Control Chronicals

Apologies. I promised to make this story available over time for free but I find posting content into this site anxiety provoking and that is the reason for the delay. I have a strange aversion to any kind of comments from my posts, whether positive, negative, or neutral. I have decided to just make the rest of the story freely available on my patreon. You can read part 8 here: https://www.patreon.com/posts/sadistic-doctor-98289509?utm_medium=clipboard_copy&utm_source=copyLink&utm_campaign=postshare_creator&utm_content=join_link You don't need to pay to read it or to see any of the other parts of this story. Parts 8 through to the Epilogue are posted and free. This page has the full collection: https://www.patreon.com/collection/272391?view=expanded

Part 7: After the tumultuous group session, Dr. Simmons secured Jacob’s newly written diary of shame around his neck and passed him off to yet another orderly. There was so little continuity in his care that he scarcely glanced at her face as she wrapped an arm around his shoulders to guide him down the hall back to his room. His diaper drooped heavily under him, and Jacob worried that he might be leaving a trail of brown fluid in his wake. Others made a broad path for him as he passed, but his current attendant talked to him kindly as if she didn’t even notice the foulness. “Good boy, Jacob,” she praised him. “That’s it. You know how to get back to your room. I bet you will feel good once we get you in a clean diaper.” He wanted to take comfort in her kindness, but after the day he’d had, it just made him wonder if this new woman thought he couldn’t think past the contents of his diaper, that he didn’t know how to walk down the hall to his room. At least Miss Kristen’s disdain made him feel that there was at least some expectation that he could be better than a drooling infant. "There we go, Jacob, let's get you into a nice, fresh diaper," she chirped as she helped him climb onto the changing table and pulled a strap against his mid-section to ensure he didn’t fling himself off. As she unfolded the used diaper, the room was filled with the pungent odor of Jacob's uncontrolled release. The smell was acrid, a potent mixture of ammonia from the urine and a heavier, more suffocating odor from the feces that had been confined against his skin for too long. With the diaper opened, the orderly's face tightened for a moment, a professional mask slipping at the reality of the task ahead. The mess was substantial, coating Jacob's genitals and bottom in a way that made the cleanup not just necessary but arduous. Without a word, she folded the front of the diaper down, ensuring the soiled interior didn't come into contact with Jacob, yet leaving it under him as a protective layer for the changing surface. She began with wipes, each one drawing across his skin with a cold, damp touch that was startling each time. The wipes were thorough but gentle, moving methodically over his skin to remove every trace of the mess. She had to pay particular attention to the head of his penis, and Jacob closed his eyes and willed himself to avoid yet another humiliating erection. As she worked, she revealed the irritated skin beneath, which stung as the cold wipes worked against it and tingled in the open air. As the mess covering his front diminished, she scooped Jacob's knees up in one hand to lift his bottom off the ground. Her hands were gentle, but each touch, each wipe, each shift of his body only emphasized how she perceived him: utterly incapable. Once she had cleared most of the mess, the orderly disposed of the soiled diaper and prepared Jacob for a fresh one. Despite the clear need for a soothing treatment, she strictly adhered to her orders, leaving the reddened skin untreated and exposed. Jacob couldn’t help but groan as the new diaper was sealed around him. He instinctively moved his arms to try to reach his stinging groin. Desperate for some kind of relief. “Now, now, those restraints are there to keep you from touching your little pee pee,” the orderly chided. As she fastened the last tape on his new diaper, a sudden commotion outside the room caught her attention. Her head snapped towards the door. "Oh dear, what now?" she muttered under her breath, more to herself than to Jacob. With an apologetic glance, she hurried off, leaving Jacob on the table. Left alone, Jacob's first instinct was a surge of relief — relief from the infantilizing treatment, if only for a moment. He was still restrained and strapped to the changing table, in full view of anyone looking in through the window, but he was alone in this room with no one to taunt him. Jacob lay there waiting for the orderly to return for a while; he didn’t know how long. The room grew quiet as the chaos outside seemed to have resolved or moved elsewhere. The straps around his waist and the restraints keeping his hands linked to his neck made any significant movement a challenge. Yet, he was realizing that he may, for once, have actually been forgotten about. It was unclear how long he would be left strapped to this table before someone remembered him. He began to carefully test the restraints, feeling for any slack that might offer him an opportunity. The strap around his waist was secure but not beyond manipulation. With a mixture of resolve and ingenuity, he contorted slightly, straining against the limitations imposed by the restraints binding his hands to his neck. It was a painstaking process, each small shift bringing him incrementally closer to the buckle of the waist restraint. He sucked against the pacifier still lodged in his mouth as he tried to draw in more air. The fresh diaper crinkled loudly with every move, making Jacob pause and worry that someone might pass by and hear it outside, but he knew that was absurd. Loud as it was, it couldn’t be that loud, right? Bit by bit, Jacob managed to maneuver his restrained hands towards the buckle. His fingers, clumsy from the awkward positioning, fumbled with the fastening. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his fingers caught the edge of the buckle, and with a careful tug, he loosened it enough to wriggle free from the strap's hold. The sense of achievement was immediate, a small victory he needed to not fully buy into all Dr. Simmons said about him. On the edge of his changing table, Jacob paused, his feet dangling as he assessed the drop. It wasn't far to the floor, but the restraints around his hands and the uncertainty of his balance made the descent daunting. Carefully, he slid further until gravity took over, and his feet made contact with the ground. He was right to be concerned as he immediately fell backward, landing with a muffled thud on his diapered bottom. The impact was jarring but not as painful as it could have been—his diaper served as an unintended cushion. He felt like a toddler, sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him and his thick diaper ballooning between them as his arms dangled from his neck, but at the same time, Jacob felt a surge of freedom. He was still within the confines of the room, his movements hampered by the restraints, but the act of getting off the table on his own was a small victory against his current state of dependency. Emboldened, he moved towards the door, where he cautiously peered out into the hall. The hallway was mostly empty, save for an orderly stationed at a desk some distance away, engrossed in paperwork. Jacob watched for a moment, the orderly's obliviousness to his observation granting him a sense of invisibility. However, the risk of being seen was too great, and he quickly ducked back into the room. Jacob fiddled with his hand restraints. The buckles, designed to prevent exactly this kind of manipulation, held fast, leaving him to confront the futility of his situation. He harbored a faint hope that the day's activities might have loosened the straps enough to allow for an escape. However, as he twisted and turned his wrists, the reality set in without resorting to the extreme measure of dislocating his thumbs; freedom remained out of reach. He looked in the bathroom mirror at himself. His arms restrained close to his body, the diary of the day's events dangling around his neck, and the pacifier that dominated the bottom of his face. He didn’t dare move the diary. Jacob worried such a move might result in Dr. Simmons having his failures tattooed against him or something far more extreme than a pad of paper with barely legible script. But as he saw the strap for the pacifier more clearly now, he realized he could work that out of his mouth. The size of the bulb made it difficult, but with the help of his hands, which easily reached his face, he could wiggle it out. His jaw ached from the relief of being free from the gag. He yearned to speak, to fill the silence with his voice, but the risk of drawing unwanted attention kept him mute. In the mirror, Jacob could see the damage left behind by the pacifier. His skin was deeply indented to such an extreme that there would be no doubt what had been in his mouth. He rubbed at the skin, wondering how long it would take to bounce back if it would bounce back. He moved next for this collar but couldn’t find the buckle. Contorting himself, he finally saw in the mirror that there was some kind of clasp covering it, but he couldn’t work it out. The knowledge that his restraint was somehow smarter than him reminded Jacob of all Dr. Simmons had said. He looked back on his education; there were As in English and math, but he also remembered taking a life skills class where they prepared him to balance a checkbook and fill out a timesheet. He’d never played sports or had many friends because of his size and condition. Was his degree a delusion? Were his classmates all other students in special ed? He made his way to the bed. The restraints were laid open in anticipation of his return, making it less inviting as a place to relax. Yet, exhaustion from his exertions compelled him. After several awkward attempts, he managed to settle into a position that was not entirely uncomfortable. He drew the blanket at the bed’s base over himself. In this small, personal space, he curled up, hoping to blend into the background, to be forgotten in the aftermath of the day's events. He drifted to sleep. When Jacob next woke, the sight that met his eyes was not welcome. Miss Kristen had returned. The golden hue flooding the room through the window told him it must be evening. She pulled back the covers, revealing the soaked diaper. Jacob hadn't eaten since breakfast, and his stomach growled. "Wakey wakey, Jacob! Looks like you've had a busy day," she said with a jovial tone that caught Jacob off guard. She spotted the notepad around Jacob's neck and wasted no time leafing through it. Reading aloud, she found each entry more amusing than the last. “‘Couldn't stop myself from humping my diaper in the bouncer.' Oh, Jacob, well, we already knew you’re public masturbartor, not too surprising!! 'Drank from a bottle,’ 'Couldn't finish simple patterns,' 'Failed IQ test.' Not the brightest, are we? And what's this? 'Exposed for lying about graduating high school when I was in special ed, not real school.' Jacob, Jacob, Jacob, honesty is the best policy," she tsked, shaking her head in mock disappointment. Miss Kristen paused for effect before reading the last entry, "'Pooped in my diaper in front of the whole group after claiming I could hold it.' A grand finale indeed!" Her laughter filled the room, devoid of any empathy or understanding. “But Jacob,” she paused, grinning at him and grabbing his face with one hand, forcing him to pucker his lips like a fish as he looked at her. “Your day isn’t over, yet!” she threatened with a punctuated slap to the front of his diaper, which, if Jacob wasn’t fully awake yet, was enough to jolt him to attention. “What does that mean?” Jacob asked and almost recoiled at the sound of his own voice after not hearing it in so many hours. Miss Kristen stopped her movement to get up and fetch a gown from the changing table when he spoke like she, too, was surprised to find he could speak. Her eyes widened in the realization that, of course, he’d been gagged during their last interaction. "Oh, Jacob, I see we've decided to be naughty and lose our little pacifier," she said, her tone threatening. "But don't you worry, your mouth will be full again soon enough," she added cryptically, her words heavy with an unspoken promise of further interventions. The nature of her statement left Jacob uneasy, the ambiguity of her words casting a shadow over the momentary sense of victory he had felt at discarding the pacifier. Miss Kristen retrieved a hospital gown from the changing table and reached around Jacob’s neck, releasing the collar more easily than Jacob expected, given his earlier difficulty. She spent longer undoing the restraints that bound his hands. “Now, just because I’m releasing you doesn’t mean you should stick your little hands down your wet diaper, Jacob. That would be yucky.” The release from the restraints brought both physical relief and a reminder of the reasons behind their necessity. Jacob's arms ached as blood flow returned to normal. Miss Kristen continued, removing his sweatshirt, sliding the hospital gown over his arms, and securing it behind his neck. She left the waist tie undone so that Jacob’s diaper was on full display when he stood. His stomach grumbled again in hunger. "Don’t worry, Jacob, I’m taking you to dinner," Miss Kristen told him with a look that suggested he should worry about what was on the menu. Jacob was surprised when Miss Kristen, with her characteristic hold on the back of his neck, guided him towards the ward’s exit and into the main wings of the hospital. As they walked, he sensed she was deliberately choosing the most circuitous route. They wandered through a labyrinth of hallways, passing various wards and a multitude of hospital staff and patients. Jacob’s diaper wasn’t so wet to droop, but he’d released enough to make the padding grow awkwardly, and a small yellow tint was plain to all who looked. The whispering and sidelong glances from those who passed were unmistakable, adding layers to Jacob's profound embarrassment. Eventually, they arrived at an unexpected destination: the maternity ward. The sounds of newborns and the sight of new mothers were out of place for Jacob's current situation. Miss Kristen, however, appeared unfazed by this incongruity. She opened the door to a room within the ward, revealing a woman sitting on a couch. She had a matronly appearance, with large bosoms and a kind yet somewhat imposing presence. Her eyes landed on Jacob, taking in his state with a quick, discerning glance. Miss Kristen, with a grin still playing on her lips, announced their arrival. "Good evening, Mrs. Green! Brought someone to see you.” Jacob stood there, the open back of his gown and his wet diaper on full display, feeling utterly out of place in the maternal setting of the room. As Miss Kristen left, closing the door and leaving him alone with the woman, Jacob felt a new surge of apprehension. The woman, her demeanor matronly yet commanding, beckoned Jacob closer with a gesture that brooked no refusal. When he neared her, the woman stood, her presence even more imposing up close. She inspected his diaper, her touch invasive as she prodded the padding. "Oh dear, what a state you're in," she remarked, her tone laced with a mixture of pity and scorn. "A grown man, yet so utterly helpless and pathetic. It's quite a sight, isn't it?" She pulled open the back of his diaper and peered inside. "I've been informed about your delusions, Jacob. You seem to have trouble accepting how infantile both your mind and body really are. Part of your resistance, it seems, is tied to your fears about intimacy." Finding nothing, she moved back around to his front, running her hand over his diapered penis and making the fabric crinkle loudly. "You think accepting your true state will rob you of any chance at intimacy in your life. But Jacob, intimacy isn't just about physical connections. It's about accepting who you are and finding someone who understands and cares for you in that state." In his current state, the idea of intimacy seemed an impossible, almost cruel concept to Jacob. "You need to embrace your reality, Jacob," she continued, her tone firm. "Only then can you understand what true intimacy might look like for you." She couldn’t quite be certain given the thickness of the padding, but she felt confident Jacob’s pee pee had stiffened beneath the sodden fabric. She sat back on the couch and motioned for Jacob to sit beside her. Jacob's stomach grumbled audibly as he sat down. With an unexpected gentleness, she guided Jacob into her lap, cradling him. "I heard you forgot to eat lunch, Jacob," she gently scolded. Jacob started to resist, to protest that this wasn’t a true statement. He didn’t forget; no one came to get him, but she simply placed a finger over his lips and continued to cradle him tightly. "It seems you really do need someone to look after you, like the baby you are." The woman's voice dropped to a whisper, heavy with seriousness. "Jacob, Dr. Simmons says you need to experience something the type of intimacy someone with an infantile behaviors like yours can appreciate. She thinks it's essential for you to learn to breastfeed." Jacob's heart skipped a beat at her words. The idea was absurd, beyond anything he could have imagined. As an adult man in a psychiatric hospital, the notion of being taught to breastfeed was as surreal as it was unsettling. He couldn't make sense of it or grasp how this could be part of any legitimate treatment plan. The woman, however, continued to speak with an air of conviction, her gaze never wavering. "You see, Jacob, breastfeeding can create a unique bond and sense of security. It will help you realize how helpless you are." She gently patted the front of his diaper as if he needed any reminder as to why everyone thought he deserved to be treated this way. Mrs. Green, undeterred by Jacob's obvious shock, maintained her nurturing yet firm demeanor. "Jacob, I know this is difficult for you to understand, but you must admit part of your body is up for the occasion.” She squeezed the area of his diaper where she knew his penis would be. “Now, it’s too small for me to feel, but I bet that little wee wee of yours feels very good now that you’re so close to such large breasts.” She easily unlatched her shirt and bra, clearly designed for easy feedings, so her large breast fell out. Her hands were warm and reassuring as she guided her nipple to his closed lips, teasing it against them. "Open your mouth, Jacob," she instructed, her voice patient and maternal. Jacob closed his eyes, wondering what would happen if he had just said no. If he got up and tried to run away. He would probably end up right back here, but in a straight jacket, he considered and opened his mouth to accept the woman’s nipple. "Just like that, Jacob. Relax and let it happen." The woman continued to rub his diaper, ensuring it crinkled with each stroke as he began to suck on her nipple. "There, there, this is all fitting for a big baby like you. You do need this, don't you, Jacob? You need someone to feed you and monitor your diapers and behavior." As the woman continued her mocking and Jacob continued sucking, milk began to flow. Jacob, thinking this was an exercise in make-believe, was entirely unprepared for this reality. He attempted to pull away, his movements sudden and awkward, but the woman held him firmly in place. "Shh, it's okay, Jacob. Just relax," she soothed, cradling him tighter so she was now patting him on his bottom as she pressed her breast into him, not letting him pull back. As milk filled his mouth brought, a surge of panic overwhelmed him. In a desperate bid for release, Jacob clamped his teeth down on her nipple, just enough he hoped to make her release him. And it worked. She shrieked out in pain, reflexively pushing him from her lap, sending him tumbling to the floor. Jacob looked up at her from the ground; a solitary drop of milk lingered at the corner of his mouth. His eyes darted to the door, the urge to flee from the room, from the repercussions of his actions, pressing heavily upon him. The greater risk was now not getting away, not making his escape. Yet, as he scrambled to his feet, his movements were hampered by the sudden, vice-like grip that encased his wrist. In an instant, Mrs. Green regained her composure and control over the situation. Her grip tightened, pulling Jacob's arm behind his back swiftly, leaving no room for resistance. She drew him back towards the couch with ease until Jacob was once again over her lap. Only now, he was not looking into breasts. He was staring at the floor as she pinned him to her thighs with his diapered bottom exposed to the inevitable blows to come. Jacob cringed in anticipation for the first strike. If you are enjoying this story, know that I have promised that all of this story will make it onto this site and I intend to do that but it will always be behind when I post on patreon (there are 11 parts on patreon ... I imagine this story will have 13 parts, so it is almost complete). My patreon has other stories and now captions which are all deviations on a similar theme of diapered men being debased, degraded, and humiliated. patreon.com/user?u=7664738

