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We looked inside some of the posts by abdream7 and here's what we found interesting.
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Notes Per Post
11K
Likes Per Post
8K
Reblog Per Post
2K
Reply Per Post
48
Time Between Posts
44 minutes
Number of Posts By Type
Text
15
Video
1
Photo
1
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Tumblr deleted this one from Miss Little Luna's blog. Fortunately, I had a copy in my wank bank. Thought I'd put it back
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Emergency dirty diaper change at the sleepover
“Sweety it smells like there’s more than peepee in there. Are you feeling ok?”
“Don’t be embarrassed. I’ll try to be extra quiet so Brandon never has to know. It will be our secret.”
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“Come here sweetheart. Everything’s ok. You’re safe with mommy now. And you don't have to worry about that mean cruel college girl that dumped you. Just forget her and let mommy make it better”
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Your mom often dropped you off at your aunt’s house when life overwhelmed her, leaving you there for days or even weeks occasionally. Your aunt, childless from a career that devoured her chance at a family, harbored a regret that poured into her desperate need to mother you. At first, her care was intense but simple—piling on blankets, reading bedtime stories, lingering to smooth your hair with a tenderness that felt both warm and heavy. You leaned into it, too shy to resist. Her maternal instincts, raw and unrestrained, inched forward, each step so subtle you accepted it like a frog in warming water, barely noticing the shift.
Her unfulfilled longing pushed the routine further. She began bathing you, running a warm cloth over your skin with meticulous care, claiming it was just practical. Then, knowing you didn’t wear diapers at home for your occasional bedwetting, she insisted on them for her beds, fastening it onto you with a quiet firmness. You blushed but were too shy to say no. Over time, she diapered you earlier each evening, the ritual starting right after dinner.
Later she even began then reassuring you it was okay to wet before bed since it was just more convenient. Eventually she even started hinting that poopy diapers were normal for bedwetters, her tone soft but deliberate. One night, after her hints, your curiosity got the best of you and you filled your diaper with poop. When she smelled it her chest instinctually pushed out and she quickly peeked down the back of the diaper like you were a little boy.
As she changed you, wiping you clean with steady hands, she slipped a pacifier into your mouth to “calm you down,” her eyes gleaming strangely. Soon, afterwards a baby bottle was introduced. Finally, she offered time at her breast, but strangely you noticed she only fed you that way if you’d filled your diaper with poop, her gaze intense with maternal fulfillment.
As weird as it all was, you continually found yourself making excuses to stay—mom’s stress, school troubles—because you’d grown to crave her nurturing, each step weaving you deeper into her desperate, motherly world
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