Still trapped

Still trapped

A continuation from this piece here //www.furaffinity.net/view/23826308/ Looks like he isn’t getting out anytime soon.

Order by restitution69

Draw and text by BabyStar

Source: //www.furaffinity.net/view/27775890/

Aww poor thing looks like he is going to be forced to stay the night in the messy diaper and the room going to be pretty stinky in the morning. But i sure think bay then that he is going to be looking forward to a diaper change. I sure bet his diaper is going to be pretty well used by then.

Poor thing this is not going to be a fun night for him. I hope that he is manage to get any sleep.

The baby business Part 14

Copyright (c) 1995 by Babydoc.

When Doug had spent several minutes soothing his hot, red bottom, he sat down in stunned amazement to consider what his life had suddenly been turned into. He thought of the mounds of diapers up in his room, destined to be worn and used by him in the near future. He thought of being forced to call Mrs. Warren “Mommy,” and essentially forced to do anything she told him to do. It was so humiliating. How could he possibly live with this?

But what could he do? he asked himself. He told himself over and over that he had no choice. That it didn’t matter how he got here and what he thought about it. He simply had to play baby now, or risk losing the rest of his life. It was unfair, and miserable, but he had to be realistic: it was his only option if he didn’t want to be the laughingstock of his family, friends, and colleagues.

He stared down at the bulky diaper he had sentenced himself to wear. Because he had gotten cute and self-righteous over the phone with Mrs. Sheffield, he was now going to wear the thickest, loudest diaper ever. It would undoubtedly be noticeable, and even more embarrassing was how much he had contributed to this situation. If he hadn’t gone into the store, if he hadn’t lied about being incontinent, if he hadn’t lied about wanting such an unmanageable diaper, if he hadn’t agreed to the incontinence test….there were so many ways he could have avoided this, he thought. But at every step, he’d made the wrong move, and now he ws stuck in huge, noisy diapers. It was so thick he couldn’t even masturbate through it, even if that was allowed.

But, of course, he had been operating under the assumption that this was a game of which he had control. He now knew differently, but it was too late. This diaper service was a business, and a serious one at that. And he had just contracted them to enslave him in diapers. He snorted. It sounded like a dream come true. But he knew, or thought he knew, what it would really be like. His bottom knew. It was a nightmare.

He told himself he had to take this situation day by day. If he tried to deal with the whole thing, he’d get too depressed. But if he only thought about the next day, he could get through. Tomorrow wouldn’t be too bad. In fact, this week wouldn’t be too embarrassing, since he was studying at home alone. This was almost what he had intended for this weeks, anyway. No one had to know. Next week would be interesting, though, when he went back to work. How would he ever keep his co-workers in the dark? Bulky clothes, he mused… His real life would be quite a challenge.

For the next day, though, his job was easy. Study as much as possible from his GRE Review Book, and, in the words of Mrs. Warren, “be a good little boy.” He actually didn’t care how ridiculous that sounded: right now, and for as long as his bottom kept hurting, he was happy to wear his diaper compliantly, and do anything else he needed to. He wasn’t interested in risking another spanking right now.

Doug was surprised to find his diarrhea clearing up fairly quickly that afternoon. Mrs. Warren was right again, he thought. He didn’t like to admit it, but she seemed to know everything. Of course, he would have been angry at how gullible he’d been, if he’d known how she knew when his BMs would slow down.

And as his diarrhea slowed, he noticed that his diaper consumption was slowing as well. He thought about this idly during dinner. He had a diaper quota to fill, and in the interest of remaining pain-free, he would try to fill it properly, at least in the short term. He calculated his usage for the week at his new, slower rate, and realized he’d be hard-pressed to wet enough diapers. And if he didn’t, he knew what awaited him. So he began to drink more that evening. This, he only half noticed, had the effect (desired by Mrs. Warren) of his spending more and more time in partially-wet diapers, as he conscientiously waited to saturate them fully.

By the next day, Thursday, Doug was consciously starting to relax his sphincter control, wetting whenever he felt the urge. His diapers held almost anything, and as long as he had the opportunity to relax and not worry about control, why not? It wasn’t like it was important whether he tried to hold it back or not. The rules didn’t reward him for that! So who needs it? If I have to be a baby, I might as well take advantage of it, he thought. It’s the only perk, after all.

