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

Thursday, May 10, 2012

Lucy Peter's Home Farm Chapter Three


Home Farm
By Lucy Peters 


Chapter Three: Night-time; wet sheets and wetter nappies
Before getting into bed, I spent a few moments admiring myself in the mirror, holding my nightie up so I could see my trainer pants. They were made of thick white cotton, plain on the outside but with a terry-towel lining, with pink trim around the legbands and the make – ‘Nappinix’ – written in pink letters around the waistband. I thought I looked really cute in them. After a final twirl, I let my nightie drop and climbed into my comfy bed with it’s pink-and-yellow nursery quilt, feeling not the least bit sleepy and acutely concious of the thick softness of the trainer-pants between my legs. I could feel the sheet beneath me sliding around on the plastic mattress protector as I snuggled down with Mr. Brown, my own favourite teddy bear – a familiar feeling, as I have a plastic sheet on my bed at home too. I reached out to the bedside cabinet and picked up the remote controls of the big, widescreen TV and DVD player standing in the corner. This - I knew from reading the introductory Home Farm booklet - offered ‘exclusive and individual’ films – very much, I hoped, like the introductory ones we had already seen, which I’d found both enjoyable and stimulating. I’d already slipped a randomly-selected DVD (there were a stack of them, untitled but just labelled ‘Home Farm Films’) into the machine; when it came, up on the screen, the menu of items on offer looked hopeful: ‘Some ideas for scenarios you might like to try during your stay at Home Farm’ said the subtitle. The videos covered several different themes: ‘St P’s High”; ‘Camp Pamper’; ‘Oops!’ and ‘The Poopover’ were among the more striking. But – as I was wearing some - I decided to start with an item titled ‘Nappinix’
Ths turned out to be a very well-made mock commercial for ‘underwear for girls of an uncertain age’. The two girls who ‘starred’ in the ad were, like the regular cast of the Home Farm films, very pretty, but very difficult to place as to age; four going on twenty-four and almost anything in between. Both were petite, a dainty little blonde and a slightly taller girl with chestnut-brown hair and striking blue eyes. They were dressed in the usual sort of Home Farm big little-girl clothes – a short red pinafore dress over a pale blue top for the fair-haired girl, and a Ra-Ra skirt and yellow T-shirt for her friend. The two girls were playing ‘catch’ in a green parkland setting that looked very much as if it might have been filmed somewhere close to Home Farm; they were being watched by their ‘mothers’, two obviously older women were sitting on a bench and talking to each other. The camera closed in on the two girls as they tossed the ball to and fro, but the soundtrack was ‘eavesdropping’ the mother’s conversation.
The fair-haired girl caught the ball, but instead of throwing it back she grasped it and stood still for a moment, legs parted. The camera closed in quickly as a thin golden rain started to spatter from beneath the hem of her dress, quickly growing to a steady stream falling between her legs as she thoroughly peed her panties. The camera swooped down low to look up beneath the dress at the growing patch of grey wetness spreading over the seat of her white cotton little-girl briefs and the heavy stream flowing from the crotch.
“Oh dear, it looks as if your Emily’s toilet-training is slipping again,” said one of the ‘mothers’ “Does she wet like that very often?”
“I’m afraid so,” said the other ‘Mum’. “Girls these days seem to think it’s quite all right just to let go in their underwear when they can’t be bothered to go and look for the potty. Does your Sophie still do things in her undies as well?”
The other mother sighed. “Yes; she does. Sometimes it seems as if she never had any toilet-training at all!”
“That’s Emily, too; just uses her panties like a nappy half the time. It’s not so bad when we’re at home or outside, like now; but in someone else’s house or if we’re in a public place it can be a real problem. Especially if she decides to – well, you know.”
“You mean, do her…”
The camera was still looking up at Emily’s soaked panties, where the stream was now withering into a shrinking shower of droplets. The shot cut for a moment to Emily’s face, which was wearing a slightly far-away expression; she was also going just a little pink in the cheeks. The camera drew back to show her still standing, legs parted, still clutching the ball, before closing and dropping once more to look under her dress, where those wet white cotton panties were now dimpling outwards beneath her neat round bottom; there was a long sibilant squelch as the back of Emily’s knickers expanded suddenly and a speckled brown stain started to spread steadily across the clean white cotton, reaching upwards toward the waistband and down under the seat. After a brief pause, the squelching went on, the bulge and the stain growing more obvious as Emily completely filled her pants. Next moment, a nugget of rich brown fudge appeared beneath the left legband of the now-sagging panties, and the stain on the seat spread as the thick soft poo smeared against the inside of the wet cotton. Still more fudge squeezed out under the legband, and a soft lump slid down the back of her thigh and dropped to the ground with a soft ‘splat!’
