Jennie's Potty-Training chapter 19

Synopsis; Connie comes back to visit, to check on Baby Jennie. She offers to stay and help babysit the toddlers, and offers to help them start potty-training. Privately, Connie threatens Baby Jennie she will tell her Mummy about what David did to her - unless Baby Jennie tells her Mummy first. Baby Jennie fears she has truly lost control of her bladder and bowels - like a real toddler.

Chapter 19. Potty-training Begins

"Pweathe Connie? Pweathe don't tell my Mummy?" I begged, cringing and blushing in shame. Connie leaned back so she could stare at my flushed red cheeks, and she reached down and grabbed the bottom of my frilly bib to brusquely wipe away my tears.
"Shhh! Shh, little girl! There's no need for tears," Connie quietly reassured me. I tried to suck back my sobs along with my dum-dums. She dropped the lacy hem of my yellow bib and smoothed it out over my trembling bosom as she cooed, "I won't tell your Mummy what her dirty, disgusting little girl got up to with her wicked babysitter. Not yet."

She grinned at my horrified expression and continued in a more soothing tone; "As long as you agree to one condition?" Connie smiled triumphantly when I submissively nodded, too terrified to contemplate bargaining with her. "That's a good little girl! Don't worry! It's a simple task. When your Mummy comes back downstairs, I want you to ask her if I can be your babysitter from now on, instead of David. Alright?" I meekly nodded my acquiescence, wondering if I should feel disappointed or relieved by her peculiar - if easily satisfied - request.

"I can't let that nasty brute look after you little girls ever again," she firmly explained. "What he did to you was wrong! Very wrong! You know that, don't you, little girl?" I nodded again, tears of shame trickling down my flushed cheeks. "You're going to have to tell your Mummy what he did to you," she cautioned me, ignoring my whimpered protests when I frantically shook my head. "No, no! I mean it. She has to know! If you don't tell your mum David assaulted you by this weekend, I'll tell her for you."
"No, no! Pweathe no, Connie," I tearfully pleaded. "I'll tell Mummy - jutht not yet."
She grimaced sorrowfully at my heartfelt plea. "Okay, Baby Jennie," Connie reluctantly conceded. "I'll give you until Saturday."

We both heard Mummy escorting Angie downstairs. Before they strolled into the sunroom hand-in-hand, Connie made sure my damp pink cheeks were free of tell-tale tears. "Now stop that silly crying. That's better," she cooed to me in tender loving tones. She wiped my glistening chin dry with my bib one last time and let it drop. "That's my pretty little baby girl."

"My, you certainly have a way with my little girls!" Mummy chuckled approvingly, as she maternally straightened my sister's tiered red frock. "Angie told me you did a very good job of changing her nappy and looking after her this afternoon before her nap, too." She released Angie's tiny hand and my sister danced over and hugged the toothy brunette crouching in front of me. "And to think - I paid David to look after my babies today," Mummy muttered with an exasperated sigh.
"Mummy? Can Aunty Connie babythit uth from now on?" I quietly asked. I felt pleased when Angie enthusiastically agreed with my timid request.

"Yes Mummy!" Angie stared up entreatingly at our mother, her cornflower-blue eyes shining with excitement. "Oh yes! Connie is a much better babysitter than that stupid ol' David! He's a meanie!" Connie giggled at my sister's glowing endorsement, and turned to smile toothily up at Mummy.

"I'd be happy to look after your gorgeous little girls anytime you want," Connie offered with an easy grin. "I'm on holidays for the next few weeks, and I have tons of free time." Mummy smiled happily and nodded. in response.
“Yes! Yes! Yayyy!” Angie squealed.

"That would be great, Connie!" Mummy replied, sounding equally delighted by the idea. "I don't think David is responsible enough to look after my precious little girls, and they certainly have taken quite a shine to you."
"Would you like me to help out for the rest of this afternoon, or this evening? I really don't have any plans for the rest of the day," the pretty brunette admitted, before offering; 'No charge, either! We can call it a training run. You can show me your little tricks for keeping your pretty baby girls happy and content."
"Certainly, darling! That would be wonderful!" Mummy enthusiastically agreed. "Could you check Baby Jennie's nappy for me right away? She's overdue for a change, and knowing my little nappy wetter, she's probably saturated by now!"

When I sat back on my puffy wet bottom and helpfully raised the front of my red polka-dot frock over my tummy, Connie tossed me an encouraging smile. "Good girl, Baby Jennie!" She pulled aside the snug elastic waistbands of my satin panties and my rubber pilchers with one hand, and plunged the fingers of her other hand inside to probe the outside of my nappy crotch. "Hmm. She's wet through, but not saturated."
"That's okay. I'll change her nappy now, anyway. That will see my big baby through until bath time tonight," Mummy replied.

"Would you like me to give you a hand?"
"Actually, that would be a great idea, Connie! As you can see my bigger baby wears cloth nappies most of the time - unlike her sister - and there are a few tricks to pinning them on correctly," Mummy explained. She turned to glance at my sister, then decided; "I'm sure Angelica can be trusted to wait down here for Mummy like a good little girl while we change the baby upstairs. Can't you, honey?" When Angie smiled and nodded affirmatively, Connie helped me to clumsily stand.

