There there sweetie. Let all those icky grown up thoughts out of your head. Your only job is to be an adorable little baby on display. The dumber you look the happier you’ll make daddy. These home movies are going to sell nicely online. I have several pre orders from your old friends in college. I think they said something about airing it at your reunion. Diapers don’t grow on trees sweetie, it’s not my fault the world loves watching your descent into babyhood. Since filling your pampers is the only thing you seem to be good at we had to figure out a way for you to contribute to this household. Is that drool? There ya go sweetie, put on a show.
Part 4 of my 10-part series: The 10 “D’s” Of Proper Regression Training:
4. Diapers- This is a bit of an obvious one, but the biggest part of a baby’s dependence on her daddy is the inability to use a big girl potty anymore. This means she needs to rely on him to provide her the appropriate alternative, and that is big, thick, thirsty diapers. Depending on your baby’s pottying habits, you may want to include stuffers inside, or perhaps even doubling or tripling up on the diapers themselves. You can never be too careful when it comes to protecting a little dummy from leaking all over your furniture or in your car or your bed. The baby is going to be too little to recognize when they’ve even let anything out into their protective pampers, so you’ll need to be checking them constantly. Once the toilet becomes a distant memory for them, and they can only recognize that it’s a strange seat that daddy sits on when he’s giving her her nightly bubble bath, you’ll be thankful that you kept those diapers around her waist extremely thick and bulging. Of course this also means having to change their diapers once they’ve filled them completely, but it’s up to you to define what “completely full” really means. The baby surely won’t know. Maybe you will decide it means after her first accident. Or maybe you’ll be like me and decide that“full” means she definitely went “boom booms” already, and something is leaking out from somewhere, despite how thickly she was pampered. Diapers aren’t cheap, so you’ll want to make sure every possible inch of them is being taken advantage of before changing your baby into a new one. She won’t mind.
Learning the Sissy ABC's of Diaper Domination - "E"
You had given up everything. You left your home, quit your job, and gave ownership of everything to Mommy Grace and Daddy Mick. With no control of your money, no cell phone, no drivers license in their state along with no car, and not a single item of clothing to your name, you were at their whim completely. You'd asked for this, and now you were getting it. And as promised, they were going to ensure you learned your place by teaching you the ABC's of being a Sissy Diaper Sub.
Lesson 5, Week 5, E is for Evacuate
For someone who's been given so much, you've been quite extra this last week. Daddy and I have seen you're attitude and think you need to get through you're little head that everything is as we say it will be. So we're going to enter you into a week where we remove these egregious misfires in your behavior.
First, we're going to remind you of your place as our sissy, diaper filling little girl. As such, you're going to be exploding into your diapers continuously. They'll expand as you dribble into them constantly. And the expulsions of excrement escaping your entrails will be almost eternal feeling. You are a diaper dumping sissy who's duty it is to please us. And what brings us enjoyment is watching you evacuate your bowels and thank us after each push.
But not only will you spend the week begging for a change, but we're going to ensure any ideas of control by such a mush tush sissy are evacuated from that lump in your head smaller than the lump on your seat. Thinking is for adults. Thinking isn't what you do unless we say you can. And I assure you that whatever thoughts in your mind are as cheap as the services you are soon to be providing.
Mommy and Daddy are much more engaged that you thought we would be clearly, though it doesn't take an egghead to realize that submitting to this state would result in this lesson being taught. You've been doing a good job so far. Your chores have been getting done, you're growing your assets nicely. But we want big curves, not a big attitude. So we're going to evacuate every misbehavior from your body, with each slimy explosion ensuring that our silly little diaper clad sissy entertains nothing other than the guests that she services.
Enjoy your ability to move around your room tonight, and do try and enthrall the viewers watching you empty your guts into your diapers. Because tomorrow we have yet another lesson for you, and you wouldn't want them to make any evil additions to it, would you? Night night sissy!
Photo is not mine, credit goes to original owner. Contact me if you would like credit for it, and if you would like me to remove it from the page.
Been busy time for me, hope you enjoy the newest one. Working to get next one out and then retouch other works or make some stand alones. Though again I offer you the chance to get things from me by interacting with this post.
Between now and Midnight on Sunday July 14th, meaning that count stops at the very start of Monday, for every 100 notes this post has gotten, I'll make that many out of the next 10 captions be a photo of myself. I'm set to indulge in wearing and have some photo shoots of myself planned. So if you want me to put my diaper on display for y'all, be sure to engage!
Story is a work of fiction. All events, people, and places involve potential problematic behaviors and depict scenes for fantasy purposes only.
She tells you you have 20 sissy baby rules for the party weekend. She has you write them down on paper with a crayon.
The Rules:
Rule 1 -Your pacifier must remain in your mouth, it can only be removed by a Daddy or Mommy. No speaking unless spoken to
Rule 2- No touching your diaper or anything inside it.
Rule 3- You will wear and use your pink diapers at all times. Only a Mommy or a Daddy May remove.
Rule 4- You must refer to everyone as Mommy, Mistress, Nanny or Daddy.
