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Growing Up with Diaper Domination

I notice a lot of diaper lovers think that all accounts of diaper domination and control as children are fantasies. Well you may not choose to believe me, but I was subjected to diaper domination and control by my mother throughout my childhood and even into adulthood.

It started around 1980 when I was five years old. At first it was a simple problem solver: How could my mom pretend she was childless so that men would go out with her? The solution: If a "gentleman friend" was coming over I was put in a cloth diaper and vinyl pant and locked in the back guestroom. During these lock-ins I was forbidden to call out for her, or make any noise. I had to stay in the room and use the diapers as needed.

When one gentleman friend became a long-term boyfriend he was introduced to me; but to my surprise the lock-ins expanded to a nightly event. It was explained to me simply that night-time was "their" time and I was not to interfere. The guestroom under the stairs become my bedroom and each night after TV time mom would diaper me and lock me in for the night. An intercom allowed me to communicate with them upstairs in case of emergency; but it had better be "damn important" or I would be ignored and would get a good whipping in the morning. Every night I would wet the diapers, being unable to go from 8pm to 7am (or later if school was out) without urinating. Most nights I managed not to poop in the diapers, but if an unavoidable urge came, I had no choice. Often I would hold it for agonizing periods of time, putting off the soiling and accompanying smell for as long as possible. When I did soil, I was never punished or made fun of. My mom would lovingly clean me up and help me dress for the day. using my diapers was a good thing after all, as it meant I was obeying the "adult time" rules of the house.

By the time i was ten it was just Mom and me again. Jeff, the "gentleman friend" just stopped coming around and the why of it was not something I concerned myself with. It was about this time that my Mother's domination of me became more involved. Boys, she said, were inferior to women and if I had any hopes of being a good man I had better learn to serve women. Suddenly all of the chores in the house were transferred from her to me. From washing my wet and sometimes soiled diapers; to scrubbing the toilet I hardly ever used; and everything in between. "Adult time" was still observed, but she no longer locked my door. The lock was in my mind now and the physical one was no longer needed.

One day I got in a fight with a girl at school who called me a fag. My mom was pissed and beat me severely that night and again the next three mornings while I was suspended from school. As a reminder of my male inferior role she declared I would now have to wear vinyl pants over my regular underwear during the day, so that I wouldn't forget my place again. She bought smaller vinyl pants, yellow in color, that would fit snugly over my tighty whities without creating a noticeable bulge. I was told that if anyone asked about the pants to say that I leaked a little sometimes. I don't recall it ever coming up.

At thirteen I recall loosing my clothing "privileges" at home, though I forget what the given reason was. As soon as I got home from school I had to strip down to just the underwear and vinyl pants and go about my chores, which now included cooking dinner and serving it to her the moment she got home from work. After dinner my work would be inspected; and if anything was missed or not done to her standards I would be whipped with a belt.

My mother's domination of me usually wasn't much of an embarrassment to me. It was simply the world as I knew it, and to her credit she had never gone out of her way to shame me, or show my submissiveness publicly. In fact my own grandmother didn't know about my "training" until I was fifteen and she stayed with us for a few weeks. She was noticeably surprised when she walked into the house and found me in my underwear combination scrubbing the kitchen floor, but my mother quickly waved off her questions and must have explained it to her later during "adult time" as by the next day she acted perfectly fine with the situation. She watched with seeming interest as I went about my chores and commented to my mother about how polite and helpful I was. Several nights during her visit she would watch my mother diaper me before "adult time" and engage her in conversation as if I wasn't laying there having thick cloth pinned onto me.

At sixteen the daytime vinyl pants went away as I now was required to change and shower after gym class. My responsibilities increased as Mom got me a part-time job stocking shelves on the weekend, and I was still expected to keep up with my household duties. "Adult time" was still in place, and 8pm remained my bedtime. Missed chores still resulted in whippings.

I moved out at eighteen, not to escape as you might think; but simply because it was expected of me to act like a man now. I was still required to do the yard work at Mom's house and assist her whenever ordered. I stopped wearing diapers and thought I had control of my life for once. Boy, was I wrong. About a month after I moved out, Mom showed up at my apartment for a surprise "inspection." Finding my apartment not up to her cleanliness standards she ordered me to strip and bend over for a whipping. I was in shock and tried to laugh it off as if she was joking. But she wasn't. She told me to do it, or she'd take me right back home with her if I wasn't ready to be a man. I took that whipping; and several more over the next few years.

At twenty-three I started going out with a girl who quite-frankly was quite dominant in style and fit me perfectly. My mother approved of her, obviously, and a year later she became my wife. It wasn't long before my "training" was shared with her by my mother, and Sarah gladly picked up the reigns, content to "let" me do most of the housework and incorporating spankings into our bedroom life - sometimes as foreplay and sometimes when she felt I needed it. About the same time I got the urge to wear diapers again. I told Sarah about it, and she agreed to allow me, but insisted that I use disposables and not soil them as she didn't want poop in "her" washing machine, or her bedroom. I diaper myself before bed and it just feels right.

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