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Nevertheless, there was no doubt that Kimmy was a beautiful, fully-grown woman. Although the toddler’s pull-ups she wore instead of adult underwear didn’t make her feel that way, she was actually two or three years older than most of her peers at university. It was her mother’s doing, of course. Mrs Jones had decided on three separate occasions that her daughter ‘simply wasn’t mature enough’ to move on to the next school year, and had insisted she be held back – once in kindergarten, then twice over the course of primary school, making her much older than her classmates. But she’d been the only one still toddling off to the nurse’s office at breaktime for diaper changes. At least she’d kicked her pants-pooping habit by the time she’d moved on to secondary school, even if she did still have to contend with wet training pants on a regular basis.

Now, though, the age difference wasn’t nearly as important as it had been, and even her pee-pee issues had almost completely dried up. At long last, Kimmy was free in a way she’d never been before, free from the humiliation of being a grown woman who still went to the bathroom in her own pants. She only wished she could be free from her mother’s constant coddling as well. She’d been worried her mum wouldn’t allow her to go to college at all, but with enough badgering, she’d eventually relented – on the condition that Kimmy choose a local university, and live at home rather than at a dorm. Unfortunately, that meant dealing with the same rules she’d had since the age of six.

“What time do you call this, Kimmy?!” her mother thundered the moment Kimmy entered the house. “It’s past your bedtime, little girl! Where have you been?!”

Kimmy let out a whimper and felt the familiar sensation of her bladder letting go in her pants. Warm pee flooded into her pull-ups at once, accompanied by a faint hissing sound. It had been a feeble hope, but there was a small chance she could have slipped in without her mother noticing if she’d been taking a bath or something. But she ought to have known better; her mum had never once failed to catch her breaking a rule in all her life.

Apart from being a little plumper, Mrs Jones looked exactly like an aged-up version of her daughter; the same golden blonde hair, only tied up in a tight knot behind her head rather than arranged in childish pigtails, the same large breasts, though in her case her assets were proudly on display in a tastefully tempting, low-cut top, and the same crystal blue eyes and full lips, perhaps a little less pouty than her daughter’s, but painted a deep, sensuous red. The most dramatic difference between them were their expressions, however. While Kimmy looked shy and sweet, her mother gave off an impression of severity and self-confidence.

“I was just out with my friends, Mama…” Kimmy said meekly, pulling a face at the icky feeling of the heavy, pee-soaked pull-ups squishing against her skin.

Her mother sniffed the air suspiciously and her eyes flashed. “Have you been drinking, young lady?!”

“I’m twenty-two, Mama!” Kimmy whined petulantly, looking down at her feet. “I’m allowed to drink!”

“As long as you’re under my roof, that decision is up to me, Kimmy! You know your bladder can’t cope when you…” She paused, sniffing the air again. “Oh, Kimmy…” she said in a disappointed, threatening tone. “You didn’t…”

Kimmy’s bottom lip trembled and tears welled up in her eyes as her mother reached out and lifted up the hem of her frock, exposing the faded wetness indicators on the front of her sagging pull-ups.

“Soaked!” her mother announced, as she inspected the discoloured training pants between her daughter’s legs. “This is exactly why you shouldn’t be drinking, Kimmy! I told you this would happen! Mama is very cross with you, little lady! I’ve been trying my hardest to finally get you potty trained, and you insist on going out of your way to make it as difficult as possible! Maybe you’re not mature enough for college after all…”

“No!” Kimmy squealed, eyes widening in fear. “Please, Mama! It was just an accident!”

“Two-year-olds have accidents, Kimmy, not twenty-two-year-olds. Perhaps daycare will suit you better than university…”

“I’ll be good!” Kimmy said desperately. Tears were spilling down her cheeks. “Please, Mama! Don’t make me drop out! I can be a big girl, I promise! I even have a date tomorrow with a guy from my class!”

Her mother said nothing for a few seconds. Then she sighed. “Alright, Kimmy. But you still need to be disciplined. Are you going to be a good girl and accept your punishment?”

“Yes, Mama!” Kimmy said at once, even though her stomach was twisting uncomfortably at the thought of what her mother likely had in mind.

“Then come me with, baby.” She took her daughter’s hand and led her to her bedroom. Kimmy’s heart sank as she watched her approach the closet, open the doors, and bend down to reach what Kimmy knew was sitting at the bottom. A moment later she straightened up, holding in her hand one of the enormous, custom-ordered Pampers that she used for her go-to punishment – diaper discipline.

