The Diary Of A Bad Boy

[Fulldiaper]

Amazing AWE-SOME please continue

[diaperpt]

Chapter 20: Plugging the Gap

I’d been treated so gently this morning overall and I was about to have my clean fresh diapers pinned on. Wouldn’t that feel good? And yet Amy had just turned to pick something off the counter next to the changing table. It gleamed in the light as she brought it over for me to see. It was shiny silver, somewhat cylindrical in shape, small and rounded at one end tapering outward then dramatically in just above a round flat base. I’d never seen one in real life before, but I’d seen pictures of a lot of different shapes and styles on the web.

My recognition of this object must have made my eyes double in size and bulge out of their sockets. My whole body throbbed in terror. I’d seen them. I’d read stories involving them. I’d imagined what one might feel like and yet now the terror of pending reality began to set in.

“Oh, I see you recognize this. Have you ever used one?” Amy asked.

I shook my head violently! No! And I didn’t want to use it now!

“Well, we are going to try to get you used to this. Once it’s in place, you should be safe from any accidents. If it works out well, you’ll be able to use it at work at least once in a while. Let me lube you up and put it in, so I can diaper you up before you wet.”

The cool greasy lubricant was smeared on and into my little hole and soon I felt the cool pressure of the plug. Amy truly tried to be gentle, taking her time and pausing each time the pain of the intruder brought muffled yelps out through my pacifier gag. Just when I thought I could bear no more pain, I felt the device slip into place.

“There! I was worried it would be too much for you, but you took it like a good little boy. I’m sure it’s going to be just the thing to prevent accidents. We’re going to keep it in as long as we can today and then take it out later on. We won’t use it every day; only when you haven’t moved your bowels before going off to work. Today is an experiment. If you seem to like it, as some people do, we can use it as a reward. If it is painful and you really hate it, we can also use it as punishment! Isn’t that convenient,” she said as she tightened the cloth diapers and pinned them.

“OK, diaperpt. Do you think you’ve learned your lesson? Oh, let me take out your pacifier for now and we can really talk.”

With the pacifier removed, I worked my jaw back and forth trying to ease the stiffness caused by the long term presence of the large feeding pacifier.

“So as I was saying,” Amy repeated, “do you think you’ve learned your lesson? Are you really ready to accept your diapers full time and for full use?”

I hesitated, but said, “I’ve got to be honest with you, Am… uh, I mean Mommy. I hate the feeling of pooping in my diapers. I really do. But I know that I need my diapers and I guess I’ll just have to get used to everything that means. This butt plug really hurts, too. I don’t know if I can wear it at work. I’m worried about work a lot. I don’t know that I can do it. But…just to answer your question, yes I’m ready to accept that I need my diapers and will have to use them all the time. If you let me, I’d use the toilet but I promise not to try using the toilet ever again without your permission. I mean it. Really.”

“Yes, little boy,” Amy smiled, “I do think you mean it. And let’s not worry too much about work right now. Let’s get through the day today and worry about work tomorrow. I will say this: your feeding schedule and the timing of your movements ought to work well at least for today and tomorrow. We’ll work on things from there. I’ve got some plans that ought to work out for you so that accidents away from home should always be at a minimum. And that’s without always relying on this plug. Now let’s get you up.”

Before she helped me up, I had to lift my bottom for her to put a pair of powder blue snap-on plastic pants underneath. I gasped with even slight body movement and worried that the plug might even cause some real physical damage. I didn’t really believe the stories about losing fecal continence through the use of plugs but I was worried about the plug actually tearing my skin. Even so, the pain alone was agonizing.

The pain continued as I had to move around for Amy to put a onesie on me and fasten the snaps at the crotch and the shoulder. That it matched perfectly the color of my plastic panties was totally lost as all my concentration was on the vast intruder in my rear end. Standing was even more agony, but not as much as walking – or should I say waddling – to and up the stairs.

Once upstairs, I was led around and around the house and told that this was to help me get used to the feeling of the plug. When I was finally allowed a rest, it was little comfort. To move to a sitting position, I felt the plug slip. Panic crept in as I worried about it slipping out entirely. Would I be punished? If it did slip out and I sat on it, how would that feel? Would it slip back in but even more painfully? I didn’t know. How relieved I was to be able to squeeze my cheeks and hold it just enough until sitting down forced it – albeit painfully – back to its original position.

Amy looked at the surprised and pained expression on my face and asked, “How is it? How does it feel? I can tell you don’t really like it.”

I hesitated, not knowing what to say. I didn’t want to make it sound like I liked it, because she’d said then it would be used for ‘pleasure’ and yet I didn’t want it used for punishment either. I decided on the truth. “It hurts so much! It really does. I…I think I might be able to get used to it. I’ll try to get used to it, Mommy. I know you want me to use it so I don’t have accidents. I don’t want to have accidents either. If there is any other way to do it, I rather try that I think, but I’m OK for now. Just let me rest a little longer.”

“Well,” she said, “I can think of another thing we could try from time to time. We’re still going to get you used to this, though. I don’t think it will take all that long for you to adjust to the feeling of it.”

She let me sit there for ten minutes, then led me around the house several more times. Each time it got a little easier or maybe I was just getting used to that level of pain. After yet another couple laps around the house, she led me up the stairs to my nursery. The stairs presented an increased level of pain even as I sidled up the stairs as carefully and slowly as I was allowed. Again though, the pain had subsided at least a little by the time I reached the second floor.

Amy led me into my nursery and got out a dress shirt and a pair of dress pants that I ordinarily wear to work. I didn’t dare question her about this and instead cooperated as she helped me dress.

Finally she spoke and said, “You look so nice! Walk across the room and back.”

When I had obediently done as I was told, she said, “No one would ever notice you are wearing diapers and I don’t think your gait is affected at all by the plug. You’re going to be fine! And to prove it to you, we’re going to go out for a little shopping!”

I was horrified! “Mommy, please! This hurts! I’m starting to get used to it a little, but it hurts when I sit down and it still hurts a little when I walk. Please, Mommy, can’t I just stay home?”

“Well, let’s see,” she pondered. “I suppose you could stay home, but Aunty Jill isn’t available to babysit, so I think I’d have to put you into your downstairs nursery. You’ve already seen most of the new furniture down there; if you stay, you could be at the head of the table, in the stocks, or maybe face-down in the cribby you used the other night! And it might be a nice opportunity for you to try out the next bigger butt plug…”

“Umm…,” I quickly reconsidered my request. “Maybe I should just go shopping with you, Mommy. It would really help me get used to this plug and I really would rather be with you than left alone.”

“Are you sure, little one? I do think it would be best for you to come with me, but I don’t want an unhappy baby boy with me,” she taunted.

“Yes, Mommy. I want to go shopping with you. I changed my mind,” I said, trying to smile at her with my cutest smile.

“Well,” she said, “don’t get the idea that it’s your decision. Mommy decides what’s best for her little diaper boy. Understand?”

“Yes, Mommy, I understand. I’ll do what you want me to do. I’ll be a good boy,” I said contritely.

It was perfectly clear to me that she was in control. I might try to influence her somewhat, but in this case, there was no room for influence. Maybe it was for the best after all, I reasoned. If I was ever to have to spend a day at work with this butt plug in me, I’d better get used to it. And what was that Amy had said about ‘the next bigger’ one? As I thought about that, I realized that ‘next bigger’ actually implied more than just one bigger. And this one hurt enough as it was!

I stood there thinking about all this while Amy got herself ready for this shopping trip, whatever it was to be. She led me down the stairs and out to the car; thankfully going down the stairs was, for some reason, a little easier on my bottom than going up, but sitting down into the car seat was agony as the plug first tried to slip out and then was rammed home as my bottom hit the seat. Amy strapped me in reminding me that when we were out in the public eye, I would have to fasten my own seatbelt, but here in the garage, she was the Mommy.

Even though I was dressed in good, adult clothes – clothes I’d normally wear to work – I felt somewhat shamed and embarrassed to be out on the roads just knowing what I wore underneath. Yes, I’d worn diapers to work all last week and you’d think I’d be getting used to it and yes, I’d gone out in public in diapers even before Amy had discovered my diaper secret. Somehow, and I wasn’t sure exactly how, this was different. I think a lot of it had to do with the feeling of being plugged and a resulting feeling of being even in less control of my own life than I’d felt last week.

Before I knew it, we were at the mall and we were walking across the parking lot. The pain of getting out of the car was muted by the haze of embarrassment which surrounded me. I was sure all those people around us were staring at me and knew exactly what I was wearing – and probably knew I’d already wet my diaper some.

Amy spoke to me in almost a silent voice, “Now, diaperpt, while we’re here and anytime out in public, you’ve GOT to remember to call me ‘Amy’ and not ‘Mommy.’ If you want to keep this our little secret, you’ve got to play your cards right. We’re going to shop for some new clothes for me and I’m going to have to trust you to behave. I won’t be able to bring you into the dressing rooms, so I’ll find a chair out in the store for you or you can just walk around right in that area. You are NOT to leave even the department we happen to be in and certainly NOT to leave the store. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mo…, I mean Amy,” I quickly corrected.

The mall was very crowded and I was both happy and worried because of it. I was happy because people were so close to us most of the time that they didn’t have a good view of my middle and so probably couldn’t see that I had at least a slight diaper bulge. On the other hand, even after a few minutes, a few people and some kids had accidently bumped into me and I was worried that they would feel that I had a diaper on or maybe hear my plastic panties rustle. None of this seemed to bother Amy and we shopped for a couple hours. We spent a lot of time at Macy’s and the rest of the time at a variety of smaller women’s stores. As Amy had me sit in chairs here and there the sharp pains I’d originally felt moved to a dull feeling of pressure. The extreme haze and self-consciousness I had experienced when we first arrived began to fade as well, as I realized that no one seemed to notice me and if they did, they certainly didn’t let on.

As we passed the men’s department of Macy’s Amy toyed with me. “Is there anything in here you need? Any underwear or anything?” she said smiling. “Actually, we will have to come back here soon and get you some more slacks for work. I think we’re going to have to start getting a slightly larger waist size to help cover your…recent growth.”

Whew! Thankfully she didn’t finish that sentence the way I thought she was going to! I knew she was going to continue to play with me, but I was also confident that she wasn’t going to let on to my condition in public either. She understood as well as I did that while maybe it was no one else’s business how I was dressed, her job might well be in jeopardy as well as mine. She was, after all, a high ranking and publicly visible personnel director in a large and well respected local company.

I didn’t even bother responding to her, and instead just continued to walk by her side. We left the mall and were headed back toward home, when Amy asked if I was thirsty. I had to admit that I was although I was a little afraid of what this might mean. I wasn’t sure. We pulled into a Dunkin’ Donuts and went in. Amy ordered us each a medium sized coffee and one plain stick. She led me to a table where we sat down and began drinking our coffee. By this time, while I felt the plug slip out a little and back in as I sat, I barely noticed it.

Amy ripped open the bag the stick had been in and broke it into small pieces. “Here, Peter. I bought this for you. You must be hungry too.”

It seemed so strange to sit there and talk small talk like we’d done so many times in the past. Right now I wasn’t ‘baby boy,’ ‘diaper boy,’ or ‘diaperpt’ and instead was called by my adult name. Amy prattled on about her work, her friends, and my work, drawing me into the conversation as an equal adult. It took me a while to adjust to this concept after the events of Thursday, Friday, Saturday and most of today. It seemed so natural to be talking like this and yet so strange.

Once back in the car, Amy clarified the situation for me a little. “Don’t be confused, little boy. I’m still the Mommy and you are nothing but a pathetic little diaper boy. When we’re in public, you are going to have to pretend to be an adult and I’ll have to pretend you are really my husband. This is just practice for the rest of your life. Unless you want the world to know about your helpless little baby side, you are going to have to get good at knowing when to act like an adult and when to act like the little diaper boy you really are.”

It stung to hear it put this way. I was just getting used to the idea of needing diapers and wearing them constantly, but to hear that I’d have to ‘pretend’ to be an adult when in public hurt. I hung my head.

