It was now Friday of the fourth week, and Doug had thus completed a month of his ICP. Not much was happening around the lab, so Doug took the opportunity to walk home for a leisurely lunch in the privacy of his apartment, where a diaper change was less of a hassle.

A month! he thought as he walked home. It seemed impossible that he'd spent a whole month as a baby, but it was true. He hadn't been out of a diaper for more than fifteen minutes at all, and hadn't used a toilet the whole time. He wasn't enjoying it, certainly, but he was getting used to it a little. He was definitely still enjoying the convenience diapers offered. He hardly thought about when he peed these days: as much trouble as cleanup was, he loved not worrying about holding it in until he got to a bathroom. He didn't think that carefully about it, because it didn't seem important to him, but if he had, he would have noticed that he still had to consciously relax his bladder and bowel to empty them. But he was doing it far more often and instinctively. And he enjoyed this freedom, which was what he considered to be his only "perk."

There were lots of things he still *didn't* like, however. He hated limiting himself to one orgasm a week, but he wanted to be very conservative about that, especially at first. He had a good system, but he knew that Mrs. Warren was smart, and if he blew it he might never figure out another feasable system. It was too precious. Most of all, however, he hated subjugating himself to Mrs. Warren, acting like a two-year-old around her. He was still very self-conscious about having to call her "Mommy," and it galled him to have to walk on eggshells around to show her how obedient he was. The only thing that kept him doing it was the knowledge that if he didn't, he'd get something which pleased him even less: a spanking. And so, even though he was constantly humiliated by the fact that he really was literally trying to be a good little boy to avoid a spanking from his Mommy, it was worth it to him to do so.

Doug continued to be depressed about not figuring a way out of this mess. It was beginning to look more and more like he'd have to ride the thing out for the full duration of the six months. This failure was in itself embarrassing , but he was beginning to see the wisdom in not fighting Mrs. Warren. These last few weeks had been degrading, of course, but nothing like his experience with the wet bet that day. And without a spanking since then, the time had passed more quickly, too. If he could just ride this out for another five months and stay on Mrs. Warren's good side, which meant being a good boy, he could count on resuming his normal life in April without so much as a single spanking before that. This plan, because of its relative ease and safety, was becoming more and more attractive to him. With his secret masturbation scheme in place, he could almost imagine making it that long.

His musings ended as he arrived home and started to make his lunch. His diaper was soaked (he'd made it through the morning without a change) but he was hungry, so he put off changing himself until after lunch. He had just finished making a sandwich when he was surprised by the sound of a key in the lock of his front door. Mrs. Warren! he thought. Was he in trouble? She didn't ordinarily visit him during work days, even when he was home for lunch.

"Doug?" he heard her call from the hall.

"Yes, Mommy?" he answered, gritting his teeth slightly at the humiliation of having to call her that.

"We need to talk," Mrs. Warren told him as she entered his living room, with him following closely behind.

"I called your machine," Doug said defensively, hoping to head off any problems. "I told you I was coming home for lunch. I was good."

"Oh, yes, that was a good boy," Mrs. Warren said, sitting down and putting her keys in her big black purse, which seemed to be more full than usual. "That's how I knew to find you here. No, that's not what this is about."

"Was I bad?" Doug asked worriedly. After he'd just considered how lucky he was for not having been spanked recently, this seemed a big disappointment. Could she know about his secret? But surely she'd appear much angrier if she knew...

"Well, no, I don't think so," she replied, "unless you *purposefully* turned in too few messy diapers last week."

"No, I...I..." he stammered. "I didn't mean to; are you sure?" His mind raced. What was the punishment for that?

"Yes, I'm sure," she said sharply. "And don't question me again. My inspectors told me about it this morning after analyzing your diapers from last week. You only turned in seven messy diapers when you were supposed to turn in nine."

"Oh," Doug said. He'd thought he'd done okay last week. The big question was: did he get a spanking for that? "I...don't know what happened. I'm really sorry," he started.

"Well, I'm sure it wasn't intentional, and no, we don't spank for that. Your total number of diapers was fine, so we know you were good about using your diapers. So you don't need a spanking. But I *am* worried that you seem to be slightly constipated. Do you know why I'd care about that?"

"No, Mommy," Doug said, though he was thinking, because you're intrusive and perverted.

"Well, constipation is actually a cause of a special kind of incontinence called `overflow incontinence.' So we always have to make sure our clients stay very regular. That's why we have the messy diaper quota, you know."

"Oh," he said to be polite. He wasn't constipated, and he wasn't really interested. Seven dirty diapers was pretty regular, for goodness sake.

"And that's why any time you turn in too few messy diaper, as you did, we want to make sure it doesn't become a problem."

Whatever, Doug thought. What the hell was the point of this? He wasn't constipated, though he *was* very hungry by now. He needed to move her along so he could eat and get back to lunch. "Okay, well, I'll try to pay more attention this week," he said, hoping that that was what she was looking for.