The camera switched to the mothers, who were both staring as the brown softness slid from beneath the hem of Emily’s little red dress and ‘plopped’ onto the grass.
“Do her BMs in her knickers?” Emily’s mother sighed, and beckoned to her daughter. Obediently, Emily started towards her, walking the wide-apart-leg walk of a girl with very full pants.
“Turn around,” said her mother, when Emily stood in front of her. Emily turned, and her mother lifted the back of her dress to show those once-white panties - now stained and sagging, with their contents escaping down her legs.
“Does Sophie do this sort of thing, too?”
Sophie’s mum nodded.
 “Oh yes,” she said. “Sophie’s always filling her pants. She’s very fond of one of those ultra-high fibre kid’s cereals; they make for good big BMs, I must say.”
“Sometimes I have to keep Emily in nappies and plastic pants,” said her mother. “If we’re going anywhere public. Just so nothing escapes.”
“Well, if she does that big a BM in regular panties, it’s bound to get out. They just aren’t made to take it. What you need are Nappinix; that’s what I use for Sophie.”
“Nappinix?” Asked Emily’s mother, staring in well-feigned dismay at her ‘offspring’s bulging panties.
“Sophie!” called her ‘mother’. Sophie looked across, the obediently came trotting over.
“Yes, Mum?” she said.
“Sophie, just show Emily’s mother your undies.”
Sophie didn’t even look surprised; she just lifted her short Ra-Ra skirt and paraded her underwear: exactly the same sort of trainer pants as I was wearing as I lay watching!
“Well, they look just like ordinary knickers to me,” said Emily’s Mum, “Not much different to what Emily’s wearing. A bit thicker, maybe.”
“That’s because they’re meant to look ordinary,” said Sophie’s mother. “But they’re specially lined and padded so that they’ll soak up a surprising lot of wetness. They sort of slow everything down so there’s just get a trickle or two even if Sopie’s really flooding them. And they’re nice and roomy in the seat for a BM; the legbands are double – inner and outer, designed to stop anything getting out. And they even stop it smelling too obvious. It doesn’t seem to matter how wet and messy Sophie gets in her Nappinix, you’d hardly know she’d done anything.
“Unlike Emily,” said the other ‘mother’, wrinkling her nose and letting the hem of her ‘daughter’s’ dress drop and hide those stained and sodden panties. “So they really work well?”
Sophie’s mother nodded emphatically. “Oh yes. Let’s see if we can show you. Sophie, do you need to go potty now?”
Sophie looked a little surprised, but nodded.
“What sort of potty do you need? Wee-wee potty?”
Sophie nodded again
“Big potty, too,” she said, looking serious. “Need to go poo like Emily.”
“Go on, then, “ said her mother. “Do your business. Just keep holding your skirt out of the way so Emily’s Mum can see you going potty in your Nappinix.”
Sophie kept her serious face on as she parted her legs slightly and commenced the serious business of wetting and filling her underwear.
“Are you doing anything yet?” asked her mother, as Sophie in turn started to go a little pink in the cheeks.
“I’m weeing like anything,”she said conversationally, “And my smelly big-job is just starting to come out.”
The camera closed right in on Sophie’s pants as a damp patch eventually started to show at the crotch, gradually growing to a trickle that coursed discreetly down the insides of Sophie’s thighs.
“Here comes poo-poo,” said Sophie, screwing up her face and obviously straining. There was a distict ‘squrrch!” sound followed by a long muffled crackly squelching. The back of the Nappinix moved, stretching out into a gentle bulge. There were more squelchy sounds as Sophie pushed more poo out into her pants, but no stains appeared on the pristine white fluffy cotton seat of her knickers and nothing showed at her legs. Two further grunting strains were rewarded with further mud-puddle noises from inside the pants, but still nothing showed apart from the modest trickle of wee still dribbling gently down her leg.
