I will not try to change my mind and I want u too use this as proof that I am giving you full permission as of 715pm on Sept.22.25 too come and take your baby and put him into his proper dress code of diapers and whatever outfit u choose andna soother on clip and take me home take away all adult rights and priveldges and give me the lifetime punishment of a baby of 1 too 3 years old for the rest of my life signed james lyle hie this is a legal document given too any mommy for her copy and too be able to use in the court of law and too police if james lyle hie is too try too run or change his mind
Don't think of it as a punishment. Think of it as a new way of life. The potty is just not an option for you anymore. You're wearing your potty at all times now. Isn't that convenient?? You can go anywhere and everywhere. Any time, any place. Whether it be the mall, the grocery store, in the middle of traffic, you name it! Get used to coming home and laying just like this so Mommy can check and change your diaper. I'll take care of everything, just like like I was doing before in our marriage.
Yes, I know the cage around your cock is a little tight, but you better get used to that too. It's only coming off for special occasions or if you're a really good boy! Your days of cumming whenever and wherever you want are over too! I guess you'll have to apologize to your Secretary at the office. You won't be putting your little baby dick in her anymore. But maybe she'll change your diapers on the days I'm not able to come in on your lunch break?
Awww! Don't cry hubby! This is your life now. Just accept it. It will be a lot better for you if you do...
Come here baby, I have these adorable new diapers for you to try out. You always tell me how much you love pink so here you go! Pink, girly diapers fit just for a sissy baby like you! Youâre going to look so sweet w these on your bottom. I donât know how Iâll be able to keep my hands off of you. What I love even more about these pink diapers is that they match your pink cock cage! Mommyâs little spoiled sissy, you know I just adore you to pieces! Now lie down so I can take those yucky wet diapers off and get you in your new pink ones! đ
I really wonder what it was that made you start crying.
Was it when one of my friends pointed out that you needed to be changed?
Was that because everyone looked down at you and knew what you did in your diaper?
Was it because you didn't realize it was true until she announced it to the room?
Or was it when I laid you down on the floor and changed you in front of everybody and you suddenly realized you were going to miss being allowed a little bit of dignity or privacy?
You better start getting used to it, baby. You might still think of yourself as an adult and feel self-conscience being nakie, but no one cares anymore.
No one thinks of you as an adult or ever will again. That is what you wanted right?
You got the whole package baby. Babies like you don't get to pick and choose. Was all of this a shock to you, now that you got a little taste of how adults really treat babies like you've become?
Well, you better hike up that diaper and hold on tight to your teddy. These ladies all knew that you were an adult earlier today.
Tomorrow, after I check you into the regression clinic and they start your treatment I promise you, no one will be able to tell any difference at all. Oh, and if you decide to try to convince anyone that you're not REALLY just another dumb baby, I strongly suggest doing it before you need your diaper changedâŠ. again...
Scattered clouds became the canvas for another spectacular summer sunset of fiery crimson and amber melting into delicate coral and indigo.
Somewhere just beyond the window, baby birds on the verge of their first flight chirp expectantly as their mother returns to feed them.
Beyond that, young fawns, foxes, and bear cubs venture ever further from the den, testing their instincts and the limits of their freedom that will one day gift them their independence.
Joyful shouts trickle in from neighborhood children playing in the street, enjoying the special freedom that only summer provides.
Beyond the window, summer means freedom and the first tentative steps towards independence and adulthood.
But only a few scattered rays of the sunset make it past the window blinds, as if it were standing in defiance of summer itself and rejecting the fledgling independence of the person sleeping in the nursery it protects.
Mommy and Daddy lean against the rails of your crib, watching your Barney pacifier bob in between your little snores. Your blanket lies in a crumpled pile at your feet, kicked off as you slept.
Not long ago, summer nights like this meant barbeques, parties, and long nights enjoying the freedoms of a successful young adult, never imagining how fleeting that independence would prove to be.
âI think he pooped,â Daddy whispered.
Neither Mommy nor Daddy harbored any doubt that you were sleeping in a poopy diaper. Not when the smell of your mess, mixed with the copious sprinkling of baby powder Mommy always used, engulfed the room.
Not when they could see the brown stain on the seat of your white diaper adorned with the Barney sticker Mommy loved so much.
Not when they could see youâthe formerly independent, competent adultâsleeping in a crib in nothing but an overworked diaper and matching Barney pacifier.
