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Not sure where this one goes, or if it's worth continuing, but the pretense sprung into my mind, so I thought I'd run it up the flagpole... I walk into the dimly lit sanctuary of the church. I go through the motions I learned long ago, ingrained in my muscle memory. I can’t walk past the tabernacle without genuflecting. I move into the pew and kneel down. I feel the bulk of my diaper between my legs. I’ve tried to stay away from the church over the years, but I still return, always diapered. Not because I have an allegiance to the church, or perhaps even a belief in God, but due to the memory of long ago. I attempt a silent prayer. The organ starts to play, and my mind wanders. I think back to my childhood. An altar boy enters and genuflects and goes about the business of lighting the altar candles. Was I ever that young? He finishes, and soon the organ starts into another piece. People rise, and the processional begins. It’s a lovely ritual that is playing out. More than anything I love the ritual. It’s what started me on the path. I remember growing up Catholic. I went to CCD and prepared for the first sacraments, reconciliation, and Eucharist. I loved what was going on before me on the altar. Some of it I had been educated about, some was a mystery. The priest, the lector, the boys, not much older than I was, all in this fantastic ritual. I was enthralled. I asked my parents if I could be an altar boy. They thought it was a passing desire, but I kept at it. Finally, my mother told me I’d need to see a priest to find out what was involved. I decided to go to confession one Saturday, and after getting my absolution, I waited in the church for Father Murphy to come out of the confessional. I nervously moved to meet him. “Father,” I said to him. “Hello, my son. Did you want to make a confession?” “No, father. I already did. I wanted to ask you something else.” “Go ahead.” I took a deep breath and stammered it out. “I want to be an altar boy.” “I see. Come with me, and we’ll talk about it.” We walked back to a small office. He impressed on me that it was a lot of work just to get to the point where I could be ready. Then it would be a time-consuming responsibility going forward. I just nodded. When he had finished, I reiterated. “I want to become an altar boy.” “OK,” he said. “Here’s our altar boy handbook,” he said pushing a mimeographed document towards me. “Learn everything that’s in this. That’s the first step. When you think you know it, come back, and we’ll talk.” “Thank you, father.” I took the document home. It must have forty pages. It started with the admonitions of the responsibility and piety required. That I was to be neatly dressed and conduct myself with decorum. It then went on to the rituals which I relished studying. It started with the prayers. I hadn’t realized there were so many prayers. Prayers for putting on the cassock, prayers for putting on the surplice, prayers to say before the mass, after the mass, and to the patron saint of altar boys. I knew I was going to have to know the liturgy of the mass by heart. I read through these several times and knew I’d have to come back and study them more. The next section was more interesting. It was all the things had to be done during the mass. I had seen the rituals, but they were more involved than I had realized. Still, I went over and over these again. The next morning I showed up for weekday mass, which I rarely did just to watch and follow what I had read about carefully. Then there was the terminology; it wasn’t just a plate it was a platen. It wasn’t just a wash bowl but a lavabo. The urn with all the hosts in it was a ciborium. The priest's napkin was a purificator. The thing that spread incense was a thurible. Another piece of cloth was the corporal. The cover over the paten I had seen was called the pall. I memorized all this. A week later I was back in front of Father Murphy. He started asking me questions, and I answered without hesitation. “Do you know the vestment prayers.” I wasn’t exactly sure what he was asking. Then I knew. I launched into the prayer for the cassock. “Prayers before the mass,” he added, and I started reciting these. He then led me to the altar. Crossing I remembered to genuflect, even before he started to do so himself. He led me to the altar asking me the names of things. He opened the tabernacle, and I identified the things there. He then took me back to the rectory. “I’m going to ask one of the knights,” he paused. “One of the older boys, who wears the red cassocks, to mentor you further. When he believes you’re ready, we’ll test you out on a weekday mass.” So a few days later Mike came to me. “Father Murphy tells me you want to be an altar boy,” he said with a smile. Mike was great. We went through every step of the mass. We practiced in an empty classroom. Mike had a box with a bunch of makeshift items: a chalice, platen, ciborium, pall, purificator, cruets, and the like. We practiced the entire ritual with Mike playing the role of the priest. We went into the sanctuary, and he taught me how to ring the bell at the appropriate time in the service. We practiced walking graciously around the altar performing our duties. We met every other day. I’d have loved to do it daily, but Mike had other responsibilities. One day, Father Murphy interrupted our practice. “Is he ready?” Father asked Mike. “Yes, he is.” “Be here at seven tomorrow morning. We’ll give you a test run.” I was there fifteen minutes early. At seven, Mike showed up and opened the vestry. “We’ve got lots of time. Mass is at 