The baby business part 6

Copyright (c) 1995 by Babydoc.

When Doug went back inside and slowly climbed the stairs that led up to his bedroom and bathroom, he was still more than a little uneasy about putting himself in the Mrs. Warren’s hands so completely. On the other hand, he couldn’t figure out how she could take advantage of him. I mean, I have the contract, he thought. And the test is so straightforward. A better test would be to sit in the tub for SIX hours, he thought. Three hours is almost too easy. I guess she could try to cheat by just leaving me there or something, but in that case I simply wouldn’t agree to join the program. This sets me up for getting something if I win, with no chance to lose.

Three hours, he thought. I could do that with a QUART of Gatorade. And she admitted that anyone who was continent wouldn’t have a problem. Well, he figured, I’m as close to being perfectly continent as anyone. I haven’t had an accident since I was three or four. Never wet the bed. In fact, I’ve always wondered why I was turned on by diapers; I don’t even recall ever having been in them…oh, well, whatever. After today, in any case, I don’t know that I’ll ever go out and buy or wear them any more. Too risky.

Doug hid the contract away under his mattress, for lack of a better place. Then he went into his bathroom and sat down on the edge of the tub. His bladder and bowels were feeling great and totally empty. His only worry was whether Mrs. Warren would keep her promise and leave him alone after he passed this “test.” But so far she’d seemed rational; surely she’d admit she was wrong after he proved himself to her. Overall, he was starting to feel very confident: things had looked bleak several minutes before with all that spanking talk, but now it looked like this would just be a three-hour wrinkle in an apparently normal day.

After about two minutes, he heard some noise down in the kitchen, and another minute or two later Mrs. Warren joined him in the bathroom. She had her bag of restraints and a glass from his cupboard filled with what looked to him like Gatorade. She cheerfully instructed him to sit down in the tub, facing away from the drain. He found this slightly uncomfortable because he couldn’t lean back without pressing the hard faucet into his back. She told him not to worry, that she’d take care of that. In the meantime, she put a leather cuff on each wrist and then one on the shower head above him. These were all locked with small padlocks. She then attached a small, long chain to one cuff, ran it up through the cuff on the shower head, and attached it to the cuff on the other hand. This brought his hands up to about a foot above his head. He found he couldn’t bring his hands down even to rest on his head.

Mrs. Warren also took a short cord and ran it from a belt loop on the back of his jeans to the faucet behind him. He really couldn’t move his body or his arms at all. The arrangement was simple and effective. She must have done this often, he realized. She disappeared for a second, returning with a small pillow to tuck behind his back so he wouldn’t be so uncomfortable leaning back for three hours.

Finally she brought out a little clock, which she set on the toilet seat in plain view. “This is so you’ll be able to see how you’re doing. In a moment, I’ll have you drink the glass over there, and then you’ll have exactly three hours to sit here alone. At the end of three hours, I’ll come back and see if you’re wet or messy. If it’s not obvious, we’ll pull down your pants and check your underpants carefully. You are wearing white underpants, right? Good. ANY signs of wetness, or ANY brownish stains on your underpants, and you fail this test. Is that clear?”

He felt a little silly being told his underpants would be checked for brownish stains, but he had to admit it was a reasonable demand for a continence test. So far no surprises. It was beginning to seem like he could trust her.

“And if you fail, I don’t want to hear any excuses or arguments about wearing diapers, okay? By taking this test, you implicitly agree to participate willingly in you ICP afterward if we prove your incontinence. Right?”

Again he nodded. Whatever. As if it mattered what happened if he lost.

“And I agree that if your underpants come out clean and dry, that I’ll get back in my van, and I won’t bother you ever again. Agreed?”

He nodded happily. Three hours until freedom. He didn’t think he’d miss her. Spank him indeed! Diapers! Please.

She retrieved the full glass from the sink and asked if he was ready. When he nodded, she held the glass to his lips. He had to drink it down a little quicker than he would have liked, as she kept tipping it toward him a little too much for his comfort. But it wasn’t bad tasting: not quite like Gatorade, maybe thicker and saltier, or something. But it was probably one of those new “sportsdrinks” he hadn’t tried.

When he had finished the last drops, he looked up to see Mrs. Warren smiling an odd little smile, as if there was a joke he wasn’t getting. The joke’s on you, he thought. I’m not really incontinent. She wiped his lips in a maternal way, and said, “Okay, now, three hours exactly. I’ve got some deliveries to make in the meantime, but I’ll be here promptly to check on you.”

