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I've started a new story series featuring Reilly. The 18-year-old recently graduated high school and is desperate to stop bedwetting before he starts college in the fall. The return to bedtime diapers, however, leads to unexpected and rapid regression in Reilly's potty training and behavior. Good thing his family is so loving and understanding and hires the perfect babysitter to get him through what's hopefully just a phase. You can get early access to new chapters through my SubscribeStar site (https://subscribestar.adult/alexbridges). I'll be posting chapters here after they've been up on my site for a while. Enjoy, and remember comments/feedback motivate me to write more! Ch. 1 – Introducing Reilly The late afternoon sun streamed through the windows of the spacious living room, casting a soft, golden glow over the family seated in a semi-circle. It was a calm, quiet afternoon, but the weight of the conversation about to happen filled the air. In the center of it all sat Reilly, his nerves on full display, his legs bouncing as he sat in a chair slightly separated from the rest of the group. Miriam, Reilly's mom, and Michael, his dad, sat opposite him on the sofa, their expressions a mix of concern and determination. Julie and Matt, Reilly’s older siblings, sat on the couch nearby, exchanging quiet glances. Mom broke the silence, her tone gentle but firm, as she always tried to be with Reilly. “Thanks, everyone, for making some time for a family meeting. You know we don’t have these unless it’s important, and I wanted Julie and Matt to hear this at the same time.” She turned to Reilly, and putting all of her love and concern into her words, say, “Reilly, sweetheart, we’ve noticed you’ve been struggling a lot lately, especially with college just around the corner. We think it’s time we make some changes to help you feel more secure.” Reilly looked down at his hands, anxiety building in his chest. He’d known this conversation was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier. He swallowed hard before speaking, his voice quiet. “What kind of changes?” Dad leaned forward slightly, his voice calm but direct. “We want to help you manage your bedwetting, your accidents, and some of the behavior we’ve seen lately. It’s been tough for you, and we think we need a more structured approach.” Reilly’s head snapped up, already defensive. “I’m doing fine,” he insisted, though the doubt in his voice betrayed him. He could already feel where this was going. Mom exchanged a glance with Dad before continuing. “Reilly, three months ago, you came to me, asking for help with your bedwetting. You were worried about starting college in the fall and didn’t want your roommate to find out. You had the idea that being punished might help you stop.” Reilly’s cheeks flushed at the memory of that embarrassing conversation. That he even spoke about his bedwetting to his mom – it was an open secret they never discussed, his parents letting Reilly deal with it on his own – betrayed how desperate he was to dry up before college. He squirmed in his seat, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone. “I just thought maybe if there were consequences… maybe I’d stop,” he muttered. “Ya know, like conditioning. Like, if I associated bedwetting with being punished, it would help me stop.” Mom nodded, her voice full of understanding. “I know, honey. And we agreed to try it. But remember, I said you’d have to switch from pull-ups to proper diapers at night. The pull-ups weren’t enough; they leaked too often.” Dad jumped in. “We started the routine you asked for—diapers at night and a spanking in the morning if you wet the bed. At first, you did well with it. You took the spankings without too much trouble. We asked you every morning if you wanted to keep trying it, and you said yes. Your mom and I, we didn’t quite know what to think, but we love you and you asked us for help, so we kept up the … let’s call it your routine.” Julie, always the compassionate older sister, leaned forward. She knew this part of the story. “But then, Mom found out you were still trying to wear pull-ups, right? You were sneaking them on at night instead of using the diapers.” Reilly’s face turned redder. “I didn’t want to wear the diapers. They’re… babyish,” he admitted, almost whispering the last word. He hated how small the diapers made him feel, even more so than the spankings. Mom sighed softly, her motherly concern evident in every word. “They’re not, Reilly. They’re to help you. And anyway, pull-ups are just diapers that get pulled up instead of taped on, except the pull-ups leaked all over your sheets and the diapers didn’t.” She paused, catching herself before she rehashed that entire debate. “That’s when I started diapering you myself at night, to make sure you had on your diaper like you agreed to. But even then, you were taking them off after I went to bed.” Dad crossed his arms, though his tone remained even. “That’s when we had to make the decision to extend the discipline. It wasn’t easy for any of us, but your mom and I decided because you really wanted this to work, we’d do more to help make it work. It wasn’t just about bedwetting anymore. If you took off your diaper, you were disobeying us. For that, we started giving you a spanking for when your behavior warranted it … And other consequences. We never spanked any of you before, and