The idea of diapers as punishment and subs resisting them is fun, sure. But I love when littles/subs wholeheartedly love their diapers.
They aren’t embarrassed; they’re perfectly content. They know their lives are better in diapers and don’t object.
Diaper changes might come with some whining, but only if they have to pause whatever they were doing. They’re always pleased to be given a dry diaper and never ask when they’ll be allowed pull-ups or undies.
Any conversations about potty training are met with tears and pleads of, “No, I’m not ready, I don’t want to, I need them, maybe next year.” It’s distressing for them to imagine a day without their diapers.
Teasing them about their diapers has little effect on them. You can call them leaky, or stinky, or a baby and they’ll probably just smile and shrug their shoulders. They might even suggest you give them a try, if you’re so intent on talking about theirs.
They aren’t afraid to admit that their diapers make them feel safe and loved and turned on. They don’t mind that just about all their stimulation happens on the exterior of thick, crinkly padding. It just feels right to them.
Shy little boys that blush and get too nervous to ask for cuddles, as if he isn't gonna bury his face in my boobs and whimper right after I say yes. Come here, sweetheart. Did you really think mommy would say no?
"did you just let go while i was holding you? mm… couldn’t even wait for me to lay you down. that’s alright. you’re mommy’s precious little puddle maker "
"shh, i know. i know you’re trying to be good. but it’s hard when your diaper gets so full so fast, huh? it’s okay, i brought the thick ones this time. just in case"
"poor thing… your onesie’s straining and your padding’s puffed up so big. can barely close your legs now, huh? maybe i should double you up tonight."
"look at that face… red, pouty, and clearly feeling small. but that’s what mommy’s here for. to hold you, tease you, and remind you that soggy babies are still loved."
(this is my last post for the night, its the edibles im trying before 4/20. also thank you to all the new followers c: it means a lot! )
Getting gaslighted/having to act the age you want to be treated until it comes second nature.
"Aww its okay baby, dealing with big feelings? Go ahead, cry, and throw your tantrum baby. It's only natural for someone your age. All better? Let's get you in your diapers and more age appropriate clothes."
"You want to be put in diapers? I'm sorry, hunny big kids don't ask to be put in diapers. Guess you're just going to have to wet yourself and have an accident. Oh, you're soaking wet baby. Did someone need to pee and forget to tell Mommy/Daddy? Let's get you cleaned up and changed."
“… and, ten, awake and alert.” Daddy’s voice switches from the soft, slow drone to his usual chipper rhythm. “OK honey, how are you feeling?” He smiles at you warmly.
You sit on the leather chair across from Daddy’s mahogany desk in the study, arms folded across your ample chest, trying not to smirk or roll your eyes. You’ve listened to him drone on, reading his new script for the last ten minutes. At least it’s over now and you can get back to your day.
“I feel fine Daddy,” you reassure him. He glances down, his eyes leaving yours to trail lower to where your jean shorts bunch between your crossed legs. You don’t want him to be disappointed, but you dutifully uncross your legs, showing him the lack of even the smallest wet spot. At no point did you lose focus, or go into any kind of trance. “Sorry, didn’t work this time!” You shrug playfully.
You start to stand but Daddy holds out his hands in a pausing gesture, the one that says, humor me a moment. You sit back down, failing to keep the frustration out of your posture.
Daddy’s face doesn’t show the disappointment that you expected though. He looks intrigued, thoughtful. “Hmm. Maybe the Ericksonian method isn’t quite right for this then.” A quick smile flashes across his face and he sets his hands flat on the desk. “Well— maybe next time! So, what did you have going today honey?” As he waits for his answer, his hands open the desk drawer on top and remove something from inside, casually placing it on the desk between you.
“I was thinking about baking some bread later, and I need to take the dogs for a walk too, and we should restock the deep freezer at Costco. Did you wanna come wif… wiiiiff….” you start to slowly trail off as your eyes register the object. You’re suddenly aware of your tongue in your mouth, and you trip over your last word.
“Come with you?” Daddy finishes. “Are you alright honey?” He manages to keep the smile off his face but not out of his voice. Not that you can see anything right now except the pacifier on the desk. A thought crosses your mind—why does he have one of those?— and is instantly replaced with an entirely more reasonable question: why don’t I have one of those?
