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@pcabdl95
“Are you done already?”
“In a minute.”
“We’re gonna be late!”
“We won’t.”
“... fucking grown ass baby.”
“We heard that,” Daddy said and winked at you.
“Good! He’s a grown ass baby! Now please finish getting him ready, and let's go.”
Daddy was just about done getting you ready for your Saturday afternoon nap. He changed you into a nice dry diaper after a long morning in your night one. The night was long as well, hearing Daddy and Tom going at it in the next room. You didn’t sleep right, and you needed your nap.
“Don’t mind him, Tom likes you, he just has his own special way around you,” Daddy said and tapped your pacifier.
Daddy was your former boyfriend. Recently, Tom became his new boyfriend. Tom was a very assertive person, as was Daddy. They both succeeded in convincing you to stay in the relationship, but as their baby-cuck. You were surprised that Daddy told Tom about your fetish, but you wouldn’t dream that you would get yourself into this kind of situation.
But there you were. Getting ready for your nap, as a baby handled by two men. You are being prepared to stay in bed, while they go to a BBQ with your old friends.
“Is he making a fuss? Do I need to come over?”
“No no, he’s cute as a button. I’ll be right out.”
Daddy patted your diaper front a few times, waking up something in there.
“I want you to be a good boy and stay in your bed until we’re back. I got cameras all over the house, and you know Tom will be angry if he sees the baby waddling around. You got all your plushies in bed, and I left a bottle there in case you’re thirsty. Sometimes I look at you, and I see the man you once were, and then I look down when I change you, your lower side on a diaper, powdered, hard, and I understand Tom and I made the right choice for you. You are right where you need to be. You need to be a baby, our baby.
Now lie back and close your eyes. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
Was Daddy right? Did this new situation take place because of them, or because of you?
You were so tired from last night, you couldn’t give those thoughts another second, and you fell asleep. Somewhere a few miles away, Tom had his arm over Daddy’s shoulder, as they both drank beer.
----------------------------
In @babydou17 house, so many things have changed.
Changed on the floor…
Littles don’t get to decide if and when they need a change, even if it interrupts playtime 😅
Non-Chalance
I'm staring at the ceiling again. I practically have the constellations of the popcorn plaster memorized now after 6 months of this.
“Your mom called while you were down for your nap...” She says as she tears the tapes of the diaper off. One, then the other, and the flap falls open. She barely even blinks, using the front of the diaper to scrape most of the mess down in one big swipe. “She’s still going on about that cruise.”
The package crinkles as she pulls out three wipes in quick succession. “I told her we'd think about it. But honestly, babe, I don’t know if I’m for it. Getting a passport is such a hassle these days, and those ships are gross.” She says as she wipes the shit off my creases with hardly even a wrinkle of her nose. She folds it over once, swipes again, then tosses it down into the open diaper and grabs some more.
With one hand, she grips both of my ankles and hoists my legs up. I feel so vulnerable and ashamed as my dirty crack is on display. But she doesn't hesitate, doesn't comment, just wipes me down front to back in one smooth motion between my cheeks like it's the most normal thing in the world. My sphincter twitches involuntarily at the sudden air and the wet drag. She doesn’t acknowledge it. She never does.
How does she not find it weird that she's wiping her 44-year old husband's ass? I want to disappear, I want the floor to swallow me. Even after all this time, I'm still so embarrassed and humiliated, but she couldn't be anymore non-chalant about it as her fingers dig the wipe over my butthole. She checks the cold fabric for a brown streak, folds it over, and does it again until it's clean.
“She asked how you were doing, of course.” Her voice stays light, conversational. “I told her you’re fine, no big changes. She sounded happy about that.”
My mother doesn't know that my wife keeps me in diapers 24/7. She doesn't know that call I someone else 'Mommy' now.
Ava lets my legs down, checking me over for any missed spots. Finally she takes one more fresh wipe and drapes it over my cage and balls. The wipe comes away sticky, ropes of constant pre-cum clinging to it. But once again she doesn't acknowledge or comment on it. It's just the norm now. Expected.
