The Diaper Treatment — Part II (Conclusion)

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.

My morning started the same as they all had started for the past six weeks.

My blankets were pulled away.

I felt my Mom’s hand on the crotch of my soaked, yellow, overnight diaper, followed by her giving it a firm squeeze to confirm its wetness.

Then her asking, “Do you want to potty now or after breakfast?”

I groaned as I opened my eyes to see the familiar sight of my bedroom-slowly-turning-nursery. The diaper changing table. The stacks of diapers and supplies. The stinky used diaper bin. I was just glad she wasn’t making me sleep in a crib yet. (Although the plastic sheet I slept on did have a humiliating, infantile design of baby bottles and pacifiers.)

I sat up and contemplated my answer to her question, feeling my tummy. “After breakfast should be fine,” I said.

That morning my Mom made me pancakes. And after my daily allotted very small amount of coffee (she only let me have about one eighth of a cup nowadays, per my incontinence doctor’s recommendations), I felt my bowels starting to rumble.

“Ummm, I think I’m ready for… you know…” I said to my Mom as I cleaned up the dishes.

My Mom smirked. “Morning potty time?”

“Yes, Mom,” I answered with a sheepish grin.

My Mom walked me back to my nursery, than instructed, “Hands on the changing table, please.”

I put my hands on the changing table and waited as she grabbed my soggy crotch and gave it another squeeze.

“Are all your peepees from the morning out?” she asked, keeping her hand there, holding my soggy padding.

I took a deep breath and tried to relax my bladder. I felt a small wave of fresh, warm pee start flowing into my diaper. But for the most part, I had gotten pretty good at being in a state of constantly wetting myself, as the incontinence healing regimen I was on required.

“Yes, Ma’am,” I answered.

“Good boy,” she said, giving my soggy groin another squeeze for good measure. She then did the work of changing my soggy diaper from last night while I stayed on my feet. She untaped it, letting it plop to the floor with a squish, then vigorously wiped my crotch and ass down with baby wipes.

Every diaper change I received from my Mom was always mortifying, humiliating, infantilizing and just downright embarrassing. But the worst was when I would developed spontaneous erections when she would wipe me down. Thank god… I managed to get through this morning without one.

“All done, ready for potty time,” she said, taking my hand.

My Mom walked me down the hall to the bathroom buck naked, my little wiener flopping about as I went. (I was always embarrassed to be naked in front of my Mom, even though she saw me nude about 3 to 5 times a day lately during every diaper change.)

At the bathroom door, she used the key she wore around her neck to unlock the door. Then she instructed, “Alright, potty time. You get six minutes to finish all your poopies. Please remember to stay seated with your hands on your knees until I tell you we’re finished.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I replied, sitting down to do my morning deed.

My Mom, meanwhile, sat in a chair next to me, set a timer on her phone, then casually began flipping through one of her magazines. She wasn’t exactly staring at me… but she wasn’t exactly looking away, either.

It was always extremely humiliating do my morning ‘ritual’ in front of my Mom, as you can imagine.

But she said I hadn’t ‘earned her trust enough’ to have free access to the toilet again, as she had caught me using it for number one, when I was strictly only allowed to use it for number two, and only once per day.

She didn’t even want me emptying any pee into the toilet when I pooped! She said that would just encourage the bad habit of me holding my bladder for my potty time, which would sabotage the ‘total free release’ I needed to adopt for my bladder to fully heal enough to become continent again at some point.

Oh, and a couple weeks ago, she sort of flipped out when she found a bunch of poopy stains in the back of my diaper while she was changing me. After that, she said I clearly hadn’t even earned the privilege yet of wiping my own butt, since I did such a bad job of it, and she would be wiping my butt for me going forward, like I was still a toddler learning how to poop on the toilet for the first time. As you can imagine, this was a shocking and unspeakably humiliating new restriction I now suffered daily.

I grunted with relief as I finished emptying my bowels, then continued obediently sitting in silence on the toilet for the next six minutes, until she said I was done.

(The required sitting time was added after I had finished pooping one morning, then unexpectedly needed to go again a short time later. She responded by saying I clearly wasn’t trying hard enough or giving it enough time to ‘get it all out’ my first trip to the potty.)

“Alright, hon, upsies,” my Mom said as the timer on her phone went off.

