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Alfie’s Life

Valerie Chambers was getting weaker by the day. Her ten year old son Alfie had tried to be a help but she was fading fast and a medical solution seemed not to be the answer. The cancer that had taken away her liveliness was developing at an exaggerated rate, leaving her with barely enough capacity to offer any support to her loving son.

When home from school Alfie immediately set too with his chores; vacuuming, cleaning, organising what needed washing and cooking meals. He did all he could to help but it was taking a toll on the young boy as he watched his mum deteriorate. His poor mother was too exhausted to do much more than lie out and sleep, her illness taking away her once jovial, fun-loving spirit. She appreciated all he did taking on more responsibility than a ten year old should be asked to do. Grateful she had a son who was so devoted and dreading the fact that soon things would change when she entered hospital.

Unfortunately, she’d moved a hundred miles away from her hometown to be with her new husband who proved not to be the loving man she thought she’d married. It had only been her and her son for the past eight years, his father having run off with another woman when he was barely two... and completely disappeared from their lives. Still, she had a little job and money to tide her over but mostly it was just the two of them barely scrimping a life. She often went without so her growing son didn’t have to but as her illness took hold over the years, it was her loving son who proved to be the one person she could (and did) rely on.

Making friends in the small community had been difficult; somehow Valerie got the blame for her cheating husband. Her fragile son was snubbed at school and their existence was difficult. Even though she was devout in her attendance the church wasn’t quite as welcoming as it could have been - Judgement is what the small town should have been called.

Every day Alfie would pray to God that his mother would be granted a miracle and defeat the dreaded cancer that was destroying her body. He had a photograph of the two of them in happier times, when he was six and the disease hadn’t begun to take its toll. He held that image as he prayed and hoped God would listen to him. He tried to live an extra good life; be helpful, polite, caring, and friendly. He promised God that he would never argue, never commit a crime, never forget his prayers and honour his teachers... but his mother’s condition worsened.

Alfie himself was a slight boy. Hardly any muscle, never invited onto the sports teams, few friends because he spent all his time looking after his mother. His huge brown eyes often filled with tears as he watched her trying to do even the most basic task, but failing. He would rush in and help but the two of them were finding it more and more difficult to cope.

She’d delayed the inevitable as long as possible, making sure that the school year was over and the break begun before allowing herself to be admitted for palliative care. She knew there was no chance of recovery but hoped to spare her son from witnessing the end that seemed so near. In less than a week she was dead.

Her son was broken, scared and alone and didn’t know what to do.


Alfie was sat at the breakfast table feeling miserable, the bowl of cereal not breaking him from his sombre mood.  The thick terry nappy he’d been forced to wear was hugging him tightly, though actually making sitting at the table more comfortable, he hated what had happened and the reason now compelled to wear such an item.

Last night he’d thrown a tantrum. His aunt, who was now his guardian, had told him to clear his stuff away as a guest was arriving but he’d ignored her. It wasn’t that he was being totally disrespectful, it was just that he was thinking back to all the fun and games he and his mother used to play so didn’t want to spoil the memory. Sometimes he sought sanctuary in his childhood reminiscences and found it difficult to leave those happy times. When she reminded him that such behaviour was not acceptable, his frustration led to a noisy, screaming outburst in front of her friend. He’d been warned not to act like a spoiled child or there would be consequences but he’d ignored the signs and continued to be an aggravation.

The young lad was angry but had no idea how to contain that anger. He wasn’t really that type of person, his mother having a happy disposition who saw the best in everyone. Over the years, her even temperament influenced her son’s but now she was gone... he railed at the injustice of it all.

Later, when the guest had gone and Alfie was asleep his aunt woke him up, dragged him out of bed, pushed him over its side, pulled down his garish boxer shorts and paddled him for displaying such behaviour before fitting the squirming embarrassed boy into a nappy.  She’d told him on more than one occasion that if he acted like a big baby, he would be treated as such. She was a fierce woman and a woman of her word.

Pulling up a pair of plastic pants she reminded him of her threat (there would be consequences and waved the wooden hairbrush to emphasise the point) and should he even think about removing them, he’d receive an even worse spanking. With the threat now real, and his bottom glowing from what she’d just inflicted (something his mother had never resorted to), a subdued, weepy, unhappy (but nappy-clad) ten year-old boy reluctantly settled down and did as he was told.


Sleep was difficult. He couldn’t get used to the thick padding nor the plastic pants, it felt hot and uncomfortable. He wriggled about trying to relieve his sore bottom from the unwieldly fabric cushion that surrounded his hips and decided to lose the childish garment as soon as possible. However, for the moment the fortitude of his aunt and her stern words of warning made him think again about any indignant opposition to the situation.

He’d cried when spanked and thought he was over it. However, suddenly overwhelmed by that very state of affairs his tears returned. He was enraged but realised it was hopeless as his future wasn’t his own it was in the hands of someone else. He was told to be grateful that someone had taken him in and was learning that being angry was painful... especially to his blazing bottom.

He mourned even more the loss of his mother, this was never the way it was with her. He sobbed in his little bed, huddled under the bedclothes trying to hide the river of tears that flowed. He cried for his mother, he cried for himself and he cried for the life the two would never have together.

When he woke up, to his surprise the nappy was soaked. He hadn’t had a wet night since he was three and now at ten years old, this was a very damp and unforeseen shock. He had no idea why this should have happened and wondered if it was a simply his mind had determined ‘she’s put me in a nappy so I’ll use the thing’.


The last month had been extremely traumatic for Alfie; after his mother died he was sent to her sister, Auntie Florence, as the nearest close relative... his father unable to be tracked down (also the boy had said he would run away if he had to live with the man he despised so much). Although she lived a little over a hundred miles away, she never once visited her sick sister or offered any help whatsoever - nephew and aunt hardly knew one and other.

To begin with he was infuriated. The home he’d been sent to whilst his mother was in hospital was awful. He hated the smell, the other kids and the adults who really didn’t want him to be there. He was especially angry at God who watched as his mother suffered and did nothing to help. At the funeral the pastor thanked the Lord for bringing her illness to such a speedy conclusion but Alfie was having none of it and swore in church that God was an “uncaring bastard”.

After the burial the church offered, as a last resort, to send him to one of its orphanages but because of such an outburst was mean-spirited enough to turn its back on the boy.

He missed his mum so moped around all the time and nothing his aunt was able to do would drag him from his understandable doldrums. His rage occasionally meant his behaviour deteriorated when he became self-absorbed and not connecting with anything around him. He hoped that a better solution would turn up other than his aunt but in truth, once the authorities had found a relation willing to take him in, they’d more or less decided they’d fulfilled their social responsibilities. A blood relative was the best ‘connect’ they thought they could accomplish.


Florence Brewster was his mother’s older sister. She was ten years older than Val and had been a tad resentful of the younger sibling since her birth. It was simply down to the fact that a ten year old girl was not going to get the attention a baby received. Florence had been happy as an only child but this late and unplanned addition to the family had meant affection had to be shared with her parents. Florence had an old photograph of her family on the sideboard; she was the only one of the four who didn’t look that happy. However, family being family they at least pretended to be sociable when they had occasionally met.

Florence was a spinster and not very keen on men and even less enthralled by children. She was of the opinion that all children, until the age of twenty-one, should be neither seen nor heard. However, after Val’s death she was the only relation to be in the small congregation so it was to her that Social Services turned to take her nephew. Despite her reluctance (she’d only been at the funeral because she saw it as her duty to ‘family’) she was eventually coerced to take Alfie on temporarily... and although a very strong-minded woman the guilt the agency put on her made it almost impossible for her to refuse.

Temporarily was just a term they used to mean permanently. In fact, no sooner had she agreed to this short term fix, than Social Services got on with their next case, feeling they had done what they could.

Although she had some sympathy with Alfie’s temperament, she wasn’t adept with children at all and found such moodiness annoying rather than something to be gently and sensitively got through.


Thanks to the church she’d recently become an acquaintance of Mrs Barbara Fitzsimmons who had only just moved to the area. Like Florence, she was a woman who brooked no fools and was steadfast in her resolve that she was correct in everything she did. They got on well together. Unlike Florence, she’d been married and had brought up two sons so it was to her that she turned for advice on how to deal with the impending arrival of a sad and troubled little boy.

Mrs Fitzsimmons asserted that a tight leash and regular firm discipline were needed to control any child, although boys in particular needed aggressive measures to contain their self-aggrandisement. Left to their own devices and growing egos, they would expect to be treated as superior and privileged even when they so patently were not.

With the imminent arrival of Alfie Mrs Fitzsimmons offered to give her new friend the means she had used on her growing sons and which had so successfully curtailed any such haughty notions, whilst keeping them docile and ineffectual.

