Readers In Or Near Los Angeles: Help Needed ASAP

Hey everyone,

Does anyone know of a store in or near L.A. where ABU cushies and ABDL clothing can be purchased? If so, please comment or send me an e-mail. HTM may be able to get the Crybaby re-match shot this Friday, but only if they can get the stuff. I'll make sure anyone who helps us out gets a free copy of part 2 ( and part one, if you haven't got it yet) as soon as it's available.

Thanks in advance guys.

Update: If we can't get cushies and such, how would guys feel about a Halloween costume in order to shoot on Friday? Or should we just order off the web and wait?

Another Mystery (Mumsy, Nanny, Sonny, & Girly (AKA Girly))

Been wondering about this one for a while:

As always, if you have any info about this one, please comment or send me an e-mail.

Update: Well, that was quick...

The movie is Mumsy, Nanny, Sonny, & Girly (AKA Girly 1970), a psychological horror movie from England featuring a deranged family who bring home drifters to role play with them. Sonny and Girly sleep in cribs and are treated as kids when they're ostensibly in their late teens/early twenties. You can see the entire movie here.

Thanks for the info everyone.

Some Buried Treasure And Lost Gems

Hey gang,

first off, Thanks to Blake from 2BAdorable for sending in this interesting article:

On the latest episode of MBC‘s “All My Love“, After School‘s Lizzy and 2AM‘s Jo Kwon delighted the audience by dressing up as cute babies.
The scene was part of an hypothetical situation where ‘Okyeob’ (played by Jo Kwon) was married to ‘Soonduk’ (played by Lizzy); the scene then went on to reveal what their babies would have looked like.

The page includes a Youtube video that's been removed. Does anyone have the clip?

Next up, we've got a mystery pic-- Seems to be a fashion show or something; anybody got a source?

I"m also still looking for a source on these screen caps; someone said they were from a European reality show:

If you've got any info, leave it here in the comments section, or send me an email.

Looking For A Little Help From Our Resident Diaper Experts...

I've finished writing the Kym Vs. Sinn re-match. I know you were all looking for "better diapers" and one person recommended "ABU Cushies or  Bambino Bianco, TotalDry XL." I want to get something everyone will like, but first I need to ask a few questions:

1. How accurate is the sizing on the websites?

2. Which would be easiest to wrestle in (IE which ones allow the best range of movement without popping off?).

3. Any further advice is appreciated since neither myself or the people at HTM are experts on this.

Please leave your comments here or e-mail me.

Thanks everyone.

Great Potty Clip

Thanks to Corey for sending this clip:



Enjoy.

Lucy Peters' Home Farm Chapter Four

I'm pretty sure this was the last posted chapter-- if anyone has ay more, please send it to me.

Chapter four- Playtime in the garden

After breakfast we all had our panties checked, and then were let out into the big, sunny courtyard garden with its’ wonderful playground. We were all dressed in nice little-girl short shorts over pretty cotton panties, with T-shirt tops. My panties were plain white cotton little-girl ones with pink trim at the legs and waist, and I had yellow shorts and a pink T-shirt with pictures of flowers on the the front. Susie had blue shorts over big-girl panties and a white T-shirt; she was being ‘older sister’. Claire had pale turquoise shorts over the same sort of panties that I was wearing, and a pale pink top.

Grown-ups forget how much fun playgrounds can be. Quite apart from our role-play as children, we girls all enjoyed climbing the frame, sliding the slide, swinging on the swings and bouncing on the see-saw. And, of course, we were all looking forward to feeling the need to go potty ourselves - or to watching the others going potty in their nice clean pants. With my genuinely weak bladder, I soon found myself needing to go pee-pee. I didn’t try and hold on at all, but just let it dribble into my knickers as I waited my turn on the slide. I loved the feeling of the warm wetness between my legs, and just letting the pee dribble out slowly meant that the feeling persisted much longer than peeing hard. It was several minutes before Susie noticed the wet spot spreading slowly on the front of my yellow shorts.

 “Did you wet yourself, Amy?” she asked. I nodded, hung my head a little.

 “Did a little pee-pee,” I said.

 “It’s not much,” said Claire. “I do big pee-pees.”

 And, less than five minutes later, she did, standing on the grass with her legs apart and streams running down her legs as the dark patch of dampness spread rapidly across the crotch and bottom of her shorts.

The sun was warm and the air dry, and in fairly short order both Claire and I found that our wet pants were drying quite noticeably as we rushed about. Neither of us wanted to be changed, and when Angela came out and asked us if we wanted clean pants we both shook our heads. Shortly after that, I found I needed to wee again, so I let a long, comforting spurt out then followed it with more short surts and dribbles, gradually soaking my panties again and enjoying the feeling of droplets of wee running down the insides of my legs as those wonderful wet warm sensations enveloped me.

