Sent Back and Diapered at Daycare - 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.

Mrs. Hicks stood me up before Miss Turner, presenting my soaking wet jeans.

Miss Turner folded her arms and looked me up and down. I stared at the floor, too scared to look her in the eyes, but I could still sense her palpable disgust and disappointment.

“As you can see, our newest charge has had quite the little accident in his jeans since you left him under my care just a short time ago,” Mrs. Hicks explained. “Normally, I would have just cleaned him up myself and reported the issue to you at the end of the day, but I thought you should be alerted immediately due to his conduct surrounding his infantile little mishap.

“Namely, he deliberately avoided getting cleaned up, instead preferring to continue playing in his pee soaked clothes. He actively tried to hide his accident by lying to me and his peers. And he even disobeyed direct instructions from me when I asked him to stand up so I could check the status of his pants.”

“Wow,” Miss Turner remarked. “That sounds like the behavior of a baby, not a boy his age.”

I blushed even redder, my eyes glued to the floor.

“Indeed,” Mrs. Harris continued. “And what’s even worse, is that our little pants-wetter here even went so far as to concoct an elaborate and outlandish story about how his wet pants were actually the fault of one of his classmates, instead of his own. Needless to say, his story was easily disproven when I discovered that the classmate he accused, actually happened to be in your office the whole time it happened.”

“So he’s not just a pants-wetter, he’s a pathological fib-teller, too, huh?” Miss Turner asked.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Mrs. Harris confirmed. “From what I can tell, he’s likely a serial one.”

“My, my,” Miss Turner said, shaking her head and clucking her tongue. “What a naughty, naughty boy we now have on our hands.”

Miss Turner stared at me for a long moment, as if carefully contemplating her response, or perhaps just enjoying making me squirm before her.

I thought back to Georgie with a fresh wave of helpless anger. I still knew I was telling the truth. That I didn’t actually wet my pants. And I still knew Georgie was behind the whole thing. He had to be.

The more I thought about it, the more my head spun. I realized I had somehow been out-foxed by a seven-year-old.

It was clear to me now that Georgie must have had a classmate spill the liquid on me as a favor to him. In fact, all he probably had to do for them, in return, was just let them use the computer when he was done. And remarkably, Georgie was smart enough to even time the incident with an iron-clad alibi for himself while it happened.

The brat had expertly set me up and watched me fall in front of the whole class, humiliating me beyond recovery. Now everyone at Merry Summers, kids and adults alike, all thought that I had not only wet my pants like a baby, but tried to hide my accident like a baby, too.

And even though I knew I was right, I also knew it no longer mattered. There was no longer a soul on earth who would believe me at this point… least of all Miss Turner.

But that still wasn’t the worst part. Because as I stood there, I was slowly realizing…

Mrs. Hicks had been right about the liquid drenching my pants.

Based on the distinct, foul odor setting more and more into my jeans, it was becoming clear to me that the liquid that had been dumped on me wasn’t water… or juice… or anything so innocent at all.

Judging from the acrid scent, I was now certain that what was soaking my jeans was someone’s actual… well…

I shuddered in disgust.

It suddenly seemed that the whole situation had become far worse than if I’d actually wet myself, like everyone now thought I did.

* * *

“Thanks you, Mrs. Hicks,” Miss Turner said from behind her desk, “You were absolutely right to bring him here immediately. I’ll handle things from here.”

Mrs. Hicks left the office, and as the door closed behind her, I felt a fresh chill of terror. I was now alone with Miss Turner.

Miss Turner continued staring at me in silence, tapping her fingers on her desk, looking me up and down like a lion salivating over a fresh piece of meat.

Finally, she spoke up. “Well, Lucas. I must say. I did expect that you might be our newest problem child, given your Mother’s description of your behavior at home. But I truly didn’t expect that you wouldn’t even be potty trained yet, at your age.”

“What?” I stammered. “No, I am! Of course I’m potty trained!”

Miss Turner laughed. “Nice try, you naughty little boy. But unfortunately, your fibs just aren’t going to work anymore. We have a saying here at daycare about potty-training. Wet pants don’t lie. There’s nothing in the world you can say to me to convince me that you’re potty trained, while you’re standing in front of me with pee-soaked jeans. Especially when it’s hardly been more than a couple hours since you first arrived.”

I opened my mouth to protest… but my mouth went dry. I looked down at my wet jeans and realized she was right. I looked and smelled exactly like a pathetic pants-wetter.

I burned bright red, speechless with humiliation.

