Picking on Someone your own size

Picking on Someone your own size
Kela had to deal with a naughty pup at work. She dealt with him by regressing him, Stinky pupper now

Order by Nightwolf1

Draw by chuckybb

Source: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/28122779/

Sure think he regret all the bad thing thing he have done now. But i sure think that is to late for that thing now. Looks like he have get a new mommy to that like to dress him in pink cloths and diapers.

He sure has one terrified look on his face right now. But Kela sure seems to be pretty happy about his regressing into a sissy baby.

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.

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.

The baby business part 10

Copyright (c) 1995 by Babydoc.

Linda Warren speed-dialed Mrs. Sheffield’s number on the van’s cellular telephone as she turned out of Doug’s apartment complex.

“No, of course not, Mary. No problems at all. He came around just like all of the others have,” she told Mrs. Sheffield in response to her question.

“I hope you weren’t too hard on him, Linda. He seems like a nice boy who just needed a little gentle guidance.”

Mrs. Warren chuckled. “Well, that’s just what I gave him. But I’m sure you really don’t want the details, do you?”

“Oh, no, no, of course not,” Mrs. Sheffield said hurriedly. “We made that agreement long ago. I know you have your special techniques, and although I’d like to be reassured that you aren’t harming these boys in any way, I care more about the fact that they get involved in our program. It’s such a horrible thing to be incontinent and to have those accidents. I just want to make sure they are protected from that sort of thing, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” Mrs. Warren said. She’d heard this hundreds of times. Mrs. Sheffield was so unlike her. So caring and nurturing, but also so naive. She thought that she was providing these boys with a critical service which they dearly needed. It would devastate her to find out that these boys were really perfectly normal, and that Mrs. Warren (with Mrs. Sheffield’s unknowing help) had forced them into an essentially permanent infantile lifestyle. It would also shock her, Mrs. Warren thought, how little Mrs. Warren cared about the harm they were doing to these boys. Mrs. Sheffield was in it to help her “clients.” Mrs. Warren just wanted to make money, and doing it with an artistic, sadistic flare was simply icing on her financial cake.

“The bottom line is that Doug Easton is now safely tucked away in diapers, and before too long, he won’t even think about not wearing one,” she told her innocent comrade.

“And by the way,” she continued. “I know he told you that his `problem’ is temporary, but I have a practiced eye, as you know, and I think I can safely say that he’s going to need our help for a long, long time.”

“Oh, dear, I was afraid you’d say that, Linda,” Mrs. Sheffield said sympathetically. “What IS it about our boys? We haven’t had a single one make it to the retraining phase. It saddens me to think that there are that many people walking around out there without any control.”

Mrs. Warren smiled. This lady was too much. How long would she go before she started suspecting the fact that they weren’t helping anybody? “Yes, I know,” she said out loud. “And how many more are too scared to come in and let us help them? There are tons of these folks out there. I told you it this was a useful service for people. The problem of incontinence, especially among young people, is one where you just see the tip of the iceburg. We have a new client every two or three weeks, and the rate hasn’t slowed down. I think there are more out there than even we suspect.”

“I know you’re right about that,” came the trusting reply. “We must have about forty boys now, right? I don’t understand it, but we must keep trying to help them if we can. I guess I’ll just have to keep my eyes open in the store, and try not to let any of them slip through my fingers.”

“Yes, that’s right. Don’t let any of them get away,” Mrs. Warren said, perhaps a little too greedily. “I mean, it would be tragic to have them continue with their problems.”

“Indeed. I’ll never forgive myself for what my son went through. At least I can make up for that with these boys.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mrs. Warren said curteously, and they hung up. Inside she was thinking: she really is a guilt-ridden, altruistic sap. But I won’t complain. I have a very secure job, since these boys aren’t going anywhere. It pays well, and gets better every day. And it’s fun, which is more than most people can say about their jobs.

She thought back to when she had been a nurse, working long hours, for pathetic pay. She had always wanted to go into business for herself, but had never hit upon quite the right idea. It had been pure luck when one day, while paying for some cold medicine in The Drugstore, she had observed the young man in front of her in line purchasing some adult diapers from Mrs. Sheffield. Mrs. Sheffield, apparently out of curiosity, had asked the guy what they were for, and the man had blushed tremendously and murmured that they were for him, for some periodic medical problem. Mrs. Sheffield had pressed him about the details, which had seemed odd to Mrs. Warren until she later found out about Mrs. Sheffield’s son. This young man was being grilled about how he managed his “problem” and whether he wore the diapers all the time. Mrs. Warren watched with interest as the boy grew confused and murmured something about wearing them only when he needed to. By this time he had received his change, and almost ran out of the store with his new purchase.

Mrs. Sheffield had confided in Mrs. Warren that she had several young, apparently healthy customers about whom she worried, and this is when she related the story about her son. At the time, Mrs. Warren had thought the whole thing interesting, but an inappropriate topic to be discussing with strangers like herself. She had paid for her medicine and gone straight home.

