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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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Posts
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Chapter 11: Bulk Shipments and Background Noise The rest of the morning was spent in a state of drafty, humiliating exile on the living room couch. True to her word, Mom hadn’t allowed me to put on any pants, leaving the cartoon zoo animals on my fresh daytime diaper completely exposed to the open air. Every time I shifted my weight on the cushions, a loud, undeniable crinkle-squish cut through the quiet house, destroying any hope of pretending my life hadn't completely disintegrated. To make matters worse, Mom strictly enforced the hydration protocol. Every hour on the dot, she would walk into the living room holding a giant plastic tumbler of ice water or apple juice. "Drink up, Dylan," she would say, standing over the couch with her arms crossed until I had swallowed every single drop. My mouth still felt incredibly parched from the residual effects of the sleep-aid medication, so I drank it down, but my stomach quickly began to feel painfully full, sloshing uncomfortably with every movement. "Jonathan, get off your tablet and go sit in the living room with your brother," Mom called out from the kitchen around mid-morning. "He needs some company, and I want you keeping an eye on him while I finish organizing the pantry." Jonathan groaned loudly, trudging into the living room and flopping onto the far end of the couch. He sat as far away from me as humanly possible, giving my bare, heavily padded legs a look of pure disgust. For a long time, the only sound in the room was the television playing re-runs of old cartoons, punctuated by the rhythmic, heavy crinkle of my diaper whenever I breathed too deeply. "You smell like baby powder," Jonathan muttered crossly, wrinkling his nose without looking away from the screen. "And your Pampers are loud. Why can't you just use the bathroom like a normal person? It’s not fair that you get to skip school just to skip school just to sit around in your diapers." "They're not diapers, Jonathan, they're absorbent youth briefs, and it's a medical issue," I snapped, my face burning as I tried to use the clinical terms I'd seen on some of the clinic paperwork. "Well they look like Pampers to me," he mumbled, folding his arms. Before I could fire back a snappy retort, the heavy, rhythmic thudding of a large delivery truck echoed up the driveway. Through the living room window, I watched a large courier van pull to a stop. The driver climbed out, walking around to the rear doors and pulling out a massive, tower of heavy cardboard boxes on a hand truck, followed by two slightly smaller, brightly coloured boxes wrapped in heavy plastic shipping bands. "Oh, excellent! The bulk order is here!" Mom cheered, rushing to open the front door. My heart completely plummeted into my stomach as the delivery driver wheeled the massive stack right into our front foyer. The sheer volume of the shipment was terrifying. It wasn't just a couple of bags to get through a rough week; this was a towering, industrial-sized mountain of supplies. "Thank you so much," Mom smiled, signing the electronic clipboard before turning her sharp, no-nonsense gaze directly onto me. "Alright, Dylan. Time to do your part. Rule number four: you are solely responsible for the handling of your diaper supply. Chop chop. Get these unboxed and packed neatly into the closet of the spare room downstairs." I stood up from the couch, the thick crispness of my fresh diaper rustling loudly as I waddled into the foyer. My hands were free, but the sheer weight of the boxes made the task an absolute nightmare. Because of the massive bulk of the padding wedged between my thighs, I couldn't properly bend my knees to lift with my legs. I had to awkwardly squat, my diaper crinkling like a thundercloud with every movement, as I used a pair of scissors from the kitchen to slice through the shipping bands. When the cardboard flaps popped open, my jaw dropped in sheer horror. Staring back at me were rows upon rows of massive, tightly packed plastic bags. This wasn't just a refill of the Comfee Dry zoo-animal brand. Dad had ordered a three-month bulk supply from a medical specialty catalogue, and they had mixed in several new variety packs. I pulled one bag out, my eyes widening at the design. One set featured a thick, glossy plastic outer shell completely covered in bright pastel baby blocks and rocking horses. Another bag—clearly meant for the maximum-absorbency nighttime routine—was decorated with sleepy little teddy bears holding crescent moons, looking so undeniably childish that it made my