Mommy frantically squeezed Daddyâs hand to keep herself from squealing in joy.
She didnât want to wake her baby up.
Not yet.
Over the past year, Mommy came to cherish these intimate evening moments most of all. Her nightly ritual of checking on her baby as the sun set.
She celebrated every milestone along the way as your resistance crumbled and adulthood slipped away from your grasping hands.
First, it was the pure joy of finally finding you fast asleep before the sun finished setting, which soon became the norm. Mommy hung the framed picture from that night above your changing table.
Then, a few weeks later, she found you sleeping with your pacifier for the first time. She celebrated that, too.
But not as much as the night she checked your diaper and discovered it was soggy, something you resisted fiercely. By the end of the month, you were having daytime accidents, too.
Sure, there were other important milestones celebrated outside of these nighttime checks. There was the âfamily bonfire,â when you sat on Mommyâs lap as Daddy burned all your big boy clothes.
He even wiped the tears from your cheeks when your entire suit collectionâthe last remaining remnant of your professional lifeâwas unceremoniously tossed into the flames.
Still, nothing compared to this nightly ritual in Mommyâs eyes.
Mommy understood the truth. The privileges of adulthood she stripped away during the day were the result of her active involvement. She knew you were far too pathetic to put up a fight and actually resist her commands in person.
But at night?
The nighttime milestones proved that Mommy and Daddyâs efforts were reaching your subconsciousâthat, deep down, you were beginning to accept your new role in life.
You were becoming the baby you were destined to become.
Tonight was perhaps the biggest milestone yet. Even as your daytime tinkle control faded into memory, you fought tooth and nail to control your stinkies, knowing it was the last vestige of adulthood you still possessed.
Which is how Mommy knew this wasnât an act.
You would never willingly poop yourself in a crib you were confined to, unable to leave. And especially not when you were supposed to be sleepingâyou hated the icky feeling of mush between your cheeks.
But here you are.
Blissfully unaware your own body betrayed you in the most infantile manner conceivable, sleeping like a baby in a profoundly poopy diaper.
Daddy deftly lowered the bars of your crib and squished your diaper.
âYep. He pooped.â
âCan you turn on the light, babe? Heâs so stinking cute; Iâd never forgive myself if I didnât get a picture.â
âWonât that wake him up?â
Mommy smiles. âBabe, look at him. Heâs fast asleep in a poopy diaper. The poor baby whines and begs for a diaper change as soon as he poops. No, heâs not going to wake up.â
Sure enough, Mommy was right.
For the next ten minutes, you model for a photoshoot you didnât know was happening.
Satisfied with the pictures, Mommy turns off the light, then sits on the ledge of your crib, gently tickling your tummy, watching you slowly stir back awake.
âHi, baby, Mommy didnât want to wake you when you were sleeping so peacefully butâŠâ she says, trailing off.
You groggily open your eyes. Mommyâs comforting smile looms over you. Daddy is standing behind her, hands on her shoulders.
âWha-wha buh sweeepy,â you mumble incomprehensibly.
âI know, baby boy. But Mommy canât let her precious angel sleep in a poopy diapie, can she? Nuh uh, Mommy would never.â
Still fighting off sleep, you stare up at Mommy and Daddy, wondering why they woke you up.
âCan you be a big boy and walk or do you need Daddy to carry you?â
Another sensation comes into focus. Something cold. Icky. Smelly. You wiggle your bum, confused. Unwilling to believe the cause of it.
Mommy giggles at adorable diaper crinkles it makesâand the unrelentingly cute face you make realizing the unmistakable truth of your situation: you pooped your diaper.
âOhhh, honey, itâs okay! Itâs just a poopy diapie, Mommy isnât upset, I promise!â
Tears well in your eyes. You hate the feeling of your cold, stinky diaper. You hate the way Mommy baby-talks you like you're some stupid baby. You hate the way Daddy smiles at you while rubbing Mommyâs back.
But more than anything, you want out of this diaper.
Tired and frustrated, you kick your legs against your mattress.
âCan you carry him, babe?â Mommy asks calmly.
âSure,â Daddy replies, reaching down and scooping you up.
No matter how much you squirm and fight, Daddy is too strong. Months of inactivity and baby food have weakened your muscles, unlike Daddy's toned arms.
