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Seven, she was, as I recall. The young woman's face, slender and full of heart, and her piercing blue eyes. She was a wonder, a creature of innocence. She held herself close, monitoring every word she dared utter, wanting desperately to know her place in the world. The girl who was a woman. Sarah Cassidy, she was known as. Born overseas, somewhere in Australia, she was taken here with her family to grow up in the concrete jungle we know as New York. I still remember sitting behind her desk, trying to memorize every blonde line that was scattered effortlessly on her shoulders. She was a soft creation, even back then, politely whispering her answers to the teachers. Yes, she was a delicate one, indeed. I recall my memory to that day that she was caught. The girl, sitting legs crossed was bawling her eyes out begging for forgiveness, but our infamous principal would have nothing of it. "You are a strange one, Sarah," he said heartlessly behind that big bushy mustache. "In all my years, I have never seen anything like this." We never found out what she had. That didn't stop the rumors, though. "It's a knife," said red-headed Jimmy. "She's gotta have a knife. My dad reckons it's a knife, and he's always right." "Rubbish," said Julie. "If it were a knife we'd all know. Perhaps it's a cigarette. Considering what old Mickey's been rambling on about at the assemblies recently, it makes sense." There were many other ideas. It seemed like they all had one, each as unique as their lunch boxes. Nobody dared ask, though. The higher graders were daring each other to find out, but we all knew they were too chicken. She was on the monkey bars when I worked up the courage to talk to her. "Hi, Sarah." She was startled. The poor love was more shocked than when the librarian found Tommy's Playboy. "You here to make fun of me, are ya?" "Uh, no, actually. I wanted to... uh... offer... uh... friendship. If you want. I mean, I know what it's like to be alone. Need a friend?" She smiled. "You're funny. What's ya name, mate?" "I-I'm..." "Settle down, you're worse than the jumbucks on shearin' night." "I don't know what that means, but all right. I'm Michael. Your name is Sarah, right?" She nodded. "Have you had lunch? Do you want to, I don't know, have a bite to eat? With me, of course." She giggled and nodded. Yeah, Sarah Cassidy. She was a special kind of girl, as I'd find out. ***************** Out we were, over by the fake tree they planted years ago, well before we were even born. "Where are you from, exactly?" I asked, munching on a stick of celery. "Um, well, Australia, obviously. I was born in this city called Melbourne, but we moved out to the outer suburbs when I was six months old. Mum always tells me about when I was running out in nothing but a nappy through the cow's field." I looked at her in confusion. "Nappies? You know, Huggies and BabyLove? Oh wait, you're American, aren't you? Don't you guys call them diapers over here?" I nodded nervously. "Yeah, that's right. Funny world we live in." She looked blankly into the sky. "Why can't we all just agree on one language, eh? That's what my dad always says. 'Make them politicians do something worthwhile, for once,' he'd say." I just smiled quietly and watched my shoelaces drift in the wind. "What about you? What are your parents like?" she asked kindly, with a crazy grin on her face. "Uh, my... uh... parents are divorced." She turned her face from one of glee to one of sadness. "Too bad, too bad. What's that like? Livin' with ya Mum and Dad in different places?" "Well, She works a lot of the time, and she doesn't see me very often. I think she loves her work more than me. Dad's an architect. He taught me how to build a bridge. I have a special one in my bedroom." "Jeez, I couldn't imagine if Mum left. She'd probably take me, though. She's always calling Dad a pathetic mongrel. Do you think that's bad?" "I don't know. I remember they took me to a lady for help or something, her name was, uh, Mrs Counselor?" She burst out laughing. "What's so funny?" "Counselor isn't a name, ya doofus, it's a job. You know, someone who helps counsel people on their problems? My uncle has to see one. He and Aunt Debbie go to help fix their marriage or somethin'." I nodded in understanding. She waited for me to say something for about a minute, then broke the silence. "Would you like to come over? Mum makes a great roast. Or maybe we'll have some bangers and mash. That's sausages