[This story involves bodily functions, spanking, and other fetish play. All characters are over 18. If you are offended by these topics, please do not read further. You will get some background by reading an earlier story, “Deb and I Talk About Periods and Spanking.”]
I was surprised when my college-age daughter, who is 19, began discussing our periods and spanking. I admit that I had initiated the discussion when I asked her if she was using the new period panties instead of pads or tampons. She seemed very interested in talking about what women my age still rarely talk about–unless a friend is having some surgical procedure that concerns “women’s stuff.”
Deb took me into the bathroom where I watched and was amazed as she showed me her soiled pad, removing it from her panties, and then pulled out her tampon. She explained where women her age were coming from these days and then totally blew me away by asking me to spank her.
Apparently, she had become interested in spanking, although I had never spanked her when she was growing up. When I did spank her, at 19, I didn’t shrink from imposing the humiliations that I had always associated with spanking.
I told Deb I would keep spanking her once I started even if she said she had had enough or changed her mind. And that’s what I did. I took her temperature rectally while she was still over my lap with her panties down. Then I sent her to the corner with panties and pants still down.
Probably the worst thing I did was comment when I took the thermometer out of her anal opening about the brown smudges I noticed on it. I mentioned that if that happened when I was spanked at Deb’s age, my mother would put me in diapers for the day and following night.
Deborah pleaded with me not to put her in diapers, and I decided I had embarrassed her enough for one day. We ended on good terms although she had asked me to end the spanking and I kept going until I thought it was finished, as I had warned her I would.
About a week later, she and I were in the kitchen planning dinner, since she was home from college for a two-week break. She was smiling and she told me she was sorry she had not picked up when I spanked her when I had mentioned how girls who soiled the rectal thermometer were once put in diapers as punishment.
This time, I was the one who was surprised! By now, even my slow-speed brain had figured out that Deb was exploring things like fetishes and how the things people do relate to their sex lives. Our discussion had made me feel like an antique because I had to admit that my husband and I had never wanted to have sex during my periods or engage in other behaviors that still seem a bit weird to me.
I found, however, that thinking about this turned me on and was getting my panties wet.
“Why were you sorry about that?” I asked, not yet ready to believe that she wanted to be put in diapers.
“I guess, Mom,” she responded slowly, “I began to think about how I would feel if I were punished by your putting me in diapers. First of all, you don’t have diapers that would fit me, do you?”
“Well, I may have some,” I replied, smiling. “I could measure and get the exact size but for this purpose of trying it out, these will do, if that’s something you’d like to experience.”
“I don’t want you to think that all of a sudden I’m into these kinds of things, I guess they’re fetishes, but some of my girlfriends like to bring them up,” she said slowly. “They seem to be very interested in spanking, for example, and I did tell them how it felt when you spanked me, and the other stuff,” she added. “I guess nobody thought I was some kind of freak because they find all of this of interest.”
Actually, I wasn’t all that surprised after Deb had asked me to spank her. I even suspected that this might be something she was doing with her sorority sisters and hadn’t wanted to admit that to me. It made me think about having a little fun with her.
“Deb,” I answered, “I sort of have a feeling that these friends you’ve been talking about this with are in your sorority. It strikes me as the kind of thing college girls in that milieu sometimes talk about, along with the boys they’re dating.”
Her face showed a blush, but Deb looked at me with a smile, saying, “Yes, this is something about which we do speak. And yes, we do sometimes talk about boyfriends, too, and as this is the 21st century, we also talk about some of us who have relationships with women, yes, lesbian pairs.”
I didn’t want to ask her if she was one of those who had lesbian involvement.
“I have played around with that a little,” she said, assuredly, “but you will be pleased to hear that I prefer dating boys. And I probably had better tell you that, yes, I have been paddled–when I was a pledge–and have paddled the new pledges.”
“As for girl pairing, that’s up to you,” I told her, “although it certainly doesn’t make me unhappy that you like dating boys.”
“I’m not sure, though, Mom,” she went on, “that they aren’t really interested in sarıyer escort some of what we’ve already done. For example, they were amazed that your mother did put you into diapers as a punishment, and this was when you were 18, correct?”
“Yes,” I said quietly, “I never did quite understand her motivation and now have to think she was into these kinds of things, or…perhaps worse, all of her friends were too.”
