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  1. Just thought I would show off my DIY work of creating my changing table and area. Highlights are a custom turtle PUL cover, turtle pillow case, all supplies in reach for my big, and a locking safety belt. Makes me feel super little : )
  2. This roleplay is about when Perry the platypus is forced into a diaper by the Nanny-Inator in the episode the Baljeatles originally he escapes by wetting his diaper but this time he actually gets caught and gets his diaper changed and trapped more so Perry must escape the Nursery a different way while the Nanny-Inator watches him and treats him more and more like a baby, full diaper usage is allowed if wanted to, and we can go over any other rules and add things if you want to you can choose to be the Nanny-Inator, or Perry the platypus
  3. sidbaby

    Stinky Diaper Change 2

    From the album: Christmas and New Year 2021 at Mommy's House

    My mommy wipes my bottom in a way that makes my little wee wee stand up. She laughs a lot about it.
  4. So I've had some free time and felt inspired to create another short story. I'm still working on creating an eBook (for anyone interested) that will have all of short stories I've created. For now let me know what you think of this short story and if I get enough support I'm thinking of creating a full story that will start with Alex's 18th birthday. Diapers and Denial: The Tale Of Two Friends Alex and Mike have been best friends since first meeting each other in elementary school. Both have been avid gamers and consistently have been found sitting in the living room glued to the TV screen. The boys would spend so much time in their spots that their mothers would joke about the living room rug having permeant indentations from where they were sitting. From Need for Speed Underground to Overwatch 2 both Alex and Mike have played the games together. In this alternative world, potty training doesn’t begin until the ripe age of 19. Adults young as 18 can start potty training but in reality most adults don’t get fully trained until 20 to 21. Alex and Mike are bit embarrassed about their situation. A large portion of their peers have already expressed interest in potty training while some have even started wearing pull-ups. To Alex and Mike, they feel like they were the only ones who still needed diapers and are at risk of becoming outcasts. On a rainy afternoon over at Mikes house we find the two friends in Mike’s room glued in front of the TV. Mike is playing the latest Call of Duty while Alex sits close by watching and doom scrolling on his phone. As Alex continues to doom scroll he feels his stomach rumble in an ominous way alerting him that a messy diaper is on the horizon. This wouldn’t be problem for Alex or even Mike as they’re both wearing diaper. But since Alex’s last birthday he has begin feeling new emotions, one of which is embarrassment when doing his business. As a result, Alex has begin the phase of hiding when doing business to lessen the embarrassment. "Hey, Mike, I’m to go to grab a drink from the kitchen. Do you want anything?,” he said, trying to sound casual. But Mike knew what was really going on. "Do you need to poop?" he asked, noticing the telltale potty dance Alex was doing along with him holding his stomach. Silent farts that Alex had been releasing that was now filling the room was also a good indication of what was coming. Alex blushed while crossing his arms over his stomach. “No" Mike could easily tell that Alex was going to mess his diaper soon just by his body language alone but didn't mind. He was used to it by now and did the same type of actions when he need to go as well. However, Mike wasn’t the one for modesty and had not yet begin feeling the same level emotions that Alex had been experiencing. Mike was contempt on squatting wherever he was at and pushing a load into his diaper before retuning to what he was previously doing. To Alex, the thought of messing his diaper while Mike was nearby was too embarrassing. He tried to play it cool, but the rumbling in his stomach was getting worse and he knew he had to go soon. "Well, I'm going to get a cold juice box and enjoy the cool air in the kitchen for a few minutes because your room hot as hell ," Alex said quickly before getting up from the floor and walking towards the door. Mike noticed Alex's sudden change in behavior and realized Alex maybe embarrassed by what was going on. "Alex, wait. You don’t have to feel embarrassed about using your diaper around me.” “I do it all the time around my parents and I know you see me squatting when I go” “If you want, you can hide beside my bed and I won't watch if that makes you feel better?” Mike side looking over to the small space occupied between his bed and dresser. Alex felt his cheeks turn red with embarrassment. "No, no. I don’t need to poop, ok, I'm fine. I'll be right back," he said before quickly leaving the room. He made his way to the living room, where he knew there was a hidden spot behind the couch. He silently crawled behind the couch, and squatted. Alex listed for any noises that could indicate that Mike or even Mike’s parents were coming close his location. He pushed down with his tummy muscles resulting in a small load filling the seat of his diaper with an audible wet fart. Taking a moment to listen for anyone, he pushed down more with grunt causing his diaper to balloon out. With one final push Mike finished pooping his diaper before releasing a small stream of pee adding to the mix. After he was finished, he felt immerse relief. He couldn't believe he had just hidden behind a couch to mess his diaper as the norm last year was the same as Mike. He stayed there for a while longer to ensure he was done while also, trying to gather the courage to go back to Mike's room. Eventually, he took a deep breath and made his way back to Mike's room, trying to act as if nothing had happened. But Mike noticed the smell right away and could see the bulge in Alex's pants from the load he had deposited. Not too mention Alex didn’t have a juice box and his obvious potty dance posture was now replaced with relaxed look. “Do you feel better now that you, cooled off?" Mike asked, trying to hide his smirk knowing that Alex did not get a juice box. Alex felt his face turn even redder. "No, I mean yes. I'm fine," he said, lying. But Mike knew better. He didn't say anything, though, knowing how embarrassed Alex was feeling. He just continued to play the game, pretending like everything was normal.
  5. sidbaby

    Clean Butt

    From the album: Christmas and New Year 2021 at Mommy's House

    Having your butt wiped by Mommy while she tells you what a stinky girl you are is one of the most embarrassing moments.
  6. sidbaby

    Stinky Diaper Change

    From the album: Christmas and New Year 2021 at Mommy's House

    Mommy changing my diaper on the last day. She usually only puts me in cloth diapers and plastic pants, because she is an environmentalist. However this girl got so wet and dirty during the week that they all sold out, with my Mommy having to put disposables on me. It was lucky, because that was the biggest mess I've ever made. The face of disgust with my Mommy's laughter as she cleaned me up made me very embarrassed.
  7. sidbaby

    It's Diaper Change Time!

    From the album: Christmas and New Year 2021 at Mommy's House

    Mommy was taking a picture, proud of the gifts I got in my trousseau, when suddenly she smells the air and wrinkles her nose. Yep, I had just stuffed my diapers like a baby. My breakfast of oatmeal with prunes did the trick. Luckily I was already on my changing table. It's time to change that Sissy's diaper.
  8. Changing my friends stinky wet diaper.
  9. My friend spanking my diaper butt
  10. This is a sequel to A Thanksgiving Special, available wherever the best diaper stories are found (like here) and to A Christmas Special (here). Read those first or dive on in! _______________________ Basic party etiquette is if there’s a line for the guest bathroom, you wait. You do NOT go upstairs to use the host’s bathroom. But what if you can’t wait? These are your thoughts as you stand in the upstairs bathroom, unsure of what to do and with your partner not answering your texts. She probably can’t hear her phone above the music and your friends and acquaintances ringing in the New Year, still four hours away. You jump when there’s a knock on the door. “Um, occupied,” you say back. “I know,” says the host, a slight edge in her voice reminding you that you’ve invaded her private space. “Is everything okay,” she asks because you’ve been in there a while. The upstairs bathroom is right at the top of the stairs. She must’ve seen you go in, and there’s a chance others are noticing this exchange. “Y-yes … Could you …” You hesitate, embarrassed already and reluctant to add to your embarrassment by being a grown adult asking for someone to go get your partner because you need help in the bathroom. But you don’t have a choice and ask. The emotional stress is becoming physical as you hear your host’s high heels tapping against the hardwood as she descends the stairs. It’s a long five-minute wait, or maybe not even one minute, until you hear two sets of heels returning before a knock on the door. Your partner’s voice has never sounded so good to you. “Are you okay,” she asks. She doesn’t need to ask who’s inside; no one else at the party would need her help in the bathroom. “Yes,” you answer with your voice quivering. You’re not the crying type, or at least you weren’t until recently; you’ve been trying so hard to convince yourself your newfound tendency to get teary is coinciding with your return to diapers on only by coincidence. Outside the bathroom, your partner is asking your host to go and get her bag from the guest room. You hear her saying she should be able to pick it out among all the others because it will be the biggest, and she asks as casually as she can, but with sharpness communicating it’s a minor emergency, if the two of you can use the master bathroom. You hear heels retreating again, and your partner whispers through the door, “Unlock the door, sweetie.” You do and she opens it just enough to peek her head around the corner. “C’mon, let’s go.” “I can’t,” you say with a mix of plaintiveness and frustration. “We’re just going down the hall to Jen’s bedroom. Quick.” She reaches out her hand for yours, and you let her lead you down the hall. It’s unfortunate the upstairs bath is at the top of the stairs leading up from the kitchen, where people tend to gather as they often do at parties. You do your best not to notice whether anyone below is watching as your partner leads across the landing before the two of you disappear from the party’s sight. “I’m sorry,” you say to your partner. “Hold on,” she says, “Almost there.” When the door closes behind you, you can’t hold it in anymore and start to cry hard while apologizing over and over. “I’m sorry,” you tell her, and you need her to know you’re sorry. