| Title:
| The Babysitter's Daughter
|
| Name:
| Timothy P.
|
| Email:
| [email protected]
|
| Gender:
| Male
|
| Current Age:
| 21
|
| Posting Date:
| 05/31/09
|
| Story Contents:
|
| A- Post-toddler (4-8)* | | R- Sisters, other girls* |
| | B- Pre-teen (9-12)* | | S- Babysitters | ●
| | C- Teen (13-17) | | T- Masturbation |
| | D- Adult (18+) | | U- Sexual situations |
| | E- Cloth diapers* | | V- Gay |
| | F- Disposable diapers | ● | W- Erections |
| | G- Pee | ● | X- Bedwetting |
| | H- Poop* | ● | Y- Accidents | ●
| | I- Exposed diapers/pantslessness* | ● | Z- Punishment/Diaper Discipline | ●
| | J- Multiple diapers* | | 1- Female Domination* | ●
| | K- Baby paraphernalia | ● | 2- Enemas |
| | L- Mother | | 3- Restraints |
| | M- Father | | 4- Crying | ●
| | N- Aunt | | 5- Spanking | ●
| | O- Uncle | | 6- Humiliation | ●
| | P- Brothers (diapered) | | 7- Babying | ●
| | Q- Brothers (not diapered) | | 8- Regression | ●
| | *Denotes Deekerian story elements
|
|
| Summary:
|
A boy is forcibly regressed by a teenage girl, made to wear and use diapers and
humiliated.
|
| Deekerian Score (20 is max.)
[?]:
|
6 (30%)
|
When I was three years old there was a babysitter named Denise who
would watch me during the day. Denise had a daughter named Dawn who
must have been in her early teens. On one particular afternoon with
these two my life was forever altered by the manner in which I was so
unfairly treated. I vaguely recall their faces now but the utter
humiliation and degradation I suffered at their hands remains painfully
vivid.
I waved goodbye to my mother from the window as she backed out of
Denise�s driveway and headed for work. Denise led me by the hand out to
the backyard where a few other children were playing. I noticed that
all three were girls and so I segregated myself near the back fence
where the sandbox was. I filled buckets and emptied them and shoveled
and basically minded my own business. The girls didn�t seem to notice
me. I occasionally glanced over at them, wondering what games they were
up to as they giggled and shrieked.
And then a much older, taller girl came outside with drinks. She walked
across the lawn to the girls and handed them their lemonades. When she
turned over her shoulder she caught me gazing at her, clearly
mesmerized by her beauty and maturity. I quickly looked away in hopes
that she would disregard my stare. Instead she came over. I was so shy
that I continued to focus on the toys as she now stood at the edge of
the sandbox.
�What do you think you�re doing?� she asked.
I looked up, startled, and found her towering over me with her arms
crossed and a cup in her hand.
�Playing,� I said.
�Babies aren�t allowed to play back here.�
�I�m not a baby.�
�Yes you are. I bet you�re not even potty trained yet.�
�Uh huh. I�m a big boy.�
�No, you�re a baby. Go play up there with the baby toys.�
I didn�t budge and just went back to my sand.
�Did you hear me, little boy? Or do I need to take you inside and
change your diaper?�
�I don�t wear diapers! I wear big-boy underwear!�
She glared at me silently. And then she looked back towards the house
before intentionally spilling her cup of lemonade all over the crotch
of my jeans. I looked down, shocked and soaking wet.
�Awww,� she said pitifully. And before she could even say it I began to
cry, fearing what she would do next. �The little baby went peepee in
his pants.�
�No I didn�t,� I mumbled with trembling lips, the hysterics coming on
fast. I tried to cover the dark spot but she knocked my hands away and
grabbed me by the wrist.
�Poor baby had an accident on himself. Now I�m gonna have to put you in
diapers.�
The three girls looked up curiously as Dawn led me away.
�He peed on himself like a little baby,� she told them. �I have to go
change his diaper.�
They whispered amongst themselves and laughed.
�Mom,� Dawn practically yelled when she brought me into the kitchen,
�look what Timothy did.�
Her mother looked up from the dishes and squinted at the wet spot on
me. She sighed. �Honey, I thought your mommy said you were potty
trained.�
I tried to explain what really happened but couldn�t speak, already
mortified.
�Dawn, can you take him back to the nursery and put him in a Pampers?�
I burst into tears as she mentioned the disposable diaper�s brand name.
�Sure, Mom. Come on, Timothy.�
I tried once more to proclaim the truth to Denise but only blabber came
out. She frowned and nodded at me, acknowledging my plight without
consolation. I tried to hold my ground but Dawn simply swept me off my
feet and carried me just like a baby down the hall, sobbing against her
shoulder.
�I told you you were a baby,� she said directly in my ear.
Before I knew it my back was laid across the familiar plastic mat atop
the changing table. I begged her not to take my big boy underwear off.
She laughed in my face as she tugged the damp little jeans and Underoos
off and crumpled them on a shelf I couldn�t reach if I tried. She
slapped my hand away as I tried to cover my genitals.
