Pampered Pals: Part VI

What follows is the sixth chapter in the Pampered Pals series. This series was started on February 6, 2009 and ran through May 7, 2009. Nearly four years, and dozens of requests, later, and I'm finally ready to finish the story. 

Before you read this you may want to read the rest of the story. Each of the links below will open in a new window. Check it out...

• Pampered Pals: Part I
• Pampered Pals: Part II
• Pampered Pals: Part III
• Pampered Pals: Part IV
• Pampered Pals: Part V

If you're not into spending an hour reading, a refresher: my best friend Craig needs a car, wants to buy my old Mustang, and has offered cash and diapers as part of a deal, an offer I've accepted. We've just woken up from his first overnight in a wet (with water, sigh...) diaper. 

And the story continues from here...

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Craig woke up to me standing over him, with a dry, fresh diaper hanging from my hand. He cracked a smile, shook his head, and spoke.

"Thank... God." 

I looked at him sternly and reached for the paddle. 

"Thank God, SIR!" he said, way too loudly. His face turned red a little, and I could tell he'd just had a wake-up call, so to speak. "Is this where I get changed, sir? Because my bottom is freezing from cold dampness." 

I nodded. Craig looked relieved. I reached down and put my hands on the tapes of his Attends. I yanked on them, both sides at once, with so much force that the diaper ripped. I repeated until the tapes ripping away had obliterated the diaper, and then I yanked it out from underneath him. Craig lay naked on his mattress, red-faced, unsure of what to do next. I ordered him to turn over, and he obeyed. I enjoyed the view of his bottom for a few minutes as I prepared diaper supplies. I scooped up the paddle, diaper, powder, and wipes, and ordered Craig to follow me. 

I snapped my fingers and pointed into the bathroom. I asked Craig if he had to go potty, and he nodded and then looked concerned. I knew what was coming. 

"I have to go... poopy, sir," he announced. 

"Figured that," I told him. "Plop and flop." 

Craig paused. 

"Uhhhhhh... do what, sir?" 

"Plop, and flop," I told him. "You have one minute. Do your biz, and get your bottom back onto the floor. Sixty seconds... GO!" 

Craig didn't waste any more time. He climbed up onto the toilet and then looked at me expectantly. He probably thinks I'm leaving, I thought. 

"Fifty seconds..."

"Um, sir... are you... staying?" I nodded. Craig's face turned redder and he looked confused. "But I don't think I can poop when you're watching, sir," he told me. 

"No problem, Craig," I told him. "I'll give you another chance tonight before bed. Forty seconds..."

Somehow Craig found the ability to go, and did so. When he seemed to be done I snapped my fingers and pointed to the floor. Craig looked bewildered, now, and looked around for the toilet paper. Finding none he raised his hand. I nodded. 

"Is there something to... wipe with... sir?" he asked hopefully. I shook my head no. 

"Five seconds." 

Just like that, Craig was on the floor, poopy bum and all. He couldn't have looked more embarrassed, and I was enjoying it. I motioned for him to follow me, and he did. Out in the hall where there was more room I directed him to turn over. I then turned him over onto his back and ordered him to lift his feet. Craig was becoming an old pro, now, and he held them in place diaper change style. 

I pulled out a wipe and wiped everywhere except his ass. Then I slid an Attend underneath him, powdered him liberally, and cinched his diaper on. The fact that his bottom had not been wiped was not lost on him, and he asked about it. 

"Dirty diapers are no big thing here," I told him. He shook his head but didn't protest. Just in case I pulled him up underneath him arms and pulled his diaper up into his buttcrack. Craig laughed wryly, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. I snapped my fingers. "Bottom on the floor," I ordered. He looked like he wanted to complain, but did not. 

I walked down the stairs into the living room and motioned for Craig to follow me. He scooted down on his rear and then crawled along behind me obediently. I walked through the living room, through the dining room, and into the kitchen. I paused, and Craig did as well. Then I snapped again and began walking, back into the living room. I did the circular route three more times, then paused. Craig looked up hopefully. I snapped my fingers and began walking again. After ten more laps I could sense that Craig was growing tired. 

"This is easier for you than it is for me, sir," he finally spoke. "I'm crawling, and you're just strolling along..." 

I had to laugh. 

"Want me to pick you up and carry you?" I asked, teasing. He looked like he was thinking that over, so I ordered him to follow me again. He groaned, and I asked if he wanted me to incorporate some stairs into the routine. He begged me not to. 

On our next pass past the sofa I reached behind it and pulled it out: my pop-up playpen/tent contraption. Craig looked surprised as I shook it open and it became a playpen. I ordered him in and he crawled around it looking for the largest opening. He found it and crawled in. He peered at me through the mesh. I grabbed a book, and then pulled out a coloring book and four crayons. I dropped them into the opening and they flopped into his lap. 

"Color up," I told him. He shook his head and groaned but obediently opened the book and started looking for a page to color. 

"The Little Mermaid, sir?" he groaned. I nodded, then picked up a book and lay down on the sofa, beginning to read. He began to color, and I could see him still shaking his head through the mesh. 

After an hour of reading I was bored. I'd made Craig hold up his coloring book a few times to show me his progress. Craig was clearly hampered by the fact that he only had four colors. Luckily one was a shade of pink, so his mermaids were adequately effeminate. I had to chuckle at masculine Craig trying to get the Little Mermaid just right. 

"Ready for breakfast?" I asked him. Craig nodded emphatically, and I could tell that he was hungry. I ordered him to crawl into the dining room and sit in the chair on the end - one with long arms. He did, and I pulled him toward my chair so that he was only inches away from me. With that I turned around and walked into the kitchen. I grabbed a shelf unit from the closet and brought it over to Craig's chair, setting it on top of the arms. He got it instantly. 

"Okay, sir so... a high chair?" 

I laughed and nodded. Then I walked back into the kitchen. I prepared myself a bowl full of cereal and poured milk into it, then got a glass of OJ. I brought it into the dining room, and Craig smiled. I could tell he was hungry. I set it in front of my place and went back into the kitchen. 

I reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a jar of Gerber baby food - oatmeal and fruit flavor. Then I took a baby bottle out of a drawer in the fridge and poured milk into it. A few pieces of Zwieback toast from the cupboard later, and Craig's breakfast was ready. I walked back in and set it down on the tray in front of him. His eyes immediately began to roll... 

"Sir... please... I'm starving." 

"I have more baby food," I laughed. "This is just a start." With that I sat down and began to sit. "I'll feed you when I'm finished eating," I told him. "Go ahead and start on that bottle..." 

Craig obediently picked up the bottle and began drinking. He seemed to think that he would be able to just swig that shit. But as most of us know, baby bottles aren't a quick liquid fix... you gotta suck on 'em, and it takes a while. After a solid minute of sucking Craig took the bottle out of his mouth and held it in front of him. He looked visibly surprised that it had only dropped about two centimeters. He rolled his eyes and began sucking again, harder this time. Slurrrrp. Air bubbles began to form. I reached over, put my fingers on the end of the bottle, and pushed it up into the air. His head tipped back and he was able to suck without sucking in air. 

"I don't need a gassy baby," I told him. "That's what happens when you suck in air..." 

Craig started laughing, and immediately choked on his milk. I was almost finished with my cereal so I reached over and took the bottle out of his hands, setting it on the tray in front of him. He continued to cough up milk for the better part of a minute. I asked him if he needed to be burped, and this caused him to laugh more, but he stopped coughing. 

"Okay, Cwaig," I said, baby talking. "It's time for bweakfast!" Craig did not look excited as I peeled the foil top off the baby food container and pulled out a Fisher Price baby spoon. He did look... surprised. 

