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A Woman's Place - Part 1

Sam is such a silly girl. She thinks that a woman can do anything a man can do, and she doesn’t like it when her boyfriend treats her like a stupid child. It’s a good thing he has a special video to show her, something that will help her learn her rightful place.

***

“What’s in the bags?” Sam asked her boyfriend as they walked home together. She’d been out with her girlfriends for brunch (that new vegan place in town), and James had been out doing some shopping.

“It’s a secret,” he’d told her, smiling mysteriously and winking. “You’ll find out soon.”

A present? Sam eyed the bags. They looked quite full. Maybe this was James’ way of trying to make up for the arguments they’d been having recently. Sam didn’t consider herself a superficial girl by any means, but if her boyfriend had bought her some cute new clothes, then it could hardly hurt.

As always, it was her career they’d argued about. Sam was spending most of her time at work lately. It was exhausting, but it wasn’t as if she didn’t enjoy it. She liked how it felt to earn money for herself, to be financially independent – not like some stupid brat clinging onto a man’s arm. Women like that were no more than children, she thought, just little girls who never stopped being dependent on their “Daddies”, whether it was their fathers of their husbands.

But James kept insisting it was bad for her health to work so many hours, and once he’d even suggested that she’d be much happier if she spent her days at home instead, if she just let him “take care of her”.

She’d exploded at him over that one. She loved her boyfriend, but she wasn’t some silly, frilly housewife who’d greet him at the door with a curtsey and the promise of a home-cooked meal. She wasn’t a little girl who needed looking after. She was a strong, independent, capable career woman, and James would just have to accept that if he wanted to be with her.

The two of them were almost home when they bumped into James’ friend Daniel. There was something about Daniel’s expression that annoyed her – the way his eyes sparkled as they flicked from her to James, like he was laughing at some private joke.

“Hey,” said James easily. “How are things with you and Liz?”

There was something about James’s tone that Sam didn’t like either. It was that same supressed amusement.

“Really good,” Daniel grinned. Again, those sparkling eyes flitted from James to her and back again. “She’s been in a much better mood lately.”

Sam had to supress a smirk. She’d never liked Daniel, and she knew for a fact that Liz was planning to break up with him soon. That would wipe the amusement off his face. Liz was her best friend, just like Daniel was James’s, but what she’d ever seen in Daniel, Sam had never understood.

James laughed. “That’s good to hear. And do you have…?”

“Got it here,” Daniel replied, and he passed James something that looked like a DVD case.

“Thanks,” said James. “I’d better get going then. I’ve just been shopping, and I’m eager to get it all home.”

“I bet,” said Daniel, the corners of his mouth twitching. “I’ll see both of you around. James, Sammy.” He nodded at each of them, and walked away with that smirk still playing around his lips.

Sam scowled. She hated being called Sammy. Sammy was a little girl’s name.

Her eyes turned to the DVD case James was slipping into one of his shopping bags. A porno? If it was, she was going to be furious. But before she could start asking questions, James had hurried her over to their front door, whispering, “Come on, sweetheart. I think you’re going to love what I got for you.”

Slightly suspicious, Sam allowed herself to be led into the house. If that bag had some ridiculous fetishy costume in it for her to wear, then she’d be giving her boyfriend a piece of her mind. Some sexy lingerie would be okay, but if he wanted her to prance about in a schoolgirl outfit or something…

But James wasn’t even opening the bags. Instead, he’d taken out the DVD case and was in the process of inserting it into the player.

“Take a seat on the sofa, baby,” he said, and Sam bristled a little at the slightly patronising way he’d drawn out the last word. Baby.

But she’d made up her mind to humour him. After all, if he actually had got her some thoughtful present, if he really was trying to apologise for arguing with her about her ambitions, then she didn’t want to spoil it by getting angry over something like this. She’d just have a word with him later, she thought, as she took a seat on the sofa. I’m not a baby, James. Women aren’t children. I’d appreciate it if you could be a little less infantilising from now on, okay?

Then James stepped back from the TV, and a title came onto the screen. A Woman’s Place.

“A woman’s… What the hell is this?” Sam demanded. “What’s… what’s…” But she trailed off, her mouth hanging slightly open as she stared at the screen.

“That’s a good girl,” her boyfriend said gently, as a tinkling music filled the room, and the screen shone with a strange, swirling light. “Watch your pretty program.”

Then short clips began to flash in front of her, one after the other. A woman in a stylish dress, laughing and drinking from a glass of Champagne. Then that same woman again, but this time her dress had been swapped for a skimpy maid’s uniform, and she was bending over doing the polishing without any panties, flashing her bare pussy at the camera. Sam’s eyes went wide.

Then another women was on the screen, arguing with her husband. But in the next clip, she was over her husband’s knee with her bright red bottom facing up, crying and wailing and kicking her legs while he spanked her forcefully.

Next, an elegantly dressed woman posing for a model shoot. But moments later, she was dressed in a pair of slutty shorts and a tank top. Her face was done up like a whore and, grinning dimly, she was holding up her brand-new pair of silicon-filled tits for the camera to see.

On and on it went. Sam tried to tear her eyes away, to speak, to do anything, but it was as though her body was frozen in place. What was going on?! All she could do was sit there blankly on the sofa, staring at the screen in front of her. A lawyer became a stripper dancing around a pole. A professor became a hooker standing on a street corner. Sam noticed that many of the women seemed to be high-status. There was a handsome, middle-aged woman in a pantsuit who might have been a CEO, shouting at a group of men seated before her. But then she was tottering around the office in heels, dressed in a ridiculous schoolgirl uniform, giggling vapidly while the men wolf-whistled and pinched her bottom as she passed.

