dribblez

Thanks Sally. The MIL from hell is about to make Greg's week a whole lot worse.

As promised, here is the next installment. Greg finds himself having to make a lot of adjustments to his lifestyle.... Part Three - Weeks Four, Five and Six Week Four “We’ll keep the dose at 1 drop for another week,” said Kathryn the following Sunday morning. “The target is 35%, which means more night time trips to the bathroom, and unless Greg has learned his lesson, at least another accident after drinking.” As ever, Kathryn was right. Greg now found that he was having to get up once every night to pee. On Wednesday he decided to skip his usual post-training trip to the pub, and went straight home, where Anna was waiting to give him his usual reward. On Thursday, Greg stayed for just one beer with his colleagues, and headed home early. Anna was ecstatic that her mother’s plan was working so well. On Friday morning, or as Kathryn would have it “33%”, Greg found himself only just making it into work without an accident. “Boy, that was a close call”, he thought to himself as he did up his flies. Saturday was football day as usual. This time it was an away game, and Greg was careful not to drink too much beer. Nevertheless, he did not quite manage it as he and his mates headed back to the train, and his jeans displayed a now familiar wet spot the size of an orange before Greg managed to make it to a toilet. “Looks like you might want to wear a nappy next time”, one of Greg’s mates shouted. Greg blushed, and was relieved to see that the spot had dried by the time he reached his destination. Anna spotted the yellow stain on Greg’s underpants, but decided to say nothing as she performed her usual ritual when Greg got back. Sunday morning saw the usual weekly conference between mother and daughter as Greg slept. “We’re going to double the dose again this week, which means 49% by next Sunday,” Kathryn told her daughter. “From now on, things are about to get interesting.” Week Five As with the previous Friday, Greg only just made it to work without an accident on Monday morning. On Tuesday he arrived with a small wet spot on his crotch. Miraculously, Wednesday morning passed off without incident, but Greg arrived home slightly damp. Anna noticed as she removed his jeans. “Oh look darling, you’re already a little bit wet, and Mom has noticed that your underpants have been stained several times this last week.” Greg blushed and felt a mixture of embarrassment and anger that his mother-in-law was now inspecting his underwear. “It’s just once or twice, no big deal. It’s a guy thing.” “No, you’re right,” soothed Anna. “It’s OK. It’s just that I think you might need a little bit of protection. I saw these things when I was out shopping today. They’re just little pads, a bit like the ones I have to wear when I’m having a period.” Greg was really embarrassed now, and he looked in horror as his wife showed him a package of “guards” that her mother had purchased for him. She pulled one out of its plastic envelope. “Look that’s all there is to it. Nobody will know, and it’s better than going around with damp underpants and having to worry about making it to the bathroom in time.” Greg saw her point, but before he could say any more, Anna had started playing his favourite game through the damp cotton of his underwear. Greg had a quick bite to eat afterwards and headed off for football practice, this time wearing a pad for the first time, despite some initial protests. Nobody notice the slight extra bulge in Greg’s pants in the changing room, or if they did, nobody said anything. Feeling slightly emboldened, Greg decided to stay for a beer after practice, and one beer became two before he left. By the time he arrived home, the pad had absorbed several leaks, but it had done its job, much to Greg’s relief. Anna praised him for keeping his pants dry, just as she embarked on yet another game which would only end up with Greg having an “accident” in his underwear. Greg skipped after-work drinks on Thursday, but still arrived home with a wet pad. On Friday Anna gave him a spare pad to put in his rucksack. “Just in case”. And he was glad that she had because Greg had arrived at work with a completely saturated guard. To make matters worse, Greg had been having to get up every single night to relieve his bladder, and he was beginning to feel very tired. On Saturday Greg had to leave the match early after he realised that his pad was leaking, and that he was wet between his legs. On Sunday Kathryn announced that the dose would once again be reduced, and that the target for the week was 56%. “I think we will see pretty much a repeat of this last week, but with slightly more frequent accidents.” And she was right. Greg was now taking two spare pads to work, and even then he had leaked a little into his underpants on a couple of occasions. Nothing too serious, and nothing too embarrassing, but it was a worry. Greg started to think more and more about his slipping bladder control