"Come on, 'Mummy's Little Nappy Wetter.' It's time to change that wet, wet nappy!" Connie sang in sweet invitation. She held my left hand in her left and reached behind my back with her right hand to help me waddle slowly upstairs, coaxing me like an unsteady toddler while Mummy impatiently followed behind. The grinning teen reached behind me to gently swat my soggy bottom in encouragement as I clumsily climbed each step. Her cupped palm struck my tautly-stretched rubber panties with that distinct wet sound, so familiar to all mothers with diapered toddlers. As soon as we entered the Nursery, Mummy scooped me off my feet and placed me on my back on the change table.

Connie cooed, "Lift up that bot-bot for Aunty Connie, baby girl. Botty up!" When I obediently raised my bottom, she tucked my ruffled dress hem high up my back, out of harm's way. The pretty brunette stood beside the table and watched, grinning toothily while Mummy removed my strappy red sandals.

Before she removed my pretty red satin knickers and my sticky white rubber panties, Mummy commanded in honeyed tones; "Lift that botty again for Mummy, baby. Good girl, and botty down. Now lift those little footsies, and ballerina toesies. Good girl!"
"Gosh, she's very wet," Connie commented in amazement, when Mummy lowered the soggy front of my thirsty terry nappies.
"My Baby Jennie is a very heavy wetter, unfortunately. If you intend babysitting my girls in future, Connie, you'll have to remember to check my bigger baby's nappies quite frequently," Mummy confided with a small grimace of resignation, before turning to me and singing; "Lift that bot-bot up high in the air again for Mummy, sweetie."

Mummy slid the saturated nappies from under me and removed the oversized soaker pad with a frown. She folded the sodden diaper into a nappy sack, and then dumped the bundle in the trash bin. The soggy cloth nappies went in my nappy bucket as usual. She showed Connie how to place a fresh toddler's disposable between the two clean cloth layers to act as an extra soaker pad, and where the flushable nappy liners had to be placed in case I did a poopie. "Upsy-daisy, baby girl," Mummy sang, as I lay there red-faced and flushed with embarrassment. I compliantly kept my bottom high in the air until the clean nappies had been slipped underneath and positioned correctly, and then lowered my trembling bumcheeks onto the soft fluffy terrycloth with a grateful sigh.

Mummy's hands were sure and gentle as she wiped away all traces of urine and stale powder from between my legs. I felt myself stiffening involuntarily when she wiped clean my shrivelled clittie, and then she raised my ankles to clean my bot-bot. I relaxed and let my knees fold back against my chest, my nether cheeks lazily drifting open. Mummy carefully wiped my crack several times, and when she slid her wipe-wrapped finger inside my slippery back door, I was almost expecting it. I relaxed my sphincter and sighed and closed my eyes, sucking harder on my dum-dums in pleasure. This time her index finger slid in all the way to the last knuckle without any resistance, drawing a quiet groan of appreciation from around my dummy teat. Her finger thrillingly twirled and swirled inside my greedy poo-poo hole, until I began to moan softly with arousal.

When Mummy lowered my ankles and caught sight of my thickening erection, she frowned - even as Connie covered her mouth and burst into a fit of giggles. "I'm sorry about that, Connie." Mummy apologised, sniffing in disapproval. "It looks like my bad little girl is trying to show off for you. Wait here with my naughty baby. I'll be back in a minute." Even though I suspected Mummy was going to the kitchen to fetch a cold spoon, my erection grew perversely harder when Connie stared at my rising tumescence with unfeigned interest. She kept giggling until Mummy returned a few minutes later clutching the familiar frosty utensil and frowning severely.

"Hold baby's ankles down against the change table, please Connie?" Mummy requested in a dull monotone. "Let me show you what we do with naughty babies."
"No Mummy! Pweathe- Oww!" I squealed in pain as my mother covered my aroused genitals with the icy-cold spoon, but this time I kept my hands out of the way and tried not to interfere. Instead I began crying from a combination of frustration, anger and pain. I impotently beat my clenched fists against the soft padded table top and wailed like a frustrated baby at the unfairness of it all, sucking harder on my dum-dums in a fruitless search for comfort.

"This is how we deal with naughty little baby girls who want to show off," Mummy snorted in contempt, her olive-green eyes blazing.
"My, that certainly seems to do the trick!" Connie commented in admiration, her big brown eyes wide with amazement. She chuckled in derision when Mummy removed the freezing implement a minute later. I didn't need to glance down to know my frozen white clittie had shrunk to a mere stub of its former glory, and my tiny shrivelled sack hung wrinkled and empty. I sucked noisily on my dummy teat until my sobs slowed, while Mummy heavily powdered me front and back. Then she continued demonstrating to Connie how to correctly pin my thick fluffy nappies in place with two pins either side.

"Baby Jennie needs plenty of powder on her thighs, too," Mummy instructed, as she sprinkled the sweet-smelling talc all around my upper legs and rubbed it in. "It makes her wetproof rubber panties slide up easier," she explained, "and helps her smell more like a sweet little baby girl – and less like an unwashed toilet." When my damp rubber panties and shiny red satin panties had been tugged into place, Mummy sat me up and fluffed out my ruffled dress hem over my bulky padded hips with maternal affection. She lifted me down and urged me on my way to the landing with a crisp swat to my heavily-padded rear. Even though the smack was loud in the quiet room, my nappy was so thick, I barely felt a thing on my bot-bot. "You go downstairs and play with Angie while I have a little chat with Connie, baby girl," Mummy ordered with a thin-lipped smile.