Sam felt sick. Taking a successful woman and reducing her to something like that repulsed her, but even worse than the ones where women were reduced to sex objects were the ones where they were infantilised in some way as well – and as she watched, her eyes glued to the screen, those clips only became more and more frequent.

A serious-faced woman in casual-wear became an overgrown little girl in a frilly pink frock, complete with braces and a pair of high pigtails. She was clutching a teddy-bear tightly, and her expression was full of dim-witted happiness. A businesswoman in a well-tailored suit was striding about an office, examining paperwork. But then she was toddling around an oversized nursery instead, and she was naked but for a frilly bonnet, a small bib that did nothing to hide her sizeable breasts, and a thick adult diaper sagging between her legs. A woman playing on the playground, a woman crying like a two-year-old because she’d dropped her ice cream, a woman sitting in a highchair with her face covered in baby food, a woman squatting down on a toddler’s potty, a woman lying on her back in the middle of a nappy change – all in between occasional returns to women dressed as maids or whores or ditzy little housewives. Then Sam felt a sense of terrible horror as the video ended, quite suddenly, on a still picture of her own smiling face.

A wave of dizziness rushed over her. The tinkling music grew louder and louder, and the pretty lights sparkled and shone more brightly as Sam stared into her own face on the screen. It felt as though the music was filling her head, the lights shining through her eyes and into her skull. Her vision blurred, and she felt a sensation of falling, as though she’d been pitched forwards head first into the screen, deeper and deeper into the swirling colours.

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Hi all, and happy July! In case you didn't know, I write kinky diaper smut and commissions – occasionally here on Tumblr, but more often over on my Ream.

It's been a heck of a long time since I did a special event for y'all, but that's about to change. So hang on to your diapered butts!

The Premise

This month, I'm going to publish a four-part series of stories on Ream, plus a connected set of four captions here on Tumblr. They're going to tell the story of a nasty, rich dude who opens a competition and lures adult women in to participate, only to humiliate and regress them for his sadistic pleasure.

If you think this guy is being a jerk, you'd be right! So that's where you come in. If you want to help turn the tables on him, read further!

How to Participate

Starting from July 27 to August 2, you can take your revenge on the writer! I'll be barred from ANY grown-up potty usage WHATSOEVER during that period. On top of that, every bit of participation from y'all will make my lot even worse by adding "modifiers": randomly selected extra requirements or punishments! For example, hypnosis files, having to drink a certain amount… even one very diabolical one before bedtime. 😅 And of course, I'll be offering updates throughout the period on Ream for your voyeuristic, sadistic pleasure.

So here's how we'll handle it:

Every new follower on the PaddedLittleParadise Ream between July 1 and July 31 = one new modifier for a day

Every 25 likes of this post = one new modifier for a day

Every 10 reblogs of this post = one new modifier for a day

So what do you y'all think? If you like diaper stories and ALSO want to have fun regressing a random stranger on the internet (with consent), then give it a whirl!

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reuploading this since the last one got taken down

catgirl gets a new skirt :3

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Here it is folks, new  animated MAL short, "Stress Relief" 

Mona talks a big game on how she deals with stress, and unwind, but in actuality, she just a big baby who needs some attention from her Mama to help her relax after a long week of work, that attention being, "tummy time"

Support on subscribestar to support more content and get exclusive access! ---> https://subscribestar.adult/red-moda <----

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The Woman in My Head - Part 2

(Part 1 is here)

My fingers trembled as I hooked my thumbs inside the waistband of my pants, dropping them to the floor of my bedroom. I couldn’t stop myself, I couldn’t convince my hands to disobey the voice that’d taken over, I could only strip one layer of clothing away at a time until I stood naked in my room.

Discomfort flooded me as my boxers fell to the floor, and I heard something like sympathy from the voice as she shared in my disquieting nudity. (I’m sorry about this.) 

“Then stop,” I pleaded.

(I’m not that sorry. It’s for your own good.) 

I stepped to my bed, where the package of pink women’s diapers sat waiting to be worn. Under the voice’s control, I ripped open the plastic packaging and took out a diaper, turning it over in my hands. The plastic backing crinkled softly under my fingertips, soft and smooth and charged with static. 

Unfolding the diaper out on the bed, I smoothed it with a strange sense of care, spreading it out into an hourglass as though I were laying out a blanket for a baby. I checked the tapes to ensure nothing had stuck to itself or folded over oddly, then I creased the padding down the middle to fluff it up. 

(You’re going to be a good baby,) the voice explained. (And you’re not going to argue. Understood?) 

“If anyone sees me like this, I…I don’t even know what I’ll do.” I stammered. Positioning myself, I laid down on top of the diaper, adjusting it so that it sat evenly beneath my waist. 

(You won’t do anything.)

“You’re going to let me go, right?” I demanded, pushing up onto my elbows. The moment of resistance only lasted for a moment, and I flopped back down onto my back almost instantly so that I could focus on pulling the diaper up between my hips. Pulling it over my nakedness, I smoothed it out, then held things in place with one hand while I tugged on the tapes with the other. “You can’t just…control me forever. I won’t let you!” 

