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I'm looking for a story I found on good old sissybeckey's page I could not find this story after the site shut down not even in the archives. it involved a guy being regressed physically and mentally in to a 2 year old form with a little girl unknowingly helping the guy's mental regression along i.e having him pretend to be a baby while playing house. The last chapter happened a couple of months in the future and shows one of the mothers having a sex change operation to become a man the guy is basically regressed all the way when at the end the girl comes in saying something is wrong with the guy and that's where the story ends. Oh yeah I think the little was actually a guy herself once as well even though neither of them were affected except by use of drugs and hypnosis. i hope you can help me find this story because I have completely forgotten the title of it.

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  • 3 weeks later...

Come on guys I really just wanna find thus last story it was about 3-4 chapters long although the mental changes don't start until chapter 2 that plus the stuff in the previous post is all i really remember about it.

i'm sure that if someone remembered the name of the story, they would have offered it. The problem for most of us is that we don't read everything out there, and if we get into one that isn't pushing our buttons, we probably will stop reading it. So, if others here liked the story as much as you did, i'm sure they'll get you an answer.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Dear Hawk, it sounds like one of many stories written by Sally KA, especially one entitled, 'If you're not sure, just ask!' I'll reprint my (highly edited) version for you here. Hugs from Baby Jennie in Australia

If You're Not Sure, Just Ask by SallyKA

"…a more than usual, even frequent need to urinate." Peter repeated the doctor’s phrase to himself as he drove his smart little car home from his appointment. ‘That phrase was the key,’ he thought. It just might open a door he had regretfully closed before his wedding day. Peter smiled, even though in his lower regions he could still feel the discomfort from his doctor’s recent probing. All clear on the early onset prostate cancer that ran in his family, and as a bonus – the chance to treat the private psychological need he had resisted since his marriage began. Well, Peter thought, almost resisted. There had been a couple of times when he had spent the night home alone, and he’d been able to indulge in his secret desires. But in general, he thought…

Isabell heard Peter’s car crunching across the gravel to the garage. She assessed his quick confident gait across the noisy pebble path towards the front porch, and correctly surmised that there was no bad news resulting from his doctor’s visit. Peter was always the quieter of the pair, while Isabell was outgoing and boisterous, with a tendency to take charge and organise things in a matter-of-fact way that most people might call bossiness. Peter usually didn’t mind her taking control – he often left things to his more practical wife and got on with his own work in peace and quiet.

Peter tried to be flexible, and usually went along with whatever Isabell had arranged. Any competent psychologist after even a short analysis of the pair’s personalities, would conclude that the dynamic of the young marriage demonstrated the potential for Isabell to inevitably become the dominant force in their relationship. While neither Peter nor Isabell was particularly aware of it, this latent dynamic had been attractive to both of them during their brief, sex-crazed courtship.

As it was, Peter felt excited that he might be able to get away with his certain otherwise taboo behaviour as a result of his doctor’s investigations and treatment. His excitement was matched by Isabell’s repressed disappointment that his status in the marriage would not be further reduced by some medical situation, that would require her to take even more control over her submissive docile husband.

These repressed sexual undertones caused both partners to feel an odd thrill when Peter carefully explained that a likely after-effect of the rigorous anal examination would be that for a week or two at least, he would need to make more frequent visits to the bathroom to urinate. For good measure, he added that continuing the medication the doctor had prescribed for the next few months might cause the same effect. Neither mentioned their feelings of anticipation to the other.

Peter made three trips to the bathroom during the course of that first evening, while Isabell made only one. He was counting, and was pleased to see that Isabell accepted his need to go more often without raising a comment. Peter’s third bathroom visit was to masturbate rather than urinate. He discretely caressed his stiff peenie in the bathroom, fantasizing about wetting his pants like a toddler in front of his beautiful blonde wife, before cumming explosively and then flushing the toilet for realism.

For her part, Isabell wondered what life would be like if Peter lost some of his bladder control. She imagined herself controlling that most private part of his life, reminding him not to forget to visit to the bathroom before they went out, and cautioning her sweetie to ‘go potty’ during some crowded social function. She smiled to herself as she watched Peter head for the bathroom yet again. Both were somewhat absorbed in their own thoughts as they stripped for bed that evening.

"Do you need to go potty again before bed, honey?" asked Isabell affectionately as Peter removed his briefs. He looked at his beautiful blonde wife in surprise. He hadn’t heard that question in - well, in years. She was standing naked by the bed, and he looked from her tender smile to her full swaying breasts and gently rounded tummy.

"Er, okay," he answered obediently, and there was that odd thrill again as he submissively obeyed her and padded to the bathroom. While Peter was noisily urinating in the bathroom, Isabell picked up the clothes he had discarded on the floor. ‘Just like a child, he really does need looking after,’ she thought wryly. She found herself checking the crotch of Peter’s briefs for - ‘for wetness,’ she thought with a strange burst of hidden pleasure. The thick cotton crotch did seem a little damp, too, she imagined, and when she sniffed the damp material, she could detect the faint aroma of his stale urine. Her russet nipples crinkled erect and her heavy breasts swung gently as she tossed the briefs into the wicker clothes basket in the corner of the bedroom.

Peter returned in a few minutes, looking and feeling strangely guilty. He found he actually had needed to go wee-wees after all, to his surprise. ‘That’s four times tonight,’ thought Isabell. She couldn’t help but notice the huge erection tenting out his pyjama pants when he returned, and she squeezed her thigh muscles together in aroused anticipation. Once Peter was lying comfortably on his back beside her in bed, Isabell reached down and after taking a deep breath, grasped his stiff penis through the cotton pants. "Your undies were a bit wet tonight, honey," she whispered into her husband’s ear. "Did the doctor mention that might happen? Don’t worry, I put them in the washing basket for you." Isabell felt the involuntary reaction with her fingers as his cock stiffened and throbbed, and matched it with a little vaginal spasm of her own.

"Er, no, just what I told you earlier. I’m sorry I- I wet- I wet my pants," apologised Peter hesitantly, and his peenie thickened even more in her fist when he admitted to his childish mistake. He wondered just how wet his pants had been though, as he hadn’t really noticed anything when he undressed. Without any further conversation, the couple settled down to some hurried foreplay, followed by a brief but intense session of unusually satisfying sex. Peter woke some time later, and crept out of bed to visit the bathroom yet again.

Isabell lay quietly awake as she listened to him pee. She pretended to be asleep when Peter returned, then feigning semi-consciousness, let her hand absently wander over her husband’s crotch to discover his renewed erection. She let herself drift back to sleep as she gripped his hard warmth tightly, smiling secretly at the image of him uncontrollably wetting his pants in front of her. Peter hoped that Isabell wasn’t awake enough to wonder why he was erect again so soon, and felt grateful that his wife wasn’t a mind-reader. He lay awake for some time, enjoying the gentle pressure of her sleepy fingers around his throbbing tool, and imagining that he had wet his pants the way he sometimes used to enjoy doing before he was married.

Peter woke first and hurriedly raced to the bathroom once more. "Six," Isabell counted aloud to herself. "That’s six times since he came home last night." She smiled again, and felt glad it was Saturday. She could monitor Peter’s bathroom visits on her days off, and enjoy the inexplicable rising excitement each time he needed to go. Isabell was hanging up the bedside phone when Peter returned from the bathroom. "That was Pam," she informed him. "She was wondering if we wanted to go swimming this afternoon, up at her place. I’d love a swim," she prompted. He agreed it was a fine idea. Pam was an attractive widowed mum, one of Isabell’s large network of friends he’d met a few times . She was a nurse at the local hospital, and always made him feel welcome. ‘A swim would be good fun,’ he thought.

"Poor old Pam," Isabell commented sympathetically, as Peter searched for and found a pair of briefs in his underwear drawer, and pulled them on. He tried to shrug in sympathy at Pam’s current woes, whatever they were. "She’s still having a few problems with Angelica," Isabell continued to explain.

"Oh well," replied Peter dismissively. He vaguely knew Angelica was Pam’s daughter, and understood her to be only about eight or nine, but a bit of a handful for her single mother. Her father’s death last year had apparently hit her hard, and she had recently been exhibiting some rather odd behavioural problems.

“Mainly bedwetting,” Isabell had informed Peter a while back, and she needlessly reminded him again of her foible. “She’s still a bedwetter.” He tried not to think about the familiar cruel accusation as he dressed. It made him dream about his own forbidden desires, and he felt mildly guilty for the twinge of envy he felt over poor Angelica’s troubles. "Come back to bed," Isabell ordered suddenly, reaching out and grabbing the waistband of Peter’s white briefs before he could step into his trousers. It was only eight o’clock, and there wasn’t much they planned to do that Saturday morning.

"Okay," Peter readily agreed, discarding the pants he was about to put on and letting Isabell draw him back under the warm covers. They lay close together and kissed for a few minutes, till Isabell broke the embrace to nuzzle his neck.

"Angelica’s started wetting her bed almost every night now," continued Isabell, whispering seductively in his ear. She sensed rather than felt Peter stiffen slightly, and wondered if he was aroused by her words or her kisses. They kissed again, and Isabell delicately traced the bulge of Peter’s thickening manhood beneath his tight white cotton briefs. Her fingertips rested on the small spot of pre-cum she had induced Peter to release into the absorbent double fabric of the crotch. "She’s been back in diapers at night every night for the last two weeks, poor baby. But she’s also had a couple of daytime wetting accidents as well, Pam told me," Isabell continued in a throaty whisper. "Pam’s thinking maybe Angelica might need some protection during the daytime as well.’

Peter was feeling very embarrassed by the strange direction of Isy’s conversation, yet he was highly aroused. He hoped Isabell would ascribe his rock-hard erection to her talented finger work, and not to any thoughts of young Angelica in wet pants. In truth, he was not entertaining thoughts of the troubled child, but imaging himself needing Isabell to diaper him. ‘Why was she talking about this now?’ he wondered distractedly.

Both of them were highly aroused, and both were intrigued by the same possibility: as a result of his prostate exam, he might have some trouble staying dry. That exciting thought loomed large like an approaching thundercloud for both of them. Each wondered what the other would think if they were aware of each other’s thoughts. Isabell climbed above Peter’s supine form and straddled his hips with her knees, her hand still gripping his aroused manhood.

"Poor little Angelica," Isabell sighed as she leaned forward, letting her full heavy breasts rub lightly across Peter’s bare hairless chest. Her nipples were hard pebbles now, and she loved the ticklish feeling of his stiff little buds scraping against hers. Peter lay entranced beneath her, his eyes closing in ecstasy while Isabell continued to gently massage the head of his silky smooth penis, pausing occasionally to scoop up the drops of slippery pre-cum and rub them between her fingers. Peter was doing his best not to cum in his underpants. He reached down and pulled at the tight waistband, but Isabell swiftly swatted his hand away. She meant to finish what she had started in the manner she intended. "Still," she continued more soothingly, "wetting your pants isn’t the end of the world, even for someone older - like Angelica. After all, her Mummy is there to look after her and change her wet panties if she has a little accident.”

Peter tried to stop the inevitable, but it was useless. Why was Isabell going on about Angelica’s wetting accidents? He felt the blood surge simultaneously to his head and to his groin. ‘How much ‘older’ was okay?’ he found himself wondering involuntarily, then his thoughts were swept away by an orgasm that seemed longer and more intense than ever before. "I think you need a change, baby," Isabell chuckled after Peter’s head had cleared a little.

Peter felt shocked. He couldn’t have - but he had! He had cum in his underpants! He felt like a helpless little boy again, and he felt his cheeks redden in shame. "Oh Isy! It was an- an accident," he pleaded guiltily, unable to meet her concerned gaze.

Isabell leaned down and quietened his apology with a long wet kiss. She lowered her hips and began to grind her dripping pussy against his wet sticky crotch. "Shh, baby, it’s okay. Shhh, my poor baby. It doesn’t matter. Shhhh, Mummy’s here," she tenderly cooed.

Peter was so embarrassed, he felt close to tears. He clenched his eyelids shut and prayed his premature accident would not precipitate a major dressing-down from Isabell. She had sometimes been critical of his sexual performance in the past, and had complained whenever Peter’s premature ejaculation had spoiled her carefully-planned and greatly-anticipated session of lovemaking at the end of a pleasant evening out. And here he lay, having selfishly made a sticky mess in his underpants, while she remained unsatisfied. He had never actually cum in his briefs before today.

Peter became aware of the tears trickling down across his temples even as Isabell continued to rub her fragrant crotch against his messy damp groin. Worse, he felt another involuntary warm wet spurt from his penis. Surely he had no more cum left, he thought, unless… Isabell began moaning breathlessly and slammed her pubic bone even harder against Peter’s flaccid genitalia, then groaned loudly and shuddered violently. She gradually slowed her gyrations to a halt, and then sat up, tossing her mane of blonde hair back over her shoulders. She carefully climbed off her spouse and hopped out of bed. Peter lay motionless with his eyes squeezed tightly shut, waiting for her to discover the disaster between his legs. "Look’s like Angelica’s not the only one who needs a diaper!" he heard Isabell playfully comment.

He felt confused when his shrivelling damp peenie instantly began to thicken, even as his cheeks burned crimson with shame. ‘Have I actually wet myself as well, or not?’ he wondered fearfully. He couldn’t tell for sure, and didn’t really want to find out. Isabell’s tone sounded light and jolly though, rather than angry or exasperated by his embarrassing accident. Peter dared to open his eyes and found her standing next to the bed right beside his face. Her wet mouse-brown pubic hair was matted against the soft skin of her underbelly. "It’s alright, baby, Mummy’s wet too," she cooed with a little forgiving laugh. "See?" she showed him, running her fingers through the glistening blonde curls. “Hop up, honey. Let’s get you out of those wet pants right away.”

Peter remained silent as Isabell helped him out of the bed and pulled down his briefs. He didn’t get the opportunity to see the extent of the damage, before she tossed his damp balled-up undies in the laundry basket. "You go and have your shower first, sweetie, while I finish cleaning up here," she kindly ordered, rotating her naked husband and pushing him on his way towards the door. Peter glanced back to see Isabell bending over their bed and touching the wet spot experimentally. The usual tiny wet spot on the bottom sheet looked about the size of a football this time. He started to say something, but Isabell simply pointed imperiously to the doorway and ordered: "Shower!" before she whisked the wet sheets off the bed. He trotted dutifully into the bathroom.

Under the warm shower, Peter wondered what had just happened. Had Isabell approved, or at least encouraged him to have a real accident in front of her? ‘Or am I in some desperate way inventing things that aren’t actually there?’ he asked himself uncertainly. His head was still swimming as he washed and shaved in a daze. Isabell had left the bedroom by the time Peter returned. He looked at the bare mattress, which clearly had a large dark damp patch where he had been lying. Not sure what to do and trying unsuccessfully to avoid looking at the stripped bed, Peter hurriedly dressed. Isabell returned as he was slipping on his shoes, and she asked him to help her turn the mattress. "I’m so sorry, Isabell," Peter awkwardly apologised, as they heaved the heavy mattress over.

"Oh, don’t worry, baby. It happens to people sometimes during or after sex," smiled Isabell forgivingly. "I’ve packed your swimming stuff in the car. We’ll leave for Pam’s in about half an hour," she added, collecting her own swimsuit from a drawer and walking out of the room. Peter still felt embarrassed and uncomfortable. He was pretty sure that wetting the bed during sex was not normal - or at least uncommon, anyway. Then her remembered Isabell calling him baby. And she called herself ‘Mummy’. She never called herself ‘Mummy’ before.

All the years Peter dreamt of a woman mothering him, playing Mummy to his baby, changing his wet pants for him… Was it really happening now? Or was he just hopefully reading things that weren’t there? He thought for a moment of addressing Isabell as ‘Mummy,’ to see how she would react, then chided himself for losing touch with reality. He needed to go to the bathroom again, but Isabell was using their home’s only bathroom when Peter arrived at the locked door. "In a minute, baby," Isabell called through the door when he tentatively knocked. Peter’s confusion came pouring back at her firm maternal tone.

"Okay," he weakly replied, then dared to whisper; “Okay Mummy.” He had to clench his thighs together to fight back the urge to just let go, and was surprised to discover that he was already gripping his peenie head with one hand. He was able to release his tell-tale grasp long enough for Isabell to walk out of the bathroom and past him, then he rushed in without closing the door. He ripped down his pants and briefs in one desperate movement, but with no time to stand and aim, he sat on the toilet and peed lustily. When he looked up, Isabell was standing outside the doorway watching him, an enigmatic smile on her beautiful face. He blushed under her frank scrutiny and dropped his gaze to the floor, and she gave a little laugh before walking away and granting him some privacy.

