The baby business

Official ICP (Incontinence Control Program) rules

Copyright (c) 1995 by Babydoc.

Welcome to your ICP! The philosophy of our program is based on the idea that “Continence Comes First.” As you know, continence is one of the very first skills you learn, and is a prerequisite to successful functioning in our society. If you are incontinent, whether you are a baby learning for the first time, or someone like yourself who needs to start over from the beginning, controlling incontinence and regaining continence should take precedence over all other aspects of your life. Otherwise, everything else in your life will suffer. Our program is successful because it helps you properly prioritize your incontinence, which is the first step toward controlling and, later, eliminating this embarrassing problem.

There are three essential elements to your personal Incontinence Control Program (ICP). First, as is true with any problem, the most important step is admitting from the start that you have a problem. Many of our incontinent clients have trouble admitting that they have difficulty with such a basic issue as keeping their pants dry or clean. To help you face up to this very real problem, we make you to confront your incontinence continually via the wearing and usage of adult-sized baby diapers. They are a visible and tactile symbol of your inability to stay clean and dry. The day to day care of your diapers and diaper area, as well as the difficulty you will face in hiding them from other people, will constantly remind you that you do indeed have an infantile problem which needs prompt and constant attention.

The second part of your ICP is the origin of your program’s name. You were enrolled in this program, at least in part, because of a demonstrated habit of wetting or messing in your pants or bed. You do not need to be told how embarrassing wet or messy pants can be around other people. Even one accident has the potential to ruin relationships, job opportunities, and other critical aspects of your life. Repeated accidents almost guarantee social and business ostracism. To help you salvage the rest of your life before it is permanently damaged, we offer, via diapers, a foolproof method of preventing these all-too-visible accidents. This is the original purpose of diapers, after all. And while having the occasional person find out that you wear diapers might seem embarrassing to you, it does not even come close to approximating the devastating effects of an unprotected accident in public. Wearing a diaper tells the people that do find out about them that you are aware of, are responsible for, and are taking effective actions against these repulsive social gaffes. It may very well impress them!

The third principle of our program is essential and, at the same time, often painful: discipline. It is, however, the cornerstone of your hope to regain your continence, and it must take priority right from the outset. We involve discipline in our program in many different ways. For example, we know that it’s difficult to submit to the embarrassment of wearing diapers all the time. But the very act of trying to live with this embarrassment is excellent disciplinary training. So is maintaining good diaper hygiene on a daily basis. And so is following the list of rules which follows, and submitting to punishment when appropriate. Punishment, commonly playing a central role in our ICPs, is primarily designed to instill discipline, which is often lacking in clients like yourself. It may be, in fact, the lack of such discipline which has led to your inability to remain toilet-trained. Your participation in this program will hopefully lead you to develop the kind of discipline that will allow you to begin the second stage of your ICP, your Continence Retraining Program.

But that’s a long way off in the future! For now, we simply want you to concentrate on your ICP. As you can see, with diapers and discipline, we can help you face your incontinence problem, control embarrassing accidents, and create a foundation of discipline upon which you can build for years to come. This is the philosophy of our program here at TIC. It has proven to be very effective both in controlling our clients’ incontinence and also in maintaining participation in our program over the long run, an area where other programs often fall short.

How long will you be in your ICP? This is a question often asked but difficult to answer. People vary in the severity of their incontinence problems and in their attitude about their ICPs. Not cooperating with us will delay your progression toward getting off of probation and moving toward retraining. Since the critical goal is for you to achieve a certain level of discipline and control, there is no upper limit to how long you may have to stay in your ICP. You have signed a legal contract to participate in your ICP, and this binds you to continue with us until the TIC person in charge of your care and training (your TIC mommy) believes you are ready to move on. And this depends entirely on you and how you respond to your ICP. Cooperation makes TIC very happy, and you will move that much more quickly toward being able to use a toilet and wearing underpants again. Think of that! It certainly is something to work toward!

So read these rules carefully and refer to them often. Post the mini-list at the end in several prominent places around your home, to help you remember how to be a good boy. Good luck, and be good!

1) DIAPERS: Your assigned diaper, to be supplied to you by your TIC mommy, is to be worn by you AT ALL TIMES. This means twenty-four hours/day, everywhere you go (eg. while sleeping, to school, to work, on errands, to doctor’s appointments, to the beach, etc.). While embarrassment about wearing your diaper is common and natural, it is very important to wear one at all times. The only exceptions are that you may briefly remove your diaper for changing purposes or for baths/showers; try to make the time you spend out of your diaper for these purposes as brief as possible, while still maintaining good diaper-area hygiene.

To help you remember to wear your diaper constantly, we have by this time, or will have in the near future, removed all your big-boy underpants from your home, and you will not be allowed to own any in the future, until such time as you are continent again. You may think of wearing underpants as a privilege to be earned, just as if you were a small child. To be allowed to wear your underpants again, you need to demonstrate a high level of continence skill.

NOTE: Many pools and beaches forbid infants in diapers to swim in the water. THIS INCLUDES YOU, and so even though it is inconvenient, we ask you to obey these signs where they are posted. Rules are there to be obeyed.

DISCIPLINE: Especially during your initial probation period, you will be checked often to be sure you are wearing your diaper. Your TIC mommy will have a key and permission to enter your home, and may enter unannounced up to several times a day, including overnight, to make sure you are being a good boy. School and work schedules will be furnished to your TIC mommy, and you will notify her of dates and errands, so that she may check on you during these times outside your home as well. For specific disciplinary measures, see below under “DISCIPLINE.”

2) TOILET VS. DIAPER USAGE: For the foreseeable future, until your TIC mommy tells you differently, you are to use your diaper for all your bowel and bladder needs. This means that you are not to use any toilet at all until you are told that it is okay to do so. Unauthorized toilet usage will be met with severe penalties from your TIC mommy. At your home we help you by preventing toilet usage completely, usually by turning off, draining, and locking all of your home’s toilets. We add urine-sensitive blue dye to the remaining toilet water, and your TIC mommy will check the toilets (every day at first) to make sure that you have been good. If you live with roommates or a spouse who needs to use the toilets, we will either give them other special dyes, or keys to unlock the toilets, and they will be asked to take an active role in preventing you from using them. Public and guest restrooms elsewhere cannot be similarly equipped, of course, but remember that TIC mommies usually know where their TIC “babies” are, and almost always have an eye on them wherever they are. They may follow them personally, or hire other friendly babysitters to keep their eyes on you while you are at work or out shopping. Be aware that even suspicious loitering around a public restroom, let alone going in, may be grounds for serious punishment. For the sake of avoiding painful misunderstandings, please stay away from these areas and simply use your diaper appropriately.

The other way in which you are encouraged to use your diapers is through the recollection of used diapers. As you take off a wet or messy diaper, wrap it up and place it in the bag placed in your diaper pail by your TIC mommy. At the end of each week, when your new diapers are delivered, we will pick up your bag(s) of used diapers for you. TIC counts them and compares the total for the week with your quota, which is set by your TIC mommy. This number will be calculated to estimate your weekly diaper needs at full usage. Therefore, if you turn in fewer than your quota, we know you’ve used a toilet and/or not worn your diaper all the time. This, of course, necessitates punishment. Please note the following as well:

a) Your quota includes a total minimum number of diapers, IN ADDITION TO specifically a minimum number of messy diapers for the week. This minimum number of messy diapers is usually nine diapers per week, or just over one messy diaper each day.

b) Each diaper must be fully “used,” ie. the wetness indicator in disposables >2/3 wet. This includes messy diapers.

c) Diapers are tested by TIC for genuineness of urine with special chemical tests. These tests can determine if you’ve “doctored” a diaper (eg. added water, peed onto it while not wearing it, etc.). Extensive experience allows us to easily identify these diapers and the bad little boys who try to mislead us, and punishment for this infraction is particularly severe.

d) Messy diapers must appear “worn;” that is, contents clearly pressed into the diaper. This is best and most easily accomplished by sitting down and squirming around in your messy diaper. Though at first this may seem uncomfortable and create more cleaning problems, it once again tells TIC that you were wearing and using you diaper appropriately.

e) Not meeting diaper quotas will obviously lead to punishment and/or “help.” See below.

3) HYGIENE: Diaper hygiene is extremely important in preventing diaper rash, which will make you very uncomfortable, and which often requires embarrassing trips to see the doctor. It is also a good way to practice your discipline, and to prove to your TIC mommy that you are a responsible and disciplined client. Hygiene includes:

a) Shaving: It is expected that you will keep your diaper area (ie. ALL hair on skin that is covered by your diaper) closely shaven at all times. TIC mommies will begin checking your diaper area within twenty-four hours from when you start your ICP to make sure you are well-shaven. We recommend that you shave yourself every two to three days to keep yourself clean and comfortable. Shaving makes mesy cleanups MUCH easier, and provide less area for diaper rash to fester. Your TIC mommy hates to see hair down there! She will check you often to see that your skin is as smooth now as it was during your first infancy.

b) showers/baths: We recommend showers or bubble baths every day. Many clients enjoy showering right after removing a messy diaper, to help them clean up. This is fine as long as you keep your bathtub/shower well-cleaned from day to day. Your TIC mommy will check this. During showers or baths you are expected to wash your diaper area very thoroughly, including both orifices, inside and out. These are areas with very sensitive skin which must be kept clean.

c) Diaper changes: Since you must use every diaper fully, which often means wearing a diaper long after it has been initially wet or dirtied, it is critical that you use vaseline, lotions, and/or powder to keep your skin in good shape. It is generally up to you to choose what combination you like the best, though your TIC mommy may have some special rules or suggestions for you. She will also provide you with any and all supplies you may need for this purpose.

4) SEX: By enrolling in this program you have promised not to engage in any sexual activity until after your restored continence has been documented and your participation in your ICP has been terminated. The parameters of this rule should be clear, but we have found it necessary in the past to elaborate on this point. “Sexual activity” for boys means any situation which involves an erection and/or orgasm/ejaculation. In other words, you are not allowed to ejaculate while in this program; this includes sex with other people as well as masturbation.

The reasons for this are simple and important. It is a matter of priority. Incontinence control requires full concentration all day long, every day. Since boys use the same part of their bodies for urination as for sex, some boys become confused and/or preoccupied when faced with the opportunity to use their penises for more than one purpose. You need your full energy and concentration in order to return to full continence, and anything, like sex, which takes your mind off this process, is counterproductive.

