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Falling into Mommy’s Arms (A Diaper Regression Story) — Part 2
🕑 Added 2022-10-20 00:07:13 +0000 UTC
The following story contains adult content and is intended only for adult readers over the age of 18. Any characters depicted in adult situations are over the age of 18. This story is entirely fictional and has been written and shared for entertainment purposes only.
My first day time wetting accident in my big-boy undies really wasn’t my fault. Honest.
I was quietly playing with my toys by myself in my room one afternoon, when I suddenly felt an overpowering urge to pee sneak up on me. I suppose all the juice I drank at lunch hit me at once.
I toddled down the hallway to find my Mommy in order to ask her to take me to the potty, as I was still required to do whenever I had to go.
(When my Mommy introduced the rule a few weeks prior that I was only allowed to use the potty under her supervision, she said the rule was temporary. But since then, she hadn’t given any indication of re-granting me my solo-potty privileges anytime soon.)
Unfortunately, when I got to her office, I saw that she was on a work phone call.
I knew I wasn’t allowed to interrupt her when she was on the phone for work—something that had earned me a spanking just a few days prior.
So I stood outside her door, quietly doing a frantic potty dance while I fought my desperate bladder, while I obediently waited for her to finish her call.
After what felt like forever of me standing there waiting—although I honestly had no idea how long it was, as my Mommy said I was too little to have access to any clocks or watches—she still wasn’t off the phone.
The pain in my bladder was still so bad, I decided it would be better if I just went back to playing with the toys in my room to try to take my mind off it while I waited for my Mommy to get off the phone.
Of course, when I shuffled back to my nursery / bedroom, I passed the bathroom in the hallway. And I desperately wished I could just open the door and go use the potty.
But visceral memories of my previous spankings, as well as the threat of losing my potty privileges altogether, kept me from even dare trying. Waking up in a sopping wet, stinky diaper every morning due to my bedwetting was humiliating enough. I just couldn’t imagine if my Mommy took away my big boy undies altogether.
So, I finished shuffling back to my nursery and went back to playing with my hot wheels on the floor.
It took superhuman will, but I was somehow able to tune out the pangs of painful desperation to void from my bladder by focusing on my toys. In fact, I managed to find a crouched over / kneeling position that seemed to substantially soften the painful pressure from my need to pee.
The trouble was, I focused so hard on forgetting about my need to pee… I really did forget!
Some time later, my Mommy walked into my room.
“Hey bud, ready for afternoon snack time? I’ve got some home-made cookies and juice ready for you out in the living room!” She said in her wonderfully nurturing voice.
Surprised, I turned and jumped up to my feet in excitement—which was my usual reaction to when my Mommy offered me delicious cookies.
But what was unusual, was that my bladder was full to the absolute brim, and the only reason I had been able to hold it up to that point had been the crouched-over, kneeling posture I had adopted while playing with my toys.
Hisssssssssssssssssssss
My Mommy noticed it before I did.
I saw her eyes go wide as she looked down at my crotch and feet.
Alarmed, I finally looked down as well. And you guessed it…
Hissssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
My bladder was absolutely dumping into my underwear and soaking my pajama pants as my Mommy stood there and watched.
I was immediately mortified, but my bladder was so stressed from holding it for so long, followed by the sudden change in position, there was no stopping it…
Hisssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
Finally, I was empty. My pajama pants were soaking wet. I was standing in a puddle.
And I slowly opened my eyes and uncrossed my legs to look up at my Mommy.
Her arms were crossed. And I knew she was not happy.
“What’s this, little guy? Did you decide you don’t want to be potty-trained, after all? Is this your way of telling me? Making a big mess on the floor of your nursery, right in front of me?” She asked.
“I... I... I… I’m sorry Mommmmmmy!!!!” I finally burst into hysterical sobs. I was just too overwhelmed for words.
My Mommy shook her head in disappointment.
But then she softened, and much to my relief, came over to soothe and comfort me and tell me everything was going to be okay.