I obediently got to my feet and turned to the left so she could wipe me.

“Please keep those hands on your knees, hon,” she ordered as she pulled some baby wipes out.

I let out a small groan of annoyance. I hated how exacting she was with each and every one of her small little rules, ever since I started my diaper regimen with her just a couple months ago now.

“What was that?” my Mom instantly responded in a stern tone.

“Nothing, sorry, Ma’am,” I said, complying by putting my hands on my knees as she asked.

I guess I had to admit it did bend me forward a little, which gave her easier access to my bottom to wipe…

But more importantly, I knew better by now than to disobey her when she used that tone of voice. It only took a few spankings over the past several weeks to terrify me into never wanting to earn a spanking from her again.

Not to mention the loss of adult privileges she was so good at imposing for even the most minor of my violations.

(For example, a few weeks ago, when I whined about my Mom taking me to the public bathroom for a diaper change when I started leaking while we were out shopping, she imposed the new punishment that the waistband of my diapers had to be pulled way up above my pants line and visible to strangers at all times when we were out of the house.

The way she explained it, “Privacy regarding your diapers is an adult privilege, and if you’re going to be acting like a baby about me changing your diaper in the bathroom, I’ll make it so everyone already knows you’re wearing diapers like a baby the minute we set foot outside of the house.”)

I cringed and squirmed as I felt my Mom using the cool baby wipes to wipe up my poopy bottom. It was always hard to tell what was more humiliating… this ritual, or the diaper change itself.

Although, I did have to admit baby wipes did feel much better and did a much better job at cleaning my bottom than dry toilet paper ever did…

When she was finished, she dropped the soiled baby wipes in a small trash bag, and handed the bag to me to hold while she walked me back to the nursery, where I deposited it in the diaper bin with the rest of my used diapers.

“Alright, sugar-booger, diaper time,” she said.

I obediently climbed up on my diaper changing table, laid back, put my hands atop my head (with fingers interlocked), and bent my knees to my chest, all as my Mom had trained me to do by now over my countless diaper changes over just the past several weeks.

She gingerly prepared a fresh diaper, slipped it under my tushie, and put on a pair of latex gloves for her ‘morning inspection’ for diaper rash.

“Alright hon, roll back a little, there we go,” she said as I felt her vigorously squeezing, rubbing, and looking at every inch of my thighs, butt cheeks and groin.

Then I cringed as I felt her holding my tiny, flaccid penis between her fingers, along with my balls, as she moved them around, inspecting them.

“Well… we can probably put off a shave till tomorrow,” she remarked about my mostly hairless genitals. (Regular groin shaving had also been introduced to my life, supposedly as pubic hair is unsanitary when you’re wearing wet diapers 24 hours per day.)

“But wait a second, hmmm...” she added, looking close at my penis. “Have you been masturbating?”

My face turned bright red, the question catching me off guard. I had no idea what could have prompted the question. Perhaps my penis was a little chafed?

“What? No! Of course not…” I answered.

It was a lie, of course. I typically masturbated every night. Especially when my night-time diaper was already a little soggy, as the naughty feeling of the warm, wet padding against my peepee always gave me an irresistible, albeit embarrassing, boner.

But a couple weeks ago, when my Mom asked me if I ever masturbated in my diapers, supposedly because it might interfere with the diaper treatment protocol, I vigorously denied ever doing it at all.

(“What? Of course not, don’t be gross! Only losers masturbate. Wearing diapers at my age is mortifying enough. I can’t imagine being such a loser that I would even think about doing something like that in them…” I had insisted at the time. Well, going by my own words, I guess I was a pretty darn big diaper loser!)

My Mom raised an eyebrow. “Hmmmmm, I’ll just ask the doctor about it, then,” she said, dropping my penis and turning away.

“Ask the doctor?” I asked.

“Oh, right, I forgot to mention it to you,” she explained, getting the baby powder. “I’m taking you to Dr. Friendly today for a check up. We’re leaving shortly.”

“Ugh, Mom, come on, you’re supposed to give me warning for stuff like this…” I groaned. I hated going to my incontinence doctor. Especially now that I was diapered and wetting full time. The visits were always extra invasive and humiliating.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

I shrieked from three sharp blows to my naked behind.