 Susie asked me if I wanted to have a go on the see-saw, so I joined her on the stout pole with its’ two neat little seats. We were soon going up and down nice and gently. Susie looked at my wet shorts and grinned. I noticed that she was sitting off to one side on her seat with her shorts sort of rucked up so that the legband of her white knickers showed, but it was only when I saw the leg elastic of her pants move and a the tip of a chocolate-brown lump slowly poke out that I realised why she was sitting like that. She was BM’ing her knickers while we see-sawed. Now she was going a bit pink in the face as she tried to get the rest of her big job out, but it’s always difficult to poo your pants when you’re sitting down. After a couple of minutes, Susie stopped the see-saw and planted both feet firmly on the ground so that she could raise her bottom a few inches from the seat. Then she took a breath and pushed. I heard the unmistakable sticky rasping sound of her BM sliding out into her knickers. Next moment, Susie sat down suddenly on her end of the see-saw, nearly firing me in the air, and next time I looked at the legs of her shorts there was a smudge of brown showing both sides.

We see-sawed for a few more minutes, and I enjoyed the sight of more and more rich brown poo squeezing out of Susie’s knickers under her thighs. Her BM was chunky and quite firm, but the assault of the see-saw on her bottom was doing a very good job of spreading the mess out inside her pants. Susie was looking very pleased with herself.

 “Did a big job in my knickers,” she said, as we finally got off the see-saw. “Have you gone big jobs yet?”

I shook my head, and wandered off to the sandpit as Susie went over to show Claire what she’d done. I felt my own BM ready to come out, so I squatted in the sand and started to absentmindedly fill a bucket with the golden grains as I let my first jobbie ease out into my panties. It was a long smooth snake of semi-soft warmth that slid out easily until it collided with the inside of my knickers. I had to push a bit harder then, and I felt my shorts bulge out slightly before the poo-poo started to move sideways and spread out inside my still-damp panties. I kept pushing, and more yielding warmth piled up under my bottom with a series of soft, sticky sounds. I wished I could just go on and on pooing like that, but all-too-soon I found that I had finished. Even so, I had quite a lot of poo in my pants - there was a feeling of warm squashiness over most of my bottom, and my knickers were sagging inside my shorts. I decided to sit on the edge of the sandpit, which was made from tree logs, and feel it squidging in my pants. When I sat, the poo spread out quite a bit, and I thought that something must be escaping from my knickers down the backs of my legs. I longed to look in a mirror and see if it showed.

I sat by myself for quite a while, wiggling my bottom in the gooey warmth in my pants and enjoying the sensations only well-filled knickers can bring. Then I got back up and wandered over to where Claire was being pushed gently on one of the swings by Susie. The wet patch on her shorts hardly showed now - unlike me, she obviously hadn’t peed again.

 “Hello, Amy,” she said. “Did you wee-wee your pants again? Susie’s made a messy in hers.”

 “I know,” I said. “I went big jobs too.” And I turned round for a moment so that they could see the little bump in the back of my shorts, and anything that showed at my legs.

 “Did you?” said Claire. “It hardly shows.”

 “Well, I have,” I said, and sat down on another swing, relishing the feeling of my mucky panties as my weight came onto the poo-poo again. “What about you, Claire? Don’t you need to go potty?”

 “Mmm, mmm,” said Claire. “A bit.”

We swung too and fro for a while longer, Susie taking it in turns to push us before she went over and sat on the grass to watch. You could hardly see that she had poo’d her pants when she was standing up, but when she sat down and clasped her knees you could see the brown showing at the legs of her pants inside her shorts. I knew if I went and sat like that the poo escaping from my own knickers would show too. Just then, I realised that Claire had stopped swinging. She put her feet on the ground and stood up, still holding the swing-ropes so that the yellow plastic seat rested against the back of her thighs. She tensed suddenly, and gave a little squeak. Next moment, the back of her shorts bulged suddenly outward as a loud, sticky squelching sound left no doubt that she was filling her pants. Claire squeaked again as there were more rich fruity sounds and the bulge grew. She was pink in the face now, and with a grunt and an even louder squelch! pushed a third instalment out into her already-full knickers. Glossy golden-brown paste appeared suddenly at the legs of her shorts as the warm softness overflowed her panties and spread down her thighs.

Gradually, Claire relaxed.

 “Went poo in my pants,” she announced, quite unecessarily. A dark brownish-yellow stain was already showing on the bulging seat of her shorts. If it wasn’t that apparent that Susie or I had messed our knickers, there was no mistaking that Claire had. And that was before she sat back down on the swing-seat with another resounding squelch. More golden-brown fudge squeezed out down her legs, smearing the swing-seat and making a small pile on the ground beneath it. Claire was in the most complete, most glorious mess imaginable. And, from the look on her face, she was loving it. Susie and I exchanged glances. Susie said:

 “I guess that proves that she who poos last poos longest.”