and how to manage it. At this rate he might soon need something more than pads, he told himself, but he quickly dismissed the thought. For the first time, Greg had an accident at football practice. Not enough to embarrass himself, but he was glad of the spare pad in his bag after the session. Beers with the boys were not a good idea, he decided. On Thursday Greg had to change his pad as soon as he arrived at work, and again after a long a very tedious staff meeting. He skipped the after-work drinks again, but still arrived home with a noticeable and growing wet spot on his chinos. That evening Greg found himself in the middle of a family conference. “I’m going to get straight to the point, Greg,” Kathryn began. “You have been wetting your pants more and more often, and we are going to need to do something about it. As you know, I have studied this field of medicine for many years, and in my professional opinion this is most likely a passing problem triggered by stress. The likelihood is that the symptoms will grow worse in the short term before you start to see an improvement.” Greg objected. “I haven’t wet my pants, well, only once or twice, and the pads have been OK. I’m coping, and that’s the main thing.” “He’s right, Mom,” Anna said. “Let’s not increase the pressure on poor Greg right now.” “Well, if you are both sure about this, but I have my doubts,” Kathryn replied. “Anyway, I need a word with you Greg, in private.” Greg was horrified, and he felt a small spurt of pee escape into his pad. He looked at Anna, who smiled back sweetly and gave him an encouraging nod. So he went with Kathryn into her bedroom where she reminded him that it was Anna’s birthday on Sunday. “Oh shit. What with everything else going on, I clean forgot.” “I thought as much,” said Kathryn. “So you and I are going to head off to the shops tomorrow to buy Anna a present. And I have booked a table for three for lunch on Sunday at Anna’s favourite restaurant.” Somewhat relieved, Greg agreed and said good night to his mother-in-law. Needless to say, Anna was waiting for him in the bedroom for his favourite game. Friday saw a repeat of the problems Greg had been having all week, except that this time Anna had given him a change of underwear and a fresh pair of chinos, just in case. Just in case turned out to be a wise idea because Greg arrived at work with a very wet pad, damp underpants and some tell-tale spots on his trousers. He was not going to be so lucky on Saturday. Black Saturday and Week Six After another fairly sleepless night which saw Greg having to get up twice, wetting his pad each time before he could get to the bathroom, Greg got ready to go shopping with his mother-in-law. It was only a short distance to the mall, and so Greg decided that he did not need a spare pad or a change of underwear, despite Anna’s advice to the contrary. Kathryn insisted on driving her shiny new BMW, and the first part of the shopping trip passed off without incident. Greg bought a beautiful bracelet for Anna on Kathryn’s advice, and after a couple more minor purchases, Kathryn suggested that they stop off for a coffee before going home. Greg decided to order small coke rather than a coffee and was somewhat annoyed when a large coke arrived with Kathryn’s latte. “You don’t have to drink it all if you are worried about wetting your pants,” Kathryn said in an unnecessarily loud voice as the waiter hovered. “It’s OK. I’ll take that,” Greg said to the smirking waiter, hoping a thunderbolt would strike his mother-in-law dead as she sat slowly sipping her coffee. Kathryn took so long to finish her small latte, that Greg had finished his huge coke without thinking by the time she was finally ready to go. The pair headed back to the car and left the mall. Greg congratulated himself on surviving the trip without mishap and without strangling his mother-in-law, until she announced that she needed to go to HyperDM to buy a few things. Greg sighed as Kathryn headed further away from home, and after a 30 minute grind through heavy traffic she pulled into the car park of the massive store. HyperDM was the UK arm of a European retailing success that sold heavily discounted toiletries, scents and other products. Greg was beginning to feel the effects of the coke and so duly followed Kathryn’s command to come with her, hoping that he would be able to use the store’s bathroom. Once inside, Kathryn began a very leisurely stroll along the aisles, as Greg looked around for signs indicating the presence of a public toilet. There were none. “You haven’t listened to a word I’ve been saying, Greg. Now follow me. They stock some of Anna’s favourite brands here, and I’m going to help you choose them. Go and get a basket!” Greg meekly headed back to the entrance and picked up a basket. Kathryn had meanwhile disappeared from view, and Greg spent what seemed like eternity trying to find her. “Where have you been?” she snapped. “Now put these in the basket and come with me.” Greg knew he was not going to