[Preston] From Jo to Joella (Ch. 36 added 8/27/20)

[D503]

This story is building wonderfully, thanks. 

[smilekat414]

Interesting story so far, very dark and potentially nasty premise but so far executed in a compelling way, in particular I like how the lead has been up to some legitimately concerning behaviors, but is still clearly meant to be sympathetic. I don't have high hopes for her new plan succeeding but I definitely want to see what it is. That said I admit I'm wondering about the original story for the "preston universe" that's been referenced several times in the comments, is it somewhere on this site?

[CynthiaCM]

14 hours ago, Baby Billy said:

yea I know one of Bud,s rule you can't whip your wife with anything thinner than your thumb

He's not quite that picky.

13 hours ago, Diaperingdaddy said:

Great updates! i look forward to more!

Thank you. I'll probably have a new installment ready on Monday or Tuesday.

13 hours ago, D503 said:

This story is building wonderfully, thanks. 

Thanks, I appreciate that.

9 hours ago, smilekat414 said:

Interesting story so far, very dark and potentially nasty premise but so far executed in a compelling way, in particular I like how the lead has been up to some legitimately concerning behaviors, but is still clearly meant to be sympathetic. I don't have high hopes for her new plan succeeding but I definitely want to see what it is. That said I admit I'm wondering about the original story for the "preston universe" that's been referenced several times in the comments, is it somewhere on this site?

I appreciate the kind words very much and I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far. I prefer imperfect characters, as they're the ones we can most relate to as humans.

The original story was posted here, I believe. Just search for The Unlikely Couple.

[CynthiaCM]

CHAPTER 10

My plan went something like this:

1. Wait until my parents are asleep.
2. Swipe some cash from my father’s wallet.
3. Quietly slip out the bathroom window.
4. Hop down to the ground and hope I don’t break anything.
5. Go to the tiny Greyhound station I saw at a nearby strip mall.
6. Get a ticket for the next bus.
7. Go wherever it takes me.

Okay, I’ll admit the plan has a lot of moving parts, any of which could go KABOOM on me at any point, but what choice did I have? I was relatively certain that my father made contingencies of some kind to keep me from leaving via the front door, so exiting in a traditional fashion was a no-go. Also, they were both light sleepers, so whatever I did would have to be done quietly. My options were limited.

The biggest risk was getting from the window to the ground. The thought of leaping from the second story was terrifying, but I reiterate: what choice did I have?

The money snatch went without a hitch. Off to a good start! I crept into the bathroom, took off the stupid-looking pajamas and diaper I had on and replaced them with the sundress I had previously been forced to wear. It still looked childish, but the duffle bag filled with my own clothes was in the trunk of the car and who knows where Dad kept the keys. I couldn’t risk it. I did manage to find a pair of annoyingly-cute sandals among the new stuff Mom bought for the trip though. Hey, it was either them or the freaky fetish shoes! Lesser of two evils, I’d say.

I opened the window and looked down to see what I was up against. It was one heck of a drop, with nothing to break my fall but the cold, hard ground. I was hoping for a dumpster full of garbage bags or a mound of hay. A mound of hay? Jesus, Jo, why would there have been a mound of fucking hay? It’s not like this was a goddamn farm. My imagination gets away from me sometimes.

My heart raced as I climbed up into the window, taking some slow, deep breaths meant to bolster my courage. My goal was to leap off in such a way that my ankles or knees wouldn’t take any damage should this get all fucked up. And that’s exactly what I did. I sprung off shoulder-first, sort of, and landed awkwardly on my back with my head smacking the ground hard enough to daze me for a few minutes. My upper back hurt a lot and it was impossible to take a deep breath without discomfort.

I quickly took stock of the damage, focusing on my legs as a whole. They seemed to be okay. Getting up (with a great deal of back pain), I sprinted into the night toward the bus station.

The place was a dingy hole-in-the-wall office with a smattering of mismatched chairs in an area that half-ass passed for a lobby. A kindly-looking older white woman with hair that couldn’t seem to decide if it was gray or medium-brown sat behind a counter in the back, along with a sturdily-built African-American man who was chatting with one of the seven people waiting on their bus. 

