About me: I’m a 27 year old straight female who lives in a Yee-Haw state 🤠! I’m married to a very loving and supportive husband. I’m a sub by nature, but can flip into a Dom side really quickly if I need to. Probably because in a former life I was a teacher who primarily worked with 5,6&7 year olds. Now I work from home, and couldn’t be happier about it. I love to go on long walks (6+miles) and am an avid reader!
Kinks include: ABDL, ANR, BDSM, DD/LG, water sports 🫣, domestic discipline, and I’m sure many many more.
Hard limits for me: r@pe play, needles, and long term pain.
DNI: if you don’t have your age in your bio and/or are under 21….Seriously… I will block you. Immediately.
Update: I’ve blocked like 20 accounts in the last week. DNI if you don’t have your age in your bio. PLEASE, I’m begging youuu
Scattered clouds became the canvas for another spectacular summer sunset of fiery crimson and amber melting into delicate coral and indigo.
Somewhere just beyond the window, baby birds on the verge of their first flight chirp expectantly as their mother returns to feed them.
Beyond that, young fawns, foxes, and bear cubs venture ever further from the den, testing their instincts and the limits of their freedom that will one day gift them their independence.
Joyful shouts trickle in from neighborhood children playing in the street, enjoying the special freedom that only summer provides.
Beyond the window, summer means freedom and the first tentative steps towards independence and adulthood.
But only a few scattered rays of the sunset make it past the window blinds, as if it were standing in defiance of summer itself and rejecting the fledgling independence of the person sleeping in the nursery it protects.
Mommy and Daddy lean against the rails of your crib, watching your Barney pacifier bob in between your little snores. Your blanket lies in a crumpled pile at your feet, kicked off as you slept.
Not long ago, summer nights like this meant barbeques, parties, and long nights enjoying the freedoms of a successful young adult, never imagining how fleeting that independence would prove to be.
“I think he pooped,” Daddy whispered.
Neither Mommy nor Daddy harbored any doubt that you were sleeping in a poopy diaper. Not when the smell of your mess, mixed with the copious sprinkling of baby powder Mommy always used, engulfed the room.
Not when they could see the brown stain on the seat of your white diaper adorned with the Barney sticker Mommy loved so much.
Not when they could see you—the formerly independent, competent adult—sleeping in a crib in nothing but an overworked diaper and matching Barney pacifier.
Mommy frantically squeezed Daddy’s hand to keep herself from squealing in joy.
She didn’t want to wake her baby up.
Not yet.
Over the past year, Mommy came to cherish these intimate evening moments most of all. Her nightly ritual of checking on her baby as the sun set.
She celebrated every milestone along the way as your resistance crumbled and adulthood slipped away from your grasping hands.
First, it was the pure joy of finally finding you fast asleep before the sun finished setting, which soon became the norm. Mommy hung the framed picture from that night above your changing table.
Then, a few weeks later, she found you sleeping with your pacifier for the first time. She celebrated that, too.
But not as much as the night she checked your diaper and discovered it was soggy, something you resisted fiercely. By the end of the month, you were having daytime accidents, too.
Sure, there were other important milestones celebrated outside of these nighttime checks. There was the “family bonfire,” when you sat on Mommy’s lap as Daddy burned all your big boy clothes.
He even wiped the tears from your cheeks when your entire suit collection—the last remaining remnant of your professional life—was unceremoniously tossed into the flames.
Still, nothing compared to this nightly ritual in Mommy’s eyes.
Mommy understood the truth. The privileges of adulthood she stripped away during the day were the result of her active involvement. She knew you were far too pathetic to put up a fight and actually resist her commands in person.
But at night?
The nighttime milestones proved that Mommy and Daddy’s efforts were reaching your subconscious—that, deep down, you were beginning to accept your new role in life.
You were becoming the baby you were destined to become.
Tonight was perhaps the biggest milestone yet. Even as your daytime tinkle control faded into memory, you fought tooth and nail to control your stinkies, knowing it was the last vestige of adulthood you still possessed.
Which is how Mommy knew this wasn’t an act.
You would never willingly poop yourself in a crib you were confined to, unable to leave. And especially not when you were supposed to be sleeping—you hated the icky feeling of mush between your cheeks.
But here you are.
Blissfully unaware your own body betrayed you in the most infantile manner conceivable, sleeping like a baby in a profoundly poopy diaper.
Daddy deftly lowered the bars of your crib and squished your diaper.
“Yep. He pooped.”
