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My first experience with diapers still is my favorite. I was 12 or 13 at the time and had just discovered masturbation. A new kid my age had moved in next door a few weeks before all this happened and we had become friends.
Peter's family was of German origin and very strict. His father traveled a lot and I don't remember much about him. I know I'll never forget Peter's mother.
She was a slim, blonde woman who although attractive always looked severe. I don't ever remember hearing her laugh or seeing her smile. She ran her house according to her husband's rules even when he wasn't there.
Everything started on Friday morning when we found out that a distant uncle of mine had died. The funeral was in another state (a long drive) and my mother didn't think I should go. She asked Peter's mother if I could stay at her house Saturday night, when my parents would be away. Frau S. agreed. Peter and I thought this a great idea and planned all sorts of things we could do together.
On Saturday morning my parents left on their trip and Peter and I built a fort in the back yard. When Peter's mother called us for lunch I was surprised at how quickly Peter responded. He told me it was best to do what we're told when we're told.
After washing up we sat down at the table and said Grace Then Frau S. served lunch. It was fish and I didn't like the thought of it at all. Just as I was about to take my first bite I happen to look at Peter.
His face was red and tears were streaming down his cheeks. He looked at his mother with pleading eyes.
"Please, mother, can I have something else?"
His voice had a hope against hope tone in it that let me guess his words were wasted.
Frau S. barely glanced at him.
"Stop being such a baby, Peter, eat your fish. It's time you learned to like it."
She paused then and looked him in the eye.
"You know what will happen if you don't!"
I felt a knot of nerves tighten in my stomach. Instinctively I knew Peter's mother was strict and I didn't want to even guess what her punishments were like. I had never been spanked before and didn't want to find out what it felt like so I tried to ignore my distaste and eat my fish.
Peter just stared at his plate and picked at his vegetables. The minutes passed and soon it was plain that Peter was in trouble. Frau S. glanced at his untouched plate a few times but said nothing more.
When Frau S. and I were both finished she fixed her stern eyes on Peter and watched him squirm.
"Last chance, Peter, Eat up!"
He just turned a deeper red and his tears flowed anew.
"So be it," she said finally and rose to clear the table.
I guessed that we had to wait for permission to leave the table so I sat still and listened to Peter's sniffles while I watched Frau.'s solemn efficiency. My stomach was in knots while the seconds slipped away, even though it wasn't me who was in trouble.
Finally the kitchen was clean. Frau S. took a large wooden spoon from a drawer and said to me, "Let's take the baby upstairs to get his diaper put on."
I was shocked and yet fascinated at the same time.
Peter buried his face in his hands.
"Please, mother, no. Just this once let me go, please!"
While my mind reeled at the thought of diapering a 12 year old, Frau S. went over to her son and grabbed his ear. The boy came out of his chair so fast it could've been on fire.
I stood up, on shaky legs, to follow when she led him toward the stairs. Peter sniffled and whimpered but said nothing more. I kept looking at the wooden spoon in her hand and guessed correctly that it would soon be making itself felt on Peter's bottom.
Mother and son went up the stairs ahead of me. I remember staring at the seams in her stocking, their reinmaked heels and even sneaking a peak up her skirt to see her garters. In the back of my mind I was intensely curious about what she had said. Would she really diaper him like a baby? Part of me felt very sorry for Peter.
When we got to Peter's room Frau S. released his ear and went to his dresser.
"You know what to do," she said to him while she started pulling things from the drawers.
Now crying openly, Peter began to take off his jeans. His hands were shaking and he looked away when he saw me staring at him. I turned my attention back to his mother just in time to see her put two diaper pins on top of a stack of white cloth and then pull out a pair of plastic pants. My heart raced; she was really going to diaper him and it didn't look like the first time, either!
Peter was standing beside his bed with just his shirt and underwear on. His mother nodded toward his underpants and he immediately began to pull them down. Meanwhile she was spreading the diapers out on his bed.
Peter pleaded for clemency one more time, sobbing out his words, "I'll eat the fish, you don't have to diaper me. Please don't make me wear diapers! Please don't spank me!"
"It's too late for that" his mother said as she guided him to sit on the waiting diapers, "Now lie back and raise your legs. Try to be a little less of a baby!" Slowly, Peter did as he was told, he peered through his upraised and spread legs with fear as his mother reached for the spoon.