January was a busy month but I am still active on my patreon. I am dropping three sections here now. There are 7 on patreon with an 8th coming later this week and the a one off story which will hopefully hit patreon but won't be posted here over next weekend. Here is part 4: In his room within the psychiatric ward, Jacob waited for quiet time to end in restless discomfort. The room, while clean, was clinical in its simplicity. A barred window, positioned directly above what had been repurposed to become his diaper changing station, cast a weak light across the room. The realization that his ground-floor room exposed the changing table to outside view only added to his discomfort. Jacob harbored a faint hope of managing his own diaper changes in private, but his experiences thus far suggested his hopes were the real delusion. The room's furnishings were sparse: a narrow bed with a firm mattress and a lone pillow, alongside a small, bolted-down table. Jacob was keenly aware of the diaper beneath his jumpsuit, its presence marked by the constant crinkling sound with each shift he made. Initially, the jumpsuit hadn't seemed too uncomfortable, but the continuous stretch against his groin became increasingly irksome. He ran his hand over the stiff padding that enforced the separation of his legs. This padding, starting just above his knees and extending up his thighs, was only a part of the restrictive mechanism. Attached to it was a harder plastic piece that extended behind his buttocks, connecting to a sturdy belt around his waist. The device would have been heavy, but the jumpsuit’s crotch section provided necessary support for its weight. The design's true ingenuity lay in how it arched over his groin area. The hard plastic curved outward, creating a noticeable gap between the jumpsuit and his diaper, before tapering back in to join the belt at his waist. This design effectively ensured a significant physical barrier, preventing any direct contact with his groin. It also probably looked bizarre, like he was a marsupial holding his babies in a pouch around his hips. Jacob experimented with the restrictive device, attempting to push it closer to his body, but standing up, he found it immovable. Seeking another approach, he lay on his stomach on the bed, only to discover that the plastic front caused his buttocks to lift awkwardly into the air. The only way to lie somewhat comfortably was by adopting a modified child’s pose, with his knees spread wide and his rear elevated, his diapered crotch suspended several inches above the bed. For Jacob, the frustration wasn't so much about being unable to self-pleasure — the idea of jacking off in such a humiliating and exposed environment was the furthest thing from his mind. Rather, it was the constant sensation of suspension that bothered him, that and a growing need to ease the itching and burning sensation cause be his diaper rash. Being unable to make any contact left him feeling oddly disconnected from his own body. His diaper, which he had gradually been wetting due to his incontinence, was the only tangible sensation he had. Even as it began to swell and sag within the confines of the jumpsuit, it never bulged enough to reach the spreader, leaving him with just the feeling of it growing heavier and more uncomfortable. Lying on his back, Jacob found a modicum of relief as his bottom could at least make contact with the spreader device and rest against the mattress. The pressure made him acutely aware of his developing rash, but once the pain had passed, also brought relief. He experimented with his limited mobility, attempting to force his legs closer together by squeezing his thighs as tightly as possible. Despite his efforts, the inflexible padding of the jumpsuit resisted any significant movement. With determination, he made a more concerted effort. He awkwardly lifted himself, contorting into a position where he lay on his back, his legs spread wide but his knees drawn up towards his chest. This maneuver forced the belt of the device to ride up slightly on his body. Bringing both hands down between his legs, he pressed against the padded spreader, pushing it into himself. He was finally enabled him to make direct contact with the front of his diaper. He rub the padding, and consequently the damp diaper, over his genitals, reveling in the relief it brought. Jacob was still in this compromising and awkward position when a female orderly entered the room. She paused briefly at the doorway, her expression hardening as she took in the scene before her. Jacob, caught in the act of trying to circumvent the jumpsuit's constraints, looked up at her, a mix of embarrassment and pleading in his eyes. The orderly's response was swift and direct. "Jacob!" she called out firmly and rushed over to him, pulling his hands away from the padding. Still holding one of his wrists, she turned him onto his side and spanked his thigh over and over, coming down on him as hard as her swing would allow, “this kind of behavior won't be tolerated.” The blows stung even through the thick material of the jumpsuit. Jacob’s natural impulse to squirm away only resulted in her grip becoming more secure and an increase in her ferocity. “Please stop. I’m sorry,” he begged her. Tears welled in his eyes from the sheer humiliation of the ordeal. When he had been still long enough, and received what to Jacob felt like 100 smacks on this thigh, she calmed down and stopped her barrage against him. “Let’s get you up,” her tone conveying a mix of authority and exasperation. She helped him back into a more standard position, ensuring the jumpsuit remained secure and in place. Without lingering for a response or an explanation, the woman quickly exited the room. Moments later, she returned, pushing a wheelchair in front of her. Perched on the seat of the wheelchair was a much larger spreader, distinctly separate from any jumpsuit. Jacob's initial instinct was to protest, to explain his actions, but as he opened his mouth to speak, the orderly sharply cut him off. "If you start telling me any lies, I’ll stick that pacifier in your mouth,” she threatened, nodding towards the bulb resting on his changing table. Realizing that any attempt to speak his truth would be futile and likely dismissed as a lie, Jacob remained silent. The orderly continued, informing him that he had earned full restraints for bedtime. She then proceeded to fit the new spreader onto him. This device was less forgiving than the previous one, lacking any padding and digging uncomfortably into his legs whenever he made the slightest attempt to close them. With the spreader now securely in place, the orderly instructed Jacob to sit in the wheelchair. He awkwardly maneuvered himself into the chair. He had to slouch order to fit, the spreader forcing his legs open wider than the arms of the chair allowed. Once he was in place, the orderly slipped a pair of soft slippers onto Jacob's feet and wheeled him towards the common room. The door to the common room swung open to reveal the bustling hub of social activity within the psychiatric ward. The room was spacious, painted in soft, neutral colors that radiated a sense of calm. Various tables were scattered throughout, adorned with board games, puzzles, books, and craft materials. In one corner, a television played a gameshow at a low volume. Large windows, secured with bars, lined one wall, allowing natural light to flood in and brighten the space. As they entered, the chatter and activity momentarily paused. Heads turned towards Jacob, none of whom, Jacob noted, were wearing restrictive attire. They all seemed to be in comfortable pajama-like clothes. The orderly made an announcement that captured everyone's attention. "This is Jacob," she announced in a loud, clear voice. "He's having some trouble with self-control, specifically with touching himself. If anyone sees him doing anything inappropriate, please call out immediately." Her words elicited a mix of reactions. Several patients openly snickered. The orderly instructed Jacob to join a table. Due to the cumbersome spreader, he couldn't walk. He looked back at the orderly, hopefully, but she seemed uninterested in offering him any further assistance. She stepped back with her arms crossed and raised an eyebrow, daring Jacob to protest. He didn’t. Jacob slid out of the chair instead and onto his knees, making his way to a crawling position. Even with this his movements were clumsy and slow, the spreader's bulkiness hindering his progress. The other patients, all grappling with their own psychological challenges, found it difficult to restrain their reactions. Open laughter erupted from various corners of the room. A man seated across the room coughed, "Baby," and the absence of immediate staff intervention seemed to embolden the others. They joined in, hurling comments and questions at Jacob with increasing boldness. A young woman asked through fits of laughter, "Is it just your hands, or can you not control your bladder either?" Her question drew more laughter as Jacob, with great effort, pulled himself up onto a chair. The situation escalated when a teen approached Jacob, curiosity piqued by the unusual setup of the jumpsuit and spreaders. "Yeah, are you wearing a diaper under there?" He reached under the spreader, attempting to investigate further. Jacob felt a surge of relief that the second, larger spreader prevented the boy from discovering his diaper, which by now had become uncomfortably sodden, its usual crinkling sound mercifully muted. Undeterred, the boy announced his findings to the room. "Dude, you must have real issues. There’s another blocker to his dick under this one!" His voice carried across the common room, drawing the attention of even more patients. The mocking laughter and comments enveloped Jacob, the center of unwelcome attention in the common room. When he glanced back at the orderly for some semblance of support, she looked pleased. It was evident she had anticipated this reaction, possibly as a deterrent against future attempts to bypass his restraints. As the room began to settle, the orderly approached Jacob. She placed her hand on the back of his neck in a manner that underscored her authority and control over the situation. "Jacob, Anthony asked you a question," she reminded him, indicating the boy who had inquired about the diaper. Her tone was reminiscent of someone teaching basic social skills to a child. The room fell into a hushed silence. Jacob looked at his hands on the table, feeling the weight of every gaze in the room. "Yes," he responded quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. The orderly’s grip on his neck tightened slightly. "You should use complete sentences and look at people when you’re speaking to them," she instructed firmly. Jacob reluctantly met Anthony's eyes, which were alight with a mix of curiosity and mockery. As tears began to fall from his own eyes, Anthony's grin widened, reveling in the unfolding scene. With a shaky voice, Jacob managed to articulate the words, "Yes, I’m wearing a diaper." With that the orderly walked away, retreating to a corner of the room as the other patients absorbed the information. “Why do you wear a diaper?” a woman asked, getting up and moving to sit across from Jacob. Everyone was still listening. Jacob turned to her, a hint of resignation in his voice. "I’m incontinent," he admitted simply. “Whoa,” Anthony asked, his tone a mix of incredulity and amazement. “So you, like, shit yourself like a baby?” Jacob turned back to him, the question particularly difficult given the reason he was here but he just couldn’t bring himself to lie, even if lying would ultimately help him get out of the institution. “No! It’s just pee!” Jacob glanced back at the orderly. She was writing something on her clipboard, but seemed willing to let the statement go. His statement elicited a new uproar of laughter, “Ohh,” Anthony mocked, “Just pee. You must feel like a real big boy, then, huh?” And when Jacob didn’t respond, “I asked you a question, moron.” He smacked the table in fron of Jacob to get his attention. “Not right now,” Jacob mumbled. Another boy cut in before Anthony could taunt him further, but it just took Jacob down another unwanted lined of questioning. “Wait, so you like touch yourself in your dirty diaper? That’s so gross.” When Jacob didn’t answer, Anthony stepped in again, mimicking the orderlies action of gripping the back of his neck and leaning in close, “You better answer him, little boy, or I’ll yell out you’re trying to sneak your hands into your jumpsuit.” Jacob continued looking down at his hands, there plain as day on the table, unmoving. Plus, the top was too tight to even attempt it. But he had a feeling Anthony’s accusations would carry the day. “No,” he insisted, “this is all a misunderstanding.” A small group who hadn’t converged on Jacob called out from the end of the room that it was Anthony’s turn in whatever game they were playing. He dropped his interest in Jacob and walked away, but not before muttering “loser” under his breath. Eventually, the rest of the patients also lost interest in Jacob's predicament and returned to their previous activities. Jacob remained at the table, his hands deliberately placed on the surface, a silent compliance with the rules set for him. He picked up a book, ostensibly immersing himself in its pages. However, after about twenty minutes, he realized with a start that he had been holding it upside down. He had been mechanically flipping through the pages, his mind elsewhere, not truly absorbing the content. Casting a quick glance around, Jacob was relieved to find that no one seemed to have noticed his error. Discreetly, he righted the book, maintaining the pretense of reading to avoid drawing any further attention. It was a small mercy that Jacob was pretty much left alone for the rest of the night. Someone brought him a tray of food which he ate in silence, and he was wheeled back to room without being asked to make another spectacle of himself crawling across the floor. As Kristen, the orderly whose name Jacob glimpsed sewn into the fabric of her scrubs, was assisting him again. She freed Jacob from his constraints, leaving him just his diaper to brush his teeth. Jacob savored the return of his ability to close his legs, even allowing himself the small comfort of crossing his ankles as he stood at the sink. His bottom now itched from his rash and he desperately wanted to reach back and find relief from scratching his bare skin, but he refrained, mindful of the orderly's watchful presence. Since the incident in the common room where Jacob had to publicly acknowledge his diapered condition, Kristen hadn't spoken to him. Jacob wondered if addressing her by her first name might shift their interaction, hoping it might foster some semblance of personal connection, a psychological bridge that could alter their current patient-caretaker dynamic. "Kristen," Jacob tentatively attempted to assert some autonomy, "I can change my own diaper. I've been doing it for like a decade now." His attempt to engage Kristen on a more personal level did momentarily halt her actions, but not in the way he had hoped. Turning sharply, she reached for the pacifier on the table. "I can see you’re going to need this," she remarked coolly, pushing the pacifier into his mouth and securing it firmly behind his head. Her actions were swift and practiced, effectively silencing any further attempts at conversation from Jacob. "Also, it’s Miss Kirsten to you. While in our care, you need to show us respect. Use Miss, Mr., or Doctor." she added, tightening the pacifier. Her tone was stern, leaving no room for negotiation or familiarity. "You’ll find we don’t have any tolerance for lies, Jacob." With the pacifier in place, Jacob was rendered mute, his words and attempts at establishing a connection abruptly cut off. The clear message was patients like Jacob were expected to adhere to the established protocols without question or objection. Kristen gestured for Jacob to climb onto the changing table. He complied, his mind acutely aware of the potential visibility from the outside through the window. It was dark now, but he knew that wouldn't obscure the view from outside. She untapped the diaper, folding it down, and couldn’t stifle her laugh when she revealed his tiny dick. "Well, your file says there's no medical cause to your incontinence, but maybe its as simple as your tiny baby pee pee just refusing to grow up," she laughed openly now, enjoying her joke. As she laughed, Jacob reacted involuntarily to the exposure to air, resulting in a sudden squirt of urine. "Whoops," Kristen exclaimed, quickly covering him with the damp diaper again. "I can see I’m going to have to be fast if I want to avoid getting peed on." She briskly reopened the diaper and proceeded with the changing process. Kristen efficiently wiped him down, applied cream to the rash along his bottom — a rash he felt a desperate urge to soothe himself — and liberally sprinkled him with powder. Her movements were quick and methodical as she switched out his dirty diaper for a clean one and brought it up between his legs, securing it tightly. The bed, which had been prepared during his time in the common room was turned down, and a single belt with three restraints lay across the middle. She didn’t wait for him to lay down, opting instead to push his body into position. Kristen secured the restraints, pulling straps tight around his waist and wrists, ensuring that he was snugly and securely restrained. "There," she said, giving the final strap a firm tug, "that should keep you from rubbing that little pee pee and making any extra messes in your diaper." Her words dripped with disdain. Once he was secured, she stared down at him for what to Jacob felt like at least ten minutes, just smirking. Finally, she reach down and grabbed directly at the crotch of his diaper, managing to grip his entire penis in the palm of her hand. Jacob groaned from behind his pacifier and pulled against his restraints but was powerless to stop her. She stared straight at him the entire time she squeezed as Jacob struggled to avoid meeting her gaze. Finally she relented. Kristen patted the front of Jacob’s diaper, a little too hard, almost smacking his dick through the padding. “Sweet dreams, baby dick.” She pulled the covers over his body and headed out of the room, stopping before she flicked off the lights. “Oh and if you shit yourself, don’t bother attempting to get our attention. We’re under strict orders to make you sit in it until morning.” She turned off the light and shut his door. In the darkness, Jacob silently sobbed, wondering when if this hell would really end or if this was his new reality. Part 5: In the morning, Jacob awoke to find Dr. Simmons sitting on his bed, his covers pulled off of him as her fingers lightly pressed against the diaper to gauge its condition. "Good morning, Jacob. It seems your diaper is quite saturated," she observed dryly. She then shifted the topic to his behavior from the previous day. "I need to talk to you about what happened yesterday," Dr. Simmons said, her tone turning more serious. "Your behavior was not acceptable. I was disappointed to learn that after setting you free from your restraints you acted in a way which warranted their reapplication." Her words were direct, leaving no room for ambiguity about her disapproval. Jacob gave her a blank look as he struggled to open his eyes, finding it difficult given his inability to wipe the sleep from them. The doctor retreated for a moment and returned with a warm washcloth. "Let's go over your behavior," she stated as she gently washed his face. The warmth of the cloth against his eyes was refreshing, but he wished she would release his pacifier and wash away the dried drool that had formed beneath it. "First, you attempted to manipulate your restraints with the intention to touch yourself inappropriately. You’ll find we have little tolerance for either. Your restraints are here to keep you safe, Jacob." She casually ran her finger over the restraint belt. "Then, your interaction with other patients was less than ideal. You must understand, Jacob, openness and honesty are key to overcoming delusions. Dodging questions about your incontinence only complicates your treatment and could deepen your delusion. And pretending to read? Honestly. Do you not know how? Or were you just being antisocial?" Someone had seen his mishap with the book orientation. Jacob wondered if there was anything that didn’t make it back to Dr. Simmons. Dr. Simmons' expression grew stern as she continued. "And the disrespect shown to Miss Kristen was unacceptable." Jacob struggled with her portrayal of the previous day's events, feeling a sense of injustice at her summary but with his pacifier firmly in place, there was little he could do to protest. Dr. Simmons shifted gears, her tone becoming more clinical as she stood and straighted her coat. "In light of these issues, I need to conduct further assessments to refine your treatment plan," she stated. “I want to see what how extreme your comorbid symptoms are. We will do the first assessment now, before breakfast so we only need to clean you up once" She gestured towards a large apparatus in the room, resembling an adult-sized baby bouncer. "We'll begin with this." Jacob's apprehension grew as he took in the sight of the contraption and tried to understand the implication of her words. Dr. Simmons methodically unbuckled the restraints around Jacob's hands and waist, each released strap bringing a mix of relief and growing apprehension. She carefully helped him into a sitting position, cradling him as she did until he was in more command of his body. Once he was sitting on his own strength, Dr. Simmons removed the pacifier that had been in Jacob's mouth for an extended period. The absence of the pacifier immediately ignited a dull ache in his jaw, both relief and exhaustion. Turning to the bedside table, she picked up a pixie cup containing a partially dissolved blue pill in water. This will help relax you," she informed Jacob as she handed him the cup. Jacob hesitated, wary of taking an unknown medication but feeling compelled by the circumstances. He reluctantly swallowed the