#these 2 make me want to puke i need to soak them in milk. and throw them at a wall full speed.

[divinelasso]

the most normal gay people on the planet

[dyker-farmer]

Ok this was supposed to be a quick draw and a description to go with, that blew into a full chapter and now it's also on Ao3 SO happy reading ig idk

I never see Shane works that don't go all in for romance nor explore the more realistic ugly parts of recovery, and I kind of crave That TM. So let me have at it too with the self-insert whump mumbo jumbo; no romo version.

Set post-8 hearts event, Farmer Uidelsib is two years or so in, full house built and married to Emily. They/them pronouns, same as me.

Diverges from then on, Shane-centric from an outside POV for the most part.

[[MORE]]

Take that can away if you can.

Gulp it down. Chapter 1/2/3/4

There's a few to-know to survive life in society, in the valley; there's no good way to comment on the age nor weight of both resident housewives, you can't say no to Evelyn's homemade cookies- and why would you, you fool-, you do not fight at the Saloon or you'll get no cheese anymore on your pizza and only sparkling water for drinks, and-

And you don't mess with Shane's alcohol related ritual.

Except I did, that night, because you do that, when your two-years long friendship with the guy taught you better than letting his impulses overcome yours, when your buddy is trying to recover from teenage long-lasting into early adulthood, trauma-enhanced heavy addiction, and you know, you know tomorrow he'll feel like absolute shit and question his right to therapy the moment he'll stop his pounding skull from splitting. Wonders what a three-dosage paracetamol can do. 

At least he doesn't drink it out anymore.

So yeah, when you're in my shoes, you get that Joja store-bought crap out of Shane's hand, and you brace yourself for the incoming lash out.

The first fractions of seconds are always those to look closely into most. It's only a glimpse, but before the scowl slips on like a well-worn boxing glove ready to strike, there is always this open page I learned I needed to decipher as quick as I could.

Tonight, it's heartbreaking. When I peck his forehead- doting big sibling habits die hard, even when you're actually the youngest of the pair- the eyes I catch looking at me are so confused and bare of any emotion, except for the sorrow that goes beer-soaked tears, it pangs. I get used to the breakdowns, working in the fields I do when I'm off the farm's, but it's not the same when it's a friend.

When I straighten back, offensive beverage in hand, it's already gone in a flinch, away from the empty space behind the chair and onto the table, as he snarls.

"Wha- giv'me back- 's mine!" I don't know how much he drunk before he met up with me, but from the slurring, it's a Lot. A season and a half into sobriety. That's harsh.

I ignore him and walk behind him, pondering where to put the beer for now.

"Y-you can't just do that! It's my booze I got with m'money, not some- who d'you think you are?-" He sputters indignantly, angry tears fewer than the sad ones but still there. He tries to turn around and grab behind his back, but the wild movement is way off and only gets the chair to nearly topples down. I rush in time to stabilize it, and profit off the moment to set a strong hand on his shoulder.

"I can just do that, 'cus it's my house I got with my money, and I think I'm your pal who knows when you've had enough. Dude, I trust you to be an adult, but minutes before, you were already so torched I had to keep your neck upright so you didn't faceplant into the table, and you nearly just kissed my floor good evening. Not to mention you clung to my arms the whole way from the little entry stairs to the kitchen because, quoting, 'If I don't I'll fall in the hole and won't get up'."

I turn to the fridge again, going to open it, before I think better of it. Likely enough, we'll both forget it was there in the first place, it'll stink up my fridge- it's Joja's- and it'll be money out of Shane's pocket for nothing. I set it on the counter, with the rest of the pack. He'll put it to cool down when he's back to Marnie's. Or he won't, probably. 

That's not a worry for now.

When I caught up with him, it was a few feet below my doorstep; he'd probably slipped up trying to climb the three steps up to it, and settled for it. He was nursing that same can, muttering to himself, head down, curled up on himself. Except for that leg sticked out, he probably hurt it when he fell, I'll have to look at that and work on it if it's too swollen. Hopefully that'll spare us from a visit to Harvey's.

Bad memories. Not mine, and it's warm and not raining outside, but. Déjà-vu.

Anyways, he looked the picture of "help I've fallen and I can't get up- and even if I can I won't because Fuck You", and it's been a hassle to have him cooperate. But when I asked if he wanted to leave, he shook his head with a fervor no somnolent drunk should have. That resulted in a lovely streak of vomit down the wall right next to the door. That's also for later. If Eryza doesn't lap it up. Ew. This cat's never predictable.

Now, he's staring at his hands, sitting at my table, contemplating something too far down for me to see- or maybe just zoning out with a sleeping brain. Then he mumbles. "Sorry."

I get back to the table and sit at arm's length across of him. "Nah, 's okay. I don't mind being a helping hand or touchy-feely, must be the frog-eater in me. Not for the helping part." I'd chuckle but my quip falls on deaf ears.