7:30. We usually only need to be here fifteen minutes early, but Father wanted to give you extra time.” We went in, and Mike gave me my vestments. I said the prayers and put them on. Mike handed me the wand to go light the candles while he dressed. I entered the sanctuary. I was wearing the uniform of an altar boy performing my first official act, even if it was just lighting the candles. I did so, remembering to genuflect when crossing the tabernacle. I finished and extinguished the flame in the wand and went back into the vestry. Mike and Father were there waiting. “Are you ready?” Father Murphy said. I rasped out an affirmative answer. We headed to the back of the church. Mike handed me the large red book the Sacramentary. I’d used a phone book for practice, but this was even heavier. Mike picked up the crucifix, and we marched up to the altar. The congregation was sparse as it usually was for the weekday masses. A few older people and a dozen or so nuns. I was trying to avoid shaking with the nervous anticipation. Mike leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Try not to wet your pants.” I thought this was a snide comment, but then he followed it with “Not yet.” I had no idea what he meant by that. We ascended the altar, and I stood and opened the book and held it for Father as he did the opening benediction. I made the appropriate responses and then set the book on the lectern. Things moved quickly, and the rest was a blur. Soon we were walking back out of the sanctuary and were back in the vestry “Sit down,” Father told us, and we all took seats. “You did well,” Father said to me. “Don’t you think, Mike?” Mike agreed with him. It was discussed that the next day I’d serve mass and I’d do everything. Mike would be there just to cover me if I messed up. I got to the church early and set about getting the altar ready, setting things out, lighting the candles. This time I carried the crucifix and Mike carried the book. After the processional, I did all the altar boy duties without much prompting from Mike. Afterward, Father Murphy asked Mike if I was ready to go solo and Mike stated yes. Mike would come in one more time for tomorrow’s mass and make sure I was ready, but he would sit in the congregation. I got to the church and again made sure everything was ready. I prayed to the heavenly father to make sure I was ready and that I didn’t mess up. Things went well. I was perhaps a beat too late ringing the bells thrice when the host was consecrated, but I got it done. After Mass, I went back to the vestry and returned the cassock and surplice to the rack. At this point, Mike and a few other of the knights that I had noticed in the congregation came in. Mike introduced me to the other boys. “Well, Joe,” Mike began. “You did well. You can consider yourself an official altar boy. You were given a scapular after your first communion, right?” I had been. I fished the little plastic medallion out from under my shirt. “That one’s not appropriate for a person of your standing.” He handed me a little box, and I opened it. A chain and a medal with the face of a man on it. It was quite an improvement over what I had been wearing. “That’s Saint John Berchmans. He’s the patron saint of altar boys. You are now a squire of the saint as were we,” he said indicating the other knights. “We have progressed to knights of the order.” I beamed and put the medal around my neck. “Now, that it’s official, there’s one last part of the vestments that we need to discuss. I should let you know that this is a very private and holy matter. You should not discuss this outside of the vestry.” I vowed that I would not. “Let’s remove our outer vestments.” The knights started taking off their clothes. I was surprised, but I followed along and took mine off as well. I was standing there with my underpants and my new medal around my neck. The other boys had more ornate medals and odd underwear on below. Mike went to a cabinet and pulled a few items from a drawer and returned to me. The top item was a large piece of cloth. “This is called the purificator magnum,” he said. I knew the purificator was the towel the priest used during preparation of the Eucharist. We wear this during Mass. He held up the other item. It was clearly a pair of briefs, plastic. “This we wear over it so that we do not have leaks.” I thought about it, and then I looked at Mike and knights. They were wearing a diaper and plastic pants. I started to realize what Mike was getting at the other day when he told me not to wet myself, YET. “You really wear a diaper during Mass?” “Purificator magnum,” Mike corrected. And we do. And you’ll find it handy to use it as well. My head spun. “All the boys in the order wear them. You’ll get used to it.” Mike had me remove my pants and lay down on the floor. He placed the diaper under me and did it up. He then pulled the plastic pants up. “Good, now you try it yourself.” I couldn’t see the point, but I did it. OK, see you tomorrow. The next morning we went to the vestry, and I put the diaper on. Mike checked it and then I got into the rest of the vestments. I served the Mass and returned to the vestry. Mike was waiting as I disrobed. He came and patted my rear and then tapped the medal on my chest. “These two things are the sacred mysteries of our order. They will become very important to you over time, and I stress the importance that you maintain the secret of the order.” I was proud to belong to the order. The medal was a badge of honor. I wasn’t sure about the diaper, but I got strange feelings wearing it. I promised to Mike that I would maintain the secret.

