I am a 27 abdl bi male I wear when I can if yall want to send me any kind of diapers especially abdl diapers I will wear them take photos and videos my diapers are very sexual to me my dms are open
Just like the rest of our life, Mommy made the decision without your input.
The baby blocks scattered in front of you offered little stimulation—but it was still better than naptime.
Naps meant an hour of staring at the ceiling, wondering why you let yourself fall so far down the rabbit hole.
Mommy hovered over you, silently waiting for you to grab the blocks and put them away.
“I’m not even sleepy.”
Squatting down next to you, her hand slides under your chin, forcing you to meet her expectant gaze.
“Toys in the bin, honey.”
Her voice was sickly sweet, dripping with an innocence that betrayed the authority beneath it.
This wasn’t a negotiation.
A rare emotion bubbles within you: defiance.
“N-no!! Don’twanna nap!”
You wield it clumsily, like a technical skill you haven’t used in years.
Because you haven’t.
Turning away from Mommy, you see the room that you once believed was the culmination of every fantasy you ever had.
Now it mocks you as a monument to the monotony of your life as her baby.
Dreadful silence blankets the room. Every second weakening your resolve as you wonder what she will do. Mommy never tolerates disobedience.
Will she spank you? Will she tell Daddy? Will you spend the next 20 minutes in the corner with a bar of soap in your mouth?
You take a deep, steadying breath. It doesn’t matter what the punishment is. You’re sick of being a baby.
“I…I won’t!”
Mommy sighs.
“Jason, look at me.”
Whatever reaction you expected, this was not it. She hasn’t used your name or addressed you like an adult in well over a year.
Maybe she understands!
You stare into your eyes, searching for some hope.
“What’s gotten into you?”
Her question seems genuine. Inviting. This is your chance to tell her everything.
That you’re tired of living life as her baby, without any say in what happens in your life. Tired of the mind numbing baby shows and Fischer Price toys that turn your brain to mush.
That you’re tired of everyone in your life dismissing you like you’re some silly toddler, unworthy of respect or dignity. Tired of early bedtimes, daily naps, and boring, unspiced food.
That you’re tired of wearing diapers and having them changed whenever and wherever she decides. Tired of Winnie the Pooh overalls with snaps at the crotch, Bluey diaper shirts, and pastel onesies.
That you’re tired of diapers being the only place you’re allowed to cum—if Mommy gives you permission. Tired of listening to your best friend fuck your wife while you sleep in a crib.
It’s not cute anymore. You want to be an adult again.
“I want my old life back. No more baby stuff. I’m an adult—time you remember that.”
Mommy laughs.
“Oh, honey…no.”
The simple denial, unburdened by any explanation, feels like a slap in the face.
“What do you mean, no?”
“I mean, no. Nothing will change for you.”
“Yes, it will! You can’t force me to be your baby!”
“You’re right.”
“So, you’ll stop treating me like a baby?”
“No.”
“Then…then I’ll leave!”
“The doors right there, baby.”
For a split second, you think about your freedom—until the reality hits.
Mommy smiles knowingly as you work through the situation.
You have no adult clothes. No cell phone. No money. No car. No driver’s license. Nothing but a stack of diapers and a closet full of onesies.
“Need help packing a bag?”
Her voice oozes with the same infantile cadence you hate. No different from how a parent would entertain a toddler threatening to run away.
“Mommy gave you everything you wanted, hun. You wanted ‘the real thing,’ remember? Not role-play, not a dynamic—no, you wanted authenticity.”
She pokes your diaper.
“Well, you got it! Why do you think I insisted that you give up your law license? Or close your bank accounts and credit cards? Let your driver’s license expire? Hmm?”
She tickles your tummy.
“See, being a baby isn’t just about poofy diapies, colorful pacifiers, and adorable onesies, kiddo. Nope! Real babyhood requires utter dependence on Mommy for your every need! Babies can’t survive without their mommies—and neither can you!”
The full weight of her words crashes down on you.
“You have no money, no job, no place to go. But, sure, if you want to leave, Mommy will put you in a fresh diaper and new onesie, pack you a diaper bag, and wish you luck.”
Her smile throws you off balance.
“I’ll…I’ll call m-my…my friends…”
More laughter.
“Sweetie, everyone knows you’re a baby. Who is going to volunteer to babysit you? You can’t pay rent, can’t help with groceries, and need someone to change your diapers. Nobody is letting you stay with them.”
“I don’t need diapers!”
“You’re incorrigible, kiddo. Your diaper is leaking, by the way. Did you know?”
“I…”
“Face it, sweetheart. There is no going back. Mommy made sure of that. You’re so far from adulthood that I claim you as a dependent on my taxes. Besides, what law firm is desperate enough to hire someone with a 3-year gap in employment? Your resume will be written in crayon…”
She giggles at the ridiculousness.
“Even if you did leave, you’re not leaving behind diapers. You understand you’re not potty trained, right? And, honey, do you remember your last stiffie?”
Her silence demands an answer.
“I-I-I-I…dunno…”
She pinches your cheek.
“Aww! That’s because I took them just like your potty training! Even if I played with it, begging you to get hard for Mommy…nothing would happen. No more stiffies…ever!”
Your heart sinks into your stomach.
“Last question, baby boy. What woman wants an unemployed, impotent man-child who isn’t even potty trained?”
You shrug, defeated.
“Oh, sweetie, don’t be sad! Mommy wants that, silly! Me! I worked hard to make all your dreams come true! And mine.”
“B-but you said you w-weren’t into being a…a mommy…”
“I wasn’t…at first. But now? Fuck it turned me on stripping you of every shred of masculinity and adulthood. Breaking you down into my helpless, docile plaything. You’re my itty bitty Play-Doh, waiting to be molded by my hands.”
“Th-that’s…y-you’re lying!”
“No, baby. You’re going to spend the rest of your life as my baby—all because it turns me on. You could never dream of doing that as my husband. Ugh, I’m dripping just thinking about it.”
Mommy’s cheeks are flushed with anticipation as she hastily tucks you in.
“Be a good boy and listen to how happy your rightful place makes Mommy.”
You barely have time to register what the rest of your life was going to be before Mommy is screaming Daddy’s name. Your useless nub twitches but remains as steadfastly squishy as your diaper.
This is how you’ll spend the rest of your life.
Utterly and completely dependent on the woman who stole your adulthood, emasculated you, and relegated you to a lifetime of pampers.
A plaything in someone else’s fantasy you foolishly thought was yours.
Morning, baby. Another wet night? Scooch over here and let me check your diaper. Not that I really need to. Our whole bedroom smells like my nephew’s nursery…
Yep, completely soaked. Again. Ugh, do you know how embarrassing it is having a boyfriend who still wets the bed? My mom and sister laughed themselves silly when I told them about your babyish little problem.
Yes of course I told them, honey. I don't keep secrets from my family. Besides, they’d have found out anyway. That’s seven wet nights in a row, which means you start wearing your extra thick nighttime diapers during the day as well. They’re going to be pretty tricky to hide!
Its been a quarter of an hour since you encouraged me to crawl between your open legs.
I was busy reconciling a clients annual financial position, you had a little time to kill.
You're in control. You're always in control. I'm on my knees, you've gripped my hair, clamped my face between your thighs and given me firm instruction throughout.
The sole focus - my tongue and your pussy.
You'd usually insist on more than the two orgasms you've already enjoyed but time's pressing and you need to get ready.
You take my hand in yours and lead me to the spare room. You lay me on the single bed, the one with the duvet cover adorned with cars and trains in primary colours. I understand I won't be sharing our double bed tonight.
Laying me down you gently undress me. Shoes first, then trousers and underwear. I'm erect and my pants are wet. I've been like that for the last fifteen minutes. I'm shy and embarrassed. With quiet reassurance you tell me its ok.
I lift my head to help you remove my jumper, then tshirt, then it's my my socks.
I'm naked.
You're still fully dressed, save for your knickers which you took off before you positioned my face between your legs.
I'm embarrassed.
You gently spread my legs, exposing me further. I resist. You push firmly but gently, asserting your reassuring control, then crawl between my open legs.
Reaching above me you pull the strap from under the pillow and attach it to my wrists. You want my hands out the way. It's just easier when I can't wriggle around.
I see compassion in the way you look at me, I'm searching for reassurance, validation even. You hold my gaze as you carefully grip my cock and lower yourself on to it. We are in the Lady Boy Position - woman on top between the man's legs. Its like the traditional missionary position but reversed. We always do it this way.
I moan with the initial penetration. You read my pleasure as pain and reassure me, gently shushing me, your hand on my heart.