I go to put my hand over his. When he doesn't blink at it, I try and shake a reply out of him, gently. He startles and hawkeyes our joined fingers. When he's finally looking at me, I raise a single eyebrow. He doesn't say anything, but when he pulls back his arm, I let him. We both straighten up, and it's hard to keep up the eye contact.

"So…" There's a heavy air on us. Suddenly, like the last year didn't happen, we're sitting a stride away of each other, and yet it feels like he's all the way back to the forest, looking down at waves.

"Do you want me to do something?" I bend myself a little closer to him, not moving otherwise.

He puts his head in his hands, shivering. Can't tell if it's the AC or his system kicking the alcohol out, or itself, in stress. I think I hear something, but it might as just be his shuddering breath.

"Shane" I insist, voice level, not pressing. "I need words. I want to help, I truly don't mind, but I need words to know what to do." He's never shown signs of going nonverbal before. If he does, I'll improvise. Until then… I need words.

Time ticks slowly as we wait. Then, with great effort and deep fatigue, he drags his palms up from under his nose to his temple, spreading some snot and wet tears across his face from his scrunched shut eyes. Lips trembling but finally showing, that attempt to let out a sound that's not too garbled. He coughs, sniffles a bit, breathe in again, sounding like a sick dog, and blows through gritted teeth before his jaws go slack. Eyes still closed, he whispers, and I have to lower myself some more toward his crouched form to catch it.

"Can I get something to drink…?" His voice is hoarse.

The demand could be comical, if we were into sour humor. And we usually are. But right now, we're not finding the joke in the lines. I stand silently, and as I walk to the fridge again, I let my hand brush his shoulder- same spot as before.

I take a minute to choose, look into the pantry. When I'm back at the table with my items of choice, he's still sitting there, his cheek is cushioned on his arms, face hidden from view. His shoulder, except for the occasional tremor, rise and fall in rythm with his snores. Breaks my heart to interrupt that, but not really. Hangovers are mean bitches with the sharpest nail art on the blackest of boards.

"Psst, dude. C'mon." I rustle his hair backward. He hates when I do that, says it tickles, and it makes him sneeze. So I obligatory do it once a day if I can. Let's say today's my late quota for the last four days I haven't seen him.

He gruffly tells me to kindly refrain from such pleasantries, and raise bleary eyes back up at the table. I can also guess he tried to bat a hand at me, but his coordination is off and he slaps himself lightly on the ear. Then he glares bewildered at his hand for a few seconds, obviously insulted. I profit of this moment to grab a small basin from under the sink, on second thought.

When he brings his attention back to me, I'm sitting again. Between us, a jug of fresh milk from this morning, a small sack of peppers, and a juice carafe sit aside a green glass bottle. There's also some bread, mostly for me to munch on. Because, hmmm dough. He squints at it all, especially at the bottle. Probably trying to read the label.

"Yeah no, didn't get you one of my best wine, not sorry."

"Hot pepper… juice?" He looks at the actual peppers next to it. "With actual peppers?" And then I get the squint too.

"Hmph, I know you like your elongated hell tomatoes, man, what can i say."

At that, a feeble snort.

I decide that it is the highlight victory of my soirée.

"Welp, have at it." I gesture to the half-liter liquor glass right by his left.

He fumbles with the drinks and some splashes around, but I lay back on my chair, arms crossed, letting him do his thing. While I don't hold back from growing downright doting on him when I got to- or even when I don't- I don't see how more devotion right now would be not smothering. He can break my fancy glass cups if he wants and spill my milk, so long he doesn't cut himself or cry over it.

Now, you could be thinking that plain water would have done the trick just fine, if not better, in rehydrating him. Here's the thing, though; going from booze to tasteless liquid, for Shane, that's a sure way to puking his heart out. And I'd rather not have us deal with an acid bile throat burn on top of near alcohol poisoning. Sorry to not spare you the squeamish details, but his oesophagus is pretty sensitive ever since that stomach pumping back at the clinic. Hot fiery hell fruits he can do just fine, with relative moderation and hydratation- hence the milk and juice- but liquor bursting its way back from his guts? Nuh uh. 

It had taken lots of coaxing, but he'd explained the plain tastes, or lackthereof, were very hard for him to deal with, especially when contrasting with strong ones like beers and whiskeys. I'd shackle it to gustative hypostimulation, but I don't know enough about him that way to say. He'd said sparkling water was a good compromise.

But I don't have sparkling water, because I do not like suffering.

I might buy a pack for when he visits though.

And I do know a handful about him already. Shackle that to perceptiveness and a stubborn streak on top of a year and so long camaraderie.

And having a certain uncontrollable fear of failing to act quick the next time coped with by accumulating information and patterns compulsively.

I shake my head to focus on the present again. He's switched from juices to soaking bread in milk to eat it small portion after small portion. He pauses in mid-bite when he catches me staring. He's still hunched on himself and red-faced and a tad bloated. His cheeks are drying and he's blown his nose. I smile calmly. Worst of the storm passed, unless I screw up and blow it.