“I don’t have to do anything, young man,” she scolded. “Any notice at all about where I’m taking you and when is a privilege, and as far as I’m concerned, you’re about to permanently lose it if you don’t drop the naughty baby attitude.”

I frowned, humiliated and jarred by the sudden harsh dose of discipline. But it certainly worked to immediately put me in line. “Yes, Mommy,” I droned.

“That’s better,” she said, dumping baby powder all over my groin and rubbing it into my every nook and cranny, including deep into my ass and all around my penis and balls.

She taped my diaper up, gave my poofy crotch a gentle pat, then grabbed a pair of shortalls from the closet for me to step into.

I sighed as she dressed me in my very babyish outfit, complete with a tee shirt that said Good Baby in Training. (She had updated my wardrobe with a lot of extra babyish garments as a punishment, ever since I accidentally complained one day about the fact that she wouldn’t let me wear my favorite band tee shirts anymore, since apparently the profanity wasn’t ‘respectful’ to her, nor ‘appropriate’ for the ‘maturity level’ I was demonstrating.)

As my Mom finished getting me dressed, I had to admit, as much as I hated the fact that I had to use diapers, and my Mom forced me to let her be the only one who changed me, there was nothing better than the feeling of a fresh, dry, clean, warm diapee.

Of course, that feeling never lasted very long, as I was reminded seconds later…

Hissssssssss.

… when I obediently released a fresh, small stream of pee into my padding, which I was now required and expected to always be doing.

I sighed as we finished getting ready and began to head out the door for the doctor’s.

I just hoped it was good news about the progress of my bladder recovery. I was starting to miss being a potty-trained big boy an awful lot…

* * *

“Does he need a diaper change? Or do you think he’ll be okay till after the appointment?” the cute nurse asked my Mom.

I stood next to my Mom, holding her hand and blushing bright red as I stared at the floor. I hated how all the staff treated me just like a baby when we visited Dr. Friendly’s office.

It didn’t help that Dr. Friendly primarily specialized in pediatric patients, so his whole office felt geared toward toddlers, with bright primary colors decorating the walls, stacks of diapers everywhere, and baby toys filling the waiting room. I was also sure that his ridiculous, juvenile name—Dr. Friendly—was a moniker he invented and took on when he decided to go into pediatrics.

However, he was apparently also one of the country’s leading doctors on treating incontinence, which was why I was also seeing him, despite being an adult.

When I asked my Mom early on about why my incontinence doctor was primarily a pediatrician, obviously feeling embarrassed about that fact, her response was, “Is it any surprise that the doctor who specialized in helping patients who can’t make it to the potty on time is mostly focused on seeing children? After all, they’re the ones most frequently having trouble with potty training. You’re just gonna have to suck it up and deal with the fact that you’re having a little bit of a toddler-esque issue, so you’re going to have to see a toddler-focused doctor.”

Apparently, Dr. Friendly was the architect behind the ‘diaper treatment regimen’ that I was undergoing, which he had supposedly had great success with so far. I just hoped our visit today would show that I was finally far enough along in the regimen that I could finally restart potty training…

“Hmmm, let me check,” my Mom answered the nurse regarding the status of my diaper, suddenly dropping my shortalls to my feet to ‘check me’, making me blush bright red, as we were still standing in the middle of the hallway outside of the exam room. My Mom proceeded to squeeze and pat my soggy padding, even sticking a finger into the leg band, while I stood there, helplessly.

“You know, he’s pretty soggy, but I think his diaper should be okay until at least the end of the appointment,” my Mom finally concluded.

“Very well, right this way,” the nurse said, opening the door to the exam room.

I bent down to pick my shortalls back up, when the nurse stopped me.

“Oh, he can leave those off for now,” the nurse said to my Mom, speaking over my head again. “You can fold his shortalls and shirt and place them in the cubby over here. He needs to be down to wearing nothing but his diaper for the duration of the appointment.”

“Sure thing,” my Mom said with a smile.

She deftly took away my shortalls, then my shirt. Then the two women walked me into the exam room and plopped me up on the exam table with a slight squish, while I wore nothing but my somewhat soggy diaper.

“You can go ahead and have him lay back and spread his legs, the doctor will be in shortly,” the nurse said to my Mom.

I sighed as I did what she said, resenting again that she couldn’t just speak to me like an adult.

