Toddler Punishments

“Story codes: (As now required by Anna.) (This is the ‘Fine print’). Bondage story - Toddler Torments. Cross Dressing story - Toddler Torments. Explicit Sex story - Toddler Torments. Infantile Play story - Toddler Torments. Perverted Sex Play story - Toddler Torments. This narrative covers the aforementioned subjects alongside other rather gross and repulsive elements. It might offend just about anyone or everyone. You better not read it! - But if you do, take your chances. Characters: Me:{Submissive}, {My wife: Mistress}, Anna has limited certain topics. She puts it best: Children: This is an adult forum and absolutely no discussions regarding children will be permitted. This also includes photos, drawings and renderings of people appearing underage. I want to clarify that no actual kids or babies were involved in this tale. 12 - Toddler Torments. 06/14/09 I woke up with a full bladder. Still groggy and not wanting to stir further I thought about rolling over back to sleep, but my bladder screamed that was out of the question. I started sliding my legs out from under the covers. At least that’s what I intended to do. Something was definitely off. My arms and legs just weren’t in their usual spots in the bed, and they didn’t seem to be responding correctly. It hit me with a rush of memory as I checked. I was tied face down, spread-eagled on the bed once more. My hands were curled into fists, held fast by bondage mitts locked around my wrists. This definitely looked like it wasn’t going to be an easy day, and I hadn’t even fully woken up yet! Damn! I loathe when she does things like that to me. Just because she snagged another pink card last evening she thinks she can boss me about however she pleases. Well, perhaps she can, but I certainly don’t have to enjoy it! I’ll make her pay! “And how’s my little snookums this morning?” She walked into the room carrying a box. I despise when she brings a box into the room like that. This bodes ill! “Don’t worry baby, it will be an enjoyable weekend, I swear,” she said. That doesn’t sound promising already. She rarely calls me baby. I have no doubt that it will be fun for her though. She pulled something made of heavy canvas-like fabric from the box. It was hard to see exactly what it was. She fiddled with it briefly; then approached the right side of the bed. “I don’t want any trouble from you this morning.” She said sternly as she placed a blindfold over my eyes and fastened it tightly behind my head. “I’m going to unfasten this hand now. I don’t want you waving it all about. Keep it exactly where I place it.” She didn’t sound like she was playing around, and my rear end was well exposed to her, so I let her do what she wanted with the hand. I felt her threading my fisted hand into something. Next I sensed material draping down and rubbing against my arm. She adjusted my arm some, bending it at the elbow, and pushing the hand up near my shoulder. This effectively doubled my arm over into a tight ‘V’ shape, as though I were trying to touch the top of my right shoulder with my right hand. I could feel her wrapping the fabric around my arm. She continued working on whatever she was doing. In a very short time the fabric began tightening around my arm forcing it into an even tighter ‘V’. By the time she finished, the upper and lower parts of my arm were welded together. There was no movement at my elbow. The only mobility left for that arm was at the shoulder. My shoulders remained relatively free, and I could move the remaining stump of my arm quite freely from there. My hand, besides being locked in the bondage mitt, was also encased in fabric. Soon she moved to my left side and proceeded to do the same with my left arm. It certainly appeared that basket weaving was not part of her plan for today! Next she attended to my feet. Releasing my left foot she threaded it into a fabric enclosure much like she had done with my hands. Like before, she bent my leg at the knee until my foot touched my rear. Again I felt the fabric encase the limb. Soon it too was pulled tight welding my lower leg to my calf. As expected she moved to the right leg and did the same thing. Similar to my arms, I could move my legs freely at the hip. No movement was possible at the knee. I could wiggle my toes, and had some mobility at my ankles but with my ankles pressed tightly against my rump and the whole foot encased in heavy binder fabric that small amount of movement wasn’t likely to be much use to me. I heard her digging in her box, then she returned to the head of the bed. Suddenly I felt something being forced into my mouth. ‘Not a gag’ I thought. ‘I hate gags’. This certainly didn’t feel like any kind of standard gag I was used to though. It was hard, stiff, and round… Oh Shit! It’s a ring gag! That’s gotta be worse than a ball! It surprised me that when she finished tightly buckling and locking the ring gag into place that she removed the blindfold. It took a minute or two for my eyes to adjust to the light again. As much as I knew I wasn’t going like what I found, I just had to take stock of what she had done so far. Each arm and leg was individually encased in what appeared to be a homemade device that looked much like an arm binder. I assume that she had made these herself, and as usual she had done an excellent job. They looked professionally crafted, but I know her work style. Besides, Not that I’m an expert, but I have never seen anything quite this on any Internet bondage site. As I said earlier, they were constructed from heavy fabric. They looked sort of like a mini arm binder in the way they encased the single folded arm and the manner in which they laced up the outside of the limb. The laces started at the elbow and worked their way up the folded arm to the shoulder. The top laces had been tucked into the upper part of the device so that they would not hang out and snag on anything. The area where the grommets for the laces were attached had been folded over to create a double layer of fabric. Probably some sort of plastic material had also been inserted under the fold to stiffen and strengthen the textile much like is done in a good pair of shoes. A sort of pocket or short inside sleeve had been sewn into part of the shoulder end of the contraption. This pocket fitted over the hand, or fist as was my case. This served similarly to the shoulder straps of an arm binder, and clearly would prevent the device from eventually slipping down my limb. A leather patch had been sewn over the elbow tip. This obviously was a ‘Wear’ point, and the leather provided protection against wear on the material. The devices on my legs were very similar, but obviously slightly different in size and shape being designed to accommodate a leg and foot rather than an arm and hand. While I admired the craftsmanship and originality that went into creating these contraptions I hated them with passion. All in all they were comfortable enough for a bondage device. That was really bad news for me, because I knew that this meant she would be able to leave me restrained like this for quite some time. While I was examining my bonds she had been busy in her box again. Damn, I hate it when she does that. “Hey baby take at what mommy’s got for you.” She was waving a large plastic bail of something. ‘Oh Shit! The label on the package reads ‘Depends Adult Incontinence …’ I really didn’t want to read any more. Besides, she was waving them around all excited making it hard to read clearly. ‘Maybe this is all a bad dream. If I lay quiet and go back to sleep…’ She ripped the package open and removed one of whatever was inside. She waved it as she approached me with it. Yep. As I had known but didn’t want to admit, it was a diaper, or as you might call it today a Pamper. By any other name it looked and undoubtedly would work the same.

