Sissy Room

Thank you for checking in!  I'm still alive, and still trying to have a functional life without being overwhelmed. John and Kate will return as soon as I can manage, it's important to me to keep the story moving, even if life is a bit of a poopy head some times. The Little that came through the portal was taken to the hospital and her story is open for anyone to tell.    She is alive, but probably gonna be very confused for a while.

Hi ☺️ my name is Aby I’m so glad to be here to make friends and find community. I’m a little girl of 3 hehe and I love bluey and coloring and cuddles happy to meet you!

i'm honestly surprised about how dependent i've gotten now, today i even leaked in my pants after peeing, i was only sprinkling thankfully but it freaked me out. I feel like the benefits of pullups were feeling like the toilet is definetly an option, maybe the fact that i've basically been wearing strictly diapers lately has made it harder to void at the toilet properly and even be used to going there.

“But I don’t want to go to Kindergarten,” The 25 year old said, her long, dark hair framing her sad face as the words come out in a whisper. She stared down at the picture frame in her slender hands, of herself and her students surrounding her, not recognizing that the teacher in it was once herself.   I sigh, taking a look at my once independent girlfriend, still in her pjs at noon, the telltale sign of her Pull-Up peeking out of the waistband of her sheer shorts in between that the matching t-shirt that clung to her body seductively that now only made me feel guilty of the impure thoughts. “Don’t worry about that, cupcake,” I remind her gently, a conversation that we often have. “You’re not going to school today. Do you wanna watch Bluey?”   She looks over at me with those big, innocent eyes, and pauses in what one might think of as thought, but I know there’s nothing going on between those beautiful, blue eyes that I had fallen in love with. The once school teacher set the picture frame down on the table beside the front door and gave a small nod.   Forcing a smile, I add, “But you have to sit on your princess chair, ok?” I point at the training potty in the center of the living room, next to her playmat full of toys both new and forgotten, donations from her parents and siblings. Her face follows the pointed finger, briefly stopping at the pile of distracting toys, before moving on.   “Otay, Dada,” She says between wet fingers. I’m glad I cut her fingernails, wouldn’t do to have a grown woman with the mental capacity of a toddler hurting her tongue, I had learned that lesson early on. Although, her long, painted nails were the last vestige of her adult side that she had still been attached to. The tears had gone on for an hour, and she had fought me at every finger, begging and throwing a tantrum for getting rid of her ‘pwetty nail’. I thought my heart couldn’t break any more after her accident, but each day I was proved wrong.   Almost daintily, almost with the same strut her long legs could made, just with some extra clumsiness that came with a body one was unfamiliar with, my gorgeous girlfriend made her way from the front door, skipping over the toys. Eyes now glued to the screen as I hit the button on the remote to turn on the show that she used to watch as a way to connect with children in her class that she was now an obsessed fan over, she sat down on the training potty without even the thought to pull down her shorts or the underwear beneath.   I kept my voice calm and collected, keeping the frustration from my tone, I reminded her, “Cupcake,” I tried not to call her baby anymore, “We have to pull our pants down before going on the potty,” I said reminding her.   Looking over at me in confusion, her thin brows furled in a way that I used to call cute and sexy, making me feel guilty now. She took a glance down, past her womanly curves and at the shorts still on her. “Why?”   Hoping that today wasn’t going to be another ‘why’ day, I use my tone reserved for the smallest of children, “Because we can’t make tinkles in the potty unless we take off our bottoms, remember?”   “Oh,” Her reply came out in a bored voice, like ‘making tinkles’ was beneath. Still though, she stood up and dutifully pulled down her pj shorts. I grimace at the Bluey Pull-Ups at her hips, sagging low and discolored with use.   She began sitting down again, and I tell her, “B- Sweetie, pull down your undies too.”   Pursing her lips, my girlfriend looked like she was ready to argue, and I knew why.   She was very attached to her Pull-Ups with the two puppy sisters on it. The plain adult ones I still have in the closet she wouldn’t keep up for more than an hour or two, but when we passed by the diapers in the aisle at the store, her eyes had lit up. I remember that whole day vividly, the morning of she had made a spectacular show of why she needed bibs now, and how much she adored ‘nakie time’ by making a shallow pond that still stained the couch. She had begged me, “Dada, Dada, Bluey! Dada! I wan’ dat!” She cried out excitedly pointing at the package, I remember feeling so embarrassed when the other shoppers looked over at me and the grown woman in the large shirt flashing her plain, pink Pull-Up every time she hopped up and down in her flip-flops that smacked the hard tile floor. Their faces were burned in my memory, some of them in judgment at the display the mid twenties woman was making, others were looking on in pity.   