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Diaper References
Diaper/wetting references found in movies and on TV
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By astrodiaper · Posted
Pictures, artwork, etc... I don't have really much in the way of family pictures. -
Part 46 The next morning unfolded with the same gentle rhythm as the day before. Besty stirred softly in her bed, thumb still tucked in her mouth, eyes blinking open with the slow ease of someone who hadn’t quite left her dreams behind. She didn’t call out or fuss—just waited patiently, her gaze following me as I came to lift her into my arms and carry her to the changing table. She stayed calm and content as I changed her, her thumb never leaving its place. There was something soothing about her stillness, the way she trusted the routine, the way she let herself be cared for without hesitation. As I fastened the last pin of her fresh diaper, she looked up and asked in a small voice, “T-shirt?” I smiled, brushing a hand gently over her hair. “Not until after breakfast, remember?” I reminded her, my tone light and warm. She didn’t protest—just gave a tiny nod and returned to her quiet sucking, already slipping into the rhythm of the day. I poured her a bowl of cereal and brought it over, setting it on the tray in front of her. She still had her thumb in her mouth, watching me with that soft, peaceful expression that made it feel like the world hadn’t quite started spinning yet. It was a look I’d come to cherish—those quiet, in-between moments when everything felt suspended in calm. As she began to eat, her movements were slow and a little clumsy, still caught in the haze of morning. A splash of milk tipped from her spoon, dribbling down her chin and trailing a cool line down her chest, soaking into the waistband of her diaper. She didn’t seem to notice, too focused on the next bite. I chuckled softly to myself, already reaching for a cloth. Another little cleanup would be needed, but it didn’t bother me. These small messes, these gentle starts—they were all part of the rhythm we were settling into. And in that rhythm, there was something quietly beautiful. After she finished eating, her thumb slipped right back into her mouth, as if it had been waiting patiently for its turn. As I gently wiped her hands, face, boobs and cleaned the milk off her plastic pants. As I moved through the motions, I found myself quietly observing her. Besty wasn’t usually a messy eater, and the thumb-sucking had become a consistent part of her routine—more than just a passing habit. I made a mental note to ask her about it later, once the day had settled and she was in a relaxed space. Whether it was a source of comfort, a lingering habit, or something new altogether, I wanted to understand it—not out of worry, but out of care. She was clearly feeling safe, calm, and at ease in her world, and that mattered more than anything Besty told me she needed a bit more time to work on her English paper that morning, so she headed outside to the table with her notebook and a quiet determination. The sun was warm but gentle, casting a golden glow across the yard. She seemed perfectly content in just her diaper, legs curled beneath her as she settled into her writing. There was something peaceful about the way she soaked in the sunshine—focused, relaxed, and completely at ease. Meanwhile, I turned my attention to the laundry, especially her diapers. I didn’t want us to fall behind, and the hum of the washer became part of the day’s quiet rhythm. She worked on her paper, and I kept things moving in the background. It was one of those slow, steady mornings where everything felt in sync—simple, productive, and just right. After lunch, I brought her in for a change. As I gently wiped her bottom, I noticed a bit of redness—nothing alarming, but enough to warrant a little extra care. “Let’s let your skin breathe for a while,” I told her softly, skipping the plastic pants and dressing her in just a cloth diaper. She nodded, thumb slipping back into her mouth, trusting me to do what was best. Just as I finished, the washer beeped. I transferred the wet diapers into a basket and asked Besty to help hang them—along with her plastic pants—on the clothesline outside. She didn’t mind at all. In fact, she seemed to enjoy the task, moving slowly and deliberately as she clipped each item to the line. The sun kissed her skin, and the breeze played gently with her hair. While she was busy with that, I started another load, keeping the rhythm of the day flowing smoothly. After loading the washer, I stepped outside to check on Besty. The sight made me smile—she was standing barefoot in the grass, wearing nothing but her cloth diaper, gazing up at the clothesline where her freshly washed diapers and plastic pants danced in the breeze. Her expression was serene, almost mesmerized, as if the fluttering fabric held some quiet magic. The sunlight caught the edges of her hair, and for a moment, the whole world felt still. I walked over and scooped her up into my right arm, her small body settling easily against mine. I gave her diapered bottom a gentle pat and said with a grin, “You know, the diaper you’re wearing now might be the next one you see blowing in the wind.” She didn’t reply—just popped her thumb back into her mouth and smiled, her head resting on my shoulder like everything in the world was exactly as it should be. While we waited for the next load to finish, we played a few rounds of checkers on the deck. I