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3bsg3
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Posts posted by 3bsg3
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In my experience I've found it's pointless to use multiple disposables. I've tried it, I've cut holes in them which is supposed to make the pee flow through to the outer diaper...that doesn't work, it just eventually leaks out through the leg-holes. If you want to do multiples, use cloth diapers.
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This is why I always do a locker pickup for diapers.
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This is absolutely crazy! Nanny Linda has over 2,000 chats!
I tried making another one...a little more ambitious. This one is called "Diaper Genie" and it's like an AB version of the Douchebag Genie. It seems to be working which wasn't expected. Just make any wish and it will twist it in a way that turns you into an adult baby, while still technically granting your wish. https://character.ai/chat/qRzyqvdtob_JJMHLFdT7z220Pl3dGR8BCEsejYwwL-0
I also made a standard Douchebag Genie before this to test the waters if you wanna play around with that: https://character.ai/chat/BVaJNeU4023MHIpNjeF49ECl8T5KU5He2P0mZJCncro
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On 1/3/2025 at 6:44 PM, Sarah_Hillcrest said:
I'm actually enjoying playing with character.ai. I made a Nanny character if anyone wants to try. (she's like one of those nannies that you pay to go and visit and be taken care of). https://character.ai/chat/n2jEpFgIbQ4EDH7cYeEOdf_CTBfSr3MI9xjyFIoQXUY
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So at the moment this is a short and sweet story that works as a standalone. I do have ideas on how to proceed and I might continue, but (quality) writing is a very slow process for me. This took me ages, because I have to be in the right frame of mind to write. So there might be more, but there could be a wait.
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Peter Wilson, a 28-year-old man with a once-promising career, had seen his life take a crushing turn in the wake of the pandemic. For several years, he had owned and operated a modest but thriving barbershop in the city. But as lockdowns stretched on and bills piled up, his dream unravelled. One by one, the customers stopped coming. He tried to continue after the pandemic, but he was already drowning in debt. His savings dried up, and he was facing financial ruin and homelessness.
His two aunts, Barbara and Delia, his only living relatives, had come to his rescue. Identical twins of 67 years, they were the younger sisters of Peter’s late grandfather. Neither of them had ever married, choosing to live together in the charming countryside cottage their parents had left to them. When they heard of Peter's plight, they insisted he come to live with them.
"There's no sense in you struggling alone," Auntie Barbara said over the phone. "Come to us. There's always room for family here."
Barbara and Delia could not have been more different from one another. Barbara was robust and energetic, always outdoors with her garden gloves on or riding her bicycle through the village. She tended to her flock of six chickens with care, often referring to them as "the girls." Delia, on the other hand, preferred the cosiness of indoor life. She found joy in baking, knitting, and sewing.
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On moving day, Peter pulled up to the cottage in a borrowed car, his belongings packed into a few boxes. The house was exactly as he remembered from childhood visits—quaint and tidy, with ivy climbing the stone walls and flowerbeds bursting with colour. The twins were waiting for him at the front gate, their matching grins lighting up the overcast day.
“Peter, darling!” Auntie Delia exclaimed, enveloping him in a soft, lavender-scented hug.
“Welcome home!” Barbara added, clapping him on the shoulder. “Come on in. We’ve got the kettle boiling.”
The cottage interior was warm and inviting, though it hadn’t changed much since the 1970s. The floral wallpaper, the lace doilies, the ticking clock on the mantle—every detail seemed lovingly preserved. Peter couldn’t help but feel a twinge of relief. Maybe this would be the fresh start he needed.
The twins led him upstairs to his new room. “It used to be the guest room, but now it’s all yours,” Barbara explained, throwing the door open. Peter stepped inside and was greeted by an overwhelming wave of pink. Like the rest of the house, the room was like a shrine to old-fashioned femininity: floral wallpaper in soft rose tones, lace curtains fluttering by the window, a bed dressed with a pink floral eiderdown, and matching tasselled shades on the lamps. Even the carpet was a dusty shade of pink. Artwork depicting kittens frolicking in wildflower meadows hung on the walls.