pill. Dr. Simmons directed him to open his mouth and peered inside quickly, checking to confirm he hadn’t cheeked it, and then, without warning, she replaced the pacifier. His fleeting respite cut short; Jacob was once again silenced, coerced into sucking on the large bulb. Before placing him in the apparatus, Dr. Simmons revealed a pair of plastic pants she had brought in with her that morning. "I brought these incase you had pooped yourself,” she explained matter of factly, “but given the state of your diaper, I think they may still be warranted to prevent leaks.” She shook out the pants, which emitted a loud crinkling sound. "Step in," she instructed, holding them out and low to the ground. Jacob placed a hand on her shoulder to steady himself as he stood into the pants one leg at a time. Dr. Simmons pulled them up over his diaper, ensuring they fit snugly around his waist and thighs. The sensation of the plastic pants was unfamiliar to Jacob — tight and restrictive. “Oh,” she remarked, getting a good look at his thigh from this position. “I see Miss Kristen did not hold back with you.” A section of his outer thigh was a variety of shades of black and grey. “Hopefully, you learned your lesson.” She pulled out of the leg gathers around his leg and snapped it back so it pinged painfully into his bruised leg. “But somehow, I doubt it.” Dr. Simmons pointed Jacob toward the oversized baby bouncer. The seat, crafted from a sturdy yet flexible cloth, dangled from robust metal chains. Two leg holes gaped expectantly, waiting for Jacob. Dr. Simmons used a crank on the side to pull the cloth up through Jacob’s legs, until the seat snugly encased him as if it was yet another layer of diaper. But she didn’t stop there. She slowly lifted Jacob until his feet lost contact with the ground. In a reflex, he clutched at the chains, his heart racing with the fear of tipping over. He sucked against the pacifier rapidly out of reflex and need for oxygen. When she stopped cranking, his weight stretched at the flexible cloth until he could just feel the ground beneath the tips of his toes. But the contact only resulted in a gentle bounce, sending him oscillating in the air. This happened again and again, the rustling of his plastic pants the only sound in the room. Gradually, he got hold of the situation, using his arms to steady his body and stop the bouncing. Dr. Simmons tsked and with a steady hand, pried his fingers from the chains, signaling that he should let go. Reluctantly, he released his grip, and the bouncing returned as he struggled to steady himself. Jacob, now fully suspended and bouncing rhythmically, felt a growing awareness that in the confines of his diaper, his dick had hardened and was growing ever harder with each passing moment. It was more intense than any hard-on he’d ever had in his life, even rising to the point of being painful. He had never wanted to reach down and touch himself more. As Jacob bounced steadily and rhythmically in the apparatus, Dr. Simmons settled herself on the bed, her gaze fixed on him with clinical scrutiny. "Jacob," she called out, snapping her fingers to capture his attention. "Focus. This is an impulse control test. All you have to do avoid touching yourself or having any sexual release for fifteen minutes." She then set a timer on her phone, marking the start of the test. Jacob had heard unsettling tales about psychiatric institutions, but nothing had prepared him for this kind of treatment. The absurdity of his situation was overwhelming – bouncing in a diaper, pacifier in mouth, the loud crinkling of the plastic pants with each movement. They were increasingly treating him like a baby. He knew Dr. Martin would relish in knowing her involuntary hold had reduced him to this. She had always told his parents that they should treat him like a baby until he starts “at least trying to grow up.” Despite the absurdity of the test, Jacob was determined to pass. He did not understand why, in this environment, when his life depended on not being aroused, he simultaneously felt more turned on than he’d ever been in his life. He’d never wanted to rub his little nub more. Thankfully, he thought, the plastic pants, while noisy, did in fact offer their promised blessing – they created a barrier that reduced the direct friction of the cloth seat against him. The moist diaper also adhered closely to his skin, limiting movement and sensation. He focused intently on these physical barriers. Using them to suppress his arousal. Time ticked by slowly, each bounce driving him closer and closer to losing it. Jacob responded in turn, concentrating on the absence of sensations trying to distance himself from any physical response. As Jacob continued to bounce rhythmically, he grappled with the paradoxical dilemma of his situation. The minimal level of sensation from the damp diaper and the plastic pants was enough to maintain his erection, but not enough to provide any release. It was ideal for passing his test but he wanted to get off. He felt one squeeze of his hand and he could achieve that maximal pleasure. This continuous, low-grade stimulation, Jacob was certain, should be classified as a form of torture. Jacob’s erection seemed to grow more in response to the tease, possibly reaching a length he hadn't experienced before. The way he felt himself straining, he thought it could even be surpassing 2”. He tried to gauge how much time had passed, hoping he was at least halfway through the fifteen-minute ordeal. "Seven minutes, maybe more?" he thought. The constant bouncing, the reflex sucking of the pacifier filling his mouth, the sound of the crinkling plastic pants, the feeling of the diaper snuggling encapsulating his hard penis, rubbing gently. "No. I can make it," he reassured himself, shaking himself out of his stupor and clinging to the hope of enduring the test. Yet … What would happen once the fifteen minutes were up? Would his erection subside on its own, or would he be left in this state of unfulfilled arousal? The thought of Dr. Simmons denying him the opportunity to relieve himself seemed likely, given the strict control she maintained. He noticed that he had moved his hands to the top of the cloth and was tugging at it now, increasing the effects from the bouncing. He could feel the pressure building in his balls. He looked over at the doctor, but she didn’t make any remark about his actions. Jacob moved his hands lower and then back up again in a fight against his own will. He had to be close. What would she do if he made it the full 15 minutes but then gave in? Would he still pass? Dr. Simmons picked up her phone. Was it over? Had he made it? He couldn’t see the screen. “Three minutes, Jacob.” Three minutes to go? He could do three more minutes. “12 minutes left,” she added with a smile, seeming to read his thoughts. That couldn’t be right! It felt like an eternity had passed. He couldn’t endure this. All at once, he reached down and grabbed hold of the crotch of his swing, desperate to feel his hand through the cloth, the plastic, and the diaper. He didn’t care anymore. He rocked back and forth, his breath growing ragged and the sucking of his pacifier intensifying. He rubbed and pressed aggressively until he felt it, the sweet release. Jacob slumped into the bouncer as his cum slipped out of him, making his diaper slick. His dick, finally receding, saturated in his goo. He knew he had failed, but the relief had been the most intense he had ever felt. He continued to suckle on his pacifier, momentarily unconcerned about anything but his pleasure. Dr. Simmons glanced at her phone, then looked up at Jacob with a clinical, almost detached expression. "Three minutes and twenty seconds," she announced as she tucked her phone away. "That's quite a rapid failure for this test." Jacob remained silent, the pacifier still in his mouth rendering him unable to respond anyway. She methodically lowered the swing, extending her hand to assist Jacob in stabilizing himself as he dismounted. She then guided him to a nearby wheelchair, first pulling a sweatshirt over his head but pointedly leaving him without pants. Once he was seated, she secured his wrists in the wheelchair. "We'll clean you up after breakfast," she said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Until then, you can reflect on whether this behavior — climaxing in your diaper — is something you wish to persist with" He had never engaged in such behavior in front of someone else, yet he had just done so, at a time when self-restraint was critical. The realization prompted a flood of questions and doubts in his mind. Why had he acted this way? Was his perception of control merely an illusion? Maybe he was delusional. If he saw the world one way and everyone else another, who was he to argue? As Dr. Simmons wheeled Jacob into the common area for breakfast. The other patients, who seemed to be already finished and cleaning up before heading back to their rooms, turned to see who was arriving so late. There was immediate laughter as they caught sight of Jacob's diaper. Feeling the weight of their stares and jeers, Jacob's face flushed with embarrassment. “No way, he wet himself!” Anthony, who had taunted him the night before called out. “That is so gross,” a teen he didn’t remember seeing the night before added. “Why is he sucking on a pacifier?” He heard several whispers to the people. He wished he could disappear, to escape the humiliating spectacle he had become. Dr. Simmons leaned down to his ear, “Transparency, Jacob, there is no escaping reality.” She wheeled Jacob to where an orderly was waiting and then left him in his care. The orderly, a stern-faced man, took in his state and elected to remove the pacifier but not the restraints. Instead, he shovelled dry pancakes into Jacob’s mouth, barely giving Jacob time to chew before forcing a new bite into his face, clearly eager to finish this task. When he was done, the orderly left the table without ceremony and return with a baby bottle filled with water. Jacob's eyes widened in disbelief that he could even now be made to feel more infantile than he already did. He shook his head and tried to back away from nipple. “If I try to pour water into your mouth from a cup, it will just spill everywhere,” the orderly insisted. When Jacob still didn’t part his lips, the man tried a different tact. “Jacob, if you could keep your hands off your little pee pee you’d be able to feed yourself. Now open up before I change your diaper in front of the whole group.” His voice was low, using the threat of exposure to coerce Jacob’s cooperation. It worked. Jacob looked around to see that indeed, many of the other patients were lingering, watching openly, even though it was clear their breakfast had concluded. Reluctantly, Jacob parted his lips and accepted the nipple of the baby bottle. He sucked on it quickly, eager to finish the task and end the embarrassing ordeal. As Jacob drank from the baby bottle, he heard the renewed snickering from those around him, and his emotions surged to the surface. Tears began to trickle down his cheeks, a raw display of his vulnerability and distress. The orderly, observing Jacob's tears, showed a flicker of a softer expression amidst his otherwise stern demeanor. He continued to hold the bottle for Jacob, but with his free hand, he gave a mockingly gentle pat on the plastic pants covering Jacob's diaper. "Did you do a poopie in there, is that why you’re crying?" he asked, his voice dripping with condescension and feigned sympathy. Feeling cornered and humiliated, Jacob shook his head in denial while he kept drinking, focusing on finishing the water as fast as he could. The orderly eyed him skeptically, his expression one of doubt. "Like you would know if you did. But I don’t smell anything. Maybe it is just pee pee," he mused, almost to himself. "At any rate, I’ll change your diaper in a minute." After finishing his bottle, Jacob was ushered back to his room where the orderly combed through his hair and gave him a cursory brushing of his teeth. The routine was direct and no-nonsense as he released Jacob, not even waiting for him to stand but just scooping him and placing him on the changing table. The diaper change was fast. Jacob felt like a car getting its tire changed at the race track as he ripped one diaper off and slid another under him in a single movement. The usual care with wiping and applying rash cream was skipped, a fact that made Jacob internally wince. Diaper secured, the orderly presented Jacob with a choice. "I can put you in the spreader suit or I can restrain your hands just enough to keep you from rubbing your diaper area. Your choice." Jacob contemplated his options briefly before deciding on the hand restraints. It seemed a more manageable inconvenience. The orderly tossed him some sweatpants, similar to what other patients wore, and allowed Jacob to dress himself. Bottle aside, he was beginning to like this guy. He then fitted Jacob with a restraint collar, attaching leather straps around his wrists. The cuffs locked in place with soft clicks. It was awkward to have his hands dangling in mid air, pulling on his neck, but he quickly realized he could mitigate this by folding his hands and resting them against his stomach. It probably looked a little weird but was at least comfortable. "All set. Let’s go," he announced, leaving Jacob to follow him out of the room. They headed back to what Jacob recognized as Dr. Simmons' office. "Take a seat on the couch," the orderly directed, gesturing to the furniture. Jacob settled onto the couch. The diaper which had felt so thick less than 24 hours ago now felt freeing in comparison to the spreader suit. Dry, for once, it crinkled about as loud as the plastic pants had whenever he shifted in his seat, but he was feeling much better about himself in this moment than he had only an hour ago. It was amazing what a difference pants could make. The orderly lingered by the doorway, clearly unwilling to leave Jacob unattended but wanting to get on with his day. Jacob had ample opportunity to observe Dr. Simmons' office the previous day, yet now he viewed it with a fresh perspective, his mind less preoccupied by his physical discomfort. The walls were painted in calming shades of pale blue, each hue selected for its soothing effect. The couch, where he now sat, was generously sized, capable of accommodating someone much taller than himself. Jacob leaned over to grab one of the soft throw pillows scattered on the couch, drawing it close to his chest for a sense of security. Dr. Simmons entered the room just as Jacob had wrapped his arms around the pillow. "Now, now," she said sternly. "Let's put that back, Jacob." She didn't wait for him to comply but instead took the pillow from his grasp, setting it aside. "I'm surprised to see you so eager already," she remarked, her voice laced with a hint of mockery. "Stand up, let's assess the damage." Jacob, still uncertain of her intentions, complied. As he stood, it dawned on him that the pillow had been touching his diaper. “I wasn’t …” he started but then stopped when he remembered his exchange with the orderly the night before. Protests would get him in deeper trouble. Dr. Simmons, with an unnerving sense of purpose, pulled at the front of his sweatpants and the diaper beneath. She peered inside, tugging harder at the garments to stretch them out to their max. "Seems like you haven't gratified yourself, but I can’t see deep enough to tell if you have a little hard-on in there.” She probed the front of his diaper, causing the material to rustle loudly under her touch. "I can’t seem to find it," she mused and pulled her hand out from his sweatpants. She grasped his restraint collar tightly, holding him in place. “Just to be sure,” she drew her other hand back and slammed her palm into Jacob's groin. Jacob instinctively tryied to double over, but her grip was unyielding. She struck him repeatedly, each blow deliberate and measured. After the final hit, Dr. Simmons released her hold, and Jacob collapsed onto the couch, overwhelmed by the pain and shock. His arms, restricted by the restraints, hung limply by his side, offering no relief or comfort. "There," Dr. Simmons said coldly, a twisted satisfaction in her voice. “Now I’m satisfied you won’t be popping any more erections on me in this session.” Dr. Simmons, with a practiced air of professionalism, retrieved a laptop from her desk and positioned it on a small table in front of Jacob. "This assessment will be a bit different, Jacob," she said, her voice calm yet firm as she pulled a chair near them. "I’m going to do a verbal IQ test. I'll ask you a series of questions, and I'd like you to answer them to the best of your ability. Remember, this is just to gauge where you are cognitively. You can’t fail this test." She opened a program on the laptop, which displayed a list of questions, each designed to test Jacob's reasoning, comprehension, and problem-solving skills. The first question seemed straightforward enough, asking Jacob to complete a numerical sequence. But the numbers were arranged in a complex pattern. 15 30 90 70 10 30 55 __ Jacob furrowed his brow, trying to discern the pattern. "Um, is it... 105?" he guessed. Dr. Simmons offered no response, typing something into the laptop, and moved to the next question. Another string of numbers with no clear completion. As the test wore on, Jacob grew more frustrated with his inability to determine the patterns. “This is too hard!” Dr. Simmons smiled softly at him. “OK Jacob, let’s switch to a different test.” Dr. Simmons leaned forward, her expression unreadable. "Let’s move on to a new test," she began, her voice measured. "Envision, Jacob, an urban park's mosaic - a cacophony near traffic, a sylvan whisper, sun-drenched expanse, shadowed benches, a fragmented cityscape knoll. You're to align a quintet of fête elements: narrative circles, yogic oscillations, aural spectrums from sotto voce to folk vibrance, a mutable artisan bazaar, ambulatory ecological symposia. Amidst diurnal shifts, auditory needs, spatial whimsy, and audience caprice, overlay the park’s rhythmic pulse. How would you, in this tapestry of variables, ephemeral yet harmonious, align each for the tableau?" As Jacob listened, he felt a growing sense of confusion. The details were overwhelming, making it difficult to grasp the actual question. "I... I'm not sure what you're asking," he admitted, feeling a knot of frustration in his stomach. “What’s a knoll?” Dr. Simmons just moved on to the next question. Paying closer attention this time, Jacob was able to form a response he thought was at least on topic. With each subsequent question, Dr. Simmons maintained her clinical detachment, giving nothing away in her expression or tone. His answers were often guesses, and he frequently had to admit his inability to answer. When Dr. Simmons indicated it was time for the next test, Jacob felt mentally exhausted and doubting his own intelligence. Dr. Simmons pulled out a stack of cards. “Maybe this will be more to your speed.” She showed him the card. "Tell me what this is, Jacob," she instructed. The image was clear as day. Jacob couldn’t tell if he was annoyed by being asked to answer such a simple question or relieved to know he got one right. “A chair,” he said confidently. Dr. Simmons flipped card after card, Jacob was able to easily identify them but he noticed they were getting gradually more abstract. “England?” he respond to one. Others were sketches contorted like a Piccasso. “A cat?” By the end, he was just holding his head in his hands, barely looking and muttering, “I don’t know,” over and over. When the test was done, Dr. Simmons put away all the materials. “Well, that was certainly illuminating.” She stood in front of him and grabbed him by the collar until he was in a standing position. She reacher her hand down into his sweats again, feeling the weight of his diaper. “Soaked. You’ll need a change.” She dragged him behind her, keeping her hand on his collar. Back on the changing table, Jacob waited passively for his diaper change. When she peeled away the wet diaper and exposed his rash to the air, Jacob's hands twitched involuntarily towards his waist, but the restraints held them back, leaving him exposed with his knees splayed out. As Dr. Simmons applied rash cream, her touch was undeniably personal. She rubbed the cream over the head of his penis and he could feel himself growing hard. Jacob’s hands curled into fists, straining against the short cord, a physical manifestation of his discomfort and powerlessness. “Aww. Sometimes I forget you don’t really grow,” she remarked as continue to rub. When he was fully hard, she stopped, lifting his legs up and continue to apply the rash cream. Jacob felt her finger running over his asshole and then pushing inside him. The intrusion was startling, and Jacob’s whole body tensed. His hands jerked reflexively, but the restraints allowed for no meaningful movement, no way to shield himself or react to this invasive act. Finally, she secured the new diaper around him, the tapes fastening with a definitive sound that marked the completion of the humiliating procedure. Jacob lay there, freshly diapered, his hands still awkwardly restrained above him, a poignant symbol of his vulnerable and infantilized state. Dr. Simmons assisted him into his sweatpants, but the ritual had already underscored his complete dependence and the stark power imbalance in the room. After Dr. Simmons completed the changing, she glanced at her watch, a look of mild frustration crossing her face. "Group starts in 30 minutes. I have other matters to attend to, Jacob, but I can't leave you unsupervised," she said. She pressed a call button, and a few moments later, the door opened to reveal Miss Kristen. Jacob instinctively moved away, climbing off the table. Her