Before Naptime

[Mike D]

Preface: 

Hi, folks. Long time lurker here on this board and for much longer going back to the earliest days of the ABDL internet scene. 

Here’s a little MD/lb relationship scenario that I think also works as a short story. All characters are 18+. Comments welcome. 

Before Naptime

I’m in the living room, barefoot and wearing only white cotton training pants and a tee shirt.

A children’s program plays on the TV. A variety of toddler toys are strewn about, but the centerpiece is an elaborate wooden train set. 

Sandra (my wife of 8 years and also my ABDL mommy) enters, carrying a large sippy cup and something else.

She sits on the couch, beckons me over, and then pulls me gently into her lap.

I love cuddles with mommy!

I lean back against her soft body, feeling her warmth and smelling the strawberry scent of her conditioner mixing with the faint scent of the baby powder that mommy shook into my trainers this morning. It’s a safe, homey smell. 

Mommy strokes her fingers through my hair and tells me how cute I looked playing on the floor in my thickly padded “big boy” pants.

I can’t help but blush a little at this revelation. I was so engrossed in playing that I was completely oblivious to her watching me from the doorway with a mixture of love and amusement. 

Unbeknownst to me, mommy had also recognized the tell-tale fidgeting and body language of a little boy who needs to be taken to the toilet very soon. It was cuteness overload already, but she has a plan to ramp it up a notch. 

Now I see that mommy has brought a book with her! It’s a children’s picture book about babies - not my first choice of subject, but at least we haven’t read this one before.

I snuggle back into her chest as she begins to read in the soft, sing-song voice she likes to use during our most special mommy and baby times. 

Even though this book is geared towards much littler boys, mommy makes it fun by pausing frequently to ask questions or to for me to name things in the pictures, and then praising me effusively when I do so correctly.

She is also careful to point out all the contrasts between a “big boy” like me and the silly little babies in the book: “Look! The baby has a bottle, doesn’t she? Big boys like you don’t drink from bottles do they, sweetie? No you don’t, but can you imagine how it would feel if you did?”…

And so on.

Between the questions and the colorful illustrations, I find myself getting into it a little as the book goes on. Who knew babies had so much cool stuff going on? 

After a question about thumb sucking and pacifiers, I find that my thumb has crept into my mouth. Mommy notices this too, but she doesn’t comment on this babyish behavior. She just smiles and gives my side a little tickle with her fingertips, prompting a giggle and the first signals (at least as far as I am aware) from my bladder that I need to go tinkle fairly soon. 

My bladder control has deteriorated dramatically in recent weeks. Both Sandra and the staff at the regression clinic act like it’s no big deal, but I can tell I’m slipping. Often, and especially if I’m engrossed in something, I don’t feel the urge to go until I’m at a stage just below full-blown desperation. And sometimes that leads to wet pants. 

After a very wet accident at the grocery store two weeks ago, Sandra started putting me in padded training-style panties during the daytime “just in case.”

I actually didn’t mind too much. The added padding made me less anxious about little accidents, and some of them featured cool cartoon designs.

Besides, everyone could see they weren’t diapers.  

But the ones she put me in this morning were different. They were plain white, with no faux fly, and much bulkier than what I was used to wearing in the daytime. The rise was a lot higher too - there was no way they wouldn’t show above the waistband of my pants. 

I started to complain when she first pulled them up my legs, but Sandra deftly reminded me that all my thinner pairs were in the wash due to my “little boo boos” from the previous day. She also pointed out that these trainers had an additional waterproof layer to keep my accidents inside my pants instead of on the couch or her floor. 

I couldn’t argue with either of those points, and so I grudgingly accepted the not-quite-diaper on a strictly temporary basis - a condition which Sandra immediately dismissed with a non-committal “let’s see how it goes,” followed by a pat to my padded bottom. 

I wasn’t sure if I’d won, but it wasn’t a definite loss either. More like a draw with the threat of a permanent step backwards if her conditions were not met. 

I squirm a little at the  uncomfortable thought of remaining in these babyish pants full time, and the motion provokes a new series of bladder alarm bells. 

I wonder briefly whether the excess padding is muffling the signals from my bladder somehow, but there’s no time to think about that right now. Instead, I jam my hand into my crotch and squeeze my legs together as tightly as I can, while turning and telling mommy that I need to go potty now. 