As he finishes the spanking my bottom is really hot and sore and I am in shock from being spanked at 18 and it feels so childish making it worse to be spanked by my step dad who is the same age. I go over to the tv and absentmindedly turn it on in shock while picking a cartoon and just let the toys sit there.

I've read most of Charles Stross' "Laundry Files" series and I'm a huge speculative fiction geek who despite being a huge skeptic has causally dabbled in the occult so I recognized what was going on pretty much immediately. So yeah my first thought was o'fuck massive thaumaturgical reality disruption. Get the salt and start spray painting the elder sign and enochian sigils

4.) Her Secondary Doctor I started picking up some of the blocks, giggling to myself. And then I thought about putting the blocks in order. And then I was stacking them. Everyone else had finished eating, and I was now playing like a child would with the colorful cubes. I would laugh when they'd fall over, or I'd spell out words that didn't make sense. And I'd laugh. I just couldn't help it. "Well, if it isn't our newest angel." The man wore alligator skin shoes that looked tacky like the 1980's had thrown up on his feet, and his tan pants were well-pressed, but it didn't stop his slightly awkward gait from being noticed. He knelt down next to the boy, his top unbuttoned one button too far, and his teeth too straight to be real or natural, when he smiled. Oh, and did he smile. He smiled at the boy, and nobody else looked at him. "What are you building here, hmm, princess?" "Uh... mm... nothing..." I shuffled to my feet, trying to stand up to meet the man. He was taller than me. Who wasn't, though? At least a foot. Colette only had four inches on me. I took a deep breath and tried to focus on the man. Ugly shoes... "...um, I'm Alexander... nice to meet you!" I put my hand out for him to shake. Honestly, I wasn't trying to be difficult. I totally forgot about the name thing! My head wasn't in the right place. "My name is Doctor Marlow." His face was sour at the use of the boy’s birth name, but this once, and only this once, he would overlook it. "The other girls told me that your name is Velvet. Now, why would they say that if it weren't true, hrmm? Do you think maybe you made a little mistake, my child?" I puffed out my cheeks a little bit and lowered my hand. He didn't shake it. "Velvet's a stupid name," I muttered, rubbing my eyes a bit. Everything was a little bit cloudy. I turned away from the man and climbed back down to my feet, sitting in the puddle on the floor. I blinked, looking down at the wet spot, and then up at the girl on the sofa. She just shook her head, curling her knees to her chest. Why was the floor wet...? "Well it does seem as though you've had a little accident, doesn't it, Velvet?" He smiled, again, that same smile that looked so harmless. That cheerful, warm tone, like a father in the 1950's addressing his family at Thanksgiving. He took the boy’s hand and pulled him to his feet, turning him around. "Well this doesn't make any sense at all, now, does it? Somebody silly put you in big-girl undies." My cheeks went a little pink and I looked up at him through my glasses. Maybe my prescription was off - that would explain the fuzziness. But it didn't explain my attitude. The embarrassment of wetting myself. The frustration at his words. "I'm not a girl!" Wow. That wasn't like me at all... "I... I mean... don't call me Velvet..." "Well, that's an awful lot of requests coming from somebody who just tinkled on the floor." Warm. It was hard to see why everybody else was so afraid of him. He took the boy’s glasses off, and tucked them into his shirt pocket, smiling. "How about you choose? I can call you a girl, or I can call you Velvet. Which would you prefer?" "I..." He took my glasses. I could barely even see straight. I blinked up at the blur that was his face and rubbed my eyes with the backs of my hands. Everything was so out of focus... "Um..." "Do you want me to call you a girl?" I shook my head. "Do you want me to call you Velvet?" I shook my head. "Which would you rather?" "...um... V-Velvet..." Because I wasn't a girl... "Let's get you cleaned up, then, Velvet." There were some key differences between Doctor Marlow and Colette. Where Colette valued procedure and routine, Marlow was opportunistic. He believed himself to be above everybody else on this program, and if he spontaneously wanted to hypnotize a patient, that was exactly what he would do. He held my hand and walked