Hi

30 something M figuring out life and kinks :)

[ameliemommy]

Weekend at Mommy’s

The steering wheel is slick under your palms, the late afternoon sun glinting off the windshield as you pull into the driveway. The house is exactly as it looked in the photos cozy, welcoming, with a swing set in the backyard and a pastel-colored door that seems to whisper, This is where you’re supposed to be. But your stomach is a knot of nerves. You’ve talked to her for months, shared your fears, your desires, the way your little side aches to be let out, to be seen. And now, here you are. David, 28, a man who pays bills and attends meetings and pretends he doesn’t spend his evenings curled up with a stuffed animal, is about to walk into a world where none of that matters.

You kill the engine and sit for a moment, gripping the wheel like it’s the only thing keeping you from bolting. What if it’s not what you thought? What if she laughs? What if you’re not little enough? The doubts swirl, but beneath them, there’s a flicker of something warmer, something that feels like coming home. You take a deep breath, grab your bag from the passenger seat, and step out.

The door opens before you can knock.

She stands there, leaning against the frame with a smirk that makes your knees weak. She’s even prettier in person, soft curves, a knowing glint in her eyes, and a voice that wraps around you like a blanket. “Took you long enough, baby boy,” she teases, arms crossed. “I was starting to think you’d chickened out.”

You swallow, suddenly hyper-aware of how tall you are, how big you feel in your jeans and t-shirt. “N-no, Mommy. Just… traffic.”

She laughs, low and warm, and steps forward to take your bag. “Uh-huh. Traffic made your hands shake?” She nods at your white-knuckled grip on the strap. “Or is it just the thought of what’s waiting for you inside?”

Your face burns. You want to argue, to play it cool, but the way she’s looking at you, like she already knows every secret you’ve ever had, makes the words die in your throat.

She doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she reaches out and takes your hand, her fingers small and warm against yours. “Come on, David. Let’s get you settled.”

The contact sends a jolt through you. It’s so simple, so natural, like she’s done this a hundred times before. And maybe she has. But not with you. Not like this.

The house smells like vanilla and something faintly powdery, like baby lotion. The walls are decorated with framed photos of other littles, some you recognize from her stories, others you don’t. A stuffed elephant sits on a tiny chair in the hallway, watching you with button eyes as Mommy leads you past the living room, down a short corridor, and stops in front of a closed door.

“Here we are,” she says, pushing it open with a flourish.

Your breath catches.

The nursery is more than the photos. The crib in the corner is white, with a mobile of spinning stars above it. A changing table stands against one wall, stocked with wipes and creams and a stack of diapers so thick it makes your pulse race. There’s a playpen, a rocking horse, a shelf overflowing with stuffed animals and board books. And the colors, soft blues and yellows, the kind of pastels that make you feel small just looking at them.

You step inside, your sneakers squeaking on the hardwood, and suddenly the room feels both enormous and suffocating. This is real. This is happening.

Mommy watches you, amused. “Like it?”

You nod, but your voice betrays you. “It’s… a lot.”

She chuckles, stepping closer. “Good. It’s supposed to be a lot.” Her hand lifts, and before you can react, she’s booping your nose. “You’re a big boy out there, David. But in here?” She gestures around. “You’re a little boy. And Mommy takes good care of little boys.”

The words settle over you like a weight, but not an unwelcome one. It’s the kind of pressure that makes your chest tighten, your thoughts fuzzy. You want to argue, to remind her that you’re a grown man, but the way she’s looking at you, like she’s already stripped away every layer of adulthood, makes it hard to remember why that even matters.

“Now,” she says, clapping her hands together. “Let’s get you out of those icky big boy clothes, hmm?”

Your stomach flutters. You’ve talked about this, of course. Boundaries, expectations, the way she likes her littles to look. But talking about it and doing it are two very different things.

She doesn’t wait for you to move. Instead, she starts unbuttoning your shirt herself, her fingers deft as she peels it off your shoulders. You stand there, frozen, as the fabric pools at your feet. Then her hands are at your belt, popping the button on your jeans, tugging the zipper down.