She drops the final wipe the dirty pile beneath me, and balls it all up inside the soiled diaper. Folding the tabs over to secure it tightly so it's a big round mound.
"I also called a plumber about the downstairs toilet." She continues casually as she sets the dirty diaper down next to us, and unfolds a fresh one, “Just because you don’t use it anymore doesn’t mean it can just sit there all backed up. He said he can probably make it out tomorrow."
A lump forms in my throat at that. A small part of me used the broken toilet as a reason why I had to use the diapers. Without that excuse, I was just left knowing it wasn't from lack of options, diapers were my only option no matter what.
She fluffs up the diaper as big as she can make it, then plants it down flat. "Can you lift up for me, hon?" she asks sweetly. Too sweetly. She slides it under my hips while she continues her one-way conversation. There's no talking while my pacifier's in.
“Taxes are coming up too," she says as she powders the area with cool, white clouds. Smoothing it in with the flat of her palm between my cheeks, over my balls, all with the detached efficiency of someone spreading sunscreen on a little one before the pool. No lingering. No teasing. Just matter-of-fact caretaking. "I’ve got most of the receipts and stuff pulled together already. Shouldn’t take long.”
Ava pulls the front of the diaper up snug. Another fresh little home for me to live in for the next several hours. She smooths it down, adjusts the fit, then grips one of the tapes. "“Oh, and Sandra texted too. She’s coming over Saturday afternoon. I told her we'd just be hanging around, doing the usual."
The implication hangs unspoken: I'll still be in diapers. Still dressed in whatever snap-crotch onesie or shortalls she picks out that morning. To Ava, none of this is taboo anymore. It's just Tuesday. Last time her best friend Sandra was over, Ava had me draped over her lap, latched to her breast, breastfeeding while the women discussed work drama. When Ava felt the warmth spreading between my legs and pressing against her thigh, she didn't even glance down or pause the story. She simply eased me down onto the living room floor, popped the snaps of my onesie open, and changed me right then and there while discussing the latest episode of Real Housewives. She even handed me a rattle afterwards to keep me 'entertained'.
And that’s the worst part.
If she laughed at me, if she smirked while taping me shut, if she yelled when I fussed, if she cooed exaggerated baby talk or spanked me for “being naughty,” if she ever turned vicious or cruel or even just triumphant: I could hate her for it. I could tell myself this is a game, a punishment, a malicious powerplay. I could cling to anger, to resentment, to the thin comfort of seeing her as the villain.
But she doesn’t. She’s gentle. She’s patient. She’s… kind.
It's incredibly disarming.
The last tape of the fresh diaper presses down firm, sealing me in with a final rip of adhesive. She pats the front once, twice, then grips my hands and helps pull me upright.
“They had a new flavor at the store today." She says, pulling out my pacifier, "Pureed Chicken and peas. Would you like to try that one, or stick with the carrot-squash?”
My nose turns upward at both options. "Carrot-squash."
"Good choice." She smiles, kissing me on the forehead, picking up the still-warm dirty diaper and placing it carefully in my hands. "Can you be a big helper and put this in the pail for me? I'm gonna go get your num-nums ready and warm you up a bottle."
She didn’t mock me. She didn’t pity me. She didn’t even acknowledge how absurd it all is.
She just continued the morning.
And somehow that made it worse. Because it means this isn’t temporary. It isn’t punishment.
It’s simply our life now.
The only p🐱ssy in your future 😘
Daddy, I think I really need that diaper change now 😳🧷
Reflections of a Superior Woman
My husband, Bobby, is standing with his nose in the corner, quietly sobbing, as he contemplates the ill-advised temper tantrum that he threw this afternoon. His sobbing is due to a very sore bottom, for which I take credit for—although to be fair, my favorite wooden paddle should also take some of the credit too.
I’m not sure what it was that finally sent Bobby over the edge today. It could be the fact that I arbitrarily extended his sentence of chastity for another month, or it could be that he was upset about the date I was going on this evening. However, the result was the same. I pulled his diapers down and put him over my lap as I would any misbehaving child, and paddled his bottom until he was bawling like the big crybaby everyone knows he is.
