27 female. Dom mommy. This blog contains my ramblings and things I enjoy. None of the pictures are of me. If you see yourself, and want it taken down— please ask! I’m more than happy to accommodate.
27 (female) Happily married. With my husband I’m a submissive. You can find me running from spankings and bending over when told. To diapered littles on tumblr, I prefer to play as mommy.
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I have another blog that’s little themed… if you find it, and tell me what it is, I’ll give you a gold star 🩷
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Why am I here? Why is anyone here, tbh? I felt lost and trapped by my other blog and wanted the ability to ramble without people knowing who I was. Anonymity is a privilege.
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How to search my blog:
Posts that I’ve made: #mothergo0se
Posts that I love: #go0selikey
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My inbox is always open… now if I respond is a different story 😘
It’s been a fun ride, but I’m not sure Mother Goose is going to make anymore stories… I just don’t have the drive I once did. Life has been stupid busy.
This caption was written with, is for, and features the adorable @prettymuchpottytrained. I just may have a few more captions left in the tank after all.
Anyone watching you through the baby monitor would be forgiven for thinking you were nothing more than a toddler refusing to sleep. Between the expensive baby monitor Daddy bought and the Bluey nightlight, your infantile state was impossible to miss.
Your Bluey shirt failed spectacularly to cover your overworked Stardust Nursery diaper, which drooped adorably between your legs. Your binky bobbed sporadically while you surveyed the nursery.
Nobody seeing you would ever believe you were actually an adult.
But you could hear what the baby monitor could not—the telltale sounds of pleasure coming from Daddy’s bedroom.
“Ahhh, she's so stinking cute in her widdle diapers!” Mary squealed in delight, watching the diaper-clad girl on Daddy's phone, “She’s like a real baby with her pacifier!”
“Just wait,” Daddy said behind a smirk, knowing what's about to happen. “It gets better. But try not to wake her up. It was hard enough putting her down for her nap and she’s just as fussy as a toddler if it gets interrupted.”
Daddy’s friends nod conspiratorially as they go back to watching the recording on his phone while you nap down the hall, blissfully unaware that your antics are the star of the show.
Had you known the baby monitor had a camera, you might have resisted your urges.
But you didn’t.
You couldn’t resist the siren song of pleasure. Between Mommy’s moans and Daddy’s decisive grunts—and your throbbing princess parts—you were utterly helpless to control yourself.
There you were, kneeling in your crib and diaper, listening to the unmistakable sounds of pure, erotic bliss, forced to accept the truth of your new place in life.
Nobody considered you an adult anymore.
Your nursery was no longer ornamental; it was a functional room designed to handle the needs of a diaper-dependent little one.
Your diapers were no longer accessories; they were necessary. It had been so long since you used the potty that the only time you spent out of them was for baths and the few minutes a day Daddy let your skin air out.
Your clothes no longer serve to highlight your feminine curves; they were designed to make diaper changes easier for Daddy.
Your binky was no longer a “mute button;” it was a necessary tool to calm the nerves of someone too emotionally immature to be expected to self-soothe.
Naptime is no longer an occasional event; it is now a daily requirement to avoid tantrums. One missed nap meant hours of fussiness.
Daddy didn’t strip away your decision-making and autonomy because he made you squirm; he did it because he no longer believes you are capable of managing yourself without a caregiver.
He sees you for who you are.
You aren’t his strong, independent wife anymore; you’re his poopy pamper princess. He knows you don’t need him to be a husband—you need Daddy. Someone to wipe the tears off your cheeks when you’re overwhelmed, to change your icky diapies, and to slide your favorite stuffy into your arms before bed.
Which is why Mommy is the one moaning in pleasure—not you.
You didn't get demoted to the nursery because you're just some silly cuckquean, getting off on being relegated to humping stuffies in a soggy diaper. He's not doing it to tease, humiliate, or titillate you.
He’s doing it because he can no longer imagine the sweet, innocent babygirl who squeals in delight when he blows raspberries on her tummy during poopy diaper changes as a sexual being.
You’re his baby.
His love for you is as strong as the day he married you—but the nature of your intimate moments together has irreconcilably changed.
For him, nothing beats the slow, tender evenings with you wrapped up in his arms, staring up at him with sleepy eyes full of love, your binky bobbing slower and slower until you drift off.
Or the rainy weekends when he raids the linen closet so he can build a fort with his little one, making room for every stuffy. Or the binky kisses.
How could he possibly imagine you as an adult with sexual desires?
“Wait…she’s not gonna use that stuffy to do that, right?” James gasped, watching you lay your favorite stuffy on his back.
Mommy and Daddy look at each other, trying not to laugh.
