roseredcheeks

[roseredcheeks]

"That's it baby, feet up!" I command as you whimper into your pacifier, "Hold my hands tight. That's it."

I keep my eyes glued to yours as you shudder, feeling all of your weight settle into the massive mess in the back of your diaper.

You've been a resident in my nursery for a week. You had come to me begging to be treated as a silly little infant. You pleaded with me to strip away your responsibilities, your adulthood, and your dignity.

But, despite your desperation to be mine, over the last week you have been unwilling to take one final step. You've had one mental block you aren't willing or able to overcome on your own.

Today, I am going to fix that.

"Papa, it's so icky!" You whine as a week's worth of mess works its way into you every nook and cranny.

I don't dignify your whines with a response, because I'm sure you're right. You've refused to mess yourself for a week and now your diaper is full near to bursting.

But, even though it's icky, that doesn't mean you can't enjoy it. I'm going to teach you that.

Slowly and first, and then gradually quicker, I bounce you on my knee. With each bounce, your big kid parts grind into my firm thigh, sending jolts of pleasure pulsing through your body.

"Papa!" You moan over and over again as your disgust starts to merge with and then be overcome by pleasure.

As your continue to bounce on my knee, you start to join in with the motion, thrusting your hips in time to my movements. It's amazing what just a week of total denial does to the human brain.

"Paaaapa!" You cry out now, your paci dropping from your lips as embarassment over the state of your pants becomes secondary to your neediness, "I'm going to make uh-ohs!"

"Do it," I command coldly.

That's all you need.

You scream as you release my hands, pull yourself into my chest, and let lose one of the most powerful orgasms of your life.

I pull you tight into me as your body stiffens and jerks in pleasure, before finally relaxing.

"Papa," you sigh in utter satisfaction, sticking your thumb in your mouth and staring up at me from my chest.

I run my fingers through your hair.

"See, baby? Being messy isn't all that bad, is it?"

You blush deeply in response, wiggling your hips as if to confirm that your excrement was still strapped around your waist.

"No, Papa," you lisp out, breaking eye contact in shame, "it's definitely not."

[roseredcheeks]

what’s on my mind? oh nothing…just replaying a moment in my head where I’m waking up fussy from a nap because Daddy isn’t next to me where I last saw him.

walking to the living room, paci bobbing steadily and bunny in hand. met with coos and open arms—“What are you doing up, sweetie?”, “Did you have a scary dream?”, “Are you a soggy girl?”

climbing into his lap with his gentle tone and back rubs putting me back to sleep almost immediately…yeah. nothing crazy!

[roseredcheeks]

[roseredcheeks]

Diapers aren't a cheap thing, so we all should make sure, they are fully used before throwing them away UwU

[roseredcheeks]

But daddy I can’t wear this to the sleepover! Everyone’s going to think I’m still a big baby. Can’t I wear big girl pajamas and panties just this once?! I’m too old for diapers! I don’t need them 😤

[roseredcheeks]

I have everything ready as you pull into the driveway. The garage door creaks loudly as you enter.

The lights are down to about half. You sigh in the pleasure of anticipation. I take your purse from you, and your phone, and your keys, and put them where they belong.

Then I wrap my arms around you, folding myself around you, holding you for a few minutes as you breathe. I feel your muscles, so tense from your workweek that you're almost trembling, start to relax ever so slightly. It's going to take more than that.

No worries. I've got the whole evening planned.

I pick you up bodily. You're so small and lightweight next to me, there's no effort involved. I carry you past the kitchen through the dining room, where you see the wine glasses set up, the candles already lit, the meal I've prepared laid out-- ribeye, salad, mashed potatoes. Respighi's Fountains of Rome waft gently through the warm air.

But as I approach the nursery, the music is replaced by nursery rhymes and soft vibraphone tunes from your childhood. You bury your face in my shoulder and I let you linger there, just inhaling my scent for a moment, before I gently set you down on the changing table.

I reach over and grab the wipes and an Alphagatorz, and start the process of reducing you to my baby girl by taking off your leather pumps. Your slacks are wet already-- when did that happen?-- and your eyes grow wide, probably thinking you'll have to dry clean them again. You know Daddy will take care of it though. I always do.

Daddy takes care of everything, you say as he snaps up the onesie, looking back up at you and smiling in sudden recognition.

"There's my baby girl!"

It was gonna be a great weekend.