I say everybody, because Bobby’s unique situation is well known to all our friends, as well as my mother. It is especially well known to his babysitter, Jordan, a girl just out of high school that is five years junior to him. That’s right, Bobby has a babysitter. Why would a 23 year old man require a babysitter, you ask? Because I don’t always have the time or inclination to change his wet diapers or put him to bed in his nursery, so I hired Jordan to help out on occasions like today.
But I’m getting way ahead of myself.
It all started three years ago when I met Bob. I can’t say that he impressed me, either with his looks, or his physique, which I thought were rather pathetic, actually. I more or less tolerated him, since we worked together and he pestered me continually about dating him. Finally one day, I relented and we went out on a first date.
He was quick to brag about how much money he had inherited and sure enough, he proved to be a big spender in the time we were together. Now, a girl needs security, and even though I, as a lingerie model, was being bombarded with propositions from plenty of hunky men, none had the financial backing that Bob did.
Still, my girlfriends told me to dump the wimp (who they thought was nothing but a big sissy) and get one of the hot studs that were beating a path to my doorway every day. I was getting plenty of notice doing my modeling and if that were not enough, the skimpy outfits I liked wearing certainly got me more than just looks. I was also enjoying dating several men at once, sleeping with those that I thought were the sexiest and best looking.
It goes without saying that Bob didn’t fall into that particular category, but on the other hand, I didn’t mind getting a steady stream of gifts including jewelry, clothes and eventually a new car, so for the time being, I decided to keep stringing him on for a while.
This had the effect of giving him the impression that I had a serious interest in him, and before long, he went so far as to ask me to marry him.
While most women in my position would have probably laughed in his face, I actually gave it some careful consideration and then came back with my own counter proposal. I would agree to marry him only if he was willing to abide by all my decisions. In effect, I would be the head of the house as well as our marriage. He would be subject to my will (since he had none of his own) and he would do my bidding, regardless of the circumstances. I wanted him to be absolutely clear on what I meant and expected.
Of course, he readily agreed to these conditions but I don’t think even he knew quite what was in store for him.
Up to that point, I had forbidden him any kind of sexual contact between us, beyond a peck on the cheek, which had the effect of making him very eager to consummate our wedding. However, on our wedding night, I told him I had other ideas in mind about our first night of sex and he nearly fainted when I introduced him to my fat, eight inch strap-on dildo. If we were going to have sex, it was going to be on my terms I informed him. So despite his frantic protests, I humped his virgin ass for an hour that night as he cried into his pillow.
However, as the days went by, I still couldn’t bring myself to letting him enter me in the conventional manner—he just didn’t appeal to me in that way. He, on the other hand, could think of nothing else, and he was getting horny as hell, continually begging me to give him some kind of relief.
One day, I came home from work early, only to discover him masturbating to some pictures of busty women on our computer. While I am quite well naturally endowed in that area, I didn’t believe for one second, his story about trying to say that he was fantasizing about me while doing his dirty deed.
My reaction was swift and immediate. Bob is both physically smaller and psychologically inferior to me, so I had little difficulty in forcing him to do whatever I wanted.
I yanked him over my lap and proceeded to blister his butt with my hairbrush, scolding him like I were his own mother.
It was then, while he lay over my lap sobbing like a baby, that I had my epiphany. What Bob needed was not so much a wife—what he needed was a mother, and one that was not afraid to be both strict and harsh when necessary. His immature behavior required constant discipline and I decided then and there to be his new mommy.
I realized that the first thing I needed was a decent paddle. As he was drying his eyes, I told him to get dressed because we had some shopping to do. I took him down to my favorite fetish store and with the help of a very pretty salesgirl, we picked out a stout wooden paddle that would serve my needs (and Bob’s bottom) quite nicely. As I looked him straight in the eye and slapped the hard oak paddle against my palm, I informed him that I wouldn’t hesitate to use it if I ever caught him masturbating or misbehaving again. You should have seen the look on his face! And you can bet that as he was blushing furiously, the salesgirl was laughing her ass off!