She took his bare ankles in her left hand and pulled his legs even higher. This maked Peter to lay flat on his back, his arms at his sides. I stared at his smooth white little behind and wondered just how red she would leave it.
With her spoon held high and ready, Frau S. stared down at her son.
"How many smacks this time, Peter?" she demanded.
Peter, red-faced with shame and trembling with fear couldn't get control of his voice; he just croaked something unintelligible.
Frau S. gave his ankles a good shake.
Peter squinted at her through a wall of tears. Finally I heard a tiny voice say, "ten".
The spoon suddenly became a brown blur. I heard a sickening CRACK as it caught both cheeks. Peter yelped and renewed his crying with loud wails.
"It was 20 last time. You don't remember? Maybe it should hurt more! This time we make it 25!"
Peter had time only for a brief wail of protest before the spanking started in earnest. Frau S. kept a steady rhythm and marched her blows up and down the defenseless cheeks. At first I flinched at the sound of each smack but soon got used to the sickening cadence. Peter gave a little scream with each touch of the wood to his flesh and then started into a wail, only to have the next blow make him cut it off with another scream.
I hadn't been counting the blows and it surprised me when Frau S. suddenly stopped spanking and calmly lay the spoon down on the bed beside her son. Without releasing the boy's ankles she picked up a can of baby powder and dusted Peter's red and sore bottom. Then she pulled the diaper up between his legs and let go of his ankles.
When he felt the diaper being pinned, Peter began to cry even louder; long wracking sobs that made me feel sorry for him. He couldn't bear to watch. His face was turned toward the head of the bed, his chest heaving with sobs of despair.
Once she was satisfied with the fit of the diaper, Frau S. began fitting the plastic pants over Peter's ankles. When she had them up to his knees, she told the boy to stand. He either didn't hear her or pretended not to. With a gentleness that surprised me she grasped his wrists and pulled him to his feet and then pulled the pants into place.
She stood back and watched the distraught lad for a moment.
"These are double diapers. You can put some trousers on if any will fit. You should learn not to waste food."
Then she turned on her heel and went downstairs.
Peter sat on the edge of his bed, took one look at the puffy baby pants in which he had been dressed and burst into tears all over again. I felt embarrassed for him and very awkward. Finally I grabbed a comic book and sat on the floor to read it until he felt better.
It was hard to concentrate on my reading with Peter sniffling so loudly. Gradually he got more composed and after a few minutes of just sniffling I looked up at him.
"You OK?" I asked.
"What do we do now?"
Peter muttered, "jeans," and went to his dresser.
He tried on pair after pair until he found one that would cover his bulging loins. Even though he could do them up it was pretty obvious he was in diapers.
I really felt sorry for him. He looked so sad. If anyone saw him they'd know his secret. Curiosity got the better of me. I had to ask.
"How long do you have to wear them?"
Peter stared down at the telltale bumps in his pants and gulped, "Until they're soaked or until Mother decides I've been punished enough."
That sent my mind spinning. Being made to wear diapers was one thing, being made to use them was something else again.
"You mean... if you have to pee you just... wet yourself?"
Peter blushed and looked as if he was about to break into tears again. I was about to ask the obvious second question but he saved me the trouble.
"Yes, I wet. I'm not allowed to take them off, not even for... the other."
Then he did start crying again. Peter and I had originally planned to go to a movie that afternoon but with the obvious evidence of Peter's shame, it was out of the question. We played inside with some of his board games. I kept looking at the straining denim, hiding the diapers and plastic pants underneath and wondered what it felt like. Peter didn't want to talk about it, even when I asked a couple of questions about the other punishments he got.
A couple of hours later I could tell Peter was getting nervous about something. He didn't want to sit in one place for any length of time and seemed very upset. Finally I guessed that his bladder was making its pressure felt and he was coming closer to having to use his diapers. I noticed that Frau S. was also taking more interest in her son's behavior, as if she was keeping an eye on us to make sure that Peter didn't try to use the bathroom.
That thought excited me. I didn't know why but the idea of Peter having to pee in his diapers turned me on. Of course, I wanted to ask him what was wrong but I couldn't bring myself to do it.
Finally Peter stood up, spread his legs and let out a little gasp. I heard a trickle of water and saw his face go red with embarrassment. He knew that I knew. Biting his lower lip to stave off tears, he took a few awkward steps and looked at me again. It was then I realized that his mother had been watching from the doorway, a broad smile on her face. She gave me a wink and then went back into the kitchen.