(Ugh, I should have expected brat behavior. No, I won’t be here forever, just…stop squirming.) 

The diaper sat around my hips, snug and secure, and I stared down at it, shame and uncertainty washing away any coherent thoughts.

I looked ridiculous. A grown man wearing a pink women’s diaper, lying there on my bed like some stupid doll dressed up by my invisible puppeteer. “What do you want?” 

(I want what’s best for you.) 

“You’re ruining my life!” 

My body stiffened and I sat rigidly upright, turning to face myself in the mirror tha sat atop my dresser. I could see fury in my eyes, and though I didn’t speak, I saw my lips move in the reflection to match her voice. (I’m ruining your life? Bullshit. You’re ruining your life, that’s why I have to do this–so you don’t waste it.) 

Lips quivering, I tried to reply. “I don’t understand–”

(No, you don’t,) she interrupted. (Look at yourself. Right now.) 

I couldn’t disobey. Staring at myself in the mirror, I saw a disquieting portrait of my body: Awkward, ugly, unkempt. I didn’t need the diaper to feel humiliated by my appearance, that only added emphatic shame to the rest of the look. 

I sniffled, tears welling up in my eyes. 

(Oh, goddammit. No, this…no. Stop. You’re going to like this, we just have to keep going.) 

She used my hand to wipe at my eyes, but that was all the comfort I was allowed. She stood, and without another word, walked to my dresser. 

At least I would get some clothes, something to cover up…

I knelt.

“Wait–”

I reached for the bottom drawer, the one I’d reserved for my girlfriend, Hannah. 

The voice didn’t waste time. Pulling the drawer open, she selected a pastel yellow sundress. I stood and let the dress hang in front of me, inspecting myself in the dresser mirror. I was taller than Hannah, but lanky. The dress would go over my shoulders, but it wouldn’t fall much below my waist, barely functioning as more than a blouse, exposing the puffy pink diaper beneath for all to see. 

“Please,” I whimpered, but I couldn’t stop myself. I pulled the dress over my head, arms sliding through the short sleeves, and the soft fabric fell down over my body. 

Turning to face myself in the mirror again, I, b

Oi

xoivjha

Fdwe084y23t1qh0

…

An error has occurred. To continue: 

Press Enter to return to body. 

…

Fuck

Fuck

I was crying again. 

The voice in my head spoke up. (You get it now, right?) 

“No,” I said, but it was a lie, and I couldn’t lie to myself. 

(You’ve known since you watched To Wong Foo. You’ve known since you first saw Xena. You’ve known since you were old enough to know the difference between boys and girls.) 

“I’m not…” 

(You are. This is you.) 

“No–”

(Yes. Look at yourself. This is you. You are a woman, and you need to stop acting like you’re not, or you’re going to waste the next twenty-four years of your life waiting for something to change. It’s not going to change.)

I was on my knees, my reflection blurred by tears. 

She wasn’t wrong.

I couldn’t lie to myself, not when the truth was staring me in the face. 

(How do you feel?)

None of this made sense. It was like a fever dream, or a messed-up drug trip. I couldn’t stop myself, I couldn’t fight. My entire world had just collapsed like a house of cards, and now she was asking how I felt. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

(Oh, goddammit.) I wiped at my eyes and wrapped my arms around myself, squeezing in a close semblance of a hug. (Look, I…if I explain, you have to stop fighting me.) 

“Am I fighting?” I demanded, incredulous. 

(Yeah, but…look. You don’t know, you can’t possibly know, but you asked for this. Once I’m done, it will make more sense.) 

“When did I ask for this?” I demanded, sniffling. “And what even are you? A ghost? Or am I just losing my mind?” 

(Shh. Just sit here for a minute.) 

“Fuck you!” 

I wanted to rip away, to throw a tantrum, to rip the dress off my body and deny that this had ever happened. I couldn’t, I could only sit there, quietly holding myself, rocking gently back and forth. 

(The more I tell you, the harder this is. I just need you to trust me. I love you. I want what’s best for you.) 

The tears sprang up again, choking sobs that I couldn’t control any more than I could control my arms and legs. 

(I wish I didn’t have to rip the band-aid off like this, but there was no other way. The longer I’m here, the harder it is to stay, and we’re too stupid to get subtle hints. You needed this.) 

“I wish I didn’t know. I wish you hadn’t told me. I…I can’t do this.” 

(You can. Sa…Hannah will be there to support you. You’re a girl. You’re a Little, too. This is how you’re supposed to be.) 

“What the hell is a Little?” 

(Figure it out.) 

I wiped at my face. 

I wiped at my face. Not her. My arm moved under my own power. 

Sniffling, I said, “Thanks.” 

(I didn’t do that.) 

“Thank you for letting me.” 

(...right.) 

I looked down at myself, then up in the mirror again. Even with my hair around my shoulders, and the dress, and the…women’s underwear…I still didn’t really look like a girl. It didn’t look right. “I hate this.” 

(The makeup will help.)

Waiting for a moment for the voice to move me, I frowned. “Are you going to…?”

(I can’t make you act. You’re…too far along, now. You’ll have to do it yourself.) 

“So I could rip this all off and walk away?” I asked. “You wouldn’t be able to stop me?” 

(Please…please don’t. We both need this.) 

For a long moment I considered it, staring at my reflection. I could put this behind me, I could pretend that this was all a bad dream and never think about it again. 