“What was it like?” Deb asked. “Did you end up …losing control in a diaper?”
“I did, yes, dear,” I replied, “but how about you get to know more by our doing this–are you ready to be put into diapers?”
Deborah’s face reddened.
“I suppose I am,” she admitted. “In fact, I can’t get it out of my head now. I keep thinking about being embarrassed when I’ve had an accident in my pants.”
I couldn’t resist asking her if that had happened more than once or twice.
“Yes,” Deb admitted. “I do wait too long sometimes to go to the bathroom. Ugh, this is embarrassing to have to admit. But up to now, I haven’t shat my pants, if you’ll allow that word.”
I suggested we go up to my bedroom, which Deb said was fine with her, so we did that.
First, I pointed to my ensuite bathroom and said she might want to use the toilet.
She smiled and asked me to come in with her. When we walked in, she immediately rucked up her skirt and pulled down her panties, before plunking herself on the toilet and letting her pee fly. My daughter has never been especially modest; I marveled at her powerful pee stream but chalked that up to her youth. Once she stopped peeing, she wiped herself and had no compunction about stripping below the waist by taking her panties off entirely. Then she even slipped off her shoes and socks.
I went into bathroom cabinet and came out with one adult-sized diaper. It looked like any other diaper, except it was larger. I asked Deb to move up and off the toilet. When she did, I lifted her legs up and had her spread them apart. Then I reached for a canister of talcum powder, put some on my hands and rubbed it between her legs around her lady bits and then back behind them around her anal opening.
I picked up the diaper and slipped it under Deb’s bottom. Then I pulled up the sides and taped them exactly as you would do with any diaper.
Deb was now fully diapered. I had another surprise for her, however.
I took out a pink garment and had her lift up so I could get it up her legs and around her lower torso.
“What are you putting on me now, Mom?” Deborah asked me, somewhat confused and getting scared, too.
“This is a diaper cover, which is put on to keep the diaper in place,” I said. I snapped a small lock on the rear of the diaper cover. I didn’t mention to her that I had obtained one of these online where they were advertised with fetish items like rumba (ruffled) panties.
“It’s locked so that you have to receive permission for it to be opened and your diaper can then be opened and changed,” I told her.
“This means that it’s up to you whether my diaper can be opened or changed when it needs to be,” Deb stated the obvious.
“Of course, people aren’t intended to change their own diapers,” I said lightly.
“I’m not sure I like this,” Deb said in a worried tone of voice.
“I’ll leave it at this, dear,” I said assuringly, “that if you need to do Number Two, I’ll open the cover and your diaper and let you use the toilet. If you need to pee, you should just go in the diaper, and I’ll change you.”
I didn’t add that I’d change her when I wanted to change her.
“I don’t think I like this,” Deb wailed, now. “I didn’t realize I’d be trapped in this thing.”
“Well, that’s what wearing a diaper is for,” I said soothingly. “It allows you to let yourself pee in it without having to go to the bathroom. And sometimes, if you are naughty, it may be good for you to make a doody in it, too, so you learn to appreciate the privilege of using the toilet.”
Deb now started to moan and then began crying, “I’m sorry, Mom, I don’t want to do this anymore. I should have realized that there was a reason it’s a punishment.”
“It was indeed a punishment when my mother put me in a diaper,” I responded. “And yes, she made me do my business, both ways, when I was put in a diaper. She said that when I learned to behave properly, I would regain my toilet privileges.”
“Didn’t you try to stop her? You were already 18!” Deb pleaded, as she saw her situation deteriorating.
“My mother was a very controlling person,” I recalled. “She would threaten to put me in diapers when she visited long after I was married. I always had to worry when she was here, that she might spank me and put me in diapers if she thought I needed that kind of discipline.”
“Mom, this has made me need to pee again,” Deb suddenly said with emotion. “I guess I have to let go in the diaper,” she said.
“Yes, that’s right, dear,” I replied. “Just let go in the şarkışla escort diaper. That’s what it’s for.”
I watched as her face turned redder. “Oh no, Mom, it’s coming down. I couldn’t hold it in. I’m weeing in my diaper!”
I heard the tell-tale sound of someone peeing in her pants. In this case, it was my grown-up daughter losing urinary control in an adult-sized diaper.
