Alisha had been acting out all morning, because she wanted attention and she wanted it now. Her disciplinarian had work that could not wait. He didn’t lecture her for long. He simply told her to stand still, peeled her clothes off until she was down to the thick, bulky d*aper, and brought out the heavy canvas str*itjacket.

The str*itjacket is made of thick canvas with wide overlapping flaps, thick straps and heavy buckles. He works methodically. The body of the str*itjacket is wrapped tight around her torso, the canvas cinched until it hugs her from shoulders to hips. He buckles every strap in turn, with the last one that pulls her bound arms snug against her torso. When he is finished the str*itjacket is snug enough that she can barely shrug. The d*aper’s padding is compressed by the canvas strap pulled tight between her legs, and every small shift she makes produces a muffled crinkle trapped under canvas. He sits her on the couch and tells her to stay put before he leaves.

Alisha lasts about thirty seconds before she starts testing it. She twists her shoulders, trying to work one arm free of the internal sleeve. The canvas doesn’t give. She rocks side to side, the couch cushions sighing under her, the straps creaking. She tries to wriggle her wrists, then her whole upper body, then she slumps forward and tries to use her weight to loosen the waist strap. Nothing opens. The jacket stays locked around her like a second, unyielding skin. The d*aper rustles with every frustrated movement. Her face heats with a mix of indignation and the helpless, attention-starved feeling that got her into this in the first place.

She does not leave the couch. She knows a paddling would come if she did and she is not willing to earn one on top of the str*itjacket. So she stays put, squirming in place for a long time. Hours p*ss. The room stays still except for the occasional crinkle and the scrape of canvas when she shifts. Her arms ache from being held so tightly across her body. The d*aper feels even bulkier now that she can’t adjust it.

When her disciplinarian finally returns, he doesn’t say much. He checks that she is still on the couch, then starts unbuckling the straps. The canvas peels away from her shoulders, her arms drop free, and the heavy jacket is pulled off. The sudden absence of pressure makes her gasp. She stands there for half a second, flushed and rumpled, d*aper still thick between her thighs, and then the relief h*ts her all at once. Alisha lets out a bright, triumphant cheer, and runs off.

B*ndage Adult D*aper Str*itjacket Alisha: Diapered Str*itjacket Timeout with C4s.com

Bndage Adult Daper Stritjacket Alisha: Diapered Stritjacket Timeout with C4s.com