25, little age 3-5 diapers help with the trauma. Just wookin for my other half that’ll accept me for who I am, and tweat me with wots of wuv🫣 I don’t want to hafta to pay to feel wuved
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The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. He stirred, still half-asleep, until the cold, damp sensation beneath him jolted him awake. His heart sank as he realized what had happened—he had wet the bed.
Panic set in as he sat up, his mind racing. He hadn’t worn diapers in over 20 years. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not now. Not ever.
Before he could even think of what to do, the door creaked open. His mom stepped inside, followed by a woman he hadn’t seen in years—his distant aunt, who had visited once when he was still in diapers as a toddler.
"Good morning, sweetie!"
his mom said cheerfully, oblivious to the disaster on the bed.
"Look who’s here! Your aunt came all the way from—"
His aunt’s sharp gasp cut her off. Her eyes darted to the wet spot on the bed, then to his horrified face. Without missing a beat, she stepped forward, blocking his mom’s view.
"Oh, dear, I just remembered!"
his aunt said, her voice overly bright.
"You were telling me about those relatives in the countryside, weren’t you? Why don’t you go visit them? I’ll stay here and keep an eye on things."
His mom hesitated, glancing between them.
"Are you sure? I mean, I wasn’t planning to—"
"Nonsense!"
his aunt interrupted, her tone firm but cheerful.
"It’s the perfect time. Go on, take a break. I’ll handle everything here."
His mom finally nodded, smiling.
"Well, if you insist. I’ll pack my bags right away."
As soon as she left the room, his aunt turned to him, her expression shifting from cheerful to stern.
"So,"
she said, crossing her arms.
"Care to explain this little accident?"
He swallowed hard, his face burning.
"It… it was just a one-time thing,"
he stammered.
"Please, don’t tell Mom. I’ll handle it."
His aunt raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.
"A one-time thing, huh? Well, we’ll see about that. But for now…"
She reached into her bag and pulled out a thick, crinkly diaper.
"I didn’t come empty-handed. I brought you a gift. It’s a PlayStation 5… but it’s for big boys who don’t wet the bed. So, until you prove you can handle that, this is your new reality."
He stared at the diaper in horror, his mind racing with excuses.
"I can’t wear that! I have a girlfriend, and classes, and—what if someone sees?!"
His aunt smirked, her tone unyielding.
"Oh, honey, no one wants a boyfriend who wets the bed. Now, let’s get you cleaned up."
Reluctantly, he obeyed, his face burning with shame as she helped him into the diaper. The thick padding felt foreign and humiliating, but there was no escaping it.
As she fastened the tabs with a firm pat, she glanced down and let out a soft laugh.
"Well, at least we won’t need to worry about that getting in the way,"
she said, her tone teasing.
He didn’t need to ask what she meant. His face burned even hotter as he realized she was referring to his… size.
"There,"
she said, standing back to admire her handiwork.
"All set. Now, let’s see how long it takes for you to earn that PlayStation."
As she left the room, he sank onto the bed, the weight of the diaper a constant reminder of his new reality. He had no idea how he was going to survive the next month—or how he was going to keep this from his girlfriend.
She woke up to the sound of sniffling. Vision blurry, she fumbled around the bed one-handed, searching for the source. She patted the blankets where he should have been. He wasn’t there. She sat up, worry pushing away the veil of sleep. She switched on the light and glanced around the room. She immediately saw it. The blankets were askew at the edge of their bed, dropping off to pool on the floor. In an instant, she was there. He was lying on the floor, blanket clutched tightly in one fist, covering his head with the other. She knelt down, a little note of panic slipping into her voice.
“What’s wrong, dear? What happened? Are you hurt?”
He moved his hand, looking up at her with tear-brimmed eyes. “Why am I like this?” His voice broke on the last word, and he pulled the blanket back over his head. She sat on the bed beside him.
“Like what?” she coaxed.
“Like I like being treated like a baby and wearing diapers and crap. What the hell is wrong with me?”
She reached out to touch him. He didn’t move.
“Nothing is wrong with you. Why does there have to be something wrong with you?” She shook her head sadly. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.
He tore off the blankets. “Because,” he spat, “I get off on wearing diapers and being babied and I’m a grown man! What’s the difference between me and a fucking pedo? I shouldn’t be like this!”
She could feel the denial and self-loathing rolling off him like waves. It hurt her heart. “What should you be like?”
He floundered. “I don’t know… just something… something… normal.” The fire doused as quickly as it lit, and she saw his shoulders slump. “I just wish I was different.”
She cupped his chin and forced him to look her in the eye. “Do you want to do anything involving kids?” She saw his eyes spark and his face crumpled in disgust.
“Of course not!”
“Do you think I do those things with you because I like kids?” Her voice was sterner.
He stuttered and shook his head. “Absolutely not. I wouldn’t be with you if I even thought that.”
Her eyes held him. “So, clearly there is a difference between you and criminals.” She reached behind his head and gently pulled it into her lap. His breath tickled her thigh and she felt tears on her skin. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You don’t want to hurt anyone. You don’t involve others without their consent.” She began to stroke his hair.
“Everyone has their kinks. There’s nothing wrong with exploring it with a consenting adult. If your thing is being cared for and loved with a little humiliation and diapers thrown in… really who cares?”
“But… but its not normal,” he mumbled.
“No, it’s not, but why does that matter, really? I love you. I love being with you. I love taking care of you. I love seeing you waddle around. I love that little giggle of yours when I tickle you, and that pouty face you get when you don’t get your way. I love talking with you. God, I love sex with you. I love your cute onesies, and your pacis, and everything. I don’t care what other people think is “normal”. It isn’t any of their business anyway.” She sunk down to the floor and wrapped her arms around him. He felt so small then. She rubbed his back and felt his breathing slow. “I love everything about you, Baby. It’s ok. You’re a good boy.”
He looked up at her with tear filled eyes. “I love you too, Momma.”
She smiled tenderly and kissed his forehead. “I know, Baby.”
“What?” I noticed her hesitant expression as she held the Valentine's Day gift I had gotten her, “You don’t like it?”
“Well…” She trailed off as she stared at the gold earrings, “It’s just a little… mature for you is all.”
“…Mature?” I questioned, not entirely sure where this was going.
“Why don’t you open your gift,” she gestured to the elegantly wrapped package, “that will probably be easier than explaining.”
I unwrapped the package with intentional care, like the wrong move might somehow make it blow up in my face. Inside, I discovered the gift my girlfriend had gotten me: a onesie with a snap crotch for diaper changes that had a cartoon dinosaur in a diaper plastered onto it.
“Babe, I—“ I started, but she interrupted by slipping a green pacifier that matched the onesie into my mouth.
“Not babe,” she held the pacifier in my mouth with one authoritative finger, “try Mommy.”
“Mowmmy?” I lisped from behind the pacifier.
“Good boy!” She tussled my hair.
“Hmm?” I moaned behind the pacifier, confused.
“It’s adorable that you’re still not getting it, honey!” She giggled, “I’m so proud of you for telling me about this little side of yourself, but you really should’ve told me more. I can’t believe you thought ‘I like to feel small and taken care of’ covered your needs!”
“Sowry, b-but I was shy!”
“That’s ridiculous, silly boy!” She smiled, “we’ve been together long enough that I want you to feel comfortable telling me anything… But because you’re a big baby that can’t use his big boy words, I had to find your tumblr instead.”
“You wha–” My heart sank in fear.