and mashed potatoes, if you don't know." I said yes. "Maybe I can talk to my Dad about it. He might have to come though, he's very careful about who I meet." So I called my father. He was, however, previously engaged in some new design he was working on. He let me go, though, on the requirement that I told him where the house was so he could pick me up at six thirty. Sarah was overjoyed. "Awesome! Mum and Dad will be so happy to meet you. And I have a new friend! You're my friend, Michael! Do you know what that means? It means we can play together. Oh, yes, I have a new doll we can play with! Oh, you'll like her so much! Oh..." ******** The house was small. Not a lot to it, just a box with a second story. Sarah burst through the door first. "Daddy! We're home!" The place was well furnished, though clearly on a small budget. Carpet covered the place, from the kitchen (which was spared a few tiles behind a baby gate) to the staircase at the far end. Toys were scattered all over the floor, from baby blocks to a giant dragon plush in the corner. A small television from the sixties was sitting on a small wooden block in the corner. Sarah's mother guided her upstairs. I tried to follow, but was told to sit down and play games. I opened a box of Monopoly and started pulling out the money. "Woah, woah, there. Watcha' doin' pulling out my cash?" The man was standing on the stairs. "I... I didn't... sorry..." He smiled. "Ah, I'm kidding, buddy. No, feel free to play as you wish." "I... uh... I'm Sarah's friend." "Yeah, I imagined so. Nice to know she's got a friend. I'm her dad. Call me John." He thrusted his hand out and shook my hand hard. "Uh... okay." He got down on his legs. "D'ya know how to play?" "I... no-" I was interrupted by screams from above, Sarah's. She ran downstairs, tears flooding down her face. She was wearing a half-attached diaper around her tiny waist. John grabbed her as she ran past. "Hey, hey, what's wrong, munchkin? Why are you crying?" She sobbed into his blue shirt. "Mummy... she... she hurt me." "Oh, darling. I'm sure she didn't mean it. What happened?" "She... was... changing my nappy... and she... smacked me." She wrapped her arms around her father, drowning herself in tears. "Honey, it's okay, it's okay. Were you naughty? You know Mummy doesn't like you when you're naughty." "No!" The mother came dashing down the stairs, puffing. "I didn't hurt you, Sarah! Settle down!" The little seven year old wrapped her legs around father's hip. He stood up. "What happened, Trix?" "Nothing. She was kicking her legs when I was trying to change her. She kicked my in the tummy and I gave her a swat on her butt. It was soft, Sarah, for goodness sake!" That didn't stop the girl's wailing. She cried and cried, filling her face with as many tears as she could manage. Her father cleared his throat. Sarah calmed down. "Sarah, look at me. Look at me. Okay, now, did you kick Mummy while she was changing your nappy?" She stopped and wiped her eyes. "Yes, daddy." "Okay now. That hurt Mummy, look at her. She was trying to help you. What do you say when you hurt someone?" "Sorry, Mummy." "Good girl. Now go let Mummy finish your nappy, and then we can play." She nodded. John placed her gently on the floor, and she walked up to her mother. She hugged her. "I love you, Mummy." "I love you too, Sarah." They took each other's hand and walked upstairs. A few moments of silence followed. "Why was Sarah wearing a diaper?" I asked her dad. "Mate, it's a long story. Just know she can't control her bladder. Poor girl. The doctor said she could improve, but it's unlikely." "Why?" "She was hurt when she was in her mum's belly. Hurt her head and bladder. Poor little darling. Don't worry though. She's not sick, just hurt. We let her call us Mummy and Daddy, when I guess she should be saying Mum and Dad. Just helps her understand." "Will she get better?" "I don't think I should tell you that. Just promise you won't make fun of her? Please? She's never had a friend before." I looked at the TV. "I promise." "Good man. Now, what do you want to do now?" And that was how I learned about Sarah. She was a strong spirit, even back then. Now I think of her and hope she never loses it. ***************************************** That's the end of Chapter One. I'm planning out to name the chapters after Sarah's age at the point in the story, so this chapter is called 'Seven'. The next one, 'Eleven', is coming as soon as possible. Any advice and constructive criticism is welcome!