The result is not what I expected. Instead of jumping straight into action, Mommy just smiles, and squeezes me tighter around my waist. She continues holding the book open - ironically on a page featuring a training potty as part of the furnishings in baby’s bathroom. 

Her tone is a bit less syrupy and more authoritative this time around: 

“Sweetie, we can’t keep pausing our activities for you to go potty every 5 minutes. Let’s finish the book, and then I’ll take you after if you still think you need to go. You don’t want to miss the rest of the story do you?”

I hesitate for a moment, then shake my head “no.” I’m really starting to like this story, and I want to be a good boy for her. Maybe If I stay very still the urge will fade away…

Mommy smiles indulgently as she feels me relax back against her. She gently removes my hand from its death-grip on my padded crotch and guides it back towards my mouth, looking at me expectantly until my thumb finds its way back in. 

”Such a good listener!”, she exclaims, reverting back to the syrupy tone, while simultaneously pulling me tighter into her and pushing my legs back to either side of hers. 

Maybe it’s because I’m sat up a bit more now, but her arm seems to encircle just a little lower down on my waist, adding a subtle, but increased pressure on my bladder. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s not helping the situation either. I resolve to ignore it and instead try to focus in on the story. It does feel good to just listen and let mommy be in charge of everything. The urge to tinkle does seem to have faded a bit. 

Now we are at the page about baby’s bedroom. Mommy points to the picture of the changing table. She asks me to tell her what it is. I answer around my thumb, and she squeezes me tighter as she tells me what a clever boy I am.

Then mommy asks me what’s on the shelf underneath the table?

“Diapers!” I respond enthusiastically, while doing my best to stay still and avoid jolting my bladder.

“That’s RIGHT! - those are baby diapers!”, Mommy exclaims as she jiggles me and gives my sides and thighs another light tickle that sends a delightful little shiver through my body. 

Uh oh!

I tense almost immediately, but it’s too late. A generous gush of urine has escaped into the front of my pants.

It’s not quite an “accident” (I’ve been wetter from failing to shake properly after using the big boy potty), but I’m no longer technically “dry” either. I can definitely feel the added wet warmth around my front. 

For a moment, I’m concerned about what mommy will say when she takes me to the potty and finds me wet. I’m well aware that big boys don’t make any tinkles in their pants. But on the other hand, she’s the one who refused to take me when I asked. It could have been avoided. This time it’s not really my fault.

I briefly contemplate letting a little bit more tinkle out on this basis, but I quickly dismiss that as something only babies do. Everyone has little accidents. Only a baby would choose to go potty in his pants not 10 feet from an open bathroom door. 

Unfortunately, my internal musings on this important subject have to be put on pause due to a new round questions from mommy - Now she wants to know why babies have to wear diapers?

Easy question! I tell her it’s because they go potty in their pants.

“That’s right!” she says in that same, overly enthusiastic baby-talk tone she has lapsed back into.

But then her smile is replaced with a look of confusion:

“But wait a minute, sweetie - you go potty in YOUR pants sometimes too…don’t you?”

I understand this question and specific phrasing to refer to whether or not I sometimes do all my tinkles or poopies in my pants (as distinct from my little potty boo-boos).

It’s still an embarrassing subject despite the regression treatments, and I hesitate to respond. 

Mommy isn’t letting it go though.

She puts the book down, gently turns my head to look up at her, and asks me again, this time a bit more firmly, to tell her whether or not I go potty in my pants sometimes?

I know she wants me to make eye contact. She loves seeing the look in my eyes when I confess my most babyish misdeeds to her.

I manage to look up and mumble a reluctant, “yes” reply around my thumb. 

Mommy nods approvingly, lays my head back against her chest, and starts whispering softly in my ear as if she’s telling me a very special secret:

“That’s right, sweet boy, you do go potty in your pants sometimes! And sometimes you tell mommy about it like a big boy, don’t you?”

“But other times, you don’t tell mommy, and she has to find out if you’re in need of a change by checking your pants, doesn’t she, sweetheart?”

The whispers and the soft touch of her hair on my cheek combine to send little electric shivers of pleasure down my spine - which is odd because I’m also blushing and frowning slightly at this new line of questioning. 