At TIC, we believe there is another benefit to abstaining from sex while in the program. We like to use it as an incentive to cooperate with us in restoring your lost control. It fits in with the rest of the program: think of it as though you are a little boy who is growing up slowly. Parents use the promise of toilets and underpants as inducement toward continence; we use these as well, plus the promise of once again being able to enjoy the grown-up pleasures of sex. Babies don’t have sex, and while you are in diapers, neither will you.

We know, however, that boys like you have trouble controlling their strong sexual urges, so we have devised several ways to help. First, we obtain agreements from significant others not to participate in sexual activity with you, to actively discourage you from engaging in any activity, and to report any suspected or witnessed activity to us directly, so that we may help you in avoiding such activity in the future.

Second, we try to eliminate opportunities and the temptation for you to indulge in these naughty acts when you are alone, via several ways:

a) You must always wear your diaper, as already mentioned.

b) All diapers are meticulously tested chemically for ejaculate (eg. seminal fluid, sperm, etc.) when turned in.

c) All disposable paper products are removed from your home permanently. You have no need for toilet paper, and other needs, such as kleenex or paper towels, can be satisfied with cloth products like handkerchieves or towels.

d) All laundry is examined carefully by your TIC mommy before you are allowed to wash it.

e) You are not allowed to touch yourself between the legs, even through your diapers, for any purpose other than cleaning, and these times are to be kept brief.

f) Because some boys have demonstrated extreme resourcefulness in deceiving us, chemicals have been added to your sinks and bathtub/shower which will turn bright red if these surfaces come into contact with any ejaculate. These chemicals are permanent and are impossible to remove (this has been tried, and trust us, it does not work).

Breaking the sex rule is treated very harshly, with both punitive and preventative measures often being taken. We believe strongly that sexual activity must be avoided by you at all costs, and we will work with you to eliminate these acts if they become a problem. This is a supreme example of how discipline plays a role in your ICP. If you believe you may have a problem with masturbation or other naughty activities in the future, please discuss this with your TIC mommy from the outset, so that we may prevent any problems from occurring.

5) DISCIPLINE: As one of the central tenets in your ICP, discipline is obviously very important. In addition to the aforementioned role it plays in successful continence, it plays a large role in encouraging your active participation in this program as well. Discipline comes in two varieties in your ICP: self-imposed, the kind we want you to develop for yourself, and externally-imposed, in the form of punishment. Both of these types, if you have not already encountered them, will become very familiar to you in the near future.

When we sat down to devise the punishments we thought would be most helpful to you in developing your discipline, we decided to focus on what would be most meaningful to you in your ICP. In keeping with the idea that you are starting from the beginning again (eg. wearing diapers, looking forward to toilet-training, etc.), we thought that the most infantile punishment, the spanking, might be most appropriate. It not only reminds you of your infantile incontinence, but it will reinmake your relationship with your TIC mommy, which ought to be that of a mother-baby, or perhaps mother-toddler. There should be an element of nurturing and caretaking, but also an element of strict discipline as well. This mother-toddler relationship is a perfect analogy of what we think will work best; after all, nature uses it every day to teach continence the first time!

The following list includes brief glimpses of some of the more common punishments doled out by mommies in the past. It is certainly not exclusive, and mommies have the liberty to devise and use nearly any sort of punishment if they think it will help you improve your self-discipline. The only limitations are that we ask TIC mommies to tone down punishment in public, unless necessary, and we forbid any punishment that might lead to permanent physical injury.

a) Spankings: These are often the straightforward and old-fashioned type, with you being bare-bottomed and over your TIC mommy’s knee, given with an open hand. However, they are subject to modification by inventive mommies. In certain circumstances they may be given in public (see below) but usually are given in the privacy of your home. Given for a wide variety of offenses, including not wearing your diapers, poor hygiene, not shaving, backtalk, disobeying your mommy, touching yourself, having an unauthorized orgasm, being spotted near a public restroom, going on errands without first telling your TIC mommy. Spankings are usually given without warnings beforehand, so if you have a doubt about whether you might be breaking a rule, ASK.

b) The Wet Bet: This is a favorite of our mommies, so look out. TIC mommies love to visit their babies in public places and check to see if they are wearing their diapers by making with them the Wet Bet. It is not to be feared by good little boys who always wear their diapers, but it can become quite an embarrassing or painful problem for naughty little boys caught without their diapers on. Essentially, your mommy will bet you that you are wearing your diaper, and will then ask you to wet it for her. Good boys wind up with a wet diaper that simply needs changing, but bad boys end up with very wet pants in very public places. Refusing to take the bet leads to an immediate spanking wherever you happen to be at the time. You are told about this at the beginning so that you are not tempted to go without your diaper in public. You WILL be asked to take the Wet Bet, so be good and always wear your diaper.

c) Bowel Encouragement: This is not so much a punishment as an old-fashioned medicinal treatment. If you fail to turn in your required quota of messy diapers for the week, you make your mommy to conclude that you are constipated and need a little help moving your bowels. This is most often accomplished using the suppository series, wherein your mommy encourages you to move your bowels by giving you a series of powerful suppositories in sequential diapers during a twenty-four hour period. Each diaper must be worn until your mommy thinks the suppository has done its job fully, and then you may be changed and given a fresh suppository. We find this treatment to be very effective, and often one series is the only such treatment any one client ever needs to help keep him regular and obedient.

d) Humiliation: As mentioned, driving home your infantile status is effective both in reminding you of your underlying problem and in reinmaking your relationship with your mommy. Humiliation, both formally and informally, is often used by our mommies to emphasize what they feel is undisciplined or immature behavior. Being maked to eat baby food, or to use bibs, bottles, baby talk, and baby clothing and furniture often makes the point very clearly to our clients. Each mommy has her own favorite ways of embarrassing you, so be warned now. Avoiding this treatment, or escaping it once it has started, is only accomplished by accepting your punishment like a big boy and following all the rules (ie. growing up in your mommy’s eyes). Some of this humiliation inevitably occurs in public, but you can minimize this by being as good as possible. Wearing diapers is embarrassing, we know. Don’t make things any worse.

e) Misc. Our mommies have your permission to use other forms of corporal, psychological, and diaper punishment on you at any time if it is felt appropriate and abides by the rules outlined above.

A final word: no one is perfect, so you can expect to be punished, probably many times, over the duration of your ICP. Nobody likes to be punished, but our goal is to try to help you become more responsible and disciplined, and your punishment will help you move closer toward getting out of your diapers and back into underpants. It might be difficult to recall how good the punishment is for you when you are perched on a lap sunny-side up, or if you are maked to wet your pants in public, or spend an entire day in a VERY messy diaper, but if you can learn anything from it, it is worthwhile. Admit your mistake, accept your punishment, learn from it, and move on.

6) PROBATION: You are automatically on probation when you begin your ICP. While on probation you are subject to very close supervision and very strict discipline. Visits from your mommy to home and in public are frequent, and punishment is more severe. Its duration may vary in length from several weeks to several years, in the worst case, depending on your cooperation and attitude. Your mommy will take you off of probation when she is convinced that you will unfalteringly adhere to the rules and the philosophy of your ICP. Most clients initially appreciate this attention to detail, but we view getting off probation as one of the initial signs that you may be developing enough discipline to merit terminating your ICP and beginning toilet-re-training.

7) TERMINATION: Because our punishment often generates strong temporary urges to terminate participation in the ICP, we have made exit from an ICP relatively difficult, at the request of our clients. However, continence is the skill by which everyone in this program is judged, and if you demonstrate perfect continence, you may terminate your ICP. Our anticipation is that you will not regain continence until after finishing your ICP and undergoing our intense second step of the program, the Continence Retraining Program. You can take the short-cut, however, if you satisfy one of two criterion:

a) Pass a continence test given to you by your TIC mommy. The use of mild “diaper juice” during a three hour continence test has been proved to be a reliable differentiator between who needs to be in our program and who does not.

b) Get a signed note from an impartial physician testifying to your total continence of bowel and bladder. This is an available option only after six months of an ICP, since this is the established minimally therapeutic time in our program. Your TIC mommy will furnish you with a list of TIC-recognized physicians eligible to evaluate your continence status.

Your mommy may ask you to obey certain other rules, and she, of course, has every authority to impose them on you. It is difficult to follow an ICP correctly all the time, but TIC has a proven history of EFFECTIVE INCONTINENCE CONTROL. Your full cooperation makes our job easier and your life more enjoyable.

Good luck, and be a good boy !

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.

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The baby business Part 25

Part number 24 is missing.

Copyright (c) 1995 by Babydoc.

Doug’s next week, simply put, was hell. For five days he received an unforgettable series of spankings that left him sore for nearly two weeks afterward. And things didn’t really get better after that. Mrs. Warren’s chastity device, unfortunately, turned out to be everything she’d said it was, and more. Early and exhaustive experimentation early on proved it to be inescapable. The straps prevented the motion necessary to slip it off in any direction. He was definitely stuck in it for the duration.

The sheath itself wasn’t really uncomfortable, as long as Doug’s penis was flaccid. It fit well, and there was very little chaffing. But he soon grew to hate the straps that ran around each of his thighs and attached to the sheath. With every step, they tugged the sheath from side to side, gently massaging Doug’s penis against the smooth gel of the sheath. In his deprived, excitable state (which only worsened, of course, as time went on), it led quickly and efficiently to the beginnings of an erection, which was just as quickly and efficiently terminated by what felt like a thousand needles digging into his penis. He had no idea how it worked, what was under the gel, or why it never seemed to draw blood. But it was undeniably present, and excruciatingly painful. It happened nearly every time he walked, and when the pain hit, he’d literally double over and have to fight a yelp of distress. After the better part of a minute, the venous congestion would disperse, and the pain would abate; he would straighten up and walk for another few steps until it happened again.

And so, yes, he began to hate and fear these mini-erections, despite his knowledge that it was not erections per se that were painful, that he was only being made to feel this way by Mrs. Warren. But what could he do? With every step he took, the association of sexual stimulation and intense pain was etched more and more clearly into his consciousness. And he indeed found himself swearing to himself that he’d never have another erection again, if only the pain would end. He made such oaths despite the fact that he knew he wouldn’t be able to follow up on them later. He knew his resolve wasn’t that strong, that he’d eventually have to give in to his desires and masturbate again.

But those straps hurt him.

In addition to the torment caused by the chastity device, he also had to deal with the ongoing humiliation of having to drink from a baby bottle, even at work. He was forced to bring a bottle from home, hide it under his desk, and surreptitiously suck on it when he was thirsty or at lunch. He constantly lived in fear of being discovered by coworkers, or worse, his boss, the lab’s director. A week into this punishment, he was surprised to notice that the mug he kept at his desk had disappeared at some point. He didn’t know who had taken it, or when it had been taken, but he had to assume that Mrs. Warren, or her informant, was responsible. He didn’t say a word about it, of course; what could he say?

