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I hate that part.  I've been using pull-ups when I walk on my nights off, though more for when and if my IBS strikes out on my walks.  (Three times, just as I get home, and once on the actual walk.) No, they're not meant for that, but when I can get them cheap at Goodwill or something similar. Plus, I can save my stash for the more intentional times.

Maddy has wanted diapers since she was 9, probably even before that. Diapers are truly part of who she is. The disgust reads less like clarity and more like panic. When someone has been suppressing something for years, finally acting on it can trigger a backlash of shame, especially if they’ve internalized the idea that it’s “wrong.” That cycle can look a lot like classic binge and purge behavior. If anything, the most powerful direction this could go is toward self-acceptance. That kind of growth would feel really earned after everything she’s been through.

I am more accurately labeled as a diaper wetter rather than a bedwetter.

Now available on Canadian Amazon...

Sorry about the delay. Intense first weeks of the year, but you also have to add procrastination into the mix. Here it is: Chapter 19 The transition from the raw, subterranean heat of the basement to the ritual of dressing was its own form of torture. Jasper watched, leaning against a wooden support beam with his arms crossed, as Melissa pulled on her thin cotton panties. They felt flimsy and inadequate against her sensitized skin, the fabric instantly clinging to the moisture she couldn't suppress. Her tight jeans were a struggle; the denim was stiff and unforgiving, pressing the damp cotton directly against her center with every tug of the zipper. By the time she threw on her loose blouse, her body was humming, the friction of the fabric against her nipples feeling like a constant, low-voltage current. The walk to the car was a blur of cool night air and heavy silence. Jasper opened the door of the classic silver BMW, his hand firm on the small of her back, guiding her into the leather interior. The cabin smelled of expensive hide and old wood—a masculine, controlled environment that made Melissa feel like a wild thing barely contained. As the engine turned over with a low, predatory growl, the silence between them became a living thing. Jasper drove with a calm, effortless skill, one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on the gear shift. He didn't look at her, but Melissa could feel his awareness of her radiating across the center console. The interior lights of the BMW were dim, casting sharp shadows across his profile. Every time he shifted gears, the movement of his arm brushed against her knee, a rhythmic, mechanical tease. Melissa sat with her knees pressed tightly together, trying to minimize the agonizing rub of her jeans. She looked out the window at the passing streetlights, her reflection in the glass showing a woman who looked composed but felt like she was melting from the inside out. The vibration of the car hummed through the seat, a constant, low-frequency throb that seemed to sync with her own heartbeat. The only sounds were the muffled purr of the engine and the occasional click of the indicator. The silence was enticing, a vacuum that Melissa filled with the memory of his voice in the basement. I want to hear that sound every time you move for me. When they finally pulled up to her apartment complex, the silence didn't break. Jasper killed the engine, and the sudden quiet was deafening. He didn't move to get out. Instead, he turned his head slowly to look at her, his eyes dark and expectant in the shadows of the car. "We're here," he whispered, the first words spoken in twenty minutes. "Go inside. Get ready. You know exactly what I want to see when I walk through that door in five minutes." Melissa’s throat was dry. "Five minutes?" "Four and a half now," he replied, a faint, knowing smirk touching his lips. "Don't keep me waiting, Mel. I want you heavy and ready for me."   The apartment was silent, but the air felt electric, humming with the four-minute countdown Jasper had set. Melissa moved with a frantic, feral energy. She scrambled into her bedroom, her breath coming in shallow, jagged gasps that echoed off the walls. She reached for her stash, her hands trembling so violently she nearly dropped the packaging. She only had one set of diapers left—not very thick, but soft ones—but the ache between her legs demanded more than just a standard fit. She needed to be stuffed, heavy, and utterly incapacitated by the weight of her own surrender. She grabbed a pair of heavy-duty shears from her nightstand. With a clinical, hungry focus, she sacrificed one of the diapers. She sheared off the side flaps, leaving only the thick, absorbent core. Then, she took the blade