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Hi, my name is Marley. I’m 37 and a female. I am married and have 4 kids. So I spend all day every day taking care of everyone else… but I love every moment (almost lol) I have been in the lifestyle since I could remember. But started being active in the online community the last couple of years. I don’t know anyone in real life that lives this way. So I’m still trying to find my comfort and acceptance in it all. I wear diapers for comfort and out of necessity. When I get very stressed out and/or triggered I have consistent wettings accidents and have to wear 24/7. I love little things - cute clothes and hairstyles, plushies, my binky (as you see in my profile photo), my bottle, coloring, crafts, watching my little shows. I also love animals, going to museums, aquariums, zoos, arcades, playing pool, board games and card games, crystals, and herbs (yes 420 friendly too). I am here to learn more, chat with others, and hopefully make some friends…. SFW ONLY. Only looking for female friends. No offense guys, but I’m married and have a lot of past traumas with males. In order for me to be comfortable as my little self, I prefer to only talk to women. So any messages from men will not be responded to and will be deleted. Please respect that. Thank you ❤️

We welcome your comments and criticisms. Prologue: A young girl named Abigail will have to deal with her stepmother for six months Chapter 01: Abigail was a beautiful, intelligent girl with bright blonde hair and a clever look in her eyes. She lived with her family, including her stepmother Lilian, who was a strong and dominant businesswoman. Lilian was about to marry Abigail's father, Mike, a man who traveled a lot for his work. Despite having an initially friendly relationship with Lilian and enjoying the moments they spent together, Abigail had a secret that worried her. Ever since her mother left when she was little, Abigail had suffered from the problem of wetting the bed at night. Her father reassured her that it was just a passing phase, and Lilian also tried to be understanding, but deep down she considered her immature and discreetly called her "baby" because she still didn't have proper bladder control.All of Lilian's cruel actions were hidden from Mike, always away from his eyes. Abigail felt helpless and feared what would happen when her father wasn't around to protect her. One evening, during a family dinner, Mike made an announcement that would change the course of everyone's lives. He revealed that his company would be opening a branch in another country and that he would need to move for six months to manage this new venture. Abigail sank into her chair at what her father said, but also felt a certain relief, as she knew that her stepmother wouldn't be staying at the house during this period. Before Abigail could get up and leave the table, her father asked her to stay and announced something that left her even more astonished. He said that, as the wedding between him and Lilian was approaching, and considering the closeness between Abigail and her stepmother, Lilian could look after her during his absence. Abigail lost consciousness for a moment, unable to process what was happening. Still half-stunned by the shock of her father's announcement, Abigail was still dizzy when Lilian broke the silence and said: "You wanted to go to bed at that time, didn't you, Abigail? I'll take you." Abigail wanted to refuse, but some part of her, perhaps the fear of confronting Lilian, made her agree. "Yes, let's go," she said, holding out her hand to Lilian, who promptly took it. The two went up the stairs together, arriving at Abigail's room. The room still bore traces of the girl's childhood, even though she had long since outgrown that phase. Toys scattered around the room, walls painted in pastel colors and a small closet full of children's clothes gave the place an atmosphere that no longer matched Abigail's age. Lílian selected an outfit for Abigail, chosen from among the pieces she had bought months ago, clothes that were more reminiscent of a child's style. She picked out a light blue sweater with floral prints. Abigail allowed Lilian to help her put it on, feeling uncomfortable. After covering Abigail with the blanket, Lilian approached and said, with a tone of veiled threat: "Little one, I have a deal for you. If you wake up dry tomorrow, I won't do anything to you. But if you wake up wet, there will be changes in this house." Abigail, aware that this was her only chance of avoiding trouble, decided to accept the deal. With a little hesitation, she murmured: "Yes.”

One day in a bookstore, a old man noticed the perfect 18 year old age regression features. Young blonde and pretty with pig tails and a blue one peice dress. They noticed each other across the room and were instantly attracted. She spoke to him first smiling saying he was very handsome. Being old, he wasn't into wasting time. He said you aee gorgeous and all my life I have fantasized about having a full time age regressed daughter. A legal adult, I dont want a wife, a partner or a girlfriend. I want a full time 24/7 daughter who i can spoil, teach lessons, bathe, change, take care of ,love amd yes it would involve a sexual component. Im a old man with not much time and this has been a dream of mine. Her mouth nearly dropped to the floor, this js exactly what she had fantasized about but was far too shy to ever do anything about it. It was like this day was magic. The man was very well off and said you could come start living with me right away today, but dont you have family and friends. She replied no, nobody, but if you are serious I have always wanted a dadddy like this so bad. I want it. He puts out his hand to take hers and sees if she takes it back.

hi im 25 years old a female and needing a daddy. im in need a spankings being diapered and being made to be a good girl. im not bi. thank you so much babygirl87 i live in lincoln

Can someone please change my messy jeans. Im starting to feel very horny, causing me to play with it in my jeans. What do you think of my big brown stain all over my butt?

Intro: This story is about Madeline and Margot's mother, Margot a teenager the size of a child when she is suspended from school and sent to a nursery, but this story is much bigger than that. One of the best stories I've written, it's lost in an account that I lost. I found a copy and improved it. Enjoy. Note author: I am very happy to post this story, it is very special to me. Quick notices, criticisms welcome, questions. My English has improved a little but it is not good because it is not my mother tongue. Can you give me advice on where to improve? Chapter 01 - Not Everything is Forever Madeline gripped the steering wheel tightly as the car's speedometer ticked at a dangerous speed. Her face was serious, but anger and concern were mixed in her eyes. She muttered as she swerved past other cars. "Get out of the way!" she said impatiently. She pulled away abruptly from the chaotic traffic as soon as she saw the gates of Belmonte School. The imposing building of modern architecture, with its elegant lines and sophisticated details, reflected the prestige of a place destined for the elite. The main entrance boasted a white stone path flanked by impeccable gardens. Madeline parked abruptly and jumped out of the car. Her shoes echoed on the shiny floor as she walked through the wide corridors of the school, surrounded by yellow, red and silver lockers, which gave a vibrant air to the environment. She quickened her pace, ignoring the curious looks of the students who passed by. When she reached the waiting bench outside the director’s office, she sat down with a heavy sigh. Despite what she considered to be a basic outfit—dress pants and a black blazer—Madeline exuded an imposing presence. Her years in the FBI had taught her that plain appearances often masked inner strength. Suddenly, the director’s door opened, and a short, elegant woman strode out with a sigh. Her elegant clothes and proud posture bespoke her social standing. Suddenly, the principal’s door opened, and a short, elegant woman came out with a huff. Her elegant clothes and haughty posture betrayed her social status. “Do something, Shepard!” the woman ordered before disappearing down the hallway. Madeline recognized her immediately. “Elizabeth…” she muttered to herself, rolling her eyes. She didn’t have much time to process the scene, because Principal Shepard, a short, somewhat overweight man with disheveled hair, appeared in the doorway. "Come in, Ms. Madeline." Madeline stood and walked into the room. The room was well-appointed but stuffy, with a dark wooden table in the center. Shepard gestured for her to sit, but she remained standing, crossing her arms. "Hello, why did you ask me here?" she asked bluntly. Shepard looked uncomfortable, shuffling the papers in front of her as if trying to summon the courage to speak. "Something about your daughter, Margot. She got into a fight with another student... Ms. Elizabeth's daughter, to be more specific." Madeline arched an eyebrow but remained silent. Shepard continued: "The situation is serious, and... well... considering the circumstances, I will need to take severe action. I am considering expelling her." The words made Madeline's blood boil, but she kept her cool. "Have you heard my daughter's side?" she asked firmly. Shepard swallowed hard. "You see, I haven't had time yet..." Madeline took a step forward, her eyes shining with authority. "What do you mean you want to expel her without hearing what she has to say? Do you think I look stupid?" Shepard choked, clearly intimidated. "Madam Madeline, I..." "Then let me speak to her now." Her voice was a command, not a suggestion. Shepard sighed in defeat and left the room to fetch Margot. Madeline drummed her fingers on her leg and tapped her feet on the floor, an old habit that betrayed her anxiety. Despite her controlled posture, her mind was in turmoil. She knew the behind-the-scenes of that school well. The impeccable facade hid a constant power game, where money and influence were the only currencies that mattered. Shepard, the headmaster himself, was a living example of this. He was manipulated by anyone with enough resources, and Elizabeth had more than enough to ensure that things always went her way. When the door opened, Madeline looked up. Margot entered the room with slow steps, her eyes still red and puffy from crying. Despite that, her daughter was beautiful, with her straight blond hair falling over her shoulders and a face that exuded sweetness. Margot was 14 years old, but her petite frame made her seem much younger. Before Madeline could even say anything, Margot ran to hug her, burying her face in her mother's blazer. "I'm sorry, Mom... I didn't mean to come to this." Her voice was weak, but full of guilt. Madeline grabbed her daughter's shoulders and leaned in to look into her eyes. "What's wrong, sweetie?" she asked, using the affectionate nickname that always made her feel safe. Margot took a deep breath, struggling to keep her voice steady. "Well... my friends and I have been getting bullied by Amelia for a long time. She mistreats everyone, especially my friends, and I couldn't take it anymore. I had to fix it." Madeline blinked in surprise, but held back her initial reaction. "Sweetie, I know it was hard, but solving this with violence isn't the right way. You could have come to me or the principal." Margot lowered her head, clenching her fists in anger. "What would be the point? Shepard is bought!" Madeline was silent for a moment. She knew well the kind of game that was going on here, but hearing it from her own daughter brought a different weight. "Margot... why do you think that?" he asked, his voice a mix of concern and curiosity. Margot looked up, determined. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and quickly unlocked it. "Because I proved it. Look at this." She showed the screen to Madeline, who carefully read the email exchange between Shepard and Elizabeth. The director had been paid $500 to hush up an incident involving Amelia. Madeline pressed her lips together, holding back the explosion of anger that threatened to escape. "This is serious." She handed the phone back, taking a deep breath. "But... how did you manage to do this?" Margot hesitated, but soon answered with a slight smile. "Auntie taught me some tricks." Madeline frowned. She knew exactly who Margot was referring to: her sister, an experienced hacker who loved to teach her niece her "arts." That was something to deal with later. "Margot, this is serious. It's important evidence, but people are going to need more than an email to believe it." Margot nodded, as if she had been expecting that question. "I have something else, Mom." She swiped to the next file on her phone and opened a video from the school's security camera. Madeline watched with increasing attention. In the video, Amelia was seen pushing one of Margot's friends against the lockers, laughing and throwing water at her while saying, "Look, the baby's wet!" Other girls laughed in the background, while Amelia continued to mock the girl, who tried unsuccessfully to compose herself. Madeline felt her blood boil. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to keep herself in check. When she opened them again, her expression was pure ice. "Shepard will listen to me now." She put Margot's phone in her bag and held her daughter's hand. "Stay here, sweetie. This will be taken care of." Madeline stared at Shepard, her piercing gaze making the man sweat under the fluorescent lighting of the room. He tried to maintain his composure, but his hands shook slightly as he held a glass of water. "Well, let's get this out of the way," Shepard began, his tone uncertain. "I didn't want to kick your daughter out, but..." "But what, exactly?" Madeline interrupted, leaning forward slightly, her voice cold as steel. "How do you intend to justify expelling my daughter when your school is the scene of systematic bullying and active complicity?" Shepard swallowed, trying to hide her discomfort. "I don't know what you're talking about." Madeline smiled, but it was a sharp smile, without any trace of humor. She pulled her cell phone from her bag and opened the video. "You don't know? Then let me refresh your memory." She pressed play, and the room fell silent as the video showed Amelia shoving and mocking Margot's friend. The humiliation was evident, and Shepard looked away, uncomfortable. "Now," Madeline said, pausing the video, "no hushing up this case. No excuses. No bribes." Shepard began to sweat even more. "Look... I... I'm going to take this case to the board." Madeline arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "Are you going to take it to the council? Why don't you just say you intend to hush it up? Wouldn't that be easier?" Shepard stood up, visibly shaken, and took a sip of water. "I... I'm going to take this to the state council. We'll sort it out there." Madeline tilted her head, watching him like a predator sizing up its prey. "Good. Because if you don't, I will. And you know damn well my version of the facts will be more convincing." Shepard nodded nervously, his voice almost cracking. "I'll be there. But..." He cleared his throat and straightened his posture, trying to regain some control. "Your daughter is suspended. And I don't want to see her here until further notice. Now, please leave." Madeline stared at him for a moment longer, her hands tightly clenched into fists. But she knew the damage was done. Shepard was cornered, and the next move would be hers. "Very well. See you soon, Shepard." She walked out of the room with firm steps and found Margot waiting on the aisle seat. The girl stood up immediately, but her worried expression was quickly replaced by curiosity when she saw her mother's expression. "Come on, sweetie," Madeline said, holding out her hand to Margot. In the car, Madeline took a deep breath before explaining. "You're suspended, Margot. Shepard wants to use that as an excuse while he tries to protect his own skin." Margot huffed, crossing her arms. "I get suspended, and Amelia gets to go free? That's not fair!" Madeline placed a hand on the steering wheel, her fingers gripping the leather. "I know it's not fair. But trust me, sweetie. It's not going to stay that way." The rest of the drive was silent, each of them lost in their own thoughts. When they arrived home, Margot got out of the car without another word, quickly climbing the stairs to her room and slamming the door behind her. Madeline sat in the car for a few moments, her head resting against the back of the seat. This case went far beyond Margot. The school was a bomb of trouble waiting to explode, and if Shepard thought he could escape it, he seriously underestimated who he was dealing with.

