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  1. I can't say for certain, but I'd assume places like pharmacies (Apotheke in German) would carry diapers. Or at least, pullups. Like in the States, the quality might not be as high as the diapers you buy online. As for fun things to do- walk around. Shopping, trying the local foods. Looking at all the local sites and taking photos. German mustard...that's some of the best mustard I've ever had. And the beer! I'm a big fan of the dark German beer.
    2 points
  2. Helen Makes a Sale It was time I got back into touch with Helen. Too much work had kept us apart for too long, and now my model agency, "Grace", was running nicely I had the time to look around and explore some possibilities. One was to rejuvenate my association with Helen's now well-established fashion house. Helen was also my oldest friend and had been my closest confidante - one of the very few people who knew my secret. However, examination of our busy appointments diaries left very few chances for lunch in the City, so it ended up as a quiet meal at my home on the nanny's evening off, when I could inflict my cooking on Helen for the first time since our flat-mate days, and we could both inflict ourselves on the wine cellar. Helen lived only just down the road, so it was easy. Matt was bust at some professional function, so I had to I break off my efforts in the kitchen to herd my two impossible twins up to bath and bed - also my duty on Nanny's evening off. What was supposed to be a rapid well-drilled procedure was extended by the twins playing up, and I had just finished nappying Liz when the doorbell rang and I went to let Helen in. Naturally, we ended up having dinner in the kitchen with a couple of bottles of wine, just like the old days, while we caught up with the news. We were much too old friends to suffer any formality, as it would only get in the way of a good natter. Retiring to the lounge I was surprised, and a little annoyed to find my daughters still there - they were supposed to have been in bed at least an hour ago, but they protested they really wanted to meet Helen. I was surprised they knew who she was, but apparently they followed the whole fashion scene - not just my part of it. Helen, in turn was delighted to meet them, as she hadn't really done so since they were babies. I could hardly chastise them in front of Helen, so I had to content myself with a scowl and a mild scolding, and an injunction to stay no longer than ten minutes as there was school tomorrow. I was promptly corrected - it was half-term - so I lost that one. The two of them plagued Helen with questions, and to be honest I was quite impressed with the knowledge of the industry which they showed. Helen, in turn, asked them all the usual things one asks a nearly-nine-year old child, except the obvious one: why were they still in nappies? It was unavoidable; their pyjama bottoms were a bit too tight and the outlines of their nappies showed through quite plainly. Instead, she asked me. "Still the same old problem, then, Amelia? Any progress yet?" "Not really," I replied, "we get the odd dry night, but the nappies are still essential." That put the girls on the back foot; they had forgotten they were nappied in the presence of a stranger. "We don't really need them," protested a slightly reddened Kate, "Only Mum insists that we wear them." "Wet five mornings last week." I corrected, "I counted them." Getting the girls up and off to school was usually my job. "Mum!" protested Liz, cuddling a cushion to her tummy in a futile and tardy attempt to conceal the evidence. "Don't be shy," said Helen in conciliation, "I knew your Mum when she had to wear them. Every night, and sometimes during the day, too." The girls perked up. This was something they had been told many times in order to sweeten the bitter pill of still being in nappies and still having accidents, but this was a new witness to cross-examine, and further evidence of Mum's sometime weakness. I let them continue; I wasn't going to rise to the bait. Helen continued, "I even had to wear them myself at one time when I had a period of bedwetting." I could have kissed her. The girls were now all ears; a fellow sufferer was always balm to their injured pride. "My Mum borrowed some from Amelia's mum." That sunk in. "Were they cloth ones, then?" Kate had it figured out. "You can't very well borrow disposables." "Well, yes, replied Helen, " It was only for a few nights. Then Mum got a packet of nappies that would fit me, and I used them until I stopped bedwetting. It was only a phase. Then they went back to Amelia." "Was she still in them?" uttered Liz. Not that she didn't know, but she was obviously gleefully determined to rub my face in it. Helen just nodded. "How old were you when you finally stopped?" Helen asked me. My turn to blush. "Eleven." I had to reply. I knew what was in my daughters' minds; Two More Years! - Unless we can beat her! "She looked so cute in them." Careful Helen - you can go too far along this line... "Did she wear cloth ones all the time?" Kate asked. I nodded. . "Whyyy?" demanded Liz, "We have