“But no, it’s not your lack of potty-training I’m curious about now,” Miss Turner mused to herself. “That part couldn’t be more clear. However, what I do find curious is that your Mother didn’t mention it when she dropped you off this morning.”

“But perhaps I just missed it in the shuffle of your enrollment,” she continued. “After all, I do remember her explicitly asking me if your age was an issue. I suppose I assumed she was asking because you act like a child for your age. But what I’m realizing now is that you actually behave like a toddler. A pants-wetting, not-yet-potty-trained, toddler.”

“What!?” I blurted out. “Please, Miss Turner, you have to believe me. This is just a mix up, of course I’m potty-trained! I was trying to explain before to Mrs. Hicks… I think maybe I didn’t explain it right… but really, I didn’t wet myself! It was one of the other kids! And they tricked me! And spilled something! And… and… and…”

As I frantically tried to plead my case, Miss Turner calmly rose from her seat, slowly approached me, and put her finger to my lips.

“Shhhhhhh, little baby Lucas. No more of that,” she shushed me. “Just save yourself the trouble and close your mouth. I promise, you’re already in bigger trouble than you can even imagine right now. And with every word of whining, fussing, fibbing and dishonesty you utter now, you’re only making it much, much worse on yourself.”

She lightly patted my spanking-blistered-bottom to drive her point home. I went ghost white and shut my mouth. I realized that now… I was totally at her mercy.

“Now, I suppose I’m also surprised that your Mother didn’t drop you off with any changing supplies, given that you’re clearly not potty trained yet,” Miss Turner continued, “But I suppose I did promise her we had everything needed to look after her little trouble-maker. And fortunately, I think we do. Let me see here…”

Miss Turner reached behind me and pulled the waistband of my pants back, causing me to freeze, confused and embarrassed.

“Ah, yes, that should be fine. I think we have plenty of supplies that will fit your size,” she said, letting my waistband go. I realized she was checking the tag of my pants.

“Alright, naughty boy. First thing’s first, let’s go get you cleaned up and changed,” she said, giving my bottom a pat and grabbing my hand.

I got a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach as she led me out of her office.

Changed into what… exactly? I wondered with dread.

As Miss Turner walked me down the daycare hallway, I also began to wonder where we were even going.

At first, I assumed she would be leading me to the staff bathrooms I spotted in the hallway…

But we walked right past them.

Then, I thought she might be leading me to the small nurse’s office a little further down…

But we walked past that as well.

Finally, we approached a large door at the very end of the hallway.

The door was covered with crayon drawings and glittery posters. Rainbow letters spelled out, Welcome! And there was an additional safety lock that Miss Turner had to unbolt with her key, no doubt as an additional safety precaution against wayward students.

As Miss Turner opened the door, I finally spotted the small sign on the wall that said the name of the room. I gasped.

It said, Toddler Room.

* * *

The first thing that hit me was the sound—the unique cacophony of screaming, crying, laughing, running, climbing, screeching, and playing exploding from every direction.

Then the scent. The slightly grimy odor of snotty noses, dirty hands, and… diapers. The faint, yet undeniable scent of baby powder, soggy bottoms, and past soiled diapers still hanging in the air.

And finally… the sight. The crates of baby toys, foam blocks, rubber balls, scattered picture books and endless multi-colored doodads strewn across the room. The decor of red and yellow plastic jungle gym sets, rainbow colored rugs, and alphabet and number themed posters. The furniture of bright white cribs, orange plastic tables, tiny blue chairs and color-coded cubbies.

All surrounding the hurricane of toddlers running, screaming and playing throughout the crowded daycare room.

For some reason I couldn’t imagine, Miss Turner had brought me to the daycare’s toddler room. The sight alone was such a dizzying clash of primary colors and infantile decorations, I suddenly felt like I had been transported back in time myself. Back to a time when I, too, belonged in such a room.

I tried to pause and catch my breath, totally overwhelmed by the environment. But if Miss Turner noticed that I needed a second, she apparently had no interest in giving it to me.

Instead, she continued dragging me forward through the crowded play place to a brightly decorated door in the very back of the room. She gave the door a quick knock, then swiftly pulled me inside and locked the door behind us.

By time my eyes adjusted to the small, dimly lit room, I realized it was already too late to escape.

“Oh no…” I blurted. “Why did you bring me here? This is a… a… a…”

“Diaper changing station?” Miss Turner said, finishing my sentence. “Yes it is, Lucas. And I’m happy to show you first hand exactly why I brought you in here. But first… strip.”