On Thursday, for the first time, Doug felt the need for the first time to have a real, formed BM. This was another little landmark for him, since it involved using his diaper for an “optional” mess: it wasn’t like the diarrhea, where he was controlling an emergent situation. It also necessitated wearing the diaper for some time afterward, in an obedient attempt to make the diaper appear “fully used.” It usually felt good, but today, as he squished around in his full pants, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being forced to do this, to wear his poop-filled diaper. Mrs. Warren was *making* him do this, and for some reason (embarrassment?) this took away much of the pleasure he usually derived from wearing his messy diaper.

Mrs. Warren stopped by occasionally, and was pleased when she checked Doug’s diaper, diaper pail, toilets, and tub. She acknowledged his good behavior with a sticker on his refrigerator, about which she said he should be proud. He found it difficult to get excited about a sticker. It was just one more embarrassing element to this absurd program.

Mrs. Warren had expected this good behavior. It was typical of her new boys for the first few days, what she called the “honeymoon” period. Their bottoms still stung, and the potential humiliation of the photos was still fresh in their minds. They also weren’t yet bored with the program, and hadn’t had enough time to build up a huge amount of sexual tension.

Doug did come up with some questions for Mrs. Warren, however, as he found minor problems with the ICP. How, for example, was he supposed to blow his nose if she had forbidden all paper products from his apartment? It was easily solved, Mrs. Warren said, by using an old-fashioned handkerchief, which, like his other laundry, was to be inspected by her before he took it to the complex’s laundry room. Working out details to another problem, Doug agreed to shave himself every other day to keep his bottom and groin smooth. On Friday, he did this for the first time, and found that it wasn’t too difficult, except for his ego.

Saturday was the day of his big test, Mrs. Warren showed up at his apartment early in the morning to see him off. She presented him with a large, pink pastel diaper bag, which he was not so pleased to receive. It was so frilly and infantile that it could not be mistaken for anything other than what it was. He pled his case to her that it was just too embarrassing to take out in public, but Mrs. Warren said that it was more important to be prepared properly than to be socially comfortable, and she therefore wouldn’t accept his excuses.

This brought up an issue Doug hadn’t considered before. Surely there would be times when he’d have to change himself in public, but how was this possible if he wasn’t allowed near restrooms? It wasn’t so hard, said Mrs. Warren. First of all, any time he went out, he should already have informed her, so that she or a babysitter could watch him. If the possibility of needing a change existed, they would know about it, and could appropriately interpret his usage of a bathroom. If he used it to change himself, he should naturally have a used diaper to show for it, and this could be checked when he arrived home. He was, however, warned that any trip to a public restroom would be carefully watched and, often, timed. Some of his “babysitters” might even be male and could follow him in. Any activity conspicuous for masturbation or using a toilet would be punished as such. As long as he hurried and was a good boy, he’d be okay.

So he went off with his pink diaper bag to take his test. It lasted through lunch, and he found that by restricting fluids, he didn’t have a problem needing a change. This was a relief for him. No one even noticed his bag, or his bulky bottom, or his waddle, or his rustling, probably because everyone was so preoccupied with the test. Doug came home from the test impressed with his academic performance, considering all the stress he’d been under during the preceding week.

With the test finished Saturday night, though, Doug started thinking about the future. He was worried about going grocery shopping tomorrow, his first errand outside his apartment wearing diapers. He also started thinking more long-term, and he was already tired of wearing these huge diapers. It was a pain. He never thought he’d miss the convenience of the toilet, but he was starting to. He’d never been in diapers for so long at one time, and it was wearing thin. In addition, there was also the growing problem of his mounting sexual appetite. He hadn’t come in several days, and that was just about a record for him. Plus, he wasn’t excited about resuming his public life on Monday when he went back to work. Hiding these bulky diapers might be impossible, and would at the very least be a huge social burden he’d have to deal with constantly.

