TheLittleWriter

Hi guys! I finally got a Subscribestar. All of my stories are being uploaded there, plus a lot of new content, including in-progress content like Diapered Stepmother, The Regression Act, and Like Mother Like Daughter. Check out my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections A Bedwetter on Camp Lena had always thought of herself as mature for her age. Not in a try-hard way—she wasn’t the type to flaunt it. But in small, steady ways. She didn’t flake on plans. She showed up on time. She kept her room clean even when no one asked her to. It was just how she was. Reliable. Grounded. That’s part of why she was so excited when Camp Havenbrook accepted her as a junior counselor. It felt like recognition. Like someone had finally said, Yes, you’re ready. You’re not a kid anymore. She could almost pretend she wasn’t nervous when she stepped off the shuttle that morning, duffel bag digging into her shoulder, the scent of pine trees and lakewater heavy in the summer air. Somewhere nearby, a group of returning campers were already shrieking with laughter. A few staff members in matching polos waved half-hearted greetings. The wooden cabins, still as crooked as they’d been years ago when she was a camper, lined the clearing like slouching old friends. Lena exhaled and squared her shoulders. “Lena Hargrove?” The voice was firm—not loud, but the kind that made people listen. Lena turned. The woman approaching her was dressed in starched khakis, a tucked-in polo, and hiking boots that somehow looked cleaner than any pair Lena had ever owned. She wore no makeup, no jewelry, and no smile. Her clipboard was clutched like a weapon. “Yes,” Lena said. “That’s me.” “I’m Miss Temple,” the woman replied. “Camp Director.” Lena nodded quickly. “It’s great to meet you. I’m really excited—” “We run a tight ship here,” Miss Temple interrupted. “This is a place for learning responsibility, not coddling bad habits.” “Oh, totally—” “There’s no room for sloppiness. No room for excuses. That includes personal hygiene, punctuality." "I agree," Lena said. "Have you read the handbook that was given to you?" asked Miss Temple. Lena nodded. "Any questions?" "Just the one. About nighttime accidents.” “Right,” Miss Temple repeated. “We house girls of all ages, from five-year-olds to sixteen-year-olds. They are not babies or toddlers, so wet beds are not tolerated here. At any age. When that happens, there are consequences.” "Diapers?" Lena asked, remembering what she read in the handbook. "Correct. Among other things," Miss Temple said. “I understand,” she said quietly. “Cabin 3C,” Miss Temple continued. “You’ll be overseeing girls ages twelve to fourteen. Your responsibilities include curfew enforcement, activity guidance, and behavior monitoring. Report to the lodge at 1600 for staff orientation.” Without waiting for a response, Miss Temple turned on her heel and walked off. Lena just stood there for a second, her grip tightening on her bag. She was eighteen. She was an adult now. She could handle this. By the time camp was over, she would have enough money to buy herself a second-hand car. That's all she needed to finally leave home and start her adult life. Still, she couldn’t help but think: Since when does a camp director talk about bedwetting like it’s a criminal offense? Cabin 3C was tucked at the edge of the woods, close enough to hear the lake lapping at the shore. It looked smaller than she remembered it, but maybe that was just perspective. She used to sleep in these bunks. Now she was here to supervise. Now she was here to be in charge of other girls, not much younger than herself. She took a deep breath and walked in. It was chaos inside. Suitcases exploded across the wooden floorboards. Someone was blasting music from a hidden speaker. Two girls were arguing over top bunk rights. The air smelled like bug spray and peach lip gloss. “Everyone!” Lena called out, trying to find her counselor voice. “Let’s quiet down, okay? I’m Lena. I’ll be your counselor this summer.” A few turned to look at her. One girl waved lazily. Another kept typing on her phone until a friend elbowed her. Then there was Madison. Lena recognized her right away. It was a bratty, popular girl who went to the same church Lena's parents visited every Sunday. The arched eyebrows, the glossy hair, the attitude that filled a room before she even spoke. She looked even older than Lena herself, with curves that belonged to a woman's body. “You’re the counselor?” Madison asked, arms folded. Lena smiled, ignoring the tone. “That’s right.” Madison tilted her head. “Do we know each other? "I don't think so," Lena lied. "You don’t look much older than us," Madison pressed. "It doesn't matter," Lena said. "I'm the one in charge." "Are you?" Madison glared at Lena with defiance. That somehow made Lena feel out of place. The rest of the day passed in a blur. There were name games, unpacking rules, a hike to the flagpole. Lena tried to lead with a balance of friendliness and firmness, but it was clear who the queen bee of the cabin was. Madison had her clique—Jordan and Kylie—and they followed her lead. Madison didn’t outright disobey. She just watched Lena as if she were amusing—a challenge. That night, after lights-out, Lena lay in her bottom bunk staring at the wooden slats above her. The air was sticky. A mosquito buzzed somewhere near her ear. From the other side of the cabin, someone whispered a joke, followed by a stifled giggle. Lena sighed and rolled over. She wanted to prove herself. To show she could handle a leadership role. That she wasn’t just another girl pretending to be grown up. That’s why she didn't say anything when she found the toothpaste smeared inside her sneakers the next morning. She just cleaned them and moved on. When someone swapped her bug spray for Silly String? She didn’t tattle. Just laughed it off. But her patience was starting to thin by the third prank—mild laxatives added to her breakfast smoothie, if she had to guess. Luckily, she made it to the bathroom. Still, she refused to lose her cool. That’s what they wanted, right? For her to snap. To prove she wasn’t fit for the job. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction. That night, she sat on her bunk and sipped her water carefully. The girls were already settling in. Someone asked if they could keep a nightlight on—Lena said yes. Another asked for an extra blanket. Madison just stared at her from her bed, an unreadable expression on her face. Lena gave her a polite nod, then turned to get ready for bed. What she didn’t notice—what she couldn’t know—was that her water bottle had been swapped. The liquid inside wasn’t water. Not entirely. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hi guys, here's one of my latest stories. You can read it now on Amazon Kindle Wife's New Boyfriend Is My New Daddy Part II: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F1DFN2B9 or check my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections Camille's Diapered Stepmother: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F7S44THM Claire's Regression: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DS2S4FXW You can also read Daisy's Perfect Summer: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DLVJYHH5 Here's a link to The Diary of a Diapered Cuckold: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DPFLGMNJ

Hi guys! I finally got a Subscribestar. All of my stories are being uploaded there, plus a lot of new content, including in-progress content like Diapered Stepmother, The Regression Act, and Like Mother Like Daughter. Check out my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections This story is already completed! Chapter Three Claire’s Public Accident Claire woke up feeling worse than she had the night before. Her sleep had been restless, her dreams punctuated by flashes of her recent accidents and Linda’s words. “If you don’t do something to manage it, someone else is going to find out." Sitting up, she rubbed her temples and let out a slow breath. The idea of people knowing—Samantha knowing—made her stomach churn. She couldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t. The day passed in a haze of meetings and emails, and by the time Claire checked her calendar, she realized she had forgotten about the dinner she had agreed to earlier in the week. David, a senior colleague from another department, had invited her out to discuss a potential project collaboration. She considered canceling but stopped herself. No. This is perfect. It was her chance to prove to herself that she could handle this—without anyone’s help, without… those things. She paired a sleek navy dress with her favorite heels and styled her hair into a flawless wave. Her reflection in the mirror was dazzling, commanding. She looked every bit the confident, powerful executive she knew she was, and she needed that boost in morale. When Linda returned from running errands and saw Claire dressed to the nines, she paused in the entryway. “Are you going out?” “Yes,” Claire said, grabbing her clutch from the counter. Linda frowned. “Do you think that’s a good idea?” Claire bristled. “I’ll be fine, Linda. Stop worrying.” There was a long pause. Linda opened her mouth as if to say more, but thought better of it. “Alright. Have a good evening, Ms. Reynolds." Claire walked out without another word. The restaurant was quiet, upscale, and perfectly chosen for the casual business dinner. Soft lighting glinted off polished glassware, and the low hum of conversation provided just enough background noise to keep things comfortable. David was waiting when Claire arrived, standing to greet her with a warm smile that instantly softened the tension in her shoulders. David was handsome in a classic, effortless way: his dark hair was neatly combed, and his suit was tailored to perfection. His easy demeanor was a stark contrast to the corporate sharks Claire usually encountered. He exuded charm without arrogance and confidence without pretense. “Claire,” he said warmly, pulling out her chair as she approached the table. “I’m so glad you could make it. I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me.” She offered him a small smile, lowering herself into the chair. “I don’t forget important meetings,” she said smoothly, her professional tone masking the nerves bubbling just beneath the surface. The first thirty minutes passed smoothly. Claire played her role with practiced precision, listening attentively to David’s ideas and offering her own insights where appropriate. She found herself laughing at his jokes—genuinely laughing, not the polite chuckle she reserved for most colleagues. He had an ease about him that made it hard not to relax, even as her mind ticked through all the work waiting for her tomorrow. For a moment, she even let herself enjoy it. She couldn’t help but notice the way David’s eyes lit up when he spoke, or how his laugh seemed genuine rather than rehearsed. He wasn’t just a colleague; he was magnetic. This is fine, she told herself, relaxing into the rhythm of the conversation. I’ve got this. Then it hit. The pressure in her bladder came on quickly, startling her mid-sentence. She stiffened, her grip tightening around her wine glass. Her stomach dropped as the sensation intensified, sharp and insistent. No. Not now. Please, not now. “Excuse me,” she said abruptly, cutting David off mid-sentence. Her voice wavered slightly, but she forced a tight smile. “I’ll be right back.” She tried to take a step toward the restroom, but it was already too late. The soft, unmistakable sound of liquid dripping onto the floor made her stomach churn. Her breath hitched as she felt another, deeper pressure building in her abdomen. Her body was betraying her again, and this time, it was worse. Oh my God. Oh my God. Not this. Please, not this. Her control slipped completely. It was mushy and uncomfortable. The sensation of warmth in her underwear left no room for doubt. For the first time since she was potty trained by her mother, Claire had messed herself. The worst part? Everyone could see it. It had not happened in her home or in the office, but in the most public way possible. David’s brow furrowed, his eyes flicking down briefly before darting back to her face. “Claire? Are you okay?” She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Her face burned with humiliation as she clutched her clutch tightly against her front, trying in vain to cover herself. “I—I have to go,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “Wait, let me—” But she was already backing away, moving as quickly as she could without drawing more attention. Her heels clicked against the tile, and she prayed no one noticed the faint smell beginning to linger. The eyes of nearby diners seemed to follow her as she rushed through the restaurant, though she couldn't tell whether they were truly looking or it was her imagination. Her thoughts were a chaotic mess, cycling between shame, panic, and disbelief. How could this happen? The question screamed in her mind, looping endlessly. By the time Claire reached her car, her hands were trembling so badly that it took three tries to unlock the door. She climbed inside and slammed the door shut, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. The damp, sticky fabric of her dress clung to her skin, reminding her of what she had done with every step she took. She couldn’t escape it. Her stomach churned as tears welled in her eyes. She had always prided herself on control—of her work, her image, her life. And now? She couldn’t even control her own body. What’s wrong with me? She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against the steering wheel as the tears spilled over. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs, the weight of her failure crushing her. After a few minutes, she forced herself to sit up, wiping her face with trembling hands. She couldn’t stay here. She needed to get home, to shower, to... do something. She started the car, her mind still spinning, and pulled out of the parking lot. Claire’s focus was fractured as she drove, her thoughts looping endlessly around the events of the evening. She replayed every humiliating moment in excruciating detail: David’s face, the sensation of losing control, the whispers she imagined in the restaurant. She didn’t see the stop sign until it was too late. The blaring horn of another car jolted her back to reality. She slammed on the brakes, her heart pounding as the other car skidded to a stop inches from her front bumper. The flash of blue and red lights in her rearview mirror sent a shiver down her spine. She gripped the steering wheel tightly as she pulled over to the side of the road. Her heart pounded, and her stomach churned with dread. The officer approached, her tall frame and neatly tucked blond hair giving her an air of confidence that made Claire feel even smaller. She couldn’t have been more than 28—young, strikingly attractive, and composed. Claire rolled down the window, her hands trembling. “Good evening,” the officer said, her tone calm but firm. “Do you know why I pulled you over?” “I—I missed the stop sign,” Claire admitted, her voice shaky. The officer nodded slightly but paused as the faint smell of Claire’s accident reached her. She leaned in closer, her expression shifting. “Have you been drinking tonight?” the officer asked, her tone growing sharper. “No! I haven’t had anything,” Claire said quickly, panic creeping into her voice. The officer frowned. “Step out of the car, ma’am.” Claire hesitated, clutching her purse tightly against her front to shield her stained dress. “Please put the purse down,” the officer instructed firmly. Claire’s hands tightened on the strap, but the officer’s expression left no room for argument. Reluctantly, she set the purse on the hood of the car, exposing the full extent of the damage to her dress. The officer’s eyes flicked downward, her professional demeanor faltering for just a moment before she recovered. “What happened?” the officer asked. Claire’s cheeks burned. “It was an accident,” she muttered. The officer sighed and straightened. “We’ll run a quick field sobriety test if you pass it. You can go home with a warning and a fine. If you don’t, we’ll discuss that further if necessary.” Claire’s stomach dropped. “I told you, I haven’t been drinking.” “Then this won’t take long,” the officer replied. Claire bit her lip but nodded. “Start by walking in a straight line,” the officer instructed, gesturing to a section of pavement. Claire stepped forward hesitantly. Each movement felt exaggerated and awkward, the sticky sensation of her soiled clothes making it impossible to focus. “Good. Now turn and walk back toward me,” the officer said. Claire stumbled slightly as she turned, tears stinging her eyes. “Ma’am,” the officer said, her voice softening, “are you sure you haven’t had anything to drink tonight?” “I swear, I haven’t,” Claire said, her voice breaking. The officer sighed, her tone shifting to something gentler. “Alright. Let’s take a minute.” Claire wiped her face, her hands trembling. “What’s your name?” the officer asked, her voice calm. “Claire,” she whispered. “Okay, Claire,” the officer said, crouching slightly to meet her eyes. “I know you’re upset, but sometimes these things happen. It’s not the end of the world.” The words stung. Claire looked away, her humiliation deepening. The officer stood and walked to her patrol car, returning with a small, well-worn teddy bear. She held it out to Claire, her voice soft. “I usually keep this for kids who need a little extra comfort, but I think it might help you right now.” Claire hesitated, her pride warring with her exhaustion. After a moment, she took the teddy bear, clutching it tightly. “Let’s get you to the station and figure this out,” the officer said gently. Claire climbed into the back of the patrol car, holding the teddy bear against her chest. She didn’t say a word during the drive, her mind numb. The officer glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “We’ll get you cleaned up at the station,” she said. “Everything will be okay.” Claire stared out the window, her tears falling silently. For the first time, she felt truly powerless. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hi guys, here's one of my latest stories. You can read it now on Amazon Kindle Wife's New Boyfriend Is My New Daddy: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DSR2VKVB or check my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections Claire's Regression: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DS2S4FXW You can also read Daisy's Perfect Summer: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DLVJYHH5 Here's a link to The Diary of a Diapered Cuckold: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DPFLGMNJ