entrance was marked by a smirk, her eyes lighting up with a hint of malice at the sight of Jacob in his current state. "Ah, babysitting duty again," Miss Kristen remarked sarcastically as Dr. Simmons quickly briefed her on the situation. "Don't worry, Doc, I'll make sure our little boy here doesn't get into any trouble." Once Dr. Simmons left, Miss Kristen turned her attention to Jacob. "I heard you were naughty today." She closed the gap to him and gripped his diaper. “Did you cum in your wet diaper? Could you not keep your hands off yourself?” Jacob looked away, unanswering. She grabbed his face, pulling it to look directly at her. “What did I tell you last night about answering people’s question?” Jacob opened his mouth to speak, but she put a finger over it, silencing him. Instead, she pulled his pacifier out of her pocked. “I grabbed this just in case. Maybe some quiet time will help you be a little more polite in your responses going forward.” She pushed the pacifier into his mouth. It was becoming a familiar sensation for Jacob. His tongue pressed on the bulb and sucked against it as she secured the straps behind his head. Miss Kristen maintained a firm grip on the back of Jacob's neck, assertively leading him out of his room. She guided him on an extensive walk through the facility's corridors, confidently steering him past various patient rooms and therapy areas. Jacob, hindered by the restraints connecting his hands to his collar and the pacifier in his mouth, shuffled along, the sound of his diaper rustling with each awkward step. The other patients, now accustomed to his predicament, barely glanced up as he passed, their indifference offering no solace. As they approached the group therapy room, Jacob was hit by a cramp in his intestines which answered the sensation by rumbling ominously. He tried to squirm out of Miss Kristen’s grasp and express his discomfort through muffled, desperate sounds. He widened his eyes with urgency, but his attempts to communicate were lost in translation. Miss Kristen looked at him with feigned concern. "Did you make a poopy?" she asked, her voice dripping with false sympathy. Without waiting for any further attempt at communication, she reached behind him, patting the back of his diaper intrusively. Finding no lumps, she peered inside the waistband. "Do know the story of the boy who cried wolf?" she warned. Feeling belittled and misunderstood, Jacob writhed uncomfortably as Miss Kristen ushered him into the therapy room. The space was already occupied by several other patients, some of whom he recognized from the previous night. Their reactions ranged from surprise to disdain. "Why's he in here?" one of them asked, their tone laced with disgust. "Dr. Simmons believes Jacob needs to understand his current functioning level, so she's starting him here," Miss Kristen explained with a patronizing pat on Jacob's diapered back. "But don't worry, he'll be moved to a more appropriate group tomorrow." Her words, meant to be reassuring to the others, only served to deepen Jacob's humiliation. Part 6 Jacob, his steps hesitant and shackled by fear more than by the restraints that bound his hands, was ushered by Miss Kristen's imperious grip towards an unoccupied chair amidst the circle. As he attempted the awkward maneuver of sitting with his arms restrained assistance, the rustling echo of his diaper resonated in the hollow space. The patients around him continued to stare with expressions that ranged from the morbidly curious to the overtly disdainful. The room, a pallid space with walls that seemed to absorb rather than reflect light, fell into a heavier silence as the last of the patients found their places. It was in this silence that Jacob's stomach chose to voice its own discomfort, a deep, guttural rumble that filled the room with an almost tangible presence. This involuntary betrayal elicited a smattering of snickers and contorted faces of disgust from his peers. Jacob, his cheeks burning with a mix of shame and suppressed anger kept his eyes cast to the floor, not wanting to see the looks on his peers' faces. The atmosphere shifted as the door opened once more, admitting Dr. Simmons into the room. As she moved to take her position in the circle, her eyes fleetingly met Jacob's, unreadable and leaving Jacob more unsettled. Miss Kristen, having completed her task of delivering Jacob, offered him a final, patronizing squeeze on the back of his neck. His stomach, as if in defiance of his desperate attempts at control, continued its audible protest. All the while, Jacob, his mouth silenced by the infantile pacifier, could only suckle on it in a rhythmic, mechanical motion as he tried to work through the periodic shots of pain from his intestines. Dr. Simmons cleared her throat, signaling the commencement of the session. "Today, we have a new addition to our group – Jacob," she announced, her hand gesturing towards him with a clinical detachment. "Jacob's presence here is an exercise to help him understand his current functioning level in comparison to others." Her voice, devoid of warmth yet not unkind, echoed in the high-ceilinged room, a space amplified by its sparse arrangement and hard surfaces, making her words all the more poignant and inescapable. "To help Jacob, I’d like each of you to briefly share three things: what's the highest grade or degree you've completed, when was the last time you remember wetting or pooping yourself, and have you ever been involved in any sexual activities that you think were wrong or inappropriate. Let’s start with you, Alex." Alex, a man in his mid-30s with a demeanor that oscillated between resignation and defiance, spoke without lifting his eyes from Dr. Simmons. "I have a Master's in Engineering," he began, his voice gruff but carrying a faint echo of past pride. "As for an accident, I can't really recall ever wetting myself. Maybe during potty training. And fuck, no, I never pooped my pants. I’m also not the type of crazy that goes around grabbing my dick in public or humping strange women." He shot a look at Jacob, eying him head to toe in the assumption that Jacob was exactly that type of crazy. Following him, a young woman, her voice tinged with a timidity that suggested a desire to disappear and go unheard, shared her narrative. "I just graduated high school last year," she said giving a brittle laugh. "I probably had accidents like that when I was a toddler? I wouldn’t do anything inappropriate." Her voice cracked and she blushed at the mere thought of saying the word ‘sex.’ Each patient round the room went on recounting their academic achievements and personal histories. The stories varied, with many boasting college degrees but a few holding only a simple high school diploma. The common thread emerged – a unanimous denial of recent accidents or inappropriate sexual behavior. Meanwhile, Jacob, absorbed in his own physical discomfort, was only half listening to the others’ stories. He felt no embarrassment about his education, actually finding solace in the fact that others also hadn’t pursued college. He was aware of the exaggerations in Dr. Simmons' portrayal of his continence and found her assertions about his lack of sexual control to be unjust and misleading. Even if the group's words had the potential to embarrass him, Jacob was far more preoccupied with the events inside his body, which posed a much greater risk of humiliation. His hands, hindered by the restraints, tugged futilely as he sought to soothe the cramps that wracked his abdomen. But as the urgency of his body's needs grew, the location of its inevitable release decreased in relevance until it was a trivial concern in the face of his overwhelming discomfort. Dr. Simmons, her attention undivided, absorbed each patient's testimony, seemingly oblivious to Jacob's increasing distress. Her nods were measured, her expression unreadable. The air in the room seemed to congeal as Jacob’s turn approached. Jacob felt the collective gaze of the group shift towards him and wondered for a moment if Dr. Simmons expected him to try to speak through the pacifier. Instead, she stood, directing the room's attention back to her. "As you can see, Jacob has lost the privilege of talking," Dr. Simmons stated, her tone almost pedagogical in its clarity. The pacifier in Jacob's mouth became a focal point in the room as Jacob. Just as the eyes of the room settled upon him, Jacob could not hold back any longer and inadvertently let a fart slip. The sound, despite being muted somewhat by his diaper, sparked a wave of juvenile giggling among the patients, a momentary lapse into childishness even from those with the most advanced degrees. Clearing her throat to restore order, Dr. Simmons continued her exposition, "If Jacob could talk right now, he’d tell us several lies. First, he’d tell you he has a high school diploma.” Jacob’s eyes widened in disbelief. He did possess a diploma, a fact as real to him as the restraints that bound him. “Well,” Dr. Simmons pressed on, now pacing around the circle with the poise of a predator circling its prey. She paused behind Jacob, her hands descending onto his shoulders with a weight that felt like the burden of judgment. “I can tell you that after a careful test this morning, I discovered Jacob’s IQ makes it highly unlikely that he graduated high school. In fact, he’s more than a standard deviation below all of you. So, I made a phone call.” Jacob, his body tensing under her touch, could only look up in a mix of confusion and dawning fear. His cramps, momentarily forgotten, were replaced by a gnawing sense of betrayal. “It turns out that Jacob has a special education diploma, not a real high school diploma. It’s essentially a participation trophy." The room, previously alight with immature laughter, shifted into a hushed pity and condescension as the group realized Jacob must have harbored his delusions for a long time. Jacob, his mind racing to reconcile Dr. Simmons's words with his own fragmented memories, felt an overwhelming sense of isolation. The pacifier in his mouth, once a mere tool to punish him for failing to acknowledge what they called reality, now seemed a fitting emblem of his silenced and discredited existence. The revelations, each more damning than the last, fell from Dr. Simmons's lips with a clinical dispassion that lent them a veneer of irrefutable truth. "Jacob would also tell you he doesn’t engage in sexually inappropriate behavior," she continued. "And yet, he grew hard during a doctor’s exam, masturbated in a poopy diaper in front of his intake orderlies and then again in front of me this morning albeit the diaper was only wet this time." She smiled at her own joke and the room smiled with her. Dr. Simmons let this comment hang in the air for a moment and then shifted her grasp to Jacob's restraint collar. With a sharp, upward jerk, she compelled him to his feet. The suddenness of her action startled Jacob, causing another involuntary release of gas. To his horror, this time something more than air escaped him, the slimy sensation unmistakable against his skin, trapped within the confines of his diaper. "Yesterday, he even managed to attempt escaping his restraints and would have succeeded if Kristen hadn’t caught him in the act. That is just his behavior in the last 24 hours." Her words sculpted an image of Jacob that was counter to everything he thought he was, someone who had lived normal everyday life just with thin diapers to protect from his simple urinary incontinence. That was a life that now felt as distant and unattainable as a dream long faded into the mists of forgotten memory. Dr. Simmons yanked him by the collar, dragging him into the center of the circle. As he stumbled forward, he lost control again. More sludge slipping out of him before he managed to clamp his asshole closed. A faint odor was now permeating the air. It was mild enough to be mistaken for mere gas, but Jacob knew he would not be able to hide what was happening much longer. "Finally, he’d insist that pooping his diaper doesn’t make him incontinent. But Jacob, as you’ve surely gleaned from everyone else’s accounts, people who are not incontinent do not have accidents in their pants.” With a swift, almost theatrical motion, she whisked down Jacob's sweatpants to his ankles, prompting him to step out of them. “Jacob, I believe delusions are best confronted with radical transparency. Eleanor, please tell me what you observe.” Eleanor, a patient with a sharp, analytical gaze, responded without hesitation. “I see a man in a wet diaper,” she stated, her voice devoid of emotion, as if she were reciting a simple fact. Dr. Simmons, her attention now fully on Jacob, asked in a tone that brooked no evasion, “Jacob, is this correct? Did you wet your diaper?” Jacob, his intestines churning in a silent scream of impending release, could only nod, the pressure building inexorably within him. She walked in tight circles around him. “Jacob, no one else here has wet a diaper since they were a toddler. Will you admit that you are urine incontinent?” Dr. Simmons pressed further. Again, Jacob nodded, a groan muffled by his pacifier, his hands tugging futilely at his restraints. He felt a small, semi-solid mass push through his hole, a harbinger of the inevitable. “Good. Now, do you also admit to being fecal incontinent? This means you can’t control when you poop yourself.” Jacob, this one point of pride the only thing left to cling to, shook his head no, despite the evident skepticism and disappointment mirrored in the faces around him. “I see. So the sounds we’ve been hearing are not because you’re unable to control yourself?” Jacob shook his head no, but the action was accompanied by a doubling-over as the pain from another cramp hit him. “And then I suppose you’re not about to helplessly poop your diaper?” Dr. Simmons's voice, tinged with a hint of finality, seemed to echo ominously in the room, as Jacob faced the looming reality of his situation. Doubled-over, Jacob’s balance faltered, hindered by the restraints. In a desperate attempt to avoid falling forward, he leaned back, but this only caused him to lose his footing completely. He awkwardly collapsed backward, first squatting and falling heavily on his padded bottom, the mess that had already escaped him spreading throughout his diaper. All the while the sound and sensation of his body losing its battle were unmistakable, filling his diaper in a helpless surrender to his physiological needs. Driven by a primal need for relief, Jacob instinctually tried to lift himself onto his knees, a feat made awkward by his inability to use his hands. Collapsing forward onto his elbows, his exposed position left nothing to the imagination as he continued to loudly and uncontrollably fill his diaper, the sensation of his mess looking for space to spread out and the way it coated his diaper and skin was all consuming. The initial semi-solid release soon gave way to more substantial, solid matter. He was unable to stop himself from straining, the physical effort evident as each new wave pressed relentlessly against the confines of his diaper, a distressing reminder of his body's relentless need to expel everything within. As the ordeal finally came to an end and Jacob emptied completely, a new wave of consciousness washed over him - an acute awareness of the audience that had witnessed his degradation. The room, which had been filled with a stunned silence, was abruptly broken by Alex's reaction. “Oh fuck,” Alex exclaimed, the words slicing through the heavy air as he rose to open a window. His voice, tinged with disgust, added insult to Jacob's injury, “That’s rank, dude. You are so pathetic.” “Now, Alex,” Dr. Simmons corrected. “That’s unhelpful.” Jacob, still grounded in his humiliating position, lifted his gaze to Dr. Simmons. He was propped awkwardly on his elbows. In his heart, he clung to a faint hope that her intervention was to shield him from further ridicule, but her next words shattered that illusion. “Be specific, Alex. Why is he pathetic?” Alex, having returned to his seat after his brief foray to the window, replied with a blunt assessment. “He totally just lost control while claiming he’s capable of holding it in.” “I agree, Alex, it is indeed ironic,” Dr. Simmons responded, giving a small mirthful “hmp” to show her amusement. Bending down, Dr. Simmons grasped Jacob's collar once more, hauling him to his feet with a firm tug. Standing unsteadily, Jacob felt the weight of his soiled condition as the diaper drooped and tugged on his hips, some of the mess peeling away from his skin to fall into the seat of the diaper. “Jacob, I ask you again, can you control when you poop yourself?” She posed the question as her other hand delivered a firm smack to the seat of his diaper, ensuring he was acutely aware of his own mess as if he could have forgotten. Jacob shook his head. Tears welled up in his eyes, breaking through his façade of stoicism as he sobbed, his gaze fixed on the floor. It was only when a round of applause erupted from the room that he dared to look up. “Very good, Jacob. That’s a major breakthrough,” Dr. Simmons declared, her hand rubbing his bottom while maintaining a firm grip on his collar. Jacob stood there, torn between feelings of revulsion and a perverse sense of comfort from the contact, his emotions as muddled and complex as the situation he found himself in. The applause, meant to be encouraging, felt more like a mocking chorus, underscoring the depth of his degradation in front of his peers. "Unfortunately, delusions are stubborn," Dr. Simmons went on, her eyes scanning the faces before her. "We have a narrow window during which Jacob is able to see reality, to confront and overcome the root causes of his delusions. They will return quickly, and once they do, we'll have to dismantle them all over again. Our goal is to help Jacob address the underlying reasons for these delusions while he is rooted in reality, in the hopes that they may eventually subside completely." She paused, allowing her words to settle in the minds of her audience. "I would like to hear from all of you about why you think Jacob might be clinging to these delusions," she proposed, turning the session into a group analysis of Jacob's psyche. Alex, still clearly unsettled by the prevailing smell, couldn’t resist voicing his discomfort. "Can't we change his diaper first?" His voice, laced with a mix of complaint and disgust, was emphasized by his pinched nose. "If we stop to change him now, we might lose this critical window of opportunity. Besides, his current state provides a sensory experience that reinforces the reality of his condition, making it harder for him to deny what has happened." At this, Marcus, who had been relatively quiet, chimed in with a renewed sense of urgency, likely motivated by the desire to move the session forward and alleviate the unpleasant odor. "Maybe he’s afraid to admit how little power he has? He struggles with learning, can't control his basic bodily functions. And it’s not like he’s going to make any real money since he’s so … simple. He has no hope." “Good insight, Marcus. Let's explore that further. Money is one aspect, but what else might Jacob feel powerless to attain?” Dr. Simmons encouraged, guiding the discussion deeper. Elaine, a woman Jacob recognized from the previous night, added her perspective. "He’ll never have a romantic partner. A girlfriend, or a boyfriend, if that’s his preference." "That's an interesting angle, Elaine," Dr. Simmons noted with eagerness in her voice. “Jacob, do you desire a romantic relationship? Do you find the idea of having a girlfriend appealing?” Jacob, still tearful and hindered by his pacifier, gave a small, ashamed nod in response. “Let’s explore this. Elaine, why do you think a romantic relationship might be challenging for Jacob?” Dr. Simmons prodded further. "Because women want a man who exudes strength and confidence, someone who can take control. They don’t generally look for someone who... lacks self-sufficiency,” Elaine replied, pulling back her punch at the end. An older woman in the group interjected, “Not all women want that.” Elaine doubled down. “Even so, it's hard to imagine any woman wanting a partner who might lose control of their basic bodily functions without warning.” The older woman appeared to concede the point. Jacob didn’t bother to look up as the conversation took place around him, voices hitting him from all angles. Alex, always ready with a joke, chimed in, “He could hire a professional.” Marcus, quick to link back to his earlier point, added, “And that circles back to the issue of money, which he doesn't have.” Dr. Simmons stepped in now, stopping the conversation from getting away from the previous point. "Let's not move on too quickly. Even if Jacob had the means to hire a professional, it doesn't address the core need he might be seeking in a relationship. Raj, what are your thoughts?" She guided Jacob to face Raj and lifted his head with a simple finger under his chin, a man who appeared slightly older than Jacob. He sighed, a sense of resignation in his expression, knowing the direction Dr. Simmons was steering the conversation. “True intimacy isn't always about sexual connections,” Raj stated dryly as he recited the lesson he was supposed to be learning in his private sessions with the doctor. “Can Jacob experience true intimacy?” Dr. Simmons pressed on, her inquiry sharp and purposeful. Nadia, the older woman who had contributed earlier, spoke up again, prompting Dr. Simmons to turn Jacob towards her. “Intimacy isn't just physical closeness. It's about care and understanding. Even something as personal as being helped with his diapers can be an intimate experience.” “Precisely, Nadia,” Dr. Simmons affirmed. “Jacob could find a form of intimacy through his unique needs. How might