"Sir... what do your parents think when they come over and see that you have baby silverware?" 

"I guess they probably just think... Craig's been over again." 

Craig rolled his eyes. 

"Very funny, sir." 

I scooped up a spoonful of baby food and moved the spoon towards Craig's mouth, mimicking the sound of a motorboat as I did so. His face was red and he moved his head back as I held the spoon. He began to try to take the spoon out of my hands, as if to feed himself, and I put a stop to that right quick:

"Sit on your hands," I ordered. 

His face reddened deeper, and he obeyed, sliding his hands underneath his diaper. Now defenseless, I moved the spoon closer to his mouth. He leaned forward and took the tiniest of bites off of the spoon, smacking his lips and trying to taste it. His face cinched up like he'd just bit off a piece of a lemon. I had to laugh... way dramatic. 

"This is... disgusting!" Craig exclaimed. He continued to smack his lips as though he was trying to rid himself of the taste of baby food. I continued to laugh, then reached the spoon to his mouth, inserted the spoon, lifted it, and pulled it back out, leaving the mound of baby food on the top of Craig's mouth. He looked shocked, for a moment, and then moved his tongue around, feeling for the baby food. There it was. He slowly licked at it, pulling it into his mouth, and began chewing slowly, hesitantly. Before he'd even finished swallowing his mouthful I had another spoon to his lips. 

"Open," I told him. He started to talk with his mouth full, obviously trying to point out that he was still working on the last mouthful, and I interrupted him. "OPEN." He obeyed, and I dropped off another spoonful, leaving it on the roof of his mouth and under his upper lip. He started to screwface me now, chewing slower. I gave him a minute, and then grabbed another spoonful - a huge spoonful, now, half of the container probably. I held it up. 

Craig closed his mouth tightly and shook his head. 

"We have to go slower," he told me. "I think I might throw up." 

The flavor of baby food was one of the mildest available, and I knew it didn't taste that much different from oatmeal. (How? Because I'd tried it myself on a number of occasions). I realized that Craig was just being dramatic. 

"Open." I waited, and he looked like he was thinking about it. "OPEN." 

Craig opened his mouth just a little. He was still chewing, although I didn't know how. I puttered the spoon to his mouth, with sound effects, and then reached out with my other hand, putting my fingers on his nose and squeezing his nostrils closed. He looked surprised, and then instinctively opened his mouth. I pushed the spoon in, leaving a huge mound of baby food stuck to the roof of his mouth. He looked surprised and annoyed at the same time, and left his mouth open as he took a big breath. The baby food plopped from the roof of his mouth onto his tongue, and he closed his mouth in disgust and began chewing slowly. I readied another spoonful...

"Mmffffff mmfffff," Craig said. I scolded him, warning him not to chew with his mouth full. He continued chewing until he was done, and I waited for him to speak. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. Finally: "When you pinched my nose closed I felt like a real baby for a second." 

I had to laugh. I was feeding him just like a real baby would be fed, minus the fake high chair and forcing him to sit on his hands. I've always thought the nose-pinch technique was mean - but it was done to me when I was a baby (or so I'm told) so I thought it would be worth a shot. Turns out it works. 

We finished the feeding. There was no vomit. I gave Craig a few pieces of Zwieback toast - also something I'm told I experienced as a baby. He didn't seem to enjoy it very much, but he dutifully ate it. 

When Craig was done he needed something to wash down his toast and baby food. I picked up the baby bottle and removed the tray, setting it down. I snapped my fingers and pointed to the floor, and Craig obediently got down on all fours and began crawling behind me. I sat down on the couch and pointed to my lap and, after a few attempts, Craig managed to climb up and lay across my lap in the perfect position for a bottle feeding. 

I put the bottle to his lips and Craig immediately began to suck, smacking away and blinking rapidly. I told him to close his eyes and he did. He seemed to relax, and I used the hand not holding his bottle to begin rubbing his tummy. Craig actually began to smile a little, and I ran my fingers up and down his midsection, tickling him until he giggled a little. He stopped sipping and seemed to want to say something, but I pushed the bottle back into his mouth and he began slurping again...

I continued to tickle his tummy as the bottle emptied. Then I reached my hand down and rubbed the front of his diaper. I was surprised to find that he was hard - either the bottle feeding or the tickling had aroused him. As if on cue he stopped drinking and opened his eyes. 

"I get turned on by nipple play, sir..." he admitted. I nodded, but wondered if he'd really just gotten hard or had been hard for a while. I continued to rub his penis, and he continued to slurp until he was slurping nothing but air. He was even harder now. 

Time for some obedience exercises... 

I took the bottle from Craig and tossed it across the room. It landed by the front door, and I ordered him to bring it to me. He got down onto the floor and began to crawl across the floor toward it. 

"Back up," I told him. He did, and I pointed to the floor. He lay down on his tummy, and I snapped and pointed at the bottle. Craig began tummy crawling - considerably more difficult than hands-and-knees crawling - and slowly made his way toward the bottle. I could almost see him rolling his eyes from behind. He reached the bottle and started to pick it up. 

"In your teeth," I told him. He turned and looked at me, and seemed poised to ask a question. He thought better of it and bent down, trying to pick up the bottle by the nipple between his teeth. This proved to be a more difficult task than he - or I - had anticipated. After numerous attempts to right the bottle, which was laying on its side, with his chin, he finally lay his head flat on the floor and managed to mouth it. He looked quite proud of himself as he turned to come back to me, head down and bottle bobbing. I let him get halfway across the floor before I stopped him. 

"Stop." He stopped, looking confused. 

"Sit!" I ordered. I heard him murmur Okayyyyy, but he obeyed. 

"Indian style!" I commanded. Craig looked annoyed, but sat Indian style. 

I continued the drill. 

"Arms out like an airplane!" Craig slowly lifted his arms until they were horizontal to the ground. I let him sit there for several minutes until his arms began to quiver a little. 

"Windmills!" I shouted. Craig looked confused, and I could see him begin to speak, but he was still holding a baby bottle in his mouth and could not. I repeated it. "Windmills?" Craig began to move his arms windmill style - an old drill I'd done first as a swimmer and then as a swim coach. They were harder than they looked, and they tired your arms out quickly. 

"Bigger!" I commanded. Craig began to make bigger windmills, and his arms were clearly beginning to tire. I decided to give him a bit of a break, and ordered him to sit on his hands again. He complied with relief. 

I got down on all fours and crawled over to him, and then sat in front of him, just inches away. I stared into his eyes and then leaned in, nose to nose, staring. Craig blushed and looked away, so I ordered him to look at me. He did, continuing to blush, and began to giggle. (I'd done the face-to-face staredown exercise as part of training for my job at the time; a common reaction is for one or both parties to break the gaze - or begin laughing. Nobody is sure why laughing occurs, but it happens a lot. And sure, enough, it was happening here. I was dead serious; Craig couldn't help but laugh.)

"If that bottle falls out I'm going to paddle your ass," I told him. He looked suddenly serious and tried to get a better grip on the nipple with his teeth. I could tell he wanted to push it into his mouth with his hands, but they were under his bottom now and going nowhere. 

"Help me," he mumbled. I feigned confusion and asked him what he was saying. "Help me?" he repeated. I pretended to be even more confused. I put my fingers around his nipples and gave them a little twist. 

"Pinch me?" I asked him. "Okay, Craig, but I don't know why you'd - "

Craig interrupted me, ferociously shaking his head no. 

"Help me!" he repeated, louder. He had managed to direct his eyes downward, looking at the bottle, as if to give me a hint as to what he wanted. I looked downward, too - at his diaper. 

"Check me?" I reached down and inserted my fingers into his diaper. His penis was just as hard as it had been before. "Still dry," I told him. "Probably not for long but... still dry..." 