I turned around to see Miss Turner holding out a plastic bag and realized it was intended for my wet clothes.

“Miss Turner… I… I… I…” I stammered as I looked around. The more I took the room in, the more I was stunned by how extravagantly well-stocked the diaper changing room was.

There were stacks and stacks of every kind, size, color and brand of diaper imaginable piled high from floor to ceiling.

There were two changing tables, each equipped with extensive medical-looking accoutrements, such as strange straps, adaptable railing systems, and various deployable support bars.

Both changing tables looked large enough to accommodate someone much bigger than just a toddler. And they were both also stocked to the hilt with every conceivable powder, cream, lotion, and changing supply you could ever possibly need.

Every other spot in the small room was lined with every sort of drawer, cabinet, cubby, shelf and dresser one could think of—all presumably filled with myriads of more supplies, tools, and accessories, for what, I could only imagine.

And the distinct, pungent odor I had detected outside—baby powder and dirty diapers—was now overpowering.

“What is this place? I mean… what is all this for?” I asked. I couldn’t understand why the room was so well stocked. Surely, it was overkill for just changing toddlers.

“Young man,” Miss Turner scolded, “I already answered your question when I explained to you that this room is a diaper changing station. Now, I’m not going to tell you again. Clothes off. Right now. Or there will be consequences.”

Her threat brought my attention back to the present. And despite my fear of the strange room I was now locked in, I was still far more terrified of disobeying Miss Turner, who was now impatiently glaring at me.

With trembling hands, I slowly pulled my shirt off, shivering as the small bit of cold wetness dragged against my belly. I hesitantly dropped the t-shirt in the plastic bag, then began slowly untying and kicking off my shoes. But just as I finally got my shoes off…

“Alright, Mister, that’s enough. It’s clear you’re not taking this seriously,” Miss Turner hissed. Before I even had a chance to look back up…

WHAM! I was suddenly grabbed, spun around and bent forward over the diaper changing table!

“Hey! What are you doing?” I screamed and flailed as Miss Turner pressed my face against the crinkly diaper changing pad, painfully pinning my arms behind my back.

“You had your chance to be a good little boy and cooperate. But since you decided not to, it looks like I have to deal with you like a naughty little boy, instead,” she said as she retrieved something from one of the nearby drawers with her free hand.

“But! But! But I was doing it! I was taking my clothes off, just like you asked!” I pleaded.

“You were lollygagging and you know it,” she scolded. “Now, stay still.”

I suddenly felt what seemed like cloth handcuffs being swiftly wrapped and tightened around my wrists, then securely fastened together behind my back.

Shocked by the sensation of suddenly having my arms pinned behind me, I reflexively tried to stand back up and wriggle free. But the second I raised my head, Miss Turner shoved me right back down, pushed my ankles together, and swiftly wrapped my feet together with another restraint!

“Hey! Come on! Let me up!” I squealed in panic. I realized I’d just been hog-tied!

Miss Turner ignored my protests, and with surprising strength, she lifted my feet up by the ankles and heaved me up onto the diaper changing table, face down.

As I continued helplessly wriggling facedown on the changing table, she deftly pulled three different heavy cloth straps over me—one over my back, one over my thighs, and one over my ankles—and tightened them down.

“There we go, much better,” Miss Turner grinned as she brushed her hands off.

I gasped and helplessly writhed in horror. I was totally immobilized!

“What are you doing! Let me go! Let me go right now!” I screamed in panic.

I felt her warm hand rubbing my cool, naked back. “Shhhhh,” Miss Turner said. “Just calm down. Everything’s going to be okay. If you keep yelling, I’m only going to have to restrain you more. I don’t want that. And I know you don’t want that.”

Suddenly, the threat of her doing something even worse to me terrified me even more than my current bondage. Somehow, I managed to take several deep breaths and slightly calm down.

“There, that’s better,” she cooed. “Now, are you going to be a good boy for Miss Turner for the rest of your time in the changing room?”

“Yes,” I whimpered.

“What’s that? I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes!” I said a little louder.

“We need to work on your manners. That’s Yes, Ma’am, from now on,” She said.

“Yes, Ma’am, I’ll be a good boy, Ma’am!” I shouted.

She smiled and gave my butt a little spank. “There we go. That’s my good little boy. Now, let’s get the rest of those yucky peepee clothes off, huh?”

I was still wearing my boxers and pants, so I felt a sudden flutter of hope that she was going to untie me so I could finish undressing.