"Ywou wan' chom'?" He offers a dripping piece of bread. In moments like this, when he's sobering but not quite, the resemblance with Jas are unmistakable. The glint in his reddened eyes that open wide, and his blank-but-not-quite wondering expression, it's all here to paint a scrutinizing but vulnerable picture of tired but bright minds.

"Nah thanks. You done with that milk?"

"...Sure." He eyes it, wary. He knows where this is going, and he doesn't like it. I take the drink off the table, and his gaze follows my movement until I bring it to my lips.

He frowns. A silent warning. 

And as I lock onto him with a dead stare, not blinking a millisecond, I down the rest of the 2 liters jug in three, five gulps. I even take the time to lick my new mustache away, and close my mouth with a click of my tongue.

His expression is the macabre marriage of beffudled horror and pure affliction, disgust if you will. The face of someone who doesn't hate milk, but has grown out of it enough to not be able to live off the stuff like the brave souls I'm apart of. And probably with reason, as I actually can't, like most 20+ years old, digest the liquid in large amount. But I smile like a smug cat, perfectly content.

Cats really can't digest milk once adults, it's all social mythos.

We silently judge and fuck with each other like that for a while more, as more time passes, until the room's elephant gets it all humid with its prancing around. Enough that tears and nervous sweats start again, for no apparent reasons but the residual anxiety from the whole chain of events that led to this.

"I think we should talk about this."

--- to be continued.

[jj-lynn21]

You will remember things that we never said ch 4

Warning: SMUT, angst, fluff

mood board: My creation with photos from google, AHS website. Other photo credits on pix.

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3 ch 5 ch 6 ch 7

Stephanie sits by a window at Skat’s Tattoo parlor while Axel works on a butterfly tat on a guy’s lower back. He didn’t realize guys got tramp stamps until this scrawny looking blonde guy in a suit came in to ask for it. He didn’t ask questions other than a few to determine if the guy was of sound mind. The guy was completely sober of all substances. Axel thought maybe he lost a bet.

Axel glance at Stephanie who looked miles away in deep thought. “What’s on your mind Stephanie? You can talk to me while I’m doing this.”

Her eyes were glossy dreamy blue as she looked at him biting her lower lip. “I was just thinking about you.”

He grinds the guy a little with the needle as he glanced at the way she is looking at him.

“Fuck,” the guy roars. “Is it supposed to feel like that?”

Axel lifts the needle up off the guys skin, “Yeah, dude. I’m right on your tailbone. Almost done.” He finishes up the butterfly. And pulls the guys shirt down. “Just put lotion on it and the color will stay vibrant. Don’t pick at the scabbing or scratch as it heals. It could get infected that way.  I hope you get much joy from your five-hundred -dollar piece of art.”

The guy leaves but Axel keeps the privacy curtain closed. “Come here Stephanie.”

She struts over to straddle his lap. Her hands go to the nape of his neck stroking his hair. “You’re the only one that calls me by my full name Axel.”

His hands hold her ass as he looks in her eyes. “I’m just never in a hurry to shorten your name. Plus, it’s a very sexy name to me.”

He licks his lips leaning to kiss her. She leans down to kiss him grinding working up friction in her jeans against his bulge. He groans.

“Axel, your next costumer is her.” Derick yelled.

“Fuck,” Axel murmured. “Stephanie, maybe it wasn’t the best idea for you to come hangout at work with me.” She pouts her lip. “I’ll make time for just us soon. I promise.”

Stephanie takes in a deep breath and gets off him. “I should be studying anyway. Did you get my portrait done for Monday?”

“Yeah, you get mine done?”  He really hadn’t even started on it but art came easily to him so he knew he could get it done in a few hours. Maybe even tattoo it on his back. Fuck, what am I thinking? Do I even love her enough to do that? I fucking do and I should fucking tell her.

Derick yells again, “I’m sending Charlotte back for her bellybutton piecing right now.”

“No problem Derick, I’m ready.” He stood to take Stephanie’s hand. He looked at her soulfully. “Walk back carefully.” Fuck, I’m such a fucking pussy, he said to himself.

“Sure, thing Axel,” She leaned in to give him one more lingering kiss as Charlotte walked in. Then she went to her dorm to study.

The sky was gloomy as Stephanie walked to class. The smell of the impending rainstorm in the air. As she gets inside the art building the rain begins to fall. Axel holds the classroom door for her. She lights up at the sight of him. She goes to the front to sit and he stays where he has sat since the beginning of the semester both creatures of habit.  

“Stephanie, I know your portrait is finish so why don’t you come and show us all and describe how you created it.” Professor Scotland said.

Stephanie showed off her work of Axel.

“I used charcoal for this. Shades of grey and black. It’s not any particular style. Its just what came out when I drew it.” Stephanie bit at the corner of her lip as she stood there nervously.

“It looks pretty good, Stephanie,” The Professor took the drawing looking at it closely. “Would this be Axel?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Professor Scotland.” She fumbled with her hands hearing whispery voices scattering through the room.

