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Diapered at the Dentist: Part 7
🕑 Added 2022-07-13 01:00:00 +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.
I squirm as I continue to feel the mound of poop in the seat of my diaper squishing against my butt cheeks. It’s already starting to cool against my skin as I remain helplessly immobilized in the dental chair.
Dr. Owens and Erin seem to still be doing more dental work in my mouth. What exactly, I’m not sure, because I thought they finished installing my braces. But I’m still totally sightless due to the blindfold they put over my eyes, so I truly have no clue. I just continue to feel fingers and tubes sliding in and out past my lips while Dr. Owens and Erin calmly murmur dental terms to one another that I don’t understand.
With every passing minute, I grow more and more squirmy with shame, disgust, and discomfort from the poopy diaper I’m sitting in. Whenever I had poopy accidents in my diaper in the past, my Mommy never made me sit in it like I was now. Not for this long, anyway…
But now, being forced to sit in my yucky, poopy diaper mess for this long, with no idea if and when I might be changed, the overwhelming discomfort and humiliation is starting to make me lose my mind.
In fact, now, it’s not even the feeling of my poopy mess squished against my bottom that’s the worst part.
It’s the smell.
The initial shock of messing myself has started to subside. But now, it’s the awful poopy stench that’s keeping my cheeks burning bright red in non-stop, agonizing embarrassment.
I’m baffled that Erin and Dr. Owens seemingly haven’t detected it yet. It doesn’t help, of course, that I’m forced to breathe through my nose while they work in my mouth. And perhaps their paper masks are shielding them from the immediate worst of the odor.
But every time I happen to catch another whiff of my dirty diaper’s horrific stench… I just want to melt with unbearable shame at what I’ve just done in front of both of these strangers.
It smells like the overflowing diaper bin of an overcrowded daycare center. Or two-week-old garbage covered in baby powder and left out in the sun.
It’s overpowering, disgusting, utterly babyish, and 100% my fault. And every time I smell it, it feels like a visceral slap in the face, reminding me of exactly just how disgusting and naughty my pathetic, infantile, poopy diaper mess is.
After a few more minutes, I realize that I’m at least partially grateful that at least, somehow, Erin and Dr. Owens don’t seem to smell my awful, stinky, poopy diaper mess.
What if, maybe, just maybe… I say to myself, that means I’m just imagining how bad the stink is. Maybe… my diaper isn’t nearly as bad as it feels like it is. After all, I can’t see it for myself, with my head secured so tightly by their restraints. Maybe my whole poopy accident is just all in my head. And this whole awful dentist appointment will finally be over soon without me suffering any further embarrassment.
In my helpless, immobilized darkness, I feel a small, unexpected, glimmer of hope…
* * *
A moment later, my glimmer of hope is suddenly popped like a balloon.
“Oh, oh my…” I hear Erin suddenly remark. Then I hear her loudly sniffing the air. “Oh, pee-ew! That is stinky.”
“What’s that?” Dr. Owens asks, still working in my mouth.
“Stinky! I think the little girl is stinky. I think she did a stinky in her diapee. A poopy,” Erin says, stammering slightly and laughing in disbelief.
She reaches down and pats the crotch of my poop-filled diaper. I wince as I feel its sudden filthy squish. I reflexively try to pull away, but my web of restraints still prevent me from moving even an inch.
“Oh, boy… yep! Yep, she made a real big poopy in her diapee. This is one stinky, stinky pamper,” Erin announces.
“You’re kidding me,” Dr. Owens says as he pulls his fingers out of my mouth, sounding exasperated. “I swear, for a girl her age, she is by far the most difficult and bratty juvenile patient we’ve ever seen in this office! I’ve dealt with two-year-olds far more mature than this. Pooped diapers? She really pooped her diapers just now, right here in the chair, with our fingers in her mouth? Does she really have less control of her bowels than a toddler?!”
He sniffs the air. “Oh, pee-ew, that does stink! I can even see how brown her diaper is now from here. I can’t believe she just took such a massive dump in her diaper right in front of us! What is wrong with her?”