While pulling his pants back up, he noted that the front of his underpants was a little damp, but he hoped they would dry by the time they reached Pam’s house. At least his jeans were dry. The drive to Pam’s was abnormally quiet. Peter still felt embarrassed about wetting the bed, and Isabell, who was driving, only commented in passing about how fabulous last night’s sex had been, but otherwise concentrated on the traffic, then the winding drive into the heavily wooded foothills. The small ranch where Pam lived was at the end of a long dirt access road. Isabell carefully piloted her car over the rolling bumpy track, and eventually Peter could see the house almost hidden amongst the tall trees. He was glad their journey was almost over. Bouncing over the rough dirt road seemed to have exacerbated Peter’s condition, and he desperately needed to pee. He squirmed in his seat, hoping that the welcome greetings would be short and sweet, so that he could quickly dash to the toilet .

Pam stood with her hands on her broad hips as they drew up to the porch. "Hello Isabell! Hi Peter!" she called in her cheery fashion. "Park under the oak tree," she added, indicating the spreading leafy branches of the fine old tree. Peter climbed out of the car and stood beside Isabell, shifting his weight from one leg to the other and trying not to make it look obvious that he needed to pee. Pleasantries over, Pam led Isabell and Peter inside.

"Do you need to go potty, baby?” Isabell gently asked her husband, who blushed rosily and dropped his eyes to the floor without responding. “The bathroom’s down there on the left, honey, remember?" added Isabell conversationally, as Pam ushered the couple into the living area.

"Thanks a bunch," muttered Peter ungratefully in red-faced embarrassment, and he quickly scurried down the corridor Isabell indicated. Trust her to notice that he needed to go, and trust her to draw everyone’s attention to his plight.

Pam’s daughter Angelica stood at the end of the corridor, watching Peter hurry towards the bathroom door. "Do you need to go pee-pee?" the pretty little girl inquisitively asked. He quickly snatched his hand away from his crotch. Once again had hadn’t realised that he had unconsciously clutched the head of his peenie like a small boy as soon as he had left the two women. He mumbled something unintelligible at the girl and burst into the adjacent bathroom. Again he barely had time to slam the door and yank down his pants and briefs, before sitting to pee. He made it with about a second to spare, and he could feel the fine beads of perspiration on his brow.

As he sighed in relief, he looked down at the briefs stretched between his calves. He hoped the dark area he saw in the crotch was only a shadow, but his tremulous searching fingers told him otherwise. The white briefs were wet right through the crotch, and so was a small area on the front of his jeans. He couldn’t believe that he had actually wet his pants. Urgently needing to pee was one thing; this was another. He derived no pleasure from the strong erection he developed as soon as his flow trickled to a halt, either.

Peter spent a few frustrating minutes unsuccessfully trying to absorb the wetness in his briefs and jeans with some toilet paper. He stretched out the crotch of the jeans, and decided that since they were relatively new and still dark blue, nothing much would show if he kept his thighs close together and didn’t stand in the full light. He hoped the little girl was no longer loitering outside in the corridor. Surely she would have gone to greet the other guest, he surmised. It was certainly quiet outside the bathroom door.

Angelica had gone off to play somewhere by the time Peter returned to the living room. He had found the bag Isabell had packed with their swim gear in the hall, and stood in the doorway holding it defensively in front of him. "I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for a swim," he announced as convincingly as he could.

"You’re keen," chuckled Pam. Peter tittered nervously in reply and sidled past the women to the deck outside the wide living room. He ducked into the change room off the deck and quickly stripped. He took another chance to closely examine his clothing. His underpants were quite damp, and the wet patch on his jeans seemed to have spread. ‘Oh well,’ he decided, ‘looks like I’ll be wearing my swim trunks home.’ He rolled up his clothes and stashed them in a discreet pile under the timber bench in the change room.

It was that damn bumpy road, he decided grumpily as he slipped into the tepid water in the pool. Pam and Isabell joined him after a short while. Pam was a few years older than Isabell, and had a very generous bust accentuated by her snug green lycra bathing suit. Isabell surprised Peter by appearing in her old blue one-piece suit, in place of her usual bikini. "It’s my ‘Mummy’ suit," she explained to Pam, turning a circle in front of her friend and waving her hands across the curves of her tiny tummy and well-rounded buttocks. "I’m developing a bit of a maternal figure in my old age, and amongst friends, this suit is a lot more comfortable.’

Pam laughed derisively. Isabell at twenty-nine was filling out a little, but had some way to go to reach her own thirty-nine year old fuller figure. Isabell smiled at Peter, who stood motionless in the chest-deep water. He had stopped and stared at his wife when she made the joking reference to her ‘Mummy suit’. "Is it nice in, honey? Tell Mummy," she instructed him like she was asking a pre-schooler.

"Fine," Peter replied uncertainly, before turning and diving under the water to hide his stiffy. As he drifted along under the surface, he wondered about the continuing ‘Mummy’ references. ‘I’m becoming paranoid,’ he told himself. He hoped Isabell wouldn’t give Pam a blow-by-blow of his medical examination, and certainly never reveal last night’s embarrassing events in bed.

Isabell climbed carefully down the ladder into the pool and stood watching Peter’s dripping head and shoulders emerge from the water at the other end. "Swim to Mummy!" she playfully called to him. Both women laughed as a confused Peter obediently paddled towards Isabell, who then took Peter’s hands, leant forward and kissed him on the forehead. “Good boy!” Peter heard the women’s laughter start afresh as he stopped swimming and awkwardly regained his feet - with a little helping hand from Mummy. He didn’t know whether to feel aroused, embarrassed or amused when she kissed his forehead again and gaily laughed. He was glad neither of them was aware of the inadvertent spurt of pee that diffused into the water around his crotch when Isabell caught him and kissed him.

Peter remained in the pool while Isabell and Pam dried off and disappeared inside. He paddled around, happy to amuse himself with the various floating items which he supposed belonged to Angelica. Peter was enjoying himself, and even imagined that the brightly coloured floaty toys were actually his, as he pushed them this way and that. He felt lucky that the toys were in the pool – as an adult, he couldn’t really have tossed them in for his own amusement. After a while, he spied Isabell standing at the terrace doors quietly observing him playing. She smiled tenderly as she watched her husband splashing about like a happy child in the pool. "Time to get out, little one!" she called down to him. Isabell hadn’t used that name for Peter before, but he looked so happy and content playing in the pool, that she couldn’t resist the childish endearment. It made her feel warm and maternal towards him. Peter was secretly thrilled that Isabell had called him ‘little one.’ ‘If only she knew how I was really feeling,’ he thought ruefully, as he impatiently waited for his erection to subside. He uncontrollably peed a little more while climbing the ladder to get out, but didn’t think it would make much difference to the health of the pool.

Isabell walked onto the deck carrying a huge fluffy pink towel and met Peter with a wide smile. She wrapped the towel around him and began to briskly rub him dry. Peter didn’t resist her pushy maternal care, and found he enjoyed it, too. "We’re going into the local village to do some shopping, darling," Isabell told him. "So hurry inside and get dressed again.’

A shiver of fear trickled down Peter’s spine. His jeans might still be wet. "I can just wear my trunks," he suggested artfully, taking charge of the drying process.

"No, you’ll need your clothes," Isabell responded tartly, mildly miffed when he took the towel from her hands. "Hurry up, baby, we’re all waiting.’

"Really, I’ll just wear these and a top," Peter replied hopefully.

Isabell looked exasperated and placed her fists on her hips. Peter could be quite stubborn at times. "Peter, get dressed now, please. And hurry up, little one. Mummy hasn’t got all day," Isabell ordered firmly, turning him around and slapping him smartly on the bottom. Peter walked to the change room, the words ‘Mummy’ and ‘little one’ ringing in his ears. ‘Why did she say that?’ he wondered distractedly, as he rubbed his bum where she had smacked him. He was caught between a flush of excited guilty pleasure and a feeling of consternation.

Peter gave into the guilty pleasure. He relished the naughty erotic feeling, and grinned like a mischievous schoolboy as he entered the little changing room. He wanted to pee in his pants like a naughty toddler, then realised that a warm stream of urine was already running down his legs onto the concrete floor. He quickly opened the door to the toilet and stepped inside the narrow cubicle. He hadn’t really formed an exit strategy from his predicament, and now the options seemed to disappear on him as he picked up his balled-up clothing. As he expected, the jeans and briefs were still wet, but so was the bottom of the shirt he had carelessly rolled up with them. The sun was shining brightly outside, so there was no way he could hide his wet pants. He thought hard, breathing heavily, ‘I’ll have to tell Mummy- I mean Isabell’ he mentally corrected himself, ‘that I wet my pants.’ He stood with his wet swimming trunks in a puddle around his ankles, one hand on his recently developed erection.

He whipped his hand away from his stiffie when the door burst open, and half-turned away from Isabell as she stood framed in the bright light. "Peter, hurry up please," she insisted impatiently. "What are you doing?" she asked sharply, looking more closely at her embarrassed naked husband.

Peter thought for a brief second. ‘I haven’t been well. The prostate thing - she knows that I might leak a little,’ he hoped. He knew what he had to say. "Isy, I - I - I wet my pants, Mummy!" he blurted out. He felt hot tears of shame roll down his cheeks and a simultaneous warm discharge leave his twitching penis as he confessed his infantile misdeed. Fortunately he had one hand covering his pulsating crotch, but Isabell didn’t miss the tears.

continued...

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"Oh you poor baby! Why didn’t you tell Mummy before?" she cooed in sudden understand, taking the smelly garments from Peter’s hands and inspecting the dark stained denim and his sodden yellowed briefs. "Oh you silly baby! Your shirt is wet too," she noted gently. "We’ll see if Pam has something you can wear for now, okay? And don’t worry about it. It’s because you haven’t been well. We all understand that.’ ‘We?" thought Peter in mounting consternation, as Isabell wrapped him in the towel again and led him inside the house. "Pam, I’m afraid we need to borrow something clean for Peter to wear home. And could I pop these in the washing machine while we’re gone?" Isabell asked her close friend, who was waiting ready to go in the kitchen.

"Of course," Pam replied at once, with a sympathetic glance at Peter’s crotch. "I’ll find him something while you dump those wet things in the laundry." After his uncontrollable orgasm, Peter’s tears had subsided along with his dwindling erection, and he now wondered if he had lost control of the situation. Isabell must have already spoken to Pam he realised, as he waited listlessly in the kitchen. There wasn’t much else for him to do.

Eventually both women returned. He heard them chatting together as they came through the hallway from the bedroom area. Isabell held out a pair of pale yellow track pants for him. "These fit Pam, so they should easily fit you," she said brightly. "Come into the spare bedroom, baby, and I’ll help you dress.’ Peter followed meekly. He wanted to protest that he could dress himself, but he was afraid that if he opened his mouth, he would start crying again, or that at least his voice would sound tremulous and quavery. His legs certainly felt shaky. He stood by the bed as Isabell took the towel from him, leaving him completely naked. She looked so adult and organised, he thought, as she held up the track pants then dropped them onto the bed. She held something else in her hand, he noticed. Some thick white briefs. An involuntary tiny mewling sound escaped his throat as he realised that they were some kind of puffy training pants.

"Pam said that she keeps these training pants on hand for when she brings some of her incontinent patients from the hospital up here," Isabell informed him, as if holding a pair of adult-sized toddler training pants was perfectly normal. Peter felt more tears run down his cheeks, and did his best not to cry. "It’s okay, baby," Isabell crooned as Peter lost his little battle and began to weep. "Angelica wears these all the time when she goes out, and she doesn’t cry or carry on like a sooky baby. Now try to act like a big boy, sweetie, and let’s get you dressed.”

He knew he had to behave up to Angelica’s standards, at least. Gulping back the sobs as best he could, he stepped into the thick padded pants she held down open and waiting for him. Isabell pulled them up high, then slipped her hand down the front, gently rearranged Peter’s penis and balls, and tugged the pants up tightly around his waist. Peter stood blinking back tears of shame as his wife put the matching pale yellow tracksuit top over his torso, and helped him into the flapping baggy trackpants.

"There, now what was all the fuss was about, little one?" Isabell asked a little testily. "Put on your shoes, darling, and we’ll get going." Peter was silent and morose as he left the bedroom. Although the pants were too long and extremely baggy, he could feel the tight elasticised cuffs and waistband of the tracksuit around his extremities and tummy, and with every step he felt the puffy padding shifting around the sensitive skin of his buns and groin. He returned to the change room to retrieve his shoes, and when he flicked on the light, he found himself gazing into the full-length mirror on the opposite wall. His widening eyes took in the slightly built figure in the baggy yellow tracksuit, then focused below his waistline. He told himself the flattish padded crotch he detected there looked almost normal, and bent to pick up his runners. He glanced over his shoulder at the mirror, and saw the padding of the pants standing out slightly under the taut interlock fabric.

‘I’ve got diaper pants on,’ he thought suddenly, with the same strange mixture of pleasure and dread that he had experienced earlier. An involuntary spasm released a spurt of scalding-hot pee into the padded pants, warming them comfortably around his groin and making him relax. Peter walked back through the house, secretly relishing the warm, slightly slippery feel of his damp training pants. Pam was sitting in her SUV with the engine running, waiting impatiently. Angelica was strapped into the back seat, and Isabell was standing by the open door of the vehicle as Peter approached.

"Good baby," Isabell praised her waddling spouse, beaming at him. She was surprised how naturally the words seemed to come to her. "In you hop, darling." Peter awkwardly climbed up into the back seat as Isabell kindly held open the door. Angelica smiled happily at him as he sat back, and Isabell reached over Peter for the seat belt. Peter fumbled around trying to fasten the belt himself, but Isabell told him that the buckle was "a bit tricky," and quickly did it for him. With everyone safely buckled up, Pam set off.

Angelica looked over Peter’s outfit and giggled with unabashed delight. She was wearing a smaller yellow tracksuit in the same style as Peter’s. "We’re twins today!" she commented loudly, looking thrilled at the thought.

Pam laughed. "So you are!" she agreed brightly. “You both look lovely!”

"Did you wet your pants today?" Angelica asked him suddenly.

Peter felt himself glowing red. He anxiously looked at the back of Isabell’s head in front of him, hoping for some help, but both Isabell and Pam continued to calmly gaze ahead in expectant silence. He felt a hot flush pass over him. "Yes," he quietly replied, cringing with embarrassment as he made his admission. “Yes, I wet my pants.”

"That’s alright though, isn’t it Angelica?" Pam asked after a long pregnant pause, turning around to look at both of them for a few seconds. "Everyone has little accidents sometimes, don’t they?" The pretty little girl nodded seriously.

"I’ve got my big girl panties on today," Angelica announced with glowing pride.

Peter thought of the three women in the car, all wearing ‘big girl panties.’ He wore a diaper - well, training pants. He wet himself slightly as he breathed out, and he swallowed hard as he tried to stem the flow. Isabell asked Pam something about the village shops, and Angelica pointed out some horses grazing behind a fence as they passed by.

Peter remained silent for the rest of the trip to town, and made up his mind to try and not wet his training pants again. But by the time they reached the mall carpark, Peter had decided to stay in the car. "Peter, hop out, please. No-one cares what you are wearing," Mummy insisted with a hint of annoyance at his sulky expression. He saw Pam and Angelica standing nearby, and decided that to climb out and avoid a childish scene was the best alternative.

Still he stood facing the car, and Isabell had to take his hand firmly to lead him towards the shops. Pam walked a few feet ahead of them holding Angelica’s hand, while Isabell gripped Peter’s paw tightly as they strolled into the small mall. He remembered quite vividly how he had felt many years ago, being taken shopping holding his mother’s hand. Pleasant infantile memories swirled around in his head, and he realised he was wetting again, despite his earlier good intentions. A woman approaching their little group smiled down at Peter and Angelica, and he gripped Isabell’s hand more tightly as they entered one of the shops.

Peter felt strange as they walked into the toy shop. He was a grown man wearing a slightly childish, even feminine-looking, pastel-yellow tracksuit. He was dressed in the same way as the little girl standing next to him, and was holding Isabell’s hand for security, just as Angelica held her mother’s hand. And under the tracksuit, Peter was wearing padded training pants. ‘A diaper, really,’ he thought as he felt the pants sagging heavily against the crotch of the tracksuit. Such a situation had in fact been one of his oft-dreamt fantasies, but now he felt no thrill.

