bellymelly23

[bellymelly23]

Unpotty-Training: The Locked Door

The lock clicked the moment the door closed behind her.

That soft metallic snick so quiet, so automatic, so final, was the only sound she ever heard from the door. No keys. No creaking hinges. No turning knobs. Just the cold, casual certainty that she was sealed in, one more day.

The room greeted her with its pastel pink walls and oversized nursery décor, mockingly sweet like frosting on a bitter cake. Everything had been designed for someone her size but not her age. The crib was huge, with tall bars and soft bedding in cheerful yellows and lavenders. She could climb in and out on her own, but only just. And she did—every single night.

There was a small sink in the corner, mounted low and round with a pink plastic toothbrush that had her name, Cora, stuck in bright foam letters on the handle. Just Cora. No last name. No memory of one. No memory of arriving here.

Each morning, the little fridge hummed softly by the wall, full again. Its contents were always the same: toddler meals in squeezable pouches, diced fruits in syrupy cups, soft sandwiches in crustless halves, juice in sippy cups with animal faces. Comfort food. toddler food. Nothing she could cook. Nothing she could use to feel big.

And beneath the changing table—ugh, her changing table—was the stack. A fat, neat row of thick, crinkly diapers, their pastel prints bright and infantile. She didn’t count them anymore. She knew better. Somehow, there were always enough.

The air smelled faintly of powder and lavender detergent. The floor was soft, covered in thick foam mats with ABC patterns. There were bins with toys: a shape sorter, big plastic keys, a bead maze. A few board books stacked by the corner near the fluffy bunny she’d stupidly named Lulu.

“Don’t say it,” Cora muttered aloud as she passed the bunny, its felt ears folded over like it was eavesdropping. “Don’t say it.”

But she did glance at it. Then, blushing, stooped to straighten Lulu’s ribbon.

Her padded steps crinkled softly as she crossed to the fridge. She opened it slowly, already knowing what she’d find. Three meals. A few sippies. Neatly arranged. No notes. No clues. Just like always.

It had been… how long now?

She didn’t know. Time passed differently here. No clocks. No windows. Just that warm ambient light that dimmed each evening and brightened in the morning. She’d tried carving tally marks once, on the crib rail but by morning, they were gone. Scrubbed clean. Someone, or something, was watching.

She settled onto the floor with a sigh, pulling out a grape-juice sippy cup. She hated how it made her feel, holding it with both hands, sucking gently, like it was perfectly normal.

As she sipped, her legs spread slightly without her noticing, the padding between them thicker now squishy, warm.

She stilled.

Her free hand moved automatically, pressing against the diaper’s front. It gave slightly under her fingers. Soft. Damp. Not soaked yet, but definitely wet. She groaned.

“No, no, no…”

This was the second time today.

At night? Sure. That she’d accepted. Every morning now, she woke up in a soggy diaper, the damp warmth and bloated bulk no longer even surprising. She still hated it, but it was routine. Predictable. Almost passive.

But now, she was having daytime accidents.

That was new. That was terrifying.

She tried to remember the moment it happened but there was nothing. She hadn’t felt the urge. Hadn’t realized anything was happening. Her body had just… let go. Without asking. Without warning.

She set down the sippy and stared at the door. Her breath came quicker.

“Who are you?” she whispered again. “What do you want from me?”

Silence.

The fridge buzzed quietly. The foam mat creaked under her shifting weight.

She stood up slowly, waddling slightly from the bulk of her diaper. It was usable. It wasn’t leaking. Not even close. She didn’t need to change. Not yet.

She could put it off. Pretend everything was fine. That this wasn’t happening. That she wasn’t losing control.

Her eyes drifted to the mirror above the sink just tall enough to show her face, chest, and the slight peek of the diaper beneath her pastel shirt. The cartoon animals stared back at her. So cheerful. So oblivious.

“I don’t need to change,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. “It can hold more.”

But the fact that she had to tell herself that…

She glanced at the changing table. The wipes were still in their container. The stack of fresh diapers sat untouched beneath, lined up like soft white reminders of how far she’d fallen. They were always just there. No one left them out for her. No caretaking hands. No gentle instructions. Just the expectation that she’d handle it.

That she’d know when to.

She crossed the room instead, sitting heavily onto the padded mat. It squelched slightly beneath her. She winced.

“I didn’t even feel it,” she murmured.

That, more than anything, was what scared her.

She remembered her first few days here desperate to hold it. Legs clenched tight, eyes screwed shut, curled in the corner with a burning bladder. She would fight it for hours. And if she lost… well, she knew she’d lost. She’d sobbed. Screamed. Slammed her fists against the mat in humiliation.

But now… she just leaked.

And the worst part?

Part of her didn’t mind.

The warmth. The lack of effort. The way the diaper hugged her hips, kept it contained, made it easier to just let go and move on.

She hugged her knees, chin resting between them. The diaper rustled under her, and the sound echoed in the still room.

“This isn’t me…” she whispered. “This isn’t who I am…”

But the voice was small. Unsure.