and sliced a long, vertical slit into the outer plastic backing of the pad, exposing the thirsty, compressed fluff inside. She laid the modified soaker pad into the landing zone of a fresh diaper, creating a custom, double-thick mountain of padding. The act of diapering herself was raw and desperate. She stepped into the bulk, pulling the front up over her throbbing navel. The sheer volume of the padding forced her legs slightly apart, a permanent, physical reminder of her openness. She pulled the tapes tight—tighter than usual—until the plastic crinkled and groaned under the tension, the tapes biting into her hips to secure the massive, crinkling weight between her thighs. She didn't put on a shirt. She didn't put on socks. She climbed onto the bed, her skin pale against the dark duvet, and lay flat on her back. The double-thick diaper was a literal pedestal, tilting her pelvis upward, making her feel small and infant-like yet pulsing with a very adult hunger. Her breasts spilled to the sides, her nipples still dark and rigid from the basement air, aching for the return of his touch. She stared at the bedroom door, her ears straining for the sound of his key in the lock. Every time she shifted, the "soaker" shifted inside the outer shell, creating a deep, muffled scrunch that vibrated against her sensitized skin. She was a good girl. She was exactly where he told her to be. The silence of the apartment was heavy, flavored with the scent of the fresh padding and the musk of her own mounting anticipation. She was an altar again, but this time, the sacrifice was wrapped in thick, white plastic. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic rhythm that seemed to sync with the ticking of the clock. Then, she heard it. The heavy, deliberate thud of a boot in the hallway. The metallic snick of the lock turning. The door to the bedroom pushed open, and Jasper stood in the frame. He didn't say a word. He just stood there, his dark eyes raking over her—over her flushed chest, her heaving stomach, and the massive, crinkling bulk of the diaper that kept her legs pinned wide for his inspection. - The air in the room didn’t just thicken; it fractured. Jasper remained in the doorway, his chest heaving under his dark coat. For the first time since the basement, the mask of the cool, detached architect slipped. His knuckles were white as he gripped the doorframe, his gaze anchored to the sight of her—the massive, crinkling white bulk of the diaper forcing her legs apart, her soft skin flushed with a feverish heat. He was silent, but it wasn't the silence of control anymore. It was the silence of a man drowning. He looked at the way she had modified the padding, the sheer thickness of it, and his throat worked in a hard, visible swallow. He looked like he wanted to devour her and protect her all at once, his imagination finally hitting a wall where his own desire was too big to put into words. Melissa saw the flicker of hesitation, the raw hunger that had finally outpaced his command. A surge of warmth, deeper and more powerful than just arousal, bloomed in her chest. She realized he wasn't just her master; he was her partner, and right now, he was lost in her. "Jasper," she whispered, her voice a soft, silken thread that pulled him toward the bed. "Come here." She didn't move from her position, but her eyes softened, losing their frantic edge and replacing it with a steady, loving heat. He moved like a man in a trance, shedding his coat and letting it drop to the floor. When he reached the edge of the bed, he sank onto his knees, bringing him eye-level with the massive, plastic-wrapped swell of her hips. "You did this," he rasped, his hand hovering over the crinkling surface but not yet touching. "You made yourself... like this. For me." "I did," she murmured. She reached out, her fingers gently threading through his hair, drawing his forehead toward hers. "Because I knew you needed to see it. I knew you needed to see how much I want to be your little mess." She took his hand—the same hand that had been so clinical in the basement—and pressed it firmly against the center of the diaper. The plastic crunched loudly under his palm, the double-thick padding providing a resistance that made his breath catch. "Don't think, Jasper," she whispered against his lips, her heart thudding against her ribs. "Just feel. Feel how heavy I am. Feel how much space I’m taking up just for you." She shifted her hips, feeling the soaker pad sliding inside the shell with a visceral, wet-sounding scrunch. The sound was a spark to a fuse. Jasper let out a low, guttural groan and buried his face in the crook of her neck, his hands finally roaming over the white plastic with a desperate, possessive hunger. "I'm going to miss you so much," he choked out, the honesty of it hitting her harder than