“Uhh… what do you think you're doing?" Her voice cuts through the kitchen. Startling you into a statue. She leans in the doorway, arms crossed, one eyebrow arched so high it could touch the ceiling.
You freeze with one hand on the Cinnamon Toast Crunch, your cheeks go scarlet as soon as she uses the tone that tells you you're in trouble.
"Did I say you could get out of your crib this morning?" she intoned. "Hmm? Because last time I checked, Littles who sleep in diapers don’t get to waddle around the house all by themselves. That's how accidents happen. So when you wake up all crinkly and helpless, you wait in your crib and cry like a wittle baybee for Mommy to come get you and check your diaper!"
All you can do is stand there, quivering.
She sighs. “Come here. Right now.” she says. "Let me check your pampers." She doesn't raise her voice. She just uses that firm tone that let's you know she is not to be trifled with.
You whimper as you shuffle forward.
Without any further ceremony, she reaches one hand out and clamps the front of your diaper, squeezing, pressing, poking, prodding. Firm and unforgiving. She slides her hand lower, cupping the sagging crotch, then gives it a slow, deliberate grope that makes you whimper and shift on your feet. The soggy plastic crinkles loudly in the quiet kitchen.
But she still wasn't done, she wanted to further press the humiliation into you. "Hands on your head, spread your legs, you know how this goes..."
You obey instantly, thighs trembling as you shuffle them apart. The swollen padding droops another several inches between your legs. She hefts it in her palm and lets it drop, making you feel the wait of it tug at your hips, then clicks her tongue. You whimper, knees buckling a little as she keeps squeezing and prodding, poking the puffy padding like she’s testing fruit.
“My goodness. Absolutely soaked! And this is the diaper you thought you were going to start your morning in? Just toddling around the kitchen like a 'big boy' while this...” she gives it another squishy pat “is swinging between your legs?? Do you really think someone who can’t make it through one single night without turning his Waddlers into a water balloon should be trusted alone in the kitchen?!"
Her words sting, especially since she has a point. All you can do is shake your head.
“If you had just stayed in your crib like a good widdle baybee, Mommy would’ve come in, changed this nasty diaper, and made you a nice bowl of oatmeal. But nooo, you don’t even seem to care that you’re walking around with a soggy load between your legs, do you? Have you gotten so used to being wet that you don’t even notice anymore? What does that say about you? What kind of ‘grown man’ doesn’t notice he’s marinating in his own pee?”
You don't know what to say, you just hang your head in embarrassment, face on fire as you mumble something incoherent.
“And what is this?” She grabs the box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch off the counter and shakes it at you. “Did somewon think he was gonna get the fun cereal today? Oh no no no, honey! Sugary stuff is for big boys who use the potty. It's for people who don’t tinkle in their sleep! You need lots and lots of healthy fiber to keep you packing those Pampers nice and full, don’t you?”
She grabs the box of high-fiber bran pellets. The gray, tasteless nuggets that might as well be dog kibble, and holds it up to your face.
“Down.” She says. One sharp word making you drops to your hands and knees without thinking, diaper squishing loudly with every movement.
She pours the bran straight into a plastic bowl and sets it on the floor in front of you.
“Naughty babies who sneak out of their cribs don’t get yummy breakfast. And they don't get to use their hands,” she says, voice firm and resolute like she’s talking to a puppy who peed on the rug. “They eat on the floor like the helpless little pets they are. Go on. Face in the bowl. And no spoon for you. Big boys use spoons, remember? And you’re clearly not one of those...”
You whimper again, louder this time, but lower your head. The wet bulk between your thighs forcing your knees wide as you lean forward. You hesitate only a second before dipping your face in and lapping at the dry, chalky pellets, gagging at the sawdust taste while she watches. She doesn't smile or laugh, her face is stern and almost pained. Like she doesn't want to have to do this to you.
“That’s it,” she says encouragingly, patting you on the head with one hand, and the back of your plump diaper with the other. “Lap it up. All those wittle fiber bits are gonna help keep those diapers nice and full for Mommy, aren’t they?”
You cough and gag on the dry pebbles of sawdust. She pats your back to keep you from choking.
"Awww. Go slow if you have to, sweetie. But eat it allll up! Mommy’s going to go make your bottle so you don’t choke on your own breakfast!”
She moves to the counter, humming softly as she warms a bottle, glancing back at you every few seconds. You're still coughing, trying to chew the pellets clinging to your lips.
“See?” she says, shaking her head as she fills the bottle. “This is why Mommy has to do things for you. You really thought you could handle all of this by yourself? Pouring cereal? Getting milk out of the fridge? Sweetheart, the milk would be everywhere. You could slip and fall and bonk that precious little head of yours!”
She shakes the bottle lightly so that the milk mixes with the powdered formula and prune juice, then dabs a little on her arm to make sure it's not too hot.
“No hands,” she reminds you as she sets it on the floor straight up beside the bowl. “Big boys use spoons and sippy cups. Baybees who sneak around and can’t even be trusted to stay in their crib use their mouths.”
“Go on!” she says, voice sweet as honey. “Put your lips around the nipple. Give it nice, steady suckies for Mommy. You can even pretend it's Daddy's 'thingy' like when he comes over.”
You lower yourself down, face burning, and latch onto the rubber nipple. The warm milk dribbles the moment you start to suck.
“Mmm. Good boy,” she praises, stroking your back in slow, soothing circles. “Just like that. Drink your milkies and finish your fiber like Mommy’s good widdle puddle-maker!”
You suckle miserably, cheeks hollow, tears threatening as the bland cereal mixes with the thick liquid coating your tongue.
She continues patting your diaper and talking you through it. "You know I hate to do this to you, honey, don't you? But it's for your own good! I need to teach you a lesson so you don't go off getting yourself hurt!!" She strokes your hair as you continue alternating between chewing and suckling. "Mommy knows best, sweetheart. Mommy always knows best. Because Mommy’s the one who checks your diapers, feeds you, wipes your messy bottom, and makes sure you don’t accidentally burn the house down trying to play grown-up!”
Her hands move up your back and under your shirt. Her skin on yours is surprisingly soothing.
“After this, we’re putting you on your tummy in the living room for cartoons. You're staying in that diaper. And when that breakfast starts working its way through your wittle belly… Mommy will be right there to watch every single second of you losing control and helplessly packing the seat of your pamper. Because clearly you can’t be trusted alone for even five whole minutes!”
She pats the back of your soggy padding one last time.
“No more sneaking around, baybee boy. Next time you feel tempted to play big boy… just check your diaper first. That cold, squishy, stinky reality between your legs? Maybe that will remind you exactly who needs to be in charge around here.”
She leans in and kisses the top of your sniffling head. Wrapping you in a tight hug as you finish your breakfast.
“It's okay, sweetie." she says, shhing you and rocking you back and forth on the floor. "Mommy’s got you…helpless is your normal now. But I'll always be right here! Forever and ever...”
Thanks to aislopxxx for the amazing pictures!