She turned to go, then turned back suddenly. “I almost forgot,” she said, fishing out a small black object that looked like a little radio. “I don’t think it’s safe to have you here tied up alone, so this is a little microphone transmitter that I receive in my van. I’ll just set it here, on the toilet seat, and if there’s an emergency, just a yell will bring me back here in a hurry. Okay?”

He nodded, impressed. She was prepared. Good thing he wouldn’t need to fight her in the future, for she’d be a difficult adversary. Luckily, all he had to do was play along briefly here, and he’d get this woman out of his life. She said goodbye, smiled that odd smile again, and left the bathroom. He heard her slam the door downstairs, start the van, and then heard it’s engine fade away.

As Mrs. Warren drove away, she thought about the boy she’d just left in his bathtub, and almost felt a little sorry for him. He looked so earnest about the whole situation, so confident about staying dry, so hopeful about not wearing diapers. If only he knew the reality.

She’d seen it before, of course, dozens of times by now, with dozens of boys. Most were, like this guy, essentially continent, she knew. Or at least they were when she first met them. And most had accidently stumbled into her little web, from which they could not extract themselves. All had similar stories, interestingly, of liking to PRETEND to need diapers, or having sick relatives, or some similar garbage. Mrs. Sheffield, the dear lady, caught one every few weeks. And though the woman might be nice, with the best of intentions, she was too dense to realize that these boys were not ACTUALLY incontinent and did not really need her help. But she thought they did, so she referred them to her, Linda Warren, former nurse and current queen of the diaper boys.

The ironic thing was that as kind and dense as Mrs. Sheffield was, Mrs. Warren was just the opposite: insightful but self-serving. She knew damn well these boys didn’t “need” her, but she needed them, so they were in her program. She needed them mostly for financial reasons, as this partnership with Mrs. Sheffield was her only income. The more boys she had, the more she was paid. And the longer they stayed in her program, the less work they demanded, so the more boys she could keep, so the more money she made…

And she was good, both at enlisting her boys and at keeping them. Now, after about three years, she had all the bugs worked out, so that once a boy was referred to her, he was pretty much hers for as long as she wanted. She could handle almost every curve thrown to her, and by now, had seen almost every variation. Her income was good, and since the boys never left the program, her job security was excellent as well. She now concentrated on the art of her craft, and now enjoyed simply seeing how the game would be played. This boy, for example, was being resistant, and understandably so, she thought. He was probably no more incontinent than she was. But she had all the cards (or would have them soon) and his decision to try to prove his continence doomed him to what she knew would be a miserable day.

For no one, she knew, had ever had a full glass of her “diaper juice” and had lasted more than two hours. Most lasted less than one. Even when she tested it on herself, she had been on a toilet within ninety minutes, and had stayed there for nearly three hours. It had taken her several weeks to find the appropriate doses of diuretic and laxative that would work quickly yet be able to be passed off as a normal drink. Using and mixing a therapeutic dose of furosemide wasn’t a problem, but it had taken some experimentation before she found a suitable solvent for the double-strength mag citrate she used. It made her shudder to think about that: it was the fastest and most powerful laxative known, and even a quarter of what she used would probably be enough. But she didn’t take chances. She wanted each and every boy that came her way; so far, she had a perfect record.

And this boy had no idea what he was in for. He believed it was Gatorade, and was soon going to get an unpleasant surprise. Then the rest of the game would fall into place.

Sometime later she heard the first curses come in over the receiver, and since she didn’t really have any errands to run, she pulled the van over to do some paperwork and to listen, for this first “accident” for her little boys was always sort of poignant for her. She leaned back and enjoyed the growing sounds of Doug’s distress.

Copyright (c) 1995 by Babydoc.

You can find more story’s like this one posted on My ABDL Life. The only thing you need to do is to check out this page to find them.

Look what we have here – bluecrinklepaws

Looks like someones pee pee dont wont to spend any more time inside this boys diaper any more.

A Day in the Life of the Smith Brothers 22

A Day in the Life of the Smith Brothers 22‘Bath Time!’

Well if you have to take a bath, you might as well splash around and have a good time. Mike doesn’t look like he’s having a good time. Probably because this is the second time he’s been soaked today.

Characters and text by tugscarebear

Draw by tato


Looks like the kids have a fun time in the bathtub. Mike that try to clean them dont seems to have match of a fun time as they having. Splashing water sure is a fun thing to do.

A Swell Diaper Video – isidetape

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Video uploaded and created by isidetape

Looks like this little diaper boy like to taking a bath whit his ABU Super Dry Kids diaper :)

Bath time!!