Later, when I got home, I did some work on the computer myself, searching the net for a foolproof chastity device to prevent Bob from playing with himself again. I decided then and there that Bob wasn’t ready for the privilege of cumming so it was time for me to control that part of his life as well.
I found what I wanted online after hours of careful research. The CB-6000S seemed to be the perfect combination of practicality and security. I ordered one and gladly paid the next day shipping charge.
Two days later, it arrived, and I ordered Bob into the bedroom while I brought in a basin of ice water with a washcloth in it. He was very curious and a little bit concerned about what I had in mind but I merely informed him to do as he was told without giving him any details. Meek as always, he bowed to my superior will and followed me into the room. I had him strip down and then told him to sit on the edge of the bed. Knowing how small his penis is, I was concerned that the CB-6000S would be too big for him, allowing him to escape for some unauthorized masturbation. I removed nearly all the spacers and got the contraption assembled as he watched with interest, thinking foolishly it might be something he’d enjoy. If only he had known!
As a matter of fact, when I began fitting his tiny cock and balls into the device, he naturally began to get excited and I found it was necessary to chill his genitals with the ice cold washcloth. That put a hold on his ardor, at least, long enough to get him fitted into the restrictive chastity restrainer. He whimpered like a little baby when it became obvious what the device was used for and he begged me profusely not to subject him to such measures.
However, I was firm in my resolve and in no time I had his tiny little package locked away securely with a titanium lock where it couldn’t get into any more trouble. I pocketed the key and made a mental note to take it to work with me the following day to keep it forever out of his grasp.
Thus, cut off from his masturbatory misadventures, Bob was completely controlled and subject to my whims. Initially, I decided on a once every two weeks release for him, subject to the satisfactory completion of a long list of chores I made for him every Sunday. This drove him mad initially, but between the sexual deprivation, and my vigorous use of the paddle, Bob soon fell into line.
Now that we were living together, I came to realize that my friend’s initial assessment of Bob as a sissy, was dead on. This was confirmed when I allowed him to cum while wearing a pair of panties that he was swooning over one night. I could tell he was very excited by them while I was sauntering around the house, in them and little else, so I suggested he masturbate for his bi-weekly orgasm while wearing them himself. I could tell from his enthusiasm that he was enthralled by the idea although I think he regretted showing his cards so readily. After he had finished, and I had locked him back into his CB-6000S, an idea began to form in my head that would be intended to both excite and humiliate Bob. I liked the idea of keeping him constantly horny, while depriving him of any means of satisfying himself. This tended to make him even more subservient and servile than he already was. It seemed like a natural step that he should be subject to further humiliation at my hands so I decided to take things further by making him dress in panties and feminine nightwear while doing his chores. This would serve as a constant reminder to him what his role was and who the real head of the house was.
And yet, it was a good friend of mine that suggested I take it yet a step further.
One weekend afternoon, my friend Alyssa was visiting and Bob failed to show her the proper respect that I demand of him toward the superior sex. I responded immediately by pulling him over my lap and giving him a good, sound spanking right in front of her. During his tearful apology that followed, Alyssa pointed out what a baby he seemed to be and she even started talking to him as if he were an errant two year-old. I was rolling on the couch with laughter but Alyssa told me that a big baby like him should be wearing diapers, not the feminine panties I made him wear. At first, I didn’t take her seriously but the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea.
I curtly dismissed Bob and together, Alyssa and I formulated a plan for transforming Bob into Bobby—a sissy baby who would wear diapers and dresses from now on.
As usual, I kept my plans to myself and I spent another long night, ordering all kinds of things over the internet. At first, I ordered just the basics; cloth diapers, plastic panties, several dresses and onesies. The next day, I picked up diaper rash cream, baby powder, diaper pins, and some other items that I knew would be necessary for an overgrown toddler.
By the end of the week, I had a good starting wardrobe for Bobby, and when he came home from work, I met him at the door with the paddle in my hand. He went through a range of emotions from his initial anger, to frustration, to fear, and eventually, to resignation. Nonetheless, I felt it was prudent to start his new lifestyle with another good hard spanking, just to further cement our new relationship. So despite the fact that he was willing to meekly submit to my intentions, I still felt it would help set him down the right path, if he started it with a hot, stinging bottom.