to wear disposables! They're hot a clammy compared to cloth ones." "You don't have to wash them!" I interjected. The girls shrugged in unison. "You objected at Christmas when we were at Pembroke." Which was true - Clare had strong opinions about the Earth and landfill. "We got to like them, though." threw in Kate, "They were much comfier." "And they didn't leak." added Liz. It was true; when they shared a bed the girls preferred to sleep on their sides, and disposables couldn't handle it so well. Another good reason why I put them in cloth nappies when we went to Pembroke. Aunt Clare had the opinions; Aunt Clare could do the laundry. "There wouldn't be room in those pyjamas for terry nappies and pants." I reminded the girls. "You would have to wear just nappies on your bottom half in bed." Kate and Liz stopped for a moment. The nights were cold at this time of year. "And pants." said Kate. "You mean those plastic baby pants" I interjected, "The ones you said were so hot and sweaty." "Those new ones we had at Aunty Clare's weren't sweaty" said Liz, "They were made of something else. Poly you-something. They were nice!" "Polyurethane" I added for Helen's information. She now had two small children of her own, who were still at that stage. "What do yours wear?" I asked. "All-in-ones" she replied, "I made them myself. Easy to wash. No waste. Look better, too." "How better?" I asked. Nappies are seldom a fashion item. "Less mechanical, more rounded. Less transparent. More like pants. Less babyish." Helen replied . "Come in pretty colours and patterns too. My daughter wears them with just a little shorty nighty. Very pretty. And easy to change - when we get to toilet training she can pull them down and up to use the toilet by herself." Helen was a brilliant salesperson, and my daughters were hanging on every word. It was always a bone of contention - the twins had always complained that it was just too much hassle to handle the tapes on a disposable nappy on the rare occasions they had bothered to get up and use the toilet in the night. That was the perennial excuse for the "my nappy just came off" syndrome - and its invariably disastrous result. My daughters seemed to wet themselves several times each night - pull-ups had shown themselves unable to cope and experiments had always ended up in reverting to the full traditional nappies, whether cloth or disposable. Now it seemed there might be a third option. The girls were completely sold on the idea, but I still had my reservations. "What a pity, they won't be available in your size," I remarked, quietly trying to quash the issue. "Is that the only problem?" asked Helen, her eyebrows raised to invite an "yes" answer. By now I was too befuddled to recognise this old salesman's trick. Overcoming objections. Helen was indeed and experienced salesperson. I had fallen for it and answered "yes" before I knew it, and Helen proceeded to meet my objection and close the sale. "No Problem", she intoned, "I made them for my children, and I can easily scale them up a little to fit Kate and Liz. What colours would you like?" Closed on a minor point, I had to let Kate and Liz make their preferences felt. I tried one last time. "We really can't put you to all that trouble Helen, I mean, you've got more than enough to do. "No Trouble!" replied Helen smoothly, "I'm launching a range of children's wear, under another label, and I can get them made up however you like. Easy. How would you girls like to do some modelling for me?" Shrieks of approval, and my last line of defence was overwhelmed. I was very reluctant to have my girls under the spotlight despite their incessant demands, because I didn't want them to grow up too fast or be sexualised - there was also the risk of kidnap and ransom in there, but now I had been outflanked. I gave in. Helen consolidated the sale. We would visit her studio shortly to view her designs and choose the materials. The girls would model the new fashions, and after I threatened Helen with a contract from Grace, drafted by the avaricious Julian, she agreed that I would have a selection of the clothes and a supply of the all-in-one nappies in payment. The twins were then hustled up to bed and, after quick nappy checks, bedded down for the night. I went downstairs with Helen musing on the excellence of her salesmanship, and even pulled her leg a little about it. Sometime later, after Port and coffee, and a more mature conversation about husbands and housekeeping and other difficult things, I escorted Helen to the door as her taxi arrived. Just as I was about to open the door, she remarked, "I could make them in your size as well, you know. Very discretely." I froze in my tracks, and quickly checked the stairs for the presence of eavesdropping children. Helen was a close confidante, and knew my little peccadilloes. I did some hard, quick thinking. I hadn't indulged that one for many years; the realities of two little girls in nappies had satisfied that need, but nothing had quite erased it. "Maybe." I replied, "When the kids are a bit older - and drier, and we have a larger house, I just might get back into that."