But I took the opportunity for a win when I could, “You have to promise to keep them on, cupcake.”   And she nodded and swore whole heartily, “Pwomise! Pwomise!” Snatching up a package, holding it to her chest and yellow shirt with flowers on it that was still marred with the battle scars of my girlfriend’s breakfast.   The whole rest of the day she proudly flaunted her new underwear, in a way that reminded me of her getting new lingerie before the accident, showing me and her sister that had decided to visit that day. Each time she raised her shirt to show her older sister her fancy puppy covered Pull-Ups, her sister had forced a grin and said each time, “So cool!” She had made an excuse to leave early when her younger sister began her marathon of said show and sat down on the princess potty, just as she did now, forgetting to take off her Pull-Up.   I went about the morning routine, making my childlike girlfriend her oatmeal, the rubber tipped spoon balancing on the sides of the bowel, bits of fruit floating around the gruel that I had just chopped by hand. Sometimes, when I’m in a rush I would try to feed it to her without the fruit, but she would always make a face and say its ‘icky’. Putting the top on her sippy cup that I had found was a necessity very quickly after she had returned from the hospital.   Stepping into the living room, I barely glanced over at the TV. I had seen this episode a dozen times, and no doubt so had she. She still sat on the potty, totally engrossed in the cartoon, her protective padding still around her hips. Its one thing in one ear and out the other, I supposed. She glanced over at me as I sat down on the couch, her blue eyes staring at me through a thin veil of hair.   Standing up, she started walking towards me, nearly tripping before I reminded her to pull up her shorts. She made an ‘oh’ sound, like I was the weird one for telling her she needed to cover up her drenched training pants. Doing what she was told, she hopped over her toys and climbed up on the couch with, and then on top of me, making a show of nestling her bottom on top of my lap before leaning into me and holding out her hands.   She had quickly fallen in line with this daily routine. Getting something in her belly was always easier when she got to sit on Dada’s lap. Graciously, she accepted her sippy cup, and I went to work tying the bib embroidered with an even more infantilized version of the Cookie Monster on it. All the while her body weight was pressed heavily on my crotch. There was a point in time when this action may have led to something more romantic, but it was hard to imagine that now, given the fact that her pajamas didn’t hide her soaked Pull-Up from touch much more than they did from sight.   Opening her mouth, she made a little, “Ahh,” and I deposited a spoonfull of goop on to her tongue. Her eyes half closed as her mouth processed the banana, strawberry, and blueberry, “Mmm,” Her chest vibrated with purring as she laid her top half on my chest, body wrapped around my arms. She swallowed, opened up her mouth, and looked up at me with those beautiful blue eyes full of a mixture of expectation, adoration, and love, reminding me why I couldn’t give her up.   A few more spoonfuls. And I could feel her shifting her rear on me. Rubbing against me. Reminding me of something else.   Though her mind had been reduced, her body had not. There were times when she felt the urge to play as we had long ago. The signs were always clear. A lot more touching. Grinding. Subtle reaching down for her Pull-Ups, whether they were wet or dry. At first, I tried to keep everything on the level, she didn’t understand what she was doing, and taking advantage of her in her state was the last thing I had in mind. That came to a stop after I found her humping her large stuffed teddy. I could only sigh and go grab one of her ‘adult toys’ she had gotten when she was still in the right state of mind to use a credit card.   She made a few pitiful sounds while rubbing against me. I stayed resolute and put another spoonful of oatmeal and fruit into her mouth. There was a flash of disappointment on her face as she brought her sippy cup to her lips and washed down breakfast.   Breakfast finished, she got off my lap and headed back towards the mesmerizing screen, a new episode already starting to play, when she did something new. Not in that she never did it before, but never in the day.   I watched my girlfriend let out a groan and a grunt, bending down to balance on her haunches.   “Bab- Cupcake, go sit on your potty.” Standing up quickly, I took a few steps towards her, almost tripping on some of her toys as I made my way over to her.   