With tears in his eyes, I pinned him into his first set of fluffy diapers, after which I made a little ceremony of cutting up all his underwear. He looked absolutely ridiculous as he stood before me, sniffling, while I pulled a pink pair of plastic panties up and over his thick, bulging diapers.
From that day forth, I made Bobby refer to me as ‘Mommy’. He didn’t like it, that’s for sure, but I told him he’d just have to get used to it. I also decided I had been far too generous with his orgasm schedule and I decided to double the time he was required to wait between them. Now, instead of once every other week, I increased it to once a month, which later got increased further to six weeks. I just didn’t feel that an immature sissy like him was entitled to such an adult pleasure. Of course, this made him even more subservient than before and our unequal relationship only became even more lopsided in my favor.
It was then that I decided it was time to start seeing other men. And by that I mean real men, not sissies like Bobby. It was absurd to think that a woman of my needs could be satisfied by someone like him and I was still being swamped with offers from good looking men. I really enjoyed flirting with them, even when Bobby was nearby, just so I could make him feel inadequate (which is exactly what he was). During the first year of our marriage, I didn’t take it any farther than that, but I soon found myself needing the strong arms of a real man around me. In addition, it had been many months since I had been sexually satisfied and I felt it was time for me to take care of that need as well.
I started dating some of the guys I was meeting and although I think Bobby was getting suspicious, I never told him any details about my evenings. I just sent him to bed early, got myself made up and put on my sexiest outfit before leaving for the night. Bobby would be sullen and sulky when I got back (usually the next morning) but I found that after I administered a nice, long enema, it usually put him right back in his place. And of course, I liked to threaten him with extensions to his period of chastity if he didn’t straighten out his attitude to my liking. On a couple of occasions, I also felt it was necessary to give him a good, hard spanking just to help clarify things again for him. By then, he was one contrite sissy!
As my time became more and more tied up with the men I was dating, I found I had less time (and inclination) to spend with Bobby, changing his diapers, disciplining him, and releasing him from his CB-6000S for his once-every-six-weeks orgasm. That’s why I hired Jordan, the perfect solution to my predicament. With Bobby’s bank account, I had plenty of money to hire this sexy heartbreaker from next door to keep an eye on things while I was gone. I wasn’t worried in the slightest that she’d make a move on him—with his big, bulging diapers and dresses, he looked absolutely ridiculous! I gave her full authority to discipline and punish Bobby whenever and however she saw fit and I was pleased to see how quickly she slipped into her new role.
Bobby would often complain to me later that, in addition to the innumerable humiliations she had subjected him to, his new babysitter had refused to grant him his one, rationed orgasm. However, my usual reaction was to simply shrug and tell him he’d have to take it up with her. Jordan had little but disdain for the overgrown baby and she was only too happy to deny him any sexual pleasure he might feel he was due.
Unfortunately, the poor sissy’s balls were getting swollen from all the accumulated semen so one day, I decided to have mercy on my hubby. Using a fat jelly dildo, I was able to ‘milk’ all his fluids from him while still depriving him of any orgasm or release. It’s the kind of job that requires patience but it’s the perfect solution for sissies who need to remain chaste as he does.
As I was saying, I found less and less reason to keep my dates a secret from Bobby. The fact was, he was in denial of his state of cuckoldry and I thought it was time he faced up to it. One afternoon, while I was changing his wet diapers (he seemed to have lost all control over his bladder during the last few months), I decided to tell him exactly what I was going to be doing that night and with who. And that brings me back to the beginning of this tale but I’ll let my husband explain what happened next…
….to be continued
UK is banning ageplay porn and equating it with CSAM
And tumblr is trying to suppress me telling people about it. It limited my reblogs on the post I made about it previously
I don't even remember his name at this point. He just goes by Slave.