A festive story (who would have guessed?). Well, if I'm going to be active here, I think I should start sharing some more of my older stories as well; the ones that got nuked from Wattpad for whatever reason. This one is just a short story… or it was supposed to be. 10 chapters in the end. If I can keep my anxiety under control, I'll try to post one each day so you have a whole story before Christmas. Hope you enjoy! Advent Tarja danced down the street, turning from one side to another to watch the sunset colours reflecting off the finest traces of frost that had started to form on the paving slabs. She considered that it might be some kind of good luck that she happened to be outside when it was just cold enough for frost to form, and also just the right time for the sun to be at this height above the horizon, which made it look like she was running down a river of molten gold. Of course, Tarja thought a lot of things were lucky occurrences, whether or not they were particularly noteworthy. She was the kind of person who would take any excuse to find joy. She didn’t care that her horoscope was nonsense, she could still have a giggle at it. And she could still use it to give her confidence whenever she was doing something important. She would look through all the different newspapers until she found a good prediction, and then keep it in her pocket as a reminder that she was going to have a great day. She wished she could find something to cheer up Merri. Her flatmate and best friend was so firmly grounded in reality that she wouldn’t let herself dream, and that was a little sad. Especially at this time of year, when the shortest day had drained all life from the sky and everybody was making the same tired jokes about her name. Tarja wished that she could bottle the sunset and take it home, thinking that maybe that would be cause for a little joy. But things like this atmosphere couldn’t be captured in a photo; you needed to be there to feel the colours, and the slight sting of cold air on warm skin. There was something special about this atmosphere, and nobody would tell Tarja otherwise. She gave a little twirl, trying to take in the beauty of the icicles and decorations in every direction at once. It made her a little dizzy, but she didn’t mind. It was okay to be a little light-headed when magic was happening. But it did mean that she wasn’t quite sure which direction she was facing when her heel came down on a patch of ice that she should really have expected. Her feet skittered on the ground, and it felt like a miracle that she managed to keep them under her. She spun as she slid, accelerating down the hill, wondering at every moment whether she was about to tumble and fall. She hit steps, and alternated between staggering and falling, before she managed to grasp the iron railings that guarded the entrance to an alleyway. “Wow,” she said, pulse racing. She knew that she could have been hurt, but it had seemed like the whole world was spinning. Now that she was safe, she could imagine it as some kind of fairground ride; a lot of fun, but it had left her short of breath. And then she looked around… “Where am I?” This wasn’t a part of the city that Tarja was familiar with, thought if she looked father down the hill she could still see a breathtaking view over the rooftops to the other side of the valley, so she knew she hadn’t travelled too far off her usual path. She took a deep breath and looked around. It looked kind of posh around here; fancy houses with a proper archway giving shelter while you rang the bell. But right beside her, there was a single shop, with a sign over the door so faded that she couldn’t read it in the vivid sunset colours, and a brass plaque beside the door that seemed long-since worn into illegibility. Unable to resist her own curiosity, she stepped inside. She was immediately greeted by the smell of mysticism. It was a distinctive aroma, whose main ingredients were carefully-stored paper and all manner of exotic incense. There were wooden shelves here, arranged in a complex pattern that gave no indication of which way you would have to go to find the shop’s owner. Everything could be found here, arranged with no apparent organisation. She saw rolling mats packed in tightly beside a display of tarot cards; a deck she didn’t recognise. And there was a mandala, and some kind of divination board. So many things, any one of which would have fascinated her. But when they were all packed in together, she found that she didn’t know where to look first. The whole arrangement gave the impression that if you didn’t know exactly what you were after, you might not exactly be welcome here. Along one aisle, Tarja managed to catch sight of a man hunched over behind a counter. Of course, he was wearing a robe. Like some kind of monk who had decided too late in life that he saw the appeal of selling enlightenment instead of seeking it. He was counting out coins; or rather separating them into piles depending on whether they were showing heads or tails. Tarja wanted to know why, but much more she wanted to be sure that the old man wouldn’t see her. She was curious, a tourist in the lands of the mystic, and she knew that she couldn’t show the degree of respect that he would expect. This was the kind of shop where every transaction was very carefully thought out, and where you didn’t even set foot through the door without being known to the proprietor. She wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that he saw one customer each month, if that. Her mind pictured the rows of ancient merchandise covered with dust… although when she looked closely, she could see that even a pile of what appeared to be skulls had been scrupulously cleaned. She decided not to bother the owner, against every instinct she had spent a lifetime cultivating. “Smart move, lass.” The voice behind her shoulder startled Tarja, and she let out a strangled squeal. But she still managed to keep it quiet, and hoped that the old man at the desk wouldn’t have noticed her. Then she turned slowly, and saw a figure almost as strange as the shop itself. He was larger than her, she was sure. But she couldn’t say if he was just a little bigger, or if he was a giant looming over her. His presence seemed to command all the available space, and so she didn’t take in such trivial things as physical dimensions. She would remember later that he had a beard, although it was hard to remember the actual style. And he was certainly very… Well, that detail was a little confused in her recollection, but whatever the adjective was, he had it in spades. His jacket was certainly well-worn, and there were many layers beneath it. His voice sounded a little old-fashioned as well, although she couldn’t say what precise qualities it had that might have given that impression. But there was one thing that she could say for sure; and that was that he wasn’t posh. There wasn’t a single point in his voice or appearance that might have hinted at wealth or good breeding, and somehow this made him almost automatically respectable. “Hi!” she said with a grin, when she had recovered her wits. “I’m Tarja.” “Ye can call me Jack,” he said with a smile. “But try not to guess my name, else’n I have to take away your gifts. I’m not one that folks want to see in this season, often.” “Jack Frost?” she asked with a laugh. “But he’s not a gift giver. Maybe you’re an elf, then. I must be really lucky today, I never met one of those before. I suppose you could be implying that you’re a seasonal monster of some kind. But even if you sound like you’d be happier sailing the seven seas, you don’t look nearly seasick enough to be the Grinch, and I think the Krampus usually has a tail. You’ve got me stumped, anyway.” There was a long, slow pause, and then the mysterious stranger started to laugh. Maybe he’d never seen someone quite like Tarja before, which was perfectly fair because few people had. But he sounded fun, and interesting. “You think he wouldn’t like me being here?” she said, gesturing with a thumb towards the shopkeeper’s desk. “I’m curious, but I don’t know what I’m looking at for most of these things. I wouldn’t know where to start asking for something, which is a shame really. Because everything here looks really interesting, but I don’t think any of it is something I should even touch. It isn’t right for me, is it?” “For all the fancy in your eyes,” the man said slowly, “you have good instincts. No, you don’t want to make a deal with Master Dong unless you know exactly what you want. Even then, it’s not the best idea. He’ll give you what you ask for, see, so long as you know how to ask. And what you want is never the right thing.” “There’s nothing here I would dare to touch,” she said, sadly. “Should I just go? It feels like I’m so lucky to have found this place… and like it won’t be here if I come again.” “It’ll be here,” he said with a smile. “It always is. Just them that looks will never find the door. It’s that kind of place. You need to know what it is to stumble in here, unless there’s something here calling out to you. And, I’m sorry to be blunt, but you don’t strike me as the enlightened type. So what are you looking for?” “I…” Tarja started, and then realised that she didn’t have a clue. But she could come up with an answer to any kind of riddle, she was sure. And she liked this stranger. She got a feeling that he wasn’t so cruel as he liked to pretend, and that she wanted to keep on talking to him. “I wasn’t looking. But what I want is a little mystery; something that would make me think about the world in a new way. But what I need, now, that’s a different question. I think it would be selfish for me to ask for something interesting, when my friend Merri is so stressed. If there’s something in here that will help her lighten up and believe, I’d pay whatever the price is.” Jack Frost, or whatever his name was, stared at her like he was reading the back of her skull. And then he gave a laugh. Maybe he’d been about to say that the cost of these items wasn’t always just money; but he realised that she knew that, and meant exactly what she said. “You really love your friend, then?” “In a way…” Tarja stammered, not quite sure what that way was. “We’re like family. And just once, I’d like to see her enjoy something without worrying about the cost. There’s so many amazing things in the world, but she’ll never just enjoy it. She’ll never have the joy of a kid at Christmas, because she doesn’t trust gifts and she always has to know the rules. Can’t just enjoy the moment, you know? I wish I could give her that.” “A dangerous wish,” he said. “Especially in this place. But you know? Not everything in this place belongs to that trickster.” He reached into one voluminous pocket, and produced… it looked like an old envelope. “I don’t help people like this,” he said. “But this here, it’s