“That’s right, mister!” She smiled deviously, “You really didn’t tell me anything! So as punishment, I’m going to be giving you everything you wanted and then some. No more big boy potty; you’ll wear diapers until you’re tired of depending on mommy for clean padding, and then you’ll keep wearing them until I say you can stop. You’ll have a strict 8PM bedtime and be punished with spankings and time outs when you act out. Understand?”
“But–” I tried to respond.
“Sounds like you’re not getting it,” She released an exasperated sigh, “I suppose little ones need ample opportunities to learn, so let’s start with getting you nice and diapered.”
“What? Wait!”
She grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me to the couch where she sweetly but firmly pressured me to lay down. She pulled out a diaper and baby powder from underneath the couch, obviously expecting the night to end up here one way or another.
I was too starstruck by her momentum and determination to do anything other than let her man-handle me, and soon enough, I found myself in an infantile diaper, onesie, and matching pacifier.
“Don’t you look adorable!” My girlfriend –or Mommy now, I guess– pinched my cheeks.
“T-thanku, Mommy?” I cautiously accepted the compliment.
“Now you’re getting it, baby boy!”
I couldn’t help but blush at her infantile praise. A part of me was definitely scared of what she had in store, knowing the depraved and humiliating content I engaged with on tumblr, but I couldn’t deny that a part of me was also enjoying this.
“Now, Mommy’s going to pour herself a glass of wine and watch her show while you color on the floor — supervised, of course! Doesn’t that sound nice!”
“Uhhhmm… yes?” I acquiesced, left little other choice by her firm tone.
“Oh, and while you’re coloring, you can work on a more… appropriate Valentines gift for Mommy,” she winked at me, “Unless you want to see how hard Mommy can spank.”
Mommy laughed as I quickly shook my head ‘no’.
As I colored on the floor in my onesie and diaper, I made sure to make the crayon drawing as sweet and as childish as possible. Mommy even teased me for not realizing I was sticking my tongue out in concentration.
Finally, my masterpiece was finished. It was a drawing of Mommy and I, though it was hard to tell because they were stick figures, riding a diapered dinosaur with the words “Happy Valentine’s Day, Mommy!” Scribbled onto the paper in messy, pink crayon.
Mommy was overjoyed when I gave it to her:
“This is adorable, baby! I’ll put it right on the fridge where everyone can see it; that way all my friends can see it when they meet my new baby boyfriend at our Galentines day party tomorrow!”
I gulped; this will definitely be a Valentine’s gift to remember.
————————————————————————
As Always, All Characters Depicted are 18+
And the image credit goes to me actually. This onesie was the Valentine’s Day gift I got from mommy, so I just had to show it off. I’ve never done anything like this before, so pretty please be nice !
"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!”
What did I do to deserve such an adorable little boyfriend? I smiled to myself as he sat on the rug, watching Bluey. The soft suckling of his pacifier was barely audible. He was at peace, lost in his own little world. I felt a swelling of joy and pride in my chest as I reflected on when he told me about his little side. I was surprised, sure, but seeing him here, fully relaxed and trusting in my care as his partner and mommy… I wouldn’t trade this for the world.
I was enjoying the view so much that I was almost tempted to let him stay up past his bedtime. Almost. I locked at the clock, which read 8:01, and reminded myself that helping him get consistent sleep was also a part of that care and trust between us.
“Sweetheart,” I said gently, getting his attention, “it’s bedtime.”
“O-Tay Mommy,” he replied obediently, not even bothering to take his paci out.
“Come on,” I led him away by the hand, “Let’s get you into your jammies and ready for bed.”
I had dressed him in one of our go-to outfits today: khaki shorts and one of his favorite Dino t-shirts.
“I changed you not too long ago, so you should be good to sleep in that diapie,” I pulled down his shorts and gave his padding and exploratory squish.
He wasn’t *very* wet, but he was hard.
“Goodness baby,” I purred, “Did mommy checking your diapie get you all excited?”
“Y-yes mommy,” he blushed as he bashfully looked at the floor. He was adorable, delicious even. I couldn’t stop what happened next.
“Oh, How can I resist you when you’re this freaking cute!?” I ripped his Dino shirt over his head, and placed a firm, guiding hand on his chest. I then pushed him all the way back to his crib, bars still lowered, and shoved him onto the mattress.
“M-mommy?” He eyed me excitedly.
“Just a second Sweetheart,” I pulled off my blouse and stepped out of my jeans, “You’ve been such a good boy recently that Mommy thinks you deserve a reward.”
“Alright then,” he growled in anticipation, reaching for the tapes on his diaper.
“I don’t think so mister,” I swatted his hand away, “Your diaper stays on.”
“B-but”
“Shhhh,” I pushed him onto his back and planted an indulgent kiss on his cheek before expanding my affectionate barrage to his neck.
He moaned and trembled with every brush of my warm lips on his skin. He was utterly mine, defenseless to my affections.
I felt my panties grow wetter as I devoured my helpless boyfriend with my eyes. He really couldn’t do anything to resist me; how could he? I was his mommy, and he was my baby.
I began to rock my hips over his padding, listening to the chorus of crinkles and his emboldened moans.
Then I sped up. It only took a minute or two before he was begging in the only way he could:
“M-Mommy… mommy-mommy-mommy!” He cried out rapidly, which I had come to learn meant that he was about to cum.
“Yeah baby?” My sultry voice rumbled forth, “Are you gonna make cummies in your wittle diapie for mommy?”
“Ughhh!” His body twitched under me as he spurted into his thirsty padding.
“Good boy,” I moaned but continued grinding. I straddled my boy’s diaper faster and faster, panting as I did, until I eventually found my own climax. Then, I collapsed into my baby’s waiting arms.
“I— I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “For cumming too quick to have big kid sex…”
“Oh sweetheart,” I planted another kiss on his cheek, “I love how fast you come for me. It only proves that you’re so helplessly and tantalizingly mine. Plus, I wouldn’t keep you in diapers if I thought you could hold it, silly…”
He blushed at that but said nothing more.
“Now,” I caressed his face as I rested on his chest, “It’s way past someone’s bedtime, so let’s get some sleep.”
“Okay,” he said sleepily. “I love you, Mommy.”
“I love you too, sweetheart.”
Then, we passed out in each other’s arms and slept the night in his crib. I smiled to myself as I drifted off; this baby boy was mine, and I couldn’t be happier.
She woke up to the sound of sniffling. Vision blurry, she fumbled around the bed one-handed, searching for the source. She patted the blankets where he should have been. He wasn’t there. She sat up, worry pushing away the veil of sleep. She switched on the light and glanced around the room. She immediately saw it. The blankets were askew at the edge of their bed, dropping off to pool on the floor. In an instant, she was there. He was lying on the floor, blanket clutched tightly in one fist, covering his head with the other. She knelt down, a little note of panic slipping into her voice.
“What’s wrong, dear? What happened? Are you hurt?”
He moved his hand, looking up at her with tear-brimmed eyes. “Why am I like this?” His voice broke on the last word, and he pulled the blanket back over his head. She sat on the bed beside him.
“Like what?” she coaxed.
“Like I like being treated like a baby and wearing diapers and crap. What the hell is wrong with me?”
She reached out to touch him. He didn’t move.
“Nothing is wrong with you. Why does there have to be something wrong with you?” She shook her head sadly. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.
He tore off the blankets. “Because,” he spat, “I get off on wearing diapers and being babied and I’m a grown man! What’s the difference between me and a fucking pedo? I shouldn’t be like this!”