The people in the lobby area ranged from tired-looking people who had likely been on one bus or another for days to upbeat individuals just starting their journeys. Most were somewhere in between.

I approached the counter, which I could only barely see over and asked when the next bus was coming through.

The lady smiled broadly. “Well aren’t you just precious? Did your parents send you in to ask?”

Shit. In this outfit, I did look awfully young and having practically no boobs didn’t exactly help my case.

“Umm… no. I’m seventeen years old. I just want to buy a bus ticket.”

The man behind the counter chimed in. “No offense, ma’am, but you don’t look anywhere close to seventeen. We’re going to have to see some identification, okay?” 

Identification! Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it! My state-issued ID card was in my duffle bag. 

“Umm… I lost it yesterday.”

The two Greyhound employees looked at each other briefly before she turned back to me and said, “Well, as soon as you find your driver’s license, we’ll see about getting you a bus ticket. Sound good?”

“No,” I said in loud frustration, “it doesn’t sound good! It doesn’t sound good at all! All I want is a fucking bus ticket. Why is that so damn difficult?” All eyes were on me and all small talk ceased. It was dead quiet.

The man, who had the patience of a saint, calmly tried to deescalate the situation. “Ma’am, please calm down. There’s no reason to get angry. If we sold you a bus ticket without identification, we could lose our jobs, okay? It’s not personal.”

“I’ve got the money right here,” I shouted, as I plunked down the $800 I took from my father’s wallet. “Why can’t you just fork over a bus ticket, for shit’s sake? I’m not leaving until I’m getting on a bus!”

The lady replied, trying to be as nice as possible. “We don’t make the rules, sweetie. Now please exit the building before we have to contact the authorities.”

The man leaned in toward the woman and said, “Maybe we should just get a hold of them. Something doesn’t feel right about this whole thing and if that turns out to be true and she just walks out of here, we could be in a lot of trouble.”

He didn’t want me to hear that, but I most certainly DID. The last thing I wanted was to be carted back to the hotel by the police. So, I dialed my approach in.

“Allright, alright. I’ll just go back to my house, see if I can find my wallet and I’ll be back in a little while.” With that, I walked out. 

The bus idea had to be nixed. Another plan had to be implemented. As I walked across the various parking lots of restaurants, stores and an army recruitment center, I thought hard about what my next move needed to be. I could call a cab and have the driver drop me off somewhere in the city! After all, I had plenty enough money to get me by until I was a legal adult. 

Oh, no! The money!

In my anger and desperation, I accidentally left the $800 on the counter at the Greyhound station! Turning around on the spot, I raced back in hopes that no one had snatched the money up. Flinging the door open, I barged in and saw that the money was no longer there. 

Out of breath, I managed to puff out, “Where’s… [huff] [huff]... my… [huff]... money?”

The man who I conversed with earlier said, “I placed it in the lost and found basket. Why don’t you have a seat while I go into the back and get it for you?”

I sat down as he entered a door behind the desk. When he was gone for a few minutes, I became suspicious. He was stalling! They called the cops before I even left the parking area! With the realization that my back-up plan had just blown up in my face, I rushed out the door with no destination in mind. I just had to get away… somewhere.

Unfortunately, before I could get more than twenty feet away from the building, a police cruiser pulled in. When the officer saw me, she turned the lights on. I tried to flee the scene, but the athletic, young police officer — whose legs were longer than I was tall — caught me quickly. 

Déjà fucking vu.
 

[Sarah Penguin]

[CynthiaCM]

CHAPTER 11

The long and short of it is that I was taken to the police station, where I staunchly refused to tell the cops anything. It frustrated them, but it proved to be only a small speed bump in the grand scheme of things. After all, they fingerprinted me and I was already in the system for past infractions, so they pieced who I was together in a short span of time. From there, they learned where I was from and tried to reach my parents by calling our home phone… which had been disconnected. They assumed I had either run away and that my parents were still in Pittsburgh or that I had run away while here with my parents. A quick search turned up no address for my family here, leading them to call nearby hotels and motels. Well, shit.