that manifest in his life?” Elaine, eager to please the doctor, shifted her pessimistic tone and suggested, “Perhaps a professional caregiver might be the answer. Someone funded by state assistance, possibly. They could provide the necessary care, including changing his diapers, and even offer comfort and affection.” Nadia elaborated on the idea, “Yes, like a maternal figure, someone who offers nurturing and support.” Dr. Simmons, seizing upon the emerging theme, proposed a practical exercise. “Let's visualize this scenario. How would a maternal caregiver interact with someone in Jacob's situation, someone who is still in diapers like a baby?” Her words were leading, painting Jacob as a child rather than a disabled adult. Catching on, Alex’s face morphed from disgust into a sly grin. "Well, she'd probably have him sit right on her lap, wouldn’t she? Just like a little toddler," he said, the words hanging in the air with a mix of sarcasm and revenge. "Let's explore that idea." Dr. Simmons tugged Jacob along with her as she made her way back to her seat. Gently but firmly, she pulled down on Jacob's collar, guiding him until he had awkwardly positioned himself on her lap. Jacob positioned himself sideways, one leg dangled off the side of the chair while the other was bent, resting awkwardly against her. Dr. Simmons, ensuring his stability, wrapped one arm around his waist. Her other hand, seeking a secure grip, move between his legs to cup the side of his diapered bottom. This placement of her hand, coupled with her arm around his waist, helped to hold him firmly in place. Jacob’s head rested against her shoulder. His arms, still bound by the restraints at his collar, were confined close to his body, adding to his sense of restricted movement and vulnerability in this unnervingly intimate position. "There you go, lay your head on my chest. That's it," she instructed, her tone softening slightly as she reached around to support him. Her hand, rubbing in circles around the side of his bottom and occasionally moving between his legs, almost fondling him, held him in place and ensured he would get no relief from the feel of his mess against his skin. Her actions spread the content further. Jacob felt certain his genitals were thouroughly caked. No one else seemed to realize what she was doing, that she was touching him as she would call inappropriately. Jacob supposed they really saw him as not more than a child and such a touch therefore not sexual in nature. Alex continued, “You said he needs to remember his limitations, this caretaker, she could bounce him on her knee so he’s hyper aware of what’s in his diaper and doesn’t slip back into delusion.” "You're right, Alex. It's important for Jacob to remain aware of his limitations," she said, acknowledging the practicality behind the idea. She moved her hand out from between his legs, pulling both legs in together. As she held him more secure on her lap, she bounced Jacob gently on her knees, her toes flexing rapidly to create the necessary motion. This movement caused Jacob to shift uncomfortably, the contents of his diaper moving around and finding new areas of his diaper and skin to saturate with each bounce. Jacob felt the mess might blow out the top at any moment. He supposed it was effective at its expressed goal, to keep him grounded in the reality of his situation. As the bouncing continued, Dr. Simmons prodded the discussion forward. "Now, let's consider the reciprocal nature of intimacy. Jacob will also want to offer intimacy. Given his limitations, how might he express this?" Jacob buried his head into Dr. Simmons' neck. His desire to dissociate from the conversation was palpable, yet the constant motion made it impossible. It was Nadia who ventured the next suggestion, her voice calm yet audacious. "Breastfeeding," she proposed brightly, uttering the words as though they were the most natural thing in the world. Dr. Simmons, recognizing the psychological implications of such an idea, responded, "Very astute, Nadia." At her acknowledgment, Jacob jerked his head up in shock and disbelief. Dr. Simmons quickly addressed Jacob's reaction. "No, Jacob, not here. That would be inappropriate in this setting," she chided him gently, as though reprimanding a child. Jacob fumed silently but could only suck back on his pacifier at the implication that he wanted her to breastfeed him at all, much less at that moment, in public. Shifting from the bouncing motion, Dr. Simmons began to rub Jacob's bottom once more, her hand again between his legs, occasionally stopping this time squeeze and press, pointedly finding his anus, testicles, and tiny shaft. "Before we wrap up for the day, or at least before we conclude with Jacob, let's consider strategies to help Jacob stay connected to reality for as long as possible. Does anyone have suggestions?" Alex was once again eager to dole out a new humiliation. "Jacob should wear a mirror on his chest," he suggested. "That way, every time he looks down, he's confronted with his own reflection." Nadia shook her head. "He’s not delusional about his face. He should document his daily failures in a log that he wears around his neck instead. Then, when he looks down, he'll be faced with reality." Marcus, leaned in, sounding unconvinced. "And what about his other delusions? He needs continual oversight. Assign someone to shadow him, narrating his actions in real-time." Dr. Simmons, listening intently to each proposal, nodded thoughtfully while holding Jacob against her. She could feel his sobbing against her shoulder now and wondered if she were to take his pacifier out if he might actually replace it with his thumb, but it was still too soon. He had much farther to go. "These are interesting ideas," she acknowledged. Turning her attention to Jacob, she spoke softly, giving soft pats to his diaper just over his balls. "You've heard your peers' perceptions and their ideas for your treatment. Now you know how others can see you require external cues to monitor your behavior because you can’t monitor yourself. I agree." Dr. Simmons gently helped Jacob off her lap and stood up. "While I like the idea of 24/7 monitoring, it’s not practical. We will go with Nadia’s suggestion." She then took Jacob by the collar and led him towards the opened window where a metal folding chair sat. As he walked, Jacob felt like he was back in the spreader pants, his legs now forced wide from the hardening mass inside his diaper. From her file cabinet, Dr. Simmons retrieved a pair of large headphones and a pad of paper. Placing the pad on the windowsill, she gestured for Jacob to sit. The cold metal of the chair bit into his thighs, and the mess pressing against him almost ceasing to bother him any more except in how the mass raised him on the seat, forcing him to leaning forward. Dr. Simmons, observing Jacob's discomfort, remarked, "My, this is so thick," as she patted the front of his diaper, feeling the firmness created by the mixture of fluids. She linger for a moment, imagining his little pee pee still readily dripping more into the diaper, helplessly filling it and keep the mess mushy beneath him. Before her reverie became apparent to all she caught hold of herself, shaking herself back to the moment. She grabbed hold of the outside of Jacob’s pacifier ring, bringing his gaze up to meet hers. "Jacob, for the rest of the group, you will document your reality today," she instructed. "You will write about your struggle during the IQ test, how with only the tiniest stimulation to your little pee pee, you came in your wet diaper. You will acknowledge the lie that you have a high school diploma and are continent in anyway. You will not have your diaper changed until I am satisfied that you have truly written down every detail of your reality. Then, as Nadia suggested, you will wear this record around your neck as a constant reminder." She unfolded the headphones. "These will help you focus and avoid distractions while we continue with the group." She placed the headphones over his ears and Jacob was enveloped in silence, cut off even from the ambient sounds of the room. He was left in a soundless world, isolated in his own thoughts. Before him, Dr. Simmons held out a single chubby pencil for him to use to write his log, ensuring his script would appear childish. Throughout the remainder of the session, Jacob didn't look up at the group. Instead, he focused on writing with the thick pencil provided, detailing what Dr. Simmons had termed his 'reality.' He wrote painstakingly, each word a step further away from the life he had known. It had only been 24 hours since he first entered Dr. Martin’s office, but it felt like an eternity. As he wrote, Jacob questioned the very fabric of his reality, unsure if he was emerging from a haze of delusion or descending into one. If you are enjoying this story, know that I have promised that all of this story will make it onto this site and I intend to do that but it will always be behind when I post on patreon. My patreon has other stories and now captions which are all deviations on a similar theme of diapered men being debased, degraded, and humiliated. The majority of the content does not get posted to this site. patreon.com/user?u=7664738

There were no clocks in the office, so Jacob had no idea how long it had actually been. He just sat, sucking on his pacifier, trying to hold still, wishing the slime from his orgasm would absorb or dry in the diaper. Instead, he felt it moving through the mass, settling slowly among the muck under his balls. After what felt like an eternity, the door opened and the lead psychiatrist, Dr. Simmons, entered. She was a stern-looking woman, her face set in an expression that mixed professionalism with a hint of disdain. Her eyes quickly appraised Jacob's condition. There was a flicker of disapproval as she noted the state he was in and the pungent odor that filled the room. She flipped through her file, her voice crisp. “Delusions of continence, I see,” she remarked, casting a critical eye over Jacob. Jacob tried to groan a protest through his pacifier, his eyes pleading for her to remove it, but she continued unabated. “We’ll discuss your perspective when I deem it appropriate. For now, I need to understand your delusions in their full context,” she said, pacing slowly around the wheelchair. She paused, her gaze sharpening. “The orderlies reported that you displayed overt sexual behavior. Humping your diaper in a public setting. Hmm. It’s been a while since we’ve had a patient exhibiting such… uninhibited tendencies. Usually an indicator of low intelligence,” she mused, her tone clinical yet carrying an edge of something more. Dr. Simmons leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Your lack of self-awareness is quite remarkable, Jacob. We’ll certainly have to work on that.” Her words were carefully measured, each one designed to dissect his behavior and lay bare his vulnerabilities. “Now, I’m going to unstrap you so we can engage in a little exercise. Do you promise not to fight me if I unhook you from this chair?” Jacob nodded emphatically. Dr. Simmons methodically unstrapped him and guided him into a standing position. Jacob felt a momentary relief, a fleeting sense of freedom as he felt strength return to his limbs. But it was short-lived. Without a word, Dr. Simmons reached for the seat of his diaper. Jacob opened his mouth to protest, but a sharp "Shh!" from Dr. Simmons silenced him. She was thorough in her inspection, her fingers pressing into the diaper, feeling its heaviness and the extent of its contents. Her face remained impassive, but her eyes, cold and calculating, seemed to take in every detail. She unclipped the belt of the straight jacket that ran through Jacob’s legs and the diaper drooped from its weight, the center sagging half way down his thighs. Pushing the jacket up slightly, Dr. Simmons pulled out the front of the diaper slightly, peering inside. A smirk, tinged with mockery, briefly danced across her lips as she took in the size of Jacob's genitals. Jacob's cheeks flamed with shame. Dr. Simmons then checked the back of the diaper, her fingers probing, assessing the mess within. “Phew, for not being incontinent, your diaper is certainly rank, Jacob,” she laughed. Finally, she stepped back and, without a word, she guided Jacob in front of a full-length mirror. The reflection that greeted him was a man stripped of his pride, standing with his body encased in a bulky diaper that was visibly soiled, the outside of the diaper tinged black. Dr. Simmons stood behind him, her reflection an imposing figure of authority. She didn’t need to say anything; the mirror said it all. Jacob was forced to confront the reality of his situation, the physical manifestation of his deepest fears and vulnerabilities laid bare for him to see. Dr. Simmons pressed her hand into the dense mass within Jacob's diaper, her voice taking on a deliberately slow and exaggerated tone, as if addressing a young child. "Now, Jacob, let's try to understand your world a bit better, okay?" she began, her words dripping with a condescending tone. "First, just nod your head like this if you understand me." Jacob, watched her through the mirror as she demonstrated what it meant to nod, as if he was simple. Feeling a mix of indignation and helplessness, he complied. "Good boy," Dr. Simmons said patronizingly. "Nodding like that means yes. Now, shake your head like this." Again, Jacob followed her instruction. "Very good, Jacob! Shaking your head means no," Dr. Simmons exclaimed with feigned enthusiasm, patting the diaper as if congratulating a toddler. "Now, tell me, is there poop in your diaper right now?" Her voice was slow and deliberate, as though she doubted his ability to comprehend. With a reluctant nod, Jacob confirmed. "And did you make that poop in your diaper?" she continued, her tone implying that this was a significant question. Another nod from Jacob. Dr. Simmons nodded, her tone soft yet dripping with insinuation. "Alright, so you do grasp some basic facts. Now, let's delve deeper. Do you constantly wet your diaper, much like a baby does?" Jacob nodded again, his cheeks burning with shame under her scrutinizing gaze. "And how about pooping? Do you also lose control and poop your diaper like a little baby?" Her voice was almost singsong, overly sweet, and patronizing. This time, Jacob shook his head vigorously, eager to assert some semblance of control and maybe gain her attention to listen to him. Dr. Simmons leaned back, a knowing smile curling her lips. "Ah, there we have it. The delusion reveals itself." Her tone suggested triumph, as if she had uncovered a great truth, further emphasizing her perception of Jacob's diminished capacity. Dr. Simmons maneuvered Jacob gently back into the wheelchair, noticing his grimace as he settled onto the cushion. She chose not to reapply any restraints, a small act of mercy. She then squatted down to his level, locking her eyes with his. "Jacob, you'll be here for the next 72 hours," she began, her tone serious yet not unkind. "Our goal is to help you accept reality, to ensure you can live independently without harming yourself or others with your delusions. However, I must be honest with you. I suspect you might have an undiagnosed intellectual limitation, and combined with the challenging nature of treating delusions, it's a tough road ahead." She paused for a moment, weighing her words. "Now, I'm torn. On one hand, I'm curious to hear your explanation for the state you're in, especially sitting in your own mess. On the other, the smell is quite unpleasant. So, I've compromised. I've signaled for an orderly to clean you up and you will have until they arrive to explain yourself." With a gentle motion, she unfastened the strap from his mouth. Jacob stretched his jaw, a wave of relief washing over his face. "Speak now, Jacob. How do you explain your poopy diaper?" Dr. Simmons urged, her expression a mix of clinical curiosity and skepticism. Jacob, feeling the urgency and pain in his mouth, scrambled to make his case. "Dr. Martin, she's responsible... I was restrained... No choice... Maybe a suppository..." His words tumbled out in a hurried, jumbled mess, sounding more frantic than coherent. The words “responsible,” “restrained,” and “suppository” tumbled out more like “respable,” “restained,” and “supitory” as his mouth and tongue struggled to cooperate after being restrained for so long. Even Jacob thought he sounded like a lunatic who had only a minimal command of the English language, but he pressed on in desperation. Just as he was getting into the crux of his story, an orderly entered the room. Dr. Simmons swiftly interrupted Jacob, pushing the pacifier back into his mouth. "I see," she said, a hint of disappointment in her voice. "We'll discuss this further later." Turning to the orderly, she instructed firmly, "Please change him and make him comfortable. He can be released from restraints, but follow standard protocols for chronic masturbators in his care." As Jacob was wheeled away, he was left with a mix of emotions - relief from being unbound, frustration at being cut off, and a lingering sense of helplessness under Dr. Simmons' clinical gaze. The orderly, a considerate man whose demeanor was softer than those who had escorted Jacob earlier, navigated the wheelchair smoothly through the corridors. The fluorescent lights hummed softly overhead, their glow sterile yet steady. Jacob, his emotions a tumultuous mix after his session with Dr. Simmons, remained silent, his thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and fear. Sensing Jacob's unease, the orderly offered a gentle smile, his voice calm and soothing. "Don't worry, we'll take good care of you," he assured. His pity was evident, yet in Jacob's current state, it felt somewhat comforting. Upon reaching a private room, purposefully equipped for comprehensive patient care, the orderly maneuvered Jacob into the adjacent bathroom, designed for easy wheelchair access. He carefully lifted Jacob, transferring him from the wheelchair to a specially designed bath chair in the tub. Methodically, he removed Jacob's straight jacket, leaving Jacob sitting only in his diaper with the pacifier still strapped into his mouth. The orderly allowed Jacob a brief moment to stretch his arms before instructing him to stand. With Jacob standing, awkwardly balanced in the confines of the tub, the orderly unfastened the soiled diaper, letting it drop with a thud. He swiftly folded it to mitigate the odor and placed it aside. As he turned on the water, adjusting it to a warm, comfortable temperature, he used a handheld shower nozzle to gently cleanse Jacob. Jacob blushed at the sight of the murky water swirling down the drain. The orderly's touch was gentle and respectful, even as he approached Jacob's penis, though Jacob detected an expression of pity as the man lifted his penis to clean under it and moved his foreskin to ensure all the excrement was gone from his body. Jacob stiffened reflexively under his touch but the man finished quickly and didn’t make any remark. "All clean now," he stated, sympathetically. Once Jacob was thoroughly cleaned, he moved to the main room where a changing table stood near a simple twin bed. A small trail of drips marked their path, but the orderly reassured Jacob, his tone kind and patient. "It's alright, accidents happen. Let's get you comfortable," he said as he applied diaper cream to treat the rash caused by the prolonged soiled diaper, followed by a dusting of powder. Gently lifting Jacob, the orderly placed him on a fresh, bulky diaper and secured it snugly. His demeanor remained caring as he helped Jacob off the table, complimenting him on his cooperation. Next came a specially designed garment, which appeared to be a jumpsuit. As Jacob stepped into it, he noticed the peculiar design – it subtly forced his legs apart, a stiff padding serving as a separator. The material was firm but not uncomfortable, designed to prevent self-touching without causing discomfort. The orderly zipped it up from the back, and Jacob heard the definitive click of a lock securing the zipper in place, a measure clearly intended for patients with tendencies to touch themselves inappropriately. The orderly stepped back, his professional demeanor unbroken. "Now, it's quiet time. You'll be informed when it's time for group activities," he explained. As he cleaned the floor and retrieved the jacket and dirty diaper from the bathroom, Jacob made muffled sound behind his gag and finally stepped towards the orderly as he tried to leave. He noticed that even with his legs spread, forcing him into a waddle, the plastic of the diaper still crinkled loudly with each step. The added noise drew the orderly's attention back. Jacob gestured towards the pacifier, miming a request for its removal. The orderly paused. "I suppose Dr. Simmons didn't say this needed to be kept in," he mused, setting down the garments and gently removing the pacifier. "But remember, any loud disturbances, and it goes back in. Don’t make me regret it," he cautioned, placing the pacifier within reach on the changing table. With that, the orderly left the room, leaving Jacob to his thoughts, now unencumbered by the gag, yet still confined within the restrictive jumpsuit and unsure about what new humiliations might lay ahead. This is only the second half of part 3. Another ~6000 words (parts 4 and 5) are in the full post here patreon.com/user?u=7664738. I intend to release all of this story here, but they will come a week or more after releases to patreon. I have other stories going on paterio as well that will not appear here. I write nearly exclusively about women dominating a man over the age of 18 and this inevitably involves the inclusion of diapers for the purposes of control and humiliation.