“She does have one naughty big girl habit,” Mommy chuckled as you positioned yourself with the stuffy, “But it’s just so stinking cute. Best part is she thinks she’s sneaky, too.”
They watch your adorably clumsy thrusts into your favorite stuffy. Slowly at first, glancing at the door periodically. Then faster. Greedier.
Mary sighed, “I can't believe I took sex advice from her.”
“Maybe you should take a leaf from her book,” James quipped, “You've been single for so long, maybe a stuffy would be the perfect boyfriend. Besides, you'd look so cute in one of those diapers! Wait, her little diaper crinkles as she humps are adorable!”
Daddy immediately rushed to pause the video.
“Why'd you pause it?”
“Because the video doesn't have sound...”
“Wha-whacha wachin', Daddy?” you mumbled. You were too groggy from your nap to be embarrassed about your friends seeing your adorably frizzy hair, diaper, and binky.
“Oh, just some boring video, nothing you'd enjoy, kiddo.”
Daddy slid the phone into his pocket before lifting you up and resting you on his hip.
“Oh my gosh, do the stars on her diaper fade away when she's wet?” Mary asks, “See, those stars are normal, and those ones are gone.”
Daddy crinkles your diaper playfully. “They do! We thought they might help her with some potty training. Seeing her stars go 'bye-bye' might inspire her to stay dry, but...Well, let's just say I expect diapers to be part of her life for a long, long time.”
Knowing your diaper is on full display—and hearing everyone casually talk about your potty training struggles—you hide your face in Daddy's neck, holding onto him like a koala in a hurricane.
“What are you doing out of bed, hmm?” Daddy cooed, bouncing you slightly to distract you from noticing his hand pulling back your diaper.
“D-Dada!” you whine at the indignity of this public diaper check.
Daddy rubs your back. “Uh oh...are you Dada's little stinkerpants? Poor baby, trying to sleep in that icky yucky didi...”
You peel yourself from Dada's neck to give him your devastating puppy-dog eyes.
“C'mon, baby, let's get you out of that poopy diapie,” Daddy says, heading towards your nursery.
As you're carried off you catch something about a stuffy and laughter.
“Wuh funny bou' sthuffie, Dada?” you ask as you're gently deposited onto the changing table.
Daddy tickles your tummy. “Oh, they can't get over how much you love your stuffies, that's all.”
For a split-second, a horrible dread crept into your mind—do they know? Why did Daddy say "love" like that? Did Daddy hear when you...played with Dijon?
But the thought is forgotten the moment cold air rushes into your princess parts as Daddy peels back your diaper.
The only thing that mattered was Daddy putting you in a fresh, warm diaper.
hello mommy I'm from the middle east and I'm ABDL boy can i ask u how i can be full baby alone because I don't have mommy/daddy and thank you 💖
Hi anon,
Honestly? Being a full baby while alone will be hard. You probably won’t be able to get fully into the mindset, depending on how little you want to regress.
For example- if you want to be newborn-6 months, you need someone there to help you. If you want to fully regress.
Now! I’m not saying you can’t, I’m just saying, at some point, an adult (you) still has to be able to make decisions and keep yourself safe. I truly recommend finding whatever relaxes you; coloring, watching cartoons, playing with blocks, etc. and start there and build as you get more and more comfortable with your little side.
🙈 this is a DD/LG… I was also unable to edit it. So enjoy the raw version.
“Hi sunshine. Let’s get you changed” he says as he walks up to me. There is no room in his tone for any back talk.
“Okay, daddy”
I get up and make my way over to our changing table. Slowly climbing up the stairs, and hoping I can show him how cute I look and get out of this.
That doesn’t happen.
I’m swiftly put on my back, wet diaper on display and my daddy looking right at me with eyes that remind me why he is in charge.
“But-”
I’m cut off before I can make my plea. A large circular gag is placed in my mouth. The kind that holds your mouth open and has a large hole in the middle so someone can still access your mouth.
Oh no.
Daddy undoes the tapes on my diaper and pulls it down to expose my princess parts.
He runs his fingers through my folds and when they come back dripping wet, he places them in his mouth and licks them clean.
“God, you always taste so good!” He tells me.
Then he plunges two fingers back into me and pumps them in and out, over and over again. Distracting me from what he is preparing on the side.
An enema.
He slides the hose into my bottom. Just about the time he has it fully situated, I realize what’s going on.
“You were very naughty. And naughty girls need cleaned out, and their bottoms stuffed to be reminded of their place.”
I go to argue and I am reminded of the gag in my mouth.
“Do not let go until I tell you too. If you let go early, you’ll stay in that messy diaper until tomorrow morning.” He tells me.