stomach churn. For the next forty-five minutes, I was forced to trudge back and forth between the front foyer and the main-floor spare room, carrying the heavy, garish bags of diapers two at a time. Every single step was a loud, humiliating announcement of my captivity: crinkle, waddle, crinkle, waddle. I stacked them neatly inside the spare room closet, right next to the towering custom oak changing station Dad had built yesterday. Speaking of Dad, the high-pitched whine of the power saw had been vibrating continuously from the attached garage workshop all morning. Bzzzzzzzt. Thud-thud-thud. The sounds of heavy carpentry were relentless, but I forced the dread down, desperately trying to convince myself that he was just building a new workbench or a set of storage shelves. "Alright, Dylan, back to the couch," Mom instructed as I closed the closet door on the final bag of diapers. "But before you sit down, let's do a quick check." She didn't even wait for me to agree. Mom stepped forward, her hand reaching out with practiced, clinical efficiency to grab the front waistband of my daytime diaper. She pulled it back slightly, peeking inside, before reaching down to give the centre core a firm, aggressive squeeze. My face flushed crimson, but what shocked me more was the physical sensation. The diaper felt incredibly heavy, thick, and doughy under her fingers. "Goodness, Dylan," Mom murmured, shaking her head. "You are completely soaked down here. The blue core is entirely full." I stared down at my crotch in absolute, dumbfounded panic. "W-What? No, I didn't... I haven't even used the bathroom since breakfast!" "That's exactly what the doctor warned us about, honey," Mom said gently, though her tone left no room for debate. "Between the heavy sleep medication resetting your internal clock and the hydration schedule, your body is operating entirely on autopilot during the day. You're wetting your diaper without even realizing it. Come along, back to your changing table, you need a fresh diaper pronto mister." I was led back into the spare room, the sheer weight of my sodden padding pulling uncomfortably at my waist. I climbed the two-step wooden ladder, rolling onto my back onto the pristine white vinyl padding. Mom buckled the heavy canvas safety strap tightly across my midsection, pinning my hips firmly to the table to keep me from wiggling. The change was fast and routine. Scritch-scritch-scritch. The four tapes were torn open, the cold wipes cleansed my skin, and a massive cloud of baby powder blanketed my lower half, while the used diaper was rolled into a ball and dropped into the diaper pail with a thunk. But instead of reaching for the zoo-animal brand, Mom grabbed one of the brand-new daytime diapers I had just unpacked—the one covered in pastel baby blocks and rocking horses. "Let's see how the new brand fits our big boy," Mom murmured, drawing the thick plastic panel up tightly between my thighs. Scritch-slap. Scritch-slap. The tapes anchored securely, locking me into an even more humiliating, loudly crinkling pattern. She unbuckled the center strap and patted my padded hip. "All clean. Go back to the living room." By the afternoon, the noises from the back of the house began to shift. The power saw in the garage finally fell silent, replaced by the heavy, echoing thuds of Dad dragging massive, solid oak planks out of the workshop and down the hallway. Because the living room couch faced away from the spare room corridor, I couldn't see what he was doing, but the sounds filled me with a mounting sense of pure, suffocating dread. I could hear heavy wood clattering against the floorboards of the spare room, followed by the rapid, rhythmic whirrrrr-snap of a power drill driving long, heavy-duty structural screws into a frame. Dad was building something massive right inside the room that was quickly becoming my permanent nursery, but the layout kept the project entirely out of sight. "Hey, look at this," Jonathan giggled, leaning over the edge of the couch and intentionally crinkling the plastic waistband of my new baby-block diaper with his foot. "Baby Dylan’s got blocks on his butt. Are you going to play with real blocks next?" A sudden, hot flash of pure, lizard-brained fury short-circuited my mind. After a full day of drafty humiliation, forced hydration, and heavy-duty diaper changes, my teenage pride simply snapped. "Shut up, Jonathan!" I roared, lunging across the couch cushions, the sodden padding between my legs swaying from side to side, grabbing his tablet, throwing it violently onto the carpet. "Stop talking to me! Leave me alone!" Jonathan instantly burst into loud, exaggerated tears, screaming at the top of his lungs. "Mommy! Dylan threw my tablet! He's being