Sissy Room

They have a couple of projects ahead of mine, but once they build it, I will let you know. It’s kind of exciting that my design could be purchased from a company one day.

Any one here been caught outside wearing pink girly diapers? 

Hello all! I am a bit of a history nut and have started playing around with combining some of my favorite things. In this case, myths and regression. This is the first story I have tried out, a play on the myth The Descent of Ishtar.  The writing style is a bit more formal and repeating in places to mimic the poetic feel of the original, but with more of our favorite things I am interested in any feedback at all! Or if there are other myths you would like to see translated into ABDL fun, as this was a blast to write and I love a good challenge! Thank you in advance :) The Descent of Ishtar: ABDL Edition Ishtar, goddess of change, love, beauty, war, and chaos, wanted to expand her rule. She should be the supreme deity across all realms. The mortals worshipped her, as was only right. Other gods feared her, acquiesced when she made her demands in fear of her frightful wrath. There was only one place that her grasp did not reach. One group of unfortunate souls who did not bask in the warmth of her glowing and fickle light. Ishtar would have dominion over the underworld. Irkalla itself. The only problem: her sister, Ereshkigal, claimed that queenship. That dour, domineering goddess suffered no one to traipse upon her domain. Nergal had attempted, and none of the gods had heard from him since. But Ishtar was the sun’s shining rays. She would spread everywhere. “It is foolishness, Ishtar, foolishness.” Enki had crossed his lithe, sea salt crusted arms and sighed as she told him of her designs. “The underworld is no place for you.” “I will make it my place,” she cried out haughtily. “I am Ishtar, and I am second to no one!” “You go to your own downfall, Ereshkigal will seize upon you and bend you to her will. Irkalla knows no other ruler.” “Then lend me your aid, Enki. For the drinks we have shared, for your acknowledgement of me as your queen.” “You are not my queen,” Enki laughed at this, causing Ishtar to clench her fists and grit her teeth. “You are a petulant child. No more than the babes of the earth, crying and grasping for what is just beyond their reach.” Enki jumped back into his waters, the divine waters containing ultimate truths. He looks back at Ishtar, proud goddess who will not be convinced. “I warn you, little goddess, you will be humiliated in the underworld. But call my name and I shall aid you.” In his offer he remembered their past, and was gone. Ishtar smiled brightly, the underworld would be hers! She prepared herself and ventured into the depths where no sunlight poured. These were hidden ways through the cragged pits, the goddess of change knew them well. She had crafted their unlearnable routes for an ungrateful sister. In a short time and high spirits, she arrived at the first of Irkalla’s seven gates. Within the last was her sister’s palace. Her palace. She smirked and knocked heavy on the gate. “The almighty goddess Ishtar demands entry. Irkalla shall open itself to me.” There was a great commotion behind the gate, none of the shades guarding Ereshkigal’s domain had expected such an audience. “Yes, you are known to us.” There was a lengthy pause, Ishtar tapped her foot and crossed her arms. She pursed her lips and combed her dark, luxurious hair. She straightened the creases of her ornate dress and heard the rattle of her jewelry: gold, bronze, and lapis lazuli. “You may enter.” She strode through the gate that creaked open. Its ancient wood seemed to bow in reverence to the aura of the bright goddess. The shadow of a man approached her. “Your crown, goddess Ishtar. It is not suitable for the underworld.” Her eyes blazed with anger, how dare this dead eater of clay tell the all-powerful what is appropriate. She raised her fist and smote the hapless messenger. Before she could proceed, two more shadows filled his place. “Your crown, goddess Ishtar. Such brilliance will be set upon by all manners of demons. We have a suitable replacement.” “Very well, bring it to me, peon.” She stuck her nose up with indignity. Soon she would be commanding the dead, along with her mortal supplicants. She would throw her army of ghosts into any demon that might assail her. A swirl of black shadows whipped violently around her. The goddess of chaos felt no fear, only aggravation. Then they were gone. After they left, she lifted beautiful, soft fingers to her head and felt for her heavy crown. It was gone, replaced by soft fabrics that bundled her usually bouncing, curling locks. There were no mirrors in Irkalla, no way in the underworld to check ones appearance. Ishtar could not imagine any slight upon her, so she knew that her crown’s replacement was a thing of