Case Study: Pampers

I stumbled upon a public relations agency's case study for a Pampers advertising campaign today and thought you might find it interesting. Imagine being the person who's responsibility it is to spread the word about Pampers. Dream job?

Case Study: Pampers Golden Sleep, China
 
Challenge

In 2007, Procter & Gamble's first brief to Shunya International, Porter Novelli's partner agency in China, was to devise and implement an integrated campaign to build "sleep" into Pampers' brand equity, and to boost sales and market share by educating expectant and new mothers about the benefits of longer uninterrupted sleep to their babies' cognitive development.

Data

Pampers had commissioned independent U.S. and Chinese expert clinical research which showed Pampers' competitive superiority in ensuring longer uninterrupted sleep for babies, called 'golden sleep' in China; these new results were available for use in the campaign. Initial research conducted by the agency into young mothers' online habits showed that the majority of Pampers' target market were regular Web users for information, and liked sharing baby hints and tips with their friends.

Insight

The agency's insights process identified that in the often-bewildering life of new mothers, the most profound moment to think about the development of their child is when they are looking at their sleeping baby. This insight led to the development of the core creative platform-to encourage new mothers to photograph their sleeping babies, and upload the pictures to Pampers' Chinese website.

Approach

The campaign's hook was that the sleeping baby photos would be made into a giant photomontage, and the final compelling attraction was a campaign to break the Guinness World Record for the largest photomontage in the world.

The campaign was planned as a combination of three key elements:

Offline media and experiential activities including mass carnivals and in-store campaigns in China's Tier 1 cities
Online recruitment and viral programs including the launch of a Sleep Tracker, allowing parents to monitor their babies' sleeping patterns.
A professional clinical and medical education and endorsement campaign, including an educational documentary shot and made by the agency in the U.S. and China.
Additional viral activities were added halfway through the program when the World Record target was broken by a German company, leaving the Pampers campaign with a new target-to upload more than 80,000 photos!

Success

200,000 baby photos were collected, smashing the Guinness World Record, with 109,000 being used to create a photomontage covering 660 square meters, unveiled in one of Pampers' key retail partners' stores in Shanghai. As a result of the campaign, Pampers' sales volumes grew by 54 percent compared to the previous year, and the brand's market share returned to growth. The campaign attracted more than 100,000 new members to Pampers' Mums Club, increasing the Club's penetration of China's online mothers from 26 percent to 43 percent. P&G has recognized the campaign as setting new global standards for effective integrated communications, and Porter Novelli's agency partner was recognized as 'most creative interactive agency' in the 2008 Market Forum awards organized by China's Marketing and Sales magazine.

That's Just Wrong...

Stopped in to get a fresh cut and had to take a piss. What if I'd just stopped in for a change? Can you see me sitting in the stylist's chair, a big soaked wet Pamper in my lap? Seems like kind of a shitty rule to me... diaper discrimination?

Thugs in Hugz: Part IX - The End

Beep beep beep beep beep. My phone alarm was going off, and I reached over and picked the Treo up from the nightstand, flipping it off before I realized it wasn't my phone beeping. I rolled to the edge of the bed and looked down at Chris, who looked up at me with a surprised expression on his face. I saw his cell phone sticking out from underneath him; it was obvious that he'd been playing with it and tried to hide it when the beeping began. Ordinarily he'd been in for a swat, but I had to be at work in a few hours, and I'd promised to drive Christopher to a city two hours away for a hook-up with some party line whore - whoops, I mean, his girlfriend.

"Sorry, sir," Chris said sheepishly, and I gave him a stern look. He looked genuinely ashamed, but in the days he'd spent in diapers he'd become pretty good at playing the part, so who knew. I reached down and picked up his phone, switching it off and looking at the time.

"Damn, dude... we're running late..."

Chris immediately volunteered to shower first, and I agreed. He'd been laying in nothing but a diaper on a blow-up mattress on the floor, and he looked cold. He jumped up and whooshed into the bathroom, leaving the sliding door open and jumping directly into the shower. I could see his silhouette through the glass door as he pulled his X-Plus down and off and balled it up. He tossed it over the shower door, landing it in the wastebasket with ease.

I had expected a thump and, surprised when there was none, walked into the bathroom and looked down into the can. The diaper was... dry. I'd fed the kid three baby bottles the night before, one warm milk and two water. He'd been drinking pretty heavily through the evening before, as well, and I hadn't given him any potty trips. I'd fully expected his diaper to be hanging off his ass by morning, and hadn't even thought of it. Had he snuck a trip while I slept??

Sniff, sniff.

I stood up and, just as I did, noticed the unmistakable odor: piss. I turned around and looked into the shower. There is was, plain as day: Chris, ass-end facing me, leaning against the shower with both of his hands above his head - peeing. WTF! It continued for more than thirty seconds before I turned around and walked out.

Chris must have been holding it all night...

Chris's shower lasted a few minutes, and then it was my turn. Chris stepped out, looking around for a towel. I'd removed it from the rack and, as Chris stood drip-drying, I snapped my fingers and pointed to the corner. He quickly walked into it, nose-to-wall, and I undressed and got in the shower, making sure to rinse it throughly before stepping in. A few minutes later I was done, and I stepped out, grabbing a fresh towel from the sink and drying off.

"Oh... you get a towel, sir?" Chris complained. I whirled the towel into a rat tail and gave him a nice whip in the ass, and he jumped, half-turning to face me. "No towel whips, sir!" I chuckled and walked over to him, giving him a pat on the bottom and draping the towel over his shoulders. Chris stood still as I rubbed it on his shoulders, back, and down to his feet. I turned him around and towel dried his chest, tummy, and legs, then flopped the towel over his head, working it into his scalp. A minute or two later he was dry, and it was time to go.

"Time to get dressed," I told him. He turned and began to walk toward his clothes, and I ordered him to stop. He turned to face me. I snapped my fingers and pointed to the floor.

"Crawling, sir?" he asked, seeming annoyed. "I figured since we were all done..."

"Who says we're done?"

"I thought since I was going home and we were getting dressed I'd probably be able to walk."

I shook my head, and Chris obediently dropped to his hands and knees, crawling across the floor toward the corner containing all of his possessions. He grabbed his kicks, socks, and jockeys, sliding along on his bottom toward the sliding glass door and leading up against it. He put his socks on one by one and then picked up his drawers, reaching down toward his feet.

"Hold up," I said. Chris looked up at me; I was standing over him with my hands outstretched. He obediently, if reluctantly, handed me his drawers. I walked into the kitchen, flipped the top of the trash receptacle, and dropped Chris's underpants in.

"Um, sir?"

I turned to Chris and waited.

"Sir... that was my... only pair."

I put my finger to my lips. Shhhhh. I walked into the bedroom and grabbed the diaper bag, pulling a medium Attend and a bottle of baby powder from it. I turned to return to the living room but decided to stop and make the bed. Chris waited patiently, butt naked, while I got everything nice and neat. I picked the diaper and powder back up and walked into the living room, and he began to shake his head.

"Sir... I'm going to chill with a girl. I was thinking... my big kid underwear might... impress her more?"

"It's a two hour trip," I told him. "Lie down."

Chris groaned, but complied. I lifted his feet and dropped the diaper under his rear in one fluid motion. Chris was powdered and diapered within a minute. I walked across to the corner and grabbed his jeans and T, tossing them to him. He got dressed, struggling to keep his jeans over the slipperiness of his diaper, finally cinching his belt another notch.

"Does this make my ass look fat?" Chris deadpanned. I laughed, and he interrupted me. "No, seriously... can you tell I'm wearing it?"

"I can," I began, and Chris interrupted me.

"Sir, you probably have eagle-sharp vision for diapers three miles away. I mean, can normal people tell, do you think?"

"Normal?"

"You know what I mean, sir..."

I told Chris most people probably wouldn't be able to, and he started laughing.

"Sir... just... text me twenty minutes after you drop me off and remind me not to forget to change before I get undressed in front of my girl."