I sulkily waddled away enveloped in a cloud of lightly-perfumed baby powder, but at least it was easier to walk in my fresh nappy. The dry disposable soaker pad didn't take up anywhere near as much room between my thighs as a full wet one, and I knew I wasn't waddling as badly as before. Even so, I gripped the handrail tightly for support while I carefully toddled downstairs, one step at a time

When Connie and Mummy returned to the sunroom, both women wore broad smiles. Mummy looked rather pleased with herself. Connie sat on the floor and played Barbies with Angie and me for while, and she treated us exactly the same - like two pretty little toddler girls. I felt slightly miffed when Angie chided me for dressing my brunette Barbie in some green slacks and a blue top. "No, Baby Jennie. You shouldn't put green and blue together," she cattily informed me, like she was the fashion police.

I was about to tell my bossy sister to mind her own business when I saw Connie nodding in agreement. "That's right, sweetie." Our babysitter chanted a little rhyme; "Blue and green should never be seen, without a colour in between…." I acceded to their wishes and dressed my Barbie in some silver lurex pants instead. She did look prettier… The rest of the afternoon seemed to disappear in a flash, our feminine play broken only by the frequent diaper checks Connie performed on me. My nappy was damp after only half an hour, but the toothy teenager assured me; “That’s okay! You don’t need changing yet.”

Mummy eventually called to us from the kitchen, asking Connie to bring us in for dinner. The smiling teenager made us pack away our Barbies and all the clothes and accessories first. She then took us both by the hand and led us into the kitchen, awash with wonderful food scents. "Here, Connie. Can you clip this bib on Baby Jennie?" Mummy handed the smiling teenager a pastel-pink bib with elaborate white lace frills around the edge and lining the collar. Connie held it up to admire the pretty trimmings, and she chortled at the shameful message embroidered across the front; 'Baby Jennie (heart) dirty diapers.'

My cheeks grew warm as she clipped the humiliating pink bib around my neck. I wondered if the grown-ups knew how true the embarrassing inscription was. We were served sausages and mashed potato and peas for dinner, and I was thrilled to find I was allowed to eat big-girl food, too! Despite the fact that Connie buckled me securely into my highchair and fixed the tray in place first, I was beaming with delight when she placed the plate of real food on my tray. My damp nappy grew wetter under my bottom and I wriggled about in pleasure in the familiar comforting warmth. I didn't even mind that Connie cut up my sausages into tiny bite-size chunks first, or when she cooed encouragement to me as she fed me my dinner with a pink-handled toddler's fork. However, I felt my cheeks blush warmly with embarrassment when she frequently chided me for dribbling uncontrollably.

"Gosh, Baby Jennie! What a drooler you are," Connie complained in a mild teasing tone. She smiled to take the sting out of her words while she wiped my chin a third or fourth time with my pretty pink bibbie. "Such a dribble-puss!"
"That's why babies wear bibs," Angelica piped up, before proudly pointing out; "I don't need a bib anymore, Connie. I'm a big girl - not a dribble-puss baby like Baby Jennie." Mummy and Connie merely smiled in approval at Angie's unfair comparison. I remained silent and tried to concentrate on the unfamiliar action of chewing solid food.

"When are you going to start potty-training the girls?" Connie asked our mother, as she kindly wiped my messy face with my frilly bib one more time.
"I was actually planning on starting Thursday - tomorrow morning, in fact," Mummy replied. She took away Angie's empty plate and gave her a bowl of sweet rice and custard for dessert. My sister snatched up her spoon with an exclamation of joy and enthusiastically tucked in to her sweet course.

"Perhaps you should start potty-training them tonight - after their dinner, but before their bath. That was the time we normally used to put my little sister on the potty, when we started toilet-training her," Connie suggested, ignoring my instantly horrified expression.

Mummy plonked a Barbie bowl full of sweet rice and custard on my tray, and handed the pink rubber-coated spoon to Connie with a nod of agreement. "That's an excellent idea, Connie. My husband has already made a new potty-chair for my special big baby girl, and you can help me get the girls settled on their potties before bath time."
"I can even keep an eye on them for you while they sit on their potties, if you'd like," the smiling teen kindly offered. I felt the blood drain from my face. I normally love Mummy's rice and custard, but tonight the sweet dessert tasted like ashes in my mouth. Connie wanted to watch me perform on the potty like a silly three-year-old? No way! But when Mummy removed my restraints and lifted me down from the highchair, she instructed Connie to take both her little girls up the Nursery and undress them, and she would fetch my new potty from the garage.

Connie undressed us both in then Nursery, skillfully tossing our bunched-up red dresses in the laundry hamper in the corner. When she unpinned my nappy it was drenched again, but she didn't bother commenting on my saturated state. She merely dumped the sodden pieces of cloth in the nappy bucket with a disbelieving shake of her head. After Connie lifted Angie down from the change table, our mother walked into the Nursery carrying our potty-chairs.

"Bring the girls into the bathroom, please Connie," Mummy requested, and the teenager led us waddling naked towards the en-suite. "I'll bring their potties up here before bedtime, and take them to the downstairs bathroom again after breakfast."

Daddy had purchased a pink-painted, child-size wooden chair and converted it into a potty-chair for me before he left for Canberra. He had sawed a hole in the seat and installed wooden tracks below, so that a big matching, pastel-pink plastic potty could be slid into position under the hole. The chair legs were cut very short, so the seat only sat about eight inches above the floor, with just enough room to slide the potty underneath. Finally, a pink leather waist-strap and buckle piece had been screwed to the solid wooden back, just like my highchair. After I had been buckled into the embarrassing pink potty-chair, I wouldn't be able to stand up until a grown-up released me.