Auntie Florence’s daily trial of dealing with such a sad little boy meant she was frustrated and irate because she really couldn’t cope... he hadn’t come with a book of instructions. There was also an underlying feeling he was on the verge of a massive eruption. With his loathing for religion, he saw no reason to keep his promises to God... or anyone else for that matter... except that is to the memory of his late mother.


Florence was a constantly irritated woman to begin with; very few things pleased or satisfied her demands, so this sulky and wearisome boy was a drain on her disposition. So, after a week under her protection, and as far as she was concerned, of being more than a little understanding, she started to lay down the law by which Alfie was now expected live.

She imbued him with the proverb ‘Cleanliness is next to Godliness’ alas she picked the wrong subject for this angry child... God was no friend of his. However, she showed no interest in his ill-thought out views so insisted on certain standards and he’d do well to learn them.

Alfie and his mum had got on well together so he wasn’t used to such demands. With his mother’s illness there was never any conflict the boy had been a most gentle and thoughtful ten year-old. However, now in his aunt’s care things changed drastically for the young lad and, as Auntie Florence threatened, “’d better learn quickly otherwise it will be a painful education”.

Thanks to her mentor, the formidable Mrs Fitzsimmons, she was of a similar opinion that discipline, a tight leash and the teachings of the church were what a child needed to keep them on the straight and narrow. She didn’t know if Alfie had gained any bad habits over the past ten years but she could see the daily resentment in the boy’s eyes and had no intention of finding out or allowing anything to develop. She decided that this boy, the boy under her care, would be a model youth and not like those revolting, unholy, neighbourhood children she saw on a daily basis and whose manners appalled her.


Thanks to the supplies and advice from her friend, the wet nappy and sore spanked bottom he now had to bear, were the start of the rules she enforced. His auntie was no longer going to understand the whys and wherefores of a sad little boy, he would have to grasp that life moved on and he had to live to her exacting values... woe betide any slacking in that department.

She’d promised him a good hiding for acting up in front of her friend, and guaranteed consequences for acting like a spoilt baby. He now wore the proof that she was a woman of her word and the thick, wet nappy hanging heavily in his plastic pants (items thanks to the worldly Mrs Fitzsimmons) was a reminder that a stroppy attitude and lack of obedience was not permitted. As he sat at breakfast now contrite at what he’d done, she told him that he would be wearing a nappy for the rest of the day, although she would change him after breakfast.

This was something he dreaded. He’d been so embarrassed at being put in one the night before but after that spanking, something he’d never experienced in his life, made him think again his plan of revolt. It’d been painful and had astonishingly cowed him completely. He’d never imagined anyone, least of all his mother’s sister, could or would deliver such instant pain to his behind. He’d tried to be brave but once she’d put him in thick slippery protection and turned off the light, he’d cried for over an hour and wished he was dead.

The prospect his nappy-wearing was going to last a while longer filled him with dread. He begged her to reconsider but she just told him that once she’d said what would happen – that was what would happen – she wasn’t a woman who flip-flopped on decisions made. He may have thought he was a grown up but his actions and attitude had proved to her he was no more than a petulant little toddler and therefore a nappy was needed to remind him of that simple fact. There would be no further discussion and should he continue to complain could expect to stay wearing a nappy for the foreseeable future.

She also expected gratitude from him in future... after all, no one else, she reminded, had volunteered to take him in.


As soon as Florence had explained about Alfie and his forthcoming arrival Mrs Fitzsimmons had handed over a batch of nappies and such supplies she no longer needed as her sons were of age and had left home. She’d also suggested that Florence prepare for the long haul and buy extra supplies. A continuous strict regime needed to be employed to stop a ten year old from developing into a teenage nuisance. Meanwhile, handing over a particularly vicious looking hairbrush, she explained... was not for the treatment of hair.

“Nappies on an overly confident boy quickly bring him back down to being an anxious and intimidated model of virtue and compliance. I cannot recommend enough their use on a regular and strict basis. Once a boy feels a powerful sting in his tail he’ll be more likely not wish to repeat the experience so therefore do as instructed.”

Mrs Barbara Fitzsimmons had lived by this philosophy throughout her child-rearing years and  believed it to be the cornerstone of her success at bringing up two very obedient sons.

A very tight rein, constant reminders of his lowly place in the world and attire that proved his juvenile status, were highly recommended by her.

She’d also done a very good job in transferring those ideals to Florence who regarded the lady (who had after all raised two boys) as an obvious expert in this particular field.

Although it had never been in his make-up to rebel, Alfie found it hard to stick to the strict structure of his aunt’s rules and lifestyle. She was an early to bed, early to raise type of person, an avid reader but watched very little television. The few possessions that he and his mother had were sold to pay for the funeral so he arrived at his aunts with barely more than the clothes on his back.

He loved music, as had his mother, but his aunt had nothing like a record collection, just a few classical music albums, which she’d occasionally play on an old gramophone. The radio seemed her main source of news and entertainment. He came into contact with very few people, mainly only his aunt’s friends and of course the even fiercer Mrs Fitzsimmons, whom he was quite rightly scared of.


From the very first time she was introduced to Alfie he felt threatened. It was fourteen days since he’d arrived in his aunt’s household and she’d arrived one early morning mid-way through Florence changing his rather damp nappy.

Although, up until his arrival, she’d never changed one in her life, Mrs Fitzsimmons had been adamant that she needed to learn and so be in complete charge of any and all nappy changes. She emphasised the need to make the child completely reliant and to do this needed Florence to be bold and commanding. So, from the off his aunt knew what to do and how to take charge.

He didn’t know this lady was the person who’d given his aunt the wherewithal that he was now saddled with. Nor did he know the influence she had over his aunt.

He’d tried to hide himself from this ‘intruder’ but Florence had told him to stay how and where he was; spread naked out on the floor and covered in talcum powder. Mrs Fitzsimmons was not kind and mocked Alfie’s boyish penis, suggesting that he should have it permanently hidden from view. Perhaps a well-padded nappy and much thicker plastic pants might help make things a little more acceptable. Florence took her advice and before he knew it he was bundled up and almost unable to walk. Mrs Fitzsimmons agreed that the plastic pants were an absolute necessity and a boy should go nowhere without suitable protection.

“They urinate and mess everywhere... for no reason. You simply cannot trust a boy to do his business where and when expected... boys are animals.”

That was his introduction to his aunt’s best friend and he hated her visits because as soon as she arrived she would check to see if he was wet and then suggest ‘more padding’. When she did eventually change him he found the entire thing terrifying and painful. It also left him feeling vulnerable and inadequate.

# tbc #



Part 2

Florence made it clear that as long as she was his custodian Alfie lived by her rules. If he was compliant then they would get on and perhaps a nappy wouldn’t be necessary but any digression from those rules and he would feel the full impact on his bare backside. Another thing he’d have to get used to, she was never going to allow any anti-God sentiment in her house so he’d be expected to accompany her to church whenever she went, which was regularly.

In the meantime Mrs Fitzsimmons had become a regular visitor and continually complemented Florence on the sterling work she was doing with her nephew. She also constantly berated Alfie for not being grateful enough for the wonderful way his aunt was guiding him.

He panicked a bit when one morning she volunteered to see to his morning soaked nappy, whilst Florence got herself ready for a day out. He caused a bit of a scene screaming he didn’t want a stranger to...

Alas, it was too late, with the speed and determination of someone half her age she had his wet protection off and a thoroughly hand-spanked bottom in seconds. Never had a ten year old been brought to heel so quickly and the ultra-thick padding he was then made to wear over a very tender posterior meant he would never create again... not with that woman in attendance.

She handled him with ease, the tears he tried to hold back not fooling anyone. He knew right there and then this woman was not to be taken lightly so became scared and submissive to her bidding. She even made him ask for his thick plastic pants.

“We’re going out once your aunt is ready so... you can ask nicely to be allowed your pretty little plastic pants... or... you can go out wearing only your nappy.”

Fearful of her unambiguous attitude Alfie knew this menacing woman meant exactly what she said she’d do and parade him in public wearing only a thick nappy. Swallowing any pride he thought he still possessed reluctantly asked (she made him beg) to be allowed to wear plastic pants.

“There’s a good little boy,” she smarmed, “always ask for your pretty plastic panties to keep your little boy shorts dry.”

She fed them over the bulky nappy making sure he could feel each slippery movement as they were wriggled up his bare legs into position. She patted the glossy surface down and smiled, admiring her work and fussily made sure all the fabric of the nappy was tucked behind the slippery surface. A constant dialogue about how much he needed to wear a nappy and how wonderful it was to have an auntie who sacrificed so much for his benefit followed each action. Every word making him suffer the pangs of being utterly inferior and useless.

Finally, when his aunt emerged for the outing, a smartly dressed, though obviously well-padded and sullen boy stood silently at attention. Mrs Fitzsimmons had instructed a ‘no slouching’ policy.