“Mama, please…” Kimmy whispered, her bright eyes fixed on the huge nappy.

“Three days in diapers, Kimmy,” her mother said briskly, walking over to the large changing table that still sat in the middle of the bedroom and patting the surface. “Hop up. You know the drill.”

Her feet felt like they were made of lead, but Kimmy dragged them over to the table obediently and hoisted herself up.

“Good girl,” her mother said, quickly getting to work stripping off her clothes. “You just lie still and Mama will have that naughty bottom back in nappies in no time!”

Kimmy covered her face with her hands so she wouldn’t be able to see as her mother ripped off her pissy pull-ups and slid the bulky diaper under her bottom in their place. But she could feel the cool tickle of the baby wipe as the pee was cleaned off her skin, and there was no blocking out her mother’s voice. “There you go, Kimmy,” she said, pulling thick padding up between her legs and taping it into place. “Now you can wet yourself as much as you want, just like a baby. Do you remember the rules?”

“No toilets,” said Kimmy quietly. “No asking for a change. No touching my diaper.”

“Good girl.”

Kimmy took her hands away from her face and swung herself down from the table. Her gait was spread wide; as always, the Pampers felt absurdly thick between her legs – big enough to hold a full day’s worth of a grown woman’s pee.

“Mama,” Kimmy said hesitantly, “maybe I could just use them for number one, and then when I need to-”

“You’ll poop in them too, Kimmy,” her mother said firmly. “A full nappy will help you appreciate how immature you acted.”

Kimmy screwed up her face and tried not to cry. Wetting herself was one thing, but dirtying her diaper always transported her back to those awful days of her childhood when she still had poopy accidents. She wanted more than anything to leave that phase of her life behind forever. “Yes, Mama…” she mumbled.

Her pee trickled to a stop, and Kimmy rubbed her eyes with her fists and got out of bed. She was vaguely aware of a need to go number two, but she wasn’t worried about that yet; she hadn’t had difficulty controlling her bowels for years, after all.

The baby monitor on her bedside table suddenly crackled into life. “Do I hear a nappy going crinkle-crinkle?” came her mother’s cooing voice. “Are you awake, Kimmy?”

“Yes Mama,” said Kimmy.

“Good girl. Come down and have breakfast, sweetie.”

Kimmy yawned widely and did as she was told, toddling out of her bedroom and down the stairs in nothing but her wet diaper, her bare breasts jiggling freely on her chest – she wasn’t allowed to get properly dressed until after breakfast in case she made a mess. She entered the kitchen with a “Good morning, Mama!” then clambered up into her highchair and waited patiently for a large bib to be tied around her neck. Her mum fastened it on and adjusted it to make sure it covered her sizeable breasts a few moments later. It was bright pink and had the words “Mummy’s Messy Eater” on the front, but Kimmy had long ago gotten used to this particular indignity. Her face reddened, though, when her mother pushed her forwards in her chair so she could pull out the back of her nappy and peer inside to see if she’d pooped. Why couldn’t she at least do her the dignity of asking? It made Kimmy feel like a dumb toddler who couldn’t even be trusted to notice if she dropped a load in her pants.

Satisfied with the state of her daughter’s adult diaper, Kimmy’s mother walked round in front of the highchair and plonked a huge, steaming bowl of oatmeal down on the tray. She dipped a wide, wooden spoon into the beige mush, but before she could do anything else, Kimmy said quickly, “Mama, you know how I mentioned I have a date today…”

“Mmm-hmm,” said her mother, her expression unreadable.

“Well can I… Would it be alright if… Can I still go on it?” She put on her best puppy-dog eyes. “Pretty please, Mama?”

Her mother dipped the spoon in and out of the oatmeal. “Yes you can, sweetie,” she said, after a moment’s pause. “But you have to wear your nappy. And I’ll be picking out your clothes.”

“Mama, no!”

Her mother shot her a warning look, and Kimmy shut her mouth at once.

“Don’t worry, little one,” her mum said, her expression softening, “I won’t make you wear your punishment baby clothes or anything like that. I just don’t want you dressing up as a lady of the night. I’ve seen how young women dress these days, and I won’t have you giving off those sorts of signals on your date.”

“I won’t, Mama, I promise! I can choose my own clothes!”

