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Sent Back and Diapered at Daycare — Part 8
🕑 Added 2021-08-04 00:00:02 +0000 UTC
The following story contains adult content and is intended only for adult readers over the age of 18. Any characters depicted in adult situations are over the age of 18. This story is entirely fictional and has been written and shared for entertainment purposes only.
After Miss Flower led me back to the daycare preschool play area, I spent some time moping by myself, sitting on a little foam block in the corner, trapped in my pink, crawl-suit onesie and my squishy, soggy diaper.
Fortunately, none of the other daycare students bothered me. They were all having too much fun running around and playing to bother caring about me.
But after a while, I started to get a little bored of the pity party I was throwing for myself. And as my diaper started getting colder and clammier, squishing and smushing under my bottom and between my thighs… it occurred to me that I needed to work up the courage to ask Miss Flower for a diaper change.
After all, after telling me to just finish peeing in my diaper, she said she would change me a little later. Hopefully it had now been ‘later’ enough.
I started crawling across the bustling preschool daycare room to look for Miss Flower, navigating on my hands and knees over the perilous mounds of discarded blocks and multi-colored baby toys.
With every movement, I could feel my soaked diaper sloshing, squishing, and mushing against my bottom and groin even more. And the worst part was… the strange, moist friction against my most intimate parts was starting to stir up feelings in my loins that were highly… embarrassing. Feelings that Miss Turner had explicitly punished me for having on the changing table earlier that same day…
I finally spotted Miss Flower gleefully helping a few other kids play with some play-doh at one of the tables. I approached and waited on my hands and knees on the floor beside her for her to hopefully notice me. When she didn’t after several minutes, I shyly climbed to my knees and scooted next to her at the table to try to quietly get her attention.
“Ummm, Miss Fwower?” I asked through my paci. “I uh… I have a question.”
“What’s that, dear?” Mis Flower replied, not looking up from the play-doh she was helping with.
“Ummm….” I hesitated. I was suddenly too embarrassed to say it in front of the small group of other kids sitting around the table with her.
“Sweetie, did you need something? Or were you just trying to get teacher’s attention for fun? Because if it was just for fun, I need to put you in time-out so you learn that’s not polite behavior,” she explained. “After all, if everyone did that, I wouldn’t be able to attend to those students that actually need something.”
“Oh, no!” I peeped. “I mean, I do really need something!”
“Well? What is it?” She asked. “I’m all ears.”
The small group of girls sitting at the table had now all stopped what they were doing to stare at me, clearly curious about what I was going to say.
“Can I uh… Can I have a… a change?” I stammered under my breath.
“What’s that dear?” Miss Flower asked loudly.
“Can I have a… diaper change?” I said a little louder.
“One more time, dear,” she repeated, pointing to her ear. “It’s hard to hear you with your pacifier in when you mumble like that, remember?”
“I need a diaper change!” I finally blurted. “My diapee is soggy and cold and wet from how much peepee I did and I need my wet diapee changed, pwease!”
The girls at the table all burst into giggles, making me blush.
“Aw, is that it?” Miss Flower said with a smile. She then reached down and began playfully lifting, squeezing and patting the droopy crotch of my soggy diaper through my fleecie onesie, making me squirm and blush even more.
“Oh yes,” she continued, “You are quite due for a change. Don’t worry, Miss Turner said she’ll be stopping by shortly after lunch. I’ll let her know, and hopefully she can take care of your soggy little diapee then.”
“What!” I blurted. “Why… why do I have to wait for Miss Turner? Why can’t you just…” I trailed off, suddenly embarrassed by what I was asking.
“What’s that dear?” Miss Flower asked me with a teasing smile. “Were you trying to ask me something?”
“Well… can’t you… you know… why can’t you just… you know…” I murmured, staring at the floor in embarrassment.
“Hmmmm, again, I’m still not totally sure I heard you, dear. I know it’s hard, because you’re still just a little baby with his paci and diapee, but can you try using your words and speaking up like a big boy, instead of babbling like a baby into your paci? Can you do that for me sweetie?” She asked, prompting another round of giggles from the girls at my expense.
I burned with humiliation, but knew what she wanted. I took a deep breath and finally belted out, “Miss Fwower, will you pwease change my diaper for me? I want you to change my soggy diapees instead of Miss Turner!”