Deb was crying now. I patted her on her back and told her to just relax and try to roll with it for a while.
“Mom, this is really awful. It’s a disgusting punishment,” Deb complained. “And I feel wet down there…and warm, too.
“I don’t want to keep you in diapers for long, dear,” I said, showing a sternness she hadn’t previously noticed in me, “but I want you to stop being naughty and then we’ll see about getting you back into panties.”
Deb flinched at my indicating that it wasn’t decided for how long she would be locked in her diaper. I watched as her face became very frightened.
“Mom,” she said in broken speech, “I’m scared…I feel a lot of pressure and I just…oh God, I hate even saying this…I farted!”
“That’s good, sweetie,” Mom assured me. “That means your system is working well. If you’re constipated, you will be more likely to be naughty.”
I knew she was horrified at what I was saying. Then I saw her wince and burst out crying.
“What is it now, Deborah?” I asked as if not aware of what might be going on in the diaper.
“Mom,” she managed to get out, “my doody just came out. I did a jobbie in my diaper. It feels so shameful. I feel a big lump between my legs in the diaper. Please change me, this is horrid.”
“Are you sure all the doody came out, Deborah?” I asked in a concerned way.
“Yes,” she said, and cried. “Mom, pleeeeeze, pleeze change me or let me out. This is awful!”
“You’re learning that wearing a diaper has its drawbacks, dear,” Mom told me. “The lesson needs to be fully realized for you to benefit.”
I finally decided that I’d give my daughter a break. She’d learned how terrible it may seem to be put into diapers.
“Come with me to the bathroom,” I said, “and we’ll deal with this problem.” She looked tentative because I hadn’t said I would let her out.
We walked slowly as I heard the pee and poo in her diaper slosh around.
When we arrived, I had her lie across the toilet seat. Then I unlocked the cute diaper cover and slipped it down her legs and off. I then carefully untaped the diaper and slipped some paper towels under Deb’s bottom. I placed the diaper carefully in the sink, poured out the liquid, taped it back up and folded it to deposit it in the trash, reminding myself to take it out to the garbage in the back right away before the contents smelled up the room. I noticed that Deb had excreted a large amount of dark yellow pee and what was now a huge brown lump of poo. I left the doody in the folded-up diaper.
I had Deb lift up and I used soft paper wipes to get the pee and doody off Deb’s bottom and thighs, as well as using them to rub her vulva and anal area clean. I then took some Balmex from a tube and rubbed it on Deb’s bottom, thighs, and between her legs.
“You’re all clean, dear,” I told my darling daughter. “I hope you learned from this little experience.”
“Omigosh, Mom, I did!” she exclaimed. “I’m going to put my panties on and my skirt,” she added. “Wow, do I appreciate panties now!”
“What will you tell your friends?” I asked casually.
“I’m going to tell them that being put in diapers is an awful punishment and we should reserve it for the most egregious behavior on the part of our pledges and sisters,” she almost cried and screamed at the same time.
I let her go to her room, where I figured she would put on the smallest pair of panties she had, one of her thongs, probably.
I didn’t tell her that I had never been given a choice when my mother thought I had misbehaved. She didn’t always put me in diapers. And I didn’t tell Deb that she only did that when I had turned 18. My mother never spanked or punished me like that until I had attained the age when, as an 18-year-old college student, I would be wildly embarrassed by these punishments. She didn’t believe anyone who wasn’t yet 18 should be punished this way.
One might ask why I did this to Deb. Was it indicative of some repressed sadism in my own personality?
I don’t think so. I just wanted her to see that things that sounded exotic, and yes, erotic, might turn out to be far more distasteful and even cruel than you might have expected. I suppose that when the thermometer emerged from her rectum with brown smudges, my internal memory pushed me to react as my mother would have. Since I had been put into diapers, and not just for the day or hour, she would get to experience that humiliating treatment.
If you haven’t worn a diaper as an adult, you won’t know about how it feels to piss and shit in the diaper, and then to have it on when the pee and poo are şarköy escort floating around down inside the diaper. If Deb reacted as I had, which she did, she was also thinking about how anyone who came near her would smell what she had released into her diaper.
Later that day, after we had enjoyed a nice dinner, we both had cooperated in preparing, I asked Deb how she felt when she had the diaper on and couldn’t take it off by herself.