I guess I had to admit that boys who laid naked in their visibly soggy, yellow diapers didn’t usually get spoken to like adults, because they obviously appeared to be anything but…

* * *

“Hiya, sport!” Dr. Friendly said as he walked into the office a short time later, briskly washing his hands and donning exam gloves. He approached me as I laid on the exam table and firmly squeezed the crotch of my soggy diaper. “How’s that diaper treating you? A little soggy, huh?”

Dr. Friendly always spoke to me in an absurdly exaggerated, loud, enunciated tone, as if he were talking to a non-verbal two year old. And it was obvious he hardly ever cared at all about my answer, as demonstrated by the fact that he immediately turned to my Mom and started talking to her in a normal adult voice.

“How’s the treatment progressing? Is he wetting freely and consistently yet?” the Doctor asked.

“I think so. Mostly, anyway,” my Mom answered. “I try to do a pretty good job of monitoring his diaper with checks throughout the day, and it seems he fills them up at a pretty regular pace. I do still catch him holding it sometimes though. Trying to wait till he’s on the potty or in the shower to release his bladder. I’ve been following your instructions from last time though on how to curb that behavior of his best I can.”

“Yup, boys his age tend to fight the treatment more than you might think,” Dr. Friendly replied. “It usually takes a lot of parental reinforcement and discipline to get them to finally accept the fact that they’re diaper dependent and incontinent already. And their only hope of actually getting potty trained again is to stop trying to hold on to those big boy habits that aren’t appropriate for them anymore… like holding their weewee for the toilet,” he said.

“You’re spot on, Doctor,” my Mom laughed. “I swear, it’s harder taking care of him as a diaper wetting 18-year-old, than when he was a diaper wetting two-year-old, just because he gives me so much lip and backtalk about the fact that he needs to be padded and wetting 24/7 now.”

“Well, I’ll tell you one thing,” Dr. Friendly replied, “it’s a good thing he’s got a Mom who’s so fearless about keeping him in line. From his chart, I can tell he’s a difficult patient in terms of his chronic behavioral and toileting issues, but he’s lucky to have you to help him do what he needs to do to be a big boy again. They just never understand that their mother’s don’t want to be changing their adult son’s diapers again, either, but it’s for their own good, if they ever want to be walking around in big boy undies again!” Dr. Friendly laughed.

Dr. Friendly and my Mom laughed hysterically and continued commiserating about me on and on, like I wasn’t even there. It was an unspeakably humiliating and infuriating feeling.

My cheeks burned red, partially from embarrassment, partially from anger. I so badly wanted to argue and defend myself. But I had learned from the brutal spanking I received during our last visit (where the nurses helped my Mom hold me down so she could paddle my bottom senseless), that there was no good that could come from me interjecting with disagreements in their ‘adult’ conversation.

“Well, why don’t I take a look at what’s going on,” he said, walking over to me just as the nurse returned to the room.

“Hands up over the head, buddy,” he said to me in a jovial tone.

I complied, raising my hands. And as I did, I felt the nurse grab them and hold them!

“Nurse, keep a tight grip, I’m probably going to do an f12 straight for a sample check, then perhaps a deep digital afterward…” Dr. Friendly muttered to the nurse.

I didn’t know what any of that meant, but hearing it, followed by the nurse tightening her grip around my wrists, sent a huge surge of fear through my body.

“Well, his diaper right now is pretty yellow and soggy, that’s good,” the Doctor said, feeling the smelly, pee soaked contents of my open diaper. “But oof, that’s a stinky peepee diaper. How many changes has he had today?” Dr. Friendly asked my Mom.

I blushed, the humiliating smell of my urine, sweat, and baby powder mixed together now hitting my nose as well, making me feel ashamed to be subjecting the room to it.

“That’s his first diaper of the morning,” my Mom answered. “But that was only a couple hours ago.”

“No problem, no problem,” the Doctor said. “He might just be a little dehydrated, you might want to up his liquid intake a bit.”

“You got it. I’ve been meaning to start enforcing his liquid intake more stringently. Maybe a sippy cup would help,” my Mom said.

“Or even a baby bottle, depending on his behavior and your mood that day,” Dr. Friendly said, causing them both to laugh at the prospect of forcing another babyish humiliation on me.

