Dale’s Story – Chapter One
He was typing away furiously. His index fingers working like lightning to get every letter that was in his head down onto the computer. The keyboard rattled under the constant bombardment of Dale’s double digits, it was a shame he’d never got the hang of touch-typing, his keyboard would have been grateful not to suffer such a pounding.
His head was full of stories and ideas but was having difficulty keeping up with each thought. Still he typed, desperate to get every nuance and sentence down, he knew he had a great story, he knew it would be a best-seller, he knew this was the one that would tip him from obscurity into the dizzy heights of celebrity and movie rights… this was the one.
He sat back in the pool next to his villa on the beautiful isle of Ibiza and luxuriated in the balmy ambient temperature as yet another pink cocktail suddenly appeared by his side. He was warm, floaty and… and… and where had that cocktail appeared from…?
Oh no, not again.
~
Dale woke up in his studio apartment deflated that it was only a dream. He surreptitiously looked across at his computer, hopeful that there might be something on the screen but alas, though he’d sleep-typed like a deranged secretary, it was all just a jumble of letters and numbers, none of which indicated the best-selling novel he’d hoped for. What’s more, that nice comforting warm ‘sunsation’ was beginning to get clammy and wet around his groin as he realised that all was not well beneath the crumpled blanket.
He groaned. He’d gone almost a week without any night time wetting and had hoped that his problem was over. Alas, as the damp coolness became more obvious, he could only turn over, try to ignore it and return to sleep where everything was wonderful. He dozed fitfully. His moist underpants, clinging to his privates, producing an irritating itch that he just couldn’t ignore no matter how many times he drifted back to sleep. Unfortunately, those brief slips into oblivion were rudely interrupted by his need to scratch. A banging on his door brought him to full consciousness and, as he wandered to answer the constant knocking, the itch seemed all consuming.
Standing in only his t-shirt and wet briefs whilst wildly scratching his groin he opened the door to see his irate Aunt Christine looking less than pleased. She took one look at him and pulled a face of disgust – then the smell of the room engulfed her.
“Fucking hell Dale, this place smells worse than a Parisian pissoir.” She pushed past him and swatted his soggy cotton-clad bottom.
He had no idea what a Parisian pissoir was but could guess from his aunt’s demeanour it was none too flattering. She could feel the damp on her hand even after such a brief little smack and that only increased her look of repugnance.
~
Eighteen year-old Dale was useless. His father certainly thought so and so, to a lesser extent, did his mother and two younger sisters. Not only was he useless but lazy, messy, muddled, unbelievably incompetent and, if it hadn’t been mentioned, USELESS. Some might have said that he was a very laidback young man, those who knew him saw the truth, and he was useless. It wasn’t that he was easy-going, didn’t have a care in the world, had himself ‘well sorted’, none of these descriptions really applied to him because he was useless, and, hopeless.
His thin, five foot six inch frame, with thick greasy black hair and vacant green eyes seemed to carry the world on its shoulders when in fact; he hardly had any responsibilities at all. The lethargy seemed to seep from every bone in his body. The one, simple thing he had to do was keep an eye on his aunt’s property where he lived, rent free, and report back to her any problems or complaints from the student tenants who occupied the rest of the building. It was the simplest of jobs, even Aunt Christine thought he should be capable of carrying out such uncomplicated work as talking to the residents and reporting back. Unfortunately, it was all too much for Dale. He thought it was snooping and much preferred to get stoned with the group of 2nd years up on the top floor. He told them he was writer (even though he’d never had anything published in his life) and as such they were a little in awe of their ‘talented’ neighbour. He didn’t mention that his aunt was their landlord and turned a blind eye to damage, both major and superficial, that the building seemed to acquire on a daily basis.
However, word had got back to Aunt Christine and now it was time for action.