Hi guys! I finally got a Subscribestar. All of my stories are being uploaded there, plus a lot of new content, including in-progress content like Diapered Stepmother, The Regression Act, and Like Mother Like Daughter. Check out my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections This story is a reinterpretation of an old story I read once that I couldn't find again. I think it was named Tara's Perfect Summer. I liked the setting, but wasn't a fan of how it ended, so I took the setting and wrote a different story with a completely different ending (The mother ends up in diapers, perhaps?) Anyway, this story is fully completed on my Subscribestar. Chapter One Mrs. Johnson’s Offer Daisy looked out her bedroom window. It was a beautiful summer Friday morning, and the kids next door were playing outside. They seemed not to have a care in the world, just focused on having fun. At nineteen, Daisy wishes she didn’t have to worry about school or finding a job. Things weren’t easy for someone her age, and the pressure was truly pushing her down. That’s why, as she watched the kids play, she wondered what it would be like to be so carefree, even if it meant having no say in her life. She had babysat for those kids many times. Mia was only two, and Caitlyn was about to turn four. Mia was not potty trained yet, and Caitlyn was having a hard time moving from pull-ups to big girl panties. The day before, Daisy had promised the girls’ mother, Mrs. Johnson, that she would help her with her daughters’ potty training. And so she got ready and left her room. “Where are you going?” Daisy’s mother, Charlotte, a severe woman with severe eyes, asked. “Just next door, I promised Mrs. Johnson that I would help her with the girls today.” “One of these days, you’re going to have to think of a better job than babysitting.” Daisy just smiled thinly at her mother and left her house. “Daisy!” both girls shouted in unison as she reached Mrs. Johnson’s house. They were playing in the yard with the many toys her mother had bought them. Mrs. Johnson was rich, and not just I-have-a-well-paid-job rich. Mr. Johnson had left his wife a fortune in property investments and market shares. The house was a testament to that wealth. “Hi girls!” said Daisy with a gentle smile on her face. “Come play with us!” “She will,” Mrs. Johnson said, appearing behind Daisy. But first, can you get the girls changed, sweetheart?” Mrs. Johnson was just ten years older than Daisy, but she didn’t look the part. Elegant and slender, the woman was everything Daisy wished she could be. “Sure will,” answered Daisy, “Come on, girls, you heard your mother.” Caitlyn was dry, so she was allowed to stay, but Mia’s diaper was full. So Daisy carried her up the stairs and into the nursery. It was a pastel kingdom full of toys and stuffed animals. “All right, kiddo. Let’s get you clean.” Sucking on her own thumb, Mia didn’t even notice what was happening as Daisy changed her wet diaper and put her on a new one. “You know, you are so lucky,” said Daisy as she dressed Mia. You don’t have to worry about boys, cars, careers, or jobs. Nothing. I wish I could go back to being your age sometimes. It would make things so much easier.” Daisy saw one of Mia’s extra pacifiers and, without even thinking twice, she reached for it. Although confused by her own thoughts, she placed the pacifier in her mouth and began sucking. It was oddly soothing. “You know,” said the voice of Mrs. Johnson, and Daisy’s heart stopped, “It looks good on you.” “Mrs. Johnson! What? Why? It’s not what it looks like.” “It’s okay. I actually overheard you just then.” Daisy blushed. “Sweetie,” said Mrs. Johnson to her daughter, “Let’s get you back outside with your sister, okay?” Mia nodded enthusiastically. “Wait for me here, Daisy.” After dropping Mia back with Caitlyn, Mrs. Johnson came back to the nursery. Daisy had not moved, and she was still embarrassed about what had happened. “Do you really want to go back and be a baby?” “I don’t…” she paused. If she were honest with herself, she kind of wished that could happen. “Yes.” “Diapers, bottles, cribs, and all?” “I mean, that’s what it means to be a baby, right?” Mrs. Johnson smiled, but not in a taunting way. It was a motherly smile that felt real and caring. “You know, the girls are leaving in a few hours. They will spend the weekend with my parents. Why don’t you come stay here and be my baby while they are out?” Daisy gulped, “You mean it?” Mrs. Johnson nodded, “I will treat you just like a baby. Diapers, feeding, and more. It will be fun.” “I don’t know…” Mrs. Johnson held her hand, “I insist.” “But what about my mom?” “You leave her to me.” Daisy nodded with butterflies in her stomach at the thought of finally being babied. “Mrs. Johnson…” “Please, call me Mommy this weekend.” Daisy blushed again, “Mommy, I was curious, what age will you be treating me like?” “Well, do you think you’ll be big enough to be treated like Caitlyn?” Daisy blushed and shook her head. “What if I treat you like Mia? You’d be two for the weekend.” Daisy blushed again and shook her head. Mrs. Johnson smiled, “Would you like to be a one-year-old baby this weekend? No talking. No walking. You’d depend on me for everything.” Daisy was so red that she could’ve passed for a Marvel villain, but nodded. “Very well then. Come back here at five and I will have everything ready.” Daisy nodded and left for her home, thinking all the way about Mrs. Johnson’s offer and how perfect her weekend would be. Chapter Two Mrs. Johnson’s Rules As the afternoon sun began to dip below the horizon, Daisy couldn't shake the mix of excitement and nerves bubbling inside her. She had spent the day trying to distract herself, but her mind kept drifting back to Mrs. Johnson’s offer. Could she really spend the weekend as a baby? The idea seemed absurd, especially for someone her age. Daisy should be looking for internships and job opportunities. According to society, she should already be looking to make a career for herself. Yet, the idea of spending the weekend as someone else’s baby felt right and comforting. “Mrs. Johnson called,” said her mother, Carmen, when Daisy made her way to the front door. “Yeah?” “You’ll be babysitting for the weekend, right?” Daisy nodded. “You know, I hope you can find a proper job for someone your age after that. Those girls won’t need a babysitter forever. And then what will you do?” “I don’t know.” “Well, use this weekend away to think about it,” said her mother with the harshest of tones. She didn’t say anything else, and Daisy left her home. At precisely five o'clock, Daisy stood at Mrs. Johnson’s front door. She couldn’t stop smiling. She couldn’t fight the excitement. It was going to be a perfect weekend! Mrs. Johnson greeted her with a warm smile. "Right on time, Daisy. Come in." Daisy stepped inside, feeling the butterflies in her stomach intensify. The house was quiet, a stark contrast to the usual sounds of Mia and Caitlyn playing chaotically. In fact, the house felt different that day. It felt warmer and more welcoming than Daisy’s own home. Mrs. Johnson led her to the living room, where a playpen and various baby items were already set up. "The girls have already left with my parents," Mrs. Johnson said, her voice gentle. "Are you ready to start?" Daisy nodded, her heart racing. "Yes, I think so." “Good. Just remember, babies don’t talk, so as soon as we begin, you won’t talk unless I allow it. Okay?” Daisy nodded. “I’ll get you ready and then we’ll go through the rules for this weekend.” Mrs. Johnson took her hand and led her upstairs to the nursery. The walk there felt longer than usual. Even if Daisy had been in that room many times before, the moment Mrs. Johnson opened it, she felt a surge of adrenaline as her heart started beating faster and faster. “It’s okay,” said Mrs. Johnson, pulling something from her pocket. “Why don’t you put this in your mouth? It will help with the nerves.” Daisy opened her mouth to receive a brand-new pacifier big enough for her. Mrs. Johnson then opened a drawer and pulled out a thick adult-sized diaper. "Lie down on the changing table, sweetie." With trembling hands, Daisy did as she was told. Mrs. Johnson worked efficiently, removing Daisy's clothes and placing the diaper under her. The sensation of the diaper being taped snugly around her waist was strange but not unpleasant. It was softer and more comfortable than she had expected. "There we go," Mrs. Johnson said, helping her off the table. "How does that feel?" Daisy blushed, looking down at herself. "It's... different. But I think I like it,” said Daisy, blushing. “Now for the final touch,” said Mrs. Johnson. She dressed Daisy in a soft pink t-shirt that had a teddy bear design on the front. “You look so cute.” The shirt barely covered the top of Daisy’s diaper, making her feel exposed and vulnerable. And yet she knew that babies had no shame, and no one would see her but Mrs. Johnson—her new Mommy. “Now, we have to set some rules. But that’s only to make it easier for you to settle into your new role. The first one you already know…no talking. You chose to be a one-year-old, and you will be one this weekend.” Daisy nodded, still sucking on her pacifier. “Good. The other rule is that you’re not allowed to use the bathroom. That’s what your diapers are for…don’t worry, I’ve dealt with many stinky presents before, so that won’t be a problem. Understood?” A bit shocked at the rule, Daisy took her time nodding this time. But she still agreed. “Good. There’s one more thing, and you can say no to this one,” Mrs. Johnson said, “Mia being away for the weekend doesn’t mean my breasts stop producing milk. So, if you accept, this weekend you will be breastfed just like a one-year-old would." Daisy’s jaw dropped. She wanted to have the full experience, but…she didn’t know if the breast milk part was her thing. After all, even if she didn’t have a boyfriend, she always thought of herself as straight. Sucking on another woman’s breast wasn’t that straight… “You can say no to that one, but that means I would have to leave you alone while I pump.” “I don’t know,” said Daisy through her pacifier, and she was surprised by her own words. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to break the rules.” “That’s okay. Look, think about it. Okay?” Daisy nodded. Even though a part of her wanted to reject the offer, another one, perhaps a smaller one, couldn’t find any reason not to accept it… “Now, let me show you something,” said Mrs. Johnson with a gentle smile and a mothering tone. She helped Daisy off the changing table and led her to a mirror. Looking back at Daisy, she was not the nineteen-year-old who had left her mother’s home not an hour earlier. No. Instead, looking back at her was a cute baby girl, albeit bigger than a baby. Still, she couldn’t get over how cute she looked with her onesie and the thick padding between her legs. "Do you like what you see?" Daisy nodded with her pacifier still in her mouth and a warm feeling spreading through her beating heart. The weekend was already turning out better than she had expected, and it had only begun. That's when she made the decision. "I want to be breastfed," she said with such confidence. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hi guys, here's one of my latest stories. You can read it now on Amazon Kindle Wife's New Boyfriend Is My New Daddy: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DSR2VKVB or check my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections Claire's Regression: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DS2S4FXW You can also read Daisy's Perfect Summer: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DLVJYHH5 Here's a link to The Diary of a Diapered Cuckold: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DPFLGMNJ