supposed to be for you. A letter, you see. To the gift giver, whatever you call him. There’s one in every winter myth. Write what you want, and write like you mean it. Put the letter in here, and throw it on the fire at the stroke of midnight. The smoke from your hearth carries it all the way to Białowieża, a message in the air. And if you deserve it, well… you’ll get what you want more than anything.” “Anything?” Tarja asked in surprise. “How do you…” But her voice trailed off as she realised she was standing alone in the alleyway, nobody else in sight. She shivered, and pressed the envelope carefully into her inside pocket. She needed to go home now; Merri would be waiting for her. But some instinct told her that she had exactly what she needed to get her closest friend out of her rut. Solstice “You have to be kidding me?” Merri said. That was the biggest problem with Tarja: You could never tell if she was actually serious, because her ideas were just as dumb when she was trying to say something that made sense. “A letter to Santa? You don’t… Please tell me you don’t actually believe in Santa. I mean… this isn’t like fairies, or the Loch Ness Monster, or Bigfoot, or all the other junk. Santa? There’s like a whole tradition of realising he’s not real. He’s an old man who was invented to sell coke!” “I didn’t say Santa Claus,” Tarja answered with a shrug. “I didn’t say a name at all. I just asked you to write a list of what you want. Even if he doesn’t exist, it might be fun to imagine. What you’d ask for if you could have anything.” She didn’t mention that she knew Merri was more realistic than most people would be. Even with just a handful of days left before Christmas, there might be time to get her some of the things on her list. There would probably be at least one item mentioned with an actual product code. “Maybe,” Merri said with a shrug. “I think it’s dumb, though. I’ve told you before how much I hate this season. It’s just a drag, the same jokes over and over. Like nobody ever does anything different. I’m already impatient to get back to work.” “Can you give it a try?” Tarja asked, unsure herself whether her motivation was more eagerness to help her friend enjoy the season, or curiosity about what the deal was with this weird envelope. “Is this something the quacks are selling now?” Merri guessed. “Get in touch with your inner child or something? Like that affirmation rubbish? There’s nothing that can change the way you act except deciding to be different. No product or magic ritual is going to help you be a happier person, or a better person, you know? Nothing can change you except you.” “No, no trend,” Tarja said, and for a change she found herself blushing. It was rare that she would be embarrassed by anything, but there was something different when she was chatting with Merri. She wanted so much to make her happy, and there was a part of her that really didn’t want to be embarrassed in front of her serious friend. But she wanted to be honest about it. “It was… a gift, I guess. You know those weird little shops where it seems like normal people aren’t welcome? You see them in movies more than the real world.” “Like in… Charington Esquire? Or the start of Gremlins?” “Yeah, that kind of place, I think. I went in one, and the amount of weird stuff was overwhelming. To be honest, I was surprised not to see any examples of taxidermy in there. Everything from tarot cards to skulls. I wouldn’t know where to start looking, let alone working out how much of it might be real. But there was this guy… I forgot his name already. Another customer, I think. He suggested that if I don’t know what I want, I should try this envelope. It’s not a psychology trick, it’s supposed to be magic. And I want to know if it is. I mean… it doesn’t feel like the kind of thing you’d expect to be magic. But… I want to try it and see.” “You don’t really think that a letter to…” Merri started, and then gave a little chuckle. “You don’t, do you? It’s just an experiment, a game to you. Some guy says it’s magical, and you want to give it a shot so we can have a laugh when nothing happens.” “Can you think of anything better to do?” Tarja asked with her usual sunny smile, and then turned back to watching the thin layer of ice on the windows as the temperature dropped again. It was late in the evening now, and she was sure that there would be ice everywhere before they awoke in the morning. The hesitation behind her told her that Merri could actually think of something, but didn’t want to say it. That drove a little spike of guilt into Tarja’s heart; she didn’t want to keep her friend from going out with friends if she had other plans. But she told herself that this experiment was as much for Merri’s benefit as her own. “I guess not,” Merri said reluctantly. “What do I do, then? Just like… I don’t know.” “Write a letter to Santa, I guess. Or to Дед Мороз, who’s like a European version of Santa. I looked him up, because the weird guy said the letter goes to Białowieża…” Tarja paused for a second there as she struggled with the pronunciation of the foreign name. “… which turns out to be a thick, impenetrable forest in western Ukraine. Where this guy supposedly has a load of goblins chained up inside a hollow tree making gifts for him to deliver.” “Yeah, but I’ve not written a letter to Santa since I was five. What am I supposed to put?” “Just say what you want, I guess. A list of things you’d like to receive. And tell him you’ve been a good girl, I guess. Whatever that means these days. Try to imagine you’re six again, think about what you would have said back then. I mean, I don’t think there’s actually an army of goblins making toys. But if you imagine there is, it could be fun to think about what you’d ask for.” “I guess,” Merri said with a giggle. “Okay, I’m going to imagine I’m six. Silly, childish, and selfish. Anything for your amusement. I’m going to write a list of things I want, and check it twice. That enough to satisfy your curiosity?” “Yeah,” Tarja answered, glad to finally see her friend finally playing along with the idea. It was always fun for both of them when they did something like this, it just took Merri a little while to get into the spirit of things. “Thank you.” “Anything for you. Now… I’m sure I’ve got some pens around here…” Writing the list actually took a lot longer than Tarja had expected, because Merri decided to ham up pretending she was six again. She wrote her letter to santa in big letters in a dozen different colours, like a little kid with a whole rainbow of marker pens. These ones weren’t as washable as the children’s version, but they looked about the same. And they were just as good for the wobbly doodles that she filled the margin with. It was clear that she was making some joke about how childish this whole exercise was; but she threw herself into the joke one hundred and ten percent. That was Merri to a T; she never did anything by halves. As Tarja tried to sneak a glimpse at the wobbly letters on the page, Merri even tried to hide it, claiming that it was a secret. Just like a child who was embarrassed about what she wanted. Tarja saw some of the words on the page, and she was sure she could take them as a sign that Merri was enjoying herself; although it didn’t give her many hints about what she could buy on the last shopping day before Christmas. She saw the big, cheerful letters at the top of the page declaring “Dear Dead Morose Satan,” and she saw that for once Merri made the constant teasing into something she could laugh at by signing the letter “Merri Crimbo”. She saw some of the presents as well. Merri wanted an awful lot of Barbie playsets, a Rainbow Crusader Teddy Lupin, a unicorn, and a Tender Harmonies vibrating massage rod. Tarja was sure that she could get some of those items, but not without ordering them earlier in the month. She really shouldn’t have put off asking Merri to do this so long. Still, she wasn’t sure if actually buying the things on the list would help at all. She guessed that Merri had taken the injunction to imagine being six again further than Tarja had hoped. The Teddy Lupin this was something that most people their age would have been amazed by in their early childhood; a doll that could actually talk back to the TV. The Barbie items, Tarja was less sure of; they might not even exist, and she couldn’t really imagine Merri playing with dolls as a child. She could just as easily have made up the names of things that she expected six-year-old girls to be asking for this year. The pony was a joke they could both laugh at, surely. And the one item that Tarja would have had confidence in her ability to buy was almost certainly a joke at her expense. Merri had asked for something that she was sure her friend would never have the courage to talk about, leaving her completely in the dark as to whether Merri genuinely wanted one. “So what do we do now?” Merri asked, and Tarja realised that she had been staring into space while her friend actually finished colouring in the doodles and folded her letter. “He said we burn it.” “Huh?” “Traditional thing in many parts of Europe,” said Tarja, who had spent more than a few hours over the last week reading up on festive traditions from around the world. Out of all the things she kept an open mind to, and the things she believes without question, somehow she had never considered Santa as a real entity. Now, learning so much in a short time, she was amazed by just how many different ways this primitive winter god was worshipped by different people. But weird beliefs and superstitions were her special interest, so she was determined to at least sound knowledgeable. “You burn a letter in the hearth, and the clouds carry the smoke to Lapland, or Ukraine, or wherever. And some weird winter magic turns the smoke back into a letter.” “Oh, neat. Makes about as much sense as any religion, I guess.” There was no hearth in their home; it was a modern place, and tiny. So they propped the letter up in a bowl instead, and dropped a match onto it. The flame slickered against the outside of the envelope for a moment, and then once it started to spread it was gone in an instant. It left red afterimages in the two young women’s eyes, but when they leaned closer they saw that there wasn’t the faintest hint of ash in the bowl. A faint hint of cinnamon and orange drifted past. “Wow,” Merri said. “Smells nice, anyway. Do letters normally burn so fast?” “I don’t think so, but it’s not something I’ve done often. Maybe they do. Smells nice, anyway.” “Yeah. And you know what? I think that was a fun enough game. Thanks for giving me something to do.” “If I see you smile, it was worth it. I guess now there’s nothing to do but wait for Christmas.” A few days to go, and despite all their scepticism, both women felt like there might just be something worth waiting for.

