Watersports

Why do you think this one is a scammer ?

noticed i was peeing more today so i taped on a nru str8up [white] and ive wet it about 4 times now

i mean you can always get creative. as a boy, pointing down and squatting/leaning helps. or laying down. or just get a friend to pee down the back for you =P 

I see a lot of posts on various AB sites about not using the back of a diaper enough. "How do I wet the back?" etc. The answer is: You don't! Even the best diapers will only wick so much, and that absorbency is there to protect from liquid blow-outs in the rear. It'll be there when you REALLY need it.

CHRISTMAS TRADITIONS. Part Two. by Alec Leamus. I don’t know how long I studied the texture of the corner. It felt like a long time. After a while, behind me I heard the creak of the door and Mrs. Morrison entered. There were very few words spoken as she buttoned my rear flap and led me out of the library. The music had stopped in the living room, and it seemed almost everyone had gone to bed. Although I didn’t dare peek. I was beyond embarrassed and absolutely sure everyone in the living room heard me get spanked. So, I kept my eyes glued to the floor as we walked up stairs to my room. Mrs. Morrison told me to go to sleep, turned off the lights and shut the door. When she left, I wanted to rip the infantile onesie off but it was too cold and I had nothing else to wear. I snuggled into the bed and tried to calm myself, but I could not sleep. The popping sound of the hairbrush on my bare bottom echoed in my head punctuated by Mrs. Morrison’s words. I replayed them over and over. Clearly there was a backlog of emotional issues concerning me and my marriage to Jack. I had assumed we had moved past those and felt a certain sense of acceptance. Obviously, I was wrong. I felt like a fool. I was smarter than this. I had allowed myself to be manipulated and controlled. This was not me. I had dealt with far more intense situations without losing my temper. On top of everything I had been spanked like some obnoxious child. I was never spanked as a child except for a few swats here and there. Occasionally I used spanking as sexual foreplay, but nothing compared to Mrs. Morrison’s punishment. Fortunately, by the time I went to bed my bottom had ceased throbbing. So, I was able to lay on my back. I watched the snow gently fall outside illuminated by an unknown amber light. The calm outside was a stark contrast to the fury in my head. It was ridiculous. What should have been a joke had spiraled into something completely different. My mind flew into a dozen different directions. Mrs. Morrison was a big strong woman, but I didn’t even fight back! I just let her spank me. Vanessa clearly did not like me. Vanessa was the thief! Just because I was wearing a child’s dress that doesn’t make me a child! Mrs. Morrison assaulted me! That was assault! My anger grew. Out of nowhere, Jack’s smiling face appeared and derailed my runaway emotional train. I could hear him urging me to “play it cool” and “just let it go”. But she spanked me! I am not a child. I didn’t do anything wrong. I am an adult. From another direction a sobering thought hit me. I am an adult with no clothes of my own, no money, no credit cards, no phone, and no ID. I was trapped until Jack arrived. My mind darted in a dozen directions as I contemplated Mrs. Morrison’s warnings. Finally, I drifted off to sleep. In the morning bright winter light filled my bedroom. Downstairs and in the hallway the house buzzed with activity. I heard the children bang about amidst the muffled reprimands of adults. From the hallway I could hear them talking. It had snowed heavily during the night and created ideal sledding conditions at Baker Park. I searched around the room for something to wear besides the childish onesie. It was too much of a reminder of the previous night. In the closet I found a faded blue robe. I slipped it on and headed downstairs. By the time I reached the bottom step the final door slam had sounded, and the house was quiet. As I approached the kitchen I paused. Mr. and Mrs. Morrison were talking, coffee in hand. They ceased when they saw me. “Morning,” Mr. Morrison muttered as he exited. I headed for the coffee but was halted by Mrs. Morrison. “I see we have taken some liberties this morning,” she said and gestured to my robe. “It was in the closet.” “But that doesn’t make it yours now does it dear?” I clamped my jaw and slowly removed the robe and placed on a nearby chair. I didn’t mind being in my onesie since it was only Mrs. Morrison. I turned toward the coffee again. “I don’t think that is for