While I cried, she stripped me of my pee-soaked clothes. Then she laid me back on the diaper changing table and cleaned me up with baby wipes while she cooed and tried to calm me down.
Laying nude on the changing table, as I caught my breath, I started to worry that she was about to diaper me right then and there…
But to my immense relief, she instructed me to sit up with a smile, and she helped me hop into a fresh pair of clean underwear.
“That’s my good, clean, big boy,” she said, wrapping me in a hug.
I finally finished calming down over juice and cookies in the kitchen. And I tried to finally explain what happened.
“I tried to come get you to use the potty, Mommy, but you were on the phone. That’s why I had an accident,” I said.
“Aw, but bud, I was only on the phone for about ten to fifteen minutes this morning. You couldn’t hold your weewee for ten to fifteen minutes outside my room?” She asked.
“Well… I don’t know… I mean… I tried…” I said, feeling extra foolish. “Please, Mommy, don’t take away my potty privileges! I promised it won’t happen again!”
My Mommy rubbed my back and cooed. “Don’t worry, buddy, accidents happen. Even for big boys who are day-time potty-trained enough to wear undies, like you. In the future, you can stand at the doorway and quietly get my attention while I’m on the phone if you need to go potty, and I won’t be mad, okay?”
“Okay, Mommy,” I said, and we wrapped each other in a big hug.
I was mortified by my day-time wetting accident that afternoon. I didn’t recall having one before… well… ever.
But I found my Mommy’s gentle, understanding reaction very comforting. Especially the fact that she didn’t punish me.
And even though I knew she was strict about getting her permission to use the potty, and wearing my big, bulky disposable diapers at night, it was a moment that reminded me just what I loved about her so much.
That afternoon, I promised my Mommy I wouldn’t have any more day time peepee accidents like that again.
And I really did want to keep that promise. I found the experience of wetting myself utterly disgusting and humiliating, and it almost made me feel just as pathetic and babyish as wearing a diaper.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t exactly able to keep my promise for very long, despite how badly I wanted to.
And it was my second daytime accident that propelled me much closer to my current humiliating predicament in the grocery store with my Mommy.
And unlike my first accident, it was more difficult to claim this daytime peepee accident wasn’t my fault…
* * *
My second daytime wetting accident happened just a week or so after the first. And somehow, it managed to be far more humiliating and traumatic.
My Mommy had taken me with her shopping at some outlet malls, which were quite a drive away.
On the way back, we stopped for McDonalds through the drive through, and my Mommy got me a happy meal, which I was thrilled about. But unfortunately, that happy meal came with a bigger soda than I probably needed.
It wasn’t long after we hit the road again that I felt that familiar pressure mounting in my bladder.
But the issue was, my Mommy had asked me three times before we left the McDonald’s parking lot, if we needed to go inside to use the potty before we continued our drive home.
“Do you have to go potty, buttercup? It might be good to go use the bathroom now before we go,” she said.
“No, I don’t need to, Mommy,” I said, too busy shoving my happy meal french fries in my face.
“Are you sure?” She said. “It’s a little bit of a drive back.”
“Yes, Mommy…” I said, blowing her off.
“Are you super, duper sure? I really think we should go potty real quick, hon…”
“I said I don’t have to go, Mommy!” I whined, fussy and annoyed.
My Mommy gave me a stern look about my disrespectful tone, but then shrugged, as if to say, suit yourself, and started driving us home.
So of course, now that my bladder was facing increasing urgency just 15 or so minutes after I refused to use the potty after she insisted, I felt like I had no choice but to hold it till we got home. Otherwise it would mean admitting she was totally right.
The pressure only got more and more painful with every minute that passed on our long drive. Every bump in the road, every start and stop, every minor tug of the seat belt across my lap, seemed to increase the assault tenfold on my strained, nearly-bursting bladder.
As I hunched forward in the back seat of the car, trying to manage the painful pressure, I was forced to come to terms with the fact that my bladder capacity seemed to be getting smaller and more child-like, for reasons I couldn’t understand.