Craig shook his head no again, and I could see that he was starting to lose his grip on his bottle. I had to laugh... with all of the head shaking, he seemed to have shaken it lose. Just a little bit more... 

"Twenty-five situps," I told him. Craig looked surprised, and then groaned loudly as he put his hands behind his head and lay back. I held his feet, and Craig began doing situps. I counted. "One... one... one..." and he stopped. I explained that his head had to touch me on every situp for it to count. He groaned again and started over, coming all the way up. It looked exhausting. I was having fun. 

Twenty-five full situps later Craig was clearly tired and out of breath. I ordered him to lay down, and he did, gratefully, even murmuring a thank you. He continued to breath heavily, and I rubbed his diaper and his stomach, alternating between the two. Craig was still hard - and he was beautiful. Craig was cut and muscular, lifeguarding in the summer and maintaining his tan all winter in the booth. The whiteness of his Attend against his skin was an awesome sight, and I was enjoying every minute of it. I lay down next to him and continued to rub, and he began to sigh and moan a little. His penis was rock hard now, and pushing the diaper up in the front. It was obvious that he was enjoying it...

Now that he was laying on his back Craig decided to take a chance. The bottle in his mouth, he opened his mouth a little and kind of jerked his head up, trying to catch the bottle at a better angle. Instead, it fell to the right, bounced off the floor, and rolled away from us. 

I stopped rubbing. 

Craig looked alarmed. 

I stood up, ordering him to wait there. I walked up into the bedroom and grabbed the paddle, returning to the living room with haste. 

"Hands and knees," I ordered. 

Craig suddenly sounded very much like a scared little boy. 

"Sir... no..." he pleaded. 

"Yes," I replied. 

"Sir... please... you don't have to do this." 

It was like I had a gun to his head or something. 

"Hands and knees," I repeated. He slowly got up onto his knees and then stopped, thinking...

"Sir... please. Pleassssssse. I don't need a spanking." 

The fact that this kid in his 20s was on the floor in a diaper pleading me not to spank his was, I'll admit, hot as fuck. And the way he was doing it was fucking adorable. He didn't need a spanking? Hahahahahahahaha... I had to laugh. That was so cute. The look on his face remained dead serious as he slowly moved toward all fours. 

"Seriously, sir... please. I don't need a spanking. Please..." 

I almost felt bad as I reigned down with the first paddle smack. 

BOOOM! 

(If you know anything about Attends, you know that they have a padded seat, but that the padding is limited. If you're trying to spank someone who is wearing an Attends-brand diaper always go for the side... there's little padding there, and it will be way more effective.)

The crack echoed throughout the room, and Craig let out a yelp. 

"PLEASE!" 

His tone was begging now. Pleading! I was surprised... this was the person I'd spanked a year earlier, and he'd had no problem handling a bunch. He'd even tried to barter for more. And now he seemed genuinely frightened of the paddle. 

"Are you telling me you don't need a spanking?" I asked him. 

"Yes, sir!" he replied, seeming grateful to have a chance to plead his case - or maybe just grateful to not be getting spanked for a moment. "Sir, I don't need a spanking! I've been good this whole time!" The look in his eyes was pleading now, and I knew that the spanking would not continue. Still, I couldn't let on just yet. I let him continue. "I ate all my baby food. I sat on my hands when you told me. I haven't forgotten sir once, sir! I've been such a good boy..." 

I think what was most adorable about the situation was that Craig was genuinely in a position where he was being toddlerized. Unlike someone in the ABDL community who can just stop being little at any time, Craig had rules to obey - and ending his time as my toddler would result in the ending of our deal for the car. Craig wanted to buy that car, and I could tell he was picturing himself driving away with it at the end of a very long diapered weekend. He couldn't stop... he had zero control over events. This had made him feel helpless... which is the feeling so many ABDLs I've babysat since have told me they yearn to feel during ageplay.

Craig continued to beg. It was cute beyond belief. I finally cut him off.

"You're telling me that you don't need a spanking," I continued, to Craig's furious nodding. "But who's decision is that, Craig? Yours? Do you decide if you need a spanking?" 

I could see the look on Craig's face. He'd been caught. He was trying to reason with me, plead with me not to spank him, but he'd messed up. 

"Sir... I mean... I don't think I need a spanking. But... I know that it's not... up to me. I just..." he trailed off. 

"You don't want a spanking," I helped him. He nodded. 

"I don't want a spanking." 

"Do you think that maybe - just maybe - there's a possibility that you do need a spanking?" 

"Yes, sir." Craig looked crestfallen. He nodded sadly and, without even being told, braced his diapered bottom for the next blow. I stood and held the paddle high in the air as I walked around behind him. Craig shook his head. "It's just that... sir... I've tried to be such a good boy." Craig sounded so little now that I was starting to want to trade places with him. "I have tried to be the perfect little baby for you. I want the car, but I also want you to have fun. And I've..." 

Sigh... I let him know that I was willing to bargain, and threw the paddle into the dining room, where it landed on the carpet. Craig looked relieved. 

"Sir... I'll do anything... anything at all," he told me. 

The challenge was on... 

When we'd driven to my house there had been snow on the ground. By the time we'd woken up, however, a warm front had come through - typical for New York in December - and the snow was mostly melted, almost gone. 

"You like to run, right?" I asked him. 

"Yes, sir!" Craig responded enthusiastically. He'd briefly run track in middle school, he explained. Then he thought about what what he was saying for a moment. "Wait... why?" 

"I'm willing to end this spanking right now - if you can meet a challenge I'm going to give you," I told him. He looked confused, so I continued. "I'm going to have you do something I like to call... Luvs Laps." 

"Luvs Laps?" he repeated, sounding doubtful. "Sir, what the f--- are... Luvs Laps?" 

I reached around and swatted his bottom with the paddle - not too hard, but just hard enough. He realized his mistake. 

"I apologize for my potty mouth, sir," he said, sounding cute. "What are Luvs Laps, if you don't mind my asking?" 

The air outside was nearing 50 degrees, and the snow was almost gone. I knew it was on. I opened the front door and motioned him to crawl to me. He did, looking outside. 

"Sir... I'm not going... out there... dressed like this... am I?" 

"Up to you, Craig," I told him. Craig thought for a moment and realized what that meant. He sighed, shook his head, and gave me an exasperated look. 

"Sir... I'm going outside in a diaper, huh?" 

I nodded. 

"In broad daylight." 

I nodded some more. 

"Sir... wow. In front of your neighbors?" 

I knew my neighbors wouldn't be a problem. The neighbors across the street were old and didn't see well. I'd caught my next door neighbor with a woman who was not his wife in the backyard - plus he worked days, anyway. And the neighbors to my right were snowbirds who left New York for the Carolinas every winter. We'd be okay.

"Ten times around," I told him. 

"But sir... there's snow on the ground." 

"Hardly any," I told him, pointing outside. 

"And it's freezing, sir..." 

"Freeze your behind off... or spend the day wishing it didn't hurt." Craig had two options. I didn't really care which one he picked. He clearly did. 

"Luvs Laps... okay, sir. How many?" 

"Ten." 

Craig looked incredulous. As he began to protest the red-and-white of a Sheriff's cruiser drove by slowly. They patrolled my street often, in part because so many of my neighbors were gone for the winter. I was used to seeing them drive by; Craig, however, spotted his chance. 

"What if the Sheriff sees me? I don't want to get arrested, sir!" 

I reminded Craig that there's nothing illegal about wearing diapers. Strange, maybe, but totally legal. 

"Even in the yard, sir?" 

Even in the yard. 

Still, I hoped that nobody would drive by and see Craig running around the house in a diaper. How would I explain it? Incontinence? Mentally handicapped? I thought aloud, and Craig blushed, shaking his head. 