“Lift your feet,” she instructs, and like a good boy, you obey, stepping out of your pants as she pulls them away. You’re left in just your boxers and a t-shirt, feeling absurdly exposed.

Mommy hums, tilting her head as she eyes you up and down. “Much better.” Then she reaches for the hem of your shirt. “Arms up.”

You raise them, and she pulls the fabric over your head, leaving you in nothing but your boxers. The air is cool against your skin, but the heat in her gaze more than makes up for it.

“Cute,” she murmurs, and you know she’s not talking about your face.

Your boxers come next, and for a second, you hesitate. This is the point of no return. But Mommy doesn’t give you time to overthink it. She hooks her fingers in the waistband and tugs, letting them fall to the floor. You step out of them, bare and vulnerable and hers.

She doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t tease. Just smiles, soft and proud, like she’s unwrapping a gift.

“Now,” she says, turning to a dresser and pulling out a thick, white diaper. The crinkle of the plastic is loud in the quiet room. “Let’s get you into something more appropriate.”

You watch, mesmerized, as she unfolds it, the padding so thick it looks like it could swallow you whole. She pats the changing table. “Up you go, baby boy.”

The surface is cool against your bare skin as you lie back, your heart hammering. Mommy moves efficiently, lifting your hips to slide the diaper beneath you, then pulling it up between your legs. The tape is tight as she secures it, the snugness a constant reminder of what you’ve agreed to.

“There,” she says, smoothing the front with a satisfied pat. “All nice and cozy.”

You wiggle your toes, feeling the bulk between your legs. It’s… a lot. More than you expected. But it’s also right. Like a piece of you that’s been missing has finally clicked into place.

She grins, patting your diaper. “And no pants.” She waggles a finger as you open your mouth to protest. “I want to see that cute nappy bum, remember? Besides,” she adds, tapping the front of your diaper, “it’s easier to check on you this way.”

The thought of her checking on you sends another wave of heat to your face.

Next comes the shirt, a soft, short-sleeved Sesame Street tee, the fabric soft and cozy. She pulls it over your head, adjusting the collar with a satisfied nod. “Perfect.”

You look down at yourself. The shirt is snug, the diaper hug your hips, a constant, crinkly presence. You feel… small. Not in stature, but in mind. The worries, the doubts, they’re still there, but they’re quieter now, muffled by the warmth of her attention.

Mommy seems to sense your thoughts. She cups your face in her hands, forcing you to meet her eyes. “Nervous, baby boy?”

You nod, because what else is there to do?

She smiles, thumb brushing your cheek. “Good. You should be. This is a big step.” Then her expression softens. “But you’re safe here, David. I promise. No one’s going to judge you. No one’s going to laugh. You can just… be.”

She takes your hand again, leading you toward the crib. The bars are tall, the mattress plush, and for a second, your breath hitches. Locked in. The thought is both terrifying and thrilling.

“You can nap if you want,” she says, patting the sheet. “Or we can play. Or we can just sit and talk. Whatever you need.”

You glance at the crib, then back at her. “What if I… what if I don’t like it?”

Mommy chuckles, squeezing your hand. “Then we’ll figure it out. But I have a feeling,” she says, her voice dropping to a whisper, “that you’re going to love it.”

And as she helps you climb into the crib, as the mattress dips beneath your weight, as the familiar crinkle of your diaper fills the silence, you realize something:

She’s probably right.

[primarycolordinosaurs]

Goodbye toddler bed, hello crib. Well, YouTube, we successfully sold our big boy bed yesterday. And hubby spent the night in his new crib without any major issues.

You know, I thought he'd have a meltdown based on how much he cried when I moved him from our bedroom into his nursery, but I think he's starting to become pretty complacent. He didn't even complain when I put him down for bed at 7:00. You like your crib, don't you, sweetie? Like there's any other option.

[coralgardendreamertaco-blog]

[breastcandy]

[ameliemommy]

where all boys belong

I never thought I’d be here. Not like this. Not with my knees pulled up to my chest, my fingers twisting the hem of my oversized onesie, the thick padding between my legs squishing softly every time I shift. The room smells like baby powder and something sweet, maybe the lotion she rubbed into my cheeks earlier, maybe the faint, warm scent of my own pee.