He had to use bottles at home as well, and since he found it impossible to drink anything quickly out of it, he usually ended up sucking on a bottle more or less constantly when he was at home just to satisfy his thirst. And since he had to wear one of his bibs whenever he ate or drank anything, Doug found himself wearing a bib, and drinking from his bottle, nearly the entire time he was at home.

These little humiliations added up. Doug never felt more degraded than when he finished a bottle, removed his bib, changed his wet or messy diaper, and put on his pink sleeper for bed. He practiced this sequence nightly, however, without cutting corners. He knew from experience what happened when he tried to break rules.

As Doug tried to deal with all of this, the last thing he thought of was his continence (or lack thereof), which was, of course, the whole point. In fact, in the midst of all these other hassles, he was beginning to forget to be upset about having to wear diapers. They were edging their way into his concept of what was “normal” for him these days; if he just had to wear his diapers, and didn’t have to worry about all the other nonsense, he wouldn’t have complained at all.

It was near the end of his third month in diapers that he woke up for the first time in a wet diaper. The first time, he wasn’t really sure if he’d done it in his sleep or if he’d awakened and wet it semi-consciously, but as time went on and he woke up wet more and more often, he began to suspect the truth. It was sign of how much his perspective had changed that he didn’t regard this development with alarm. But Doug was necessarily becoming very good at rationalization, and he reasoned that this was simply a temporary condition brought on by the constant usage of diapers during the daytime, and would surely resolve, along with everything else, as soon as he resumed his normal life in another couple of months. And for now, what was the harm? Like his other unconscious diaper-usage, it actually made things more convenient, since he didn’t have to wake up to take care of things in the middle of the night. His diaper and stuffer were certainly thick enough to handle the overnight load, and so Doug decided that the end result would simply be a better night of sleep.

Three weeks into Doug’s enforced chastity punishment, he decided to try to make a bargain with Mrs. Warren. After spending several days mustering the necessary courage, Doug asked her if she might agree to take the thigh straps off if he wore the rest of the device an extra two weeks. Mrs. Warren was delighted by this offer, seeing it as “progress” by Doug, and agreed immediately, since she didn’t currently have another client who would be needing the device before Doug would be done with it. For Doug it was a victory of sorts. Since he was already swearing not to have an orgasm afterward, lengthening the punishment didn’t deprive him of anything, and he rid himself of the most heinous part of the punishment. And he was kind of happy: for the first time since he could remember, he had exerted a little control over his strange life.

At the end of the two months, in February, the sheath came off completely, and Doug was happy to return to his “normal” life. He was disappointed when Mrs. Warren said he still had to use the bib and the bottles, but he wasn’t going to argue. He forced himself to be grateful for what he could get; the bibs and bottles were starting to seem less horrible now, anyway. They certainly weren’t worth fighting over.

By the time his punishment was over, Doug ended up feeling ready to try p to keep his promise not to masturbate. When he had first been locked into it, he had focused on more rebellion, and spent many hours trying to dream up new plans for clandestine masturbation. He had thought of something that would probably work; it revolved around masturbating out the back door of his apartment at night in the grass, a plan that would have seemed utterly bizarre and obscene to him several months earlier. But he was now in desperate straits, and he’d thought he wouldn’t be able to wait until he got out to try it.

As time wore on, however, and he began, against his will, to resent his erections, he’d slowly decided to shift his post-punishment strategy to one of lying low. After all, he’d lasted two months without an orgasm; surely he should just wait two more and be done with this whole ordeal. The two remaining months would pass much faster if he were not being actively punished for something; he ought to be good, get out, and then recover his life. Abstinence seemed a small price to pay to expedite his freedom, even in the face of a diaper fetish, which, although less obvious these days, must still be hiding there underneath it all. It was indeed the ultimate sacrifice, but it was still worth it if it helped him bear his ICP better.

Doug realized that he was two-thirds of the way through his ICP, and he started thinking more and more about the future, specifically what would happen after this diaper torture was over. His interview for the graduate program had, as expected, gone well, and his boss, the lab director, had essentially assured him that the rest of the application process was a formality, and that for all intents and purposes he could plan on entering the program in August. Doug was, of course, overjoyed at this, for he’d structured this entire year around this very opportunity. It appeared that his work had paid off, and that despite the strange twist his life had briefly taken, his overall goals were still in sight, and if he could just live through the last two months of this thing, his dream life was waiting for him. He looked forward to having to decide between the equally enticing prospects of a high-salaried private sector position and a juicy teaching job at a top university somewhere. Either way, it looked like his future would be well-paved.

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.

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The baby business Part 23

Part number 22 is missing.

Copyright (c) 1995 by Babydoc.

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

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

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

“Yes, ma’am,” Doug said sincerely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Doug scowled at her. “No, ma’am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But Mom…” Emily whined.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go ahead.”

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

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

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

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

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

Doug stared at the floor and nodded silently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright (c) 1995 by Babydoc.

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

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The baby business Part 21

Copyright (c) 1995 by Babydoc.

Doug’s fear of being smelled on the bus convinced him to walk home, an uncomfortable trip that contrasted vividly with his walk *to* work this noon. Now, with every step he felt the largely liquid load in his diaper shift and squish, and the discomfort only increased over the fifteen minutes it took to get home.

The only good thing was that it was nearly six when he arrived home, and he only had to wait a couple minutes for Mrs. Warren to show up. He couldn’t wait. It had indeed been a miserable afternoon, from start to finish. With the exception of his continence test, he’d never been so uncomfortable in his life, he’d never had such a full diaper, and he’d never had to wear a messy diaper for so long. He was thoroughly disgusted, and ready as never before for a clean diaper.

Mrs. Warren was, as always, punctual, and unlocked the outer plastic panties immediately. She watched with an amused smile as he pulled them off. They were obviously dirty on the inside, a sign that his “accident” had overloaded his thick diaper and the first pair of plastic pants. Doug’s gratefulness for the necessary protection this afternoon was tempered by the confirmation that Mrs. Warren had known *exactly* what would happen to him today. She tried to play it off as concern for his incontinence, but Doug was beginning to suspect that Mrs. Warren was enjoying his unhappiness. This was such a frightening thought that he pushed it temporarily from his mind. He remained conscious only of a desire to end his ICP at the end of the six months. While thinking, he also pulled the other panties off and untaped his loaded diaper.

“Whew. That *is* a dirty diaper,” she said, chuckling.

Doug didn’t share her good humor, for he was also embarrassed for her to see him in such a humiliating state, but he reminded himself that it had happened before. And like before, his mind was primarily thinking of getting cleaned up. He waddled carefully into the bathroom and showered, leaving his filthy diaper with Mrs. Warren to examine.

She did, noting the absence of any remaining, unmelted suppository. That was a little disappointing to her for several reasons. It deprived her of the opportunity to “enemize” Doug, which she knew she’d enjoy. More importantly, however, it meant that he was still continent enough of bowel to hold significant pressure in for a long time. But she remembered that all of her boys, most of whom were perfectly on schedule, usually did fine for the first round. It was rounds two and three, which for Doug would come overnight tonight, when their increasingly unconditioned sphincters gave way and allowed their contents out before ninety minutes were up. Exactly when the boys control failed during this difficult day of bowel torture gave her important information regarding their “progress,” and this was the major reason that she put her babies through this rectal hell.

Doug took his time in the shower, enjoying the sensation of being out of a diaper for a few minutes. His relief at having escaped the day’s earlier torment was all-consuming. He savored the feeling, and couldn’t really think about anything else.

And this preoccupation with the present, like every other part of Doug’s Incontinence Control Program, was planned by Mrs. Warren. She had discovered that the more her clients were focused on detailed rules and demands, the less capable they were of seeing the bigger picture. Doug rightfully thought today’s experience was horrendous, but because it took all of his concentration simply to make it through the day, he couldn’t spend any time considering the larger purpose for the ordeal, which was to assess his progress toward incontinence. He was trying only to make it through each day without a spanking; had he known the stakes, he might have shifted his efforts toward avoiding Mrs. Warren’s long-term plans for him.

But Doug was so focused at the moment, in fact, that he was completely shocked and dismayed when he emerged from the shower and saw another two pellets waiting for him in Mrs. Warren’s gloved hand. He’d forgotten that he had more to endure.

“No, please, Mommy,” he whined. His bowels already ached. “I’m all cleaned out, I promise.”

“Shush,” Mrs. Warren said, pushing Doug back on his changing pad. “No more backtalk. You’ll be done soon enough. We have to make sure.” Doug compliantly spread and lifted his legs, allowing himself to be powdered, invaded by the glycerine, and rediapered. Mrs. Warren had two clean plastic panties for Doug to put on. Doug watched helplessly as she locked the outer one. He knew better than to object.

“Do I have to wait six whole hours?” he asked, pushing Mrs. Warren as far as he dared.

“Absolutely.” She packed up her purse.

“But it’s so long in a messy diaper,” he whimpered.

Mrs. Warren glared at him. “That’s enough, young man. Look at it this way: this is making up for all the time you didn’t spend in dirty diapers this week. Remember, now, same rules, if you don’t want an enema. Try to wait ninety minutes, and I’ll see you around midnight. I’ll wake you up if I need to. Now, I suggest you have some dinner.”

She left, and Doug waddled downstairs to eat. This time, though his bowels were nearly empty, they were also still very irritated from the previous suppositories, and they reacted quickly and strongly to this new onslaught of glycerine. The cramps and discomfort started within five to ten minutes, and Doug nearly cried several times. This was so pathetic. He wanted nothing more than to control his own bowels, and he felt degraded, angry, and miserable that he wasn’t allowed to make his own decision about such elementary functions. Mrs. Warren would have been happy that his greatest desire tonight was craving the ability to mess his diaper when he wanted? Life for Doug had certainly changed. He was pathetic these days, he thought.

But once again he bumped up against that wall he now always faced: Mrs. Warren and her absolute power over him. Though his ego still rejected his current impotent situation, he knew he had to force himself to submit to her difficult will.