"I'll just tell them that you're forcing me to run around in diapers in the snow, and if I don't you won't let me back in the house," Craig threatened jokingly. "If one of us is going to jail, we're both going to jail." 

"But you'll be going to jail in nothing but a diaper," I told him. "I can't wait to tell the other inmates why. I'll tell them you were trying to break into a daycare..." 

Craig started laughing and rolled his eyes. 

"Truce, sir," he announced. 

"You ready to run?" I asked him. The Sheriff passed back up the road - their regular hourly route - and I could see Craig was nervous. "Suggestion: run fast when you're on the road side of the house..." 

I ran downstairs and grabbed Craig's shoes, then put them on the floor in front of him. He bent over to put them on and his diaper stretched. It was beginning to loosen, and I knew that it would soon be time for a change. I briefly considered changing Craig before his run, but then thought better of it. 

I pointed outside, and Craig stepped outside and onto the front porch. I joined him, closing the door. It was cold. The sun was beaming, but not on our side of the house. Craig shivered and hugged himself to try to stay warm, beginning to jump up and down. His diaper began to sag and fall, and I gave his half-bare bottom a swat. He grabbed his diaper and hiked it up. 

"Uh oh, sir..." 

"You'll be fine. Now, ten times around. You have to run as fast as you can, and every time you pass the door you must stop, face me, and tell me something good about me." 

"Sir... really?" Craig looked like he thought I was joking but couldn't be sure. 

"Dead ass serious," I told him. "And... you have a total of ten minutes. If you don't finish in ten, we can do it again... or I can just pull that paddle back out." 

"Sir... so if I don't make it under ten minutes this won't even count?" 

"Nope," I told Craig. "Want to change your mind and just take the spanking?" 

"No, sir," Craig answered. "I just want to be fast..." 

"Then go one one... ten... nine... eight..." 

Craig posed as if to get a runner's start. I started laughing, but continued the countdown. 

"...one." 

Craig was off. He ran down the stairs, across the driveway, and around the house. I peered through the front door and saw him blaze past the back window, and then around the dining room. Within twenty seconds he was back around and standing in front of me. His diaper was sagging a little more now. 

"Sir, you have been there for me all my life, and if I ever needed anything I knew I could come to you." 

Boom. He was off again. I watched through the house as he ran around, and within thirty seconds he was rounding the other side of the house again. I realized I hadn't checked the time. It was okay... I wasn't serious about the ten minute thing anyway.

"Sir..." he panted. "Sir... remember the time I had my lifeguarding class... and I didn't want to go, and you told me if I didn't you wouldn't ever give me a ride anywhere again?" I nodded. I knew where this was going. "Sir, that class changed my life. Thank you." 

Craig took off again. As he rounded the corner I could see the crack of his ass. His diaper was not able to handle all of this running. I briefly wondered if he was wet...

He rounded the corner again, staggering to a stop in front of me. He was out of breath, now. 

"Sir... this is harder than I thought it would be..." 

"That doesn't count as something good about me... try again," I said, joking. Craig rolled his eyes. 

"Sir... you tried to keep me from dropping out of high school, but I just wanted to skate all day. If I had listened to you instead of my friends who skated, my life would be way different now." 

With that Craig was off again. Six more times around. Each time the diaper was lower. By lap eight he was holding it up with his hands as he ran. Each time around he had something nice to say, and although I thought he'd start running out of ideas and presenting me with lameness, he did not. By lap ten I could see most of Craig's penis - his Attend was drooping in the front - and he was completely out of breath. 

A car rolled slowly by behind Craig. The driver was looking straight ahead and clearly didn't see us, but Craig wasn't even fazed. He was exhausted, and gave the car a sideways glance, then a huge wave. 

"Look at me! I'm in a diaper!" Craig shouted. It was time to go inside. 

"I think the hypothermia is going to your brain," I joked, and Craig laughed. We stepped inside. He was forced to hold his diaper up, now... it was so loose it wouldn't stick to him. I wondered how elderly people who need diapers move around all day. I guessed they didn't run much. 

"Take your diaper off," I ordered. Craig let go of it and shook his bottom left-and-right a few times and the diaper easily fell to the floor. He stepped out of it, bent over, picked it up, and handed it to me. It was dry, of course. 

I reached down and flicked Craig's penis. It wasn't hard anymore - in fact, the cold had made it retreat into itself like a turtle. I laughed, and flicked it a few more times. 

"You know what happens when they get cold, sir," Craig noted. 

"They get... diaper sized?" I asked. Craig rolled his eyes and shook his head. 

"It'll be huge as ever in just a few minutes, watch," Craig boasted. My turn to roll my eyes. I continued to rub it a bit, and then turned Craig around and pushed him gently into the corner. 

I returned to the couch and lay down. Craig stood silently, now, and would stand there for as long as I wanted him to. I could literally keep him nude in the corner for the rest of the day if I wanted. I lay for nearly an hour, relaxing as the sun hit the couch, and watching my friend's bottom - his beautiful, tan (thank you, tanning booths!) bottom. 

He finally raised his hand. 

"Sir," he said when I finally pretended I'd noticed him. "Sir... I have to go... umm... dookie." 

TO BE CONTINUED...

Next: Craig And The Oatmeal Filled Diaper 

Visit to Orlando: Baby Chad

[CWIS'S NOTE:] I am only allowed to tell the following story, and not use pictures, since I was not allowed to take any. For anyone who thinks that I only meet up and babysit ABDLs for blog material, think again. I also do it for stories, some of which I'm not even permitted to share here. So if you're visiting Orlando and you want to spend some time being toddlerized without pictures, etc., hit me UP!

There is nothing more annoying than someone hitting you up on Yahoo instant messenger and starting a conversation about wanting to visit you for some diaperage and, when you ask them if they have a diaper profile, they say "SURE!" and then promptly link you to a profile with zero pictures. I mean, seriously... how hard is it to put up a picture?

Now, don't get me wrong. I do have a specific 'type' of baby I like to babysit. If you know me, you know it's someone younger than me, someone shorter than me, and someone who's a thug, jock, twink... one of those, lol.

But I'm not so exclusive that I can't babysit other types of people as well. I've babysat people older than me, and people larger than me. And I've also done photoshoots for people who don't even begin to fit my 'fave' criteria.

But, for me, there's nothing I like more than burying my face in the diapered behind of a collegebaby - or, if I can find one, a thug - and nutting in my Huggies. That's just me.

So, when someone messages me and links me to a pictureless profile, I usually just figure that they know my 'type', they don't fit it, and they want me to still talk to them.

So I do.

I'm no prize, myself. I am well aware that I don't fit everyone's 'type'; those who find me the most fun tend to be those looking for a sitter/big bro/daddy type. Thankfully, our fetish is full of those - and many happen to be my 'type', too. So it works.

But, still, I don't ignore people based on their appearance. Or even their age.

I do ignore people who seem mentally challenged - which, sadly, there is also no shortage of in our lifestyle choice.

Someone who messages me and says things like "Daddy change poopy boy's diaper?" usually gets a polite "I'm busy" followed by, sadly, the block button. And I suspect that many of the ph0to-free profiles I get hit up by belong to those people - including one I've blocked on no fewer than seven screen names. (If you're reading, you know who you are...)

So when I got a message from someone claiming to be a 19yo college baby, 5'7 150lbs, blond/blue, who likes rap music, I thought... sure, dude.

Reverse the numbers in the age, maybe.

Still, I was intrigued, and the conversation continued. The young man would be visiting Orlando, FL for a college sporting event (sure you will, buddy), and had some spare time to kill. He'd found my blog on a diaper website and was desiring some 'toddlerization' - and wanted to spend a full day wearing Pampers, and being forced to use them.

