30s | Urinary Incontinent | Married | He/Him
I write humiliating diaper captions. They are pure fantasy. Treat them as such.
If you want longer stories, go to my story blog: @destinedfordiaperstories
Have you ever been on my blog and just wanted to find some ddlg or mdlg captions, but didn't want to wade through mdlb captions?
You're in luck! Now you don't have to. I put them all here in this post.
Since this is pinned, if you, the person reading this, are looking for my mdlb captions, here is the MDLB Diaper Boy Compendium.
I labeled them as DDlg, MDlg, or M+D for both Mommy and Daddy doms.
And put a brief description of the caption. Anything with Cuckquean is labeled, as some love it, while others hate it.
The Chilies are a humiliation measurement. Five chilies means you want pure humiliation. One chili means it's a sweeter, loving caption. Squirmies can be found at every chili level.
Anyway, like this so you can always find what you're looking for.
This caption was written with, is for, and features the adorable @prettymuchpottytrained. I just may have a few more captions left in the tank after all.
Anyone watching you through the baby monitor would be forgiven for thinking you were nothing more than a toddler refusing to sleep. Between the expensive baby monitor Daddy bought and the Bluey nightlight, your infantile state was impossible to miss.
Your Bluey shirt failed spectacularly to cover your overworked Stardust Nursery diaper, which drooped adorably between your legs. Your binky bobbed sporadically while you surveyed the nursery.
Nobody seeing you would ever believe you were actually an adult.
But you could hear what the baby monitor could not—the telltale sounds of pleasure coming from Daddy’s bedroom.
“Ahhh, she's so stinking cute in her widdle diapers!” Mary squealed in delight, watching the diaper-clad girl on Daddy's phone, “She’s like a real baby with her pacifier!”
“Just wait,” Daddy said behind a smirk, knowing what's about to happen. “It gets better. But try not to wake her up. It was hard enough putting her down for her nap and she’s just as fussy as a toddler if it gets interrupted.”
Daddy’s friends nod conspiratorially as they go back to watching the recording on his phone while you nap down the hall, blissfully unaware that your antics are the star of the show.
Had you known the baby monitor had a camera, you might have resisted your urges.
But you didn’t.
You couldn’t resist the siren song of pleasure. Between Mommy’s moans and Daddy’s decisive grunts—and your throbbing princess parts—you were utterly helpless to control yourself.
There you were, kneeling in your crib and diaper, listening to the unmistakable sounds of pure, erotic bliss, forced to accept the truth of your new place in life.
Nobody considered you an adult anymore.
Your nursery was no longer ornamental; it was a functional room designed to handle the needs of a diaper-dependent little one.
Your diapers were no longer accessories; they were necessary. It had been so long since you used the potty that the only time you spent out of them was for baths and the few minutes a day Daddy let your skin air out.
Your clothes no longer serve to highlight your feminine curves; they were designed to make diaper changes easier for Daddy.
Your binky was no longer a “mute button;” it was a necessary tool to calm the nerves of someone too emotionally immature to be expected to self-soothe.
Naptime is no longer an occasional event; it is now a daily requirement to avoid tantrums. One missed nap meant hours of fussiness.
Daddy didn’t strip away your decision-making and autonomy because he made you squirm; he did it because he no longer believes you are capable of managing yourself without a caregiver.
He sees you for who you are.
You aren’t his strong, independent wife anymore; you’re his poopy pamper princess. He knows you don’t need him to be a husband—you need Daddy. Someone to wipe the tears off your cheeks when you’re overwhelmed, to change your icky diapies, and to slide your favorite stuffy into your arms before bed.
Which is why Mommy is the one moaning in pleasure—not you.
You didn't get demoted to the nursery because you're just some silly cuckquean, getting off on being relegated to humping stuffies in a soggy diaper. He's not doing it to tease, humiliate, or titillate you.
He’s doing it because he can no longer imagine the sweet, innocent babygirl who squeals in delight when he blows raspberries on her tummy during poopy diaper changes as a sexual being.
You’re his baby.
His love for you is as strong as the day he married you—but the nature of your intimate moments together has irreconcilably changed.
For him, nothing beats the slow, tender evenings with you wrapped up in his arms, staring up at him with sleepy eyes full of love, your binky bobbing slower and slower until you drift off.
Or the rainy weekends when he raids the linen closet so he can build a fort with his little one, making room for every stuffy. Or the binky kisses.
How could he possibly imagine you as an adult with sexual desires?
“Wait…she’s not gonna use that stuffy to do that, right?” James gasped, watching you lay your favorite stuffy on his back.
Mommy and Daddy look at each other, trying not to laugh.
“She does have one naughty big girl habit,” Mommy chuckled as you positioned yourself with the stuffy, “But it’s just so stinking cute. Best part is she thinks she’s sneaky, too.”
They watch your adorably clumsy thrusts into your favorite stuffy. Slowly at first, glancing at the door periodically. Then faster. Greedier.
Mary sighed, “I can't believe I took sex advice from her.”
“Maybe you should take a leaf from her book,” James quipped, “You've been single for so long, maybe a stuffy would be the perfect boyfriend. Besides, you'd look so cute in one of those diapers! Wait, her little diaper crinkles as she humps are adorable!”
Daddy immediately rushed to pause the video.
“Why'd you pause it?”
“Because the video doesn't have sound...”
“Wha-whacha wachin', Daddy?” you mumbled. You were too groggy from your nap to be embarrassed about your friends seeing your adorably frizzy hair, diaper, and binky.
“Oh, just some boring video, nothing you'd enjoy, kiddo.”
Daddy slid the phone into his pocket before lifting you up and resting you on his hip.
“Oh my gosh, do the stars on her diaper fade away when she's wet?” Mary asks, “See, those stars are normal, and those ones are gone.”
Daddy crinkles your diaper playfully. “They do! We thought they might help her with some potty training. Seeing her stars go 'bye-bye' might inspire her to stay dry, but...Well, let's just say I expect diapers to be part of her life for a long, long time.”
Knowing your diaper is on full display—and hearing everyone casually talk about your potty training struggles—you hide your face in Daddy's neck, holding onto him like a koala in a hurricane.
“What are you doing out of bed, hmm?” Daddy cooed, bouncing you slightly to distract you from noticing his hand pulling back your diaper.
“D-Dada!” you whine at the indignity of this public diaper check.
Daddy rubs your back. “Uh oh...are you Dada's little stinkerpants? Poor baby, trying to sleep in that icky yucky didi...”
You peel yourself from Dada's neck to give him your devastating puppy-dog eyes.
“C'mon, baby, let's get you out of that poopy diapie,” Daddy says, heading towards your nursery.
As you're carried off you catch something about a stuffy and laughter.
“Wuh funny bou' sthuffie, Dada?” you ask as you're gently deposited onto the changing table.
Daddy tickles your tummy. “Oh, they can't get over how much you love your stuffies, that's all.”
For a split-second, a horrible dread crept into your mind—do they know? Why did Daddy say "love" like that? Did Daddy hear when you...played with Dijon?
But the thought is forgotten the moment cold air rushes into your princess parts as Daddy peels back your diaper.
The only thing that mattered was Daddy putting you in a fresh, warm diaper.
The morning sun streamed through the bedroom window, painting everything in soft golden light.
She stood in front of the full-length mirror, turning slowly from side to side. Her long brunette hair cascaded down her back in gentle waves, a pale blue bow clipped neatly in the centre. The yellow sundress hugged her delicate frame perfectly, it was feminine, flirty, and just short enough to make her feel a little daring.
It’s been so long since Daddy and I had a proper romantic date, she thought, smoothing the dress over her hips. Just the two of us doing regular couple stuff. Like grown-ups.
She studied her reflection with a hopeful, determined smile. Big Disney princess doe eyes, plump pink lips, and her adorable tiny button nose Daddy always loved to kiss. She'd made sure to apply her make up carefully, highlighting all her best features. Today she looked like a proper girlfriend.
No diapers today, she told herself firmly. The thin lace panties underneath felt light and freeing. I can do this. I’m going to be his big girl all day. No accidents. Just a real date like old times.
She was smart, capable, and mature… and today she was determined to prove it!
Daddy appeared in the doorway, filling the frame effortlessly. He was truly handsome in that easy, comforting way, broad shoulders, expressive face that could shift from gentle to playfully stern in a heartbeat. When he looked at her, his eyes softened with that special warmth she loved more than anything.
“You look beautiful, princess,” he said, voice deep and affectionate. He stepped inside and wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on top of her head. “My pretty date.”
She leaned back against his chest, smiling brightly up at him in the mirror.
“Thank you, Daddy! I picked this dress because I thought it would be perfect for walking around the fair. Did you know the local fair has over thirty different food stalls this year? I read about it online. There’s even a new cotton candy stand with vanilla flavours. We have to try it.”
He chuckled, that wonderful hearty laugh she adored, before pressing a soft kiss to her temple.
