Sent Back and Diapered at Daycare — Part 11

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.

Sitting in the corner.

In the back of the dimly-lit, daycare diaper changing room.

Seated on my soggy, messy diaper.

The minutes ticked by slower than molasses, as I anxiously faced the blank wall, obediently waiting for Miss Turner to return and free me from my time out.

It didn’t take long for boredom to set in. Or at least, eagerness to be freed from my humiliating toddler-appropriate sensory-deprivation.

Before long, I was left to think about nothing but the humiliating, soggy, messy diapers I was wearing.

I laughed to myself that I had thought the disposable diaper I had been taped into earlier was comically thick. Now that I was also wrapped in—not one, but two—cloth nappies wrapped and pinned over the top of that same disposable, the disposable alone seemed as thin as cotton underwear.

Not to mention the added discomfort of the crinkly, baby-printed, pink plastic pants, pulled over all three diapers and secured around my waist with a literal lock and key…

I couldn’t help but endlessly stare down at my unbelievably humiliating diapers and marvel at just how babyish they looked. The diapers were so thick that I felt like I was practically shrinking as I looked down at myself. Like I was shrinking down from my 18-year-old self to the pathetic, diapered baby Miss Turner thought I was.

And if the combination cloth/disposable diaper and plastic pants didn’t look babyish enough… the way they felt was ten-times even more so.

I could intimately feel how utterly thick and sodden the front of my soggy, disposable diaper was, lukewarm and wet from my full-morning of non-stop peeing.

And the rear of my diaper was a whole different story. With shame and disgust, I could feel that the massive, poopy mess that I had helplessly released into the back of my disposable had spread into every crevice of my rear… from deep into my crack, down to my tiny balls, and all the way up to the waist of my disposable.

It was filthy and disgusting. I was filthy and disgusting.

I realized that Miss Turner was 100% right to wrap me in giant cloth diapers before moving me from the corner I had my poopy accident in. Embarrassingly, I was even a little grateful for it now.

Because from the moment I started taking steps in my messy diaper, and especially now that I was seated in my naughty mess on a stool in the corner, I could feel my babyish mess spilling from the confines of my disposable, thankfully being absorbed and contained by the additional cloth diaper protection.

As I fidgeted back and forth on the wooden stool on my poopy-diaper-butt, I even felt grateful for the plastic pants Miss Turner had locked me in.

At first, the pink plastic pants seemed to surely be merely a gesture of humiliation on her part. But now, I felt grateful for the added protection. Perhaps even grateful that she had locked them on me to prevent me from being tempted in my time-out-boredom to remove them against my own best interest.

Because as awful and humiliating as it was to wear a soggy, messy diaper… I had to admit to myself that it was still far better than having my messy diaper leak.

And looking at it that way, the over-sized, massive diapers I was locked in went from feeling like a prison… to protection.

My apparently much needed protection, given that I couldn’t help but pee and poop my pants like a baby…

It was a good thing I was wearing diapers, after all…

No! I thought to myself, shaking away the thought in disgust. I don’t need diapers! I’m potty-trained! This has all been just one big… misunderstanding!

But to my horror, as the endless minutes of time-out continued slowly ticking by...

I found myself struggling more and more to convince myself that I didn’t actually belong in the huge, messy diaper I was sitting in.

Because when I tried to fight it, to reason with myself that the pacifier in my mouth, the changing room I was in, the messy diaper I was wearing, was all inappropriate for me, because I was an adult…

I succumbed to crushing waves of humiliation and shame.

After all, if I was an adult who didn’t need diapers, why did I pee myself over and over again that morning?

Why did I poop my pants like a baby, right in front of my teacher?

Why did I spend the whole day in the toddler room of the daycare, dressed and acting like the biggest baby of them all?

If I really was the adult I thought I was... I was truly the most pathetic adult on the planet. And my face would burn beet red as I looked down at myself in disgust and shame, forced to face the fact that I was an adult wearing poopy diapers and sitting in time-out.

But on the other hand, just when I found myself about to lose myself in an unstoppable spiral of shame and self-loathing…

Something in me would suddenly relax. And I would suddenly, strangely, feel more comfortable in my big, puffy, diapers.

My safe diapers.

My protective diapers.

My diapers.

