SAMANTHA'S NAPPY DISCIPLINE

Dear Helga,

I do wish that I had discovered your marvellous website five years earlier! I am the divorced mother of one boy and two daughters. Casey is only twelve years old, and is a delightful child, just like her elder sister used to be. Mark and Samantha, however, are sixteen years old with all the self-centredness, tantrums and sulks that being teenage entails. I have frankly had my hands full trying to deal with them. Samantha appeared to be flipping between boyfriends almost on a weekly basis, whereas Mark - at the age of 16 - was refusing to help me with the housework at all. When I discovered certain unusually shaped leaves growing in his window box, I knew that the time had come to take action.

I should mention at this point that I am a member of the Womens' Institute, and I do feel better after having talked about my problems while my ladies and I are out making jam, or church cleaning, or listening to talks. On this occasion, I was talking to our recently-joined newest member, Janine, about the problems I was having getting the two teenagers to respect me. We were supposed to be cleaning the toilets in our little meeting hall, but we downed brushes for a quick cup of tea and a gossip, and as I talked, the wicked glint in her eye grew ever bigger...

Well, as you've probably guessed, she told me all about your amazing website. I must say, this was like a revelation! Not only did I derive a certain amusement from the idea of Mark in petticoats and my old swing dress from the 50s - to say nothing of a pinafore and a bow in his hair - but to get Samantha out of those tight jeans and crop-tops and into a pink frilly dress would have been a quite startling transformation. She would have been completely stripped of her identity and humiliatingly dressed according to an outdated mode of dress for little girls. I felt a very strong urge to have Samantha sitting on my lap while I put curlers into her hair, and it was then that I started to have my idea.

Two weeks later, while Mark and Samantha were asleep, I scoured their wardrobes from top to bottom, removing every item of clothing I could find, before bagging it all up and driving out to Janine's house with it in the dark. I placed a vintage dress with matching petticoats, short white socks and Mary Jane shoes onto Samantha's bed, left a similar dress and set of accessories on Mark's bed, and went off to Casey's room to wake her up.

Of course, Mark and Samantha's cries of horror awoke me in the small hours of the morning. I grinned to myself, and marched into Samantha's room to lay down the law. She had nothing else to wear for the rest of the day, so she would just have to wear these. Mark of course had equally little choice! As they sat on Mark's bed, each wearing a big pink dress with puffed sleeves, I gave them both a reassuring cuddle, all the while muttering soothing "There, there"s. Samantha in particular looked close to tears! She sat there, almost numb, not resisting and staring at her feet. I quietly enjoyed how daintily attired she looked in her little Mary Janes and her little ankle socks.

I then dropped my bombshell. We were all going out to see my W.I. friends, and they were to be on their best behaviour until I was ready to come home. Samantha stared at me, aghast. To make her go out like this? Mark could barely speak, looking at me with horror as I told him that he would have to put on some makeup. But I was firm, and adamant. If he did not, tomorrow was Monday, and I would be walking him into school dressed in a frock and petticoats to run the gauntlet of his jeering friends. Sam reluctantly allowed me to shepherd her into the car, and I stayed back to help Mark shave his legs and arms. After I had helped him get dressed again, we drove off to our meeting hall. At which we were holding quite an odd little fundraiser, for W.I. members only.

When we clean our hall, or go out church cleaning, we always wear our favourite aprons and rubber gloves, and everyone was wearing these when I arrived with the wayward duo. I quickly donned my own, while my children looked around with suspicious faces - not that they didn't have reason to be suspicious! - and wondering what was going on. The ladies were very polite towards them, of course: "Is this little Samantha? My word how you've grown!", and giving them cups of tea and biscuits. I came back from getting my apron to find Mark still in a state of numbness, staring at his cup of tea without saying a word.

