My name is Candi. I had a terrible day today at Saint Martin High School, where I am a sophomore. I’ll tell you about it.
During mid-morning break, I went to the school bathrooms in the corridor between her classes. I had stomach cramps and knew that I had to poop BAD.
I have always hated to poop anywhere but at home in my own toilet with nobody around to hear the noises and smell the smells. But this time I knew I couldn’t hold it any
longer. So I chose the last stall on the left, pulled down my cotton panties, and sat down to do the deed.
It all would have been ok, except that while I was straining to relieve my aching bowels, Susie White, the most popular girl in school, walked in on me! The door latch was
broken, but, geez, she could have just looked under the door. Anyway, she didn’t, and the rest is history. I turned beet red and farted loudly in my shock, and Susie
laughed her ass off, pinching her nose and pointing me out to all the other girls in the bathroom. It was mortifying!
So now I’m home, and I’m so glad. I don’t know if I’ll ever live down the embarrassment. I’ll bet Susie told all of the popular girls at school, and I’ll be a laughing stock. Being
a teenager sucks!
I’m dreading school today. Mom is very strict, though, about missing school. Unless I have a fever, forget about it. And believe me, she checks. So off I go, but not without
fortifying myself with some shredded wheat.
I walk into my first class with my eyes downcast. I do not want to see Susie gloating at me about yesterday. I slink over to my chair and hope nobody will notice me.
Naturally, this is not to be. Susie walks in just after I do and asks in a VERY loud voice, “Does Candi have to poop? Candi makes stinky poopies!” The whole class
laughed. I just wanted to die.
An hour later, I entered my second class–algebra, yuck. At least Susie White is not in this one. As I sit there listening to Mr. Stahl drone on and on about X’s and Y’s and
equations, equations, equations, my tummy starts to rumble. Oh, no! Not again!
Day 2, continued:
No way was I going to poop at school again, no way! By ignoring the rumbling in my stomach for the next half hour, I was able to curb the urge. I still felt I COULD go, but
didn’t have to.
That lasted through lunch. Then I had 2 more classes to go. Periodically, my stomach would cramp up, I’d begin to sweat a little bit. Then it would go away, to my relief.
The cramps became stronger and stronger and the period between them shorter and shorter. The last fifteen minutes of my last class was agony.
Now all I had to do was make it home. And I very nearly did. I had to stop walking every so often and stay very still, which increased the amount of time my walk took from
the normal fifteen minutes to about twenty-five. At last I was on my block. Just as my house came into view, a severe cramp seized me and as hard as I tried to squeeze
my butt shut, the poop oozed out into my panties. It was very soft, having churned around all day inside of me, and it spread out in my panties from back to front, though
must of it was in a giant mushy lump behind and underneath me. My jeans weren’t exactly tight, but they weren’t loose enough for all that poop either. So I waddled quite a
bit as I walked the last fifty feet or so to my house. I could smell myself and could not escape the feeling of poop rubbing all over me inside my soiled panties.
What was I going to tell my mother? I just prayed that she would be all the way in back of the house in the kitchen when I walked in. Maybe I could slide in and go up the
stairs before she had a chance to see or smell me. I was so embarrassed! I couldn’t remember the last time I’d pooped myself. I was potty trained at 2 and couldn’t
remember ever being in diapers or having an accident.
No luck for me today. Mom was standing right by the front door when I walked in. She immediately sniffed the air and asked what stunk, did I step in some dog doo? I said
no, and started to cry. “Please mom, just let me come in and close the door, it’s not my shoes. I - - just - - couldn’t - - help it, I sobbed. I had an accident. I’m really, really
Mother wore a shocked expression. “You pooped in your pants?!! Are you sick?” she asked with a worried expression.
“Um, yeah, mom. I had these terrible cramps in my stomach all day.”
“Well did you go at school? Why didn’t you go to the nurse and have her call me to come pick you up?”
“I thought I’d be ok, mom, really. I just didn’t know it would be so bad.”
“Well, come upstairs and get cleaned up. What a mess! Leave your panties and jeans outside the bathroom door and I’ll see if I can clean them.”
“Thanks mom,” I swallowed, still mortified.
The stench was unbelievable when I peeled off my jeans. Some poop had escaped from the panties onto the jeans, but most of it was like a pound weight in my panties. I
carefully stepped out of them and then jumped in the shower. What a relief!
I just couldn’t put my soiled panties and jeans outside for my mother to see, I just couldn’t! So I wrapped them in a plastic garbage bag and, once I was dressed again, took
them outside to the garbage pails.
My mother stopped me as I came back in the back door. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Um . . ., um . . .,” I stammered. “I threw my clothes away mom. They were really a mess.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Candi. Clothes don’t grow on trees you know. They’re not disposable. Go get them. I’ll wash them out for you.”
I was grossed out, but I knew arguing with my mother would get me nowhere. Once she made up her mind, forget it.
So I retrieved the bag in which I had wrapped my soiled clothes and handed it to my mother. She sighed. “I haven’t had to clean up after a baby in a long time. You’re sure
you feel all right? This is not going to happen again?”
“Oh, no, mother. I’m fine now, and it won’t ever, ever happen again,” I promised her.
