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Chapter 18 Ashley had spent her time cleaning. She didn’t want to be spending time with the little Angela had chosen to adopt. Angela has to be home by now, Ashley thought, let her take care of her little. When Angela walked into their home office, the look on her face told Ashley something was wrong. “Is Danny alright?” Ashley asked. She knew that if Danny somehow escaped or managed to do something extremely stupid Angela would kill her. “He is good right now,” Angela said leaving the door open so she could hear if Danny called for her. “He actually seems to be doing better than yesterday. Hoping he can relax a little more and let himself get taken care of.” “That is good,” Ashley said. She was still wondering why Angela looked upset. “Yes although,” Angela said. “He might had been really surprised not to be in trouble.” “What did he do?” Ashley asked, knowing this could not be good. “He was trying to stand,” Angela answered. “That is about the dumbest thing he could have done,” Ashley stated. “Is he just that stupid or…” “He is not stupid,” Angela angerly snapped back. “He is terrified after everything that has transpired the last few days. Plus, he might not have done it if he was being watched.” Ashley was now annoyed. It was Angela’s decision to go to the store and now she is going to play the blame game. “Then you should have brought him with you to the store,” Angela shot back. “Do you think that he is ready to be around that many amazons,” Angela said. “He would be even more terrified when an amazon coos at him. Not to mention the expectation that other amazons have about how to deal with a tantrum he would have. It is much safer to leave him here.” “Then I should have gone, and you should have stayed,” Ashley responded. “What snacks do my sisters’ littles eat that Danny could eat right now?” “I do not know,” Ashley said. “That is the reason I had to go instead of you,” Angela responded. “I have more experienced with littles so had a better idea what he would like.” “Then why didn’t you wait until you put Danny to bed?” “I thought it would be better to have the food for lunch,” Angela replied. “It should not have been that big of a deal. I thought worst case scenario you get him up and take care of him for a little bit before I get home. I didn’t think you would leave him alone for a long period of time.” “He was in the playpen,” Ashley stated. “I thought that was the point of the playpen put him in there, so he cannot cause any problems.” “When he is more adapted yes,” Angela explained. “But right now, he cannot really move so the playpen is not necessary. He does not like being babied right now. He sees the playpen as the worst option so there is no reason to not misbehave. The couch is more comfortable to him right now. He will behave better to not lose that privilege.” “And if he falls off the couch?” Ashley asked. “Then he has lost the privilege,” Angela responded. “But I do not think that will happen while his leg is still bad. We seemed to reach an understanding of not trying it again.” “You really think you are getting through to him,” Ashley said doubtfully. “He has made it very clear he does not want to be our little. He is just waiting for you to turn your back so he can stab you in it.” Ashley hated being this cynical to Angela, but she thought it was true. Angela fondness towards littles blinded her from the truth. Danny did not want to be here, so any agreement made were just him trying to manipulate them. Ashley knew Angela would not like it but thought she had to hear it. Angela not liking Ashley’s statement was an understatement. Angela was seeing red at this point. Danny was their little boy. To hear Ashley saying she had no faith in him hurt her. They are a family now. “Heather did not want to be adopted," Mama Angela pointed out. "Or Ruby and Wally or Freddie. Even Willow only agreed because she had no good options. He might not love the idea of being our little but over time he will realize it is what is best. He is our little boy now, we have to have a little faith in him." “He is not my little boy,” Ashley responded. “He is an injured little that you decided to take in and managed to guilt me into allowing.” “You really feel that way,” Angela said shocked. She knew Ashley was not thrilled about adopting but Ashley never gave her any indication that she was truly against it. “We both signed all the papers without a single objection from you. You did not say anything until now. If this was actually bothering you, then you could have talked to me at any time. We have always talked with each other openly about everything. It is too late now; Danny needs us, and we are not going to abandon him. I am willing to work with you and do anything need to help you, but you need to accept your responsibility as one of his parents.” “The head of the hospital suggested we take him,” Ashley said. “If I said no, I could kiss my goals of getting promoted and working my way up the ladder good-bye. I said yes for my career not because I wanted a little. If he claims he can take care of himself then he should be allowed to go out into the real world and see how long he can last.” “We both know he needs us, and he is already lowering his guard around me,” Angela responded. “I know you are not thrilled about adopting but you agreed. You have always faced challenges head on even if they scared you. Now with Danny, the first challenges happen, and you are avoiding it. There is something more going on with you right now. I have noticed recently you have seemed more stressed recently before we adopted Danny. Please tell me what is actually wrong I want to help you.” Ashley did not want to admit Angela was right about things being wrong before Danny. Her struggles at work were not Angela’s problem. It was a stressful job but she could handle it and she did not want Angela to know she was struggling. “What is going on is we got stuck with an unwilling little because you decided to stick your nose where it did not belong. It is as simple as that.” “That is not the truth and we both know it,” Angela said, clearly hurt by her partners comments. “I do not know what is going on with you but when you are ready to tell me I will be ready to listen. I am going to give you some space and go back downstairs to Danny. I do not want to leave him alone too much right now. He needs us just like we need each other. Just please know I love you.” “Love you too,” Ashley responded. Knowing she had upset Angela. Ashley went back to the chores wondering how much worse things could get.

Hey everyone! It's Sophie! Pudding and I have been writing a few short stories recently so I'm just going to post them all at once. If you like them and want to support our writing, please check out our Patreon: www.patreon.com/sophieandpudding -------------------------- A Mommy’s Love By Sophie *Author’s Note: This story is just some cute hypno diaper smut about a Mommy who takes some extra precautions to make sure her baby stays in diapers. Disclaimers: diapers, hypnosis, wetting, messing, oral sex -------------------------- I sat with my feet over Mommy’s lap, stealing glances at her out of the corner of my eye. We had been watching TV for the better part of the hour, and I was starting to think things might actually be settling down. Just in time, too. Ever since she woke me up with a kiss on the forehead and a finger in the leg-band of my diaper, she had been in full-on Mommy mode. It was a fun game we liked to play; I was her baby and she would take care of me. Sometimes it was cute and innocent, and other times… well… Today, Mommy wasn’t playing around. She changed me into one of the most infantile diapers I had - with a booster for the extra thickness - and a dress with fluffy sleeves and a round collar. I tried telling her I could be a grown up, but her casual remark on the state of my diaper that morning put the argument to rest. My bedwetting was a new development. Mommy spoon-fed me breakfast and gave me a baby bottle of chocolate milk. I didn’t even complain because she never gave me chocolate milk in the mornings. Then she pushed my paci in my mouth and sat me in front of the morning cartoons while she did the dishes. After an episode or two, Mommy came back with a plan for the day: “I wanna hypnotize you.” We had done it before, and I loved playing along. It was always a lot of fun, and the thought of her controlling me was… well, I wasn’t about to say no. Unfortunately, by the end of it, I didn’t remember any particular triggers. She was just talking a lot about how much I love her, or about how much I wanted to make her happy. Then it was over. As the day went on, her teasing escalated. She took me out to lunch in my frilly party dress, where she made me say ‘pretty please’ to the waitress when ordering my food. Then we went to the grocery store, where she checked my diaper in an empty aisle with a firm press to the front of my dress. When we got back to the car, she laid me down in the back seat and changed me into a dry diaper. I knew her car windows were tinted, but it didn’t make me any less embarrassed. When we got home, everything started to settle down. We talked about ordering pizza for dinner and she put a grown up show on the TV. Every so often her hand would slide up my thigh to the front of my diaper, but the mood had changed. We were equals, or close to it. I started up a few conversations to test the waters. Every so often she would lightly tease me, like how cute I am or how well behaved I had been today, but that was normal. Even when she was just my girlfriend, she was always a little bit my mommy. Just a little bit. Another ache rumbled through my tummy and I stole another glance at Mommy. It was now or never. I took my feet off her lap and got up on my feet, crinkling with every small movement. I raised my hands above my head to stretch, flashing the seat of my diaper just a bit. She didn’t react. “I’ll be right back,” I muttered, stepping away from the sofa. “Where ya goin’?” Mommy asked without looking away from the TV. I froze in place and bit my lip. Moment of truth… “I, um… I’m gonna use the bathroom…” The second it took her to reply felt like an hour. But unexpectedly, Mommy said: “Okay. You go be an adult.” For a moment, I stood dumbfounded. I thought for sure I would have to argue with her. I would have to beg or offer something embarrassing in return. Curtsies were a recent go-to of hers, or asking in baby talk. I must have been standing there a while, because then she said: “What are you waiting for? You’re an adult, aren’t you?” “I… um…” I should have turned on my heel and hurried off to the bathroom, but I was thinking about something else. About her. About how kind she was for letting me use the bathroom at all! She didn’t have to do that. I just wished I could show her how much I appreciated her… “Go on,” she encouraged, waving her hand to shoo me away. I almost left, but then she added: “You know how to use the potty, right? All adults do.” A thought came into my mind. I knew how I could make her feel appreciated. I knew how to please her. So I took an unsteady step back toward the couch and slid down to my knees, looking up at her with bright, loving eyes. She tilted her head curiously. “Something wrong?” she asked. “Is being an adult too hard?” A tight cramp in my stomach was replaced shortly thereafter with butterflies. I reached forward with both my hands until they were hooked in the waistband of Mommy’s leggings. She lifted her butt almost instinctively, like I did when she changed my diapers, and slid her pants and panties down to her knees. Then her ankles. Adult. That word echoed in my mind. Mommy spread her knees apart and I leaned in to kiss between her thighs. Instantly, I could hear her breathing change. I could feel her hips moving ever so slightly against my face. Time slipped away from me as my tongue slipped in and out of her. Then another queasy ache filled my belly and I let out a muffled whimper. I really needed to use the potty, and Mommy seemed to read my mind. “Don’t you still have to go to the bathroom?” she asked. I nodded and pulled away, sitting upright on my heels. I looked up at Mommy with a glossy expression. I was just about to stand up when she added: “Like an adult?” I couldn’t leave her like that. I just couldn’t! I loved her so much, and I wanted her to know it. I wanted her to know how sexy she was, how important she was to me, and how much I appreciated her. I wanted to make her happy. I wanted to bring her as much pleasure as she brought me. “Gosh…” Mommy moaned, my tongue between her legs. “If you can’t prioritize getting to the potty… then maybe you aren’t an adult.” I whimpered. I was an adult! I could be! But… but… “An adult would get up and use the potty,” Mommy added, quivering as she spoke. She was breathing heavily and I felt another cramp twist my stomach into knots. An adult would get up and use the potty… “Last chance,” she warned, playing with my hair as I continued to flitter my tongue between her thighs. “If you want to be an adult, go use the bathroom.” But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Being an adult, using the potty, none of that was as important as pleasing my Mommy. I wanted her to be rewarded for everything she did for me. I wanted to make her so happy. “Then you made your choice,” Mommy moaned, tugging my hair and pushing me deeper between her legs. “You aren’t an adult anymore. You’re my obedient little baby, and grown-up things are off limits to you now. No more potty. No more decisions. Your only purpose is to make Mommy happy. And if you do a very good job, Mommy will train you to love your diapers as much as you love your Mommy.” I was crouched on my hands and knees, squatting back so that my diapered butt was only barely touching the heels of my feet. Another ache churned in my stomach, but I wasn’t thinking about that. I was thinking about Mommy’s moans and gasps. I was so focused on making her happy that I didn’t notice until it was too late. As Mommy’s hips spasmed and waves of pleasure flooded through her body, I began to fill the seat of my diaper. She continued to writhe and moan as I continued to mess myself, until we were both comfortable and exhausted. “Such a good baby,” Mommy whispered lazily, reaching down and pulling me up into her arms. I curled up on top of her, against her breasts, and she passively patted the seat of my diaper. Each squish made me shiver with embarrassment, but I knew it was something I would have to get used to. After all, I would never be able to use the potty again. Then Mommy started a very familiar sentence: “Let’s…” ‘Get you changed’ were the words that always followed that tone. But my hopes were dashed when she finished her thought: “Let’s get you started on that training. We have a long way to go if you’re going to love your diapers as much as you love me.” I blushed, but she was right. I would need a lot of training to love anything as much as I loved her. [End]

Hello reader, It has been a long time since I have written a story like this. I really enjoyed my first work, Flooded, but had not had the inspiration (i.e. a Mommy making me wear a plug until I finished my next chapter) in quite some time. So you will have to pardon my rust. This story was not driven but such persuasive influences but rather by a fantasy I had once that got stuck in my head and after several years I finally felt the need to put it down on paper. The following story is set in the Diaper dimension. For those of you not familiar with this setting you might want to read some of the other works out there by various authors to help you better understand the world. Special thanks to WBDaddy who’s story “Little Legal issues” helped inspire this story. I have always been a fan of the Diaper Dimension as it can take mundane things like holding down a job, or going out to eat, or any other aspect of life that might seem commonplace and allow a world of Amazons, Littles and unlimited technology to twist them into an adventure. So that being said, I give you: Divorce Proceedings Chapter 1: Opening Arguments Nicholas sat on the couch waiting. He could have turned on the TV, or surfed the internet, or done anything else to pass the time. But he didn't. He just sat there and waited, stewing in his own anger. He muttered quietly to himself. Going over exactly what he would say. Playing out the conversation in his head over and over and it just made him madder and madder. And then he finally heard what he'd been waiting for. The car pulled up into the driveway and he listened as his wife Angela exited the vehicle and made her way to the front door. This was it Nick thought to himself. He took a deep breath and waited for the door to open. "How was your day honey?" he managed to speak the words in a civil almost sincere tone. "Did you have fun shopping at the mall?" he asked almost unable to contain his delighted smile. "Oh it was terrible sugar," she responded. "I found this super cute dress and shoes but when I went to pay for them the card was declined. We tried calling the bank but they said I'd need to talk to you so I need you to call the bank and get this all cleared up." "Oh there's no need to call the bank," Nick replied his grin now uncontainable. "You see the card was declined because I canceled your credit card." Nick’s wife wheeled around to face him. "You did WHAT?" she demanded her face flush with anger. "I canceled your credit card." Nick said as calmly as he could muster, "oh and I changed the registration on the bank account too." Angela looked shocked, "But why sugar? Why would you do such a thing” she pleaded. "Because that is what you do when you find out your wife has been cheating on you!" Nick roared as he stood up and threw the garments that had been sitting beside him to the floor in front of her. Angela's face went pale as she instantly realized what they were. They were a pair of her panties and a pair of men's boxer shorts. She might have tried to suggest that those belonged to her husband, but in this case the offending underwear clearly belonged to a Betweener and would be much too large for Nick's Little frame. They both stood there in silence. Nick waiting for Angela to come up with some kind of explanation. Some kind of excuse. But the evidence was damning. He had found the boxers under the bed the previous day and after a moment of denial and anger he finally decided that he needed to protect what was his before he confronted his wife. "Is it Scott?" Nick demanded already knowing the answer. Scott was one of only a handful of Betweeners that lived on the small island nation of Freewind. As one of the few places in the world where the Littles got to govern themselves free of Amazon influence it was considered a paradise to Little’s across the globe. Here everyone was treated equally under the law. There were a few Betweener families that dotted about from place to place but an Amazon had not set foot on the island in over 50 years. Nick and Scott had always been close friends. Growing up together, Scott had been Nick's protector. Nothing like having a Tweener in your corner backing you up to get you out of a jam. Scott had been the best man at his and Angela's wedding. The betrayal burned him to his core. Nick would eventually confront him, but right now there were more immediate issues to deal with. Angela looked at Nick with tears in her eyes. "I'm so sorry honey," she pleaded. "You have to forgive me!" "Angela, I know our marriage has not been perfect, but I've been willing to work with you on it," Nick said his anger subsiding. "But this? THIS? How am I supposed to get past this?" The anger gone the hurt could now be felt in his words. “I'm sorry Angela, but this is just something I can't forgive. I mean it's Scott! How could you?" "But sweetie, you just have to understand, he's just so.... so..." and with that her demeanor shifted " SO much BIGGER than you." Angela now stood proud and confident while Nick was taken aback by her statement. Angela could see her opening and pounced on the open wound. "And I don’t mean taller Nick. I’m talking about his cock. His big fat manly glorious cock. Sure he's a Tweener, but sweetie, did you really think that you were satisfying me with your little thing?" she continued "because even for a Little honey, you are LITTLE. And his cock, oh it just feels so good. And stamina! He doesn't pop his load off in 30 seconds and then roll off to sleep. I mean even when it's bad with him it is still better than anything I've ever felt with you." Nick tried to hold his ground but the words crushed him. He knew he wasn’t the greatest lover and had always been embarrassed by his hair trigger. Her words were intended to hurt and they did. Deep down he had still hoped that this was just a one time thing, just a slip and that she really still loved him. But now it became clear that was never the case. The fight had left Nick. "Just go. Take the car and go." he said in a small voice. "What about the credit card and the bank account? Half of everything that's yours is mine." she said proud to once again have the upper hand in the conversation. Nick managed a little smile. "No Ang. See, I’ve hired a lawyer and he says my case against you is very strong and that the court system of Freewind does not take kindly to cheating spouses. Especially when that cheating involves a Betweener. You’ll be lucky if they let you keep the car.” A fire reformed in Nicks eyes. "So this is my house and my investments and my money. Your days of spending MY money are over! Done. Finished" Angela stood there a look of realization coming across her face. "Well... we’ll just see what my lawyer has to say." she spat back. "You do that Ang" Nick retorted confident that she did not have a leg to stand on. "Now just go." Angela grabbed her purse and turned to leave in a huff. Opening the door she turned back to face him "Oh and honey, Everyone in the neighborhood has known about Scott and I and that teeny weeny hair trigger of yours for years. They all know what a weak little cuckold you are. So don't think this is over. Not by a long shot." And with that she left. Nick stood frozen still in his spot. He was so angry and hurt and humiliated. He listened as Angela got in the car and pulled out of the driveway. Only then could he relax. In one short day his life had been completely turned upside down. He had lost his wife, his best friend and what looked to be his reputation. How many people already knew he thought. He started replaying scenes in his mind. Did they know? Were they just stifling a giggle, or sharing a knowing glance between themselves when he wasn't looking. How could he look these people in the eyes again? He'd have to move. Where to was another story. Freewind was just not that big a place. It seemed like everyone knew everyone else. He certainly wasn't going to move to the mainland. The last thing he needed was the stress of having to live among Amazons. The house was eerily quiet. Nick tried to have dinner but he wasn't really hungry. He turned to the TV, but there was nothing on the few “safe for littles” channels he got that could hold his attention. Eventually he decided to go to bed. As he drew up the covers he thought about the day to come. There would be lawyers and paperwork. But the thing that really worried him was talking to Scott. I mean he had to do it, but he was not looking forward to the confrontation. Still it was something he had to do if he was to have any amount of self respect left. Nick had always been challenged with insomnia and as he tossed and turned he knew that he would not find sleep anytime soon. Reaching over to the bedside table he took one of his sleeping pills. The swirling thoughts about what tomorrow would bring slowly began to sink into the back of his mind as he feel into a deep sleep blissfully unaware of the sound of the lock to the front door clicking open. Chapter 2: Motion to Dismiss Darkness. "Aren't you done with him yet?" a male voice said as if from far away. "Almost, Keep your pants on." a female responded. "I want this to be perfect." there was a light touch on his cheek. "It don't need to be perfect." the male answered. "They’re going to love him." "They are going to love him because he's going to be perfect." the female spat back. Only this time, the voice seemed familiar. Nick stirred gently. A heavy fog covered his mind. He could hear the voices. Feel hands touching him, manipulating him. He struggled to open his eyes but they were just not ready to obey his orders just yet. "Crap I think he's waking up." the male voice stated. But, Nick knew this voice now too. "OK, just give me a few more seconds and then we can unhook the bag." the familiar female voice said. Nick liked that voice. He had heard it so many times before. As his muddled mind tried to focus a feeling of relief came over him. He knew that voice. It was his wife he thought with a smile. Half a moment later the relief was replaced with panic. His Wife! He stirred again trying desperately to break through the fog. "I still say we should have used a wrangler." the male voice said, sounding even more familiar. "And create a paper trail? I don't think so." Angela responded, "Besides how do we know the wrangler wouldn't try to take me as well. They can't be trusted." "Aw doll you are adorable but I would never let anyone take you.” the male responded only to be followed by a prolonged silence that could have only been there to contain the gaze of death that Angela had to have been giving her companion. Nick knew that gaze well. “Yeah, you're right." said the man. His voice was completely familiar now but what was his name? "And don't you forget it Scott." Angela replied filling in the missing piece. Nick struggled to move but it wasn't just that his limbs were not responding they were also being held. Immobilized. He clenched and unclenched his fists only to find them surrounded by some kind of soft padding that restricted their movement. He moaned a little more loudly and demanded that his eyes open. He was met with a blurry view. It was dim, as tight shafts of bright light shone through small curtain covered windows. A figure hovered before him that was slowly coming into focus. "Well good morning baby," Angela chirped in a sickeningly sweet voice. "Did you have good naps?" "Angela? Was going on?" Nick slurred out. He attempted to move forward only to be pushed back into his seat. "Well, Nicky, after our little talk on Friday, Scott and I had a discussion about our little problem. See, I really want to be with Scott and Scott really wants to be with me, But you see on the other hand we both really want to be with your money too." Nick got a sinking feeling in his stomach. He started to take in his surroundings. First were his hands. They were indeed bound into some kind of padded satin mitten. The pink fabric shimmered a little in the light. He then moved his attention to his legs which were spread far apart on the seat. His attempt to close them met with a thick bulk between his thighs. Nick was fortunate to have never been diapered in his adult life. A fact not many Littles outside of Freewind could claim. But it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that his streak was over and he must be in some of the thickest diapers he could even imagine. The feeling in his stomach worsened as he once again unsuccessfully tried to close his legs. "So we decided," Angela continued, "that there had to be some acceptable alternative to a divorce where I'd only get half of everything at best.” She paused for dramatic effect. “And then it came to me.” Another pregnant pause. “Adoption!" she said with a kind of glee he had not heard from her in years. "What?” Nick struggled to understand what she had just said. “ You can't be serious! Adoption isn’t allowed in Freewind!” “And who said we’re still in Freewind? Hmm?” Angela taunted. The feeling in the pit of Nick’s stomach rose again. It was clear now that he was sitting inside an Amazon sized vehicle. But you can’t adopt even if we are on the mainland. You're just a Little too!" Nick fired back. The fog was clearing but as he tried to move forward in his chair he once again felt large strong hands pushing him back into the seat." "Oh we're not adopting you, you little sissy." Scott chimed in happy to offer up a contribution. "but there are plenty of baby crazed Amazons out there just dying to adopt." "And all we need to find one," said Angela moving to the side, "is the perfect bait." Nick now found himself staring at the image of a sweet toddler girl. She wore a baby pink dress that was covered with images of little girl ballerinas. The dress came well short of her knees and was puffed up by a fluffy white petticoat. A large pacifier dangled at the end of a ribbon that clipped to her Peter pan collar. On her other breast there appeared to be some kind of note pinned there with a large safety pin. Nick did not have time to try to read it as he looked over the rest of the figure. Her blonde hair was done up in ringlets that bounced playfully at the sides of her head. Her face had an innocent glow to it from a soft layer of blush that complimented her pink painted lips and large doe eyes. She was sitting in a chair far too big for her and her feet dangled in the air. Her shiny white patent leather Mary Janes caught the occasional stray beam of light. From her left arm there was a tube that led up to a large IV bag of clear liquid that was almost empty. And of course covering her hands a pair of baby pink satin mittens. Nick felt the blood drain from his face as he stared at the image of himself squirming in the chair as he struggled again to break free.. "And what Mommy could resist a sweet little sissy baby like you?" Angela said. She beamed with pride at how perfectly she had transformed her soon to be former husband into a package that would ignite the maternal instincts in almost any Amazon woman. "Or Daddy!" she said with glee. "Would you like that Baby Nicky? To be adopted by some big strong Amazon daddy?" her mocking continued. Nick felt his strength returning. He thrashed about in the seat but Scott's heavy hands held him fast. He looked around for a weapon or something he could use to his advantage. But he could not find anything inside what he assumed to be an Amazon sized conversion van.. Behind the enormous chair he was seated in Scott maintained a firm gasp on Nicks shoulders. Scott was certainly not an Amazon but his Betweener frame was more than enough to control the Little before him. He chuckled as he watched Nick kick at at nothing with his feet sending his dress and petticoats fluttering in the air about him. Nicks left arm got caught up in the IV tubing ripping the needle form his arm. Scott pushed Nick down again with renewed urgency and squeezed Nick a little harder which brought at least a temporary end to Nicks struggles. "Sweetie there is no point. You're only going to hurt yourself." Angela calmly stated as she moved to place a small band aid on the fresh puncture. "And what chance does little sissy wimp like you have against a real man like Scott?" Scott lowered his head so they could share a brief, but still far to lengthy kiss. Satisfied with her work she walked to the large van door and pressed the button to release it. With a soft whine the door slowly opened and Nick stared out in the bright sunlight. Nick shivered as a cool breeze blew up the bottom of his dress and he felt very exposed as the air chilled the tops of his legs just below his bulging diaper. "Come along now baby. It's time for you to go find your new Mommy." "Or Daddy" Scott mocked. "A little sissy and her Daddy. Could there be anything more precious?" Scott lifted Nick to his feet and began maneuvering him toward the open door. The thick diaper around Nick's waist severely reduced his leg movements and the hard soles of his shoes found no purchase on the floor as he desperately tried to halt his movement forward. Nick realized the peril of his situation. "Angela! Please!" Nick begged, "Don't do this." His feet found the edge of the door and dangled in the air. He reached out to grab the door frame but his slippery mittens lost their grip as Scott lifted him out of the Amazon vehicle. "But Nicky." Angela said. "It's already done." With a smooth movement Scott spun Nick around and then pushed him knocking him squarely down onto his padded bottom. Angela tossed a large white stuffed rabbit at where Nick was sitting on the ground. "Now you take good care of Flopsy bunny for me OK?" Nick tried to scramble to his feet but between the thick diaper and the smooth soles of his shoes it was slow going. Scott had already made his way back into the van and hit the start button. The engine softly purred to life. Scott may barely be able see above the huge steering wheel, but his feet still reached the pedals enough for him to drive. Angela pressed the button and the van door began to close. Nick regaining his balance started to run toward the door but almost fell over again as he slipped on the cobblestone path. He reached he van just in time to feel the door latch shut. He banged on the door with his padded fists as Angela smiled at him through the window. "You can't do this!" he shouted as Scott slipped the van into gear. Nick took a step back as the van lurched awkwardly and began to pull away. He toddled after the van calling out "Angela!!! Please!!! Don't Leave Me!!!" End Chapter2 I've got more parts written but they need some more editing. I'll try to get a new part out every week or so. Thanks for reading.

