Sent Back and Diapered at Daycare — Part 10

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.

There was a tense moment as I stared up at Miss Turner, waiting for her reaction to yet another of my filthy, forbidden climaxes on the changing table. I felt my face quietly flushing hotter and hotter.

Finally… she giggled.

“Aww,” Miss Turner said. “You want your Mommy! That’s so cute. I suppose that’s perfectly normal for a boy still in diapers. I’ll have to let her know that you missed her so much during your diaper change.”

Miss Turner went over to the sink to wash the butt plug while I continued laying face down on the changing table. I realized she didn't know that I had just had another orgasm in my diaper!

I suddenly began to panic about if and when she would discover what really just happened in my diaper… that I had made a filthy, sticky mess, yet again. I knew I wouldn’t be able to hide it for long.

“Alright, dear, let’s turn you over and get that soggy diaper off,” Miss Turner said, returning a second later. “And I hope I don’t find anything unexpected in there,” she added, as if confirming my fear.

With her help unstrapping and re-fastening my hands, I rolled over onto my back again, cringing as I felt the sticky load I had just made mush against my soggy diaper and quickly softening penis.

I squeezed my eyes shut as she began undoing the tapes of my diaper. I knew this wasn’t going to be good.

Suddenly, just as she was about to pull the front of my diaper up to look inside…

My stomach let out the loudest gurgle in the world.

She paused. We both looked down at my tummy.

“Uh-oh,” she said. “I know that sound. Do you have to go poopy? Because if so, I’ll just tape you back up and you can go right before I change you, okay, dear?”

My eyes widened. I was speechless with embarrassment and indecision.

On the one hand, I wanted to delay her finding out about the cum I had just splattered into the crotch of my diaper as long as possible.

But on the other hand… I was mortified by the mere suggestion of pooping in my diaper. There was no way I was going to let that happen.

I stared back with a blank, dumb face, unable to speak.

“Well?” She asked.

“Ummm…” I said, looking away bashfully.

After a long pause, she rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you take a moment to think about it while I finish cleaning your little pluggy in the sink,” she said, taping my diaper back up. “Judging from how dirty it was when I pulled it out… I’d be shocked if you don’t go number two by time I get back.”

I cringed with revulsion and embarrassment, secretly glad I didn’t have to see the humiliating evidence of my plug-removal for myself.

As Miss Turner went over to the sink to finish cleaning the rubber implement, I let out a huge sigh, still catching my breath from my earth-shattering, humiliating orgasm.

As I remained strapped on the changing table in my wet diaper, helplessly staring at the ceiling, my stomach let out another painful gurgle.

I was still paralyzed with indecision about how to respond!

On the one hand, I knew the second she pulled my diaper forward, she was going to find my sticky mess. And I felt desperate to delay that moment—and the subsequent punishment—by any means necessary.

On the other hand, if I said I had to go number two, how long would it really delay the inevitable? And then, how could I get away with avoiding actually doing the unthinkable deed?

My stomach started gurgling even louder. It was like my gut—over-stuffed from lunch—now knew there was room ‘downstairs’, and was working double-time to fill up the empty space. I cringed in humiliation at the embarrassing realization about my involuntary bodily functions.

As Miss Turner continued taking her time tidying up, I broke into a hot sweat. My tummy discomfort began causing me to wriggle and writhe on the changing table.

I suddenly began considering begging Miss Turner to let me up to use the potty to go number two. But I knew doing so would be a gamble. It would mean admitting that I did have to go. And she might just tell me to use my diaper, rather than deal with the minor inconvenience of getting me over to the potty chair! After all, she barely believed I was even potty-trained, anyway!

As the seconds ticked by, with me still on the changing table waiting for Miss Turner to return to me, I began to frantically worry that it didn’t matter what I wanted in the situation.

Because soon, my body might make the choice for me, right into the seat of my already sticky, soggy diaper…

* * *

“Alright, dear, did you make poopy yet?” Miss Turner asked, returning to the changing table a couple minutes later and patting my diapered butt.

“Umm… no!” I grunted. “I mean, I don’t need to go.”

“You don’t need to go poopy at all?” She asked with an incredulous look.

“That’s right,” I frantically nodded.

“Are you sure?” Miss Turner asked. “Because I don’t want you making a big poopy mess right after I change you into a clean diaper.”

“I’m sure!” I grunted out through my paci. “I really just don’t have to go!”