be able to hold out much longer. “Um, Kathryn, I um need the bathroom. Urgently.” “For God’s sake. It’s worse than having a child. Why didn’t you go before we left the mall? Well, you’re just going to have to hold on because they don’t have a bathroom here.” Kathryn did not attempt to lower her voice, and several shoppers could not help but overhear the conversation. Greg was now holding his crotch and doing a pee dance. “Come on Greg, they’re over there,” Kathryn boomed as she headed off to the perfume counter. Greg took one step, but it was too late. A sudden spurt of pee caused him to clench, but seconds later he realised that a thin stream of pee was escaping into his pad. Then the dam burst and Greg’s pad was no match for the deluge. He was soon standing in a puddle of his own pee. “Oh my God,” shouted Kathryn. “You’ve wet your pants again. Stay there while I get some help.” Greg felt like running and running. Anything to get away from here, but he was too far from home, and it was too late to do anything about it. Eventually Kathryn returned with a man who was about the same age as Greg. “Hi, I’m Stephen, the deputy store manager. Don’t worry, we’re used to this. Now, let’s get you sorted out,” he said to Greg who was trying hard not to cry. “Come with me, and you too, madame.” Stephen took Greg and Kathryn to a door marked “Private”, and swiped a card to let them in. “This is the staff room and toilets,” he said. “I think those shorts are a right-off, erm….?” “Greg,” Kathryn replied. “His name is Greg.” “OK, Greg. You stay here, and I’ll go and see what I can find. We don’t sell underwear or clothing here, but I can get you some trainer pants and as luck would have it, we are currently doing a promotion on a line of after-shave which includes some football shorts.” Stephen returned after about 10 minutes carrying a couple of items. “Now, Greg, if you take off those wet things and clean yourself off with these baby wipes, I’ll make sure nobody comes in.” Greg did as he was told, and his mother-in-law tore open the package Stephen had handed her, yanking out what looked like a large pair of padded white underpants with frills around the legs. Greg pulled them up and found that the waistband came all the way to his navel. Next came the shorts, which were, to Greg’s horror, genuine white football shorts that were verging on being transparent. Kathryn bagged up Greg’s wet underpants and shorts, and the three headed out into the store. Stephen took them to a checkout and handed the items to the lady, telling her quietly that the opened pack of incontinence pants were OK. “I showed them a sample,” he said. Kathryn thanked him, while Greg stood staring at the floor, hoping it would swallow him up. “Take care now,” Stephen smiled, and went back to work. Kathryn and Greg headed for the door where a small girl asked her mother in a very loud voice, “Mummy, why is that man wearing a nappy?” Kathryn laughed, as Greg sped back to the relative safety of the BMW. The two sat in silence all the way home, with Greg on the verge of tears once more. He had never felt so humiliated. As soon as they were back, Greg bounded up the stairs and headed for the bedroom, determined to tear off the hated trainer pants and shorts, only to find Anna putting away some clothes. “Greg!” she cried, giving her husband a tight hug and several kisses. “It’s OK, It’s all OK.” The pair spent a long time in each other’s arms, with Anna stroking Greg’s hair and calming him down. At length, her hand travelled down to his crotch, and she began massaging his limp and rather unimpressive willy before she led her husband into the bedroom. “Oh God,” sighed Greg, as he surrendered himself once again, eventually exploding into his dry trainer pants. That evening Anna and Greg went out for dinner at a new place just a short walk from the flat. Anna said he would not need his trainers, if he did not want to wear them. “It’s a five minute walk and you can use the bathroom there. But I think you should wear a pad. Just in case.” Greg was relieved and managed to stay dry the whole time. After his day from hell, Greg felt almost triumphant. The following morning it was time for the usual mother-daughter conference. “Week seven, and everything is on course,” Kathryn declared. “We go back up to two drops per day, and the target for next Sunday is 70%. Greg will have to go into pullup diapers from today, but we’ll call them special trainer pants. He will also need to take spares to work.” Kathryn added that she did not expect a bedwetting this week, but that it would be wise to take precautions. “I bought a mattress protector and plastic undersheet for Greg,” she said. “He may not need it, but it’s best to be safe. He will however be very tired by the end of the week.” Anna reminded her mother that she was due to go to a conference the following weekend, and hoped that she would be able to look after Greg. “No problem at all. You won’t need to worry about a thing. Greg will be just fine.”