Grace was 4'9" and only weighed 90 lbs. She was 30 years old. She had brown hair and brown eyes. She was married to her wife for 10 years now as they got married young. They found out early on thay they could not have kids. Grace had a little secret she never told her wife. She was an abdl baby girl. She liked to be treated like a 18 month old babygirl. She liked to wear diapers and use them. She didn't plan on telling her wife anytime soon as she was scared of what she would think. Grace had a box of little stuff. Diapers in her size but baby style, wipes, baby powder, baby toys, adult pacifier and bottle, baby clothes like dresses, diaper covers with ruffles, onesies, shortalls with snaps at the crotch, rompers, bonnets, even locking mittens and baby booties. All in her size. She had it hidden in the guest room closet where her wife never went. She worked from home while her wife didn't. So she tended to use some of the time her wife was at work to be a baby. Grace had to go to a work training today in person for the first time in a long time. It was her wife's day off tho. Little did she know her wife planned to clean the guest room today. Grace was dressed for work and went over to her wife and kissed her on the cheek. She said, "bye babe I am heading to work."

Hi! Hi! I am CD! I am looking for a F4F Mommy that is interested in a ABDL girly like me. I am a 22 Lesbian and I am looking for someone that is looking for a long term relationship. I would love to see if we fit. I have a discord account, and my favorite shows are Bluey, and rn I thing I am really into watching Gravity Falls. I am a big fan of Homestuck. my Homestuck Godteir is Muse of Mind. My favorite movies are the Princess Diaries, Birds of Prey and Suicide Squad with Margot Robbie as Harley Quinn. I also love Alice in Wonderland (Johnny Depp), Maleficent, and Cruella. I also really love Where the Wild Things Are and Avatar (like from the way of water) :3 My favorite diapers are Bunnyhopps from ABUniverse. I love the kawaii themed diapers from anywhere to be honest though. My music tastes are house, electric, rap, lofi, 8bit game music and hyperpop. I love fashion, and Music as I am studying music theory, I also want to study dance. I am studding these things on my own. My favorite games are Animal Crossing and Minecraft. If any F4F mommies are interested in getting to know me please send me a message so we can get to know eachother (please no petnames until we are close, I go by CD) I have a lot of freetime to get to know a new friend and potentially meet the mommy of my dreams! :3 Thank you & Have a wonderful day!!

Chapter 1: For Her Good I will add the story here as I can. Full story already available here: https://www.wattpad.com/user/AFictionalPhile and https://www.deviantart.com/afictionalphile/gallery/91841094/for-her-good-15-chapters The problem was that she had three roommates. Yet, Sir always said that never being alone was for her good. Sir said it just like that, in a text message, in response to her worrying. Sir said that life goes on. Sir said that... I will not bury the lead. I will not sugarcoat it. Consent culture rightly necessitates that I lay this more bare than anything. We are trying to change your life. Remind yourself once again, Mari. Are we entering this agreement purely for sensation? It was conversations like these that made Mari blush more than the details of their agreement. Sir's language stripped Mari like she'd brought a bomb through TSA. Sir had so effectively undressed her fantasies and fears, in these months, Sir had so quickly probed and unwound her proclivities, that she still felt like a child going to a parent with something as trivial as a hopelessly knotted shoelace. Except that in the case of Sir, she'd shown up presenting her tangled up psyche. Sir had unraveled her problems just the same. Sir had found her mental G-spot with the precision and command of an award-winning chiropractor. Sir never had to say things like: You will cum for me now. Instead Sir would just say: ahhh...that got you there, didn't it? And Sir, as if they were in Mari's head and not in her phone, would always be right. Big girls would respond with more than just emojis, wouldn't they? Sir's presence was digital yet encompassing. Texted but seemingly scriptural. No manager, professor, teacher, or other esteemed individual in her life had so thoroughly outclassed her. She was a rowboat bobbing beside a cruise ship, when Sir's messages crowned her phone banner. Never before had she been so blissfully cowed. Nothing crossed her mind that Sir had not thought of first. No mental caverns existed that Sir could not, with just a few whispers, lead her out of. I understand what you mean. Know this. You are the brave one. You are facing who you are. Take your sense of unworthiness, Mari. Let us say that you're the fuckup. The dropout, the girl with the dead end job. The under-performer. Let's pretend that your three roommates are indeed smarter, better grown-ups than you. Let us say that you've screwed up every relationship you've been in because you're a needy crybaby. Let's own that, Mari. Let's ball it up – put it in a diaper. Change it often enough and it won't leak. If we do this, perhaps none of your faults will leak into your worthiness either. *** A few days before the beginning of her agreement, the first cardboard box (Sir said that there would be very many), lay unopened beside her bed. The box was tucked between her bedside table and the closet, wedged in the space so that she could not even exit her bed to that side without crushing it. It stood out little among the messiness of her room – another token of fuckupery that even Sir did not know about. Even her roommates called her Monster Mari for the way underwear, socks, and clothes were piled on the floor. At her best, she told herself that it was organized. That there was a method to Monster Mari. At her worst, she knew the panties were going in a shoebox, destined for the mail. For Your Good. Just days away from the beginning of her agreement. Sir's last question burned on the phone. Is this thing we are about to do purely sensational? She shot off a message. "No Sir," she said. She knew it was a little girl's answer, and that Sir wouldn't be pleased. Sir was going to coach her through her fears, once again, and in the end Sir would be right. Mari rolled over and groaned. Sir had owned her orgasms almost since they'd begun messaging. She'd almost begged Sir to take them; without prompting, one night when they were first messaging each other. Before diapers and all that took over their DMs. She'd just asked for permission, Sir ignored it. She'd asked again, hot, her fingers moving fast. The question had prompted another lecture from Sir – one of the hottest things she'd ever experienced. Sir would do no half measures. Sir played no games. Permission now is meaningless without a totality, Mari. And I won't get into something so serious, so flippantly. That night, she'd wanted it. "Can I?" she asked. Again and again. Mari. You can do whatever you like tonight. We can have a serious conversation about it, and I would like to. But we will not have it now. They'd had that conversation just a few days later. Mari, for all her distractibility, for all her reprimands at work for not being on the phones long enough, for not working as hard as she could be, had never been more focused on a thing in her life. Selling her pussy to Sir was a divine urgency; it was the only thing that could get her heart to stop beating through her ribs. She sat on calls at work, at her desk in her Monster Mari room, one hand constantly between her thighs. I have a standard for this, Mari. This isn't my first rodeo. You will only cum with my permission. When I command you to go to your room to play and cum, you will do so. I will not ask when this would be disruptive. Though it may not be what you want, I will always ask For Your Good. Honesty is up to you. You can have sex with any person and any outcome is acceptable, so long as you report it to me afterwards. The last part always struck her as odd. Almost disappointing. She was hoping at least for something savage. Anal chastity, the purchase of some grotesque implement to rail herself on camera. It took her months to test Sir's nugget of freedom. When she returned to Sir with reports of a cocktail-soaked conquest, she was surprised about how happy Sir was for her. "Aren't you...I used YOUR pussy like that? You know?" Use big girl words. "Aren't you jealous?" I get to talk to you as much as I do. You don't know who I am. I have no right to feel jealous. And least of all no cause. I'm proud of you. "But it's YOUR pussy and I just...used it..." It was a guy, right? And he fucked you? "Yah. It wasn't, like, amazing. But yeah." And did he cum inside of you? This sort of question, with anyone else, would have made her roll her eyes. But with Sir it piqued her. She was once again disrobed with a text and it took great discipline for her to not respond with an emoji. "Well...in a condom. But yeah." That's what pussies are for, Mari. I am like an underwriter for your car, if you had one. I would not be displeased if you drove your car. I would, however, like to know if you were spinning donuts in a parking lot with it. Think of it this way. Your pussy doesn't belong to me. Rather, it simply does not belong to you. We do not live in a world where a public pillory to display your entries is safe or acceptable. But know this. The world is a better place when you have been mounted and used. In the same way that the world is better when food is eaten and not left to spoil, just so I hope that those who want to enter you, may. It is the same with your eventual diapering. When the day comes, Mari. You are not giving up your adulthood. You are simply accepting that everyone – everyone – is more adult than you. She remembered thinking about this for a while, and almost forgetting to ask for permission. "Will this be the case when I'm in diapers?" Yes, of course. "Will I get an exception for my diapers when it comes to...sex?" Do you want an exception? "No..." Then why does a little girl ask this question?