“I’m looking forward to it, sweetheart. You’ve been so excited about our big date.”
But then he reached for the large pink diaper bag sitting by the door.
Her stomach dropped.
Daddy… no.
The frustration bubbled up fast. Everywhere we go he brings that bag. And he only picks daytime activities now because he decided ages ago that I need an early bedtime. It’s silly. Just because I get tired by eight o’clock doesn’t mean I need to be in bed by eight.
When they were first dating, he used to kiss her passionately in the street after a romantic dinner and movie. Now the only “public displays of affection” Daddy gave her were forehead kisses, boops on the nose, and sly diaper checks when no one was looking.
She had gotten herself all dolled up this morning. Today was supposed to be different.
“Daddy, please,” she said, turning in his arms with a determined pout. Her big doe eyes pleaded with him. “We talked about this. Today is supposed to be different. I want to feel like your girlfriend, not your baby. I can handle it. I promise. I’m going to stay dry all day like a big girl. Please?”
He looked down at her with that protective, knowing expression. His hand gently brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I know you want to try, my sweet girl. And Daddy is so proud of how determined you are. You’re smart, you’re bubbly, you’re full of all those wonderful facts and thoughts you love sharing with me. But I also know my little princess. I know how your body works when we’re out having fun for hours. I’m not going to risk you being uncomfortable or embarrassed. Let me take care of you properly today.”
She fussed softly, cheeks flushing pink as he guided her toward the bed.
“But Daddy… the dress. It’s so pretty. The diaper will show and I’ll look silly…”
“You could never look silly to me,” he murmured, laying her down gently. “You’ll look adorable as always."
The thick diaper crinkled loudly as he worked, the familiar baby powder scent mixing with her signature vanilla fragrance. When he finished and helped her stand, the sundress did little to hide the obvious padded bulk. Every movement made a soft, telltale rustle.
She wanted to believe her old mask could still fit convincingly. That she could still be the big girl she used to pretend to be. But deep down, a small voice whispered that things weren’t like old times anymore.
Because now she was his baby girl.
And Daddy’s job was to make sure his little one was safe and cared for.
The car ride started off hopefully.
She held Daddy’s hand across the center console, swinging it gently. The windows were down, letting in warm summer air that smelled like fresh-cut grass and distant barbecue smoke. Her sundress fluttered against her thighs. For a few minutes she let herself believe this was really going to be their day.
“Did you know fairs like this one have been around since the 1800s?” she said brightly. “They started as agricultural shows but turned into these big celebrations of community and fun. I think that’s so sweet.”
Daddy smiled, giving her hand a squeeze. “I love how you know so many interesting facts, princess. Tell me more.”
She beamed, feeling a little spark of confidence.
But every bump in the road made the thick diaper crinkle loudly beneath her dress. The pink diaper bag sat openly in the backseat like an unwelcome guest.
When they arrived at the fair, the full sensory explosion hit her. The air was thick with the sweet scent of fried dough, popcorn, and vanilla cotton candy. Children laughed and screamed on rides. Carnival music played from old speakers. Bright lights and colourful booths stretched out in every direction.
Her heart lifted. This could still be romantic, she thought, slipping her hand into his again. We can walk around, eat cotton candy, maybe kiss on the Ferris wheel like old times.
For the first twenty minutes, it almost felt perfect. They walked hand-in-hand past game booths. She chattered away about the history of ring toss games and how the stuffed animals were probably made in the same factories as her favourite plushies at home. Daddy listened thoughtfully with that fond expression.
But then he gently steered her toward the petting zoo area.
“Daddy,” she whispered, tugging his hand. “I thought we were doing couple things. There’s a Ferris wheel and a cute photo booth over there…”
“We’ll get there, sweetheart,” he said patiently. “But first I want my girl to enjoy herself. Look how cute the baby goats are.”
She tried to stay bubbly, but the sight of parents pushing strollers and toddlers in diapers made her cheeks burn. Her own padded bottom felt enormous under the sundress. Every step made the crinkle louder in her ears.
They stopped at a lemonade stand. Daddy ordered two drinks, one normal cup for him, one sippy cup for her. She accepted it with a small pout.
As the afternoon wore on, the pressure in her bladder built. She shifted from foot to foot, trying to look casual. I can hold it. Big girls can hold it.
But Daddy noticed. He wrapped a protective arm around her.
“Everything okay, princess? You’re doing that little dance.”
Her face went bright red. “I’m fine. I’m being a big girl today. I don’t need help.”
The urge hit hard and fast while they were at the petting zoo. A sudden, warm rush flooded into her diaper. She froze, mortified, feeling the heavy warmth settle against her skin.
Tears pricked her eyes.
“I… I had an accident,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I really tried, Daddy. I wanted to be your big girl so badly today.”
Daddy immediately scooped her up into his arms, carrying her protectively against his chest. “Aww, my poor little girl. You tried so hard to be big today, didn’t you? But babies have accidents. That’s why Daddy brings extra diapers.”
She buried her face in his shirt, tears soaking the fabric. “I thought if I tried really hard, I could be normal for one day. Like we used to be. You used to kiss me in the street and now… now you only kiss my forehead and check my diaper like I’m just a baby…”
Daddy held her tighter. His hand slid down to gently pat the back of her soaked padding.
“Because you are my baby, princess. My delicate little doll with the big pretty eyes and the pouty pink lips. You tried so hard to be a big sophisticated girlfriend today… and you ended up soaking your diaper like the sweetest, smallest girl instead. Doesn’t that feel better than pretending?”
She whimpered, face flaming. “Daddy… people might hear you…”
He chuckled softly and booped her tiny nose. “Let them hear. So what if they know my baby girl needs diapers to catch all her accidents?"
The words made her feel impossibly small.
He carried her all the way to the family restroom, fussing over her the entire time, stroking her hair, rubbing her back, whispering gentle praises. Inside the stall, he laid her on the changing table and cleaned her with slow, careful wipes, powdering her thoroughly until she smelled like pure baby.
“Look at you,” he murmured playfully while taping on the fresh, even thicker diaper. “All blushy and embarrassed in your pretty sundress. My delicate little doll needs so much padding, doesn’t she?”
She whimpered, covering her face. The humiliation felt endless.
When they stepped back out, Daddy carried her again, holding her close like the precious baby she was.
The fair was still alive with noise and color, but she felt like everyone was staring. The thick, fresh diaper forced her legs into that obvious baby waddle. Every step made a loud, unmistakable crinkle that seemed to echo across the entire grounds.
Her cheeks burned hot. She kept her head down, long brunette hair falling forward like a curtain, hoping no one could see how heavily padded she was.
Daddy pulled her closer with a protective arm around her shoulders, but his voice carried that gentle, playful tease she both dreaded and craved.
“Aww, look at my little princess waddling so cutely,” he murmured, leaning down so only she could hear. “That thick diaper makes you walk so adorably. Does it feel nice and bulky between those pretty legs, sweetheart?”
“Daddy… stop teasing me,” she mumbled, even as a tiny, embarrassed giggle slipped out.
He grinned and kissed the top of her head. “But you get so adorably blushy when I tease you. Look at those rosy cheeks. My perfect padded princess.”
For the rest of the afternoon, she stopped fighting.
She let him push her on the swings. She let him carry her when her legs got tired. She let him fix her paci clip to her dress when she got fussy. Every crinkle, every squish, every caring touch reminded her exactly who she was.
They found a quiet bench a little away from the main crowd. Daddy sat down and effortlessly pulled her into his lap, arranging her so she was straddling one of his thighs. The thick diaper squished noticeably under her weight, the crinkle loud in her own ears.
They stayed like that as the sky turned pink and orange. She let herself relax against his chest, sucking softly on the paci he’d clipped to her dress. The fair lights twinkled around them while carnival music played in the distance. Every now and then Daddy would gently pat her warm soggy bottom.
For the first time all day, the constant crinkle didn’t make her want to disappear.
This caption was written with—and of course features—the amazingly talented @prettymuchpottytrained02. Such a cutie.
A mobile slowly spins above her crib, barely visible in the soft, warm glow of the nightlight.
Dreamy, delicate melodies of long-forgotten nursery rhymes drift from the antique music box in the corner of the nursery.
None of this made any difference to the sole occupant of the nursery.
Peanut glared at the mobile, her binkie bobbing furiously in her mouth. She dramatically kicked off her blankets in a fit of frustration at the muffled cheers invading her nursery.
It wasn’t fair!
All she wanted was to stay up one night—one night!—past her bedtime to watch the big football game with Daddy and his friends!
It was her team, too! Daddy knew how excited she was about the game.
She ruminated about how she used every tool in her arsenal to soften Daddy up over the last week. How she went to bed every night without a fuss. Gave him her best puppy-dog eyes each morning when she lay in his lap, suckling her baba.
She even picked up all the toys scattered around her nursery without Daddy asking! Daddy’s perfect angel.
Just to end up in her crib at bedtime.