Peter forced a smile. “It’s... cosy,” he said, though the room felt more like stepping into a dollhouse. But he wasn’t in a position to complain.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Delia said warmly. “Tea’s downstairs whenever you’re ready.”
Once the aunts left him alone, Peter sat on the edge of the bed, letting the events of the day settle over him. Before he knew it, he had stretched out on the bed, still in his travel clothes, and fallen fast asleep.
When Peter awoke, it was to a wet sensation that made his stomach drop. Blinking in the dim light, he realized with dawning horror that he had wet the bed. He sat up abruptly, his face burning with shame as he took in the soaked eiderdown and the large dark patch on the pink sheets. How could this have happened? He hadn’t wet himself since childhood.
He leapt out of bed, unsure of what to do, when a gentle knock came at the door. “Peter, love? Everything all right?” It was Auntie Barbara’s voice.
Panic seized him. “Uh, I… I think there’s been a little… accident,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Barbara opened the door cautiously, followed by Delia, who gasped softly when she saw the state of the bed.
“Oh, you poor thing,” Delia said, her brow creasing with concern. “You must be so stressed. It’s no wonder this happened.”
Peter wanted to sink into the floor. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled, his face buried in his hands.
“Don’t you worry about a thing,” Barbara said briskly. “We’ll strip the bed and get everything washed. Go take a shower, dear. You’ll feel better afterward.”
Their kindness was almost unbearable, but Peter nodded and shuffled off to the bathroom. The hot water did little to wash away his embarrassment, but by the time he emerged in fresh clothes, the soiled bedding was gone, and the room smelled faintly of lavender again. Downstairs, the table was set for lunch: omelettes, fresh from Barbara’s chickens, and a small loaf of Delia’s homemade bread.
“Eat up, love,” Delia said with a smile, as if nothing had happened. “You’ll feel right as rain in no time.”
Peter sat down, his appetite slowly returning as he tasted the warm, comforting food. Maybe life in the cottage wouldn’t be so bad after all. He just hoped there wouldn’t be any more surprises like today.
Peter spent the remainder of the day quietly settling into his new home. After lunch, he unpacked his few belongings into the small wardrobe and drawers his aunts had cleared for him. The room still felt overwhelming with its pink floral charm, but Peter focused on making it his own, arranging his modest stack of books on the bedside table and tucking his clothes away. The twins checked in on him periodically, offering tea and biscuits, and by the time evening rolled around, Peter was starting to feel more at ease.
They dinner ate together in the cozy dining room; the ticking of the grandfather clock the only sound besides their gentle conversation. But just as the day was winding down and he was preparing for bed, his aunts approached him with serious expressions.
Barbara cleared her throat, glancing at Delia as if to confirm her sister’s agreement before speaking. "Peter, love, we need to have a little chat before you turn in for the night."
Peter tensed, unsure of what was coming. "Oh, uh, okay," he said, setting his teacup down.
The twins exchanged a look before Delia leaned forward, her voice soft but firm. "We understand you’ve been through a lot lately, dear, and today’s little… accident isn’t something to be ashamed of. But we do have to consider the house and the furniture, especially the mattresses. We want to make sure this doesn’t happen again."
Peter’s face flushed with embarrassment. He opened his mouth to assure them it was a one-time thing, but Barbara cut in.
"We’ve been talking, and we think it would be best if you wore some protection at night. Just until you’re feeling more settled." Her tone was down-to-earth, but her words hit Peter like a freight train.
“Protection?” he asked hesitantly, already fearing the answer.
“Yes, love. A nappy,” Delia said gently. "We understand it’s a bit… unconventional, but it’s practical. And it’s only for nighttime, of course. We don’t want to ruin another mattress, and it’ll save you from embarrassment if it happens again."
Peter wanted to protest, but the memory of waking up soaked and the shame of having to admit it to them silenced him. They had welcomed him into their home without hesitation, fed him, and made him feel welcome. The least he could do was respect their wishes.