Bath time!!X’3 nothing like feeling all little and being told you are too little to do things yourself like taking a bath and getting dried off e.c.t <3

Daddy Devante_Torlias

Draw and text by Charry


Yes giving a bath by someone that’s love and cares for you most be wonderful. Bath to see that you dont have any toys to play whit in the bathtub.

We Potty Chapter 9

Story is written by Stacylove92

There was no way I could get another diaper and onesie on in the few seconds I had until somebody would be up in my room. I ran over to my wooden dresser and smashed the watch against it. I hurt my wrist and winced. The alarm was unscathed.

I heard Mom yelling over the alarm as she opened my bedroom door. “Come on Chris let’s go potty!” I was a deer in headlights as Mom laid eyes on my naked body. I’d never seen Mom so angry looking in her life. “JACK! JACK! Get up here!”

I knew I had really fucked up. Leaving the house for good actually looked like my best option. I was ready to run out of the house naked, with blaring alarm and all if I had to. Anything was better than facing my impending doom. I grabbed my backpack with my change of clothes and darted past Mom. I rounded the corner of the hallway to the stairs when I saw Dad at the bottom. He started charging upstairs like a bellowing bull, yelling at me to “Get over here!”

‘Shit! I should’ve just went for the window.’ I did a 180 and ran like absolute hell. I would not be caught this time. I made it into my room and was halfway to the window when I tripped and went clattering to the ground. In an instant the pounding of Dad’s footsteps was on me. He pinned me down and I knew I was done for.

I started kicking and screaming. “Let me go! Please just let me go! I’m leaving and never coming back!”

“Hold him there Jack. I’m going to get the wooden spoon.”

I started blubbering, “Please no! Not the wooden spoon!” The only time Mom had ever used the wooden spoon on me I was like five. I had called one of Mom’s friends dumb and ugly, right to the lady’s face. From that day forward, I never called anyone dumb or ugly again. I also didn’t sit right for about a week. After that the wooden spoon was always a threat, but something they never actually followed through on, like most of their other punishments.

I was absolutely terror stricken at the thought of enduring the wooden spoon again. I still remembered the pain vividly. The more I fought against Dad the tighter his control over my body became. He yelled at me to knock it off. The alarm seemed like it was shrilling even louder. It felt as if any second the whole world would explode around me and disintegrate among the chaos.

Mom burst back into my room and ripped the comforter off of my mattress. She grabbed my stained pad from underneath, sat down and placed it on her lap. As Dad hoisted me into the air I saw Victoria standing in the doorway watching. Dad dropped me over Mom’s knee and kept his hand on my back pushing me down. I screamed out, “Why are you doing this to me?! I’ll just leave and never come back! Pleaseeee!” I jumped up as the first blistering whack landed on my backside.

Mom said, “Oh yeah? Where are you going to live? You don’t have a job! You don’t have any money! What are you going to live on the streets?!”

“I’ll go live with Marie! At least they’ll treat me like an adult!” I was writhing as another whack stung my backside.
“Oh yeah? What the hell makes you think they’ll put up with your wetting over there? Don’t think Mrs. Morris hasn’t complained to me about cleaning up after you.” Mom let another crack land on my rear end.

I was hysterical and fighting to get free. “I hate you guys! Just let me go! You can’t do this to me. I’m not a baby!”

“Well you sure act like one.” The wooden spoon struck me again. “You haven’t done anything to grow up. I’ve tried setting you up with a job, I’ve tried getting you into driving classes, and you talk about college, but you still haven’t even applied yet! You’ve made it perfectly clear you’re not ready to grow up. You’re not ready to go out into the real world Christopher.”

Mom went into a tizzy. She unleashed a fury of unrelenting cracks on my rear end. I tried putting my hands in the way, but the wooden spoon landing on them only stung more. “And how dare you destroy something that we’ve paid for. You’ve already destroyed enough furniture around this house. I can’t believe you cut your onesie and panties up. I have so had it with you!” The whacks burying into me became more and more painful, they were burning white hot. I expected the spoon to splinter into a million pieces. I was completely blubbering when I felt the pad under me get warm and wet. I hadn’t even realized I was peeing. I tried getting up from my puddle, but was kept pinned down as the spoon kept coming.

Eventually Mom finished and she turned the alarm off form her phone. She then told Dad to pick me up. Dad picked me up and held onto me as Mom grabbed the damp pad from her lap. I was still sniffling and rubbing my blistered rear end when she held the pad with the wet spot right in front of my face. She said disgustedly, “But oh no, you don’t need to be potty trained right? Some grown up you are.” Her words stung me almost as much as my ass. I wanted to die knowing Victoria was watching everything. “Chris this is all for your own good. You aren’t ready to move out and it would be irresponsible of us as parents to set you up for that failure. You’ll thank us someday.” Mom told Dad to keep holding me as she got my diapers ready again and she told Victoria, “Shows over.”