Agreed.

It had snowed overnight, and several feet of big, fluffy snow covered the ground. The sun was shining and everything glistened. The roads were still covered in some places, and black ice was sure to be an issue.

Chris could sense that I was nervous. As we drove he put his hand on my shoulder, rubbing it.

"You're a pretty good driver, sir," he told me. "You've driven me in a snow storm, and in the middle of the night on country roads, and we haven't hit a deer or snowbank yet. Keep it up, sir..."

We'd driven twenty miles to wear one country highway crosses another. As a college student I'd once made an emergency diaper change at this corner; I'd chosen it because it was rural and pitch black. In the years since a gas station, McDonald's, and pizza shop had been put in. We pulled into McDonalds for some coffee - as much for its warm-up value as for the wake-up factor for the long drive ahead.

"I'll take a large coffee with cream and sugar, and a medium with milk and Equal," I told the drive-thru voice. As I pulled around to the window Chris rolled his eyes.

"Only you get a large?"

I laughed and shook my head.

"The large is for you," I told him. "This is a two-hour trip on good roads... probably gonna take us three hours... are you crazy? What do I look like, drinkin' a large coffee with no bathrooms between here and two hours from here?"

"Oh, so... it's okay for me to have to pee - " Chris began. I reached over and patted his crotch, and Chris appeared to suddenly remember that he was still in a diaper. "Sir... I hoooope I don't show up to meet this girl in anything but a dry diaper..."

"Remember how you held it all night long? Before you pissed all over my shower?" I asked. Chris blushed and started to argue, then stopped and nodded meekly. "Good luck," I told him. He rolled his eyes and, as the clerk took my credit card, shouted out that I'd made a mistake.

"We wanted a medium and a small!"

Too late...

The roads were snowy and icy. In some areas they'd already been plowed, but in others they hadn't, and I was forced to drive twenty miles an hour in some places. I'd long since finished my coffee, and Chris his; soon we were both cold, wishing for a second cup.

Chris had become more talkative - almost hyper. I wondered if it was the coffee, the excitement of meeting someone new, or a combination of the two. I listened and Chris told me about much of his life, from the time he wet his pants in fifth grade to his reasons for dropping out of school - and how he wanted to go back.

"I wish I'd known you when I was younger," Chris confided.

"I'd probably be in jail," I joked, and Chris laughed.

"Not for the diapers part, sir," he told me. "Just... being able to do stuff."

More guilt... I was taking Chris away to diaper and spank him, and he was enjoying the road trip experience.

"This summer we'll do shit," I told him.

"Sailing... right?" Chris asked hopefully. I nodded, and he beamed. "I think I'll make a good sailor," he said. "I was gonna join the Navy, but..." he trailed off.

"Felony record?" I guessed.

"Yes, sir."

We were silent for a little while, me driving and Chris contemplating, and occasionally playing with his phone. Chris began mumbling something after a while, and his mumbling soon turned into a sort of song. Within a few minutes I realized he was rapping.

Met this dude on MySpace

Said YO! Come back to my place

I was broke and starving

Took him up on his offer with haste!

My first time at a lake house

Was already half-soused

Dude couldn't even put a damper on it

When he told me to put a Pamper on it

"Are you serious?" I asked him, and he laughed and shushed me.

He told me he got somethin for thugs

He told me he believes in 'Hugs, not drugs'

You think he coulda told me maybe

The Hugs are the ones you put on a baby?

(It sounded better while he was beat boxing it, lol).

To most people I'm such a 'wigger'

Look at me now and go figure

I'm wearing a baby diaper

Only a little bit bigger...

"Your rap career is destined to be on MySpace only," I warned Chris and he laughed, hitting me with a few more bars.

"Bet you never had one of your thugs throw down a rap for you, sir" he told me. I had to laugh; I hadn't...

We were getting closer to our destination, and now it was Chris's turn to be nervous.

"I hope that I don't get set up, sir," he confided. "I've never met this girl. I only talked to her on the internet. When she invited me to spend the weekend..."

"You're staying all weekend?" I interrupted. Chris nodded.

"I just hope that she's not a drunken whore, sir," Chris told me. "I sometimes have a problem when girls wanna talk shit to me. Like... an anger problem." Chris stressed the word anger as though it was hard to believe, like I might be surprised. I almost chuckled, but I could see how serious Chris was.

"Just ask her not to drink," I suggested. Chris rolled his eyes.

"I'm staying at her place, with her family," he told me. "So she can pretty much do... whatever."

This sounded like a pretty poor idea.

"I have to say... I think this might be a mistake," I warned him. "I mean... a whole weekend... are you sure?"

Chris shrugged his shoulders, and then asked something that surprised me.

"If it doesn't go well... can I come back and spend the weekend with you?" He must have seen the look of apprehension on my face because he almost immediately threw in the offer to spend it in diapers. "And besides, sir... might be good practice for this summer. The more we get to know each other now, the better off we'll be this summer... 'cause you know we're gonna be doing some chilling..."

I agreed, tentatively, but assured Chris I thought he'd be fine.

"It'd be funny if she's setting me up, huh, sir?" He asked me. "I mean, if they're just having me come all the way out here so that they can rob me. Take my kicks and my phone and shit..."

"Think they'll take the diaper or let you keep it?" I asked, and Chris laughed.

"Forgot I was wearing that, sir... man, hope they don't leave me standing in the snow in just that... snow plow'll see pasty white skin and a diapered ass and drive right over me!"

We both laughed. Within a few minutes we were waiting in a parking lot, and after a few more Chris's new friend had arrived. She looked gangsta but not too trashy.

"Definitely not the robbing type," I told him. He laughed.

"Hope not, sir..."

The girl got out of the car she was riding in and walked over to mine. Chris rolled down the window and introduced himself. She started to open his door, presumably to help him get his stuff out of the car, but he stopped her.

"And I want you to meet my friend Chris," he told her. "This man could've left my ass on the side of the road with my thumb sticking out, but he didn't. He drove me all the way here... so I could see you..."

Chris's friend was polite, but seemed less than impressed. Chris looked at me and rolled his eyes, the leaned over and, again to my surprise, gave me a hug.

I was driving away about ten minutes later when I heard it.

Beep beep. Beep beep.

I picked up my phone and looked at the screen.

Look in the visor.

I pulled my visor down; nothing. I pulled the passenger seat visor down and a crisp $20 fluttered out.

A few minutes later, another text.

It's for driving me all that way, SIR. But don't forget to fill your tank in case you have to come rescue me!

I texted a thank you back - and the requested reminder.

Don't forget: diaper.

Chris's last text: OMFG thank you thank you thank you!

I drove away wondering if Chris had managed to remain dry...

Chris and I had talked about doing things over the summer, but they never materialized. I'd found a hot gay model who was willing to wear for $20 a pop, and was even toying with the idea of posing for pictures. (He didn't). He lived within walking distance of my house and spent every waking hour on MySpace; any time I wanted to diaper a hottie he was ready to walk down, and willing to stay as long as necessary. I missed Chris's thugginess - and the spankings - but it was so easy to diaper a neighbor, as opposed to driving over an hour to pick up and Pamper a thug...

Still, Chris and I had become friends. He'd rapped about diapers for me. I'd intended to spend some time with him. My grandmother had died about a month after my last session with Chris, and life had gotten kind of crazy. Summer was half-way over before I realized I'd never called him and, once I did, we made some tentative plans, but nothing panned out.

In September 2006 I made the decision to move south. Chris and I hadn't talked for a few months, but in October I put up an AIM status message: MOVING SOUTH, LEAVE MONDAY, WHO'S DOWN FOR SOME CHILLAGE. Chris saw it and replied:

"Me, sir."

Awwww.

I talked to Chris about an overnight session the following weekend. We agreed on a date and time but, when the weekend came around, Chris AIM'd me to cancel. A few days later the same; this time it was my turn to cancel. The following weekend would be my last weekend in New York. Chris found out, and messaged me, begging me to take him up on his Pampers for pay offer. I consented, and arranged to meet him in the Tops parking lot that night...