Peter wondered at his reactions. He was actually glad to be wearing his diaper, because he had peed a little bit in the last few minutes. Isabell enjoyed the surge of maternal possessiveness that she felt as she gripped Peter’s hand. She knew that he was suffering from a temporary medical condition, but somehow the situation felt strangely normal, and she felt only motherly concern for him, and not the usual rush of sexual excitement the thought of him behaving like a helpless infant usually gave her, when she allowed her overactive imagination to run it’s course. She wondered if he had wet his training panties at all, and if he had, whether her special baby needed a change yet.

Pam led the way to the shop counter where she asked about a replacement part for one of Angelica’s broken toys. Peter forgot his predicament momentarily and looked around the colourful shop in amazement. All sides were shelves stacked high with bright shining toys. ‘Wow! Look at all the toys!’ he found himself thinking. Pam’s loud voice interrupted his thoughts. "We’ll be back in a few minutes. Look with your eyes and not your hands," she cautioned them as Peter felt Isabell release his hand.

Peter was left standing among the shelves of toys with Angelica. He wasn’t sure if Pam’s words had been directed at him, or Angelica. She was talking to Angelica of course, he reassured himself. "Look at these!" cried Angelica excitedly, interrupting his train of thought. She was kneeling and looking at some dolls in boxes on a lower shelf. Peter squatted down beside her to look, too. He felt his damp padded pants compress over his buns and bunch moistly in his crotch as he bent at the knees. ‘Ouch,’ he thought, as he felt the initial mild discomfort of his developing case of diaper rash. He had never worn a wet diaper for long enough for a rash to develop, and he hoped they would be returning home soon.

Angelica explained how the doll she was pointing out fitted into a special family of dolls, of which she already owned several members. Peter listened, and imagined owning the whole set. ‘That would be quite a collection,’ he thought a little enviously. Angelica crawled around him to peer further along the shelf. "Have you wet your diaper?" she asked with frank interest as she moved behind Peter, and then patted his padded bottom.

Peter felt another hot flush when he mumbled, “I’m not wearing a diaper. I - I’m wearing training pants,” he shyly admitted. He discreetly slipped his fingers between his legs. He could feel the thick triangular bulge of the training pants bunched between his thighs, but the track pants felt dry. Then he moved his hand further back under his bottom, where he could feel the sodden material under his searching fingertips. As he stood up, Angelica stood, too. "Shall I go get your Mummy?" she asked earnestly, her green eyes glowing with concern.

He hadn’t realised how much he had peed over the last twenty minutes since they had left the house. "Er, no, I’ll tell her," he replied, slightly alarmed at his diminishing bladder control. “I’ll tell my Mummy.” He thought he had only used the word to fit in with Angelica’s viewpoint. She wouldn’t understand, otherwise. ‘What do I do now?’ he thought in embarrassed confusion, then spotted Isabell and Pam approaching. ‘I’ve got a medical condition,’ he remembered belatedly. ‘I can’t help it,’ he reassured himself, feeling a vestige of the old excitement of his fetish returning. ’I can’t help it, just like a baby. I’m just a big baby… But I don’t know anyone in this mall, and both Pam and Angelica already know I have a problem. He took a deep breath, sighed heavily and released his bladder. He didn’t mean to let go as much as he did, but once he started wetting, he just couldn’t stop. With Angelica standing beside him, observing him closely through wide green eyes, he felt compelled to loudly sob; “Mummy! Mummy, I wet my pants!”

Isabell put her arm around him to console him while Pam led Angelica out to the carpark in front of the cuddling couple. Peter felt tears rolling down his cheeks as he tried to explain what had happened. "I couldn’t help it…. I tried…" was about all he could manage, and he was very glad of Isabell’s reassuring fingers twined around his own as they walked to the car. The drive home was relatively quiet.

"Your Mummy will change you soon," offered Angelica helpfully, adding kindly, “I used to wet my pants a lot, too, once.” Peter stared out the window. He peed again as he climbed out of the car, and felt both uncomfortable and miserable as he waddled slowly up the path. He was still crying silently as he watched Isabell moving efficiently around while he sat on a folded beach towel spread on the bed, naked from the waist down. Pam wandered in all smiles and handed Isabell a thick white disposable diaper, which she explained she kept for the visits by ‘patients who needed them’.

Peter struggled to make sense of what was happening as Isabell cleaned him front and back with baby wipes, then powdered his bottom heavily. Isabell matter-of-factly applied first Vaseline and then powder to his developing nappy rash, and then wrapped the crinkling blue disposable diaper around his loins. It was as if his being diapered was a perfectly normal occurrence. Maybe Isabell was just trying hard to make it seem okay, he thought, as she expertly taped the diaper tightly around his hips It was so confusing, and quite unlike the hot sexual scene he had imagined so often. ‘Where did she learn to do that,’ he wondered in amazement.

Peter’s clothes were still in the dryer, and Pam produced another pair of her stretch terry pants. "These are old ones of mine that have shrunk. You can drop these back anytime in the future," she generously offered as she held them up. They were a washed-out pale pink, and seemed several sizes smaller than the yellow pair.

"I could come up here…" began Peter, but Isabell cut him off.

"I’ll drive up again next week," replied Isabell. "Thanks so much, Pam." Peter realised that Pam had been talking to Isabell, not him. He blushed with embarrassment, feeling more helpless and vulnerable.

"Don’t worry baby," cooed Isabell, when she saw his downcast expression, and she bent to kiss his forehead. Peter felt self-conscious as he waddled back into the living room. His oversize yellow top flared out over his hips, and was almost long enough to conceal the stretchy pink tracksuit pants straining to cover the thick bulk of his diaper. He felt himself involuntarily pee again, and just wanted to go home. He was glad that Angelica was nowhere to be seen.

Pam offered to make them dinner, and Peter ate his meal in subdued silence. During the dessert course, he clumsily spilled some ice-cream on his top. Isabell promptly jumped up and wiped his front as she apologised for him, and he felt himself peeing liberally as she cleaned him up like a doting mother. Fortunately Angelica kept up a stream of constant chatter for most of the meal, and Peter’s silence was not so noticeable. She didn’t make any more blunt observations on Peter’s diapered condition, or on the humiliating experiences of the day.

Instead of driving home after dinner, Isabell accepted Pam’s invitation to stay overnight and leave the following morning. Peter had hardly spoken as Isabell led him to the spare bedroom to prepare him for bed. "Pam thought you could use a quiet night tonight, so you’ll be in here by yourself," Isabell explained, as she sat him at the foot of the noisy crackling little bed. "Don’t be upset about the protective plastic under sheet – you can keep your diaper on, and you won’t have to worry about wetting the bed sheets.’

"Isy," Peter said quietly, as his wife pulled back the sheets. "I think I’m a bit wet already," he added, blushing rosily and staring at the floor.

"Oh Peter, when did that happen?" asked Isabell. She looked at him with mild concern.

"At dinner," replied Peter morosely, glancing at her. Isabell looked at him with pursed lips, then ordered him to lie back and raise his legs. She pulled off his shorts, felt his saturated diaper and told him to stay where he was and left the room. ‘As if I’m going anywhere like this,’ thought Peter in misery. He felt strangely helpless and dependent, and felt his lower lip quivering when he realised he wanted his Mummy. There was no thought of getting an erection or even feeling aroused. He just wanted a loving hug from Isabell.

Isabell returned a few minutes later followed by Pam, who was carrying more thick white things. Pam’s bundle proved to be a couple of fluffy cloth diapers and a pair of big crackling plastic pants. Peter shut his eyes to block out the shame as he was diapered and pantied, and snuggled into his bed without further ado. He tried to ignore the loud crinkling of the pants and the plastic sheet beneath him, then found that the noise didn’t upset him if he reminded himself that he really needed the wetproof pants and sheet just like a baby.

The women both kissed him goodnight, and left him alone. Peter imagined Isabell getting undressed, taking off her sheer panties and not needing a diaper to sleep in. He began to feel warm and comfortable, and idly wondered if it was all dream. He peed a little, felt the warm liquid coursing over his thigh, and realised it wasn’t. He knew that once he was home again, he would not need any training pants or diapers or plastic pants. Then he fell asleep. Peter wet heavily during the night. He lay still for a while after he woke, and realised that he hadn’t used the toilet at all the previous day. He was wondering if he should call Isabell when Pam came striding in. "How are you, Peter," asked Pam with a warm smile of greeting.

"Okay," replied Peter doubtfully. He saw that Pam was looking pointedly at his groin beneath the bedclothes. "I wet my, er, diaper." Peter lamely added, his cheeks beginning to glow.

"That’s alright, Peter," said Pam kindly, smiling as the red colour suffused his cheeks so prettily. "Isy told me all about your problem, baby. I think you’re being very grown-up about it. I know that life isn’t easy for big boys and girls in diapers.’

"I am big," Peter felt compelled to say.

"That’s what I said," agreed Pam, nodding and smiling encouragingly. "Now, let’s get you up and showered.’ She ripped back the blanket and top sheet.

Peter felt slightly frightened, and curled into a defensive foetal position. "Where’s my Mum- Isabell?" he demanded urgently.

"Mummy’s sleeping in," replied Pam, holding out her hand to help him up. "Come on baby, I’ll help you change." Peter stood unsteadily and peed again. There was that word again. Pam must be joking, he thought. But he wanted Mummy - Isabell.

He continued to whine for Isabell as Pam undressed him, helped him into the shower, and dressed him in a pair of disposable diapers. Finally she tugged his freshly washed jeans over the increased bulk of his bottom. "I don’t need to wear a diaper home," Peter feebly protested at last.

"Well, just in case you accidentally wet during the trip home, baby," Pam replied smoothly, before Peter tried a few waddling steps. He knew the feeling – he had worn disposables under his jeans before, but only alone, never in front of a mature woman who had just taped them on him. Pam seemed to find the proceedings completely normal. "I’ll give you some more diapers to take home, just in case," decided Pam firmly, handing Peter a bulky plastic package of disposable diapers. "Why don’t you wait in the living room. Mummy will be ready soon," Pam added, loudly patting Peter’s bottom and herding him into the hallway.

Peter peeped into each open doorways he passed until he reached the master bedroom. He was surprised to see his wife lying in a messy double bed in that room. "Hi baby," she called drowsily as he stared at her in confusion. "Wait in the big room for Mummy, little one. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Peter’s gait was noticeably different with the diaper on. He hadn’t really noticed before how different it really was. He hoped he wouldn’t run into Angelica before they left. Isabell waltzed into the room and beamed at Peter. "Are we going home now?" he asked her hopefully. He just wanted to hurry home and be changed out of this stupid diaper. He felt sure he didn’t need to wear diapers at home.

"After breakfast, baby," she responded with a tiny smile, and softly kissed Peter on the cheek. He wandered outside while Isabell busied herself with collecting the few items they had arrived with. Peter found Angelica sitting outside on the lawn. He noticed that she wasn’t wearing anything bulky under her jeans. The cute girl looked up and grinned at him.

"Come on, you two," Pam’s voice called from the kitchen. Angelica showed Peter the fastest way to the breakfast area. Peter was quiet as he meekly followed her, once again wondering why Angelica was not diapered. After breakfast and goodbyes, Isabell and Peter drove home.

"I thought Angelica still needed diapers," Peter mentioned to Isabell as they drove away.

"Oh no! Pam said she’s quite grown up now," Isabell replied, as if he must have missed the point. Peter stared out the window in confusion, highly conscious of his own damp diaper clinging comfortingly to his bottom.

Once home, Peter went into the bathroom and removed his drenched diaper. He dressed in his familiar underpants and joined Isabell in the living area. Apart from his "need to urinate more frequently" which the doctor had accurately described, they could return to normal now. The visit to Pam’s, which had obviously exacerbated his medical condition for some reason, had shown him that playing baby in real life wasn’t as erotic as he had hoped. He wanted to regain his old life, and still enjoy a few good erections over his secret diaper fantasies, he decided.

"Will you be okay without your diaper today, sweetie?" Isabell asked with a tender smile. Peter swallowed hard and nodded his head. He was pretty sure he didn’t need a diaper at home. He had been hanging onto that fact throughout the last strange day and night. He walked to the kitchen, pleased that he didn’t need to waddle, and surreptitiously felt his crotch. Completely dry, he thought with satisfaction. He was a grown-up, like Angelica, he thought proudly, then banished that odd and embarrassing concept and poured himself a large glass of milk.

He took a mouthful as he stood in the kitchen, and started at the unusual taste. Why did he choose that to drink, he asked himself as he carefully returned the drink to the milk carton. He didn’t drink milk. "Do you want a coffee, hon?" he called to Isabell.

"Thanks dear," replied Isabell. Peter felt normality returning. He turned to the bench, and began making the coffee. Peter put Isabell’s coffee on the small table beside her. "Thanks, sweetie," said Isabell.

Peter looked at his wife’s shapely tummy and at the pleasantly rounded curve of the tight stitched denim over her crotch as he gave her the cup. ‘I’m dry, just like Mummy,’ he thought proudly. Just like Isabell, he corrected himself with a slight intake of breath. As Peter walked back to the kitchen to get his own coffee, the phone rang. He picked up the receiver from the wall over the bench and said hello. "Hello, baby," Pam softly greeted him, then asked, "How are you, little one?"

Peter initially felt embarrassed by her overly familiar tone. Although this woman had diapered him yesterday, and he had wet his nappy in her bed overnight. "I’m okay," replied Peter carefully.

"It was nice to have you visit," continued Pam. "I know Angelica enjoyed meeting you, baby. I hope you had fun, and I want you to know you can come up and visit us any time. Is your Mummy there?"

Peter was nonplussed at Pam’s unexpected use of that word. He thought of Isabell sitting in the next room. "Yes, Mummy’s here," he responded without thinking, preoccupied trying to think of what to say next.

"Is that Aunty Pam?" Isabell whispered loudly in Peter’s ear. He jumped, and felt himself pee a little. He hadn’t realised Isabell had come into the kitchen.

"Yes," replied Peter, as Isabell took the phone from him.

"Hi Pam," said Isabell warmly as Peter took his coffee and went to the living room.

"So did I!" he heard his wife reply, then giggle as he sat with his drink. Peter discretely inspected his crotch as Isabell chatted to Pam. There was only a little wet patch on the seam of his jeans. He pressed his legs closer to together, and the tell-tale spot was almost hidden. "Not at all," he heard Isabell say with another gay laugh. "It was, well, a new experience. But fun." Peter tried to ignore her and went through in his head what the doctor had said. "Shh! Not in front of the children!" Isabell laughed into the phone as she absently stroked her fingers down one thickening nipple. After some more giggling, Isabell hung up and returned to her seat in the living room. She hummed happily as she walked in. "Pam said you were a very good guest, darling," she said as she sat down. Peter felt pleased by the compliment, but wondered what he had done to be so good. He thought Pam would have been cross that he had needed to borrow her clothes.

"We have to give back her pants," he said, remembering the strange tight way they felt over his diaper.

"Oh, later," said Isabell dismissively. "Now, what would you like to do today?"

Peter felt full after drinking his coffee. He needed to pee. "I don’t know, Mummy," he answered, his mind on other matters as he hurriedly stood.

"What’s up, baby?" asked Isabell.

"Have to go to the bathroom," Peter answered urgently. 'Why did I have to explain that?' he thought crossly. He dashed to the bathroom just in time, and stood in front of the toilet. He pulled aside the leg of his briefs slightly, took out his penis and peed. ‘That’s a relief,’ he thought. He had nearly finished when he felt his tummy churn a little, and a moment later he pooped in his underpants.

Peter was shocked, and his first instinct was to call out for Isabell. He resisted the urge, and tried to think clearly as he carefully probed the warm sodden weight behind and below him. He turned from the toilet and began to uncontrollably pee again, making a small yellow pool on the floor. "Oh God," he thought in despair. He switched on the exhaust fan and carefully dropped his jeans to the floor, then turned around and backed up to the toilet. By turning his underpants with his hands, he managed to drop most of the wad of faeces into the toilet bowl. Peter was breathing heavily as he wiped himself, and did his best to wipe the residue of poop from the inside of his underpants. He was glad it wasn’t too messy, but he would still have to put them back on, he thought. They were wet too, and he wasn’t sure when that had happened. "Are you alright, sweetie?" he heard Isabell ask from right outside the door.

"Yep," replied Peter as normally as he could. He picked up a can of deodorizer from the shelf and gave it a liberal spray around the bathroom. "Just on the toilet," he added.

"Okay, baby," he heard Isabell reply.