Mommy doesn’t wait for an answer this time. Instead, she just gives a soft little laugh and continues:

“That’s right, baby boy. Sometimes Mommy doesn’t find out that you’ve made a boo-boo until she’s changing you into your night-night diaper, or until she decides she needs to check your pants because it’s been such a long time since you asked her to take you to the potty.”

This latter statement isn’t posed as a question, so much as a statement of fact.

“Sometimes Mommy even finds poopies when she checks your pants, doesn’t she?”  

I blush even deeper at this, but I find I’m also nodding slowly as I recall the “big boo boo” I made in my pants while playing with my train set yesterday.

Truth be told, I hadn’t even really noticed what was happening until the deed was done. Or rather, the need to go just didn’t seem like something I needed to pay attention to in that moment. I had just sort of “zoned out” for a minute while squatting beside my train set, and when I came back to reality, there was an unfamiliar heavy warmth in the seat of my training pants. 

Worse, I had turned around to find Sandra watching me from the living room doorway wearing a sly smile and holding a pack of wipes along with my naptime diaper. She had watched the whole event!

A briefly troubling thought about why she hadn’t intervened in that little episode is quickly brushed away as she hugs me tightly and praises me for answering honestly. “Good boys don’t lie about having poop in their pants, do they?” she asks in a mock serious tone. 

I smile around my thumb and shake my head “no”. Of course they don’t! Good boys tell their mommies when they have stinky pants. They definitely don’t try to hide it. 

Mommy seems satisfied with my answers. She pats my leg and reassures me: “It’s OK. I know you’re not a baby. You’re mommy’s big boy, aren’t you?” 

Unfortunately, this last question seems to provoke an equal and opposite reaction between my psyche and my physiology. As I nod my agreement, I’m suddenly aware of a much larger warm spot spreading and growing in the front of my trainers. I hadn’t even felt my bladder relax this time!

I manage to stem the tide, but not before squeezing a final squirt into my now very wet-feeling pants.

Oh well. Mommy was already going to find a a little boo boo when she put me down for my nap. Now it’s just a lot bigger boo boo! 

I giggle a little at this thought, which prompts another small spurt of pee to bounce off the front of my trainers and trickle its way down towards my bottom. 

Mommy notices my change in body language, and she could feel the slight tensing of my hips a moment ago. She’s experienced enough with looking after little boys to know what this means.

Even so, she leans forward and whispers a new question in my ear:

 “And what about today, honeybunch? Are you wet? Is Mommy going to have to wipe your bottom all clean and dry before she puts on your naptime diaper?” 

I hesitate for a moment, but then I nod, and tell her shyly that I did a little tinkle in my pants. The distinction between ‘big’ and ‘little’ has become so important to me these days.  

Mommy smiles indulgently, kissing my head, and telling me what a good boy I am for telling her that I need to be changed. 

Something about that phrasing doesn’t sit right, and I feel the need to pull my thumb from my mouth and clarify that “it’s just a little tinkle, and that’s not the same as wetting my pants! I don’t need to be changed!”

The petulance in my voice, particularly on that last part, surprises me. I sound just like a toddler trying to convince his mommy that he’s too busy to pause for a diaper change. 

Mommy chuckles at my immature reaction, and gives my bare thigh another little tickle. She reaches between my legs, feeling the front of my trainers, and pressing the wetness held inside into me. Then she sticks two fingers into one of the leg gathers at my crotch before declaring me “a little soggy, but OK for now.” 

But it’s definitely not OK. I still need to go, and all this talk about diapers and wet pants isn’t helping my situation at all. So I ask again (trying my best to keep the whine out of my voice this time) if she can PLEASE take me to the potty now? 

Once again, Mommy doesn’t budge or respond to my request directly. Instead, her arm stays wrapped firmly around my waist as she asks: “Are you telling me you’re bored with this book, sweetie? Because after your book it’s time for you to go ni-nights. Is that what you want? Do you want me to put you to bed now?”

I frown, but don’t respond. This isn’t the answer I was looking for. 

Seeing my less-than-enthusiastic reaction, mommy announces that she might have something that will help. She reaches across to the side table, and grabs the large sippy cup of warm milk she brought in with the book. She brings it to my lips, holding it there patiently in front of me without saying another word.