I was about to drive to my first diaper disaster.

I spent the day on my sailboat. It was my last weekend in New York, and I was starting to feel apprehensive about moving - and especially about leaving my boat. I'd spent my entire life in New York, and was about to embark on something new. I wasn't sure that putting Chris in a diaper was how I wanted to spend one of my last nights in New York.

I called Chris around dinner time and told him I wasn't sure.

Chris begged me to come. He told me he'd been looking forward to it... he needed the money... I'd promised to spend time with him over the summer but never came through... he needed the money...

I relented, and made the thirty-minute drive. I'd spent the previous day packing for the move. My head was pounding by the time I got there, and I wasn't looking forward to the drive back, much less spending the night awake with Chris.

For the first time I wanted to not put someone in a diaper...

Chris was about to help me out.

I sat in the parking lot for twenty minutes. It wasn't like Chris to not be ready and waiting. Save the first time we'd met, when Chris actually was waiting but at the opposite end of the parking lot, he'd always been the one waiting for me.

At the entrance to the grocery store were two city police squad cars. Probably a shoplifter, I thought. I wondered whether it was Chris. I glanced around the parking lot and noticed an unmarked car in the corner by the gas station. Sting operation? Were my days of paying to Pamper about to come to a close?

I tried calling Chris, but his phone was off. Must be why he needed the money... I thought. I waited another five minutes and then, figuring twenty-five minutes was enough time, I turned on the engine and began to drive away.

As I prepared to pull out of the parking lot I saw him: Chris, coming out of the liquor store. His swagger was unmistakable, and I remember thinking he must have been in there the entire thirty minutes because I would have seen him go in...

Chris looked straight at me, and then looked away and began walking in the opposite direction.

Wtf?

I'd driven thirty minutes to meet him, and now he was giving me the cold shoulder. Something was up. He was acting strangely, and I noticed that he seemed totally different: distant and, for some reason, twitchy. I wondered if he'd been like that before but I hadn't noticed.

I drove by him and slowed down. Chris didn't look at me, and kept walking. I shrugged and began to drive away, but he shouted and I slowed down; he then ran up along side me and opened the door, getting in.

Chris sat next to me for about ten seconds as I drove across the parking lot toward the exit. As we pulled into the exit lane he pointed to a parking spot.

"Pull in, pull in, pull in, I can't do this."

Wtf?

I stopped and Chris opened the door, stepping out. He leaned in my window, looking at me blankly, and it looked like he'd been crying.

"I'm sorry, sir. I just can't do it..."

Chris had worn diapers for me on numerous occasions, and he was backing out?

"Are you sure, Chris?" I asked him. "If you can't I understand, I'm just surprised..."

Chris opened the door again and flopped his bottom into the seat next to me.

"It's just that... I mean... I don't want to... but I feel like... I have no choice," he stammered.

Before I could even begin to feel the corresponding guilt for diapering Chris and leaving him scarred for life, he continued:

"Sorry, but I have to."

Chris reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife, clenching it in his fist and holding it in my direction.

"I need the money up front, sir," he told me. "I need it now."

If you've never had a knife pulled on you you're missing out. It really helps clear your mind. Any thoughts you may have had before the moment you realize you're being robbed clear out, and are replaced with new thoughts - usually ones relating to your predicament.

"So you're robbing me?" I asked. The answer should have been obvious; Chris was holding a dagger a few inches from me and demanding money. I asked anyway, because it's what came into my head at the time. "You're seriously robbing me?"

"I didn't want to do it, sir," Chris blubbered. "I tried to walk away, but you made me get in. I wanted you to just drive away without seeing me. I really need this money, sir..."

At the moment a few thoughts were whirring:

• I had more than $1,000 cash in my pocket.
• There were police less than 50 feet from me.
• I was being robbed at knifepoint by a crackhead.

"I can't believe you're robbing me, Chris."

I was truly hurt. And, at that point, I noticed that Chris was crying. Crying just a little but, still, crying nonetheless.

"Sir, consider this a loan request," he told me, still holding his knife up to me. "I need this money tonight. But if you give it to me, I will owe you. I'll wear a diaper for you anytime you want, and you can spank me, too... please, sir."

The irony of someone holding a knife to me while submissively calling me sir was somewhat humorous, although I'm not sure if I thought so at the time. I was thinking of the huge amount of money I had, in 100s, in my pocket. I considered hitting the car's 'panic' button and summoning the police; this, however, could end my run of diapering thugs, at least in this city. I decided against it.

"You could have asked me for a loan, Chris," I told him. "I considered you a friend. I would have loaned you that."

"Sir," Chris interrupted, "I still consider you a friend. I always will. It's just..."

"Friends don't rob friends at knifepoint," I told him. I was getting angry. Chris's eyes were red with tears now, and I could see that something was wrong with him. I wished I'd followed my instincts and just left when I'd wanted to. Still, something made me worry about Chris; what if something serious was going on.

"See that Impala?" I asked Chris, pointing to the unmarked. Chris nodded. "That's a plainclothed police officer. You're sitting in my car, in full view of security cameras, holding a knife. That's prison time, Chris. Put your knife away, now."

Chris slowly replaced his knife in his holster. He looked embarrassed now, and I was fairly certain that he was thinking of how much easier asking for a loan might have been...

"Get out of the car," I ordered. Chris looked skeptical.

"Sir... I really, really need this money. Please, sir," he begged. "I'll come back tomorrow and wear diapers all day. Or anytime you want. Please, just let me hold it tonight..."

"Get out and stand by the window," I repeated. Chris looked apprehensive, but obeyed. He made sure that he held the door tightly and then, as soon as it was closed, leaned into the window. That was fine; there was no way in fucking hell I was about to let him sit next to me with a knife while I pulled out $1k+. No fucking way...

I pulled out my wallet and opened it. Chris's eyes popped at the cash. He said nothing, and I pulled a $100 out and replaced my wallet. I leaned toward him, extending it out. His eyes furtively darted to the police cars before he quickly took it, crumpling and putting it into his pocket.

"You have no idea how much this means, sir," he told me. "When would you like me to make it up to you.... tonight? Tomorrow?"

"I'll let you know," I told him. Chris shoved the hundred down into his pocket and, without another word, began shuffling across the parking lot. He looked ashamed. I knew I'd never see him again.

I've diapered 70+ people I met on the party line and/or MySpace. I've only been robbed by one. (Nearly scammed by a second, but that's another story for another blog entry). Chris was that one. He robbed me but, before that, he'd become my friend.

Chris had been high on crack that night. He was in a crack-crazed frenzy - cocaine was sweeping the city in '06, it seemed like, and anyone "thug" had to have a crack at it lol. I later found out from Leo, our mutual friend, that Chris had developed a habit weeks before.

The day after Chris robbed me he called me and asked me to come back. "I owe you a night in diapers, sir," he told me. I agreed but told him I'd take a rain check. "I think I have a bare-assed paddling coming soon, sir?" I agreed - but, still, a rain check.

Sure, I'll pick you up - so you can take the other $900...

Chris and I continued to be friends on AIM and, incredulously, Chris continues to talk to me up to this day. He was offended that I didn't meet up with him for Christmas '06, and that I didn't diaper him in summer 2007. In 2008 he was beginning to figure out that his diaper-wearing days were over. By that summer he'd told Leo that I was "an asshole."

"You did rob him at knifepoint," Leo reminded him more than once.

"Yea, but... we were friends," Chris would tell him.

Exactly...

Chris still tries to friend me on Facebook. Two weeks ago he requested me, and I grabbed two pictures to share here.

I have a few rules. If I diaper you and you want to remain anonymous, you will. Your picture will never be used, and your first name will be changed in my blog.

Rob me at knifepoint, however, and the rules go out the window...

[NOTE: PICTURES HAVE BEEN REMOVED]

Chris got Pampered, paddled, and humiliated. In the end, he got revenge. He became a friend, then traded the friendship in for a baggy of coke.