I did, of course, desperately have to go. More so by the second. But I decided my only dignified course of action at this point was to insist that I didn’t, get changed into my new diaper, and hold it long enough to ask Miss Flower out in the daycare room to use the plastic potty when I got the chance. After all, Miss Flower had said that morning that as long as I kept my diaper dry, there wouldn’t be any problem with me using the plastic potty the next time I needed to.

“Hmmm,” Miss Turner said, pursing her lips. “Well, okay then.”

I breathed a small sigh of relief.

“Let’s go ahead and stand you up then real quick, just to make extra sure,” she suddenly added. “That usually helps indecisive babies like you move things along.”

My eyes widened with renewed apprehension as she undid the binds on my hands, scooted me forward on the changing table, then helped me sit up and then climb to my feet.

The second I stood up, I cringed from a powerful wave of new discomfort as her assertion was proved correct—standing up did dramatically help things along.

Beads of sweat poured down my face as I now struggled to hold back a BM with every fiber of my being.

“How’s your tummy now? Do you feel ready to do a poopy? Are you gonna do a poopy in your diapee?” She asked, patting my soggy bottom with one hand and massaging my stomach with the other.

“No!” I grunted as respectfully as I could manage. “I don’t… have to go poopy. I don’t have to go poopy at all, I promise!”

Miss Turner stared back at me for a long moment, but then finally nodded.

“Well, okay then, baby Lucas,” she said, “I’m glad you could let me know that like a big boy. A big boy who knows when he does and doesn’t have to go poopy. That was very mature of you. Perhaps this even means you have more of your potty-training than I originally suspected. Good job, little guy. I’m proud of you.”

Her words took me completely off guard. I turned around to see her smiling at me, and for the first time, I wondered if she wasn’t as mean as I had thought she was, after all.

“And since you’re being such a big boy, do you think you can handle climbing back up on your changing table by yourself?” Miss Turner asked.

“Uh-huh!” I nodded. “Of course!”

I took one step toward the changing table and was about to climb up when Miss Turner stopped me.

“Ah ah ah, hold on, little boy. I may be letting you climb up on the changing table yourself, but you still need to make sure you’re doing it in a way that’s safe for diaper-wearing-babies. That means moving the step stool over to help you climb up safely,” she said, pointing to a small bright pink step stool in the corner.

I obediently nodded and slowly shuffled over to the step stool, desperately suppressing an ever-greater rumbling in my gut again.

Finally, just as I bent over to pick the step stool up with my mitten-covered hands…

Blrttt.

I froze. My eyes widened in horror.

I suddenly felt a distinct, hot, mushy wetness smushed against my butt cheeks.

I didn’t want to believe it. I couldn’t believe it. I refused to believe it!

But as I slowly tried to move again—

Blllllrrrrrrtttttttttttt.

An even bigger blast of filthy mush suddenly dumped into the seat of my diaper.

I froze, my whole world suddenly falling apart.

I could no longer deny it. I now knew it was true.

I now knew… I had just pooped my diaper.

* * *

“Ahem, baby boy?” Miss Turner said, watching me stay frozen in place, squatting down with my hands still on the step stool. “What are you doing down there? Did you forget the directions I gave you already?”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. I didn’t know how.

I felt myself tumbling into myself in silence, waves of hot shame spreading throughout my body.

All I could do was stay frozen, frantically sucking my paci, keeping my eyes squeezed shut.

“Baby Lucas? Did you hear me?” Miss Turner repeated. “You know by now that it’s very, very rude for a baby not to answer an adult when asked a question.”

I broke into a hot sweat, still paralyzed.

Finally, Miss Turner barked, “Do I have to come over there?”

With a jolt of terror, I tried to stand back up—

Only for my stomach to gurgle louder than ever—

And in a reflexive spasm, I doubled over, grabbed my knees, twisted my face in agony and—

Plllllrrrrrrsssshhhhhtttttttttttt.

My bowels exploded into the seat of my diaper. I stayed helplessly squatting and paralyzed as I felt a filthy, mushy, humiliating, muddy waterfall dump into the butt of my already soggy, crinkly diaper, turning what was once only yellow rapidly brown.

After several seconds, I took a deep breath, trying to recover from the shock. Only to stand slightly back up and—

Plllllrrrrrrsssshhhhhtttttttttttt.

I felt it happen again.

Plllllrrrrrrsssshhhhhtttttttttttt.

And again.