Author's Note: Set in England in the recent past, an minor aristocratic family has a rather odd approach to potty training. My first attempt at a diaper story, I hope to keep it short, sweet, and slightly funny. Chapter One I feel, dear reader, that I must bring you up to speed. It has often been observed by our own sort, but more frequently (and, rather obviously) by our observers, that the landed gentry develop idiosyncratic ways. Cooped up, as they often are, in drafty old houses miles from even a mere whiff of civilisation, bizarre microcosms of humanity begin to form. This of course was compounded before the advent of the motorcar, so the prospect of reprieve was so distant that complete acceptance of their lot was pretty much guaranteed. Some formed little languages of their own - I once spent a summer in a Tudor dump up north where the word "peach" was used for so many things I could barely keep track. One of my distant uncles, I'm reliably informed by the man in the pub, started a tradition of shooting at funny shaped clouds every morning at five o'clock. More shockingly, the Preston-Barts in Hampshire are Catholic. Our family, however, is perhaps the most peculiar of them all (N.B. - ought that to be perculairest? Look up later.). Since around about the mid 17th Century - no one is quite sure of the date - almost all of our family have returned to nappies pretty sharpish after they were so unjustly taken from us. Indeed, so common is this circumstance that when the 6th Baronet demolished the family home to rebuild it in the Georgian style, he neglected to add any toilets. Of course, the attempt to potty train is still made, although the lack of alternative facilities makes this really part of the whole dance. I was around five when I was taken out of nappies in the day, and about six when I was taken out of them at night. I was soon whisked off to school, and, only returning to the old place a few times a year, was mostly using the W of C as one might expect. I did still, however, wet the bed, perhaps once or twice a week, but by summer term of my second year, that too subsided. A few cycles of the heavens later, as that chap from Greece might have said, I was facing a rather long stretch in the house over summer. My father usually took us off to Italy in the nicer months, but having lost a fair bit on a rather extravagant bet involving a friendly game of chess and an absurd amount of rice, it was safe to say he didn't have the oomph that particular year. So, at they joyful age of 12, I was stuck in that rotten place with no one near my age except my older sister, Ethel. Ethel had just turned eighteen, and was ghastly. Although I'm not certain what exactly a ghast is like, she was certainly like one. So it was that one morning about two weeks into my incarceration that I was lying on my stomach in the drawing room pretending to practice my Latin grammar, when really drawing rather vicious caricatures of my house masters at school. Ethel was curled up in an armchair reading "The Arabic Princess" and padded up to the nines in nappies. She had only spent about a year out of them, as it happens, at age fourteen, and was dreadfully engrossed in her book; made even more apparent by the growing wet patch between her legs. As I lay there attempting to recall the precise shape and nature of Mr Mulch's nose, I suddenly felt as though a small switch had been flicked in my brain. I couldn't tell then what the switch was controlling, but rather soon it made itself very clear. I noticed, one rapidly after the other, a pressure in my bladder and bowels. I very quickly filled my underwear with those respective contents, continuing to examine the visual faculties of noses as I did so. Now, it wasn't as though it had snuck up on me, as it does when one wets the bed, nor was it that I had made a conscious effort to empty myself, but more that I simply no longer cared. Ethel, ghastly as ever, didn't notice my change in state, but to be fair, I barely did either. It wasn't until mother came in to call us for lunch that I was discovered. Mother squealed in delight - "I knew you'd come round, dear. Let's pop upstairs, shall we?". I was, waddling slightly, led up to my room, where, after asking the maid for supplies, mother and I opened my chest of drawers and formed a pile of my underwear on the bedspread. "I shan't expect I'll be needing these anymore," I informed her with a hint of triumph in my voice. The maid soon returned with supplies - a vast quantity of nappies, talcum powder and flannels, a changing mat and waterproof mattress cover - and took away my underwear to be disposed of. I was thereafter changed into a nappy for the first time in six years, and followed mother down to lunch. Chapter Two A decade later, at the ripe old age of twenty-two, brings us