She could feel the denial and self-loathing rolling off him like waves. It hurt her heart. “What should you be like?”
He floundered. “I don’t know… just something… something… normal.” The fire doused as quickly as it lit, and she saw his shoulders slump. “I just wish I was different.”
She cupped his chin and forced him to look her in the eye. “Do you want to do anything involving kids?” She saw his eyes spark and his face crumpled in disgust.
“Of course not!”
“Do you think I do those things with you because I like kids?” Her voice was sterner.
He stuttered and shook his head. “Absolutely not. I wouldn’t be with you if I even thought that.”
Her eyes held him. “So, clearly there is a difference between you and criminals.” She reached behind his head and gently pulled it into her lap. His breath tickled her thigh and she felt tears on her skin. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You don’t want to hurt anyone. You don’t involve others without their consent.” She began to stroke his hair.
“Everyone has their kinks. There’s nothing wrong with exploring it with a consenting adult. If your thing is being cared for and loved with a little humiliation and diapers thrown in… really who cares?”
“But… but its not normal,” he mumbled.
“No, it’s not, but why does that matter, really? I love you. I love being with you. I love taking care of you. I love seeing you waddle around. I love that little giggle of yours when I tickle you, and that pouty face you get when you don’t get your way. I love talking with you. God, I love sex with you. I love your cute onesies, and your pacis, and everything. I don’t care what other people think is “normal”. It isn’t any of their business anyway.” She sunk down to the floor and wrapped her arms around him. He felt so small then. She rubbed his back and felt his breathing slow. “I love everything about you, Baby. It’s ok. You’re a good boy.”
He looked up at her with tear filled eyes. “I love you too, Momma.”
She smiled tenderly and kissed his forehead. “I know, Baby.”
"Shh," she murmured once again. "No more struggles, baby. Shhh. Just let it happen…"
Not that he had much of a choice anymore.
Still Jake, fired by the last desperate remnants of his rational adult self, slurred out from behind the rubber nipple of the feeding bottle. "Buh- but, Audree- I can't. I godda- godda be weesponfhabull…" To which she only laughed softly and thrust the bottle nipple further in, effectively silencing her protesting fiancé. "What a silly little fellow you are! Don't worry, baby. I've taken care of everything already. Everything's gonna be okay, I promise. Just hush up and drink for me now…"
As his mute eyes drifted up to hers, questioning and unsure, Audrey smiled down into them and stroked his brown locks affectionately. "Really, baby! I know how much this means to you, so I've taken care of everything." She pulled the bottle out to let a gasping burble of air slip in through the nipple, then pressed it home once more between the diaper-clad young man's lips. "Fine, I'll tell you what I've done, baby. But only as long as you keep drinking like a good boy…"
Jake's suckling redoubled, and she sighed and glanced up reflectively, recollecting the events of the past twenty-four hours. "Let's see, honey. It was early this morning that we got the email, wasn't it? From your doctor, of course. She said there was no reason not to file for a medical accommodation, and she even sent along the paperwork we needed."
She smiled softly and glanced back down over her suckling charge's thickly padded crotch. "So that was it, really. I took care of the rest for you: sending it to your work's HR department, for starters. And forwarding it on to our insurance, naturally. Oh, and of course… well, I knew we'd have to do it eventually. So I sent a little note to your folks and to mine – just so they know you're okay…"
She smiled into the muted, confused panic welling in his eyes. "Aww, honey, don't worry! I promise it's okay. They already sent back super nice responses, too – all about how grateful they are that you're fine, and that I'm helping you out with such a sensitive health issue, and that they're more than okay with making sure you're properly protected whenever you visit…"
Another withdrawal of the bottle, and another renewed suckling from her increasingly uncoordinated and limp fiancé. "So don't worry one bit, dearest. All you have to do is let me take charge, just like you've been begging me for months. Just relax, and let the medicine do its job. Let your sweetheart take over. She knows just how much you've been wanting to become her little diaper baby. She knows just how much you need this. You're safe now: safe, and locked back in diapers like we both know you want…"
As Jake's eyes drooped and his bare thighs sagged limply apart, a mute testament to his drug-induced incapacitation, Audrey beamed gently down at her adorable, overgrown diaper baby. Truth be told, she'd come to crave this as much as he, these past few months. Thinking about taking over, being a motherly caretaker, gently thrusting her sweetheart further and further down into sweetly humiliating babyhood… Well, she hadn't set out to have such a kinky, unconventional relationship. But by god, it was fast becoming one of the most intensely satisfying parts of her life.
Now, then. Thanks to that powerful combination of sleeping tonic, muscle relaxant, and diuretic, within a few more minutes this adorable little baby boy of hers would be out like a light. And with any luck, he'd wake up not merely a padded, disoriented baby boy, sitting up in his new makeshift crib in nothing but a diaper. He'd wake up thoroughly wet, staring confusedly down at his soggy pampers that would serve as a visible testament to the truth of that doctor's note: that he was now, in fact, diaper dependent.
And if by some miracle he actually remained dry? Well, that note would still work wonders. Because now that everyone else in his life expected him to be diapered, it would only be a matter of time before his reliance on them turned from hot little fantasy into warm, squishy, padded reality.
So Audrey smiled, knowing that she had just given her dear fiancé the most terrifyingly wonderful gift in the world.
Image Credit: @abdreams
Please don't remove my caption or accreditation, okay? Oh, and check out my Patreon here if you want to read more of my short stories!
I can still picture the first night I met him. A packed club, the air hot and loud, bodies pressed together under flashing lights. I felt his gaze before I even saw him, bold, lingering, fixed on my butt every time I moved. Most guys I’d roll my eyes at, but something about the way he watched made me smile. It wasn’t sleazy. It was hungry and a little shy, like he couldn’t help himself.
One song led to another, and somehow we ended up dancing together. Closer, closer, until the music blurred and his lips found mine. That kiss turned into numbers exchanged, nights out, and then mornings in. Before long, we weren’t strangers anymore, we were us.
For a while, everything was easy. Teasing, touching, the kind of spark where you can’t stop wanting more. He still couldn’t keep his eyes off me, and I loved catching him at it. Then, one quiet night, he told me something different. Something real.
It came out haltingly, with a blush he couldn’t hide. He trusted me with his secret—that sometimes he wore diapers. Not because he needs the, but for fun. He half expected me to laugh, maybe even walk away. But I didn’t. Instead, I asked him to show me.
The first time I saw him padded up, he looked both terrified and adorable, like he couldn’t decide whether to hide or run towards me. I reached out instinctively, palm sinking into the soft bulk of his nappy. He shivered, cheeks burning, and I knew then I was hooked. It wasn’t weird. It was tender, intimate, something that pulled me closer instead of pushing me away.
Now, the roles have flipped. It used to be him sneaking glances at me. These days, I’m the one checking him out, his thickly padded bum, snug under those childish prints he loves. When we’re lying together, I can’t resist. My hand drifts there without thought, squeezing, patting, poking until he squirms and buries his face. Sometimes I tease, sometimes I comfort, but either way I don’t want to let go.
It’s become our quiet language. The way he wiggles when I press too firmly. The warm squish when his nappy is soggy and swollen. The trust in his eyes when I touch his diapered bum, no shame between us anymore.
Looking back, it’s almost funny. From that man in the club sneaking looks at my ass, to the boy I can’t keep my hands off now, it feels like a perfect circle. Only now, the center of my attention isn’t what he used to stare at. It’s his padded, soggy butt, soft and irresistible, right under my palm.