Just before dinner (the smell of which I didn't like and was getting me pretty nervous), Peter's mother came into the room. She went up to her son, made him stand and began to undo the snap on his jeans.
"So, how's the baby?" she asked lightly.
Peter just looked away.
She made him take off the jeans and then she felt inside the plastic pants to see how wet he was.
Even from where I was standing I could tell that my friend had been doing a lot more wetting than I had been aware. The plastic pants were darker where they clung to the soaked diapers underneath.
Peter's mother hummed a tune while she pulled his plastic pants part way down and began undoing one of the diaper pins. At first I though she was going to take the diaper off. Peter just stared off into space, his face red with shame and looking as if he was about to start crying again.
"Time to tighten your diaper!" she said.
Then I understood. The diaper was so heavy with pee that it hung down from its pinnings loosely. She gathered it snug and repined it, ignoring Peter's gasps of discomfort.
"It is not good to stretch your jeans so much. Since it is too close to supper for you to be going outside, I think you should not wear anything over your nice baby clothes."
Peter trembled with dread but said nothing as she picked up his jeans, folded them and then returned to the kitchen. I couldn't keep myself from staring at my friend's diaper and plastic pants. I wanted to know why she had felt it important to tighten the diapers and if that made them any more uncomfortable.
As soon as I saw the chicken livers on my plate I got scared. I hated the taste of them then and still do. I just can't swallow them. I gag and almost throw up but I doubted that would convince Frau S. that I should not have to eat them.
Peter, sitting there in his diapers and plastic pants, seemed to relish the meal. I thought it funny that he didn't like fish but could enjoy something that tasted as strong as chicken livers. It didn't take long for Peter's mother to notice that I was ignoring the livers. Both she and Peter began to stare and I began to blush with a combination of fear and embarrassment. I didn't know if Frau S. would punish me at all or if she would diaper me as she had Peter. Time began to drag. Both Peter and his mother were finishing their plates. I was having trouble with even my vegetables and potatoes because my stomach was tight with fear.
Finally Frau S. got up and took Peter's plate and mine without saying a word. I looked at Peter and realized he was wondering what was going to happen as much as I was.
We watched Frau S. stack the dishes. I began to want it over with and yet, I dared not ask the question that was burning my mind. Finally she came back to the table and offered me her hand. I didn't understand.
"Give me your hand, Jamie."
I did, though I didn't like the gesture. I felt her grip tighten.
"Come along. It's a good thing I have lots of diapers since it turns out there are two babies in the house today!"
My throat went dry and my legs felt weak when I got up to follow her. I was going to be diapered! Even though I had wondered all afternoon what Peter had been feeling I didn't like the thought of it now that it was about to happen. I thought of a hundred things to say, to protest but none of them made it past my lips. We went up the stairs, this time with Peter following. I listen to the crackle of his plastic pants and hated each step that brought me closer to Peter's room.
At first I thought that I had escaped the spanking part since she carried no spoon. As soon as we got to the room, I saw the wooden spoon still on the bed where she had left it and didn't have to wait for her to pick it up to know that she would be using it again.
Just as she had for Peter, she told me to undress while she started gathering diapers and plastic pants from Peter's dresser. Now it was Peter who stared while I undid my jeans and lowered my underwear with them. The cool air on my loins made my face turn an even deeper shade of red and I wanted to cover myself.
I had to wait for Frau S. to spread the diapers out on the bed. Then she motioned me to lie down on them and I did. It felt very strange as I raised my legs and she removed my socks before gripping my ankles in her strong fingers.
So far I had not cried, not protested, maybe because it all seemed to be happening to someone else. The first time the spoon flashed through the air and left a band of red hot fire on my bottom, I broke down and pleaded with her to stop. I cried and moaned and struggled and pleaded with her but she kept hitting my bottom with the spoon the same way she had with Peter.
Finally, in desperation, I flung out my last desperate ploy for leniency, "I'll tell my mother!"
The pace of her strokes never faltered. Instead, I heard her calm voice drive a shaft of fear into my heart.
"Your mother knows all about how Peter is punished and thinks its a good thing. What would you say if I told you that she asked me where she could buy diapers and plastic pants that would fit you?"