Another chorus of cheers interrupted the tranquility of her nursery. She kicked her legs at the injustice of it all.
The sudden movement, so similar to the bicycle kicks Daddy insists on whenever her tummy is full of bubbles, results in a stream of toots.
“Hmpff,” she pouted, even angrier that her outburst backfired.
She folded her arms, resigned to her fate, until an idea struck her. A smirk grew behind her binky.
If Daddy wouldn’t let her watch the game, then she wouldn’t let him watch, either.
Grabbing the bars of her crib, she pulled herself to her knees. Her diapered bum floating just above her toes.
The perfect position to fill her diaper.
A series of tiny grunts and ragged breaths filled the room as she pushed, determined to load her diaper.
Her only progress after a few minutes of effort was a single, terrifying toot so loud it must have been heard in the other room.
Red-faced, frustrated, and out of breath, she throws herself flat on her back. Why was it so hard? She never has to try! Most of the time, she doesn’t know she’s pooping until her diaper gets heavy!
Lost in thought, she unconsciously fiddles with her feet, pulling them close to her face.
Suddenly, everyone in the other room cheers in unison, startling her. Before Peanut can react, her diaper crinkles softly as it expands. She reflexively grunts as her body takes over, pushing more mess into her diaper.
Peanut pulls her feet closer, unaware she’s loading her diaper.
By the time she realizes she’s pooping, she’s almost done. Her diaper was already bulging to accommodate its burden. She giggles in between grunts.
Mission accomplished.
She sits up, giggling harder as the mess spreads even more. Usually, she’d avoid mushing her mess, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
As she reaches for the latch to escape her crib, she notices her favorite stuffie watching her.
Judging her.
“Don’ judth me, Dithon,” she lisps through her paci, “Dada thtarted it!”
The enormity of Peanut’s mess is immediately obvious the moment she steps out of her crib; her diaper droops dangerously as she waddles to the door. Her shirt is far too short to cover her diaper.
Had she been less stubborn she would at least have the onesie Daddy got her for the game to support and conceal—well, at least cover—her diaper.
But no, she had to be fussy and reject it.
It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the bright light, though she waddles on anyway, making her way to noise down the hall, thankful it drowned out her crinkles.
She reaches the end of the hallway, heart beating fast. Not only is she not supposed to be out of bed, she isn’t particularly keen on being seen in a diaper this messy.
No matter how many times she’s been around Daddy’s friends, how many times he’s loudly announced she needed a change, how many times he’s marched her to another room for a diaper change, she still squirms being in a full diaper around them.
She quickly peeks around the corner to find Daddy and get his attention without his friends noticing. To her horror, Daddy’s friend Bailey happened to be looking right at her. She tried to hide, hoping she wasn’t seen.
“Was that you, little one? Did I see a peeking Peanut just now?”
Peanut doesn’t move. Maybe Bailey will think she was seeing things.
“I did see a peeking Peanut!” Bailey coos, finding Peanut “Everything okay, honey? Daddy put you to bed an hour ago.”
Bailey looks down at Peanut’s droopy diaper.
Unable to meet Bailey’s eyes, Peanut stares at the hardwood floor.
“Oh, poor baby, I bet that diaper doesn’t feel very good, huh? Come on, honey, let’s go find your Daddy.”
“M…m-bu,” Peanut mumbles, eyes wide at Bailey’s suggestion.
“Hush, honey,” Bailey soothed the poor girl, wrapping her in a hug and gently patting her diaper, “We need to get you out of that diaper before we have a blowout on our hands.”
A hand guides Peanut forward, out of the safety of the hallway and into the living room. She feels the eyes of everyone in the room on her—and her diaper.
“Uh oh, looks like somebody needs a change!” Jane, another of Daddy’s friends, says.
“You can say that again, poor thing. Anyone know where her Daddy is?”
“He just went to the bathroom, I’ll go get him,” Larry says.
A silence that lasts an eternity overtakes the room. Peanut tries to avoid eye contact and pretend everyone is watching the game and not the helpless baby in a poopy diaper.
“Peanut, what are you doing out of bed, hmmm?” Daddy asks as he walks over to his little one, “I was just about to check on you.”
Peanut feels Bailey pat her diaper. “Probably has something to do with this.”
The others in the room groan at the game.
“Oh, Peanut,” Daddy says distractedly, watching the game, “I’ll change you after this drive, okay?”
“No, no, no, look at her!” Bailey chastised Daddy, “Her diaper is about to fall off!”
Jane stands up, giving Daddy the evil eye before turning to Peanut, “Don’t worry little one, we won’t make you wait. Where are your diapers, sweetie?”
Peanut’s binkie bobs a bit more. “Ummm…m’nurswy.”
“Honey, you’re lucky your diaper hasn’t fallen off already. That won’t make it down the hall,” Bailey insisted, “I’ll get you out of that icky diaper right here, okay? Doesn’t a clean diapie sound nice?”
This was not the plan.
The plan was for Daddy to change her diaper in the nursery—not getting her diaper changed by Bailey right here in front of everyone!
Bailey kneels in front of Peanut with the diaper bag, looking deep into her eyes. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about, little one. It’s just a poopy diapie. Will you let us get that tushie fresh and clean?”
“M-mhm.”
Bailey tickles her tummy. “Good girl! Your Daddy always brags about his brave little Peanut.”
Somehow, despite getting her poopy diaper changed right there in front of everyone, Peanut found herself loving the attention from Jane and Bailey.
Jane made the silliest faces playing peek-a-boo while Peanut giggled in utter delight whenever Bailey blew raspberries on her tummy.
By the time Bailey carefully rolled her messy diaper into a ball and slid a fresh diaper under her, Peanut could not care less about being changed in front of everyone.
Excited, incoherent babble serenaded the room—the sounds of a happy baby having the time of her life.
“There, all clean!” Bailey said proudly, smoothing out the diaper and admiring her handiwork, “Let’s get you back to bed, cutie.”
“Bu bu wa-wan play!”
“Sorry, kiddo,” Bailey said with a twinge of disappointment, “As much as I’d love to play, it’s well past your bedtime.”
Just as Peanut was about to give up, Daddy walked over with a warm bottle of milk filled with vanilla, honey, and a dash of cinnamon.
“How can I deny Bailey some quality time with my little Peanut after she wiped her tushie clean? Peanut, if you ask Bailey nicely, maybe she’ll let you sit on her lap and hold your baba for you while we finish the game. Would you like that?”
“Yeth pwease, Dada! May I pwease Mith Baiwey? Pwetty pwease?”
“Of course, honey! I’d love that!”
The last thing Peanut remembered was laying on Bailey’s lap suckling the warm milk from her baba, as Bailey smiled down at the baby with heavy eyes.
Her wet suckles continuing a few minutes after her eyes closed for the last time.
She didn’t even stir when Daddy’s team won on a last second field goal.
I think you're broadly right but I would like to share the perspective of a friend of suffers from incontinence and prefers patterns. Now in her case she was born with her condition so it's her "normal" but in her words it is no different that other girls wanting cute underwear. Plain white made her feel like a medical patient in a way the others didn't. Though I should probably also add that she wasn't necessarily talking about the aggressively babyish patterns you can find on abdl diapers and more about the more laid back supermarket ones.
Yeah, I fully understand that. The problem is that there aren't a ton of options between boring medical diapers and aggressively babyish ABDL diapers. Northshore has some options with the blue/pink/black/tie-dye versions, but there aren't many non-babyish design prints. I had a navy and black megamax phase.
Because I get it, I never wore regular white underwear. It was always some dark blue/green/black/grey boxers. So white medical diapers can feel as soulless and depressing as ABDL diapers can seem overwhelming.
Maybe there are less babyish patterns/prints. But from the ABDL diapers I tried, I was unimpressed with the quality and reliability, so I stopped looking. It's quite possible I just chose objectively bad ones. Because none were the super popular ones I see often.
And I'm also in a phase of hating my incontinence and diapers in general, so when that happens, I'm doubly disdainful about my ABDL side. Which is why the captions have basically disappeared and my takes are spicier.
what you mean by ABDL diapers are kink accessories? diapers are just diapers prints or not
I don’t think it’s a difference of function, but of form. Because sure, functionally they’re the same. Though from the printed diapers I’ve tried, I feel like they’re not as good. Maybe that’s just a small sample size.
But to me they are kink accessories first and foremost because their purpose and design is to further kink. They’re primarily designed to appeal to a kink market and to enhance kinky feelings.
There is a very small subset of people who need diapers that would choose to primarily wear ABDL diapers for non-kinky reasons. Call me crazy, but most people struggling to accept they need diapers and managing their self-esteem because of diapers would be mortified by wearing something like this:
And, once again, it’s important to understand that I don’t think there is anything wrong with kinky ABDL diapers. Almost all of my enjoyment of writing captions comes from knowing little cuties in printed diapies are making Crinkle Symphonies™️ to my captions.