Hi guys! I finally got a Subscribestar. All of my stories are being uploaded there, plus a lot of new content, including in-progress content like Diapered Stepmother, The Regression Act, and Like Mother Like Daughter. Check out my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections Chapter 3 The Brand New Deal Panicking, Melissa jumped off her bed. Her pajamas were soaked, and when she removed them, she knew her new pull-ups were not enough to deal with her heavy wetting. Hesitant. Worried. Hopeless, she rushed to hide her wet pajamas and removed her soaked sheets. She could still keep it a secret. No one needed to know. If she were smart, her stepmother would never find out. Opening her window to let the air vent out the smell, she stopped when she noticed she was peeing again. The urine left a puddle right where she stood, and before she could do or say anything, the door to her room opened. Melissa froze as her stepmother walked into her room. “Melissa, would you like some pancka…?” Helen stood there, by the door, mouth open and in shock. Melissa looked back, helpless. How could she explain this? Waiting for Helen’s reaction, she stood there, sobbing. But her stepmother said nothing. Her stern face shifted from shock to pity in seconds. “It's okay,” Helen said in a severe yet mellow voice. It was just an accident. There's nothing to worry about.” Melissa remained silent, her throat feeling impossibly constricted. She wanted to defend herself. But words didn't come out of her mouth. No. She broke right there and then, sobbing like a toddler who had failed to make it to the potty. "Don't cry," said Helen, rushing to her stepdaughter, "It's okay. It was just an accident. It happens to everyone." "I'm sorry.” "It's okay. It's okay. We'll fix this. Okay?" For a second, Melissa felt better. But the warmth around her crotch and legs turned cold quite fast, and the uncomfortable feeling against her damp skin reminded her of her failure. "Go take a shower. I'll deal with everything else here." Melissa obeyed. Not because she felt ready to clean herself and face the consequences of her accident, but because she couldn't bear crying again in front of Helen. They had never seen eye to eye, and feeling so vulnerable with someone she didn't trust was almost impossible to cope with. When she closed the door to her bathroom, she got naked and into the shower. She sat there crying as the warm water washed away her tears. Inside the room, Helen started clearing things up. Removing the wet sheets from the bed to look at the damage. The mattress could be cleaned. That wouldn't be a problem, but it wouldn't endure more accidents like that. Pull-ups were definitely not working as expected. And the thought of putting her nasty stepdaughter back in diapers crossed her mind for a second. Amelia was doing so well at potty training that having Melissa fail wouldn't be the worst-case scenario. If only her husband were still around to help her manage Melissa's immaturity. The girl wasn't responsible for anything. She was always out, drinking and partying and spending away his money. And now, she was also wetting the bed. Helen sighed as she finished with the cleaning. Maybe Melissa needed some reeducation. Perhaps, if she could do with her what she did with Amelia, they could finally be a happy family. Back in the bathroom, Melissa stepped out of the shower, wrapped in a thick white towel, hair dripping water down her shoulders. She turned her gaze to the mirror just to see her reflection blurred by the steam. She still had some baby fat around her cheeks, something that always made her look younger than she was. It was something men tended to like about her, at least the older men. But she hated the idea of not being seen as sexy. Helen was sexy. She wasn't cute or nice. She was sexy. And perhaps Melissa was also jealous of the attention her stepmother got when they went out together, which could be why she avoided doing so. A knock on the door interrupted her train of thought. It was Helen coming inside with clothes laid neatly over her arm. In between those clothes were the pull-ups she had been forced to wear daily. "Get dressed, sweetie. We need to talk," said Helen, giving Melissa the clothes and leaving the bathroom. The word 'sweetie' rolled through Melissa like acid. It cut deep within her heart. She had never received any positive comments from her stepmother. Not until she started wetting herself, that was. Why? "I'm waiting," said Helen from the other room. Putting on the pull-up, shirt, and socks, Melissa left the bathroom. Outside, in her room, over her bed, Helen waited for her. She was smiling, probably not kindly, but with some level of compassion in her eyes. Melissa didn't know what to do or say, so she said nothing. She stood in front of her stepmother, hoping she would not talk again about her accidents. "I can see the mistake we made," said Helen, commanding Melissa to sit next to her with her hand. "Pull-ups might be okay during the day, but there's no way they can withstand an entire night of wetting.” Melissa blushed, "It was an accident. It won't happen again.” "But that's not true. Is it?" "What do you mean?” "It's only been one day since we started this little project. However, it seems you're not putting much effort into it." Melissa tried to defend herself, but Helen continued, "Look. I don't want to be the bad guy. I truly don't, but we need to take this with the severity it deserves.” "What do you mean?” "Until you can prove you won't wet the bed. You're wearing diapers every night." "What?! No! I'm not wearing diapers. That's for babies!" “Adult diapers are for adults. Adults just like you who have problems with making it to the potty.” Potty? Diapers? Why was Helen talking as if she were a kid who couldn’t understand the severity of the situation? No. She needed to put her foot down. It was her life. She wasn’t going to let her stepmother degrade her any further. “I’m not doing it!” She said, stomping her feet on the ground and frowning, trying to be dominant and menacing, but ended up looking like a toddler throwing a tantrum. "Look. We can't have you ruining the mattress anymore. And I bet waking up in a soaked bed is a horrible feeling. Diapers won't cure you from your bedwetting, but they are the responsible choice—at least until you manage to stay dry during the night. And you don't have to wear them during the day. Just your pull-ups," said Helen, holding Melissa's wrist with the touch only a caring mother would. "What if we make a deal?” "Another one?” "An update to the old one.” Melissa didn't say anything, allowing Helen to continue. "If you make it a week in a row without any incidents. Potty incidents. You can go back to pull-ups.” "An entire week?" Helen chuckled, "It shouldn't be that hard for someone your age. Should it?” "And what if I don't make it?” "Then it's diapers. At least while you're living here, it might be your house, too, but you can't be ruining sheets and mattresses all the time. When you get your money, you can move out. You can do whatever you want with it. But until that day comes, you live under my rules.” Melissa felt impotent at the words spoken by her stepmother. She knew, deep down, Helen was right. Waking up in a puddle of her own urine wasn't the best way to start her day. She also didn't want her room to stink the way it did that morning. And her clothes and sheets were gonna get ruined if she did nothing. But diapers seemed like an overreaction. Then again, she had tried drinking less water and avoiding any diuretic-like meals and drinks. She's tried waking up every few hours, but that only made her grumpy the next day. "Melissa, I need your answer." She sighed, nodding, "I'll try it." Helen smiled, "Good. We'll do it tonight. Now, let's get some breakfast, and we can continue with your potty training. Amelia is excited about it. She thinks she can master potty training before you.” Melissa blushed, looking down and hoping things were different this time. At least not as bad as the previous week. But things couldn’t have gone worse. Five times she was taken to the potty, and she couldn't manage more than a few drops. She did, however, soak her pull-ups five times that day. Amelia, on the other hand, was nailing it every single time, and knowing her little step-sister was winning the race for potty training was taking a toll on Melissa's spirit. To make matters worse, after dinner and before going to bed, she was met by Helen in her room. She was sitting there with a big, fluffy diaper spread over the bed and a bottle of baby powder in her hand. "It's time, Mel," she said, pointing at the diaper, waiting for her stepdaughter to take the first step. Melissa hesitated, biting her lip. The moment had come – either accept defeat or choose the path ahead. With trembling hands, she reached for the diaper and unfolded it. But before she could start the humiliating task. Helen stopped her. "Do you know how to put a diaper on?” Melissa shook her head. "If you don't do it right, it won't matter if you're wearing one. It will leak." "What are you...?" Melissa was taken aback by Helen's hand pushing her over the bed, removing her pants and pull-ups in a matter of seconds before the young woman could react. Tears welled up in Melissa's eyes as her stepmother spread baby powder all over her most private parts, yet she remained silent, submitting to Helen's authority. When she was done, Helen held Melissa against her ample bosom, comforting her with her gentle touch until her stepdaughter stopped sobbing. "It's okay. You don't have to wear them forever. I'm sure you'll be out of them in no time," said Helen, smiling gently, "Now. It's time to rest. You don't have to worry about wetting your bed anymore." Helen turned off the light and closed the door before leaving the room, leaving Melissa alone. It was done. Her stepmother had won. She was wearing a diaper. And the feeling of its thickness wasn't as disgusting as she had hoped. It forced her legs apart, but besides that, it kinda felt like a pillow in between her legs. It was soft and warm as it hugged her crotch. And as she kept trying to find reasons to dislike her new underwear, her eyelids, getting heavier by the second, closed. Outside, in her own room, Helen sat, contemplating her success. Melissa would inherit most of her late husband’s fortune, but not the house. It meant Helen would have to work again, and Helen couldn’t have that. No. If Melissa didn’t move, if she couldn’t, then Helen would keep all of the money and the house. So what if she had to change a couple of diapers a day? It was worth the effort. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hi guys, here's one of my latest stories. You can read it now on Amazon Kindle Wife's New Boyfriend Is My New Daddy: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DSR2VKVB or check my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections Claire's Regression: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DS2S4FXW You can also read Daisy's Perfect Summer: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DLVJYHH5 Here's a link to The Diary of a Diapered Cuckold: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DPFLGMNJ

Hi guys! I finally got a Subscribestar. All of my stories are being uploaded there, plus a lot of new content, including in-progress content like Diapered Stepmother, The Regression Act, and Like Mother Like Daughter. Check out my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections February 10 The only people who know about the diapers are Laura and Matthew. It’s a small circle, but I have a feeling that won’t last forever. Living in diapers full-time means I must be extra careful about what I wear outside. Every outfit is a calculated decision to avoid anyone noticing the bulk or the crinkle. So far, I’ve managed to keep it under wraps, but the idea of being found out always lingers in my mind. Matthew’s over several evenings a week now, and things between him and Laura are definitely heating up. They’re more physical and affectionate in front of me, which is hard to watch sometimes. Matthew’s also becoming more assertive—bossy, even. He insists that I wear baby clothes whenever he’s here, no exceptions. It’s not enough to just be in diapers; he wants the full look. The other day, he casually mentioned that I should expect to spend more time outside in baby clothes as the weather warms up. I laughed nervously, but he didn’t seem to be joking. The thought of being seen like that terrifies me, but with Matthew, I’m starting to realize that what he says usually becomes reality. So far, none of my friends know about any of this. But with everything escalating the way it has, I wouldn’t be surprised if that changes sooner rather than later. February 15 Last night was one of the most humiliating experiences I’ve had since all of this started. At 6:00, Laura told me to go put on one of my baby dresses—a pink one with matching ruffled panties to wear over my diaper and plastic diaper cover. I didn’t argue. By now, I know better. Once I was dressed, I joined her in the living room. At 6:30, Matthew arrived. He didn’t even knock, just let himself in like it was his house. The three of us sat on the couch watching TV. It felt a little awkward but manageable. For about half an hour, things were calm, if you can call this situation “calm.” Then Laura told me to go to the fridge and grab my bottle. I hesitated. The thought of walking around in front of Matthew, with my short dress showing off my ruffled panties, was too much. I started to complain—probably more than I should have. That’s when Matthew stepped in. He told me to stand up, and before I could process what was happening, he grabbed my ruffled panties and yanked them down to my ankles, exposing my diapered bottom. I froze. Completely shocked. And then, just like that, he pulled me over his knee. He started spanking me—right there, in front of Laura. The diaper and plastic cover softened the blows, so it didn’t hurt much, but the sound of it echoed in the room, and the humiliation was unbearable. I couldn’t bring myself to move or say anything. I just let it happen. When he was done, he told me to stand up and leave the panties around my ankles. I stood there, facing the TV, feeling ridiculous and exposed. After what felt like forever, he told me to pull them back up and sit down. Laura didn’t say a word. She just went to the kitchen, got my bottle, and fed it to me while I sat there, blushing and wishing I could disappear. They put me to bed shortly after. Nothing more was said about the spanking, and Laura didn’t seem bothered by Matthew taking it upon himself to discipline me. The whole thing was so surreal. I still don’t know what to make of it. February 20 Laura told me yesterday that Matthew would be joining us for dinner. As usual, this wasn’t just a casual meal—I was “strongly encouraged” to change into a cute baby outfit around 5:30. Honestly, I was surprised she didn’t tell me to get ready for bed instead. She kept me out of the kitchen, so I had no idea what she was cooking. Matthew arrived shortly after six, greeting Laura with affection like they were a couple. I still haven’t gotten used to seeing them like that—it’s uncomfortable, to say the least. As I turned away to watch TV, trying to ignore the romantic energy in the room, Matthew laughed and said, “Oh, I think we’re embarrassing the baby.” Laura just smiled and told him to grab a beer. Nobody bothered offering me anything, of course. Matthew hung around in the kitchen, chatting with Laura while I sat there feeling invisible. When dinner was ready, Matthew took the head of the table while I was tucked into the backside, up against the wall. Laura tied a bib around my neck and laid a dish towel over my lap. I should’ve known then that this wasn’t going to be a normal meal. Dinner was spaghetti, salad, and—for me—a cup of applesauce. When I looked for a fork, I realized there wasn’t one. Laura casually informed me, “Forks are too dangerous for babies. Let me know if you need me to feed you.” I tried eating spaghetti with just a spoon, and it was a disaster. The first bite slid right off and splattered on the bib, and by the time I finished, I was a complete mess. Laura and Matthew found it hilarious. After dinner, Laura cleaned me up like a toddler and then told me to sit on the floor and play with my toys. I positioned myself so my back was to them, partly to block their view of me fumbling with the baby toys and partly so I didn’t have to watch them kiss. Their laughter and whispered conversations filled the room while I tried to focus on stacking blocks. At 7:30, Matthew said, “I have an idea.” I braced myself, assuming it was bedtime. But instead, he suggested, “How about some ice cream?” My stomach perked up immediately—I was still hungry after my pitiful dinner portion—but then Laura mentioned we were out. I thought that would be the end of it, but Matthew said, “Let’s go for a drive and get some at Dairy Queen.” I prayed he meant just the two of them, but Laura grabbed my coat without hesitation. This was it—my first time out in public dressed as “Baby Sofia.” At least the coat covered me from my neck to my waist. I climbed into the backseat, relieved Matthew didn’t have a car seat back there, and stayed as quiet as possible during the drive. When we got to the window, Matthew ordered two cones for them and a baby cone for me. The girl at the window looked puzzled, and I nearly died of embarrassment when Matthew handed me the tiny cone, saying, “Here you go, kiddo.” He and Laura both laughed as I stared out the window, avoiding eye contact with the cashier. By the time we got back home, I was exhausted—mentally and emotionally. Laura changed my diaper while Matthew watched, but thankfully, he didn’t offer to take over this time. As soon as I was tucked into bed, I stopped caring about what they were doing. I was just glad the night was over. February 28 This past weekend, Laura and I finally had a long talk—one of those “big picture” conversations that we’ve been avoiding for a while. We spent hours discussing everything: Baby Sofia, Matthew, our feelings, and where we’re headed as a couple (or whatever we are now). It wasn’t easy. Some things hurt to hear, and we uncovered a few misunderstandings along the way, but in the end, I think we both walked away with a clearer understanding of each other’s hopes and expectations. But just when I thought we’d covered everything, Laura dropped a bombshell. We were discussing spring plans, and she casually suggested I consider returning to Las Vegas for a week in April. I was surprised—Vegas hadn’t even been on my radar this year—so I asked her why she wanted me to go. That’s when she confessed: she and Matthew have been talking about using that week to stay together while I’m gone. Apparently, they’ve been planning this for a while. Not only that, but they’ve even floated the idea of taking their own vacation—maybe somewhere like Las Vegas. When I asked what that would even look like, Laura said we could all fly there together, sitting next to each other on the plane like one big happy group. Then, once we landed, they would head off on their own while I spent the week doing my own thing. I didn’t even know how to respond. I just sat there, stunned. The idea of sitting on a plane with them, knowing I’m just a placeholder while they go off to play “real couple” in Vegas, is almost too much to process. I mean, what am I supposed to do—wish them a good time and go wander the Strip alone? Laura acted like this was all perfectly reasonable, like this is just how things work now. I don’t know. Maybe it is. But hearing it out loud made it feel so *real*. I’m not sure how I feel about this—jealous, left out, maybe even a little relieved to have the house to myself for a week. Or maybe it’s all of the above. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hi guys, here's one of my latest stories. You can read it now on Amazon Kindle Wife's New Boyfriend Is My New Daddy: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DSR2VKVB or check my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections Claire's Regression: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DS2S4FXW You can also read Daisy's Perfect Summer: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DLVJYHH5 Here's a link to The Diary of a Diapered Cuckold: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DPFLGMNJ

Chapter two is coming out tomorrow! Subscribestar has a limit of ten posts per day, so I used most of mine uploading my previous content. Didn't know about the rule lol