The roof of your mouth feels strange. No, not strange— more. Curiously, you can’t seem to stop feeling it, the smooth tissue there, the way it rubs against your tongue. You lick your lips. You can’t help it. The plastic on the tab is the most wonderful shade of green, a light sage color. A single droplet of drool escapes the left side of your mouth. You barely notice. “Whas dat,” you moan quietly, enraptured by the
Your arms uncross and you lean forward, toward the pacifier. As you do, a sudden very rude noise trumpets from behind you. The rapid pancake of warmth in the seat of your jean shorts feels nice, relieving, but it’s distracting; you furrow your brows momentarily, face going red with a slight strain, and do what you need to so you can go back to thinking about the lovely pacifier on Daddy’s desk. More soft wet sounds emanate from your backside.
Daddy’s eyebrows raise at the loud, blushy sound. “Uh oh honey. Sounds like Daddy’s going to have to clean up his chair!” He chuckles with unworried amusement, rising and coming around the desk to stand to your left, then pauses, watching you scoot forward on your messy bottom toward the desk, your eyes locked in where he knew they wound be. “Go ahead,” Daddy offers you encouragingly. “You can have it sweetie. You know where it goes.”
You reverently pick up the pacifier, turning it over in your hand, and pop it into your mouth.
Ecstasy. Heat unbidden, a deeply sensual ache, rises between your legs as you involuntarily grasp yourself, thighs clenching and unclenching frantically. You suckle gratefully, your breaths coming deep and thankful through your nose. You smell something awful. Your tongue swirls repeatedly, rhythmically, around the soft, yielding silicone between your eager lips. It feels so very good, smells so beautiful, tastes like heaven. You want this to last forever.
Daddy snaps his fingers quietly and you are back to where you’d been. You tongue slows and finally stops.
You’re sitting in his study, but now you’re aware that you’re sitting in a pile of your own mess, a massive poop that you pushed out into your jean shorts just a moment ago. You’ve got a pacifier in your mouth. And the crotch of your jean shorts is cold and damp, and you know without looking or feeling that you’ve peed yourself, even though you don’t remember peeing yourself or even needing to go pee. Your hands are between your legs, still tense, feeling the need to stimulate your needy girl parts.
You start to flush bright red as you realize what’s happened. You look at the clock. It’s not 12:30, it’s 2pm. You’ve been in Daddy’s study—not just there, you’ve been hypnotized— for over two hours*.* After months of trying, it worked. Daddy made you go potty in your pants, just like you’ve always wanted to, just like you described the fantasy to him, just like the helpless little baby you’ve always known you are deep down. You glance up at Daddy, the pacifier now hanging limply from the corner of your mouth. “Uhhhh… uh ohh..” A slow, shy smile starts to creep up your reddened cheeks.
Daddy’s smile is like sunbathing, all warmth and light and love. “Looks like the Ericksonian approach took better than we expected, eh little one?” He reaches his hand out to take yours. To lift you from the chair. To take you into the nursery. To clean you up, and maybe even put you in the diaper you know you belong in.
You let out a small sigh and suck the pacifier back into your mouth and close your eyes. Part of you wants to stay in the chair, wiggle your hips in your own icky, and shove both hands beneath the waistband and rub and suckle until you cum so hard you see stars.
But Daddy has other plans… and they’re bound to be at least as good.
You shyly take one wet hand from between your legs and grasp his hand, ready for everything that comes after this.
Daddy locked me in these last night, forced me to sleep in them, made me take the dogs outside in them, and won’t let me out until I make him breakfast (at the very least)
Thirty minutes ago, they said they’d be fine; they didn’t need a diaper before their nap, they could hold it
But now, as they’re laying on top of you and you feel the warmth spreading from their crotch to yours, you know this is the last time you’re gonna trust them for a long, long time
I'm so incredibly normal and not thinking about being put in diapers by someone with no choice in the matter, doing potty dances and begging them to let me use the bathroom just to get coo'd at to use my diapers like a good little baby. The realization that it's not coming off until my cg decides it's been used enough to warrant a change.
Oh, sweetie, you're burning up! Are you feeling all icky today? Poor little thing. But don't worry, Mommy's here to take good care of you now. First, let's get you changed. Mama knows that diaper must be soaked. I think that we'll put on two diapers, since you won't be leaving the bed unless absolutely necessary.
There we go, spread those legs for Mommy. What a good baby! See, I knew you were soaked. Mommy always knows, so let's make it better and get you in some dry padding. Good job, let's get you all clean and powdered up, hmm? Uh-oh, is the smell of the powder making you sneeze? Poor baby, let's get these diapers on you so you don't have to worry about that anymore.
Now, Mommy's going to get you a nice, warm bottle. She's going to slip a little medicine in there so that you can feel better as soon as possible. No, no fussing, you know that you have to take any medicine that Mama gives you. Just suckle like a good pet.. that's it..