 “I guess so,” I said. “That’s even more than Katie did in the video!”

Angela came out to find us about ten minutes later, by which time the seat and crotch of Claire’s light-blue shorts were a wet, mottled caramel colour, and the thick smears of poo spread several inches down the back of each thigh. There were skidmarks down the rest of her legs, and little piles of golden-brown in the grass showed where she had been.

 “Goodness me, Claire, what a mess,” said Angela, holding Claire by the arm and looking at the stain on her shorts. “I think we had better clean you up now.”

 Susie and I followed Claire and Angela into the changing-room, which had a door leading directly to the garden. Claire waddled bowlegged with her pants so full, and much to our delight more mess escaped down her left leg as she walked.

When Claire was standing safely in the shower-tray and Angela had lowered her messy shorts, we could see that her once-white panties were almost completely stained golden brown; only the upper part of the front and the side panels over her hips revealed that they had started out as clean white cotton. The inside of her shorts was also stained and smeared with thick yellow-brown poo, and when Angela gingerly grasped the waistband and lowered the sagging panties we saw the muddy mess spread thickly all over Claire’s bottom right up to the waist of her pants at the back, piled deep in the seat and smeared generously down her legs.

 “That’s the worst messy I ever saw anyone do in their pants,” said Susie.

 “It’s one of the biggest messes I’ve ever seen in one pair of panties,” said Angela, busy with wipes and her spray. “And I’ve seen a few, working here!”

It took quite a while to clean Claire up and dress her in fresh clothes - as a neat little schoolgirl in a gymnslip over a vest and a fresh pair of white schoolgirl knickers, her hair in bunches and her feet in ankle-socks and sensible shoes. It didn’t take anything like as long for Angela to clean up Susie and I, although we had both filled our pants fairly well. Soon, we too were dressed for school, me in a gymnslip like Claire, Susie in a short tartan kilt and a white shirt. Susie and I looked at each other and grinned; we had both experienced the strange but-not-unpleasant sensations in our rears as, bent over Angela’s knee while she sat there, we felt her deftly slid in the neat little pellets, followed them with a good shot of warm water before letting us lie for a moment as it soaked into our ‘ammunition’.

 “Time for school now,” said Angela, as I stood up, already feeling the first faint stirrings of a need to poo. “Follow me.”

Hoodie-Footie Pajamas-- Age-Play Going Mainstram?

Hey everyone,

Been reading up on the Fifty Shades of Grey Phenomenon and they myriad of articles in the straight press about spanking and BDSM going mainstream. Fifty Shades itself doesn't seem very interesting to me(though I might be tempted to check out the movie adaptation currently in the works), but the proposition of a society more open to a little bedroom horseplay is an integrating proposition for all of us.

All of this was on my mind when a reader sent me this ad for Hoodie Footie Pajamas:


And it really got me wondering: First of all, how many women have age-play desires and how "mainstream" it's likely to become. Even before Fifty Shades became a runaway hit I'd always suspected there were more women out there into spanking than anyone suspected (as much as 60% according to recent surveys). And I suspect the same may be true of age-play (but not necessarily diapers). Are age-players just one best-seller away from women proudly declaring they want to dress like little girls in public?

Oh, and the pajamas themselves are adorable:

I know a lot of girls who would look great with one of these over their bulky, diapered tushies! What do you say, ladies: how many of you would like to get a pair of these for Valentines Day?

Lucy Peter's Home Farm Chapter Three

Home Farm

By Lucy Peters 

Chapter Three: Night-time; wet sheets and wetter nappies

Before getting into bed, I spent a few moments admiring myself in the mirror, holding my nightie up so I could see my trainer pants. They were made of thick white cotton, plain on the outside but with a terry-towel lining, with pink trim around the legbands and the make – ‘Nappinix’ – written in pink letters around the waistband. I thought I looked really cute in them. After a final twirl, I let my nightie drop and climbed into my comfy bed with it’s pink-and-yellow nursery quilt, feeling not the least bit sleepy and acutely concious of the thick softness of the trainer-pants between my legs. I could feel the sheet beneath me sliding around on the plastic mattress protector as I snuggled down with Mr. Brown, my own favourite teddy bear – a familiar feeling, as I have a plastic sheet on my bed at home too. I reached out to the bedside cabinet and picked up the remote controls of the big, widescreen TV and DVD player standing in the corner. This - I knew from reading the introductory Home Farm booklet - offered ‘exclusive and individual’ films – very much, I hoped, like the introductory ones we had already seen, which I’d found both enjoyable and stimulating. I’d already slipped a randomly-selected DVD (there were a stack of them, untitled but just labelled ‘Home Farm Films’) into the machine; when it came, up on the screen, the menu of items on offer looked hopeful: ‘Some ideas for scenarios you might like to try during your stay at Home Farm’ said the subtitle. The videos covered several different themes: ‘St P’s High”; ‘Camp Pamper’; ‘Oops!’ and ‘The Poopover’ were among the more striking. But – as I was wearing some - I decided to start with an item titled ‘Nappinix’