Rule 5- When spoken to, you will reply with, "Yes Mommy or Yes Daddy"
Rule 6- You will ask permission for everything.
Rule 7- You will never leave the nursery unless a Mommy or a Daddy says you can.
Rule 8- You will never disobey or disrespect a Mommy or a Daddy.
Rule 9- You will always follow Mommy's orders and do exactly what Mommy says.
Rule 10- You will obey Mommy's every command without hesitation or question.
Rule 11- You will never hide from a Mommy or a Daddy.
Rule 12- A Mommy or a Daddy may make new rules or add on to existing ones at anytime.
Rule 13- A Mommy or a Daddy can remove or add an article of clothing or accessory from your sissy body for any reason.
Rule 14- If a Mommy or a Daddy catches you in the act of breaking one of the above rules, the punishment will be decided by that individual.
Rule 15- Punishments can include spanking, time-out, public humiliation, enema, a phone text and pic to a co worker or whatever else a Mommy or a Daddy sees fit.
Rule 16- The punishment will be decided by a vote, whether or not the sissy has been a naughty sissy.
Rule 17- Sissies will always thank their Mommy or Daddy after every punishment, no matter how painful or humiliating.
Rule 18- Sissies will never talk about their punishment with anyone outside of the nursery, including the Mommy or Daddy that punished them.
Rule 19- Sissies must be grateful for every punishment they receive.
Rule 20- The Mommy or the Daddy may change or add any rule or punishment whenever they please.
A brisk coastal breeze trickled through the open windows, a welcome reprieve from the oppressive Miami heat that persisted long after sunset. I smile contentedly. The aged rum in my glass paired perfectly with the salty air.
This would be a perfect ending to a fantastic day—if not for the laptop glaring back at me. A reminder of all the work I put off today. The harsh light of the screen, the slight sting of my sunburned skin, and the burden of working late into the night are trivial, though.
It’s all worth it for days like today.
Watching her play at the beach all day, her swim diaper adorably poking out of her Bluey swimsuit as she diligently worked on her sandcastles, makes tonight’s effort an easy price to pay.
The memory of her sheepishly asking me if I could take her into the water, nervously holding my hand as she toddled to the edge of the water, the adorable scrunch of her face as she nervously gathered the courage to walk into the water is something I’ll never forget.
She could barely keep her eyes open on the drive home. Her red sun-kissed cheeks and poofy diaper bulging out of her car seat, making her look more like a toddler than ever before. It took a lot of effort, but I somehow managed to keep her awake until we got home.
I knew she was exhausted when she barely put up a fight as I put her to bed earlier than usual. She was asleep before I finished taping her into her nighttime diaper.
All the better for me, someone’s got to pay for all her diapers. And that means a few hours of uninterrupted work—a rarity when caring for a needy little.
My laptop chimes—another email. I’m not alone working late, at least. I begrudgingly open it, hoping it’s not another fire I’ll have to put out before I get to bed.
I’m halfway through the email when I hear it. The distinctive pitter-patter of her socks hitting the hardwood floor. The telltale crinkle of a soggy diaper.
I look at the clock. It’s almost 10 PM. She’d been down for nearly three hours, I guess I’m lucky to have made it this long. My little ladybug rarely gives me this much uninterrupted time.
Her footsteps—and the adorable crinkling—suddenly stop. I see her peeking out of the doorway, scoping out the situation. I can’t help but laugh.
“Hey, kiddo,” I say as she steps into the room, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes with one hand, the other clinging to her favorite dino stuffy and blanket.
My heart melts as I take in her whole ensemble. As expected, she doesn’t respond, her paci rhythmically bobbing in her mouth. Her cute little pajama top barely reaches the top of her diaper which is much soggier than it was last I checked it.
The stars that once adorned the diaper had faded away, the wetness indicator proving to be redundant—I don’t need the indicator to know the diaper bulging between her legs needed changing.
She waddles her way across the living room to the breakfast table where I’m working for the night.
“What are you doing up so late, ladybug?”
She shrugs, reaching out her arms to be picked up. Her eyes begging me for cuddles.
I chuckle as I close my laptop. She’s too adorable and I’m too tired to get more work done. Plus, there’s a Dodger game coming on anyway.
Her grabby hands go into overdrive as I stand up. She reflexively wraps herself around me like a koala hugging a tree as I pick her up. She nestles her face in my neck, her little breaths tickling my collarbone.
“I got you, baby. You just wanted to spend more time with Daddy, huh, Peanut?”
She nods silently. Slowly, I move my hand down from her back to her diaper to check it. She squirms, but her protest is much more subdued than the usual struggle to check her diaper. She must be tired.
“Dada,” she whispers, “wan’ juice.”
“It’s way too late for juice, honey buns. How about some milk? Daddy will even help you drink it!” I bargain, hoping to preempt a tantrum from my exhausted little. Anything to preserve the peace.
She mulls it over for a second. “Kay, Dada, fank you!”
I boop her nose. “You’re very welcome, Princess. Thank you for using such good manners!”
She blushes through her red, sun-kissed cheeks as she crinkles her nose reflexively before shoving her face back into my neck.
