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DiaperRebel

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  1. I was not sure the proper terms, so your comment really helped me to see my options! Is hourglass fitted possible? I think the T shape that was suggested seems easier than I thought!
  2. Hello! I am looking for tips on how to create your own cloth diapers for role playing. How does one size? Are there any sewing patterns that are helpful? What has worked for you? I’m imagining like a double diaper pins style or snap buttons, but I have no real vision yet and would love advice!
  3. Thank you for your comments! And Pierry thank you for being the first commenter. As indulgent as this is, I was still afraid the font would turn people away. I type it up in my phone notes and when I paste it over I’m not sure how to adjust it on mobile.
  4. You were once again over the Attendee’s lap already thanking her for your upcoming spanking to try and hurry this along. The game was close it would seal your teams position in the playoffs and you felt the pressure. “Number (you’re favorite number ;)) are you quite serious...Butt-ending?” *** “Stick your bottom up silly.” You had no choice. Already bruised, you didn’t want to think about what yet another spank would feel like. You raised your hips, hands curling into little fits with your anticipation mounting. Your Trainer laughed aloud. “Sweetheart you need to relax. Here let me help get you ready.” You felt her little finger circling and prodding a spot that was in no way relaxing. “There we go...that’s better. Just one daily prescribed squirt for your butt-ending penalty and we’ll let you get right back to playing.” A conical shape nudged you there. They couldn’t be serious! Your Personal friggin’ Trainer had conveniently failed to mention that penalty even existed! If you’d known you would have been infinitely more careful! No wonder you hadn’t heard of it! Something entered then a certain plunger was slowly depressing and you made strained noises through your pacifier you thought you might bite in half; there simply was no other way to process what was happening. Anything that didn’t make it fully inside was now running down your leg in a chilly rivulet. “There we go, my little defender. All done.” The delivery tool plopped out and she turned you over to secure your disposable again. It didn’t take long for you to start breaking out into a sweat and spit out your pacifier guard. “P-peesse, Trainie, please let me go to the potty!” “No time sweetie. You have to get back to practice and then your fun play date with the interviewers. You can try to keep it in for as long as you’d like, but you can just let it go into your diaper. These have more room in the seat for a reason. *** You sat almost visibly shivering with discomfort and nerves. A row of mics lined the cloth draped table. Most microphones in the short table stands were colorful toy looking types the Amazon’s believed would entice you to play with or pay attention to more, but a few professional styles from Little reporters showed there were some Littles who were at least fans of the players striving for a difference. Amazons rattled babyish toys to get you to look into their cameras or pay attention to their questions, but despite your vulnerable state, you pointedly addressed your fellow Littles and gave attention only to their professionalism. The Littles asked about strategy and statics questions but the Amazon’s kept interrupting with baby talking tones in their voices with things like “You’re such a cutie in your diapers aren’t you glad you can have fun playing while the League takes care of you? Trains you?” “Before I joined the LHL, I was living dependently without—“ “But isn’t it true you have the most poopy diapeies of all your little friends?” Heat rose in your face. At this point many commentators were mentioning the distinctive smell of a dirty diaper that was wafting from your booster seat on the conference stage. Your trainer stepped in. Placing your pacifier in your mouth and smoothing your hair. “It’s true this Little has been struggling with maturity for some time now. But rest assured, the Genie’s defense is as fierce as the smell you’ve all probably noticed coming from this Little one’s punishment diaper. I apologize for the dirty diaper in present company, but we all know actions have consequences and this Little just so happens to be a slightly slower on learning those lessons despite speeding us towards the playoffs. Any other questions?” The Amazon reporters erupted with questions, but a professionally dressed Little reporter stood up on her chair. Recorder thrust forward. She asked, “But whose responsibility is it to ensure the progress of the players? Shouldn’t Personal Trainers be held accountable as well?” That was the bravest most foolhardy thing you had ever seen. Still suckling your paci, you looked up to your Trainer who had a face that suggested she wanted to throw the reporter over her knee and tan her hide right then and there. *** “You ungrateful Little. I saw the way you looked at that nasty reporter. I change your diapers. I’m not the one filling them up. After all those hours I’ve spent teaching you to be a good Little defensive player. Coaching you, feeding you, taking you to the potty, bathing you. This is the thanks I get?” Another dirty wipe joined the others in the pail. A thick diaper cradled your cleaned behind and powder shook furiously down. “Since you don’t need my help. I’ll be putting you to bed earlier. Let’s see how long you last as a big grown up in your Little nursery on your own for that long. Hm? Let’s see your progress then!” “Twainy, no pwease.” You took on as innocent a voice as you could. This wasn’t a time to act your age. The Captain’s words did echo in your mind. You couldn’t hold the team back just because of some vendetta. “I’m sowwy I made p-poopies even though you said I could make it to the potty if I waited.” This sort of thing always had an effect on an Amazon’s heart. Your Trainer’s hands became more gentle as she diapered you up. Her palm played with the crinkly material soothingly. She seemed to be reconsidering. She sighed. “I accept your apology, but we’ll still have an early bedtime. How bout I read you the playbooks and feed you your babas before beddy byes?” You did your best to smile a little and nod thanking the dimensional heavens that you’d weathered that storm. She scooped you up and carried you on her hip to the nursery. *** Thank you so much for this comment! It got me thinking and inspired me to write more! Honestly I was only being inspired by different silly hockey penalties but this expanded my thinking! I’m glad you enjoyed it at least at the beginning ;D. Yes! I read ‘diapered reader’ tagged stories in the past and dang do I like the feeling of not being in control of what happens to ‘me’ in the narrative. You might have to forgive some actions you don’t agree with of course but I still find it fun to read. That’s one reason why I don’t have ‘you’ talk unless needed for some sweet humiliation or plot or something XP. Thank you! That means a lot since I’ve seen your interest in the more lore side of ‘the dimension.’ I just play off what I believe is princesspottypants’s (that was hilarious to type) story of Chasing Emily. Great stuff I was a patreon of hers too until I got nervous of notification emails popping up in the wrong place.