But my hope was dashed when I felt her suddenly grabbing my jeans around my ankles, and when I turned to look, I saw her start cutting them off with a large pair of medical bandage scissors!

“My jeans!” I whimpered, doing my best to still stay calm. “You’re… you’re… you’re ruining them!”

She just laughed. “Oh no, dear, you ruined your jeans when you peed your pants like a baby. I’m just doing what I need to to clean up the mess. Especially given how uncooperative you were being when I asked you to take them off yourself. You must really like sloshing around in your peepee mess, huh?” She teased.

I blushed and watched in helpless horror as she made two long cuts through my jeans, from each of my ankles, all the way up to my waist. Then, with a swift tug, Miss Turner yanked my pee-soaked jeans off, leaving me in just my damp boxers face down on the diaper changing table.

I suddenly felt very naked.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I whimpered, now feeling very vulnerable.

“Of course I did,” Miss Turner replied. “Just like I have to do this, too…”

I heard two more swift snips… and just like that, she yanked my boxers off, too, leaving me completely naked on the changing table.

“After all, even though you’re apparently too babyish to care, what kind of daycare would we be if we let you run around in stinky wet peepee clothes all day?” Miss Turner said as she dropped my ruined boxers and jeans in the garbage can.

“But… but… but now what am I going to wear for the rest of the day?” I asked with a quavering voice, suddenly feeling emotional.

“Aw, don’t worry, little guy. In fact, I’m just about to show you,” she said. “But first, I need you to answer a very important question for me.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Teddy bears? Or butterflies?” She asked with an evil smirk.

* * *

“Diapers!” I gasped in shock. “You… you… you actually want to put me back in diapers?”

I stared up from the changing table in horror as Miss Turner casually inspected and unfolded a giant, bright pink, adult disposable diaper in front of my face.

“Aw, what’s wrong, baby Lucas?” Miss Turner giggled. “You don’t like the color pink? Well too bad, because you picked teddy bears, and the teddy bear diapers are pink! Nothing we can do about that now. Besides, I think you’ll look so cute in these.”

“But… you can’t be serious!” I pleaded. “I don’t need diapers! I’m a full-grown adult! You can’t make me wear that!”

“Aw, I’m sorry, little Lucas,” Miss Turner said, “I know you really want to be a big boy. And maybe, if you ask your Mommy real nice when she comes to pick you up, she might try to potty-train you again at home. But until we can be sure that’s happened, school policy is that if you’re not potty-trained yet, and you have a big peepee accident in your pants, like you did, we have to put you back in diapers from now on.”

I was mortified beyond comprehension. Deep down, I had been fearing something like this ever since we set foot in the changing room. But now, seeing the absurd, baby-printed, pink diaper being unfolded right before my eyes, I was forced to actually come to terms with the outrageous humiliation of what Miss Turner was proposing.

She was putting me in a diaper! A bright pink disposable diaper! The sound of the infantile, crinkly garment alone was already making me feel sick. I couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to wear it…

“Please!” I whimpered in desperation. “You have to believe me! Like I’ve been saying, I promise I didn’t actually wet myself! I’m potty-trained just fine, I swear!”

Miss Turner paused, furrowed her brow. “Hmmm, you didn’t wet yourself? Really?”

“Really!” I said, surprised she seemed to be listening.

“Well, then,” Miss Turner said, touching her chin and thinking. “I guess you won’t mind if I do this.”

Suddenly, she retrieved my soaking wet boxers from the garbage pail. And to my shock and horror… she wadded them up and pressed them up against my mouth and nose!

I gagged and recoiled in disgust, sputtering and writhing against my restraints at the awful stench.

Miss Turner erupted in laughter and pulled them away. “Oh, you do mind? Maybe it’s because your boxers are soaked with peepee, huh? Because you wet them? Glad we cleared that up,” she said, wiping her hands and dropping the boxers back in the trash.

“Wait!” I sputtered, “Please you just have to listen! I swear, if you let me finally explain, I didn’t—“

WHAP! I shrieked from a sudden hard spank on my naked ass.

“Quiet! Now the next word out of your mouth means a visit from Mr. Hairbrush,” she scolded, grabbing a wooden hairbrush from beneath the changing table.

“Please!” I belted out. “I’ll do anything! But please, just don’t put me back in—“

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!

I shrieked and jerked against my restraints as Miss Turner erupted with a fresh storm of blows on my ass with the hard wooden hairbrush.