I wrap my legs around your body as you start to rise and fall, my cock slipping in and out of you. You look at me, smiling, nodding your head in encouragement. You watch my enjoyment build and my worries slip away as I fall into the moment.
You know I won't last long, I never do. As you build the pace, you can see I'm getting close already.
Smiling, you at look me, holding my gaze. Then in a quiet voice you say,
"Tell me when you're gonna cum, baby."
You pick up the pace a little more as I start to shake my head, it's too soon, I want more but I already know it's too late. You nod your head in approval, silently encouraging me.
"I'm gonna cum!" I blurt out, my back arching, my body tensing in anticipation.
"Cum inside me baby!"
The enthusiasm in your voice makes my heart swell with joy. I clamp my legs around you, holding on tightly as I approach my crescendo.
You hold my gaze intently, silently encouraging me. It's here, all too soon. My orgasm crashes over me and I helplessly pump my little load inside you.
As I release my breath, the intensity melting away, you tell me I'm a good boy. You reassure me. You stroke my face and smile at me compassionately. You're proud of me.
You stay between my splayed legs gently stroking my face, whispering sweet nothings and telling me what a clever boy I am.
I'm soft by the time you climb off me but your hand lingers, running down my body keeping reassuring contact as you step away.
Reaching into the bag next to the bed, you pull out the disposable nappy and slip it between my legs. With an efficient wipe and a puff of powder, you flap up the front, patting me and talking sweetly as you fasten both tapes. Its thick. I guessed it would be.
You turn me on my side, pushing my teddy under my arm and the dummy between my lips. There's a pause, then I feel the weight of a soft blanket envelope me.
Stroking my hair and shushing me gently you encourage me towards sleep. My eyes close and my mind wanders, my dummy bobs absently in my mouth. The last thing I hear is your quiet whisper,
"Sleep tight my baby boy. I'll be back later."
You go into another room and get changed. You're off out tonight to see your lover. You'll probably bring him home with you. He's tall handsome and accomplished in bed. I know where you're going, you've never held it from me. But I know where my place is.
"-Uh oh Daddy, I think diapee is very soggy already😳
-Well, I’m at work buddy, so it’ll need to wait a little. Won’t be back home for a few hours.
-*sends picture* …but look, one side is fuuuull!
-Fill the other side then kiddo. Do you want to prove Daddy that you can control your little willy? Show me and fill the other side of your Pamp without leaking.
-But it’s tough with the peepee cage Daddyyy…
-Sorry buddy, nothing I can do about that. Now, be a brave and strong boy and do your best to show me you deserve to be trusted in your little Pamps. Gotta go, love you babyboy."
Once she knows you need your diapers to make squirties, the best thing you can hope for is that she'll still include you in her sex life in one way or another! You can learn how to fluff her bull to get him nice and hard for her tight pussy that you'll never feel again!
would you be interested in meeting up with this Bristish man and training me to become a 24/7 bound diapered slave locked into a steel chastity belt who always sleeps strapped into bed restraints with no chance of escape? Handcuff
I’m always ready for that as long as you won’t back off later, I’m in
Nick and Molly - Chapter 1 - Story by Tinker Kinkers
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
“Sweetie… sweetie, hey. It happened again.”
Nick woke with a start to the feeling of Molly’s soft hand rubbing his shoulder. Before she said another word, he already knew. The bed was cold and wet beneath him, and his boxer briefs clung to his skin like a cheap bathing suit after a swim. The waterproof sheet they’d added a few weeks ago had trapped a puddle in the dip beneath his hip. In spite of its terry-cloth top, it couldn’t absorb everything.
Nick grumbled, frustrated and ashamed. It had happened enough times in the last three weeks that he’d almost lost count.
“Why don’t you go get cleaned up, and I’ll strip the bed, honey,” Molly said sweetly, her voice still groggy with sleep.
Nick nodded, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He tossed his legs over the side of the bed and half-stumbled toward the bathroom. The cold, wet boxers clung and chafed as he walked, reminding him of too many similar walks of shame in recent weeks.
The hot shower was a welcome reprieve, but it did little to wash away the feeling in the pit of his stomach when he heard Molly’s voice on the phone out in the bedroom. He couldn’t make out the conversation, but he could tell her tone was quick and formal: the same tone she used when they had a disagreement. Strong, collected, and firm, while somehow still kind and considerate.
The feeling in his chest deepened as he wondered about the purpose of the call. As he turned off the shower, he caught the last few words.
“Okay, we’ll be there at 12:30. Thank you.”
He heard the door open to their shared bathroom and turned around to see Molly still in her pajamas from the night before: a tight tank top and pastel green panties. Her figure was perfect, and Nick found himself staring without even realizing it.
“Nick, can I talk to you for a second? Hey, I’m up here, sweetie.” She smiled, trying to bring some levity to the situation. She knew she was attractive and actually appreciated being admired by her husband, but the comment only seemed to embarrass Nick a little more. “This has been happening for almost a month now, and I’m worried about you. I just got off the phone with your doctor’s office. I made an appointment for early this afternoon. I really think we need to talk to him, just to make sure everything’s okay.”
“Umm, yeah,” Nick mumbled. “I guess that’s probably a good idea. I think it’s just stress from work lately, babe. You know I’ve been pretty stressed out. I’ve got a lot of projects due at the end of the month, and I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get everything done. I really think I have a good shot at that promotion if I do well, though.”
Molly looked at him with a compassionate smile, but her eyes betrayed that she didn’t fully believe him. It was true in part. He was somewhat worried about work, but what was really stressing him out was this problem itself. Sure, it had taken him quite a bit longer to keep his bed dry than most of his childhood friends. He’d avoided sleepovers like the plague, at least until he was in his mid-teens. And even though the problem had come back in college, he’d chalked that up to partying too often.
But the thought of being a bedwetter again as a newlywed in his early twenties was enough to give him visceral anxiety.
Molly could see him shuffling and avoiding eye contact as he dried himself off. As he finished wrapping the towel around his waist, she walked closer, putting her hands on either side of his face and gently bringing his eyes up to meet hers.
“Sweetie, I love you, and I’m worried about you. Let’s just go see Dr. Brock today and have him run a few tests, just to be sure. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s not your fault. I love you. I’m here for you, sweetie.”
Nick’s eyes welled slightly. He wasn’t sure why he was suddenly so full of emotion, but before he could process it, Molly pulled him into her embrace and held him tight. His feelings swelled again as a few tears fell onto her tank top.
“I love you too, Molly. So, so much. Thank you, babe.”
____
Sitting in the exam room under the too-bright fluorescent light, Nick fidgeted with his phone. He pulled it out to check the time, put it back, then pulled it out again every time he heard motion in the hallway. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. He wasn’t worried about something being physically wrong. He was in great health, exercised regularly, ate well, and took vitamins.
As his mind raced, he tried to force away memories of being at the grocery store with his mom while she placed a large box of pull-ups on the checkout counter. There had been no young children with them that the clerk could assume they were for. He tried to forget about the times his babysitter, who was ostensibly not much older than him at the time, would remind him to get his “diaper” on before bed.
The “D” word alone made him flush with embarrassment.
Molly could see him lost in thought.
“Sweetie, it’s okay. Really…” she said, holding out her hand.
Nick reached out from the exam table to meet hers.
“It’s gonna be fine. You don’t need to be embarrassed.”
“Thanks, love. I just, I don’t know,” he said, studying the laces on his shoes. “I had this problem as a kid, and I guess it’s kinda hard for me to talk about. I think…”
He was interrupted by a knock at the exam room door as a young nurse walked in. Nick immediately turned red. He had been rehearsing in his head how he would explain to Dr. Brock, whom he was comfortable with and had been seeing for years, what was happening. He had planned to use words like “urinary,” “nocturnal,” and “void” to give a pretense of mature understanding of the problem, intentionally avoiding any word that could sound juvenile.
But upon seeing a young and attractive nurse, Nick felt his entire script jettison itself from the cranial docking station.
“Hi, I’m Katie! I’m one of the nurses here.” Her bubbly voice and kind smile brought a warm energy to the room.
Molly responded before Nick could say anything, greeting Katie with a handshake.
Of course. I don’t know why I didn’t think about having to explain all this to a nurse before seeing Dr. Brock.
“Hi, Katie. I’m Molly. Nice to meet you.” Molly had always been an extrovert and great with people.
“And you must be Nick,” Katie said, reaching out with a soft handshake. “So what brings you in to see Dr. Brock today?”
Katie sat on the swivel stool in front of him, clipboard in hand, eye contact unyielding. She was waiting for the confession.
I’m a bedwetter. I pee myself every night. I don’t know why.