With a reluctant nod, he mumbled, “Alright… if you think it’s necessary.”
The twins’ faces lit up with relief, and Barbara gave his hand an encouraging pat.
“Good lad. Now, don’t you worry. We’ve already sorted it all out.”
Peter’s stomach dropped when they led him to the laundry room, where a pile of freshly laundered white terry nappies sat neatly folded. Barbara picked one up and held it up for him to see. “These belonged to Uncle Teddy,” she explained with a wistful smile.
Teddy was their other brother. He’d died very young, when he was only twenty (almost fifty years ago), following a seizure. Peter had never been told exactly what was wrong with Teddy, he was always just told that “Teddy was very special”. He knew from seeing old photographs that Teddy wore nappies.
Peter stared at the pile, feeling a mix of disbelief and dread. “You’ve had these… for 50 years?” he asked, his voice barely audible.
“Yes, of course,” Delia said, “We’ve given them a good wash with some fabric softener—they’re just like new!”
Before Peter could react, Barbara added, “Come on, let’s get you sorted.” She patted the table they used for folding laundry. “Hop up, love.”
Peter froze. “Wait, you mean… you’re going to…?”
“Of course,” Delia said briskly. “You wouldn’t know how to fold these properly, and it’s important they’re snug. We’ll take care of it.”
Protests rose to Peter’s lips, but once again, guilt and shame held them back. These women had taken him in, cleaned up after him, and fed him. He owed them more than he could repay. Reluctantly, he climbed onto the table, lying back as the twins set to work.
The nappies were huge, clearly made for someone far larger than Peter’s slender frame, and it took a few folds to make them fit, resulting in quite a thick nappy. Delia pinned the thick layers of fluffy fabric securely around his waist with a couple of oversized safety pins, leaving Peter bow-legged and very aware of the bulk between his legs.
“There we go,” Barbara said, smoothing the fabric. “Nice and snug. Now let’s find the rubber pants.”
They rummaged through the box, eventually pulling out a pair of rubber pants that had yellowed with age. Barbara pulled them over Peter’s ankles, but the fit was too loose around his legs.
“These won’t do,” she muttered, tossing them aside. “They’d never stop leaks.”
Delia retrieved another pair—smaller, with a childish pattern of teddy bears printed on the outer fabric. These fit better, though Peter cringed at the sight of himself in the mirror. He looked ridiculous. And yet, to his embarrassment, the soft, fluffy nappies felt oddly… comforting.
Next came the pyjamas. “Now, these should fit perfectly,” Delia said, holding up a pair of old, handmade footed pyjamas embroidered with a little train on the chest. They had belonged to Teddy when he was a child, but because Teddy had been a large boy, they fit Peter surprisingly well.
The pyjamas were clearly designed with security in mind, handmade by his great-grandmother with intention of preventing Teddy from taking off his nappy, something he had been notorious for. There were mittens sewn into the sleeves to prevent the wearer from tampering with their nappy, and they buttoned up the back. Despite Peter’s protests, the twins wrestled him into them.
“There,” Barbara said, fastening the last button. “All tucked in. Doesn’t he look cozy, Delia?”
“He does indeed,” Delia replied, beaming. “Now, let’s get you off to bed.”
Peter shuffled awkwardly toward his room, hindered by the bulk of the nappy and the restrictive pyjamas. His aunts brought him some warm milk, which they insisted on holding for him because of the mittens. After he finished, they tucked him in tightly, smoothing the pink eiderdown over him.
“Goodnight, love,” Delia said, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
“Sweet dreams,” Barbara added, switching off the lamp.
As the door clicked shut, Peter wriggled in the bed, testing the confines of the pyjamas. There was no escape—his great-grandmother’s design left him securely trapped. Resigned, he sighed and closed his eyes. Strangely, the soft padding and snug fit of the pyjamas brought a sense of safety he hadn’t felt in years. It wasn’t long before sleep claimed him.
