This story is written by Babydoc
One morning, after he’d been wearing diapers at night for a month, he woke up with a modestly wet diaper, and sleepily went off looking for the lady to unlock him. When he couldn’t find her in the kitchen or den, he stumbled back to her bedroom, where the door was shut. He knocked on the door, but there was no answer. He wandered out into the living room and wondered what to do, and his eye drifted outside to the empty space in her driveway.
She was gone! This was a little upsetting, since he had to get ready and leave for class soon, but he trusted that she’d be back soon.
For now, though, he was annoyed at having to rearrange his morning routine, since he couldn’t shower right away like he usually did. And he had to pee. Luckily, *that* wasn’t a problem, though, he smiled to himself as he released his urine into his damp diaper. It warmed comfortably, and he didn’t notice himself enjoying the feeling. The diaper was now sagging pretty seriously, though, and he suspected that it might be close to its saturation point. He hoped she came home soon.
Deciding he needed to do something productive or he would be late for class, he sat down in his wet diaper and ate a bowl of cereal, consciously missing a cooked meal. As he ate he thought about the day ahead. It was an important day for one of his classes, a seminar that started at nine and lasted all morning. Today they would receive midterm paper topics and exam instructions for the midterm test in a couple weeks. He couldn’t miss today.
He finished his cereal and, since there was still no sign of her, began to worry in earnest. He had to get to class! And soon, he knew, he’d have another big problem. His morning bowel movement, regular as clockwork, often hit him with an urge that was strong enough to make him run to the bathroom in the middle of breakfast (a fact that had not gone unnoticed by the landlady). The idea of using his diaper for that revolted him. and this was a possibility he did not want to face. He knew such a thing had to smell horrendously, be very uncomfortable, and be far too embarrassing to let *her* see or smell. No, that was a bridge he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, cross, today or ever.
He got up and went back into the living room, staring out the picture window toward the street, wishing her home. Suddenly that urge hit. And true to form, it hit hard. He looked around, panicked. He tugged at his chained waist. And then he knew. He was going to have an accident. Only he wasn’t sure if it could be called an “accident” if he was wearing a diaper. He shuddered at the thought.
The urge got worse. He’d never tried waiting and seeing if it went away; he wondered if it would. But it didn’t now. It worsened until he had to concentrate on *not* relieving his bowels. He wondered again what a messy diaper would feel like. For how long could he last, after all? Not four hours like this! He wouldn’t even be able to walk to class like this. And it worsened still.
He managed to walk slowly back to the lady’s bedroom. Surely she’d forgive him if he found the key to his panties and unlocked himself just this once. He tried the door, but it was locked. And heavy: he couldn’t break it down even if he had wanted to., He didn’t want to try, though, for he had a hunch that so much effort might very well make him fill his diaper.
His watch said eight forty-five now. This was terrible. He’d never felt as uncomfortable and miserable as he did now. He looked for her car again. No luck. The feeling hadn’t eased a bit. It was no use, he knew. A little voice in his head, which sounded suspiciously like the lady’s, told him to do the logical thing and mess his diaper. It was a diaper, after all. Another voice chimed in that the lady wouldn’t mind if he did; she was odd enough that she would probably even like it, and who knew what she’d cook for him then?
In response he allowed himself the small luxury of relaxing his sphincter just a little to see what it felt like, and before he could stop what was happening (he realized it was all over now) his bowel movement pushed its way out into his diaper. The first moments felt heavenly, he thought, as the pressure inside was released, but then as he felt the mess collect and push itself around in the seat of his diaper, felt his diaper fill and pull slightly, felt the warm mushy heat surround his buttocks, it started to dawn on him what he had just done. He’d just deliberately messed his diaper. And now that the initial relief had passed, he began to be utterly disgusted with the sensations from within the diaper. How could he have done such a thing?
He waddled out to the front room carefully, so as not to force the load in his diaper into motion, but was disappointed to see that the lady’s car was still missing.
A wave of horror washed over him as he realized that he still *had* to go to class, and that now he would have to walk around, talk to classmates and professors, and sit in this sopping, messy diaper he’d created. What if someone saw it? Smelled it? Heard it? And sitting in it for several hours was not something he looked forward to. He cursed, loudly and repeatedly, but that didn’t help much.
