Skip to content The Un-training of Stanley Kaminski – Chapter Four
“Oh thank you for getting the milk,” she said. “You’ve been such a good little boy to do that for me,” and Maureen took delight in watching her husband’s expression change from his usual tired, worn out look to that of concern.
“Now you can have some milkie.” She enjoyed this last bit of digging into her husband’s psyche, enjoyed his blank look changing into concern, and now, a sense of panic.
She smiled all the more, turned toward the stairs and added, “I’m going to bed. Isn’t my boy a little tired too?” She stood there, not moving, waiting for an answer. She suddenly felt excited, anticipating his reaction.
Stanley didn’t know what to say. If he questioned this new attitude, he might give himself away, and as he thought about that, he was reminded of the basement, and his sacred and secret world.
“I’ll be up in a minute,” he stammered. “There’s just something I need to check.”
“Well, don’t be too long. You know how you need your sleep.” She deliberately didn’t say something like, you know how little boys need their sleep. She guessed she had pushed this as far as she dare, having opened the door a crack. Opening it further could end the game and more importantly, her carefully laid out plans. She knew she would have to play this to perfection, and the more she could stretch it out, the better. She thought, if he wanted to be a baby, by God she was going to grant him his wish. She was going to do just that, and when she was through, he would forever regret not just wanting to be a baby, but everything, his marriage and how he had treated her, the spider hypnosis, his entire miserable life.
Stanley put the milk in the refrigerator and wasted some time, enough to see his wife depart toward the upstairs bedroom, and then fled down the steps and into the basement. He turned on several light switches and made a careful search of his workbench. The box which contained the key seemed like it was where he had left it. He took the key and opened the lock. He tried to be quiet, not wanting to arouse suspicion. Again the door made that high pitch screech of cheap hinges, and he wished he could shut it up. His heart was racing, a feeling of panic overtaking him. He hit the light switch, his chest thumping, blood racing through his veins, afraid he was going to see her presence, some trace of her intrusion into his sanctuary, but nothing was out of place. It was all as he had left it. He looked into the crib and the yellow stain stood out. He felt little again, but he was also reminded that he would have to sneak it into the laundry. He sighed, letting the pent up breath out of him, wishing he hadn’t created something that carried as much anxiety with it as pleasure.
“Come to bed, baby,” he heard from upstairs, and he knew he would have to hurry if he was to not arouse suspicion.
He quietly walked up the basement stairs and yelled from the kitchen, “I’m coming. I’ll be up shortly,” and hoped that would give him a little time.
He was annoyed because he had planned to have a little baby time in bed. As had been his recent custom, he was going to put on a thick, babyish disposable diaper, some soft plastic pants, and listen to his regression trac. He had been drinking a lot of water, and he felt certain that this was the night he would finally wet in his sleep. He had been excited about it all day at work, but now he just didn’t know. His wife had never acted like this, but maybe it was nothing to be worried about. His desire for diapers was once again outweighing his need for caution. He quickly took off his pants and underwear, and put on his diaper. The baby powder made him feel little, and he liked it.
Once upstairs he waited until his wife went into the bathroom, readying herself for sleep. He slipped his clothes off, and briefly, touched his diaper. He felt so little. Hurriedly, he put on his flannel pajamas and got under the covers. He said goodnight to his wife through the closed bathroom door and reached for the ear buds which would carry the soothing hypnotic words, taking him to a different world of nursery tunes, feeling little and relaxed.
Maureen walked softly from the bathroom to the bed, quietly slipped into the bed, trying to make as little commotion as possible, letting her husband feel safe and secure.
“Goodnight baby,” and with that, patted the covers where his butt should be. She could feel the diaper, and hear the soft crinkle. She chuckled to herself.
“You little baby,” she thought to herself.
Panic! Stanley was jolted into the real world; one that did not look kindly on adult babies.
