Falling into Mommy’s Arms (A Diaper Regression Story) — Part 3

The following story contains adult content and is intended only for adult readers over the age of 18. Any characters depicted in adult situations are over the age of 18. This story is entirely fictional and has been written and shared for entertainment purposes only.

“Mommyyyy…” I whimpered, clutching my gurgling tummy as I continued following her through the supermarket.

I could feel the dry diaper between my legs swishing and crinkling with every step. Mocking me. Humiliating me. Telling me and anyone around me who happened to spot its tell-tale white plastic peeking above my waistline, just what a pathetic, pants-wetting baby I was.

Except, what was so unfair, was that I wasn’t even using the diaper to go potty in! Not during the day, anyway…

But I was still only a few days into my week of what my Mommy called ‘potty-probation’.

That is, for the last three days, when she changed me out of my sopping wet diaper from when I wet the bed every morning, she didn’t help me back into my big-boy underoos…

She put a fresh, clean, ‘daytime diaper’ on me now.

In general, I hated wearing diapers so much. Even clean ones. They were so bulky and crinkly. I smelled like baby-powder all the time. And I felt like a humiliated, un-potty-trained infant whenever I wore them.

But at least, thank god, I didn’t have to actually ‘use’ the diapers I was wearing during the day this week (unlike my bedtime diapers, which I absolutely soaked every night when I involuntarily wet the bed.) In fact, my Mommy made it clear to me I was forbidden from using my daytime diaper to potty in. Otherwise I would apparently ‘fail’ my potty-probation.

Instead, for the past three days, whenever I needed to go pee… or number two… I had to ask my Mommy for permission, just like had been the rule for the past several weeks.

But now, she brought me into the bathroom, untaped my diaper, and before she even allowed me to sit on the potty for my supervised toileting, she carefully inspected the dry diaper for any signs of ‘visible continence failure’. Or, as she translated for me to understand in my supposed juvenile mental state, ‘any oopsie peepees or oopsie poopies’.

Only when she deemed that my diaper was still ‘appropriately unsoiled’ (or had ‘no yucky doodie or peepee stains’) did she let me sit on the potty to do my business.

When I was done using the toilet, I would then be made to lay on a changing pad on the bathroom floor so she could properly re-apply the clean diaper, using additional tape on the tabs if necessary.

I hated being forced to wear the daytime diapers, but I’d been telling myself it was only for a few more days. I’d be back into my big boy undies in less than a week now. And Mommy would even surely be so proud of me for proving I was potty-trained like a big boy, after all. Maybe she would even let me go potty on my own again from now on as a reward!

All I had to do was not have any daytime accidents in my stupid diapers. The things I desperately wanted to avoid ever having to potty in, anyway.

What could be easier, right?

Well, that’s what I thought… until today.

When my tummy started roaring with painful cramps and gurgling spasms while at the grocery store with my Mommy.

* * *

I noticed the first sign that my tummy was a little off about a half hour ago, while I was still in the backseat of Mommy’s van as she drove us to the grocery store.

I could feel my tummy gurgling, twisting and rumbling as we drove, causing me to wince with every bump. It definitely seemed like something in my breakfast wasn’t agreeing with my stomach.

However, my plan was to just ignore the discomfort and hope my stomach settled by itself soon enough.

After all, in the back of my mind, I was aware that the cramps in my stomach might indicate I need to take a dump. Much sooner than my normal after-dinner BM schedule dictated.

But the thing was… I had absolutely no desire to do that while out of the house, which I would be for at least several more hours while Mommy brought me along for her errands.

In fact, I always wanted to avoid crapping in a public restroom at all costs.

This wasn’t new. I’d always been extremely shy about using the potty—especially pooping.

Which is what made Mommy’s rule since I moved in, about supervising me on the toilet, so incredibly humiliating and difficult for me.

In fact, many times over the past several weeks, when I sat down on the toilet to do a number two in front of my Mommy, nothing would come out of me, because I was too shy.

But my Mommy would force me to stay on the toilet anyway, for as long as it took, until I finally went number two while she watched.

“I know you have to do a poopy, little one, you told me so,” she would lecture, “so you’re just gonna have to sit there until you figure out how to do it in front of your Mommy like a good little boy. That way I can make sure you’re regular, that you’re voiding properly, and that you know how to wipe yourself properly, so we don’t get anymore poopy skid marks in your undies, like what I found before. This is just what it takes to learn how to be properly fully potty-trained, something we both know you’re still struggling with.”

Ever since I moved in with Mommy, it was humiliating and difficult enough just to have a BM at home.