e. She slid part of it under my backside. Next, she brought out a container of baby powder and generously dusted it over my groin area. Then she used her hands to spread the soft, silky powder across my body, paying special attention to make sure my balls were well covered. Afterward, she began working on other parts, and I really was enjoying this experience. I knew that in just a few seconds, there would be more than enough liquid for the powder to absorb. Then… She stopped! Standing back as if savoring my predicament of total frustration, she paused. After a few minutes passed, the moment slipped away, and she proceeded to fasten the diaper around my groin.

Next came a pair of plastic pants—yes, just like babies wear (or used to before Pampers). I cringed as they crinkled when she pulled them over my legs. Will this humiliation ever end?

She returned to that damn box again. In no time at all, she spun around facing me, holding up the object of her search: “Lookie here what mommies got for you today.” I didn’t want to look; nevertheless, there was really no choice but to do so. It turned out much worse than I had feared. Yes, it was a baby’s dress—a huge one that would undoubtedly fit me. Naturally pink with an obvious baby-themed printed design on the fabric, large white ruffles adorned each edge. Both beautiful and horrible at once.

It was clear from just looking—no doubt about who spent many hours crafting this—that someone had worked hard on it. The workmanship, as expected, was top-notch; I hated it upon first sight. It came with panties or bloomers large enough to fit over any diaper I might be wearing, featuring elastic around the waist and leg openings hidden beneath white lacy trim abundant at every opening.