I began loudly groaning as I succumbed to wave after wave of my bowels emptying into my diaper, my mind losing all control in the face of my body taking complete and total control.

When the rumbling and humiliating release would ease, I would gasp, squat, and try again to stand up…

Only to succumb to wave after wave again.

It felt like hours of my helplessly losing control over and over again… despite it surely being far less time than that.

Finally, my face red and soaking with sweat, my rear end sagging with the biggest, poopiest mess of my life, I slowly opened my eyes back up.

The first thing I noticed was the sight of my own image in the mirror. I was shimmering with sweat, practically naked, and wearing only my big-baby diaper. And my diaper… was filled to the absolute brim. It was brown and sagging, seemingly barely holding onto my waist, discolored from back to front.

The next thing I noticed was the stench. It hit me like a semi-truck. The awful stench of my shameful, massive, stinky, dirty diaper. I was now wearing the filthy shameful scent like cologne. Trapped in it. And knowing it was mine, that I was the sole cause, filled me with fresh waves of nauseating humiliation and shame.

Finally, as I slowly raised my gaze and stood, I noticed Miss Turner. She was standing over me, her arms crossed, her expression more stern than ever.

“Well, well, well,” Miss Turner said, sniffing the air in disgust. “I think I’ve found out what our naughty little baby boy has been up to over here in the corner, after all.”

She then reached down and pressed the seat of my poopy diaper against my bottom, squeezing the filthy mess against my backside and making me cringe.

“Oh, yes, it seems you’ve been a naughty, stinky little baby, indeed. It seems that instead of getting the step-stool like a big boy, my little stinker here decided to squat down in the corner and a make a big, stinky, poopy mess in his diaper, instead. And pee-ew! This is one extra big, extra stinky, poopy mess you made!” Miss Turner said, fanning the air in front of her face.

“And to think, here I was only planning on punishing you still for lying once today. For when you lied earlier and said you didn’t need diapers. But now, I have to punish you for lying twice. Because I specifically asked you if you had to go poopy less than a minute ago, and you lied to me and said you didn’t.”

I was frozen in shame and terror, speechless in my poopy, diaper mess.

“Why did you lie to me about needing to go poopy, young man?” Miss Turner scolded. “I specifically asked you to go poopy in your diaper on the changing table if you needed to go. Did you lie just so you could make a big poopy mess over here in the corner, instead? That way I have more to clean up when you have a blow-out all the way across the changing room? Do you just like breaking the rules to make it harder on everyone trying to take care of you? Do you think this big poopy mess you made in your diaper back here is just a funny prank on teacher? Huh? Huh? Answer me!” She barked, squeezing and mushing my shameful, poopy diaper bottom as she scolded me.

“No, Ma’am!” I squealed, my eyes closed, my body trembling. On top of the humiliating poopy mess smushing on my backside, I also just barely noticed my bladder involuntarily letting loose another small stream of fresh urine into the front of my saturated diaper, adding even more to my babyish shame.

“Then why didn’t you go poopy when I asked you to go on the changing table? Answer teacher unless you want a spanking! Answer me right now!” She scolded.

“I don’t know, Ma’am! I… I… I couldn’t help it! It was… it was… it was an accident! I had a poopy accident in my diaper!” I squealed.

I then broke down into hysterical, helpless sobs.

Miss Turner watched me sob like a baby in my soggy, messy diaper before her for several moments.

But finally, she took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. “Alright, little stinker, it’s okay. It’s okay you made a big poopy mess in your diapee. It’s okay,” she said in a calm voice.

Surprised by her words, I started to get a slight hold over my crying and calm down enough to listen.

“But here’s what’s going to happen, okay?” She began to explain.

“First of all, you’re going to have a nice, long time-out in the corner of the changing room here to calm down and think about your behavior. Now, I know you said you couldn’t help but go poopy in your diaper, but you deserve a nice long time-out just as well then, because that means you really fibbed about not needing diapers, earlier, anyway. Because that means it turns out you can’t even control your poopies at your age.

“Second, you’re going to spend your time-out sitting in the yucky, stinky, poopy mess in your diaper, because I want you to spend your time in time-out thinking about why its important for you not to lie to adults about the fact that you’re not potty-trained and that you need to wear diapers.

“Because you clearly don’t appreciate that adults need to know you wear diapers so we can change you out of your wet and stinky messes. So I think it’ll be good for you to spend some time sitting in your messy, soggy, poopy, stinky diaper, thinking about how you would have been changed already if you had just been honest about not being potty-trained and followed directions when I asked if you needed to make a poopy.