“Oh come on, diaperpt,” she smiled. “This is what you’ve always wanted! I’m working so hard to help you make it happen. Don’t be sad about it.”

“Amy, oops, I’m sorry…Mommy,… I…I enjoyed being able to talk with you like it used to be while we had our coffee. I want it to be like that more,” I said, looking into her eyes.

She stared back at me and said, “But baby, don’t you realize how long it’s been since we could talk like this? Don’t you realize how far away from each other we’ve drifted over the last year? That little conversation we just had was the best one we’ve had in at least that long. Yes, I enjoyed it too! Don’t you realize that all that has happened in the last three weeks is slowly bringing us back together?”

The reality of what she’d just said smacked me as hard as if she’d slapped my face. It was true. She’d been so busy at work that we didn’t have time for each other, but by the same token I began to realize how much time I’d been putting in on dailydiapers and other diaper sites; how much thought and emotional space I’d used up in getting deeper and deeper in an abdl mindset. I’d begun to shut myself off from her at least as much as her time commitments had altered our relationship.

“I…I hadn’t thought about it that way. You’re right. We have drifted apart. That was the best conversation we’ve had in a long time. I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry for my part in letting it happen and I want you to know how much I really do love you. I want the best possible relationship for us.” As I said this, I really meant it. I’d at least temporarily left the world of diapers and butt plugs and was looking at Amy with a love as strong as any I’d ever felt for her.

When Amy spoke, she brought me back to reality, but with a slight twist on it. “Diaperpt, I know you’re having a hard time with this, but Mommy just knows that this is going to end up being the best thing in the world for us. You’ll go back to work tomorrow and you’ll still have lots to adjust to, but things are going to be better. Things are going to be much better.”

She leaned over toward me and kissed me deeply on the lips, just further confusing my emotions. Was I her husband or her baby? Was I an adult man or just a little diaper boy? Who was I and what was my relationship with this woman? I loved her deeply as my wife, but I’d been forced into submission by her and at home, I’d given up all adult status. Sitting in the car next to her in my work attire, I outwardly looked like a successful middle-aged man and yet I was in a wet diaper under which was a butt plug put in place by ‘Mommy’ and over which was a pair of pink, animal print plastic panties. The coffee I’d consumed was beginning to work with all the bulk I’d been consuming lately and I remembered that once the butt plug came out, I’d be expected to use my diapers and not a toilet. Who was I? What was I?

And Amy’s last words just a moment ago rang in my ears, “Things are going to be much better.”

[Fulldiaper]

Keeping me on the edge of my diapers

[christi]

Nice post! And twist. I've been reading this story waiting for him to bite the bullet and call her bluff on exposing him but now I'm not so sure. Maybe he's better off where he is. Does she still love him as a wife? She sure seemed like she was just nasty and wanted to make his life miserable but maybe things aren't so simple. I'm looking forward to the next piece of this story.

[babygore]

great keep it going. was also wondering if she still liked him anymore. wondering what sex life they might have

[diaperpt]

Chapter 21: Sunday Evening ‘Unplugged’ and that doesn’t mean ‘acoustic’!

The rest of the trip was uneventful. We stopped at the grocery store for a few things including oatmeal, Cream of Wheat, some honey, molasses and Caro syrup all of which Amy said was for my baby formula. She also picked out some beef, pork and chicken for her meals the following week and some deli, lettuce and bread for sandwiches at work. It seemed a strange combination to me - formula and yet sandwiches - but then nothing in this new life seemed normal.

This was borne out as we pulled into the garage and the door shut behind us. Amy reached over and slapped my wrist when I went to unbuckle my seatbelt. “We’re home, now baby! Mommy will get you out of the car!”

Once inside the house, I was led upstairs to my nursery where Amy helped me take off my adult clothes. She snuck a finger under my plastic panties to feel a very wet diaper.

“You are a very wet little boy! Up on your changing table! Let’s take care of you now.” She continued back in the tone of the Mommy voice. I was the baby again and I was not to question.

She began changing my diapers as always but stopped after laying out the new double cloth diapers beneath me. “Time to test the theory, diaperpt. You’ve had that plug in for quite a while now. How are you doing with it?”

“Umm…I guess it feels OK. It doesn’t hurt like it did at first,” I said.

“Would you like it out now?”

Uh oh! Yes, I wanted it out but that also meant that something was going to come of all the bulk I’d consumed, the pressure that had been building slowly behind the plug and the very predictable affect that coffee always had on me! I hesitated before I spoke; this was another one of those lose, lose situations that Amy loved to put me in. I decided to play the obedient boy. Or was I playing?

“Gosh, Mommy. I don’t know what to say. What do you think I should do?”

She smiled, “It isn’t what you do, but what Mommy does for you. And I think it’s time for the plug to come out. It’s already past the time you’d normally get home from work, so you’ve had the plug in for about as much time as you’d absolutely need it. Of course, there may be times when Mommy wants to leave it in longer, but I’ll decide that as we go along. I’m going to pull it out of you. It may not be real comfortable coming out, but I’m sure you can get used to that too. You’ve done well so far today, little boy. Be careful though and don’t let any poop out right away.”

She laughed and continued, “Let me get your diapers on before you mess them! That would make Mommy very unhappy!”

I felt her grasp the flat end of the plug and turn it slowly, beginning to draw it out. I gasped at first but aside from a tiny twinge of pain it came out of me relatively easily. Immediately I felt its absence as much as I’d felt its presence all the time it was in. There was still a dull ache where it had been and I felt the pressure in my colon develop a different feeling. As Amy pinned my diapers tight, pulled up my plastic panties and snapped on a new onesie, I realized I wasn’t going to stay clean very long.

Halfway through our supper I started passing gas. I had felt a series of cramps as I felt the approach of the inevitable. Amy was eating a hamburger on a roll with a tossed salad while I was relegated to two big baby bottles of my formula. She sat at the table while I sat across from her in my highchair.

“I think my little boy is having some problems. Is that right?”

“Mommy,” I whined, “it hurts.”

“It’s OK, baby. Once you let it out it’ll feel better. If you can stay regular, you won’t need that plug during the day. We’ll only use it when we need it. Now I’d prefer it if you didn’t stink up the whole kitchen while I’m eating, but I know you need to let things happen.”

It was humiliating to hear this reminder of my need for diapers, but it was even more humiliating when the pressure became so great that I had to shift in my highchair and lift a cheek to let out what I thought was going to be more gas. Instead, soft wet poop slid out. The warm smoosh of it on my backside felt awful as I reluctantly sat back down fully.

I sucked more on my bottle for a while and twice more had to raise a cheek to allow more release. The poop on my bottom felt awful as well as being embarrassing, but it was at least a relief from the cramping and pressure. Amy looked over at me with a knowing smile and made a show of sniffing the air. “Thank goodness for good plastic panties,” she said. “I can’t smell you at all. And you are being a good little diaper boy, filling your pants like that. You finish your dinner and later on I’ll give you a nice bath and get you ready for the night.”

I felt quite messy by the time I’d finished both my formula and a bottle of juice. Still, when Amy let me up from the highchair, even more poop billowed out into my diapers. I’d been looking forward to getting cleaned up immediately, but that wasn’t to be. Instead, Amy insisted on watching one of her favorite Sunday evening TV shows while I sat on a mat at her feet in the living room. I could feel the mess spread as I once again sat down. Would I ever get used to this? I couldn’t imagine how. I watched the show though and enjoyed this little bit of adulthood, even if it was in a wet and messy diaper sitting on the floor at the feet of my Mommy.

When the show was over, Amy led me upstairs into my nursery. She removed my onesie and plastic panties and diapers. The smell was overpoweringly acrid and we both wrinkled our noses. She smiled and laughed at our mutual reaction.

She used 3 wipes before she said I was clean enough to make it to the bathtub without making a mess. She had already drawn a full tub of water and I welcomed the feel of warmth as I was allowed to slide into the tub. She soaped up a washcloth and began washing me thoroughly. Once she was satisfied I was clean, she told me to relax in the tub while she cleaned up the mess in the nursery. She returned and had me stand up while she inspected me closely and shaved away little stray strands of hair trying to gain a foothold in my diaper area. I was then allowed to soak some more before she inspected me once again to be sure there was nothing to mar the baby smooth surface of my diaper area.

Once I was out of the tub and dried off, I was brought back to my nursery and diapered for the night. The soft thick cloth felt so, so good against my baby smooth skin and it was so comforting to feel the tightness of my diapers captured within the grasp of baby blue pull-on plastic panties. When Amy went to the drawers to get a sleeper, I grimaced as I thought she was getting my hobble-sleeper but it was just a regular sleeper with the same print as the hobble one. I still felt a little strange in these sleepers, but they were so warm and comfortable that it made up for the feeling that I was being dressed like a little child.

By this time, I was exhausted from the events of the day; a lot had happened and I certainly hadn’t slept well last night. The sight of my crib with the side down waiting for me was as welcome as anything I could imagine. I slid in easily, listening to the crackle of the plastic under-sheet, feeling the texture of it beneath me interacting with the soft, warm sleeper and my thick diapers beneath. Amy reached in and gave me a big full kiss on the lips as she’d done this afternoon – this was a wife/husband kiss, not a Mommy/baby kiss – and yet I knew my place very well.

It was confusing, but somehow comforting and I was further comforted as she handed me my night-time bottle and pulled up the side and lowered the top bars of my crib. The sound of the locks on the crib was one of comfort and safety. I sighed contentedly as she shut off the lights and slipped out the door as I nursed myself to sleep. My last thoughts before drifting off were pleasant thoughts of our conversation at Dunkin’ Donuts and her statement that things were only going to get better. Things had certainly been tipped upside down and inside out for me over the last few weeks, but somehow I believed that Amy was right; that things were going to be better for each of us and for us together as a couple.

[Antonia]

An excellent story, beautifully written and most entertaining. A very unusual twist in every story. Well done and thank you for all your hard work.

[diaperpt]

Thanks, Antonia. I really appreciate your comment - and the ones others have made as well. I've been having a lot of fun with this story and I'm thrilled to see the number of hits its received. There are several more chapters, but I'm working on drawing it to a close fairly soon.

Chapter 22: Another Week of Work Begins

I slept through the night without any disturbance and would have slept for hours more, I’m sure, if Amy hadn’t come in to wake me up at 5:00 am. “Time to get up for work, sleepyhead! I know you couldn’t possibly be dry, but are you clean or are you messy?” she asked.

It took me a while to rouse myself. I rolled over in my crib, rubbed my eyes and yawned. I could definitely tell I was wet and had already gotten used to the idea that I’d wake up that way every morning now. I didn’t feel anything squishy in the back of my diapers but I honestly wasn’t sure if I’d messed or not. I would have been pretty disgusted with myself if I had. While I was willing to concede to urinary incontinence – or was it simply urinary laziness or even acknowledgment of having no other choice than use my diapers – I was not ready to lose all control of my bowels.

“I don’t know, Mommy,” I yawned as much as spoke.

“Then roll over on your tummy, baby,” she said.

When I did she pushed against my backside, whereupon I was confident that while very wet, I had not soiled my diapers. “I don’t think I pooped, but I think I’m going to soon. I don’t want to poop at work, Mommy. What are we going to do?”

“Well, sleepy head, let’s get you up and downstairs for breakfast. Because you’ve got to go to work, I’m going to let you have some coffee. Hopefully that will wake you and your bowels up and get both of you moving!”

My diapers squished inside my plastic panties all the way downstairs to my highchair and I thought I might even leak as I sat down. As wet as I was, my plastic panties held it all in as I sipped away at my baby bottle full of nice hot coffee. Amy had given me a bowl of Cheerios with some milk and allowed me to feed myself as she made our lunches and ate her breakfast. I was feeling strangely grown-up even in this infantile treatment, having had nothing but formula and juice – save my donut yesterday – since last Thursday. I was also feeling bloated and needed to relieve myself. I lifted one cheek and then the other with no result, but I knew there was something coming.

Amy had no sooner let me out of my highchair when I felt the impending movement. I stood still and bent slightly as a huge load blossomed out in my diapers. I straightened, bent again and more effluent forced its way into my diapers.

