The Trainer – Chapter Seven
Thursday morning I wasn’t the least bit surprised to find a wet diaper. I got up and tried to use my phone to unlock the sleeper, but instead I got a shock that felt like a kick in the groin and a message that said, “Permission Denied.”
“Ouch,” I grunted, startled, and stormed around the house looking for my wife. I found her in her office. “What the heck is this?”
She turned around in her chair. “What is what?”
“The lock won’t let me open it, and it shocked me when I tried! It really hurt!” I was pissed.
“Oh, sorry. Yeah. I kind of forgot about that. I removed your permissions for the lock after we talked last night about how I was going to be responsible for your diapers, but I forgot that there was a punishment if you tried to unlock it. I’m sorry, that really was unintentional.”
She took my hands in hers, and the look on her face seemed to tell me that she really was sorry. “Well, please don’t do that again. It did really hurt.”
“OK, well, don’t try to release any of the locks again, but I’ll remove the option so you can’t even try. Let’s go get you changed.”
We went back to my bedroom, and the lock yielded to some code on her phone, opening up the sleeper. She changed me efficiently into an M4 after giving me a chance to use the bathroom to take care of other business, and she handed me a onesie and some sweatpants to change into. Coffee and breakfast followed, and I went to my office to work.
About two hours later, there was a knock on my door. Deep in concentration on the problem I was studying, I grunted. She cracked the door open.
“OK to come in? I need to check you.”
I looked up. Nothing terribly proprietary was out, so I nodded. She came over and felt my crotch, weighing the plastic covered garment.
“Yep, you’re pretty wet. Time for a change. Let’s just do it here.” As she took the changing pad she was carrying and spread it on the floor, I started to protest.
“I can change myself. You don’t need to do it.”
“Well, I’m responsible, I don’t mind, and I need to see how wet it really is.” She patted the mat and looked at me. I got out of the chair with a deep sigh, laying down. She grabbed the side of the sweatpants and started to pull them down.
“Lift, please.” I lifted my butt off the mat, and she slipped them down to my ankles. She unsnapped the onesie, pulled it open, and then opened up the new diaper and slid it under me. “Down.” I laid my still-diapered butt on the dry diaper. “This way, if you have a leak while you’re being changed it will just dribble into the new diaper, not onto the floor.” She looked at my crotch. “You’re getting a little red in a few places. We’re going to have to take care of that. I’ll get some supplies next time.”
She used some wipes the clean me up, then slid the wet diaper out from under me as I lifted again. “That wasn’t very bad at all. Quick and easy,” she said as she taped the dry one up, snapped up the onesie, and left me to pull up my pants as she balled up the wet diaper.
The “next time” that she had been referring to was, apparently, lunchtime. She knocked on the door again, and I invited her to enter. I had started to become a little nervous about leaks, so I was glad to see her.
“It’s about time,” I told her, “‘cuz I think I’m getting close to leaking.”
“Yeah, I was busy too. But remember, it’s not your fault, and not your problem if you leak.” She kissed me and took my hand. “Come in to the bathroom. We need to handle your rash.”
I followed her, and stopped at what I saw. Scissors. Razor. Hair removal cream.
“Oh, hell no.” I said, pulling back. She kept a hold of my hand.
“You’ll be a lot more comfortable like this, I promise. The hair is making it harder to keep clean and dry, and you’ll appreciate it.”
I stayed firm. This was another step too far.
“OK, then,” she said, with a gleam in her eye, “what if I do it too?” I stopped pulling. “I don’t really want to either, but then at least you can say it is a play thing that we both try, and not just because you wear diapers.”
I reluctantly acquiesced. If she was willing to go all in like that, then I guess I could too. She removed my diaper and brought over the chains. “I need to remove your trainer to get everything, so let’s get these on.”
“If I promise to be good and let you put the device back on, would you leave those off?”
She paused. “You PROMISE to be good? I would be a lot easier to have help… Remember, if you don’t, I’ll post a picture online, and you won’t like that.”
I promised, and she removed the device. For the next 30 minutes we played with each other, scissoring, razing, and creaming. By the end of it, we were in the shower, both smooth, both exploring the new feelings. There was no hair above my thighs, or below my belly button. She was just as smooth. I had to admit, it felt pretty good.
The high came down when she produced the device. I reluctantly allowed her to lock it back on. She lead me back to my bedroom, spreading out a waiting diaper for me to lay on. She produced a bottle of baby powder, which she had not used before. She explained that it would help absorb some of the moisture, and will also help with chaffing. I also found that it made the diaper feel even softer, although I did grouse about the babyish smell.
I finished dressing myself in the onesie and sweatpants while she also got dressed. We went to the kitchen to fix sandwiches, and I couldn’t help but enjoy the new feeling of the diaper, almost like warm silk was wrapped around me. It seemed to move and caress in new ways. Out of habit, I wet it.
In the early afternoon I was back at work when the knock at my door came. The warm soft caressing diaper had turned into a wet soggy mass already. It was not without some relief that I invited her in.
“Didn’t take long to soak that one, did it? I think we’ll put you in something that will last a little longer.” As she spread out the mat on the floor, I saw that she had brought a cloth diaper and plastic pants along. I opened my mouth to start whining, but then realized it didn’t matter. A diaper was a diaper. If I went longer between changes, then so much the better. I lay down on the mat and waited while the damp-but-relatively-thin M4 was replaced with the dry-but-thicker cloth and plastic pants. Again, a liberal dose of the powder was used.
As she packed up to go, she told me that she had been tweaking the training algorithms, and that the device would be receiving it’s new programming wirelessly sometime this afternoon. “You probably won’t see much difference at first, but if patterns change then that’s why. And by the way, you might want to drink a lot more this afternoon; you’ll probably need it.”
“What do you mean by that?” I was fastening the snaps of the onesie and pulling up my pants.
“I think it’s been too easy for you to hold of going until just before you know that a shock is going to happen. So, we’re changing things up. Hopefully it will make the training a little more effective.” She paused. “I think that the training direction that I had been going on was the wrong one. I mean, I was thinking more of Pavlov, where you’d do something in response to a stimulus. I’ve been reading more, and I think that’s the wrong model.”
“So what’s the right model?”
“Well,” she smiled, “if I tell you then I don’t think it will be as effective. So, just go with the flow. Or just let it flow. Or something like that.” She gave me a devious smile as she closed my office door.
The End of The Trainer – Chapter Seven.
If you want to read more stories about ABDL boys you can find a list here: Diaper Boys – Index