![[DD] Boards & Chat](https://www.dailydiapers.com/board/uploads/monthly_2021_11/DDweb-02.png.0c06f38ea7c6e581d61ce22dffdea106.png)
Baby Talk
Let your baby side show.
1,640 topics in this forum
-
- 0 replies
- 13k views
-
- 20 replies
- 1.9k views
-
- 39 replies
- 10.1k views
-
- 308 replies
- 47.1k views
-
- 14 replies
- 1.7k views
-
- 1 reply
- 203 views
-
- 2 replies
- 210 views
-
- 141 replies
- 23k views
-
- 6 replies
- 621 views
-
- 59 replies
- 4.5k views
-
- 1 reply
- 143 views
-
- 8 replies
- 738 views
-
- 0 replies
- 211 views
-
- 5 replies
- 333 views
-
- 8 replies
- 825 views
-
- 8 replies
- 1k views
-
- 16 replies
- 8.4k views
-
- 6 replies
- 1.3k views
-
- 60 replies
- 12.3k views
-
- 42 replies
- 8.6k views
-
- 10 replies
- 886 views
-
- 8 replies
- 437 views
-
- 4 replies
- 435 views
-
- 1 reply
- 214 views
-
- 7 replies
- 663 views
-
-
-
Posts
-
-
-
-
In New Mexico, it litterally takes a year or more to get an appointment. the problem will be cleared up long before that and no co-pay. -
I felt it briefly, my bladder telling me it needed to empty. I often missed that these days, but I wasn't distracted, had been assessing my situation. The sensation lasted only a moment, replaced almost immediately by a different one, liquid dribbling down between my legs. That wasn't entirely normal either. Wetting myself was, a total lack of control making that inevitable. Normally thirsty padding soaked it up as it left me, the moisture returning eventually as dampness on my skin, spread across the whole of the diaper which had soaked it up. That was happening now too. The diaper was loose between my legs but very present anyway, so as it passed between my thighs the wetness reached it, made it swell a little, started that slow process of wicking across my whole bottom. I wasn't sure if this was better or worse than normal, just certain that the reasons behind it were worse. Much worse. Normally I'd have a onesie or at least a diaper cover, something holding the diaper in place. Hiding it from view. Not today. It was too warm, he didn't want me to overheat, had dressed me only in a short summer dress and the thick white diaper. It was a nice dress, delicate yellow with a simple white daisy pattern, flaring from my hips and reaching almost to my knees. Even with no socks or shoes I could pretend I was an adult, my diaper hidden from view, the inevitable waddle the only real clue. But we were out, and he'd put me into a seat, one for people like me. I didn't need restraining in it, but the straps were there, could easily be added, secured out of my reach. What was also there was the softly padded post between my legs, preventing me from sliding forward and out of the chair. Normal for babies, normal for people in diapers. Even though I hadn't slid forward, wasn't pressed against it, when he'd put me into the chair my dress had caught on the waist bar that post attached to, had slid up, revealed my diaper to anybody watching. I'm not sure if he'd noticed, was fairly sure he wouldn't care, would find it amusing. Certain that he wouldn't try and change it, protect my modesty. I knew better than to try myself. The law was simple, anybody in diapers had no autonomy, no decision making, wasn't allowed to dress or feed or change themselves. Even where they may not be actually helpless the law enforced it, made me entirely dependent on his care and support. Which is what I wanted. What we wanted. I didn't want my diaper on display but that was his choice, not mine, and that abrogation of responsibility was something I still revelled in, so many weeks later. Something he took seriously, and renewed every day, whether I wanted him to or not. -- When we'd met I was just as adult as him. My life decisions were my own, all of them, including allowing him to flirt with me and take me out. I knew what I was getting into. Men like him had a look to them, the procedure which made them what they are leaving an invisible yet indelible mark. He told me anyway, made certain I was aware, provided full disclosure. It was why he was single, rich and handsome as he was. Men like him were difficult partners, and everybody knew it. Them especially. The procedure had a side effect: any intercourse would leave their partner incontinent for a day. Just a day, if they came inside you, no protection. But guaranteed, 20-30 hours, every time. We didn't discuss that. We had a normal start to our relationship, hesitant conversations, awkward pauses which became comfortable silences, soft embraces, quiet chitchat as we shared our secrets. It was clear things were going to progress but we took it slow. No rush to take on the implications of that first consummation. Even then he offered me a condom. I offered him my trust. As he entered me my eyes widened. Hours of snuggling, fondling, the soft kisses, the fingers making me feel so good, making sure I was ready.. I wasn't