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” “Shhh,” she says while pressing your face to her shoulder, giving you a warm, dark place to let your tears free. “You don’t need to be sorry.” “I’m sorry.” “Shhh,” she says and rubs small circles on your back, “don’t be sorry. Never be sorry for this. It’s not your fault.” You feel her hand surreptitiously slide down past your waist to pat your bottom. “It’s not your fault.” That’s how Jen finds the two of you, your partnering trying to calm you down while you sob into her shirt and tell her, “I tried. I really tried!” “Shhh. I know you did. It’s okay. There, there.” She notices Jen, who quickly closes the door behind her, and continues patting your back. “This is why we talked about it being okay to stop trying. It just makes you so upset, honey.” “Is everything okay,” Jen mouths to your partner. You feel her nod in response, and ow cognizant you’re not alone together, you pick your head up and do your best to dry up your tears, sniffling hard and wiping at your eyes with your palms. “I’m sorry,” your partner says to Jen. “Thanks so much. We’ll be as quick as we can.” Rather than handing her the bag, she approaches and asks, “Need a hand?” You can’t believe your ears, which turn an impossibly deep shade of red as your partner declines, explaining, “Thanks, but you don’t want to do that. It’s a big change, if you know what I mean.” “I don’t mind.” You don’t even want to be there, making it unfathomable to you why Jen would even offer, let alone why she didn’t take the out your partner had politely offered her. Indeed, having implied what kind of accident you had, your partner was more polite to Jen than to your feelings. Not that it upsets you very much, aware as you are of the scent beginning to make itself known, taking away any chance to hide the nature of what you did in your diaper. No use getting upset over a moot point. “We’ll just be in each other’s way in the bathroom.” “It’s a big bathroom.” “But really?” your partner asks. “How long have the three of us been friends? Let me help. Call it being a good host,” she chuckles. “An exceptionally good host,” she adds. Your partner takes a deep breath she lets out in a sigh, and while you stand there anxiously unable to stop it, she accepts. You want to protest, to say no, to say this is private, to thank Jen and show her out of her own bedroom. But you know you don’t get a say. If you’d had a say on Thanksgiving, you’d still be wearing underpants … and you’d be facing a much larger and more embarrassing problem. Everything having to do with your diapers since Thanksgiving has only reinforced that you don’t get a say when it comes to your diapers. The point was driven home the day before when your partner sat you down to tell you she’d informed your friends of your problem and how you were handling it, again explaining it was better this way, not having to hide it or risk being discovered and sure that your friends would all embrace you and be understanding, would probably never even mention it. She’d been right about that with her family and with yours, but the frustration with your condition and the sense of powerless over it now had been building for longer than just the past month, and it came out then as you raised your voice and told her she had no right to do that. She spoke firmly without raising her voice in turn. “I have every right because you wouldn’t be handling it at all if I didn’t take charge,” she said pointedly, all the more embarrassing because you knew it was true. “And you do not raise your voice.” Like she didn’t ask when she put you in diapers or when she told her family, your family, and all your friends, she didn’t ask when she put you in a timeout to calm down. She was already calm; it was you who needed a moment to collect yourself and make peace with what was about to happen. After your spanking and the jig you danced coming off her lap with a red, stinging bottom, she let you cry on her shoulder as she alternated between rubbing and patting your butt. You received a loving lecture about raising your voice and how you must accept that you do need help and will receive it whether you want it or not. “You’re leaking right now,” she said, and you looked down at yourself to see she was right – you were dribbling on her jeans. “I’m not trying to embarrass you. I’m trying to take the embarrassment away. You need help, and I’m going to give it you. Understand?” You do, which is why you don’t fuss when your partner takes your hand again and leads you into the bathroom with Jen in toe. “I’m sorry we need your bathroom for this. Just seems much better than using the hall one where others could see me disappearing behind the door and two of us coming out,” your partner explains. It’s comforting to know she really is concerned with your feelings and wants to spare you embarrassment, or at least all the embarrassment she can, and you remember the New Year’s Resolution the two of you had talked about that morning during your after-breakfast change, that you will try your hardest to trust her to help you with your problem. “I get it,” Jen says with a wink, though who it’s directed to isn’t clear. It’s somehow less embarrassing for you to stay silent and let everything happen to you, so you do while the two of them chat like nothing is out of the ordinary as you walk into her bathroom. “Could you get everything out while I get them undressed? Lift your foot for me.” You do and she takes off your shoe, followed by the other, narrating as she goes. “Learned the hard way it’s best just take pants all the way off for big changes, didn’t we hun?” “True no matter their age,” Jen says as she unfolds the very large changing mat your partner found on Etsy. Too big good for a shopping trip, but ideal for making sure makeshift changings rooms are left as clean as you find them on longer outings when you don’t have to to carry the diaper bag everywhere. You step out of your pants and cringe a little while your partner examines the inside to be sure they’re clean. “Turn around for me, honey.” You do, and she puts her hand on your bottom, patting it once and seeming to lift it for a moment before letting droop again, sizing up the task ahead of her. “Open your legs a little, sweetie,” Jen says from down on the floor. You do, preferring to think on the you’ve become ‘sweetie,’ ‘honey,’ and ‘sweetheart’ to so many in the past five weeks, in addition to ‘sport,’ ‘tiger,’ and ‘kiddo,’ rather than the sight you’re presenting or whom you’re presenting it to. “The onesie got a little,” Jen says, pointing to where your onesie disappears between your thighs. “Are you feeling okay,” your partner asks you. “Something not agree with your tummy?” You shake your head. Your tummy felt fine now. And you didn’t feel sick before. Just an urgent need followed by a minor pain as you tried the knob on the guest bathroom only to find it occupied. You’re not supposed to take your diaper off yourself, but you imagined your partner somehow wouldn’t mind under the circumstances and quick stepped toward the stairs, hoping no one noticed. You must’ve been discreet because your partner keeps such an attentive eye on you, but she didn’t see you duck around Jeremy as you sped through the kitchen and up the stairs. Only Jen noticed where you’d disappeared to, and you were grateful she had, if only because your partner didn’t respond to your text after you’d closed the door and finished what had begun happening in your pants as you awkwardly climbed the steps. “Ready,” Jen says. “Wait – are you sure you’re done?” A humiliating question, but you and your partner had learned that lesson the second week of you being back in diapers. “Trust me,” your partner gently scoffs as she reaches around to pat your bottom again, “definitely done. There’s a wet bag in there.” Jen turns back to the diaper bag while your partner takes her heels off and sets them aside next to Jen’s. She unbuttons your shirt, and Jen takes it from her to hang on the back of the door after making sure your shirttail was spared. You can’t help but note the disparity between two women dressed in their best and you naked except for your socks and a well-used diaper. Your partner kneels down to unsnap your onesie. “And gloves,” she adds as she stops herself, remembering your diaper wasn’t quit enough this time. “O! Here,” Jen says and hands her a pair. Mind if I …” “Help yourself, and actually, in the little pocket on the outside are some hair ties.” Jen gets out a second pair of gloves for herself, but only one hair ties that she hands to your partner. Jen’s happy to help, but she’s not going to put herself in a position, literally, in which she’d need to tie her hair back. Your partner takes the rubber band and puts her hair into a ponytail, and you feel a pang of regret, though not for what you’d done; you are already getting over that, because your partner is right and you can’t help it. No, your regret is for how hard your partner worked on her hair for the party. “Sorry,” you say. “I told you, sweetie, nothing to be sorry for.” “For your hair. You did such a nice job on it. Sorry about … It looked really good … You still look great tonight.” She smiles as though remembering in that instant why she loves you, which is why helping you with a loaded diaper isn’t a yucky chore but something she doesn’t mind and even does lovingly. She kisses you, and you awkwardly stand there as she kneels down again. “Turn for me,” she says and holds out a hand toward Jen for a wipe. You do, looking straight ahead as the less of awkward option than looking down at Jen. Your partner uses the wipe to get the hem of your onesie as clean as she can before turning you back around. She unsnaps it and wipes it a little more before saying, “Arms up.” She carefully rolls your onesie up as she stands, covering the dirty part with the clean part to be sure nothing else gets dirty as she takes it off you. Jen holds out her hand to take the onesie to put in the wet bag. After a moment’s assessment of the state of your diaper, your partner says, “Better if we take your plastic panties off with you laying down.” She kneels down again, and you carefully ease yourself onto the changing mat. “Careful,” Jen says anyway, though not sharply. A reminder, not a scolding. “We’ve come this far without a blowout. Don’t wanna fumble on the 1-yard line,” she chuckles. It’s a funny analogy, and you chuckle too despite everything. “Okay,” your partner says as she scoots closer to you. “Sorry you’re gonna see this, Jen.” “Hush. It’s not my first messy diaper change.” Your partner unsnaps your plastic panties, and you lift your hips to let her slide them out. “Just hold the bag open,” she says to Jen and drops them into the bag. Next comes the worst part, and you put your arms across your face as the tapes are torn and that feeling of humiliation returns. Jen leans down and places a kiss on your forehead. “It’s okay,” she promises you. If your eyes were open, you would see that neither of them changes their expression when your partner opens your diaper. It doesn’t bother them in the slightest, something that surprised your partner the very first few times she helped you clean up a messy accident, and she chalked up her unexpected fortitude to her feelings for you. Among those feelings was never pity, just an understanding sympathy. She’s never put it quite in these words, but to her, you are not a person to be pitied but to be loved, admired for your inner strength and perseverance and bravery because you don’t let your problem control your life, and to be cherished because you make her happier than anyone else ever has, the way she does for you. You hear her hum a tune she sometimes hums and that sounds much like one your mother sang you to sleep with many years ago. And you feel her wipe, and you respond to her hands as she gestures with a tap to open your legs to clean inside your thighs. “Okay,” she says, “Up we go.” You raise your ankles, and she helps you hold them up in her left hand while she cleans with her right. “I got that,” Jen says and takes hold of your ankles. “Thanks.” Bored, Jen keeps holding your ankles with one hand and gets a clean diaper out of the bag with the other. “These are so stinkin’ adorable. I can’t believe they make pampers for adults.” “They don’t. It just looks like an actual pampers. Isn’t it cute?” “I love this little lion. Where did you find these?” “Japan. Had to bend over backwards and ask a coworker there for a huge favor to get them, but I wanted these. We’re doing our best to be lighthearted about this, aren’t we,” she asks you rhetorically. “And you really are so sweet and adorable in them.” You blush from the compliment and know that it’s objectively true. ‘Cute,’ ‘sweet,’ and ‘adorable,’ more words almost never used to describe you until your partner put you back into diapers, and you don’t hate it even if you’ll never admit it. After another minute, your partner sighs, and Jen asks, “Everything okay?” “Yeah … just … this is just gonna take a while.” “Needs a bath?” “Can we,” your partner asks with apologetic eagerness. “I really wouldn’t ask, but …” “No no no, not a problem. Totally okay.” “Thanks. Just let me get a little more. A little higher.” Jen tilts your legs back a little further, raising your lower back off the changing pad, and your partner slides the dirty diaper out from under you, using a few more wipes to clean you up before moving the diaper out of the way. “Okay, down.” You lower your legs while your partner rolls the small pile of dirty wipes inside the diaper, sealing it tightly with its own tapes. She moves to put it into the wet bag, and Jen stops her. “I’ll take that to the trash.” “Really?” “Unless you need my help with the bath.” “No, but we can take it home.” “Don’t be silly. I’ll take it straight to the outside trash.” “Thanks. What do you say?” “Thank you,” you say, and you mean it. You didn’t need to be reminded to say it, but you don’t mind. “Really, thank you.” “Big time,” your partner adds. “You’re a great friend.” “Anytime. See you two back downstairs in a bit.” “Thanks,” you say. “but I don’t really wanna go back downstairs.” “You can come back down,” your partner says. “No one will tease you or even look at you funny. I promise. You don’t have to, but you can.” “And if anyone does give you a funny look, I’ll shove them right out the door,” Jen adds. She really is a good friend. “But that won’t happen. Everyone understands. None of our friends are those kind of people.” And she’s right, or none of you would be friends with them. Still, since your partner told everyone about your problem and the solution, they must have surmised by now why the three of you have disappeared for so long, and you’re embarrassed about it whether anyone says anything to you or not. You’d rather just go home. “I know, and thank