âNOOOOOO!!!â you whine even louder than before as Daddy lowers you onto the table and you feel your mess squish even more. Tears fall freely off your cheeks now.
âNo no no no! Nooo!!!â
âBaby, Mommy needs you to stop squirming so she can change your didi.â
âNuuuuuuuuu, duh wannaa!â you whimper, still kicking.
You donât know why your diaper is poopy. You donât know why youâre crying. All you know is it feels good to kick and fuss.
Mommy sighs, grabbing your legs with one hand. âI know, I know,â she coos, âMommyâs poor, poopy baby.â
With her other hand, Mommy expertly rips off the tabs of your diaper, barely struggling with your squirming and kicking.
Cold air assaults your private parts, making you somehow feel even worse.
âM-Mommyyy c-cold!â
Mommy tickles your tummy. âMommy knows, pumpkin. If you stop squirming, Mommy can get you a nice warm didi even faster, okay? Can you be Mommyâs big boy?â
A snot bubble pops in your nose. âM-mhmâŠâ you mutter, defeated and just wanting Mommy to make everything better.
âCan you warm these up, babe?â Mommy asks, shoving a handful of wipes into Daddyâs hands.
âSure thing. Warm wipes coming up!â Daddy says, smiling at you as Mommy wipes the snot from your nose.
Mommy uses the front of your diaper to clean up most of your mess before lifting your legs and sliding the diaper off you. She balls up the diaper and tosses it into your diaper pail as Daddy finishes warming your wipes.
âThanks, hun.â
Mommy takes the wipes and gets to work. Daddy makes silly faces at you.
You giggle at the silliness of Daddyâs faces.
A genuine laugh that even surprises Daddy.
By the time Mommy finishes changing your diaper, you've forgotten all about your poopy diaper tantrum.
Mommy blows a series of raspberries on your tummy, forcing you to squirm in laughter.
âHehehehe Mommyyyyy!â
Daddy crinkles your new, fresh diaper. âFeeling better, tiger?â
You nod with a smile.
âThereâs my good boy!â Mommy says proudly.
Without warning Daddy scoops you up and carries you back to your crib. Youâre about to complain about being sent back to bed when you hear Mommyâs voice.
âOne sec, babe. Let me sit down first.â
Daddy stops so Mommy can sit against the rails of your crib. Once comfortable, she starts adjusting her shirt.
âCâmere, stinker,â Mommy coos as Daddy places you on Mommyâs lap.
You look at Mommy, confused. She never sits in your crib like this.
âWha-wha doinâ Mommy?â
And why is she taking off her bra?
Utterly bewildered at seeing Mommyâs boobs for the first time in over a year, you look at Daddy, as if seeking reassurance that itâs okay to look at your wifeâs boobs.
âGo on, squirt,â Daddy says with a smile, removing your pacifier. âIâll give you two some privacy.â He turns off the light and headed out the door.
Before you can ask a follow-up question, Mommyâs hand pulls you into her chest, her nipple tickling your lips.
Instinctively, you open your mouth and latch on. Warm milk trickles into your mouth. You try to pull away.
âHush little one. Just suckle like a good baby,â Mommy assures you, forcing your head back to latch.
You suckle, letting Mommyâs milk fill your mouth. It tastesâŠgood.
It tastes like home. Safety. Comfort.
Mommy hums âHush, Little Baby,â fighting off tears of joy as your eyes grow heavier and heavier, knowing youâre no longer her husband. Youâre no longer an adult.
She finally got everything she wanted.
Perhaps tomorrow youâll think about the implications of your poopy diaper and the warm milk filling your tummy. Maybe youâll understand there is no going back.
But for now there is nothing beyond this moment.
Mommyâs gentle humming, the warmth of her breast against you. The feeling of satisfaction as your tummy fills up.
Not even the gentle crinkles as Mommy pats your diaper can break the spell.
The truth is, summer nights will never be defined by freedom again. Not for you. Youâre not like the baby birds chirping outside your window or the bear cub learning to hunt salmon.
By the end of summer, theyâll have a level of independence youâll never have again.
Unlike them, youâll never outgrow your Mommy. Youâll never regain your independence.
It has been a life dream and a bucket list priority to have a abdl mommy come take me to there home put me under a contract that takes my adult priveledges away and keeps me in diapers for the rest of my life.
