The baby business Part 23

Part number 22 is missing.

Copyright (c) 1995 by Babydoc.

Doug saw a smile spread across Emily’s face as she walked over to meet him at the customer service desk. He wondered what she had in mind for today. It didn’t matter. He’d long since decided that he wouldn’t protest a thing she did today. He’d tried being good, and the outcome had been disappointing enough as to dissuade him from attempting that again. He hadn’t even *wanted* to be good in the first place, for goodness sake. So today, he’d go with the flow, and just enjoy it. The result had to be better than last week.

“Hi, Doug!” she said. “I hope you’re in a more…cooperative mood today.” She wore the confident expression of a young woman who knew that she could get whatever she wanted. She was about to say something else, but Mrs. Johnson caught sight of Doug and interrupted.

“Well, hello, little Doug. Are you going to be a good boy today?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Doug said sincerely.

“Good. Did you remember a changing pad this week, just in case?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Doug answered, holding forward his lovely pink diaper bag, out of which peeked a vinyl changing pad. He’d given up and just decided to bring the whole bag. It wasn’t any more embarrassing than carrying around a clean diaper.

“Excellent. That should be more comfortable for you than the cold cement. And what a pretty bag for a little boy,” she cooed, and Doug felt himself turning red. “Alright, you two can get to shopping. Just check in before you leave. Emily, let me know if you need the stockroom key again.”

“Okay, Mom,” Emily said. She and Doug, as usual, headed toward the produce section. “Mom told me about your special groceries last week,” she said with a smirk. “Were they good?”

Doug shook his head. “No,” he said with a definite air of resentment. It was mostly her fault.

“No, what?” Emily prompted with a smile. She loved this.

Doug stared at her for a second, confused. Then he understood. “No, ma’am,” he mumbled gruffly. She didn’t deserve the full treatment.

Emily, however, believed that she did. She grabbed his arm. “Hey. You be respectful to me, young man. I’m just dying to get more practice in that back room. Now answer my question again.”

Doug turned toward his pretty, young, and tormenting babysitter. He was embarrassed to have to obey her every whim, but he was trapped and he knew it. “No, ma’am, I didn’t enjoy my food this week.” He paused, then decided to confront her. “Why’d you do that to me, anyway?”

She snorted. “You shouldn’t question me. I’m the babysitter, and that’s my job. Sometimes babies need spankings.”

“I’m not a baby,” he objected, though he could have guessed her response even before she said it.

“Oh, no,” she replied sarcastically. “You just wet your pants, wear diapers, eat baby food, and have a babysitter. But you’re not a baby. What would *you* call yourself?”

Doug shook his head, and turned to continue shopping. He couldn’t explain his situation rationally. He didn’t know what he’d call it, anyway, other than absurd.

“That’s what I thought,” she said. A silent moment was followed by a chuckle. “Did you like the asparagus?”

Doug scowled at her. “No, ma’am.”

“Then maybe you’ll be a good boy and do what I tell you today.” Her expression lightened. “And, hey, don’t worry. It’ll be fun!”

That was likely to be true, Doug admitted to himself. He started to get nervous as they approached the back hallway.

“Well,” she said. “Let’s go check you out!” She reached out a hand for Doug, who rather reluctantly took it and followed. He tried to take deep breaths and relax, but he was already extremely anxious, and could feel a raging erection form within his diaper. They went to the hallway, where Doug obediently pulled down his pants, as he had in previous weeks. Emily knelt before him to begin her “examination.” She closed her eyes and started stroking the front of his diaper, this time dispensing with the charade of “checking” the back of his diaper. He could barely feel her touch through the thick disposable material, but what he could feel excited him even more. It built and built as she continued stroking him through the plastic and padding. He was breathing heavily and was almost near climax by the time Emily said,

“Oh, I definitely need to look inside today. Any objections?” She looked up at him with a coy, questioning glance.

“No, ma’am,” Doug said quietly. He stared ahead, back toward where the hallway led to the rest of the store. Because they were beyond a turn in the hall, he couldn’t see the store from where they were, but he wondered what would happen if somebody walked in on them. Employees had to come back here, Doug thought. But Emily did not seem to be concerned, and perhaps she knew the store better than he. Doug, at any rate, could hardly do anything about it. He, too, closed his eyes so he wouldn’t think about it.

