CutieButtCrusader

CHAPTER ONE PERSONAL LOG: Stardate 44317.8 Welcome to the USS Hyacinth, the oldest (and only) running Miranda-class vessel in all of Starfleet. Once upon a time it was a science vessel, built during an age when tensions with the klingons ran high. Now it’s little more than a cargo ship and personnel transport; easy assignment for an engineer straight out of the Academy. We’d just shipped out of Risa, the infamous pleasure planet; not that the crew collected any stories. We had a schedule to keep and no leave outstanding. What little we saw involved half-naked locals waving goodbye to our passengers. We ushered them aboard the away vessel and began our journey to the nearest star base. Not that I was bothered. Risa has its reputation for a reason, and brags billions of satisfied visitors, but that’s not me. Sex is great, but I’m just not a ‘Risa’ kind of girl. The things I want are… complicated. God, what I wouldn’t give for a working holodeck, and a night’s freedom from Starfleet protocol. Life aboard the Hyacinth comes with challenges, but rarely with difficulty. The ship itself is in good shape despite being over a century old. The crew, twenty five in total, are friendly enough, though we have little to talk about. By the time my shifts end I’m eager to return to my quarters, replicate a meal, snuggle my teddybear, and pass the time watching andorian melodramas. It gets lonely sometimes. We all get lonely, but the shape of my feelings aren’t the kind to be shared. I check in with a Starfleet counsellor every couple of weeks, but there are no practical outlets to meet this need. Three days into our journey to Star Base 12 and I received a call from one of the passengers. The replicator in her quarters had shorted out, and she was in desperate need of a raktajino. It was close to the end of my shift, but didn’t mind making the effort as the other ensign signed on. ‘Love Songs of the Forbidden Moon’ could wait. I moved to the passenger level, walked along the corridor, and pressed my thumb to the bell. The doors hissed open, and immediately I was dumbstruck. There in the center of the room stood a woman, naked as the day she was born, smiling without a care in the world. I covered my eyes. “Oh! I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have-” “No, no, don’t be silly,” she said. “Come in. You’re here to repair the replicator, yes?” “Yes, but… ma’am. You’re naked!” She hummed. “Yes, I’m aware. Nudity is nothing to be ashamed of.” My shoulders turtled to swallow my head. “I appreciate that, ma’am, but if it’s all the same to you I’d prefer if you wore clothes.” The passenger huffed. I listened as she sorted through her things and waited until she found adequate attire. When I dared to look, curious in spite of myself, she wore an incandescent blue gown that clung to her shape. Heavy breasts, round hips, she was the embodiment of a mythical goddess. I followed her body upward to the thick, scarlet curls that ran down her shoulders. She turned, persing her sharp and very full lips. “Is that better?” she asked. I nodded dumbly and collected myself. Yes, she was the most beautiful woman I’d seen in a long time, let alone stood near, but I was there to do a job. She was a passenger, not a potential date. Even so, what were the chances of… No. I wouldn’t go there. The replicator proved an easy fix. “One of the photon sequencers is misaligned,” I said, and crouched to reach the upper corner of the machine. One new micro-coupling and a psionic fixer later and it would be as good as new. It was the kind of work I could do in my sleep, or with an attractive distraction lingering in the room. She took a seat at a nearby table, and crossed one leg over the other. My heart beat faster. The smell of sex lingered from under her robe, conjuring memories of the last time I lay with a partner. It seemed forever ago, and my body ached for it. The sooner I could return to my quarters the better. “You didn’t tell me your name,” she said. “Ensign Morris, ma’am.” “Morris,” she hummed, her voice deep and smokey. “Do you have a first name, ensign?” I hesitated, but thought better than to catch her eye. “Sally… ma’am. And you?” Her deep forest eyes probed under the layers of my Starfleet uniform, prompting a shiver down my spine. She finally answered, “Artemis.” A goddess in body, and a goddess in name. How ironic that she should share a title with a patron of chastity. Her wild aura, however, seemed entirely apt. “Does it get lonely out here, Sally?” Her asking sent goosebumps running down my arms, not because there was anything wrong with the question, but because of how it called attention to my