18+ only! 100% NSFW! Dedicated to age play, spanking, domestic discipline, corporal punishment, medical fetishism, and, of course, beautiful women in diapers. If you like what you see here, leave a comment or drop me a line at: parkerlongabaugh@yahoo.ca

Friday, December 30, 2011

Happy New Years!

Happy New years to all Babes in Diapers readers! Have a safe and prosperous 2012!

Thursday, December 29, 2011

Audio Files: Anybody interested?

Hey everyone,
I’ve got an idea I’ve been kicking around for a while now, so I thought I’d run it up the flag pole and see what you guys thought.

For the past little while now, I’ve been kicking around the idea of commissioning audio files: short monologues read by real women, each one telling a little story. In my more ambitious moments, I’ve even thought about writing short, 2-3 person abdl “radio dramas”. What do you think? Is that something anyone else would be interested in? Do we have any budding young actresses among us willing to share their talents and make some easy money? Vote in the poll, write me a comment, send me an e-mail— I really want to hear some thoughts.

Saturday, December 24, 2011

Creation of the Mechanical Nursery

I'm sure a lot of you have seen this by now, but just in case you haven't:

A fan of my original comic has commissioned a prequel from  OkOk.

I've already got my copy. I don't want to give anything away, but I think fans of Prisoner will like this one. $5 for 5 pages, plus sketches and script. Go to the official website to order.

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

New Sighting: Finder

Thanks to Chad for pointing out this thread here (which also mentions our own Babes In Diapers Media Project).

It actually points out couple of interesting tidbits (including mention of Carmen Sternwood from The Big Sleep; a spoiled rich girl who sucks her thumb, speaks in a babyish voice, and wets herself near the end of the book... something I knew but had forgotten). But what really caught my interest was this::

Okay so yeah this isn't a realy interesting topic I realize but I've come across something that I thought was really cool. The Finder comics are fairly obscure but Dark Horse is trying to promote them with a new collection and I'd heard good things about so I picked up the first volume of the collection and fell in love with it. I picked up the second volume on amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Finder-Library-Carla-Speed-McNeil/dp/159582653X/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1319841145&sr=8-2 and was shocked to find an explicitly ABDL character.


That's the best I could do in finding an online image of the diaper content. Though the ABDL character's storyline (her name is Genie, like a diaper genie, get it?) runs for a small section of the book the actual diaper content is really just two pages and the only real good look at her in the diaper that you get is in those two panels posted above. I'd scan and post the two pages from the book that are relevant but I don't have a scanner and I'd feel way too awkward to scan this in a library. If anybody is really curious about this I'd encourage you to buy the book yourself because Carla Speed McNeil is a wonderful but underappreciated comic artist and writer and if I can get her the fetish dollar then I'm perfectly willing to.

In the storyline the main character Jaeger is telling various stories of his sexual exploits. He brings up Genie whom he met at a speed dating event and they hook up. He wakes up to find himself in an elaborate, oversexualized, nursery room and her sitting at her computer telling an ABDL message board about how he's going to clean her up and fuck her again. Genie then stands up, poops herself, and the storyline cuts off there. It's played off as being very disgusting and shocking and Genie is painted as a mentally unbalanced character. McNeil says that she wanted a fetish weird enough to shock Jaeger and she found some ABDL websites online as reference.

I'm surprised I've never seen this image floated around on ABDL website or collections of ABDL art before. I thought essentially every piece of ABDL imagery out there had been caught by someone in the community and so if I'm really the first to find this then I guess I'm sort of proud. Maybe it just shows how few people read Western comics anymore as opposed to manga and even people who read Western comics tend to stick to the more mainstream stuff.

I don't really know that much about Finder: Anyone have more info and/or scans of the scenes in question? I'm very interested to see the way this is portrayed for myself  (although doesn't sound too flattering...)

Saturday, December 10, 2011

Joy Talks About Her Diapers

A companion to Autumn's clip in the last post, also found on the FLbabygirls channel at Diapertube. Wouldn't you love to meet a girl like Joy?

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Review: This is How I Relax

Now this is how you sell a diaper video.

     While browsing the FLBabyGirls store at clips for sale, I clicked on the link at the top marked Interview with Autumn and found this video:

     How could I resist? I went over and bought the clip immediately.

      The Plot (as you could probably tell from the clip above) involves Autumn walking and discovering her roommate (Joy, veteran of many FLBabyGirls clips) on the couch with a vibrator in nothing but a diaper. Though teasing at first, Joy eventually convinces her to try one herself.

     I should probably mention right off the bat that This is how I Relax is actually the sequel to a clip called Diaper Masturbation (which I haven't seen, but doesn't seem necessary). And in spite of the fact that both Autumn and Joy put on onsies, this really is more of a diaper lover clip than an adult baby clip. If you're the type who prefer like seeing models suck pacifiers and sleep in cribs then it probably won't be up your ally.

     If, However, you like sexy, playful videos with pretty girls having a good time in their diapers, you'll love this video. Autumn's transformation from slightly teasing skeptic to enthusiastic diaper wearer is wonderful to witness (and seems fairly real). Joy is fantastic, funny, adorable, and drop-dead sexy as always. Though shy and embarrassed at first, she really seems to love diapers and seems eager to convert her friend. By the end, both models have wet their diapers, been changed, orgasm in their diapers, put on onsies under their shorts, and head off to the bar in big thick diapers (leaving the viewer to imagine they're the lucky one who gets to bring them home and give them a change at the end of the night). People who enjoy hearing pretty girls talk about the sensations and feelings involved in wearing diapers should definitely give this one a look.

     The clip is fairly long (about 30 minutes), and the viewer get's their money's worth. All in all, another great video from FLbabygirls.

Monday, November 28, 2011

The Princess Wore Diapers and Other Favorites by Pink Diapers

Hey Everyone,

If you've never stopped by Pink Diapers' Deviant Art Gallery, you should swing on by; the art is great and there's a wide variety of subjects and styles. Here's a diapered spin on a clip we posted here recently:

(Thanks a bunch to AusDpr for bringing that to my attention.)

 A few more favorites:


So Cute!
Perfect for active adult baby girls!
Who doesn't love to see America's Favorite Super Heroine in diapers?
Love the eyes
She Looks a bit shy, don't you think?

Pink Diapers is also available for commissions, so if you've got the idea for the perfect ABDL picture, head over to Deviant Art and make your dream come to life.

Monday, November 21, 2011

Nice Spanking Clip

Not sure where this is from, but I really liked it. Enjoy.

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Update: The Date

Hey Everyone,

A couple of people have asked me when The Date will be continued. My writing partner (who writes the basic stories that are then embellished by myself) won't have much time for writing over the next few weeks, so the next few chapters may not come quite as quickly as the last batch. However, he assures me he is still working and promises to get the next part of Breakfast with Baby Candy to me ASAP.

In the meantime, I'm going to be working on a little project of my own that I think you're going to like...

Stay tuned.

Monday, November 14, 2011

Carroll Baker in her Crib in Baby Doll (1956)

No diapers, but this scene does feature (according to Wikipedia) "pretty, empty-headed 19-year old virgin Baby Doll Meighan (Carroll Baker)" sleeping in her crib, sucking her thumb and wearing a baby doll nightie. Enjoy.

Saturday, November 12, 2011

Very Nice Story On the Sudden Resurgence of Spanking Scenes in the Mainstream Media

From Chross' excellent spanking blog, here's an great article from a South African newspaper remarking on the sudden upswing of spanking scenes in movies, on TV, and in popular fiction.

     "Some of the best-selling books on Kindle aimed at women are futuristic or fantasy romances featuring brutish warriors or stone-cold cyborgs who soon have the heroine over their knees. Laurann Dohner, Michelle M Pillow and Mandy M Roth are coining it, churning out male dominance shorts with titles such as The Barbarian Prince and Begging For It," the article states. A local sex-shop owner goes as far as to say that "erotic spanking has gone mainstream."

