[BabyWeirdo]

Smaller update this time. Been very busy lately whilst trying to work out what comes next. Don't worry, I now have the next few instalments planned so hopefully my publishing gaps won't be as long again.

Ka-click. Silence. Tap tap tap, creeping up towards me. Ka-click. Silence. A long silence. Had he changed his mind? I was left waiting for another few minutes. I was drenched in sweat. My diapers were soaked. There was nothing I could do. Ka-click. Ka-click. He had returned. Ka-click. Ka-ka-CLICK.

The lid above me was lifted off. Sir looked down at me, frowning.

“Want to get out?” Mmmmpf! I was desperate to stretch my arms and legs. “Will you do anything?” I nodded my head up and down as much as the restraints would allow.

And so I waited for ‘Anything’ in the garage, kneeling silently in my diaper and straightjacket. He had disappeared to the kitchen and then came back with my dog bowl. And a sock. The sock. Pushed inside out, a yellow-tinted gelatine mush plopped out in smaller and larger clumps. I gulped at the sight at the smushy, sweaty, pissy marsmallows that I was going to eat. I hoped I would never have to see them again. And I was wrong.

With Him watching me, grinning at me, I bent down and dropped my face into the mess. I cringe at the thought of it – it tasted just as bad as I imagined, if not worse. It seemed to grow in the bowl. Sticky, sicky. The lower half of my face was covered in the muck.

He chuckled at my final enthusiastic push to finish, and gently wiped my face with a damp cloth when pleased I had finished. I was glad to be done with it.

“What do you want to do next?” I looked at Him with curiosity, confused that he was offering me the opportunity to decide. “Would you like to get back into the box?” I shook my head rapidly. “Would you like to nip round the corner and bring me back today’s paper?” I tilted my head.

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch, we’ll just get you dressed up in a lovely little outfit and then you can go fetch me a copy of the Times from the shop.”

“What sort of outfit?”

“A nice little one.”

So that was the catch. I knew I was still away from home, but the way Sir had emphasised “little” when referring to the outfit worried me. I chose the box.

He giggled as he fastened me back down into the box, inserting the feed gag into my mouth once more, fastening it around my head. He did up the straps and placed a small bundle of something on my chest before closing the lid. My head strapped back, my eyes fixed upwards, I couldn’t tell for sure what the package once.

But it stank. It stank of shit.

He was locking me in the hot casket with his own poop. Thankfully it wasn’t actually touching me – the smell was enough to make me gag.

No – it was His piss that was making me gag – I swallowed liquid quickly – I hadn’t noticed him starting to pee down the funnel into my mouth through the lid of the box. Warm, salty and unmistakably piss, He kept up a steady stream for what seemed like an eternity. When talking about it after, He said that He had thought it had been a relatively short piss, but to me in the box it went on forever.

The box was His toilet. I was His urinal.

When He stopped I yelled to get out – I was too scared to wriggle for fear of spreading the poop – it was too much.

I let at three loud “MMRFH”s of equal length. I paused and then repeated myself. It was our signal. He opened up the casket, removed the bag of poop and then my gag.

“May I have a shower before going to get your paper, Sir?” He smiled and reassured me that it would be fine.