mean!" Footsteps thundered down the hallway. Mom marched into the living room, her eyes blazing with absolute fury. She didn't ask questions. She didn't look at the tablet. She reached into her apron pocket, and before I could even take a breath to defend myself, the large, clear plastic shield of my therapeutic pacifier was slammed hard against my lips, the thick rubber bulb shoved violently between my teeth. "Mmph!" I gagged, my eyes wide with shock as her thumb held the guard firmly in place until I clenched my jaw. "That is absolutely enough out of you, young man!" Mom boomed, her voice trembling with anger. "Rule number six: your pacifier is your mute button, and it stays in your mouth until I say otherwise! You do not yell in this house, and you do not touch your brother's things! March back to the spare room right now!" To accentuate her point, mom landed a large swat onto my swollen padding, followed by several more to the exposed portions of my butt cheeks, each swat accompanied by the crinkle-snap sound of where her hand partially hit my diaper. Dejectedly, the large plastic pacifier bobbing gently between my lips, I stood up from the couch. The loud, crisp crinkle-crinkle of my once again sodden baby-block diaper filled the tense room as I turned and waddled out of the living room, completely defeated. As I rounded the corner into the hallway, I expected to be led straight to the custom changing table for another mandatory check. But the doorway to the spare room was firmly shut, blocking any view of the interior. Dad was standing right outside the closed door, holding his power drill, a knowing, completely serious expression on his face as he looked down at my loudly crinkling, pantless form and the pacifier wedged in my mouth. Mom gripped my shoulder from behind, steering me toward the guest bathroom across the hall instead. "Your father is still finalizing the room's adjustments, Dylan. You can wait in the bathroom while I gather your fresh nighttime supplies. It's almost time for your evening routine to begin." The bathroom door clicked shut, leaving me stranded in front of the mirror. Trapped in a loudly crinkling diaper covered in baby blocks, with a giant pacifier silencing my protests, I could only stare at my reflection in absolute horror—while on the other side of the wall, the final, heavy whirrrrr of Dad's power drill signalled that whatever nightmare they had built for me inside that room was officially ready. -
By cute little kokiri girl · Posted
Emily pouted, but did what she was told picking up the piece of chalk with one hand she started writing Camila started to clean up the place as Ana went to get everything ready for Emily, the girl was definitely going to be wearing mittens and booties for the foreseeable future after the outfit had been picked and Ana had gone down to the dining room to see how Emily was doing Camilla went into the garage grabbed the wooden ceiling for the crib and her toolbox. While Camilla wasn't exactly Miss fix it her dad did teach her a few things, it was easy getting the lid and the latch put on. Meanwhile in the living room Alice and Madison were happily giggling and singing the songs that were playing on Sofia The First, Alice had really gotten into Sofia the First thanks to Madison showing her some of the episodes. -
By little_madd · Posted
Maddison and Alice were taken out of their high chairs and booster seats, and Camilla said, "Two options, girls: go watch cartoons in the living room or help Ana prepare a surprise for Emily." Emily's face was cleaned, and her hands were covered in so much green paint when Ana brought a sheet of paper with a sawtooth piece of chalk and said, "While our little one here will write several times on this sheet 'I must not drink coffee,' and right after that, she'll put on her cute pajamas, drink a full bottle, and go to sleep." -
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By cute little kokiri girl · Posted
Despite Emily wanting to be a good girl she still fussed over the food getting quite messy looking just like a real baby, only a bigger one, it was quite adorable sight and both Madison and Alice couldn't help but coo and encourage their new little sister to eat her food. "Pwease no mommy I've learned my lesson okay at least have one slice of pizza." But Camilla who had just finished her meal and was taking pictures of her new little girl said, "No, no my little fairy you've been a very bad little girl today so this is what you need to eat, besides it's good for you." It took a bit long for Emily to eat her meal but when she was finally done eating the green mass and drinking her prune juice bottle the girl looked exhausted.
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