Jacob's heart hammered against his ribcage. The sterile room, once just cold and clinical, now felt like a prison cell closing in on him. Dr. Martin's words echoed in his ears, "72-hour psychiatric hold." It wasn't just the words but the way she said them, clinical, detached, as if she were discussing the weather instead of a man's freedom. He shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper, "No, I'm not crazy. I just... I can't..." But his protests were drowned in the ocean of the doctors’ indifference. The door opened, and two orderlies entered, their demeanor markedly different from the sterile professionalism Jacob would have hoped for. There was a barely concealed smirk on their faces, a glint of amusement in their eyes. They seemed to relish the task ahead, the opportunity to parade an adult man in a diaper out in public. “This is the delusional incontinent?” one asked Dr. Martin. “Yep, that’s him. Thinks he’s perfectly fine living in his own filth or doesn’t know the difference. I’m not really sure. Hopefully you lot can sort it out.” Jacob's eyes darted from the orderlies to the doctors, a silent plea for understanding that went unheeded. The orderlies approached Jacob, their movements practiced and efficient. One of them pulled out a pair of soft cuffs. Jacob's breath hitched in his throat. "You can't do this," he stuttered, but his words were lost in the unfolding action. As they reached for his wrists, Jacob instinctively recoiled, his back pressing against the examination table, the thin paper under him tearing as he kicked his legs trying to squirm out of their grasp. Jacob’s thick diaper crinkled loudly under him. He felt its bulk between his legs, the way it forced his thighs apart, a physical symbol of his loss of autonomy. The orderlies had no trouble subduing him despite his protests. Grasping each of Jacob's wrists, they fastened the cuffs securely, ensuring they were tight enough to prevent escape. The two orderlies easily lifted him onto a gurney, attaching each cuff to the mattress, adding the waist belt to keep him from arching his back and flipping the entire gurney over. They didn’t bother to cover his frame, leaving him exposed in only his diapers. The final touch was both infantilizing and practical - an oversized pacifier was inserted between Jacob’s lips, strapped in place to prevent him from biting his own tongue. The pacifier, large and intrusive, filled his mouth, muffling any attempt at protest or plea. He could feel the rubber bulb, large enough to mostly pin down his tongue and rub against the roof of his mouth. He could barely swallow back his own saliva and as he did, he realized doing so required sucking on the bulb in the process. In the office, where the walls echoed with the innocent laughter of children and silent judgment of teenagers, the reality of the situation hit Jacob and he began to struggle anew, but the orderlies had done their job and all his struggles accomplished was the pronounced crinkling of his diaper. The orderlies made no effort to expedite their pace, instead seeming to savor every moment of Jacob's discomfort. As they approached the van, Jacob’s body betrayed him with a sudden, intense cramp clutching his abdomen. He contorted in discomfort, but the restraints and the bulk of his diaper constrained him, offering no relief. The pressure mounted rapidly, unlike anything he had ever felt before. A fleeting thought crossed his mind – had Dr. Martin done something to him? But there was no time to dwell on these suspicions. Despite his desperate attempts to maintain control, his body succumbed to the relentless cramp. The mess spread within his diaper, a warm, distressing reality against his skin. Almost immediately, a pungent odor enveloped him, an inescapable cloud that seemed to announce his predicament to the world. One of the orderlies chuckled, “Looks like the doc was right about you.” Their voices were loud, carrying easily to the bystanders who had gathered to witness the commotion. The other orderly, with a cruel grin, pushed his hands between Jacob’s legs, squishing the mess against him, practically shouting as if explaining a simple a concept to a slow child, “This is what a poopy diaper feels like, Jacob. Do you feel it? Can you tell how it’s different from a clean diaper?” Jacob's face burned with shame, his eyes stinging with held back tears. As the van doors closed, leaving Jacob in a confined space with only one orderly to secure the gurney, he was granted a moment of solitude amidst the chaos. The absence of prying eyes provided a brief, albeit grim, respite. Jacob's thoughts spiraled, focusing on the uncomfortable and inescapable reality of the mess pressed against him by the diaper. He found himself grappling with confusion and disbelief. How had he reached this point? He had never experienced such a loss of control before. The thought that Dr. Martin, known for her harsh methods, had declared him fecal incontinent seemed surreal, especially considering the timing of his sudden accident. Jacob's mind raced, piecing together fragments of doubt and suspicion. The continence tests conducted by Dr. Martin – he was certain they were manipulated. He had never previously had any issues with his bowels, his current state notwithstanding. The possibility that Dr. Martin might have administered a suppository during her examination without his knowledge lingered uncomfortably in his thoughts. Why would she target him like this? And why now? These questions churned in his mind, mingling with feelings of betrayal and vulnerability. Upon his arrival at the psychiatric facility, Jacob's spirit felt as confined and restrained as his body. Every fiber of his being cried out against the myriad discomforts he was subjected to. The pacifier in his mouth, an intrusive rubbery mass, was more than just a gag; it transformed the act of breathing into an arduous task that demanded too much of his focus as he sucked against it to stop himself from drooling around it. Phantom itches teased his skin, igniting a desperate urge to scratch, an urge he was powerless to satisfy. The van's interior had been kept uncomfortably cold during the journey. He shivered, longing for warmth. Then there was the diaper, a constant, humiliating reminder of his predicament. Throughout the ride, he had been leaking into it steadily. The diaper had become an intolerable swamp against his skin, each slow seep adding to the mire. Jacob felt compelled to awkwardly bow his knees as much as his restraints would allow. This awkward posture was a desperate attempt to avoid pressing his thighs together, which he feared might cause the sodden diaper to leak, adding yet another layer of indignity to his already debased situation. The orderlies wheeled him in, loudly discussing his condition once again. “Full diaper and everything, just like a toddler,” one of them commented, ensuring that every passing nurse and patient could hear, and that no one missed the spectacle of unpotty trained man. Jacob closed his eyes, wishing to vanish, to escape this relentless nightmare. Jacob was finally wheeled out of sight and into the plush intake office of the psychiatric facility. The office was warmer than he had anticipated. It felt out of alignment with his harsh situation, strapped down by stiff leather against a thin mattress. Cushioned chairs lined the walls, and soft, ambient light filtered through the blinds. The air was tinged with the faint scent of lavender, which was nice but did little to mask the odor Jacob was emitting into the room. The orderlies began to release Jacob's restraints, but his fleeting hope of freedom vanished as he noticed one of them retrieving a straightjacket from a cabinet in the corner. Panic surged through him anew as he tried to back away, but his efforts were futile; his legs were still strapped to the gurney, and the second orderly's grip was unyielding. The jacket was heavy, its weight oddly comforting against his naked body, warming him slightly, a small consolation in his dire situation. The men worked with a practiced efficiency, fitting him into the jacket and securing his arms behind his back in a self-embrace. Finally, they stood him up, releasing his legs from the gurney. They needed him standing to thread the jacket's final strap between his legs, pulling it tight. The pressure squished the mess in his diaper against his backside, spreading it further. Jacob groaned, the sensation both disgusting and, to his horror, somewhat stimulating as the strap created friction between his tiny nub and the diaper. One orderly caught the other's eye, a sadistic grin spreading across his face. He began to tug on the strap repeatedly, each pull coming faster than the last. Jacob, lost in a haze of confusion and shame, found himself responding physically to the friction. The realization of what was happening did nothing to stop his body's betrayal. As he succumbed to the unwanted climax, Jacob's fell limp, no longer offering any resistance. The final tightening of the strap by the orderly was excessive, smashing his genitals uncomfortably against his body. Jacob noted that his diaper had in fact not leaked as he feared. The doctor was honest about one thing at least, the extra bulk was made to contain and absorb a significant mess. The last step was his binding to a wheelchair. With the last buckle secured, Jacob's world had narrowed to the confines of his restraints and the thick diaper once again. The orderlies' mocking words, "The doctor will be in to evaluate you, eventually," taunted Jacob once they left him alone. This is only half of part 3. Another 2000 words are in the full post here patreon.com/user?u=7664738. I intend to release all of this story here, but from here on, they will come a week or more after releases to patreon. I write nearly exclusively about women dominating a man over the age of 18 and this inevitably involves the inclusion of diapers for the purposes of control and humiliation.

Andrew's phone buzzed the next day, a message slicing through the haze of his hangover. At some point, he must have managed to stumble his way into his bed because that’s where he woke up. But where was his phone? As he sat up, he realized – there was a snug, foreign pressure spooning his balls. Pushing the covers away, he was confronted with the sight of stretched tapes straining to hold his diaper closed. The diaper itself grotesquely swollen from its burden. The diaper's indicator line, once a stark solid color, was now faded away, which seemed a superfluous detail against the yellow-stained fabric, a testament to his dehydrated state. With a grimace, Andrew cupped the sodden mass, immediately regretting it as the trapped urine seeped out against his skin. He rose unsteadily, each movement precarious to avoid squeezing the diaper between his thighs. He was certain it was one squeeze away from leaking down his legs. A waddle carried him to the bathroom, where he removed the diaper for the second time, its release accompanied by a sickening squelch against the cold tile floor. Andrew felt like his body was a battlefield of aches and queasiness, each vying for his full attention. The shower he took was scalding, an attempt to scour away the remnants of the previous night's humiliation, again. This time, at least, it was his own shame he was washing off. He found his phone on his desk, near his urine soaked pants from the prior night. It was Aria, checking in. “Alive?” she asked. He couldn't muster much anger towards Aria this time. She had, after all, ensured he didn't end up sprawled on a street corner. He texted her back, a thank you for the ride, the dinner, even for the sushi lesson. He watched the screen, the three dots of her reply appearing and disappearing. What was she writing? A manifesto? Then, “You have good manners, little boy” Andrew blushed or flushed with anger, he could hardly tell but he could feel the heat in his face either way. What was he supposed to say to that? Hours later, Andrew had finished his laundry, picked up his car, hydrated a little, and was just about to settle into the couch to try to recover from what was left of his hangover. His phone pinged again. Aria. “Too bad about your control issues though” Andrew’s flush was back. He fired off a response without thinking, “It's funny, my control issues seem to have a direct correlation with the company I keep.” Her response came back fast, “Awe, are you saying I’m too much for you to handle? I must really intimidate you” Andrew realized he had walked right into that. Then another ding. “Come over.” Andrew zeroed in on the period at the end of the text, intentional, unambiguous. She was summoning him to her, issuing a direct command. What made her think she could just beckon him and he’d come running? Andrew was about to text back, “fat chance,” when another message appeared. “Earlier, you thanked me earlier. But you should show your gratitude” Andrew lingered over the send button, his mind teetering on the edge of uncertainty. Was this really happening? A booty call, after the humiliating ordeal last night? He felt himself harden. Part of him clearly wanted to have sex with her. In a sudden act surrender, Andrew erased his words. His hand reached out almost autonomously, seizing the keys from the coffee table. Apparently, she could beckon him. He was already getting into the drivers seat when a final message came in. “Oh and Andrew,” the ellipsis pulsed again, stretching the suspense to an almost unbearable length. “Wear a diaper” ... The rest is posted at patreon.com/user?u=7664738

This starts in the middle of the story and diapers are really only at the beginning and end but it's a scene I really like and wanted to put it out there more broadly. When Andrew crossed the threshold of his own apartment, a sense of unspoken shame clung to him. The urgency to rid himself of his clothes, particularly the pants and the diaper, was overwhelming. He despised the way the diaper parted his legs, its weight was unnatural, pulling him down. From within his bathroom, Andrew couldn't help but notice the half-moon stains on his pants as he peeled off his clothes. His relief at having taken a towel earlier was now tinged with a bitter realization of necessity. Andrew, for a moment, thought the diaper might just fall to the ground, but he had taped it too tight. He ripped at the tapes simultaneously, the act cathartic in its own right, a small rebellion against his own debasement. The diaper thudded to the floor. The sharp, acrid stench of urine hitting him. He could immediately tell the scen was distinctly not his own, which only deepened the humiliation. In the privacy of his bathroom, under the fluorescent light, Andrew stood exposed, not just in flesh, but in spirit. The evening's events replayed in his mind, each moment a sharp jab to his already fragile sense of self. He longed to wash away not just the physical remnants of the night, but also the haunting echoes of Aria's laughter, the sound of which seemed to linger in the air, a ghostly reminder of his debasement. Andrew's mind whirled with conflicted thoughts as he stood under the scalding stream of the shower. Surely, peeing on him like that was some kind of assault, but what was he going to do, tell the cops a woman peed in his diaper after he accidentally came from her stroking his thigh? And then what? He saves the diaper so they can DNA test it? He’d probably end up being the one arrested, not to mention laughed at. Andrew turned the shower on as hot as he could stand it. When he stepped in, it felt like the dirt and grime of the evening was being burned off of him which was good because the idea of touching his penis where she peed on it was revolting to him. Andrew stayed in the shower until his hands pruned, knowing the reality of his discarded diaper awaited him when he stepped out. It stood as a symbol of a night that had oscillated bewilderingly between deep humiliation and unexpected arousal. As he contemplated this, a troubling thought emerged – maybe he was the problem. For the next few days, Andrew moved through the world like a zombie. He had never been an exemplary bartender, but now his inadequacies were magnified. His tips dwindled, a testimony to his inability to maintain eye contact, his hands shook as he poured drinks and spilled liquor over the bar and sometimes patrons hands. At night, the allure of jacking off was lost to him, replaced by a numbing trance in front of the television, his thoughts a murky swirl of regret and confusion. But as the days melded into each other, he felt a resolve grow within him. The only escape from the haunting image of Aria was to bury her memory under new experiences, new faces. Until she was just one weird date which he would never tell a soul about. It didn’t take him long to find someone new on the dating site he frequented, the same one where he’d met Megan. There, amidst the digital profiles was a figure seemingly carved from the antithesis of Aria. In her pictures she wore wool sweaters and fitting but not too tight jeans. She was a teacher who volunteered at the animal shelter. In her answers to her questions, she clearly wanted to wait to have sex and had few prior romantic partners. All of this was a welcome relief to Andrew. In fact, Andrew felt as though her profile was a love letter to him. She wanted a man who could mix her a strong drink. She liked shorter men, an preference almost unheard of in online dating. She was exactly what Andrew thought he needed. Determined to steer this new encounter rather than let it steer him, Andrew suggested sushi at a familiar, unpretentious restaurant, devoid of any dress code. He even suggested meeting there separately as a buffer against any unforeseen shifts in power dynamics. He arrived early, anchoring himself with a bottle of sake at the table. And he waited. And waited … and waited. Each time the door creaked open, his heart leapt, only to sink again as stranger after stranger entered, none the face he was expecting. He was about to concede that he’d been stood up and ask the waiter for a check when the front door opened once more. His heart froze, not with hope, but with a familiar dread. It was Aria with Megan trailing in her wake. Of course they were both wearing mini skirts, Andrew thought as he tried to shake off a mental image of himself ensnared between Aria's legs. As Andrew reached for the menu, a futile shield against his unfolding nightmare, it was already too late. Aria's voice cut through the ambient chatter of the restaurant. “Andrew!” Aria smiled walking over to him and putting her arms out like she expected him to stand up and give her a big hug. And because he didn’t know what else to do, Andrew did exactly that. "Aria," he murmured, a greeting or a plea, he wasn't sure. Megan, however, offered her hand. “I think we better stick to handshakes there, quickdraw,” she winked like his whole humiliating ordeal was some kind of inside joke. “That’s right! Oh no! Andrew, you didn’t have another accident just now did you?” And she touched the crotch of his pants feeling for wetness, actually going as far as to grip his flaccid penis through his pants. “No padding, you’re living dangerously.” Andrew again found an entire restaurant staring at him. He was pretty sure the patrons hadn’t have fully understood the exchange but he also knew enough about people to know that would just make them more likely to eavesdrop. "I was just leaving," Andrew stammered, desperation tinting his voice as he fumbled for his wallet, seeking an escape. “Leave?” Aria purred, her voice dripping with mock concern. “But you haven’t even eaten yet. Look, your chopsticks are still virginal.” She leaned in, her breath a mix of some subtle, intoxicating perfume and the unspoken promise of chaos. For a moment, Andrew wanted to drown in that scent, to lose himself in the familiar yet dangerous allure. He felt an unwelcome stiffening, his body betraying him after weeks of numb detachment. He recoiled, the ghost of past humiliations flashing in his mind. “You’re drunk,” she taunted, her nose almost grazing his. “I can smell the sake on you.” “I’m not…” His protest was weak, lost in the sudden invasion of his personal space as Aria's hands darted into his pockets, swift and predatory. She emerged victorious with his keys. “My keys!” He lunged clumsily, but she danced back with a cruel laugh, leaving him to stagger and nearly fall. That’s when he noticed the other patron, a mountain of a man, rising from his chair. “Sir,” the man said, stepping into the fray and blocking Andrew's view of Aria as he completely misinterpreted the scene. “I’m a police officer,” he flashed his badge under his sport jacket “and you’re about to make a very public mistake. Touch these women, and I’ll have you in cuffs faster than you can say 'sake bomb.' Sit down, sober up, and maybe thank them for saving you from a DUI.” The officer’s presence was like an eclipse, his shadow swallowing