Amy seemed almost ecstatic. “What a good boy! You filled your diaper now so we don’t need to worry so much about an accident at work. I don’t think you need your plug today or anything else either. While I’m in the shower though, I want you to walk around the house and make sure you’ve got all your nasty little poop out and into your diapers. Oh and why don’t you go lay out a shirt and pants for work and get one of your Bambino’s ready for after your shower? And make sure you’re diaper bag is all set for work too!”

Of course she meant the locking brief case I’d used last week to carry my diaper supplies. I winced at the reference to it as my diaper bag, but it was carrying all my diapers supplies, so the term wasn’t inaccurate. And even though I was told what to do, I was given at least the small responsibility of getting these things ready on my own. For my own sake and to impress Amy, I decided to set right to work on this and to do a good job with it all. Notwithstanding the sticky mess clinging to my backside under my diapers, I felt like I’d achieved a milestone. I went to my nursery and took out a pair of pants and a dress shirt and hung them on the bars of my crib. It made for a strange image, but my whole life had become one huge strange image.

I flipped up the unlocked lid of the locking briefcase and took stock of what was left. There was already an extra pair of clear plastic panties and two Bambino’s there. I had plenty of baby oil, powder and even diaper rash ointment should any of that be needed. Taking another two Bambino’s from the stack by my changing table, I satisfied myself that I was well prepared for the day and left the case open for Amy’s inspection.

Taking the opportunity while Amy was getting out of the shower, I bent and contorted myself over and over squeezing as much as I could, trying to guarantee that I could not possibly void any more into my now messy diapers. Wrapped in one towel with another wrapped around her hair, she poked her head into my nursery and told me to undress except for my diaper and go stand in the tub. This itself was a rare privilege; I wasn’t to as much as touch my plastic panties and certainly not my diapers without specific permission.

Once standing in the tub, I shouted to Amy, “Mommy, I’m in the tub!”

“Just a second, little boy. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she said.

Soon she strode into the bathroom in her bra and panties and unpinned my diapers allowing the whole mess to fall onto the floor of the tub. She drew the shower curtain across the tub and said, “OK, baby, take your shower. Let the water rinse out your diapers a little and just be careful not to step in any mess. We’re going to have to work on this schedule a little bit. I can’t be spending all this time with you or I’ll be late to work. You get cleaned up, then rinse your diapers in the toilet and put them into the diaper pail. Make sure you’re all dry then call to me when you’re ready for your diaper.”

“Yes, Mommy. I’ll be careful and get myself all clean,” I said.

Even showering as quickly as I could, I felt myself release a little pee in the shower. I really had no control of my urine anymore. I could feel it coming, but I’d lost any incentive or urge to stop it. I didn’t even know if I could even slow the pathetic small stream if I tried. And I didn’t even feel like trying. I stepped carefully out onto the bath mat, checking carefully to see that I wasn’t going to track anything from my messy diaper. I quickly dried myself, finished rinsing the dirty diapers in the toilet as best I could and deposited them into the big yellow diaper pail.

I rushed into my nursery and stood by my changing table, calling out to Amy, “I’m ready for my diaper!”

Amy shouted from her bedroom, “Oh no! Already? OK, spread out your diaper like a good boy and climb on to it. Just a second and I’ll be in to fasten it and help you with your panties.”

“OK Mommy,” I said, hoping to relieve some of the stress I heard in her voice. I opened up the Bambino, placing it carefully on the table before I hopped up and squirmed around trying to make sure the diaper was in place and ready for Amy to tape me up.

She came in and quickly applied some baby oil, wiped her hands and sealed the diaper tightly. “Did you get out a pair of your diaper panties for me? No? Oh, OK,” she said, reaching over and grabbing a pair of pink snap-on’s with blocks printed all over them. She helped me with a new onesie that had come in the mail on Saturday. The top of it looked just like a regular adult tee-shirt, but with the snaps in the crotch it would help support my diaper and panties and even squelch any rustling of the panties. I liked the feel of it, with its soft tugging pulling all my baby clothes together and keeping them safe.

Amy left me to put the rest of my clothes on and went to finish her dressing and make-up. Later, she double checked my locking briefcase, gave me my lunch and gave me a peck on the cheek before announcing me ready for work. It had been a long several days since I’d been to work and it felt so strange leaving the house – on my own and in adult clothes (well, at least in an outer layer of adult clothes!).

Driving forced me into an adult mode and for most of the trip to work, I concentrated on thinking about the projects I’d been working on last week. I also tried to plan out my diaper changes for the day; the first thing I wanted to do was check in with Joelle, not to be angry with her about last Thursday, but to go over with her the need for the key to be available to me even if she had to leave the office. It also occurred to me that I needed to talk more with Amy about this. I wasn’t sure how to bring it up to her in a way that didn’t get me in trouble, but what would happen if I were called out of the office and then needed a change? I resolved to be brave and broach that subject this evening.

When I walked into work, a few of my closer associates asked me how I was after my sudden ‘illness’ last Thursday. I thanked them for their concern and said I was much better; that I’d had a bad stomach virus and had had a bad time for most of the weekend. It was true, wasn’t it? I’d had a very bad time for most of the weekend. I added that by yesterday, I’d pretty much gotten past my problems and had been able to go out with Amy for a while. Today I was feeling much, much better and eager to get back to work. Ed Schotz had made a comment that if I had had a stomach virus, he was glad I hadn’t come to work on Friday. I simply responded that he wouldn’t have wanted to see me on Friday. I was sure that was true as well! The others simply listened sympathetically and then got on with their work.

I was still somewhat amazed that no one seemed to notice anything related to the extra padding around my waist. I wondered if I’d ever get over the self-conscious feeling my diapers gave me; especially at times like now, when I stood there talking with people and at the same time dribbling pee into my diapers.

Before going to my office, I stopped at Joelle’s desk. We both looked around to see that no one was close enough to overhear our words. I hadn’t had a chance to say anything before she began to apologize.

“I’m so, so sorry that I had to leave last Thursday. I totally spaced on the key. I heard you had to go home and blamed it on being sick. Was it that you were really sick or was it because you had to get your medication? Oh, I’m sorry. That’s really none of my business. I shouldn’t be asking that. And I don’t care why you were out Friday either. I just hope everything is OK now.”

“Joelle, don’t worry. You’re just trying to be helpful. I will admit I was pretty upset about not being able to get to my medication; much more upset than I needed to be. Yes, that rash on my stomach was getting pretty irritating, but in fact I did come down with a stomach bug. I felt horrible Thursday night, Friday and all day Saturday too. I didn’t start feeling any better until partway through yesterday. Amy and I went out for a little yesterday afternoon and I’m glad we did. It felt good just to be out of the house. At any rate, I’m just glad to be back at work,” I said with more truth than she’d ever realize.

“Come on, Peter,” she laughed. “It couldn’t have been so bad you really wanted to come back here!”

How could I put it safely? I said, “Well, imagine the worst stomach bug you’ve ever had and what I experienced had to be still worse.”

She laughed some more and said, “I don’t even want to talk about it! TMI! Let’s just change the subject. I’m glad you’re feeling better.” Getting serious, she added, “And I’ll try to be better with the key for your medication.”

“Well, I’m going to talk with my doctor about the whole medication issue. It seems to me the rash is getting a little better and I’m hoping I won’t have to continue this arrangement with you much longer. I mean, I really appreciate your willingness to help, but it isn’t fair to you and I just don’t understand the necessity of it. Gosh,” I said with great daring, “you’d think I was a little baby not to be trusted!”

Joelle smiled and responded, “Well, I think most of you men are a lot like little babies! You need a good strong mommy-figure in your lives.” She paused a moment, frowned a bit and added, “You do know I’m just kidding, right? I…I was just picking up on what you’d said.”

With many of her superiors in the office, she would have been right in regretting those comments; most of the men in the office were emotionally immature and did in fact act like babies a lot of the time. Ironically, I viewed myself as one of the more stable personalities here. The fact that I’d gotten myself into the situation of being treated as a baby at home and having to wear diapers full time now had only to do with the way in which I’d learned to deal with the stress I felt in having to work with some of the stronger personalities here – men and women. It seemed to me that I was strong here at work and therefore could be a baby at home, while many of the people I worked with were just weak throughout their lives. Their weakness led to insecurities which in turn led all too often to inappropriate actions and reactions. A comment such as Joelle had made could have been fatal with at least a few supervisors in the office.

After living through these last few weeks, I’d gained even more resolve to be strong here at work; strong in the sense of doing my job in the best possible way, working with people well without being a toady for anyone else and not expecting them to be toadies for me. I wanted more than ever to feel successful in my work.

I was still in the process of trying to work through my situation at home. I had begun to have some hope that I’d eventually work things out with Amy, not so much in the sense of returning to our old relationship but more in the sense of developing a new successful relationship which could be satisfying and fulfilling to both of us.

As with anything new, I wasn’t entirely sure what this might look like. Obviously I’d be in diapers. Those were only clothes and, well, a portable toilet. I could live with that. There was the adjustment to using them full time for all my functions, but I’d begun to think we could work that out too. I’d also have to understand that in this new relationship, Amy would have the upper hand at all times. She continued to have the knowledge and evidence of my diaper use that could ruin my life. Even though she’d been participating, I had no proof of that other than the furniture and supplies in the house.

I’d thought some about this and the possibility of revealing that I’d been forced into this situation. Maybe I could turn the tables on Amy by going to the police and explaining my abuse at her hands. They’d come to the house and see for themselves what had been done to me. Of course, the down-side to that would be the complete destruction of our relationship. I still loved Amy – dearly. I wanted a relationship with her and I was starting to realize how much I still wanted my diapers. Well, I was actually beyond just wanting my diapers, wasn’t I? I need them now. I’m not sure that I could even train myself back to adult underwear, even if that’s what I truly wanted.

I’d obviously drifted off into my own world of thought, as Joelle finally said, “Hey, Peter! Are you still in there?”

“Oh! I’m sorry! What was it you said?”

“I’m sorry, myself, Peter. I was just mumbling stupid things. I have the greatest respect for you. I was kidding about men being babies,” she said apologetically.

I chuckled, “You may be more right about that than you think! It’s OK. Don’t worry. I take no offense.”

Then I added, “Well, I’d better get to work. You do have the key, right?”

She pulled open her center desk drawer and pointed to the key sitting in the far right compartment at the front of the drawer. “I’m going to leave it right here. Between you and me, if I’m not at my desk, I want you to be comfortable coming and getting the key on your own. Personally, I think your doctor must be a little bit of a whack job to insist on such an arrangement.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I think the problem is that at first I tended to feel the need for the cream more often that I should be applying it. Just the idea of taking the time to get the key to get to the medication helped me avoid overuse of it. That isn’t going to happen now, although I just have to hope the rash doesn’t get worse again. The doctor said it might disappear and never come back or it might develop into a chronic condition.”

Hopefully this explanation would buy me some leeway in case I couldn’t convince Amy that I didn’t need to go through Joelle in order to change my diapers. At the same time, I hoped to downplay the whole doctor story. The less of an issue the key was, the easier my life here in the office would be.

With this, I went to my desk and soon was immersed in my work. It felt good. I was involved and doing some good work. I made several phone calls to vendors on behalf of some of my clients. Around 10:00 a.m. I began to realize how wet my diaper had become. I guess this was a natural consequence of the way I’d been peeing. Dripping out a little at a time, often without even realizing it until I felt the warmth in my diaper, I had gradually soaked myself without realizing. Suddenly I felt a lot more like a baby than an adult.

In a flash, however, I got past that feeling and went to Joelle for the key. I slipped off to the men’s room and soon was back at my desk in a clean fresh diaper. Thankfully there was a lavatory just around the corner from my desk and it was easy to slip in and out without anyone else noticing. I was getting good at timing so that no one would see me with the plastic bag that would hold my clean – then the dirty – diaper and my wipes.