"I don't get into being spanked, but I know that you like that sort of thing, so I'll let you do it," he offered, as if he felt like he had to sell me on the idea. I asked him for his link and he sent me the URL to a profile which not only had no pictures, it also hadn't been logged into for several weeks.

"Not on much, I see..." I typed to him.

"People are dicks to me," he replied. "I pretty much just go to your blog."

Sure, buddy... flattery, good trick.

I told him to message me if/when he got to Orlando, he said he would, and the conversation ended with me 100% sure I'd just been had by someone I didn't want to talk to.

Fast forward to March.

I get a text message from a number. I'm pretty good with area codes, but I don't recognize this one, so I google it. It's from the same area my faceless friend had claimed to be from.

"In Orlando, sir. You told me to send you a text."

I texted back, and a conversation went back and forth for an hour or more. He claimed to be in Orlando, in a hotel near the airport, and even went as far as to suggest that he'd insisted on getting his own room on account of the possibility that he and I would be meeting up. He went into a whole story about how his room had been in a line of rooms with other people from his school, and how he'd quietly gone to the front desk and complained of an odor of smoke. They'd moved him up five floors without questioning his made up complaint, and he'd moved his bag up. He wondered if I would be able to come by...

It was a Thursday night. I had to work at 7 the next day, and 9 on Saturday. I asked if he'd be free Saturday night, and he told me he wasn't sure. They were flying out Monday, and they had some kind of event they were supposed to go to on Sunday, but he'd try to get out of anything on Saturday night.

I was nervous, now. I'd gone back to the RUP profile page; he still hadn't logged in. What's more, he and I weren't even friends on that site. Weird...

"I usually meet in a public place," I texted.

"I've never met anyone," he texted back. "Just tell me how it's supposed to go, sir."

"We meet in public and I check your ID to make sure you're 18+," I texted. "If you are, we talk. If we're both cool, we go upstairs..."

"That sounds good to me, sir," he told me. "I'll be cool no matter what..."

Saturday crawled by, and I looked forward to getting the fuck out of work.

I'd packed up my diaper bag full of Cushies, Attends, a few other kinds of diapers, and assorted supplies. I figured I might not need them, but what the fuck... should always have a supply in the car anyway, right? You never know when you meet a random diaperable dude...

I drove out of work and hit the 408, headed for the airport. The kid had suggested we meet at the entrance to the TGIF restaurant, and I assumed it was a part of his hotel. I'd forgotten that it's freestanding. His hotel was nowhere near it. Still, I parked, got out, and walked toward the door.

Standing next to the door was a man of about 28 or 29. He was about 6'2, a big dude, and had - I kid you not - a mullet. I was like... damn. I walked toward him and smiled.

"Chad?" I asked him.

"No, dude," he told me. "Ernie."

"I'm Chad," someone called out. I turned around to see a hot-ass little dude come race-walking up the sidewalk.

"That's Chad," the dude with the mullet offered helpfully. I turned and asked him if they knew each other. "No, man... he just said his name was Chad!" the guy retorted, as if I was retarded. I turned back to Chad, who was apologizing for not being by the door. I extended my hand and we shook hands, and then he leaned in for a hug, much to my surprise. I gave him one back, and then I heard a female voice call out "CHAD!"

Damn... people from his college?

"That's our table, sir," he said quietly, turning to walk inside. I realized that the TGIF waitress had called his name, and I followed him in. Nobody had mentioned anything about eating... I thought, annoyed. Still, I was hungry, so I walked with them to the table and allowed her to seat us. Grrrrr, I thought; I'm gonna wind up shelling out dough for this shit. He looked at me and started to chuckle. "Sir... when you said meet in public I thought you meant like... eat in public. That's not what you meant, is it?"

I told him it was all good but, truthfully, I was a bit uncomfortable. I was used to walking with an AB into their room, or my room, and slapping them down on the bed, yanking off their drawers, and replacing them with a diaper. The conversation usually came later... and how the fuck were we going to get through a meal, during a very busy TGIF time, without conversation?

Plus I wasn't thrilled about dropping $40-50 for dinner.

Still, Chad was... hot. And I could tell already, just by the way he started to laugh when he realized how surprised I was, that I was going to like him.

So we ate dinner, and we talked.

Chad steered the conversation to diapers over and over and, despite my initial discomfort about talking about a sexual fetish at the dinner table, I went along.

The waitress offered dessert and we declined. A few minutes later she brought us our check and, before it was even on the table, Chad had whipped out his credit card like a six-shooter, placing it on top of the check which the waitress promptly continued back to the kitchen with.

"I didn't have time to get out my card," I told him.

"Nah, sir," he said. "I got this. You're providing me a service tonight, for free. The last I can do is pay for your meal first."

I was taken aback. I had totally thought this little college dude was some sort of gold digger looking for a freebie - and, truthfully, if he'd mentioned dinner first, I would have offered to pay. In fact, I'd gone back and forth on offering, anyway, and had planned to say something about it while we were looking over the check. Wait... we hadn't even looked over the check...

"What if she just brought the check for that table," I asked him, pointing to an obnoxiously loud table of twenty-something running down the middle of the dining room. "And you just blindly paid it without looking at it... what now?"

He laughed.

"Then I guess you're just gonna have to make this babysitting session worth it, sir," he told me.

(Note: I'd let him know that he didn't have to call me sir about three times. He didn't stop).

The waitress returned with the check, and Chad scooped it up and signed it.

"Let me see it," I said.

"It's ours, sir," he replied, refusing to pass it to me. "Check this instead!" He handed me his driver's license, and I looked it over. "See, sir? I'm legit!" His age was right, his name was really Chad, and he was from the city he'd said. Plus he'd paid for dinner.

"Allright, Chad," I said as we got up to leave the table. "I guess it's time for some... toddlerization."

"I've been waiting my whole life for this," he told me, sounding very serious. And, then, an admission: "Did you see how much water I gulped down during dinner? I'm probably going to go through five or ten diapers tonight..."

I had to laugh; a crowd had grown by the restaurant entrance, and Chad had been forced to raise his voice to be heard over them. I turned a sideways glance back toward the people lining the doorway, and it was clear that Chad's statement had been heard by... everyone.

Ballsy kid...

We drove to Chad's hotel. I toyed with the idea of bringing him to my place - I could already tell that I liked him, and he'd paid for my dinner. I typically avoid bringing people home that I don't know well... you have to be someone I've grown to trust before you come over to the pad. But I sense that this kid was trustworthy. Still, we were so close to his hotel, and I was ready to do some diapering. In the end, proximity won out.

We walked in and headed for the elevator. Just then some college girls came running up to Chad.

"Chad... where were you? We wanted to see if you would come to dinner with us..."

"Oh, I was having dinner with my friend," Chad replied. I'd half expected him to ask me to duck or pretend I didn't know him or something. Instead he began to introduce me to everyone. After I'd met everyone one of the girls asked me if I was in town for the event. I began to nod, figuring that would avert suspicion, but Chad cut in.

"No, he's from Orlando. He lives here," he told them. Only one of the girls gave me a funny look, and that only lasted long enough for another to break in with a statement that she wished she could move to Orlando. They all agreed, and I pictured them, kids from a country state and a country town, seeing Orlando as being pretty exciting. The girls left, and Chad and I got into the elevator.

"They are so annoying!" Chad told me as the elevator began to rise. "Seriously, I think all of them like me. I can't tell them I'm gay, but... I want to just to be left alone..."

"Oh, you're gay?" I asked him. We hadn't discussed it, and his profile hadn't specified.