Andrew whole. With a defeated raise of his hands, Andrew retreated to his seat, feeling the weight of every eye in the place. “Thank you,” he mumbled, the words tasting like ash. The gratitude was forced, the humiliation real, but it seemed to appease the mountain who retreated back to his seat after a stoic nod to Aria and Megan who could barely contain their glee. The restaurant erupted in applause for the officer, a symphony of claps steeped in schadenfreude. Andrew could feel the collective scorn of the patrons, their disdain for his supposed drunken intent to drive. Maybe he was buzzed, more than he realized. He sat as Aria and Megan commandeered chairs at his table. “Look, Megan, there’s a setting for a ghost,” Aria quipped, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she signaled the waiter for a third setting. “Andrew, were you playing host to an invisible date?” Andrew opened his mouth, a lie teetering on the tip of his tongue. But Aria was faster. “Do not lie to me, little boy. I’ve got a sixth sense for bullshit.” Silenced, he merely nodded, the truth lodged in his throat like a bitter pill. Megan leaned in, her voice laced with mock curiosity. “Was it a date? Were you going to ditch her before she even graced us with her presence?” The unused setting became Andrew's focal point, an island of emptiness in a sea of judgment. “No, Megan. I don’t think that’s it.” Aria said, her eyes locking onto Andrew’s with a predatory glint. Her gaze was unyielding, dissecting his every hesitation. “Tell us what happened, Andrew,” she commanded, her tone a blend of mock maternal concern and a razor-sharp challenge, as if she were coaxing a dark secret from a wayward child. His gaze flickered between them, their eyes like twin spotlights in an interrogation room. He glanced at the door, half-hoping, half-dreading the arrival of his phantom date. Exhaling a defeated breath, he admitted, “My date stood me up.” The words hung in the air, a banner of his latest defeat, as Aria and Megan exchanged knowing glances, their expressions a cocktail of amusement and pity. The two women enveloped him in exaggerated sympathy. "Such a shame to be stood up," they cooed as they poured his sake in their glasses. "Consider us your upgrades for the night," they teased, their laughter tinged with the unspoken reminder of earlier humiliations. "But let’s keep it PG, shall we? After all, you’re flying without a safety net tonight." And they both glanced down as if they could see his groin through the table. When the waiter reappeared again, Aria took command, orchestrating a feast of exotic sushi. She ventured into culinary no-man's-land, even ordering the tiny octopus, which Andrew had never had the courage or money to try. While they waited for their food, Megan and Aria weaved a lively tapestry of recent theater escapades and high school drama class reminiscences. They spun tales of sets and scenes, high school affairs and high-stakes escapades. They quizzed Andrew about his own thespian inclinations. "Were you ever a theater nerd, Andrew?" they prodded playfully as they filled his empty glass with more sake. Andrew, who had always been more audience than actor, found himself swept up in their stories, his earlier discomfort fading into the background. For once, his anatomy was left out of the conversation. In their company, with their easy banter and laughter echoing around him, Andrew discovered an unexpected truth – these two women, these agents of chaos, were actually quite delightful. The sushi arrived, an elaborate spread that promised a reprieve from the evening's earlier tensions. Andrew, caught in a moment of ease, clumsily picked up a roll with his chopsticks and bit into it, halving it as the rest of the roll unravelled and fell to his plate. Aria's voice pierced the casual air. "What are you doing?!" Her eyes widened theatrically, scanning the room as if witnessing a grave faux pas. "You don't bite sushi in half! It's a one-bite affair." Embarrassed, Andrew glanced around. True enough, other patrons were deftly popping whole pieces into their mouths. "But these rolls, they’re monstrous," he mumbled, feeling suddenly clumsy and uncultured. At that, Aria got up and walked around the table, sliding into the seat next to him, her proximity sending a jolt through Andrew’s body. He stiffened, a deer in headlights. "Relax," she laughed, her tone a strange blend of mockery and reassurance. "I’m not going to pee on you again." Her laughter was joined by his, a nervous, shaky sound. But relaxation was far from Andrew's reach. "Open your mouth," Aria commanded, her chopsticks poised with the tiny octopus. The way she held it, it looked like if she dropped it in water, it might swim away. All eight tentacles hung below the chopsticks and its body hovered like a thick piece of meat above it. It made Andrew nauseous to look. Andrew’s head shook in silent refusal, his mouth sealed shut. The idea of ingesting the creature whole was too much. "I’m doing you a favor," Aria insisted. "What if your date had shown up? You would have humiliated yourself by not eating sushi correctly. I’m teaching you. Now don’t be a baby, open your mouth.” With a sense of dread, Andrew relented slightly, parting his lips just a fraction. It was enough for Aria. She deftly shoved the octopus into his mouth, the sauce smearing across his lips as she pushed. Every instinct inside of him was saying to spit it out. The soft, mushy body and crispier tentacles creating an unbearable contrast in textures. But Aria’s hand was firm against the back of his head, her other hand over his mouth, sealing it shut. Desperately, Andrew scanned the room for the officer, but he was nowhere to be seen, likely gone to the bathroom. With no avenue for escape, Andrew had no choice but to chew, the octopus’ juices spilling into his mouth. Aria's grip remained unyielding. "Keep it in," she instructed firmly. It felt like an eternity, but eventually, the octopus was consumed. "Good boy," Aria praised him, selecting a more standard piece of sushi.“This will be easy now.” Andrew caught Megan's eye, only to realize she had been filming the entire episode. Aria, oblivious or indifferent to his discomfort, popped another octopus into her mouth with ease and returned to her seat. "Now you're sushi-savvy for your next date," she declared with a smirk. Andrew sat there, the weight of the evening's events heavy upon him. He knew one thing for certain — this restaurant, now a stage for his latest humiliation, was a place he could never visit again. The meal evolved from there into a saga of sake and laughter, with Aria and Megan matching Andrew drink for drink. Aria had gone back to her side of the table, smirking each time she suggested Andrews eat another bite of sushi from one of larger rolls. Andrew wasn’t sure if he had been too drunk to drive when they arrived but he certainly was now. Andrew, initially intent on a hasty retreat as soon as the cop vanished, found himself unexpectedly anchored to the moment, enjoying their company. Even the way Aria had touched him, octopus aside, had felt jovial, none of it laced with the degradation of their last date. The trio delved into desserts, more sake, and then even more, as the hours slipped by unnoticed. It was only when the waiter, with a polite but firm demeanor, informed them of the restaurant's impending closure, that the spell of the evening began to wane. He laid the check down on the table. Andrew wasn’t sure if it was the sake or the dollar amount, but he suddenly needed to vomit. He stood up, his movement less graceful than he intended. The room swayed slightly, a clear testament to his inebriated state. He had known he was drunk, but sitting their in his chair, he hadn’t realized how much. He was certain he had never been this drunk before. He reached for the table, his hand grasping for stability. This simple act, so revealing of his condition, sent Aria and Megan into fits of laughter. Their hysterics echoed in the now-empty restaurant, a soundtrack to the night's unexpected turn from despair to reckless abandon. "You're both drunk, too" Andrew managed to say, his words laced with laughter as he watched Aria and Megan dissolve into giggles. "Not as drunk as you," Megan retorted with a grin. It was true. Aria was quickly paying the bill, a relief that made him relieved and embarrassed. All the while she was stacking plates to make life easier on the bus boy. Megan had an arm around him, helping him find his feet. They flanked him as they left, each taking a side to support him towards the door. "How are you not toppling over?" he slurred, genuinely puzzled. "I guess we're just better at handling ourselves," Aria quipped, a sly smile playing on her lips. Then, just as they stepped outside and without warning, Aria's giggle turned mischievous as she squeezed one of his love handles. Andrew, caught off guard and extraordinarily ticklish, doubled over with laughter. It took a moment for him to realize what had just happened. The tickling had triggered an unexpected and uncontrollable release. Warmth spread down his legs, his pants clinging uncomfortably to his skin. His heart sank as he understood the extent of his predicament. "Holy shit," Megan exclaimed, her voice echoing across the empty parking lot. "Did you just piss yourself?!" He looked up to her, she had clearly started recording again. Aria was in hysterics, her laughter uncontrolled and merciless. "Can't hold your liquor, your cum, your piss!" Andrew stood frozen, a sense of surreal disbelief washing over him as the reality of the situation sank in. He was peeing his pants, unable to stop, the stream relentless. The shock of not having felt the urge earlier compounded his humiliation. His shoes, his dignity, all seemingly ruined in that moment. Panic set in. How would he get home? Would an Uber even allow him in this state? And what about Aria and Megan? Would they spread this story, broadcasting his shame to anyone who would listen? The questions swirled in his head, a whirlpool of anxiety and embarrassment. The Uber's arrival was almost theatrical in its timing, coming just as Aria and Megan's laughter began to subside. Their amusement faded into concern as they realized no driver would willingly accept a passenger in Andrew's state. "We can't just leave him like this," Megan remarked, her voice tinged with a hint of responsibility. "I've got an idea," Aria said, a new scheme brewing in her eyes. She approached the Uber driver, leaning into his window with a practiced charm. "Hi," she began, pausing just long enough for the driver to take in her allure. "So, this is awkward, but my little brother..." she gestured towards Andrew, letting the insinuation hang heavily in the air, "he's a bit... slow. He's usually in diapers, but we've been trying to potty train him. He had an accident. Can we still ride?" Andrew, lost in his own thoughts, missed the entire exchange. It was only when Aria stepped back, and the driver's eyes met his wet pants, that the reality of the situation hit him. The driver's expression shifted from surprise to understanding. "I thought you meant a child," the driver said, somewhat taken aback. "He's...kind of like one," Aria responded, her voice laced with feigned empathy. The driver, now out of his car, rummaged in the trunk. "I have a dog blanket. He can sit on that." "Thank you so much," Aria said, her voice a blend of gratitude and manipulation. "I'll make sure to tip you." Relief washed over Andrew as he was guided into the Uber. He offered no resistance, too grateful for the ride to care about Aria's condescending remarks or her pretending he needed to be buckled in like a child. He slumped against her, his head resting on her shoulder, while she whispered empty reassurances no doubt to keep up the rouse for the driver. The Uber ride, ordered on Andrew's phone, was a surreal journey back to his place. Gone were the prospects of flirtatious banter or romantic anticipation. Instead, the conversation revolved around getting into dry clothes and the need for diapers. She told him, again for the benefit of the driver, that maybe he could try potty training again a few months. The Uber pulled up to the curb, its headlights cutting through the dark street. Aria and Megan carefully guided a heavily inebriated Andrew out of the back seat. Aria, with an arm wrapped firmly around Andrew's waist, held him upright as Megan quickly darted off towards the nearby drug store. Under the dim glow of the streetlamp, Aria supported Andrew, his head bobbing weakly. He was vaguely aware of the cool night air, the sounds of the city around him, the snicker of a couple walking by who could see the dark discoloration around his groin in the labmp light. And then there was the firm grip of Aria's hand, a grip he was both grateful for and resented but at the moment more grateful as he truly didn’t know how he could even get into his apartment without her help. Moments later, Megan reappeared, her mission accomplished. In her hands, she held a package of adult diapers and a pack of baby wipes. "Got the essentials," she announced, a smirk on her face. With Andrew between them, they made their way into his apartment building. The elevator ride to his floor was a silent one, save for the occasional muffled sound from Andrew and the beep of the elevator. Once inside Andrew's apartment, the women guided him down on the living room floor. The room spun around him as he lay there, the ceiling lights blurring into halos above. Aria and Megan set about their task with a strange blend of clinical efficiency and sensual touch. Their hands lingered just a moment longer than necessary as they undressed him, removing his soiled clothes and leaving them in a heap. Andrew's senses were dulled, but he was faintly aware of the cool air against his bare skin and the sound of the diaper package being opened. The crinkle of the diaper filled the room as they unfolded it. Aria lifted Andrew's legs, much like one would with a child, exposing him in his most vulnerable state. Megan, holding the baby wipes, began to clean him with methodical strokes, her actions gentle yet impersonal. As they positioned the diaper under him, Megan couldn't help but comment, a cruel edge to her voice. "Look at that, it's almost fitting how well he suits these diapers, especially considering what little there is to cover. Toddler underwear for a toddler sized dick." They secured the diaper around him, the tapes fastening. It was snug, the padding enveloping him. Aria and Megan stood up, surveying their handiwork. Andrew lay there, diapered and diminished. The women gathered his clothes, leaving them folded neatly on a chair, but took the remaining diapers and wipes with them as they left. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving Andrew alone on the floor in his diaper. The night's events swirled in his half-conscious mind, a jumbled mix of sensation, humiliation, and the distant echoes of Aria and Megan's laughter. patreon.com/user?u=7664738

*I didn't actually know that about pediatricians. Rest of the story doesn't really depend on the setting so imagine him as 21 or in a setting you prefer ... there's certainly a departure from reality happening in the next section anyway and I'm not concerned about it* Dr. Martin entered a few minutes later. She was a tall woman, at least compared to Jacob, with a no-nonsense approach to her work. Her eyes swept over Jacob, taking in his state with a barely concealed sigh of disappointment. "Let's see how you're doing, Jacob," she said. She instructed him to lie down on the examination table. As he complied, Dr. Martin unfastened the tapes of his diaper with a brisk motion, exposing him. "Hmm, wet already," she remarked, her tone laced with a mix of expectation and reprimand. "And it seems there's been no change here either," she continued, making a passing reference to his genital size with a disapproving shake of her head. She took his penis in hand and moved it around, examining it in detail. “Balls have descended, though small …” she remarked thoughtfully. Then, she did something totally new. She took the whole of his penis, fully covering it with her thumb and a single finger, and she stroked it. The sensation wasn’t a new one for Jacob; he had certainly rubbed one out before, but he had never felt someone else touch him. He didn’t know what she was doing and gripped the sides of the table praying he didn’t get hard. While he willed himself to be flaccid, she took a second finger and rubbed the tip of his penis. His dick hardened in her hand, harder than he had ever felt it get before. Jacob wanted to apologize, certain he was committing some kind of crime by exposing her to him this way. It never even occurred to him that a woman might molest a man. It was always the other way around, right? But she didn’t react. She didn’t say anything to Jacob at all but muttered to herself, “Still 1 inch. Does not grow,” as she added notes to his file on the computer. When she turned back again, she had a small cup which she placed over the top of his penis as she stroked him one more time. This time, she spoke to him directly as she held up the cup. “We’ll, Jacob, your precum is whisky thin. You’re likely a premature ejaculator, though I suppose that’s something. I partially wondered if you were able to produce cum at all. We’ll send this for tests, but I’m guessing you’re sterile.” She turned away from the computer. Her words hit Jacob slowly. Did she just tell him he couldn’t have kids? Could she really just know that by looking at his pre-cum? He sat up and looked down at his penis, the organ that had betrayed him his whole life. Even he could barely tell by looking that his hard-on was diminishing. He looked at the familiar padding under his butt, unfolded, stained yellow, the scent that followed him everywhere he went. She finally turned back to talk to him again, quickly pulling his diaper back over his now penis when she realized she had left it exposed. “Jacob, we’ll do blood work to confirm, but all signs suggest you produce testosterone far below the levels of most men. You’re in like the bottom 1%, probably lower. Honestly, I may have found the bottom of the scale in you. You’re all the way through puberty, but I’m afraid you’ll never really look like a true man.” She seemed sympathetic for once, or at least what passed as sympathetic for her. Jacob had never even contemplated his appearance relative to other men. Sure, he was short, a little less hairy, had a smaller dick, but he was still a man, right? Having delivered this blow, Dr. Martin shifted to her usual mocking tone. “Of course, it doesn’t really matter since you won’t move past the behavior of a toddler.” She smacked the front of his diaper, making him double up as he cringed and ensuring what remained of his hard-on fully dissipated. "Tell me, Jacob, how is your social life? Any girlfriends? Or... experiences of that sort?" It was all too much. Jacob, doubled up in pain, having just learned he’d likely never have kids, that he’d never be a man, started to tear up. "No, I... I haven't," his voice broke as it became apparent he was crying. Dr. Martin tsked softly, seemingly unconcerned about his tears. "Not surprising, I suppose. With your condition and body, it might be challenging to find a girlfriend. Have you ever considered looking for someone more... nurturing? Perhaps what you need is not a girlfriend but a mommy figure, someone who understands your... special needs." She gripped his now sore penis through the wet padding of the diaper. “Maybe to wipe away your tears,” she openly laughed at her own joke. Jacob lay there, feeling small and exposed under Dr. Martin's clinical gaze. He stared at the ceiling, trying to get his tears under control. Dr. Martin meanwhile set about putting in an order for Jacob’s blood to be tested and then reopening his diaper. Jacob sat up as he felt her trying to put a contraption around his penis. “What are you doing?” he asked, a little afraid of the tube she had in her hand. “Well, I’m trying to attach a urine catchment since I’ll need your diaper open for the rest of the exam, but it appears your penis is too small for a secure attachment,” she reached for another set of tubes, “so I’ll have to go with the catheter bag.” Dr. Martin inserted the catheter, her hands steady and practiced. Jacob winced at the uncomfortable sensation, his hands gripping the sides of the examination table. "That’s not so bad, is it? And this way, we don't have to worry about any... accidents during our exam." She was on to the phase of the exam where she didn’t even try to hide mockery or disdain for him. Once the catheter was in place, Dr. Martin instructed Jacob to turn onto his side and draw his knees up to his chest. This position left him feeling incredibly exposed and vulnerable, a feeling amplified by Dr. Martin's running commentary. Jacob, still reeling from the discomfort and humiliation of