In a certain sense, incontinence is like an empty gas tank. At some point you're driving and something has to be done about it and if you don't, you're going to be waylaid. Often it's smart to pre-empt the needs of your tank. The only difference is the obvious, that being empty and being full mean quite different things when it comes to gas tanks and diapers. I have, unfortunately, been known to run on fumes. In other senses, incontinence is like trying to keep a sandcastle from slumping and oozing into the dunes of the beach. Too wet or too dry, your magnificent plans are always coming back down to mush. Sometimes I describe it as a constant choose-your-own-adventure picture book. Except that it is one where almost all of the outcomes are bad (LEAKED - WOMP WOMP), where every 'picture' is a dark spot on my ass. I have, unfortunately, been known to be as bad at incontinence as I am bad at continence. But this story isn't about incontinence. Well it is, don't get me wrong. I don't have any stories about myself that don't include a diaper. This is about refilling the tank. This is about keeping the sandcastle up. This is about finding that final, glorious page of the picture book where something other than 'GET WET, LOSER' is written. I live with my boyfriend, whose name is Pete. He likes me for every other reason than my babyishness, but he likes that too. He doesn't mind that I'm too fraidy-scared to drive. He is totally okay that half of our cabinets are filled with sippy cups and disney plates – the ones with the little dividers and princess painted on them. He doesn't mind that I occasionally, without even noticing, shove my thumb into my mouth, though he does make me take it out for a pacifier if I do. He doesn't mind that I screech when I see a bug, though to be fair, who really really likes bugs anyway? It started in the middle of the night. I woke up confused and disoriented. I both knew why I was awake and at the same time, I couldn't figure it out. What was that, down there, on my butt? Is it Pete kicking me in his sleep? Is Gubbles, our cat, making biscuits on my tush? An intruder? Did the pillow get in between us to rest on my butt? What the... I realized that it was what it always was. The mess is what wakes me up. I never awaken with cramps with time to hop out of bed. That would be hopeless anyway. I'd probably just end up elbowing Pete in the face. After that, I'd trip on the covers. I'd step on Gubbles. I'd run headlong into the bathroom door. And despite all of the bumps and bruises and general carnage my midnight rush would cause, my diaper would still wind up heavy. No, any dramatic hope of getting to the potty is beyond me. I'm going to shit the bed and I'm going to find out after the fact. Now, the next thing here Daddy definitely should not know. I went back to sleep. I waited until the movement stopped and then I put a hand down there to feel it. It wasn't a ton. It wasn't anything in the emergency category. It really never is. I wear a special extra pad in the back part of the diaper for exactly this reason, and I usually don't need it. Sometimes I wrongly assess how much poop is really down there. Like I said, I'm not very good at being incontinent. Daddy – Pete – says that I should deal with it anyway, and no matter how disoriented he is, he is always willing to help no matter the hour. I know that I'm supposed to wake him up. But I also know that when poop does wind up in my diaper, like now, I'm supposed to wait. You never quite know when you're done. Well I don't, at least. So I crack my back and roll over to see if the smell or if the sounds of my toots have woken up Daddy, but they haven't. I tell myself I'm going to wait to see if there is more, and then I'll wake him up. I definitely don't want to wake him up for messy diapers twice in the same night, right? He has to work tomorrow, after all. So I wait, knowing full well that no matter how much poop is in the diaper right now, I'll have no trouble falling asleep...if I just don't...close...my...eyes... I wake up sometime later with a foreign hand on my hip. It's pushing me. Why? I wanna be here! Whyyy? Oh. I let it push me on my back. The dream I'm having surges back until I feel a cold feeling on my legs. The jammies are gone. Whyyy? I pull a hand towards my face and it gets most of the way there but then the dreams come back. Something about a beach...sandcastles...sandcastles melting and sand in my diaper... Not sand. I woke up to see Daddy. He's done more than push me on my back and take my jammies off. There is a new diaper on the corner of the bed. There is the powder and the wipes beside it. There is light coming from the lamp by the bed. I'm no longer by the pillows, I'm at the end of the bed. And there is something under my bum and I can feel the edge of it against my back. "Hi," I said. "Hi," he said. And that's all we needed to say. At some point my doodoo must have woken him up. Now my legs were up, now they were down again. In his tiredness he forgot the cold wipe countdown and I squealed. He didn't say sorry, but he put a hand on my tummy and told me that it was okay. I woke up again sometime later. The smell of poopy was all gone. I didn't even remember the rest of the diaper change. I didn't remember him taking the diaper downstairs to the bathroom with the genie. He didn't like putting the dirty ones in the upstairs genie. I don't remember him going in and washing his hands or spraying the febreeze or turning the fan on or opening the window, though now I could hear the constant tread of heavy rubber tires on the street below. I don't remember him coming back to bed, or if he kissed me on the forehead or tummy once as he did. But he was next to me. His back was turned. I moved to snuggle into him. I don't make a very good big spoon but I like to try. As I do, I realize that the butt of my diaper is stiff and bloated. I try to tell myself that it's not bad enough for Daddy to change me before breakfast, but I know that he probably will if he sees it. I fall asleep again and don't wake up until his alarm goes off. I get up fast. I'd fallen asleep too fast during my nighttime change for Daddy to put my jammies back on, so I found them in the laundry basket and put them back on. I realized that they still kind of smelled but I honestly didn't care. Carliah is a pooper, that's what it is, and poopy probably isn't done with me today yet anyway. Oh no. It wasn't. It definitely wasn't. That's why I'm telling this story. I try to sneak out of the bedroom once the jammies are over my diaper. It's even wetter than it was when I woke up and snuggled earlier. Even worse, the pee pee smells because it's been since the evening since I had any wa-wa. Thinking of that, I find my baba on the bedside table and take a slurp. I figured I'd have a quick sip and then go down to fill it with cold water. All so I can stay away from Daddy and enjoy my pee pee diaper for a little longer. But the slurps from the bottle turn out to be an oopsie, and Daddy wakes up. "Come here," he said, after aching and stretching under the covers. His eyes aren't open yet. One of his hands flops to the edge of the bed and beckons me. I try to ignore his command. "Hi Daddy!" I say. "Hi Carliah," he said. "Come here." "I'm thirsty." "Come here." I try to step around him anyway. I don't want a change and I know it's on his mind. My diaper crunches under my jammies, though, and despite his eyes being closed, he can hone in on my location with ease. His hand lashes out and grasps my back until it closes around my wrist. Rats. "Daddy!" I say, trying to sound as meek as I can. It's probably a miscalculation. Sounding small will only make Daddy harder under the covers, and a hard Daddy means, paradoxically, a dry Carliah. At least in this situation. I'm certainly wet in a brand new way as I feel his fingers enclose around my arm. I'm too horny to yank myself away. But I do try to turn towards him. I can feel where the pee is and its where it usually is – in the back. If he's lazy and he just pats the front he might not lay me down on the bed. But even if he's grunting with every movement of his body. Even if every joint cracks as he slugs his way to the edge of the mattress. Even as yellow gunk falls off his eyelids. Daddy doesn't settle for just patting the front. He tells me to spin around and presses in the shield of the diaper. His hand does not find the crunchy plastic of a dry diaper. Not even close. He leans forward and sniffs. "Daddy!" I say. "Are you pooped?" "No I'm not pooped Daddy," I say. "Smells like it," he says. I think for a second. Sometimes, poop can take me by surprise simply because I'm just so used to it being down there. But I don't think that it's the case this time. I came up with a reason. "I put my jammies back on," he said. "Okay," he says. There is a pause. "Lay down." "Daddy!" "You're too wet." "Daddy!" I say, tugging on his grip. He doesn't release and I'm still too horny to really fight. I couldn't get away anyway if I did. Soon enough I'm on my back. Once again. Daddy, more awake now, decides to give me a morning lecture. "The weather is getting warmer," he says, pointing at the window. "You know how it gets in the summer, Carliah. You know that we need to stay on top of it." "I know." "So I don't want you to fight me. I want you to help stay on top of it too. Were you trying to sneak out of here with this diaper?" "No." "Carliah. Did you wake up when you did your poopy last night?" "No! Daddy, please!" "Carliah?" "What Daddy?" "Be good. And lift your butt. That's better." Daddy was right. It was getting