This was going to be my new reality. I wasn’t about to let any self-consciousness ruin my feelings of accomplishment here at the office. Instead, if anything, I was bound to master my need for diapers and incorporate it successfully into my work day. I knew it was simply a matter of how I allowed it to sit in my head. If I let it be a ‘baby’ issue or if I let it be any other type of problem, it would become just that. If I just accepted my diaper use as an inevitable part of my life, I could deal with it. And perhaps, if I actually could embrace this as a part of a new, happy and successful relationship with Amy, it could even be a plus. Well, I wasn’t sure of that last part, but I wanted to try and be positive.

I decided to eat lunch at my desk since I had so much work to catch up with from last week. Several people asked if I wasn’t going to go to the cafeteria, but they all understood my need for a working lunch. They’d been there before themselves and knew that sometimes it just happened. What made me feel good was that they cared. They didn’t look at me and see a padded, diapered bottom. They didn’t see a little diaper wetting boy underneath a thin veneer of an adult. I wasn’t sure how each of them might react if they knew the truth, but I felt a great amount of validation in how they seemed to look at me. After all, I reasoned, I had only a limited knowledge of any of them and what they were like at home. I liked and respected them (or not) based on who I knew them to be here in the office and on the job. In fact, I’d heard rumors about more than one person in the office.

Jim Beason was known to be a heavy gambler. He spoke openly of the amount of time he spent at the casino. He did his job here, though, and he wasn’t married and no one else depended on him for anything. So what if he blew most of his income on gambling? That wasn’t my business.

Joan, one of the secretaries on the second floor, had been told to take out a few of her obvious piercings because visitors to the office might find them objectionable. Rumors abounded that this was only the tip of her personal iceberg. Her office wear bordered on mild punk and I’d heard lots of stories about how deeply into bondage she was. Other than that my most recent experiences might be a slight page out of her own book, I didn’t really care what she did in her private life.

Bill Edwards, one of the top men in the office, was rumored to be a former hippie of the 60’s; who knew how much and which alcohol and drugs had passed through his body? Rumors had it that he and some others in the office were now active in either NA or AA and successfully dealing with their past. I had always had a quiet respect for those who successfully integrated the rest of their lives into their professional careers.

Most of the other people in the office felt this way as well, except of course for some of those I’d earlier conceded as being somewhat babies themselves. There were always those who expected everyone else in the world to be just like them. To imagine someone having any kind of negative history or an aberrant or kinky interest was just too much for these narrow minded people.

Indeed, I’d run into such people even on dailydiapers; people who were into one kink or perversion but couldn’t stand the thought of people who were into some other kink. For instance, someone might say something like, “I wear and use a diaper to pee and I love to drink my girlfriend’s urine, but I can’t stand the thought of anyone who would actually poop in a diaper!” It amazed me that people could be that narrow minded!

Personally, I wondered how many people in the office – and elsewhere as well – had secret lives which might shock those around them. Being one of these people at this point, I chuckled to think about it. I really suspected the proportion to be more than 50-50.

As I ate, my thoughts continued to drift, even though I was actually making headway on my work. The afternoon seemed to fly by and soon it was time to go home. I packed up my stuff and was on my way home. I began to realize that even though I’d had a large bowel movement this morning before work, I was going to have to relieve myself of more. It must have been all the fiber I’d been given over the weekend.

I knew I wanted to talk with Amy this evening about the whole key issue; the cover story of the need for medication for a rash and the dangers of me not being able to access my diapers. Maybe if I could prove to Amy that I wasn’t afraid to use my diapers for all their intended purposes, I’d have an edge.

As I drove, I tried to relax my bottom in the hope that I might even be able to move my bowels before I arrived home. I reasoned that if I had gotten at least a little used to voiding while I was prone and also when I was in my highchair, maybe I could do it now. The bucket seat of my car was a problem though, so I finally decided I was going to stop on the way home. This was never discussed as an issue between Amy and I. Of course, Amy seemed to think an awful lot was just implied by my new role in life, but I saw the idea of stopping now as simply an extension of going to work. I decided to base my stop on buying a bottle of water to drink. That was simple enough and I reasoned that even if I ran into flack from Amy, I could sell it. After all, it was only going to add to my need for diapers.

I pulled into a CVS and parked further away from the door than I really needed to so that I could walk as much as possible. As I made my way into the store and to the coolers on the far side of the building, I could feel a small but imminent movement. I was very aware of my need to release, but at the same time aware that I’d be very obvious in stopping, bending or squatting to let it happen. I knew also that it would take that kind of movement on my part to allow the release I needed to achieve. Scanning the coolers, I finally noticed that there were smaller bottles of Evian water on the lowest display rack. How convenient was that! Opening the door, I squatted to reach one of the bottles. I grabbed one and pretended to ponder whether I wanted this bottle or one of another brand in the next rack.

Success! Well, partial success at least. I did release a little into the back of my diaper before I decided I’d better move. Oh well, if I could at least show Amy a willingness to allow myself to poop on my way home, it wouldn’t matter how much. I quickly moved to the check-out, paid and made my way out of the store, quietly concerned that I might reveal myself by my odor at any moment. Of course my plastic panties would contain the odor for a time and so I was certainly safe.

Walking to my car I felt the little lump at my backside at least a small victory. When I opened my door, I made an effort to reach in across my seat to the console of the car, pretending to be involved with something there. This actually allowed me to force out a little more, bringing a smile to my face. This wasn’t bad at all, was it? And I’d be able to use this in my argument to Amy that I might be able to get by with less supervision. I forced myself to accept the smearing as I sat down in the driver’s seat. This was a small price to pay, wasn’t it? I was pleased with myself for what I’d done and I grew confident that Amy might think so too.

[Fulldiaper]

Your'e a very talented writer and I s*it on the edge waiting for a another installment in your quests

[diaperpt]

Your'e a very talented writer and I s*it on the edge waiting for a another installment in your quests

oh pooh...I bet you say that to all the diapered writers!

Here's another chapter. I finished writing the whole just moments ago but will space out the remaining chapters.

I wonder, though, - how many of you readers think my chapters have been too long? I've begun thinking they may be a little unwieldy, but I've tried to develop each piece of the story rather than just rush through.

Chapter 23: Negotiating with Amy

When I arrived home I was a little surprised to see that Amy wasn’t there yet. My thoughts went back to last Thursday when I’d dared be home without her. At first, this sent a wave of dread through me, but somehow this felt different. I was confident this would be OK. It wasn’t that she was that late, but she usually beat me home by a few minutes. After walking in the house, I thought for just a second and realized that if I was going to try to win any points with her I needed to take a little initiative. Of course, I had to be careful as well.

I knew full well, for example, that I was expected to wear only a diaper, panties and other appropriate baby clothes while in the house. I decided that it might be wise for me to go up to my nursery and get out of my work clothes. I knew much better than to think about changing my diaper or even touching it! Diaper changes at work were one thing, but here at home it was strictly off limits. Besides, I wanted to impress Amy with my willingness to mess in my diapers, as disgusting as that seemed to me on many levels.

I had removed my slacks and shirt, hung up my pants and put my shirt in the adult clothes hamper and was almost all the way downstairs when I heard Amy enter the kitchen from the garage.

“Baby, where are you?” she called to me with a small edge in her voice.

That edge scared me a little and so I was quick to answer, “Here I am Mommy. I took off my work clothes and took care of them. I was just going to go to the kitchen and wait for you in my highchair.”

“You were trying to be a good little boy, weren’t you?” Amy said, her frown turning to a smile.

“Yes, Mommy. I know you don’t like me home by myself, but you were late and I didn’t know what to do. I was a little worried,” was my reply. I actually was worried, but more about getting in trouble than about Amy. I’d never tell her that, though.

“Mommy was stuck in a meeting at work. It’s OK that you came in by yourself this time. Come over here, baby, and let me check you,” she said sweetly.

“I can tell you already I’m only a little wet, but I did poop in my diaper on the way home. I didn’t do any at work. I didn’t have to. But on the way home I had to poop and so I did it in my diapers. That’s what you want me to do, right, Mommy?” I tried to be proactive without going over the top. I was worried that I might have overstated a little.

Amy beamed, “Oh let me see! What a good boy!”

She felt the smooshed lump in the back of my diaper and rubbed it around a little. “Yes, I can feel you did a little poopy.”

Reaching a finger in through my diaper panties and under my diaper, she soon withdrew it and said, “My, and I’d say more than a little wet! That’s OK. We’ll change you in a little bit, but I’m so proud of you for pooping on your own like that. How did it feel?”

I decided to be pretty much honest with her about this.

“It wasn’t really that bad, I guess. I knew I had to go and so I just let it happen. Mommy, I still don’t like the way it feels after I poop. But I know I’ve got to wear my diapers, so I guess it’s OK. Right now it feels a little icky. I just don’t want to poop at work. I’m afraid I might stink so much people can smell it and then they’ll find out I’m wearing diapers and…”

Amy smiled, “I know, little boy. It’s OK. We’re going to work at you not having to poop at work. We’re going to take it one day at a time. I mixed a little unflavored powdered fiber into your sandwich today. Did you even notice it?” I shook my head negatively. “And I’m going to give you more fiber tonight. I’m pretty sure you’ll have a good bowel movement in the morning again and won’t have to worry about work. Is that OK?”

I wasn’t happy and didn’t pretend to be. I said the words, but not convincingly.

“I guess so, Mommy. I don’t like it, but I know you want to help me with this. I guess it’ll be OK.”

I decided not to begin a conversation about the key until later and so I cooperated with Amy when she asked me to sit in my highchair. She brought out a bottle from the refrigerator and I nursed it as she began preparing dinner. The contradiction between work and home was staggering. At work, I was almost entirely an adult. Yes, perhaps an incontinent adult and yes, perhaps an incontinent adult in childish baby-print diaper panties, and yes, perhaps I was not entirely in control of my diaper changes. But other than that, I was an adult.

Now at home, I was stripped from my adult clothes and here I was in a high chair drinking milk (fortified by bulk fiber) from an oversized baby bottle. I was dressed in just diapers, panties and a onesie and addressing my wife as ‘Mommy.’ I’d just have to get used to this, I reasoned. After all, at least I wasn’t locked away down in the cellar! Mommy was being nice to me and I wanted to keep it that way.

We had our dinner together at the table. Amy had a seasoned chicken breast with mashed potatoes and vegetables and I had the same thing except mine had been mixed together and put into the blender set on puree. Amy had added some sort of additional liquid as well in order to make it so it would flow through a special feeding nipple on my baby bottle. We made small talk as we ate; mostly it was Amy talking about her day, asking me about my changes at work and how they’d gone, and complimenting me again and again on getting used to using my diapers for everything.

I spoke when spoken to, removing the nipple of my bottle to speak, then replacing it to continue my feeding. I hated the consistency of my meal, but it felt good to have adult food, even pureed and mixed. I loved the conversation with Amy, but still wasn’t entirely comfortable with the constant reminder of my diaper needs.

Later we watched TV as usual; Amy on the sofa choosing what we watched and me on a baby blanket on the floor at her feet. Tonight she had me sit closer than before and soon drew me to her so my head was resting against her. She stroked my head gently, telling me what a good boy I was becoming. It felt so good to be this close to her. We talked during commercials very much like we’d talked at the coffee shop the other day and I felt the bonds between us grow, even though they were the bonds of a Mommy and her adult baby boy.

I was very wet by now and still hadn’t been changed since arriving home, so I was very happy when Amy announced it was time for a bath and a change. As Amy washed me in the tub, she continued to speak of how good I was being. She spoke of how cute I looked now, with no nasty hair in my diaper area and how much easier it was to keep me nice and clean – especially now that I was using my diapers for everything.

“Mommy,” I began. “I’m really trying to be good. I really am. I was…umm…I was wondering though. If I promise, promise, promise to keep being good and not getting into any trouble. If I really work hard at it – doing whatever you tell me and not complaining about using my diapers for everything and…”

“What is it, baby boy?” Amy said. “What is it you’re trying to get at?”

“Well…um…well I was wondering about work.”

“What about work, little boy? Is there a problem there?” she asked.

“Well, not really, but I was wondering how long you think I need to keep using the key for my briefcase – oh – I mean my diaper bag. I was just thinking, I think maybe Joelle might start seeing through the story about medication being locked up and everything. Do you think she isn’t already figuring out that there is something else to the story?”