Ths turned out to be a very well-made mock commercial for ‘underwear for girls of an uncertain age’. The two girls who ‘starred’ in the ad were, like the regular cast of the Home Farm films, very pretty, but very difficult to place as to age; four going on twenty-four and almost anything in between. Both were petite, a dainty little blonde and a slightly taller girl with chestnut-brown hair and striking blue eyes. They were dressed in the usual sort of Home Farm big little-girl clothes – a short red pinafore dress over a pale blue top for the fair-haired girl, and a Ra-Ra skirt and yellow T-shirt for her friend. The two girls were playing ‘catch’ in a green parkland setting that looked very much as if it might have been filmed somewhere close to Home Farm; they were being watched by their ‘mothers’, two obviously older women were sitting on a bench and talking to each other. The camera closed in on the two girls as they tossed the ball to and fro, but the soundtrack was ‘eavesdropping’ the mother’s conversation.

The fair-haired girl caught the ball, but instead of throwing it back she grasped it and stood still for a moment, legs parted. The camera closed in quickly as a thin golden rain started to spatter from beneath the hem of her dress, quickly growing to a steady stream falling between her legs as she thoroughly peed her panties. The camera swooped down low to look up beneath the dress at the growing patch of grey wetness spreading over the seat of her white cotton little-girl briefs and the heavy stream flowing from the crotch.

“Oh dear, it looks as if your Emily’s toilet-training is slipping again,” said one of the ‘mothers’ “Does she wet like that very often?”

“I’m afraid so,” said the other ‘Mum’. “Girls these days seem to think it’s quite all right just to let go in their underwear when they can’t be bothered to go and look for the potty. Does your Sophie still do things in her undies as well?”

The other mother sighed. “Yes; she does. Sometimes it seems as if she never had any toilet-training at all!”

“That’s Emily, too; just uses her panties like a nappy half the time. It’s not so bad when we’re at home or outside, like now; but in someone else’s house or if we’re in a public place it can be a real problem. Especially if she decides to – well, you know.”

“You mean, do her…”

The camera was still looking up at Emily’s soaked panties, where the stream was now withering into a shrinking shower of droplets. The shot cut for a moment to Emily’s face, which was wearing a slightly far-away expression; she was also going just a little pink in the cheeks. The camera drew back to show her still standing, legs parted, still clutching the ball, before closing and dropping once more to look under her dress, where those wet white cotton panties were now dimpling outwards beneath her neat round bottom; there was a long sibilant squelch as the back of Emily’s knickers expanded suddenly and a speckled brown stain started to spread steadily across the clean white cotton, reaching upwards toward the waistband and down under the seat. After a brief pause, the squelching went on, the bulge and the stain growing more obvious as Emily completely filled her pants. Next moment, a nugget of rich brown fudge appeared beneath the left legband of the now-sagging panties, and the stain on the seat spread as the thick soft poo smeared against the inside of the wet cotton. Still more fudge squeezed out under the legband, and a soft lump slid down the back of her thigh and dropped to the ground with a soft ‘splat!’

The camera switched to the mothers, who were both staring as the brown softness slid from beneath the hem of Emily’s little red dress and ‘plopped’ onto the grass.

“Do her BMs in her knickers?” Emily’s mother sighed, and beckoned to her daughter. Obediently, Emily started towards her, walking the wide-apart-leg walk of a girl with very full pants.

“Turn around,” said her mother, when Emily stood in front of her. Emily turned, and her mother lifted the back of her dress to show those once-white panties - now stained and sagging, with their contents escaping down her legs.

“Does Sophie do this sort of thing, too?”

Sophie’s mum nodded.

 “Oh yes,” she said. “Sophie’s always filling her pants. She’s very fond of one of those ultra-high fibre kid’s cereals; they make for good big BMs, I must say.”

“Sometimes I have to keep Emily in nappies and plastic pants,” said her mother. “If we’re going anywhere public. Just so nothing escapes.”

“Well, if she does that big a BM in regular panties, it’s bound to get out. They just aren’t made to take it. What you need are Nappinix; that’s what I use for Sophie.”

“Nappinix?” Asked Emily’s mother, staring in well-feigned dismay at her ‘offspring’s bulging panties.

“Sophie!” called her ‘mother’. Sophie looked across, the obediently came trotting over.

“Yes, Mum?” she said.

“Sophie, just show Emily’s mother your undies.”

Sophie didn’t even look surprised; she just lifted her short Ra-Ra skirt and paraded her underwear: exactly the same sort of trainer pants as I was wearing as I lay watching!

“Well, they look just like ordinary knickers to me,” said Emily’s Mum, “Not much different to what Emily’s wearing. A bit thicker, maybe.”