The first time that I hear the name Chad referenced is on the first time I meet Angela’s friends, and it comes in the form of an off-hand compliment–or, perhaps, put-down, depending on your perspective. Angela’s friend Lacy says: “Oh, this guy is much more mature than Chad.” Maybe, if the comment had just elicited a few little chuckles and grins before the conversation got back on track again, I wouldn’t have thought about it much. But the response to this remark really surprised me. Angela and her friends laughed loudly together–with them cackling while tears formed in their eyes. I watched as Bethany mimicked sucking her thumb, while Sarah curled up her fists and pretended to rub them under her eyes like a bawling toddler.
Context clues suggested that Chad was an ex-boyfriend of Angela’s–someone that Angela had eluded to in vague stories before, though I had never had a name for. The way the girls carried on about this, while a little amusing to watch, was still curious to me. Why all the allusions to baby-ish behavior? The ‘mature’ comment, too, seemed specifically damning.
Later, after Angela and I had left the company of her friends for the evening, I decided to just come out and ask: “So, what’s the joke about this Chad guy you used to date? He acted like a baby or something?”
Angela, in that frank-but-mysterious nature she often had, simply said: “He didn’t act like a baby. He was a baby. Probably still is.”
I suppose I could’ve–should’ve–asked more questions, but I thought it best to just let it go. Seeing Angela be so dismissive of a past flame only bolstered my own self-esteem and that was all I needed. I was the man that she wanted to be with now. And in making their little jokes tonight, Angela’s friends signaled that I was better than whoever Chad was.
For a while, this was the end of the story, as it concerned me.
Months later, with our relationship flourishing, Angela suggested that we move in together, an idea that I put my stamp of approval on. The lease on my own apartment was winding down, and Angela had an entire duplex unit all to herself. It just made sense.
Shortly after moving day, and as I began the arduous process of unpacking all the boxes I had delivered to my new home, I found myself in the master bedroom and filling my new closet with my clothes. In the midst of this, I dropped a belt on the floor, which caused me to explore the deep corner of the closet I might not have paid much mind to otherwise. It was here that I found…a pacifier. I didn’t think of it much at first–while Angela doesn’t have any children of her own, the history of this house precedes her, and I assumed it was a relic from a different owner.
I showed it to Angela, thinking it would be something we could laugh about. “Take a look at what I found in the closet,” I joked. “You trying to tell me something?”
But Angela’s reaction surprised me. She quickly snatched it out of my hand, muttering under her breath and rolling her eyes. She seemed to find no humor in it, and I watched as she shoved it into her pocket and marched away.
It was only later that I reflected on that first night out with Angela’s friends, when they all sat around and mocked Chad for, apparently, being a ‘big baby.’ It’s not like I honestly believed that this pacifier belonged to Chad, though I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a connection. I imagined a scenario where Angela had bought the pacifier for him as a sort-of joke–a mean commentary about how he had been acting. I still wanted to know more about that relationship–about who Chad had been and what he had done to earn his place as the ‘babyish’ punching bag. Maybe just for my own sake–did the man make critical mistakes that I could learn to avoid myself? But Angela seemed unwilling to reopen that closed book, and I respected that right of hers.
===
It would be quite a while before I thought about Chad again; months, in fact. But he popped into my head the day after Angela and I had hosted our first cookout together.
It was late spring then, and this wasn’t just our first social gathering at the house since we moved in with each other, but the first official merging of her social circle with my own. It was, by most metrics, a slam dunk. Our friends got along well, the food was great, and everyone was quick to point out how adorable the two of us were as both hosts and as a couple. Everything seemed to be looking up that night–especially through the haze of having worked my way, with my friends’ help, through most of the keg I had bought for the event.
That next morning, I was awakened by Angela’s panicked shaking of my shoulder. She was saying something to me about ‘wet,’ but it didn’t make any sense to me.
“Wh-what are you talking about?” I mumbled.
“The bed!” she exclaimed. “It’s soaking wet!”
It was at this that I sat up and felt around me. Sure enough, the mattress and the bed sheets were damp and soggy. “Did a pipe burst?” I asked. “Did something spill?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “I…I think it was you.”
“Me? Well I didn’t spill anything, so…” But it was then that I realized what she meant. Sure enough, when I looked down at the bed, I could see the damp, yellow-tinged, stain seemed centralized around my side of the bed and not hers. As if further evidence was needed, I checked my boxers, finding them just as drenched as the bed.
It appeared that I had wet the bed. As best as I could recall, I had never done anything like that in my life, even when I was a young boy. I almost refused to believe that I was responsible for this, despite the overwhelming evidence. I tried explaining this to Angela, but it was clear that she had already made up her mind about this.
“You did drink a lot last night,” she said.
This was true, but it also wasn’t the first time in my life I had a lot of beer in a single night, and I had certainly never pissed the bed before.
I had limited options. To continue to insist that I wasn’t responsible for the wet bed seemed unhelpful, as I didn’t have a better answer for what actually occurred. The better solution seemed to be to just apologize, take care of cleaning the bed, and focus on proving to Angela in the future that it wasn’t going to happen again.
She seemed to accept this, though not before making a little comment as she walked out of the bedroom: “Keep that up, and you’re going to have to wear some protection to bed.”
Protection. Diapers, I assumed. And the thought of diapers reminded me of the found pacifier, which reminded me of the comments about Chad being a ‘big baby.’
Call it instinct, or just plain paranoia, but something wasn’t sitting right with me. I held onto that feeling, becoming guarded and observant over the next few days. I drank less alcohol–less liquids in general, really–especially at night. In the mornings, I listened to her make snide comments about how I ‘managed to keep the bed dry again,’ as if I had a long history of bedwetting.
It finally happened again almost a week later, I woke to the feeling of a warm dampness all around me on my side of the bed. While I was thankful I had been the one to catch it this time, it didn’t take long for Angela to wake too, observing for herself what had happened.
“I can’t believe you did it again,” she said, shaking her head with disappointment. “We’re going to have to do something about this.”
I knew what she meant, of course–that little threat about diapers from the other day. But I wasn’t so sure that was the end-all-be-all solution here. “I think I should go to the doctor first. See if there’s a real problem that needs to be taken care of.”
“A doctor? What’s he going to tell you? Something about it being stress related, I bet.”
Her dismissive attitude about my going to the doctor fueled my paranoia more. Something seemed up. But who could I talk to about this?
Chad. I decided that I needed to talk to Chad.
===
I worried that it wouldn’t be easy to find Chad, given that he had a common enough first name and I didn’t know his last name. But I had some ideas. One day, while I had the house to myself, I dove through file folders of old bills and documents that Angela kept at the desk in her home office, finally retrieving a cable bill addressed to a Chad Sussman at this address. Bingo.
With a little sleuthing on social media, I was able to locate a Chad Sussman who still lived in this city. With a little trepidation, I sent him a short message: “If you’re willing, I’d like to talk to you about your previous relationship with Angela Walker.” In all honesty, I was expecting him to either not respond at all, or for him to tell me to fuck off.
But, only two hours later, I received a response back from him. “Having seen the pictures on your profile, it looks like you two are dating now. I’d say that we should probably talk–but I’m worried that it’s already too late.”
Not entirely scared off by his cryptic warning, I agreed to meet Chad. I suggested a bar or a diner–somewhere public–for our interaction, but he insisted I come to his apartment instead. It didn’t seem like an especially good idea to comply with this request, but maybe I was just feeling desperate to get this conversation over with.