Her footsteps faded as she walked back to the living room. Peter assessed his new problem. His underpants were okay now, he decided. Well, wearable, he thought as he pulled them back up. There was still a wet spot on his jeans, but it was not too noticeable. He would go to the bedroom and change his underpants at least as soon as he could. He realised that he didn’t have his shoes on yet. That would be the reason he went to the bedroom, he thought with relief, and put his plan into action. He felt simultaneously embarrassed, naughty and sneaky.

continued...

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Isabell strolled in to the bedroom moments after Peter had pulled his jeans up over his fresh underpants and fastened his belt. Fortunately he had picked up his sneakers. "Just putting my shoes on," he explained unnecessarily, glancing at Isabell.

"Oh. Are you sure you’re okay?" she asked.

"’Course," replied Peter rather dismissively.

Isabell looked at him. "I thought we might go to the movies later," she suggested. "We could see that pirate one – it’s supposed to be good." Peter readily agreed. "Well, we’ll leave in about an hour," Isabell decided. "Do you want some lunch?"

Peter’s stomach and his whole body still felt delicate after the shock of his pooping accident. "No, I’m okay," he replied.

"OK honey, be ready in an hour," Isabell reminded him, and left the room. Peter tied his shoes and stood looking at the package of disposable diapers sitting on the top of the dresser in the bedroom. It was the package Pam had given Isabell to take home. They were for him, he thought glumly. One side was open, and there was a gap where several had been used. I wore and used those, he thought, and bit his lip in shame. Those are my diapers.

Peter wiped a single tear from his cheek. He pressed his hand between his legs and felt the large wet patch there. That will dry, he tried vainly to reassure himself. I don’t need diapers. He decided that his soiled underpants would be safe under the bed for the time being, and went to join Isabell. Keeping his crotch from her line of sight, he sat down an began to read the part of the paper Isabell had finished reading. There was a large coloured ad for Depends on the first page he turned over, and he tired not to stare at it. A large happy baby in a bulky diaper gazed back at him, and he turned the page.

"I thought you’d be interested in that article about the Jets," Isabell said, noticing that Peter had skipped the page. Peter shifted in his seat, and felt a slight familiar warmth between his legs.

"Uh, yeah," he answered, and returned to the page, trying hard to ignore the diaper ad which had made him feel uncomfortable. It’s just an ad, he told himself. Nothing to do with me, he thought.

The pair read in silence for a while. Peter tried to figure whether his cotton underpants would absorb the burst of pee he had felt escaping. Even if wearing a diaper, or even those training pants, was embarrassing, they stopped you from feeling anxious in moments like this, he thought. He didn’t need diapers now that he was home, but he had only just returned home, he reminded himself. So maybe it was okay to be a little bit wet. Not really wet, just damp, he decided. He knew he should be fine at the movies if he went to the toilet just before it started. And if they sat near the end of a row, he could even go during the film if he needed. He peed a little more and squeezed his legs together. He looked across at Isabell, who was absorbed in her reading.

Isabell and Peter read their respective pieces of the paper for a while. In Peter’s case, his eyes danced over the columns without really reading. He was becoming concerned whether he would be safe at the movies without something to protect him, After a while Isabell got up, reminding him that they would have to leave shortly. Peter could feel that the back of his jeans were wet, and looked discreetly at the front. It seemed dry there, but his legs were close together. He stood slowly, and watched Isabell’s trim posterior as she went to their bedroom. "Isy," he tentatively began when she returned.

"What is it, baby?" she asked, putting down the bag she had collected from the bedroom.

"Isy, I was wondering, if it’s a long film…" Isabell looked at her husband with her head cocked to one side. "I mean," Peter continued haltingly, "I mean maybe I should wear some protection, you know…" he finished uncertainly, his voice trailing off as he shifted his weight from foot to foot and felt his wet pants.

"Protection?" Isabell repeated with a quizzical look, and then smiled. "Oh, you mean you need your diapers, baby," she said with apparent realization. She looked down at Peter’s crotch, spied the darker patch there, and then leaned aside and saw that the back of his pants legs were soaked. "Oh my poor baby, why didn’t you say something? Come with me now," she ordered, taking Peter’s hand and leading him to the bedroom. Peter followed meekly. It seemed that he had spent the last day or two with women leading him by the hand to have his diaper put on or changed. "Climb up on the bed, sweetie, and I’ll fix you up," smiled Isabell invitingly. Peter couldn’t argue. He really did need his diaper. Maybe just for today, he told himself without much conviction.

As before, Isabell didn’t seem to mind cleaning his smelly loins. She put one of the disposables Pam had given her on Peter, and helped him pull on the new track pants he had bought for the morning runs he took one or two mornings a week. "They’re a bit thick for under your jeans, sweetie. You’ll be a lot more comfortable in these trackie pants," she assured him.

Once again, Peter felt his gait change to accommodate the bulky padding between his thighs. "Why can’t I just have those, you know, those trainer thingies?" he asked Isabell, pouting as he unsuccessfully tried to walk more normally.

"Because you’re not quite ready for those yet, baby," Isabell replied smoothly. "Mummy knows best. Come on, into the car with you.’ Peter followed Isabell past his little BMW to Isabell’s SUV. It seemed taken for granted that she would drive.

Isabell opened the passenger door and Peter climbed in. Isabell leant over and before he could object, buckled his seat belt, then placed a bag Peter hadn’t seen before at his feet. "Some more diapers, in case you need a change after the movie," Isabell explained breezily, and closed the door on her stunned husband. Isabell climbed in, started the car, and expertly reversed out of the driveway. Peter caught his breath once or twice and began to sniffle and cry. Isabell slowed to a stop and looked at her upset charge. "What’s the matter, baby?" she gently asked, leaning over and placing her hand on Peter’s thigh. She let her fingers wander upwards and discretely probed the front of his diaper. ‘Still dry,’ she thought. ‘What could my baby be crying about?’ “Tell Mummy everything, baby.”

Peter looked back at Isabell with a helpless confused expression. He told her that he didn’t want to be a baby, that he was only pretending before, that he didn’t actually need his diapers, but he had accidentally pooped in his pants that morning, and that he was still a grown-up, and that he had only done wee-wees in the toilet once over the whole weekend, and even then he had peed on the floor as well. He wailed, ”I feel like a useless baby! And - and I can’t get an erection! And - and - and I want you to take me home.” Isabell listened to the confused outpouring of emotion. Peter seemed to run out of words at long last, and gripped Isabell’s hand for reassurance. She tried to make sense of what he was saying. ‘When was he pretending?’ she wondered, and what did he mean about ‘no erections’? She sat quietly for a moment, then Peter interrupted her thoughts by taking her hand and guiding it to his crotch. Isabell could feel the gel in his diaper swelling with hot fresh wee-wee.

"I’ll change you right away, honey," she cooed with all the maternal concern she could muster. "There’ll still be plenty of time to drive to the pictures, and you can just relax and enjoy the film. Don‘t worry, baby. Mummy will take care of everything.” She wasn’t sure if they would be going to the movies after all, and turned the car back towards their house. Peter had no more words of explanation to offer while he was being changed, and seemed much happier when she taped him in a fresh diaper, this time with another diaper beneath as well. Isabell had made a few cuts in the crotch of the first diaper, as Pam had described to her the night before.

The double diaper made Peter’s groin look smooth and bulky beneath the snug interlock pants, and fattened his rump somewhat. But the theatre would be dark, and she was sure no one would notice, anyway. A short while later, seeing Peter didn’t object, they were once more on their way to the town centre, with Peter pensive and silent as he gazed out the window. The movie was as good as Isabell had heard, and they both enjoyed it. Peter finished the drink Isabell had bought him, and seemed much brighter as the rose to leave. He chattered away about the film as they left the cinema and returned to the car, and seemed oblivious to his dropping diaper. Isabell had noticed Peter’s tell-tale wide-legged waddle as they walked through the carpark, and knew he must be very wet.

He was saturated, in fact, and Isabell decided to drive home rather than attempt to change him in the back of the car. Peter leant against the passenger window and dozed from time to time as she drove. "It’s just because of the medical thing, isn’t it?" Peter asked hopefully as Isabell lay him back on the double bed and untaped the two heavy sagging diapers from his legs.

"Yes baby, but now I think you should take a little nap," she suggested. Peter just nodded, and Isabell freshly diapered him, this time in one of the thick white terrycloth nappies Pam had dropped on the porch while they were attending the film. Isabell and Pam had discussed Peter’s needs in detail on the phone, and Pam had been kind enough to offer to lend Isabell some washable nappies until she had purchased some of her own for him. For his part, Peter didn’t seem to care that he was again clad in cloth nappies and plastic pants.

Isabell put Peter to bed in their spare bedroom, and while Peter slept soundly, she spent some time arranging an underwear drawer for her husband in the chest in the smaller room. She didn’t think Peter would be needing his grown-up undies for a while, and she filled the drawer with disposables on one side and cloth nappies on the other. She had just finished cleaning out Peter’s old underwear from the drawer in the main bedroom when the phone rang. It was Pam. She asked about Peter, and Isabell told her about his rambled confession concerning his babyish feelings, and described their trip to the movies. Pam assured Isabell that Peter was simply coming to terms with his condition, and to treat him as his needs required. The two women then chatted about other things, and since it was out of term time and Angelica had a sleepover in town that night, Isabell suggested Pam stay at her place for the night to avoid the long trip to collect Angelica the next morning.

Isabell was glad of the chance to reciprocate Pam’s hospitality, and spent some time planning the evening’s menu. After preparing some of the meal, Isabell checked on Peter. He certainly was wet again, but the nappies and plastic pants were doing their job, and Isabell let him sleep undisturbed.

Isabell showered, shaved her legs and trimmed her pussy, and decided to dress up a little for her guest. She decided on a whim to wear some pretty sexy lingerie, and then tried on a few different outfits, settling with a giggle on a cheeky short leather skirt and a low silk top. After carefully applying her make-up, Isabell turned this way and that in the mirror, inspecting her handiwork. Although it hadn’t been long since she and Peter had enjoyed their last session in bed, it seemed ages to Isabell since she had felt so sensual, and she enjoyed the dressing up. She admired at her smooth bare thighs, hitched her dress up a little higher, and giggled again.

She heard Peter crying in his room, and found him half awake and obviously wet and uncomfortable. She changed him, calmed him back to sleep and settled down to wait for Pam. It was dark when Peter finally woke, and he felt disoriented for a few disturbing moments. He stretched out his arm to feel for Isabell, but she wasn’t there. Then he heard her voice. She was laughing, and Peter blinked in the dark. He rolled over to get up and go find Isabell, and felt the thick mass of his diaper. He remembered now, Isabell had pinned his diaper on and he had fallen asleep.

Peter stood by the bed uncertainly. His diaper was very wet and heavy, and sagged as he took a few steps. He was diapered and wet again, and the joint realisation brought the helpless feeling welling up in him, and once again he felt like crying. The two women were sitting at the dining table when Peter reached the doorway. The lights were bright, and the smell of perfume, cigarette smoke and cooking wafted around him as he stood meekly waiting in his t-shirt and bulky sagging diaper. "Mummy?" he began tentatively.

Pam looked over at him and grinned. "We have a little visitor, Isy!" she cried with a gay laugh. Isabell looked across at the door.

"Hello baby," she said with a smile. "Are you okay?"

"Mum- Isy, please, I need to talk to you," Peter whined, and retreated into the shadows of the hallway behind him.

"Peter come out here at once, you silly little boy! What do you want? Do you need a nappy change, baby?" Isabell asked a little more loudly, peering into the darkened hall. There was no response from the hallway. Peter had to pee again and was standing frozen in place, one hand holding up the sagging crotch of his soaked diaper, and the other pressed to his mouth as he bit his thumb in a dismal attempt to stop crying.

"Aunty Pam will come and get you!" Pam chortled gleefully as she pushed back her chair. Peter didn’t know whether to stand his ground or run back to his bedroom. He was still making up his mind when he felt Pam’s strong grip on the back of his neck and he let her lead him into the brightly lit dining area. "I’ve found a wet little boy who needs some help, I think," Pam teased him, turning Peter around to face the table before she sat down.

Peter stood in front of the seated women, still gripping the crotch of his diaper and plastic pants, sucking his thumb and trying to blink back the fat tears rolling down his cheeks. Isabell put down her cigarette, leaned across and felt the front of Peter’s diaper. "Is Aunty Pam right, baby?" she asked, her searching blue eyes meeting Peter’s. "Do you need your diaper changed, little one?" Peter bowed his head and nodded. "That’s not yes, is it, baby?" Isabell asked again. "How do you say "Yes Mummy, I need my diaper changed"?" Peter looked desperately at Pam. This wasn’t right – all he wanted was a change, and now he had to ask…he thought about it some more. He needed Isabell to change his diaper. He had to ask her. And asking "Mummy" wasn’t so bad. When he needed her she was like Mummy. It was only a word, he thought.

Peter swallowed and sighed as he peed again. The bulky combination of double cloth diaper and plastic pants was almost slipping off his small waist. He looked at Isabell through his tears, and saw her gentle smile. "Please, Mummy, can you change my diaper?" he begged around the thumb in his mouth.

"Good boy," said Pam happily, and clapped her hands in approval. Peter waited patiently, sucking his thumb while Isabell took his other hand and led him back to the bedroom. After all the tension and worry, Peter felt he had done the right thing. It wasn’t as if Isabell were really his Mummy, but just now, when he needed her, it was okay for him to think of her as his Mummy. He stopped by the bed and Isabell looked at him expectantly, wondering what was wrong now.

"Can I have a hug, Mummy?" Peter hesitantly asked, stretching out his arms towards Isabell.

"Of course, baby," crooned Isabell, pulling Peter closer and squeezing him tight. He expected for a moment to be lifted up and put over Isabell’s hip, but then remembered that he was really a grown-up. He giggled at his error, and giggled again when Isabell kissed him maternally on the forehead. Everything was fine, he realised, and wondered why he had worried about telling Isabell that he needed to change his diaper. Even Aunty Pam thought it was okay, and Peter giggled gain. He didn’t think Aunty Pam was really his Aunty. She would be a cool aunty, though, he imagined. He decided to keep thinking of her as Aunty Pam.

Peter looked up while Isabell was wiping his groin with some cold baby wipes, and saw Aunty Pam standing in the room. She held something in her hand. "You might need these," she suggested to Isabell. "They’ll help keep his diaper on, and stop his shirt coming out, too - if he has pants that fit over his diaper.’

Peter was mystified. Was it something with glue on it? He giggled at the thought of being glued into his clothes. Pam gave whatever-it-was to Isabell, who unfolded the bundle of cloth and held it up. Peter could see it was a long t-shirt, with a picture he couldn’t quite make out on the front. He wanted to see the picture. Isabell swapped the t-shirt Peter was wearing for the new one. She pulled the back of the new shirt down, and linked it up under his legs with the front. Peter looked down and saw that the shirt had become pants as well, and had buttons in the middle. He had seen something like this before. They were baby clothes.

Peter whimpered something unintelligible and began squirming as Isabell was trying to straighten the white stretchy cloth at the bottom of the t-shirt over his thick diaper. "Peter, stay still, please!" Isabell commanded sharply as she tried again.

"Not baby clothes!" cried Peter, and reached down to undo the buttons in his crotch. Isabell slapped his hand very hard, and Peter froze.

"Now Peter," Isabell said evenly, "You are wearing what we think you need. You need a diaper, we both know that, and now you are wearing something that will stop your diaper from falling down when it is wet, or coming off when you turn over in bed. I will not have you arguing and making a nuisance of yourself, baby, especially not in front of Aunty Pam. If you do, Mummy will spank you so hard, you won’t be able to sit down until your next birthday. Even with your fluffiest diaper on. Okay? Is that clear, even to a silly little baby like you?"

There was absolute quiet in the bedroom. Peter had never heard Isabell speak like that to him. His hand still hurt where she smacked him, and he looked into Isabell’s eyes, hoping to find her laughing at her own joke. Instead Isabell slapped Peter on the thigh quite hard. It stung and made Peter cry out. He looked up at the other woman, who frowned forbiddingly. "Aunty Pam is just as cross as I am," warned Isabell, and continued to glare at her poor befuddled husband.

Peter tried to remember what he had done wrong. It must have been bad, because both of these grown-ups looked very cross with him. They didn’t need nappies, and they had make-up and cigarettes, and could manage everything by themselves. He wanted them to be nice to him. "Please Mummy," Peter whined, but she cut him short.