But I’ll also always view diapers and my relationship to them primarily through the terror and utter hatred of when I first needed them. So my takes will probably be different than most.
Do you ever wear babyish diapers or are you afraid that you'll feel like a little baby and you'll like it?
I’ve tried a few samples and they never did it for me. Just not my thing.
I think it’s a function over aesthetics thing. To me printed diapers feel like they’re made for people who want to wear them, but don’t necessarily need them. So they don’t seem as authentic or squirmy because they’re kink accessories.
I think normal white diapers are both more authentic and embarrassing. More natural and less overtly kinky. All white says function over form. You wear white because you need it, not because you wanna feel little.
Which actually makes them more embarrassing and squirmy to me. Or maybe because they remind me of the older pampers from the early 90s which were much more plain. Or maybe because I think all white, non-ABDL diapers just work better and I don’t want to be seen in a printed diaper.
Also, this is very important, but I really have no interest in being little. I can conclusively say that. You can tease and insult me, but babying me isn’t something that I want or need.
But that’s just me. Some people like cucumbers better pickled!
I opened tumblr this morning, as I am wont to do, and found an unusually high number of messages. 14 to be exact.
All from @americanmanlovingdiapered. This "diapered daddy" asked "Would you mind writing a story about my diapered public humiliating whatever else u decide ill send some pics for to work with."
True to his word, he sent pictures "for to work with." And he was quite generous with options! Not content with sending a few pictures, no, he graced my inbox with thirteen pictures of his diapered self.
Thirteen!
Unfortunately for him, I will not subject my followers to the pictures.
But, luckily for him, I am in a generous mood! So here it is, big guy, you're getting exactly what you asked for! Public humiliation. Now everyone knows you lack a basic grasp of social etiquette and boundaries!
Oh little one. Why don’t you go back to your nursery and leave all these big kids thoughts to the adults. You’re pretending you’re such a big kid 🤭 when we alllll know the truth. You’re just an adorable little tinkle tot 😘
See when anons say things like this they might as well just string together a bunch of baby babble. Because in my head it’s just some pamper packer using all their energy to be a big kid for a bit.
And it makes me laugh thinking about it.
So if you want to make me squirmy, don’t be anonymous. Please. Because you can literally say the perfect things to get me subby but if I imagine it’s from a silly little, it can never work.
Destyyyy please do a caption with @ssnugglebuggie she would be a perfect model! Im beggingg you
So I get asks and messages like this a lot. Or get tagged in pictures of different people asking for the same.
Let me give a blanket statement for anyone asking me to do something like this:
No.
You tagging me in someone’s picture doesn’t magically make me know them. Just because their pictures are adorable doesn’t mean I’m just able to use them.
Your desires aren’t my responsibility.
And especially not if they are using their Tumblr to get JFF or OnlyFans subs. Not because I don’t support it—I’d LOVE if my captions could pay for my diapers, let alone making money off this—but because they don’t need me to write some caption about them. They're much more successful and known than me.
There are levels to this, and that is above my level.
This story was written with, by, and features the super-talented and undeniably adorable @littledreambunny! She wrote the parts from the little's perspective, and I wrote the parts from Dada's perspective. Since it's it swaps perspectives, Dada's parts start in blue and Bunny's in pink.
I catch myself glancing over to the empty passenger seat for the fourth time in five minutes, a habit that suddenly feels all wrong.
At the next stoplight, I pulled out my phone and googled it: the opposite of deja vu is jamais vu—that eerie sense of unfamiliarity for something that should be second nature.
Which makes sense. We’re driving down the same street, to the same park, to meet the same friends for a picnic we’ve had in the same spot countless times.
Yet nothing about this drive feels familiar—though I guess the cause of the unfamiliarity isn’t really a mystery.
After all, there is a perfectly understandable reason why Jenny, my longtime girlfriend, is buckled safely in the backseat instead of riding shotgun as my passenger princess.
That seat is for adults—a term that no longer describes the girl I see in my rear view mirror, nervously twisting the hem of her sundress, constantly checking if it hides the thick diaper underneath.
She's nervous because today is the first time we’re going out in public, not as boyfriend and girlfriend, but as Dada and his little Bunny.
So maybe this isn’t jamais vu.
Though the scene is undoubtedly unfamiliar—at least for now—I’m sure it won’t be long before it’s our new normal.
My bigger concern is getting her through today with minimal tantrums and meltdowns. Much easier said than done when it comes to changes like this.
Big changes lead to big feelings. And big feelings lead to tantrums if I’m not careful.
Not that I would blame her if she did, of course. Not today. Not when it’s the first time seeing all her old friends in her new status. I know it won’t be easy for her going from their equal to…well, their adorable little friend.
Her friends would never tease her–quite the opposite! They’ve been texting me like crazy, asking me about her, for pictures, and if they can bring her any presents. Since littles don’t need phones, it’s much harder for them to reach her.
Needless to say, they’re excited about the picnic.
It hasn’t been easy putting this together. Until today, Jenny was the one who planned the picnics, assigned tasks, and organized the charcuterie boards.
How were we supposed to plan our most important picnic ever when the most important person for planning was busy watching Bluey in increasingly soggy diapers?
We did manage to get some age-appropriate games and snacks for her, so she should be plenty entertained.
Though, the closer we get to the park, her fidgeting has noticeably increased…
“Are you excited to see your friends, honey? You’re looking like a squirmy squirrel back there!”
Dada’s voice floats back, warm and teasing. He calls me his squirmy squirrel again, and my cheeks flare hot right away. The kind of hot that spreads fast, like someone turned a spotlight just on my face.
I duck my head lower, trying to hide. Knees squeeze together tight. That only presses the soggy diapie harder against me. A loud crinkle-crinkle bounces around the car.
I freeze. Did he hear? Does it sound as huge to him as it does to me?
The engine is quiet now. The car has stopped. Outside the window everything looks the same as always, big shady tree, picnic blanket already down, my friends laughing and waving like it’s just another day. But it’s not.
My heart thumps hard and fast in my chest, so loud I’m scared Dada can hear it too. My tummy flips over and over, twisty and fluttery, like there are butterflies trying to get out.
I can’t do this. I really can’t.
“Nu-uh…nuh-uh…not ready yet, Dada…” My voice comes out so small, barely louder than a whisper. “My dress is too short…it doesn’t cover my diapie at all…and it’s all full and squishy…every time I move it makes noise…they’re gonna hear it…they’re gonna see…”
My fingers grab the hem of the dress. Twist. Pull down hard. The crinkles get louder, sharp and plasticky, like they’re laughing at how hard I’m trying to hide.
I squeeze my legs again, harder this time. The padding squishes back, warm and heavy. I can feel how soggy it got on the drive. How it sags just a tiny bit with every shift.
My face burns hotter. I want to curl up small and disappear under the seat.
The driver’s door opens. Gravel crunches under Dada’s shoes. My breath catches in my throat.
The back door swings wide. Sunlight rushes in, bright and warm across my face and arms. Dada crouches down right in front of me, so close I can smell his soap and feel the calm that always comes with him.
He speaks softly, something about not needing to be nervous, about how no one will tease me, about how he’s got me no matter what. His big hand slides under my chin, gentle, tilting my face up so I have to look at him.
I do. Slowly. His eyes are steady and kind and full of pride. Like being little is the best thing in the world. Like I’m perfect exactly like this, dress too short and diapie showing and all. My eyes sting a little. The scary knot inside my chest loosens, just enough to breathe again.
“O-okay…Dada…” The words shake. Tiny. “Pwease… hold my hand super duper tight? And… don’t let go? Even if I get all fidgety and silly?”
He nods, smile soft. “Always, Bunny. I even brought Sir Hops-a-Lot along, the brave wallaby ready to protect his princess. Now, take a deep breath for me…good girl! C’mon, we don’t want to keep our friends waiting.”
Dada reaches in to unbuckle me. His fingers brush my tummy, warm, careful and then he’s helping me slide out of the car. My sneakers touch the ground.
The diapie squishes loud and heavy right away. The dress rides up in the back. I yank it down fast with both hands, cheeks on fire again.
His hand is already waiting. Open. Big. Warm.
I slip my smaller hand into his. He squeezes once, firm and sure, like a promise I can hold onto. I reach back for the blanket, hug it tight against my front like armor. We start walking.
Squish. Crinkle. Squish. Crinkle. Every step.
The padding shifts and presses. Sags a tiny bit more. I tug the hem down again and again. It never feels long enough.
The blanket gets closer. My friends look up. Big smiles. They pat the spot right in the middle. One of them calls my name, happy, excited, like they’ve been waiting just for me.
I glance up at Dada. Eyes wide. Pleading.
The juxtaposition between the casual, relaxed smiles of our friends and the nervous, pleading eyes of my little Bunny is jarring. As easy as it would be to dismiss it as a necessary part of her new life, I can’t.