[roseredcheeks]

New Jacket

I open the car door but stand in your way, blocking you from sliding out, knowing that once your sneakers are on the ground it’s going to be too late to corral your building excitement.

“Tell me the rules, sweetie.”

You pause in place and look up at me, your thumb headed toward your mouth, your bright eyes locked with mine.

“I gotta hold your hand when you says so,” you say softly.

“Mmhm,” I nod approvingly. “Keep going.”

“Don talk wif strangers,” you continue. “Don touch nuffin’ that not mine.”

“And?” I prompt, reassuringly.

You start to cover your face with your hands, hoping I won’t notice the blush spreading there, hoping I’ll let you out without saying this last bit out loud. I gently pull your hands down into your lap. “And?” I prompt again, softer this time, encouraging.

“An I gotta tell you if I needs ta potty,” you say so quiet I almost can’t hear you, your eyes unable to meet mine.

“That’s right, honey. We’re going in there to buy you a nice cold weather coat! Daddy doesn’t want to have to buy you new pants if you have another accident.”

Your cheeks are turning red now with the memory of pissing your pants at the movie theater last week, and now you’re wiggling and twisting in your car seat. “Daddy it was one time! I’m a big girl now!” you pout in feeble protest, your lips turning down as if you’re going to start crying any second.

I know better. “How bad do you need to go right now, honey?”

Her pout starts to shift into an indignant frown; the little girl act slips ever so slightly and I catch my wife of fifteen years starting to leak through at the edges. “I pottied before I left the house, Daddy! I’m a good girl!”

“You’re a very good girl, honey,” I say, kissing her forehead softly, and like that, she’s back in the mindset she’d wanted for today’s shopping adventure. “OK. Got your shoes tied? Let’s go!”

I let you out of the car and you excitedly grab my hand and swing it back and forth as we walk into the thrift store.

I veer quickly around the foot traffic in the aisles. Her eyes dart around the displays, looking critically at each mannequin’s outfits. She’s always had such a fantastic sense of fashion. We weave our way around, her hand in mine, until we arrive at the coats. She instinctively starts reaching out to rifle through the racks. I grip her hand in mine just a little more firmly to remind her I’m there and what she wanted me for.

She puts her other hand back at her side and turns to me. “Daddy,” she whispers with wide eyes. “Can I try on all of them?”

I chuckle softly. “Let’s pick out twenty of them!”

We start with the first rack— denim jackets.

We work our way through the stock, her pointing in eager excitement, me dutifully draping them over my shoulder until she’s exhausted every rack. It takes a long time, and she’s very thorough. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, spending time with my favorite little girl, helping her do one of her favorite things. The tension of my workweek quickly melts in the brightness of her smile.

Finally, we finish picking out coats. I locate the dressing room, bring my little girl in, set down the massive pile of coats, and take a seat on a convenient bench outside.

What follows is a winter fashion show. You come out every minute or so and do a quick roundabout turn in your blue denim shorts and sandals, modeling each coat like you were on the catwalk. I pull out my phone and take photos of you each time, moving from spot to spot to get every angle, shouting “exquisite!” “divine!” “slay!” and whatever other encouraging words come to mind.

We’re about a dozen coats in when I notice the wet spot on your shorts showing on my latest set of vogue fashion photos. I’d been focused on the coats, and I’m guessing you had been too, because I scroll back a few try-on sequences and I notice that the spot had been gradually growing larger since around coat #10.

But it’s not big enough to warrant telling you, yet. No one would notice.

You come out again, wearing a smart denim number that fits your shoulders just right. I snap photos when you pose, especially when you do your little turn. I see it now; you’re definitely going from damp to wet.

“That one’s so lovely, princess,” I say, using a the language of the small, trying to clue you in gently. You flush and giggle, and strike a second pose, your tongue out and your fingers raised in a V. You haven’t picked up the hint, haven’t noticed your little leak yet. No one else is near.

“Why don’t we pick out your three favorites, honey? I know you’ve got a few more on the stack but I think we should get going soon.”

Your face turns down in a little pout. You turn around and pantomime stomping back into the dressing room. I hear a little “hmpf” as you close the door. I chuckle to myself, but keep an eye on the crowd. I don’t want anyone else seeing your wet spot; that would just be too much for you to handle right now, I think.

You come out with three jackets in your arms. I search your face; you’re considering, thoughtfully. You still somehow haven’t noticed. I stand up from the bench.

“Go close the door honey,” I say, gesturing behind you. You turn and shut the door. There is a wet patch the size of a cantaloupe on your ass; it’s obvious and unmistakable. I need to intercede before someone else sees.