Before I started wearing diapers at naptime and nighttime, a drink this size right before bed would have been a big no-no. But now, mommy seems to take pride in making sure my diaper is drenched whenever I wake up, even from a relatively short sleep. 

Despite the discomfort in my bladder, I know what mommy wants me to do right now, and so I decide to take a reluctant sip just to appease her. 

“Good boy!” she says brightly, when she sees me swallow.

The cup doesn’t move an inch.

I know I’m not going to win this fight, so I decide just to get it over with as quickly as possible in the hopes that I can get to the toilet after. I start sucking rhythmically on the teat, enjoying the rich taste of the milk despite my apprehension. 

We sit here together in relative silence, broken only by Sandra’s soft breathing in my ear and the steady drone of bubbles flowing into the sippy cup. 

I’m not quite sure how much time passes this way, but I notice I’m starting to feel very relaxed and a little dopey. Warm milk often has that effect on me lately, almost like having a few shots of whiskey in quick succession, but with an even stronger dopamine rush. 

My hands fall listlessly at my sides. I’m now perfectly content to just let mommy hold my cup for me while I drink, even though I normally insist on doing it myself.

The need to go potty is still there of course, but it seems farther away and less important somehow. Definitely not as important as drinking my yummy milk. 

Mommy smiles as she watches my face slacken and my resistance beginning to fade.  My body grows heavy against her.

She starts to whisper in my ear again, only this time it’s softer and slower, like a mother soothing an overtired infant. I have to listen very carefully to hear her over the sounds of my drinking:

“Sweetheart, Mommy will help you finish going tinkles in just a second, but right now I need you to be a good boy and concentrate on making the rest of your milk all gone so that you get nice and sleepy for your nap.” 

She strokes my hair with her free hand as she whispers, and the combination of the soothing touches, her soft voice, and the warm milk still filling my belly makes it very hard to focus on big boy things like not tinkling in my pants. 

And so, when a new stream of warmth begins to spread in the front of my padded undies, I listlessly let it go for a few moments before choosing to re-clench my bladder.

It takes longer than usual to stop the flow this time, which must be because I’m feeling so cozy and sleepy and little. Maybe my bladder feels sleepy and little too?

Or maybe it’s because a growing part of me thinks letting go completely while snuggled into mommy’s lap might feel really nice.

After all, these new trainers are a LOT like diapers aren’t they? There won’t be any uncomfortable leaks. And sometimes it’s nice to feel and act like a baby, knowing that mommy is in charge, and that she knows what’s best for me, even if that means making a big tinkle or even a poopy in my special pants. 

It’s odd - but I realize that mommy has been whispering these exact same things in my ear while I’ve been thinking them. We always get so in tune during these special moments together!

I sigh contentedly, and in that moment I decide to relax completely, letting the warm flow go unchecked, and feeling the same rush of tickling wetness spreading down toward my bottom that I normally associate with an unrestrained wetting in my bedtime diaper.

I’m in heaven! It feels delicious and wonderful to be sucking warm milk into my belly and making warm tinkles in my pants at the same time!

Eventually the flow ebbs, and a little shiver goes up my spine as the last drops of urine reach their destination. I sigh again and smile drunkenly at mommy around the teat. 

Mommy smiles too. From the warmth in her lap and my contented expression, she knows exactly what has just happened. She’s also pleased that the new “trainers” contained such a large wetting without any leaks (at least not that she’s aware of). 

She pulls the cup gently from my mouth and sets it back down on the side table. But she doesn’t make a move to get up yet. She’s also enjoying this moment between us. She gives my squishy crotch a playful little squeeze and asks in the sweetest of voices: “who’s mommy’s wet little boy?”

I’m far too zoned out to answer, but that’s OK. Mommy’s content to continue stroking my hair and humming softly in my ear as I drift off to dreamland. 

 

[tam1623]

Lovely story ..... thanks

[fire07]

Super cute. I hope we get to see some more.

[Mike D]

Yes I have more ideas. And one short story that is almost ready for prime time. Most of these are scenarios that my partner and I have talked or acted out over the years. I prefer to create short stories, but there will be some continuity of characters and themes. 

[Mike D]

I made a few edits to this story to make it fit better with the other story I shared this week.

More fun exploits coming soon from Sandra and Mike’s ever evolving MD/lb relationship!