It was just beyond the pale for me to imagine sitting in a public toilet stall in the men’s room trying to ’make’, with my Mommy standing over me watching, loudly scolding me about my performance for all others around to hear, and my bright white, crinkly diaper around my ankles for all to see.

So, of course, even though my tummy was rumbling something fierce by time we arrived at the grocery store, I was determined to hold it. My bowels were just going to have to wait until I got back home later that day.

Or at least, that’s what I was hoping for…

* * *

“Do you need to potty before we start shopping, sweetie?” My Mommy asked me as we walked into the grocery store and she grabbed a cart.

I blushed and stared at my velcro sneakers in embarrassment as several nearby patrons all glanced toward us, clearly perturbed by someone my age still being spoken to in such an infantile way.

Even though my Mommy and I had been in a Mommy Domme / Little Boy relationship since we first met, I had always been so much more shy and embarrassed about our roles in public.

In fact, in the beginning, one of the rules I asked was that we never let strangers hear us talking to each other in a Mommy / Little Boy manner, as I found it far too embarrassing, no matter how much I liked being my Mommy’s little boy in private.

However, ever since I signed my Mommy’s contract and moved in, it seemed I had waived any ability to request such privacy considerations from my Mommy. And I was still only getting used to the feeling of non-stop, low-grade embarrassment that came with just being out in public at all with my Mommy now.

“Well? Answer Mommy when she asks you a question,” my Mommy repeated even louder. “Do you have to go potty before we start shopping? Do you gotta go peepee? Because I don’t want to take a potty break once we get started, sweetie.”

I bit my lip, still shyly hesitating.

The thing was, the second she asked the question about whether I had to go pee, I realized in fact, I did. It was humiliating how well she seemed to know when and how often I needed to go to the potty lately. Seemingly even better than I did. Just like a Mommy potty training her little boy…

But the problem was, my tummy was now in such distress, and I was so focused on holding back my urgent need to go number two, I suddenly had the acute fear that if my Mommy took me to use the urinal (peeing standing up was a luxury she only afforded me while we were out of the house), the second I released my bladder… I might accidentally shit myself as well.

Even though I had learned a hard lesson before about going pee when my Mommy asked me to, I felt like I had no choice in the moment. I just needed to wait until my stomach settled a little bit, first, I told myself. I would pee when my tummy cramps finally weren’t so bad.

Oh, and going poop in the public restroom was still out of the question for me, no matter how bad my bowels were rumbling now. In fact, it was partially because I could tell it was going to be a sloppy, loud, potentially even painful bowel evacuation, that I was all the more determined to avoid doing it in the presence of strangers in the public bathroom at all costs.

“No, I don’t have to go potty,” I answered, my cheeks turning a bit red, perhaps betraying my fib.

“Are you suuuuuure?” she asked raising an eyebrow.

I gave a shy nod.

“Hmmm, I don’t know,” my Mommy said, grabbing me by the wrist. “I think I’d better take you anyway—“

“Excuse me, Ma’am?” A stranger suddenly interrupted my Mommy, stopping her in her tracks. “How would you like to join our savings program? You can save up to 30% off on every visit.”

My Mommy was suddenly swept up in a boring adult conversation with what looked like someone who worked for the store.

And to my surprise, by time my Mommy was finished with the conversation, she seemed to have forgotten she was about to drag me to the bathroom to pee against my will.

Instead, she merely pulled me along with her as she pushed her cart down the aisle and started her grocery shopping.

I was incredibly relieved. I had no idea what would have happened if she had dragged me to the bathroom. Whether I would have horrifically messed myself while trying to maintain my composure enough to ‘just’ urinate at the urinal… or been forced to confess my real most pressing potty need, where I would then have been dragged to a filthy public stall and forced to suffer the most humiliating and intense BM of my life.

But as immensely relieved as I was in the moment… unfortunately, that sense of relief didn’t last long.

In fact, it didn’t take long for me to realize that, while I obediently shuffled behind my Mommy as she traversed up and down the endless supermarket aisles, the pressure and cramps in my bowels weren’t getting any better.

In fact, they were only getting much, much worse.

* * *

“Ummm… Mommy?” I abruptly squeaked in pain, finally deciding to try to get my Mommy’s attention.

She had been carrying on a protracted conversation in the cereal aisle for some time now with a friend from the neighborhood she had recognized.

But while I had been obediently standing right next to my Mommy while they talked, I couldn’t have paid attention to a word of their conversation, even if I wanted to. I was far too distracted by the seismic gurgling and gasp-inducing cramps that had now fully seised my bowels.