“Thank you Barbara he looks marvellous. Perhaps you should do it more often,” she joked.

“Any time Florence. It’s a pleasure making sure a boy knows how to dress... I’m always keen to help in any way that I can. I know what a difficult and unrewarding task it can be at times.”

“Well dear, I just hope he wasn’t too much trouble?”

“No trouble at all... we soon got to know one and other and... well...”

Alfie was suddenly afraid she was going to say something about him having to be spanked. He knew his aunt wouldn’t have been pleased about that and no doubt lead to a further, perhaps even harder, punishment. He looked pleadingly over at his aunt’s friend, his eyes already misting up in panic.

She knew exactly what the boy was going through and how to enhance her power over him.

“You’re doing such a wonderful job raising him... he even begged me for his plastic pants to keep his little shorts dry should he have an accident.”

She paused for a second.

“Isn’t that right... little Alfie?” Her smile carried with it more than a threat.

He was cornered and knew there was no way out of the situation without making it worse.

“Yes ma-am.” He shyly admitted.

Florence looked both pleased and surprised.

“Really... that is good news.”

As it was, Aunt Florence had proved to be a fierce woman with her own ideas but he had no option, he was a stranger in a strange town and knew no one... he had to adopt her rules quickly or find his buttocks beaten on a regular basis. Alfie decided this was to be avoided at all costs so would do as he was told and hoped things would improve with time.

Perhaps they would end up friends?


Florence Brewster had her routines and disliked altering them to accommodate a ten year old boy. She didn’t like leaving him in the house on his own, yet loathed having him accompany her everywhere. However, she was of the firm opinion that he needed constant supervision so decided that, unless he was playing with the neighbouring kids (and even they’d be vetted for suitability) he would, whether either of them liked it or not, be her constant companion.

He was given no freedoms at all. He ate what was made, he wore what she decided, he did as he was told quite simply because, she had a hairbrush she wasn’t afraid of applying to his rear if he presented any kind of argument. She was judge and jury so wouldn’t allow any contempt in her court without there being drastic ramifications. It took a couple of thrashings for him to realise that things were now different and he had to live by a completely different set of laws. He was scared, not only by her complete certainty she was right about everything (and it was better not to argue with someone so intense in their belief), but by the agonising threats she so zealously carried out.

Regularly sitting crying in a thick nappy and bulging vinyl pants had been enough to quell any rebellious streak. His mum was definitely not there to protect him and neither was anyone else. His aunt was in supreme command of everything he did. So, after those beatings on his bare bottom he learned his place and that auntie was to be obeyed and obeyed quickly. In this part of the country naughty children were regularly chastised by a sound spanking (or worse). He was terrified of what might be even worse if he didn’t behave.


For the first few days after his arrival Florence had been a little nervous of her new tenant. She’d kept him at arm’s length and didn’t much interfere in how he dressed or his restless attitude. However, the words of Mrs Fitzsimmons echoed in her head and knew she had to take the bull by the horns and have things the way she wanted them... not what a ten year old might want.

“A boy in a nappy is far more controllable, a boy in a wet nappy even more so.”

So, much to his surprise, after this introductory week, his enforced early bed time was accompanied by having to wear nappies and plastic pants to sleep in. Her argument, she simply didn’t trust him (or any child) not to wet the bed and ruin her fine mattress and bedlinen. She was never relaxed about a child in her house ruining her nice furniture so insisted on him wearing protection of one kind or another all the time.

She wouldn’t hear his claim that he’d been potty trained for over eight years... she simply wasn’t going to take any chances. His mattress was covered in a protective sheet, whilst the chair he was allowed to sit in also had a plastic cover. Even when he was allowed to wear his normal briefs during the day, everywhere he looked was something that made him feel like a very incontinent boy who couldn’t be trusted not to urinate at any time.

Also, there was a strict rule that he didn’t wander the house at night; she insisted that once the lights were out and they were in bed, she didn’t want to be woken up by footsteps or a body bumping into things so, if he needed to go to the toilet, he should use his night time nappy.

As she said “It was what God designed it for... and will prevent any nocturnal upsets.”

He mumbled his negative thoughts about God, which brought another swift punishment to his already beleaguered rear. Saying anything so blasphemous (or thinking it as far a she was concerned) needed the purveyor of such words instant corrective God-given judgement.

So, despite every fibre in his body wanting to reject such a rule, he found he capitulated completely to her demands and lived the life she had stipulated for him. He was ten but the fight he once had when looking out for his mother evaporated to be replaced by what appeared to be a timid toddler in constant fear and often a wet nappy.


There was something else Mrs Fitzsimmons gave her new friend to maintain leverage over her young lodger, an unobtrusive little brown bottle. A few drops of its contents mixed in with either food or drink a few hours before retiring, would lead to a wet (and sometimes messy) nappy... thus make the embarrassed, confused and worried recipient much easier to manage.

Once awake, he wasn’t allowed to get up and help himself to breakfast he had to wait for his auntie to rise, inspect his soaked padding and deliver any comments about him she thought needed saying ... or repeating.

When in the morning she’d come into his room he would often be stood looking out of the window dreading a new day. Despite all efforts a sagging wet nappy drooping in his plastic pants, which were desperately trying to hold the contents, were what greeted her as she decided on his outfit after breakfast.

While he tried desperately not to antagonise his aunt there were some occasions, often not realised by Alfie, where she felt he needed chastising (often when he’d taken the Lord’s name in vain or cussed out too loud). It was at these times her punishment would be a spanking and put into protection for the rest of the day (sometimes longer depending on the offence). Although she’d often accuse him of acting like a baby, she never babied him but was made to endure wearing and using his nappy for the entire length of his punishment. She was of the firm opinion that he would learn a lot quicker if there was a constant reminder of that misdemeanour.

# tbc #












Part 3

Aunt Florence was way out of her depth. She’d avoided any kind of relationship all her life; friends were few and far between (although now she had Mrs Barbara Fitzsimmons), certainly there had been no prospect of a husband and the thing she’d been most avoiding, children, now had to share her life with one. To say it was difficult was an understatement she really had no idea where to begin. She kept hoping that Social Services would come by and if not relieve her of her burden, then at least give her some pointers. Alas, the over-stretched Social Services department were in no position to offer anything more than a phone number, which was hardly ever manned.

She had no idea what a ten year-old boy who’d just lost his mother needed so, without any natural abilities, decided she would start him from scratch... and hope for the best. She trusted that firm principles, a strict regime, early nights and the sound advice from her friend Barbara, would and should be sufficient to produce a well-balanced youth. However, as she was starting from the very beginning, she looked around to her neighbours who had children, and learned the dos and don’ts from them. It was a strange way of learning as she didn’t ask for advice she merely assumed what was needed to bring up a young boy to fit in with her prejudices.

Barbara had been most definite that other people were wrong in the way they brought up their children and for Florence not give into pressure from those who didn’t really know but were full of ‘liberal ideas’ – a phrase she uttered with utter contempt.

Florence had a very low opinion of her neighbours and how they were bringing up their children. Most were loud, disrespectful, excitable and appallingly behaved... in fact, they were just being children. She hated the clothes they wore, some with rude and garish writing or nasty graphics; she considered it common and disgusting.

However, there was a slightly older couple on the estate who seemed to have their two children firmly under control. Alas, the girls were both toddlers and still wearing nappies but both parents appeared to know what they were doing and the children always instantly responded to any commands. She saw this domestic scene as the ideal marker for her own attempt at family life.


Regrettably, although she had a ten year old adolescent to deal with, she had set his age very low to begin with. She’d seen those noisy, dirty neighbourhood kids and decided that they were all too gross so didn’t want that. No, Alfie was going to be a thoughtful, respectful, quiet and God-fearing boy who would reflect well on his auntie. As a sum of money came to Aunt Florence when she took on her nephew she decided that she would buy him clothes that mirrored his new status.

She disapproved of the clothes he’d arrived in; jeans were worn by the slovenly. She certainly didn’t like his gaudy t-shirts and jumpers that had branding in large letters all over them, nor was she pleased with some of the graphic designs of various rock bands that festooned his clothes. She decided he should have a completely new wardrobe and to that end Alfie got his hopes up when she suggested a shopping trip into town.

It was strange that in a moment of what appeared to be consideration auntie had inferred he could choose what he wanted to wear. He was ‘growing up’ and needed a whole range of new stuff, as well as items for his new school in a couple of weeks’ time.

So, despite being reluctantly dressed in ‘approved’ chino shorts and jumper for the expedition, at least he was wearing a pair of briefs that had survived auntie’s cull and not the nappy he’d had to wear for the last few days (he’d taken the Lord’s name in vain). Since he’d moved in with auntie he hadn’t made many friends and certainly didn’t know anyone enough to worry about meeting them in town, where someone might see him dressed like a big kid (or so he thought even if his auntie disagreed... to her he was simply ‘well-turned-out’).

