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Diaper Stories

» » My Second Husband php « «

My Second Husband
by Jennifer Loraine

"At 43 my husband returned to the year of his birth. I don't know what we
would have done if he had had to work. Fortunately, my husband received
large monthly stipend from a trust fund his grandparents created," says a
wife in Youngstown, Ohio. "After his forty-third birthday my husband became
very depressed. He became morose and very difficult to deal with. One day,
after a spat with me, he withdrew to our bedroom and wouldn't come out
except to eat. He stayed in bed for a week before he came out again. When he
did, he seemed disinterested in anything around him. He seemed to retreat
into his own world; he spent his days dressed in a bathrobe, sitting in a
He started to wet the bed at night. I tried to remind him to go potty
before he went to bed but it had no effect. Eventually, I put absorbent bed
pads on his side of our bed for him to sleep on. I took him to the doctor,
but he couldn't find anything wrong organically and gave him some
for depression and bedwetting. He became distant, vague and had to be
reminded to do everything. Then he started to forget; I thought he might
have suffered an ischemic stroke, but when I took him to the doctor again,
he told me my husband was physically okay. The doctor put told me it was
just approaching middle age.
Each day he would lose a little more; at first I had to undress him for
bed, then I had to take him to the bathroom and help him on the toilet. He
couldn't bathe himself; I had to lead him into the bathroom, undress, put
him into the tub and bathe him like a baby. When he started to soil the bed
as well as wet it, I took him to see a psychiatrist. After testing in his
office, he recommended that my husband be hospitalized. I had him commit-ted
to a psychiatric hospital where the doctor administered Electro-Convulsive
Therapy. The shock treatments produced a state of confusion from which he
never recovered. He was treated with anti-psychotics and anti-depressants
with no success. His condition con-tinued to worsen in the hospital and the
psychiatrist began to lose hope. The psychiatrist told me my husband would
probably have to be hospitalized for the rest of his life. His fi-nal
diagnosis was that my husband was a schizophrenic of the hebephrenic type.
I had our lawyer begin proceedings to declare my husband mentally
incompetent and had him discharged from the hospital in my care. Rather than
institutionalize him, I decided to take care of him myself. When I got him
home, I moved him out of our bed-room and into the spare bedroom. I put a
waterproof mattress protector on his bed and began putting him in diapers at
night. He was never angry or violent, but slipped back into a
sweet-tempered, blissful babyhood. Within weeks he lost the ability to feed
himself and had to be fed. He stopped talking and babbled and prated like a
one-year old. I read chil-dren's stories to him to try and help him regain
his speech. Dr. Suess, Winnie-the-Poo, that sort of thing. But he just
seemed to regress further every day until he could only commu-nicate his
needs by crying. When he was tired, hungry, thirsty, uncomfortable or wet,
my husband squalled like an infant.
His physical skills deteriorated as well; he stopped walking by himself and
crawled on the floor. The only way I can get him to walk is to hold his hand
like he was a pre-toddler still learning to walk. He lost all bladder and
bowel control and had to be kept in diapers in the day as well as night.
After he lost the ability to hold a cup, I started giving him Ensure in a
baby bottle. He would sit on the floor in his diapers and suck on the nipple
for hours. He looked and behaved just like a one-year old. He sucked his
thumb, drooled and peed in his pants just like he did when he was a baby. He
acted like I was his mother and frequently cried when he wanted to be held
or hugged by me. In utter frustration, I began to treat him like a toddler.
I slapped his hands, scolded him like a small child and spanked him when he
was naughty. Strangely, he seemed to like being treated like a baby. His
behavior would improve immediately after a spanking and he would be all hugs
and kisses for the rest of the day. I started to coo and make babytalk to
him. He loved it; he would bubble and chuckle delightedly when I talked to
him like that.
His intellectual condition suffered too; he lost interest in most tv early
on, the only shows he was interested in were the Care Bears and Barney.
After he returned to crawl-ing, he found a sand-filled draft-buster doll by
the door and dragged it behind him for a week. He would sit in front of the
tv, watching Barney with his thumb in his mouth, cud-dling that damned
sand-filled doll. I finally got it away from him by giving him a large fuzzy
teddy bear to keep. It was his constant companion after I gave it to him. He
even started dragging the comforter from his bed around behind him like a
small child; the cor-ner of the blanket in his fist and his thumb in his
mouth. I got tired of laundering his com-forter every day and bought him a
flannel baby blanket.
He began to put objects in his mouth; pens, coins, buttons, that sort of
thing. I was terrified that he would swallow and choke on something he
picked up off the floor. I fi-nally broke down and bought him pacifiers to
suck on.
Once, he got into the kitchen cabinet and pulled out all the metal cooking
pans. I awoke at 4 am in the morning to find him sitting on the kitchen
floor in a diaper and banging on the pans with a wooden spoon. I had to
baby-proof the house as if I had a toddler running loose. I even put baby
gates up between the rooms. Since he could only crawl without my help, he
couldn't get past the gates. I began to buy baby toys to keep him occupied
and out of trouble; fabric blocks and stuffed animals at first, nesting
boxes and stacking circles later. The living room floor became littered with
his new toys; soft fabric blocks, stuffed animals, and assorted picture and
coloring books.