Emily carefully pulled one tape loose, then the other, then slowly lowered the front of Doug’s diaper to reveal his hairless groin and genitalia. His erection, freed from its confines, sprung up energetically and surprised Emily.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, then started laughing. “Oh, so that’s how you feel! I can’t believe you put up such a fuss last week.” She giggled. “But it actually doesn’t matter, you know. I’m the babysitter, and we’ll do whatever I want to do.” Doug opened his eyes briefly and nearly fainted when he saw Emily actually lick her lips. “And what I want to do…is see what happens when I do this…”

With that she reached out with one hand and stroked Doug’s penis. He closed his eyes again. It felt so good to be touched. He moaned quietly; it had been so long. Emily giggled softly as she heard it. “See? I told you it’d be fun. You just have to be a good little baby and do whatever I say…”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” a stern voice boomed from behind Emily. Doug snapped open his eyes to see an angry Mrs. Johnson towering over the kneeling Emily, who shrieked and lost her balance, falling backward onto the floor at her mother’s feet.

“I…I…I…was just…um…well, I…” Emily stuttered.

Doug awkwardly covered himself with his diaper, retaping it as best he could over a rapidly disappearing erection. Oh, boy, he thought. This was going to be bad. What would happen to him now? How could he ever explain this? He took a deep breath. Two Sundays in a row…

“I can *see* what you were just doing, young lady. And last time I checked that was not on the list of babysitting duties!” Doug let out his breath slowly. Wait a minute, he thought. She seems to be pissed off at Emily. That was strange.

Emily, too, realized where the anger seemed to be directed, and her eyes widened in fear. “It wasn’t me, Mom, I swear. He wanted to do it. He made me! He’s a horrible little baby!” she said. Doug’s heart sank at this: of course he would get blamed. It didn’t matter who was at fault, because he would never be believed? He had absolutely no credibility.

“Really, Emily. Doug, whom you were babysitting, made you, his babysitter, do that? Emily, don’t embarrass yourself. I heard the whole thing. I know *exactly* what you were doing.”

As that information sank in, Doug saw Emily’s face drain of all color. Fear grew in her eyes. It began to dawn on Doug that Emily’s ploy to blame him had not worked, and that she was still on the hot seat. Could he be spared today? He wanted to clarify this, to ask whether he was in trouble, too, but one look at Mrs. Johnson’s fearsome expression convinced him to lie low. She was fuming, her eyes ablaze.

“Let me tell you something, young lady. Being in charge of a baby, even *this* kind of baby, is a huge responsibility. Because in this relationship his judgment counts for nothing, and yours counts for everything. You have think for both of you, and he is forced to trust that you’ll do what’s right. Sometimes that might mean a spanking for him. But it *never* means sex with him, do you understand? Never. Emily Johnson, breaking a child’s trust is the worst thing you could ever possibly do. And by taking advantage of his helplessness, that’s exactly what you have done.”

Mrs. Johnson was pacing now, obviously working herself up into a frightful rage. Emily was watching, and was clearly scared to death. “I’m sorry, Mommy,” she said in a small voice that struck Doug as being very different from her normal tone. Now she sounded like a child.

“Well, that’s great, Emily. That helps him a lot now,” Mrs. Johnson said sarcastically. “I was trying to use Doug last week in a way that would benefit Doug and be fun for us as well. But that form of teaching doesn’t seem to sink in very well for you, does it? I guess you’re not mature enough to appreciate it, are you?” She stopped pacing and stared at Emily.

“No, ma’am,” Emily said quietly. She’d already guessed how this would end, having experienced this type of situation many times throughout her childhood. Doug, however, had no idea where this was headed. He did recognize Emily’s attempt to express regret and obedience in the face of a mother’s wrath, since he tried that same tact with Mrs. Warren. He watched the proceedings nervously, still unsure of his own fate.

“I guess we’ll have to go back to our old way of teaching you, won’t we? It sure worked for all those years. I don’t know why I ever abandoned it. I don’t care if your dates *knew* that’s why you had to be home on time; it was still damned effective. It’s the only thing that ever worked for you, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Emily hung her head. Doug’s curiosity grew. Could they be talking about what he thought they were talking about?

He’d wondered about this mother-daughter relationship before. Some of their comments seemed to have suggested Emily having been spanked in the past, but he’d assumed it had been ancient history, the normal and uncommon early childhood punishment. This exchange implied more, much more, as if spanking were a regular part of Emily’s teenage years as well. No wonder Emily was so interested in it today.

But he’d have time to think about that later. Right now, Mrs. Johnson was pulling out her keys. She found the one she was looking for, and crisply opened the stockroom door behind them. With a backward glance, she said, “Come on, you two.”