    1 point
  3. We sometimes use a super lazy shopping service you order online and they will bring it into your house and even unpack it for you and it only comes out 2% more expensivethan if I went to the store myself.
    1 point
  4. The Diapered Story of Robin Smith and Her Unconventional Solutions. 14. “Why don’t we retreat to your changing room Princess? Daddy will get you all cleaned up.” Allen tells me in third person just as he would have Molly. My hubby is really getting into this. I may need to do some research while I’m laid up. It’s simultaneously a turn on and a turn off for me. Isn’t that awesomely contradictory! I really don’t want to be a toddler like my daughter, especially not with her. It all feels heavy… too much… too scary. At the same time, it’s super fucking sexy that Allen wants to look after me, and he isn’t the only one who likes the whole groin oil application! Ugh! This is so confusing… ‘No one said you’d figure it all out in a weekend ya twat!’ I know! ‘Then just relax. Watch Molly. Be discrete and enjoy your husband’s attentions.’ Stop fucking bossing me around! ‘YOUR ARGUING WITH YOURSELF ya twat!’ As amusing as arguing with myself is, I can’t figure out why am I being so hard on myself? My cheeks must be a dark expressive shade of red by now. I can feel the heat in the tips of my ears too. No way I’m not blushing like crazy right now! I don’t usually experience such turmoil. In fact, I’m sort of impulsive and decisive. I may go all in on stuff (and maybe a little overboard), but it’s from a source of impulse and deep commitment. Once I make up my mind, it often takes an act of God to change it. Shhh… I might be stubborn. “Daddy, better do a good job… this Mommy will be watching.” I say sarcastically at first and more determined on the end. “Oh Daddy has been changing Princess Diapers for years. I’ll get your cutey lil booty all dry soon enough. Don’t get cranky.” He swats playfully at my ass. Here I go getting pissed off and turned on at the same time again. Why am I feeling so split over this? “I’m starting to hurt Allen. Get this fucking boat anchor settled and be careful with it. Can I have my pills?” I sigh. “Still got a bottle of water by the bed?” He asks. “Don’t think so.” I tell him looking around. “Well, since you don’t need to potty we could skip the bathroom. Oh… nope need to brush your teeth and hair little girl.” “Allen, can I just have the meds, we can worry about the rest tomorrow.” I plead. “No baby. I’ll sit you on the sink and you can do your teeth from there. I’ll brush your hair for you. Then we’ll get you cleaned up and I’ll get you something to drink for your meds.” Allen plans out loud. “God that’s forever!” I whine finding it easy to take on the most aggravating side of Molly’s toddlerhood. “Princess, the only thing different from every other night is me brushing your hair, which saves time by the way, and your diaper change. Your diaper changes are my responsibility at home, but I guess you can have your pills straight after you brush your teeth though.” He nods. “Thanks babe.” I take the offered carrot. “Daddy always takes care of his Princesses.” Allen tells me kissing my forehead. Allen sits me on the kitchen sink and I turn letting my legs dangle down onto the toilet. I brush my teeth as Allen starts brushing out my hair. He’s never really done this before and it feels amazing! I dampen over this unreasonably romantic act. Then the duplicity of my feelings show as my eyes tear up. Ok, I really really really like him brushing my hair. Like every night for like forever! Why the hell is this so erotic and heartwarming? “You’re hired!” I try to giggle around the energy in my diaper and the tears welling up in my eyes. “I already have a full time job bringing home some bacon, and I have a full time Daddy job for my Princesses. What other job could I possibly need?” “Well, maybe not a new job… consider it a new job duty on an existing job.” I finally really giggle. “What baby?” “If you’re in charge of my diapers now… I’m going to add brushing my hair out as your job too, at least at night.” I instruct. “I don’t know. I mean I know what I get out of playing with your diapers, but what do I get out of playing with your hair?” He asks. I bite my thumbnail, “I don’t know, but it makes me super happy.” Then I look him in the eye, “Happy in my diaper too.” “Wonder why?” He ponders out loud. “I don’t know babe. I know how warm and nurturing I find it as a Mom to brush out Molls hair. I can’t really explain how happy this makes me when you brush mine. I just feel warm everywhere. I feel like it makes my body and heart smile.” I say twisting my hands in my lap with my toothbrush hanging out of my mouth little bits of toothpaste spittle flying everywhere. The awkward angle makes it hard to spit out my