Chapter 10: Thrones of Shame
Larissa’s grin didn’t fade as she said, "Strip down to your diapers, both of you." Shayna’s eyes widened, her earlier fury dissolving into pure dread as she glanced at the orange juice stain now crusting on her shirt.
Abby, with a defiant shrug, yanked her stained shirt over her head first. Shayna’s fingers trembled at her hem, the damp fabric resisting before she finally peeled it off, exposing the plain white diaper and the complex lock at her hips.
Larissa pulled a small key ring from her pocket, the metal jangling softly in the silent room. She approached Abby first, the click of the lock disengaging sounding unnaturally loud.
The belt fell away from Abby’s hips, clattering to the linoleum. She then unlocks Shayna, the mechanism giving way with a softer sigh of metal.
Larissa laughs as she notes that Shayna’s diaper is wet, the front sagging distinctly under her probing gaze. Shayna is embarrassed, a sharp heat flaring across her chest and throat as she stared rigidly at the floor.
"Which one of you pooped?" Larissa asked, her voice cutting through the thick silence. Both girls shook their heads, mumbling quiet denials.
Larissa hooked her thumbs into the backs of their diapers, peering down for a moment before releasing the elastic with a soft snap. Her eyes, now calm and assessing, drifted across the room to where Sarah sat watching, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her shirt.
"Sarah," Larissa asked, her tone deceptively soft, "did you have a bowel movement in your diaper?" Sarah nodded, her cheeks flaming as she mumbled, "Yeah, I got scared when everything happened."
Abby let out a sharp, mocking laugh that was instantly silenced by the twin daggers of Larissa's and Mackenzie's glares.
"Come with me, Sarah," Larissa said, her hand already guiding the girl toward the door. "Abby, corner now—facing the wall, arms folded behind your head—and Shayna," she added, pausing at the threshold, her voice low, "I'll be talking to you in my office later."
Abby threw Shayna a loaded glare before turning on her heel, stomping the three short steps to the nearest corner and slamming her hands behind her head. When Shayna stood frozen, awkwardly staring at her stained clothes on the floor, Mackenzie materialized beside her, a question unspoken on her face as she followed her out.
Mackenzie’s hand guided her firmly by the elbow into the sterile hallway. “She just—she poured juice all over me,” Shayna hissed, a frantic, unsteady whisper clawing its way out of her throat.
Mackenzie looked at her and told her that violence isn’t an answer. "The juice was an accident," she said, her voice low and steady, "your reaction was the choice."
Shayna opened her mouth, a dozen indignant defenses crowding her tongue, but Mackenzie shook her head, her gaze sliding past Shayna’s shoulder.
She’d been listening to Kara, who whispered that Larissa was coming back down the hall. A new, weightless terror replaced Shayna’s lingering anger, the juice stain on her skin feeling like a target.
Larissa walked past them without a glance, her steps purposeful on the linoleum as she entered the dining room and approached Abby, still standing rigid in the corner. “Let’s talk about what it means to be someone’s attack dog,” Larissa said, her voice carrying into the hall.
Abby turned from the corner, her arms lowering, and she said with a performative sigh, "Look, I'm sorry I grabbed her hair, okay?" Her smirk didn't fully disappear, lingering as a faint, defiant challenge in her eyes.
Larissa glares at her for a second and says she’ll be keeping a closer eye on her. She takes her for a diaper change before she gets her belt put back on.
After Larissa returned with Abby, now cleaned and re-secured, she fixed Shayna with a look and gestured toward the hallway. "My office, now," she said, and as Shayna turned to follow, Mackenzie caught her eye, offering a sly grin and a whispered, "Good luck."
The walk to Larissa’s office felt endless, Shayna’s heart thudding against the cold plastic of her belt. Larissa closed the heavy door behind them with a soft, final click and pointed to the worn leather chair facing her desk.
“Take a seat, Shayna,” she instructed, her voice devoid of all earlier anger, now just calm and expectant. Shayna lowered herself into the chair, the wet, exposed diaper squishing unpleasantly as she sat, its sodden weight spreading beneath her on the cool leather.