“Alright you can sit Stephanie.,” The professor looked towards the back of the room. “Well, Axel since Stephanie showed us a portrait of you, you’re on the radar. Come on up here with what you have to give me.”

Axel nods. He walks to the front of the room. “I uh, this is Stephanie.” 

His voice trembled a little, “I drew her from my mind’s eye. I used tattoo ink because it was what I had available.” Axel handed the portrait to the Professor. Then he went to sit down.

The Professor looked at the Portrait closely. “Very good using what was around you Axel.”

Stephanie thought the rest of the class’s portraits weren’t nearly as good as Axel’s, but she would be the first to admit she was bias. Many of the other students did self-portraits.

After class Stephanie gathers her things thinking she could walk with Axel too his next class or have lunch together. She frowned when he was already gone.

The rain poured outside the door to the building. Thunder crushed in the distance. Stephanie walked outside under the awning of the building deciding if she wanted to make a mad dash for the student union or just stay here until it subsided. She shivered at the temperature drop. A red pick up truck pulled up at the sidewalk. The door sprang open. It was Axel with his hand outreached to help her. She ran over, jumped inside and shut the door. Axel pulled away from the curb.

“Thanks Axel,” She ran her hands though her wet hair.

“You have another class soon?” He tried to keep his eyes on the road, but one pulled to view her damp dress clinking to her skin. Her hard nipples from the cold showing through her thin bra and top of her baby pink dress.

“No, I have a little over an hour to dry up,” She laughed. “Maybe it wasn’t the best day to wear this color dress.”

Axel pulls into the student center parking lot, “You can just stay in here for a while,” He looks at Stephanie and licks his lips.

Her hair covers her face as she tries to dry it with her hands. “Sure, Axel thanks.”

He undoes his seatbelt to move closer to her eyes are closed as she shakes her hair out of her eyes. She feels his lips on hers and progresses the kiss as his hand moves under her dress, along her inner thigh under her panties. She breaths heavily in anticipation as he moves his lips down to suck on her neck.

“Axel,” She murmurs.

He whispers in her ear as two fingers glide over her clit. “I fucking need to touch you as much as you want me to Stephanie. My cock twitches every time I see you.”

She moans out softly.

He continues talking dirtier as he goes. “Your pussy is so wet. Is my band bitch always this ready when I’m around?”

“Yes, Axel,” She moaned laying back against the seat. Her hips start to rock into his touch.

“My good little soaked band bitch riding my hand so desperate for relief.” Axel bites on her ear lope until she squeals. “That’s it, Stephanie be louder for me. My cock is throbbing to be in this tight pussy of yours.” He moves his fingers quicker in and out. “But I don’t think you’re ready for that yet. You think you’re ready for my big cock in this pussy? You want it Stephanie?”

“Yes,” She gasps.

He attempts to add a third digit. “I think I’m going to get you to cum just like this. You’re never going to have to finish yourself again. You are almost there. Just let go. Fuck my cock is so hard feeling you out like this. You want to fuck my cock with those luscious pink lips when I’m done milking this pussy for all you can give.”

Her orgasm hits, “YES, AXEL…YES…”

Her back arches as he keeps moving his fingers. “Say it Stephanie. Tell me you want to suck my cock as good as I’m getting you off.” He slowly slides his fingers out and licks them. “Fucking purity.”

“yes, yes, yes,” She comes down from her high and looks over to Axel. “I never gave anyone a blow job before Axel. My ex thought they were only something whores did.” She blushes.

“You are the most innocent person I have ever known Stephanie.” He kisses her lips. “I’ll show you what I need you to do to my cock so I can mouth fuck you another time but for now give me that small hand.”

He already has his jeans undone. His cock standing at attention through the slit in his boxers. He puts her hand at the base. She gasps.

“You never gave him a hand job either?” Axel groans. “He had some serious issues Stephanie. Now move your hand up and down the shaft and watch what happens.”

She does as he asks. She watched the pleasing look on Axel’s face and the dripping tip of his head.

“Faster Stephanie.” He lays his head back. Eyes closed gritting his teeth. “fuck, you’re a natural…mmm…oh damn…put your mouth around it Stephanie. I don’t want cum all over my truck.”

He tangles his hand in her hair as she leans down. Her lips go around his member. He encourages her to continue the motion her hand was doing.  He thrusts his hips as he cums pulling her head back, so she is less likely choke. “FUCK…yes, yes…”

She is willingly to swallow all she can manage panicking slightly when she needs a breath. She sits up and opens the truck door puking up what was still filling her mouth. He rubs her back.

“You alright, Stephanie.” He does his pants back up. “I sure do appreciate you trying something new with me.”

She leans back on the seat. Shuts the door. “Rain stopped.”

Axel takes her hand, “Hey, look at me.” She turns her head to look at him. “Are you alright?” He opens his glove compartment. Grabs the wet wipes and takes one dabbing her mouth.