me out of the room. The girls all watched while it happened. I followed behind him in the wet nightgown, rubbing my eyes while I did so. I stumbled once, tripped over a block or something, and had to hurry to keep up with him. I didn't like not wearing my glasses... "You're such a pretty one, Velvet." He hadn't begun until he had the boy inside of his office, and he lifted him without stress onto a gurney along one of the walls. "So much prettier than those other girls, aren't you? They'll never be as pretty as you are, Velvet. You're above them." He helped the boy to lay onto his back, and then brought a rotating lamp over above him, switching it on. There were colored LEDs in the enclosure, hundreds of them, different colors, moving slowly and lazily from one to another. Easy to follow, even for a boy without his glasses. I rubbed my eyes again, trying to turn my head. His office wasn't warm or inviting. There was an examination table and a sofa in Colette's room, but here there was a hospital gurney and tile floors. It looked more like a research lab. It was also the second door, the one by Colette's. I tried to blink the colors away, but the spinning green dot kept moving. It spun circles around me... "I'm going to get you all cleaned up, Velvet. Clean and dry. And so you don't wriggle away by accident, and get a booboo, I'd like you to focus on the light above you. It's pretty, isn't it? Pretty like you are. Focus on the light and try to say still." The activation factor of the milk made things a little brighter, easily distractible, difficult to focus. Easy to obsess. With his glasses off, the light program, which, even now, was speeding up steadily, would expose his subconscious quicker than any hypnotic induction could. Colette was so behind the times. My eyes fluttered at the speed of the light. My breathing was heavy. Everything was still and quiet and magically brilliant. I just felt so relaxed. Everything felt so nice... and I felt the underwear tugged off me, but I didn't move or say anything. It was just... nice. "A pretty little thing like you needs a pretty name, Velvet." No induction. No wasted time. To the point, and effectual. Yes, there had been issues with the test subject, but it hardly mattered in the face of results. "You love being called pretty. And your name is so pretty, Velvet. Such a pretty word, a pretty name, a pretty thing to touch. Being called by your name, Velvet, makes you feel pretty, a pretty girl, a pretty smile, a pretty thing to touch. It makes you well up with pride. Proud to be so pretty, proud to have a pretty name. No other name even makes sense, no other name is pretty enough." "...pretty," I muttered. My eyes fluttered closed, but the weird green light still spun in my head. Like it had burned into my eyes. I couldn't not see it. It was perpetual. I felt a little dizzy, but I always did without my glasses. And the milk made it so much worse... "And a pretty name could only be for a pretty girl, so you must be a pretty girl, it's so easy to understand. You're pretty, so your name’s Velvet. You're pretty, so you're a girl. Velvet is a girl’s name. Velvet is a girl, Velvet is you, you are a girl. You love your name, Velvet. You love being reminded how pretty you are. Like lightning through your pretty body. Tingles up your spine. You feel them now, each time you hear your name. Velvet. Velvet." The little light flicked off. I had no idea how long it had been. The man sat me up on the table, and when he did, my ass crinkled with me. A diaper? And my nightgown was taken off, replaced by a flouncy dress, a childish one, that barely came to my thighs. I felt my cheeks turn a little pink. This was so stupid... "Velvet, you can go play with the other girls now. Say thank you, now, Velvet. It's important to have good manners." The boy had been putty, had been pliable, had been simple. Confident people always were. To think that he had been in the field, he had been so knowledgable. That was why Marlow's techniques were better — nobody could ever plan for it. "Velvet, do you hear me?" "...that's not my name," I muttered, sliding down off the table. The man was taller than me, so much taller than me, and he looked down at me with disbelief. My fingers went out and tapped his chest, finding my glasses in his pocket, and putting them back on my eyes with shaky fingers. My head was killing me... "My name is Alexander," I said flatly, and with a deep breath, "and you shouldn't toy with things you don't understand." I closed the door behind me.