won every game, which made me a happy camper—Besty, not so much. She gave me a playful pout, thumb still in place, and leaned back with mock defeat. Afterward, we headed to the washer, pulled out the damp diapers, and carried them outside to hang on the line. Besty helped clip them up, her little fingers working carefully, and I could tell she enjoyed the task—it gave her a sense of purpose, wrapped in sunshine. Back on the deck, we switched to backgammon. Both of us play a mean game, and by the third round, we were tied—one win each. The game was halfway through when I heard it: a faint dripping sound, soft and rhythmic. I paused, listening, then glanced around the deck. Nothing obvious. I leaned forward and peeked under the table. Sure enough, a soft dripping sound confirmed what I’d suspected—there was pee trickling from Besty’s diaper onto the deck. That’s when it hit me: I’d forgotten to put her plastic pants back on after letting her bottom air out earlier. I glanced over at her. She was smiling, thumb tucked contentedly in her mouth, completely unbothered by the situation. “Come on,” I said with a chuckle, “let’s get you into a new diaper.” “Nope,” she replied with a mischievous grin. “I’m ahead in this game, and we’re playing to the end.” So there I sat, listening to the rhythmic drip of her wet diaper onto the wooden boards, trying to focus on the game. And yes—she won. Fair and square. Afterward, I told her it was time for a change. She raised her arms toward me, wordlessly asking to be carried inside. I was about to scoop her up when I paused—she was wearing nothing but a soaked diaper. No sense in tracking that through the cabin. Problem-solving mode kicked in. I knelt down, unfastened the diaper right there on the deck, and slipped it off with practiced ease. Then I lifted her into my arms, her bare skin warm against mine. She didn’t flinch or fuss—just nestled in, thumb sliding back into her mouth as naturally as breathing. Once she was cleaned up and snug in a fresh diaper, we headed out to the clothesline to gather the dry ones. The sun had dipped low, casting long shadows across the yard, and the diapers fluttered softly in the breeze like little flags of routine. It was folding time, and I tried to recall exactly how Besty’s mom had shown me—crease here, tuck there, smooth the edges. I gave it my best shot, though I had a sneaking suspicion my technique wasn’t quite textbook. Then again, I knew the girl who’d be wearing them wouldn’t hesitate to let me know if I’d missed the mark. One way or another, she’d be my quality control—honest, direct, and always ready with a look that said, “Try again.” Later that night, during her bath, something shifted. Besty slipped even deeper into baby mode—not just the thumb-sucking, though that thumb seemed permanently parked in her mouth these days. No, this was something else entirely. A kind of surrender. A softness that went beyond routine. I was halfway through washing her when, without warning, she started peeing in the tub. I paused, watching the stream ripple through the water, the moment unfolding without urgency. She looked up at me with that same serene smile, eyes calm and untroubled, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. No embarrassment. No apology. Just quiet trust. I was just relieved it was only pee—if you catch my drift. Still, it meant bath time got an unexpected extension. I drained the tub, rinsed it thoroughly, and refilled it with fresh warm water. Besty didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. In fact, she looked positively delighted, thumb in mouth, floating like royalty in her freshly drawn bath. She reclined against the edge with a serene smile, legs gently kicking beneath the surface, as if the whole reset had been a treat rather than a cleanup. The sunlight streamed through the window, catching the ripples around her and casting soft patterns on the walls. It was hard not to smile watching her—so content, so completely herself in that moment. After I got her to bed, I took a long shower—partly to unwind, partly to clear my head but mostly to relieve my full-blown erection. As the warm water streamed over me, I found my thoughts drifting back to Besty. Lately, she’d been leaning more deeply into her baby-like comfort—not just the thumb-sucking or the diapers, but something more subtle and profound. It was in the way she looked at me, the way she let herself be completely open, unguarded. There was a quiet trust in her eyes, a willingness to be vulnerable that spoke louder than words. I didn’t fully understand what was unfolding inside her, and maybe she didn’t either. But I knew this much: I cared. Deeply. Not just about her well-being, but about the space we were creating together—a space where she could feel safe enough to be exactly who she needed to be. Whatever this was, it mattered. And tomorrow, when the moment felt right, we’d talk. Not to fix or change anything, but to understand. To listen. To keep building that trust, one gentle step at a time. -
By wetdiaper55 · Posted
I really loved this chapter . 🚚 -
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By Babyregressme · Posted
My 2nd story. storyline: a fbi woman goes undercover in a Abdl nursery as a baby but slowly looses all her adult mind. You like? I will be slowly writing this while continue to write my 1st story https://www.dailydiapers.com/board/index.php?/topic/95647-getting-my-baby-girl-back/
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