  5. My, my, my, you naughty little defender...” It was the third period yet again. The score tied. The Mid-Knights had way more shots on goal, but your goalie was out. Having gotten checked, she was back in the locker room getting her diaper changed, they seemed to be taking their sweet time with it! The star offensive Mid had the puck, he had barreled through your fellow defenders. The ice hissed beneath your skates when you faced him, but he feinted. It was going to be a goal. You were going to lose! Your gloved hand reached out and as he made his move you seized his jersey. Something caught your eye, something unexpected, but the whistle blew, and you were yanked to the penalty box like the naughty Little everyone thought you were. Loud smacks filled the arena as play resumed. The Penalty Attendee only paused to let you recover enough of your wits to listen to her carefully. She sighed. “Whatever are we to do with you...?” You squirmed meekly and said the appropriate apologies. “No, darling, I don’t think you are sorry.” Sounds of another round of spanking echoed throughout the area. You were a limp puddle in her hands when she gave you time to breathe again. “Since you have proven yourself so capable of holding...” she continued her lesson. “I’m reducing you to one potty privilege a day. I imagine that would be a lot of capacity to hold now wouldn’t it? So you’ll be in cloth diapers with plastic panties in case such a grown-up Little like you has an accident. Sound fair?” *** If course it wasn’t fair. It was leisure time in the ‘daycare’ after another hard day on the ice. You were trying to enjoy it, but one ever-present need was definitely in danger of dampening it. A folded magazine landed on your poofily diapered lap. The Captain stood before you, a disgusted sneer plastered to his face. “Look what just came in,” he said with disgust. You looked down, the Coach was in a glossy magazine ad, his back to the camera. A zoo-animal printed diaper drew your gaze. It had been used and was sagging in his grip. He seemed to be regarding it with a tiresome expression while his other hand rested on a Little’s spread knee. You went flush as recognition struck, half-naked, that was you! You were kept modest by his position in front of you and the container of Extra Large Little wipes. The caption flowed off the page, Even the wildest Littles need Sensitive care. Genie’s Head Coach calls Sensitive Little Wipes a wish come true for the most thorough wipe in freshness and protection. Your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head. The photoshoot... “You need to get your act together,” the Captain snapped. “Coach can’t keep cleaning up your mess. Pun intended. He’s got more important things to do than wipe your sorry ass. Do you even remember why you joined the League? Or are you satisfied turning into his little diaper wearing pet? You’re holding the entire team back.” “Ergh...please don’t mention holding...” you replied. That did it. The Captain punched you, hard above your bladder and you jerked forward clutching desperately at the pillowy padding between your legs. Too late. You were wetting so uncontrollably you felt warmth rising up your hands seeping beneath your bottom. After the moment of relief, you flushed with mortification. “What’s going on here you two?” Your Trainers came to check on both of you. “Potty time is in about ten minutes everything alright? What’s wrong? Let me see sweetie.” Your hands were moved and your trainer pressed along your crackling plastic panties. “Oh honey...feels like that holding penalty was just too much for you uh? You already used this as your potty...” Her fingers ran down and dewy droplets could even be seen soaking through the pinned cloth to the outer clear panty shell. To your ultimate chagrin, the only thing the Captain was soaking up was praise for yet another dry pull-up. Your frustration soared, but you were scooped up in your Trainer’s arms. She seemed to be enjoying herself patting the delightful extent of your newly wet bottom. “There, there little one. No need to cry. Some Little’s just have more trouble than others sweetie, but look no messies. That nice penalty lady knew you’d be so easy to clean up this way. I’ll even let you pick out which diapey pins you’d like your Trainer to use. Doesn’t that sound like fun?” She carried you off in the opposite direction of the potty for a change. *** The wet cloth diaper clunking into the laundry bin still echoed in your mind. You watched your Trainer happily pinning the pristine spongy new diaper fold on your hip. She took great pains to fold the white cloth just right on you as if she alone could keep the dying art of cloth diapering alive. Feeling the diaper’s familiar hug, you stared up at the dancing genie logos dotting the changing area to distract fussy Littles. You knew you were now looking like a classic baby. Large pastel safety pins adorning your hips, white cloth between your legs, silicone rubber filling your mouth since your Trainer always had you sooth and suckle your paci guard during changes. She had also placed your arms above your head to lay limply out of the way of any pokey pins. You let out a huff. Maybe the Captain was right. It felt like only a few days ago you had been treated like a messy bib-wearing baby getting your face wiped for the final time in the high chair. But now, you were getting pinned into diapers thicker than those of an average Little’s. Your mind went back to the game, the clock had been running down and the same star offensive Mid had been skating circles around your defensive strategies. That was when you saw your trainer out of the corner of your eye. She had crossed her legs, held between them and did a little mock potty dance, the signal to hold. She had taught you holding was a very last resort to stop play in time to save a breakaway goal. You saw it coming and made the choice. “Bottom’s up for the panties,” your Trainer sang out. You felt the elastic vinyl threaded up your legs. “Why so glum hun bun? You helped us win!” That much was true. Intentional holding penalties were a strategy in the LHL, frowned upon, but effective, but you couldn’t help but wonder if it was all going to be worth it. Learning the game, hours of practice, all of these ‘accidents’ soiling your reputation (and pants). You couldn’t help but wonder if you had needlessly kickstarted your descent into diapers forever... ***