My parents arrived not long after and, boy, were they angry! They stepped into the other room with some officers, presumably to hear the details and to have me released. I’d rather have stayed there, to be honest, because I had never seen my father that livid. This was different than when they caught me after my recent attempt to hide out in the boondocks. Really different. The way I figured it, he had days worth of worrying to soften his anger last time. This time, he was awakened from his slumber to be told that his daughter had been picked up. No time to worry because he knew I was safe.

He read me the riot act all the way back to the motel. Mom even joined in on it, which surprised me due to the fact that she hardly ever showed her anger. I had stolen $800, snuck out of the room and attempted to make a getaway via a Greyhound bus. I was screwed two ways to Sunday and I knew it.

I zoned out while they admonished me, wallowing in my own self pity. That was my last chance to escape to freedom and I blew it. I wouldn’t be given another chance. Of that I was certain.

“Did you hear me, young lady?” he asked harshly. I just looked at him through tired, weary eyes.

“What I SAID was that we’re all going to get a few more hours of shut-eye, but this time, you’ll be sleeping only in your diaper and tee-shirt. The rest of your clothes will be locked in the trunk until we wake up and get you dressed! That way you’ll be too embarrassed to try that stunt again!”

The truth was that such precautions wouldn’t have been necessary. I was exhausted… mentally, emotionally and physically. For now, at least, I just wanted to sleep. And sleep I did.

Looking back, I was shocked that I received no spanking that night. I suppose my father was just too tired. Still, the mood that lingered told me that things were different now. I later found out that taking the money was what affected him so deeply, because of all the things I had done, stealing from my parents was never one of them. It broke his heart to think that I’d have done that.

The next morning was much the same. Even my mother was quiet toward me. She plainly said that if I needed to go to pee or poop, now would be the time to do so. I thought she meant that I could use the bathroom, but when I started in that direction, she grabbed me by the arm and informed me that she meant for me to use the diaper.

“We tried to be nice last time, but after your behavior, you’re getting no favors. Now use your diaper so I can change you before we hit the road. We aren’t stopping to change you before we get to Preston and that will be at least another eight hours.”

“Mom,” I said almost pleadingly, “I don’t want to use this thing.”

“You may as well get used to it,” Dad said, “because from now on, that diaper IS your bathroom. Now do what your mother said.” He turned to Mom and said, I’ll go get the clothes from the trunk. She nodded.

She turned her attention back to me as if waiting for me to obey. Instead, I pleaded again, this time more overtly, “Please, Mom. I want to use the bathroom.”

“No. Use. Your. Diaper. If you don’t, we’ll leave and you’ll have to use it anyway, but won’t get changed. Do you really want to sit for hours in a wet and messy diaper?”

I really didn’t. “Fine. I’ll pee.” 

I figured my mother would walk away to let me have my privacy. That didn’t happen. She just looked at me expectantly. “Go ahead then.”

I was flustered. “Not in front of you.”

“Little girl, I’ve seen a lot of babies pee themselves. This is no different. Besides, I can’t trust you to be alone, even for a few minutes. You’ve shown us that.”

“I don’t want to pee while being watched.”

“Okay then,” she said with a shrug, “I’ll get you dressed and we’ll leave.”

“No, wait!” I said out of desperation. “I’ll… do it.”

“Do WHAT?” she asked, clearly wanting to put me through my paces. Man, she WAS mad.

“Pee.”

“That’s good, but where will you pee?” she asked.

I wasn’t sure where this was going. “In… front of you?”

“Yes, that’s true, but it’s not what I meant. What are you going to pee into?”

Christ! Since when did my dear, sweet mother become a sadist? I wanted to say it almost as little as I wanted to actually use the damn thing.

She reiterated, but emphasized every word slowly. “What. Are. You. Going. To. Pee. Into?”

This was a war of the wills. She wanted to claim this victory over me for reasons I didn’t understand, but I wanted to win it just as much. She held all the cards, however, and I wasn’t dumb enough to think otherwise.

In the lowest, mumbliest voice I could, I said, “The diaper.”

She wasn’t quite satisfied. “WHOSE diaper?”

I was silent until she gave me that look. I didn’t think she was capable of giving it, but she sure was! She cleared her throat.

I looked at the floor and muttered, “Mine.”

“Now, put it all together into one sentence… and do it louder.”

This was the worst! “I’m… going to… pee… in… my diaper.”