But…I couldn’t lie to myself. 

“You’re not real,” I said. “Not like…really real. You’re just me, aren’t you?” 

(I’m you,) she replied. (But I’m real.) 

I scooped up the plastic bag from the pharmacy and poured its contents out on top of my dresser. I still didn’t know how to apply most of it; whatever self-discovery I’d undergone, being a woman didn’t endow me with instinctual makeup knowledge. 

I stared for a few moments, helpless, then asked, “Which…what do I do here?” 

A twitch in my fingers compelled my hand forward.

“I thought you couldn’t move me any more?” 

(I can’t make you do anything. I’m not gone.) 

Hesitating, I relaxed and let the tension fall out of my arms. “Then, could you just show me?” 

The voice tone took on a hint of warmth, the first note of kindness I could recall from her. (Of course.)

Reaching out with steady hands, she guided me through the makeup products, slowly building shadows and altering my features. It felt like watching a sculptor in timelapse, carving out the face one pencil mark or brush stroke at a time. 

With more deft control of my hands than I could have managed myself, she took out the hair ties and gave me a pair of loose pigtails, completing the look. 

It was…me. 

Every part of the image in the mirror. 

(There’s a lot more you can do, but you’ll have to learn some of it for yourself.)

“Why can’t you help?”

(The more I change things, the harder it is to stay. It’s like pulling out jenga blocks while standing on the tower, eventually it’ll collapse out from under you.) 

“You’re…not just a voice in my head, are you?” I asked. It felt stupid, and impossible, but if I was really just going crazy, there wouldn’t be anyone to hear me ask the absurd question. “You’re…my future.” 

I felt something in my mind slip, and her voice sounded a little fainter. (Yes. And no, I can’t tell you what it’s like. I’d lose you immediately.) 

“Why were you so cruel?” 

(I had to do it this way, you needed the shock.) 

I couldn’t lie to myself. “That’s not everything.” 

(It is,) she–I–lied. 

I wanted to interrogate her, to keep questioning, but the opportunity vanished when I heard the sound of gentle footsteps and jangling keys. 

Hannah. 

“Oh–” I started. “Wait, but–”

(Let her see,) the voice promised me. (She’ll support you. I promise.) 

I didn’t believe her. It wasn’t a matter of trust, but of simple impossibility. How could Hannah see me, like this, and do anything except reject me? 

(Oh, and…)

“What are you–” I started, but I didn’t want Hannah to hear me talk to a voice in my head, so when my front door opened, I shut up. 

Hannah called my name, and in that same moment, my bladder released, prompted forward by my future self. Warmth splashed into the diaper and spread between my thighs, quickly soaking the diaper, staining it visibly and obviously. 

I turned, surprise and shame burning on my face, but even if I had time to cover myself up, I didn’t have the capacity to move an inch. Hannah’s keys jangled as she set them in the bowl by the door, and she called out my name, feet creaking on the wooden floor. 

“Are you in here?” she continued, swinging the bedroom door open to find me. 

Eyes huge, wearing makeup and a diaper and one of Hannah’s own dresses, I stared, watching my girlfriend as she in turn saw me for the first time. 

...

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I cant believe I'm standing in my living room wearing sissy clothes and a DIAPER! I feel a sudden urgency behind me and dare myself to actually mess myself right there while standing up! So I focus and give a little push and suddenly feel the most babish feeling of a small buldge starting to push against the back of my diaper! I cant believe I'm doing this! I actually get a little nervouse and try to hold it back! Just a little bit is fun, but i don't want to actually fill my diaper. MY DIAPER... The weight of my soft, plastic tits resting in my bra distract me a little. I reach up and grab them imagining that I have actual tits hanging off my body. The thought makes me giggle a little. I let out a little "guhhhh.." as bit of drool dribbles down my chin. I'm just a giggly baby with big bouncy titties! I relax and suddenly feel the biggest, mushiest oopsie start to fill my diapee! Feels sooooo good!!! I let out a little baby grunt, and push even more to fill my diaper up as much as possible! After all, im just a silly, diaper wearing baby that loves filling up her diaper!!!! 💗💗💗

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ough I’m so weak and helpless :3

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“So you mean to tell me that all of this doesn't bother you? That you really don’t mind being a sissy baby?!”

“Honestly? I HATED it at first. The diapers, the chastity, the pig tails, the makeup, and all that. But, eventually…i learned to like it. I mean, think about it! We never have to worry about where a restroom is, we don’t have any grownup responsibilities other than our chores, and we spend our days getting dominated by two very hot women! Most guys would KILL for this kind of lifestyle!

“But what about all the cocks we have to suck? All the cum we have to eat? And all the diapers we have to dirty?”

“Oh come on! Sucking dick isn’t that bad! Especially once you get better at it! You’ve got to admit is does feel kind of nice when a guy cums in your mouth! It means you look hot and fuckable, that you're doing a good job, even if it is something as taxing as a blow job. The taste of cum and the feel of a dirty diaper is just something you'll just have to get used to. It’s all about your mindset! If you keep thinking about how you’re a slave and everything sucks and is so humiliating, then you’re going to be miserable! You have to learn to look on the bright side of things and learn to enjoy it!”

“I guess...but don’t you wish we could still cum? I don’t know about you, but my balls are constantly aching for release…”

“Oh honey, you just haven’t learned how to cum with a chastity device still on!"