Her words shocked me into silence. At the same time the spanking finished. My bottom felt hot and sore. The taste of crying filled my mouth and I felt totally helpless. I looked down just in time to see her sprinkle some baby power on me, then I smelled its sweet fragrance and it made me start crying again. I felt so embarrassed at being put into diapers again; I could think of nothing but how miserable I was. Through my tear-filled eyes I watched her twist the diaper before bring it up through my legs. Already I could feel the thick bulk of it.
She pinned it tightly. It felt so strange. The cloth was soft against my scorched bottom. Then came the plastic pants. Somehow it seemed worse to have to wear them than the diaper. The elastic rasped on my ankles and then she began to work them up my legs. Just like with Peter she made me stand so she could pull them up to my waist.
She stood back. I looked down at my puffy loins and then up at the faces that stared a me. I wanted to cry some more but I had no tears left. That long moment of silence was broken only by the rustling of Peter's plastic pants as he changed position. Slowly, fearfully, my hands moved toward the babyish plastic pants that would keep my diapers from leaking.
Frau S. swatted my hands away.
"You don't touch them ever, ja?"
I trembled but nodded. I understood. I felt imprisoned.
After Frau S. told us that bedtime would be early because we were both babies, she left Peter and me to contemplate our fate. He had trouble looking at me.
"Now you know what it feels like," he said softly.
I just nodded.
There was nothing much to do so we went downstairs to watch TV. I got a surprised at my first step. The thick diapers between my legs made me walk funny. Every step, each movement reminded me I was in diapers and the plastic pants crackled loudly, announcing my shame. My face felt hot and flushed. I hated every moment of it.
As I followed Peter downstairs I realized how wet his diaper had become. I thought it looked pretty uncomfortable and then realized that I would soon find out.
When bedtime came, we went back upstairs with the same sense of dread. Peter had become silent and moody. There were so many things I wanted to ask him but I found no words. His wet diaper had started to bother him and he shifted about while sitting on the floor trying to make it more comfortable. My diaper was still dry; I could only guess that Peter's made him itchy.
Frau S. checked and then tightened my diaper. Even in the hour since dinner it had become looser. She made it so tight that I gasped. It was really uncomfortable but I seem to know better than to complain. Then she turned her attention to Peter.
Silently she laid out some fresh diapers for him. There were three this time, and a fresh pair of plastic pants. Peter stood patiently, his face red with shame, staring at the floor. After the new diapers were ready his mother went over to him, peeled down his plastic pants and unpinned his sopping wet diaper. As she took it to the bathroom, he sullenly went to the bed and lay down on the waiting diapers. We looked at each other for a moment, each feeling the awkwardness of the other. Peter looked so defenseless, lying there on the waiting diapers with his legs spread and his privates exposed, knowing that in a few seconds they would be bound in cloth.
Frau S. returned, powdered her son and then completed the diapering. She twisted the diaper as she brought it between his legs, making a thick band of material that Peter would not be able to ignore.
Then came the plastic pants, with Peter standing for the final fitting. I thought the diapering was over but Peter still looked sullen, there was something else left to do?
Frau S. was taking something from one of the drawers. As she turned around, Peter held out his hands as if waiting for handcuffs. I watched her fit some kind of mitten over each of his hands and then use diaper pins on the cuffs to hold them in place. Peter sniffled, let his hands drop to his sides and then looked at me.
Frau S. came toward me with another pair of the mittens in her hand.
"Hold out your hands, please," she said softly.
Before I knew it she was fitting a mitten made of some kind of thick, leathery material over my right hand and wrist. I looked up at her, surprised and shocked.
"This will make sure you don't try to take your diapers off or put your hands inside them. We have no dirty habits here!"
I flexed my hands inside their semi-rigid pouches and understood. My fingers were useless; I couldn't grip anything. My diapers were going to stay in place as long as Frau S. wanted.
Frau S. made a bed for Peter on the floor. She tucked us both in and turned out the light, warning us not to talk or she would be back with some pacifiers. I heard Peter sniffle in the darkness as my own hands fluttered uselessly against my plastic pants. I suddenly realized that I had to pee very badly.
The diaper was very tight from Frau. S having tightened it and the bulk of it between my legs made matters worse. I could feel my body heat being trapped by the plastic pants. The more I thought about it, the worse I had to go. I guess Peter heard me thrashing around.
"What's wrong?" he asked in a sullen tone.
"I have to pee real bad!" I whispered back.
There was a long pause before he replied, "Then just do it. She wants us to wet our diapers. You won't get into trouble over it but she will tease you in the morning."