you either. You have a problem claiming things which do not belong to you. Why don’t you have some juice and join me in the library,” she calmly stated. I stood frozen and watched her generous figure disappear down the hallway. “The library? There was no way she was planned to spank me for wearing a robe and wanting coffee? And there was no way she was going to spank me again!” I thought. I thought better of sneaking a quick cup of coffee and instead drank a glass of orange juice. I discovered Mrs. Morrison seated in the all too familiar leather armchair. Entering the room felt strange and a small shudder passed through my body. In an odd way I was grateful for the cozy warmth of the onesie. When Mrs. Morrison saw me, she straightened up to her full height in the chair. “Come in dear and please shut the door.” She didn’t offer me a seat, so I stood apprehensively in the middle of the room. It was hard to look at her after last night and I found my eyes drifting to the pattern on the oriental rug. “First of all, I must apologize for allowing my temper to get the better of me last night.” “That’s right! Good! This conversation was off to a good start.” I thought. “Those who know me well, know that was quite out of character for me. I am not a woman who gives in to such emotions unless I am pushed to do so. A number of things were said last night, and I regret overwhelming you with so much—” “It’s fine. I’m willing to let it go. I mean it’s Christmas—” Jack would have been proud of me. Mrs. Morrison held up her customary hand for silence. “I am not finished dear. Please do not interrupt. That being stated it is obvious we need a more structured agreement,” she waved her hand to the nearby desk. “Obviously, based on your appearance this morning you are unclear, so I have taken the liberty to document our agreement in writing. All you need to do is sign it.” I was so taken aback I found my jaw moving but I produced no sound. In a daze I shuffled over to the desk. Next to the paper a pen lay ceremoniously ready. “Of course, feel free to read it over but I assure you there is nothing new or beyond that which we have already discussed and agreed upon.” I slowly began skimming the agreement. Although it was only one page it was crammed full of legalese. It began by identifying the two parties, myself, and Mrs. Morrison. It then segued into paragraphs explaining the parameters of the agreement. This was followed by paragraphs concerning my appearance, my behavior, conduct and consequences should I fail to fulfill the contract. It was brimming with language and the more I read the more overwhelmed I felt. “Are you kidding me? I’m not signing this,” I said as I spun back to face her. “Technically you have previously already agreed to everything. I do have witnesses. So, this is merely a formality. Of course, I cannot make you sign it. That would render the document invalid.” I started to interject but she continued. “But may I remind you of last night in which we entered into a mutual agreement. I have not released you from said agreement. And I must say I was not surprised to see you disregard it so quickly. Seeing you appear this morning with hair down, in an adult robe and demanding coffee only serves as further evidence as to how you honor legal agreements. I have always suspected your cavalier attitude permeated all aspects of your life including your marriage to my son.” “What are you saying?” I asked incredulously. “These are the actions of a child not an adult. A child who acts with abandon, ignorant of their responsibilities and oblivious to their obligations. But as you learned last night in my house this behavior has consequences.” I blushed deeply at her last remark but her insinuations concerning my marriage pushed aside the indelible image of my punishment. I was incensed. How dare she make such wild assumptions about my life with Jack. “You have no idea how close we are and how strong our marriage is!” I shot back. “I know what I have witnessed. And I know what Jack has confided in me. You are a guest in my home for Christmas. You disrupted my home and my family with your disrespectful behavior. Now you may sign, and we may proceed. Or you may choose not to sign. However, if you choose the latter, I will have no other recourse than to return your belongings and ask you to leave my house and never return. And you will have further demonstrated how frivolously you regard agreements with members of my family.” I felt like I had been hit in the chest. I was dumbstruck. Last night I was so ready to escape. Now, in the stark light of day, I realized how my