Mummy turned on the hot water first, squirted in some bubble bath, and let the bath fill while she arranged our potty-chairs side-by-side. I stood beside my basbysitter staring at the humiliating pink chair in mounting trepidation, covering my tiny clittie with my free hand. My cheeks were already tinged pink with shame. When Connie's smirk grew broader, the rosy blush spread down my neck until my upper chest became flushed and mottled. Basically my potty-chair was the same as Angie's - except mine was pink, and slightly larger.

It was mortifying to be buckled in like a useless toddler in front of the grinning Connie, especially when Mummy made a big show of helpfully tucking my shrivelled clittie inside the pink splash guard in front for me. Angelica didn't seem to mind that we had an audience, and she chattered non-stop to our babysitter the whole time Connie settled her on her potty and buckled her in.

Mummy gave me a condescending smile and crooned in syrupy baby-talk; "Baby Jennie, I want you to try hard to do a poo-poo in your potty for Mummy, like a big girl. You've had a dirty nappy almost every morning this week, so try and do a poo-poo before bedtime, sweetie. Okay? Mummy doesn't want to have to deal with another messy nappy in the morning." I cringed in embarrassment when Connie giggled uncontrollably at that humiliating morsel of information. “Try hard to do wee-wees and poo-poos in your potties, girls,” Mummy encouraged us, then left us under the grinning teenager's watchful eyes.

Connie straddled the bench seat and sat down facing us, so I was gazing up between the toothy brunette's shapely tanned legs. She impatiently tapped the toe of one pastel-pink sandshoe, making her bronzed calf and thigh muscles tremble. My eyes automatically followed the muscular curve cut into her silky-smooth inner thigh, all the way up to where it disappeared under the ragged bottom of her cut-offs. Her tiny stonewashed denim shorts tightly hugged her female cleft, giving her puffy pudenda a 'camel-toe' appearance, but I couldn't tell if she was wearing any panties. I assumed she was, but she was probably wearing a tiny G-string. There was no sign of her underwear, even when she wriggled her big round bottom forward on the seat and spread her plump thighs wider in an attempt to make herself more comfortable.

Although I could have probably tried to empty my bowels, there was no way I was going to make a big smelly mess in my potty! Not with pretty Connie sitting right next to us on the bench seat, watching me like a hawk. I decided to simply sit there and patiently wait her out until Mummy decided to release me to put me in the bath. I glanced at my sister beside me, who also sat there looking nonplussed by the whole experience.

The busty brunette teenager crooned in encouragement to us, telling us; "Try and do wetties and jobbies in your potties, girls. Go on! It's time to try and make a wee-wee or a poo-poo in the potty. You can do it, girls. Take a deep breath and hold it, and then push down with your tummy muscles…" She matched her actions to her words, pressing the front of her t-shirt over her stomach with both hands so that the hot-pink material was stretched taut over her generous bosom. She looked so comical holding her breath till her red cheeks puffed out, frowning in exaggerated concentration and biting her pink-painted bottom lip with her huge front teeth as she pretended to bear down to do a poo-poo.

We had to giggle at her silly potty-face. As I laughed, I heard the tinkling sound of my wee-wees unintentionally splashing into the pink plastic potty underneath me. Despite feeling mildly embarrassed at emptying my bladder in front of a relative stranger, I almost squealed in excitement. "I'm doing a wee-wee in my potty!” I spread my thighs as wide as I could and tried to peer down between my legs into my plastic commode, seeking to confirm the truth. “Look, Connie! Look! I'm going wee-weeth in my potty!"
"Good girl! Good girl, Baby Jennie!" Connie loudly praised me, which brought our mother running from her bedroom.

Mummy hopefully asked, "Has Angie…?"
"No, not yet. But Baby Jennie did a wee-wee in her pot-pot like a big girl," Connie informed her with a pleased smile.
"Oh good," Mummy replied slightly less enthusiastically, with a tolerant smile for me.
"Mummy! I'm doing a wee-wee, too!" Angie broke in, her wide blue eyes shining with joy. As my stream trickled to a halt, we could all hear the splashing sounds coming from my sister's yellow potty.

"Good girl, Angelica! What a clever big girl you are for Mummy!" Mummy volubly praised her, beaming with delight at Angie's first successful attempt to use the potty. When my sister finished urinating, Mummy wiped us both down with some toilet tissue, and then threw the paper in the toilet. She seemed disappointed that I had failed to move my bowels, too, but managed to conceal her displeasure from Angie. After we had been released from our potty-chairs, Mummy continued to heap praise on us as she emptied the amber contents into the grown-ups' toilet. We climbed into the tub and sank beneath the bubbles. Mummy flushed the toilet and rinsed our plastic potties in the bathroom basin.

Connie assisted Mummy with bathing us that evening, and I found it incredibly embarrassing to have my clittie and my boy-pussy handled so intimately by this cute grinning teenager. She talked down to me and treated me like a useless toddler the whole time, too. In a way I was grateful for the overwhelming humiliation, as it precluded any chance of my becoming inadvertently aroused by her overly-familiar handling.

Mummy stood beside the change table and watched as Connie diapered me for the night unassisted, nodding and smiling in approval when the toothy teen instructed me; "Lift those little footsies and ballerina toesies for Aunty Connie, Baby Jennie. Good baby!" She threaded a crackling pair of pink plastic panties over my pointed feet, and slid them up to my thighs. "Footsies down, and lift that bot-bot for me," she sang invitingly. She slid the noisy rustling baby pants up over my raised bottom, tucked everything in, and then she clipped me into a pink onesie. "What a good little baby girl you are!" she generously praised me. As soon as I was safely diapered and dressed for bed, Mummy lifted me into my crib while Connie placed Angie naked and giggling on the change table. My sister happily babbled away while our toothy babysitter diapered her for the night. A few minutes later, Mummy returned with a baby bottle full of warm milk for me and a full purple sippy-cup for Angie.