"Umm... yea," he replied. "I mean... I'm asking a male to get me naked and put diapers on me. I figured it would be obvious." I could tell by his eyes that he was trying not to smile, and I had to laugh and roll my eyes. It wasn't obvious, I told him - and, besides, I'd diapered lots of straight boys. Probably more straight boys than not. "Well, I'm not straight. So you can diaper me and pretty much whatever," he concluded.

Now I was excited...

We walked into his room and he locked the door and bolted it.

"If my chaperone knocks, let me get it?" he asked. I nodded, and he told me "remind me I'm wearing a diaper, in case I forget?" He seemed serious, so I agreed.

I asked him if he had any diapers, but he reminded me he'd flown here. Lots of people fly with diapers, I told him. He seemed not to believe me, so I let it go and pulled out my selection.

"Oh, yay! Cushies!" he cried out. I shushed him and he replied with "You shush! I've wanted to wear Cushies ever since I first saw them online. I couldn't afford them. Thanks for bringing them!" I wanted to thank him for bringing his adorable ass, but I just nodded.

"I have to pissssss, sir," he told me. I asked if he'd like to use the toilet before we got started, and he looked at me funny. "This isn't getting my money's worth," he joked. "You're supposed to be telling me I can't use the toilet. I want my money back!"

I responded by walking to the bathroom door and closing it. He smiled. I walked over to him and gave him a little push, sending him down onto the bed in a seated position. I picked his feet up, pulling them over his head, and pulled his socks off at once. Tossing them onto the floor I grabbed his pants by the waistband.

"You sure you're ready for this?" I asked him. In a moment I would be seeing his naked winkie, and it would be too late to go back. He nodded vigorously and gave me a yes, sir. I tugged, and he was laying in a shirt and some 2Xist briefs. Hot...

I set a diaper, baby wipes, and powder down next to Chad, and then grabbed his underpants by the waistband. In a moment they were on the floor. I pulled Chad's feet together and up toward the ceiling, grabbed a baby wipe, and began to go to town on the kid's ass. His face turned red and he closed his eyes. His penis went from soft to hard to erect, and I laughed to myself. He opened his eyes, as if to confirm I was laughing, and then closed them again.

Ahhhhhh... he sighed.

"You okay?" I asked, digging in to his bum.

"Sir... I'm more than okay," he answered contentedly. "I've been dreaming about being diapered by someone since the day after I wasn't allowed to wear them anymore. You have no idea what this means to me..."

I was kind of taken aback.

"That's what I do... make dreams come true..." I quipped, not being able to think of anything else to say. Chad laughed and nodded.

"You have no idea, sir."

I looked out the window. The sun was setting and a huge plane was flying toward the runway, framed smack dab in the middle of it. It was a beautiful sight. And, smack dab in the middle of the mattress in front of me, another beautiful sight: Chad and his awesome bottom. I was in heaven: a nice hotel, an awesome hotel room, diapering one of the hottest college dudes I'd ever met - following a dope-ass dinner.

It seriously hit me all at once how lucky I was.

For all of the times that I've bitched to myself about the diaper lifestyle, or living in Orlando, or a hundred other things related to this fetish... I was in a situation I probably would not have found myself in if it were not for diapers.

I hope that God's not easily offended, because I won't lie: at that moment I looked out the window and up, and said "Thank you for Pampers..."

Coming Soon...

A Ride Through The Hood... and Chad Poops in Public...

Fraternity Diaper: Part III

CWIS'S NOTE: I have edited this for clarity, but not much for content. With the exception of changing or removing some names, everything you're about to read was submitted by a friend of mine, a recent graduate of the University of Buffalo now living in Rochester, NY. He's not an AB, but he's done a little abysitting. He also wore a diaper for a weekend, which is what this two-part story is about. Enjoy...

FRATERNITY DIAPER: PART III

When you think about Hell Week, you think of a week of absolute humiliation and torture followed by a weekend of inebriated craziness. Alcohol poisoning. Death.

Which is the way hazing used to be. But not anymore.

Not at [EDITED] College, anyway. Despite the nonchalantness of the older brothers, at most schools there is a fear of being caught hazing. Of having restrictions placed on chapters, of having charters revoked. Nobody gives a fuck about going to jail, but nobody wants to lose their fraternity. If it didn't mean so fucking much, they wouldn't go through humiliation to become a part of it.

So, for us, Hell Week became Hell Weekend. The week involved chores and early bedtimes, and barely leaving our rooms. Hell Weekend involved... mystery.

On Thursday we'd spent the day being slightly embarassed across campus. Just embarassing enough to entertain the campus and make us look like retards; not bad enough to look like hazing.

On Friday we'd spend the day going to classes, and then would report back to the house. Nobody would leave for the weekend. We hadn't been told much, but we'd been told it was Hell Weekend. We knew we were in store for... something.

At class on Friday I overheard several people in my public speaking class talking about my frat. I listened intently, but only caught bits and pieces. It seemed that they thought they'd be going to a party at the house on Saturday night. Doubtful, I thought; we're going to be getting tortured all day Saturday. Still, I wondered if there was a party being planned when I overheard a different group talking about it on my way to my next class. Hmm. There was always enough beer to have a party...

I spent Friday afternoon in my room, sitting, waiting to be called out. I was joined by several of my fellow pledges, and there was tension and silence so thick you could cut it with a knife. Everyone wondered what was in store for us. I kept playing back scenes from Animal House, Dead Poet's Society, and other movies in my head. I kept thinking of my mother, who spent my entire high school career keeping me from drinking, finding out her little boy had died of alcohol poisoning. I'm not very religious, but I did spend a few minutes on my knees Friday afternoon.

On Friday at about 6 p.m. we were called out for dinner. We were told to dress up. I wondered how they expected us to do that, since nobody had been given much time to get stuff. I certainly hadn't grabbed a dressy outfit.

One big group, we were all directed to sit at the kitchen table together. One pledge was wearing a tie, another a button-down shirt. The rest of us looked just like we always did...

We'd become accustomed to eating dinner in our rooms, or in small groups, eating peanut butter sandwiches while we served the brothers actual food. So to be sat at the dining room table, one big group, was feeling pretty good. Like we'd arrived.

In front of us were place settings consisting of giant white China plates and, on top of them, little silver domes. I pictures this stuff coming with the mansion with the original owners. My mother had fine China, but this stuff was... exquisite.

At each place was a full setting of silverware, as well, complete with two spoons, three forks, a knife, and some little tiny fork across the top of the plate. Water goblets rounded out the place setting. I secretly wondered if we were skipping Hell Weekend and going right to brotherhood...

The brothers filed in and stood around us.

"Welcome to dinner, gentlemen," announced Darren. "You've spent the week serving us, and we appreciate that." (Laughter from the other brothers). "We know we're no piece of cake. No picnic. So tonight we'd like to return the favor. Tonight we'll be serving you dinner."

Smiles all around.

"This is exciting," Darren exclaimed. Heads nodded.

"Mark, very nice tie," Mark, another brother, said to the only pledge who had dressed up. "We Marks, we really know how to do it up. Everyone else... no ties?"

"Sir, we didn't really have time to - " one pledge began, but Mark cut him off with a waive of his hand.

"Hands raised, please."

The pledge's hand went up.

"Yes?"

"Sir, we really didn't have time to get ties, sir," the pledge repeated.

"You can't come to a formal dinner not dressed for it," Darren broke in. We pledges looked at each other, bewildered, and the brothers chuckled. "Get undressed."

If we thought we were confused a few minutes before, we were really confused now.

We sat around the table looking at each other.