He’d been in her company long enough now to know there was no point in arguing because it never gained him anything other than some kind of punishment, best to keep quiet and let her get on with things.

Despite him being pretty excited about going shopping it was clear from the start that his input would be minimal. She’d see things she liked, hold them up to see if they’d fit, or ask an assistant if they had it in a different size but a shake of the head or even an emphatic “No” from Alfie made no difference, if she liked it that’s what he’d be wearing.

This was made abundantly clear, and further depressed him, when she started buying stuff for school. The ‘Back-2-School’ sale was on so various stores were vying for customers, which meant 3-4-2 and 2-4-1 offers abounded.  This became her major project, forget any other clothes, she needed him correctly attired for school.

He hadn’t banked on grey shorts, knee-length socks and short-sleeved, pale blue shirts being the bargains his aunt gravitated towards. However, once she saw the value, and the fact that Alfie would look pretty smart wearing such items, she bought enough to keep him going both in and out of school. Besides, she reasoned, anything and everything could match smart grey polyester shorts which would be the base for whatever he wore in future.

The darker blue jumpers and black shoes seemed to say that he was going back to junior school, not starting in year six. In a desperate attempt to have some say in what he wore he begged her to buy some boxer shorts. Again she took no notice and bought a pack of six white slips which were on sale.

It was then over to the barbers where she insisted his floppy mop was ‘tidied up’, this meant he had the first short haircut since he was about three. His mother had liked him to wear his thick head of hair long, she thought it suited him but not so his aunt who believed long hair was a sign of laziness and attitude. She was having none of that.


The school didn’t even have a specific uniform; all that was required was for the pupils to wear clean clothes, which carried no obscene visuals or wording. T-shirts or jumpers that carried band names with gory graphics were also banned. However, Florence Brewster thought that something that resembled a smart uniform and set a ten year old boy apart from the crowd, was what her nephew should wear once he started his new life, in a new town and attending a new school. She wanted to be proud of him and was determined he wouldn’t be like all the other slouching, disrespectful youths that attended the establishment.

In fact, once she saw just how smart the sensible school ‘uniform’ looked she decided that’s how he should be dressed all the time. She liked how well-groomed he looked in comparison to all the other students; sensible shorts, knee-length socks, well-shined shoes, clean short-sleeved shirt, navy blue jumper and blue tie. Florence loved even more the fact that it was she who was guiding the boy’s journey into adulthood by being a boy first and not an aggressive young hooligan she assumed all the others were. She’d also invested in a couple of ‘special occasion’ ties and white short-sleeved shirts so he’d look his Sunday best when attending church.

Of course Mrs Fitzsimmons was nothing but praise for the way Florence was shaping her nephew. She was overjoyed at the way his grey shorts hugged his obvious bulging nappy and the way he waddled to and from church. He wasn’t the long-haired, tardy, sad-looking boy who appeared just a few weeks earlier, he was already a smart, polite, respectful and silent little boy who knew his place.


Despite the independence Alfie had from his mother, and the fact that he was used to doing things for himself as well as helping her as he had, his aunt didn’t trust him with anything. She thought the only way to guarantee his compliance was to make sure he didn’t have a choice in any matter. The initial spankings had soon made their mark, literally and figuratively, and the youth soon learned not to argue. His mother had relied on his self-sufficiency to make life work for both of them but now he found that such autonomy was a hindrance to simply getting on with life. His aunt expected nothing but total compliance to her instruction.

She taught him how to cook and clean thoroughly, something he already knew how to do but his aunt would hear none of it. She insisted he learn about the flowers in her garden and when they needed cutting or pulling up and when to plant out new varieties. Occasionally Florence wished Alfie was a girl because she was sure it would all have been less trouble. However, a boy is what she had and so that was what she had to work with.

On the other hand, he had no option, he disliked immensely his submission to his aunt’s rules but she was now in charge of what he did and where he went but there was something besides her total authority that held him in check. It was the photograph of him and his mother which he treasured and kept on the nightstand next to his bed.

Valerie had known that time was running out and options for her son were few so, before she died she made him promise to be good, not only be a credit to her but to whoever his guardian became. She seemed to realise that it might be her sister who was eventually given such duties and made him promise, on her deathbed, he would never antagonise anyone who was only trying to make him a better person in her absence. Of course he’d promised and even swore an oath to such affect, never realising what that would actually mean. However, more than anything he needed to honour the memory of his mother... and fighting anyone, especially his aunt, would undermine that vow.

He tried to get on with his aunt but she wasn’t like his mother in any way and found it difficult to do anything but compare the two opposites – his mother kind and considerate, his aunt an authoritarian and unbending. His mother had always told him to find the good in people, never to judge and always say his prayers... but that was difficult.

He was ten years old, had no say in who looked after him and any voice he once had was now well and truly silenced.


His first day at school was a challenge. A new school, no friends and wearing what could best be described as the uniform of a second grader. There was no doubt about it he looked smart but also a bit of a dork. He was targeted and ribbed nonstop from his arrival at school in the morning to when the bell eventually went at the end of lessons. His sensible grey shorts were the subject of everyone’s fascination and people kept asking him if he was lost as the elementary school was down the road.

It wasn’t that there were no other kids wearing shorts, there were quite a few but theirs were baggy, or trendy or simply ‘worked’. They looked like teenagers and not like a hesitant second or third grader.

It appeared everyone was happy to have a go, so the name calling followed his every move. Some girls thought he looked ‘cute’ but he still felt nervous under their positive comments. He dreaded the following day when it was gym for the last period and he’d have to change in the locker-room with his class mates.

He’d been given the new briefs to wear for school but the argument about them looking like little girl’s panties was scorned by his aunt who thought they were no different to what he’d asked for and just what a smart young boy should wear. To her they were the briefs he himself had demanded so she couldn’t understand why he was complaining.  The fact they discovered the pack of seven ‘fancy white slips’ had a different small flower on the side didn’t make any difference to her but Alfie was incensed... though quite ineffectually. 

He sulked for a while suggesting to replace them with his boxer shorts but Florence had thrown out what she regarded as ‘tasteless items’, thinking no respectable person would be found dead wearing such abominations with their garish colours and artwork. He hadn’t realised that his old clothes were now gone and all that remained in his closet and drawers were the new items she’d recently purchased.

It wasn’t so much she was trying to remove all traces of his past life; she simply thought his clothing was inappropriate for a nice boy. So, no matter how much he complained, he still only had those few new ‘sensible’ items to wear. That was his aunt’s watchword when it came to clothes - ‘sensible’ – so, whilst he was under her roof...


However, after the constant put downs, and the lack of any understanding from auntie, he took a decision that would change his young life forever. In a moment of ‘clear thinking’ he grabbed his new briefs and threw them into the metal incineration bin in the back garden. Auntie had been doing some garage clearing out and, together with some dead flowers had set a little bonfire to get rid of them. The cotton pants were quickly destroyed, leaving no evidence they ever existed.

Alfie’s ‘clear thinking’ had made him assume that his aunt would have no option but to buy him some new pants and this time he wouldn’t let her decide he would insist and create if he didn’t get some boxers or tighty-whities at the very least.

However, in the meantime he fastened himself back into his night time nappy because he knew she wouldn’t be pleased if he wandered about the house not wearing any kind of protection.

Alas neither of these things happened.

His aunt wasn’t stupid enough to think things just ‘disappeared’ and knew the boy disliked them so much he’d no doubt got rid of them. She was angry at such a blatant disregard for property but there again she’d correctly (in her mind) disposed of his stuff in a similar way. However, she had her own plan and told him not to worry as no doubt they’d turn up as things just ‘didn’t disappear for no reason’ but until they did she’d come up with an alternative.

He begged her for some new underwear; boxers, briefs, trunks he wasn’t bothered but she simply stressed that they didn’t have spare money to spend on ‘extras’.

So, he had a choice, she offered him some rather old but floral knickers from her underwear draw (just to tide him over until his lovely white briefs did turn up) or he could simply continue wearing a nappy during the day as well. Although this would mean extra work, all that extra washing and all, it would mean he’d be in protection 24/7.

Alfie was annoyed with himself because the little briefs he’d had were better than the options she now gave him. The old knickers were a no-no and he hated the thought of permanently wearing nappies but, he had an evil thought. Up until then his aunt had supervised all laundry arrangements so, he considered, if it meant more work for her then at least she was more likely to eventually give up and buy him some proper underwear. After a few moments pretend deliberation he answered her.

“I’ll wear a nappy for now auntie.” He hoped his choice sounded reluctant but sincere although his insides were all butterflies as he thought of the clever rouse to get his way.