you, really, but I think I’ll just get a Lyft.” “Wanna go home,” your partner asks. Jen is still kneeling above you. “Yeah,” you tell her. “Sorry.” “It’s okay. And you don’t need to call a Lyft. We’ll go together.” “I don’t want you to miss the party. It’s only nine o’clock.” “That’s okay. I don’t mind. I’m not gonna let you ring in the New Year alone,” your partner says. “You can stay up here if you want. I don’t mind.” “We can’t impose any more than we have,” your partner says with an apologetic scoff. “O, stop it.” “Well,” your partner asks you, “you wanna stay up here? You can come back down later if you feel up to it, or just hang out up here.” “Yeah, okay,” you agree. That’s a good compromise. You rather would just go home, but you don’t want her to miss the party, nor do you want her to start the New Year alone any more than you do yourself. “Thank you.” “You’ve said that enough. Let’s just assume it,” Jen says sunnily. “Need a change of pants,” she asks, addressing the question to your partner. “We never go anywhere without a spare,” your partner tells her. If your onesie was a little dirty, your pants must be too even if it wasn’t so easy to see. “And some jammies just in case.” Just in case of what, Jen wonders but doesn’t ask. No matter. No answer will make her think differently of you. “I’ll leave the remote on the bed. You can rent anything you want. I’ll bring you a snack and something to drink.” “You don’t have to do that,” your partner responds. “I’m the host,” Jen says and stands up, smoothing out her dress and reaching over to turn the tap on. “Here,” she adds and holds out a hand. Your partner hands her the dirty diaper you made, and Jen is surprised by its weight but doesn’t say anything. You try to put the thought of her carrying that thing through the kitchen where anyone, and probably more than a few someones, can see it out of your head. “See you in a bit,” your partner says. Jen leaves, and your partner helps you sit up and step into tub. She turns off the tap with just a few inches of warm water in the tub. “Lean against the back like at home,” she says even though you know the routine, a seemingly once-a-week affair since going back to diapers as once a week, give or take, you’ve needed a change wipes alone were not enough for. She stands, takes off her gloves and puts them in a ziploc bag. You watch as she takes off her little black dress and hangs it next to your shirt on the back of the door before rolling down her stockings and doing the same with them. In just her satin bra and panty set, she turns her attention back to you. When you’re clean and the water has been changed twice, she fills the tub almost to the top and tells you to lean back and relax while she runs a bar of soap from your neck to the soles of your feet once more. She chuckles. “What,” you ask. “You’re going into your jammies after we get a clean diaper on you. No way are you coming back downstairs, are you?” You frown and look down. “It’s okay. I’m not mad or anything. I just know when you look sleepy.” “Sorry I spoiled the evening.” She stops washing you and takes her chin in her hand to turn your face to hers. “Hey, you did not spoil the evening because the evening isn’t spoiled. We’re together, aren’t we?” “Yeah.” “Then I’m having a great time. Believe me?” You do, and you nod hurriedly as your eyes fill with tears again. “I’m sorry,” you manage to say as you let out a sob. “Don’t. Be. Sorry,” she says with her gentle firmness. “Not for crying. Not for your accidents. Not for needing diapers. Not for needing my help. Not because of the party. Don’t be sorry for any of it.” “Okay,” you say as the swell of emotion rises in your throat that do your best to choke back down as you try to let her words and kindness soothe you. She kisses you on your temple, wets a clean washcloth, and dabs at the few tears that escaped your eyes. “I love you,” she says and means it in every way. “I love you so much too.” “I know.” She reaches over and opens the drain. When you’re diapered and in your jammies, she sends you into the bedroom while she gets everything packed away and puts her dress and shoes back on. “Where are your stockings,” you ask when she joins you. “In the bag with your shirt and shoes. Maybe someone will notice and think you seduced me and that we’ve been up her getting’ busy this whole time.” You have a good laugh with her. “Are you okay with me going back downstairs?” “Yeah, really.” “Need anything,” she asks, nodding toward the plate of hors d’oeuvre and desserts Jen left on her nightstand for you next to a glass of water and your favorite cocktail. “No, thank you.” “Blanket,” she asks and starts to unfold the throw Jen keeps at the foot of her bed. “I can do it myself.” She smiles, chagrinned. “I know.” She turns back to you and kisses you on the forehead again. “I’ll be up to check on you.” “You don’t need to.” She makes a tight smile, an expression she often wears when you tell her something isn’t necessary right before she repeats herself in a gentle yes-but-we’re-doing-it-anyway tone. “I’ll be up to check on you. Text me if you need anything.” “‘Kay.” “And I’ll be back before the ball drops. You owe me a New Year’s kiss.” “Wake me up if I’m asleep. I don’t wanna miss it.” “Deal.” She kisses you on your forehead again. You’re asleep every time she, once with Jen, comes up to check on you. True to her word like she always is, she wakes you to share the perfect New Year’s kiss. Happy New Year and don’t forget to check out my 2022 bedwetting calendar for ABDLs, recreational bedwetters, and their caregviers for sale now on Lulu.com!
  11. I am an ABDL Mommy that primarily does ABDL videos and audios. Want to listen to a FREE audio preview of my newest collaboration with @Alex Bridges? It's called "Coming Out" https://anchor.fm/missjenndavis/episodes/Coming-Out-PREVIEW-e126nfc/a-a5hbhfh No sooner was she away at college than she put herself back in diapers. She even told her roommate she needed them. Now she’s back home for the summer, her potty training isn’t what it used to be, and she decides she has no choice but to come out to her stepmom as a diaper girl. Written by Lexy Bridges, formerly Alex Bridges (allmylinks.com/alexbridges) and narrated by Miss Jenn Davis (missjenndavis.com) Want your own story read by Mommy Jenn? Send me an email through my website. If you want to want to know more about Mommy Jenn or are interested in a phone or skype ABDL session, check out my website: http://abdlmummy.com or at https://www.patreon.com/MissJenn You can also find Mommy Jenn's ABDL videos and audios by clicking here Mommy Jenn
  12. Weeks of quarantine have been rough, I'd been spending much of my time in the living room writing silly things or reading the news. During this time, I started to wear diapers nearly all the time, and especially to bed so I wouldn't have to get up in the night to pee. I was considering going diaper-free for a few days, but then I was found out by my roommate, Sarah. I was laying back in my chair with my feet resting comfortably on the footrest with my laptop on top of my legs, typing away. As I did I must have been absentmindedly dribbling into my diaper, like I'd been doing for days. Then, Sarah entered the room. I thought nothing of it. "Your pants are wet--" I jumped up and closed the laptop in one swift motion. "I--uh--" "What happened?" She asked, looking confused, and slightly concerned. "It's nothing, I just spilled--" "What? Spilled what?" She asked, seemingly taken aback by my slightly panicky state. "Some tea, it's that Echinacea blend--" "Only spilled it on you butt?" She wasn't buying it. "Uh, yeah." "You didn't wet your pants, did you?" "Like pee myself? No--" I said in a wavering tone. "Yeah you peed your pants." She stated bluntly. "You don't have to lie, it's okay, I'm not judging you." I sighed. "I did--" "Why didn't you get up and go to the bathroom? Didn't you notice? Why didn't you change out of--" "I dunno, I just--I, uh--was in the middle of something." "What?" She looked amused, but there was also something sympathetic and pitying in her gaze. "You--" "Okay I'm wearing a diaper and it leaked." I blurted out. She seemed startled. "Wh--no. You're wearing a diaper? Why?" "I like to wear them sometimes, it's something no one was supposed to know about--I want to just keep this to myself, and have us both forget this ever happened, okay?" I said, beginning to feel a little bit defensive. "Awh, that's cute," She cooed. "You need a diapy change? That's it?" "I need to change, yeah," I said. I felt the wetness beneath me and felt dread. I had no idea what was going to happen next. I was totally found out. "Need help?" She asked quietly. "If you don't mind, I guess--sure." She took my hand and looked up at me. "Where do you keep your diapers," she whispered. "Top shelf of the drawer." Sarah and I walked to my room. She opened the drawer slowly and quietly, to many rows of disposables stacked neatly. My regular underwear was underneath somewhere, I hadn't seen them much for a while. "Here we go, change time," She unfolded my diaper as I sat down on my bed. I was unsure if wanted here to see me without pants on in a leaky diaper. I felt exposed. I was quickly soothed though as she began to slide my shorts off to get at the soggy packaging I was in underneath. She loosened the tabs on my brief and rubbed a little powder into my groin. She must have found it in the drawer. I looked up at the ceiling and enjoyed the comfort of being changed by someone else for once, someone I happened to be growing slowly closer to. "Looks like you could use some more diapers soon, I'll buy them if you'll keep wearing them," She said. I sat up and felt the front of my clean diaper. It was bulky and fastened on snugly, seemingly better than what my own hands could do. "You would? Okay, sure, I'd love that." I smiled up at her warmly, and allowed myself to dribble out a little pressure that was building inside me. "I'll put these shorts in the wash, let's get you something clean." I stared for a moment at the wet spot on my fresh diaper, and soon Sarah was helping me into a clean pair of shorts. "That was really nice, thank you--" I gushed. "I didn't think this would happen, I thought I was doomed, my secret was out--" She held her finger up to her lips. "It's our secret now--I'll keep changing you, I like it. I need something to do, been stuck in the house for a while now. Plus, you're so cute in them!" We smiled and she took my hand and led me back to the living room. After she wiped the wetness of of my chair, she helped me sit down and gave me a blanket. It was beginning to snow outside, which is odd for April. "I'll check your diaper in a few hours, okay? Don't take it off!" "Alright," I replied. She winked and left the room. *** A few hours of me gently losing my bladder to Sarah's expertly fastened diaper came and went. I was beginning to grow so used to them that they felt like an extension of my own body. The toilet was something I only used once every few days now, it felt like I was in diapers for real rather than once in a while. I felt a large spurt of pee leave me as I sat up. Sarah was coming down the hall, I could hear her. "It's getting late, you feeling sleepy?" She asked, sitting down on the sofa beside me. I yawned, feeling another trickle of wetness escape me. "Yeah." "Let's get you ready for bed," She said playfully, leaning in closer. "You're gonna need another diaper," she whispered, taking my hand. I let her lead me into my bedroom again. I laid down obediently on my bed and watched as she got my next diaper open. She stretched it out a bit to make the padding inside less stiff. I let her take off my old diaper which was surprisingly soaked and yellow. I wasn't really sure how wet I was until I saw her rolling up my old brief. I caught a whiff of urine and the smell of her perfume as she cocooned my groin in its fresh, padded potty. I was all ready for nighttime. "There's your diaper," She winked. "Thanks so much, I don't know what to say," I whispered, feeling like I'd been hit by cupid's arrow. I admired her handiwork again, she was really good at changing diapers, better than I was. There was an almost velvety softness inside of my brief, from all of the pleasant smelling baby powder she rubbed in. "I'll be around to change you in the morning, all you gotta do is find me and tug on my shirt. I'll know," She cooed. I laid my head down on my pillow, and she pulled the blankets around me and tucked me in. I was snug in bed and warm, wearing only my diaper and an old t-shirt. I was exhausted and in heaven at the same time. "Nighty night," She blew me a kiss and got ready to close the door. "Night night," I said sleepily, yawning. She turned off my light and closed the door. I released a little of the pressure in my lower belly and was greeted by warmness. I fell asleep not long after in Sarah's expertly taped and slightly soggy night time diaper.
