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Rainbow Diapers
A space where our Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Trans members can discuss related issues.
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By Rachael-Little · Posted
Sounds wonderful, I would enjoy something like that as well. Glad you had a good time -
I color when i felt a pacifer being put in my mouth as i start sucking on it as i lay on the floor. I take my time coloring a picture. -
By Baby Jemma · Posted
Okay (yes, I am on a roll when it comes to stories; I even have the next chapters for INSIWAb... and Semper Fi ready for their usual postings on Saturday and Tuesday, respectively.), I know this is another medical story in a whole lot of them...but it's quite different than most. Welcome to Patient Zero, a medical age regression journey into young toddlerhood for some (and maybe younger for one). I know it doesn't sound very impressive, and I was somewhat basing this off of an idea I got from an age-regression story (I don't recall which one.) where...well, I won't spoil. But as for the content warnings, not every character gets a nice background. In fact, a lot of them are quite hard, if not going-through-the-absolute-wringer hard (I kinda based one of the characters off of Killer Croc's backstory, though this one isn't a fictional disease, but a very real one.), and the content warnings are there for a reason. About critique, feel absolutely free to tell me what I'm doing wrong; in fact, I encourage it with all my heart! I want to publish this under my pseudo penname in books for AR/AB stuff, and in order to publish without mistakes and errors, I absolutely need to know what I've done wrong. If you can't find anything wrong, then tell me what you liked, please! These things make me a better writer. I'm not soft when it comes to critique, and I'll always listen to it. Thank you in advance! And let's not delay, for here it is: - Chapter One: 4:30 AM - 6:55 AM, May 22nd, 2024 - Dr. Berry Glass woke up at 4:30 AM as she always did, ready for her job as a researcher and group therapist for one of the most prevalent modern diseases known to women under the age of thirty: Sudden Adult Age Retrogression Syndrome or SAARS. The thirty-three-year-old yawned, stretching out her long legs and arms as her alarm blared, her short sandy-brown hair frazzled with sleep. She slipped out of bed, rubbing her hazel eyes, going to the bathroom to shower; she didn’t use makeup at work. Work, she thought as she turned the water on, shivering from the chill. Giving hope of a better life to those who had none. SAARS was a disease that regressed otherwise normal women under thirty to a set age, normally around twelve to sixteen months old. It was also permanent as far as researchers like her could tell; whatever enzymes that aged people - namely telomeres that broke down with cell division - were paused. Worse still, they had their adult minds and memories during the whole process. It would be so much easier if their minds were also regressed, but to be forced into babyhood forever with an adult perspective was a horrifying prospect, especially adults who had their own dreams taken away from them. Some people regarded it as an act of God for sin and rejected the unfortunate women. Worse still, a lot of people, whether it was parents, husbands, or boyfriends didn’t want to take care of the now-infantilized women that were their daughters, their partners, their friends, possibly forever being babies. Such a thing was heartbreaking, yet common. Therefore, there was a therapy session Berry headed, knowing the most about the disease, how the process worked (although there was no common vector as of now, no original patient to discuss; it had infected thousands of young women simultaneously), and - as one of the rare woman doctors unable to be infected - what to do in the process. Her job aside from research was helping the few women and partners who were struggling and genuinely asked for advice instead of being buried within walls of secretive shame. They came to her for advice, even if she didn’t have a clue about how to stop it, let alone reverse it. One thing for sure was this: it was manmade. Someone was playing God with the lives of innocent women, and as a doctor who took pride in following the Hippocratic Oath to the letter, Berry was furious that someone was doing this to these poor women on purpose. But she couldn’t focus on her rage, she mused, as she turned off the