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

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.