  13. Closing the Deal (The Dialogues #2) Patty opened the door to let Zoe in, greeting her warmly with, “So nice to see you again.” “You as well! Thanks for letting me come over on such short notice.” “I could tell you were nervous over the phone. Please, come in. Mark is in the living room.” Zoe followed Patty into the living room, where Mark was playing on a blanket with larger-sized building blocks, a pacifier in his mouth and a diaper peeking out from below his tee shirt. “Mark, Zoe is here,” Patty said. He stood and bowed his head as he’d been taught to. It wasn’t so important to Patty, but she’d worked with Mark on remembering to be polite whenever a potential wife called on them. “Hello, Mark,” Zoe acknowledged him. Mark couldn’t remember if he was supposed to say hello back and didn’t raise his head. After a moment, Patty apologized for him. “It’s okay, Marky. You can go back to playing while we talk.” Turning to Zoe, Patty added, “Sorry. He’s very polite but gets flustered and forgets sometimes.” “That’s okay. I can tell he’s a sweetheart.” “Will you sit,” Patty asked, and the two of them sat down on the sofa and turned Mark’s cartoon off. If he minded, he didn’t say so and kept stacking and unstacking his blocks. “Thank you,” Zoe said again. “I know this is kind of unusual, me being here without my mother. I just ...” “Would you like to call her? You don’t have to do these negotiations alone.” This was the sixth conversation between them and the third time Zoe had seen Mark in person. Matriarchs were traditionally responsible for negotiating marriages, and though most families no longer held to the custom, particularly for a woman over twenty-five like Zoe, she came from a traditional family’s a traditional community. Patty didn’t want to take advantage of Zoe, but she hoped to at least end the visit with an agreement in principle. “No, that’s okay. I promised I wouldn’t sign anything. I just wanted to see him again.” “I like that about you,” Patty told her. “It shows you’re careful. Getting a husband is a major responsibility. My sister had one of her boys returned to her, and neither of us wants that.” Zoe chuckled. “Definitely not.” She paused awkwardly. “Can I play with him?” “Of course. He’s very good at sharing.” The two of them got on the floor at Mark’s level and helped him build with his blocks. Mark liked his suitor and did his best to show it by sliding her blocks for her to place. As the tower got higher, Patty called a time out because, “Someone needs his diaper changed.” “I’ll help,” Zoe volunteered. “I could use the practice.” Remembering she shouldn’t let on that she was leaning toward choosing Mark, she hastily added, “Whichever one I choose.” “You don’t have much practice,” Patty asked casually. Most women had experience at least babysitting at some point in their lives. That was the kind of detail she wouldn’t have gotten if Zoe’s mother, much more experienced in marriage negotiations, were there. “We don’t have many men in our family.” “No brothers,” Patty asked as she walked back toward them with a wicker basket of changing supplies in hand. “None. Mom had my sisters and me and took my father back to his mother ... But I have no intention of that. Really, that’s my mom. That’s not me.” Patty sat back down. “I’m surprised she didn’t just get some at a bank.” “She wanted to be sure she was getting what she paid for, is what she told me. You know some of the depositories, especially back then, we’re dishonest.” “I’ve heard that. Marky, lay down for me.” Marky held on to his block and laid down for his mom. She lifted his shirt, exposing his tummy. “He’s so cute,” Zoe said and reached out to tickle his belly, eliciting a laugh from the twenty-year-old. “You did a good job at that. And he’s so biddable. He just laid right down even though he was playing.” “Well, I wanted him to be that way. It’s a trade off,” Patty said, wanting to be transparent. She wanted him to go to a good home and for things to work out between them. She didn’t want an unhappy wife divorcing him and bringing him back, not like her nephew and, apparently, Zoe’s father. “Could you tell me a little more about that,” Zoe asked. The mysteries of man-rearing were not something her mother had ever talked about it, and her conservative religious school hadn’t gone into much detail in the health or home economics classes. Zoe managed to maintain her innocence even through college and despite having friends with dads and brothers. Her mother had never even let her babysit. It was only after insisting she wanted a husband and wanted to keep him that her mother had more actively engaged in the search, and she had then insisted on leading the negotiations as her mother had done for her. “Well,” Patty said thoughtfully, “it’s not that Mark doesn’t know how to do things. He helps around the house and brushes his own teeth and those things. He can put on his shoes, but you have to tie them. And he can learn more if you teach him. He’s very smart.” “You didn’t want him to learn more?” Mark laid there passively, accustomed to this happening six times a day and not paying much attention to any remark or question not addressed to him. It was a trait Zoe appreciated in a potential husband. “Well, maybe I spoil him, but I know some women want a very simple husband. You know how it is - the more they can do, the more independent they start to think they are and the more behavioral issues they have. That’s not universal of course, but ya know.” She reached out and rubbed Marky’s belly. “This little guy doesn’t need much correction. I never even bought a paddle.” “Really?” That was a rarity. Most wives kept one in the diaper bag, one in the kitchen, and one in their husbands’ bedroom. “Really,” Patty replied, not wholly truthfully. She had a paddle, but she didn’t buy it. It was part of her husband’s dowry, though she’d never used it on Mark and only a few times on her husband, who was outside doing chores. “At most he just needs some taps from momma’s spoon to get him back on track,” Patty said, which was true. “That’s part of why I’m leaning toward Mark. Since I haven’t really been around a lot of men or have much experience with caring for them, I thought it’d be smart if my first one was easy.” She knew she wasn’t supposed to admit these things, but she felt a rapport with Patty and hoped it wouldn’t undermine the deal they might make or make Patty decide she didn’t want Mark in Zoe’s care. “That is smart. You can always get more if you decide you want a more independent husband ... And of course I’ll help you. I may not be his owner after the wedding, but I’ll always be his mom,” she said while playing with Mark’s hair. “Won’t I be,” she said in that breathy, sing-song tone men like Mark seem to respond so well to. “Yes I will! Yes mommy will!” “My mom will help out, too,” Zoe said, sounding dismayed. She was trying to remember to play it cool and make herself and her home out to be the perfect place for him, but she couldn’t hide that she wanted him and wanted to bring the drawn out negotiations to a close. At the same time, she knew she and her mother had different philosophies on wifing and man-rearing. Patty wasn’t sure she liked the idea of Zoe’s mom being involved in Mark’s care. While both mother’s involvement was a given for first-time brides, Zoe’s mother didn’t sound like the kind and gentle caregiver she wanted for Mark. The negotiation, of course, went both ways. Just because money changed hands didn’t mean it was a transaction, after all. Patty wanted the best for Mark. “You gonna help me change his pants,” Patty asked, trying to lighten the tension. “Yeah ... does he squirm?” “Not often. Well, not unless you make him,” Patty laughed. “Need me to talk you through it?” “Promise you won’t think I’m not ready to get married if I say yes?” Mark played with the block in his hand. “Of course, sweetheart. Just undo the tapes first but leave the diaper where it is.” Zoe did, and Patty slid the basket of supplies toward Zoe. “It’s always best to get everything ready before you open the diaper. You don’t know what you’ll find in there, and men sometimes pee as soon as the air hits them. You gotta be ready to dodge.” “Really,” Zoe asked, sounding concerned. “It’s just part of being a wife.” “Okay,” Zoe said and first got a new diaper out of the basket and unfolded it. “You’ll need ... Sorry, you would need to keep using that brand. It’s expensive, but it’s hypoallergenic. He breaks out in a rash with other brands.” Zoe next took out the container of wipes and opened it, plucking one out and holding it. “Okay,” Patty said, “now you can fold his diaper down, but do it slowly at first. In case he starts to pee you can cover him real fast ... if he’s not peeing yet he’s probably not gonna.” “Do I need to lift his legs back or roll him on his side?” He was smaller than men had been two generations ago, but he was still as big as she was. She’d seen women lifting their husbands’ legs back on YouTube when she watched instructional videos, but he just seemed too heavy for that. She figured it was something wives just got good at. “For dirty ones he’ll roll over onto his side when you tell him. For wet ones you just need to ask him to open his knees. Open up, Marky. Good boy!” Zoe chuckled. “He really is a good boy, holding still this whole time. You have him so well trained ... I don’t want one of those husbands you have to chase when they need a new diaper,” she laughed nervously. She turned back to the task at hand. “Wow,” she said, “you didn’t exaggerate. He’s so small.” “Just like his father. You just take the wipes and make sure you get everywhere, especially in his creases and under his foreskin. We don’t want any itchy rashes.” Zoe wiped around his pubic mound and under his scrotum and in the creases inside his thighs. She’d seen a penis, obviously, but never touched one. It didn’t seem nearly so icky as all the women she knew made it out to be, certainly not as bad as the impression she’d come away with from the jokes wives made on sitcoms, though she wasn’t sure if that was just because he was so small. She tentatively lifted it between her left thumb and forefinger, carefully pulling back his foreskin to clean him thoroughly. “Um,” she said and blushed as it grew stiff in her fingers. Patty blushed as well, embarrassed it would do that in front of a suitor the very first time, but of course Mark was blameless. She rushed to downplay it, hoping it wouldn’t make Zoe change her mind about him. “It’s fine,” Patty said. “It doesn’t happen every time. Next you sprinkle some powder on him.” “I thought they don’t do that if you milk them regularly. Um, have you, uh, milked him regularly?” “I do,” Patty said, trying to pull Zoe’s attention away from it. It was still erect. “Anyway, you don’t need too much powder.” “I thought you’re supposed to use rash cream next,” Zoe ventured. The things she’d read and seen said so. “Um, usually, yes,” Patty agreed. She didn’t want Zoe to rub rash cream on him for fear he’d ejaculate. That it was still stiff was just adding to her embarrassment, too aware it was reflecting on her care of him as a mother. She didn’t believe in all the same things other mothers did when it came to milking, but she took excellent care of her Marky. Zoe seemed like an almost ideal owner for him, and she didn’t want one little erection to spoil the deal. Zoe, however, was clearly distracted by it. Everything she had read, which admittedly wasn’t much, emphasized this shouldn’t happen if the man was properly trained and milked regularly, and that if it did happen either the woman responsible for the man hadn’t trained and cared for him well, the man was poorly behaved and maybe even incorrigible, or all of the above. “But ... I’m sorry, I’m not judging. He’s yours, so please don’t think I’m judging. But you do milk him regularly, don’t you? I mean, I thought this didn’t happen if you ...” She wasn’t disgusted by it so much as she thought she was supposed to be disgusted by. That she wasn’t was making her insecure. She had grown up in a culture that stigmatized unsolicited erections, especially during diaper