And he had to leave right away, or he’d be late, on top of everything else. Walking in late, with everyone’s attention on him, was just the initial impression he didn’t want to make, so he tried to hurry. He waddled into his room, feeling his diaper’s load shift with every step. As he put his jeans on and bent over to pull them up, his BM smoothly spread itself out over his cheeks and between his legs. He grimaced, knowing that this feeling was only the beginning. He finished dressing and waddled to class as normally and as quickly as he could. He was not late, but was not early enough that he felt obligated to talk to anyone. He just chose a seat in the back, and silently endured the three hour seminar, trying not to move or draw attention to himself. He was miserable and humiliated as he counted the minutes to the end of class. He nearly cried twice. At the end, he sprinted from the class back home, ignoring the discomfort this caused him, just wanting to get home and changed as soon as possible.
He felt relieved, angry, and embarrassed when he saw her car in the driveway. He tried to picture how she’d react, and he almost dreaded the possibility that she wouldn’t be grossed out, or might actually be happy at his predicament.
She was making lunch when he waddled in silently. He needed to be unlocked, but he was so angry and embarrassed about his condition that he didn’t know how to start a conversation. She heard him enter, though, and greeted him. A moment later she sniffed the air and asked if he smelled anything strange. He nodded slightly and looked away.
She came over to him and took one of his hands. “Is there something wrong?” she asked him tenderly, sensing he was upset.
That maternal action muddled up his emotions, and he inadvertantly released his frustration in a flood of tears. “Where *were* you this morning?” he choked. He was pissed off at himself for crying, but couldn’t help it. The day had been so bad.
She sat him down and pulled him close. “Oh, my little boy, it’s alright. I’m here now. What happened this morning? Did you have a little accident?”
He sniffed and nodded into her arms, letting her sleeves soak up his tears.
“It’s okay. Everybody has accidents, and everybody has a messy diaper once in a while. It’s no big deal. I’m here now. It’s alright.” She kept cooing to him and stroking his hair until he stopped crying. “Is it uncomfortable?” she asked sympathetically. He nodded. “And smelly?” He nodded again, aware that he had regressed for a few minutes, but feeling that it was appropriate under these circumstances. It felt so nice to be cared for.
“But you don’t need to be embarrassed, okay? Because everybody has dirty diapers once in a while, right? Okay. Don’t worry about it. Let’s just get you changed, okay?”
He nodded, but looked at her reluctantly.
“What? Do you need me to help, or can you do it yourself? It can be a big job, you know.”
He finally found his voice. “No, no, it’s okay. I’ll do it.”
“Fine. As you know, the wipes are in the bathroom. Use as many as you need to to get yourself clean. And be thorough, okay? Messes can lead to a rash pretty quickly.” He nodded, embarrassed. “And just bring me your diaper and your baby pants afterward. Now let’s get you unlocked. I’ve got the key right here.”
He took off his shoes, then undid his jeans and removed them. He saw that his disposable had leaked badly into the plastic pants, allowing a brownish fluid to accumulate in them, and he knew she could see this as well. But she didn’t mention it. She just unlocked his pants and patted him gently on the bottom.
He then went into the bathroom to spend ten of the most disgusting minutes of his life removing the diaper and its contents from his bottom and legs. He used dozens of baby wipes as well as toilet paper, and afterward he showered, thoroughly washing his diaper area as she had said. After he dressed, he brought out the disgusting diaper to the kitchen, where the lady had him put it in a ziplock baggie and deposit it into the trash. She smilingly told him that once again, she’d take care of his “baby pants,” a term she’d started using so gradually that he hadn’t even noticed it.
He was feeling much better about life since he had showered, and when he caught sight of the meal she’d prepared for him, he was genuinely elated. It was great! He was grateful to her for making such a bad situation turn out so well; she was a good mom, he thought to himself before he could stop himself. Landlady, he corrected himself. Or friend, or whatever. Anyway, she was nice.
And her kindness took another noticeable step up in intensity after this incident, he noticed. She now cooked all of his meals, drove him wherever he needed to go, did all the housekeeping chores, and even rented movies she thought he’d like on the weekends. He refused to think of it as a reward for having messed his diaper; that was an absurd explanation. She was probably just recognizing that the incident had brought them closer together. And he liked the new benefits, so he didn’t think about it too critically.
It was just a few days later (after several uneventful, wet nights) when he found himself talking to a classmate, a sophomore girl (who naturally intimidated him). The subject of housing came up. She asked him where he lived, and, wanting to make a good impression, he tried to describe the location of the house. She looked confused, and said, “Not in the baby house, though, right?”