“Good girl,” she said, going back to her normal, lively voice. “Okay, sweetie, now do it.”

It wasn’t easy. Yes, I had to pee. Quite badly, actually. But my brain couldn’t shed the shackles of potty-training so easily. I stood there, scrunching up my face, clenching my fists, doing everything I could to make myself urinate. In front of my mother. Who was grinning from ear to ear like a proud mama. It was humiliating.

I closed my eyes and concentrated as hard as I could. I even tried to imagine water running. Nothing worked.

“If you don’t pee by the time your father comes back in, you’re out of luck.”

Well, nothing worked except the imminent threat of spending eight hours in a soaked diaper! Somehow, that sentence made my bladder more agreeable. I felt a trickle escape me. Okay, not too bad. I couldn’t feel the wetness in the diaper. Maybe it would soak it all up and I wouldn’t have to feel it at all.

I released a little more. Still not too bad. Then, I heard the trunk of the car slam shut. At that point, the floodgates opened and I couldn’t stop or even regulate the urine as it poured into the crotch of the diaper. By the time my father walked through the door, bags in hand, the diaper was soaked! The weight of the pee made it sag significantly, making me feel even more juvenile.

“Look who used her diaper like a good girl,” cooed my mother to my father. I wanted to curl up and die right there on the spot.

“Very good,” he said with a smile. Well, at least he smiled. It took my utter debasement to make that happen! “Here’s her clothes, dear. Get her dressed so we can make it to Preston by six o’clock or seven at the latest. That means minimal stops. So, you’d better go to the bathroom before we leave too.”

Having my wet diaper changed was worse than having the fresh one put on back in Pittsburgh. It required my mother wiping all of my nether region with baby wipes, adding to the growing pile of indignities heaped upon me throughout this whole ordeal. Then came the baby powder before the new diaper was taped expertly upon my waist. 

Mom put me in another sundress — a yellow one this time — along with white tights and those awful shoes. She forewent the pigtails this time, in favor of a yellow bow. I was positive I looked as absurd as I felt. I could only imagine how they were going to dress me when they were finally given carte blanche to make me wear absolutely anything by the law itself.

Dad carried me out to the car and opened the back door. Something was different this time, though. Apparently, he had gotten up earlier (probably while Mom was in the shower) and purchased a car seat! 

He must have noticed the look on my face. “I decided not to pick one up when we were leaving Pittsburgh because you promised to be good and I thought I’d be nice as a show of good faith. Last night, you tossed that good faith in the garbage. So I hope you enjoy the ride.”

I was mortified!

In I went, as my dad placed me in the car seat. It was too small for me but not by much. Just enough to make it uncomfortable, though something told me Dad wasn’t exactly broken up about that. He was still angry. I could tell. 

Once I was buckled into the crowded car seat, I realized something: my dress had been pushed up when he placed me in the car seat, leaving my diapered and tights-covered crotch exposed. Granted, nobody would be able to see it, except for Mom or dad if they turned around, but it was still too much! I tried reaching down and readjusting the dress. The confines were too tight to allow me much adjusting. I did the best I could, though the diaper was still visible. After some struggling and a reprimand from my father to “quit wiggling around”, I gave up. 

The discomfort of being crammed into the car seat was rough, but do you want to know what sucked worse? The fact that the contraption caused me to sit higher up, thus allowing others to see me more easily. I kept my head down so long my neck began cramping. It was just an unpleasant experience. Eventually, I nodded off to sleep.

My snooze was abruptly interrupted. Not by the car stopping or a loud noise or even my parents telling me to wake up. No, it was something far more insidious; something rising up from deep within my bowels. That’s right… I had to take a crap! A quick glance at the clock revealed it to have been only a couple hours since we left Effingham. 

This was NOT good. 

This was not good AT ALL. 
 

[RoboNarples]

What exactly is stopping her from picking up the nearest heavy, blunt object and slamming it into her father's skull again and again and again until he is either dead or his brain is so broken that he is practically a still-living zombie? Just curious ?

[CynthiaCM]

30 minutes ago, RoboNarples said:

What exactly is stopping her from picking up the nearest heavy, blunt object and slamming it into her father's skull again and again and again until he is either dead or his brain is so broken that he is practically a still-living zombie? Just curious ?