Ooof. Nick, snap out of it.
“I, um, have been, uhh…” Nick desperately tried to remember any of the vocabulary he’d practiced. He hadn’t anticipated having to explain all this to anyone other than Dr. Brock. “At nighttime, I’ve been having… accidents.”
Yeah. Accidents. That’s not so bad to say. That’s a mature word.
He looked to Molly, finding compassion in her eyes and realizing her hand was now on his knee.
“Okay, what do you mean?” Katie asked. “Like wetting the bed?”
Nick forced himself to nod, even though he couldn’t bear to make eye contact.
“And how long has this been happening?”
Nick finally mustered the courage to raise his eyes slightly, but thankfully, Katie had her face pointed at her clipboard and was taking notes. He was sure that if she looked at him, he’d melt into a shapeless puddle right there on the exam table. He still fidgeted with his phone inside his pocket, tracing the outline of the case with his finger and wishing for the whole visit to be over quickly.
He felt Molly squeeze his hand, snapping him slightly out of his trance before he could respond.
“Almost a month now,” she said. “It seems to happen about three or four nights a week. We’ve tried limiting his fluid intake before bed, avoiding alcohol, avoiding caffeine, and using a waterproof sheet for the mattress. We keep thinking it’s stress-related, but we just wanted to make sure there’s not something else going on.”
Thank god, Nick thought, his anxiety now high enough to bring small drops of sweat to his forehead.
“Okay, got that. Have you been sick at all, Nick? Any other changes in your medical history?” Katie asked, finally looking up from her furious note-taking.
Nick shook his head and rubbed his chin.
“Nothing I can think of, really…”
He shifted on the exam table.
“I think I’ve got what I need, then. I’ll pass these notes to Dr. Brock. Anything else going on that you guys wanted to talk to the doctor about?”
Her smile was bland but reassuring, as if she’d just been told the weather was great or that the office had ordered lunch from her favorite takeout place. Nick was just another patient. Not weird, or different, or remarkable in any way from the many other patients she was seeing that day.
Nick pulled his left hand out of his pocket and placed it on top of Molly’s, which was still gently holding his right. He felt himself breathing again as his anxiety started to fade.
“No, I think that’s mostly it.” Finding his voice again, Nick felt himself coming back into his body.
Katie and Molly exchanged pleasantries as Katie exited. Before the door fully closed, Dr. Brock pushed it back open, holding the clipboard the nurse had just handed him.
“Hey, Nick. Hi, Molly. Good to see you both again,” Dr. Brock said, extending a hand to each of them. “Give me a second to look over your chart here, Nick.”
Dr. Brock brought an immediate calm to the room, like a warm blanket thrown over you right before drifting off to sleep. Nick wondered if he brought that feeling everywhere he went. He was the kind of person you just felt safe around.
“Nick, I remember you mentioning this happening years back, but you were in college at the time, right?” Dr. Brock was still looking over the chart, flipping back to previous visits.
Nick was thankful that he hadn’t used any of the triggering words Nick himself had been trying to avoid.
“Yeah. I thought I was just drinking too much, though. It seemed to happen after I would go out with friends.”
Molly sent him a concerned glance. He knew this was new information to her. But it was mostly true, although he never drank to excess, even in college, and rarely had more than two drinks in an evening. He wondered now if he was fabricating the correlation, since he had gone out almost every night during that time.
It was also around then that he met Molly, who didn’t drink in college, worked out before class every day, and was always in bed by 9 p.m. Without even being conscious of the lifestyle change, Nick started to follow suit in hopes of winning her affection, even in spite of her being a senior and him being a sophomore. He couldn’t remember exactly when he’d stopped waking up in a wet dorm-room bed, but he knew Molly never knew anything about it when they started dating.
Molly subtly shifted her posture to face Dr. Brock.
“He’s been really stressed about work recently,” Molly said, her hand gripping Nick’s a little tighter. “We’re trying to save up to buy a house, and he’s put in for a promotion. He’s been working so hard. I was wondering if it could be stress-related, but we wanted your opinion regardless.”
The concern in Molly’s voice was genuine and caring. Dr. Brock heard it and responded in turn.
“Well, I think we should run a few tests: urine, bloodwork, the usual things. I’ll probably put in a referral to a specialist too, just to be thorough. But if the tests come back clear, stress or anxiety could definitely be part of the picture.”
Nick nodded, trying to look like he was taking the information calmly.
“In the meantime,” the doctor continued, “you might want to consider wearing some protection at night. Just until we get a better sense of what’s going on.”
Nick’s stomach sank.
Protection. Right.
He could already see it: a diaper under his pajama pants, in bed next to his beautiful wife. Molly pretending it was fine. Molly slowly getting disgusted. Molly telling her sister. Molly leaving him.
“Thank you so much, Dr. Brock!” Molly’s happiness startled Nick out of his little trance. “Do you have any professional recommendations on what kind of protection we should look for?”
Nick could hear the excitement in her voice, noticeable only to him as her husband, and it confused him.
What the heck is she doing? Why would she be excited about something like this? Can we just leave already? Today has been embarrassing enough.
“There are a lot of options out there, actually,” Dr. Brock said. “This is a lot more common than you’d think. It’s just that no one talks about it. The quickest option is to go by your pharmacy and pick up something there. I wouldn’t recommend the bed pads, because that’s not much different than just waking up in a wet bed. They have overnight briefs there. Look for the high-capacity ones. You might have some luck with those, but the best products are online, as with most things these days.”
He smiled gently.
“There are also various support groups online, which might be helpful. Speaking of, Nick, do you have a therapist you see regularly? That might be another avenue of treatment to look into, especially if all the tests come back normal, like I’m thinking they will.”
“Oh, um…” Nick was caught off guard, still trying to process the conversation his wife was having with his doctor.
Surely she can’t actually be excited about her husband having to wear a diaper to bed every night.
“Yeah, uh, I haven’t talked to her in a while, but I guess that’s a good idea. I’ll make an appointment. Thank you, Dr. Brock.”
Nick awkwardly raised the urine sample cup out of reflex as the doctor gracefully backed out of the room. Molly chuckled softly to herself. Nick’s visible embarrassment reminded her why she fell in love with him in the first place. In spite of his conventional good looks, he was still slightly insecure, but also self-aware. Intelligent, witty, funny, but not at all pretentious or overly self-assured. It was his kind tenderness and authenticity that really made him unique.
Seeing him get flustered over something as insignificant as peeing the bed only made her want to hold him close.
“Ha! You are something else, Nick,” Molly said, still chuckling slightly. “Chill out, honey. This really isn’t a big deal. Why are you so nervous? You look like a kid who just got caught stealing candy.”
She stood up with her hand still in his and smiled warmly at him.
“C’mon. Go do your thing with the cup, and I’ll meet you out front. Let’s go get some tacos, then we can go diaper shopping for you!”
Nick frowned. Molly’s playful laugh reassured him, as did the soft kiss on his cheek, even in spite of her use of the “D” word. While he wasn’t all too thrilled with her plan of “diaper shopping,” he at least knew she wasn’t grossed out, as he’d expected.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters are consenting adults over the age of 21. The terms “baby,” and similar language are used strictly in the context of consensual adult age regression, ABDL roleplay, and power-exchange fantasy between ADULTS. This story is fictional and does not represent or involve minors in any way.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hey widdle guy!” Mommy cooed as she stepped into the nursery, her voice sugary sweet and dripping with mockery. “How’s your diapy?”
I tugged hard at the soft restraints holding my wrists and ankles to the crib mattress, but they didn’t budge. The heavy, warm mush pressed insistently against my skin, a constant, squelching reminder with every tiny shift I made. The plastic pants over the thick diaper crinkled loudly at the slightest movement, sealing in the unmistakable, shameful scent of my accident. It was humiliating. Degrading. I felt my face burning before I even opened my mouth. I tried to speak, but the words stuck in my throat. What would I even say, anyhow?
Luckily, Mommy didn’t wait for me.
“No need, sweetie. I can smell you from the other room.” She wrinkled her nose playfully as she leaned over the crib rail. “Does baby want his diapy changed?”
I whimpered and nodded frantically, desperate for relief.
Mommy giggled, the sound light and cruel. “Aww, that’s so cute! But I don’t think that’s how babies ask for things anymore…”
She rested her arms on the rail, looking down at me with that calm, all-knowing smile that always made my stomach twist. “I think someone’s gotten a little too big for their britches lately. Started getting a little demanding, even while sitting in a diaper. ‘I’m hungry.’ ‘I need a diaper change.’ ‘I want this.’ ‘I want that.’ Almost like you still think you have any say in anything. Like you get any adult autonomy at all.”