So what do you think, gang? Has spanking gone mainstream, and if so, why now? And if it has, could ABDL's get their time in the sun in the near future? What do you say, guys; are we approaching a day when romance novelists will turn out books with titles like Diapered by a Barbarian or My Cyborg Keeps my Bottom Red and Pampered? (okay, probably not, but hey, a fella can dream, right?)

Poll: What class of woman would you most like to see diapered?

Thanks to all the ladies who voted on our last poll. Your participation is appreciated.

Is your ideal story about a spoiled bikini model spanked and sentenced to diapers, or a straight A student consumed by a secret lust for pampers? Who would you rather see reduced to a second infancy, a MILFy housewife or a selfish celebrity heiress? Who's more deserving of a red bottom and a bulky pair of dides, a vain reality TV star or a preening, arrogant Superheroine? Vote now and let us know. As always, thoughts and comments are appreciated.

Monday, November 7, 2011

The Date: Breakfast with Baby Candy

Here's hoping this one goes over better than the last one. Not as messy and humiliating as the others, but still somewhat messy and humiliating. Viewer discretion advised.

The Date: Breakfast with Baby Candy

Chapter 1

     Candy slept peacefully beside me, the stress of the evening’s events taking their toll. Curled up like a kitten and sucking a pacifier, blankets bunched up around her, her bulky, diapered butt sticking out from under her wispy pink nightie like a big, white bubble, she looked exactly like an overgrown baby. I had to commend myself—I’d done a great job.
    I watched as she slumbered peacefully, emitting an occasional sigh or groan. Smiling, I studied her eyes flickering beneath her lids She was dreaming. Stroking her hair gently, I closed my eyes and gently slipped into her mind to watch…
     In the dream, Candy was dancing.
     Alone on a bare stage, she performed in tights and a tank-top before a panel of pinched-faced middle aged people who looked on sternly like vultures, just waiting for Candy to slip up so they could rush in and gobble up the remains. An audition, apparently.
     From the look of it, they would have to wait for the next girl—Candy was on, more on than I’d ever seen her. I watched silently in the wings; Candy danced her heart out, beautiful and triumphant. I almost had second thoughts about interfering.
     She finished. The audience applauded. So did I—she really deserved it, and I knew.
     Candy stood onstage, beaming, savoring the adulation. She’d aced it and she knew. Poor kid, I thought as I began bending the dream around us; I don’t think she’s going to be happy about what’s coming next.
     “That was excellent,” said one of the women on the panel, “truly one of the most remarkable performances yet.”
     “I agree,” the man sitting next to her said in lightly accented English. “You embodied the music, but still left your own imprint.”
     “Obviously I agree,” said the woman on the far end, “but before we cast you for this role, there is one more absolutely vital thing we must know… One final task we must be absolutely, positively sure you have ably mastered before the role can be yours.”
     She hesitated, almost afraid to ask. “What is it?” Candy inquired warily, shifting nervously from foot to foot. Her pulse was racing, and not just from the intense physical exertion; her response to what the woman was about to say would probably determine whether or not she would get the part she so desperately wanted.
     The woman leaned forward, gazing at Candy with a solemn look. Candy gulped nervously. The woman folded her hands on the table in front of her and said seriously: “Are you fully potty trained, young lady?”
     Candy looked taken-aback. It was a strange question, absolutely the last thing she ever thought she’d be asked at an audition. Regaining her composure, she answered: “Well… Yes, ma’am. I’ve been potty trained for years now…”
     “I’m afraid,” I said through the woman, “That we will require certain reassurances. This would not, unfortunately, be the first time a young lady had exaggerated the extent of her potty training just to get a part. Would you be so kind as to, perhaps, give us a demonstration?”
     At the far left of the stage, a spotlight came up, revealing a children’s potty chair, adult sized.
     Candy stared incredulously, her thoughts racing. Is this a joke? Some kind of prank at her expense? Were these old bastards having a laugh at her? She could tell by looking at them they weren’t, but she still couldn’t accept the strangeness of the situation. Potty training? Problems with other girls? This had to be some kind of candid-camera thing. She stared at the potty. The notion was absurd. Besides, she didn’t even need to go—
     She didn’t even get to finish her thought. I grinned, warping the dream with my mind, first putting pressure on her bladder, then her bowels. Instantly, Candy was desperate. Her first thought was to run to the restrooms, but I ratcheted up the pressure, taking her out of desperation and into the realm of a full-blown emergency.
     Clinching her butt-cheeks, she pressed her hands against her crotch and began prancing in place. I couldn’t help grinning—when she came to show off her fancy moves, I doubt Candy ever thought she’d end up performing the potty dance.
     “Go on, Candy,” I encouraged via the woman, “show us you can potty like a big girl. One last simple thing and the part is yours.”
     There was little choice for her now—Candy had waited too long, and her only options were to use the potty or have an accident.
     With one hand holding her crotch and the other pressed against her butt-crack, Candy desperately pranced across stage to the potty in a humiliating parody of her earlier grace and elegance. Standing beside it, bouncing up and down in distress, she hesitated, looking around desperately for another option. I gave her bowels and bladder another squeeze.
     That was all she needed. Franticly, Candy dropped her tights to her ankles and slammed her butt down of the small plastic seat. Even though the potty was larger than normal, it was still small, and her knees were up around her chest.
     The pressure on her bladder had become almost intolerable. She began peeing almost immediately, the hiss and tinkle of her stream amplified in the theater. “Ahhhhh!” she sighed theatrically, more relieved than she’d ever been.
     (Back in bed, Candy unwittingly released a long gush of pee into her soft cotton diapers, snoring softly through it.)
     A loud fart echoed in the theater. Her bowels gurgled insistently-- Candy blushed and tried to hold it, clinching her butt-cheeks tightly and tapping her feet onstage in a desperate effort to maintain some dignity.
    But I couldn’t allow that. I gave her tummy a gentle squeeze, and that was all she wrote; even clenching her sphincter and cheeks as tightly as they’d go, Candy still couldn’t prevent the mushy mess from farting out of her noisily and sloshing into the bowl below her. She tried to prevent what she knew was coming, but once the flood gates had been opened, there was no stopping it, and Candy began involuntarily plopping and farting her mess into the bowl below. She nearly died when she heard the audience laughing and applauding the bizarre turn of events.
     (In bed Candy emitted a small grunt in her sleep. Her sphincter blew and she began uncontrollably loading the seat of her diaper with a warm mess.)
     Candy squeezed her eyes shut, unable to fathom how it was that this was happening to her. The audience applauded. She remained seated for another five minutes. Every time she thought she was done, she’d begin to rise, only be forced to sit once more as she began peeing again, or felt a sharp cramp in her side and had to flop back on the seat to endure another flatulent bowel movement.
     Finally, she finished. As the panel applauded her performance, Candy sat on the potty, pants around her ankles, sweaty and spent.
     “Excellent young lady, just excellent! You’ve got the part!”
     Perched on the potty, Candy could only stare at her, not even sure what to say. Before she could think of anything, I appeared beside her, roll of toilet paper in my hand. “C’mon, sweetie,” I encouraged, tearing off a handful and squatting beside her, “spread your legs.”
     She complied, and I wiped her pussy clean. I grinned, noticing that even though she was still massively embarrassed, she was getting aroused. With her pants still around her ankles, I helped her to her feet. “Time to wipe your bum, sweetheart,” I said, helping her to her hands and knees on the stage. She looked back at me dubiously, but remained still as I tore off a few fresh sheets. “Arch your back please sweetheart. That’s a good girl,” I praised her as she rolled her hips up, presenting her backside for inspection. “Phew! What a messy girl,” I told her, making her blush as I began wiping her butt. She let out a shaky, embarrassed groan. “Oh hush!” I scolded, giving one of her rounded cheeks a smack, making Candy squeal. Outraged and humiliated, she flushed bright red at the guffaws and applause of the audience.
     Tossing the first of the used paper into the potty, I tore off another couple of squares and resumed cleaning her messy backside. “Such a messy girl!” I chided. “How did such a little girl get so messy?”
     Candy sputtered in impotent fury and outrage. She thought about ordering me to stop, but she couldn’t think of a convincing argument with her pants down around her ankles, having her messy bottom wiped in front of a very appreciative audience; so she simply bit her tongue and tried not to think about how ridiculous she must look on her hands and knees with her rump stuck up behind her as an attractive man wiped her derrière like a baby.
     I had to change paper twice more before I had Candy’s heiny clean. She rocked up onto her knees and sat back on her heels, still bare from waist to ankles. In a daze, she sat passively, taking in the audience’s standing ovation for her performance.
     Moaning around her soother, Candy squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the sheets around her tightly.
     “Candy? Sweetheart?”
     She groaned and shifted, still half asleep.
     “Candy? Are you thirsty, honey?”
     Her eyes fluttered open and she gave me a dazed look. Gently, I tugged the pacifier out. “Here you go, baby,” I said softly, popping the teat of the bottle into her mouth. Taking it with both hands, she rolled onto her back and began sucking.
     “Do you need a change, sweetie?” I ask, not waiting for an answer as I pulled back the covers to reveal her massive bulky diaper. I pulled out the leg-band of her plastic pants and peeked inside her diaper. “Whew!” I cried, “do you ever! Not only are you very wet, but you’ve got a yucky mess in there as well, baby!”
     Slurping on her bottle, Candy’s face went bright red. She shifted on her back, stomach rolling as she felt the mucky mess in her diaper squish against her backside. Her thoughts drifted back to her dream as I peeled off her plastic pants and opened her diaper. “P-U!” I said, lifting her ankles to expose her dirty bottom to the room. “Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetie.”
     I went to work as Candy continued sucking her bottle, mortified to be in such a situation but powerless to do anything but lay there and passively accept her diaper change. Taking my time, I cleaned her thoroughly before slipping another diaper under her tushy. By the time I had her powdered and taped up in another thick pamper, she had almost finished her bottle. I smiled, watching the last of the liquid disappear into her mouth. I took the nipple from her mouth and dabbed at her lips with a cloth. She gazed up at me, dazed and embarrassed, not entirely sure whether or not she was still dreaming. Smiling, I slipped the pacifier back into her mouth and stroked her hair gently. “Now: back to sleep my little angel.”
     She turned over once more. I pulled the covers back over her and watched as she burrowed back in for warmth, curling up like a baby before yawning and dozing off once more. I couldn’t help smiling— lifting the covers, I gave her crinkly backside a pat as I settled in beside her once more. I watched Candy, already asleep again, and wondered idly what she’d dream of next. I couldn’t wait to find out.