Hi guys! Here's my newest story. Hope you like it. If you want to read my entire catalog of role reversals, regressed mothers, diapered cuckolds, and more, check out my new Subscribestar account: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter Chapter One Camille's Plan Camille never imagined she’d have to share her father with someone young enough to be her little sister. Yet there Anya was — radiant in her pastel pink sundress, lips glossed, curls bouncing as she hummed in the kitchen. Camille watched from the dining room with a clenched jaw, her manicured fingers curled tightly around the stem of her wine glass. Anya always made everything look effortless. That morning, she'd prepared a French-style breakfast — flaky croissants, poached eggs, and delicate little fruit tarts. It was the kind of thing Camille’s mother used to make before she passed away five years ago. Anya didn’t know that, of course. Or maybe she did. Robert, Camille’s father, sat at the head of the table, reading the newspaper's financial section like it was the gospel. His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back, his suit immaculate despite it being a Sunday. He glanced over his reading glasses at Camille, then at Anya, who was setting down a plate with practiced elegance. Camille wasn’t a morning person, but made it a point to arrive for breakfast whenever her father was in town. It wasn’t about the food — Anya’s Pinterest-perfect meals were always too sweet, too curated. It was about presence. She needed her father to see that she was still the one who held the household together. Or used to. Robert folded his napkin and set it beside his untouched croissant. “I’ll be flying out tomorrow. Singapore again. This one might be a long haul — eight weeks, maybe more.” Camille, in the middle of stirring cream into her coffee, paused. “Eight weeks?” He nodded. “The acquisition’s messier than I expected.” She blinked. “And you’re just telling us now?” Robert raised a brow. “It’s not a vacation, Camille. It’s work. You’ll manage just fine, like always.” Camille leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. “So I assume I’ll be keeping things in order while you’re gone.” Robert took a sip from his espresso. “Actually, no. Anya will be in charge this time.” The air shifted. Camille stared at her father like he’d grown a second head. “You’re joking.” Anya, seated quietly with a peach in hand, looked up in surprise. Robert continued, calm and final. “I figured it was time we gave her a chance. After all, this is also her home now.” “A chance?” Camille echoed. “She doesn’t even work, Dad. She spends her days rearranging throw pillows and naming the squirrels in the backyard.” Anya blushed but said nothing. Robert’s tone cooled. “She’s my wife, Camille. And she’s more than capable.” Camille laughed, a brittle sound. “She’s twenty-two.” “And?” “She’s a child. You’re handing the house over to a child.” Anya’s eyes flicked down to her plate. She probably tried to say something, but Robert’s voice replied, “That’s enough.” Camille ignored him. “You don’t see it, but everyone else does. The maid, the driver, hell, even the neighbor’s kids probably know—” “I said that’s enough!” Robert stood from the table, his chair scraping sharply against the tile “You will not speak to my wife like that.” “She’s not your wife, she’s your—” “Camille.” His voice dropped an octave “Apologize. Right now.” Camille scoffed, incredulous. “You’re taking her side?” “I’m not picking sides. I’m reminding you how to behave like an adult.” “Robert,” Anya said, “It’s not necessary.” “I believe it is, darling,” Robert didn’t take his eyes off his daughter. “We are waiting, Camille.” She pushed back her chair, heat rising in her chest. “Unbelievable.” “Apologize. Now!” Camille looked at Anya. Her wide hazel eyes, dewy with embarrassment. The soft baby-pink headband she wore. She looked like a child playing dress-up. And she was supposed to be in charge? Camille’s jaw clenched. Her father waited. “I’m sorry,” she said, forcing each word out like venom. “If she’s my wife and you call me Daddy…what do you think you should address Anya from now on?” Anya’s face turned crimson. Camille looked at Anya. Her wide hazel eyes were dewy with embarrassment, and her soft baby-pink headband made her look like a child playing dress-up. She then glared at her father. “I’m waiting, Camille.” The older of the two women sighed, defeated. “I’m sorry,” she paused, “Mommy.” Robert sat back down. “There. That wasn’t so hard.” Camille didn’t respond. She walked away, heels clicking sharply down the hall. Not a single look back. Her bedroom door slammed shut behind her. Camille paced, fingers twitching, adrenaline still surging in her blood. Put Anya in charge? Of the estate that is supposed to be hers? Of the staff who answered to her for over a decade? Her father might as well have handed over the deed to a toddler. That’s when it hit her. She knew Anya couldn’t do anything but play and watch videos on her phone. It was her generation, after all. All of them were spoiled kids, and if her Daddy couldn’t see it, Camille would make sure everyone else did. Camille smiled, the kind that never reached her eyes. She had two months to turn her perfect stepmother into a babbling toddler. That would teach everyone. Two months of changing diapers, preparing bottles, and selecting cute outfits. Let’s do it, she told herself.

Sitting on his mother-in-law’s lap, diapered and sucking on a pacifier, Steven couldn’t help but wonder how his life had come to this. Just months ago, he was Joan’s husband, struggling to find work but still a man in his own home. Now, he spent his days dressed as a baby, under the complete control of his mother-in-law, Margaret. Maybe if he had refused Joan’s idea, things would have turned out differently. Maybe he would have found a job and kept his dignity. Maybe Joan wouldn’t have reconnected with her ex—wouldn’t be dating him, sleeping with him, while Steven sat in a nursery, waiting to be fed and changed. But it was too late for maybes. Margaret pulled the pacifier from his mouth and offered her breast. Steven hesitated, but his body had already been trained to accept. He latched on and began to suck, slowly at first, then faster as the familiar routine took over. “That’s my good baby,” she said, her voice warm but firm. Steven shifted, uncomfortable, feeling his diaper grow warm as he nursed. He knew what was happening, but there was no point in fighting it. This was his life now. His mind drifted back to the beginning—to how it all started. Chapter 1 Mother-In-Law Steven sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window as Joan drove toward her mother’s house. His hands were clenched in his lap, his stomach twisting with shame. He didn’t dare look at her. Not after everything. This was his fault. At least, that’s what Joan said. Losing his job was bad enough, but failing to find another for over a month? That sealed it. Bills kept piling up, and with Joan’s salary alone, they couldn’t afford to stay in their home. She had given him a choice—move in with her mother or be on his own. She wouldn’t wait around forever, and she wasn’t going to waste her life supporting a man who couldn’t pull his weight. If he refused, she would leave, and divorce would follow. Steven couldn’t risk that. Joan was everything to him. So he agreed. They packed up their things, said goodbye to the home they had built together, and now here they were, pulling into his mother-in-law’s driveway. Margaret’s house was as pristine as he remembered. Big, elegant, the kind of home that radiated wealth and success.The kind of success he had failed to provide for Joan. And there she was—Margaret herself, waiting on the porch. Even at fifty-five, she barely looked over forty. Her posture was perfect, her hair flawlessly styled, her presence commanding. At first glance, no one would ever guess she was a mother, let alone to twins. Margaret was always polished. Always in control. And she had never been shy about her opinions—especially about Steven. The moment Joan parked, Margaret stepped forward with a warm, welcoming smile—directed entirely at her daughter. “Joan, sweetheart,” she said, pulling her daughter into a hug. “I’m so happy you’re here. You must be exhausted from the drive.” Then her eyes flicked to Steven. The warmth dimmed slightly, her smile tightening at the edges. Not quite a sneer. But not far off. “And Steven,” she said smoothly. “I assume you’ll be staying as well.” Her tone was polite, but Steven felt the unspoken words hanging in the air. For now. Margaret’s home was just as immaculate inside as it was outside. Not a speck of dust in sight. Everything had a place, and everything stayed in it. She led them through the hall, guiding Joan toward a spacious guest bedroom—clearly set up with comfort in mind. Steven stepped forward instinctively, but before he could enter, Margaret turned to him with a raised brow. “You two can stay here,” Margaret said. “Millie is out of town this week. But she should be back next Monday.” Steven exhaled in relief. Millie was Joan’s mirror image—tall, blonde, gorgeous. But that’s where their similarities ended. Millie was the most obnoxious woman Steven had ever met. Lazy, entitled, living off Margaret’s money without a care in the world. “It’s going to be fun,” Margaret continued, a note of amusement in her voice. “Having my two babies back home again. And well… Steven too, I suppose.” Steven’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Joan dropped onto the bed, already making herself comfortable. “Thanks, Mom. You’re a lifesaver.” “Of course, sweetheart. You deserve to be comfortable.” Then she turned to Steven. “And you’ll be looking for work right away, I assume?” Steven straightened, eager to show effort. “Yes, absolutely. I’ve already put in some applications.” Margaret tilted her head slightly. “That’s good to hear. But until something comes through, you’ll need to contribute around the house.” “Oh, uh, sure. I guess I can do a few things—” Steven said. “That’s a good boy,” Margaret said with a grin and something darker behind her eyes. Something about the way she said it made his stomach twist. The first few days were physically exhausting and mentally draining. Steven was up early every morning, scrubbing floors, vacuuming, dusting, washing dishes. Whenever he had time to spare, he was forced to work on his resume. Meanwhile, Joan was already getting calls about possible jobs. “You can’t just leave me here alone with your mother,” Steven said when Joan told him about her interview. Joan frowned. “We need the money. The faster we both find jobs, the faster we can leave.” “But—“ “No buts,” she cut him off. “Now get back to your chores. You know Mom doesn’t like you lazing around.” Steven sighed. There was always more to do. No matter how much he cleaned, Margaret always found something else. And she always watched him. "A real man takes responsibility.” "You should be grateful to contribute, Steven.” "Is Joan the only one who ever cleaned up after you?” He wanted to argue. Wanted to snap back. But what could he say? He was a guest here. He had no leverage. So he kept his head down and did what he was told. On the fourth day, Margaret called him into the kitchen. “Steven, dear. Remember how you were complaining about doing the dishes?” Steven hesitated. He didn’t remember complaining—just saying his clothes were getting wet. “Well, I remember.” She said, holding something pink and frilly in her hands—an apron covered in Disney princesses. “That won’t be a problem anymore.” Steven blinked. “Uh… what’s that?” “Your apron,” Margaret said simply. “If you’re going to be doing housework, you should at least dress the part.” Steven stared. She couldn’t be serious. “…You expect me to wear that?” Margaret arched an eyebrow. “I expect you to show me some respect and thank me for getting you such a cute apron.” He looked toward Joan, expecting her to say something. To defend him. But Joan just sighed. “Steven, just wear it. Stop making things difficult.” Steven felt his face flush. “It’s ridiculous,” he muttered. Joan’s expression hardened, and she didn’t need to talk for Steven to know what she was thinking. Her words had been very clear. Either he obeyed her mother, or he could pack his things and find a place to live without her. Slowly, reluctantly, he took the apron and pulled it over his head. The fabric felt absurd, hanging over his clothes. Too soft. Too delicate. Too childish. ‘Thank you, Margaret,” he forced himself to say with a smile. Margaret beamed. “There’s a good boy,” she said, patting his cheek. Steven’s jaw clenched, but he forced himself to stay quiet. This was just temporary. Just until he found a job. How could it get worse? Chapter 2 The Incident The week passed in a slow, suffocating haze. Every day blurred into the next—wake up early, clean the house from top to bottom, endure Margaret’s judgmental gaze, and try not to react when she made pointed remarks about what a real man should be doing with his life. Steven had started to adapt, as much as he hated to admit it. He had little choice. Joan was too busy applying for jobs to argue on his behalf, and Margaret had made it crystal clear that he was expected to earn his keep. The apron, as humiliating as it was, had become part of his routine. It wasn’t worth the fight. And just when he was starting to settle into the rhythm of things, Millie came home. The front door swung open with force, and a shrill, excited voice echoed through the house. “Mommy! I’m home!” Steven barely had time to process the words before heels clacked against the hardwood floors, and Millie swept into the kitchen like she owned the place. She had the same blonde hair and striking features as Joan, but where Joan exuded maturity and elegance, Millie was all about herself. Her designer handbag was tossed onto the counter without a second thought, and she flashed Margaret a perfectly manicured smile. You wouldn’t believe she was a woman in her mid-thirties. “Did you miss me?” she asked, leaning in to press a dramatic kiss to Margaret’s cheek. “Of course, sweetheart.” Margaret chuckled, smoothing her daughter’s hair fondly. “The house has been far too quiet without you.” Then her eyes landed on Steven. “…Oh my God.” Steven tensed as she burst into laughter. “Oh, this is too good.” Millie stepped closer, grinning ear to ear. “You’re wearing a princess apron?” Steven’s face flushed hot. He wanted to tear the damn thing off, but he knew Margaret wouldn’t allow it. “I mean, I always knew you were a bit of a sissy, but this?” She turned to Margaret, eyes twinkling. “You’re making him play housewife?” Margaret smiled sweetly. “Oh, he’s been very helpful. Haven’t you, Steven?” Steven’s jaw tightened. Millie giggled, reaching out to ruffle his hair like a child. “Aww, you’re adorable.” Steven jerked away. “Don’t touch me.” Millie smirked. “Relax, princess. I was just admiring Mommy’s little helper.” Steven wanted to disappear. And worst of all—Joan didn’t say a word. She just sat there, looking at her phone as Millie and Margaret mocked him. It was as if she didn’t care anymore and it had only been a week since they moved in. He feared his relationship with his wife would deteriorate at this rate. But he endured it because he felt they were right. If he couldn’t provide for Joan, what could he expect from her? The following weeks were pure hell. If Margaret was subtle in her condescension, Millie was the exact opposite. She took every opportunity to mock him—calling him princess, housewife, and even Margaret’s little sissy maid. She never missed a chance to pat his head, pinch his cheek, or smirk at his discomfort. Steven tried to tune her out. But then Joan got a job, and things got worse. “You’re working for him?” Steven’s voice came out strained, disbelieving. Joan barely looked up from her phone. “Yeah. It’s a great opportunity.” Steven’s chest tightened. “Joan, he’s your ex.” “And?” She gave him a bored glance. “It’s not a big deal, Steven.” Steven gritted his teeth. “It feels like a big deal.” She sighed, setting her phone down. “Steven, grow up. It’s a job. He owns the company, but I don’t even report to him directly.” Steven crossed his arms. “That doesn’t change anything.” Joan ran a hand through her hair, her frustration evident. “You know what? I don’t have time for this. You should be happy for me. This job pays well, and it means we can move out sooner.” The word stung. Like she was the only one trapped here. Steven swallowed hard. “That’s not the point.” Joan grabbed her purse, rolling her eyes. “Whatever, Steven. I don’t have time for your insecurities.” And then she was gone. Leaving him alone with Margaret and Millie eight hours a day, five days a week. Joan was home less and less. At first, Steven tried to ignore it, told himself it was temporary, necessary—she was just busy. It was good that she had a job, right? They needed the money. But something felt different. She started coming home later and later. At first, it was only an hour or two past dinner, but soon, Steven found himself eating alone at the table, pushing food around his plate while Margaret and Millie cast knowing glances at each other. She used to text him during the day—little things: How’s your job search? Miss you. Hope your day’s okay. Those messages stopped. Now, whenever her phone buzzed, she’d glance at it, smirk, and turn the screen away. And the worst part? She had started dressing differently. Joan was never the type to care about makeup or her hair when going to work, but now she left the house looking like she was going on a date. At breakfast, Steven watched as she smoothed out her skirt, adjusting the way it hugged her hips. Her perfume lingered in the air, something subtle and sweet—something she hadn’t worn in years. Steven swallowed, forcing a smile. “You’re really dressing up for this job, huh?” Joan didn’t look up from the mirror. “I just want to look professional.” Steven nodded slowly. “Right. Professional.” His stomach twisted. The days were long, filled with endless cleaning, cooking, and listening to Margaret’s passive-aggressive remarks about what a husband should be. Every evening, his body ached, his mind exhausted from constantly keeping up, keeping quiet, keeping small. So when the first accident happened, he blamed the coffee. It was late afternoon. His knees ached as he scrubbed the kitchen floor, Margaret standing over him, checking for invisible specks of dirt. The warm scent of lemon cleaner lingered in the air, and the cool tiles pressed against his palms. Suddenly, it happened. A strange warmth pooled between his legs. His body tensed. His breath hitched. For a moment, his mind refused to process it. But then, the slow, horrifying realization sank in. His hands trembled as he lurched to his feet, bolting toward the bathroom. Margaret’s voice followed him. “Steven?” He slammed the door shut, heart hammering. Frantically, he yanked down his pants, staring at the small but undeniable damp spot. It was nothing. Just an accident. Too much coffee. Stress. That’s all. Nothing to worry about. He cleaned himself up, forcing deep, steady breaths. When he stepped out of the bathroom, Millie was leaning against the counter, her lips curled into a smirk. Steven froze. “Something wrong?” she asked. Her eyes flicked to his pants. Steven forced a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “No. Nothing.” “Mmm. If you say so.” She knew. Somehow, she knew, he could see it in her eyes. But it was a one-time thing. It wouldn’t happen again. The next day, it happened again. Then again. It was just a few drops. But it became more frequent. Nothing, however, would’ve prepared him for when it happened in his sleep. The first time Joan noticed, Steven woke to the sound of her sharp intake of breath. It was still the middle of the night. He didn’t register what had happened at first. The room was dimly lit, the hum of the ceiling fan the only sound—until Joan ripped the covers off him. “Oh my God, Steven.” The sheets beneath him were soaked. Steven’s breath caught in his throat. Panic rushed through him, cold and suffocating. His hands clenched into fists as he scrambled to sit up, but the damage was undeniable. “Are you kidding me?!” Joan asked in disgust. Steven opened his mouth, but no words came out. His mind was blank. Horrified. “I—I’m sorry,” he finally stammered. “Steven, you’re a grown man. This is not acceptable!” The door creaked open, and Steven flinched as Margaret stepped inside, her sharp eyes immediately scanning the scene. It was his worst nightmare. His mother-in-law stood there with that disapproving gaze of hers. “Well,” she said smoothly, exhaling as if she had been waiting for this moment. “I think Stevie here is showing us who he truly is.” Speechless, Steven tried to argue. He tried to tell her to get out of his room. But it wasn’t his room. It was hers. It was her home and he was only a guest. “I suppose we’ll have to take some precautions,” Margaret said with a grin. “We can’t have you ruining the mattress.” She turned to Joan, her voice practical, almost casual. “I think it’s time he started wearing protection.” ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hi guys, here's one of my latest stories. You can read it now on Amazon Kindle — Back to Basics: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DWJ38LPL You can also find Wife's New Boyfriend Is My New Daddy: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DSR2VKVB Claire's Regression: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DS2S4FXW You can also read Daisy's Perfect Summer: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DLVJYHH5 Here's a link to The Diary of a Diapered Cuckold: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DPFLGMNJ