Then came the dress itself—the look of a fancy baby’s attire rather short with ‘puffy’ sleeves that did an amazing job hiding my bondage mitted hands. Of course, those same elastic closures were concealed by white lace. The back closed with Velcro and seemed designed for easy putting on/off even while bound.

Of course no dress is complete without a bonnet; she produced it from her box tying snugly under my chin framing my face like sunflower petals finally producing an apron-like bib that fits around the neck over the front of the dress tied in back none too soon as copious amounts drool began leaking past ring gag placed earlier unable stem flow.

With both arms legs bound here crawling downstairs isn’t easy though not impossible either way Mommy headed downstairs doing whatever she does well I guess can’t spend day sitting bed besides knowing would return looking eventually make appearance surely wouldn’t good! Two pressing problems faced her hadn’t let go bathroom before dressed nicely sure oversight bladder wasn’t accepting excuse second problem getting downstairs present condition turned onto stomach worked side able fold legs off easing myself floor ended basically kneeling position sort of sitting feet drool streaming face apron warm moist feeling began caressing groin diaper sagged somewhat two dealt with now get stairs took lot effort discovered manage crawl elbows knees rather effectively bonds certainly wouldn’t winning races managed perch top stairs figured no problem watched grandson navigate several times small body legs too short go step-step pretty much matched present condition solution straighten body out slide down seemed work should work backed onto tried bump bump bump arrived bottom slightly shaken uninjured trail drool indicating descended preferred effective nonetheless caught glimpse navigated quickly turned away shaking somewhat laughing uncontrollably. Collected self bottom stairs casually meandered kitchen trying be dignified description here definitely not way shape form left trail behind “Oh there’s precious breakfast ready.” seemed much to do sat watched Mommy doing whatever sitting low floor getting snails-eye view OK Baby come living room feed Come sounded like talking new puppy hope doesn’t rolled newspaper action time seemed living headed direction leaving customary drool case need find back. Sitting couch blanket spread out floor before her.

“Come baby over here.” There really wasn’t much else do crawled She slid off couch kneeled next me didn’t seem difficult grab roll onto back Oh my looks precious wet diaper lay there mommy make better got returned package wipes new happened least embarrassing say let’s ended feeling little dryer comfortable main event grabbed several wipe clean genitals enthusiastic process wanted get trace mess engorged shaft long before knew one stroke bring over edge chose moment stand get out Now know why babies cry so much did.

“OK Snookums Mommy’s yum yums.” Guess meant breakfast something eat fastened real bib around neck picture teddy bear starved but some sounded good male brain thought crossed mind didn’t know old supposed heard babies not fully weaned until almost old enough start school Perhaps going try feed sure up for luck Suddenly shoving glob pasty stuff into my

“Yum Yum. Snookums likes baby cereal.” She encouraged, shoving more of the mush into my mouth with a tiny spoon. I hadn’t even removed the ring gag! Earlier bites were already trickling down my chin alongside the constant drool. I tried to swallow what I could, but it wasn’t going well. As she kept adding spoonfuls, the food spread everywhere; some made its way down my throat, and finally, the dish was empty. Thank goodness that ordeal was over.

She grabbed a few more baby wipes and cleaned up my face before removing the bib, now plastered with cereal. I thought breakfast was done, but no such luck. She reached for the coffee table and produced—what else? A baby bottle. As you can imagine, she shoved it through the ring gag into my mouth. OK, I figured, milk is manageable. Then it hit me: what exactly is this stuff?

Yuck! Sitting on the coffee table was a can of ‘Enfamil soy formula with iron.’ People say taste is one of the later senses to develop in babies, and thank goodness for that, because this tastes terrible!

She must have seen my reaction. “Yum Yum,” she encouraged as I struggled to suckle from the bottle while still encumbered by the gag.

Once again, formula mixed with drool covered everything. She used baby wipes, a washcloth, and a small towel to soak up the mess. I’m starting to think investing in these wipes is wise!

“All done,” she announced, standing up and heading for some items stacked in the corner.

