A STORY OF DIAPER DISCIPLINE
----------------------------

	I well remember the only time I was made to wear a 
diaper as punishment. It took place some ten years ago now 
-- when I was 14. But I remember it vividly. It was one of 
the most embarrassing events of my life up to that point.
	When I was growing up I usually got spanked for 
misbehaving. From about the age of nine (I'm guessing) my 
dad always did the spanking. I suppose this was because I 
got spanked on my bare butt and perhaps Mom and Dad wanted 
to spare me the embarrassment of pulling my pants down in 
front of my mother. Then too, Mom couldn't spank as hard as 
Dad. These spankings were painful and humiliating.
	When I turned 13, Dad announced that being too old for 
spanking, I would thenceforth be paddled. And I was indeed 
paddled on several memorable occasions. These paddlings 
always took place in my bedroom with me bent over, jeans 
and underwear down around my ankles. And they always were 
scheduled just after dinner. This gave my mom a chance to 
leave the house; she hated to hear the crisp whack of the 
paddle on my bare butt and me yelling and -- yes -- often 
crying afterward. I could go into great detail about these 
paddlings. My dad made a ritual out of them so that when 
the actual paddling took place it was almost -- but not 
quite -- anticlimactic. But you asked me to relate the 
diaper experience.
	When I was 15, my cousin -- Arnold -- and my aunt and 
uncle spent a day visiting us. Although they lived only 
about 100 miles away, they didn't visit all that often. 
Arnold would have been 13-14 years old at the time. It was 
either Labor Day or Memorial Day weekend, I don't exactly 
recall. I was out of school and the weather was warm. We 
had a big picnic in our back yard. Arnold was a real "snot" 
(that's how I referred to him) and we didn't exactly get 
along. We were "picking on" each other all afternoon. And 
to make a long story short, Arnold and I got into a food 
fight, ending up throwing globs of potato salad at each 
other and ending with me knocking a pitcher of lemonade 
onto the picnic table. Arnold's dad (my Uncle Ted) sent 
Arnold to their car. My dad sent me to my room.
	As I sat in my room, I pretty much knew that I would 
be scheduled for a paddling that night. I was already 
remorseful -- and resentful toward Arnold who had driven me 
to such stupid behavior.
	Later that night -- after Arnold and his mom and dad 
had left -- Dad came to the room. I was surprised when I 
didn't see the paddle in his hand. I thought that perhaps 
he had sided with me, against Arnold. But no.
	"That was very childish behavior, Brian," he said, 
calmly. He then launched into a lecture about my being 
older than Arnold, setting the example, how I had 
embarrassed him in front of his brother, etc., etc. It went 
on for at least twenty minutes with the main theme being 
how childish I had behaved. He ended my scolding with this: 
"I have a different punishment in mind for you, young man. 
Oh, you'll get a paddling all right but you'll pay a price 
in another way as well." I was told to be in my room the 
next evening.
	The next day was long as I waited to see what Dad had 
in mind. I stayed as far away from him that day as I could 
-- from my mom too. I mostly stayed in my room.
	After diner I went to my room to wait for the paddling 
and whatever else Dad had in mind. Dad came into the room. 
Under his arm was a package. He asked if I knew what he was 
carrying. I read the label on the plastic wrapping and my 
heart sank. "Diapers??" I said.
	"Right," he said. "Take your clothes off -- all of 
them." I was soon standing naked and feeling very 
embarrassed at having to show myself so blatantly to my 
dad. "You act like a child, you'll be treated like a 
child," he began and as I stood with fully exposed, he 
began telling me again how childish my behavior had been. 
Eventually, I he told me to lie on my bed. "I've diapered 
you before," he said as he pulled my legs up and back over 
my head, "and I can diaper you again." He slid a diaper 
under my horribly exposed butt, lowered my legs and 
fastened it tightly around my waist.
	"Dad, please," I think I said at one point.
	"You are hereby grounded for the next four days," he 
said. "Stand up."
	I stood and felt terrible as I looked down at my 
diapered middle. I couldn't help but sneak a look at my 
reflection in a closet door mirror. I looked like a 14 year 
old baby.