The moment I walked through the door in Chad’s apartment, I was overwhelmed with scents that were foreign to my nose. Baby powder, perhaps, but something else too. Something musty and stale.
It was an inoffensive apartment, the space minimally utilized and barely anything as far as decor went. It reminded me of my first apartment after college–a space for eating and sleeping, with little care given for it feeling like ‘home.’ Likewise, Chad himself seemed harmlessly average, with his regular-cut jeans and baggy sports-team hoodie. He seemed a little frumpier than the pictures on his social media profile suggested. I suspected he hadn’t been in his prime for a while–knowing Angela, there was no way she would’ve dated someone who looked as he did now.
He offered me a drink, which I declined, though this didn’t stop him from grabbing a beer for himself, despite it only being the early afternoon. We made small talk for a bit, trading notes on our jobs and what schools we went to. We both knew that’s not what I was there to talk about, but I waited for him to change the subject when he’s ready.
Then, he finally is, saying apropos of nothing: “So, I suppose you’re wetting the bed now?”
“Excuse me?” I ask.
“You’ve wet the bed a few times. Angela might’ve even bought you some diapers, huh? Has she made you wear one to bed yet?”
I was tempted to ask how he knew that, but I was sure I already knew the answer. “Is that what happened to you?”
“Sure did,” he said, nodding. “And believe it or not, that’s just the start of it.”
I was almost scared to ask: “What comes next?”
“More ‘accidents,’” he said, letting out a laugh. “And then there’ll be more diapers. Diapers during the day. DIapers when you go to work. Diapers around your friends and family. Soon enough, you’re wearing diapers all the time. The bathroom’s locked so you can’t even use a toilet if you wanted to. But it’s already too late by that time–she’s already got you convinced that this is the way it should be. She tells you that you belong in diapers at all times.”
I chose to believe him, as ridiculous as it all sounded. Sure, I could’ve said that the story was simply too ludicrous to be made up, but more than that, I think it was that his story only confirmed my own paranoia. There was a part of me that had already predicted–before even speaking to Chad–that this was where things would be going between Angela and I.
“Okay,” I said. “But…how? How is she doing this?”
He sighed. “I used to think that, in the beginning, she just dumped a glass of her own piss over my lap while I slept. But that doesn’t explain what happens later–when I start pissing myself in broad daylight while I’m wearing a diaper. Don’t get it twisted, okay? Eventually? The accidents are real. You really will need diapers. I…don’t know how she did it. Drugs in our drinks and food? Hypnosis? Fucking…magic? I don’t know. Whatever she does, I’ll tell you this much, it works.”
I hadn’t yet processed this answer, and I’m ready to ask the next obvious question: “Why is she doing this?”
“Well…that I know,” he said, nodding his head.
“Okay?”
“She wants a baby. And I don’t mean the little ones that come out of her belly, alright? She likes turning men into her little baby playthings.”
Of all the things that Chad said–and there’s a near-infinite number of questions I want to ask based on the things he just told me–the one that jumps out first is the use of ‘men.’ “Were there men before you?”
“Yes,” he said, quickly and confidently. “I don’t have names for you, and I don’t know how many there were. But in the bedroom closet–the one that’s probably yours now–on the inside corner where the door is…”
“I found a pacifier there,” I said.
“Ah, yes,” Chad said, laughing. “That was mine. I left that there for you. Or…for someone, I guess. Whoever was next. I guess I hoped that by the time you found it, you’d have already been indoctrinated into Angela’s world of diapers. Did you see the, uh…markings on the wall in that corner?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Check, next time you can. There’s a note from me. And a note from someone who came before me–the note that made me realize I wasn’t the first of her babies.”
A few beats passed without either of us saying anything. My head was swimming with information–a blur of facts, assumptions, and half-answered questions that didn’t all connect like I wanted them to.
“You’ve got two choices, pal,” he said finally. “Either get out, or embrace it. Be her baby–just as she wants you to be–or find a new girlfriend. Because you’re never getting back the relationship you thought you had with her.”
“Is that what happened to you?” I asked. “You bailed?”
“Nah,” he said, cheeks blushing. “What happened to me is even worse: She got bored with me.
My eyes widened, begging him to tell me more with me needing to ask.
He sighed. “I stuck around for all the wrong reasons. Once you’re living with her, and once she’s making you dependent on her diapers, you get it in your head that there’s no other option. You’re afraid to go out. You’re afraid to work. You just let yourself get trapped in her little baby fantasy. But…that’s not good enough for her. She wants you to be there because you want to be her little baby. She doesn’t want a ‘prisoner,’ you see what I’m saying?”
“I guess.”
“She kicked me out because I wasn’t ‘committed’ enough. Fucked me up for a while. No place to live. No job at that point. And…the diapers.”
“You…still wear diapers now?” I asked, deciding–until I have more time to think through things more–to just accept everything he’s saying is the truth. “All this time later?”
He looked me in the eyes when he answered. “I do.”
“Because you have to? Or because you want to?”
He laughed. “I…I don’t know anymore.”
This was the worst case scenario for my visiting Chad–leaving with more new questions than answers. I could’ve stood there all day, firing questions at him, but I think I only had one more I truly needed to ask: “Do you have any regrets about how you handled things with her?”
“Just one,” he said. “I wish I had allowed myself to be the baby she wanted.”
===
I, of course, didn’t mention my trip to Chad’s when I spoke to Angela later. I acted like everything was normal–or as ‘normal’ as things could be in our home. But what I did do was to go up to my closet in the bedroom and check the inside wall in the corner by the door. Sure enough, I found the messages that Chad alluded to.
The top-most, from Chad, gave a date and then: “She keeps me in diapers. I’m her baby, for now.”
Then, below that, is another message in a different color ink. This also has a date, from a few years prior–close to the date that Angela first bought this duplex, I believe. It reads: “Mommy’s little baby was here.” It’s signed “M,” though I have no idea, or context, for who that might be.
With my own pen in hand, I made a note above Chad’s. “Looks like I’m the newest baby.” I added the date and my name. Maybe nobody would ever see this. Or, maybe, a few months, or a year, from now there’d be someone new using this closet, and they’d be adding their own note to this collection.
I was on the fence about what I wanted to do. The most sensible answer was to pack my bags and get out of the house before things escalated further. And considering how a few large boxes from something called Pretty Paddings Inc. had just shown up at the door, things were going to get worse before they got better.
And yet…I wasn’t ready to leave just yet. I couldn’t say why that was. Maybe I needed to see Angela’s strange world for myself first–just to confirm that the story Chad told me was true, and that I wasn’t running away from something that he exaggerated.
===
That night, as we readied ourselves for bed, Angela put her hand on my shoulder and looked into my eyes. “Darling…do you think you could do something for me tonight?”
I swallowed nervously, having a good idea what this might be about. “What’s that, love?”
“In light of the recent accidents you’ve been having, I took it upon myself to buy something for you.”
“Protection?” I asked, remembering the word she had previously used for it.
“Yes,” she said. “That’s right.”
“But when you say ‘protection,’ we both know you mean…”
She put a finger on my lips to silence me. “It doesn’t matter what anyone calls them, dear. What’s more important is that we keep the bed dry. And these will allow for that to happen. Would you please wear one tonight? For me?”
It could have been that I was too polite to tell her no, or maybe I just wanted to prove to her that I could keep it dry and this whole stunt was pointless. Though a small part of me wondered if it was something else entirely. Chad had voiced fear that Angela had manipulated him by mysterious means, and I wondered if, in this moment, the same was happening to me.
