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Sent Back and Diapered at Daycare — Part 7
🕑 Added 2021-07-28 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.
As everyone else in the daycare classroom got up and assembled to be taken to the bathroom, I realized there were two different lines forming.
One group was lining up at the door, presumably to be taken down the hall to the bathrooms. But another, smaller line was forming across the room in front of a waist-high door to a separate, partitioned area of the daycare classroom.
At first, I was confused about why. But I managed to climb up to my feet again, despite my crawl-suit onesie, and see over the waist-high partition into the small, gated area.
The gated area had a plastic potty-chair and diaper changing supplies! I realized the kids lining up there were lining up to be put on the potty-chair, or perhaps to even get their pull-ups changed, if only a light change was needed. (The fully stocked diaper changing room was still behind the door in the very back of the daycare classroom.)
I blushed at just the sight of the infantile little potty area, then immediately turned to rush toward the other group, toward the line to go to the real bathroom.
But I only made it a couple steps before once again tumbling to the floor from the restrictive crawl suit. And even worse… I felt myself release even more of my pee into my already soggy diaper.
I cringed in embarrassment, but got back up on my hands and knees, determined to continue crawling toward the line for the real bathroom. But that’s when Miss Flower appeared over my shoulder.
“Oh no, sweetie pie, that line is for the big-boy potty down the hall. The line for your potty is right over here!” She said with a smile, pointing me toward the group lining up in front of the plastic potty area. “You get to stay here in the room with me while you go potty! Aren’t you lucky?”
“But… but… I want to go to the big-boy potty!” I whimpered.
Miss Flower nodded sympathetically. “Aw, I know, dear. You will, some day soon, I’m sure of it. But for now, little ones still in diapers, like you, need to use the potty chair over here instead, so teacher can help them go and clean them up if they need it. So, be a good boy and line up over here for me in your proper potty line, okay?”
“But… but…” I continued whimpering. But Miss Flower walked away to start tending to the small group of kids lining up to use the potty chair.
I turned and watched helplessly as the ‘big boy potty’ line was already being led out of the room without me by a separate staff member.
I was too late. The plastic potty chair was now my only bathroom option left.
I couldn’t believe I was seriously being expected to use such a small, babyish thing. But at this point, I knew I didn’t have a choice. Anything was still better than the humiliation of wetting my diaper even more than it already was.
I cringed and reluctantly crawled toward the potty-chair area, begrudgingly lining up behind the handful of other kids waiting at the half-door style gate.
As Miss Flower began patiently taking every kid in front of me into the potty-area one at a time, I wanted to scream in frustration from the back of the line. Shouldn’t I be the one to go first? I’m the one who said they were having a potty-emergency!
But I stayed quiet, too timid now to even try raising my hand to ask. Something about the soggy diaper now between my legs had stripped me of any of my remaining confidence. I already felt like the most pathetic, soggy, diaper-wetting baby in the room. I couldn’t bear the risk of provoking another round of humiliating comments from the pull-up wearing pre-schoolers in front of me.
When the line finally did move forward, I got up to my knees to crawl closer. And as I did… Hissssss.
I felt another spurt of my pee helplessly leak into my diaper.
When the line moved forward again… Hissssss
A little more leaked again. And a little more after that. And a little more again after that.
By the time Miss Flower finished seeing everyone else in front of me, and she finally got to me, there were tears in my eyes again.
My diaper was now thoroughly soaked.
I had finally reached the potty. But I did so with a hot, wet, mound of mushy, yellow shame squished up between my legs. It was an undeniable reminder to me that I hadn’t actually made it.
Instead, I had pathetically wet myself like the incontinent, diaper-dependent baby that Miss Flower thought I was.
* * *
“Okay, dear! Are you ready to get on the potty?” Miss Flower asked me with a big smile.
I eagerly nodded, wiping the tears from my eyes. I still desperately wished to relieve what remained in my bladder in the toilet, like an adult. Or at least… in the plastic potty, like a kid with some toilet training…
Miss Flower opened the waist-high door for me and welcomed me into the barely private little potty-chair area.
“Now go ahead and try to stand up on your feet like a big boy for me,” she said, directing me to hold onto the rails of the changing table while I stood up.