up to just before now. I was rattling up the drive in my new car, pretty chuffed with the world. I shifted my weight in my soaked nappy as I changed gear, and felt thankful for the modern marvel of synthetic leather - I'd had the car reupholstered in it, by the same chaps in Florence who make our changing mats. Much had changed in the intervening ten years, although mostly along the obvious path, but not so much re: the nappy situation, although no one would really expect it to. I did relatively well in my schooling exams, and went up to Oxford to read Art History. Never had much trouble about the choice of underwear, but then again my family's habit was well known even amongst those who didn't know me, and so it was let slide. After all, Peeker Preston-Barts was a Catholic! So I graduated with a Third Class Honours, which was to be expected, and spent a while hanging around Europe. It was there I met a corker of a woman - Cherry Otherington. You see, it wasn't just an overfull nappy that accompanied me up the drive, but the delight that was Cherry herself. I'm not one for gushing, but she was certainly very pretty. Not particularly tall - definitely not in the vein of a Michelangelo - but if I were to stretch the sculptural analogy, much more suited to a bust, if you hop on my drift. A small blonde bob topped the whole thing off, like a... Well, like a cherry, I suppose. We pulled up outside the house and the footmen, a fair number of them new, scurried away our luggage, and, shortly, the car. Mother met us over the threshold, beaming. "I hope you had a pleasant journey," she said, "and you must be Cherry, oh how lovely it is to meet you at last!". "It's lovely to see you too, Ma," I failed to reply. "Now," she continued, "We're just about to serve tea in the conservatory; do either of you need a change?" Cherry, after a flash of bemusement sent my way, diplomatically replied, "No, I think these clothes will be fine 'til the evening, if that's alright with you?". "Don't be silly!" Mother replied, "Do you need to change your nappy? - I know I do, I was just too excited waiting for you!". A further and more intense glance of bemusement was pinged my way, this time by both women; a veritable barrage of pinging. "Oh I know this old chap does," Cherry returned, "But I have been free from nappies since I was about four, thank you." "Well I'm not sure I would call it a freedom, Cherry, but you might struggle here. This house is rather lacking in the way of toilets. I imagined my son would have informed you!" Mother batted back, her English temperament almost straining at the leash. "I'm sure I'll be fine," my corker replied, before finally turning her attention to me, "Come on, you need a change though, don't you? Let's get that sorted and then come down for tea." The situation not so much de-escalted as hovering in mid air, we moved toward the staircase, and I let my soon to be removed nappy fill with poo. Mother briskly, although with slightly apart legs, called a maid for assistance in a ground-floor changing room. Once upstairs, like a cheap tailor, I attempted to patch things up with Cherry. "Look here," I said, as she removed my filled nappy, "I don't want you and Mother getting off on the wrong foot, but you should be alright with the lack of toilets; there's one in the gamekeeper's cottage at the back of the south garden." "Oh thank you, darling," she replied whilst applying copious amounts of talcum powder, "but I think I shall be alright until tomorrow." She patted my now fresh nappy and handed me my trousers, after which we made our way back down the staircase at to tea. The rest of the day passed rather smoothly - I took a brief leave to change Ethel, now slightly less ghastly, as she was as ever engrossed in a book and demanded not to be disturbed. Dinner was tremendous - the wine flowed much as wine does when it does flow - and we were all, I dare say, getting pretty squiffy in the drawing room at around ten. Cherry, due perhaps to her non-Michaelangelo stature, was really rather drunk, and so took some herbal tea to sober up. Ethel, having finished her book, was now repeating the entire plot to an audience who were so un-captive that 'bored out of their sculls' would hardly cut it. Cherry, after sitting quiet for a while and appearing as though she was gently dodging invisible fish, leaned over and whispered in my ear. "I say, I've just had the most peculiar sensation - like a switch being flicked!". No sooner as she had finished speaking, the sound well known in our house - that of a stream of pee against the enameled floor - gently lifted itself through the air. "Darling," she continued with no hint of sorrow, "I think I've had an accident". I do mean to continue this, but, If I don't, I hope that was satisfactory. Comments appreciated.