�Aww, look at the baby�s little weewee,� she teased, pointing closely
to my penis and lightly flicking at it. �See, you�re not a big boy, are
you? Such a tiny little dick. You deserve to be in diapers, sweetie.�
I tried to disappear or be invisible but I could not hide. There was no
escape. I looked helplessly back and forth from her to the ceiling.
As she used one hand to keep me pinned down she reached below me and
grabbed a Pamper. She unfolded the diaper and lifted me by the ankles
just like a baby as she slid it underneath my bottom. I began to weep
uncontrollably.
�Go ahead and cry, little baby. Maybe we�ll get a pacifier for you,
too.�
She also grabbed a container of baby powder and sprinkled it
excessively over my groin and butt. I would even smell like a baby now.
Before she prepared to seal me in my Pamper, though, she found one last
thing below the changing table. She unscrewed a jar and fingered
something out. Then I felt her shove whatever it was up my butthole. I
winced and squirmed but she inserted her finger even deeper, pushing it
far up into my rectum, all the while looking me right in the eye with
an evil grin. And then she grabbed both sides of the diaper securing it
up to my belly one tape at a time. She patted me about, admiring her
diapering job and laughing simultaneously.
�Awww, Timothy, you look so cute in your Pamper!�
I heard the backdoor creak open and quick footsteps throughout the
house. I looked away, sobbing, as she lifted me from under my arms and
set me on the floor.
�Sounds like the girls are back inside. Let�s go show everyone what a
baby you are!�
Down the hall Dawn nudged me a few steps at a time. I tried to escape
the impending ridicule but every time I attempted to go back she would
block my escape, until finally we reached the living room.
�Look, girls!� she announced. �Timmy has to wear diapers.�
At that point I quit crying, perhaps feeling the drama would only draw
more attention to myself. Dawn led me by the hand past the taunting
girls and forced me to sit down on the floor beside the couch.
�You sit there, little boy. I�ll be back in a second,� she said.
Then she turned the TV on and pressed play on the VCR. A Disney movie
started and the girls finally looked away from me to face the princess
cartoon. Dawn returned a moment later with a bottle in her hand.
�It�s prune juice. Drink it.�
I refused to accept it.
�You drink it, you little baby, or I�m gonna spank you!�
Before I could protest another second she grabbed me violently by the
arm and flung me over her lap on the couch and commenced to swatting my
diapered bottom over and over. I cried from the additional humiliation
alone until the punishment grew genuinely painful and I wanted her to
stop. Finally she quit and repositioned me against her arm so that she
could shove the nipple in my mouth and force me to drink the baby
bottle.
The girls had been watching in awe but returned to their movie once I
was quieted down. I nursed at it submissively until she shook the
bottle to assure herself that it was all gone and placed it on an end
table.
Denise appeared in the doorway drying her hands with a dishtowel. She
mouthed a question to Dawn so as not to distract the girls. Dawn
responded by sliding two of her fingers past the cuff liner of my
Pamper and shaking her head. Her mother nodded and left the room. But
Dawn flipped me onto my stomach to pull back the rear waistband as
well. �Hmm. Won�t be long,� was all she said.
As the movie continued playing Dawn carried me into the kitchen and sat
me in a highchair. She clicked the tray in place and snapped the strap
between my legs. I sat there practically nonexistent as this forced
regression continued, spent from the countless tears I�d shed earlier
while being diapered and spanked. And then she produced from a drawer a
baby bib with teddy bears on it.
�We don�t want the messy baby to get his shirt stained, now do we?� she
teased before tying the bib around my neck and smoothing it over my
chest. She walked across the linoleum and opened a cupboard. She
returned with a jar of baby food and a small spoon.
�We�re having pizza later,� she said, stirring at the fruit. �But
because you�re a little baby in Pampers and we wouldn�t want you to get
constipated you�re going to be fed prunes. Babies should have two or
three BM�s every day after all. �And I guarantee you�ll have at least
one before your mommy gets here.� She smiled broadly, lowering her eyes
to meet mine.
Dawn made me eat every last spoonful of not only that jar but also
nearly two more. I thought I would be sick until there was a knock at
the front door.
�Mommy!� the girls shouted in the other room. Denise walked past the
kitchen to meet with the parent and see the children off.
�You wait right here,� Dawn told me as she walked off.
I sat there relieved to no longer be eating that disgusting food, but I
soon felt a bad urge to urinate. I tried to close my legs tightly
enough to prevent my weak bladder from leaking but the bulk of the
disposable diaper made squeezing my thighs shut rather difficult. And
what was worse, I realized, the telltale rumbling of my stomach.
Please, I told myself, don�t let me wet myself�or worse�no, perish the
thought. There�s no way I�ll allow Dawn the satisfaction of seeing me
go number one, and definitely not number two. I was determined to prove
that I was a big boy despite the way things appeared. But my will was
no match for my bodily functions. I pressed my hands against the
crinkly plastic of my diaper and tried to apply pressure against my
penis. And then I squirted just a bit. I began to bite my lower lip. I
looked down at the white puffiness that covered my hips, seeing for the
first time the infantile lettered and numbered blocks that colored the
plastic covering of the diaper. I was beginning to feel like this was
no mistake. The diaper, the bottle, the highchair and bib�the baby
food. I was beginning to feel like I must really be a baby, as if I�m
supposed to be treated this way. No, I snapped out of it. I�m a big
boy. I�m a big boy. I�m a big�and I lost control of number one. The
liquid escaped beyond my control and slowly saturated my diaper. Within
seconds I was drenched. I peered below the tray and saw the growing
yellow stain. My cheeks went red as I blushed from the babyish thing I
had just done. I pouted and hung my head.