"Baby Jennie, I want you to try and stay clean for Mummy tonight, alright?" Mummy insisted, as she eased the teat between my lips and tilted my bottle up to encourage me to start drinking. "No more poopy nappies, okay? Try and behave like a big girl for Mummy and hold it until I put you on the potty in the morning. Understand?" I meekly nodded without removing the dripping teat from my mouth, even though I was uncomfortably aware of the full feeling in my bowels already. "Good girl." Mummy kissed me goodnight and raised the side of my crib, and then she demonstrated the locking mechanism to Connie. Both women finally bade us goodnight and strode out, leaving the room in relative darkness. I cupped one hand over my bulky nappy crotch and absent-mindedly patted the warm damp spot that had already formed inside my crackling baby panties.

I awoke early Thursday morning in my crib and sniffed the air around me. I no longer thought of it as Angie's old crib - but 'my crib.' I’d done it again! I had made poopies in my nappy during the night while I slept! I hadn't even woken when it happened. When I rolled onto my back, the weight of my sodden nappies pressed warmly against my genitals. I could feel a moist squishy lump jammed between my cheeks. I realised that more and more often my nappies were wet and I didn't remember peeing. Also whenever I had to do a poo-poo, I found it very easy to just let go in my nappies with little or no effort at all. Plus I was waking up almost every morning with messy nappies. Was I actually losing my toilet-training? I wasn't so sure I wouldn't need potty-training again for real! I hadn't yet mentioned anything to Mummy or Daddy about my concerns, but I was considering it.

Strolling into our Nursery in her pink satin robe, Mummy sniffed the air knowingly. "Some little girl has made stinky poopies in her nappies! And I think I know who the stinker is!" She strode directly towards me and unlocked and lowered the side rail of my crib with a clatter. She demanded with a mournful frown, 'Baby Jennie? I thought Mummy asked you to try and hold it last night?" She unsnapped the crotch of my pink onesie and ordered me to roll over. Mummy disdainfully prodded my bulging panty bottom and when she confirmed that I was indeed 'the stinker,' she asked me, “Is there anything you want to tell Mummy, Baby Jennie?” All the while her broad palm firmly smacked my dirty bottom through the tautly-stretched pink plastic panties, each crisp spank mashing my poopy package a little more over my messy rear.

With some sniffling and a few tears, I confessed to her that I feared I was losing my toilet-training. "I couldn't help it, Mummy," I wailed. "I wath athleep and the poo-pooth jutht came out. It wathn't my fault," I tearfully protested, as she rolled me onto my back.

"Well, well, well! I never imagined that we might have to toilet-train both you and Angie for real! Maybe putting my little pants-wetter back in nappies wasn't such a good idea after all. Fortunately, we've started your potty-training period - so let's hope everything works out. Now we'd better get my stinky baby girl out of that yucky poopy nappy straight away, Baby Jennie! Lift that bot-bot for Mummy, sweetie." She removed my pink onesie and then carried me over to the change table. I lay on my back and she made me lift my botty again so she could tug down my glistening pink plastic panties. Mummy checked the leg elastics for poo-poo stains, and we were both pleased to find the leg bands of my baby panties were free of dirty brown marks.

"Pooh, baby!" Mummy complained, as she peeled down the front of my sticky wet nappy. "Oh yuck-spuck! You stink, little miss poo-poo pants!" There was stinky brown filth stuck to me everywhere down there. It took her several minutes to wipe away most of the mess with the saturated front of my nappy. She used the soggy disposable soaker pad to scour between my soiled cheeks too, then gingerly folded it and stuffed the shitty item in a scented nappy sack. "Gosh, Baby Jennie! This nappy is full of poo-poos. You are an absolute poo-poo factory, little girl!"
"Baby Jennie's a poo-poo factory, Baby Jennie's a poo-poo factory," my superior little sister chanted in a mocking sing-song tone, drawing a snort of barely-suppressed laughter from Mummy.

Her smile vanished and she frowned in annoyance when she slid the offensive cloth nappies from under my raised rear. She wrinkled her nose in disgust and demanded, "Why didn't you do your jobbies on the potty for Mummy last night like a good girl? Hmm?" I didn’t respond. After rinsing them in the en-suite bathroom, my soiled nappies were dropped into my very own huge, pastel-pink diaper pail - with my name clearly and humiliatingly stenciled on the front. 'Baby Jennie's dirty nappies,' it proclaimed in bright pink lettering for the entire world to see.

Mummy lifted me down and I stood there naked, wobbling in confusion while she hoisted Angie onto the table and removed her damp night nappy, too. After setting my nude sister on her feet, Mummy took our hands and led us into the bathroom where our potties were waiting side-by-side. In moments I was buckled into my pink potty-chair and Angie was fastened to her yellow one. Mummy urged us in treacle tones; "Try and do your business on your potties, girls. Go on, try hard for Mummy. Do big wee-wees and poo-poos in your potty for Mummy, okay?"

She hovered over us waiting expectantly, and gave a cry of delight when we all heard Angie's bladder noisily emptying into her plastic commode. "Oh good girl, Angelica! Such a good, grown-up girl for Mummy!" My sister beamed in pleasure when Mummy soundly praised her for using her potty like a big girl.