“You’re barely out of childhood, Kimmy-”

“I’m twenty-two, Mama!”

“And you’re not even fully potty trained yet,” her mother continued, ignoring the interruption. “Until that time comes, I don’t want to hear any complaints from you about being treated like a child.”

Kimmy turned scarlet. She hated when her mother talking about her problem like this, as if she’d spent the last eighteen years of her life stuck in an incredibly protracted period of toilet training, rather than struggling with a medical condition. Even if the doctors hadn’t been able to find anything specifically wrong with her, she knew it wasn’t just a matter of an ‘immature attitude’ like her mother liked to think. She pouted, but knew better than to push her luck. “Yes Mama,” she grumbled.

She’d barely finished getting the words out when a mountainous spoonful of oatmeal was shoved between her lips. She let out a muted squeal as her mushy breakfast dribbled down her chin and spilled out of the corners of her mouth.

“Try to get most of it in your mouth, princess,” her mother scolded in a half amused, half exasperated voice.

Kimmy scowled and swallowed the huge mouthful of oatmeal just in time for another heaping spoonful to replace it. It was impossible not to make a total mess of herself when her mother fed her, and by the time the enormous bowl was empty, the lower half of her beautiful face was covered with mush, and her bib was totally splattered.

“What a mucky girl…” her mother said as she wiped oatmeal off her daughter’s chin, cheeks, and even the tip of her nose with a wet cloth. “Such a little mess-maker!”

Kimmy wanted very much to complain that it hadn’t been her who’d made the mess, but she also wanted to keep her mother in a good mood in case she decided to change her mind about letting her go on a date. Kimmy had been forbidden from having that kind of relationship with boys all through school, not that her mother had needed to enforce that rule – Kimmy had spent most of her adolescence being known as the girl who still wet her pants, after all. But college was a fresh start for her. Since it was local there were still a few of her old classmates around, but for the most part the university was full of students from all around the country, none of whom knew anything about her embarrassing past. She had friends now, lots of them, and with her good looks there were plenty of guys keen to ask her out. For the first time in her life, Kimmy was popular, and she was thoroughly enjoying every moment of it.

“Alright, little missy,” said her mother, once she’d removed Kimmy’s bib, “you’re all clean again. Let’s get you dressed.”

Kimmy washed down her breakfast with some apple juice from her sippy cup, then got down from her highchair, massaging her full tummy gingerly. Her date was supposed to be a lunch date, but she supposed she’d at least be able to impress by ordering the daintiest salad on the menu. She’d probably been fed enough oatmeal to keep her from getting hungry all day.

Her mother took her by the hand and led her back upstairs to her room. She threw open the doors to the wardrobe and started browsing, a finger placed thoughtfully on her chin while Kimmy waited nervously beside her, still dressed in only her diaper. Finally, she decided on a black skirt, a white button-up blouse, and a pair of bow-adorned, knee-high socks with buckled Mary Janes to go with them. It was a little preppy and schoolgirlish for Kimmy’s taste, but she was relieved it wasn’t anything worse. In the back of the wardrobe were several onesies, overalls, and unimaginably frilly baby dresses that her mother made her wear if she’d been especially naughty. She blushed fiercely as the image of herself showing up to her date in a sparkly sequined t-shirt and a tutu flashed across her mind.

Her mum helped to dress her, starting with her top half. “Hmm… It can’t be healthy for a petite girl like you to be lugging these things around,” she tutted, nodding at Kimmy’s boobs as she helped them into a large bra. She tilted her head, frowning. “Perhaps we ought to get you booked in for a breast reduction, honey.”

“No!” Kimmy shrieked, eyes widening in shock. She clutched at her chest, one of the few symbols of her womanhood that her mother had never managed to properly suppress. “They’re fine, Mama! I like them!”

Her mother sniffed disapprovingly, but didn’t press the subject. “Alright then, sweetie. Let’s get your shirt on next.”

Once Kimmy’s blouse was on and her blonde hair had been arranged into a pair of low pigtails, Mrs Jones got to work dressing her daughter from the waist down, sliding on her socks first, then helping her step into her skirt.

“Wait, Mama!” Kimmy said quickly. “You forgot to change my nappy!”

“No I didn’t, sweetie,” her mother said, off-handedly, pulling the skirt up over her daughter’s diaper. “You’re hardly wet at all. Your Pampers will hold until you get back.”

