This story is written by Les Lea
There was no doubt about it, Julie had me cowed and I was at her bidding no matter what. She encouraged me to sing in the choir but warned me against Miss Simms placing too much pressure on me (she had said it was the pressure to perform that had made me wet myself, and I believed her). She told me that boys would only take advantage of my sweet temperament (her words) so basically the only person who was looking out for me was her. She kept going on about when I was a baby how much fun I was, how much I enjoyed the games we played and how much I liked being looked after. She thought because of all the ‘trauma’ of growing up and the ‘problems’ it was causing, she should let me be a “baby” again. It was a time she said I was happiest. I somehow knew that all the ‘trauma’ and ‘problems’ were as a result of the way she treated me but I wasn’t able to offer much in the way of resistance and that meant I was back to being her baby… her toy.
I was wearing nappies or pull-ups permanently – for bed, for school, for trips, for, well everything. I had given up fighting Julie she was a force I could not defeat and I wasn’t equipped for battle, I just gave in and did what she wanted. After all, I had no real say in what was going on, it kept her in a good mood and mum seemed happy that my ‘problem’ was now well contained. I was so compliant, and mum so comfortable with the way things currently existed, she even patted my well-padded bottom before we went anywhere and smiled contentedly that everything was ‘okay’. I took it as natural; this was how it was meant to be even if all the other kids in my class didn’t wear nappies and such. Julie said that the reason I did was because I was ‘special’, that I was better than any of the other kids because I had a loving sister who only wanted the very best for her sweet little baby brother.
In my own small way I did try to rebel because I didn’t like to wear a wet nappy. When she wasn’t around I always made it to the bathroom in time by sliding my hand up my shorts, struggling valiantly with the padding before pulling out my willy and doing what I had to do in the toilet. Not having a wet nappy when she checked me was a small victory but I think it annoyed her slightly.
However, one day we were playing in the park and I needed to go so I suggested a game of hide and seek. The idea was that I would hide first; she would count to 50 and then attempt to find me. Cleverly, I thought, I could quickly hide behind a bush, release my willy and do it before she came and found where I was hiding. Alas, I struggled longer than I thought with the tight fitting nappy and as I nervously peed into the bushes she came up behind me.
“You naughty, dirty boy,” she screamed… and I froze in mid flow. “In public, how disgusting.” She grabbed my arm, pulled down my pants and nappy and spanked me hard on my bare bottom.
This time it did hurt and my pleading and screaming I was sorry was having no effect as she reddened my bum cheeks. It was all over in a matter of seconds but I was crying for real and she had managed to make me feel terribly ashamed of myself. I was still crying as she removed my t-shirt and I was led naked back to our blanket on the ground where we’d been picnicking. People were looking but no one said anything as she lay me out and re-fitted the old disposable I had been wearing. She pulled it tight and taped me firmly in place then she did something I will never forget – she poured a whole can of fizzy orange juice down the front. I couldn’t stop her and as the nappy absorbed the liquid, the thing expanded and changed from white to a very obvious pale orange. It felt massive between my legs – it was also cold, sticky, wet and it set me off crying even more.
“You’ve been a very dirty… naughty… disgusting boy.” She threatened as I sat wondering what I was going to do. “This will be your punishment until we get home so everyone can see just what a naughty, dirty little baby brother I have.”
I was both ashamed and inconsolable because she’d made me feel that it was my fault that I had made her do what she’d done and that of course, it was for my own good. I had to learn to be “a good obedient little boy”.
Walking the half mile or so home she wouldn’t let me wear anything but the messy orange nappy. It wasn’t very nice to walk in and of course I was waddling trying to keep up as she all but dragged me home. At the door she told me in no uncertain terms that mum would be furious about my shameful peeing in public and that she wouldn’t be at all surprised if she also spanked me. I was terrified of entering my own home. Of course I had to promise to be good, do exactly as I was told and, more importantly, use the nappy when I needed to go. She said she wouldn’t tell mum about what I’d done if I agreed and ‘swore an oath.’ I wasn’t sure what that was but as she said it was the most solemn promise, that even God would punish if I broke, it was the only thing she said that would stop her from telling mum. Of course I agreed and repeated the oath that Julie made me swear ‘on my life’ to uphold. Once through the door mum wondered why I’d been crying and why was I only wearing a very soggy nappy. Julie looked down at me and said it was another one of my ‘accidents’ and that she didn’t have a spare disposable to change me and she didn’t want all my other clothes to get messy. Mum looked pitifully at me and I saw sympathy in her eyes.
“You poor little thing.” She hugged me to her. “Never mind, you are home now… I’ll take care of you.”
Julie tried to intervene. “It’s OK mum, I’ll see to him,” she seemed a little worried that her orange scam might be found out. “I have a fresh nappy in my room for him…”
“You do enough Julie,” mum said taking hold of my hand and leading me upstairs. “I think I’ll change my sweet boy.”
Julie was left to worry about any possible outcome but she should have been confident in her powers and influence over me as I never said a word against her as mum cleaned me up. As my room was now, thanks to Julie, more or less a nursery, all there was lying around were pull-ups or disposables (my thick cloth nappies Julie always kept in my underwear draw – or what had once been my underwear draw). So mum, still thinking I had a wetting problem, cleaned me up, powdered me and fitted me into a clean and tight disposable, and asked if I was okay. My tears had stopped but my bottom still smarted from Julie smacks so I just nodded. She wondered if I wanted to take a nap as I looked worn out. I wasn’t tired but I thought it might be best if I hid myself away for a little while so as mum tucked me in I gave her a kiss and said I was sorry.
“It’s OK sweetheart,” she whispered back, “It’s not your fault, accidents happen. You just have a nap and then things won’t seem so bad.”
Everything seemed nice when mum was like this but I still couldn’t tell her anything, after all, I just sworn an oath, on pain of my death, if I revealed just what had actually happened. No Julie had me and I was now, if I was in any doubt, completely under her control.
Over the next few weeks Julie upped her game. Her idea for my clothing was a thick nappy, pink or blue plastic pants and tiny shorts that gave no hiding place for my protection. For bed she had me thickly nappied, often wearing a footed onesie that had a zip up the back (so I couldn’t remove it even if I’d wanted to), which had been a surprising addition to my wardrobe, as had a short onesie that fastened with press studs between my legs. Where these items had appeared from I didn’t know but I had expertly been returned to my infanthood even though my eighth birthday was rapidly approaching.
My loving sister had got me all excited about my birthday. She said she had planned a party for me and wondered if there was anyone special who I’d like to invite. I told her Simon if she could get an invitation to him. She enthused back that she was positive he’d love to come and she’d make an extra effort to ensure he received his invite. She even had me write a special ‘please come’ on the bottom of his card, which I then watched her drop in the post box.
This story is written by Les Lea
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