I feel my whole face light up red like a candle, my worst fears about my accident coming true. Erin grabs the crotch of my diaper and squeezes it again, seemingly trying to assess the full extent of my mess. As I feel my poopy, squishy, stinky mess mushing up against my privates again, I’m filled with more shame than ever about my helplessly babyish behavior.
“Well, you’re not wrong about her being stinkier and less behaved than a toddler,” she says. “But at the same time, we do advertise that we can handle special needs dental cases. And her Mommy did let us know from the start that she’s diaper-dependent. We didn’t have any reason to believe that meant only for number one. Given the ways she’s behaved since she first stepped through our office door, we might have assumed she was at risk of also going poopy in her diapers like a baby, too. It seems like she really might not know any better at all.”
Dr. Owens sighs. “You’re right, you’re right. I guess it’s like you said, that’s why we have waterproof chairs in this room. I guess I just didn’t expect to be this up close to any poopy diapers today.”
“I know. I would have brought in some air freshener,” Erin says, walking across the room and opening a window.
“Is there anything else we can do about the smell?” Dr. Owens asks her.
“Hmmmm, let’s see… ” Erin says, looking through my diaper bag. “Besides changing her? Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like it. It doesn’t look like her Mommy packed any plastic pants for us to slip on her to help contain it…. In fact, I don’t even see another diaper in here, either. So we can’t even change her.”
Dr. Owens sighs again. “Alright, fine, let’s just plug our noses and get back to work.”
“Do you want me to go try and fetch her Mommy to see if she has any other ideas? Maybe a spare diaper out in the car?” Erin asks.
“No, no,” Dr. Owens responds. “We don’t have time for another diaper change, anyway. We’re still behind. Besides, there’s no point in worrying her Mom about the situation at this point. Let’s just let the poor woman continue enjoying her few minutes away from her wild little poopy rugrat. I’m sure she’s cherishing every second of it.”
I wince. The insinuation that my Mommy was enjoying getting away from me unexpectedly hurts my feelings. Was that why my Mommy still hasn’t come back here, yet? I wonder to myself, feeling even more insecure about what a pathetic baby I am.
“The stinky little one here is just going to have to deal with sitting in her poopy diaper while we finish the rest of her dental work,” Dr. Owens says.
“You’re right,” Erin replies. Suddenly, Erin comes back over to me and places her hand on my crotch again.
“Did you hear that, Buttercup?” she scolds me as she starts gruffly massaging my poopy diaper against my privates again. I squirm and give a soft, involuntary squeal as I feel the poopy load squishing even further into my butt and privates. This time, it feels like she’s being deliberately vindictive, forcing me to squish my mess as punishment for stinking up the room.
“You’re just going to have to sit in this stinky, poopy diaper mess you made now until we’re finished. Maybe next time, you’ll remember how to hold it like a big girl, instead of going poopy in your pants like a stinky baby! Because this poopy diaper you’re wearing is very, very naughty!”
I squirm and gasp in shock as she presses, kneads, squeezes and mushes my poopy mess against my princess parts. I’m filled with absolute disgust and shame and… and… well…
Lust.
“Naughty, naughty baby,” Erin continues, now even lightly smacking my bum. “Think of the rest of this appointment as a long time out for you, while you sit in your poopy, stinky mess and think about what you did.”
I twitch beneath my blindfold and moan in my gag as I feel my forbidden horniness surge back to life with a vengeance from deep in the confines of my diaper.
I’m mortified that I could possibly experience such sensations while currently sitting in such a filthy, filthy diaper mess… And yet, the way Erin’s hand is rubbing me there, I can’t ignore it, even if I try!
Was she… deliberately massaging me there? This time, purposefully trying to get me off?
Or was my naughty, perverse brain just imagining ridiculous things? Imagining ridiculous things, because I’m just a perverse, filthy, naughty, stupid little poopy diaper baby…
I spasm one more time with suppressed carnal pleasure as she suddenly withdraws her hand. “Now be a good girl while we get back to work, little stinker,” Erin says, concluding my scolding.
