Diapered Slave

[littlepaddedprincess]

there should be a mandatory minimum time spent in a night time diaper in the morning. Littles should have to sit in their squish just to reinforce their situation, it should serve as a reminder of who they are…

i mostly agree with you... n i actually stayed in my nini diape this mornin for a bit n lets sayyy.... it was full :]]] so thats another reason

[stinky-in-pinky]

Seen And Not Smelled

“So we just finished up dinner at the restaurant," Tessa explained, "and we get back in my car—because of course I had to drive— and what does he do?? He pulls out a fucking strap-on and asks me if I’ll peg him!”

*gasp!*

“Noooo!”

"Stahhp!!

“He had it with him the whole time?!”

“Yup. Full harness, dildo, veins and everything. Just chilling in his bag ready to go, apparently.”

“And what did you say?”

“Oh, I was PISSED!”

“I know, right? I would be too! I mean, this was y’all’s first date and y’all had been talking for—what? Two days?? And he asks you to PEG him?!”

“Oh, I wasn’t offended by that.” Tessa said, waving it off and taking a sip of her wine. “I was offended that he brought one that was so goddamn small.”

“WHAAAT?!?!” The girls shrieked in surprise.

“So what did you do??”

Tessa crooked an eyebrow like it was the most obvious answer in the world. “I grabbed mine out of the trunk. Three sizes bigger. Then I drove around to the back of the restaurant, bent him over that same trunk, and fucked his ass right then and there.”

The girls howled with laughter. Hands smacking their thighs as they rolled around on the cushions of the couch.

“He swore up and down that he couldn’t take it. That it was ‘too big’…” Tessa continued, smiling victoriously. “but I made it fit. Made him squeal like a pig, too. Fucked him so hard he jizzed all over the concrete like a little bitch without me even touching his little dick!”

Priya almost snorted wine out of her nose.

Lauren wheezed. “And then what?”

Tessa shrugged, taking another sip. “I drove off. Left him by the dumpster with his pants down and his asshole gaped open. That’s what he gets for making me split the tab!”

The room lost it. Maeve wiping tears of laughter from her eyes before her mascara ran, Lauren doubled over clutching her stomach, Sara fanning herself like she might faint from secondhand glee.

“God DAMN, you’re ruthless! I love it.”

Priya tried to speak through giggles. “Okay, well my story isn’t that good, but I did have one guy last week that—”

She stopped cold. Nose wrinkled.

“Uhh… do you guys smell that?”

Lauren sniffed, face twisting. “Oh! God…yeah. That’s poop.”

Tessa’s eyes flicked down. “Uh… Maeve?”

They all collectively turned their attention from her, to the middle of the floor.

Noah had been there the whole time, kneeling quietly among his Lego bricks, thick cartoon-printed diaper crinkling faintly with every tiny shift.

Maeve sighed, small and resigned. She set her glass down.

“Noah,” she said sweetly, “honey…” she leaned forward and dropped her volume, as if she was about to have a discreet conversation even though all eyes and ears of the girls around could very much hear. “Did you make a stinky, sweetie?” She asked, “Did you have a little…accident?”

Noah didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His face flushed deeper than crimson, eyes glued to the half-finished Lego structure. A tiny, involuntary whimper escaped.

The girls exchanged glances.

Maeve let out a long exhale, then stood up slowly, smoothing her skirt. She walked over, and crouched behind him. Without ceremony she lifted the hem of his t-shirt, exposing the waistband of the diaper. One manicured finger hooked inside the back elastic and tugged it open just enough to peer in.

A pause. Then a low, tired groan.

“Yup,” she muttered, letting the elastic snap back. “Full load. Great timing, babe.”

She stayed crouched there for a second, rubbing her temple.

“Noah...didn't I tell you that tonight you were supposed to be seen and not heard? Did you not thinking that included smelled as well?” She exhaled hard through her nose. “Did you really have to do this right now? In front of my friends?”

Noah’s lower lip trembled, tears welling up in his eyes. "I'm s-sorry, Mommy. I had to go but I didn't want to interwupt and I didn't know what to do so I...I..." A soft, choked sob escaped...then another. His whole body shook with quiet, humiliated crying.

Maeve’s face softened immediately. All exasperation and frustration vanishing instantly.

“Oh, baby…” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him from behind, pulling him back against her chest in a gentle hug.

“I’m s-s-sorry, Mommy,” he choked out between sobs. “I’m so sorry. The girls are mad at me now. They’re mad and they hate me. I’m gwoss. I’m so gross and I ruined everything! I ruined girls’ night. I didn’t mean to!! I tried to hold it but I couldn’t and now everyone’s mad and the night is ruined because of m-m-me…”

He was having a full-on meltdown. So used to constantly being in Little Space that he forgot what it was like to hold back and save a little dignity. He cried and blubbered and let it all out.

Maeve immediately wrapped her arms around him and rocked him slowly, one hand cradling the nape of his neck, the other patting his heavy, sagging diaper in steady, comforting rhythms. “Shhh!! It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s sorry. I didn’t mean to be so hard on you. You couldn’t help it, could you? I know, sweetie. I know...”

She pressed a kiss to the top of his head, rocking him until the sobs eased into sniffles, until his breathing slowed and he leaned into her like he always did when he felt small and safe.

But the room was dead silent. Several long, awkward, heavy beats passed. No laughter, no quick quips, just the faint crinkle of Noah’s diaper as he curled tighter, shoulders shaking with quiet, mortified sobs.

Then Tessa—bold, unflappable Tessa—leaned forward, voice dropping into that warm, deliberate tone she used when she was about to take charge of an awkward moment.

“Hey…" she said softly, leaning forward on the couch, locking eyes with Noah, "...I heard someone has a poopy diaper,” a small smirk creeping up the side of her lip.

Noah's sobbing stopped with a hiccup, panicked.

“And it smells pretty yucky, huh?" Tessa continued, "Like...really gross. Big, stinky, full-on messy load.” She paused, letting the words settle without flinching. “But you know what?”

Noah braced for a brutal remark, something to scold and humiliate him, but it never came. Instead, Tessa smiled.

"It's okay." she said simply.

Noah’s sobs hitched. He lifted his head just enough to peek at her, eyes red-rimmed and incredulous, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Slowly, hesitantly, he leaned his head off Maeve’s chest, still sniffling, still clinging to her shirt with one fist.

Priya, catching on, smiled and leaned forward. "Aww! Is somewon embarwessed of that big lumpy load in their diapee? Hmm?" She didn’t wait for an answer, just tilted her head, letting a small, knowing smile creep in. "Did you really think we don't know what you do in those things?" she scoffed lightly, teasing but warm "Please! We know all about your pamper-pooping habits. Your mommy's told us all the stories!"

“Yeah…” Lauren joined in, softer, almost conspiratorial. “Did you think a little stink would scare us away? Come on… Like we haven’t heard about the blowouts in the park… or that time at the coffee shop when you two had to duck into the family restroom for an emergency change. We’ve been briefed, baby.”

Noah’s breathing slowed. The tears still slipped down his cheeks, but the frantic edge had dulled. His wide eyes moved from face to face, searching, waiting for the judgment that never came.

Tessa leaned forward reaching out her hand to beckon him. “Come here, little one." she said "Let me check you.”

He glanced at Maeve for reassurance, who smiled and nodded. She gave him an encouraging squeeze before letting him crawl over until he was close enough for Tessa's reach.

"Well go on..." she said, spinning her finger, "turn around so I can see your diaper."

Noah flushed a fresh fuchsia color on his cheeks, hanging his head a bit in shyness as he crinkled around in a circle, exposing his bottom.

There was only a hint of hesitation as Tessa reached out, her palm resting lightly against the thick, sagging seat of Noah's diaper. Lifting it and testing the weight of the heavy load before letting it plop back down.

"Mmm-hmm," Tessa murmured, giving the padded bottom a gentle pat, "That's definitely full!" She leaned in a little bit, giving a sniff, then recoiled. "Oof! Yea! And stinky too!!"

Noah whimpered, flipping back around in shy embarrassment. But Tessa still smiled. “See?” she said. “Still here. Not running. Not grossed out. Nothing scary about that. Just means the diaper did its job. And you did yours.”

Priya mirrored her, extending a finger to poke the side of the bulge, testing the give, like she was checking ripeness on fruit. A soft crinkle-squish. She raised an eyebrow at Maeve.

“Your mommy thinks we’ve never smelled a dirty diaper before. As if we don’t know exactly what kind of boyfriend she’s got.”

Lauren leaned in last, giving the padded bottom a single, affectionate squeeze, enough to make Noah squeak and bury his face deeper, but the squeeze lingered warm and steady.

“We expected you to dookie in your diaper eventually,” she murmured. “It’s what diapers are for, silly! That's why you wear them. No one’s mad. Promise.”

Noah’s lower lip quivered once more, but this time the tears that fell were slower, quieter. He sniffled hard, wiped his nose on the back of his wrist, and—almost against his will—a tiny, wobbly smile flickered at the corner of his mouth.

Maeve exhaled a long, shaky breath of relief. She rubbed slow circles on his back and looked around the circle at her friends, eyes shining. “Thank you,” she whispered. “All of you.”

Tessa just shrugged one shoulder, still smiling down at Noah. “Told you. We’re not going anywhere.”

Maeve swallowed, nodded, thanked them again for their understanding, then stood up straight. “I’m going to take him to the bedroom and change him real fast. I’ll be right—”

"What?"

"No way!" Priya waved her off. "Don’t hide the fun! He’s right here. Change him on the floor. We want the full show!”

Lauren nodded eagerly. “Yeah, come on. Live entertainment. We’ve seen the meltdown, might as well get the rest.”

Tessa leaned closer. “Please? It’s hilarious. And...kind of hot. In a weird way.”

“Okay, well… I dunno about ‘hot,’" Priya said, "but it definitely is… cute. Intimate.” She gave a small, reluctant smile.

The other girls murmured agreement, “Totally cute.”

Maeve exhaled. “Fine. But if anyone makes him cry, you’re all out.”

The girls squealed and clapped their hands in excited victory.

Maeve paused, hand still resting on Noah’s back. She looked down at hi, brushing a thumb across his damp cheek. “Baby?” she asked, voice low and private despite the audience. “You okay if Mommy changes you right here? Let the girls see how I take care of you when you have a big accident?”

Noah hesitated, eyes flicking toward the circle of faces. None of them mocking, all of them waiting with quiet patience. He swallowed hard, then gave the smallest nod. His voice came out tiny, cracked but steadying. “…Okay, Mommy.”

Maeve pressed a kiss to his head. “Alright then.”

She reached for the changing pad she kept folded nearby (always prepared), shook it out across the center of the rug, and smoothed it flat. The faint plastic crinkle seemed louder in the hushed room.

“Come here, sweetie. On your back for Mommy.”

Noah moved slowly, still shaky from the crying, still flushed, but he crawled the short distance and lay down without protest. Knees came up instinctively, arms resting stiff at his sides like he was bracing himself. The diaper sagged heavily between his thighs, the faint earthy smell still lingering in the air.

Maeve knelt beside him, putting a pacifier in his mouth to soothe him. Then ripped the tapes open one at a time with soft, sharp pops. The front panel fell away slowly, revealing the thick, messy contents. The smell bloomed stronger for a moment, no one flinched, but their noses did wrinkle.

Tessa leaned in just a fraction, voice warm and low. “Look at that… you really packed it in there, huh? Such a big, messy boy!”

Priya’s eyes widened, not in disgust, but in something closer to quiet awe. “Wow. That’s… a lot. You didn’t hold anything back, did you, sweetie?”

Lauren rested her chin in her hand, smiling softly. “It’s okay that it’s yucky. Diapers are made for yucky. You did exactly what you were supposed to!”

Maeve reached for the pack of wipes, pulling one free with a soft rustle. She started at the top. Slow, careful strokes across his lower belly, then lower still, folding the wipe and using fresh sections each time. The cool cloth made Noah twitch and suck in a small breath.

Tessa noticed. “Awww, cold wipey? Brrrrrr!!! Poor baby! Hold still!”

Maeve worked methodically, lifting his legs gently by the ankles to get underneath, wiping between cheeks, folding, wiping again. Every motion calm, practiced, loving. She didn’t rush, she let the moment breathe.

Priya watched, voice soft. “Your mommy’s so good at this. Look how gentle she is! You’re in good hands. We’re all right here!”

Maeve’s fingers moved to the creases of his thighs, cleaning the last traces with tender precision. As the wipe glided over the sensitive skin just beside his groin, Noah winced.

“Uh oh! Looks like someone’s getting hard!”

Priya leaned in a fraction, grinning. “Awww! Are you getting a boner??”

“Someone’s winkie likes the attention!” Tessa giggled, "Even when it's messy time!"

Noah’s face ignited scarlet from forehead to collarbones. He slapped both hands over his eyes with a mortified squeak, legs instinctively trying to close even as Maeve gently held them parted to finish the wipe-down. A tiny, embarrassed whimper slipped out from behind his palms.

Maeve didn’t miss a beat. She simply gave his tummy a soft, reassuring pat. “Shhh, it’s okay, baby,” she murmured, voice low and soothing. “Nothing to be shy about. You can't help it. Just a little excited from all the love and attention. That's all.”

She finished the last gentle pass with the wipe, then set it in the dirty diaper below, balled it up, put it aside, and reached for the baby powder. A generous puff of sweet-scented cloud drifted down, she rubbed it in with slow, circling palms over his bottom, between his legs, across his pelvis, careful and thorough, never lingering too long on the now-prominent erection but never shying away from it either.

Priya inhaled deeply. “Mmm… there we go! From super stinky to super fresh. Magic.”

Lauren smiled. “See? All better now. You’re our clean, sweet boy again.”

Maeve slid the fresh diaper under his hips, same cartoon pattern, thick and crinkly. She pulled the front up snug between his legs, taped one side, then the other, smoothing the waistband with her palms. Two final pats on the padded front, firm, reassuring.

“All done,” she said softly, helping him sit up.

The girls clapped like they just saw the most amazing Broadway show.

"Bravo!"

"Amazing!"

"Impressive!"

"Why don't you thank your Mommy for changing such a stinky diaper?"

Noah’s voice was clearer now, though still small and shy. “Thank you, Mommy.”

Maeve ruffled his hair. "You're welcome, sweetie." She said with a genuine smile, then glanced at the circle of women. “Now how about you apologize to the girls for pooping your pampers in front of them and interrupting girls’ night?” She followed it with a smirk and wink to let her know she wasn't too peeved.

Noah looked up at them, eyes still a little glassy, cheeks still pink, but he managed. “I’m sorry… for pooping my diaper and making it smell. And for… ruining the fun.”

Tessa shook her head immediately. “You didn’t ruin anything, sweetie. You made the night more interesting. We’re glad we got to be here for it.”

"No apologies needed,” Priya cooed.

Lauren grinned. “We think it’s cute.”

Maeve held up the balled-up soiled diaper.. “Can you be a big boy and go throw this away for Mommy, please?”

Noah nodded meekly, took it with careful fingers, and toddled off toward the kitchen, crinkling softly with each step, head a little higher despite the lingering flush on his cheeks.

The room exhaled collectively. Maeve sank back on her heels for a second, then climbed onto the couch beside Priya. She picked up her wine glass, took a long sip, and let out a quiet, grateful laugh.

Lauren spoke first, voice dreamy. “God… I want that."

Tessa snorted lightly. “Girl, you don’t even want real babies. What makes you think could handle a grown one?”

“Oh no, not that!” Lauren clarified quickly. “I don't know how you make it through more than one of those dirty diaper changes, Maeve. What I mean is… the way they look at each other. The bond they have. The connection. The trust. The intimacy. It’s...beautiful.”

Maeve sighed affectionately, a soft, genuine smile spreading. “It’s pretty great…”

Noah returned a moment later, empty-handed, cheeks still flushed but calmer. He resumed his spot on the rug without a word, picked up a Lego brick, and snapped it into place. The familiar click-click-click filled the quiet like a heartbeat.

Maeve ruffled his hair once more, then returned to the couch, picking up her wine glass.

Priya cleared her throat, grin returning. “Okay… so, back to my Tinder disaster. Where was I? Oh, right, the guy who thought that opening a door for me meant I owed him a blowjob…”

Laughter bubbled up, soft at first, then fuller. The room warmed again, the awkward spike smoothed over.

Girls’ night rolled on, Noah played with his blocks, and Maeve watched him with that quiet, loving look only she could give, knowing the night wasn’t ruined at all. It was even better now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It takes me an embarrassingly long time to write these stories. If you enjoy them, please consider supporting me. My fans on Subscribestar got access to this story over a month ago. You can find all my stories and exclusives over there! Thanks for reading!

