit. We didn’t leave the bonfire together. That was the whole point of meeting separately. We didn’t even talk at the parties before the bonfire. Even if they ask about you, there’s nothing that ties you to me.”

“My family will wonder about me, and so will my boss.”

“Remember that job in Ecuador that you told your family and coworkers about? You said you were thinking of taking it and, this is a direct quote, ‘leaving this shithole behind.’ I pulled a few strings, made a few calls, and now your family and those at your work are convinced that you moved to another hemisphere.”

Goddamn it. He’s right. I don’t know how he knew that, but he’s right. I had told a lot of people about that interpreter gig in Ecuador.

“You planned this whole thing, you son of a bitch!” I yelled.

“Sure did,” he said, cracking an actual smile. “I made sure that no one saw us together. I made sure that no one would ask about you if you were missing. And I made damn sure that you pissed the bed. There were diuretics in your soup and hot chocolate. The warm milk was just an added bonus. Oh, and if you felt bad about ruining my mattress, you didn’t. There was a vinyl liner under the sheet.”

“So you made me piss myself, spanked me because you felt like it, and you’re keeping me in diapers not because I ‘need them’ but because you want me in them? What kind of a sick joke is this?”

“I’m not joking about anything, sweetheart. I want a helpless bitch to take care of. I want you to be dependent on me for everything. You will need me to clothe you, bathe you, feed you, and change you, everything. You’ve already started your regression a little bit, but I’m going to start it officially right now.”

Calling it “my regression” made it sound like he really did have an elaborate plan for this whole thing. I was left to ponder what he meant. I fought my cuffs and was able to sit up a little bit to see his strong bare tattooed back leave the room. I tried to calm myself by breathing deeply, but I was too scared and way too angry. I fought my cuffs further and thrashed around, though this was hindered by the thick mass of cloth between my legs.

James came back after a minute or two of this, set down a tray by the door, and rushed to my side. He put a hand around my neck and squeezed gently. It didn’t seem like he was trying to choke me, but I was still scared. “Settle down, sweetheart,” he said as he squeezed my neck with one hand and stroked my forehead with the other. I didn’t want to relax, but it seemed like he was making me. After I had stopped thrashing (whether it was because of James or exhaustion remains to be seen), he tightened the chains on my cuffs and refastened the ones around my ankles, again, paying extra attention to my injured one. “I don’t want you doing anything like that again. You could have hurt yourself.” At this point, my chains were tight enough to prevent all but the slightest movement. They didn’t hurt, and they didn’t stretch or contort me at all, but they were just really tight.

After he decided I was properly restrained, he returned to the door and picked up the tray he had set down. He came to my bedside with another grilled cheese, some mixed vegetables, and a big glass of water. He tore off little pieces of the sandwich and fed them to me. He did the same with spoonfuls of vegetables. When I finished those, he tipped the glass slightly and I sipped gently on the cool, refreshing water. When I was about halfway done with it, he took it away and set it on the nightstand. He picked up a few pills off the tray and told me to open my mouth. I hesitated.

“We can do this the easy way. Or I can tighten those chains even more, or maybe give you another spanking. Open. Your. Fucking. Mouth.” I started to tear up at his harsh words, but he ignored me as he placed the several different pills on my tongue. He held the glass of water back up to my mouth, and I washed down what he gave me. “Good girl,” he muttered. I continued to sip the rest of the water. When I was done, I asked a question I knew he had been expecting.

“What did you give me, James?”

“Laxatives. You’re going to make a messy diaper for me. And a sleeping pill. I know you’re still scared. You’re ghostly pale and you can’t stop shaking or crying. It’s heartbreaking, really. You need to rest, and I didn’t think you’d be able to sleep on your own. Plus the whole regression thing is easier for me if you’re drowsy and suggestible.”

“You son of a bitch! I am not shitting myself, James!” I yelled indignantly. I began fighting my restraints again with what little energy I had left. It was twice as hard as last time. I was tired and the chains were tighter.

“I’ll be the one to decide that, sweetheart. You are going to be messy when you wake up from your long drug-induced nap. And I look forward to the part where you beg me to change your diaper,” he said with the most real smile I’d ever seen him make. “And I don’t think it’s appropriate for little bitches to call their superiors by their first names. You will call me Master. Sometimes you’ll call me Daddy, but not right this second. I like the sound of ‘Master’ for now.”

All I could do was cry. I wanted to protest the expectation of referring to this conniving son of a bitch as “Master.” I didn’t want to wear thick cloth diapers that forced my legs wide apart. I certainly didn’t want to use those thick cloth diapers that forced my legs wide apart. In my frustration and humiliation, I continued to cry, but a lot harder than before. I gasped for breath between powerful sobs.

James undid the chains on my wrists and sat me up. He rubbed my back and told me to take deep breaths. “Relax, sweetheart,” he said with his deep raspy voice. “Relax, relax. I think you need a good nap.” He positioned himself in front of me and hugged me. I buried my head in his chest and smelled that sweet, stale smoke. He continued to rub my back and do what he could to relax me. I hated this bastard. I wanted to kill him for what he had done to me and what he was about to do to me. I knew how much I hated him and it was exhausting. I continued to cry, though it was with significantly less energy than before. I felt the sleeping pill and his other efforts start to take effect. I started to go limp in his strong arms. After a few moments, he laid me back down and refastened the chains around my wrists.

“Just a precaution, sweetheart. Try to rest. You’re going to have a nasty diaper for me when you wake up.” It occurred to me to protest, but my body would not move. I closed my eyes and felt James pulling a warm blanket over me. I didn’t know what to make of my situation. At that point, I was too tired to care. Despite my best efforts, and despite the knowledge of what was surely going to happen to my diaper in a few minutes, I drifted off to sleep. That son of a bitch.

Comments

P M 77 1 year ago  
paulh 5 years ago  
and4420 10 years ago  
n/a 11 years ago  
amanda 11 years ago  
lupa 11 years ago  
robhok 11 years ago  
babyboy20 11 years ago  
n/a 11 years ago