“I’m not what you need Axel,” She looks away.

He takes her chin pulling her face back to him, “You are exactly what I need Stephanie. I love you. You can’t be great at things you never have done before. I don’t expect you to.”

“I love you to Axel,” Her lips quiver.

“Hey how about after the show a Friday you come back to my place.” His eyes shined as the sun broke loose in the sky. “no drinking. Both of us just being together. How does that sound?”

“Good,” She smiles brightly.  

He starts the truck back up. “How about some lunch before your next class?”

“Taco Bell?” Stephanie suggested.

“That’s fine with me.” He took her hand and kissed it before taking off to the local Taco Bell.

They talked like they never had before. Maybe it was getting some of their pent-up sexual attraction dealt with.  Maybe it was just timing. Axel ask her about her classes and motivations. She found out he was a business major with a minor in art to take over  skat’s when Derick retired.  But all he really wanted to do is write and play music on a small level. No ambition to take it bigger. To “sellout to a big record label.” Even if that would pay the bill. They both felt good sitting there just discussing life. The forty-five minute flew by.

Stephanie’s head was clear as she got to class. Her two afternoon classes seemed to go quickly. She went back to the dorm to study the rest of the afternoon into the evening. When Bella got back from her classes Stephanie glanced up, “Evening Bella. How was your day?”

Bella scrutinized her roommate demeanor. “You seem not so tense and frustrated. Did you finally masturbate to get yourself focused?”

Stephanie giggled, “Why would you say that?”

“You have been all flustered for weeks and,” Bella throws her bag in her bedroom and marches over to Stephanie’s room. “You fucked him, didn’t you? You fucked Axel?”

“Nope,” Stephanie’s cheeks burned red. “We had a nice lunch after class and chatted. I enjoyed finding out more about him.”

“Somehow I don’t buy that you just had lunch as hot as your cheeks are getting.” She sat on Stephanie’s bed looking at her in her desk chair. “You know he probably told all of his friends already so you might as well tell me.”

“Your probably right,” She signed. “He was waiting in his truck after class to pick me up, so I didn’t get to drenched in the storm. We didn’t fuck but we fooled around until the rain stopped. Then we went to lunch. End of story.”

She smirked, “He got you off, didn’t he?”

“Fantastically so,” Stephanie gushed.

“I guess you needed it baby so now he can be out of your system.” Bella turned to go study in her room.

“I’m going to his place after the show Friday night.” Stephanie admitted excitedly.

Bella just shook her head as she went to her room. “I’m going to see Dark Breed at a different venue.”

[nakeddiaperboy93]

Turning Jakey Into Daddy’s Baby Boy- Chapter 7: Baby’s First Breakfast

(Sorry I forgot to post Chapter 7! 🙈👶🏼🙃)

JAKEY

As I sat there, strapped into the monkey highchair, in my thick piss soaked, shit filled diaper, a pacifier gag strapped in my mouth, my cock and balls were locked in a cage, a bib fastened around my neck and locking mittens on both of my hands. All I could think about was how embarrassed I was, and how I wished I was not conscious for any of this. The worst part of it all, was the horrible smell that filled my nostrils every time I took a breath. I wish I could stop breathing, or take a few breaths from my mouth, cause there was no getting used to the horrible shit smell rising from my diaper. I think to myself, ‘Oh god, My diaper! I just said my diaper. I referred to it as mine…. I don’t want it as mine. I want my old life back. I miss Jenny, my old room, my freedom.’ Tears rolling down my face as I am stuck in that god awful adult sized nursery.

I was staring at the letters, ‘Baby Jakey’ on the wall, trying to daydream I was on the beach, all of a sudden the noises of the locks on the door quickly snapped me out of it. The door opened and my kidnapper came in and put down on the dresser next to the door, a tray with 2 bottles of formula, some jars of baby food, and a bowl of something that was steaming. He shut the door, and grabbed his keys and locked all 3 of the pad locks back up.

He grabbed the things off the tray and put them on the tray of the highchair I was strapped into. ‘How does he not smell the shitty diaper I am wearing?’ I think to myself. His face has not changed at all. It still has that devilish grin painted on it and it didn’t seem it was going away anytime soon.

“Now now my baby Jakey,” He said to me, and I cringed as he said ‘baby Jakey.’ “Are you going to be a good baby boy for your daddy? I want to take the gag out of your mouth so you can eat properly, but I don’t want to hear you speak any bib boy words. I want my baby boy to nod his head if you understand and will listen to what daddy just said, or shake your head no if you think you cant be a good boy.”

I had to think about this one. Did I want to comply, or did I want still fight everything he was doing to me… so far, it hasn’t worked out well for me. I realized, either way I would have to eat this nasty baby food, and drink that gritty, baby formula. So after a minute of thinking, with this man just starring at me with that smug look on his face, I had made up my decision. I nodded my head yes.