Not only did the girls burst into giggles again, but this time, Miss Turner did too. She smiled and patted my head. “Aw, that’s so sweet, dear! Aren’t you just the cutest? I’m so honored that you want me to change your wet little dia-dies for you! I wonder if that means I’m your new favorite teacher at daycare, huh?”
I cringed and stared at the floor in embarrassment.
Miss Turner stood up from her chair and I felt a surge of hope that she was at least about to take me to the changing table. I may have just humiliated myself, but at least I was going to get a dry diaper out of it!
But to my dismay, she stopped and kneeled down to face me, her hand on my shoulder.
“But as flattered as I am that you want me to be the one to change your diapees, sweetie, I’m sorry, but I just can’t do that. Right now, Miss Turner is the only one allowed to change your diapers,” she explained.
“What?? Why??” I balked.
“Well, dear, because that’s what the adults decided, and it’s not really your place as a baby to fuss about it,” she said with a firmer tone, clearly giving me a warning.
“But if it’s any help,” she continued, “I’ve heard that our newest little one here at daycare with us is having a… sticky little issue downstairs while on the diaper changing table. A sticky little issue that’s extremely naughty for a boy his age still in diapers to have. So Miss Turner feels that it’s important that she handle the little one’s sticky little issue personally for the time being, until she’s more confident it’s under control.”
My eyes widened in horror. I could hardly believe my ears. I knew she was referring to me accidentally ejaculating on the diaper changing table earlier.
The incident alone was mortifying enough, but the fact that Miss Flower knew about it, and that it was being used against me… my whole face burned red hot in speechless embarrassment.
“But maybe next time I can be the one to change that diapee for you, okay little guy?” She smiled, giving my soggy diaper butt a gentle pat.
“But… but… but…” I helplessly stammered as she got up to leave.
It was all to much. I could no longer hold back.
“But Miss Flower, please!” I shrieked at the top of my lungs, bursting into tears. “I’m so stinky and soggy and wet! Please, I need a diapee change! I need a diapee change now!!”
I collapsed in hysterical sobs on the daycare playroom floor, screaming and crying. Miss Turner immediately spun around and came back to me.
“Oh deary me!” She said, kneeling down next to me and putting her arm around me in a hug. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay! Everything’s going to be okay, I promise!”
I continued loudly sobbing as she gently shushed and soothed me. “It’s okay, baby, I promise. It’s going to be lunch time soon, you’ll see. And Miss Turner said she’ll be back shortly after that. She’ll be here checking that diaper of yours again before you know it, I promise,” she cooed.
Part of me recognized the extent to which I was absolutely humiliating myself in the middle of the daycare room again. I could already feel the curious eyes of all the other students in the room now watching me in morbid fascination.
And yet… Miss Flower’s soothing touch and caring voice felt so incredibly good after what was one of the worst days of my life. And just like a real baby, I couldn’t help but continue pathetically sobbing for her attention.
“Shhhhh, it’s okay, baby boy, it’s okay. Teacher’s got you,” she cooed in my ear. “In fact, I’ll tell you what. If you can take a deep breath and calm down for me, I’ll make you a very special little promise. A little promise that I think will cheer you up a whole bunch.”
Despite my crying, her words got through to me. And with a face full of tears and snot, I began reluctantly slowing my crying and catching my breath again.
“Wh… what do you mean?” I sniffled, wiping my tears and snot on the sleeve of my fleecy onesie.
“Well,” Miss Flower said, “How about this. If you can be an extra good boy for me until Miss Turner comes, I’ll make sure she changes that stinky diaper of yours right away. And not only that… I’ll even tell her I think it’s time for her to remove that pesky little rubber bum-bum plug you’ve been carrying around inside you all day. I bet that can’t be very comfortable at all, especially while wearing a stinky, soggy diaper.”
My eyes widened. I had no idea that Miss Flower even knew about the cruel ‘obedience’ butt plug that Miss Turner had stuffed me with earlier that morning. To say that it was… ‘uncomfortable’… was the understatement of the century.
“So?” Miss Flower asked, giving my diapered, plugged-up bottom a pat. “Do you like the sound of that? A dry diaper and your little rubber bottom pluggy finally coming out?”
“Yesh!” I blurted through my pacifier, frantically nodding my head.
Miss Flower laughed and smiled. “Well okay then. But for that to happen, you need to be an extra, extra, extra, good boy for me between now and when Miss Turner comes, okay?”