Umm... because she's not homicidal?

[RoboNarples]

16 minutes ago, CynthiaCM said:

Umm... because she's not homicidal?

When her parents are trying to take away her inalienable human rights this blatantly, all bets are off. People tend to get a little...touchy when their personal freedoms are threatened.

 

(I apologize if I'm being overly critical, this was just my immediate gut reaction to the event of the story thus far.)

[CynthiaCM]

18 minutes ago, RoboNarples said:

When her parents are trying to take away her inalienable human rights this blatantly, all bets are off. People tend to get a little...touchy when their personal freedoms are threatened.

 

(I apologize if I'm being overly critical, this was just my immediate gut reaction to the event of the story thus far.)

No worries. If it makes you feel something, I'm happy, regardless of what that is. 

I won't defend her parents' actions by any stretch, but from their perspective, they're at their wit's end with her and have been convinced by Lucas Budd that this is the right thing to do. Lucas has a way of making things sound somehow better than they actually are. He can make the most irrational notions seem completely rational.

For Jo's part, she loves her parents; she's just... well, she's just Jo. Kind of antisocial, very much a rebel and a mega tomboy.

Plus, this just isn't going to be a story for everyone. It's pretty severe, quite psychological and not, in any way, a cute and happy tale.

[ppbenn]

Thank you @CynthiaCM for writing this story.. I am very interested to read what happens next to Jo and how she will react to being in Preston.

On a side note; while the original story was not overtly sequel. There were definitely components of sex IIRC. Do you have any plans to add elements of sexuality in her reiteration of Preston?

[Sarah Penguin]

[CynthiaCM]

5 hours ago, ppbenn said:

Thank you @CynthiaCM for writing this story.. I am very interested to read what happens next to Jo and how she will react to being in Preston.

On a side note; while the original story was not overtly sequel. There were definitely components of sex IIRC. Do you have any plans to add elements of sexuality in her reiteration of Preston?

It gives me joy that folks are enjoying the story and care about what happens to Jo.

Regarding your side note, there will be absolutely no sexuality until she turns eighteen. After that, well, I won't spoil anything, but I will say that it would be rather unrealistic to write a story in which an eighteen-year-old adult had no sexual desires. It will be addressed, but she will never be turned on by the diapers and such. She did find that the tights turned her on, though not because they are babyish. I have to try to keep it grounded as much as possible to alleviate the fact that the premise of Preston is extremely unrealistic into itself. By making the rest of the story more plausible, it will help the reader suspend disbelief when it comes to an impossible setting.

4 hours ago, Sarah Penguin said:

Thank you.

[CynthiaCM]

CHAPTER 12

Good bowel control is something I’ve always been blessed with. Fighting off the pressure has just never been problematic for me. I never really thought of it as a blessing, per se, but I sure as hell do now. For the next two or three hours, the need to go came and went. Each time it came, I kept it at bay by shifting my position as much as possible in that stupid car seat and keeping my mind on other things. Eventually, it would fade away to nothingness.

During that time, we stopped for fuel, a drink and a gas station sandwich, but I wasn’t let out of the car. Mom made a quick jaunt to the public bathroom while dad handled the purchases. I knew better than to ask about going with her given that they were still clearly upset with me. Pushing my luck would have been ill advised.

It was right around the time we hit Springfield, Missouri that the stomach cramps intensified. And they didn’t go away with a simple shift and some daydreaming like they did before. These cramps meant business! I squeezed my legs together (or at least as much as the diaper and car seat crotch strap permitted) and clenched my butt cheeks tighter than a nun’s hoo-ha.

“How much longer before we get there?” I asked with distress in my voice.

“Maybe two and a half hours or so,” came Dad’s reply.

Mom looked at him and softly said, “I think Joella has to pee or poop.”

“Jesus, mom! Just blurt it out, why don’t you?”

“Don’t talk to your mother like that,” Dad snapped. At least he didn’t say “Mommy”. 

My mother turned around to face me. “Sweetheart, don’t hold it in. That’s what you’re wearing a diaper for. You already peed in one, so it won’t be too big of a deal.”

“Says you,” I snapped, “You’re not the one who would have to sit in it for hours.”