[stinky-in-pinky]

Chapter 5 - Helping Him Along

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4

The tapes gave way with four sharp rips, cool air rushing in over my hips. Kathy, (or, Gam-Gam, as I was now forced to call her) pulled the front of my diaper open and began wiping, brisk and unhurried, like this was just another chore to tick off her morning list.

I stared up at the ceiling, forcing my expression to stay blank as I lay on the changing table. Three days into this “diaper regimen,” and the contact still rattled me. The cold swipe of the wipe. Her hand pressing firmly on my thigh, holding me spread open. The way my mother-in-law cleaned me so casually, as if it were nothing unusual. What made it worse was how her gaze stayed clinical and detached, never smirking despite the utter degradation of the act. Just moving with the smooth, impersonal efficiency of someone who had done this countless times before, treating me like nothing more than a routine chore to finish before her morning coffee.

Her fingers adjusted the front flap of the deeply yellowed diaper, rolling it a bit so that all of my nakedness was on display. The next pass was lower, methodical, the cold wipe gliding along my cock from base to tip in one steady, unvarying stroke. My breath caught. It wasn't rough, but it  wasn't gentle either. Just that same neutral  pressure she'd use on any surface that needed cleaning. Each sweep along my shaft felt like a violation, her fingers gripping just enough to lift and clean every inch, as if my dick was nothing more than a dirty toy she had to sanitize. I felt exposed, invaded, my body betraying me with a twitch I couldn't control, heat flooding my face as she wiped the sensitive head, circling it casually before moving on like it was no big deal. All this over a wet diaper, I thought bitterly. I'd soaked it overnight with piss, sure, but was this level of wiping even necessary? Urine doesn't leave much residue, especially with the thirsty padding of the plump diaper soaking up almost everything. Or was she dragging it out on purpose? Every stroke a way to debase me further, to grind my face in my helplessness?

“Hold still,” Kathy said evenly. Another cold swipe, dragging lightly over my balls, cupping them in the wipe and rubbing thoroughly, the chill seeping into the wrinkled skin. She lifted them without hesitation, her knuckles brushing the underside as she cleaned the crease where they met my body. The sensation was humiliating, a deep ache of wrongness twisting in my gut. This was my mother-in-law touching me there, handling my most private parts like they hadn’t been plunged inside of her daughter on numerous occasions. No shame in her eyes, no acknowledgment of how profoundly she was stripping away my manhood. Just a quick, firm scrub that left me feeling raw and violated, like my body wasn't mine anymore.

And it still wasn’t over. 

It just kept going. She spread my legs wider without asking, her hand pushing my thigh aside as the wipe slid down to my butthole, pressing and circling the tight ring of muscle with clinical precision. The pressure was insistent, wiping away any trace of mess or sweat, her fingers probing just enough to clean the folds and creases. It felt like an assault on my core, this casual invasion of a place no one but Claire had ever touched, and even then, never like this, never so impersonally. My stomach churned with revulsion, a wave of nausea rising as she dragged the wipe back and forth, ensuring every inch was spotless. How could she do this so nonchalantly? Like wiping an ass was just a Tuesday morning routine, no different from dusting a shelf. But for me, it was a shattering reminder: I was helpless, reduced, my dignity dissolving with each pass of that damn wipe. 

Out of the corner of my eye I saw her glance toward the wall, where the laminated chart hung above the changing table, my name, Ethan, scrawled in curly, juvenile script. Below it were the little plastic icons she’d been pinning since day one: bright yellow sunshines for dry nights, blue rainclouds for wet ones.

Her mouth curved slightly. “Two of your last three nights have rainclouds, big guy. And plenty more ‘scattered showers’ during the day...” She reached for a small blue raincloud icon from the dish beside the chart and pinned it carefully under my name, right next to the others. “Looks like Gam-Gam’s weather report has been busy.”

My cheeks burned. Her tone made my stomach turn.

I couldn’t stop the memories from rushing in. That first night, when I had to trick my brain into letting go, into imagining I was standing over a toilet just to force the release. The hot, humiliating flood spreading through the padding, my whole body tightening with shame. Now… it was becoming easier. Natural. I hated to admit it, but sometimes it happened without thinking, the soundless warmth blooming before I even realized I’d relaxed. That scared me more than anything.

“But still no boom-booms,” she said, sighing. “Not even after all those pureed prunes I spoon-fed you.”

Her eyes cut down toward me. “That’s not healthy, Ethan. You’re holding out on me, aren’t you?”

I shook my head, staring at the wall instead of her. “No. I just… don’t need to go.”

A slow smile curved her lips, the kind that wasn’t warm at all. “Hmm. I’ve heard that before.” She snapped on a latex glove with a sharp crack, the sound echoing in the room like a warning. “Roll over onto your tummy, sweetie. Let's check things out properly.”

My stomach knotted. I didn’t know exactly what she meant, but it didn’t sound promising. Hesitantly, I shifted on the changing table, turning onto my stomach as she guided me with a firm hand on my hip. The padded surface crinkled beneath me, and I felt utterly exposed, my bare ass up in the air.

“Good boy,” she murmured, her voice dripping with that false sweetness. She placed one hand on my lower back to hold me steady, then used the other to gently but insistently spread my cheeks apart, the cool air hitting my most private spot like a shock. I tensed, my face burning into the mat as her gloved finger circled the tight ring of my butthole before pressing in slowly, probing with deliberate care. The invasion was slick and unyielding, her finger sliding deeper to feel around, checking for whatever "blockage" she imagined. It wasn't painful, but the sheer wrongness of it—my mother-in-law fingering my ass like a doctor examining a patient—sent waves of humiliation crashing through me. She twisted slightly, exploring the walls inside, her touch efficient and detached, as if this was just another routine check in her twisted nursery game.

“Hmm…you sure are puckering and clenching a lot…but we can loosen you up a bit more if needed,” she said casually, finally withdrawing her finger with a soft pop. She let my cheeks close, patting my ass like I'd been a good sport. “Come on. Gam-Gam’s going to help move things along…”

She waited for me to clamber trepidatiously off the changing table and led me down the hall. I was completely naked from the waist down now, the used diaper left behind on the table. For the first time in days, there was no thick padding wedged between my thighs, no crinkling bulk forcing my legs apart. My bare skin felt strangely light, almost foreign. My thighs slid past each other smoothly, skin against skin, with nothing to separate them or cushion the motion. It was a sensation I hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever, and yet it made me feel more exposed than ever, like I’d forgotten how a real man walked. My cock and balls swung freely with every step, cool air brushing against them, reminding me how unprotected I was. I wanted to reach down, to cover myself, to hide the vulnerability, but I knew she’d never allow it.

We stepped into the bathroom, and my eyes went straight to the toilet, the shiny white porcelain gleaming like a relic from a life that already felt so far away. For a second, I imagined just sitting on it, having the privacy and dignity to relieve myself like a man. Is she going to let me use the potty? The thought flickered with a spark of hope, but then it hit me again like a slap: potty. I’d called it the potty in my head again. What the fuck was happening to me…

She set a folded towel on the floor, smoothing it with her palm. “You know, towards the end, Charles had to wear diapers,” she began, her voice softer now, almost fond.

I looked up in spite of myself.

“It wasn’t punishment,” she went on. “It was medical. After his surgery, the nerve damage took away his control. He fought it so hard at first, refused to accept it, tried everything he could to hold on like nothing had changed. But his body just… wouldn’t cooperate anymore. No matter how much he willed it, the signals weren’t there. He’d leak, or worse, without any warning. In the end, the diapers were necessary. There was no choice.” Her lips pressed together, her eyes going somewhere far away for a moment. “It broke my heart to see him that way.”

Her gaze swung back to me, and the softness drained from it. “Nothing broke him more than the first time he messed himself. He told me so. The smell, the warm cling of it against his skin, the knowledge that he’d lost the most basic adult function. It shattered what was left of his manhood and self-esteem. The diapers were bad enough, but that accident? It reduced him to tears, made him feel weak, emasculated, utterly defeated in a way no illness ever had before.”

Her hand found her hip, her stance tightening. “I loved him. I didn’t want to see him suffer.” Her voice dropped, cold as glass. “But you? You hurt my daughter. I do want to see you broken. Just like he was. I want you to feel your manhood shatter, your self-esteem collapse, until you’re convinced you’re no longer a real man… just like he was. Only for you, I’m going to make it happen again and again, on purpose, until the shame becomes permanent.”

A violent shiver raced up my spine. My throat tightened, and before I could stop myself, a weak, desperate sound escaped me. “Gam-Gam… please… don’t do this…”

She didn’t even blink. “Hands and knees.”

My body obeyed before my mind could catch up, trembling as I lowered myself onto the folded towel. Palms pressed flat against the cool tile, knees sank into the soft fabric, my cock dangling shriveled and useless between my thighs, my ass thrust up and fully exposed to the air and to her unflinching gaze. Another small, helpless whimper escaped me as the fear of the unknown twisted in my gut. I didn’t know what came next, only that I was powerless to stop it.

She didn’t rush, just moved around the bathroom with calm, deliberate purpose. The plastic rustle came first, crackly and clinical like medical supplies being unpacked. Then the heavy thunk of something being placed on the counter. My heart pounded harder, but I didn’t dare turn my head far enough to see what it was.

The faucet turned on next. Water rushed into the sink, loud and steady, the sound echoing off the tiles. It ran for what felt like forever, filling something with a deep, hollow gurgle. My stomach twisted tighter with every second the stream poured. I knew that sound wasn’t for washing hands. It was filling a container. A large one. 

The flow cut off abruptly. Silence rushed back in, heavier than before.

Her footsteps were slow and measured as she came forward and her shadow cast over me.

I heard the soft slap of rubber against the counter, a snake of tubing slithering out the corner of my eye. 

My breath caught. Whatever it was, it was ready now.

The first touch made me jolt. Her hand settled firmly on my lower back, warm and unyielding, pinning me in place like a specimen. Then came the cool, slick press of something smooth and rounded against my exposed butthole.

I sucked in a sharp breath.

“Relax,” she murmured, her other hand giving my hip a small squeeze. “It’s just a little help.”

The tip slid past the resistance, pushing into my tight asshole with firm, insistent pressure that made me gasp. My body didn’t know whether to tense or recoil as it invaded me, stretching the ring of muscle around the lubricated tube.

Before I could even adjust to the intruder, the clamp clicked open.

The warmth started as a trickle, almost bearable, but it spread fast, deep, heavy, relentless, filling my bowels with warm water. My belly tightened, bloating with the liquid as it gurgled inside me, pressing against my insides and building an uncomfortable fullness that edged into cramps.

I clenched instinctively.

“No, no. Let it in,” she said in that almost sing-song tone, one palm stroking the small of my back. “Gam-Gam knows best.”

The cramp sharpened before she even closed the clamp again. My gut felt alien, swollen, like I was about to burst.

She withdrew the nozzle slowly, leaving my asshole slick and tingling. “Now hold it in while I get you ready,” she instructed, guiding me to lie down on my back on the towel. The liquid sloshed inside me as I moved, every shift sending a wave of pressure through my abdomen. Sweat beaded on my forehead. I clenched everything I had, my sphincter puckering with the effort to contain it.

She plucked a fresh diaper from the stack next to the bathtub, unfolding it with a loud crinkle and sliding it under my hips. Her hands were brisk and efficient, lifting my legs, positioning the padding, then bringing the front up over my cock and balls, tucking them snugly inside. She taped it securely, sealing me into the thick, absorbent garment. The diaper hugged my bloated belly, trapping the mounting pressure even more tightly.

I lay there panting, fighting the urge that was growing stronger by the second. Part of me screamed to push, to expel the water and ease the cramping agony in my gut. But another part—the last shred of pride I had left—rebelled at the thought. I didn’t want to mess a diaper. I couldn’t. Not like this. Not willingly. I was a grown man. Men didn’t shit themselves. If I could just hold it a little longer, maybe she’d let me up, maybe she’d take pity…

But the pressure built mercilessly. Another cramp twisted through me, sharp and unforgiving. My thighs trembled. My breath came in shallow gasps. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing my body to obey, to resist.

Kathy watched me quietly, arms folded, patient as ever.

Minutes dragged by. Or maybe only seconds, it was hard to tell. The need became unbearable.  My control slipped. A small spurt escaped before I could clamp down again, warm and shameful against the padding.

“Please,” I whispered, voice cracking. “I can’t—”

“You can,” she said softly. “And you will.”

Another cramp hit, harder than the last. And then…my body betrayed me completely.

The first wave surged out in spite of everything I had left. Heat spread into the seat of the diaper in a slow, gurgling rush, the messy load ballooning the diaper against my ass cheeks, smearing warmth across my skin as it filled the padding. I couldn’t stop the rest. It came in heavy, uncontrollable waves, the thick mush settling and clinging to my butthole and crack, sagging heavily between my legs. The smell rose faintly, unmistakable even through the diaper’s barriers.

I lay there trembling, eyes closed, face burning with humiliation.

She patted the bulging back of the diaper, firmer this time, her hand deliberately squishing the mess against me. “Good boy.”

I didn’t feel like one.

I was still catching my breath, stomach churning with aftershocks, when she spoke again. “Mm. Not bad for a first try. But we’re not finished.”

I looked over my shoulder in disbelief. “What? No, I...” My stomach knotted. “Please, I can’t handle another one of those!”

“I wasn’t asking.”

The diaper was peeled back down with the same no-nonsense ease as before, bunched low around my thighs. She gave my backside a brisk wipe with a clean cloth, not enough to make me feel truly clean, just enough to clear the smeared mess from her “workspace.” The cool air hit my sticky, clammy skin, making me shiver, my asshole still slick and tender from the first load.

“Gam-Gam’s helping you learn something important,” she went on, her voice patient but sharp-edged. “This is where the fight goes out of you. Once you accept this, the rest will come easy.”

She reached for the red rubber bag again, emptying the remnants and refilling it, but this time adding something else. “Little soap in this one,” she said conversationally, as though she were telling me about the weather. “Helps clean you out. And it’s going to remind you who’s in charge when those cramps hit.”

My gut tightened before the enema even started. “Gam-Gam, please...”

“Don’t be fussy,” she murmured, her voice soft in the way that made it worse. “This is for your own good.”

I winced as she pressed the nozzle into my rectum once more, then whimpered when the flow started again.

The rush of warm, soapy water surged upward fast, blooming heat deep into my bowels until the first cramp struck like a vice gripping my intestines. My knees dug into the towel as I groaned.

“Ohhh, there it is,” she crooned. “That little twist means it’s working.”

She pulled my diaper back up snugly, taping it in place. The heat of the new liquid mingled with the damp, sagging warmth already trapped inside, every small shift pressing the mess deeper against my skin.

“Be a good boy now,” she said, giving the back of the diaper two light pats. “Push for Gam-Gam.”

I clenched my teeth, fighting it, but the cramp came again, harder, bending me forward.

“That’s it…” Her palm smoothed over the growing bulge, then pressed deliberately, sending a cringe through me. “Let it happen.”

I groaned, the sound humiliating even to my own ears. My body betrayed me again, releasing in a hot, sloshy collapse that flooded out of my asshole in thick waves, spreading instantly against my skin and filling the seat of the diaper even more.

“Mmm,” she hummed, kneading the back of the diaper just enough to make the fresh mess squelch and smear across my ass cheeks. “Better. Looser. You’re getting used to this feeling.”

She prepared the bag for the third time, filling it with a thicker, darker mixture. Even before she said anything, I could hear the viscous slosh as she adjusted it.

“This one,” she said, hanging the bag higher so gravity would aid the flow, “is going to make you really want to go. But you won’t. Not until I tell you. If you do…” Her eyes flicked to mine. “…I’ll spank you until you wish you’d never been born. Understand?”

My throat was already dry. “Yes, Gam-Gam.”

The wet diaper sagged heavily between my thighs as she tugged it down to my knees. Cool air whisked over my clammy skin. My asshole felt loose and exposed, still tingling from the previous fillings. I felt utterly open and vulnerable.

Her gloved fingers guided the slick nozzle between my cheeks. My hole twitched involuntarily, the raw muscle memory making it accept the intrusion with humiliating ease. The thick tip slid deep inside me, and then the clamp opened.

The cramping started immediately.

It wasn’t gradual like before. It hit like a punch, deep and twisting, dragging a choked gasp from my throat. My legs began to tremble as the heavy liquid forced its way higher, bloating my belly and making my guts churn violently.

Kathy didn’t even look at me. “Close your eyes. Breathe through it.”

