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Sissy Room
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Its hard to say which my favorite ones were, but the ones that stick with me the most are Ausdpr's shorts. These were some of the first I read and helped form the base of my original concept of abdl embarrassment stories. I still reference them from time to time -
Happy weekend, folks. I am going to try to bang out another chapter tonight, so Warning: fap at your own risk! Chapter 11 Lana's phone buzzed against the countertop — not the generic trill but the custom chime she'd assigned to Amanda, a bright little two-note melody that cut through the marinara-scented air like a bell through fog. Jacob's jaw froze mid-chew, the rubber-tipped spoon still pressing against his lower lip, a strand of sauce cooling on his chin. The duck hood had slipped sideways again, one felt eye resting above his brow. Lana held up a single finger — *one moment* — and swiped the screen to answer. "Amanda! Hey, hon." Jacob's ears locked onto every syllable. The phone wasn't on speaker, but Lana kept her volume the way she always did — generous, the kind of voice that filled a room whether you'd been invited into the conversation or not. He could hear Amanda's reply, tinny and bright, leaking through the earpiece with that particular warmth of a woman who'd already poured herself something. "So I was thinking," Amanda's voice carried, "shopping with Jacob today was lovely and all, but we barely got any *girl time*, you know? I've got a couple bottles of pinot chilled and I was gonna see if tonight works for some catch-up? I could be over by seven?" *She said bottles* Jacob thought, and his stomach clenched. The diaper crinkled as he shifted on the chair, his feet swinging an inch above the floor, the motion involuntary and infantile and exactly the kind of thing a child would do and it made the duck hood bob. Lana's gaze drifted to him. Took in the fleece onesie with its grinning duck face, the thick diaper forcing his legs apart, the sauce smear still on his chin. Her mouth did something — not quite a smile, more like the controlled arrangement of a woman who knows she's about to enjoy herself. "Tonight works *perfectly*," she said, her voice pitching into that bright, social register. "I'll be ready by seven for sure." Amanda's excitement crackled through the speaker — something about already having the bottles on ice, two of them, maybe three if things got silly. Jacob's hand gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles whitening. The word *bottles* sat in his skull like a marble rattling inside a tin can. "Three bottles? Amanda, you *beast*," Lana laughed, and her eyes hadn't left Jacob's face. "Sounds like a plan. See you at seven, hon." The call ended with a cheerful *blip*. Lana set the phone down on the counter with a soft *tok* and turned to face Jacob fully, arms crossing loosely over her chest, her weight settling onto one hip. The kitchen light caught the sauce stain on her thumb — the same thumb that had been wiping his chin thirty seconds ago. She let the silence build for exactly long enough. "Bottles," Lana repeated, and then she laughed — a real one, bright and full, the kind that crinkled the corners of her eyes and made her shoulders shake. "Oh, Jacob. *Wine* bottles. Not *baby* bottles." She gestured at the empty plastic bottle still sitting on the counter behind her, the cartoon animals grinning up from the floor where she'd set it. "Although — I can see why your mind went there." "I didn't—" Jacob started, but the denial crumbled before it finished forming. His face was already burning, the heat crawling from his collar to his ears. The duck hood flopped forward as he dropped his gaze. "I know she means wine." "Do you? Do you know that?" Lana crossed to the table, her bare feet quiet on the linoleum, and crouched beside his chair. Her hand found his knee through the fleece, squeezing once. "Because I think somebody's got bottles on the brain." Her voice dropped into that register — the syrupy one, the one that turned consonants soft and vowels into honey. "My wittle baby boy sitting in his diapee and his duckie jammies, thinking about his baba while Mommy's friend comes over with *wine*." "Lana, *please*—" "Shhh, shhh, shhh." She cupped his cheek, tilting his face toward hers. The sauce smear transferred to her palm. She didn't notice or didn't care. "Mommy's friend Amanda is coming over in—" she glanced at the clock on the microwave — "thirteen minutes. And you know what that means?" Jacob's throat clicked. "What." "It means my wittle duckling needs to be tucked in safe and snug before company arrives." She pinched his cheek — the fleshy part, the way you'd pinch a toddler's — and rose from her crouch with the fluid ease of a woman whose knees hadn't yet learned to complain. "We don't want Amanda seeing you in your big puffy diapee and your duckie hood, do we? She might think you're just the *cutest* wittle thing she's ever seen. She might want to *hold* you." "I'm not—" Jacob's voice cracked. "I'm not a—she can't *see* me like—" "Like a baby?" Lana was already moving toward the fridge, pulling it open, the cool air carrying the smell of deli ham and condiment jars. She retrieved the apple juice jug and set it on the counter next to the large baby bottle. "Jacob, sweetheart, you *are* like a baby. You're wearing a diaper with cartoon nursery prints and a onesie shaped like a duck. How you look with your feet not even touching the floor right now, is, well, like a baby." She unscrewed the bottle cap, filled it to the liter line — golden liquid rising between the cartoon animal measurement markings — and screwed the nipple back on with a practiced twist. "The question isn't whether Amanda would see a baby. It's whether Mommy lets her." Jacob's hands curled into fists on the table. The last bite of rotini sat untouched in his bowl, sauce congealing. Lana noticed. "Fine, one more bite for Mommy and then we march." She scooped the final clump of pasta onto the rubber-tipped spoon and held it up. "Choo-choo, last stop, all aboard the num-num express." He ate it. He hated that he ate it without protest, that his mouth opened on reflex, that the rubber tip felt familiar against his tongue now. The sauce was lukewarm and too sweet. He chewed and swallowed and Lana's thumb wiped his chin again with the kind of practiced efficiency that meant she'd stopped thinking of it as a choice and started thinking of it as routine. "Good boy." She gathered the bowl and spoon, deposited them in the sink with a clatter, and returned with the bottle in one hand and her other hand extended toward him. "Up. March, march, march. March your padded little bottom to bed." She pulled him up from the chair — the diaper compressing under his weight with a loud *krrnch*, the snaps between his legs pulling taut — and walked him out of the kitchen. Her hand stayed on the small of his back, steering him down the hallway with the same gentle, inexorable pressure she'd been using all day. The hall light was off; only the spill from the kitchen lit their path, casting long shadows ahead of them. The duck hood bounced with each waddling step. The bottle swung from Lana's free hand, apple juice sloshing with a hollow sound inside the plastic. *Lana thought: Thirteen minutes. Bottle, bed, tuck, done. He'll be quiet — he has no choice but to be quiet.* His bedroom door was already open. The changing mat still lay crumpled on the bedspread, the open LittleComfort box beside it, the stacks of diapers visible on his dresser like pastel monuments to his surrender. The room smelled thickly of talcum and lotion and fresh diaper plastic — that layered nursery sweetness so strong that it seemed it had seeped into the carpet, the curtains, the sheets. Lana nudged the changing mat aside and pulled down the comforter with one hand, the bottle still gripped in the other. "Climb in, baby." Jacob stood at the bedside, staring at the pillow. The duck hood had fallen over his face. He pushed it back with one hand and climbed in — awkwardly, the diaper's bulk forcing him to half-roll onto the mattress, the fleece catching on the sheets, the padding crinkling as he settled onto his back. The comforter came up to his chest. Lana tucked it around his shoulders, pressing the fabric flat against his sides, sealing him into a soft cocoon. She set the bottle on the nightstand beside him — right next to the lamp, where the light would catch the cartoon animals on the plastic. "Drink as much as you want, sweetheart. All of it if you can." Her fingers brushed the hair back from his forehead, tucking it behind his ear. "Mommy wants your tummy nice and full for nighttime since we can finally ensure they’ll be no leaky accidents in the morning." Jacob's jaw worked. "Lana—" "Mommy," she corrected, mild as milk. "Mommy." The word came out like a splinter being pulled. "Can I just—the bathroom. Before bed. One time." Lana's hand stilled on his head. The silence lasted two heartbeats. "Jacob," she said, and her voice had gone quiet — not soft, not cooing, but the particular quiet of a woman laying down a border. "You are wearing a nighttime diaper. A big, thick baby diaper, remember? The fancy ones Mommy ordered special, the ones that could hold two floods and still keep your sheets dry." Her thumb traced the line of his eyebrow, slow and deliberate. "You don't get to use the bathroom. You don't get to take your diaper off. Not until Mommy comes to