Probably because I had drenched my nappy so heavily during the night, I felt no need to empty my bladder this morning. Although I felt reasonably sure my bowels weren't completely empty, there was no overpowering urgency to do a poo, either. Apart from which, the thought of straining to void my bowels while Mummy watched me perform was too humiliating to currently contemplate. As a result, my potty remained unblemished when our mother eventually unbuckled us. Although she was full of praise for my sister, her expression was sceptical when she inspected my empty potty. Mummy made me stand and bend right over next to my potty chair so she could scrub my bum cheeks with a warm soapy washer, and she wiped right inside my crease several times to make sure she got everything.

Angie danced naked into the Nursery ahead of us, babbling about the shorts and top she wanted to wear today. Our mother smiled indulgently at my sister while she laid out the clothes Miss Bossy-boots wanted us to wear. I wasn’t surprised when she selected an identical outfit for me. After powdering and diapering my freshly-scrubbed bottom on the change table, a pair of frilly pastel-pink baby panties was drawn snugly over the top. Mummy then dressed me in some stretchy hot-pink terrycloth shorts that tightly hugged my loins, clearly outlining my bulky nappies and frilly panty bottom for everyone to see. You could even see the heads of my nappy pins poking through, the shorts were so tight. This was followed by a cute pale-pink sleeveless top with 'Mummy's Diapered Angel' printed in children's blocks across the breast. The shoulder straps had a dainty matching pink lace edging that continued around the low round neckline, which looked very pretty.

After Mummy tied my pink sandshoes on my feet, I helped her diaper and then dress my sister in her bright pink shorts and a tank-top that matched mine, except hers said; ‘Princess.’ Angie wore her frilly anklet socks and pink sneakers, too, so we looked like twin sisters again. We shuffled downstairs and into the sunroom clutching our life-size baby dollies while Mummy showered and changed. A short time later, she called us into the kitchen for breakfast. Mummy was wearing a neat pale-yellow blouse and a pair of brief khaki shorts that showed off most of her long brown legs, and plain white sneakers without socks. Red lipstick was the only cosmetic she used, but with her long blonde hair brushed back in a high neat ponytail, she looked clean, fresh and attractive.

During breakfast Mummy reminded us of our impending potty-training routine. "After breakfast, you will both be seated on your potty-chairs downstairs for at least ten to fifteen minutes, as well as after each and every meal. Mummy will also put you on the potty in the Nursery bathroom when you first wake up in the morning, too, and after your naps from now on. You may also ask for permission to sit on your potty-chairs whenever you think you feel the need. You will be allowed off your potty-chairs early, girls - if you have done 'your business.' That is, if you can do wee-wees or poo-poos in your potties like big girls."

She gazed into my big blue eyes as she spooned another mouthful of porridge between my messy lips, locking eyes with mine to make sure I clearly understood. "During the day, we will keep the potty-chairs ready in the bathroom downstairs, so you can get used to the idea of peeing and pooping in there. Unless Daddy or I need to use the bathroom, of course. Then we'll put the potty-chairs in the hallway, just outside the bathroom door. Okay?" She wiped my face and hands with a warm soapy washer, and then attended to Angie's relatively clean face. It wasn't until after she removed my dirty pink bibbie and tossed it on the bench, that I noticed the humiliating message read; 'Little Miss Poo-Poo Pants!'

After wiping clean and removing my highchair tray, Mummy unstrapped me and lifted me down. "If you can go three days without wetting or messing your nappies, you will be allowed to wear 'big-girl' training panties. Is that clear, girls? I'm sure you don't want to wear nappies any more, like little babies do." Mummy eyed us both carefully to make sure we clearly understood how our potty-training program was supposed to work, her earnest gaze lingering on my face far longer than necessary, I thought. Although I resented the fact that she was talking down to me like I was a silly three-year-old, I realised her speech was mainly for Angie's benefit. I tried to shrug off my childish indignation.

My sister and I were escorted into the downstairs bathroom, where our potty-chairs were lined up in a row. Mummy pulled down Angie's hot-pink shorts, carefully unfastened a couple of tapes from her dry disposable diaper, and slid it down her legs and away. My smiling sister then eagerly sat down on her yellow potty-chair and waited for me. Mummy pulled down my tight shorts and frilly baby panties and with a grimace of distaste, unpinned one side of my wet nappies and let them flop down around my ankles. "Baby Jennie!" she remonstrated with me; "Naughty baby! Why didn't you tell Mummy you needed to use the potty? Look how wet this nappy is, you naughty girl!"

I patted the front of my pastel-pink tank-top, searching for the dummy that wasn't there as I sulkily poked out my bottom lip. "It wathn't my fault!" I feebly protested. "You were feeding me bweakfatht, Mummy, and I wath wocked in the highchair, an- an-"

Mummy cut me off to scold me. "You should have told Mummy you needed to do a wee-wee anyway, baby, even if you're buckled in your highchair. Telling a grown-up when you feel the need to use the potty is all part of your toilet-training program, little one. Even if you don't think you can make it, I want you to tell Mummy whenever you feel the need to go. Understand, Baby Jennie?" When I didn't immediately respond, she demanded more insistently, "Baby girl? Do you understand what Mummy said?"
"Yeth Mummy," I grumbled in assent.