I tried. God, I tried. But every second was worse. Heat and pressure inflated my insides until my entire lower body screamed to bear down and push.

“Gam-Gam,” I whimpered. “Please… please let me...”

“No.” Flat. Cold.

A fresh cramp clenched my gut so hard I curled forward. “I can’t...”

“Yes, you can. And you will.” She didn’t look away from her work. “You shouldn’t have tried to hold it before. Babies don’t hold their messes. They let them go where they belong.”

“I’m begging you...”

“No.” A small pat to my hip punctuated the word. “You’re not in charge of anything here, Ethan. Not even your own bowels.”

My voice cracked. “Please, Gam-Gam, I need to...”

“No.” She finally looked at me, eyes sharp but calm. “Have you ever been cheated on, Ethan? It feels like a gut punch. Your stomach twists, you feel sick, you can’t think straight. I imagine that’s how Claire felt when she found out you cheated on her. And I imagine that’s exactly how you feel right now.”

Another wave tore through me, leaving me hunched forward and sweating. “Please! PLEASE!! Let me let go!”

“No.” The corner of her mouth twitched. “Babies don’t get to decide when they go. They just fill their pants and wait for someone to change them. Isn’t that right?”

I was sweating profusely now, every muscle below my waist clenched in desperation. “Please, Gam-Gam, I have to go...”

She looked down at me for the first time in minutes, eyes calm. “If you’re going to do it, you’re going to have to tell me exactly where you’ll be doing it.”

I blinked at her, confused through the haze of pain. “W-what?”

“You heard me. You don’t ‘have to go.’ You’re going to push it out…” She gave the sagging diaper a pointed pat. “…in here.”

My face burned hotter than the cramps. “Please, Gam-Gam, I… I’ll go in my diaper, just please...”

Her lips twitched into a smirk. “You’re literally begging me to let you mess your diaper. Do you hear yourself?”

Another cramp tore through me, and I almost lost control right there. I bit down on the sound, groaning through clenched teeth. “Please let me… let me make a mess in my diaper...”

“Say it like a baby.”

I shut my eyes in defeat. “Please… please let me make a boom-boom in my diapy…”

“Not convincing.” She leaned forward slightly. “Make me believe you’re just a silly little boy who can’t wait to fill his pants!”

It was unbearable, the cramping, the pressure, her calm voice in my ear. “P-please, Gam-Gam,” I stammered, my whole body shaking, “I’m just a widdle baybee… please wet me make ums big boom-booms in my diapy!!”

“That’s better,” she murmured, resting her hand on the swollen seat. “Again.”

By the fourth repetition, I was practically crying, my voice trembling and high-pitched with every infantile word.

She let the silence hang for a long, agonizing moment… then: “Alright, baby. Go ahead.”

The permission shattered whatever will I had left. My body convulsed, my asshole opening wide as the release came violent and absolute into the bloated padding. Wave after wave surged from my gut, the hot, heavy mess filling the diaper until it sagged almost to the floor, spreading thickly between my cheeks and under my balls. I groaned through it, shame curling deep in my gut alongside the overwhelming relief.

Kathy’s hand smoothed over the back, then patted my diaper just enough to make the fresh load squelch and spread further against my skin. “Good boy. That’s how you learn…”

The diaper sagged heavily between my legs, warm and swollen from the triple onslaught she’d just put me through. My arms felt weak from gripping the towel, my gut still quivering from the last round.

“Turn over,” Kathy said simply, gesturing with two fingers.

I shifted awkwardly from my hands-and-knees position, rolling onto my back on the towel. The heavy, sagging diaper dragged beneath me, the mess inside shifting with the movement. When she guided me to lift my hips slightly so she could adjust the towel underneath, the load spread further, warm and heavy against my skin. A humiliated whimper escaped my throat as I felt it smear across my ass cheeks and crack.

“Mm-hmm.” She nodded, watching me cringe. “That’s what a baby does in his pampers.”

She made me stay flat on my back, legs slightly apart. The tapes came free with quick, efficient rips, and she peeled the sodden diaper open. The heavy bulk slumped to the sides with a wet plop, exposing me completely to the cool air. The mess clung to my skin in sticky streaks, the faint sour smell rising sharply now that it was uncovered.

The wipes were brisk and impersonal again, her hand firm against my inner thigh to hold me open wide. Each cold swipe stripped away layers of the residue, dragging across my crack and over my balls, cleaning every fold. The crinkle of the packet sounded again and again and again, making me hope with every pass that I was moments from freedom. She dusted me generously with powder, the sweet, babyish scent barely masking the lingering sourness in the room.

Then she reached for the drawer.

When her hand came back, three small, white, tapered shapes rested in her palm. She held them up for me to see clearly.

“Suppositories,” she said plainly. “These will make sure you give me a real, honest mess.”

My mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“The enemas were mostly water, sweetie. That runny slop wasn’t a proper accident.” She crouched a little, voice softening into that dangerous, syrupy sweetness. “This will be your first one that really counts.”

My stomach tightened, not from the medicine yet, but from the fresh wave of humiliation curling in my chest.

“Training doesn’t stop just because you’ve had enough for the day.”

She hooked her hands under my knees, lifting my legs high and folding them back toward my chest until my backside was fully lifted and exposed, my knees pinned near my shoulders. My crack and tender asshole were completely on display for her.

“You’re going to learn to push into your diaper like it’s second nature.”

She paused, letting the words sink in. I couldn’t help but think how that was already happening with wetting. At first I had fought every release, clenching desperately and fighting for my life to keep from pissing myself. But now, only a few days in, I barely thought about it anymore. My body was learning to relax when it shouldn’t. Was the same thing going to happen with messing? Would I soon feel that heavy, shameful push and not even try to stop it?

“Now, let’s make this fun. Can you count with me?”

I stared at her, frozen.

“Sure you can,” she crooned, tightening her grip so I stayed folded and vulnerable. “Big, deep breaths for Gam-Gam! Let’s count together...”

I felt her gloved finger first, slick with lubricant, parting my cheeks wider. Then the cool, waxy tip of the first one pressed directly against my asshole. My stomach flipped.

“One!” she said brightly, as if we were playing a game. She pushed steadily, the tapered shape forcing past my tight ring of muscle. My body resisted for a second before it yielded, the suppository sliding deep inside me with a smooth, invasive glide. The shame burned instantly, knowing it was lodged there, already starting to melt, already working toward forcing a real mess out of me. Her finger lingered, twisting slightly to seat it fully, pressing against the sensitive walls inside.

“Good boy,” she murmured. “Almost like your little hole was made for this...”

The second one came right after, her finger spreading me open again without pause. The cool tip pressed harder this time. “Two!” she sing-songed. My hips twitched involuntarily, but she held me pinned, smiling faintly at my helpless squirm. 

The third was thicker, or maybe my hole was just more sensitive now. She eased it in with deliberate slowness, making sure I felt every inch. “Aaaand…three! There we go!!” The final push seated it deep, her finger following almost all the way before withdrawing. She gave my asshole a light, possessive pat right on the puckered ring, as if sealing her work inside me.

“That’s my little trainee!! You’re all loaded up now. Now come along, sweetie. Let’s get you settled in the playpen while we wait for those little helpers to kick in!”

*****

She guided me back toward the living room with one hand resting possessively on the seat of my diaper, giving it an almost absentminded pat with every step I took. 

I climbed awkwardly over the high sides of the playpen in the living room, the bars boxing me in completely. The blankie crinkled under my knees as I sat down, the clean diaper bunching thickly between my thighs. I remained hyper-aware of the trio of unwelcome shapes melting inside me, already creating a faint, insistent warmth low in my bowels.

From the couch, she reached into the playpen and popped a pacifier between my lips. “You’ve been very fussy today, Ethan. This will help keep you nice and quiet.”

Before I could push it out with my tongue, she pressed a rattle into my hand. Bright plastic, absurdly light, the kind meant for simple amusement. “And something to keep those hands busy. Shake it for Gam-Gam!”

The TV clicked on with the high-pitched chorus of Cocomelon. Animated characters bounced across the screen, their voices warbling through an obnoxious alphabet song.

She didn’t watch the show. She settled on the couch with her crossword book, pen in hand, but every so often I caught her eyes drifting to me, sharp and calculating.

Minutes crawled by. The suppositories continued to melt and seep, a pressure swelled low in my belly. Light at first, then heavier, like something thick and inevitable building inside me.

I shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore it. The diaper rustled loudly with each small movement.

“Aww,” she cooed without looking up from her puzzle. “Somebody’s squirmy!”

I shook my head, the pacifier bobbing in my mouth.

“You don’t fool me, sweetie. Gam-Gam knows what those wiggles mean.”

Another ten minutes passed and the pressure had turned into a steady, rolling cramp. My body betrayed me with little involuntary clenches and relaxations as my intestines churned. I crawled from one side of the playpen to the other, pretending to be interested in the rattle, anything to distract from her knowing gaze.

“You can crawl all you want, baby boy,” she said in that maddening sing-song, “but we both know where this ends...”

I froze mid-crawl, my stomach twisting again, fingers wringing the blankie beneath. By the time the cramps sharpened into urgent, gripping waves, she had set the crossword down and was openly watching me. Her lips curved in a slow, knowing smile. “It’s coming, isn’t it?”

I shook my head furiously, even as my knees drew in toward my chest.

“Oh, I think it is. In fact…” She reached for her phone on the coffee table. “I think Claire will want to see this. Baby’s first real mess. A milestone!”

I whimpered around the pacifier, my cheeks burning with shame.

The next cramp hit hard, forcing me into a squat before I could stop myself. My body hunched forward, hands bracing on the playpen floor. The thick padding pressed up firmly between my thighs, ready and waiting.

“That’s it,” she coaxed from the couch, her phone now raised and recording. “Push for Gam-Gam. Let it alllll out!!”

I shook my head again, but the effort only made my face strain red, a humiliating grunt slipping past the pacifier.

“Oh, that’s adorable!” she said, angling the phone for a better view. “Claire’s going to love this!!! Smile for Mommy, baby!”

I couldn’t fight it anymore. My body gave in with a helpless groan, and I felt myself push as the thick, warm load began to fill the seat of the diaper. It spread heavily against me, the padding sagging as the mess settled in, hot and unmistakable. I closed my eyes, face burning, hating how completely I had lost control.

She didn’t look away, didn’t flinch. “There’s my good boy,” she said, voice syrupy-sweet. “That’s exactly where it belongs.”

I stayed squatting, frozen in place, as if not moving could somehow undo it. But the heat continued to spread, the heavy sag pulling the diaper downward between my thighs, the unmistakable weight and smell confirming what I had just done.

Kathy finally lowered the phone, swiped once to send the video, and set it on the coffee table. “Perfect,” she murmured. “Your first proper mess… all saved for Mommy.”

She made no move to come get me. Instead, she leaned back on the couch, crossing her legs and letting the moment stretch out.

“You know,” she said conversationally, “I’ve been telling Claire for years that you were full of shit. Looks like today you finally proved me right.”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

The crinkling sounded deafening as I tried to shift onto my knees. It only made things worse. The thick, soft mass shifted heavily with me, pressing upward and smearing warmly across my ass cheeks and deep into my crack. My breath hitched at the slick, clinging sensation.

“Oh no, no, no,” she chided, wagging a finger. “Back down, baby. We’re not running from this. Sit.”

I shook my head violently, but her eyes hardened with that unblinking stare that had broken me so many times before. My knees buckled, and I sank down onto the quilt. The load flattened beneath me with a horrible, muffled squelch, the mush spreading in a hot, sticky layer that coated my skin from my asshole to the backs of my balls.

“That’s it,” she said, her voice calm and almost approving. “Feel every bit of it. That’s what happens when you hold it too long. You get to enjoy your mess longer.”

My stomach rolled at her words, but she didn’t stop.

“I can see you don’t like it,” she said. “Good. You’re not supposed to. But you’ll get used to it. This is just the first of very many in your future!”

I wanted to disappear. The bright, cheerful music from Cocomelon clashed horribly with the thick, putrid smell coming from my pampers

She rose from the couch and came to the edge of the playpen, standing over me. “Alright, stand up and let Gam-Gam check.”

I stood shakily, my legs trembling from shame and the sagging weight between them. She tugged the waistband back and peered inside, her expression unreadable.

“Mmm. Very thorough, sweetie. You really made the most of those suppositories!.” She let the waistband snap back against my hips with a sharp elastic pop.

I bit down hard on the pacifier, wishing the floor would swallow me whole.

“Alright,” she said briskly, “back down. You’re going to sit in that messy diaper for a while. It’s part of your training. Helps you remember where your messes belong. And where you belong.”

I whimpered, but she simply patted my padded hip and guided me firmly back down onto the quilt. The load squished again under my weight, forcing another warm smear against my skin.

“There we go!! You can play with your rattle again if you want.”

I didn’t touch it. I just sat there, each minute stretching into eternity.

Kathy returned to her crossword, occasionally glancing over at me with calm satisfaction.

It couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes, but it felt like hours. The initial heat had dulled into a clammy, sticky heaviness that glued the mess to my skin with every small twitch of my hips, which reignited the smell.

Finally, I broke.

“Gam-Gam…” I lisped through my pacifier, “can I pleasshh… get changshed?”

She didn’t even look up from her crossword.

“No.”

I blinked. “But…”

Her pen paused, then resumed scratching across the page. “You don’t get to ask for a change, Ethan. You wait to be changed. If you keep pestering me, I’ll just reset the clock.”

I swallowed any further protest. She went back to her puzzle, perfectly content to let the cartoon songs fill the silence.

After three more torturous episodes of Cocomelon, she breathed a sigh of relief from finishing her page, and stood. My heart leapt! She was finally coming to change me!

But she didn’t reach for the wipes or the changing basket. Instead, she walked to the kitchen. A moment later, she returned holding a baby bottle, condensation fogging its plastic sides.

“Here we go, baby boy!” she cooed, placing the warm bottle in my hands like nothing about this was wrong. “Some nice formula for you while you enjoy your messy diaper!”

I stared at it, then up at her. She only smirked at how ridiculous I must have looked, then returned to the couch and her next crossword, pen scratching steadily as if she had already forgotten about me.

My stomach twisted, not from the mess this time, but from the cruel choice she had forced upon me. If I played her sick little game and drank the bottle like an obedient baby, maybe she would finally change me. If I refused, I would sit here stewing in my own filth for who knew how long. I hated it. Hated that I had to debase myself further just to earn basic relief. But the disaster in my diaper was unbearable.

I brought the nipple to my lips and started sucking. The formula was thick, chalky, and faintly sweet in a way that turned my stomach, but I drank steadily, swallowing every drop without stopping.

When the bottle was empty, I set it aside and looked up at her pleadingly. She glanced at it, then at me, and her eyebrows lifted in exaggerated surprise.

“Ohhh…” Her tone was cloyingly sweet, but the corners of her mouth curved with faint amusement. She sniffed the air dramatically. “Do I smell a certain somewon who needs a change??”

She took a slow step closer, wrinkling her nose in theatrical disgust. “Why, I think I do!! What a stinky boy you’ve been, sitting there in your big messy diaper all this time!!” Her voice dipped lower, warm and syrupy. “Let’s get you cleaned up before the neighbors complain.”

Beside the couch, her ever-present wicker basket waited, filled with wipes, powder, gloves, and a neat stack of fresh diapers, all ready for the next accident. She plucked it up by the handles and carried it into the playpen, setting it down inches from my head like a nurse preparing for a procedure.

“Come on, up you get,” she said with mock surprise, as if she had only just noticed the bulge ballooning between my legs. Her hand went to my chest and rolled me firmly onto my back. The heavy, sodden mess squished obscenely beneath me.

The plastic mat offered no cushion. She unsnapped the crotch of my romper with deliberate slowness, each pop of the fasteners echoing in the room as she peeled the fabric away, fully exposing the swollen, discolored bulk taped around my waist.

She took her time. Each tape ripped away with a slow, sticky tear, the sound loud beneath the cheerful jingles from the TV. She folded the front down, and cool air finally hit my filthy skin, carrying the full, sour-sweet reek of the heavy load I had pushed out. She inhaled audibly. “Phew!!  No wonder you’ve been so squirmy. That’s quite the stinky mess you made!”

The smell bloomed thick between us, impossible to ignore. I wanted to vanish, but her gloved hand pinned my thigh, keeping me spread and exposed. She pulled out a wipe, snapped it open, and began cleaning me in long, thorough strokes, starting at the front and working back, lifting my cock and balls to wipe underneath, then moving between my crack.