I should be embarrassed. I know that. But the way she’s looking at me, her lips curled just enough to say I told you so, makes it hard to care.

“You’re such a good boy,” she murmurs, her fingers brushing through my hair. I hate how much I love that. How my shoulders relax, how my breath hitches just a little. “All filled up for me already?”

I don’t answer. I can’t. My face is burning, but my body is warm, heavy, content in a way I never let myself admit out loud. The diaper is soggy, the wetness indicators a deep, telling blue, and every time I move, I can feel it, proof. Proof that I’m not the big, tough guy I pretend to be. Proof that I like this. That I need it.

She laughs, low and knowing, as she taps my nose. “No shame in it, sweetheart. You’re supposed to use your diapers.”

I groan, burying my face against my knees. “I’m twenty-seven,” I mutter, like that means anything. Like it changes the fact that I’ve been sneaking into the baby aisle for months, that I’ve spent more nights than I’ll admit curled up in my crib, thumb in my mouth, waiting for the world to feel small and safe again.

“And?” She tilts my chin up, her thumb brushing my lower lip. “Age is just a number. You’re mine, aren’t you?”

I swallow hard. I should argue. I should push her away, stand up, prove I’m still a man. But the way she’s looking at me, like I’m something precious, something small, makes my chest ache.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “Yours.”

Her smile softens, just for a second, before she’s pulling me onto her lap. I go willingly, my body moving before my brain can catch up. The diaper squishes loudly as I settle against her, my head tucking under her chin. She hums, her hand rubbing slow circles on my back.

“Such a good boy,” she repeats, and I hate how much I melt into her. How my eyes drift shut, how the last of my resistance crumbles. “All wet and heavy for Mommy.”

I whimper. I whimper. And I don’t even care.

She shifts me just enough to press her palm against the swollen front of my diaper. “Mmm. You really wet alot, didn’t you?” Her fingers tap lightly, teasing. “Bet you’re glad you’re not in those big boy underwear now, huh?”

I don’t answer. I don’t have to. We both know the truth.

She kisses the top of my head, her lips lingering. “My sweet, silly boy. Always fighting it until you’re right here.” Another tap, this one firmer. “Right where you belong.”

I should be humiliated. I should be furious. But all I feel is the warmth of her, the weight of the diaper, the quiet, perfect rightness of this moment.

And when she whispers, “Let’s get you cleaned up, huh?” all I can do is nod.

Because she’s right.

This is where I belong.

This is where all boys belong.

[ameliemommy]

Good boy

The afternoon sun filtered through the half-drawn curtains, casting a warm glow over the living room. The carpet was strewn with plush toys, a half-empty juice box, and a discarded coloring book. In the center of it all, curled up on a pile of cushions, was Jake, a broad-shouldered man with stubble shadowing his jaw and a thick, baby-blue diaper peeking out from under his oversized t-shirt. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, his cheeks flushed pink as he glanced up at the woman standing over him.

Lena crossed her arms, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "Well, well. Look at you, all cozy and cute." She reached down, ruffling his hair just enough to make him squirm. "Did you have a good nap, baby?"

Jake’s blush deepened. He nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Y-yeah, Mommy."

Lena chuckled, shaking her head. "Such a shy boy. You know, I love when you’re shy. It makes you even cuter." She knelt beside him, her fingers tracing the edge of his diaper. "But I also love when you’re a good boy and fill your nappy for me. Did you do that?"

Jake’s breath hitched. He bit his lip, his thighs pressing together. "I...I tried, Mommy."

Lena’s grin turned teasing. "Oh, you tried? That’s not good enough, sweetheart." She tapped his nose gently. "Good boys do. They don’t just try." She pressed her palm against the front of his diaper, feeling the warmth and weight of it. "Mmm. You did do a good job, though. Such a soggy boy."

