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Mommies and Daddies
For the grown-ups to discuss ABDL topics. No babies unless you're looking for a 'pankin!
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Yay! New chapter!!!! It was a good one too, looking forward to seeing him go home. Glad he's said yes to the therapy, hopefully it helps him get ready down the long road this little family of friends has to travel. -
I use Amazon as my last resort, if I can find it local or from a smaller supplier I buy from them. Paying for prime would be like spending money on nothing. Hugs, Freta -
Part 35 As soon as we stepped through the front door, Betsy’s mom settled onto the couch and called her over. Her tone was firm—no room for hesitation. Betsy walked over quietly, sensing that this wasn’t a moment for negotiation. Without another word, her mom instructed, “Take off your shoes and jeans.” Betsy obeyed, her movements slow and deliberate. She knew from her mom’s voice that resistance wasn’t an option. When she finished, she stood there silently, her soggy diaper the only thing left clinging to her. Her mom crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Would someone please explain why you’re standing here in front of me in a soggy diaper at three in the afternoon?” Betsy shifted uncomfortably, her cheeks flushed. “I didn’t want to miss any of the movie,” she mumbled. “I knew I’d have to go eventually, but I didn’t want to leave during the best parts.” Her mom blinked, taking it in. Then she turned slowly to me. “Was this your idea?” Before I could answer, Betsy looked down at her feet and quietly said, “It was my idea.” Her mom sighed, the tension easing just slightly. “Okay,” she said. “Why don’t you two go outside and let me think about this.” Betsy hesitated, then asked softly, “Mom, can you take me out of this diaper?” Her mom glanced at her and replied, “That diaper can hold a bit more. Just go outside and enjoy the day.” Betsy nodded, her expression a mix of acceptance and lingering embarrassment. We stepped outside into the afternoon sun, the air warm and quiet. Whatever conversation was coming next, it could wait. For now, we were just kids again—trying to make sense of growing up, one moment at a time. As we strolled toward the boat dock, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the path. I couldn’t help but notice the way Betsy’s diaper swayed gently with each step. It was oddly endearing—there was something sweet and unguarded about her in that moment. And just like before, those familiar fluttery feelings stirred inside me, quiet but unmistakable. We reached the bench and sat down, our feet dangling over the edge, skimming the cool water below. Betsy turned to me, her voice soft. “Maybe wearing a diaper to the movie wasn’t such a great idea after all.” She glanced down and sighed. “I mean, look at me—sitting here in a wet diaper in the middle of the afternoon.” I tried to reassure her. “I’m sure everything will work out.” She looked at me again, her eyes searching mine. “I hope so,” she said, though her voice held a trace of doubt. “Mom wasn’t too happy about me wearing a diaper… let alone using it.” While we waited to be called, we sat on the dock with our feet dangling in the cool water, gently kicking back and forth. The sun was warm, the breeze light, and the quiet stretched around us like a blanket. We’d been there for a while, soaking in the stillness, letting the afternoon drift by. At one point, I noticed Betsy shift slightly, her expression calm but focused. I didn’t say anything, but I understood—she was quietly relieving herself in her diaper. It was subtle, private, and somehow just part of the moment. We lingered another twenty minutes before finally being summoned back to the house. As we walked back, I followed behind Betsy. Her diaper sagged noticeably between her legs, a clear sign she’d gone quite a bit. She didn’t seem bothered, just content from the time we’d spent together. When we stepped inside, both of our moms were seated, poised like they were about to hold court. Betsy’s mom fixed her gaze on me. “Was it your idea to dress Betsy in a diaper?” she asked. I shook my head. “Nope, that wasn’t me.” “Alright then,” she said, her tone measured. “You can sit down.” Then she turned to Betsy. “Betsy, come stand in front of me.” Betsy walked over slowly, her diaper crinkling with each step. I glanced at my own mom, who gave me a subtle smile—just enough to let me know she was watching, quietly present in the moment. Betsy stopped in front of her mom, who gave her