Cloth Diapers & Panties

My experience is that is physical and phycological. You can do everything right physically. But if your brain doesnt do it ls job. Nothing is going to happen.  I am at the stage that I wet without me knowing when and where is going to happen. Basically the definition of urge incontinence. I dont feel it happening. I just feel the wetting happening. How i got to this point is that I allowed my body to wet whenever and then completely ignored it. As time went on and my body has adapted to this new normal and my brain has started ignoring what my bladder is saying. I havent forced anything. I have just let it be. It has taken time to get to this point. I am now at the stage that im pretty positive that im now leaking. Why I say that is because the other night I didnt feel any wettings happen. But when I took my nappy off to put my night nappy on it was wet.  I suggest don't force it. Take your time. Wear 24/7 and it will happen naturally. Just like it has done for me. 

The principal was still talking and I was still not listening. My ears were ringing and the only thing I could think about was my blazing backside. "SMACK!" "BAAA! HA! HA!" I don't remember what happened next. I remember hearing a girl bawling and knowing she was me. I didn't even realize my spanking was over until I heard the paddle whack the seat of Randi's blue jeans. Randi grunted at first, then squeaked, but she never cried out like I did. Once I got a grip on myself, I was so humiliated by my own childish behavior that I really wanted the other girls to kick and scream bloody murder, but none of them did. Vanetta yelped each time the principal paddled her pants, but Dawn didn't make a sound. While the principal was paddling silent Dawn, I started to hear the platitudes the woman was saying about her authority and our smoking. For example, she said that the only thing that was going to smoke in her school were student bottoms. She finished spanking Dawn and said, "You can get up now girls." We struggled off the table holding our burning butts. I noticed the other girls had tears in their eyes too, but they didn't look as devastated as I felt. I tried hard to regained my composure. It took all my self control just to take my hands off my sizzling seat long enough to let my skirt fall. I wiped the tears off my face. The principal folded her arms across her chest, with the paddle still in her hand, and surveyed four humbled little girls, sniveling and rubbing their rumps. We choked back our tears and glared back at her in hatred. I spitefully imagined the principal herself bent over the table with her dress up getting a spanking with that awful paddle right on her panties. She wouldn't look so smug then. The bell rang, the principal said musically, "Don't be late for class, girls," but there was a clear threat in her voice. At least she put away the paddle. We stumbled out into the bustling hallway, trying our best to look as though we hadn't been brought to book in the Book Room. It was tough not to touch my bruised buttocks, which felt about twice as big as normal. As I walked, my tush tingled in time with the tickle of my swinging skirt. A couple of girls at the drinking fountain giggled at us as we passed. We burned with shame, but we tried to ignore them. In a whisper, Dawn derided me, "You're a big bawl baby, Anita." She really hurt my feelings. Because what she said was true. "Come on, Dawn," Vanetta whispered in my defense, "Anita got the paddle right on her panties." "YOU didn't," Dawn whispered back to Vanetta, "and you were hollering in there too. Cry baby." Vanetta looked as hurt as I felt. I walked right into the First Period class with my new found friends. I sat at a desk behind a huge boy in the back of the room where the teacher couldn't see me. I had long since forgotten how hard the seats are on those little desks, but I was suddenly reminded when I plopped down and bounced right back up with a squeak. The big boy turned around to see what I was chirping about. I smiled at him nervously and eased my aching ass back down on the severely solid seat. I discovered that when the teacher took the roll he only identified those students who were not present. He did not count the students in the class, so he never noticed that he had one more student in the room than the class roll indicated. I felt I had found a place to hide for an hour while I tried to figure out where I could go from there. When the bell ended American History, I planned to slip out of the school, check on the Cadillac, and be on my way. Randi had other plans for me. She towed me into the Girls Room and quickly disentangled my braids with the comb and brush she had in her purse. I told Randi, "I gotta get out of here, I don't belong in this school." She assumed I was a student from another school and said, "They'll catch you for sure if you try to sneak out between classes. Wait 'til lunch time. You don't want your panties paddled again do you?" I sure didn't. During Second Period I got noticed in Algebra, because I didn't have a book. I