we thought you had outgrown needing those kinds of consequences, but, well, …”. He shrugged, not bothering to finish his sentence. Matt, usually quiet during these conversations, chimed in. “So that’s when the spankings started being for more than just accidents, right?” “Exactly,” Dad nodded. “It became about following the rules we set to help Reilly. We needed to address not just the bedwetting but the rule breaking, and so long as we were using more childish consequences for breaking that rule, and because it did work – you did stop taking off your diapers – we decided to try it for general discipline issues.” Reilly shifted uncomfortably. He knew all this; his parents never instituted any change in his so-called routine or discipline without explaining it and making sure he understood. He appreciated that, but he still hated the embarrassment of talking about it, compounded by his siblings being in the room, though they knew most of it already. Julie still lived at home, and Matt visited frequently. “I get it, but it still doesn’t feel fair,” he mumbled. “I wasn’t trying to be bad. I just didn’t want to wear the diapers.” “We understand that,” Mom said softly, “which is why we did the other consequence – if you took your diaper off at night, you got an extra hard spanking and had to wear diapers for the entire day.” Mom and Dad had started using new words, or, rather, old words without even realizing it after diapering Reilly became a part of their lives again. Toilets once more became potties in their lexicon. Mom continued, “We meant it to be just a one-time thing. We thought you’d get the message, hate having to use them so much we’d never have to put you in daytime diapers again. Except, you didn’t get the message right away. And then you had a daytime accident in your diaper. And another and another.” Dad added, “And then you stopped taking your diaper off at night, and we stopped diapering you during the day and …” “The accidents didn’t stop,” Julie finished. Turning to Matt, she added, “Not every single time he had to use the bathroom, and not every day, but …” She chose her next word carefully. “Enough that I think we can all agree it’s a problem, let’s say.” Reilly’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. “That wasn’t my fault!” he protested. “I don’t know why it happened. I didn’t mean to have accidents.” Mom reached out to place a hand on his knee, her touch soft but firm. “We know, honey. We don’t think it’s your fault.” Reilly was quiet, his mind racing. He hadn’t thought about the time of it all before. “I wasn’t having accidents before the daytime diapers,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “That’s exactly it,” Dad said, his voice thoughtful. “We’re not entirely sure what happened, but it did. And not only that. Reilly,” he said in a tone careful to avoid sending the wrong message, “you must’ve noticed your behavior since all this has become – I’m sorry to say it like this – more childish. Issues we haven’t had since you were little. Not doing your homework, arguing about chores, and just … Stuff we thought we’d never have to deal with again. Getting you to take a shower, eating your vegetables, arguing over so much, even – let’s call them what they are – temper tantrums when you don’t get your way.” Mom jumped in. “We’re not saying these things to be mean Reilly.” Quietly, Reilly said, “I know. I don’t know why I’ve been that way. I … I just can’t help myself sometimes.” Mom continued, “I know, sweetie. It’s not like daddy and I want to be putting our adult son in timeout or taking away toys and privileges, or giving you an early bedtime. Let alone having to spank you when none of that gets through to you.” It had been awkward, an understatement if ever there was one, for Mom and Dad to spank Reilly for the bedwetting like he asked them to. It was mortifying for all of them when they decided the time had come to give a spanking as an actual consequence for actual misbehavior. That in three months it had become almost normal – Reilly was by then getting his bottom swatted to some extent – sometimes a couple warning swats, sometimes a full-blown over-the-knee, bare bottom spanking – that it just wasn’t a big deal anymore. It did stop Reilly’s misbehavior in its tracks most of the time, but he recovered so quickly that thirty minutes after it was over, you’d never suspect he’d gotten his 18-year-old fanny warmed by his mother. Mom added, “And it does help. Daddy and I have seen it, and you said as much, how those kinds of childish punishments, as much as you don’t like them, do calm you down when you lose your composure.” That isn’t quite how he put it, but when they had not one but three family mini-meetings, just the three of them, trying to get to the bottom of all this, Reilly had, furiously blushing, admitted he was doing his best and knew the way he was acting wasn’t right or normal, so while he hated being disciplined those ways, he knew and appreciated that it got him back on track, albeit briefly. Dad said, “We’re trying to find out why all this has happened, but while we do that, it’s important to deal with the reality in front of us. You have the whole summer in front of you, and you’re supposed to start college in the fall. We can’t ignore that there are two problems we have to deal with head on, and they’re related.” Mom looked at Reilly with sympathy. “That’s why we’re talking about this now. It’s