plight. Space, and the confines of a starship, were isolating at the best of times. But I didn’t tell her that. Instead we chatted about my home on Earth, just outside of Alberta, and my Mom’s ginger snap cookies that no machine could replicate. The hollow in my chest deepend, pining for the familiar, but work was there as welcome distraction. The photon sequencer snapped into line, and the job was done. I started to place my tools back into their box. “You’re human, yes?” As though being from Earth didn’t imply that. “Yes,” I said. “I find humans delightful,” she said. “You believe yourself the rulers of your emotions, but anyone with the mildest sense knows the undercurrents you suppress.” My body tensed further. “You’re betazoid.” She warmed like a breeze that filled the room. Thick plates of transparent aluminum shielded us from the void of space, so it had to be her. “Got it in one,” she said. When I moved to stand she placed a hand on my shoulder and with great care guided me down again. “I’d like you to stay on your knees a while, if that’s alright.” I should have been insulted. As an officer of Starfleet it was unbecoming to fall for the wiles of a passenger in transit. There were protocols about this sort of thing. And yet to do so would be bluster. She was a betazoid, an empath! She could sense the arousal in my belly, the spinning in my head, the deep desire inspired by a strong woman looming above. Her hand stroked my cheek like palm fronds in the wind, and she hushed. God help me, I curled into her touch. Starfleet be damned, she wrested authority from them with the smallest motion. “I… I…” Her voice softened, almost sang. “It’s alright, my girl. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got you.” She knew this was my weakness. The sex, the wanting, the throne she held by sitting above. Before I was even aware she held all of the cards, and was playing them to her advantage. Worse yet, I wanted her to. My body was a cacophony of desire hungry for sensation; for her to touch, to claim me, make me small, make me hers, to fill me, to hold me, to… to… I pulled away and snapped to my feet. Tears pricked my eyes, but they did not break my resolute stance as an officer of Starfleet. My shoulders stiffened and I started for the door, forgetting my toolbox as I did. “This can’t happen,” I said, telling myself as much as I did her. Artemis glided to her feet and smiled. Her understanding was like a beacon in the dark, begging me to fall. “You don’t have to be ashamed,” she said. “You’re not a little girl.” The words struck like a hammer. Why did she have to say that? The air left my lungs, and my body was on the verge of collapse. All I wanted was to scream and to cry, to find somewhere safe, but there was nowhere to turn. Her expression turned. The cold in my chest was hers as well. With painted shock she flew to me and wrapped her arms tight. Wide stretched loving hands cradled my back, running up and down in a soothing motion. “Except you are a little girl,” she gasped in realization, “and nobody has seen you in a very, very long time.” Tears rolled down my cheeks like boulders. Shame caught in my throat. I was small in her arms, afraid, without the disciplined Starfleet officer to protect me. All I had was this strange and sudden women whose song and whose hands knew where to go. Finally I held her back, shaking, clinging with all I had. “I’m sorry. I-I can’t…” “Shhhh.” Her digit stroked my brow, removing a strand of hair so she could see me fully. I didn’t want her to see. The thought turned my knees to jelly. If experience had taught me anything it was that little girls were difficult to love when their hearts sat in an adult body. Flashbacks of every confused lover flew across my senses. Some were angry, others so bewildered by the reality that they turned cold. Why should this be any different? Artemis swayed, and cooed, and sang. Her hands were like magic, weaving warmth with every turn. “It’s alright, babygirl,” she said. “I’ve got you. I’ll protect you.” No. I wasn’t a baby. I was an adult. Nobody could protect me. I had to protect myself. But her words shattered my cold ego. Once upon a time I thought someone so loving a fantasy; something that could at best be created on the holodeck. But there she was, flesh and blood, resting my head above the cradle of her breast. I cried, I cried, and I cried. Hot tears spilled off my cheeks and onto her skin. Artemis didn’t seem to mind at all, and encouraged these out of control feelings with a gentle tone. Somewhere in an ocean of sobs I stopped being Ensign Morris of the USS Hyacinth, and became Sally, the small child wandering the distant cosmos.