Larissa settled into her chair, her green eyes steady and unnervingly calm. “What you did was violent, Shayna, and violence will not be tolerated here by any means.”
Shayna opened her mouth, a hot retort about ruined clothes and clumsy idiots already forming, but the words died behind her teeth as she remembered Mackenzie’s disappointed face.
“Then I want you to go tell Sarah you’re sorry,” Larissa said, leaning back in her chair, “and after that, you’re going to stand in the corner for an hour.” She studied Shayna’s defeated posture, the way her fingers picked at the damp leg of her diaper.
A slow, thoughtful smile touched Larissa’s lips. “But for the rest of today, you’re not wearing any pants over that,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. She stood, retrieved the discarded chastity belt from her desk, and walked around to kneel before Shayna’s chair.
The cold metal clicked shut around Shayna’s hips, the lock sealing with a final, damning snick. “I want everyone to see that wet diaper,” Larissa murmured, her breath warm against Shayna’s thigh as she secured the last strap.
She then stood, her hand firm on Shayna's elbow as she guided her out of the office and down the long hallway toward Sarah and Megan’s room.
The worn oak door to Sarah and Megan’s room stood ajar, and Larissa gave it a gentle push, propelling Shayna inside with a nudge between her shoulder blades. “Alright,” Larissa said, her voice flat and expectant, “say what you need to say.”
“I’m sorry for yelling at you and… for everything,” Shayna muttered to the floor, the words tasting like ash. Sarah, perched on the edge of her bed, kept her eyes fixed on her own intertwined fingers, refusing to grant Shayna even a glance of acknowledgment.
From the other bed, Megan disguised a sharp snort as a cough, turning her face into her pillow as her shoulders shook with silent, vicious laughter. Larissa’s hand settled on Shayna’s bare shoulder, her fingers digging in just enough to promise the corner time waiting downstairs.
Larissa gave Sarah's cheek a warm pat and said, "Just so you know, Shayna here is losing pants privileges for the day and gets an hour of hallway corner time starting now." A small, triumphant smirk ghosted across Sarah's lips before she schooled her features, while Megan, on her bed, laughed openly.
Shayna’s fists clenched, her cheeks burning as Megan’s laughter sliced through the humid room. Larissa’s hand tightened on her shoulder, steering her firmly out into the hall toward the stark, empty corner that awaited her.
"You will stand here, nose to the wall, for a full hour," Larissa said, her voice low and final as she positioned Shayna's bare shoulders toward the pale green paint. The wet diaper felt leaden and cold against her skin as the hum of the hallway lights became the only sound.
The hour crawled by in a parade of muffled snickers and pointedly averted eyes from every woman who passed her in the hall. Later that evening, Larissa led a subdued Shayna to the changing table, efficiently swapping the sodden diaper for a fresh one before slipping soft cotton pajamas over her stiff, reluctant limbs.
Her fingers tightened on Shayna’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet in the dim light. “If you lay hands on someone again,” Larissa said, her voice a low, perfect monotone, “I will put you in a crib in the middle of the common room for a week.” A violent, silent shudder ran through Shayna’s slight frame before her gaze shattered, dropping to the floor between them.
Larissa released Shayna’s chin with a final, dismissive pat on her cheek and turned to leave, her footsteps fading down the hallway. Shayna shuffled to her bed and climbed beneath the thin blanket, the day’s humiliations hanging on her like a lead weight.
“This is so fucking ridiculous,” Abby hissed from the next bed, her voice sharp in the dark. “They’re treating us like actual babies over some spilled juice.”
Shayna stared at the water-stained ceiling, the memory of Larissa’s threat and Mackenzie’s disappointed eyes colliding with Abby’s whining. “Just shut up, Abby,” she whispered, the words flat and exhausted, leaving a brittle silence in their wake.
A soft knock fractured the brittle quiet, and the door swung open to reveal Mackenzie silhouetted in the hallway light. Abby opened her mouth, a sharp comment about late-night visits already forming, but Shayna spoke first, her voice rough but welcoming as she said, “Hey, Mackenzie.”