Now hush, and come here. Mama knows you're feeling icky, so she has a surprise for you.. Look, it's your special toy! Mama thinks you deserve to feel some tingles right now. She knows your moans will be stifled a bit by that nasty cough, but they're still just as adorable as always. Stop squirming. Mommy knows how to take care of her sick baby.
That's a good pet. You'll be better in no time. Just trust Mommy~ ♡
so like piss holding is popular, but what about poop holding? letting a load build and build and build until it's a dense weight in your gut, until your hole spasms with the effort of keeping that wall of shit inside, until you can't move without turtleheading and have to spend a moment sucking it back inside, until the urgent gas threatens to dislodge everything but you can't stop enjoying the tiniest amount of relief it gives you, until your gut is bulging with the enormous size of those logs you're carrying around, until you can't keep it inside without pressing your ass against something to physically block the way out...... oof 🥴
I love messing. I know it's not for everybody, and that's okay. But for me, there's seriously nothing more adorably humiliating than sitting in the car with your little, only to faintly smell something strange and look over at them with their cheeks all red while they try not to meet your eyes. I love how squirmy and fussy they get when I say, "Uh-oh baby, did you go poopy in your pants again?"
The way they fidget in their seat and I know they're actively filling the seat of their diaper, the embarrassment is palpable and intoxicating to me. I could nourish myself for days off of their little whines and barely concealed moans as they push the last of it out into their diapers, proving to me exactly why they need them and that I was so right to insist they were too little for pull-ups.
I mean, if you're going around peeing your pants all the time, you can still claim to be a toddler who just isn't potty trained. But if you're still pooping your pants, and your Daddy has to keep you in diapers so you don't make a mess all over yourself? That's just proof that you're undeniably a baby, and you'll have to sit in your shame for a bit until Daddy decides he's had enough of teasing and torturing you in your ridiculous little predicament.
Only babies poop their pants. Only babies need to be kept in full on diapers because their Daddy knows it's only a matter of time before they completely fill their pants like the helpless little kiddo they are. And it's especially adorable when they swear they're a big kid. Like, oh yeah, you're a big kid? And yet you're still making messes in your pants? Did you fudge yourself again kiddo? I dunno, clearly if you can't stop having messy accidents, you aren't even ready for preschool yet. Daddy will have to hold you back another year. Another year of being a helpless baby and not being able to deny it at all.
The door to the elevator opened, and you immediately felt a familiar warmth spread between your legs. You shook your head in confusion and dropped to all fours.
It had felt like just moments ago that you had waddled out of the nursery and onto this same elevator. Your diaper, so full and heavy, had been drooping low between your legs, threatening the integrity of the snaps on your onesie.
But, looking down at yourself now, you were in a pair of shortalls and a white and blue striped shirt. And, judging from the relatively thin feeling of the padding between your legs, the accident you had just had was your first in the diaper you were wearing.
All of this would have seemed strange to most people, but to you and the fellow residents of BebeCo's underground nursery, this was your life. From the moment you gained consciousness, laying in the large, mesh sided playpen, this had been all you had known.
Your days were filled with feedings, playtime, nap time, and diaper changes. Despite knowing you were an adult--knowing that when you crawled onto that elevator, your body was returning to a normal adult life--you never were able to form any cohesive memory of what it was like to be treated as anything but an overgrown toddler.
"Welcome back, Baby Ricky!" The sing-song voice of Miss Milkshake, your beautiful, big-breasted nanny rang out as you crawled into the room, "Nanny has missed you, big boy!"
You both shudder and drool at her voice. Both fear and hunger tug at your heart.
Memories of your first weeks, or was it months, in the nursery flash through your head. Spankings, mouth soapings, hours spent in a bouncer in a messy diaper, and more punishments all administered by the attractive devil hovering above you danced through your mind.
Every one of your attempts to escape your life as an overgrown toddler, to fight back against your captors, were thwarted over and over again. That was, they were until one day, it finally happened. They broke you.
Your stomach rumbled as you let your weight fall onto the slightly damp padding of your diaper. You looked up at Ms. Milkshake and raised your arms, an unspoken request for uppies.
You let out a happy gurgle as she picked you up with almost inhuman strength and placed you on her hip.
"Oh, my sweet boy, did you miss me?" Your nanny cooed as she walked you to the large rocking chair in the room.
You didn't respond with words. You never responded with words anymore. Words got you punished.
Instead, you laid your head on Ms. Milkshakes breast and tugged at the collar of her shirt, exposing her ample cleavage.
"Oh, someone is hungry?" The large woman laughed before sitting down and settling you in her lap, "Lucky for you, Nanny is extra full this morning!"