any command. "The thought of you like this... it's going to drive me crazy." "Then don't leave me with a thought," Melissa said, her voice growing bolder as she guided his hand upward to her breasts, pressing his palm against her aching, sensitive nipples. "Leave me with a memory. Show me what happens when you finally stop being a sculptor and start being mine." She wrapped her legs—as best she could with the thick padding—around his waist, pulling him into the soft, crinkling abyss of her surrender. The tension in the air shattered into a million pieces of heat and heart, the silent basement forgotten in the face of this loud, plastic-wrapped, beautiful reality. The shift in power was subtle, a velvet coup staged in the quiet of the bedroom. Melissa, anchored by the massive weight of her double-padded diaper, became the orchestrator. She reached for the buttons of his shirt, her fingers nimble despite her trembling. "Let me," she whispered, her eyes locked on his. She unburdened him, peeling back the layers of wool and cotton until Jasper was stripped down to nothing but his dark boxers, which were strained to their limit, a prominent tent of fabric betraying his desperate need. She didn't let him stay distant. She reached up, hooking her heels—clumsy and wide-set due to the thick padding—behind his thighs and pulling him down into the soft landscape of the bed. As he hovered over her, the contrast was a sensory explosion: his lean, muscular heat against the cool, crinkling plastic of her stuffed diaper. Melissa didn't wait. She arched her back, offering her breasts to him like a frantic prayer. "Jasper, now. Please," she gasped. He broke. He surged forward, his mouth finding one dark, rigid nipple and then the other. He began breastfeeding with a primal, rhythmic hunger, his tongue swirling around the peaks she had kept hard for him all evening. Melissa let out a high, keening cry, her fingers digging into his hair, pulling him closer, tighter. The sensation of his suction, combined with the way his heavy frame pressed the thick diaper into her sensitive core, was overwhelming. She began to move. On her back, she started humping upward against him in mad abandon. Every thrust was met with the loud, rhythmic crinkle-crunch of the plastic and the muffled slide of the extra padding. The sound was erotic, a percussive accompaniment to their shared heat. "Yes! Right there!" she wailed, her head thrashing against the pillow. Jasper’s control vanished completely. He ground his hips into the massive white bulk between her legs, the friction of his tented boxers against the smooth plastic creating a searing heat. He groaned into her skin, a deep, animal sound that vibrated in her chest. The climax hit Melissa like a tidal wave. She felt her body fracture, her muscles seizing as she came with a violence that made her vision go white. She sobbed his name, her hips bucking one last, desperate time against the padding. Seconds later, the tension in Jasper’s body snapped. He let out a choked, ragged shout into the crook of her neck, his body jolting as he came again, a hot, heavy release that flooded into his boxers, soaking the fabric. He collapsed against her, his weight pinning her into the mattress, both of them gasping for air in the wreckage of their desire. The room fell into a heavy, sweet-scented silence, broken only by the fading, occasional crinkle of Melissa’s diaper as her breathing slowed. -- The bedroom was a wreck of discarded clothes and crushed pillows, but the living room felt like a sanctuary. The air was cooler here, smelling of rain and the faint, malty scent of the two open beers sitting on the coffee table. Jasper looked almost domestic, though entirely ridiculous, squeezed into a pair of Melissa’s tight grey gym shorts that barely contained his muscular thighs. He sat on the sofa, his long legs stretched out, while Melissa was curled into his side. She was still in her thick, crinkling diaper, the plastic humming against the leather sofa every time she shifted. The heavy "soaker" she’d added was compressed now, a warm, comforting weight between her legs. "I still can't believe that happened," Jasper murmured, taking a long pull of his beer. He looked at her, his eyes soft but still flickering with the remnants of that basement fire. "I went into that basement thinking I was just going to show you my new house. And then I saw you... and something just snapped." Melissa giggled, a low, relaxed sound. She leaned her head on his shoulder, her hand resting on the crinkling plastic of her hip. "You were so scary, Jasper. But in the best way. I’ve never felt so... seen. When you told me to sit there and not touch myself, I felt like my brain just turned off. I didn't want to be Melissa the office manager. I just wanted to be your object. Your toy." "It