My face felt hot. It wasn’t like I was trying to run the show. She had completely subjugated me at every turn, treating me like a baby. It wasn’t that I was defying her, I was just communicating as much as I was allowed to. But the way she said it made even that small attempt at expression sound like a crime. Like I was being uppity just for having basic needs. She was twisting it, using it as another excuse to push me down even further. Drop me another peg. Another step toward total regression.
“So, we’re going to have a new rule...” she continued, her voice dropping into that soft, condescending tone that always turned my insides to mush. “I don’t think it’s quite sunk in yet that you are no longer a man. You’re just a pathetic little baby that poops his pampers. So if you want something—anything at all—you’re going to earn it like the widdle baybee you are. No more words. No more whining like an adult pretending he still has dignity. Oh no...”
She leaned in closer, eyes sparkling with amusement. “If you want that diaper changed, if you want to be let out of this crib after naptime, if you’re hungee and that little tummy is rumbling for num nums: you have to cry like a fucking baby."
She proceeded to demonstrate with exaggerated flair, puckering her lips and letting out a loud, mocking wail that echoed around the nursery. “Wahhh wahhh wahhh! Boo-hoo-hoo! The works."
My cheeks flushed even hotter. The idea of doing that myself made me want to sink into the mattress and disappear.
“I’m talking full-on, ridiculous, over-the-top baby crying. Kicking those little legs. Wriggling right there in your messy diaper, making it crinkle and squish so I can hear exactly how full it is. And there better be real tears streaming down your face, or you can forget it. If it’s not the most pathetic display I’ve ever seen, then you can stay right there in your poopy diaper for all I care. I’m sure once that rash starts kicking in, you’ll learn to shed those tears properly.”
I stared up at her, heart pounding. The weight between my legs was growing unbearable, the warm mush pressing and shifting against my skin with every tiny movement.
Mommy reached through the bars and gently patted the front of my diaper. Her hand pressing and squeezing just enough to make it squelch audibly. "Oooh, yea...that’s a big one! Feels like you really let go during your nap, didn’t you? Good babies don’t hold back, but good babies also know how to ask for help. So let’s practice...shall we?”
She straightened up, folding her arms expectantly. “Go on. Show Mommy how badly you want out of that crib and into a nice clean diapee!! Go on. Cry for me. Let's hear it.”
For a moment, a stubborn adult fragment deep inside me resisted. This was ridiculous. Humiliating. But the discomfort in my loaded diaper won out. I took a shaky breath and let out a weak, high-pitched whimper. “Wah…wahhh…”
Mommy’s eyebrow arched. “That’s it? That’s the best you got? Pathetic. I said cry like a baby, not some half-hearted adult sniffle. Kick your legs. Wriggle. Whine. Make that diaper sing for me.”
The humiliation burned through every inch of me. I felt utterly ridiculous as I lifted my legs in the confined space and started kicking them up and down in short, frantic bursts limited by the tight ankle restraints. The thick padding crinkled loudly with every motion, the plastic outer layer rustling against the crib sheet. The mess shifted and spread, warm and sticky, coating me further. I wriggled my hips from side to side like a tottler in full tantrum, feeling the squish intensify, the scent rising stronger around me. My hands, trapped in thick mittens, clenched and twisted helplessly against the straps above me. The frilly bonnet around my head slipped and slid with every frantic toss of my head from side to side as I forced out the fake wailing.
“Wahhh! Wahhh!! Wahhh!!!” My voice cracked as I forced the wails higher, louder, more ridiculous. I sounded absurd. Completely pathetic. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes from the sheer embarrassment of what I was doing.
Mommy watched with a satisfied smirk. “Better. But I don’t see real tears yet. Come on, baby. Think about how trapped you are. How that poopy diaper is going to stay on until you break down like the helpless little thing you’ve become. 'Wahhh wahhh wahhh' let it alllll out!”
The full weight of my fall crashed over me in that moment. My entire adult life—every shred of independence, pride, and manhood I once had—had been completely stripped away until I was nothing more than this: a 27 year-old lying in his own warm filth, forced to kick and bawl pathetically in a crinkling diaper just to beg for the most basic care. Every trace of manhood I once clung to had been methodically erased until nothing remained but this sniveling, stinking broken deadbeat that she now controlled completely. The humiliation, the loss, the sheer depth of my regression...it all hit me at once. My face crumpled.
“Waaaahhh! Waaaahhh wahhh wahhh!!!!” The cries tore out of me, loud and unrestrained. I kicked harder, legs flailing against the air, yanking the straps, the crib bars rattling slightly. My whole body wriggled desperately, the diaper crinkling and squelching in a constant, humiliating symphony. Hot tears spilled down my cheeks, dripping onto the padded crib mattress. I felt so ridiculous. A grown man reduced to this, bawling and kicking in a filthy diaper just to earn a change.
Mommy cooed softly. “There we go!!! That’s my good baby! Look at those big crocodile tears. Hear how that messy diapee is crinkling away? So full and soggy!! Poor thing....”
She didn’t move to open the crib yet. She just stood there, watching me continue the performance, drawing it out. I kept wailing, chest heaving with each exaggerated sob, legs pumping like a tottler in full meltdown mode. The longer it went on, the more ridiculous I felt, like every last shred of adulthood was being stripped away with every “wahhh” and every crinkle.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of blubbering and kicking, Mommy unlatched the crib side. It lowered with a soft click.
“Ohhh, what is it, sweetie?” she cooed suddenly, snapping into that syrupy, motherly voice as if she’d just discovered an upset little one. “What’s the matturr, huh? Ohh, my poor widdle baby…is that big, yucky diaper you filled up making you so fussy? Is that it? Aww, did you make a big stinky mess and now you’re all uncomfortable? Ohhh you poor thinggg...”
She reached in, unbuckled my straps, and scooped me up under the arms like I weighed nothing. My legs dangled uselessly, the heavy diaper swaying pendulously between them as she carried me to the changing table.
She bounced me gently in her arms, her tone dripping with condescending faux concern. “There, there… Mommy’s got you now..."
She laid me down on the cool plastic mat, the crinkle of fresh changing paper loud beneath me.
“You earned that one, sweetie. But barely. Next time I want even more drama. I want you screaming the house down before I even think about helping.”
With practiced efficiency, she peeled open the tapes of my soiled diaper. The cool air hit my messy skin, making me whimper anew. She wiped me thoroughly, the cool baby wipes a stark contrast to the warm filth, her commentary never stopping.
“Aww, someone made a big stinky present for Mommy!!” she teased in a singsong voice. “Did you fill your pampers like a good little loser boy? Yes you did, didn’t you?!? Lots of warm loads in here...”
As she wiped the front, she casually dragged the cool wipe across my swollen, aching balls and the flat metal cage locked tightly around my denied cock. The cage was leaking its own frustrated tears. Sticky droplets of precum that had been building for days. She barely seemed to notice them, wiping the whole area with the same indifferent efficiency she used on the rest of the mess, as if my desperate, leaking frustration was no different from the rest of my babyish accident.
“Ohhh, and look at this silly little cage dripping again!" she cooed playfully. "Aww!! Are your tiny blue balls crying too?? How adorable. But Mommy doesn’t care about those leaky tears at all, does she?? Noo...Only the big, loud, baby wah-wahs get Mommy's attention!!”
Powder dusted my skin, the talc scent enveloping me. A fresh, thick diaper was slid underneath, thicker than the last, with extra padding that promised even louder crinkles. She fastened it snugly, taping it tight around my waist and legs, then gave the front a firm pat that made it rustle loudly.
“All clean! For now...” She helped me sit up, then carried me to the rocking chair in the corner. From a nearby warmer, she retrieved a large bottle filled with warm milk. “Is my widdle baybee hungee?”
I hadn’t realized it until that moment, but after the long nap and the humiliating cry-show, my stomach was letting out loud, embarrassing growls. The hunger gnawed at me, making me feel even more pathetic and infantile.
I nodded eagerly, eyes fixed on the bottle. She brought it close to my lips, but the second I leaned forward to latch on, she pulled the nipple just out of reach.
“Cry for it.”
I hesitated, a flicker of reluctance and lingering shame holding me back. I didn’t want to do this ridiculous display again so soon. It felt degrading, like a dog having to perform tricks for treats. But she was clearly adamant that this was how things worked now. With a defeated little whimper, I finally gave in. I kicked my freshly padded legs, the new diaper crinkling crisply with each motion. “Wahhh wahhh wahhh!” Tears came easier this time, the humiliation fresh and raw. My body wriggled in her lap, the thick padding compressing and expanding. I felt utterly absurd, kicking and bawling like this while she rocked me calmly, but I couldn’t stop. I was in the throws of it now.