“Finished,” said Sophie, a few last drips running down her right leg. “Did a great big squishy poo-job.”
“Come right here then, Sophie,” said her mother, “turn your back and hold your skirt right up so I can take a look.”
Sophie did as she was told. Her mother hooked a finger in the waistband of the Nappinix and pulled it out so that she could peer inside the back of Sophie’s pants.
“Oh, Sopie,” she said. “However much have you done! Just look at the mess you’re in!” Emily’s mum leaned over so that she too could see inside Sophie’s underwear – and so, of course, did the camera. It looked for all the world as if someone had emptied a good-sized bucketful of thick golden clay into the seat of those fluffy white knickers; the soft sticky mess extended right up almost to the waist in the back, and the layer of poo coating the cheeks of Sophie’s bottom was a good inch thick. Where the cleft between her neat litle buns came, there was a matching ridge of thick poo moulded to the inside of her pants.
“Well,” said Sophie’s Mum, letting go of the waistband so the elastic snapped back into place around Sophie’s midriff. “As you can see – no lack of capacity. But nothing showing at all. Even if she runs about or sits down it’ll all stay put. Here, Sophie, come and sit next to me.”
The obedient Sophie went and sat next to her mother; there was a soft-but-audible “squerch!” as her weight came onto the contents of her pants.
“I want to sit down too,” said Emily, who had been watching all this from her end of the seat. And, before any one could stop her, she had planted her pretty – but very messy – little backside firmly on the end of the hard wooden bench with a much louder “squerch!”.
“Oh dear!’ said her mother, as the camera closed to shown the thick brown softness oozing out at the legbands of Emily’s panties, leaving little piles on the seat and smearing the hem of her dress. The camera tracked around to Sophie’s end of the seat, and closed up to show that nothing at all was oozing from her knickers.
“Can we go back and play now?” asked Sophie.
Emily’s mother looked a bit doubtful.
“I think Emily needs a change before she does any more playing,” she said.
“Oh please, Mum,” said Emily, jumping to her feet and leaving two thick brown smears on the seat.
“Well, just for a few minutes,” said her mother. “But make sure no-one sees you in that mess…”
“Better get Emily some Nappinix too,” said Sophie’s mother, just a trifle smugly.
The parkland scene faded out, to be replaced with a sequence of Emily and Sophie modelling Nappinix: Emily, looking coy, finger in mouth and hair in bunches, wearing just a white cotton vest and a pair of the pants; “Your daughter will never look cuter than when she’s wearing her Nappinix,” claimed the voice-over. Emily again, in a colourful garden, dressed in a pretty summer dress, walking towards the house with a characteristic full-pants waddle. The camera followed her indooors, into the kitchen where her mother was busy, overheard her saying in a surprisingly convincing little-girl voice:”Mummy, I’ve gone potty in my pants.” Followed her again, into the bathroom with her mother, watched as Emily had her shoes and socks taken off, her dress lifted and the Nappinix lowered and turned inside-out to show the seat filled with soft brown poo-fudge, carried on watching as the mess was emptied into the toilet and the pants were rinsed out, when it could be seen that most of the mess was simply washed away.” “Nappinix stay clean on the outside, easy to clean on the inside,” said the voiceover.
Then came some short sequences featuring Sophie: Firstly, standing in a doorway wearing Nappinix under her blue nightdress, which she was holding up. Her mother was kneeling in front of her, helping her to step into some soft-looking plastic pants which also had a white waistband and Nappinix branding “Cut down on the work caused by night-time accidents with Nappinix Overnights – extra absorbent, and designed to be used with our matching Nappidry waterproof panties for heavy wetters,” intoned the voiceover. The scene faded, then the screen brightened again to show Sophie, wearing her short red Ra-Ra skirt and T-shirt and standing in the corner of a children’s adventure playground (which also looked suspiciously like the playground we’d seen through the windows of Home farm). Sophie stood on her own, looking preoccupied; then she gave a little smile (she really was a very pretty girl) and squatting down clasping her knees, assumed an expression of intense concentration. The white seat of her Nappinix showed clearly beneath the hem of her short skirt and after a few moments a small shower of drips started to fall from the lowest point as she weed in them. Then Sophie took a deep and very audible breath, srewing up her face and going a little pink as she strained to have a BM; seconds later, there was a rich crackling squelch and the white cotton under her bottom bulged suddenly as she completely filled her pants in one concerted effort. She stood up again and felt behind herself, prodding the yeilding bulge in her pants with her fingertips.