warm, and Spring was coming through the windows. I didn't put my jammies back on. I wore one of Daddy's t-shirts and long socks past my knees and I sat down on the couch. I had to fix my diaper a little; it wasn't one of daddy's best tape-jobs, but I couldn't complain because I'd been fussy and he'd been groggy. Daddy made me toast and some eggs and laid them down on the coffee table. He had picked one of the baby plates, this one with Belle from Beauty and the Beast. He had made himself the same thing, complete with a coffee. He poured me juice, though, and put it in a sippy cup so I couldn't spill. "Aww, I forgot the apples," he said. "It's okay!" I said, popping up. "I can get them." Daddy looked at my diaper, which flashed before his t-shirt fell over it to cover it. "Thank you honey," he said. I walked over to the kitchen. I tucked a hand under my shirt to feel that yes, my diaper was still actually dry. I still missed my big wet diaper, but this felt good too. Like a full tank of gas. Like a newly washed car, complete with its own new smell of plastic and powder and lavender lotion. Like a brain that was freshly snoozed, with no weblike gunk between the ears, ready to think big smart thoughts through the whole day.. I leaned across the counter with both hands to grab two apples. Carliah Garcia is not someone blessed with hands big enough to hold two apples in one hand at the same time. Perhaps it was the way my tummy contorted against the marble countertop. Maybe it was my movement, or perhaps the prospect of food. Food is always a catalyst; mealtime becomes change-time. I'm rarely in a state to order dessert, if you know what I mean. Sometimes the check can't come soon enough. But today, all I needed was to reach for two apples. And then that new car smell was gone. It hit my diaper in a flash. Like someone had pulled open the back and dropped a fist-sized rock right into the seat. Pee surged out too, as if it had been waiting for the time to strike. It came out with a fart too. Daddy looked up at me. He had a big mouthful of toast. "Everything okay, honey?" I knew I was blushing. I knew he could probably hear what had happened too. I stood there, arms outstretched, with two apples. "Carliah?" "Should I wash the apples?" I asked. Daddy smiled. "Yes Carliah, of course. Just a quick rinse. But you don't have to cut them up." "Okay!" I said, inflecting my voice as positively as I could to avoid my embarrassment. And disappointment. I had just convinced myself that my clean diaper was cozy. I did as I was told for the apples. I did not do as I was told earlier about my accident. About how it was getting warmer and I needed to be responsible. Instead, I sat down on the couch. I'll tell you that as soon as I did, I was no longer sad that I'd ruined a clean diaper. It felt good. It wouldn't last long, of course, Daddy was right there and would smell it, surely. Honestly, it was a perfect diaper. Not enough pee or poop to leak, but just enough that I couldn't forget it. You could say that an incontinent lass like me has developed her own, refined tastes. I'd really be like this all day every day if I could. With every bite of my toast I wormed my but into the couch a little more, squishing it further. If Daddy wasn't there, I'd make rubbies for sure. But he wouldn't allow it. He wasn't cross, but he was more in the mood for a lecture than indulgence. I expected him to give me a lecture about how I was supposed to get used to changing it myself this summer when he caught me. But he didn't catch me. We finished our breakfasts. He got on his phone and read emails or texts, I couldn't tell which. When I was done eating, he took our plates away. While he was in the kitchen I snuck a few rubbies in. Just a little. When I heard his footsteps again I stopped quickly, but the feeling was too good. I brought my heel against the crotch of my diaper and dug it in. I examined my split ends while gently rocking on my foot. I assumed it was change-time when he came by to kiss me on the head, but once again, he didn't lift my shirt and he did not begin to sniff around. Instead, he went back upstairs to get ready for work. I watched him disappear. Then I mounted the couch's armrest. I rode it almost all the way until I had an orgasm. But Daddy's feet appeared at the top of the stairs and I had to throw myself off on the couch. My diaper didn't feel so good anymore; the motion on the couch had distended and mushed it further. But I figured Daddy was taking me up to the bed and towel in just a moment, so it didn't matter. "Watcha doing?" he asked. He stopped beside the couch. He could probably see my diaper, but it didn't matter now. I was kinda hoping for that change. "Nothin. Still sleepy." "Okay. You'll remember to look at the chore list we made last night, right?" "Yes Daddy." "And I'll be home for lunch, as usual." "Yes Daddy." He took a step around the couch. I was sure he was going to lift his shirt off of me and patt my bum. But he didn't. He pulled my hair aside and gave me a big wet kiss on the cheek. "Anything else, honey?" "Hm?" "Are you all good?" I don't know how long it took me to respond. It felt like forever. But since he gave me another kiss, it couldn't have been that long. "I'm good, Daddy," I said. And then he turned and left out the door, smiling at me as he shut it and locked it behind him. To say that I was quite in shock was an understatement. Sure, the poop in my diaper wasn't the biggest ever, but it wasn't nothing. It was definitely poop and there was no way that Daddy would have missed it. It had been almost an hour since he'd grabbed my wrist beside the bed too, and he always checks me more than that. And then I realized that he knew. Of course he knew. And I lied. And he knew I lied. I ran upstairs and got my phone. It was a weird feeling, to move quickly with that much stuff smushed in there, but trust me, I've felt weirder. I found my phone under the covers and texted him. "Daddy," I wrote. "I messed up." "I just thought you were going to change it yourself." "But it's messsyyyyyyy," she said. "I think you can handle it." "Daddy!" "Daddy what?" "Daddy please?" Daddy came back in and marched up the stairs. I got the towel out for him, as well as the wipes and a new diaper. He put the diaper back in the drawer and procured a thinner one. "I want a thick diaper," I said, sucking my thumb. He batted my hand away. There was no time to find a pacifier, but he did scan the bed for one closeby anyway. "You're going to get a thinner diaper. If you leak, you're in trouble." "But I have to wait until you get home for lunch!" "Only if you don't change it yourself." There was no more discussion. I submitted to his wipes. He told me he was disappointed that I lied, and that we'd have a discussion about it later. He also reminded me of how much cream he'd needed to use last summer, and how much I whined about the rash. I took it all in silence. Soon enough, I was back in a thin diaper and alone until lunch. I was clean. I know what you'll think about this next part. You're going to say...Carliah, that's not real. You're going to say, Carliah, you're only five-foot-two. You didn't have steak and bloody marys, you didn't eat a whole damn piggy for dinner the night before. You even pooped twice yesterday – once around breakfastime, and once right after Daddy put you in a diaper after your shower (because that's how it goes sometimes). You might say, well... maybe this part is reasonable. Maybe it wasn't that much today, at breakfast, and maybe it wasn't that bad overnight too. Your Daddy wasn't late for work and didn't lose that much sleep, so maybe what happened next was not just reasonable, but predictable. All I can tell you is that I'm too little to know for sure. I don't know where the best place on the beach is to build a sandcastle. I don't, at the drop of a hat, know where the best gas station is to fill up a car in the city. I haven't, in fact, memorized the decision tree in the picture book so as to avoid all of the trap doors to an OOPSIE outcome. I'm a baby and shit happens. In fact, my opinion was that I was in the clear. I had, after all, filled my diapers quite hard that morning. Things were moving, and likely had moved. Prospects were as good as any. Chance of showers: minimal. Tornado warning? Pssh. Carliah was smooth sailing. Did Daddy give me a thinner diaper? Sure. Was I in trouble? Yeah, I was in trouble. But Daddy might forget. And Daddy didn't know that I'd got 95% of the way to orgasm on the couch. No permission. So I dodged most of the trouble anyway. The chores I had to do involved some errands. Cucumbers, more hand soap, more buttcream (always embarrassing to buy). Go to FedEX to get some postal thingy printed. Go pick out a card for Daddy's sister's birthday. There were other things. Phone calls about the house I had to make. And he wanted me to do some research on a vacation for the summer. But I figured that since my diaper was clean and dry, and thin to boot, and because the messes had just happened, that the best time of any to get out and about was right away. I said before I was bad at being incontinent. That I run on fumes. Honestly I don't know what else I could have done. Sometimes you're just toast. I took an Uber to the farthest place, which was the FedEx store. I got that taken care of, but while I was waiting I did a self check and rats, I was peed. Not too bad. I checked my bag just in case, and saw that I hadn't brought a diaper change. This didn't worry me. I often do that. Daddy never takes me out without one, but I often dip out without a dip. Especially