It wasn't very difficult for us to get the two stunned teenagers into the adjoining room. Samantha was the first one to catch sight of the banner in there. Realising what was in store for her, she panicked, and tried to rush out, but she was utterly outnumbered by the ladies. She fought desperately to escape, but there were thirty-two of us against just one of her, and even when Mark started to panic as well it was no use. One group of us managed to lift Mark, struggling, into the highchair, while the other group got hold of Samantha and lifted her onto the padded table.

We'd spent quite some time attaching restraints for their wrists and ankles to these, and now came the time to secure them! I put little pink baby mittens over Mark's hands, and one of the other girls managed to get a strap-on dummy into his mouth! Mark could only make muffled pleading noises, but Samantha was still pleading with us to let her go. Anne - a cheerful woman whose blonde hair was starting to go a little grey by now - tied the straps of a baby's bonnet under her chin, while making little "ssh, ssh" noises. Janine placed a dummy in Samantha's mouth, with a little strap that we fastened behind the back of her head, and then she was ready. I myself put Mark's bonnet on him, smiling at the look I had seen on Samantha's face when she saw the sign above the table:

"CHANGE MY DAUGHTER'S NAPPY! (£1 per time)".

Not that Samantha actually needed her nappy changed! She never managed to do anything in it, but one by one, as soon as one woman had finished cooing over her and fastening her into her nappy, another gloved-and-aproned lady would instantly start to take it off, tickle her under the chin (accompanied by a little "Coochie-coochie-coo!"), wipe her and powder her, tell her what a good baby she was, rub baby lotion onto her bottom cheeks, put the nappy between her legs and begin to tape it in place. The woman would tickle her under the chin again or kiss her on the forehead, perhaps give her a nice reassuring cuddle - and then the next woman would step up to take the nappy off and start the cycle all over again!

As for poor dear Mark, his dummy unscrewed at the front, revealing a little hole into which you could insert a baby bottle. After that was done, my lady friends queued up, all holding bottles of formula in their rubber-gloved hands, each one in turn sticking her bottle into the dummy's hollow "teat" and squeezing it. His mouth filled up with baby milk almost as fast as he could swallow it, and whenever he managed to finish one bottle, up stepped the next lady! Of course, everyone tickled him under the chin, causing him to squirm and gag. His milk dribbled down his chin, and the ladies would smile lovingly and wipe him clean.

Eventually, we began to slacken off with Samantha's punishment. From the look on my daughter's face, I could see that she now did need to go wee-wee very desperately indeed, and was struggling to hold it in. As she eventually let go, it was time for Phase Two.

Yet another pair of rubber-gloved fingers reached out to tickle her under the chin. "Coooochie-coooochie coo!" This voice was unmistakeably different to all the others. Samantha twisted her head to see, and her eyes widened in horror. For, in her own little pink rubber gloves, and little turquoise tabard apron, stood my younger daughter, Sam's much younger sister, Casey.

"You've been a very bad girl." Casey told her, untaping her nappy. "So I get to be big sister now. You have to do everything I say from now on." She put the soaking wet nappy into the bin bag that I held out for her. "And you can't have any more boyfriends." She took out a baby wipe as Samantha pleaded with her eyes, and began to wipe the poor girl again. "You can't wear trousers any more. Trousers make you look like a boy. Boys are disgusting and you have to be taught that." She patted talcum powder onto Samantha's bottom cheeks. "You have to go to bed at eight from now on. AND I'm going to make you have pigtails."

Casey held out her hand, and I gave her the hairbrush. She removed Samantha's bonnet, and began to separate out Samantha's hair, walking to one side of her and brushing it out. She expertly tied the right-hand pigtail with a hairband, before walking round to begin the second. With Samantha's hair now "restyled", Casey took the bonnet in her hands. She showed us all how she used the straps to pull it tight and how she could tie a lovely little bow under Samantha's chin. We ladies all clapped politely and told her how clever she was. She tickled Samantha's chin some more. "Coochie-coochie-coo!"

Casey held up the replacement nappy for Samantha to look at. Nina and I helped lift Samantha up so that Casey could slide it under her bottom. Casey lifted up the front of the nappy and pushed it down. I was about to help her tape it up but she waved my hands away and held the two sides together on the left while she did it herself. Then on the right.