She did the same motion she did in bed, the one that required me to keep her in real, full fledged diapers during the evening. My girlfriend was rather regular. Nearly every morning I woke up to a fowl smell and a dirty girl. It had gotten to the point where after the first couple of weeks after the hospital, I tried to get her to sleep in her own bed, decorated the spare bedroom as the ‘princess’ room. Unfortunately, that had just become her playroom, as every night after I tucked her in and read her a bedtime, she would wail and wail until I finally came into her room and scooped her up and brought her to mine, where she would wrap herself on top of me crinkling the whole time. It was nice, most of the time, if I could ignore the extra bulk that came from her diaper, I could just snuggle up against her and pretend that I didn’t have to care for my lover like my daughter. Until she made the sounds of grunting and groaning on top of me just as she was in our living room in the middle of the morning.   Stopping, I took a long look down at my girlfriend dropping a messy load into the back of her already well used Pull-Up. My stomach churning and heart dropping as I saw the brown spread from the lining of her disposable underwear as it leaked.   As sad as it is. I give up.   When we all first learned about her condition, the doctors recommended treating her as old as possible, in her case, an older toddler. That she shouldn’t be treated as an infant in case that would make it harder for rehabilitation. I dreamed of the day when I could treat my girlfriend as an adult again, have a partner instead of a daughter. But now, I fear that dream is too far out of my grasp.   Stepping around her as she dropped down on her butt, her gaze immediately going back towards the TV, hand grabbing one of the countless plushies she had in her collection to hold to her chest and cuddle with. The evidence of her mistake promptly ignored in favor of playing and enjoying her show.   Collecting the unused training potty, I took one look at my girlfriend, and while I haven’t seen her as an adult in some time, I couldn’t even pretend she was a toddler, no where close to a big girl.   I went away for a moment, collecting what I needed in our bedroom and came back.   Looking up at me, in a small voice, she repeated herself. “Dada, I don’t want to go to Kindergarten.”   “Cupcake,” I said, pulling out a pacifier from a case, under my arm the necessary changing supplies. “Kindergarten is for big girls, you’re just a baby.” Inserting the pacifier between her lips, laying her down, her nighttime diaper next to her that would now be her full time underwear, I began changing my big baby, and I couldn’t help but notice the relief on her face.   ----   Looking up at my boyfriend, now Daddy, I smile behind my pacifier. His deep, chocolate colored eyes were sorrowful, his olive toned features handsome, brown locks of hair covering his concerned face. Every time I look at him I can’t help but feel as though he’s the perfect Daddy.   For the longest time, I had wanted to be a teacher, and more than that, an adult. I had dreamed of being the beloved teacher to all my kids, of being respected. Internally I laugh as I raise my legs and let my lover wipe my sticky mess off my butt.   My dreams turned out to be far, far from the truth. When I finally got my dream job, stepping into the classroom, prepared to be the best teacher I could be, I found my kids to all be glued to their screens, each one not even glancing up at me as I introduced myself. Every. Single. One. Had a tablet or an iPad, or a phone in front of them. I tried. I really did! Tried to coax them into learning. I remember having so much fun when I was their age, but no matter what fun activities I made, what games I invented or found, trying to reach them on their level, it was all for nothing. I even tried to connect with them by playing the games and watching the shows they enjoyed.   That’s when I rediscovered a love of cartoons. My boyfriend gave me weird looks when I started rewatching the cartoons from when we were kids at home, but never said a word. He’s always been so understanding and supportive. Funny how that worked out, I suppose, as he wipes me clean and powders my bottom.   I can’t help but sigh in content as he wraps my diaper around my waist and helps me up, putting his arms around me, snug and dry.   He whispers in my ear, “No matter how long it takes for you to grow up again, or if you ever will, I will always love you and take care of you, baby.”   I melt.   It didn’t take long after discovering cartoons that I started to feel weird for indulging in childish activities. Getting absorbed into the world of Roblox and Peppa Pig, I did a little digging into people like me. Adults who were into more youthful stuff. That’s how I found out about ageplay, and I slipped further down into the rabbithole. I found abdl.   By that point, I was no better than my iPad baby students, spending most of my work day on my phone, watching Bluey or messing around on Roblox. The only time I didn’t I was playing on the playground. Distractions aside, I felt like an absolute failure of an adult. I felt awful at my job, I was becoming more engrossed in the idea of ageplay, escaping into the younger years of carefree play and lack of stress became a fantasy that I couldn’t leave behind. I had even started to look into getting some onesies, maybe talk my boyfriend into putting a diaper on to me.   