And I was also forced to quietly come to terms with the fact that my Mommy was right. I absolutely should have gone when she suggested, back in the McDonalds parking lot. It seemed more and more, my Mommy did know what was best for me, even regarding when I needed to potty, even when I was too much of a whiny baby to admit it.
My plan was just to grit my teeth and bare the pain in my bladder in silence till we made it home.
But to my surprise, not too much later, my Mommy asked, “Everything okay back there, buddy?”
“Huh?” I said, doubled over and gripping my tummy in the back seat.
“You look like you might be uncomfortable. Is everything okay?” She asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine, well, I… well… I guess I just have to go pee a little,” I said, finally admitting it.
“You don’t say,” my Mommy said, smirking and half-rolling her eyes. “Maybe next time you won’t get fussy with me when I ask if you want to go potty before we leave somewhere, huh? Maybe my little boy needs to trust his Mommy more when she’s trying to help teach him about his potty-time, huh?”
Even though, deep down, I knew she was right—and I even came to the same conclusion myself just moments ago—hearing her basically say ‘I told you so’ so directly caused my cheeks to flare up red with embarrassment and pride.
“Well, lesson learned,” she continued. “I’m gonna pull over at the next spot I see so you can use the potty, like you should have done the first time Mommy asked you to.”
“No, don’t pull over, you’re wrong,” I said through gritted teeth. “I can hold it till we get home, like I said. It’s fine. I don’t even actually have to go that bad.”
The thing was, even though I was in such desperate pain to pee, I was also in a desperate power struggle with my Mommy ever since I first moved in, to try to prove to her that I wasn’t the un-potty-trained baby she thought I was.
I hated the look on her face just now when she realized she was right about me needing to pee when I was at McDonald’s, despite me being too big of a baby to know it myself.
This felt like the tiniest moment in which I could wrest back at least the slightest bit of autonomy and independence over my potty-needs. All I had to do was just continued to hold it, no matter how painful it was. Better to just keep holding it rather than admit she was right…
“Buddy, no, you can’t hold it,” she replied, shutting down my arrogant pleas. “I’m pulling over at the next exit for you to use the bathroom.”
“Don’t! I don’t have to go!” I grunted.
“Too bad!” My Mommy scolded. “You’re not driving the car, so it’s not up to you. And guess what? Your attitude has been horrendous today, and I’ve had it up to here. So for the rest of our ride home, you can zip your lips and do what Mommy says. Which includes going pee when I pull over in a minute. Or you can expect a long hard spanking when we get home, followed by a week of extra-early bed-time. Got it?”
I blushed bright red with humiliation and fear at having been scolded.
Even worse, I knew the power struggle we were in had just been decisively settled. She was the Mommy. I was the little boy. End of discussion. I never stood a chance. It was pathetic.
“Yes, Mommy…” I said quietly, feeling ashamed.
The worst part was, as she pulled off the highway, the pain in my bladder was reaching truly intolerable levels, and I knew she was right. I needed to be taken to the potty, ASAP. And the look on my face in this moment seemingly wasn’t lost on her.
“By the way, young man,” she continued, “if you ruin another pair of your pants and undies with an accident before I get you to the potty, just because you didn’t want to ask to use the potty because you didn’t want to admit you were wrong about earlier… you are going to be in big, big trouble.”
I blushed even redder. But I stayed silent, now too focused on avoiding doing exactly that.
My Mommy pulled into a gas station, walked around to open the door of the van, and slowly helped me out of my seat. She knew as well as I did that I was on the verge of bursting. And as I grunted in pain as I slowly stepped down, I realized it was going to be a photo finish.
My Mommy walked me by the hand across the parking lot, to the occupied single occupancy bathroom, where we stood outside, waiting for whoever was in there to come out.
We waited and waited as I stood next to my Mommy, my bladder going numb as I hunched over in pain, desperate for whoever was in front of us to finish.