Diapering thugs for dough has given me some dope-ass experiences I'd never would have had otherwise. Even knowing the risks I'd do it again today...

Pampers Cruisers: Aidan Edition

I just had to share some original artwork from Aidankid: a bag of Pampers Cruisers - with Aidan on the package. Wow! Haha. How many of us have dreamed of walking into the diaper aisle of the Piggly Wiggly and finding a bag of diapers in our size? Gone are the days of being relegated to the INCONTINENCE aisle... with the new Pampers Cruisers we can shop where many of us feel we truly belong, or at least long to be...

This is, of course, a Photoshopped creation. (I'll let you try to figure out which parts are Photoshopped and which are real). The kid definitely has some talent; hoping he comes up with more along the same lines, but for now this dream-fulfilling package will have to suffice. I know that I, for one, will be thinking of it anytime I "accidentally" pass through the diaper aisle on my way to the geriatric section of the drug store...

Thanks, Aidan!

You can link to Aidan's RUPadded profile here.

Thugs In Hugz: Continues Soon...

This week I'll be concluding the story of Chris, my little Huggied thug from 2006. I promised to write about our last diaper weekend together, and how he robbed me - the only person ever to steal from me in all of my experiences of diapering straight boys.

This week I was cruising MySpace and Facebook for a photo or two - he still sends me requests from time to time, despite having robbed me lol - and I found this in his comments. One of his friends left it, and I had to laugh, thinking about how a liquor-filled baby bottle had exploded in his eye a few years before. Did he share his own diaper stories with his friends?

Story continues this week...

Coming Soon: Guest-entry from a Bambino Baby with a review - and a point of view. Stay tuned...

YouTube Tuesdays: Expanding Our Horizons - Serbia

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Thugs In Hugz: Part VIII

My second encounter with Chris happened weeks after the first. In between there had been a number of MySpace requests; Chris had made some cash the first time and was hungry for a second chance.

Unfortunately for Chris, he had introduced me to a friend, Len, who simply wanted to get out of the city and, having heard about my pampz for pay deal, was willing to wear for free. Len and I hung out a few times and he modeled Attends and Abenas, etc.; after a while, though, Chris's continued pleas began to get to me. (It didn't help that he offered up several things he felt he needed to be spanked for... lol).

I'd made arrangements to pick Chris up at his house on a Saturday night. My plan was to leave work and drive the 30+ minutes to his house, then drive him to mine. This would mean more than two hours of driving, since his house was out of the way, and the drive back to mine was over an hour. Work crawled along ever so slowly, and, around 5 p.m., a few hours before I was due to leave, the snow began to fall. By the time I was scheduled to leave it was six inches deep. If you know me you know I hate snow - and despise driving in it. I considered cancelling. And, in an example of how powerful a drug diapers can be, decided to make the drive. In a snowstorm. To pick up Chris.

Chris was waiting on his front porch. I pulled in to the driveway and he shouted something to someone in the house and bounded down the steps, sliding all the way to, and into, the car. BAM!! Chris peered into the window, grinning, and shook his head. He mouthed the words my bad and opened the door, sliding around it and plopping his ass down in the front seat.

"Go go go go goooooo!" he urged. I turned to him and gave him a quizzical look, and he put his hand on the ignition, as if to turn on the car. "It's snowing hard, yo! Let's get there before it gets too bad to drive!"

Chris was right; there was another inch or two of snow, and it didn't show any signs of stopping. The sky was lit up bright, the kind of sky that only city lights and a snowfall can produce. I backed down the driveway and into the road, the car sliding precariously. First gear... slow to second gear... third gear... and we were going.

"You all right, sir?" Chris could sense my nervousness - again, I fucking hate driving in snow - and looked worried.

"I'll be alright," I replied. I looked over at him. He was wearing grey sweat pants and a faux fur-lined hoodie coat, looking very Channing Tatum. He had a fresh fade - "Got a haircut for the occasion!", he joked - and a thin, gangsta beard. I was looking at his freshly-shaved face when I saw it - the pacifier. I burst out laughing. "You suck on pacifiers now?"

"Yes, sir! Religiously!" Chris told me. "Nah, sir... actually my cousin was here with her new baby. They had a whole diaper bag and I was looking through it, trying to get some ideas, when I realized the kid has way too many pacifiers. So I scooped the biggest one."

The idea of Chris going out of his way to explore in a diaper bag was kind of cute, and I had to ask him what ideas he'd come up with.

"Actually, none while I was looking at the diaper bag, sir," he confessed. "But I have some ideas that I came up with on my own. We can try out some new stuff if you want."

Chris had a new Sprint PCS phone and we were only ten minutes into the ride when he whipped it out, ready to show it off.

"My first cell phone that's not prepaid, sir," he told me, holding it out. "Yea, it's Sprint, but... only a $250 deposit! My girl paid that, and I'm going to pay her back slowly, out of my earnings."

"I guess I understand why you were so desperate to diaper up," I told him. He laughed and nodded, handing me the phone. I looked it over - pretty tight - and handed it back. We continued driving.

About thirty minutes from my house his phone beeped, and Chris looked surprised. He held out his little phone, looking at it for a few seconds, and then looked at me.

"Sir, should my phone be working here?"

I nodded.

"Wow, sir. I've never had a phone that worked outside of the city. So how far will this go?"

I explained cell phones, coverage areas, and the concept of roaming. Those of you who live in the U.S. know that roaming today is pretty much free everywhere; just a few years ago, however, there were "roaming charges", and travelling outside of your "home zone" could result in extra charges on your bill. I explained this to Chris, and told him about my largest phone bill - $1,200 at the time - and he dropped his phone into my lap like a hot potato.

"Turn it off, sir!" he said frantically. "I can't pay that!"

I explained that Sprint had a system that would allow calls to go to voicemail without counting the call as minutes, and told him about the 'roaming ringer' - the ability to select a certain ringtone for roaming calls. Chris looked relieved.

"That would have been dozens of diapers I might have had to wear, sir" he joked. "Some serious diaper rash for me... not cool, no sir, not cool at all!" He began playing with his phone and soon had discovered that he could record his own ringtones. He put the phone to his mouth and told me to shhhhhhhh...

"DO... NOT... ANSWER... THIS... CALL... THIS... IS... A... ROAMING... CALL!"

I asked him what he was doing, and he explained that he was recording a special ringer for the roaming ringer. "Not gonna get stuck with those charges!"

A few minutes later Chris was at it again.

"DIAPERS... KEEP... ME... WARM... AND... DRY!"

Wtf?

"That's your ringer, sir. I can record a different one for everyone in my phone book. Now when you call..."

I laughed and shook my head.

"So that's the ringer your friends and family are going to hear if you're with them when I call? Really, you think that's a good idea?" Chris looked thoughtful for a minute and then told me I had a good point. He played with his phone some more, apparently switching me back to the default ringtone, and then set his phone down on the armrest.

"I'm at least going to put the theme from Sesame Street or something," he said slyly.

That I could agree to.

The last thirty miles to the house are always an icy mess in a snowstorm, and today was no exception. My little car slid around like a fat chick on an ice rink and, if the road had been clear enough to see the center line, no doubt we would have discovered we were on the wrong side of it several times. Fortunately, save snowplows barreling towards us several times, we were just about alone out there.

I turned into my driveway and gunned it, clicking the garage door opener at the same time. The car barely made it into the garage, but made it we did. Chris looked surprised, and relieved.

"See, sir, I knew we'd make it!" he told me. "So... I don't have to carry stuff into the house this time?" Chris had probably been remembering his last visit, picturing having to lug a load through more than a foot of snow. I laughed, imagining it.

"It's all here."

"Whew!"

The garage door was closed now, but the snow had blown in across the floor and the temperature inside was now about as cold as it had been outside. I opened my door and stepped out, walking around the back of the car and up to the passenger side. I opened Chris's door.