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On the fifth morning, Peter woke to the now-familiar sensation of a swollen, heavy nappy clinging to his skin. Though the rubber pants had done their job and kept the wetness contained, the awareness of the damp padding was as humiliating as ever. He sighed, resigning himself to his new reality. Each morning was becoming a routine: wake up wet, waddle downstairs, and face his aunts with a blush and a mumbled good morning.
Climbing out of bed, Peter moved slowly, the bulk of the nappy forcing his legs apart and the faint crinkle of the rubber pants accompanying every step. When he reached the kitchen, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon greeted him. Barbara stood at the stove making porridge, while Delia was busy setting the table with cheery floral plates and cups. Both women turned to greet him with warm smiles, as though nothing was out of the ordinary.
“Good morning, Peter,” Delia chirped. “Did you sleep well?”
Peter hesitated, his cheeks already turning pink. He knew what was coming next.
“Morning,” he mumbled, sliding into his seat at the table.
Barbara turned from the stove, wiping her hands on her apron. “And are you wet, dear?”
The heat in Peter’s face grew unbearable. He couldn’t bring himself to answer aloud, but his sheepish expression said it all.
Delia tutted gently. “Poor thing. No need to feel embarrassed, love. We’ll get you changed after breakfast. Now eat up!”
Peter nodded, relieved that the conversation had moved on. By the time breakfast was finished, Peter felt a small sense of relief knowing that soon he would be back in his underwear and his own clothes.
True to their word, the aunts took him upstairs after breakfast to get him out of the wet nappy. The ritual was still mortifying: lying down on the changing table they’d set up in the guest room while Barbara unpinned the soggy fabric and Delia cleaned him up with a warm, damp cloth.
The rest of the morning was spent in the living room, where the aunts had pulled out a stack of old photo albums. “We thought you might like to know more about Uncle Teddy,” Delia explained, flipping open the first album with care. “He was such a sweet boy.”
The photographs were black-and-white at first, gradually transitioning to faded colour images as the decades passed. Teddy appeared in almost every picture, a youngster with a broad, joyful smile and bright eyes. But one thing was consistent across nearly all the photos taken at home: Teddy was always wearing some sort of handmade cotton romper, in various pastel colours
“These were your great-grandmother’s handiwork,” Barbara said, tracing a finger over one picture of Teddy grinning in a blue romper. “She made them with buttons in the back, so Teddy couldn’t take his nappy off on his own. He was always trying to, you see.”
“In public, we’d try dress him in regular clothes,” Delia added, flipping to a photo of Teddy at the seaside, wearing a shirt and shorts. “But even then, he’d find a way to tug at his waistband or fiddle with the fastenings. At home, the rompers were the only way to keep him out of trouble.”
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That night, Peter was back in nappies. The ritual had become more efficient over the past few days, with Barbara and Delia working in tandem to fold and pin the thick fabric before tugging on a fresh pair of rubber pants—this time in a cheerful shade of blue. They dressed him in another pair of Teddy’s old pyjamas, these ones yellow with a lamb pattern, and tucked him into bed.
And, as had become routine, Peter woke up wet the next morning.
As he sat at the breakfast table a sudden urge hit him. He needed to pee.
Auntie Barbara was on the phone in the hallway, and Auntie Delia was busy bustling around the kitchen, humming to herself as she washed dishes. Peter shifted uncomfortably in his seat, debating whether he should interrupt them or hold it in. Then a thought crossed his mind: What’s the point? His aunts had been insistent about him wearing nappies, and it wasn’t as though he’d be in them for much longer that morning. Hesitantly, Peter relaxed, letting the warm stream flow into the nappy.
After breakfast, he stood up to take his plate to the sink, Auntie Barbara’s voice rang out sharply.
“Peter! You’ve leaked!”