on days like this, when the pee and poop came with the early birds. I went to a Hallmark to get a card. I started to feel something. It can sometimes be like that. Usually it's more like it was when I was grabbing the apples. When I have no idea I'm about to mess until it's in the diaper and still coming out. Sometimes, though, I get a tease. And sometimes it's a lie. I can't tell you how many diapers I've ruined going to the potty at the slightest feeling down there. It turns out to just be my period or my tummy or just, idk, the weird feelings you get just cause you're old. Or horniess. I've legitimately mistaken the feral need to fuck, so serious and debilitating that it feels like anxiety or a cramp, and sat on the potty because of it. I don't really know. Maybe it's just because I've had so little success pooping on the potty that I just don't know what normal, potty trained people feel like when they have to go. I think it's supposed to feel like what it feels like when a cock is coming out of your ass. Sorry. I know those of you anal fuckers probably think of it the other way. That a slipping cock feels like shitting. But I associate these things the opposite way, for obvious reasons. So I had a feeling. I thought it was horniness or the eggs. I suppose since I have ovaries, those two concepts aren't so different. I picked out a card without too much worry. I even squatted down to inspect the lowest ledge in the display. I worried more about the waistband of my pants and the sound of the crinkles than what was going on in my tum-tum. The feeling came and went, came and went. I trickled pee into the diaper, as usual, but nothing really progressed on the other end. In retrospect, I have to be a toddler – at best – to not have realized what was coming. Sometimes context, such as my messy morning, can be deceptive. Sometimes it might be better to think less, to understand less. My bottom made the need abundantly clear as I was about two back in the line to check out at Hallmark. It surged all of a sudden, like snow suddenly breaking off a roof. Like when you tip the cereal box too far to one side and the log jam breaks and the Lucky Charms all come cascading out. It was lucky. It was a miracle I caught it and clenched at all. More pee came out but I held my bum tight. I bit my lip and almost bent in half the card I wanted to buy. I looked behind me and saw a yoga mom idling through her phone, blissfully unaware of the jeopardy my diaper was in. I looked ahead, and an older lady was paying for her card in cash. Worse, she was paying not just in cash, but in exact cash. A coin rolled off the table onto the floor and the old lady looked at it wearily until the patron behind her stepped forward to pick it up. The situation was laughably hopeless. I almost laughed. There was no way I was paying without losing control. Daddy is gonna get hard when he hears about this. I thought about the edge of the couch, but I remembered that the diaper he gave me was small. And it wasn't close to lunch. And I was over a mile from home. It was getting warm. I still had chores to do. The feeling was a bit like trying to balance a basketball on your index finger. Drop it and...boom. Specifically, the feeling was a bit like trying to balance a basketball on your finger when you've never actually successfully balanced it before. So yeah. All it took was someone bursting through the automatic doors to make me drop the ball. They came in, turned, and shouted at someone idling in a car outside. Like any normal human being, I turned my head to see what was happening. I pooped my diaper for the third time since midnight. A man stepped up to counter and waved me over. "I can help you at this register, ma'am." The old lady was gone. It was still coming. I walked over. "Can you give it to me so I can scan it?" he asked me. Still coming. "Oh, yeah." The yoga mom was behind me. Really closely for some reason. "Cash or credit?" It's like my diaper is growing a rudder. "Credit." "Okay, whenever you're ready." Still coming. Right? No, all done. Oh. Wait. Definitely still coming. "You can remove your card, ma'am." Ma'am! Ha! No. No I'm never going to be a ma'am. I walked home. It felt too disrespectful to get into an uber. I carried my printout from FedEx and my Hallmark card and I passed right by the grocery store. I'd do those chores later. I texted Daddy, but he was busy and did not reply. Daddy was right, it was getting warm. The sun was beating down on me and my bloated diaper. I tried to stand away from people at crosswalks, but they didn't know to avoid me and found their way beside me more than usual. I hoped that the wind would waft my scent away. Or that they'd blame it on a dog or the sewer. I couldn't decide whether to hurry or go slow. I wanted to get home as fast as possible, but I also didn't want to pass in front of other pedestrians. I preferred to let them pass me. But there were always more coming out of shops and around corners. Walking fast meant it squished more. Walking slow meant I was in the hot sun longer. About halfway home I was sweating so much I was sure I was leaking. The mess in my diaper seemed to heat up my groin until it almost became claustrophobic. I realized that I was waddling and tried to correct my gait, but after a few blocks I gave up. I realized that when I got home, I had nowhere to go. I still had chores around the house. But what was I going to do? Stay standing the whole time until Daddy came home? Or sit down in this hot mess? I wanted Daddy! I texted him again. No reply. Someone bumped into me and I bit my lip. Was it possible to run away from my own butt? "Daddy I'll be in all the trouble in the world but you have to meet me at home now and change my diaper!" "I'll do no cummies for a week! I'll let you spank me bunches and bunches. But I need a new diaper soooooo bad." Finally I made it home. A part of me was mad at Daddy. Still no reply! I took off all my clothes and checked my pants to see if there had been a leak. There wasn't. I looked in the mirror and got turned on and I hated it. There was no Daddy to do anything about it and I'd ruin the couch if I did my favorite thing again. Gahh! Daddy called me. "Daddy!" I yelled into the phone. "Are you home?" "No." "Are you coming home?" "Carliah. I stepped outside. Carliah. No. Please listen. You have to do it." "You don't understand I had a..." "Carliah..." "Daddy PLEASE!" "Carliah, let me talk. Or it really will be big trouble. Do you understand?" "Yes Daddy." "You've done it yourself for years. You know many people who do it themselves. You have incontinent friends who change it themselves. You can do it too. I know you can." "But Daddy I have you!" "Mhm. And you also have trouble." "That's good I understand any kind of trouble but..." "This is the trouble. The kind of trouble involved in growing up. You're changing it yourself, Carliah. No, I know you made a big mess. Of course I love you. But I'm not coming home from lunch. Do you understand? Carliah? Carliah?" *** Peter arrived home at approximately six in the evening. He hadn't heard a peep from Carliah all day since she hung up the phone. He wasn't mad. No, far from it. He was curious. He didn't mind that she probably resented him, and that it would be absurd for her to resent him. After all, him making a twenty minute drive to wipe her butt, wolf down lunch, and drive back to work every day was a bit absurd. It was just so hot. It pained him not to do it. He really did like that he always changed her. She was so...dependent that way. But it was unsustainable. Both time wise and health wise. She needed to relearn the responsibility to clean up her own messes now and then. Not always, but often. He would have work trips. He would leave her on her own. She would need to deal with it. What was he saying? Carliah was over thirty. Carliah was fine. Carliah was getting spanked big time. She was getting soaped and he was going to make her use her mouth to great lengths to apologize to him. So he opened the door with a devilish grin. What he saw made his jaw drop. There was Carliah, her breasts out, her face panting and delirious. Her long dark hair was disheveled. She was wearing nothing but one sock and a diaper. Not even a bra. Her glasses were hung down to the very edge of her nose, and it hardly seemed to matter because her eyes were glazed and cross eyed. "Carliah!" She was perched atop the armrest of the couch. On foot on the couch, the other hanging off. Both hands pressed against her crotch. Sweat dripped down and Peter noticed her hair was stuck to her face. His eyes, stuck for a little while on her erect, raw nipples, made their way down to her hands. She had changed her diaper. No...she hadn't. He looked closer at the waistband. The waistbands. The many, many, many waistbands upon waistbands. "Carliah..." Carliah didn't acknowledge him. She rocked back and forth. What he smelled made his eyes go wide. Peter pushed through it and stepped up to the edge of the couch. Carliah was almost taller this way. She rocked back and forth, the massive balloon of plastic around her waist squeaking and crinkling as she moved. He closed his eyes and kissed her. Her mouth and breath were warm. "Daddy," she whispered, almost as quiet as a breath. She cracked a weak, delirious smile. Like she knew what was about to happen to her. Like she understood that the only place deeper and more full of poop than the septupled diaper she was wearing was the hole of trouble she'd just landed in. "I put new diapers on, Daddy. Like you said. Am I a good baby?" "You are...a baby," he told her.