changes. That it didn’t bother her perhaps led her to overreact so she would seem what she thought was normal. Surely her mother would have reacted very negatively and would approve of Zoe doing so if only as a negotiating tactic. “I do,” Patty said again. “I swear. It’s just ... how much do you know about milking?” Zoe blushed. It was the most taboo subject in the world she’d grown up in. Her mother would unashamedly talk about returning her husband and keeping the dowry, confessing to marrying him just for his genetic material, but talking about how she had gotten the material was absolutely off limits. “Um, not much, actually.” She seemed to pass from embarrassed to sullen, this confession another revelation she feared would make her an unfit wife in Patty’s eyes. She started to rise, murmuring an apology and regretting coming here without her mother. “It’s okay,” Patty said, her voice soft and soothing as she retook the negotiation high ground. “Sit. Please.” “I’m not ...” Ready to be a wife is how she would’ve finished the sentence had she not stopped herself. “Sit. Let’s just talk. It’s okay, promise.” She sat. Zoe had at least been taught to obey older women; the religious community she grew up was insistent on the hierarchy of the matriarchy. It was out of step with society in the degree to which they took that maxim. Patty took Zoe’s hand, and asked her directly, “Was that your first time touching one?” Zoe nodded. “Well, if I had known that I would’ve talked you through it more. Do you want me to?” Zoe felt like she was breaking so many rules when she said, “Yes. I’ve tried to get Mom to talk about it, but she says that’s for after marriage.” That caught Patty off guard. She understood so much better now. Milking men hadn’t been taboo in mainstream society in at least a couple decades. It wasn’t dinner table conversation, but it wasn’t taboo. Even babysitters would do it if they had to, no different than attending to any other bodily function if the need arose while the man was in their care. No one looks forward to doing it, and if done regularly it wasn’t something a babysitter should have to do unless they were watching the man for a whole week, but it was hardly taboo anymore, much less something shameful that only married women did or knew about. “I’m, um, not judging,” Patty said, “but, um, are you a member of People of the Spirit?” “Yes,” Zoe answered just above a whisper. She’d always been proud of her faith. Only in the moment, realizing how poorly prepared she was to care for a husband even at the age of twenty-eight, did she feel embarrassed by her background. But if she wanted to learn this even if her mother insisted she wait for marriage, Zoe was beginning to suspect they weren’t all her beliefs so much as her mother’s. “That’s okay!” Patty was quick to say. “That’s okay! We go to church every Sunday. Mark loves it ... Are you sure you want me to teach you about this? You don’t want your own mother to do it?” “No, I want to learn. If you’re not uncomfortable with it.” “Sweetie, there’s nothing to be uncomfortable about is the first lesson. Man parts and milking and erections are not a big deal at all,” Patty said with what she hoped was not a condescending tone. “I know!” Zoe exclaimed. “I mean, I never thought so, but even ...” She looked at it, still pointing straight up. “I thought I was supposed to be grossed out by it. It’s not a big deal. I mean, look at it.” Zoe looked again and shrugged. “Exactly. I know everyone jokes about it, but every wife does this. It’s the same as anything else they might do in their diapers.” “Well, what’s the ...” Zoe didn’t know what question to ask. After Zoe didn’t finish the sentence, Patty decided to just show her. “First,” she said reaching over to gently wrap her forefinger around it, “this is his clitty.” Mark just laid there obediently, though he stopped paying attention to his block. “You don’t call it a ...” “We don’t use the P-word around him. Some men hear that and start getting all sorts of mistaken ideas about themselves. This is his clitty,” she said again, giving it a little shake, “and like all man clitties, it has a mind of its own. You can milk them every day, and a man might still get an erection for no reason, especially during a diaper change.” “What are you supposed to do if that happens?” “You can ignore it if you want to. You don’t need to do anything with it except point it down and put their diaper on. All except the biggest clitties can still fit in a diaper when they’re erect, though it might not be so comfortable for the man.” “Do they ejaculate?” “What, you mean on their own?” “I mean how does the erection go away you put the diaper on over it?” Patty did a good job hiding her surprise at just how naive Zoe was. “It just does if you leave it alone.” “But his clitty is still ... up.” Tipping her cards in the negotiation, Patty smiled and confessed, “That’s because he likes you. He told me so after he first met you.” “But ... I thought they can’t control it.” “They can’t.” “But you said it’s because he likes me. So is he ... so it’s not purpose? He’s not trying to show me he likes me?” Patty didn’t know any members of People of the Spirit. It wasn’t a large group; it just stood out because of how retrograde its teachings were and how poorly they prepared their kids for life as adults. Clearly what she had heard about the group was not exxagerated. “No, honey, they just do it sometimes for no reason, but it’s more likely when they like you.” “Even if you milk them?” “Yep. Do you want to learn about milking?” “Yes please.” She felt like she was learning more in Patty’s living room in a visit that was less than an hour old than she had in all her years at school and home. “What do you already know?” “Just that making them ejaculate regularly keeps them better behaved and prevents ... those.” “So you don’t know how it’s done?” “No.” She’s been too embarrassed to look it up even though there hadn’t been parental controls on her computer for ten years. “Okay,” Patty said. She didn’t have a daughter and had never taught anyone before, but it was simple enough. “Well, it’s really simple. You don’t need anything other than your hand.” Zoe blushed all the way to her ears. “Like, your bare hand? Aren’t there ... aren’t you supposed to use the tools they make for it?” That was where Patty’s beliefs and practices on milking first diverged from the mainstream. She’d tried those devices before and never really saw what made them so much better than just using her hand. It was so convenient: she never had to go get a device or find batteries or sanitize the tool beyond a quick trip to wash her hands. She also, though, was less inclined to see milking itself as being nearly as important as most other women did. They treated milking as a chore and something so integral to their men’s good behavior that they’d sooner have their men miss their nap time than skip a milking. Newfangled hogwash from uptight germaphobes, Patty thought. Perhaps it was generational, but Patty was an older mom, and she liked being a man mom, an even rarer trait. Mark was her sixth. “They do make devices for it,” Patty told her, glad she could pass on real wisdom and counter what all the new marriage guides were preaching these days, “and they’re okay. You can use those, but your hand works almost as well and is so much more convenient.” “Even if it doesn’t work as well?” “The devices do a slightly better job at getting every last drop, but it’s okay if there’s a little left in there.” “But doesn’t that mean you have to do it more often?” “Maybe a little, but like I said, it’s not a big deal. It only takes a few minutes.” Zoe clearly looked skeptical. “Really?” “Really.” “But everyone makes it sound like it’s this huge chore.” “That’s because they make such a big deal about anything to do with clitties anyway. But look, there it is. It’s fine, right? Just another part of him.” “Yeah ...” “Just because it’s hard doesn’t mean it’s not still a wittle weewee.” “And what about what comes out?” “Just one more thing he puts in his diaper.” “So you do it in his diaper.” “You can. I don’t usually.” “But doesn’t it make a huge mess. I mean, if he peed without his diaper on ...” “It’s a lot less fluid than everyone makes it out to be. Do you want me to just show you?” “Yes, if you don’t mind. And he doesn’t mind.” Patty chuckled. “Of course he doesn’t mind, and even if he did, he’s a man. I love him, but he’s still a man. Roll over, Marky. Let’s show Zoe where things are.” He complied; if he was embarrassed, he still did as we was told. Turning back to Zoe, Patty continued, “There’s more than one way. I’ll just finish the one but I’ll give you the lay of the land, so to speak.” She reached into the basket and took out the rash cream. “For starters,” Patty said, “this stuff works just as well as the lubricant they sell just for milking, and this is much cheaper.” She applied some to the middle finger of her right hand. “Scoot closer so you can see,” she said to Zoe. To Mark, she said, “You gonna be my big man and hold still for momma?” He nodded shyly. Patty ran the fingertips of her clean hand over his bottom, tickling him gently. “That relaxes him. See?” Mark seemed to shudder and clenched his toes, relaxing his whole body as he unclenched them. “Aww. That’s adorable.” It made even less sense why everyone made this out to be the worst part of being a wife. Mark was being such a good boy doing as he was told and holding mostly still and being quiet. “I know, right? So just like we call it a clitty, we call this his button,” Patty said as she spread his cheeks. “Inside his button is his prostate. It’s about halfway between his button and the base of his clitty, so you can milk him by massaging this prostate. See how my finger is pointed?” She crooked her finger. “Once your finger is inside him, you just need to bend your finger like this and feel around until you feel something round and hard and about the size of a walnut.” She demonstrated. Mark held mostly still as she entered him and found his prostate. “Right ... there.” “So you just poke it?” “No, you need to rub it and massage it with your finger.” She kept demonstrating. Mark quietly squirmed but barely, as he’d been taught to do. “They make tools for this; the ones that vibrate are most effective, but this works nearly as well. You can move your finger in and out as you go, like this ... Massaging his prostate will get the most fluid out at one time. Wanna try,” Patty asked as she withdrew her finger. “Um, okay,” Zoe said nervously. Patty correctly guessed the reason for her trepidation. “There’s gloves in the basket.” Zoe donned one. “How much rash cream do I use?” “Best to use about as much a grape, but you can use half that in a pinch. He has enough already. Too much makes it take longer.” Patty reached for a wipe and cleaned her finger off. “Oh ... like this?” “Keep your finger mostly straight until it’s inside him.” Zoe tentatively entered him. “How far in,” she asked. She was afraid of hurting him and unaccustomed to how a man felt around her finger. “So you feel the first muscle right when you enter his button, right?” “Yeah.” “That’s his outer sphincter. Keep going and you’ll feel another muscle very tight around your finger. That’s his inner sphincter.” “Okay,” Zoe said as her reached it. “Now keep going … keep going.” Patty watched Zoe’s finger disappear knuckle by knuckle. She appreciated Zoe being gentle with Mark; it was reassuring that even if Zoe had a lot to learn, she wasn’t the type to treat a man like livestock. “Good job being gentle. Now bend your finger toward his front. Feel it?” “I don’t think so.” “It’s okay to search for it ... feel it?” “No,” Zoe said, afraid not finding it on her first try would once more make her out as not ready for marriage. “Here,” Patty said and scooted over. “It takes practice is all. Open your legs a little, Marky.” He did. “You can also stimulate it from the outside if you press about halfway between his scrotum and his button. Right about ... there. See where my hand is?” “Yeah.” “Okay, give me your other hand.” Patty gently took Zoe’s hand and guided it to Mark’s