I lay there and thought about that for a minute. It was getting so bad that I didn't care about the morning. After I decided to let it go, I found that I couldn't while lying down. I was ramrod stiff by now and felt all jammed up down there. Peter's voice came through the darkness.
"Get into a kneeling position. It'll be easier that way."
I pushed off the covers and kneeled on the bed. It felt strange to have the mittens on my hand. They were effective; I couldn't grip anything with my fingers.
I took a deep breath and tried to relax enough to let the flow start. It started as a trickle, but even that was enough to give me some relief. Then the floodgates opened and I felt hot pee rush into the thirsty cloth. I could feel it soaking me, running down into my crotch and then slowly up the back. Suddenly I was sure the diaper wouldn't take another drop. Fearful of wetting the bed I tried to stop but there was no stopping. The pee had a mind of its own. I heard myself gasp.
Finally I was drained. The diaper and plastic pants had held it all. I could feel the sodden cloth hanging from its pins. Drops of pee ran down the cheeks of my ass. I felt dirty and ashamed. I wanted to cry.
"Don't lie down for a few seconds. Let the cloth soak it all up," Peter said.
When I finally did lie down, I felt awful. All I wanted to do was get the damned diaper off but my hands were useless.
"It's awful," I said to Peter.
"You'll get used to it," he said quietly.
"Do you have to wear diapers a lot?"
"I don't want to talk about it. Go to sleep."
I did want to talk about it and as far as sleep was concerned, I was too uncomfortable. I tried to question Peter some more but he just told me to be quiet. Eventually I heard his deep breathing. I lay in that wet diaper for a long time, feeling very babyish and embarrassed before I drifted off.
Peter woke me up in the morning. He was standing beside my bed wearing just his diapers and his mittens. I could see from the dark patches on his panties that his diaper was wet. I asked him if he had wet before he went to sleep or during the night. He just blushed beet red and told me to mind my own business.
We went downstairs to the kitchen where Frau S. was making breakfast. I felt my face get hot with embarrassment when she looked at us.
"So! I haf two vet babies this morning, ja?"
She let the question go unanswered for a few seconds.
"Und ven did this vetting happen? Peter?"
The poor kid was staring at the floor, his mittened hands flapping uselessly at his sides.
"During the night, Mama," he said softly.
I could feel her eyes burn into me as I too stared at the floor. At least I had a better answer. At least I hadn't wet while asleep.
"Just before I went to sleep, Frau S."
She paced around us, pausing to test the condition of our diapers by running a finger under the leg bands of our plastic pants.
"So! Haf you both learned not to waste food?"
We both nodded earnestly. My diaper was very uncomfortable. It was also getting itchy but the mittens on my hands wouldn't let me scratch. I wanted out of it.
"Vell, I'm not so sure. It ve best, I think, if we keep the diapers on for today, ja?"
The new sentence stunned me. I looked at Peter. His face was red and he was starting to cry.
"But Mama!" he sobbed, "It's Sunday! What about Church?"
Frau S. didn't say anything but her face got hard. She grabbed a wooden spoon from the counter and advanced on Peter. He looked up just in time to see what was coming and started to cry really loud.
"More crying!" she shouted, "I giff you something to cry about!"
She spun Peter around by the shoulders and reached inside the waist of his plastic pants. As soon as the pin was taken out, his soggy diapers and plastic pants fell to the floor with a thud. Then she gave him ten hard swats with the spoon. I could see the red outline of the spoon on his tender white bum. At first he sobbed louder but as soon as he realized that she was going to keep spanking him until he shut up, he tried to control himself. She left him standing with his diapers and panties around his ankles, rubbing his sore tush, as she came toward me.
"But I didn't do anything!" I protested as I felt her hands reach for one of my diaper pins.
"Vat is good for one is good for the other," was her only comment before the first of ten hard smacks of the spoon connected with my bottom.
Every one of them hurt like hell. It was all I could do not to start crying. When it was over I looked just like Peter and felt just as bad.
Peter and I were told to take baths and then go to Peter's room where we would be diapered and dressed for Church. We trudged up the stairs carrying our wet diapers and plastic pants, too scared to talk.
In the bathroom Peter showed me the diaper pail. It was partly full. That made me guess that Peter was put into diapers a lot. His reaction to having to go to Church wearing a diaper told me this was the first time he was being made to go out in public that way.