“Joella,” said my dad with a reprimanding tone, “I’m not going to tell you again. Knock the attitude off.”

“Well how about YOU take a dump in your pants and see how much attitude YOU have?” I was cranky, yes, but I had good reason to be. Asking someone to defecate and sit in it felt pretty unreasonable to me.

“Little girl, I’m not the one who has been getting into trouble with the law, running away, making us think you were kidnapped or dead, stealing large sums of money from us and then having the audacity to be mad at US!”

Did… did he almost cry when he said that? It sure sounded like it. Mom put her hand on his shoulder to comfort him. There was a long period of silence before he spoke again.

“So, please, just stop fighting us on everything.” His voice was certainly clamer.

My father almost breaking down like that knocked the wind out of my sails. I had never seen him cry and I was pretty sure he was on the brink of it at least. Had I really put them through that much turmoil? Surely, they knew that I had just bolted rather than having been kidnaped, right? Maybe I HAD been a little shit. And that thought was certainly sobering. But did I deserve to lose my rights? Did I deserve to be thrust into a second babyhood, with my entire family doling out constant humiliation? 

The good news was that this patch of drama squelched my need to poop. The bad news was that it was only a temporary reprieve. A few minutes after the ordeal, I heard the loud churning in my stomach and the cramps came back with a vengeance. 

At this point, I realized I wasn’t going to make it to Preston in a clean diaper. However, delaying it as long as humanly possible meant that I would have to spend less time sitting in it. As such, the battle raged on within my abdominal area, where I fought bravely against my bowels, a sword in one hand, a shield in the other. A bit fanciful? Sure. But thinking of it in those terms kept me focused.

Focused or not, though, the pressure in my guts wasn’t going away... sword or no sword, shield or no shield. I bit my lower lip, doubled up my fists and bounced up and down a bit. It was getting worse! The discomfort became pain. My poor sphincter was engaged in the fight of its life, doing its damnedest to be the gatekeeper; the guardian of the bunghole. 

Nope, the fanciful shit wasn’t working this time. I was breathing harder, eyes closed, chin digging into my chest. Then a thought hit me! What if I farted out some of the pressure. It was a power move, to be sure, but what other course of action was left to me? 

I relaxed my sphincter just enough to let a tiny bit of flatulence out. It was silent too. Bonus! Feeling a little better about the prospect, I let a slightly bigger poot out. Another silent fart. Maybe this was going to work.

Then I got cocky. Another, bigger fart was to follow, but I relaxed just a little too much and immediately knew I was in deep trouble! Try as I might, I couldn’t stop yet another fart and that one led the way for solid mass!

My worst nightmare was coming true! “No no no no no no,” I said to myself, edging closer toward catastrophe. I attempted to close the passage, so to speak and thought for a moment that I had succeeded. That glimmer of hope was extinguished when I felt the poop exit my butthole. There was no stopping it! 

I tried lifting my butt up, but the too-small carseat gave me no room to do so. The mess hit the diaper and immediately spread out, searching for space to rest. The fact that my butt was pressed so firmly against the carseat meant that the poop had to travel a ways to get to such a resting place. 

My parents quickly noticed what was happening, no doubt because of the smell, which was absolutely pungent! My mother looked at me, limited by her seatbelt, and said to my father, “Little Joella’s finally making poo-poos in her diaper.”

“I know, honey,” he said, “but let’s not make it any harder on her.” Compassion? From my father? What the hell was going on?

I barely noticed what they were saying, as my diaper was filling with defecation. And when I say “filling”, I mean “FILLING”. To make it even grosser, it wasn’t even the least bit runny. It was very firm. I could feel every log flatten out and be pushed elsewhere by the next wave of poop. It was the most disgusting thing I had ever experienced.

It slowed down significantly, but the damage had already been done. The poop had gone up the back of the diaper so that it was caked on almost to the top. Meanwhile, the front portion of the diaper fared no better. It had been pushed all the way up and had covered the entirety of my vagina and even a little of where my pubic hair once proudly grew. So nasty! And that smell was rancid! 

My father rolled down the window. “Whew! That’s a strong stench.”

“That’s such a good girl,” my mother beamed proudly, as I settled into the mush that had accumulated all throughout the diaper. 

