Daily Free-Write January 31, 2021

Continued from January 19, 2021 "The Neighborhood Terror/Friend Trap Pt. 2"

Note: This one is very sexual, and punishment themed, with restraints, wetting, messing, spooge, and public humiliation. Really, it may actually be *too* naughty. This is what happens when I'm tired and horny coming off of a marathon writing session. This horny nonsense is all that's left; the dregs of my filthy imagination. You've been warned!

“Hey, come on, man. I learned my lesson. Please let me out! I’m begging you!”

I was in my playpen as usual, spending another day stuck as a baby. All because of some stupid prank I tried to pull on my neighbor.

“Hmm,” said Brady, rubbing his chin like he was seriously considering it this time. He walked up to the edge of the playpen and reached down. For a second I thought he was actually going to release the tether keeping me there, but instead his had went right for the crotch of my diaper and gave it a squeeze. I gasped.

“Yup. Just like I thought. Soaked.”

I hated that I was in diapers, but being touched there was usually all it took to get me to comply. It just felt too damn good.

“Not fair!” I said, scowling while he grabbed the diaper supplies from their permanent spot in the entertainment center and laid out a changing mat right there in the middle of the living room.

“Brady! Are you even listening to me?” I asked.

He wasn’t. He walked back and rubbed my diaper a few times to calm me down, then untethered me and lifted me out.

“Okay little guy, let’s get that diaper changed. Oh boy, I think you’ve put on a few pounds with all that nummy baby food we’ve been feeding you!”

I didn’t want to enjoy it, I really didn’t. But I admit that I wasn’t one hundred percent hating my new lifestyle either. There were a few perks. Like the mindblowing diaper orgasms I got when I was good for my diaper changes.

“Please, Brady! Just help me outta here. I’ll be good! I just wanna get back to my big boy life.”

“No can do, kiddo,” said Brady, laying me down on by back. “I like you like this. You’re so much cuter and more well behaved. It’s cute that you still try, though.”

That was the problem. No matter who I asked, no matter how many times I begged, everyone seemed to agree that I was better as a baby. I used to cry in frustration as I was denied again and again. Not allowed to pick my food. Not allowed to watch my shows. Not allowed to drink, swear, or do drugs. Not allowed, not allowed. Not even allowed to use the friggin toilet. I looked longingly toward the bathroom.

“Don’t even think about it,” said Brady, lining my next diaper with extra stuffers. “You remember what happened last time you tried to use the big boy potty. Your ass was so red, we called you baboon butt. Besides. You love your diapees, Bobby.”

He rubbed the front of my diaper as he said this, and waves of pleasure rippled out from that central point of contact. It was enough to render me completely helpless as he continued to rub my squishy padding.

“You’re going to be a good boy for me today, aren’t you lil’ guy?” he asked, continuing to rub the soggy padding, squishing it against my sensitive little peepee. My whole body went limp. I was so relaxed I could barely respond.

“That’s right, Bobby. Feels so good doesn’t it? This is what you get when you’re a good boy and do what your babysitter says.”

I didn’t need a babysitter. I was a full grown adult. At least I used t be. But now? I was literally drooling all over myself as my ex-friend and roommate rubbed got me off in my diaper. I hoped he wouldn’t stop. He probably wouldn’t. He didn’t delight in edging me like Jerry. Or leave me completely denied like Melissa. He liked to see me get off in my diaper.

“Therrre we go, little guy. I know I won’t have any problems from you. You get to cum in your squishy soggy pampers. Why would you want to leave when you get to cum in your squishy soggy pampers, huh?”

I couldn’t formulate an answer to that question. I was too engrossed in the pleasure of his hands. “Let’s see how much little Bobby has for me today. Come on, sweet pea. You can do it!”

The sound of crinkling filled the room as he began to rub faster, picking up the pace. One thing about being totally relaxed is it prevented me from cumming to quickly. I used to tense up before I came, but staying relaxed meant it built much more slowly. Excruciatingly slowly. I was already past the point of feeling like I should be creaming myself, but the feeling just built, and built and built. I began to make nonsensical noises as I felt the orgasm build. Brady continued to coo over me as I blurted out a string of baby babble.

“Aww, who’s a little cutie? Who’s a little cutie? You’re so close baby boy. You can do it. You can make stickies for Brady, can’t you? Let me see. You know how much I like to see my little buddy enjoying his diapers! Make stickies for me, baby boy! Let’s see it!”

I grunted as I came, my prostate pumping out what felt like a gallon of cum into the front of my diaper. The muscles down there were weak from disuse since I could no longer hold my pee, so my orgasms looked a bit different. I had seen it once, when I had been given a rare open-diaper orgasm during a diaper change. It didn’t shoot out like it used to. It was more squeezed out, like toothpaste or soap. A very pleasurable tingling, almost burning sensation that was more diffuse than my orgasms had been before my infantilization.

“Good boy! You made stickies! You made stickies for Brady!”

I would have rolled my eyes if they had not already rolled back into my head. Being praised for the most basic bodily functions was just another humiliating part of my daily life. Brandon opened the front of my diaper like he was opening a Christmas present. No expectation of privacy was another part of this life.

I managed to crane my neck up to see that my hairless crotch was glistening with off-white penis pudding, along with the whole front of the diaper.

“Wow, we gotta get a picture of this one,” said Brady, snapping a picture for my soclal media. “I think it’s a new record!” he said as he sent it off to god knows how many former friends and acquaintances’ newsfeeds.

I just stared up at the ceiling and tried not to think about it as he cleaned me off and balled up the used diaper.

“There we go. Your Daddy is gonna be so happy when I tell him what a good boy you’ve been.”