beauty. She felt the well-woven bonnet and smiled pearly white with satisfaction. “I am done with you.” She continued and knocked heavy at the second gate. “The mighty goddess Ishtar demands entry. Irkalla shall open itself to me.” Again there was a great commotion behind the gate, the shades of Ereshkigal’s domain had not been prepared for such an audience. “Yes, you are known to us.” There was a lengthy pause, Ishtar tapped her foot and crossed her arms. She pursed her lips and touched the bonnet hiding her hair, blushing when she could not feel her beautiful locks. She straightened the creases of her ornate dress and heard the rattle of her jewelry: gold, bronze, and lapis lazuli. “You may enter.” She strode through the gate that creaked open. The second gate was made of bronze and flashed in her eyes. A reflection of her own brilliance. The shadow of a man approached her. “Your earrings and face paints are not suitable for this place. The dead can only see those who look like them – faces removed of all disguise.” Ishtar clenched her jaw against the indignity of beauty stripped from her. Though her dark skin was fair and naturally more beautiful than any others, she had perfected the art of its elevation through rare and beautiful paints. Still, she permitted him to remove the makeup she had worn all through adulthood. When it was gone, she felt young again, and the ember of timidness that came from inexperienced youth. The shades that swirled around her, washing with delicate, ghostly fingers, disbursed. They floated close to her and for a split second she imagined laughter coming from their uncertain forms. Mocking a goddess. “I am done with you,” she spat at those who washed her with the frozen waters of the underworld. Without smiting those who had touched her holy visage, she proceeded to the third gate. “The goddess Ishtar demands entry. Irkalla shall open itself to me.” Again there was a great commotion behind the gate, the shades of Ereshkigal’s domain had not yet received warning of her presence. “Yes, you are known to us.” There was a lengthy pause, Ishtar tapped her foot and crossed her arms. She pursed her unpainted lips and frowned, ignoring the bonnet that squeezed her head and hid her beautiful locks. She straightened the creases of her ornate dress and heard the rattle of her jewelry: gold, bronze, and lapis lazuli. “You may enter.” She strode through the gate that creaked open. The third gate was made of reeds and whispered to her as she crossed the threshold. Supplication no doubt. The shadow of a man approached her. “Your sandals are loud against the dead earth, goddess. As are the rings that knock against themselves. The ears of demons are sharp things.” All Ishtar could do was roll her eyes. The dead were pernicious little things, pulling at her one after another. But she was tall and proud, her garments were nothing to her all assuming power. She nodded to the cloud of shades that waited near her and they set upon her hands and feet. Supple leather sandals inlaid with gems were removed by tendrilling fingers of black mist. Before her soles could touch the ground – something Ishtar would not permit – they had been blanketed in wrappings of thick, soft wool. When they came for her rings, she tried to squeeze her fists. These were precious! More valuable than all the souls around her. But eventually she relented under their constant pull and deceptive strength. She laughed at the thieving spirits. Soon this realm would be hers, and she would take back all of her jewels and destroy any who had been brazen enough to touch her. The shade who had dared speak to her watched on impassively as the others adorned her hands in thick, wool mittens, cinched tight so they could not be removed. Her fingers were trapped in the fabric, making her flush in agitation. “So that you do not reach out to any demons on your trail.” “I’ll snuff out your soul,” she spat out through her embarrassment. “Once I am queen you will pay.” The specter simply bowed. She left him with her head high, dress rustling against the rocky dirt beneath her padded feet. Soon she stood before the fourth gate. “The goddess Ishtar requests entry. Please permit me to enter.” Her eyebrow raised in confusion at her own words, but she was distracted by the great commotion behind the gate, the shades of Ereshkigal’s were preparing for her presence. “Yes, you are known to us.” There was a lengthy pause, Ishtar tapped her muffled foot and crossed her arms, struggling to stuff oversized mittens under her armpits. She pursed her unpainted lips and frowned, ignoring the bonnet that squeezed her head and hid her beautiful locks. She tried to straighten the creases of her ornate dress with the wool mitts and heard the rattle of her jewelry: gold, bronze, and lapis lazuli. “You may enter.” She strode through the gate that creaked open, shoulders