I. My face, deep red with a combination of embarrassment and tears, was on full display, the rest of my body fully moving in momentum to my locked-tight wrist, which was firmly in the grasp of the supervising party in my life, my Mommy, who’s infuriated look pulling me along said all anyone needed to know. I could have whined, I could have done anything, but I felt…paralyzed. Things like this had happened so much in my life lately that I didn’t know what else to do. I just more or less marched along, I didn’t know what else to do. It was so embarrassing. I wanted to be anywhere but here, but here I was, unable to leave. It'd have been embarrassing enough if I was only in trouble. Making this whole thing even worse was what was around my waist. My bottom? Covered in poop. I had a diaper on, sure, but still, anyone within a 10000000 mile radius could smell it. It had a huge blowout, there were messy streaks going down my previously-pristine leggings. It looked every bit as bad as I smelled. It wasn’t the first time I had one of these, but for whatever reason, this was different. I’d even had poopy blowouts in the mall before; today, I was just on a heater. Tantrums, all of that. At this point, I didn’t even care, and I figured that if this was how I was going to be treated, I might as well give Mommy what she wanted. We were a sight for anyone who bothered to pay attention; my Auntie Stef walked at a steady distance behind, carrying my “older” sister, who, judging from this whole scene, had clearly passed me in the maturity department. “Unbelievable, just unbelievable, I’m at a complete loss for words,” Mommy bemoaned aloud, targeted at an audience of one, “all this, all this…embarrassment for Mommy, all because of a poopy diaper, a poopy diaper!” This end of the statement drew a few curious stares, but Mommy was undeterred. “A poopy diaper baby, you’ve ruined the day for all of us, and especially your sister, all because of a damn poopy diaper, something I think we see more than once per day? I don’t get it, I really don’t.” Mommy was scary when she was upset because there were bits of calm mixed into the inner seas of her volcanic temper. “You just think you’re going to get to watch Gabby’s Dollhouse when your sister does when we’re home, well, you’ve got another thing coming, Missy. You’ll be lucky if you’re able to leave your playpen all week after this little display, ughh!” Mommy started again, before once again showcasing the madness of it all, “…all because of a poopy diaper, unbelievable, even your sister doesn’t melt down like this because of an accident, and she’s expected to use the potty; you’re not, you go in your diapers, ugh, just unbelievable.” I just tried to move fast in my complicated waddling state, my legs uncomfortably mixed with my own fecal matter, all while reflecting on the current events. Seeing my sister really surpass me and take her rightful spot as the older kid in the house, it just set me off.. It wasn’t fair, she got to have her ears pierced, and I had to watch! What should have been a delightful rite of passage for my sister, Mommy, and Auntie Stef, quickly devolved into my own tantrum on the floor of Claire’s shortly afterwards, to the delight of no one. Compounding it all was the fact that in the middle of this tantrum, I had made a runny poopy in my diaper, making a further mess even worse by throwing myself on my bottom in the middle of it all. All because I was supposed to watch the other three shop for my sister. I didn’t want to watch this! I just wanted to be anywhere else; or my own ears pierced. How dare they! As I was dragged across the mall floor by Mommy towards the family bathrooms, I snapped back into reality. I’d been falling into these mindsets more and more lately, which was concerning, but probably was something I’d better become more used to. I didn’t know when I’d ever be out of this treatment, if ever, so maybe I’d better just start giving into the end of the rainbow more; I didn’t know where this was ultimately headed. I’m a little conflicted though; on one hand, this was my present and indefinite future reality, which thought this was what I always wanted, and I should be ecstatic, but on the other hand, this was my present and indefinite future reality, and it was embarrassing mostly and other times cringe worthy. It truly had become a textbook case of “be careful what you wish for”, forced into this due to my own missteps, unlikely to ever leave, at least anytime soon. As simple as my life had become, it was equally complemented by perceived complication. We finally got near a familiar sight, the family restroom sign pointed a direction that our destination was nearby. I was surprised Mommy took this detour; but then, why would she need to get the car seats poopy and make my Auntie Stef’s car stinky if she didn’t have to. Maybe, I guess, I didn’t know. Just guesses, my time for planning and those sorts of things had gone out the window a long time ago. Just as I was hoping for something uneventful, we turned the corner to the family restroom and…it was “out of order”. “Hmmm,” Mommy looked at Auntie Stef, “any ideas?” “Let’s just take everyone to the ladies room, I’ll take Amelia potty while you can take care of Courtney’s poopy diaper, there’s a place to change her there,” Auntie Stef informed her. “Alright, ladies room it is,” Mommy still seemed annoyed, but obviously not with her sister. We once again were off at Mommy’s brisk pace. Thankfully, the ladies room wasn’t too far away. I wasn’t too sure though, I didn’t like the fact that this was much more public than the family restroom we originally were going to use. As we went in the doorway, Auntie Stef took my sister, “want to go to the big girl potty with Auntie?” “Mmhmm,” I heard Amelia say. “Alright, we’ll meet you out here when we’re done, see you soon,” Mommy smiled and kissed Amelia, before turning towards our destination. Mommy pulled me towards a back corner, where there were several changing tables, built in to the counters, each separated into different changing areas by a dividing wall, but set up in a way that multiple changes could take place simultaneously. As we approached, I saw another mom starting a similar job with her own toddler, who sounded about as thrilled as I was to have their diaper changed. I was still a crying, teary mess, so I had no room to talk. Mommy walked to the table next to the occupied one, setting down her brioche diaper backpack on a space behind the changing table. She moved my hand from her vice grip to around a metal rod by the structure, leaving me to stand awkwardly while she took everything out. A new diaper, a travel case of wipes, a changing pad, new clothes, nothing was spared; she even took out hand sanitizer for herself for after the change was done. Like I said, very prepared. As I stood there awkwardly, alternating my glances between Mommy’s pretty brioche Petunia Pickle Bottom bag and the environment around us. As I glanced, the other mom looked over, giving us both a half smile, before doing a bit of a double take at me. At 5’6”, I wasn’t the typical baby having my diaper changed.Soon, I felt Mommy pushing me towards the table, her immense strength overpowering me, “Up,” was all she said. As I moved my poopy bottom towards salvation, I noticed Mommy making a smile to the other mom who was looking at us. “Poopy diapers, doesn’t matter how big the baby, always gonna be poopy diapers, am I right? Just when I thought I had both of my girls out of diapers, this one decided her journey in them didn’t want to be over, and here we are!” Mommy said in a feigned exasperation of catharsis. “Oh I can relate to that!” I heard the other mom say, “when her brother was born,” she began telling Mommy, motioning to the toddler she was changing, “she decided to cancel her own potty training, and I’ve got two loads of poopy diapers to change now! Gotta love motherhood!” “Have lots of babies, they said…” Mommy began and laughed, to which the other mom laughed too. She pulled back my sodden leggings and began the dirty work. As she pulled them down my dirty legs, she pulled out a plastic bag, rolling the leggings into the bag, tying it shut, and walking over, past the other relatable mom. Mommy quickly tossed it away, there was no reusing of it, not in any known universe. “Looks like a code brown and a half,” I heard the other mom say. “Like I said, just another day,” Mommy laughed, coming back to find me, “it’s why they sell clothes right?” As Mommy began pulling out wipes, the other mom must have finished, I heard her say goodbye, and Mommy happily bid her adieu. I always found mommies/moms to be such strange individuals. They were the only people I knew who could exchange pleasantries while being wrist deep in poopy. I guess it was a labor of love or something sappy. “Phew, phewwie, you stink stinkyyy,” Mommy teased somewhat melancholy; I think she’d rather be doing anything but this right now, especially given her current state of furor. Before taking on the diaper, she ran a series of wipes up and down my legs, cleaning off the blowout aftermath, putting the wipes in another plastic bag she’d popped out. Soon after, she opened the diaper, revealing the mess that necessitated this visit in the first place. “Yucky wucky, you’re so stinky, inky,” she teased, taking on the unenvious task of cleaning my diaper area. As mad as she could get at me, diaper changes were always pleasant, Mommy made them fun, no matter how many she did. She made baby noises, Mommy noises, in exaggerated tones throughout the entirety of the charge. Prior to Amelia using the potty, Mommy was just the same. A real natural, one could not argue.I knew I was really in for it when I got home, but for this moment in time, Mommy made me forget about it, as brief a reprieve as it might be. The cool wipes moved across my bottom, up the crack, over and over. Across my little peepee, which by this point was very much unusable except to potty, and all over the rest. A large cloud of baby powder soon followed, as did a dollop of rash cream. Soon, Mommy lifted me, sliding another diaper underneath me, taping it up. Mommy then took out a khaki skirt, pulling it up my legs. It matched my purple Gabby’s Dollhiuse shirt, I was impressed. “All done, Princess,” Mommy looked at me, putting the wipes into the used diaper and taping it up;, “lay there so Mommy can pack all your diaper goodies up.” Mommy squirted hand sanitizer on her hands, and began rubbing them as she looked at the landscape. She put the wipes container back, the powder and cream back, and then had me get off the table while she put the changing pad away. She slung the brioche bag on her shoulder, taking the used diaper in one hand and my hand in another. As we walked towards a garbage can, another mom came in, babies in tow. She and Mommy made eye contact, each shaking their heads and exchanging a laugh. Mommy tossed my used diaper out, and led me out towards the mall, where Amelia and Auntie Stef were waiting. “Looks like you got that solved,” Auntie Stef chuckled. “All in a mom’s work, right?” Mommy said lightheartedly. “Of course, nice choice too, she’s really rocking that diaper, isn’t she?” Stef asked. “You better believe it, you know she loves it, doesn’t she? Doesn’t she?” Mommy teased. I just got red and embarrassed. Aunt Stef was right, I was “rocking” my diaper. My skirt was really short, the bottom peaked out, and when I raised my arms the teeniest bit, the diaper stuck out the top. Anyone could see it, anyone within ear shot could notice it. “Well, let’s go home, we’ll get Amelia a frosty and us some lunch, and we can take it home and eat it; I’d love to eat in, but we need to get the baby down for her afternoon nap, she’s kind of cranky, if you couldn’t tell,” Mommy said in a mocking tone, to which the two laughed. Amelia gave a cute laugh of her own, but I think it was mostly to humor the adults. Off we went, Mommy holding my hand and pulling me, Aunt Stef carrying my sister. Two different directions, me pulled towards perpetual and infinite babydom, my sister pushed to higher and higher heights. I was overwhelmed, and so deeply conflicted. As we made it out to Auntie Stef’s Highlander, a dark and extended reality began to settle on me that I would never escape. As I was buckled in my car seat, I began to sob, beginning to process the day that this ear piercing adventure had wrought. “Oh Courtney, it’s ok, you’re just tired baby,” Mommy tried to console me, handing me a bottle, “drink some milkies, and enjoy the ride; Mommy will carry you in at home if you fall asleep, you’ve had a long day Princess.” I took the bottle and began to suckle down the bitter pill my life had swallowed. It wasn’t always this way, but it looked like it was going to be moving forward. As I began to doze and take it in, I thought about it all, and how I had no one else but myself to blame.

Chest 16"/ Shoulder 15.5"/ Sleeve 8.5"/ Length 30" / Collar w/ Snaps 35" w/ stretch (rear)

Chest 19.5"/ Shoulder 16.5"/ Sleeve 6.5"/ Length 31.5"/ Collar to Snaps 35" w/ some stretch. Uploading photos on here is a challenge due to the limit. I had to greatly shrink the size.

Chest 15"/ Shoulder 14"/ Sleeve 5"/ Length 27"/ Collar to Snaps 28.5" w/ stretch (rear)

Chest 15"/ Shoulder 14"/ Sleeve 5"/ Length 27"/ Collar to Snaps 28.5" w/ stretch (rear)