Story: The Date

[parker longabaugh]

Co-written with my partner from Messy Jessie. This one’s a little different than anything I’ve ever written before. It’s dark and quite messy, and the ABDL elements don’t come into play until near the end. I had fun writing it though and I hope you enjoy it. We’ll almost certainly continue this project real soon (unless everyone hates it).

The Date
Chapter One: Pulled Over

“Aw, Dammit!” I cursed the flashing lights in my rearview and my luck at once. Why is it, I pondered philosophically, angling my car toward the shoulder, that I only get pulled over when I’m running late?
The cop pulled in behind me, the motorcycle’s engine dying. After a moment, the officer rose from the bike, and I could see it was a shapely woman. She sauntered toward the car slowly, giving me plenty of time to study her curves. She was in her later 20’s or early 30’s, her features sharp and delicate like a model, her eyes hidden behind reflective shades, hair tucked up beneath her helmet. Her skin was a lovely olive color and seemed almost impossibly soft.
I made a quick, preliminary scan of her frontal lobes gave me the pertinent info: officer Sierra Guzman, 28, a five year veteran of the force. I drank in the information quickly, rolling down the window as she approached. “Is something the matter, officer?”
“I had you going 68 in a 60 back there,” she said absently, already writing out my ticket.
Shit, was she serious? I checked the clock. It was almost 8—I cursed my luck again. Candy hated to be kept waiting, and I wanted to keep her in a good mood for later.
“Officer, I must protest: I had just entered the 60 zone, I had insufficient time to slow down…”
“If you’d like, sir, you can always contest the ticket in court,” she said firmly. And besides, she thought, this fills my quota for the month, and I’ll be dammed if I’m gonna sit through another one of the sarge’s lectures.
I probed a little deeper: seemed officer Guzman wasn’t living up to her superior’s expectations—and now she was compensating by ambushing innocent motorists.
Ok, I thought, let’s give her one last chance. “Officer, ordinarily I wouldn’t mind, but I’m actually running late for a date…”
“Well, I guess she’s gonna have to wait a little longer, isn’t she pretty boy?” Guzman said curtly.
Reaching out with my mind, I slipped my telekinetic fingers inside of her and began gently massaging her intestines. “You know what?” I asked, “You’re really full of shit.”
It wasn’t a lie… her bowels were quite full. She probably had a movement pending anyway… well let’s speed thing along, I thought, giving her guts a little tickle.
Officer Guzman, who assumed I was speaking figuratively, looked up from her ticket book and fixed me with an icy glare. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. You know you ambushed me to boost your stats. You’re full of shit.”
“Is that a fact?” She placed her hands on her hips, adopting a confrontational posture.
“That’s right,” I said, giving her bowels a squeeze. “Full of shit.”
“Are you being belligerent with me?” She was beginning to look uncomfortable, my internal massage starting to have its effect.
“No ma’am,” I assured her making her belly grumble and growl. “I’m just stating a fact. You’re completely full of shit. And do you know what happens to girls who are as full of shit as you are?”
“What?” she demanded, trying to sound forceful as the need to poop became stronger and stronger. She was already thinking about finding a toilet. Normally Sierra Guzman preferred to poop at home, but somehow she just knew that wouldn’t be an option today. Funny, she thought, this guy has no Idea how right he is—I can’t remember the last time I had to go this bad!
“They poop their pants,” I smiled.
She gave a surprised laugh. “Oh?” she asked, her tone amused, “and how would that--?”
But she never finished her question. Giving her straining bowels a sharp squeeze, I forced a quick gasp out of her. A noisy, sticky squelch emerged from the seat of her tight pants. Doubling over, she gripped my door panel and emitted a startled grunt; warm, mushy poop gushed out of her noisily and quickly settled into the seat of her pants. She tightened, squeezing her asscheeks together and fixing me with a helpless stare.
“See what I mean Sierra? A little girl like you who’s so full of shit never knows when she might just… explode.”