ready. The procedure also changed the size, and he was thick, filled me, stretched me, made me gasp. Then beg for more. I got it, for what felt like an hour. Later he told me it nearly was, but I was insensate to time, my whole being focused only on his naked torso, the lips I kept putting my own to, that part of him inside me. How it made me feel. He enjoyed it too, never letting up, his stamina astonishing. He paused only once, superhuman control right at the point of commitment, his body arced over mine. No words, just a query on his face, our eyes locked together. I put all of my love into mine and nodded, and he thrust forward again, tipping over into his orgasm. It tipped me over too. Not just the sex, the consummation of the act. The knowledge that this transferred control, that he was making me incontinent, that I'd have to wear a diaper. Knowing that the law wouldn't let me change that, that he'd have to. That this would give him sole rights over my life. I arced my own back, met his thrust and gave it all to him. -- The first few days were tough. We'd both planned, knew what we were taking on but knowing wasn't the same as living. Everybody ignoring me, asking him for decisions about me. Not choosing where to go, what to do, even how to dress. Not being allowed to use cutlery. He had to adapt too, dressing me, feeding me. Changing my diapers. I enjoyed that. Wetting them wasn't an option, his sperm leaving me with no control. But getting them replaced, clean fresh ones put on was always welcome. It was also his opportunity to renew the bond, reset that daily timer, assure I had another full day in diapers. The law was ambiguous on this. While I wasn't in diapers could I refuse, withdraw consent, tell him we were finished? Fight against his intimate invasion, seek continence once more? I didn't ask, instead welcomed him, enjoyed the attention, accepted that this was now our life together. Days blurred but his energy never flagged, that procedure giving him astonishing recuperation. Every change he was ready, and I needed a lot of changes. Friends and family understood, or didn't. We weren't unique, everybody knew someone who'd been down this route. My friends just asked him not me if I was available for a girls night out, his parents treated me like a grandchild. The only thing he refused was permission to change me. That was his privilege, his right. His chance to keep like this, as long as he chose. Which brought us back to my birthday party. His friends and mine at a local restaurant, lots of people having fun. Me sat there in that chair, diaper on show. About to show that I'd used it. Nobody would mind. Most wouldn't notice. By law I was no longer adult, for at least the next day, and nobody's concerned when an infant uses their diaper. It didn't stop me blushing when a friend looked down, saw my diaper, looked up and caught my eye. "Just the bladder?" she asked. Conversation around us stopped. That wasn't a question you normally ask. That effect he had worked on the other hole too, the one at the back. He hadn't done that to me, I still had full control there. Sometimes he even let me sit on a toilet, others he suggested using my diaper just ahead of a change. As always I had no choice on that, but at least I could hold it until he made the decision for me. "I'm thinking about that," he said, into the silence. I swivelled within the chair and looked up at him, shock on my face. "What.." was as far as I got before a pacifier filled my mouth, cut me short. Like my diapers those were sized for me. Like my diapers the law forbade me from removing one. He put it in my mouth, only he could choose when to take it back out. So I sat there, tears on my birthday, listening to my friends discuss the implications with him. It was an escalation for him too, more inconvenience, more obligation. For me a worry about pain from the act itself, then the new loss of control that would follow. Worse, it didn't last for a day. If he didn't use protection up there, I'd lose control for a full month. My pacifier came out so I could blow out candles, eat ice cream, be given a celebration drink from the teat of a bottle. Weirdly the law said nothing about alcohol. -- Back home, another change. He paused, looked at me. "I was lying earlier," he said, "I'm not thinking about that." We both knew what that was. "I've already decided." I looked at him in consternation. What was his decision. He didn't keep me in suspense. "I want this. But only if you do. Right here, right now. Make a choice." I looked at him. I'd had all afternoon to think about it, a constant distraction. I was mid change, no diaper on, I could walk away right now. Leak for another day, build a new life. Or keep things simple, just decline the proposed change to our current one. I knew what he wanted but he didn't know what I wanted. I didn't keep him in suspense. "I trust you."
-