"Peter, I want you to realise something," Isabell stated firmly, gripping Peter’s chin between her fingers. "You wear nappies because you need them. You need me to help you in lots of ways, but I will not help you if you misbehave. Now I want you to apologise to me and to Aunty Pam, and promise not to fuss when we are helping you. If you are good, we will be nice and you will be happy. If you are bad, you will be a very unhappy little baby indeed. So say you are sorry for being bad, and promise that you will be a good baby for Mummy.”

Peter felt as if some part of his mind was swirling away out of reach. He tried to grasp it before it faded into the distance, but he couldn’t. Isabell stopped him. "Baby, don’t just wave your arms around," warned Isabell, releasing her grip on Peter’s chin and grabbing his wrist as he suddenly waved it in front of him, nearly hitting his Mummy.

Peter’s eye’s lost their defiant lustre, and were subsumed in tears. "I’m…I’m sorry, M-M-Mummy, and Pam…Aunty Pam…I’ll be good. I want to go to bed," Peter whimpered as quietly as he had announced himself in the doorway a few minutes earlier. Isabell put him to bed, and Pam produced a small yellow tablet from a pocket in her loose black slacks. She popped it in Peter’s mouth, telling him it would help him sleep better.

Peter hardly cared, but the tablet tasted like bananas, and he fell asleep almost as soon as he had swallowed the last remnants of the pill. The women waited until his eyelids closed, kissed him on the forehead and left the room. The next morning, Peter woke up feeling a little groggy. He heard Mummy’s voice, and got up to walk towards the familiar reassuring sound. He couldn’t really remember the events of the night before, but he knew that she had said she would help him. Peter waddled into the kitchen, pleased that his diaper wasn’t trying to fall down his legs. He saw Isabell at the sink and grinned as she turned to him. He remembered seeing his real Mummy smiling and turning just like that.

There was a short squeal, and Angelica raced into the kitchen with Pam not far behind, laughing as she chased her daughter in a light-hearted pursuit over something. Angelica stopped when she saw Peter. The big boy in wet pants she had seen a short time ago, now looked like a big diapered baby. He was wearing a yellow onesie buttoned between his legs over the thickest diaper she had ever seen. The diaper was obviously wet, because it was straining downwards against the buttons of the onesie. Peter saw Angelica, peed for a few seconds, and held onto the loose folds of his wife’s top. Pam thought how nice he looked in the onesie she had bought for him, and smiled as she went to sit in the living room. She had just picked up Angelica from her sleepover, and was looking forward to a cup of coffee after the drive.

"Hi Angelica," said Isabell, "How was the sleepover?"

"Fine," said Angelica, "You should change Peter‘s nappy. He looks wet.’

"Just going to, kiddo. Why don’t you make your Mum some coffee, and then we’ll think about getting going for the park.’

Peter just wanted his diaper changed. All of the running around and talking was a little confusing, so he just looked at Isabell and said "Mummy?" He remembered from last night that she was his Mummy, in a sort of way. Isabell changed Peter‘s wet nappy, putting him in the other onesie which Pam had provided. They certainly were the best garment for him, Isabell decided, as she buttoned him up. Now that he wasn’t using the toilet any more, they were ideal for keeping him properly diapered.

A little later, Isabell and Pam had loaded the SUV with the necessities for a day at Isabell and Peter’s favourite local park. "Angelica, Peter!" called Isabell, as she packed the last of the items. Angelica and Peter duly appeared. Angelica had been showing Peter some complicated game involving counting on the knuckles. Peter had no idea what she was talking about, but was glad that she seemed to like him.

Angelica climbed into the back seat, and Pam was helping Peter into the other side when as he climbed up, he pooped heavily in his pants. Shocked and upset, he fell back from the car and collapsed on his big padded bum on the driveway, crying his heart out. Angelica could smell as well as see what had happened, and if there were any lingering doubt in her young mind about the relative status of the biggish boy whose Mummy was a friend of her Mummy’s, it was dispelled there and then. Peter was bigger than her, but he was obviously still just a baby. Angelica now wore a pull-up diaper only if she was sleeping away from home at night, and last night, for example, she hadn’t even used her pull-up. Peter needed proper nappies all the time. Angelica bet his Mummy didn’t even put him on the toilet, ever.

Peter felt strangely outside himself as he watched Angelica run to Isabell and tell her that her baby had pooped his diaper. Peter tried to stand up, but couldn’t coordinate his legs to do so, and felt a flood of warm pee deluge the mess already filling his diaper. He would have cried out for his Mummy if he had been capable of forming words, but as it was, he just bawled while the women went about fixing his messy problem.

That's all I've got. I hope it was what you were after, Hawk. :lol:

Hugs from Baby Jennie in Australia

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Oops! I found another one called 'John and Sally,' but I'll continue it here, using the same character names.

Peter awoke the next morning and patiently waited for Isabell to come and get him up as usual. She soon bounced into the nursery and cheerily helped him out of his sodden diaper. Neither she nor Peter commented on the heavily-saturated diaper, but he felt glad that he hadn’t had to wake up in cold wet sheets again. After his usual morning bath, she dried him off and they returned to his room. He expected to be dressed in his usual day clothes, but Isabell had spread an hourglass-shaped length of white towelling on the bed. He stare at it in worried surprise. "What’s that for? I don’t need anything during the day," he objected, but his whining childish tone lacked any authority or conviction.

"Well it’s just because of last night. And yesterday. Just to make sure," Isabell explained carefully, slipping her arm around his naked torso and walking him insistently to the bed.

"And it’s..." Peter began hesitantly.

"...terry towelling," Isabell completed his sentence. "I know. As you said, you probably won’t need it, (‘that’s not what I said,’ thought Peter, suddenly piqued) and it breathes a lot easier than your disposable diapers."

He was about to bring up this point when Isabell pressed his face tightly to her full bosom and tenderly kissed the top of his head. He relented under her loving maternal guidance once more, and grumbling a little, did as he was told. She pinned the bulky cloth nappy tightly around his hips, swaddling him safely in the soft fluffy material. He was wondering how the terrycloth could be waterproof when Isabell produced a pair of pale blue translucent plastic panties. He stood up on legs that suddenly felt like jelly. "No, please? I won’t wet today," he protested weakly, backing away from Isabell and the infantile garment she held up.

"Oh don’t be silly, baby! They just go around the outside. No-one will know," Isabell insisted firmly. He did feel a bit silly for protesting so much, and lowered his outstretched palms guiltily. Isabell had been so understanding about his shameful wetting problem, and after all: no-one would know. He could feel already how soft and warm the towelling was under the snug plastic panties. She soon had him in her full-cut pull-up cotton sweatpants, and cheered him up by saying how smart he looked. Even inside in the low light, it was easy to see that Peter wasn’t just a little overweight around the hips. But outside in the sunshine on the patio where they had breakfast, it was obvious that Peter was wearing thick diapers under his close fitting ladies’ sweatpants. Isabell smiled indulgently as she watched his big padded buns wobble delightfully like a big baby when he obediently took the dishes into the kitchen.

She hurried things along by proposing a trip to the holiday house her parents had left her down the coast. He had heard about the house, but hadn’t been invited there yet, and was quite excited at the prospect of a brief holiday. Soon the pair were driving south, with Isabell driving and Peter chattering about what the weather might be like. When they arrived at the small timber-framed house at the far end of the tiny coastal town, Peter eagerly jumped out and explored the spacious old house. It had been a long drive, and they were having coffee in the sunny living area when there was a loud knock at the door. He suddenly remembered his nappy, and Isabell caught his apprehensive look. "It’s okay Peter, it’s only Samantha - you know, my friend from work. And no, I’m sure she won’t notice your diaper." He was relieved to hear her reassuring words.

Isabell opened the door, and a brightly dressed four or five-year-old girl bounced into the room. "Isabell!" squealed the youngster, rushing into Isabell’s arms.

Isabell turned to Peter. "Oh, and her little girl Michelle," she added with a grin. "Michelle, this is my friend Peter. Say hello, Peter."

Michelle marched over to Peter and introduced herself. "And Annie’s here too," said the girl quite seriously, producing a large rag doll dressed even more brightly than herself. Isabell was holding the door open for a tall dark-haired woman dressed in a pair of tiny red shorts, who made her way through the door carrying some boxes.

"I’ve brought the pots and pans," the tall woman said to Isabell, then looked over the room to the slightly-built young man talking to Michelle. "And you must be Peter!" She added, "Isabell’s told me all about you, sweetie."

He blushed and smiled. "Hello, er, Samantha," he shyly greeted the tall imposing woman.

"Hello Peter," Samantha replied with a little laugh. "What a handsome little chap you are!”

He blushed profusely and put the rag doll he was holding across his lap. Whether or not it showed, he was acutely conscious of his bulky wet nappy, and suddenly felt annoyed with Isabell for not warning him that they wouldn’t be alone at the holiday house. Samantha joined them at the kitchen table for coffee while Michelle played on the deck outside. The two women chatted on about Michelle’s progress at her new school and how well she was fitting in, with Peter trying to add what little he could to their conversation. He was waiting for a moment alone with Isabell, and when Samantha stood up and walked out to her car, he leaned across to her. "Isabell, I need to go to the bathroom. You know... to, er, to go... and you’ll have to fix my, er... My…"

Isabell smiled and nodded with understanding, but placed a restraining hand on his slender forearm. She knew that coffee usually had an interesting effect on Peter. She realised he hadn’t had his usual morning bowel movement in the excitement of driving to the beach house. She discretely kept a close watch on such things. The laxative she had given him with his early breakfast had exacerbated the situation, too.

"Just hang on for two minutes, baby. I need you to help us move the new drier in right away. You can go potty after that." He remembered the drier Isabell said she had bought for the beach house. He was thinking that he hadn’t seen it around and they hadn’t brought it with them, when she answered his unasked question by telling him that Samantha had brought it with her. He clenched his pelvic floor muscles tightly as he stood up to help with the drier. Isabell took his arm and they went to the door.

"You’re a big strong boy, Peter. I’ve saved the heavy end for you!" chuckled Samantha, who had parked her car near the bottom of the short flight of steps up to the deck. She stood at the tailgate of her small wagon, with the large carton containing the drier sitting on the lowered metal tailgate. He trotted down the steps. Samantha watched his padded crotch with a discreet smile as he waddled awkwardly down the steps, and indicated he should take the far side of the box. Isabell stood on the deck holding open the door. "Ready?" asked Samantha, looking over the top of the box at him. She glanced up at Isabell, who winked and smiled knowingly at her friend.

"Yeah," Peter replied manfully. He took a good hold of the corners of the box.

"Okay, lift!" commanded Samantha, and they lifted the carton in unison. He tried to lift slowly as he felt very uncertain about his cramping bowels. As soon as this was inside, he planned to make a beeline for the bathroom. It wasn’t too heavy, and they carried it over to the steps without difficulty.

They stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and had made it up three or four steps when Samantha suddenly cried, "Hold it!" Peter felt the full weight of the package on his stretched arms and bent back. He braced himself against the load with his legs. "Sorry," apologised Samantha, grimacing across the top of the box at him. "Lost my grip.”

"Are you okay, baby?" called Isabell, sounding concerned.

"Yep," he grunted uncertainly, doing his best to balance with the weight of the box and to hold his anal muscles tight against his desperate need ‘to go’. It wasn’t easy with the weight of the box pushing him back down the steps.

"Ok, ready again. Push up, Peter!" Samantha ordered from across the huge box. He felt very hot and bothered as he watched his girlfriend’s pretty dark-haired friend blow a strand of hair away from her big brown eyes. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen. "Push, Peter!" repeated Samantha firmly. He pushed hard and hefted the box upwards, and he thankfully felt Samantha take her portion of the weight again. At the same time he felt something else happen to him. They carried the box quickly through the open door and inside the house, while Isabell closed the door from the outside and mentioned something about locking Samantha’s car before disappearing down the steps.

Peter stood looking at Samantha in dismay, with the big cardboard box sitting on the floor between them. He squatted slightly and farted loudly as he finished messing his nappy, then uncontrollably emptied his bladder as well. He looked at Samantha for help and tears welled in his eyes as he started to sniffle. "Do you want me to fetch Isabell for you?" Samantha asked quietly and gently. He could only bite his lower lip in shame and nod.

"Big box!" cried Michelle as Samantha went outside. The little girl sat her rag doll on the box. "Annie’s king of the castle!" she sang, grinning at him. He blinked hard and looked away from her in shame. Isabell hurried in a moment later and looked at him questioningly.

"Oh my poor baby, what happened?" she asked consolingly, drawing him to her side, one hand automatically dropping to press against his padded crotch. "Did you wet?" He was mortified by her frank question, and glanced meaningfully at Michelle standing beside them, who thankfully seemed oblivious to their conversation.

"Isabell, I... It’s worse! I made a mess..." He haltingly confessed, as he gazed at the floor in cringing humiliation. "I’m sorry," he added in a quieter voice. Isabell dropped her other hand to his backside and felt the mass bulging there.

"Never mind, baby," she consoled him as she pressed more firmly on the hefty fresh parcel in the rear of his nappy to assess the size of the load. "A dirty diaper isn’t such a big thing!”

He wished the floor and the ground below would open and swallow him whole. He dared to glance at Michelle again, and the little girl was looking straight back at him now, cradling her doll.

"I don’t mess my didee any more," she informed them in her serious tone. "But sometimes Annie makes poo-poo in hers. Did you do a poo-poo in your nappy?" She added inquisitively, looking up at him curiously. He remained mute and embarrassed under her questioning gaze.

"It’s alright, Michelle, everyone has little accidents sometimes," Isabell explained to the inquisitive little girl.

"I only wet once today!" He heard Michelle pronounce proudly, before Isabell led him waddling heavily to the bathroom. He burst into tears as he slowly toddled along in his drooping dirty diaper.

Isabell soon had him cleaned up and changed into a fresh soft terry nappy. His baby panties had leaked slightly into his sweatpants in the crotch, and Isabell found a pair of pale strawberry pull-up pants in the bedroom, which she pulled over the fresh diaper and plastic panties she had taken from her bag. The heavily soiled diaper went straight into the newly-installed washer. She doubled up his terry nappies this time just to be sure, and despite his sulky protests, led him waddling heavily back into the living area.

Samantha quickly made an effort to assure him that they were still the best of friends. "Hello again, Peter!" she greeted him brightly. "Don’t you look much more comfortable! Don’t you worry, sweetie. Everyone knows that even big strong boys have accidents occasionally, don’t they?" He still looked quite miserable as he timidly glanced up at her and hesitantly nodded. Samantha took a step towards him and leaned down and planted a kiss on his nose. He was lost for words, and looked desperately up at Isabell for guidance.

"Why don’t you help Michelle, baby, and we’ll get on with installing the drier now that the heavy work has been done?" suggested Isabell kindly, motioning to Michelle. The pretty youngster had set out some complicated game on the floor with toys from a box of goodies Isabell kept at the house. He just wanted to avoid everyone’s eyes, and he was glad to sit down with his back to the smiling women.

Michelle laughed at his woebegone expression and welcomed him into her game. She explained that she was a shop lady, and that Annie the rag doll was in the shop buying various items. He listened without much interest. "You can be Annie’s friend," Michelle explained. "You can help buy things for her tea party."

He slowly began to get involved in the silly game. He and Annie, for whom Michelle spoke, began to gather together the tea party things. At least it was better than sitting talking to a woman whom he had only just met and who knew that he had just soiled his nappy and been changed by his girlfriend. If she was his girlfriend - how dare she... "You’re sitting on the sugar!" cried Michelle, sliding around on her knees and trying to reach under his thigh to get something. "Here it is," she continued, reaching over between his legs and pulling a small empty sugar sachet from under his thigh. She couldn’t have helped noticing with her eyes and certainly with her small hand how heavily padded he was down below.

She retrieved the sachet and smoothed it out with a professional air. "Did your Mummy change your dirty nappy before?" Michelle asked him conversationally. He felt himself blushing hotly. He didn’t know what to say. He looked at the little girl, noticing again her own well-padded rump. ‘At least she didn’t sound shocked,’ he thought. He blinked back fresh tears of shame and nodded slowly. Only then did he notice the sudden silence from the women at the table, and he was glad that he couldn’t see their faces. Their chatter eventually continued, and he tried to restore normality by getting more involved in the shopping game.

‘But Isabell is my girlfriend, not my Mummy,’ he thought in dismay. ‘Something is all wrong here.’ The tears he had fought a few moments ago came welling up again and the first two fat tears trickled slowly down his cheeks. He felt himself wetting again, and could not help accompanying the ensuing tears with a heartfelt sob. The next thing he felt was Isabell’s strong arm around his waist, helping him to stand. "You kids can finish your game later," Samantha was suggesting to her daughter. "What about a little rest, then we can have something to eat?"