“Sweetie, come here to Daddy,” I say quietly. You hop over to me, pleased at having narrowed down your choices so effectively. “Do you have a favorite?”

“Mmmmm…” you hum thoughtfully, then nod emphatically. “Mmhm!”

You set the two other jackets on the bench, and go to wear the denim one I knew you’d pick. I put a hand on your shoulder, interrupting the movement. “Sit down, sweetie.”

“But Daddy I wanna wear it now!”

“You will,” I say even quieter, “but not in the way you’re expecting. Now, sit down.”

You sit on the bench, your urine-soaked shorts and underpants really pressing against your bottom now. You gasp as your face goes through about six emotions in less than a second:

Surprise, at the wetness on your ass, the dampness on your panties.

Realization, that your bladder has again betrayed you, leaking out into your shorts once again.

Embarrassment, at having done something so babyish in such a public place.

Disappointment, that you just can’t seem to be the big girl that you think you are.

Back to embarrassment, with the assumption that someone might see your peed shorts and know what a baby you are.

And then guilt, at the remembrance of your promise to me that you would do your best to avoid the very problem you’re currently sitting in. Tears start to well up in your eyes.

“None of that, little one,” I say quietly. “You don’t want everyone seeing the crying little pantswetter leaving the store, do you?”

You control your tears as best you can, lower lip still trembling.

“Stand up,” I command. You do as you’re told, but hesitantly, and when I take the jacket from you and tie it around your waist, you start to protest.

“Daddy, it’s gonna get pee on it!”

“Who’s fault is that,” I scold. “I’m not buying you another pair of pants from this store so we’re going to do this my way, understand? We can wash the jacket when we get home.”

She wriggles and whines a little but, looking around at the folks nearby, keeps her fussing to a minimum as I finish hiding her wetspot with our new jacket.

Getting through the checkout line is easy, since the tag is on the sleeve. She just stares blankly as the cashier scans the tag. “You don’t want to wear it out, honey? I’m sure you look great in it,” she tells you. Your grip on my arm tightens as you fight the urge to bury your burning face in my shoulder and hide your embarrassment.

On our way out, you finally pipe up. “Honey,” you whisper quietly, still using your big girl words, “I still gotta go, can I go use the bathroom?”

I stop walking and face you, just inside the door. “No,” I say firmly, and just loud enough to make you glance around to see if anyone heard. “You’ve already pissed your shorts like a little baby, in public, for the second time this week,” my voice staying low but gradually getting louder. Your eyes widen in shock and panic.

I grip your hand and lead you out the front doors, then instead of heading directly to the car, I plant you about ten steps to the left of the doors. Still in front of the glass windows.

“Finish peeing,” I say firmly.

“Daddy, noooo! Is not my fault, it was a accydent!”

I lock my eyes with yours and say nothing.

“Daddy, I don wanna barrass myself in public!” you whine, even as the look on your face tells me we’re far too late for that. I do not respond.

“Daddy peoples can see me,” you rasp, your eyes darting to the glass windows.

I fold my arms in front of me.

Your lower lip trembles again. I see you struggling not to cry.

“Five,” I say, and this time, my voice is loud.

You choke back a sob and break your eyes from mine.

“Four,” I say, even louder. Your face suddenly smooths out, your eyes far away. I know the look.

Then I hear the pattering of liquid on the concrete. I don’t look down, but I know what I’ll see if I do: the crotch of your blue jean shorts turning distressingly dark, rivulets of urine streaming down your legs, wetting your sandals and puddling on the ground.

With my thumb and forefinger, I pull your chin up until your face meets mine, so you can see how pleased I am, that I’m not angry, that you’ve done the thing I wanted you to do. That I’m proud of you. That I’m so happy that I married you.

“Good girl,” I murmur, then press my lips to your forehead. You let out the smallest squeak.

I make you sit on your new jacket on the way home. I don’t want the seats to get wet. The jacket will wash just fine.

[roseredcheeks]

really want to be fucked during a diaper change 🎀

daddy lying me down and pulling back the sodden padding to see that i’m not just wet from my accident 🎀

him carefully wiping me clean, pressing his fingers on my pussy and making me moan around my binky 🎀

“dirty girl, you just can’t help yourself, can you? you love being daddy’s naughty, silly girl.” 🎀

without even removing my soaked nappy from under my bottom, sliding his fat cock inside me and pumping my pussy raw when i’m already so close to cumming 🎀

“how pathetic can you be? what kind of girl can get off to having her nappy changed with a pacifier in her mouth?” 🎀

[roseredcheeks]

Breakfast in a messy diaper. Waking up and having a big accident while mommy makes breakfast and having to eat it all in a high chair before a change.