“Okay, Peanut. Let’s go get you your baba,” I say, heading toward the kitchen. I deposit my little into her highchair. “I’ll be right back, sweetie.”
I go to work warming her milk, laughing as I do. I never thought I’d be making bottles of milk for a girl her age—especially since most girls her age prefer bottles of vodka to warm, sweet bottles of milk. Yet I wouldn’t trade this for the world.
Armed with her warm bottle of milk, I head back to my well-behaved little sitting no nicely in her high chair. Her feet swung freely in excitement. “Let’s get some milk in your tummy, ladybug.”
I hand her the bottle before picking her up from her highchair and heading towards the couch. As I sit, I position her comfortably across my lap, her head resting adorably on my lap. With my free hand I turn on the Dodger game, though she has no interest in the game.
She never even turns to the game, her tired eyes never looking away from me. She looks up at me in pure adoration, the same look that’s been melting my heart for years. She’d always given me that look, from our first date to the time I helped her clean up after her first accident, to now. I’ll never get enough it.
I smile down at her, meeting her gaze. I lean down and kiss her forehead. Her diaper crinkles as she squirms before reaching up and giving me paci kisses on my cheek.
“Awww, thanks, Peanut!” I say, taking her paci out of her mouth, “you’re the cutest little ladybug in the world!”
I grab the bottle from her hand and hold it in place. As she suckles on her baba, I watch her eyes grow heavier and heavier. By the time she’s halfway done, her eyes stay closed. The corners of her mouth in a faint smile as she drinks.
I smile, feeling my thighs grow warm as she fills her diaper, on the edge of sleep. I let her finish her bottle. By the time she finishes, she’s fast asleep.
I carry her back to bed, changing her diaper before turning off the light. Sitting back down, I take another sip of rum and watch the game.
She looks down at her soggy diaper in utter disbelief. “B-but I d-don’t even remember going potty, Daddy!”
“Does that excite you, Princess?”
“I…umm, I think so. But does this mean…”
“Yes, silly. It means you’re no longer potty trained. You’re Daddy’s diaper-dependent pamper packer, forever.”
“I just thought the first time I had a real accident would be…I don’t know…”
There it is again: The First Time. She’s focused on the “firsts” of our relationship and her diaper journey from the beginning.
I remember how excited she was the first time I put a diaper on her. The first time she made stinkies in front of me. The first time she went out in public diapered. The first time I changed her in public.
Every first was a cause for celebration.
She’s been so focused on the “firsts” that she never stopped to think about all the “lasts” in her life.
But I did.
And now that she’s unpotty-trained, it’s time to show her the project I’ve been secretly working on these last few years.
Her big book of “lasts.” She’s finally ready to read it. It has it all:
The last time she went out in public undiapered. The last time she used the potty for tinkles. The last time she used the potty for stinkies. The last time she changed her own diaper. The last time she got to ask me to change her diaper.
But there are a few things she probably won’t be expecting.
Like the last time we had sex. The last time she had an orgasm without a diaper. The last time she went to bed without a bedtime. The last time I thought of her as an adult. There’s plenty more to choose from, but you get the idea.
I almost feel bad, but what did she expect? I can’t treat someone who wants to become an unpotty-trained pamper packer as an adult—adults don’t enthusiastically give away every aspect of their adulthood so they can helplessly fill their diapers.
Obviously adult things like sex are out the window. Did she really think I’d want to go down on her knowing she poops herself three times a day?
Gross.
I’ll treat her exactly how she wants to be treated: as an unpotty-trained a toddler. Because that’s what she is to me now.
She’s not my girlfriend. She gave up orgasms and adulthood for a lifetime of diaper changes, early bedtimes, and Disney cartoons.
I’m sure she’ll throw a tantrum tonight when I show her. But what is she going to do? Not wear a diaper? It’s far too late for that. She needs them now—just like she always wanted.
I’ll smile the whole time she’s whining about her “lost” adulthood. The adulthood she willingly gave away for the pleasure of being wrapped in her plastic prison.
Maybe I’ll even start a new scrapbook for her. Her tantrum can be the first entry: Baby’s first tantrum as Daddy’s permanent babygirl.
This caption is for a very shy diaper girl. She’s a widdle scared of the world knowing who she is. But I do!
“Oh my gosh, this is so cute! It looks just like a real nursery! She actually lives like this? Isn’t she older than me?”
You cower behind Daddy as the new woman Daddy brought home takes in your nursery. They discuss you and your diapers so casually, so matter-of-factly that you feel like the toddler she obviously thinks you are.
“Seriously, I can’t right now. I mean, look at all the colors, the decorations, the diaper supplies! Ugh, it’s adorable! I’d have no idea this was an adult’s room if it wasn’t for the massive crib, changing table, and stacks of oversized diapers!”
Daddy laughs. “Adult? Don’t get it confused, my little pamper packer here may be older than you, but she’s not an adult, are you, Princess?”
You feel your face burning as they both look at you expectantly. “N-nuh uh, Daddy, not adult,” you whisper, knowing not to disobey Daddy in front of company.