Not when her needy gaze calls me to action, begging me for the assurance she so desperately needs right now. For a fleeting moment, I can see both worlds in her eyes, the remnants of the big girl she’s leaving behind and the innocent, neediness of the little she’s becoming.
As we reach the edge of the blanket, I pull her close to me, hoping the closeness wordlessly conveys she’s safe with Dada–as long as she has me, everything will be okay.
Even if it’s scary.
“There she is!” Kate bubbled, waving at Jenny.
Emily shifts to make room for Jenny, patting the spot between her and Kate, beckoning their friend to sit down. “Hi sweetie! Come sit with us!”
On the other side of the blanket, Anna smiles quietly, taking in Jenny’s outfit. Caleb offers that same, laidback grin he’s known for, as he leans back on his elbows, relaxed. Toby fumbles with a bag of gummy bears before awkwardly thrusting it at Jenny.
“That outfit is so stinking cute!” Lisa beamed.
They all smile expectantly at Jenny. Not staring. Not judging.
As if they’re seeing something brand new yet strangely familiar at the same time.
I give Jenny another squeeze. Even as a big girl Jenny rarely enjoyed being the center of attention–and today, she’s the star of the show.
“Hey, everyone!” I add, hoping to give Jenny a moment to compose herself. Her hand still clings to mine, slick with sweat.
My hand is still tucked inside Dada’s, fingers damp and clinging. The diaper beneath the sundress feels impossibly present, warm, heavy, sagging just enough that every breath reminds me it’s there.
The hem of the dress brushes my thighs, too short, too thin, offering no real cover. A soft crinkle escapes when I shift my weight. Tiny. But in my ears it booms.
Heat rises again, slow and relentless. It starts behind my ears, creeps along my jaw, floods my cheeks until they feel like ripe summer peaches left too long in the sun. I duck my chin, trying to hide the flush, but it only makes the blush feel bigger, brighter, more impossible to conceal.
I was the one who used to double-check the weather, who made sure the charcuterie board had balance and color and texture.
I was the one they asked for advice, for plans, for the next step.
Now I’m standing here with my hand in Dada’s like a child crossing a busy street.
Now my dress is too short and my padding is too full and my legs won’t quite straighten the way they used to.
Now the clever, capable Jenny feels like a coat I’ve outgrown, still hanging in the closet, still mine, but no longer the one I reach for first.
The thought twists in my chest. Sharp. Sweet. Embarrassing.
A little thrilling.
I swallow. Clear my throat. Try to summon that old voice.
“H-hi,” I squeak, finding my voice, “We should… move the fruit to the shady side.”
The words come out softer than I mean them to, higher, almost questioning.
“And maybe start with Uno? It’s quick…and everyone likes it…”
They don’t laugh. They don’t correct me. Kate just nods slowly, smiling gently.
I do my best to stifle a laugh. Big or little, Jenny can’t resist giving advice about the optimal picnic setup.
“Hmm, that’s a good point, Jenny,” Kate answers, “But look, we’ve already got everything set up. Come sit?”
She pats the blanket again, the motion small, inviting.
I gently nudge Jenny forward. “Go sit with Kate, Bunny,” I whisper to her, “Besides, you don’t need to worry about all that boring planning anymore. Leave that to the big girls.”
Jenny shoots me a look somehow both mutinous and needy. Not that I blame her, but the point remains.
Littles don’t plan events or give orders to adults.
Emily reaches over without a word and places the box of animal crackers in front of the spot they’ve saved.
Anna shuffles the Uno cards with practiced ease. “Ready when you are,” she says softly.
It’s hard not to feel sentimental at a moment like this. Here, at the crossroads between two worlds, hearing our friends talk to her like the Little she is, supporting her choice to go back to babyhood.
From here, the gulf between the women they will become and the little Jenny is becoming will become an expanse. Unlike her friends, Jenny will never become a doctor, lawyer, or teacher. She’ll never get married, have children, or buy a house.
No, Jenny’s path is painted in pastels.
She’ll be my Bunny, my babygirl. Her days will be spent in the crinkly embrace of diapers, nap times, and being rocked to sleep on my lap.
Yet, one thing I know for sure is they’ll be her friend throughout it all.
I glance at Dada. His eyes hold mine, steady, warm, brimming with something that looks like pride and something softer, familiar, like the first light after a long night.
His thumb traces one slow arc across my knuckles.
The touch loosens something inside me. Not all the knots. Just one. Enough to let me take a step forward.
I lower myself carefully. Knees together. Dress smoothed as best I can. The padding compresses beneath me. A muffled squish. Warm. Heavy.
I freeze for a heartbeat, waiting for the sound to echo, for someone to notice.
No one does. Or if they do, they don’t show it.
Anna deals the first card. Caleb makes a joke about drawing four. Lisa passes me the juice box.
“Don’t drink it too fast,” Lisa suggests quietly.
Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I take a sip. The sweet-tart bursts on my tongue. The cracker crunches between my teeth. The cards slide across the blanket. Laughter ripples around me.
Dada’s knee brushes my back, warm, solid, present.
The old Jenny, the one who used to direct traffic and keep score, feels thinner now. Like a shadow stretching long at dusk. Still there. Still me.
But fading softly in the golden light.
And in her place, something smaller begins to stir. Quiet. Warm. Blushy. Safe.
I match a red card. Smile shyly when Anna cheers. Tug the hem of my dress one more time, a habit, useless, sweet.
The butterflies in my tummy slow their frantic wings.
Bless her heart, she’s really digging deep into her bag of tricks.
Maybe I shouldn’t be so arrogant, though. Because had it not been a stroke of genius on my part, I don’t think I could’ve resisted her.
I mean, just look at her.
She's as beautiful and sexy as ever. Every movement, every look, every action is designed to be irresistible to guys like me.
And over the last few weeks, her attempts to seduce me have only become more common and more desperate.
Unfortunately for her, I know exactly what’s happening.
Extinction burst.
The last gasp of behavior before it fades away—even if it increases in intensity and frequency before it happens.
Which is exactly what’s happening here.
Transitioning her to her new life in the nursery was easier than expected, all things considered. After all, it was her idea. This is exactly what she asked for.
So, even though there were tantrums and meltdowns along the way, especially when she realized that she would spend her life in diapers, I’m proud of how well she adjusted to it all.
Except for this.
Maybe it's because she naively believed she’d maintain some control over her life despite volunteering to waddle back to babyhood.
Maybe it’s because she got so used to getting her way simply by using her charms and beauty that she just assumed it would always be the case.
It doesn't matter.
All I know is that, whatever the cause, she’s laying the charm on thick, pulling out all the stops. So confident that she’ll get her way.
Do you see the way she bites her lip while playfully rubbing my arm? I’m willing to bet that move had a 100% success rate back in the day.
But babies like her have no need for such behavior.
Which is why she doesn’t understand the reason there is an adorable cartoon triceratops on her diaper right now. Or why the diaper before it had a sleepy t-rex on it.
But I do—and it’s not the silliness of getting hit on by a woman in a diaper with a cartoon dinosaur that’s helping me resist her advances.
Though it is absolutely adorable.
No, it’s the delicious symbolism the dinosaur represents. Or maybe it’s ironic? I don’t know, I never paid attention in English class.
The point is, she has no idea why everything she does is so stinking cute to me right now. No idea she’s wearing an extinct animal on her diaper during an extinction-burst behavior.
No idea that, like all babies, her behavior is so simple and predictable to the real adults, like Daddy.
Just like the cute little triceratops on her diapie, her time of thinking of herself as a sexual and mature adult woman is also going extinct.
Once she realizes her old tricks no longer work, the behavior will disappear, like her time on the potty and days without naptime.
She will finally be the baby she wanted to become.
But until then, I’ll enjoy the next few days or weeks—however long it takes—laughing at the futility of the advances of a girl with a cartoon dinosaur on her diaper.
*This caption was originally supposed to be for my other blog, @theneedfulthings, but I didn't think it was good enough. And since I'm having a hard enough time writing, I'll just post it here instead of letting it rot in my draft box.
So, this will probably be my least popular post ever, but here we go.
One thing I’ve noticed since coming here is that a lot of littles—most commonly with diaper boys, but certainly not exclusively—can really struggle to find relationships. This kink seems to be lonely in general, but especially for some more intense of you.
And as much as I thought it was probably because it can be a fairly unusual kink to integrate with vanilla partners, I don’t think that’s the biggest issue.
This may sound mean and unfair, but to be honest, it feels like a lot of you are your own worst enemy. At least on tumblr, so many of you cannot seem to respect the few mommies on here, sending aggressive DMs about your diapers and treating them like they exist to make you squirmy. And don’t get me started on the wannabe Daddy’s, you’re just as bad.
And even those who understand that women, Mommies especially, don’t exist to be their kink dispenser, often struggle with expecting Mommy to be the primary mover of the relationship.
This will sound especially bad, though I know there is far more variance than what I’m about to say. So do not take this in the most negative light.