told the teacher I left it at home. She wrote an equation on the blackboard and asked me to step up to the front of and "solve for X." I didn't have a clue, so I tried to talk her out of forcing me to make a fool of myself in front of the entire class. She didn't relent. She wanted to make an example of me. As I tried to figure out a way to calculate the value of the mysterious "X," the other students delighted in my disgrace and the teacher was pleased with herself. I was almost in tears by the time she finally let me return to my seat, which felt harder than ever. "Ms. Math," who had obvious ambitions to make it big as a stand-up comic, re-enacted my clumsy efforts. The class howled with laughter as she mocked me. Then she solved that damned equation with such ease that I wanted to die. I found very little solace in watching her embarrass another student later in the period. I had forgotten how much I hated being a high school student, but it was all coming back to me now that I had gotten "to be a kid again." I never welcomed a sound so much as I did the bell which ended that class. Randi walked with me to the door overlooking the gas station. Enroute she asked me, "Wanna stay over at my house sometime?" "Sure," I told her. Randi was so considerate. She is a really nice girl. "How about tonight?" she asked. "Okay," I said, assuming I wouldn't still be there by the time school was out. "Don't you have to call your mom for permission?" she asked. "To hell with my mom," I said, feeling every bit as rebellious as any other runaway teenage girl. I thought, 'At least I can be defiant.' When we arrived at the door, I could see the service station personnel working around the Cadillac, which was still sitting right where I parked it. "Going somewhere, girls?" the principal's voice challenged. Randi and I stuttered as we turned to face her. I hated the woman's self-assurance. She enjoyed being in command, even if it was just the occasional opportunity to intimidate little girls. "I ... I ... was just looking over there," I explained. I hated the sound of my voice. It sounded to me just like it did when I was a teenager. The principal looked skeptical, and pleased to be so. "My ... ah ... my cousin works over there in the gas station ..." I lied. I noticed that both Randi and I had our hands on our hips, palms to the rear, as though the principal might give us another spanking right then and there. How humiliating! As Randi and I edged around the principal, she continued to smirk at us in her self satisfied way. She finally said, "Don't be late for class, girls" in that musical, but threatening, tone of voice. During Third Period I went to Study Hall with my partners in punishment. Not much studying got done. Unless you count writing notes, passing them around, and reading those composed by others. Dawn handed one of her compositions to Vanetta, who didn't think it was funny, but passed it to Randi anyway. Randi scowled at Dawn and crumpled the paper, but I took it out of Randi's hands. Dawn had drawn a crude cartoon of ME being held over the table with my skirt up by the paddle wielding principal. The picture is labeled "Anita" and my mouth is wide open with the word "WHAAaaa!!!!" coming out of it. I tore the piece of paper into smaller and smaller shreds, wishing it were Dawn. At lunch time I started to leave the building again, only to see two police officers questioning the employees at the gas station about the Cadillac. I figured Mr. Horvath might arrive at any moment and he could identify me if he saw me wandering around the neighborhood. A sudden thought hit me right in the pit of my stomach. What if Mr. Horvath had told the police that I was his granddaughter Rachael? The police would turn me over to him and he would turn me over his knee! I gasped aloud at the very idea. Worse, sly old Mr. Horvath would probably drive me away to someplace private where he could take my panties down and blister my bare bottom with that damned sandal as long as he wanted! I turned and scurried back into the bowels of the institution, and back into my synthetic childhood. I found my cohorts in crime in the cafeteria. The smell of food permeated the air and I suddenly realized I was famished. I didn't have a dime to buy anything, but Randi noticed my starved stare and asked me to eat half her sandwich. She said she just wasn't hungry, but I knew she was just being kind, because she instructed Vanetta to let me finish her coke. I re-checked the Cadillac between classes throughout the afternoon, but it just sat there. Mr. Horvath was nowhere in sight. The seats on my school desks grew harder and harder, and the probability that I would get caught impersonating a student loomed larger. Trapped in a time warp, I started to think that life with George, even at its recent worst, was not so bad as being a kid again. Randi was one of the few students who had done her homework and she prompted me with the right answers in Fifth Period English. As much as I liked Randi, I sneaked away from her at the end of the day. When I reached