As if on cue Dawn returned. �I was just using the bathroom because I�m
a big girl. Now where were we?� She must�ve noticed the redness of my
cheeks. �What�s wrong, baby? Are you running a fever? �Oh I bet I know
what it is.� With that she reached her hand below the tray and I felt
her long fingernails scratch against my inner thigh until they found
their way into the cuff of my Pamper. The look of recognition spread
across her face. �I think someone wet his dypee,� she said in baby
talk. �Yeah? Timothy, did you pee in your diaper while I was gone?�
I nodded solemnly and began to cry again.
�Awww, it�s okay.� She released the tray and unsnapped the strap.
�You�re a baby. That�s what babies do.�
This time I instinctively stuck my arms out to be carried, almost
wanting to be held now. Dawn enveloped me with a hug and comforted me
with intermittent pats on my droopy bottom. She took me back to the
living room and cradled me on the couch. She turned the TV on and
started watching a soap opera rather than change me. I lay in her lap
with the warm wetness cooling, the clamminess beginning to irritate my
sensitive skin. There was apparently no way I would be allowed out of
the wet diaper and so I remained in her arms until drifting off to
sleep.
I awoke some time later to find myself drooling facedown on the couch
and alone. The TV was still on but Dawn had disappeared. And then it
hit me. As if I had been awoken by the very urge to defecate my stomach
began to churn. Another wave of cramps hit me and I realized I would be
pooping any minute whether I liked it or not. But I was determined to
not allow Dawn the pleasure of shaming me to the extent I felt was
approaching. With Dawn nowhere in sight I decided now would be my best
chance at making it to the bathroom in time. I thought contrarily for a
moment that it might be safer to just continue holding it, but my
body�s urge to have an involuntary bowel movement was beyond my choice.
I needed to reach a toilet immediately. So I made a run for it, holding
one hand against the seat of my diaper to prevent the poop from forcing
its way out. The toilet was at the end of the hall adjacent to the
nursery and I would find relief very soon I believed! The coast was
clear and the house sounded empty with no one to prevent me from making
it. I was within inches of the bathroom�s threshold, home free, when I
felt a hand seize my arm and the bathroom door was shut right in my
face. I pushed as hard as I could but Dawn just laughed and kept the
handle pulled tightly.
�What�s a matter, Timmy? Do you have to go poopoo?�
�Yeah,� I whined.
�Timothy, you�re not potty trained, remember? You wear diapers. The
toilet is for big boys.�
I whimpered and scratched at the door desperately.
She pulled back the waistband of my Pamper. �I guess someone�s about to
have an accident in his diapers.� Dawn let the waistband snap back into
place and smacked my hand away from the seat of my diaper. Then she
patted my bottom softly. I went limp, feeling my sphincter lose all
control as I began to take a dump right in front of her.
�Awww, Timothy. Are you pooping on yourself?� The seat expanded as more
and more poop forced its way out all over my butt. She pressed firmly
and patted some more. �We�re gonna have to tell your mommy that you
need to wear diapers from now on.� She laughed. �Shhoooo! What a stinky
baby. Bad boy! Mom, Timothy pooped his pants!�
I went numb with shame and could not believe the cruelty of what she
had done to me. I felt like part of me died. My mouth was gaping open
in disbelief with a moan that I could not begin to let out. Tears
streamed down my cheeks as Dawn escorted me back down the hall toward
the living room. She stopped at the couch and pressured my shoulders
downward, forcing me to sit in my mess. She reached for the shelf of a
nearby bookcase and plugged my mouth with a pacifier. I looked at her
blankly for a moment until I started to suck on it complacently. She
noticed me trying to adjust my posture so as not to compress the smelly
poop directly in my crack and stood me up long enough to rotate me and
slap my shitty diaper against my ass several times hard enough for it
to stick to me.
�Can you change him?� Denise appeared. �Oh, well, on second thought,
that looks like his mom now.� Denise peered through the curtains and
headed for the door.
�Well, I would�ve told your mommy what you did in your diapers anyway,
Timmy,� Dawn said. �I guess now she�ll just see for herself what a baby
you are. Come on, poopy pants.�
As Denise waited behind the screen door for my mother to make her way
up the sidewalk Dawn kneeled down to meet me eye to eye. �Poor baby.
You are definitely not a big boy. From now on when your mommy brings
you over we�ll make sure to keep you in Pampers the whole time. And
maybe next time we�ll even take you out in a stroller. I�ll invite my
friends over, too, so they can all watch me change your diaper when you
have an accident, little boy. Can you wave bye-bye, sweetie?