Doug’s heart pounded. Both of them? Was he, despite his clear innocence, going to receive a spanking today as well? He watched Emily get up and trudge into the darkness of the room beyond. Doug followed her, shuffling towards the door, his pants still down around his ankles. He dared not pull them up until he was told.

But Mrs. Johnson stopped him before he went in. “You can pull up your pants, Doug. You’re just a victim today, not a criminal, so you won’t be punished. But I would like you to see that even big kids get spanked if they need it, so I want you to watch.”

Something small changed inside Doug at that moment. Up until now, everything he had experienced had been directed, somewhat maliciously, at him. If there was a dispute, he was wrong. If anyone was angry, it was at him. It had seemed that the whole world existed simply to humiliate and punish him. He had been alone. And up until three minutes ago, today seemed to continue in that mold, placing him in a no-win situation where anything he did was punishable.

But now he felt a little like he thought Moses must have as that ocean split in half to let him through. He was saved. Through an act of an all- powerful deity (in this case, Mrs. Johnson) his fate had been reversed today, and he didn’t know how to feel. Two feelings, though, prevailed over others. One was that he was neither the least fortunate human on the planet anymore nor alone in his misery. Here, right before his eyes, was another near-adult being treated like a child. His spirits were boosted by the company, and this heartening realization added to his elation at having avoided a spanking, so that he found himself nearly gleeful as he pulled up and rebuckled his pants over his diaper.

But simultaneously, his heart went out to Emily, for he knew the fear and unhappiness that she was feeling at this moment. As much as he resented her abuse of him, he wouldn’t wish his experiences on anyone. He would even have tried to help her, but he knew that he was powerless to do so. Pleading for mercy for Emily would probably lead to a spanking for him as well, and that wouldn’t make anybody’s day better.

Mrs. Johnson waited patiently for him to finish getting dressed, watching as he carefully adjusted his diaper so that it would be visible to other shoppers when they returned to the store. She followed him into the stockroom, flipping on the lights and letting the door close behind her.

She strode purposefully to the chair by the wall, the same chair that Emily had sat in one week ago, and pulled it out from the wall before stiffly seating herself in it. Emily lingered several feet away, eyes downcast, sniffling quietly. Doug stared at her, noticing that she, like him, wore jeans, and wondering if, like him, she would have to pull them down. Against his will, an erection began forming at this thought.

“Let’s go, young lady. You should know the drill,” Mrs. Johnson said sharply to her daughter. “Get those jeans down.”

Doug stood transfixed at the image of his tormentor unbuttoning and lowering her pants to her ankles. She turned away from him, and an occasional shy glance toward Doug indicated her embarrassment about this situation. Doug saw her adjust her pink flowered underpants self- consciously.

Mrs. Johnson saw this, too. “Being embarrassed should be the least of your worries, little girl. He’s just a baby, remember? He doesn’t care how you look. And anyway, as interested as you were in seeing him, don’t you think he’s earned reciprocity? Pull those underpants down immediately.”

“But Mom…” Emily whined.

“But, nothing!” Mrs. Johnson exclaimed, rising in a surprisingly fluid motion, reaching over and grabbing Emily’s elbow, swinging her around and swatting her forcefully on her bottom through her panties. “Don’t try any backtalk today, little girl. I’m not in the mood.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Emily said, her voice trembling from embarrassment, pain, and probably some angry frustration. She was too old to be treated like this. After another shy glance toward Doug she slipped her fingers inside her waistband and eased her panties down her legs. Doug again stared, and he couldn’t help but admire her athletic buttocks and legs. It was a great view of what was soon to be a very red and sore rear end. Emily stood awkwardly, no doubt feeling Doug’s eyes sweeping her body.

“Come on over,” Mrs. Johnson told her, and Emily, after only a brief pause, slowly shuffled to just outside of an arm’s length of her mother, naturally wary of coming any closer. But Mrs. Johnson’s eyes narrowed at her, and Emily forced her legs to edge forward just a bit…

An arm shot up, grabbing one of Emily’s wrists and pulling her forcefully over Mrs. Johnson’s lap. Emily screamed and flailed but could do nothing to prevent herself from landing smack dab across her mothers thighs, right where Mrs. Johnson wanted her. (“Told you it worked,” Mrs. Johnson commented wryly.)

And true to form, Mrs. Johnson next sharply demanded, “Do you know why you need this spanking, little girl?” Her right hand was poised above Emily’s vulnerable and tender bottom.

“Yes, ma’am,” Emily called out in a trembling voice.

“Go ahead.”

“…Because I was bad. I was playing with the baby’s little thing, and that’s wrong.”