not just about punishment or control. It’s about helping you adjust and giving you the structure that seems to help you feel better.” Reilly could feel the walls closing in around him. The mention of more structure put him on alert. His voice wavered as he spoke. “So… what does this mean? What are you going to do?” Mom glanced at Dad before delivering the news. “The first thing is we can’t let these accidents continue without doing something. It’s not about your clothes or the couch; those are just things, Reilly. It’s about you, your health, physical and mental. We know these accidents make you so terribly anxious and upset. We know it’s embarrassing. And they’ve been getting worse.” “No, they haven’t,” Reilly interjected, trying to save face. Mom’s expression softened in sympathy. “I know they have, sweetheart. If know you’ve been hiding more accidents and using your allowance to buy underpants. A few wet accidents I may not have noticed, but so many … and the messy ones.” She could see how mortified Reilly was, and that was the whole point. He was always embarrassed on mentally preparing himself to be embarrassed. He was hyper-focused on not having an accident; when they started asking him and remind him to use the potty, he was way ahead of them, going to the bathroom seemingly every twenty minutes even when he didn’t have to go. Even then, not all accidents were averted. Even if they had been, sitting on the potty almost half the day was hardly a solution to his problem. Mom took a deep breath and made the first announcement that was the point of the family meeting: “Daddy and I decided to put you back in diapers full-time until we get this all figured out, Reilly. We think it’s the best way to manage your accidents and help you feel more comfortable., and get this thing licked before the end of the summer.” Reilly’s reaction was immediate and visceral. “Full-time? Like a baby?” His voice cracked, rising with panic. “Not like a baby, Reilly,” Mom said gently. “Think of it as a precaution, something to help you avoid embarrassment and discomfort. This isn’t a punishment. This is a good thing. No more accidents everyone can see, no more being constantly afraid you’re going to have an accident, no more of that anxiety and stress, no more running to the potty and …” She shook her head. “ … the heartbreak on your face …” Her voice broke. “… when you don’t make it. It doesn’t have to be that way. This will fix all of that until we figure out how to stop these accidents.” “But what will people think?” Reilly’s voice was full of fear and resistance. “What if someone finds out?” Dad’s voice was calm but firm. “We’ll handle it discreetly. The people who need to know will be told with your dignity in mind. They won’t think any less of you.” “But what about everyone else?” Reilly asked, his panic growing. “What if they see? I don’t want people making fun of me!” “We’ll be as careful as we can, Reilly,” Mom reassured him. “But we need to be realistic. Your care requires effort and attention, and while we’ll do our best to keep it private, there might be situations where it’s unavoidable. We’ll be there, all of us, to help you get through it. No one is going to make fun of my Reilly on my watch, but really, hun, people are more mature than you might think. I don’t think that will be an issue.” Tears pricked at Reilly’s eyes, the overwhelming fear of being exposed gnawing at him. He opened his mouth to argue more, but Mom held up a hand gently. “Reilly, I know this is hard. But we’re doing this because we love you and we want what’s best for you.” Julie, sensing her brother’s rising anxiety, leaned forward. “Reilly, no one is going to make fun of you. We’re all here to help. And honestly, diapers are way less embarrassing than a big wet spot on your pants or… you know, something worse.” Reilly’s face crumpled in shame as Julie’s comment reminded him of the messy accident he’d had during her awards ceremony. The ceremony was outdoors, and they sat at the end of the aisle just so Reilly could get to the potty quickly. He’d known he needed the potty, but when Mom noticed his fidgeting and asked him if he need to excuse himself, a silly sense of pride he couldn’t even explain to himself, led him decide to hold it just to prove he could. Mom, Dad, and Matt all saw him fidgeting more and more, and when Mom directly suggested to him he go use the potty, he denied needing to go at all. And then, after it happened, it was the unmistakable scent and not that Reilly, cringing in his seat, had stopped squirming. Yet when Mom asked him point blank if he had an accident, he actually denied it. They were all perplexed – did he really not know what he’d done, or did he think they couldn’t tell, or was he too silly and proud to admit or, did he just not mind sitting in it? After a half-minute of confused looked between Mom, Dad, and Matt, Dad took Reilly by the hand to the bathroom to get himself cleaned up. Reilly never gave a straight answer explaining his behavior. Messy accidents were thankfully much more rare, but they happened more than that one time, which was noteworthy because of Reilly’s behavior and because it was the first such accident in public, so far. Mom’s voice softened even more as she tried to soothe him. “Remember that, Reilly. We’re doing this to prevent those situations. Diapers aren’t babyish—they’re just a way to help you stay comfortable.” Reilly, still