Forgot to change the forum post name to reflect that Chapter 3 was added last week, oops! Well, Chapters 3 AND 4 are both available now Four: Funny-Man He knew that he overslept, if only because he was well rested. That sort of thing wouldn’t have happened if he was at home. “Well fuck,” he muttered to himself. He looked at his phone. More bad news: it was a little after 9:30. The odds were good that Effie was not only in the store, but had probably seen him in his current state. One of the things he had liked most about Effie was that she had never once asked him about his personal connection to diapers. Like Kiri the night before - most people, upon finding out he ran a diaper store, would ask if he too wore them. She never asked, nor did she seem to care. So much for that. He slid off of the table, grabbing his pants. He considered hoisting them up over the diaper, but opted against it - it was bad enough that Effie had probably seen him in the diaper, he probably didn’t need to flaunt extra-padding under his pants now. But, he was never one to waste a diaper either. He closed the door entirely and let out his morning piss into the mostly clean - briefly sticky - padding. He let out a pleasurable sigh akin to one Harper might after taking a hit from her vape after a long day without it. The swelling. The warmth. He missed this, and if Effie wasn’t somewhere on the other side of the door, he’d probably sit in this squishy bundle a bit longer. Alas, gotta make the diapers. Or something like that. He peeled the still-warm diaper off, catching a whiff of the urine soaked padding. It always smelled different in a diaper, he thought. He bundled it up and tossed it into the trash can - making a mental note that he’d have to remember to finally change that trash bag now. “Coming out of the closet?” Effie said as he emerged from the nursery. So much for waiting on the awkwardness to come after both of them skirting around it for a bit. “No jokes, please.” “Hold on,” she said. “I have one more: I’m glad to see we’re finally using that room.” “You couldn’t have been late? Just one morning?” “I’m late every morning. You’re just later than I am.” “I’m thinking about going back in there,” he said, pointing back to the room. “I’ll sleep away the rest of the day.” It was framed as a threat. “Are you cranky? Wake up wet?” “I thought you were done.” “Bear with me. I’ll be workshopping some more comments all day.” He had been wrong - it wasn’t awkward in general, it was just awkward for him. Still, for as much as Effie was the worst person to have spotted this - she was also the best. He trusted her not to say anything to anyone else. “I trust this will stay between us?” “Yeah,” she said, sounding disappointed but sincere. “Everything alright?” “Huh?” “Well, I mean, you coming in early - probably very early - and the diapers and all that. Are you good?” The previous night flashed before his eyes. The brief argument with Harper. The brief flirt with Kiri. The not-as brief stay in the backroom of the store. “You know what? I don’t feel too bad today.” “Is it because you…” “I don’t want a smart ass comment from you about it,” he interrupted. “We had a, uh, embarrassing start here today, but we’re going to move past it. We sell diapers, right? I was, uh, testing the merchandise. And I’ll tell you what - they’re good. You tell the next customer who walks in here that. You tell them that the owner has put his own personal stamp of approval on the Carnivals.” “Should I show them the pictures I took?” “Did you...take photos?” She shrugged, but then burst out in laughter, shaking her head. “Sorry - I wish I could’ve pulled that off. The look on your face…” “I’m demoting you.” “To what?” “Diaper-pail emptier. You can start now. I left a present for you in the Nursery.” -- The toilet seat was still down. There wasn’t a stray glob of toothpaste in the sink. There wasn’t a glass sitting on the counter with a quarter-inch of orange juice left in it that wasn’t either just finished or put in the sink. Layne hadn’t come home last night. She wasn’t exactly upset about it. Layne wasn’t the type - nor did he have the skill - to pick a random someone at a bar for a one-night stand. It was far more likely that he fell asleep somewhere he didn’t intend to. Maybe an alley or at a friend’s house. She considered the possibility that he was lying on the floor at the store. Maybe a pile of diapers had collapsed on top of him. How poetic. Harper would’ve loved it if she could move on with her morning and not let it bother her, but she kind of needed to know where he was - or at least that he wasn’t dead or buried. She briefly considered calling his cell, but opted to call the store instead. “Bottoms Up, Effie speaking.” “Effie, hey. It’s me. Is, uh, Layne there?” There was a blink-and-you-missed-it moment of hesitation before the response: “Yeah, he is. Did you want to talk to him?” She sounded like she was smiling or had been laughing. “No. God, no. I just wanted to make sure he was alive.” Effie’s tone had lowered a little. Not quite a whisper, but she clearly didn’t want to be overheard. “Yeah, he’s alive. Fell asleep at the store though, FYI.” “Alright, thank you. Hey, don’t tell him I called, okay?” “Yeah, sure.” Harper trusted that response. “Talk to you later.” With the stress of Layne off her back, she felt like a free woman once more. “Everything okay?” Syd stood in the doorway, wearing Harper’s bathrobe. Their black hair, vividly streaked with violet, cascading over their shoulders, framing their pale face. Harper had been actively falling in love with them, though she was nowhere close to admitting such a thing. The distraction was almost annoying at times, like now. Syd was just standing there, looking concerned and caring. And Harper would’ve liked nothing more than to just answer them. But instead, she had to take them in again; admire everything about them one more time. “Oh...yeah. Just making sure that Layne was still alive.” “Is he?” “So I hear.” “I guess I’m not going to meet him this morning, then?” “It doesn’t look like it.” Harper sighed, thankful for such a close call. While she doubted Layne would’ve made a scene in front of Syd, there would’ve been some tension. “You’re not missing much.” Syd shrugged - an expert on knowing when to butt out of conversations they had no place in. “What’s for breakfast?” they asked. “I see how it is now. Shall I wash your laundry too?” “Please,” Syd said, grinning. “I’m not great at staying on top of it.” “You were good at staying on top of me though.” Syd blushed, glancing away. “Pancakes?” “That sounds amazing.” Syd took a seat at one of the barstools tucked under the counter at the far end of the kitchen. Harper had almost forgotten that they had stools over there at all - it was possible that nobody had ever used them before. Harper compiled the ingredients she needed. Truthfully, she’d have felt more comfortable with a recipe in front of her. While she felt Syd’s eyes on her, though, she opted to wing it. If she could pull it off without the recipe, and she was mostly confident she could, she was sure that it would look pretty impressive. “You’re...more toppy than I thought you’d be,” Syd said. “Is that a bad thing?” she asked, cracking an egg into some milk she had just poured into a bowl. “Gosh no. Not at all. A wonderful surprise, that’s all.” “That’s just how I roll, I guess.” “Have you always been like that?” It wasn’t a hard question to answer, but the answer had a little bit of baggage. Baggage that was, apparently, still alive. “I think that part of me developed a little later in life. One of those things that you never think about. And then one day, you see that there’s an opportunity - a need - within a relationship that needs to be filled. And, so, you take a chance and...voila. Domme-y Mommy.” Syd laughed, a cute giggle they hid behind a hovering hand. “Is that what you are? A...Mommy?” Harper sighed, worried she had said too much. “It’s...a name I’ve been called before.” “I like it,” Syd said. “It’s got layers.” “Layers?” “Well, sure. Like, if I was to just call you ‘Mommy,’ I think that I’d…” They couldn’t quite finish that sentence, their cheeks already glowing pink. “You think that you’d what? Why don’t you try? Call me Mommy.” “Yes...Mommy.” Another giggle behind their hand, this time letting it develop into more of a chuckle. “So, layers?” “Right, right. So, it’s obviously very fun and sexy to just call you Mommy. But, too, I’m sure it’s a name that someone could have a whole set of emotions attached to. Like, expectations for how you look and act and talk.” “Ah, got it. Yes, layers.” “I can keep calling you Mommy, right?” Harper smiled as she whisked the wet ingredients into the dry. “Yes, please.” -- “...and that’s really what it comes down to: It’s rare that we have an opportunity like this to nip something so dangerous in the bud. We have to act. We have a responsibility - an obligation to our community. Anyone who doesn’t see this from our perspective simply lacks all the facts needed to see things the right way. And that’s what we’re doing here. We’re providing the facts. We’re providing the...oh...well, isn’t this a surprise.” Layne was late, despite his best intentions. He was often convinced that his chronic tardiness had been inherited from his father. His mother often said as much - usually pointing out the 5 days past the expected due date that he spent in her womb. He had been born late. He had debated not going to the meeting at all, especially once he realized he’d be showing up late. The last thing he wanted to do was to make a grand entrance. He wanted to quietly observe, maybe get a free cup of coffee. He wanted to know what his enemies had to say about him and to know what he needed to start preparing for. But instead, Grace stopped herself mid-speech, and the group of 14 or so members of CALM followed her gaze to the back of the room where Layne had just entered. “I understand that there are refreshments?” It wasn’t as dramatic a moment as it could’ve been. Nobody in this room, save for Grace Vanderhoeffen, knew who he was. “And speak of the devil,” Grace said, looking to rectify the audience’s indifference. “That just so happens to be Layne Stanlan - the owner and proprietor of Bottoms Up.” People seemed slightly more bemused or curious now, but it was still a pretty mild reaction. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your appearance tonight, Mr. Stanlan?” “I just thought I’d drop by and see what all the hubbub was about,” he said. He was tempted to leave it at that, but he couldn’t help himself: “Word around town is that this group gets pretty wild.” “Folks, this is what we’re going to be up against. Mr. Stanlan here thinks he’s a bit of a funny-man and he’ll do his best to charm the city council.” Baby-man and funny-man. He was starting to accumulate a little collection. “Honest,” he said to Grace and her club, “I’m not here to disrupt things or cause drama. I was just hoping to hear some of the discourse. I wanted to hear about the concerns.” “You should’ve been here 45 minutes ago, then,” Grace said. “But we’re actually about to wrap up. Perhaps next week? It might be your last chance, seeing as how the city council meeting is the week after that.” “I’ll put it on my calendar,” he said. He stuck around, listening to Grace wrap up the meeting with some less relevant updates about other potential bees in their bonnets. At their dismissal, most of the folks left, barely acknowledging Layne as they shuffled out the door. Those that remained stood in small groups, drinking coffee and eating cookies. Layne helped himself to a cup of coffee too before approaching Grace as she organized some papers to load into a folder. “I hope you don’t mind that I helped myself to some coffee. I won’t eat your cookies though.” “You should at least try one,” she said. “They’re homemade.” “You made them?” She nodded. “See? Look, we can be civil. Polite.” “Your point?” “I just want to run my store. I don’t want to have to go to city council meetings or deal with your wild pack of elderly people who have nothing better to do.” “Insulting the members of my group is not going to help your argument.” He sighed, nodding. “Yeah, okay. Let’s try that again. I truly believe that I am not a threat to this community. Maybe we can have, I don’t know, have a conversation about that? Like, what if we just met up sometime soon. We can discuss it over dinner or a drink. Or just...here. Anywhere.” “Mr. Stanlan, it sounds like you’re asking me out on a date.” He laughed. “No, no. I just think we should have a conversation before things get too complicated. That’s not asking too much, right? Like, if I had a problem with anyone else in my life, I’d want to talk to them before I took them to court or something.” She sighed, nodding begrudgingly. “You’re not wrong, Mr. Stanlan.” “You can call me Layne.” “I could, but I probably won’t.” “So? You and I can arrange a little meeting? A tete-a-tete?” “Lunch tomorrow?” “That’s fine, yes.” “The Schoolhouse? On 7th street? At noon? Would that work for you?” “I’ll be there with bells on,” he said. “As long as it’s not a diaper.” It was intended as an insult, no doubt, but it came off as playful ribbing. At least to Layne - who probably took most insults that way. “You’re no fun at all.” -- By the time Layne got home, Harper was reading in bed and Syd was gone. There were, however, leftover pancakes in the fridge. He thought it was weird that Harper would make pancakes for herself. But who was he to complain?