"I think you might need a nap too, mister," Isabell observed kindly. He felt the room spinning. "I thought so," she said a few minutes later, as she stripped off his pants while he lay back on the bed. "It’s a good thing I brought plenty of these," she added, as she arranged a fresh fluffy nappy beneath his bottom and then fixed the pins around his hips. He lay back under the fuzzy pink blanket Isabell arranged over him, wearing only his cream t-shirt, diapers and plastic panties. He wanted to object, but couldn’t manage any sort of coherent argument. Sleep seemed the best option, and it soon overtook him.

The women soon had the drier installed and operating, and Samantha woke him and Michelle in time for a late lunch. The central heating system had warmed the cool air, and Samantha suggested Peter - who sat blinking on the side of his bed - would be fine dressed just as he was, as the house was nice and warm now. "I’m lovely and warm in my shorts," said Samantha. He looked at the woman’s close-fitting red shorts. She had long smooth tanned legs and looked like a model out of a glossy magazine.

"Yes, but..." He began uncertainly, as Samantha maternally straightened out his plastic panties over his nappy. He felt the hard back of one of her long nails as she quickly poked a lone finger underneath the elastic leg band and beneath his diaper. He realised with a jolt that she was checking for wetness, as Isabell strolled into the room and tossed something onto the bed beside him. Whatever it was lay in a small crumpled heap beside him.

"They’ll be fine, Peter. But you’ll be too hot in those long pants. Samantha will help you dress," Isabell decided, and left again.

"Thanks, Isy," smiled Samantha. She picked up the garment and turned to Peter. "Okay my boy, first leg in!" she urged, stretching out the pale yellow terry material between her long fingers. He put one foot in as directed, then the other. It doesn’t matter now, he thought dispiritedly. She knows what I’m wearing. Samantha helped him into the odd pants. He wondered where Isabell had bought them. He hadn’t seen them before. Samantha pulled the pants up tightly over his bulky double diaper and plastic panties. The stretch terry pants had a tight elasticized waistband and leg openings, yet ballooned out slightly even over his thick diaper.

They felt like baby pants. He looked for a mirror but couldn’t see one. "What a pretty boy!" crooned Samantha with obvious delight. "Let’s go and show Isabell how sweet you look!" He felt very strange. He was pleased the Samantha seemed to like him, but he didn’t think he liked being called ‘pretty’. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to be called...

"Twinnies!" giggled Michelle suddenly. She was standing in the doorway, wearing a cream t-shirt and over her own thick diaper, a pair of pale blue terry shorts a size or two smaller than his yellow pair.

"Now you two have lunch, then you can finish your game. We might all go down to the beach later," Samantha informed them.

He looked at the table where lunch was laid out at two place settings. He looked up at Isabell in confusion. "We’ve had our lunch," Isabell explained in reply to his unspoken question, "while you and Michelle were having your naps. Here’s your seat, Peter," she said, pulling back the chair. There was a small array of sandwiches, small pastries, cut-up fruit, and juice in big plastic cups. Once again the women sat off to one side, discussing real estate prices in the area and children’s schooling, while Michelle and Peter chattered about their game. After a while Michelle began showing him her repertoire of animal noises, and Peter soon joined in with his versions of mooing, oinking and baa-ing. It was the baa-ing and accompanying loud giggling that finally got them hushed.

"Shush you two, we can hardly think!" ordered Isabell with an indulgent forgiving laugh. She stepped over to the table and wiped some spilt juice from his chin. He winced and tried to pull away, but Isabell held his head firmly and scrubbed harder around his lips as well. He squirmed and was about to protest at this infantile treatment, but then felt himself uncontrollably wetting again. He waited until the hot stream finished, then sat quietly and nodded meekly when Isabell asked if he had finished eating. Isabell leaned towards him and whispered gently, "Do you need a nappy change yet, baby?"

He blushed again and anxiously shook his head in denial. Isabell looked at him with raised eyebrows, her expression clearly disbelieving. "Are you sure, baby?" she whispered, as she cleared the plates away. He nodded again, and then Isabell helped him to stand. She placed her hand firmlyy on his bulging crotch for a moment, and paused. "Okay, but I must change that nappy before we go to the beach. Okay, baby?" she insisted, kissing him on the forehead.

He suddenly felt helpless. He nodded, and walked over and sat down opposite Michelle who had reopened her pretend-shop. "Oh goody, are you playing shop again?" she asked happily. He suddenly realised that he had had a choice - maybe. Michelle thrust a tiny straw hat into his hand. "You can buy a hat for your dolly," she said. Then she pulled her t-shirt up enough to reveal her thickly diapered crotch, and pointed to his equally well-padded groin. "I’m going to call you Twinnie!" she announced. "Cause we’ve got the same didees on!’ He felt the room spinning again, but then he heard himself giggling. He caught his breath and coughed. He coughed again and felt his stomach heave slightly. "Mummy, Twinnie’s being sick!" Michelle called to her mother.

Isabell came rushing over to the pair sitting on the floor. Peter was red-faced and spluttering, but had stopped coughing. He had vomited a small amount of his lunch onto his t-shirt. "It’s alright Michelle, he just ate a bit too much too quickly at lunch," she explained. Between them the two women soon had Peter washed and changed. He had wet quite heavily and after pinning him in a fresh diaper, Isabell decided to let him have a little nap.

"We’ll see how he is in a little while, and then we’ll think about going to the beach," Samantha explained to Michelle.

"Okay," agreed Michelle a little sadly, returning to her game. It wasn’t as much fun without her Twinnie, she thought.

The two women talked quietly. "He’s coming on very well," noted Samantha. "Was that his first nappy soiling today?"

"Yes," replied Isabell, looking delighted. "Having Michelle here really helps, too. I’m so glad that she thought of calling him ‘Twinnie’ all by herself."

Samantha smiled and looked out the window. "It’s really incredible to think that it was only a year ago that we were here with Michael," she said.

Isabell smiled too, and placed her hand over her friend’s larger one. "I’m going to start the physical regimen at the end of the month," she said. "He’s a little confused now, but I think he’ll be ready. I’ve even bought some of his new clothes. I couldn’t resist - a little sun-suit like Michelle’s pink one, and some Winnie-the-Pooh training panties."

"Don’t let Michelle see them - she loves anything with Pooh Bear on it!" laughed Samantha.

"So you’re okay with Michelle now? I mean her age and all that?" asked Isabell. She had felt very sorry for Samantha when Michelle’s physical and mental age seemed to have got mixed up.

"Oh, I think she’s even sweeter like this," said Samantha, gazing fondly at her giggling daughter. "At first when I realised that she would have to go to a special school, I thought that it was such a shame. But now I have an adorable little three-year-old in a six-year-old girl's body, I think she’s so sweet! Especially now that the tantrums have stopped. I can show her a picture of Michael and she doesn’t even blink. She just giggles and says "Mr Man". She thinks of herself as three, as well. I can change her nappies in public without a whimper. Do you think Peter is fully incontinent yet?"

"Yes I think so - he’s certainly bladder incontinent, judging by today, anyway. Especially with you and Michelle around. That formula is a miracle," commented Isabell gratefully.

“And the other components are working well, too, I think. Did you notice that he didn’t try to cover himself today when we were changing him? I think he’s stopped responding down there, too. It’s so quick! I’ll give him a bit of a soapy rub when I bathe him tonight. That’s why I think I can start him on the physical doses in a few weeks. I’ll check with the clinic, of course, but I think he’s an ideal subject."

Isabell looked thoughtful. "Sam," she said slowly. "I’m actually thinking that I might prefer him a bit more like Michelle."

Samantha looked at Isabell. "What, you mean..." she said.

"Yes, I mean when they’re physically a little bit older, you know, in that way, more coordinated and everything - but still babies - at least still toddlers in all those important ways."

"Diapered?" asked Samantha.

"Yeah, not just diapers, but still little inside.... I’m thinking maybe nine or ten physically, or even a bit older," said Isabell.

"Well, I’d think about it," Samantha replied cautiously. "I mean, Mel could be a big six, and just still in diapers, or she could be a young seven - she’s in a sort of grey area... But if she were seven physically..."

"Or ten or eleven..." mused Isabell.

"You wouldn’t!" protested Samantha with some alarm. "I mean, Michelle is accepted by toddlers and by early grade schoolers too, once they get used to her diapers. But at ten or eleven, they’re starting to become young women these days! She’d have to be aware of it too, even if she was still two or three mentally. She’d know how big she was. She would be treated like a...well, she’d be a slow learner, at least."

"Or fourteen or fifteen," said Isabell with a wicked grin.

Samantha stared at her gorgeous blonde friend. "I hope you’re not serious, Isabell. Dammit, you’d have created a retarded child. Even at 8 or 9. You want to be a mother forever, not a special-needs nurse!”

"Oh, I don’t know," replied Isabell, after they had both stopped talking at the sound of her baby boy wailing from his room. "I think I might be one already!’

Chapter 3

Michelle arrived at the table with her rag doll as Isabell got up. "Twinnie wants his Mummy," the little girl said solemnly, "And I did pee-pee," Samantha got up too to attend to her wet daughter, and Isabell went to the room where Peter had been asleep.

He had kicked the bedclothes away and sat back against the wall. His wailing sobs were punctuated by deep sucking breaths, and he was ineffectually trying to form words between the two. "Oh, baby, what’s the matter?" asked Isabell. She could see that his nappy had leaked, and by the faint fruity smell pervading the room, she guessed that he was messy again as well. That formula certainly was hard at work, she thought.

"I tried to stop pooing, but I couldn’t," Peter finally managed to sob out as Isabell sat on the side of the low bed, cradling his head to her breast.

"It’s alright, baby, you’ve just had a little accident," she said soothingly. She regretted not putting a protective sheet on his bed, but hadn’t expected another messy accident so soon. His pull-ups were wet around the leg openings, too.

"I did a wee-wee, too," Peter sniffled miserably. Isabell happily noted her boyfriend’s increasing use of Michelle’s childish vocabulary.

"That’s okay, darling, I’ll get you cleaned up in a minute and pinned into a nice dry diaper," Isabell cooed. His sobbing had subsided as he nestled into the warmth of Isabell’s generous breasts.

"But I couldn’t stop, and I tried..." his muffled voice said.

"Never mind darling, you’ve had a bit of a shock, but it’s all okay. That’s what your diaper is for, baby," Isabell kindly explained, gently standing him up and leading him into the bathroom at the end of the short hallway. The bathroom was a little crowded with Samantha already there dealing with Michelle’s dirty diaper. As it turned out, Michelle had soiled her nappy as well, so the two poopy babies were wiped down together and both led naked except for their t-shirts back to the bedroom where they had both been napping.

Samantha laid Michelle’s fresh diaper out on her bed, and after stripping the sheet and finding little damage to the mattress, Isabell spread a towel over the bare mattress and lay him down on his nappy. "It’s like a mother’s club in here!" joked Samantha. Isabell merely smiled in reply as she dusted his willy with the baby talc Samantha handed her.

Michelle giggled and looked over at him. "We’re twinnies again!" she laughed, patting her tummy and raising a small cloud of talc.

"Stop that, Mel, let me pin your diaper on!" warned Samantha in mock exasperation.

Soon the twinnies were diapered again. Mel was dressed in her same terry pull-ons, but Peter just wore his nappy and plastic panties as there were no more clean shorts available for him. While he was wetting so heavily Isabell had triple diapered him, and he looked younger, if larger than Michelle in just his T and diaper. "There you are little one, all clean and fresh!" cooed Isabell.

"Can we put Annie’s diaper on too?" asked Michelle excitedly, jumping off her bed and pulling a small garment of thick terry from her bag. Samantha had stitched the item up to Michelle’s specification, and the little girl pulled the diaper over her doll’s floppy legs. Peter sat quietly on the bed still sniffling occasionally. "Let’s go and play, Peter," Michelle forcefully suggested, standing next to him and tugging at his arm. Peter looked at Isabell as if he expected her to say something.

"Go on, Peter. Samantha and I have more things to do, so you two can play until dinner," she decided for him, nudging him up with her foot.

"Let him go, Michelle, he’s on his way," Samantha added, giving her pushy daughter a forceful swat her padded backside to propel her towards the door. He looked at Isabell again in confusion. He felt lost - he had helplessly wet and soiled himself, cried just as helplessly, and had had his dirty nappy changed alongside this little girl with whom he was now expected to play. Something was really wrong. He didn’t want to play with a little girl. He wanted to be with his - he stopped himself in mid-thought, nearly saying ‘Mummy’ to himself - his girlfriend. Girlfriend.

He looked down at his t-shirt and at the thick diaper bulging below. He had wet and soiled the last diaper which that same girlfriend had just taken off him. He gasped as he felt a sudden spurt of hot pee escape into the new diaper. He obviously needed to wear a diaper. He hadn’t needed to wear one yesterday… Yes he had, he remembered, because he did a pee in them, but he hadn’t needed them the day before, or had he? "Well toddle along, Peter," Isabell interrupted his unravelling thoughts. "Don’t keep your new friend waiting!”

He felt a sudden pang of guilt. He didn’t want to disappoint his new friend. He glanced around, and couldn’t see Michelle anywhere. He looked up at Isabell in sudden fright. "It’s alright, baby, she’s in the other room. Come on, my baby," Isabell cooed, taking him by the hand. His triple diaper made walking normally very difficult, and he almost tripped as he waddled into the front room. He saw Samantha smiling at his uncertain gait, but was determined not to fall. He bit his lower lip in concentration as Isabell steered him among the scattered toys towards Michelle.

"You can sit just there," ordered Michelle, indicating a clear spot next to the sofa. Isabell turned him around and he sat rather heavily on the floor next to Annie, who was propped up next to him with a small cup and saucer in front of her. He felt his landing cushioned by his thick soft diaper, and he realised he now sat an inch or two higher than normal. It was a slightly odd feeling, and he couldn’t help giggling. Michelle giggled in response. "You’re silly!" she chuckled. He uncontrollably peed again and bit his lower lip once more. He wasn’t going to cry now. Michelle wasted no time in getting a new game going. "I’m the Mummy and you can be Annie’s little sister," decided Michelle, setting out a little pink plastic cup and saucer in front of him. It’s Mummy’s tea party.”

"But I’m a boy," objected Peter peevishly.

"Annie’s not," stated Michelle firmly, as if that settled it. "So you can be her baby sister." Michelle leant over to him, and held up with her small hand a pink bow attached to a hair clip. "This can be baby’s hair clip, and this is yours, too. You don’t talk ‘cause you’re just a baby girl," commanded Michelle, suddenly producing a worn pacifier with her other hand and inserting it into his surprised open mouth.

"Bu- but-" began Peter, trying to talk around the rubbery-tasting pacifier.

"Shush, you’re just a baby! Not another word, or Mummy will spank!" warned Michelle severely, using the very words she had learned from her own strict mother. He could distantly hear Isabell and Samantha giggling to themselves, and looked up in distress to see them both enjoying their little performance, grinning to each other as Isabell walked towards the playing children from the hallway. He reached up to pluck the pacifier from his mouth.

continued....

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"Remember you’re just a baby, darling!" cautioned Isabell with a gay laugh, pressing the wet latex nipple back in his mouth with a wide smile. He wasn’t sure what to do.

"You’re Baby Jennie," announced Michelle, "and you’re only two years old." The words rang in his head. It’s just a game, he thought, then was distracted by more warm pee flowing around his crotch. Michelle reached over and removed the pacifier with a soft plop. She held it an inch in front of his lips, ready to shove it back in again. "Say ‘Hello Annie, my name is Baby Jennie ,and I am only two years old," she prompted firmly. "Go on. Annie is three ‘cause she’s a big girl."

He felt assailed by messages all around telling him that he was now a baby girl. He squirmed in his hot wet diaper, and looked at Michelle’s expectant grin. "My name is Baby Jennie and..." Michelle started to say again. Peter felt himself give in. He really did feel like a baby now. He wanted a nappy change and he wanted to put his head on Isabell’s breast. He found himself fighting back tears again.

As much as to avoid crying as to do what he was told, he looked at Michelle and said as clearly as he could, "My name is Baby Jennie and- and-" He wasn’t sure what came next.

"And I am only two years old. Come on, baby," urged Michelle impatiently.

"...and- and I am... I am two...years... old....I’m only two..." The sobs rose in his chest again and hot tears poured down his red cheeks. He felt himself wetting yet again in his nappy. He unsuccessfully tried to stop it happening. He really was a baby.