overwhelmed, was on the verge of a full-on tantrum. His hands balled into fists, and his breath came in shallow gasps. “I don’t want to wear them all the time!” he yelled, the fear and frustration bubbling to the surface. Dad, seeing where this was headed, spoke in a low, warning tone. “Reilly, calm down. You’re getting too worked up.” “I won’t calm down! I’m 18, and you’re talking about making me wear diapers like a baby!!!” Julie jumped in. “Do we need to take a break to calm down?” Often, she knew, when Reilly was headed toward a tantrum, he just needed a few minutes to collect himself. “I’m not wearing diapers all the time! You can’t make me!” “Reilly,” Mom said sharply to get his attention, “If you keep yelling, you’re getting a spanking.” She knew from the many tantrums in the past three months Reilly was past his point-of-no-return when he couldn’t be reasoned with and only the threat of a spanking could stop a full-blown tantrum. And unlike a toddler’s tantrum, an 18-year-old’s was louder, wilder, and sometimes even dangerous with the throwing, thrashing, and actual sprawled-out-feet-and-hands-pounding-the-floor theatrics. They were worried Reilly would unintentionally hurt himself or someone else. The threat of a spanking was effective in stopping a tantrum past the point of no return perhaps two times in five. When it failed, a few warning swats on the seat of his pants could bring him back around perhaps another two times in five. The fifth time, Reilly needed a spanking, a real one. Once they told Reilly he was getting a spanking, Mom and Dad always followed through, and for all the physicality of his tantrums, and though it was sometimes a test of wills, they always managed to get him over their knees where they could deliver a safe, measured spanking. Sometimes he stopped right away, sometimes he needed to be spanked to tears, but always afterward he was mortified and apologetic. Mom and Dad never had any hard feelings about it; they knew he wanted to be behaving that away even less than he wanted to get spanked. At the mention of a spanking, Reilly froze, his body stilling as the anger began to ebb away. He didn’t want to be spanked, especially not in front of Julie and Matt (again). His voice cracked as he spoke again, this time quieter. “It’s just… I hate it.” “We know, sweetie,” Mom said, her voice full of compassion. “But you need to trust us.” The tantrum, and that the threat of a pink bottom stopped it in its tracks, made a convenient segue for the second part of Mom and Dad’s decision. “Reilly,” Dad said, “There’s more. Your behavior since all this began … I’ve already said that.” He had rehearsed and prepared for this, but forgot it all in the moment. “We’re also going to be stricter with you for a while. The yelling and near-tantrum you just had, that’s not normal for a boy your age. You know that. And as much as you hate getting spanked, we hate having to do it … But none of us can deny it works. It does work on tantrums, and for some of the other issues you’ve been having.” Reilly was panicking again. “So what are you saying? I’m going to get spanked for every little thing!?!” “No,” Mom said. “No. We’ll keep using spanking as a disciplinary tool like we’ve been doing. Only when it’s call for and always proportional to your misbehavior. What Daddy is saying is there are going to be some more rules and structure, and we’re going to enforce that. When you make a bad choice, there will be consequences. Spanking is a last resort. You can avoid it if you listen, and I know you’ll try your best.” That was the central issue: Reilly was trying his best, and his best wasn’t good enough to keep him acting, and having accidents, like a toddler. Not they ever had or ever would punish accidents, but two issues seemed link, like Reilly has regressed somehow. Dad had decided against telling Reilly this part of their thinking, but in the moment, he let it slip. “Little kids thrive on structure. We know you’re not a little kid, but the issues you’ve been having, we think it’s worth a try.” Julie jumped in with more comforting words. “You know, this isn’t forever, Reilly. It’s just for the summer, so we can help you get back on track before college.” Reilly’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “What about when summer’s over?” “We’ll reassess then,” Dad answered. “It might not even last the summer. We’re all hoping we can get this thing figured out fast, and things can all go back to normal. If it takes longer, if it takes the summer, then it takes the summer. None of us want that, and I’m sure there will be some bumps along the way. We’ll need to make adjustments, we’ll figure out how to make it work. But for now, we’re focusing on what’s best for you. Bottom line is we’re all here for you.; this is about supporting your needs and getting you through this.” Reilly stayed quiet, but he knew the sense in what they were saying. It seemed outlandish, but then so did his original idea that a morning spanking would cure his bedwetting. Matt, who hadn’t said much, spoke up. “So, what exactly is this full-time diaper and discipline routine thing going to look like?” Mom explained the logistics. “Diapers full-time, of course. We’ll try to avoid as many accidents as possible, but with the diapers, when an accident happens, we’re not going to treat it like a big deal. That’s what diapers are for; we’ll get you cleaned up and move on with our