“Oh my God,” he thought. She hadn’t done that in several years and he wondered what was going on.
“Goodnight,” he softly stammered.
He heard, “That’s a good baby. Be a good baby. You are a baby.”
He started to sit straight up in bed. Maureen couldn’t be saying that, could she, and then he realized she wasn’t saying anything. It was the stupid recording. He felt slightly relieved, but he couldn’t escape what had just happened. He hoped the comforter had concealed his unique choice of underwear. It must have, he thought, otherwise she would have shrieked at him. No, she seemed to be in a really good mood. That satisfied him, and he tried to go to sleep, letting that which would become a subliminal message turn him, for just a few hours, into a bed wetting baby. He hoped it would work this time, as his bladder needed some relief.
Maureen felt like the cat that had just swallowed the canary. Saying goodnight baby and patting his butt reminded her of Sylvester puddy tat, coughing up bird feathers after he had just swallowed Tweety. After she had discovered her husband’s alter ego, his infant sanctuary, and hypnosis recordings, she had made a hasty retreat. She was mad at herself for peeing her panties, more so for easily falling prey to some cheesy hypnosis devise that shouldn’t have worked that easily, especially on her. She was better than that. That’s what she told herself, and in her rage, the idea came to her. She would add something to his Ipod, something to fulfill all his wishes, and hopefully, at very inconvenient times.
She had gone down into the basement, and took CD III, the one that would turn the listener into a baby, peeing and pooping not only his diaper, but anything, anytime anywhere, should the right words be spoken. The word was “Oh Baby”. She had to chuckle, because in the South, it was an often used word. She wondered how that would work for him at work? She couldn’t wait. She didn’t have much time, and she had to work quickly at the computer, loading and transferring. She had just come downstairs having put his Ipod back when her husband walked through the door. She had made it, quickly and secretly. Now all she had to do was wait. Her plan was simple. She loaded it in, following CD I, the night time, diapered regression trac that Stanley had loaded. She even thought he was a wuss for not going further. After all, if you’re going to wet your diaper like a baby, why not become a baby. He acted like one anyway, and she smiled as she imagined him in baby clothes, eating baby food and messing his diaper. Just wait, she thought, and she slipped into a deep and restful sleep.
The Ipod did its job, playing the soothing words of being baby. You are a sweet little baby, innocent baby. Baby’s wet their diapers. Relax and let go. Let it all go, little baby. You are a little baby. When you hear the words “wet-wet”, you will relax. You will relax and let it all go. Wet your diaper. Wet-wet your diaper, and Stanly was a little baby. He felt so at peace. Something or someone was reassuring him that everything was alright. Maureen never did that. His subconscious tried to put that out of his mind. Better thoughts were replacing the unhappy memories of his wife. “Wet-wet baby” it said, and he relaxed and let go. Warm pee flooded his diaper, filling it and puffing it out. Though he was asleep, he could sense it getting bigger, its bulk between his thighs. It was warm and wet, and he was little, finally. The recording went on and on, reassuring him that this was alright, that he could be a baby every night, wetting his diaper.
There was a pause, a slight space in time, followed by another voice. This one was more forceful, and not as nice. It made demands between the reassurances. There were other messages playing backwards, subliminal with their own messages. This was followed by white noise, and living beneath the snow, came another voice, a voice that would be obeyed. It too said, you are a baby, a little baby who has no control. You will wet and poop your diaper, day or night. You will use your diaper day or night under all circumstances. You will wet or poop yourself when you hear the word “Oh Baby“, no matter when or wear. You are so little, you have no control. You are a baby, a complete baby.
And then the stronger voice said, “Oh Baby”, and Stanley let it all loose, and with that, a specific and annoying smell filled the bedroom. Maureen rolled over in her sleep, strangely disturbed.
The End of The Un-training of Stanley Kaminski – Chapter Four.
If you want to read more stories about ABDL boys you can find a list here: Diaper Boys – Index