But littles are inherently the most selfish subs that exist. They want to have their caregiver check and change their diapers, handle their emotions, control their bedtimes, food, and often sex lives.
Caregivers are expected to handle the emotional labor, most of the physical labor, and create a world where the little gets to enjoy pure bliss.
And that is not inherently bad. It’s not that Caregivers don’t want to give all that for the ones they care about!
The problem is when littles come to expect and demand that—and don’t believe they need to bring anything else to the relationship.
Certainly there are some caregivers that prefer to handle all that, but most people want to be in a relationship first with kink play second.
Based on what I’ve seen, I think too many diaper boys think primarily of what a Mommy/Daddy can do for them. They want a Mommy/Daddy first and relationship second. It doesn’t seem to me many think of what thy are bringing to the caregiver except a soggy diaper and demands.
Ask most women in this kink and they will tell you horror stories of diaper boys sending gross and demanding messages. I know that is not all of you—it’s not even most of you—but it still happens too often.
And even those who wouldn’t ever do that, just wait so their Mommy/Daddy in Shining Armor to find them and make all their diaper dreams come true.
I don’t know, I want everyone to be happy. But the longer I’m here the more I think so much of the loneliness isn’t necessary.
I know that I’m going to get a ton of “well, that’s not me!” and “Well, actually!” Most will not engage in what I’m saying or understand that I don’t think this applies to a ton of you.
This story was written with—and features—the undeniably creative @prettymuchpottytrained02.
Kelsey practically vibrated in excitement as we turned the corner and the castle came into view.
Of all the stops on our Littlemoon, she was most excited to see Schloss Moyland, a castle in rural Germany near the Dutch border.
Something about the profound artwork of some artist. I don’t know. I was just happy to see there was a beer garden.
The irony isn’t lost on me. She may enjoy the sophistication of high art and culture, but she’s the one transitioning into a Little.
Which is why we’re here.
Now that “transitioning” into a Little is commonplace, Littlemoons have exploded in popularity. Think “Babymoons,” where couples go on one last baby-free trip before they become parents.
Kelsey may be well into her transition, but she’s still enough of a big girl to enjoy one last hurrah together as equals before she’s my Little.
Well, as much of a big girl as possible under the circumstances.
She may act like a big girl—most of the time—but that doesn’t mean I trust her to keep her panties clean. Which is why she’s safely taped into a diaper.
And why I packed her binkie in her diaper bag.
Just in case.
Still, I couldn’t have dreamed of a better Littlemoon. It’s gone better than I ever could have imagined.
Madrid was magical. Paris was every bit as romantic as I hoped. Amsterdam was perfect.
I expected Kelsey to struggle more than she has. She managed to maintain her big girl self the entire trip.
Well, at least in public.
She still enjoys cuddling with Dada, contentedly suckling on her baba in my lap before bed—and I’d never turn down those special moments together.
Our car barely slowed to a stop before Kelsey opened the door and got out.
“Da—Ryan come on!” she squealed impatiently.
I love the moments when she catches herself calling me Dada, not wanting to sound little.
Not when there is a castle to explore and art to analyze—that’s a big girl activity.
“Hold your horses, I’m coming. The castle has been here for hundreds of years; it won’t go anywhere in the next three minutes.”
She rolls her eyes.
Unless you knew about the thick, crinkly diaper Kelsey was hiding, you’d never know Kelsey was a Little.
She wore her favorite black dress today, no doubt wanting to look cultured while perusing the art gallery.
I didn’t mention the change of clothes I brought just in case. It’s my job to be prepared; all she needs to do is enjoy herself.
Kelsey grabs my hand, pulling me towards the entrance.
“Hallo, herzlich willkommen im Schloss Moyland,” the man at the ticket window greets us.
“Erm…Hello,” I hesitate.
“Oh, American! Welcome to the Museum Schloss Moyland. Tickets are 20 euros each, with full access to the gallery inside and the grounds.”
Everyone always knows we’re American right away.
“I saw online that Littles enter free, is that correct?”
Kelsey looks mutinous as the man looks her over, clearly doubting she’s a Little.
“Oh, sorry, we’re on our Littlemoon,” I add quickly, grabbing Kelsey’s passport, “Here’s her identification."
The man grabs her passport. When he sees the little teddy bear in the corner, he smiles, his suspicions gone.
“Ah, yes. She may enter without charge. Our facilities are little-friendly, with diaper changing stations in every bathroom and a complimentary daycare service should you wish to enjoy the grounds and museum without worrying about your little one.”
“A daycare sounds great, doesn’t it Kelsey?” I quip sarcastically.
I couldn’t help myself. But if looks could kill, the one Kelsey shot me is potent enough to take down an entire army.
I hand the man 20 euros.
“Oh, I almost forgot. Littles must wear these bracelets for easier identification.”
I can see Kelsey deciding whether it’s worth arguing. All she wants is to tour the the museum as an adult—not marked as a Little.
Kelsey huffs but sticks out her arm.
Her frustration melts away the moment we enter the castle.
The castle itself is stunning, the medieval space juxtaposed with dramatic pieces of modern art and amenities.
Before she darts off to the nearest display, I whisper, “Make sure you tell me if you need to use the potty, okay? I know you’re excited, but I want you to try and be a big girl.”
“I’m fine! Can we go now?”
Kelsey spends the next hour engrossed in the art gallery, giving me history lessons on the art and the artists.
For a moment, even I forget she’s a Little.
“How do you know all this?” I ask, amazed.
She smiles deviously. “Well, some people appreciate art and culture, you know. Not everyone wants to spend all day at the beer garden.”
Classic Kelsey. But she’s not wrong—I have been counting the minutes until my first beer.
“You know, if you weren’t about to become Dada’s unemployable little Peanut, you could’ve gotten a job here as a tour guide. And I’ll have you know that a good beer is also a work of art.”
“Oh, ha ha. You’re sooo funny. I may be a Little, but I’ll always be more mature than you, beer boy!”
Our laughter at her comment draws a condescending shush from a nearby employee.
“Now you’re getting us in trouble, Kels! Naughty girl!”
Kelsey eyes the employee, embarrassed for being shushed. “Whatever, let’s go to the hedge maze, we can do the second floor later.”
She doesn’t need to tell me twice. Outside is one step closer to the beer garden.
“Sure, but first I’m going to need to check your diaper. Not one potty break in over an hour? Sus!”
Kelsey’s cheeks flush a deep red as she looks around.
“I…ummm…I didn’t have to go. I’m fine!”
“Kelsey, you drank that whole bottle of juice in the car. Did you have an accident?”
“I held it! I’m a big girl, thank you very much!”
“So, prove it. Be a big girl and let me check that diaper. If you have nothing to hide, why would you mind, hmmm?”
She looks around for a way out of the situation. When she finds nothing, she sighs.
“Fineee.”
“Good girl, thank you for being mature like a big girl.”
“R-Ryan! She squeals as I lift her dress to check her diaper.
“Oh hush, Peanut. It’s just a diaper check. Not like people don’t know you’re a Little with that wristband anyway.”
I run my finger through her diaper.
She’s soaked.
“Ladybug, I thought you were going to tell me if you had to potty. Did you not know you had to go, or did you just not tell me?”
“M…M...M know but…but…t-there was just…and then…and and I…”
I pull her into a hug, hoping to calm her own.
“It’s okay, Kelsey. I’m not mad, I promise. You were just so excited, showing me all the exhibits.”
As much as I’m looking forward to caring for her as my Little, today is supposed to be for Kelsey—the big girl.
I sense her slipping into littlespace. I try to surreptitiously feel her diaper again. With any luck, she won’t need to be changed right away.
And maybe she’ll get back to normal if I take her upstairs and ask about her favorite art.
Her diaper is undeniably full, but she should be okay for another half hour. Hopefully. Plenty of time for her to compose herself before then.
“Why don’t we go upstairs, Kels? You’ve been hyping up the Joseph Beuys exhibit so much, I want to see what it’s all about!”
“O-okay,” she replies softly.
“So, what’s Joseph all about? Is he one of those modern, abstract painters who just puts random shapes and calls it deep?”
If I know anything about Kelsey, it’s that she won’t stand for such slander. Surely those fighting words will snap her out of littlespace.
The good news is I was right. The bad news is I had to spend the next ten minutes being chastised for my “pedantic” comment.
Totally worth it.
By the time we get to her favorite piece, she’s become a de facto tour guide for a small group of tourists hanging on her every word.
She reveled in the attention, answering questions and pointing out hidden details not even the exhibit mentioned.
“This,” Kelsey announces, pausing for dramatic effect, “Is what I consider to be his most important work.”
As she points it out, the crowd forms a semi-circle around her, listening intently.
I watch her intently myself—but right now I’m not distracted by how grown up she is.
No, her stance draws me in. The subtle bouncing from foot to foot, her knees bending with every syllable.
I know what that means.
“It is a profound introspection into…um…i-into...”