I experienced only a few seconds of blessed freedom before being taped into the next diaper.

“Now that you’re all taped up, I think it’s time to give you some juice. Can’t let you get dehydrated, can we baby? Some juice and a nice stroller walk for you, then back here for some more cartoons before your nap. How does that sound?”

“Brady, I don’t wanna go out dressed like a baby again. I wanna wear big boy clothes!” It was a struggle to express myself. I had lost so much of my vocabulary for even the most simple grown-up concepts.

“Now, Bobby, what did you say you would do?” he asked.

“I said I would be a good boy,” I admitted, my face burning red at my admission.

He ruffled my hair. “That’s right. So you’re going to let me put you in your stroller, set up your bottle, and go for a nice stroll through the neighborhood. Isnt’ that right, little guy?”

“Yes, Brady,” I said, with a sigh. He helped me to my unsteady feet and held me by the hand, patiently guiding me to the stroller by the front door. It was a very special stroller designed with a seat and restraint points to give maximum exposure to my diaper area, while keeping my legs and arms out of the way.

I knew the drill, and I let him buckle me in, the strap coming up between my legs to hold my diaper nice and snug. I was secured at the knees and ankles, leaving my legs wide open. I was secured at the wrists and elbows, my arms held up like a football goal post. A six pack of oversized juice bottles was installed between the handles above me, each of which would be screwed into a feeder system that would keep me sucking and soaking the whole time I was out. Usually, I was so wet that I’d have to be changed while I was out. I was a regular attraction at the local park.

“Okay, baby boy, here we go!”

Brandon set the feeder gag and wheeled me out into the sunlight. He made sure to stop and chat with anyone we passed, often taking a moment to check my diaper in the middle of a conversation.

“Hold on a sec, just have to check the baby’s diaper. He sure is a soaker!”

My neighbors all laughed and agreed. “Better that he’s destroying those diapers than his neighbors’ property.”

Similar sentiments could be heard whenever he went out, and Bobby understood by now that these walks weren’t only to teach him to stop thinking of himself as any kind of adult, but to show him all the ways in which he had hurt the people around him when he had the chance to be a good adult. The lesson was slowly sinking in past all of Bobby’s self-pity, but nowhere near fast or completely enough to convince anyone to set him free.

“Only two more bottles to go, little one!” said Brady, as they reached the park. He was practically swimming in his diaper by this point, the yellow plastic bulging out well past the strap that was holding it back.

You want a change, don’t you little guy?”

I shook my head no, but Brady only smiled.

“Oh you don’t want a change? Is that because baby Bobby likes his soggy diapees?”

No matter what I said, it would just be used to embarrass me further. This time, my tummy answered for me with a loud and ominous gurgle.

“Ohhh…. I see. It’s because you wanna make doodies in your diapee, isn’t it?” Brady was so damned enthusiastic about everything we did when he was the babysitter. I asked him why once and he told me.

“Because you’re just so stinkin’ cute like that, Bobby. And the money doesn’t hurt either.”

It seemed that $80 an hour was enough to buy off anyone I used to know, and turn them into eager and available babysitters whenever Daddy needed someone to watch his little troublemaker. Some gave me more freedom than others. Brady kept me on a very short leash, using restraints and my own training to immobilize me however he could while reinforcing my need for diapers with orgasm after orgasm. His eyes gleamed as he searched out a spot to do my business.

He chose a busy spot near the barbecue pits. There would be plenty of people around to watch, which is exactly what Daddy said I needed.

He hummed a happy tune as he adjusted the stroller this way and that, lowering the arms, raising the feet, dropping the seat until I was maneuvered into a stationary toddler squat, maximizing pressure on my bowels while leaving plenty of room for my diaper to expand in the back.

“There we go,” he said rubbing my tummy to help things move along. “You’ll feel better in no time!”

I grunted and squirmed, squeezing my eyes shut as I felt the cramps hit. It wasn’t a matter of if I could hold back the inevitable, it was a matter of how fast it moved through me. I had no ability to clench my buttcheeks at all anymore. Daddy had made sure of that. A punishment for what I planned to do his bubble butt when I tried to slip him something in his coffee.

Thanks to his treatment regimen, I would never be a top again. Just a gaping bottom with a peepee that dribbled cum and piss into my diaper and didn’t even get hard anymore.

Brady smiled as he heard several farts escape my tush. Then a plop, a splorch, and a blort as my seat filled quickly with mush. To my dismay, this felt good to me as well, almost as good as when he rubbed my diaper. He could see me blushing bright red as I panted and pushed, even while liquid continued to spill down my throat. That’s what I felt like sometimes. Just a poop and pee machine. Mush and liquid went in one side, mush and liquid came out the other.

“There you go, baby,” Brady said, with a big smile. “You’re using your diaper like a good boy!” His hands moved down to play with my diaper. Mushing it against my seat, jostling it back and forth. I moaned. Not like this. Not in front of all these people.

But the truth was I knew they didn’t see me as a man getting off in his diaper, but just a silly little brat getting the punishment he deserved. A silly brat enjoying his messy, soggy diapers. I grunted and moaned into my feeder gag as my bowels and balls contracted, sending goop into my diaper from both ends.

Eventually I was empty and he laid me out on the grass, opening up brown and swollen diapers to reveal a diaper packed with enough fertilizer to supply a small farm. The neighbors who gardened swore by it, and would often tote one off in a wheelbarrow, though I’m not quite sure that’s the only thing that brough people sniffing around my diaper pail. My FanaticsOnly account showed me that there were plenty of people interested in acquiring my used diapers, It was one of those things I wished I didn’t know. I looked at the clouds as he set about cleaning me off. Just another day stuck as a baby. All because of some stupid prank.