Kimmy’s mouth fell open in horror. “Mama, no! Please! I can’t go to my date like this! He’ll be able to tell! I’ll… I’ll smell like pee-pee!”

Her mother picked a white bottle off the changing table, flipped up Kimmy’s skirt, then pulled out the front of her nappy with a finger and sprinkled a generous amount of baby powder inside. “There you go, baby,” she said. “Problem solved.” She walked behind her and did the same thing down the back of her diaper. Kimmy wrinkled her nose as the strong, nursery scent hit her nostrils. She didn’t know what was worse – the faint smell of urine, or this fresh but overpowering clean nappy smell. She pressed her lips tightly together to stop the lower one from wobbling. She could only hope her date would mistake the smell of baby powder for perfume.

Her shoes went on last, and once she was fully dressed, Kimmy examined herself in the floor-length mirror that stood against one wall. It didn’t look too bad… She turned, making sure to look at herself from all angles to make sure there was no diaper bulge. If she stood still, everything was fine. But there was one problem – if she took a step or made too sudden a movement, there was a flash of white from under the hem of her skirt, the hint of a nappy. Still, as long as she was careful, her date likely wouldn’t notice. In fact, if she left a little early to make sure she got there first, he might not even have to see her standing up until they were both leaving the restaurant together, and from that angle he was unlikely to see anything. As long as they didn’t sag any more than they were already, they’d stay perfectly hidden.

“Alright, baby,” said Mrs Jones, a little more softly. “I’ll come and get you. Hold tight, okay? Mama’s on her way.”

“Okay, Mama…”

Mrs Jones felt giddy as she got to her feet and started gathering her coat and car keys, and the supplies she’d need for Kimmy. She should have done this weeks ago! Years! She should never have stopped doing it in the first place! She’d thought making her daughter spend her teenage years as a pull-ups-wearing pantswetter would be enough to ensure she never got too big for her britches. But the moment she’d gone off to college, she’d started drinking and staying out late and who knew what else! And now she thought she was ready for boys?! Clearly she’d been wrong to wean her little girl off her special medicine all those years ago…

Mrs Jones glanced up at the kitchen cupboard as she packed baby powder, wipes, and a fresh nappy into a diaper bag. It was good to know her recipe still worked. With the right combination of drugs mixed in with the high-fibre oatmeal, she had the perfect means of making Kimmy mess herself. By adjusting the ingredients ever so slightly, she could control almost exactly how long it would take until her daughter needed to poop, and also how difficult it would be to hold once she did. She’d used it in the past to ensure Kimmy had accidents at just the right time to stop her getting too full of herself, and today she’d timed it so that her daughter would have a massive, uncontrollable bowel movement roughly half an hour into her date.

Once she had everything she needed, she hurried out to the car and started to make the short drive into town. It wasn’t long until she spotted Kimmy standing on the pavement a little distance away from the restaurant where she’d had her date, teary-eyed and tugging fruitlessly on the hem of her skirt to try and make it cover up the sagging seat of her massive, heavily loaded Pampers.

“Oh Kimmy…” Mrs Jones said, in a deeply disappointed tone, once she’d parked up on the side of the road and got out of the car.

Her daughter stared at her feet and sobbed. Her face was streaked with tears, and her nose was running. She looked like an absolute mess.

Mrs Jones gave a long-suffering sigh, even as she thrilled inwardly, and said, “Okay baby, let Mama check the damage.” Kimmy let out a feeble squeal of protest as her skirt was lifted up, but Mrs Jones ignored her. She cupped her daughter’s heavy nappy with her hand, feeling the warm wetness within. “Full to the brim with pee-pee,” she said, “but that’s not the issue. Turn around, Kimmy.”

A few people on the street were pointing and laughing now. Slowly, awkwardly, trying not to squish the horrible load in her pants, Kimmy turned around. Mrs Jones hooked a finger into the waistband of her diaper and pulled it out. “Yuuech!” she said loudly, drawing even more eyes in their direction. “Kimmy Jones! I’ve never seen such a messy nappy!” She spun her daughter back round to face her. She was still crying, and she looked as though she might faint with shame. But that was all for the better – it was important that this became a formative moment for Kimmy moving forwards. Her first genuine messy accident as an adult, and a highly public one too.