This was a really fun story and I enjoyed it a lot. I've only seen the first two seasons of Digimon so I'm only vaguely familiar with Ruki and Renamon. Still, that wasn't a hindrance to my accessing the characters, which is a testament to the writer. Good work!

I get that. While I never want to yuck anybody's yum, I sometimes feel uncomfortable with how often being feminine is treated as humiliation. For me, being a girl/girly is powerful, comfortable, and beautiful.

I guess it depends where you go. I've seen a lot of trans folk in other fetish scenes ranging from impact play to PVC to hooks and suspension in equal number. The funny thing is that as far as trans folks go, in my experience, you have the sexual ones who take it to a kinky extreme, and those who are vanilla and asexual with little room in between. (Should note this is particularly among trans lesbians. Straight trans women mostly tend toward the vanilla. No idea what the guys are doing, though.)

I don't know. I get tense a lot, even when my bladder is just doing its job. See, it's the subconscious holding that stresses me. My body is doing a thing without my thinking about it, and is trying to let me know I need to go, but I ignore it because I'm super engrossed in something.

Hey all, I have a bit of a weird question for everybody, and even though I have ABDL friends IRL I've never gotten a direct answer. Does anyone else get really stressed out when they hold their wee? It's not practical for me to wear diapers 24/7 (but fantasize about it a lot), but when I'm little and wearing I'm able to relax better because I turn off the 'hold it' button, mentally. But when I'm in big girl space, I'll end up getting caught in what I'm doing and really stressed out, and find it's because I've forgotten to go to the bathroom. Then I go and it's a lot better. Anyone else have that? (This is where I run to the potty because I remembered I do have to go.)

There's a correlation, sure, but I wouldn't say causation. While it may be true that you can't throw a shoe in a room of trans women without hitting an AB, being a woman isn't an act of humiliation; it's about being a woman. Humiliation is poured on us, and some of us internalize it, but if someone thinks that's humiliating in and of itself then they might have some things to work out.

Hey, Brudda. It's a legitimate question, even if it can be uncomfortable. Though as a trans woman I'm not female because I enjoy humiliation, it's because I'm a girl. Some of us might internalise the idea of a humiliation kink because there is so much stuff out there about being 'forced' to be a girl, and subconsciously for folks like myself who were denied their girlhood it's a means to an end. Not only in this fantasy to you get forced into being a girl, but you don't have to take ownership for it. You don't have to risk the kind of real world violence that happens when you say you LIKE being a girl. From that perspective I don't see it hard linking A to B so to speak... (lol, pun not intended.)

Thank you for reading and enjoying! I used to write stories for ageplayaudio.com before it went defunct, and sporadically I'll post stuff through my Fetlife account. Lately I've just been writing stories to share with my Mummy and Daddy and a small circle of friends, but part of why I'm on DD is to share them a little wider. So keep an eye out! I'm really glad you liked it!