“Come on baby, over here. Come on.” She was in the middle of the living room, where all nearby furniture had been moved aside, leaving an open area. She spread a large plastic sheet over the carpet—a good idea given how much I was still drooling. I moved near her as she stretched out something from the corner: an expandable fence that formed a circle around me on the rug.

Just what I needed—my own playpen! Without using my hands, it would certainly keep me from wandering off. She walked over to the TV and tuned in a cartoon show. I knew it was going to be a long day.

“OK. Baby, Mommy has some housework to do. You behave yourself and play nice with your toys.” She dropped a few stuffed toys into my playpen.

Time passed slowly. The mind-numbing cartoons weren’t grabbing my attention, nor were the toys really my style. Bound as I was, there wasn’t much else to do. Lying on the floor, I eventually drifted off. Maybe an hour later, cramps hit. Oh gosh, what did she put in my breakfast?

Whatever it was, it didn’t take long for it to work its way out with a large bubble and very liquid excrement. My diaper felt full without even looking; this was going to be gross. The stuff squished as I moved.

Nothing I could do but wait for ‘Mommy’ to change me.

By my judgment, almost an hour later she returned. She must have smelled what happened in her absence. “Aw. Did baby do poo-poo in her dipey?”

‘Did I what? I shit in my pants is what happened!’ Of course, the gag prevented me from articulating this quite so eloquently.

She grabbed wipes and other supplies along with a new diaper. I have to give her credit: if our roles were reversed, I’d either throw a diaper at her saying ‘Do it yourself’ or take her outside to hose her off from a distance.

She laid me on my back and surveyed the damage—it was horrible. The unpleasantness had oozed out around the leg holes of the diaper. Fortunately, plastic pants saved the bloomers from serious damage. It took quite a load of wipes to fix it, but eventually, the job was done.

She grabbed another bottle that looked like water and began spreading it on me. It didn’t feel exactly like water. Before long I caught a glimpse at the label: ‘Baby oil.’ Baby oil? Do babies rust or squeak?

I guess it didn’t matter because I was now being thoroughly oiled too.

She eventually got to my private parts—yes, that felt good. She rubbed it all over my balls and began massaging it into my member. That sure did feel good. In short order, I was more than ready. Then… she stopped! Just one more stroke would have done it!

Just touch it again; that might do it! No, she just moved away but stayed close enough that I knew she wouldn’t let me turn over to help myself.

After a few minutes, I cooled off some, and the moment was lost. She replaced the diaper, fresh plastic pants, and bloomers.

“Baby sure did do a stinky poo in her dipey. But mommy still loves her little snookums. Yes she does.”

I just hate it when she talks baby talk to me.

She grabbed the remains of the disaster and headed toward the kitchen, returning shortly with more stuff. “Mommies got yum-yums for lunchey poo.” She put down three little bottles of baby food: ‘Tender Sweet Peas’.

How do babies eat this? It’s horrible! Half leaked out along with my ever-present drool as I struggled to get some down past the gag.

The other bottle was supposed to be ‘Turkey and Turkey Gravy.’ I wouldn’t have guessed it contained meat or meat products. It sure didn’t taste like turkey or any meat I’ve tasted before.

She fed me applesauce for dessert—at least that was somewhat sweet, actually edible compared to the rest.

I’m not sure I would have known what even this was without reading the label. Finally, when that was over, there was another struggle with the bottle again. If eating required this much effort normally, I’d starve just from expending energy trying!

Another pile of discarded wipes emerged as she scrubbed lunch remnants from my body.

“Nappy time,” she announced after finishing mopping up the remains on the floor plastic. She laid me down on the mat, gathered stuffed toys around me, and produced a blanket to drape over my body. Well, actually, admitting it, a nap didn’t sound all that bad.

Next thing I knew, I was waking up in a pool of drool. The playpen had been erected around me again; Mommy sat on the couch reading.

After a few minutes she put the book down and rose from the couch. “Did baby have a nice nappy?”