First off almost all stories that I've heard or read from other AB/DL's have some sort of story as to how they came to be an AB/DL.

This is not what you might call "fap material", I have some more "fappy" stories in my mind that I MIGHT write in the future but not yet... NOT yet. At the moment I'm bored and I've decided to write this thing that has been going through my head for a couple of months now. Only 1% of it is based in real facts and I only have parts of it, I'm not even sure if I know how I want it to end, or if it even has an actual ending but well, also english is not my native language so please if you are going to critisize my grammar and stuff like that please be polite about it >_< . Here goes nothing...

http://nannygoat.smackjeeves.com/comics/234027/nanny-horse-1/stumbled across this after falling down

Prologue: Steven is a 19 old teen who moved out from his parents house, and is living in a futuristic smart house named (S.A.M.H=Smart Automated Mainstream Home), or Sara as Steven calls her for short for Samantha. Steven is a AB/DL, and gets more than what he bargains for. CAUTION THERE MAY OR MAY NOT BE SOME KISSING BETWEEN TEENS BOYS IN THIS STORY DEPENDING ON HOW I FEEL WHAT IS NEEDED ~~~~ Hi my name is Steven, I live in this cool home after I hit the lottery, but I still work to have a social I've with others, this is my story of how I became a AB instead of only a DL. ---- Chapter 1 I was browsing through my computer downloading some photos from some abdl websites when I heard a knock at my door. I locked the folder and cleared my information before I went to the door to see who it was. When I opened the door there was a delivery man holding a few blue boxes. Previously I had ordered my first abdl clothing and diapers online, I ordered 7 onesies for each day of the week and a year supply of bambino and molicare 4 diapers, also some adult pacifiers and bottles. I wasn't interested in being babied I just knew when I saw them online I had to have then, and wanted to wear them so I ordered them through American Express 1-3 days. "Can you sign here please". The delivery man asked as he held out a pen "Sure thing". I chuckled and smiled I signed the forms and carried the boxes in my home I put them in the kitchen. First thing I wanted to do was get a picture of myself so I grabbed the camera from the counter and walked back into the kitchen. "Sara can you activate baby feeding mode". I asked as I placed the camera on the tripod and set it to go off in 15 minutes. "But sir you have no babies present". "I know, override that command". I said as I waved my hand. The floor opened up and a highchair came up and baby food materialized on the counter. "Sara can you make the highchair bigger". "How much bigger do you want it". "Big enough to fit me". I said as the highchair grew higher and wider to adjust to my size and weight. "Is that good enough Steven". Sam asked over the room speakers. "Yea that's fine". I said as I looked over to the camera and saw 10 minutes left. I grabbed the diapers, the onesies and a pacifier and ran up the stairs to my room as my door dematerialized and rematerialized as I stepped through the other side. I inserted all of the diapers and onesies into my clothes sorter and programmed all the diapers to go in with my underwear and briefs and my onesies to go with my footed pajamas and regular nightwear I ordered a few weeks ago. I stepped into the foggy class cylinder and programmed the diapers and onesie to be put onto me. A glowing green light sized me up as it traveled up to my neck back down to my feet as the clothes materialized over my body. The doors disappeared as I stepped out and the the changing cylinder went back into the floor compartment. I stepped out as the full mirror came out of the wall as I looked at myself. I was wearing a onesie with Spider-Man on them and a tell, tell bulge showing my diapered butt to be padded well. I grabbed the pacifier and I ran downstairs into the kitchen, the timer had 3 minutes left on it. I climbed into the highchair and sat down inside. "Sara lock me in the highchair so I can't get out". I said around the pacifier but she seemed to understand. I posed as the camera took a couple of pictures of me in the highchair, after the camera stopped clicking and flashing I took my pacifier out. "Ok Sara you can let me out now". I said with a satisfied grin of the pictures. I heard a error noise and the highchair didn't unlock. "Sara can you let me out now". I said trying to get out but it was to tight. "I'm sorry Steven but you said to lock you in so you can get out" "Sara let me out now". I said thrashing to get out. "BABY OUT OF CONTROL" I looked puzzled as I felt something pinch my thigh as everything started to go dark.

hey all, been dealing with a bit of a writer's block thinking of ideas for a 101 Dalmatians diaper story. I want it to involve at least one of the pups involved in a situation involving said pup being diapered.

What is the sort of things in a story are you a sucker for or have any of you ever wrote a story with the things that you are a sucker for

Hey what's up guys! I'm new.. obviously.. I've delayed signing up to this for so long. but here I am.. so, everyone cool should hit me up so I can have a great experience on this site!

When I have trouble coming up with characters things like their personalities and such can anyone recommend a character generator for creating Female characters that involves them being a mum

I was thinking about something is it easy to make up a story from scratch and what I mean by this is that is it easy making up a story out of thin air

Seeing that we enjoy writing stories it got me thinking about something, What is everyone's favourite things about writing a story and what is it about writing a story that everyone really likes the most

I'm thinking about editing my stories and I don't mean on here but the type of editing that in titles rewriting it improving the lay out. polishing it and that sort of thing. so does anyone know any good online story editers that automatically fix any Grammer mistakes etc

you know in my story Teenage baby I'm thinking about changing Amanda's dome ring to something else and here is the ring that I want her to wear. But I don't know how to best describe it. Here is a picture of the ring that I want to use

Seeing that there is already a favourite stories topic I thought that I start this up. So out of all the stories that you have read and out of all the caregivers whather it's a Mum, babysitter or anyother caregiver who is your favourite and why?

seeing that the stories that I'd posted so far have got normal size babies in so I have decided to try my hand at writing an ABDL story I have already got an basic idea buzzing round my head and it's going to be about a man who is the same size and height as a normal baby and he get's treated like one his wife, girlfriend I hadn't really decided who he has to call mummy. I'm going to have her a sweet, loving and caring sort but I'm not sure whether or not to have her be a bit mean to him at times. I'm not going to put any thing like him being humiliated in anyway for that isn't really my thing

Can anyone please help me, I want to do a story about a cartoon baby that lives in the real world with his live action mum, But I don't know where to start or what the plot should be, such as what the cartoon baby looks like, how old he should be, what his mum looks like

So here is yet another story of an AB/DL explaining to a loved one about their fetish, I'm sure you all have seen a thousand other threads about it and this one isn't very different, but if you do want to know my experience then continue.