day.” “You’ll get me cleaned up,” Reilly asked. Mom understood what he was asking. “We think it’s best that we handle the diapering and changes, at least for now.” She paused a moment to remember the rest of the routine. “You’ll have a bedtime and a daily nap. Being well-rested will help avoid some of the misbehavior you’ve been getting into. We’re going to limit your screentime and make sure you’re only watching or playing stuff that doesn’t get you worked up. Eating healthy is important, too, so say the support groups I joined when all this started, so you’re going to have to ask when you want a snack and eat what we feed you.” “The other big thing,” Dad said, “is you’re not going to be left alone while all this is going on. We know you like your independence. A summer job is obviously out of the question, and now with school out, you’re going to have a lot of free time. You’re going to need help with your diapers, and we want you to be safe and supported at all times, so someone will always be with you.” “So I can’t see my friends,” an almost despondent Reilly asked. “Of course you can,” Mom told him. “There just needs to be someone with you. They can keep their distance, and maybe it could even be one of your friends’ parents if you’re hanging out at their house.” “And we’ll need you and Julie to help more,” Dad added, looking at his older children. “You’ll need to keep an eye on Reilly and sometimes be his …” Dad hadn’t found a suitable euphemism, and Reilly was too smart to fall for it anyway. “… his babysitter sometimes. But most importantly, just be there for him.” Julie nodded, understanding her role. “We can do that. Right, Matt?” Matt nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we’ve got this. We’ll help in every way we can. We’re going to beat this, Reilly.” “And we’re still looking for a babysitter,” Dad continued. “Someone who can help during the day when we’re not around and just when we need an extra set of hands.” “In fact,” Mom added, “we’re looking for someone around your age so it’s not awkward when they’re chaperoning you with your friends.” Reilly, who had been quietly listening, finally spoke again. “Can I have some input on who it is?” “Of course,” Mom assured him. “We’ll make sure it’s someone you’re comfortable with.” There was a lengthy pause. “Reilly,” Julie asked, “how are you feeling right now?” He didn’t answer right away, his expression at first inscrutable. “I just … I want this to … I just want to get past this. If you think this is best … And I know this is … I don’t want to be … a burden.” His voice, and Mom and Julie were immediately at his side comforting him. “I trust you if you say this is going to help … I’ll try my best, I promise.” Tears were flowing, and he turned and pressed his face into Mom’s chest, the soft, safe place he’d nestled his head when he was upset all the way back to his toddler days, but not in years now. Mom cooed and shushed while Julie patted his back and told him everything would be okay and that they all loved him. Dad and Matt echoed it all. They told Reilly how proud they were he was taking responsibility by acquiescing. His parents would’ve made him cooperate if they had to, and they were so glad they didn’t. By the end of their praise and pep talk, Reilly almost felt good about the changes in life, that it was all positive if it actually made a difference. As he had with every family meeting they’d ever had, Dad signaled its end by standing up, stretching his arms, and saying, “I think we all deserve a frosty chocolate milkshake. You wanna help me, Reilly?” “Actually,” Mom interjected, “I’m going to get Reilly into a diaper. We won’t be long.” “Does it have to be now,” Reilly asked, hoping to delay daytime diapers until at least the next day. “No time like the present. Besides, it’s almost your new bedtime after milkshakes.” It was 8:15. And we might as well get you in your bedtime diaper and jammies now.” She’s helping me into my pajamas, Reilly wondered. “Reilly,” Julie said nervously. “Since I’m going to be helping you out and watching you sometimes, I’m going to have to learn, you know, how Mom and Dad do certain things. Is it okay if I come upstairs so I can learn how to diaper you … I mean, put your diaper on?” She wondered to herself how, exactly, the latter phrase was supposed to be less embarrassing for him and couldn’t say. Reilly didn’t want her to see him down there, let alone to diaper him, not then or ever. He looked to Mom, hoping she would say he’d had enough change for one night. Alas for him, she said, “That’s a really good idea, Julie. And thank you for jumping right in. See, Ry? We’re all here for you together.” Holding his hand, Mom led Reilly upstairs, Julie following behind. “Everything’s going to be okay, Ry. We’re not going to let any of this stop you from having fun this summer. In fact, not to toot my own horn, but I have it on good authority I’m kinda the best at making diaper changes fun.” Scared not just about the new routine but about his future, Reilly remembered in the moment a coping mechanism a counselor had taught him, to remember to feel gratitude. He had a great family, and he knew it. Everything was out of love, including all the work they were undertaking for him. They were rooting for him. He reminded himself of that, and even Julia’s silly joke made him smile, just a little. _____________________ Get the next chapter on my SubscribeStar. https://subscribestar.adult/alexbridges