So he gritted his teeth and tried to keep his diaper clean. Meanwhile, while his bowels churned away, he unconsciously (and vainly) searched for a way to rationalize his participation in this absurd ICP. If he could gain something, anything, out of this humiliating return to diaperhood, his self-esteem wouldn’t suffer as much. Perhaps, he allowed himself to think, Mrs. Warren had actually been right, and he *had* always been a little incontinent. That would make all of this worthwhile, and this pain a little more tolerable. If this were so, then he was in the right hands, and he should just relax and trust in Mrs. Warren’s experience with such matters. But even as he allowed himself to think this way, he knew it wasn’t true. Mrs. Warren was mean to him. His defensive ego was playing tricks on him, and that’s probably just what Mrs. Warren wanted to happen. He shook his head. He hadn’t been incontinent. Probably. He didn’t think so. But it seemed like things were more confusing these days, which frightened him a little in a vague way.

He was, as always, able to reassure himself that, at the very least, it would all end in five months, and he could return to normality. There was still a finite end to this nonsense, a light at the end of the tunnel.

Doug’s second vigil of the day ended just over an hour in, when he decided that maybe an hour really was enough to melt those little pellets, and that waiting longer would hurt too much. Plus, he started to admit to himself, he was getting tired of holding it in: he wasn’t used to such a strain. For the last four weeks, he hadn’t tried to hold it in at all; now he had diarrhea and was expected to hold it in all day long? No one could do that, he thought to himself, practicing some dangerous denial. He regarded his task as super-human, and something of which anyone would tire.

So once again Doug filled his diaper with loose, brown, sticky poop, and he sighed and grimaced as he sat down in it to watch TV until Mrs. Warren returned at midnight. He decided to try to ignore his messy state, and, in fact, he was beginning to grow used to it. His acclimation to such infantile discomfort showed the effect this month had had on him. Mrs. Warren would have again been pleased.

And she was. At midnight Mrs. Warren arrived and found Doug asleep on the sofa in his filthy diaper, and she smiled. She gently woke him, guided him as he sleepily headed upstairs, and helped him remove his panties and diaper.

This time Mrs. Warren found what she was looking for in Doug’s diaper. Two small suppository remnants told her Doug was unable to maintain good sphincter tone for ninety minutes tonight. She was thrilled, but decided to put off Doug’s enema until the morning, when they would both be more awake, for her heightened enjoyment of his increased misery. She didn’t want him to sleep through it!

Doug showered more quickly this time, realizing that there was no virtue in putting off the inevitable. It would just make everything last longer. He dried himself, and, still naked, headed back to his bedroom, where another diaper was waiting for him, as well as Mrs. Warren, who had two more suppositories ready. He groaned as she inserted them with a gloved finger, and then he obediently allowed her to tape him up and lock him in still another plastic panty.

Mrs. Warren saw his exhaustion and beaten spirit and couldn’t resist a smile. “Halfway there, Doug. Twelve more hours.”

He grunted in return. He was tired physically and mentally, and her encouragement couldn’t help him.

“Sleep well. I’ll be here a little late, at about seven o’clock, so that I don’t have to wake you too early,” she said, stroking his hair gently. “Thank Mommy, and tell her goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Mommy,” Doug wearily replied. “And thanks,” he said unconvincingly.

Mrs. Warren had scarcely driven away when Doug felt his bowel cramp for the first time. He groaned and rolled over in bed, still feeling very sleepy but knowing that he should stay awake for a while. When this round of cramps subsided several minutes later, however, he quickly drifted off to sleep.

In its weakened and exhausted state, Doug’s rectal sphincter was no match for the pressure of its contents as they built over the next fifteen minutes. And Mrs. Warren would therefore have loved to have seen the moment, not half an hour after she placed the suppositories, when Doug soiled his diaper in his sleep for the first time in more than twenty years. He didn’t even stir when it happened, and was so used to wearing messy diapers (and so tired from the events of the previous day) that he never awoke, and thus was surprised when Mrs. Warren had to shake him awake at seven the next morning.

“Was Douggie a good little baby last night?” Mrs. Warren asked sweetly when Doug’s eyes finally fluttered open.

“Yes, Mommy,” Doug said reflexively, before he had time to think about whether it was true. He sat up and knew instantly that he was messy. But when last night had it happened?

“Well, let’s see, shall we?” Mrs. Warren unlocked his panties and helped Doug pull them down his legs. Then they untaped his diaper, and Doug looked with curiosity down between his legs to his clean-shaven groin, and the diaper underneath, which contained a little bit of poop and two well-formed glycerine pellets which hadn’t even come close to melting. Doug caught his breath. Had he fallen asleep? He stuttered a few unintelligible syllables before Mrs. Warren cut him off.

“That’s enough. Looks like maybe we weren’t quite as good a little boy as we thought. Head on in there and take your shower if you want, and we’ll talk about it afterward.”

Doug complied, shaking his head in confusion. How did that happen? he wondered. And now what would she do? She *has* to be kidding about the enema, that’s absurd, I’ve never had one of those and I’m not going to start now, he thought, even as he knew that Mrs. Warren didn’t break her promises. But it’s so drastic. Maybe she won’t make me.

But when he returned to his bedroom, of course, there was a large clean bag of soapy liquid hanging from one of his bedposts, with a long tube snaking its way down to his changing pad. Mrs. Warren was holding a container of K-Y jelly and looking at him expectantly.

“Doug, I’d like for you to lay down here for a minute.”

Doug was scared. “Mrs. Warren…I mean…Mommy, do we have to? I mean, I’ll just try again with those suppository things. Please?”

“Oh, don’t worry. We will: we still have one more try with those. But first I’d just like for you to come over here and lie down. Just for a minute.”

He knew now that he couldn’t escape it, so he slowly approached the bed.

“That’s a good boy. On your hands and knees, like a puppy dog, with your bottom down here. Good boy. Now drop to your elbows and put your head down. And spread your legs a little. Perfect.”

Doug closed his eyes. He felt a slippery finger touch his bottom, and then felt a small firm object invading him. He involuntarily tried to clamp down against it but couldn’t. He heard a click as Mrs. Warren released the valve on the tubing to allow two liters of sudsy warm water to fill his bowels. Doug then felt a warmth in his abdomen and an unusual, nondescript feeling as well. But, Doug was happy to learn, it didn’t really hurt at all. It did last for what seemed quite a while. Finally, the plastic object was removed from his bottom. Not *that* bad, Doug thought.

Mrs. Warren said, “Okay, now just hold still for a minute.” As Doug waited he felt gurgling throughout his abdomen and wondered what would happen next. Mrs. Warren was considering whether or not to use the tampon at this point. She decided first to test Doug’s sphincter further. There would be time for the tampon later, and this could be fun.

“Get up now, Doug.” He stood and found Mrs. Warren waiting with a pair of transparent plastic panties, which she helped him pull up his legs.

“Two rules: first, you may not sit or lie down while holding an enema. It’s medically dangerous,” she lied. She knew from other babies’ experience that it was harder to hold it in while standing. “Second, to get maximum benefit, you should hold it in for twenty minutes. After that, we’ll put a diaper back on you and let you empty. These panties are just in case of an accident, but I certainly don’t expect you to need them. Okay, now run along. I suggest you make yourself some breakfast.”

Doug nodded and headed downstairs as Mrs. Warren followed. He was feeling extremely self-conscious of his essentially naked state, and also of the weird feeling of plastic next to his skin. On the other hand, he thought twenty minutes would be no problem, compared with the hour and a half of suppository hell. Mrs. Warren sat down in the living room as Doug poured himself some cereal.

Suddenly he got an unpleasant feeling in his belly. It was sort of vague when it started, but it made him call into Mrs. Warren to ask what would happen just in case he couldn’t hold it for twenty minutes.

“What usually happens when you break one of my rules?” she called back. “I’ll give you a hint: it involves my hand and your little bottom.”

Doug rolled his eyes in response, careful not to let Mrs. Warren see him do it. Everything was spankings with this lady…

Suddenly Doug was dropped to his knees by a huge abdominal cramp and the strongest urge to defecate he’d ever experienced. It was urgent and commanding in a way that even the diaper juice and the suppositories weren’t. He simply couldn’t stop it. He moaned as his tortured bowels ejected the enema into his transparent panties. Mrs. Warren ran in from the living room when she heard his yelp, and upon reaching the kitchen door, stood and enjoyed the view as the water and stool graphically filled his panties.

The spasm relented for a moment, and Doug tried to catch his breath. What was that?! He was dazed. He tried to clear his head, when suddenly Mrs. Warren yanked him by his arm, forcing him to stand.

“Upstairs, young man. I’ll teach you to respect my rules,” she said angrily.

“I…I couldn’t help it,” he stammered. “Please…it wasn’t my fault.” And then, again, Doug experienced cramps, cried out, and released more enema into his dripping panties.

“Oh, you’re begging for it now,” Mrs. Warren snapped, forcefully pulling him over to the stairs and dragging him up them. “Wash yourself off and then get in here pronto,” she told him. “You’ve got two minutes to be over my knees, or you’re really going to regret it.”

Doug was about to cry from pain, frustration, and embarrassment, but he hurried into the bathroom, carefully removed his soaking plastic panties, and stepped into the shower. He let loose another stream of enema, quickly rinsed off, then jumped out, dried himself perfunctorily and, still nude, hurried into the bedroom, where Mrs. Warren sat stiffly in a straightbacked chair near his desk. He stopped abruptly in front of her, suddenly realizing what was about to happen.

“Let’s go, little boy,” Mrs. Warren said. “You’ve only got seconds before I *really* get angry.” So Doug bent himself awkwardly across her lap, grabbed the chair legs as he had previously been instructed, and waited. His bare bottom tingled expectantly. He hoped that she’d go easy on him, but she sounded angry.

She *wasn’t* really angry, of course. As she began to paddle his bottom with her strong hand, she was nearly gleeful about Doug’s apparent progress. He’d only taken about three minutes, far below average in this, the most accurate gauge of actual incontinence she had developed. Most boys at this stage lasted eight to nine minutes, but Doug had folded quickly, evidence that he was enjoying and using his diapers properly. Wonderful news. A spanking opportunity was icing for her.

And she enjoyed this icing, letting her steel hands fall sharply on Doug’s reddening bottom, hearing the vain whimpers of protest dissolve into sniffles and then into outright crying. She felt a certain satisfaction as she delivered this assault. Doug wiggled helplessly, just like all the others. Grown men indeed, she thought with disdain. Anyone who would allow any of this to happen to himself actually deserved it. These boys, who let her take over their lives and dictate their most basic functions, who allowed her to usurp every last vestige of their independence and dignity, surely must benefit from her discipline. If they’d let themselves fall this deeply into her power, she thought, some part of them must be every bit the little baby she forced them to be. They desperately needed to be punished for their pathetic passivity.

These thoughts spurred ever greater spanking effort, and she continued until she was sure Doug’s bottom would be sore for several days. Then she dumped him unceremoniously on the floor, where he lay crying. She went into the bathroom and refilled the enema bag, though this time she only put one liter of soapy warm water, since he probably hadn’t even fully expelled the last one.