“Did a poo,” she said brightly to the camera, smiling again. “Did a b-i-i-i-g poo.”
The camera then followed her around as she energetically tackled the playground, watching her swinging on ropes, coming down slides, wriggling through tunnels and clambering all over a climbing frame, her skirt continually flying up to show her pristine (on the outside) underwear. “Nappinix are ideal for the active youngster,” said the voiceover, “And can avoid embarrasment for any girl from toddler to teen…” The camera tracked from the seat of Sophie’s Nappinix, pulling back and looking upwards to show Emily, standing on top of the slide wearing a little yellow sun-dress. The angle changed to look under Emily’s dress and the shot zoomed in to show that she was only wearing ordinary little-girl cotton panties – white with blue trimmings and a picture of Winnie-the-Pooh on them. Next moment, a wet spot appeared at the crotch and quickly grew into a veritable cascade as Emily comprehensively weed her knickers; the camera moved steadily round until the seat of those little panties was fully in view, the grey tide of wetness spreading quickly through the cotton. Next moment, there was a sharp ‘sqrrrch!’ followed by a long soft sibilant symphony of squelchy sounds as Emily, too, completely filled her pants with a large, soft BM; the seat of those little knickers bulged spectaculary and rich ochre fudge showed simultaneously at the legbands on both sides as a wide stain spread swiftly over the white cotton. Then camera drew quickly back as Emily smiled coyly down - before plonking herself down on the slide with a resounding ‘squelch’ and coming slowly down to the bottom, leaving two long, ochre smears on the shining metal… The camera then followed Emily round the playground as she played enthusiastically. Very quickly the contents of her knickers started to escape and she got messier and messier, the back of her panties now stained completely yellow-brown with thick smears of poo at the legbands and spreading down her thighs, with more smears on her dress. She left poo on the slide, poo on the seat of the swing, and – especially – poo on the see-saw, on which she bounced enthusiastically with Sophie on the other end.
The Nappinix ad came to a close with Sophie and Emily standing side-by-side in a bathroom, backs to the camera, looking coyly over their shoulders and holding hands. Both girls were wearing only underwear – cotton vests on top, and their messed-in panties below; the contrast between Sophie’s apparently-unblemished knickers and the stained and sagging wreckage of Emily’s Winnie-the-Pooh cotton panties made the point. Then Sophie’s ‘mother’ came into shot to grasp the waistband of those well-rounded Nappinix and ease them downwards over Sophie’s pert bottom – a bottom thickly smeared with soft toffee-gold fudge, fudge which also completely packed the seat of the pants. The camera closed in to establish that Sophie had done just as big a BM as Emily – tracking back and forth between the inside of the Nappinix and the outside of Emily’s panties - before Sophie’s mum settled the waistband back in place and gave her daughter a playful pat on her full seat. “Nappinix – take everything a girl can do in them,” concluded the voiceover, sounding positively triumphant. The screen faded.
I lay snuggled in the bed, more concious than ever of the feel of those soft, fleecy pants under my bottom – and concious also of a growing need to do a poo myself; my tummy and bottom felt wonderfully full. I snuggled down a bit further, and skipped through the various tracks on the DVD. “Poo-pants on purpose’ sounded promising – so I selected it and curled up into my favourite position, on my side with my thumb in my mouth and my teddy-bear clasped firmly under my arm. Gently at first, then steadily harder, I started to push at my bottom, feeling my BM start to move towards freedom. As I pushed, little jets of wee were spurting into the front of my pants. On the screen, I chose an item called ‘I don’t want to go to tea with Aunt Mary’. The shot showed another ‘big-little’ girl – it was Alice, from the video we’d watched earlier – standing in a doorway with one hand on the frame. She was wearing a very smart navy-blue velvet dress with a white lace collar, neat white socks and shiny black Mary-Jane shoes. Her dark brown hair was neatly brushed and held in place with – appropriately – an Alice-band. She was also wearing a rather petulant expression on her pretty face and fidgetting a little. She let go of the doorframe and nervously plucked at the hem of her dress, holding it up to give a glimpse of the plain white cotton panties she wore underneath.