hunched. The fourth gate was made of gold and glimmered glory to the goddess as she crossed the threshold. All would be gold when the underworld was hers. The shadow of a man approached her. She began to suspect this was the same spirit. “Your garb is inappropriate for the underworld, Queen Ishtar. Only plain clothes can be worn outside of the grand palace of death. You will throw the spirits into longing and disarray.” “You step too far, ghost. I will not walk naked through these unforgiving lands.” “A goddess will not walk naked. She will have the proper adornments for her continued journey.” At that, a great storm of smoking spirits twisted around her tall form. With impotent hands the goddess tried to swat them away, but they breezed around those soft mitts trapping her powerful fingers within. She could do nothing to stop them ripping away her long dress of intricately woven fabric. “How dare you! Vile cretins! You will pay!! YOU WILL BE DESTROYED!” The voice that had torn mountains asunder sounded as a babe’s wail in the thin air of Irkalla. Snickering came from the cloud of souls that twisted this way and that, wrenching her legs open and filling the gap with an oversized garment of wool and cotton that quickly wrapped around her. “As we enter life, so we enter death.” The spirit continued calmly, ignoring the goddess’s furious scream. “The road is long, and those who traverse it must be diapered… For their own protection.” The main specter vanished, disappearing backward toward the next gate in a puff of smoke. With red eyes, Ishtar tried to pull the oversized diaper from her waist but could not. She could only advance, and hope to force the specters to reverse their twisted sacrilege. Her journey continued forward, now at a waddling pace. Ishtar’s heart was closing in on a feeling she had never felt before. Humiliation. She held her chin high at the fifth gate.  “The goddess Ishtar begs entry. Please accept me.” She was too agitated to keep up her pomp, and ignored the great commotion behind the gate, the shades of Ereshkigal’s were now prepared for her presence. “Yes, you are known to us.” There was a lengthy pause, Ishtar tapped her muffled foot and crossed her arms, struggling to stuff oversized mittens under her armpits. She pursed her unpainted lips and frowned, ignoring the bonnet that squeezed her head and hid her beautiful locks. She tried to hide her naked body and the bulging diaper from the whispering guards with the wool mitts. She heard the rattle of her jewelry: gold, bronze, and lapis lazuli. “You may enter.” She waddled through the gate that creaked open, shoulders hunched and thighs starting to chafe with the awkward fabric between them. The fifth gate was made of lapis lazuli, she swam through its rich color. “Your jewelry rattles too much, your voice draws to much attention. Demons roam these lands.” “Provide me guards then, and more suitable clothing. I am a queen that you will worship. If a faceless shade could have smiled, it did so. No longer did the spirits wait for the wandering goddess to acknowledge them. They set about their work, plucking the necklaces and adornments from Ishtar’s chest. “STOP!” she was distantly surprised at the petulance in her voice. “THOSE ARE MINE!” A spirit bolted from the cloud of souls and filled her complaining mouth. She gagged as she tried to spit it out, heard a mirthful laugh on her own tongue. It solidified into something soft and supple. It ridged around her lips, hiding her commanding mouth from view and filling it to the point of not being able to move. She slobbered around it as she shook her head and pawed at her cheeks with useless mittens. The voice inside her mouth, that spirit taking the form of a pacifier, chastised her. With great indignity, Ishtar realized she was taking instruction from the mortal soul wedged in her mouth. With watering eyes, she followed instructions to proceed to the next gate. For the first time, she heard the silence of Irkalla, an ember akin to fear lodged in her heart. Were the great vistas, scarred hills, and miasma of death that filled Irkalla frightening to her now? No. She washed those feelings away with a puff of her chest. No matter how they adorned her now, Ishtar would still be their queen. Then they would all be sorry. She waddled along with the thick diaper still making her gait awkward. At somepoint in the endless walk that also took no time at all, she realized with great fury that someone had used it. It took her mind several minutes to comprehend the great goddess queen had wet herself. In that grumbling frustration, she approached the sixth gate. With no way to call out, she simply raised her hands high and growled. She tried to push the pacifier out, but that mortal soul was somehow stronger than her divine tongue. So, she sucked at it with all her might, trying to punish it. It only laughed. There