I would even relax into my poopy diaper mess pressed against my bottom, suddenly feeling less ashamed.

Feeing like it was okay that I had made a poopy mess in my diapees...

Because I was just a baby.

And in those moments, the naughty feelings would happen again.

Deep in the confines of my puffy, padded prison, my tiny little cock would start to get stiff...

And I would close my eyes and suck my paci and press my mitten-covered hands against the plastic pants over my puffy diapers.

And I would think about what a naughty, filthy little potty-pants I was...

A naughty little baby who needed to be kept in big diapees because he can’t help but go peepee and poopy in his pants...

A naughty little baby who needed to be spanked by his daycare teacher and dragged by the hand back to the daycare changing room, so his teacher could change his stinky diapers and wipe his poopy bottom.

A naughty little baby who always smells like the daycare changing room… like sweet baby-powder, stale peepee, and yucky poopy… because he belongs in diapers and uses diapers all the time like a baby…

But then, just moments later, my eyes would flash open.

I would realize in horror that I had been vigorously rubbing myself through the front of my messy diaper, whimpering and writhing on my time-out stool.

I would freeze and drop my hands back to my sides in horror. I would remember where I was and why.

And if my self-disgust alone wasn’t enough to stop me from my naughty masturbation in my stinky diaper, the terror of remembering Miss Turner’s threat about watching me through the changing room baby monitor’s certainly was!

I would fold my arms and go back to silently staring into the corner.

Slowly, more endless minutes would pass…

And once again, my mind would slowly return to staring at and feeling the stinky, shameful diaper I was wearing...

My thoughts once again returning to thoughts of shame and embarrassment…

Of how pathetic and naughty and humiliated I was…

And the cycle would continue. With me desperately trying to tell myself I don’t belong in the diaper I’m wearing… Desperately trying to convince myself that I’m not the baby I look, feel, smell like… Desperately trying to stop playing with myself in my soggy, messy diapers!

Time stretched into infinity!

The time-out seemed to be eternal!

My brain flipped inside out and outside in over and over and over again as I suffered, relished, despised, craved, hated, needed my soggy, stinky, baby diapers over and over and over again!

Until at last…

My time out ended. And one side of me… finally surrendered to the other.

* * *

The door to the daycare changing room opened with a slow creeaaak.

Light poured in as Miss Turner finally returned.

“Oh, pee-ew!” Miss Turner laughed as she approached. “That is one stinky, stinky, poopy diaper you’ve been sitting in.”

I felt her hand on my shoulder. “Alright, little stinker, how are you doing? Do you feel like you learned your lesson in time out?”

I slowly turned around on my stool, looked up at Miss Turner in my soggy, messy diaper, and beheld her with wide, gleaming eyes.

“Yesh, Miss Teacher!” I earnestly squeaked. “I learned my wesson in time out, I promise!”

Miss Turner laughed, slightly surprised by the earnestness of my answer.

“Oh really?” she asked. “And what lesson is that?”

I gulped, then spoke the words right from my heart.

“That I’m still just a big baby! I need teacher to keep me in diapees because I’m not potty-trained yet! And I have to be extra nice to teacher and follow all the rules like a good baby, because I need teacher to change my poopy and peepee diapers at daycare, because I’m still just such a big baby!”

Miss Turner smiled.

“Oh my,” she said. “Well, I can tell from the look in your eyes, my little baby has learned quite a bit in time out. Does this mean I can trust you to be an extra-good baby from now on? Even when it comes to putting you in or changing your diapers?”

“Yesh, Miss Teacher, I pwomise!” I shouted. “I just want to be a good baby for teacher from now on! Especially when it comes to teacher changing my diapees!”

It was the most honest thing I’d ever said in my life.

“Good baby,” Miss Turner giggled, patting me on the head. “Now come on, let’s go get that stinky, poopy diaper changed and get you into a fresh diaper for nap time. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“Yesh!” I squeaked, jumping to my feet and waddling with Miss Turner across the changing room, toward the diaper changing table.

In my heart, I felt nothing but the warmest and fuzziest of little butterflies.

For the moment, it felt like I finally knew exactly who I was.

Just a little baby.

A little baby in his soggy, poopy diapers, about to finally get a much needed change from his loving daycare teacher.