I finally stepped forward and raised my fist to knock on the bathroom door—
But my Mommy snatched my hand away.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She scolded me.
“I was just going to knock because they’re taking so long…”
“That’s very, very rude!” she scolded me. “Someone else is in there right now. You hold it and wait your turn like a big boy.”
I blushed at being scolded again and continued squeezing my legs together and holding my abdomen in excruciating pain. It felt like I really, really couldn’t hold it much longer…
Finally, after an eternity—
Wham! The bathroom door flew open.
An overwhelmed Mother with her very young daughter came stumbling out.
“Sorry to hog the bathroom! Had a bit of a messy diaper situation in there,” the Mother said to us, causing the young daughter she was pulling along to blush.
“Oh, no problem, it’s not your fault, we’ve all been there,” my Mommy replied to her with a kind smile. “Alright, you ready?” She said, turning to me and grabbing my hand.
But I was frozen in place. I couldn’t look up. I couldn’t turn away. I couldn’t do anything but stand there… while it happened…
Hissssssssssssssssssssssssss
I was pissing myself, once again. Just totally unleashing my long-strained bladder into my underwear, soaking my jeans with a massive spreading dark spot, and pouring piss down my legs, soaking my socks and shoes.
“Oh… oh no! Looks like your little guy might be having an accident of his own!” The other mother said, looking down at my crotch.
That’s when my Mommy finally turned around and saw it. She simply stood before me, folded her arms, and shook her head with frustration and disappointment as I continued helplessly pissing myself while she watched.
Hissssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
“It looks like he didn’t make it in time because of me! I really am sorry!” The other mother said to her as she turned to leave.
“Oh, please, no, this isn’t your fault at all,” my Mommy replied to her. “The only one whose fault this is is his, trust me,” she said, pointing to me. “Your daughter still has every right to still be having accidents. But my little boy here is far, far too old to still be wetting himself like a baby. He has no excuse.”
Hissssss Hissssss Hissssss
My bladder finally finished emptying, and I heaved a reluctant, massive sigh. The relief on my bladder from the pain I had been experiencing was practically euphoric.
But that euphoria was quickly fading, as my mind returned to the gas station parking lot, where I realized I was standing in front of an empty bathroom, in front of my Mommy, with piss-drenched jeans, which I had just wet in public in front of a complete stranger and her daughter.
My Mommy’s words about me just now began to set in. And they felt like a gut punch of humiliation.
Finally, I slowly raised my gaze to meet my Mommy’s.
“Are you proud of yourself?” She asked me.
There was a tense silence.
Then, in a hoarse voice, I finally answered, “No.”
Then I burst into tears of humiliation and shame.
My Mommy continued regarding me with cold silence as I stood before her sobbing in my piss soaked jeans. Unlike the previous daytime wetting accident I had, my Mommy was far, far less consoling. At least at first.
After a moment, she sighed and dragged me by the hand back to the mini-van, put a beach towel she found in back down on my seat, and buckled me in.
The last thing she said before shutting the door was, “We are never, ever, leaving the house without a diaper bag for you again.”
We didn’t exchange another word our whole drive home.
The only sound in the car was my non-stop sobs of shame and humiliation as I sat in my puddle of pee and hated myself for just what a pathetic, pants-wetting baby I was.
* * *
When we got home that evening, my Mommy stripped me of my clothes in the bathroom and gave me a bubble bath.
It was still silent between us. I could tell my Mommy was still upset with me, and I didn’t know what to say to her.
But I still found a way to slightly cheer up as she cleansed me in the tub and rubbed me down with the gentle suds, something we hadn’t yet done together.
Afterward, she brought me a robe and told me to warm up and relax in bed for a bit, as she was worried I might have caught a cold, given how long I was in my wet clothes.
I was a little confused about why she would be putting me to bed without changing me into my diaper, but she said she’d be back to bring me some dinner shortly, and that I shouldn’t go to sleep yet.