It wasn't. "Not so fast, little guy," Mrs. Warren said, smiling. "You obviously don't remember your rule list. We need to spend the next day or so making sure you aren't at all, shall we say, `plugged up.'" Doug didn't like the sound of that. "I call it Bowel Encouragement. Does that ring any bells?"

Doug shook his head, beginning to dread the answer. He hoped it wasn't diaper juice.

"Well, we just help you along a little by putting something in your bottom every so often for a day. It's guaranteed to work."

Well, out of everything that *could* be happening, that didn't sound too bad. Still, he wasn't sure he could trust Mrs. Warren. "Does it hurt?"

"No, not really," she replied. "Let's go get you started. Have you had a bowel movement today?"

"No, Mommy," Doug answered. He had himself on a nice regular evening schedule for BMs during the week.

Mrs. Warren smiled with anticipation. "That's fine. Let's go upstairs and get you changed into a dry diaper. I see that one's about soaked."

Doug looked down, but saw no signs of leaking through his pants. He was amazed at how Mrs. Warren could tell these things so accurately. I mean, I'm wearing pants, he thought. Is my diaper still that obvious? Can everyone tell? Or is she just that good?

Mrs. Warren led him upstairs, aware of the impact her comment would make on Doug's confidence in public and on his opinion of her. In truth, she simply had seen him arrive home and assumed he'd not yet changed himself. After a whole morning at work, she'd knew he *had* to be soaking.

With considerable embarrassment, Doug lay back on his changing pad and allowed his pants to be pulled down and his diaper changed. Mrs. Warren didn't do this for him often, and he was still self-conscious enough about it to make the experience painful.

Mrs. Warren ran a baby wipe around his diaper area, cleaning his hairless groin carefully. "Very nice job shaving, Doug," she said. "You're turning into a very good little baby for Mommy. If we can get this constipation problem cleared up, we might consider taking you off of probation in a month or two."

Probation! He'd forgotten he was on probation. Recently it hadn't been *that* bad being on probation, he reflected, as Mrs. Warren placed a clean diaper under his hips and powdered him heavily. But if he could off of probation, then maybe he wouldn't be spied on at work, or maybe his garbage wouldn't be sorted, or his diapers counted. Then he could really get away with stuff! He tried to busy himself thinking how nice that would be while Mrs. Warren finished readying him.

His attention was redirected back to Mrs. Warren as she dug into her purse and retrieved a latex glove and a small unlabeled container, from which she removed two cone-shaped pellets. After donning the glove, she had Doug spread and lift his legs, after which she unceremoniously stuck the two pellets up past Doug's anus, well into his rectum. Doug was caught off-guard by this new experience, and he sucked in his breath sharply, unconsciously also clamping down his sphincter in self-defense. This effort had no effect on Mrs. Warren's finger, which had accomplished its mission and retreated quickly. Mrs. Warren had his diaper taped up before Doug even knew what was happening. His bottom felt a little funny with those things inside, but it didn't hurt or anything. Doug was relieved. That was it?

She had him stand up as she walked over to his dresser and removed from the top drawer a pair of his white plastic panties. She handed them to Doug and told him to put them on, which he did. Then she went back to her purse and, to Doug's surprise, removed from it another pair of plastic panties. These, too, Doug obediently pulled on, wondering idly what the point of two pairs of panties was. He noted as he adjusted the waist that there was something unusual about the elastic band, but before he had even realized that there was a small chain embedded in the waistband, Mrs. Warren had reached over and snapped closed a tiny padlock. Doug looked up in surprise. Why did he need to be locked in?

But Mrs. Warren just smiled and said, "There you go. Now, here's the plan. After a while you're going to want to soil your diaper. I know you're incontinent, but my advice to you is to try to hold it in for at least an hour and a half. The reason for that is that I want these suppositories to stay inside you and melt completely. If you just poop them out now, they won't help you at all. So the rule is, keep them in until they're melted completely; you won't be able to tell, of course, but an hour and a half should do the trick. I'm going to check your diaper when I change it in six hours, and if I find any part of the suppository unmelted, I'll know you didn't get the full effect. If that happens, we go directly to enemas, which you will like even less. First, though, for your comfort, I'd like to try the suppositories." Actually it was less for his comfort than it was to draw out the entire affair. Enemas were over too quickly.

"Every six hours, I'll come here and unlock you, let you shower if you need to, and put you in a clean diaper with two more suppositories. In twenty-four hours, after four messy diapers, I'll assumed you're no longer constipated, and you can get back to your regular life, no pun intended. Okay? Walk me downstairs," she said brightly as she picked up her purse.

Wearing nothing but his diaper and plastic panties, Doug accompanied her to the front door. "I have to tell you, Doug, that as important as this treatment is, I know you'll appreciate my help over the next day. I'd like to hear you thank me for that help every time I see you through tomorrow." She looked at Doug expectantly.