It was one day that I was coming home from work, I was looking at my phone in the middle of traffic, a habit that had unfortunately cemented into my routine, that it happened. I drove into a red light, and got t-boned.   I don’t remember much after that. I recall waking up in a hospital bed, blinding lights above me, a splitting headache, my boyfriend and family members all looking down at me along with a woman in a labcoat and scrubs informing my loved ones about my condition. “We’re not certain yet, she took quite a bit of damage to her head, there may be some memory issues or loss of cognitive function, we’ll have to run some test...”   More than anything though, I felt something around my waist. I crinkled as I moved, and though my boyfriend and my sister asked me not to move around too much, I couldn’t help but feel fascinated by the crinkling, plastic and cloth fluff around me as I could feel the diaper the hospital put me in warm around my crotch.   The words echoed around my head in the seconds between I heard them and opened my mouth. And I made a decision.   I raised my hand up to my face, the IV line attached to me coming along for the ride. Plucked my thumb into my mouth and mumbled, “Dada buh?” The fear on the faces of my loved ones nearly drove me to drop the facade almost immediately, but I pressed on, looking up at my boyfriend, who everyone took a look at as well, raised my arms and said, “Uppies?” And for the first time, I knowingly wet my diaper. The flash of warmth spreading against me was so ludicrously wonderful I almost dropped my act then and there, but I pressed on. My only wish was that it wasn’t the nurses who changed me the first time but my new Daddy. Not that they weren’t gentle, but they were rather cold.   The next few days were a blur. Tests, both of clinical variety and the development kind. Between the blood tests and the MRI scans, the doctors would have my sit down in colorful rooms and more or less play, try to fit blocks into the correct shape holes and puzzles. It was hard making myself ‘struggle’ with them, to put on a show that I was more baby than the adult woman my body claimed. A soaked diaper always made the act that much easier to do.   And then.   I got to go home with him. It was heavenly. All day he would take care of me, bathe me, change me, feed me. It. Was. The. Best!!!   Until.   He started pushing for me to be more... Older? Training pants, feeding myself, getting me up every day. That had to go, I decided right away. If he wanted a toddler, he’d have a brat for a toddler, I knew right away.   Dada could’ve had a well behaved baby girl, but instead he wanted a tot that would get into everything, cause scenes. Right off the bat, I decided nakie time had to be a thing. Ditching those boring plain adult disposables and having ‘accidents’ on the furniture. I relented pretty quick when I got my Blueys, but I think he got the right idea, childish=better.   It has been a lot of fun. I still get to spend all my time stressfree and playing. Still, the only thing I really miss about being a ‘grown-up’ is the more adult kind of playing. It’s so easy to get pampered and taken care of and get pent up. I tried to restrain myself, but as soon as I slipped my fingers into my Pull-Ups the first time... Every chance I got I was getting handsy with myself. I even tried to get Daddy to play with me, but for obvious reasons, he’s rather hesitant to do anything. I think he feels guilty. At least he lets me play with the buzzy every now and then. That’s alright, I have my ways of getting my way, eventually. I am Daddy’s little princess now, after all. Maybe I’ll slip one night and show how up here I really am.   Until then though, this is perfect.   Daddy lifts me up, my diaper snug against my bottom. I’m nowhere close to the teacher I was, or the adult. I’m just his little girl. Resting my chin on his shoulder, I lay my head against his, our hair getting tangled together, my new pacifier suckling away on my lips.   “I love you,” He whispers again.   My heart beats faster in my chest and I can feel his with our bodies pressed like this. One of his strong arms wrapped around my waist as he carries me somewhere, I don’t care where, his off hand supporting my padded butt.   I’ve won. This is my new life, and I wouldn’t do anything to change it.

I think that for whatever reason Heather is part of a different organization that adopts out Littles while Sarah ended up part of the prison’s adoption program. Though it is unclear how one got Sarah and the other got Heather even though both “mommy’s” are considered Little traffickers. I think it was simply who got to the paperwork first or they take turns or even the location the little was when picked might have a say in it. It could be pretty complicated and might not actually make any common sense or logical sense just like a lot of our rl organizations and government departments.