She didn’t think about it until the next day, when she was watching a talk show, and there were some young men in diapers being interviewed about infantilistic fantasies. Mrs. Warren immediately realized why that young man had been in the store the day before, since she knew from her nursing job that there really any “temporary medical problems” that would periodically confine young healthy men to diapers. This fetish business made much more sense. One of the interviewees mentioned a fantasy he’d had about being forced to wear diapers, and soon a plan began to brew in Mrs. Warren’s head.

All the pieces were already essentially in place. Mrs. Sheffield, the drugstore lady, who had capital but no way to “help” her diaper-wearing clients. The clients, who wanted to wear diapers but wanted, above all, anonymity. All they needed was the middle-man, or middle-person in this case. She could make the necessary deliveries. And what if her clients were too shy? Well, didn’t they often share a fantasy of being forced to wear them? She could do that: blackmail, she was sure, was a powerful tool, one that would not only keep them purchasing her services, but would protect her from the law. These boys would be petrified of people finding out. They were just waiting for her to run their lives.

Mrs. Sheffield had been ecstatic, buying a van, hiring helpers (to inspect diapers), and essentially leaving all the details to her. Linda Warren had quit her nursing job, and devoted herself to running her new business. She had to make it look professional and well-intended to Mrs. Sheffield, so she conceived of ICP’s and retraining plans, typing up rules and contracts, never intending any of her client to graduate from her program. And they didn’t. Her program was wildly successful. She had been amazed at the numbers of infantilists who were drawn in by her lure, which was essentially an extra-large adult diaper section. It drew these guys in by the boatload, whereupon Mrs. Sheffield somehow got their names and Mrs. Warren forced them into paying her to enslave them.

And nobody ever quit. Eventually the time and energy demanded by a client decreased, so that she could focus on the new ones, who took a lot of attention. But her client list, her nursery of baby boys, just kept growing and growing, and so her commission did as well. Now she had a profitable career built around infantilizing young men against their wills, and the beauty of it was that it was fun, looked legal, and was in no danger of ending. She had the perfect job.

Occasionally she felt a twinge of guilt about what she did to these guys. For example, Doug Easton had never asked specifically for this to happen. But he WAS made vulnerable by his unfortunate little fetish, and Mrs. Warren often rationalized it by quoting Darwin’s natural selection theory. She was strong, they were weak. It was none of their faults, but that was the way it was. And anyway, they LIKED diapers, didn’t they? Sure, maybe not like this, but she imagined that they didn’t get many of their other fantasies filled, and beggars can’t be choosers.

The only thing she really felt bad about was the one element of her “ICP” farce which was also pure genius, the aspect that essentially doomed these boys to stay with her forever. It was the rule forbidding masturbation, which must just about kill these boys, she thought. That really is cruel, to supply a fetish and then punish the excitement it breeds. Yet, it really extended the program. Eventually these guys got used to wearing the diapers, bowed to her desires, and stopped fighting. But she hadn’t had one yet who could go more than a month without satisfying himself sexually. And then she could punish him and extend his probation indefinitely. Prohibiting sex was the one thing that made their ICPs permanent. It was the master stroke, so to speak, and therefore could not be eliminated, despite its cruelty. Anyway, she wasn’t totally heartless: she didn’t make them all wear chastity belts all the time. They DID get their little releases, but for that they paid a price, with their rear ends, and with their probation extensions.

She smiled. It was the perfect business. She just wished she could tell somebody.

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.

You know the rules!

You know the rules!Gift to ?

Draw by Sylph_Space

Source: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/27583078/

Awww poor pony it seems like someone dont understand the rules of diaper training here. Poor thing now she is force to use here thick diaper when someone have use some heavy chains on the toilet.

She sure dont seems to like the situation she is in. I sure wounder how she ended up whit this type of rules.

Hypnotized Messy Sissy

Hypnotized Messy SissyAfter getting ready for her weekend alone wearing only her diaper and a frilly dress, she opened a box on her desk which contained a special pacifier. She didn’t know why it was special but that’s what the box and the description on the internet said. Without thinking she put it in her mouth and began sucking on it. After a minute or two she started to hear a quiet whisper but the brushed it off since noone except her was in the house. Then some minutes later she heard the voice again but this time it was louder and also seemed to control her body. She couldn’t do anything as the pacifier slowly hypnotized her. The pacifier demanded her to fill her diaper and show the world how much she loved her diaper. Since she was hypnotized she couldn’t do anything but whimper as the felt her tail lifting up and her body loosing all control she had over her bodily functions. She just stood ther and felt her diaper grow warmer in the front and heavier in the back. Soon she was standing in a soaked and completly full diaper that sagged nearly to her knees. She didn’t want to admit it but she liked the feeling of her full diaper even after the pacifier stopped to hypnotize her.

Hyena and text belongs to Yuki_Suka-fu

Draw by catmonkshiro

Source: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/26971325/

Yes wearing a well used diaper sure can feel pretty nice and cozy and sometimes you need a little help to make the diaper that way :)