“Fine,” she said, and walked down to the basement carrying my clothes. I went upstairs to do my homework and watch some TV and then crashed. Boy was I relieved! My
mom could have been really mad and she could have really embarrassed me, but things went ok.
Resolved to never again be placed in the dilemma of pooping at school or in my pants, I tried to poop the next morning before leaving for school. I was somewhat
successful, thank goodness. The rest could wait until I got home. And it did. Whew!
The next day was much the same, but the day after that, disaster struck. I got up late, having pressed the snooze alarm one time too many while I was still asleep. I didn’t
even have time for a shower. I just threw on some clothes, grabbed a pop tart, and ran out of the house. I didn’t give my bowels another thought. At least until that afternoon
around lunchtime, when they made themselves known. It wasn’t too bad, though, and I knew I could handle it and wait until I got home. I remained sure of that until last
period. Then I started squirming around in my seat, trying to ease the pressure against my bottom to let it all out. It was so bad that I decided I had better use the school
toilets before walking home.
As I walked down the corridor towards the bathroom, I saw Susie White go in ahead of me. Oh great. I wasn’t about to go in while she was in there. So, gritting my teeth, I
waited. And waited, and waited, and waited . . . About ten minutes later, the janitor came by. She opened the door to the bathroom and a cloud of cigarette smoke billowed
She started yelling in Spanish and broken English to the teens in there smoking in the bathroom. She promised she was going to get the principal, she was going to keep
them from using the girls’ room as a smoking lounge. I could hear the girls inside giggle nervously. They tried to calm the janitor down, telling her it would never happen
again and that they were only experimenting. I knew better, of course, having seen them smoking out near the bushes behind the school many times. But I wasn’t about to
say anything; I just wanted in that bathroom! I heard the janitor scold them again and tell them to leave and that she would call the principal if she ever caught them again. I
hid around the corner, waiting for the girls and the janitor to get out of there.
Finally, it was my chance. I heard the girls giggling and gossiping on their way out, and a little while later, the janitor’s cart rolling away. I walked quickly around the corner,
homing in on the doorknob to the bathroom. Locked!!! I had never before tried to use the bathrooms this long after school was out. I should have realized, though, that they
would be locked. Oh, cripes! Now I was in real trouble. If I just had to pee, which I also had to do, I’d find a tree somewhere on the way home. But how could I poop without
any toilet paper or place to sit? And what if somebody saw me? I had no choice but to try to make it home in time.
I failed. The pain was just too great. I had a huge mess to make and it was pressing against my bottom with unbelievable force. I finally just had to stop walking and push
with all of my might to unload into my pants. Because it was so much firmer this time, it was a little harder to do, but I HAD to get some relief. The fact that I was wearing
stretchy cotton pants made it a little bit easier. Of course, those pants also made it patently obvious to anyone that I had pooped in my pants. I had a huge lump sagging
behind me. Fortunately, I didn’t see any neighbors out on the way home. It was a cool and overcast day, so people were staying inside.
Not MY mother, though. And not her sister, my aunt. They were standing on the patio together talking when I walked up. Both turned expectant smiles on me and started
to say hello. Then my mother noticed that I was walking funny and trying to keep just my front towards them.
“Candi? Is anything wrong?”
I gulped. “Uh . . . not really . . .”
Then my mother sniffed and I knew it was all over. “I can’t believe it! You pooped in your pants again didn’t you?” She turned to my aunt, “This is the second time this
week. Can you believe it? My teenage daughter can’t seem to keep from messing her pants!”
I was mortified. I looked around quickly to see if anybody else had heard my mother’s loud voice. No one was there, but that was small comfort. “Mother,” I whined, “I’m
sorry. I’m really sorry. I can explain . . .”
But mother cut me off. “Maybe you can explain once, but twice? No ma’am. You get your messy bottom inside and your father and I’ll deal with you later.”
I still had to get by mother and my aunt to get in the front door. There was nothing else to do, so I waddled by them, clearly displaying the bulge in my pants. I heard my
aunt say, “Tsk, tsk. At her age. What are you going to do?” I didn’t hear the response as I was running upstairs to get out of my soiled clothes again and into the shower.
Once I was clean, I came downstairs to talk to mother, to explain about the bathroom, that it wasn’t my fault. But when mother saw me, she ordered me back to my room
I heard my father’s car pull up in the driveway, and heard him walk through the door to be greeted by mother. Usually, he called up after he greeted her, “Hi Candi!” but he
didn’t this time. I heard the two of them talking quietly for a while, but couldn’t understand the words. I knew that she was telling my dad about my accidents, and I had no
idea how my father would react.
Later, mother called, “Candi, come down for dinner.” I opened my door cautiously and headed down the stairs. Mom was putting food on the table and my Dad was already
helping himself. This was life as usual, but I knew something was coming. They made me wait until after dinner. I was so anxious that I didn’t eat much, and I wasn’t offered
Dad pushed his chair back and told me to come into the living room. Mom followed. We all sat down, and my father began to speak. “Candi, your mother tells me that
you’ve been having accidents like a toddler in your pants.”