the door I saw Mr. Horvath across the street inspecting his Cadillac, so I ran to the doors at the other end of the school, where Randi was waiting for her mother to pick her up. "Oh, THERE you are," Randi said. "Got lost," I lied. "Here we go," Randi said gesturing toward an old car which chugged to a stop at the curb. Randi's mom is a big woman, just four or five years older than me. She seemed to be in a bad mood. "Mom, this is Anita," Randi told her as we climbed into the rusty car. Mrs. Wade ignored me and asked Randi, "Where's she going?" Randi took an exasperated breath and said, "Mom. Don't you remember. You said I could have a girlfriend stay over if I got all 'A's." Randi's mother turned her harsh frown on me and demanded, "Your mom know about this?" "Sure," I lied. My voice sounded childlike. Mrs. Wade asked me, "You get caught smoking too?" I gulped guiltily and I heard Randi catch her breath. I humbly nodded in the affirmative. The older woman turned back to Randi and asked pointedly, "You sure this isn't just because you two got in trouble today?" Randi fibbed with convincing sincerity, "We've been planning this for weeks!" I heartily nodded my enthusiastic support for Randi's lie. Mrs. Wade grunted and then drove us without another word. Randi seemed worried. Their dilapidated house is in a poor neighborhood. I decided I would call my mom from Randi's house. Even though Mom might tell George where I was, I could get her to come and get me out of this living nightmare. I never got the opportunity to ask to use the phone. As soon as we walked into the Wade house, Randi's mom said, "In my bedroom, girls." Randi puckered up to cry, but she obeyed her mother. And so did I. In the master bedroom, Randi sobbed as Mrs. Wade sat down on the bed and told me, "Whenever Randi gets paddled at school, she gets spanked again when she gets home." "Not in front of Anita," Randi begged, "Please wait 'til tomorrow." "You figured that if you invited Anita here I wouldn't spank you tonight?" Mrs. Wade asked her daughter sarcastically. Randi shook her head "no" and I wanted to believe her. I liked Randi and I didn't want to think she befriended me just to get out of a spanking. "Drop your drawers!" Mrs. Wade commanded. Randi's hands shook as she unsnapped and unzipped her jeans, and let them fall to the floor. Tears flowed down her face as she peeled her panties down to her knees. Randi's naked hips wobbled as she waddled over to the bed, hobbled by her clothes, and laid herself across her mother's lap. Mrs. Wade adjusted Randi's body, placing her daughter's rump right where she wanted it. Then she pointed to the dressing table and said to me, "Anita, hand me that hairbrush." I obeyed, although my knees were trembling so much I thought I might fall. Randi slowly started bawling, in a low tone. At first I thought she was crying because I was watching, but I soon learned that she was crying in anticipation of what her mother was about to do to her. "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" Each time the back of the hairbrush whacked Randi's bare bottom, the loud crisp cracking sound made me flinch and want to pee in my panties. Randi's bawling jumped higher and louder with each spank like a salmon plunging up a fish ladder. Mrs. Wade wasted no time. "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" Randi's flesh rippled from each spank and red ovals appeared on her snowy white rear end where the hairbrush spanked her. My bottom burned just watching. Randi was shrieking shrilly and thrashing around like a fish out of water, but her big brawny mother had her well in hand and never missed a beat with that awful hairbrush. "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" The fiery red ovals started to appear at the top of Randi's bright white thighs. Randi's feet kicked wildly and her blue jeans around her ankles added a desperate rustling sound. Suddenly, Mrs. Wade stopped spanking Randi. Randi did not stop kicking and screaming. Mrs. Wade instructed me to "Sit on her feet." I didn't want to be any closer to the spanking than I was already, but I did as I was told. I had to collect Randi's kicking feet first and then force them down on the bed in order to sit on them. "Thank you, Anita," Mrs. Wade said to me, as though I had brought her a cup of coffee or something. She then went right back to work spanking Randi's thighs. "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" I could feel Randi's feet kicking around under me and I felt so sorry that I was helping her mother spank her. Tears were streaming down my face and I could hardly get my breath. Mrs. Wade spanked Randi's thighs right down to the backs of her knees. "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" Randi spread her knees wide in her struggle to avoid the hairbrush and her mother took the opportunity to spank her tender inner thighs. "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" Randi screamed so sharply, I thought I would faint. Suddenly it was over. Mrs. Wade helped Randi to her feet and steadied her