Neil was more than excited to get accepted into a frat his freshman year of college. Although he was nervous about living with a bunch of guys he'd never met before, he was significantly more scared of being the only guy on the football team not in the fraternity. He was warned that the frats hazing pranks for new initiates could get pretty intense, but so far all the guys seemed pretty nice. That was until his first night in the frat house. When he woke up, Neil found his sheets soaked, his hand still left in a now cold bowl of water. He could handle that, but what came next, he found way more upsetting. His clothes had all been taken and hid away, the only thing left for him was a pack of plain white adult diapers... After fighting with himself on whether or not to give in, Neil finally put on the diaper, struggling with the straps a bit and getting it a little lopsided. He'd then begin a humiliating trek across the house, begging the other guys in the frat to let him borrow their clothes. eventually he would get a pair of pants a little too big, a shirt and jacket to small, and no belt. It was getting late, and Neil had his first day of classes, he couldn't miss them. So finally, he would step out onto the campus grounds, tail tucked between his legs hoping no one would notice his crinkly white waistband has he hurried to his first class... (rp is open to anyone! feel free to ask questions!)

For the first time, I've been brave and worn a diaper whilst out shopping (and on the bus) for presents (nearly that time of year). It's been really comforting and I've hidden the str8up diaper really well under strecy jeans and long teeshirts. As far as I'm aware no one has seen it, if I need to change, my local shopping center has a large designated adult changing area and the gents also have a smaller pad changing area with a hygiene bin. I can't wait to do this again it's been amazing!!! 🤩

I'm asking this because I've done this before and will do so again. Has anyone else done this and if so what are your experiences.

(this is fiction, wishful fiction) --constructive feed back is always welcome by me. I have not written for a while, so please be kind 🙂 So, I suddenly found myself in the most terrifying and shocking scenarios, the kind I fantasized about, but never would make plans to do. When the housekeeper opened the door to the hotel room for cleaning, she was met with quite the sight of me. In the middle of the room, gagged with a large pacifier, dressed like a baby was yours truly, tied up in a harness. I had on a bonnet, booties, some thin babyish mittens, and a lace trimmed romper of the most babyish style. Cuffs secured my arms to my sides in multiple places, and I had a chain connecting my ankles. I could walk (not quickly) but my upper body was completely restrained. I was planning to attend the fetish convention later, that was my reason for being here. I wanted to have some playtime before, to keep me out of trouble for the late morning, (and partake in some fantasy play) I was heavily diapered, and secured in the most humiliating and infantile attire. Think lots of pastel pinks and blues. I moaned into the gag, trying to explain to her what was going on, to come back later, or let me out, all while a small intrude in my behind softly teased me, adding to my shame. “Oh, are you here for the convention?” she asked with a chuckle, “you look all dressed up and ready to go!” I replied, but the paci did its job very well keeping me gagged, it was strapped on comfortably snug. I tried to wiggle my arms, tug at the restraints and reins, but they held very well, just as intended. I had wanted to be tied up, and left. The idea of being helpless, and the risk of getting caught was a VERY common theme in my favorite stories, and scenes. I was worried she was going to call the cops, security, the news, and I would be in trouble and publicly shamed, but she reassured me. “Listen, I do not care what people get up to, in fact this is simply adorable” she stated, “but this is my last room and then I am done for the day.” I thought that maybe this meant she was going to let me out, so I could get out of the way, crawl in a hole with my embarrassment, and just hide. She grabbed my convention lanyard. “Well you better not forget this.” She tried to hand me my lanyard/entry pass, which I was very much unable to hold and so she settled for slipping it over my head. I was confused at first then realized that she thought THIS is how I wanted to attend the con, a helpless baby. She took a walk around me, examining the straps and tightening a couple, further limiting my already limited movement. I tried to tell her that I didn’t want this, that this was all a big misunderstanding, but all that came out was some muffled “mmph”s. I felt the vibe in me increase as I heard “What does this button do?” She pressed it a few more times, and I was left struggling with it on the teasing setting. She then just started cleaning the room, me standing there stunned. I was confused and dumbfounded, so I quick slipped into the bathroom to get out of sight. I could hear her changing the sheets, vacuuming, etc. I was desperate for her to finish so I could get out of this gear and hope to never see her again. A short while later I heard a knock on the bathroom door “Little baby…I have some fresh towels but I will just leave them on the bed.” I replied