Thanks for the encouragement. Here's the next installment. I'm now away for a few days, so no more updates until the weekend. Part Two - Weeks 1 to 3 Greg arrived home late that Saturday night, slightly the worse for wear after celebrating his team’s victory. He quietly slipped into bed besides his wife and was soon fast asleep. The following morning, Greg was gently woken by Anna who had brought him a mug of fresh coffee. “Ah thanks. I need that. You don’t normally treat me like this on a Sunday morning, but I think I could get used to it.” The coffee contained the first tiny dose of what Kathryn called Mictulin. Each droplet would equate to an estimated 1% decline in bladder size and sphincter control, she said. For the first week, Anna was to administer just one drop every morning, leading to a 7% decline by the end of the first week. There would be no noticeable effect, she assured her daughter. Having drunk his coffee, Greg headed for the shower, leaving his last remaining pair of pink boxer briefs on the floor. He was surprised to see Anna sitting on the bed waiting for him as he came back in naked. “I went shopping yesterday, and decided to buy you a present,” Anna said. “Something to spice up our Sunday mornings.” To Greg’s surprise, Anna produce a pair of white briefs from behind her back and beckoned her husband to come to her. “WTF! When you said spice up, that’s the last thing I imagined,” he told her. “You’ll see, big boy,” she said as she gently pulled the white underpants up Greg’s legs, before pushing him back onto the bed. In truth, Greg was not very big, more a grower than a shower, thought Anna, as she began feeling his little limp cock through the cotton. As she kissed her husband and gently massaged his cock, it did not take Greg long to come to the edge. “Whoa! I’m gonna cum in my pants,” he moaned. “Ssshhh. That’s all right, just lie back and let me do the rest,” Anna told him Seconds later and it was too late. Greg had a large and growing wet spot on the front of his new briefs. Anna held him tight and kissed him. “It’s OK, it’s OK. Just a little accident.” Greg eventually cleaned himself up and went to his underwear drawer, only to find it empty except for a few pairs of identical white briefs. “Where are all my boxers?” he asked Anna. “In the recycling. I only want you to wear these from now on, and if you do, I promise you lots more special treats”. Greg was stunned. This was not like Anna at all, he thought, but he had to admit that he had enjoyed their little play earlier. The problem now was that he was about to head off to play footie in the park, and he was sure that his mates would take the piss out of him for wearing tighty whiteys. But he did not have a choice. Greg had never really paid much attention to the underwear choices of the other players, but in the changing rooms he noticed that quite a few replaced their boxers with plain white briefs for the game, and nobody commented on his underpants. The game over, the team headed back to the changing rooms and a shower. Greg showered with the rest and returned to get dressed. “Nice pants Greg,” shouted Rob, one of his best mates. “I know,” replied Greg. "All the rest are in the wash.” Greg and the other players then made their way to the bar for a few drinks before heading home, and as so often one beer turned into two, and then three, and then four, and the atmosphere became increasingly loud and rowdy. Suddenly someone yanked Greg’s shorts down to his ankles, exposing his white underpants to the rest of the bar. There was a roar of laughter and calls of “tighty whiteys!” from the other customers. Greg blushed and said “very funny”, as he quickly pulled his shorts back up. He left shortly afterwards feeling slightly humiliated. The rest of the week continued as usual, with Greg getting used to his new underwear. The only difference was that Anna initiated her new underpants sex game at every opportunity. Greg thought to himself that if that was the price he had