departure would be destructive. My mind raced through several scenarios. I could choose not to sign. I could wait in a hotel until January 3 when my flight departed. I could call Jack and try to explain. But I would be placing myself between Jack and his family, something I swore I would never do. What would he do when he arrived and discovered I was gone? Where would his loyalties lie? I shuddered at the thought of Mrs. Morrison expounding details of our physical encounter last night. His mother clearly had deep issues with me. She wanted to drive a wedge between Jack and me. It would play perfectly into her plans if I bolted. I was not about to make it easy for her. What was she truly asking? So, I had to play dress up for a few days and endure some embarrassment. According to the contract if I honored my agreement at 8pm on December 23 I would be reinstated as an “adult” with no mention of the previous days or the agreement. Fine. I wasn’t about to abandon my responsibilities with Jack. In fact, this agreement may work in my favor. Once we were safely home in California, I would tell Jack everything. How cruel his mother and family had treated me. And although I had no desire to estrange Jack from his family it would strengthen my position. After all, I wasn’t a child. Those were Mrs. Morrison’s words and how she viewed me in her narrow sense. I certainly could handle myself with maturity and rise above any situation. At this point I was not about to let her win. I took in a deep breath, “Okay, I’ll sign.” I turned back to the desk and picked up the pen, but Mrs. Morrison stopped me. “Please wait a moment,” she said as she picked up her phone and typed a brief text. “The document before you is implicitly clear but I do wish to reiterate a few key points. Please do not misunderstand my previous apology. I meant everything I said last night. I only apologized for overwhelming you. I do not see you as an adult but as a child. And I intend for others to share my vision of your true self. I believe it was divine intervention you received Lily’s present. It was the catalyst which has allowed me to reveal you. You are a spoiled disrespectful child masquerading as an adult who unfortunately misrepresented herself into a marriage with my son. But if you can prove me otherwise, I would be delighted to see any semblance of redemption or improvement on your part.” I knew she was trying to goad me and hoped I would fly off the handle. I strained to remain calm. But as I prepared a stinging retort the door opened and in sauntered Vanessa. She smirked at my attire. “You were about to sign dear? Vanessa is our witness. There are two copies.” I furiously grabbed the pen and signed both copies of the agreement. Then I thrust the pen into Vanessa’s hand. “It is almost 9:30am. I want you back here cleaned, dressed and ready by 11am,” Mrs. Morrison commanded. “Vanessa has laid some things out in the guest bathroom for you.” I turned to leave but Mrs. Morrison cleared her throat. I wheeled back around. “Yes, ma’am.” I stomped up the stairs in my footed onesie towards the guest bathroom. Once again, I marveled at Mrs. Morrison’s hypnotic ability to render me almost speechless. I had prepared for a verbal battle but was cut short. As I climbed each step, I felt my resolve return. My lips tightened as I thought of a dozen remarks which I was sure would have crushed her. In the bathroom there was a small white wicker basket. Inside I found shampoo and conditioner, a bar of soap, body wash, a razor, shaving cream, a tube of gel and a dark blue towel stitched with gold fleur-de-lis. On top there was a note. “Please wash your hair with shampoo, rinse then apply conditioner and rinse. Please clean your entire body thoroughly using the soap and then the body wash. Please use the shaving cream and razor everywhere there is hair on your body except on your head. Then use the gel anywhere you used the shaving cream and razor. Then rinse thoroughly and dry off. A fresh start begins with cleanliness.” The flow of condescension continued even into Mrs. Morrison’s written instructions. But I didn’t care anymore. I was anxious to shed my pajamas and take a relaxing hot shower. I rotated the shower knob and stepped in. The cascade of pulsing water was satisfyingly soothing. The house was heated but the biting winter chill had invaded. I stood for a long time and allowed the heat to massage my body. I followed her instructions to the letter. At the end of my shower, I rinsed my body thoroughly. I felt revived. I wrapped the luxurious towel around me and snuggled my bare toes into the coral