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Changing Little Bobbie’s Humiliating Poopy Diaper

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    Changing Little Bobbie’s Humiliating Poopy Diaper

    (All characters in the following fictional story are above the age of 18.)

    I saw my Little visitor, Bobbie, crouching in the corner of my living room. I smiled because I knew a Little’s ‘poopy face’ when I saw one, and I was excited for this moment to come.

    You see, little Bobbie has come to stay with me a few days ago. Of course, I immediately demanded he start wearing diapers, despite his dire protests.

    “Mommy,” (What I’d instructed him to call me due to his ‘Mommy’s boy’ behavior problems), “I don't need diapers! I'm potty trained, I pwomise!”

    “Oh yeah?” I replied as he laid naked before me on the diaper changing table for the first time. “How do you explain these filthy stains in your underpants? Or the urine you splashed on the toilet seat? Or what we have right here...”

    I grabbed a wet wipe from the side of the diaper changing table and dragged it down his naked little bottom and twirled it around his bum hole.

    He winced and blushed as I teased his bottom. It was my favorite look to see on a boy when I changed his diaper— the special mixture of humiliation and helplessness.

    I held up the dirty wipe for him to see. “It's very clear you are *not* potty trained at all, given that you don't even know how to wipe your own bottom!” I scolded.

    Little Bobbie hung his head in shame. I knew I had won the battle over what undergarments he'd be wearing from now on.

    I gently slipped a paci in Bobbie’s mouth and shaved all of his pubic hair off for easy future cleaning (I also love to see a boy’s peepee so nice and smooth on the diaper changing table!)

    I then finished wiping his bottom, powdering him, and wrapping him tight in a nice, thick, disposable diaper.

    As I helped Bobbie off the change table in his new diaper, his bright red face told me he was speechless with humiliation. I was blushing with exhilaration.

    I took great glee later that day (as I always do) when I told Bobbie, ‘when in diapers, toilets are off limits.’ I grinned as I watched him squirm and make a very, yellow, soggy diaper for me to change.

    And over the last few days, I've relished every chance I’ve had to squeeze his soggy diaper and tease him for being such a ‘peepee pants’.

    But what I was really looking forward to... was Bobbie’s first ‘mess’.

    Of course, it was clear Bobbie intended to hold his ‘number two’ as long as he could.

    It’s concerning to any Mommy to know that their Little is getting constipated. (An unavoidable fact to learn when one only changes ‘yellow’ diapers over a period of days.)

    I knew Bobbie hadn't taken his diaper off to relieve his bowels somewhere else due to the locking mechanisms I began using to ensure that only I could remove his diaper.

    I also knew Bobbie was putting some serious effort into ‘holding it’, since the diet I had been feeding him certainly ‘encouraged’ the voiding of his bowels.

    But I patiently bided my time, knowing that the more backed up he got, the better the ‘moment’ would be.

    Finally, that afternoon, I decided to give him the ‘help’ he needed downstairs to finally go over the edge.

    I secretly inserted 6 glycerin suppositories into his bum during his diaper change.

    It was overkill, certainly, but I had decided that Little Bobbie deserved a very ‘urgent’ sort of accident. Maybe then, he would think twice about ‘holding’ it in the future.

    Now, it was just an hour or so later, after a very fiber packed dinner in his high chair, that Bobbie was retreating to the corner to do what I call, ‘the poopy shuffle.’

    That is, Little Bobbie was trying to find a spot to crouch down and hide, while grabbing his tummy, while grunting, while holding his diapered butt, while dancing on his feet, still hoping to hold it in.

    “Bobbie,” I called out with a smile. “What are you doing over there in that corner?”

    “Nothing,” he whispered.

    “Oh yeah? Well it looks like you're doing a poopy. Is that what you're going?” I asked again from across the room.

    “No!” He grunted.

    “Bobbie, if I come over there and check that diaper in five minutes, and I find out you lied to me because your diaper is full of poopy, do you know what's going to happen?” I chastised.

    “No,” he grunted again.

    “I'm going to put you over my knee for a very hard, very long spanking! Poopy diaper or not,” I said.

    He grunted, looked at me with his bright red face, then looked away again.

    He stuck his thumb in his mouth (something I told him he must do whenever in the process of using his diaper) and said, “Okay Mommy. I'm doing a poopy!”

    I smiled. I walked toward him and began gently rubbing his back. “Good boy. Good boy, making a poopy in his diapers for Mommy,” I coo’d.

    I could tell he hated the way my touch invaded his privacy even further while making it harder for him to avoid ‘doing his deed’.

    I then placed my hand on his diapered butt and began to gently pat his behind.

    “Make a poppy diaper for Mommy. Go ahead, Bobbie,” I coo'd. “Just make sure Mommy knows when it's coming out.”

    “I'm going, Mommy,” he grunted. “I'm going poopoo,” he grunted loudly.

    I smiled with delight as I felt the back of his diaper fill up with a warm, brown mass.

    I began squeezing and patting his mess as he continued crouching, grunting, and pushing more of his hot load into the seat of his crinkly diaper.

    “Good boy! Making your poppies for Mommy! Keep going! Make a big stinky diaper for Mommy to change,” I continued to coo as I mushed and squeezed the mess contained in his diaper.

    “Mommy,” he moaned involuntarily.

    A loud hiss rang out, and I knew his bladder was releasing as well. I watched with joy as the front of his diaper turned bright yellow.

    I continued massaging, fondling, and mushing his mess against his bottom he continued to sweat and grunt and squeeze in front of me.

    Soon it was clear little Bobbie was wearing one of the messiest, poopiest diapers I'd ever seen!