“Can you turn on the light, babe? He’s so stinking cute; I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t get a picture.”
“Won’t that wake him up?”
Mommy smiles. “Babe, look at him. He’s fast asleep in a poopy diaper. The poor baby whines and begs for a diaper change as soon as he poops. No, he’s not going to wake up.”
Sure enough, Mommy was right.
For the next ten minutes, you model for a photoshoot you didn’t know was happening.
Satisfied with the pictures, Mommy turns off the light, then sits on the ledge of your crib, gently tickling your tummy, watching you slowly stir back awake.
“Hi, baby, Mommy didn’t want to wake you when you were sleeping so peacefully but…” she says, trailing off.
You groggily open your eyes. Mommy’s comforting smile looms over you. Daddy is standing behind her, hands on her shoulders.
“Wha-wha buh sweeepy,” you mumble incomprehensibly.
“I know, baby boy. But Mommy can’t let her precious angel sleep in a poopy diapie, can she? Nuh uh, Mommy would never.”
Still fighting off sleep, you stare up at Mommy and Daddy, wondering why they woke you up.
“Can you be a big boy and walk or do you need Daddy to carry you?”
Another sensation comes into focus. Something cold. Icky. Smelly. You wiggle your bum, confused. Unwilling to believe the cause of it.
Mommy giggles at adorable diaper crinkles it makes—and the unrelentingly cute face you make realizing the unmistakable truth of your situation: you pooped your diaper.
“Ohhh, honey, it’s okay! It’s just a poopy diapie, Mommy isn’t upset, I promise!”
Tears well in your eyes. You hate the feeling of your cold, stinky diaper. You hate the way Mommy baby-talks you like you're some stupid baby. You hate the way Daddy smiles at you while rubbing Mommy’s back.
But more than anything, you want out of this diaper.
Tired and frustrated, you kick your legs against your mattress.
“Can you carry him, babe?” Mommy asks calmly.
“Sure,” Daddy replies, reaching down and scooping you up.
“NOOOOO!” you squeal through your binky.
“It’s okay, buddy. Daddy’s got you. You’re okay.”
No matter how much you squirm and fight, Daddy is too strong. Months of inactivity and baby food have weakened your muscles, unlike Daddy's toned arms.
“NOOOOOO!!!” you whine even louder than before as Daddy lowers you onto the table and you feel your mess squish even more. Tears fall freely off your cheeks now.
“No no no no! Nooo!!!”
“Baby, Mommy needs you to stop squirming so she can change your didi.”
“Nuuuuuuuuu, duh wannaa!” you whimper, still kicking.
You don’t know why your diaper is poopy. You don’t know why you’re crying. All you know is it feels good to kick and fuss.
Mommy sighs, grabbing your legs with one hand. “I know, I know,” she coos, “Mommy’s poor, poopy baby.”
With her other hand, Mommy expertly rips off the tabs of your diaper, barely struggling with your squirming and kicking.
Cold air assaults your private parts, making you somehow feel even worse.
“M-Mommyyy c-cold!”
Mommy tickles your tummy. “Mommy knows, pumpkin. If you stop squirming, Mommy can get you a nice warm didi even faster, okay? Can you be Mommy’s big boy?”
A snot bubble pops in your nose. “M-mhm…” you mutter, defeated and just wanting Mommy to make everything better.
“Can you warm these up, babe?” Mommy asks, shoving a handful of wipes into Daddy’s hands.
“Sure thing. Warm wipes coming up!” Daddy says, smiling at you as Mommy wipes the snot from your nose.
Mommy uses the front of your diaper to clean up most of your mess before lifting your legs and sliding the diaper off you. She balls up the diaper and tosses it into your diaper pail as Daddy finishes warming your wipes.
“Thanks, hun.”
Mommy takes the wipes and gets to work. Daddy makes silly faces at you.
You giggle at the silliness of Daddy’s faces.
A genuine laugh that even surprises Daddy.
By the time Mommy finishes changing your diaper, you've forgotten all about your poopy diaper tantrum.
Mommy blows a series of raspberries on your tummy, forcing you to squirm in laughter.
“Hehehehe Mommyyyyy!”
Daddy crinkles your new, fresh diaper. “Feeling better, tiger?”
You nod with a smile.
“There’s my good boy!” Mommy says proudly.
Without warning Daddy scoops you up and carries you back to your crib. You’re about to complain about being sent back to bed when you hear Mommy’s voice.
“One sec, babe. Let me sit down first.”