I gave Rat a call. I asked him to do something for me and not to mention it to Allison. He agreed. I started cleaning my apartment. I’m not a neat freak, but it had to be done. I started to figure out exactly what I needed. I had a very small set of things. Rat came by next day and handed me an envelope. “You be careful,” I told him I would and took it inside. This was going to be a major event. I couldn’t go back after I did this. I got everything in line and grabbed a beer. I swallowed the powder in the envelope and washed it down with the beer, and then I made sure I had a clean diaper on and waited. Two days later I texted Allison. I told her I had made a decision and would drop by Friday to tell her. She texted back an inquiry into the nature of the decision. I told her I wasn’t ready to tell her, but I would be Friday. She asked where. I told her I’d come to her place. Friday, I got off work. I went home and put on the cloth diaper and then dug out the romper she had sent me home in that Jill had caught me in. I didn’t need anything else at this point. I locked up the apartment. Jill saw me as I was heading down to the car. “Going to see Allison?” she asked. I nodded. I drove over to Allison’s and parked in front and walked up the front walk. She was sitting on her front porch and stood as she saw me. She was in one of her short frilly dresses, and the diaper in its satin cover was exposed as she moved. She realized what I was wearing, and she beamed at me. “You’ve come to play today!” she screamed. I kissed her and stood back and held her hand. “I’ve come to play forever.” I paused. “If you’ll have me.” She looked serious for a second until the magnitude of what I said sunk in. She broke into a big smile. “Of course I’ll have you. Come. I’ve been saving something for a while.” She led me to the sofa and disappeared into the kitchen. She came back with two bottles, and she gave me one. “Too our new life,” she proposed. I raised my bottle to touch hers and repeated the toast. I took a long sip from the fizzy liquid inside. “What is this?” “Dom Perignon.” We started to talk and make plans. She asked if I was going to continue on the pills and exercise. I told her that I wasn’t. “Besides, I’ve made sure I’ll stay this way.” “How’s that?” she asked. “I got Rat to get me another dose of purple haze. This time I took it at home and went to bed. I wrote myself a note explaining what was going on in case I woke up with amnesia again. But it was OK. I’ve lost all the progress I made to continence.” She smiled. “It’s for the best.” “Yeah, the only time I really find it inconvenient is at work,” I said. “If I could, I’d just quit, maybe find a job I could do from the house.” “You could just quit, period,” Allison explained. “I don’t work.” It was even more of a fantasy. “What do you mean. What about the foundation?” “Oh, that I can mostly do on the phone or via email. There’s only a couple of events, mostly formal, when I have to make a personal appearance.” I wasn’t sure I understood. I stared blankly at her. “I just have to read the proposals from people who want the money and decide who to give it to?” I looked at her. “They let you do that?” “They is me,” she said. “When your name is on the name of the foundation it’s pretty much your call.” I thought about this. I never really knew much about what Allison did. I assumed she was some sort of bookkeeper. I thought hard. Allison’s name. The Allison Foundation? No that didn’t make sense. Her last name. Allison Ceres. The Ceres Foundation. “Oh my gosh,” I said. “You didn’t know?” she asked. I didn’t. “You’re one of those Ceres?” I said incredulously. “Yes, you didn’t know?” “You seemed so normal. You were living in a little apartment. Even this house isn’t a that grand.” “It works for me. I like this neighborhood where I can walk to shops and cafés and such. Didn’t it surprise you I could buy the house and equip it so fast? I’ve had Roger pretty much on