“Mommy? Mommy?” I whined again, desperate to get her attention without earning myself a scolding—or worse—for being rude by interrupting.

Finally, my Mommy turned around. “What is it, hon?” she asked, clearly slightly annoyed.

“I… uh… umm… well… you see… I just… ummm….” I murmured, still hesitating before I could finally bring myself to say it.

As mortified as I still was by the idea of doing a Mommy-supervised number two in the crowded grocery store bathroom, the non-stop worsening explosive cramps in my tummy and bowels since we started shopping had finally caused me to reach a braking point.

I was practically doubled over in pain. My face was red and covered with sweat. My bowels were making noises I’d never heard anyone’s stomach make before.

I suddenly needed to poop worse than I’d ever needed to poop in my life. And that primal desperation for physical relief had now taken over. I needed a toilet. Right now.

“I gotta go potty, Mommy!” I finally moaned, clutching my tummy and grimacing in pain.

My Mommy reacted with a brief reaction of surprise, then let out a long sigh of disappointment. Then she turned back to her friend.

“Alright, I’d better get back to shopping with the little rugrat, here. It was great catching up! Let’s stay in touch about playdates and babysitting, like you said! I’m sure they’d both love that,” my Mommy said to her friend.

If I wasn’t in such agony, I might have paid more attention to what she mentioned about playdates and babysitting, but as it stood, I only had one concern. Getting. To. The. Potty.

My Mommy finally hugged her friend goodbye, then slowly turned around and started pushing the cart down the aisle again while I shuffled alongside her.

At first, I felt a tremendous wave of relief. It looked like she was taking me to the bathroom!

Or at least, that’s how it seemed…

Until a moment later, my Mommy stopped at a shelf and started looking through cans of soup again, to my utter bafflement.

“Umm, Mommy!” I squeaked. “I said I really need you to take me to the potty!”

“Oh, I know, sweetie,” she replied calmly. “Don’t worry, I’m almost done with my shopping, then we’ll go right there.”

I was flummoxed. “But… but… Mommyyy… I have to go….” I softly whimpered.

But she seemed to ignore me as she continued calmly looking through items on the shelf.

“Mommyyyy… Mommyyyy… Mommy…” I continued whining, clutching my stomach in pain as I followed her.

But she still didn’t respond.

Finally, I cried out, “Mommy, I said I really have to go potty right now!”

“Well too bad!” My Mommy suddenly shouted, spinning on her heels and shouting in my face. “You should have thought of that the first time I offered to take you, shouldn’t you have? You know, right when we entered the store?”

I instantly wilted, immediately feeling scared. My Mommy didn’t use that tone with me often, let alone in public. I knew when she did, I was on the verge of being in big, big trouble.

“But… but… I really have to go, really bad…” I whimpered softly. “Can’t you please just take me now?”

“No,” my Mommy said sternly. “Absolutely not. When I offered to take you to the potty before, I made it very clear to you it was because I didn’t want to take any potty breaks while I was in the middle of shopping.

“I even tried to insist you go potty, even if you didn’t feel like it, so this wouldn’t happen. And guess what? You refused. Why did you refuse? Probably because you thought you were too much of a big boy to go potty when your Mommy said you should.

“Well, guess what, little buddy? If you want to choose to try to act like a big boy, that’s fine. But that also means actually being treated like a big boy. And in this case, that means you quit whining and you hold it like a big boy until I’m done shopping and can take you to the potty again. Is that clear?” my Mommy said.

“I… I…” I stammered, my cramps in my tummy too painful for me to think straight.

“I said, IS. THAT. CLEAR?” My Mommy repeated, causing the hair to go up on the back of my neck in fear.

“Yes, Mommy,” I murmured.

“Good,” my Mommy said, finally letting out a small sigh and returning to her task of comparing soup cans. “Now, I’ll only be a little bit longer. And like I said before, I’ll take you to the potty right away when I’m finished.”

I nodded and stared at the floor. My face burned red with embarrassment, pain, humiliation, and frustration. I just wanted to melt into a puddle as I returned to silently standing behind my Mommy, obediently waiting, like she ordered.

As I gritted my teeth and silently wrestled a new wave of excruciating cramps in my stomach and bowels, my attention happened to turn back to what I was wearing beneath my pants…

The diaper. The stupid, humiliating, crinkly diaper. It suddenly felt more embarrassing and stifling than ever between my legs and around my waist. It was sweaty, and tight, and puffy, and a reminder I just couldn’t ignore of just what a stupid baby I was.