  6. I’ve been using the app BetterHelp. It’s covered by blue cross blue shield and it might be covered by other insurances. If not then it’s $65 a week. It’s completely online sessions with video calls so perfect for the pandemic
  7. Back in the arena, you were led by the hand to your coach after your change. “How’s our little diaper-dependent defender?” He asked critically, clipboard waiting in hand. Your trainer patted your crinkling bottom. “Soaked but not messy this time,” she reported dutifully. The coach simply noted the wet diaper to his log. He wore a solemn frown and added its likeness to your potty progress chart; his pen encircled ‘Continue diaper discipline’ without hesitation. They wouldn’t let it go. It hadn’t been your fault! But it had happened in the third period of the biggest game of the season, and it taught you never to get ‘bratty’ around your trainer ever again; unless you wanted to get completely babied off the team. The diaper wearing clause of the Little League contract had various meanings. It could be diapers in the form of pull-ups like the unhindered Captain got to wear. Or the booster packed tab-style you had been currently subjected to. It was also the reason why you were on defense. Labeled part of the least potty-trained group of the team, you were placed in the less critical position to get checked. Oh, ‘checked’ in this game meant getting pinned to the glass or over an opponent’s knee during play to have your diaper checked. Any hint of a used diaper would cause the player to be ejected until changed and that brought a whole new meaning to idea of line changes. In fact, defenders ended up spending most of their time making sure the goalie didn’t get ‘checked’ since the bottles they could keep above the goal posts were frequently targeted and... they were longest on the ice. This Little League career had all started when an Amazon had laid eyes on you. You felt, as you went about your days in the Amazon dominated world, a shadow. You made a point to politely ignore fellow Littles in strollers or getting publicly changed or punished. Perhaps it was this politeness that struck a chord. You had been careful and safe, but at no fault of your own, you’d been found desirable. Around that time was when you learned your employer had just joined a lucrative sponsorship with the League, the LHL. Amazons saw the sport as a point of national pride, and enthusiasm for it, a patriotic duty. It pitted teams against each other to prove who had the true superior maturity. If a Little League could show teamwork, coordination (and dry diapers) long enough to beat the opposing Mids and eventually the coveted Amazon cup, then they would be deemed mature in society and given all rights and protections therein. It was rare for teams to actually make it that far of course. Foul play ran amok. As mentioned earlier, laced bottles were a common danger—and one you should have been more careful of—but things as cartoonish as swapping the Little team’s diaper powder for itching powder before a game wasn’t unheard of. Back in the world outside the League, you had a very close call with an Amazon, and right after that, you had seen the announcement for auditions of Little Leaguer athletes circulating around work. Posters and promotions were everywhere and you were reaching your wits end. When a Little you worked with closely went missing only to be the new face of Diddy Diaper brands, you felt alone and desperate, and you signed up for even the barest chance at immunity. Arriving at tryouts, it really was more of an audition than a test of athletic skill. Factors like cuteness and personality seemed to be more important than your actual skill on the ice. You thought yourself a little rougher player than the Amazon’s would have wanted, but it turns out there was a large clientele for that as well as the darlings. Due to most being amateurs, every participant was matched with a Personal Trainer to get them ready for the real thing in a fraction of the time. You knew you’d be regulated to diapers and bottles and Amazon meddling and the like, but this was different. You had an out. A clear way to move forward; difficult, but clear. Amazons were under greater scrutiny on how they treated the Little League players. You couldn’t be disappeared into some nursery somewhere. You were a first string defender for the Genies. This, of course, brought its own form of unwanted attention. Ever since ‘the incident,’ —messing a diaper on live television— you’d been given fistfuls of crayons countless times and asked to color in the Little autograph space beneath your ad that you’d been contractually obligated to participate in. The ad had been from a photoshoot of your team’s natural and unfortunate lead sponsor. The photographers sat you down on the floor in nothing else but your Genie jersey and an especially thick diaper they’d changed you into. Your Coach, to your dismay, was positioned standing above you seemingly casually placing a wadded up diaper into the pail that occupied the room. That picture was on billboards, full-page ads in magazines and it had the most mortifying eye catching slogan: ‘Looking for a sweeter smelling nursery? Look no further than Diaper Genie Complete Diaper Pail. Rated number one by Genies’ Head Coach for defense against his Little player’s messiest number two.’ And you thought your co-worker had it hard... “Now that you’re cleaned up, get warmed up again with drills.” Your Coach’s voice brought you back to the present. You nodded, and was about to push off back onto the ice when he grabbed your pacifier guard clear from your mouth. You looked back startled, but at his firm expression, you realized your mistake, and quickly stammered out the proper response. “Y-Yes, Daddy.” “That’s my good little munchkin,” he said popping your paci back in and giving your diapered behind a crinkly pat before sending you on your way. Back on the ice...finally. It was the only place you really felt free at all... *** “Diapey check, Little!” “Oof!” The Mid had you slammed into the glass and was pawing up your jersey to reveal the telltale infantile plastic peaking out from your waist. Amazon spectators were ecstatic for the lucky show. They craned their necks to see and were absolutely anxious to find out the latest diaper trends worn by the Little players. A ref was there too, the Mid pulled back your waistband and fingered the leak guards, but to no avail, you shoved yourself away, eyes locking once again on the free puck. A flash