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I’m now retired, and my wife has started treating me as a 18 month old. Let me explain, we have married over forty years. I have been diaper dependent since I was injured in my teens. So I was in diapers when I met my wife. Becoming an adult baby came from a natural need for diapers, and a way to accept it. Although my wife was very supportive of diaper needs, she was not interested in the whole AB scene. Raising a family, building a business took most of our time, so the AB was pushed aside for many decades. However since retiring two years ago things have changed. My wife has quietly taken over as leader of the household. Unless we have company diapers and baby pants must be on full display. Soon as company has left she will remove my pants or shorts. She no longer calls me by my name, it always Baby, even in front of company. Afternoon naps are mandatory, set bedtimes are used. Pacifier use is also mandatory with naps and over night. I not allowed out of the house alone. All activities must be safe, according to her judgement, permission must be given. This has greatly added enjoyment for us both in our retirement, we have never been closer. Of course I still help with housework, cooking, and yard care. My wife has never enjoyed changing my diapers and so I look that, including washing and drying.(We use cloth diapers and plastic or PUL covers). Life will always surprise you.

Excellent diaper for heavy wetting and big poopie loads. So are the Kiddo Fluffy Fly and Premium Night diapers. Can't go wrong...only go wet and messy.

Sorry to quote, but I really do just gotta second this as long as this discussion is up and running. Like, if that's your thing... ok? You do you, I guess. It just feels... really, really genuinely uncomfortable IMO. I mean, the A in ABDL exists for a reason, and for a LOT of people it is ultimately just a kink outlet or heavily involved with sex, and while I get that some people play as littles in irl sessions (obviously) that's all just pretend. Stories like this are trying to rationalize what is borderline child abuse, especially if it's a teenager. It's obviously, ultimately better than actual... ick, but it still feels really creepy. As soon as the age is mentioned and it's under 18 I'm out. Hell, I kinda wish the demographic for certain stories was slightly older - college hunks and ladies are fun to mess with but people in their late 20s, early 30s, even late 30s... hell, let's diaper some milfs, come on people. As for my original opinions, well... certain people know my stance on "torture porn", or more mindless stories, where it's just the same repetitive cycle over and over again where it never truly gets a chance to breathe. "oops mess, let's get you fed, bring you in public, are you embarassed, oopsie you messed again, change, time for more laxatives" that sort of thing. Or when we just keep hammering home how helpless/awful a character feels, just mercilessly shitting on them again and again, like come on, give the poor fella a break. Or when they do get a chance to breathe, it feels like it's just dragging the cart along until the next big stinky scene.  Apart from that, I would say bad grammar, but I feel that's a common turnoff for most folk. Still, it should be mentioned. I really don't mean to be condescending - if you have a lower writing level, that's totally cool, I just have ADD and unless a story is properly formatted my eyes jump all over the page and I just cannot comprehend half of what's going on, let alone enjoy the story.  Also, this is more of a mild turnoff, but stories that take too long to get to the good bits. Like I know I just said I don't like repetition, but I don't like 10 straight chapters of worldbuilding unless it's like... really really good worldbuilding. Three Pillars is a great example on this site - it has a good amount of buildup, most of which doesn't even involve diapers, but the take on the world is so fascinating that it hooks you really well. Again, this is only a light turnoff, like i implied I'm willing and actually excited when a story fleshes out a world, but at some point you just kinda wanna see someone mess themselves. Maybe that's just the horny in me talking, IDK.

He grabbed our leashes and dragged us both into the bedroom. Two outfits were draped over the bed. Both were clearly for submissives, but that was where the similarities ended. One was a shining black vest, I didn't know if it was leather or latex, over tight shorts and knee high boots, with a spiked black collar. The other was a frilled pink and white dress, with a short skirt, and knee high socks. "Miranda" he said, and she stood. She walked up to him.  "Yes sir," she said. "Arms up," he said, and she obeyed. To my shock, he picked up the vest and pulled it over her head. "Right leg," he said, and pulled her shorts on. "Good girl. Turn," he said. She spun, and he grabbed her shoulder and spanked her twice. "Very nice," he said. She  looked back at me, smiled and winked. "Wha..." I said. "Oliver. Is there a problem?" he asked. Miranda stuck her tongue out at me. "Yeah, something wrong, guy who was just crying from a widdle spanking?" "No... ummm uhhh I uhhh," I said, staring at the dress. "You're upset because you are going in our pretty pink princess dress while Miranda gets the boy shorts? Worried about wearing a pretty dress in front of your friends at the club?" he teased. "Yes Master," I admitted.  In truth, I was almost shaking. My blood ran cold, and I stared, unable to move, as I imagined myself wearing the outfit. Was it eagerness? Humiliation? Horror? I couldn't tell. Part of my mind screamed that it was wrong, that I needed to leave, to argue, to fight, to  refuse and save my dignity. And the other wanted more then anything to wear their pretty dress. "Do you need another spanking?" he asked. "NO!" I said, and my hands darted to my bottom. "Then I think the question is already answered." And with that, the question was over, and all doubts left. Its not my choice anymore, which means... which means I can dress how I know I want to without feeling guilty. I raised my arms, and let him pull it on, along with a pair of white ruffled panties. I sat down on the bed, and he pulled socks up over my feet, then fit shoes on. He pulled me to my feet and stood me in front of a mirror, and I stared at myself. He leaned over my shoulder and spoke into my ear. "There's my good girl. See how pretty you look?" "Yes Master," I said. My eyes were wide. "We wanted to have you in heels, but I think we'll have to have you practice a bit first. Still, you look pretty enough like that" Miranda said. "So you like it, don't you?"    I paused, breathing heavily. The dress covered my shoulders perfectly, fit like a glove down my stomach and flared at my waist. I reached for my cheek, and realized I was crying. Once the guilt was gone, every inch of it thrilled me. It was cute, it was pretty, it was all the things I wanted to be that I didn't want to want to be, and none of the horrors I thought would come from being them were coming true. "Yes, Master," I said. I loved it.

Mine is already an untouched plot device.  It's blasphemous as all hell, but it's untouched.