This is two sentences! We're pushing the limits of my silly little game! Hmph!

My face turns red as I wiggle in the seat of my high chair, grunt, and push a big, stinky load into my already soaked diaper.

"Mommy, changies!" I cry out, disgusted at the feel of the mess in my pants.

Sheila sighs as she walks towards me with a huge bowl of oatmeal in her hand.

"You know the rules, Ollie: No changes until after breakfast."

I want to gag as my wife shovels spoonful after spoonful of warm mush into my mouth, the texture of the food only reminding me of the icky situation happening in my pants.

🙈🙈🙈 gahhh. You babies are mean.

[roseredcheeks]

Professor Red Sees All

Well, it looks like someone wasn’t paying attention in class..no wonder you’re here during office hours.

By the way, just because you sit in the front, doesn’t make you smart, baby girl, and yes, I know you’re a diaper-wearing baby. There’s a reason why I have a PhD and you’re just a student. I saw your diaper by the way. I’ve seen you wet yourself, every time I call on you…every time you have to present in front of the class… don’t worry no one else knows but me. I’m surprised you haven’t leaked, you probably wear those thick boosters.

I have to give you credit, baby girl, you’re a smart pervert. Like wearing a long dress so no one can see it, but don’t worry I have experience.

Here’s a secret princess, you’re my favorite student, so I will go and have fun with you.

But first, let’s get your diaper changed. I know you couldn’t hold it all. I wouldn’t blame you. I’m standing right behind you. You are so shy, but you know how much you dreamed of this.

Oh, baby girl, you’re gonna be my little toy this semester I'm going to make sure you take all my classes. After all, I am the department head.

Every time you take an exam, you will take it in my office, with me watching you. I’m gonna stand behind you and play with your chest, squishing your twin pillows. I wanna make sure you’re padded putting my hand on the front of your diaper, waiting for you to let go. I’ll be in your ear and kiss your neck as you answer the questions. But you’re gonna fail and that’s the goal, baby girl because you’re gonna be my pet. Every time you get a question wrong I’m gonna massage your princess parts with this bullet vibrator….

Oh, is someone already wetting herself from hearing all of this? I knew you were a perverted princess. Now come here, let’s get you changed 😊

Mine now

[roseredcheeks]

10 Things That Make Littles Blush After Messing or Wetting 🥹😇😉☺️🤭

1. “Oh sweetpea… is that your I had a little accident face?”

2. “You didn’t even tell me, baby. Just sat there and let your diaper do all the work, huh?”

3. Pat pat “Uh-oh… someone’s squishier than they were five minutes ago.”

4. “You’re waddling like a ducky… do I need to do a diaper check right here?”

5. “You filled your diaper so much, baby, I’m gonna need two wipes and a prayer.”

6. “That’s your third soggy diaper today… do you just like the feeling now?”

7. “The way you blush when I say ‘stinky’ is so cute. My messy little one.”

8. “Did you seriously do that while I was talking? You couldn’t wait even one minute?”

9. “You know I heard the crinkle and the little grunt, right? Mommy notices everything.”

10. “You make such a cute face when you go… we really should record it next time.”

(I went through my old chats to see how I would tease my littles…and littles make big messes 🤣)

[roseredcheeks]

ABDL Asks

Do you prefer sippy cups or bottles?

Do you like to use your diapers?

Have you ever worn a diaper under clothes in public? (If so, how was it?)

What causes you to throw tantrums?

What's your favorite little accessory?

How often do you wear diapers?

What is your most embarrassing ABDL experience?

Would you wear diapers 24/7?

What's your ideal ABDL outfit?

What would your dream nursery look like?

Do you find diapers sexual?

What is your top 3 favorite diapers?

Do any other kinks mix with ABDL for you?

What piece of ABDL furniture would you want?

What is a perfect ABDL day for you?

What's your preferred way to be forced to use your diapers?

What's more embarrassing, an accident in big kid undies, or diapers?

Do you like pacifiers more, or stuffies?

If you could design a diaper, how would it look?

FREE QUESTION: Ask what you want!