perineum, laying her fingers flat against the same spot and placing her hand over Zoe’s. “See how he reacts when you just apply pressure here?” Mark’s leg twitched. He got himself under control as he’d been taught to and held still even as his breathing grew more rhythmic and audible. “Yeah.” “Sometimes if you can’t find it on the inside, it helps to use your other hand to find it on the outside by just pressing down and sort of pulling gently toward his button.” Zoe let Patty do just that with her hand over hers. “Try now. Feel around again.” Zoe had left her finger in since she wasn’t told otherwise. “Feeling ... I think ... I feel something!” “Size of a walnut?” “Yeah!” “That’s it. Well done.” Patty felt oddly proud of Zoe. She rubbed marks lower back and cooed, “Such a good boy. Keep holding still.” Mark lifted his head and laid it back down across his folded arms. “This is so cool!” She remembered to feel embarrassed. “I mean, not so bad.” “It’s fine, Zoe, really. You don’t have to feel ashamed for not hating. It’s an achievement your first time.” That was nice to hear. She’d never be able to tell her mother, though. “I just rub it with my finger?” “Yep. Back and forth. Or make little circles. But not too much.” Zoe stopped. “Why not?” “I want to show you the other way, too. If you finish, I can’t show you the other way. They need time in between.” “So to finish I’d just Jeep making circles?” “Pretty much. Moving it in and out as you go speeds it up a little.” “Should I take my finger out?” “Yeah.” She did and removed the glove, and though she’d worn one Patty handed her a wipe anyway. Mark groaned and kicked his foot just a little, causing Zoe to ask, “Did I hurt him,” with concern. Patty gave Mark a light spank. “Not at all. They just don’t like it if you stop without finishing. Just be patient, Marky. Anyway, like I said, that gets the most fluid out, especially if you use a tool and especially a vibrating tool. You can do it anywhere, but it works best with them on their knees or on their changing table, plus those are easier on your back.” “How is the changing table different from the floor?” “You know that hole under where the changing pad goes?” Zoe seemed to think for a moment, her eyes turning up and to the left before she blushed with the realization. “That’s what that’s for!?!” “Yep, for their clitty to go through. That’s much more comfortable for them if you’re using the prostate method and makes it easier to collect if you’re selling it.” “Is his marketable?” “Yep. I told your mother. Guess she didn’t tell you.” “No,” Zoe said, her irritation evident. “He was evaluated on his birthday. He has very good motility, and his features are in demand, as you know. Men like him are very chic right now,” Patty said with a wink. “If I wanted to collect it, how much would I get?” “I’m assuming you mean money,” Patty deadpanned. “Patty,” Zoe squealed and laughed. “At the moment, $1,000 per but you know that can change if his traits become less trendy and as he gets older. If you’re going to do it, you would definitely want to do it now. They do make a tool for harvesting, and just for that I think it would be worth it. It’s very efficient.” “How’s it different from the other tools?” “The other tools just vibrate ... You have a vibrator, don’t you?” “Of course.” Several. “Thought so. Just wasn’t sure.” “We’re religious, not nut jobs.” “I didn’t mean...” “I know. Sorry. You were saying.” “The vibrators for his prostate are just like yours, just shaped differently. It takes a few minutes at least to work, right? If you’re going to harvest him, they also make an electric prod that goes into his button just like your finger did. The little jolt of electricity will make him ejaculate instantly.” “That doesn’t hurt him?” “Well, I would imagine yes and no at the same time. I have a few friends who do it, and their husbands don’t seem to mind. You ready to learn the other way?” “Yeah.” “Roll back over, Marky. Legs open like momma taught you.” Mark rolled over, a subtle, pleading look in his eyes. “Lift your hips, baby.” He did, and Patty removed the wet and disheveled diaper. “Wanna put his new diaper under him?” “Sure.” “Don’t close its yet, but you can fold it over to make sure it’s in the right spot ... little lower. That’s perfect. You can put your bottom down, sweetheart. You’ll get so good at that in the first week of marriage you won’t ever need a second try.” She rolled up the used diaper. “Um, shouldn’t we have done this in his old diaper, instead of getting it on the new one?” “You can, but like I said, it’s not nearly as much fluid as you’re probably thinking. If some gets in his new diaper, you can just tape it shut. Doesn’t ruin it. In fact, I prefer it ends up in there than anywhere else. I’ll show you that works some other day.” “Oh.” She couldn’t readily imagine how to milk him through a diaper. “So the other main way,” Patty said, “is by massaging his clitty. You can use the rash cream again like before.” She applied some to her fingers. “Now, this method doesn’t get out quite as much fluid, so you’ll have to do it more often, but it’s quick and doesn’t require going inside his button.” “Yeah...” “Didn’t like that part?” “I mean, it was fine. It was kinda cool even, but I can see why most women don’t like doing it. It’s ...” “Still a button. I get it. Which is why I prefer this method. It’s totally worth it to me do this a little more often than to do it the other way a little less often.” “Does he have a preference?” “Ya know, I’ve never asked,” Patty replied. “Anyway, you take his clitty in your fingers, and you only need three fingers for a man his size: your thumb, your forefinger, and your middle finger.” “It’s not hard anymore.” “That just takes a second.” She took his penis in her fingers, using her thumb to rub under and around his glans. “See? Just takes a second.” Mark bit his lip and closed his eyes tight. Patty smiled at him. “I also like doing it this way because it’s more, I don’t know, interactive, sort of … It’s just like his prostate. You want to mostly focus on the top of it, and you can rub it up and down or in circles or just squeeze it gently in and out of between your fingers.” “Do you need to rub it all the way down and back?” Mark didn’t have much ‘down.’ “No. That helps on bigger men, but Marky has a pretty small clitty. Just using your fingers like this.” She rolled her thumb over and over on his glans. Zoe looked at Mark’s face, a look of concentration behind eyes squinched tight in a grimace. “Are you sure this doesn’t hurt him?” “Absolutely it doesn’t,” Patty chuckled. “All men make a face like that when they’re being milked. Are you ready to try?” “Yeah.” “You can use a glove if you want to.” “No,” she replied, wanting to seem more confident than she felt. “This is cleaner than the other way. It’s fine.” “Add a little of the cream to your fingers first, but not as much as you saw me use ... okay, now just take his clitty between your fingers and thumb like you saw me do...” “O my. It’s so hot.” “Mhmm. That’s because of the blood flow, which is what makes clitties hard.” “And just started rubbing like this?” “Yep. See? Nothing to it. And not a big deal at all.” “No. Not at all.” Really, she couldn’t see what the fuss was about now that she was actually doing it. This didn’t seem bad at all, and certainly not something so bad she wanted to use the prostate method just to be able to do it less often. That seemed better if there was a specific reason to do it, but this was so easy. His clitty wasn’t something she wanted to take a picture of and keep on the mantle, but it was much better than dealing with his button. “Now,” Patty said, “Mark has been very well trained to hold mostly still and stay quiet for his milkings, but he is going to squirm a little and make a little noise. All men do that right before they ejaculate.” “Do I need to, like, watch out?” “How do you mean?” “He’s not going to accidentally kick me or something?” “Ha! No, sweetie. Here, I’ll show you: turn your hand around like this,” she said making the motion herself, “so your thumb is underneath it, and rub up and down right in the center of the clitty head. Yeah, like that, but just in the center.” Mark moaned louder and repeatedly, and his squirming turned to writhing. “That’s so cool!” “He likes that’s part a lot.” Zoe turned her hand back, and Mark calmed down. She turned it forward again, and he started to writhe again. “Neat,” she said under her breath. Turning back to Patty she said, “It’s like when you scratch a dog in the right spot and they start kicking their leg.” “Exactly. Same concept ... You can encourage them while you do it, too. I always like to.” She turned from Zoe to Mark. “What a good boy you’re being! Who’s a good boy? Hmm? Show us what a good boy you are!” Mark smiled behind his pacifier with his eyes still closed. “Okay, he’s almost ready. Take a wipe in your other hand.” Patty handed her one. “And when he starts to ejaculate you can just cover him with that.” “It happens just all of a sudden?” “Sort of. First ...” “Ope!” Zoe practically jumped. “Something is leaking out! Is that it?” “Don’t stop. That’s precum. Just a few more seconds. Keep going until I say stop.” Mark moaned behind his pacifier and bucked his hips on the diaper as he ejaculated. Zoe positioned the wipe to catch it and kept going. “Slow down,” Patty instructed. “Just like that. Slower and slower until his hips stop moving ... there.” Zoe was wide eyed, her hand still on his clitty as it softened. “Now, to make sure as much of it as possible is out, go to the base of his clitty and squeeze gently.” He was so small, there wasn’t much base to grasp. “Like this?” “Yep. You just need two fingers, and then slide them up to the top. Keep squeezing, not too hard. Good. Do that a couple more times ... there.” Patty shrugged. “That’s all there is to it. I like to praise him for it.” Zoe was smiling ear to ear. In a baby talk voice like Patty had used, Zoe told Mark, “You did such a good job, Marky! Thank you for being my good boy.” She was feeling more like an adult than she ever had before even though she’d been working and living on her own for six years. She knew it was silly - women younger than her did this - but given it was her first time, it felt like a big deal anyway. “Now what,” she asked as she wiped her hands. “Don’t clean your hands just yet. You have a diaper change to finish. Make sure you get the rash cream in his creases especially. That’s where Marky likes to get a diapee rash.” Zoe applied the cream and then sprinkled some powder on him. She looked up at Mark’s face. “He’s asleep,” she whispered. “He’ll be awake again in just a minute. They almost always fall asleep for a few minutes right after they’re milked.” “Anything else?” “Just tape that diaper on him snug.” Zoe did. Patty stood first and whispered, “Let’s go wash our hands.” They retreated to the kitchen. “So,” Zoe asked as she dried her hands, “how often do they need to be milked if you do it that way?” “Every five days or so. With the other way, it’s maybe seven, so not a huge difference. If I’m leaving him in a nursery while I go on vacation, I’ll use the prostate method before I go.” “And with the clitty way, how often do they get unsolicited erections?” “It varies. But are unsolicited erections really that bad?” “No ...” She hesitated, knowing she wasn’t supposed to admit this to anyone but thinking Patty seemed like a safe person to admit it to. “I think his clitty was kind of adorable.” “Hehe. I think so too. I know we’re all supposed to be grossed out, but it’s just a clitty ... the bigger ones are kinda gross though, I’ll agree with that at least ... anyway, I milk him every five days, and if his clitty is getting hard in between a lot, I’ll do it at diaper changes, too. Not every change, but maybe once a day for two days gets him back on schedule.” “It was fun in a way.” Patty knew Zoe was saying that as someone who just did it for the first time. It would get less fun and be more like all the caregiver tasks she did for him, but she didn’t think it was no fun at all and didn’t want to discourage her. “Yeah, I think so. I like