Wednesday, August 31, 2016

Probation VI

Peter’s thoughts are diverted. His normal rigorous attention to the market wanders, thinking about the strict protocol mandated by his home detention.

After being diapered and cuffed, Miss Abby returned to the kitchen. There she emptied every drawer of utensils, every cabinet of plates and glassware. All food removed. Refrigerator emptied. Admonishing in pointing out the many things Peter failed to move to storage, his neck collar was zinged in punishment.

Not even a knife and fork remaining for use, all went to the garage. Peter then noted that it was padlocked. In returning, she took the time to lock both bathrooms, taking the keys. Then gave her last directive for the evening.

‘Leave the house unlocked. There will be deliveries... workmen.’
So yes, his thoughts are diverted. How in diapers... smelly diapers... is he to greet visitors... delivery men? And what workers? And then there’s the neck collar to explain...

The doorbell rings. Peter’s heart leaps. What to do? Before deciding he hears his front door open. A husky male voice calls out.

“Delivery! Any one home? I have instructions to put this in the basement.”

“I... I’m sick in bed. The basement door is to your left. Should be open.”

What is the delivery? Though insatiably curious, Peter dares not show himself... collared... naked but for the smelly diaper. How can he explain himself? He begins to realize that his home detention is more limited then imagined. Even in the small spare bedroom he fears neighbors seeing him through curtainless windows.

Some market trades occupy his mind, not hearing the delivery man leave. Besides there is no need to check on anything. All possessions are locked in his garage.

Within an hour the doorbell rings again. This time a crew of men enter, calling out their presence and moving to the basement without further comment. For hours the rumble of heavy tools and machinery can be heard, again rousing curiosity. Whatever modifications Miss Abby has contrived are being timely initiated.

At midday there come reminder zings on his collar. Alas the recharger has been left in the den office!

With sunlight blazing throughout the house, not even comfortable slinking in the small bedroom, Peter faces a dilemma. The shyness brings reservation. Yet the growing agony as the reminder shocks become stronger and stronger demands response. There comes analysis. Neighbors may be few at midday, perhaps a dash to the den will be unnoticed. But the workmen remain toiling in the basement.  

A debilitating shock forces Peter from his desk. He has no choice. The recharger must be found and connected. He tiptoes to the stairs checking out the windows. Nothing. He descends. Then comes the ultimate ignominy. Having held his bladder since the early morning mishap, a unbearable jolt comes. He stutter steps, catches himself, but urinates, the power of the electrical device bringing loss of control.

He pauses, lets the flow finish, regaining composure. Oh the humiliation, a woman’s hand controlling from afar. Yet the warmth, overriding the irritating cold wetness, feels good.

Miss Abby said he would acclimate. He begins to understand.

Continuing, the delay has consequences. There come thumps of work boots on the basement stairs. Peter ducks into the den, veiling himself from the workman but exposing his diapered form to passersby on the street. He curses the floor to ceiling window, installed to offer invigorating daylight in his place of work. Now it brings distress.

“Know you’re in there. Caught a glimpse of the... well whatever it is you’re wearing. Almost done. We’ll have the water turned back on so you can... shower.”

The male voice is craggy, aging. Apparently a plumber. And Peter quickly concludes the odor of his twice soiled diaper permeates the house as he moves about.

The offer of a  shower is appealing. But both bathrooms are locked.

“Thank you. I’m not feeling well... not dressed.” Peter desperately plugging in his neck collar as he speaks, hoping the man will not seek a face to face talk.

Lying supine on the den carpet to best cloak his presence, Peter hears the front door open and close. Within minutes there are more footsteps, another opening and closing and gratefully the house turns to silence.  

It’s a long day.

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