Dad knew what I was going to say and cut me off before I could, “For the record, no we’re not pulling over to change your diaper. It would take too long and I want to get there early enough to clean up and go out for a nice supper. Changing diapers in a car takes forever.”

So that was it. I was destined to sit in my own filth for another two-plus hours and there was nothing I could do about it. I hated life so much.
 

[D503]

Nice. I can't see the attitude letting up - and the father's light-gaslighting behaviour is interesting  - I can see things like "so, you're just going to let me get a UTI?!", deliberately letting poop escape to make more of mess, constant disobedience which would obviously be expected.

Great writing.

[CynthiaCM]

28 minutes ago, D503 said:

Nice. I can't see the attitude letting up - and the father's light-gaslighting behaviour is interesting  - I can see things like "so, you're just going to let me get a UTI?!", deliberately letting poop escape to make more of mess, constant disobedience which would obviously be expected.

Great writing.

Much appreciated. Like anyone put in a crummy situation, Jo will have her moments of rebellion and he moments of defeat. She's a whirlwind of emotion and that will lead to some interesting interactions.

[Josh23]

I love this story :). 
 

cant wait to see what happens when her sister sees her

[CynthiaCM]

54 minutes ago, Josh23 said:

I love this story :). 
 

cant wait to see what happens when her sister sees her

Thanks a bunch. I'm looking forward to writing that scene.

 

[Sarah Penguin]

[CynthiaCM]

CHAPTER 13

Wanna know what’s worse than sitting in a messy diaper? Go ahead. Take your time. You’ve got this. That’s right: sitting in a messy diaper after it has cooled down. Don’t get me wrong. It’s nasty as hell when it’s still warm, but once it becomes cold, that nastiness is amplified a hundred-fold. I’m not kidding. Once cold, the stickiness becomes more apparent. There’s no way to NOT notice it. You can try to think of other things, watch the scenery fly by or wallow in your own misery all you want. You’re still going to know it’s there, caked on the very flesh that makes up your most intimate area. 

And then there’s the itching. It may not be directly related to the coldness of the poop, but it becomes noticeable at about the same time. Have you ever been in a hurry and failed to wipe as thoroughly as you normally would? It’s okay to admit it. We’ve all been there. It itches like crazy, right? Well, this is like that, but so much worse, because instead of just leaving behind a tiny bit of fecal matter, the entirety of your nunghole is coated with fecal matter. It was exacerbated by the fact that I was crammed into the carseat and couldn’t even reach behind and scratch it through the diaper. I tried wiggling my butt back and forth while squeezing and squeezing my butt muscles, but it didn’t help at all.

No, I had to just suffer.

The first hour passed before I finally spoke up.

“This is getting really uncomfortable,” I grouched. No response. Mom did look like she wanted to answer, though she didn’t.

“Seriously, it itches and it’s gross,” I said huffily before pulling out the big guns. “Besides, I could get a urinary tract infection if I sit in it for too long.”

Dad let out a sigh. “You’re not going to get a UTI in just a couple of hours. Just hang tight and we’ll be there before you know it. When we get to the new house, we’ll get you into a fresh diaper.”

“You don’t know that,” I said. “You’re not a doctor. It might only take an hour.” My words fell on deaf ears.

Mom spoke to him in a quiet voice, but I could make out the fact that she was asking him if he thought they could spare the time to pull over so she could change me in the back seat. All he said is, “No, dear, she’ll be fine.”

I wanted out of the diaper more than anything, but I could tell when Dad’s mind was made up. He was as stubborn as a mule and when he had come to a decision, it generally took an act of Congress to make him reconsider.

The itching intensified, as did the smell and general discomfort. I moved as little as possible to avoid making my plight even more unpleasant than it already was. Not that the carseat gave me much room to move around anyway!

We reached Preston at a quarter after six, which fell into the timeframe Dad was aiming for. Big whoop. All I knew was that I was really looking forward to being clean for the first time in well over two hours.

Preston seemed like any other small city in the Midwest to me, at least at first. We were clearly on the outskirts when I made that observation though. There wasn’t much going on out here, aside from cars going to and fro. As we moved toward the city’s epicenter, however, the differences became more noticable. 