“That’s because they’re meant to look ordinary,” said Sophie’s mother. “But they’re specially lined and padded so that they’ll soak up a surprising lot of wetness. They sort of slow everything down so there’s just get a trickle or two even if Sopie’s really flooding them. And they’re nice and roomy in the seat for a BM; the legbands are double – inner and outer, designed to stop anything getting out. And they even stop it smelling too obvious. It doesn’t seem to matter how wet and messy Sophie gets in her Nappinix, you’d hardly know she’d done anything.

“Unlike Emily,” said the other ‘mother’, wrinkling her nose and letting the hem of her ‘daughter’s’ dress drop and hide those stained and sodden panties. “So they really work well?”

Sophie’s mother nodded emphatically. “Oh yes. Let’s see if we can show you. Sophie, do you need to go potty now?”

Sophie looked a little surprised, but nodded.

“What sort of potty do you need? Wee-wee potty?”

Sophie nodded again

“Big potty, too,” she said, looking serious. “Need to go poo like Emily.”

“Go on, then, “ said her mother. “Do your business. Just keep holding your skirt out of the way so Emily’s Mum can see you going potty in your Nappinix.”

Sophie kept her serious face on as she parted her legs slightly and commenced the serious business of wetting and filling her underwear.

“Are you doing anything yet?” asked her mother, as Sophie in turn started to go a little pink in the cheeks.

“I’m weeing like anything,”she said conversationally, “And my smelly big-job is just starting to come out.”
The camera closed right in on Sophie’s pants as a damp patch eventually started to show at the crotch, gradually growing to a trickle that coursed discreetly down the insides of Sophie’s thighs.

“Here comes poo-poo,” said Sophie, screwing up her face and obviously straining. There was a distict ‘squrrch!” sound followed by a long muffled crackly squelching. The back of the Nappinix moved, stretching out into a gentle bulge. There were more squelchy sounds as Sophie pushed more poo out into her pants, but no stains appeared on the pristine white fluffy cotton seat of her knickers and nothing showed at her legs. Two further grunting strains were rewarded with further mud-puddle noises from inside the pants, but still nothing showed apart from the modest trickle of wee still dribbling gently down her leg.

“Finished,” said Sophie, a few last drips running down her right leg. “Did a great big squishy poo-job.”

“Come right here then, Sophie,” said her mother, “turn your back and hold your skirt right up so I can take a look.”

Sophie did as she was told. Her mother hooked a finger in the waistband of the Nappinix and pulled it out so that she could peer inside the back of Sophie’s pants.

“Oh, Sopie,” she said. “However much have you done! Just look at the mess you’re in!” Emily’s mum leaned over so that she too could see inside Sophie’s underwear – and so, of course, did the camera. It looked for all the world as if someone had emptied a good-sized bucketful of thick golden clay into the seat of those fluffy white knickers; the soft sticky mess extended right up almost to the waist in the back, and the layer of poo coating the cheeks of Sophie’s bottom was a good inch thick. Where the cleft between her neat litle buns came, there was a matching ridge of thick poo moulded to the inside of her pants.

“Well,” said Sophie’s Mum, letting go of the waistband so the elastic snapped back into place around Sophie’s midriff. “As you can see – no lack of capacity. But nothing showing at all. Even if she runs about or sits down it’ll all stay put. Here, Sophie, come and sit next to me.”

The obedient Sophie went and sat next to her mother; there was a soft-but-audible “squerch!” as her weight came onto the contents of her pants.

“I want to sit down too,” said Emily, who had been watching all this from her end of the seat. And, before any one could stop her, she had planted her pretty – but very messy – little backside firmly on the end of the hard wooden bench with a much louder “squerch!”.

“Oh dear!’ said her mother, as the camera closed to shown the thick brown softness oozing out at the legbands of Emily’s panties, leaving little piles on the seat and smearing the hem of her dress. The camera tracked around to Sophie’s end of the seat, and closed up to show that nothing at all was oozing from her knickers.

“Can we go back and play now?” asked Sophie.
Emily’s mother looked a bit doubtful.

“I think Emily needs a change before she does any more playing,” she said.

“Oh please, Mum,” said Emily, jumping to her feet and leaving two thick brown smears on the seat.

“Well, just for a few minutes,” said her mother. “But make sure no-one sees you in that mess…”

“Better get Emily some Nappinix too,” said Sophie’s mother, just a trifle smugly.