“Come along, darling,” said Mrs Jones. “I need to change you before we head home. I don’t want that smelly thing in the car too long if I can help it. Lie down on the backseat. Be a good girl.” After laying down a plastic changing mat to protect the seats, she guided her daughter onto it. Once Kimmy was in position, she ripped open the tapes on one side of her diaper, then the other, and pulled down the front. “Pee-yew! What a stinky bottom!”

Kimmy wailed and covered her face with her hands as Mrs Jones lifted her legs into the air, putting her mucky bum on display. But Mrs Jones herself was unable to keep the grin off her face. She’d missed this so much! Helping her daughter out of wet training pants was one thing, but changing a messy nappy was on a different level. It made her feel so Mummyish. She was able to get her fix from time to time when Kimmy misbehaved enough for diaper discipline, but she couldn’t wait for this to become a normal part of their daily routine again. It was for Kimmy’s own good too, of course. She wouldn’t be getting too big for her britches as long as she was pooping in them. She’d be happily dependent on her Mama, safe from the nasty grown-up world.

“Honestly Kimmy, what am I going to do with you?” she asked, as she slid the loaded Pamper out from under her daughter’s bottom and rolled it up. “I never thought I’d still be changing your nappies at this age, let alone such a messy one!”

“But… But you said I had to, Mama…” Kimmy whimpered. “You said-”

“The problem isn’t that you made a messy diaper, young lady,” Mrs Jones cut in sternly, getting to work cleaning her daughter’s mucky bottom with baby wipes. “If you’d done uh-ohs because you were guilty about your naughtiness last night and wanted to properly punish yourself by making a stinky on your date, Mama would have been very impressed. The problem is that you couldn’t control yourself. You’re far too old to still be having poopy accidents, Kimmy! What on Earth did your date have to say about this?”

Kimmy burst into fresh tears, no doubt remembering the moment she’d realised what was about to happen in her pants and made a rush for the toilets, only to freeze two steps from her table, double over, and pack her Pampers with an enormous load of poo-poo.

“Why didn’t you use your nappy before you left, silly girl?” Mrs Jones continued. “It was bad enough that you were making such slow progress with your potty training, but now you’re going backwards! Not even that – you’ve gone all the way back to square one! Why can’t you understand that you’re supposed to hold it, sweetheart? You don’t just go in your pants!” Once Kimmy’s perky little bum was clean, Mrs Jones slid a fresh diaper beneath it and reached for the baby powder. “Just think what would have happened if you weren’t being diaper disciplined right now, little missy!” she said, sprinkling the powder liberally over Kimmy’s nether regions. “There’s no way your training pants could have handled this, and any big girl panties would have been totally ruined! It’s clear you’re not ready to be out of nappies yet, young lady.”

“Noooo!”

“Yes, Kimmy. You can have your pull-ups back when you’ve proved to me this was just a one-off. But I’m afraid to say it looks like your old habit’s coming back, sweetie.”

“It can’t come back!” Kimmy wailed. “Not now!”

Mrs Jones pulled the clean diaper up between Kimmy’s legs and taped it on, sealing her pussy behind a thick layer of absorbent padding. Her little girl wouldn’t be messing around with boys while these were in the way! Picking up the rolled-up, thoroughly used nappy, she straightened up and turned around, noting with satisfaction that a small crowd that gathered nearby, craning their necks to get a look at the grown woman getting a nappy change in the back of a car. Pinching her nose and holding the huge, stinky Pamper out in front of her, Mrs Jones marched over to the nearest bin and dumped the diaper into it with a heavy thump.

Then she returned to the car and leaned in to kiss her daughter on the forehead and do up her seatbelt. “Alright, precious girl,” she cooed. “You’re all clean and dry for Mama now. Let’s go you home, baby.” She paused for a moment, then said, “What do you say, Kimmy? Remember your manners.”

“Thank you, Mama…” Kimmy whispered.

“Good girl,” Mrs Jones said gently, running her fingers through one of her daughter’s pigtails. She really was too pretty for her own good. If it wasn’t for her potty problems, she was sure to have turned into a vain and superficial young woman. But as it was, she was sweet-tempered and humble. “I’m sorry about your date, princess,” said Mrs Jones. “But there’ll be plenty of time for boys when you’re older. For now, just remember that Mama loves you, no matter how stinky your nappies are.”

Kimmy’s trembling lips twisted into something that was almost a smile. Mrs Jones planted another kiss on her forehead, then got into the front seat of the car to drive her precious cargo home, where she belonged.