"You ready?"

"Yes, sir!" Chris replied. I could see that he was at ease, now; the nervousness he'd shown the last visit was gone. I was glad and, now that we were back safely inside, I was relaxed, too. I snapped my fingers and pointed to the rocking chair, and Chris obediently got out and walked over to it, sitting.

"No clothes," I ordered, and Christopher quickly complied. Within thirty seconds he was completely nude, holding his clothes in a pile on his lap, his phone safely in his hand. I walked over and reached for it, and Chris's grip tightened. He winced.

"It's brannnnd newwww, sir," he pleaded, trying to keep possession of the phone. I gave him a look as if to say are you serious? and he surrendered the device, looking sullen for a minute.

"If you behave I'll let you earn a bedtime phone call," I told him. He smiled and nodded. I turned the phone off - more downcast looks from Chris - and put it in my pocket. I reached down and grabbed the pile off of his lap, picking everything up and setting it down on the top of the washing machine. He was completely naked and uncovered now, and as I turned around I saw that he was shivering. I snapped my fingers and pointed to the stairs and Chris dropped to the floor and crawled across - it must have been freezing, and I was going to let him walk if he'd wanted to. He put his knee on the first step and began the precarious climb up, nearly falling twice. It took nearly a minute, but he finally crossed the top step and crawled into the kitchen.

"Most people slide up on their bottoms," I told him, and he made a "grrrr" sound.

"Didn't know I was allowed, sir," he explained. I opened the door into the living room and pointed to the next set of steps. These Chris slid up ass-first and, after topping them in half the time, turned to wait expectantly. I pointed to the end of the hall and he fell to his stomach and began combat-crawling to the end. I stepped over him, putting my feet on both sides of his torso and pushing them close together. Frozen now Chris waited, and I pushed the door open. I'd already laid out the contents of my diaper bag, set out across the floor next to a small mattress covered with Finding Nemo sheets and a waterproof mattress cover. Chris laughed and inched himself out of my grip, crawling to it. He lay up on the mattress, turned over onto his stomach, and stretched out, waiting.

I grabbed a diaper and went to work. Chris's feet were in the air, his bottom facing up, and an Attend was sliding up underneath it within seconds. I reached over and grabbed a pacifier off the dresser, popping it into Chris's mouth, wondering where his had wound up. He sucked on it dutifully and I grabbed the box of wipes, pulling one out and running it across his rear. Chris shivered - I'd turned the heat on when we returned home and it was only beginning to warm the air; the wipes were probably freezing. I didn't let that stop me, hitting up every square centimeter of his behind and working my way around the the front. His penis was soft but, when I made contact with the wipe, he began to harden. I stood up and pulled his legs apart several feet; Chris was now laying on the floor, spread-eagled with his feet in the air.

I picked up a bottle of powder and screwed open the top. Turning it topside-down I gave the bottle a squeeze, and powder exited, cascading down and leaving a snow-like coating of powder across Chris's abdomen and penis. Once his diaper area was covered I pulled the diaper under his ass towards my feet, positioned the bottle in the crack of his ass, and gave it one terrific squeeze. Powder squirted out and shot up his bum, and Chris began laughing.

"Enough powder, sir?" he mumbled, his words garbled by the paci. I shrugged and gave him a second shot, just for good measure. Then I carefully taped the diaper up tight, hoping that the powder hadn't ruined the diaper's taping ability. It hadn't. Chris was now wearing a very, very tight Attend. I made a 'turn over' motion with my fingers and he did, exposing a diaper which was literally being sucked into his backside.

"Not very comfortable, sir," he warned me. I explained that diapers weren't meant for comfort - I was lying, of course - and pointed to the pillow. He inched up the bed and put his face down on some Nemo characters, and instantly closed his eyes. I undressed and diapered myself, then donned a pair of pajamas. The room was warming, now, but not quickly, and Chris continued to shiver. "I'm f-f-f-freezing, sir," he finally blurted out. "Any pajamas for me?" I shook my head.

"But, don't fret, Baby Chris," I teased. "I have something that'll warm you up..."

"A spanking?" he asked, groaning. I shook my head and pointed toward the living room, and Chris turned around and began crawling. I laughed as I saw how much powder I had used; powder was coming out of the leg gathers of his diaper when as Chris crawled, and he'd left a small pile on the mattress. Eek!

Christopher navigated the stairs quickly, crawling down them crab-style. Within seconds he was laying on the living room carpet, looking up, awaiting instructions. I pointed to the couch and Chris crawled to it. He was almost across the room when he came into view of the dining room. He stopped crawling and sat up, on his bottom, in awe: the dining room had two large cabinets, and both were full of liquor. In New York I did quite a bit of entertaining; I threw several big parties and, every time, people would bring a bottle. A dozen or two bottles means at least a few left over, and my collection grew to more than fifty different kinds of liquor - and a pretty impressive display. To a thug like Chris, it probably looked like Heaven. I laughed and passed him, sitting down on the couch and snapping my fingers. He obediently continued toward me, still gazing across the dining room, finally sitting in front of me. He looked up hopefully.

"Please may we do a 'challenge', sir?" he asked. I nodded.

"But what would you like to earn if you achieve it?" I asked coyly. Chris eyeballed me quizzically.

"Seriously, sir?"

I feigned seriousness and nodded. He began ticking off bottles he'd seen, and apparently memorized, on his fingers. I was impressed by both his memory and his ability to skip over bottles of little value and name only the premium, expensive ones. I laughed.

"If you're going for any of those, you'd better be prepared to work your fanny off," I warned. He nodded happily.

"Corner."

Christopher quickly crawled to the closest corner and stuck his nose into it. His arms were at his sides and he was ramrod-straight, seemingly trying to impress me with his posture - probably hoping for a better bottle. I walked over the the bar, opening each cabinet. I selected six bottles, balancing them carefully in my fingers and my teeth, and walked around the room, placing them in various hiding spots. I turned to go back to the bar and waited, quietly, watching Chris to see if he'd try to peek. He didn't dare, and I went to the cabinet, selected six more, and hid them just as well. There were now bottles under the couch, on window sills, and even one in the fireplace. I sat down on the couch and snapped, and Chris quickly crawled to me, then waited on all fours, head down, submissively.

"You remember how it works?" I asked. Yes, sir. "You have two minutes to find and return twelve, one at a time. The last one you bring me is yours - if you get all twelve. If you don't, you'll get a punishment. Spanking or strong sitting?" I asked. Chris sat silently, so I prodded him. "That was a question. Spanking? Or strong sitting?"

"What's strong sitting, sir?" he asked. I explained: being forced to sit in one place, in position, for an extended period of time. Chris laughed and rolled his eyes. "I'll pick that one, sir. That's easy." I knew he was wrong but decided to let him find out on his own.

"Ready... set... crawl, Baby Chris, crawl!" Chris was off, but first he had to complain about the disadvantage of me making him laugh at the beginning. I told him to hurry up and he began nosing around the room, picking up the first bottle he found in his teeth, and carefully crawling it to me. He found the bottle of Bombay Sapphire under the coffee table, and the bottle of Kahlua next to the front door. He reached into the umbrella stand and found a bottle of Aftershock, picking it up and putting it in his teeth. Crawling to me he spotted the glimmer of glass in the fireplace and, quickly depositing the Aftershock, darted toward it.

"Noooooooo!" he groaned. It was a bottle of Hpnotiq - one of the more expensive bottles in my collection and Chris's personal favorite. "Gotta be last, sir!" he cried out and he continued to search for others.

"One minute."

Seconds later Chris's pace had slowed. He stopped for a moment and looked at his knees, then looked at me.

"Umm, sir?" I nodded. "Sir, I'm getting... rug burn." He said the words 'rug burn' like it was a sexually-transmitted disease, and I laughed. He scowled at me, but continued crawling. "No knee pads, sir?" he asked hopefully, and I shook my head. He soldiered on.