She approached the playpen and folded it up. “Come on baby, down the stairs to the den.” The den is on the ground level with large sliding doors opening to our backyard.

I figured ‘OK. Maybe she has something different, new and unique down there.’ At my requisite snail’s pace, I followed her down a few steps.

She headed to the sliding door and opened it. I should have known! I can’t go outside like this. Our backyard is only semi-private; several parts are visible by neighbors. Dressed as I was, I wasn’t going out, so I sat on the floor where I was.

“Come on baby. You need some exercise and some fresh air.”

I continued protesting by sitting there. “Come on baby,” she encouraged.

I kept sitting, drool beginning to pool in my apron.

“Thwack!” I heard that sound and couldn’t stop myself from screaming. Holy Shit! What was it? A sharp, searing sting hit my back. Looking up, I saw Mommy tapping a riding crop against her leg. “Come on baby, Mommy says now!” Her tone was much harsher this time. That’s the last straw; I’m going to report her to the SPCA or someone else! Well, so much for my protest. I moved as quickly as possible toward the open patio door.

The sun felt comfortably warm. I played with Mommy on the grass for what seemed like hours. The stupid bonnet did a decent job shielding my eyes from the glare. Still, I hated it. It took quite an effort to move around on all fours on the lawn; our bodies just aren’t built for that kind of motion. Yet she kept me going as we played on the grass. Luckily the turf was soft and my bindings offered some cushioning. Even so, by the time we finished, my knees and elbows were very sore. While playing, I felt nature call again. Eventually, I had no choice but to let it go, feeling that familiar warmth in my groin as the diaper did its job. Finally playtime ended, and she allowed me to crawl back inside, leaving behind my usual trail of drool.

I made my way into the living room where Mommy set up my playpen once more. “Mommy has to go make din din.” She headed toward the kitchen. ‘Hey! Look at this dirty, wet, soggy diaper here. Baby needs changing.’ There is nothing worse than a damp diaper. It feels warm and cozy at first, but then it cools rapidly, developing that uncomfortable clamminess. You can’t escape it either.

I heard her moving about in the kitchen; pots clattered, and cabinet doors opened and closed. Clearly she was busy preparing dinner. After some time, Mommy returned carrying her diaper-changing kit. She moved my playpen aside and laid me on my back. Fortunately, this time it was just a thoroughly wet diaper, so the smell wasn’t too bad. The old diaper came off, followed by another pile of baby wipes to clean me up. This time she had a bottle of baby lotion which she began spreading over my body. Once again, my balls were generously coated and she started massaging my manhood. OH. That felt good. But once more, just at the worst moment, she stopped and left me hanging. How can she do such things to me? After a few minutes another opportunity slipped away. She put on the new diaper, replaced the playpen, and headed back toward the kitchen. The aroma of cooking food drifted into the living room, making me hungry.

Mommy carried a tray of dinner into the room. I could see a plate with steak and potato, plus a glass of wine. She set the tray down on the coffee table. “Din din time. Mommy’s got yum yums for baby. Yes she does.” Will that damn baby talk ever stop? I sure would appreciate some real food though. The steak and potato looked good enough to satisfy me. She shoved the playpen aside, and I crawled over to her. She fastened the bib around my neck and reached up to the tray.

“Mommy got yum yums,” she cooed. She grabbed a small jar that I hadn’t noticed earlier on the tray; ‘Ham Pineapple and Rice’ was written on the label. Inside was a beige gelatinous paste, similar to everything else she had fed me so far. Holding her tiny spoon, she quickly shoved a large glob into my mouth. It tasted like paste too. How do babies eat this stuff? I guess they just don’t know any better.

The vegetable course came in another jar containing the same pasty consistency but in a different color. The label read ‘Tender Sweet Carrots’. Given how finely ground these were into a gooey mass, it wouldn’t matter if they started out tender or tough; they are all just goo now! Yuck! I think baby food companies use one giant vat of glop and probably add varying amounts of coloring depending on the label. While she fed me, Mommy ate as well. The juicy steak looked perfectly cooked and smelled delicious. Watching her enjoy her meal seemed to make mine taste even worse.