to pay for wearing white briefs, it was a price worth paying. Week Two On Sunday morning Kathryn told Anna to increase the Mictulin dose to two drops every morning. The result would be a 21% loss of bladder control by the end of the week, and it was possible that Greg would not notice any difference, she counselled. And so the daily routine continued, interspersed with more underpants sex games, which Greg was really enjoying. So much so, that he began to have an erection every time he pulled on a clean pair of his new underwear. He made sure that no one would pants him again after a game by wearing shorts with a belt, and life seemed good. The only small embarrassment occurred on the following Saturday as Greg headed home after another night of celebrating his team’s success. As he walked down the long street he became aware of an increasing need to pee, and by the time he reached the front door, his hands were trembling as he put the key in the lock. Greg sprinted up the stairs and again fumbled with the key to the door of the flat. As he did so, he felt a small spurt of pee escape into his pants, and by the time he had got to the bathroom, a second spurt had followed. Greg’s shorts showed a wet spot the size of an orange as he went into the bedroom to get changed, only to find Anna waiting for him. “Sssshhh, it’s OK. Just a little accident,” she purred as she initiated yet another game. Week Three Greg had his usual Sunday morning lie-in, as Kathryn discussed the plans for the coming week with her daughter. “It’s all on track,” she said, before explaining that they would now reduce the dosage to one drop per day, with the target being a 28% loss by the end of the week. “Again, he will hardly notice any difference, except that he may have to get up at night once or twice, and he will need to be careful with the beer. Another accident cannot be ruled out.” And it turned out just as Kathryn said it would. Greg normally slept like a log all through the night, but this week he found himself having to get out of bed a couple of times to pee in the middle of the night. On Thursday he went out with his colleagues from work as usual, and downed four pints before heading back home on the underground train. With just one stop to go, the train came to a grinding halt in a tunnel, and nothing happened until the driver announced that there was a slight delay due to a signalling problem, but that they should soon be on their way again. 20 minutes went by, and Greg started to feel the effect of the beer. He crossed his legs. Another 10 minutes went by, and Greg started to feel desperate. He stood up and unconsciously began to do a pee dance. Suddenly the train lurched forward, and Greg lost control for a couple of seconds. He quickly sat back down and clenched. A wet spot was beginning to grow on the crotch of his chinos, and Greg was struggling not to wet himself any more. By the time he reached the station, Greg was losing the battle, and as he sprinted up the stairs, he felt himself getting wetter and wetter. Out in the cool night air, his bladder finally released all that was left, and Greg was forced to walk home completely soaked. Fortunately, it was dark, and he was just about to put the key into lock of the flat door when it was opened by Kathryn. “Oh my, what have we here?” she exclaimed, eyeing Greg’s very wet trousers. “Looks like someone peed in their pants. You’d better take them off here, rather than trail urine through the flat,” she ordered. Greg was about to protest, but one look from his mother-in-law told him that argument was futile. Slowly he removed his wet chinos, and stood in his yellowish and now very cold wet underpants. “Them as well,” she barked, before sending Greg to the bathroom to clean up. Greg was mortified, but having showered, he soon found himself being comforted by Anna. It was really nothing. Accidents happen, and everything was going to be OK, she purred as she gently brought Greg to a climax in his clean white underpants.