“Good girl,” Daddy coos, giving your diaper a playful slap.
“She’s adorable! So well behaved, too!” she says, her voice thick with derision.
“Thank you! She’s Daddy’s special girl!”
Her face suddenly lights up. “No way, is she actually peeing herself?!?” she screams excitedly.
Daddy looks over at you. You look back at them, confused. You’re not peeing, that much you know. You would know if you were.
“Oh my god, she is!” she screams, “look at her diaper! You can see her tinkles spreading! I can’t believe it!”
You grab your diaper, still positive she’s making it up. Until you feel your diaper. It’s warm. Your eyes are wide in terror.
Before you can do anything her hand is reaching down at your diaper, grabbing it as your pee continues to flow. “It’s so warm and thick! You’re actually peeing yourself in front of us like a baby!”
Daddy looks at you, his face both confused and excited. “Did you know you were peeing yourself, Princess?”
“I-I-I…,” your eyes fill with tears, “D-daddy!!!”
“Oh, come here, silly,” Daddy says, wrapping you in his arms, “looks like you’re finally unpotty trained! You should be excited!”
Becoming unpotty trained had been your goal when you started wearing diapers. But that was before you truly understood the reality of life as Daddy’s diaper girl.
All you wanted was to wear diapers. Maybe have Daddy tease you here and there for them. Just basic, casual fun.
Like all diaper girls, you thought you could have your cake and eat it too. It’s adorably naïve.
You actually believed you could wear diapers 24/7, having Daddy care for you, check and change your diapers and still be treated like an adult. It’s absurd.
If you wear diapers like a baby, squat down and fill your diapers with stinkies like a baby, and rely on your caregiver to change your diapers like a baby—surely you cannot expect to be treated anything but a baby.
“Wait!” she screams, “she’s unpotty trained?! Like she’s been wearing diapers so long she actually needs them? That’s so pathetic!”
It’s too much for you. You won’t let some girl younger than you tease you.
“I’m not a baby, you bitch!” you scream, stomping your feet.
You knew you were in trouble the moment you said it. Daddy looked at you as if you just slapped him. Thick, heavy silence hung in the room as they both stared at you.
“I-I-I d-didn’t m-mean it, D-daddy,” you sob.
More silence.
Daddy looks over at her. “I’m sorry, Claire. She knows better than to act like a little brat.”
“It’s okay, poor thing probably couldn’t help it!”
“It’s not okay, is it, kiddo?” Daddy asks you sternly.
“N-no D-daddy, I n-not allowed to u-use n-naughty words anymore…”
“That’s right! And what happens when you do?”
“I h-have to l-lay over y-your lap…”
“Good girl. Do you have anything to say to Claire first?”
You look over to Claire, forcing yourself to ignore the smirk on her face. “I-I’m s-sorry for calling you a naughty word, C-claire,” you say sheepishly.
“It’s okay, little one. I know you didn’t mean it!”
Daddy reaches out his hand for you. You reluctantly grab it and follow him to your crib. Daddy puts the bars down and sits on the edge. He looks at you expectantly.
You hesitate, not wanting Claire to watch Daddy spank you. You couldn’t bear the thought of her watching you get spanked like some naughty toddler.
“B-but…Daddy…,” you mutter, looking at Claire.
Daddy only smiles. “Claire stays, babygirl. If you didn’t want her to see you get punished, you shouldn’t have been naughty. Lay down. Now.”
As you move toward Daddy, he suddenly stands up. “Oh, I almost forgot! Now that you’re unpotty trained, I can’t risk you tinkling on me!”
Daddy heads to the closet, bringing a package of puppy pads out. He opens it, unfolding one and placing it on his lap.
Claire loses it, giggling uncontrollably. “A puppy pad?!? Stop, that’s so embarrassing, even for a diaper girl! But I guess it’s necessary if she can’t hold her tinkles!”
Red-faced, you stand in front of Daddy as he rips the tabs off your diaper. The cold air forces you to shiver as your diaper is removed. He balls it up and hands it to you to hold.
“On my lap, babygirl,” he says sternly.
You lay down on Daddy’s lap—and the puppy pad—more humiliated than you’ve ever been in your life. You hold on to the diaper in your hand, doing your best to cover it up.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
Claire’s laughter fills the room as Daddy’s spanking pauses. Tears pour down your face as you realize how infantile and pathetic you must look to Claire.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
More laughing. You look around your nursery. The monument to your place in life. You see all the horrifically infantile designs, the pastel colors, the supplies to keep you pathetically pampered.
You take it in. Everything in the room made you so beautifully squirmy when they were added. It’s was all so hot. But as you look at it—through Claire’s eyes—you realize how far you’ve fallen.
She doesn’t see you as an adult. She sees you as a toddler. You’re not a threat to her. You’re a cute sideshow. She’s going to sleep with Daddy tonight, not you.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
All the cute baby-patterned diapers and accessories that you loved so much stare back at you, each with a life of its own. They mock you, gloating that they trapped you in their world.
They know what you are. A helpless, diaper-dependent baby. They know this isn’t an adults room—it’s yours.