“You’d better believe it. And this ought to show you just how wrong it was.” And Mrs. Johnson let her hand drop, releasing a mighty blow to Emily’s bottom. Doug flinched out of habit, and Emily cried out. Doug could see the fear on her face as she awaited the next spank. It came several second later, and the others were also well spaced out, in order to let the sting of each sink in before the next, Doug assumed. He watched grimly as the tempo of the paddling increased. Unconsciously his hands found his own (well-padded) bottom and rubbed it repeatedly. Relief thaqt it wasn’t him again flooded through him, as well as some inexplicable guilt (it certainly wasn’t his fault) and more understandable pity. This wasn’t as difficult as having a spanking himself, but watching wasn’t turning out to be any fun either.

As he watched, he could tell as Emily entered all the stages he had experienced the week before: first simple crying, then screaming, then wailing, and finally a hopeless, defeated whimper of exhaustion that convinced Mrs. Johnson to ease and finally to stop the furious onslaught. Emily, like Doug before her, was dumped on the floor and spent a moment crying before she became alert enough to pull up her panties and jeans. (Unlike Doug, Emily had not had an accident during her spanking, despite what had to have been an equally traumatic experience. Doug wouldn’t think about this until several months later.) Mrs. Johnson stood and brushed herself off, replaced her chair by the wall, and approached Doug.

He was understandably somewhat scared of her right now, despite her earlier reassurances, and couldn’t help backing away from her, but Mrs. Johnson knelt down and beckoned him forward, as with a shy child. Doug was surprised to see her face filled with tenderness.

“By the way, did something like what happened today out in the hall also happen last week?” she asked him gently.

Doug stared at the floor and nodded silently.

“And that’s what you were trying to tell me last week?”

He stared at Emily, standing now and rubbing the seat of her pants and still sniffling. “Yes, ma’am,” he said quietly.

“Well, I’m sorry I didn’t listen,” Mrs. Johnson replied sincerely. “I don’t think it will happen again.”

Doug nodded silently at this promise, inferring from the way it was said that Emily would no longer be his babysitter. This was comforting in a way, but strangely, Doug wasn’t entirely pleased by this.

And indeed, the homely girl was called to finish escorting him around the store. As Doug retrieved his cart, he caught sight of Mrs. Johnson leading Emily out of the store, and he correctly concluded that that was the last he’d see of Emily, at least in the foreseeable future. The grocery store would become a less threatening, but also, he had to admit, a less exciting place to shop from now on.

That night Doug had trouble sleeping. The day’s events seemed to replay themselves continuously in his head. The whole experience had left him feeling disturbed and unhappy, but it took him a lot of thinking to figure out why. He knew it had to do with the whole Johnson attitude about spankings and the way Mrs. Johnson treated her daughter. Considering how many times Emily must have been beaten by her mother as she grew up, Doug suspected that he couldn’t really comprehend the many ways she’d been affected by such continuous violence. Perhaps it was only natural that Emily should at times obsess about spankings. He decided he wouldn’t try to judge her, as he’d been tempted to do before. But there were still so many unanswered questions.

For instance, why was she turned on by it? How had she sexualized her painful experiences. At times, such as last week, she seemed downright sadistic. Is that what excessive spanking does to a kid? Doug wondered. He could easily imagine Mrs. Johnson as being abusive, despite her facade of “caring” a child’s well-being. Was this an example of passing down abusive behavior from one generation to the next? How would Emily treat her children?

And how would she have treated him? What had she been looking for with him? A playmate for S and M games? A baby to abuse? Someone with whom to share the pain of her upbringing? They had already shared many strange experiences; what might they have shared if things had happened differently? It was sad, really: it had only been today that Doug had realized what similar situations they were in, and suddenly, before he could explore the possiblities or answer any of the questions, Emily was snatched away. He didn’t know where she lived or went to school, how old she was, or how she felt about any of this, including him. She didn’t know anything about him, either. Their only link was through Mrs. Johnson, who obviously wasn’t going to help get them together.

So Doug doubted that he’d ever find answers to his questions, or even see Emily again. What a rare opportunity she had been. How sad to have lost her.

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.

Just couldn’t wait

Just couldn't wait

Sometimes Island likes to be diapered and Milano prefer to change Island himself to avoid possible leaks. Island was a little too impatient this time but dad just happened to be around.

Character and text belongs to island

Draw by RainyKirin

Source: https://inkbunny.net/s/1671138

Looks like Milano prefer to have Island in some thick diapers :) It sure seems to fit him pretty good and this diaper sure can keep handle a couple of big accidents to :)

So its nothing to worry about diaper leaks here :)

The baby business Part 17

Copyright (c) 1995 by Babydoc.