Chris had found ten bottles and had fifteen seconds to go. It wasn't looking good. He was looking around wildly, trying to spot a bottle, and I was enjoying the view: fresh-cut fade and muscles, in an extra-tight diaper that showed off... everything. The room was silent save the scraping of Chris's skin on the rug and the crinkling of his diaper as it flexed against his efforts. Chris must have realized how ridiculous he looked because his face was red now. He spotted bottle #11 on a step to the upstairs and made a beeline for it, realizing too late that it was a bottle of Couvasier - even more-favored than Hpnotiq. He wildly turned around and crawled lightening-fast to the fireplace, grabbing the blue bottle and bringing it to me.

Ding!

Chris heard my watch timer go off and be became angry almost instantly.

"That's not fair, sir!" he blurted out. "I worked my assss off, but the carpet kept me from going as fast as I could have! And... plus... you made me leave the bottle I wanted for last..."

"You saw it last," I reminded him, and he shook his head, as if to argue, but then thought better of it. He sat on his bottom, defiantly, and glared at me, then hung his head down, panting.

"That's not fair, sir. I want a second chance."

"Did you swear?" I asked him. He stopped sulking and I could see his mind working OT, trying to think back. His memory reached his use of the A-word and Chris looked defeated.

"Yes, I did, sir. I'm sorry. I said... the bad word for bottom."

"Speaking off ass," I said sternly, "get off of yours." I stood up and stood in front of Chris, who looked confused. I grabbed his ear and lifted him up gently, and he compliantly began to stand. Just as he was halfway between standing and sitting I stopped him, pulling his arms out toward me.

"This is strong sitting," I told him. "Don't move a muscle." I let go of him and he crouched in position, still. I could tell by his facial expression he thought he was getting off easy. "Do ten minutes of this and I'll give you a second chance."

Chris lasted about one minute before his knees began to shake. I sat down on the couch, laying back and watching. Chris half-stood, half-sat, knees out in front of him and his arms outstretched. His diaper had loosened a little and was drooping, exposing about an inch of asscrack, but it had started off very tight and was still fairly form-fitting. He looked very uncomfortable now, and he was even redder. It occurred to me that he may have been red-faced out of anger, and I waited to see if another tantrum would follow. It didn't...

Three minutes into the exercise Chris was trembling. Thirty seconds later his knees were wobbling and his arms, at first outstretched, were flailing around, trying to help him keep his balance.

"Sir, I can't... do this." Chris looked ashamed, but finally blurted out his surrender about four minutes into his punishment.

"Six more minutes and you can earn a second chance," I reminded him. He looked humiliated and looked down, shaking his head.

"I want a second chance, but I can't, sir. I can't hold it."

The phrase hold it gave me an idea. I would make a 'counter-offer'.

"Soak your diaper now and I'll let you trade the rest of your time for the spanking," I advised him. Chris was deep in thought now, and after ten seconds he nodded.

"And I can still earn a second chance, sir?" I nodded back, and Chris put his hands together, balancing and holding himself very still. His face became very serious and, knees still shaking, he began to concentrate. After fifteen or twenty seconds it was clear that his diaper was still dry. His face was twice as red, now, and he looked up at me.

"May I get on my hands and knees, sir?" he asked. By his tone I could tell he expected to be told no, but I was eager to see him soaked, and nodded permission. Chris got on all fours and, within seconds, his diaper was yellowing with wetness. I watched, sort of from behind, as the liquid rose up Chris's behind and the diaper began to stick to it. When he was done I snapped my fingers and pointed to the floor, and Chris obediently lay on his stomach. I picked up the liquor bottles one by one and replaced them in their cabinets, taking my time with Chris's favorite. He watched it as I walked it past him. I returned to him and motioned for him to turn over. He did, and I reached down and grabbed his diaper, tearing it off of him. Chris looked surprised to be de-diapered in such an unconventional fashion, but lay silently, still, naked, as I untaped the last resistant tape. I pulled the diaper up into the air and hold it over him, letting a few drops of urine drip onto his stomach. Chris rolled his eyes and I grabbed the diaper and began to twist it like you might ring out a wet towel. Chris shrieked, "Please, sir, no!" and I laughed and rolled his diaper up, sticking its tapes to it and tossing it across the room.

"Get that and throw it out," I told him. Chris obediently crawled across the room, and I watched his awesome thuggy ass move as he crossed the floor. He leaned over the diaper, thinking, and then picked it up in his teeth. Looking disgusted he crawled into the kitchen; I heard the diaper drop into the trash and waited as Chris returned to me.

"Bring me the paddle," I told him, pointing up toward the bedroom. Chris crawled across the floor again, and I watched his penis flop around as he made his way up the stairs and down the hall. Thirty seconds later he had the paddle in his mouth, and he was sliding down the stairs toward me. He came across the room and waited, head bowed submissively, until I took the paddle from him.

I lifted my leg over Chris, still on his hands and knees, and straddled him. He was facing the fireplace, and I was facing the stairs, looking down at his rear. It was beautiful, and I almost felt guilty that I was about to mar it with the redness of a spanking.

"What's worse, Chris," I asked. "The rug burn, the tiredness of strong sitting for five minutes - or knowing you could have skipped that and just went straight to this?" Before he could answer I brought the paddle up and slammed it down on his asscheeks. Chris shrieked and squirmed, writhing, and his bottom was immediately reddened. I stepped around him, realizing I had to go easy on him, and waited.

"I... thought I could... do it, sir," Chris answered, thoughtfully. "I thought I was strong enough."

I laughed. Nobody had ever made it through five minutes of that, I thought; still, I kept that to myself. I brought the paddle down across his bottom a second time, and then a third. Chris was red all over now: face, knees, and fanny. After five swats I decided that Chris had probably had enough. I sat down and directed him to do the same, and he complied. I walked upstairs and grabbed a fresh diaper - Abena X-Plus, Chris's bedtime diaper - and wipes and powder. Within minutes Christopher was lying on his tummy, cardboard-thick Abena wrapped around his rear, looking less embarassed and more comfortable.

"Second chance... tonight or the morning?" I asked, and Chris immediately replied morning. "Okay, Chris... I'll give you time for the rug burn to cool down."

He laughed and thanked me. And I had to ask...

"Who told you that you had to carry all of the liquor bottles in your teeth, Chris?"

HUH?

"I never said that. And you chomping on a pee-soaked diaper... wow, that's going all out," I said, laughing. "I figured you'd pick all that shit up with your hands. Oh well."

Chris groaned.

"Ohhhhhh... my... Godddddd... sirrrrrrr..."

"Bedtime. Move."

He did - shaking his head incredulously the whole way.

The consolation prize was permission to make a phone call. I retrieved Chris's phone from my pocket and handed it to him.

"You have five minutes," I told him. He nodded. I walked down the hall and into the bathroom, pulling my diaper down just enough to take a piss. I finished and washed my hands, then grabbed my toothbrush and began to paste up. Chris's voice carried down the hall and I grew quiet, listening...

Nah... I hang out with this dude in a whole 'nother city. Nah, he picks me up. We just roll around and junk. It's tight. He has me out to his boat and stuff. Or we just hang out and drink. Yea.. he's got a whole bar, yo. Everything. Sometimes we hang out on the lake...

It occurred to me, as I listened, that Chris probably didn't make it out of the city very often. He was bragging about a diaper excursion. And, while he was obviously leaving out the part about having to wear diapers - and, of course, the part about chillin' in his own urine... and the part about being slapped on the ass - Chris seemed to relish his trips to my place. I continued to listen as I brushed, then rinsed and made my way down the hallway and back into the room.

Gotta go... we're 'bouts to jet.

Chris hung up and looked up at me, grinning sheepishly.

"How much did you hear, sir?" I looked at him quizzically, feigning ignorance, and he looked relieved. "I was just telling my boy where I am for the night. In case anyone gets worried." I nodded and lay down on the bed, then flipped off the light. The cell phone lit up the room as Chris played with it. I thought about taking it, but decided to let him have some time with it. It was his new toy, and the idea of him playing with it was cute.