mouthful of saliva and toothpaste. I end up getting some on my top. Boobs are hard to dodge when you can’t bend past them, and I’ve always sucked at spitting. Mom would hate even the idea I spit, even in this appropriate situation. Allen laughs and dabs my top with some toilet paper. I glare the bib comment right out of his mind before it can fall out of his face. Allen cups some water in his hand and brings it to my face. I slurp it out rinsing my mouth a few times. I manage not to get anything new on my onesie. I run a facewipe over my face and apply my moisturizers to my face and hands. Allen’s correct. This is my normal routine, the last bit being tithing some time to the porcelain alter. Instead, I release what little tea I have left in me into my thirsty diaper. I can feel the urine pass my lips and the heat around my crotch as it absorbs into the padding. “Did my Princess just make Daddy some work?” Allen coos. “Nothing you weren’t already going to have to do. I just topped it off.” I hedge. “Then let me get my Princess all cleaned up.” “Hey! Pills first.” “Alright. You stay here and brush your hair out some more. I’m I sure didn’t get it right.” Allen tells me leaving me stranded on the sink my feet still on the rim of our toilet. He’s right, again. While it had felt amazing, he’d need some more training to take over that duty entirely. I go through my normal hair routine while Allen’s getting my meds and something to drink. OMG! I don’t have to watch my liquids anymore! Holy shit, I hadn’t even thought of that! I can wake up and take a drink any time I want now. No more feeling thirsty all the time. No more strong pee smell cause I’m sort of dehydrated! This just keeps getting better! I push a bit to see if I have any more tea to donate to the collection, but the only offering I have is a pizza fart. I reach over and turn on the bathroom vent cause it was a foul one. I chuckle to myself and then feel a sudden sense of anxiety to cover it up. I NEVER stink in front of Allen. We’ve been married for several years and have a nearly four year old daughter and I can’t recall a single time I’ve made wind in front of Allen. I hold my stools until he’s not around or settled somewhere with Molly. Then I bust loose before a shower and vent the air and kill the smell with air fresheners. If guys only knew how much work it takes to be beautiful and mysterious and sexy all the time! Sometimes I just want to wake up scratch myself and fart! Is that too much to ask? I want to sniff my pits to judge if I need an immediate shower and smell test my clothes before I throw on something loose and probably off the floor. I don’t judge guys who embrace life, but I do envy them. Allen probably wouldn’t care that much, but God, mom would kill me then kill herself just so she could roll over in her fresh grave if she caught me sniffing clothes off the floor. “That’s not how girls do it sweety pie!” over and over again. “No sweatpants in public. Little ladies don’t sit with their legs open sweety pie.” “Oh honey, girls don’t make wind except in the bathroom.” Guess what mom! Your daughter is a really Little Lady now. I think grabbing my diapered crotch and crinkling it laughing out loud in the bathroom to no one but my own thoughts. “What’s so funny?” Allen asks returning catching me laughing to myself. I look over and see him standing there with both hands full. One is closed. I presume holding pills. The other has one of Molly’s large Princess Leia sippy cups. It’s a big white thing with handles made from the buns in her hair. I secretly love that damn cup. I secretly love Star Wars, but I don’t let on cause I don’t love it like Allen does and he’d “need” me to. Fuck! Maybe that’s peer pressure too. Don’t like that it’s for boys. Girls shouldn’t be into nerdy stuff. Go paint your fingernails sweety pie. Argh! Momma I love you, but damn! “Oh little lady no. Here aren’t you sure you’d rather have a Betsy Wetsy for Christmas. Put that sword down.” I shouldn’t be so hard on mom. She was just trying to keep the other girls from making fun of me. The sad part is they’d found a reason anyway. Dammit! Maybe that’s why I’m so freaking assertive and impulsive. I just like going with my gut. I have less regret that way. All that ridicule as a young girl beat the wishy washy out of me. God why are we so cruel to each other. I mean I can appreciate my position in life. I even have Allen as my husband thanks to what I’ve suffered and conquered… but is it really necessary? Could I have been who I am now without it all? Are all children doomed to bear the burden of bullying in some fashion? Can we not rise above that as a species? Is this what defines us as a species. Honing us through conflict and recovery. Shit that took a dark turn! Better grab my diapered crotch and just be thankful