#ab/dl caption

[massagemisstress]

Reblog if you would wear diaper 24/7

[kayleeheartkins]

My favorite @rearzinc diaper 🦙 What is yours?

Babykayleeheart.com

[stwababy-shortcake]

what do you mean "diaper"? I'm clearly in my big girl training panties

[mommy-evan]

[regressionschool]

Happy Wiggles

The moment Becky stepped through the front door, she dropped the mask.

Her heels were kicked off without ceremony, purse tossed onto the entryway bench. The blazer slid down her arms, discarded into a heap with a long sigh of relief.

She stood there a moment, toes curling into the carpet, letting the silence of the house wrap around her like a blanket. The grown-up world had taken its pound of flesh today: reports, meetings, awkward elevator small talk. But now? That world had no place here.

She glanced down the hallway.

The nursery door stood cracked open, as if waiting for her.

A smile tugged at her lips. Her pace quickened, her stride transforming from office-worker to eager little one. By the time she pushed the door open, her heart was fluttering. Inside, soft pastel walls glowed under warm lamplight. Plushies waited on shelves. The scent of powder, lavender, and something sweet, something safe, filled the air.

“Hi, babies,” she whispered to her stuffies. “I’m home.”

She giggled. Correction. Baby’s home.

She undressed with a quiet reverence, folding her adult clothes and placing them neatly on the dresser, like tucking away a skin she no longer needed. Her eyes scanned the open diaper drawer, selecting the one that always made her feel the littlest — white with clouds, suns, and a smiling lion across the landing zone.

She laid it flat on the changing mat and lowered herself down.

The cool padding kissed her skin, and with practiced ease, she powdered herself and pulled the front panel snugly over her hips. The tapes crinkled gently as she fastened each one. Left, right, left, right. Then the snug pat-pat on her belly.

She sat up slowly, hugging herself, feeling the soft swell between her thighs. A delighted squeal slipped out of her. She wriggled her hips side to side and giggled.

“Okay,” she whispered, grabbing her favorite pastel tee, the one with the smiling narwhals. “Now I’m ready.”

Becky plopped onto her play mat, diaper crinkling beneath her. She crawled among plushies and stacked blocks, building towers only to knock them over with dramatic gasps and giggles.

She lay on her back, arms out, Mr. Puddlepaws the bunny tucked under one arm. She wiggled in a slow rhythm. Left, right. Crinkle, squish. Left, right. Her eyes fluttered closed.

“This,” she whispered, “is the Happy Wiggle.”

Her dry diaper wrapped around her like a soft shell. The gentle rustle, the warmth of her room, and the fading light of the setting sun outside all melted together into something cozy and perfect.

Happy wiggles.

She sipped from her bottle of chokkie milk, reading from a picture book aloud, doing voices for every character, snorting with laughter at her own silliness. It was as if the grown-up world was a faraway dream, something impossible and unreal.

Then it came.

That gentle pressure in her tummy. Not urgent, not unpleasant — just a nudge. A reminder that her big-girl panties were folded neatly somewhere far, far away.

She paused, one hand resting on her belly. The other held Mr. Puddlepaws tightly.

She looked down at her padded front. “Guess I don’t gotta hold it anymore, huh?”

She relaxed.

Warmth bloomed beneath her, spreading quickly through the padding. She shivered in delight. Her fingers gripped her stuffie tighter. She let out a small gasp as the front of her diaper swelled, the heat and softness growing thicker, heavier. It squished as she moved slightly.

She couldn’t help herself. She lay back, arms out again, legs slightly splayed, and began to wiggle.

Side to side. Crinkle. Squish. Side to side. Crinkle. Squish.

“Happy… wiggles…” she cooed to herself, eyes dazed, lost in the softness and safety of it all. The feel of the swollen padding under her. The warmth between her legs. The pressure gone. The world softened. Nothing existed outside this.

She was still giggling softly when she heard it, the distant sound of the garage door.

Becky froze.

Her heart skipped.

“Daddy!”

She leapt to her feet (well, waddled), rushed down the hall, and waited by the living room archway, clutching Mr. Puddlepaws tightly. Her breathing quickened with excitement.

The door opened.