I have to admit it doesn’t sound like I did much all day long, but playing with Mommy outside really wore me out. Even with two naps during the day, I was still tired—exhausted might be a better word for it.

When dinner finished, Mommy used another pile of wipes to clean up the mess there sure was plenty of it. Dinner had spread everywhere. By now my dress was covered in food and soaked with all the drool from earlier, looking as though I’d worn it for a week. Then Mommy announced, “Ok. Snookums, it’s bath time. Upstairs we go.” I was tired and didn’t really want to climb upstairs. Maybe I should just lay down here and sleep. Getting downstairs had been easy thanks to gravity, but going up those stairs promised hard work; elbows and knees aren’t made for climbing.

I saw Mommy pick up her crop as a form of encouragement, so I didn’t dawdle heading for the steps.

Climbing was even more effort than expected. Lifting my bound arms high enough to reach each step taxed my flexibility to the limit. Then I had to pull the rest of my body upward only to repeat the process again and again. As I struggled, I wondered how she would handle this bath procedure. It didn’t seem likely she’d throw me into the tub while I was still wearing the binders. But I let it be, figuring I’d find out soon enough.

Mommy had gone ahead of me up the stairs, and I heard the water running in the bathroom. She appeared at the top step watching as I struggled upward. Several times she turned away, and I was sure I caught a snicker or even open laughter from her.

Eventually I managed to reach the landing and headed into the master bedroom. Mommy met me as I entered. A large towel lay spread on the floor, leaving little doubt where she wanted me; so I made for it. She removed that awful bonnet I had worn all day and then ripped open the Velcro at the back of my dress. It didn’t take much effort to wrestle me onto my back. After the stair ordeal, lying down felt good if only briefly.

In no time the dress was off, and she worked on my bloomers. Soon all clothing was gone including that horrid diaper. Next came the ring gag removal. My jaw had been aching since she put that damn thing in early this morning; bits of food and dried drool clung to it. The drool hadn’t subsided much either, leaving trails wherever I went today, not to mention pools where I sat for long periods.

I worked my jaw trying to regain normal opening and closing ability. Next she tackled the leg binders. My arms and legs were badly cramped; fearing permanent damage in this position—which would ruin my tennis game, even though I’ve never played before—I watched as they came off. Once removed, limbs felt stiff but manageable.

Finally I lay on the towel completely free and naked. She gave me a few minutes to get my limbs working again.

“OK. Into the bath with you.” I couldn’t believe that for the first time today I could move, entirely unrestrained. Standing up was possible too, albeit shakily if desired. I headed into the master bathroom to find a tub full of foam and bubbles waiting for me. The now-customary candles sat on corners of the tub illuminating

“ting the room with their soft glow. The warm water felt wonderful as I immersed myself in the bubbles. Within a few minutes my wife entered the room. She was completely naked also. Without a word she stepped into the opposite end of the tub and began to scrub my still aching and tired body. She found one particular spot that she must have thought required extra attention. She lingered at that location gently scrubbing. Just the moment before I would have been satisfied she decided that that spot was clean and stopped her scrubbing with the announcement that it was time to get out and dry off. She hopped out herself grabbing a towel. She proceeded to dry my body for me, making sure that every single part was completely dry. Some parts seemed to take more work to dry than others. “Off to bed with you.” She announced as she scurried out the door and down the stairs. Fresh clean sheets on the bed were turned down and awaiting me. I was more than ready for the warm comfy bed. Within minutes she returned carrying the bed table. I sat in the bed braced by the pillows as she placed the bed table over my legs. On the table was a dinner just as Mommy had enjoyed earlier this evening. The steak was tender and cooked to perfection. The potato was baked perfectly, and the wine was superb. For desert my wife climbed into bed next to me. What more could a man want? Note: Any similarity between Mommy and a certain the community moderator is purely coincidental.