He put out a Craigslist ad looking for a dominant woman to put him in his place. Typical desperate sub bullshit. Wanted to be ordered around, spanked, maybe edged a little. When I messaged back, he got all distant. "Not into men," he typed defensively. I remember laughing at the screen. Dominant women worth a damn are rare as hell. He knew it, I knew it. All I had to do was wait. His desperation and horniness won out in about three exchanges. "Fine," he said. "But we start small."
Small. Right.
I told him the deal: come over Saturday, clean my house top to bottom. No funny business, just scrubbing. Oh, and he'd be wearing a cage the whole time...my little insurance policy so he wouldn't get any bright ideas about touching himself while bent over the toilet bowl. He showed up all timid and shit, blushing like a bitch, his underwear already soaked with juices leaking out of his locked up shrimp dick. I clapped the chains around his wrists and ankle.
"Now mop."
He came back the next weekend because the denial left him stupid and aching. Then the weekend after. Chores turned into daily expectations.
The diapers went on because I wanted to see how far I could push a grown man before he broke into something soft, stupid, and completely mine. Because watching him waddle in thick padding and wincing at every embarrassing crinkle humored me. Because making him feel every humiliating mess he made amused me even more. Watching the way his face burns when the front sags heavier, when the mess smears warm against his skin, how the stench of shame follows him everywhere he goes, and how I won't let him change until he's earned it. Until he's debased himself enough to amuse me.
He has to beg now. Properly. On his knees, chain rattling, diaper drooping between his thighs. "Please, Sir, I need a change." I make him spell it out: tell me how full it is, how fucking pathetic he is, how much I own him. Sometimes I make him hump the mop handle while he begs, pathetic little thrusts that only grind the filth deeper. Make him plop and grind on the floor like a pig in the mud, oinking for me. If he's convincing, if he sounds broken enough, desperate enough, filthy enough, the self-loathing thick enough...maybe I let him crawl to the changing mat. Maybe I tape a fresh one on while he whimpers and thanks me around the pacifier shoved in his mouth.
If he's not entertaining? If the performance is sloppy? Voice too steady, not enough shame, not enough squirm...I walk away. Leave him there. Forehead on tile, ass up, chain taut, stewing in his own filth for hours. Sometimes overnight. I guarantee his begging will get more frantic and pathetic the next time.
The cage keeps him leaking instead of cumming, and the humiliation just feeds the loop. Keeps him obedient. No matter how much he hates himself or debases himself, he'll do more and more for even a chance at relief.
He eats kibble out of a steel bowl on the floor now. Dry, cheap dog food. If he's been extra good (meaning extra pathetic) I piss in it to make it mushy for him. Easier to chew. He laps it up without complaint, ass in the air, chain clinking, diaper crinkling with every bob of his head. No hands. No manners. Just a hole that swallows whatever I decide to feed it.
He sucks a mean dick now too. That whole "i'm not into men" thing evaporated real quickly when he became desperate for a diaper change or for 30 seconds of buzzy time over his bulging diaper. Now it's just what he does when I snap my fingers. Eyes water, drool runs down his chin onto the front of his diaper. He sucks like his next change depends on it...because sometimes it does. He used to gag more. Now he just takes it deep, sucking and slurping like the trained little cocksucker he's become.
He never asked for any of this. Thought he was getting an afternoon of getting bossed around. Instead he got erased, one small concession at a time, until nothing remained of the man who put up the ad. Now he's just there: waddling, crinkling, leaking, sucking, eating slop off the floor, all because I find it amusing. Because I can do whatever the fuck I want with him. Because slaves don't get to decide.
He's mine now. Pathetic. Pampered. Filthy. Mine.
There's nowhere for him to go. No keys to the cuffs. No phone. No outside world left to crawl back to. Just the house, the chain, the diapers, the bowl, my cock, and the endless cycle of debasement.
I keep in diapers because it's funny how low he sinks. How much he stinks. How completely he's forgotten he ever had a choice. He's nothing but a toy. A sad, crying, crinkling, broken, obedient toy.
That’s all he is anymore. That’s all he’ll ever be.