Jake whimpered, his face burning. He loved the way she talked to him, how she made him feel small and safe, even though he was anything but tiny. His hands clenched into fists, his body tensing as she continued to tease him.

"You know what else good boys do?" Lena asked, her voice soft but firm. She reached for his shirt, tugging it up just enough to expose his belly. "They let Mommy help them pick out clothes. Because good boys don’t always know what’s best for them, do they?"

Jake shook his head, his breath coming in shallow little gasps. "N-no, Mommy."

Lena’s fingers trailed down his chest, stopping just above the waistband of his diaper. "That’s right. And you’re such a good boy, aren’t you?" She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "My sweet, soggy, shy little boy."

Jake melted into the cushions, his body relaxing under her touch. He loved this, how she made him feel cherished, even when she was teasing him. How she made him forget about everything else, until all that mattered was her voice, her hands, her approval.

Lena stood, offering him her hand. "Come on, baby. Let’s get you changed. You can’t stay in a wet nappy all day, can you?"

Jake hesitated for only a second before slipping his hand into hers. He let her pull him up, his legs wobbling just a little as he followed her to the nursery. The room was painted a soft blue, with a changing table in the corner and shelves lined with diapers, wipes, and lotions. Lena patted the table, her smile warm. "Up you go, good boy."

Jake climbed onto the table, his heart pounding. He knew the routine, how she’d undo the tapes, how she’d clean him up, how she’d praise him for staying still. But it never got old. It never stopped making him feel like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

Lena hummed as she worked, her touch gentle but sure. "You’re doing so well," she murmured, pulling the wet diaper away. "Such a good boy for Mommy." She reached for a fresh one, holding it up for him to see. "Look at this. Thick and crinkly, just how you like it."

Jake’s breath hitched as she slid it under him, her fingers brushing against his skin. He whimpered, his hips shifting restlessly. "Mommy..."

Lena shushed him, tapping his nose again. "Patience, baby. Good boys wait." She secured the tapes, her hands lingering on his hips. "There. All fresh and clean." She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Now, what do you say?"

Jake’s voice was soft, but his smile was bright. "Thank you, Mommy."

Lena’s heart swelled. She loved this—loved him. Loved how he trusted her, how he let her take care of him, how he blossomed under her attention. She pulled him into a hug, her fingers carding through his hair. "You’re welcome, my prince. Now, how about we pick out something nice for you to wear? Something that makes you feel extra special."

[breastcandy]

[gentle-switch-uation]

🍼goo goo

[ameliemommy]

I like boys… I like boys who cuddle their stuffies.

I like boys who fill their nappies.

I like boys with hairy chests.

I like boys with smooth skin.

I like boys who are shy.

I like boys who are loud.

I like boys who are good.

I like boys who are bad (especially over my knee).

I like boys who giggle when tickled.

I like boys who blush when teased.

I like boys who waddle when they walk.

I like boys who need help with their buttons.

I like boys who love bedtime stories.

who pout when they don’t get their way.

I like boys who snuggle under blankets.

I like boys who make messes and don’t care.

I like boys who whine when they’re sleepy.

I like boys who squirm when changed.

I like boys who ask for “just one more” story.

I like boys who stick out their tongues when concentrating.

I like boys who need reminders to use their words.

I like boys who hide their faces when embarrassed.

I like boys who love being praised.

I like boys who wiggle when they’re happy.

I like boys who need help tying their shoes.

I like boys who love being fed.

I like boys who get clingy when scared.

I like boys who melt when you call them “good boy”.

[breastcandy]

[gentle-switch-uation]

c’mere little baby, let’s get you fed. Mommy’s so full for you.

[breastcandy]

[gentle-switch-uation]

mommy?

[datlittlewarrior]

😈💕 "Aww, look at my big, blushing boy... all grown up until Mommy decided it was time to end that silly charade."

The elegant dinner table has been completely transformed into a full baby changing station... thick padded mat with little cartoon characters, towering stacks of thick diapers, rows of lotion and powder bottles, baby wipes, and piles of pastel onesies and footie pajamas ready to lock him in permanent baby mode.