Hey everyone! It's Sophie! Pudding and I have been writing a few short stories recently so I'm just going to post them all at once. If you like them and want to support our writing, please check out our Patreon: www.patreon.com/sophieandpudding This one actually comes from an ABDL web-zine we worked on, starring 22 talented writers and artists! You can download it for free at: https://princessmolly.gumroad.com/l/nursery-warp-2021 The illustration at the end of the story is by JuiceBox! Check him out on Patreon at: www.patreon.com/JuiceBoxArt -------------------------- Lost in Translation Written by Sophie & Pudding Translations by Lilyblax Illustration by JuiceBox Premise: Grace Gardener travels to France to visit her old crush, Violette. Resolute in her plans to tell Violette how she feels, Grace is constantly stymied by unexpected foreign customs. Will Grace be able to admit her feelings in time, or will she become Violette’s little girl instead? Disclaimers: diapers, wetting, messing, French -------------------------- "Here's you go, Miss Gardner." The flight attendant passed me a pillow with a bright smile. Every time she looked at me, she seemed particularly happy. Or maybe that's just what you pay for when you buy first class. I settled back in my chair and tucked the pillow under my head. Outside the little window, the sky was the darkest blue and the moon was the brightest white. I couldn't see the ocean beneath the clouds, but I knew it was there; there's not much else between New York and France. I'd never been outside the United States before, but I couldn't turn Violette down when she asked me to visit. Violette and I had been best friends all through high school, but she went back to Paris for college. After she graduated, she moved around a lot until she settled in a French city that I would embarrass myself trying to pronounce. In high school, I had a huge crush on Violette. She was unwavering in her optimism and unfettered in her confidence. She made me do things I would never do on my own, things I haven’t done since. But even as we said our goodbyes, I couldn't work up the courage to tell her how I felt. Somehow, this trip felt like a second chance. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. I closed my eyes and let the hum of the airplane lull me to sleep. When I woke up, the sun was pouring in through the little window and an overhead voice was addressing the cabin: "Nous allons commencer notre descente dans quelques instants." I rubbed my eyes and sat up in the seat just as the pretty flight attendant appeared at my side. "Good morning, Grace," she said with that same bright smile. "We will be landing shortly, so let's get you all buckled up." Unexpectedly, the flight attendant bent down on one knee - so we were the same height - and pulled the seat belt over my lap. She clicked it shut and pulled the strap tight. Then, as she stood back up, she patted me on the top of my head. I stared incredulously as she walked down the aisle. "That was weird," I muttered to myself. Maybe I was reading too much into it. Before I was fully awake, the plane began to lilt forward and dip into the clouds. I pressed my forehead to the window to see the vast, grassy hills as they emerged from the fog. A small city grew ever closer, until I could see cars on the streets and people on the sidewalks. With a jolt, the plane landed on the runway and I let out a sigh of relief. I didn't even realize I'd been holding my breath. People all around me started to get up and gather their bags. I pulled at the seat belt around my waist, but I couldn't figure out how to unlatch it. Maybe it had a lock or something? The cute flight attendant passed by and I reached out to get her attention. "Excuse me. How do I unbuckle this?" "Be patient, Grace," she smiled. "I'll help you after the rest of the passengers are through." "But..." I tried to protest, but the flight attendant was addressing the crowded aisle in French. I sunk into my seat and pouted. I guess I didn't have a choice, did I? I watched as families and businessmen walked past me. Sometimes they would look at me and smile. Sometimes they would wave. A few women would speak to me, but I didn't understand what they were saying, so I would smile and nod. I could have sworn most of the passengers spoke English before we left. While I waited, I fished around my bag for my English to French phrasebook. I'd been studying it all summer, but I suddenly couldn’t remember a single one. Maybe I just needed a quick refresher. "Grace?" I looked up from my book at the flight attendant. Everyone else had left the plane. "What are you reading, hm?" "I... uh. I'm just trying to remember some phrases," I stammered. "Oh? Do you have a favorite one?" I started to notice her sunny disposition could be taken as condescension. "No," I muttered, looking at the cover of the book. I'd just reviewed ten different phrases, but I couldn’t remember any of them. "That's okay, honey," she said. "It's hard to learn new words." I sulked at the implication. Effortlessly, the flight attendant reached down, unbuckled my seat belt, and helped me to my feet. My legs felt a little wobbly after sitting for so long and she had to hold me up until I caught my balance. "Do you need a, um..." The flight attendant paused to think of the word, as though she didn't speak perfect English. "Push chair?" "No, I'm alright." I didn't want to be in a wheelchair the first time Violette saw me in five years. I was trying to make a good impression! "Okay then. Follow me." The attractive, condescending woman - was I just describing French women in general? - led me off the plane, holding me by the hand in a way that was altogether inappropriate. Was this a cultural thing? It had to be a cultural thing. But after we entered the airport and the flight attendant let go of my hand, I was overwhelmed with longing. My hand hadn’t been held like that in a while. “Vois-tu ta maman quelque part?" she asked. I stared blankly at the flight attendant. "Is someone meeting you?" she asked in English. "Oh, um. My friend Violette. She’s a little shorter than me, with blue-green hair." I looked around for signs of my friend, but the flight attendant took me by the hand once again. We were halfway down the terminal when I caught sight of Violette's teal tips. She always dyed the ends of her long, wavy hair. I thought she would get over it after high school, but she still sent me pictures each time she picked a new color. "Violette!" I shouted, waving my free arm. I managed to pull my hand out of the flight attendant's and run a dozen or so feet down until my arms were around Violette. She smelled like cinnamon and snowy mornings. I melted into her like chocolate fondue. "Gracie, je pensais que tu t'étais perdue!" she laughed. I didn't know what she said exactly, but it was wonderful to hear her voice. After the hug, I looked up at her with a touch of confusion. "You’re taller," I realized, at least a few inches taller than me. I checked her shoes, but she wasn’t wearing heels. "Ou alors tu as rétréci," Violette said. Then she turned to the flight attendant and started a conversation in French. I tried to wait my turn, but the longer it went on the sillier I felt. I couldn’t understand a single word… I tugged Violette’s sleeve to get her attention. "I'm so sorry, my darling," Violette apologized after looking at my expression. "I know those words are hard for you, and you must be oh-so-tired after your long trip.” She kissed the flight attendant on the cheek, which made me a little jealous. Then Violette took my hand in hers to led me to the baggage claim. "I slept on the flight," I explained as we walked. "And you don't have to..." Hold my hand? I'd longed for her to hold my hand for years, so why was I going to complain? I decided to stay quiet instead, a blush on my cheeks. "You're going to love it here," Violette said in a dreamy voice, pulling me along by the hand. I was having trouble keeping up with her and my legs still tingled from the flight. Every few sentences, Violette would slip into French and I would lose her train of thought. When we got to the baggage claim, there was only one bag left: a pink one with cartoons on the front. Violette went to grab it but I pulled her back. "My bag is green," I told her. "It's the same one we took on our camping trips." Violette tilted her head and said, "This is the one we took on our camping trips, you silly little sweetroll." "What? No, mine’s green…” Despite my protest, Violette grabbed the bag and read the tag out loud: "Petite Madame Gracie May Gardner." I narrowed my eyes and pushed in front of her to read the tag myself, but the words... they didn't make any sense. Maybe they were in French? That made sense, right? But why would my name be on a bag that wasn’t even mine? Unless... "Could the airline have switched my stuff to a different bag?" Maybe there was a problem with my suitcase and this was the only one available. But Violette didn’t seem to care about the luggage mystery. "Come now, Gracie." Violette pulled me along in one hand and pulled the rolling suitcase along in the other. I followed her halfway across the room before I was out of breath. I pulled on her hand until she stopped. "I need to sit down for a minute, Vi. My legs are killing me..." Thankfully, there was a bench only a few steps away. Airports were notorious for sitting space. "Je devrais peut-être trouver une poussette," Violette mused, looking around the open baggage lobby. I sat on the bench and pouted. "I can't understand you when you speak like that," I told her sharply, with as much assertiveness as I could muster. "And why are you calling me Gracie?" "Quel autre surnom pourrais-je te donner, princesse?" she said, still speaking French and glancing around the room. “English, please. I don't understand it when you—" "Ah!" Whatever Violette was looking for, she seemed to find it. She ran off with all the whimsy of a woodland sprite and I was left alone with the pink suitcase. I spoke quietly to myself: "I can't tell if this is going well or not..." I took a moment to look around the airport; I could hear the sounds of cars outside and the chatter of people, but none of them were saying words I could understand. Even the words written above the baggage claim or the signs at the help desk were gibberish to me. I felt like a stranger in this world, and when Violette came back pushing a giant stroller I was sure that was the case. "What the fuck is that?" I demanded. "C'est une poussette pour une princesse qui a fait un très long vol." I didn't understand her, but the question was rhetorical. It was a baby stroller, but it looked like it was sized for an adult. The metal was painted pink and the cushion was decorated with little cartoon princesses. Even the buckle and harness were bigger, easily enough to accommodate a fully grown woman. How did something like this even exist?! Then I realized why she had brought it over in the first place. "No," I said seriously. "No way." "Gracie." "No!" I shouted a little louder. "I’m not getting in a stroller!" A few people nearby turned their heads to look at me and I felt sick with embarrassment. "The car is parked very far away," Violette said. "At least twenty minutes walk." I hesitated. A twenty minute walk? I could barely make it to the baggage claim, and my legs weren't feeling any better. "Maintenant, sois une gentille petite fille—" Violette began, but I cut her off with one loud word: "English!" "You aren't going to learn any adult words if I keep speaking to you like a baby," Violette said harshly. A few more people turned to look at us and I sunk into the bench in shame. Violette had never spoken to me like that before… "I don't know what you're so upset about," Violette sighed, softening her tone. "Why do you think the airport has these? It's normal." I looked at the oversized stroller. Normal? I had never heard of adult strollers in France before... but why else would it be in the airport? I put my thumb to my mouth and bit nervously on my nail. "You're sure?" I muttered. "Tout à fait normal pour les filles de ton âge," Violette nodded. "Monte." With a bit of difficulty and a lot of reluctance, I climbed into the giant stroller. Violette buckled me in and I leaned back as far as I could to hide myself. This was so humiliating. Violette pushed the stroller through the baggage claim and outside to the parking lot. I kept waiting for someone to laugh or point at me, but even as dozens of people passed, no one gave me more than a cursory smile or a pleasant wave. Out of courtesy, I would sometimes wave back. Was this really normal? True to Violette's assessment, the car was parked a full twenty minutes walk away - a distance that now, in retrospect, I knew I couldn't have walked on my own. How ordinary was it to feel so weak after a long flight? What did people call it? Jetlag? Yeah, that had to be it. There was a brief flash as Violette took a surprise photo of me and I opened my mouth to protest. "Cela fera une belle couverture pour notre scrapbook!" she said. "Violette..." I actually sounded whiny. "This kind of thing may be normal in France, but you have to ask before you take my picture in a baby stroller." "Ne fais pas d'histoires. Je vais prendre plein de photos de toi et de tes nouveaux amis. Des amis français." I pouted. She wasn't going to stop this French nonsense, was she? But maybe she was right: maybe this was the best way I could learn the language. As Violette packed my suitcase into the trunk of her car, I fumbled with the buckle on the stroller. But no matter how I tugged or twisted or pulled, I couldn't seem to free myself. By the time Violette came over, I was red with irritation. "It's stuck! This stupid thing... I swear all the buckles in this stupid country—" Violette pushed my hands away and clicked open the buckle on her first try. I looked up at her with red cheeks as my frustration turned to embarrassment. How did she… but she lived here. Of course she had experience with this stuff. Right? "Monte, Gracie." Violette held open the door to the back of the car rather than the passenger seat, clicking her tongue impatiently. I rolled my eyes and climbed into the car. There was a car seat strapped in one of the seats. That was weird; Violette didn’t have any kids. I sat next to it and - before I could even find the seatbelt - Violette clicked her tongue again in disapproval. "In the car seat, silly," she explained in English. "I… what?" I stared dumbfounded. This had to be a joke… "It’s the law, Gracie," Violette said seriously, crossing her arms over her chest. No way that was true. Americans had to sit in car seats? She was taking this too far! "Vi, this is stupid…" I muttered, looking at the huge car seat beside me. It was definitely big enough to fit an adult and I was starting to notice a trend. I didn’t remember reading anything about this online, and I’d done a lot of research on French customs. But all those people we walked past in the airport… there was no way they were acting. "We can’t leave until you get in," Violette said. "So unless you want to live in this parking lot…" I glared up at her, but her confidence was unshakable. I knew Violette; she would wait here until the end of time if she was trying to prove a point. At least the car seat was in the privacy of her car - it was much less embarrassing than the stroller. "I still think this is stupid," I muttered, lifting myself into the carseat with deep annoyance. "You're American," Violette giggled. "You think everything is stupid." Violette wasted no time reaching down into the car and strapping me in. Another buckle I didn't understand. Once again, I was trapped. Violette put the car in Drive and turned to look at me. A warm smile spread across her face. "Tu vas être si mignonne quand nous rentrerons à la maison. Une jolie couche, une jolie robe, des nattes. Mon Dieu." "Based on your tone," I muttered, trying to close my legs with the buckle pulled between them, "it sounds like you’re flirting with me." "Very good, Gracie!" I stared incredulously into her rear-view mirror, catching sight of her smile as she said those words. Violette was actually flirting with me? I bit my lip and sunk into the carseat. Maybe not everything was stupid. The car ride was predictably dull, but the view was gorgeous. Outside the windows, the city buildings were never more than three stories tall and the rolling hills made a beautiful backdrop. All the streets were only two-lanes, and we even drove on the correct side of the road. I kicked my feet idly, nowhere near touching the floor, and let my imagination take me to Violette's house. Did she have a room for me? Or was I staying in her room? I never asked. Then a strange feeling pulled me back to reality. Out of nowhere, I really had to pee! I hadn't gone even once on the plane; I hated public bathrooms more than I hated anything! But it never mattered - I had an iron bladder - until that very moment. "Hey, um. How much longer until we're there?" I wiggled awkwardly in my carseat, shifting side to side. "A little while yet, Gracie sweetie." That was not the answer I was hoping for. "Like... five minutes?" I was kicking my legs a little faster now, and I'd have crossed them if I could. "Tu vas finir par faire pipi dans ma voiture, n'est-ce pas ? J'aurais dû te changer à l'aéroport." "Hey! I don't know what you're saying but you sound annoyed." "Let's play the alphabet game, Gracie, would you like that?" "Umm..." I really had to pee, but maybe the distraction would help. "I guess..." It was a lot harder to play the alphabet game when you can't read any of the words! All the street signs and storefronts were in French, and I didn't know how to pronounce any of it. Even if I saw the right letter, I didn't know how to say the word. And there weren't any billboards like there were in the States. I only made it to letter D before I felt a heat pool between my legs, soaking into the denim of my jeans and pooling under my butt. At first I didn't understand what was happening, and then I realized I didn't have to pee anymore. Before I could figure out what to do, tears filled my eyes and my lip started to tremble. I couldn't let Violette see me like this! If she did, she'd never like me! "Oh tu as eu un petit accident?" Violette cooed from the driver's seat. "N-no, I'm fine!" I answered, not understanding the question. "I'm just... just tired! Um..." I fumbled for the buckle as tears spilled down my cheeks. I had to get out of this thing before we got to her house. I kept wiping the water from my cheeks but it wasn't doing me any good. I couldn't hide my tears no more than I could hide the accident I had. Within minutes, we were pulling in a small stone driveway in front of a cute two-story condo. Violette got out of the car and opened my door. "No, go away!" I shouted, shoving at her hands, but small slaps on the tops of them shut me up. She reached forward, unbuckled my seatbelt, and lifted me up out of the seat. I cried as she sat me on my feet and took a look at my jeans. "Pauvre chou, allez, on va rentrer à l'intérieur et te changer." I turned to face away from her so she couldn’t see, but the back was even worse than the front. My butt was completely soaked and I couldn’t look up from the gravel driveway. "Je vais te retirer de ces guenilles et te donner des vêtements plus appropriés." "Please stop talking in French. Please, I—" My words were interrupted when Violette pushed my thumb between my lips. In the span of two heartbeats, my anxiety began to trickle away. I wanted to pull my thumb out of my mouth, but it was the first time since I'd wet myself that I felt like I had some level of control. Everything around me was so new and scary: the country, the customs, and then my accident. Even Violette was acting strange. But with my thumb in my mouth, it felt slower. Manageable. Was this why babies suck their thumbs? I couldn't even remember the last time... Violette took my hand and led me up the stoop and in the front door. I felt like a two year old following her mommy around: soaked pants on display for the whole neighborhood. But somehow, with my hand in hers, I felt safe too. When we were both inside, Violette closed the door behind us and I took three steps into her foyer. The house wasn’t particularly big, but the open living room and kitchen made it seem gigantic. I mustered every ounce of willpower to pull my thumb from my lips and turned to look at my best friend. "I'm so sorry," I told her. "So sorry about your car, and... and I didn't mean to... I promise it will never happen again. I promise..." "Ne t'inquiète pas, je ferai en sorte que cela ne se reproduise plus," Violette said with a warm smile. She walked up the stairs with my hand in hers and I followed a step behind. With my free hand, I kept rubbing my eyes. I felt so foolish. The whole day had been a terrible disaster. How was I ever supposed to ask Violette out now? I would be lucky if she was still my friend after all this... At the top of the stairs, there was a small landing with a toy chest in the corner and a soft looking rug in the center of the room. In the corner, there was a rocking chair. Then there were two doors. As I was led past the first one, I peered in to see a bathroom. So then... Violette and I were sharing a room? But when she opened the door, I could never have expected what I saw. It was like any adult's room: a dresser, a queen-sized bed, a full-length mirror, and a closet. But on the far wall, there was an alcove maybe a quarter the size of the room itself. It was set into the wall, trimmed with white moulding, and a small butterfly nameplate above it - near the ceiling - reading "Gracie". The alcove itself was painted pink - a stark contrast to the neutrality of the room itself - and decorated with glow-in-the-dark stars. Against the back wall was a huge white, wooden crib. On the other wall, there was a table with a thin mat on top of it, like a changing table. And lastly, a set of ten square shelves were stocked with stacks and stacks of diapers. I stared dumbfounded at the dichotomy of Violette's room - of our room - and shook my head in disbelief. This was... no way. "What the hell is this?!" I shouted, anger and confusion filling the space where my embarrassment was only a moment ago. How could she do this?! "This is your home, Gracie,” Violette said simply. If she was intimidated by my display of ferocity, she certainly didn’t show it. She nudged me inside the room and closed the door behind us with a little click. "I mean it, Vi! What... what is... what the hell? You think I don't see how big those things are? You think 'oh Grace will just think they're for some kid' - I'm not even staying here! I'm going home on... on... um..." Why couldn't I remember...? "Oh mon Dieu, quelle crise de colère!" "I can tell when you're being condescending!" "Le français sonne comme ça," Violette laughed, but I wasn't amused. I shoved past her and twisted the door handle. It didn't open. Then, faster than I could blink, Violette spun me around and pinned my back to the door. She stepped closer to me and cradled my cheek in her hand, rubbing her thumb across my face ever so softly. She leaned in so our lips were only a few inches apart and I felt my heart race in my chest. Then she tilted her head and kissed me once on the forehead. The warmth spread through that spot on my skin like the wetness through my jeans, filling me up with emotions. But rather than fear and shame, I felt... safe. "I'm so happy you're here, Gracie," Violette whispered, tracing her free hand down my side and to the hip of my wet pants. I had to remind myself to breathe. "Moving to France was the hardest thing I've ever done... I've worked for years to make a life for you here. For us. I never wanted to leave my little girl behind..." I had no idea what she was talking about. I was never her little girl before! Right...? But the more I thought about it, the less sure I was. Her optimism was unwavering; she always told me things would be okay, no matter how scary they seemed. Her confidence was unfettered; she always told me I was safe with her, no matter how unlikely that was. She made me do things I would never do on my own - she made me hang out with the other kids, talk about my feelings, and accept everything that I am - things I hadn't done since. But even as we said our goodbyes - a forehead kiss at the airport and a final crinkle of her hand on my hip - I couldn't work up the courage to tell her how I felt. Somehow, this trip felt like a second chance. "Do you really wanna be a big girl, Gracie?" she asked, a nervous smile on her beautiful lips. But somewhere in me, I knew she deserved an adult. That's what I'd been trying to be for so long. So I nodded my head. "I am a big girl," I said assertively, or as assertively as any girl in pee-soaked jeans could manage. "Then you'll say it with big girl words," Violette said, then took a step back. “Veux-tu que je te remette des couches pour le restant de ta vie? Veux-tu être ma petite fille? Je sais que tu l'es déjà." I stared dumbfounded at the girl of my dreams. She'd asked me a question, and it was clear she wanted an answer. But I had no idea what she was asking. I knew, without a doubt, if I told her to try to speak English, that I would always be a baby-babbling little girl to Violette. But if I answered wrong... I couldn't come back from that, could I? I tried to read Violette's face. She stood with a smile and excited eyes... eager? Curious? Or did she know that even if I answered correctly, I could never know for sure. She could pretend she asked a different question and I would never know the difference. In truth, I wasn't answering Violette's question. I was letting her decide my future. My choice didn't matter: only hers did. In that way, I really was just her little girl. "Yes," I said, with the utmost confidence, not knowing to what I was agreeing. "Tu es sûr?" she asked. I didn't know what it meant, but I could read the intent. She was asking for confirmation. "Yes," I said again. "Okay," Violette said, speaking my baby-talk language for the last time. I felt like I had crossed a threshold, like I was taking a step I couldn’t come back from, and the feeling was literal when Violette led me by the hand into the nursery nook. My cheeks were red as I looked at the changing table, at the crib, at the diapers. "On va te changer, ma petite fontaine. Tu dois être tellement mal à l'aise dans ce pantalon mouillé." Her voice and cadence were so melodic as she unbuckled my jeans and peeled them down my legs. Next went my panties; she prompted me to step out of them as they reached my ankles. I'd daydreamed about Violette undressing me countless times, but never like this. I could never have imagined it would be like this… naked from the waist down, soaked in my own pee, and standing adjacent to an adult-sized changing table, in an adult-sized nursery nook, filled with adult-sized diapers and an adult-sized crib. Next to Violette, I felt the very opposite of adult-sized. Violette reached for the hem of my shirt and pulled it up over my head. Instinctively, my arms raised and I was standing in just my bra. She took a step closer and leaned in; my heart raced as our lips closed in on each other, but she turned her head and our cheeks touched. Her arms wrapped around me and unsnapped my bra, pulling the straps down off my arms and leaving me as naked as the day I was born. I looked up in her eyes with tears in mine, overwhelmed with shame and fear. But her smile seemed to take it all away. "Violette..." I muttered, a plea for her to stop all this. I couldn't be a baby. I wasn't a baby! "Maman," she corrected, a stern look in her eye. A felt a rush of heat in my face and electricity up my spine. "Maman," I repeated... the first and only French word I knew. The only one that mattered. "Gentille fille," Violette smiled, and though I didn’t know what she said in words, the pride of her sentiment made me warm inside. She pushed me back ever so slightly until my bare butt hit the changing table. I looked up at her, biting my lip, and she gave me a supportive nod. "Lève." I didn't need a translation for that one. I slid back on to the changing table, like it was a doctor's table, but Violette wasn't having any of it. She spun me by the ankles and pushed me gently onto my back. I looked up at the glow-in-the-dark stars - unbearably dim in the afternoon sunlight - and knew that my cheeks were shining much brighter. I felt Violette's hand on my thigh, trailing her fingers up to my knee, and pulling my legs apart. I had imagined this moment so many times, but never like this. I felt something cool and wet against my thigh. It made me jump, but Violette hushed me. "Du calme, ma petite princesse. Maman est juste en train de te nettoyer." I shivered in place as I figured out she was wiping me clean with a baby wipe from the changing table. She moved slowly and deliberately, rubbing the insides of my thighs and then between my legs. She was cleaning me up because I pissed my pants like a... like a… As Violette stepped across the nook to the cube shelves and I heard the crinkling of plastic. She turned the simple act of a diaper change into something sacred, like it was a ceremony. In a way, it was. She unfolded the diaper in front of me, standing at the side of the changing table. In my peripherals, I could see the plastic unfurl, crinkling sounds filling the air. I watched the wings as she pulled them apart, huge and wide like the arms of a hug. And the print on the front was so infantile, with baby blocks and teddy bears. How had she gotten them in my size? How had she gotten this table, or that crib, or that stroller at the airport? Why was everyone - from the flight attendant to the people in the parking lot - so comfortable with seeing me as an oversized baby? The only reason I could think of was the obvious: this was normal. Violette lifted my legs by the ankles. She raised them high in the air so my butt was off the table, and then - when it came back down - it rested on the soft padding of the diaper. The scent of baby powder filled the air and I sunk deeper into the changing table. I felt so fresh. Clean. Pure. Any parent could tape on a diaper in two seconds flat. Practice makes perfect, right? But the way Violette did it was perfect in a totally different way. She took her time, adjusting every little part of the plastic to be symmetrical. She pulled the thick center between my legs and pressed it to my hips. She folded and creased the wings so that each tape was pulled tight and snug across my body. She drew lines with her fingers around the legbands, checking for anywhere I might leak. And when she was satisfied, she patted the front two times, sending a shiver up my spine. By the time Violette pulled me up to sit on the table, my head was swirling with things I'd never felt before. Important. Adorable. Protected. Loved. Why would I ever want to be an adult, when I could be her little girl? If I had an answer at one point, I certainly didn't anymore. "Tu as été une si gentille petite fille. Maman est si fière de toi. Allons choisir une de tes plus belles robes." I was oblivious to her words, but the tone of her praise melted me from the inside out. She picked up the suitcase she had brought up with us and laid it down on the changing table. As I moved, even a little bit, I crinkled; I harmonized with the zipper of the case opening. When she pulled out the pretty sundress that was too short to cover my diaper, I anxiously put my thumb to my lips. "That's not mine, Maman..." "C'est dans ta valise, Gracie. Cela signifie que c'est la tienne. N'est-ce pas?" I nodded, agreeing to something I didn’t understand, although I knew what would happen next. She would put me in that dress and it would be mine. Sure enough, after a word of praise, Violette pulled the dress over my head and lifted me onto my feet. She took me across the room to see myself in her full-length mirror. As she tied my hair into pigtails, I stared at the hem of my pink sundress and the diaper it failed to conceal. There was no going back now... Once my hair was done, Maman clipped a ribbon to my dress. She took the pacifier hanging off the end of it and popped it in my mouth. The girl in the mirror was nothing but a baby, through and through. So when I felt my tummy gurgle, I knew the was no point in asking. But what little adulthood I had left demanded I ask anyway. "Maman," I muttered, turning to face her. I spoke with a lisp around my pacifier. "I gotta go potty…" "C'est à ça que servent tes couches, mon ange. Nous le savons toutes les deux." I looked up at Maman with resignation. I didn’t know what she said, but it didn’t matter; I knew my fate. Just in case I forgot, my tummy gurgled again to remind me. It was unavoidable, inescapable, and approaching inevitable. Long ago, maybe a lifetime ago, I knew when I needed to use the potty and I could make it there in time. Now, I wasn’t sure I even wanted to. I did my due diligence; I did what my adulthood demanded of me. I asked, even though Maman and I both knew it was all for show. I had to ask, because she had to say no. It was performative. Distantly, somewhere in the back of my mind, I could hear the echoes of shame and humiliation begging me to defy Maman. As those pleas fell on deaf ears, I watched the girl in the mirror. I saw a blush on her cheeks and the way her teary eyes shined with longing, a longing for things to be easy. She wasn’t happy with what she was about to do, but she was happy for the praise that would surely follow in words she couldn’t possibly understand. Maman wrapped her arms around me, rubbing my tummy through my dress, and whispered softly in my ear: "Je t'aime, Gracie." Though my dumb baby brain couldn't translate her words, my dumb baby heart could feel them more clearly than anything I'd ever known. I stared at Maman in the mirror and bit my pacifier. I didn’t want to hold it, even if I could. So with my Maman’s arms around me, I bent forward just a bit and began to push. At first, nothing happened; I thought maybe I wasn’t a baby after all. Then, with a second push, I felt the seat of my diaper expand and fill. It was so easy. Nothing in my life had ever been as easy as messing my diaper, and that's how I knew I was never meant to be an adult. [END]

What?!??????????☹️???? WHO DOESN'T like mac and cheese?!?!?!?! It's SO GOOD!!!! Especially homemade!!!!!???????♥️??? It's like an giant hug for your taste buds!!!!!!?????????♥️ LOL!

