Suddenly Blackjack stops and looks at me with surprise. His ears fall behind his head with apparent frustration or realization, and his eyes narrow from their former beaming state. He gets up on his knees and leans forward closer to me. He puts out a paw and puts it lightly on my forearm, almost hovering.
"...R-rocket…" He whispers, crestfallen at my reproach.
I turn away, leaving his hand hanging in the air and sending droplets of piss splashing at my feet. I scowl and feel my whole body shakes for a moment before I manage a gasp. I scold, "What the fuck are you doing?"
I hear a sad sigh from Blackjack, and his paw returns to the side of my arm. I tug my arm away again and look back. I see his face, and it stuns me. Tears have formed in his eyes, threatening to streak down his face. His brief confidence has been blown off his face, leaving an almost disappointed looking frown.
I feel my brow furrow, and a sadness wells in me as well. I can't even begin to process it, however, and I smirk at Blackjack expectantly. Still wanting an answer, I sneer, "Well?"
His eyes dart back and forth as he searches for an answer.
"Well," he whispers, "I noticed you wet my bed… and I was doing your laundry… and I noticed the stains on your bed… and…"
His voice cracks slightly, and he looks me dead in the eyes before saying, "look, I just really want to help."
My brain so thoroughly wants me to be mad at him, but I'm slowly losing the ability to be. I don't know how to feel about it. Is he serious?
While I'm stuck in my head again, Blackjack reaches out and takes my hand. I shrug him off once, but he grabs my hand again and I let him. I can't focus anymore. My underwear is dripping between my legs, and I can't get myself to do anything about it. I'm such a fucking baby! I can't even keep myself clean! Fuck!
"H-here…" Blackjack whispers, pulling me closer and putting his other paw on the brim of my undies. I glance down again and see the diapers.
I smirk and question with exasperation, "Where in the name of flarg did you even get those?"
He looks at me paternally and answers, "It takes like an hour at most to get almost anything out here, I- I just ordered them... I bet we could even get the ship to manufacture them if we asked it." As he talks, he weakly pulls on my underwear. I let him tug them down around my ankles. He gestures for me to step out of them, I subconsciously put my hands on his shoulders for balance and lift one leg after the other as he removes my pissed undies. My embarrassment doesn't even change as he exposes my wet privates- it's already too high for me to process.
Blackjack says, "Would you like to try them, maybe?"
"No." I respond mechanically.
"Come on, Rocket! Before I was a mercenary, half my job was changing dirty diapers." He encourages, sounding almost stern.
I can feel his frustration, and it builds on my own. I shut my eyes angrily for a second and demand, "I'm not a baby!"
"You're acting like one!" He responds. I'm blown back by his bluntness.
Suddenly, I can feel my dick trying to stir, pushing itself against its confines. Why does this turn me on? I look him in the eyes, defeated and confused about what I should do.
Before I can think anything over, he grabs my wrist and tugs me in close. He kisses me on the cheek quickly, but then tugs me further. I fall over his lap, and he takes my moment of surprise to whip one of his legs up over mine to hold me in position. My face rams into the mattress. Blackjack puts a hand on my shoulder blade, holding me down. What is happening? He's moving way too quickly for this to be some sort of game? Is he attacking me? Is he betraying me? After all this? My mind doesn't even want to think those thoughts anymore, and my head spins for this split second of fast action on his part. I can barely think. But I hear him whisper with a sneer, "Maybe- maybe I need to treat you like a baby."
My surprise doubles as I hear a swish of air and then a loud smack. A sudden twang of pain, not too bad but definitely getting my attention, shoots through my left butt cheek. Before I can react, another swoosh and the same pain shoots through my right cheek.
I let out a "Hrrk!" of pain and surprise, but I have no chance to do anything before his swats begin to rain down on my ass like hornets. I jerk myself up, but he pushes me back down with ease and continues to smack my butt rhythmically with his paw. A quick, stinging pain jumps from one cheek to the other with each hit. I bite my bottom lip, shut my eyes, and clench my fists. All I can do is wriggle in my confusion and pain as he punishes my butt.
