Chapter 32: Infantilization Interrogation
The crunch of gravel beneath the tires faded first. Then the whine of the engine as the truck receded down the compound road. Silence didn’t come. The pounding of many boots drew closer.
Erin lay on her side by the rust-stained utility sink, her body a litany of pains. Each welt throbbed in time with her pulse. The deeper ache from their rough fucking was a hot, hollow sensation inside her. Her cunt felt swollen and raw, her ass a clenched knot of violation. The cold morning air against the sticky fluids on her thighs was its own insistent punishment.
She kept her eyes closed.
The thunder of footfalls grew until it vibrated the ground beneath her cheek. She could hear the ragged breathing of men pushing their bodies, the occasional grunted command from a squad leader, the rhythmic slap-slap-slap of rubber soles on packed earth.
They were passing close. She could feel them.
A startled curse, bitten off. A sharp, rhythmic cadence faltered. The pounding of a single pair of feet hitting the ground for a few extra steps before rejoining the rhythm. A low, whispered rush of words – what the fuck – carried on the breeze.
She didn't move. She played her part, a discarded piece of flesh, a ruined lesson lying in the dirt. The sound of the platoon passed, fading again, a receding wave of exertion and male sweat and stifled surprise. Only when the silence returned, thicker and more complete, did she open her eyes.
They returned for her an hour later. The sun was higher, bleaching the color from the land. Shane’s truck rolled up slowly. He didn’t speak as he bundled her, still nude and shivering, into an old wool blanket from the back seat. He re-cuffed her hands and laid her on the floorboard in front of the passenger seat. Ryan, who was driving, glanced down only once, his expression unreadable. They drove back in a silence broken only by the hum of the road and the throb of her own body.
No one spoke in the truck. No one spoke when they pulled up to Shane’s house, a modest bungalow on a quiet, shaded street. He lifted her out, blanket and all, carried her through the too-bright living room, down the narrow basement stairs. The door at the bottom closed with a solid, dampening thud.
The dungeon air was cool and smelled of old concrete, leather conditioner, and the lingering, musky scent of past sweat. Harsh overhead fluorescents flickered on, banishing comforting shadows and revealing everything in a stark, clinical glare. Her eyes, adjusted to the morning gloom, stung.
He didn't set her down in one of the ornate cages or against the wooden cross. He placed her on a simple, heavy plastic mat in the center of the open floor.
Shane pulled the blanket away. Ryan was already moving to a large, industrial-looking storage unit. He unlatched it and swung the doors wide. Inside wasn't floggers or cuffs; it was stacks of plain white cardboard boxes.
"Get on your hands and knees," Shane said, his voice flat.
Every movement sent fresh pain rippling through her battered body. She complied, the plastic mat cool and slightly tacky under her palms and knees. She stared at the concrete floor, a fine gray dust gathering in the tiny pits and seams.
Ryan approached, carrying items from the storage unit. He laid them beside her on the mat: a thick, unfolded adult diaper, unnaturally white; a roll of heavy-duty packing tape; a full bottle of baby powder; and a small, black, oval-shaped vibrator with a remote beside it.
"Look what you've earned," Shane said, squatting down in front of her. He tilted her chin up with a rough finger. "After your little exhibition at the base? That was public indecency.Filth. This..." He gestured to the items. "This is for filthy little girls who can't control themselves."
He let her go and stood. "She's all yours, Ry. Fit her up."
Ryan knelt behind her. His hands were businesslike. He powdered her first, the talc soft and cool as he dusted it over the fiery welts on her ass and thighs, over her swollen cunt, patting it into her skin. The smell was cloying and infantilizing.
Then he lifted the diaper. It was thick, crinkly plastic backed with absorbent padding. He slid it under her hips from behind. The cool, padded material cupped her sex. He pulled the front up between her legs, the padding pressing heavily against her tender flesh. He snugged it tight around her waist, fastening the adhesive tabs on each side with sharp, tearing sounds.
It was profoundly humiliating. The bulk of it, the sound it made when she shifted her knees a fraction. It forced her thighs apart slightly, a constant, crinkling reminder.
"Not tight enough," Shane observed, lighting a cigarette. The smoke curled up into the fluorescent light. "She's a squirter. A messy little piss-drunk. It'll leak."
Ryan nodded. He picked up the roll of packing tape. Tearing off a long strip with a loud, ripping sound, he wrapped it around her upper thigh, just below the leg cuff of the diaper. He pulled it brutally tight, sealing the plastic against her skin. He did the same to the other leg. The tape pinched and pulled at her skin, a harsh, unforgiving seal. He then took more strips and criss-crossed them over the front of the diaper, binding it to her torso, creating a restrictive, airtight shell around her lower body.