He stepped inside, placing his keys in the bowl, already loosening his tie, his usual end-of-day sigh escaping his lips...

Until he saw her.

He froze, smile creeping onto his lips the moment he took her in.

Becky stood proud, feet apart, her soggy diaper plainly visible below the hem of her shirt. Her hair a fluffy mess, cheeks rosy, her paci dangling from a ribbon clipped to her tee.

“Hi, Daddy,” she said softly, eyes wide and glowing.

His gaze dropped to the unmistakably used diaper, the discoloration impossible to miss. She saw the exact moment his lips parted in a knowing grin.

He crossed the room slowly, eyes locked on hers. “Someone’s been busy.”

Becky grinned behind her paci. “I was a good girl,” she said, swaying from side to side, the squish and crinkle only making Daddy smile more. “I kept it in my diapie like a real little one.”

He stopped just in front of her, crouching down and resting a hand gently on her squishy diaper.

“Nice and soggy,” he said warmly. “You feel better now, princess?”

She nodded quickly. “Mhm. I even made Happy Wiggles!”

“Oh, you did, huh?” He raised an eyebrow. “Those the kind where you squish like a little worm on your back and giggle like a cartoon?”

Becky’s face flushed. “Maybe…”

He laughed, scooping her up into his arms. “That’s my silly girl.”

Becky melted into him, head resting on his chest, arms wrapped tight around his neck. The warmth of her soggy diaper pressed firmly against his hip, and he didn’t seem to mind one bit. She could smell his cologne — that warm, familiar scent that always made her feel safe.

“Missed you, Daddy,” she whispered.

“I missed you too, squishy buns.”

He walked them to the couch, settling down with her in his lap. The lights dimmed, the TV flicked on to some colorful cartoon with cheerful music and dancing animals. Becky didn’t care.

She was already floating.

Her legs curled around him, her diaper rustled softly with every tiny shift. His hand rubbed her back in slow, comforting circles.

She let out a long sigh, content.

And then — gently, with a sleepy smile curling across her lips — Becky began to wiggle.

Side to side. Soft. Slow. Happy wiggles.

Daddy chuckled quietly, planting a kiss on the top of her head.

Wrapped in his arms, her squishy diaper pressed warmly between them, her paci bobbing lazily in her mouth, Becky sighed again.

This wasn’t just comfort.

This was home.

Happy wiggles in Daddy’s arms.

[babywriter]

"Daddyyyy!"

It was sunday morning and Natalie was running around in her PJ and nighttime diaper. On the weekends, Daddy knew his babygirl enjoyed sleeping in to recover from that very tough week she'd gone through. But, always the energetic little, Natalie sprang up from bed when she realized that Daddy wasn't there to be cuddled. She ran to the kitchen, where he was making pancakes.

"Daddyyyy!" she whined.

Suddenly, she stopped her whining and uncoordinated twirling. Her body was telling her she needed to go.

"Mm." she grunted cutely. Thankfully, the sound of the pancakes getting cooked covered the sound of her peepee flowing into the diaper and that little toot she let out. Natalie also happened to have terrific timing.

"Pancakes are ready!" Daddy said as he flipped them on a plate.

The woman squealed in delight and ran, saggy diaper and all, to the kitchen's table. She nearly jumped on the chair. As such, the mess in the back of her diaper mushed and spread. But she didn't care. A bib was tied around her neck and Daddy brought the stack of pancakes that he covered in real maple syrup and lovingly cut and fed to his girlfriend. Even though tomorrow she wouldn't look like a baby to her coworkers, she could be assured that Daddy would tape her up in one of those same thick babyish diapers for her to go potty in. And well, she's still a baby on the weekends.