The first sight that horrified me was at a convenience store we passed by. Two men were standing near the door, talking up a storm, all the while one of them had a woman on a leash. She was scantily clad and wearing high heels. The woman’s breasts were positively enormous and I don’t mean “enormous” like Kallie Millsworth from high school either. I mean “enormous” like some of the porn stars who specialize in giant breast fetish videos. Her waist was tiny, too, which made her look odd to me, in conjunction with the massive boobs. 

My parents noticed her too, because Dad pointed over in her direction and told Mom, “That’s what I was telling you about… women who are made up to look like sluts. They call them bimbos here.”

“Honey, they call them that everywhere,” she said with a smile.

“I know that, honey. But it’s like an official designation here. They have some kind of program that trains women to be that way.”

“Oh.” My mother sounded both intrigued and disturbed.

The further into town we ventured, the stranger things became. The women I saw were dressed in all manner of different styles. Some wore outfits not too dissimilar to the woman at the convenience store. Others looked like Mrs. Cleaver from that old show, wearing 1950s-esque clothes and pearl necklaces. Still others wore the longest, tightest skirts I had ever seen! They could barely walk. But they all had one thing in common: the men they were with were, without exception, in charge. Not all of them had leashes, but the body language made that quite evident. It disgusted me to no end! 

It wasn’t long after that that Dad took a left turn off of US 400, and made his way past a community college with a large park with lots of trees on the other side of the street. He continued on this road for close to a mile, through a section of town that had a lot of old Victorian houses, most of which were impeccably maintained. The nicer houses were closer to the park and college, giving way to houses that belonged to the working class. Some were nice… others, not so much. 

We shot across a relatively busy street and into a neighborhood that was marked by a nice wooden sign that read “Winway.” 

“This is it, darling… our new neighborhood.”

“It’ so homey,” she said, looking all around. She was right. The whole area had a wholesome quality to it. We saw three boys riding their bikes, a few men manicuring their lawns and one girl playing with a dog while her brother looked on. Most of the residences were nice, middle-class homes amid a smattering of look-alike duplexes. Unlike the strict gridlike pattern displayed in the parts of town we drove through, the streets here tended to be curvy or angular. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have minded living in a neighborhood like this.

“I agree, Lillian. It really is homey. It has quite a nifty history too. According to Mr. Budd, Winway was built in the early ‘40s to give incoming ammunition plant workers places to live. Of course, a lot of the original buildings are long gone, but many are still standing.”

I guess that explains the duplexes.

He pulled into the driveway of a large-ish ranch-style house situated on the corner of a city block. My aunt and uncle’s car was also parked in the driveway. The house was in good shape and was a step up from the one we previously lived in.

“Wow, it’s so beautiful, Ken,” my mother said as she exited the vehicle. 

“Wait ‘til you see how it looks inside,” he beamed with pride.

“I can’t wait!”

Suddenly, the front door opened and out came the last person on this earth I wanted to see: my younger sister, Megan! 
 

[Baby Billy]

I wonder what she finds in her new bedroom, bars on the window, a crib with rails to the ceiling a baby harness for when they take her out or a stroller with locking 5 point harness.

[Josh23]

Oh this got good! Can’t wait 

[D503]

Stinky girl! 

[Sarah Penguin]

Hmm maybe we should bury our adult baby authors here after they post*experimentally buries* our author CynthiaCM under plush animals that appear from nowheres*

[CynthiaCM]

20 hours ago, Baby Billy said:

I wonder what she finds in her new bedroom, bars on the window, a crib with rails to the ceiling a baby harness for when they take her out or a stroller with locking 5 point harness.

Probably nothing quite that extreme. At least not yet. 

18 hours ago, Josh23 said:

Oh this got good! Can’t wait 

Thanks. This week is going to be super busy for me work-wise, so I'm not sure how soon I'll be able to get another installment cranked out.

16 hours ago, D503 said:

Stinky girl! 

Extremely stinky girl.

11 hours ago, Sarah Penguin said:

Hmm maybe we should bury our adult baby authors here after they post*experimentally buries* our author CynthiaCM under plush animals that appear from nowheres*

Plush animals? I'm down with that.