Daddy stops so Mommy can sit against the rails of your crib. Once comfortable, she starts adjusting her shirt.
“C’mere, stinker,” Mommy coos as Daddy places you on Mommy’s lap.
You look at Mommy, confused. She never sits in your crib like this.
“Wha-wha doin’ Mommy?”
And why is she taking off her bra?
Utterly bewildered at seeing Mommy’s boobs for the first time in over a year, you look at Daddy, as if seeking reassurance that it’s okay to look at your wife’s boobs.
“Go on, squirt,” Daddy says with a smile, removing your pacifier. “I’ll give you two some privacy.” He turns off the light and headed out the door.
Before you can ask a follow-up question, Mommy’s hand pulls you into her chest, her nipple tickling your lips.
Instinctively, you open your mouth and latch on. Warm milk trickles into your mouth. You try to pull away.
“Hush little one. Just suckle like a good baby,” Mommy assures you, forcing your head back to latch.
You suckle, letting Mommy’s milk fill your mouth. It tastes…good.
It tastes like home. Safety. Comfort.
Mommy hums “Hush, Little Baby,” fighting off tears of joy as your eyes grow heavier and heavier, knowing you’re no longer her husband. You’re no longer an adult.
She finally got everything she wanted.
Perhaps tomorrow you’ll think about the implications of your poopy diaper and the warm milk filling your tummy. Maybe you’ll understand there is no going back.
But for now there is nothing beyond this moment.
Mommy’s gentle humming, the warmth of her breast against you. The feeling of satisfaction as your tummy fills up.
Not even the gentle crinkles as Mommy pats your diaper can break the spell.
The truth is, summer nights will never be defined by freedom again. Not for you. You’re not like the baby birds chirping outside your window or the bear cub learning to hunt salmon.
By the end of summer, they’ll have a level of independence you’ll never have again.
Unlike them, you’ll never outgrow your Mommy. You’ll never regain your independence.
Love to hear more on - Most of our dynamic truly falls into BDSM and Dominant and Submissive lifestyles
Sexually- I prefer to be dominated and while I may act like a brat, I truly enjoy the act of submission.
Day to day- I make decisions all day long for work and get decision paralysis in my everyday life. So my husband is really good at helping fall into that decision maker and supporting me that way. We don’t have a list of rules that we follow on the daily, but we do love when we implement them for a short period of time
How did you meet daddy? How did you share about diapers? Love your posts. Thanks. You’re the best!
We met a long time ago. I shared about diapers about 5 years into our marriage (and 10 years into our relationship). However; a lot of my stories are just that, stories. Most of our dynamic truly falls into BDSM and Dominant and Submissive lifestyles
No blame here but it really would be better if this site was officially adults only because there's really no way for kids to be here safely (and this site used to be 18+ only!) I just don't trust any of the current ways of making sure we're all adults here.
Honestly- there are portions of tumblr, like any portion of the internet, that 100% deserve to be adults only. But there are also portions of tumblr that are totally harmless. I had a tumblr at 15 and it was all book related things and tv shows I loved. (And I wasn’t introduced to ABDL from tumblr)
I do think that there need to be better safeguards in place to protect minors from seeing things they have no business seeing. So if that means that it has to become an 18+ site, then so be it.
Something I do to protect myself, and others, is not to interact with people who don’t have their age or content on their page.
fucking kys stop interacting with age regression accounts, ABDL is not welcome in that community and it's full of minors and people with sexual trauma. you deserve no respect for exposing people that don't consent to this shit. fuck you, touyou disgusting fucking freak.
I’m only posting a response to this because I will admit I had done some wrong. However. I also believe that your way of going about this was all wrong.
When I was new to tumblr I didn’t pay attention to the different tags and comments that were posted on accounts. I didn’t really realize there was an issue with liking and reposting those things until I got more in tune with Tumblr and how things worked. Now when I see that it says to DNI if your blog is NSFW I try my hardest not to interact.
Here lies the problem. Sometimes I don’t catch the SFW tag until after I have reblogged it. Additionally, I tend to really like what they have to say. 🥸 hence why I interacted.
My kink does not give you the right to call me a freak. Different strokes for different folks. Additionally, if someone doesn’t like what they see on my blog they are welcome to unfollow or block me.
Lastly. If you are going to be hateful when talking to someone. You better have the balls to use your own handle and have a real conversation with me about it. I’m a very reasonable person who has made a mistake because she didn’t understand the inner workings of tumblr. Try to have more grace, lord knows the world is cruel enough.