Peter froze, looking down in horror. Sure enough, there was a wet patch on the front of the yellow pyjamas. He turned to face his aunts, stammering, “I—I didn’t— I mean—”
Barbara frowned as she stepped into the kitchen. “Your pyjamas were perfectly dry earlier, you must have wet again after waking up,” she said, her tone more concerned than angry.
“Oh dear. If he’s having accidents during the day now, we’ll have to take precautions.”
Peter’s heart sank. “No, no, it’s not like that! I don’t—”
He stopped short, unable to bring himself to admit the truth: that he had wet himself on purpose. His mouth opened and closed, but the words wouldn’t come.
Barbara crossed her arms. “Well, it’s clear we can’t take any chances. From now on, you’ll need protection during the day too.”
Once again, he found himself lying on the changing table as they pinned him into a fresh nappy.
Delia headed upstairs. She returned a moment later carrying one of the rompers they had shown Peter in the photos earlier—a blue cotton garment with white trim and buttons running up the back.
“This should do nicely,” she said with a smile. “Your clothes won’t fit over the nappies anyway, so this will keep everything neat and tidy.”
Peter stared at the romper in dismay. The buttons at the back were placed just out of reach, leaving Peter effectively trapped in the childish outfit.
“There we are,” Barbara said, adjusting the collar. “Isn’t that better? No risk of leaks now.”
Peter looked at himself in the mirror, his face burning as he took in the sight of the romper snugly hugging his body. He felt like a toddler, utterly dependent on his aunts’ care.
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The faint jingle of bells stirred Auntie Barbara from her morning tea as she glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. Upstairs, in what had once been Teddy’s untouched bedroom, Peter—now "Petey," as the aunts affectionately called him—was beginning to stir.
It had been a month since Peter’s arrival at the cottage, but the man who had walked through the door that rainy day now felt like a distant memory. The aunts had reshaped his life entirely, step by gentle step, until it no longer bore any resemblance to the life he’d once known. There had been resistance at first, of course, but time, routine, and unrelenting kindness had a way of smoothing out even the roughest edges. Petey didn’t push back much anymore—not when everything he did was framed as being “for his own good.”
As sunlight streamed into the yellow bedroom, Petey opened his eyes and instinctively tried to sit up. The attempt was futile. The soft, worn leather straps attached to his harness held him snugly in place, crisscrossing over his chest and shoulders, preventing any chance of him falling—or getting up on his own. The little bells added by Auntie Delia as an “extra precaution.” After all, a little boy needed supervision at all times.
The faint crinkle of the plastic mattress protector beneath him reminded him of yet another layer of his reality. The thick nappy he wore was, as always, heavy and soaked from the night. He sighed, his face flushing with heat at the sound of the jingling bells as he wiggled just slightly.
“Good morning, Petey!” Barbara called cheerily as she and Delia entered the room a few moments later. Delia moved to the bed, gently pulling back the Paddington Bear bedspread to reveal Peter lying there, dressed in soft yellow footed pyjamas, the bulge of his soaked nappy unmistakable.
“How’s our little lamb this morning?” Barbara asked as she began unclipping the leather straps from his harness. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, Auntie Barbara,” Petey mumbled, his voice soft and resigned.
“That’s a good boy,” Delia chimed in as she reached for the reigns that attached to the back of his harness. With practiced ease, she clipped it into place. The reigns weren’t long—just enough to guide him without allowing too much independence. Peter’s feet found the soft carpet as Delia helped him out of bed, her hands gently patting the thick padding of his nappy as she guided him toward the door.
“Let’s get some breakfast in you, little one. Then we’ll sort out that soggy bottom,” Barbara said with a warm laugh.
Downstairs, Petey sat obediently at the kitchen table, his leash clipped to a hook on the back of his chair. The chair itself had been modified for his “needs,” with soft padding and a safety belt to keep him seated securely. Breakfast was the same as always: creamy porridge that Barbara spoon-fed to him, bite by bite. “Good boy,” she murmured between spoonfuls, her voice soothing and maternal.