that it would be fine and thanked her, all of it was complete muffled gibberish. Then in a more personal voice she said “I am going to the convention also, hence my rush to get finished. Maybe I will catch you there?” Once I heard the room door shut I peeked out, and the coast was clear. I made a straight line for the desk to get the key when I realized that in her cleaning she had moved it to a little tray at the back of the desk, way out of my limited reach. I panicked, because in my stupidness I had not taken my spare out of the bag, and with my mittened hands I could barely manipulate the key, let alone open and rummage through a suitcase. I shuffled toward the door, my padded crotch giving me a slight waddle, and timidly peeked out in the hall. I knew my options were to be stuck like this, and have to call for help, or try and catch up with her, and get her help. She was waiting just down the hall at the elevator. The door opened and I knew I had to hurry, so I tried to run. As expected, the chain connection between my legs was not conducive to running so I tripped a little. I ended up bracing against a wall, then slid down onto my thickly padded bum. In desperation I turned and watched my hope for escape enter the elevator, the doors closed shortly after. I thought I would just get back to my room and try to figure out an escape then. Maybe I could reach the key with something, in hindsight that seemed like the best idea anyway. As I got to the door I scooted my side to the door and turned the handle. It turned, but nothing happened. I tried again, nothing. It was then that a sinking feeling hit me, and a cold chill ran down my spine. My room key was in the room. In a panic I pushed hard on the door, wiggled the handle more, and screamed into my gag in desperate frustration. I was panicking, rapidly breathing, pulling as hard as I could on my restraints. There was no give and now I was just starting to sweat and felt tired. My tantrum had been useless. Sooner or later somebody was going to come out of their room, so the sooner I could get to the front desk, get help and get a new key, the sooner I could hide my shame. The elevator ride was uneventful, and I was just starting to relax when we slowed down for the second floor. “No, no! No!” I screamed into the gag, “I am so close!” The doors opened and a couple of young men entered, then suddenly stopped when they saw what stood before them. They both cracked up, nearly falling over laughing. “Wow!” one said, “Man, you either are into some weird shit or this is a very solid prank.” “He is blushing” the other one barely got out between chuckles, “I bet he loves this!” I did love it, I hated it, I was terrified, turned on, scared, and in submissive heaven. The doors shut and we continued to the ground floor. One of them started examining me, tugging me around some with the straps, and just having a blast. By the look on his face I could almost imagine part of him was into it. While he did this, his friend grabbed my leash, clipped to the center of the harness, and tied it off to the hand rail on the back wall. “Here you go, enjoy your fun sissy.” When the door opened I tried to pull at it, hopeful for a loose knot, or weak clip. My body quickly came to a jerking halt, and the pull on my harness stopped me from leaving the elevator. I moaned loudly in frustration, my helpless situation, the constant teasing in my rear, and my hope being so close, but I was unable to reach it. They kept laughing as they got off the lift, walking right by the front desk as if to spite me. My situation had gotten more dire. Until somebody let me out, I was stuck tied up as a baby girl on the elevator. The whole time my intruder kept its teasing up as I braced for the next embarrassment. Somebody must have called the elevator, because we started moving up again. On the 6th floor it stopped, and on got a group of women with serious dominatrix vibes. This was strangely more comforting than some vanilla person, as I am sure they would understand, maybe even help me out? By the time the elevator opened on one, my leash was now more tightly bound to the railing, and I had received quite a few spankings. As they left me there I started to sob, my fun game had turned into a humiliating nightmare with seemingly no end. Somebody got on the elevator, but I didn’t bother to even look up, thinking this could only get worse. “Little baby, what happened to you?” a familiar voice asked. She lifted my head gently, and I realized why I recognized her voice. It was the housekeeper from earlier, but she was not dressed like that anymore. Think Morticia Addams, but in a dangerously cute way. She untied my leash and pulled me to her, holding me in a tight hug. “Baby,” she whispered, “I was actually headed up to your room to check on you and see if you wanted to go together.” I looked at her confusingly and saw that she too had a lanyard on. “Why do you think I was in such a hurry to finish up earlier?” I looked into her eyes, and saw kindness; she used a lace gloved hand to wipe my tears away. “What do you say little girl?” she asked, “come have a coffee with me and we can talk about things?” I nodded, tucking my head back against her. She let out a loving sigh and rubbed my back. When we got back to the lobby, she tugged on my leash, bidding me to follow. --more to come once I think of it lol

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?