“Lift,” she commanded. When I hesitated, her palm pressed firmly under my thigh. “Higher. Spread those cheeks for Gam-Gam. We need to clean up every bit of this biggg mess you made!!”

I obeyed, raising my hips shamefully high, opening myself completely. She used wipe after wipe, working thoroughly around my tender asshole where the mess had caked most thickly, dropping each soiled one into the waiting diaper until my skin finally felt clean.

Only then did she fold the heavy, stinking bundle over on itself, trapping the mess and all the dirty wipes inside. She rolled it tightly into a warm, sagging ball.

Finally satisfied, she spread a new thick diaper beneath me. I lowered myself onto the cool, dry padding, the clean softness almost painful against my raw skin. She pulled it up snugly between my legs, taping it tightly around my waist, then smoothed her palm over the front in a firm, possessive press that cupped my cock and balls through the fresh bulk.

She gave the padded crotch one final pat, her hand lingering just long enough to make me twitch.

“See? All better.” Her voice was light and conversational, as if we had just finished tidying a minor spill. “And don’t think you’re special, Ethan. I’ve changed more messy diapers than I can count. Yours is just another big, stinky one for the pile.”

I swallowed hard, cheeks burning.

She hooked her thumb toward the soiled diaper she had just removed, now folded but still visibly heavy and reeking. “It won’t be your last, either. So you might as well get used to the feeling, the weight, and especially that smell. Because this is your life now.”

The knot in my stomach tightened.

“Now…” She pinched the back corners of the dirty diaper together and thrust the warm, sagging bundle into my hands. The lingering heat and disturbing softness made my stomach turn. “Take your dirty diapy out to the trash can on the curb before it stinks up my whole house.”

I blinked up at her. “…Do I get pants?”

Her smile was thin and cold. “No.” She said, popping in my pacifier once more. “Babies don’t wear pants. Off you go.”

The cheerful Cocomelon jingle kept playing in the background, its bubbly melody mocking me as I climbed gingerly out of the playpen. The fresh diaper crinkled loudly between my thighs, forcing that humiliating waddle. The used one dangled heavily from my hands, still faintly warm, damp, and heavy. Kathy had left the romper's crotch unsnapped, the pale blue fabric hung open in back, flapping loosely and framing the thick white bulk like a spotlight on my shame.

The hallway stretched endlessly. Each crinkling step hammered home how far I had fallen. Just days ago, I had been normal: a house of my own, a wife, a life where I made choices. Now I was sucking on a pacifier, waddling past a bathroom because I’d already done my business inside the bulk of a filthy diaper I was now carting to the curb.

At the front door, cooler outside air rushed in, chilling my exposed thighs and raising goosebumps on my skin.  The yard beyond looked bigger, brighter, and too…open. I could feel how visible I was, standing there in nothing but a onesie and a diaper thick enough to push my thighs apart.

For a second, my eyes flicked down the street. Run. Just run. But the thought died almost instantly. Where would I go? In this? No pants, no shoes, no wallet, no phone…nothing. Claire had frozen me out, I had never kept friends long enough for any of them to take me in. I'd be spotted in minutes, hauled back in disgrace, any fragile hope of fixing my marriage shattered for good. I was trapped, utterly dependent on the woman who despised me most.

So I stepped outside. Damp grass prickled my bare feet. Each waddling step rustled the fresh diaper on my hips and bounced the soiled one in my hands. I kept my eyes down, praying no one saw, yet convinced a curtain twitched across the street.

Finally, I made it to the curb, lifted the metal lid, and dropped the heavy, reeking bundle inside. I stopped long enough to look: my own soiled diaper, thick with the warm, filthy proof of everything I'd surrendered, and the wet thump as it hit the bottom echoed through me like a gavel's final strike. That sound was rock bottom: the sagging, stinking wreckage of my manhood, tossed out like common trash, burying forever the man I used to be. And it was starting to feel like there was no way of climbing out.

To Be Continued

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[stinky-in-pinky]

Grounded

“Em, please… wait! We can talk about this…” My voice cracks, pathetic even to my own ears.

“Shut up!” She snaps, voice sharp like a whip. She unfolds the diaper with furious jerks, shakes it open in a violent explosion of crinkles, then slaps it down between my legs. Before I can protest again, she grabs both my ankles in one hand and hauls them high, folding me in half. Cold air hits my exposed ass. “Hold still.”

She slides the open diaper under my hips, then lets my body plop down onto the thick padding with a soft, humiliating thud.

“I come home after a twelve-hour shift full of blood and piss and shit and vomit,” she says, voice shaking with exhaustion and rage, “and what do I find? Half-eaten pizza boxes all over the coffee table, beer cans scattered like landmines, burrito wrappers stuck to the couch, and and my grown-ass boyfriend sunk into it with a headset on, screaming at other losers in Fortnite!”

She dumps a heavy cloud of baby powder over my groin, far more than necessary, then smears it in with rough, angry strokes.

“I’m so fucking tired of coming home to yet another person to take care of. I already have a dozen patients every shift that have to be waited on hand-and-foot. I don’t need a thirty-two-year-old man-baby at home expecting me to clean up after him too. But if you want me to be your mommy so bad, Jake… fine! You’ve got one now.”

She yanks the front panel of the diaper up hard between my legs. It crinkles against me, the padding a strange paradox of deceptive softness and total domination.

“Em, I’m sorry, okay?? I’ll clean it up tomorrow, I swear I’ll—”

“Too late.” She growls, holding the left wing taut against my hip. “You’ve had wayyy too many chances!”

Rrrrip. First tape tears free. She slams it down hard.

“You’re grounded.”

The words hit like a shotgun to the chest. My breath stops.

“One full week,” she says with cold finality, “starting right fucking now.”

She stretches the right wing tight, forcing the bulk to hug every inch. Rrrrip. Second tape.

“Seven days. No video games. No pants. No privileges.” She snaps it down viciously. “And no potty.”

My stomach plummets. The diapers have always been a short-term humiliation. A few hours of crinkly shame around the house until I told her I'd learned my lesson and begged for her to let me out. But she never even hinted at making me do...this.

“Y-you… you want me to use them?”

She looks me dead in the eye. “Yup.”

“B-but I… I’ve never… you’ve never made me… you want me to… piss myself?”

“Oh, you’re going to do more than that.” She scoffs, gripping the third tape and slamming it home. Rrrrip. She leans in close, close enough that I smell coffee on her breath and antiseptic clinging to her clothes. “You’re gonna go pee-pee and poo-poo in your widdle pampurrs like the helpless baybee you’ve been acting like!”

She rips the fourth tape free with savage force, tugs it punishingly tight, and presses it down. Rrrrip. The final seal.

She notices my stunned, wide-eyed face as I try to process it all.

“Awww! What’s da matturr?” she mocks in that cruel baby voice. “I thought you liked stewing in a mess all day?? That’s what you leave for me every time I walk through the door. Now you get to sit in something even worse: your own warm, wet, messy diaper. Every day. For a whole week!”

I swallow hard. “But… Sunday. The guys are coming over to watch the game. They’ll—”

“Good.” Her smile is small and vicious. “Then you’re gonna see how I feel when people come over to filth. They’ll walk in, see you waddling around in nothing but your sagging, stinking pampers with no pants and no chance to hide it. They’ll smell it. They’ll watch you try to act normal while it gets heavier and warmer and nastier between your legs. No bathroom breaks. No excuses. Just you, finally living in the kind of constant mess you keep forcing on me.”

She leans in one last time, face inches from mine, breath hot with exhaustion and rage.

“If you want me to be your mother so fucking bad, baby boy… then congratulations. You’ve got one.”

Her fingers trail slowly down the smooth plastic front, pressing just enough to make the thick padding crinkle and force a whimper out of me.

“You’re going to use this. Every drop. Every messy, humiliating load. You’ll feel it flood warm and spreading when you can’t hold it. You’ll push and fill the back, feel it squish and sag heavy between your thighs. You’ll sit in it, smell it, until you’re crying and begging me to change you. And maybe, jusst maybe, when you finally understand what it’s like living in constant filth every single day, I’ll consider letting you earn your big-boy pants back.”

She straightens up, looking down at me taped, trembling, legs still half-up.

“Lesson’s already started. Don’t even think about touching the tapes.” Her smile is small, tired, terrifying. “I’ll know if you do. And then we go straight to mittens and a crib.”

She lets my legs drop. The diaper settles with a final humiliating rustle.

She turns toward the door.

I’m left there, crinkling with every panicked breath, the first helpless twinge already stirring deep inside.

She wasn’t bluffing.

She never is.

[stinky-in-pinky]

Chapter 3 - Rise and Shine

Read: Chapter 1 HERE Chapter 2 HERE

I awoke groggy, disoriented. My head heavy and thick with sleep, foggy with the remnants of a dream. The strangest dream. That my own mother-in-law had stripped me down, taped me in a diaper, and locked me in a prison-like crib like an inmate. The images clung like cobwebs, absurd and humiliating, the kind of nightmare you laugh off once the morning light comes.

I lifted my arms to rub the sleep from my eyes, only to be yanked short. I pulled again as my vision tried to adjust, but there was a sound of taut leather and creaking of wood. My arms could barely move, I couldn’t feel my fingers, they were tucked inside of something fluffy and warm, I wriggled my legs, but those were stuck too.

My heart lurched. It wasn’t a dream.

My wrists were still tied to the crib rails. My ankles, too. The same soft pastel blue ceiling stared back at me, indifferent. The mobile still turned lazily overhead, its little moons and stars catching the faint glow of the morning light, whirring faintly as it spun.

And beneath me…

The thick, swollen bulk between my legs confirmed everything.

I didn’t want to look, but I did. I had to.

The diaper was bloated now. Yellowed. Heavy. My thighs were damp where it had pressed and spread. I could feel it against me. Clammy, sagging. The same way I’d felt it all night.

And just like that, the night came flooding back:

At first, I had tried to hold it. I told myself I would not piss myself. Could not piss myself. I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction.

I fought the pressure. Bit down on the pacifier and breathed through my nose. I strained against the straps, tried to curl my legs or shift on my side. Anything to relieve the building ache in my bladder. I’d twisted and turned as much as the crib allowed, jaw clenched, thighs shaking.

It became unbearable, and then it got worse.

Minutes dragged into hours. Or maybe it just felt like hours. The pressure turned sharp. My body ached in ways I didn’t know it could. I couldn’t cry out, only moan, muffled behind the pacifier bulb in my mouth.

A man shouldn’t moan like that, anyway. Like a baby crying for his Mommy. Or in this case…Gam Gam.

I shook in the dark, whining, squirming, helpless, gagged and surrounded by crinkling plastic sheets and a dry, thirsty diaper.

And then, it happened: I broke.

My body just couldn’t take it anymore. All the strain of trying to hold back the unwavering pressure that wanted to escape. As embarrassing as it was, it actually felt good to finally relax. But then the warm rush spread beneath me. I gasped through the pacifier at the foreign feeling, trying to arch away, but it was everywhere. At first I worried it was going all over the bed and (oddly), I panicked. Worried it would land me in even more trouble with my mother-in-law. But instead, the diaper caught it all eagerly, swelling beneath me, its thick padding ballooning between my thighs. The relief of release I felt was quickly replaced with shame.

And it didn’t go away.

There was no toilet flush. No clean underwear. No chance to wipe the slate clean. It stayed. It sat. Soaked and pressing, thick and squishy. Every breath, every twitch of my legs, reminded me of what I had done. Of what I had become.

I tried to ignore it, to shift into sleep, but the sensation kept me awake. The sticky heat between my legs. The crinkle of the plastic. The faint scent of powder and urine rising like a mocking perfume.

Eventually, after a couple of hours of sitting in my own piss, I drifted off into something that resembled sleep.

And then it happened again.

The pressure returned. Not as sharp this time. Just persistent. I didn’t want to go through that whole painful fight again. So I just… let it happen. Wetting myself once more. The diaper swelled even larger against me, the soft hiss filling the nursery’s silence. At least it warmed a bit, no longer cold and clammy against my skin. It was easier. Too easy.

The first time had been a battle. This time was surrender. Some part of me had already accepted it, and that’s what I really hated, more than the wet diaper itself. I lay there, staring at the mobile above, disgust rising in my throat. Each drop that soaked into the padding felt like proof that I was losing something I might never get back.

I drifted in and out of sleep for the rest of the night, caught somewhere between dreams and the soft hum of the mobile. Time didn’t move the way it used to, it just kind of blurred. Still, it was enough for me to forget where I was and wake up in a panic, remembering I was strapped to a bed and still stuck in this nightmare. 

Then the sounds started from down the hall.

The clink of ceramic. The loud whistle of a kettle. A spoon tapping gently against the rim of a mug. She was up. My devil of an in-law.  In the kitchen. Making tea.

And I was still here. Strapped down. Swaddled. Saturated. My wrists tugged slightly as I tried to shift. My fingers curled uselessly inside the stupid padded mittens.

I turned my head toward the nursery door. It was still closed, sealed tight against the rest of the world. I could almost imagine her just beyond it, humming to herself. Pouring hot water. Adding lemon or honey.

I wanted to cry out. To beg for her to come get me. To let me out. To change me.

But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I held the words back like I had tried to hold everything else. Because I was still trying, desperately trying, to cling to whatever shreds of adulthood I had left. I didn’t want to be a grown man crying for a diaper change. That wasn’t who I was. That couldn’t be who I was.

Even if it’s exactly what I’d become.

So I stayed quiet. My eyes burned, but I blinked the tears away. My jaw ached. My chest was tight. I waited. And waited. Patiently. Unmoving. Trapped in a swollen, piss-soaked diaper. Until, at last, I heard it: footsteps, approaching down the hall. Soft, deliberate, unhurried.

They were getting closer. Louder. Each one like a countdown in my chest. My heart pounded with a bit of fear and anticipation, and that’s when I realized…

The pacifier. 

The ribbon was still clipped to my chest, but my mouth was empty.

It must’ve fallen out while I was sleeping. I froze. Her voice came back to me, clear and cold: “I better find it in your mouth come morning. Because if it’s not… you’ll get the soap again.”

The taste came back instantly. Sharp, bitter, coated in humiliation.

I started searching, turning my head and twisting as far as the straps would let me. The rubber bulb was right there, just beside my shoulder, dangling from its ribbon like it was teasing me. I reached for it with my mouth, stretching, wriggling, trying to maneuver my body as much as much as I could. My fingers clenched inside the mittens. My shoulders strained.

The footsteps were closer now. The floorboards creaked.

I craned my neck, reaching for the little plastic shield tucked beneath my armpit. Flopping my body to try to get it to bounce into a better position. Plastic sheets and pissy pamper crinkling as I writhed. It was inches away from my mouth. I lunged with my tongue. Missed. Ended up making it roll down my body. I flopped like a fish. Tried again. Desperation rising.

She was close now, footfalls thudding just outside the door.

Another inch. A small grunt escaped my throat. The rubber touched my lips. I snapped at it, jaw closing around the nipple, slurping it into my mouth just as the doorknob turned.

The door creaked open, casting a slice of light across the room.

And there I was. Wide-eyed. Heart still racing. 

Kathy’s silhouette filled the doorway, her presence instantly tightening the air. She didn’t speak, just looked, head tilted, one eyebrow slightly raised as if checking whether I’d followed instructions.

The pacifier moved between my lips, a small, rhythmic motion I couldn’t stop. It made me look like I was trying to prove myself, like some obedient pet desperate for approval. Her gaze traveled over me slowly. Examining the ridiculous state of her son-in-law. Then her expression shifted, just a little. The corner of her mouth lifting into a smirk.

I could see it, the whole picture, the way she’d see it: a grown man, sprawled and splayed and on display in a crib, padded, strapped, and sucking quietly like he belonged there. The absurdity hit before the shame did.

“Well, good morning, sweetheart,” Kathy said in a singsong voice as she flicked on the nursery light. “Did we have a nice little sleep in our widdle crib?”

I didn’t answer. Of course I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not just because there was an over-sized bulb of a binky bulging in my mouth, but because I was too embarrassed at the state of myself to reply. Any attempt to do so would only further emphasize my current status anyway.

Kathy stepped closer to the crib, I trembled and shook with every squeak of the padded floor tiles. She stood over me, making me shiver in her shadow. In one hand, she held a steaming mug of tea. In the other, a baby bottle filled with warm, off-white liquid.

She looked well-rested. Peaceful, even. Her hair was tied back in a loose bun, her expression placid as she calmly placed the bottle and tea on the night stand next to me and stood back up to tug the belt of her white robe a bit tighter around her waist.