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Poll: For women only-- What is Your Favorite Position to be Spanked In?

(Once again, only 100% natural born women, please and thanks.)

OK Ladies, according to our previous poll, A lot of you really love to get spanked. So what's the best way to go about it?

Again, comments are welcome and appreciated.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

The Date: Officer Guzman Rides Again!

Warning: Very messy and humiliating. If the first one wasn’t up you ally this one probably won’t be either.

Officer Guzman Rides Again!
     “Officer Guzman?”
     The sudden squawk of the radio made her jump. She’d been stopped at a red, feeling the bike vibrating beneath her through the load in her pants, thinking about the unlikely turn of events her routine traffic stop had taken. To say that the last think she’d expected when she clocked in this morning was that she’d be riding home with the seat of her pants full of poop just about an hour after lunch was the understatement of the decade. Sierra Guzman hadn’t shit herself since the unfortunate “chili cheese dog incident” back in high school…
     “Officer Guzman, please respond…” The dispatch’s voice was heavy with annoyance. Sierra picked up the hand set, licked her lips nervously, and hit the button.
     “This is Guzman,” she responded stiffly, “come back.”
     The radio crackled. “We’ve got an accident in your area,” (no shit, Sierra thought, her stomach rolling as she thought about the gooey mudslide in her pants) “are you able to assist?”
     “NO!” she answered quickly. Her stomach rolled—immediately after the word left her mouth, she felt a god-awful rumble in her belly. Her bowels gurgled, her rectum filled. There was instant pressure on her sphincter, and she suddenly felt as though she were trying to hold in a hundred pound weight.
     A second later, it became a thousand pounds; she made a heroic effort, but fell tragically short. Another mess came bubbling into her pants. Gasping, she unconsciously stood, inadvertently displaying the badly stained seat of her pants to everyone behind her. She planted her feet, face going red as she uncontrollably messed herself. Beside her, a group of college girls in a hot convertible looked on in disbelief. “OH MY GOD!” Sierra heard one cry, “SHE SHIT HER PANTS!”
     “Who?” someone else asked.
      “EWWWWW!” the entire car cried at once, watching in disbelief as Sierra filled her pants. Instantly, four purses snapped open and four cell-phones came out. She was mortified beyond belief, but knew she had to explain herself to the dispatcher—fast!
     “I uh—I had a blowout on I-19--” she exploded into her pants, making this statement at least partially true. Behind her the college girls tut-tutted, capturing her inflating seat from every angle. “I’m gonna need some time to change the tire,” she added, causing further eruption in her trousers.
     “Uh, are you ok, officer Guzman?” the dispatcher asked in a detached voice.
     “I’m just a little—messy…” she whispered, shifting from foot to foot nervously.
     “What’d you say? ‘Messy?’”
     “What? NO! I-I’m sick—I’m sick and I need the afternoon off!” She tried to keep quiet as she added further installment to the pile in her slacks.
     “What? Guzman, you need to contact the supervisor--”
     “I’ll do it when I finish the tire!” she assured, grimacing as another load came mushing out into her pants.
     “So wrong…” one of the girls commented, zooming in on Sierra’s lumpy, brown seat as it inflated even further.
     “Guzman… are you in some kind of trouble?”
     The light turned green. “Oh, gotta go, call you back later!” she cried. Settling back on her bike with an audible squish, she shifted into gear and took off across the intersection.


     She managed to get home without any problems, and she navigated the lobby and elevator of her building without being seen. But when she got up to her floor, she saw Mrs. Peabody, her nosy, crotchety neighbor was out in the hallway. She tried to sneak past, but she could see the old woman’s nose twitching as she approached. Straitening, the old biddy fixed Sierra with her filthiest look and placed her hands on her hips. “Young lady!” she scolded, sniffing the air disapprovingly. “I sincerely hope that unpleasant odor isn’t coming from you!”
     “No ma’am!” Sierra answered without thinking. BBRRAPPPTT! With an audible fart, she blasted another hot load into her pants. Mrs. Peabody wrinkled her nose disapprovingly. “It’s—the sewer!” FFFBBLORT! She erupted into her underwear. “They’re—working on the sewer outside…” PPHHORT! Another explosion, another mudslide into her seat. Mrs. Peabody stared, disbelieving and disapproving.
     Slowly, careful not to expose her seat to her nosy neighbor, Sierra slowly waddled to her door, stiffly undid the lock, and shuffled slowly inside.