“Of course,” I said.
“I appreciate that,” she said.
This is all that’s said about that until after I’ve brushed my teeth and have returned to the bedroom, finding Angela waiting for me with something in her hands. A folded, bright white, adult diaper. It’s bigger and thicker than I would’ve imagined such a thing being. Unnecessarily so, even.
“Is…that for me?” I asked.
“It is,” she said. “But I worry that it might be the sort of thing that’s hard for you to put on yourself.”
I swallowed. “And so…”
“Why don’t I help you with it,” she said. “If you just lie down on the bed, I can put this on you.”
I feigned ignorance and said: “Oh, you know your way around one of these, huh?”
She giggled, playfully shrugging. “I just think it’d be easier this way.”
Was I playing along? Or was she somehow making me lie down on the bed for her? I wasn’t sure, despite the fact that I was lowering myself onto my back while I watched her unfold the diaper. With each crease that was undone, the thing doubled in size, and by the time it was completely unfurled, it seemed entirely too big. Comically large.
As she gripped the waistband of my joggers and boxers, pulling them down my legs, I wanted to tell her that I had seen commercials for ‘incontinence briefs’ intended for older adults, and that I knew those to be slimmer, more discreet things. The diaper she had now seemed like overkill. But I kept my mouth shut and let her do whatever it was she thought was necessary.
“Spread your legs for me,” she said. “Lift your bottom.” My cheeks grew red and warm as she went about sliding the garment under me and pulling the front of it through my legs. Was I just imagining things, or had her tone gotten more condescending as she completed this process?
I let it happen.
“There,” she finally said, a satisfied look on her face. “I think that’s going to do just fine.”
“If you say so,” I said, already rolling into my spot on the bed and pulling my sheets over me.
Just before falling asleep, I thought about what Chad had told me–that I’d have to decide if I was going to leave her, or if I was going to embrace the diapers.
===
In the morning, much to my surprise and disappointment, the diaper was wet. Angela was aware of this before I was, and went about poking and prodding my soaked padding like she was running tests on it.
“See?” she said. “I told you this was a good call.”
Too confused to offer a rebuttal, I simply nodded and left it at that. Shortly after, I took it off, took a shower, and then got dressed for work. I spent most of my workday thinking about it, trying to wrap my head around how this was happening to me–how Angela was making this happen.
That night, bolstered by the diaper’s performance the night before, Angela sent me to bed diapered once more. And, again, I woke up the next morning in a wet diaper.
It went on like this for a week or so, with us falling into a routine where Angela would diaper me at night and check it in the morning. There were a few nights I woke up dry, but the pride I felt then would quickly be squashed the next morning when I’d wake with drenched padding wrapped around me.
And then, on a Sunday afternoon while I did some work in the back yard, I felt a warm trickle running down my inner thighs, dampening my jeans. I foolishly thought, for a moment, that I had left a hose running for somewhere that was spraying my pants. But even before I looked down at myself, I had a good feeling what had actually happened–an accident. During the day. Just as Chad had warned me of.
What concerned me most about this particular accident was that it was the proof I think I needed that it was me wetting myself and not just an elaborate hoax being administered by Angela. As Chad had said himself–there was a fear that she was acting as the ‘pee fairy,’ pouring her own urine over my pants or into my diaper while I slept. This was irrefutable confirmation that these accidents were genuine, as was, perhaps, the need for diapers.
Angela either saw this happen from inside the house, or she just so happened to spot me as I stood out in the yard inspecting my pants. “Come here,” she said. “Hurry.”
Inside, she inspected my pants for herself and tutted while shaking her head. “I was afraid of this. Maybe you need to be wearing diapers more often than just at night.”
“M-maybe I need to actually talk to a doctor first,” I floated again–half-heartedly, I’ll admit, as I already had figured she was going to talk me out of this.
“What for? You don’t want to be on medications do you?” she asked. “The side effects of those are often worse than the actual problem you’re taking them for. This isn’t that big of a deal. All you have to do is wear your diapers more often.”
“Diapers?” I asked. “We’re calling them diapers now and not ‘protection’?”
“Does it offend you when I call them that?” she asked.
I said it did not, and from that point on, we both referred to them as diapers.
She insisted on being the one to change me as often as she could. There were times, in those first few weeks, when I’d be left to my own devices and I’d have to take off my own sopping wet diaper–but in those instances, I didn’t bother putting a new one back on, opting instead for my more ‘adult’ underwear.
But then came an afternoon where, after I ditched a heavily sodden diaper and slipped into my boxers, I ended up having another accident in my pants as well as a sizable puddle on the floor. Sure enough, this was right around the time when Angela came home from running whatever errands had taken her out of the house in the first place.
I see that afternoon, now, as the one where things really began to change. I saw a new side of her that day, and our roles seemed to change considerably in just an instant. Furious at me for pissing my pants rather than just wearing another diaper, she pulled me over her knees and proceeded to spank me through my wet boxers like I was just a naughty child. I could’ve fought her off or run away or just outright refused to let this happen, and yet I offered no resistance. There was even a part of me that felt like this was the punishment I deserved.
The rules changed from that point on. I was to be in diapers at all times. She would be the only person who could change me, and when a diaper was wet, I would be changed into only a new diaper. To stress to me how serious she was, I watched as she emptied my underwear into a trash bag, which she then took out to the curb and deposited into our bin.
“From now on, it’s only diapers,” she said.
===
It wasn’t long after this that I noticed the bathroom door was locked shut–a new doorknob had been installed that required a key for entry. While I may have been exclusively using my diapers to pee by this point, I was still emptying my bowels into the toilet–even if it felt like the time between when I realized I had to go, and I when it became urgent that I rushed to the bathroom, was getting smaller with every passing day.
I hopelessly turned at the nob, whining as I felt the ache in my abdomen. Unsure of what else I could do, I ran to Angela instead and attempted to beg her for access.
“Please,” I said, “you have to let me in the bathroom. You need to let me use the toilet. I need to…”
“I think it would be better if you stopped using the toilet altogether,” she said to me.
“What? But…”
“I think the diapers are working well for you, and I see no reason why you can’t just do all of your dirty little business in them. I don’t see it as a problem, personally, and I’m the one who has to change you.”
I prepared to mount a counterargument, but my body gave out before that could happen. My dwindling control over my bowels expired and–right there in front of Angela–I dropped to a pathetic squatting position and proceeded to fill the back of my diaper with a messy load so heavy that I could feel the padding droop down behind me.
Beyond just looking amused–possibly delighted–by what I had just done, Angela seemed relatively unfazed by this. Matter-of-factly, like she had already expected this to happen, she helped me stand straight up and took me by the hand to the bedroom where I was once again made to lie down on the bed.
It’s strange, in a way, because this should’ve been the most humiliating moment of my entire life–having my girlfriend methodically wiping my filthy bottom clean like I was a toddler–and yet there was something kind of…soothing about the whole experience. Yes, she made me feel small and fragile, but it was a feeling that I found myself enjoying. I felt cared for. Loved. And I saw the happiness that it brought her–the smile on her face and the gentle laugh she made while shaking baby powder over me after sliding a fresh diaper under me.
This, I thought, was the point where Chad had lost his way. He let these things happen to him, but he didn’t embrace them. He didn’t become the baby. If anything, he was just a lifeless doll.
And so I wondered, as Angela tucked my manhood into the new diaper that she was wrapping around me and taping shut, if I could be the baby that she wanted me to be.