“So…” she said with a sigh, looking me over once more, “did we manage to stay dry for the whole night? Or did somewon have an accident in their widdle pampurrs?”

I tried to press my legs together, to squirm and shift away, to hide my shame as her arm reached through the bars.

“Aww,” she murmured, a trace of amusement in her voice. “Is someone feeling shy? What are you trying to hide, little one?”

There was nowhere I could go. The restraints held me firm. The inevitable was upon me. She split my legs apart and told me to spread them so that my saturated diaper was in full view.

“Oh sweetheart…” she murmured with wicked amusement, “you sure did christen this thing didn’t you??” She gripped the padding, pressing it around my penis, making me feel the intense humiliation as her biting words continued. “Were you working overtime all night or what? I’ve never seen a diaper so soaked!”

My face burned hot. Sitting with myself all night was bad enough, having to hear about what a failure I was from her was even worse.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” Kathy went on, even though that’s exactly how she wanted me to feel. She clicked the latch and dropped the bars of the crib so I was even more exposed.  “This is just our new morning routine. I expect you’ll be waking up like this quite a bit from now on, so I suggest you get used to it. In fact, we’re going to be keeping track…”

She smiled. And then–oh God–she pulled out her phone!

“Claire asked for an update. Said she was curious how your first night went. Isn’t that sweet?”

My heart twisted. I shook my head, the binky bobbing with the movement. I tried to say no, to beg her not to, but it was just muffled panic behind rubber.

Kathy chuckled like I’d just squealed something adorable.

“Oh, don’t pout,” she said. “This is your fault, remember? Actions have consequences.”

She snapped a photo of the front of my swollen diaper, the shutter sound seeming to be louder than usual, and then turned the phone on me.

“I need you to tell Claire what happened,” she said, tapping my cheek with two fingers, “Come on now. Binky out.”

She reached down and plucked it from my lips. A soft pop, followed by a thin string of drool, which she wiped with her sleeve like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.

“Now,” she said, shifting her tone instantly. Her voice dropped into something firmer. Parental. Final. “Tell me what you did in your diaper.”

I shook my head. “I’m not saying that. I’m not—”

Her eyes darkened.

That was all it took. That look. Not loud. Not violent. Just sharpened, like cold steel. Like a mother who’d told you once, and wasn’t about to say it again.

“Try again,” she said coolly. “Use your baby words.”

My chest rose. Fell. My throat felt raw.

“I… I peed.”

Her eyebrow arched.

“In your…”

“…in my diaper.”

She made a soft tsk with her tongue.

“Still not quite right.” Her voice was slower now, like she was helping someone learn to speak another language. “Say the whole thing.”

I froze. My hands flexed uselessly in the mittens. My legs itched beneath the swollen, clammy padding. There was nowhere to go.

“Say it,” she said. “Or I’ll get the soap.”

My lips trembled.

“I made pee-pee in my diapy…” I whispered.

Kathy beamed.

“There we go!!” she said brightly. “Now say it again.”

“I made pee-pee’s in my diapy!” I whimpered, louder this time.

“Could you not make it through even a single night without wetting yourself, little one?” She asked for the camera.

I sniffled, ashamed. “N-no, Gam Gam…I couldn’t…”

“Tell your Mommy Claire that you’re sorry. That you’re trying really hard to be a big boy…but you just can’t.”

I repeated the stupid sentence in babbly baby talk like she wanted. The words stinging with every syllable.

“Perfect,” she cooed, tapping the screen again to stop the recording. “I’ll send that right over. Maybe it’ll brighten her morning.”

She extended her arm out so she could see her screen better. Like someone her age would: elbow fully outstretched, squinting slightly, her finger curled and tapping the screen delicately with the flat pad of her pointer finger like she wasn’t sure how hard to press.

I shut my eyes.

I wanted the crib to collapse. To break. To swallow me whole. Instead…

Pat. Pat.

Two firm taps against my swollen padding, like she was congratulating me. Like it was some twisted reward.

“Let’s get that bottle in you,” she said brightly, reaching for it from the nightstand. “Then we’ll get my little bedwetter all nice and clean.”

She tilted it slowly, twisting the nipple once between her fingers before pressing it to my lips.

“Open wide for your baba.” she said, calm as a breeze.

I clenched my mouth shut.

She didn’t sigh. She didn’t raise her voice. She just reached out, gripped my chin with one hand, her thumb pressing into my cheek while her fingers dug in from the other side. My jaw trembled. Her grip didn’t loosen.

I jerked again, but the straps held me down, pinned and helpless in the crib. The mittens kept my fingers useless above my head. I could barely shift, much less resist. I tried to turn my head, but she followed, steady and unrelenting, guiding it in until my mouth gave way. The moment it slipped past my lips, I gagged.

“You’re going to drink this bottle,” she said, voice low and direct. “All of it, if you want that pissy diaper changed…”

Then she pressed the rubber nipple against my lips.

The first suckle hit like syrupy chalk. Sickly sweet, warm, and wrong. It coated my tongue with some chemical aftertaste, like a protein shake, but worse. Too sweet, too thick. Almost metallic.

I spat it back out reflexively, coughing as it dribbled down my chin.

She didn’t flinch.

She dabbed my chin with the edge of her sleeve, then shoved the bottle back into place, harder this time.

“You’re done fighting,” she said.

I gasped, trying to turn away again, tears stinging in the corners of my eyes.

“It’s disgusting,” I choked between gulps.

She stilled, looking down at me.

“Yucky,” she corrected, her voice like iron wrapped in velvet. “Big boys call it disgusting. You don’t get that word anymore.”

I wanted to scream. To curse. To beg.

Instead, I drank.

The bottle bobbed slightly as she adjusted her grip, holding it at the right angle, watching me swallow it down one warm, sticky mouthful at a time.

“This is part of your routine now,” she added smoothly. “It’ll help keep you regular, and give you what your little body needs. You’ll get one with every meal. No arguments. No pouting. And no milk left behind.”

She tilted the bottle higher.

I had no choice, I swallowed.

The formula filled my mouth again, nauseating and thick, dripping in the back of my throat, leaving a syrupy trail down my tongue. I gagged again but couldn’t spit it out, not this time. Her grip stayed firm.

“Drink,” she said, with slow, insistent patience.

I did. The worst part wasn’t the taste, it wasn’t even the straps or the helplessness. It was the way she looked at me, like I was nothing more than a stubborn brat that was finally giving in.

So I drank. Suckle by suckle, humiliated and burning, while Kathy just watched. God I hated her.

The smooth way she stood there like this was routine. The way she held the bottle steady with one hand, like she was feeding a goat, the slight upward twitch at the corner of her mouth when I gave a particularly desperate gulp. She was enjoying this. No, relishing it. Every moment of it felt orchestrated. Polished. Practiced.

And it made sense. She'd never liked me. Never hid it. For years she'd treated me like I wasn’t good enough for her daughter. Condescending glances, passive-aggressive remarks, that fake smile she’d wear whenever I walked into a room. But now?

Now I was literally beneath her. Now she had me trapped in some nightmarish nursery, strapped down in a soaking diaper, suckling from a warm bottle, too weak to fight back.

And she was savoring it.

I wanted to spit the bottle out and scream. I wanted to curse her, break the damn crib apart, and walk out of this hellhole with the last shreds of my pride. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

Because the straps held me down. Because she held all the power. Because the only way I could ever get my wife and my life back was through her.

So I kept drinking. Sputtering, sulking, hating her with every fiber of my being… but still suckling, like a good little boy.

Her phone buzzed in the pocket of her robe. With one hand still on the bottle in my mouth, she used the other to reach in and grab it, smiling as she tapped the screen. Her thumb moved lightly across the glass, then she turned the screen toward me.

Claire.

The message was lit up in big, bold text.

OMG stop. That’s HYSTERICAL. I cannot believe you already got him to say that. What did you do, Mom?? He sounds like an actual tottler!! This is working faster than I ever imagined!!!

You’re amazing. ❤️

Kathy didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. I stared at the screen as it lowered again. My wife. My wife had sent that. The woman I married. The one I betrayed. The one I still wanted to win back.

And now, she was laughing at me. From the comfort of wherever she was, she was getting updates from her mother on how quickly I was unraveling. And she was thrilled.

I couldn’t even cry, the humiliation was too thick. It coated my skin like the formula coating my tongue.

Kathy looked back down at me, brushing her fingers lightly under my chin.

“Better keep drinking, little guy,” she said with a smug sweetness. “Looks like Mommy’s proud of how far you’ve come.”

The bottle gave a soft glug as the last of the formula slipped past my lips.

Kathy gave it a gentle tilt, checking that it was truly empty, then removed it with a wet pop. My jaw ached. My tongue felt thick and filmy. And my stomach…

God, my stomach felt bloated, like I’d swallowed warm glue. A sickly sweet heaviness settled deep inside me, nauseating and dull. I groaned softly, closing my eyes.

“Big full tummy,” Kathy cooed, setting the bottle aside and giving my chest a few light pats with her fingers. “Come on now, sweetheart. Let it out.”

I tried to resist, tried to turn my head, but she kept patting, rhythmic and insistent, like I was just a gassy little one after a feeding. And then, before I could stop it:

Buurp.

It was small, but loud enough. And mortifying.

“There we go,” she said, beaming like she’d taught a puppy a new trick. “Such a good baby!! All better now.”

I burned with shame. The formula sloshed in my belly. The straps held my arms down, still snug and unyielding.

Kathy leaned in closer, brushing my cheek once with the back of her hand, mockingly gentle.

“Now before I let you out,” she said, her voice dipping into something firmer, “I want to know if you’re going to behave.”

I swallowed thickly.

“Because I won’t have another tantrum like last night. I’ve got plenty of energy for another round with the paddle if you need it.” She let that hang in the air a second longer before softening just enough to raise an expectant brow. “Or… can Gam-Gam trust her little boy to be on his best behavior this morning?”

I didn’t speak, just nodded. Small, shaky.

She smiled. “That’s what I like to hear.”

One by one, she began undoing the crib straps. Each one peeled back with a gentle snap, her movements calm and precise. First the wrists, then the ankles, but not the mittens, those stayed on. But even once I was free, I didn’t move. Because now came the worst part. Kathy peeled the blanket back and gave my thigh a tap.

“Come on, then,” she said, her voice chipper. “Time for your diaper change.”

I flinched, actually flinched, as if the words had teeth.

The shame was coming again, fast and suffocating. I was a grown man in need of getting my pissy pamper changed by my mother-in-law.

She took me by the hand, not gently, not harshly, just…firmly. As if I didn’t get a say. And I didn’t. Each step toward the changing table felt heavier than the last. Heavier than the drooping diaper between my legs. My feet dragged, thick with shame. The crinkle between them didn’t help. It echoed in my ears with every movement, a reminder of what I’d done. What she’d put me in. What I’d used.

The table was worse up close. White wood, polished smooth, with thick padding on top. Drawers beneath, shelves to the side. I hadn’t noticed them the night before, not in my haze of exhaustion and disbelief.

But now I saw them.

Stacks of diapers. Dozens. All different kinds, colors, and adorned with different (yet, equally humiliating) cartoonish prints. A whole shelf dedicated to just those. She was ready for this. For me.

A fresh one waited, already out and waiting and ready to be used. The wipes, the cream, the powder, all lined up neatly, like surgical tools.

She patted the pad.

“Up.”

Her eyes met mine. No threat. No raised voice. Just that steady, maternal authority she’d perfected long before Claire was born.

“One…” she said softly.

My pulse kicked.

“Two…”

I climbed up before she reached three.

She didn’t smile, didn’t gloat. Just adjusted the pad beneath me with brisk efficiency, as though my obedience had been a foregone conclusion. The table creaked faintly beneath my weight. My legs trembled as I eased myself down onto the soft vinyl padding. The moment I was down, she guided my ankles apart, placing one firm hand on my thigh.

My breath caught. My eyes darted to the shelves again. So many diapers. So many planned for me.

“Let’s not make this harder than it has to be,” she said, her voice mild, almost kind. Then, with that same terrible composure, “This is the first of many, sweetheart.”

She undid the tapes of my diaper with practiced efficiency. Rip. Rip. Rip. Like she was unveiling something she’d seen a hundred times before. Not her son-in-law. Just another soggy diaper to deal with. The front peeled away, and cool air hit my damp skin.

“Such a soggy little boy,” she murmured. “You really soaked this one,” she said, like it was nothing. Like commenting on the weather. “Good thing we’ve got plenty to replace them with.”

I closed my eyes. She opened the diaper and folded it down. My heart stopped.

There it was. There I was. My penis lying bare and useless, soft and shrunken and shriveled from being wet the whole night.Kathy reached for the wipes, humming under her breath.

“I told you, this would be your normal,” she said. “You didn’t believe me then. You will now.”

I twitched when the first wipe touched me. Chilly. Wet. Unforgiving. It wasn’t just cold, it was invasive.

She didn’t even blink. Not when she ran it down my shaft, not when she lifted my balls, not when wiping my buttcrack with impersonal efficiency. She didn’t even smirk. And that only made it worse.

Her calm, practiced motions made it clear she’d done this before. Not to me, but to others. Young and old. People who actually needed it.

And now I was one of them. Not a man. Not a husband. Not a person with dignity.

Just something to be cleaned.

My fists curled weakly at my sides. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to scream.

But I didn’t move.

“See?” she said softly, almost gently. “This isn’t so bad. It’s just what happens now.”

She slid the soiled diaper out from under me and folded it with a sigh, like it was another chore on her list. Then came the cream. Cool, thick, and sticky as she spread it across my skin with her fingers.

“You’ll get changed like this every morning. Every night. And in between, depending on what you do. You don’t need to worry about that anymore. I’ll decide when you’re wet enough.”

She dusted the powder on next, the sickly-sweet scent filling the air.

I lay still. Humiliated. Half-naked. My cock and balls slathered in cream by a woman who used to insult my job, who once told Claire she could’ve done better. Now she was the one between my legs, and I couldn’t even stop her.

She lifted my hips with one hand, slid the fresh diaper under with the other, and patted it into place with a firmness that made me shudder.

The tapes came last. Sharp, loud rips. Like she was sealing something away. Sealing me away.

“All clean,” she said, giving the front of the diaper a light tap with her palm. “Much better. See what happens when we behave?”

I didn’t speak. I didn’t want to.

She guided me, still waddling and red-faced in my fresh diaper, toward the walk-in closet just off the changing area.

I expected linens. Towels. Maybe her robe hanging behind the door. But instead: rows.

Dozens of outfits, hung with meticulous care. Color-coded by type. Labeled bins beneath with matching accessories. Bloomers. Bibs. Socks. Mittens. Racks of onesies. Rompers. Booties. And worse.

Kathy hummed softly as she slid hangers across the rail, like a mother picking out school clothes.

She paused on one.

“Aha,” she said, plucking it down. “This one’s perfect for my soggy boy.”

The shortalls were a washed-out, powdery blue. Matte, soft denim that looked worn to the point of frailty. The straps were wide and a little crooked, stitched with uneven seams that gave them a homemade look, like something made for a costume rather than clothing. The legs ballooned just enough to look ridiculous, gathered with elastic that would puff out no matter how still I stood.

Across the back, two glitter-thread arrows met at the center seam, ending beneath curved, looping letters that read: Oopsie Zone.

My stomach dropped.

As she held them up, the secret of their design became obvious: a flap across the back fastened with neat brass snaps, ready to peel away at a moment’s notice. She gave it a little flick with her thumb, the metal clicking in the quiet room.

“Practical,” she said lightly, holding the outfit up against me. “And adorable.”

She laid it out with a matching pale-yellow T-shirt. Soft. Tight. The kind of cut that would ride up over my belly with every movement.

I didn’t say a word. I didn’t dare. My face burned as she turned back to me.

“Arms up,” she said.

I didn’t move.

Her smile faded.

“Unless you'd rather wear something pink with ruffles and different pronouns?”

My arms shot to the ceiling.

She slid the shirt over my head herself, tugging it into place with that same efficient, practiced neatness she used on everything else. I winced as it settled over mem short in the hem, tight in the sleeves. The fabric hovered over my belly button and padding as if itt had been tailored to humiliate me.

Next came the shortalls. She made me step into them one foot at a time while she crouched in front of me. She tugged them up and over the thick diaper with a few practiced wiggles and tugs, then snapped the straps over my shoulders.

The padded weight beneath pressed out against the fabric like a badge of shame.

She adjusted one strap, ran her hands down the front to smooth it, then gave the crotch a light pat.

Kathy took a step back to admire her handiwork.“There,” she said brightly. “All dressed.”