     She slammed the door shut behind her and let out a shaky breath. For the first time since her ‘accident’ she felt like she could relax. Her first thought was to head into the bathroom, but before she could make a move, she heard that awful man’s voice in her head: ‘…find a nice, hard chair, put down some newspaper if you have to, and sit your poopy buns down in that mess and really concentrate on how it makes you feel. Do that for ten minutes…’
     She knew she wouldn’t be able to resist without even trying; there was just something about the way he said it that left no doubt in her mind she had to follow his instructions. In the living room, she pulled out one of her hard, wooden chairs from around the table, checked the clock, and, with a heavy sigh, sat once more with an audible squish. Frowning, she struggled and failed to find a more comfortable position, sighed, and checked the clock. Squirming in her seat with a massive load in her pants, she tried not to think about that horrible man, the one who’d done this to her, but she kept replaying the incident again and again in her mind. She nearly cried when she thought about the last thing he’d told her—she’d hoped it was a sick joke, but she was pretty sure the last 15 minutes had proven otherwise. She was going to need a little protection for the foreseeable future—diapers, she realized with a fiery blush.
     She cursed the man again. How dare he do this to an officer of the law! She thought about reporting it, using her status as a cop to hunt the bastard down, but she quickly nixed the idea; after all, what was she going to tell people? “The guy made me shit my pants a bunch of times?” just the thought of another person knowing about this was enough to make her want to cry.
     She almost did cry when she thought of the man again. There was no point in denying that she’s been attracted to him in an offhand sort of way. The thought of filling her pants in front of—on duty, no less—was enough to make her crawl into a hole. The knowledge that he’d been responsible in some way made her feel as though she’d literally die of embarrassment.
     She looked at the clock. Ten minutes had gone by. She stood, grimacing when she felt the mess shifting in her pants. Bow-legged, she waddled into the bathroom.
     His words rang in her head: ‘With your back to the mirror, take down your pants slowly and study your poopy panties.’ She turned her back to the mirror and glanced over her shoulder, blushing when she saw the huge stain on the back of her pants. Slowly undoing her belt, she tugged down her tight pants, groaning as her underwear came into view. Formerly pink, the back panel of the cotton briefs were now stained a messy brown. The seat was lumpy and dimpled, and there were twin smears down the backs of her thighs.
    ‘Now take them down and see what your messy hiney looks like.’ Slowly and carefully, she peeled the panties away from her poopy rump and took them down all the way, tossing them in the trash and leaving her naked from the waist down. Reluctantly, she checked the mirror behind her. She blushed more furiously than she ever had; her entire rear end was a mess, her cheeks smeared brown, the mushy mess caked inside her butt crack and trailing down her thighs.
     She stripped and jumped into the shower. Sierra couldn’t remember that last time she’d enjoyed a shower this much. She must’ve soaped her ass for half an hour at least. She never wanted it to end, but she knew she had to get out and face the music eventually. With a heavy sigh, she turned off the water and climbed out.
     The drugstore was packed.
     She’d deliberately dressed down in baggy sweats. She did this for two reasons: the first was because she wanted to attract as little attention as possible, and had always thought the sweats were the least flattering thing she owned. Unfortunately, she was also pretty sure she still managed to look pretty good in them anyway (which was also true). The second was sheer practicality: she was desperate to avoid drawing attention to the diaper she knew she  was going to wind up walking out of here wrapped around her gorgeous bubble-butt.
     She knew she needed diapers. That wasn’t even open for debate. She had toyed with the idea of waiting until she got home to put one on, but nixed the idea, worried that she’d be forced into a situation where she’d be forced to or accidently lie. She didn’t think that the diapers would keep any accidents totally hidden, but she hoped she could at least cut down on the mess.
     Into the adult diapers section now; she tried not to look too conspicuous as she browsed through the different packages. She frowned—this was more complicated than I thought. Why didn’t I do some research on the internet before I came? She thought bitterly scanning the different packages for the one that looked most suited for her situation.
     “Do you need some help?” Sierra turned toward the voice. The clerk’s tag identified her as Marge. She was about 40, quite pretty, with a maternal look about her.
    “N-” Sierra got out the first syllable of a no, but a sharp cramp in her belly made her cry “YES! YES, I DO!”
     “Are these for you, dear?”
      Sierra squirmed and blushed. “Does that really make a difference?”
     “Well, we have to get the size right dear.”
     She forced herself to say the words: “Yes, they are.”
     “It’s ok, dear.” Marge’s smile was sickeningly benevolent. “What sort of problems are you having?”
     It took her a moment to frantically stifle her first instinct to lie. “I--” she swallowed. “I—I—I’ve been having some—problems—with my bowels…”
     Sierra was so embarrassed. Marge’s understanding smile just made it worse. “It’s ok, dear. No need to be embarrassed. I think I’ve got just the thing. You wait right here.”
     Marge bustled through a set of double-doors and into the back. Sierra was left surrounded by diapers; each second ticked away like an hour. A couple of small boys stopped and stared at her, then ran away giggling, followed by a young couple who walked by slowly, nudging each other and chuckled in her direction.
     But nothing could prepare her for what was about to happen. From behind her she heard “Isn’t that her?”
     “Yeah it is! It’s that cop who shit herself!”
     She turned around quickly and came face to face with the college girls from before. At that moment, Sierra willed herself to die, but somehow she continued living on in spite of her supreme humiliation. Stupidly, she answered with “Who, me?!”
     “Yeah you: How’s it going, poopy-pants?”
     She tried to think of something, but in her burning shame, she couldn’t think of anything true, and so could only stand there stammering dumbly “I—I—I—I—“
     “--Shit yourself,” one of them finished for her, “yeah, we saw, remember?”
     The girls started laughing. Sierra could only shift from foot to foot in humiliation as a small crowd gathered. A couple of them had pulled their phones and were aiming them at her menacingly.
     “So—stocking up on some new depends, officer poopy-pants?” Another girl, obviously the leader, asked, indicating the diapers stacked all around.
     “N--” She felt her belly rumble. “YES!” she cried, making the audience burst out laughing.
     “Oh officer Poopy-Pants,” one of the girls said between guffaws, “what are we to do with you?”
     She opened her mouth to answer, but before she could make a sound, Marge returned and thrust an enormous package into her arms. “Here you go dear,” she said with a strange pride, “these should do the trick.” The package was light, but cumbersome, and so huge she had to carry it with both arms out in front, pressed up against her chest and resting against her chin. The audience exploded into laughter when they saw the lettering on the front.
     “Mega-Dumper-Diaper!” the package declared in large letters. “For Super Poopers!” it bragged on the bottom in neon print. “For Big Girls!” it said in dainty lettering near the bottom. “XL junk in trunk” it said beneath that. The audience was in hysterics, the camera operators trying desperately to steady their grips and zoom in so they could get the lettering. It was like she was carrying a large signboard declaring her an overgrown, pants pooping baby who needed diapers.
     But Sierra couldn’t see it from her vantage; Marge ripped the top of the package open and pulled one out. “These are the most heavy duty diapers we have,” Marge said, proudly, unfolding one. It looked like it was made out of pillows. “We’re not allowed to stock it out front due to its, ahem, unfortunate packaging…”
     “’Unfortunate packaging’?!”
     But Sierra didn’t have long to worry about that. Marge, ever helpful, had walked around behind her and pulled down her pants and underwear, leaving her naked from the waist down in front of the entire crowd. “Hey, what are you doing?!” she shrieked, so shocked she stupidly continued to stand there with the package in her arms and her pants around her knees as the audience whooped and laughed.
    Sierra could only stand there dumbly, bare butt and bush flapping in the breeze. “I’m just helping you get it on, dear,” Marge said, readying the diaper.
      “Hey, no, stop! Pull my pant’s back up!”
     Oh, hush!” Marge said. She delivered a hard spank to Sierra’s bare butt, making her jump and squeal. The audience laughed, clearly enjoying this entertainment.
     Squatting beside her, Marge slipped the diaper between her thighs. “Oh my goodness,” Sierra heard her remark, pulling it up tight against her crotch, “I see we’re getting this on just in time... you’ve got a nasty skid mark in your panties dear!”
      The crowd howled at this revelation, but Marge took no notice, carrying on with her lesson. “Make sure it’s nice and snug,” she instructed, “then pull it up nice and tight against your bottom. Now: do up the three tabs on each side…” she heard six tearing sounds in rapid succession. She stood up and admired her handiwork.
     Sierra didn’t need to see the diaper to know it looked ridiculous… For one thing, the audience’s raucous laughter announced it to her and everyone else in the neighborhood. For another, she couldn’t even bring her thighs together.
     In fact, it looked like she’d been strapped into the world’s biggest, fluffiest pillow. Her ass stuck way out behind her, and the padding was so thick there was no was she’d be able to walk without waddling.
     She stood immobilized by humiliation, the audience cackling all around her as Marge walked around ad adjusted the diaper.
     In that moment, Sierra Guzman was overcome by embarrassment. And, like many people do in those situations, she did something stupid.
     “THERE’S BEEN A MISUNDERSTANGING!” she cried. “THESE AREN’T FOR ME!!” she insisted at the top of her lungs.
     A cramp; she clenched her ass, but it was no use. Sierra heard herself fart, barely muffled even by her big diaper. She gasped, feeling a massive mess pour into the back of her pants uncontrollably, not even noticeable outside her diaper.
     “Oh dear,” she heard Marge say beside her.
    But Sierra couldn’t help herself. “THEY’RE FOR—MY GRANDMOTHER!” She told them, farting another mudslide into her diaper, making the back of her expand visibly. The crowd was alternately laughing and gagging from the stench that permeated the air.
     She knew she should stop, knew she was just making things worse, but she just couldn’t stop herself. “I DON’T SHIT MY PANTS!” she insisted, drawing derisive laughter, her messy pamper and package of “Mega-Dumper-Diapers” calling counterpoint to her statement, even before she began to noisily fill her pants once more.
     She stood there for a long moment, never more humiliated in her entire life. Finally Marge took her arm.
     “Come along, dear, let’s get you cleaned up,” she urged, taking her arm and dragging her toward the ladies toilet. Sierra waddled along behind her, pants around her knees, trying not to squish the mess in her pants too much, the laughter of the crowd ringing out behind her.
     Marge dragged her into the ladies room and shut the door behind her. “Ok, honey,” she said firmly, pulling her pants and panties off over her shoes, “let’s get this messy diaper changed.” She ripped open the tabs and pealed the messy pamper away from Sierra’s skin. “Whew!” She declared, crinkling her nose, “that’s a very big mess!”
     Sierra, for her part, could only stand there blushing as Marge went to work, cleaning her messy backside with paper-towels and toilet paper. She grimaced, the rough paper scratching at her tender ass. She contemplated protesting, but what would be the point. Besides, it sure beat having to clean off her own poopy butt.
     Soon, Marge had another diaper tugged up and sealed around her bottom.
     “Time to get your pants back on, honey.” But when they tried, they discovered there was no way there were going to be able to get it up over her thickly padded bottom. The diaper was simply much too big for even her biggest pair of pants to fit over. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to carry them,” she said cheerfully, setting them on top of the package of diapers Sierra was still hefting around.
     “But—But I can’t go out there like this! I look ridiculous!”
     “Don’t be silly!” Marge said, ushering her out the door with a swat to her bulging derrière, “You have a medical problem! I’m sure people will understand.”
     Sierra stumbled out of the ladies room and back into the pharmacy. The patrons looked up, saw her standing there in a huge bulky diaper, and burst out laughing. It was hard to blame them; between the massive, bulky pamper wrapped around her tushy and the large package declaring her a “Super-Pooper,” Sierra was forced to admit that she did look absurd. With a shameful blush, she made her way to the checkout.
     She made a bee-line for the self check-out, eager to avoid any more contact with overzealous clerks. She scanned her package, prompting the till to emit a loud and enthusiastic BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP! “Oh God,” she sobbed to herself, “ what now?”
     The attendant came over, looked her up and down, and grabbed the phone. “I need a price-check for ‘mega-dumper-diapers’ size xl-junk-in-trunk,” she announced over the PA. Soon the entire store was up in arms, everyone in the place laughing uproariously—except for poor Sierra, who could only stand-by blushing and humiliated.


