The classroom bell rang loudly and urgently, signaling the end of the school day for Ms. Taylor’s sixth grade class.
As one, the students rose and made for the exit in an excited and raucous exodus.
I too, was anxious to leave, to get home to my Legos, where I could finish building the grand ship I was working on. Being towards the end of the class, I was one of the last to leave but as I filed past my teacher’s desk, she held up her finely manicured hand to stop me.
“Wait a minute, Brian,” she said, causing those around me to pause and look in my direction.
“Did you wet your pants again?” she asked accusingly, although her tone indicated she already knew the answer.
I blushed hotly, my cheeks blazing as everyone looked down to discover the large, dark wet spot in the front of my trousers I had been hoping to hide.
“You’ll be staying after school today,” she told me firmly.
I gulped hard at the thought of the certain punishment that was awaiting me, even as the other children giggled and began busily whispering about my fate. They moved past me and I soon found myself standing in an awkward silence before Ms. Taylor who regarded me evenly. She stood up slowly from her desk and came around to the front to face me, placing her slim hands on her curvy hips as she looked down on my trembling form.
“I’m starting to think your mommy needs to send you to school in diapers and plastic panties—is that what you need?”
My cheeks were burning scarlet with shame.
“N-no, Ms. Taylor, it was an a-accident,” I stammered.
“Well, I think the two hundred punishment lines I had you write last time weren’t quite enough motivation for you. Looks like I’m going to have to take stronger measures with you,” she said as she went over to a cupboard and took out a red rubber enema bag connected to a long white hose.
Seeing the emasculating fate that awaited me, I began pleading desperately with her for a reprieve.
“B-but, M-Ms. Taylor—couldn’t we just, you know, um, let it go this time?” I bleated.
Taking the enema kit over to the sink, she squeezed in a generous dose of dish washing soap and began filling the bag with warm water.
“Today you’re going to get a nice, soapy enema Brian. I’m sure it will leave a lasting impression on you and help motivate you to try and keep your pants dry in the future.”
My eyes misted with tears of self-pity and I shifted my feet even as I unconsciously gazed at her silky legs and perfect derriere within her snug skirt. I had long lusted over my sexy teacher and she’d been the focus of all my boyish fantasies, both at school when I daydreamed about her, and at home, when I rubbed my little willie while having dirty thoughts of her.
As I nervously watched her filling the rubber bag, my mouth went dry from anxiousness—I had never had an enema and the prospect filled me with tense apprehension.
Soon, the bag was bursting with soapy water and she capped it off, testing the flow on the long, large latex nozzle at the end. Taking a seat on her armless chair, she beckoned me over to her side.
“Come along, Brian, you’ve earned this,” she told me.
I whimpered and shuffled my feet, trying to stall and drag out the process but she soon grabbed my wrist and sternly pulled me next to her.
“Imagine a twelve year-old boy, wetting his pants like a toddler,” she scolded me as she shook her head and began undoing my pants.
I could hear the disappointment in her voice and I felt deeply ashamed at my childish lack of control. I had always wanted nothing more than for her to return my respect and admiration and now it was obvious I had neither.
I gasped as she pulled down my pee-stained underwear, exposing my tiny, quivering little pen-is to her stern eyes. I was highly sensitive to it being exposed since my entire package was only about the size of three small grapes. The fact was, my shaft was little more than just a nub, looking more like a small cap than a real pen-is.
Her look of dismay suggested she’d never seen such a tiny organ on a boy of my age and my cheeks flushed all over again with shame.
Taking me over her lap, she gently pushed my thighs apart and began dipping Vaseline into my shy back hole. I squirmed and whimpered, unaccustomed to such treatment and I bit my lip in helpless angst.
Suddenly, I felt the cold, greasy nozzle tip against my tight, puckering hole and it felt much bigger than I expected.
“No—p-please!” I quailed in panic.
Moving the pliable nozzle around, she soon found the proper angle and I felt it slowly push past my defeated sphincter.
“Oooohh!” I wailed.
Gently, she eased it in and I moaned from the feeling of rubbery fullness.
“This is just what you need,” she said as she gradually pushed it in until all six inches were inside me.
I gasped for breath and for a moment, looked across the room at the far windows. To my utter shame, I saw three of the girls in my class, their faces pressed up against the window as they gleefully watched my humiliating punishment.
Ms. Taylor released the clip and the first soapy surge of warm water began flowing freely into my rectum.
“OOOOOHH!” I moaned helplessly.
“It’s time for you to grow up, Brian. Little boys that wet their pants belong in diapers, and it’s looking more and more like that’s just what you need. Maybe I need to have a discussion with your mommy about that.”
It was mortifying to listen to her condescending appraisal of me.
“No, please don’t,” I whimpered, “I’ll do better next time—I promise.”
I gasped and moaned again as the water continued flowing deeply into my bowels.
She shut the clip on the hose, waiting patiently for the water to slowly seep deeper into my innards.
“If you’re going to act like a little child and wet your pants, you’re going to get punished like a child,” she lectured me as she re-opened the clip.
I groaned with shame and discomfort, squirming over her firm lap as more soapy water flowed uninterrupted inside me.
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Ms. Taylor scolded me in her demeaning voice as she held the nozzle in place, buried deep into my backside.
Indeed, at that moment, I felt very childish.
My back hole felt so completely stuffed and flexing my muscles had no effect whatsoever on the flow of water. It just kept coming, filling my bowels as I whined and squirmed across her thighs. My view was filled with her sexy high heels but at the moment, they were the last thing on my mind.
Finally, the bag was reaching the end and my belly ached with cramps.
“The next time we have this conversation, I’ll be warming your bare bottom with my paddle, do you understand me?” she asked me sternly.
“Y-yes, Ma’am,” I sobbed with contrition.
At long last, she pulled the slippery nozzle out of my tortured hole and I sighed with relief. Carefully, she helped me to my feet and she looked deep into my tearful eyes, making me feel very small and inferior.
“I’m going to put you in a pull-up so you don’t have any accidents on your way to the bathroom,” she explained.
Opening a desk drawer, she produced a very babyish pair of underwear that looked like a one piece diaper. It had pink bunnies and elephants across the plastic and she opened it so I could step into them.
I couldn’t help but stare down at the tremendous cleavage between her big, sexy breasts as she pulled them up my legs, tugging them up around my waist. I felt like such a baby, wearing the infantile underwear and I blushed anew as she looked down into my embarrassed face.
Turning me around, she dismissed me with a swat to my now padded bottom.
Topic: Wet Pants Punishment (Read 11380 times)