I will not be doing that! So I better pay attention to what he needs me to do.
He turns the hose and lets the soapy water run into my colon. I can normally take the first half of the bag with no problems. It’s the second half that I have a hard time holding onto. And he knows it. Almost as soon as the bag is half empty he starts to undo his belt and slide it off his body.
I’m sweating. Afraid of what is about to happen and trying really hard to hold in the water.
About 3/4 of the bag empties and he turns in off.
“Stand up”
I do and he places a puppy pad under me.
“Get on your hands and knees on top of the pad”
I do as he says and know exactly what’s coming. Luckily, sitting like this is easier to hold the water in, but it also means, that he has a full view of my clenched butt, and nothing to stop him from spanking me.
He pulls the belt back, and hits me on the butt. Hard.
I’m drooling from the gag. Sweating from the enema. And my pussy is dripping wet.
He gives me 5 more spanks from the belt before he drops it to the floor and grabs the new diaper.
I truly don’t know how I’m still holding in the water. My face is tear streaked and the amount of drool on my chin is impressive.
“Lay on your back”
I roll over, wincing when my red bottom touches the diaper he laid out, and accept my fate.
Daddy applies diaper rash cream and baby powder before he pulls my diaper up and tapes it in place.
“You can let go now”
I try to argue. Not wanting to do it in front of him. That’s embarrassing. My face turns bright red.
“It’s either now, or while you’re blowing me. I think now is a better option” he tells me. And I blush even harder. Knowing I won’t be able to hold it once I’m perched on my knees giving him a blow job.
Truly I can’t hold it any longer anyway.
I let go. It’s loud. And embarrassing. And I can feel the water and poo filling that diaper to its capacity.
Once I’m done, or done for now. Daddy looks pleased. He reaches down and pats my diaper, right over where my clit is. The padding has swelled up so much that the friction is almost enough to get me off.
God I’m embarrassed.
“Good girl. Now get on your knees”
I do as he says. On my knees. In a messy diaper that I swear weighs 10 pounds. And he sticks his boot under me.
“You may rub. You may try as hard as you’d like to cum. But you better cum first, because once I cum, I’m done.” He tells me right before he shoves his dick through the hole in the gag.
My body betrays me. My hips start moving on their own accord. Begging for a release. And his boot is just enough pressure on this full diaper to help me get there.
I’m working his dick in my mouth to the same beat as my hips are moving. I can feel myself pooping again, and I can’t bring myself to care.
I’m almost there.
He is shooting his cum down my throat. And, true to his word, he finishes and pulls out and moves his boot. Leaving me on the verge, but not done.
“Poor thing. It’s okay, messy girls shouldn’t cum anyway. I’m going to clean up, and then I’ll clean you up.”
And he just, walks away. Leaving me messy. Horny. And wondering how I can make this happen again.
In those ten years we’ve bought a house, adopted a dog, and somehow ended up adopting the sweetest little bitty one imaginable. He’s shy, clingy, dramatic in all the funniest ways…and absolutely determined to hide whenever he has a poopy diaper.
Tonight we’re celebrating at a beautiful country club right on the water. Everything is soft golden light and expensive dinners, and my little boy is dressed in tiny slacks and a polo that make him look far too much like grown up he actually is.
The only thing giving away just how little he prefers to stay, is the unmistakable outline of his diaper beneath his slacks, getting puffier and more obvious as the evening goes on.
We brought the diaper bag, of course. We knew he’d need at least one change tonight, maybe two if he had a poo-poo. Wet diapers usually don’t bother him much. He’ll toddle around in them forever if nobody notices. But poopy diapers are different. Whenever he has an accident, he gets embarrassed and tries to sneak away to “fix” it himself.
Which brings me to the present moment.
I watch him hurry right past me without making eye contact, moving as fast as he can while still trying to look casual. Immediately I notice where he’s headed.
The bathroom.
Alone.
Except he can’t actually change his own diaper. He has no clue how.
So what exactly is his plan here?
I quietly follow after him, trying not to make a scene. The last thing I want is to embarrass him in the middle of our anniversary dinner. He already looks mortified enough.
He slips into the family bathroom, and just before the door closes, I stop it gently with my foot.
“Honey,” I ask softly as I step inside, diaper bag already in hand, “what are you doing?”
“I…” he stammers, eyes going wide as he tries to figure out how I caught him so fast.
Then the smell hits me full force.
“Ohhhh,” I tease gently. “Did somebody go potty?”
His cheeks turn bright pink immediately, and he looks away instead of answering.
“What was your plan in here, hm?” I ask, kneeling down in front of him. “You don’t know how to change your didi.”
Once again, he avoids eye contact completely and slowly lowers his hand to the front of his diaper.