All in all, he was beginning to feel far less obedient than he had over the past few days. He was starting to see that, just as he’d feared, he couldn’t live this life constantly. It wasn’t practical or desirable. If he was going to cope, he’d have to figure out some ways to cut corners, to express his independence in little, harmless ways, and to maintain a vestige of his former autonomy.

He mulled this over in his head, before forming a plan for tomorrow. He needed groceries. He assumed he’d be followed, or something, but he wondered how Mrs. Warren would follow him if she didn’t know he’d left. What if he left right after she visited tomorrow? She never returned right away. She’d never know. And if she didn’t know, he could venture out without his diaper, and not risk embarrassment tomorrow at the store…

It made him a little nervous to think about, but it had to work, right? If he was scared, he could always take along a diaper in the car, into which he might be able to change quickly if he somehow met Mrs. Warren on the way there or back. And he’d hurry, to cut down further the chance of being discovered. The risk, he knew, had to be miniscule. And the symbolism, and implications for later, were enormous to him. If he could poke a little hole in her regime, there might be other opportunities later. His life might end up being manageable after all.

Doug went to sleep Saturday night excited, with the first bit of hope about the future that he’d had in days. As he settled into bed, feeling the now-familiar thick cushion between his legs, and hearing the omnipresent crinkling of his diaper, he could hardly wait until for what the next day would bring.

If he’d been able to see what would really happen, however, he wouldn’t have wanted ever to wake up.

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.

Night in the Pamps

Night in the Pamps

Order by ??

Draw by ludisluteo

Source: //inkbunny.net/s/1655521

Aww this sure looks to be one special prison this cat have ended up in. He sure have been forced to use his thick diaper pretty good. I bet he wish it was morning already so he could end this nightmare and get ride of this messy diaper.

The baby business part 12

Copyright (c) 1995 by Babydoc.

Doug awoke early and was distressed to feel his rectum already full of effluent eager to erupt into his still-clean diaper. He sighed and lifted his hips slightly to allow the putrid brown liquid to spill out of his bottom, completely filling and soiling his diaper. He then noticed his full bladder and turned over onto his tummy to relieve that as well. Then he carefully waddled into the bathroom and cleaned himself up, then powdered and rediapered himself wearily. This was gross, embarrassing, and infantile. He couldn’t stand much more of this; he hoped Mrs. Warren got here soon. He wasn’t quite sure what was going to happen, but she was certainly his only chance of getting out of this mess. It was clear that he had to show her who really ran his life.

But he was disappointed when Mrs. Warren didn’t show up until after lunch, long after he’d finished his “milk,” and after three more very dirty diapers. He was studying when she surprised him by letting herself in. He was confused about how she managed this until he remembered that little part of the contract. As she entered his dining area and seated herself calmly in one of his dinette chairs, facing him, he decided that he’d better set the tone for how he hoped this little meeting would go.

“Who gave you a key? And what makes you think I’ll put up with those lock things on my toilet? This is my house.”

Mrs. Warren did not say anything. She simply stared at Doug with her steely eyes for nearly a minute. It grew tense. He wasn’t sure how she did it, but already she was making him feel powerless and small. As he felt her eyes bear down on him, he totally lost his train of thought. Shit, he thought to himself. Finally, she spoke, slowly and distinctly.

“Because you are new to your ICP, those comments will today lead only to a warning. But you will never, NEVER, speak to me like that again, unless you decide you *like* to spend time face down on my lap. And most little boys do not. Is that understood, young man?”

Doug did not know what to say. This interaction was not at all what he had planned.

“But this is *my* house, and…”

“No buts. I asked you if you understood me.”

Long pause. Doug simply didn’t know how to talk to this woman. She was acting just as if she were his mother, and he hadn’t had to talk to someone like this for a very long time. Instinctively, before he could stop himself, he heard himself say, “Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s better. And to think that up until that moment I’d been impressed with your compliance. You’ve obviously been wearing your diapers like a good little boy, and I can see that you clearly have one on now under those sweats.”

This shook him. Was the bulge that obvious? And could she really know that he’d worn diapers since she left?

As if reading his mind, she said, “Yes, I was here overnight, and yes, it’s very obvious. Did you finish your milk?”