I did find it immensely relaxing after all the stress of the day to warm up in bed, even though I was still anxious about whether or not my Mommy was going to punish me.
Then my Mommy brought me some chicken noodle soup to eat in bed, which was delightful. I realized, while eating it, I was starting to feel a whole lot better. And maybe my Mommy was right about me being on the verge of a cold if I didn’t warm up and relax.
But after I was finished with my soup, my Mommy returned to take the soup bowl away, then sat down in the chair next to my bed.
“Alright, my little one. I think you know we need to have a talk,” she said, her voice sounding concerned but tired.
I looked up at her and nodded… and felt myself immediately on the verge of tears again. I didn’t know why.
“I guess I just have to ask,” she said with a sigh. “Do you even want to be potty-trained? Or should I just put you back in diapers now and call it a day?”
I burst into tears. I didn’t know why. But for some reason, the question felt both brutally honest, and like a punch to the gut.
“Mommy, I’m sorry, really! I didn’t mean to have an accident! I am potty-trained, I swear!” I wailed. “Please don’t take away my big kid undies and day-time potty privileges! I don’t want to have to wear stinky diapers all the time like a baby!”
“I know, bud, I know,” my Mommy said with a sigh. “But how can I possibly believe you actually want to keep your big-boy undies after your behavior today? I mean, you refused to go potty, even though you badly needed to, for no reason. You even lied to me about you needing to go just to avoid it.
“I had to force you to go to a bathroom, and even still, you had a massive accident anyway. In front of that poor woman and her daughter no less! How can I feel like a responsible Mommy, taking you out in public, knowing you might have another accident and soak your jeans again at any moment in front of unsuspecting strangers?” She said.
“It won’t happen again! I promise I won’t have another accident like that! I’ll be good next time, I swear!” I pleaded.
“But sweetie, how could you promise that? They’re called accidents because it’s not a matter of good or bad. They’re called accidents because you can’t control them,” she explained. “The truth is, if you’re having this much trouble potty-training still at your age, I think it’s safe to say that means it’s not going to work out, and we just have to put you back in diapers.”
“Please, don’t put me back in diapers all the time. I want to wear big boy undies and be potty trained like a big kid! Really! I hate wearing diapers at night! They make me feel like a big, dorky, dumb, stinky, smelly, peepee baby. I really don’t want to have to wear them during the daytime, too! Please, I’ll be better, I promise!” I wailed.
“Look, my little one, I’m as disappointed about it as you are, believe me,” my Mommy said with a heavy heart. “Do you know how embarrassing it is for a Mommy to have a little boy your age who still isn’t even potty-trained yet? Who has to wear diapers… like a baby? That’s very embarrassing for me. Let alone all the extra work of changing your soiled diapers every day, which I already have to do in the morning and evening. No Mommy wants a little boy your age still wetting and messing his diapers like a baby.
“But you know what’s even more embarrassing than having a little boy who wears a diaper under his clothes? Having a little boy who leaves puddles of weewee on the floor. Or walks around stinking of wet, urine drenched clothes. Or a little boy who catches a cold and gets sick because he’s constantly in wet clothes.
“Look, like we talked about, the bed-wetting is one thing. It’s a common condition for boys your age. But putting you back in diapers full time isn’t a decision I take lightly, either. But after today, I just think it’s going to be what’s safest and most appropriate for you in the long run. Even if you are embarrassed by depending on your crinkly padding 24 hours per day,” she explained.
I was in emotional shambles. “Please, Mommy, please, I’ll do anything! Just don’t take away my potty-privileges! Please! Give me one more chance!” I begged.
But my pleas seemed to be falling on deaf ears as my Mommy started to get to her feet.
“Mommy, wait, the truth is… it wasn’t really an accident I had today!” I blurted.
She stopped, turned around.
“What’s that?” She asked.
“I uh… well… I was just being naughty, on purpose,” I said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. But I was trying to hold it as long as possible, I don’t know… to prove I was a big boy. I was being naughty and I’m very sorry. But please, don’t take away my potty privileges. I’m potty trained, I swear. I just… was being naughty today, that’s all.”