The Doctor then started prodding around my diaper area, pressing on my bladder, feeling my butt cheeks, then fondling and squeezing my testicles and penis.

I felt utterly humiliated and violated as I lay there atop my open, soggy diaper, with the nurse holding my hands above my head, while this doctor probed and fondled me.

But the worst part was… I immediately started to get a boner.

“Does he often get erections during his diaper changes?” The Doctor asked my Mom.

“I would say it’s about fifty-fifty,” she answered. “I’ve tried to talk to him about how it’s inappropriate, but it hasn’t done much to curb the behavior.”

“Boys will be boys,” the doctor, nurse, and my Mom all laughed, making me practically want to die as my penis got rock hard, standing tall on the exam table. “I just feel bad for him, because it’s going to make our post void residual test here a lot less comfortable for him,” the Doctor added.

“Hey, well, maybe that’s a lesson learned for him about keeping his weewee a little more under control,” my Mom shrugged.

“You’re not wrong,” the Doctor replied. “But also, it’s been about six weeks, so it’s time to get a good read on if he’s making any real progress with his free voiding. Better do it now with the poor boy’s stiffy than put it off and not detect an issue before it’s too late.”

Again, I didn’t know what they were talking about, but I started feel very nervous again.

I heard the doctor opening up one of the drawers nearby… then preparing something or other. I couldn’t lift my head enough to see from where I was, and the nurse was still holding me down tight.

Dr. Friendly returned and asked me, “You’ve been releasing all your weewees in your diaper like a good little boy, right?”

“Ummm, yes,” I answered.

“So your diaper beneath your butt right now has all your weewees. You’re not holding any back. Right?” The Doctor asked.

I nervously nodded my head.

“Alright, good,” Dr. Friendly said.

Suddenly, I felt Dr. Friendly grab my erect penis. I lifted my head to look down, and to my horror… He was holding a super long, lubed up straight catheter right above my pee hole!

“Ahhh!” I screamed. “What’s that—ooooooohhhhhhh”

Before I could even finish my sentence, I watched Dr. Friendly slide the long catheter directly down into my penis.

I tried to rip my hands free, but the nurse held me tight. The feeling was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. It stung like crazy… in a way that my penis had never stung before.

And I could feel the long tube going deeper… and deeper… and deeper into my erect penis, toward my bladder…

“Ooooh… oooh… owwwwwiieeeeee….” I groaned in shocked and mortified discomfort and pain, until suddenly…

“Owwwwww—oooohhhhh!” My pain transformed into a feeling of tremendous relief as the catheter moved past the urethral sphincter, and into my bladder.

Suddenly… Sppllllshshshhshshs

A massive flood of urine started spraying out of the catheter!

At first, it went straight up into the air, until Dr. Friendly urgently pulled my diaper up to start catching the rest. “Woah! Uh oh, diaper time,” Dr. Friendly said as he aimed the flood from the catheter in my erect penis into my semi soggy diaper.

“Oooooh… oooh….” I moaned with the most strange sense of relief as my bladder dumped out a massive amount of pee, completely involuntarily.

I breathed hard, the relief almost euphoric. And I could feel the massive warm flood of urine pouring down my soggy diaper and pooling around my balls and ass. I was heaving and sweating by time it was over. And my erection… was as strong as ever.

“Phew. Well, oh boy, that was… unexpected…” Dr. Friendly remarked.

He then began to pull the catheter straight back out. I squirmed and squealed in pain as I felt it sliding out of me, but then gasped in relief when it was finally out. I had never experienced anything like that before. I was still in a daze and only able to half-pay-attention as Dr. Friendly and my Mom continued talking.

“That was a very, very large post-residual,” Dr. Friendly said to my Mom.

“Oh no. So what does that mean?” my Mom asked.

“Well, at first glance, it means our little guy here isn’t actually trying as hard as he says he is to keep his bladder empty,” the Doctor explained.

My Mom sighed. “Well, I guess that’s why we come to Doctor’s appointments to find out problems so we can try to fix them before they get worse.”

“Let me continue taking a look to see if there’s anything else I can see that might be the cause. A thorough digital might be helpful…” Dr. Friendly said. Then he turned to me. “Alright, knees to your chest, little guy! Knees up! Upsies!” he ordered in his juvenile voice again.