Photo credit: @nepies

For more stories by me: https://reamstories.com/babywriter

[mommycare4u]

What mommy got for Jolene at the shopping store 🛒

It was a pleasant Friday while baby Jolene was just waking up from a deep sleep in her big double soggy diaper after having series of lovely, adorable and sweet dreams of mommy all night because mommy bed time stories has shape baby dreams and thought, little Jolene just enjoy mommy cozy care and the night cuddle while in my big soggy diaper, mommy has change Jolene into newly born baby because that’s how baby feel and after the morning bre@stfeeding mommy whisper slowly to baby’s ear I have some mind blowing surprise for you my little Jolene, Curiously asking “ Really mommy what!?? While mommy was wearing that charming smile she replied baby We are going out for shopping spree, all baby old toys and wears will be replace because they are outdated and mommy want to brand my little Jolene because you know with mommy you’re now a new born baby and all your wears, pacifier, foods, Baba(bottle), chastity, wand, plugs, stuffies and many more will be replace to mommy taste you know mommy always know the best for baby and more diaper restocking since we already running low and mommy is going to be covering every cost baby because this your reward for being obedient and discipline baby, so mommy will be celebrating you my little Jolene which means today a new BABY IS BORN and the name JOLENE🎀🚼 the luckiest baby in the world 🤭❤️🤱

Like and reblog if you’re submissive and deserve a shopping spree like Jolene 🎀🥰🤱

[mommyameliestorycorner]

Reasons Why ALL Boys Belong in Diapers

Boys are messy creatures. From their sticky fingers to their questionable aim in the bathroom, boys have never been good at keeping things clean. A diaper just simplifies the whole process—no more "oops, I missed" or "it was just an accident!"

Moms and girlfriends are already cleaning up after them. Ever noticed how boys conveniently “forget” how to do laundry, dishes, or pick up their own socks? They already expect someone else to handle their messes—diapers just make it official!

They think farting is funny. So let’s see how they like a full diaper. Boys love to giggle about their own gas, but let’s see how funny it is when there’s more than just air in their diaper. Oh, what's that? Suddenly it's "not so funny"? Thought so!

They have the attention span of a goldfish. Oh, look! A ball! A car! A flashing light! Boys get so distracted by the simplest things—who has time to actually remember to use the potty when there are way more important things to focus on? Best to keep them safely diapered so they don’t make a mess when they inevitably forget.

They have NO shame. Boys will scratch, burp, and do all sorts of gross things in public without a second thought. If they have no problem acting like babies in front of everyone, why not dress them like one too?

They never know when to stop playing. Boys will run around, roughhouse, and completely ignore their obvious potty signals until—oopsie! Too late! Rather than trusting them with big boy underwear (as if!), it’s just safer to keep them padded so they can go whenever they inevitably lose track of time.

They’re so lazy. Let’s be honest, even if a boy could make it to the potty, would he really want to? Getting up, stopping what he's doing, actually aiming—so much effort! It's just easier to let him go in his diaper like the helpless little thing he is.

They still act like babies, so they might as well wear what babies wear. Boys whine when they don’t get their way, throw tantrums over the smallest things, and sulk when they lose. If they’re going to act like fussy little toddlers, they should be dressed like one too—diapers included!

They hate being told what to do. Which makes it even more fun! The best part? They’ll huff and puff, but there’s nothing they can do about it. They can squirm all they want—at the end of the day, they’ll still be right where they belong: safely diapered.

Deep down, they know they belong in diapers. At the end of the day, all their silly protests and puffed-up bravado don’t change the truth—boys just aren’t meant for potty training. They’re much better off being padded, protected, and properly taken care of. And while that will never change, their diapers certainly will—again and again and again

Please reblog I you agree, that all boys should be in diapers 24/7! Thank you @all4thedips for your suggestions and help.

[kayleeheartkins]

BRB, Busy doing big girl stuff 🖥️

[mommy-evan]

[regressionschool]

Is there anything better than this? The quiet, intimate ritual of unsnapping their onesie, revealing what you already knew was waiting—a diaper so utterly soaked it sags heavily against their skin. A diaper you put on them. It’s not just a piece of padding; it’s a symbol, a quiet reminder of how much they trust you, how much they’ve given themselves over to your care.

You let your fingers trace the edges of the fabric, feeling the faint dampness where it’s pressed against them, and you can’t help but smile. There’s a strange kind of pride in it, isn’t there? You didn’t just put them in that diaper; you chose it, snugged it up perfectly, and secured those tapes with the full knowledge of what would happen next. And now here it is—proof that they’ve completely let go, literally and figuratively.

There’s no rush, no urgency to move forward. You savor the moment. That adorable onesie, now loose and pulled aside, was once perfectly neat and tidy. The contrast between its innocent look and the very not-so-innocent state of what’s underneath is… well, it’s delightful in a way words don’t quite capture.