A little chill went down his spine. “What do you mean?”
She told him that there was an older woman in one of those houses on Oak Street who, every year, tried to snare a freshman boy, turning him into her “baby.” “It’s pretty freaky, I’ve got to say, although for all I know it’s just a rumor. But the rumor is that she puts the guy into baby diapers, baby clothes, makes him sleep in a crib, eat baby food, everything. Supposedly once a guy gets caught by her, he’s hers until he graduates. It hasn’t happened for a year or two, so I haven’t seen it, only heard about it from upperclassmen. But can you imagine? Apparently they get sucked in during freshman year before they know better, and somehow get trapped. I don’t really understand why they don’t walk away. Maybe they like it, but I can’t imagine why. I’d bet they’d get teased, you know? Anyway, it’s weird. I’d watch out,” she laughed playfully, obviously either not taking the rumors seriously, or not suspecting him of being in that house.
He laughed, too, trying to cover up his anxiety. He thought she must be talking about his landlady. Later, he thought about it carefully. Could the rumors be true? They had to be talking about her; how many other women on his street put their boarders in diapers? But he only wore the diapers at night, and none of the other stuff was true. The stories were too fantastic to be true, he thought. What had happened to him had probably happened to someone else at some point in the past, and someone had found out and blown the whole thing out of proportion. It was probably like a typical game of “telephone”, when rumors get exaggerated naturally.
Besides, this lady was nice. A little eccentric, but not wacko. The two of them had a very nice relationship, and he trusted her, so he didn’t see a reason to panic and move out. At the most he’d just keep his eyes open.
And for the next week, the last week before midterms, everything was, indeed, as “normal” as ever: he put on a clean diaper at night, and would present her with a wet one the next morning. His nervousness about midterms, his first college tests, was growing, and he was glad to learn that a big bash was scheduled for the weekend before midterms started, the traditional way on campus to blow off steam before exams. He went, of course, and unfortunately had his first real experience with out-of-control drinking. By the time he stumbled home at two in the morning, he could hardly balance himself. He pushed his way along walls, received his diaper from a rather alarmed landlady, and fell into the bathroom to pee and put his diaper on.
He peed, and peed a great amount, but in a very inaccurate way. Then he slumped down on the bathroom floor to try to put his diaper on. He fumbled with the diaper, getting lots of powder on the tapes so that they wouldn’t stick. And in his intoxicated state, he couldn’t figure out what to do about it, so he did the best he could. He stood up, and it was on backwards, and the tapes wouldn’t stick, and he basically had to hold the diaper up with his hands. But he didn’t care: he had to get to bed to stop the world from spinning. He managed to stumble out into the hall to face the lady. She said something about his diaper and he said he *couldn’t* do it right and didn’t want to try and could she please just give him the goddamned pants so he could go to the fucking bed. He just watched as the expression on her face changed, and he was led back into the bathroom and seated on the floor. The lady disappeared for a moment, and when she returned she had another diaper.
She pushed him back down to the floor, and he just let her do it: it felt nice to lie down, and he was just barely aware of the fact that she removed the bad diaper, put the new one under his bottom, spread lots of powder all over and drew the diaper up between his legs and taped it. With some difficulty she got him standing and retaped the diaper properly, then got him into his baby pants. She looked toward the toilet and said something about his peeing on the floor, but he was too out of it to understand. She said something else and then led him to his bed, where he immediately went to sleep.
He awoke the next morning with a very wet diaper and muddled memories of the night before. He had a bad headache, and he took two aspirins before heading to the kitchen to get the old lady to unlock him. He immediately saw that she was not in a good mood; this was not something he needed this morning. He brusquely asked her to unlock him so he could change, but she said they needed to talk.
Once they were both seated she looked at him sadly. “Do you even know what happened last night?” He shook his head, as it was slightly easier than talking. “Well, I’d better tell you, because we have to deal with it somehow, I’m afraid.”
He was getting the same feeling he used to get when his mother punished him as a little boy, an ominous, foreboding sense that he had been bad but hadn’t even known it.
“I’m assuming you may have been a little drunk last night?” He nodded. “Well, you peed all over my bathroom, I’m afraid. It’s still there if you want to go look.”