Isabell, still standing beside him, leant down and kissed him lovingly on the forehead. The familiar sweet musky smell of her perfume and the comforting caress of her bosom beneath her tight woollen top made Peter feel a little better. He wanted to press his lips against the soft heavy breasts which brushed against his face, but Isabell moved away. He was glad when Michelle gave him back the pacifier. It gave him something to concentrate on.

"Good baby! Now, would baby like some party food to eat?" asked Michelle, offering Peter a pretend cake on a plastic plate.

"Yes pleathe," answered Peter eventually, taking the plate. He sniffled and looked at Michelle’s smiling little face. 'She is nice,' Peter thought. At least things seemed certain and normal within the game.

"And here’s a present for baby," continued Michelle, producing something wrapped in a piece of cloth. He took the proffered present and unwrapped the cloth. It was a rattle. He shook it and listened to the sound of the pieces of whatever it was inside the toy. It wasn’t a bad sound. He rattled it again, and made an inarticulate noise of appreciation from behind his pacifier. Michelle giggled, so he made another gurgling noise and shook the rattle. This was fun. He shook the rattle again and made more gurgling noises from behind the pacifier.

"Shh, Baby Jennie, not so much noise!" called Isabell from the table where the women were now working with pen and paper. Samantha craned her neck around to see what all the fuss was about. "Michelle gave her that old rattle," explained Isabell. The rattle had been in the holiday house for years, and was one of Isabell’s oldest baby toys. He giggled along with Michelle and shook the rattle continuously.

"Michelle, give her something a little quieter please! We’re trying to work!" Samantha called.

Michelle looked at Peter who had heard Samantha and had immediately stopped shaking the worn old toy. "Bad baby. Too much noise. Give Mummy the rattle," she commanded as she took the toy from Peter. He pulled back on the handle. She had just given it to him, and now she wanted it back. It wasn’t fair!

"Baby Jennie, be a good little girl or I’ll spank!" warned Michelle severely, tugging harder on the rattle. She had such a purposeful look in her eye that the words, "or I’ll spank!" really hit home to Peter. He had a momentary vivid memory of being spanked, and released his grip at the thought. "Good girl!" cried Michelle with a broad smile. He beamed back, suddenly feeling warm and happy. "Here you are, you can have another party cake!" said Michelle. "Don’t forget to share with Annie!" He carefully shared his imaginary cake with Annie. The pair continued their pretend tea party, Peter finding that he remembered lots about such things. He didn’t really need to talk, and with all the giggling going on, his occasional gurgles were all that were needed by way of communication.

He would wait for Michelle to suggest something, then try to fall in with her funny ideas. Sometimes he got it wrong and felt very silly, but when he got it right, he gurgled happily around his dummy. Michelle knew lots about having a tea party. He was thinking how lucky he was to have her for a Mummy, when he remembered that it was just a game. Then he wasn’t sure if he was happy or sad. It was hard to think about such complicated things. He tried to remember how things really were. Isabell was his real Mummy. No she wasn’t; that was another game. She was his girlfriend. But she was like his real Mummy. That wasn’t a game, but he wasn’t sure. It was very confusing. He couldn’t think.

"Mummy, Baby Jennie’s crying," Michelle called to Samantha when she saw that Jennie had not only stopped playing the party game, but big fat tears were rolling down her red cheeks. The two women stood and walked over to where the two party-goers sat amidst a mess of plastic crockery and other toys.

"Come on, my baby! Time for another nappy change I think, then some yummy dinner," instructed Isabell. He took her hand and stood up unsteadily. He took a step with her towards the hallway, then his limp hand slipped from her grasp and he sat down suddenly on the floor. His silent tears turned to loud sobs once more, and Isabell had to crouch down to console him. "Oh my poor baby! Who’s had a big day? Eh?" she cooed, tickling his exposed tummy above the top of his nappy and replacing the saliva-covered dummy in his mouth. He calmed down as Isabell felt the front of his soggy nappy. "All those party drinks!" she said with a laugh, and led him off to be changed.

Michelle wanted to do "big girl pee-pee’, so Samantha waited beside her while she used the big plastic potty in the bathroom. Despite her ability to hold on and use the potty like a big girl, Michelle would always need diapers for the other times when her young mind didn’t register her bodily needs and she wet regardless. Still, Samantha felt that Michelle’s relative maturity would help Peter accept his role more easily. Samantha wished she had had a Michelle around during Michael’s troubled descent to infancy. Samantha was musing over those difficult times when Michelle appeared from the bathroom, her naked little hips shivering as she held out her carefully-removed diaper and plastic panties and cried, "Hurry up Mummy, my bottom’s getting cold!’

Isabell had taken Peter into the main bedroom to change him, so Samantha had the other bedroom to herself and Michelle. Michelle jumped onto her bed and lay on her back with her hips raised to assist in the familiar routine. Diapering little Michelle was a far cry from the early days of getting Michael to accept that he needed to wear a diaper all the time, thought Samantha as she sprinkled talc over Michelle’s diminutive pubic area. Not to mention the tantrums she’d had to endure as Michael’s body slowly changed, she remembered. The difficult period when he still had strong memories; his terror at seeing his feminine reflection in that one-piece swimsuit for the beach.

At least Isabell had removed all the mirrors from here and her own house, thought Samantha. "Forewarned is forearmed," she said to herself. Although Samantha always had to remember to take her compact with the mirror in it when she visited Isabell. Anyway, Peter seemed to be coming on very well, and she was sure that Isabell would have less trouble once she started him on the physical regime.

Michelle’s game was hilarious. Samantha and Isabell had been discussing it while the two - well, the two children had been having their pretend tea party. It was going to take nearly a year, several thousand dollars worth of drugs, and some serious mind-bending psychological intervention to metamorphose Peter into a permanently babified state, and Michelle did it, albeit temporarily, in two minutes with a plastic teacup and a rattle! Samantha pinned Michelle’s diaper up snugly and pulled her little track pants on. "There you are darling, nice and warm?" she asked, giving the little girl a cuddle.

"Yes thank you, Mummy," answered Michelle happily. She reached up with both arms and gave her Mummy a big kiss. She certainly was adorable, thought Samantha. Who could possibly prefer a hulking, sweating, swearing male over such a little sweetie? "Where’s Baby Jennie?" asked Michelle, jumping up and down.

"Calm down, sweetie, she’s with her Mummy in the big bedroom. Off you go!" Samantha replied, patting Michelle on the backside.

Michelle wandered into the main bedroom to find Jennie being freshly diapered while sucking on her pacifier. She wore a pink checked top and Isabell was soon pulling a pair of matching gingham panties over her bulky diaper. Jennie was making grunting noises and didn’t seem happy. "It’s just for playing babies with Michelle, sweetie," Isabell was saying. She caught sight of Michelle and raised her index finger to her mouth. Michelle grinned hugely and backed quietly out of the room. Isabell was making a surprise, she thought delightedly.

Michelle was very pleased. She was proud that she was in on a grown-up secret, and she was proud that she had been a Mummy to Jennie just like her own Mummy. Jennie was nice. She was big, but she was still a baby because she did pee-pee and poo-poo in her didee all the time, and she cried a lot. Michelle still needed a didee but that was because she was little, not because she was a baby. She didn’t cry for her Mummy all the time. She was a big girl, not a baby like Jennie.

Peter was feeling very confused. He knew now that he needed diapers. He needed help from Isabell who was a grown-up. He thought he was once too, but he needed diapers and he didn’t feel very grown up. He let Isabell dress him. It was cold and she was making him warm. Isabell turned him around and pulled some long socks onto his legs. They kept pulling up and up. They were big socks. He giggled, and giggled again because it made Isabell say something and ruffle his hair. Isabell lifted up the front of his pink gingham baby doll top and pulled the white ribbed tights over his puffy baby panties. Had there been a mirror, Peter would have seen that the top fell just below his waist, and that the pink check and frills of the fancy baby panties were plainly visible, stretched over his triple diaper beneath the taut tights.

Isabell removed his pacifier and wiped the accumulated drool from his mouth and chin with a handy bib. She sat him down on the edge of the bed and brushed his longish blonde hair before replacing the pink ribbon Michelle had provided. Isabell giggled impishly and picked up a hot pink lipstick from the dresser. Holding his chin firmly, she removed the pacifier again and applied the colour to his lips.

"Pretty Baby Jennie!" she crooned softly, and pushed his hand away as he reached for the pacifier on the bench top. "Later, baby," she said, tucking it down her ample cleavage. Isabell looked up to see Michelle appear again in the doorway. "Here’s your little baby girl, Michelle. Isn’t Baby Jennie pretty?" asked Isabell, pleased with her handiwork.

"You’re a very pretty baby girl," agreed Michelle. Isabell could only agree with such expert judgement, and led Peter out to the living room. He waddled along gripping Isabell’s hand as he felt the unaccustomed rub of the tights against his thighs.

Samantha had set the table for dinner, with china for her and Isabell and plastic plates again for Michelle and Peter. Samantha laughed when she saw Peter. "Isn’t she gorgeous!" she cried. "You’re a very lucky Mummy to have such an adorable baby girl," she said to Michelle, mindful of the game the children had been playing earlier.

Michelle grinned, glad that the game was to continue. She quickly stepped over to Peter as he sat quietly in the chair Isabell had placed him in, and proprietarily smoothed the shirred bodice of his baby doll top. "She’s called Baby Jennie and she’s only two, aren’t you, Jennie?" she said, stroking his blonde hair.

"Yes," agreed Peter quietly. He felt too ashamed to say it, but it was true. He began to pee again into his nappy. He ignored the blossoming warmth and looked to his Mummy for reassurance. Michelle had made him admit it. He wanted to be big and grown-up, but he really was only two. Michelle knew and now the two grown-up women knew, too. He met Isabell and Samantha’s eyes, but instead of pity he only saw smiles and praise.

"Good girl!" Isabell crooned to him. "Now I think you’ll need a bib, young lady," she added. Isabell found a bib in a drawer while Samantha served out the meal. It was tuna mornay on rice, and after saying grace - during which Jennie sniffled and Michelle, as a mature pretend-mother, restrained herself from giggling after saying "Quieten down, Baby Jennie!" in an urgent whisper, the foursome ate. Jennie tried using her own spoon, but her hand was not very steady and she slopped her first spoonful on her bib. As a result first Isabell, then after some discussion, Michelle took over the baby-feeding duties.

He had felt terrified as he was sat down to eat. Everyone else seemed so sure of themselves, chattering away and preparing for dinner. They had seated him first, in the only dining chair with arms, and kept telling him how nice he looked as they busied themselves. He tried to keep track of what the women were saying, but found that it was hard to concentrate with all the noise of cutlery and crockery. He focused on Michelle, who kept saying what a good baby he was. He decided that he wouldn’t disappoint her at all costs, then he had dropped his laden spoonful of food. It had spilled all down his front and he expected his Mummy to be cross, but she had just wiped down his bib and helped him spoon it into his mouth. He knew he needed Mummy's help.

Even Michelle knew he needed help, and she was funny when she was helping him eat. She made him giggle when he looked at her, because she made funny faces at him. She didn’t get cross either. Mummy got cross. He remembered her spanking him. He had wet in his best pants and she had spanked him lots. He smiled hesitantly up at Isabell and she smiled in return. She must have forgotten, he decided. Michelle wouldn’t spank him, he wondered. He knew Annie wasn’t really his big sister, because she was a dolly. He thought Michelle must be his big sister. She wasn’t really his Mummy because she wore didees too, and she didn’t spank him. Peter peed in his nappy again, and giggled as Michelle shovelled the last spoonful of tuna mornay into his mouth.

"Good baby!" she said happily. Samantha and Isabell looked at each other and smiled. He had his juice in a sippy cup, while Michelle, who had graduated to a proper plastic cup, helped with the dessert; ice-cream and raspberries. After dessert, his lipstick had completely disappeared following numerous mouth-wipings, and he and Michelle were settled on the floor with a new game while the women cleared up.

He couldn’t keep track of Michelle’s complicated game, so he just did as he was told. He was feeling tired, and was glad when he waddled off with Samantha to be changed with Michelle and dressed ready for bed. Samantha made short work of Michelle, and cleaned up Peter who had soiled again, and soon the pair were in their beds. Samantha let Michelle give Peter his pacifier before he drifted off.

Isabell wandered in and the women kissed both their little ones goodnight. Isabell gave Peter his usual sugary bedtime drink in a baby bottle this time, and the women went back to the front of the house. That night, Michelle dreamed of being a real mother, and Peter dreamed he was a big girl of three like Michelle.

Chapter 4

Isabell and Samantha finished their paperwork, and Isabell checked on the girls again. They had been at the beach house for nearly three months now. Things had settled into a pleasant routine. Michelle and Jennie were best friends, and were more or less inseparable. Jennie was now under 5 feet tall, and even the smallest of Isabell’s clothes were loose on her.

Isabell and Sam would watch them playing in the secluded back yard. Isabell had planned to take Jennie down to about 11 physically, and mentally to around the same as Michelle, but was now considering other options. She had had long discussions with the women at the clinic, and was interested in trying out a few new angles they had been working on. In any case, Jennie was now feminine enough that she couldn’t go to the beach without a top on, even if her chest was flat.

Because of their diapers and Jennie’s age-inappropriate behaviour, the women had kept the girls at home, except during the week when the beach was more or less deserted. Jennie seemed a lot happier too. Sam was sure that Jennie’s smooth ride was due to Michelle being around. She was happy for Jennie, and glad that she had been able to be of such help to Isabell. Sam looked across the back lawn at Isabell. She really was mother enough for both girls, as she had often said. Sam had been away for most of the last month. She had had business and other matters to attend to, and was pleased to see that Isabell had had no trouble with either girl while she was away. Sam had been as pleased to see Isabell again as Isabell had been to see her.

That night with the girls in bed, Sam sat on the bed watching Isabell as she sat in her underwear at the dressing table removing her makeup. Sam stood behind Isabell, and put her hands on her friend’s shoulders, moving Isabell’s long auburn hair to the centre of her back. Isabell stood up and Sam slid her hands down Isabell’s sides and around her hips. Her long fingers stroked the smooth front of Isabell’s panties, and pressed lightly at the soft crease at the centre.

Isabell moaned softly and shifted her hips slightly. Sam continued the light pressure, and stroked the delicate material very gently with her fingertips. Isabell arched her back and returned the pressure. She moved her hips again, and Sam hear the faintest sound of wet flesh as her fingers slipped slightly on the dampening fabric. Isabell grunted softly and began to use her own hands to slide her panties down over her hips.

"Wait, darling, I’ve got something to show you," said Sam. Isabell had already received her present - a slinky catsuit (of all things!) and a small wardrobe of beautiful underwear, and wondered what it could be. "Stay there," commanded Sam.

Isabell wished she could sneak a look in a mirror. They could put them back soon, she hoped, depending on Jennie’s progress. "Ok," said Sam. Isabell opened her eyes, stood up and turned around. Sam was laying back on the bed. Isabell was mystified.

"What?" she asked, looking around the room.

"Keep looking," teased Sam. Isabell looked out the door, then around the floor. She went to the window and looked out into the night. She turned, dropped to her hands and knees and looked under the bed.

"Tell me!" she begged in a mock whine.

"You’ll have to keep looking," was the response.

Isabell went to the wardrobe. She turned and looked at Sam. "Hot or cold?" she asked.

"Frigid," Sam said.

Isabell smirked. She put her hand on the pillows. "Warmer?"

"A bit," answered Sam.

Isabell pulled one of the pillows back, and her hand brushed Sam’s shoulder. "Sorry," she began to say, then looked down at her partner. She put her hand on Sam’s shoulder.

"Warmer?" she asked.

"Yep," Sam replied.

Isabell looked at Sam excitedly. "You didn’t...?" she said.

"The day after I left here. What did you think I was doing?" Sam said with a grin.

"Let me see!" squealed Isabell. Sam smiled.

"Not much to see, but you can have a look," she said. "Or a feel if you like." Isabell and Sam had talked about this for a long time. Isabell looked down at Sam’s tight designer jeans. They had been so busy all day, with the homecoming and the girls, and even after a swim they had only had time for a quick shower - Isabell kicked herself for not noticing anything.

"I’m so sorry Sam, honestly, we were so rushed..." she gabbled.

"Don’t be silly - take your time. I was trying to tell you just then..." Sam closed her eyes and settled back into the pillow which Isabell had disrupted.

The penny dropped for Isabell. She looked closely at Sam’s jeans. The tight belly of which Sam was so proud was still there, with not the tiniest roll above the beltline, and further down - Isabell’s fingers reached out. The broad vee with its low mound was the same as ever, but there was something else. A new bump. Isabell’s fingers traced over it with the lightest touch. Sam shivered.