The honest truth was - I hadn't even realised I'd wet my nappy! I knew I must have done a wee-wee while Mummy was spoon-feeding me breakfast, but I had no idea exactly when it happened. I felt guilty for lying, and I knew my cheeks were red with shame. To distract Mummy's attention from my tell-tale blushes, I petulantly whined: "I want my dum-dums!"
"Alright darling, alright," she agreed in a more soothing tone, "after Mummy gets you settled on your pot-pot."

With some help from Mummy, I awkwardly plopped my damp botty down over the hole in the low wooden chair and had my limp little clittie tucked safely behind the pink front scoop. Mummy took the pink leather strap from one side, draped it around my waist, threaded the end through a narrow slit in the solid chair back, then pulled it tight and buckled it behind me, out of my sight and surely out of my reach. There was no way for me to escape from my potty-chair without the help of a grown-up. Angie was confined to her smaller yellow chair in much the same way, and then Mummy slipped away into the Nursery.

She returned a few moments later clutching my dummy dangling on its chain, and she kindly popped the nipple into her mouth to wet it with her saliva first. With an indulgent smile for my eagerly-waiting, wide-open mouth, she eased the glistening amber teat between my pink-stained lips until I gratefully began sucking. After clipping the pink plastic chain to the lace-edged neckline of my pink tank-top, Mummy instructed us. “Now do your business on your potties like good little girls! Okay?” With a final encouraging smile, she left us to our own devices.

Since I had already poo-pooed and wee-weed in my nappies during the night, and wet heavily again during breakfast that morning, I had absolutely no reason to use the potty now. All I could do was sit there with my knees bent high in front of my face, since my bottom was sitting so close to the ground. At least I had my dum-dums to suck. I gratefully drew on the slick amber teat, unaware of the loud babyish noises I was making - or Angie's condescending smiles in my direction. Instead I examined my pretty pink fingernails and toenails, amazed that the paint job was still mostly intact after our days of playing in the sandpit. After a few minutes I heard a tinkling sound from my sister's direction as her wee-wees splashed into the yellow plastic potty under her bottom.

Angie's sweet face was glowing with pride when she called for our mother. "Mummy! Mummy, come quick! I made a wee-wee in the pot-pot again, Mummy!"
Mummy dashed back into the bathroom all smiles. "Why that's wonderful, precious! I knew you could do it! See? Good girl! That wasn't so hard now, was it? What a clever big girl you are for Mummy!"

Every joyous word of praise for my sister was an unspoken reproach for my failure to perform. The strap around Angie's waist was unbuckled, and she stood up and squatted slightly so that our beaming mother could gently wipe her damp crotch with toilet tissue, before taping my sister's dry diaper back in place. After her hot-pink shorts had been pulled up over her plastic panties, Angie asked if she could sit on her potty chair beside me till I did my wee-wees.

"Wait a minute sweetie," Mummy lovingly cooed, but her expression soured when her face turned to me. "At least part of our potty-training plan seems to be working, don't you think, Baby Jennie?" Mummy inquired, her voice dripping sarcasm as she emptied my sister's potty into the grown-up's toilet. She rinsed out the plastic commode in the vanity basin and gave it a wipe with a hand towel, then slid the yellow potty on the tiles under the seat beside me for my sister to sit on.

"Yeth Mummy," I was humbly forced to admit. Certainly, Angie appeared more willing than ever now to sit on her potty-chair. And now she had succeeded in using the potty like a big girl, it truly may have been because I was sitting strapped on my potty right next to her. The unasked question was - who was going to help potty-train me?

After my fifteen minutes were up, Mummy snorted in contempt and unbuckled me from my unsullied potty. Angie stood up and followed us into the Nursery, and watched while Mummy cleaned my smelly loins and bot-bot and powdered me all over. With my fresh nappies pinned on and my frilly baby panties and pink shorts pulled into place, Angie and I waddled outside hand-in-hand into the backyard to play. I was unaware my comforting dummy was still clamped between my lips, and I sucked on the soothing rubber teat without thinking about it. I was carrying my little pink suitcase containing my new Barbies and the doll's clothes Connie had given me, and Angie clutched one of her blonde Barbies and her Skipper doll, too. We both still had to have our shameful toddler harnesses buckled on, and Mummy leashed us to the clothesline pole so we couldn't wander away. Hanging out to dry on the line were about a dozen of my big cloth nappies and several pairs of my feminine frilly plastic panties, flapping noisily in the breeze for any of our neighbours to glimpse.

I was glad that the girls who lived in the house behind ours were still away on holidays. They were good friends of ours, and were always dropping over without notice. I tried not to think about them while Angie and I tried various outfits on our Barbies, with my sister bossily advising me which colours went best together and which colours clashed. I didn't know you weren't supposed to mix gold and silver, but when I defied Angie's advice and dressed my Barbie in a gold lame top with silver pedal-pushers, she did look kind of tarty. I didn't want my beautiful Barbie to look like a cheap slut! I changed my dolly's outfit, aware that to a casual observer, it would look like Angie was the boss of me. Although I had to admit; sometimes it felt that way to me, too.

Shortly before lunch, Angie called out for Mummy, yelling that she wanted to sit on her potty-chair. Mummy rushed out, hurriedly unfastened her toddler harness, and scooted Angelica inside to the downstairs bathroom. Ten minutes later when they returned, she was again showering my sister with praise - although she looked pointedly at me when she loudly stated; "What a good girl you are for Mummy, Angelica, for using your potty like a big girl!" I sucked harder on my dum-dums and wondered if I had managed to stay dry. With so much bulky padding between my legs, it was kind of hard for me to tell. When I felt certain Mummy wasn't watching, I reached down and pressed the front of my baby panties firmly against my groin. Although my nappies felt warm on the inside, I wasn't sure if I was wet. But I felt comfortable and safe, warm and secure - so I relaxed, and happily returned to playing with my Barbies.