Mommy smiled indulgently, finally bringing the bottle to my lips. I suckled greedily, the warm formula filling my mouth as she rocked me gently. “Good boy. See how easy it is when you just give in? No more pretending to be a big boy. Every need, every comfort...it all comes with a price. Those baby tears.”
As I nursed, her free hand idly rubbed my back, occasionally drifting down to pat my diapered bottom. Her voice stayed soft but relentless, painting my future in calm, inevitable strokes.
“Imagine it, baby. Days from now, weeks from now, you’ll be doing this automatically. The second any urge hits...whether you’re wet, messy, tired, hungry, or just lonely in your crib...you’ll drop whatever little scrap of dignity you have left. You’ll kick those legs, toss your head in that silly bonnet, and wail like the helpless little thing you are. You’ll cry for diaper changes. Cry to be let out of your crib. Cry for a bottle when your tummy rumbles. Cry when you want out of your highchair. Cry when you need a cuddle. Cry when that little cage gets too tight and achy. Cry just because you’re bored and want Mommy’s attention...”
She rocked me slowly, her tone almost soothing.
“No more words, baby. No more ‘Mommy I have poo poos.’ No more ‘peas please, no prunes.’ No more tottler words at all. Just babbles. That’s all you get from now on.” Her tone stayed light and playful as she listed everything I had lost. “You don’t get to cum anymore. You don’t get to use the potty anymore. You don’t even get to properly talk anymore. All of that is gone. You're nothing but a widdle cry-baby now.”
She leaned down and kissed the top of my bonneted head.
“And if you don’t give me the full ridiculous performance every single time? Well…Mommy will give you something to cry about! I’ll spank that bottom bright red until you’re sobbing. I’ll soap that naughty mouth until you’re bubbling and blubbering. I’ll leave you sitting in that messy diaper for hours until your skin is burning and screaming louder than you ever could! Squirming won’t help. Whining won’t help. Only real, big, desperate baybee cries will make Mommy come running.”
She set the empty bottle aside and lifted me to her shoulder for a burp, patting firmly. A small bubble escaped, and I let out a tiny, involuntary whimper.
She carried me out of the nursery and into the living room, lowering me into the large wooden playpen. The padded playmat was surrounded by all the trappings of my new life: colorful stacking blocks, a pile of soft crinkly books, a bouncy activity center, and several oversized stuffed animals watching me silently. She placed a colorful rattle in my mittened hand.
“I’ll be right over here if you need anything, baby,” she said, settling onto the couch with a book. “And what do you do if you need Mommy?”
“I c-cry—” the words had already started leaving my mouth before I could stop them. I barely caught myself in time, cutting off mid-syllable. For a split second I had almost communicated like a normal person again. Mommy’s eyebrow shot up instantly, a flash of warning in her eyes. I realized with a jolt just how much trouble I’d be in if I’d slipped up and used real words this early.
Instead, I kicked my legs weakly, shook the rattle clumsily with my mittened hand, and forced out the required sounds.
“Wahhh…wahhh wahhh!”
Mommy smiled, clearly pleased. She stood up, popped a pacifier between my lips, and gave my cheek a playful pinch.
“Good boy! You’re getting the hang of it…but you’ll have to do a lot better than that. Otherwise, those poopy diapers stay on until you learn.”
She gave the rattle a little shake for emphasis, then walked back to the couch, leaving me surrounded by my infantile world.
The rules were clear now. My needs weren’t rights anymore.
[ABDL. F/f. 'Big girl' goes back to daycare.]
End, Pt. 2 - Chapter 1
Emma was ready. By Sunday evening, she had not just prepared for the interview, she had engineered a version of herself that was practically bulletproof. Her blazer was steamed to a crisp edge, her makeup was applied with surgical precision, and her notes were organized into a color coded system that would make a librarian weep with joy. She had spent the last forty eight hours in a state of hyper vigilance, her mind operating like a high performance engine that refused to idle. Every time her thoughts drifted toward the memory of crinkling absorbent underwear and the warm, hazy surrender of Olivia's bedroom, she shut it down with a mental slammed door. She was a professional. She was a strategist. She was not a girl who nursed a pacifier and woke up wet.
The silence from Olivia had been a relief at first. Emma had treated the weekend as a detox, purging every infantile impulse from her system. She felt leaner, sharper, and more capable than she had in months. As she sat at her desk, ready to go 15 minutes ahead of the call, she felt a surge of triumph. She had balanced the scale. She had let herself play a game of make believe for a night, but now the adult world was calling, and she was answering with a resounding, disciplined 'Yes!'
Yet, as the minutes ticked toward 9:30, a small, persistent ache began to bloom in her chest. She had sent Olivia a text on Sunday afternoon, a simple "I'm so nervous but ready!" and the message had remained on delivered for hours. The lack of a congratulatory text, or even a simple, "Good luck!" colored everything with a certain darkness. This was good for Emma. Important. And Olivia couldn't be happy for her?
She wondered if Olivia was actually mourning the loss of the baby she got to play with. The silence felt pointed, almost calculated, as if Olivia were holding her support hostage until Emma returned to a state of helplessness. It wounded her deeply. She had thought their friendship was evolving into something substantial, but the void of communication suggested that Olivia didn't value Emma the professional, or Emma the adult. She only valued the version of Emma that could be tucked in and diapered.
Downstairs, the daycare's activities were in full swing. It was breakfast time, and the first floor of the house echoed with the chaotic symphony of toddlers arguing over grapes and the thumps and thwacks of sippy cups knocking over and hitting the floor. Olivia was down there right now. Close, but far. It felt like such a cliche thing to feel, but as she glanced at her phone one last time, the screen remained stubbornly dark. No notification. No heart emoji. Nothing.
The Zoom invitation popped up on her monitor with a sharp, digital chime. Emma adjusted her webcam, checked her reflection. She looked like the woman who had managed millions of dollars of marketing dollars two years ago. Her posture was rigid, her expression neutral and composed. She felt the strength of her professionalism acting like a suit of armor, shielding her from the lingering vulnerability of Friday night. She was an adult. She was capable. She didn't need a pacifier or a pull-up diaper or Olivia to feel confident and in control.
The call connected, and Sam’s face filled the screen. The woman was wearing a bright orange headset and sipping from a giant mug that said "Chaos Coordinator." Her energy was infectious, a whirlwind of rapid fire questions and sharp laughter. For the first thirty minutes, Emma was on fire. She navigated the technical questions with ease, her voice steady and her arguments persuasive. She could see Sam nodding, the woman’s eyes narrowing in that way that meant she was genuinely listening, maybe even impressed. Emma felt the high of the professional arena, the thrill of being seen as an expert again.
But as the conversation shifted toward the specifics of the role, the tempo slowed. Sam leaned back, her expression softening from professional curiosity to something resembling pity. She stopped taking notes on her legal pad. The silence stretched for a few seconds too long, the kind of silence that makes a person suddenly aware of the hum of their own computer fan.
"Here is the thing, Emma," Sam said, her voice losing that sharp, executive edge. "You're stunning for a young kid. Truly. And that email you sent? It was the kind of boldness that is rare in people at your level." She paused, swirling the liquid in her oversized mug. "But to be completely transparent, I don't actually have headcount for a new hire right now. My budget got frozen a few weeks back, and the finance folks are pretty stingy when it comes to the quarterly spend."
Emma felt the air leave her lungs in a slow, painful hiss. The armor she had spent the entire weekend forging didn't just crack, it shattered. The professional poise she had curated, the rigid posture, and the color coded notes suddenly felt like a costume that didn't fit. She stared at the screen, the bright orange of Sam's headset blurring as the realization hit her. She had spent forty eight hours suppressing every instinct and ignoring every desire for the sake of a job that didn't even exist.
"Oh," Emma whispered, the word sounding hollow in the quiet of her bedroom. "I see."
Sam leaned in, her expression genuine. "Look, don't let this be a blow to your ego. You are an absolute rockstar. I honestly just wanted to see if you were as kickass in person as you were in that email, and you absolutely are. Keep in touch, okay? The moment a budget opens up or a senior lead decides to move on, you're the first person I'm calling."
Emma offered a tight, rehearsed smile and thanked her, the words feeling like sandpaper in her throat. When the call finally disconnected, the silence that rushed back into the room was oppressive. She sat motionless for several minutes, staring at her own reflection in the dark monitor. The blazer, the meticulously applied eyeliner, the rigid posture; it all felt like a waste. She had scrubbed away the parts of herself that felt soft and safe in order to be a version of a woman that no one actually wanted to hire.