He stared at his feet, not wanting to go look at that piece of handiwork. He was sure she was right, for that sounded slightly familiar. “Not only that, but you cursed several times at me. And you were completely unable to put your diaper on by yourself, which, of course, I had to remedy. Do you remember any of this?”
He did, slightly, to his humiliation. She had seen him naked, and had put his diaper on for him. Oh, boy. He nodded.
“Well, there are two issues here. One is the fact that you said earlier that you would be responsible for putting on your own diapers. Suddenly you’re shirking that responsibility, and that’s a big problem. I have to know that you’re wearing that diaper each and every night, and that you’re wearing it properly. Leaks don’t help us at all, you know. So if you can’t be trusted with that responsibility, I’m afraid I’ll just have to assume it.”
He tried to say something, anything to protest, but she went on.
“Let me finish. The second issue is one of being allowed to use the toilet. As you know, toilet usage is a privilege, not a right. I’d have thought you of all people would have known that,” she said, looking pointedly at his diaper. “You have to earn that privilege, and I’m not sure that you should be allowed in my bathrooms anymore. Normally, that would create quite a problem for a tenant, but in your situation, it would seem as though we have a clear and established alternative available.” Again she glanced at his diaper.
“My point is that I’m afraid we need to deal with these issues right away to assure that last night’s fiasco cannot ever be repeated. As I see it, there are two straightforward solutions. First, I change your diaper from now on. It’s easier for you and I don’t mind, especially since I have the extra piece of mind knowing it’s done right every time. Second, you make the small step of going from wearing diapers at night to wearing them all the time whenever you’re in my house. We do both of these and we’re completely covered.”
She paused. “The trouble is, I know it might be difficult for a boy like you to get used to these ideas, and I haven’t yet made up my mind what to do. What do *you* think?”
He sat with his mouth open. He certainly hadn’t expected anything like this, and he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You can’t be serious,” he said, rubbing his eyes.
“Of course I am,” she replied. “But you’re obviously a little in shock, and I can appreciate that. I’m not unreasonable. I’m going to offer you, therefore, that we do only *one* of those two things. Furthermore, to make it easier for you, you get to pick which one. Okay?”
He was still staring into space.
“Now look at it from my perspective. I have to know my bathroom won’t get abused and that my bed doesn’t get damaged, right?”
He nodded, conceding this point.
“And something has to be done in the wake of last night, don’t you agree?”
He admitted to himself, with some shame, that it had been quite a performance. He nodded again to her. Something probably needed to be done. But this?
“Now, it is my house, and I make the rules. If you can’t follow them, you can always leave, as we’ve discussed. But I like you, and I think you’ve enjoyed living here. I’d like to work this out, if possible. Because otherwise you’re a good tenant, and I’d like you to stay. So take a look at those two options and try to pick one. I’ll give you some time to decide. Until you decide, though, of course, I’ll need to keep you in this diaper, since the result of your decision will dictate how and into what you will be changed. So you go think about it, and tell me when you’ve decided.”
She left him sitting at the kitchen table. He put his throbbing head down on the table. She’d done it to him again, he realized. She’d sprung something so absurd at him, so suddenly (and right before midterms), that he didn’t have any options. He had to study full-time; he had no time to apartment-hunt. He couldn’t afford to be homeless right now, so he knew he had to play her game. But she couldn’t have planned it this way, right? She was odd, but not devious; he thought he knew that. But the timing was certainly uncanny.
So he went back to his room, sat on his bed, and tried to decide which of the two choices was less heinous. He thought about what it would be like for her to change all of his diapers. Pretty big intrusion into his privacy! But then, she’d already done it once. Of course, he’d been drunk and hadn’t been that aware of the experience. If he wore a diaper only at night, it would just be clean and wet diapers she’d deal with, not the really embarrassing messy ones.
What about the other option? It was absolutely unthinkable. He’d gotten so he didn’t mind the night diapers, but that was because they were only partially functional, and then only by choice. Wearing diapers all the time had the air of being totally reduced to baby status, which was too much. He had no interest in having to “earn” toilet privileges. Plus it would obviously mean one or more dirty diapers a day, and a high likelihood of having to wear them out and around again (because what were the odds of her being home every single time he went out?). Furthermore, he knew either of these choices would be embarrassing, but the former choice would be over after several minutes each day and would be confined to night usage, while the latter would obviously be humiliating all the time.
So he decided to go with option number one, while telling himself it would only last a week or at most two weeks, until midterms were over and he could find a new place to live. He liked the house and the lady, but things were getting a bit weird. Still, he could put up with anything for a week or two.