for what I have. I’ll teach Molly to be strong enough to endure it all too. She can stay who she wants to be. That’s the trick I think. I can’t make them stop. I can’t save her from all of it. I CAN teach her to be happy with herself and not let her self-worth be determined by others. Daddy and I can fill up her self-esteem until she can fill it for herself! Did I just fucking think of Allen as Daddy? So confusing! It’s because I was thinking of Molly surely. We call each other Daddy and Mommy for her, but I was stopping that just yesterday. Just… Well, shit… “Baby, where did you go?” Allen asks. “Dark places Daddy. Don’t dive the depths of a woman’s mind you Man Thing! You’ll drown.” I stare at him. “Come here. I need to give you a hug.” He tells me. Smart man. Not a time for jokes or pretending that I’m weak. Well played husband, well played. Too bad those pills will put me in a restless sleep. His behavior tonight has made me more than a little horney. “I’ll hug you Allen. Thanks for all this.” I tell him embracing his hug and relishing in it. “I had been drifting. I’m worried about Molly being stuck like this too. I KNOW I’m not doing anything at her expense and I won’t tell her I’m wearing diapers because she has to, but the kids will be so hard on her.” “I think about that every day baby. It terrifies me.” Allen says. “Why would you be scared?” “The look in her eyes. The rage I’ll have. The desire I’ll crave to fix it for her and not be able to. I’m worried about all that too.” Allen admits popping the pills in my mouth. I take the Leia sippy cup that’s as big as a real glass from Allen. I tug on the protrusion at the top and pull enough water to swallow the pill. I’d thrown Allen an eyebrow but kept the peace by accepting the childish cup without further complaint. “Time to get you cleaned up and off to bed before the pink elephants come for my Princess.” Allen teases. While he’s changing me I say, “You know, before these meds kick in and I make America’s Funniest Videos with the stupid shit I’m gonna say, we can help her. We can minimize the drama. We can’t FIX it, but we can help.” “How.” “Well, yup. Rub that oil in right… oh! Nice. Tomorrow you’ll have to rub that in better.” “Molly baby. How do we help her? She’s at least probably going to start school in diapers.” Allen says. “Probably. Sorry, that was a good spot for your fingers and baby oil! Uh… Listen. It’s all about how she sees herself. How she sees us respond to pressure. How we get along with each other and the world around us. I’m going to do better. I’ll draw back the road rage.” I commit. “I’m practically perfect. What am I supposed to do?” Allen asks.
    1 point
  5. Hello Drowndinp, nice to see you again as an author - I had thought you left the DD-community after the desaster with "The Professionals" and "Glory Be". Now I have an important question - the experiences of 'widowmaker' with not asking were very impressive: Are you interested in getting a copy of "The Professionals" and "Glory Be"? Of course you can do with your products what you want, but a revival and continuation of these stories would be a not bad solution and many readers would be perhaps glad about it. Please tell me! With best wishes Diddldum
    1 point
  6. *blushes* just a small collection of my toys
    1 point
  7. Glad your dad is home, I hope things go well for your family. Dealing with my own family problems over the past 2 years I know the extra stress that a person can be burdened with, especially around the holidays. Yours is a perfect example of how these new grocery pick up services can really help. One person who is overwhelmed taking care of elderly family members, parents juggling kids, school functions and a job, shut ins who can order what they need and have someone pick it up for them or the person who unexpectedly had to work overtime at the last minute. Unfortunatly, there will be the lazy high tech people who sit all day at home on their computer or I-phone who use this type of service because it's high tech when they have all the time in the world to shop in person. Busy people are a different matter, but the ones who have little to do should get some excersize and get out among the living rather than hold up in their house day after day. I get worked up this time of year because so many people say, "I can't be bothered going out Holiday shopping. I just order gift cards on line and I'm done in 5 minutes". Then those same people say, "Geez, I just can't get in the Holiday spirit". Maybe if they get away from their computer games and YouTube and go out among the people, Christmas music, decorations and see the array of holiday gifts and store displays and put some heart felt thought into choosing some special gifts with meaning, they just might pick up a little of that Christmas spirit!