I felt nauseous. Not just from the diaper. From everything. The exposure. The forced helplessness. My wife’s mother dressing me like a goddamn cartoon character while humming through her morning tea.

Then she reached for the dresser again. Something small and brightly colored sat there. Plastic, round, with a little propeller on top.

“Almost forgot the finishing touch,” she said.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t. She settled the ridiculous cap on my head and gave the propeller a light spin with her fingertip. It twirled once, lazily, then stopped.

“Perfect,” she said, stepping back and lifting her phone.

I stared at the floor, refusing to look in the mirror, which didn’t matter, because she held up her phone anyway.

“Say cheese,” she said sweetly.

I flinched.

The shutter snapped.

“There we go,” she murmured, smiling at the screen. “Let’s let Mommy see how darling her little bedwetter looks.”

She tapped the screen, her arm extended like she was squinting into the sun, index finger stiff as it pecked the message. She murmured to herself as she typed, like she always did when composing texts.

Then she sent it. No way to undo it. No pause. No dignity left.I was dressed. Trapped. And now documented.

And this was just the start of the day, which she proceeded to lay out the schedule for:

“You’ll get three mushy meals a day in your highchair,” she went on, “three bottles, and–if you behave–a few little snackies.”

She turned to look at me, arms folded.

“You will not ask what’s in it. You will not whine about the taste. And if you use grown-up words to complain, you’ll be tasting something much worse.” She tapped her chin, almost playful.

“What’s our word for that again?”

My throat was dry. I didn’t want to say it. But I didn’t want the soap either.

“…Yucky,” I muttered.

Her expression barely flickered, but she gave a small approving nod. “Good boy,” she said, though the phrase was stripped of any praise. Just another box checked.

She moved to the colorful chart on the wall. My name scrawled across the top.

“Sunshines are for dry nights. Rainclouds for wet ones.” She looked over her shoulder. “If we need a new icon for messes, we’ll get one.” She glanced back at me, lips twitching faintly. “After last night, I probably should put two rainclouds.”

“Behavior is tracked separately,” she said briskly. “Obedience. Manners. Attitude. I’ll know if you’re trying, or if you’re sulking. You don’t have to like it here. But you will do what you’re told.”

Of course. This was Kathy.

It had always driven me crazy how rigid she was. Everything in its place. Everything scheduled, timed, sanitized. Claire had inherited all of it. The cleaning routines, the pre-packed weekend bags, the rotating chore charts. When we got married, our kitchen pantry was organized like a grocery store. That was Claire. That was Kathy’s legacy.

But this? This wasn’t just control. It was weaponized discipline.

“You’ll get three diaper checks. Morning, after lunch, and before bed,” she continued, closing the drawer softly. “You do not decide when you get changed. You’ll wait until I say so. If I suspect you’re holding it? Wel..l.” Her tone cooled. “We have ways of dealing with that.”

I didn’t dare ask what that meant.

“You get tummy time at least once a day. Playpen time. Quiet time. Nap time.” She slid the drawer fully closed with a crisp click. “And if you’re really lucky, a supervised trip outside. But only if you’ve earned it. Only if you’ve been good.”

She turned toward me, expression hardening.

“No furniture unless you’re invited. No standing without permission.”

Then, as if it were the most natural rule in the world:

“And you are not to touch yourself. Ever.” She looked between my legs with cold disdain, then back up at me with a viscous glare. “I will know.”

I blinked, stunned. “Wh-what??”

She stepped closer, voice ice-cold. “You heard me.”

The room felt suddenly tighter. Hotter.

It wasn’t just the words, it was who was saying them. My wife’s mother, staring me down like some overbearing matron, laying down rules for when I could or couldn’t even touch myself. Like I was some perverted little delinquent who needed his urges policed.

“I know the signs,” she added crisply. “A certain kind of rocking. A certain kind of whining. A certain smell.”

My face flushed with rage and shame all at once.

“If you try it, there will be consequences,” she said simply. “Severe ones.”

I didn’t speak. Couldn’t. There was no rebuttal, no dignity left to stand on. Her voice softened, but it didn’t get kinder.

“That part of you got you into this mess in the first place, and if you continue down that path, you will be in even more of a mess. Trust me.”

I stayed frozen.

She turned slowly.

“Understood?”

“…Y-yes, ma’am,” I said quietly.

Her eyebrows lifted.

I hesitated, then added, voice barely audible:

“…Yes, Gam-Gam.”

She smiled. Not warm. Not kind. Just satisfied.

Inside, I was cursing her. Cursing the smug tilt of her chin, the way she spoke to me like I was something to be trained. I wanted to tell her exactly what she could do with her rules, her chart, and her fake little smile. But I didn’t. Because I knew how it worked now.  Every word, every look, every tiny rebellion would be charted, judged, and controlled.

And if I ever wanted my life back…

I’d have to earn it.

One wet diaper at a time.

To Be Continued

Chapter 5 of this story just went live on Subscribestar if you would like to check it out! Your support really means a lot to me. Thank you so much for reading :)

[diaperpantysissy]

Mommy

The day started like every other day in my new life: with the gentle, crinkling sound of my own humiliation. I was lying in the oversized crib in the corner of the nursery, the morning light filtering past the pink bars. Between my legs, a thick, thirsty diaper was already damp from the night, a constant, heavy reminder of my place. On top of the diaper, for no other reason than her amusement, I was wearing a pair of frilly, lace-trimmed pink panties. They did nothing to hide the bulk, only accentuating it, a sissy's paradox of trying to be pretty while being utterly helpless.

Her footsteps on the hardwood floor signaled my awakening. She entered the room, a tall, imposing figure in a silk robe, a smirk playing on her lips. "Good morning, my little puddle-maker," she cooed, her voice dripping with condescending affection. "Did my baby girl have a wet night?"

I could only whimper around the pacifier gag strapped securely in my mouth, my cheeks burning with a familiar mix of shame and arousal. She unlocked the crib rail and leaned over, her hand pressing against the front of my diaper, feeling the sodden padding. "Oh, yes. A very wet girl." She untaped the diaper, the cool air a shock against my skin as she cleaned me with cold, wet wipes. The process was clinical, devoid of any real intimacy, treating me like the infant I was dressed as.

But the infant routine was just the beginning. After she powdered me and taped me into a fresh, thick diaper, the real dressing began. Today's outfit was a special one. From the wardrobe, she produced a matching set of bra and panties, both black and adorned with delicate white ribbons. "Hold your arms up, princess," she commanded. I obeyed instantly. She fastened the bra around my chest, the empty cups a cruel joke against my flat chest. Then came the panties, pulled up over the thick diaper, the tight fabric digging into my hips and the leg bands, making the diaper even more prominent.

Next came the stockings. She sat me on the edge of the changing table and carefully rolled the sheer, black nylon up my smooth, shaved legs, attaching them to a lacy garter belt she wrapped around my waist. I looked down at myself: a grotesque parody of a seductive woman, my legs clad in sexy stockings that led up to the humiliating bulk of a baby's diaper.

The final piece was always the worst, and therefore the best. She opened her drawer of toys and selected a thick, flesh-colored dildo, complete with a suction cup base. She held it up to my face, her eyes locking with mine. "You know what to do, baby girl." I leaned forward, my pacifier gag removed for this specific ritual, and began to kiss and lick the head of the silicone cock. She watched, her expression one of bored amusement, as I took it into my mouth, my lips stretching around its girth.

"Good girl," she said, patting my head. "Practice makes perfect." She then stuck the dildo to the floor, right in front of the full-length mirror. "Now, show Mommy how a sissy baby girl rides her toy."

Blushing furiously, I got down on my hands and knees, the crinkle of my diaper loud in the quiet room. I backed up carefully, positioning myself over the dildo. With one hand, I pulled the crotch of the panties and the leg band of the diaper aside, exposing my puckered hole. Slowly, I lowered myself onto the toy, the unrelenting pressure giving way to a full, stretched sensation as it slid inside me.

I began to move, rocking back and forth, fucking myself with the dildo on the floor. In the mirror, I could see the entire pathetic spectacle: a sissy in a bra, stockings, and a diaper, impaled on a rubber cock, my face a mask of degraded ecstasy. She sat in a nearby chair, legs crossed, sipping her coffee and watching my performance. "That's it, ride it," she'd encourage. "Show me how much you love being a diapered little fuck-toy."

The humiliation was a physical force, a heat that spread through my entire body. The contrast was overwhelming: the soft, infantile diaper against my skin, the feminine lingerie that mocked my masculinity, the hard, unyielding dildo filling me up. I was a collage of perversions, a sissy, a baby, a slut, all at once. And as I bounced on the floor, my padded bottom slapping against my heels, I knew there was nowhere else in the world I would rather be. I was her diaper sissy baby girl, and this was my purpose.

[miss-natalie-deactivated2025122]

Build a Better Baby - Through Boredom!

Let's face it -- your diapered kiddo is going to do whatever you say. Whether it's because they're your sweet, submissive angel (😇) or your freshly spanked brat (😭), your Little will be watching the baby cartoons you tell them to watch. They will play with whatever tinker toys you set in front of them. They will waddle off to bed at the early hour you choose.

But that's not regression. That's compliance.

If you want your pamper packer bouncing up and down at the idea of playing with their shape sorter and bead maze, you need to prime their brains with boredom.

30 minutes.

Every day.

Put them in a fresh diaper, plug in their paci, and lay them down for Tummy Time. Take their phone away. No screens, no books, no music, no conversation, no distractions. Your little one is just going to suckle and stare at the floor. They shouldn't be uncomfortable, but they shouldn't be cozy enough to nap, either.

Do you know how long 30 minutes feels when you have nothing to keep your mind occupied? They are going to be bored out of their mind.

Then, after a couple of weeks of this strange torture, you hand them a toy. Maybe a dolly or a stack of blocks. A spinny wheel that makes animal noises. A box of crayons and some paper.

You won't even have to tell them to play with it. Their starved, shriveling little brains won't be able to resist making their stuffies dance, or soaking in the primary colors of their 9-piece puzzle.

The fun part will come the next time they earn a punishment. Nothing devious or creative. Just say:

No toys for Tummy Time.

And they'll realize what all those blocks and shapes and dolls and crayons have come to mean for them. They might even start crying. They're back to staring at the floor, counting out an eternity of seconds, when all they want in the universe is their spinny wheel that reminds them that the cow says "Moo."

Use boredom.

Reposted from my deleted prettyprettypaci2 blog. This is my content.

[imtellingmommytoo]

How'd ya sleep?

Hey there, 'big guy!' How'd ya sleep? Well, my name's Brad, I'm Tiffany's boyfriend. Y'know, Tiffany, your 'babysitter?' Oh, right, you only know her as 'Miss Tiffy.' Well, let's just say I'm a good friend of Miss Tiffy, sort of a...'special' friend. Anyway, she asked me to help out here and bring you this. Gotta have your morning ba-ba, right? Alright, look, this is totally weird, but I'll level with you, buddy. Tiff filled me in on a few details this morning. This is supposed to be a typical week-long sitting gig, for a single mom who's out of town. Now, Tiff and I usually take advantage of these longer jobs and hang out together. It can get lonely being stuck with little ones. This job, though? This is a new one. Haven't come across a 'tot' like you before. But Tiff assures me that you're just like any of her other jobs, mostly.

I'll admit, there were some red flags when she told me about you (still are). And I'm not too happy about her 'changing you.' Yeah, that just sounds like some F'd-up way to get her to touch your junk! Luckily, (for your sake), she calmed me down. She says that it's tucked away, locked up in some cage...down there? Just know, at some point here, I'm gonna need to see proof that little dick of yours really is out of the picture. And don't think just because you're dressed up like a baby doesn't mean you're not old enough to get your ass kicked here, guy.

So, a single mom, huh? Jesus! Well, I guess it makes sense you'd still live at home with your mother. Wait, what, she isn't? Oh man, this keeps getting better! Not sure if it's more or less pathetic that it's actually your wife who's your...' Mommy.'

But here you are, in a big nursery, all dressed up for the part. And your 'Mommy' had to go out of town for work? Right, right. This is a lot to take in, man. So, are you always, you know, dressed up like this? Are you 'special needs,' or something? No? Well, I guess I've heard of kink play before, but this is a new one for me.

So, what's your angle here? Are you just some perv pretending to be a baby? Yeah, do you get off on exposing yourself to my girlfriend during a diaper change? Aw, what's the matter, loser, wifey not giving it to you anymore? Can't imagine why! So, what? You thought you'd get lucky with my girlfriend? Tiff's not some fetish worker, ya'know, she's an actual sitter/nanny for families.

But apparently, your wife convinced her. And Tiff says she feels 'totally safe,' that you're 'no threat of any kind,' and that she 'treats you like all the rest, just with bigger diapers.' Well, I still don't trust it. You'd better be paying Tiff well. Actually, how much is this costing you? Oh, right, I'm sure your 'Mommy' handles all the finances around here, huh? Yeah, I imagine it's tough for someone like you to hold down one of those 'big boy' jobs, hmm?

So, last night, when I came over. I'm sure you heard me and Tiff, right? Yeah, well, I didn't know what was going on with your 'situation' here, or whatever. I figured Tiff had already tucked…I guess that'd been YOU… in for the night. So, it seemed like we had the house to ourselves.

Heh, sorry if we were a little loud last night there, champ. But, ya'know how it is when your woman's ready for some action, right? Well, in your case, maybe not so much. I mean, a full diaper like that, you're playing more of a 'little man,' than 'ladies' man,' am I right? Yep, I thought you were just some little tyke back here, put to bed, sound asleep.

Hmm. I guess if you really had any agency here, you would've confronted us, though, right? I know you had to have heard us. Tiff can get...pretty loud. So, I imagine if you could, you would've 'pressed pause' on this whole 'baby thing' to kick a stranger out of your house, interrupting your sleepy time, no?

Yeah, so why didn't you just hop out of your crib here, waddle your little butt down the hall, and say your…I don't know, like your 'safe word,' or something? I mean, this is your house, right? All this is for your entertainment, yeah? Your wife hired my girlfriend as 'Miss Tiff the Babysitter,' giving you an 'authentic baby experience,' or whatever. I'm sure hearing the two of us having 'adult time' doesn't really fit the 'infantile ambiance' you're going for. Yeah, I bet you didn't appreciate the two of us fucking like rabbits in YOUR house, especially since 'Miss Tiff' is technically still on the clock this whole week, right?

Although...maybe this isn't YOUR house? What I mean is, maybe you're not actually the one who's truly 'in charge' here. Tiff did say your wife runs the household; most of the mothers that hire her kinda do.

So, answer me this, buddy: if that little pee-pee of yours is all caged up under your diaper there, then what the hell are you even getting from all of this? It's not like you can rub one out, right?

So, I'll ask again, what's the deal here? Did you and the wife flirt with some roleplay and fall down the rabbit hole, or something?

Whoa! Yikes! I mean, look, man. I get it. Tiff's got a bit of a dominant streak, too. But, dude, I think you messed up here. You gave up way too much power.

Some chicks, man. Once they get a taste of that control, watch out! Not sure here, but it seems like your wife may have tapped into some feelings of being intensely needed? Or maybe she just likes putting you in your place. Whatever it is, there are obviously some powerful emotions surrounding this. And well, with these types of power exchanges, you don't just give'm up easily. There's this buddy of mine, when his girl figured out how to run his ass. Granted, not as intense as your situation, but still, he's been a pussy whipped bitch ever since. He seems happy, though. So, who am I to judge?

(Sigh)

Alright, I suppose in some weird way, this whole needing a babysitter thing makes a little more sense. If your wife sees and keeps you as a baby now, then, like any good 'Mommy,' she'd hire a sitter to look after you, right? And, technically, Tiff vouched for you, too. So, I guess, this whole 'baby thing' with your wife is legit. Ah-well, guess you can't be trusted home alone anymore. Huh, little guy? Damn, you actually live like this, crazy, man, crazy!

Ah, jeeze. Now I just kinda feel bad. Sorry about the threats before, man. I just had to make sure you weren't some weird perv trying to trick and assault Tiff. You understand? I mean, this is definitely strange. But you're actually helpless here. And from the smell of you, I can tell you really are committed to… well, I'd call it a 'bit,' but at this point, it's more of a 'lifestyle.' So, just keep playing your part, I guess, and live that best-baby-life. Keep it innocent, and we'll get along fine, lil-guy.