We shared a bath but still didn't say anything. As we dried off, I noticed that Peter's bum was still red but the marks were fading. Mine was still on fire and I didn't like the thought of sitting down.
We wrapped towels around ourselves and walked with bowed heads back to Peter's room. Frau S. was there waiting for us. There were two sets of cloth diapers and fresh plastic pants spread out on the bed. I trembled at the sight of them. I was beginning to get scared about what would happen at Church.
Frau. S used as many diapers on us then as she had the night before. I wondered if she really wanted everybody to guess that we were diapered and decided that was indeed her plan. Neither Peter nor I gave her any trouble as she powdered us and then pinned the diapers very tightly. Then she handed us each a pair of plastic pants and told us to put them on.
I discovered in a hurry that it's one thing when someone else diapers you but it's a different story when you have to pull on your own plastic panties. Except for being made of plastic they reminded me of my mother's underwear. There was no fly, of course, and they fit high on the waist and snug. Frau S. checked us to make sure all of the cloth was trapped inside the plastic and then started on the other clothes we would wear.
It took a while. Our diapers were so thick that none of Peter's dress slacks would fit over them. At first I thought she would have to take off some of the extra diapers but Frau S. kept trying until she found a pair of dress shorts for each of us.
They fit but just barely. The bulges from our diapers were very obvious and when Peter walked I could see little puffs of plastic peeking out from his waist and leg openings. My shorts fit little better. We were each given a short sleeved white shirt to wear and a child's bow tie. After adding shoes and socks, we were allowed to look in the mirror.
I was shocked. I looked six years old and anyone who looked could tell at a glance that I was wearing thick diapers. The shorts were tight and when I walked I could feel the thick cloth bunched between my legs, but worse, hear the rustle from my plastic panties. My face felt hot. I was scared like hell. However, one look at Peter's mother told me to keep quiet. Peter and I looked at each other. We didn't need to say anything, each knew how the other felt.
On the way downstairs I had to admit to myself that at least these diapers were dry. When I sat down, all the extra padding made my sore rear end feel a little better.
All through breakfast the thought of church loomed over me like a sword. Frau S. insisted we have at least three glasses of juice and then I knew that she wanted to make sure that our diapers would be put to good use very soon.
After breakfast we went back upstairs to brush our teeth and then it was time to leave. Peter and I waddled toward the car with red faces and shaking hands. I wanted to run and hide but Frau S. kept a careful eye on us.
As soon as we got to the church, Frau S. took us to the Sunday School section. There were kids of all ages, but none as old as Peter and me, playing quietly under the supervision of a pretty young girl. She looked up at us and smiled, but the expression on her face quickly changed and she began to look puzzled as she stared at Peter and me.
Frau S. took us to her and said something in German. She looked a little surprised and then glanced at us and then smiled again.
Peter whispered into my ear, "Mama just told her we are wearing diapers for behaving like babies."
I could hear the fear and embarrassment in his voice. His face was crimson and mine was no different.
Frau S. left us to go upstairs to the service and the girl told us her name was Heidi.
"You're both pretty big to be in diapers, aren't you?"
I could see her eyes laughing at us. She kept staring at our waists. Not getting an answer she reached out and patted Peter on the bum. He went stiff as a board and stifled a cry of surprise.
After a little more silence she said, "Well, if you're not up to talking, I'll just have to find out for myself."
She took us each by the hand and led us off to the changing room in the women's washroom.
I felt my throat go dry as soon as we walked through the door. There were a couple of women in there changing their infants and at first nobody paid any attention to us. Then, Heidi started to undo my shorts.
"Please, no!" I said in a hoarse whisper.
She just smiled.
"Be good, Jamie. Or I will report you to Frau S."
That sent a tremor of fear down my spine and before I could stop it a trickle of pee ran out of me into the diaper. I gasped and turned even deeper red. She guessed what had happened and giggled while lowering my shorts to the floor.
She stroked the dark spot on the front of my plastic pants.
"Did you just wet yourself?" she asked, "It sure looks like it. We wouldn't want your nice clothes to get wet, now would we? I think it would be a good idea to do what they do in the nursery and let you run around in just your diapers. That way everybody will be able to tell when you need changing."
By now, every woman in the room was staring at us. I wanted to die. Peter started to cry. Heidi made me step out of my shorts and then took Peter's off him too. I started to cry and there we were, two 13 year old boys, dressed in shirts and diapers behaving like toddlers. The women started talking in German. Later, Peter told me they said it was just as well that we were dressed like babies if we were going to act like little ones.
