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30 Days In Diapers

"I don't think you can do it!" My lady's eyes had a daring look in them as she let the challenge sink in.

"You can't last 30 consecutive days in diapers."

My brain, fogged by the wine and more than a little pre-occupied with the erection between my legs, tried to get a grip on reality.

Let me confess. I'm a diaper lover. Ever since I can remember I've been fascinated by the idea of being in diapers, especially being confined in them. Lucky for me my lady understands and even cooperates with me from time to time. This was something different. She was daring me to spend the next month in diapers, 24 hours a day, seven days a week, no exceptions allowed.

"No exceptions at all?" I asked, trying to buy time.

She sat back with a grin of satisfaction. She could already sense victory. She knew I would find the prospect hard to resist despite the risks. Instead of answering she just shook her head from side to side.

"What if I want to back out?"

"That's the whole point. I'll make sure you won't be able to," she paused to light a cigarette, "but if you want to make it more interesting we could bet a $1,000 on it."

My head was beginning to spin. I should have left the martinis alone. I quickly reviewed our commitments and decided that despite some hairy spots it just might work. Then I contemplated the other side of the coin. None of our friends or our families knew of my little hobby. It would take a lot of tough explaining if we were found out. Her voice jerked me out of my contemplations.

"And I call the shots on accepting or cancelling engagements."

That made it more interesting. Those hairy spots were getting more interesting. My erection, which had rose to attention at the mere thought of such an experience, decided to exert its full influence on my inebriated state. Even though it terrified me, I nodded and told her I accepted.

"Keep a diary," she said by way of ending the subject.

"It will make interesting reading."

DAY ONE

Before beginning this first day of my narrative I should explain to you that I'm no novice when it comes to this diaper confinement thing. I've written about and in some cases built a wide variety of interesting little devices, each of which is intended to make sure that a diapered adult is relieved of all ability to influence his bound and tormented condition. I also have a wide assortment of both cloth and disposable diapers and enough plastic pants to equip a geriatric ward.

It didn't take long for Dee to bring the plan into action. Observant of my impaired condition she drove us home from the restaurant and immediately sent me to the bathroom to shave my legs and pubic hair. I wasn't too keen on this but decided not to object too early. There were worse fates after all.

It wasn't until after all the hair had been dispatched down the drain that it occurred to my soggy brain that the month was July and that unless I wanted to die of heat stroke in long pants I was going to have to get used to showing my hair-less legs. A tremor of fear passed down my spine but my erection became even stiffer.

I walked naked into the bedroom to find her in her heels, garter belt, stockings and a big smile. The diapers lay ready and waiting for me; two toddler disposables taped end-to-end, a cloth soaker diaper folded into a narrow rectangle, all laid out on a large flannel diaper. A clean pair of plastic pants waited near by.

I've always experienced a curious reaction to seeing the diapers laid out like that. It's as if some giant hand is about to cup my lower regions and not let go. My spirits always go for a spin at the sight but my erections always rise to the occasion.

I looked a little farther and realized that she had prepared the wrist and ankle restraints that are a permanent feature at the corners of our bed. This made me gulp.

"Lie down!" she commanded. Her smile seemed a little colder but I was getting into the mood of it.

I did as I was told.

As soon as she had me tied down spreadeagled she began her little torture routine. First came the cock-ring, tight enough to make sure I wasn't going to come without her cooperation. A little voice inside me suggested that I might not be allowed to come at all. First she used her tongue. It was delicious torture. I love being helpless and as she did all of her favourite little tricks I lost my apprehension and swooned with it. Right on cue she stopped the tonguing and mounted me, letting my hardness slip into her warm wet tunnel until I began to notice the effect of the cock ring. At first it was bearable. However, as she increased her stroking and approached her own orgasm my own hydraulic system screamed out its protest at not being able to get past the cock ring. I moaned and began to plead with her for release but she just looked down at me from her high perch and smiled the cruellest smile I've ever seen.

"I didn't say anything about you having any fun during the next month, did I?"

I felt my heart sinking. My erection would have followed but the cock ring had other effects. Losing excitement by the second I was sober and sore by the time she had finished her fourth orgasm and slumped back to catch her breath. She glared down at me, all business, "Taking this a little more seriously now, are we?"

I nodded, too dumbfounded for words.