She stood slowly and looked at the changing table again.

Just change, Cora. Be clean. Be dry. Pretend this never happened.

But she didn’t move.

Because she didn’t need to change. Not yet.

Instead, she waddled to the shelf and pulled down a board book: “Colors with Cookie the Cat.”

She settled back on the mat, the squish between her legs oddly comforting now, the plush bunny within arm’s reach.

Each page was simple. Red is for apples. Blue is for the sky. Yellow is for bananas.

Her hand crept up without thinking, pressing the front of her diaper again. Still warm. Still damp. Still wearable.

The book was way to easy. But it was there. Something to focus on.

And the quiet stretched. Peaceful. Gentle. A routine she didn’t ask for but had accepted, even embraced in moments like this.

Until it happened again.

A sudden heat. A slow spreading warmth. Her breath caught and she froze.

No warning. No urge. Just another accident.

Her eyes widened in horror.

“…I didn’t know I had to go,” she whispered.

She was wetting. Fully. Sitting cross-legged, awake, and soaking her diaper like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“No no no no—”

But it was done. And her diaper swelled under her, sagging slightly at the crotch.

She dropped the book. Scrambled to her feet. The squelch was louder now. The smell barely there, but real. Tangy. Embarrassing.

This one… this one needed changing.

Her cheeks burned. Her heart pounded.

She waddled to the changing table, hands shaking. She didn’t cry. Not this time. She just felt… numb.

She reached under, pulled a clean diaper from the stack, then the wipes. No fanfare. No reward. No judgment. Just… her. Handling it.

She climbed up and lay back. The lights above were soft. Warm. Nonjudgmental.

She opened the tapes. Peeled back the shell. Wiped. Powdered. Folded. Taped.

She did it all silently.

And when she slid down from the table, clean and dry again, she saw it.

The screen on the wall flickered on.

“Unpotty-Training Progress: 65%”

Her breath caught. Her hands curled at her sides.

“Fifty-five,” she whispered. “I’m… more than halfway.”

The screen flickered again.

Then went dark.

She turned slowly and looked at the crib. Her crib.

The sheets were turned down, already waiting.

And in the silence of the room, the only sound was the soft rustle of her clean diaper as she walked toward it.

[bellymelly23]

Entirely incapable

You only meant to be gone a minute.

The package on the porch looked innocent enough. But when Mrs. Tisdale caught you on your way back in, you couldn’t just brush her off, twenty minutes later, after a long-winded chat about HOA flowerpots and her new rescue cat, you finally escape. You laugh at yourself as you reach for the nursery door, only to freeze the moment you see her.

She’s exactly where you left her.

Laying flat on her back on the changing table, legs bent just a little. Pacifier gently bobbing in her mouth, eyes wide and distant. Her cheeks are pink, but not from embarrassmen. Just waiting. Patiently. Trusting. Her freshly cleaned skin glows under the soft light, and the thick, white diaper still lays open beneath her hips. Untouched. Unfastened. The tapes haven’t moved an inch.

You stare at her. “Sweetheart… you didn’t put your diaper on?”

She sucks her paci harder and shakes her head, just once.

It hits you in that moment not just how long she’s been regressed, but how deep she’s fallen. How much she’s come to rely on you for everything. Taping a clean diaper should’ve been a simple task, something she could’ve managed. But looking at her now, eyes glassy with that faraway little space haze… she’s not just waiting.

She’s incapable.

She simply couldn’t do it.

You step forward, letting your hand settle gently on her tummy. Her skin nice and warm, faintly smelling of powder and lotion. The sight tugs at something deep in your chest. “Oh, baby…” you murmur, lowering your voice to that quiet, syrupy tone she loves, “you really do need Daddy for everything now, huh?”

Her answer is a soft, barely audible whine behind her pacifier, followed by the faintest squirm as she sinks further into the table’s padding. You slide the diaper up, snug and secure, pulling the tapes tight one at a time. Her body doesn’t resist. She doesn’t try to help. She’s still—peaceful. You realize she’s gone totally pliant under your touch, as if even holding her legs up would be too big a job for her little brain now.

When the final tape smooths down, you tuck your hand under her back and lift her gently into your arms. She melts into you instantly, arms looping around your neck in that clumsy way she does when she’s deep in her little space. Her head finds its familiar spot on your shoulder. You feel the soft puff of her breath, slow and heavy.

You lower into the rocking chair and pull the fuzzy blanket over both of you, cradling her in your lap. Her fresh diaper crinkles faintly as she shifts, nuzzling against your chest. You brush her hair behind her ear, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” you whisper. “You don’t have to worry about anything. Daddy’s here. And Daddy’s not going anywhere.”

She doesn’t say a word but the way she sighs, the way she clutches tighter to you with her warm, helpless little body… that says everything.

She’s yours. Entirely.

And you’ll make sure she never has to grow up again.

[bellymelly23]

The First Surrender

She always savored this moment when the struggle was still fresh, when the mind hadn’t yet cracked all the way. The new girl on the table was no exception. Bound at the wrists and ankles, silenced behind a thick red ball gag, she still believed she had some say in the matter. That belief made everything so much sweeter.