You couldn't help drool running down your chin as Ms. Milkshake exposed her giant breasts. You felt a twinge of pleasure in your diaper as you stared at her luscious mounds, a feeling you've grown to recognize as a sign of your repressed adulthood.
Ignoring your 'no-no parts,' like the good baby they have turned you into, you let Ms. Milkshake press your head into her nipple before beginning to greedily suckle on her tit.
Ms. Milkshake let out a sigh of relief as her milk began to drip down the back of your throat. She then began to gently massage your cheek as you suckled, looking down at you with a familiar, maternal gaze.
Softly, she began to speak.
"Your outie is fully potty trained."
You moan softly into your captors breast as she speaks.
"Your outie was never even a bedwetter."
You close your eyes and try to imagine a life without diapers.
"Your outie graduated from college."
Tears start to roll down your eyes.
"Your outie's favorite food is pizza, and," Ms. Milkshake bends in and whispers conspiratorially, "I'm going to tell you a secret, no one cuts it up for him!"
You close your eyes and start to grunt, as, without conscious thought, you mess yourself.
Tears stream down your cheeks as you continue to drink at Ms. Milkshake's breast and mess yourself.
You come to a sudden realization. This moment, imagining your life as an adult outside of these four walls as you breastfed and messed your diaper, was as close as you ever would come to actually being an adult.
"Dan!" she said, her voice dripping with mock disbelief. Charlotte had walked in on Dan in a vulnerable state. Stood in front of her was her husband wearing nothing but a cute baby printed nappy, with his erect penis obvious to see, pushing helplessly against the fabric. It was clear to her that Dan had been indulging himself in private fantasy.
Her eyes widened in surprise, but there was a glint of amusement in them. "Well, if you want to act like a baby, then I will treat you like one!"
Dan's face flushed a deep crimson, a mix of embarrassment and arousal. Charlotte's threat, or was it a promise?, sent a jolt through him. He looked at her, his eyes pleading, yet anticipating her next move.
Charlotte, always one to seize an opportunity, decided to make Dan's fantasy a reality. "Alright, baby," she cooed, her voice soft and seductive. "If you want to wear a nappy, then you'll wear it all day. Even when we go out."
Dan's heart pounded in his chest as Charlotte secured the nappy in place and helped pull his jeans over his now padded bottom, barely hiding his infantile state.
The feeling of being so exposed, yet so protected, was exhilarating. Charlotte, sensing his arousal, teased him mercilessly. "You like this, don't you?" she whispered in his ear, her breath hot against his skin. "You like being treated like a baby." Dan blushed.
At the mall, Dan felt a mix of humiliation and excitement. The crinkling nappy beneath his clothes was a constant reminder of his submission to Charlotte. He could feel her eyes on him, her smile knowing and teasing.
Charlotte, enjoying her dominant role, decided to take things further. "Dan, you've been a naughty boy," she scolded, her voice loud enough for passersby to hear. "You've made a mess in your nappy. I think we’d better change you"
Dan's face turned a deeper shade of red, but he couldn't deny the thrill coursing through him. Charlotte led him to the family restroom, her grip on his hand firm and controlling. Inside, she made him lie down on the changing table, his legs in the air.
The humiliation was intense, but so was the arousal. Dan could feel his dick straining against the nappy, desperate for release. Charlotte, seeing his predicament, decided to tease him further. "You want to cum, don't you baby?" she asked, her voice soft and taunting. "You want me to touch you."
Dan nodded, unable to form words. Charlotte, taking pity on him, slowly slid her hand beneath the nappy, her fingers finding his hard dick. She stroked him gently, her touch sending waves of pleasure through him. "You're my baby," she whispered, her voice soft and soothing. "And I'm your mommy."
Dan couldn't take it anymore. With a groan, he came, his cum soaking the nappy. Charlotte, satisfied, cleaned him up and secured the nappy back in place, “Now you can wear that nappy till we get home” She led him out of the restroom, her grip on his hand possessive.
Back at home, Charlotte decided to reward Dan for his obedience. She stripped him naked, her eyes taking in his muscular body. "You were a good boy today," she praised, her voice soft and seductive. "You deserve a reward."
She climbed on top of him, her pussy wet and ready. Dan groaned as she slid down on his dick, the sensation intense and pleasurable. Charlotte rode him hard, her hips moving in a rhythm that drove him wild.
With a final thrust, Dan came again, his cum spilling inside her. Charlotte, satisfied, collapsed on top of him, her breath hot against his neck. "You're my baby," she whispered, her voice soft and loving. "And I'm your mommy."
The next day, Dan found another nappy waiting for him on the bed. With a smile, he put it on, ready for another day of submission and pleasure.
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