I broke in, “I can explain! I couldn’t go at school because they locked up the toilets, and . . .”
“Surely the toilets can’t be closed during school,” my mother said.
“Well, they aren’t, but they’re locked right after school and I couldn’t get in”
“Enough,” my father said. “Other teenagers manage somehow to use the toilet to relieve themselves. You’re having a problem with that, and we’re going to help you with it.
Two accidents is enough. If you’re just being lazy then, well, you’re going to be sorry about that. If you really can’t help yourself, then this is the solution. Next week is
Spring break. Starting tomorrow, Saturday, you’re going to be wearing diapers until you can show us that you’ve grown up enough to use the potty.”
I gasped. They couldn’t be serious. But they were both staring at me, giving me that, “you’re in trouble and this is going to happen whether you like it or not” look. I
groaned, “You can’t be serious.”
We’re dead serious, and to show you just how serious we are, we are going shopping tonight for your diapers. “Do I have to go?” I cried.
“Yes, you do,” my mom responded. “We have to get the right product and size for you, so you have to be there. Besides, maybe the embarrassment of all this will help
cure your problem.”
“No!” I screamed. I wasn’t going to do this, and they couldn’t make me. How wrong I was. My father picked me up like I was a little kid, threw me over his knee, and started
spanking me, HARD! “Dad!” I yelled. “Ouch! Ouch! What are you doing?”
“I’m doing what I obviously have not been doing enough of lately. You will do what your mother and I tell you to do without sassing back, or you will get spanked. Do you
understand?” he asked, all the while still spanking me.
I was in tears by now and just wanted the pain on my bottom to go away. “All right, all right!” I cried. “I’ll do whatever you want!” Dad let me up. Tears were still falling from
my eyes and I was sniffling, rubbing my stinging bottom.
“Yes, you will. Now get in the car. The backseat, both your mother and I are going.”
My head down, I walked out the door and got into the back seat of my mother’s Buick. Not long after that, my parents joined me in the car and drove to a medical supply
store that I had never noticed before. My parents must have looked it up in the yellow pages while I was waiting in the car.
I relunctantly got out of the car. “Come on, Candi,” my father said, and he grabbed ahold of my hand. He walked me like a little kid across the parking lot, with my mother
on my other side.
We walked straight to the front counter. “We need some diapers for my daughter here.”
In a surypy sweet voice, the woman asked, “Are we just having problems with the bladder, or have we lost control of our bowels as well?” She smiled. “With the bowels,
you know, we need a thicker diaper.”
My father replied, “Oh, yes. We need the thickest diaper you have.”
“Well then,” the woman chirped cheerfully, “Let’s get you what you need dear.” This she directed at me. I was trying to pretend that this was not really happening to me. I
know my face was ten shades of red.
My Dad was still holding my hand and he dragged me over to where the woman was leading us.
“We have a store brand that’s quite good. It’s thicker than any of the name brands, so not only are they less expensive, but they also need to be changed less often. A
much better value, if you ask me,” she confided.
I finally looked up. I dreaded what I’d see, and I was not disappointed. On the box was a picture of a humungous diaper, showing all of its special features–the leg gathers,
the strong tapes, and the thickness. Oh! They must have been at least an inch thick.
The saleswoman continued, “Your little girl is quite small, about 5’ tall, 100 pounds?”
“Yes,” said my mother, “almost exactly.”
“Then I think the best size for her will be the youth size. They’re darling, too. They have little patterns around the top. A little juvenile,” she chuckled, “but heck, she’s
already wearing a diaper. It’s kind of appropriate.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” my Mom said. “How many boxes do you think we’ll need for a week?”
“Hmmm. One box is probably fine for a week, but I’m certain you’ll like these. Wouldn’t you like a larger supply?”
My mother looked at me. I pleaded to her with my eyes, please, please Mom don’t make it more than a week. She sighed, “No. Thank you, not for right now. We may be
back,” she said, giving me a pointed look.
I looked back at the ground and my father dragged me up to the cash register to make our purchase. The drive home was quiet.
to be continued if people are interested
Day 5, continued:
I couldn’t for the life of me think of anything to say in the car. The package containing my–MY–diapers was on the seat next to me. I knew they wouldn’t have bought them
if they weren’t serious about using them. I wouldn’t call my parents cheap exactly, but they hate to waste money.
All too soon we were home again. I was glad that it was dark outside, so no one could see my father take the diapers inside. They were inside of a drugstore bag, but boy
was I ever paranoid.
My mother called me into the living room. “Lie down here, Candi.”
“On the floor?! You can’t be serious.”
“I’m not asking again,” my mother said. “Next time, you’ll be spanked, and that last episode will feel like a tickle. Now lie down!”
I quickly complied. When mother grasped the buttom of my jeans and started to undress me, I looked away. I just didn’t want to be there. But she kept calling my attention
back to what she was doing, saying things like “lift up now, honey, so I can slide your panties down. Oh my, look at these stains.” I had farted nervously, though thank god
silently, in the drugstore while the saleswoman guided us over to the diapers. Apparently, it was a little more than just a fart. “It’s a good thing we got you these diapers.”