Another squeeze, another surge of poop into those tight riding pants. Sierra doubled over involuntarily and opened her mouth to scream, but all that emerged was a few soft, disbelieving squeaks. A noisy FLLAABLATCH! rumbled from her seat. Her panties ballooned out behind her as she erupted in her pants; the seat of her tight blue trousers became lumpy and distended, with just a hint of a stain blossoming.
“It’s like when you were in 12th grade and you used to eat those chili cheese dogs at Nicks that gave you this shits? What did you call them? Diarrhea torpedoes?” I laughed, giving her another squeeze. She was ready for me this time, clenching her cheeks and anus tightly, but it didn’t make any difference. Another round of mushy poop came thundering into her pants, filling her panties to capacity and forcing a choked sob out of her. “Boy, you sure loved them—but they didn’t love you, did they Sierra?”
“How do you know all this?” She asked me, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Here’s what I want you to do, Sierra,” I said when I was sure I had her hanging on my every word. “First, I want you to tear up that ticket.”
Acutely aware of the load in her pants with every move, she tore out the ticket and ripped it up, scattering the remains across the highway.
“Now: how close do you live from here?”
“N-n-n-not too far,” she said, shifting from foot to foot. The pile in her pants was hot and heavy, gooey and sticky. Each of her gorgeous buttocks had been smeared completely. “About ten minutes or so…”
“Ok,” I said, speaking slowly. As I spoke, I inscribed each word carefully in her mind, knowing she’d follow my instructions to the letter. “Here’s what I want you to do: I want you to sashay your stinky, poopy fanny over to that motorcycle and I want you to sit down slowly, until you’ve got all your weight settled on that big load in your pants. Mush it around a bit—really savor the feeling. Turn on your bike and just sit there as it idles for a minute; really get used to the feeling of the machine rumbling under that messy butt of yours. Then I want you to drive home; no hurry, take your time, get there safely. Go up into your apartment, but don’t go into the bathroom just yet. Instead, find a nice, hard chair, put down some newspaper if you have to, and sit your poopy buns down in that mess and really concentrate on how it makes you feel. Do that for ten minutes. Now go into the bathroom. With your back to the mirror, take down your pants slowly and study your poopy panties. Now take them down and see what your messy hiney looks like. After that, feel free to get cleaned up, but remember this, Sierra:
“For the next three weeks, you will shit your pants every-time you tell a lie.” She gasped and gave me a pleading look, but wisely maintained her silence. “That’s right, young lady. It doesn’t matter how small or white a lie it is: if you tell even the tiniest fib, you’re going to load you pants like you did just did.”
She started to cry as the implication sunk in. “But… there’s no way I can go that long without lying! No one can!”
“That’s why it’s so important you get used to having messy pants now, dear. I have a feeling that over the next few weeks you’re going to be very familiar with the sensation.
“Now go on. Get out of here before I make you take your pants down right here and show everyone what you did.”
Nodding stiffly, she turned and shuffled back to her bike slowly, trying to minimize the mess. Watching her big, round booty in the mirror, I couldn’t resist giving her bowels another squeeze. Gasping, she dipped on one leg, farting as she dumped another wet load into the seat of her pants. I smiled as she stood by the side of her bike, hesitating. Taking a deep breath, she swung her leg over, positioned her booty over the seat, and lowered herself slowly. I laughed at her horrified expression as she slowly settled her entire weight onto the seat, feeling the load compress beneath her beautiful ass with a squelch. Grimacing, she squirmed her buttocks against her seat, spreading the mess across her entire backside.
Reaching down, she turned the key. The engine roared to life and I was treated to new expressions of shock and disgust as she pressed her dirty ass into the seat, feeling the gentle roar of the engine spread the mess into new nooks and crannies.
Stiffly, trying to minimize the movement of her posterior, Officer Sierra Guzman shifted into gear and roared off slowly down the highway with a big, squishy dump in her pants.