	"You're grounded," he repeated, "not that you'll want 
to leave the house with a diaper on. You will wear a diaper 
day and night -- I've got a full package here -- for the 
next four days. It will stay on until it needs to be 
changed," he said. "And that means you'll use your diaper 
just as though you were two years old. Do you fully 
understand what that means?"
	"Yes, sir," I said as the full import of what he meant 
sunk in.
	"Just so there's no misunderstanding," he said, 
"you'll wet and dirty the diaper when you need to. You'll 
then come to me ant tell me you need changed. I'll put a 
new diaper on you. Understand?"
	"Yes, sir," I said.
	"Good. You can wear socks and a T-shirt -- and your 
diaper -- and that's all. You'll eat in the kitchen and 
dining room with me and your mother as usual." He bent down 
and placed the package of diapers under my bed. "Call your 
friends and tell them you're grounded and to keep away. You 
don't have to mention the diaper." He looked at me for a 
few seconds. "You'll get the paddling you deserve at the 
end of the four days. The severity of the paddling will 
depend upon how well you behave until then." With that he 
left the room.
	Part 2
		After Dad left the room I stood around trying to 
get used to the feel of the diaper. It wasn't easy. The 
diaper was tight around my legs and made it awkward to 
walk. After a few minutes I also realized that it was hot. 
My crotch and butt became real sweaty. I stood in front of 
the mirror on my closet door looking at myself and for some 
reason what I saw both disgusted and fascinated me. I 
turned and looked back over my shoulder at the reflection 
of my covered butt. The diaper made my butt look twice as 
big as it would have if I had been wearing my usual jockey 
underpants. I looked ridiculous. I felt ridiculous.
	I sat on the edge of my bed and pulled my socks on. 
But now, looking at myself in the mirror, I looked twice as 
silly. The socks only emphasized the diaper, it seemed to 
me. I found the largest T-shirt I had, hoping it would be 
long enough to cover the diaper. It didn't. I came about 
halfway down and the diaper made it stand out, making me 
look like I had suddenly gained ten pounds -- a lot of 
weight for a typically thin, 145 pound 14 year-old. If 
anything, I looked more silly.
	Just then, my dad knocked on my bedroom door and after 
a few seconds -- during which I moved away from the closet 
door mirror -- he poked his head around the door. "Being 
grounded means you can't use your phone, but I *did* tell 
you to call your friends. Have you?"
	"Not yet," I said. I could have sworn he was staring 
at my diapered body and I became very self-conscious. "I 
will."
	"The sooner the better," he said. "And keep it brief," 
he added and closed the door.
	There were only two people I wanted to call; my best 
friend Leonard and my second-best friend Carey. As it 
happened, Carey was at Leonard's house so I killed two 
birds with one call. Somehow Leonard knew something was 
wrong and he said so. I merely told him: "I'm grounded for 
four days. Don't either of you call. Okay?" I hung up.
	Being "grounded" in my house meant no TV, no records 
(this was pre-CD) and no radio. It meant staying in my room 
unless I had a good reason to leave it -- like going across 
the hallway to the bathroom, going downstairs to eat or 
going to school. Well, school was out so that reason was 
removed. And I assumed that I wasn't to go over to the 
bathroom except to shower and brush my teeth. Dad had 
already told me that I would have to eat in the kitchen or 
dining room as usual so these were about the only reasons 
for me to leave the confines of my bedroom. Oh, one other: 
to go downstairs and tell Dad I needed my diaper changed! I 
didn't look forward to that.
	As an only child I had learned to pretty much 
entertain myself growing up and I spent a lot of time 
reading. I liked reading. So I read. But the unaccustomed 
feeling of the diaper kept my mind from concentrating. It 
wasn't long before I really wanted the thing off. I tried 
sitting on my bed, sitting at my desk, laying down on my 
bed. I kept moving around and I found myself returning to 
the mirror on my closet door, looking at my silly 
reflection.