Thanks to an unknown guest for donating $80!

Yellow: pacman Brown: “WAKA WAKA WAKA”

Exchanged Trilogy (Exchanged, Little Hope, and Alterations) Available on Amazon! AND NOW 'TOUR GUIDES' Over the past few years, I've had a great deal of fun writing and sharing my works here and on other sites. I've been asked several times, 'when will you put your works out there for purchase?' Or, I'd like to be able to support your work. Several people have tried to convince me that a Patreon account would do well for me - and it might, but my real life leaves me just a few months each year that I really can have time and focus on writing anything. (I'm currently trying to get going on a new work now, but it'll be a while before I can share it) I had been suggested to use Amazon, but I had some concerns about their policies and privacy on sales. Spending some time the past month or so, I've determined that the privacy should end up being okay, so that just left their policies. If you published there, I had heard you had to pull everything down from free sites - a total non-starter for me. I grew up with sites online being my only way to figure out who I was! Digging further, though, I have determined that I can sell copies, and as long as I don't enroll my works in their Unlimited plan, I will be able to keep them up on existing sites. I had one final thing to check, and that was to get permission from Princess Pottypants to make sure she was okay with me moving forward. With her permission, I am moving forward with placing my Diaper Dimension works on Kindle. As of right now, you can find the first book, Exchanged, up on the site. This version has been re-edited for grammar, spelling, and some known continuity issues. I consider it to be at the level I am willing to publish. I'm pricing this and all of my future works at $4.99. You will still be able to read the copies on here, WattPad, and ABDLStoryForum - I will not take those down, but if you would like to have a nicer copy and support this, authoress, it is now available. I hope to have Book 2 up by the end of this weekend and Book 3 by the end of the month. After that, I'll move onto a two-pack of Undercover Tour and Diamond Tours (Published together for a lower price is my plan), Seems Too Good, and lastly, In-Between. In case you're wondering, while I personally love my Emerald Princess book, I'm forbidden from publishing it by the terms of the universe I set it in. At some point, I may re-write it to get around that, but I don't foresee that in the near future. Thank you to all of you who have read and supported me over the years. If you deem my work worth purchasing, I hope you'll take a look! Exchanged - Now Available: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09VTKM8Q8/ Little Hope - Now Available: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09VY5LZK7 Alterations - Now Available: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09XLNSGKF Tour Guides - Now Available: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B09XZR9SB9 Seems Too Good - Now Available: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B09Z74LJB8/ New Author Page: http://amazon.com/author/babysofia

The other day someone posted something on a different social media group asking wanting to know more about unpotty training and if anyone has any stories to share. I meant to write a paragraph or so, but I ended writing A LOT more than that. Anyways I thought this group in particular might be interested in my response. I copied and pasted my response (unedited). I’m interested to hear folks comments on my write up and especially their own perspectives and stories: Cheers! (My original response starts below) Boy and how! I’ve successfully regressed my bladder control back to that of a pre-potty trained toddler, and I’m going to need to wear a diaper for the rest of my life, which was my goal. I could talk for hours upon hours on the topic. In fact it’s almost overwhelming for me to even know where to begin. That said if you have any particular questions hit me up. I can give you some general perspective. Again, keep in mind that I’m barely scratching the surface. - Keep in mind that unpotty is extremely difficult to pull off. The human body is remarkably adept at maintaining control. Most adults can go decades without losing more than a few drops of urine here or there. It’s a marathon, not a sprint. - Be careful what you wish for. It’s a cliche but it’s true. The thing with incontinence is that it NEVER stops. It doesn’t matter if you’re on vacation, or at a fancy art gala or at the doctor’s, or you’re broke. Worst of all is diaper rash. It’s not fun wearing a diaper to an amusement park on a humid day and your skin is chaffed up and raw. Even then you still have to wear your diaper. - You always have to have an extra diaper or two with you. Always. - That said, the people who are successful find these hassles to be fun challenges to overcome. I’ve successfully navigated pretty much every inconvenience that has been thrown my way and am proud of this. - There’s a difference between being “diaper trained” and incontinent/diaper dependent. The former implies that your bladder control is worse when you’re wearing a diaper, and better when you’re not. For most ABDLs interested in untraining being diaper trained is the ideal state. You can have your cake and eat it too. However for me being diaper trained is still a form of bladder control and I’ve gone out of my way to avoid it. For example, I used to have a strict rule that I’m not allowed to hold my bladder when I’m not wearing a diaper. Though these day it doesn’t really matter because my bladder muscles are so weak. - You don’t have to commit to full untraining and loss of control on day 1. In fact I would encourage you to test the waters so to speak by going 24/7 for a while to see if you can deal with the hassles. - I’ve helped untrain quite a few people who insist they are serious. One of my first questions / assignments is to have people throw out their underwear. If someone isn’t ready to commit to that step, they probably aren’t ready to commit to untraining. (One notable exception is some people like to wear underwear over their diaper for one reason or another) - Likewise I find that people who want to untrain so they don’t feel guilty about wearing diapers to be less successful than those who truly enjoy having no control. - Despite your best attempts, leaks WILL happen. - Keep in mind that if you are successful in unpotty training, at some point you’ll want incontinence on your medical record. For me I didn’t discuss until last year after being 24/7 for 5 years. It was extremely awkward at first. I was referred to a urologist and everything. Though I’ve had a few appointments where I had to disrobe, exposing my diaper and I’m more or less used to it by now. Hint: Nobody really cares. - It’s not the crinkles you have to worry about. It’s smelling like pee that will get you. Drinking plenty of water and using plastic backed diapers and keeping body spray in your diaper bag help with this. - Speaking of hygiene, most people who are untrained or wear frequently shave their diaper area. It’s not essential but it helps tremendously with cleanup and feeling fresh. Some people use hair removal products. I personally prefer a manual razor. It took a few months for my skin to get used to it, but it’s totally worth it IMO. - If you do plan to mess a lot then teach yourself how to change a messy diaper standing up. There are techniques if you search on here and other sites. - You don’t have to tell everybody everything, but your significant other should know so they know as it will undoubtedly affect them. - Consider this: Unintentionally peeing yourself during a diaper change is the ultimate triumph and failure when it comes to untraining. I will never forget the first time it happened to me. - Daily Diapers Incontinent Desires forum is a great place to start and people are more than happy to share their experience and progress and stories. There are also private chat groups such as Telegram and if you ask around you can probably get an invite link. You had asked about stories. Again I have so many it’s hard to come up with one. However I suspect you’re wanting to know what it *feels* like to be incontinent / untrained. To be honest it’s NOTHING like I imagined it would be. I thought it would be like a catheter draining, with urine just pouring out with limited sensation of what’s going on and no ability to stop the pee. While I do dribble a fair amount, its more of a secondary form of incontinence for me. Instead it’s more like a severe form of urge incontinence. I will have no sensation of having to go, then BAM! I will suddenly feel an intense urge to pee that is too strong for my muscles to manage. It feels like my sphincter muscle is an umbrella facing off against a tsunami. I can still control the bladder muscle just fine, but it’s weak and gives up easily. That said, most of the time I reflexively wet when I feel any sort bladder pressure, and because my bladder muscles are so weak, I pee small amounts frequently throughout the day. So much so that I don’t always pay attention to what my bladder is doing, nor have a firm grasp on how wet I am or if I wet because I wasn’t paying attention. Sometimes when I’m in the zone I’ll check my diaper and discover my diaper’s wetness indicators has changed colors. Those moments are precious to me. I’m a pro at ignoring the sensation of bladder fullness. I can’t really make myself pee on command, and besides sooner or later the muscles will give out and I’ll spontaneously start peeing. To put it another way, the “I gotta pee sensation” is meaninglessness noise to me, so why pay attention to it? I can just as easily fall asleep with a full bladder as an empty bladder. Either way my diaper will be wet in a short order of time. TL; DR - All in all I LOVE being permanently incontinent and diaper dependent. Which is good because if I hated it, it would be miserable. Whew! That’s a lot!

My wife refuses to eat anything with shellfish in it, no matter how hard I try to convince her. She always comes up with the same lame excuse "No, don't feed me that I'm allergic to shellfish, I could die!!!!" she's just nothing but excuses. Disclaimer: I don't actually try to get my wife to eat shellfish, that would be stupid, she's allergic.

It wasn't the first time I'd spread my legs and penetrated myself for erotic purposes. Some needs kick in when you're all alone, and there's no shame in seeking the simple pleasures in life. I had made sure I was all alone. I'd kicked out my last boyfriend months before, made sure I picked a week no friends had birthdays, turned down a couple of invitations and booked the whole week off work. This was between me and my cat, and she wasn't likely to tell anybody. I looked closely at the plastic implement in my hands. Only a few inches long but abnormally slim, barely wider than a thick wire. Still, I reflected, it was going into a very delicate part of me and slender as it was I was still feeling nervous and tense. Unsure how long it would stay sterile now I'd removed it from its packaging I didn't dare delay further and, using a finger to find the spot, carefully started to insert it into my urethra. I'd been looking for a way to force incontinence on myself for a few years. I had long been curious how I'd cope with incontinence, and aroused by the thought that I'd be dependent on diapers, a full loss of control. At the same time I had the sanity to know that this would not be good, and so my research had focussed on how I might achieve only temporary incontinence. Hypnosis tapes weren't even a consideration. Not because they'd be irreversible but because I couldn't believe they'd actually work. Similarly just wearing and using diapers could condition me to relax and not care, but that wasn't really any better than choosing when to go. Medication offered possibilities but diuretics just increased the flow. They didn't cause an actual loss of control. I'd tried a few too, although mainly to handle water retention: caffeine, dandelion, guarana, green tea, wondrous blends of herbs and spices; when you feel bloated once a month you try everything. Muscle relaxants were an interesting option but sustained use felt dangerous and I wasn't sure where to get them. Neural blockers could do the job but I didn't know an anaesthetist and wouldn't trust one that could agree to use them on someone just for fun. Obviously I didn't even explore the insanity of surgery. A fantasy situation of being forced by someone to wear diapers and prevented from removing them didn't translate to real life. Which left catheters. Explicitly designed to allow unfettered relief to the bladder, liquid leaving as quickly as it enters, exiting the body through a small tube. Except that there were multiple risks with repeated catheter use, infections and the risk of muscle damage, the potential for serious health complications or actual permanent incontinence. Not something I wanted to risk and anyway, you could direct a catheter into a drainage bag or just plug the tube. Technically I was now violating myself with a catheter. This was a one-off, the risks worth the substantial reward it would deliver. I'd followed the instructions, used ice to numb the area and rubbed in a recommended gel that applied benzocaine and lidocaine as topical analgesics, but I could still feel the progress of the plastic into my body, the discomfort becoming pain and reaffirming my decision not to use catheters for incontinence. This one wouldn't do that. It was too small and lacked an opening through which the bladder could empty. Its role was instead delivery of the tiny device I'd finally found on sale, a reputable healthcare company promoting its use and selling it through their retail website. They'd provided a syringe containing sterile water, whatever that is, which I'd attached to the end of the narrow tube. Once the bright band on the catheter reached my body, indicating it had achieved the required depth inside me, I stopped, drew in a deep breath and forced myself to think about what I was about to do. Pressing the plunger would force the water into the catheter, inflating its internal sacs that were now inside my urethra. Those were wrapped by the device I'd bought, a bioresorbable stent, and by inflating the sacs it would be expanded, pushed wide open inside me, its construction designed to prevent subsequent closure. My urethra would be held open until the stent was absorbed by my body, allowed my muscles to regain control, prevent the flow of liquid from my bladder. Did I really want this? The device guidance stated 4-6 weeks before absorption was sufficient for the device to collapse and allow resumed control. This was my final chance to stop, be sensible, avoid several weeks of forced and unavoidable incontinence. All that research, the expense of the device, the planning I'd done; I wasn't going to back out now. I pressed the plunger, felt a strange sensation inside me, committed myself to a new experience. Too late to change my mind, I lay back on my bed. Contorting myself to watch what I was doing and monitor the progress of that bright band had been uncomfortable and there was still mild pain and some discomfort from the procedure but it was mental relief I needed for the moment. I had actually done it, the device's design meant nothing short of surgery could undo it and, if it worked as advertised, I now had a stent extended beyond my internal and external urethral sphincters holding them irrevocably open. Well, for a few weeks anyway. In other words, I was now incontinent. I shivered, shook my head, found my throat dry. I had avoided drinking anything for nearly seven hours now, so that I could be sure I'd emptied my bladder before doing this, and now it was over I was feeling thirsty. There was more to though than simple dehydration, some form of psychosomatic symptom translating my mental turmoil into corporeality. I reached back down and pulled the plunger back out from the syringe, a built-in stopper letting me know it had returned to its original position, and that meant it had drawn the water back out from the sacs, allowing them to deflate. To test this I pulled tentatively at the catheter and it slid easily out of me, looking even slimmer now it had deployed its payload deep inside. Using a finger I poked at myself, trying to feel the stent. The residual soreness flared back into pain, discouraged me from further exploration, but otherwise everything felt normal down there. Maybe everything was normal, if my plan had failed. It seemed sensible to assume the plan had worked, and that I no longer had bladder control. Leaning over to my bedside table I picked up the disposable diaper I'd left there, knowing it would be the first thing I needed after completing the procedure. Fastening it should have been a familiar activity, well practiced through years of intentional use, and physically I went through my normal process. Despite that I knew this was very different, and that for the first time in my life I was putting myself in a diaper because I needed it, because I'd use it whether I wanted to or not, because I could not choose otherwise. Safely secured in the diaper I pulled on my favourite nightie, tidied up my room and threw away the catheter and syringe. I could finally have a drink, although this late in the evening I opted to stick with water, avoid the stimulation tea or coffee would offer. Doing this so late in the day was very intentional, so that I could sleep away the exhaustion I had known the nervous tension of the situation would cause. My light supper finished I went to bed, pulled up my nightie and checked my diaper. I hadn't felt myself use it, but didn't know whether I'd be able to tell or not. The diaper was dry but I wasn't: now that I was hydrated and had time to assimilate my new situation I was receptive to the underlying driver for this strange self-imposed disability. "I'm incontinent," I said out loud, speaking to myself in the darkness. I could have said those words any time, but this time they were true, and that cut through me. My hand slipped inside my diaper and, well, sometimes fingers and thoughts are all you need. Forty minutes later it was obvious I'd messed up. As my earlier hormonal boost wore off, the discomfort returned and I found myself unable to sleep, instead just lying there fretting for no reason, worrying that I'd been destructively stupid and caused myself permanent damage. I tried to console myself, retread the decision process that had brought me there, assured myself the risks were minimal and that it was all worthwhile, but logic plays no role when insomnia forces you to face the darkest hours. Eventually fatigue overcame the discomfort and I drifted into a disjointed slumber, multiple fractured dreams that finally gave way to deep sleep. Dawn came and went, and midway through the morning a natural awakening gave me a gentle start to the day. Struggling with multiple initial demands from my brain I rapidly sorted my thoughts and answered the immediate questions. The clock said it was nearly 11am, yes I had really done that last night and.. oh! My diaper was very wet. I couldn't remember using it. The stent was working! I sat up and stretched both arms towards the ceiling, a mute celebration that ended as I allowed myself to fall back onto the bed. Was I actually incontinent? I decided to quickly shower, pull on a clean diaper and enjoy plenty to drink with my breakfast so that as the morning progressed I'd find out. Hmm. Make that brunch, and maybe the afternoon. Pulling my nightie off I headed into the bathroom to shower and took off my diaper there. Bending to pick it up for rolling, sealing and disposal I froze and looked at it in horror. Yes, I'd wet overnight but urine isn't that colour. I'd clearly bled in it too - and I was still two weeks away from my next period. Panicking I ran through the house to find my computer, then ran back to the bathroom, grabbed a towel and returned to my computer. Sat on the towel I opened my browser, clicked on the bookmark I'd visited so often before and feverishly read through the guidance notes for the stent. They said nothing about issues after insertion so I clicked on the search bar, entered the brand name and a single simple keyword: "bleeding". The first two results didn't help but the third was a FAQ on the manufacturer's website, something I wish I'd seen before. I clicked through and read quickly, then sat back back and almost collapsed with relief. The catheter caused internal irritation, light bleeding was normal for the first couple of hours, and no cause for concern. Feeling a bit happier I got up and took the unsoiled towel back to the bathroom, where I put it to its intended use drying me after a welcome shower. Back into a new disposable I enjoyed my brunch. Fruit, a cereal bar and some juice with a large cup of coffee was my normal start to the day and I added some toasted cheese so that I wouldn't need to eat again until evening. I'd planned for a quiet day, no chores to do, just my book, some TV and the jigsaw I was putting together on the dining room table. Half an hour after drinking my coffee I could feel my diaper was wet. It was a modern design, discreetly thin until used when it would swell to alarming proportions, almost forcing a waddle as I walked. It hadn't reached that stage but had swollen enough for me to notice, and I'd been waiting for that. I'd felt no demands from my body, at no point had I needed to relieve my bladder; it had happily just emptied itself, the diaper the only reason my couch hadn't been soiled. But my immediate concern was whether I was still bleeding so I took off my skirt, untaped the diaper and pulled the front of it down. My diaper was wet all right but there was no blood. I hadn't damaged myself, I was just incontinent. That thought sent a shiver through me and, well, my hand was busy again. As the day progressed my thoughts turned to the next few weeks. Work didn't alarm me, even a wet diaper wouldn't be easily detected under one of my smart dresses, or a flared skirt. Any men that noticed could be easily put off with just two words: 'Lady problems'. The women might want more detail but I had a cover story prepared, one in which my own clumsiness with a self-administered swab had caused complications. That would earn me sympathy, should it be needed, but you don't probe too deeply on such topics at work. Outside of work I needed to be more careful. Friends and family might notice, although the same cover story would suffice. I didn't have a choice now anyway, I'd be leaking whether I wore a diaper or not. Carrying a large purse wasn't my normal style but I had one that would hold a couple of spare diapers and a small packet of wipes. Diaper rash might be a concern but I could handle that at home, and voluntary use of diapers had taught me how to reduce the chances of it happening at all. Long before dinner I decided the diaper needed changing. This was rather strange for me, intentional use gave me control over how wet a diaper got, and when it would need to be changed. This diaper had just incrementally become wetter as the day progressed, each drink exacerbating its condition with no intended input from me. I'd have to get used to that, start to better monitor my diaper's state and learn how to avoid over saturation, prevent leaks. Another change before bed, a thicker diaper even when dry, intended for extended overnight use. I wanted a good night's sleep after all, and I knew a full bladder wouldn't be waking me. The diaper did its job, my bed dry when I woke, an evening's drinks safely absorbed by the thirsty padding. A week off work was a holiday even when I stayed at home. Being stuck in diapers wasn't going to stop me enjoying it, and the next two days were spent visiting the stately gardens of a nearby Hall and thoroughly enjoying a shopping trip. The diapers did their job, didn't cause me any distress, just became a part of my life. Trying on clothes was a tense affair the first time I picked out a new skirt, but by the fourth shop I was treating the diapers as I would my normal underwear, something I kept discreet but otherwise perfectly normal. Using the toilet still happened, that once a day need. When I was out it would have seemed more frequent but that was so that I could change into a clean diaper. I used the disabled toilets, the extra space extremely helpful. At some point it was likely I'd get challenged by someone thinking I shouldn't be using those, and I'd have to decide whether to reveal my diaper or not. That decision was one I was putting off, hoping it wouldn't be needed. It was when I got home from the shopping trip that I suffered my first leak. I knew I'd get one eventually, that they're unavoidable if you're wearing diapers, but it wasn't something I wanted or looked forward to. Extra laundry, my leather couch needing a wipe clean, the carpet needing more than a wipe. Another thing to get used to for the next few weeks. I sighed, regretting the vicious reality of a diaper dependency even as I felt a thrill at being reminded of it. The next morning I was woken by a telephone call. "Good morning, I'm sorry to bother you." He identified himself as a doctor at the healthcare provider from whom I'd bought the stent. "Could you confirm some details for me?" he asked. Yes, he was talking to the right person. Yes, I had bought the stent. Yes, I had used it. "Ah," he said, ominously, "I was hoping we might have caught you before you inserted it." This worried me. It's never good to hear something like that from a doctor. "Umm. Why? Is there a problem?" I asked nervously. "Oh, no," he replied, "Is it performing as expected?" "Yes," I said, "full incontinence. I have no control at all for the next 4-5 weeks." "I see. Are you finding this manageable?" he asked. "It's something I planned for," I admitted. Hell, they sold it for this purpose, this wasn't the time to be shy. "But you said you were hoping I hadn't used the stent. What's happening? Why did you call?" "Well, we tested the stent extensively before it went on sale," he said, "Obviously we have regulatory approval to market it and the prototypes had no problems at all." This didn't sound good. "The prototypes?" I challenged, "What about the production ones? What do I have inside me?" "You have one of our production devices," he confirmed, "but we've identified a manufacturing issue in the batch yours is from. Now, don't be alarmed, this..." "Don't be alarmed?!" I shouted, cutting him off, "what sort of issue? Stop prevaricating, tell me what you've done to me!" "We haven't done anything!" he said defensively. "What is inside me?" I demanded. "It's a fully functional stent. The only change from what you're expecting is that it's unlikely to take 4-6 weeks to be reabsorbed," he told me. "What? Well how long then?" I asked, "How long will I remain like that?" "It may be the full 4-6 weeks," he said, hesitantly, "but our models suggest that it absorption will be much quicker. Your stent is very likely only going to last 4-6 days." Relief almost crushed me. I'd been fearing the worse, and he hadn't delivered it. "Oh thank goodness," I said, "Why didn't you just tell me that to start? You had me panicking." "I'm sorry," he said, "This is difficult for me too. I can assure you that we will give you any support you need should the device cease to operate ahead of schedule, including providing you with a replacement should that be something you desire." That made me pause to think. The reality of incontinence was proving very inconvenient, constant diaper changes and the leak last night was just annoying, but it was also something I'd expected and did feel I could cope with. However I'd always intended this to be temporary so would a few days be all I needed? "I'm not sure," I said, "if it fails early then this is something we can perhaps discuss?" "Of course," he reassured. He gave me a direct number, told me to ring him if I had any concerns, gave me another assurance that they would provide me with support. I guessed they were worried about legal action. A medical device that failed substantially early could get them in all sorts of trouble. But their failure might be my release, freedom from constantly wetting myself. For the moment that freedom was still denied to me. Even at the lower end I had at least another day of incontinence to survive. Or enjoy. I put it to good use, a long walk through a national park. It required my first outdoor diaper change, the nearest public toilet a few miles away and my diaper too sodden to risk wearing further. There was nobody in sight but I was still nervous. I had never been naked in public, and this wasn't simple nakedness, it was a diaper change. Leaving the track I hid behind thick bushes and undid the clips on my dungarees, lowering the bib to my waist and sliding them down to reveal my diaper. Fortunately this wasn't my first standing diaper change and I quickly had a clean one on, knowing it wouldn't stay that way but grateful for the momentary comfort. Quickly dressing again I returned to the track and found myself still alone, my worried precautions unnecessary. That night I went to bed in another thick diaper, a onesie keeping my hands at bay, the babyish attire preventing very adult behaviour. Even as that thought amused me I realised that the diapers weren't arousing me any more. They were now just a part of my life, frequently uncomfortable, sometimes annoying, but never a source of genuine happiness. At that point I made my decision: When the stent was absorbed I'd return to using the toilet, revert back to using diapers only voluntarily, when I genuinely desired. That wasn't the next day. I didn't panic, it could still be another five weeks yet, and although I was ready to discard diapers it was always intended to be many weeks before that would be an option. In good heart I finished my jigsaw, took a photograph, went shopping for a new one. The next morning things were different. I woke up early, severe discomfort down below. It took me a minute to get out of my onesie, undo the diaper, take a look inside. Immediately I felt sick, found myself on the edge of tears, stared at the blood soaking the diaper. It was still a week until my period was due, and I'd worn a diaper for that before, knew it didn't look like this. Forcing myself to be calm I took a shower, fastened a new diaper on, dressed myself to go out and called the doctor. "Good morning," he said, after I'd introduced myself, "How are you doing? Is the stent being absorbed?" "I don't know," I said, and described my morning's findings. "Ok, stop there," he told me, "I'm going to send one of our ambulances to pick you up, and we're going to give you a full examination." I guess that's the advantage of buying dodgy devices from a large healthcare provider. They have facilities all over, including one near enough to me that I was there under an hour later, my diaper on display to two nurses and a female doctor. Then it was just me on display, that awkward uncomfortable pose, legs akimbo, cold metal invading me in a very personal way. Strange scans followed, xrays and something else. A large machine, loud noises, the operator hiding behind a protective shield. I was already back in a diaper by then, the blood clearly coming from my urethra but diluted by more normal waste, something I still couldn't control. Instinctively I had tried and it caused pain, as though I was being pricked by a needle deep inside. That was five days ago. The sharp stabbing pain has gone now, but the scar tissue remains. The manufacturing error meant the stent wasn't properly absorbed, had instead broken up inside me, solid fragments cutting into me from the inside. They've said that surgery wouldn't help, that the scar tissue means a catheter isn't an option, that it might heal by itself. They wouldn't say how long that might take. At least I wasn't in pain any more, even the discomfort had faded. I'd fantasised for so long about being incontinent, carefully arranged to temporarily experience it, enjoyed that fleeting wish fulfilment. I shifted uncomfortably, realised my diaper needed changing again. I wasn't enjoying it now, the terrible reality of needing diapers, repeatedly wetting them, hour after hour, day after day. They'd promised to keep me well supplied, my choice of diapers from their range for as long as I needed. That was the problem. I didn't know how long I'd need it. They didn't either, couldn't even promise me my last remaining hope: That it would end, that I'm not now stuck in diapers permanently. It wasn't the first time I'd spread my legs and wiped myself clean between them, replaced a soaked diaper with a fresh clean one. It certainly wasn't going to be the last..