She stands there in her fitted blue dress, hands on her hips, smiling that sweet, merciless smile down at him.

"Come on, sweetie. Hand on the mat like a good little baby. No more big-boy pants, no more dignity. Mommy’s going to strip you bare, powder that pathetic little bottom until it smells like a nursery, and tape you into the thickest, noisiest diaper you’ve ever worn. And you’re going to thank me while you’re sucking on your paci and kicking those helpless legs."

He reaches out with a trembling hand, already defeated, as she steps closer, voice dropping to a teasing whisper:

"That’s it… surrender. You’re not a man anymore. You’re Mommy’s helpless, diapered baby and this is only the first change of many."🍼👶😳🔒💦

#ABDL #AGEPLAY #MDLB

[stinky-in-pinky]

The Keyholder

"Coochie-coochie-coo!! Ahh-coochie-coochie-coo!! Whose da most adorwable widdle man-baybee in da whole wide world?? Who is it?! Huh?? Who is it??"

She dangled the stupid ring of rainbow plastic keys right in front of my burning face, letting them swing like a taunting pendulum. Each jingle felt like a slap to whatever scraps of adult dignity I had left. She knew exactly how much the infantilizing tone shredded me...and she loved watching it happen.

“D'awww!! look at youuuu! Look at Mommy’s big, helpless, padded princess all squirmy and desperate in his crinkly diapee! Does my sweet baybee boy see something he wikes? Hmm? Does he?”

She swung the keys closer, letting them brush the tip of my nose before snatching them back with a playful giggle. Her eyes sparkled with pure, wicked delight.

“Ohhh nooo…is something wongg??" she gasped in mock surprise, pressing a manicured hand to her chest. "Are these not the keys you wanted, sweetie-pie? These silly, jangly baybee keys that go clickity-clack and jingle-jingle-jingle? Silly me! I thought my widdle locked-up loser only wanted pretty plastic toys to play with!” She tilted her head, batting her lashes like she was genuinely puzzled. “You’re...you're not still thinking about these big, scary metal keys Mommy’s keeping nice and warm between her boobies, are you? Because those are for real grown-up boys! Not for silly little diaper messers like you!”

I whimpered, the sound coming out high, broken, and pathetic. The real keys—the ones that could finally free my aching, denied cock—were tucked right there in her cleavage, glinting just enough to torture me. My hips twitched uselessly, my cage throbbing inside the padding in protest.

“P-please, Mommy…” I tried, but she cut me off with a theatrical gasp.

“Uh-uh-uh!" She tutted, wagging her finger "No big-boy words, princess. If you want these special keys soooo badly, you’re gonna have to earn them the only way a baybee like you can. I want the most ridiculous, drooly, adorable baybee babbles you’ve ever made. I want raspberries. I want goo-goo ga-ga’s so silly they make me laugh till I cry. I want you waving those useless little mitten paws like you’re trying to fly to the moon. I want drool running down your chin, legs kicking in the air, the whole nine yards! Show Mommy how pathetic her locked-up diaper boy can be, and maybe—just maybe—I’ll think about it.”

My face burned hotter than the sun. But the ache between my legs and the way her voice wrapped around me like warm honey made resistance impossible. I hesitated at first, clinging to my last shred of dignity, but eventually the throbbing ache in my balls won out. I lifted my mittened hands and started flapping them wildly in front of my face like a little bird.

“Goo goo! Ga ga! Ma-ma! Ba-ba-baaa!” I whimpered in the highest, most ridiculous pitch I could manage. Spit flew from my lips as I blew the wettest, longest raspberry I’d ever made—ppppppbbbbbtttt!—right into the air. Drool immediately started sliding down my chin in a shiny trail. I didn’t wipe it. Just let rain across my chin and cheeks instead.

I rolled onto my back, kicking my padded legs up high in frantic bicycle kicks. The diaper crinkled so loudly it echoed off the nursery walls. “Ah-goo! Ah-goo-goo! Pwease pwease pwease, Mommy! Bay-bee need keys! Wittle baby so hawny in his diapee! Pppppbbbbbtttt! Goo-goo-ga-ga-goo!”