the payroll since the beginning of the year. And while I did make some of these clothes, I didn’t make them all. I bought them.” My head was spinning. It wasn’t the Dom that was making it happened. I took another swig. I just had proposed to one of the richest people in town. “You know what I think,” Allison said. “What?” “I think we need a nap.” She led me to the crib. We did take a nap, but not before having a little more active crib time. After we awoke, we agreed we were hungry. After we changed each other into clean diapers, she looked at me coyly and went to the dresser and pulled out two items. They were matching, and she helped me into mine before putting hers on. They were two onesies, hers pink and mine baby blue. They snapped in our crotches and just barely covered our diapers as she led me down to the café. I had to admit to Allison that I was more than a bit embarrassed but also a bit excited going out like this. She said that she had never worn her onesie out like this either. Her friend Joan met us and took us to a table. “New outfits?” Joan asked. “Special occasion,” Allison replied. “Jason just proposed to me. I accepted of course.” “Wonderful.” We made our plans. I’d go over to my place and get the stuff I needed to move in with her immediately. Mostly it was just toiletries. I’d vacate my apartment officially by the end of the month. My second task early Monday morning was to call my boss and resign. There was a little sputtering from the other end of the phone about the short notice and the like (not that the company ever gave anybody any notice during layoffs). I just politely ended the call. Allison and I decided we’d just have a short civil ceremony followed by a small party at the house. I had warned my family in advance that things would seem strange to them. Allison worked on our wedding attire. Finally, the day came. The officiant was a woman judge that Allison knew. Rat was my best man. Joan was the maid of honor. I was there in a white suit which wasn’t too unusual other than the jacket covered a pair of rather short shorts rather than the traditional trousers. Allison emerged in a gorgeous white lace dress. Short enough that it didn’t even cover the satin and lace diaper cover below. I don’t recall the ceremony much after her entrance. I’m sure I made the right answer, and we kissed. Rat had finished a second high chair and Allison, and I sat at that and held court at the party. Baby bottles of Dom Perignon in our hands. Some of the guests chose glasses, but some in a show of solidarity with us also drank from bottles. At one point Allison and I excused ourself for the bedroom for a few minutes, but we soon returned. “Consummating?” Rat asked me. “No, just a diaper change.” So Allison and I started our new life. With little exception, we were 24/7 toddlers. It ceased to concern me about using the diapers all the time or going out in my rather juvenile clothes. It felt good to me, and I loved watching Allison in hers. We decided that I needed to do something rather than just sit around the house. I came up with an idea. We put Rat officially on the payroll and set out to hire others. We got all the equipment in place, both woodworking, and sewing and opened up a web presence. SuperToddler was launched. We sold all manner of clothing, furniture, and other accessories for the adult toddler. I could go in dressed as I cared to and it wasn’t out of place at all. And of course, we got to test all the product designs. Allison and I would work out ideas, sometimes scanning baby stores and the like and had Rat or our seamstresses work up adult sized equivalents. And I got all the crib time with Allison that I could handle. By the next New Year’s Eve, we were ready. Rather than cheap disposables, we had multiple cloth diapers and real spiffy plastic pants over the top. When midnight arrived, we stripped down to our diapers to party in the new year. This time, I remembered it all.