“Yes…yes, ma’am. But it didn’t help.”

“Oh,” she said sympathetically. “Have you had a lot of messy diapers?”

He nodded, embarrassed.

“Well, look on the bright side. You won’t have any trouble with your messy diaper quota this week. And don’t worry: your little problem should be clearing up very shortly.” That was good news, at least. But what was the quota she was talking about? He had forgotten to read the rules, and now he started to think that was unfortunate. He was also aware that he was inexplicably falling into a little boy role while talking to her. It was embarrassing, but she seemed to expect it, and he couldn’t seem to help himself. Her personality was too strong.

She smiled at him. She wouldn’t give him any more milk now. In a very short while he’d keep the diapers on voluntarily, and then, after some time, he wouldn’t dare take them off. It made her almost giddy in anticipation. But for now there was even a more delicious task to address.

“So, you’ve been a good boy. I guess I just need to check your toilets and bathtub, and then we can take a look at you to see how you did shaving.” She was sure he hadn’t done it. And her spanking hand tingled with excitement.

“What?” he said. He hadn’t heard anything about shaving, but he did have an ominous insight into what she might be referring to. And he didn’t want to do it. No way. Shaving himself for her, to pretend to be her little baby, was simply too weird and submissive. That was taking this way too far.

“Shaving. Don’t tell me you didn’t read your rule list.” Uh-oh. Now he knew why he should have read the rules.

“Well, that’s a little disappointing, Doug. I was beginning to think maybe you’d avoid a spanking today, but I can’t let you get away with not shaving. Hair underneath your diaper is against the rules.”

His infantile trance was abruptly shaken loose. Okay, he thought. This is it. He had been uncomfortable and embarrassed up to now, but had been carried along by the illusion created by Mrs. Warren’s role-playing. But shaving himself and getting a spanking raised this game to another level entirely. With renewed determination, he shook himself, and thought, This is where I get off the ride.

“Forget it. Look, this has gone on way too long,” he said, standing and pacing in front of her. “I’m not indulging your little whims anymore. I went along with the continence test because I thought it would be a nice, easy way to get rid of you. And then I’ve worn these “brief” things overnight because of my little diarrhea problem and your cruel toilet sabotage. But I’m no longer interested in your freakish diaper service, or your S and M games, so this has to stop.”

He took a breath, and noticed that she was looking at him with an amused expression. It was somewhat disconcerting, but he went on, his tone turning rather desperate.

“Yes, I know I got mixed up with you because I was buying those…briefs in that store that day. But they, um, weren’t for me, they were really for my grandmother, who is very ill, and somehow everything got all mixed up, and you got involved. So, well, you see, I’m not incontinent, and I want you to take your stuff and get out. If you want my grandmother’s address, well, I can get that for you, but that about all I’m going to do for you from now on. So I’d appreciate you unlocking my toilets, and taking your stuff, and giving me back my underwear, and leaving quietly. Thank you.” Doug took a deep breath and snuck a look at his audience. He thought that had actually gone very well. He hadn’t intended on making up a new lie, but it had come out of his mouth, and he thought it wasn’t bad.

Mrs. Warren had sat and listened attentively. Then she said, “But what about your fetish? I know you have a fetish: you told me that last night. And what about the diapers in your closet upstairs, and the used ones in your trash outside? And what am I supposed to do about your incontinence, which you deny but for which we got some pretty extensive evidence yesterday? I can’t just ignore that, Doug. It would be irresponsible.”

She sat back in her chair. “It doesn’t surprise me that you want out, even this early. It happens, because this is a rigorous program, and can be difficult when you first start. But you signed a contract. You made a promise. And you have a problem that needs to be dealt with whether you want to or not. So, I’m not going anywhere, and we won’t ever discuss that prospect again. Your continence is too important.”

Doug started to sweat. He’d forgotten the admission he’d made about the fetish, and didn’t know she’d seen his stash of diapers, let alone that she’d gone through his trash. Wasn’t there anything she didn’t know? How could he fight this? This attempt had failed, he knew. He sat down uncomfortably. Mrs. Warren continued talking, her tone becoming stronger and more commanding.