Mackenzie leaned against the doorframe, her voice a soft ripple in the dark room. "Can't sleep," she said, her eyes finding Shayna's, "feel like taking a walk with me?"
Shayna pushed back her blanket and stood, padding barefoot toward the door without a backward glance, while Abby rolled her eyes hard at the ceiling and flopped back onto her pillow with an exasperated sigh.
The hallway was silent except for the soft shuffle of their feet on linoleum, the dim night-lights casting long, distorted shadows ahead of them. Mackenzie pushed open the heavy door to the book den, and Shayna stepped into the musty, silent dark, the only illumination a single lamp casting a weak yellow pool over an empty armchair.
Mackenzie shut the door behind them, the latch clicking into place with a gentle finality. She turned to Shayna in the dim light, her eyes holding a knowing warmth, and said, “We both need a little relief after a stressful day like today.”
Shayna hesitated, the ghost of her corner-time shame still clinging to her skin. “Yeah,” she whispered, her voice rough, “okay, I agree.”
Mackenzie pushes Shayna against the wall, their lips crashing into each other with hunger. The impact was sharp, a jolt of pain in Shayna’s shoulders chased instantly by the fierce heat of Mackenzie’s mouth, a desperate, anchoring pressure in the spinning quiet of the room.
Mackenzie’s hands slid under the hem of Shayna’s pajama top, pushing the soft cotton up to expose her small, already stiffened nipples to the cool air of the den. A sharp gasp escaped Shayna as Mackenzie’s warm mouth closed over one peak, the sudden, wet suction pulling a thread of pure need straight down to her locked belt, and her fingers tangled instinctively in Mackenzie’s red hair, holding her there.
A soft groan escaped Shayna as Mackenzie finally pulled away, her lips glistening in the low light. Mackenzie stood back up, telling Shayna one word, “Stay,” as she walked toward the arm chair.
Mackenzie hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her soft pajama pants and the diaper beneath, pushing them both down her legs in one fluid motion before settling into the armchair's worn velvet embrace. She extended a hand toward Shayna, her green eyes holding a silent command, and murmured, “Come.”
Shayna moved toward the chair, each step fueled by a need that hummed louder than the day’s shame. When she was within reach, Mackenzie’s finger extended, pointing to the worn rug directly before her, and she uttered a single, soft command: “Sit.”
Mackenzie opened her legs, a slow, deliberate movement in the dim light, and curled a finger in silent summons. Shayna leaned in, the worn rug rough against her knees, and began working with a desperate, focused hunger.
Mackenzie’s head fell back against the velvet, a soft sigh escaping her lips as her fingers tangled in Shayna’s blonde hair. “Just like that,” she murmured, her voice husky and low, her hips arching up from the chair.
The tension in Mackenzie’s thighs tightened, her breath catching into shallow, sharp gasps before her back arched and a choked cry tore from her throat. A warm, rhythmic pulse flooded against Shayna’s lips and chin, leaving her skin slick and glistening in the lamplight.
“Come up here,” Mackenzie breathed, her voice ragged and spent, her hands gently pulling Shayna by the hair. They kissed again, deeply and messily, the taste of Mackenzie’s release mixing with the salt of sweat on their tongues.
Breaking the kiss, Mackenzie leaned back, her breath warm against Shayna’s wet lips. “You wanna come?” she asked, her voice a low, rough murmur in the quiet room.
“Yes,” Shayna whispered, the word frayed at the edges. Mackenzie stood, her movement fluid in the lamplight, and pointed to the chair before her. “Sit.”
Shayna sank into the chair, the cool velvet a shock against her skin. Mackenzie knelt before her, her eyes gleaming in the low light as she asked, “Is it hotter for you if I took my shirt off?”
Shayna’s whisper was ragged. “Yes.”
Mackenzie pulled her own shirt off in one swift motion, her small breasts pale and taut in the lamplight, their peaks as hard and pointed as Shayna’s had been earlier against the dining room wall.