shower, her body cleansed. The women patients of simultaneous ages and their desperate partners - boyfriends, husbands, and the odd parent - were her priority today. Then came a long day of research as the only woman allowed in the laboratory while the cultures were done, even if she had to deal with…Digby Fletcher. She wrapped the towel across her nude body, her firm breasts sensitive at the touch. Fucking Digby Fletcher - Doctor Digby Fletcher, a transplant from the United Kingdom with Scottish and Irish descent, judging by his mixed accent - the arrogant, pretty-boy cocksucker (hey, it was true! His definite flamboyant sexuality was no secret.) with his against-the-rules-long ginger hair in a bushy ponytail that fell to his back and bangs that mostly hid his eyes. He was an asshole to everyone, to put it as kindly as she could, and always acted like he knew better than everyone in the room. Well, he was extremely intelligent like she was, that couldn’t be denied; he graduated with a doctorate from a super young age (he was currently twenty-two years old and graduated at Oxford with honors at the precocious age of seventeen), much like she did at Stanford University at eighteen years old (2005, good times), getting to college early and skipping a lot of grades, valedictorian, highest marks in the country in her graduate year. Maybe super smart people butted heads, but Fletcher’s caustic sarcasm and swelled head was almost unbearable and most definitely insufferable, especially when he had gone to the subject of parents and how hers must’ve been annoyed that she was a mere “pediatrician”. Mine died, she thought bitterly as she got into her therapy clothes - a lab coat and smart black pantsuit, and got her purse, the time on her phone reading 5:00 AM. To a drunken driver when they were on the way to celebrate her valedictorian honors. The drunk had died as well, leaving behind two devastated families. It was the only time she had ever seen Fletcher with any kind of remorse for what he said, with any kind of empathy - or any positive emotion that wasn’t snark, for that matter - in his dead icy-blue eyes, and to his rare credit, he never brought up the subject again. And Warwick had immediately stepped in and read him the riot act. Berry’s heart fluttered as she got her usual breakfast and lunch (both small meals for the slim 5’6” woman) packed in another bag and stepped out into the beautiful San Diego weather to get to her car, thinking of Dr. Warwick Cooks, his handsome tanned complexion and smile, his trimmed beach-blond beard and hair, his warm ocean blue eyes, so unlike the shards of glass that represented Fletcher’s eyes. Warwick was a fellow Stanford graduate who had taken her under his wing as a freshman, her best friend, her confidant, her occasional on-and-off lover when she turned eighteen, she recalled with a rare blush to her face, as she got in her Hyundai Kona Electric car and pressed the button to start the engine. Hot damn, he was good in bed. Thankfully, rush hour in San Diego was not until much later, and she got to the hospital in record time at 6:15, ready to begin the group therapy session at 7:00 in the morning. She prepared the seats for the prospective people…and the toys, stuffed animals, and lots of diapers for the women who needed them. Even though there was no mental regression with SAARS, emotional regression to the age they became was almost certain, and toilet training was the very first thing to go with them. SAARS usually took off years quickly, one year regressed a day, so she assumed she’d see people of varying ages. The windows on the outside were the only ones showing with the rest shuttered. The walls were soundproofed, so that nothing came out of the room. Safety and privacy were of the utmost importance when it came to those suffering from SAARS; they didn’t need the hatred, anger, and judgment from the outside world. The first people arrived at 6:30: a skinny young Black man with thin cornrows, glasses, who wore a black hoodie and sweats, gently carrying a sleeping two-year-old Black girl while balancing a computer bag and empty diaper bag on his scrawny shoulders. Her hair was done expertly, braided with beads in them, and she was wearing a pink onesie and a thick diaper. She drooled on her stuffed zebra before the man replaced it with a pacifier, which she unconsciously started sucking on. Berry didn’t recognize either of them, and she hadn’t had a phone call with them, but she figured she’d know more