Hi guys! I finally got a Subscribestar. All of my stories are being uploaded there, plus a lot of new content, including in-progress content like Diapered Stepmother, The Regression Act, and Like Mother Like Daughter. Check out my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections Wife’s New Boyfriend Is My New Daddy January 8 A few months ago, Laura sat me down and told me something that I still haven’t fully wrapped my head around. She said that since I couldn’t satisfy her anymore, she was going to get a boyfriend who could. And she did. It’s not hard to see why. My fantasy life has completely taken over. I’ve become so immersed in being an adult baby—wearing diapers, plastic pants, and sissy dresses—that being a husband, or even a lover, just doesn’t feel like me anymore. I’ve accepted it, but I guess that means I’ve had to accept the consequences too. Last night, we were talking, and I realized I didn’t even know how many times she and her boyfriend, Matthew, have had sex (or “made love,” as she insists on calling it). She didn’t hesitate to tell me. She said they waited until the third date to have full sex—nothing more than a kiss on the first date and some mutual touching on the second. But after that third date, they went back to his place, and, well, you can guess the rest. She even came home afterward and told me all about it. Since then, they’ve been back to his place three more times. They’ve had sex here once when I wasn’t home, once when I was but in another room, and twice in a hotel during a weekend getaway. Oh, and apparently, they’ve even done it in a movie theater during a matinee. She said the reclining seats made it easy for them. Nine times in three months—at least, that’s what she’s told me. When I asked her about the future, she made it clear that this isn’t stopping anytime soon. She said she loves this new arrangement and doesn’t see any reason to change it. And since I’m so deep into my baby role, she doesn’t think I’ll want it to change either. She also told me something that left me speechless: Matthew prefers me this way. He likes that I’m a sissy baby and wants me to be in this role whenever he’s around. And, apparently, he’s going to be around a lot more. She said I should get used to it. It was even his idea to change my diaper the other night, just to show me he’s the man of the house now. Oh, and for Christmas? Matthew gave me a onesie that said “I Love Daddy.” I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or just accept that this is my life now. January 15 Things are moving fast—way faster than I ever expected. Laura and Matthew’s relationship has progressed so much that it’s honestly left me reeling at times. When we first talked about her having a boyfriend, I thought I understood. I knew she needed something I couldn’t give her, and I accepted that. But I also knew it would be hard for me to deal with, especially as things got more serious. Knowing Laura, I figured she’d develop feelings for whoever she was intimate with. That part didn’t surprise me. The sex? Strangely enough, that’s been the easiest thing to accept. It’s the emotional side of things that’s really throwing me. Matthew isn’t just someone she’s sleeping with—he’s her boyfriend. A real boyfriend. She lights up when she talks about him, spends hours on the phone with him, and gets excited about planning their next time together. Watching that connection grow between them has been harder than I thought it would be. At first, I didn’t think I’d be much of a factor in their relationship. I figured I’d just be left at home, lost in my baby world, while they did their thing. I assumed that Matthew would meet “Baby Sofia” at some point, but I thought it would be brief—just a quick hello before they went off together. I never imagined I’d be playing an actual role in this arrangement. But now, Laura says Matthew will be around a lot more. Apparently, the new plan is for all of us to interact more regularly, and she even hinted that Matthew will be taking a more active role with me as Baby Sofia. I don’t know what that’s going to mean yet, and honestly, I’m not sure if I’m ready to find out. January 22 Last night was… unexpected. I got home from an appointment, walked into the living room, and there they were—Laura and Matthew—cuddled up on the sofa watching a movie. I had no idea he was coming over. Laura just grinned at me and said, “Surprise! Why don’t we get you changed into your bedtime clothes and then come join us until it’s your bedtime? Bring your blankie and paci with you.” I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded and followed her to the nursery. She changed me into a diaper, plastic panties, and a short baby nightie. It felt humiliating, but I didn’t resist. I never do. Once I was dressed, we went back to the living room. Laura told me to sit on the floor with my blankie while she and Matthew stayed on the couch. She started asking me about my evening, like this was the most normal thing in the world. After I’d finished answering, she smiled and asked, “Do you have any more thoughts on your age presentation and growing up?” I knew what she was getting at. Before I could think of a good answer, she said, “I don’t think you’re really ready to get out of diapers yet, are you?” I felt my face flush, but I admitted that I wanted to stay in diapers a while longer. I thought that would be the end of it, but then Matthew chimed in. He said, “You love your diapers and should stay in them at least through summer so you can play outside in them.” I was completely caught off guard by his comment. He sounded so matter-of-fact about it, like he had a say in the matter. Laura didn’t object, and just like that, it was decided—diapers are here to stay. By 8:30, Laura announced it was bedtime. She handed me a bottle and tucked me in while lullaby music played on the Alexa. I could still hear them laughing faintly in the living room as I drifted off. When I woke up this morning, Matthew was gone. I have no idea how late he stayed or what happened after I went to bed. Not that I have to guess. This is my new normal, I guess. January 26 Last night was my weekly poker game. It’s always held in the basement, and the guys just let themselves in through the side door. No need to knock—everyone knows the drill. We got started around six, and everything was going smoothly until I went upstairs around 8:00 to grab more ice. That’s when things got... awkward. As I came up the stairs, I heard voices coming from the living room. Curious, I peeked in, and there they were—Laura and Matthew—curled up on the sofa, watching TV like it was the most natural thing in the world. Meanwhile, a bunch of poker players were just below them, completely unaware. I didn’t even know Matthew was coming over. Laura didn’t bother to tell me. She just looked up, smiled, and casually asked how I was doing, like this was perfectly normal. I was too stunned to say much more than a quick “hello” before retreating back downstairs. My mind was racing the rest of the night, and let’s just say I didn’t play my best poker. The game broke up around 1:00 a.m., and when I went back upstairs, the bedroom door was closed. I had no idea if Matthew was still there or not. This morning, Laura was already gone by the time I woke up. She left me a bottle, as usual, but there were no notes, no explanations. Just silence. That makes two nights in a row that Matthew’s been here. I know Laura said she’d be seeing more of him this year, but I didn’t think it would be this often. It feels like he’s here more than I am. February 2 Well, it’s official. Laura and Matthew have decided—because apparently, it’s their decision to make—that diapers are now my “regular underwear” for the foreseeable future. No surprises there, I guess. This means I’ll be diapered full-time like a baby. When diapers aren’t practical, I’ll be in training pants, but even those will always be paired with plastic diaper covers. As for my beloved collection of panties? Gone. Laura said frilly ruffled panties will only be allowed on “special occasions,” though I have no idea what those might be. My panty drawer—once filled with lace, satin, and every pastel color under the sun—is now being replaced with stacks of plastic diaper covers and training pants. This is my new reality, apparently. Oh, and the diapers aren’t just for show. Laura made it clear that they’re to be used whenever possible. I’ve been hinting at it for a while now, so I guess I can’t say I didn’t see this coming. Honestly, it feels like the fantasy I’ve been dreaming of for years is finally becoming reality. But now that it’s happening, I can’t help but wonder—will I actually be happy living this way? Only time will tell. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hi guys, here's one of my latest stories. You can read it now on Amazon Kindle Wife's New Boyfriend Is My New Daddy: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DSR2VKVB or check my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections Claire's Regression: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DS2S4FXW You can also read Daisy's Perfect Summer: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DLVJYHH5 Here's a link to The Diary of a Diapered Cuckold: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DPFLGMNJ

I'm not sure. It depends on how many interactions this post gets. Maybe I'll use it to create more interest in future stories and publish the entire thing if there's like an obscene amount of interest.