“And let’s get something straight from the beginning. You will never again tell me what to do. According to your ICP, which you are going to wish you’d read, I am the Mommy and you are the baby. And if we need to add some props to help you remember this, we will. I have adult-sized pacifiers, bottles, clothing, and furniture we can play with if we need to, not to mention spankings. You will never tell me what to do, or question anything I tell you to do. Understood, little boy?”

Silence. He couldn’t say it. It was ridiculous. He had too much dignity for this. He had a life. He wouldn’t throw it away for this lady or this distorted fantasy.

“Doug? I asked you a question. Tell Mommy the answer.”

Silence. He didn’t know how to argue with her. It was so absurd.

Mrs. Warren stared at him. She knew what he was thinking. She’d seen it before. It was time to get him to commit to this program. “Doug, I can see that we don’t understand each other. But you need to see that there is no choice for you here. And if it’s not because you want to get better or because you signed a legal contract, maybe you will obey me because of these.”

She reached down and opened her large black purse. She withdrew two 8X11″ glossy photos, and showed them to Doug, who gasped in horror. One showed him in the bathtub, with his messy jeans down around his ankles, and brown pasty goo caked on his legs and genitalia. The other pictured him sleeping peacefully in bed, apparently last night, wearing nothing but a diaper. He stared at these for a long time, trying to absorb their significance. Now he understood why she had seemed so confident since last night. These were very powerful elements of blackmail, documentation of what appeared to be totally voluntary activity that just happened to be captured on film. She had been careful not to use pictures of him tied up; these looked like he didn’t even know they were being taken, which was true. They also made it look like he wasn’t a victim, at all, as though this was the way he normally lived. Like he was a pervert who’d been caught in the act.

Mrs. Warren broke his reverie. “Now, I do know where you work, and I did see the application you’re working on for your little graduate program. I don’t want to do this, but if you are so irresponsible as to ignore your incontinence, I will be forced to show these to folks who might be interested. I even have the addresses of your family. Even your grandmother, who might be interested to learn that you have a problem so similar to hers,” she said dryly.

Doug felt numb. His heart had stopped. This was it. His ultimate nightmare. Despair threatened to flood through him.

How could this have happened? How could he have been so stupid? He hadn’t seen this coming at all. He hadn’t once taken this seriously or sensed what a catastrophe this could turn out to be. Everything had seemed straightforward and innocent. And all of a sudden he was totally trapped and at the mercy of this fanatical lady. The implications of these pictures were mind-boggling.

Doug’s future was in this woman’s hands, he realized. She had the ability to ruin his life. He’d worked for years toward this grad program, building contacts, getting experience. It was within reach now, but this woman, with these pictures, could destroy it all.

He’d lost the battle, he saw. This lady was too strong. He couldn’t fight her, he couldn’t argue with her, and now he was even afraid to make her angry, for fear that she would go public with this blackmail. He had no choice. He had to submit. To anything. To everything. If he wanted a life, he’d have to submit.

Mrs. Warren saw it hit him, and as always, it was the moment she treasured most with her new babies. For it was at this moment, and not before, that each one became wholly hers. She watched him abandon all hope and authority in his life. Essentially he had just begun the mental process of submission, and, therefore, of regression. After a day of fighting, finally their relationship was becoming what it should have been from the start: Mommy and little boy. It was sort of like giving birth, she thought, only better, since there was no pain (for her), and it happened every few weeks.

Now the game changed. From now on arguments would be brief. He would try to please her, she knew, and she would try to frustrate him, both socially (since an isolated baby is a helpless baby) and sexually (so that she’d have lots of excuses, when he inevitably broke down, to spank him and keep him on probation). Yes, this moment was liberating for her, and invigorating, and the latest in a long line of moments to be treasured. She had to admit that once again she’d done a hell of a job.

They stared at each other for several more moments, with fear growing in his eyes, and glee in hers. Finally she broke the silence.

“Do you understand now, young man?”

Pause. “Yes,” Doug said quietly. He thought he finally did.

“Yes, what?” She loved this moment. It symbolized the entire transformation from independent man to dependent toddler.