And, of course, there’s the future. The wet diaper you’re admiring now is just one in a long line of many. It’s not the first, and it certainly won’t be the last. You already know what comes next: the warm scent of powder, the soft crinkle of a fresh diaper being unfolded, and the satisfying sound of tapes being smoothed into place. It’s a cycle, one you both share, and one you wouldn’t trade for anything.

So no, there’s nothing better than this. The quiet pride, the tenderness, the knowledge that another diaper is always waiting. Always.

[mommyameliestorycorner]

Putty in My Hands

He used to fight it. He used to squirm, whine, and insist that diapers were "yucky"—that he wasn’t really a little boy. But now? Oh, now he’s nothing but soft, helpless putty in your hands.

The proof is right there, written all over his blushing face, in the way his body responds without him even meaning to. That thick, crinkly diaper that he once hated? Now it’s the only thing he wears, wrapped snug around his waist, and instead of pouting, he’s squirming for an entirely different reason.

You coo at him, trailing a finger along the waistband of his diaper, just enough to make him shiver. “Such a fussy little thing,” you tease, watching as he wriggles, his mittened hands balling into useless fists. “What’s the matter, baby? You used to hate your diapers, but now look at you…”

His cheeks are practically glowing pink, his lips wrapped around his paci as he sucks faster, like it’ll somehow distract from what’s happening. But it won’t. Nothing will. Not when his body gives him away so easily.

You press a gentle hand against the front of his diaper, just enough to make him whimper. “Ohhh… is that what I think it is?” you croon, grinning when he squeaks and tries to turn his head away. “Such a silly little boy… getting all excited in your thick, babyish diapers.”

He whines behind his paci, his hips shifting instinctively, but there’s nothing he can do. The bulky padding keeps him right where he belongs—helpless, needy, and completely at your mercy.

And then, just when he’s worked up, just when he’s practically trembling, waiting for whatever comes next… you pull away.

“Aww, poor baby,” you giggle, standing up and ruffling his hair. “But Mommy has things to do. Be good while I’m gone, okay?”

His eyes go wide, his little muffled protest coming out as nothing more than a whimper. He squirms, his diaper crinkling, but there’s no escape. No relief. Just frustration.

You lean down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead before whispering, “Maybe if you’re really good, I’ll take care of my squirmy baby later.”

And with that, you’re gone, leaving him blushing, crinkling, and absolutely desperate.

Putty in your hands.

[kayleeheartkins]

Plump in the front 🙈

Babykayleeheart.com

[mommy-evan]

[regressionschool]

The Challenge

You’ve worked at Regression School for over a decade. You’ve seen all kinds of Littles—reluctant ones, rebellious ones, even clever manipulators who smiled sweetly and plotted potty escapes the moment your back was turned. But none—none—had ever been quite like Melanie.

She didn’t cry when she was admitted. She didn’t protest during orientation. No, Melanie had stared you down, pacifier clipped neatly to her alphabet-print shirt, and simply stayed silent.

Day one had passed uneventfully. She’d sat quietly through nap time, toddled obediently through the halls in her light-up shoes, and even colored neatly within the lines. But she hadn’t asked for the potty. Not once.

You made a note of it in her chart, just like all the others.

But day two had been… different.

The scene replays in your mind like a snapshot—Melanie in the middle of the reading circle, crinkling just slightly in her training pull-ups, legs crossed daintily and an air of defiance in her every motion. The class was quiet, listening to Miss Jenny read "The Little Bunny’s Big Day", and Melanie had shifted once… then again… and then—

A soft hiss.

You weren’t the only one who noticed. Her pull-ups bloated subtly under her sundress, then darkened. You watched the creeping stain, the slow sag. By the time she stood up, it was clear—too clear.

“Oh no, sweetie,” Miss Jenny had said gently, taking her hand. “Looks like you need a change.”

Melanie’s eyes found you across the room.

It wasn’t an accident. That much was obvious.

She wanted you to see.

There wasn’t embarrassment or shame in them. Only a glint of challenge.