She forced Doug, who was now only sniffling, back on the bed and told him to lie like a puppy dog again. At this point he started crying all over again at the recognition that he would receive another enema. She smacked his bottom sharply, and he quickly resumed the position amidst his tears. She administered the enema, this time inserting the large tampon she had brought with her earlier.

Doug felt the plastic removed from his bottom, but to his surprise couldn’t close his anus. Something was still there, and it quickly swelled with the water from the enema, expanding and filling his anal canal completely. Doug turned his head around, hoping to see what it was, but there was nothing to see. He looked to Mrs. Warren for an explanation, and she nearly laughed out loud at his confusion. Doug didn’t understand what was happening, but his bottom still stung enough that he didn’t want to ask any questions, so he remained unsure of what she’d done.

She made him put on another pair of transparent panties, this time just for show, since nothing would get out of his bottom this time, and led him downstairs, where he tried to finish making his breakfast. The heat from his burning bottom built up inside of his panties, making it difficult for him to concentrate. This time, when the cramps hit him, he again let out a yell and doubled over in pain, but as his intestines tried to expel the enema, they met the impenetrable resistance of the tampon, and, indeed, nothing came out. Doug was surprised and a bit upset, since the pain therefore continued unabated. The cramps eventually let up, but resumed after another minute, and by the time twenty minutes were over, Doug was crying again. He never even finished making his breakfast.

Mrs. Warren gently led him upstairs and replaced his panties with one of his disposable diaper. He had never been so overjoyed to get into one. Mrs. Warren reached down the back of his diaper with a gloved hand and pulled the tampon’s string, gently working it out of Doug’s bottom. She withdrew her hand as quickly as possible, leaving the tampon behind, since she knew from experience that the client’s anal sphincter was probably totally worthless at this point of the exercise. And sure enough, a liter of liquid immediately and uncontrollably gushed out into Doug’s diaper.

So again Mrs. Warren changed Doug, who was nearly catatonic after everything he’d been through. He didn’t put up any resistance and probably wouldn’t have even noticed the fact that she inserted the last two suppositories before taping him up again, except that she pointed it out and told him to try not to poop for ninety minutes. After locking him one final time into the panties, she finally left for the morning, not to return until after noon.

Doug was not surprised to feel the pellets ooze helplessly out of his bottom into his diaper less than fifteen minutes later. He didn’t care. He went to sleep. Not even his sore, hot bottom could interfere with his exhaustion. When Mrs. Warren returned six hours later, she told Doug once again to clean himself up, which he did.

Doug was remotely upset when Mrs. Warren told him that they weren’t done yet, that he needed one more enema before it was all over, since he hadn’t melted these pellets either. But he had run out of emotion, and felt his misery only dully now.

For twenty minutes following the administration of the enema, he did find the energy to cry, as colonic spasms shook him repeatedly. But then it was over, and Mrs. Warren cleaned and rediapered him, told him to count his messy diapers from now on, and then left him alone.

Finally, he sat numbly on his sofa, relieved to be wearing nothing but a nice, fresh diaper. His bowels felt totally worn out. He couldn’t believe what had happened to him over the past day, so he just tried to block it out and watch TV.

Five months, he thought. Five months.

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.

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The baby business Part 20

Part 19 is missing.

Copyright (c) 1995 by Babydoc.

It was now Friday of the fourth week, and Doug had thus completed a month of his ICP. Not much was happening around the lab, so Doug took the opportunity to walk home for a leisurely lunch in the privacy of his apartment, where a diaper change was less of a hassle.

A month! he thought as he walked home. It seemed impossible that he’d spent a whole month as a baby, but it was true. He hadn’t been out of a diaper for more than fifteen minutes at all, and hadn’t used a toilet the whole time. He wasn’t enjoying it, certainly, but he was getting used to it a little. He was definitely still enjoying the convenience diapers offered. He hardly thought about when he peed these days: as much trouble as cleanup was, he loved not worrying about holding it in until he got to a bathroom. He didn’t think that carefully about it, because it didn’t seem important to him, but if he had, he would have noticed that he still had to consciously relax his bladder and bowel to empty them. But he was doing it far more often and instinctively. And he enjoyed this freedom, which was what he considered to be his only “perk.”

There were lots of things he still *didn’t* like, however. He hated limiting himself to one orgasm a week, but he wanted to be very conservative about that, especially at first. He had a good system, but he knew that Mrs. Warren was smart, and if he blew it he might never figure out another feasable system. It was too precious. Most of all, however, he hated subjugating himself to Mrs. Warren, acting like a two-year-old around her. He was still very self-conscious about having to call her “Mommy,” and it galled him to have to walk on eggshells around to show her how obedient he was. The only thing that kept him doing it was the knowledge that if he didn’t, he’d get something which pleased him even less: a spanking. And so, even though he was constantly humiliated by the fact that he really was literally trying to be a good little boy to avoid a spanking from his Mommy, it was worth it to him to do so.

Doug continued to be depressed about not figuring a way out of this mess. It was beginning to look more and more like he’d have to ride the thing out for the full duration of the six months. This failure was in itself embarrassing , but he was beginning to see the wisdom in not fighting Mrs. Warren. These last few weeks had been degrading, of course, but nothing like his experience with the wet bet that day. And without a spanking since then, the time had passed more quickly, too. If he could just ride this out for another five months and stay on Mrs. Warren’s good side, which meant being a good boy, he could count on resuming his normal life in April without so much as a single spanking before that. This plan, because of its relative ease and safety, was becoming more and more attractive to him. With his secret masturbation scheme in place, he could almost imagine making it that long.

His musings ended as he arrived home and started to make his lunch. His diaper was soaked (he’d made it through the morning without a change) but he was hungry, so he put off changing himself until after lunch. He had just finished making a sandwich when he was surprised by the sound of a key in the lock of his front door. Mrs. Warren! he thought. Was he in trouble? She didn’t ordinarily visit him during work days, even when he was home for lunch.

“Doug?” he heard her call from the hall.

“Yes, Mommy?” he answered, gritting his teeth slightly at the humiliation of having to call her that.

“We need to talk,” Mrs. Warren told him as she entered his living room, with him following closely behind.

“I called your machine,” Doug said defensively, hoping to head off any problems. “I told you I was coming home for lunch. I was good.”

“Oh, yes, that was a good boy,” Mrs. Warren said, sitting down and putting her keys in her big black purse, which seemed to be more full than usual. “That’s how I knew to find you here. No, that’s not what this is about.”

“Was I bad?” Doug asked worriedly. After he’d just considered how lucky he was for not having been spanked recently, this seemed a big disappointment. Could she know about his secret? But surely she’d appear much angrier if she knew…

“Well, no, I don’t think so,” she replied, “unless you *purposefully* turned in too few messy diapers last week.”

“No, I…I…” he stammered. “I didn’t mean to; are you sure?” His mind raced. What was the punishment for that?

“Yes, I’m sure,” she said sharply. “And don’t question me again. My inspectors told me about it this morning after analyzing your diapers from last week. You only turned in seven messy diapers when you were supposed to turn in nine.”

“Oh,” Doug said. He’d thought he’d done okay last week. The big question was: did he get a spanking for that? “I…don’t know what happened. I’m really sorry,” he started.

“Well, I’m sure it wasn’t intentional, and no, we don’t spank for that. Your total number of diapers was fine, so we know you were good about using your diapers. So you don’t need a spanking. But I *am* worried that you seem to be slightly constipated. Do you know why I’d care about that?”

“No, Mommy,” Doug said, though he was thinking, because you’re intrusive and perverted.

“Well, constipation is actually a cause of a special kind of incontinence called `overflow incontinence.’ So we always have to make sure our clients stay very regular. That’s why we have the messy diaper quota, you know.”

“Oh,” he said to be polite. He wasn’t constipated, and he wasn’t really interested. Seven dirty diapers was pretty regular, for goodness sake.

“And that’s why any time you turn in too few messy diaper, as you did, we want to make sure it doesn’t become a problem.”

Whatever, Doug thought. What the hell was the point of this? He wasn’t constipated, though he *was* very hungry by now. He needed to move her along so he could eat and get back to lunch. “Okay, well, I’ll try to pay more attention this week,” he said, hoping that that was what she was looking for.

It wasn’t. “Not so fast, little guy,” Mrs. Warren said, smiling. “You obviously don’t remember your rule list. We need to spend the next day or so making sure you aren’t at all, shall we say, `plugged up.'” Doug didn’t like the sound of that. “I call it Bowel Encouragement. Does that ring any bells?”

Doug shook his head, beginning to dread the answer. He hoped it wasn’t diaper juice.

“Well, we just help you along a little by putting something in your bottom every so often for a day. It’s guaranteed to work.”

Well, out of everything that *could* be happening, that didn’t sound too bad. Still, he wasn’t sure he could trust Mrs. Warren. “Does it hurt?”

“No, not really,” she replied. “Let’s go get you started. Have you had a bowel movement today?”

“No, Mommy,” Doug answered. He had himself on a nice regular evening schedule for BMs during the week.

Mrs. Warren smiled with anticipation. “That’s fine. Let’s go upstairs and get you changed into a dry diaper. I see that one’s about soaked.”

Doug looked down, but saw no signs of leaking through his pants. He was amazed at how Mrs. Warren could tell these things so accurately. I mean, I’m wearing pants, he thought. Is my diaper still that obvious? Can everyone tell? Or is she just that good?

Mrs. Warren led him upstairs, aware of the impact her comment would make on Doug’s confidence in public and on his opinion of her. In truth, she simply had seen him arrive home and assumed he’d not yet changed himself. After a whole morning at work, she’d knew he *had* to be soaking.

With considerable embarrassment, Doug lay back on his changing pad and allowed his pants to be pulled down and his diaper changed. Mrs. Warren didn’t do this for him often, and he was still self-conscious enough about it to make the experience painful.

Mrs. Warren ran a baby wipe around his diaper area, cleaning his hairless groin carefully. “Very nice job shaving, Doug,” she said. “You’re turning into a very good little baby for Mommy. If we can get this constipation problem cleared up, we might consider taking you off of probation in a month or two.”

Probation! He’d forgotten he was on probation. Recently it hadn’t been *that* bad being on probation, he reflected, as Mrs. Warren placed a clean diaper under his hips and powdered him heavily. But if he could off of probation, then maybe he wouldn’t be spied on at work, or maybe his garbage wouldn’t be sorted, or his diapers counted. Then he could really get away with stuff! He tried to busy himself thinking how nice that would be while Mrs. Warren finished readying him.