“Yay! Good choice my baby boy. Now remember, No big boy words and no screaming for help. No one, besides your daddy, is here to hear you anyways.” My kidnapper said as he clapped his hands together. Then, in one swift motion, he reached behind my head and undid the pacifier gag, and pulled it out of my mouth. I opened my mouth and stretched my lips, and then licked all around, gave them a good tongue bath all over, and before you know it, I hear an airplane sound right in front of me, and a spoonful of oatmeal was being shoved into my mouth. I choked a little because I was not prepared for food to be in my mouth, and some of the oatmeal came out of my mouth and all over my chin. Right as I got the oatmeal swallowed, another spoonful was in my mouth. This didn’t taste like normal oatmeal and I tried to make myself swallow it down.

Once the oatmeal was about halfway gone, my kidnapper opened up one of the jars or baby food. “Now time for some vegetables baby boy. We want you to grow up to be big and strong! I picked out some peas peas for today! Baby boy is going to get used to his ‘P’s’ of all sorts!” He said talking to me like I was 12 months old. He made the airplane noise and my mouth was full of the worst tasting food, no liquid, that had ever been in my mouth. It was so horrible, I had no choice but to spit it out. It came flying out of my mouth and landed all over my chin, bib, diaper, and the tray. “That is not a good baby!” My kidnapper said immediately, putting another spoonful in my mouth. I did the same thing, spit out the nasty puke green liquid. “That shit is disgusting! Stop putting it in my mouth!” I snapped back to him.

“BAD BABY BOY! That was big boy words and cuss words!!! Thats 2 more punishments for my baby boy! One more outburst and the gag goes back in! And I have a bigger size to go in your mouth too!” He said angrily as he stood over me strapped in the highchair. “Lets finish this breakfast and then my baby boy can have some ‘Tummy Time’.”

I was so scared from his anger outburst, I regrettably swallowed every mouthful of baby food and oatmeal he put in my mouth. Finally the food was gone, and just the two bottles were left. I thought he would just feed me the bottles in the high chair, but he started to take the dishes off the highchair tray and back not he tray he brought them into the nursery with. He took the wrist restraints off both of my arms and took the tray off of the highchair. He kept the bib on me, but undid the snap, making sure to push hard on the clip to squish my diaper more.

Before he picked me up, my kidnapper took off his t shirt to expose a very manly, toned, and lightly furry chest. “What was he doing?!?” I started to get very nervous. He was going to rape me. I wasn’t ready! Please no!

But then, somewhat to my relief, he picked me up, and sat in the big, oversized rocking chair. Putting me in his lap, wiggling me right into his arms. I felt his hard cock against my super full diapered ass. Once he got us settled in, he put one of the bottle of baby formula in my mouth and I began to nurse on the nipple. The baby formula tasted like normal baby formula, there was no secret additive to this one. One of his hands was holding me and the bottle, and the other hand was placed on the front of my diaper.

As I was nursing on the bottle, my kidnapper said, “Thats my good baby boy. I need my baby boy to drink up ALL of his milkies so you can be big and strong wike your daddy. Skin to skin contact is the MOST important for newborns and infants. This is how your daddy will give his baby all of his bottles of baby formula, in the rocking chair my baby boy in his daddy’s arms.”

A few tears trickled down the corner of my eyes and down the side of my face as he was saying all of this degrading stuff.

I finished the first bottle and then it was soon replaced by the second and final bottle of baby formula. Right as I started nursing on this bottle, I felt a warm sensation in my diaper, that was sadly becoming familiar. I felt my warm piss cover my Chasity device and my balls. As the front of my diaper got warm and wet, I felt my kidnappers hand start to massage the front of my diaper. “Someone is going peepee right now, I can feel the warmth of your piss in your diaper, spreading and swelling.” He said to me.

I tried to focus all my attention on nursing on the bottle. This is the last place on Earth I wanted to be, so I will do anything to not focus on what was actually happening. Once I targeted all of my efforts on sucking the bottle of baby formula, I was in a happy place, momentarily. I didn’t even realize I had almost completely finished the bottle so quickly.

I was so into sucking on that bottle, that I had sucked the nipple dry, and had swallowed a lot of air. Once I realized that there was no more baby formula coming out, I had the weirdest feeling inside. I got very overwhelmed at my situation and everything that had happened to me, but then running out of milk and coming back to reality was enough to put me over the edge. My eyes opened and tears started rolling out of them, uncontrollably. I was sitting in his lap, having a tantrum.

“There, there my baby boy.” He said to me, moving his hand behind my back and rubbing my back and giving me a big hug. “Its going to be just fine baby boy. Daddy is here for you.” This made me cry even more. Finally, my tears ran out and I was just whimpering in his arms like a helpless baby.

My kidnapper picked me up and started to shift our positions. He put both of his feet flat on the floor, and then took me and sat me on his right knee. As soon as my diaper started to touch his leg, I knew that all the poop inside my diaper was going to be like another can of spray foam going off, but in the front this time. He put me down, and the diaper was squished against my ass and hole. He started bouncing me on his knew and this caused the diaper to squish every single time he bounced his knee with me on it. “My baby boy needs to be burped so he doesn’t gets an upset tummy.” Said the kidnapper who turned into the local amusement park ride within seconds.