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!

To my shock and pain, I discovered that the hairbrush was far more painful than her bare hand. And she struck me even fiercer and faster than she did that morning.

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!

When she finally stopped again, I was wailing and sobbing for mercy, my face covered with snot and tears.

“Now, are you ready to finally stop your fibbing, fussing, whining and lies? Or do I need to keep going?” Miss Turner asked.

“I’ll be good! I’ll be good, I promise!” I squealed in submission, now desperate to do anything to just get the spanking to stop.

“Good,” she said. “Because I never want to hear those lies out of your mouth ever again. Is that understood?”

I frantically nodded.

“Say it for me, Lucas!” She barked. “Prove to me you’re done telling lies!”

“Huh?” I squeaked through teary eyes.

WHAP!

“The truth! Tell me what you did and why!” she scolded. “And address me properly!”

“Ummm,” I gulped, “I uh… wet my pants, Ma’am.”

WHAP!

“Louder!” she demanded as I shrieked.

“I wet my pants, Ma’am!” I squealed.

WHAP!

“And why did you wet your pants?” She shouted.

“Because I’m not potty-trained!” I squealed.

“That’s right!” She said. “And what do naughty little boys who wet their pants at daycare have to wear?”

I opened my mouth and choked up. I knew what she wanted me to say, but I just couldn’t bring myself to say it…

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!

“Diapers!” I finally belted out. “I need to wear diapers! I need to wear diapers at daycare from now on because I’m not potty-trained yet, Ma’am!”

And with that, I broke down into a fresh wave of heaving, humiliated sobs as I laid naked before her on the changing table.

I could hear Miss Turner lightly giggling with joy. And then I felt her start gently rubbing my back and patting my bottom.

“That’s my good little baby boy,” she cooed. “That’s right. You need diapers because you’re a peepee pants. I’m so glad you can finally just admit that you’re just a big, peepee pants baby, and you need your teacher at daycare to put you in diapers. Now, are you finally ready to cooperate for the rest of your diaper change, like you promised you would do before?”

I nodded my head, far too beaten into submission at this point to possibly resist.

“Good boy,” she giggled. “That being said, given your pattern of extreme disobedience and dishonesty, when it comes to caring for you going forward, it looks like we’re going to have to keep you on a pretty tight leash. Metaphorically speaking… or maybe not.”

Miss Turner giggled to herself, sending a fresh chill of terror down my spine.

“Therefore, there’s one more thing I need to do to help ensure that I have your full cooperation for the rest of your diaper change,” she said. Miss Turner walked across the room and started digging through one of the cabinet drawers. “Ah, here it is,” she said as she retrieved something.

I craned my neck to try to look, but I couldn’t see what it was from the angle I was strapped down on the table at. I was terrified and desperate to know what it was, but still knew better than to ask, given the mood she was in.

But I did see her retrieve a jar of vaseline.

And then equip a pair of latex gloves.

Suddenly, I felt a strange tickle around my bottom.

The tickle then became a strange pressure…

The pressure quickly escalating into an overpowering force…

Jamming itself into my delicate hole, pushing harder and harder, spreading me wider and wider, suddenly forcing me to squeal and gasp and writhe on the changing table…

“Ooooooaaaaawwwwwwwoooohhhh!” I helplessly groaned as I felt my sphincter being jammed wider than I ever thought possible.

Suddenly, the object reversed direction. She was pulling it out. I gasped with indescribable relief.

But before I could even ask what was going on—

“Oooooooooaaaawwwwww!” I groaned and screamed even louder as Miss Turner started shoving the object right back into my hole again, this time even harder and deeper!

Again and again, she pulled and pushed, going further and further, spreading me wider and wider as I squealed like a school girl and writhed like a helpless baby.

“Miss Turner! Please! I can’t—I can’t—I can’t…. oooooh!!!!!”

Finally, just as the pressure was too much for me to bear, and I just couldn’t take another second, and I felt like I was just about to finally be spit into two—

PHWLOOP

My screams turned into squealing gasps as I felt the object push past my sphincter and settle in my rear end, spreading my rectum out wider than it had ever been spread before.

“Ooooh… unggghh… aaaa….” I grunted and gasped, writhing against my tight restraints as I felt the object settle inside of me, tickling and squeezing me in places I thought no intruder could ever reach.

“What… what is this? What… what did you do?” I finally managed to gasp.

“This… is your obedience plug,” Miss turner said. “And it’s here to help make sure you’re an extra good baby from now on.”