Doug packed his diaper bag Sunday night without objection. His bottom and ego still hurt from the day’s events, and he was in no mood to put up a fuss. Still, he was more than a little uneasy about the following day, when he would head to work while wearing his diaper and carrying his pink diaper bag. He was worried about people at the lab finding out, since the job and the graduate program to which he expected it to lead seemed to be all he was living for now that the rest of his normal life had been taken away. So while he obediently placed three fresh diapers, powder, baby wipes, and lotion into his bag, his mind was racing for ways to make himself less conspicuous.

Some ideas were obvious. He’d decided that, starting tomorrow, he’d go in earlier and leave later. That way he could get to and from his lab unseen and wouldn’t have to answer questions about his bulging, waddling, rustling, or his babyish bag. Appearing to work harder wouldn’t hurt his admission prospects, either. In some ways he was very lucky to have the job he had: working alone, being able to wear what he wanted and essentially to decide what hours he’d work. These features were excellent, since he now wanted to avoid other people as much as possible and needed to wear something practical. He had bulky pants and a long sweatshirt that might work. Good thing winter’s coming, he thought. It would be way harder to wear the kind of bulky clothing that was necessary if it were hot.

It was the prospect of diaper changes that really made him anxious. His floor in the lab building had one unisex bathroom in one of the more public areas. It wasn’t uncommon to see lots of people on his way there or back, or for there to be a line. He couldn’t carry the diaper bag, or, even worse, a diaper and some wipes, into the bathroom! It hadn’t been until after Mrs. Warren left Sunday night that Doug struck on the idea of plastic grocery bags in which to carry clean diaper down and dirty diapers back. If it was around lunchtime when he went, he could even say he was just stopping off on the way to lunch. He felt much better after he pre-bagged his diaper changes for tomorrow. With any luck, he might be able to get away with this without anyone finding out.

Monday morning Doug woke up, dry as usual, and tried to get ready as normally would any other morning, except that this morning he had to wet himself intentionally before his shower, and rediaper himself afterward. He left his apartment early, and indeed got to his lab early as well, before anyone else had arrived. Relieved, he tucked his telltale bag safely into an unused lab cupboard and got to work. He was very conscious of how often he wet himself, as leaks might be horribly embarrassing, and so he checked his diaper several times before deciding at 10:30am that he’d better try to change himself.

So he put his clandestine operation into action and was thrilled when it seemed to go off without a hitch. No one really seemed to notice. From there the rest of the day was easier. He had to change himself once more, in mid-afternoon, and he waited until the halls were relatively deserted before waddling home. All in all, the day had been much simpler than he could have hoped for.

And the next several days went well also, in that he seemed to manage to keep his forced infantilization a secret from his coworkers. Mrs. Warren dropped by every day or so “to say hi.” Wednesday night she commented that she’d been told that Doug was being a good boy at work, and that she was glad to hear it.

Doug’s heart stopped. Mrs. Warren had an informant at work! Someone in his last bastion of normality *knew* about him. He didn’t say anything to Mrs. Warren (sitting down was only now becoming painless), but his mind once again raced, as he tried to pinpoint who his informant could possibly be. He should have known he’d be spied upon. But now he worried that the informance might tell others. Everyone might already know by now! But he couldn’t ask, because that would give it away. He was forced to watch everyone on Thursday, looking for clues that they might be on to him. But if anyone knew, they were quiet about it. No one appeared to watch him or react any differently than in the past.

Thursday night, as he was sneaking home after he’d thought everyone had left, he turned a corner and ran right into his lab director, Dr. Stillman, a tall, strikingly beautiful woman in her late thirties, with long brown hair and deep brown eyes. She was also, not coincidentally, the admissions director for the doctoral program Doug hoped to enter next fall.

“Ah…Doug, isn’t it?” she asked crisply as she sized him up in front of her. Doug tried to hide his bag behind his legs. “Keeping late hours, are we? Well, that can’t hurt. It’s nice to see someone working so hard for a change.” At this, she sort of chuckled to herself, and kept walking.

Doug stood in the hall after she’d left and tried to figure out what she’d meant by that. It had seemed like a compliment, and yet she’d laughed. She always intimidated Doug, to some degree because he found her extremely attractive. Now, though, in his paranoid mood, he found himself wondering if his boss might actually be the informant: “working hard for a *change*,” she’d said. Maybe this had meant something else from what he’d thought. (This would worry Doug for a long time, and perhaps never be satisfactorily settled for him, since she never made any other similar comments and he knew he couldn’t exactly ask her directly.)