Oh… OH!
“Sunshine? Do you need mommy to help you feel better?”
Normally we wait for daddy before we play, but there is no way I can go and get him discreetly. So I help my little one instead.
Poor thing hasn’t had release in days.
I pull him over to me, so his legs are on either side of my lap and pull him down on top of me. He blushes when he feels his mess squish against his bottom. And he turns the brightest shade of red when I reach behind and pat his bottom hard. Then gently urge him to move his hips.
“There you go baby. Use mommy to make yourself feel better.” I’m trying to give him more friction by pushing my pelvis up into him.
He whimpers and picks up speed.
I pull my breast out of my dress and undo the clasp on my nursing bra. Giving him full access to my breasts. He always cums harder when he is nursing (and so do I).
He is practically vibrating at this point. I can tell he is getting really close to finishing by the way he starts saying “mommy” over and over again.
He bites down, hard, on my nipple and cums all in his diaper. Right where his cum belongs.
“Do you feel better, love?”
He is leaned against me and just nods his head, like it’s taking all of his energy to recover from the pleasure.
I help him out of his messy diaper and get him all cleaned up, taking my time so he doesn’t feel rushed or overwhelmed. Before long he’s taped back into something soft, dry, and comfortable, his slacks pulled neatly back into place.
“There we go,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to his forehead once I’m done. I give his diapered butt a gentle pat. “All better.”
Still blushing furiously, he hurries back out toward the party, determined to pretend none of this ever happened.
Hiiii goosey! Um I wrote ah story (my first post) and was hoping you could read it? A second part IS coming I’m like half way done, anyways it would make me happpyyy!!
I hear it from the other room and I freeze for half a second, because surely you didn’t just say that.
But then you do it again.
“Are you fucking serious right now?”
My head turns slowly, and I lean just enough to look at you from where I’m standing. “…Excuse me?”
You go still. Not because you didn’t mean it, but because now you know I heard it.
I take a few steps closer, not rushed, not loud. That quiet kind of serious that’s worse than yelling.
“What did you just say?” I ask, softer this time.
There’s that look on your face, half stubborn, half like maybe you can play this off.
“Mmm. No. Don’t give me that.” I shake my head a little. “I want you to say it again. Exactly how you said it.”
You hesitate… and then, like you’re testing me, you mutter, “I said are you fucking serious.”
I let out a slow breath through my nose, blinking once. “Oh, you did, huh.”
A small pause. Just enough to let that sit between us.
“And you thought that was okay to say that?” I ask, tilting my head. “In this house?”
You shrug. Bad move.
“Yeah, no. We’re not doing that.”
I step in closer now, close enough that you actually have to look at me. “You don’t get to throw words like that around and then act like it’s nothing. You know better. I know you know better.”
Another pause… and then you push it, just a little more.
“It’s just a word,” you mumble. “Who cares?”
I let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “Oh, that’s the hill you’re picking right now?”
They nod once, decision made.
“Alright. Come on.”
I turn and start toward the bathroom without waiting, fully expecting you to follow, and after a second, I hear it. Reluctant footsteps behind me.
“Yeah,” I say over my shoulder, “you can bring that attitude with you too. We’ll deal with both.”
I reach the sink and pick up the bar of soap, turning it over in my hand before I look back at you.
Your expression shifts the second you see it.
“Mm-hmm,” I murmur. “Now you’re thinking about it.”
I step a little closer. “Open.”
You hesitate.
I raise my eyebrows. “Don’t.”
That’s all it takes.
You open your mouth, slow and unsure, and I shake my head slightly, more disappointed than anything.
“Such a nasty mouth for someone who knows how to be sweet,” I say quietly. “We’re fixing that.”
It’s brief, just enough to make the point, not dragged out, but long enough that you’re definitely not enjoying it.
“Alright. Rinse.”
I nod toward the sink, letting you handle that part while I lean back against the counter, arms loosely crossed.
When you’re done, I don’t soften right away.
“Now,” I say, “we’re still not finished.”
I tip my head toward the hallway. “Go on. Timeout.”
You glance at me like maybe, just maybe, I’ll let it go now.
I don’t.
“Five minutes,” I add. “And I want you thinking about why you felt so comfortable talking like that in the first place.”
You drag your feet just a little on the way out.
“Hey,” I call after you.
You pause.
My voice drops just a touch, still firm, but warmer underneath. “I’m serious. I expect better from you. And you are better than that.”
A beat.
“So when you come back,” I finish, “you try again. With a respectful tone and some decent words.”
I let that sit as you finally head off, shaking my head once under my breath.
“Fucking serious” I mutter quietly, echoing you just enough to make my point. “Not in my house.”