I was absolutely devastated by what just happened. My ass only stung even more as Mom had me sit down on my diaper. I knew from experience the feeling would be staying with me for some time. Mom put the replacement sensor on me and then pinned me back into my double diapers.

After that spanking I only wanted to run away even more. I knew the only place I would have to stay was Marie’s. I knew that despite what Mom said, Mrs. Morris would be more than happy to have me. But with this humongous diaper on my waist, running away to Marie’s was my last choice. I would not sabotage my chances with her.

I knew my parents could not force me to stay if I was eighteen. It was illegal. I half thought about calling 911 if I couldn’t figure a way out of this.

Dad let go of his grip on me and Mom had me stand up and get my onesie on. She grabbed my clothes off the floor. “I don’t know how we missed these.” She turned to my Dad. “So what do we do with him now? What’s to stop him from trying the same thing again?”

Dad suggested they call Emily.

Mom shot down the idea, “No it’s almost eight o’clock. She has to be here at seven in the morning. I wouldn’t feel right.”

Then I heard that obnoxious brat from the hallway, “Lock him in the bathroom!”

“Shut the fuck up Victoria!” She was always trying to make things worse for me.

Mom swatted my rear end, which actually hurt, despite all of the padding. “Knock it off with the language. And you know what? That is not a bad idea. Thank you Victoria. Jack get downstairs and take anything sharp at all out of the bathroom.”

I pleaded with Mom to just leave me alone.

“Chris, you have nobody to blame but yourself for all of this. Now grab your pillow and let’s get you downstairs for bed.”

“No. It’s only eight. I’m not going to bed right now.”

She grabbed my pillow and then grabbed my hand and started pulling. “Oh yes you are mister. You were the one who wanted to go to bed so early tonight. Well now you got what you wanted. Are you really going to put up another fight? I don’t think you want more of the wooden spoon.” Normally this would not have stopped me, but now the threat did not seem so empty.

We got into the bathroom and Mom told me I was to stay in the tub with the shower curtains closed all night, in case someone needed to use the bathroom.

I got in the tub and I could feel my onesie get wet with residual moisture. It was so cramped and tight. I put my pillow behind my head and the shower curtains closed on one side of me. Mom shut the light off and closed the door behind her.

I sat there in claustrophobic darkness with my ass still stinging. I thought about Marie and realized she would have no clue what was going on. I didn’t bring my phone down with me. I went over to the bathroom door and called to Mom asking for my phone. I tried yelling through the door for a while and still got no response. I fiddled with the door knob, but it was locked. I felt so isolated and trapped. I wasn’t sure if they had gone out without me, if something happened, or if I was just being ignored.

I gave up and sat back in the tub and closed the shower curtain around me. I was not at all tired yet. I truly felt like I was languishing in purgatory. I wondered what was happening on “Werezoms” and how frantically Marie would be trying to call me. I was afraid she would show up at the house. I thought how if only I had Marie come over, instead of trying my stunt, I could be hanging out with her watching “Werezoms”, rather than sitting in the dark, in a tub.

I started thinking about what would actually happen if Marie saw me in my diapers. ‘Maybe I’m being unrealistic about this whole thing. Marie’s never batted an eyelash even when I’ve had accidents right in front of her. She’s even helped me clean up. Maybe she wouldn’t even make a big deal out of it. I guess I really am making things harder on myself.’

I swayed away from those feelings. I was only feeling regretful because I was stuck sitting in a tub instead of being with Marie. But it was not my fault I was here, it was completely my parents.

I woke up from a quasi–sleep to the alarm echoing throughout the bathroom. I had wet my diaper. I waited for someone to come down and shut off the alarm. When nobody came I got nervous. ‘Did something happen to everyone?’ I was about ready to try smashing that alarm again when the door creaked opened and the light popped on. My alarm shut off. “Good morning sweetheart.”

It was Mom. I was actually very relieved to see her. She opened the shower curtains and had me try to pee in the toilet. She commented, “I’m surprised you stayed dry so long.”

I ignored her comment and asked what time it was. It was almost six. I had almost stayed dry all night.

Mom pinned my wet diaper back into place, put the plastic pants back on, and took my onesie off. She said, “Okay sweetness, I have to get in the shower now anyway, so go wait for your father in the kitchen. He’ll be down any second.”