So… fuck it.
The thought arrived not as a decision, but as a sudden, liberating surrender. Emma leaned back in her ergonomic office chair, her gaze drifting to the ceiling. She thought about the rigid posture she had maintained for the last hour, the way she had sucked in her stomach and tightened her jaw to play the part of the perfect professional. She thought about the silence from Olivia, the coldness of the last forty eight hours, and the crushing weight of a budget freeze that had just rendered her meticulously steamed blazer meaningless. The adult world had promised her validation and status in exchange for her discipline, and in return, it had given her a polite rejection and a hollow chest.
She felt a familiar, insistent pressure in her bladder, one she had been ignoring since the call started. But as she sat there, staring at the blank screen, the urge intensified, and Emma simply stopped fighting it. She let her muscles slacken, the tension draining out of her core in one long, shivering exhale.
The warmth hit her instantly, a sudden, blooming heat that soaked through her expensive lace panties and seeped into the fabric of her tailored trousers. She watched the dark stain spread across her crotch, a slow, creeping dampness that felt more honest than any word she had spoken in weeks. It was a warm, heavy sensation, a physical manifestation of the failure she felt, but as the liquid pooled and cooled against her skin, the panic she expected never arrived. Instead, there was a profound sense of relief.
She leaned back, the wet fabric clinging to her thighs, and let out a jagged breath.
Emma found herself staring at the damp patch with a strange, detached fascination. She felt a sudden, urgent need to dismantle everything she had spent the weekend building. The discipline, the color coded notes, the rigid posture… she wanted to be small, stripped of all expectation, and utterly useless.
She stood up, the wet fabric of her trousers clinging to her skin with a cold, heavy weight. She didn't bother changing or rushing to the bathroom. Instead, she began to creep downstairs, her footsteps slow and deliberate on the stairs. The sounds of the daycare drifted up to meet her, the high pitched shrieks of children and the rhythmic thumping of building blocks. For the first time in weeks, the noise didn't feel like a nuisance; it felt like an invitation. She didn't care if her mother saw her, or if a parent noticed the dark stain spreading down her leg. She just wanted to be seen and handled, to be stripped of the burden of being a competent adult.
As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she navigated the hallway with a glazed expression, her eyes searching for the one person who had spent the last two days pretending she didn't exist. The playroom was a chaotic blur of colorful mats and scattered toys, but Olivia was standing near the toy bin, her pink hair tucked behind her ears as she helped a toddler with a puzzle. Olivia looked up, her gaze locking onto Emma's pale face, and then drifting slowly, inevitably, down to the saturated fabric of her trousers.
Before Emma could utter a word, Olivia was across the room, her movements swift and decisive. She stepped into Emma's space, shielding her from the view of Lys and the kids with her own body, her voice a low, urgent whisper. "Oh my god, Em, are you okay?"
Emma didn't answer. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against Olivia's shoulder, felt a sob catch in her throat. The scent of crayon wax and apple juice filled her nose.
"That's a no…" she murmured, her voice vibrating against Emma's temple. "C'mon, upstairs, okay?"
Olivia's arm wound around Emma's waist, the grip firm and guiding, steering her away from the prying eyes of the toddlers and toward the sanctuary of the stairs. Emma didn't fight the guidance, allowing herself to be led like a child who had wandered too far off.
Once the bedroom door clicked shut, the silence of the room felt heavy, contrasting the distant noise of the daycare. Olivia didn't ask about the interview. She guided her to the edge of the bed, helped Emma shed her blazer, and then knelt on the carpet to peel away the wet trousers. Emma stood there shivering, her legs shaking slightly, feeling the cool air hit the damp lace of her panties, before Olivia removed those too.
There was no judgment in Olivia's eyes, only a focused, quiet intensity. She fetched a pack of baby wipes from the closet to gently clean Emma's thighs and hips. Each swipe of the cloth was slow and deliberate, erasing the evidence of the day's failure and replacing it with a tenderness that made Emma's throat tighten.
Olivia's eyes flicked up to Emma's. "Um… you want panties?"
Emma shook her head slowly. She looked toward the closet, where the bulk of the Goodnites were tucked away. The desire to be completely stripped of responsibility was an ache in her chest. "No," she whispered, her voice small. "I don't want panties."
Olivia didn't smile or tease her. The playfulness that usually defined their interactions had vanished, replaced by a solemn, focused energy. She reached into the closet and pulled out a lavender Goodnite, the plastic crinkling softly in the quiet room. She stepped closer, her hands steady as she guided Emma to step into it, one foot at a time.
"I did really good," Emma finally said, not making eye contact.
Olivia paused, her fingers gripping the waistband of the absorbent garment to pull it snugly over Emma's hips. "That's good?" she offered.
"Yeah," Emma murmured, her voice barely audible over the distant sound of a toddler throwing a tantrum downstairs. "The interview. I did really good."
Olivia paused, her hands resting on the waistband. She looked up at Emma, searching her eyes. The silence lingered for a moment before Olivia’s expression changed. "But?"
"They don't…" Emma sighed, the sound shuddering through her shoulders, "they don't 'need' me. That's what she said."
Olivia closed the remaining gap between them and wrapped her arms around Emma in a crushing, desperate embrace. It felt like she was trying to physically hold Emma together, that she was coming apart. It felt good. Emma collapsed into her, her head tucking naturally under Olivia's chin.
"You're needed," Olivia whispered, her voice vibrating through Emma's chest. "I need you."
The dam finally broke. Emma let out a ragged, shuddering sob that racked her entire body, her fingers gripping the fabric of Olivia's shirt. The tears came fast and hot, blurring her vision until the room became a smudge of pastel colors. She cried for the budget freeze, for the wasted hours of meticulous preparation, and for the crushing weight of the silence she had endured over the weekend. This pity and comfort was a lie, of course; Olivia had discarded her on Saturday. She felt a sudden, piercing wave of disappointment, not just in the company, but in herself for believing that a corporate title could fix the hollow space in her gut.
Between the sobs, a sharp sense of shame began to bleed into her grief. She felt stupid for getting her hopes up, for treating a Zoom call like a lifeline to her lost identity. She tried to pull away, her breath hitching as she wiped her nose with the back of her hand. She was twenty six years old, a seasoned marketing professional who had handled high stakes campaigns, and here she was, sobbing in a diaper. She felt pathetic.
"Where were you?" she finally choked out, the words muffled against Olivia's shoulder. "You didn't even text me. You didn't say good luck."
Olivia pulled back just enough to look Emma in the eye, her expression pained. "I didn't know what to say, Em. When you just… stopped. The second you got that call on Saturday, it was like a switch flipped." Her voice trembled slightly. "It felt like our whole weekend was just a mistake to you, something you had to scrub away so you could be a 'real' adult again. It hurt." Olivia looked down. "And then… I felt really shitty for not being able to be excited for you. I kept typing these long texts that felt like lies. So I just didn't text. But that was fucked too, I dunno."
Emma let out a shaky breath, her fingers still curled into the fabric of Olivia's shirt. The admission of Olivia's own vulnerability softened the edges of her anger. She realized that while she had been fighting a war for her professional dignity, Olivia had been fighting a silent war against the feeling of being an inconvenient distraction in Emma's life. The silence hadn't been a calculated punishment; it had been a mirror of Emma's own withdrawal.
"Fuck," Emma sniffled, her nose running. She leaned her forehead against Olivia's, the Goodnite crinkling as she shifted her weight. "I just wanted to feel like I had something again. Like I wasn't just… a failure living in my mom's house."
Olivia chuckled. "How many times have we been over this? You make me want to shake all those dumb thoughts out of you."
Emma grinned gormlessly through her tears, let her weight slump further into Olivia. Olivia stepped back and guided Emma toward the bed, pushing her back until she was sprawled across the duvet.
The sudden lack of support made Emma feel light, her limbs heavy and useless in a way that felt indulgent. Olivia didn't stop there. She reached over to the bedside table and retrieved Emma's pacifier, placing it into her own mouth to clean it before pressing it against Emma's lips. Emma didn't hesitate. She opened her mouth and took it in, the familiar suction immediately silencing the remaining tremors in her chest.
"I'll bring you lunch," Olivia said, retreating to the door. "Which you deserve. Because you are worthy of receiving love. Idiot."
Emma didn't answer, her jaw working rhythmically on the silicone teat. She watched Olivia leave the room and close the door with a soft click, leaving her alone with the humming silence of the house: a strange, hollow peace. She felt the added bulk of the Goodnite between her legs, a physical reminder that she no longer had to hold herself together. She rolled onto her side, curled her knees up toward her chest, and wet.