Hi guys! I finally got a Subscribestar. All of my stories are being uploaded there, plus a lot of new content, including in-progress content like Diapered Stepmother, The Regression Act, and Like Mother Like Daughter. Check out my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections Chapter One A Shameful Issue Claire Reynolds fumbled with her keys, her hands trembling as she tried to fit the right one into the lock. The sharp clink of metal echoed through the dim hallway, mocking her urgency. Her heart pounded in her chest, and a bead of sweat trickled down her temple despite the cool air. “Come on,” she hissed under her breath, bouncing slightly on her heels. When the key finally slid into place, she shoved the door open and bolted inside, her purse slipping from her shoulder and landing in a heap on the floor. She didn’t stop to pick it up. The bathroom door was just a few steps away, but those few steps felt impossibly long. Her hand gripped the doorknob when it happened. The warm, mortifying sensation began at her thighs and cascaded downward, soaking her gray slacks and forming a humiliating puddle at her feet. Claire froze, her breath hitching in her throat as she stared at the dark stain spreading down her legs. “No,” she whispered, the word catching like a sob in her chest. For a moment, she stood rooted to the spot, the scene unfolding beneath her as though it were happening to someone else. But the sharp smell of urine quickly snapped her back to reality. This wasn’t a nightmare. It was real. Shame washed over her, making her stomach churn. This was the third time this week. Claire leaned against the bathroom door, covering her face with her hands. The knot of anxiety in her chest tightened, and her thoughts spun wildly. What was happening to her? She’d already been to the doctor—no infections, no physical problems, nothing that explained why this kept happening. “Stress,” the doctor had said, his tone infuriatingly casual. “Sometimes your body reacts in unexpected ways. Try to take it easy for a while.” Take it easy? As if Claire Reynolds, Vice President of Marketing at Goldstein & Gray, had time to "take it easy." She had built her entire career by thriving under pressure, outmaneuvering competitors, and crushing challenges. Yet now, standing in a puddle of her own making, she felt utterly powerless. Claire peeled off her wet slacks and underwear, tossing them angrily into the laundry hamper before stepping into the shower. She turned the water as hot as she could stand, hoping the scalding heat might burn away the humiliation clinging to her skin. The bathroom filled with steam, but the knot in her chest remained. Wrapped in a robe, Claire sat on her couch with a glass of wine in her hand. The faint glow of the TV illuminated her face, though her eyes remained unfocused. The news anchor’s voice droned in the background, but she wasn’t paying attention. Her mind was elsewhere, replaying the moment she lost control over and over. Three times in a week. Three times. Maybe it really was stress, she thought, staring into her empty glass. Work had been relentless lately, and the weight of it all was starting to show. Claire barely had time to breathe between managing her team, placating demanding clients, and watching Samantha Drake inch closer to her throne. Samantha. The name alone made her skin prickle. She could see Samantha’s smiling face now, framed by perfectly styled blonde hair, her bright blue eyes practically sparkling with confidence. Samantha was talented, ambitious, and far too likable for Claire’s comfort. People flocked to her naturally, eager to bask in her glow. And Claire? She was the one standing outside her bathroom, soaked to the skin and trying to hold on to her dignity. Her jaw tightened as she set the empty wine glass on the table. This wasn’t her. She wasn’t some fragile mess who couldn’t keep herself together. She was the second most powerful person in the company, and Samantha was nothing but another subordinate. She just needed rest. Tomorrow would be better. It had to be. But deep down, Claire wasn’t so sure. She walked into the office the next morning with a practiced smile that felt like it might crack under the strain. Her heels clicked against the marble floor, echoing through the sleek lobby of Goldstein & Gray. She moved quickly, her steps purposeful, as though the sound alone could drown out her unease. You’ve got this, she told herself. She had spent most of the night tossing and turning, haunted by the humiliating memory of her accident. Now, as she reached her desk, she fought to bury the thought and focus on what mattered: work. Her assistant, Melissa, greeted her with a stack of files and a fresh coffee. “Morning, Ms. Reynolds. Here’s the prep for the Ross presentation at ten.” “Thank you,” Claire said curtly, taking the files without breaking stride. She slipped into her office and closed the door behind her, exhaling slowly. For the next hour, Claire buried herself in spreadsheets and client notes, trying to lose herself in the comforting predictability of data. It almost worked—until there was a knock at her door. “Come in,” she called, not looking up. The door opened, and Claire’s stomach sank when she heard the familiar, cheerful voice. “Good morning, Claire. Got a minute?” Samantha Drake. Claire glanced up, masking her irritation with a tight smile. Samantha stood in the doorway, her tailored navy dress accentuating her polished appearance. She looked every bit the up-and-coming star Claire begrudgingly acknowledged she was. “What can I do for you, Samantha?” Claire asked, keeping her tone neutral. Samantha stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “I just wanted to check in. You’ve seemed… tense lately.” Claire’s smile faltered. “Tense? I’m fine.” Samantha tilted her head, her expression sympathetic in a way that made Claire’s teeth clench. “I know how demanding this job can be. And, well…” She hesitated, feigning concern. “There have been a few murmurs around the office. About you seeming, I don’t know, a little distracted?” “Murmurs?” Claire’s voice sharpened, but Samantha’s calm demeanor didn’t waver. “Nothing major,” Samantha said quickly, holding up her hands. “It’s just that people look up to you, Claire. You’ve set the bar so high, and I think they’re worried about you burning out.” Claire forced a laugh, though it came out brittle. “I appreciate the concern, but I’m perfectly capable of handling my workload.” Samantha nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Of course you are. You’ve always been an inspiration to me.” The words sounded genuine, but Claire couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that there was an edge beneath them. Before Claire could respond, Samantha added, “If you ever need support, though—someone to help lighten the load—I know an excellent assistant who could make things easier for you.” Claire stiffened. “I don’t need help.” “Of course not,” Samantha said smoothly. “But if you change your mind, let me know. It’s important to take care of yourself.” With that, Samantha offered a polite smile and left, leaving Claire alone in her office, simmering. The morning passed in a blur of emails and conference calls, but Samantha’s words lingered like an unwelcome guest. By the time the Ross presentation rolled around, Claire was on edge, her mind racing with a cocktail of frustration and self-doubt. She entered the boardroom, her posture as sharp as ever, and launched into the presentation with the confidence that had made her reputation. But halfway through, as she stood before the team, a sudden wave of pressure in her bladder made her pause. Not now, she thought, gripping the edge of the table. She forced herself to keep going, her voice steady even as her body betrayed her. With every passing second, the pressure grew, and by the time she wrapped up the presentation, she could barely focus on the questions. The moment it ended, she bolted from the room, ignoring the curious glances from her colleagues. She made it to the bathroom just in time, slamming the stall door shut and collapsing onto the toilet. Relief flooded through her, but it was short-lived. The near miss left her shaking, her mind spinning with worst-case scenarios. What if she hadn’t made it? What if she had humiliated herself in front of the entire team? Claire sat there for a long moment, her breathing uneven. This couldn’t keep happening. Back at her desk, Claire stared at her computer screen, her thoughts far from work. The memory of Samantha’s offer gnawed at her. As much as she hated to admit it, the idea of having help—even temporary—sounded less ridiculous than it had that morning. But no. She wouldn’t give Samantha the satisfaction. Still, Claire couldn’t shake the feeling that her grip on control was slipping, one agonizing inch at a time. Chapter Two Enter Linda By the time Claire got home that evening, she was exhausted. The day had been grueling, and the close call during the presentation lingered in her mind like a bad dream. She dropped her keys on the kitchen counter, poured herself a glass of wine, and sank into the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling. This couldn’t go on. The memory of Samantha’s offer crept back into her thoughts. Claire clenched her jaw. Asking for help from someone Samantha recommended felt like admitting defeat, but she couldn’t keep living with the constant fear of humiliation. Before she could overthink it, she pulled out her phone and dialed Samantha’s number. “Samantha Drake,” came the cheerful voice on the other end. “It’s Claire,” she said, her tone clipped. “About that assistant you mentioned. Do you have their contact information?” Samantha’s response came almost too quickly. “Of course! Her name is Linda. She’s young, but she’s a natural at organization and discretion. I’ll text you her number.” “Thanks,” Claire said tersely and hung up before Samantha could gloat. The next day, Linda promptly arrived at Claire’s apartment at 9 a.m. Claire opened the door to find a young woman with auburn hair tied in a neat ponytail, bright hazel eyes, and a sunny smile that seemed almost too earnest. Claire thought with a twinge of skepticism that she couldn’t have been older than nineteen. “Hi, Ms. Reynolds! I’m Linda. It’s such an honor to meet you,” she chirped, extending a hand. Claire hesitated before shaking it. “You’re… younger than I expected,” she said bluntly. Linda didn’t miss a beat. “People say that all the time. But I promise, I’m great at what I do. I’ve worked with other executives before, and I’m here to make your life easier.” Claire stepped aside, motioning for Linda to come in. The girl walked in with an eager bounce, her backpack slung over one shoulder. Claire watched her carefully, trying to gauge whether this was a good idea. “So,” Claire said, folding her arms. “Tell me what you can do.” Linda enthusiastically listed her skills: scheduling, task management, meal prepping, and errand running. She even mentioned a knack for helping with “personal matters,” though Claire dismissed that with a wave. After twenty minutes, Claire sighed. Although Linda was extremely young, on paper, she was a perfect solution to her stress. “Fine. Let’s try this out. I’ll give you a week to prove yourself. If I don’t see results, that’s it. Understood?” Linda beamed. “You won’t regret it, Ms. Reynolds!” The first few days were surprisingly smooth. Linda was efficient and unflinchingly polite, handling Claire’s demanding schedule with ease. She organized Claire’s cluttered desk, prepared meals that were waiting when Claire got home, and even started leaving subtle reminders for things Claire might have forgotten. On Linda’s fourth day, she was tidying up Claire’s kitchen when Claire rushed through the door, pale and frazzled. “Out of the way,” Claire muttered, bolting toward the bathroom. Linda watched in surprise as Claire slammed the door behind her. Minutes later, Claire emerged, her face flushed. She was clutching a damp skirt and muttering under her breath. “Everything okay?” Linda asked cautiously. “It’s all fine,” Claire snapped, avoiding Linda’s gaze. Linda didn’t push, but Claire caught the flicker of understanding in her assistant’s eyes. Two nights later, Claire woke up in her wet pajamas. The dark stain on her sheets sent a wave of panic and frustration crashing over her. She began stripping the bed, her hands trembling as she stuffed the soiled sheets into the hamper. She didn’t hear the knock at first. “Ms. Reynolds?” Linda’s voice broke through, hesitant but concerned. Claire froze. Before she could respond, the door creaked open. Linda stepped inside, her eyes widening at the scene: Claire standing in the middle of the room, tear-streaked and clutching damp sheets, her wet pajama bottoms an unmistakable clue. “Oh,” Linda said softly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.” Claire turned away, her face burning with humiliation. “Just go,” she said sharply. Instead of leaving, Linda stepped closer. “Ms. Reynolds,” she said gently, “it’s okay. Let me help.” “No, it’s not okay!” Claire’s voice cracked. “This isn’t normal! I’m almost a middle-aged woman, I shouldn’t be wetting myself.” Linda stayed calm, her tone soothing. “Stress can do strange things to the body. You’re dealing with so much right now. It’s not your fault.” Claire sank onto the edge of the bed, burying her face in her hands. Linda knelt beside her. “Why don’t you change into something dry? I’ll take care of this.” Too exhausted to argue, Claire nodded. The final straw came two days later. Claire had stayed late at work, trying to finish a report, when the now-familiar pressure hit her. She’d been so focused she hadn’t noticed until it was too late. How could this be happening to her? She was a strong, independent woman with a successful career and a bright future. She wasn’t supposed to wet herself like some oversized toddler who wasn’t potty trained yet. In desperation, she rushed back home. When she got to her apartment, she ran past Linda, although her pants were visibly damp. Linda saw it immediately, but said nothing, quietly following Claire. Linda approached her. “Ms. Reynolds, I think we need to talk.” Claire stiffened. “About what?” Linda hesitated. “I noticed… things have been getting harder for you lately. Maybe it’s time to consider something to help.” Claire’s eyes narrowed, though in her current state, she looked more like a little girl pretending to be an adult than the girl-boss she truly was. “Help? Like what?” Linda’s voice was gentle but firm. “Protective undergarments. Just at night or for when you’re working late. It could give you peace of mind.” Claire stared at her, the words hitting her like a blow. “You’re suggesting diapers.” “I’m suggesting something to make your life easier,” Linda said softly. “There’s no shame in it.” Claire shook her head, her pride flaring. “Absolutely not.” “Claire,” Linda said, dropping the formalities, her tone softening but not wavering. “You’ve had three accidents that I know of this week. The one on the way home from work tonight, the one in bed two nights ago, and the one outside the bathroom earlier this week. And this isn’t something new. Is it?” Claire blushed, not knowing how to answer. “Have you gone to the doctor?” Claire nodded, though all her strength had wavered, replaced by a feeling of impotence and shame. “So, what happened?” “The doctor thinks it is just stress. But I’ve always had stress, and it had never led to something like this,” Claire replied, tears falling down her cheeks. “I’m not wearing diapers!” Linda didn’t flinch. “You hired me to make your life easier, didn’t you? That’s all I’m trying to do.” Claire shook her head, her voice trembling with fury. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m not some invalid, Linda. I don’t need diapers!” “It doesn’t look like it. Does it?” “I’ll fix it,” Claire said through gritted teeth. “I’ll go back to the doctor. I’ll drink less coffee. I’ll… I’ll figure it out.” “It’s your decision,” Linda continued, “But just think about this…If it happens at work, what do you think will happen? You have a reputation as a strong and powerful woman. Do you think your employees will respect you after they see you standing in your wet trousers and crying like a baby?” Claire didn’t respond. It killed her knowing that Linda was right. If she ignored the problem, it could only lead to public humiliation. But diapers? She wasn’t a baby. She was an adult woman with so many responsibilities. An image of her wearing a diaper as Linda took care of everything came flooding her mind. It made Claire blush as she shook that thought away. “Just think about it,” Linda added. She turned away, leaving Claire alone in her wet pants. That night, Claire lay in bed, her mind racing. She replayed Linda’s words over and over, each one striking a nerve. The worst part was that Linda was right. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hi guys, here's one of my latest stories. You can read it now on Amazon Kindle Wife's New Boyfriend Is My New Daddy: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DSR2VKVB or check my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections Claire's Regression: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DS2S4FXW You can also read Daisy's Perfect Summer: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DLVJYHH5 Here's a link to The Diary of a Diapered Cuckold: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DPFLGMNJ

I'm working on a long sissy baby story. It's about this married man who wants to be cuckolded by his wife. She finally gives him what he wants, but it takes him down a rabbit hole. Diapers, breastfeeding, forced bisexuality, feminization, exposure, and more!