Amy smiled at me. “Oh you silly little boy! I guess it’s OK to tell you. Joelle knows about your diapers.”

My mouth dropped open and my face began to burn red in embarrassment and shame. I wanted to yell out at Amy. I wanted to jump out of the tub and…I didn’t even know what. Before I could act on any silly ideas, however, even through my anger, better judgment took over. I could easily destroy all the progress I’d made with Amy and worse yet, I could all too easily end up in the cellar again.

All I could muster to say was, “But Mommy…”

Even as I tried to think of something to say, Amy said, “I made the decision to trust her. You didn’t know this, but I’d known her long ago – before we’d met. I knew she was absolutely trustworthy even with the information that you need diapers. Of course, I told her it was a medical situation rather than just a fetish. She was very understanding and I’m sure would never betray this confidence.”

I sat in the tub, my head swimming with this news. I didn’t know what to say.

I didn’t need to say anything, as Amy continued, “I know that she showed you where the key is in her desk and that she told you it was OK to get it whenever you needed. We worked that out over the weekend. Not only am I OK with that arrangement, but it was my idea. You have made huge steps in getting used to your new life and I want you to continue making good progress. I think this is just the next step.”

“But Mommy, I thought you said you weren’t going to tell anyone else at all!” I whined.

“Well, it’s all in who knows and how they find out. Some people are going to know anyway, aren’t they? Do you think the UPS man and the mail carrier don’t know something is going on in this house? We can’t help that, now, can we?”

The reality of this stung me and I was silenced for a moment realizing that some people were in fact bound to know. My diapers, furniture and other supplies had come to the house and whether they were labeled accurately or not, there was no way the delivery people wouldn’t know. My only hope was that they wouldn’t care enough to say anything.

“But the more people who know, the more likely it is that it’ll get out to others,” I responded.

“That’s just a risk we’ll have to take, isn’t it? You aren’t going back; you know that. You’re in diapers now for the rest of your life. Some people along the way are bound to find out. It won’t be that I’ll be the one to tell them or that someone else will tell them. They’ll just figure it out on their own.

“At some point next summer, the oil man will come in to service the oil burner and as much as we’ll cover up much of the stuff in your downstairs nursery, he might just see something. Who knows when we’ll need to repair the washer or dryer and the repair man might or might not see your diaper pail or some of your plastic panties hanging up to dry. These are all things that we can try to keep to a minimum, but you might as well start getting used to the idea that some people will eventually find out.

“Fortunately, most people who do end up knowing about your diapers just won’t care. For others, we’ll have to play down the fact that you wear them because you really love them and that there are times when we will use the special furniture in your downstairs nursery to help you appreciate your new life more.”

I didn’t know what to say. This conversation had certainly not gone in the direction I’d expected. I was too stunned to know how to feel or what to say. I’d felt somewhat betrayed and yet Amy had only released a minimum of information. Everything she’d just said made perfect sense. It was foolish of me to think that I was going to be in diapers full time with no one else knowing.

It made perfect sense as well to tell Joelle that I had a medical need for the diapers. Again, I didn’t want everyone in the world to know that and I wanted to keep any knowledge of my diaper needs to a minimum, but it soon began to sink into my mind that Amy had done the right thing. It occurred to me that, although facing Joelle tomorrow at work would be incredibly awkward for me, this was all for the best.

Still, there was something within me that needed to continue my plans to negotiate the key issue. It took me a while, but finally, I spoke.

“Mommy, I know that telling Joelle was the right thing,” I said as I was thinking how wrong it was, “but I wonder if I’m really going to need my locking panties all the time. Do you think that maybe if I can be good enough, I could stop using the locking panties? Huh?”

“Hmmm, I’ll have to think about that one for a while. You have been good for a while, but you’ve also been naughty and you still have a long way to go to being totally used to needing your diapers. I’m not so sure you’re ready yet. ” She stopped for a moment and was obviously thinking about what I’d said. “Well, we’ll see, little boy. Maybe starting next week sometime if things work just right we could do a trial day. How would that be?”

“Oh Mommy! Thank you! I’ll be good! I promise! I’ll do whatever you tell me to do. Really. You’ll see what a good boy I can be.”

Even as these words came out of my mouth I was almost gagging on the way I was demeaning myself in front of my wife. Still, I was truly hopeful that just maybe we could make a dent in this one small area. This strange combination of confusing emotions bounced around in my head as I was taken out of the tub, dried off and diapered for the night. Amy was entirely right; I still had a long way to go before all of my new life was second nature. I had gone a long way toward submitting entirely to the idea that Amy was now in full control of my life. I’d gone a long way toward accepting my diapers as necessary – and the fact that I felt a sudden wetness within my triple cloth diapers even as Amy pinned them tightly around me just reinforced that! Still, there were bits and pieces of me that longed to go back to my former life. I wanted the best of both worlds; wasn’t that normal?

And yet, now, what was normal? Normal now was clean diapers, fresh plastic panties, my sleeper and being locked safely into my crib with a full baby bottle and starting this very night, a brand new specially ordered Nuk 5 sized pacifier with Sesame Street characters on the guard, secured with a Velcro strap. My basis for comparing what normal was had radically changed.

I lay in my crib weighing what my new normal truly was becoming. I finished nursing my bottle and sighed a contented sound as I slipped my new pacifier into my mouth. Was this so bad?

[kirababy]

Fantastic twists and turns. I really appreciate your efforts in continuing this story. Everything in it is just plausible enough to seem "real" as opposed to fantasy. Thanks!!!

When complete, I hope that it can be copied to the story page in it's entirety - it is that good!

[babyluv13]

No it wasn't really that bad. In fact some of us would commit heinous crimes to get in this situation lol. Keep up the good work diaperpt. babyluv luvs it. =)

[Fulldiaper]

Wow, just when I think it can't get better...thinking is for people that don't know.

AWE-SOME again .... Keep UP the great work PLEASE

[diaperpt]

Chapter 24: How Do You Measure Progress?

Amy buzzed into my nursery the next morning to wake me up for work. I realized first that I still had my new pacifier in my mouth, second that my diapers were wet almost to complete capacity and third that a bowel movement was imminent. Amy hadn’t even had a chance to unlock my crib as I curled up on my side and lifted my right leg slightly to allow a billow of poop into my diapers. It was going to take me a long time to get used to the feeling, but I’d adjusted to the realization that I had little to no choice in the matter.

“Wonderful!” Amy beamed. “Another successful morning for you! OK, now get up, lay out your clothes, set up your diaper bag, strip down to just your diaper and get to the shower. Call me and I’ll get your diaper off just like yesterday.”

Strangely, I was proud of myself for allowing myself to use my diaper so easily for this immature baby response. After all, I’d saved myself from needing the butt plug for another day. Deep down, I’d hoped that this was never going to be a necessity, but I also suspected I’d be using it someday soon whether I ‘needed’ it or not.

This morning, I’d showered, been diapered and gotten dressed in my work clothes even before going down to breakfast. When I arrived in the kitchen, Amy looked at me with a strange expression.

“Oh my, baby boy! I can’t believe I let things get all out of order like this! I’m really losing it! You were supposed to have breakfast first and then shower and get ready for work. That’s my fault, because after all, Mommy’s in charge, isn’t she? Oh well, I don’t want you sitting in your high chair in your work clothes. I’m going to let you sit at the table this morning. Is that OK? Here’s your bottle and here’s a bowl of cereal for you.”

It felt positively weird to be sitting at the table in my own kitchen! And yet, sitting in the high chair in my dress shirt and slacks would have been too weird and would undoubtedly create wrinkles in my clothes that would be hard to explain. Again, the conflicts within my new life were dramatic and difficult to bring into harmony. It seemed there was always something that seemed out of context. Now here I was dressed for work, sitting at the table, yet eating dry Cheerios with my fingers and sucking on my baby bottle of milk. As strange as if felt, I reasoned that if I thought this was ‘strange,’ all I had to do was to think of my Bambino diaper covered by locking creamy translucent plastic panties. And to cap it off, a sudden warmth reminded me of my growing functional incontinence.

Arriving at work, I set right into finishing up the details of the work I’d left yesterday. I’d only been in the office for about an hour when I sensed it was time for my first change of the workday. It was a little early, but I wasn’t about to risk another leak and any resulting fallout from it. I sensed a growing pinkness in my face as I approached Joelle. Did I say ‘pinkness’? My cheeks were positively burning red and it was clearly obvious to Joelle.

“Aw, don’t worry, Peter. Amy let me know about your conversation last night. So big deal – I know your little secret. I feel bad that I never talked to you about knowing Amy from so long ago, but I wanted to keep our relationship strictly professional. I’ll still do that, even though I know you need your…uh, well, you need those special supplies,” she said lowering her voice as someone walked by her desk. “And I respect you all the more for being able to pull this off. It must take a great deal of courage on your part to deal with your medical condition. Gosh, if you had something dreadful like cancer – God forbid – people would feel sorry for you. I’m so glad this isn’t so bad that way, but this is serious too! I don’t think everyone in the office would be understanding about your…needs.”

I told her how appreciative I was about her understanding and her respect for my privacy. I also told her I really needed the key badly and didn’t really have much time to stand and talk with her. She apologized and handed me the key. When I returned it, I apologized myself, for being brusque, but she said she understood entirely and so I went back to work. The rest of my day was routine and I headed home feeling good about how my day at work had gone.

The next several days developed in a fairly routine way. Amy continued to load me up with fiber and I messed at least a little each day in the late afternoon and again in the morning. I’d gotten more comfortable getting the key from Joelle, knowing that she knew about my diapers.

My evening chats with Amy at dinner, watching TV together and during my evening bath were more than routine, however. I sensed us getting closer and more open and honest about our feelings. Amy talked freely about how much it meant to her that we were sharing time together and actually communicating. I was able to talk about my feelings – still so conflicted – about my new life. There was so much of my old fantasy that I still wasn’t sure I wanted in reality. And yet, Amy and I seemed to be developing a new and very strong relationship between us. While it was balanced heavily on the side of her control and my submission, there was a side to it which we’d lost over a period of time and were regaining.

Even as the relationship developed, my diaper routine continued. Well, on Friday, there was a wrinkle. I’d had a small movement in my diaper during my breakfast and as usual, Amy complimented me. Everything was going as usual and after preparing my diaper bag and everything else, I was laying on a fresh Bambino on my changing table waiting for Amy to tape it up.

She rushed into the room, saying, “Oh I’m so sorry, baby. I’m running really late. I didn’t mean to leave you here so long. And I wish I had more time to make this easier.”

As she spoke, I winced as I felt one, two, then three lubed fingers stretching my little rear hole.

“Mommy, but I…” I was trying to remind her that I’d done my business in my diaper this morning.

I felt the dreaded plug plunge into me with little to no warning. I shuddered and screamed as the intruder ripped into me with no warning and no mercy.

“I’m sorry, diaperpt, but I’m already going to be late to work. I know you already used your diaper for me this morning, but I had decided a while back that you need to wear your plug now and then just so you are used to it. You’ve been good and haven’t needed it this week, so this isn’t a punishment. Instead, I’m doing it so that you’ll be better able to use it when you really do need it. Sorry. We’ll take it out as soon as you get home.”

By the time she finished saying this, my Bambino was taped up and my locking panties were on and locked. She was out of the room and on her way back to her room before I knew it. I finished dressing in quiet agony as each movement I made communicated the painful pressure enforced by the plug embedded in me. The Bambino held the plug in place with an even greater urgency than my cloth diapers and so it slid in and out a little less than it had last Sunday. Having had all these days off, though, my little hole screamed painful objection to the presence of that shiny little object. I’d barely gotten used to it last week, but I never – never – would have asked for it back in order to be ready for future use! Still, I knew the futility of objecting. I’d made so many gains this week – or at least I felt I had – I didn’t want to ruin what I had to think of as a good thing.

Jill had closed the cover to my brief case – her silent signal that she’d looked and OK’d my restocking of it. As I was going to the garage, she bustled through the kitchen and gave me a big kiss – a quick one, but a deep one on the lips. I let her back out of the garage first, then I went on my way as well.