[parker longabaugh]

Chapter Two: The Obligatory Back Story
You’d Probably love to know all about me. Where I’m from, what I look like, what I do etc. The truth is none of it really matters. I’m just a guy like you, living in a city like yours, with a well-paying, but boring job, maybe not unlike the one you work at. I suppose I’m pretty good-looking-- never seem to have a problem attracting ladies anyway.
The truth is, I’d sort of like to keep this kind of anonymous; you never know who might be reading these things, cooking up ideas for me and those “unique abilities” of mine.
And what about those Unique Abilities, I hear you ask. Where did they come from? How did they develop, how do they work, and how do I get me some of those, anyway?
Sorry to disappoint, but in many ways, The Power is as mysterious to me as it is to you. I guess I was always gifted: I was thirteen when I went into the twelfth grade, which didn’t sit well with my stepsister Violet. She loathed the idea of being in the same class as her dorky step-brother. I wasn’t exactly thrilled about it either; now she could make my life miserable at home and at school.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
The Power seemed to manifest as I hit puberty. Suddenly people were like open books to me—especially women. I could read their thoughts and flip through their memories as easy as browsing the internet. I knew their likes and dislikes, their hopes and dreams, their fears and all their most embarrassing secrets.
As I matured, I using The Power grew easier and easier. I could control people, project thoughts into their minds and alter their moods. I could put a girl in just the right mood to ask her out, and know exactly what to do to keep her happy.
By the time I was a man, I could control every part of a person’s body and make them do whatever I wanted.
And what I wanted was to have a little fun…

[parker longabaugh]