     Sierra slammed the apartment door behind her. After suffering one devastating humiliation after the next, it felt great to be home. She waddled inside, still naked from the waist down but for her diaper, socks and shoes. Her many, many humiliations still stoked a shameful fire inside her, but at least she was home now, where she could put it all behind her.
     Sitting at her computer (it would take a while to get used to the mass of cotton fluffiness beneath her), she opened her browser. She was about to check her e-mail when something caught her eye:
     “One Shitty cop!” the link declared. Heart in her throat, she clicked the link and was treated to grainy, cell-phone footage of herself shitting her pants at the red-light earlier. Her shame threatened to overwhelm her as she watched the already stained seat of her pants grow darker and lumpier by the second—and you could even hear it!
     This was followed by footage of her being harassed in the pharmacy, her getting diapered, pooping her diaper, and being dragged off to the ladies room. Sierra thought she would die of humiliation when she realized that not-only had multiple copies from multiple different angels been uploaded, people had already started remixing it, adding music and special effects. Her private shame had turned into a very public Meme.
     Turning off her computer, she waddled her bulky bottom into her room, lay face down on her bed, and began to cry.

Friday, October 28, 2011

Poll Results: Officer Guzman Rides Again

Hey everyone,

Can't believe the massive response this one got. I know some people didn't really like the story-- I'm sorry it's not you cup of tea but I hope you stick with the blog anyway, I'll be writing more of my "traditional" stories again soon-- but otherwise it's gotten a fantastic response and I just wanted to say thanks.

As for the poll: It was neck and neck most of the way, but officer Guzman seems to have won the day.
My partner has already begun chronicling her further adventures, and having just finished reading the first couple of pages, I think it's safe to say that fans of messy, public humiliation are going to be thrilled... and we haven't even gotten to the diapers yet. May wind up posting this in short chapters, stay tuned for updates.

I would remind you that, like all artistic types, we are desperately needy people who thrive on approval, so if you've got any positive feedback, now would be the time to let us hear it.

Thanks again everyone.

Honey I Shrunk the Kids: Now with sound

Thanks to our reader down below who was kind enough to point the way to a slightly better version of this clip with full sound.

Monday, October 24, 2011

New Clip: Voltron

Of this clip, C.S. writes:

Voltron - Episode 7 - The lion has new claws.

The voltron team are surpised when the princess' old governess returns to the castle. If you fast forward to about 11:50 in the episode, the princess has just woken up after having taken the blue lion for a joy ride. She wants to join the team since the 5th member is hurt. When she wakes up her nanny is not pleased about what she did, and in front of everyone she bends her over the knee and gives her a spanking while the princess cries 'stop, I'm not a baby!' No diapers involved, but its a seen that made me sit up and take notice.
It's a really nice clip, I enjoyed it and I think you all will too.

Saturday, October 22, 2011

The Date: Casting Call

Hey everyone,

I usually like to have a good picture of my characters in my mind when I writing-- in fact I usually have a picture or two open at all times when I write. Here are my personal inspirations for the characters in the story.

Christina Hendricks As Candy

Candy's a sexy redheaded bombshell with curves to spare. Anyone who's seen Mad Men knows Christina Hendricks fits the bill to a T. I think she'd play Candy's fall from liberated sex-goddess to submissive adult baby perfectly.

Officer Guzman

 This one's not as concrete as Candy. Sierra isn't really based on one person  so much as an ideal: a tough, ambitious, arrogant authority figure brought low and forced into a situation where being tough isn't going to help. We're having ever so much fun thinking of ways to torment her, but it's all in good fun (though Officer Guzman might not agree).

Megan Fox as Violet

I know, I know-- "What is this, like the fifth time you've used her in one of these?" But I just can't help myself, folks... She's just so darn cute-- and such a potent muse for me. Just looking at this picture, I can can see Violet's entire story play out in front of me. We haven't been properly introduced to our unnamed narrator's step-sibling yet, but trust me-- I think you're all going to love what we've got cooked up for poor Violet on her rocket ride from most popular girl in school to a helpless baby in the charge of her hated step-brother.

And there you have it-- I hope you've enjoyed this peek into my madness Creative Process.

Friday, October 21, 2011

The Date

     Co-written with my partner from Messy Jessie. This one’s a little different than anything I’ve ever written before. It’s dark and quite messy, and the ABDL elements don’t come into play until near the end. I had fun writing it though and I hope you enjoy it. We’ll almost certainly continue this project real soon (unless everyone hates it).