She was encased. The diaper was now a rigid, plasticky prison. She could already feel a trickle of sweat making its way down her back, trapped under the tape.
"Now the fun part," Ryan said, his voice holding a dark, soft edge it hadn't before. He picked up the black vibrator. Taking another strip of tape, he pressed the buzzing head directly against her clit, already hypersensitive from the earlier abuse. He taped it firmly in place. The hard, unforgiving buzz was an immediate assault, a maddening stimulation that offered no hope of release.
Shane took the remote. He held it up, his thumb hovering over a dial."This is low. Annoying." He turned it up a notch. The vibration deepened, became more intrusive, a persistent, grinding thrum that made her hips twitch involuntarily. "This… is about where you'll live."
He clicked it one more time. The vibrator screamed against her flesh. The sensation was less pleasure than a kind of torturous electricity, a relentless drilling into the very epicenter of her nervous system. She gasped, her back arching against the will of the tape, a low moan escaping her lips.
"Ah, ah," Shane tutted, lowering the intensity back to the middle setting. The sudden drop was a different kind of agony. "You don't get the high setting for free. You gotta beg for that. You gotta earn it."
He tucked the remote into his pocket.
Ryan came around to face her now, kneeling again. He had a large, clear plastic baby bottle in his hand, filled with lukewarm water. He held it up. "Open wide, sweetheart."
Tears of frustration and humiliation pricked her eyes. She shook her head, a tiny, defiant jerk.
A sharp, open-handed slap landed on the taped front of the diaper. The impact was muffled but the force jarred her. "Open," Shane said from behind her.
Her jaw trembled, but she opened her mouth. Ryan pushed the rubber nipple between her lips. It was too big, designed for an infant, and the taste of new plastic was sharp. He tilted the bottle up. Water flooded her mouth. She had to swallow awkwardly, her head forced back by the angle, water dribbling down her chin onto her bare chest.
"You see," Shane said, walking a slow circle around her, a predator assessing his hobbled prey. "You like being a slut. You crave being a fuckhole for soldiers.Fine. That's the outside.The decoration. But inside? You're just a stupid baby. A mewling, pissing little thing that can't control its own cunt or its own bladder. That's your truth."
He stopped in front of her. Ryan took the bottle from her mouth. Her lips felt stretched and sore.
"Gonna make you beg for your bottle like a good little piss-slut," Shane whispered, his voice a low, venomous promise. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the remote. He turned the dial all the way to maximum.
The vibrator's scream was a physical force. It felt less like vibration and more like a white-hot drill bit being driven into her clit. Her entire body spasmed. A raw, guttural scream tore from her throat, muffled by the choking need to breathe. Her hips bucked wildly, uselessly against the tape and the thick padding of the diaper. Her fingers scrabbled on the plastic mat. The world dissolved into that single, agonizing point of stimulation, a nerve being flayed alive. There was no build, no rhythm. It was sheer, unmitigated overload.
Her bladder, spasming from the shock and the relentless pressure, gave way. A hot rush of urine flooded into the diaper. The sensation of warm wetness spreading, held inches from her skin by the absorbent padding, was deeply disorienting. The diaper swelled slightly, growing heavier, warmer. It was a surrender, and announcing it for anyone to see.
Shane watched the visible wet patch bloom on the front of the white diaper. He smiled, a chilling expression of absolute satisfaction. He clicked the vibrator off.
The sudden silence was as shocking as the pain. Her body vibrated with phantom pulses. She slumped forward, forehead resting on the cool plastic, her breath coming in ragged, wet sobs. The heavy, warm, wet diaper between her legs was a badge of her complete degradation.
Ryan knelt, his face close to hers. He smelled of leather and smoke. He stroked her damp, filthy hair back from her forehead, a mockery of tenderness.
"That was a good start," he said quietly. "Now, the lesson. You're going to lie here. In your own piss. With that little buzzer on your clit reminding you what you are. When you want the bottle – because you'll get thirsty – you crawl. You crawl to one of us, and you nuzzle at our boots like a nursing puppy. And maybe, if we think you're pathetic enough, we'll give you a drink."
He stood up. Shane threw him a beer from a small fridge in the corner. They pulled two folding chairs over, sat them a few yards away, and opened their drinks. The sounds – the hiss of the caps, the clink of the bottles, their low, casual conversation about a faulty transmission in Shane's truck – were the only things that pierced the ringing in her ears.
She was left on her hands and knees, soaked and crinkling, the ghost of the vibration still humming in her flesh, the remote resting on Shane's thigh, a promise and a threat. The distance to their boots looked like a mile. The thirst was already a scratch in her throat. She lowered her head, her tears making dark spots on the plastic mat, and waited for her body’s needs to betray her again.