One thing as an adult baby, really have to learn is how to do a diaper change standing up

Hey everyone! It's Sophie! Pudding and I have been writing a few short stories recently so I'm just going to post them all at once. If you like them and want to support our writing, please check out our Patreon: www.patreon.com/sophieandpudding -------------------------- Bnuuy Brainwash By Pudding *Author’s Note: I wrote this as a birthday gift for my favorite dumb bnuuy, Claire, and she was gracious enough to share with you all. Premise: Claire is a new initiate in the Dependent program, where she is regressed to a full-time baby. What awaits Claire in her new life? Disclaimers: brainwashing, hypnosis, diapers, wetting, messing -------------------------- “You can’t do this to me!” They always said that, without fail, without exception, as though that very simple and defiant proclamation might have changed their fate. What did they expect would happen when they said that? Did they fancy that the fate chosen for them would suddenly and miraculously be reversed? That the very extensive program designed purely and strictly for this purpose would just do an about-face and decide that they indeed couldn’t do this? Regardless of motivation, it was all academic at this point anyway; once a person was nominated to undergo this conversion, there was no turning back, or reversing the process, or presence of an off-switch or anything of the sort. And beyond a doubt, the program worked — it had worked on thousands of other people before this little bundle of sass and spunk, and it would work on thousands and thousands more after her too. She was certainly attractive, with brown eyes that shone with intelligence and thought, an adorable nose and a smile that was best described as too pretty for a girl as clever as she was. Although presently, smiling seemed to be the last thing on her mind. Rather, she wore a scowl with all the efficacy of a child; much more of a pout than anything intimidating. It wasn’t hard to see why someone might want her transformed into a Dependent. What was her name? Claire? That was a pretty name, and suitably juvenile too. A glance at the chart revealed that her wife had nominated her for the program, citing in her application that Claire was often lost in daydreams and fantasy worlds, and couldn’t be trusted with adult tasks. Which was in no way to say she wasn’t capable, just that when given the choice she’d always rather lose herself in passions than devote herself to something meaningful. Just like any child, really. “Oh, you know, they always say that Claire.” “But!” she scrunched up her nose and shook her head, “maybe other people deserved it, but not me, I’m not supposed to be here. My wife-” “Is the one who sent you here, yes, that’s very good!” There was a brief and delightful silence from the girl as her pretty brown eyes fell under the weight of her frowning, and she tried to figure out if that was true or not. This, too, was all too common. She’d probably see it as a betrayal, rather than the act of love that it had been. “She wouldn’t, she loves me, and… and and and…she wouldn’t do this to me.” Bingo! “And it’s because she loves you that you’re here, Claire. My name is Miss Pudding, although you don’t really need to remember that for very long - you won’t be in any state to call an adult by name, soon enough.” “Pudding!” “That’s right, sweetheart! That’s my name,” the woman clapped her hands in quiet and singular applause, and continued, “and you’re Claire, although I’m to understand that your Momma-to-be has something more appropriate in mind as a pet name for you.” This was about the time Pudding expected Claire to realize the gravity of her situation, and the brown-eyed-beauty certainly didn’t disappoint. She looked around slowly at first; as the fire in her heart faded and the metaphorical smoke was given a chance to clear. She was in a room with lilac walls and carpet, lacking any other defining features apart from the bed she was strapped firmly down to by the wrists and ankles. “Please, please please, you gotta let me go…I won’t tell anyone, I won’t, and I’ll um…” Tears were starting to pool at the edges of those pretty pretty eyes, and she really did look beautiful, especially in such a state. “You’re trying too hard, Claire; there’s no escape and by the time we’re done with you, escape won’t even be something you want. So just relax and try to enjoy yourself.” There was a click sound as the lights went down, and as though the lights had been her own eyes, Claire faded quickly into sleep. * * * When she woke up, Claire wasn’t in the lilac room anymore, and she wasn’t in the bed, and she wasn’t in the dark. Around her she could hear the busy chittering of what sounded like children, although she couldn’t focus on them right now; she was so awestruck and stunned by what she was wearing: a gingham dress in lilac that flowed over her body the way that snow painted a layer over the world in winter. Wearing a pretty dress was right. Something thick between her legs that she immediately lost focus on if she tried to think about it. That was right, too. And something in her mouth that a part of her brain told her was a pacifier and a louder voice inside of her told her was okay. Promptly, defiantly, she ignored that voice, and spat the thing out from between her lips. The pacifier fell only far enough for the momentum to be arrested by the clip attached to her dress. She could feel panic trying to rise in her chest, both fueled and suppressed by the final realization that she wasn’t alone anymore. Her eyes looked around, panned the horizon from her place sitting on the floor, and she saw now what she’d thought were children. Her brain tried to tally them up, although any counting past four seemed to get jumbled, and so she concluded there were simply ‘lots’. Lots of adults, dressed in pretty outfits. Dresses and shortalls, onesies and skirtalls, footed sleepers and cute polka-dotted ensembles. The largeness of the room made Claire feel very small by comparison. Claire winced and rubbed her head; feeling braided plaits that danced and pulled under their own weight of hair and ribbons. Something didn’t feel right; her head didn’t feel right, her thoughts didn’t feel right. None of this felt right, or sensical, or familiar. A voice that reached out to her did feel familiar, though. A voice she knew, a voice she trusted. “Hello again, darling girl.” Looking up at the woman who stood above her, there were a lot of floating thoughts in her head. Safety. Happiness. Trust. Miss Pudding. And another name that came to the forefront the way a message might in a magic 8 ball: Nana. “Nana…?” Claire felt uncomfortable with that word; she felt conflicted. Like it was the most natural thing in the world, and like it was the first time she’d ever said it. Moreover, her voice felt strange… or her choice of words, maybe. Like most of the words she reached for flittered out of her reach. “What happened… what… what did you do to me, Nana?” The standing woman knelt and put her hand on Claire’s cheek with a warm smile – the kind of smile that made Claire flush with warmth for reasons she couldn’t understand — and spoke to her in words that felt like honey; sweet and thick and sticky. “Nana didn’t do anything you didn’t want, sweetie.” “She… she didn’t…?” Claire felt so confused. She couldn’t remember how she’d gotten here. She remembered the Lilac Room, and she she remembered the darkness, and she remembered… swimming? No. She remembered sinking. And then floating. She remembered feeling scared, and then safe, and then… her memory felt foggy. Or maybe it felt like it was receding the way that waves did after they crashed upon the shore. Nana had such a warm smile and such pretty eyes. How had Claire never noticed that before? How had she never noticed those pretty blue eyes? She wanted to look away and found herself patently unable. A voice in her head told her that it was okay to float in those waters, and that Nana loved her. Of course Nana loved her. Obviously. “What… what is this, Nana?” She tugged at her dress, at the pretty purple gingham material, and managed to look away just to look down at it. There was an oddness between her legs she was still aware of; a thickness, a foreign strangeness. And just as soon as she focused on it, her attention fluttered away like a butterfly all over again. “It’s your dress, Claire. A pretty pretty dress for a pretty pretty girl.” “For a pretty pretty girl…” Claire mused quietly, trying to see if the words fit as well as the dress did. “That’s right, darling! You’re Nana’s Pretty Girl! How’s your drawing coming?” “Drawing…?” Claire felt ever more confused, but her eyes scanned the floor where she was sitting for any sort of answer and found a sheet of paper with a crude drawing of a three stick figures in dresses, holding hands. “Oh!” Suddenly, Claire was awash with enthusiasm and excitement as she started to point fervently at the paper. “This is… um… this is um…” And just as quick as the excitement came, it gave way to foggy confusion. Quicker still, a three-tone chime sounded in the room and every single person paid attention. Claire couldn’t be sure what it meant, but as sure as she knew Nana loved her, she knew that the tone was important! “It’s time for your favorite game, darling, you should hurry!” Nana encouraged her, and Claire nodded. She knew which place she liked the most. The one with the lilac game controller, the one next to the fingerpaints and the fairy wings. Quick as she could, she crawled over to the small, curved screen by the nearby wall and sat herself down in front of the display, taking the oversized controller in her hands. An image of a bunny came to life, and Claire heard herself giggling happily. Colors flicked up on the screen, and she pushed the buttons, and her mind floated away into a happy bliss of lights and colors and instructions. * * * “I dun’ feel good, Nana…” There weren’t any sounds around her anymore, just the walls of the Lilac Room. Claire sat upon the bed, and Nana sat next to her. How had she gotten here? How long had it been? Her tummy twisted in anxiousness, and she squeezed her thighs tight around what she knew for a fact was her diaper. That made sense. “You need to go for another swim, darling, that’s all. Are you ready?” “A swim…?” “Into The Blue.” Claire might not have been feeling good, but those words made the most sense to her. She loved The Blue, almost as much as she loved her Nana and her Momma. The idea of getting to visit made her giggle happily, and it took all her energy to steel herself and focus and calm, before obediently staring into Nana’s eyes. * * * “I’m a baby.” “I’m a little baby.” “I love my Momma.” “I love my Nana.” “I can’t take care of myself.” “I’m a baby.” “I’m a good little baby.” “I love my dresses.” “I love my diapers.” “I’m helpless.” “I’m a baby.” “I’m a dumb and happy little baby.” “I love being a baby.” “I love being dependent.” “I’m too pretty for thoughts.” “I’m a baby.” “I’m a diaper-dependent, incontinent, devoted little baby.” “I love my Momma.” “I love my Nana.” “They do the thinking, Claire does the stinking.” “I’m a baby.” “I’m a beautiful, brilliant baby bunny.” “I’m too pretty for thoughts.” “I’m helpless, obedient, pretty, and submissive.” “Thoughts for for grown-ups, diapers are for Bunny.” “Bunny obeys.” “Bunny listens.” “Bunny is a baby.” “Bunny is better this way.” * * * “I’ma bunny…baby…baby bnuuy…” Claire wasn’t sure why she said those words, but her thoughts swirled with words just like those, and each one of them felt as true and genuine and real as her looking at the grass and saying it was green. And Bunny was so good at colors! That’s why she wore a purple dress in her drawing, and Nana wore yellow, and Momma wore teal. Bunny was in the middle, holding hands, and that was the best bestest place for her! “Nananananana!” Claire giggled as she felt Nana lean down next to her and slip fingers under her dress to check her diapers. Bunny wore diapers. Claire was Bunny and she loved her diapers because of course she did! There was a heavenly and familiar musical chime, and she didn’t even need to be told – she had to get a best high score with the pretty rabbit! She hadda get to 72! Claire crawled across the foam tiled floor and plopped down between two other babies that were just like her, and she took the purple controller awkwardly in her hands. “Bunn--nnyyyy!” She giggled at the heterochromatic rabbit and pressed all her buttons just the way she was told. Bunny loved to be obedient! Helpless and Obedient and Pretty and Submissive. Bunny HOPS! * * * “Oh my goodness, darling, someone’s a stinky little princess, isn’t she?” “I can’ helps it Nana… I was sleepsin an’ I’ma baby…” “That’s right, darling! Messing in your sleep during nap time is very normal for a girl your age.” Distantly, a part of her brain told Bunny that she didn’t used to do that. That she didn’t used to play with the others until she got tired, and then go to sleep on the floor in the playroom, and then poop her diapers. But that didn’t make any sense at all, and that was why Bunny didn’t do the thinking. Bunny was too pretty for thoughts, after all. Helplessly, she let Nana pick her up and put her against her hip. Had Nana always been so big? It didn’t matter. All grown-ups were much bigger than Bunny was, and that was because and also proved the fact that, she was a baby. Bunny and Baby both started with a B, and she sure didn’t know many more letters than that, so it had to be true. Obediently - as though this routine had happened a thousand times - she cuddled into Nana like a koala as she was carried over to the changing room. Prettily, she smiled. Her giggle was so vacant, and her eyes were glossy and happy and empty. Bunny sucked her fingers all the way there, until Nana put her binkie back between her lips. Submissively, she laid down on the padded changing table and kicked her feet happily. “You’ll be ready to go home soon, and see your Momma. Won’t that be wonderful?” “Yuh yuh yuh! I wanna see my Momma ‘cause she’s a good an’ I love her an’ an’ an’!” “And she’ll be so proud of how your conversion is progressing, darling.” “Yuh yuh yuh Momma gonna love my this.” While babbling back and forth with her Nana, Claire knew a few things. She knew that this adult woman was changing her very mushy diaper that she had no recollection of using, and that there were countless others who could just look over and see. She knew that she’d gotten so much smaller since being here, and she knew that she needed her diapers beyond doubt. She knew that she heard Nana’s voice in her head, and her words were always the right thing to do. She knew that she was a baby girl. She knew that she loved her Momma. She knew how much she loved to play her bunny game on the screen, and how much she loved her binkie, and how much she loved her drawings. She knew how much happier she was now. And she knew how much many more happy it made her to be told what to do. Burning deep inside of her, Bunny knew she was created to please and fulfill and make people happy. “All changed!” Nana smiled, patting the front of Bunny’s diaper with a sense of accomplishment. Already, Bunny couldn’t wait to get down off the changing table and get back to playing. “Nanananana I wan’ play an’ I wan’ draw an’ I wan’ make more drawings for Momma!” “Well you’d better hurry, Bunny, you might see your Momma sooner than you think.” With her brown eyes filled with determination, Bunny nodded her head earnestly. “Bnuuy will draw lots of the pictures an’ make lots of good an’ give Momma LOTS of smiles!” True to her Nana’s prediction, it wouldn’t be too much longer before Bunny’s Momma came to get her, and ordinarily that moment of parting would have been a bittersweet one indeed. Of all the caregivers at the conversion nursery, Nana was most known for her imprinting on her charges and sending them back out into the world was always an event of mixed feelings. That made it especially wonderful that Claire was to be a part of a new program where she’d have a state-appointed caregiver relocated to live just across the street from her and to assist her Momma in her continuing development. And, of course, it only made sense for her appointed caregiver to be her Nana who she already loved very, very much. So as Bnuuy drew another picture of herself with her Momma to one side and her Nana to the other, as she hummed and wriggled her diapered bottom as she wet herself without a care in the world, she’d occasionally mutter a few words to herself and giggle. “’…an’ they liveded happy evers afters…” [End.]

As @square_duck stated, it does sound more like an infection rather than simple food poisioning. I presume that you have seen a competent doctor and that s/he has sent you for a blood test. If not, I strongly suggest that you do that today. Weakness (lethargy) and shaking are common signs of low energy, which is usual when the body is using all its reserve to fight an infection - i.e. your imune response has speeded up and is attempting to fight an infection. Food poisining normally exits the body within 12-24 hours, but infections tend to hang aroung for 7+ days. Your timeline with this is about 3 weeks, which is way too long for simple food poisining.