If I hadn’t been so horrified about the thought of wearing a diaper, I might have noticed how soft and comfortable they were. That wouldn’t come until later though. For now,
all I could do was cringe while my mother tightly taped up the waist and remarked on how cute the little designs around the top were. “They’re ducks. How darling!”
“Candi, go look at yourself in the mirror,” my mother ordered.
Getting up off the floor was not as easy as it used to be. The thick diaper prevented me from closing my legs all the way and it put me off balance. I managed, though, and
toddled over to the full length mirror in the hall. I started to cry. All I was wearing was a diaper and a T-shirt. “It’s not fair! It’s not fair that you’re making me do this. I hate
you!” I screamed at my parents.
My father came up to me and grabbed my arm. “That’s enough! You’re the one who couldn’t control herself. It wasn’t your mother or I who pooped in your pants. You did.
You will take the consequences of that. And if I hear one more complaint out of you, I’m going to give you the spanking of a lifetime! You better behave yourself, or you’ll be
wearing diapers for a lot longer than one week, young lady.”
Hicupping, I said that I was sorry.
“There’s a good girl,” said my father. “You just needed a little reminder, didn’t you?”
I didn’t answer.
“Well,” my mother said briskly, “time for bed.” I opened my mouth to object that it was only 9:00, long before I usually went to bed on a Friday night, but the looks on my
parents faces warned me not to. “Come on, sweetheart.” My mother led me by the wrist upstairs to my bedroom.
“Uh, Mom?” I said at the top of the stairs. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
“No, no, Candi. For this week, you’re wearing your bathroom. You’re not allowed in the bathroom by yourself, do you hear me? The bathroom is going to be just that for
you–a room where you take baths.”
“Mom,” I whined, “I can’t go like this. It hurts. I really have to go.” I started to whimper.
“I guess you’ll go when you really have to, then. Come on.” My mother grabbed a pajama top from my dresser.
“What about the bottoms?” I asked.
“Never mind. I doubt they would fit over your diaper, and I have to be able to see when you need to be changed. Come on to bed.” She led me over to my bed and pulled
down the covers. “Hop in.”
I gave my mother a look of reproach, hoping she would relent. I really was uncomfortable, but there was no way I was going to wet a diaper. So I knew I’d be up all night.
Mother just made sure I was lying down and pulled the covers back over me.
Then she left, closing the door behind her. I lay there awake, feeling the bulk of the diaper between my thighs, the smooth plastic surrounding my bottom. My need to pee
got worse and worse. I thought about getting out of bed and sneaking to the bathroom, but knew that I’d be in BIG trouble if I got caught. At this point I knew that I couldn’t
hold it all night. But I also couldn’t pee lying down. So I stood up next to my bed. Still, nothing. Gosh it hurt! I walked around a bit, trying to ease the pain or relax enough to
just pee it out. Finally, I stopped still and imagined a waterfall cascading over my head. That did it. A strong stream of urine poured out of me into the thick diaper. It went
on for so long that I was certain the diaper would leak, but it held it all. The whole thing was warm now and my crotch and bottom felt wet. I didn’t know what to do. I sure
as heck did not want to get back into bed with a wet diaper.
In the end, I decided that that would be worse than admitting to my parents that I had a wet diaper, so I opened my door and went downstairs. My parents were sitting on
the couch watching TV. I craned my head around the corner and said quietly, “Um, Mom?” She and my father looked up at me.
“What are you doing out of bed, Candi?” my mother asked me.
“I, uh, uh, uh . . . need . . . . um, I peed,” I stuttered.
“Oh, is my little girl wet?” my mother crooned. “Well come on over, baby, let’s check the little girl’s diaper.”
Reluctantly, I came all the way around the corner. “Yes, somebody made pee pee in their didees,” my mother said in a childish tone. My father laughed. “Come on Candi,
all the way over here so mommy can check your didees.”
Why did they have to humiliate me this way? The diaper was yellow, obviously wet. Why couldn’t my mother just change me and get it over with?
Once I was standing in front of her on the couch, my mother put her finger in the leg hole of my diaper. “Little girl made wettums didn’t she? Well, you’re ok, baby, for
tonight. Go nite nites now and I’ll change my wet little girl in the morning.”
I couldn’t believe it. All this and she wasn’t even going to change me??!!! “Mom . . .” I began to plead.
But she interrupted me. “Candi, go to your room right now. It’s way past your bedtime. Mommy will know when its time to change your diaper. You just go nite nite for
Resigned, I turned around and waddled back upstairs. I noticed that the diaper was even thicker now that it was wet. I didn’t think that I would sleep, couldn’t possibly sleep
in a wet diaper, but I did.
The next morning, my mother shook me gently awake. “Candi, wake up,” she said in a sing-songy voice.
When first I opened my eyes, I forgot all about the previous day’s events. Then I felt the thick, wet diaper underneath me. And I smelled the stale pee. So did my mother.
“Baby Candi go pee pee in her didees, didn’t she? Ok, mommy make all better. Come on, sweetheart, and I’ll change you out of that wet diaper.” She changed me right
there on the bed. She must have brought in the bag of diapers and baby wipes the night before while I slept. It felt so good to have that wet diaper taken off of me, I sighed
in relief. My mother cleaned me well with a wipe, rubbed baby lotion on my crotch and bottom, and then taped up a new, dry diaper. A little bit of baby powder on my legs
and it was over.