the catheter insertion, braced himself for the continuation of the examination. "Now, Jacob,” she explained. “I am checking for deterioration in your continence. Obviously, you can’t be any more urine incontinent, but I need to see if you are experiencing any fecal incontinence.” Jacob jerked in alarm, trying to sit up. “I’m not!” But Dr. Martin just firmly pushed him down. “We’ll see, now stay still or I’ll bring in someone to restrain you.” “We’ll begin with a manual rectal examination to assess your muscle tone," she said as she snapped on a pair of gloves with a flourish, her movements exaggerated. "This should tell us what we need to know about your control," she smirked. Jacob felt a cold, wet, rubbery sensation on his rosebud and tensed as he felt it pushing inside. Or at least he thought he tensed as Jacob could hear her tsking softly. "Not much resistance, Jacob. Have you lost the reflex, or were you not honest with me earlier? Has anyone else been using your back door, Jacob?" Jacob lay there, feeling every shred of his dignity erode under her probing fingers. The physical discomfort was secondary to the emotional toll. "I need a clearer view," she explained as she brusquely yanked out her finger. Dr. Martin's seemed determined to make each moment more unbearable than the last. She had Jacob lie flat on his back again, this time bringing his needs to his chest for an anoscopy. Jacob was acutely aware of his position on the table – each shift and turn dictated by Dr. Martin, each new position leaving him feeling more exposed and dehumanized than the last. The clinical environment of the room, with its bright lights and sterile surfaces, felt like a stark, unforgiving stage where his struggles and vulnerabilities were on full display. As she inserted the anoscope, she continued her implications about his readiness for anal penetration. "You're handling this quite well. I hope you’re not getting aroused; that wouldn’t feel very good with the catheter in." Jacob lay there, a sense of helplessness washing over him as Dr. Martin continued her assessment, her words and actions serving as constant reminders of his vulnerability. “You appear to be empty, Jacob. Did you change a poopy diaper before you arrived here? Or were you able to make it to the potty?” Jacob didn’t respond as she removed the instrument. At this point, he was pretty sure she wasn’t really asking. "There’s nothing obvious in your diaper,” she noted as she looked over the wet diaper still under him, “but this test will make sure.” She removed his wet diaper from under him and took it to another table, allowing Jacob to lower his legs. The room was silent except for the rustling of her movements as she cut samples from the backside of his diaper, dipped them in some kind of solution, and then examined it under her micsrocope. "Hmm, inconclusive," Dr. Martin muttered to herself as she examined the sample. "We'll just need to delve deeper," she gave Jacob a sadistic smile. The next test was the anorectal manometry. Dr. Martin's pulled over a piece of equipment from the other side of the room, "This will give us a complete picture of your sphincter's capabilities," she explained. The equipment, it seemed, was another device designed to invade his backside. The test measured the pressure, reflexes, and sensitivity of Jacob's rectum. “Try harder,” Dr. Martin warned as it seemed to push deeper inside him. “The results of this test will have serious repercussions for you.” Finally, Dr. Martin removed the device. She positioned herself above Jacob so she could see his face as she delivered the news. "It seems you are indeed fecally incontinent," she stated, her voice carrying a finality that left Jacob feeling a profound sense of defeat. "Each test on its own was inconclusive, but together, they paint a clear picture. Your control is lacking, to say the least, and will continue to diminish over time." Dr. Martin, having concluded her series of invasive tests, turned her attention to the next step in Jacob's treatment. "Given the results, I'm prescribing a different type of diaper for you," she announced, her voice carrying a note of finality. "These are much thicker, designed for severe incontinence. They'll be... noticeable, but necessary." Jacob, still lying on the examination table, felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. "But I can control it," he protested weakly, trying to convey his ability to manage his fecal continence. Dr. Martin dismissed his protest with a wave of her hand. "Jacob, your tests suggest otherwise. A statement to the contrary suggests extreme denial. I'm afraid you're not in a position to argue. Besides, if you want your insurance to cover it, you'll need to follow the prescription." The diaper she pulled from the shelf was indeed thicker than any he’d worn before. He could tell from looking at it that it was also plastic backed which would make it hot and crinkly. “It is funny the way the diaper dwarfs your little penis,” she remarked, slapping his penis with the folded diaper. “It’s thicker, too.” Dr. Martin wasn’t exaggerating. Jacob’s penis was pretty thin, and the diaper looked like it had two inches of padding worked into it. She started to push Jacob’s legs into the air to position his new padding under him when she stopped, “I almost forgot!” She turned to jab the intercom with the kind of force that suggested she was more accustomed to giving orders than requests. "Dr. Harris, get in here," her voice crackled through, sharp and commanding. The door swung open moments later, admitting a figure who looked almost as young as Jacob. Jacob surmised he must be a new resident. The room smelt of urine, and Jacob, used to it, cringed inwardly when he realized Dr. Harris, not yet accustomed to hiding his disgust from patients, was wearing a look that suggested he couldn’t believe the rank odor in the room. Dr. Martin, with the kind of detached professionalism that suggested she'd seen and done this a thousand times, began removing the catheter. It was a slow, invasive process; the catheter slithered out, a sensation that made Jacob's insides twist, but he was met with no sympathy or acknowledgment from either doctor. "So, this is the guy?" Dr. Harris asked, his voice betraying a mix of curiosity and disbelief. He was flipping through Jacob's file, eyes scanning the pages like he was reading some bizarre novel rather than a medical history. Dr. Martin nodded, her hands busy as she prepared to replace the diaper. "Jacob here presents a peculiar case of persistent infantilism. No physical anomalies, yet here we are." She patted the thick diaper, emphasizing the 'here we are.' Dr. Harris, peering over the rim of his clipboard, asked, "And the... size issue? Is that related?" Without missing a beat, Dr. Martin glanced at Jacob's exposed genitals. "Ah, yes. It's almost fitting, isn't it? His physical development, or lack thereof, mirrors his behavioral stagnation." Her voice was matter-of-fact, the words clinical but cutting. Dr. Harris, the resident, leaned in closer, his eyes betraying a mix of professional interest and personal disbelief. He watched intently as Dr. Martin methodically unfolded a fresh, thick adult diaper with a loud crinkle that filled the sterile room. "His case is quite the study in psychological anomalies," Dr. Martin commented, her hands efficient as she positioned the diaper under Jacob. She lifted his legs, maneuvering them with a familiarity that left Jacob feeling utterly infantilized. Before she secured the diaper, Dr. Harris stepped forward. "May I?" he asked, gesturing towards Jacob. His tone was one of clinical curiosity, but to Jacob, it sounded alarmingly like someone asking to examine a peculiar artifact. Dr. Martin nodded, stepping aside to allow Dr. Harris a closer look. The younger doctor's fingers were hesitant at first as he touched the front of Jacob's diaper, feeling the padding. His touch then grew bolder, his clinical detachment slipping into a more exploratory curiosity. "This...size issue," Dr. Harris mused; he unfolded the top of the diaper to reveal Jacob's genitals. "It's remarkably underdeveloped, almost like a pre-pubescent child's." Jacob felt a flush of humiliation wash over him as Dr. Harris prodded and turned his penis, examining it like it was a rare specimen. The cold air of the room hit his exposed skin, heightening his sense of vulnerability and shriveling his genitals even further. "Genital size can often correlate with certain psychological conditions," Dr. Martin interjected, her tone academic. "In Jacob's case, it seems to be a physical manifestation of his overall developmental arrest." Dr. Harris nodded, his eyes still fixed on Jacob. "Fascinating," he murmured as if Jacob weren't a person but a case study, a chapter in a medical textbook. He replaced the diaper, securing it back over Jacob's groin, the diaper crinkling loudly in the silence of the room as he pulled it tightly around his waist and smoothed out the four tapes. Fully diapered again, Jacob propped himself up on his elbows to look at the doctors. The diapers were thick, requiring him to splay his hips for them to lay flat without bunching between his legs. He experimentally tried to close them, grimacing at how loud the bunching of the plastic crinkled in the room. While all diapers were noticeable when he tried to close his legs, these were so thick that closing his legs fully would be impractical and probably impossible once they were wet. He couldn’t live his life like this. His problem would be immediate public knowledge, but Jacob knew that if he said anything, the doctor would just remind him that all he had to do was potty train if he didn’t want to wear them anymore. He couldn’t afford to buy diapers without insurance, but maybe there was another way. Maybe it was time to see another doctor. Either way, that was a problem for another day. Today, he just had to get out of here. He still had about 30 of his thinner diapers left at home. “Can I go?” Jacob finally asked after he observed that Dr. Martin was just typing notes in her computer now, Dr. Harris observing from behind her. They both turned to him, looking sympathetic for once, maybe regretful. Dr. Martin spoke, “I’m afraid not, Jacob. Your comment earlier about not being fecally incontinent.” “Because I’m not!” Jacob interjected, and the two doctors exchanged looks of resolve, their sympathy washing away. “The type of denial isn’t helping. We can’t let you go home, Jacob. Not when you’re experiencing such clear delusions.” She paused while this sunk in to see if Jacob would react, but he was too confused about where she was going with this line of thought to contradict her. “Jacob, I’ve ordered you be placed on a 72-hour psychiatric hold.” patreon.com/user?u=7664738

The morning sun cast a warm, golden glow across the city, its rays filtering through the tall buildings and casting long shadows on the bustling streets. Among the throng of people making their way through the city, Jacob, a 22-year-old man with a quiet demeanor, walked with a sense of resigned purpose. His destination was not one he looked forward to—a visit to his pediatrician's office, a place he had known all his life but never felt at ease in. Jacob had always been different, marked by a condition that seemed to defy explanation. Incontinence had been his constant, unwanted companion since childhood, a problem that persisted into his adulthood, undiminished and unexplained. Despite numerous visits, tests, and consultations, no medical reason had ever been found. His pediatrician, Dr. Martin, was a figure of mixed emotions in his life—a source of medical care but also of deep-seated humiliation. Finding no medical reason for his condition, she placed the blame squarely on Jacob’s resolve. Jacob’s parents had often taken her side, resulting in a childhood filled with punishment for matters he couldn’t control. Jacob was finally out of their grip, living on his own, but he still needed a doctor to monitor his condition and offer prescriptions. Dr. Martin was all he had ever known. As he approached the familiar building, Jacob's steps slowed, each one heavier than the last. The office was located in a quaint, older part of town, where the buildings wore their age with a sense of dignified grace. The pediatrician's office was no exception, with its colorful façade and playful window displays, designed to be welcoming to its predominantly young clientele. The walls were adorned with bright, cheerful posters of cartoon animals, and a small play area was filled with toys and books, catering to the office's usual visitors—children much younger than Jacob. The room was filled with their vibrant energy, their laughter and chatter creating a lively backdrop. He approached the reception desk, where Mrs. Jenkins, the receptionist, sat in her usual spot, her demeanor efficient and imposing. As Jacob neared, Mrs. Jenkins looked up, her expression shifting subtly from professional to something more scrutinizing. "Good morning, Jacob," she greeted him, her voice loud enough to carry over the din of the waiting room. "Here for your check-up, I see. Let's make sure you're properly prepared this time." Jacob's cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and resignation. He knew what was coming next—a routine that had become an unwelcome part of his visits. Mrs. Jenkins stood up from her desk, her presence commanding as she came around to his side. "Now, let's have a look at your diapers, Jacob. We can't have any accidents in the waiting area," she said, her tone matter-of-fact but loud enough for those nearby to hear. The room seemed to quiet slightly, the attention of parents and children subtly shifting towards them. It was a long standing policy at the office to not afford Jacob any discretion, as “motivation” for him to “change his behavior.” Jacob felt a wave of humiliation wash over him as Mrs. Jenkins, with a practiced motion, pulled back the waistband of his pants to glance at the diaper underneath. She frowned. "This looks a bit thin, Jacob. You should know better by now. We can't take any risks with leaks. You should be wearing something more absorbent when you come here. After the incident last time, didn’t the doctor tell you to wear two diapers when you came to the office?" Around them, the air was thick with unspoken questions and curious stares. A few parents whispered among themselves, casting furtive glances in his direction. Children, with their innate lack of filter, stared openly, some pointing and murmuring to their parents. Feeling exposed and small, Jacob mumbled an apology, his voice barely audible over the hum of the waiting room. Mrs. Jenkins's sharp voice cut through the din. "Come with me, Jacob," she said firmly, grasping his wrist with a firmness that brooked no argument. She pulled him towards the door to the exam rooms and called out to the first nurse she saw. "We need to get Jacob into something more... appropriate before he sits down. We can't risk any leaks on our chairs." Jacob's heart sank as a nurse quickly approached. Annoyed at the disruption to her schedule, she roughly took Jacob by the arm and led him away wordlessly, towards a small, private room typically used for changing the clinic's youngest patients. Inside, the room was small and clinical, with a changing table and a chair for nursing. The nurse pulled out a thick, babyish diaper, its surface adorned with colorful cartoon characters. Jacob sometimes wondered if they kept these stocked just for him. He had never seen such a diaper on the drugstore shelves and thankfully his actual prescription was for something thinner though he wished the doctor would prescribe pads rather than diapers. He longed to wear underwear and sometimes bought a pack of pads out of pocket just to prove he could but any mention of this to his doctor was met with reproach. “It wasn’t sanitary for someone in potty trained to be out of a diaper.” "Let's get you changed," the nurse said motioning to the changing table. Jacob complied, knowing that resistance would get him nowhere. The nurse worked quickly and efficiently, removing his thin diaper and replacing it with the thicker, more infantile one. The crinkling sound it made seemed deafeningly loud in the small room. Once the change was complete, Jacob stood up, feeling the bulk of the diaper between his legs. It was uncomfortably thick and bunched up as tried to pull his pants on. Even after adjusting the diaper, its presence was unmistakable beneath his pants. The cartoon characters poked out from this waist band and seemed to mock him with their cheerful expressions, Jacob made his way back to the waiting room. As he re-entered, the difference in his appearance was immediately noticeable. The thick diaper bulge and distinct rustle under his pants, drewing the attention of every child and parent in the room to him again. Whispers and stares followed him as he walked back to his seat in the corner. Children pointed openly, their curiosity unfiltered. "Mommy, why does that man have a diaper?" one little girl asked loudly, her finger pointing directly at Jacob. Another, slightly older boy, muttered, “What a loser.” And received no correction from his father. Jacob felt exposed, reduced to the most vulnerable version of himself, a grown man in a pediatrician's office, wearing diapers that announced his condition to the world. Jacob settled into his seat in the waiting room, feeling the bulk of his thick, babyish diaper under his pants. He tried to lose himself in the forms the receptionist had handed him, but his efforts were futile against the continued whispers and curious stares that surrounded him. Time seemed to crawl, each minute stretching longer than the last. His humiliation grew anew as more patients entered the room. They would at first be oblivious to the spectacle, until Jacob shifted, and they’d look over, perhaps expecting to see someone unraveling a candy wrapper, but Jacob had no wrapper. They’d stare until they saw the bulge in pants, and as the dots connected they would pretend to look away but Jacob knew from experience, everyone had one eye on him, secretly reveling in his embarrassment. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a nurse called his name. Jacob stood, acutely aware of the crinkling sound his diaper made with each step. He followed the nurse through the clinic's brightly lit corridors to the examination area. The nurse led him to a scale in the hallway. "We need to get an accurate weight, Jacob. Pants and shirt off, please," she said, her tone professional yet impersonal. Jacob complied, his hands trembling slightly as he removed his pants, revealing the cartoon-print diaper in full view. The nurse's eyes flicked down to it, but she made no comment. A few lucky kids and parents had been called back as well and got to finally see the full view and just how pathetic Jacob really was as he needed not just a guard or a liner but a diaper so thick it spread his legs to walk in it. Jacob could feel everyone passing by staring at his ass. She noted his weight, then added, "Your diaper is wet. It’s probably adding a bit, but we can't risk taking it off. You’d probably drip on the floor. Honestly, Jacob, were you even aware you’d wet?" Her tone was harsh as she made additional notes on her board. “It never changes with you,” she muttered Jacob glanced down wondering how she could tell. In truth, he couldn’t feel much wetness as it absorbed so easily. Sometimes he could feel a flow but often he just dribbled without much awareness. . Next, they moved to a small room for his height measurement. “Still not growing, 5 feet 4 inches,” she remarked, the same height as you were in middle school. “No chest hair,” she looked down the front of his diaper, “Are you shaving your groin or have you not developed hair yet?” Jacob burned red across his bare chest and smooth face. He was blond and men in his family typically had less hair than usual but he was particularly sensitive about how little he had sprouted. It wasn’t none though. “I shave,” he whispered. The nurse noted his response and continued. “Are you shaving your face yet?” Jacob nodded but she looked at him skeptically and took hold of his chin, turning his face to the side and drawing it closer to her to get a good look. “Hmm, I supposed you might be sprouting a few hairs.” After the preliminary checks, Jacob was ushered into the examination room, a familiar space that he had visited many times before. The room was sterile and clinical, with the examination table at the center, its paper cover crinkling under his touch as he sat down and the combination of the crinkle form his diaper and the covering made Jacob wish it was possible to not move a muscle during the whole of the visit. He knew Dr. Martin thought he was the epitome of pathetic. He wondered what fresh he’ll he would need to endure this time, all to get his insurance to pay for his diapers. patreon.com/user?u=7664738