It hurts, but there's something else. I can barely focus on the pain as my horniness ramps up and up at him touching my butt over and over. I yowl and cry out, confused and embarrassed. My dick is straining in my cage harder than it has in a long time, and I can't help but hump into his leg as I kick and jolt with each spank.
However, my sexual frustration is quickly replaced by the ever growing pain in my ass as he keeps hitting harder and harder. I'm left feeling nothing but the burning red sensation of pain on my butt and embarrassment on my face amplifying with each strike. I can't even tell if I'm crying or whimpering or sobbing or anything as Blackjack continues to spank with a quick rhythm that only a bunny could manage.
I can't focus on anything, and thus I'm left with whatever thoughts thrust into my head. I feel completely ashamed of myself for shitting Blackjack's bed. I didn't take the slightest precaution even after complaining to myself about this very problem for weeks. And I haven't trusted Blackjack at all! He's been so good to me, and I've all but shut him out! I only let him in at all when it felt good for me! I feel so childish! I hate it! I'm not a baby!
His spanks continue to fall without mercy, and my brain continues to bombard me with the blatant truth of how baby-like I've been acting. I feel like I'm crying, like I'm wailing, but I realize that I'm still trapped in my head.
Without knowing how I feel or what I want, I cry out, "-p-p-please sto-ooop!"
Much to my regret, he stops with a sudden finality, and no more swats come. It feels excruciatingly anticlimactic as he rests his paw on my burning butt. I reach for my eyes and feel just a few tears welling at my eyelids, but no real crying yet. I can't believe he stopped when I asked. There's something in me that doesn't even want him to have stopped. I need this to go further. Not to mention the sudden lack of stimuli reminds me that my dick is throbbing and straining at this.
I croak, "Keep going."
I hear him exhale, almost with surprise. Then, I hear him breathe in slowly, and his paw pushes firmly onto my cheek. I wince with anticipation, and before my wince ends, a thunderous smack resounds through the room. I immediately feel his spank on my right cheek, and it's at least ten times harder than before. I gasp and make a strange "augh-" sound that is cut short by another harsh thwack into my left cheek. These are slower, but their force sends me into a fit of writhing almost instantly.
He gets through maybe ten of these firmer spanks before I must really be crying. The moments between each spank let me gasp each time and feel the hot tears soak into my face fur. Then he picks up the speed. The force stays true, but each gasp is cut off with the next spank. I find myself scrubbing my face into the bed and kicking my legs wildly. There's no avail, however, as he merely holds me down harder and continues to spank. In seconds I'm reduced to a sobbing mess, flailing and snorting at the unbelievable pain in my butt.
Without thinking, I mumble "st-ooo-ooop…" into the bed, my mouth filling with cloth for a moment and leaving a stain of saliva. Then, just like before, it stops. I bend my back and look at him, panting and gagging. He pulls me up into a hug, holding my naked body against himself forcefully. I can feel him staring at me, clearly with something on his mind.
Through my sobs, I hear him ask, "Do you have a hairbrush?"
I nod shakily, barely understanding.
He commands, "Go get it."
I gulp and look around the room. Only my soiled underpants lie on the floor. I can't go barging through the ship naked! Especially not with my butt burning red! I rasp at him with a blush, "I need- c-clothes…"
"Too bad." He whispers in my ear, "You're being punished, and I need your hairbrush. Go get it."
He helps me stand up and kisses me lightly on the forehead before gesturing to the door. In a daze of embarrassment, pain, and horniness, I shamble to the door and open it. I look back at him one more time to see a sternness in his eyes that I wasn't expecting, and I push myself through the door before closing it. I look down both sides of the hallway, realizing with some solace that there is almost no chance anyone else is currently on the ship. But almost no chance isn't no chance, and my fright leads me to jogging as best I can with the stinging in my rear to my bathroom. I waste no time looking at my room and head straight for the drawer where I deposited my underused brush this very morning. I pull it out and wince at the long, flat wood of its face, but I remember I shouldn't be wasting time and rush back to Blackjack.