    1 point
  8. My significant other has had major bladder issues since a failed bladder sling surgery. She wears pull ups and usually has a spare pair in her purse if we are going to be gone from home for any length of time. I wrote that because I can sympathize with Gabby. My partner is so ashamed when she has an accident that she just wants to hide in the car or go home when we are out. I hope this story deals sympathetically with Gabby's problem, including the teasing she must go through. I look forward to reading more of this tale.
    1 point
  9. Chapter 10 - Back Again You’re crouched behind cover, surveying the terrain with your enhanced senses, clearly outlining the target compound in the dark. Your squad is lined up behind you and ready for the big push. A strange tingling hum fills your ears. You think at first it must be the rush of adrenaline until all at once your enhanced feelings drop, your squadmates double over, groaning, breaking formation, grasping tightly at the seats of their pants, a foul smell wafting in the air. Then it hits you, a debilitating cramp followed by a game-changing explosion of wetness. Gasping, you’re bent over, clutching desperately to stem the warm flow still racing down your thighs, but helpless to do anything against the soft mass weighing heavily into your panty line. Squinting to look back at the compound for what must be an approaching attack, you don’t see a line of soldiers with guns, or guards with stun batons to make you fill your pants more, but smiling laughing nurses waving white plastic squares; diapers. Two reach you before you know it, pushing you back onto an unfurled crinkling changing mat, holding you down, unbuttoning your pants to tsk at your mess. “Naughty baby girl had a big accident didn’t she?” One nurse observes, unfolding a big disposable diaper large enough and intended for you. ”She should have known better than to play dress up with her friends without her diaper on.” The other agrees, fighting your struggles and pressing wipes against you. They overpower you and position the big rustling diaper underneath your wriggling bottom. “This is no time for a tantrum, little girl. You have so much fun playing you forget all about your potty training, you silly little thing. Now it’s back to diapers until you learn.” Powder shakes and you awake with a start to see actual powder being sprinkled between your legs. “Oh honey, I didn’t mean to startle you. Not with a clean diaper under you anyways.” Samantha giggles finishing up your powering and setting the powder bottle aside. “You were sleeping so soundly I didn’t want to wake you, but I started your diaper change early because your stinky bottom really needed one!” She takes the opportunity to hold up the bundle of your nighttime dirty diaper you’d been made to heavily soil unconsciously during the night. Sam deposits it triumphantly as usual with the rest in your pail. You look down to see you’ve been powdered in your crib. A fresh diaper already under you. Samantha returns to tug the front snugly up. Over the crinkling of her situating your changed diaper she explains her plans for the day. “Now Mommy has to help write a big report about our trip last week. Remember? How she can make you do all your little messies whenever she wants on cue? She needs a lot of focus to write, so Mommy’s friend is going to take you to the park!” You groan and she spanks you. “None of that little lady. You’re going to be the perfect little princess for Rachel. She’s used to babysitting and changing diapers, but I’ve told her your types are even easier than babies, especially since Mommy’s going to let her borrow her special necklace...”