Beep boop beep.

"No calls, Chris," I warned him.

"Yes, sir. Playing a game, sir."

Beep beep boop.

I listened to the beeping of Chris's phone for about ten minutes. I thought about my own life, growing up; I too had relished the opportunity to get away from home, away from my friends and family, and out to the lake. I, of course, used some of my trips as toddlerization opportunities, padding up and becoming Baby Chris for a while. I thought about the contrast; I'd carted my diapers to the cottage, diapering myself, regressing myself, even preparing my own baby bottles in an attempt to feel little; the new Baby Chris was lucky in that he had someone to diaper him, feed him, bathe him. I was actually jealous of him a little; I'd always wanted to have someone do that for me. It occurred to me that it was sad on two levels: Chris wasn't ABDL and, thus, wasn't likely to get nearly as much enjoyment out of it as I might have; and, there were plenty of ABDLs who might have benefited from some Abysitter time but who were too bitch-ass to drive in from Rochester, Syracuse, and surrounding.

Beep beep beep beeeeeeeep.

Chris's phone began to annoy me, but I was still thinking. Chris had been bragging about the boat... the lake... just beig away from the city. I remembered how, on his last visit, Chris had suggested he'd like to be invited out to the boat. I leaned over the bed and looked down at him.

"So this summer... do you want to come out and go sailing?"

Chris's face lit up and he nodded.

"Hell yea, I was wondering if you were gonna be down for that!" he sounded excited. I looked at him sternly, and he caught himself. "Sorry, sir. I mean, YESSIR! I was hoping you'd ask me that." He was still smiling and, before I could say anything, continued. "Sir, all summer we sit around and do nothing. Nothing. We live twenty minutes from the lake and you know how many times I've been there? Zero. My Dad brought me no times. Nooooo times, sir. My first time was last month, with you." I looked surprised, and he nodded, continuing. "We sit around and smoke weed and get into trouble. That's it. I'm tired of that, sir. So as often as you want to have me out here, I'm down. I'll wear diapers all summer if I got to."

"It would be fun to have you sail with me in a diaper," I told him. "But you don't have to wear diapers all summer to come out here. We can hang out without diapers, too, I guess."

"Sir, I don't mind diapers. But it would be nice not to have to worry about annoying diaper rash," Chris joked. "If it helps, I can leave the weed at home, too. You notice I didn't bring any tonight, right? Lenny told me you don't like it, and I was thinking maybe that's why you didn't want me out here for a while." I was embarassed now; I'd kind of blown Chris off for Len, and he'd noticed. "So I'll wear diapers when you make me, and I'll only bring weed when you let me. Sound fair, sir?" I nodded. Chris continued. "Just don't tell Len, sir. He's kind of a hater, and he'll try to keep me from being able to come out." I wondered what he was talking about - I'd find out later that some 'diaper drama' had begun to develop between the two of them. "Plus, he's sort of a fag, sir. No offense!"

None taken.

Beep boop beep.

Chris was back to his game, and I couldn't take it any more.

"Put the phone up on the table, it's bedtime," I told him. Chris groaned.

"Sir, please... it's new! Plus I won't be able to sleep, I was hoping to play this golf game for a while." I shook my head and pointed to the table, thinking of the irony of a little weed-puffing thug becoming addicted to golf. Chris sighed but complied, setting the phone on the table above his head and exaggeratedly flopping it onto his pillow.

Crinkle crinkle crinnnnnnnkle.

"Not this again, dude," I protested, and Chris began laughing, squeezing his asscheeks and rolling around to make his diaper as noisy as possible.

"Told ya I can't sleep, sir," he told me.

"I wonder which bottles I'll be putting out for tomorrow's challenge," I wondered aloud. "I wonder if I have any generic brands down there?" Chris's butt went silent. After a few minutes of nothing but the smacking of a pacifier Chris sat up and peered over the bed at me.

"Cold, sir!"

I snapped my fingers and Chris crawled up onto the bed, lifting the covers and crawling underneath.

"Thank you, sir!"

I reached over and pulled Chris's leg up over me, rubbing his diapered bottom for a few minutes. Chris didn't protest when I grabbed the back waistband of his diaper between my thumb and forefinger and pulled it away from his skin - or when I pushed my hand down the back of his diaper. My hand was soon resting against the crack of his ass, my finger sort of in it, and Chris seemed just relaxed as he had been. I was as relaxed as I'd been in a long time.

"Are you going to hump, sir?" Chris mumbled after a few minutes, clearly growing tired. I was laying on my back, with a straight thug laying on me, my hand in his diaper resting on his ass; not even ejaculating could improve the way I was feeling, and I murmured a NAHHHH.

"Okay, sir," Chris continued. "Me neither. Good night, sir."

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

Christopher was snoring after a few minutes and, after a few minutes more, so was I.

Unlike last time, this time I would sleep soundly until morning. And, guessing from the fact that I had to shake Chris off of me to wake him up, so would he.

UP NEXT: Chris's last visit... a summer of diaper drama... and Chris robs me at knifepoint. And, I break my rule and put up Chris's real pic. Fuck him, he robbed me lol... coming soon.

Thugs In Hugz: Part VII

Crinkle, crinkle. Crinkle, crinkle...

I lay in bed, tired from ejaculating, feeling satisfied. I'd just spent hours toddlerizing a tough little thug, making him soak his diaper, crawl around, drink from a bottle - even spanking him. I'd finished by spending an hour humping my own diaper, with his beautiful ass in my face - then stroking him through his diaper so hard he came, too. Now we were both in fresh, clean diapers. I lay on my back, looking out the patio door Chris lay next to, and watching his reflection in its window.

Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle.

Chris lay, mostly still, but every once in a while I'd hear it: the 'crinkle' we're all familiar with. Chris was laying on his couch cushion bed, trying hard to hold still - he'd already been warned - but he was finding it difficult. I listened to the crinkling, and look at his image in the window; Chris was squeezing his asscheeks and watching his reflection.

Crinkle...

He squeezed again and then noticed me watching. He began laughing and shook his head, and I could see in his reflection that he'd begun to turn red.

"It's hard to sleep in a diaper, sir," he said. "Did you ever have any trouble? When you first started?"

I laughed, and thought about the question for a moment.

"Probably not, huh?"

I thought about when I'd first started wearing diapers again. I'd worn them until I was three or four, and then, forced to stop, taken a hiatus. I'd discovered my instinctive urge to wear them again a few years later. I did have trouble sleeping, and it was the crinkle that kept me awake. It was my fear that the crinkling would be heard by others in the house - my parents across the hall, my brother in the room next door, and an uncle for several years in the room below.

Crinkle, crinkle...

"Nah, I did," I told him. I didn't elaborate.

"See? It's hard to fall asleep!" he continued, apparently pleased that he could justify his crinkling. "To be honest, sir... I'm not sure if I'll even be able to sleep."

I moved toward the edge of the bed and looked down at him intently. "You'd better try your best," I warned him.

"Yes, sir."

Crinkle crinkle crinnnnnnkle...

I listened to Chris crinkle for a while, my thoughts drifting back to my own first attempts to sleep in my diaper. I'd been forced to create diapers out of garbage bags and absorbent materials after I outgrew the cloth diapers we had laying around the house. They were noisy little fuckers, and I'd often slide one on ever-so-carefully and then lay perfectly still, not moving a muscle, until I fell asleep. I wondered if they crinkled as I tossed and turned overnight, but I was so happy to be diapered and feeling little I quickly got over my apprehension.

Crinkle, crinkle.

Chris was playing with his diaper now, feeling it with his hands. I watched him run his fingers along the leg gathers, in a futile attempt to pull them further from his skin. (I'd diapered him good and tight). He put his thumbs between his thigh and the diaper on both sides of his penis and pulled the diaper down a little. I sat up and looked straight down at him. He froze and, clearly aware of why I was in his face, put his arms at his sides.

"What?" he asked, innocently.