of purple of the opposing team’s jersey swirled in front of you as the puck was stolen. Your stick had just been reaching out to secure it when another ref’s whistle blew. “High sticking. Penalty.” He held up his two fingers at you. “Two minutes.” “Wha?!” your safety pacifier ring rattled from your little outburst, but the ref was already pinching you by the ear, dragging you up to the penalty box as you painfully skidded to keep up. The rink divider was opened and your spirits dropped. It revealed someone you knew, the Penalty Attendee. She patted her lap, expecting you. “Hello again, little one,” she smiled. “Hurry up now. The timer doesn’t start until I do, and we don’t want all your little friends to be let down now, do we?” Your heart thundered and your stomach was tied in knots, but you knew you had to get this over with as quickly as possible. The defense was outnumbered now without you. A sense of rising urgency compelled you to race forward and lay yourself face down over her lap. She then began the process of pulling down your pants and your diaper to expose your bare bottom. Coolness tingled across your skin as it was met with the chilly air. The Attendee’s warm hand rested upon you, making tender motions to the delight of the Amazon’s in the premium ‘penalty seats’. “Hmm I don’t think I’ve seen this bottom since the last time you were here. Fifteen minutes for failure to report an accident...wasn’t that it?” You tensed and nodded. A loud smack echoed as her hand struck your behind without warning. “Y-Yes, mommy!” your safety paci flew out and fell, but she didn’t care. Soothing you wasn’t on the agenda currently. “I see it took a little reminding for you to call me Mommy again when you’re being punished.” Another spank landed. Followed by three more. The ‘mommy’s’ suddenly became very easy for you to say. “Yes, mommy! I’m sorry, mommy!” You pleaded squirming in her lap, but she was making sure you stayed perfectly positioned to feel the full force of her hand. Eventually, her hand rested on your burning behind as you continued apologizing. She gave it light pats with her praise, “That’s more like it...now, why are you here?” “F-for high sticking,” you managed, although you were a bit slobbery now. “That’s right, high sticking.” Spank! “Now... since you’re so fond of high places...I’m going to suggest you’ll be fed all your meals from a high chair until you can prove you’ve learned your lesson.” “But it wasn’t—!!!” Spanks rained in quick succession and your teary face was matching your glowing behind. “The only ‘butt’ that is getting any attention from me is yours! Do you understand?” Your sniffling didn’t answer right away so she put a lot of force into her next spank. You sprang up and cried, ”Yes, Mommy!” “Good.” Your fiery tush was massaged as the rolling amusement of the crowd dissipated. You felt her start repositioning your diaper. Thank goodness, timer must blessedly almost be done. “It’s cute you’re playing this little game to prove what a big grown-up you are...,” she remarked, lazily running a nail along your leak guards to be sure they were properly fitted again. “But I remember having to clean a certain baby’s stinky hiney before your last spanking,” she hiked up your pants and placed your safety paci back in with a wink before the buzzer finally went off. You scrambled away, but you knew you had to follow the final rule before you were free to go. “F-Fwank, you mommy.” She smiled. “You’re welcome sweetie.” *** “Uh ho. What do we have here...” “Nothing...” “Well I certainly think it’s something...” Your coach loomed disapprovingly. It didn’t take a genius to tell the diaper you were wearing was wet, and he wasn’t the only person in the room. You were both here as part of the promotional photoshoot for the new zoo opening. You wetting your limited edition safari printed diaper had not been part of the plan, but the sellers of Sensitives Little Wipes caught wind of it and ordered the shoot continue. They couldn’t pass up being part of a heartwarming change between the Genie’s Head Coach and his Little troublemaking defender. Coach reached over and started lifting up your jersey to get it out of the way of your diaper change. “Let’s look at the flood damage hm?” “She left me in the chair for hours!” “Honey, I know it may have felt like hours, “he replied indulging you, while pulling your diaper’s tapes open, “but your Trainer knows what’s best for you. She was just getting you a bib because you were being so messy during your high chair feeding today. You couldn’t wait a little longer?” As he opened your diaper, he got his answer and chuckled. One wipe was pulled from the container then two to help him clean up a very wet little baby. His wipes were kind and careful. He then gently pressed your feet back above your head to wipe up the excess wetness that made it to your bottom. The camera shutters didn’t distract or rush him with his job. He made sure you were clean. It was part of his discipline regimen after all that you weren’t trusted to change yourself. “You know...,” he said, rolling up your soggy diaper, wipes and all. “I don’t want this going to your head, since goodness knows we don’t want you getting any more bratty ideas,” he paused holding up your sodden diaper in hand making him look like a caricature of a put-upon father and the cameras ate it up, “...but you’re my best defender. You’ve stopped a lot of plays by players twice your size, and...based on the state of your diapers...,” he dropped it heavily into the Diaper Genie Complete, “...at least three times your maturity.” An aide hurried over, handing him a new Safari diaper; without a word, he casually placed it under you and picked up a jar of cream. “My little defender,” he sighed, scooping out cream in his cupped fingers, “if you keep costing us penalties...” he focused a moment on applying cream to an area that looked in danger of getting a rash before moving on to the powder bottle” ....we may have to put you in as our mascot.” You nearly choked on his first shake of powder to your bottom. “N-No!” you said in your normal voice before quickly backpedaling into something more acceptable for a Little. “N-No, Daddy, I’ll be good!” “I know pumpkin,” he said, powdering you up, finding it adorable you’d be so against it while he was giving you a change, “but are you sure you wouldn’t just want a Mommy or Daddy to look after you? They’d take care of you, feed you, change you, and you wouldn’t have to worry about ever failing your potty training stats ever again. Wouldn’t that be nice?” “N-Nuh uh!” you quickly countered then sucked on your thumb nervously to compensate. “You...you know diapeys are too lil for me, right Daddy?” “That remains to be seen... sweetheart, your pail has been getting pretty full.” Your heart raced. Team Mascot meant you were a prize for one of the top contributing Amazon’s to bid over. You’d be adopted and booted off the team! You couldn’t let that happen. You thought fast. “I-I wanna stay and play with you...” That made him smile a little as your fresh diaper was fitted. Once taped to his satisfaction, he gave it a few possessive pats. “Well, if you think you can stay clean and dry and start acting your age...,” he warned then softened. “We just might make it to the Amazon cup.” ***