I nodded as she continued. “So right now, that means doing your best to dry those tears for me like a big boy. Then, it means that from now on, there’s not a single peep of fussing, whining, backtalk or disobedience of any kind from you at any point, toward me or anyone else in charge of you, no matter what.
“And finally, it means helping your classmates pick up the playroom when its cleanup time before lunch soon, it means cleaning your whole plate during lunchtime, and it means being extra nice and getting along extra good with all your new daycare friends from now on.
“So, how does all that sound? Does that sound like something my little baby diaper boy can do?” Miss Flower asked.
I stared back up at her with wide eyes. On the one hand, it did sort of sound like a lot to ask. But on the other hand, I knew I hardly had a choice, anyway. And at this point, I would have done literally anything in the world for a clean diaper and a bottom free from the cruel plug inside me.
“Yesh, Miss Flower! I be good! I be a good boy, I pwomise!” I eagerly answered.
Miss Flower laughed and smiled. “That’s my good baby boy,” she said, letting me go from her arms and standing back up.
“Now, why don’t you start proving what a good little baby you can be by sitting down at the table here and playing play-doh with some of your new friends until lunchtime, huh?” She said, gesturing to the chair she was sitting in before.
I swallowed my nervousness and eagerly nodded my head again, anxiously crawling over to join the others at the play-doh table.
Miss Flower watched for a moment as I climbed up onto the seat, privately squirming from the sensation of my mushy, soggy diaper squishing its yucky wetness into my nether regions and bottom again.
I took a deep breath and did my best to play along with the others, despite my restrictive mittens, which truly reduced my play-doh creations to that of a one year old. Fortunately, the others at the table weren’t too concerned about me. They were all having too much fun playing with their play-doh together, regardless.
After a few minutes, Miss Flower smiled and left, satisfied to see me obediently playing with the others as ordered.
And after a little bit, I even started to relax. I was now feeling hopeful about finally getting my miserable diaper changed and plug removed, so long as I just did exactly what I was told to do.
In fact, as much as I would have hated to admit it, it wasn’t long before I was soon having some genuine, babyish fun playing with play-doh in my soggy diaper.
* * *
A short time later, Miss Flower called out to the room, “Alright, everyone, lunchtime! Time to all get up and sing our song!”
As everyone else in the room got up and started singing Barney’s ‘clean-up’ song, I did my best to join them, crawling over to the playroom to help but things away.
My mittens and crawl-suit onesie made that difficult, and some of the kids giggled at me as I used both hands to slowly put some toy pieces away. Some even gave me exaggerated encouragement of, ‘Good job!’ and ‘Aw, there you go!’ which made me feel even more embarrassed.
But at least I was still obediently doing what Miss Flower had ordered.
Then lunch came, served by a few additional staff members who came into the room to help put food on plates and serve everyone.
When I crawled over to join the others, I met Bertha, one of the staff members who had come in to help. She was a larger, stockier woman, and I got the sense she had little patience for non-sense.
I had no intention to give her any, of course, until she picked me up and put me in one of the chairs at the table. It took me a few seconds to notice, but I suddenly realized my chair at the lunch table was pretty different than all the other chairs!
My chair had sturdy looking armrests on it with what looked like straps dangling from them. I was confused about what they were for, until Bertha quickly took both my hands and secured them with the straps to the arm rests! Then, if that wasn’t bad enough, she quickly secured my feet with straps around my ankles, and then pulled a harness over the back of the hair and strapped it around my midsection!
Finally, Bertha retrieved a separate tray table, which she slid over my arms, securing me even tighter to the chair.
That’s when I finally realized I was in an adult-sized high-chair! And I was utterly trapped!
I was mortified, and was just about to open my mouth to start screaming in protest…
But I stopped myself at the last second. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Miss Flower watching me closely from across the room. And I suddenly remembered my promise to be ‘extra good’ in exchange to get my bottom un-plugged and diaper changed.
So as humiliated as I was, I bit my tongue and did my best to just cooperate. After all, my soggy diaper and butt plug were more uncomfortable than ever as I sat perched on the stiff, high-chair seat.
To add insult to injury, Bertha then produced a huge, babyish bib and tied it around my neck. It was possibly the most humiliating part of the whole thing. I suddenly truly felt like an infant in a room full of toddlers, none of them so babyish as to have to suffer the indignity of a high-chair, like me.
Lunch was mashed potatoes and hot dogs and for me, an extra side of mashed peas and carrots. While all the other kids got to feed themselves, Bertha spoon-fed me my lunch bite by bite, using a fork and knife to cut the hot dog up into tiny pieces.