Other than this incident, the rest of the week was uneventful, and Doug finished his second week of diaperhood smoothly. He was as obedient as he could be, and tried to wet and soil his diaper conscientiously. He settled into a predictable pattern of changing himself in the late morning and midafternoon, and he found that as long as he remembered to do that, he didn’t need to think about *when* exactly he wet himself. That seemed convenient to Doug, though he would discover later that it was yet another piece in the puzzle of his undoing.

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.

Bathroom Surprise

Bathroom Surprise

Kaa hiding in the female Bathroom at school only to pounce on an unsuspecting Kela as she decides to use her Pampers

wow Kela, either she is a good girl or a bad girl. I guess she couldn’t help it with a snake round her

Order by ?

Draw by ? chuckybb ?

Source: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/27928185/

Poor Kaa you can sure dont decide match if you should use your diaper or not when the snake has your in his bound. But in other hand good is was there now.

Poor thing but i sure wounder what is going to happen whit here now?

The baby business part 9

Copyright (c) 1995 by Babydoc.

Mrs. Warren held out the clipboard for Doug to read, But Doug had no interest in reading the contract. It didn’t matter what it said: he had to sign it, and with any luck he wouldn’t have to honor it. It was immaterial what it said.

“I’ll sign it. It doesn’t matter. Just give me the pen, and let me out of here,” he said irritably.

Mrs. Warren smiled, and found a pen in her purse. She’d had a couple of boys like this. She certainly didn’t care whether they read the contract. For her it served as one of her backup weapons, in the unlikely event that her right to punish her boys as she saw fit was ever questioned. But in her three years at this job, through many hundreds of spankings and other punishments, she’d never had a boy seriously question her authority. Not after he understood about the pictures, and had thought through what making a formal complaint would mean. She knew that the police would have a hard time believing the story, and would likely end up harassing her client more than they would her. The newspapers, Mrs. Warren knew, would love to get a story like this one, and if they did, her career would be over, certainly, but so would the lives of her clients. Imagine an adult male allowing himself to be diapered and spanked repeatedly, allowing himself to be tied in his bathtub until he soiled his pants, allowing himself to be photographed in that state, even going shopping for diapers in the first place. Her clients had all considered the possibility, she was sure, and once they saw the absurdity of their case, and realized the implications of pressing charges, they swallowed their pride and behaved themselves like good little boys.

The contract was so that in the event that she enrolled a stupid or crazy client into her program (someone who *couldn’t* comprehend how damaging “coming out” would be to their lives), she could protect herself legally when he made the insane choice to sue. And it was another tool for her to use in coercing her boys: “Yes, I think you WILL bend yourself over my knee. I’ve got a signed agreement which I could have enforced by law if I wanted. Would you like the police to help me spank you?” It was as vain a threat, of course, as her boys’ threats to sue, for none of them, including Mrs. Warren, really wanted that much attention focused on their activities. But perhaps her boys didn’t know that.

At any rate, she simply smiled as she held the clipboard and pen so that Doug, in his bound state, could sign, which he did without so much as glancing over the page.

“I knew you’d be a good boy eventually,” Mrs. Warren said sweetly. “You will want to read that, perhaps after I’ve left. I will also leave a more detailed summary of the rules of the program with you so you can start learning, and obeying, them tonight. I advise you to read through it carefully, as you will be held accountable for all the numerous rules of your ICP, and I will start punishing you even tonight if you break any of them.”

Doug wasn’t really listening. Just nod at her, he thought to himself. Pretend like you care, and then she’ll leave, and you can figure out what to do to get out of this mess.

“Now, I just need to go over a couple of things with you before we get you cleaned up and into a nice, fresh diaper. I’ve had a look around your apartment, so I’m pretty sure of my facts, but I always like to confirm them with new clients. You work in the grad school’s lab in preparation for applying for their program next year. Is that right?”

Doug, as distracted as he was, was still shocked. This lady had been through his private things! He felt even more violated and vulnerable. What business was it of hers? Was there any limit to her intrusiveness?

Mrs. Warren *was* actually sure of her facts, and went through this presentation simply to scare her young charges. She wanted them to think that she knew everything and couldn’t be fooled. The reality, actually, wasn’t that much different. She took Doug’s expression of disbelief as evidence that she was having the desired effect.