Within two years, his gums developed pyorrhea from the constant sucking and
his teeth started to rot. The doctors told me I had to have all his teeth
removed before they abscessed. I had a dentist extract all of his teeth and
after that, I fed him nothing but pu-red baby food.
In the end, I resigned myself to the inevitable and redecorated the spare
bedroom as a nursery, which it remains to this day. I painted it pale blue
and put up a coordinating nursery wallpaper border with brightly colored
indoor-outdoor carpeting for him to crawl on. To make feeding him easier, I
bought bibs and a geriatric chair with an activity tray. I had an entire set
of baby furniture, sized to fit an adult body, made by a furniture
wood-shop. I had a playpen, crib and changing table custom made to fit him.
I put the crib and changing table in his room and the playpen in the family
room. If you discount the scale of the furniture in his room, you would
think you were in a baby's nursery.
After a while, I realized that it was simpler just to think of him as my
baby. His education, experience, intelligence, had melted away like the last
snow of spring. There was nothing left of my husband but a drooling,
diaper-wetting infant. I grieved the loss of my husband, but at least I had
part of him with me. If I couldn't have my husband whole again, I was
at least he loved me and he was happy. He had such an endearing tooth-less
smile and he babbled and jabbered so sweetly that I forgot he was
forty-three and not a year old. I thought he looked adorable playing on the
floor of the nursery dressed in dia-pers. He became the baby we never had. I
bought an oversized rocking chair and put it in the nursery. At night before
he went to sleep, the two of us would sit in the chair and I would hold the
bottle for him while he nursed. When he'd finished his bottle, I'd burp
then hold him in my arms, rock and sing lullabies until he was ready to be
put in his crib. I tried to treat him as much like my baby as I could, both
for his sake and for mine. I'd even started to dress him like a baby; I'
sewed diaper covers, sleepers, creepers and one-piece underwear with
snap-crotches to make dressing and diaper changing easier. He loved to be
dressed in a flannel sleeper I think he liked the fuzzy feel of the cloth
on his skin.
The doctors had given me no hope of recovery. My husband had the mind of a
pre-speech one-year old and the body of a forty-five year old. At the age of
forty, I found my-self the mother of a one-hundred and sixty-five pound baby
boy. Two years later he died of a heart attack. I locked up the nursery and
put away my first husband's baby things af-ter he died.
Since that time I've remarried. My second husband is an easy going,
agreeable type who has let me run the household as I wished. After being the
dominate partner in my last marriage, I didn't feel like giving up what I
felt to be my prerogatives. We don't have any problems with money. I
inherited a sizable estate from my first husband; more than enough to
support us for the rest of our lives. After six months of marriage to my
second husband, he became very curious about the nursery. One day, after
returning from shop-ping, I found him in the nursery, the door unlocked and
ajar. I found him standing naked in middle of the room, modeling a diaper.
He had it tucked between his legs and was holding the ends together! I
laughed and told him how cute he looked, then coaxed him into letting me pin
it on him. I made him lay on the changing table while I diapered him and
then for good measure, I put some plastic briefs over the diaper. I told him
to get up and I lead him into the bathroom so he could see the results in
the mirror. He was en-chanted! Imagine my surprise when he asked if he could
wear it to sleep that night. Oh no!, I thought, Is he schizophrenic too? I
hoped that maybe he just wanted to see what it felt like. I told him that if
he wanted to see how I had treated my first husband, I was willing, but if
he was psychotic I would have him institutionalized. He assured me he wasn
and I agreed to show him how I took care of my first husband. I took away
his dentures and put him in the crib for a nap while I went to the store to
buy Ensure, baby food and disposable diapers. When I came home, I fixed him
a bottle and went to the nursery to feed him. When I got him out of the
crib, I was shocked to find that he had wet his diaper! I scolded him and
told him he had gone too far, but he apologized so earnestly that I forgave
him. I told him that if he really wanted to find out how I had treated my
first husband, I would oblige him. He could spend the rest of the week in
diapers! I fed him and changed his diaper, then took him out into the living
room. I sat him down on the floor with some toys then went out to the garage
and got my husband's old playpen. I reassem-bled it in the living room and
put my new husband in the playpen. He looked simply ador-able sitting in the
playpen! I put a pacifier in his mouth and turned on the tv. As I watched
tv, I started to reminisce about my first husband. I decided that I had
secretly enjoyed taking care of him. The only thing that I had missed in our
relationship after his illness was sex. If my new husband was sane and
enjoyed being treated this way, I would be happy to indulge him!
Later that night, I took him to the nursery to put him to bed. I put him in
the crib on his side with his feet at the bottom of the crib. I picked up a
book from the dresser, climbed into the crib beside him with my head at the
top of the bed and removed his paci-fier. His eyes grew wide as I opened my
blouse, lifted my breast out and guided the nipple to his lips. He took the
nipple all the way up to the aureole and started sucking. I opened the book
and began reading a Dr. Suess story to him while he nursed at my tit. He
moaned and whimpered while he suckled which I found extremely arousing.