~
Dale’s bed-wetting had been one of the reasons his father had thrown him out. He couldn’t stand the fact that is eldest son was a ‘big baby’ and was tired of both he and his wife constantly cleaning up after him. He didn’t want a lazy, deadbeat son and was damned if everyone else was going to chase around for his benefit. His constant ‘zoned out’ attitude and complete detachment from what was going on around him was bugging everyone. One morning, four months ago, his father had simply told him to pack his stuff (the little he had) and find a place of his own. Stunned (and still slightly stoned) he picked up his bag and was just about to leave the house when his aunt arrived with a birthday present for one of his sisters.
Aunt Christine was his father’s twin sister. She was eighteen minutes older than him but the difference was incredible. Whereas, at twenty one, when they had both received a modest inheritance, he’d got married, she’d invested in property. It was strange to see them together because, although Dale’s dad was brash and loud most of the time, he was no competition for his ballsy and strident sister to whom he meekly acquiesced. Yes, he may have been ‘cock-of-the roost’ in his own home but if she was around all that faded into the background. He would marshal the kids as if they were on parade for her inspection and his wife, Sandra, who was the most quietly spoken woman in the world, would scurry around plumping up cushions and making sure all was tidy for her visit. Christine didn’t expect such treatment but so in awe of her was the family, they all made that extra effort when she was around.
~
On seeing her nephew with his bag in the doorway she asked him if he was going on vacation. When his reply was that his father had just kicked him out he shrugged and set off on his way. Christine may have been a ball-crusher in business but she had a soft spot for her nephew and nieces, even if she did think their parents were idiots. She quickly came up with a solution, which to his credit her brother was dead against, in which she would employ Dale at a small salary and he could live rent free in one of her properties near the university. He would simply be the janitor and keep an eye on it for her. She didn’t think he could screw such a simple task up and waved away the protests of her brother.
Of course now, and as much as it pained her to even think it, her brother had been correct, this simple job was way beyond her nephew’s capabilities. However, she saw beyond what Dale outwardly offered, and, so she didn’t praise her brother, decided that her nephew’s attitude was as much a result of his parent’s approach to raising children as it was himself. His father had chided his son at just about every opportunity from a very young age. Christine had watched, but not interfered, in this process but thought perhaps it wasn’t all Dale’s fault. However, she was now in a position to do something about it and she would be damned if she didn’t give it a try.
~
Christine looked around the rubbish tip that was, only a few months ago, quite a nice little apartment. Clothes, empty beer cans, cigarette ash, butts overflowing ashtrays and crockery, half-eaten pizza, boxes, dust, walked in mud, unmade messed up bed and that overpowering stink of stale urine, testosterone, cum, cigarettes and God knows what else pervading the small space… it was enough to make anyone retch.
Standing in the middle of all this chaos and filth was her semi-naked, damp nephew who really didn’t know why his aunt was there. Such was the sudden shock of her arrival he wasn’t really all that aware that he was standing in just his wet, yellowing undies.
“Oh, er, hi Aunt Christine, er, mmm,” Dale stumbled over his words, “what time is it? Is there a problem?”
She took little notice of her nephew as she inspected the bed and noticed that the mattress was soaked through and had a stench that was hard to imagine. Her nose wrinkled in revulsion. At that point Christine’s business partner, Miss McCloud, walked in, took one look at the thin, stinky boy that stood in front of her, looked across at Christine and said.
“I’ll take him home.”
Within seconds she had a blanket wrapped around him and was being guided to her car. She didn’t give him time to find any clothes; the mess was way beyond finding anything that wasn’t in a similar state to what he now wore. Besides, if Christine was held in high regard, then Miss McCloud’s reputation for no nonsense was even more terrifying to those who knew her. Christine and Miss McCloud made a formidable team; organised, competent, tough, uncompromising and had vision, which made for scary opponents should you get on the wrong side of either of them.
Dale had wanted to protest, he wanted to at least put his trainers on and a pair of jeans but Miss McCloud would have none of it.
“Best get you away from all this,” she said eyeing the debris that was all around, “before your aunt has time to think.”
Slowly realising that he had in fact, sort of, maybe, fucked up ,and fearing his aunt’s anger, made Miss McCloud’s strong hands directing him away from trouble as quickly as possible, seem a good idea.