The Date
Chapter One: Pulled Over

     “Aw, Dammit!” I cursed the flashing lights in my rear view and my luck at once. Why is it, I pondered philosophically, angling my car toward the shoulder, that I only get pulled over when I’m running late?
    The cop pulled in behind me, the motorcycle’s engine dying. After a moment, the officer rose from the bike, and I could see it was a shapely woman. She sauntered toward the car slowly, giving me plenty of time to study her curves. She was in her later 20’s or early 30’s, her features sharp and delicate like a model, her eyes hidden behind reflective shades, hair tucked up beneath her helmet. Her skin was a lovely olive color and seemed almost impossibly soft.
     I made a quick, preliminary scan of her frontal lobes gave me the pertinent info: officer Sierra Guzman, 28, a five year veteran of the force. I drank in the information quickly, rolling down the window as she approached. “Is something the matter, officer?”
     “I had you going 68 in a 60 back there,” she said absently, already writing out my ticket.
     Shit, was she serious? I checked the clock. It was almost 8—I cursed my luck again. Candy hated to be kept waiting, and I wanted to keep her in a good mood for later.
     “Officer, I must protest: I had just entered the 60 zone, I had insufficient time to slow down…”
     “If you’d like, sir, you can always contest the ticket in court,” she said firmly. And besides, she thought, this fills my quota for the month, and I’ll be dammed if I’m gonna sit through another one of the sarge’s lectures.
     I probed a little deeper: seemed officer Guzman wasn’t living up to her superior’s expectations—and now she was compensating by ambushing innocent motorists.
     Ok, I thought, let’s give her one last chance. “Officer, ordinarily I wouldn’t mind, but I’m actually running late for a date…”
     “Well, I guess she’s gonna have to wait a little longer, isn’t she pretty boy?” Guzman said curtly.
     Reaching out with my mind, I slipped my telekinetic fingers inside of her and began gently massaging her intestines. “You know what?” I asked, “You’re really full of shit.”
     It wasn’t a lie… her bowels were quite full. She probably had a movement pending anyway… well let’s speed thing along, I thought, giving her guts a little tickle.
     Officer Guzman, who assumed I was speaking figuratively, looked up from her ticket book and fixed me with an icy glare. “Excuse me?”
     “You heard me. You know you ambushed me to boost your stats. You’re full of shit.”
     “Is that a fact?” She placed her hands on her hips, adopting a confrontational posture.
     “That’s right,” I said, giving her bowels a squeeze. “Full of shit.”
     “Are you being belligerent with me?” She was beginning to look uncomfortable, my internal massage starting to have its effect.
     “No ma’am,” I assured her making her belly grumble and growl. “I’m just stating a fact. You’re completely full of shit.  And do you know what happens to girls who are as full of shit as you are?”
     “What?” she demanded, trying to sound forceful as the need to poop became stronger and stronger. She was already thinking about finding a toilet. Normally Sierra Guzman preferred to poop at home, but somehow she just knew that wouldn’t be an option today. Funny, she thought, this guy has no Idea how right he is—I can’t remember the last time I had to go this bad!
    “They poop their pants,” I smiled.
     She gave a surprised laugh. “Oh?” she asked, her tone amused, “and how would that--?”
     But she never finished her question. Giving her straining bowels a sharp squeeze, I forced a quick gasp out of her. A noisy, sticky squelch emerged from the seat of her tight pants. Doubling over, she gripped my door panel and emitted a startled grunt; warm, mushy poop gushed out of her noisily and quickly settled into the seat of her pants. She tightened, squeezing her asscheeks together and fixing me with a helpless stare.
     “See what I mean Sierra? A little girl like you who’s so full of shit never knows when she might just… explode.
      Another squeeze, another surge of poop into those tight riding pants. Sierra doubled over involuntarily and opened her mouth to scream, but all that emerged was a few soft, disbelieving squeaks. A noisy FLLAABLATCH! rumbled from her seat. Her panties ballooned out behind her as she erupted in her pants; the seat of her tight blue trousers became lumpy and distended, with just a hint of a stain blossoming.
     “It’s like when you were in 12th grade and you used to eat those chili cheese dogs at Nicks that gave you this shits? What did you call them? Diarrhea torpedoes?” I laughed, giving her another squeeze. She was ready for me this time, clenching her cheeks and anus tightly, but it didn’t make any difference. Another round of mushy poop came thundering into her pants, filling her panties to capacity and forcing a choked sob out of her. “Boy, you sure loved them—but they didn’t love you, did they Sierra?”
     “How do you know all this?” She asked me, tears streaming down her cheeks.
     “Here’s what I want you to do, Sierra,” I said when I was sure I had her hanging on my every word. “First, I want you to tear up that ticket.”
     Acutely aware of the load in her pants with every move, she tore out the ticket and ripped it up, scattering the remains across the highway.
     “Now: how close do you live from here?”
     “N-n-n-not too far,” she said, shifting from foot to foot. The pile in her pants was hot and heavy, gooey and sticky. Each of her gorgeous buttocks had been smeared completely. “About ten minutes or so…”
     “Ok,” I said, speaking slowly. As I spoke, I inscribed each word carefully in her mind, knowing she’d follow my instructions to the letter. “Here’s what I want you to do: I want you to sashay your stinky, poopy fanny over to that motorcycle and I want you to sit down slowly, until you’ve got all your weight settled on that big load in your pants. Mush it around a bit—really savor the feeling. Turn on your bike and just sit there as it idles for a minute; really get used to the feeling of the machine rumbling under that messy butt of yours. Then I want you to drive home; no hurry, take your time, get there safely. Go up into your apartment, but don’t go into the bathroom just yet. Instead, find a nice, hard chair, put down some newspaper if you have to, and sit your poopy buns down in that mess and really concentrate on how it makes you feel. Do that for ten minutes. Now go into the bathroom. With your back to the mirror, take down your pants slowly and study your poopy panties. Now take them down and see what your messy hiney looks like. After that, feel free to get cleaned up, but remember this, Sierra:
     “For the next three weeks, you will shit your pants every-time you tell a lie.” She gasped and gave me a pleading look, but wisely maintained her silence. “That’s right, young lady. It doesn’t matter how small or white a lie it is: if you tell even the tiniest fib, you’re going to load you pants like you did just did.”
     She started to cry as the implication sunk in. “But… there’s no way I can go that long without lying! No one can!”
     “That’s why it’s so important you get used to having messy pants now, dear. I have a feeling that over the next few weeks you’re going to be very familiar with the sensation.
     “Now go on. Get out of here before I make you take your pants down right here and show everyone what you did.”
     Nodding stiffly, she turned and shuffled back to her bike slowly, trying to minimize the mess. Watching her big, round booty in the mirror, I couldn’t resist giving her bowels another squeeze. Gasping, she dipped on one leg, farting as she dumped another wet load into the seat of her pants. I smiled as she stood by the side of her bike, hesitating. Taking a deep breath, she swung her leg over, positioned her booty over the seat, and lowered herself slowly. I laughed at her horrified expression as she slowly settled her entire weight onto the seat, feeling the load compress beneath her beautiful ass with a squelch. Grimacing, she squirmed her buttocks against her seat, spreading the mess across her entire backside.
    Reaching down, she turned the key. The engine roared to life and I was treated to new expressions of shock and disgust as she pressed her dirty ass into the seat, feeling the gentle roar of the engine spread the mess into new nooks and crannies.
     Stiffly, trying to minimize the movement of her posterior, Officer Sierra Guzman shifted into gear and roared off slowly down the highway with a big, squishy dump in her pants.