Chapter Three: I Want Candy
“You’re late.”
Candy nursed an appletini, trying to look angry, but was only able to manage pouty and adorable. She was 32, but told people she was 25. It was an easy deception—she probably could have shaved another year or two off if she’d wanted. The Fire of her hair burned against the paleness of her skin. She poured her ample curves into a tight black tank top and painted on leather pants.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” I soothed, already reaching into her brain and massaging her into a better mood. “Traffic was murder.” I took her hand and kissed it, making her smile grudgingly as I ordered a beer.
By the time the food arrived, I’d put her in a better frame of mind with a few amusing anecdotes and some subtle telepathic manipulation. I’m sure the fact that she put away three more drinks at dinner didn’t hurt, either.
Christina “Candy” Carothers was a dancer I’d met a couple of months before . She was a bit of a drama queen, spoiled, pouty, used to getting her way, but she was sexy, and usually up for anything.
On the way back to her place, she was already getting hot and bothered. I’d always known Candy to be an eager girl, always ready for a roll in the hay. But tonight I wanted more. So much more.
Call me sick, if you must. Call me a sick deluded pervey pervert and bemoan the fact that I don’t use The Power to do something positive or constructive (let me just nip that last one in the bud right now: How do you know I don’t?).
But sometimes, I like to add a little “drama” to the proceedings. And the girls like it too—honest!
We were standing outside my place. I had her up against the wall, and we were necking gently in the moonlight. The air was cool, and we pressed together, seeking warmth. I reached inside her, stimulating her mentally while stirring her bowels gently, finding them full. Unlike the cop, I wasn’t surprised: When I made this date with her a few days ago, I’d given Candy a simple subliminal suggestion: to bulk up on fiber and roughage in the days before the date. From the look of things, she’d taken my advice to heart. I smiled to myself, reaching around to squeeze her leather-clad asscheeks.
Covering her long neck in kisses, I massaged the pleasure centers of her brain and released some endorphins. I began to massage her bowels gently, stimulating a need to go. She stiffened slightly, but continued necking, deciding it was something she could deal with later. I stifled a smile. Poor thing… she was in for a shock.
Slowly, gently, I took her wrists and pinned them against the wall above her. She moaned and pressed herself into me even harder. She was in a state of ecstasy, blissful pleasure emanating from every pore, sending shivering tingles down her limbs.
I gave her bowels a squeeze.
“Oh!” She cried, bending forward. I pretended not to notice, groaning as she pressed herself into me. She felt the dreadful pressure growing in her bowels, but in her aroused state, was either unable or unwilling to put off her pleasure, thinking that she could hold it.
But after a few more moments of pressure, massage and squeezing, she wasn’t so sure. Still I pretended not to notice her inner torment, focuses on making her feel good physically and mentally.
The pleasure and the mounting pressure in her stomach could only co-exist for so long. She finally broke off a kiss and shot me a nervous/embarrassed look. “Hey, hang on a sec, I…” she blushed… “I gotta use the bathroom.”
“Oh, I think you’ll be ok,” I murmured, nibbling on her ear while giving her bowels another squeeze. She was struggling lightly now, but I kept her wrists pinned above her. She squirmed and strained against my grip, and I calmly slipped my knee between her thighs. Desperation and arousal collided. Candy writhed and squirmed; I pressed my thigh into her crotch and increased my hold on her bowels. As she squirmed in intestinal agony, she ground her increasingly wet pussy into my thigh. Kissing her lovely luscious lips I gathered her slender wrists into one hand and used the other to explore her body and delight in her womanly curves. The air was cool but she was hot, sweating as she struggled against her body’s own urges.
Her belly gurgled, her rectum filled to capacity. “OOHH! OOO!” She clenched her buns and pranced in place, grinding her sex into my leg. “OH, please… let me go, I gotta go so bad…” Her voice was urgent, but husky: desperate to go, yet compelled to stay by the building heat in her loins.
“Oh, come on,” I said good naturedly, “you’re a big girl, right? You can hold it…” I kissed her once more and snaked my hand around, giving her leather-encased bottom a squeeze, even as I tightened my grip on her innards. It was taking most of my concentration to keep her pacified and stoke her arousal and intestinal distress, but her reactions made it all worth it: Candy writhed and danced in my arms, pressing and rubbing her delectable body against me. With my free hand, I rubbed, patted and squeezed her round derrière, savoring it’s firmness as she clenched her buns.
“No, really—I gotta go, honey. So bad! Number two…” she admitted, blushing brightly in the pale moonlight.
“C’mon, you’re a big girl, you can hold it,” I admonished, even though I knew it wasn’t true. She was perched right on the edge: one more little goose from me and there was no way she’d be able to control herself. Fixing her eyes on mine, she reddened even further as she began passing gas wetly in the cool autumn air. She gave an anguished cry, her bubbly farts rumbling in the dark. She gazed at me, cheeks flushed with embarrassment as a vaguely fruity stench enveloped the area. It was almost time.