“Are you sure?” She also sounded concerned with his choice. “These would be fine (she held out several pairs of feminine panties for him to inspect) once we put them through the wash... and you got used to them”

Alfie pulled his hand from being anywhere near touching the strange ‘old lady’ objects.

“OK, well if you’re sure. They are old so I suppose I should get rid of them.”

He nodded with more enthusiasm than was perhaps necessary and was surprised to see her carry the pile out to where he’d so recently got rid of his own briefs. She threw them on the little bonfire and watched them burn and then looked back at Alfie.

“Let’s get you into a fresh nappy.”

Part 4

Back in his room she stripped him and was surprised to feel the fabric was quite damp. Unknowingly, he’d nervously peed while the debate had been going on. Luckily no stain appeared for anyone to notice because those waterproof panties had protected his juvenile school shorts.

“Well, not a moment too soon.” She grimaced. “Looks like nappies are just what a boy like you requires. I always knew it’s what you needed and I’m very pleased,” she said with some satisfaction, “that it’s your choice. I’m glad we are now both on the same page.”

He looked a little shocked to know he was wet because he’d only just put the nappy on. He wondered if it was the result of the undeniable guilt coursing through his body because of the deceit and burned panties.

“I don’t think you should walk around in a wet nappy for too long.” She admonished as she applied the anti-rash cream. “It might be best if you just ask me for a fresh nappy when you’re wet.”

Alfie looked at her a bit dumb.

“Let’s try shall we?” It was more of a demand than a request.

“Please auntie...” She waited for him to repeat what she was saying.

“Please auntie.”

“May I have...”

“May I have.”

“A fresh, clean nappy...”

“A fresh and clean nappy.”

“Now say it all together.”

He was still waiting for her to pin him in and getting a bit nervous though she wasn’t in any rush even if he was all but naked lying there.

Eventually he knew he had no option. The lotion was spread, the powder scattered over his most vulnerable of parts and layers of fresh, clean fabric lay waiting for him to say the magic phrase.

“Erm, er, um, pp,ppplease auntie may I have a fresh and clean nappy?”

“There... that wasn’t too difficult was it? I’ll expect you to make that request now every time you’re wet and need a change.” She had a sort of half reassuring smile on her face but it wasn’t convincing.

Once his hairless, boyish bits were safely wrapped in the thick padding and two huge pins held it all together she had more to say.

“Ohh, just so you’re in no doubt...  you will only be wearing a nappy... day and night... that way... I can guarantee no accidental spillages and nothing else can ‘go missing’.”

She emphasised the last words making it clear she knew exactly what had happened.


Alfie wasn’t sure what had just taken place but it appeared auntie was happy that he would now be permanently wearing nappies. As she’d pinned him tightly into a dry, well-padded one she introduced him to a brand new pair of plastic pants... they were soft pink in colour.

“Now then, what do we say for our pretty plastic pants... mmm?”

Alfie hesitated, even though he’d done this quite a few times since Mrs Fitzsimmons had orchestrated this little bit of embarrassment.

He lay there in the fresh, clean bulky nappy but she knew that this new colour might make him try and resist. She was making a point... don’t even think about complaining.

Because his usual vinyl pants were often opaque or cream coloured he would have said something about them being a girlie pink but was learning to hold his tongue, especially as auntie seemed in a relatively good, if determined, mood.

“These will make sure you don’t leak so keep these lovely shorts nice and dry.”

“Please auntie might I wear my new plastic pants to keep my shorts nice and dry... please?”

He tried to keep the false ingratiation from being too obvious.

Unfortunately for him it didn’t go un-noticed as she shuffled them up his legs and over the huge puffy bulk. However, she was overjoyed he was now wearing a huge pink cushion to keep him dry and the expression of subjugated annoyance was a bonus.

She took in the view and smiled then wriggled up his loose grey shorts, which he was destined to be wearing for quite some time. She knew the threat of only being allowed to wear a nappy to school would keep him grateful of having something to wear, even a pair of grey schoolboy shorts, to hide his embarrassment.

There was no point in arguing because that’s all she’d bought, about six pairs of them (brief and loose but they had been a bargain) however, they were just about all he now had to cover his bulky protection. Although, when he sat down it could easily be seen down the leg holes and even sometimes above his waistband. The dispute had been lost earlier when she simply declared he could go to school wearing no shorts at all if he preferred, she was sure his school friends wouldn’t mind him wearing just his protection.

“But, but... erm.... but I...”

“At last we agree on something Alfie.” She interrupted his plea, “I’m glad because I was getting tired of our constant fighting.” She looked him up and down as if coming to some conclusion. “And, because you say you’re a ‘big boy’, I’m giving you total responsibility for keeping the laundry up to date. So, every morning when you get up, before school, you put your dirty nappies in the wash, have your breakfast and then peg your nappies out to dry. If the weather is wet then we’ll find an alternative but, you can’t beat a crisp breeze to keep the fabric fresh.”

Alfie was speechless as he’d now have to deal with all the extra work wearing nappies full time would cause. He was also a little shaken by the addition of pink plastic pants and begged her not to insist he peg both out for all to see.

“Don’t be silly... no one’s concerned with what’s on our washing line...”

She had a big encouraging smile on her face.

 “...but keeping your nappies immaculate should be an incentive... so anyone who might notice knows you’re not a dirty little boy... ”


Not for the first time Alfie felt ineffectual and completely outmanoeuvred. At his own hands, his own suggestion and his own insistence... he was now going to be in nappies permanently. It was at this point he truly did give up trying to fight his aunt. She was just too clever and not only that, when she spanked him it really hurt, so perhaps it was time to just put up with the situation.

She’d emphasised “your nappies” several times and it suddenly hit Alfie that despite everything he thought would or might happen things had gone drastically downhill since he’d declared that God was an “uncaring bastard”. He had to acknowledge that he may be being punished for taking the Lord’s name in vain and that his punishment (and there was no wrath like God’s wrath) would continue and possibly get worse if he didn’t change his stubborn ways.

So the ritual of the nappies was born. Unless it was unpleasant weather he had to get them out on that washing line for a damn good drying and airing. If the weather wasn’t too good, and because he had plenty to last, he was allowed to wait for a better day but that would then see a line full of his nappies making it look so much worse. Sometimes there were half a dozen or more pairs of plastic pants flapping around as well, much to Alfie’s embarrassment.

He desperately wanted it to be like it used to be with him and his mum. He had to try harder to please his aunt and apologise to the Heavens any wrong-doings and hope eventually he’d be forgiven. He started praying every night and every day telling the Lord that he’d be better, try harder, do what he was told and never argue again with his aunt.


It took him a few mornings to get the hang of having to request a ‘fresh, clean nappy and his pretty plastic panties’ otherwise he was going to be sitting around in a wet or messy one for the rest of the day... and that was more uncomfortable than asking to be changed.

Florence was delighted that everything Mrs Fitzsimmons had predicted, and the measures to be undertaken, had proved a most invaluable tool to setting her nephew on the correct path.

He soon learned that having such a contrite and acquiescent attitude did help with getting along with auntie. It made for a better atmosphere at home and pretty soon the jibes and aggression at school also became less of a problem. His aunt tolerated and involved him in more of her social life, she even expanded it a little to accommodate a few things she hoped he’d like to do. Alfie didn’t complain, he daren’t, but in truth the things she arranged were for a much younger boy and often had more girls attending than other boys.

This wasn’t Florence punishing Alfie. Without the input of her friend Barbara she’d had a little think and realised that the boy had missed quite a bit of his childhood thanks to taking care of his sick mother so decided, in her own way, to give him some of that innocent time back. Nevertheless, she thought, as long as he was thickly protected then all should be well.

The only items of clothing he had left from when he arrived were the pair of khaki chino shorts and  blue jumper he’d worn for the shopping expedition and an orange polo shirt (which his aunt found far too gaudy) everything else had been disposed of. So, when he wasn’t wearing his school boy uniform, he was allowed to wear these (except the orange shirt) to play out or do the gardening in. He didn’t mind this restricted dress code because it reminded him of the times he’d had with his mother and even wearing a nappy underneath couldn’t break that sentimental bond.


A life wearing protection had become normal for Alfie and he relied on them more and more especially at night when he’d often wake up incredibly soaked. Almost constant nightmares and night terrors making the boy scared of his own shadow so a wet nappy was inevitable. It was further testimony to his aunt that what she was doing worked and needed for the boy’s safety and comfort. 

However, sometimes he didn’t wet for a few nights which saw his confidence grow, which also meant a slight ego boost. A few drops of Mrs Fitzsimmons’s magic tincture soon had him doubting his own ability to stay clean so things immediately returned to his aunt’s satisfaction.

The redoubtable Mrs Fitzsimmons had been proved correct – a messy nappy did quickly return Alfie to be an acquiescent, dependent little boy.