I was now starting to get scared again. I knew something was wrong, but hadn’t been paying close enough attention to keep up with their conversation.

I reluctantly raised both of my legs, fearing what was to come. I could also feel that my diaper that I was laying on was now just about overflowing with fresh, hot smelly pee, thanks to the catheter emptying a tremendous amount of more pee from my bladder.

I then felt the Doctor squeezing my butt cheeks, then spreading them out with his hands to look closer.

“Any poopy accidents?” The Doctor asked my Mom.

“Hmmm, well, now that you ask about it, just a couple,” my Mom answered. “I noticed some brown smears when changing a few of his diapers. I assumed it was due to his poor wiping skills, but now that you ask about it, I suppose it could have been related to some level of poopy incontinence…”

I burned bright red in humiliation, horrified that such details were being revealed out loud like this.

“Hmmm,” Dr. Friendly said. “That’s a little worrisome, combined with the lack of full voiding. I’m gonna check for rectum distension and prostate inflammation. Nurse? Like I said… tight grip,” he said to her in a low voice.

I felt a chill of terror as the nurse gripped my wrists even tighter. I heard the Doctor opening another drawer, opening the cap of a container, then suddenly…

“Ughhhh!!” I grunted in shock and pain.

Dr. Friendly had just slammed his two fingers deep into my asshole!

“Owww! Owweiieee! Oooof! Oooooh…” I grunted and instinctively yanked at my hands, trying to get free as I felt my asshole get painfully penetrated and spread, like I was getting finger fucked on a third date.

“Stopppp it!! Stop it, it hurts!” I squealed, tearing up and writhing, but to no avail. Somehow, this under-lubricated finger-fucking was even more painful than the catheter!

Suddenly, my Mom’s face was hovering over mine. And she was looking into my eyes, smiling. “It’s okay, baby boy, just relax. Just relax and be a good boy for Mommy, and I promise you’ll get a special treat when we get home.”

My Mom’s soothing tone and comforting touch suddenly worked.

And as fucked up as I knew it was, feeling my Mom brush the hair out of my eyes and coo in my ear about what a good boy I was while the doctor finger fucked my bottom wider and harder and faster… really worked. I finally calmed down, and the penetration finally stopped hurting.

In fact… it sort of even started to feel good. And my cock was still rock hard… and only getting harder.

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying my hardest to relax, and let my body give in…

I felt so naughty. So naughty, and filthy. I was a wet, naughty, stinky, little diaper boy. I was Mommy’s wet, naughty, stinky little diaper boy, being finger fucked and punished by the doctor and the nurse… because I was such a naughty, naughty, diaper wetting, baby… Mommy’s naughty, naughty, peepee stinky baby…

“Oooooh!!!” I suddenly shouted out in shock.

Spluuuuurt!

Everyone looked down in shock to see…

I had just blown a massive, sticky load all over my stomach. My penis was still throbbing, dribbling with the rest of my semen.

I gasped as Dr. Friendly yanked his fingers from my ass.

Then everyone stared down at my erection, and the sticky mess on my stomach, then looked at me.

Everyone seemed absolutely disgusted, horrified, and shocked.

Myself, most of all.

* * *

“Naughty boy,” my Mommy scolded as she stood back, folding her arms while the nurse cleaned up my massive splooge across my chest with baby wipes. “You know better than to do that here. That was very disrespectful to do in front of the doctor and nurse. Let alone in front of your own mother!”

“I’m… I’m… I’m sorry…” I whimpered, tears coming to my eyes in embarrassment.

But she was hardly listening.

I watched Dr. Friendly suddenly pull her aside, and they started talking to each other in a low voice, too low for me to hear it. They each glanced toward me as they spoke, their expressions serious.

I happened to make out just one phrase the doctor uttered. “… drastically escalate the regimen if you want any hope of results…”

I got a bad feeling in my tummy again.

I didn’t know why I would be blamed for what just happened. But I had a feeling I was about to get punished, in some form or another, nonetheless.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, the door to the office re-opened.

I had been sitting on the exam table, naked, while the nurse watched over me in silence from across the room, her arms folded, while I hung my head in shame, waiting for the Doctor and my Mommy to return.

Suddenly, my Mommy walked in, followed by Dr. Friendly. I flinched, bracing myself for her most brutal spanking yet. Or worse.