"Undressed, now!" Darren said, forcefully. One by one we began taking our shirts off, wadding them up and siting with them on our laps. He waited. I stood up slowly, unbuckled my belt, and began to take down my pants. I went slowly, waiting to be told to stop. I wasn't, and as the others followed I realized we'd be sitting around in our underwear. Hmm.

We soon were seated in our boxers, holding our pants and shirts. All but Mark, who'd been allowed to remain dressed. I was irritated, was he already getting points above the rest of us? I wanted #1 spot. FUCK!

"Un-dressed."

I realized that we were going to be eating dinner naked about the same time everyone else did. Faces red as fuck, each of us stood and removed our underwear, and then our socks. Soon we were sitting, bare-assed, a dozen embarassed frat pledges. Is this even hygienic? I was thinking...

"Joachim, would you bring out their outfits for the weekend?"

Another brother, Joachim, retrieved a large box from the kitchen. He walked around the table, pulling out items and placing them in the hands of each pledge. It took me seeing him doing it four or five times before I figured out what we were going to be wearing: huge diapers. WTF! I'd seen these in movies before, but I was hoping we'd be spared...

Once each of us were holding a diaper we were instructed to throw our clothes onto the floor behind us, and then put them on.

Have you ever put on a huge diaper by yourself?

Actually, judging by my audience, you probably have! Hahaha.

I hadn't. And I struggled like a bitch! Seriously... I stood up, trying not to let my cock swing around too much, and held the top of the diaper by my navel. I couldn't figure out which end was which, and was about to tape it with the tapes in the back when I remembered having actually changed a baby diaper; the tapes go in the front. I reversed the thing and tried to put it on. I'm holding the front up over my cock, and I couldn't get a grip on the back. Then I grabbed the back and held on, but my cock flopped and pushed the front down. Jesus... I hoped we weren't getting points based on self-diapering speed.

I was reassured by the fact that everyone else seemed to be struggling too.

After a few minutes I was wearing the thing, seated back at my seat. Faces were red and nobody was comfortable. Any joy we'd been taking in being served a big, formal dinner was pretty much gone.

"This is what you'll be wearing this weekend," Darren said. "Not the same diaper all weekend. But diapers all weekend. Any questions?"

None.

"Dinner time," he said, picking up a silver bell and ringing it. With that the brothers stepped around behind us, putting their hands on our shoulders. I shivered - it was cold, and I wasn't used to having another dude put his hands on me while I was wearing just a diaper. (Ah, the irony!) Darren nodded, and each brother reached forward, grabbing our little silver domes in unison. They lifted them and revealed: dinner.

Gerber fucking baby food. In little jars.

WTF!

"You were probably hoping for prime rib," Spencer, another brother, said, smiling. "Sorry..."

We each looked at each other, and around at the food set out before us. I had peas. I remembered my mother telling a story about how I'd puked peas all over her as a baby. And, before me, a jar of fucking peas.

"You can't have a delicious dinner without drinks!" Spencer said enthusiastically, and on cute a brother walked out with a big silver tray - of baby bottles.

Seriously; baby bottles.

"Anyone ever had a White Russian?" Spencer asked. Several of the pledges around me nodded vigorously, and one shouted out "Hell yeah!" Spencer laughed. "Greatttt! Well, tonight you're having... baby formula." The baby bottles were in front of us now. Dinner would be peas and formula. In diapers.

Not what I'd been expecting.

Surprisingly, I didn't throw up. Dry heaves but... no vomit.

Go me.

After dinner we were sent to our rooms.

And directly to bed.

I lay silently, in my diaper, trying to sleep.

The motherfucker made NOISE!

Every time I moved just a little, it sounded like a fucking piece of tinfoil being wadded up.

I quivered my asscheeks just a little bit. NOISE. I rolled over onto my stomach. NOISE.

I realized that everyone else was pretty much doing what I was doing. Squeezing cheeks, rolling around, rubbing our cocks, and listening.

Annoying!

After thirty minutes of noise-interrupted silence, someone finally said it.

"So guys... I have to piss!"

It came as a whisper, but I realized, as soon as I heard it, that I had to piss, too.

We were wearing diapers, and only diapers. And we had to piss.

Nobody said it, but I imagined we were all thinking it: would we be allowed to piss?

I hoped so!

I pictured myself laying in bed in a big Depends diaper soaking in my own urine. DISGUSTING. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep. I might throw up.

And then it hit me...

I was going to have to take a crap, too.

It wasn't even 9 p.m. yet. No way I was making it to the next morning.

Oh... my... GOD!

The pledge who'd whispered that he had to piss got up and tiptoed to the door. A brother was on him immediately, and we all listened to him ask, humbly, if he could go to the bathroom. Sir.

"Haha," the brother replied. "You thought we were going to make you go in your diapers, did you?"

Pause...

"Wasn't... sure... sir."

"No, you're all right. You know where the bathroom is."

Inside the bedroom we each breathed a sigh of relief.

A few minutes later the pledge was back.

He lay down, his diaper making the tinfoil noise.

"I have to go too," I whispered. "Which bathroom?"

"Doesn't matter," he whispered back. "They're locked. All of them."

FUCK...

Every single one of us woke up in our own piss. Some of us had tried to hold out, but nobody was successful. I'd lasted until about 5 a.m., but I was exhausted and eventually just said fuck it. I'd pissed so much the diaper had leaked onto the mattress. I wondered if that would affect my ranking.

Breakfast was dry cheerios and milk. We were prohibited from pouring the milk into the Cheerios. It was an interesting breakfast.

Shower time was next, and I have never been so relieved to use a toilet before. I shit until I couldn't shit no more. And then I shit again. Pissed, too. And then showered. I scrubbed my dick, balls, and ass like it was infested. I'd been covered in my own piss for three, four hours. I was getting clean!

We'd thought our time in diapers was over, but... we were wrong. Waiting for us after the shower was... another diaper. My face must have fallen, because Elias started laughing when he saw it. I shook my head. This time, though, I put the thing on in half the time. It fit better, too.

We were directed to go into the foyer and sit. If anyone had walked into the house at that moment we would have looked pretty crazy, a group of thirteen college students in diapers and a group of more than twenty in boxers, t's, and whatever else.

A brother flipped on the TV and turned it to the cartoon channel. We sat there in silence, watching cartoons, and the irony wasn't lost on me: a group of diaper-clad college kids watching Saturday morning cartoons. Time machine?

After thirty minutes the rest of the brothers came into the room, and the TV was turned off.

An announcement was made: the house was holding a party - tonight - and the "little brothers" were hosting it.

"There are thirteen of you," one brother told us. "The same number we started with. We've never had that happen before. So I'm here to tell you... all of you who make it through this weekend will have a spot in this fraternity. We are proud of you. Nobody will be kicked out at this point. Some may quit, and that's fine. But if you don't quit, you're in."

HUGE, HUGE SMILES.

"Now, what place you get... that gets decided tonight."

NERVOUS GLANCES.

"Let's take a tour of the house."

The brothers led us around the house, showing us the rooms we'd be living in.

Huge room, king sized bed, with a water view and a big screen. Huge room with two queen beds and a plasma. Large room, one bed. Medium-sized room, one bed. Small room, two beds. Closet, two beds.

And then... a large back room used for storage. Two fold-out cots, a toddler bed, and a sleeping bag on the floor.

"We weren't expecting all of you," Scott, a senior, told us. "My suggestion is... don't be in last place. You won't even get a bed."

"A toddler bed," one brother said, laughing. "That's funny. Where the FUCK did we find that shit?"

All of the brothers laughed. All of the pledges didn't.

"We won't wind up with thirteen," another brother predicted. "Someone will quit. Probably a few someones. I predict ten... it is Hell Weekend, you know."

We spent the day on our hands and knees, scrubbing floors and polishing baseboards, in a scene straight out of every frat boy movie you've ever seen.