"What? That's possible?!"

"Mhmm!! It’s called a sissygasm! Here, grab your favorite dildo, I'll show you how it’s done! And you’re going to cum twice as hard as you ever did before!!”

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This calls me out so much and I want more

tall subby men are so cute to me. how are u 6 ft and desperate to get on ur knees. like oh im sorry? u can pick me up and snap me like a twig but u wont cause? what?? u want ur mouth used as a clit rest???? ok? stick ur tongue out then. lmao. bitch

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Taking Control Further

Read Part One Here

Esmay delighted me.

I had to admit–I’d initially spent time with her largely to keep an eye on Louis, and to play the role of service top. Esmay had little experience with a partner who cared about her needs, let alone safe words, and I felt a responsibility to ensure that my stunt with her partner wouldn’t lead to more unhealthy patterns developing.

However, though I didn’t push for things to go past what she wanted, my heart still jumped whenever she directed a booty call my way. I didn’t even care about the sex all that much–the preceding dates were becoming highlights of my week. She was wicked smart and had a whip-crack sense of humor–clever and quick, in all the ways that could make me smile.

And, in fairness, I enjoyed watching Louis squirm. Knowing how much he’d been taking advantage of his position before, how much he’d been taking advantage of Esmay. My punishment wasn’t justice, it wasn’t fair, but a little malicious part of me enjoyed watching him squirm when I walked past with his wife, while he had to give me puppy-dog eyes and whimper to change his diaper.

He’d occasionally made a show of joining me and Esmay when we had nights out, but that ended after one too many public poopy accidents, after I’d made a show of checking his dirty bottom in the bar, after he’d been left sulking in the car because Esmay and I wouldn’t call it a night early after his humiliation.

Now, he stayed at home, sulking, sending me desperate texts when he needed diaper changes–texts that I routinely ignored. Call me malicious, I just loved to come back to his home, pinch my nose to comment on how badly he’d ruined his diapers, and then whisk Esmay off to make her scream in pleasure without letting him change.

Still, one sultry, sweaty night, after our roll in the bed, Louis banished to stink up the living room while she got her pleasure and I got my satisfaction, she finally brought it up.

“Can I ask you about Louis?” she asked, laying on the bed next to me.

I knew the question, but I dodged anyway. Perhaps because I felt a bit of guilt at overdoing it, or perhaps just for the sake of the game. “What about him?”

“I looked at your profile on Fet more,” Esmay said. She was naked, with only a thin sheet tangled around her legs, letting the air cool her skin. “You are big into hypnotism play–mind control. Consensually taking someone’s control away. Did Louis ask you to do that?”

There were a couple ways I could answer. I chose simple honesty that deflected my guilt. “No, he didn’t.”

“But you hypnotized him anyways,” Esmay said. “Didn’t you?”

No getting around it. I rolled onto my side, looking at her. “Yes, I did.”

She looked at me. “Because you thought he was a creep.”

“He was a creep,” I said. “I saw how he talked about you. How he regarded the kink community.”

“Mmm,” she said, thinking about it. “But he didn’t ask for it.”

“He didn’t,” I confirmed. Guilt twisted in my chest–consent was the bedrock of our community, and no matter how much I enjoyed it, what I’d done to Louis violated that. Even if I hadn’t done anything to him directly, it still counted in my head.

“So you can hypnotize someone who doesn’t want it,” Esmay said.

I saw where her thoughts were going. “I can, but…” I started. “I shouldn’t.”

She looked at me. “You shouldn’t. But do you want to?”

Swallowing, I glanced away, thinking of how much I enjoyed watching Louis wriggle in his diapers. “I…shouldn’t want to.”

“Because,” she continued. “I can think of a lot more fun things to do to him. I’d like to do more things to him. Could you show me how to do that?”

Esmay wanted it, and Esmay didn’t accuse me of doing wrong by doing what I’d done to Louis. Further, I knew how cunning she could be–I wanted to see what she’d make of him. “Sure,” I agreed.

…

It was slow going, at first–Esmay was a quick study, but we were working with an unwilling practice dummy. Most hypnotists learned on a participant eager to have their thoughts stolen. For Esmay to learn from Louis, I first had to get into his head again, compelling him to sit perfectly still on command, to watch her.

So, Louis would sit on the floor, legs spread, diaper on display, while Esmay swayed my watch back and forth. At first, her commands were simple–making him sit down or stand up on command. Pavlovian reactions, little more.

But then, she started making it fun.

She undid a bit of my work, allowing Louis to get hard, but not to cum. Then, she made it so he’d have to sit at the end of the bed, rubbing himself through his diapers whenever Esmay and I fucked in his bed.

Hearing him whimper was pleasure untold.

I’d taken his potty training, but she did one worse. Forcing him to evacuate his bowels whenever it was most inconvenient, most humiliating, making him unaware of how soggy he was until someone pointed it out. With my permission, she took over when he could ask for diaper changes. If I was malicious in making him wait, she was downright cruel.

My little Esmay was quite the sadist, it seemed. She liked it when he was at his lowest, and I helped her facilitate that at every turn.

Slowly, more things started to change. His Fet profile was no longer ‘SirDominant7’, Louis was now, ‘DiaperCuck14’. I still cringed at the unoriginality, but at least the unoriginality was pathetic, and came with new profile photos, showing off his degradation.