bathmat. I was ready to handle almost anything. As the fog dissipated from the mirror, I opened the towel and revealed my efforts. My hair was full and shiny, and my skin was practically glowing. I was squeaky clean and smooth all over. I didn’t mind. I had shaved my pussy dozens of times and it was no big deal. Obviously, Mrs. Morrison assumed or perhaps noticed my patch of pubic hair last night. She must have imagined me shaving it would be a point of contention for me. It wasn’t. There was no loss here. Mrs. Morrison would have to try much harder. I secured my towel and waltzed into my room quickly. I was no mood to cross paths with anyone. On my bed was a new outfit. Cautiously I approached it as if it were a viper. I was pleased it was not another fancy dress, but a simple pair of jean overalls accompanied by a simple white ribbed short sleeved shirt. But there was nothing mature about my new clothes. It was positively juvenile with an obnoxious smiling face of Santa Claus sewn onto the front surrounded by snowflakes. Below him in red stitching was the phrase “I love Santa!” Next to the clothes were a pair of white cotton panties, red, and white striped socks, and a pair of red Keds. The clothes were worn, and I judged they were most likely a hand me down. As I wriggled my left leg into the overalls it struck me how odd everything was ready. How did Mrs. Morrison know I would sign? Her bold assumption strengthened my resolve. Without consulting my reflection, I marched downstairs confidently. She could dress me in a potato sack, but I was still an adult. I discovered Mrs. Morrison settled in one of the overstuffed chairs in the living room. She was busy tagging small Christmas tins of cakes and cookies. She rotated toward me and took a moment to look me over. “Good. I will assume there is no need to conduct a physical inspection to verify you followed my instructions?” “No ma’am,” I answered meekly. “Splendid, then Vanessa will attend to your hair,” she said dismissively. Like an assassin Vanessa appeared silently behind me and crooked her finger and led me to the downstairs powder room. She directed me to a beige vanity stool. With silent delight she brushed my hair into two sections. She separated the sections and began twisting, moving them back and forth. I knew exactly what she was doing. As predicted when I stood up and faced the mirror there were two meticulously braided pigtails hanging on either side of my head. I began to wonder if Vanessa was a frustrated stylist considering how much attention she gave to my hair. The effect was damaging, and I felt some of my confidence erode. I had slipped a little further down the adolescent ladder. Behind me, Vanessa, unable to contain herself any longer, burst out laughing. “Shut up,” I mumbled as I clenched my fists. “What was that? I’d watch my mouth, little girl,” she said sternly. I eyed the flat side of the hairbrush as she casually dangled it in her hand. “As I understand it, all adults have authority over you. So, I would behave,” she added. “Could she? Would she? Spank me?” I cringed at the thought. Vanessa was taller than me. I remembered a story Jack told me about how his mother made Vanessa quit hockey because she started to develop a more aggressive nature. If she attempted to spank me, I would put up a terrible fight but against Vanessa’s stature and strength it might be difficult. The notion of Vanessa maneuvering me into the time-honored position of punishment was dreadful! “Let’s go show mother!” Vanessa crowed as she bounced out of the powder room. I sighed and took one last look at my childlike appearance then gradually followed. This was going to be a long two days, but I was determined to stay the course and prove Mrs. Morrison’s accusations were false. “Now, there’s a proper little girl. A truthful reflection of your inner self.” I rolled my eyes and hoped Mrs. Morrison didn’t notice. From this moment forward I knew she was intent on my failure. But I wasn’t going to allow her to gain any ground. I was adamantly steadfast. “There is a list of chores on the counter. It is almost 11am. I expect you to be done by 3pm,” she said. “My guests will start arriving at 4pm but some may be early.” My determination did not prevail, and I faltered. “Are you kidding me, you want me to be your maid?” I objected. Despite the potential embarrassment, I had half hoped I would be able to join the others sledding. Stuck inside cleaning was not my idea of a holiday. “You wish to be part of this family. Everyone contributes in this house even the children. I see, once again, you consider yourself to be