  8. You were lying freshly-cleaned and indignant. “Oh my gosh!” the Amazon’s excited squeal filled the locker room. She plucked a new diaper from your supplies, gushing over its cuteness. “This must be one of the new prints! I had no idea these were out already! Oooh! You’re gonna look so cute!” This Amazon was your Trainer; not potty trainer, Personal Trainer. She was beaming, fluffing open the diaper above where you lay blushing on the changing pad. ”I mean, you Little players are like celebrities with all these sponsorships. And look...” her hand rested inside, rubbing enticing circles into the cushion, “...it’s so soft and thick for our wittle’s wet bum-bum, hm?” she teased. You refused to watch and crossed your arms. “Aw, you’re just cranky ‘cause you were in that soggy diaper for so long. Don’t worry!” she scooped up your waiting ankles and slid the diaper under you like it was the most natural thing to happen to you in the world. ”This will make you feel all better,” she cooed. She kept your legs in her free hand; soon a soft smell filled the room she was starting to powder you. “This will keep you all dry~. She giggled, “At least, for a little while.” Her fingertips reached down, gliding over your baby smooth skin; not a single hair remained down there per the League’s strict diapering of Littles regulations. “Hmm...” Your Trainer’s hand rubbed around your lotioned thighs as she mused aloud. “Maybe a booster...” “I-I am potty traine—er... training.” You’d piped up, but from your current position, dusted with baby powder atop a changed diaper, it may have come across as more of a childish whine than you intended. “If you woulda let me go to the potty and hadn’t made me drink so much...” “Nonsense,” your Trainer cut in, adding the booster regardless. “I gave you exactly the number of bottles a Little needs to stay sufficiently hydrated. It’s not my fault you can’t make it to the potty in time.” “But I was—m!” “Nuh huh,” she waggled her finger. “None of that. Suck your paci until I’m done changing you.” Something that looked exactly like a pacifier was now moving in your mouth. You felt the diaper go taut then Your Trainer busied herself wrapping the crinkly sides snug enough to prevent your proclivity for leaks. “Besides,” she continued securing the plastic tabs, “I think your last diaper would argue against you being even close to potty training. Didn’t I change someone’s poopy diaper not too long ago too, hmm? Honestly, if you keep blaming your problems on others sweetie it just goes to show you’re still not mature enough to handle being out of diapers. Isn’t that what this little game is all about? Only the driest can be Captain, you know.” Unable to complain thus furiously heated while she taped you up, she finally helped you sit up. “D’aw! You look adorable and they do fit you perfectly! You keep suckling that binky, honey, I can tell it’s helping. Now Let your Trainer take care of the rest of your padding,” she winked, delighted by her own play on words. You knew the thing in your mouth looked like a pacifier but you seethed at her not even bothering to call it a mouthguard. You suckled, maybe a little too hard as a few babyish mouthing noises slipped out by accident, but it was more to keep you from saying the many things you wanted to say, but knowing the consequences could get...messy. “Oh ho. I can tell someone feels a whole lot better in a clean diaper.” Her finger swiped up along the blue strip that stretched the front. “Now there’s no way to hide if you’ve wet your diaper or not. You know that’s a penalty if you don’t tell the ref right away if you’ve used your diaper, remember sweetie? You know your team can’t afford you to be a little stinker, right?” You flushed. She always knew how to push your buttons along with the ones she was currently snapping up your crotch. It hadn’t been an accident! You had known as soon as she had fed you that bottle after a ‘tantrum’ you’d had with her that the timer had been set. It had been a valiant effort during the game, as your desperation grew, but it all came rushing out when you had been checked into the glass by that Mid. Your diaper sagged in the seat then alarming warmth filled the rest with your complete loss. The player needn’t have given you the most cursory of checks before she gleefully declared you were wearing a poopy diaper to the referee. Didn’t matter it was medically induced. Your transgression had cost the team a 15 minute penalty and the whole televised game. Now the coach had you restricted to the most babyish diapers, checks, and changing regimen. You hated to admit it, but after so many ‘accidents’ you were starting to look forward to changes. I mean a fresh diaper, still firm and soft, was loads better in comparison to a full one, but that just made sense...right? Hands grasped under your arms and your Trainer helped you off the changing mat. You teetered on your skates she had just laced back up on your feet and she held your hand to steady you like an unbalanced toddler. Hockey. Yes, hockey. You played hockey. Why Amazons couldn’t trust Littles to make it to the bathroom or drink out of a cup but let you skate around with dangerous things was just another reflection of Amazon logic when it came to Littles, i.e. none. She bent down brushing off some stray powder that had leaked out of your pants before straightening up again with an accomplished huff. “Ok, honey. Changing time’s over. Let’s get you back to practice.” ***
  9. AMAZING sexy and somehow relatable??? Thank you for this very well written scenario~ It flows and it fits wonderfully within the realm of belief. Keep doing what you’re doing bro!