Oh no.
“Kels, baby?”
I try to intervene—to stop her from what’s about to happen—but she pays no mind to me as I step towards her.
She’s lost in the textures and colors of the painting. Lost in explaining the message told in shapes.
Not in the message her tummy is telling her.
Kelsey stops midsentence as her knees bend, her eyes unfocused.
The tourists, momentarily expecting another dramatic reveal, take a step back when Kelsey grunts, her hands balling into fists.
She tries her hardest to prevent her “potty face” from being noticeable—a tall task for someone like her. She tries to continue on with her lecture, but the tourists can’t help but giggle now.
She’s too stubborn for her own good, exactly why we started her transition in the first place.
An ominous, foreboding toot echoes off the castle walls.
As the crowd realizes what’s happening, a few of them give me sympathetic smiles. Others giggle to themselves as they trickle away to give the poor girl some faux sense of privacy as she loads her diaper.
Kelsey grunts again as she pushes, the smell of her mess now unmistakable. After a small eternity, I watch her now brown diaper droop below her dress.
She looks at me, eyes full of conflict.
My poor baby.
“R-Ryan…”
Her voice is barely noticeable now as she whimpers, fighting to stay big—but I hear the pain in the tone of her voice. That high pitch whine that always hurts my heart to hear.
I walk over to her, wrapping her in a hug, rubbing her back. “I’m here, baby. Dada’s got you, little one.”
“W-why, why didn’t you say something D-Dada?”
There it is: Dada. The crack in her big girl façade. I sigh, squeezing her tightly as I help her stand upright.
“Dada tried, baby. But there was nothing I could do to help. You’re only little, it’s not your fault. You couldn’t help it.”
“M…M’sorry, Dada.”
“Don’t apologize, Ladybug, it’s just an accident. Why don’t we get that diaper changed and try the maze?”
I feel her tense up from where she’s cocooned into my chest, praying this isn’t heading where I think it is.
“B-but…w-we’re not finished here!” Her voice raises a bit, causing passersbys to cast glances our way.
She always gets like this after a poopy diaper. It never fails.
I sigh, pinching my nose in frustration.
“I know, baby. What if we came right back? Does that sound good? You’ll feel much better being all nice and clean.”
Even as her eyes brim with tears, they gleam with an inner turmoil, somewhere between big and little. Between Kelsey and Dada's Little.
She sniffles and nods. “O-okay, Dada.”
I sigh in relief.
That is, until she reaches for the diaper bag. I reflexively pull it away. She whines in confusion.
“D-dada. I hafta change!”
“Yes baby, Dada will get you all cleaned up so you can keep telling him about the pretty paintings.”
She takes my hand as I try to lead her towards the blinking green bathroom sign. But she doesn’t budge, her feet firmly planted in place.
“I-I…Me changies mahself, Dada.”
I can’t help but laugh. The way she said it. So matter-of-factly.
As if it were her decision.
“No baby, you’re far too little to change your own diaper. C’mon, let’s go, Peanut.”
Wrong move.
Like the ancient ruins scattered across Europe, what’s left of her big girl façade comes crumbling down around her.
“N-no! No no no!”
She stomps her feet, trying to tug her hand from my grasp. I feel the eyes of the gallery turn away from the paintings—onto the spectacle of my tantruming little.
I gently tug her arm to get away from the onlookers to no avail; I only manage to make it worse.
In another fit of defiance, Kelsey throws herself on the ground, her messy diapered butt planting itself firmly on the centuries-old floor, squelching loudly.
If only the old royal court could see what’s happening in their halls, hundreds of years later.
Her wails fill the room, her cheeks flooded with tears. The stress of the trip finally coming to a head.
All the glances, all the subtle comments, the laughter at her expense, the humiliation of not being big enough, finally breaking her delicate spirit.
Before I can say anything, a tall, gentle-looking man walks up to us. His smile is comforting, disarming. He doesn’t flinch at her cries.
Doesn’t flinch at the smell.
He places a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it consolingly before squatting down to meet Kelsey at eye level.
Startled by his sudden appearance, her tantrum abruptly stops.
For a moment, he stares intently at the art behind Kelsey, before looking back at her.
“You are quite right, Fraulein, this is Herr Beuys' most important work,” he muses. “I am glad you appreciate his work as much as I.”
**If you’re lucky, Part Two will be written by a far more talented ABDL writer. The Dumbledore to my Voldemort. We shall see.
The doorbell rang just as she finished folding the last bit of laundry.
She was still in her light-wash jeans and the soft pink cropped sweater she’d picked out that morning. The kind of “big-girl” outfit that made her feel almost normal for a few hours.
Underneath, of course, was the usual plain white diaper. Snug and unremarkable.
Daddy opened the door himself and signed for the enormous brown box. No labels. Just that plain Amazon smile.
He carried it straight to the living-room rug and set it down like it was something precious.
“Big surprise for my baby girl today, princess,” he said. His voice was warm and low as he pulled her into his arms for a quick kiss on the forehead. “Daddy ordered some very special things because he knows exactly what his little one needs. Come sit. We’re going to open it together, nice and slow.”
Her stomach fluttered.
Special things.
She already felt the blush starting.
He sliced the tape open with careful, deliberate cuts. Tissue paper rustled. Pastel colours spilled out like candy.
First item: a thick stack of diapers in clear plastic. The label faced her immediately.
“Read it out loud for Daddy, sweetheart.”
She swallowed hard. Her cheeks were already heating.
“Rearz Princess Pink… ultra-absorbent overnight diapers for heavy incontinence… size medium…”
Daddy’s hand rested gently on her lower back.
“Mmm, that’s right. These are for heavy wetters like my princess, aren’t they? Remember a few days ago when you leaked right through your pretty plaid skirt at the mall? I had to tie my jacket around your waist so none of those teenagers would see. These pretty pink ones are going to keep all those accidents safely hidden. Because that’s what babies need, isn’t it, honey?”
A deep crimson blush spread across her entire face. The words landed soft but heavy.
She squirmed on her knees. The denim of her jeans suddenly felt too tight over the padding she hadn’t even noticed was warm.
Next came the onesie. Pale mint cotton. Tiny cartoon bunnies hopping across the front. Snap crotch already winking at her.
“Keep reading, baby girl.”
Paralysed and struggling to find her words, she opened and closed her mouth a couple of times before she finally let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding in.
“LittleForBig Pastel Bunny Onesie… soft stretchy cotton… perfect for daytime play or bedtime cuddles… reinforced snap closure for easy changes… designed with ABDL babies in mind…”
Daddy smiled. His eyes sparkled with gentle teasing.
“I picked this one because it’s the most age-appropriate thing for my baby. Easy snaps mean Daddy can check you whenever he wants, dress you, undress you, change you without any fuss. No more struggling with big-girl clothes when you’re fussy and soggy. This is what my little princess wears now.”
He handed it to her.
“Take off your jeans and sweater, princess. Let’s see how it looks.”
Her fingers trembled as she peeled the cropped sweater over her head. Then she shimmied out of the light-wash jeans.
She stood there in nothing but her plain white diaper. Suddenly so aware of how full and warm it felt. She hadn’t even realised she’d had another accident. It just… happened.
Daddy’s eyes dropped to her padded bottom.
He stepped behind her. Wrapped his arms around her waist. Hugged her close from the back. His chin rested on top of her head. His voice was soft and loving right against her ear.
“Ohhh, sweetheart… look at that. Someone’s already soggy and she didn’t even notice, did she? That’s okay. That’s exactly why Daddy buys all these things. Because my baby girl can’t hold her tinkles in can she? Say it for me, honey. Tell Daddy what you are.”
She could feel the warm, heavy bulk pressing against his front through her diaper.
“I’m… I’m a baby,” she whispered. Her voice was tiny and shaky.
“Louder, princess. And tell me what happened.”
“I’m Daddy’s baby… and I had an accident… and I need changies.”
He kissed the side of her neck. Squeezed her gently.
“That’s my good girl. So brave for admitting it. That’s why you get the bunny onesie and the thick new diapers. So you never have to worry again. Babies need protection, don’t they? And Daddy loves dressing his baby up cute and easy to change.”
He slipped the mint onesie over her head. The fabric was impossibly soft. When he snapped the crotch closed over her soggy diaper, the bulk pushed her thighs apart. The bunnies stretched wide across her tummy.
She caught her reflection in the hallway mirror. She felt another hot wave of humiliation roll through her. Ridiculous. Adorable. Little.
Daddy didn’t let her hide. He turned her gently so she faced him. One hand cupped her blushing cheek.
“See how pretty my little girl looks already? And we’re only just getting started.”
Next he pulled out the oversized paci. Baby-pink silicone. Heart-shaped shield engraved with Daddy’s Girl.
“Open up, sweetheart. Babies get fussy when they’re embarrassed, and this will help you stay calm while we finish unboxing.”