When the porridge was gone, Delia appeared with a baby bottle filled with warm milk. Petey hesitated as she brought it to his lips, but her encouraging smile left him with little choice. He suckled from the bottle as the aunts praised him softly.
After breakfast, Barbara led him back upstairs for his morning nappy change. Petey lay on the changing table, his face turned to the side as he tried not to think about the humiliating process that had become so routine. The aunts worked together with precision: Barbara unpinned the wet nappy and cleaned him up with warm wipes, while Delia selected his outfit for the day.
“Look at these lovely farm animals!” Delia cooed, holding up a fresh pair of rubber pants. The shiny blue pants were patterned with playful illustrations of cows, pigs, and chickens, and trimmed with delicate white lace around the leg holes. Petey cringed inwardly as she slid them up over his thick nappy, his new nappies far bulkier than the ones he had initially been put in.
Next came his romper—a new creation of Delia’s handiwork, crafted from soft blue cotton with smocking across the chest that featured an embroidered pattern of lambs. Like all his outfits now, it buttoned up the back, ensuring that Petey couldn’t tamper with it on his own. Delia hummed softly as she worked, smoothing out the fabric and fastening the final button. “There we are,” she said with satisfaction. “Doesn’t he look sweet, Barbara?”
Barbara beamed. “As sweet as a lamb in springtime.”
Lastly, Delia slid a pair of soft lace trimmed booties onto his feet and tied them snugly at the ankles. The outfit was complete, and Petey couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror as Barbara guided him downstairs. He looked like an overgrown toddler, and the sight made his cheeks burn with humiliation.
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The reigns were clipped to a ring on the side of Delia’s sewing table as Petey was settled on the floor of the sewing room. A small collection of toys had been arranged for him—a Care Bears colouring book, a set of chunky crayons, some wooden blocks, and a cuddly rabbit. “Now, you play quietly while I work, love,” Delia said, as she sat down at her sewing machine. “If you need anything, just give a little jingle.”
Petey nodded, settling onto his tummy with the colouring book and crayons. He tried to focus on the simple task of filling in the cheerful bears with bright colours. As he coloured, he felt the familiar pressure building in his tummy, and his body tensed.
Delia’s sewing machine hummed in the background as Petey froze, shifting onto all fours. The bells on his harness jingled softly with the movement, catching Delia’s attention. She glanced up, her knowing smile faint but unmistakable. “Good boy,” she murmured to herself before turning back to her work.
Petey concentrated, his face flushing as he pushed. A minute later, he relaxed, settling back onto his tummy as the telltale smell wafted into the room. His cheeks burned with shame, but Delia didn’t react. She continued stitching the lace onto a cuff, her focus unwavering.
“I’ll finish this row, and then we’ll get you cleaned up,” she said calmly, more to herself than to him.
Petey stared down at the colouring book, his hands gripping a chunky red crayon tightly. He didn’t dare look up. How had his life turned into this? Just months ago, he had been a man with his own business, his own home, and his independence. Now he was sitting on the floor in a baby romper, his nappy full, waiting for his aunt to finish sewing so she could change him.
Delia smiled as she snipped the final thread and set her sewing down. She stood, brushing her hands together as she turned to Petey. “Alright, darling, let’s get you sorted.”
As she guided him upstairs, she couldn’t help but feel a quiet sense of joy. The one regret she and Barbara had always carried was never having children of their own. But now, as she looked down at the sweet boy toddling beside her, bells tinkling softly, she felt that void had finally been filled.
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My new Sesame Street pyjamas, £20 from Primark. Nice and stretchy, so they go well with padding ☺️
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I've been trying to find a story about a guy who goes into hospital, he has accidents and his mother keeps him in diapers, he is deemed to sensitive to go in a male ward where he'd be bullied so he ends up in a ward full of girls.
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If you go on Shein and search for "kawaii" you can find all sorts of cute little clothes on the cheap.
Here's what I got!
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UK slang: foof
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I'm just the same. I watch videos but soon as it gets sexual in any way I'm turned right off! I just like the humiliation stuff, that's what turns me on.