He knew what she wanted. And he had to obey.

“Yes…Mommy.”

Doug stared at his feet, trying to come to grips with his new situation.

“Good boy. I’m glad we finally understand one another. We’ll have a great time together, I’m sure, now that that’s settled. First, unfortunately, we have some unpleasant business to take care of, though.”

Doug’s head jerked up. What? Oh, my God, he thought. The spanking. She can’t be serious.

But Mrs. Warren smiled knowingly at him and patted her lap. Doug was suddenly afraid. He didn’t want this. He’d never considered it as an actual possibility. If he’d known the rules, he would have been good and shaved himself, but he didn’t know, he told himself. It wasn’t fair.

“No, please,” Doug said in a high voice that didn’t sound like his own. “I didn’t know. How about if I go upstairs right now and do it? That would be okay, right?”

Mrs. Warren smiled. “No, I don’t think so. You had your chance all night and this morning. It was to have been done by the time I came. You had a copy of the rules, and I told you you had homework to do. You either deliberately disobeyed, or you weren’t paying enough attention to me. Either way, I think a spanking will be good for you.”

“No,” Doug whimpered. This would hurt. He’d fantasized about spankings, but not about the pain. Now that he faced it, he wanted out.

“Yes,” Mrs. Warren said firmly. “Don’t keep Mommy waiting. She tends to get more angry when she has to wait, and I don’t think you want that.”

Doug swallowed hard, and realized she was right. He forced himself to stand, then to shuffle his feet slowly toward his new Mommy.

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.

The baby business part 11

Copyright (c) 1995 by Babydoc.

No sooner had Doug flopped down on his bed than he fell asleep, exhausted from his ordeal. He awoke several hours later, during the early evening, and it was dark. Doug was disoriented. For the moment, he had forgotten what had happened earlier. His first sensation was a strong urge to release his bowels. He stood up in the darkness, and was surprised when he heard the crinkling of a disposable diaper. He wouldn’t have expected this, since he didn’t usually wear his diaper to bed (it excited him too much to allow sleep), but he was pleased, since he could just use the diaper to relieve himself. Drowsily, he relaxed his rectal sphincter and allowed what turned out to be a gush of fluid into his diaper. Somehow the diaper accepted the whole load without leaking, and, more comfortable, Doug sat down on the side of his bed to try to figure out what time it was. The clock said 7:30pm. That didn’t quite make sense. He felt the warm squish of his messy diaper, and smiled. He loved that feeling. But why WAS he wearing this diaper? What had happened before his nap?

Then he remembered. “Oh, God.” Could it all have been true? That had just been a couple of hours ago. No wonder he was wearing the diaper. But now that he’d remembered, he felt totally uncomfortable. There was something about the memory of his humiliation earlier, and the embarrassment of having been forced to wear this diaper, that now made him want to take it off immediately. He waddled into the bathroom and carefully removed the messy diaper, taking care not to drop any of the mess on the floor. Then he stepped into the shower to rinse himself off. He had no sooner finished drying himself off, however, when he once again felt an urgent call of nature. Would this diarrhea never stop? he asked himself.

He headed over to the toilet to relieve himself in a method more appropriate to his age, but saw for the first time that there was something wrong with it. There wasn’t any water in it at all, or more accurately, there was water, but just a little bit, and it was colored blue. He tried to flush it: nothing happened. It was apparently turned off. Well, he knew how to fix that, he thought, as he gingerly bent over to adjust the water supply on the pipes under the tank. He had to be careful as he squatted, because the release of his bowels was imminent, and crouching was obviously sort of dangerous with this kind of diarrhea. When he squatted to look, however, he found that there was some sort of locking contraption attached to the pipes. He couldn’t turn on the water!

Now he was in trouble. He refused to mess his pants twice in one day. He ran downstairs in a kind of panic to check on the other toilet, but it, too, was drained, with blue dye, and was rigged up the same way underneath. Now what could he do? He didn’t have much time, certainly not enough to figure out this locking thing and fix the toilets. What other options did he have? He didn’t want to get dressed and knock on his neighbor’s door just to use his toilet; that was embarrassing, and also might take too long. He couldn’t really imagine relieving himself in the tub or the sink; it was bad enough he washed himself off in there. He didn’t want it to turn into a toilet, especially for this kind of excrement.