His attention was redirected back to Mrs. Warren as she dug into her purse and retrieved a latex glove and a small unlabeled container, from which she removed two cone-shaped pellets. After donning the glove, she had Doug spread and lift his legs, after which she unceremoniously stuck the two pellets up past Doug’s anus, well into his rectum. Doug was caught off-guard by this new experience, and he sucked in his breath sharply, unconsciously also clamping down his sphincter in self-defense. This effort had no effect on Mrs. Warren’s finger, which had accomplished its mission and retreated quickly. Mrs. Warren had his diaper taped up before Doug even knew what was happening. His bottom felt a little funny with those things inside, but it didn’t hurt or anything. Doug was relieved. That was it?

She had him stand up as she walked over to his dresser and removed from the top drawer a pair of his white plastic panties. She handed them to Doug and told him to put them on, which he did. Then she went back to her purse and, to Doug’s surprise, removed from it another pair of plastic panties. These, too, Doug obediently pulled on, wondering idly what the point of two pairs of panties was. He noted as he adjusted the waist that there was something unusual about the elastic band, but before he had even realized that there was a small chain embedded in the waistband, Mrs. Warren had reached over and snapped closed a tiny padlock. Doug looked up in surprise. Why did he need to be locked in?

But Mrs. Warren just smiled and said, “There you go. Now, here’s the plan. After a while you’re going to want to soil your diaper. I know you’re incontinent, but my advice to you is to try to hold it in for at least an hour and a half. The reason for that is that I want these suppositories to stay inside you and melt completely. If you just poop them out now, they won’t help you at all. So the rule is, keep them in until they’re melted completely; you won’t be able to tell, of course, but an hour and a half should do the trick. I’m going to check your diaper when I change it in six hours, and if I find any part of the suppository unmelted, I’ll know you didn’t get the full effect. If that happens, we go directly to enemas, which you will like even less. First, though, for your comfort, I’d like to try the suppositories.” Actually it was less for his comfort than it was to draw out the entire affair. Enemas were over too quickly.

“Every six hours, I’ll come here and unlock you, let you shower if you need to, and put you in a clean diaper with two more suppositories. In twenty-four hours, after four messy diapers, I’ll assumed you’re no longer constipated, and you can get back to your regular life, no pun intended. Okay? Walk me downstairs,” she said brightly as she picked up her purse.

Wearing nothing but his diaper and plastic panties, Doug accompanied her to the front door. “I have to tell you, Doug, that as important as this treatment is, I know you’ll appreciate my help over the next day. I’d like to hear you thank me for that help every time I see you through tomorrow.” She looked at Doug expectantly.

“Thank you, Mommy,” Doug said quickly, though he wasn’t sure he meant it. At his response, Mrs. Warren smiled a wonderfully evil smile, said good-bye, and left his apartment, telling him she’d be back at six.

Doug looked down at his bulky diaper, now encased in two pairs of plastic panties. He started to get a foreboding that the next day wasn’t going to be very enjoyable for him. He’d actually never heard of suppositories, but he hoped they didn’t work very quickly, because he had to work this afternoon! There wasn’t much to do, just a couple of assays in the lab, but they were timed, and he had to be there all day, until nearly six o’clock, to supervise them. What if he had a bowel movement at work? He had purposely avoided this until now, knowing that the smell would be hideous and difficult to control. He stared at the two pairs of panties he wore and in a flash realized that they must be there for a reason, and that he was probably being set up for a disaster.

Damn that woman! he thought. She must know the effect this might have. She was doing it on purpose. And now he was locked in! He couldn’t escape this at all now: judging by the double protection she’d given him, he was destined to have an enormous accident in a potentially embarrassing place, and there was no way to avoid it! He wanted desparately to expel those little pellets right now, before they could do whatever they were going to do. But that would apparently lead to an enema, which didn’t sound nice at all, and if he knew Mrs. Warren at all, probably a spanking as well. No, he didn’t have a choice. As bad as this day might get, he knew he had to face it.

A glance at his watch told him that this escapade had already nearly made him late for getting back to the lab. So he wolfed down his sandwich and tried to find pants to cover himself, now that he was bigger than ever before. He got his longest shirt and tried it on. It seemed to disguise his diapered state, but when he walked, it tightened against his diaper with every move and made things very obvious, he thought. But that was the best he could do. He had to hurry.

He got to his lab without having anyone comment on or stare at him, so he started to feel better about the afternoon still ahead of him. Until he sat down for the first time and suddenly felt a cramp in his belly. Uh-oh, he thought. It’s already starting. He hadn’t expected it to be quite this fast-acting. It had only been about thirty minutes since Mrs. Warren had inserted the suppositories. He sat at his desk and tried to concentrate on other things, but soon Doug could think of nothing but his bowels.

He heard a familiar gurgling in his stomach, the same gurgling he’d heard a month ago in his bathtub. This was when he knew that this situation would get much worse before it would get better. He was again filled with the desire to push those angry pellets out into his diaper where they couldn’t hurt him, but still he resisted the urge. He wanted to get through this without making it any worse.

The pain and urgency in his bottom got much worse when he got up twenty minutes later to turn off a gel he’d been running. He literally had to clinch his teeth as he stood working so as not to soil himself. By this point the contents of his intestines were screaming to be let loose, but Doug was now determined to go the distance. If he gave in to his urges now, on top of all of the misery he’d already endured over the last hour, he’d also probably be spanked and subjected to an enema.

A co-worker came in several minutes later, and Doug tried to stay still, so as not to move and thereby give away his diapered status. But his friend noticed his obvious discomfort, and suggested he take the afternoon off. Doug nodded grimly but didn’t say anything. He knew that wasn’t really an option. If he went home “sick,” he’d have to tell Mrs Warren, whose remedy might be worse yet. To his relief his co-worker simply shook his head and left.

Doug was sweating by the time ninety minutes were up. But he was elated: he had done it, and now he could relieve himself of this torment. Yet it wasn’t much of a victory, he knew, as he was now simply given the unenviable opportunity to mess his diaper at work and then stay in it for four and a half uncomfortable hours. His discomfort would simply shift to outside his body, with the added risk of someone discovering him. He was trapped, and silently he cursed Mrs. Warren again. He was beginning to realize (in part) how diabolical she could be.

A minute later, when the next round of cramps struck him, he realized it didn’t matter what he wanted or who was to blame. As he nearly cried out in agony, he instinctively squatted down and urgently pushed what he could of his intestinal contents out into his diaper. And his bowels responded explosively. Doug couldn’t help but enjoy the sensation, momentarily luxuriating in the absense of pain and pressure.

When he could, he stood up again and looked around. He lab room was empty, thank goodness. That experience had gone unwitnessed. But now what? How to hide the very full state of his pants? Doug made the unfortunate decision to sit down to think, and immediately wished he hadn’t. He felt his diaper’s contents squish and spread over his bottom and between his legs. This was indeed a mess!

Once seated, though, Doug realized that if he stayed that way and didn’t move, the smell wasn’t too bad. So he just spent the rest of his day parked in his dirty diaper at his desk, periodically relieving himself as he needed, feeling no compunction to hold it in now. Luckily, most people seemed to have taken off early on this Friday afternoon, and he had only two further visitors to his lonely lab, neither requiring him to stand. He couldn’t believe his luck, if you could call it that, but after the rest of the day he’d had, he was grateful for any break he could get.

He listened for the familiar and distant sounds of keys jingling and doors shutting as the rest of the employees left for the day. When all was quiet, at about five-thirty, Doug gingerly stood, picked up his relatively-useless diaper bag, and waddled out of his lab.

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.

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The baby business Part 18

Copyright (c) 1995 by Babydoc.

On Sunday Doug reluctantly and self-consciously waddled into the grocery story, scene of last week’s humiliation, spare diaper in hand. The diaper he wore was necessarily pulled up outside his shirt for the world to see. He wished desperately that he didn’t have to do this, but he knew he did. He tried to stare straight ahead and to ignore the stares of shoppers, and fervantly hoped that no one he knew saw him like this. He walked over to the manager’s office and knocked on the door.

“Well, look who’s back,” the manager observed when she saw Doug. “And you remembered how I want you to dress as well; that’s a good start. What’s your name, young man?”

“Doug,” he replied, not wanting to get any more detailed than that. Luckily, it seemed as though that’s all she wanted.

“Well, I’m Mrs. Johnson, Doug,” she said. “As you recall, I told you I’d have one of my employees look after you while you’re here. Let’s see who’s available.” She yelled over to the pretty young cashier who had laughed at Doug the previous week. “Emily, have you had your break?”

The young girl nodded. “Just came off it. Sandy has my register.” Emily walked over, obviously staring at Doug’s visible diaper as she approached.

“Good,” Mrs. Johnson said. “This is Doug. Perhaps you remember him from last Sunday: he wet his pants in Aisle 3.”

“Of course I remember,” she said, giggling. Doug blushed. It had to be this girl.

“Well, this week he’d more suitably dressed, as you can see. But I’d still like for you to babysit him while he shops. Follow him and supervise his behavior. If there is any misbehavior at all, you are to tell me immediately, and you or I will take care of it.”

“What do you mean?” Emily asked, looking at Doug with amusement.

“I mean that if he needs it, one of us will give him a spanking back in the stockroom. He got one last week, and it seemed to work well.” Doug’s head pounded with embarrassment. Doug saw that Emily was having trouble controlling her laughter; Mrs. Johnson, however, ignored her. “Now, Doug, can you tell when you’ve wet or messed in your diaper?” she asked.

Doug frowned. Of course he could, but why did she have to bring that up now, other than to embarrass him? But he had to answer. “Uh, yes, ma’am,” he answered with a very shy glance toward Emily.

“Good. I expect you to tell Emily if it happens so she can change you. Emily, you can use the stockroom for that as well; just ask me for the key. And check his diaper several times each visit while he shops, just to make sure: we don’t want a scene like last week because of overflow. If he’s wet or dirty and didn’t tell you first, bring him back here. He’ll need a spanking for that, too, if we think it was intentional.” She turned away from them. “That’s all. You two come back here when you’re done shopping. Be good,” she added, presumably for Doug’s benefit.

They turned away and headed toward the rows of empty carts. “Did you really get a spanking last week?” Emily asked him immediately.

Doug hung his head. “Yes,” he said quietly, hoping she would drop the subject. He picked a cart and they headed for the produce section.

“How come?”