"You have to call me Auntie Casey from now on."

"It's quite true dear! Casey is very mature for her age, and from now on she's going to help me bring you up. She's one of the adults of the house now, and you're going to do what she tells you." I thought up some more lines. "You've been far too immature to stay as her older sister, so from now on she's going to be your auntie."

Margaret took a scrubbing brush and rubbed Sam's feet vigorously with it, causing her to squirm and cry out. She gave the brush to Casey, and my younger daughter eagerly administered the same treatment, smiling happily through her new niece's muffled screams. "Do you like being punished by your mother's friends?" Margaret enquired cheerfully. The look on Samantha's face, and her dummy-muffled screams, certainly answered that! I smiled and ignored them, as I placed yet another nappy between her legs and taped it up.

Casey wandered off, as I stroked Samantha on the forehead, bending down to give her a little kiss. "There there dear. It's all right. It's all all right" I murmured to her.

Casey wandered back carrying a baby's bottle in her rubber-gloved hands. Despite yet another look of horror from Samantha, she pulled her dummy out and immediately shoved the teat of the bottle between her lips, before squeezing it to force the baby milk into Samantha's mouth. Casey had been watching me while she was away, and began to stroke Samantha gently on the forehead while feeding her. "There there baby Samantha." she told her helpless sister, "It's all right. It's all going to be all right". And she kissed her on the forehead, just as I had.

Samantha's eyes widened again with horror, as Casey's fingers strayed back towards her chin. Then - "Coooooochie-coooochie-coochie-coo!"

...

Mark, meanwhile, was going to be punished differently. He clearly needed to fill his nappy too - and I may have put a little something in those cups of tea to help that along. He was desperately trying to hold it in, but Sandra gave him a comforting cuddle, and told him to "just let it all out, just let it flow." I changed his nappy myself, and I'm afraid he filled a few more nappies before it was all over!

I allowed him to go without a new nappy after that point, and took him back into the other room to change his clothes. He was allowed to take off the dress, but I forced him to put on a bra (one of mine) and a pair of fake breasts, before allowing him to dress in a pair of womens' jeans, one of Samantha's "crop tops" and a knitted jumper on top of that. Alison took Samantha through to the car park to drive her home, as I explained to Mark that his laziness and refusal to help with the housework would no longer be tolerated. It was a masculine trait - the notion of "women's work" - that was going to be dealt with.

Since he thought that doing any housework - even picking up his laundry after him - was for women and girls to do, and since he *was* going to be doing it from now on, I told him that as far as I was concerned, he was now a woman. From now on, except when he went to school, his name would be "Mary". Furthermore, now that he was a woman, he was going to join the Womens' Institute! If he continued to behave himself, we would treat him like one of us, and would all call him Mary. He was to accompany me to every gathering the ladies had, and that included church cleaning, where he would learn to clean toilets, polish silverware and wash table linen. He would have to clean the church hall with Eleanor, Alison and myself whenever it had been in use, and of course he would be wearing a dress all the while, and expected to keep his legs shaved and his makeup perfect. Just like Samantha, he would have to do whatever Casey told him to do from now on, just as if I had told him to do it.

Unlike Samantha, Mark seemed very quiet for a while, lost in thought as he contemplated this - and I could tell that he was starting to see an upside to this! Eventually, when he did speak, he was very shy and embarassed, asking the other ladies if this would be all right with them!

"Yes of course it is, Mary!" Janine announced, and Elizabeth added "We'll make you very welcome. You're one of us now!" I don't think I had ever seen Mark look so happy as I did in that moment.

Debbie


Thank you for your letter Debbie. My dear readers, yes, sometimes I let a little fiction into the DDD, the truth is that there are so few what I consider to be authentic reports, I have no alternative. I implore anyone reading this special to please send in your stories and tell us about your life.

Helga

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