He had no choice, he knew. Not for now, not for tonight. He dashed back upstairs and, swallowing his pride, picked up the top diaper from the pile on his dresser. He quickly grabbed a pad and took them both over to his bed, where he spread out the changing pad, laid out the diaper and pad, and taped himself securely in. Still sitting on his changing pad, he eagerly released his bowels, fully soiling his diaper for the second time in ten minutes.

Wow, he thought. That diaper juice has some half-life. Then he remembered the milk Mrs. Warren had made for him to help. If ever he needed some help, it was tonight, with his toilets locked up. He gingerly got up, and when he saw that his full, messy diaper didn’t leak, he waddled downstairs to the kitchen.

He poured himself a large glass of the “milk,” and drank it quickly down; then, thinking it would help, poured yet another and drank that, too. That should help, he thought. Despite how Mrs. Warren had manipulated him earlier, getting him to submit to being tied up, making him wet and soil his pants, making him sign that contract thing, he still didn’t suspect any further trickery. He certainly never suspected that this milk was, by now, the major cause of his bowel problems. He thought the whole goal had been to get him to sign the contract so he’d feel roped in to this program. He didn’t understand the extent of her plans for him, and didn’t know how important she thought it was to keep him constantly in diapers this night. After tomorrow, her techniques would change, but this first night she liked to have him diapering himself out of need, not out of fear. It was more amusing that way. But since Doug didn’t know that Mrs. Warren enjoyed his suffering, he wasn’t cynical enough to suspect the vast extent to which his actions were now being dictated by her. And in the end, his naivete would cost him dearly.

But for now, Doug just sighed when, fifteen minutes later, he pooped in his diapers again, which severely strained their capacity. He again cleaned himself up, showered, and thought he didn’t like the idea, rediapered himself immediately afterward. He accepted the fact that he wouldn’t be able to fix the toilets tonight, and that due to his upset stomach he might have to wear the diapers until tomorrow morning. But, he told himself, it wasn’t just because this lady said he had to do it. It was his decision, because he was sick. And it was obviously just temporary.

He took a look around his room. It was well-stocked with diapers and other supplies. And all of his underwear was gone! She’d stolen his underwear. He’d have to buy more.

He suddenly realized he was starving. He hadn’t eaten since last night! He went downstairs again, wearing just his diaper and a t-shirt. It didn’t make any sense to wear pants, since he’d just have to change his diaper again soon anyway. He made himself some dinner, and thought about what to do tomorrow, when Mrs. Warren came back. He ought to accuse her of stealing, he realized. He ought to take some sort of legal action, because it really was absurd, the way she waltzed in here, tied him up, humiliated him, threatened him with blackmail, and stole his underwear. But what would the police say, he thought to himself. He’d let her in, allowed her (a perfect stranger!) to bind him in his own home, and then had signed a contract agreeing to all of this. Or at least he thought he had. He went upstairs and found it next to his bed. He brought it back down and read it while he finished dinner.

[SEE CONTRACT]

Well, this document would certainly be incriminating, he thought to himself as he finished reading. It gave her permission to do all of this to him, and more, apparently. He nearly choked when he read the part about abstaining from sex. I mean, I don’t have a girlfriend, but I do have an active fantasy life, he thought. TOO active, he replied to himself. His spirits sank as he realized that this piece of paper, of which she had a copy, essentially gave him no legal leg to stand on. He didn’t know much about the law, but it seemed to him that a signed document agreeing to wear diapers would look pretty voluntary to a judge. And, he had to admit to himself, he didn’t relish admitting his fetish, let alone the day’s humiliating activities, to ANYONE, and certainly not the general public. It would certainly cost him his position in such a small, tightly-knit program.

No, he thought to himself, I’m on my own here. I’ve got to find my own way out of this.

He put away his dishes and went back upstairs. He picked up the two soiled diapers he’d left on the bathroom floor, and put them, for lack of a better place, in the diaper pail that waited expectantly by his dresser. He sat down on his bed, noting the ever-present crinkling sound his diaper made. How could he get out of this?