was the most natural thing in the world," Jasper confessed, shaking his head in disbelief. "I felt like a boss, like a dom, like a god... and then, when I saw you on the floor, leaking like that, I felt like a daddy. I just wanted to scoop you up and fix you, even while I was the one breaking you. It’s a total mess of instincts, Mel." Melissa sat up slightly, the diaper let out a loud scrunch that made them both grin. "And the Bella’s pullups? Jasper, where did that come from? That was so specific. I thought I was going to melt right into your new carpet when you said that." Jasper laughed, a rich, candid sound. "Honestly? I don't know. I think seeing you so vulnerable just opened up a door in my head I didn't know was there. I started imagining you trying to be 'big' in something meant for a smaller girl, and how you’d just... fail. How you’d soak through them because you’re so much more woman than a pullup can handle. It was the hottest thing I've ever pictured." "It was hot," she admitted, her face flushing. "I always knew I liked the feeling of being taken care of, the diapers and the softness... but I didn't realize I wanted someone to rule me through it. I didn't know I wanted to be 'the mess' for someone." They sat in the comfortable silence for a moment, the beer-fueled honesty making the room feel smaller, more intimate. "I'm going to be thinking about that basement for the entire trip," Jasper said, pulling her closer and kissing the top of her head. "About my girl, sitting on my floor, marking it as hers before I even moved in." Melissa shifted, the plastic crinkling loudly in the quiet room. "Good. I want you to remember that sound. And I want you to know that when you get back, I might have a few more surprises waiting in the nursery." -- The third beer had a way of loosening the last of their inhibitions. Jasper stood up with a low groan, his hand lingering on Melissa’s shoulder. He glanced down at the massive, crinkling mound of plastic between her thighs, a playful, tired smirk on his face. "I have to go use the 'big boy’s room,'" he teased, his voice thick with affection. "Try not to make too much of a mess while I'm gone." Melissa looked up at him, her eyes bright and slightly glazed from the alcohol and the lingering adrenaline. She patted the thick padding over her hip, the plastic letting out a sharp, defiant crackle. "I'm not going anywhere, Jasper. I've got everything I need right here." When he returned a few minutes later, the air in the living room felt even heavier, charged with a new, domestic electricity. Melissa didn't wait for an invitation. She stood up—the double-thick diaper making her gait wide and heavy—and straddled him as he sat back down. She turned her back to him, sitting squarely on his lap so that the massive bulk of her padding was pressed directly against his thighs and his own rising heat. "It's my turn," she whispered, leaning her head back against his shoulder. Jasper’s breath hitched. He reached around her, his large hands finding her breasts, his thumbs immediately beginning to circle her nipples through the thin air. "Is that so?" he rasped. "After three beers? You must be very full for me, Mel." "I am," she whimpered. She let go. The sound was unmistakable—a sudden, heavy hiss of liquid meeting parched fibers. Because of the three beers, it wasn't a trickle; it was a torrent. Melissa’s eyes fluttered shut as she felt the immediate, searing warmth bloom between her legs, spreading outward from the center of the diaper and soaking into the "soaker" pad she had so carefully prepared. Jasper groaned, his hands tightening on her breasts. He could feel the heat radiating through the plastic, a heavy, damp warmth that seeped into his own legs. Even through the barrier of her diaper and his tight shorts, the sensation was overwhelming. He went hard instantly, the pressure of her weight and the rising temperature of the padding pinning him down. "That's it, good girl," he goaded, his voice a low, vibrating growl in her ear. He began to caress her nipples with a gentle, insistent pressure, rolling the sensitive peaks between his fingers as she continued to flood the diaper. "Fill it up. I want to feel exactly how much you can hold. Make it heavy. Make it sopping wet for me." Melissa let out a long, broken sigh, her body sagging against him as the pressure finally began to ease. The diaper was becoming immensely heavy, the sap-like polymers inside swelling and turning the padding into a thick, gel-like weight that sagged against his lap. "Jasper... it's so heavy," she panted, her voice filled with a mixture of shame and pride. "I know," he whispered, his hands sliding down from her chest to cup the now-sodden, warm bulk of the diaper. He squeezed the plastic, the sound of the saturated padding a wet, muffled squelch. "You're