The tip of my emerging poo was touching the inside of my knickers now; I stopped pushing then and let it rest there, half-in and half-out, as I watched Alice fidget and hoick her frock higher. The camera tracked around and closed in to watch a little bump appear in the back of Alice’s panties, a bump that quickly grew and started to push outwards and downwards. The panties weren’t at all tight-fitting but Alice was apparently doing a good big ‘big job’ as the cotton was soon stretching over a peak that slowly folded over into a lumpy round bulge. I started pushing again, and felt my own effort press against the cotton towelling lining of my trainer-pants; it wasn’t a particularly squashy BM, but it was still soft enough to start spreading comfortably sideways under my bottom. I let out a good spurt of pee and kept pushing. Alice was peeing too now – not hard, just a thin trickle dribbling from her crotch as she continued to fill the sagging seat of her knickers. The legbands of her panties had a fine pink scalloped trim which was slowly moving away from the smooth skin of her legs, pushed outwards as the poo moved down and forwards inside her pants; the camera closed still further to give a glimpse through the legband at the stiff chocolate-coloured dough that was now invading the front of those prim white knickers.
My trainer pants were also getting comfortably full; my BM was rather softer than Alice’s and a warm, sticky paste was now spread all over the inside of the seat of my bedtime knickers. I gave a final push, and was rewarded with another long spurt of pee and a surprisingly large but very squishy last lump of poo that squidged up behind me. I sighed and relaxed, enjoying the feelings of being in such a gloriously wet and messy state in bed – although when I felt around the outside of my Nappinix they were almost dry, with just a small wet spot on my sheet. I wiggled my bottom in my mess, and settled down to watch some more poo-pants TV. Alice had been ‘discovered’ by her ‘mother’, who was now holding the back of that prim-and-proper velvet dress high and staring in well-feigned disbelief at the well-filled seat of Alice’s pristine white knickers. The scene ended with a scolding ‘mother’ leading Alice off – presumably to be changed into fresh pants; Alice looked back over her shoulder and grinned and winked at the camera.
The next little item was entitled ‘Oops!’ and featured Katie as a cute little schoolgirl, dressed in a blue-and-white check gingham dress with her hair in old-fashioned plaits with blue ribbons. She had red children’s sandals on her feet, and little white socks with turn-down tops. In her hands she held the ends of a skipping-rope. She looked straight into the camera and smiled coyly; Katie, I realised, had a wonderful dimple in her cheek that gave her a real coy-little-girl look. She smiled again, then turned away; next moment she was skipping, jumping deftly over the rope as she twirled it around. Faster went the rope, as Katie skipped harder, then slower again. She was getting a little pink in the cheeks with effort, and her dress kept flipping up to give glimpses of her white ‘Little Miss’ nursery-print cotton panties. Then, as Katie skipped steadily on, a shower of drips and drops started to fall from beneath the hem of that little check dress, dribbling onto the flipping rope and making small wet patches on the playground. The drops grew more frequent until a steady stream was splattering on the ground betweeen Katie’s feet, soaking the skipping rope and splashing over her socks and sandals.
Katie was skipping slower and slower now, finally letting the rope drop and standing still as the last few drips of wee spattered onto the ground. She stood there, feet a little apart and the skipping-rope still in her hands, smiling shyly at the camera. Then she gave a little gasp, and bit her lip. I expected the camera to track down low and look up under that cute little dress to show us Katie’s ‘Little Miss Mischief’ panties filling with poo; but it didn’t; instead, the shot remained focused on Katie’s face, watching her expression – which went from slightly mischevous to just a bit worried as the soundtrack crackled with the unmistakable sound of a large, soft BM oozing its way into those neat little knickers. As her pants filled, Katie’s eyes opened wider and wider, and she brought a hand – still grasping one handle of the skipping rope – up to her mouth.
“Ooops!” she said - and grinned.