as Randi stumbled to the corner holding her blistered bottom with both hands and crying as loud as she could. Randi leaned against the adjoining walls and wailed. Mrs. Wade walked back to where I was standing, turned to look at her well spanked daughter, and said to Randi, "Hands!" Randi's fingers came off her hips as though they were burned and she clasped her hands in front. Mrs. Wade turned to me and said, "You're next." "NO!" I yelled right back at her. I could have explained that I was nearly her age and she could get in a lot of trouble if she hit me. Or I could have told her she was not my mother and therefore had no right to give me a spanking. No I couldn't. In my advanced stage of disorientation I could never have convinced her I was an adult, and in my state of shock she seemed to have every right to give me a spanking. The fact is, I never thought any of these things. I just tried to get away. Hung over, sleep deprived, previously spanked, starved and scared out of my mind, I was no match for husky Mrs. Wade. In fact, the more I yelled "NO!" and the more I wrestled with her, the angrier she got. I flopped down on the floor in the fetal position, but she just grabbed the sides of my hips, lifted them up, sat down on the bed, and plopped my midsection down across her lap, demonstrating that wherever your hips go, the rest of you is bound to follow. I tried to back off of her lap and only succeeded in working my skirt up under my arms before she hauled me over her knees again. She wrapped her arm around my bare waist and placed my upturned bottom right where she wanted it. Pulling on the bed covers with my hands and waving my legs in the air did nothing to get me out of her grasp. She jerked down my panties with authority and I knew I was in big trouble. I had forgotten that making a mommy mad just before she gives you a spanking is the stupidest thing a naughty girl can do. "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" The hairbrush spanking my hips felt as though I were being machine gunned in the butt. I kicked and screamed involuntarily from the beginning burst. "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" Mrs. Wade spanked me a lot harder than she did Randi. "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" I could hear myself screaming, but all I could think about was the intractable pain in my ass. "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" My body jumped and jerked spastically out of control. "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" I know now that my flying feet protected my thighs from the same fate Randi had suffered. Since Mrs. Wade didn't have another mortified maid in waiting to sit on my feet, she concentrated all her effort on my blazing butt. "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" I wanted my flaming fanny to fall off to stop the stinging that shot through me from every spank with that damned hairbrush. I wanted to die --- but I simply didn't know how. "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" - "SMACK!" I was so hysterical I didn't even know my spanking was over, until I realized I was standing with my forehead pressed in a corner holding my skirt up and bawling my eyes out. After I calmed down to merely deranged, I thought I was alone in the room, but I was afraid to turn my head and look. Mrs. Wade was apparently admiring the ruby red results of her brushwork. Her voice jolted me when she suddenly told Randi, "Just wait 'til your father gets home." I heard Randi start to cry again in her corner. Then I heard Mrs. Wade leave the room. Mrs. Wade's remark should have given me a clue that Randi and I had something to fear from Mr. Wade, but I couldn't think straight. My mind replayed the infantile antics I performed when I was across Mrs. Wade's lap getting the worst spanking of my life. I was so embarrassed by my own babyish behavior that my face blushed almost as hotly as my hairbrushed heinie. After burning at both ends for what seemed like a long time, I heard Mr. and Mrs. Wade's voices conversing. I couldn't make out what they were saying. Mrs. Wade came to the door and said, "Come out here, Anita." I was so defeated I turned and walked to her still holding my skirt up, and with my girlish panties down around my knees. "Drop your skirt," Mrs. Wade instructed me and I obeyed. She didn't say, "Pull up your panties," so I didn't. I followed Mrs. Wade into the kitchen where Mr. Wade was standing with his hand on the telephone. He was a big rough looking guy in grimy work clothes. "What's your mother's phone number?" he asked me. I ruefully recalled the last time a man asked me that question. I got spanked for refusing to answer. And I should have been spanked again for lying. I wasn't going to make either of those mistakes again. I gave Mr. Wade my mother's correct telephone number. He dialed the number, handed me the telephone, and said, "Have your mother tell me she that you have her permission to stay over."

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Dangerous Woman- Ariana Grande