“Come on downstairs and have some breakfast.”
“Yes. You look cute, sweetheart. Come on now, toddlers wearing diapers aren’t shy about it.”
I thought to myself that I was NOT a toddler, but that hardly seemed convincing when my mother had just changed me out of a wet diaper and into a dry one, one with
ducks across the top, no less. So I waddled along behind my mother down the stairs.
“There’s my baby,” beamed my father. “Don’t you just look darling. Come sit on my lap, honey.” He patted his lap. I didn’t move. “Candi,” he said warningly. I got the hint. I
slowly waddled over to him and permitted him to place me on his knee. Since he is 6 foot 5, it was no strain on him.
My mother fed me oatmeal while I sat on my father’s lap. How much worse is this going to get I wondered.
It got quite a bit worse. After breakfast, my mother bathed me in the big bathtub off the master suite. She wouldn’t let me do anything for myself, and I practically died when
she washed my crotch and my bottom. “Let’s get rid of these nasty old hairs,” she said, and proceeded to shave my mound. “There, just like a three year old,” she
declared. And she was right. I could see in the mirror over the sink that I had lost all of my grown up attributes. I’d always had small breasts. Now they somehow looked
even smaller, and my hairless vagina looked positively childlike. I just grit my teeth and told myself that all of this would be over soon. My hair would grow back and my life
would get back to normal.
Mother dried me with a huge towel and then diapered me again. I was almost getting used to the routine. I knew that nice dry diaper would be wet soon enough though.
Mother had forced enough juice down me at breakfast to drown an army. She added a T-shirt to my ensemble and left me to wander about the house like that. I never
thought I’d miss pants so much.
I wet several times over the next few hours. Mother was experimenting to see how much the diapers would hold, so she didn’t change me until I leaked at about 4:00. I had
a feeling that it was going to, fortunately, so I was standing on the kitchen floor when it happened. I had to call my mother in to tell her what happened. “Well, now. I guess
we know how much those diapers can hold, don’t we.” She smiled up at me. “Let’s get you cleaned up and into a new diaper.”
The evening went pretty much the same as the one before. I didn’t even try to get changed, though, when I wet my diaper about one hour after I’d been put to bed.
Candi awoke knowing, this time, that she was wearing diapers–wet ones, at that. She also awoke feeling a distinct cramping in her belly. “Oh no!” she thought, “I’ve
got to poop. How am I going to get out of these diapers and poop in the potty? Surely Mom and Dad don’t want me to poop myself. Gross!”
She got out of bed and waddled towards the stairs. Her diaper was so wet that it sagged halfway to her knees. She could smell her mother cooking bacon
downstairs. “Mom!” she called. “I need help.”
Her mother set the bacon aside and walked to the bottom of the stairs. “What is it sweetheart?” “Oh,” she cooed, is baby wet? Mommy will change her wet little girl.
Wait just a minute while I finish up Daddy’s breakfast."
She had already turned to go back to the kitchen when Candi said, “Wait. Mom, my stomach really hurts. I need to use the bathroom.”
“No bathrooms for babies. I’ve already told you that. You bring me a clean diaper from your room and some wipes and I’ll change you soon.”
“Mom,” Candi whined, “I’m serious. This is too much. I NEED to go to the bathroom.”
“Candi! You march straight back into your room, NOW! You’re being very naughty. Your father and I will deal with you after breakfast. Now go!”
Candi tried once more. “Mom, PLEASE,” she begged.
Her mother started up the stairs with an angry look on her face. Candi forgot all about her bowels and raced into her room. She was relieved that her mother did not
follow her in there. Then Candi remembered that she was wearing a very soggy diaper. How much longer would it be until she could be changed? How could she
stop herself from pooping?
An hour went by. Then two. Candi’s bottom was starting to itch from the constant contact with her wet diaper. Her stomach cramps were getting stronger. Finally, in
despair, she stood up in the center of her room and pushed out a large load of soft poop. She could feel it completely filling the seat of her diaper and oozing into her
crotch. The diaper felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. She did not want to sit in it, but knew she couldn’t remain standing forever. She compromised by lying
down on her bed on her stomach. She still felt the pile of poop settle down on her bottom, and she grimaced. Would her mother ever return?
A few minutes later, both her mother and her father walked into Candi’s bedroom. Her father sniffed the air. “Smells like somebody has a poopy diaper,” he said,
almost jubilantly. He walked over to where Candi lay on her bed, looking mournful. He patted her obviously filled diaper. “Oh, my, and it’s a big one,” he remarked
to her mother. “Feel this.”
Candi’s mother walked over to Candi and pushed on her poop filled diaper. “Oh, yes, we have a messy little girl.” She smirked.
Candi started to cry. Her mother’s push had worked the poop further into her crotch, and she felt like she was coated all over with it. “Mommy, please, please,
change me. I promise to be good. I really will, I promise!”
“Shhhh,” her mother soothed. “You’ve been a good girl. Mommy will change you out of your messy pants. You’ve been punished enough with your time out.”