  10. Thank you for this. Your commentary on openness, vulnerability, empathy all that jazz vibes with me bro. And of course very nicely done teasing. I couldn’t get enough. I appreciate you sharing
  11. After long languid wipes, airy coolness tickles along your upturned bottom. Normally quick and efficient, the puffy shakes seem to hold an air of smugness today, perhaps an extra flourish in the wrist. The endlessly embarrassing smell of talcum powder filling the room holds an added whiff of your well-used diaper pail having been pedaled open and hastily closed. “Uh-oh, someone was messy...” The sing-song voice of a Caregiver entering the diaper changing room in the middle of your change prickles against your ears. Your raised legs hide the speaker but you assume her idle entrance is to hear the latest gossip. Holding your ankles gripped well in hand is your assigned Matron and there is no hiding her knowing smile. She sets the bottle of baby powder aside and easily answers in the affirmative to her colleague. “What was it this time?” The other asks. “Missed the potty? Too many squares of TP? Too few?” “Oh no, she failed eons before her exam date.” Your matron replied, finishing the final rub against your powered bottom and lowering your legs to either side of your new diaper cushioned under you. You’ve never quite gotten used to looking down past your uniform folded neatly out of the way on your belly to your naked middle hygienically bare, framed languidly by your shoes and socks weighting your bowed legs lazily to either side of the open diaper. “She never once came to me asking for a change. This little one obviously has no sense of when her diapers need attention. Wet or messy, a mixture of 1 and 2! I’ve been just changing her on a set schedule and putting her right back in them.” This, of course, was your unwitting downfall. You saved yourself the humiliation of asking for a changes a long while ago since they were happening regardless. Once you’d even swallowed every ounce of pride you possessed to ask when it was nearly unbearable to sit in a dirty diaper for a moment longer, but nothing came of it. There didn’t seem to be a point when changes were happening at specific times no matter how pristine or discolored the state of your diapers were. Your Matron paused, passing a pointed look at your pacifier. You immediately suckled, sliding the rubber nipple along your tongue. Your matron made it a painful point you nursed to her standards expected of babies, especially when their diapers needed changing. Satisfied, she grasped the diaper to tug it forward and continue her conversation. “There’s simply no way we could let her pass with her scores.” She leaned over to fold the crinkling plastic in place and stretch the tabs to wrap your hips in the cute crinkly print. “It seems it’s still diapers for her for the time being. No need to worry about the potty.” Her statement ends demonstratively as her fingers run to free the frilly leak guards between your legs in preparation for your next wet diaper.
  12. I’ve been inspired by those abdl roleplay online quizzes recently and always inspired by the diaper dimension world by Princesspottypants. Wanted to share the idea for others to enjoy as well~ - - - - Part One You Belong in Diapers Quiz Shouldn’t it it say ‘Do I belong in diapers’? This could be the chance to show them you were telling the truth, but this ‘quiz’ has no question mark. Was it a typo? Or did it just fit the theme of this ‘dimension’ you’ve found yourself stuck in; like the silencing pacifier stuck suckling in your mouth. That was the price of too many questions you learned, and you were learning fast. These ‘Amazons’ quickly grew annoyed when their ‘Littles’ pretended to know what was best for them. It was true the farther you moved into the compound the quieter it became. At the front was a cacophony of harried explanations, firm commands, disciplinary threats, and the inevitable follow-through. That was all muted now replaced by soft suckling, condescending cooing and the crinkle of diapers. Your bottom still bemoans your naughtiness as the redness stands in sharp relief beyond the white frilly leak guard of your own diaper. You shift buckled to the hard seat and the cool lotion trapped inside at least continues to provide some relief despite the constant reminder of the circumstances surrounding how it was lathered on then dusted with powder. A warning swat jumps you in your seat. The sting lingers between your diaper and thigh from your caretakers wickedly pink gloves. You refocus on the quiz, unknowingly working the pacifier in your mouth more noticeably as you begin. The first questions were harmless enough; matching the quiz better to your information on file, and you interacted with the tablet with no real concern until the next question gave you pause When was the last time you wet in your pants? You glance nervously at the expectant Amazon nurse, an air of smugness by now constantly around her and her clipboard poised in hand. This one has been your ‘caretaker’ during this entire lengthy process and has given you enough ‘personal attention’ to have gotten to know you in a multitude of embarrassing ways yet never seems to tire. Her haughty brow raises knowingly and in warning; any ‘lies’ were to be punished. You consider the choices... A. Not since I have been wearing diapers B. Not since I was ‘potty trained’ What choices. Amazons, ever prepared, had you already put in ‘protection’ as soon as you arrived, so it was simply a prompt trip to the appropriate changing station and an upgrade (or downgrade) to tab-style diapers when it happened. With the ‘witness’ with a penchant for spanking in the room, you placed your finger on the ‘correct’ response and kept your eyes on the test to save yourself from the nurse’s triumphant look. All those protests at the beginning claiming the validity of your potty training level and now look at you moving on to question two. How often do you wet yourself? A. Often B. Sometimes Yet again, two choices and neither were ‘no’ but the lesser of the two ‘confessions’ seemed almost like a gift considering your day. Question three. When you wet, how large is the accident? A. Only a little B. A full accident that requires changing You flushed and the nurse made another delighted tally upon the clipboard against you proving the choice was obvious to all involved. The ordeal of your losses of control had consisted of a quick transition from sudden plastic pitter and warming between your legs to being grabbed by the wrist for a change by your caretaker who didn’t waste time marveling at how such a wet diaper could possibly belong to someone as well potty trained as you before plopping it in the pail and proceeding to further wipe, massage, sprinkle, and diaper you yet again. Shaking the memory, you continue somewhat defeatedly down the list. Your hope of an objective test being wiped away like your changed bottom. When was the last time you messed your pants? This perked you up a little. Messed? Did that mean...soil? No, you hadn’t done that. You look at the choices. A. Today B. Within the last week. Another hard suck made the plastic pacifier tinkle. Again with these two choices. The implication that you had ‘messed your pants’ ‘within the last week’ burned your cheeks as you pressed the screen, but not enough to warrant another burning to the ones on your bottom. The nurse made an ‘ah ha’ noise, and scribbled on her board most likely noting your movements and to soon expect dirty diapers. The quiz followed the predictable pattern giving you the questionable gift of being able to claim you mess your pants ‘Sometimes’ and ‘Only a little.’ The quiz continued. Forcing you to admit to many more things, such as, yes, you currently were wearing ‘A diaper’ and when changed you were changed by ‘Yourself?’ No of course not ‘A caregiver.’ In the end, the results were in, and echoed everything the Amazons had been saying. ‘Littles belong in diapers for both daytime and nighttime wetting accidents, and in your case, with the occasional inability to make it to the potty for messes as well. An Amazon must monitor when it is time for your changes and provide minimal potty training only if your behavior improves.’ The clack of the nurse’s clipboard signaled this stage of the processing was complete and it was on to the next. - - - - Part Two Is Your Little Ready for Potty Training Quiz The Amazon sighed at the tablet screen one eye always on you as you sat with your coloring. No change noted in the state of your diaper since your morning routine. A tingle of happiness floated through her looking at how cute the newest printed diapers she’d bought for your looked on you and how snuggly they fit beneath your cropped tee. In all honesty she really didn’t want to take this quiz but the report was due and it was mandatory so she sipped her tea and began. Does your little tell you right away when their diaper is messy or wet? She nearly spit. Goodness no! What a scandalous question. It was completely against her house rules and her little knows Mommy is the only one who can say when a diaper has been properly wet or dirtied. Still shocked, she scanned the choices for more targets of her ire but instead she relaxed into a bit of a laugh as she read the actual options, especially the second. B. My little one does not notice or hides when they need to go. Oh this was true, she had caught her silly little one on multiple occasions looking for a place to go ‘in private’. What a silly thing when even most efficient changes can still be done on a park bench or the back of an open car. This was the obvious answer. Can your little one follow simple instructions? Certainly not to her caliber. Far too much hesitation in certain simple requests like ‘smile and show them your cute diapers honey’ or ‘I haven’t seen a messy diaper in a while drink your boom boom bottle little one.’ She selected the appropriate response. Does your little one have periods of a few hours during the day that they stay dry? She chewed her lip. How easy it would be to lie. She didn’t track it that closely after all, and Littles needed wet diapers to remind them of their needs. Although it was true her diaper changing times were certainly greater than a few hours. Reluctantly she with conceded with ‘A. I can typically go a few hours during certain times without any changes.’ A huffy sigh left her as she moved on from picking the option that would place her little closer to potty training. Does your little have the language skills to communicate needs? A. My little is able to express wants and needs to myself and other adults. She laughs out loud. Choice A was simply comical! Words as simple as ‘diapie’ ‘pee pee’ and ‘poo poo’ were extremely difficult words to be said by her little. Her little one simply made a pouty face most times when asked to do so by herself ‘and other adults.’ Ha! A few more questions proceeded quite similarly and the results where in Your little one is not quite ready for potty training. Sometimes the best advice is to wait and continue diaper use until they are more behaviorally developed. The Amazon grinned and began browsing social media to chuckle at the other comments at the absurdity of the mandated quiz. She looked to see her little one moving towards the corner and she chuckled under her breath it seemed a new diaper change was going to be needed sooner than she thought.
  13. Back from sea! Ahoy! I need a few to get active again~

  14. Stone tilts her head like she was trying to get water out of her ear. The simulation was keeping her from prioritizing correctly and she was having trouble thinking clearly. She pushed through. “I’m—Quinn...” She brushes a few strands of Quinn’s hair lightly aside, managing to calm slightly and regain control. “I’m just so relieved you’re safe.” Her attention is drawn to the keys. “You stinky genius.” Stone said in reply and grins, quickly leaving Quinn’s side for only a moment to snatch up the keys and return to unlock her own wrists then crouch down at Quinn’s waist. “I’ll carry Magnolia back to Good Neighbor.” Stone explained as she released the chain around Quinn. “Do you think you could be a big girl and help Mommy scavenge for some clothes? Antiseptic could be maybe in a mirrored medicine cabinet. I’ll get Mayhem here comfortable and try and find out where we are.” Before Quinn could move Stone wrapped her in a big hug then let her go. There was work that still needed to be done.
  15. Prompted, Stone looked down at Quinn’s crinkling panties. She shuddered a little with a mixture of appreciation for Quinn’s touch and her own fearful childhood memory before nodding a little. “I don’t know...on you they look pretty cute...” She tried to keep a stoic expression before she cracked into a grin. Through all the stress, coping with a joke felt needed. She caught another little whiff of Quinn’s dirty diaper and suppressed her irrational motherly instinct to change her on the spot. She instead grabbed a corner of the Shroud’s scarf to keep pressure on Quinn’s cut and held her closer with a deep sigh before leaning back again. “Hold that there.” Stone instructed about the scarf. “We need to find a way out, some antiseptic, and your diaper bag.” A necklace with keys lays tangled around the unconscious Mayhem’s neck.
  16. A sharp small nick is all Quinn feels then slight dribbling lighted before the Mistress’s breath whooshes past her unkempt hair from her back and chest being smashed against the side of her desk. Stone is on them, chained hands grabbing the deranged woman’s head and slamming it hard the rest of the way down onto the desk. Mayhem falls like a puppet without strings in a heap and Stone’s large hand applies motherly panicked but gentle pressure against Quinn’s bleeding neck.
  17. Mayhem’s face contorted with disgust feeling the lumps inside Quinn’s diaper smoosh against her and release a whiff potent enough to indicate the Shroud had messed herself so badly that it was now negating her locking plastic panty’s odor control. Mayhem reflexively shoves against Quinn’s diaper butt to get it away from her face and sits up shoving the chair jabbing into her to the side roughly to palm her panty cutting claw murderously. Just then, Stone crashes into the control room nearly breaking the flimsy door off its hinges looking like a true barbarian but is stopped when the sharp claw tip comes to rest on Quinn’s bare neck and another violent tug on her hair keeps her close as a hostage.