get you in the morning. Those are the rules, and we both know why." Jacob stared at the ceiling. The crack he'd memorized earlier was still there — hairline, branching once near the light fixture. "I know," he whispered. *Jacob thought: She's right. I know she's right. That's the worst part. I know she's right and I can't even argue because every time I try, she just — she just — the bottle. The duck onesie. The blocks and giraffes on the diapers. I can't fight any of it. I can't fight any of it and she knows I can't fight any of it and she's going right across the hallway to drink wine with Amanda where they’ll be ten feet away from my door and I'm lying here in a diaper I'm not allowed to take off. Like a baby.* His throat clicked. "Can I—" He stopped. Started again. "Because I've been... good. Can I play on my computer? Just for a while?" Lana's head tilted. She looked at the desk across the room — the laptop sitting closed, the glow strip along its edge catching the lamplight. She looked back at Jacob. Her expression shifted into something unreadable, the corner of her mouth twitching. "Well, I can't stop you," she said. She leaned down, adjusting the comforter one more time, her lips close enough to his ear that he could feel the warmth of her breath. "But if Amanda hears you clicking and typing away in here while she's two rooms over, she might come knock. And you know Amanda." Lana's hand settled on the diaper's waistband beneath the fleece, giving it a single, pointed pat. "She's curious. She asks questions. She doesn't let things go." A pause. "And right now, your room smells like a nursery." She straightened, brushed her hands together once — a dusting-off gesture, final — and walked to the door. Her fingers found the light switch. The lamp clicked off, leaving only the thin stripe of hall light cutting across the carpet. "Goodnight, my baby duck." Her voice floated back, soft as the fleece around his shoulders. "Be a good boy for Mommy." The door pulled shut with a quiet *click*. Her footsteps moved down the hall — *pad, pad, pad* — and then the stairs creaked under her descent, one at a time, each one a countdown. Jacob lay in the dark. The diaper's padding pressed warm and thick between his legs, the fleece soft against his arms, the bottle sitting on the nightstand with its cartoon animals grinning in the shadows. From below, muffled through the floor: the front door opening, Amanda's voice rising bright and happy, the clink of glass bottles — wine, not milk, he told himself — and the low murmur of two women settling into the living room. His hand found the laptop lid in the dark. His fingers hovered over the edge. He pulls the screen open, and the blue glow washes over his face, over the grinning duck hood, over the thick diaper taped snug beneath the sleeper. The login screen stares back at him. He types his password with one hand, the other resting on the warm padding between his thighs, and the desktop loads — normal, ordinary, his — while downstairs, Amanda's laughter rises through the floorboards like smoke -
I'm gonna put this on my list to watch. We need more ABDL music. THanks :)
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I started off with a Deteusor Sphincter Dysynergia. Meaning every time I tried to relax and pee, my muscles would clamp down instead. But my urologist hadn't even realized thatbwas what I had. At the time it was still called Over Active Bladder. And my urologist though the Interstim might temper or flatten out how my bladder and sphincters were acting up. I got the leads implanted with a trial controller. It was about the size of a pager or a little bigger than a pack of cards. And immediately after the surgery I felt a moderately strong tingling, almost like getting an electrical shock, but not as intense. Over the next 2 weeks I had to call the interstim rep to try and adjust the device. And I probably called a dozen times. We kept turning it down, but I kept on getting that constant tingling. Think of it like Chineae water torture. One drop doesnt hurt, but after a week you go insane with pain from each drop. That's what mine was like. And by week 2 I had to turn it off completely. It took another week before I could get the leads removed. And after it was gone I immediately noticed my DSD was much worse than before. It's like their device completely fried an already failing control node. And there was no going back. My urologist wasn't sure what to do next, so that's when I got referred to the Mayo Clinic. And only then did I get the proper DSD diagnosis. Which then started my many sphincterotomies. 15 surgeries in total, thanks to my overly developed sphincters, and a really bad stricture. -
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