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"Oh, you're always like this now," she mused. "Looks like my big boy's having another one of his pampers problems..." she gave me a pouty sad face before giggling. "Can't you do anything to keep dry?"

I shook my head absentmindedly.

"Well it's too bad, you used to be so grown up--but I know just what to do." she said, placing her hands on my hips. She looked me in the eyes, and then pulled me into a hug. Smelling her coconut, sea, and musk perfume filled me with emotion as I began to hold her tightly. I felt a dribble of pee begin in my diaper and breathed in her smell more fully, trying to forget my underwear shame. It wasn't enough though, and I felt myself beginning to tear up.

"Awh, is someone crying? You know I love you no matter what, it's okay--" she whispered from above me. With her being a tall woman, I couldn't help but feel more at a loss in her presence. I was less like her boyfriend every day. She even called my underwear pampers, like I was some kind of baby! My thought train was interrupted by another spurt of wetness trickling down for a long moment before being absorbed somewhere below.

"Shh, I know you're mature," she cooed. "It's just that we need a little help down there, help that diapees give you!" She returned her hands to my hips again and began to unfasten me.

In the chilliness of having my diaper pulled away, I noticed what little arousal I had from holding onto her was beginning to shrink into nothing.

"Looks like the diaper's doing its job, you're getting smaller down there--and wetter." She kissed me. "Isn't it better this way?"

I hesitated. "I guess. It is nice having you care for me."

"That's the spirit, you're doing great so far." She revealed a clean diaper for me from inside her purse and got busy slowly unfolding it, getting it ready for my behind.

Being about eye level with her upper chest, I was drawn to look at her breasts and lower belly for a moment. Instinctively, I reached over and held just above her hips, petting her gently with my thumbs. I felt very aroused by her, but I was unable to show it. These diapers were doing something funny to me.

"Why would they make diapers that get rid of--"

"It makes you less likely to leak, dear." She began to position the diaper around me, and I was relieved that she did--she didn't have to see the small accident that was trickling out as she fastened my tabs snugly.

"They don't do anything else funny like that, do they?"

"They do make you calmer. It's to make you easier to care for, of course." She poked me on the nose and pulled me in for a hug. "Want me to get you something for lunch at the food court?"

"Please." I blurted out, along with another spurt into my diaper. I was about to unlock the bathroom door when she grabbed my hands.

"Let's get your shorts back on first," she said. I watched as she did up the button, hiding most of my diaper below the waistband, but not all of it. She positioned my shirt over top to cover the rest. "There, now we're all set."

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Once you’re no longer fully continent, your darling caretaker will rapidly make sure to neutralize your capacity to produce wet spots by making you fully unable to hold your bladder and unable to point in the wrong direction! This way, diapers will work much much better!

Now, who are those caretakers and how do they find out if you need their “help” in “fixing” your problem? What sort of authority do they have and is treatment compulsory?

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