It only took about 20 bounces and I let out a biiiig burp. “See baby! I bet that felt weally guds!” He replied to my burp. I had to admit in my mind, yes it did feel good. My stomach wasn’t quite as bloated as it was when we started. He burped me for about 5 minutes and the whole time I was burping uncontrollably, like everything else in my life.

I was looking at my kidnapper, and I see him grab something off the table next to the rocking chair, all of a sudden, a pacifier is pushed into my mouth. It wasn’t a gag this time, but a baby pacifier… but it was like 3x the size of the ones infants use. A ribbon was then placed around my head and it was attached to the pacifier, this was so it was stuck in place, but still could leave a little room for sucking, but I couldn’t spit it all the way out.

“Alright baby, I am going to go check some emails and get a few things done around the house.” He said as he stood up with me in his arms. He gave me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek as he placed me on the carpet in the middle of the nursery. It was a car mat with building and roads leading all over. “I want my baby to have a little tummy time, I will set a timer for 15 minutes, and then I will come back and turn my baby back over for some play time on his mat.” With that said, he patted my thick diaper butt, squishing it in one more time before leaving, and walked over to the door. He took out his keys and undid the 3 dead bolts. He took the tray full of the breakfast dishes and the door was shut, and I heard 3 deadbolts lock from the outside.

[proctorgoldberg4-blog]

6 Tips On Making Training A Practice.

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[josephkitchen0]

How to Make a Scarecrow That Actually Works

By Nathan Griffith – The best yields and the best quality of corn come from planting short-, mid- and long-season varieties all at once, not from planting the same variety every week or two. The latter method is just not in tune with nature’s rhythm and the harvest shows it. The real challenge is learning how to make a scarecrow to keep the crows away.

To reap the advantages of this single sowing, the corn should be planted at exactly the right time: when the sugar maple leaves are just about the size of a squirrel’s ear. This gives a window of about two weeks, because the leaves emerge differently at the top of the tree than near the ground.

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If this planting fails, the yields cannot be guaranteed if there’s drought or cool weather in the summer. Only planting on time is proof against weather.

The first planting takes about 10 days to two weeks to sprout.

Between sprouting and about eight inches worth of growth the plant is very sweet.

Learning how to grow sweet corn and keeping it safe from crows can be a challenge. Crows have a “sweet tooth,” along with superb eyesight, and will come from miles around to a newly sprouted early planting. Learn how to make a scarecrow to keep the crows away.

By the time this occurs, a re-planting (which may also be destroyed by the crows) is definitely going to yield less, and probably of lesser quality. This is true of field corn, popcorn, sweet corn and ornamental corn.

For years we tried all kinds of shenanigans to learn how to scare crows away and stop them from destroying our corn plantings. I vividly remember the first year we had trouble from them. One day, just after sun-up, I heard the merry call of “sis’ Crow” out in one of our fields: “Cawn! Cawn!”

“Not to worry,” I thought, “they’ll be gone by the time I get over there while doing my chores.”

I was right about that, but they were only gone because there wasn’t any more corn. The quarter-acre we’d planted for feeding green to our Cotswold sheep flock during the dry times of July and August was totally destroyed.

The crows had walked methodically down the rows, pulling up the just-emerged corn (couldn’t have been longer than a half-inch!) and eating the kernel at the bottom. Easy pickin’s.

Partial Solutions

We’ve all seen a set of old clothes, stuffed with straw, crucified on a pole out in a garden. Sometimes the crows land on them to survey the garden before they set about their digging.

We’ve seen those inflatable eyeballs and owl decoys. How decorative they are with the happy sounds of crows cheerfully bobbing all around them after only a few days!

And how about those rubber snakes? I had never tried ’em. If the other methods didn’t work, why should this one?

One old-timer advised me to soak the seed kernels in Warbex® cattle-grub killer before planting. The way he gleefully described the helter-skelter carcasses of dead and dying crows flopping around his corn patch about made me puke. Besides, just like you and me, plants are what they eat: and I didn’t want to eat that stuff. Unlike animals, plants don’t have livers and kidneys to filter out the poisons from their systems, so I was sure I’d be eating bug killer. (This is one of the reasons to feel safer with store-bought meat and milk than with store-bought vegetables, though we grow practically all we need of both.)

Years ago, a similar treatment was advocated by a so-called “organic” garden magazine. Except they recommended kerosene. I don’t want that kind of stuff in my dirt. We spent years learning to breed our own corn, harvest, select, save seeds, test and improve it. I explained all this in my book Husbandry—I certainly wasn’t interested in messing with all those “quick fixes.”