The parkland scene faded out, to be replaced with a sequence of Emily and Sophie modelling Nappinix: Emily, looking coy, finger in mouth and hair in bunches, wearing just a white cotton vest and a pair of the pants; “Your daughter will never look cuter than when she’s wearing her Nappinix,” claimed the voice-over. Emily again, in a colourful garden, dressed in a pretty summer dress, walking towards the house with a characteristic full-pants waddle. The camera followed her indooors, into the kitchen where her mother was busy, overheard her saying in a surprisingly convincing little-girl voice:”Mummy, I’ve gone potty in my pants.” Followed her again, into the bathroom with her mother, watched as Emily had her shoes and socks taken off, her dress lifted and the Nappinix lowered and turned inside-out to show the seat filled with soft brown poo-fudge, carried on watching as the mess was emptied into the toilet and the pants were rinsed out, when it could be seen that most of the mess was simply washed away.” “Nappinix stay clean on the outside, easy to clean on the inside,” said the voiceover.

Then came some short sequences featuring Sophie: Firstly, standing in a doorway wearing Nappinix under her blue nightdress, which she was holding up. Her mother was kneeling in front of her, helping her to step into some soft-looking plastic pants which also had a white waistband and Nappinix branding “Cut down on the work caused by night-time accidents with Nappinix Overnights – extra absorbent, and designed to be used with our matching Nappidry waterproof panties for heavy wetters,” intoned the voiceover. The scene faded, then the screen brightened again to show Sophie, wearing her short red Ra-Ra skirt and T-shirt and standing in the corner of a children’s adventure playground (which also looked suspiciously like the playground we’d seen through the windows of Home farm). Sophie stood on her own, looking preoccupied; then she gave a little smile (she really was a very pretty girl) and squatting down clasping her knees, assumed an expression of intense concentration. The white seat of her Nappinix showed clearly beneath the hem of her short skirt and after a few moments a small shower of drips started to fall from the lowest point as she weed in them. Then Sophie took a deep and very audible breath, srewing up her face and going a little pink as she strained to have a BM; seconds later, there was a rich crackling squelch and the white cotton under her bottom bulged suddenly as she completely filled her pants in one concerted effort. She stood up again and felt behind herself, prodding the yeilding bulge in her pants with her fingertips.
“Did a poo,” she said brightly to the camera, smiling again. “Did a b-i-i-i-g poo.”

The camera then followed her around as she energetically tackled the playground, watching her swinging on ropes, coming down slides, wriggling through tunnels and clambering all over a climbing frame, her skirt continually flying up to show her pristine (on the outside) underwear. “Nappinix are ideal for the active youngster,” said the voiceover, “And can avoid embarrasment for any girl from toddler to teen…” The camera tracked from the seat of Sophie’s Nappinix, pulling back and looking upwards to show Emily, standing on top of the slide wearing a little yellow sun-dress. The angle changed to look under Emily’s dress and the shot zoomed in to show that she was only wearing ordinary little-girl cotton panties – white with blue trimmings and a picture of Winnie-the-Pooh on them. Next moment, a wet spot appeared at the crotch and quickly grew into a veritable cascade as Emily comprehensively weed her knickers; the camera moved steadily round until the seat of those little panties was fully in view, the grey tide of wetness spreading quickly through the cotton. Next moment, there was a sharp ‘sqrrrch!’ followed by a long soft sibilant symphony of squelchy sounds as Emily, too, completely filled her pants with a large, soft BM; the seat of those little knickers bulged spectaculary and rich ochre fudge showed simultaneously at the legbands on both sides as a wide stain spread swiftly over the white cotton. Then camera drew quickly back as Emily smiled coyly down - before plonking herself down on the slide with a resounding ‘squelch’ and coming slowly down to the bottom, leaving two long, ochre smears on the shining metal… The camera then followed Emily round the playground as she played enthusiastically. Very quickly the contents of her knickers started to escape and she got messier and messier, the back of her panties now stained completely yellow-brown with thick smears of poo at the legbands and spreading down her thighs, with more smears on her dress. She left poo on the slide, poo on the seat of the swing, and – especially – poo on the see-saw, on which she bounced enthusiastically with Sophie on the other end.

The Nappinix ad came to a close with Sophie and Emily standing side-by-side in a bathroom, backs to the camera, looking coyly over their shoulders and holding hands. Both girls were wearing only underwear – cotton vests on top, and their messed-in panties below; the contrast between Sophie’s apparently-unblemished knickers and the stained and sagging wreckage of Emily’s Winnie-the-Pooh cotton panties made the point. Then Sophie’s ‘mother’ came into shot to grasp the waistband of those well-rounded Nappinix and ease them downwards over Sophie’s pert bottom – a bottom thickly smeared with soft toffee-gold fudge, fudge which also completely packed the seat of the pants. The camera closed in to establish that Sophie had done just as big a BM as Emily – tracking back and forth between the inside of the Nappinix and the outside of Emily’s panties - before Sophie’s mum settled the waistband back in place and gave her daughter a playful pat on her full seat. “Nappinix – take everything a girl can do in them,” concluded the voiceover, sounding positively triumphant. The screen faded.