Heidi had to drag us out of the wash room. She took us to the class for older kids but we were the oldest in the room. As soon as we walked in all the kids started laughing at us and Heidi told them we were being punished for acting like babies.
She explained that since she wanted everybody to get a good look at our diapers, it would be a good idea if they didn't use the desks but put chairs in a circle instead. This was done and Peter and I were the focus of attention for the rest of the morning.
I didn't understand the lesson and I didn't care. I just wanted to run and hide somewhere. Since I didn't speak German, I got off pretty easy, but Peter was made to stand and recite passages all the time. I knew Heidi was making him do it more than the others so he would have to show off his diapers more.
Unfortunately, being scared to death and humiliated didn't stop the passage of three glasses of juice through our bladders. I tried to let my pee out slowly, praying that my plastic panties would hold it all in. Poor Peter, having to stand so often, also showed himself as getting wetter. His plastic pants were almost totally dark by the time the class ended.
As the other kids left, Heidi told us to stay behind. She said she wouldn't be doing her duty if she returned us to Frau S. in such a condition and so she led us by the hand back to the changing room in the women's wash room.
As soon as we walked in we were noticed and a chatter of German made my face get hot with embarrassment. Heidi told Peter and me to get up on the counter to be changed. It was only the fear of Frau S. that gave me the strength.
Heidi took two Pampers from a cupboard and said she hoped these would fit. She changed Peter first, removing his plastic pants and the wet diapers which she put into a plastic bag for us to take home with us. Then she fanned out the Pampers and told Peter to lift his bum so she could fit it to him. It covered him pretty well but the tapes wouldn't meet the back of the diaper. Heidi solved this with a roll of wide packing tape. The she replaced Peter's plastic pants, handed him his shorts to put on and turned her attention to me.
The Pampers felt dry and comfortable but very strange. Heidi used a lot of tape to hold it onto me. Then I had to step into my damp plastic pants. I felt all the eyes in the room watching me and wondered if there could be anything worse than this.
When Peter and I were dressed again, Heidi took us upstairs to the coffee room to find Frau S.. She greeted us as toddlers and told the people to whom she was talking that Peter and I were in diapers for acting like babies. They looked down at us, smiled and continued talking. Peter and I were each carrying a plastic bag containing our wet diapers. It made it all that much easier to guess our condition.
On the way home, Frau S. said we would wear the Pampers until we needed changing. Once we were in the door we were told to take off everything but our diapers and stay that way for the afternoon.
Lunch was very quiet. Peter and I both liked the food but it wouldn't have mattered if we didn't. We had both learned a lot about not wasting food. I began to feel the need for a BM and that scared me. I was sure that my folks would be back before I really had to go. Peter was shifting about nervously too. He told me he was trying to hold it until the next morning when he wouldn't have to wear diapers anymore.
We played quietly all afternoon. I began to get nervous about my folks coming back. I wanted to get away from Frau S. but what if she told my mom that I had spent the weekend in diapers?
When Mom did come for me I was still dressed in just diapers and plastic pants. I heard her voice in the front hall and ran and hid behind a chair. I didn't want her to see me dressed like a baby.
Frau S. had taken care of everything. Mom came into the room, spotted where I was hiding and told me to present myself right away. With cheeks burning I did as I was told.
"I want you to thank Frau S. for her hospitality this weekend," she said.
It was the toughest thing I've ever done but I did manage to sputter out the words. Frau S. beamed.
"And now you must thank her for the diapers and plastic panties she's given me for you."
I looked up in shock. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Mom's face was smiling but it was serious too. It was a nightmare come true. She held a bag in her hand. I could just see a whisp of plastic peeking out.
"But.." I stammered.
Mom's eyes burned into me.
"Thank you, Frau S., for the diapers," I said softly.
"She's done you a favor, Jamie. You needed some discipline. Diapers seem to help you behave. I suggest we put you into them every night, as soon as you get home from school, as a good introduction. Remember, if I get any trouble from you over this, you'll go to school in diapers. How would the track team like you then?"
I couldn't bear the thought of it. I started to cry. Mom reached into the bag and pulled out a pacifier and stuck it in my mouth. Then she took by the hand and led me home. I didn't even notice that I was outside in just diapers.
Back in my room she changed me into thicker, night diapers and showed me the stacks of diapers and plastic pants in my dresser.
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