This is my first story on this site, and it owes a great deal to two of my favourite authors here, Elfy and SallyKat. Apologies to both for what is probably a shadow of the real thing. Another more ambitious project is in the works, and I hope to learn some lessons from this first attempt. Feedback welcome. Some unwelcome news…. “That’s, erm, really great,” Greg said. “Super exciting.” He tried hard to make it sound as though he meant it, and that he shared Anna’s joy at the news that his mother-in-law had put in a successful offer for the house next door. In reality he felt as though he’d been punched in the stomach. Kathryn, or rather Dr Kathryn Schwarz as Greg tended to think of her, was now in her early sixties and retired, with too much time and too much money on her hands. Her highly successful career as a research scientist had culminated in a professorship and a very well paid position as a senior adviser to one of the world’s leading pharmaceutical giants. Her one and only husband had died many years previously, a couple of years after the birth of Anna, their only child. Kathryn Schwarz now spent her time travelling and cultivating her stunning garden at the family home in southern California, and she was bored. To Greg, Kathryn always induced what can best be described as imposter syndrome. She was rich, highly intelligent, sophisticated, always immaculately coiffured and dressed, and he felt that she could somehow see straight through him. He was inadequate and barely to be tolerated in her eyes, he felt. Anna, on the other hand, was Kathryn’s princess, and surprise visits to the couple’s small flat in London had become increasingly frequent since the mother's retirement. “I just thought I would stop over for a couple of weeks on my way back from Bhutan/Sri Lanka/the Maldives (insert the name of any other exotic location where Kathryn had been spending her time),” she would say as Greg hauled his mother-in-law’s heavy and expensive luggage up the stairs to their flat. And now, Anna explained, Kathryn planned to spend up to half a year enjoying the cultural delights of London and the rest of Europe from her base next door. Naturally Kathryn had not just bought a flat in the building next door, but the entire three floors plus garden, and she now intended to convert the three flats it contained back into a single family home, complete with accommodation for a cook/housekeeper. Needless to say, this was going to be a major renovation and design project, and Kathryn had told her daughter that she would have to live her (she forgot to mention Greg) while the work was carried out to her specifications. Greg speculated that this would mean living with his mother-in-law for at least six months, and probably rather longer. The prospect filled him with dread. Kathryn moves in Weeks went by while the lawyers completed the purchase of Number 8, Wellington Gardens until one day Anna announced that her mother would be arriving the following Monday to begin the renovation project by interviewing prospective architects, project managers and builders. That left Greg with one final weekend of freedom for the foreseeable future, and he made plans for a couple of days of footie and heavy drinking. Greg had met Anna at university, and having graduated and embarked on their respective careers, they had married shortly after their 24th birthdays which both fell in May. Anna worked in PR and was clearly headed for a glittering career; Greg worked in IT for a publishing house. After four years of marriage the couple had no plans to start a family, although Anna sometimes toyed with the idea of what it might be like to have a baby. But there was still plenty of time, and she settled down into a routine of work and visiting art galleries and painting in her spare time. Greg, on the other hand, never seemed to grow up. Ever since his teenage years, his passions had been playing football, or soccer as Anna insisted on calling it, going to watch his team play, and long, boozy sessions with his mates in the pubs and bars of north London. For Greg Wednesday nights were practice nights, followed by a trip to a pub; Thursday nights usually found him out somewhere with his work colleagues; Friday nights were usually spent at home before he headed off to watch his team play on Saturdays, followed by post-match analysis over yet more beers. Sunday mornings saw Greg playing for the second team down at the park, followed once again by beers with his mates. Unsurprisingly, Anna had come to feel neglected by her husband, and although he had tried to persuade her to come and join him and his mates for drinks on a Sunday lunchtime, she never felt comfortable in the company Greg kept, and so she stayed alone or headed off to one of her beloved art galleries. Kathryn had been observing her daughter’s increasingly sterile and boring married life on her trips to London, and now she resolved that it was time to intervene. Anna clearly loved Greg, that much she knew, and as she settled into the small guest bedroom, Kathryn was confident that an extended stay with her daughter and son-in-law would give her scope to carry out more than one project. The ten week project Kathryn had spent her first couple of weeks busying