about them during the session. The next people arrived ten minutes later: a fairly young, pale cleanshaven Caucasian man with dark brown hair who wore a San Jose Sharks hat, and a black T-shirt and camo shorts that showed his sinewy frame. He was carrying a two-year-old blonde girl who was fearfully tucking her head into his arms, her thick diaper peeking from her pink dress, clutching a stuffed gazelle as if her life depended on it. She knew them from a phone call: Detective Oleksiy Pomonrenko of the San Jose Police Department, and his ex-partner/now-child Natasha Orlova. Oleksiy had taken custody of Natasha immediately, knowing her parental figures were…not very nice, to put it lightly. Berry’s research on Natasha’s parents confirmed Oleksiy’s fears, but it was not the place for a private session. The last to come at 6:50 was a bald Black man wearing a Sacramento Kings beanie, an Oakland Raiders mask across his entire lower face, a San Diego Padres jersey and blue jeans, and a Caucasian girl toddler in a dress and diaper who looked two years old, her hair in red pigtails. She chewed on one of her pigtails before the man replaced it with a pacifier, which she gleefully started sucking on. She was holding a stuffed horse, a Clydesdale. Berry remembered both of them from a prior session: Amos Norwood and Hannah Norwood, a husband and wife in…less than ideal circumstances, poor Amos, especially. She wondered if Oleksiy would recognize Amos. Unfortunately for her, he did. “You,” Oleksiy said in a flat tone to Amos, who glared back. “I trust you’re on the straight and narrow when it comes to your new kid?” “It’s always been hard to find honest work,” Amos retorted. “Especially now. Y’all ain’t let me find it.” “A cop?” the young Black man with glasses asked in an accent that sounded slightly Arabic, rolling his eyes. “If there aren't enough problems…Allah give me strength.” “We are not going to argue about our backgrounds in front of your partners. Everyone is welcome here.” Berry’s voice was firm, her eyes flashing a warning sign to all that there would be no arguments on that front. She turned to look at the young Muslim man. “Might I know your name?” He looked at her, his brown eyes calm behind his glasses. “Darquarius Zerrouki. I’m from Morocco, born in the United States with citizenship from my mother. My partner, her name is Chief Petty Officer Lynn Graham of the United States Navy.” “Can she confirm?” Oleksiy asked immediately. The man called Darquarius surprisingly didn’t argue, as he gently nudged the girl awake, as she whined, “Daddyyy!” “Lynnie, cupcake, you need to meet the nice people,” the man said, his voice filled with genuine love. The Black girl rubbed her eyes with a yawn and said with a tired smile, “Hi! I’m Chief Peppy Offsher Wynn Gwaham. Me wash…” She frowned as her two-year-old lisp prevented her from saying the words right, her squirming meaning that she likely was close to messing her diaper when she didn’t want to, and Berry’s heart broke for the SAARS-infected woman. “Me wash en-gay-jed to Daddy. Daddy, I gots to go now.” “That’s what your diaper’s for, Lynnie. I promise I’ll get you changed.” Darquarius looked at Berry, the look in his eyes desperate, as a giant brown and yellow spot ballooned in his former fiancée’s diaper. “Do you have Pampers Swaddlers? That’s what she said she prefers, and I’m running on fumes, trying to babyproof the house alone...” “I have them,” Berry said kindly. “Natasha prefers Huggies Little Snugglers,” Oleksiy said. “Good choice; that’s what Hannah likes as well,” Amos agreed. “I have them as well,” the doctor said, noticing that Natasha’s face relaxing as she pooped her diaper, and Hannah was squirming in discomfort, about ready to go herself. “We can change them here, and hopefully more people will come to start the session.” Thank holy God I came prepared. She was not prepared for a blindside hit she never saw coming. - Hope y'all enjoyed~ -
By cute little kokiri girl · Posted
Evelyn walked over and grab her daughter's Winnie the Pooh pacifier clip attached it, she also grabbed the baby wipe cleaned her doors now before catching the pacifier clip to her daughter's PJ's and gave her pacifier the suck on before heading back to the rocking arm chair to pick up her computer and get back to her job. -
Rei giggled “Nuh uhh I stile big giwl bib fow babies.” She said waiting for her face to be wiped off the small girl would probably need a bath too
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