Doug's next week, simply put, was hell. For five days he received an unforgettable series of spankings that left him sore for nearly two weeks afterward. And things didn't really get better after that. Mrs. Warren's chastity device, unfortunately, turned out to be everything she'd said it was, and more. Early and exhaustive experimentation early on proved it to be inescapable. The straps prevented the motion necessary to slip it off in any direction. He was definitely stuck in it for the duration.

The sheath itself wasn't really uncomfortable, as long as Doug's penis was flaccid. It fit well, and there was very little chaffing. But he soon grew to hate the straps that ran around each of his thighs and attached to the sheath. With every step, they tugged the sheath from side to side, gently massaging Doug's penis against the smooth gel of the sheath. In his deprived, excitable state (which only worsened, of course, as time went on), it led quickly and efficiently to the beginnings of an erection, which was just as quickly and efficiently terminated by what felt like a thousand needles digging into his penis. He had no idea how it worked, what was under the gel, or why it never seemed to draw blood. But it was undeniably present, and excruciatingly painful. It happened nearly every time he walked, and when the pain hit, he'd literally double over and have to fight a yelp of distress. After the better part of a minute, the venous congestion would disperse, and the pain would abate; he would straighten up and walk for another few steps until it happened again.

And so, yes, he began to hate and fear these mini-erections, despite his knowledge that it was not erections per se that were painful, that he was only being made to feel this way by Mrs. Warren. But what could he do? With every step he took, the association of sexual stimulation and intense pain was etched more and more clearly into his consciousness. And he indeed found himself swearing to himself that he'd never have another erection again, if only the pain would end. He made such oaths despite the fact that he knew he wouldn't be able to follow up on them later. He knew his resolve wasn't that strong, that he'd eventually have to give in to his desires and masturbate again.

But those straps hurt him.

In addition to the torment caused by the chastity device, he also had to deal with the ongoing humiliation of having to drink from a baby bottle, even at work. He was forced to bring a bottle from home, hide it under his desk, and surreptitiously suck on it when he was thirsty or at lunch. He constantly lived in fear of being discovered by coworkers, or worse, his boss, the lab's director. A week into this punishment, he was surprised to notice that the mug he kept at his desk had disappeared at some point. He didn't know who had taken it, or when it had been taken, but he had to assume that Mrs. Warren, or her informant, was responsible. He didn't say a word about it, of course; what could he say?

He had to use bottles at home as well, and since he found it impossible to drink anything quickly out of it, he usually ended up sucking on a bottle more or less constantly when he was at home just to satisfy his thirst. And since he had to wear one of his bibs whenever he ate or drank anything, Doug found himself wearing a bib, and drinking from his bottle, nearly the entire time he was at home.

These little humiliations added up. Doug never felt more degraded than when he finished a bottle, removed his bib, changed his wet or messy diaper, and put on his pink sleeper for bed. He practiced this sequence nightly, however, without cutting corners. He knew from experience what happened when he tried to break rules.

As Doug tried to deal with all of this, the last thing he thought of was his continence (or lack thereof), which was, of course, the whole point. In fact, in the midst of all these other hassles, he was beginning to forget to be upset about having to wear diapers. They were edging their way into his concept of what was "normal" for him these days; if he just had to wear his diapers, and didn't have to worry about all the other nonsense, he wouldn't have complained at all.

It was near the end of his third month in diapers that he woke up for the first time in a wet diaper. The first time, he wasn't really sure if he'd done it in his sleep or if he'd awakened and wet it semi-consciously, but as time went on and he woke up wet more and more often, he began to suspect the truth. It was sign of how much his perspective had changed that he didn't regard this development with alarm. But Doug was necessarily becoming very good at rationalization, and he reasoned that this was simply a temporary condition brought on by the constant usage of diapers during the daytime, and would surely resolve, along with everything else, as soon as he resumed his normal life in another couple of months. And for now, what was the harm? Like his other unconscious diaper-usage, it actually made things more convenient, since he didn't have to wake up to take care of things in the middle of the night. His diaper and stuffer were certainly thick enough to handle the overnight load, and so Doug decided that the end result would simply be a better night of sleep.

Three weeks into Doug's enforced chastity punishment, he decided to try to make a bargain with Mrs. Warren. After spending several days mustering the necessary courage, Doug asked her if she might agree to take the thigh straps off if he wore the rest of the device an extra two weeks. Mrs. Warren was delighted by this offer, seeing it as "progress" by Doug, and agreed immediately, since she didn't currently have another client who would be needing the device before Doug would be done with it. For Doug it was a victory of sorts. Since he was already swearing not to have an orgasm afterward, lengthening the punishment didn't deprive him of anything, and he rid himself of the most heinous part of the punishment. And he was kind of happy: for the first time since he could remember, he had exerted a little control over his strange life.

At the end of the two months, in February, the sheath came off completely, and Doug was happy to return to his "normal" life. He was disappointed when Mrs. Warren said he still had to use the bib and the bottles, but he wasn't going to argue. He forced himself to be grateful for what he could get; the bibs and bottles were starting to seem less horrible now, anyway. They certainly weren't worth fighting over.

By the time his punishment was over, Doug ended up feeling ready to try p to keep his promise not to masturbate. When he had first been locked into it, he had focused on more rebellion, and spent many hours trying to dream up new plans for clandestine masturbation. He had thought of something that would probably work; it revolved around masturbating out the back door of his apartment at night in the grass, a plan that would have seemed utterly bizarre and obscene to him several months earlier. But he was now in desperate straits, and he'd thought he wouldn't be able to wait until he got out to try it.

As time wore on, however, and he began, against his will, to resent his erections, he'd slowly decided to shift his post-punishment strategy to one of lying low. After all, he'd lasted two months without an orgasm; surely he should just wait two more and be done with this whole ordeal. The two remaining months would pass much faster if he were not being actively punished for something; he ought to be good, get out, and then recover his life. Abstinence seemed a small price to pay to expedite his freedom, even in the face of a diaper fetish, which, although less obvious these days, must still be hiding there underneath it all. It was indeed the ultimate sacrifice, but it was still worth it if it helped him bear his ICP better.

Doug realized that he was two-thirds of the way through his ICP, and he started thinking more and more about the future, specifically what would happen after this diaper torture was over. His interview for the graduate program had, as expected, gone well, and his boss, the lab director, had essentially assured him that the rest of the application process was a formality, and that for all intents and purposes he could plan on entering the program in August. Doug was, of course, overjoyed at this, for he'd structured this entire year around this very opportunity. It appeared that his work had paid off, and that despite the strange twist his life had briefly taken, his overall goals were still in sight, and if he could just live through the last two months of this thing, his dream life was waiting for him. He looked forward to having to decide between the equally enticing prospects of a high-salaried private sector position and a juicy teaching job at a top university somewhere. Either way, it looked like his future would be well-paved.