herself with the building project, but that still left her with plenty of spare time during which she set about building up a social network and doing household chores to help her daughter while she was at work. The household chores involved food shopping, a little light cleaning and doing the laundry for Anna and Greg. It was while she stood folding a pile of freshly laundered clothes one day that Kathryn broached the subject of Greg with her daughter. “How are things with Greg?” she asked. “He certainly seems to spend a lot of time kicking a ball around and consuming beers.” Anna felt as though a dam had burst, as she poured out her long pent-up frustration and feelings of neglect. “I love him, I really do,” she sobbed, “but it gets so lonely, and I don’t know what I can do to persuade Greg to spend more time together.” Kathryn hugged her daughter and said, “I’ve been giving this some thought and I think I know what we need to do, but you are going to have to trust me 100% and do exactly as I say for this to work.” “OK,” Anna replied, slightly nervously. “What do you have in mind?” “In essence we need to work on Greg’s motivation so that rather than wanting to spend time with his friends drinking and playing soccer, he comes to understand that he is happier and feels more secure being with you. To the extent that he actually does not want to go out with his friends any more.” Anna listened intently. This seemed to make sense, and she respected her mother’s experience and thoughtful approach. “First things first,” Kathryn said, as she gestured to a pile of Greg’s colourful boxer briefs. “These have to go. Young men these days don’t like wearing plain white briefs, and Greg will probably be embarrassed to be seen wearing them in the locker room. It’s a small beginning, but it will unsettle him slightly. At the same time, you need to reward him for wearing more manly underwear, and that will mean conditioning him to associate your choice of underwear for him with sex.” “OK,” said Kathryn. “I understand. But is there anything else?” “Changing his underwear is just the first step of a ten week plan,” Kathryn explained. “In one of my last projects before retiring I supervised the development of a new drug for use in a specialised branch of urology. Essentially the drug gradually shrinks a patient’s bladder and reduces control. It is still pending approval, but extensive testing has shown very encouraging results, and one of my contacts has provided me with a supply.” Anna looked worried. “I don’t want to hurt him or cause him any long-term damage. I could never do that.” “Don’t worry. Greg will not experience any pain, and his loss of control will be gradual and in time, the evidence suggests that he will return to normal bladder function.” After discussing the implications and details, Anna found herself agreeing to go with her mother’s plan, beginning immediately. Her first task was to head off to the shops while Greg was still away at soccer to buy six pairs of plain white men’s briefs. The boxers would go to recycling.

Up to last week I cannot remember ever having a diaper dream, but I recently decided to upgrade my daytime underwear from pullups to diapers. Until now I have only worn diapers for long journeys and at night. In the dream I was sent by my employer to run some sort of conference in a very plush building. For some reason, the delegates were seated in four separate rooms, and thanks to my boss's increasing reluctance to spend money, I was the only staffer present. This meant that I had to keep running from room to room, making sure everyone knew what they were supposed to be doing, and inevitably there were several complainers in their midst who did not understand the instructions. I remember feeling a little stressed, but the adrenaline was flowing and, as is usual for me, I found myself enjoying the stress. I was wearing a white diaper, that much I remember, and cannot recall whether I was also wearing trousers. Probably not. At some point I leaked, but it did not matter. At this point I woke up, and in the real world I felt a strong urge to pee. Whether I has actually started wetting in my dream, I don't know. So I rolled over onto my back and let nature take its course. I stopped trying to analyse dreams when I emerged from adolescence because they never made any sense, but I suspect that this dream was telling me that it was OK to wear a diaper at work and that I need to wear one. That in turn was probably linked to the thought I have been giving about how to manage my lack of daytime control. Staying in the real world, I ordered a case of new "improved" diapers from my regular supplier who has been promoting this brand (Vivactive) heavily. My advice is don't go there. I put the first one on last night, and was surprised how incredibly thin it was (this is the top end of their range). I added a stuffer and plastic pants. This morning I woke up very wet, although I can't remember peeing that much, with a small leak in the bed. Thank heavens for the mattress protector. I've now somehow to get through the case, and the only way I will be able to do that is by double diapering during the day. Meanwhile, I have had to put another order in for my normal night time nappies.