My one reprieve was that at least my pacifier was taken out of my mouth for the first time since it was put in that morning. But my relief was short-lived, as Bertha got to work spoon feeding me my mushy lunch so quickly, at a pace so relentless, that I hardly got to enjoy a moment without something babyish being jammed in my mouth.
My cold, mushy, wet diaper I was wearing really ruined any appetite I might have had. But I still obediently ate and swallowed every bite I was given without a peep of fuss, remembering that’s what Miss Flower was expecting.
And of course, at some point while she was feeding me, with a subtle hisss, I half-consciously let out another stream of pee into my already soaked diaper. I just hoped the stupid thing didn’t start leaking soon.
By time lunch was over, not only was my belly stuffed fuller than I thought possible, but there was mushy peas, carrots and potatoes smushed across my lips, cheeks, and down my bib.
“Oh, what a messy, messy baby,” Bertha snickered in a thick Ukrainian accent as she scrubbed my face clean with a wet cloth. “Such a naughty, messy eater. Messy, messy baby.”
It took everything I had not to snap at her, Hey, that’s your fault! You were the one feeding me! I had nothing to do with it! But I didn’t, of course, out of a continued commitment to remain on my best behavior.
Finally, Bertha took off my bib, strapped my pacifier back in, unstrapped me from my high chair, and placed me back on my hands and knees on the padded daycare floor.
It was only as I started crawling back toward the play area that I realized just how full I was. The woman had shoved so much food into me so fast, I didn’t even realize just how much she had over-stuffed me.
As I waddled forward on my hands and knees, wincing in discomfort from my sagging, sopping wet diaper, and my shifting, penetrating butt plug, I happened to notice a new uncomfortable sensation…
My stomach grumbling.
The sudden sensation put new urgency on my hope that Miss Turner would return to change me out of my diaper and remove my butt plug soon.
Because even though the butt-plug sort of made it feel like I had to poop all morning, between the extra-big lunch and the fact that I hadn’t had a chance to ‘go’ yet all that day…
I knew that soon I was really going to have to use the potty. In a way that would be truly unthinkable for me to do in my diaper.
* * *
Her voice came from behind me as I sat in the corner, mindlessly sliding colored beads back and forth on a baby toy.
“There’s our baby boy! And my, my, look at how much fun he’s having here in his new playroom.”
I slowly turned around to see Miss Turner towering over me, staring down with a sinister smirk. She was back.
“Oh gosh, yes,” Miss Flower said, standing next to her. “He’s doing so much better than when you left him this morning. But you know, tantrums like that are normal for babies, aren’t they?”
“They sure are,” Miss Turner smiled.
Miss Flower walked off, leaving me alone before the much crueler daycare principal. As much as I had been anxious for her return, just seeing her again filled me with renewed fear. My buns started warming in the confines of my wet diaper just remembering her multiple blistering spankings.
“How you doing, little Lucas? I heard you had quite the exciting morning here in your new daycare room,” she asked me.
I gave a meek, terrified nod, anxiously sucking my paci.
“Did you have anymore accidents? Anymore peepee accidents in your dydees? Huh?” She asked loudly.
I felt my face growing hot. For some reason, having to admit it to someone new filled me with renewed embarrassment. I almost couldn’t bring myself to answer, but catching sight of her impatient glare motivated me with fresh fear of her wrath.
I meekly nodded my head once again, my cheeks bright red.
Miss Turner giggled. “So I’ve heard. Why don’t you go ahead and stand up for me and turn around so I can take a look for myself, huh?”
I slowly got to my feet, bracing myself on the toy shelf to keep from falling down again. I felt her start unzipping my onesie, stopping just above my knees, exposing my diaper.
“Oh, my, my!” Miss Turner exclaimed as she began feeling my diaper. “You look absolutely soaked!”
I closed my eyes in shame as she began methodically feeling, squeezing, and pressing my absolutely soaked diaper.
“Oh, yes, it is! You completely soaked your diaper with peepee! You made so much peepee, you even turned the outside of your diapee yellow. And it’s stinky, too! This is one, stinky, peepee diapee!”
Cascades of renewed, mortified shame at what I had done washed over me as she squeezed my soggy diaper and loudly announced to the world exactly what I had done. I was sure everyone else in the room was probably now tuning in to witness my humiliating, failed diaper inspection.