Chapter 1 I came across the ad on a site I used to market my services. I had finished university with a decent degree, but struggled to get a well paid job and had slipped into ‘escort’ work through a friend who was in the same line of 'business'. I gradually started to specialise in kinkier aspects of the scene: partly because the money was better but also because the customers were, on the whole, nicer. I was doing okay, but the ad certainly caught my interest. “Well remunerated, long-term contract for a petit young woman with an interest in submissive role/age play.” I ticked all the boxes. I was only 5’1”, slim and an A cup bra size. I certainly had a preference for the submissive role and had quite extensive experience as a sub. Not so much on age-play, but the thought of it didn’t bother me at all. I called the number and a female voice answered. “Hello. This is Marie, can I help you?” “I’m calling about the advert for a young woman” I replied. “Ah, excellent. What’s your name?” I told her that my name was Louise Howe. “And what’s your current position?” I gave an outline of my current circumstances in terms of work, accommodation, personal life and location. Marie took it all on board and, when she felt the phone call had gone as far as it could, gave me a web link to send a few photos, “just regular pics - no need for nudes - but make sure there’s at least a couple of full length shots”. The next step, assuming my photos passed muster, would be an interview and selection process which would take three days in a location to be advised. I was told that all expenses would be taken care of and a fee paid for my time. The fee suggested was more than I’d earn in a month, so I had no hesitation in confirming my interest. She said I’d hear one way or the other in a couple of days and that was that. After finishing the call I poured a glass of red wine and thought about what had transpired. Marie had seemed nice, her tone had been very matter-of-fact - I could have been applying for a position as an accounts clerk. There was nothing to put me off so I sent off a few recent pics with the details she had asked for and then it was back to work, checking my messages on the adultwork website. A message was waiting from a man in London on business, staying at the Savoy Hotel. He was looking for a submissive and had left a mobile number. I rang the number and he answered straight away. He said he was at the hotel and was ready for a session right now. Charing Cross was about fifteen minutes on the tube so I said I could be there in about half an hour. He agreed my rates and gave me his name, Simon, and room number. He said to go through to the American Bar and call him when there. Before calling off he asked that I wore modest dress, but with a fairly short skirt and I was happy to inform him I’d not need to change! I have to admit that I was feeling pretty good on my journey in. The American Bar is, if a little pricey, fabulous and, with the best cocktails in London, I was hoping for a drink before we got down to business. On arriving in the bar I gave him a call. He was sat at the bar and waved at me as his phone rang. He looked like a nice guy, probably mid-50s, smartly dressed. He offered me a drink and I ordered a Coffee Black Velvet and then we moved to a more private table. After asking about my trip in it was down to business. He said that he wanted me to be his baby for the evening. I’d be wearing and using nappies and, as a baby, have no ‘agency’ at all. I’d be at the mercy of him as my daddy with the backup of a safe word. If I was comfortable with this he’d pay me for an overnight session. If not we’d have a one-hour session and he’d pay me for two hours. I’d had some experience with the adult baby scene before and it had always been fun, so I agreed to the overnight session. We finished our drinks and I went with him to his room. A “Do Not Disturb” sign was hung from his door handle and as we entered the room I could see why. There were packs of nappies, baby bottles, dummies, and clothes. A changing mat was on the bed and there was a cot in a corner of the room. “I told them that my wife and baby daughter might be here this evening, so they made a cot up for me”. I had to admire his preparations. “Time for your nappy, Louise”.