Once she had recovered, she removed the cock ring and pulled the diapers up between my legs and pinned them very tightly. I protested about my own lost orgasm but she ignored me.

"I'll tighten them when they get wet and loose," she promised.

It was a little detail I had used in many my diaper short stories and it made me wonder what other little details she had planned for me.

Next she released my feet and fitted the plastic pants over my ankles. By now I was getting scared so I cooperated when it came time to raise my hips for the final placement. My arms were still tied to the headboard and I knew she couldn't sleep in the same bed with them that way.

The prayer collar, we hadn't used it in so long that I had almost forgotten about it. It is quite a simple idea, really. Take a large dog collar and attach it to a pair of leather cuffs joined by a short chain. Once installed, the wearer can sleep but is quite helpless about what is or what is or is not done to his body. She was careful to release only one of my wrists at a time and she sat on my chest while she transferred each wrist to the cuffs. I wasn't in any position to give her a fight. Once this device was secure she stood back to admire her work.

"Comfy?" she asked in a teasing tone.

I elected to keep silent and just nodded.

"I told you that I wouldn't let you back out. This is just a sample of what you can expect over the next month. And by the way, I've been reading your literature. You really are quite gifted with a sense of invention. I should have no difficulty following your directions."

She left me alone for a few minutes. When she came back, she carried the oversized baby bottle and it was full of water. Reminding me that the booze would likely make me thirsty before morning she put it into my bound hands and advised me to finish it before she decided to come to bed. It didn't take much of a guess to figure her game but I was thirsty.

DAY TWO

Wet. I woke up just as the sun was brightening the room. The bottle and the booze had done their work. I was floating in a sea of pee inside the ever-efficient plastic pants.

What scared me the most was that I could only remember waking up to wet once. This was the result of more than one wetting. Part of me decided that I had better get used to it.

Sleeping in a prayer collar is not fun. Lying on one's back is the only comfortable position and that becomes boring in a hurry. I didn't sleep very well and I was very wide awake at dawn. As was my custom, I got up carefully so as not to wake her and went to the living room to read.

Coffee. How I wanted a cup of coffee! Making it with my hands tied to my neck presented a whole new realm of challenges. For one thing, I could no longer reach into the cup-board for the coffee or the filters. It took a while for me to figure it out but I finally managed it with the help of a kitchen chair. All in all it took me almost an hour before the gurgle of the coffee maker signalled success and reminded me of my own soggy condition.

As I listened to the water gurgling through its cycle, I realized just how helpless I was. I needed to pee very badly but from experience I also knew that the diapers had taken all they ever would. One more flood from me and the floors would be the worst for it. I wandered about for a few minutes trying to stem the tide but I sensed it was a futile battle. Then I spied a pile of old newspapers near the door and with a gasp of relief, squatted over them while releasing the waiting torrent. Sure enough, it was only seconds before a steady dripping sound signalled that my diapers were beyond capacity.

If my hands had been free I would have taken the opportunity to tighten the cloth diaper and reduce the sagging, but my hands were useless. I waddled back into the living room, hoping that the drips from my over-loaded crotch wouldn't stain the carpet.

As the coffee maker gasped it's last I realized that sitting down presented a problem. Our new dining room chairs had cloth seats as did all the living room furniture. I went back to the hall, grabbed a pile of newspapers and put them in the living room.

I felt very infantile as I carefully sat down on the papers, coffee in bound hands. I heard the squish of the diaper and felt a new wave of wetness escape past the protective seal of the plastic pants. I was hard again and the lost orgasm from the night before wanted release.

There was nothing I could do about it and that made me even harder.

Reading the Saturday paper turned out to be a challenge. I had to lean forward and turn the pages with both bound hands. It was hard work and I found myself reading many articles I normally would have ignored, just to save the strain on my back.

I went back for a second cup of coffee just as the first was finding its way to my bladder. After years of diaper wearing, I was conditioned not to restrain my bladder while "bundled" and so it was hard to hold the water in while I carefully made my way back to my soggy pad of papers.

Tired of the paper my now sober mind began to explore the predicament I had gotten myself into. My computer was full of nasty little ideas for the confinement of adults in diapers. I had even built some of the better ones. Dee would have no shortage of toys to amuse herself with. I glanced down at my bound hands and realized that I was the biggest toy of all.