The nurse’s gloves crinkled as she smoothed the front of the girl’s diaper, freshly taped and whisper-white. For now. It wouldn’t be long. She could already feel the tremble in the girl’s belly, the squirming tension in her hips. The formula always worked faster when the subject was resisting, like the body wanted to prove the mind wrong. Her favorite kind of rebellion: doomed from the start.

Leaning close, she cooed into the girl’s ear. “Oh, sweetie… you’re trying so hard to hold it, aren’t you?” The girl screamed into the gag, muscles tight, forehead damp with strain. That sharp, intelligent mind so proud, so scared still fought to stay above it all. As if clenching thighs and gritted teeth could stop what was coming. As if anything could.

A low, wet gurgle betrayed her. Then another. The nurse smiled and palmed the front of the diaper again, feeling it expand ever so slightly with the first betraying tinkles. “Good girl,” she whispered, voice like velvet, “let it all out. You’re almost home.”

And then it happened, full and sudden. The sharp gasp through the gag, the desperate arch of her back, the diaper swelling with soft crackles and squishes beneath her. It was always the same expression when they crossed that line: horror, relief, disbelief.

The nurse stroked her hair as she whimpered and sagged against the restraints. “First one’s always the hardest, baby. But they get easier. Especially once your brain catches up to your tush.” She patted the warm, bulging padding, already browning at the edges. “Give it a few weeks. You won’t even flinch.”

[bellymelly23]

hey kiddo, it’s late, what’s wrong? Can’t sleep? Do you want daddy’s special trick to help little ones fall asleep?

The only way this trick works is if you stay quiet okay? I know it hurts at first, that’s why I’m holding your throat so tight, to help you keep quiet

See? You can barely keep your eyes open. Just enjoy that warm feeling in your tummy and that nice stretched sensation while daddy holds your throat till you go to sleep

[bellymelly23]

my biggest dream is to be the only girl in a group full of guys and they all get me really high and use my holes like a fleshlight >-<

[bellymelly23]

Part 1 of 2

[bellymelly23]

need desperately to be degraded and used. “oh, bunny, you’re just so little and dumb. let me do the thinking and just take it, okay?” while they rail their strap into my abused cunt.

[bellymelly23]

Someone slept in her first wet diaper last night 🤤 I was so proud of her, we woke up and did changies before the appointment and daddy made sure to reward her ^_^

[bellymelly23]

Daddy noooo 🥺

I’m not tired at all soo I don’t need a nap 🐇🥱

Onesie: @onesiesdownunder

Diapie: @abu

[bellymelly23]

peeing in diapers is hot but not in an "adult baby" way, more like a "im not supposed to be going to the bathroom here but im doing it anyway and nobody knows"

alternatively, what if someone does know? not like a stranger or anything, but someone who knows u wear diapers. the teasing that can come with it is...oh my goodness...😵‍💫😵‍💫

like just a simple "u goin potty?" would do SO much for me if i was actively wetting a diaper😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

[bellymelly23]

Hot, older therapist who gets hard beneath his slacks when i admit how hyper sexual i am and how i’m always rubbing or thinking about being fucked. Telling him my disgusting fantasies, asking if this makes me a horrible person and him convincing me it’s normal, knowing he’s touching himself as I’m crying and confessing to him 

[bellymelly23]

sex is when you need to pee and you decide to hold it while rubbing your clit. hit reblog

[bellymelly23]

my favourite omo trope has got to be when they keep trying to hold with all their might even past the point of no return.

when they’re squeezing their legs together as tight as they can, leaning forward, panting, fighting the urge and still leak, because their body simply can’t take it anymore.

when they’ve become fully unable to complete the task they were dead set on finishing cause all their attention has to be focused on holding it, but are still denying themselves a break.

when their exhausted muscles are quivering so bad they can’t even tell half the time a drop or two escapes them.

when they’ve leaked and it’s visible, they can’t pretend they haven’t, but keep holding.

when they’re actively leaking, definitely past the point of accident, but keep trying to hold it in. grabbing themselves, squeezing, humping their hand, a pillow, anything, shifting and wiggling around, cursing under their breath and desperately trying to wrestle back control, even tho even time they do it’s only a few seconds before they leak some more.

when their hands are busy so all they can do to hold is dance and squirm and jump in place, even as they feel spurts slowly escaping.

when they’re in front of the toilet but it’s too late already, they’ve spurted down their leg, and yet they keep trying to hold it and undo their pants as once.

when holding turns them on and they started masturbating, and they underestimated how much they drank, so now they’re desperately trying to finish before they fully lose it, but every frantic movement comes with a jolt of pleasure and another warm hiss between their legs.

[bellymelly23]

little princess potty pants

[bellymelly23]

Diapers were invented to be full :)

(not me in the vid :) )

[bellymelly23]

[bellymelly23]

My friend gave me one of the new kiddos diapers to try out and I’m in LOVEEEE🥰🥰