"Thank you, Mommy," Doug said quickly, though he wasn't sure he meant it. At his response, Mrs. Warren smiled a wonderfully evil smile, said good-bye, and left his apartment, telling him she'd be back at six.

Doug looked down at his bulky diaper, now encased in two pairs of plastic panties. He started to get a foreboding that the next day wasn't going to be very enjoyable for him. He'd actually never heard of suppositories, but he hoped they didn't work very quickly, because he had to work this afternoon! There wasn't much to do, just a couple of assays in the lab, but they were timed, and he had to be there all day, until nearly six o'clock, to supervise them. What if he had a bowel movement at work? He had purposely avoided this until now, knowing that the smell would be hideous and difficult to control. He stared at the two pairs of panties he wore and in a flash realized that they must be there for a reason, and that he was probably being set up for a disaster.

Damn that woman! he thought. She must know the effect this might have. She was doing it on purpose. And now he was locked in! He couldn't escape this at all now: judging by the double protection she'd given him, he was destined to have an enormous accident in a potentially embarrassing place, and there was no way to avoid it! He wanted desparately to expel those little pellets right now, before they could do whatever they were going to do. But that would apparently lead to an enema, which didn't sound nice at all, and if he knew Mrs. Warren at all, probably a spanking as well. No, he didn't have a choice. As bad as this day might get, he knew he had to face it.

A glance at his watch told him that this escapade had already nearly made him late for getting back to the lab. So he wolfed down his sandwich and tried to find pants to cover himself, now that he was bigger than ever before. He got his longest shirt and tried it on. It seemed to disguise his diapered state, but when he walked, it tightened against his diaper with every move and made things very obvious, he thought. But that was the best he could do. He had to hurry.

He got to his lab without having anyone comment on or stare at him, so he started to feel better about the afternoon still ahead of him. Until he sat down for the first time and suddenly felt a cramp in his belly. Uh-oh, he thought. It's already starting. He hadn't expected it to be quite this fast-acting. It had only been about thirty minutes since Mrs. Warren had inserted the suppositories. He sat at his desk and tried to concentrate on other things, but soon Doug could think of nothing but his bowels.

He heard a familiar gurgling in his stomach, the same gurgling he'd heard a month ago in his bathtub. This was when he knew that this situation would get much worse before it would get better. He was again filled with the desire to push those angry pellets out into his diaper where they couldn't hurt him, but still he resisted the urge. He wanted to get through this without making it any worse.

The pain and urgency in his bottom got much worse when he got up twenty minutes later to turn off a gel he'd been running. He literally had to clinch his teeth as he stood working so as not to soil himself. By this point the contents of his intestines were screaming to be let loose, but Doug was now determined to go the distance. If he gave in to his urges now, on top of all of the misery he'd already endured over the last hour, he'd also probably be spanked and subjected to an enema.

A co-worker came in several minutes later, and Doug tried to stay still, so as not to move and thereby give away his diapered status. But his friend noticed his obvious discomfort, and suggested he take the afternoon off. Doug nodded grimly but didn't say anything. He knew that wasn't really an option. If he went home "sick," he'd have to tell Mrs Warren, whose remedy might be worse yet. To his relief his co-worker simply shook his head and left.

Doug was sweating by the time ninety minutes were up. But he was elated: he had done it, and now he could relieve himself of this torment. Yet it wasn't much of a victory, he knew, as he was now simply given the unenviable opportunity to mess his diaper at work and then stay in it for four and a half uncomfortable hours. His discomfort would simply shift to outside his body, with the added risk of someone discovering him. He was trapped, and silently he cursed Mrs. Warren again. He was beginning to realize (in part) how diabolical she could be.

A minute later, when the next round of cramps struck him, he realized it didn't matter what he wanted or who was to blame. As he nearly cried out in agony, he instinctively squatted down and urgently pushed what he could of his intestinal contents out into his diaper. And his bowels responded explosively. Doug couldn't help but enjoy the sensation, momentarily luxuriating in the absense of pain and pressure.

When he could, he stood up again and looked around. He lab room was empty, thank goodness. That experience had gone unwitnessed. But now what? How to hide the very full state of his pants? Doug made the unfortunate decision to sit down to think, and immediately wished he hadn't. He felt his diaper's contents squish and spread over his bottom and between his legs. This was indeed a mess!

Once seated, though, Doug realized that if he stayed that way and didn't move, the smell wasn't too bad. So he just spent the rest of his day parked in his dirty diaper at his desk, periodically relieving himself as he needed, feeling no compunction to hold it in now. Luckily, most people seemed to have taken off early on this Friday afternoon, and he had only two further visitors to his lonely lab, neither requiring him to stand. He couldn't believe his luck, if you could call it that, but after the rest of the day he'd had, he was grateful for any break he could get.

He listened for the familiar and distant sounds of keys jingling and doors shutting as the rest of the employees left for the day. When all was quiet, at about five-thirty, Doug gingerly stood, picked up his relatively-useless diaper bag, and waddled out of his lab.