When Dee finally got up she was in her usual pre-coffee mood. She stumbled into the living room, took one look at me and mumbled, "There had better be coffee ready if you know what's good for you."

Fortunately there was and she came out and sat at the dining room table and stared at me while waking up.

She stared at me while the coffee did its job. I knew she was coming up to steam when that same cruel smile began to cross her face.

"I've really got you, don't I?" she asked rhetorically.

I was getting scared and decided to answer only with a nod.

"Let's see, you can't masturbate, you can't change yourself, you're even forced to sit on a pile of old newspapers until I decide to make you comfortable again."

Her grin was getting brighter and I was getting more distressed.

"A bet is a bet, okay?" was all I could think of to say and that sounded hollow.

"Oh no, buster. I've waited a long time for this. All your nastiest fantasies are about to come true!"

She wasn't kidding. She gave me my breakfast where I was and then left me alone while she took a shower. It seemed to take forever for her to dry her hair and while I was waiting a new thought dawned on me, my bowels. We hadn't discussed that part of it. If she was serious about this full-time diaper thing then I had a problem. It's one thing to wet oneself in public. It's another thing altogether to soil oneself. The smell gives you away instantly and if you're not careful, the brown stains leave a trail of embarrassment. I shuddered at the thought of it all, especially since I felt the need to relieve myself in that way.

By the time she emerged all fresh, feminine and desirable in her satin gown I was getting desperate. Both cups of coffee were leaking out of me at flood tide and I was beginning to wonder how reliable the papers could be. I was grateful when she helped me up and took me to the bathroom.

"Please," I asked nicely/ "I need to use the potty."

Even before the question had left my lips I knew the answer. She flashed that famous smile and shook her head.

"No dice. You wanted to be confined in diapers for a month and so you will be. That means the toilet is off limits for the duration. You'll be in diapers. Let them take care of it. Now let's get you into the shower."

She turned on the shower, helped me in and let me get wet. Then she shut off the spray, soaped me down and turned the spray on again. I marvelled at her ingenuity. I got clean but had no chance to use the toilet or touch myself. She draped a towel around me and led me to the bedroom.

There is nothing as humiliating as having to watch while one's diapers are laid out and made ready, especially if one's hands are locked at neck level and all the delicate parts are fully exposed.

She had learned well in the months we had been together. First the flannel diaper that would cover and bind all else confined within it.

Then the soaker panel, actually two infant cloth diapers folded lengthwise. On top of these went two Ultra's, toddler size infant disposables, taped lengthwise with a diaper doubler pad on top.

Finally came the `penis pad', a toddler disposable cut in half and intended for placement between the male organ and the abdomen. Two pins and a pair of plastic pants and she was ready for me.

Was I ready for her? This was a `house' diaper, intended for use when no external clothing would be necessary. It was bulky but efficient. It was designed to last the day even with excessive amounts of liquid in the diet. Being Saturday however, it was unlikely that I would be spending the day indoors and the thought of having that much bulk under my clothes sent a major shiver down my spine. Then I remembered the distress in my bowels and true fear set in.

"Isn't that a bit much for public viewing?" I asked hopefully.

I partly expected her cruel little smile but the seriousness of her face when she replied was worse, far worse.

"I think it's time you learned the true meaning of public humiliation. Frankly, I don't care if people stare at you. Now get your butt onto these diapers before I decide to add a suppository or two for interest's sake."

I didn't feel like testing her threats. I did as I was told and tried very hard not to show my discomfort as she pulled the very thick padding up between my legs and pinned it tightly. When I stood up to let her put the plastic pants on me I knew it was going to be a long day.

I took a few trial steps around the bedroom while she rummaged through her drawers looking for something. I was so preoccupied with the padding between my legs that I had missed the obvious next step. How was she going to prevent me from altering her carefully contrived, tortuous measures?

She called my name and I turned around to see her holding up a one-piece gym suit. I think it's called a leotard. This one was dark blue and from seeing her wear it I knew it was made of spandex.

She helped me into it. I had to step into it like a pair of shorts and then she pulled it up my legs and my torso until it was time to release my hands so I could put them through the shoulder straps. It was already tight but once the shoulder straps added their pull it was almost unbearable. The entire garment seemed to be designed to do nothing but pull my super-thick diapers snugly up between my legs. Each step, every little movement reminded me of my condition in a most uncomfortable manner.

To be continued ...

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