Candi sobbed in relief. Her mother fetched a clean diaper and a container of baby wipes. When she undid the tapes on Candi’s diaper, she smiled and cooed, “Oh,
my, such a stinky baby. Who’s a stinky baby now?”
Her mother had to use a lot of wipes. First, she wiped the poop out of Candi’s crotch. It felt so good, Candi was confused. It shouldn’t feel good to have her mother
wiping poop from her messy diaper, but it DID. As she wiped Candi’s bottom, her mother noticed that Candi’s skin was very red. “Oh, poor baby. You’re getting a
diaper rash,” she announced. Let’s put you in the bathtub and give that poor bottom a break."
So into the tub went Candi. Again her mother did all of the cleaning, moving Candi’s hands out of the way when she tried to wash herself. “There’s my clean baby,”
she beamed, when she pulled Candi from the water. “Let’s get you dressed.”
This time, Candi noticed how soft the diaper felt under her bottom, and how soothing it was to have lotion wiped all over her. She felt safe when her mother pulled
up the diaper and taped it tightly. Even the baby powder felt nice on her legs, and it smelled nice too. Candi’s mother dressed her in a dress that she had outgrown
years ago. It still fit around the top, but it was WAY too short. The bottom of the skirt just barely covered her diaper. It was pink, with yellow and blue flowers all
over it, and a yellow ribbon along the bottom. Candi’s mother then put socks with lacy tops on Candi’s feet and patent leather maryjane shoes. Finally, her mother
tied her hair up in pigtails with yellow ribbon that matched her dress. When Candi’s mother announced that they were going out, Candi’s heart went into overdrive.
Adrenaline poured into her blood. Surely they wouldn’t, couldn’t, take her OUTSIDE like this!!!
Candy was absolutely horrified. GOING OUT??? AS IN OUTSIDE??? Only
the stern looks on her parents’ faces convinced her that they were
serious. Realizing that, she started to bawl. She was so angry and
distraught that she started acting more like the two year old that
she looked like than the preteen that she was. Stomping her feet, she
sobbed, “I won’t, I won’t go outside, no matter what you say! You
can’t make me! I won’t do it!”
Her father warned her first. “Candi, we will not tolerate this. Stop
it this instant.”
Her mother added, “Do you want a spanking, young lady?”
At this point, Candi felt she had little to lose. No matter what, she
was NOT going to let people see her like this. She screamed at the
top of her lungs, “I WON’T DO IT! I WON’T, I WON’T, I WON’T, I
“That’s it.” Her father grabbed her around the waist and sat down on
the edge of Candi’s bed. Propping Candi over his knees, her father
pulled down her diaper and spanked her soft bottom HARD.
“Ouch, ouch, ouch! Stop, please, please stop,” begged Candi, sobbing
her heart out from pain and fear. But Mr. Smith continued slapping
Candi’s bottom with vigor. SLAP, SLAP, he continued to warm her
bottom. Candi thought she was going to go crazy. She couldn’t take
much more. The stinging, burning pain in her bottom was multiplying
by the second, and it did not help that she had the beginnings of a
diaper rash as well.
Finally, she broke. “Stop,” she screamed, “Stop! I’ll do whatever you
say. Please, please stop.” She was sobbing at the top of her lungs.
Looking approvingly at Candi’s bright red bottom, Candi’s mother
stated, “Yes, you will. And in the future, you’re going to do it
right away without any arguments, or you’ll get more of the same.”
Candi’s face was a mess from all the screaming and crying. Her mother
led her into the bathroom and rubbed a cool washcloth over it until
most of the redness and swelling was gone. “Well, did you learn your
lesson, young lady?”
Candi hiccupped and said softly, “Yes.”
“Fine, then we’ll have no more trouble. You might even enjoy our
little trip.” Candi doubted that, as her dress was so short that her
diaper showed at the slightest movement. Only by standing straight up
and still could she hide it. The little ducks marching across the
white diaper that her mother had so admired the day before were
visible to everyone upon the slightest movement. “Come along, then.”
Mrs. Smith led Candi to the car, which was on the driveway. Candi
kept her head down, her face burning in shame all the way. She did
not see if any of the neighbors were witnessing this spectacle or
not. She did not want to know.
In the car’s backseat was a carseat, identical in all ways to an
infant’s, except much larger. Candi knew better than to complain.
When her mother opened the door, Candi climbed into her seat. “Oh,
it’s perfect!” her mother exclaimed. Her father smiled down at Candi.
“How does baby like her new seat, hmm?”
“Uh, it’s ok, I guess.” Candi was not enthusiastic.
“Well, you’ll get used to it.” Candi’s father helped her mother
figure out how the straps came around Candi’s shoulders and into a
central buckle, which he then inserted in the bottom of the plastic
seat between Candi’s legs. “There, all safe.” Her father patted her
diaper, which was bulging out on either side of the strap between her
legs. “What a cutie!”
Candi was dreading the outing to come. Where on earth were they going
to take her dressed like this? Would she ever get over the
embarrassment? She wondered.