I don’t know if I was noticeable or not, but I felt as if I was waddling into the office. I tried to walk straight, but I was in pain. The effects of the plug had been the dull ache and fullness I’d felt the week before. Going to my office immediately, I struggled to sit down comfortably and did my best to concentrate on my work.

At my first diaper change, Joelle asked me if anything was wrong. “You look like you’re a million miles away. I hope you’re OK.”

“Well I’m not feeling all that great right now, but I’m hopeful that things will work out OK later on. I’ll be OK. I’ll feel better after I change, too. May I have the key, please?”

While I wouldn’t use the ‘d’ word in front of her, knowing that she knew allowed me to speak freely about a ‘change’ as long as no one else was within earshot. I was indeed hoping that Amy would let this darned plug ‘work out ‘ as soon as I got home, like she promised.

I somehow made it through the day at work and got home. Amy made excuse after excuse why she couldn’t change me right away and I ended up having the plug in until after supper. I wasn’t happy at all, but still I knew enough not to make any fuss. Finally I was allowed my evening bath –still with the plug in place. As I sat down in the tub and then when I stood up to get out, I had to work at keeping my rear cheeks tight in order to keep the plug from slipping. I’d have loved to have it slide out except that Amy threatened to replace it immediately with the next bigger plug and leave it in all day tomorrow.

Finally, I was clean and dry, lying on my changing table with my thick nighttime diapers under me. I’d been rubbed well with baby oil and now Amy eased the plug out of me as gently as she could.

“I’m sorry that I had to be so rushed in putting it in this morning. I know it must have hurt, but it was the best thing to do. You need to be used to it. It was for your own good. Now it’s out and you can have a nice night’s sleep. You’ve got a lot of work to do tomorrow, remember.” Amy said this all very matter-of-factly and I took it that way as well.

I’d have a lot of housework to do tomorrow and more on Sunday in order to make sure the house was in the condition Amy expected. I recognized how much more effort it had taken on Amy’s part to accommodate my need for diapers, enforced as it had been, and I knew this work was what was expected of me in order to maintain our relationship. I was still adjusting to this new life, and that included doing the chores I’d been assigned. With that in mind, I wasn’t at all surprised when Amy led me to my crib instead of inviting me back downstairs for a little TV.

She opened my crib for me and after I had rolled onto the mattress, she gave me a big kiss, my nighttime bottle and made sure my pacifier was fastened to my sleeper. I felt the void in my bottom and was relieved that the plug was gone. After finishing my bottle, I rolled over and quickly drifted off to sleep.

At some point in the night I awoke in the middle of a dream. I’d dreamed of being at work and getting up from my desk only to feel a huge bowel movement slip out of my backside. Immediately there were people around me either laughing at the huge bulge at my backside or complaining about the odor. I awoke to a realization almost as bad as my dream. I rolled from my side to my back and felt a huge lump squish against my bottom; I had pooped – and in my sleep at that! I was disgusted and terrified at the same time! I didn’t dare call out to Amy for fear of being punished and yet I wanted my diapers changed. As much as I was humiliated by this, I was terrified that maybe I was actually losing control of my bowels.

I lay there sobbing and sucking on my pacifier as I felt more of my own waste begging to be released. I tested myself by squeezing my bottom; it worked. I was able to stop the flow. I did have control! At least some. Some cramps convinced me that it would be better for me to let everything out. I knew it would be morning before I would be changed and it wouldn’t be comfortable sleeping in this mess. I also knew that I wasn’t going to get back to sleep easily with the pressure I was feeling in my bowels, so I took what I judged to be the lesser of two evils and found myself curled in a fetal position working to flush out my bowels as much as possible. When I was done, I remained on my side hoping to keep the mess within my diapers to a minimum. It took a while, but finally I drifted off to sleep again.

I had more dreams, most of which I didn’t remember; the others mostly about…you guessed it…messing my diapers at inopportune times. I sensed my sleep was somewhat restless because when I finally woke up in the morning and moved a little I realized poop was spread all over my bottom. Thankfully Amy had let me sleep later than my usual wake up time, but still it was early and I had to lie in the crib for a long time before I heard Amy stirring in her room. She’d gotten herself a cup of coffee and a bottle for me before she came into my nursery.

“Well, baby, the smell isn’t anything I didn’t expect. I can tell you now that this was sort of planned. You’ve adapted so well to using your diapers, but you need some different experiences to learn how to cope with a range of situations. We used the plug yesterday to help you continue getting used to that and I left it in purposely so that you’d probably empty your bottom in your cloth diapers in the night. Your nighttime bottle even had a little medicine in it to help you sleep through.”

“But Mommy, it feels icky,” I said.

“I imagine it might, but you need to get used to it. Drink up your bottle and we’ll get you cleaned up. OK, little boy?”

I nodded my head and nursed on the bottle. I wanted to continue on Amy’s good side, as I wanted our relationship to continue to improve as it had been. Even in some extreme situations like this one, I was more and more accepting that Amy was really trying to help me adjust and wasn’t treating me badly.

Amy had gone to shower and when she returned I was done with my bottle. I was cleaned up, diapered in double thick cloth diapers with yellow baby print pull-on plastic panties and a Sesame Street onesie. This morning Amy brought out a little pair of shorts in a pastel blue and obviously tailored in a very infantile style. Even so, this was a first for home!

Up to this point, I’d been dressed only in my diapers, panties and a onesie except for my nights in a sleeper. This to me seemed like a huge step. I certainly can’t say they made me feel like an adult, but somehow this step made me feel really good. I looked forward to the rest of my day even though I knew it was going to consist of a lot of housework.

[diaperpt]

hope you are enjoying this...several more chapters to come.

Chapter 25: A Visit from Auntie Jill…

I spent the morning dusting and vacuuming the downstairs uneventfully. Lunch for me was some chicken nuggets and a bottle of milk, with several apple slices. I’d grown accustomed to a mixed diet of baby food, toddler food and some adult food. It actually seemed to have done me some good and I was pleased to notice that my waist was a little slimmer than it had been before this all started. I wasn’t given as much to eat at any one meal and although I had occasional between meal snacks, they were small portions of healthy foods. Sometimes I got only a bottle of water, milk or juice. At first I was always hungry, but being occupied with the rigors of my treatment I never focused on my hunger. Now I had begun actually feeling better than I had in a long time.

During my lunch, Jill showed up at the house. I hadn’t seen her since last weekend and I have to say that I was not disappointed. Her role in my new life was not particularly a welcomed one. I had to wonder how much of my new life had come about as a result of her encouraging Amy.

Oh well, as I’ve been explaining through this diary, I’ve come to accept my life – and in fact liking certain parts of it. Maybe I shouldn’t be so upset with Jill. That was what I was thinking at that point.

While I ate in my high chair, Amy and Jill talked quietly on the other side of the kitchen so I couldn’t hear what they were saying. As I finished my lunch, Amy announced to me that she was going out shopping by herself and Jill would be baby-sitting. I had lots of housework still to do, so Jill was to change my diapers and get me started on the rest of my work. If I finished in time, I could take a nap.

Now, I should say that while I obviously wasn’t used to napping at work, I had been in a long time habit of taking naps at home on Saturday and/or Sunday afternoons. The concept of getting a nap, then, wasn’t simply a part of the plan to make me into an adult baby; it was something I had come to feel I needed.

As soon as Amy left for the store, Jill got me out of the high chair and led me upstairs into my nursery for my change. Just when I expected her to start pinning my double thick diapers, she hesitated.

“OK, diaperpt, your Mommy told me that you’ve done well with your little poop retention device, but that it’s time to move up a step. I’m going to help you by putting it in this afternoon. Doing some of your chores with it will help you get used to it. I’ll be gentle.”

My eyes must have lit up in terror. I had tried hard to ignore what Amy had said yesterday about the larger sized butt plug. I certainly didn’t see this coming.

“Please, Auntie Jill,” I begged and squirmed nervously. “I really don’t need it today. Really. I don’t know what Mommy said, but I don’t think she meant me to have to use a plug today. She said she’d use it if I wasn’t good yesterday, but I was good. I was, Auntie Jill. Mommy even said so. She didn’t mean for me to have to have it today. I’m just starting to get used to that other one. I…I don’t think it would be a good idea…”

“Oh, there you go again. ‘Thinking’ is not something you need to do when it comes to how Mommy takes care of you. ‘Thinking’ has gotten you into a lot of trouble, wouldn’t you agree?” Jill asked.

“Umm…but still. Please Auntie Jill?” I tried to avoid the admission of getting myself in trouble. I guess I had, but I didn’t want to talk about it.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll be gentle,” she said as her lubed fingers made their way in and out of my poor little hole. I might have been off the hook for admitting to getting myself in trouble, but it didn’t seem like I was going to avoid the plug.

She carefully shielded this plug from my view and suddenly I felt it at my backside. Slowly and gently it began to make its entrance. Whenever I grunted or cried out a little, Jill would just hold the plug in place for a moment or even slide it out just a little. Soon she would work it in just a little further until I cried in pain. Finally, without any additional notice, she just rammed it the rest of the way home. I thought my scream would be heard on the opposite side of town! The plug was in and seated however and Jill had folded up and pinned my diapers. I was sure my rear passage had ripped open, but it only felt that way.

With my plastic panties up, onesie snapped and my new cute little shorts pulled up, I was let off the table. While I was in agony at the time, in retrospect I can say that my pain level with this plug was not much different than the initial pain I’d felt with the first plug. I will say though that bending to do the afternoon cleaning of the upstairs and the bathrooms hurt a lot. Even with these movements, I didn’t feel the plug slip as much as the first one had. I can’t say that I was truly grateful for that, but at least that didn’t add to my agony.

Even with the plug in place, I’d been able to finish enough of my jobs by 3:30 so that Jill let me take a nap. Jill even allowed me two acetametaphine tablets with my nap bottle and in spite of the dull ache in my bottom, I was able to get some sleep after a while. A little after 4:30 Amy came in and got me up. She was back from shopping. I whined to her about the plug. I’d been good yesterday and she’d said I would get this plug only if I wasn’t good.

“No,” she said, “that wasn’t exactly what I said. I said if you weren’t good you’d get the bigger plug. I never said you wouldn't get this bigger one anyway. Well, I’m sorry, but that was just to get you to behave yesterday – and it worked, didn’t it? But you do need to get used to this bigger plug. You’re going to have it in for another hour at least, then maybe I’ll take it out. Now we’ve got to get you up to do a load of diaper wash.”

I wasn’t at all happy, but knew better than complain too much. I welcomed a change of diapers even if it didn’t involve any relief from the plug. Now dry for at least the moment, I turned to the task of washing my dirty diapers.

When my new diaper life began, either Amy or Jill had to wash diapers every day. Since then Amy has ordered quite a few more diapers – I have no idea how many, but quite a stack! Since about the second week of wearing my cloth diapers, I’ve been washing a load every time Amy tells me to. She says it will probably settle into a routine of a load on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays unless I use too many extras.

We had been soaking some of the really dirty diapers in Oxyclean to help get out some of the worst stains; Amy explained that she wanted to avoid bleach. Bleach isn’t good for cloth diapers. The ones that weren’t stained too badly sat in the diaper pail with a little water. Still, the pail was heavy even for me to lift. Amy had me pour off into the toilet as much of the water in the diaper pail as I could. Then I brought the pail to the laundry room on the first floor. All the motion I had to go through caused me a little pain in my bottom, but I really was getting more used to this bigger plug already. It didn’t really make me happy, but I realized it could have been worse.

While the diapers were in the washing machine, I cleaned the bathrooms. I really resented having to clean the toilets that I’d never again be allowed to use, but I didn’t dare say anything to Amy. I could hear her remind me of all the times she’d cleaned the bathrooms for me. Besides, I was sure she’d also remind me that I still had to rinse my messy diapers in the toilet. That was true, so maybe I shouldn’t have resented any of this work.

After all, my being in diapers had cost us a great deal of money; there was the outlay for all the nursery furniture and my new clothing. I wasn’t sure how much my supply of Bambinos were costing us, but even with using cloth while I was at home, this was an expense we hadn’t had before. Well, I’d been buying diapers myself on the side for years, but the less said about that the better.

