Way back in January, around the time I was making the ill-planned choice to fail my initial reinstatement assignments, I never really thought it would ever get this far. Truth be told, it was long enough ago that I have no idea what I was thinking, but it was my decision and I’ve done my best to live with it. Nearly six months, a long list of assignments, and the first of two Babyface repeats later, I finally found myself staring at the last of the series—one last and final repeat of Babyface to go and the long, painful, humiliating chain would be complete. This repeat would be different, however, as it would be the first and only of the three that Ms Lisa would not be administering, meaning it was all on me to make good on my promise to make this punishment miserable and humiliating enough to satisfy the last of my obligations. I’ve never found it easy to create punishments for myself, however this time I feel that I managed well enough to put this whole mess to bed, once and for all.
And so, without further ado or delay, the last in my long series of reinstatement obligations and the completion of Babyface II…
As always, the punishment began with stripping for the camera, the deep breath before the plunge. In itself nothing terrible, it signifies that you’re locked in and the worst is on its way. I tried to avoid thinking too much about it, instead proceeding directly to prepare the first real step of the punishment, a series of cleansing enemas. For those that dislike enemas (myself included), this might seem like something terrible in and of itself, but what it really is is mercy on the part of Mistress Katzenburg. The punishment itself is built around a nearly 24 hour period of confinement to diapers, and without the enemas, those diapers have the distinct possibility to get very messy, very quickly. Considering the new final step of the punishment that I’d chosen for myself, I though it wise to err on the side of caution to perform a third cleansing enema in addition to the two required by the punishment—lest the final punishment become *truly* terrible.
After nearly an hour and a half of enemas, cramps, and assorted nastiness, it was time to prepare for my little trip into town. Before dressing, however, there was still the issue of a spanking to be delivered—no easy feat when you have to deliver it yourself. In order to manage, I selected the nastiest implement that I own—a length of heavy rubber tubing that may not seem all that ominous, but that hits harder that you’d expect and stings terribly. After a nearly 30 minute long combination of it and a hairbrush, my bottom was thoroughly reddened enough to be ready for my diapering. Double thick diapers, with both layers firmly duct taped in place, and plastic panties securely locked on would provide more than adequate humiliation for my trip, and my bra—as always—added nearly a full cup-size under my hoodie. The bright pink cuffs did little to help matters, especially considering the size of the padlocks they’re secured with. The outfit may have been humiliating, but what was really terrifying me was my next task—again, one that I’d chosen for myself.
My throat was dry as I pulled up to Wal-Mart, my destination the nail salon at the front of the store for a manicure and pedicure. It was bad enough that this would be the first time I’d ever had this done at a nail salon, but the fact that I was painfully obviously waddling in my diapers and wearing a bra sapped me of any resolve. On my first pass, I walked right past the salon, giving in to sheer terror and chickening out, instead going back into the store to purchase the black permanent markers that I would need later in the assignment. Once complete, however, I had no other excuses and I slunk into the salon, asking one of the attendants if they took walk-ins. Over the next hour, an adorable and supportive girl walked me through the entire process, and by the end I had resolved that under different circumstances I’d need to come back and do this again. The experience really would have been quite pleasant, save for all the humiliation lurking beneath my outfit.
After finishing up at the salon, I had one small matter to attend to before returning home—my diaper was still dry, and I wasn’t going to fail this assignment on something that minor. I stopped for a quick, extremely light dinner on my way back, ruined midway through when I finally forced myself to wet my diaper there in the booth. As I drove home, shifting uncomfortably all the way, I knew that it was only going to get worse from here, and that this would be the last time I’d walk normally for nearly the next 16 hours. At home, I traded my smaller bra for my large bra and balloon forms, and my only annoyingly thick diapers for a full on super-stuffed diaper. I selected my Geek Girl pink plaid skirt and white blouse to go over the top and complete the outfit, the super-stuffed diaper ridiculously sticking out of the bottom of the skirt. After posing for a few pictures, I took a deep breath and moved on to what should have been a relatively easy next step, only to find that there’s really no such thing.
“SISSY”, “BABY”, “SLUT”: three words to be branded onto the face of the unfortunate humiliatee in black permanent marker, the eponymous “Babyface” from which the assignment draws its name. Normally easier to complete than the rest of the assignment (despite the fact that having to write on your own face backwards in the mirror is a pain), I was expecting this step to go nice and quickly so that I could get some rest for the second day of my punishment. Fate had other plans in mind. Unbeknownst to me, permanent marker refuses to write on sweaty skin (and given the fact that the heat still hadn’t broken yet, it was still mercilessly hot out), and go so far as to completely die if they even touch sweat. For a full hour and a half I tried everything I could think of—I abandoned the markers for lipstick, that promptly decided to break the second I started (probably weakened from the heat as well)), I tried to etch the words on in pen, I even seriously considered nail polish. In the end, however, I went with the far more painful option of attacking my face with every soap, detergent, and solution that I could find to dry out my skin (nail polish remover stings something awful, but works pretty damn well). My skin was as dry as you’d ever want to see, but by the end, my face was well marked with the humiliating brand.
I know that taking a smoke break outside was part of In a Row, not this assignment, but after the utter frustration that followed the marker fiasco, I threw caution to the wind and waddled out onto my stoop to for a well-deserved cigarette before bed. Fortunately it was late enough that no one was out, and the entire experience passed uneventfully (though nerve-wrackingly nonetheless). Sleep came uneasily that night, rolling around in my bra, forms, and wet super-stuffed diaper—I hadn’t taken off the skirt as, without either taking out the forms or taking off the diaper, it just plain wasn’t going to come off, so it became part of my night attire as well. The night was long and restless, and morning really couldn’t seem to come fast enough.
In the morning, I was even more wet than when I’d started and the fear of the eventual finale of the punishment looming, I changed into my In a Row trash bag maid’s outfit and penis gag and knocked out some more tasking, giving my apartment a once over clean. Distracted as I was, I still managed to get everything picked up and vacuumed, and the sink empty of dishes. Another hour sucking on a much larger dildo burned enough time that my 22 hour deadline was in sight, and I began prepping my final punishment.
I stripped out of my trash bag outfit and removed my wet diaper, setting it aside and replacing it with a fresh one before reapplying my super-stuffed diaper. I had fashioned a pair of kneeling pads for the upcoming torture, which I arrayed next to the wet diaper in preparation (pads is misleading—actually, they were a pair of cardboard strips, studded with sharp bottle caps that would make this final event all the more worse). At 2:00, 22 hours after I’d began this horrible punishment, I put myself down for the last stretch. Kneeling on sharp metal, I placed the thoroughly wet diaper over my head, my nose buried in the wet crotch, holding a sign to demonstrate to all exactly who and what I am. For half an hour I held that position, with every sense assaulted and overwhelmed. When the timer I’d set finally elapsed, I tore the diaper off my head and flung it across the room, falling back off the metal caps in a mix of pain and relief—after all that, a punishment six months in the making, I was done.
I can tell you here and now, that a shower has never felt better. The weight off my shoulders having completed this punishment was immense, and with the completion of this post, I have cleared all of my past obligations to The Institute. What exactly that means I’m not entirely sure though—as they say, there’s no rest for the wicked, and I know it’s only a matter of time before I’m staring down my next assignment. Again, I really don’t care what comes next, assignment or punishment or something even more terrible—as long as it’s not another repeat of Babyface, I think I’m pretty much okay with it.