“There you go, that’s a good baby,” she cooed while she unzipped the onesie down my back, leaving it still zipped up to my knees.
She then had me shuffle over to the potty chair.
I stood before it and stared down in disbelief. The potty chair was tiny, plastic, and bright pink. I still couldn’t believe she was expecting me to use such a humiliating, infantile thing.
But ironically, I was desperate to do just that, as I stood there, anxiously waiting for her to finally remove my diaper for me. After all, my mitten-covered hands still made it impossible for me to do it myself.
Miss Flower returned a second later with a clipboard in her hands. It looked like there was a check list in front of her on a small piece of paper.
“Alright, dear, just a couple quick questions. First, do you still have to go peepee?” She asked.
“Yesh!” I impatiently nodded.
“Okay,” she said, marking the answer down. “And how about number two? Do you have to go poopoo?”
I blushed red again. I couldn’t imagine why she needed to fill out such a form, let alone ask me such embarrassing questions. But I realized it was probably as part of the documentation for their potty-training program.
“Uhhh…” I stammered, hesitating to answer.
As it happened, I did feel like I had to go number two. But I knew it was most likely just the sensation of the massive butt-plug still filling up my rear end. And even if I did have to really go… there was no way I was going to go number two in front of this woman! Going pee was about to be humiliating enough.
“Well, hon?” She repeated. “Do you have to go poopoos on the potty, or not?”
“No!” I finally blurted out, frantically shaking my head.
“Alright,” she said. “And now, did you already go peepee in your diaper? Or were you able to hold it till you got to the potty like a big boy?”
I looked up and blushed even redder. The truth was, of course, that I wasn’t able to hold it. I did already go peepee a lot in my diaper. But for some reason, I just couldn’t bear to admit it out loud.
“Ummm… no, I didn’t go peepee in my diapee. I was able to hold it,” I murmured, staring at the ground in shame from my lie.
“Wow, good boy!” She said, marking down the last answer and putting the clipboard away. “Now, are you ready for me to get that diaper down so you can go peepee on the potty?” She asked, equipping a pair of latex gloves.
I eagerly nodded my head, almost wanting to scream with frustration at how long she was taking. My bladder was already on the verge of bursting again.
“Alright, dear, now just hold still while I un-tape this for you,” she said, putting one hand on my puffy butt, the other on the tape in the front of my diaper.
But just as she was about to finally pull the tape off… she paused.
“Oh, you know what? I almost forgot,” she said, taking her hand away from the tape. “I just need to do one more thing before you use the potty. And that’s check your diaper to make extra sure you didn’t have any accidents yet already.”
Her hand went right to the crotch of my soggy diaper. I froze in horror.
She squeezed. I cringed as I felt the hot wetness pushed against my private parts.
“Huh…” She said in surprise. She then squeezed my soggy diapered crotch again, curiously probing and mushing it between her fingers.
Finally, she pulled one of her latex gloves off and stuck her finger into the leg band of my diaper to feel for wetness.
“Oh dear!” Miss Flower murmured. “Oh deary, deary, dear. Little boy, this diaper is very, very wet! You are a very, very soggy boy right now. It feels like you went peepee a whole lot in your diaper already! This is a very wet diaper. Very soggy and wet,” she said, still probing and squishing my soggy shame against my groin.
I burned bright red and squeezed my eyes shut in humiliation. I couldn’t believe that my diaper had just been ‘checked’ for me… and that I had been ‘discovered’ to be wet, despite my claims just now to the contrary.
Miss Flower even pulled the waist band of my diaper back behind me and looked down at my butt. “Well, I don’t see any poopy back here at least, so that’s good. It looks like it’s just lots of stinky peepee in here,” she said, giving my soggy butt another light pat.
I was mortified.
“But young man,” she continued, “I asked you if you had wet your diaper already, and you told me that you didn’t. You said you were able to hold it. Were you lying to me? Or did you really not know your diaper was already so stinky and wet?”
I felt tears welling up in my eyes. I suddenly felt so humiliated and ashamed.
“Ummm… uh… well…” I murmured, staring at the floor.
“Well?” Miss Flower asked, her hands on her hips. “I asked you a question, young man. I would like an answer.”