was a short pause. Ishtar tapped her muffled foot and crossed her arms, struggling to stuff oversized mittens under her armpits. She frowned under the bulky pacifier, ignoring the bonnet that squeezed her head and hid her beautiful locks. She tried to hide her naked body and the bulging diaper from the whispering guards with the wool mitts. She heard the laughter of the pacifier’s spirit. “You may enter.” She waddled through the gate that creaked open, shoulders hunched and thighs chafed and tired from the heavy, wet fabric between them. The sixth gate was made of bone, ominous in its construction. “Your steps are too proud,” there was great mirth in the main specter’s voice. Ishtar thought she recognized it for a split second as her beautiful eyes tried to pierce the shadowy veil. “Irkalla is a humble place, even a goddess must prostrate herself if she wishes to cross the final threshold.” The Queen of Heaven would do no such thing. Ishtar, mighty among the mighty, would bow to no one. She would chop all of these heathens at the knees once she was free. Another cloud of ghostly forms descended upon her. She tried to bat them away with muffled hands, her strong hands made impotent in thick gloves. The cloud weighed her diaper down, dragging at her waist until she fell to her hands and knees. Her eyes widened. There was an unbelievable pressure around her. This time, she felt it as her assigned diaper filled. Eyes watered with shame of how the underworld had reduced her. Go, go, go! The spirits chanted. The pacifier tugged forward, pulling at her lips without allowing it to be separated from her. She groaned. Thoughts of her warm, bright home along the Euphrates filled her for the first time. But the goddess did not make mistakes, and so she continued. Crawling on her hands and feet, she felt the shame of it all grow with each movement. Enki’s warning played in her mind. Petulant child. Babe. She would destroy the entire universe for this. The seventh gate lorded over her. Gone was all pride, expectation, pomp, or assuredness. She wanted to crawl through those Onyx doors, black as the souls that danced around her, up the steps of the mighty palace and onto the underworld’s throne. Her knees were scraped, though the mittens had served as blessed comfort over the rocky soil. She longed for attendants to draw warm water and fresh figs for her. As she crossed the threshold, with dolorous music playing around her from long dead musicians, that same tedious specter approached. The source of her burning humiliation, she rose to strike at it, but laughing spirits weighed her down. “Dear Ishtar,” black smoke dissipated from the specter, revealing its true form. “Dear sister.” Ereshkigal. The queen of the underworld herself. Ishtar threw a holy tantrum. Her arms flailed and she growled and screamed behind a pacifier that turned the noises into harmless coo’s. She scraped her body across the rocks as she tried to attack her sister. “Dear sister…” Ereshkigal repeated with an uncanny grin. The goddess of death looked down at her reduced sister. She wore a long dress of black satin and bone, her skin the color of a skeleton. Spindly fingers poked at the goddess of love. “You really thought to have what is mine? This realm obeys only one. Everyone and everything in it are mine. Including even the air. Including even you.” Ereshkigal snapped her jeweled fingers and specters whisked to surround Ishtar. The invading goddess tried to scream again when she saw her sister wearing her rings. That noise came out as a baby’s babble. “You will love it here, dear sister. I have always wanted a child.” Ishtar’s stomach turned when she saw the smile of a mother on her sister’s lips. “And a trophy. This will increase my standing in the mortal world. Greatly. I will have all those who would love you.” She blinked away as Ishtar tried to free herself once again. The helpless goddess turned babe thrashed but was soon scooped by the spirits and deposited into an oversized wicker basket. “Pweasseee.” The one word the pacifier’s spirit permitted to escape her lips was to beg. To beg for her freedom from a vengeful sister who only laughed. “Place her someplace safe. Baby Ishtar will be introduced to the world soon enough, once she has truly accepted her new life.” So ended the reign of Ishtar, Queen of Heaven. Baby Ishtar would go on to live a long and eventually happy life under her sister turned mother. Her pride and arrogance would drift away under the bliss of a happy, babbling life in Irkalla’s cold palace. The spirits she taunted turned into her caregivers and she became the child of death, forevermore.

Has anyone tested out the 7mm or 9mm option that is in this post, or any of the other potential stents that they have for sale right now? How well have these performed for you if you tried them?

No more than twenty minutes after I mess.