The point I was making with myself was that this new life of mine was something I’d brought on myself. Yes, Amy and Jill had carried it out; they had enforced it, but it had been my fetish which led to Amy’s discovery. From there, it had been a clear, if somewhat difficult, decision. Amy could have just thrown me out on my ear, told my friends and employer about my diaper fetish and my life would have been destroyed. Instead, I’d actually chosen this life.

I know that I keep going back to this discussion. My apologies go to those who read this diary, and yet it is important for you to know how often I returned to this topic in my own mind. Replaying it all helped me adjust to those times I didn’t particularly enjoy. Going through it all in my mind, reminded me that I was making good progress in adjusting to this new life and that there were many parts of it that I was actually enjoying.

In ever increasing ways, my relationship with Amy was improving and I looked for even more improvement – though I had no sense of what was to come. In fact, I was beginning to adjust even to the fact that I didn’t know what was to come. It was almost a comfort to me to know that I didn’t need to worry about too much here at home; that I needed to do a good job with my chores and needed to do as I was told.

I’d finally finished the bathrooms and had transferred the load of diapers to the dryer. Jill was still visiting with Amy and so the three of us sat down to dinner together. Well, I was strapped into my high chair and given a bowl of pureed chicken and vegetables to eat on my own with a spoon, while Amy and Jill enjoyed spiced pork chops, mashed potatoes and peas. I had a baby bottle of milk and they had glasses of wine. But we did eat together. I was no longer offended by the differences in food; I accepted my place and was happy to be able to feed myself at this meal.

After dinner, Jill patted my on the head in a very condescending way and said good-bye to me. “Be a good little baby and I’ll see you again soon. You were certainly good today and I think your Mommy is very proud of you.”

Amy added, “Yes, little boy, I am proud of you. We’re going to give you a bath and get you ready for bed, but then you and I can have a little time together, just the two of us.”

Turning to Jill, she said, “Thanks for babysitting this afternoon. Enjoy your evening and be in touch.”

After Jill left, Amy got me out of the highchair and led me upstairs to my bath. I was looking forward to being together with Amy. Maybe it would just be watching a little TV together before bedtime, but Amy had said it in a tone that suggested something special. I could only hope.

[diaperpt]

If you enjoy this chapter, let me know. Thanks.

Chapter 26: A Very Special Evening

Amy let me sit in the warm soapy water for a while and then carefully washed every inch of my body. The soapy washcloth seemed to spend a little more time than usual around my penis. “How does that feel, little boy? Does it feel good? Hmm? Does your little pee-pee ever want to be a big grown-up anymore?”

I heard the words, but didn’t believe it. I didn’t dare answer. I didn’t know what I should say – what Amy wanted me to say. I knew this was something I wanted, but I thought this was something I wasn’t supposed to want. So I kept quiet and lay back in the tub trying not to let myself be aroused. It was the rule. Amy – Mommy – had said. But this felt like a little more than just washing me carefully. Rather than think of the feeling of arousal I wanted to be feeling, I focused on the thought of being spanked; the thought of being locked into the cage down in the cellar, or maybe the stocks. I thought of pain and humiliation and those thoughts helped me steer clear of the adult feelings I so badly missed and wanted.

Amy spoke again, “Baby, I asked you a question. Don’t I deserve an answer?” She smiled and while her tone was condescending, I sensed that she wanted an honest answer. Against my better judgment, I spoke.

“I’m trying very hard not to think about it. I know I need my diapers and I know you’re in charge of me now. You don’t want me thinking about things like that, so I’m doing my best not to,” I said.

Still the washcloth swirled around my shaft and I felt a soft arousal. I thought back to spankings and pain, trying desperately to avoid any further arousal.

“Well, little boy, now isn’t the time, but I’ve got to tell you that I’ve been feeling closer and closer to you. You are my baby and you are absolutely right that I’m in charge of you now, but I’ve missed the husband I had when we were first married. Can you remember back to those days?”

Not waiting for an answer, she continued. “Our sex used to be fantastic. We were so madly in love and then… Well, I know we were both busy with our jobs and things just seemed so complicated. I know I was at least partly at fault, but regardless, we just drifted apart. I didn’t even notice it happening. One day I woke up and knew things had changed. Years passed and we just accepted our lives.

“I was so disgusted at first when I found out about your diaper fetish. I really did feel betrayed – like you’d taken up diapers as a replacement for our relationship. And I was jealous. I guess it was in part because at least you had something. It seemed like I had nothing at all. I admit that when I started planning this new life for you, it was strictly to punish you. I hated every moment of it. I hated that Saturday morning when Jill and I forced you into having that enema and we took all those pictures and videos.

“Still, I was determined to get even with you. I had really planned on only going through about a week of this and then dumping you anyway. Jill and I ordered all that stuff with your personal credit card – the one you pay out of your personal savings – that I thought you’d canceled. Since my name is still on the account, it was easy. I didn’t mind spending your money from before our marriage on your own humiliation. I knew that we could make it look like you’d ordered it all and that I’d just stumbled onto your fetish. The pictures and videos would easily seal your fate. A divorce favorable to me would have been a piece of cake.

“Somewhere along the line, though, things started to change. Having to take care of you touched something inside me. I began to feel less like I was punishing you and more and more like I was really taking care of you as I would a little baby. I began feeling that I was nurturing you – even in the terrible things I was doing to you. I knew you’d hate actually living through this fantasy of yours and though I began to enjoy doing that to you, it occurred to me that what I was doing was actually a very loving thing.

“I’ve come back to a place where I really love you, just in a strangely different way than ever before. I love you as a Mommy would love her little baby boy, but we’ve begun developing a new kind of relationship as well. I’ve gotten to a place where I still want to be your wife as well as your Mommy. I’ve missed you both emotionally and sexually and I think I’m getting you back a little at a time.”

She leaned into me and gave me a huge kiss unlike any other over the last many years. She lingered for a moment, then said, “Well, baby, we’d better get you out of here before you shrivel up like a prune! First, let’s check and see that there aren’t any nasty hairs growing on that cute little baby boy body of yours!”

I wasn’t even close to absorbing her words let alone the passionate kiss. I barely heard all the words she’d said; it was too much for me to comprehend all at once. And then I experienced the emotional whiplash of her sudden change back to a Mommy role. I lay back and held my legs out wide for her as she traced the razor over my crotch area, carefully around my scrotum and penis erasing any attempt at pubic hair re-growth. Even in this humiliating posture, I couldn’t help but look up at her with moon eyes.

“Oh Amy, I do love you. I don’t know what happened to us. We were so happy, weren’t we? I’m so sorry we drifted apart. It was both of us, I know. Well, I can say it certainly was me. I got started with the diaper thing out of boredom, I think. Then it got to be more and more a release for me – a substitute for the relationship we didn’t have. It really was like cheating,” I admitted.

I continued, “Now, I don’t even know what I’m feeling. I’m actually getting used to needing my diapers, I know that. There is a big part of it I really love. I’m getting used to the idea of letting you be in control of things and me doing what I’m told. That’s almost a relief for me – less I need to worry about.

“The bigger part of it, though, is that I do feel our relationship growing. I can’t say we’re getting our relationship back, because it isn’t the same as before; it’s so different now. Part of me wants the relationship back the way it was when we were first married, but I’ve gotten in the way of that, haven’t I? I’m sorry for that,” I said.

Amy had directed me to a kneeling position and she had finished shaving my diaper area and was doing ‘touch-up’ on my back and arms.

“Oh, don’t be sorry, diaperpt,” she smiled. “I’m growing to love our new relationship. It’s a little weird now and then for me still, but I love it. I’m so glad to hear that you are loving it, too. I’m so, so happy.”

With a playful little slap on my bare, hairless bottom, Amy directed me out of the bath. She carefully dried me, given me a big embrace and another kiss as I stood on the bathmat.

“Let’s not forget that you need your diapers! I don’t want you peeing on me!”

She laughed and brought me to my changing table. I’d almost forgotten the plug still wedged firmly into my bottom – well, I couldn’t really forget it entirely as the feeling of fullness never really went away while it was in.

As Amy placed my triple-thick nighttime diapers underneath me, I noticed the feel of the thin paper liner Amy sometimes used in my cloth diapers. The plug was coming out and the liner was there to serve a much needed purpose. All our adult conversation melted away in the realization that I would soon be doing very basic baby functions into my diapers. I winced as Amy rotated and twisted the plug. Even as gentle as she could be, I still cried out as the plug unseated itself and exited my bottom. Amy rubbed in baby oil and a lot of rash cream, then pinned my diapers tightly and slid up some baby-blue print plastic panties. She snapped on my favorite Elmo onesie and then helped me into a yellow sleeper with a print of sleeping babies all over it.

She led me back downstairs where she turned on the TV and sat at one end of the sofa. When I began to sit on the floor at her feet, she said, “Let’s try you sitting up here on the sofa. Actually, why don’t you lie down and put your head in my lap?”

Not only did I want to behave and obey my Mommy, I was ecstatic over the idea of being allowed onto the furniture. I cautiously slid onto the sofa, resting my head all the way across her lap. She had a bottle ready for me and as I began nursing it, her hand began gently stroking my side. I felt so comfortable and so loved, though I was still confused over my feelings. I felt so much like a baby and yet this was my wife who was lovingly caressing my body.

After a while, she took the bottle from my lips and said, “I’ve got another idea I think you might enjoy. This will be a new part of our relationship.”

She pulled off her top and suddenly her bra was off as well. “Would my little baby want to nurse Mommy?”

I hesitated for a moment, but then she drew me close and soon I had carefully attached myself to her right nipple, gently manipulating it in my mouth. I sucked tenderly on it and felt its hard firmness in my mouth. It gave me such a strange mix of feelings; I was a baby nursing on Mommy, but I was a grown man with sexual feelings for his wife. Now her hand moved downward and was now stroking the front of my diaper. This just added to my confused feelings. Still, it was good.

“Ohhh…Mommy loves her little boy nursing! Let me help you, too. It’s OK. Let your little baby pee-pee have some fun. Let it do what it wants to do,” she moaned as she continued to stroke her hand down across my front.

I could feel the pressure of her hand and I began to respond. Over the last several weeks, I’d been punished and humiliated so much I’d nearly forgotten the feeling of being sexually aroused. My right hand found Amy’s left breast and we continued our slow waltz of pleasure.

Our breathing got heavier as we both enjoyed our own pleasure as we pleasured each other. I wanted this to never end and indeed it went on for some time. Suddenly I gasped as I felt an explosion of intensity within my diapers. My body spasmed in ecstasy and then I froze as wave after wave swept over me. This orgasm was unlike anything I’d ever experienced and it took forever for the feelings to finally finish washing over me. I didn’t want it to end.

I looked up at Amy with a love deeper than I’d felt since falling in love with her all those years ago.

“I love you, Amy – Mommy. I love you so much. Thank you so much. I just love you. I love you,” I repeated over and over again.

I could see the love in Amy’s eyes as well as she said, “Yes and I love you too. I do. You are my husband and you are my little baby. You make me so happy now. And this is just the beginning. Things are just going to get better and better. I’m sure of it.”

We stayed there just looking at each other for some time until she brought my bottle back to my lips. It seemed so natural to lie there and finish my bottle.

Moments later, though, another feeling overcame me and I was forced to release again into my diapers. This time, it was the soft mush of built up effluent pushing out. I was so weakened by holding my butt plug all day; so full from the bulk I was constantly being fed and so tired now, that I was sure it would have flowed out anyway even if I had resisted. After its initial onslaught, I rocked to one side trying to create more room. It mushed out over my bottom fighting to find room.

As the encroachment continued, I felt yet another release and the familiar warmth of that release spread across the front of my diaper as I felt the easy flow of my own urine down through my legs only to be swallowed by the thirsty cloth of my diapers.

I wished I could absorb the strange mix of emotions I’d been feeling as easily as my diapers seemed to take in all they were asked to do. In one minute I was experiencing the best orgasm of my life and in the next minute, I was using my diapers like a new born baby. Even with these feelings – even with all the confusion of the emotions I was feeling at that moment, I sucked on the nipple of the bottle and looked up into Amy’s eyes and knew everything was just as it ought to be.