Doug stopped and looked at her. She was half smiling, obviously amused at the idea of his being spanked like a bad little boy. Her blue eyes sparkled, and Doug found himself staring into them for a moment, briefly bewitched by her young beauty. Then he shook himself. She was maybe seventeen or eighteen at the most. And besides that, she knew he was wearing a diaper. Even if she were of a proper age, he wouldn’t have stood a chance with that humiliation. “I’d rather not talk about it,” he said, finally, and turned to look through a bin of apples.

But she was insistent. “No, really. Why?” When Doug didn’t speak, she said, “You wouldn’t want me to give my manager a bad report, would you?”

Doug turned back to her, fear suddenly in his eyes. “You wouldn’t do that, would you?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” she said coyly, her eyes twinkling. “I’m the babysitter. You’d better behave.”

Just what he needed, Doug thought. A teenager on a power trip.

“Look,” he said. “It’s really embarrassing.” Perhaps he could play on her sympathy…

And there was silence for a moment. So she does have a heart, Doug thought. Thank goodness. But then,

“Was it because you wet your pants?” She asked it simply, apparently not to tease him, and without malice. She just didn’t seem to recognize his discomfort. She only seemed very curious and slightly amused. The question was, *why* was she so curious? She ought to be grossed out. Could she actually be turned on by this? He’d always dreamed of meeting a female who could share and participate in his diaper-wearing.

“`Cause my little brother, Joey, got spanked every time he wet his pants,” she went on.

“Oh, really?” Doug replied with irritation, insulted that he should be thought of in the same vein as her stupid little pants-wetting brother. Well, now he knew how she thought of him. He should have known; that would teach him to get his hopes up. He moved on, collecting his groceries.

“Yeah, he’s twelve now, and it doesn’t happen anymore. But he used to do it a lot, and Mom would spank him for it. But he couldn’t help it, I guess.” She followed him in silence for a couple of steps.

“So do you still wet *your* pants a lot?” she asked.

“No,” Doug answered with more annoyance. As pretty as she was, she was unfortunately turning out to be a pest. If she wasn’t interested in him, then she was just being cruel, he decided. He wished he didn’t have to tolerate this. Of course, he wished he didn’t have to tolerate a lot of things these days.

“But you did last week, and that’s why your mom spanked you, right?”

Once more Doug stopped to glare at her. “Look, she’s not my mom, okay? Please just drop it.”

“She’s not?” Emily asked, wrinkling her brow. “Who is she then?”

Oh, boy, he thought: that’s the limit. We can’t get into *this.* He shook his head. “It’s really complicated.”

They were now passing the back corner of the store and the hallway with the bathroom where Doug had been soundly spanked the week before. This distracted Emily from her interrogation, and she remembered one of her duties.

“We should check your diaper!” she chirped happily, tugging at Doug’s sleeve. Reluctantly he left his half-full cart and followed her into the hallway, where they couldn’t be seen by other shoppers.

“Okay, pull down your pants,” Emily said, obviously trying to sound mature. However, her enthusiasm and amusement shone through her facade of professionalism.

“Look, you really don’t need to do this. I know for a fact that it’s dry,” Doug offered hopefully.

She put her hands on her hips indignantly. “I’m the babysitter, not you. You’re just the baby. And *I* want you to pull down your pants so I can see your diaper.” Doug still hesitated. She was so young to be ordering him around. “Do it *now,*” she said sharply.

Doug knew that in this situation, as in many others, he didn’t have much choice. He didn’t know whether or not she’d really make good on the threat to spank him, but he didn’t want to find out. So he unbuckled and unzipped his jeans and self-consciously lowered them to the floor.

“Awwwww…that’s a good boy,” Emily said, in a babyish tone. She laughed at her own efforts at humor.

Doug blushed again, not finding it quite as funny as she apparently did. Emily leaned over and inspected the little indicator stripe, which indeed verified Doug’s assertion of dryness. Despite his embarrassment, Doug felt an erection start to build inside his diaper. For the first time Doug was thankful for the extreme thickness of his diaper, which probably prevented her from noticing. Suddenly she surprised him by reaching out and grabbing the rear of his diaper, squeezing and massaging it gently. She then did the same to the front. Doug was so shocked he didn’t know what to do. What if she felt his erection?

“Just making sure,” she explained to him as she straightened up again. But she said it with a smile that told Doug for the first time that maybe she *was* actually interested as much in what was inside his diaper as in its state of wetness. So what was she “making sure” of? Whether he was wet, or whether he was hard? he wondered.

Or had he just imagined that little supposed flirtation? To Doug’s frustration, Emily now seemed to be subtler about the whole thing than he would have imagined possible for someone of her age. She carried on as if she was really just doing her job, never giving away any more clues as to her feelings or intentions. “Okay, that’s good. You can pull ’em up. We’ll check again later.” She’s apparently a very professional tease, he thought, reassessing his baby-sitter. If she really liked him and had just made a little move on him, she wasn’t letting on to it now.

But why would she tease him? he argued to himself as they returned to shopping. Could she possibly know about his ICP’s prohibition of sex, and was she therefore being purposefully cruel? No, he thought, that’s impossible. His heart quickened. I think she really likes me, he thought excitedly. And she’s actually turned on by my diapers! Oh my God, he thought, unable to comprehend the ramifications of actually having found someone who was turned on by infantilism in general, and *his* infantilism in specific. He’d dreamed his whole life…

His musing was cut short as Emily was back on the attack.

“So if you *don’t* wet a lot, then why do you have to wear diapers?”

Doug didn’t answer. He couldn’t think of anything other than the truth that would be believable. Emily didn’t seem to mind his silence. She kept on jabbering.

“My brother never had to wear diapers for wetting his pants. Well, I mean after he was about four. He kept right on wetting his pants and his bed, and Mom started spanking him for it. She said he was old enough to know better. And Joey would cry, but then he’d keep on wetting. Maybe he *should* have been put back in diapers, like you…” she trailed off, apparently lost in thought. And then:

“Did it hurt?”

Doug was lost. He had been picking out some laundry detergent. “Did *what* hurt?”

“Your spanking. Did it hurt?”

“Yes,” Doug admitted quietly. His inhibitions had dropped slightly since he’d determined that she really did like him. In a relationship as potentially important as this one might be, he could maybe afford to open up a little.

“I bet it did,” Emily said enthusiastically. “Did you cry?”

Whoops. Too far, a little voice in Doug’s head told him. He thought he could possibly talk about some of this, was dying to get some of it off his chest, and was thrilled someone like Emily existed. But he was deeply embarrassed about some aspects of it, and this was one of them. “Emily, I’m kind of upset about the whole thing, okay? Can we please not talk about this stuff anymore?”

Emily was silent as they made their way toward the dairy products. Then she couldn’t resist asking just one more question. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

Doug stopped and stared at her. So much for subtlety, maturity, and professionalism. “No,” he said simply.

“Oh,” she replied, and didn’t say anything else, until Doug was just about ready to check out. “Time for another check.”

They walked back to the rear hallway, Doug’s anxiety and erection simultaneously rising. What would happen this time? Would it…COULD it…lead to anything? He found himself both hoping that something sexual would happen and scared that it might. He’d always dreamed of involving his diapers in a sexual relationship, and this girl was so beautiful! It was better than he could have hoped for! But then, Emily was so young. Perhaps she was even a minor, which both scared him and turned him off. That was a road he didn’t want to walk down. And then there was the omniscient, omnipotent Mrs. Warren, who had expressly prohibited any sexual activity. But Emily was the boss here! If anything happened, it wasn’t his fault, right?

He was torn and confused as she again asked him to pull down his pants. Now he was also scared of being discovered: his erection felt huge. He wondered if even his think diaper could insulate it from her touch. Maybe she wouldn’t notice.

Doug held his breath tensely as Emily, smiling, reached out and caressed his diaper, first in the back, and then, more extensively, in the front. She got a funny look on her face, as if she was considering something. Doug thought he heard her laugh quietly.

He was about to say something, anything, to ease the tension, when she abruptly stopped, stood, and pronounced him dry. Doug let out his breath. Emily had him pull up his pants, and they went back up front, where Doug paid for his groceries. Then they stopped by Mrs. Johnson’s office.

“And were you a good boy today, Doug?” she asked him, though she clearly meant the question for Emily. Doug was pointedly ignored, and he felt like he was three years old, which he noted was becoming a common occurence.

Emily nodded. “Yes, ma’am. He did as he was told. I checked him twice, and he was dry and clean both times.”

“Good for him. Okay, Doug, we’ll see you back next week. Same deal. Thanks, Emily, you can get back to your register,” she added before turning away.

“No problem. No problem at all. G’bye, Doug,” Emily said. She flashed him a meaningful smile. “I’ll see you next week.” At this, she laughed hysterically and walked away.

“G’bye, Emily,” Doug said to her back, and sighed as she walked away. She definitely turned him on, even if she was terminally nosy. The boys at her school must drool over her, he thought. He took his groceries to his car, and spent the rest of the day trying to decide how her obvious fondling of him had been meant. Her parting comment, too, was an obvious reference to the activities she seemed to be planning for next week. He was already worried about it. He had a lot to think about this week. Who knew what his next shopping trip would bring?

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.

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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.

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The baby business Part 16

Copyright (c) 1995 by Babydoc.

Doug stood quietly and watched as Mrs. Warren pulled out of her large black purse what looked like a changing pad. He had to admit to himself that this woman was always prepared. She must have known that she’d catch him, and had come with everything she’d need to put a diaper on him, he thought. And if he was going to have to lay down on this bathroom’s floor to be changed, he was actually pleased at the prospect of using a changing pad.

But she didn’t spread it out on the floor. He grew sort of confused as he watched her smooth it out on her lap. He’d never heard of being changed on someone’s lap, but it *was* a small bathroom, and he *was* new to this. When the pad seemed well-smoothed out, Mrs. Warren addressed him sharply.

“Alright, little boy. Get those pants down around your ankles.”

Doug said, “Yes, Mommy,” trying to stay on her good side. She didn’t seem to be getting any less angry, which worried him a bit. He obeyed quickly, telling himself this was obviously a necessary step before he could be diapered.

“Come face me,” she said shortly. He shuffled over to her. How was this going to work?

“Hand me the diaper now, Doug.” So he held it out to her with his left hand. She’ll clearly need that, he thought.

“The *other* hand,” she said, annoyed.

That’s odd, he thought, as he obediently switched the diaper to his right hand and held it out to her. Why should that make a difference?