She also reasoned the chances of him drifting off in a direction of bad behaviour was very unlikely - it was doubtful he’d go anywhere whilst he had a sopping wet nappy to deal with. He wasn’t aware of just how delighted she’d become now he was completely under her control and the guilty saggy morning nappy, hanging in its loose-fitting plastic protection, was something she looked forward to dealing with almost every day. 


Something else happened that changed Alfie’s life for good, his aunt had to go into hospital for three days for some ‘women’s’ check-ups. Even though he had hated her, now he was more compliant, she wasn’t as tough on him as she had been but was terrified about her visit. The last time he’d been in hospital was to see his mother and she never returned.

Her appointment was scheduled for Friday morning, with a return home on Sunday afternoon, so she’d only be away for two nights. Mrs Fitzsimmons volunteered to take in the boy for those few days she’d be undergoing tests, which put Florence’s mind at rest as she knew he’d be in reliable hands.

After Alfie left for school Friday morning, Barbara drove Florence to the hospital and told her not to worry about anything. She knew the doctors and nurses there and could guarantee she’d get the very best of care. Florence was grateful for all her friend was doing and hoped that Alfie wouldn’t be too much trouble. Barbara just smiled her winning smile and promised that she was sure they’d get on like a house on fire.

She met him at the school gates and immediately put her hand down the back of his shorts in front of everyone to check if he was wet. She already knew he was from the slightly awkward waddle she’d seen as he walked towards the entrance. There was no doubt about it his little grey shorts and a thick nappy certainly gave him a distinctly childish look. However, she wasn’t one to miss an opportunity to embarrass the boy so despite his red face and obvious discomfort loudly proclaimed that she would change his soaked nappy when they got home.


Alfie was none too happy but had had no say in what was happening as he knew this particular lady was not one to antagonise. However, he couldn’t help his annoyance at her public display outside school from making him sullen and not very cooperative. That was a bad move on his part.

Once home she showed him where he would sleep, it was the room her two sons had shared when they were at home. He was surprised to see the wallpaper was very childish, with cartoon characters and animals and bedding that matched the theme. He was sure he’d overheard his aunt and Mrs Fitzsimmons talking about her boys and that they were in their twenties when they left home.

(She’d found appropriate wives for them similar in attitude to herself.)

However, she pointed to one of the twin beds and told him because it had a very thick plastic bottom sheet that was where he would sleep but in the meantime it was time to get him out of his wet nappy.

Under her scrutiny he stripped out of his school wear and down to his saggy protection.

“Oh you are a very wet little boy aren’t you?”

He didn’t think it was a question that needed a reply but she waited for him to do so.

“Oh, erm, yes Mrs Fitzsimmons...”

She waited to hear more.

“Yes Mrs Fitzsimmons I am a very wet boy... sorry.”

“Well I’m glad to hear you’re sorry but before we do anything else let’s get you cleaned up first before...”

She steered him towards the bathroom and vigorously set about his naked private parts with a wet cloth. She was very thorough and, having wiped deep into his bottom showed the brown stain that was left on the cloth.

“Not only a wet boy but a dirty boy as well... I don’t think your aunt would approve of such slack attention to cleanliness do you?


The colour had drained from his face and he stood naked quaking at this intimidating woman’s evident power. She took his arm and marched him back to the bedroom and, still holding on to him, as she closed the door reached for a leather strap that hung there. The follow through was instant. He’d hardly had time to register just exactly what was about to happen when she pushed him over the side of the bed and delivered six hefty thwacks to his naked backside.

“I will not tolerate dirty slovenly boys (thwack) and I’m sure neither would your aunt (thwack)...”

He didn’t hear much else because of his pitiful screams of pain, which continued long after the final whack was delivered. He cried and cried as she rubbed in lotion and sprinkled powder as if all was normal. However, although he was angry Alfie daren’t speak and bit his bottom lip in an effort to contain his emotion.

“Right let’s get you ready for bed.”

“But it’s e,e,early,” he stammered.

“You need to know that I decide when bed time is... not you.”

She said this as she pushed a couple of thick soaker pads into a large terry cotton nappy and pulled the huge thing up between his legs and pinned it into place. She then reached for a voluminous pair of clear plastic pants and pulled them into place.

“There, now I can see when you’re wet and need a change.”

Alfie looked through his tearful eyes at his reflection...never before had he looked so much like a large baby... made worse by his red eyes and tear-streaked face. She then grabbed a t-shirt from a pile on the dresser and pulled it over his head. It hardly reached the top of his protection and was pale blue with a cartoon giraffe on the front. Now he really was dressed like a toddler.

“Right, I think you’re just about respectable, let’s have something to eat shall we?”

She grabbed his hand and led her reluctant guest downstairs to the kitchen.


He didn’t dare sit. His bottom stung and the huge nappy made standing awkward but he thought it would be more painful to sit.

“Sit down.” Mrs Fitzsimmons commanded. “We don’t stand to eat.”

Tears weren’t far away as he tentatively eased himself into the wooden chair. Thankfully, the thick padding made it easier for him to sit. She’d already cut his sandwiches into small bite-sized chunks and the tomato soup was in a very childish, plastic Disney bowl. He held a plastic spoon and slowly ate but was surprised that both the soup and sandwich were delicious.

All the way through the meal he couldn’t help but feel her eyes on him as if evaluating everything he did, it was very uncomfortable. His aunt, although stringent about the rules she set, never looked at him with such contempt or judgement.

After the meal had finished, it was around 6pm, he sat quietly until Mrs Fitzsimmons said it was acceptable for him to leave the table. With being dressed for bed he was uncertain whether to go to his room or... what to do? His bottom wasn’t flaming like it had been but he could still feel each sting of the strap and felt sorry for her sons who had to put up with such treatment until they got married and left home... or so he thought.

“Have you got homework?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Then go get it and do it on that table,” she pointed to the one in the living room. “Make sure your writing is neat, I don’t want your aunt to think standards had fallen whilst I was looking after you.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He was thankful to have something to do, his aunt had drilled into him over the few months they’d been together how important it was to work hard and be successful completing whatever the teacher set. Through her insistence on the work ethic he was heading towards the top of the class and he quite liked the fact that even dressed a bit different from the other kids, he was still able to prove himself in this way. He was weirdly proud of his scholarly achievements.

By 7.30 he’d finished his work and Mrs Fitzsimmons ran her eye over it. She too was surprised at just how neat and diligent he’d been, something she could never get her own sons to be.

“Well done.”

Even though she was complimenting him it seemed there was condescension to her comment.

Although she could obviously see for herself, she shoved a spindly finger up the leg of his plastic pants to check if he was wet.

“Good boy, you’re still dry and the padding should last you the night... so... bed time for little ones don’t you think?”

“Aunty lets me stay up until 8.30 at the weekend Mrs Fitzsimmons... erm... might I...?”

“No, no, no, no, no, noooo,” she silenced him.  “Little boys should be in bed by 7.00 and as you can see... you’re way past that time already so... off to bed with you and I shall come and tuck you in... in a minute.”

She always stressed he was a ‘little boy’ but even though he wasn’t tired he knew better than to argue.

“Okay, erm, goodnight Mrs Fitzsimmons... erm... thank you for a lovely tea.”

She patted his well-padded bottom as he set off up the stairs and told him she’d be up shortly.


Downstairs Mrs Fitzsimmons was warming milk as a nice nightcap for her guest. Of course she would serve it in a baby’s bottle and insist he finish it whilst she watched him suckle its contents. She’d done this regularly with her boys and it always produced a soaking wet nappy in the morning. Like her boys, the toilet would be out of bounds for Alfie and his over-blown nappy would be there for him to use.

She arrived back in the room and Alfie had already settled under the blankets.

“Have you said your prayers?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Let’s hear them again please...”

He sat up in bed and started “Dear Lord...”

“You don’t talk to God like that... get out and say them properly.”

He hadn’t meant to anger this imposing lady but now he nervously crawled from under the sheet and positioned himself kneeling at the side of the tiny bed. He put his palms together, closed his eyes and started again.

“Dear Lord. Thank you for...”

Barbara was full of pride. She’d insisted her own boys said their prayers nightly in the same position and with their thick night time nappies shining in the bedroom light. It filled her heart to hear them thank God and their ‘loving mummy’ for each and every day. They had continued this act right up until the day they left home with their wives.

She tried to deny it to herself but Barbara was a little envious of Florence now she had Alfie in her life. To begin with she was only pleased she could pass on her authority and experience having had two sons but now she was alone and really missed her complete control over them. However, she knew what boys were like and especially, as they got older, the one sin they indulged in often to the exclusion of any other thoughts. She’d keep an eye on Alfie because she was sure he already indulged and that was a sin as far as she was concerned.

Matthew 5:27–30. Jesus speaks against having lustful thoughts and then says,

 “If your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away.”

“...for ever and ever. Amen”

“That was very nice Alfie. Now quickly into bed and here is a nice warm milk to help you rest.”