I sat for hours, no, days, in my old-fashioned slat-sided corncrib, which overlooks the main corn planting. I shot one crow. From that time on, they waited in the trees, just out of range of the old “shootin’ iron,” until I left. (Alas, I’ve never fooled much with scopes, decoys, calls or stuff like that.)

One year I even carefully buried a bunch of steel traps (#1-1/2 and #2 coil-spring and #1-1/2 single-long spring) besides the corn the way you do for trapping foxes, with a treadle-cover and the dirt sifted through ¼-inch rat-wire so stones wouldn’t clog it. Yep, now that surely caught crows. Usually by both feet and never with any broken bones or bloody skin, like the ARPI (Animal Rights Protest Industry) type-folks claim it “always” does. I just came along periodically and put ’em out of my misery. But you know what? That attracted more crows! Not less. Besides, it was way too much work, and quite distasteful at that.

Crow Psychology

Being basically a skinflint, I didn’t want to blow a hundred bucks or so on toy snakes for the whole field. But the toy snakes proved effective for one of our town-dwelling acquaintances, to keep pigeons from roosting on, breaking, and filling up his house’s gutters with the pigeons’ “you-know-what.”

I reflected, “If it works for pigeons, why not crows?”

So I rounded up some of that ubiquitous, brittle old garden hose one encounters on every small country place, and cut it into about eight to ten-foot lengths (guesstimated). I laid them out amid the corn rows, about one every 20-25 feet, each way. Mostly, I arranged them in “S” curves.

Presto! No crows!

Until a few days later. Then the crows pulled up all my corn.

I had to re-re-plant.

I wondered, “If I just stayed in the sweet-corn patch wheel-hoeing or otherwise puttering around, would those crows bother my just-sprouting corn?”

So I started cultivating the rows. To do that, I collected about eight rows worth of “snakes” and dragged ’em to the end of the rows, and began cultivating. Then I put the “snakes” back and went to lunch. When I got back, the crows had been at the other side of the patch, but not a single sprout had been bothered in the cultivated part.

Early next morning, all the corn was pulled up, except in the rows where the “snakes” had been relocated. Those rows hadn’t been bothered at all.

On a hunch, that evening I turned the “snakes” at right angles to where they’ve been that day.

No crows.

Next day, I did the same. Again no crows.

I continued doing it each morning until the corn was about a foot high and the crows never bothered a single stalk.

It was a revelation! If at dawn, the “snakes” weren’t lying in the same position they had the day before, the crows left the place alone. Since discovering on how to make a scarecrow that actually worked, we’ve never had crows tear up our corn, even when they nest and play in the woods immediately adjacent to it.

Deer and Apple Trees

I must say, I left out something else about our scarecrow plan: an old book said to make a scarecrow like this, so I did:

Take an old glass pop bottle, and sliding a metal rod down the bottle’s mouth, tap the bottom out.

Tie some string ( I used 10-pound test nylon fishing line) around the bottle’s neck, and tie it to a pole.

Drop the other end of the string down through the mouth of the bottle and tie a 20d (20-penny) nail to it so it’s hanging halfway past the bottom edges of the bottle, like a bell clapper.

Tie another string to the bottom of the nail, and to that, tie a shiny pie pan (I used one of those CD computer programs that come in junk mail—a good use for it, I think.)

The slightest breeze sets the shiny thing to spinning and flailing, which jiggles the nail, and makes a “tink-tink” noise in the bottle that carries a surprisingly long distance, considering how quiet it is.

Well, I suspended this from a 10-foot rod of common concrete reinforcement bar (rebar) that costs about $2 or $3 new. Mine wasn’t new. This can be easily thrust into the ground and pulled up, as necessary. It’s springy enough that if you lean it at a slant of about 75° it makes the scarecrow bob up and down a bit.

As with the “snakes,” crows will get used to this unless you move it now and then. A hundred feet apart is a good distance to have them. I alternate this sophisticated scarecrow with a plain old aluminum foil pie-pan every 100 feet, by about 25 feet apart, to keep those crows a-thinking.

Once my corn was up high enough to remove these gadgets, I placed ’em under a wild sport apple tree. (Now let me tell you, the apples on this tree are so good that deer come from miles around, forsaking most other apple trees. Even the crows come for them—and the geese wait under this tree to eat what the crows knock loose!) But when I took the pop bottle scarecrow out of the field and placed it so the pop bottled dangled about eight feet away from this tree, the deer left that side alone. In fact, I don’t think they ever really got used to its erratic “tink-tink.”

Conclusion

Growing sweet corn (watch those sugar maples!) on time will always give you more and better corn, especially if it’s unique growing conditions. The biggest problem with pests is they get your planting’s timing out of tune with nature’s rhythm, so you not only get less corn, but of lesser quality, too. Now that you know how to make a scarecrow for garden use that works you can use that instead of poisons, store-bought gadgets, cartridges, traps, or straw men.

Originally published in Countryside July / August 2002 and regularly vetted for accuracy. 

How to Make a Scarecrow That Actually Works was originally posted by All About Chickens