I started noticing other changes, too. Louis became her live-in servant. At home, he did her chores. When I came over, if he wasn’t left humiliated and helpless for me to gawk at, he was sweeping or doing dishes or tidying. As often as not, he was doing those things in a drooping, exposed diaper, despite the open windows.

Maybe she’d gone too far–this had gone from humiliation to full control–but she was Esmay, and I really, really didn’t like Louis. Watching how he was dropped a peg with every visit was thrilling, as Esmay found lower and lower places to push him each time, digging deep to drop the pegs.

She showed him off to her friends, even when I wasn’t there. She brought a few other men over, which was fine by me–we were never monogamous with one another, and the more who could laugh at Louis’s pathetic pamper packing, the better.

There was one line I wouldn’t cross. One night, she tried to bring him into our bed, to make him suck my cock–I said no. Esmay was disappointed. She protested. But I held fast to the one rule I’d kept–I wouldn’t use him for sex.

Three months after I told her the truth, and almost four since I’d first met her, I came to her home and found Louis grinding in his diaper in the living room floor, suckling his thumb with one hand, rubbing on an erection through tented, sodden padding with the other. Changing supplies sat right next to him, a fresh diaper and powder, but for Louis, they may as well have been an eternity away. I smirked down at him.

“There you are,” Esmay said, walking in with a smile. “Good–I wanted to show you something.”

“How long has he been like this?” I asked, nodding to Louis.

“A few hours,” She smiled wickedly. “I wanted his brain to be helpless mush before my next session–I have something wonderful planned.”

“What is it?” I asked.

I should have known.

Stupid.

Stupid.

“A surprise,” she replied. “Just watch.”

She sat next to Louis, and I sat next to her, and she began the induction. She started from scratch–not necessary, for someone as scrambled as Louis, but if she wanted to do things right I could understand the discipline.

And then she snapped her fingers.

Said “Drop”.

And I dropped.

By the time I realized my mind had fuzzed, it was too late. I’d been listening to her words. I’d seen her watch–my watch–dangling in the corner of my eyes. Maybe I’d looked at it. Maybe I’d stared.

But I’d fallen into her hands.

Esmay looked at me, giggling. I just sat there, unable to move, only able to watch and listen as she crawled onto me, pushed me down to the floor, pinning my immobile body down with her hands and staring me in the face.

“You,” she said, “Aren’t going to tell a soul about this, my little one. Because I realized–what’s the fun in having just one plaything when I could have two? No more saying ‘No’, no more telling me what I can’t do with my toys, just two little stinkers who have to do whatever I tell them.”

(No. She wouldn’t–) but I knew she would. I’d seen how far she could go with Louis.

“You’re going to forget everything you know about hypnosis,” she said, sliding her hands down to my jeans, unzipping them, pulling them away. “That control is mine now. You just need to know how to obey instructions.”

My boxers came next, so I was naked, and Esmay continued her monologue. “You’re going to be just…like…Louis. You’ll sit when I tell you. You’ll stay. You’ll beg. No big boy squirties for you, just a tiny, hard cock grinding into your diapers. You’ll potty when I tell you, and you won’t even notice until someone else points out how bad you smell.”

She picked up a diaper–one that I’d assumed had been for Louis–and slid it beneath my hips.

“You’ll do whatever I say,” she said. “You’ll be all mine, really. You won’t be able to change your own diapers at all–you’ll have to beg and whimper and ask me to let you have fresh diapers, and then I’ll make Louis change you. But don’t worry, you’ll be allowed to return the favor.”

Giggling, she folded the diaper around my limp cock, rubbing the front of the padding. I twitched, involuntarily–the contact did it for me, even as my heart pounded in horror.

She taped the diaper onto me, pulled away, and smiled. “I think that’s enough for now. I can always go back into your head and change whatever else I need, of course. When I snap my fingers, you’ll do your best to make your diaper match Louis’s, and feel all your little ‘big boy’ thoughts of resistance melt away.

She snapped.

I obeyed.

Pulling my legs up to my chest, I grunted, squeezed, and felt the seat of my diaper swell, the plastic back crinkling as solid, smelly mush ballooned my padding. My bladder released, almost as an afterthought, and I turned the yellow indicator strip blue all along the front, completely unable to resist.

Esmay giggled, pointing at Louis, then at me. “Now…you two, kiss.”

We were hers to command. Getting to my knees, I shuffled forward, putting my lips on his. We were both repulsed, hating each other as much as two people reasonably could, but our bodies did as they had to. My lips against his, my dick getting hard inside my diaper.

“Good, good.” She snickered. “Grind on each other, too–rub each other, try to get desperate.”

His body slipped close to mine, arms wrapped around each other, rubbing the tents of our sodden diapers together. Already I wanted to explode from the need to release, and my body simply refused–it wouldn’t let me, even as I felt on the edge of orgasm.

“Good.” She got to her feet, laughing down at us, sneering, pinching her nose. “Okay, you two stink, so I’m going to get out of here–I’ve got a date with a real man. You stay like this, and when I get back, maybe–maybe–I’ll let you watch what it’s like to have sex. God knows that’s as close as either of you are ever going to get.” …

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[lsubby]

Trigger [an ABDL Hypnosis Story]

The café was comfortably lively, a gentle hum of voices and the occasional clink of silverware against ceramic filling the space. Sunlight streamed through wide windows, glinting off the water glasses, and the air smelled of fresh coffee and warm pastries.