Her father drove for about one hour, stopping in the parking lot of a
giant mall that Candi had never been to before. “Okay, upsie daisie,
here we go.” He unbuckled Candi’s seat and set her on the ground.
Candi tugged nervously at the ribboned hem of her dress. Her parents
each took a hand and began leading her across the parking lot. She
would have resisted, but the sting in her bottom reminded her only
too well what would happen if she did. Since her parents were so much
taller than Candi, their tugging on her arms lifted up her dress,
revealing her baby diapers for all to see. People walking through the
parking lot stopped and stared. Some giggled and pointed. Candi was
Entering the mall was no better. There were tons of people milling
about, which helped somewhat to conceal Candi’s attire, but these
people were all potential witnesses to what Candi was certain would
be recorded as the greatest embarrassment ever. She was so distraught
that she barely even noticed where her parents were leading her. She
was concentrating on staying upright without showing too much of her
diaper. She needed her parents’ support inside the mall, as the floor
was slippery against the soles of her new mary janes. Eventually,
after what seemed like years to Candi, they approached a small store
with no sign that looked closed. Candi’s mother knocked on the door.
Looking out inquiringly was a good-looking man in his thirties
wearing jeans and a T-shirt. “Sorry, ma’am, we’re closed.”
“I’m Mrs. Smith. I called ahead. This is my daughter Candi.”
“Ahhhhh, I see,” said the man, noticing Candi cowering next to her
father. “Come in, come in.”
This was a closed shop to all except the few who telephoned with
“special requests.” Bob Warren was a dedicated diaper lover and BDSM
master. In order to ensure a heavy flow of girls to please him, he
started a business selling adult baby clothing. Customers were by
referral only. In the Smiths’ case, the man at the special needs
store who sold them the oversized carseat referred them. He and Bob
had been friends and fellow DLs for years.
Inside the store was a huge array of baby supplies and clothing, all
sized, though for adults. For a moment, Candi was speechless. Her
mother was not, however. “How darling!” she kept exclaiming over
various babyish items of clothing. She asked Bob for a shopping cart,
with which she was readily provided. Candi’s father was not much of a
shopper, so he remained by the cash register in the middle of the
store, holding onto Candi. After telling Mrs. Smith to tell him if
she needed any help, Bob returned to the cash register as well. He
admired Candi’s dress. “How sweet! Do you mind, Mr. Smith, if she
models it for me? I’m always looking for new ideas.”
“Not at all. Candi, walk around a little bit and show Mr. Warren your
dress.” Candi couldn’t believe it. Not only was she out in public in
diapers and baby clothes, but she was going to be made to show them
off! She took a few tentative steps, looking back beseechingly at her
father. When he failed to relent, she continued waddling around the
store, giving Bob a very good look at her diapered bottom.
“Lovely, lovely. You are a very pretty girl, Candi.” Candi said
“Candi, what do you say when someone tells you you’re pretty?” her
Around the lump in her throat Candi whispered, “Thank you.”
Her father walked up to her and hugged her. “She’s a little shy,” he
confided. And they continued to talk as if she wasn’t standing right
Some while later, Mrs. Smith returned with a shopping cart full of
clothing and supplies. “Just in case we have to do this again,
Candi,” she explained when Candi’s jaw dropped open. “We’ll have
plenty of baby outfits and supplies to do it right.”
The trip out of the mall was much the same as the trip in. Candi was
pretending it was all a nightmare, even as they walked out into the
parking lot in front of a little boy, who could not have been long
out of diapers himself, excitedly announced to his mother, “Look,
Mommy. That big girl wears diapers.”
She was greatly relieved when her parents buckled her back into her
car seat and drove her home. Little did she know that worse was
coming . . . . .
When the family arrived home, Candi’s mother carried Candi from the car seat to the house. Once inside, she checked Candi’s diaper. Of course it was soaking wet. They had been out for hours, and Candi knew that she had no choice but to pee in her diaper. “Ooooh, baby has been busy!” Candi’s mother announced. She then proceeded to change Candi on the living room floor. Because the diaper was so wet, it had swelled to twice it’s original size, and Candi had to spread her legs wide open to let her mother change her. Her mother admired her. “How cute you look with your thick, yellow, pee-pee diaper. Isn’t this fun?” she asked teasingly. She patted Candi on the crotch of her soaked diaper. “Ok, now. Time to get a nice fresh diaper.” Her mother untaped the swollen diaper and wiped her daughter with baby wipes. Candi was something of a late bloomer, and had no hair down there yet. “We’ll clean up all that stinky pee-pee, and you’ll be nice and clean again. Won’t that be nice?” Sliding the new diaper underneath Candi’s bottom, her mother gently rubbed diaper rash ointment all over Candi’s naked mound and bottom, then lifted up the front of the diaper and taped it securely. “There now. All done.”
Candi asked her mother if she had to keep wearing diapers. “Yes,” said her mother firmly. We said a week, and one week is what you are going to get. “Ok,” mumbled Candi meekly, wondering how she would get through even one more day of this, much less a whole week. She already had to pee again. So much for her nice dry diaper.