“Can’t I have it in a cup or glass please?”

“What and have you spill all over the nice clean bed... I don’t think so... and I’m not leaving until I’ve seen you drink down every drop.”

She looked up at the recently employed leather strap that was still resting on the back of the door. Alfie took the hint and began to suckle.

“There’s a good little boy.”

The milk was very warming and as he settled and slowly slurped the liquid down he felt relaxed. His aching bottom didn’t feel too bad now and the thick padding was quite comfortable. Even the little cotton childish t-shirt was soft to the touch and felt nice and snug.

He finished and passed the empty bottle back to Mrs Fitzsimmons.

“Thank you Mrs Fitzsimmons... that was very nice.”

“Goodnight little one... and I don’t want you out of bed until I come for you in the morning... so no moving around... your nappy is there for a reason so use it.”

Alfie had recently discovered that his thick nappy was there for another reason and one he found most exciting and stimulating... so he’d take her words of advice and use it as soon as she left the room.

# tbc #



Part 5

After a few minutes, and he was sure that she was back downstairs, he rolled over onto his stomach and start to gently rock himself against the mattress. He had to go slow because the plastic bottom sheet was very crinkly and so were his thick see-thru plastic pants. The stimulation was minimal but as his penis got a little harder he could feel that lovely strange sensation he’d come to appreciate

His aunt had never mentioned it and he’d only discovered this pleasing effect by accident. However, ever since, he hadn’t minded being put to bed early as he found after this new experience he drifted off to sleep pretty quickly. He also found that he could do it again in the morning in a wet nappy and that was somehow even better.

The noisy crinkling became unavoidable as he got more and more stimulated and with seconds to go he hoped he hadn’t heard a noise on the landing. A moments later, and much to his ecstatic relief, he filled the front of his thirsty soaker pad and immediately felt a shiver of happiness enthral his body before drifting off into a contented sleep.

He woke up early, his nappy was soaked, the bottle of warm milk having found its way out and bloated the thing. He could see it wasn’t quite morning yet as there was only a dull glow around the blinds at the window. Looking down at him were the many cartoon characters that decorated the wall. He rolled over on to his stomach again trying to block out their infantile images and attempted the one thing that made him happy. The noise wasn’t as apparent but the stimulation was absent the bloated fabric making things difficult. He tried in different positions but was having trouble finding one that offered any satisfaction.

However, he pushed a pillow under himself and rested on top of that so, as he slid backwards and forwards found that presented some small response. He attacked it with vigour hoping that he would fulfil his desire. He was at it for an hour slowly building, slowly reaching that moment of maximum pleasure when, the instant he blew his load into his sticky saturated cushion Mrs Fitzsimmons burst through the door.


He couldn’t smother the little scream of fear and bliss that escaped his throat. She knew exactly what had happened and dragged the still orgasming boy from the bed by his ear. A yelp of pain was nothing as she pulled down his plastic pants and released his sodden nappy which fell to the carpet with a soggy thud. There amongst the yellow urine stain was the gluey white mass that had just so recently erupted from his penis.

“You filthy, dirty boy. How could you... in my son’s bed... perform such a disgusting and sinful...?”

She was apoplectic with rage as she reached for the strap behind the door and having shoved him bare bottomed over the end of the bed delivered a screaming and tearful boy a reason to be fearful and tearful.

The strap landed across his hardly healed bare bottom in a ferocious display of anger from the lady who was supposed to be looking after him. His aunt’s wooden hairbrush was awful but this was even worse and delivered with more severity.

He screamed and begged her to stop. It continued. He begged forgiveness. It continued. He swore he’d never do it again but the strap kept hitting its target until it was more purple than any other colour.

Alfie was completely distraught. Between each slap of leather against his boyish reddening skin she’d shouted at how disgusting, how revolting, how sinful he was. She wouldn’t put up with such disrespect or immoral pursuits under her roof. He was a wicked, wicked boy and needed to learn that doing such a thing was aberrant to God and corrupted those who did it. He needed to be stopped for the integrity of his soul and from debasing and perverting others.

She’d stopped the physical assault but dragged him back onto the bed and laid him out. She retrieved a small plastic appliance from her pocket and whilst he was still sobbing but terrified to fight back, fitted the apparatus around his small shrunken penis. The clear plastic cage totally encased his shy member and balls and with a soft click he heard her lock the item into place. Alfie had no idea what had just taken place but he was to find that from that moment on, there would be no more instances of such happy nappy pleasure for him.


After having discussed it with her old minister Mrs Fitzsimmons had had to do the same to her sons, the reverend making it clear it was the only way for a boy to learn abstinence.

“Left to their own devices,” the minister had pontificated to the young and impressionable mother, “once they discover masturbation then they will seek to do it at all times, in all places and their physical and spiritual life would suffer total devastation.”

It was this old cleric who had pointed her in the direction of chastity and the means to ensure it and to prevent her boys being “...doomed to life of self-gratification, which in turn inevitably led to madness.”


Having Alfie locked up in the cage and surrounded by a very thick nappy Barbara seemed a lot more at ease. Her control was now complete and Alfie wouldn’t be tempted, or able, to indulge in this particularly disgusting past time. Meanwhile, he found sitting and standing painful after the severe strapping he’d received and dare not say anything to anyone for fear of something similar happening again. He became even meeker than before in her presence and to make matters worse, she insisted that he beg to be allowed everything; lotion, baby powder, nappies, plastic pants and to thank her for caging up his ‘member’ to help prevent any further sin.

At visiting time at the hospital he stood chastised, scared and obviously sore for most of the hour they were there. Mrs Fitzsimmons recounted what she’d discovered and word for word what her old minister had told her, although made it sound like it was her own valued opinion and one that anyone would be foolish not to follow.

Before they left Mrs Fitzsimmons gave the locking key to his aunt and said it would be up to her to decide if or when he should be released. In her own way his aunt was equally as disgusted as her friend had been and had also heard tales from the church about the perils of boys masturbating. She wondered if such a disgusting thing had taken place under her roof so was in full agreement with the steps undertaken. Chastity was the correct and only direction to go to keep Alfie from a life of ‘...disintegration, self-destruction and moral turpitude’.


When his aunt returned home his life was held to very strict time-table of what he did, where he went, who he met, when he was fed or changed and what he wore. To Florence Brewster it was testament if needed, that the Bible was correct about not sparing the rod and that a boy required to be totally controlled to get the best out of him. His tiny cage would continue to be worn.

He never did get briefs or boxers to wear; his groin was laden with swathes of thick padding. He got used to the layers of fabric his aunt insisted he wear at night, which together with a pair of colourful vinyl or rubber pants put her mind regarding possible leakage at rest. Meanwhile, his cage prevented him from returning to a life of sinful pursuit.

For school he wore a thinner nappy but with a nice soaker strip down its centre together with simple clear vinyl pants. The teachers at school had been given permission to check if they thought he was sitting around in a damp nappy and to take immediate action. Alfie couldn’t understand how sometimes he didn’t wet at all, yet at other times, he filled his protection without realising what had happened. In truth, he needed his nappy more than he cared to admit... even if he didn’t know the reason why.

With the constant demands of his aunt, and the enthusiastic support she received from her friend Mrs Fitzsimmons, Alfie soon learned it was far better to do as he was told and submit completely to their requirements. If he didn’t fight it he found that he had a relatively stress-free time, the moment he even tried to act up the pressures raised to unsurmountable levels.

He found it simply wasn’t worth the effort because he couldn’t win; his rear would receive severe punishment. Also, thanks to a new development, his aunt’s friend seemed to have an abundance of articles she’d used on her own boys to keep them in line but which Alfie was keen to avoid.

He’d overheard the two ladies speaking and couldn’t get over the way Mrs Fitzsimmons gloated about the way she’d treated her young sons. Not only was she keen to employ nappies and spankings, she also enlisted the help of both baby and girl’s clothes to drive her point home. She laughed as she shared her memories of having either or both of them walking down the street at twelve year old wearing little dresses and nappies bulging out below.

“It was truly wonderful to see how quickly they fell into line after that... and because it proved so effective I would make them wear it sometimes as a warning.”

He wasn’t sure of his auntie’s reaction to this confession but didn’t want to give any pretext to slip him into a dress or possibly something worse.


The less control he had, the better the results were; whereas, when he’d looked after his mum he’d been a reasonable, if intermittent, student, now, under his aunt’s guidance, he was doing better. She made sure he applied himself to every aspect of learning because the threat (and use) of a hairbrush applied to a bare bottom and the arsenal of other paraphernalia was incentive enough to get results.