After about ten min-utes I changed breasts and let him suck the other tit
for awhile. I could feel his hard penis through his diaper and knew he was
as horney as I was. The feeling of power was intoxi-cating; I knew he would
let me do anything I wanted to him. He looked so sweet in his diaper,
sucking at my breast. I let him work on the other tit until I couldn't
any longer. I put the book down and gently removed the tit from his mouth,
then rolled him over on his back and replaced the pacifier. I got out of the
crib, took off my slacks and panties, and got back into the crib on top of
him, straddling his hips with my knees. I pulled down the front of the
diaper just enough to get his penis out and mounted him. "Be a good baby,
Sweet heart, and Mommy will make you very happy.", I said as I began to
slowly pump up and down on him. His moans of pleasure were muffled by the
pacifier and I continued to pump until we orgasmed. "That's Mommy's
baby! Mommy's very pleased with her baby. Now close your eyes, dear. It
time to go to sleep.", I said, knowing that he always fell asleep after he
orgasmed. I dismounted from him and got out of the crib. I covered him with
a comforter, then put up the crib side. "Good night Honey-bunch.", I
him as picked up my clothes and turned to the door, locking it behind me.
Later that night I was woken by the sound of him crying. He was begging me,
pleading with me to come and open the door so he could go to the bathroom. I
wasn't worried about him going out the window, the bars I had installed
I turned it into an adult nursery would stop him from leaving the room that
way. The diuretic and laxative I had put in his bottle were working on him.
It sounded like he would soon be wearing a very wet and dirty diaper. I'd
change him in the morning; he needed to get use to dirty diapers. I smiled
to myself as I turned over and went back to sleep.
The next morning I got up and made myself a cup of coffee before preparing
a bottle of juice for him. I finished my coffee and went in to change his
diaper. He was fast asleep and looked years younger than his calendar age. I
pulled off his comforter so I could change him. He woke up as I unfastened
the diaper tapes and I said, "Gooood morning! Did Mommy's baby have a
sleep? Mommy is going to change baby's dy-dee. Did baby know he was
a dirty dydee?" When I pulled the front of the diaper down between his
the stench of ammonia and feces filled the room. I cleaned and re-diapered
him quickly, then handed him the bottle of juice and said, "After you
your bottle, I expect you to go back to sleep. It's too early for you to
up, baby." I went to the dresser and folded the soiled diaper and picked
a can of room deodorizer from the dresser and sprayed the room. Baby powder
scented deodorizer filled the air as I left the room, taking the folded
diaper with me. He would be asleep again shortly I knew; I had put sleeping
pills in his juice.
After about two hours I woke him again and fed him mixed cereal for
breakfast and gave him his bottle of formula. He whimpered a bit as I fed
him, so I knew this treat-ment was affecting him. I let him out of the
nursery, led him into the living room and made him crawl on the floor in
front of me while sucking on a pacifier. He was so embarrassed when he
involuntarily pooped in his diaper in front of me! I thought the poor thing
was going to cry. I comforted him and told him it was okay to poop in his
dydee, that was why he was wearing it. He got misty-eyed and looked like he
was about to start dripping tears so I made him eat my pussy to divert him.
I changed his dirty diaper and put him in his playpen. Then I gave him his
bottle to suck on and turned on the Care Bears for him to watch while I
tidied up the house.
By the end of the week, I had completely broken his toilet training; he
would have to wear diapers for a few days even if I had agreed to treat him
like an adult again. Unfor-tunately for him, I had no intention of letting
him out of diapers again. When I told him that this arrangement was
permanent, he quailed. He wept in shame and told me he was just playing,
that he didn't really mean it! I laughed and told him that it was too
I'd discovered what he really wanted in life. I kissed his forehead and
him he looked adorable in diapers. He'd just have to adjust to his new
He spends most evenings now wearing nothing but a diaper, crawling around
the floor and playing with Leggo Blocks, while I sit on the couch knitting
and watching tv. He loves this treatment and has become completely docile
and submissive. I find him irresistibly charming crawling around the floor
in diapers. He looks so innocent and helpless playing at my feet. He reminds
me so much of my first husband with his pacifier in his mouth. I'm so glad
don't have to worry about him swallowing anything accidentally. At least I
can let him play with some-thing small like Leggos.
When it's time for bed, I take him to the nursery and give him his
bottle. Since I've broken his toilet training, I haven't had to put any
laxatives or diuretics in his formula, however, I've found it advantageous
to spike it with a drug called Ecstasy. I usually take a dose myself before
I take him to bed. By the time he's finished his bottle, the both of us
incredibly horney. I read him stories from Dr. Suess every night while he
nurses his bedtime bottle and afterwards we make love for hours. Our love
life has never been better, he's indefatigable. I've finally found
everything I've wanted in a marriage.
by Jennifer Loraine

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