Mackenzie licked her lips as she held eye contact with Shayna, kneeling down and removing Shayna’s pajama shorts. The damp, white diaper was fully exposed now, a stark, humiliating contrast to the charged intimacy of the moment. "There," Mackenzie breathed, her fingers tracing the edge of the plastic backing, "all that beautiful need, and nobody can touch it but me."
Mackenzie’s fingers curled around the cold metal of the belt and gave it a sharp, playful tug. "All locked up and desperate, just for me," she cooed, her smile wicked in the lamplight as Shayna gasped, her hips straining helplessly against the unyielding plastic.
She leaned forward then, her breath a warm promise against Shayna’s skin before her lips brushed the sensitive skin of Shayna’s inner thigh. A violent, whole-body shudder seized Shayna, a raw, gasping need pulsing uselessly against the cruel, locked plastic.
Mackenzie leaned back, the earlier heat in her eyes cooling into something detached and assessing. "Let's talk," she said, her voice flat and blunt, and Shayna deflated, the desperate tension draining from her limbs as she slumped against the velvet chair.
"You had a decent morning helping Megan, then you turned around and terrorized Sarah over some juice." Mackenzie’s voice was low and disgusted as she shifted back on her heels, her eyes hard. "You’re just a bully, Shayna, a thug who gets off on making people feel small."
"I'm sorry," Shayna choked out, the words scraping raw in her throat. Mackenzie just stared, her face a mask of cool disappointment.
Mackenzie’s laugh was a short, sharp burst of air. “Sorry? Words aren’t as powerful as actions,” she said, her finger tapping the cold plastic of the chastity belt, “and we had a deal about your behavior.”
“I am trying,” Shayna whispered, the words brittle and thin.
“No,” Mackenzie said, standing up and reaching for her shirt, her voice flat and final, “you’re not trying hard enough.”
Mackenzie pulled her shirt back on, her eyes never leaving Shayna’s desperate face. “You don’t get to come until your behavior changes completely,” she said, her voice a low promise as she stepped close and gently rubbed one of Shayna’s nipples through the thin cotton pajama top.
She released Shayna’s nipple with a final, dismissive pinch. Mackenzie giggles and says until then, Shayna’s going to be on the edge.
"Now get dressed and go to bed before Larissa sees you out here," Mackenzie said, turning and walking away without a backward glance.
Shayna fumbled her pajama shorts back up over the damp diaper, her fingers clumsy with spent adrenaline and shame. She trudged down the silent hall, the plastic between her legs a cold, rhythmic crinkle with every defeated step toward her room and Abby’s inevitable smirk.
The door clicked shut behind her, and she slipped into bed without turning on the light, the sheets cold against her skin. "What did Mackenzie want?" Abby murmured from the other bed, but Shayna just said, "Don't worry about it," and rolled over, facing the wall.
She lay rigid in the dark, every heartbeat a frantic pulse against the cold plastic of the belt, a physical echo of the need Mackenzie had ignited and abandoned. A silent, furious yearning for the stolen vibrator twisted in her gut, sharpening the ache, because Mackenzie was right—control over this, over her, was now entirely someone else's.
Shayna quietly moved a pillow between her legs and started slowly grinding against it, the soft friction a pathetic mimicry of relief against the rigid plastic. Across the room, Abby’s breathing had evened into sleep, unaware of the desperate, rhythmic motion under Shayna’s blanket.
She began moving more frantically, desperate for relief, despite the fact that it was not really providing any relief. The pressure was a dull, frustrating tease against the plastic, a maddening simulation that only sharpened the real ache coiled deep inside her.
Abby stirred at the muffled rustling, her sleepy giggle cutting through the dark. “Why’re you grinding on that when you’ve got a perfectly good toy in your drawer, you dork?” she mumbled into her pillow.
Shayna quickly removed the pillow and threw it at Abby’s head. “Fuck off,” she snapped, turning over with a huff, “I was just trying to get comfortable.”
Abby snorted, a dry, knowing sound in the dark. “Sure you were,” she said, her voice laced with a smirk, “grinding for ‘comfort’ right after Mackenzie’s little walk—you’re so fucking transparent.” Shayna didn’t say a word, just clenched her jaw and stared at the wall until the silence thickened and they both drifted to sleep.