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Nappy change
#1
The exquisite humiliation of having your nappy changed.


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#2
(07-09-2020, 11:27 PM)Ali Wrote: The exquisite humiliation of having your nappy changed.
I remember it well, Ali.

It was all part of the punishment, not only having to use the nappy but essentially have to sit (or as was very often the case with me, skip and prance about) in your own waste until such time as it was deemed appropriate for a change.

Whilst having to be changed (and for some reason it was the putting on of the new nappy rather than the removal of the old nappy) was demeaning, far worse were the minutes and sometimes hours beforehand having to do normal (and sometimes not so normal) activities while accompanied by the horrendous stench and the squish of my own waste. I would often do anything for a change at that stage and was sometimes asked to complete certain sissy forfeits prior to change being carried out.

Well depicted here, though.
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#3
They're delightful images, aren't they?

For me it wasn't specifically having my soiled nappy taken off nor my new nappy being applied - it was the whole humiliating process. My mother, when she discovered that I needed changing, whether that was because I'd wet my nappy or filled it, would make me lie down in order for me to be changed. Sometimes that would be on my changing mat on the floor, sometimes that would be on either my or her bad upstairs.

Then I'd have my baby knickers pulled down, and my mother would then tut and scold me as she undid my nappy, telling me what a naughty baby I was. Sometimes I'd then be left with my trousers or shorts round my ankles, or my dress or skirt pulled up high above my waist, while she went and fetched a clean nappy for me.

As a supposed comforter she'd put my dummy in my mouth while I waited for her to return.

Intensely and exquisitely humiliating.
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#4
(07-15-2020, 09:16 PM)Ali Wrote: They're delightful images, aren't they?

For me it wasn't specifically having my soiled nappy taken off nor my new nappy being applied - it was the whole humiliating process. My mother, when she discovered that I needed changing, whether that was because I'd wet my nappy or filled it, would make me lie down in order for me to be changed. Sometimes that would be on my changing mat on the floor, sometimes that would be on either my or her bad upstairs.

Then I'd have my baby knickers pulled down, and my mother would then tut and scold me as she undid my nappy, telling me what a naughty baby I was. Sometimes I'd then be left with my trousers or shorts round my ankles, or my dress or skirt pulled up high above my waist, while she went and fetched a clean nappy for me.

As a supposed comforter she'd put my dummy in my mouth while I waited for her to return.

Intensely and exquisitely humiliating.
I think that’s probably the difference, Ali.

Mother never really pretended that she expected anything other than dirty nappies from us and the punishments were generally designed so that not only would we have to wet and mess ourselves, but we would be wearing the used nappies often for a considerable period and have to jump and skip about in them (meaning my waste was constantly sloshing against my skin). 

If I had stopped and thought about it hard, the process of changing would probably have embarrassed me but TBH, dominating all that was an overwhelming sense of relief.
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