“And lastly, right now, you’re going to stay perfectly still while I get you ready for your time-out. You’re seconds away from leaking all over the floor with that humongous, poopy mess you made in your already soaked diaper, and I don’t need you stinking the changing room up even worse than you’ve already made it. In fact, I’m sure all the other students in the daycare room outside can smell your poopy mess by now, if not every student in the building.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and blushed in overwhelming embarrassment, wishing I could just disappear.

Miss Turner stepped across the room while I stayed obediently frozen. My filthy, poopy diaper was already growing exponentially more uncomfortable by the second against my bottom and where it drooped down to my crotch.

Miss Turner returned a moment later with a big, puffy, baby-blue terry cloth garment. It was only when she wrapped it under my legs, around my waist, and secured it over the top of my messy diaper with giant, babyish safety pins that I realized what it was.

It was an extra big, adult-sized, cloth diaper!

She followed the first cloth diaper with a second, even bigger cloth diaper.

She then concluded the cloth-diaper-get-up by having me step into what I realized were extra-large, nursery-print, pink plastic pants. She pulled the pink plastic pants up over the whole, filthy, squishy mess around my waist, letting the elastic snap over the top of my diaper, sealing the thick, filthy mess in tight.

Finally, to my horror, she fastened a small lock in the waistband of the plastic pants, ensuring they couldn’t be removed without the key.

I glanced at myself in the mirror, more horrified than ever by how much I looked like an over-grown baby.

Miss Turner then grabbed my hand and led me to the corner of the changing room. I obediently waddled with tremendously difficult, arduous steps, nearly falling again, despite no longer wearing the crawl-suit. The massive, multiple diapers alone would have made walking extremely difficult. With the massive, poopy mess smushed up everywhere around my thighs, crotch and bottom… it was nearly impossible.

When we reached the corner, Miss Turner pulled out a small stool.

“Take a seat, poopy pants,” she said, directing me to face the corner.

I hovered over the stool and slowly started to sit…

Only for Miss Turner to shove me by the shoulders the rest of the way down, immediately planting my full weight directly onto my poopy, diapered butt.

The massive, disgusting, humiliating squelch of inside my diaper as I sat down left me speechless and bright red.

“Now, be a good baby boy and sit on your time-out stool facing the corner until I tell you your time-out is over. If that butt comes off that stool for even a second, or if you utter even a peep for any reason, I’m starting your time-out over. Understood?” Miss Turner said.

“Umm, yesh, Ma’am,” I answered with a humiliated nod.

“Good,” she continued. “Now, think long and hard about what you did to end up sitting in that yucky, stinky, poopy diaper of yours, and what you need to do differently going forward. I’ll be back when I think you’ve sat long enough in your stinky little mess to learn your lesson”

“Oh,” she continued, “And just because I step out of the room doesn’t mean you should think of getting any bright ideas of letting your butt leave that stool. I’ll be keeping a close eye on you through the many video baby-monitors we have in here for just that purpose. Got it?”

I gave a final nod.

“That’s a good little stinker,” she said, giving my head a final playful pat.

With that, she turned and left the room, leaving me to sit, stewing and trapped in my filthy, poopy diaper mess, feeling the squishy, stinky, humiliation of my massive, babyish diaper filled to the brim due to my genuine lack of control over my potty-training, my massive cloth diapers absorbing what was leaking as well as spreading my legs out to an absurdly babyish degree.

I bowed my head, and sucked my pacifier, tears once again coming to my eyes.

But just before I descended into another spiral of self-pity… something occurred to me.

Miss Turner still hadn’t discovered yet that I had made a ’naughty sticky’ in the front of my diaper, just before filling it with number two.

I felt a fresh surge of panic. A flood of questions came to my mind.

Would she still be able to identify the evidence of my ‘sticky’ misdeed with how filthy my diaper was now?

Would she still punish me for it even worse than she was already punishing me?

And most pressing of all…

How did I actually manage to do something so disgusting and filthy in my diaper?! The humiliating, infantile garment of my peepee and poopy that I was now literally trapped in! How could I possibly feel aroused in such a thing! The very idea of it was so stinky! And filthy! And naughty! And babyish! And pathetic! And… and… and…

And as I sat trapped in time-out in my stinky, poopy mess, the worst thing imaginable suddenly happened to me…

Once again, I got a massive boner in my filthy, stinky, messy diaper.