My Mommy folded her arms and stared at me for a long moment. I had no idea what she was going to say.
“If that’s true, little one, you were very, very naughty today,” she said.
“I know, Mommy,” I answered.
“And for being that naughty, I have to give you a very, very serious punishment,” she said.
A chill went down my spine. What did I just get myself into?
I didn’t respond.
“Did you hear me?” My Mommy said. “If what you’re saying is true, and you wet yourself on purpose, instead of on accident, that means you have to get a very, very stern punishment. Is that what you want?”
I stared down, but then slowly lifted my gaze.
“If it means I won’t get my potty-privileges taken away… then yes,” I answered.
My Mommy stared back at me long and hard while I averted my gaze.
I was absolutely terrified by whatever punishment she had in mind… but I was willing to do anything than suffer the humiliation of being forcefully returned to diapers during the day. I felt like that would make my life truly more degrading and humiliating 24 / 7 than I could handle.
“Very well. Here’s the offer I’ll make you,” my Mommy explained. “If you choose to stick by the story you’re telling me now—which is that you wet yourself mostly on purpose—you’ll be severely punished, as I mentioned before.”
“But in addition to that, because I’m still partially skeptical of your story, you’ll be spending the next seven days on potty-probation.
“That means that you will still have your potty-privileges. Still thoroughly supervised of course. But should you have another accident during the day at any point during that time… It’s an official admission of permanent potty-training failure on your part.”
“Is all that clear?” She asked me. “And if so, do you wish to stand by your confession of purposefully wetting yourself today?”
A slow smile of cautious optimism came across my face. “Yes, Mommy! All of that’s right. Like I said, I promise I’ll be good.”
My Mommy sighed and got up to her feet. “Very well. Well, I’m proud of you for telling the truth and accepting your punishment in exchange for your big-boy privileges. So that means you’re going to receive your first big boy punishment. Follow me.”
I slowly got to my feet, then went to go retrieve some underwear. “No, no, big boys take their punishments in the nude. And they do it in the big boy punishment room down the hall. When we’re done, we can come back and I’ll change you into your diaper for bed time.”
“Okay, Mommy,” I said, dropping my robe and following my Mommy out of the room.
I was over the moon that I had somehow managed to avoid the permanent sentence to diapers that was hanging over my head.
But now I was terrified about what was to come. I’d never heard Mommy mention any ‘big boy punishment room’ before…
* * *
I followed my Mommy down the hall, where she unlocked and opened the door to a room I hadn’t seen yet since moving in.
It was pitch dark… until she flipped on a soft red light in the corner.
I suddenly recoiled in shock.
It was a BDSM dungeon!
“You want to disobey Mommy like a big boy, you can be punished like a big boy,” my Mommy said, walking me forward with her hand on my shoulder.
In the middle of the room, there was a scary leather bench. And before I knew what was happening, she was pushing me forward and tying my limbs down.
“Just remember,” my Mommy said, retrieving some sort of implement from the darkness. “Babies down the hall get punished on the diaper changing table with a light slap on their bottom. Big boys get punished on the leather table with a leather strap across their behind.”
“Now, just to check one last time, are you sure you’re still telling the truth? Are you sure you still want to be here, instead of on the diaper changing table down the hall?” She asked me.
I was shaking with terror. But I knew that avoiding the humiliation of permanent, infantile diapers was worth any cost.
“Yes, Mommy,” I answered.
“Well, then, I’m very proud of you for choosing to take your punishment like a big boy,” my Mommy said.
Suddenly, I heard what sounded like a whip cracking in the darkness.
Then she set into strapping my scrawny behind with furious abandon.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
I screamed at the top of my lungs from the very first blow.
Tears of pain were pouring down my cheeks by the second.
By the tenth, I was non-stop screaming and begging and crying for mercy.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
But she didn’t stop. She continued the blows again and again, long after the point I thought I could take anymore.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
Finally, after what felt like an inferno being lit on my backside, it came to a halt.
