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Diaper References
Diaper/wetting references found in movies and on TV
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By Blastoslap · Posted
I went back to choosing between the Bathroom and the Robotic Wing, and this time I chose the bathroom. I ended up going home, but I'm really worried about Gavin, and unfortunately, I'll probably never know if he's okay. Even though I definitely didn't plan on spending the rest of my life shitting in diapers and licking some Amazon's breasts, I still like the ending I came up with on my first try better. When I have time, I'll go through the remaining endings, but they probably won't be very optimistic. Translated with DeepL.com (free version) -
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By Lilboydiaper · Posted
Chapter 11 : Ryder stirred awake in his crib, damp and uneasy. The diaper he wore hung heavy against him, its wetness beginning to irritate his skin. He started to push himself up and shift toward the rails when, all at once, a gentle voice drifted through the baby monitor resting on the changing table across from him. “Ryder, sweetheart, this is Papa. Little babies like you can get hurt if they try to climb out of their cribs by themselves. Just wait for Papa or me to come get you. You look so precious, baby. Lie back down and call for Daddy or Papa, and we’ll come pick you up and change that wet diaper. Little ones cry or use their baby words—we won’t answer to big-boy words. We love you, our precious boy.” Ryder lowered himself back onto the mattress, dread coiling tight in his chest at the thought of defying the strange man who called himself Papa. They’re not right, he thought, heart pounding. They can’t keep me here. This is kidnapping—sick and wrong. I need to get away. If I pretend, if I play along… maybe I can convince them to let me go. I won’t press charges. I’ll say whatever they want. Just get me out. He swallowed and called softly toward the monitor, forcing the words out. “Um… Daddy? Papa? I’m awake now. Could you come change me, please?” The monitor crackled. Papa’s voice flowed into the room, smooth but edged with warning. “Ryder, what did Papa tell you? Little babies cry or use their baby words only. You wouldn’t want to start the day with a sore, achy bottom when we get home, would you?” The sweetness of the tone did nothing to soften the threat beneath it. Heat flooded Ryder’s face. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced out thin, broken cries, clutching the crib rails as humiliation burned through him. Footsteps approached almost immediately. Papa hurried into the nursery, his face lighting with tender concern. “Oh, honeybee… there you are. Such sad little sounds.” He leaned over the crib, voice dropping to a soothing murmur. “Papa’s here now. Shhh… you’re all right.” He paused, noticing Ryder’s mouth. “Oh dear, you lost your paci. That won’t do.” With practiced ease, he slipped the pacifier between Ryder’s lips, thumb brushing his cheek in gentle reassurance. “There. Much better.” The crib rail clicked open. Papa lifted him out as though he weighed nothing, cradling him close, rocking once before carrying him to the changing table. “Oh my… this diaper is very heavy. Such a wet little baby for Papa to care for.” He laid Ryder down and drew the soft strap across his middle, fastening it snugly. “There we are. Safe and secure. We wouldn’t want my precious boy wiggling off and getting hurt.” Ryder stared up at him, mute around the pacifier, cheeks flushed with shame as Papa worked. The man’s hands were gentle, meticulous—wipe after wipe, a soft dusting of powder, careful fingers fastening a clean diaper and smoothing a tiny dinosaur-patterned onesie into place. Papa stepped back with a pleased hum. “Oh, look at you. The sweetest little dinosaur.” He bent close, smiling. “Rawr, rawr. Dinosaurs say rawr. Can my baby say rawr?” Ryder forced a faint, muffled sound and turned his face aside, wishing he could disappear. “That was very good,” Papa whispered warmly, as though he had witnessed something precious. He gathered Ryder into his arms, holding him close enough that Ryder could feel the steady beat of his heart. “Let’s go find Daddy. We’re almost home now, sweetheart. There’s so much waiting for you—soft toys, little games, everything a baby could want. We’re going to take such good care of you.” He pressed a lingering kiss to Ryder’s