Taking a stab at it, I said: “Thank you, Mommy.”
My reward was her rubbing the front of my diaper, slowly and sensually. For a moment, I wanted to tell her to stop–almost certain that I was breaking some sort of rule, if not one of hers than perhaps one of my own. But she didn’t relent, and continued to caress the bulge in the padding as she stared down at me–her eyes meeting mine as she grinned. She nodded her head, assuring me that this was good and fine. I nodded my head back, acknowledging that I trusted her and that I, too, thought this was good.
Her pace, never getting any faster or more intense, was maddening for a while. With just a little more pressure, I thought, she could have me cumming in a heartbeat. Instead, she methodically, almost mechanically, massaged the diaper and kept a consistent pace. Before long, though, I found my inpatient madness slowly transforming into an accepted rhythm. My pelvis shifted with her hand. She rubbed my diaper and I thrust that bulge deeper and deeper into her hand. Slowly. The tension building and building. The tension building to the point where I felt like a pressure cooker on the verge of exploding.
“M-Mommy…”
“Go on,” she cooed. “Make a sticky mess for Mommy.”
I did exactly that, and I felt as if it was the equivalent of signing on the dotted line. I was her baby now, she was my Mommy, and this was the way that things were going to be from now on.
I quickly learned that it’s a full-time commitment being a baby. I tried to keep working under these new conditions, but when I was pulled into HR’s office and told that there had been complaints about my ‘strongly-scented’ undergarments, I knew it was time to let it go. Mommy, to her credit, never made decisions like this for me–she always let me find my own path forward. And she seemed rather happy with that path too.
Mommy was dressing me now, putting me in colorful onesies and cute shortalls. I rarely noticed, save for the times I walked–or crawled–past a mirror and found the baby looking back at me unrecognizable.
It’s at about this time that I stumble into the living room one night to find that Mommy’s friends are here–Lacy, Bethany, and Sara. The same women who first clued me in to Chad’s fate. For the first time in a long time, I felt extremely self-conscious about who it was I had become, even with Mommy’s urging that it was alright and that her friends just wanted to meet her new baby.
“I didn’t think you were doing the whole ‘baby thing’ again,” said Sara.
Mommy sighed and shrugged. “He was a good man, I’ll give him that. But at the end of the day…I just think I like boys a little more when they’re like this.”
“How could you not?” Bethany said, reaching for my face and playfully pinching at my cheek. “Look how cute and smooshy he is!”
“The perfect little baby,” Lacy proclaimed.
The night was a whirlwind of new experiences, as the women took turns having me sit in their laps as they fed me bottles and spoonfuls of baby food. It seemed like every few minutes, someone wanted to check my diaper–and they’d frequently find it a little wetter than the last time they checked. I barely even thought about the use of my diaper anymore. And again, just as Chad had said himself, it was getting harder and harder to tell if it was because I liked using my diapers now, or if that’s just how my body operated.
The evening culminated with the girls excitedly watching my exposed diaper as I straddled Mommy, my arms wrapped around her neck. Slowly but surely, a stinky gift was being delivered into it, and they all wanted to see the padding bulge, expand, and ultimately droop from the weight. They waved hands in front of their faces and cracked jokes about how there was no chance a baby like me would ever be toilet trained again. Minutes later, I found myself on my back on the floor, everyone circled around me as Mommy both changed my diaper and rewarded my good behavior with a vibrator pressed against my erection until I spurted all over my belly–much to the audience's delight.
“I suppose this means you’re single again?” Lacy asked Mommy.
With a playful smirk aimed at me, Mommy only said: “I’m concentrating on my baby for now. But you never know what the future holds.”
===
These days, I live a good, but paranoid life. I love Mommy and I love the life she’s given me. I don’t think I’d trade it for the world.
But it feels like a game, too. One that I can only win by keeping Mommy happy. One day, and it may not even be because of anything I did, Mommy might wake up and decide she’s ready for a change. And then what? I’m out on my diapered ass like Chad once was, and then she’ll be on to the next man.
I see no signs of that happening anytime soon, but the threat of this keeps me on my toes. In everything I do, the ultimate goal is to make Mommy happy, and I’d like to think I do a very good job of that.
Once in a while, I think about the pacifier I found in the closet, and the notes written on the wall. It’s my hope that nobody will ever have to read the note I left.
But…in the event that someone does? I think I’d want them to know that they weren’t the first, and they may not even be the last. Mommy’s next big baby could be just around the corner.
***
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Every day she would sit watching and giving words of encouragement as he humped a stack of pillows in pink clothes. He would continue to hump until he spurted into his wet pampers. In the warm glow of post orgasm, he lifted his head and looked to his girlfriend.
"So, when can we have sex babe? I really need to feel that warm pussy around my cock, it's been forever!" He sighed.
"Well, that's a pretty rude way to ask. And it's Mommy to you baby, you know this." She stated.
"I'll tell you what, when you can prove to mommy you that don't need diapies anymore. Then we can talk about my pussy and whether or not I'll let you put your little weewee inside of me. Until then you'll be making stickies in your diapies. Okay sweety?"
"What! I can't prove it when you keep me in diapers all the time. And I'm wetting them so often now it's hard to control. It's not fair! This was just a kink I wanted to try. We've had fun, but I think it's gone on long enough." He whined.
"It may have been your idea to try out this age play kink, but I've become quite fond of the whole scene. Too bad for you maybe love it more than you thought I would humm? Oh well, I love it and we're going to keep living it! So, you'll just have to make do with your diapies sweety!" She said smiling.
"But it's not the same mommy!" He whined again.
"What's not the same hun?"
"The feeling of humping in my diapers. I need to feel you, your pussy".
"Oh? I think it's close enough for a silly diaper boy like you." She teased.
"Nuh uh!" He whimpered.
"Oh yes huh! I bet you don't even know what mommy's pussy even feels like. Tell me baby, what does mommy's pussy feel like? She mused.
"Umm I don't know... It's probably warm, and wet, and soft; It's tight and squishy too. He said proudly. "Aww baby, you just described your diapies, good boy!" She praised.
"Nu no didn't" He protested.
"Yep, I think so. You just said squishy, and what else did you say? Soft, are your diapies also soft baby? Maybe sometimes it's even a little sung and almost like it's 'tight? Yeah, I bet it feels so good when it's swelled up big with your stiff willy huh, nice and warm too like a pussy I bet? Aww, I think you really love your 'diapy pussy' don't you baby boy? I think you do. You love your humpy time in your diapies with mommy watching, putting on a show for me. I think I should almost be jealous of you two, a baby and his diapies, ha ha that's so adorable." She chuckled.
"Yeah, I guess so...bu.." He said interrupted.
"So, there you have it baby boy, you've just admitted that your diapies feel like mommy's pussy already, so you should enjoy them. Besides it's as close to a real pussy as your cummies will ever spurt into since I've decided that there'll be no pussy, just pampers for you from now on. You're mommy's pathetic little virgin baby." She stated staring him down.
With this news, he broke down in tears, begging his mommy to change her mind.
"You have proven that you're no man, but a whiny wittle baby and babies don't get pussy, they get pampers. I am no longer your girlfriend, I am your mommy and you are my baby, so get used to it. In fact..."
With this, she took out a marker and wrote something on the front of the diaper, when he looked down, he saw the following:
Even more freaked out, he broke down in utter despair.
"However, there is a bright side to this, you will no longer be making humpies, but mommy herself will wub your wittle willy until you make cummies, it is my duty as a mommy to ensure that her baby's needs are met afterall."