The day passed busily by without Emma. She remained in bed, drifting between a light slumber and a hazy, sensory awareness. She felt the rhythmic pulse of the house around her, the muffled sounds of the daycare below acting as a distant white noise that only emphasized the stillness of her sanctuary. Each time she shifted, she released another trickle into get diaper, a cozy reminder that she had abdicated her responsibilities to the world. By the time the door creaked open and Olivia returned with a extra plate of today's lunch, Emma was tangled in the sheets, her eyes heavy and her expression vacant, the pacifier still firmly in place.
It must've been three or four in the afternoon when Emma's reverie was shattered by the soft creak of the bedroom door. She blinked, her vision swimming as she looked up from the duvet to see her mom standing in the doorway. A jolt of dread chilled Emma's veins as she reached up to her lips. Blessedly, the pacifier had slipped out of her mouth at some point during her dozing.
Lys didn't come all the way into the room. She leaned against the doorframe, her expression a mixture of soft pity and the kind of enduring patience that only a mother could possess. "Knock knock," she finally announced.
Emma checked to make sure she was covered before turning her head. "Hey ma," she said blearily.
Lys smiled. "Olivia told me about the interview. She said the timing didn't work out with the budget, and that you were feeling pretty crushed. I wanted to give you some space to just be sad, honey, but I figured you might not want to snooze your whole day away."
"You're right," Emma murmured, her voice sounding thick and unfamiliar to her own ears. "Thanks."
"Also, I've got Euchre tonight with the girls. I figure you probably don't want to come with?" Lys asked, her gaze drifting toward the bed.
"I think I'll pass," Emma replied.
"Thought you might say that. But I didn't want you left all alone tonight so I arranged Olivia to babysit." Lys gave a small, knowing smile. "I'll leave money for pizza."
Emma chuckled. "Not you calling her my babysitter," she said, the irony of being inadvertently clocked heating up her cheeks.
Lys beamed, blowing a kiss toward her daughter before disappearing down the hall.
And then Emma was alone again. The house lit up with voices as pickup time came and went, then gradually settled into a quiet hum as the last of the daycare parents departed, the afternoon light shifting into a deep, honeyed amber. Emma lay sprawled on her back, staring up at the ceiling fan spinning in slow, hypnotic circles. The silence returned, but this time it didn't feel oppressive. It felt like a blank page.
She shifted her hips, feeling the heavy, sodden weight of her Goodnite clinging to her skin. After an afternoon of absent wetting whenever she felt like it, the padding was saturated, the absorbent core swollen and sagging. Emma grumbled to herself. She had to pee but was certain she would leak. But she also didn't want to get up out of bed and change.
The term babysitter echoed in her mind, bouncing around like a stray marble. It was a joke, a casual comment from her mother, yet it resonated with a strange, magnetic pull. Just what was it that she and Olivia were doing? Would it really be so bad? Being babysat?
For months, Emma had clung to the wreckage of her professional identity, treating every regression as a failure to be managed or a secret to be hidden. But as she lay there, staring at the slow rotation of the ceiling fan, she wondered what would happen if she simply stopped managing. If she stopped trying to be the woman in the blazer and just let the current take her.
She reached for her phone on the nightstand. The house had grown quiet, the frantic energy of the daycare finally dissipated into the evening stillness. "I don't want to put on pants. Is the coast clear?"
The response from Olivia came almost instantly, accompanied by a series of playful emojis. "Lys just left for her game night, and the last kid was picked up ten minutes ago. We are officially off the clock."
Emma rolled out of bed, feeling strangely liberated as she left her room bottomless. The cool air of the hallway prickled her skin as she padded down the stairs, the plastic backing rustling with a soft, rhythmic sound. For the first time, the exposure wasn't a thrill, wasn't some kind of existential mismatch. She was just a girl in a very wet diaper, wandering her home without a care in the world.
As she rounded the corner into the kitchen, she found Olivia leaning against the counter, scrolling through her phone.
Olivia looked up, her eyes immediately dropping to the sagging, sodden bulk of Emma's Goodnite hanging low between Emma's thighs. Olivia’s eyebrows shot up, her expression a mix of genuine bemusement and a flicker of something more intense. "What's up, buttercup?"
"Ma told me you're babysitting me tonight," Emma murmured. She felt a strange, fluttering warmth in her chest, a vulnerability that felt more honest than any resume.
Olivia frowned. "I told her not to say the b-word."
"No, it's okay. I… wanna try that tonight." Emma's voice was small. She felt a flicker of the old shame, but it was quickly overwhelmed by the way Olivia was looking at her: a soft, hungry kind of affection.
"Who are you and where is Emma?" Olivia teased, though her voice remained tender. She set her phone on the granite counter, her eyes lingering on the sodden Goodnite before she pointed to it. "Oh, there she is."
"Pffft," Emma puffed, the sound half-stifled by a giggle. "I'm serious! This is a big step for me!"
"So what are you asking for, specifically?" Olivia asked, her voice dropping an octave.
"I want, you know, all of it…" Emma's courage had dried up instantly. Having to ask for it was…
Olivia didn't let her struggle. She stepped forward, her hand coming up to cup Emma's cheek, her thumb tracing the line of her jaw. But her eyes were narrow, scrutinizing. "All of it, huh? Whatever I want?"
Emma nodded, her eyes drifting shut as she leaned into the touch. She felt a sudden, violent need to be stripped of every remaining adult decision. She didn't want to choose her dinner, she didn't want to check her email, and she certainly didn't want to be the one in charge of her own sagging, wet diaper.
"Can we start with you changing me?" Emma whispered, her voice barely audible. The vulnerability of the request made her heart hammer against her ribs. "I have to go potty but I think this might leak."
The look on Olivia's face made Emma's knees feel weak. It wasn't the gentle, supportive gaze of a friend or the patient look of a caregiver; it was something more authoritative, a spark of command that Emma hadn't expected. Olivia didn't move toward the stairs or suggest a trip to the bathroom. Instead, she stepped closer, her hands on Emma's shoulders, holding her in place. "I don't think little girls in diapers know when they're about to leak, Em."
Emma blinked, her breath hitching. "I… I mean, I actually do."
Olivia didn't budge. She tightened her grip on Emma's shoulders. "Go potty," she instructed.
Emma blinked, her face flushing. "What?"
"I said go potty, Em. Right here. Right now. Don't think about anything else except filling up your diaper, okay?"
Emma felt a surge of heat that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. For a split second, the ghost of big girl Emma appeared, a protest rising in her throat. But this version of Emma, the one standing bottomless in a sagging Goodnite, didn't want dignity. She wanted to be told exactly what to do. She stopped pretending that she was reluctant, because the truth was that she really, really, really wanted to let go and piss all over the floor.
She let her eyes drift shut, focusing entirely on the heavy, swollen sensation between her legs. The pressure in her bladder was an insistent demand, and Olivia's command acted like a key turning in a lock. With a long, shivering exhale, Emma relaxed every muscle in her pelvic floor. The release was sudden and powerful, a hot torrent that slammed into the already saturated padding of the Goodnite.
For a few seconds, the absorbent core fought to hold the surge, but the diaper had reached its limit long ago. The hot pee surged through the leg gathers. Emma gasped, her toes curling against the cold tile as she felt the hot liquid break free, streaming in steady, uncontrolled rivulets down her thighs. The sound was a soft, rhythmic pattering as the overflow hit the kitchen floor, creating a spreading, golden pool around her bare feet.
Olivia was silent, at least at first, for a beat too long. She didn't offer a compliment or a comforting hug. Her mouth moved, forming a word, taking a short breath, stopping. Finally, she stepped back with a sharp, exaggerated gasp, her face twisting into a mask of mock disappointment. "Emma! Did you really just do that?" she exclaimed, her voice shifting into a tone of stern, authoritative disapproval. "You didn't even tell me you had to go potty! You just stood there and made a huge mess right on the floor!"
Emma froze, the hot liquid still dripping from her thighs onto the kitchen tiles. The shift in Olivia's energy was jarring. It was… pretend, right? She looked down at the golden pool spreading around her feet, her lower lip trembling. "You said--!" she whispered, though the protest felt weak even to her.
"Look at this mess. A big girl is supposed to tell her babysitter when she needs the bathroom, not just stand there and let it happen. Honestly, Em, I thought you were past this stage."
Olivia’s voice had completely shifted, losing its softness and replacing it with a firm, disciplined edge. She stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked down at the puddle on the tile. The mock disappointment in her eyes was so convincing that Emma felt a genuine, dizzying rush of shame. She felt small and clumsy, standing in the middle of a mistake she didn't know how to fix.