And I really was a pathetic, stupid baby, wasn’t I? My Mommy was right. I should have just gone to the potty when she first offered when we first walked in. Why didn’t I? What reason was there, besides my own pathetic, babyish defiance…

As I twisted my feet and screwed my face in pain from another urgent cramp, and stared at my Mommy’s back while she continued calmly perusing the shelves, I couldn’t help but wonder…

If I should just make a run for it.

If I should just take off running, right now. And get to the bathroom myself, without permission, and just sit on the toilet before it was too late.

But even though every fiber of my physical biology was begging me to do it. To go get to the potty so I could finally relieve the excruciating pressure and agony in my guts…

My feet wouldn’t move. And I really wasn’t even sure why.

Perhaps it was because just the idea of so flagrantly disobeying just one of my Mommy’s cardinal rules gave me the heebie-jeebies. Let alone several cardinal rules, such as not leaving her side when in public, not using the potty without permission or supervision, and not removing one’s own diaper…

Especially now that I had a pretty sizable taste of all the flavors of intense corporal punishment my Mommy had to offer when it came to punishing me. I could only imagine what punishment such over the top defiance would yield. There would likely be permanent marks on my behind by time she was done.

Or maybe, the reason I couldn’t move my feet, was just picturing the moment after I sat down on the toilet. I would almost certainly hear my Mommy charging into the bathroom hot on my heels, bellowing to the crowded bathroom of strangers about how she was looking for her naughty, naughty boy.

Then she would find me in the stall, pull me off the toilet, and publicly spank and scold me in front of the crowd of adult men, with my diaper dangling around my ankles…

Could I ever look another adult stranger in the eyes again after suffering such an excruciating public humiliation?

Or maybe, besides the potential spanking of a lifetime, or humiliation of a lifetime, the real reason why I couldn’t do it, why I couldn’t turn and run to the bathroom without my Mommy’s permission…

Was because deep down, I knew she was right.

I knew I didn’t deserve it.

Despite the crippling pains in my bowels, I knew they were the price of being a big boy. They were the price of making the choice I had made. And a big boy could hold it like he was suppose to.

And I so badly wanted to be a big boy. I just wanted to be a big boy who made his Mommy proud more than anything. And I knew if I took off running without permission like a naughty baby, I would never be a big boy in her eyes…

And yet, with every step forward as I followed my Mommy meandering down the grocery aisle, the pain was growing to exponential heights, and my will power was reaching a breaking point…

“Mommyyyy…” I softly whimpered in barely audible pleas, tears coming to my eyes. “Mommyyyy… please hurry…”

And even though she didn’t hear most of my pleas, or she chose to ignore them, she would still occasionally turn back to calmly reassure me, “Almost done, hon. Just a few more things. Almost done.”

My whole body was trembling. Sweat was pouring down my face. I was rocking back and forth on my feet, squeezing my eyes shut, and focusing everything I had on keeping my bottom from exploding.

My exhaustion and agony began to propel me into a near tantric-state! I didn’t know how much more I could take! I felt on the verge of totally collapsing or passing out!

Suddenly, something my Mommy had said began to frantically echo as a thought within my head…

You wanted to be a big boy.

You wanted to be a big boy.

You wanted to be a big boy.

I was dumbstruck by a sudden, dazed, painful epiphany.

I abruptly stumbled forward, wrapped my arms around my Mommy, and broke down into hysterical, heaving sobs.

“I’m sorry, Mommy! I was wrong! I can’t do it! I don’t want to be a big boy! I don’t know how to be a big boy, after all!” I wailed, burying my face in her chest and suddenly clinging to her like a lone life raft in an endless freezing sea.

And in the blackness of my closed eyes against her chest, I heard a voice…

Her voice. Her whispers. My Mommy’s whispers.

They were so incredibly soft. As if just barely audible by human ears, floating in the wind itself. I immediately recognized the whispers as the same whispers I would hear in my dreams. The dreams I started having ever since I moved in and started wetting the bed again…

Just let it go, my baby boy. Just let it all go.

Being a big boy. Your undies. The big poopy mess you’re holding in. All of that. Let all of that go… and accept your diapers.

Your warm, absorbent, crinkly diapers. The diapers that nuzzle you and cuddle you and keep you safe and dry. The diapers that remind you that you’re so loved and special and Mommy’s forever baby boy.