forehead. “I’m so happy we have you,” Papa murmured. Then he carried him from the nursery, cradled securely against his chest, as though Ryder belonged nowhere else. Chapter 12 : Daddy had one hand on the steering wheel and the other on his phone, idly scrolling through emails. Papa looked over and said warmly, “Look, hun—guess who’s finally up and ready for a big day of fun?” Daddy glanced back with a smile. “Could it be that cute and cuddly dinosaur in your arms?” He turned his attention to the not-so-little boy and grinned. “Would you like to help Daddy hold the wheel for a bit?” Ryder nodded eagerly. “Yes, peas, Daddy,” he said, adding the extra “Daddy” in hopes of staying on his good side. “Aww, such lovely manners our little boy has,” Daddy cooed. “Keep that up, and no ouchies for your bottom, baby.” Ryder stood in front of him, small hands wrapped around the wheel while Daddy’s arms rested protectively around him. “Good job, baby—just like that.” Daddy pressed a soft kiss to Ryder’s cheek and ruffled his hair. “We’ll be home very soon. Would you like Papa to make you a snack? He can do waffles, cereal, or some cut-up fruit. What would you like, baby?” Ryder thought for a moment before deciding. “Ce-we-al, Daddy, peas.” Papa smiled and headed into the kitchen to prepare Ryder’s bowl. Wanting to help his little one stay comfortable and regular, he mixed the cereal with milk and added a gentle supplement—hoping it would encourage his baby boy to use his diapers fully. Wet diapers were nice and all, but messy ones were part of proper care, too. Papa prepared Ryder’s meal in the kitchen and carried it into the small dining room, where a handcrafted wooden high chair sat directly across from two normal chairs. He called out to Ryder and Daddy that breakfast was served. Ryder entered slowly—and stopped. Papa stood beside the high chair, one hand resting on its back. Ryder instinctively stepped away, wanting nothing to do with it. Papa’s voice stayed calm, though the firmness underneath was unmistakable. “Hop up in your chair, Ryder. Papa’s going to feed you.” Ryder didn’t move. “You have until I count to three to come here, young man,” Papa continued evenly. “Or you’ll be taking a trip over my knee. Your poor bottom won’t like that. I promise.” “1… Come on, Ryder. It’s all right. This chair was made by my good friend Rocky—the same one who built your crib and changing table for your nursery.” Ryder stayed rooted in place, sucking on his pacifier for comfort. “2… Don’t make me say three, little boy. You’re one step away from a spanking. And Daddy and I would be very disappointed. Then we’d have to put more measures in place so this behavior doesn’t happen again.” Ryder’s shoulders sank. He shuffled forward, head lowered, refusing to look at the chair. He just wanted this over with. Papa lifted him in, clicked the tray into place, and tied a bib around his neck. It read: Trouble Never Looked So Cute. Papa removed Ryder’s pacifier. Before Ryder could protest, a spoonful of cereal hovered at his lips. “Here comes the choo-choo train. Open wide.” Ryder opened. He swallowed—and grimaced. “Bleh—what is that?” “Ryder,” Papa corrected sharply. “What did we say about language? Only cries and baby words from you. No big-boy words unless Daddy or I teach them to you. Now finish your meal, and then you can have your bottle on the couch.” Spoonful after spoonful followed. Most of the cereal ended up smeared across Ryder’s cheeks and bib. “Such a messy eater, baby boy,” Papa cooed. “Maybe in a few months we’ll help you learn to feed yourself. But that’s a long way off. Let’s finish up—two more big bites.” He fed the last of it, then carried the bowl to the sink and began preparing Ryder’s bottle. “Yes, sweetie. Only babas for you,” he murmured. “No sippy cups yet. Papa and Daddy aren’t ready for you to grow up.” He screwed the top on and returned with a fresh bib—Best Baby in the Universe. “Okay, champ. Let’s get you on the couch for your yummy baba.” Papa lifted Ryder from the chair and settled onto the couch, cradling him close. He fastened the clean bib and guided the bottle’s nipple to Ryder’s lips. “Come on, baby. It won’t bite. It’s yummy. Trust Papa. He knows best.” No way I trust you or Daddy, Ryder thought. I’m getting out of this—and then you two are in trouble. He opened his mouth to speak, but Papa slipped the nipple between his lips and held it there. “That’s it. Good job drinking your bottle,” Papa