He’d just have to sit in it
The living room was bathed in the flickering glow of the television, the dramatic voices of Mommy’s favorite show filling the space. Michael stood at the edge of the couch, his thick, crinkly diaper squishing with every tiny shift of his hips. It was heavy, soaked through from hours of play, the padding clinging to him in a way that made each step a deliberate, wobbly affair. He knew better than to ask for a change, good boys didn’t interrupt Mommy’s show, and they certainly didn’t complain about wet diapers. The memory of the stinging swats at daycare for daring to ask for changies still lingered, sharp and embarrassing.
So instead, he wiggled.
Michael swayed his hips from side to side, the soggy bulk between his legs shifting with a quiet, rhythmic squish. His fingers twisted together behind his back, eyes darting between the screen and Mommy’s profile. She was engrossed, her attention locked on the unfolding drama, but he could see the way her lips twitched, just once, when his diaper made a particularly loud crinkle. He did it again, this time with a little extra bounce, his bottom jiggling just enough to brush the edge of her vision.
A giggle escaped her. “Michael,” she said, her voice laced with that playful, condescending tone he both hated and loved, “are you trying to dance for me?”
He bit his lip, cheeks flushing. “No, Mommy,” he murmured, but his hips betrayed him, swaying again. The diaper was so wet, the weight of it pulling at his steps, the cool dampness creeping up his back. He could feel it with every movement, the way the padding clung to him, the way it squished when he shifted just right. It was impossible to ignore, but he wasn’t supposed to notice. Good boys didn’t notice.
Michael took a step closer to the TV, his waddle more pronounced now. He could see Mommy’s eyes flick toward him, then back to the screen. He did it again, this time adding a little extra wiggle, his bottom jiggling like a misbehaving toddler’s. The diaper crinkled loudly, the sound impossible to miss.
Mommy’s lips curled into a smirk. “You’re being awfully fidgety tonight,” she said, finally tearing her gaze from the screen just long enough to glance at him. Her eyes dropped to his diaper, obviously soaked, the white padding darkened in patches, the edges puffed out around his thighs. She reached out, giving his hip a playful tap. “This can wait until the end of the show, you know.”
Michael’s face burned. He knew. But the wetness was impossible to ignore, the way it squelched with every step, the way it made his skin prickle. He shifted again, his bottom wiggling just a little more, hoping, pleading, for her to notice how desperate he was.
Mommy sighed, rolling her eyes fondly. “Honestly, Michael,” she said, her voice dripping with amusement, “your diaper isn’t going to explode. It can wait.”
The words stung, sharp and final. His shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him as quickly as the wetness had filled his diaper. With a quiet huff, he turned away, his thick, squishy padding shifting with a loud squelch as he plopped down onto the play mat. The impact sent a fresh wave of dampness rushing through the layers, the soaked padding molding to his bottom as he settled into place.
His toys were scattered in front of him, blocks, a stuffed bear, a half-built tower waiting to be finished. Michael reached for a plastic car, his fingers tightening around it as he rolled it back and forth. Each movement sent little ripples through the soggy bulk between his legs, the wetness squishing softly with every shift. He could feel it, the way the diaper clung to him, heavy and undeniable. But Mommy had spoken. And good boys listened.
room. Michael didn’t look up. Instead, he pressed his thighs together, feeling the dampness squelch between them, and focused on the toys. If Mommy wasn’t going to do anything about it, he’d just have to sit in it.
Momma’s new baby monitor is always watching me :( even when I’m at my most fussiest 😠🫢
Merry Christmas!!! Adult baby support chair. https://little1dreamzzz.etsy.com/listing/4349601118
Morning Revelation
It’s been six months since I forced my husband to wear diapers to bed. Three months since I dressed him up in onesies and gave him his night teddy bear. One month since he started to wake up wet, having accidents in his sleep. But lately, something different is happening.
Sometimes it happens after I get up, sometimes when I’m still in bed. I see him waking up slowly, half-asleep even, turning into his stomach and starting to hump his wet diaper. I know he likes to cum in his diapers from time to time, mainly around sex, but his recent behavior is deeper than just sex. He developed a need, a need to hump his morning diaper, it doesn’t matter if I’m there or not. He starts slowly, still with his eyes closed. Going back and forth, picking up the pace. The quiet room filled with muffled crinkles. He does it until he makes a cute little noise, tired and content, he stops and goes back to bed for a little while.