	It got dark late in the summer and the evening passed 
slowly. At one point my mom knocked on the door. God, I 
didn't want her to see me. But she called through the door 
"Are you alright, Brian?" I answered yes and was glad she 
didn't come in. She'd see me soon enough in the morning.
	Then I had to pee. I sort-of knew this would happen 
but I'd placed it in the back of my mind, I guess. I was 
faced with a decision: go ahead and wet the diaper or put 
it off.

Part 3

	Then I had to pee. I sort-of knew this would happen 
but I'd placed it in the back of my mind, I guess. I was 
faced with a decision: go ahead and wet the diaper or put 
it off.
	Putting it off would get me nowhere I decided. It was 
getting near bedtime. So, I stood at the foot of my bed and 
just let go. It was horrible. I felt the diaper getting 
heavier as the warm pee was soaked up by the diaper 
material. Soon the seat of the diaper was hanging lower 
from the weight and the entire diaper felt soaking wet. How 
was I going to walk downstairs without dripping on the 
carpet I wondered. I carefully "sloshed" to the bedroom 
door. By keeping my legs fairly stiff I managed to make it 
to the stairs. Then, by holding the handrail, I got halfway 
down but by now the pee was turning cold and a little was 
running down my leg. Just then my dad walked through the 
downstairs hall and he saw me out of the corner of his eye. 
He stopped and looked up at me but said nothing. We stared 
at each other for a few moments.
	"Dad," I finally said.
	"Yes?" He said. He was going to make me tell him -- 
although the condition of the diaper was obvious.
	"I think I need a new diaper." I said, embarrassed.
	"I think you do too, son," he said, seriously. "Go to 
your bathroom. I'll be there in a few minutes."
	I slowly retreated back up the stairs and down the 
hallway to the bathroom. I stood and waited. Pee was now 
trickling down both legs. My socks were absorbing it so 
that I now had to contend with soaked socks as well as a 
soaked diaper. It seemed like a long time until my dad came 
in the bathroom. He was holding a small plastic garbage bag 
in one hand.
	Here, put the diaper in here," he said handy the bag 
to me. "Are your socks wet?"
	"Yes," I said. I must admit that at this point my 
feeling were a mixture of embarrassment and anger -- anger 
at being put through this humiliation.
	"Okay," he said showing absolutely no sympathy for me. 
"Take a shower. Make it a short one. Leave your socks on 
the floor for now. I'll be waiting for you in your room." 
And he left. I fiddled with the adhesive straps on the 
diaper and finally got it to where I could pull it through 
my legs and off. I carefully held it at arm's length while 
I opened the plastic bag. It was completely soaked and 
dripping slightly. Yuck!, I remember thinking. After 
dropping the diaper in the bag and tying it closed, I took 
a shower. I felt good, the hot water splashing on my penis 
and balls. I used lots of soap and turned to let the stream 
of water pound on my butt. That felt good too as I rubbed 
hard between my buttocks. I quickly washed the rest of me 
but bypassed shampooing my hair.
	I dried quickly and scooted across the hall with the 
towel around my waist. Back in my room, Dad was standing at 
my bedroom window. He had spread a bath towel on the bed. 
At the bottom of the bed was a plastic bottle of Johnson & 
Johnson's Baby Oil, a plastic box labeled Baby Wipes and a 
container of Johnson & Johnson's Baby Powder. A new diaper 
was unfolded and waiting. He had been busy while I 
showered.
	"Towel off and on the bed, son," he said turning and 
looking at me.
	I don't know what it is about being 14-15 years old 
but being made to stand in front of your dad is very 
embarrassing. I was a little on the shy side anyway but I'd 
gotten over most of that after 3 or 4 years of showering 
"in public" after gym classes at school. But standing naked 
in front of my dad was a lot different somehow. The only 
good thing was that the warm shower had caused my penis and 
scrotum to relax so that, at least, I didn't look like a 
six year old who had sprouted a growth of thick pubic hair.
	I lay on the bed, the towel squarely under my back and 
butt, staring at the ceiling.
	"When you were younger, I could do all of this myself 
but you're a lot bigger now so you'll have to help," he 
said. "Raise your legs up and back and hold them."

===to be continued ======