When Doug had spent several minutes soothing his hot, red bottom, he sat down in stunned amazement to consider what his life had suddenly been turned into. He thought of the mounds of diapers up in his room, destined to be worn and used by him in the near future. He thought of being forced to call Mrs. Warren "Mommy," and essentially forced to do anything she told him to do. It was so humiliating. How could he possibly live with this?

But what could he do? he asked himself. He told himself over and over that he had no choice. That it didn't matter how he got here and what he thought about it. He simply had to play baby now, or risk losing the rest of his life. It was unfair, and miserable, but he had to be realistic: it was his only option if he didn't want to be the laughingstock of his family, friends, and colleagues.

He stared down at the bulky diaper he had sentenced himself to wear. Because he had gotten cute and self-righteous over the phone with Mrs. Sheffield, he was now going to wear the thickest, loudest diaper ever. It would undoubtedly be noticeable, and even more embarrassing was how much he had contributed to this situation. If he hadn't gone into the store, if he hadn't lied about being incontinent, if he hadn't lied about wanting such an unmanageable diaper, if he hadn't agreed to the incontinence test....there were so many ways he could have avoided this, he thought. But at every step, he'd made the wrong move, and now he ws stuck in huge, noisy diapers. It was so thick he couldn't even masturbate through it, even if that was allowed.

But, of course, he had been operating under the assumption that this was a game of which he had control. He now knew differently, but it was too late. This diaper service was a business, and a serious one at that. And he had just contracted them to enslave him in diapers. He snorted. It sounded like a dream come true. But he knew, or thought he knew, what it would really be like. His bottom knew. It was a nightmare.

He told himself he had to take this situation day by day. If he tried to deal with the whole thing, he'd get too depressed. But if he only thought about the next day, he could get through. Tomorrow wouldn't be too bad. In fact, this week wouldn't be too embarrassing, since he was studying at home alone. This was almost what he had intended for this weeks, anyway. No one had to know. Next week would be interesting, though, when he went back to work. How would he ever keep his co-workers in the dark? Bulky clothes, he mused... His real life would be quite a challenge.

For the next day, though, his job was easy. Study as much as possible from his GRE Review Book, and, in the words of Mrs. Warren, "be a good little boy." He actually didn't care how ridiculous that sounded: right now, and for as long as his bottom kept hurting, he was happy to wear his diaper compliantly, and do anything else he needed to. He wasn't interested in risking another spanking right now.

Doug was surprised to find his diarrhea clearing up fairly quickly that afternoon. Mrs. Warren was right again, he thought. He didn't like to admit it, but she seemed to know everything. Of course, he would have been angry at how gullible he'd been, if he'd known how she knew when his BMs would slow down.

And as his diarrhea slowed, he noticed that his diaper consumption was slowing as well. He thought about this idly during dinner. He had a diaper quota to fill, and in the interest of remaining pain-free, he would try to fill it properly, at least in the short term. He calculated his usage for the week at his new, slower rate, and realized he'd be hard-pressed to wet enough diapers. And if he didn't, he knew what awaited him. So he began to drink more that evening. This, he only half noticed, had the effect (desired by Mrs. Warren) of his spending more and more time in partially-wet diapers, as he conscientiously waited to saturate them fully.

By the next day, Thursday, Doug was consciously starting to relax his sphincter control, wetting whenever he felt the urge. His diapers held almost anything, and as long as he had the opportunity to relax and not worry about control, why not? It wasn't like it was important whether he tried to hold it back or not. The rules didn't reward him for that! So who needs it? If I have to be a baby, I might as well take advantage of it, he thought. It's the only perk, after all.

On Thursday, for the first time, Doug felt the need for the first time to have a real, formed BM. This was another little landmark for him, since it involved using his diaper for an "optional" mess: it wasn't like the diarrhea, where he was controlling an emergent situation. It also necessitated wearing the diaper for some time afterward, in an obedient attempt to make the diaper appear "fully used." It usually felt good, but today, as he squished around in his full pants, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being forced to do this, to wear his poop-filled diaper. Mrs. Warren was *making* him do this, and for some reason (embarrassment?) this took away much of the pleasure he usually derived from wearing his messy diaper.

Mrs. Warren stopped by occasionally, and was pleased when she checked Doug's diaper, diaper pail, toilets, and tub. She acknowledged his good behavior with a sticker on his refrigerator, about which she said he should be proud. He found it difficult to get excited about a sticker. It was just one more embarrassing element to this absurd program.