“Please…. Please…” She whispered, her eyes wide and bright, her cheeks glowing pink in the pale moonlight. I sealed my mouth over hers, putting an end to her pleading. She groaned, desperate to run to the toilet, eager for more sexual stimulation. She danced in place as best she could with my leg pressed up against her sex, her thighs constricting around mine as she tried frantically to tighten her lower extremities, desperate to put off the explosion in her pants we both knew was becoming inevitable. With my free hand, I rubbed and squeezed her butt, savoring the way with went from soft and jiggley to firm and hard as she tightened and released her cheeks in response to the urgent pressure in her belly. Periodically, I’d give her a gentle push and squeeze out another ripper, her farts rumbling the seat of her tight leather pants and vibrating against my leg.
Finally I knew we’d reached the end of her dance. I Smiled and traced my fingers down the back of her neck, making her shiver. Kissing her, I gave her bowels one last squeeze. She fought it as hard as she was able, but it was no use. Even with her tushy clenched as hard as it would go, she still couldn’t prevent the massive gush of muddy poop from rumbling nosily into the seat of her pants. She gasped and her eyes widened as the felt her seat expanding to accommodate the load.
Without breaking our kiss, her eyes went as wide as they’d go, and she shot me a pleading look. I pressed my thigh against her crotch and gave her tummy another squeeze…
Gasping, she shivered as a ghastly farting/squelching sound emerged from inside her tight leather pants. Muddy poop poured into the seat of her already bulging panties, expanding upward toward her waistband. Releasing her wrists, I gathered her into my arms gently and kissed her soothingly, even as she continued having a major accident in her pants.
Candy could only make a series of small squeaks and squeals as she filled her pants. Another muffled fart announced that she was pushing out further installment. The mess mushed out of her leg bands and slid wetly down the backs of her thighs.
And as she helplessly filled those tight leather slacks with a hot muddy mess, a symphony of rude and embarrassing noises oozing out of their shiny black seat, she shook and squirmed and ground her sex into my leg, her arousal overtaking her.
She gave a brief, strangled cry as her orgasm overtook her. At the same time, I gave her another push; a further pulpy load came farting out of her, forcing more mush down the backs of her thighs and up her crack as it settled wetly into the seat of her panties.
Finally it was over. She collapsed against me, exhausted. Cradling her gently, I patted and rubbed her back, whispering re-assurances in her ear. She gasped, her heart beat banged against me, she rested her forehead, damp with sweat, against my cheek. Her thoughts were racing, and it was taking nearly all of my concentration to keep her from bursting into tears. Kissing her hair tenderly, I ushered her inside.
I took her into the bathroom.
Helping her into the tub, I turned her around to inspect her messy state. Nothing showed through the leather, but her rump was looking a little distended and lumpy. I reached out and gave her poopy, droopy seat a pat. “You really filled these up, didn’t you honey?”
She shot me a look. “I told you I had to go!”
“Hush,” I commanded, taking a pacifier from the medicine chest and pushing it into her mouth. She was surprised, but accepted it without a fuss. I couldn’t help but smile as she stared at me helplessly from behind the soother, which sat inert between her scarlet lips, shifting from foot to foot with a warm messy load in her pants. “go on and suck it, honey, it’ll make you feel better.”
It was true: I’d made it so that sucking the pacifier would release a small amount of endorphins. Soon she was feeling nice and calm. “Arms up!” I commanded. She did as I instructed, standing by passively as I pulled her tank-top up and off her, her naked breasts spilling out, large and firm and succulent. I took a moment to look at her; topless in her sexy leather pants, she looked like a pin-up model—except for the big stinky load of poop in her pants, I thought reflectively as I undid the front of her slacks and turned her around before I tugged them down to her knees.
I chuckled at what I saw: the back of Candy’s pretty, pristine pink panties were stained right through, covering most colored a mucky brown extending right up almost to the waistband. The seat bulged and drooped, the very top of her crack peeking out from over the top. A thick mudslide extended halfway down both thighs. The pants, though fine on the outside, were nuked on the inside, with stains all over the seat and down both legs. I tugged them off and tossed them into the trash, making a note to buy Candy a new pair, if for no other reason than she looked so good in them.
The panties came next. Carefully, I tugged them down with my thumbs and index fingers. She stepped out of them gingerly, and I tossed them into the trash, and finally she was revealed to me. The poop was smeared thickly across her entire backside and caked into her butt crack. Blushing, she peeked over her shoulder at me.
Taking the showerhead down, I adjusted the water till it was nice and warm, then rinsed off her messy tushy. When I had most of it washed off, I took a cloth and some liquid soap and began to clean her more thoroughly. She moaned when I gave her pussy a gentle cleaning, giggled when I buffed her buns, and squealed when I scrubbed her crack, paying careful attention to her adorable pink anus.
Finally she stood in front of me, fresh, clean, and nude, her skin emitting a rosy glow. Behind her pacifier, she looked contrite, almost shy. I took her hand gently and helped her out of the tub. With the biggest, fluffiest towel I had, I dried her thoroughly; Candy giggled sweetly, the soft fibers tickling her delicate skin. I took a moment to regard her perfect naked form, like a painting come to life. She batted her eyes shyly and sucked her pacifier slowly.
I took her hand and lead her down the hall. She trotted behind me obediently like a little lost lamb, unselfconsciously naked and vulnerable, putty in my hands after my gentle treatment of her during her embarrassing incident.
Ushering her into the bedroom with a few firm pats to her bare bottom, I followed her in and closed the door behind me.