In a desperate attempt to earn more performance points, I flopped over onto my tummy, shoved my face into the mat, lifted my bottom high in the air and wiggled it back and forth like a happy puppy while still babbling nonsense. “Ma-ma! Ba-ba-ba! Wuv you Mommy! Pwease keys! Pwease unlocky!! Drooly bay-bee! Cage so tight! Wahhh-wahh!!!”

When I finally looked up, panting, drooling, chest heaving, my stomach plummeted. Mommy had her phone raised the whole time. The white light shining like a bright sign to show she'd been filming the whole thing.

Mommy clapped her hands together in delighted, mocking applause, her voice dripping with exaggerated sweetness. “Oh my goooodness gracious! Look at that wittle tushie shaking! And those silly mitten waves! Who’s Mommy’s most ridiculous, drooly, desperate little diaper dumper, huh?? Is it you? Is it youuuu? Awww, you’re making such a big mess of yourself! Look at all that drool! Look at how pathetic you look!!”

I cringed in shame, head hung low, but despite it all, I was proud of my little performance. I looked up at her hopefully, drool still dripping down my chin.

She tilted her head and her eyes danced across the ceiling, she even tapped her lip to show that she was pretending to think. "Hmm...that was pretty good..." she mused, then shrugged. “But…i'm afraid it wasn’t quite good enough, sweetie." Her eyes twinkled with mischief. "Not for the real keys. I think Mommy needs to see even more desperation next time.”

My heart sank. A pathetic whine escaped me, like a dog denied its treat.

“Awww, don’t cry, my precious little padded prince!” she cooed, stroking my hair with one hand while still dangling the plastic keys with the other. “Mommy’s got a special consolation prize for her brave little babbler. Here… you can try these keys instead. Go on, take them, honey. Show Mommy how you’d unlock yourself if you were a big boy.”

Before I could even process it, she reached down, popped the tapes on my diaper with two quick rips, and peeled the front down. The cool air hit me instantly. My diaper was absolutely drenched, the entire front was dark yellow and sagging heavily. And there, completely exposed, was my steel chastity cage. My balls were swollen into large, purple plums. The tip of my denied cock was pressed hard against the end of the tube, leaking a steady, humiliating ropes of clear precum that ran down the cage and soaked into the already-wet padding beneath me. It glistened obscenely under the nursery lights. I looked so completely broken, purple, throbbing, and utterly helpless.

“Awww, would you look at that leaky little mess!” Mommy cooed, voice dripping with fake sympathy, then she pressed the plastic keys into my mittened hands. "Here, why dont you try to unlock yourself, sweetie! You never know...maybe one of these silly keys will actually work!" She inclined her head and gave me a firm look. One that told me I better play her little game for her amusement if I knew what was good for me. She lifted her phone again, and aimed it at me once more.

With a defeated sigh, I fumbled with the keys as much as my useless mittens would allow. Eventually, I managed to press one against the tiny lock with a clack. Nothing, of course. But I did it again anyway, more out of frustration than anything. Clack clack clack.

“Awww! Looks like that wasn’t the one…” she tsked, lips pursed in exaggerated disappointment. “Maybe try another, baby. Mommy’s rooting for you!”

I whimpered and whined pathetically as I performed another pitiful display for her. Fumbling the stupid plastic keys until i had one pressed between my mittens so I could pretend to give it an honest shot at unlocking me. Even with how futile the exercise was, my caged cock still twitched and bobbed in anticipation each time I pressed the plastic against it. Like it was too dazed to even understand. It just wanted out. But instead it had to endure this cruel torture.

Every clumsy attempt made the cage bounce and more precum ooze out in a fresh drip. I looked utterly ridiculous, drool still on my chin, soaked diaper open like a flag of surrender, mittens flapping as I poked at my own locked-up, leaking genitals.