"Just… stay right there," Olivia huffed, disappearing into the hallway, opening a distant closet door.
Emma stood frozen in the middle of the kitchen, the cooling puddle around her ankles feeling like a brand of failure. The sudden shift in Olivia's demeanor had worked like a spell, stripping away the last remnants of the marketing professional and leaving behind something raw and wide eyed. She hadn't felt this level of vulnerability since she was actually a child, and the sensation was intoxicatingly terrifying. She felt a genuine, instinctive urge to hide her face.
Olivia returned from the hallway with a bundle of towels, tossing one to Emma. With the others, she began to soak up the urine pooling around her feet and drying in streaks down her legs. She didn't look up, her focus entirely on the cleanup, which only amplified the feeling that Emma was being handled as a nuisance rather than an equal. The air in the kitchen grew thick with a sudden, heavy sense of order and expectation.
"I can't believe you just stood there," Olivia muttered, her voice tight with a practiced, parental sternness. She looked up, her gaze hard and unimpressed. "We talked about this, Em. Big girls use their words. They don't just make a mess on the kitchen floor because they're too lazy to say something. Do you have any idea how much work this is for me?"
Emma felt a hot flush creep up her neck, her chest tightening in a way that felt dizzyingly real. The feeling of being scolded by someone four years younger than her should have been absurd, but in the silence of the kitchen, it felt like the only truth that mattered. "I'm… sorry…"
Olivia didn't soften. She stood up, tossing the damp towels into a heap by the sink with a wet thud. She stepped close to Emma, her gaze dropping to the heavy, sodden Goodnite that was now sagging precariously low. "You're doing so good," she whispered into Emma's ear. "I liked that a lot."
The sudden shift back to tenderness was like a physical blow. "You were scary just now," Emma whispered, her voice trembling. She felt small and fragile, her identity reduced to the wet, heavy mass clinging to her hips.
"Then you had better be a good girl the rest of the night, huh?" Olivia murmured, her voice returning to that playful, commanding hum. "Now, you go shower off all that yucky pee-pee. I have to go to my car to get a couple things."
Emma perked up. "Things?"
Olivia gave Emma a quick, playful pat on the rear. She didn't wait for a response before slipping out the front door.
[con't - Tumblr has a character limit?! hah!]
As the girl sat there in the nursery she seemed oblivious to the fact she was wearing a huge nursery print Diaper and that shewas sucking on a giant adult sized pacifier
She seemed to revel in her status. She couldn’t have appeared to have been happier. She was blissful. I was amazed! I had been asked by the owners of the ABDL regression clinic to come visit them to see for myself their work.
“As you can see, our regression hypnosis therapy is extremely effective. The women you see here is 27 years old. She has fully regressed to a babylike state. Her trigger word is “tinklepants”. She has been undergoing our infantilisation treatment for 4 weeks and is almost fully regressed. When we take her out of the trance she has no memory of this. It’s fascinating”
I observed the young woman sucking happily in an adult baby bottle filled with warm milk. “We do add certain supplements to the milk. Sometimes a sedative more often diuretics to weaken the bladder impulse. Nothing irreversible or damaging though”
“As you can see she has surrendered to her new pleasure entirely. The sensation of wearing the diaper. She is now a little diaper slut. The act of her rubbing her diaper and touching her princess parts will send a shiver of delight inside her to the point of causing orgasm”
“But the regression goes even deeper. Watch. She is now experiencing an overwhelming urge to wet her diaper. She has a tingling sensation compelling her to wet. As if that is a completely natural reaction. It is now that we know the hypnosis has been effective”
“So now the girl’s bladder empties into the diaper. The warmth of her urine spreading all over the diaper until it becomes soaked and heavy. But she experiences no shame or embarrassment whatsoever. On the contrary the unusual act of wetting the diaper brings her a strong sense of arousal and satisfaction”
“She feels an intense sense of pleasure. Her pussy is pulsing. Her hand unconsciously moves towards her wet diaper feeling the dampness against her skin. The feeling of the soaked diaper against her skin sends shivers of pleasure up her spine.”
“Look how she surrenders to her new pleasure. She is reveling in the sensation of being diapered and it being wet. She is reduced to being a naughty little diaper wetting babygirl. Plying with her pussy through her pissy soggy diaper. Look at her cheeks turning red and listen to her moans. She is lost in a world of hypnotic ecstasy rubbing her diaper and cumming in it.”
“And afterwards, whilst still in that state she goes back to her bottle. Happy to repeat the cycle again. Tomorrow we will show her the video of this as she will have no memory if it at all! She is a high performing corporate accountant. She earns hundreds of thousands of dollars a year. This is her release. She pays us handsomely for providing this service to her. Perhaps you would like to enroll on our abdl therapy course too Mr Boobar?…”
As the girl sat there in the nursery she seemed oblivious to the fact she was wearing a huge nursery print Diaper and that shewas sucking on a giant adult sized pacifier
She seemed to revel in her status. She couldn’t have appeared to have been happier. She was blissful. I was amazed! I had been asked by the owners of the ABDL regression clinic to come visit them to see for myself their work.
“As you can see, our regression hypnosis therapy is extremely effective. The women you see here is 27 years old. She has fully regressed to a babylike state. Her trigger word is “tinklepants”. She has been undergoing our infantilisation treatment for 4 weeks and is almost fully regressed. When we take her out of the trance she has no memory of this. It’s fascinating”
I observed the young woman sucking happily in an adult baby bottle filled with warm milk. “We do add certain supplements to the milk. Sometimes a sedative more often diuretics to weaken the bladder impulse. Nothing irreversible or damaging though”
“As you can see she has surrendered to her new pleasure entirely. The sensation of wearing the diaper. She is now a little diaper slut. The act of her rubbing her diaper and touching her princess parts will send a shiver of delight inside her to the point of causing orgasm”
“But the regression goes even deeper. Watch. She is now experiencing an overwhelming urge to wet her diaper. She has a tingling sensation compelling her to wet. As if that is a completely natural reaction. It is now that we know the hypnosis has been effective”
“So now the girl’s bladder empties into the diaper. The warmth of her urine spreading all over the diaper until it becomes soaked and heavy. But she experiences no shame or embarrassment whatsoever. On the contrary the unusual act of wetting the diaper brings her a strong sense of arousal and satisfaction”
“She feels an intense sense of pleasure. Her pussy is pulsing. Her hand unconsciously moves towards her wet diaper feeling the dampness against her skin. The feeling of the soaked diaper against her skin sends shivers of pleasure up her spine.”
“Look how she surrenders to her new pleasure. She is reveling in the sensation of being diapered and it being wet. She is reduced to being a naughty little diaper wetting babygirl. Plying with her pussy through her pissy soggy diaper. Look at her cheeks turning red and listen to her moans. She is lost in a world of hypnotic ecstasy rubbing her diaper and cumming in it.”
“And afterwards, whilst still in that state she goes back to her bottle. Happy to repeat the cycle again. Tomorrow we will show her the video of this as she will have no memory if it at all! She is a high performing corporate accountant. She earns hundreds of thousands of dollars a year. This is her release. She pays us handsomely for providing this service to her. Perhaps you would like to enroll on our abdl therapy course too Mr Boobar?…”
Before Sarah can object Aaliyah has her on her lap and is forcing the rubber nipple of a feeding bottle between Sarah’s lips
Sarah doesn’t feel like taking a drink but has no choice as the bottle is stuffed into her mouth.
As an almost inbuilt automatic reaction Sarah starts to suck on the nipple and Aaliyah holds the bottle firmly in place until Sarah has drunken almost all of it
Part way through Aaliyah stops to check whether Sarah has wet her diaper. Sarah swears that she is dry
“Ok Sarah. You weee a good girl finishing your bottle of juice. Now you can go off and play with your toys. Let’s see how long you stay dry for now”
Sarah sits in her room. She has been handed a Hello Kitty doll which she half heartedly plays with. Aaliyah had also given her a pacifier with a strict instruction not to remove it from her mouth
Suddenly Sarah feels an overwhelming desire to evacuate her bowels. Oh my God. Surely she wasn’t going to mess her diaper? She suspected Aaliyah had doctored her food.
And then within seconds she suddenly lost control of her bowels and felt herself filling her diaper? Oh God. It was horrible
It felt all squelchy and wet and stinky. She didn’t like it at all.
Aaliyah reappeared. “Oh poor baby have you just filled your diaper? Never mind. It won’t be the last time you do that!! Mommy is here. I will take care of you. Let’s find you a nice clean diaper shall we? You will soon get used to this don’t worry.”
Image credit Aaliyah Taylor
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