“And you grocery shop every Sunday at `The Grocery Place?'” Doug could only nod dumbly, wondering how she could possibly know so much about him. (In fact, Mrs. Warren always marveled at how much could be learned about a person who kept receipts, as Doug did…)

She went on to `check’ with him about where he banked, rented videos, dry-cleaned. He simply nodded at each revelation, accepting this as evidence of how smart she was and how difficult getting out of this situation would be. He would have argued with her about her right to rifle through his apartment, but as he was still tightly bound, this wasn’t really the time.

This, of course, was all information she needed in order to keep track of Doug during his initial probation period. She would require him to let her know where he was at all times when he left the house, and she was adept at arranging for surrogate “babysitters” to keep eyes on him all over town. She didn’t need to ask about his drugstore, since he would now be shopping exclusively at The Drugstore, her employer.

And when she had gone over everything, she did finally release him. She undid his cuffs and removed the rope to the back beltloop of his jeans. Doug lowered his arms and just spent a moment savoring the feeling of blood in his hands again. Then he stood, and felt some not-quite-dry effluent slide down his pants leg and drop out onto the bathtub floor. Mrs. Warren made him remove his pants in the tub while she watched. Doug didn’t care. He assumed she wanted to watch in order to embarrass him some more, but he was past being embarrassed today. So he was caught off guard when he glanced up after pulling his filthy jeans off and saw a flash go off. Mrs. Warren was recording this moment with a small automatic camera, and had captured him as he stood in his brown-stained underpants with semisolid brown goo caked on his legs, and with his soaked jeans at his feet. He cared a little more about this, but not enough. It was done. He just wanted to shower.

She kept watching and got several more pictures as he peeled off his disgusting underpants, soaked socks, and his relatively clean shirt. She had him put his underpants in one small clear plastic baggy, and all the rest of his clothes into another larger one. She told him the larger bag would be available to him if he wanted to wash the contents later. He would not, however, see his abused underpants again. He was told he wouldn’t need to.

Then she observed his shower, and handed him a towel with which to dry himself. He felt much better, but still felt dazed as he followed Mrs. Warren into his bedroom, where he looked around as he stood there naked. He saw two large bags of disposable diapers and several other containers of what he took to be the stuffer pads. On his dresser were neatly stacked the contents of yet another bag of disposables, with shorter stacks of the stuffer pads next to them. His underwear drawer was slightly open, and he could see that it no longer contained his underwear, but was stuffed full of plastic panties. On his queen-sized bed was spread a large changing sheet, and a diaper and pad were already laid out on it, with lotion, vaseline, oil, and powder standing by and ready for his use. While he was still absorbing the transformation his room had undergone, Mrs. Warren instructed him to climb up on the changing pad and put on the diaper.

“I’ll just watch to make sure you do a good job. We don’t want leaks.”

As he walked to the bed, his hands attempting to hide his genitalia, his felt his face turn red. This was obviously more embarrassing than with Mrs. Sheffield in the store, not only because he was being watched, but because the observer had seen him wet and soil himself, and knew he needed to be in the diaper. *He* knew that he didn’t, or at least he thought he didn’t. And putting this diaper on felt to him an awful lot like giving up, which his pride made it difficult to do. But his practical side started talking, too: Look, it said. You’re not giving up. You’re actually tricking her by making her THINK you’re giving in. In fact you’re just trying to get her to leave, so that you can think clearly enough to figure a way out of this mess. You’ll win this game later, but to make it work, you’ve got to make her think you’re a “good little boy” by gritting your teeth and putting on this diaper.

So Doug slowly walked over to the bed and gingerly crawled up onto the changing pad, next to the open diaper. He looked doubtfully at the arrangement of powders and lotions next to him.

“It’s up to you,” Mrs. Warren said, reading his mind. “You have to care for your own skin. These are just possibilities. The only thing I require is that you use powder. Because I like the smell. You’ll appreciate it, too, once you get a little more experience with dirty diapers. So pile that on, but feel free to experiment with the rest of the stuff here.”

Doug didn’t want to use anything at all, but he obediently picked up the powder and sprinkled some on the open diaper, then set the bottle down next to it.

Mrs. Warren shook her head. “Nice try. Keep going with the powder. I want you to put it on yourself AND in the diaper, and I’ll tell you when to stop.”

Doug crinkled up his nose, but he obeyed. He shook out a lot of powder into his crotch, and onto his thighs, then onto the diaper. She made him rub it in, and add several more handfuls to his bottom and stomach. When he was covered in powder, and nearly choking from the sweet perfume, she told him to put the diaper on. He carefully slid it under himself. She showed him how to center it and then fasten it lying down, so it fit best. He stood up carefully and noted with dismay how bulky the diaper felt now. Mrs. Sheffield had been right: this was way too much diaper for him. He could hardly bring his legs together, and there was no doubt that it would show clearly under any of the clothes he presently owned. This could be very bad. He’d never be able to hide it. But he was chagrinned to recognize that he only had himself and his libido to blame.