“Oh, I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” Miss Honey said, pulling along the same wagon Matilda, according to Hortensia, had claimed as her own. Matilda smiled, lying atop the many pillows to make it more comfy and spread out her arms. Riding in the wagon was much more fun when she wasn’t vomiting over the edge. “We have to… face her eventually, and the more… you put off going back to work… the more trouble you’ll get into.” Matilda said through several pauses. Matilda was more than ready to be back in class, even if she had just gotten out of the hospital. The thought of spending another day in bed was enough to drive her mad. She missed her friends terribly, so much that she had even agreed to Jenny’s conditions. No leaving the classroom unless accompanied by her. No using her powers unless absolutely necessary to defend herself. If anyone asked what happened to her, she had her tonsils removed. She had no memory of the Trunchbull’s visit. She’d be wearing a diaper. Matilda had argued the last condition so much, Jenny had put her foot down. “You’ll wear it, or you won’t go to school at all. That’s final.” Matilda had been so shocked she had quickly agreed and hadn’t brought it up again. “I’m sorry, Matilda, but you know I can’t stop and leave the class unattended to help you, and I don’t expect you to be able to hold it all day.” Matilda didn’t like it, but she understood. Walking was still incredibly painful. Her body still felt like she had been involved in a serious car accident, and she didn’t possess the strength yet to pull herself on and off the toilets. Even the strain of walking while needing to go often led to her bladder voiding itself from the effort, so Jenny often carried her to the bathroom, set her on the toilet, and let her try and make her way back to bed on her own, although she stayed close to catch her if she fell. The closer they got to school the more Miss Honey’s anxiety increased. Matilda could feel it building in the pit of her stomach, at least she thought it was coming from Miss Honey. The two of them had gone over their lines and roles all day yesterday. Jenny would have to pretend she “got the message” and slip back into her terrorized, subservient role no matter how much she hated what she saw or heard. The Trunchbull had to believe she was too terrified to lift a finger. Matilda had found it fun giving Jenny ideas. Not only would they have to convince the Trunchbull Jenny was terrified, that was the easy part, she would also have to believe Jenny’s interest in Matilda was merely a hobby. “I never adopted her” Jenny would say. “She stays with me during the week, so I can tutor her in the evenings, then she goes back home on the weekends. It’s only temporary, until her parents find her a proper tutor. I hear they're even looking into sending her to boarding school out of state.” And if the Trunchbull asked what Jenny got out of it, she’d shrug and say, “It’s not everyday I get the opportunity to work with a genius.” That was the plan. Jenny would have to pass Matilda off as some kind of freak of nature Jenny took interest in studying. As for hitting her with the chair, “I had to stop you somehow Headmistress, it was for your own good. Her parents are counting on her to make them loads of money in the future, everyone else might look the other way, but I hear they have connections with the Italian Mafia.” “Matilda, there’s no way she’d buy that! The Italian Mafia? Really?” Miss Honey had said with a laugh. “That part's actually true,” Matilda had said. “They have my dad make stolen cars untraceable for them, although I doubt they’d lift a finger, he’s in hot water with them last I checked.” When they got to the school, Miss Honey turned around. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay with Eve?” Matilda wrinkled her face. Matilda was still angry with her, and she knew Jenny was too. It was clearly a last ditch effort to keep Matilda away from the Trunchbull, but she couldn’t hide forever. “I want… to go… to school.” Matilda said, ignoring the butterflies swarming around in her stomach. They made their way in through the back of the building, the only way in with a ramp, and headed towards the year one classroom. They passed Hortensia on the way, peering inside the Trunchbull’s office. “I hope you’re not up to anything already.” Miss Honey said making Hortensia jump. “O-of course not.” Hortensia said, hiding her hands behind her back. She looked down, now noticing Matilda for the first time. “Hey! Your back!” “So…are you…” Matilda wheezed. “Geeze, what happened to your voice? You sound like a rubber chicken being held under the faucet.” “Tonsils.” Matilda mumbled. She hated lying to her friends, but she couldn’t risk the plan. “You’re a walking train wreck.” Hortensia said with a shake of her head. Matilda shrugged. It was true, it seemed to be one thing after another lately. “We’re going to the classroom, you can come along if you’d like.” Miss Honey said. Matilda could sense she was eager to get away from the Headmistresses door. Hortensia gave one last look at the office before following along. “What did you do…with the spiders?” Matilda asked. She had a feeling she knew exactly what Hortensia had done with them, if the Trunchbull was to be believed. The wicked smile that began to spread across Hortensia’s face told Matilda all she needed to. “I’m not even going to ask.” Miss Honey said. She dug in her coat pocket for her keys, before unlocking her classroom door, but when she opened it, she stopped. Miss Honey let out a loud sigh. Matilda couldn’t see from behind Jenny’s legs, but when she was finally dragged in she saw what had upset her. Everything colorful had been ripped from the walls. Where children’s artwork had once hung, there was now only tape residue. All the bright and smiling decorations were gone, and the animal stickers had been peeled off, leaving the room gutted and a depressing shade of brown like the rest of the school. Matilda felt a wave of anger. She knew how hard Jenny had worked to make her classroom look inviting and friendly as possible, despite the lack of money. She had even made most of the paper crafts herself, and now to see Jenny’s hard work sitting ripped to shreds in the waste paper basket enraged her. “It’s not the end of the world, Matilda. Don’t even think about it.” Miss Honey said. “Rule number two, remember.” Hortensia looked from Miss Honey to Matilda before finally asking. “What’s rule number two?” “No powers.” Matilda mumbled. “If I wanted to… come back to school… I have to follow…mom’s rules.” “You know I love it when you call me the ‘M word’, but remember where we are Matilda, it’s more important now than ever.” “Yes, Miss Honey.” Matilda said, trying to hide her smile. She had been out of school for too long, and now calling her Miss Honey felt strange after calling her ‘mom’ and on some occasions ‘mommy.’ “Hortensia, would you mind taking this to the dumpster? I don’t want the other kids to see.” Miss Honey said, pointing down to the trashcan. “Sure,” Hortensia said, picking it up with one hand. “Oh.” She began pulling pieces of a picture out and setting it on the desk. “Look.” Matilda was too low to the ground to see, but Miss Honey bent over the desk to examine it. Matilda could see a pained smile on her face and wondered what it was. “I’ll think I’ll keep these and tape it back up.” “What is it?” Matilda asked. “It’s a Get Well Soon card the kids made me.” Miss Honey said, continuing to stare at the pieces. Matilda balled her hands into fists. She was going to have a hard time following rule number two. When the bell rang and kids slowly began to trickle in, shouts of excitement filled the room at Miss Honey’s return. Almost everyone wanted to give her a hug and ask her how she was feeling. Matilda smiled from the back of the classroom and watched as she stretched out in the wagon. Sitting up for long periods was still too taxing. She wanted to be in her desk by Lavender, but she knew she’d be too exhausted and in pain by the end of the hour. So she had opted for a corner in the back with her backpack and a chair, so she could prop up her books to read. “Miss Honey.” Lavender said from her desk once the commotion of their teacher's return had died down. “Do you know if Matilda’s coming back at all?” “Look behind you,” Miss Honey said. Lavender spun eyeing all the faces in all the other desks, before turning around and giving Miss Honey, what Matilda could only assume, was a look of puzzlement. “A little lower.” Miss Honey said with a smile, “No, not on the floor, a bit higher. Keep looking. Getting warmer. Warmer. No, colder. Warmer aannnnnd bingo!” Matilda grinned and waved from her spot in the corner until Lavender’s eyes met hers. “Matilda! Where have you been?” Lavender said, springing from her seat and charging to the back taking Matilda completely by surprise and squeezing her in a bear hug. “Oww oww oww.” Matilda said. “Ohh, Lavender, do be careful! She’s not quite up to par yet!” Miss Honey called. Lavender quickly released her and looked her up and down. “What happened to you? You’re all green and purple!” “I crashed… my bike…into a rosebush.” Matilda lied. Lavender frowned looking even more concerned. “What happened to your voice?” “I had to…get…my tonsils removed.” Matilda croaked. Her throat was starting to burn from talking so much. She met Miss Honey’s eyes, who mimicked drinking from a glass. Matilda pulled the thermos out of her backpack and took a few sips. “Lavender, you can catch up later, please return to your seat.” “But why is she back here by herself, Miss Honey?” Lavender asked. “Because I don’t think Matilda wants to be eye level with everyone’s bottoms.” Miss Honey answered, creating explicit giggles from the room. “But what if we pulled her desk out, then she could sit in front and see fine.” Matilda shrugged as Miss Honey looked at her questioningly. “If Matilda’s okay with that, then it’s fine with me.” Miss Honey said. Before Matilda could answer, Lavender had already picked up the handle and began pulling the wagon forward. After a quick re-arranging of desks, Matilda found herself directly in the front, with Lavender behind her whispering about what she had missed. Miss Honey gave her an apologetic smile, but Matilda didn’t mind, although it would make discretion a bit more challenging. “There’s no getting in trouble now, Matilda. Not with you right under my nose.” Miss Honey said playfully. She pointed to her eyes with two fingers, then at Matilda. “I’m watching you.” Matilda chuckled along with the class. Matilda found it difficult, probably for the first time in her life, to find the motivation to crack open one of her books. She wanted to just sit and watch Miss Honey in her element. She seemed happier than she had all week, now that she was back with her class. Suddenly, Matilda felt a pang of something she wasn’t quite familiar with. She was certain it was an emotion, and she was certain it was one of her own, but she couldn’t quite place it. She must have sat there for quite some time spacing out, because the next thing she knew the class was giggling, and Miss Honey was waving a hand in front of her face. “Matilda, are you sure you’re up for this?” Miss Honey asked, squatting down to be eye level with her. “You haven’t even opened a book yet.” “Yes! Sorry, mo-Miss Honey.... I just got lost in thought… for a moment. I’m fine, really.” Matilda said, before reaching into her bag and pulling out her math workbook. “Well, if it ever gets to be too much, I can always have Mrs. Rodgers take you to lie down in her office.” Miss Honey whispered. “Or you can close your eyes here for a bit, although I’m not sure how much rest you’d get up front in all the commotion.” Matilda smiled. “I think… if I stayed back there….I’d feel left out.” Matilda said, surprised at how true the words sounded to her. “Well, alright, but keep drinking water, you sound terrible.” It hadn’t taken long for Matilda to forget her surrounding completely once she got into her studies. Her quest for knowledge seemed to outweigh her desire to participate and by the time she looked up, nearly three hours had passed. That was the nice thing about independent studies, if she wanted to focus on one subject, she could spend all day on it if she wanted to. She looked over the pages she had completed, surprised she had gone through a full week of lessons without stopping. While she was reaching over and swapping out subjects, she realized she had to pee. Oh, c’mon! She thought, feeling a bit sullen. If she could wait just two and a half more hours until lunch, Miss Honey would be free to take her to the restroom, as was their agreed upon terms, so Matilda could try and go number two to avoid having to use the diaper. Her classmate Nigel had once pooped his pants and the classroom had smelled horrid all day. Miss Honey had promised her she wouldn’t make her do that, and she’d call Mrs. Rodgers to take her to the restroom if need be. Matilda wasn’t thrilled with the idea of Mrs. Rodgers standing nearby while Matilda tried to poop, but it certainly beat the alternative. Matilda tried to busy herself with other subjects, but she just couldn’t commit all her attention to her work in this state. She tried changing positions, and wiggling her feet, but with limited room to squirm about the urge just kept building more and more rapidly. Matilda couldn’t keep the glare off her face as, one by one, hands began to raise and ask to be excused. When she was about to switch positions for the tenth time, her eyes met Miss Honey’s, and she stopped. Miss Honey seemed to be able to read her like an open book now, and while still speaking to the class, tapped the side of her waist with her index finger a few times. Matilda scowled and looked away. The hand sign had been meant for her, Miss Honey was telling her to use the diaper. Matilda looked up at the clock and sighed. They still had an hour and a half left. She caught Miss Honey waving her finger at her in a “no-no” gesture before pointing at her waist again, all while reciting the three times tables. Matilda kept holding it for another ten minutes, before getting a stern glare from Jenny she hadn’t expected. Matilda gulped and sat still as Miss Honey passed, casually dropping a piece of paper in Matilda’s lap. She opened the crumbled note and sighed in defeat. A Deal’s a Deal Resigned to her fate, Matilda hoisted her book bag onto her lap and pretended to dig through it, using it as a cover to hide the deep blush that was creeping up her face. At least it wasn’t like using a bed pan with someone standing over her waiting for her to go, she thought, until she saw Miss Honey eyeing her. Sort of. Ok, you can do this, she thought to herself. Don’t think about all your closest friends sitting mere inches away from you. She leaned back against the pillows and closed her eyes, clutching her book back to her chest for support. She fought against the panicked feeling building in her chest as her crotch began to grow warm. It’s not an accident if you do it on purpose. Her heart was beginning to beat faster and faster. She could hear a faint hiss. She clutched the bag even tighter and prayed no one else could hear it either. Miss Honey’s voice was coming closer as she asked the class what 8 times 3 was. Oh no! Matilda realized. The power was building behind her eyes. The burning was beginning to become too much. Her panic was feeding the power. She had to break rule two, or her eyes would melt! She quickly opened her eyes and met Miss Honey’s worried expression. Instead of panicking, Miss Honey reached into her pocket and pulled out a tiny rubber ball. She bounced it in front of Matilda, who focused and kept the rhythm going for as long as it took, until her bodily urges, both in her eyes and in her bladder, seemed to be satisfied. Miss Honey bent down and scooped up the ball, before putting it back in her pocket and giving Matilda’s head a reassuring pat before carrying on with the lesson as if nothing had happened. “What was that about?” Lavender whispered in her ear. Matilda just shook her head, now exhausted and closed her eyes. Matilda didn’t open her eyes again until Miss Honey had dismissed them all for lunch. “Oh, you want me to pull you while I run?” Lavender asked her. Matilda was about to say no, but Miss Honey beat her too it. “Sorry, Lavender, but I have to take Matilda to the nurses' office for her medicine, but you two can catch up in the cafeteria after.” “Sorry,” Matilda mumbled as Miss Honey pulled her into Mrs. Rodger's office. “It’s alright, dear, you’re just going to have to learn not to get so worked up next time.” Matilda didn’t want there to be a next time. “I’m just trying to figure out what makes it so uncontrollable. Is it anger? Embarrassment? Any strong emotion? Does it have to be negative?” Matilda wasn’t really sure herself. She sat lost in thought as Miss Honey rolled her into the single bathroom unit in the nurse's office. “Lift your dress, and I’ll get you out of that.” Matilda lifted it above her waist as Miss Honey examined things below. “These are much better than the ones we had at home.” Matilda preferred the ones she could pull on and off herself, but now that she didn’t have much mobility or independence, there wasn’t much of a need. Miss Honey ripped the tabs off and pulled it out from under her. “Are you ready?” Matilda nodded, and Miss Honey lifted her up and set her on the toilet. “Was it really that bad?” Miss Honey asked from the other side of the bathroom to give Matilda some space. “I was scared kids could hear.” Matilda admitted. “Well, maybe you could try and not make it so obvious next time.” Miss Honey said with a grin. “You don’t even need to stop what you're working on.” Matilda let out an audible groan before flushing the toilet. “Done?” Matilda nodded before being scooped up. “You’re braver than I am. When I was your age I was terrified the toilet would suck me down with it.” Miss Honey admitted. “I was so scared I wouldn’t flush, until my aunt-” Miss Honey stopped after realizing what she was saying. “Never mind.” “You can say… if you want.” Matilda said. “No, it’s not very nice. Some things shouldn’t be repeated.” Matilda wanted to ask her if she had given therapy another chance, but her throat was too raw, so she just nodded and stayed silent. “Let’s finish getting you settled, then we can go to the cafeteria for lunch. Lavender is probably thinking I stole you.” Once they had exited the bathroom, Miss Honey laid Matilda down on her back on a cot and pulled the curtain around them. “Did you…have to…deal with this…in the hospital?” Matilda asked, holding her dress out of the way so Jenny could finish. “I think I would have made a run for it if I had, truth be told.” Miss Honey admitted, before seeing the look on Matilda’s face and adding, “You’re just a child, it’s different. You may be mentally years beyond your classmates, but your body isn’t. You haven’t gone through puberty, yet, be thankful for that.” Matilda grimaced as the cold wipes made contact with her skin. “It still… feels weird.” Matilda said. “Would you prefer Mrs. Rodger’s help you instead? Would it make it easier on you? She is a medical professional.” “No!” Matilda answered a bit too quickly. She had been on the receiving end of this sort of thing by four different people now, and Miss Honey was, by far, the gentlest. The others were certainly faster and more sure of themselves, but Matilda didn’t care much for being man handled and flipped around. The rough treatment left her feeling stunned and a tad bit violated. “You’re better…at it. I just wish…I could…hold it better…” Miss Honey smiled as she taped up a fresh diaper and offered Matilda a hand to help her sit up. “You expect too much of yourself, dear.” She saw the look of doubt on Matilda’s face. “When we get back to class, pick a kid, any kid and pay attention to how often they ask to be excused. You’re perfectly fine the way you are.” “You said…in the hospital…you were going to…put me in pull-ups…to prevent…accidents…” “Matilda,” Miss Honey said, dropping her voice to a whisper. “It’s not those kinds of accidents I’m worried about. It’s the more supernatural kind that concerns me. You got seriously hurt because someone reacted poorly to kids just being kids. The idea is to prevent something like that from happening again. I swear, if the other children blew things up with their mind too when they had an accident, I’d make pull-ups a requirement for the whole class!” Matilda giggled. “There’s nothing wrong with you, sweetheart. I’m just trying to make things as easy for you as possible right now, okay?” Matilda nodded her head. “Could…I…” She swallowed and winced. She had really over done it talking today. “What is it?” “Have a… hug?” Matilda finished, suddenly feeling shy. Miss Honey smiled. “Of course you can. Are you having a rough day?” Matilda nodded. She was in pain and feeling exhausted already. She frowned when Miss Honey wrapped a single arm around her and let go. “Not a…Miss Honey…hug.” Jennifer frowned. “What do you mean? Not a hug from me?” She asked feeling slightly puzzled. “Not a…Miss…Honey hug.” Matilda repeated, trying to get the words out through the pain. “I want a…” Matilda blushed and looked away. “What? Tell me what you want, dear.” Miss Honey asked sitting next to her on the cot. “I want…a hug…from…mommy.” Matilda whispered, face now glowing red. Miss Honey sighed. “You know we’re at school, dear.” Miss Honey whispered, “You know I enjoy all our mommy/ daughter time just as much, if not more, but it has to wait until we get home. I have to be Miss Honey now. You know that.” Matilda nodded, she did understand, but she couldn’t stop her shoulders from slumping. She had grown accustomed to getting to snuggle whenever she wanted this week, but now that they were back in school, Matilda was finding it difficult to have her so close, but so far. Matilda was suddenly struck by a realization, and It made her cringe. The feeling that she couldn’t place from earlier. It had been jealousy. She was jealous of having to share Miss Honey with the rest of the class! “Ugh!” Matilda moaned, hiding her face in her hands. “What’s wrong…with me?” “Hey, Jen, is that you back there?” Mrs. Rodger's voice called out. “Yes! We’ll be right out in a minute!” Miss Honey called back. “Take your time, I just wanted to let you know She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named called out again. Said she had another headache, in case you were worried about running into her today.” Both Matilda and Miss Honey sighed in relief. Miss Honey bit her lip before eyeing Matilda. “Just for a minute, okay?” Matilda nodded, before Miss Honey picked her up and set her in her lap. Much better, Matilda thought, resting her head on Jenny’s chest and wrapping her arms around her as she felt herself being slowly rocked back and forth. She smiled as she felt Jenny softly kiss the top of her head and begin to quietly hum. “I love you, mommy.” Matilda whispered. “I love you too, Matilda.”

Littles can be picky eaters! What common foods do you refuse to touch? For me, Shrimp, I don't like the texture of it.

No offense, but I don't think guilt-tripping the community into donating by essentially saying that if they don't, Mikey will have to live off of ramen for the rest of the month is a good way to encourage donations. I also feel that whenever you say that "No one wants this place to become a pay site" it feels more like a threat than anything else. It turns donating into a chore and less like a thing that people do out of the good of their heart and the love they have for this place. I know whenever I see it, it makes me not want to donate because it makes my donation feel less appreciated and more like it's seen as an obligation and something that I have to do. Like, Mikey is always one click away from turning this into a pay site, like he has the pay version all made up and ready to deploy, and he's just waiting for any excuse to pull the trigger. It kind of reflects poorly on Mikey and the site as a whole when you say things like this. I donated a little this month, before you made this comment, but honestly had It been made before I donated, It probably would have turned me away from doing so.

that whole transaction went weird but mastercard did it's thing and you got it, which was the intention. I've been hanging out here a lot more lately and figured i should help out.