He’d asked himself this only the night before, he realized, and tonight he didn’t have too many more options. He could try to talk to her again, make her believe somehow that he wasn’t really incontinent. A full confession of his fetish might be his best chance. He could explain why the whole thing wasn’t appropriate for him and how the confusion had all happened. But if it hadn’t worked today, why would it work tomorrow? Mrs. Warren didn’t like excuses, he realized, and his failed continence test loomed large in the background. Besides, even the truth sounded hard to believe now. He’d WANTED to buy diapers, but didn’t really need them? Who did that? And why would he have waited until now to protest?

Another alternative would be to stand up for himself and challenge her physically. He didn’t want to fight, but maybe this was the best way to convince her how serious he was about not wanting to be in this program thing. He’d simply refuse and protect himself if she tried to force diapers on him. On the other hand, as he thought back to their encounter earlier, he began to remember her size and apparent strength. He wasn’t small, but she really was very physically intimidating, and he began to wonder who would win a fight, if it came down to that. Yet anything was better than submitting to this nonsense. And if she tried to spank him (Spank him! That hadn’t happened since he was six years old!), then he would have no choice but to protect himself and his pride.

His only other options were unthinkable. He could always go along with this little program for a while and wait for another idea to come to him, perhaps after a detailed analysis of the flaws in the program’s rules. Or he could go along with this thing whole-heartedly, and try to “graduate” soon. But these options reeked of giving up, and were unthinkable. Submitting himself to such humiliating treatment daily was not something he could allow himself to do. He’d have to fall far lower to even consider it. It didn’t matter that he’d fantasized about just such a situation before. BEING in this situation made him realize he enjoyed his freedom far too much. He had other areas of his life to enjoy as well, after all. He couldn’t give all that up just for the opportunity to enjoy diapers a little more frequently. No, if he had infantile fantasies, he’d enjoy them on HIS terms.

Yet he had to admit that he was out of ideas tonight. He grimaced as he almost reflexively let another runny BM out into his diaper. He was tiring of this diarrhea, and of these diapers. But he was prepared to bear it through the night, if he could get things back to normal tomorrow.

Just to help things along, he waddled downstairs in his messy diaper and had two more large glasses of Mrs. Warren’s special milk. It hasn’t helped yet, he thought, but on the other hand, I’d hate to think what this diarrhea would be like without it.

Then Doug waddled back upstairs, showered yet again, and changed himself once more. He watched TV for two hours before returning to his bed to sleep for the night. He soiled three more diapers that evening, and yet another when he awoke during the night, but he was so tired that he slept well anyway.

So well, in fact, that he didn’t notice when Mrs. Warren stopped by shortly after midnight to verify her new copy of his housekey and check on her new baby boy. She was pleased to see nearly all the milk gone, and seven blatently soiled diapers in his diaper pail. And as she peeked in on Doug, she was gratified to see him sleeping only in his diaper and t-shirt. As she completed her inspection of his apartment, she was happy to find the toilets as she had left them, but she clucked quietly when a quick survery of trash cans and the bathtub revealed no evidence of shaven pubic hair. She wondered if he hadn’t shaved himself on purpose as a gesture of defiance, or had simply forgotten, or whether he’d even read the rules at all. It didn’t really matter, since she’d get to spank him tomorrow regardless of the reason, but for the future it would be good to know so she’d know whether she could anticipate further compliance problems.

She drove away relatively disappointed that Doug was behaving himself so far by wearing and using his diapers, because midnight spankings were favorites of hers. She liked the element of surprise, and could often be inventive in whether or not she tied her naughty boys, and in how she woke them. But no matter; like all the others, this boy could certainly expect to receive his share of spankings in the future.

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.

Meowdis

MeowdisOrder by DelTheBlueJay

Draw by ludisluteo

Source: //inkbunny.net/s/1649523-p3-#pictop

Poor Meowstic looks like the hypnosis is working pretty well. He sure have been forced to use his diaper pretty well now. Look how messy and well used it is now.

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