I lay snuggled in the bed, more concious than ever of the feel of those soft, fleecy pants under my bottom – and concious also of a growing need to do a poo myself; my tummy and bottom felt wonderfully full. I snuggled down a bit further, and skipped through the various tracks on the DVD. “Poo-pants on purpose’ sounded promising – so I selected it and curled up into my favourite position, on my side with my thumb in my mouth and my teddy-bear clasped firmly under my arm. Gently at first, then steadily harder, I started to push at my bottom, feeling my BM start to move towards freedom. As I pushed, little jets of wee were spurting into the front of my pants. On the screen, I chose an item called ‘I don’t want to go to tea with Aunt Mary’. The shot showed another ‘big-little’ girl – it was Alice, from the video we’d watched earlier – standing in a doorway with one hand on the frame. She was wearing a very smart navy-blue velvet dress with a white lace collar, neat white socks and shiny black Mary-Jane shoes. Her dark brown hair was neatly brushed and held in place with – appropriately – an Alice-band. She was also wearing a rather petulant expression on her pretty face and fidgetting a little. She let go of the doorframe and nervously plucked at the hem of her dress, holding it up to give a glimpse of the plain white cotton panties she wore underneath.
The tip of my emerging poo was touching the inside of my knickers now; I stopped pushing then and let it rest there, half-in and half-out, as I watched Alice fidget and hoick her frock higher. The camera tracked around and closed in to watch a little bump appear in the back of Alice’s panties, a bump that quickly grew and started to push outwards and downwards. The panties weren’t at all tight-fitting but Alice was apparently doing a good big ‘big job’ as the cotton was soon stretching over a peak that slowly folded over into a lumpy round bulge. I started pushing again, and felt my own effort press against the cotton towelling lining of my trainer-pants; it wasn’t a particularly squashy BM, but it was still soft enough to start spreading comfortably sideways under my bottom. I let out a good spurt of pee and kept pushing. Alice was peeing too now – not hard, just a thin trickle dribbling from her crotch as she continued to fill the sagging seat of her knickers. The legbands of her panties had a fine pink scalloped trim which was slowly moving away from the smooth skin of her legs, pushed outwards as the poo moved down and forwards inside her pants; the camera closed still further to give a glimpse through the legband at the stiff chocolate-coloured dough that was now invading the front of those prim white knickers.

My trainer pants were also getting comfortably full; my BM was rather softer than Alice’s and a warm, sticky paste was now spread all over the inside of the seat of my bedtime knickers. I gave a final push, and was rewarded with another long spurt of pee and a surprisingly large but very squishy last lump of poo that squidged up behind me. I sighed and relaxed, enjoying the feelings of being in such a gloriously wet and messy state in bed – although when I felt around the outside of my Nappinix they were almost dry, with just a small wet spot on my sheet. I wiggled my bottom in my mess, and settled down to watch some more poo-pants TV. Alice had been ‘discovered’ by her ‘mother’, who was now holding the back of that prim-and-proper velvet dress high and staring in well-feigned disbelief at the well-filled seat of Alice’s pristine white knickers. The scene ended with a scolding ‘mother’ leading Alice off – presumably to be changed into fresh pants; Alice looked back over her shoulder and grinned and winked at the camera.
The next little item was entitled ‘Oops!’ and featured Katie as a cute little schoolgirl, dressed in a blue-and-white check gingham dress with her hair in old-fashioned plaits with blue ribbons. She had red children’s sandals on her feet, and little white socks with turn-down tops. In her hands she held the ends of a skipping-rope. She looked straight into the camera and smiled coyly; Katie, I realised, had a wonderful dimple in her cheek that gave her a real coy-little-girl look. She smiled again, then turned away; next moment she was skipping, jumping deftly over the rope as she twirled it around. Faster went the rope, as Katie skipped harder, then slower again. She was getting a little pink in the cheeks with effort, and her dress kept flipping up to give glimpses of her white ‘Little Miss’ nursery-print cotton panties. Then, as Katie skipped steadily on, a shower of drips and drops started to fall from beneath the hem of that little check dress, dribbling onto the flipping rope and making small wet patches on the playground. The drops grew more frequent until a steady stream was splattering on the ground betweeen Katie’s feet, soaking the skipping rope and splashing over her socks and sandals.

Katie was skipping slower and slower now, finally letting the rope drop and standing still as the last few drips of wee spattered onto the ground. She stood there, feet a little apart and the skipping-rope still in her hands, smiling shyly at the camera. Then she gave a little gasp, and bit her lip. I expected the camera to track down low and look up under that cute little dress to show us Katie’s ‘Little Miss Mischief’ panties filling with poo; but it didn’t; instead, the shot remained focused on Katie’s face, watching her expression – which went from slightly mischevous to just a bit worried as the soundtrack crackled with the unmistakable sound of a large, soft BM oozing its way into those neat little knickers. As her pants filled, Katie’s eyes opened wider and wider, and she brought a hand – still grasping one handle of the skipping rope – up to her mouth.