Chapter Two: The Obligatory Back Story
     You’d Probably love to know all about me. Where I’m from, what I look like, what I do etc. The truth is none of it really matters. I’m just a guy like you, living in a city like yours, with a well-paying, but boring job, maybe not unlike the one you work at.  I suppose I’m pretty good-looking-- never seem to have a problem attracting ladies anyway.
     The truth is, I’d sort of like to keep this kind of anonymous; you never know who might be reading these things, cooking up ideas for me and those “unique abilities” of mine.
     And what about those Unique Abilities, I hear you ask. Where did they come from? How did they develop, how do they work, and how do I get me some of those, anyway?
     Sorry to disappoint, but in many ways, The Power is as mysterious to me as it is to you. I guess I was always gifted: I was thirteen when I went into the twelfth grade, which didn’t sit well with my stepsister Violet. She loathed the idea of being in the same class as her dorky step-brother. I wasn’t exactly thrilled about it either; now she could make my life miserable at home and at school.
     But I’m getting ahead of myself.
     The Power seemed to manifest as I hit puberty. Suddenly people were like open books to me—especially women. I could read their thoughts and flip through their memories as easy as browsing the internet. I knew their likes and dislikes, their hopes and dreams, their fears and all their most embarrassing secrets.
     As I matured, I using The Power grew easier and easier. I could control people, project thoughts into their minds and alter their moods. I could put a girl in just the right mood to ask her out, and know exactly what to do to keep her happy.
     By the time I was a man, I could control every part of a person’s body and make them do whatever I wanted.
     And what I wanted was to have a little fun…

Chapter Three: I Want Candy
     “You’re late.”
     Candy nursed an appletini, trying to look angry, but was only able to manage pouty and adorable. She was 32, but told people she was 25. It was an easy deception—she probably could have shaved another year or two off if she’d wanted. The Fire of her hair burned against the paleness of her skin. She poured her ample curves into a tight black tank top and painted on leather pants.
     “Sorry, sweetheart,” I soothed, already reaching into her brain and massaging her into a better mood. “Traffic was murder.” I took her hand and kissed it, making her smile grudgingly as I ordered a beer.
     By the time the food arrived, I’d put her in a better frame of mind with a few amusing anecdotes and some subtle telepathic manipulation. I’m sure the fact that she put away three more drinks at dinner didn’t hurt, either.
     Christina “Candy” Carothers was a dancer I’d met a couple of months before . She was a bit of a drama queen, spoiled, pouty, used to getting her way, but she was sexy, and usually up for anything.
     On the way back to her place, she was already getting hot and bothered. I’d always known Candy to be an eager girl, always ready for a roll in the hay. But tonight I wanted more. So much more.
     Call me sick, if you must. Call me a sick deluded pervey pervert and bemoan the fact that I don’t use The Power to do something positive or constructive (let me just nip that last one in the bud right now: How do you know I don’t?).
     But sometimes, I like to add a little “drama” to the proceedings. And the girls like it too—honest!
     We were standing outside my place. I had her up against the wall, and we were necking gently in the moonlight. The air was cool, and we pressed together, seeking warmth. I reached inside her, stimulating her mentally while stirring her bowels gently, finding them full. Unlike the cop, I wasn’t surprised: When I made this date with her a few days ago, I’d given Candy a simple subliminal suggestion: to bulk up on fiber and roughage in the days before the date. From the look of things, she’d taken my advice to heart. I smiled to myself, reaching around to squeeze her leather-clad asscheeks.
     Covering her long neck in kisses, I massaged the pleasure centers of her brain and released some endorphins. I began to massage her bowels gently, stimulating a need to go. She stiffened slightly, but continued necking, deciding it was something she could deal with later. I stifled a smile. Poor thing… she was in for a shock.
     Slowly, gently, I took her wrists and pinned them against the wall above her. She moaned and pressed herself into me even harder. She was in a state of ecstasy, blissful pleasure emanating from every pore, sending shivering tingles down her limbs.
     I gave her bowels a squeeze.
     “Oh!” She cried, bending forward. I pretended not to notice, groaning as she pressed herself into me. She felt the dreadful pressure growing in her bowels, but in her aroused state, was either unable or unwilling to put off her pleasure, thinking that she could hold it.
     But after a few more moments of pressure, massage and squeezing, she wasn’t so sure. Still I pretended not to notice her inner torment, focuses on making her feel good physically and mentally.
     The pleasure and the mounting pressure in her stomach could only co-exist for so long. She finally broke off a kiss and shot me a nervous/embarrassed look. “Hey, hang on a sec, I…” she blushed… “I gotta use the bathroom.”
     “Oh, I think you’ll be ok,” I murmured, nibbling on her ear while giving her bowels another squeeze. She was struggling lightly now, but I kept her wrists pinned above her. She squirmed and strained against my grip, and I calmly slipped my knee between her thighs. Desperation and arousal collided. Candy writhed and squirmed; I pressed my thigh into her crotch and increased my hold on her bowels. As she squirmed in intestinal agony, she ground her increasingly wet pussy into my thigh. Kissing her lovely luscious lips I gathered her slender wrists into one hand and used the other to explore her body and delight in her womanly curves. The air was cool but she was hot, sweating as she struggled against her body’s own urges.
     Her belly gurgled, her rectum filled to capacity. “OOHH! OOO!” She clenched her buns and pranced in place, grinding her sex into my leg. “OH, please… let me go, I gotta go so bad…” Her voice was urgent, but husky: desperate to go, yet compelled to stay by the building heat in her loins.
     “Oh, come on,” I said good naturedly, “you’re a big girl, right? You can hold it…” I kissed her once more and snaked my hand around, giving her leather-encased bottom a squeeze, even as I tightened my grip on her innards. It was taking most of my concentration to keep her pacified and stoke her arousal and intestinal distress, but her reactions made it all worth it: Candy writhed and danced in my arms, pressing and rubbing her delectable body against me. With my free hand, I rubbed, patted and squeezed her round derrière, savoring it’s firmness as she clenched her buns.
     “No, really—I gotta go, honey. So bad! Number two…” she admitted, blushing brightly in the pale moonlight.
     “C’mon, you’re a big girl, you can hold it,” I admonished, even though I knew it wasn’t true. She was perched right on the edge: one more little goose from me and there was no way she’d be able to control herself. Fixing her eyes on mine, she reddened even further as she began passing gas wetly in the cool autumn air. She gave an anguished cry, her bubbly farts rumbling in the dark. She gazed at me, cheeks flushed with embarrassment as a vaguely fruity stench enveloped the area. It was almost time.
     “Please…. Please…” She whispered, her eyes wide and bright, her cheeks glowing pink in the pale moonlight. I sealed my mouth over hers, putting an end to her pleading. She groaned, desperate to run to the toilet, eager for more sexual stimulation. She danced in place as best she could with my leg pressed up against her sex, her thighs constricting around mine as she tried frantically to tighten her lower extremities, desperate to put off the explosion in her pants we both knew was becoming inevitable. With my free hand, I rubbed and squeezed her butt, savoring the way with went from soft and jiggley to firm and hard as she tightened and released her cheeks in response to the urgent pressure in her belly. Periodically, I’d give her a gentle push and squeeze out another ripper, her farts rumbling the seat of her tight leather pants and vibrating against my leg.
     Finally I knew we’d reached the end of her dance. I Smiled and traced my fingers down the back of her neck, making her shiver. Kissing her, I gave her bowels one last squeeze. She fought it as hard as she was able, but it was no use. Even with her tushy clenched as hard as it would go, she still couldn’t prevent the massive gush of muddy poop from rumbling nosily into the seat of her pants. She gasped and her eyes widened as the felt her seat expanding to accommodate the load.
     Without breaking our kiss, her eyes went as wide as they’d go, and she shot me a pleading look. I pressed my thigh against her crotch and gave her tummy another squeeze…
     Gasping, she shivered as a ghastly farting/squelching sound emerged from inside her tight leather pants. Muddy poop poured into the seat of her already bulging panties, expanding upward toward her waistband. Releasing her wrists, I gathered her into my arms gently and kissed her soothingly, even as she continued having a major accident in her pants.
     Candy could only make a series of small squeaks and squeals as she filled her pants. Another muffled fart announced that she was pushing out further installment. The mess mushed out of her leg bands and slid wetly down the backs of her thighs.
     And as she helplessly filled those tight leather slacks with a hot muddy mess, a symphony of rude and embarrassing noises oozing out of their shiny black seat, she shook and squirmed and ground her sex into my leg, her arousal overtaking her.
     She gave a brief, strangled cry as her orgasm overtook her. At the same time, I gave  her another push; a further pulpy load came farting out of her, forcing more mush down the backs of her thighs and up her crack as it settled wetly into the seat of her panties.
     Finally it was over. She collapsed against me, exhausted. Cradling her gently, I patted and rubbed her back, whispering re-assurances in her ear. She gasped, her heart beat banged against me, she rested her forehead, damp with sweat, against my cheek. Her thoughts were racing, and it was taking nearly all of my concentration to keep her from bursting into tears. Kissing her hair tenderly, I ushered her inside.
     I took her into the bathroom.
     Helping her into the tub, I turned her around to inspect her messy state. Nothing showed through the leather, but her rump was looking a little distended and lumpy. I reached out and gave her poopy, droopy seat a pat. “You really filled these up, didn’t you honey?”
     She shot me a look. “I told you I had to go!”
     “Hush,” I commanded, taking a pacifier from the medicine chest and pushing it into her mouth. She was surprised, but accepted it without a fuss. I couldn’t help but smile as she stared at me helplessly from behind the soother, which sat inert between her scarlet lips, shifting from foot to foot with a warm messy load in her pants. “go on and suck it, honey, it’ll make you feel better.”
     It was true: I’d made it so that sucking the pacifier would release a small amount of endorphins. Soon she was feeling nice and calm. “Arms up!” I commanded. She did as I instructed, standing by passively as I pulled her tank-top up and off her, her naked breasts spilling out, large and firm and succulent. I took a moment to look at her; topless in her sexy leather pants, she looked like a pin-up model—except for the big stinky load of poop in her pants, I thought reflectively as I undid the front of her slacks and turned her around before I tugged them down to her knees.
     I chuckled at what I saw: the back of Candy’s pretty, pristine pink panties were stained right through, covering most colored a mucky brown extending right up almost to the waistband. The seat bulged and drooped, the very top of her crack peeking out from over the top. A thick mudslide extended halfway down both thighs. The pants, though fine on the outside, were nuked on the inside, with stains all over the seat and down both legs. I tugged them off and tossed them into the trash, making a note to buy Candy a new pair, if for no other reason than she looked so good in them.
     The panties came next. Carefully, I tugged them down with my thumbs and index fingers. She stepped out of them gingerly, and I tossed them into the trash, and finally she was revealed to me. The poop was smeared thickly across her entire backside and caked into her butt crack.  Blushing, she peeked over her shoulder at me.
     Taking the showerhead down, I adjusted the water till it was nice and warm, then rinsed off her messy tushy. When I had most of it washed off, I took a cloth and some liquid soap and began to clean her more thoroughly. She moaned when I gave her pussy a gentle cleaning,  giggled when I buffed her buns, and squealed when I scrubbed her crack, paying careful attention to her adorable pink anus.
     Finally she stood in front of me, fresh, clean, and nude, her skin emitting a rosy glow. Behind her pacifier, she looked contrite, almost shy.  I took her hand gently and helped her out of the tub. With the biggest, fluffiest towel I had, I dried her thoroughly; Candy giggled sweetly, the soft fibers tickling her delicate skin. I took a moment to regard her perfect naked form, like a painting come to life. She batted her eyes shyly and sucked her pacifier slowly.
     I took her hand and lead her down the hall. She trotted behind me obediently like a little lost lamb, unselfconsciously naked and vulnerable, putty in my hands after my gentle treatment of her during her embarrassing incident.
     Ushering her into the bedroom with a few firm pats to her bare bottom, I followed her in and closed the door behind me.