I open Blackjack's door again to see him wiping up my pee stain off the floor with a wet wipe. My pissed-in underwear hangs loosely on the side of his hamper, having been clearly tossed into it. I blush and feel almost small as I tiptoe into the room holding the brush with both hands in front of my useless junk. I get up next to Blackjack and his bed before he looks up at me and says, "Good, good. Glad you're not chickening out."
He stands up, his ears perking up and making him tower over me. He takes the hairbrush out of my hands without resistance, and he hops himself back onto the bed. The diapers spring away from his point of impact a little, and I try to ignore them and the growing redness on my face. He looks me in the eyes, and his sternness from earlier returns as his eyes narrow at me. He pats his knee expectantly.
I shake a little and reluctantly lay myself across his lap, trying to cushion my head with my arms. Blackjack silently moves a pillow to me, and I hug it and bury my face into it. I feel Blackjack's paw push down lightly between my shoulders, and I feel the cold of the brush lay against my stinging rear.
"I think one hundred will be enough as punishment for how mean you've been to me today," Blackjack says into the air. I don't respond, and he continues, "and I won't be stopping this time, understand?" I gulp and nod my head into the pillow, fighting my instincts telling me to not let him take charge. With a hint of snark, he says, "And you better be crying again by the time I'm done."
He starts quickly with five lightning bolts to each cheek, one after the other. The pain reignites in my butt. He isn't hitting as hard as he was with his hand, but it still hurts worse than before on my already battered behind. I barely react to the first volley with a "gah" before he's already onto the second. The brush is slightly narrower than his paw, and the pain quickly grows sharper in whichever spot he happens to hit. I grunt and clench my teeth, suddenly feeling like I want to resist him. I push my head up and instantly feel a paw holding me down from my shoulders. At my resistance, his smacks grow with ferocity. Each new smack diverts my attention away from the sharp sting left by the last until my whole butt screaming, but I feel stubbornly unable to cry. I realize after probably ninety that one hundred isn't actually a lot with how fast he's going, and he quickly puts down the brush after one more set.
I feel a distinct dryness to my face, my former tears having been wiped away by the pillow. I hear Blackjack sigh. He sounds frustrated again, and he leans over me to reach under the bed. I hear a small clank and then the dragging of metal across the floor. I peek back to see that he's folding a belt in half. I grit my teeth and look back into the pillow, trying to hold still.
There's no sign of when he's going to continue, just a sudden thwack against my ass that makes me jump. The belt wraps around my thigh, giving a good spank across my whole ass at once. I can barely describe how much worse it is than the brush. Just a small line across my butt bursts with pain that has to leave a long red stripe in its place.
Blackjack pushes me back into the pillow once again, and a second strap wracks across my cheeks. I gasp and push against Blackjack's paw, too tired to lift myself up at all. I instinctively reach a paw back to cover my butt, but Blackjack's hand grabs my wrist and holds my arm against my back. I remain completely immobilized as a third and fourth strike come in quick succession.
I almost howl, "I'm sorry! Okay!" Another slash and I yelp, "-Shit!"
I can't help but curse and apologize in vain as Blackjack racks up twenty more lashes across my ass. I'm completely exhausted already, and the energy reserves I had left for fighting quickly deplete. Finally, I again feel tears gushing out of my eyes. This time they don't let up at all, and my face and the pillow begin to grow damp. I find myself completely bawling, unable to even continue my pleading and apologizing.
He keeps going, slow and methodical. He strikes maybe every ten or so seconds. Not nearly as hard as before, but there's no need for any harder with the pain continuing to radiate off my butt. I sob on his lap for several minutes before I notice that his last attack must have come.