She parted her lips. He slid it in. The weight and rhythm instantly soothed something deep inside. Even as fresh blush flooded her cheeks.
Then the sippy cup. Pastel purple with tiny stars. The words No Big Drinks for Little Girls printed on it.
“Read that part out loud for Daddy.”
She did. Muffled around the paci. He chuckled softly.
“That’s because big drinks make my baby leak even faster, don’t they? This is for your nap-time baba now. Warm milk, no spills, just like a proper little one.”
Last big item before the thickest diaper: the high-chair tray. Adult-sized. Padded vinyl with a cute animal border.
“We’ll use this tonight for dinner, princess. Babies eat in high chairs so they don’t make messes. Daddy wants you safe and contained.”
She whimpered around the paci. Her thighs pressed together instinctively. The onesie crinkled loudly with every tiny movement.
Daddy reached back into the box. Lifted the final pack of what looked like the thickest diapers she had ever seen. Rearz Mega Critter Caboose. Boasting up to a 11,000ml capacity… this diaper is unmatched for absorbency… sure to provide you the best solution to manage your heavy incontinence.
He held it up. His eyes were soft but teasing.
“And this one, baby girl… this is going on you right now. Because my princess is already wet, and she needs the protection she deserves. Tell Daddy again. What are you?”
She sucked harder on the paci. Her voice was small and trembling but honest.
“I’m… your baby.”
He smiled. Proud and loving.
“That’s right. Now let’s get you changed, honey. Daddy’s got you.”
Daddy guided her down to the soft rug with one hand on her back.
“Lie back for Daddy, princess. Let’s get that soggy diaper off so we can put something much safer on you.”
She lowered herself slowly. The mint onesie crinkled loudly with every shift. The snaps were already undone from earlier. He peeled the front down with careful fingers. Cool air hit her damp skin. She whimpered around the paci. The sound was muffled but unmistakable.
“Look at that, honey,” Daddy murmured. His voice was low and loving as he unfolded the wet padding. “So full already and my baby didn’t even realise. That’s why we need the thickest ones now, isn’t it? No more leaks ruining your pretty outfits.”
He lifted her legs gently. Slid the soggy diaper free. The faint warm scent of her accident filled the air. Not strong. Just enough to make her cheeks flame hotter. She squeezed her eyes shut. But Daddy’s hand found her tummy. Rubbed slow circles.
“Eyes open, sweetheart. Daddy wants you to see how much he loves taking care of you.”
She forced her lids up. He was smiling down at her. Soft. Proud. No trace of disappointment. Just love.
He reached for the wipes. Cool and soothing as he cleaned her carefully.
“Remember last week when you woke up soaked through your favourite pyjamas? Daddy had to change the whole bed while you cried. These new high capacity diapers are going to keep all those nighttime tinkles locked away so you can sleep safe and sound in Daddy’s arms.”
Powder puffed into the air. Sweet. Babyish scent that made her head spin.
He unfolded the thick Critter Caboose diaper. The plastic backing crinkled like wrapping paper. Cartoon animals danced across the front panel. It was obscenely thick. She could already tell it would force her legs wide.
“Lift your bottom, baby girl.”
She obeyed. Trembling. The new diaper slid under her. Cool. Plush. Impossibly cushy.
Daddy pulled the front up between her thighs. The padding pressed firmly against her. He fastened the tapes one by one. Top left. Top right. Bottom left. Bottom right. Each rip of the adhesive sent fresh tingles through her.
“There we go,” he said. He patted the front gently. “All snug and safe. Feel how much thicker that is, princess? No more worrying about leaks. Just my perfect padded baby.”
He snapped the onesie closed again. The pressure was intense. The bunnies stretched taut over the new bulk. The snaps strained but held. She could barely close her legs. Every tiny shift made a loud, unmistakable crinkle.
Daddy helped her sit up. Then pulled her straight into his lap. Her padded bottom settled against his thigh with a soft squish. He wrapped his arms around her. Rocked slowly. One hand rubbed her back in slow circles.
She nestled against his chest. Paci bobbing gently between her lips.
The room felt smaller now. Softer. Like the whole world had shrunk to the space between them.
The open box beside them seemed far away. All she could focus on was the steady thump of Daddy’s heartbeat against her cheek. The faint lavender scent of the fresh diaper powder clinging to her skin. The strange, warm floatiness starting to spread through her tummy like honey.
He really ordered all this… for me.
Thick padding. Bunny snaps. A paci with his name on it.
Because he sees me like this. All the time. Every day. Not pretend. Not sometimes. Always.
The thought made her cheeks burn hotter.
Part of her still hated how exposed it felt. Hated the way the onesie hugged every bulge. How the snaps pulled tight over the bulk. How there was no hiding anymore.
But another part. The fuzzy, little part that was growing stronger with every gentle rock. Felt something else entirely.
Warm. Safe. Cherished.
She squirmed a little in his lap. The thick padding shifted with a soft, crinkly rustle that echoed in her ears. The sound made her want to hide her face forever… and at the same time made her want to stay right here. Wrapped up in him. Forever.
Daddy felt her tense. Then melt. He pressed a soft kiss to her temple.
“Mmm, there’s my baby girl,” he murmured. “Settling in already, aren’t you?”
She pulled the paci out with a soft pop. Looked up at him with wide, glassy eyes. Her lower lip trembled into a pout.
“Daddy…?” Her voice was small. Babyish. “Do I… do I weally need all this baby stuff?”
Daddy’s expression softened even more. He cupped her cheek. Thumb brushed away the single tear that had escaped.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he said gently. Then carefully placed the paci back between her lips. “Yes, princess. You really do.”
He rocked her slowly. Hand sliding down to pat the padded seat of her onesie.
“You need thick diapers because your little bladder gets so urgent and can’t hold it. Not during the day when you’re playing or distracted, and definitely not at night when you’re fast asleep. You need onesies because they’re soft and cuddly and let Daddy check and change you easily whenever you need it. You need your paci because it helps calm my fussy, blushy baby when big feelings get too much. You need sippy cups and bottles because big-girl drinks make accidents happen faster, and Daddy wants his princess safe and spill-free. And you need the high chair because babies sit contained so they don’t make messes while they eat.”
He kissed her forehead again. Voice dropping to that soothing, teasing whisper she loved and hated in equal measure.
“And Daddy loves every single bit of it. I love picking out these cute things just for you. I love seeing you all padded and helpless in your bunny onesie, knowing you’re exactly where you belong. In Daddy’s lap, safe and little and mine. You’re not broken, honey. You’re perfect. My perfect padded baby girl.”
The words sank in. Warm and heavy and true.
They wrapped around her like the onesie itself. Soft. Inescapable. Comforting.
The last stubborn threads of resistance frayed and snapped. She didn’t want to fight anymore. She didn’t need to.
She buried her face in his neck. Sucking harder on the paci.
The crinkle of her diaper mixed with the steady beat of his heart. Every breath made the padding shift against her skin. Thick. Plush. Secure.
It felt ridiculous.
It felt right.
Daddy shifted her gently so he could reach the purple sippy cup. He’d already filled it with warm milk. Prepared earlier, of course. Always one step ahead.
He brought it to her lips.
“Nap-time baba for my brave girl,” he whispered. “Drink up, princess. Then Daddy will tuck you in for a little rest in your nice thick overnight diaper. We’ve got plenty more unboxing later… but right now, just let Daddy hold his perfect padded baby.”
She nodded against his shoulder. Lips closed around the spout.
The milk was warm. Sweet. Soothing
As she drank, the last of the tension drained away. Replaced by that fuzzy, floaty feeling only Daddy could give her.
Her eyes grew heavy.
The gentle rocking. The soft crinkle with every breath. The warmth of his arms. The steady rhythm of the paci in her mouth.
It all blended into one perfect, safe cocoon.
She was small.
She was safe.
She was loved.
And as her lashes fluttered shut, one last sleepy thought drifted through her fuzzy mind:
She enjoys this more than you could ever hope to understand. Being in this position, towering over you mid-diaper change, looking deep into your eyes, seeing—feeling—your insatiable desire for her mixed with your humiliation, nourishes her. She never feels more powerfully feminine than she does in this position.
Basking in the wreckage of your shattered masculinity.
It's why she will never lock you away in chastity. She wants to see you get hard, proof of your futile desire for her. To her, locking it up would make it a thing. She gets far more enjoyment from ignoring it. Treating it—and you—as a testament to your lost masculinity.
It is nothing but a relic of the past, signifying nothing.
Which is why she never mentions it when she's changing you. Why she will never treat it like it’s anything that signifies sex or manhood. No, she just goes on with the change, wiping it, powdering it, without so much as a second thought.
She does it because it reinforces your place in her life.
She treats you no different than she would a toddler. In doing so, she emphasizes that you are no longer a sexual being. Not to her, not to yourself, not to anyone. You are just a diaper boy, nothing more.
This is where you belong.
Destined for Diapers @destinedfordiapers - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