Chapter Four: Baby Candy
     Sitting her clean, fresh bottom on the bed, Candy watched me with an expression of cautious curiosity and sucked her soother slowly. I stood in front of her, she dropped her eyes, but I reached out and took her chin, gently elevating it until she was looking me in the eye. “Do you feel better now?”
     She smiled and nodded, still working the pacifier between her lips. I sat next to her and rested my hand on her pale, smooth thigh. Bending foreword,  I kissed and neck and nibbled her ear, making her groan behind her pacifier. I trailed my fingers up her leg slow and deliberately; with a breathy sigh, she parted her thighs invitingly. Quickly, I had her aroused once more.
     I moved her up onto her hands and knees on the bedspread. I paced around her, admiring her lovely figure with a grin. From behind, her rump was as pale and plump as a new goose down pillow. I reach out tentatively to give it a friendly pat.  I rob and squeeze her soft cheeks affectionately; she glanced back at me over her shoulder, sucking the pacifier nervously. Grinning wolfishly, I game each cheek a firm spank, making her cringe and blush. “I should spank you for that little accident you just had you know,” I chided with a smile, landing another firm swat, making Candy squeal. I noticed with some glee that her ass was already nice and red after just a few swats. I robbed and patted her cheeks before allowing my hands to drop between her legs, finding her sex moist and ready. She gurgled ecstatically from behind her pacifier, spread her legs and stuck her rump up in the air behind her invitingly. Disrobing quickly, I took her from behind, my pelvis slapping up against her soft round buttocks in a steady rhythms. I was amused to see her clenching the pacifier tightly between her teeth as she squealed and bucked her way to another orgasm.
     With a gathering cry, she collapsed to the bed, savoring the coolness of the sheet on her breasts and stomach. She radiated pure contentment, her embarrassing accident pushed into the darkest corner in her mind… but still strong enough for me to make her doubt her adulthood. That would come in very handy as we entered the next phase of our little game…
     I moved quickly, gathering my supplies before moving quietly back to the bed and arranging them carefully on the mattress. Candy squirmed face down on the bed, mewling softly around her pacifier. Taking the talcum powder from the bed, I climbed up beside her. She murmured and twitched her hips—her buttocks, still a pale pink heart floating on a sea of china-doll skin, jiggled like strawberry jello. Grinning, I sprinkled talk onto her upturned rump, then took my time patting and rubbing it into her cheeks. Sighing appreciatively, she relaxed and stretched out, at peace.
     When I was finished, I positioned the cloth diaper beside her. I suddenly rolled her onto its padded seat, making her squeal. She peered up at me with helpless eyes as wide as saucers; I reacted quickly, sprinkling more powder onto her front and taking my time working it into her creamy skin. She writhed and groaned and spread her legs as wide as they’d go, squirming her bottom against the padded seat suggestively.
     She was buzzing with arousal once more: She got the shock of her life when, instead of pleasuring her, I tugged the diaper up snugly between her legs and sealed up the Velcro tabs. She sat up and stared at me, working the pacifier furiously between her lips, pleading silently. I smiled benevolently. “Now now, sweetheart,” I chided gently, giving her padded crotch a pat. “I just don’t want you to have any more accidents in your sleep.”
     Pouting, she crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. Great, she thought with a sigh, allowing me to pull up the plastic panties, how long’s he gonna hold THAT over my head?
     I finished with a wispy pink baby-doll nightie that didn’t cover her diapers and left her firm breasts and nipples exposed beneath the flimsy material. I gazed at her longingly, the perfect little angel. She stared at herself in the mirror, embarrassed beyond all belief at the infantile image staring back at her. But I could also feel arousal, genuine arousal, coupled strong feelings of safety and security. “C’mon,” I said, coaxing her up on her hands and knees once more, “Crawl around for me.” She shot me an embarrassed glance, but complied. She slowly moved about on the bedspread, the thickly diapered butt waggling delightfully behind her.
    Laughing, I sat next to her, put my arm around her shoulders and kissed her forehead before gently settling her back in bed. “There you go honey. You’ve had a tough day. You just sleep now: We’ll see about getting you out of those diapers in the morning, ok?”
      She nodded, still pouting. I helped her under the covers with a knowing grin: I had a suspicion Candy was going to be in diapers for a long time.
     “See you in your dreams, sweetheart,” I said sweetly as I turned out the light.

      Yeah, that’s the end for now, but don’t be pissed. We’d love to write more of these real soon, but as you’ve probably noticed, we’ve left several plates spinning. Ideally, which scenario would you like to see continued in a future story?
-  Officer Guzman’s inability to control her bowels?
- The history of our narrator including the birth of his powers and his feud with his beautiful stepsister Violet, and the humiliating consequences they have for her?
- Or should we continue with Baby Candy’s story?
Vote now!
(note: if you’re having trouble choosing, know that we’d like to and probably will do all three at some point. All future stories will be heavier on diaper content, we promise!)