Today I got up early and made myself a cup of coffee. I came back to see if my husband got up, but he was still lying there, sleeping. Wearing his adorable cars onesie, still sucking his pacifier and holding his teddy. I love him so much, but I can’t see him as a man anymore, he is just my baby boy.
Like every morning lately, he starts with humping away his diaper. We used to have morning sex, but now he has his diaper and I have an idea. I came closer to the bed and kneeled next to his side. I put one hand over his lower back, the other on his head, playing with his hair. I gave his lower back small pushes, setting a rhythm. I played with the tips of his hair, caressing his ear.
“That’s my good boy. Good morning. Does my baby like his morning diaper?” I asked silently. He nodded while making noises from sucking his pacifier, still with his eyes closed.
“Good. Do you like being my baby?”
The pace picked up as I asked and he nodded again. I let him go at it for another minute, while I was stroking his body.
“I know you feel like a baby and I feel the same way about you, you are nothing more than a baby, my baby”
He didn’t need my help anymore with his lower back, he was thrusting while holding his teddy bear closer.
“Now that I got you as a baby in my life, I need a real man with me. A man who wants real sex and not to hump his little peepee to his wet dippy” I whispered into his ear.
“Do it baby, make love to your wet diaper while I’ll look for a new daddy” I said and gave his diaper a little spank.
“YYYEEEAAAAHHHHHHHHHH” He shouted while his body tensed and exploded in his diaper.
I got up on my feet, looking at him from above.
He was catching his breath through the pacifier’s mouthguard. He didn’t dare to look at me, I was sensing he was confused.
We never talked about opening our marriage, but he was just a baby and I needed a man. Apparently, I’m not the only one who needed a real man, because I think he liked the idea of having a new daddy. I turned around, walked away, knowing he was looking at me, dazzled and embarrassed by what had just happened.
Sounds like my relationship with my mummy i hump my nappies she goes oit with “real men”
How to Spot a Little One Messing Their Diaper
These are things I have noticed when babysitting little ones ☺️🥹😉
1. Sudden silence
Chatty little? Playful energy? And then… quiet. That’s your first clue. Babies often go quiet when they’re concentrating on making a “present” in their padding.
2. The telltale squat
Slight knees-bent, hips lowered, or even a full crouch. That posture is iconic. Some try to pretend they’re just “playing on the floor,” but the truth squishes out quickly.
3. That face
Eyes unfocused. Mouth slack or sucking their pacifier extra hard. A tiny wrinkle between the brows. Maybe even a soft grunt. That’s a “pushing face” if I’ve ever seen one.
4. Shy glances
Littles who know they’re being watched might try to sneak away behind a couch or into a corner. Constant glances to see if anyone notices? Total giveaway.
5. Clutching a stuffie
Sometimes they squeeze their favorite stuffie when they mess. Like it gives them the courage. It’s sweet. And obvious.
6. Subtle rocking or shifting
As they fill their diaper, a little might shift from foot to foot or slowly rock their hips. Sometimes it’s to help the process… sometimes they just feel extra little when it’s happening.
7. The smell
Obvious. Immediate. Instant diaper check.
8. Sudden clinginess or hiding
After a big accident, a little might get very cuddly or very shy. Some want to bury their face in your chest and melt. Others try to disappear under a blankie.
9. Waddling gets worse
That squishy crinkle gets louder and their steps get wider. When their diaper starts sagging low between their thighs, you know exactly what happened.
10. That helpless little whimper
The one that says: “I messed… I can’t clean myself… and I don’t know whether to cry or cuddle.” That sound is pure baby.
Little does anyone know I’m carrying a diaper bag for the guy next to me 🤭
see more here!
Just For Fans
Momma’s new baby monitor is always watching me :( even when I’m at my most fussiest 😠🫢
Diaper Loser Hypnosis
Been really busy lately. Fell asleep halfway through making this only to realize I had a wet dream... wish I was padded at the time, half way down my pants leg...