The only sex that would ever happen in this room is between Daddy and any woman he brings in here. A woman getting off knowing what you are. Proving she’s better than you.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
By now your butt is on fire. Your whimpers fueling Claire’s laughter. She can’t get enough of this pathetic display.
Daddy’s hand strokes your hair before turning your face to look at him. You look at him through your tears.
“I-I ‘m sorry, Daddy!” you plead, “I w-won’t use naughty words again, I promise!”
“I know you won’t, babygirl. Let’s get you in another diaper.”
You timidly stand up, hiding from Claire’s smirking. You preemptively head for the changing table.
“HAHAHHA no way!” Claire goads, “did she really pee on the puppy pad?”
Horrified, you look back. Daddy holds up the pad clearly wet with pee. You cover your face, too ashamed to meet anyone’s gaze.
“Let’s get you in a new diaper before you leak all over the floor, Princess.”
You obediently lay on the changing table, still covering your face.
“Can she wear this diaper?” Claire says, holding up your thick night time diaper.
“That’s what I was going to put her in! Gotta get this lil stinker in her night time diaper before bed!”
Claire watches—on comments—on the entire diaper change. You whimper through the whole thing. Halfway through, Daddy gave you your paci, which you happily accepted.
Once your diaper was taped on, Daddy helped you off the table, leading you to your toddler chair and table.
He sits you down, bringing you paper and a box of crayons.
“I want you to write an apology letter to Claire while we go have some fun. And it better be good.”
“B-but,” you beg, “I need a pen!”
“A pen?” Daddy scoffs, “you have crayons here! Diaper girls don’t need pens! Diaper girls use crayons, silly!”
With that, they head out. Your stomach sinks watching Claire all over Daddy.
You get to work, writing your apology letter to the woman who took your man. As you write, you hear them in the next room over. You try to ignore the moaning as you write.
“Dear Claire, I’m sorry I used naughty words. Daddy said I should never use those words when addressing an adult like you…”
"Awww, you're doing such a great job filling your diapers for Daddy, Sophie!"
Sophie hated her new life. In the span of a year, Lauren took everything from Sophie. Her husband, her continence, her dignity, her autonomy, and even her orgasms.
"Uh oh, I think Baby Sophie filled her Pampers with more than tinkles, didn't she? Such a big mess for such a little girl! You're Mommy and Daddy's Stinky Little Princess, aren't you, baby!"
Sophie squirmed in her messy diaper. It never got any easier—even if it happened twice a day, thanks to the high fiber diet Lauren (Mommy now, Sophie knew) forced on Sophie.
But a messy diaper wasn't what Sophie hated most. No, it was that she never had any privacy when she filled her Pampers. Lauren always knew when Sophie needed to fill her diaper, watching—and commentating—on Sophie's infantile display.
Every time Sophie squatted down, balling her fists in effort, grunting pathetically as she filled her diaper, Lauren was there. Watching. Ensuring Sophie knew her rightful place in her household.
"Does Princess Poopy Pants need Mommy to take her to the changing table? Or maybe she wants Daddy to do it? I know how much Lil' Sophie aches for Daddy's touch on her princess parts. Don't deny it, Princess! I see how you practically vibrate as he wipes your mess off your princess parts!"
Sophie knew it was true. She hadn't orgasmed once since Mommy moved in. Sophie existed in a constant, overwhelming state of desire. Longing for any touch. It was common to find her diaper soaked with more than pee, something Lauren found wildly entertaining.
Her perpetual arousal fogged Sophie's brain. Her craving consumed her, driving her wild with lust she could never satisfy. She desperately humped anything she could in her crib—her teddies, her mattress, anything. But she never finished before her baby monitor betrayed her, earning a spanking session on Daddy’s lap—but never an orgasm.
As her mess grew cold, Sophie unconsciously fiddled with her diaper, realizing only too late what she was doing. She knew she was in trouble the moment she saw Lauren's face.
"What did Daddy and I tell you about touching your diapers, Sophie? How many times do you need to learn this lesson?"
At first, Sophie thought she got off easy. Mommy only put Sophie in her locking mittens and paci-gag, a seemingly light punishment from Lauren. But it didn't last.
She saw Daddy walk in, commentating loudly he could smell his little Princess Poopy Pants from the porch. As always, the humiliation of her position mixed with her longing for his body whenever he saw him. He was so handsome, she wondered how she got so lucky to marry him.
Lauren embraced Daddy, giving him a deep, passionate kiss before turning to Sophie. "You should have seen her, babe. Sophie looked so cute today as she filled her Pampers. I wish I recorded her little grunts! My heart almost melted!"
"Awww, I'm sorry I missed it, Princess!" Daddy said to Sophie in the mock baby voice Sophie hated, kissing Sophie on the forehead, "but I'm sure you'll fill your next Pamper for me soon enough!"
With that, Sophie was left alone, stewing in her mess. The adults completely ignoring her as they talked about their day and plans for the weekend.
Sophie zoned out until she heard her name again. "Oh, I almost forgot, honey. I caught Sophie fiddling with her diaper again, so I don't think we can do it today."