“It felt sloppy and stinky, Mom,” she said calmly, “and when you talked about being naughty, it made me feel that I had been terribly naughty to be punished this way. Does that make any sense?”
“I think it does,” I answered. “It’s awful, of course, to lose control of your bladder and bowels, but I suspect t’s even worse when you are effectively locked into the diaper and cannot remove it by yourself. Was this the most embarrassing moment for you?”
“It was definitely embarrassing,” Deb replied. “But for me, the worst moment was when you took the thermometer out of my bottom hole, and I saw that there was that doody on it. Even though no one else was there, I still wanted to crawl into a hole. Having something like that exposed is so horribly humiliating.”
“What about the spanking?” I continued.
“It hurt and I suppose I hadn’t expected it to hurt that much,” Deb said, “but I should have been prepared because it is sort of like paddling, of course. It’s also embarrassing to have your panties taken down for a spanking. When that happens now, when I’m in college and haven’t had that happen, it is awful to have your bare bottom and, well, …you know, my coochie, on display.”
“They paddle on your skirt, or pants, or panties, in your sorority?” I asked.
“Yes,” Deb told me, “but during initiation, you may be blindfolded and totally stripped. It was amazing to me that not being able to see myself bared made it a little less shameful for me.”
“Maybe I should have you strip before I punish you again, if you’d like to see how that feels?” I offered.
“Let’s wait on that,” Deb grinned. “I’m here for a few more days. I may decide that I should try that.”
The next day, she asked me after lunch if I would punish her after making her take off what she had on. I told her I would, and that I was thinking that she might want to experience being caned.
“That sounds so nasty,” she responded. “Like some English school where you are made to lift your skirt and bend over, and the teacher whacks you, even if you’re my age. Were you caned at home?”
“No, but a cousin from England visited when I was in college and I asked her if she ever had been caned,” I began. “She laughed and said it was hard to avoid it over there.”
I asked her if she had a cane and could show me how it felt. My cousin grinned and we went upstairs, and she took this small, thin, yellow cane out of her suitcase. She swished it in the air, and I told her I was terrified at what I had gotten into.
I didn’t want to be a wimp, though, so I told her she could give me a couple of strokes.
She answered with a smile that it was traditional when caned to receive “six of the best.”
I blanched but I wasn’t going to back out now. She told me to stand in front of her.
Then she lifted my skirt up above my waist and secured it there through my belt. I didn’t even protest when I felt her thumbs in the waistband of my panties, and she pulled them right down to my knees. Next, she ordered me to bend over and grasp my ankles.
“I felt absolutely terrified and ashamed,” I said to Deb. “This is still very embarrassing even to say now, but I knew she could see everything between my legs. I’ll mention to you that although I was in college, I hadn’t shaved down there, and I hoped my rear hole was clean.”
Deb seemed transfixed by my account. “How did the cane feel?” she asked.
“I felt her lay the cane across my bottom,” I continued. “Then she drew it back and flicked her wrist and it hit the middle of my bottom. It took a few seconds for me to react but then I felt the most awful sting that didn’t go away by the time she delivered a second stroke. Let me tell you, the cane hurts.”
“I sort of feel that I have to go through it myself,” Deb explained.
“Well, she gave me four more strokes and by the end, my poor bottom was striped, and she had crisscrossed a couple of the strokes: those really hurt where they crossed,” I recalled.
“Afterward,” I went on, “she put some cream on my bottom. She was genuinely nice about it, and I was only disappointed that Clarissa didn’t request that I cane her.”
“Do you have a can now?” Deb asked.
“I did acquire one some time ago,” I answered, “although I never thought about using it to punish you.”
Fortunately, Deb did not pursue this subject because I hadn’t wanted to tell her that I had caned my husband once, with his consent, when I accused him of being constantly careless and inconsiderate. Caning him made me feel much more in control in our marriage.
“I think I’m ready for you to cane me,” Deb stated. “It’s all right for you to make me take everything off, since it’s just you and me here, but may I ask you to limit the caning to three strokes?”
“I guess I’m not like Clarissa,” I said with a laugh, “so yes, I’ll agree to that limit. But I will try to make this seem like you’re being punished for your naughtiness.”
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