And the worst part was, as I felt her squeezing and pressing my yucky, mushy diaper against my balls and peepee, I started to feel a surge of unique… feelings once again. Feelings that made me slowly go from flaccid… to stiff in the confines of my mushy diaper prison, just beneath Miss Turner’s relentless, kneading, squishing hand.
“My gosh, this truly is one of the mushiest, soggiest, stinkiest peepee filled diapers I’ve ever seen,” Miss Turner continued. “And look! it even looks like you started leaking a little bit on your special jammies! I can’t believe this! This isn’t just a small, momentary accident, little boy. This is a fully flooded diaper! It looks like you just lost all control and wet yourself completely! Just like a real baby! What happened? This morning, I thought you said you didn’t even need diapers!”
I started choking up. I had almost forgotten that at one point that day, I was mortified to even be wearing a diaper. Now, here I was, having utterly soaked it.
“Well?” Miss Turner repeated. “I just asked you a question, little boy. Do you need a reminder over my knee about what little boys are supposed to do when adults ask them a question?”
“I don’t know!” I squeaked through my pacifier. “I don’t know what happened!”
The truth was, in the moment, all the circumstances leading up to my sopping wet diaper really was just a blur at this point.
“Oh dear, I need a better explanation than that,” Miss Turner said. “After all, I just can’t make sense of how you can go from a little boy saying he doesn’t need diapers… to absolutely soaking your diaper just a few short hours later.”
My mouth went dry. My brain felt like it was short-circuiting. I had no idea what to possibly say.
Miss Turner then leaned into my ear and spoke in a low voice. “And I need an especially good explanation, if you want any chance of still getting your diaper changed and your bottom plug taken out,” she said as she pressed my soggy diapered butt against my painfully stretched out, butt-plug-filled hole.
I squeaked and flinched, nearly toppling over in my half-unzipped onesie. The threat of losing my only hope for alleviation from my soggy, plugged, diapered misery was a sudden, powerful motivator.
I knew the answer she was looking for. The only answer I could imagine she would be happy with.
“Cause I lied, Miss Turner!” I squealed. “My diaper is wet because I do need diapers! I’m not a big kid! I’m a baby! I’m an un-potty-trained baby who wets his diapers and I need a diaper change! Pwease!”
I burst into tears, frantically sucking my paci and sobbing as Miss Turner continued to gently pat my soggy diaper butt as it faced the world. I could hear her quietly giggling in satisfaction, clearly soaking up my utter humbling.
Finally, she began to gently rub my back. “Aw, there, there, little baby. It’s okay. I suspected that was the case, which is why I’m glad I put you in extra-thick baby diapers in the first place. But now that I know for certain that you really aren’t potty-trained at all, we’ll make sure we keep you in extra thick, disposable diapers all the time from now on, and make sure you never leave the toddler room here at daycare again, so your diapers can always be changed for you in a timely manner. Well, that is, so long as you continue to be an extra good boy for us,” she added with a giggle.
I was far too dazed and teary eyed to even begin processing the emotional weight of what she had just declared. I felt like I had been transformed into a speechless, passive, terrified toddler as she began zipping my onesie back up.
“Now come on, little stinker. Let’s go take care of this soggy, droopy diaper of yours before you start leaking again and making even more of a mess,” she said, grabbing my hand to walk me back to the diaper changing room.
Once again, I took two steps before tripping and nearly falling from the short, restrictive strap between my ankles. But this time, Miss Turner helped me stay upright by supporting my arm as we walked.
Perhaps it was because she didn’t want to wait for the time it would take for me to crawl.
Or perhaps it was because she just enjoyed the special look of defeated humiliation on my tear-streaked face as I waddled back toward the changing room with tiny, wobbling steps, an absurdly thick and sopping wet diaper between my legs, everyone in the pre-school daycare room watching and giggling at my expense.
“Oh, and don’t worry, dear,” Miss Turner said as we approached the diaper changing room. “I understand why you fibbed this morning about not needing diapers. Little babies like you make dumb mistakes like that sometimes because their little brains are so tiny. These things happen. As soon as we get you back on your diaper changing table, I’m hardly going to punish you at all for it. Just enough to make sure it never happens again,” she said with an evil smirk.
My stomach churned. I cringed with terror.
Suddenly, the irony hit me, that for the past several hours, I had been anxiously praying for Miss Turner to return so that I could finally get my diaper changed.
But now that she was about to finally do just that…
I was trembling with dread.