"That's a shame," Daddy said disappointed, "I thought Princess would've enjoyed an orgasm. But I guess not."
Daddy walked over to Sophie. "Sorry Princess, if you had behaved yourself we would have let you hump your teddy as you watched us tonight! You could have finally played with your princess parts! But Mommy tells me you were a naughty girl, so I'm sorry, princess. You'll have to settle to listening to us instead."
Sophie's eyes filled with tears. This punishment was far worse than she ever imagined. It wasn't fair! She wasn't a baby! She was an adult! Why was she sitting in front of her husband in a loaded Pamper being told she couldn't orgasm?
Not that it mattered. Before she knew it, Daddy had reached down and picked her up. She felt his strength, his muscles bulging as he did, filling her with even more arousal.
But she wasn't going to his bed, Sophie knew. No, she was headed for the changing table. Now the most she could hope for tonight was the few scraps of pleasure she'd feel as Daddy wiped her clean. She knew it would only increase her arousal, but it didn't matter. She wanted it anyway.
She'd have all night to think about as she listened to her Husband make love to someone else. Wishing it was her in his bed again. Wishing she wasn't relegated to being Daddy's Stinky Little Princess.
But as Daddy laid her on the changing table, she quieted her mind. This was all that remained of her former life—the fleeting sensations of Daddy's hand wiping her down during diaper changes.
This caption is for, and features, a very shy diaper girl.
You couldn’t help but smile as you watched her browse the endless selection of stuffies. She was so lost in little space, she didn’t even notice or care about the diaper peeking out under her dress.
“Daddy look at this one! Is a penguin!!” she squeals in utter delight.
“It is, babygirl! I bet it waddles just like you!”
“Nooo! But daddyyyy I dun waddle! I walk like a princess!”
“Is that so, princess? What about when you make your oopsie daisies in your diapees?”
You watch as she squirms, red-faced and blushy. “No, I’m a big girl daddy! I don’t make ickies! You bein a meanie!”
You laugh as she wanders off to keep looking for a stuffie. It’s a big choice for her since you only let her get one stuffie today, much to her dismay.
She pauses for a few seconds, body growing tight, legs squeezing together. You know what’s about to happen. But a few seconds later, she’s back to grabbing stuffies, testing them for cuddliness.
You smile, trying to keep out of sight, not wanting to break the spell. She’s never cuter than when she makes her pushies in little space—especially when it happens in a public space.
Her diaper isn’t her concern. She knows that’s for Daddy to worry about. All she cares about is finding the perfect stuffie.
She freezes again, this time her legs buckle slightly. Unfazed, she keeps looking for stuffies, not caring she’s frozen in place.
You’re almost as lost in the moment as her, consumed by the overwhelming display of cuteness unfolding before you. Caring for her has been better than you ever imagined after she blubbered her way through confessing her dd/lg kink.
You watch as her squat gets deeper and deeper. She’s still happily playing with her stuffie, completely oblivious of her diaper that is now peeking below her dress.
She grunts softly.
You fight to stay quiet. You’d never forgive yourself for ruining this moment. Soft crinkles of her diaper reach your ears, barely more than a whisper.
Her diaper expands as she grunts again.
Her diaper continues to expand as she happily grabs another stuffie. Cheeks red with effort—but not embarrassment. You doubted she even knew she was filling her diaper.
As soon as her grunts stop, she immediately went back to browsing, not showing any signs she just messed her diaper.
You knew you’d have to step in soon. She may not care about her smelly diaper—but you do. It’s a daddy’s duty after all. You head over to her.
“Hi Daddy!” she purrs contentedly.
“Do you have something to tell me, Princess?”
“A stuffie?”
“No, not a stuffy, silly.”
She looks at you confused, albeit slightly guilty. “Then what, Daddy?”
“You tell me, pumpkin!”
“I, uh…” she mumbles, taking a few steps back.
“Come here, Princess. You’re hiding something!”
“Nuh uh, Daddy! I promise!”
“If you have nothing to hide, then come over here!”
“Dadddddyyyyy! ’m not hiding nothin!”
“Sweetie, I’m going to count to three. If you’re not here by three you’re going home without a stuffie. Especially if you’re hiding something from Daddy! Fibbing is never acceptable.”
“But, I…Daddy no!”
“One…”
“Daddy I’m not!”
“Two…”
“Stop, Daddy! No!”
You raise your eyebrows, daring her to defy you.
“Hmphfff,” she whines as she waddles over to you.
“Turn around Princess, let’s see if you’re hiding a poopy in your diaper!”
“DADDDYYY!! I didn’t! No no no! I didn’t make any uh ohs!!! I didn’t I didn’t I didn’t!”
“Princess, now,” you say in your best Daddy voice.
Her face is now bright red in embarrassment. It’s too cute to fathom.
You turn her around, pulling her dress up to see her diaper.
“But Daddy! What if people see!”
“Nobody is here, Princess. And I see a lot of messies in your diaper!” you say as you pull back the top of the diaper, looking at her present to you.