Mommy’s giggles bubbled up brighter with every futile clack. “Ohhh, listen to that little symphony! Clack-clack-clack… drip-drip-drip… Poke-poke-poke! Look how swollen those poor balls are! So purple and tight and so full. And still nothing opens. Isn’t it just the cutest thing?? My big strong husband, reduced to drooling and leaking while he pokes his own cage with baybee toys… poor widdle guy!!"

She leaned in closer, the phone still rolling, her tone dipping into something sharper, sweeter, more cutting.

“Maybe if I hadn’t found a key to another woman’s apartment on your ring, we wouldn’t be in this little situation now, would we?? Hmm? Maybe if my husband hadn’t been sneaking around into someone else’s front door… Mommy wouldn’t have had to take away the only key that really matters. The one to your pathetic, leaky little pee-pee!”

The words landed like a slap. My stomach twisted. Heat flooded my face anew. The plastic key I’d been fumbling slipped again, landing in the sodden landscape of my diaper. My cock gave one last helpless throb, another thick rope of precum sliding free, but the shame burned hotter than the ache.

I couldn’t hold it back anymore. The babbling spilled out before I could stop it. High, broken and desperate.

“Pwease… Mommy… pwease…” My voice cracked into that humiliating infantile whine, mittens flapping weakly. “Pwease… pwease open for bay-bee… I sowwy… I so sowwy… no more bad boy… just Mommy’s bay-bee… pwease unlocky… pwease pwease pwease…”

The words tumbled faster, wet and garbled around the drool still coating my chin. “Goo goo… ma-ma… bay-bee need keys… weal keys… no more secwets… pwease Mommy… I be good… I be good widdle bay-bee fowevew… pppbbbttt… pwease open cage… pwease…”

I kept poking anyway. Clack, clack, clack. Each useless jab punctuated by another whimper, another plea, another fresh drip. The mittens slapped against my thighs, the keys kept sliding, and my whole body shook with the effort of debasing myself further, trying to erase what I’d done with sheer, ridiculous surrender.

Mommy’s smile widened, slow and satisfied, like she’d been waiting for exactly this collapse.

“That’s it, princess,” she cooed softly, almost tenderly. “Let it all out. Tell Mommy how sorry you are. Keep babbling, keep leaking, keep poking like the pathetic little diaper boy you are. Show the camera what real remorse looks like.”

I didn’t stop. The words kept coming. Goo goo's, pweases, sowwy's, ma-ma's, all mixed with wet raspberries and broken sobs, until finally the last key slipped from my useless mittens and clattered onto my wet, throbbing balls with a final, pathetic tinkle.

She tapped the screen her phone a few times, and I heard the unmistakable swoosh of a message being sent.

“We’ll see what my girlfriends decide. Maybe they will think your pathetic little baybee babble and apology is enough” she said sweetly. “Or maybe your little followers on Tumblr will have mercy on you. But judging by the last few polls… I wouldn’t get your hopes up, princess.”

She snapped the same cold, wet diaper back up tight over my still-leaking, still-throbbing cage with a few rips and crackly crinkles. "But until then..." she scooped the plastic keys back up, going right back to giggling and cooing once more.

“Coochie coochie coo! No coochie or goo goo’s for youuuu!”

[breastcandy]

[gentle-switch-uation]

Shhh mommy is gonna feed you later. We need to shop for diapers

[breastcandy]

[johnbee4]

[johnbee4]

One of the most humiliating memories 🙂‍↕️

[tentativetitlee]

Something really simple that makes me melt is the casual use of “your” when referencing baby supplies…

~ We’ll find a changing room a little further up the road. Your diapers feel like they can hold a bit more.

~ Oh this? It’s your new diaper bag, hun. No, no one’s going to question why Pooh-Bear’s on the front. Come on now, we’re going to be late.

~ Your pacifier fell under the crib? Shhh calm down, it’s alright. I’ll grab it… and… there! You can’t even attempt to doze off without it, can you?

~ Pee-yew! Looks like the resident potty pants needs a change. You can keep watching your favorite little cartoons if you go grab me your changing mat.

[ameliemommy]

mommyameliestorycorner

My old blog got nuked today. I'd appreciate a reblog so all my old followers can find my new blog!