Just release it all into your diapers. All of it. Make Mommy proud and use your diaper like it’s supposed to be used, just like a real baby. Release all your stinky messes into your puffy, adorable, crinkly pampers. And Mommy will be here to clean up your bum and change you and take care of you for forever and ever. Because you’re her extra special baby boy. And she loves you so, so much.

I pulled my head away from my Mommy’s chest.

She looked down at me, her expression confused.

I suddenly felt a wave of indescribable calm. My tears totally dry. As if suddenly struck with enlightenment.

“Is everything okay, bud?” My Mommy asked, her arms still wrapped around me.

A slow, goofy smile slowly grew across my face. And with one last big, deep inhale…

FLRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

I suddenly erupted with one of the most massive, stinky, heaviest dumps of my life, right into the seat of my diaper, while my Mommy held me and watched—seemingly without any idea of what was happening before her eyes.

* * *

It took me a moment before I could even unclench my fists and open my eyes.

I realized my body had taken over. It suddenly felt like I had just bench pressed twice my body weight. My face was red, I was totally out of breath. I realized my bowels had just evacuated themselves like they were in an olympic competition.

But now the blood was rushing back into my limbs, and for a moment, I felt a near euphoric wave of indescribable pleasure, bordering on ecstasy, from the relief to my long-painfully-aching gut.

I slowly stood back up from a squatting position I didn’t even realize I had assumed.

And as I did, I felt the slow, warm, undeniable… Smush… of the massive, poopy load I had just dropped into the back of my diaper. Just standing upright, I could already feel it’s stinky, squishy, warmth smushing and pressing into my butt crack and around my balls.

I grimaced, the strange euphoria of relief mixing with the instinctual fear and disgust I felt from the unfamiliar sensation of my poopy mess suddenly smearing against my bottom.

And then slowly, more and more of my senses returned, revealing my surroundings. And as that happened, my relief and pleasure quickly began to disappear entirely…

I suddenly realized there were at least half a dozen other grocery store patrons standing very close to me and my Mommy. They were all now staring at me, with looks of confusion, horror, and disgust on their faces. It was clear my BM eruption was audible across the store.

And my Mommy was staring down at me, her face most horrified of all.

“Little boy!” She suddenly scolded, pinching her nose in disgust. “Did you just do what I think you did in your diaper? You better not have!”

“Uhhhh….” I gaped, a little bit of drool escaping down my chin.

I was utterly dumbfounded. I felt like I had just been plummeted back to reality from a near trance like state. And in the moment, I could barely even remember where I was… let alone understand why my Mommy was so mad at me.

Without thinking, I reached my hand behind me and pressed the massive poopy mound up against my butt. It was warm, and wet, and stinky... and so, so naughty.

Then my Mommy grabbed my wrist out of the way and smashed her own hand up against the seat of my poopy diaper as well, squishing it even more into my bottom and groin.

“You really did! I can’t believe this! You made a big, poopy mess in your diaper! You made a big, stinky, poopy mess in your diaper, right here in the middle of the store!” She practically shouted, ensuring everyone in the aisle knew exactly what had happened, in case what they had heard and saw before left them any doubts.

I burst into tears. I suddenly felt totally overwhelmed and helpless. I couldn’t make any sense of what was even happening yet! My senses were just too overloaded.

In the back of my mind, I remembered the whispers. The words of what I thought I heard my Mommy whispering, the moment before it happened…

Just let it go, my baby boy. Just let it all go. Just make a big poopy mess in your pampers.

But now, hearing and seeing my Mommy one thousand times more clearly…

“This was very, very naughty! You stinky, stinky little baby!” She screamed, absolutely furious.

… Obviously the whispers I heard must not have been real. I imagined them. Hallucinated them in my bowel-cramping-agony-induced daze.

My mind returned to the present as I tried to come to terms and make sense of the hot, poopy stench that was wafting up from the stinky load I had just dropped in the back of my pants in the middle of the grocery store.

“You are in big, big trouble, young man! Big trouble! You naughty, naughty little stinker!” My Mommy continued loudly scolding me, giving the back of my massive, poopy packed-pamper another swat before starting to drag me down the aisle by the wrist.

No, I knew my Mommy definitely did not whisper those words to me, I thought as tears poured down my cheeks while my Mommy dragged me behind her.

Because it was plain as day right now that what I just did was the opposite of alright in my Mommy’s eyes.

And with my heavy, massive, loaded, stinky diaper swinging back and forth between my legs as I followed my Mommy down the aisle…

I knew that, once again, my diaper humiliation at my new Mommy’s hands had still really only just begun.

TO BE CONTINUED…

IN PART IV