"Oh you’re putting it on!" said Isabell with a giggle.

"Not entirely," replied Sam in her deepest voice.

Isabell continued her examination. She slid her fingers up the brass zipper to the handle. "May I?" she asked politely.

"Please do!" replied Sam just as graciously.

Isabell tugged the button at the belt line open, and pulled down the zipper.

She spread the denim to either side as Sam wiggled to give her better access. There it was. Beneath the thin white cotton panties, between the upper bulges of Sam’s full lips was a large nub, much bigger now without the constriction of the skin-tight pants. It was so big! Isabell thought of her own tiny button.

Isabell’s fingers circled it wonderingly. Sam shivered again, very realistically this time. "Ohh - my turn to moan..." she said. Isabell grinned and kissed the little lump before circling it with her fingers again. She felt Sam’s back arch and her arms come forwards. "No - do that," Sam said, moving Isabell’s head back into the kissing position.

Isabell kissed her friend’s new profile again, and again. She felt it stiffen, and pulled the top hem of Sam’s panties down with her teeth. The "little nub" felt about a foot long and a yard wide. Isabell kissed it and sucked it. Sam’s mass of wiry pubic hair scraped at her face as Isabell’s saliva mingled with Sam’s free-flowing juices. Isabell felt her own pants getting wetter and wetter.

"Ohh..."the two women moaned in unison. Similarly motivated, they both stood up and stripped off their pants, Isabell taking only a second then helping Sam. With a swift swing of one arm, Sam spun Isabell around and lay her on the bed, and splayed her legs apart with the other. Isabell felt Sam’s thick bush rubbing over her own depilitated genitals. Then she felt the most wonderful thing. Sam’s new...penis rubbed against her clitoris, and entered her wet vagina. Isabell went rigid for a moment, yelped, then nearly bucked poor Sam off the bed. Sam squealed at the same time, and pushed her new nub of flesh hard against Isabell. The two squealed together and then lay still, clinging to each other as if the Titanic had just gone down.

Their excited eyes met, and they hugged even more tightly. "Are you okay, Mummy?" a small worried voice asked. Both women turned their heads to see Michelle with little Jennie holding her hand, standing in the doorway. Sam recovered her wits first.

"Kids!," she said to Isabell with a laugh, and got up, pulling her loose top down over her hips and ushering the two out of the room. Isabell sat up slowly, still grinning, and waited for her to come back. "They’re okay, I just told them we were doing some exercises," she said.

Isabell smiled up at Sam. "Just a month!" she said.

"That’s right," said Sam. "I don’t think I’ll be wearing these jeans for much longer!’

Isabell looked up admiringly at her girlfriend. "I don’t know," said Isabell. "They do in Italy! What about your, you know - what about up top?"

"36A and counting!" said Sam proudly. "Hence the sloppy knit top!" Sam pulled up her top. Isabell looked at the white bra quizzically. "Wonder Bra - here you go!" said Sam, performing a series of quick maneuvers and removing the booster bra. Her tanned chest sported two flattish breasts, with much smaller aureoles than Isabell had last seen there.

"I can’t believe that clinic!" said Isabell. She reached out and felt Sam’s breasts, then flopped back on the bed. She looked up again at Sam’s torso, and hefted her own 34D’s in their support bra.

"I’ll soon need a trainer bra!" said Sam.

"Or no bra at all!" said Isabell in a gruff feminine voice.

"Mummy!" The women turned to the door again. "Jennie’s crying in her cot, but she hasn’t done a poo," said Michelle, who stood at the door again in her T and diaper. Both women looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Can you do it darling? I want a cigarette and a sleep!" said Sam with a grin.

"Oh shush, it might be serious," said Isabell, furrowing her brow at Sam. "I’m coming, darling," she added to Michelle, putting on the nightgown that hung over the back of the chair by the dresser and taking the child’s hand.

Okay. I'm pretty sure that's it, this time. I hope.

Hugs from Baby Jennie in Australia

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it was the "John and Sally" one i have request for you babyjennie could you take down the posts and repost the correct story in it's entirety if not then could you please post the Johnny & sally 1st chapter with the names changed please. Also thank you babyjennie for finding the story.

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babyjennie, thanks so much for re-posting this wonderful story. It is one of my favorites.

SallyKA is one of my favorite regression authors. Anyone know if she is still around anywhere?

I also miss the nautybaby site that had the most complete collection of SallyKA stories.

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it was the "John and Sally" one i have request for you babyjennie could you take down the posts and repost the correct story in it's entirety if not then could you please post the Johnny & sally 1st chapter with the names changed please. Also thank you babyjennie for finding the story.

Sure thing, Hawk. Here's the first part. I'm sure you can tell where it leads in.

Baby Jennie

Peter & Isabell ("John and Sally") by Sally KA

Peter was very glad he had met Isabell. Only two months after meeting her his house had burned to the ground down in a bushfire, which claimed a dozen other timber homes on the forest fringe where his house had stood. He had divorced a few years before, and now found himself homeless as well as alone.

Isabell, who had merely been a casual date for a while, had suggested that Peter move into her spacious 4-bedroom home on the other side of the city. Peter gratefully accepted her generous offer, and now the two of them were enjoying a candle-lit dinner on Isabell’s patio overlooking the city. The fire and all the problems it had brought seemed very far away, as he finished another glass of wine and gazed admiringly at Isabell’s fine features. She was a striking woman, he thought. "This is the life," he said, smiling at his hostess.

"Sure is, baby," replied Isabell. She was a well-built blonde, much taller than his slight frame, and slightly heavier, too. Her bountiful curves were usually accentuated by her tight clothes, and as she leant back her heavy breasts shifted enticingly beneath her light top. Peter noticed that her erect nipples stood out prominently in the cool night air.

That night they enjoyed each other’s physical company again, as much as they did their easy companionship out of bed. Peter woke to find that Isabell, organised as ever, had laid out some clothes for him and had breakfast ready. "I wouldn’t mind if this became a habit," thought Peter as he dressed after a pleasant shower with Isabell. Peter relaxed more and more over the next few days. He had taken a few weeks off work to get his affairs back in order after the fire, and was in no hurry to return to his office. They were doing quite well without him as it was. Isabell noticed how much calmer Peter had become away from the office. A few evenings later during their usual dinner on the patio, Isabell smiled as she crushed a small but effective tablet into his coffee...

Isabell woke Peter the next morning, shaking him gently. He opened his eyes groggily and turned towards Isabell. Something was wrong. He rolled over again and felt the cold clammy sheets beneath his bottom. "You’ve had an accident, baby," said Isabell gently.

"What?" muttered Peter in confusion, not understanding. ‘An accident?’ he thought. Then he realised what she meant. Protesting to Isabell that he never did this, he let her strip off his wet pyjamas and guide him into the shower.

"It must be delayed shock from the fire, that’s all," she said soothingly. He felt extremely embarrassed, but glad that Isabell didn’t seem to mind. She helped him prop the damp mattress against the patio rail. After he was dressed, they spent the day rambling around the lakes south of the city, far from the raw edge where the fire had struck. He thought a few times of the morning’s embarrassment, and wondered if it could or would affect their relationship. He watched Isabell, observing her luscious body moving fluidly in her tight jeans. She caught him at it and smiled. He decided he liked her a lot.

The next morning was "uneventful,’ as was the next, and life was good. Neither of them mentioned the embarrassing wetting incident again. But a few mornings later Peter wet the bed again, and again the following morning. "Poor baby,” Isabell had sympathised kindly as she helped him clean up. A new mattress arrived during the day while the pair was out. He offered to pay for it, but Isabell wouldn’t hear of it. It was bad enough for him that he had suffered such embarrassing accidents, she said. Isabell then suggested that he sleep in her spare room that night, just to get settled. He hadn’t been in the room before, and was surprised to see that it was actually decorated more like a Nursery. The walls were pastel pink, and there was a cute bunny frieze around the room at waist height. Isabell had made up a bed for Peter on a divan to one side, across from a large crib standing beneath the high barred window.

Isabell explained that she had fallen pregnant, but had lost the baby just before her husband had abandoned her with the house and a large mortgage. He felt very sorry for her. He settled down that night, and immediately heard the plastic sheet crackling under the fitted bottom sheet. When she came in to say goodnight, Isabell gently explained that the plastic sheet was just a precaution. He was glad that she still seemed so compassionate and understanding.

He woke up wet again, and guiltily waited until Isabell came into the room to tell her. He wondered what to say, and decided to tell her straight out. "I’m wet again," he admitted ruefully.

"Never mind baby, that’s what the plastic sheet is for," crooned Isabell with a forgiving smile, humming softly as she opened the curtains. He crawled out of bed and began to gather the wet bedclothes. "I’ll do that," offered Isabell kindly, holding his shoulders and softly kissing his forehead. "Let’s just get you out of those wet things and into a nice warm bath."

He wasn’t used to baths in the morning, but he meekly let her undress him and lead him into the bathroom. Isabell tossed his wet pj’s into a large white lidded pail in the bathroom. He looked at the new pail in puzzlement as she helped him into the bath. He wondered if it had been there before. Isabell was already dressed in some terry shorts and a tight tank-top, and she knelt by the bath and sponged Peter with warm soapy water. She was so gentle and caring that Peter soon stopped worrying about his bedwetting, and he willingly surrendered to the pleasure of Isabell’s soft hands.

"Lie back, baby," she commanded, and Peter obeyed by stretching out in the bath. "Let’s get this little peenie all clean," she teased, using both hands to massage soap into his groin. He couldn’t remember when he had felt so loved and cared-for. Well, he thought, he could - but it was a long time ago. He giggled uncontrollably when Isabell tickled his navel, and felt quite proud of the erection he soon sported under the influence of her skilful fingers. "Uh-oh! Looks like baby had another accident!" Isabell noted with a gay laugh. He had merely felt very cosy and relaxed, and was shocked when he looked down to see the streams of semen dripping between Isabell’s fingers.

"I’m sorry," he began to apologise, his cheeks burning with shame at his loss of control.

"It’s okay, baby! Mummy likes helping her baby to feel good," she teased him, still giggling. He felt very strange. ‘Mummy’ and ‘baby’ sounded so natural coming from her, but so out-of-place at the same time. Reality was restored as he dried himself off and dressed. They spent the day sightseeing, and he was amazed that there was so much to see in a town he thought he knew so well. They went to the zoo, and then to the park for a late picnic lunch. Isabell was certainly a good organiser, and he began to feel guilty that he was more or less a passenger in all this.

That night as he undressed in the Nursery, he couldn’t find his pj’s. He was about to ask Isabell when she strolled in with a package in her hands. He wasn’t sure what he was looking at. "It's just until you are settled," Isabell explained, unfolding a large white padded shape. He realised what it was and backed away.

"I don’t need that, Isabell!" Peter whimpered in consternation.

"Oh don’t be silly, baby! You need something so that you don’t get cold and wet if you have another wetting accident," Isabell explained firmly. He fell meekly silent as Isabell unfolded and laid out the huge disposable diaper. Just as quietly he sat where she indicated, then lay back while she fastened the sticky tabs around his hips. She shushed his half-hearted protests with a lingering wet kiss, stood up, turned out the light and left him to sleep.

He lay on the divan in his thick diaper. His new girlfriend had just diapered him and kissed him goodnight. He was 28 years old, and he wore a diaper because he wet the bed. He hadn’t asked for it, but he was wearing a diaper and he was sleeping in a Nursery and he was 28 years old. He felt his erection growing for some unknown reason, and gently rubbed his swollen tool through the papery diaper until he climaxed into the absorbent folds. He tried to fall asleep, but it wasn’t easy wearing the thick diaper. He tossed and turned until the wee small hours, when he finally drifted off.

When he woke, he squeezed his thighs together experimentally. At first he thought that the swollen thickness was just the diaper, then he realised that he had wet himself. He opened his eyes to find Isabell standing next to him. "I couldn’t get to sleep..." he moaned drowsily.

"That’s okay, baby," Isabell crooned soothingly as she stroked his head. "Bath time!" she announced brightly, and helped him climb out of his little bed. He meekly followed her to the bathroom, covertly admiring her big round bottom. She looked so organised and adult in her polo shirt and tight slacks, and Peter felt so juvenile; naked but for the wet diaper sagging around his loins. Despite his humiliating circumstances, he strangely felt another erection stirring. Isabell bathed him again that morning, and made him have another wonderful "accident” in the tub. She was so gentle and caring, he wanted to stay in the bath and keep having more "accidents”.

Minutes later, Peter tried to blink himself into adult reality. Isabell was briskly drying him off, while he complained to her that he couldn’t get to sleep for hours last night because of the strangeness of the puffy diaper between his thighs. "Never mind, baby," was all she replied. The rest of the day passed normally enough, although Peter was beginning to feel aware that there had been a subtle change in their relationship. She was so caring, like a loving mother doting over him. The thought both scared and pleased Peter. It was as if she had tapped into some hidden desires lurking deep inside his subconscious.

After dinner that night, Isabell suggested that Peter put his nappy on early to get used to it, so that he would sleep better. He protested that he had so little sleep the night before, he wouldn't need any help. But Isabell was gently insistent and Peter agreed, thinking there was nothing to lose. He couldn’t fit his jeans over his bulky nappy, so Isabell lent him a pair of her stretch cotton house pants. He was a little taken aback to see that they had a fake fly and a tightly elasticised waist, but with the extra room around the hips and the bottom, they were very comfortable. Although with the puffy diaper underneath, they did make his crotch look flat and feminine, and yet somehow prominent. Soon he was happily helping Isabell wash and dry the dishes, and later the couple snuggled up on the sofa in front of the television.

Around 9 pm Isabell gently suggested that it was his bedtime, and Peter - who was already tired - obediently stood up. Immediately he felt his diaper sagging heavily around his hips. He froze in embarrassment and Isabell turned back to examine him with a quizzical glance. He felt his cheeks flush warmly as he realised that he had to admit that he’d wet his nappy. "Isabell, I think..." He hesitantly mumbled, wondering how it had happened without his knowing it.

"Oh you poor baby!" Isabell interrupted him, instantly guessing his problem. She slid her hand over his sagging puffy crotch and gently squeezed the swollen gel of the saturated diaper. "Never mind, baby," she cooed maternally. "We’ll soon have you changed and ready for bed. But you should have told Mummy your nappy needed changing, honey. Exactly when did you wet your diaper, baby?" she added conversationally.

"I don’t know," replied Peter after a pregnant pause, looking at Isabell with wide frightened eyes. He tried to think when he had wet himself. He must have felt something - he wasn’t incontinent.

"Why not?" demanded Isabell a little more sharply. She knew he couldn’t answer. With his dinner she had fed him a diuretic which encouraged slow continual leakage. He was about to find out how much her little boy needed his nappies.

He gave up trying to remember. ‘It wasn’t as if she was angry with me,’ he thought with a frown. "I don’t know," he responded a little grumpily. "I don’t know when it happened." All Peter wanted was to crawl into bed, even in the plastic-sheeted short divan in the baby room. He just wanted to go to sleep. After meekly waddling after Isabell to the bathroom and letting her undress him and sponge his groin clean, he timidly followed her into the nursery where she diapered him for the night, put him to bed and kissed him goodnight.

He lay on the noisy crinkling protective plastic sheet, worrying about how he could have wet during the day without realising it. He listened to Isabell moving around downstairs, the distant familiar sound somehow reminding him of his mother when he as a little boy. She had turned the TV back on, and by the sound of it was watching a movie. And Peter was already tucked into bed, in a baby’s bedroom, wearing a diaper which Isabell had taped on him like a concerned parent. He lay in the dark, blinking back the tears of shame.

Slowly his thumb crept towards his mouth, and he began to bite down on the edge of his thumbnail, a habit of his when thinking deeply. Biting his thumbnail made him feel a little better, and as his eyes closed, his tip of his thumb gradually slid between his pursed lips. He felt a little childish as he reflexively sucked his thumb, but as he drifted off to sleep he realised that he felt better for it none-the-less. He was still sucking gently on his thumb when sleep finally claimed him.

Isabell wandered quietly into the Nursery after the movie had finished and stood there for a minute in the dim light, watching Peter curled up on his side and still noisily sucking his thumb while he slept. She bent down and slipped her hand under the bedclothes to find his diaper was already quite wet. She pulled the covers back over his shoulders without waking him, and kissed him lightly on the forehead. "Goodnight, my sweet baby," she whispered, and left the room.

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