This is a story I wrote a while ago, inspired by the kind of things I like to get up to with my own Mummy (who I adore and luff SO MUCH!) I generally write trans characters who are lesbians, and rarely deviate from that. Still, I hope you enjoy! * * * * Once it was normal to sleep in the big bed. Now it’s a reward, doled out by Mommy when you’re an especially good girl. You wake and it’s dark. The numbers on the clock are dim in the faint hue of the nightlight, but you can tell it’s early. Plastic crinkles as you turn, and you’re aware of the wet, sagging garment between your legs. No surprise, since you went before you passed out. Already you’re hard. It’s not one thing, but a number of things. The gentle sucking of your paci is automatic now so you do it in your sleep, feeding your lips to its original purpose. Then there’s the brush of your stuffed animal’s fur against the tender length of your arms. (Her name is Cottontail, and she’s your favourite bunny.) And of course there’s the cold humiliation soaked into your diaper. You hardly realize it at first. Your legs clasp around a pillow and your hips start to grind. Soon the charge of your inflated clit runs up to the well of arousal in your belly. Your breath quickens, and you suck your paci more intensely. Cottontail bulges the more you squeeze her stuffing. A moan escapes from behind your paci, and Mommy stirs. She hums. “Baby?” Flushing red with shame you turn away, but you’re too far gone to stop. You press deeper into the wet padding and slide your length back and forth. But even in the dark Mommy sees you for what you are. “Someone’s feeling playful,” she sings. Her body contorts around the thick plastic and pulls close. The sensation of her nipples brushing your back through your nightie sends a shiver of goosebumps running down your arms. Having Mommy against you calls out the aching need to be touched, to be filled, to be hers. Kisses lap against the back of your neck, prompting a groan wide enough for your paci to fall out. Mommy laughs. “Silly girl.” She reaches down and pops it back in. Meanwhile, her hips match your rhythm, encouraging your shameful little game. “I love when my baby girl gets turned on,” she says. A grin shines in her tone. “It’s so funny when you try to hide it from me!” Few have ever seen you so vulnerable, and nobody more than Mommy. From the moment she teased out your hidden fantasies you belonged to her. Her hand snakes between your legs to clasp you through your diaper. A wave of fresh humiliation burns your face. She giggles. “Do you want to play a secret game with Mommy?” Your breath catches in your throat. A forbidden thrill leaps in your chest. “But you can’t tell anybody,” she says. “It’s a game that’s only for very special girls and their mommies, okay?” You nod with compliance. Mommy wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, and her hand feels so good. “Good girl,” she hums, drawing the words like honey. A gentle hand guides you to your back and lifts the hem of your nightie. You clutch tighter to Cottontail as a string of kisses move along your thigh. She hushes you and reassures you, and you listen, because Mommy knows best. Even now she’s smiling, and you smile too knowing that she’s happy. Her kisses migrate upward, and jump to your belly. They follow the band of your diaper and to the tapes on the side. She runs her fingers along your crotch again to inspect its contents. “A horny baby and a wet baby,” she teases. “Mommy knows a trick or two for that.” The bedside lamp flicks on. Silence breaks as she slowly rips the tabs. Not even Cottontail’s fur pressed into your face can protect you from exposure. You freeze as the bulk unfurls from between your legs and the air kisses the length of your arousal. A whimper escapes your lips, but Mommy shushes you and strokes your cheek. From the side table removes the wet wipes, takes one, and runs it down with finger touch. The way she teases is unbearable. You can’t keep still as she moves around your most intimate corners. It glides underneath you, into the corners of your thighs, around the cleft of your behind and beyond. The cool, soothing wipe makes your nerves jump. “Do you like that, baby girl?” she teases. You nod, though it’s ever so slight. After disposing of your diaper in a designated pail she turns her attention back to you. Her breath tickles your tender flesh, and prompts a giggle. You cling to Cottontail and struggle not to fidget as she plants a kiss at your base. How can touch feel so good? Mommy is magical, and she knows it. She reaches into a drawer and removes a clear tube. Even in the dark you read her grin. You pull your legs to your chest, into Cottontail, in anticipation. “This is going to feel a little cold,” she says. True to her word the viscous liquid chills your flesh. She soothes you as you whimper, keeping you still as it trickles between your cheeks and to your entrance. It warms quickly, and runs smooth when her fingers trace circles. She presses into your resistance, which tenses in spite of you. “Don’t you want Mommy inside of you?” she pouts. You nod into the rabbit. She leans closer. “Do you want Mommy to fuck you with her fingers?” You moan. This time she reaches up with her free hand and removes the paci from your lips. You hold to it, but Mommy gets what she wants. “Use your big girl words,” she says. Her finger presses and you gasp. “Fuck me, Mommy.” She flashes her teeth. Mommy is hungry. “What do you say?” she sings. “P-please… please fuck me, Mommy…” A single digit presses through your puckered hole and curls inside. You whimper, nearly jump, and struggle to be comfortable. It doesn’t feel bad; in fact it feels really good, but it also feels strange. Mommy’s secret game comes with a lot of strange sensations, and you love every single one. “That’s my baby girl. Good girl. You’re a good girl letting Mommy finger fuck you!” Good girl. The words wash over you in a warm cascade. You’re a good girl. Being a good girl makes Mommy happy. When you’re a good girl and Mommy is happy she will make you happy too. Her finger presses into the wall of your insides. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, and you are very happy. With only a single finger she makes you beg. “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” You whine as she draws it from you, but are sated a moment later. It returns with a second digit to stretch you wider. One moment it burns, and the next sighs with relief with a fresh drop of the cool, viscous liquid. You ease around Mommy, and she is a part of you. Her touch probes your tender insides, discovering places which you were hardly aware. The tips of her fingers pass over a hard lump. It screams with sensation, and the dam of your arousal fills to the brim. Each stroke whips your thoughts into a haze. You cling to Cottontail. Her fur is your only anchor to the real world while Mommy sends you higher. You thrust against her fingers, driving her further, wanting it harder. Mommy hums in wicked satisfaction. “You are a thirsty little slut, aren’t you, baby girl?” Her giggle is a cruel tease as she leans close and presses a kiss into your swollen flesh. Lips lap at you as if to savor the taste, and move higher toward your tip. Her fingers and mouth working in tandem are too much to bear. She moans into your flesh. Her voice is hot and resonates beneath. “Cum for me, babygirl,” she says, both an order and an invitation. “Show Mommy what a good girl you are.” You can’t hold back. The heat of her breath and the fingers against your button burst the dam wells, sending you into convulsions. You’ve never been this hard. You’ve never been this filled. Your thoughts are lost and spurts of salty clear liquid leap into a pool on your belly. Those few seconds seem an eternity, and even when they pass you’re left in a rippling pool of joy. Cottontail’s fluff is soft against your cheek. You nuzzle her, closing your arms tight. It feels so good to be a good girl. “I’m so proud of you,” Mommy says. Pride sends goosebumps down your skin. “Let Mommy clean you up.” You flinch under each kiss and giggle. Your eyes flutter in some halfway dream while Mommy licks the cum from your belly. She loves you so much, and you love her back. This, you know, is exactly where you belong. When she’s done she rolls to your side, guides Cottontail from your face, and smiles from the shadows. “Did you like that, baby girl?” You nod, and slide into the nook between her arm and her breast. She’s so warm. “Mommy loves our secret games,” she whispers. “Oh, I love you so much, baby girl! Thank you for sharing this with me.” “Fank you for makin’ me feel good, Mommy,” you say in your littlest voice. She giggles and tickles your nose. Then, reaching for the fallen pacifier she teases it back into your lips and gives you a kiss through the hard plastic. Mommy arches her neck and kisses your third eye. You love being her good girl.