Thanks Elfy. I somehow missed the last two installments. Another really good story. Keep 'em coming. ?

Last major leak was a year ago. Stupidly I set off on a 250 mile drive in a pullup. 50 miles in and I felt some wetness and realised my jeans crotch was wet. So I pulled into a small service station only to find that the single toilet was occupied. My rear also had telltale half moons. I pretended to be interested in the magazines while I waited, desperately trying to hold because any more leaks would have been catastrophic. Eventually an Indian lady emerged. I did not hang around to see if she clocked my wet crotch. Worse was to come because most of the floor of the toilet was under water. A quick change, as I struggled to keep my feet dry. I made a rapid exit, with wet trousers over a dry nappy. Probably all caught on CCTV.

Thanks for the welcome. Climbs back into high chair....

Hi Elfy. I really love your work, and Bad husband, better baby is my all-time favourite. I was also really enjoying Rebecca's Revenge. Any plans to finish that one?

Hi everyone. Where to start? I just tried to recover my old account which had been lying dormant for about a year, but eventually remembered that I had deleted the e-mail account which it was attached to. Doh. I am now 35, DL but with some but have had mild sporadic urge incontinence for about 10 years. I went 24/7 for almost a year but took a couple of months break in September and October last year since when I have been 24/7 again. It was not binge and purge, just that I went through a spell of not experiencing urge problems and decided to go cold turkey. As so often in the past, the urge problems began again, and for safety's sake I began wearing again. Until now it has been pullups during the day and a mix of pullups and nappies at night. My job sometimes requires a lot of long car journeys, and for anything above 2 hours I have been wearing nappies and plastic pants. Effectively, then, I have been 24/7 for coming up to two years, and although I still have a lot of control, it's not 100%, and I sometimes get surprise leaks. Usually I am completely aware of when I am peeing, but have found recently that there are more and more occasions when I am not really sure whether I am dribbling/leaking or not. I have had myself checked out, and apart from general bladder weakness which I had up to my late teens, there is nothing wrong. Perhaps it's just prolonged wearing that has taken me further down the rabbit hole. As someone said on a different thread not so long, I am probably deeper in than I think, and I certainly would not risk leaving the house for anything other than a quick trip to the shops without padding up. I am married, and my wife has been brilliant. She would rather not have a husband in pullups and nappies, but agrees that exploring the medical possibilities further would likely mean medication or surgery at some point, and neither of us wants that. So it's something she has come to accept, and it does not interfere with our sex life. My wife is a very straight talking person who always goes straight to the point, and without meaning to she has left me feeling pretty awkward in public at times. There is a part of me that gets a little kick out of the humiliation, I suppose. When I started wearing again last November I was out shopping with her and I said I needed to get some more incontinence pants. So we ended up at a large and fairly well-stocked pharmacy where she took charge and went through the range carefully examining each product. I was keen to get out quickly, but she insisted on discussing the pros and cons in detail, dismissing a couple of my choices as inadequate. "You need something thicker than that", she said in a normal voice, as other customers passed by. I now buy all mow supplies online, but have occasionally had to make emergency trips to a large supermarket. A couple of years ago I would have been horrified at the prospect of standing in a line with a package of incontinence pants, but I have now convinced myself that I am incontinent and that being incontinent (at least partially) is part of who I am. Occasionally my wife either forgets that I am padded or perhaps she likes to remind me, I am never sure which, but she will give me a playful smack on my rear. She recently did this while we were on a beach, and it sounded for all the world like a drum. Blush. I have now decided to move on to nappies fulltime, having had a few nights of sleep without having to get up several times thanks to a nappy and plastic pants. I am also going to invest in some onesies after experiencing a few slightly embarrassing wardrobe malfunctions (peakage). Today I went for a walk along a nearby river with my wife and realised after about an hour that I had been walking around with my flies wide open. A onesie wouldn't have helped, of course, but I wonder whether any of the people we met along the route would have noticed that the white material showing from my flies was not cotton. Oops.