“I dunno!” I whimpered, tears now pouring down my cheeks. “I guess I didn’t realize! I’m sawwy! I didn’t mean it!” I pleaded through my thick rubber pacifier.
I started sobbing, suddenly feeling genuinely awful about making her upset. She was the only person that had been even remotely nice to me at the daycare, and here I was, lying to her. I just didn’t want her to be mad at me.
She stared back at me for a long moment, but finally sighed and shook her head.
“There there, it’s okay, little baby,” she said, rubbing my back. “Accidents happen. That’s why you still wear diapers instead of big-boy underpants like all the other kids your age.”
“You’re… not mad?” I asked.
“No, of course I’m not mad, dear,” she said in a comforting tone. “I would have been mad if you lied to me. But I believe that you really did try your best to hold it, and you’re still just such a baby, you didn’t even realize what a big peepee accident you already had in your diapee. It’s okay, I’ll just update your file, now that we know you didn’t make it to the potty, after all.”
I nodded and sniffled, trying to dry my tears, feeling slightly better.
“Now come on, let’s get you zipped up and back playing with all your new daycare friends,” she said, kneeling down and zipping my onesie back up.
I was so overwhelmed and relieved by her not being mad at me… it took me several seconds to realize what she was doing.
“Wait! I still have to go potty! I haven’t gotten to go yet!” I blurted, just as she finished zipping my onesie all the way back up to my neck.
“Oh!” She said, already dusting her hands off. “Right, well, I’m sorry little baby bear, I know you really did try to make it to the potty. But now that you already had an accident in your diaper, that means you don’t get to use the potty anymore.”
“What?!” I blurted. “Wha.. wha.. why not?”
“Because then you’ll never learn how to actually hold it, sweetie,” she said. “You see, it’s clear you still don’t know the difference between being wet and staying dry. You didn’t even realize how much you had wet your diaper already, remember?”
“Now that you’ve already gone peepee in your diaper, it’s important that you now spend some time feeling all the soggy wetness of your yucky, stinky peepee in your diaper so you learn to associate that with the consequences of not making it to the potty in time.
“So, why don’t you just go ahead and finish going peepee in your diapee, like I know you’re comfortable with, and maybe we’ll try to get you to the potty on time next time, after you’re back in a new, dry, diaper. Okay, sport?”
I stared back with wide, wounded eyes. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It seemed so absurd and unfair.
I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to shove her with my fleece-covered mittens and start throwing and kicking things. I wanted to rip my humiliating onesie off in a hulk-like rage, take off sprinting, and crash through the windows and escape in a wild rampage.
But I didn’t do any of those things.
Instead… I just began quietly, pathetically crying yet again, bowing my head in crushing disappointment and shame.
And as I stared down at the plastic pink potty at my feet, the infantile object I was apparently even too much of a baby now to even use…
I finally released the rest of my bladder into my diaper.
Hisssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
The flood of hot pee poured into my already moist diaper, gathering around my scrotum, making me blush with fresh embarrassment.
I squirmed a little and whimpered as I felt the diaper continue swelling and warming even more than before, growing even soggier and mushier between my thighs as I finished releasing all the pee I had been so futilely holding back.
When I finally felt the last drop finish, I slowly raised my gaze again.
And to my surprise, Miss Flower was still standing next to me, smiling warmly.
“All finished, dear?” She asked.
I gave a sheepish, humiliated nod.
“Good boy,” she cooed. “Now come on, let’s get you back to the toddler play area, where you belong.”
I took one step forward to follow her… then predictably tumbled to the carpet again, making the diaper squish its fresh, hot wetness against my ass and groin as I landed.
I suppressed my disgust at my soggy, shameful filth and continued crawling back to the rest of the playroom, my legs waddling and bow-legged from the hot, heavy, mushy, wetness sloshing around between my thighs.
It took me a few moments, but it soon dawned on me how badly I now wanted a diaper change.
In fact, I needed a diaper change.
I needed a diaper change, because I had soaked my diaper with pee.
I had soaked my diaper with pee, because I wasn’t enough of a big boy to make it to the potty on time.
It seemed more and more that I really was the naughty, diaper-wetting baby, that all the daycare staff thought I was, after all.