[parker longabaugh]

Chapter Four: Baby Candy
Sitting her clean, fresh bottom on the bed, Candy watched me with an expression of cautious curiosity and sucked her soother slowly. I stood in front of her, she dropped her eyes, but I reached out and took her chin, gently elevating it until she was looking me in the eye. “Do you feel better now?”
She smiled and nodded, still working the pacifier between her lips. I sat next to her and rested my hand on her pale, smooth thigh. Bending foreword, I kissed and neck and nibbled her ear, making her groan behind her pacifier. I trailed my fingers up her leg slow and deliberately; with a breathy sigh, she parted her thighs invitingly. Quickly, I had her aroused once more.
I moved her up onto her hands and knees on the bedspread. I paced around her, admiring her lovely figure with a grin. From behind, her rump was as pale and plump as a new goose down pillow. I reach out tentatively to give it a friendly pat. I rob and squeeze her soft cheeks affectionately; she glanced back at me over her shoulder, sucking the pacifier nervously. Grinning wolfishly, I game each cheek a firm spank, making her cringe and blush. “I should spank you for that little accident you just had you know,” I chided with a smile, landing another firm swat, making Candy squeal. I noticed with some glee that her ass was already nice and red after just a few swats. I robbed and patted her cheeks before allowing my hands to drop between her legs, finding her sex moist and ready. She gurgled ecstatically from behind her pacifier, spread her legs and stuck her rump up in the air behind her invitingly. Disrobing quickly, I took her from behind, my pelvis slapping up against her soft round buttocks in a steady rhythms. I was amused to see her clenching the pacifier tightly between her teeth as she squealed and bucked her way to another orgasm.
With a gathering cry, she collapsed to the bed, savoring the coolness of the sheet on her breasts and stomach. She radiated pure contentment, her embarrassing accident pushed into the darkest corner in her mind… but still strong enough for me to make her doubt her adulthood. That would come in very handy as we entered the next phase of our little game…
I moved quickly, gathering my supplies before moving quietly back to the bed and arranging them carefully on the mattress. Candy squirmed face down on the bed, mewling softly around her pacifier. Taking the talcum powder from the bed, I climbed up beside her. She murmured and twitched her hips—her buttocks, still a pale pink heart floating on a sea of china-doll skin, jiggled like strawberry jello. Grinning, I sprinkled talk onto her upturned rump, then took my time patting and rubbing it into her cheeks. Sighing appreciatively, she relaxed and stretched out, at peace.
When I was finished, I positioned the cloth diaper beside her. I suddenly rolled her onto its padded seat, making her squeal. She peered up at me with helpless eyes as wide as saucers; I reacted quickly, sprinkling more powder onto her front and taking my time working it into her creamy skin. She writhed and groaned and spread her legs as wide as they’d go, squirming her bottom against the padded seat suggestively.
She was buzzing with arousal once more: She got the shock of her life when, instead of pleasuring her, I tugged the diaper up snugly between her legs and sealed up the Velcro tabs. She sat up and stared at me, working the pacifier furiously between her lips, pleading silently. I smiled benevolently. “Now now, sweetheart,” I chided gently, giving her padded crotch a pat. “I just don’t want you to have any more accidents in your sleep.”
Pouting, she crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. Great, she thought with a sigh, allowing me to pull up the plastic panties, how long’s he gonna hold THAT over my head?
I finished with a wispy pink baby-doll nightie that didn’t cover her diapers and left her firm breasts and nipples exposed beneath the flimsy material. I gazed at her longingly, the perfect little angel. She stared at herself in the mirror, embarrassed beyond all belief at the infantile image staring back at her. But I could also feel arousal, genuine arousal, coupled strong feelings of safety and security. “C’mon,” I said, coaxing her up on her hands and knees once more, “Crawl around for me.” She shot me an embarrassed glance, but complied. She slowly moved about on the bedspread, the thickly diapered butt waggling delightfully behind her.
Laughing, I sat next to her, put my arm around her shoulders and kissed her forehead before gently settling her back in bed. “There you go honey. You’ve had a tough day. You just sleep now: We’ll see about getting you out of those diapers in the morning, ok?”
She nodded, still pouting. I helped her under the covers with a knowing grin: I had a suspicion Candy was going to be in diapers for a long time.
“See you in your dreams, sweetheart,” I said sweetly as I turned out the light.


Yeah, that’s the end for now, but don’t be pissed. We’d love to write more of these real soon, but as you’ve probably noticed, we’ve left several plates spinning. Ideally, which scenario would you like to see continued in a future story?
- Officer Guzman’s inability to control her bowels?
- The history of our narrator including the birth of his powers and his feud with his beautiful stepsister Violet, and the humiliating consequences they have for her?
- Or should we continue with Baby Candy’s story?
Go to Babes in Diapers to vote.
(note: if you’re having trouble choosing, know that we’d like to and probably will do all three at some point. All future stories will be heavier on diaper content, we promise!)

[Johnny B Pooed]

Excellent!

"Thumbs" up... twice, so far.