a complete mess. And you're staying right here until I've felt every bit of that heat fade." He held her there, a silent sentry over her surrender, the weight of her needs literally resting in his hands. -- Jasper stood up, the saturated weight of the diaper swinging heavily between Melissa’s legs as he hoisted her into his arms. The plastic let out a final, sodden squelch as he settled her against his chest. "You’re sleeping in your mess tonight, Mel," he murmured, his voice thick with a mix of exhaustion and absolute adoration. "No changes. I want you to feel exactly what you did for me all night long." Melissa let out a sleepy, bubbly giggle, her head lolling against his shoulder. "Okay... I’m your heavy, messy girl." They crinkled to bed in a slow, rhythmic procession of sound—the sharp snap-crackle of the outer shell and the muffled, gel-heavy thud of the soaked padding hitting her thighs with every step Jasper took. He laid her down gently on the cool sheets, the diaper craning and groaning under her weight as she settled. Jasper climbed in behind her, pulling the duvet over them both. He tucked himself into her, his body forming a perfect curve against hers as they spooned. His large hand reached around to cup her breast, his thumb resting lazily over her nipple, claiming her even in his half-sleep. Melissa sighed contentedly, shifting her hips to press her diapered bottom firmly back against him. The padding was warm and immensely thick, a massive barrier that didn't stop Jasper from reacting. She could feel his semi-hardon pressing into the center of the wet plastic, the friction creating one last spark of heat before the exhaustion took over. "Good night, Jasper," she whispered into the dark. "Good night, my girl," he replied, his grip tightening just a fraction on her breast as they drifted off, the only sound in the room the occasional, tiny crinkle of Melissa’s surrender whenever she breathed. - The cabin of the Delta flight was a pressurized tomb of recycled air and dim blue overhead lighting, but Jasper was nowhere near the clouds. Behind his closed eyelids, he was back in the apartment, the phantom scent of cedar-wood and warm, sodden plastic clinging to the back of his throat. He leaned his head against the cold window, the vibration of the jet engines mimicking the low-frequency throb of his own blood. Every time he drifted into a light snooze, the image of her hit him like a physical blow: Melissa, pinned under the sheer, sagging weight of that double-thick diaper, her legs forced wide by the sheer volume of her own surrender. He could still hear the visceral, wet squelch of the saturated padding as he’d squeezed it—a sound so thick and honest it made the hum of the plane feel unbearable. His hand, resting on the armrest, twitched. He could almost feel the heat radiating through the plastic, the way her feverish skin had felt against his palms as she flooded the fibers. He shifted in his seat, his tailored trousers suddenly feeling restrictive and sharp. He was a man who prided himself on structure and steel, yet he was being unraveled by the memory of a woman becoming a "mess" just to please him. The landing in New York was a jarring return to reality, but the haze followed him. Stepping into the back of a weathered, grey taxi, the city outside was a blurred smear of dawn-lit concrete and steam. Jasper sank into the cracked leather seat, the interior smelling faintly of old coffee and exhaust—a sharp, cold contrast to the milky, intimate musk of Melissa’s bedroom. As the taxi lurched through the morning traffic toward Midtown, Jasper stared at the back of the driver’s head, but his mind was tracing the curve of Melissa’s diapered hip. He imagined her waking up in the empty bed, the padding cold and heavy against her skin, a lingering, physical weight he had commanded her to keep. The thought of her moving through the apartment, the massive, soaked bulk crinkling and thudding against her thighs with every step, made his pulse hammer against his collar. He pictured her sitting at her vanity, the plastic groaning under her weight, her body still marked by the impressions of the tapes she’d pulled so tight. He pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over her name. He wanted to text her, to command her to stay in it, to tell her that even from three hundred miles away, he could still hear the sound of her breaking for him. The taxi hit a pothole, the jolt sending a phantom vibration through Jasper’s core. He leaned back and closed his eyes, a dark, possessive smirk touching his lips as the Manhattan skyline rose to meet him. He was in the city of steel, but his mind was anchored to a pile of wet, white plastic and the girl who was currently wearing the heaviest proof of his power. He was already counting the days of his return.