 Then, starting slowly at first then getting faster and faster, she started skipping again, jumping nimbly over the rope as it flicked around, changing foot, putting in extra skip-steps on some swings. Once again, her dress flew up, giving fleeting glimpses of those once-neat nursery knickers, now sagging somewhat in the rear. Suddenly, the camera went to slow-motion and closed right in, the screen filling with languid views of those well-and-truly poo’d-in pants, with the big arc of wetness on the seat now tinged a pale shade of brown and the lumpy bulge within jiggling and spreading under the wet cotton as Katie kept on skipping and dripping. The camera lingered as the pale chocolate fudge began to work its way outwards from the seat of those enchanting little knickers, creeping down the topmost part of Katie’s legs and peeking out under the pale blue trim at the leg-openings, until eventually a little nugget slid right out and fell – still in slow motion - plop! onto the ground. The camera drew back and went back to real time as Katie gradually slowed her skipping to a standstill as more chocolate nuggets fell to the ground.
“Ooops!” she said again, adding – somewhat unnecessarily – “Did poo-poo in my pants.”
Just then a whistle blew and a voice was heard calling “Come along, play time is over now.”
Katie, looking a little uncertain, wiggled her botttom in her messy knickers and pulled the hem of her dress firmly down. Then she carefully coiled up her skipping-rope and, walking a little bow-legged, set off towards the distant ‘shool’ buildings. The camera followed her, gradually dropping back and panning away until Katie was out of sight. As the image faded, the ‘teacher’s’ voice was heard saying, in an exasperated tone. “Oh Katie, you haven’t done it in your pants again!”
I enjoyed the Katie video so much that I played it through a second time, glorying in the warm, sticky sensations of my own full pants and vowing that I too would try playing with a skipping rope with a big soft poo in my knickers. I was just about to look for another film when the door opened and Angela put her head round.
‘Are you all right?” she said. “Need your sheets changing yet?”
“Err…” I said. Angela sniffed knowingly.
“I fancy I can smell big jobs,” she said. “Have you gone poo-poo in the bed?”
I nodded, sheepishly.
“Well, as it’s proper poo, I think we’d better change you. You don’t want to start the weekend with a sore bottom, do you?”
I shook my head, rather hesitantly; the soft BM in my pants felt so nice that I didn’t want to part with it just yet.
Angela saw my disappointed look.
“Don’t you want to be changed, then?”
I bit my lip and shook my head.
“My bottom feels happy,” I said, in my best little-girl voice. Angela smiled.
‘Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll be able to get messy again soon. Now, are your sheets wet too?”
“Only a little bit,” I said.
“Out you get, then,” she said. “Let’s get you clean and dry for the night.”
I followed her into the nursery, enjoying the feeling of the soft, sticky poo moving around inside my trainer pants. I stood and held my nighty up as Angela slid them carefully down round my ankles so I could step out of them. When I looked, I hadn’t really done all that much poo in them, certainly nowhere near the sort of amount that Sophie and Emily seemed to manage. Even the wet spot in the front of my pants wasn’t particularly impressive.
“Lie down on the changing table, there’s a good girl,” said Angela. So I lay there on my tummy with my nighty bunched up round my middle and my bare bottom in the air as Angela washed and wiped me thoroughly Then, almost before I realised it, she was busy doing something where my little back passage was – a feeling like a long squirt of warm water going into my bottom. Her fingers were deft and gentle, and it all happened so quickly that I wasn’t even really sure if she had slipped anything into me or not; I hoped she had! While I was still wondering, Angela busied herself appplying thick white baby-sweet cream and powder, being especially careful to put plenty around my pee-pee and my bottom. I still wasn’t sure what she’d done with my little bottom-hole, but what she did with the cream felt really nice! Then she told me to roll over onto my back and lift my legs, and next moment I found myself being deftly pinned into a big white fluffy terry-towelling nappy. Then she was pulling a pair of plastic pants over my ankles – soft, see-through pink vinyl pants, snug and comfy. She snapped the waistband around my midriff and settled the elastic legbands over my nappy, then held out a hand to help me get up.
“Bedtime,” she said. “Would you like a bedtime drink?”
Quarter of an hour later I was snuggled up back in bed with dry sheets, my tummy full of a nice chocolate drink and Mr Brown the bear clasped under my arm. I stuck my thumb where a little girl’s thumb should be and just relaxed. After only a few minutes, I felt the urge to wee start to build up; that chocolate drink had apparently trying to go straight through me. Went straight through me, as I just let go and tinkled gently into my thick white nappy, feeeling the warm wetness spread under me as my wee hit the inside of those soft vinyl pants and ran down under my bottom. It felt lovely; I wished I could go on weeing for ever. But I didn’t; and in just a few more moments I was fast asleep.

Part 4

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