Hey, I know! Later on, this evening, after you've been put down for the night. Maybe Tiff and I will 'sleep' in your Mommy's room. We could do it on her bed this time. How's that sound? Hey man, don't worry, I'll hook you up. I'll leave the door open and let you have another listen! You probably don't get to watch much porn these days with parental controls and all. Seriously, though. We'll put that bed to good use. I mean, someone should be satisfied in your Mommy's bed, right? Because she's probably not with a 'big baby' like you around. Hey, man? Want me to help your Mommy out sometime, throw a piece her way? Woah! Shh! Shh! Calm down, I'm just teasing ya, bud.

Hey, one last thing, though, before I forget. I saw some beer out in the fridge. You wouldn't mind if I… Ha-ha, wait, why am I even asking you? Of course, you don't mind, that's not for little ones like you. Never mind, buddy, don't worry about it. Tiff and I got it handled around here. You just work on that ba-ba, and I'll let Tiff know you're ready for a new diaper.

See ya around, sport!

[stinky-in-pinky]

Soggy Breakfast

“Uhh… what do you think you're doing?" Her voice cuts through the kitchen. Startling you into a statue. She leans in the doorway, arms crossed, one eyebrow arched so high it could touch the ceiling.

You freeze with one hand on the Cinnamon Toast Crunch, your cheeks go scarlet as soon as she uses the tone that tells you you're in trouble.

"Did I say you could get out of your crib this morning?" she intoned. "Hmm? Because last time I checked, Littles who sleep in diapers don’t get to waddle around the house all by themselves. That's how accidents happen. So when you wake up all crinkly and helpless, you wait in your crib and cry like a wittle baybee for Mommy to come get you and check your diaper!"

All you can do is stand there, quivering.

She sighs. “Come here. Right now.” she says. "Let me check your pampers." She doesn't raise her voice. She just uses that firm tone that let's you know she is not to be trifled with.

You whimper as you shuffle forward.

Without any further ceremony, she reaches one hand out and clamps the front of your diaper, squeezing, pressing, poking, prodding. Firm and unforgiving. She slides her hand lower, cupping the sagging crotch, then gives it a slow, deliberate grope that makes you whimper and shift on your feet. The soggy plastic crinkles loudly in the quiet kitchen.

But she still wasn't done, she wanted to further press the humiliation into you. "Hands on your head, spread your legs, you know how this goes..."

You obey instantly, thighs trembling as you shuffle them apart. The swollen padding droops another several inches between your legs. She hefts it in her palm and lets it drop, making you feel the wait of it tug at your hips, then clicks her tongue. You whimper, knees buckling a little as she keeps squeezing and prodding, poking the puffy padding like she’s testing fruit.

“My goodness. Absolutely soaked! And this is the diaper you thought you were going to start your morning in? Just toddling around the kitchen like a 'big boy' while this...” she gives it another squishy pat “is swinging between your legs?? Do you really think someone who can’t make it through one single night without turning his Waddlers into a water balloon should be trusted alone in the kitchen?!"

Her words sting, especially since she has a point. All you can do is shake your head.

“If you had just stayed in your crib like a good widdle baybee, Mommy would’ve come in, changed this nasty diaper, and made you a nice bowl of oatmeal. But nooo, you don’t even seem to care that you’re walking around with a soggy load between your legs, do you? Have you gotten so used to being wet that you don’t even notice anymore? What does that say about you? What kind of ‘grown man’ doesn’t notice he’s marinating in his own pee?”

You don't know what to say, you just hang your head in embarrassment, face on fire as you mumble something incoherent.

“And what is this?” She grabs the box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch off the counter and shakes it at you. “Did somewon think he was gonna get the fun cereal today? Oh no no no, honey! Sugary stuff is for big boys who use the potty. It's for people who don’t tinkle in their sleep! You need lots and lots of healthy fiber to keep you packing those Pampers nice and full, don’t you?”

She grabs the box of high-fiber bran pellets. The gray, tasteless nuggets that might as well be dog kibble, and holds it up to your face.

“Down.” She says. One sharp word making you drops to your hands and knees without thinking, diaper squishing loudly with every movement.

She pours the bran straight into a plastic bowl and sets it on the floor in front of you.

“Naughty babies who sneak out of their cribs don’t get yummy breakfast. And they don't get to use their hands,” she says, voice firm and resolute like she’s talking to a puppy who peed on the rug. “They eat on the floor like the helpless little pets they are. Go on. Face in the bowl. And no spoon for you. Big boys use spoons, remember? And you’re clearly not one of those...”

You whimper again, louder this time, but lower your head. The wet bulk between your thighs forcing your knees wide as you lean forward. You hesitate only a second before dipping your face in and lapping at the dry, chalky pellets, gagging at the sawdust taste while she watches. She doesn't smile or laugh, her face is stern and almost pained. Like she doesn't want to have to do this to you.

“That’s it,” she says encouragingly, patting you on the head with one hand, and the back of your plump diaper with the other. “Lap it up. All those wittle fiber bits are gonna help keep those diapers nice and full for Mommy, aren’t they?”

You cough and gag on the dry pebbles of sawdust. She pats your back to keep you from choking.

"Awww. Go slow if you have to, sweetie. But eat it allll up! Mommy’s going to go make your bottle so you don’t choke on your own breakfast!”

She moves to the counter, humming softly as she warms a bottle, glancing back at you every few seconds. You're still coughing, trying to chew the pellets clinging to your lips.

“See?” she says, shaking her head as she fills the bottle. “This is why Mommy has to do things for you. You really thought you could handle all of this by yourself? Pouring cereal? Getting milk out of the fridge? Sweetheart, the milk would be everywhere. You could slip and fall and bonk that precious little head of yours!”

She shakes the bottle lightly so that the milk mixes with the powdered formula and prune juice, then dabs a little on her arm to make sure it's not too hot.

“No hands,” she reminds you as she sets it on the floor straight up beside the bowl. “Big boys use spoons and sippy cups. Baybees who sneak around and can’t even be trusted to stay in their crib use their mouths.”

Your lower lip trembles.

“Go on!” she says, voice sweet as honey. “Put your lips around the nipple. Give it nice, steady suckies for Mommy. You can even pretend it's Daddy's 'thingy' like when he comes over.”

You lower yourself down, face burning, and latch onto the rubber nipple. The warm milk dribbles the moment you start to suck.

“Mmm. Good boy,” she praises, stroking your back in slow, soothing circles. “Just like that. Drink your milkies and finish your fiber like Mommy’s good widdle puddle-maker!”

You suckle miserably, cheeks hollow, tears threatening as the bland cereal mixes with the thick liquid coating your tongue.

She continues patting your diaper and talking you through it. "You know I hate to do this to you, honey, don't you? But it's for your own good! I need to teach you a lesson so you don't go off getting yourself hurt!!" She strokes your hair as you continue alternating between chewing and suckling. "Mommy knows best, sweetheart. Mommy always knows best. Because Mommy’s the one who checks your diapers, feeds you, wipes your messy bottom, and makes sure you don’t accidentally burn the house down trying to play grown-up!”

Her hands move up your back and under your shirt. Her skin on yours is surprisingly soothing.

“After this, we’re putting you on your tummy in the living room for cartoons. You're staying in that diaper. And when that breakfast starts working its way through your wittle belly… Mommy will be right there to watch every single second of you losing control and helplessly packing the seat of your pamper. Because clearly you can’t be trusted alone for even five whole minutes!”

She pats the back of your soggy padding one last time.

“No more sneaking around, baybee boy. Next time you feel tempted to play big boy… just check your diaper first. That cold, squishy, stinky reality between your legs? Maybe that will remind you exactly who needs to be in charge around here.”

She leans in and kisses the top of your sniffling head. Wrapping you in a tight hug as you finish your breakfast.

“It's okay, sweetie." she says, shhing you and rocking you back and forth on the floor. "Mommy’s got you…helpless is your normal now. But I'll always be right here! Forever and ever...”

**************

Thanks to aislopxxx for the amazing pictures!

[stinky-in-pinky]

I'm sorry honey, but did you really think I would keep having sex with you?

You got what you wanted! You get to prance around the house in your little pampers! But sweetie, changing your poopy diapers doesn't exactly give me the hots for you. In fact, I can't really look at you the same anymore.

Awww!! But don't worry, sweetheart! You'll still get to cum! It will just be once a month and you'll have to hump your huggies in front of all my friends!

Yes, you heard right: once a month!

What? It's not my fault you wanted me to put you in chastity as well! You really dug your own grave here, sweetie.

So, no baybee. You and I won't be having sex anymore. But Mommy still has needs! Do you remember Mr. Michael? He's the contractor you hired to build all your little baybee furniture! Let's just say he's drilling more than just the screws to your high chair! He's been taking care of Mommy real well!

Maybe you could call him Daddy? I'm sure he would like that. He'd also probably like it if you sucked his dick. Remember? That was another little fantasy of yours too! You wanted to be a little cocksucker!

See honey? All your dreams are coming true! Aren't I just the best wife you could ever ask for??

[stinky-in-pinky]

Under Her Roof

The cartoons giggled again.

Some over-animated character bouncing across the screen, squeaky and bright, like nothing was wrong. Like I wasn’t lying flat on my back in front of the TV, legs bent, a loaded diaper bulging around my hips while my mother-in-law hovered above me.

“Well, well,” Carol murmured, tugging at the first tape with that awful practiced ease. “Looks like somebody had a wittle accident while watching his Saturday morning toons!”

Just peeling one of the tapes seemed to set off a stink bomb. My face flushed.

Carol didn’t even flinch.

“Oh, please,” she rolled her eyes. “You think I haven’t dealt with worse? I changed my husband’s diapers in his final months. You think this fazes me?”

The second tape came loose. Then the third. Then the last. She peeled back the front of the diaper and made a sharp, mocking gasp.

“Wow!” She let the word hang in the air. “Now that’s a mess! I should send a whiff of this to Lindsey, remind her exactly what she escaped.”

I couldn’t look at her. Not like this. Not sprawled on the rug in a onesie pushed up to my chest, caged, swollen, and filthy. A grown man lying in his own mess while the hands of his Mother-in-Law went to work.

I didn’t protest. Not after yesterday. Not after she dragged me by the wrist, pulled me over her lap like I weighed nothing, and spanked me until I was crying into the carpet. Not after she marched me to the sink, shoved that pink bar of soap between my teeth, and told me  “When you live under my roof, baby boy, sass gets scrubbed and backtalk gets bubbles. Now open wide for Gam-Gam!”

My ass still throbbed. My mouth still tasted like soapy shame. There was no fight left in me. Just habit. Just surrender.

“This is what cheating on my daughter gets you,” she said calmly as she grabbed a handful of wipes. “I told her. From day one. ‘Watch him. He’s too smooth. Too smug.’ But she was so sure...”

She gripped my ankles together and lifted my legs high—too high—and began wiping, slow and deliberate. I hated how familiar it felt. How easily my body just… obeyed. How it lifted, opened, responded to her touch like we’d been doing this for years.

I didn’t speak. I never did during changes. It only made things worse.

But my mind wandered.

It was only supposed to be temporary. Just a “cooling off period” while Lindsey figured out what she wanted. I couldn’t stay in our apartment, not after she found the screenshots. Not after she confronted me with names and dates and emails.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t cry. She just packed a bag and called her mother. But the bag wasn’t for Lindsey. It was for me.

Now? I live here. Crib. Highchair. No pants. No privacy.

And the worst part? Carol thrives on it.

And now I’m lying here messy, naked, and vulnerable while my bitch of a mother-in-law wipes my buttcheeks. 

“Do you think she regrets not divorcing you?” her voice dropped, cold and low. “She could have. Still could. But she wanted you punished. And I told her, don’t worry, sweetie, I’ll take care of him!”

She emphasized that last part with a cold wipe, dragging it deliberately between crack.

I gasped.

“Not so fun when it’s the mother-in-law wiping your little hole, is it?” she smirked. “But you didn’t think about consequences when you were chasing other women, did you?”

Another wipe. Slower this time. Cruel.

“You think you’re degraded now?” she went on. “This is nothing. I’ve barely started.”

She held my legs up with one arm while reaching for another wipe. Her movements were smooth, clinical. My legs shook slightly, the air cold on my raw skin.

“I sniffed you out immediately,” Carol continued, and I honestly wasn’t sure if she was referring to the past, or my diaper right now. “I knew. I knew you were going to be a headache. You with your little half-smirk and your smug little jokes.”

She spread my knees wider, still in the air. The mess was bad. Her wipes were rough and unmerciful. I bit my lip.

“But she wouldn’t listen. ‘Mom, he’s different.’ ‘Mom, he’s sweet to me.’ Mm-hmm.”

She gave my thigh a smack. Not hard. Not gentle.

“And now look at you.”

She dropped the soiled wipes into the sagging diaper beneath me and sighed, deep and dramatic.

“A grown man. In my living room. Filling diapers and pretending to play with rattles.”

I hated her. Always had. Carol was the type of woman who rearranged your kitchen cabinets when she visited. Who refolded laundry you’d already put away. She had opinions about everything, everything, especially about me.

The very first night I moved in, she handed me the plain white diaper and told me to lie down on the bed. I laughed.

She didn’t.

She grabbed me by the ear, dragged me across the room like a misbehaving schoolboy, and bent me over the arm of the couch. The paddle came out of nowhere. Hard, thick, and unforgiving. I kicked. I pleaded. I sobbed into the cushions.

Ironic, really. I cried like a baby before she even got the diaper on.

I didn’t laugh after that.

Now, her grip on my ankles relaxed as she peeled off the final wipe and gave one last swipe across my swollen balls, clinical and cold. She folded the wipe neatly and balled up the swollen, reeking diaper.

“You’ve already filled the pail again,” she said without looking at me. Just a flat observation. A fact.

She dropped the warm, bloated, humiliating bundle next to my head with a dull thud. She liked to make me continue to see—and smell—my shame while she went on with the change.

“You’ll be taking it to the curb tonight,” she added. “No pants.”

She grabbed a clean diaper from the basket, plain white, thick as a pillow, and held it up with a wicked witch of a smile. “Time for baybee’s fresh, diapy!”

The plastic crackled loudly in her hands as she unfolded it with a practiced snap, the sound slicing through the room like a verdict. Then she fluffed it, once, twice, with both hands, letting the thick padding swell with air.

“Pathetic,” she muttered. “You know what the worst part is? It’s not even surprising anymore. You being like this. Helpless. Pliable. Begging me not to tell my daughter what a little baby she married.”

She lifted my legs easily, so practiced now, and I hated how familiar it had all become. How my body knew exactly how to raise my hips. How I instinctively opened up without even being told. She slid the diaper underneath me in one smooth motion. The fresh padding met the warmth of my skin with a humiliating softness, exaggerated by the cool air still lingering between my cheeks.

“Lower,” she ordered calmly. “Unless you want me to double you up this time. That oughta make your waddle to the curb more amusing.”

I obeyed.

“I hope you understand that this is your reality now,” she said. “Not a punishment. Not temporary. You live here. You belong here. Under my roof. Under my eye. And under my thumb.”

I bit the inside of my cheek.

She squirted a dollop of lotion into her palm and rubbed her hands together with a slow, deliberate motion. The cold slickness landed on my caged length without warning, and I flinched.

“Still sensitive?” she murmured flatly, spreading the lotion around the base of the cage. “I don’t know why I bother. It’s not like you’ll ever use this for anything worthwhile again.”

She rubbed it in with broad, firm strokes. Too clinical to be gentle, too familiar to be innocent. Carol didn’t move for a moment. Just stared at the cage like she was evaluating a defective product.

“You know what really amazes me?” she said finally, tone flat. “How optimistic it still is. That pathetic little twitch. Like it thinks there’s a future for it.”

Her finger pressed against the tip of the metal prison, slow and deliberate. It sent an aching jolt through me. Nothing satisfying, just dull, needy pressure. The kind that reminded me how long it had been.

“It’s sad, really. You haven’t had a proper release in… what? A month? Six weeks?” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Not that anything that comes out of this thing could be called proper.”

I winced, cheeks burning.

“Oh, don’t act wounded,” she said coolly. “You signed all that over the moment you decided to unzip for strangers. You don’t get pleasure anymore. You get consequences.”

“Lindsey could’ve cut it off, you know,” she went on, fingers circling beneath the ring. “But she said this was funnier. More manageable.” She gave it a little tap. Clink.

“Personally, I think keeping it locked is too generous. You’ve already proven you can’t be trusted with control. Can’t keep it in your pants, can’t keep it dry, can’t even keep it from dribbling when someone says the right word.”

Her hand paused. I felt her slide downward, between my crack. But this time it wasn’t to wipe it. Instead, I felt her finger poke and probe and find my hole with ease. “You can’t even keep from dribbling when I do this!” I whimpered as she pushed her finger into me, squirming and writhing on the floor on top of my crinkling diaper.