Molly sat across from Dave, stirring cream into her coffee with small, absentminded motions. She had barely touched her croissant, only nibbling at the edges while her thoughts drifted. Dave, on the other hand, was cutting into a stack of pancakes with practiced ease, unfazed by the conversation unfolding between them.

“I just can’t wrap my head around it,” Molly said, shaking her head slightly. “Like—Emma just… lets it happen?”

Dave chewed, swallowed, and lifted his coffee cup. “It’s not really ‘letting,’ though, is it? It’s what she wants.”

Molly made a noise, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. “Does she? Or is it just what he wants?”

Dave arched a brow but didn’t respond immediately. He took another bite, letting the syrup soak into the pancakes before cutting another neat square. “She seems happy. I mean, she always said she wanted something different, right?”

Molly’s fingers tightened around her cup. “Different isn’t the same as being put back into—into toddlerhood. That’s not just a ‘different lifestyle,’ Dave. It’s… regressive.”

He shrugged. “And?”

“And—” Molly exhaled sharply, setting her spoon down a little too hard. “And I just don’t get how she could want that. Like, really want it. No responsibility? No autonomy? Just being put in—” she stopped, shaking her head. “It freaks me out.”

Dave took a sip of coffee, watching her over the rim of his mug. He didn’t argue, didn’t tell her she was overreacting. That wasn’t his way. Instead, he let the silence sit between them for a beat before saying, “I think it freaks you out because you can’t imagine wanting it. But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

Molly frowned. “I didn’t say it was wrong. I said it was scary.”

Dave tilted his head slightly. “Same thing, in a way.”

Molly opened her mouth, then shut it again, glaring at her croissant like it had personally offended her. She didn’t like that—when Dave did that thing where he made a point without actually making one. It left her feeling unsteady, like she had to defend herself when she wasn’t even sure what she was defending.

She pushed her plate away slightly, leaning back in her chair. “I just keep thinking about it. Like, if that can happen to Emma, could it happen to anyone? What’s the… trigger?”

Dave chuckled, shaking his head. “Molly, you say that like it’s a virus or something.”

“Well, isn’t it?” she shot back. “One day, she was just our friend Emma, and now she’s…” She trailed off, searching for the right words. “She’s in nappies, Dave. Full-time. And not just that, but he makes the choices now. What she eats, what she wears, when she sleeps.”

Dave tapped his fork against his plate thoughtfully. “She let him.”

“That’s what scares me,” Molly admitted. Her voice was quieter now, but no less intense. “That she let him. And she’s fine with it. More than fine. She’s… content.”

“Would it be different if she wasn’t?”

Molly blinked. “What?”

“If she was miserable,” Dave said. “If she hated it. Would you feel better?”

She scowled. “That’s not the point.”

“I think it might be,” he said, and for the first time, there was something pointed in his tone. “If she hated it, you could see it as something being done to her. But she doesn’t. So instead, you have to deal with the fact that she chose it. And that makes you uncomfortable.”

Molly crossed her arms, looking away. “It should make you uncomfortable too.”

Dave sighed and set his fork down. “I don’t know, Mol. Maybe I just don’t care as much as you do. It’s weird, yeah. But people do weird things all the time. If it makes her happy, why should it matter?”

Molly shook her head, staring out the window. Outside, people walked by with shopping bags, strollers, coffee cups in hand. Just… normal people. People who weren’t Emma.

She could almost see her in her mind—Emma, giggling, dressed in something soft and pastel, clutching a stuffed animal. Not a woman anymore. Not in the way she used to be.

Dave studied Molly for a long moment, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his coffee cup. The tension in her shoulders, the hard set of her jaw—it was all so familiar. The same reaction he’d seen before, whenever Emma came up in conversation.

He sighed. “You know, it’s funny.”

Molly frowned. “What is?”

He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping just a fraction. “You keep talking like you don’t understand. But I think, deep down, you do.”

She scoffed, opening her mouth to retort, but Dave cut her off with a single phrase, low and deliberate:

“Little minds don’t worry.”

Molly’s breath caught. For a second, nothing happened—just a flicker in her expression, a slight widening of her eyes. Then, like a ripple spreading across the surface of a pond, something shifted.

Her lips parted, her brow furrowing in confusion. Her fingers, which had been tense around her coffee cup, suddenly slackened, as if the very concept of holding it had become too complex. She blinked rapidly, her gaze unfocused.

“Wh—” Her voice came out small, uncertain. She shook her head, strands of hair falling into her face. “Whazza…?”

Dave sat back, watching as it unfolded.

Molly’s posture sagged, her body language morphing from sharp and guarded to something looser, more instinctual. The weight of her own thoughts—thoughts that had moments ago felt so heavy, so complicated—seemed to vanish.

Her expression flickered through confusion, then something closer to frustration. “S’fuzzy,” she mumbled, bringing her hands up to rub at her temples. “Don’—I don’ get… um…”

Her tongue tripped over her own words. Concepts unraveled like loose threads, slipping through her grasp. Even the sentence she’d just started—what was it supposed to be? What was she even trying to say?

Her eyes darted to Dave, wide and almost pleading.

“Davey,” she whimpered.

He hummed. “Yeah, Mols?”

“F’eels weird,” she murmured, shifting in her seat. “Dunno—s’diff’ent. Ev’rything all… ‘spicy’.”

Dave tilted his head, amused. “Spicy?”