Hi guys! I finally got a Subscribestar. All of my stories are being uploaded there, plus a lot of new content, including in-progress content like Diapered Stepmother, The Regression Act, and Like Mother Like Daughter. Check out my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections Chapter One The Job Jake crouched in the shadows of the sprawling estate, the weight of his duffel bag pulling slightly on his shoulder. He adjusted his gloves, the cool leather stretching snug over his knuckles, and scanned the mansion for signs of life. It was massive, the kind of house people dream about when they imagine making it big. Jake smirked. For him, it wasn’t about dreams. It was about opportunity. The place looked dead—no cars in the driveway, no lights on in the windows. Exactly as his research had suggested. He’d spent weeks watching this house, noting the schedules of anyone who came and went. No one was supposed to be home tonight. His breath fogged in the crisp night air as he moved to the side of the house. The lock on the basement window was a joke. A couple of minutes with a thin blade, and it popped open. He slid inside quietly, landing on carpeted floors. The faint scent of lavender hit him as he straightened, but he ignored it. Focus was everything now. Jake pulled a small flashlight from his pocket, the beam barely cutting through the darkness. His goal was simple: quick in, quick out. Jewelry, cash, maybe electronics if he had time. Nothing too bulky—stuff he could flip fast without raising eyebrows. The mansion was even more ridiculous on the inside. Everything was oversized, polished, and pristine. It screamed wealth, from the marble flooring to the ornate chandeliers. Jake’s chest tightened slightly as he moved through the rooms, his footsteps silent on the rugs. This kind of place was out of reach for guys like him—always had been. But tonight, a small piece of it would be his. The first haul was easy. A couple of expensive watches from the bedroom dresser, a sleek tablet, and a gold bracelet from a jewelry box on the vanity. Jake worked efficiently, his movements automatic. He didn’t stop to admire the decor or question how someone could afford all this. It didn’t matter. What mattered was getting out before anyone noticed anything was gone. Then he found that room. Jake paused, his hand hovering over the doorknob. Something about this one felt different. The rest of the house was all open spaces and luxury; this door was plain, almost out of place. It was locked, but the lock itself was basic—a cheap tumbler mechanism. Jake didn’t think twice. A quick twist with his pick, and the door clicked open. His flashlight beam swept across the room, and he froze. It wasn’t a storage room. It wasn’t an office. It was something... bizarre. The walls were painted pastel pink, and shelves lined with stuffed animals and other childish knick-knacks hugged the perimeter. But the furniture was what hit him the hardest—an oversized crib, a highchair clearly made for an adult, and a wardrobe partially open to reveal rows of frilly dresses that could only be described as costumes. “What the hell...” Jake muttered under his breath, taking a step inside. The smell here was different—sweet, powdery. Something about it turned his stomach. Curiosity outweighed caution. He walked further in, his gloved hand brushing over the smooth wood of the crib. He didn’t understand it. What kind of person owned a room like this? A joke? A kink thing? His brain scrambled for an explanation that made sense. Rich people were weird—he’d seen enough during his jobs—but this was on another level. Jake moved to the wardrobe, reaching for one of the dresses. He wasn’t sure why. Something about it felt unreal, like he needed to confirm it wasn’t some elaborate prank. The fabric was soft and frilly under his fingers, and he quickly dropped it back into place, disgust curling in his gut. A sound behind him made his blood run cold. The lights clicked on, and Jake spun around, his heart slamming into his ribs. Standing in the doorway was a woman. Tall, elegant, and composed, she had sharp features framed by dark, perfectly styled hair. She wore a sleek black dress that hugged her figure, and her heels clicked against the floor as she stepped inside. Jake’s instincts kicked in, and he dropped the flashlight, reaching for the knife in his pocket. Before he could pull it, the woman raised her hand. “Don’t bother,” she said, her voice smooth but commanding. “You’re not going to use that.” Jake hesitated. Her eyes pinned him in place. She didn’t look scared. She didn’t even look angry. She looked... amused. “Listen, lady, I don’t want any trouble. I’m leaving.” His voice sounded shaky to his own ears, and he hated it. He didn’t wait for her to respond. He moved toward the door, but she blocked his path. “I’m afraid you’re not going anywhere, Jake.” The sound of his name stopped him cold. His chest tightened as panic bubbled up. “How the hell do you know my name?” The woman smiled, and it sent a chill down his spine. “Oh, I know everything about you. Your name, your little ‘side hustle,’ even the last three houses you broke into. You’ve been sloppy.” Jake’s grip tightened on the knife. He could push past her. He could run. But something about the way she looked at him made him hesitate. “I could call the police,” she continued, tilting her head. “Show them the security footage of you breaking in. But that’s not nearly as interesting as what I have in mind.” Jake’s mouth went dry. “What are you talking about?” Her smile widened, and she stepped closer. “I’m offering you a choice, Jake. Prison... or me. Stay, and I’ll teach you some lessons you clearly never learned.” Her eyes flicked to the room around them, and Jake’s stomach turned. “Lessons in discipline. Obedience. Manners.” His mind raced. Prison would mean years behind bars—he’d never survive that. But staying here, with her, in this... nightmare of a house? Every instinct screamed at him to run, to fight, to do something. And yet, all he could do was stand there, frozen, as her words echoed in his ears. “You’re going to thank me for this one day.” The last thing Jake felt was the door shutting behind him. Chapter Two Jake’s Nightmare Jake’s wrists burned where the zip ties dug into his skin. He sat slumped on the floor of the strange room, his back pressed against the oversized crib. The polished wooden bars felt cold and unyielding, a sharp contrast to the warmth of his rising panic. His legs were stretched out in front of him, useless with his ankles bound the same way as his wrists. “What... what are you doing?” His voice came out shaky, more desperate than he wanted. Madame Evelyn didn’t respond immediately. She was at the wardrobe, methodically pulling out items and laying them on the changing table—a stack of diapers, bottles of powder, and frilly clothes he couldn’t even bring himself to look at directly. Her calm, deliberate movements made his skin crawl. It was like she had all the time in the world, and that scared him more than if she’d been angry or frantic. “Hey! I’m talking to you!” Jake twisted his arms against the restraints, wincing as the ties bit deeper. “This isn’t funny, lady. Let me go!” Evelyn finally turned to face him, holding something in her hands that made his stomach drop—a large, white diaper, absurdly oversized. She raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with his struggling. “You agreed to my terms, Jake. This is part of your rehabilitation.” His throat tightened. “No, no, no. This isn’t happening.” He kicked his bound legs, scooting away from her as much as he could, which wasn’t far. His shoulders banged against the crib bars. “You can’t—this is insane! You’re insane!” Evelyn didn’t flinch. “Insane, perhaps,” she said with a faint smile, “but effective.” She crouched in front of him, her dark eyes locking onto his. “You’re not in control here, Jake. That’s the point. The sooner you accept it, the easier this will be.” Jake’s breathing quickened. His heart pounded so loudly in his chest that it drowned out the rest of the room. “You can’t do this. I’ll—I’ll report you. You think you’re untouchable?” He tried to sound threatening, but his voice cracked. It wasn’t convincing, even to him. “You’ll report me?” Evelyn’s voice dripped with amusement. “And tell them what? That you broke into my home and now you’re upset about the consequences? Be my guest.” Jake opened his mouth but found no words. She was right. He had no leverage, no way out. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, and he slumped back against the crib. She stood and crossed the room again, grabbing a pair of scissors from a nearby shelf. Jake’s stomach twisted as she approached. “What are you doing with those?” He tensed, instinctively trying to scoot away again, but she reached for his zip-tied wrists. “Relax,” she said sharply. “I’m not going to hurt you. Not physically, anyway.” The plastic ties snapped under the blade, and his arms fell limply to his sides. He rubbed at the raw skin on his wrists, glaring up at her. His anger flared for a moment, but it fizzled as she gestured toward the changing table. “Up,” she commanded. Jake blinked. “What?” “Up. On the table. Now.” Her voice had an edge that left no room for argument. He shook his head, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “You’re out of your damn mind if you think I’m—” Evelyn didn’t wait for him to finish. In one swift motion, she grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet with surprising strength. Jake stumbled, caught off guard, and before he could regain his balance, she shoved him toward the table. “Get up, or I’ll make this worse for you,” she said, her tone ice-cold. “You’ll learn soon enough that defiance doesn’t get you anywhere.” Jake hesitated, his muscles locking as he glanced at the open door. Could he make a run for it? The thought vanished almost as quickly as it came. Even if he got past her, his legs were still tied. He wouldn’t make it five steps. Grinding his teeth, he climbed onto the table, the padded surface creaking under his weight. Every fiber of his body screamed at him to fight, to resist, but fear kept him rooted. Evelyn wasted no time. She secured his ankles to the table’s built-in straps, immobilizing him completely. Jake struggled instinctively, but the restraints held firm. “This isn’t happening,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible. His fists clenched at his sides. “This isn’t real.” “Oh, it’s very real,” Evelyn said, her voice maddeningly calm. She pulled a fresh diaper from the stack and unfolded it with a practiced ease. Jake turned his head away, his cheeks burning with humiliation. He felt her grip his ankle and heard the sound of the Velcro straps tightening further. “Don’t you dare—” His protest was cut off by the cold air hitting his skin as she unceremoniously tugged his pants and boxers down. The fabric bunched around his restrained ankles, leaving him exposed. Jake’s face burned hotter. “Stop! What the hell is wrong with you?” Evelyn didn’t respond. She simply lifted his legs by the ankles with one hand—like he weighed nothing—and slid the diaper beneath him with the other. Jake squirmed, but it was useless. She had complete control. “You need to stop fighting, Jake,” she said as she sprinkled powder over him. The scent was cloyingly sweet, and he gagged slightly, turning his head further away. “It’ll only make this harder for you.” “This is sick,” he spat. His voice cracked with frustration, and he hated himself for how small he sounded. “You’re sick.” “Perhaps,” she said, pulling the diaper snugly between his legs and taping it into place. The sound of the adhesive tabs fastening made Jake’s stomach churn. “But I’m not the one who thought breaking into a stranger’s house was a good idea.” When she stepped back, Jake refused to look at her. He stared at the ceiling instead, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. The diaper felt bulky and foreign against his skin, a constant, humiliating reminder of his helplessness. Evelyn walked to the side of the table and leaned down, her face close to his. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Jake finally snapped, his voice rising. “You’re insane! You think you can just—” Her hand clamped over his mouth, silencing him. Her eyes bore into his, calm but deadly serious. “I can, and I will,” she said softly. “You have no idea what’s in store for you, Jake. But you’ll learn.” When she let go, Jake stayed silent. For the first time, the reality of his situation began to sink in. He wasn’t just trapped in her house. He was trapped in her world. And there was no way out. Posted April 6, 2024 Hi guys! I finally got a Subscribestar. All of my stories are being uploaded there, plus a lot of new content, including in-progress content like Diapered Stepmother, The Regression Act, and Like Mother Like Daughter. Check out my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections Melissa’s Re-Potty Training It was a beautiful day. Boys and girls were playing in the park, teenagers were hanging out at the mall, and twenty-one-year-old Melissa was stuck inside her nursery. If there was anything that made the whole baby treatment unbearable, it was how time seemed to slow down as the day grew older. She sighed. By now, her friends would be at the beach or with their boyfriends. But not Melissa. No. Babies have no boyfriends. Babies aren’t allowed out of their playpens when Mommy’s busy. And her stepmother was busy. She was busy with her real daughter. Three-year-old Amelia had already been potty trained and was allowed to do more things than Melissa. And she was twenty, almost twenty-one. An adult. But here she was, diapered and wearing a ridiculous baby girl dress. If her friends could see her now, would they laugh? Would they help her? Would they change her already-soaked diaper? It had been weeks since she was last allowed to wear big-girl panties. Weeks since she tasted the sweetness of freedom. Independence was now out of the question. She doubted she could make it without someone looking after her, changing her, bathing her, feeding her. Was this to be her life now? No longer an adult but a baby. Chapter 1 The Re-Potty Training Idea As Melissa entered the elegantly appointed dining room, her heart raced with apprehension. With each step, her unease grew heavier within her chest. The once familiar surroundings now felt suffocatingly foreign, as if she were a stranger in her own home. Her gaze drifted toward the large portrait hanging above the fireplace, where the stern visage of her stepmother, Helen, stared back, conveying nothing but disapproval. Melissa had always felt that Helen saw her as an inconvenience, a constant reminder that her husband had had a full life before her. And Helen was a jealous woman. She had always belittled Melissa, and now that Melissa's dad was gone, she was alone with no one on her side but her best friend, Dana. Sadly, Dana didn’t live with her, and she needed an ally. "There you are, Mel," said Helen as Melissa entered the room, "I've been waiting for you." Helen's presence filled the room with an air of menace, casting a shadow over Melissa as she took her seat. As they sat together at the polished wooden table, the silence grew heavy between them, broken only by the soft scraping of silverware on porcelain. Tea, as Helen called it, was a constant ritual at home. “How you been?” “All good.” “How’s job hunting treating you?” “There’s not much out there unless I want to work for KFC or something like that.” “I see. Anything else you’d like to share with me?” Melissa shook her head, thinking about one thing she didn’t want anyone to know. But her step-mother reached across the table and gently placed her hand upon Melissa's trembling fingers, her eyes cold and calculating. “I think it's about time we addressed your... little issue." Melissa didn't know what to say. She had been having the same problem for about a month. It started as something small, but it had spiraled out of control, and now she had no idea what to do. She had wet herself so many times so far that it was a miracle no one had found out. "What issue?" asked Melissa with a soft and doubtful demeanor. Maybe if she played dumb she could end this awkward conversation. "Look, if you want to pee yourself, that's okay," said Helen, "But you won't do it in my house. Not when I'm working so hard to potty train your sister." "Step-sister. And it's not your house. It's my dad's." "And according to his will, it's now mine." "And mine!" There was a short moment of silence. "Look," said Helen, grabbing Melissa's hand, "I want us to stop fighting all the time. Your father would've like that. What do you think?" Melissa nodded, hesitant, though. She wasn't fully convinced by Helen's intentions, and rightfully so. In the past, Helen had shown no kindness towards her. Helen leaned closer, her voice softening, "I don't want you to feel ashamed anymore. We can help you fix this." Melissa glanced down at her hands, gulping, "I don't know what to do." "Well, I was thinking. Amelia is going through potty training. She's still too small to understand much, right? So, why don't I potty train you alongside her?" Melissa almost choked on her own saliva. "What do you mean, potty training me? I'm an adult!" "I know. I know you are. But listen to me, it's easy. We just need to teach your body how to hold it until you go potty. That shouldn't be too hard. As you said, you are an adult, and I bet a couple of weeks should be enough. Because if you cannot control it, I'm afraid diapers will be the only way." Melissa's jaw dropped, "You're kidding, right? I'm not... there's no way I'm wearing diapers. I'm an adult, remember? And at twenty-one, I get my dad's money, and I'll be out of here." "True. But you aren't twenty-one yet. And you are here, ruining your clothes and my furniture and setting a terrible example for your sister." Melissa didn't really have an argument; she just knew she didn't wanna be back in diapers at twenty-one. “Step-sister,” she said, “What do you mean potty training me?" “I think that part is self-explanatory, right? We take you potty on a schedule until you stay dry in between potty trips. Then we decrease the frequency until you earn your big girl panties again. Eventually, your body will get used to it, and you'll go by yourself. How does that sound?" "How does that help me now? I mean, I will still," she paused, blushing and ashamed, "Wet myself until we get it under control." "We can do what I'm doing with Amelia," she said, smiling, "Protection under your clothes." "No! I told you, no diapers." "Pull-ups aren't diapers. They are protective underwear." "What's the difference?" "For starters, they don't use tabs. They are easy to hide under your clothes. They are less bulky and noisy. They are completely different and they are very helpful during potty training..” "I don't know," said Melissa, thinking about how awkward it would be to have that "protective underwear" around her crotch. And what if someone found out? She was already not popular with people her age. Her only friend, Dana, was a little odd herself. Maybe she wouldn't mind. But there was no way she would tell her about it. "I just want to help you," said Helen. "Besides, this could be an excellent way for us to connect—you know, have that mother-daughter experience we never had.” Melissa sighed, ”When do we start?" "What about right away?" Helen wasted no time. She grabbed Melissa by the wrist, softly leading her deeper into the house. Through halls and corridors and stairs until they were in a room painted soft pink. It was Amelia’s room, and she wasn’t there. “Amelia is playing outside," Helen replied, "In her sandbox.” “She won’t know?” “She will. But she won’t care. She’s only three.” Helen grabbed some white underwear with the design of some Disney princess on the front. It was small, but then again, Melissa was quite thin. Tall, yes, but thin. “Try this on,” said Helen, placing the pull-up in Melissa’s hand. It was defiantly thicker than regular underwear, and the deign was childish. But Helen was right, they didn’t look that much different from her panties. “A little privacy, please.” Helen left the room, leaving Melissa in the nursery. She carefully dropped her pants to notice her underwear was already damp. Sighing, knowing she actually needed the protection, she took her panties off and cleaned herself with some baby wipes she had close by. Finally, the moment of truth. She slid into the pull-ups, feeling the soft thickness of them against her smooth crotch. She didn’t dare to look at herself in the mirror. She rushed to get her pants on again, and when she was sure her protective underwear wasn’t visible, she left the room. Chapter 2 Potty Time While Helen prepared lunch, Melissa sat at the dining table, staring blankly into space. Each clink of the dishes sent a shiver down her spine, reminding her of what was around her crotch. The pull-up wasn't as uncomfortable as she thought it would be, but it was definitely not something she liked. She had kept it dry so far, though it had not even been an hour yet. Helen entered the room carrying a tray laden with fries, nuggets, and fresh salad. She smiled gently at Melissa, something the young woman wasn’t used to. Next to her was her younger stepsister, Amelia. At three, she looked like a mini version of Helen herself. It was obvious she was destined for popularity, unlike Melissa, and somehow, even if Amelia had always been nice to her, she always resented her. “Mel's potty training, too, Mommy?" asked Amelia as she grabbed a handful of fries. "That's right, hun." Melissa tried to smile back, but it seemed forced. Helen noticed her discomfort and quickly added, "Don't worry, sweetie. We'll take it slow, and I'll be there to help you every step of the way." Feeling slightly more reassured, Melissa nodded. "Thanks." As they all sat down to eat, Melissa couldn't help but notice the subtle shift in Helen's behavior. Helen seemed to genuinely want to help her, but she wondered why. "It's time for the potty," Helen announced once everyone was finished with the meal. Helen gave them no time to argue as she grabbed both their wrist, pulling them towards the living room, where a plastic potty awaited. "Is that really necessary?" asked Melissa in shock. "It's just part of the process. Show me you can use the plastic potty, and you can move onto the toilet. It shouldn't be difficult. Should it?" Before Melissa could continue arguing, she was interrupted by her stepmother. "Who wants to go first?!" asked Helen again with a devilish smile. Amelia raised her hand. Within minutes, the younger of the three had done her business like a professional. "I'm a big girl!" said Amelia, smiling from ear to ear, "I'll be potty trained first!" Those words weighed heavily in Melissa's mind. The little brat was as competitive as her mother. It had been cute a few years ago, but now, she was just annoying. Melissa felt her rage growing stronger, fueled by the constant tease. But she fought back against it. After all, Helen was only trying to help. And Amelia needed the encouragement. "Yes, you are," said Helen, "But I think Melissa will surprise us too, right, Mel?" Melissa nodded. Despite her frustration, she decided to give it a try. If nothing else, she owed it to Helen since she helped her when nobody else did. Taking a deep breath, she lowered herself onto the seat of the tiny plastic potty. In contrast to Amelia's confident demeanor, Melissa felt vulnerable and exposed. However, knowing that she must prove her mettle, she closed her eyes and focused on relaxing her muscles. But nothing. A minute passed. And then another. She pushed harder. Nothing. She pushed again, and a loud fart echoed in the room. Melissa blushed as her stepmother and stepsister giggled. One more minute passed. Another. And nothing. "Alright," said Helen, "I don't think it's going to happen." "No, wait!" said Melissa, pushing harder now, "I can do this." "Honey, you're going to give yourself a stroke if you push that hard. It's okay. You didn't make it this time. Let's just try again later." "I made it to the potty, Mommy. I'm winning!" said Amelia, happy as just a kid could be. But as Melissa pulled her pull-up and pants back up, she couldn't help but feel pathetic and like a failure. She was an adult, and she couldn't even control her body enough to pee by herself. "You'll make it next time. It's okay. It's the first time you've tried. I'm sure you'll make it," said Helen, and for the first time since Melissa met her, she actually felt as if her stepmother cared about her. Perhaps this potty-training idea wasn't that bad after all. With her first time on the potty a failure, Melissa had nothing left to do but wait. She was to call for Helen's help if she felt the need to go, but the thought of having to ask for help to pee was too embarrassing to even consider. She was a big girl. She could make it to the toilet without any help. And so she waited. "Potty time," said Helen an hour later as Melissa worked on her resume. It wasn't looking that good, but she wasn't twenty-one yet, and she needed the money if she wanted to go out that summer with her friends. "One minute," said Melissa, staring at a blank page. Maybe tomorrow, she could try again. It's not as if she were in dire need of a job. If only being an adult weren't that difficult. She stood up and went straight to the living room, where Helen and Amelia were waiting beside the plastic potty. "Your sister's dry," said Helen, "What do we say?" "Congrats," said Melissa, pretending to care enough to form a smile. Helen approached Melissa with a gentle, almost motherly demeanor. "Now, let's check our big girl." "What are you...?!" Helen's finger found their way to the elastic band of Melissa's pull-up. The young adult blushed, trying to get away but failing. "My dear," said Helen, removing her fingers from Melissa's crotch, "You're wet. "What? No. I'm not!" Melissa rushed her hand to her padded crotch, only to notice it was bigger and warmer and obviously full of urine. It couldn't be. She didn't feel it. She was a big girl. She should be able to make it to the potty. Her eyes turned watery, and her knees began shaking. "I'm sorry," she said, fighting back the tears. Helen embraced her with no hesitation—a warm embrace—the sort of touch only a mother could provide during times of distress, and for a second, Melissa felt less of a failure. "It's okay, honey," Helen said, patting her back carefully, "That's what your pull-ups are for. You'll make it next time." It sounded familiar, like some of those truisms parents tell children to encourage them. As much as she despised admitting it, her stepmother's kind words did help. Perhaps Helen was right. She might very well make it next time. It was just one accident. She would make it to the potty next time. There was no way she would lose the race for potty training against her younger stepsister. But for the entire week, Amelia outperformed her. “I’m a big girl!” She would sing as she made it to the potty. Meanwhile, Melissa sat there, and nothing would come out. As if her body was actively working against her. Every day she would have to use three pull-ups or more while her younger step-sister was about to graduate to big girl panties. “Maybe we started you too early,” said Helen as she checked Melissa’s underwear. “It doesn’t seem you’re making any progress. If anything, it looks like you’re regressing.” Melissa blushed at her words. “We’ll keep trying tomorrow. But we might need a different approach if things keep going this way.” Melissa said nothing as she got ready for bed that night. Now alone in her room, her thoughts were flooded with the idea of failing her second potty-training. What would she say to Dana? She had been avoiding her best friend all week in hopes she could get her accidents under control. Melissa sighed, closing her eyes, hoping the next day would be better. However, when she woke up, she noticed something new as she moved in her bed. The padding between her legs was heavier and colder. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hi guys, here's one of my latest stories. You can read it now on Amazon Kindle Wife's New Boyfriend Is My New Daddy: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DSR2VKVB or check my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections Claire's Regression: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DS2S4FXW You can also read Daisy's Perfect Summer: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DLVJYHH5 Here's a link to The Diary of a Diapered Cuckold: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DPFLGMNJ