Mrs. Warren had expected this good behavior. It was typical of her new boys for the first few days, what she called the "honeymoon" period. Their bottoms still stung, and the potential humiliation of the photos was still fresh in their minds. They also weren't yet bored with the program, and hadn't had enough time to build up a huge amount of sexual tension.

Doug did come up with some questions for Mrs. Warren, however, as he found minor problems with the ICP. How, for example, was he supposed to blow his nose if she had forbidden all paper products from his apartment? It was easily solved, Mrs. Warren said, by using an old-fashioned handkerchief, which, like his other laundry, was to be inspected by her before he took it to the complex's laundry room. Working out details to another problem, Doug agreed to shave himself every other day to keep his bottom and groin smooth. On Friday, he did this for the first time, and found that it wasn't too difficult, except for his ego.

Saturday was the day of his big test, Mrs. Warren showed up at his apartment early in the morning to see him off. She presented him with a large, pink pastel diaper bag, which he was not so pleased to receive. It was so frilly and infantile that it could not be mistaken for anything other than what it was. He pled his case to her that it was just too embarrassing to take out in public, but Mrs. Warren said that it was more important to be prepared properly than to be socially comfortable, and she therefore wouldn't accept his excuses.

This brought up an issue Doug hadn't considered before. Surely there would be times when he'd have to change himself in public, but how was this possible if he wasn't allowed near restrooms? It wasn't so hard, said Mrs. Warren. First of all, any time he went out, he should already have informed her, so that she or a babysitter could watch him. If the possibility of needing a change existed, they would know about it, and could appropriately interpret his usage of a bathroom. If he used it to change himself, he should naturally have a used diaper to show for it, and this could be checked when he arrived home. He was, however, warned that any trip to a public restroom would be carefully watched and, often, timed. Some of his "babysitters" might even be male and could follow him in. Any activity conspicuous for masturbation or using a toilet would be punished as such. As long as he hurried and was a good boy, he'd be okay.

So he went off with his pink diaper bag to take his test. It lasted through lunch, and he found that by restricting fluids, he didn't have a problem needing a change. This was a relief for him. No one even noticed his bag, or his bulky bottom, or his waddle, or his rustling, probably because everyone was so preoccupied with the test. Doug came home from the test impressed with his academic performance, considering all the stress he'd been under during the preceding week.

With the test finished Saturday night, though, Doug started thinking about the future. He was worried about going grocery shopping tomorrow, his first errand outside his apartment wearing diapers. He also started thinking more long-term, and he was already tired of wearing these huge diapers. It was a pain. He never thought he'd miss the convenience of the toilet, but he was starting to. He'd never been in diapers for so long at one time, and it was wearing thin. In addition, there was also the growing problem of his mounting sexual appetite. He hadn't come in several days, and that was just about a record for him. Plus, he wasn't excited about resuming his public life on Monday when he went back to work. Hiding these bulky diapers might be impossible, and would at the very least be a huge social burden he'd have to deal with constantly.

All in all, he was beginning to feel far less obedient than he had over the past few days. He was starting to see that, just as he'd feared, he couldn't live this life constantly. It wasn't practical or desirable. If he was going to cope, he'd have to figure out some ways to cut corners, to express his independence in little, harmless ways, and to maintain a vestige of his former autonomy.

He mulled this over in his head, before forming a plan for tomorrow. He needed groceries. He assumed he'd be followed, or something, but he wondered how Mrs. Warren would follow him if she didn't know he'd left. What if he left right after she visited tomorrow? She never returned right away. She'd never know. And if she didn't know, he could venture out without his diaper, and not risk embarrassment tomorrow at the store...

It made him a little nervous to think about, but it had to work, right? If he was scared, he could always take along a diaper in the car, into which he might be able to change quickly if he somehow met Mrs. Warren on the way there or back. And he'd hurry, to cut down further the chance of being discovered. The risk, he knew, had to be miniscule. And the symbolism, and implications for later, were enormous to him. If he could poke a little hole in her regime, there might be other opportunities later. His life might end up being manageable after all.

Doug went to sleep Saturday night excited, with the first bit of hope about the future that he'd had in days. As he settled into bed, feeling the now-familiar thick cushion between his legs, and hearing the omnipresent crinkling of his diaper, he could hardly wait until for what the next day would bring.

If he'd been able to see what would really happen, however, he wouldn't have wanted ever to wake up.