Molly pouted, frustrated by the word she couldn’t quite find. “Mmmm, not spicy, but—y’know! All wiggly ‘n’ tingly ‘n’ funny.”

As if on cue, she let out a sharp gasp, her hands darting down to her lap. A slow warmth spread beneath her, soaking into the fabric of her jeans, pooling against the seat.

Molly let out a breathy little whimper as the last remnants of adult thought crumbled. “Uh-oh…”

A dark patch spread beneath her, creeping outward, the undeniable hiss of her accident filling the air.

Dave chuckled, reaching over to ruffle her hair. “That’s okay, kiddo,” he said lightly. “Little girls don’t worry ‘bout things like that, remember?”

Molly blinked up at him, her bottom lip wobbling, the lingering ghost of something wrong flickering across her features before fading into soft, placid contentment.

She wasn’t an adult anymore.

She wasn’t supposed to worry.

She didn’t worry.

Dave sighed, shaking his head with a good-natured chuckle as he glanced toward the café staff. A few nearby patrons had already started whispering, their eyes darting toward the growing puddle beneath Molly’s chair. He caught the eye of a barista, offering an apologetic smile.

"Sorry about this," he said smoothly, his tone warm but firm, the way a responsible caretaker would explain a toddler's accident. "She’s still getting the hang of things."

The barista, a young woman with tired eyes and a sympathetic expression, only nodded. "Don’t worry about it," she murmured, though her gaze flicked toward Molly, who was now squirming in her seat, fascinated by the way the damp fabric clung to her legs.

Dave turned his attention back to her, brushing a few stray strands of hair from her face. "Alright, Mols," he said gently, slipping into the comforting role she now expected of him. "Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?"

Molly only giggled, tilting her head up at him with big, unfocused eyes. "Mmmkay, Daddy," she lilted, the title slipping past her lips effortlessly, as if it had always been that way.

Dave’s lips curled into a knowing smirk, but he didn't linger on it. Instead, he rose, moving around the table and helping Molly up. Her legs wobbled slightly, unsteady now that her adult coordination had slipped away.

As she stood, the full extent of her accident became clear. Her jeans were soaked, clinging to her thighs, the damp material darkened almost entirely down to her ankles. She looked down, blinking slowly at the mess, but there was no shame in her expression—only mild curiosity.

She poked a tiny finger against the wet denim. "Squishy," she declared with a giggle.

Dave grinned, ruffling her hair. "Yeah, kiddo. And that’s why we wear proper protection, huh?"

Molly giggled again, her gaze unfocused and dreamy. "Mmhmm!"

Dave led her toward the back of the café, past the staff-only sign. No one stopped them. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, so confident, so sure of his authority over her. Maybe it was the way Molly so clearly wasn’t in charge of herself anymore, her small hand tucked securely into his, her posture loose and trusting.

Inside the staff restroom, a sight that would have mortified Molly just minutes ago now greeted her without a flicker of concern—

An adult-sized changing table.

Dave patted the cushioned surface. "Up you go, kiddo."

Molly obediently reached her arms up, letting him lift her onto the table without a second thought. She kicked her legs idly, her soaked jeans sticking to her skin, a little pout forming on her lips.

"Wan’ dry," she mumbled.

Dave chuckled. "That’s the plan, sweetheart."

With practiced ease, he peeled away her jeans, the damp fabric clinging for a moment before slipping free. He balled them up and set them aside, then made quick work of her sodden panties. Molly didn’t react, other than giggling as the cool air hit her bare skin.

She squirmed as he wiped her down with a warm cloth, but it wasn’t from discomfort—it was the way a toddler would squirm from tickles rather than modesty.

Then, he pulled out the final piece.

A puffy, pastel-colored Pampers—one big enough for her, decorated in soft patterns that made it impossible to mistake for anything grown-up.

Molly’s eyes widened, but not with the resistance she might have once had. No, this time, it was delight.

"Ooooooh!" she cooed, her fingers twitching eagerly.

Dave smirked. "Like it, baby?"

Molly nodded enthusiastically, reaching out to poke at the plastic shell as he unfolded it. "Is crinkly!" she giggled.

He lifted her legs effortlessly, sliding the padding beneath her before securing the tapes snugly at her waist. The thick bulk forced her legs apart slightly, and when he patted the front, she let out a soft, happy hum, wiggling against the plush comfort.

"There we go," Dave murmured, smoothing her shirt down over the top of her new, much more appropriate underwear. "All fresh."

Molly beamed up at him, wiggling her toes as she enthusiastically poked at the front of her new padding, fascinated by the way it crinkled under her touch.

"Dis is way better!" she declared, giggling as she gave the front a few experimental pats.

Dave laughed. "I thought you’d see it that way, princess."

Then, he picked up her jeans, inspecting the soaked fabric with a smirk. "Well, kiddo, looks like you’ll have to go without these for a bit."

Molly didn’t even blink.

If anything, she giggled, swinging her bare legs with delight.

The Molly from before—the one who had argued, who had frowned and questioned—was nowhere to be found.

She was just Mols now. A little girl in nothing but a crinkly diaper and her soft shirt, giggling as she prodded at the thick bulk between her legs.

[lsubby]

[lsubby]

Trans relationships really do have those kind of role reversals.

[lsubby]

Need someone to do this to me

need to put a cute subby boy on a leash and pull him closer while i ask him if he wants a treat as i lift my skirt up <3