I walked into the kitchen and softly sat down at the table. Dad was already in there getting a pot of coffee going. He said good morning to me and I grumbled it back to him. Everything was mostly silent except for the coffee pot gurgling. Dad grabbed a coffee mug from one of the drawers, went to the fridge and got some milk and poured his coffee. He sat at the table and took a big sip. After he swallowed he looked over at me. He said, “You’d better start behaving yourself. I am not happy about last night. And you know, the more you fight with your mother, the more she is going to fight back.” He paused, “Don’t tell her I said this, but I agree some parts of this program are unfair and maybe we can work on that. But you pulling stunts like you did last night is not going to get you anywhere.”

I whined, “But why do I even have to do this program?”

“Chris, your mother has had it with dealing with your accidents. And I’m sorry, but I really can’t say I completely disagree. Listen to me, if you start behaving yourself, I’ll try to talk to your mother about maybe eliminating certain parts. But we’re not backing down about you finishing this program.” He paused and looked away from me, speaking quieter this time, “Besides, don’t you ever want to stop wetting? You’re eighteen now.”

I hung my head. I couldn’t help but feel as if I was a failure to Dad. What father wants to admit their adult son still has a wetting problem?

When it was just me and Dad alone, he was actually very level headed. I found it impossible to argue with him when he was like this. Except now it came more from a place of respect than fear. I wished he could be like this all of the time instead of having to appear the dominant alpha male in front of everyone else. I also wished Mom didn’t have him on a leash with a choker collar as her attack dog.

I told Dad I would start behaving and asked if I could go upstairs. I wanted to get to my phone to text Marie. He told me to wait with him and we sat in silence as Dad read the paper and Mom was getting ready for work.

The second the clock hit seven came a knock at the door. I knew it was that dreaded woman here to babysit me. Well not babysit really, that’s a poor choice of words. More like she was here to adultsit me.

Dad opened up the door for Emily and said hi to her. She rang out “Good morning!” so pleasant and cheerful as if she was the sun herself, rising above the horizon. Mom came clacking down the stairs in her heels and tried to match Emily in her enthusiasm when she said good morning back.

Emily waved to me and I blushed. “Hi there Chris. Were you a good boy for me this weekend like I asked?”

I remained silent and Mom spoke up, “Not at all. We had a bit of an incident last night.” Emily gave me a reproachful look as Mom continued, “Chris here, decided to take a scissor to his onesie, panties and sensor last night. We caught him naked before he was about to change into a pair of clothes and sneak out.”

Emily looked over at me and made a “tsk, tsk, tsk” noise as she shook her head. She asked why she hadn’t been called and Mom said it had been too late at night.

Emily waved her hand with a flick of her wrist. “Don’t be silly! I am here for you anytime that you could possibly need. If ever in doubt, I would rather you call me. Honestly. May I ask how you did handle the situation then?”
Mom explained how I was given the wooden spoon and locked in the bathroom for the night.

Emily gave a small golf clap and nodded her head to my Mom. “Well good, I am glad to see you are getting more comfortable with discipline. It is never too late. But now, about the clothes. I thought we discussed it was best that clothes not be made accessible to Chris.”

Mom replied, “Yes we did. Somehow a pair of clothes slipped past our radar, they were left in his old backpack.”

Emily placed her palm on the side of her temple and shook her head. She sounded disappointed in herself. “That’s my fault. It is not at all uncommon for children in our program to keep a change of clothes in a bag. I am terribly sorry. I really should have reminded you to check for that.”

Mom assured her it was fine and that it wasn’t her fault, only I was to blame.

Emily continued, “No I don’t think that’s completely accurate. You cannot completely blame the child if they do not know any better. And from what you tell me, Chris has not received a lot of discipline in his life. Sometimes children do not realize the full consequences of misbehaving until it has been firmly taught to them. And in We Potty, we provide those lessons, because mature and appropriate behavior is another cornerstone of successful potty training.”

I was sick of hearing about the “cornerstones” of potty training. I found everything about her so fake and calculated. I wondered why a lady like her ended up here instead of being a politician. I wanted to make some sarcastic comment about how many cornerstones could a building possibly have, but I kept my mouth shut.

“Well I’ll tell you what. This isn’t the first time we have dealt with this exact behavior. Even a five year old has the sense to use a scissor to cut something off. I have exactly the things we’ll need to deal with this out in the van. I will be right back.”

I wondered what types of “things” she would be coming back with. I had a feeling I didn’t want to know what they were, but knew I would be soon finding out either way.

Story is written by Stacylove92