When Mummy unbuckled our toddler harnesses around midday, it was to shoo us inside for lunch. She followed close behind, and I didn't see her frown when she observed my tell-tale, wide-legged waddling gait. When she lifted me into the air and plonked me into my highchair, my damp plastic panties made that distinct 'splat' sound, so familiar to all mothers with wet diapered babies.

"That nappy sounds very wet, Baby Jennie," Mummy chided me, frowning in annoyance as she plucked out my dummy. She buckled me in with the crotch and waist belts, and then inserted the heavy pink tray. It slid into position until the spring bolts noisily locked into place, and then Mummy fastened the same blue bibbie around my neck I'd worn at breakfast. "I hope wee-wee is all I find in that nappy, Little Miss Poo-poo Pants," she commented disdainfully.

Angie and Mummy ate Hawaian sandwiches - grilled ham, cheese, and pineapple sandwiches for lunch, which looked and smelled absolutely yummy. I was fed two jars of bland beige baby food, and Mummy's irritation showed in the way she brusquely spoon-fed me. She talked down to me and treated me like I was an incompetent toddler the entire time, and then roughly scoured my messy face clean with my embarrassing blue bibbie afterwards.

"Stop sooking, Little Miss Poo-poo Pants!" she scolded me when I dared complain. She gripped the back of my head so I couldn't wrench my face away and scrubbed even harder. "Stay still! Mummy has to clean up that dirty face before you have your bottle. Baby Jennie is such a messy eater!" Angie drained her sippy-cup of warm milk before I had even finished half my huge pink baby bottle. Mummy let my sister out of her booster seat while I remained bound in my humiliating highchair. "Come with Mummy, darling," she lovingly cooed to Angie. "You can help Mummy carry your potties upstairs like a big girl."

Mummy returned a couple of minutes after I drained my bottle, beaming in delight at her daughter's willing attitude. After scrubbing my messy face and hands clean one more time with a warm soapy washcloth, Mummy removed my shameful blue bibbie and replaced my dum-dums, clipping the chain to the collar of my pastel-pink top. She released me from the white leather restraints and lifted me down, then called for my sister to join us. Mummy took us upstairs to the Nursery en-suite bathroom for our post-meal, pre-nap potty-break.

Angie was still dry when Mummy removed her disposable diaper, which earned her another round of ringing praise. But when Mummy pulled down my hot-pink shorts and pink plastic panties, she was dismayed to discover that my nappies were saturated again. She frowned down severely at me, clucking her tongue in irritation. My cheeks grew warm with mortification and my face crumpled when Mummy demanded, "Baby girl? What did Mummy tell you about asking for the potty, Baby Jennie?"

I felt the blush creep around to my neck as I dismally replied from around my dum-dums, "You thaid I had to tell you when I needed to do a wee-wee. But I didn't, Mummy! I didn't need to do wee-weeth," I childishly protested, despite the smelly evidence to the contrary. I was unable to keep the sulky whining tone out of my girlish, high-pitched voice. I could offer no reasonable explanation and since I was pretty well 'peed out,' again I couldn’t produce a thing while dismally seated on my potty.

Within a few minutes Angie managed to produce a noisy trickle of wee-wees. Accompanied by a few red-faced grunts, she then squeezed out some small, dark brown turds. This effort earned her more lavish praise from Mummy, before she let my sister stand up to wipe her front bottom. Then our mother made Angelica bend over right next to me, her bum facing me, so she could wipe her dirty bottom clean. I watched from mere inches away, sucking intently on the soothing amber teat of my pacifier, hoping the wide plastic guard covered my sulky grimace. Mummy wiped my sister's tiny pinky-brown hole again and again with folded sheets of toilet paper, until the white tissue came away clean. After Angie's dry diaper had been taped in place with the re-sealable tabs, she scampered towards her bed.

When my time was up, Mummy released me with a sigh of annoyance. She snatched my hand and led me shuffling awkwardly into the Nursery with my damp plastic panties and pink shorts snagged around my ankles. I clumsily clambered up onto the changing table with her help (I certainly didn't have to be told what to do any longer,) where I was swiftly cleaned and powdered. My little clittie remained mercifully flaccid under Mummy's unforgiving icy glare, even when she briskly rubbed the sweet-smelling talc all over my front. She was coldly silent as she pinned me into some lovely thick fresh nappies, her normally-smooth forehead creased with frown lines.

I chewed on my strangely-soothing dummy teat and watched her sour face warily, knowing she was still cranky with me. Mummy tugged the same pink wetproof panties over my fluffy nappies - the ones with the wide white lace frills across the seat. I poked out my bottom lip in resentment at the cold clammy feel of the damp leg elastics. Because it was so warm, Mummy didn't bother making me wear a onesie to bed. She lifted me into my cot wearing only my pink singlet and my puffy infantile underwear. After being safely locked in with my bottle, my dolly, and my pink teddy, Angie was bundled into her bed, too, and we took our usual afternoon naps.

To be continued in chapter 20.

If you could be bothered reading this far, I'd really appreciate if you would take your hand out of your nappy, clean your handy-pandies, and take two minutes to post a response here. I really crave the feedback!
Hugs from Baby Jennie



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