Hi OP, I don't think you have to be exclusively one or the other. It can just be how you feel at the time. There are times when I'm big, and times when I'm small, and I keep those parts of my life very separate, but they're both real, and they're both a necessary part of my happiness. I hope you can find some balance too.

There are very few people who are 100% heterosexual. Bisexual people actually make up a large percentage of the population, some estimating around 60%. And of course being bi doesn't mean you regard every gender as equal in terms of attraction. I mostly consider myself a lesbian, but still have a Daddy and there are most notable erotic exceptions to the rule. -bites finger-

There are lots of great stories here. Thank you everyone for sharing. I didn't discover my love of diapers until well into my adulthood, a few years into my transition. When I first gave myself permission to engage in the girly things I didn't feel like I was allowed to have/do (I was really deeply closeted, and tried like heck to be a boy) it tapped me into my LG side. For the longest time I was sad that I didn't get to have a real little girl childhood, and this was my chance to explore it. I was into ageplay for years before I regressed small enough to consider diapers - when I was in middle space diapers weren't even a thought, but now I'm crazy about them!

Hello everyone, My name is Miri, and I'm a little girl, 36 going on 3, from Melbourne, Australia. I have a Mummy, a Daddy, and a little sister, and am very, very lucky to have so much love in my life (even if some of them live far away.) My favourite thing in the world is stories - writing them, reading them, giving critiques and encouragement. That's probably where you'll find me around here. Feel free to say hi! I hope to make a lot of new frands.