I was left a heaving, sobbing mess, begging for my Mommy and crying like a baby.
My Mommy helped me up off the bench and gave me a brief hug, telling me what a good boy I was for taking my big boy punishment.
Then she promptly walked me back to my nursery to get diapered for the night. After all, I might have been a big boy enough to take a leather-dungeon whipping… but I was still a bedwetter, I guess.
Mercifully, while my Mommy was diapering me for the night, she put a little cooling diaper cream on my blistered behind, and dumped ample baby powder over my crotch and butt, both of which helped the raging burning pain I felt from my brutal strapping.
Then she pulled my diaper up and wrapped me up tight in my padding for the night.
“Nighty night, my strong, diapered big-boy. I’m very proud of you for proving to Mommy you were not the pathetic, diapered baby she worried you were,” she whispered in my ear, before closing the door of my nursery and turning out the light.
* * *
That night, it took me a long time to go to sleep.
For some reason, feeling the humiliation of the thick baby diaper wrapped around my waist and butt, as well as the welts from my ‘big boy’ caning on my bottom, made me feel like I got the worst of both worlds.
At some point, as I tossed and turned, I realized I needed to pee. And knowing getting up to use the potty was out of the question, I was forced to just pee in my diaper…
I cringed and burned in humiliation as I felt the hot, heavy warmth collect around my penis and balls. It immediately sent me back to my accident earlier that day in the gas station parking lot.
And now I didn’t just have to go to sleep in a diaper… I had to go to sleep in a wet diaper!
And to make matters worse, the warm pee collected against my blistering ass, making the marks from my strapping burn.
I was utterly humiliated, feeling totally pathetic and embarrassed on all sides.
But my last thoughts as I finally faded off to sleep were that at least I would get my big boy undies in the morning.
I had earned them. And I needed them. Between the strapping and the diapering that night, I badly needed to feel the big-boy dignity I was fighting for.
My big-boy undies, I thought to myself, comforting myself with the thought of their image…
Right now, getting them back in the morning felt like it was going to make all of this worth it.
* * *
The next morning, I woke up with my diaper just as absolutely sopping wet and filled to the brim as always.
But one thing that was different, was that last night, I remembered my dreams again.
I distinctly remembered hearing Mommy’s voice in my ear. And she was telling me to just let it all go again. Let my bladder go… And let my fight for adulthood go. That instead of being a big boy who gets whipped and punished, I should just accept my diapers. Permanent, inescapable, baby diapers, because I was her baby…
I shook off the dream, and got up to eat breakfast in my soggy diaper, as I did every morning.
However, after breakfast, when my Mommy walked me back to my room to get changed out of my soggy diaper, I was in for a rude awakening…
After she pulled my soggy diaper away and finished wiping me down, I was expecting her to finally put me back in my undies. As we had agreed to.
But to my horror… she started to unwrap another fresh new diaper!
“What? Mommy, you said I could have my big boy undies back this week!” I protested.
“I said no such thing,” my Mommy snapped. “I said that you would have potty-privileges. Which means that I will be taking you to the potty when you ask, as usual, where I will then remove your diaper for you while you go. I will then reapply your diaper afterwards.
“Remember, you’re still on potty-probation all this week. So I’ll be checking every one of your diapers to make sure you don’t use them one bit. If you do… well… potty training test failed,” she explained.
I started tearing up as she pushed a fresh, clean disposable diaper under my butt, but this one for me to wear during the day.
I suddenly wondered if the whipping last night was even worth it. She hadn’t even given my big boy undies back this morning!
Oh well, I told myself as I finished getting ready for the day in my new, day-time diaper that I was strictly forbidden from using. I just needed to go one week without using my diaper. Something I desperately wanted to avoid anyway.
Easy, right?
Well, that’s what I thought. Until that weekend, when my Mommy happened to take me grocery shopping…
TO BE CONTINUED…
IN PART III