It takes me a moment to catch my breath. For a moment, I’m paranoid that they might have detected my perverse reaction to the scolding. But fortunately, they show no sign of that. Likely because I was tied down too tightly to visibly move my body, anyway.
“Sorry,” Erin says to Dr. Owens. “I didn’t want to bother her Mom, but I know she’d probably want her little stinker to receive a little discipline to help her behave better next time. Even if she really is too much of a dumb baby to keep from pooping her diaper, it doesn’t hurt to try.”
“No problem,” Dr. Owens replies with a laugh. “But I highly doubt sitting in her poopy diaper is going to be any sort of punishment for her, anyway. I’m sure she’s more than used to the stench of waddling around with a load in her pants. We’re the only ones being punished, here. I swear, this little stinker is gonna have our whole office smelling like her dirty diapers for days before we’re finally finished with her.”
“I know, I know,” Erin laughs. “But hey, you know what? I just thought of something. A way to at least get a little something back for all the trouble she’s putting us through. Maybe this is a perfect moment to help us advertise our ability to deal with special needs cases like hers.”
“While you get started,” she continues, “why don’t I grab a quick photo of her to post? Seeing you working on her while she sits in her visibly poopy diaper… it’s a fantastic example of just how good we are at dealing with the most difficult special needs dental cases.”
“That’s a great idea!” Dr. Owens says. “We’ll just double-check with her Mom when she comes back to make sure it’s okay.”
Still recovering from the unexpected scolding, and deeply confusing frottage, it takes me a moment to realize what Erin is saying. When I finally do, to my horror, it’s already happened…
“And… got the pic! You both look great,” Erin says a moment later. “Well, you look great, Dr. Owens. And she looks, well, like the stinkiest little brat we’ve ever had in that chair!”
They both burst into laughter while I lay there, blind and silently mortified.
I can barely believe it. They took a picture of me like this. To post on social media. A picture where I’m strapped down, naked, and wearing nothing but a visibly poopy diaper and a bib.
My blood starts to boil. I take a deep breath. And I prepare to start screaming…
But instead of scream, to my surprise… all I can muster is a meek whimper.
A meek whimper so quiet, Dr. Owens and Erin don’t even hear it.
They resume their work in my mouth. And I lay there, more helpless than ever.
It takes me a moment, but then I realize why I failed to even muster an audible noise of protest.
Part of it is still due to the intense, stifling dental gag, of course. Not to mention my sheer physical and emotional exhaustion, which seems to be hitting me hard, now that the saga of me fighting to restrain my bowels is over.
But more than either of those things, I suddenly realize, that at this point…
I’ve given up.
Here I am, forced to sit here in my utterly filthy, poopy diaper, every inch of my body strapped down against my will. My very ability to see, taken from me. Any ability to speak, taken from me. Any semblance at all of my remaining adulthood, totally taken from me.
And to top it all off, they’ve taken pictures of exactly what they’re doing to me, as well as exactly what I’ve done, and they’re going to freely display them for the whole world to see, using them to brag about how they were able to perform their procedures on my teeth, despite all the protest I could ever muster.
And it’s all because I’m a complete and total baby. An utterly helpless, stinky, crying, pathetic baby. And this is all exactly what I deserve.
Their fingers and instruments are plunging in and out of my mouth again. Resuming whatever dental work they desire to perform on me, knowing my opinion on the matter is even less than worthless.
I go limp and close my eyes beneath my blindfold, totally surrendering to their complete and utter dominance.
The world around me starts to disappear.
All that remains are the physical bonds tightly gripping every inch of my body, the taste of fingers in my mouth, and the squish and stench of the poopy diaper under my bum.
I begin to drift off into a surreal state of semi-sleep. And as I do, all I can think about is how utterly trapped I am in my poopy diaper…
And the naughty, forbidden tingles once again stirring up from deep in my groin.
END OF PART VII