Hi guys! I finally got a Subscribestar. All of my stories are being uploaded there, plus a lot of new content, including in-progress content like Diapered Stepmother, The Regression Act, and Like Mother Like Daughter. Check out my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections Chapter 2 Ian’s Punishment Ian woke up the next day with his heart racing after the most horrible nightmare. His mother had taken him to the court where his divorce would be made final, and everyone was laughing at him because he was wearing a onesie and an obviously thick adult diaper. His ex-wife, her new lover, daughter, son, and even friends. They all pointed out at him, mocking him and calling him names like sissy or pansy baby. He would've felt relieved to be awake, but the cold dampness against his crotch was undeniable. Once again, he had wet himself in his sleep and proven his mother right. “Wet again I see,” said Elena as she opened the door to find her grown-up son in nothing but a soaked diaper. “Are you gonna argue now that you’re not a baby?” “It’s just an accident. It won’t happen again,” said Ian, knowing that he was probably wrong, and diapers were now part of his adult life. “Well, after all the sobbing you did yesterday, I forgot to mention something.” Ian froze right in his place, “What?” “Just that every day until you get a job, I’ll be spanking you before putting you to bed.” “That’s unfair!” He said. His blood boiled as more and more anger built inside him. “Unfair? Unfair is having a loser of a son coming into my home. Using my electricity, my water, my internet, and giving nothing in return because he cannot hold a fucking job.” “But, I’m a grown-up. You can’t just spank me.” “I’m not arguing your position in this house anymore. I’ve already diapered you. There’s no more modesty between us. You can take it or leave it, I don’t care. But if you don’t accept, you can pack your bags and leave immediately. I ain’t having no pants-pissing sissy in my house, and if I do, be sure that I’m going to make a proper man out of you.” She said her words and left the room. After a much-needed shower, Ian went on his laptop to try to find a job. There were few openings for someone his age, especially not for someone who had been fired. It meant he had to start from scratch, with slim prospects. He sent his resume to as many companies as possible, and was hopeful about a few of them, but unless he had a job that very same day, he was in for a dreadful night. A spanking and the diapering, and he was feeling more and more like a child instead of the adult he was. “So, did you get a job?” Asked Elena. “I sent my resume, but it takes time.” “Maybe you wouldn't be in this situation if you hadn’t lost your previous job.” He was well aware of that, but arguing with his mother only made her more poisonous and spiteful. That afternoon, as they ate their dinner, he took her insults like a champ. “All right, I think it’s time for bed.” “But it’s still so early,” Ian said, hoping to catch an episode of a show before hitting the bed. “For adults, perhaps, but not for you. Go to your room, brush your teeth, and I’ll be there soon to get you ready.” Defeated, Ian obeyed, hoping his mother would only diaper him and not fulfill her promise of spanking him every night before bed. If that was his hope, then he was in for a disappointment. As soon as he finished brushing his teeth, he found his mother in his room with another adult-sized diaper and grinning. “Lose the pants and underwear,” she said as if it was the most natural thing to ask for from her grown-up son. “Mom, but…” “No buts.” It was her glare that forced Ian to obey. Cold and detached, as if she didn’t care one bit about how he felt, how humiliating it was to endure such a demand. Reluctantly, slowly, and with his eyes closed the entire time, Ian removed his pants and underwear, revealing his little penis and balls. “On my lap,” she said. Ian nodded and obeyed, detaching himself from what was happening. As if his body was in auto-mode, he offered his smooth butt to his mother and closed his eyes. SMACK! SMACK! Watery eyes as he forced himself not to cry. SMACK! SMACK! “This will teach you a lesson,” said Elena. SMACK! SMACK! It wasn’t until five minutes later, when he couldn’t bear it anymore, when he was crying desperately for compassion, that his mother stopped. His bottom had been savaged, and it stung like it had been burned. But his humiliation wasn’t over. Not just yet. Once again, for the second night in a row, his mother had him lying over a thick adult diaper. After she had spread a generous amount of baby powder, she sealed him in his fluffy prison. There was nothing said between them. No goodnight or acknowledgment of how bizarre the situation was. She turned off the light and left the room, leaving Ian alone in his shame. The next week proved another disappointment for Ian. Not only did he not get a single job offer, but his bedwetting was getting out of control. He was waking up wet every morning, and his mother was sure he knew just what a loser he was. Spankings were getting harder by the day, and Ian couldn’t see a way out of his situation. The stress of it all was proving so hard on him, that he was beginning to have accidents even during the day. So far, nothing too noticeable. He was able to clean the evidence fast enough to avoid Elena’s watchful glare. But it was taking a toll on him, eating more than before, not exercising enough, and getting chubbier than ever. Everything his mother said and did, and his lack of luck in life, was leaving Ian with a sense of dread that nothing could stop. He felt unlovable and alone, and his thoughts were getting darker with every spank and diapering. Perhaps he was nothing more than a big loser baby with nothing to offer. Amelia just finished another intense session at the gym. She loved it, but couldn’t quite enjoy it when men would try to flirt with her over and over, as if she had nothing better to do with her time than listening to them. It was disrespectful and a waste of time, as she wasn’t interested in any of them. She sighed, entering the shower, feeling the warm water washing away the stress of a long week, and wondering if her life would ever be anything different than what it was. In his room, Ian wondered whether he should visit a doctor. His bedwetting was already out of control, but not making it to the toilet during the day was something he wasn't ready to accept just yet. "Ian!" Elena shouted, "Where are you?!" Her voice shattered his thoughts, and Ian scurried out of his room like a scolded child. "Yes?" he answered timidly, already knowing what was coming next. He reached his mother's room, where she sat over an armchair as if it were her throne. "It's bedtime. You know what that means?” she asked. Ian nodded. "Go on then. I don't have all night." Unwillingly, he removed his pants to reveal his smooth bottom and a little prick. Without the need of a command, he walked towards his mother with his pants around his ankles and laid over her lap, knowing that soon enough, she would be spanking his bare ass. And so she did. After ten unbearable minutes of pain, Ian's shame continued with the nightly diapering and horrible words from her tyrannical mother. He was glad when it was over and hoped he could retreat to his room. But his mother had other plans for him. "Where do you think you're going?" "To sleep?" "Come with me," she said, leaving her room. Without his pants and only with a T-shirt that barely covered his padding, Ian followed her. She led him back to the kitchen, where she waited until he showed up. To be fair to him, the thick padding made walking more than a few steps a difficulty. "Take the trash out," she said sternly, handing him a garbage bag full of used diapers. "You better get used to that smell, too.” The smell was overwhelming, but Ian didn't dare complain. How could he when it was his own fault? He turned away to go find his pants, but she stopped him. "And where are you going now?" "For my pants." "I didn't say you could wear your pants." "But people will see me." "Then do it fast." He took the bag and went outside, dreading it more and more with each step. The cool night air brushed against his face, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and damp earth. It was only fifteen steps to the trash cans, and he walked them as masterfully as possible in his condition, but when he rushed back to his mother's house, his jaw dropped. "Oh fuck," he said to himself, trying to open the door. It was locked. His thin t-shirt did little to stave off the cold or cover his diaper, which had begun to feel warm around his crotch. He looked down just to find he had wet himself in his desperation. The neighborhood was dark, and the porch light did little to cut through the gloom. No one in sight. But just as he was considering his options, a bright light from the neighbor’s house across the way flickered on, and a shadowy figure stepped out into the light. "Howdy there," a gentle voice called out to him. Ian turned. A blonde woman was standing in the light of her porch, a curious expression on her beautiful face. She couldn't have been older than thirty, but she carried herself with grace and confidence, making her seem much older. Ian couldn't help but stare at her, his eyes drawn to her full lips and the curve of her breasts beneath her shirt. "I'm Amelia," she said, stepping closer to him. "And you are?" Ian's jaw dropped. Speechless and ashamed, he felt the contents of his bladder being released into his thick padding as the beautiful woman observed him with a watchful gaze. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Hi guys, here's one of my latest stories. You can read it now on Amazon Kindle Wife's New Boyfriend Is My New Daddy: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DSR2VKVB or check my Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/thelittlewriter/collections Claire's Regression: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DS2S4FXW You can also read Daisy's Perfect Summer: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DLVJYHH5 Here's a link to The Diary of a Diapered Cuckold: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DPFLGMNJ

That sounds great!