“I-I-I….sorry Daddy I didn’t mean ‘ew do it!” she splutters, barely comprehensible.
“It’s okay, kiddo, I know you can’t help it! You’re my poopy pamper princess, remember? That’s why I put you in diapers!”
“Daddy! 'm not a poopy pamper princess! ’m not ’m not ’m not!”
“Okay, okay, just Princess. But it doesn’t mean you don’t have an icky, messy diaper for me to change! We have to go in the back and change that diaper!”
“Wha-? Daddy, here? I don’ wanna to be changed here! I wan go home!!!” she sobs.
“Sorry, Princess. Poopy pamper princesses don’t get to choose where Daddy changes their diaper!”
“Daddy no! I don' want changies!” she whines, stomping her feet.
“Sweetie, if you keep throwing a tantrum everyone here will know about your poopy diaper! Is that what you want?”
“No, Daddy I don’t care! No changies!”
She’s startled into silence as a store worker, a girl clearly younger than her, walks over. She’s smiling sweetly.
The employee kneels in front of her. “Honey, there’s nothing to be ashamed of! It’s just a messy diapee! It’s happens to every little one! That’s why your Daddy put you in diapers!”
You look at her in awe, knowing full well how humiliated your Princess must be hearing that.
“See Princess,” you say fighting to contain your laughter, “it’s okay! Now can we get you changed?”
She just stares at both of you, face redder than a tomato. She squirms in humiliation as she decides what to do.”
“We have family room in the back,” the worker added, “and the changing table should even be big enough for littles like you, sweetie!”
“That’s great, thank you!” you say to her, reveling in your little Princess’s humiliation, “what do you say to the pretty lady, Princess?”
She looks at you with daggers in her eyes, but is too mortified to keep throwing a fit. “I…thank you!” she whispers.
“No problem, cutie!” the employee answers, “icky diapers are no fun, huh?”
You grab her hand as you lead her to the bathroom. You decide she should get two stuffies today—she’s earned it.
Needless to say, tonight didn’t go as you planned. All you wanted to do was surprise Daddy. It had been so long since he let you be a big girl for him.
So very long.
You found your old makeup, covered in dust, a relic of your life before he was Daddy. It was stored right on top of the clothes Daddy had long since boxed up. You didn’t need such adult clothes, he assured you.
You spent hours diligently applying your makeup, making sure it was absolutely perfect.
The last time Daddy referred to you as his girlfriend was two years ago. For two years, you called him nothing but “Daddy” and “Sir.” Nothing else was tolerated.
All you wanted was to experiment with your dd/lg kink. You never expected him to love it as much as he did. Especially when you had to work so hard to convince him to even try it.
As clumsy and awkward as he was at the start—especially with the diapers you insisted on—he quickly became the strong, powerful, and dominant Daddy you’d always fantasized about.
The lines between fantasy and reality soon became blurred—then erased altogether. What started as kinky bedroom fun, spilled out into your normal life. Yet you couldn’t get enough.
Everything changed the day you told Daddy you “didn’t feel like wearing your diaper.” The day you found out babygirls don’t get to choose—they do what Daddy says. You hadn’t been out of diapers since.
You weren’t even sure if you could stop wearing diapers anymore. By this point, you’d been wearing them for so long, going whenever you felt the urge, you might actually need them.
It was all part of Daddy’s plan. He didn’t use pain or sheer force of will to force your submission. No, he used pleasure. Turns out you’d crawl into the depths of depravity all for the promise of one more orgasm.
At first, pleasure came easy and often. All you’d have to do is mess your diaper or show him your soaked diaper and you’d find a buzzing wand on your diaper. As time went on, you’d have to do more to earn your precious buzzy time.
You didn’t care what it took, as long as it happened. As your buzzy time became increasingly infrequent, your determination to prove what a good girl you were for Daddy.
Which brings you to today. It had been six months since the last time you had any buzzy time—not to mention the pleasure of Daddy’s body. That had ended long ago.
You were a desperate, horny mess. Too desperate. You knew your big girl things were off limits. You were only to wear onesies and frilly dresses now. But you didn’t care.
You needed Daddy. Tonight.
So you made yourself look like the beautiful big girl you used to be. Your makeup was flawless. You felt so feminine in your favorite pink top. You even put on some lace stockings to complete the look. You didn’t dare remove your diaper, though.
You heard his car pull into the driveway. It was time. You looked at yourself in the mirror one last time. You were beautiful.
“Hi Daddy!” you say enthusiastically as he walks in.
He looks you up and down. And laughs.
“Awww, look at you, sweetie!” he coos, “Looks like a naughty little girl wants to play dress up! Let me take a picture!”
“But Daddyyyy,” you whine, “I’m a big girl, look! Don’t I look beautiful?”
He laughs again. “Of course you look beautiful, princess! I’m just confused why you’re wearing those big girl clothes. You know you’re not allowed to wear that!”
“I just thought maybe if you saw me like this you’d want me to be your big girl again. Like before. When we, you know, Daddy.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet, baby! But you’re not a big girl, are you?”
“Daddyyy,” you whine again, “Stop it! I am a big girl, let me show you!”