the exception. Of course, we can discuss this in the library if you so desire,” she ended her sentence by half rising out of her chair. I wasn’t exactly sure what she meant but I had an idea and quickly answered, “No, never mind.” Mrs. Morrison rounded back to her duties while Vanessa giggled softly. I spent the next three hours cleaning. It wasn’t hard work just time consuming. I hand cleaned all the dishes which were not meant for the dishwasher. I mopped the kitchen floor and the mud room. I folded fresh towels and sheets. For a long time, Mrs. Morrison kept a close eye on me. She puttered around the kitchen and afterward, sequestered herself in the library. I could hear her talking and typing when I passed. Mr. Morrison worked in his office on the main floor. When I interrupted him to empty his wastebasket, he only glanced at me. “You look cute,” he remarked. I found his comment peculiar and fully got the impression he thought I was someone else. I tried to ignore it, but it made me uncomfortable. I tried to convince myself he only glanced at me and was busy working, but his observation clung to me. Apart from Mr. and Mrs. Morrison, Vanessa was the only other person in the house. She lingered for a while as she dressed for the cold weather. Occasionally she pretended to check on my progress. After a few pouting faces and many “you missed a spot” jokes she departed. After she left, I felt even more isolated. The house was large, and the emptiness only increased my loneliness. I couldn’t wait for Jack’s arrival on December 23. To bolster my mood, I continually reminded myself it was only two more days. Armed with fresh towels and sheets as cover I used the opportunity to search for my belongings. Ultimately, I wanted to find my phone although, according to the agreement, I was forbidden to contact Jack. But I so desperately wanted to call him and hear his reassuring voice. I stealthily explored Vanessa’s room and listened for the slightest creak on the stairs. I searched thoroughly but found nothing. Distracted by my failure I found myself staring longingly at Vanessa’s wardrobe hanging in her closet. I changed the sheets in my room and laid down on the comforter. I only wanted to close my eyes for a few minutes to alleviate the beginnings of a headache. I watched the midafternoon shadows grow longer and drifted off to sleep. I awoke to find my room completely dark. Downstairs I heard the sounds of excited voices. The children and grandparents had returned from their snowy adventure. I had overslept and I hadn’t set the table yet! In a panic I sprung from the bed and blindly rushed into the hallway at the precise moment a group of children stampeded up the stairs. One of the cousins, Caleb, collided with my shoulder and snapped, “Watch it stupid!” I was stunned and turned to reprimand him, but the blur of children vanished into a bedroom and slammed the door. I ran down the stairs and discovered Mrs. Morrison waiting at the bottom. “I am not surprised by your lack of commitment. Another childish disregard of responsibility. A few simple tasks which would have contributed to the family. Don’t concern yourself, the table has already been set. I haven’t had time to inspect the rest of your work, but I will. I am doubtful but I hope for your sake you did a competent job.” She looked me up and down with disdain. “It’s late so go clean up and get dressed for dinner,” she concluded. Her words dug at me, but my lack of energy and headache prevented a thoughtful retort. Mrs. Morrison made me feel like a wet dog in an art gallery. I headed for the guest bathroom. A shower would aide in altering my mood and hopefully relieve my headache. I recalled how wonderful I felt after my first shower. I closed the door and swiftly untangled my hair from Vanessa’s handiwork. I showered and employed the same previous routine minus the shaving. I was happy the shampoo, conditioner, soap, body wash and gel produced the same invigorating sensation. Even my headache had subsided. I was winning. So, I endured a few chores and sharp word from Mrs. Morrison. Fine. I dried off and admired my glowing skin. I covered myself, rounded into my room, and stopped short. One of the grandparents, a wiry woman, turned to me and smiled. “A little privacy dear...thank you...run along now,” she patronized. “What? This is my room.” “No, this our room. I think you must be confused,” she said as placed her hand on the knob and slowly shut the door. “No, listen to me. I was just in here. I slept here last night I—” “I think the children are sleeping down the hall,” she relayed through the closed door.