But to my surprise, my Mommy had a smile on her face.

“Come on, bud, lay down while we get you changed into a fresh diaper,” she said in a sweet voice, standing over me while the nurse unfolded a clean diaper.

“You’re… you’re not mad at me?” I asked her in surprise.

“Sweetie, I asked you if you had been masturbating, and you said no. Why did you lie to me?” She asked in a gentle tone.

“I… uh… uh… well…” Suddenly, I burst into tears. “I’m sorry, Mommy, I am, really! I couldn’t help it! I just… I couldn’t help it…”

I broke down into sobs while she hugged me and held me close. “Shhhh, I know, baby, it’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay. I was mad at you before, but now that I know you really couldn’t help it, that you have uncontrollable hyper sexual urges, I understand it wasn’t your fault,” she said.

“Really?” I asked.

“That’s right. Because now that Dr. Friendly and I know the real source of your urinary tract problems, we can finally solve them.”

I realized the nurse and Dr. Friendly had come over to the table. I felt the telltale feeling of a dry, crinkly diaper pushed under my bum. That was no surprise.

But then, suddenly… oh no!

I felt a different familiar feeling down below. I couldn’t see because my Mom was leaning over me, blocking the view, but I could feel a gloved hand holding my penis upright…

Then pushing a catheter down my urethra again!

“Owwww… wait!! Wait.. ooowwwww!!” I squealed as my Mommy held me tight.

But then, like last time… the stinging pain suddenly dissipated. And I felt a sort of strange sense of relief. “What’s… going on?” I asked.

“You’ll see in a minute dear, just hold still,” my Mommy said.

I saw Dr. Friendly was still doing something around my midsection. Until finally…

“There we go. All set,” Dr. Friendly said, standing back up.

Finally, my Mom moved, allowing me to sit up and see for myself.

I screamed.

It was a chastity cage! A chastity cage with a catheter sticking out of it!

“What is that, Mommy!” I squealed in horror.

I immediately had the instinct to rip it off, but tugging on it just a little bit immediately caused me to flinch in pain. The catheter deep into my urethra was far too sensitive to tug on, and the chastity cage was locked tightly around my balls.

“It’s the new solution, hon! You see, now that Dr. Friendly and I know you’ve been masturbating in your diapers, it’s clear you’ve been causing yourself repeated prostate inflammation, as well as potential bowel distension and urethral scarring, that’s contributing to your lack of fully emptying your bladder.

“So, to take care of both problems permanently, you now have a catheter in your penis and bladder, that makes it so you’ll never be able to retain any urine at all, as well as a tight chastity cage to keep your from masturbating again, preventing you from doing more damage to your sensitive urethral tissue,” my Mommy explained.

“But… but… but…” I was horrified and speechless. I couldn’t believe they had just done this without my permission. Without even informing me! Now, I could never masturbate at all ever again? It was the only adult pleasure I had left in my life!

But before I could even raise another whimper of protest, the nurse confidently pulled my clean diaper up and taped it shut anyway, securing me in my new padded prison of chastity and total urinary incontinence.

“Phew!” Dr. Friendly said. “Well, that was a lot more work than I think we expected for today’s appointment, but I think we can finally say your little guy is now fully on the path of healing. Why don’t we schedule a follow up one year from now? That should finally be enough time to do another test to see if he’s ready for potty training again.”

“That sounds great doctor! Sorry for keeping you, and thank you so much for everything,” my Mom said, helping me to my feet.

I started to whimper and cry, but neither the doctor, the nurse, nor my Mom cared one bit.

“Alright, little diaper boy, let’s get you back home and into bed for a nap. You’ve had a busy day. And now’s a great chance for you to finally get some rest along with your little weewee, now that it’s no longer going to be regularly abused by you,” my Mom said, pulling me along.

Hissssssssss

I felt myself flooding my diapers totally involuntarily as my Mom dragged me toward the lobby. And I burst into tears as I realized I wouldn’t even be getting another chance at potty training for another year.

As I walked out of the pediatrics office, crying, wetting my diaper, and holding my Mommy’s hand, I realized the diaper treatment had really, really worked.

I doubted it would ever allow me to regain my continence. But it certainly turned me fully into the baby everyone already thought I was.

And maybe that was the real treatment I needed all along.

THE END.