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The question you should be asking is how many elephants can one bad-ass chicken kill.
Who REALLY framed Roger Rabbit?
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I just discovered this French singer Indila. I am obsessed with this song...even though I can't understand a word!
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These don't come in my size, I'm gutted. But I was sure some of you guys would love these. You can actually find a lot of "little" clothes on Shein really cheap, just type "Kawaii" into the search bar.
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PM your story to me, I'll have a read
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Not if you live in by bus.
Do you know the muffin man?
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So, yeah. I do have a password on my computer. I always lock it when I leave it. I left my computer on so I could leave it to do a disk defrag while I was out, this was the one occasion where I forgot to lock it. How silly of me to think that my computer was safe in my home, won't ever make that mistake again.
Yes, I've blocked him on deviantart, but that wouldn't stop him being able to see it when not logged in.
7 hours ago, BabyJeggySpideyBoy said:Yeah! if my brother did THAT to me, I'd be like, "WHAT THE HELL?!" I hope there wasn't any ABDL stuff on there, for your sake. I DEFINITELY feel sorry for you!???????
There was.
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My brother went into my room when I wasn't home, saw my computer on and went through my search history and found my deviantart with all my captioned stories uploaded to it. He's now following me on there. He's made it super fucking weird, and now I can't ever bring myself to upload anything, and I'm seriously considering just deleting my account. He has no fucking boundaries whatsoever, the reason he was in my room in the first place is because he's a crossdresser and wanted to borrow a skirt from me. Without my fucking permission.
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Baby girls and baby boys are welcome to participate in The Baby Pageant. Reply to this post with a short description of the outfit you or your baby is wearing for the pageant (don't forget to describe their nappies, and the condition of them!). Upvote the ones you like. The posts with the most upvotes will go into a poll where everyone can vote for the winner! I'll post mine to get the ball rolling!
I squirmed with a combination or nerves, embarrassment and excitement and Daddy led me by the hand onto the stage. I felt a warmth trickle into my already damp nappies. There was no risk of leaking though, Daddy had me well-padded for the occasion; three layers of the softest and fluffiest terry towelling nappies, each layer lined with a thick booster pad, pinned on snugly with four teddy bear capped pins. Daddy says I’m at my cutest when I waddle, so he ensured that I would be that day! To protect against leaks I wore my loudest and crinkliest plastic panties; semi-transparent, patterned with teddy bears to match my nappy pins, complete with several rows of white ruffles across the bum.
My massive ruffled bottom was on clear display to all thanks to the short dress Daddy had dressed me in. My dress flared out from the chest, puffed out by the frothy petticoat I wore underneath. The puffed sleeves, bib collar, and hem (which covered only the top inch of my underwear), were all trimmed with pink lace. A big pink satin bow prominently adorned the bib collar. The dress itself was made with a cotton material featuring a continuous pattern of teddy bears having a picnic.
My bonnet and mittens were made of the same material, the edges trimmed with the same pink lace. The mittens disabled my fingers, so that I could not untie the pink ribbon, tied in a bow under my chin, that held the bonnet on my head.
My shiny black Mary Jane shoes squeaked as I waddled onto the stage, the massive pink organza bows that adorned the back of each of my white ankle socks fluttered with each step. I nervously suckled on my dummy, as I gazed out at the audience, who oohed and aahed at my infantile attire.
Don't upvote this unless you are voting for my submission, it won't let me post separate comments.
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Bloody hell, do I look like a mind reader?!
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Nappies look cute. No one looks cute sitting on a toilet.
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Bowls
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On 3/3/2022 at 2:48 PM, Acorn said:
Would you rather only be able to wear diapers once a month. Or have to wear diapers for a whole month.
Whole month.
Would you rather get an enema, or be forced to poo your nappy with laxatives?
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More Babyish: plastic backed or cloth backed?
in Baby Talk
Posted
Plastic backed are definitely more babyish to me....because being born in the early 90s, it's what I wore as a baby.