Despite such a draconian system to live under, once he stopped fighting against it, Alfie flourished. Perhaps flourished is the wrong word because he was a better than average student and attained excellent grades although didn’t mature at all. He relied on auntie for total guidance – both moral and physical – and she actually liked him as a little boy now he was docile and no trouble. She wasn’t sure she could have coped with a stroppy and belligerent teenager so together, she and her friend, kept him focused on  being the best little boy he could be. Heaping praise on what a good little boy he was at every opportunity.

As he grew older, he didn’t in fact grow much taller, perhaps just two or three inches in height. A strict diet and no sugary items also meant he hardly put on any weight. So apart from a few slight changes to his clothing (usually a slightly larger size in shorts) he didn’t vary much from when he was ten. Florence saw no reason to change something that was working so well and although people occasionally took the mickey out of the way Alfie dressed, they couldn’t fault his impeccable manners. Again he was praised and, as it was the only verification of him that he ever received, he was most grateful for it.

The threat of a spanking was always there (the hairbrush permanently on view) but Alfie simply buckled down (buckled under) so such discipline became rare... although he still received it for the tiniest of infractions.

So, from the day he’d said to auntie he would wear a nappy instead of briefs that’s the only underwear she let him have. A nappy was his constant companion through the accompanying years so learned to appreciate the many folds of material. The thickness occasionally varied, as did the colour of the plastic pants, but in general he wore the bulky fabric between his legs all the time. He didn’t dare complain, so therefore he didn’t.

The rules stayed with him until he went off to University... and so did the nappies.


Alfie had been excited though anxious about going to University.

His aunt had been steadfast that he should acquire top marks in all exams and eventually graduate with honours. She had seen the original independent ten year old buckle down and become a clever, if ineffectual teenager. Although still treating him as her little boy, she insisted that he work hard at school and be successful. As year after year he topped the class she’d proved that chastity, wearing a nappy and shorts was no drawback to producing a clever, polite, respectful and sensibly attired young person.

(Who, incidentally, was still required to kneel at the side of his bed, thickly padded bottom announcing he was wearing his compulsory night time nappy, say his prayers out loud, then under the sheets and on the way to the land of Nod by 8.30pm.)

Alfie had turned out better than she could possibly have anticipated and Florence felt pleased with her achievement.

Meanwhile, Alfie wondered how he’d cope with a life on his own and acting adult. He thought about making his own decisions and planning a future... it scared him... he’d not been given such freedom since he was ten but it meant that at last he would be away from his aunt’s suffocating rules, out of his boyish grey shorts and eventually free from having to wear a nappy.

He vaguely remembered the time he was independent, and his mother was so proud of him, he’d make her proud again. As always his heart filled with grief when he thought of his dead mum and tears were never far away. To honour her, and strangely enough his aunt, he wanted to make a success out of his time at University, although he had no clear idea what he would major in.

Auntie Florence had recommended he study hard to become a ‘Doctor’ of something but he really had no idea what. She also thought that if he became a teacher his good upbringing might well transfer to his students, thus starting a new breed of ‘nice’ youth... but she rarely voiced this particular hope.

The problem was Mrs Fitzsimmons found a girl around Alfie’s age who was going to the same university and who had a youthful... yet similar outlook as the lady herself. It was with this in mind she sent a package of things to the halls of residency where the two new students would, having explained some of Alfie’s needs to the admitting officer, live.

On that first day, in their shared dorm, Alfie stood facing the wall, nappy around his ankles, penis suitably encased in a small plastic cage and a recently spanked red bottom. She stood over him with the hairbrush poised; he had to beg to be allowed to pull up his nappy and in future ask permission to be changed, which she would supervise. He was in shock but dare not display any resentment, he’d been brought up to expect to be dominated, punished and changed by a female... age made no difference he’d learned to defer to the superior species.


His shy and compliant demeanour was very appealing to the girl who had been quick to assert her authority. Oddly enough her name, like Alfie’s mother, was Valerie and he had to understand she was going to be in total charge from that moment on. There would be no let-up in the rules that governed his life and for that, he was told, he should be grateful.

The package contained fabric nappies, onesies, powder and lotions to prevent nappy rash and keep hair from growing. She’d discovered and used the hairbrush and was fascinated by the little brown bottle of indeterminate origin but like what she read were the consequences of its administration. There were some soft colourful cotton t-shirts for him to sleep in that matched his plastic pants. She’d also added several packs of soaker pads to fill out his nappies, whilst helping to contain the frequent daily flow. There was also money for whenever Valerie needed to buy anything she thought would add to his experience of university life.

There were loads of items and products to be getting on with and some, the ever resourceful young lady would be adding herself. As a child she’d loved dressing up her dollies and that desire hadn’t diminished as she got older. She liked being in charge and having a real life doll to play with. Being eighteen was going to be no excuse for any changes. She was determined Alfie would look and act like the sweet, innocent boy Florence and Mrs Fitzsimmons had dreamed up when he was ten.

There was a note from Mrs Fitzsimmons expressing her dearest wish for Valerie to do all she could to keep Alfie on the course that had already been set. Also in the package was a small metal genital cage and lock, which, should he become sexually aware, she was to have no qualms about using. Mrs Fitzsimmons mentioned in her note that a metal cage might be a little more robust and permanent should the plastic one break or Alfie be in need of a little more discipline... this one had tiny spikes on the inside.  She was pretty confident he would give very little trouble if he was offered no options.

She also insisted that, like at home, his nappies needed regular airing to keep them fresh and to insist he does the laundry and peg them out for all to see.  She insisted that he not be allowed to fall into ‘bad customs and lax habits’, having a fixed routine and a daily timetable would make for a very compliant and well-behaved little boy.

Valerie, whilst grateful to Mrs Fitzsimmons for her forward thinking, had ideas of her own. However, she realised that the little lockable metal cage was just what she needed to assert her own dominance as she surveyed Alfie’s nervousness. She appreciated his boyish nakedness, respected his need for thick padding and admired his soft, silky, slippery vinyl pants.

“And what do we say about these?” She held them close to his face, their silky pink sheen glowing against his pale white cheek.

With his minimized penis caught in the tough plastic workings of his chastity device he oozed juvenile nervousness.

“Erm... er... please... Ma-am...” He knew the words but wasn’t sure how to address this terrifying woman who was the same age as him but so much more mature.

She nodded that being referred to as ‘Ma-am’ was fine... for the moment at least. He would, in a matter of days, be calling her Mommy and she would delight in looking after her precious little baby boy.

Relieved he begged. “Please Ma-am, may I please have my pretty baby plastic pants... please.”

Almost nine years of daily having to beg to wear his protection made him speak with little thought to his childish plea.

“Good boy.” She smiled. “Let’s get you as pretty as a picture shall we?”

She inched up his protection and smoothed it into place. His soft, graceful but immature body yielding to her touch and, as if echoing both his aunt’s and Mrs Fitzsimmons words, she whispered in his ear.

“A good boy should always have his privates hidden and be well protected... I’ll make sure you are always safe, secure and watertight.”

She relished the total look of shock whilst slipping him back into his boyish but perfectly serviceable and sensible grey polyester school shorts.

“You’re a good little boy and that’s the way you should stay.” She waved the hairbrush in his face to promote the point. “I expect good manners, exemplary behaviour and diligent academic study.”

“Mmmm, erm, um, yes ma-am,” his infantile voice struggled over his obvious anxiety.

Panic, as always when confronted by that dire piece of painful apparatus, surged through his body, whilst his timorous, defeated penis flooded the freshly applied nappy. His plastic pants crinkled as he moved to hide his shame.

She shook her head. “You don’t have to be embarrassed with me I expect you to be a wet and messy little boy... it’s what makes you so... special.”

He knew better than to argue.

“I’ll leave you to enjoy the nice warm feeling you’re having at the moment but in future, you must ask mommy before you fill your nappy.”

There she’d said it. She didn’t mean to use it so soon but, after what she’d just experienced, the thrill of taking Alfie in hand, she saw it as a natural progression - a fast progression but a progression nonetheless. ‘Mommy’, it had slipped out but now it had been said she was glad.

Alfie felt a second apprehensive surge of pee into his warm padding knowing he had no say in the matter. He swallowed hard wondering uneasily how he would cope with a new Mommy.

Mommy?” he queried.

She’d nodded and for the time being decided to leave in his wet nappy. He’d have to get used to her making all future decisions and his change schedule was just one of them.

She held out her hand.

“Come on Poppet, time for us to look around this place and to introduce you to other students... I think they are going to love Mommy’s precious little boy... don’t you?”

“Yes, er, um Mommy.”

“There sweetiepie... that wasn’t difficult was it. But hold on tight to mommy’s hand I don’t want to lose you in this enormous place.”

Valerie smiled her best indulgent smile, she was going to take this little padded boy’s university experience to new limits; some he’d be very pleased about...  others he was absolutely going to hate.

One thing for certain, Mommy would be on his case 24/7 and Alfie’s life was never going to be his own.


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