With this, he felt a little better, but was still wailing.
"And not only that, but you'll be nursing from me as well. I've finally started lactating, so it's only fair that you help relieve me too right baby?
She then abruptly changed him and pulled him into her lap and pushed her nipple into his mouth, he struggled at first, but in no time, he was sucking away at mommy's boobies. As she began rubbing his crotch, he moaned in ecstasy.
"Good baby, isn't being fed and rubbed by mommy so much better than pounding her? This is much more representative of our relationship plus I can tell you're really enjoying this."
He suckled away, the taste of the milk was surprisingly delicious, that and the fact that his mommy was expertly rubbing his willy through his pampers, was pushing him to the edge.
"Is my wittle baby having fun? I thought he was a strong man" She stated before increasing the speed. "That's a good wittle baby, make cummies in your pampers for mommy!"
This proves to be too much and he finally climaxes in his pampers and though wouldn't admit it, he highly enjoyed the experience.
"Good wittle baby, this was a lot of fun and the only way you'll be getting off from now on, no pussy for my baby, just pampers"
"Yes mommy" he stated before suckling on her nipples once more.
"What a cutie! you'll be mommy's pathetic little virgin baby forever."
I love this story, but one stuck out, and never did see diaper this way until I read this line
(Aww, I think you really love your 'diapy pussy' don't you baby boy? )
Referring to wet diaper being called diapy pussy. Yes now can see similarity . I love my wet diapers especially the thick bulky swollen high absorbency diaper . I love having my ball buried in warm squishy sloppy mess , i one step closer to understanding my obsession with diapers.
At twenty-one years old, Liam should be in bed with a girlfriend, not lying back on a changing mat with a soaked pull-up squished beneath him, thighs trembling. He should be embarrassed, no, humiliated, but instead, all he feels is warmth. Not just the kind spreading beneath him, but the kind only Mommy gives when she rubs slow, gentle circles across the swollen padding between his legs.
“Such a good boy,” Mommy coos, as if he’s earned this. Her fingers press down just enough to make the soggy pull-up squish in the most deliciously awful way. “Giving up all that silly potty training for Mommy. Big boys don’t get treats like this, do they?”
Liam whimpers, trying to speak, but the paci in his mouth muffles everything into breathy babbles. He doesn’t need to talk. He gave that up too. All he needs is this. Her touch. The weightless praise in her voice. And the soaking warmth cradling him like a reward. His last big-boy choice was giving up the toilet for good, and now it doesn’t even feel like a sacrifice, it feels like coming home.
He'd hesitated. Of course he had. She told him he couldn’t have it both ways—either keep struggling to be a man or let it all go. She was so patient with him. Every accident in his pull-up was another unspoken invitation. Every time she changed him without a word, cleaned him like a toddler, smiled like it was normal, he fell a little deeper. And when he finally asked, softly, with teary eyes and trembling lips, if she’d touch him “down there,” she only smiled and said: “Only if you promise to never, ever use the potty again.”
And now here he is. Trembling under her hand. Wet. Soft. Overwhelmed.
The pull-up can’t take much more. It’s sagging, yellowed, swollen beyond reason. The last thread of his manhood used to rest inside it, and now all that’s left is soaked fluff and a heart that beats only for Mommy’s praise. His hips twitch every time she presses harder. The sound it makes, crinkle, squish, is seared into his brain like a lullaby.
“You’re Mommy’s little squishy boy now,” she whispers in his ear, kissing his cheek, “no more potties, no more grown-up thoughts,no more pull-ups just soggy cummies in your Pampers. Forever.”
Liam moans helplessly around his paci, his body arching instinctively. The last flicker of resistance dies with a moan. He’s not a man anymore. Not even close. Just a stickylittle boy who gave it all away for one squishy, squelchy reward and Mommy’s love.
She woke up to the sound of sniffling. Vision blurry, she fumbled around the bed one-handed, searching for the source. She patted the blankets where he should have been. He wasn’t there. She sat up, worry pushing away the veil of sleep. She switched on the light and glanced around the room. She immediately saw it. The blankets were askew at the edge of their bed, dropping off to pool on the floor. In an instant, she was there. He was lying on the floor, blanket clutched tightly in one fist, covering his head with the other. She knelt down, a little note of panic slipping into her voice.
“What’s wrong, dear? What happened? Are you hurt?”
He moved his hand, looking up at her with tear-brimmed eyes. “Why am I like this?” His voice broke on the last word, and he pulled the blanket back over his head. She sat on the bed beside him.
“Like what?” she coaxed.
“Like I like being treated like a baby and wearing diapers and crap. What the hell is wrong with me?”
She reached out to touch him. He didn’t move.
“Nothing is wrong with you. Why does there have to be something wrong with you?” She shook her head sadly. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.
He tore off the blankets. “Because,” he spat, “I get off on wearing diapers and being babied and I’m a grown man! What’s the difference between me and a fucking pedo? I shouldn’t be like this!”
She could feel the denial and self-loathing rolling off him like waves. It hurt her heart. “What should you be like?”
He floundered. “I don’t know… just something… something… normal.” The fire doused as quickly as it lit, and she saw his shoulders slump. “I just wish I was different.”
She cupped his chin and forced him to look her in the eye. “Do you want to do anything involving kids?” She saw his eyes spark and his face crumpled in disgust.
“Of course not!”
“Do you think I do those things with you because I like kids?” Her voice was sterner.
He stuttered and shook his head. “Absolutely not. I wouldn’t be with you if I even thought that.”
Her eyes held him. “So, clearly there is a difference between you and criminals.” She reached behind his head and gently pulled it into her lap. His breath tickled her thigh and she felt tears on her skin. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You don’t want to hurt anyone. You don’t involve others without their consent.” She began to stroke his hair.
“Everyone has their kinks. There’s nothing wrong with exploring it with a consenting adult. If your thing is being cared for and loved with a little humiliation and diapers thrown in… really who cares?”
“But… but its not normal,” he mumbled.
“No, it’s not, but why does that matter, really? I love you. I love being with you. I love taking care of you. I love seeing you waddle around. I love that little giggle of yours when I tickle you, and that pouty face you get when you don’t get your way. I love talking with you. God, I love sex with you. I love your cute onesies, and your pacis, and everything. I don’t care what other people think is “normal”. It isn’t any of their business anyway.” She sunk down to the floor and wrapped her arms around him. He felt so small then. She rubbed his back and felt his breathing slow. “I love everything about you, Baby. It’s ok. You’re a good boy.”
He looked up at her with tear filled eyes. “I love you too, Momma.”
She smiled tenderly and kissed his forehead. “I know, Baby.”
“So you’re going to stand there and tell me you don’t have a messy diaper? That’s how you want to play this, sweetie?”
“You can use all the big words you want, baby. All the words you learned as an adult. But it doesn’t change who you are now, does it? Nope. You’re not an adult. You’re my little.”
“Awww, I know you want to be an adult. But it’s too late for that, baby. Look at me, you’re not an adult anymore. You never will be again. Why fight it?”
“Who cares? You don’t need to be a man to make me happy! You’re making me happy right now. Do you know how cute you look in that obviously messy diaper you won’t admit to? It’s okay, you’re little now. This is how it’s supposed to be. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, honey.”
“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it, sweetie? You do have a messy diaper! Now come give me a hug before I get you all fresh and clean! You have nothing to worry about anymore, I’m here for you. Now, can you lay down for me?”
