“We’ve cut you inside, made you permanently incontinent,” she told me. My scream woke me up; it was all a dream.
I looked down and saw I was in a diaper anyway, wet, and in the morning light that didn’t look like urine. It looked like blood! My scream woke me up; it was all a dream.
Something smelled bad. I shifted uncomfortably and realised it was me. My diaper. I had messed in my sleep! My scream woke me up; it was all a dream.
My scream was cut off, something filling my mouth. “Screaming, I like that,” he said squatting above me, “It won’t get you out of diapers but makes it easy for me to gag you.” I realised with repulsion which part of his body had filled my mouth and bit down, hard. His scream woke me up; it was all a dream.
I tried to curl up but couldn’t, something stopping me moving my wrists, my shoulders strapped to the bed. Turning my head I looked through wooden bars and saw a whole dormitory full of oversized cribs, sounds of pain and distress coming from the shadowy figures of people trapped in them, all wearing thick diapers. My scream woke me up; it was all a dream.
The guard heard my scream, walked up to my bed. “It’s ok sweetheart, you’re safe,” she said, “Nobody can get to you here, and the restraints are for your protection. Does your diaper need a change?” My scream woke me up; it was all a dream.
The driver turned around, reassured me. “It’s ok, we’re nearly at the Institute. They’ll change you.” Looking down I found myself locked into a car seat, its padding not explaining the damp squidginess I was sat on. My scream woke me up; it was all a dream.
They came into the holding cell, fixed cuffs to me. “It’s a long drive,” one of them said, “We’d better get her in a diaper first.” My scream woke me up; it was all a dream.
They wouldn’t remove the pacifier, wouldn’t let me tell them I was being forced to wear diapers. Forced to use them. “Needs full time care,” declared the Doctor, “Let’s get her committed.” My scream woke me up; it was all a dream.
The guard heard my scream, approached my cell. “Here,” he said, passing some items to my cell mates, “If she’s going to scream like a baby you can keep her pacified and diapered like one.” They pinned me to my bed, started stripping me as one unfolded a thick disposable diaper and another brought a pacifier towards my mouth. My scream woke me up; it was all a dream.
I struggled to escape from her, not wanting another diaper on. Flailing arms caused bruises, getting me a stern warning. “Hit me just once more and I’ll have you arrested for domestic violence,” she told me, but then sat on me, pinning me down so she could fit the diaper I didn’t want. I tried to push her off but as my wrist slipped from her restraining grasp my arm whiplashed into her face. Her scream woke me up; it was all a dream.
“That was your last chance,” she said, “If you can’t use your potty then it’s permanent diapers for you.” She lifted me off the seat, made me lie down and started trapping me in thick padding. My scream woke me up; it was all a dream.
No wonder I’d been dreaming of diapers. My bed was wet, and not from sweat. She rolled over, stroked my face. “Are you ok? Oh, you’ve wet the bed again. Come on, let’s get you in a diaper.” My scream woke me up; it was all a dream.
As we lay there in a post-orgasmic glow I kissed her neck, held her until she fell asleep. Rolling away I smiled to myself and relaxed my muscles. Feeling my bladder empty itself I hoped she’d respond well, start a chain of events that might lead anywhere. I could dream.
This was written as a protest against stories that go off at a tangent or try and mislead you by incorporating nonsensical dream sequences then mocking you with “It was just a dream.”