Tinklebell do not dwell,
It's okay that your nappy looks like a well!
Sagging to the ground, filled with water
Everyone arounds you fills with laughter.
Seeing a little waddle oh so cutely
Oh no, there she goes ootsy tootsy!
I’m going to be stupid and sappy and icky for a second. Feel free to ignore me 🥰
I’ve really been struggling with the loss of several friendships lately. They aren’t dead, but honestly, sometimes it kind of feels like they are. Maybe that’s unhealthy. Maybe it’s my OCD convincing me I did something to make people hate me. Maybe it’s just life changing and I need to get over it. I don’t know.
I just know I’m sad.
I miss the way things used to be, and I keep finding myself wondering if I did something wrong, or if circumstances just changed and people drifted away. And I’m not even talking about a dynamic that ended forever ago, like a big/little relationship. I mean the actual friendship itself. It feels like it’s caught in a riptide, slowly being pulled farther and farther out to sea while I stand there unable to stop it.
I don’t even really know what I’m trying to say. I just know that my heart feels really, really sad.
You pause as my finger slowly slides under the next word on the page.
Squirming subconsciously on my lap, you chew your lip in intense concentration.
I have to stifle a chuckle.
You're not pausing because you can't read the four-syllable-long word on the page.
That would be silly.
You're a respected professional. You have a college degree. There's not a word in the whole Babysitter's Club series you can't read.
You're pausing because you don't know if this a word you shouldn't know how to read.
After months of "reading lessons," you still haven't deciphered my rules for which words you are and aren't allowed to know.
It's probably because there aren't any.
You dare a warning glance back at me, trying to see if you can gather more information from my face than the page in front of you.
I shake my head.
"What's wrong, sweetie? Need help sounding this one out?"
You let out a little sigh of relief, nodding your head in affirmation, clearly believing you've avoided punishment for being too much of a 'smarty pants.'
A flutter of joy forms in my chest. "Teaching" you how to read has been one of my favorite parts of the day.
"Innnnn-deeeee-penn-dennt," I read slowly, carefully annunciating each sound, "Just like you used to be before you met me! Remember?"
You blush, throwing your head back into my chest as I take the opportunity to kiss the side of your head.
"That one wasn't even that hard. You could read it just last week, remember?"
You look back at me in fear as I continue.
"Maybe these books are a little bit too hard for you," I declare.
Panic fills your face as you realize you've escaped a spanking, but may have subjected yourself to an even worse fate.
"But, I..." You stammer out before I cut you off.
"No, 'buts'! I won't have you straining that poor little brain with books that are so clearly far above your reading level!"
You whimper as I set the book to the side and help you off my lap.
"I'm pretty sure we have some of those Magic Treehouse books in your room, why don't you go pick one out?"
You look from me to the book you were just reading, sitting on the side table. I can see it on your face. You know you'll never read anything that mature again.
"What are you waiting for?" I say, interrupting your train of thought, "Are you afraid those books will be too hard, too? I'm sure we have some Dr. Suess around here if..."
I don't even finish my sentence before you dart off, desperate to not fall any farther this afternoon.
"You can't do this to me! I'm an adult! I graduated from law school! I passed the bar! I've won jury trials for fucks' sake! I... mmmmmph..."
Your little tantrum is cut off as I shove the large, rubber nipple of the pacifier you despise between your open lips.
I shake my head as you glare at me, reaching up to pluck the infantile device back out of your mouth.
But, I don't give you the chance to act that disobedently.
In a flash, I've lifted you from your seat on the ground.
You're laying across my lap, face pointed at the floor, ass pointed in the air.
In shock from the speed of my movements, all you can do is make a few futile kicks before my fingers are in your hair, pulling your head up so your ear is right next to my lips.
My voice is a whisper. Control drips from every syllable, providing a sharp contrast to your little emotional tirade just moments before.
"Do you think I give a fuck that you graduated law school?"
You whimper.
"Do you think I care you, 'passed the bar'?"
You can practically feel the derision in my tone.
"Do you think anyone cares that you won a couple of silly 'jury trials'?"
You feel my hand press into the back of your diaper, massaging the used padding into your firm ass.
"You couldn't convince a jury you passed potty training now, let alone that someone committed a crime."
Without preamble, I release your hair, causing your head to fall without the extra support.
"All that matters now is that you're mine. Mine for the rest of your life."
Goosebumps form on your skin as cool air kisses your suddenly bare backside.