This is simple! In any relationship there is give and take. You have lived alone for a long time, free to do as you please. Now you have your girlfriend living with you. She accepts and is supportive of you wearing diapers but draws the line at you being in a poopy diaper around her. That's very clear and simple! Be very glad that she tolerates you wearing and wetting diapers in the first place! Lots of women would turn and run away, or they would put their foot down and say "No diapers for you if you want me to stay here!" Her "give" in the give and take is allowing you to wear your diapers around her and being supportive. Your "give" should be to simply accept and follow her wish of not being around her in a poopy diaper! Seems you want it all still. You need to accept there will need to be some changes (and not just diaper changes) now that you have someone living with you. It's not just all about you anymore, like it has been for the past 5 years. You either bend, compromise and give a little by not messing your diapers when she is around, and I mean all the time, or you go back to living alone and losing a very long time girlfriend (who you have broken it off with once before over diapers) and lose love, companionship and one person who accepts, tolerates and is supportive of you wearing diapers as long as they are not messy ones when she is around. Don't be selfish!

Hello and welcome Coffee_mate. Nice to meet you, and always nice to have new people join in here. I’m sure you’ll enjoy coming here lots.

Well, so far so good. My mom has still not said anything. We talk or text almost daily. I think in some way she has known all along. I was a bed wetter until about the age of 7 or 8. When I was in 1st grade, my mom used a cloth diaper as punishment and sent me to school with it on under my clothes. I was begging her to let me go back to diapers after that. So she no longer used that as a punishment. After that I would steal diapers from my cousins stash when the would come over to our house for overnights. I thought I had them hidden well, but then I would find them removed from the hiding places and once again my mom would never say anything. Then my cousins grew out of diapers so I started to make home made ones out of trash bags and female pads, and those would disappear from the hiding spots without a word from my parents. Then I got a job and my driver's license and a whole lot wiser to buy diapers and hide them elsewhere in the house along with my underage whiskey (I wonder if the bottle of Jack Daniels that I left in the attic or the diapers I left in the crawl space of the basement of the house we lived in Chicago have been discovered). Yeah, I think my mom has known for a while that I am an ABDL. I am still embarrassed about my mistake though.

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Your almost 40, do you really need to worry?

I've been in the same situation. Leave it alone unless she brings it up.

Sounds like you will be saving a lot of money on toilet paper!

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Bored of winter now! Roll on the spring please

Off to see Early Man at the cinema I hope its as good as the Wallace and Gromits

Poorly Baby Send hugs and chicken soup

if she needs nursery furniture i will hook her up...

This?

At work tonight I had an accident. Previously I had mentioned the near accidents I've had after long period of staying diapered, but those never resulted in anything more than a few drops of wee in the gusset of my panties. This time was much worse. I had to poop, but it wasnt too bad and there were funny pictures on Reddit that needed me to look at them, so I wasn't too concerned. When I decided to stretch my legs and take care of business it happened. I didn't think I had to go so bad, but when I stood up my bottom erupted. I pooped my pants! I couldn't believe it! Thankfully only one other person was there, and he had no idea. I high-tailed it to the bathroom to survey the damage. Thankfully, even though the mess was kind of wet it was entirely contained to my panties. I tried to clean them off, but they were hopeless, so I decided to go commando for the rest of the night. When I got home I decided to diaper myself as "punishment." I was so embarrassed! The only saving grace was that no one noticed. I don't know if I could go back if anyone did. I'm 27 years old, and I pooped my panties.

Well, thank you, Summertime, for reading and for your nicely-worded comment. I'm glad to know that I could meet some of my readers' expectations again. Thanks to everyone who read and commented! I hope you all had a wonderful holiday experience and I hope to provide some new story in the near-future.

Placement in a nughty chair for 20 minutes with a paci for a gag in just the diaper ussualy gets them to behave if they talk each time add on five more minutes to the said starting time, or send then to bed for a few hours and they are not allowed to get out of that bed or the time extends. That is how I handle it most times. Isolation helps the lil one realize that Daddy has allot of responsibilities and so on to attend to such as watching over while sleeping when ever i have a bad night of sleep. I try to merit or punish accordingly to said day or action. To ether encourage the good behaviour displyed with re wards and the opposite for bad behaviours such as no tv and so on. It is old style but it does have its effect and it does work from my personal experience. Or a good old style bare bottom spanking over the knee always makes them feel semi more little then they were in the first place. I try to never ever punish out of anger ether.

So many DLs and ABs want ways to become incontinent, to justify and legitimize their wearing and using diapers. Geez, folks, WEAR them, proudly, comfortably and AS MUCH AS YOU WANT. Anybody wanting to become incontinent needs to talk to those who ARE actually incontinent, especially the bowel incontinent, and see what those folks go through on a day to day basis - THEIR "normal". Not many of us fetishists would even put in half the effort it would take to be diapered 24/7. The ability to pick and choose when and where we want to be diapered and to what degree we want to use our diapers should be fulfilling enough, IMHO...