He found out very quickly. Mrs. Warren reached out with her left hand and took the diaper from his right, as she simultaneously reached across her body with her other hand to grasp his outstretched wrist. In a smooth, strong, and practiced motion, she yanked on his right arm, turning him, throwing him off balance, and directing his fall across her lap perfectly. In the space of two seconds Doug was surprised to find himself suddenly staring at the bathroom floor. He saw Mrs. Warren set the diaper aside, and it dawned on him that she had something else entirely on her mind. It became clearer why she wanted the changing pad on her lap… But this shouldn’t be happening, he thought. They’d had a deal.

“Hey!” he yelled in frustration. “That’s not fair! I took the bet!”

“And you lost, little boy. So you get a spanking. Don’t you remember your rules? By taking the bet you simply prevented this from happening out there in the aisle where you wet your pants. Would you rather we do this out in the store where everyone can see what a bad baby boy you’ve been?”

Pause. SMACK! Oops. He’d thought it was a rhetorical question. “No.”

SMACK! “No, what?”

“No, Mommy. I’m sorry.”

“That’s better. Now let’s have a little discussion about your behavior today. Why don’t you start by explaining to me what you’ve done wrong since the last time I saw you.”

He hated her. She was going to draw this out and make it even more humiliating than it already was. But he wasn’t really in a position to argue. So he told the floor in front of him. “I, um, took off my diaper, Mommy.”

“Yes, and what else?”

“I, well, I went out without telling you.”

“That’s right. And does that make you a good little boy or a bad little boy?”

“Bad.” SMACK! “I’m a bad little boy, Mommy.”

“That’s true. And what do little boys like you need when they’re bad?”

“They need a spanking, Mommy.”

“So what do *you* need right now, Doug?”

“I need a spanking, Mommy.” He was embarrassed and angry. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever think he’d hear himself say something like that.

“That’s also true. And how many spankings do you think you need?”

Doug’s blood ran cold. What!? She ought to be kidding, but so far, Mrs. Warren hadn’t kidded around very much. “I think I’d like *one* spanking, Mommy,” Doug said hopefully.

SMACK! SMACK! Guess not, he thought. Damn. “I need two spankings, Mommy,” he said, aware that he’d begun to whimper a little. This was worse than he could have imagined. If that spanking last week was “one,” what must “two” be like?

“That’s right, Doug. You need two spankings because you broke two different rules today. For my convenience, I’m just going to combine them into one long spanking, though. Now, just as a reminder, after our spanking, do we get to rub our bottom with our hands?”

“No, Mommy.” Shit. He’d forgotten about that.

“Why not?” Mrs. Warren asked with a little sadistic glee.

“So it will hurt more,” Doug answered obediently. This was so horrible. And worse, his appreciation grew for the fact that he could never, ever tell anyone what he’d been through. It was too embarrassing almost to think about. No one would believe him. How would he get his real life back?

“That’s a good boy. I know you can’t hold on to chair legs here, so just keep your hands down and out of the way. Any questions?”

Yeah, he thought. What did I ever do to deserve this? To her, he managed a weak, “No, Mommy.”

And his bottom tingled with expectation as he remembered vividly the pain from last week. He cursed himself again for having tried such an unnecessary prank. Never again, he promised himself as the spanking began. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! The pain was unbearable right from the beginning, and the knowledge that it would not soon stop and the humiliation and stress he’d already endured caused Doug to start crying almost immediately. Unfortunately, Mrs. Warren actually seemed annoyed by this, and she redoubled her efforts to paddle his bottom. He sobbed, and she spanked mercilessly, until they were both out of breath. When it had lasted longer than Doug thought possible, Mrs. Warren stopped and stood him up.

Tears streaming down his face, Doug’s hands immediately and instinctively made their way to his red, hot bottom. He rubbed it as he cried, trying to overwhelm the searing pain that still raged through his rear end. Mrs. Warren reached over, grabbed one of his arms, now limp as spaghetti from his ordeal, swung him around and swatted him several times again.

“No touching, little boy,” she fumed. “Do it again and we can start over from the beginning.”

Doug fought through his tears to find the energy to say “Yes, Mommy,” and to obey, but he managed by holding his arms stiffly down at his sides. All he could think about was how much his bottom hurt, how miserable he was, and how much he hated Mrs. Warren. He was oblivious to Mrs. Warren as she now spread out the changing pad on the floor and laid his diaper out on top of it. She gently guided him down to it, positioned his abused bottom over the back of the diaper and had him lay down. He allowed her to lift his legs, rub some lotion on his hot skin, and sprinkle him with a generous amount of powder before lowering his legs, pulling the diaper through, and taping him up tightly.

He was beginning to stop crying as she stood him up. But he still had no energy to resist her as she did something intended to embarrass him even further once they left this room: she tucked his shirt deep inside his diaper, and pulled the diaper’s waist up as high as it would go. When she pulled his still-wet pants back up and buckled them, about two inches of diaper were clearly visible above his jeans. Doug didn’t even notice.

Mrs. Warren folded up her changing pad and put it away, then brushed off her strong hands. That had been exhilarating and, as always, excellent exercise. But she wasn’t done with Doug today.

Doug was close to getting his sniffles under control as Mrs. Warren unlocked and opened the door. Several employees who had apparently been hovering just outside, entertained by the sound of Doug’s spanking, dispersed rapidly. Doug stepped out into the service hallway and was acutely aware of how his diaper insulated his still-hot bottom, so that the heat amplified the continued pain he felt. His legs, on the other hand, were ice-cold and wet from his soaked jeans. He felt completely miserable. But he had another embarrassing ordeal to withstand, if he didn’t want another spanking, so Doug dutifully took the mop and bucket he saw waiting in the hall, and slowly wheeled them toward Aisle #3, where a small “SLIPPERY WHEN WET” sign had been placed near the puddle he’d made not half an hour ago.

People he passed whispered and stared, but Doug almost didn’t care now. He tried to shut out the outside world, though his inside world wasn’t any more comforting.

Mrs. Warren followed at a short distance, keeping a watchful eye on her charge, but he was behaving well. It was then that she knew that while he obviously had an enjoyable little rebellious streak in him, he also would probably end up being one of her best clients. He had a little fight in him, to make it fun, but he also had some common sense, too, and knew when to quit.

Doug mopped quietly. The first time he looked down, he caught sight of the diaper protruding so blatantly from his pants, and it didn’t take much to realize that it had been done on purpose. He glanced at Mrs. Warren, who had observed his discovery, and she smiled at him slightly. He took a deep breath and kept mopping. There was simply nothing he could do about it. His bottom hurt more than enough already.

When he’d finished and returned the mop and bucket to the back hallway, Mrs. Warren guided him back to the manager’s office. On the way she told him what she wanted him to say.

“Ma’am,” Doug started politely, when the manager came over with an amused smile on her face, “I just wanted to apologize for wetting myself here in your store, and for making that puddle over there. I, um, cleaned it all up. I, um, just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“That’s good,” the manager observed. “I heard quite a racket back there in that bathroom where you two were. Do you think you learned a lesson?”

Doug coughed with embarrassment, and looked toward Mrs. Warren, who returned his glance with a questioning look. “Uh, yes, ma’am. I, um, promise it will never happen again.” He was sure of this.

“And how can I be sure of that?” the manager inquired.

“Well,” said Doug, “I’m wearing a, um, well, a…diaper now.”

“Oh, yes, I see,” she replied, pretending to notice for the first time. “Note quite ready for big boy pants, are we?” she said, as if to a three-year-old.

This was so degrading, being treated like this. But he had no choice but to humor these women. “Uh, no, ma’am, I guess not.” He noticed Mrs. Warren giving him a meaningful glance.

“Oh, and I wanted to ask you if I might be allowed to finish grocery shopping now,” he remembered to ask.

“I guess that would be alright,” the manager said, looking to Mrs. Warren, who was nodding at her, for her answer, the way strangers will often do with a child and his parent. “As long as your Mommy thinks you’ve learned a lesson, and are wearing a diaper like a good little baby boy.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Doug murmured, his bottom and face burning from the spanking and the embarrassment. “And may I please have permission to shop here in the future?”

“Hmmm,” the manager said thoughtfully. “Yes, you may, if you come wearing a diaper which is at all times visible, such as you’re wearing now, so that my employees and I can tell the big boys from the little ones like you. Also, I’d like for you to check in here when you first get here so that I can tell an employee to keep an eye on you. Any puddles, misbehavior, or even so much as a wet spot on your jeans will be dealt with very harshly, young man. My children will tell you that I can warm a fanny with the best of them.” She smiled warmly at Mrs. Warren, who smiled back appreciatively.

“And one more thing. I want you to bring a spare diaper with you, in case there is a leakage problem. I can find one of my staff to change you, or I can certainly do it myself. Okay?”

Doug nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

“That’s a good baby,” the manager said, and winked at Mrs. Warren, who was deeply impressed. She’d actually never been to this store or met this woman before, but this stranger seemed to have a natural understanding for what was going on. Mrs. Warren began to think more of her boys would shop here in the future. What a pleasant surprise.

Doug resumed shopping grimly. The rest of the trip was excruciating, and dreadfully slow, so he had time to consider what had just happened. He’d just set himself up for weekly humiliation and public embarrassment, and had thanked the lady for it. The manager’s attitude had shocked and disappointed Doug as much as it had pleased and surprised Mrs. Warren, and he was now questioning whether everyone would approve of how he was being treated if they knew about his situation. It was weird that one of these people didn’t object to his being spanked and diapered. (Doug had no way of knowing that he’d simply had the misfortune of encountering another relatively unusual woman; his ignorance made him begin to wonder whether there was more of this kind of thing going on than he had previously been aware of. Any uncertainty about this on Doug’s part simply made Mrs. Warren’s job easier, so she would have been pleased.) Well, he thought, thank goodness for the fact that this store is out of the way. He’d never seen any of his friends shopping here, and that was the only aspect of today’s experience he was happy about.

One thing was for sure, thought, he knew. He wasn’t soon going to try to disobey Mrs. Warren again. His bottom throbbed with the heat and pain from his spanking, and the various glances of curiosity and disgust from the other shoppers continued to drive home how misguided this attempt at rebellion had been. Well, he was reformed now, out of necessity more than desire, and he was going to be a good little boy for as long as he could help it, no matter how embarrassing it would be. Embarrassment was better than embarrassment *and* pain. He would do anything to avoid living through another day like today.

Which was exactly what Mrs. Warren wanted, of course. And she had been doing this long enough to recognize the determined look that now shone in Doug’s eye. She smiled. This had been a successful venture today, and one that would probably carry her new client through several good weeks of what she considered diaper-training for the future. The next thing she’d probably have to deal with from Doug were his hormones. She smiled. Mrs. Warren could handle that, too.

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.

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