making him feel good. I am his momma after all. We gotta keep them in line, but we still love them.” “I wouldn’t mind doing that more often than every five days. It only takes a second ... And you were right. That wasn’t nearly as messy as I thought.” Patty smiled. She liked Zoe. She wanted someone gentle and willing to try new things and be open minded for Mark. Zoe had a lot to learn about man-rearing, and Patty didn’t like the idea of Zoe’s mother playing a major role in Mark’s care. She expected her mother would take over and bully her daughter into strict and clinical treatment of her Marky. But she liked Zoe. “Do you wanna wake him up,” she asked. “Sure.” They walked back into the living room, where Zoe knelt down over Mark, still conscious this was an audition for her too, and traced her finger lightly down Mark’s cheek. He turned toward her by instinct as if to root. “Marky,” she sang at a whisper. His eyes opened. “Hey, big guy.” He smiled behind his pacifier, blushed, and turned away. If Patty had taught him to count, he could’ve counted on one hand the number of women who had done that to him. “He’s so shy,” Zoe remarked as she straightened up. “Well, this is only the third time you’ve been together. He gets a lot less shy when he gets to know people.” Zoe sat down on the sofa next to Patty. “And you promise he is verbal?” “He’s a regular chatterbox when he feels comfortable around you. He knows a couple hundred words, and he can learn more ... Marky, c’mere baby.” Patty held her hands out as Mark finished his wake up stretch. He got up and sat down in his mother’s lap. “Can you thank Zoe for milking your clitty?” Mark blushed again, shook his head, and buried his face in his mother’s breast. She laughed and patted his back. “Can you at least give her a hug?” He sat up, and Zoe straightened up to receive him, opening her arms. Mark pivoted and awkwardly slid from his mother’s lap onto the sofa, putting his arms out as he leaned forward and fell into a hug low around Zoe’s waist. “Ohh huhuh. That’s a sweet man,” Zoe said she patted his back. With Patty’s help, Zoe was able to coax Mark into her lap. “That’s why training is important,” Patty said. “They’re too big to make them do anything they don’t want to do, but you can make them want to do it.” Zoe was paying more attention to the man in her lap. She noticed how sweet his hair smelled, how soft and warm he was, and the way he seemed to change from giving her a perfunctory hug because he was told to to the way he seemed to nestle his head on Zoe because he wanted to, growing cuddlier by the moment. She rubbed circles on his back, interrupted by the occasional pat. “Well,” Patty asked after a few minutes of silence. “I know what my mother would say ... Especially with him getting erections and needing to be milked more often ... But he is sweet” “Very sweet.” “And he is obedient ... he did such a good job holding still for his milking.” “And most men just can’t do that. Some even need to be restrained to keep them in place.” Though Patty suspected that said more about their wives’ prostrate massage technique, or lack thereof, than about the men’s behavior. “And he is cute.” “I can just about promise you you’re not going to find an easier husband, and I know that’s important to you for your first one. Is there anything I can say to sweeten the deal?” “I want him ... I’m just worried about my mother. She’s going to be involved a lot, especially at first … I think the milking thing would be a deal breaker for her.” It wasn’t her mother’s decision, but she had a say both by custom and because Zoe would need her to be involved. In theory she could do it all on her own, but that wouldn’t sit well with their religious community and would be tremendous challenge for a woman without a partner. “But to be clear, it’s not for you? A deal breaker, I mean?” “No, I don’t mind that.” Bad sitcom jokes and put upon wives aside, she agreed with Patty. Milking his clitty during a diaper change was just one more thing. The way he squirmed and then fell asleep was cute in its way. “What if ... what if you moved in here for the first year, rent free? You can learn all about man-rearing from me, and that way your mother doesn’t really have to be involved in anything you don’t want her to be involved in?” Patty preferred that solution to protect Mark from Zoe’s mother and the People of the Spirit, whom she heard were very communal in their man-rearing and severe in their approach to it. “That could work,” Zoe replied. “And if you do want to harvest him, I’ll even spring for the stimulator and collection device.” Zoe took a moment and began to slowly nod her head. She wanted Mark, and the living arrangement and his spermatozoa in addition to the dowry added up to quite a lot of value. “Deal.” “You’re sure your mother will approve it?” “I think so, especially if she doesn’t have to do any of the man-rearing ... And if not, her approval is just a custom, not the law. Ope!” “What?” “I think he’s pooing,” Zoe whispered. Patty smiled. “I think you’ve learned enough for one day.” She held out her hands. “C’mere, Marky. Let’s go change your stinky pants.” “Are you sure he’s done?” “I know my Marky. He will be by the time we get upstairs. Why don’t you go call your mother?” “Sounds good. Bye bye, Marky,” she waved as Patty led the waddling man upstairs. “See you at our wedding.”
  14. I felt the weight in my belly, and shifted in my seat a little. It was uncomfortable, but not urgent. I could finish the sketch. Besides, everyone was sitting quietly watching a film, and if I moved now I'd disturb them. And lose my seat in the big comfy chair. And everyone would probably move so I'd have to start the drawing all over again. Definitely best to stay put. I looked around the room, and for a moment my headspace slipped a tiny bit and I considered how weird it was. There were twelve of us in total, friends renting an Airbnb for the weekend as a way to catch up and chill out. So far so normal. Except nine of us, myself included, were wearing nappies under our clothes, and most of that nine were in cute onesies, sucking on dummies. I hadn't started out as an age player. I was turned on by nappies, and the sense of humiliation that came with wearing and using them. They were also a way to relax without having to worry about the bother of getting up to use the toilet. Over time, however, I'd fallen further down the 'cute' rabbit hole and at this point in spite of wearing what I'd come to describe as "big kid clothes", I was also sucking on a dummy, with my stuffed sloth and cuddly robot (the world's greatest crime fighting duo) close at hand. My attention came back to the feeling of needing to go, as I felt a pressure in my bottom increase. I relaxed a tiny bit and let out a silent fart. I'd had hang ups about my interest in nappies for a long time, but in recent years, after falling in with a nice crowd in the local ageplay scene, I'd become far more comfortable, and even become OK with wearing them when I was around other people. First on a one to one basis, then under my clothes at kink events. People knew I was wearing, but it was still subtle enough for me that it felt ok. I wasn't being submissive or smoll around strangers, and so I had enough control that I still felt safe. This trip away was about changing that. I was envious of the people who could wander around at events without a care in the world, so this weekend, surrounded by people I trusted, I was going to push myself further than I'd been before. Maybe not do the baby thing, a lot of that bored me, but at the very least give up control completely and let someone else be in charge. "Ew, that stinks" one of the girls cried out as the smell from my fart reached her. I blushed a little, and curled up into my chair, embarrassed. This caught the eye of one of the three 'Bigs' in the room. He came over to me, looked me in the eyes and asked, "Have you had an accident?" I shook my head vigorously. "Stand up please" he said, helping me up out of my chair. With everyone in the room watching, he undid my jeans and let them drop to around my ankles. He put his hand on the front of my nappy, squashing the slightly soggy padding. "Hmmm… someone's telling fibs" he said, "you'll pay for that later on". "I thought you meant a messy accident" I gulped out. "Well as you can't be trusted to tell me when you use your nappy, let's check for that too, shall we?" He turned me around so my back faced the room, then cupped the bottom of my nappy, before bending down and giving it a sniff. "Hmmm…" he mused, as he stood back up. He then pulled back the waistband, and peeked inside. "Nope. Clean." He said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. I smiled as he turned me around, "see!" I said, a smug tone to my voice, "I wasn't lying." "Except about being a soggy pants" he replied. "Its only a little damp!" "Well an accident is an accident as far as I'm concerned" he said, a slightly stern tone to his voice, "and a fib is a fib. Now sit back down please." I did as he told me. He bent down and picked my jean's up off the floor. "I'll be taking these, as you can't be trusted to be honest with me, then you can't be trusted to have your nappy covered." I blushed, and tried to edge back into my seat to hide my nappy as best I could. Embarrassed by how obvious my crinkly, soggy state now was, I picked up my sketchbook again and continued drawing. I managed to finish just as the film ended. A few minutes later everyone moved into the other room to play games. I started to get up, but the weight in my belly had become worse, and I realised I was minutes away from losing control and messing myself. I sat back down and curled back into my chair. Another one of the Bigs came over. "Don't want to play the games?" She asked. I shook my head. "Come on, you'll have fun." "Ok" I said, a little reluctant. I stood up slowly, careful to clench my butt cheeks together to avoid an accident. The Big saw this, "Do you need to sit on the potty?" She gestured over to the plastic potty chair that had been left in the corner of the room. My eyes went wide. It was one thing to have someone take me to the toilet, but to sit on an actual potty in the middle of the room, even an empty room, was too terrifying. I shook my head. "Well I guess you've got your nappy on if you have an accident" she teased, patting my butt and ushering me along. Slowly, carefully, I waddled into the dining room. Everyone was sitting around the table, playing board games. I pulled out a chair and sat down. At first I just watched, but the next round I decided to join in. I was having so much fun I completely forgot about my discomfort. That was until I stood up to take my turn. My stomach lurched. At first I just began to pee, unleashing a flood I was worried was going to cause a leak. Then I felt the hold on my sphincter give out as the poo pushed its way into my nappy. I froze for a moment, but realised that would give the game away to everyone, and stupid as it sounds, I wasn't quite ready for that. I finished my turn, trying to draw as little attention to myself as possible, then sat down. I winced a little as the mess squished against my backside and spread throughout my nappy. I wasn't sure if anyone had realised what was happening when I messed myself, but between the smell, the lack of trousers, and the obviously used padding, it wouldn't be long before they worked it out. I tried to concentrate on the game, but all I could focus on was the twitching of people's noses, the sound of them sniffing. Other littles had wet themselves so far, but no one had been messy. I wasn't even certain other people did that sort of thing, although we'd all agreed beforehand it would be ok if people wanted to. One thing I was certain of, after the moment earlier while watching the film, was that once it was noticed there would be no keeping it a secret. Suddenly all eyes fell on me, and for a moment I thought I'd been rumbled, until I realised it was my turn in the game. Reluctantly I stood up, and as I did the smell from my nappy wafted through the room. "Someone's a stinky butt" the girl who