    And knowing how much Bobbie had resisted doing it made it that much more satisfying to watch.

    “Pee ew!” I said after he had finally stopped grunting and caught his breath. “You are one, poopy baby, aren't you!” I teased as I lightly patted his poopy diaper butt.

    “Yeth, Mommy,” he replied with his thumb in his mouth.

    “Do you want a diaper change?” I asked him as I continued mushing his poppy diaper into his butt and groin.

    “Yeth pwease,” he said, his thumb still in his mouth.

    “Yes please what?” I asked.

    “Yeth, pwease, Mommy, pwease change my poppy diaper,” he begged.

    His face was redder than I'd ever seen it. I could tell that the relief of his evacuation was fading—he could fully take in the warm and stinky mess he had made, and I knew he was being overwhelmed with waves of extreme embarrassment and shame.

    I was in heaven.

    “Okie, Bobbie. I’ll change your poopy diaper. Right after we get you some milk,” I said with a smirk.

    Bobbie groaned with dread, but he knew better than to argue.

    I picked Bobbie up in my hands, carried him over to my couch, and exposed my breast from my maternity bra, just as we had done every night since he has arrived.

    He immediately went to town—latching on my voluptuous breast and sucking down my warm breast milk.

    “Hungry, poopy baby!” I said with a laugh. I patted his poopy bottom as he drank, relishing the sensation of Bobbie sucking down my milk while I fondled and mushed his stinky diaper against his bottom with my hand.

    I knew that Bobbie was now feeling littler and more babyish than he ever had in his adult life, and the feeling of transforming him through such intense humiliation made me practically euphoric with arousal.

    “Mommy,” he said, looking up at me with my warm milk dripping down his chin. “I have to go weewee again.”

    I giggled and patted his butt again. “It's okay sweetie, your poopy diaper can hold it. Go ahead,” I said as I switched him over to my other breast.

    I smiled with pleasure as his already soggy diaper dropped just a little bit more as he let out a new stream of warm, yellow urine into the front of his diaper.

    “Good boy. Mommy’s little stinker is such a good boy,” I coo’d as he hungrily swallowed the milk from my other breast.

    By the time my breasts were finished, Bobbie had fallen asleep in my lap—no doubt an effect from the warm milk, my warm lap, and well, his warm, soiled diaper.

    I lifted Bobbie up and carried him to his nursery. I put Bobbie down on his diaper changing table, and with a predictable *squelch*, his mega poopy mess squeezed out through his leg holes.

    “What a poopy boy!” I said to the sleep Little. His face predictably reddened.

    I laid him back on the table, undid the tapes of his diaper, and lifted up the diaper to take a look at the damage.

    “My my! This is the poopiest diaper Mommy’s ever seen!” I teased as the stench of his mess wafted into the room.

    “Sawwy, Mommy,” he replied, his thumb in his mouth again.

    “It's okay, little one. You can't help it. You're just a little baby who needs Mommy to clean up his poopy messes, aren’t you?” I coo’d as used the front of his soggy diaper to wipe the chunks of his brown mess off his bottom.

    “Yeth, Mommy,” he replied.

    ***

    Although some Nannies don't like changing poopy diapers, personally, I love them.

    That's because, when I looked down at Bobbie’s stinky, open diaper in front of me, I felt an incredible and transcendent power over the little one, as I always do.

    My observation of Bobbie’s stinky mess alone represents an incredible act of domination that communicates his total helplessness and dependence on me as his caregiver in his most embarrassing and vulnerable state.

    There is nothing more thrilling than watching his transformative humiliation in real time as he experiences the babyish sensation of my cool wipes patiently cleaning him up his filthy bum.

    As I lifted his legs, scrubbed his mess, sang to him about his stinky accident, gently fingered his bottom to get it ‘extra clean’, showed him the massive load in his used diaper before throwing it out, sprinkled him with baby powder, and wrapped him in an extra thick, fresh, clean diaper, I knew I was doing what I love best when it comes to being a Mommy for my Littles.

    And as I put little Bobbie in his jammies and tucked him into bed, I knew I couldn't wait to do it all over again tomorrow.

    ***

    Did you enjoy this naughty little diaper story, my Little?

    Find tons more of my ABDL stories by visiting me at:

    www.nannychloetales.com
    www.amazon.com/author/nannychloe
    www.smashwords.com/profile/view/NChloe

    And by following me on Tumblr!
    nannychloetales.tumblr.com

    XOXO
    Nanny Chloe

    #2
    nice story.

    Comment


      #3
      Originally posted by sklawlor View Post
      nice story.
      Well, it's a vignette, not a story. There's no plot here, just a scene.

      Comment


        #4
        I'm going to agree with WBDaddy here. There are just so many questions that could be explored, both before, during and after what was described.
        • Why is Bobbie there to begin with?
        • Does he visit often? ("I knew I couldn't wait to do it all over again tomorrow." would suggest that he is quite a frequent visitor.)
        • What is the protagonist like when she isn't taking care of Bobbie?
        • Does she have other visitors/clients?
        • Is this a full-time job or more of a hobby?
        • What does the neighbours think?
        • How did she get started?
        Last edited by Gummybear; 05-04-2019, 04:11:43 AM.
        Whenever you're holding all the cards, why does everyone else turn out to be playing chess?

        Comment


          #5
          yes you're right, my error. Maybe she'll expand the concept to make it more of a story or maybe it's a scene from one of her other works?

          Comment


            #6
            Originally posted by sklawlor View Post
            ...or maybe it's a scene from one of her other works?
            One would hope not, as that would make it just one giant piece of advertising in the wrong forum.
            I GET KNOCKED DOWN BUT I GET UP AGAIN!

            Comment

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