Mrs. Warren, however, seemed pleased. She stuck fingers into his waist and legs, testing the fit, and patted him on the rump, pronouncing him well-diapered. “I knew you could do it yourself. You know, Mrs. Sheffield thinks you’re something of an imbecile, or at least a little slow. She thought you’d need a lot of help.” She winked at him. “But I know better. So I’m going to be watching you very carefully.”

Doug got a chill down his spine. She was on to him. She knew he would be scheming. It was eerie the way she seemed to read his mind. He’d have to be very clever. Perhaps he’d even have to play along for longer than he’d thought before trying to escape, so that she’d let down her guard.

“Now, come downstairs and see what I’ve got for you.” Mrs. Warren led him downstairs wearing only his diaper. In the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator door, revealing a gallon jug of what looked like milk. She pulled it out and poured him a large glass.

“The diaper juice from before is very mild, but it is very long-lasting. It would ordinarily keep you rather…runny, for several days. So I want you to drink some special milk I have made to help slow your bowels down and to replace your electrolytes. The quicker you drink this milk, and the more of it you drink, the quicker your diarrhea will stop. So if the diarrhea gets worse, you need to drink more milk to fight it. Okay? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. If you can manage to drink this whole gallon by tomorrow, that ought to do the trick, and tomorrow you’ll get back to normal. Some people, I should warn you, though, do take a little longer to readjust.”

She set the glass in front of him. “Go ahead and drink this first glass now so I can make sure you at least get started.”

Doug nodded wearily, and drank it quickly down. He was disappointed that the diarrhea would last a while, and he was willing to try anything that would help. If it would help, he’d try to drink the whole gallon before dinner. It didn’t taste quite like milk; it was chalkier and slightly bitter. But since he had never had Milk of Magnesia, he didn’t recognize the taste, and assumed it was the extra medicine and electrolytes that made it taste funny.

In fact, this additional concoction of Mrs. Warren was designed to keep him very loose, out of control, and essentially diaper-dependent for at least the next few days. It would help get him started on the right track, and it amused her to think of Doug drinking this stuff to get rid of the very diarrhea it was causing. The more he drank, the worse it would be, and the more he’d drink. She’d check on him to make sure he didn’t really get dehydrated, and the game would stop after he was securely in the program and ran out of “milk.”

After he’d drained the glass, Mrs. Warren handed Doug a copy of the contract he’d signed, and a longer list of rules he’d be expected to follow. Doug thought that perhaps he’d read them tonight or tomorrow, just to satisfy his curiosity, but her told himself that it didn’t really matter.

Mrs. Warren then gave him his last minute instructions. “I’d advise you to use the rest of the day to explore your apartment and notice the changes I’ve made. Also, it would be wise to pore over those rules, because I’ll be checking on you often. I’ll definitely be back tomorrow, and I’ll probably be back overnight. I had keys to your apartment made, so I can check on you while you’re sleeping.” Doug looked a little shocked. “Oh, it’s perfectly standard. You told me I could do this in your contract. It’s a good little contract; perhaps you should read it sometime. And read the rules. You have some homework to do before I see you tomorrow.”

She winked at him as she was gathering her things to leave. “Promise me you’ll be a good little boy for me.”

“Okay,” Doug said unconvincingly.

“Now be nice. I see we’ll have to work on your manners. I’m trying to be kind, so you won’t get too many spankings right here at the beginning. But my kindness, you’ll find, only goes so far. So promise me you’ll be good.”

Doug swallowed. “Yes, Ma’am. I promise.”

She patted his diapered bottom. “Yes, Doug. I’m sure you’ll be a very good boy for me.”

Then she left, and Doug waddled upstairs to his room, carrying his rules and contract with him. He collapsed on his bed, exhausted from the physical ordeal and from mental fatigue. He had a lot to think about, but it would have to wait.

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.

A Day Out

A Day OutTwilight and Cadence decided to take their little foals out for a day of fun activities around Ponyville! Of course with everything Twi had planned, that meant only stopping to change their diapers when it was *really* necessary. Luckily the public restroom wasn’t too crowded. Only a handful of mares came up to say how cute their little babies were.

Order by radix

Draw and text by Sylph_Space

Source: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/27571555/

Aww poor thing this sure can be one kind of blushing situation to be in.