⚠️This is an 18+ only game!! Minors and people who interact with minors, do NOT interact!!⚠️

[roseredcheeks]

Standing at the sink, washing dishes, spacing out, you feel like any other adult. You have a job, a credit card, hell, you have dental insurance.

Then, she comes up behind you. First she kisses the back of your neck, which makes your hair stick up a little. Her hands tickle your ribs, then head lower. And lower. She grabs a handful of your ass and squeezes.

Your diapered ass. Your wet diapered ass.

"Hey, how's your diapey doing?"

Your cheeks flush red, and you're sure she can see it spreading to your neck as well. You flip around to face her, backside pressed against the sink.

"D-don't call it that..."

"Call it what?"

"A...diapey."

You aren't feeling particularly little. You just like wearing sometimes for the comfort and convenience.

"Oh? Why not?"

"Because, I'm not little. I'm just wearing a diaper right now,"

"Oh? Is that right?"

"Yes," you assert, hands on your hips, chin pointing up.

"Ok, fine. You may not be little but your diapey is rather wet. Let me change you."

"I can do it myself."

"I know," but she reaches her hand out anyways. You take it and get led to the couch where she pushes your shoulder's down, "here."

She hands you a set of plastic keys on a ring, colorful and textured.

"I don't need that..."

"Shush, you always get so squirmy during changes if you aren't holding something."

You huff, but hold the keys above your face, rubbing your fingers over the bumps and ridges. It feels good. You're not going to put them in your mouth, though.

"Hips,"

You lift, and look down as the old diaper is pulled away and a new one is slid underneath you. Your used one was just plain white, a reliable medical one from your stash. The new diaper is a little gregarious, honestly. Pastel colored baby items and animals pattern it, and the crinkle it produces is far from discrete.

"Not that one..."

"Hm?"

"It's so...babyish," despite your earlier assurance of bigness, her tactics are working. You feel fussier and smaller with each passing second.

"Oh, is it? I hadn't noticed."

Liar, you think.

You cover your face with your hands, still holding the keys. They clack and jingle with the movement.

"Aw, good baby playing while I change you. You're so patient, almost done."

"I wasn't play-" you start, but don't bother to finish. What's the use if she's just going to push you even further down?

She fastens the last tape and gives the diaper a smooth down. In a quick series of movements they lift your shirt, exposing your belly, and blow a wet raspberry right above your navel.

"Hey!" you shriek, laughing and squirming. An unexpected squirt of pee escapes you. It catches you off guard, and that's the final straw.

"Mommy..." you sigh, once you're done laughing.

She pulls your arms into a sitting position and tugs you into her lap, sans pants.

"Yes, baby?"

"Hi," you say, bashful.

"Hi! I knew you were in there somewhere."

You nod, and rest your head on her shoulder, fingers creeping towards your mouth.

[roseredcheeks]

Oh to be forcibly age regressed...

Someone please tape me into a thick fluffy diaper and treat me like I'm dumb 🥴 please talk down to me and tell me I'm too little for words and pop a pacifier in my mouth 🫣 don't let me walk around, make me crawl on my hands and knees, and especially don't let me anywhere near the bathroom - after all, only big kids use the potty, and big kids don't use their diapers!

[roseredcheeks]

It's quite fun to hypnotize someone to be little but I've been kinda dreaming about hypnotizing someone so not being little just sucks.

- hypnotizing you so every toilet seat feels really cold

- hypnotizing you so that when you drink something without a cup a little always drips down the side of your face

- hypnotizing you so that your ankle always itches when you sleep without an ankle cuff on

- hypnotizing you so that you can't cum unless in diapers

- actually scratch that, you can cum but it's always just unfulfilling

- hypnotizing you mindless chew on whatever is in your hand

- hypnotizing you to always feel like there's a little pee coming out of you

And if you really wanted to, you could probably just deal with these things and live your adult life. But you won't, you're not strong enough. And you'll be begging me to help you

[roseredcheeks]

"being abdl is so hard because of the stigma," "being abdl is hard because diapers are so expensive". no. being abdl is hard because of all the fucking laundry you have to do.

[roseredcheeks]

Today in unactionable fantasy fetishes: I really want to be body controlled. Not mind controlled, I still get full use of my brain, but I want my body turned into a puppet that doesn’t listen to me.

You say “Bounce your tits for me,” and while my brain says this is demeaning my body bounces to make my breasts jiggle. You say “You can only walk on all fours now,” and while my brain knows that I can walk on two legs my body can’t figure it out.

I don’t know I think it would be hot