    1 point
  10. Chapter 9 - A Parting Gift “Baby!” Samantha exclaimed seeing you in the elevator alone she grabs your ear dragging you out making you wince and stumble forward. “Are you supposed to be in there alone? What’s this? A present for mommy? Oh...you got changed.” She takes your filled diaper gingerly and walks with you in hand to find the nearest garbage can. She dunks it in one feeling slightly guilty for whoever had to deal with it next. “Mommy better hear you had a good lesson with the director or you’re going to be dragging more loaded diapers around for quite sometime.” She threatened with a hand resting on her new necklace mic. You nodded it was good stopping only when she slips in your pacifier. “Good baby. Dr. Martin is working on a lot more of Mommy’s necklaces so there’s no reason to act shy about using your diapers anymore. It’s what mommy and everyone else wants. Let’s get your tummy full again so you can keep filling up your snuggies. You’ve been so busy today we need to catch up on all your ba-bas.” Soon, back in the nursery wing, Samantha brings you to your original changing room where a high chair has been set up for you with baby bottles and baby food lining the shelf. She removes the chair’s tray and sets your crinkly butt down in the seat. You whimper as your sensitive bottom makes contact but Samantha only coos tying your bib around you and removing your pacifier. “Open wide Baby Y/N. You must be starving!” She shovels spoonfuls of mashed prunes and peas that you choke down with many scrunched expressions of disgust. Samantha finds them adorable and makes sure her spoons are overloaded so they make a big mess dripping down your front onto your bib. “Such a messy baby!” She wipes your mouth. “Oh no you got it on your pretty dress you naughty thing. Mommy has to change you afterwards now.” After jars and jars of disgusting mush. She gets you down and tugs the dress off over your head leaving you just standing there a moment in your diaper. A knock, then the receptionist arrives. “Oh! Sorry to interrupt.” She giggles seeing you in just your diaper. “No need to apologize I was just dressing her up for our trip back.” Sam says unfolding a big onesie. “The director leaves you this parting gift.” Your Caregiver looks inside the receptionist’s offered package and grins seeing a wide variety of of punishment tools. She lets you peak and see them as well. “Mommy still hasn’t forgotten your daycare transgressions little lady. Wait until we get home.” She warns then thanks the receptionist who wishes you both safe travels before taking her leave. Samantha sets the bag aside and tugs the onesie on you, snapping up the crotch over your crinkling diaper and has you step into some comfy sweats. She then sits down in the room’s chair and pulls you onto her lap, wrapping you close. She takes a bottle and teases the nipple at your mouth before you follow the routine and start suckling. She coos and pats your diaper as you drink, praising you for being a good baby drinking up her ba-ba before pressing another into your mouth and you struggle to down that one as well. Many bottles down and full jars of baby food, you’re bloated up after all your prescribed meals for the day are caught up. Samantha turns you over and pats your back strongly before an embarrassing burp escapes you. She then gets all your things together back into your diaper bag and takes your hand to exit the facility. Bundled back up in the car, and pulling out of the parking lot for a long drive home, the sun is just beginning to set, and your eyes droop until you can’t fight sleep any longer and end up nodding off.
    1 point
  11. Chapter 8 - Direction Once the doctor and your caregiver take their leave the executive slinks from her desk like a hungry cat with a few hard objects in hand and circles around you clicking her tongue. “Look at you. Shivering there, wearing a sagging diaper weighted down with your own disgusting mess.” she taps it up with her crop to have it rustle down again with gravity. “The government has been paying us well to get you to this point. And to think. Just a few, what, months? ago you were leading that little pocket of resistance on the outskirts of town.” You gasp at the recognition before you feel a collar snap in place around your neck. The executive twirls the lead between her fingers and tugs, coaxing you towards her desk, bending you over its edge, and delicately lifting your dress to have a better view of the dark mess in your diaper. “I know a girl of your age was trying so hard to keep her independence especially since she was once an adult.” Her crop whips against your thigh and you jump. “Now you fill your diapers just how mommy wants them, when mommy wants them, so all those silly ideas of coexistence and equality between our kinds is meaningless now.” A sharper more merciless series of smacks leaves you gasping and sputtering against her desk. ”...I thought you’d be stronger than this.” She observes with a touch of disappointment before you feel a tug on your elastic and she lets out a sound of recognition. “Ah..., but now I see your little red tushy peeking out behind your diaper. Baby already got a spanking today, you naughty thing. When will you learn?” Unsympathetic, she rains down more hard spanks. “You know, we learned very quickly that humiliation keeps your kind in check. Domination to stop domination. It’s been really quite simple.” She spanks once more for emphasis. “And what better way to reintegrate you back into society than as our little babies to show the public you are