This is why I will be sending an email this weekend: I cannot afford to have it where we have a website that is functioning, but my main computer dies that I carry with me every day. With the way computers are today, it is hard to determine how long they will last, but I will not be without one should it be necessary, and my work machine will not be my desktop machine from my house! By the way, I did have and have had a couple of meetings via Zoom. Right now, there are discussions about how they want to do whatever they want to do, as well as when they think we oughta be able to open, and they will also help us determine how they want us to track things. I still have an ace up my sleeve, and I will use it if and when I need it, because I have been able to prove my ability to do really good work, and maintain awesome websites, And all they do is pay for my websites and my email. When you are as technology minded as I am, you want your own computer. It would be like being in your own bed, or driving your own favorite car, or wearing your favorite clothes. This way, you can personalize your computer and make it your own, or like you’re own, and use it To make it easier to do your job. I have no objection to them changing what they want me to follow or focus on, but to take away computers and not replace them it’s kind of stupid. Brian

I think she'd be! ❤️ #Tweenies

@JP403 @BabySpiderBoy You also may be having doubts as to what the present situation is at this time. I have been in pandemic mode for about 2 1/2 years. Prior to that, I was working three days a week at the church, going down 6:50 in the morning and coming home by five at night three days a week. Because of the change in the way things were done, because of the pandemic, and because of the economy and other things that are important, we have to make changes to the way we are operating our thrift store, which also means that we have to make changes to the way we operate. We have been running since 2009, so there have been things that we have changed including who is in charge. I am supposed to be the executive Director, and leader of this ministry, and it is kind of hard to be a leader of something when you are not sure what you will be leading, or how it will be done. I’m not quite sure what I will lead when I come back, because 90% of the meetings and things that have happened usually happen, and I am not required to be there, but I have access to all of the meeting minutes, and keep in contact with the people that I need to on a daily basis. I admit that I am a little flustered, as Little by little things are changing, and I’m not sure if they will be for the better or for the worse. The church says “they want to make it easier for everybody that works with you so that they don’t have to worry about certain things“. I support this, but there are certain things that I think need to be kept – one of these is my access to computers, and having them on my desk and available. We have to make changes to the floor plan, but the thing they wanna do is make my desk really small, and then I’m not sure what I will be able to have on my desk nor will I know what size my desk is, because they aren’t even done with it yet. add to that the fact that I haven’t been down to the church in over three months, and it’s kind of hard to have face-to-face meetings when they are not something that I am a part of. I am awaiting decisions from departments that are above me, and it kind of scares me – I used to take care of so many records, I used to be able to manage all of the documentation and what not, and now I won’t have to do as much, but I also have the church taking more control from me, so that I don’t have as much control as I once did. This scares me a little, because I don’t know what I am going to be running when I return. What I need to do, is on Monday, actually go downstairs and see what has been done, and then I guess start emailing Individuals so that I know what I’m dealing with. I support the idea that we need to make changes, but I don’t actually think that it is a good idea that we end up making changes that make technology use unnecessary, since I maintain four domains, two of which I update on a quite regular basis, while the other two I do not. Individuals so that I know what I’m dealing with. I support the idea that we need to make changes, but I don’t actually think that it is a good idea that we end up making changes that make technology use unnecessary, since I maintain four domains, two of which I update on a “regular basis, while the other two I do not. I am a very patient man, and I will and have listened to a lot of differing opinions and ways of doing things. I still have the last say as to what I think will work, so most of what they have done is things that I support. However, when you haven’t worked for over two years, and you need to make changes to the way things have been going, and you are used to doing it one way, and you’re not sure how it’s going to work: meaning that I would have to ask permission for almost everything I do, where I didn’t have to in the past unless it was a certain item, this causes May concern. I have a good team, but I still wonder what I will be running when I return to work: will we be able to do the wonderful things that we have been able to do for the last 12 or 13 years, or will most of that disappear, and the only thing that we will be doing is handing things out of the back room to everybody that walks through the doors? Not sure what we will deal with, but these are concerns that I’ve had and dreams that I’ve had, and I just want to make sure that what I am running looks similar to what I left, but better than when I got there. I just hope that they don’t take all of the computers and technology away from me in my job, because that will be one thing that I will be screaming so loud that the people in MONTPELIER will be able to hear me at the Burlington international Airport! Not sure exactly what is going on, and I know I’m rambling, but when you are not sure what you will see or what you will have, it gives you pause to wonder and worry about things: I’m not too worried about the ability to do my job, as much as will I be able to do my job because what I know to be my job won’t even resemble what I’m used to: I guess we will have to wait. baby spider boy is right: if you have unfinished business that you have to deal with, it is very hard to concentrate on what will be the future. Why did I just spew all that above? The answer is that I have those concerns myself, And it’s very hard to envision what I will deal with when I return when I have to deal with email only, and I have only one or two people that I contact, while everything else is being decided in meetings that I don’t have to be a part of: we will have to determine what it is that we will be doing, and I guess what I will have to do is to bite the bullet, and stand my ground where it is necessary, because I don’t see, and I’m not sure if I can see the road ahead, and right now it’s just something that I don’t know about. I know how to do the job the way I did it for 14 years, but I’m not sure how they want it done, and the only way for me to know that is to be able to be on the ground talking to my volunteer base and being able to determine what it is they want and what it is they do not. I just hope that when they get done, I still have the final say because that is my job as a Director: when you have responsibility of several volunteers, you always try to look out for the best interest of your volunteers, your church, your community, and your customers. that has always been what my mission has been. I think if I were to write an email this weekend, I would be able to deal with about 99% of these issues and be able to move forward: I’ve always been willing to make changes, but there are certain hard stops that I will not budge on. Computers help me every day, and one of the things that I worry about is if my work computer dies, the church will not replace it: we make enough money so that they should not be an issue, but the church should be able to see my side as well, and I will make that part of my feelings. I think if I were to write an email this weekend, I would be able to deal with about 99% of these issues and be able to move forward: I’ve always been willing to make changes, but there are certain hard stops that I will not budge on. Computers help me every day, and one of the things that I worry about is if my work computer dies, the church will not replace it: we make enough money so that they should not be an issue, but the church should be able to see my side as well, and I will make that part of my feelings. in order for you to be able to move forward, you have to be able to deal with what is in your past, and in order to see your future you have to know what’s in your rearview mirror and what you were looking at. It’s almost like if you’re driving a car. You know what’s behind you because you’ve already passed it, you know what’s in front of you because you’re looking right at it, and you can see a little bit ahead of where you’re going so that you know where you are going or where your destination is. As many of you know, I am a Christian man who believes very strongly in God: he gave me life, and he’s giving me the skills to be able to function at a higher level as I can: he gave me the smarts to be able to understand and do things that certain people may not be able to understand or be able to do, or give me the skill to be able to talk to certain individuals so that I can get what I need or explain very technical subjects to somebody in a way that makes sense to them. I don’t want to get too religious or political here: but just to state that my faith in God hopefully will be able to set my mind at ease. When you work so hard at a job that you actually enjoy, and major changes have to happen, for whatever reason, you always wonder if you had done the right things, or if people think that you can do those things. I know that my church trusts me so that isn’t the issue, but when you see things through the rearview mirror, you’re looking at the present, and you’re not sure what the present will look like, but you can see what’s ahead of you but only a little bit, or hear what is ahead of you, it is hard to make sense of the past the present or the future. Spider boy is also correct that you cannot move forward until you deal with the demons of your past or deal with what is in front of you. What I have tried to do is not worry about things that bother me to this level, but as far as I can go I have spoken my piece to several individuals where I have concerns. Now I will have to see what they come up with! May God give me the strength and the wisdom to be able to do what I do best to the best of my ability, and the power to be able to continue to do what I have done, and whatever modified set up they approve. Brian

Salad

At home, I'm only allowed in a Diaper, t-shirt or onesie on. I'm NEVER EVER allowed to hide my diapers because a grown up, big kid and adult can and need to check my diapers at anytime they want. And being an adult baby, I am not allowed to hide my diapers in front of big kids, adults and grown ups simply because I'm an adult baby and I'm not allowed to hide my diapers and adult babies like me don't have any shame or modesty in being diapered out in the open and in front of people. And besides being an adult baby, I don't get to wear pants at home and only big kids, adult and grown ups do. My diapers are my pants, shorts and underwear. Big kids, adult and grown ups gets to wear pants and gets the right to diaper check me and to make sure I am using my diaper like the adult baby that I am. I don't get that ability to diaper check myself because I don't know If I leak or poop.

Since I wear diapers for pleasure, and use them for their intended purpose, I leave my diaper on until it is fully saturated and won't hold any more. There's a certain care-free feeling I get about wearing a wet diaper and realizing there is still some capacity left in it

That's why being an adult baby and incontinent, I wouldn't want to be cured. I simply want society to understand that it's normal for someone to be diapered and that diapers not just for babies. They are for anyone who has a personal or medical need. In my case I have both a medical and personal need because being incontinent and being an adult baby I am required to be kept in diapers. It's why I would flat out refuse any attempts to cure me or potty train me into adult underwear because I am more comfortable, happy and less stressed out in a diaper than an adult underwear. Besides, most adults in the world are gona wind up in a nursing home, assisted living community or senior housing complex with a diaper and many of us in the ABDL community are already ahead. Diapers to me are my safe spaces and they are the safest spaces from adulthood. They are my security blanket from the adult world and the stresses of adulthood. They keep me calm and keep me little and babied all the time. Even diapers keep me from being potty trained and being forced to wear adult underwear. It's why being diapered is a lot better than being potty trained and being forced to wear adult underwear. It's also why diapers makes me the adult baby that I am. It makes me feel good and that I can accomplish many things without having to use the potty like a grown up. Diapers help me deal with the adult world where it's stressful and often times painful. Being an adult baby and being kept in diapers is how I deal with the crazy world we live in and it lets me deal with adulthood in my own way. It's why I also have chosen to be diapered to help deal with being incontinent and it helps me to be safe, secure, confident, and proud of being diapered and being my adult baby self. It's why I don't care if I pee in my pants or poop in my pants. I have my diapers on and the gear to take care of it.

@SoggyFroggy Embrace your feelings - Embrace yourself: there is nothing wrong with the way you feel, act, or wanting to wear diapers or use other equipment of the lifestyle. You see - and that is part of what people don’t understand. There are people that don’t want to be “cured“ of this because of the fact that there are parts of this that people don’t understand/refuse to understand/refuse to get. When you have the feelings you have, it is quite hard to get rid of them, I mean they’re always going to be a part of you, and you will always be attracted to diapers or other parts of the lifestyle, and this won’t change. I don’t care how hard you try to fight it, it will be there 24 hours a day seven days a week 365 days a year from the time that you find out that you feel that way until you accept that that is the way you are. You can try to fight it and repress it and try to push it down like a bad pill, but it’ll still be there. It took me a long time to realize that it’s more than just liking the diapers – it’s the feelings that you are dealing with as well, the smells, the triggers, and other things that set you off – those never go away. The easiest way to deal with this is to finally come to an understanding that you “are what You are“ and there is no way to “get rid of“ these feelings that you were dealing with every day. It would be like being given an incredibly awesome tasting chocolate bar: you end up getting used to the feel, the smell, taste, texture, and other things that make that chocolate bar special to you. It sets off endorphins in your mind and in your brain, allowing your body to fully experience what you were going through at at the time. I can assure you that if you were a guy, and somebody puts a diaper on the floor, and it excites you, you will be “straight up“ and you won’t be able to do anything other than to experience the feelings that are elicited by somebody who is telling you that they are going to put a diaper on you, or they’re going to treat you like a baby, or they are going to “baby you“ for a while. Those experiences are autonomic which means that you do not have any control over them, and it is just a part of who you are if you are turned on that way because of a diaper or because of the triggers. For many, it may feel good to them, and the body wants response, the body wants the feeling……… to be honest, there is no real way to “get rid of“ the feelings that you are experiencing. Believe me, I’ve dealt with it since I was eight years old, and I would not want to get rid of such feelings. Imagine being in a situation where you have a nice soft plastic diaper crinkling and somebody decides to put it on you, treat you like a baby and go the whole route. I can guarantee you that things will flood back into your mind about how you felt as a baby or a young child, and that is why there are some people that simply like to be treated that way, because it allows them to be able to escape to a time when things are not or we’re not as stressful for them: a time when someone would take care of every aspect of your life for you, or make decisions for you, or take you to A place in your mind where you feel safest and more confident. this is why I say there are more reasons to wear a diaper then just because you’re incontinent. There are some people that love diapers for the way they make them feel, or because they are adult babies or diaper lovers, and some of them are sexually turned on because of diapers or the equipment a baby may use. There is nothing wrong with this, as long as it is done In an appropriate manner, between consenting adults diapers are more than just something to pee and poop in, but that’s what they are for, and there are people who use them every day, and who like them, and I’ve always liked them and the only thing that they have to do is come to a realization in their mind, that they need to accept the truth: I cannot do that for someone, because they need to make that decision themselves. My role is to assist someone by giving them advice as to how they may be able to proceed – but in the end it would be up to the person who is dealing with the situation. @Kawaharu There is no “cure for this“ you are who you are and what you are. The hardest thing that I think people don’t quite understand is that it is quite normal for somebody to make the decision that they want to wear diapers. The only thing that is a block in the way of that is that you have parents and caregivers who have drilled into our heads since we were about four years old that diapers are for babies and that is a bad thing, and we need to use the toilet to be able to release all of our Business. Remember how I said that there are some people who decide that they wish to wear diapers or act as an adult baby because it makes them feel good/because it helps them to function/because it makes them feel more confident? There are people who wear for a psychological or emotional reasons, and as I said there is no “Cure for this“ and even if there was, I bet you A lot of us would “refuse it“ and say “screw it“ I’m just gonna do what I think I want to do. Diapers are your safety blanket: no one is going to take those away from you, and everyone who is in your “family circle“ and your close friends all know of your choice. No one is going to take that away from you. Diapers allow you to feel safe and to function at the level you wish to function at. Each of us has a reason for being who and what we are, doing what we are doing, or feeling the way we feel. I think most of what it is is there is an emotional attachment to something that happened in our childhood that some people don’t want to lose, or they just don’t give up, and they remember those good times when they didn’t have to worry about a thing. If you are an adult baby and you’re in little mode, you don’t have to worry about too many things, until you hit adult mode again. that’s what I think some people who are in the “negative camp“ don’t understand. When you have the feelings you have, they’ve always been there, and you question them from the time you feel it for the rest of your life. There’s nothing that you can do about it, except to think of yourself as “strange/weird/nuts“ but we are none of those three: we are human, and we have an attraction to something that is unique, that allows us to be who we are, or act a younger age, or to just let it all go. A diaper is designed for someone who is wearing it to be used, and its use is to “allow everything to come out“ feelings are things that you cannot fight sometimes, and the draw is extremely hard to fight. I would rather wear diapers for the rest of my life than to have to worry about the feelings the strange feelings that I’m always dealing with: at least when I’m wearing diapers I can deal with that feeling in an appropriate way and have fun while doing it. I’ve always stated that the best way to take care of a situation is to understand it, and sometimes it takes a long time for someone to come to the realization they are “diaper lovers, incontinent, adult babies, etc.“ Once you come to the realization that you are who you are then 95% of the rest of it is pretty easy to deal with. Once you get over the threshold and you know that you feel right with a decision, it makes a heck of a lot of difference. if diapers make you feel good, or being an adult baby makes you feel good makes you feel accomplished and makes you feel relaxed, or the feelings that you are experiencing help you deal with your life as it is, then by all means enjoy it. No one is going to stop you from being who you are, and no one is going to tell you that the feelings that you were dealing with are not there. The only ones that know about the feelings I am talking about are the ones that have experienced them, or continue to experience them every day. I have chosen diapers because of my incontinence, but it also helps me with security, confidence, safety, and peace of mind. So what if I have to pee my pants? So what if I mess myself? As long as I have the necessary equipment to take care of it it should not be a major problem! hold your head up high, and reach for the stars: many of us are very successful people, the only differences we decide to wear diapers or act as we feel when it is appropriate – or we like diapers. That’s why we’re all here – it’s just a matter of to what extent you wish to go/how far you want to go. Long live the diaper! Brian

"No! Stop! Please... argh!" Natasha convulsed helplessly, grasping for his wrists, wriggling to avoid his probing fingers. It didn't help her, his greater strength pinning her down and he remorselessly tickled her just above her hips. Flailing uncontrollably Natasha felt pain as her forearm made contact, realised she'd caught him, heard a horrible wet grinding sound. He screamed, a terrible sound, and fell back, freeing her. His hands went to his face, and already she could see blood passing through his fingers. "Oh my god!" she exclaimed, "I'm so sorry. Are you ok?" Ice and cloths to mop up the blood brought his bleeding under control. He looked at her, obviously in pain, his proud nose now pointing sideways, and Natasha's heart sank. "Come on," she said, "Lets get you to the hospital." The triage nurse rapidly assessed him. "We'll be with you soon," she assured, "please wait here." Natasha went to find them both drinks, brought back coffee, found him sat there wincing, blinking up at her and shaking his head as she arrived. "I'm so sorry," she said again, "but you'll be ok." "You're sorry?" asked a voice, "You didn't..?" Natasha turned, found a smartly dressed woman stood there, a name tag identifying her as a doctor. "I didn't mean to," explained Natasha, "He was tickling me and.." "Well, lets get him sorted," said the doctor. "Could you wait here and we'll be back soon." That was the last Natasha saw of him until the trial. -- "He was just tickling you?" asked the prosecutor. "Yes," replied Natasha, not offering further detail. "And you've been together how long?" "A few months." Natasha knew it was five months, two weeks and three days but her legal defence team had told her to provide only short terse answers. The prosecutor seemed satisfied anyway, but continued with his questioning "Are intimacy and displays of affection part of your relationship?" "Oh, yes," said Natasha in surprise, "he's really very sweet." "So why," demanded the prosecutor, "did you assault him?" The judge hadn't been sympathetic. "Domestic violence has no excuses," he stated, "and so I have choice but to impose a custodial sentence." The judicial system demanded punishments appropriate to the crime. Natasha pleaded with the judge, "Please, don't break my nose. I'll behave, agree to your sentence, but please, show mercy." The judge knew she would make this plea; he'd discussed it with the prosecutor and her defence team. The prosecutor had suggested an alternative but still suitable option. "For the next four weeks," he told her, "You will be taken from your cell twice a day and subjected to half an hour of tickling." Natasha gasped, but said nothing. Better than a broken nose, awful but tolerable. Just four weeks and she'd be free again, able to resume her life. At least she'd get respite on Sundays. -- "She what?" asked the Governor in astonishment, "She actually struck you?" "Yes," replied the guard, "It was her first tickling session. We followed standard procedure, let her lie on the padded workbench, and then I went to work." "So Natasha," asked the Governor directly looking at her, "Why did you assault my member of staff?" "I didn't mean to," sniffled Natasha, sank low in her seat, a submissive posture even without the shackles restricting her movement. "It's.. when I'm tickled.. I can't help it." "You're saying that you have no control?" asked the Governor, "That does not excuse assault, and you should have asked us for help with this." His verdict made Natasha's heart sink. Another four weeks, and he assured her that the punishment regime would be continued. But that wasn't the worse part. "You must promise not to attack my staff," he demanded. "I promise. Oh, I don't want this to continue," sobbed Natasha, "But.. when I'm tickled. I can't help it." "Are you saying you can't control yourself?" asked the Governor. "Umm. Yes. Help?" begged Natasha. "We can't forego the tickling," said the Governor. "We can however restrain you for your own protection, if that's what you want?" Natasha blushed as she realised the Governor expected her to ask to be restrained. "I, erm. Oh." She paused, looked around the room, desperate to escape the situation. The Governor waited patiently, impassive. He knew he couldn't force her into restraints, his options limited to punishment should she further misbehave. Natasha knew she would have to do it. "Umm. Can you please restrain me when I'm tickled?" she asked, and immediately burst into tears. -- The cuffs were strangely comfortable. The ones around Natasha's ankles were tethered to the bench with long ropes, allowing her to wriggle and move her legs; just not kick out at someone stood by her waist. Her wrists were fastened above her head, again on tethers that let her bring her hands to her own face, rub away the tears that had formed as they fastened her down. The cuffs and tethers were strong too. She tested them fully when the tickling started, her fight or flight instincts demanding action, refusing to let her just lie there, accept the torment. Her struggles were futile. The tickling continued, gentle but relentless, the guard trying to avoid hurting her but make her laugh. The laughing hurt. Halfway through the session the guard jumped back. "Oh, you dirty," she shouted, before regaining control and stopping. She glared at Natasha and gestured to a damp patch on her uniform. "You pissed on me! Oh, that's not good." The Governor agreed. "You promised not to assault my staff," he said, "and attacking them with urine is a revolting assault." "I didn't meant to! I couldn't help it! I must have lost control." Natasha wept as she admitted wetting herself, horrified as much by that as the inevitable consequences it had for her. "I've heard this before," observed the Governor, "and you know the response." Another four weeks. She'd been there less than a day and already Natasha had managed to triple her term. "But I can't help it," she whined, "you have to understand." "Oh, I understand," said the Governor, "But fitting the punishment to the crime here would be unsanitary. I can't ask the guards to urinate on you." Natasha was shocked into silence. She'd imagined more tickling, and suddenly realised she might be facing something much worse. "I can however impose a punishment that's suitable to the offence," said the Governor, "You claim you can't help wet on people? Well you can wet yourself." -- Natasha pulled futilely at her bonds. Three weeks in and she still couldn't stand the tickling, couldn't stop struggling, still needed those soft restraints that kept her safe, stopped her extending her sentence. "Oh dear, did someone just wet herself?" taunted the guard, pausing the tickling to pat the padding over Natasha's pubic mound. Natasha moaned, realising that she'd lost control another way, again. She knew she'd have wet herself eventually, the 24 hour regime of wearing diapers excused only for bowel movements, and even those occasionally catching her unawares. The tickling resumed and Natasha started laughing, forced to exhibit amusement at her suffering. Even that wasn't what concerned her. After hearing about the outcome of the first session the judge had added an additional rider to her sentence: Natasha would have to endure her final tickling with no restraints, and demonstrate that she had the control needed to be safe for release. If she failed, the sentence would be renewed. Natasha knew she was in trouble. In nine weeks and every four weeks after that, she faced being sentenced to another four weeks of tickling, knowing she would be diapered, forced to beg for restraints to hold her in place as she was subject to the humiliation of wetting herself, again and again.

You know why diapers are my best friend? It’s because they keep me safe and padded from the adult world. They keep me from growing up into adulthood and they stop me from potty training. Diapers are my safety blanket and my safest space.

Late one for me! Tena ultima for bed for the whole two hours sleep I’ll get before getting up for work lol. Might have to wear to work! Who knows.

Practically every year. Several batches. 2c irish whiskey 14oz condensed milk 1pt whole milk 1T instant coffee 1t vanilla 1t almond Dash cinnamon and or nutmeg. Do all the dairy and other shit first. Slowly blend in the whiskey. Bottle tightly and enjoy this weekend. May the road rise up to meet ya.

Angela is much more astute than Ashley gives her credit for. Ashley needs to realize that Angela loves her however given Ashley’s upbringing it isn’t surprising. I think she is afraid to get attached plus work stress. Danny might be playing them a bit but Angela is working with him to some extent and that is helping him be more open to her as well. I look forward to more!!

Ball???? as in Bocce? Didn't know he was dead. I've been watching SG1 again (just wrapping up season 7). Still a good show - most sci-fi gets dated pretty quick.

@rusty pins I agree to some extent that our preferences in diapers are tied to when we were little. I grew up in the 80’s and although I don’t remember wearing diapers as a toddler, they probably would’ve been white or blue (if they had gender specific diapers in the early 80’s, which was a thing for a while.) That said, I don’t think that’s the reason I prefer white medical diapers. Instead the emphasis is on the medical portion. I think it serves to reinforce that my bladder control issues are real and just as legitimate as anyone else who needs to wear diapers.

Those are adorable!