And so, on day three, you did what any seasoned caregiver at Regression School would do when confronted with such behavior—you removed the option for rebellion.

No more training pants. No more pull-ups. Melanie was returned from the changing room swaddled securely in a thick white medical diaper, double-taped at the hips, with a telltale yellow wetness indicator running down the center.

She didn’t say a word about it.

But her eyes found yours again.

Still challenging.

Still daring you.

You called her to your office after lunch. Not because of misbehavior—she’d followed every rule to the letter—but because you needed to understand her. Littles who gave up too easily were boring. Ones who resisted forever were exhausting. But Melanie… she was something else.

The door to your office clicked shut behind her with a quiet finality. Melanie didn’t flinch. She didn’t even glance at the plush pastel posters or the stack of reward stickers lined up like medals on your shelf.

She flopped into the chair across from your desk with practiced ease, legs parting carelessly, the thick white diaper beneath her riding high and proud, crinkling as she settled in.

“Well?” she asked, eyes steady on yours. “Gonna give me another sticker for coloring inside the lines?”

You folded your hands on the desk.

“No,” you replied, voice calm but firm. “That’s not the point. Most Littles need days—sometimes weeks—before they finally let go. They cling to their old habits, clutching at that last shred of potty training like it’s sacred. But you…” You let your eyes travel down briefly to the faint yellow bloom beginning to show on her diaper. “You gave it up from the start.”

Melanie didn’t look away. But the corner of her mouth twitched half amusement, half bitterness.

“So what do you want?” she asked, voice low and cool, though her fingers fidgeted slightly on the soft pink arms of the chair. “A tantrum? Some tears? You won’t get them.”

You leaned back in your seat, studying her.

“Why you’ve surrendered so easily… but still look at me like you're winning.”

That cracked something. A flicker behind her eyes. She sighed and reached up to brush a lock of auburn hair off her cheek, the pacifier bouncing lightly on its clip.

“You think I had a choice?” she said finally. “We both know what Regression School is. No one gets enrolled and leaves with their potty training intact."

“So that’s it, then?” you asked softly, watching her shift again in the chair. “You’re just going to go along with it? Play the perfect Little, as long as you get to pretend you’re still in control?”

Melanie’s eyes sparked again, her lips curling—not sweetly, not submissively, but with a slyness that could cut.

“I never said I was pretending.”

The silence was punctuated only by the quiet hum of the overhead fan. And then—

She shifted her weight with deliberate slowness, planting her feet on either side of the plush chair, knees spread wide. The pacifier on her clip bobbed gently with the motion. Her hands slid to the cushioned arms, steadying herself, and her gaze never left yours.

Then came the sound.

It started soft. A barely audible grunt from Melanie, low and unhurried, followed by a sudden crackle, muffled by layers of thick padding. Her brow furrowed slightly, not in discomfort, but focus. A long, hot breath escaped her lips, and the unmistakable squish and squelch of her diaper filling echoed faintly between the walls.

You watched as the pristine white bulk beneath her dress puffed outward at the back, sagging visibly, discoloring slightly around the edges. The wetness indicator had already begun to blur from yellow to green, but now—now it was joined by a bulging distortion that left no doubt. The smell followed quickly, sweet and sour, familiar.

And Melanie?

She grinned.

“Oops,” she said, voice syrup-sweet and mock-innocent. “Guess I really am settling in.”

You stared at her, half in disbelief and half in awe.

Most Littles hid it the first few times. Curled up, covered their faces, whimpered. But Melanie—Melanie leaned back, legs spread, a fresh mess ballooning softly in the seat of her now thoroughly used diaper, sagging and squishing as she shifted her hips just a little more.

“This what you wanted to see?” she whispered.

You didn’t answer right away. You couldn’t. Because this—this wasn't surrender. It wasn’t defeat.

It was power.

And Melanie knew it.

“Well,” you said finally, rising from your seat and circling your desk slowly. “I think it’s time for a fresh diaper, little one.”

Melanie just smiled wider, utterly unashamed. “Then you better bring the thick ones. I don’t think I’m done yet.”

She wasn’t embarrassed.

She wasn’t broken.

She was in control of this, of you, of the moment.

[massagemisstress]

Reblog If you want mommy to put you in Diaper