a quick once-over. Her eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger, but in concern. “From the way your diaper’s sagging,” she said gently, “it looks like you’ve used it again. Is that right?” Betsy nodded, her gaze low. “Can I ask why you didn’t come inside to use the restroom?” “I thought we weren’t allowed back in the house until you called us,” Betsy explained, her voice quiet. Her mom softened. “I understand why you thought that,” she replied. “But you can always come back if you need the bathroom. That’s important. At least your diaper managed to handle it this time.” She paused, then added, “I know why you wore a diaper. But most 13-year-old girls would do anything to avoid that. So… why did you?” Betsy’s eyes welled with tears. She looked at her mother and spoke with quiet honesty. “Because I’m not like most 13-year-old girls. I didn’t stop wetting and messing my diapers until just before I turned eight. Most kids are done by the time they’re three. Most girls my age don’t wear diapers on long car rides. And they definitely don’t still need them at night because they wet the bed—like I do, every single night.” Her mom didn’t interrupt. She just listened, her expression softening as the words settled between them. It wasn’t about judgment—it was about understanding. And in that moment, Betsy wasn’t just explaining herself. She was asking to be seen. She paused, her voice trembling. “You know that. You’re the ones who put me in them every evening and take me out of them every morning. And every morning, I wake up in a soaked diaper.” By the time Betsy finished speaking, tears streamed down her cheeks. “I don’t want to wear diapers anymore,” she pleaded. But her body told a different story—one that didn’t care what she wanted. Her mother gently took Betsy’s hand and pulled her onto her lap, wrapping her arms around her and softly patting her diapered bottom in an effort to soothe her. They sat like that for a while, wrapped in quiet comfort, the room holding its breath around them. After about fifteen minutes, Betsy had calmed down and climbed off her mother’s lap. But the dampness left behind suggested she’d had another accident. Her mom didn’t flinch. She didn’t scold or sigh. She simply stood up and said, “Let’s get you out of that leaky diaper.” As she gently cleaned Betsy up, she spoke with quiet reassurance. “Someday soon, you won’t need diapers anymore. But for now, if wearing them during the day makes you feel more comfortable, that’s your choice. Just keep in mind that someone might notice—and you might need to be changed while you’re out. You’ll need to be okay with that.” Betsy nodded, her expression thoughtful. It wasn’t easy, but it was honest. And at that moment, she was reminded that being cared for didn’t mean being judged—it meant being understood. Betsy nodded quietly, signaling that she understood. Her mom gave her a gentle look and asked, “It’s been a long day so far—would you like to take a nap?” “Yes,” Betsy replied simply. Without another word, her mom cleaned her up and changed her into a fresh diaper, moving with calm, practiced care. There was no rush, no judgment—just the quiet rhythm of a routine built on trust. As I stepped out of the bedroom, one thought lingered in my mind: Maybe I really can start putting Betsy in a diaper during the day. Not because she needed it all the time, but because it gave her comfort—and because I was learning how to support her in ways that mattered. I went out and sat on the deck, soaking in the peaceful view of the lake. A few fishermen were out, their lines cast, the water glinting in the afternoon sun. It was quiet, still, and grounding. About ten minutes later, our moms came out and joined me. Betsy’s mom asked how she was doing when I get her ready for bed. “She is fine with it,” I said. “Dose she give you any trouble during diaper changes?” “No,” I replied. “She’s been getting more relaxed about it as time goes on.” Her mom nodded. “Okay. Just keep an eye on her and let me know if anything changes.” A little while later, Betsy came out wearing only her diaper. It was clear she’d used it again while she slept, but she didn’t seem bothered. She sat beside her mother, leaning gently against her, eyes still heavy with sleep. For the next twenty minutes, the only sound was the soft rustling of her plastic pants as her mother gently patted her diaper. It was a quiet kind of comfort—one that didn’t need words. -
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By Crinklz Kat · Posted
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