Part 23: “Hello, Mrs. Carson,” Melody’s voice revealed her amusement. “I’d like to talk with you a little.” “Hello, Melody. Go ahead.” Melody called Ann in the evening after the babysitting afternoon. Amy and Patsy were asleep already. “I was surprised by Patsy. She apparently likes her little girl role more than I thought.” “How so?” “She pooped yourself and ignored it completely. Amy asked her and she nodded only. A messy diaper wasn’t any issue for her. She behaved like a true toddler.” “To be honest, I’m not surprised by it. The lack of control changed her attitude. Now we have two small girls that support each other. Melody, would you help me? I have an idea.” “Of course, Mrs. Carson.” “Call me Ann. We are allies now.” “Okay, Ann.” Ann smiled when she hanged up the phone. She wanted to do an attempt to find out how much the girls liked the little girl role. Melody promised to help and Ann was sure that Julia would help her as well. What if the girls had to experience a baby time? ---------------------------------- “Hey sis, morning,” Amy’s cheerful voice sounded across the bedroom. “Morning,” Patsy yawned and tried to stretch her limbs as much as possible. The girls were lying on their respective beds and they were wearing thick diaper packages and the spreader pants. The pants made them lie flat on their back or belly. Amy preferred sleeping face down while Patsy found the position on her back more comfortable. They were kept in the spreader pants every night until they would decide to grow up. The first nights were hard but Amy got used to the position quickly and Patsy needed about five more days to get used, too. That position reminded her of a small baby and she liked it for an unknown reason. As for Amy, she didn’t mind it after the first night when she cried. She even put her thumb into her mouth while sleeping. “How did you sleep? Did you pee a lot?” Amy didn’t hesitate to ask Patsy about her diaper condition, “My diaper is soaked and cold.” “My diaper is warm, I had to pee lately,” the answer was as childish as the question. The girls seemed to like their baby time. Ann smiled when she was listening to the conversation behind the door. She was about to start her experiment: “Good morning, princesses. Mommy has a surprise for both of you. You apparently like to be small girls and I’m quite curious about your reaction.” She picked up Amy first and carried her to the changing table. After taking off the onesie and removing the spreader pants she removed the wet package, cleaned Amy’s crotch and took three cloth diapers and a youth sized disposable. “Mommy,this is too much. How should I walk?” Amy stared at the diapers in utter surprise. “Sweetie, babies don’t walk and you experience a baby time now.” “Why mom?” “Both Patsy and you apparently like to be babies and you should get an opportunity to enjoy it.” Amy was taken aback. She really liked the baby role and now she got tricked by her mom. Ann used a fair amount of barrier cream and put the three diapers between her legs and taped the youth disposable shut. It reached up to Amy’s belly button and limited her movement. Suddenly, Amy was confused. She didn’t like that she couldn’t walk properly but, on the other hand, the thick package was somehow pleasant. Amy instinctively put her thumb into her mouth. “Hey, princess, do you want a paci instead?” Ann laughed when she noticed what happened. Amy nodded without hesitation and Ann got an old pacifier from the cabinet. After the diaper change and dressing Amy Ann carried her to the living room and switched on the TV and chose a children channel with fairy tales. Amy tried to stand up but the diaper package was too thick. She leaned on the couch and relaxed. Patsy was waiting and she got impatient when Ann finally returned to the bedroom and lifted her up. “Where is Amy, mom?” “She is waiting for you in the living room.” “How so? She always ran to me.” “Today is not always, sweetheart.” Ann smiled at Patsy sneakily and Patsy got worried. What was going on? Patsy revealed the truth in the bathroom just like Amy did minutes earlier. Suddenly she realized what Ann’s plan was. She didn’t protest either; anyway she didn’t put her thumb into her mouth and didn’t ask for a paci. Later in the living room Patsy leaned on the couch just like Amy did and turned to her. “Hey, sis; what did our mom do? Is she a witch and is she able to read thoughts?” “No,” Amy replied and spat out the paci,”but she likes babies and small girls. Now she made us two baby girls. Maybe Melody talked to her, too.” “I don’t know; she has to have ulterior motives.” “What?” Amy didn’t understand that word. “Oh, sorry sis. She wants to achieve something else that she didn’t tell us.” “I see. However, I somehow like to be that small girl,” Amy said innocently. She really desired to be small and that was the reason why she didn’t want to give up her diapers. “So do I,” Patsy nodded but she blushed a little. She was a teenager though. Sitting on the diapered bottoms and with their legs spread apart wasn’t very comfortable but noth girls found it pleasant surprisingly. Amy peed in her diaper but she ignored it. “Hey girls, breakfast time.” Ann carried them to the kitchen and sat them into high chairs. Both Amy and Patsy stared at the high chairs. “Are you wondering? I had the old high chair and I purchased the other one in a second hand store.” Ann had to grin when she noticed their looks. “Should I feed you?” The girls stared at two plastic bowls with spoons and two baby bottles with milk. Patsy had to fight her pride but Amy nodded instantly: “Yes please mom.” “Okay, princess; I’ll feed you. What about you, Patsy?” Patsy took the spoon and started eating instead of an answer. Amy grabbed the baby bottle and waited patiently until Ann fed her. After breakfast Ann carried the girls into the living room and brought them their toys. “Playtime girls, and mom has another surprise up her sleeve. Wait.” Ann left the room, the TV was still on and the little girls started playing indeed. Amy took her favorite doll and Patsy joined the game; it was a good relaxation from her adult life and she liked it a lot even if she wasn’t sure if she would turn back or if she would grow up along with Amy. A growing pressure in her guts didn’t disturb her at the game at all; she pressed involuntarily and filled her diaper with mushy poop and a large amount of pee. Amy didn’t notice it at all and she pooped herself about fifteen minutes later. “Hey, buddies, how do you like your baby life?” Melody’s cheerful voice interrupted the game.

This is quite the intriguing read, I will say. Very much looking forward to more!

It's my pleasure Like2bwet ? Sorry it's taken me so long to reply because I'm always grateful for comments and I'm absolutely buzzed that you enjoy my tales of fun and fantasy... as well as the occasional wet nappy. Huge THANKS

Three: Baby-Man On any other day, he would’ve seen Harper’s SUV in the driveway and have automatically begun computing all the routes in the house that would minimize his chances of running into her. Today, he was happy to see her car. He would seek her out. He didn’t have to look too hard, as she was already in the kitchen, flipping through the pages of a grocery circular that was in the mail pile. What an act that was - she never once cared about grocery shopping. She was waiting for him. “Well, well, well,” he said as she strolled into the kitchen. “Are you here to give me a hard time?” “Are you here because you wanted me to give you a hard time?” She rolled her eyes. “What do you want, Layne?” He shrugged. “I dunno. Just curious about that, uh, thing from last night? That...oh what did you call it...a date? Yeah, I think that’s what you called it.” “This is why nobody likes to talk to you,” she said. “Who said that? Have people actually said to you that they don’t like talking to me?” She rolled her eyes and waved her hand dismissively at him - a move she probably learned from him, as it was one of his signatures. “No, seriously,” he said. “How was the, uh, date?” “It was good,” she said. “Did you...stay overnight?” “No, I came back home.” “Oh, I just didn’t see you because…” “We left pretty early.” “We?” “Well they stayed over here, yes. And I had to get them back to their car and…” Now he was doing the dismissive wave. He was a professional. Such smooth movement. Perfect arc in the wrist. “Alright, you know what?” she said. “You’ve lost your question-asking privileges. You’re going to have to deal with being in the dark now.” “Wait, wait, I wasn’t trying to…” “Nope. No more talking.” “At least tell me their name?” No response from her. She grabbed a bottle of water and left the kitchen. -- “So, here’s the thing. I’m thirty...four? Yes, I’m 34. My wife - I think I’m still allowed to call her that - is dating someone else. Well, she went on a date. And...actually, no, don’t get me started on that. Anyways. I have my own business, you know? But it’s kind of awkward to talk about. Like, it’s not the type of thing that’s going to make ladies swoon for me. It’d be like if I said that I owned a medical supply company. Actually, it’s a lot like that. But I’m just kind-of in this place right now where I’m asking myself all these deep questions. Am I happy? Do I want more? Am I ever going to have sex again?” “Is this usually how you try to hit on women?” He looked down at his half-empty pint on the bar’s counter and laughed. “Ah shit. I guess I had some things I needed to get off my chest. Sorry you had to hear all that.” Her emerald eyes contrasted beautifully against her dark skin and the tight coils of her hair. She was smiling, but it was a sympathetic smile - probably the worst kind to be subjected to at a bar. “Is that really your first beer?” she asked. “Or did you have seven more in the alley first?” “You don’t even want to hear me whining after seven beers.” “No, you’re right about that.” “What about you? Have anything you want to get off your chest? This might be the time to unload.” “I was passed over for a promotion a month ago,” the woman said. “I keep telling myself I’m over it, but I don’t think I am.” “Yeah? That sucks. What type of work?” “Project management for a group of environmental researchers. Wait, what did you say you did again? You owned a business that you didn’t like talking about?” “And yet you’re still going to ask me about it anyways?” She laughed and nodded. “Okay, what if I guessed?” “Alright. Go for it. You won’t get it, though.” “Stripper, right?” Layne looked down at his body and laughed. “My stripping days are past me. You know, on account of me being way too hot.” “No, I can clearly see that. But you said that it was like a medical supply store?” “I sell diapers,” he blurted out. “I’m just going to say it. Because I’ll feel pretty stupid if I have to play this game with you and blurt it out later.” She shrugged. “I mean, that’s not so bad. Babies gotta pee somewhere.” “Adult diapers.” “Less expected, I guess. But...old people gotta pee somewhere.” “Adult diapers mostly intended for people with a fetish where they dress up, and act, like babies.” Her mouth twisted a little, like she had to chew on that nugget for a moment. “That’s a thing? Like...I guess I know that people do...that. But I had no idea there was a physical brick and mortar store that catered to them. And that it’d be local.” “We do pretty well,” he said. “Though I just found out that there’s a local group of concerned citizens who strongly dislike my store’s existence.” “I believe that. But it’s not like you’re on main street, right? Next to a daycare?” “Oh, we’re actually in the back of a daycare. Do you think that’s the problem?” They both laughed. “What’s your name, anyways? I’m Kiri.” “Kiwi?” “Kiri, smartass. Nobody is named Kiwi.” “Hello, Kiri. I’m Layne.” “Lame?” He laughed and shook his head. “There are people who would agree with that. Layne.” “I’m teasing.” “So a whole...baby store? What’s that like? Get many walk-ins?” “I mean, people walk into our store, sure. But I’d be willing to bet that nobody has ever just been driving by and decided to randomly stop in and see what’s up. Our customers know who we are and where we are.” “Are you a...baby-man?” He laughed pretty hard - the kind of laugh that Effie would’ve been very proud of, had it been her joke. It wasn’t the kind of thing he was ever comfortable talking about - especially with a stranger. He didn’t think Kiri was different, per se, but the conversation had already been thrillingly candid. If nothing that he said so far had scared her off, what was the harm with going all the way? “Yeah, I guess. Maybe not so much anymore. Don’t shit where you eat and all that.” “A fitting analogy…” “It’s a line that gets tougher to tread, between enjoying something and it being your business.” “Yeah, I believe that.” “Do you feel the same way about, uh, projects?” She laughed and nodded. “Oh, for sure. But your life is far more interesting than mine. I want to know more about that.” “Ugh, no you don’t.” “Maybe just the baby-man parts?” He snort-laughed. “Yeah? Alright. Ask me anything.” “So, you wear a diaper, yes?” “Jesus, don’t say it so loud.” “Nobody can hear us. Look, there’s some sort of sports-game on the TV.” “That’s called baseball,” he said. “Answer the question, smartass.” “Yes. But, again, it’s more like: I did wear diapers.” “We can use present tense, right? I mean, you’re telling me that if you met some pretty woman who told you to put a diaper on for her, you would balk?” “I wear diapers,” he corrected. “Do you use them?” “Well, yeah. That’s, like, part of the experience. But, let me ask, how does that make you feel? Because there’s a lot of people who would hear that and be repulsed.” Her head waivered back and forth as she considered it. “I don’t know. I’m socially conditioned to find that gross. But...you could always just take a shower, I guess. There’s probably worse things in this world. Like cannibalism.” “I’ve never taken a bite out of someone.” She straightened her back, and her eyes glanced over his shoulders to something behind him. She was smiling - happy to see whatever it was. He turned to see what she’d be looking at, and spotted the man walking through the door. Tall, handsome. If he wasn’t a basketball player - he had to have spent most of his life being asked why not. “Fashionably late, as always,” Kiri said with a shrug. “I’m afraid I have to abandon our conversation.” “It was a pleasure meeting you,” he said. “Should I ever need diapers, I guess I’ll just look up the only adult diaper store in town?” “We’re not that hard to find.” “Goodbye, baby-man.” -- Back in the days of yore, when Layne still wanted to be a baby-man, he had a slightly different vision for Bottoms Up - one crafted from fantasy. Pretty women and handsome men would stroll in through the doors - multiple times a day - and they’d hem and haw over the diaper choices. He’d step in, making some recommendations. Maybe he’d point out a particularly cute diaper and mention how perfect it’d be for a ‘big baby like you.’ They’d blush, make a weak attempt to deny such a thing, but they’d be hooked. And then Layne would suggest that they try one on for size. And then he’d lead them through the swinging doors into the back stockroom where he’d show them the “nursery.” The nursery still existed. It was a contentious room between Effie and Layne. She had lots of ideas for it. Extra storage. A break room. An actual office, as opposed to the haphazard table of documents and computer equipment shoved into the corner of the stockroom. Once she had even asked if she could rent the space from him and turn it into an art studio. All requests were denied. He couldn’t let it go - that last strand of unrealistic fantasy. The store had been open long enough for him to know the truth - there would be no situation where he convinced a pretty young thing to let him put a diaper on them in the back of his store. But the day he surrendered the room to one of Effie’s whims would be the day that the original dream was dead. The store would just be a store. He arrived at the store a little after 9:00 PM. He had been the slightest bit buzzed by the time he left the bar - only downing one more pint after Kiri left him to join Tall Guy. He could’ve gone home, but he didn’t even want to risk running into Harper right now - surely neither would be in the mood for that. So he stopped by the store after hours - something he hadn’t done in a while. Slowly walking around the salesfloor, it was refreshing to just look at diapers without having to inventory or box them. Talking to Kiri about them - hell, feeling like he had to defend them when Grace Vander-whatever came into the store - had stirred something in him that hadn’t been stirred in a while. Everything that had settled on the bottom was kicked up. It was refreshing. He grabbed a package of Carnivals and held them in his hand. They really were among the most perfect diapers he had ever seen. He was close to opening the pack before remembering he probably had some loose in the back. He tried to keep a few loose diapers of each brand on hand. Sometimes as freebies for orders, or sometimes as a sample to give to curious customers that didn’t annoy him too much. Sure enough, he had most of a pack sitting on a shelf in the stockroom. They had even gathered a little bit of dust too - practically a criminal offense for diapers such as these. He drew one out, bending it back and forth to hear the plastic crinkle. Music to his ears, and a song he hadn’t appreciated in a while. Boxes were moved out of the path to the door - no doubt a passive aggressive move on Effie’s part. When the light switched on, he found that the nursery looked almost exactly as it did the last time he saw it - months, he suspected. “The nursery” was just a name. It was a large closet. The ‘changing table’ was a repurposed workbench, upholstered with some padding and fabric that he had to watch multiple YouTube videos for. There was a trash can - the trash bag within probably the same one that had been in there for the last two years. There was an empty shelf too, that once held essentials like baby wipes and baby powder. Again - that was a while ago. Back when he had more whimsy. Layne kicked his pants and boxers off in the little room and climbed onto the table. Even if it had been a while since he last put a diaper on, it was the sort of thing he didn’t forget. Bottom lifted - Bottoms Up, he thought to himself - diaper positioned under him and threaded through his legs. Folded over and taped shut. There he was, just a baby-man on the changing table of his nursery. ‘Nursery.’ It was comfortable. And while on his back, thick padding between his legs, he felt better than he had in a long time. This felt soothing. Natural. The troubles of life slowly faded from view. No Grace Vander-punks or Harpers. No need to think about the dead-end flirting wasted on April or Kiri. No smart-ass comments from Effie. He slipped a thumb into his mouth. Goddamn, he missed that. The thumb was a ticket to ride through some old memories - ones that were normally kept in a box under the metaphorical bed. Memories you didn’t want to look at, but would never bring yourself to throw away. He used to call Harper ‘Mommy.’ Not all the time. But sometimes - specific times. Times when it mattered. She was good at it too - damn near effortless in blending coddling with humiliation. She could shrink him down to infant status with just a look. He’d be reading a book or watching the TV and she’d walk into the room with a smirk on her face. “Baby want his bottle?” Boom, done. He’d be on the floor crawling behind her, no matter where she went or what would follow. That trip to Vermont. Skiing on Stowe, very well padded under the snowpants. The nervewracking and careful escape from the restaurant that night after too many drinks had caused the diaper to be used too many times. His hand slipped into the front of his diaper. Hello, old friend. Remember this? About nine minutes later, he had fallen asleep on the changing table, and this was where he stayed for the remainder of the night. -- It was usually a bad sign when Layne was at the store early in the morning. Either things had been that bad with Harper the night before, or he had a wild new idea for something he wanted to do to the store - which meant he’d put a few hours of work into it and then ask her to handle the rest. Effie parked and entered through the front door. She, herself, was about 5 minutes late - as she was most days. It rarely mattered when Layne certainly wasn’t there on time. But it was after 9:00 AM, and the lights weren’t on. The front door was still locked. She immediately imagined Layne unconscious - maybe dead - on the stockroom floor, a shelf of diapers having collapsed on top of him. Later, talking to Harper, she’d have to say: “Well, this was probably how he wanted to die.” “Hello?” she called out into the dark salesfloor. “Layne?” No answer. She flipped the lights on and spun around the OPEN sign on the door. She walked back into the stockroom next. There still seemed to be no sign of him. He wasn’t dead on the floor. Which was good - though she was worried that she’d forget her comment for Harper by the time he actually did die. “Layne? You here?” Still no answer. She was about to shrug it off and head to the front counter when she spotted the yellow light emitting from the doorway of the nursery, creeping over the edges of the partially closed door. He had moved the boxes she put in front of the door - mostly just to annoy him, though that was weeks ago. She walked towards the door, curious as to what his plan was. Clearly, this was why he was in early today - he had a project in mind for this room. Was he finally turning it into a break room? An office? Extra storage? She pushed open the door and her eyes grew large. There was Layne - sleeping on his back, snoring slightly. Wearing nothing but a mostly unbuttoned shirt, white undershirt, and a diaper. A Carnival, at that. She slowly backed herself out of the room and returned the door to its partially closed state. This was probably going to be an awkward conversation later.

I've had a number of diaper dreams over the past couple of years, and they often take a form similar to what you describe, @TheGrimmRetails. In one, I was in my car at a busy mall, wearing just a diaper and a shirt, and I needed to put something into a mailbox, so I parked my car in such a way that I could step out to put something in the box, without being viewed entirely. However, I was babysitting a small dog, and had it with me, and when I opened the car door, the dog jumped out and took off across the parking lot, so I had to go after it... with no pants on. The second one also involved driving in my car with no pants on (something I am not known to do...). I was driving and I took a wrong turn and ended up in a really tight neighbourhood with lots of kids playing in the street. I realized I was driving the wrong way and needed to turn around, but first I had to back up, I could not tell from inside my car if any of the kids were behind me, and the car in my dream didn't have a backup camera. The only thing I could do was open my car door and step out to look. The last one was different... for some reason, I was at city hall, walking across the lobby, in diaper and a golf shirt. I was there because I had to cash in a small lottery ticket (which you don't do at city hall, but dreams are not required to make sense) - the amount was $200. As I was walking back from the lotto desk, I saw one of my uncles (who lives in another city) walk through one of the doors and into the main atrium. I sprinted for the nearest door, opened it, and bolted down a long laneway toward the parking lot, all the while concerned that running would attract attention, but, I really wanted to get out of there suddenly, although before my uncle walked in, I'd been fine, apparently, with visiting city hall dressed like a toddler from the waist down. I was afraid to look over my shoulder as I ran, because I thought that if my uncle HAD noticed the running man in the diaper, maybe he wouldn't know it was me, if he couldn't see my face. But I really wanted to look back and see if he was looking.

Hello. Yeah it is always hard taking that first step into a bigger world because change is hard. However, sometimes you will find out that is is something that you really enjoy and have been missing in your life as long as you can do it within reason. Anyway, I wish you the best of luck and I hope to hear from you again soon in the forum or the chat room.

Welcome!???❤️?

Hi Little Writer, and welcome to the fold. Yeah, that would be a diaper fold ? But it’s good to have you join us. There’s always room for more stories too. Come on in, and be comfy, you already know your way around here, I’m guessing, but if you have questions, just ask. There’s always a helping hand around, from likeminded people. Relax, have fun, and enjoy!

It's been nearly 10 Years since the "Diaper Girl" episode of My Strange Addiction came out and I look back on the whole process and the shows effects on my life, the community and how ABDL's and alternate lifestyles are perceived in the media. PewDiePie recently did a video on the episode (so many diaper/bathroom jokes, not so many jokes about ABDLs) so I thought I'd make a thorough retelling of my thoughts and experiences on MSA Thanks for all the positive thoughts over the years and StayDiapered friends

Why deny yourself something you love?

I've been there, the need can become unbearable. I don't think there's any harm in going ahead and getting back into diapers, God knows the urge isn't going to just magically disappear if you fight it for long enough.

I'll start the topic by saying wearing adult diapers/ pull-ups & using them is a relatively new thing for me. I've been deliberately messing my pants on & off for decades but tended to avoid wetting because of cold chaffing feeling afterwards & fears about leaks making fabrics & furnishings stink of stale pee. But being able to now wet myself more freely & feeling the warmth, weight & puffing out afterwards has been a revelation.. At present I'm loving being taken back to that childhood thing of feeling the need to go but not wanting to stop playing the game I'm immersed in & then discovering my pee has started to flood out all by itself & I can't stop it... but I'm fascinated by what others like to do & would like to try different things.

I used to pee my pants as a kid and often it was quite deliberate. I loved having wet pants and if no one noticed I would happily stay in them until they dried or I wet them again. School holidays were my favourite time. I could have a nice wet patch in my shorts and no one seemed to notice.