When my bottle was empty, Amy got up and put her top back on. She sat back down and repositioned me in her lap, also producing my new pacifier. We stayed there for another hour; watching TV as I nursed my pacifier contentedly while Amy stroked my face gently. In spite of the messy feeling of my diapers, I was in heaven.

Finally, Amy announced it was time for bed. Thankfully she also announced that I was to be changed again for the night.

“I think you’ve used your diapers for everything possible, don’t you think?” She winked and smiled at me as we went to my changing table. I smiled back. The humiliation I thought I ought to be feeling about such a comment was swallowed up the joy not only of the sexual release I’d been granted but the new and ever growing relationship with Amy. Soon I was cleaned, re-diapered and secured in my crib.

“Sweet dreams, little baby,” she said. And they were.

[Crimson_Wolf]

Excellent keep up the good writing can't wait for more.

[LtBaby]

Good story.

[Fulldiaper]

pt, if this is about you...lucky you. if it's a fantasy, great writing...please keep it up.

[diaperpt]

pt, if this is about you...lucky you. if it's a fantasy, great writing...please keep it up.

No, it isn't really about me at all. I started off describing the enema - which I did give myself - but the rest is purely imagination and wishful thinking. Glad you enjoy. I'm posting the next chapter in just a minute. Glad you're enjoying it, Fulldiaper.

[Crimson_Wolf]

Too bad this really didn't happen to I bet you would have liked it though. You have a great imagination can't wait till you post in a few.

[diaperpt]

Chapter 27: Things Can Get Better Yet!

The next several weeks just flowed by in a mostly pleasant blur. Work went smoothly as it usually had for me. I wasn’t absolutely in love with my job, but I got more than a little satisfaction out of what I accomplished there. Work had become a place where I was able to have a little control in my life, where I could think and plan and see the results of my own efforts.

As Jill had reminded me often, when I was at home thinking only got me in trouble. I even adjusted my thought process to accept that I needed to think and plan at work, but that when I was home I had to shut off that part of my brain. At home it was a good thing that I didn’t have to think or plan.

At work, I had been given several important projects and had completed them faster and better than my boss thought possible. Even so, my most difficult challenge in terms of work, as you might expect, was my adjustment to being diapered constantly.

There were days when it was easier than others. One day I’d waited longer than I should have to procure the key to my locking panties and someone had holed up in the lavatory for what seemed like forever. I could have used one of the other lavatories on the floor, but I didn’t want to be seen carrying my supplies in with me – and a very wet diaper out. When no one was looking, I stuffed a few spare paper napkins down into my pants around the elastic leg gathers of my locking pants. I’d leaked a little anyway, but I’d finally gotten changed and the leaks dried out while I was working at my desk.

I’d had my share of days when a lack of a morning bowel movement meant a plug for the work-day. I was still using the second size plug, thankfully, and disaster was averted on those days. I’d adjusted somewhat to the feeling of the plug inside me, though it was never a big turn-on for me! On some other days, I’d have a movement on my way home or soon after getting home and once, I’d even left some ‘nuggets’ in my diapers well before leaving for home. Thankfully between very efficient Bambino’s, a sturdy pair of plastic panties, covered in turn by my locking panties, I was confident there was no detectable odor. I’d gotten rid of the evidence at my last office change and Joelle assured me that I was correct in my assessment of odor control; I was in the clear.

At home, I was still fed in my highchair – strapped in securely. My meals were mostly childish; sometimes just formula, sometimes pureed food in my bottles, sometimes finger foods or cut up adult food. Sometimes I was fed and sometimes I was allowed to feed myself, but always with a bib.

Amy’s parents had come to visit once for a few days and the high chair was put away down in the cellar and both my upstairs and downstairs nurseries were locked up. I was petrified that her mother and father could see through our attempted deception, but Amy was confident they were none the wiser.

A supply of diapers had been transferred to my old dresser in Amy’s bedroom and with a softer rubber under-sheet on the bed; I was even allowed to sleep with Amy on those nights. As casual clothes, when they were there I was allowed a pair of wind-pants whose natural rustle drowned out any noise my plastic panties and diapers could possibly make. I also had an over-sized sweatshirt which hung down over the pants and obscured any potential view of the top of my diaper or plastic pants. When we all went out of the house together, I wore clothes that I would normally wear to work and I was well confident in them. Of course, all my meals had to be normal adult meals and my bottle had been put away temporarily. Once the lights were off and we were all in bed, however, my pacifier came out and I soothed myself to sleep even as Amy and I cuddled together in her bed.

Once her parents’ visit was over, I went back to my normal routine. It was back to baby style clothes and baby style food. I was almost relieved with this return to what had become normal for me. This helped me realize how much I actually was enjoying my new life.

While I still loved adult food and looked forward to those times when we might eat out at a restaurant or have some of Amy’s friends over for dinner, I missed my bottles when I didn’t have them during the day. I missed the consistency of my formula and the idea of what eating pureed food meant for the baby me.

As for my clothes, at home I had been allowed more pants and shirts to cover my diapers and onesies, but they were all adult-sized and baby-styled. I had several pairs of little baby style shorts. Those could be easily pulled down for diaper changes. I’d also acquired several pair of elastic waist long pants with snaps up the inside of the legs and through the crotch. Obviously there was no need for a zipper.

More and more, I was allowed to wear wind-pants out and around on the weekends if they were the kind with snaps up the sides of the legs; these functioned almost as well as my baby-style clothes for diaper changes.

The relationship between Amy and I continued to grow, even if in almost constant tension between the wife/husband relationship and the Mommy/baby relationship. I had been allowed to nurse from Amy’s breasts while she rubbed me through my diapers; this happened on a pretty regular basis, of course solely at her discretion. I was allowed to please her orally from time to time as well. Increasingly I was able to separate out my feelings of being in a wet – and yes, even once, a poopy diaper – as we gave each other pleasure.

It was several months into my new life, now, when Amy led me to her bed. She had placed a large absorbent pad over the sheets and let me just say that we had actual, real, live ‘normal’ sex. I’m not going to go into lurid details, but I will say it was incredible! Yes, afterwards, I leaked a little on the pad before Amy re-diapered me, but then she simply removed the wet pad from the bed and we cuddled there for an hour or so more; just the two of us together.

We were talking more, interacting more and having more sex than we’d had since the first six months of our marriage. I was happier than I thought I ever would be and Amy assured me she felt the same way. I thought I was in heaven.

(more to be posted - maybe on Friday)

[babygore]

getting better that was the best chapter yet

[diaperpt]

Thanks for the comments. It's always more fun to post another chapter when people have responded. Hope you enjoy this one.

Chapter 28: Down times aren’t always the worst times

Of course, we know we’re on earth, not really in heaven. Things weren’t going to be perfect, were they? And so, predictably Amy and I had our falling outs. There were times when I’d just not do a good job of cleaning house. The toilet wouldn’t be clean enough or I’d leave surfaces layered with dust. I’d make the mistake of complaining about my food or I’d insist on a diaper change before Amy was ready to change me. There were times too, when I’d complain just a little too much – there wasn’t a huge amount of room for me complaining at all so it didn’t take much. Sometimes I’d try to do things I knew were not allowed or I’d just irritate Amy with my attitude. As with any couple, there were many reasons for the problems we experienced. Our bad times weren’t quite like the ones other married couples had, though, and the ways we worked through them weren’t the same either.

The difference between our relationship and the relationship of other couples lay mostly in my downstairs nursery and in the fact that Amy always had the last word in our relationship. While we never talked about it, I also knew she had pictures and videos as well as records of my activity on dailydiapers, where she’d allowed me to resume visiting after a couple of months. She held all the cards; for me it was either her way or the highway. As loving as we’d become, she never weakened in her control of the relationship.

I might not agree with her on some issue; it might be perfectly obvious that she was in the wrong and yet, she had the final word. To my complete chagrin, she usually expressed that last word through a night or two in my downstairs nursery. Sometimes I’d be strapped to the spanking bench. Sometimes I’d be made to retain a two quart enema only to release it into my diapers while I was locked in my stocks or in that claustrophobia inducing cage. Once she put me at the ‘head of the table’ and left me there for twelve hours feeding me laxative filled water through the feeding gag.

Another favorite of her was a two piece hinged section of board which allowed my neck and hands to be locked in, much like the stocks or the ‘head of the table’. It was much like the front two boards of the stocks, but free-floating. The board was probably a little over three feet long and didn’t weigh that much until it was locked on and rested on my shoulders for hours with my hands dangling from the holes made for them. I was made to stand near the wall with a spreader bar keeping my legs apart. The weight of the board and my arms dragged down on me and I was in agony. I was supported only by a strap around my waist fixed to a vertical metal rod sticking up from the floor. I felt and must have looked like a store manikin. Amy would feed me formula and water through my feeding gag and a bag hung from another pole. If she was feeling generous, she might even change my diapers once they began to leak down my legs.

She’d continued her on-line research and had discovered the ‘milking’ process. Whenever she thought I was pleasuring myself more than her, she’d get angry and lead me to the downstairs nursery. My ankles were bound to a spreader bar and restraints attached between the spreader bar and my wrists in a way that I was made to stay on my hands and knees on the floor while she pulled down my plastic panties and diapers. She proceeded to don medical gloves and massage my prostate to milk me dry. Of course, the proceeds of this were collected and I was graciously allowed to drink my own ‘milk’.

As an extra piece of this punishment, I was then released to a standing position, though still with the spreader bar at my ankles and now with a collar around my neck attached to the ceiling. I was told to masturbate to climax within five minutes or face a paddle spanking until I did climax. Needless to say there was no way I could win this challenge, but I was forced to try. Finally I would be released with an equally sore and raw backside and penis. Even so, I was triple diapered, fed bulk and laxatives and left standing attached to the collar and spreader bar for several more hours. When I was finally released, I was cleaned up and placed in the shallow crib cage overnight.

These were not pleasant times for me; I don’t want you to think that I ever looked forward to these times. But neither do I want you to think that my punishments ever deteriorated my relationship with Amy. I loved her dearly and I knew full well how much she loved me.

I thought about our previous relationship and how we’d grown apart as a result of the little spats and scraps we had along the way. I knew so many other couples who were not able to deal with all the petty, silly issues that plague almost every couple. Many of them ended up in unhappy relationships or even ending the relationship with a divorce.

As much as my punishments might have been a characteristic of what to most others would seem like a highly unorthodox relationship, when the punishment was over, our relationship was restored to what it had been. If I had truly been at fault, I would apologize to Amy and promise to be better at whatever it was that had caused the problem. If Amy had been at fault, she would occasionally admit it had been her fault and later, even apologize for my punishment.

At other times, when perhaps Amy would not see that the problem had stemmed from her behavior, I’d apologize after my punishment anyway. I’d do this first of all, because if I didn’t I was only in line for more punishment. But secondly and more important, those times were ones of restoring our relationship. That was what was most important. I didn’t need to be right. I needed to be in a good relationship with Amy. I loved being in that relationship and I would do anything to keep it in balance.

Most couples wallow in between difficult times in their relationship worrying about who is right and who is wrong. They worry about who will make the first move in admitting fault and they’ll stumble through a process of reconciliation. Sometimes they’ll be successful and at other times they’ll fail, only extending that awkward unpleasant time of ill-ease between them.

Amy and I never suffered that anymore. I’d be punished and when my punishment was over, everything was restored. You might think it is weak, perverted or even sick of me to look at these punishments in this way, but it worked. Our make-up sex was always our best and that’s saying a lot. And don’t feel that these punishments were all that frequent. What I’ve described took place over probably the next full year of our relationship. There were other minor punishments in between, but over that year we had solidified a relationship that is unshakable, and I dare say, better than any other couple I’ve ever known.

There is one other relationship I’d like to describe to you, though. It was completely separate, but became entwined in our lives. I think you’ll find it interesting.

[Fulldiaper]

two words again pt AWE-SOME!!!!!!

Keep up the great writing and imagination.