  18. The woman wailed, letting go and sending a hasty haymaker at the side of Quinn’s head. Below, Stone’s the heavy collar falls and she immediately rushes into action grabbing Magnolia from behind and trapping her with the chain linking her manacles up against the ‘Canary’s’ also freed neck. Mayhem pants through the pain, tugging her dress down looking at her monitors and seeing her henchwoman bested, her fingers begin moving towards her damaged keys. “Stupid Shroud! If you think you’ve been humiliated so far. Just wait!” A prompt for more gas release was flashing on the screen.
  19. Each whimper Mayhem heard from the Shroud between her legs sent more intense jolts of pleasure shuddering and extending into toe curling waves. She let her chair fall back against her desk with a gasp of surprise followed by a tighter grip and honeyed chuckle at how eager the Shroud was. She must really need her diaper changed. That thought alone lifted her on edge higher with the knowledge she had this much control over the helpless hero. Only she could determine where, when, and how the Shroud would be using her diapers or getting them changed. Would she instruct Grognak to change her right on this very desk she was being so astoundingly served against by her new slave? But her pleasure was tinting with annoyance as her pet was gaining too much of an upper hand. She considered sending another small taming jolt into her to remind her who was the boss only to hear a tap then a click and then see the collar maglock around the Shroud’s neck disengage and fall. “You sneaking snake!” Mayhem shouted in anger and her fist yanks back harshly on Quinn’s hair.
  20. Mayhem was lost in ecstasy. Her head thrown back, her mouth open and voicing her pleasure to torment Stone trapped below and being forced to listen through the open mic. This victory was so complete for Mayhem; it was beyond her wildest imaginations. Her hand gripped the back of Quinn’s hair, alternating between holding her roughly and massaging the back of her head possessively. Her hips lewdly raised for her pet to kick her deeply. If Quinn were to get the device and shutdown the terminal she and her fellow captives would be safe from any technological harm.
  21. Fantastic description of wetting at the end there!! I had to comment! Bravo!
  22. Mayhem lifts her veil to better see her captive. Her dark eyes shimmering and her lipstick dark to match her dress. The silk on her fingers is cool as she grips Quinn’s chin. She examines her prize, her silver trophy, eyes wandering appreciatively, seeing beyond her captive’s scars and jet use to the small, but well-structured woman beneath. A little training regime, strict diet of her choosing, and perhaps a trip to the Diamond City surgeon once she was more well behaved could get her once fearful police force paragon to be her diapered pet to look how she pleases. “Well, since you are just a little baby...” She sniggered glad the Shroud was settling into her surprising, but Mayhem had to admit, pleasingly proper role already so nicely. “I don’t think I should tell a little baby what happens to the human brain when my Canary sings, but I’ll let you in on your Mistress’s little secret...Dr. Brainwash was on to something before you snuffed him out in his prime.” Her grip tightened painfully, but then loosened once again. “After a little softening up I can control anyone from this very chair using that device. Even you, my soon to be babbling baby slave.” Her thumb strokes away Quinn’s leftover tears while her other hand wanders, daintily parting the back of the shroud’s costume farther to fondle the soaked weight of the diaper underneath, making sure to have the plastic panties crinkle prolonged and loudly with each deep press. “Curious, why you’re leaking into your panties, my little detective?” She whispers in Quinn’s ear with a chuckle, leaning forward during her examination, her hand releasing Quinn’s chin to pet her hair. Mayhem’s monitors remained within arms reach. “And I can feel it’s so soft inside.” She hummed, closing her eyes to imagine a scene. “I can see it now...I can take you on tour...Exclusive clubs of only the most elite in organized crime. Your Silver Shroud now pinned squarely between your legs as a diaper for the baby catching all your little widdles and soft smelly messies. You on your knees crawling and begging for your Mistress to allow you to earn a dirty diaper change from your big dumb mommy...” She pauses and chuckles darkly once again pulling back slightly to observe Quinn’s reactive body she felt through the costume. “I can tell you like this...” The Mistress wiggles Quinn’s chin between her fingers again and taps her nose. “Who would have thought the Shroud could be so easily degraded to this. In a dirty diaper no less. I think it’s time you learn how to earn a diaper change since so many are to come in your future. Don’t you want to make your dumb Mommy, and more importantly, your Mistress happy? You know what will happen if you don’t...” Mayhem leans far back, her legs widening more, and her finger is curled around a single sharpened tip of a claw polished to a shine. She drags it lightly between her legs slowly tugging and ripping the thin material of her panty hose to reveal herself dripping for her captured slave. The claw then reaches forwards and hooks under Quinn’s collar to pull her slowly and surely closer down.
  23. Mayhem sat with her legs crossed one over the other, high heeled leather boots stopping just below the hem of her deep purple gown. She wore a matching middle eastern styled veil to craftily hide her identity below her dark haired short bob with black ball gown gloves covering up her arms...it was the same singer from the Third Rail. Behind her on the monitors was the kidnapped Magnolia in her iconic red sequined dress sauntering into view by Stone, but she wore a strange device on her head in addition to her own collar. Mercilessly, she hooked a finger beneath Stone’s collar to tug her in her revealing Grognak costume closer to a strange amplifying device. “So we meet again, Shroud.” Mayhem grinned hungrily to Quinn in her control room, whimpering on the floor to her lair. She was shark-like as she leans back and steeples her fingers. “The silver screens really don’t do your juvenility justice.” She taunts playfully like they had all the time in the world to spend together before noting Quinn’s distraction directed at the terminals behind her. She swivels her chair slightly to take a look. “Ah Yes. I forget to mention my Caged Canary will sing a special song for Grognak and all the Commonwealth, Shroud, if you even think of trying to stop me.” Her eyebrow quirked daringly before she swiveled back forward and in doing so spread her legs into a more unladylike fashion. “Shroud...It’s time to crawl to your Mistress of Mayhem babygirl.” Her finger beckons.
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