~
The drive to his aunt’s house was in silence. He sat shivering, not because he was cold but he was desperate for some weed, or a cigarette or something and he also began to worry what his aunt would say when they were alone. Wriggling uncomfortably in his itchy drying pants was the distraction he needed as he scratched at his crotch, much to Miss McCloud’s disgust.
The detached house, set in its own grounds, was huge compared to his family’s home and proved just how well his aunt had done over the years. The house was over seventy years old, with four large reception rooms and kitchen on the ground floor, four bedrooms (two en-suite) and a large family bathroom on the second and a converted attic space that made another bedroom/study. The driveway was beautifully landscaped, whilst at the rear of the property there was a large garden where fresh vegetables, tomatoes, fruit trees and flowers were tended by Aunt Christine and Miss McCloud, they lived together.
Miss McCloud held her breath for as long as she could but had to roll down the window in the car to get some air circulating and flush out the smell of her passenger. She wasn’t sure if it was just urine, BO or what but there was no doubt that the first challenge was to get him cleaned up, and odour free. Once in the house Miss McCloud guided her blanket-covered charge straight up to the bathroom.
She ran him a bath as he stood stock still desperate for his first ‘toke’ of the day and still slightly shivering as to what the immediate future held. Once the bath was full and scent and bubbles had been added Miss McCloud indicated he should get in. He was reluctant getting naked in front of this lady but she was having none of this false modesty.
“Get in the bath now.”
He shook his head and turned to leave. Not a wise thing to do. She yanked off his protecting blanket and delivered a couple of fierce swats to his retreating butt with the wooden back scrubber. Stunned, Dale didn’t know what to do but all decisions were taken away from him as he was stripped and, trying desperately to hide his penis, shoved towards the bath.
“Now, no more of this silliness, get in.”
Thoroughly chastised, and in fear of another walloping, he settled himself gingerly into the foam, his sore and throbbing bottom now the only thing on his mind. Once he was submerged Miss McCloud immediately rolled up her sleeves and commenced bathing him. Dale was actually scared of her as she’d proved she wouldn’t take any sort of disagreement. For the fourth time she rinsed the shampoo from his thick mop of black hair and still wasn’t happy that it was yet clean enough.
He got a thorough all over scrubbing and another application of shampoo, followed by an aggressive scalp massage, which Miss McCloud hoped would finally clean out the last of the greasy mop; although she still wasn’t one hundred percent happy and thought a more radical procedure was called for. The head massage wasn’t unpleasant, Dale actually quite liked it. He’d forgotten what fun it was to be, well, looked after. He sat in the warm suds and as Miss McCloud was doing all the work, perhaps, he thought, the swats to his behind had been worth it to get this kind of treatment.
Eventually, after quite some time, Miss McCloud seemed satisfied that he was as clean as she could get him. She made him stand up and inspected his body. Again he tried to cover himself up but a swat to his hand and a very stern look made him put his hands to his side and let her get on with her inspection. She was more than a little concerned about the angry looking rash that appeared to surround his genitals and bottom, no doubt caused by his constant wetness. She dried him off and then, covered in only the thick towel, led him up to the room in the attic.
~
The room was pleasant but designed for an eight year-old. In fact it was originally designed for Miss McCloud’s young son, Harry. Unfortunately, when she divorced her husband (a house master at one of the UK’s top private schools) it was he who got custody and she only had access occasionally. Her son was already enrolled at the school (which she agreed was a good idea) but as a result she rarely saw her boy. However, when she did, there was a room already prepared for him. Still, since the room had been equipped, Harry had only ever visited twice – the fact that she’d shacked-up with Christine hadn’t helped her custody case but that was another story altogether.
There was a bed, in the shape of a racing car, a closet with a few of Harry’s clothes, a night stand, a desk and chair, a fully laden bookcase – it was minimalistic but comfortable for an eight year-old but a bit of a surprise for an eighteen year-old.
“I’m staying,” Dale looked around in bewilderment, “in a kid’s room?”