just as harmless as you are helpless.” “W-We were never going to—“ The hardest heaviest spanks yet land making you barely able bite back a keening sob. But she continues, ruthlessly, until you are crying out for her to stop like the big naughty baby you are. She stops to shush you, rolling out a mat on top of her desk as you sniffle and try to catch your breath then helps position you on top of it and spreads your legs. “There there honey. I think it’s time for a changing,” She coos readying the diaper she had set out and the other changing supplies. You squirm trying to keep your throbbing bottom clear of any hard surface but her hand keeps you steady as she pops free each diaper tape meticulously one at a time. Grinning, she pulls the big hero’s diaper down to see she had really spread your mess around during your spanking. She rolls up the front to contain it and grabs a handful of wipes to start dragging along your curves to clean away the mess and reveal your throbbing redness beneath. Each cool touch makes you flinch away and she ends up having to hold your legs tight up to your chest to control you. Your dirty diaper is removed and a new one is placed under you. She coos while lowering you onto it. “That’s right Y/N, you’re wearing diapers now, so you don’t have to worry about the big girl potty or any sort of control.” A cool squirt of lotion follows and you hiss before her fingers gently rubs as it soothes your burning cheeks. Powder tickles teasingly before the snug fit of a fresh diaper wraps itself around you crinkly as ever. The executive seals your final tape with a tap then removes your collar giving your little nose a boop before helping you off her desk to stand bow legged with a sore bottom. “Before you can leave hold out your hands little baby.” You do as you’re told and she deposits the dirty bundle of your used diaper into your hands. “A little party favor for you and your Mommy to dispose of. Run along now she’s waiting for you in the lobby.” A final pap makes you yelp and hurry as best you can in your booties to the elevator door. Note: Thank you everyone! Where should it go next, I wonder...
    1 point
  12. I don't either. I'll be in close quarters with coworkers in a small office and be crinkling loudly, not trying to hide the bulging crotch or large bulky padding on my butt that has no crease where my butt crack should be. My favorite part is walking through a quiet hallway wearing a noisy dry247 with one other person present. No funny looks, no one bats an eye. I don't think there is any real suspicion.
    1 point
  13. Who is on first, What is on second, I don't know is on third base and I don't give a darn is the shortstop.
    1 point
  14. Firstly let me say, radical prostectecomy to facilitate incontinence is never going to happen. But I'd like to clarify a few other things. Roughly the same number of men die from prostate cancer, as women die from breast cancer. Not die with, die from. It is the cancer that has one of the largest 'survival' rates because mainly it is a late onset disease and many of the sufferers will die from other causes. When a 40 year old mother with young children dies it is a tragedy, if a sixty year old man dies, well, he's had a good innings. Prostate cancer, is spotted in family clusters, the same way as breast cancer. In fact, the same gene mutation BRCA1 and 2 that leads to some nasty forms of breast cancer, can also cause prostate cancers. And it leads to nasty, high grade prostate cancers as well. So there could be a place for prophylactic radical prostatectomy. If you have high rates of breast and prostate cancer in your family, you are tested positive for one of those gene mutations, you are older and have finished having your family, and you are crazy anxious about getting cancer, maybe you might be a candidate. The surgery has been done in the past, but not often. And probably doctors are going to want some signs that there are already some changes to your prostate. But I doubt you will get it under your health insurance, or under your countries health scheme. You'd better be rich. I'm not raising breast cancer to be a men's right prick, because those guys shit me. Just as a useful comparison to demonstrate that prostate cancer is a serious disease. Guys take your health seriously. Be proactive in managing your own health.
    1 point
  15. Actually, I could start another deep thought discussion here in saying I don't pee my pants. I pee my diapers. Maybe the onesie should say "diapers" instead of "pants". Now, the deep thinker in me wonders if when I'm wearing jeans over my diapers and pee, am I actually peeing my pants because my diapers are inside of my pants and I'm peeing in my diapers. Since my diapers are inside my pants when I'm peeing them, am I technically peeing my pants or peeing in my pants even though I'm actually peeing in my diaper? I think of peeing my pants as my pants getting wet because I have peed directly in them (which, by the way I don't do). I would have to say that I'm peeing in my pants, not peeing my pants because I'm wearing my pants and diapers when peeing. Tecnically that would be peeing in my pants even though I'm directly peeing in my diaper. What if my diaper leaks, though? If my pants get wet from a leaky diaper, would that mean I peed my pants even though I peed my diaper? I think both could apply, I peed in my pants but because my diaper inside my pants leaked and didn't hold all my pee, I also peed my pants. Either way, I'm still cool!
    1 point
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