"You know what," I replied. I directed him to turn over and, as he did I raised my hand and brought it down on his behind. The diaper cushioned the blow, producing a cloud of powder, and I swatted him again.

"Don't tamper with the Pamper," I told him, and he burst out laughing.

"Don't what?"

"Don't ever tamper with your Pamper," I repeated. "Nobody touches that diaper but me. Nobody loosens it. Nobody tightens it. Nobody takes it off..." Chris looked up at me, rolling his eyes. I gave him a tremendous smack, this time catching him on the leg, and he writhed around, fake groaning.

"Don't tamper... with the Pamper... got it, sir."

For good measure Chris moved his arms about a foot away from his sides. He looked at me and made a 'turn over' motion, and I shook my head. He rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

Crinkle, crinkle.

Chris was rolling around on his diaper now in an attempt to be noisy on purpose. If he couldn't have his way he was going to irritate me. I decided to deal with him as I might any little ABDL toddler: distract him.

"So diapers aren't your thing, huh?"

Chris stopped crinkling, contemplating the question for a minute before answering.

"Not really, but they're okay, sir."

A nice PC answer from the cash kid to the ABDL. I rolled my eyes, now.

"So what do you get into, Chris?"

Chris's eyes lit up, and I could tell that he had been waiting to be asked...

"Women, sir. Lots and lots of women."

Chris was grinning now. I laughed. He fancied himself quite the player.

"That's it?" I asked him, feigning disappointment. Chris laughed.

"Nah, sir. Women. Spanking. Handcuffs. You name it... I get into it."

I was laughing now. I pictured this tough little 'gangsta', handcuffed and being spanked by a woman. It was hard to imagine, but he had gotten into being paddled...

"So that's why you didn't mind the spanking too much," I said, and Chris nodded.

"Spankings are hot, sir. Especially when they're delivered by a woman."

Chris went on to describe spanking scenes in detail and, if he was being truthful, he'd had quite the experience. Paddles... belts... slippers...

"Slippers?" I was laughing now. Chris's face showed how serious he was.

"When a woman takes off her slipper and spanks you with it... that's hot, sir."

I considered if you say so as a response, but then thought about the fact that I was laying in a diaper, watching Chris in his diaper; maybe I wasn't in the best position to be criticizing someone else's offbeat interests.

"I especially like being bitched," he continued. "Bossed around... humiliated..."

"Humiliated?"

"Yes, sir," Chris continued. "This girl used me as her coffee table once. I was on my knees for the whole movie Titanic, while she put her snacks and drinks on my back. Every time I tried to look at the TV she'd smack me with the remote."

I chuckled, not sure whether Chris was telling me a tall tale or something true, but the look on his face made me believe him. He was in serious mode, storytelling mode now, and over the next hour or so I heard about a half dozen experiences with spanking, women, and humiliation. It was clear that this was an interest that Chris had had for a while, and he relished the opportunity to tell the story. After a while we were both relaxed, chillin', talking.

"The handcuffs are hot, when a woman puts them on you and blindfolds you... it's crazy, sir." Chris was getting into his stories now and I saw that his dick was hard again. "I got to see another side of handcuffs while I was locked up. They weren't as fun then! I thought I might never get into them again. But if you had a pair right now, I'd be down."

I told Chris that I'd considered borrowing some and cuffing him to the bed overnight. "That way I don't have to worry about you shanking me and taking off with my stuff while I'm sleeping." I wasn't used to having someone spend the night this soon after I'd met them, but I'd made an exception with Chris, since we'd been talking on MySpace for months. He laughed.

"Why would I rob you, sir? You're helping me out. I got up at 5 a.m. and sat outside the temp work place every morning this week. You know how many jobs I got? One. Tuesday. Going door to door selling Kirby's."

Kirby's are an expensive brand of vacuum and, in NY at least, they're a scam; workers get paid to go door to door giving 'demo's' and get paid only if they get into a certain number of houses. They almost never sell vacuums, but when a rich housewife with too much money on her hands buys one the Kirby franchise owner makes a mint and the Kirby kid might make $100. I once had a Kirby kid show up and try to sell me a vacuum (in a different city); when I told him I couldn't afford one he said - and I quote - "Can I come in and just sit here for twenty minutes? I only get paid if I get inside." We hung out for twenty minutes and I let him vacuum the carpet and have a beer. He told me about the 'scam' - and found out about a money-making opportunity that morning. He was in a diaper by the end of the week. But that's another story for a different blog entry.

"I didn't even get paid that day, sir," Chris continued. "I got into two houses all day. You have to get into six."

Chris was thuggish. He walked with a swagger, he talked like a rapper, and I could picture him dressed like a little salesman - he'd still look thuggy. It was who he was. Good for diaper wearing; bad for being invited into people's homes. I imagined Chris might never make any money doing the Kirby thing, and told him so.

"Sir, I've spent more than twenty hours this week sitting on the sidewalk outside LaborReady. I was so afraid to leave the sidewalk I sat there having to piss all morning, and when I finally went inside of course a fucking truck came and picked up everyone but me."

I laughed, and suggested a diaper might have come in handy that day.

"Actually, maybe I'll take one with me," Chris said, smirking. "Not gonna get left on that curb again! But, sir... back to you being able to sleep with me here... I appreciate the opportunity you've given me. I have no money, and I'm fucked."

Chris seemed sincere, and I felt guilty for a moment; was wearing a diaper, being forced to piss on yourself, and being paddled bare-bottom really that much of an 'opportunity'? Not really...

"And to be honest, sir," Chris continued, "that challenge was pretty hot. I'm going to be trying that one with one of my girls, sir."

"It's trademarked," I joked. Chris looked serious for a minute, as if to ask 'Really?' but then chuckled. Delayed reaction much?

"So yea, this is cool, sir. You can sleep. I'm going to..."

"Sounds like you're going to lay there and make noises with your diaper," I corrected him.

"Nah, sir... I'm going to sleep! Like a baby, haha!"

Chris and I were both silent for a while. I heard more crinkling, but it was lessened now. Chris kept his hands far away from his diaper - don't tamper with the Pamper - and looked pretty relaxed now. I crawled across the bed, switched off the light, and lay back down next to Chris. Minutes went by.

Zzzzzzzzzzz.

Chris's snoring broke the silence. He was asleep. I reached down and rubbed his tummy. Then I flopped back onto the bed. I'm not sure how much time went by, but soon I was sleeping too.

I woke up around 4 a.m. The moon was shining on the lake, and the light through the sliding glass door lit up the floor. I looked down and saw the translucent glow off Chris's Abena. Then I noticed he was looking up at me.

"You're awake?" I asked, and he nodded. "What happened to sleeping like a baby?"

"Sir, I am sleeping like a baby. I'm freezing and soaking wet," Chris told me, shaking his head. "I had to pee for a while, but when I woke up I really had to pee, sir. I was afraid to wake you up, so..."

I explained to Chris that the X-Plus he was in was meant to be an overnight diaper - and that he would be wearing it overnight. I could see Chris rolling his eyes, even in the dark.

"Could I at least get a blanket, sir?"

I declined his request, but told him that if he wasn't uncomfortable with it, he could climb up into my bed and get under my covers. "I won't try anything," I told him. Chris didn't even think about it; he hopped up into my bed and inched over until he was an inch away from me. I moved the covers so that he would have more of them, and then lay back.

"Sir, I'm not gay. But... a few hours ago... you made me come in a diaper," Chris said, drawing out the word diaper. "You've had your fingers in my ass, your hands on my dick, and you've spanked me how many times now? So I'm saying... if I had a problem with you 'trying something' I would've said something a long time ago." He was laughing now. I chuckled, and reached over, grabbing Chris's leg, pulling him closer to me. Chris flopped over so he was directly next to me, and I felt the warmth of his body and the wetness of his diaper.

"This is much better, sir," he said. "I was freezing. Wet diapers get cold right quick! Now I can sleep like a baby..."

And within minutes, we both were...