Intro to Diaper Discipline – by Wendy

I know my story is probably not unique, as I’ve met a couple girls with very similar stories of how they came to crave diaper discipline. However, I didn’t see anything similar on your site and thought I would share my story.

You see, I consider myself a little with a very dark, masochistic side. I love to color and play with my toys, but when Daddy gets upset I need to be punished severely. Real pain. Not just a scolding. I want to be slapped when I backtalk, paddled to tears if I break the rules, caned until my ass is bleeding if I fail to finish my chores.

I want humiliation as well. I need a Daddy who will break me down, only to build me back up. Treat me like a piece of meat when he’s horny. Make me stand in the corner while he plays poker with his buddies and make comments about how bad I’ve been.

After all of that, I need after care and love. I need to know that I have pleased him and he loves me – unconditionally. Hugs, cuddles and orgasms are my preferred types of aftercare.

These desires led to me meeting Michael. He was a DaddyDom with a sadistic streak a mile wide. He did everything right and it was wonderful. Then, one day, he surprised me with a new type of humiliation. Michael noticed that I had not vacuumed the floors that day and found one of my crayons that had rolled under the couch.

So, he took me into the bedroom and gave me an enema. I figured he was going to ass fuck me, because that’s the only time I was ever given an enema. However, he had other plans. After the bag was empty and I was desperate to relieve myself, he laid me on the bed and pulled a diaper out of a nearby bag. He slid it under my butt and taped it tightly around my waist. Then he stood me up and cuffed my hands behind my back before sending me to stand in the corner with orders to keep the diaper clean.

I stood in the corner for a while as I struggled to hold in the enema. It seemed like an hour, but was probably much less when I lost control and sprayed a nasty mess into the seat of the diaper with a loud flatulent eruption.

Michael immediately began to berate me for failing to follow orders. I was so humiliated at shitting myself, I began to cry. He pulled me by the arm out of the corner and pushed me over the edge of the bed. Using my own wooden hairbrush, he began to spank my upper thighs. It hurt like hell, because the hairbrush is the implement I hate the most. The pain of the spanking, combined with the humiliation of my soiled diaper, brought me to blubbering in record time.

During the assault on my ass, I lost further control of my bowels and really filled the diaper. The pain of the beating made it impossible to focus on holding it in.

When he finished punishing me, he embraced me for several minutes and whispered into my ear how good I was for taking my punishment like a trooper. I was still humiliated beyond belief to be standing there in a messy diaper, but I still felt loved.

Once I calmed down, Michael pulled out a package of baby wipes and a new diaper. He set about the disgusting task of removing my dirty diaper and wiping my ass clean. Having someone wipe the crap from my crack was almost more humiliating than the act of shitting myself, but it somehow made us closer. After he put the clean diaper on me, he told me that since I had failed to hold the enema, I would be on diaper discipline for one week and the toilet was off limits.

It was hard at first, but I managed to get through that week. It’s funny how much you take a toilet for granted when you aren’t allowed to use it. He has put me on diaper discipline several times since then and I have grown to love it. I guess it wasn’t much of a leap for a humiliation craving little to realize she enjoys diapers.

Anyway, I just wanted to share. I hope you’re able to publish this. I love your site and I hope you keep it up. Thank you!

Wendy

One comment on “Intro to Diaper Discipline – by Wendy

  1. I can relate very much to your need for punishment (severe, painful, and something I do NOT enjoy) as well as humiliation. Thank you for sharing your story. Whenever I hear things like this it makes me feel less alone, and less like an outcast or “freak.” Thanks again!

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