“For the moment.” Miss McCloud gently guided him further into its centre
“Now,” she said pulling away the towel, “let’s get you organised.”
Dale was again nervous about being naked but that look told him to stop any thought of argument and see how things transpired.
She pointed to large thick-pile rug on the floor and told Dale to lie out on it. He had that questioning look but Miss McCloud was already reaching for tubes of cream.
“This ointment will relieve the itching,” she said as she began to apply it to his groin, “and should begin the healing process.” She smoothed it on thickly, “Though it may take some time as it’s a very severe rash.”
Dale closed his eyes desperately trying to block out her tickling fingers as she layered the cream onto every part of his most sensitive, though itchy, areas. She told him to flip over and did the same to his very spotty and inflamed rump, which of course hadn’t been helped by the fierce swats she’d delivered earlier. The cooling balm seemed to have an instant effect and the itching gradually began to fade. Miss McCloud told him to lift his legs and, wondering what she was going to do next, hold them up. She slipped an unfolded disposable nappy under his bottom and told him he could let his legs down.
Realising what was about to happen he rolled onto his side in a bid to get away.
“I’m not wearing a fucking nappy for god’s sake. I’m eighteen not eighteen months…”
His displeasure would have continued if Miss McCloud had not delivered another series of forceful swats to his naked backside and told him, in no uncertain terms, to get his bottom back onto the nappy. Twice now, in a matter of just a few minutes he’d been spanked, even his father had never resorted to that kind of punishment. It hurt and he didn’t like it.
Through a gathering of tears he begged Miss McCloud to come up with an alternative to him having to wear a nappy. There was no negotiation and, having added a couple of thick pads to the unfurled disposable and sprinkled baby powder all over his exposed area, she quickly pulled it between his legs and taped it into place. Dale was holding back anger, frustration and tears in equal amounts but she just patted it around his groin to make sure it fit snugly and then, to Dale’s final humiliation, pulled up a pair of stiff, tight-fitting clear plastic pants. The pleasing crinkle meant that it was a tough, if not very pliable, material that would hold in whatever Dale delivered into his nappy.
“There now, doesn’t that feel better?” Miss McCloud was smiling now that the job was done. “You’ll feel better once the antiseptic cream starts to work and it shouldn’t be too long before we get that nasty rash under control.”
“But I’m wearing a nappy,” Dale sobbed. “I shouldn’t have to…”
“Dale,” Miss McCloud grabbed him by the shoulders and looked into his eyes, “you are a mess. You were wet, your place stunk of old urine and we don’t as yet know if you have a problem or you just don’t care.” She let her words sink in. “But, until we know we can trust you not to pee everywhere we will be taking this precaution. It’s as much for your own good as the welfare of our furniture.”
Dale would have given anything at that moment to be elsewhere and preferably high as a kite somewhere but that wasn’t to be. He moaned and tried to argue the point but he’d come up against an immovable object and she was determined to see it through.
“The thick fabric will keep all the creams next to your skin and should make it heal much quicker.”
She then looked at him and gave a stern warning.
“If you try to take it off without your aunt’s or my express permission you will be treated as a naughty little boy and punished…” she let her words sink in, “and I don’t mean the gentle taps you’ve received… so far.”
Dale shivered at the thought of something worse than what his sore bottom had already encountered; he didn’t like the sound of that and he certainly didn’t want to experience it either.
“What about my clothes?” He whined.
“I should think they are all on a bonfire by now, you’d let yourself get into such a pathetic, smelly state.” She smiled a modicum of encouragement. “However, your aunt only wants what’s best for you and intends to do whatever is needed to put things right.”
“Yes,” he brightened up a little, “Aunt Christine won’t be pleased about all this, she’ll tell you off for dressing me as a baby, you’ll see, she won’t be happy.”
The enthusiasm he had at the start of the sentence began to fade as he realised that she was probably the architect of all this. The noise his thick plastic pants generated as he moved even slightly wormed its way into his head and trembled a little once he grasped that perhaps this was only the start.
The End of Dale’s Story – Chapter One.
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