smelled me earlier announced. I blushed, as I muttered a weak "no I'm not" from behind my dummy. I don't know why I lied at that point, but it seemed to fit the role I'd fallen into, the kid who still has accidents, but doesn't like to admit it. "Are you sure about that? " asked the Big who had led me into the room, "liars get a smacked bottom and corner time". I considered this for a moment, "I haven't had an accident", I said petulantly, "I'm not a baby". "Oh really?" Miss Big countered, taking my hand and leading me away from the table so there was absolutely no way of hiding the state of my nappy from anyone. She squished the front of the padding, sending a shiver through my body, "well that's definitely a lie" she announced, "you're absolutely soaking". I felt her other hand on the back of my nappy, "As you haven't made a mess, I guess you won't mind if I do this" she pressed her hand firmly against my butt, forcing the mess against my skin. I shuddered again, from humiliation and pleasure. Her hand moved up to the waistband, and she tugged it back. I felt a slight rush of cold air against my butt and a waft of smell escaped the nappy. "Someone's a stinky little fiber, aren't they?" She teased. I whimpered, as the state I was in was confirmed for everyone. "Well, you were warned about not telling the truth" she continued. She pulled my chair out from the table and sat down, then took my hand and tugged it, leading me to lay down across her lap."I want you to count along each of the times I spank you, please." Her hand came down on my nappy. Between the padding and the mess it wasn't painful, I could barely feel anything beyond the impact, but the sensation of the mess being spread throughout my nappy, while everyone watched me being punished was overwhelming. I began to sob. Quietly at first, then full blown floods of tears. When the spanking was over the Big helped me up off her lap, then pulled me into a hug. She stroked my hair while I calmed down. Eventually she helped me up and led me into the adjacent room. I assumed this was for a change, but instead she walked me over to a corner. "You're going to stay here for five minutes please" she told me, "while you think about what you should have done when I asked you if you'd made a mess". I put my nose into the corner, and stood still sucking on my dummy. I tried to do as she had told me and consider what I ought to have done, but all I could really think about was how horny I was. My hand moved towards the front of my nappy… "What do you think you're doing?!" Miss Big asked, a loud and sharp tone to her voice. "Nothing." I replied. "Then keep your hands where I can see them, please. Put them on the back of your nappy, and push the mess up to remind you what you've done." I did as she asked and continued to stare at the wall, my eyes filling with tears once again. When the five minutes were up I was led back out of the corner. "Well done for being in the corner," Miss Big congratulated me "now what should you have done when I asked if you'd had an accident?" "Told you" I replied, still sobbing a little. "But i wasn't sure". "Really?" She asked, a hint of incredulity to her tone, "you didn't feel it when you messed your nappy? Or when you sat down in your mess? You couldn't smell it?" I shook my head. "I thought the smell was someone else" I said, meekly. "Then you should have told me that you weren't sure, and I would have checked." She explained, "it's ok that you have accidents in your nappy, that's why you're wearing them, and I don't mind you not being sure if you have, but that means I need to check to see." I nodded, stuttering out "ok. I'm sorry" from around my dummy. "I think it's just because you like being stinky and didn't want a clean nappy" she said, a grin on her face. I smiled, she'd definitely got that right. "Have you gone as much as you need to, or do you think you need to go more?" She asked. I shrugged. "Well let's keep you in that nappy a little while longer then". With that she took me by the hand and led me back into the dining room. She pulled out a chair and sat me down next to the girl who had smelled me before, who greeted me with a "hello, stinky butt." I smiled at her, gave her a big hug, and rejoined the game. After about half an hour Miss Big glanced across the table at me, "have you pooped your nappy any more?" "I don't think so" I said, blushing. "I think I'd like you to try for me" she said, "you can either sit on my lap and try here, or we can go in the other room and you can sit on the potty." I didn't know it was possible, but my face became even more red. "Potty" I requested. At least I'd get a little privacy. With that she took me into the living room and sat me, still in my nappy, on the potty. Then she rubbed my back while I tried to push out more mess. "Having any luck?" She asked as she watched me straining. I shook my head. "I'm going to be changing another messy nappy later on, aren't I?" I smiled behind my dummy, "maybe". "Well you've been very good trying to go more for me. And mostly good all day, so how about we give you a reward?" I grinned at that prospect. Miss Big led me into one of the bedrooms, where a mattress protector had been set out on the bed. "Lay down for me please" she requested, and I did as she asked. She grabbed several bundles of rope, and moved round the bed tying each of my limbs to a bed post. Then she took a blindfold and tied it around my eyes. I had a good idea of what was coming next, and the loud buzzing sound confirmed it. The next thing I knew a high powered vibrator was being held against the front of my nappy, and gently massaged around. I was already incredibly aroused, and this very quickly sent me straight to the edge. "Are you going to cum for me in that disgusting, stinky, messy nappy?" Miss Big asked. Words were lost to me now, but I forced out an affirmatory grunt. "Ask me for permission to cum then?" She instructed. I fought the waves of pleasure just enough to ask, "May I please cum?" "And what are you going to cum into?" She teased. It was almost impossible to think, but somehow I managed to say the words, "My disgusting, stinky, messy nappy". "And why are you cumming into a soggy, messy nappy?" She knew how to humiliate and torture me. "B… because I'm not big enough to use the toilet and I have accidents". "Good." She said, taking a pause that seemed to last forever, "then yes, you may cum" I stopped fighting, and waves of pleasure overcame me. As I did, Miss Big continued to hold the vibrator against the nappy, making the sensation last for so long that I thought I might pass out. Eventually she took the vibrator off, and I relaxed into a puddle of goo on the bed. She untied my arms and legs, then climbed onto the bed, pulling me into a hug. "Did you enjoy that?" She asked as she removed my blindfold. I just about yelped out a "yes". "Good". She held me, sharing her body heat with me and stroking me, letting me slowly come back down to earth. Eventually she glanced down at the nappy, which was starting to leak a little. "Best we get you changed, eh?" She suggested. I was in no state to argue. "One sec," she said, as she darted out of the room. When she returned, she had both my stuffies in her hands, as well as the wipes, cream and a fresh nappy. There also seemed to be something else, but I couldn't quite make out what. She handed me my stuffies, and I snuggled them tight and closed my eyes as she untapped the front of the nappy. "Wow" she declared, "you really did use this to its fullest extent, didn't you?" I was too spaced to give an answer, and instead just whimpered. I felt the wipes on my skin, as she cleaned me, wiping off the mess from my inner thighs and my bottom cheeks. she had me hold my legs up so she could clean my lower back and pull the nappy out from under me, then I felt a wipe inserted into my bottom. "Just making sure you're all clean" she told me, then followed with "stay like that for a second". I did as I was told. It was then she revealed the other thing she had brought into the room - a tunnel butt plug. "As you don't seem to care if you're messy or not, we may as well take your control away from you entirely. She covered the plug in lube, and gently eased it into my hole. It took a while, as I expanded to take the toy, but eventually she pushed it home. With the plug in, she slipped my clean nappy under me, then produced a fleet enema from her pocket and squirted it into my hole. She had me stay like that as the liquid trickled down past my now powerless sphincter and into my colon. After about a minute and a half she decided it was time to act. "Ok, legs down. Quickly." She instructed. I did as I was told, and she taped me into the nappy. "There you go" she said, "clean and dry. For about five minutes." A sadistic smile on her face. She helped me up and we headed back into the living room, where everyone was gathered around the TV, taking turns to play video games. I sat down and waited patiently for my go. Every so often I'd notice a smell, but it was brief so I ignored it. Then one of the Bigs went over to the girl who had called me a stinky butt. She was lying on the floor, colouring, and didn't even acknowledge him when he undid the bottom of her onesie. He pulled back the waistband of her nappy, then declared, "I thought as much", before doing the onesie back up. I scooted over to her and gave her a hug, telling her, "I'm glad I'm not the only one who has messy accidents". She giggled at that. Then it was my turn on the game. I got in close to the TV, and raised myself up on my knees so that I could see properly. It was a fighting game, best of three rounds. I won the first, lost the second. I was really getting into the game in the final round, when I suddenly noticed the smell again, but this time much worse, and it wasn't going away. I was having lots of fun though, and was close to winning, so I ignored it. I kept blocking every attack, dropping the block and getting a punch or a kick in here and there. It was tight. Finally I saw my chance. I moved the joystick left, then right, then left again. Then hit the buttons just right. A fireball launched across the screen, my opponent went down. I won. Delighted, I sat down on the floor hard. And that was when I realised why the smell was so strong. Miss Big had been right about my nappy only being clean for five minutes. Once again, I was a stinky butt. If anything I was stinker than before. I put the controller down and toddled over to Miss Big. "I think I've had an accident" I whispered to her. She smiled, "Are you sure?" "Yes" i said, nervously. Not wanting to draw attention to the fact that I had pooped my pants for a second time in under an hour. "Ok, well done for telling me." Miss Big said with that sadistic smile forming once again, "you go back and play, and I might think about checking you later to see if you need a change." My eyes went wide. "But everyone will find out" I begged. Miss Big hugged me, and put her hand on my butt, patting it in a way that was both very reassuring and also deeply humiliating. "Honey," she said, a soothing tone to her voice, "You're in a room filled with people who love you. You're also not wearing anything over your nappy. They knew as soon as you pooped yourself the first time. It was pretty obvious that it was happening while you leaned over the table, and they knew when you did it now, because they saw the back of your nappy fill up and the brown stain developing on your butt. They also all have a sense of smell, and that alone means theres no hiding what you've just done." She began to stroke my hair as I sucked harder on my dummy and tears welled up in my eyes, "and you know what? No one cares. Everyone thinks it's cute, and that you're cute." She kissed my head, and patted the seat next to her on the sofa. I sat beside her and cuddled close, "Now rest here a while", she said, picking up a bottle of milk from a table beside her and slipping it between my lips as she guided my head down into her lap, "you've had an exciting time so far, and I think you could probably use a nap".
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