He waddled out in his wet diaper and told her he wanted the diaper changing option. She sighed contentedly and said, “I’m so happy you’ll be staying. I didn’t want to drive you away, but I felt something had to be done. And it won’t be *that* bad, will it? Sometimes it’s nice to sit back and let someone else do the work. Right?”
He nodded sullenly. His hangover had not been helped by this. He felt a little numbed by the whole experience; it seemed surreal. She, on the other hand, seemed elated that the issue had been settled. She hugged him; he responded only minimally. “Whoops!” she exclaimed. “I’d better get that wet diaper off of you!”
She strode to the other end of the house; he followed tentatively. He felt uncomfortable about the whole thing, assuming this new, passive role. But *she* apparently felt totally comfortable with her new role, and waited for him in the bathroom. He stepped into the room, and she unlocked his pants. He started to pull the baby pants down but she playfully slapped his hands away and did it for him.
“Okay, just sit down on the floor while I get out your baby wipes.”
“You know, I can do this,” he said, embarrassed to be so obviously treated like a baby, even as he obeyed her instructions.
“I know, but we made a deal. Now lay back and pull your knees up.” He sighed and did so, staring off into space, trying to pretend he wasn’t there. What would his family think of this? Humming, she leaned over and untaped his wet diaper and pulled it down through his legs, exposing him. She whistled at how wet his diaper was as she opened the baby wipes and pulled one out.
“Um, you really don’t need to do that,” he said anxiously. “I’m just going to shower.”
“Well, I feel like it’s my responsibility,” she said, looking at his face through his knees. “I want to leave you as clean after the diapers as you were before. Or even cleaner. Besides, I’ve *got* all those baby wipes; I may as well use them.”
And she started at his waist, firmly and quicly covering his skin and gently scrubbing away the remains of the wetness and powder. She did his thighs, his penis, scrotum, and then set that wipe aside. “Okay, now spread some more and lift your knees all the way to your face, please,” she directed as she prepared another wipe.
“Is this really necessary?” he asked, dreading her next actions.
“Yes,” she said rather shortly. So he did it, exposing the rest of his most private areas to her. She wiped down his hips and worked her way into his crack, which she held open with one hand and cleaned with the other. She’d finished, he thought, and paused, before suddenly poking a wipe- covered finger up his tight anus, twisting and pulling it out. He caught his breath, shocked and surprised by her actions.
“Hey,” he exclaimed. “Do you need to do that?”
She didn’t reply immediately, and he saw that she was looking at the intrusive wipe. Finally she said, “Yes, it would appear that I did need to do that. See if you can keep your bottom a little cleaner, okay? And until I’m satisfied, I’ll be doing *that* every day.”
He rolled his eyes but she didn’t see him, as she was pulling the wet diaper out from under him and replacing it with a clean towel. He dropped his legs instinctively. She picked up the wet diaper and folded it up, saying, “There. That was easy, right? A lot less for you to worry about. We’ll be doing this twice a day.” She looked thoughtful. “It’s so uncomfortable and cold down here on the floor. I wonder if I could find some sort of table that is more appropriate. Perhaps there are yard sales somewhere today.”
She started to walk out, but then stopped and turned back to him. “One other thing. For now, I think this will work out fine,” she told the naked boy on the bathroom floor (who was trying to hide his genitalia and look dignified). “But anymore slip-ups with the toilet and I’ll really have to enforce the other rule as well. Understand? Good. And finally, I *do* need that floor and toilet cleaned before lunch today. Now why don’t you shower and I’ll make some breakfast.”
She disappeared with the wet diaper, and he was left on the floor to ponder his new living situation. But it was too bizarre. He couldn’t really accept it. He tried to see it as a necessary evil during exams, to be remedied later. In fact, he decided to put it out of his mind altogether, and not to let it bother him. He’d ignore it and bear the burden for a week or two, and then move. He had mixed feelings about moving, surprisingly, because of his affection for the landlady. But there were limits to how weird he’d let things get. He shook his head, showered, and got to work studying in his room after an elaborate breakfast. He noticed that the lady’s mood was now bordering on mania, and eventually her high spirits brought him around, too (or perhaps it was the aspirin finally kicking in). He knew she wanted him to be happy, and it took a while, but he obliged eventually.
This story is written by Babydoc
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