She sat in her damp diaper the rest of the evening, watching television. At dinner time, Candi’s father tied a bib around her neck. Looking down at it, Candi could see that it read in pink letters “Baby Girl.” For dinner, Candi was permitted to eat the steak and salad that the rest of the family was eating, but her father cut it all up into little bite-sized pieces for her, and she was not given any silverware. As it turned out, it was a good thing she was wearing a bib. Eating salad with one’s fingers is messy business. The salad had another effect. Candi could feel her bowels filling up. Soon she would need to poop again, and she knew that she was going to have to use her diaper.
By bedtime, though, Candi still had not pooped. She had wanted to go earlier because she knew that she would be changed before bed. She tried to stall. First, she asked for a glass of water. Then, she asked for some tylenol because she had a headache. Of course she needed more water to swallow the tylenol. Then she began to whine that her diaper was too tight around the legs and was pinching her. Her mother checked Candi’s diaper and saw that it was fine. She had caught on to Candi’s delaying strategy. “Now, that’s it, young lady. You march straight up to bed!” Having no choice left, Candi trudged up the stairs ahead of her mother. “Choose a nightie for tonight.” There wasn’t much of a choice left. One of her parents had cleaned out most of Candi’s closet, leaving only the short babydoll type nighties for her to wear over her diapers. She chose a pastel green one with an embroidered lamb on the chest. “Now lie down on the bed, baby.” Candi’s mother untaped Candi’s diaper, but seeing that it was barely damp, decided to re-tape it and change Candi in the morning.
Candi complained. “Mom, why won’t you change me?”
“You’ve hardly used this one at all, that’s why. You know, Candi, these diapers aren’t cheap.”
Candi wiggled around a little in the moist diaper. It was hard enough to get used to this during the day, now she was going to have to go to sleep like this. She sighed.
“There now, let’s get you all tucked in.” Candi climbed under the covers, her diaper sliding across the sheets. “Goodnight, baby. Be a good girl.” After kissing Candi, her mother left the room and turned out the light. Candi lay there in bed, acutely aware of the plastic diaper surrounding her bottom. She could even smell a slight urine odor. It wasn’t too bad, though, she decided. It was almost comfortable to know that she would not have to get out of bed to go to the bathroom. And the diaper felt soft against her tenderest parts. Having decided to make the best of the situation, Candi fell asleep.
When she woke up in the middle of the night, though, Candi was in a very different frame of mind. She had to poop BAD! Her tummy hurt, and despite knowing that she would be carrying it all around with her until morning, Candi found herself pushing hard to get rid of the pressure. She got up on her hands and knees and squeezed out a sizable load, which pressed itself up against her bottom when it hit the diaper. It felt like she had a soft grapefruit in the seat of her pants. Her tummy felt better, but she was now trapped in a messy diaper. She could smell herself wherever she turned. She tried sleeping on her stomach, but she felt restless and found herself on her back, squishing the mess on her bottom all the way up through her crotch. She was coated with her own sticky poop. Eventually she was able to ignore it and fall back to sleep.
In the morning, Candi’s father knew immediately upon entering Candi’s bedroom that she had messed her diaper again. “Is somebody POOPY?” he boomed cheerfully. Candi opened her eyes and remembered the state that she was in. She was so embarrassed that her father was seeing her like this. As he approached her, she shrank back in her bed. “Can’t Mommy change me?” she asked. “Nope, not today, baby. Now be good for daddy.”
Candi reluctantly got out of bed. Her nightgown failed utterly to hide her sagging, stinky diaper. Candi’s father smiled. She looked so much like a toddler! “Come on, baby. Let’s change those stinky pants.” Candi waddled over to her father. He was inspired just then to pick her up like he did when she really was a toddler. He grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her into his arms, putting his hand under her messy bottom. Squishhhhh, more poop found its way into Candi’s crotch. “Dad,” she screamed, “Let me down!” Her father laughed and gently placed her back on her feet. He smacked her diapered behind. “Be a good girl,” he chuckled. He led her into the bathroom and took off her diaper carefully. “Oh, my, such a messy baby.” He wiped her up with some baby wipes and then ran the bathtub. Candi was horrified. Her FATHER was going to bathe her??? He had not even seen her naked for years.
But he intended to bathe her now. He stripped off Candi’s nightie before she even noticed her approaching her, and lifted her into the bathtub. “Let’s get you all clean.” He lathered up a washcloth and proceeded to wash her all over, including every nook and cranny in Candi’s private areas. While Candi squirmed, her father told her how cute she was and that she did not need to be shy around him. Naked, she still looked just like a toddler, after all. He shampooed Candi’s hair, then, and as the tub drained, rinsed it under the faucet. Candi’s father then wrapped Candi in a fluffy towel and lifted her out of the tub. He rubbed her all over again, then took her back to her room and diapered her for the day. By this time, Candi’s mother was up. She picked out a pink one-piece sunsuit from her purchases the day before. It had snaps in the crotch for easy diaper changes. “There you go pussycat. Don’t you look cute!” Candi’s diaper was an obvious bulge in the seat of the outfit.
“Now let’s have breakfast,” her mother announced, and then all trooped downstairs to the kitchen, Candi waddling like a little toddler. She shuddered to think of what the coming day would hold.