“Sorry, Princess, I don’t sleep with pamper packers like you! Why don’t you go take off that icky big girl makeup and I’ll change you into something much more appropriate for you!”
You storm off to your room. It wasn’t fair. You were a big girl! Daddy doesn’t understand!
But as you throw your little tantrum, you feel the backside of your diaper expanding.
“Ut oh,” Daddy teases, “Looks like I was right! You are nothing more than Daddy’s pamper packer after all!”
“Hurry up and take the picture already, Abby. I’m done babysitting for the night!”
Your face burned with jealousy—and humiliation—as you took the picture. They looked stunning in their costumes. Every guy at the party would trip over themselves trying to get with them tonight.
But not you.
“Awww, your face is so red, Abby! Are you jealous you’re not invited to the party or are you making a stinky in your diaper?”
You used to be the “hot one” in the group. At least you were, before they found your diaper poking out of your pajamas that one night, taking plenty of pictures to blackmail you. You thought they were your friends—you never expected them to be this ruthless.
That next morning, you woke up to a soaked diaper and your “friends” giggling uncontrollably. Your attempt to play it cool was immediately blown up.
“Does someone need a diaper change?”
“I didn’t know you were such a baby, Abby! You almost had me fooled!”
You tried to run out of there, but stopped dead in your tracks when they told you about the pictures. If you left, they’d send it to every boy in school. If you wanted to keep your diapers a secret, you’d had to play along with them.
Looking back, you wished they had sent the pictures then. Playing their game cost you far more than being known as a bedwetter. And destroyed any semblance of the thriving social life.
You were so desperate to keep your diapers a secret you let them force you into diapers 24/7. You let them mercilessly taunt and tease you. They were so organized, so determined to humiliate you, they even made a schedule between the four of them to ensure someone was always on “diaper duty.”
You should have known they never intended to keep your diapers a secret. They were tired of you stealing all the attention from the boys. And what better way to get you out of the picture? What guy wants to get with the diaper girl?
Everyone on campus knew you were in diapers. You just didn’t know they knew. If you had paid attention, you would have noticed the signs. You were used to guys checking you out on campus, trying to steal furtive glances of your chest, but you should have realized their eyes wandered lower than that. They weren’t checking you out, they were looking for your diaper bulge.
You should have realized it wasn’t a coincidence when groups of girls laughed to themselves when you walked by. You weren’t paranoid—they were laughing at you, the campus diaper girl.
None of your favorite boy toys texted you back anymore, no matter how far down the list you went. You’d never experienced anything like it in your life. Boys used to jump at the chance to talk to you.
By the time you put the pieces together, it was too late. Not to save your reputation—that chance passed long ago. No, it was too late to get out of diapers. By the time you realized everyone knew about your diapers, you’d lost all control of your bladder, with your control over messy accidents not far behind.
You were trapped in diapers, doomed to forever be the campus diaper girl.
“Well, did you make an “uh oh’ in your diaper, Abby? Not like it matters, none of us would change you anyway!”
“I don’t know, it doesn’t smell like she made ickies in her diaper, she’s such a stinky girl when it happens. I think she’s just jealous she’s going to mope around in diapers all night knowing no boy wants her anymore!”
“Oh, speaking of boys, Josh asked about you the other day! He’s so embarrassed everyone knows he used to date you. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure he forgets all about you tonight!”
You waddled back into your room, alone. You did your best not to think about the party you were missing. Or the boys who’d never consider getting with you again.
It got much harder not to think about everything a few hours later.
“We need to be quiet, Josh! I don’t want to wake Abby up, she’ll probably need a diaper change or something!”
You laid there, wishing the walls weren’t so thin. Remembering when you were the one moaning for Josh. Imagining that it was you in that bedroom. Your diaper crinkling loudly under your desperate fingers.
“What is that sound?” you hear Josh ask, “it sounds like crinkling. Is that us?”
You can’t make out what she said, but it didn’t matter. Their laughing proved they knew exactly what you were doing.
“OMG really?!? That’s so pathetic! I can’t believe I used to date her!”
You never waddled as fast as when Daddy needed to check your diaper. Especially when it was wet. But after a year in diapers, you weren’t sure if it was ever dry.
You were a big girl, not some diaper wearing baby. You didn’t need Daddy to check your diapers! Just because your a soggy diaper every time didn’t mean anything!
You desperately wanted to stay dry. To prove you didn’t need your diapers. If you got out of diapers you’d finally get to have sex again, no more rubbing your diaper on Daddy’s jeans while he tells you what a “desperate pamper princess” you were.
You wanted to be with Daddy—not your diapers. You were tired of being nothing more than his diaper girl. You needed more than his touch as he wiped you during diaper changes. But no matter what you did, your diapers ended up a soggy mess.
How could you prove to Daddy you were a big girl when you needed your diapers? Or went to bed every night at 8 pm? Or cry whenever he took away your favorite stuffie just because you talked back to him?
You’d never admit it, but you were right where you belong. You deserve your pampers. You need them. Daddy doesn’t take you seriously because you’re not a serious woman.
