Because we say so – Chapter Three
When I was ten a pair of blue nylon ‘briefs’ had been accidentally folded in with my neatly doubled-up terry nappy, so I took the opportunity to put them on under my shorts. I didn’t realise that they were actually a pair of my mum’s knickers and when she patted my bum and realised I wasn’t wearing a nappy she went ballistic.
My excuse that it was there amongst the stuff she’d left for me went unheeded as she accused me of pilfering her underwear from her and dad’s room. I was mortified at wearing her panties. Even though I thought they fitted me quite well and liked the thin silky texture with its delicate lacy design, I didn’t think of them as anything more than a different style of underpants. Had I had more time wearing them I think I might have preferred them to a nappy but, that was the first time I ever wore anything even resembling a pair of briefs.
I pleaded my innocence but nonetheless still received a very red bottom at the hands of my irate mother. With each slap she made me beg to be returned to wearing a nappy so, to make the spanking stop, I cried out loudly I wanted my thick protection back and that I’d never try mum’s briefs on again.
Actually, I’ve told a fib because a couple of years ago I bought some briefs of my own. I’d saved some pocket money and went to town shopping. I noticed this pack of three white cotton briefs in a sale and on impulse just bought them. Plenty of boys at school wore white underwear and I always thought it just looked like tight-fitting nappies. I should have known better because I didn’t try to hide them and they were soon discovered.
Mum and dad accused me of being sneaky, of going against their wishes, of being a very naughty little boy who should know better.
The term ‘naughty little boy’ really hit home and as they berated me for what I’d done that was just how I felt. At such times mum and dad have a way of making me feel I’m the most thoughtless, immature and ungrateful person in the world.
Despite that, my bottom was well and truly spanked until I promised in future never to be so underhand again. They saw it as me being deceptive and secretive and they weren’t going to allow me to become that type of person.
It was a strange punishment because throughout the spanking, dad spoke to me and made me feel I’d let everyone down. I came away not only hurting but feeling guilty, which has stopped me from doing anything similar since.
However, once I’d been spanked, and made aware of my ‘crime’, both mum and dad always held me tightly and hugged me tenderly until I stopped crying.
The other strange thing was, after I’d been summarily punished, it was the thick padding of the nappy I was then fastened into that helped ease the pain and offered so much comfort and reassurance. It was then a pleasure to wear it.
Weird? I know.
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I’ve been putting on my own nappies since I was seven but, when I’d throw a tantrum mum or dad would come to my room, spank my bare bottom and fasten me in and woe betide should I try to wriggle free. Then for the next few days I am supervised until they feel they can trust me and I’ve promised to behave.
I’m not spanked as much now I’m a teenager, because I’ve learnt not to object to the way things are. Having said that, I’m not the type of person who would physically fight anyone let alone my parents so, even now, if I have to go over their knee to be disciplined, that’s just what happens. It’s not often but my Sixteen year old bum does still sporadically get reddened in this fashion.
So much for me saying they don’t treat me as a baby… they do if, in their words, “fussing and whinging”, I act like one.
As I’ve said, neither bothers if I’ve wet or messed (though messing, other than occasionally first thing in the morning, is incredibly rare) they just take it in their stride. If one of them is around then they’ll volunteer to change me but, I’d rather do it myself. Their loving morning pats to my padded bottom I suspect are more to check that I‘m wearing what I has been designated as much as from familial affection.
They expect and encourage me to not let a bulky nappy get in the way of my doing anything I want to. They even adapt my protection to suit any project or sporting event I might like to undertake but, nonetheless insist I wear either a disposable or fabric nappy… there’s no getting away from that.
Even when I go swimming they have a special water-tight pair of briefs for me to wear. They look like a pullup but are very tight fitting with several layers of plastic, foam and absorbent material. The outer waterproof material has little fish swimming all over it – cute but attracts attention at the pool, which I’m not keen on.
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To be honest I’d often go weeks without mentioning anything about my protection. The bulkiness in my pants just something I take in my (awkward) stride as it is always been there.
Why?
“Because we say so.”
Because I’d only ever been nappy trained, it never occurred to me to think about being potty trained. By the time I went to school and all my friends were using the toilet, I was still wetting my nappy, although, because of the plastic pants, it was never really that apparent. They would stand up and pee in a bowl or into a urinal whereas I didn’t have to wait until break time, I would just go when I needed to. They argued that I was still a baby but I’d throw a wobbly, insist I wasn’t, which only seemed to prove I was. However, at that age you simply do not question your parents… well, I certainly didn’t.
Since then, any other ‘revolt’ has been painful and short-lived. When they say, “Because we say so” I know I can’t argue. I’d done so on many occasions that now, even to myself, my protests seemed ridiculous because I already knew the outcome.
“Because we say so.”
There is no disputing that… they do and I do what they say.
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I didn’t have many friends growing up (and still don’t). Those few I do have are used to me being who I am and wearing what I do even at school. Over the years the call of ‘Nappy Boy’ was less an insult and more a name which I responded to and everyone knew was true. I didn’t mind as it was a fact and there was nothing I could do to pretend otherwise. Under my shorts, under my trousers, under my jeans – there was (and is) always that bunch of fabric soaking up any dribbles or spurts, whilst the vinyl pants make sure my outerwear is never compromised.
Once people know that what they say has no effect they soon get bored of saying it, especially if it isn’t getting any response from anyone. Over the years, once everyone knew, there was nothing anyone could say that made the slightest difference or impression on the people around me. If, when I was out, somebody commented on my padded bottom or smooth bulging crotch, it appeared to be more excitement for them than embarrassment for me… I was long past embarrassment.
During the day my protective plastic pants are colour-coded to match whatever I’m wearing and I have a vast selection of shades and designs as options. The reason for this is that part of dad’s company is making various items for the medical supply business. Not drugs but equipment and specialist items like, well, plastic pants, disposables and the like.
I suppose that’s why for some reason I’m kept in nappies, though it has never been explained as such. Apparently over the years the company developed different styles and sizes of disposable, nappies, plastic pants and other incontinence paraphernalia… all of which I suppose I’ve worn or used at some time or other.
However, neither parent said that’s why I’m kept in them. They’ve never even suggested I’m wearing a sample and wanted to see how an item worked in a real life situation. In fact, until recently I never really knew what the company did. I just knew dad went out in the morning and came home at night, whilst mum worked at home on the computer doing her charity administration work. I suppose my lack of knowledge, or interest for that matter, in my parent’s work some might say proves how childishly self-absorbed I was. It was just never discussed with me.
No doubt, over the years, I have worn many of the company’s prototype range without knowing that’s what I was doing. I can’t say I remember anything too bizarre, although there have been times when the padding has been more immense than usual, or newly designed pvc nappy covers have held me tightly in a hot embrace.
When I think about it, there have been many different styles. There was one disposable where once it got wet filled out and became quite solid. It didn’t mould itself around your bits but became like a board forcing legs well apart so you were left with an unfavourable waddle.
I think if they said I was some kind of ‘test-pilot’ checking out their range of items to see if they were reliable I might have felt involved… even privileged but, as it is, they’ve never said a word so my life in nappies just carries on “because they say so”.
The End of Because we say so – Chapter Three.
The story originally came from: https://www.dailydiapers.com/content/stories.html
If you want to read more stories about ABDL boys you can find a list here: Diaper Boys – Index