She pressed a firm hand down on my pelvis, forcing me down. “Hold still. Take it like a good boy! Control yourself.”

She worked it in and out in a ‘come hither’ motion, pressing against my spot, then slipping a second finger in.

“I really need to do this in front of Lindsey,” she said with a wicked grin, “If only she could hear the pathetic little noises you make!”

I whimpered and whined until she finally decided to withdraw her fingers. “Better not let you have too much fun. Don’t need you spewing and spurting on your fresh diaper!”

Still, she showed me the large amount of drippage raining out of my cage before reaching in her basket again.

I stiffened.

She held the plug up with another one of her sinister grins.  But this one was bigger than usual. The moment I saw the girth of it, my breath hitched.

“You’re getting this,” she said, crisp and final. “Because I’m not dealing with another messy diaper today.”

I whimpered and found my voice for the first time. “Carol, please…”

Her eyes snapped to mine.

“You do not call me ‘Carol’ in this house,” she said coolly. “You want to act like a grown man? Then stop soiling your diapers. Until then, you’ll address me properly.”

I swallowed hard, ashamed. “Yes, Gam-Gam.”

“Good boy,” she said dryly, like it was a title I didn’t deserve. “Now hush that whining. You’re getting this plug whether you whimper or wail.”

I tried not to stare at it, but I couldn’t help myself. It was terrifyingly large. To remind me, with every step, shift, or crinkle, exactly who was in charge.

I opened my mouth.

She raised a brow.

“Unless you’d prefer Gam-Gam put on her strap and give you a slam-slam, hmm?”

I shut it.

“Wise.”

She patted the back of my thigh, not kindly. “Now be still. And raise up. You know the position.”

I did. God help me, I did.

My hips lifted, legs spread just as she’d trained me. 

She was at least kind enough to squirt a generous amount of gel on the tip, swirling slowly, then spreading a thick layer over the bulb of the plug. My stomach knotted.

She guided it toward me slowly. I gasped the moment the cold gel touched me.

“Too big?” she mocked, pressing the head gently against my entrance. “Too bad. This pain is nothing compared to what you made my daughter feel. Now hold still, and take it.”

I bit my lip. My cage throbbed uselessly, and as the plug began to stretch me open, I whimpered again. Long, low, helpless. She pushed the plug the rest of the way in with a firm, final motion. I grunted and grabbed at the sides of the changing mat. She gave the base a little twist before letting go. Just enough to make sure I felt it.

“Better,” she said, brushing her hands off like the job was done. “Now maybe you’ll stay clean for the rest of the day.”

Then she chuckled, low and amused.

“You know,” she said, cleaning her fingers with a wipe. “Lindsey told me something funny the other day.”

I froze.

“She said you and her new boyfriend Tyler had a little… ‘moment.’”

My throat tightened. I didn’t speak. I didn’t dare.

Carol  arched a brow, casually tugging a wipe free, not even looking at me.

“She wouldn’t tell me what it was. Just made a face and said, ‘TMI, Mom.’” She smirked. “As if I haven’t seen everything there is to see.”

Her eyes dropped to my cage. She tapped it again. One finger. Sharp.

“I change your diapers. I wipe your hole. I lock you up so you don’t stroke your pathetic little nub in the night. But somehow that was too much for her to share.”

I squirmed, face burning hotter than ever.

“Whatever happened between you and Tyler,” she said, slowly sliding the wipe along the rim of the plug, “must’ve been awfully messy. You always come back from your little visits practically guzzling your bottles. Like there’s something you’re desperate to wash out of your mouth.”

I whimpered.

“And the plugs?” she added, matter-of-fact. “They go in much easier afterward. Funny how that works...”

She powdered me without ceremony, slapped it in with firm palms, then taped me up—snug, secure, sealed.

Each tab felt like a verdict.

Once it was on, she gave the front a few smoothing pats and stood.

“Okay, sugarbuns,” Carol said, lifting her phone. “Mommy Lindsey wants her update.”

I whimpered, already knowing what was coming.

Carol snapped her fingers. “Sit up. You don’t get to just lie there like a lazy little stink. Sit. Now.”

I obeyed, crinkling loudly as I clambered upright, the bulk of the diaper shifting beneath me, every movement making me wince from the oversized plug, seated firmly where she’d left it. My bib hung crooked against my chest, and I didn’t dare adjust it.

She handed me two oversized plastic rattles. I tried to hold them with some dignity, but there was no way. They flopped awkwardly in my fists as I struggled to grip them properly.

Carol stepped closer and yanked the bib tighter around my neck. It caught my chin. I winced.

“‘Mommy’s Messy Mistake,’” she read aloud, tapping the sparkly lettering on the front. “Cute, right? I think it’s your color.”

She shoved the large bulb of my pacifier into my mouth and took a step back, raising her phone.

“And…bounce!” she said flatly. “Mommy likes to see how well you follow directions.”

I started bouncing. Hesitant at first. Each motion made the diaper squish, the soft plastic rustling under me. The plug shifted with every movement, adding an extra layer of humiliation.

“Babble,” Carol directed. “She wants to hear you. Drooly and dumb, just like always.”

“Buh-buh-ba…” I whimpered, feeling absolutely as pathetic as I must have looked, the pacifier in my mouth making my ‘words’ garbled and drooly. “Muh-muh…”

“Louder!”

I bounced harder. The rattles jingled in my hands. “Baahh… guh… muh-muh-muh…”

Carol zoomed in, panning slowly. “There we go,” she murmured with a satisfied smile. “That’s Mommy’s little shame biscuit. Rattling like a fool with a plug up his bottom. Say hi to Tyler while you’re at it.”

My heart lurched. I looked down.

“Mm-mm, eyes up,” she warned. “Smile for the camera. Let’s show them how well-behaved you are.”

I fought not to cry. My lip trembled. Drool slid down my chin. The rattles jingled.

“...H-hoi Tywurr…f-fank ‘oo fow tweating moy woife bettuhr than oii did…”

“Perfect,” she said. “Now hold up your diapee from earlier. You remember: the one you filled like it was your job.”

She gestured to the balled-up diaper beside me.

Hands shaking, I picked it up. The tapes crackled. It was still warm.

“Show it to the camera,” she said sweetly. “Smile, sugarbuns.”

Click.

Carol tapped a few buttons on her phone, reviewing the shots. A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“Mommy hasn’t come to visit,” she said, almost conversational. “She’s busy. She has Tyler now. But she loves these little updates. Says they make her day.”

I didn’t respond. Couldn’t. My face was hot, my mouth full of the taste of shame and rubber. The rattles drooped in my hands, useless and ridiculous.

She knelt again, brushing her fingers beneath my chin. Her touch was firm–not comforting, but controlling—as she tilted my face up to meet her eyes.

“You made your choices,” she said softly. “And now you live with what you get.”

I blinked hard. A tear slid down my cheek.

“You should be grateful,” she added, standing up and smoothing her skirt. “Some women would’ve left you on the curb...”

She took a step back, hands on her hips.

“Not mine. Lindsey wanted you to learn. And me?” She reached down and gave the front of my diaper a firm pat, just enough to make the plug shift inside me. I gasped.

“I’m a very dedicated teacher.”

I bit my lip.

She pointed to the sagging diaper I’d held up for the camera.

“Pick up your poopy pamper and go put it in the pail.”

I hesitated.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Now.”

I reached for it. It squished in my hand, heavy and warm. She watched me carry it across the room, waddling awkwardly, the plug still lodged snugly inside. I opened the lid and dropped it in. It was full to the brim with all the other dirty diapers I’d made for her this week. The pail hissed as it sealed.

“Good,” she said flatly. “Now meet me at the highchair. My widdle son-in-law needs his mushy num nums!!”

I turned to look at her.

“Let’s go, babycakes. You may not have your wife anymore, but you do have responsibilities. This is my house. My roof.”

She smiled without warmth.

“And under my roof, you follow my rules.”

My knees wobbled. My legs trembled. My face still burned from the photos.

But I obeyed.

Because I had no choice.

Because she was the boss.

Because I was hers now.

[mummyemmatojames]

43. The Power of a Gentle Threat: Keeping My Little Boy in Line

Hello, dear community! Emma here, your Mummy-in-training, with another heartfelt update on our MDLB and FLR journey. One of the most fascinating aspects of our dynamic is how a simple, nurturing threat can work wonders to keep my sweet James in line. When he starts to get out of hand—maybe a sassy tone or a moment of defiance—I’ve found that a calm, firm reminder of consequences, delivered with love, is usually enough to bring him back to his good little boy self. Phrases like “Do you need a nap?” or “Is someone asking for a sore bottom tonight?” almost always do the trick, and I rarely have to follow through with actual punishment. Today, I want to share how these gentle nudges help maintain our dynamic, reinforce our rules, and keep James behaving like the darling boy he is. I’d love to hear how you use similar tools in your own dynamics!

The Magic of a Nurturing Threat

In our MDLB dynamic, structure and boundaries are key to helping James feel safe and cared for in his 10-year-old little space. But like any little boy, he can test those boundaries—maybe he’ll roll his eyes when I ask him to tidy his toys or grumble about his early bedtime. Instead of jumping straight to punishment, I’ve learned that a well-placed, nurturing threat is often all it takes to guide him back. These aren’t harsh or scary; they’re delivered in my soft Mummy voice, with a touch of playfulness or concern, to remind him of the consequences without breaking the loving tone of our dynamic. The beauty is that they work so well, I rarely have to act on them—my little boy is just too sweet to push too far!

How I Use Threats to Keep James in Line

Here are some of the phrases I use when James starts to stray, and how they help him snap back to his best behavior:

“Do you need a nap, little one?”: If James is getting cranky—say, fussing about putting away his Lego—I’ll tilt my head and say, “Oh, my little boy seems tired. Do you need a nap to feel better?” His eyes widen, and he shakes his head fast, knowing a nap means missing playtime. Just last week, he was dragging his feet about cleaning up, and this phrase made him scurry to stack his bricks, mumbling, “No nap, Mummy, I’m good!” It’s adorable how quickly it works, pulling him back to his cooperative little self.

“I think bed an hour early might help improve this attitude.”: When he gets a bit sassy, like talking back about his 7:30 PM bedtime, I’ll say, “Hmm, is someone telling Mummy they need bed at 6:30 tonight?” The thought of losing an hour of evening fun is enough to make him soften. Once, he was grumbling about bath time, and this threat had him in the tub within minutes, splashing bubbles and saying, “I’m being good, Mummy!” It’s like magic—his little boy heart wants to please me, and the threat nudges him there.

“Is someone asking for 10 minutes in the corner?”: If he’s pushing boundaries, like ignoring a rule about asking permission for snacks, I’ll raise an eyebrow and say, “Does my little boy want 10 minutes in the corner to think?” The idea of standing still, facing the wall, is so boring and humbling that he’ll backtrack instantly. Just yesterday, he reached for a biscuit without asking, and this phrase made him pull his hand back, saying, “Sorry, Mummy, may I have one?” His shy smile afterward melts my heart every time.

“Does someone want to go to bed with a very sore bottom or sleep on their front tonight?”: This is my big gun, saved for when he’s really testing me, like snapping during a shopping trip. I’ll say, “Is someone asking for a sore bottom before bed, or do you want to be my good boy?” The memory of recent spankings makes this threat hit hard—he’ll blush, look down, and mumble, “I’ll be good, Mummy.” It’s rare I need this one, but it’s powerful; he knows I mean business, and he’d rather avoid the hairbrush at all costs.

Why It Works So Well

These threats are effective because they tap into James’s desire to be my good little boy while reminding him of the structure we’ve built. They’re not about fear but about reinforcing our dynamic’s boundaries in a way that feels nurturing. Here’s why I think they resonate:

Little Space Connection: The language—calling him “little one” or “my boy”—keeps him anchored in his 10-year-old headspace, where he wants to please Mummy. Even when he’s acting out, these phrases pull him back to that vulnerable, cooperative place.

Clear Consequences: Each threat points to a specific, undesirable outcome (nap, early bed, corner time, spanking), which makes the stakes clear without needing to act. He knows exactly what’s at risk, and his imagination does the rest.

Nurturing Tone: I deliver these with love, not anger, often with a gentle touch like stroking his hair or a playful smile. This keeps him feeling safe, not scolded, so he’s motivated to comply out of love, not fear.

His Sweet Nature: James is such a good boy at heart. The threats remind him how much he values our dynamic, and he’d rather make Mummy proud than face a consequence. His quick apologies and shy smiles show how much he wants to stay in line.

A Recent Example

Last weekend, James was getting a bit cheeky during our grocery shop, whining about wanting something. His tone was sharp, and I could see him teetering on the edge of a meltdown. I leaned in, held his hand, and said, “Does my little boy need 10 minutes in the corner when we get home, or can we be a good helper for Mummy?” His face flushed, and he gripped the trolley tighter, whispering, “I’ll be good.” By the next aisle, he was asking politely for things and even giggling when I teased him about his “helper skills.” That moment showed me how powerful these threats are—no punishment needed, just a nudge to bring my sweet boy back.

The Rare Need for Follow-Through

I’m so grateful that these threats are usually enough, because I don’t enjoy punishing James. The few times we had to use a spanking  was hard on both of us, and I’d rather avoid it. The threats work so well that I’ve only had to send him to the corner once or twice, and early bedtime has happened maybe once in the past month. Each time, he’s been so apologetic afterward, cuddling close and promising to be better. It’s like the threat alone reminds him of our rules and his role, and his good little heart does the rest.

Reflections on Balance

Using threats feels like a delicate dance in our MDLB dynamic. I want to keep our connection loving and nurturing, not let it tip into fear or harshness. I’m careful to use these phrases sparingly, saving them for when he’s truly out of line, so they don’t lose their power. I also make sure to praise him when he complies, saying, “That’s my good boy, making Mummy so proud!” to reinforce his positive behavior. It’s a balance—firm enough to guide, soft enough to love. Seeing how quickly he responds, blushing and eager to please, tells me it’s working for us.

Questions for the Community

How do you use gentle threats or reminders in your dynamic to keep your little one in line? What phrases work best for your partner’s headspace? Have you found ways to make consequences feel nurturing yet effective? And for those whose littles are as sweet as my James, how do you balance discipline with all the cuddles and praise they deserve? I’m so eager to learn from your experiences!

Thank you for being such an amazing community as we navigate these little moments of guidance and love. Your support makes every step of our journey so special!

With all my love,

Emma (aka Mummy) 💕

[imtellingmommytoo]

Your next Easter card...

That's right sissy, it's all locked up now! After all, baby girls don't have pee-pees to play with, why should you? Don't get fussy now, sissy. Like with so many other things in your life now, you'll just get used to it.

Wait! quick, look over there sissy! What is that? Go on now, don't be shy. Waddle over, bend down, and take a closer look.

Did you find something special?

Oh, yay! It's Mr. Bunny, and his two large eggs! Wow sissy, look how proudly Mr. Bunny is standing at attention. And notice his large swollen eggs next to his rigid and gurthy figure!

My, my, if I didn't know any better I think he was mocking you, sissy. I wonder how he found out about your situation? (giggles)

Oh, that's right, I may have mentioned something to Mr. Bunny about my plans for your little..."baby carrot." 🤭

You don't think? You don't think he's "poking" fun at your new "situation?" Well, it's just a little teasing. But, I'll have a talk with him later about "No more poking!" Right, sissy? (Hehe)

Aww, baby don't pout. You can still have a taste of stiff Mr. Bunny. I think he'd want that for you.

At least you can still get swollen like Mr. Bunny's eggs. Is that it, sissy? Is that why you're crying, are your eggs sore and swollen?

It's alright, you'll be fine. And we're almost done with your Easter photoshoot anyway. I wonder, what should we write on your next Easter card to everyone?

I know, how about at the top something like:

"He is risen!" (very traditional)

And then we'll have the picture of you looking down your diapers, searching for something (that you'll never see again) and below that it'll say:

"No, no, sissy baby!

Not down there.

Not anymore...

Happy Easter!"

Or, something like that. We'll work on it.

Images: @baby-jessi

[daddy-and-hislittlegirl02]

Getting dressed 🎀

Yes sweetheart, you look amazing in your new romper and beautiful thick white diaper! All ready to go out with daddy 🥰

Enjoy this cute photoset and video on JFF!

[oliviaasks]

Harsh belt whipping

[edgingforsir]

I’m desperate to cry like this.

[spankinggirlsthatmisbehave-deac]

I'm honestly sick and tired of your attitude

[mistresssage12]

[tiedandlocked]

But is he allowed to help them? Maybe he could undress them or get a strap-on attached to one of the girls.