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Didn't work.  Went straight from clicking pay with debit or credit card to the long form, and will not advance without creating an account.  Too convoluted anyway.  

I wear the diapers I can afford as we all do, I soo miss the old school pampers and the old old plastic store brands, they didn't hold much but were a nice feeling when they got full..I have been using Sunkiss for nightly, I have some of the older plastic backed I am hoarding, it use when I have a morning to myself... I would Love to try the Sunkiss Plastic backed ..I did get some Goodnights XXL and they are so nice to fill up. I had one on the front was full and I had put my enema water in , and I sat on the toilet and let out enough of it to soak that goodnight the rest of the way it was soo heavy..

@DiaperboyEddie12: Definitely AI generated as the one piece footed sleepers are too short for a regular adult - and don't match the size of the diapers.

My Daddy takes care of my orgasms so very little need to masterbate. For those few times where He's not around it will vary. For me to orgasm there is a mental and emotional connection required with my partner. Simple physical stimulation can get me there but it's so meh compared to my Daddy taking me to orgasm which is easily a thousand times more intense and more pleasurable.

Chapter 3 : Jill and Marcus glanced at Jack from across the desk, their expressions sharp. Marcus leaned back slightly, a faint smirk on his face. “You better not mess this up for us,” he said, his tone casual but carrying an unmistakable weight.   Jack felt a knot tighten in his stomach. Marcus was broad-shouldered, towering over him by a good head and more, muscles visible even under his sweatshirt. Compared to him, Jack felt small, fragile, entirely out of his depth. The thought of disappointing either Jill or Marcus made his throat tighten, his palms prickling with nervous sweat. He nodded quickly, trying to force confidence into his posture, but the sense of inferiority lingered like a shadow.   Mrs. Turner continued at the front, her voice calm and steady, explaining the finer details of the project: the documentation requirements, the grading rubric, the unexpected scenarios that could come up throughout the semester. Jack tried to focus, but his mind kept wandering back to Marcus’s words—and the looming dread of being the “child” in their project.   The bell finally rang, cutting through the murmur of conversation. Jack gathered his books with a careful precision, stuffing papers and packets into his backpack. Just as he reached the door, Mrs. Turner’s sharp voice stopped him.   “Jack,” she said, her gaze firm but not unkind, “you, Jill, and Marcus are to report to my classroom by 10 a.m. tomorrow for your special project supplies. Be punctual.”   Jack’s throat tightened. “Yes, Mrs. Turner,” he said, trying to sound steady.   He stepped out of the classroom, his steps slow and deliberate, and made his way to the nearest bathroom. Once inside, he shut himself into a stall and leaned against the cold metal door, trying to steady his breathing. But it wasn’t long before panic crept in. His chest tightened, his vision tunneled, and the room seemed to tilt around him.   From the stall next to him, he could hear the familiar, unmistakable sound of Marcus’s deep voice. “So, you guys saw what’s up with our group, right? Jack’s gonna be the baby.”   Jack’s stomach sank. He stayed perfectly still, listening as Marcus laughed with his friends from the football team. The words cut sharper than he expected.   “Wonder what Mrs. Turner has in mind for him,” Marcus joked. “Special tasks, all tailored just for our little project baby. Bet it’s gonna be hilarious.”   The group erupted into laughter. Jack’s hands tightened into fists, his knuckles white, but he said nothing, remaining silent as the laughter echoed through the bathroom.   When the voices faded, Jack pushed off the wall and took a shaky, uneven breath. He left the bathroom, each step toward his dorm feeling heavier than the last. By the time he reached his room, he was trembling slightly, his heart still racing.   He dropped his backpack on the floor and collapsed onto his bed, hugging his pillow tightly as if it could shield him from reality. The ceiling stared back at him, blank and unyielding, and for a moment, he wished he could close his eyes and wake up from this nightmare.   His phone buzzed on the nightstand. Jack glanced at it reluctantly. A message from Jill. “Don’t be late tomorrow.”   He didn’t reply. He tossed the phone onto his bed and curled tighter into the pillow, letting the weight of the day press down on him. He stared at the wall above his bed, wishing with every fiber of his being that this was all just a bad dream—and that somehow, by morning, it would all be gone.