Dressed in diapers, and occasionally pissing ourselves, we were a fairly embarassed group.

Still, it wasn't as bad as the movies. We were bossed around, but there was no licking shoes. No crawling around with paddles attached to our hands. No groveling. We were actually treated with respect, really.

The worst, though, was yet to come...

At 4 p.m. we were treated to more baby food. I got apple this time, which I actually found kind of tasty - although I didn't let it show. Someone hurled his peas - haha, sucker - and one dude looked like he was going to refuse to eat, but then chowed down at the last minute. Pussy. No baby bottles with dinner; we were given huge glasses and every kind of soda you can think of spread out before us. It occurred to me that we were still wearing diapers, and what comes in must come out, so I poured just a little and took small sips. This would prove to be a good choice...

At 4:20 we were sitting at the table when the brothers walked in. They each had baby blue cloths in their hands, and each walked around behind us, one by one. On cue they leaned forward and held the cloths in front of us. They were bibs, and before we knew it we were each wearing one - baby blue bibs embroidered with our frat's Greek letters.

"Cute," said one of the brothers, and the rest laughed.

"I always wanted a little brother," said another.

"Diapers off!"

At once we were up and removing our diapers. I was relieved; mine was wet, and I was very uncomfortable. We'd been allowed to use the toilet throughout the day if we had to shit, but we had to do a fifteen minute wall sit. I'd held it.

"Brothers, diaper your pledges," Spencer announced. My 'big brother' was on me within seconds. He motioned for me to come with him, and we walked upstairs to his room, a large single on the third floor facing the lake.

"Nice room, sir," I told him.

"You're Unworthy of this room," he told me, a serious look on his face. Then he burst out laughing. "Dude, go take a dump. Hurry." He pointed to his bathroom and I did, hustling in, shitting, wiping, washing, and coming back out. He pointed to his bed and I sat down on it. He took my feet in his hands and pushed them up above my head, forcing me to lay back. This was as close to a homoerotic experience as I'd ever had, and I was pretty fucking nervous. Was he going to stick something up my ass?

Instead, Zachary forced the diaper he was holding up underneath my ass. He sprinkled baby powder all over me and folded the diaper over my dick, taping it tightly, and pulling me back up into a sitting position.

"You need to be comfortable, because tonight is the night you earn a room like mine," he told me. "I started out at #4, but #2 got kicked out of school, and I'm #3 in my class. I want you to be in the same position I'm in."

"Thank you, SIR!" I said, meaning it. I thought our big brothers were supposed to torture us. Mine seemed pretty cool.

"I'm going to give you a hint," he told me. "Don't try to outsmart us and be first. It's not worth it. And... don't quit. You'll be glad you didn't."

"I don't understand," I replied, but he just smiled.

"You will. Let's go downstairs..."

"Party's at seven," Spencer announced once we were all sitting on the floor again. "Your jobs will be assigned to you shortly. There are a few rules. Number one: our names are SIR. Number two: your names are UNWORTHY. And number three: nobody should have to ask you twice for anything. Any questions?"

"No, SIR," collectively.

"Lie on your stomachs," he ordered, and we all complied. He walked through the room as we lay silently, rubbing something across the back of our diapers. I glanced over as he was standing over the kid next to me. He had a marker, and he was writing something. Or, more accurately, signing something.

"I've signed your diapers," he announced when he was finished. "Nobody here can replicate my signature, and if anyone ever tries, they're done with [EDITED]. Your diapers don't come off until I take them off. Your bibs don't come off until I take them off. And your bonnets... the same."

Bonnets?

I saw a big box on the table and realized... yes, bonnets.

"Here's how it works," the brother continued. "You are all wearing a diaper. Now the contest begins. You will now become... the Dirty Dozen."

Laughter. I remembered this had been mentioned a week ago.

"You will drink what we give you. You will eat what we give you. And you will not be allowed to use the toilet. Any questions so far?"

NO SIR...

"He who drops a load in his diaper first is Brother #2. From there, the numbers go in reverse order. He who goes second is #13. The third pooper is #12. Are you guys catching the pattern?"

YES, SIR...

"If you use the toilet, you've quit the fraternity. If you sneak your snake out to piss, you've quit the fraternity. And if you take your diaper off before this weekend is over, the weekend is over. Questions?

NO, SIR...

But I had questions.

Starting with... WHAT THE FUCK???

We were going to be defacating on ourselves?

To join a frat?

For real?

Shitting on ourselves? And then prohibited from taking off our dirty, disgusting diapers?

This was fucking GAY!

I'd gone through a week of strictness and a day of humiliation only to find out I'd have to shit in my own pants to get a good room.

Or, more accurately, not shitting to get a good room.

This was... sick.

The brother had finished with the rules and there were no questions. And then it hit me. Not only would I be wearing a diaper... I'd be serving upperclassmen coming to a party. At our fucking frat house.

Me. A diaper. Possible fecal matter. And people from across campus.

Seriously?

For the first time I began thinking about quitting.

My job was assigned: I was to stand in the foyer and give people directions to the various rooms of the house.

I was to say "Sir, ma'am" to everyone.

And take sit-down breaks only when given permission. By a brother.

Not only would I be diapered... I'd be front and center.

I was feeling sorry for myself, until I heard James' assignment: stand out on the porch and welcome everyone to the party.

Yeah, I could handle inside.

"Ready to begin?" a brother asked. Everyone nodded and, on command, stood up.

"Hell... Weekend... Has... Begun!"

Within seconds three hands shot up.

"I pooped, sir," said James. Proudly. I couldn't help but laugh... James was happy to have shit in his pants. Wow.

"Congratualations, James" Spenser shouted, and the brothers all clapped. "Gentleman, you are looking at Brother #2!"

Irony... #2? Yeah.

"Ummmmm... sir..." stammered Tommy, another pledge. "I actually did, too."

"Did what?" Spenser asked. Tommy was red as fuck and didn't look proud.

"I pooped, sir."

I looked at Zachary, who looked at me. THANK YOU, SIR I mouthed. He nodded and smiled. I realized what he'd meant about not trying to smart anyone to be first.

"You pooped?" Spenser asked? "Come here, let me see."

Tommy walked over to Spenser. It was clear from the mound in the back of his diaper he had, indeed, shitted. But still, Spenser reached down, put his hand on Tom's diaper, and rubbed it all around. I imagined the shit going everywhere. I thought I might throw up.

"You did, indeed, Thomas," Spenser announced. And then, without missing a beat, he announced: "GENTLEMEN... MEET BROTHER NUMBER... THIRTEEN!"

Tommy looked around. Nobody was clapping. He looked sick.

I looked over at the third hand. This dude looked sick, too. And angry. Within seconds, all eyes were on him.

"Sir, I actually think I did it first," he stammered.

"Did what first?" Spenser asked him innocently.

"Shit in my fucking shit, dude," the kid blurted out. All respect was gone now. He was angry.

"You did what in your fucking what?" Spenser asked, and other brothers began to laugh.

"Yo, I shit before you even said it started!" the kid shouted. Spenser looked at the other brothers, and then at us, and then back at the boy.

"GENTLEMEN... MEET... BROTHER NUMBER... THIRTEEN!"

The kid stomped out the front door, slamming it behind him. People chuckled and I wondered how long it would take him to realize he was in a shitty diaper, with no dorm keys, before he'd return.

"Brother number twelve, take your position!" Spenser shouted, looking at the formerly #13. "Everyone else... it's GO TIME!"

I knew my mission. No matter what else I did... I had to not poop.

I was going to be #1... or at least #3 or 4. I wanted Spenser status. I wanted to be like my big brother. I wanted that sick room.

TO BE CONTINUED...