“Ooops!” she said - and grinned.

 Then, starting slowly at first then getting faster and faster, she started skipping again, jumping nimbly over the rope as it flicked around, changing foot, putting in extra skip-steps on some swings. Once again, her dress flew up, giving fleeting glimpses of those once-neat nursery knickers, now sagging somewhat in the rear. Suddenly, the camera went to slow-motion and closed right in, the screen filling with languid views of those well-and-truly poo’d-in pants, with the big arc of wetness on the seat now tinged a pale shade of brown and the lumpy bulge within jiggling and spreading under the wet cotton as Katie kept on skipping and dripping. The camera lingered as the pale chocolate fudge began to work its way outwards from the seat of those enchanting little knickers, creeping down the topmost part of Katie’s legs and peeking out under the pale blue trim at the leg-openings, until eventually a little nugget slid right out and fell – still in slow motion - plop! onto the ground. The camera drew back and went back to real time as Katie gradually slowed her skipping to a standstill as more chocolate nuggets fell to the ground.

“Ooops!” she said again, adding – somewhat unnecessarily – “Did poo-poo in my pants.”

Just then a whistle blew and a voice was heard calling “Come along, play time is over now.”

Katie, looking a little uncertain, wiggled her botttom in her messy knickers and pulled the hem of her dress firmly down. Then she carefully coiled up her skipping-rope and, walking a little bow-legged, set off towards the distant ‘shool’ buildings. The camera followed her, gradually dropping back and panning away until Katie was out of sight. As the image faded, the ‘teacher’s’ voice was heard saying, in an exasperated tone. “Oh Katie, you haven’t done it in your pants again!”

I enjoyed the Katie video so much that I played it through a second time, glorying in the warm, sticky sensations of my own full pants and vowing that I too would try playing with a skipping rope with a big soft poo in my knickers. I was just about to look for another film when the door opened and Angela put her head round.

‘Are you all right?” she said. “Need your sheets changing yet?”

“Err…” I said. Angela sniffed knowingly.

“I fancy I can smell big jobs,” she said. “Have you gone poo-poo in the bed?”
I nodded, sheepishly.

“Well, as it’s proper poo, I think we’d better change you. You don’t want to start the weekend with a sore bottom, do you?”

I shook my head, rather hesitantly; the soft BM in my pants felt so nice that I didn’t want to part with it just yet.

Angela saw my disappointed look.

“Don’t you want to be changed, then?”

I bit my lip and shook my head.

“My bottom feels happy,” I said, in my best little-girl voice. Angela smiled.

‘Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll be able to get messy again soon. Now, are your sheets wet too?”

“Only a little bit,” I said.

“Out you get, then,” she said. “Let’s get you clean and dry for the night.”
I followed her into the nursery, enjoying the feeling of the soft, sticky poo moving around inside my trainer pants. I stood and held my nighty up as Angela slid them carefully down round my ankles so I could step out of them. When I looked, I hadn’t really done all that much poo in them, certainly nowhere near the sort of amount that Sophie and Emily seemed to manage. Even the wet spot in the front of my pants wasn’t particularly impressive.

“Lie down on the changing table, there’s a good girl,” said Angela. So I lay there on my tummy with my nighty bunched up round my middle and my bare bottom in the air as Angela washed and wiped me thoroughly Then, almost before I realised it, she was busy doing something where my little back passage was – a feeling like a long squirt of warm water going into my bottom. Her fingers were deft and gentle, and it all happened so quickly that I wasn’t even really sure if she had slipped anything into me or not; I hoped she had! While I was still wondering, Angela busied herself appplying thick white baby-sweet cream and powder, being especially careful to put plenty around my pee-pee and my bottom. I still wasn’t sure what she’d done with my little bottom-hole, but what she did with the cream felt really nice! Then she told me to roll over onto my back and lift my legs, and next moment I found myself being deftly pinned into a big white fluffy terry-towelling nappy. Then she was pulling a pair of plastic pants over my ankles – soft, see-through pink vinyl pants, snug and comfy. She snapped the waistband around my midriff and settled the elastic legbands over my nappy, then held out a hand to help me get up.
“Bedtime,” she said. “Would you like a bedtime drink?”

Quarter of an hour later I was snuggled up back in bed with dry sheets, my tummy full of a nice chocolate drink and Mr Brown the bear clasped under my arm. I stuck my thumb where a little girl’s thumb should be and just relaxed. After only a few minutes, I felt the urge to wee start to build up; that chocolate drink had apparently trying to go straight through me. Went straight through me, as I just let go and tinkled gently into my thick white nappy, feeeling the warm wetness spread under me as my wee hit the inside of those soft vinyl pants and ran down under my bottom. It felt lovely; I wished I could go on weeing for ever. But I didn’t; and in just a few more moments I was fast asleep.