murmured. “Such a cute baby boy. Papa’s sweet boy.” The milk tasted faintly strange, but Ryder didn’t dwell on it. Less than ten minutes later, the bottle was empty. Papa sat him upright and patted his back. A loud, humiliating burp escaped Ryder, followed by a small spill of spit-up. “Oh, there, there. Good job, baby,” Papa soothed. “That’s my good boy. Daddy and I love you so much.” He reinserted the pacifier, clipping it to Ryder’s onesie, and cuddled him close. From behind them, Daddy raised his phone and snapped a photo of the two curled together on the couch. “My sweet boys,” Daddy said softly. “I couldn’t be happier. I can’t believe I finally have my family.” Chapter 13 : Ryder lay in Papa’s arms, the pacifier resting heavy between his lips, the faint rubber taste mixing with the lingering sweetness of the milk. Papa’s hand moved in slow, rhythmic strokes along his back—soothing, possessive, inescapable. The room felt smaller from this angle. Lower. Softer. Wrong. I have to stay calm, Ryder told himself. Just play along. Just until I can get out. But the thought didn’t feel as sharp as it should have. It drifted, like it had to push through something thick before reaching him. His limbs felt warm and loose, his body sinking into Papa’s chest as if gravity had shifted and decided this was where he belonged. Papa pressed a kiss to his hair. “There’s my sleepy baby. Milk always makes you so relaxed, doesn’t it?” No, Ryder wanted to say. I’m not your baby. His lips barely moved against the pacifier. The protest stayed trapped behind silicone and fatigue. He became aware of Daddy nearby—the soft rustle of clothing, the creak of the couch as he sat beside them. Fingers brushed Ryder’s cheek, gentle and approving. “He did so well,” Daddy murmured. “Such a good little eater.” “I know,” Papa said, pride warming his voice. “He’s learning.” Learning what? Ryder’s thoughts stumbled. I’m not learning anything. I’m just— Just what? The question slipped away before it could finish forming. Papa adjusted him higher against his chest, one large hand spanning Ryder’s back, the other cupping the back of his head. The movement was practiced, natural—like this position had always existed for them. Ryder’s body responded before his mind could object. He settled. Curled. Fit. Panic flickered—thin but real. No. No, don’t relax. Don’t— Another slow stroke down his back. Another soft shushing sound near his ear. “There we go,” Papa whispered. “All full. All safe.” Safe. The word landed deep, heavy, confusing. Safe from what? From them? Or from everything else? Ryder’s eyelids sagged. He forced them open again, focusing on the room—on edges, corners, distance. He counted silently. Door. Window. Hallway. Phone on the table. Two adults. One exit. The numbers felt slippery, like they wouldn’t hold still. Daddy’s hand slid into Ryder’s hair, combing gently through it. “He’s getting so little,” he said softly. “You feel it?” Papa’s arms tightened just slightly. “I do. Our baby.” I’m not, Ryder tried again, the thought straining. I’m not your— The pacifier shifted as Papa nudged it back into place with his thumb. Instinct—or something like it—made Ryder suck reflexively. Both men went still in pleased silence. “There,” Papa breathed. “He needs it.” Heat crept up Ryder’s neck. Humiliation flared… but dulled almost immediately, like the emotion couldn’t find its full shape. His body felt heavy. Boneless. The couch cushions seemed to rise around him, trapping him in warmth and fabric and arms. Something’s wrong, he thought, the realization distant but urgent. The milk. It tasted— The idea unraveled before it could finish. Papa’s heartbeat thudded steady beneath his ear. Daddy’s hand continued its slow, approving strokes. The room hummed with quiet domestic contentment that did not belong to him—and yet wrapped around him all the same. “Such a perfect fit,” Daddy whispered. Ryder’s eyes drifted closed. Stay awake, he ordered himself. They fluttered open again—only halfway. The last clear thought that managed to surface was small and frightened: I’m disappearing. Papa’s arms tightened protectively as Ryder went limp with drowsiness. “That’s it,” Papa murmured, rocking him faintly. “Let it take you, baby. Papa’s got you.” And this time, Ryder couldn’t tell whether the warmth pulling him under was the drug, the exhaustion— —or the terrifying ease of being held. -
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