sillyoperatorbasketballshepherd

[sillyoperatorbasketballshepherd]

Let’s get one thing straight,” Ella said, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t make the rules. I do.”

I gulped, squirming in my highchair. Already this girl was more stern than the last few babysitters my wife hired. Apparently they had reported that I was displaying some “less than desirable behavior”, but could you blame me? My wife was putting me in dresses and diapers and going off to fuck other men. I had to listen to her—lest she divorce me and take all my money, but I did not have to listen to some mid-twenties “babysitter” when I was twice their age. But that was before I met this girl.

“Rule number 1,” she said matter of factly, tossing back her hair so hard her boobs bounced, “you will address me as either ‘Miss Ella’ or ‘Ma’am’ at all times. I will not answer to ‘hey’ or ‘um’ or ‘uhh’. If I tell you to do something, you do it. No pouting. No arguing. No backtalk. You will say ‘Yes Ma’am’ and you will follow my instructions.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but she continued, pacing back and forth as she rattled off her rulebook.

“Rule number 2, you will not use foul language or any grown-up words for that matter. Since you are not dressed like an adult, you will not speak like one. That means I want to hear nothing but lisps and baby babble, otherwise I will wash those filthy grown-up words out with a bar of soap, do you understand me?”

“Yes Miss Ella.” I said before I could even think about rebelling.

“What was that?!” She snapped. Her voice cracking like a sharp whip.

“Uh, uh…yeth Mith Ewwa.”

She smiled, but only for a second before morphing back into her menacing glare. “Better.”

Why was I trembling? This girl was practically half the size of me. I could easily take her. But instead I was…afraid? Seriously?

She scooped up the little canvas bag she’d brought in with her, “That brings us to Rule 3…” she said unzipping it and rifling through it. “Whatever I bring to you, you will take it and you will use it for its intended purpose. If I put a pacifier in your mouth, it stays there until I remove it. If I put a rattle in your hand, you shake it. If I put a spoon full of mush in your mouth, you will eat it, and…”

She pulled out the object she was looking for, setting it down on the tray in front of me. “…if I give you a bottle, you will drink it. Every. Last. Drop. I don’t care how thick it is or how full your little tummy thinks it is. You’re in a high chair, diapered, and in a ridiculous little onesie. You don’t have a say. You drink what you’re given and say ‘thank you’ after.”

I stared at the bottle in front of me. My wife had the highchair, sure, but it was mainly just to emasculate me. She’d cut my food into tiny, bite-sized pieces to patronize me, but steady it was real food. She never made me drink a bottle before. I wrinkled my nose involuntarily.

Ella stopped mid-step and turned slowly, eyebrow raised. “Was that a face?”

She leaned over the tray, hands on her hips, her face so close to mine I could feel her minty breath from the gum she was smacking. “Is there a problem, babygirl?” Her voice was smooth, but dangerous. “Do we need to go over the consequences of you disobeying me?”

How was she so intimidating?? “N-No Mith Ewwa!” I squeaked.

“I think we should! If I catch you making any sort of face I don’t approve of, you will be facing the corner in timeout. Mmk, pumpkin?”

“Y-yeth ma’aam…”

“Good!” She smiled, sliding the bottle forward, “then drink up!”

Reluctantly, I picked the bottle of milk up, trying my best not to make a face. She watched closely as I brought it to my lips, took the nipple in my mouth, and started sucking. It somehow tasted worse than I expected. I’m sure I made a face, or at least cringed, but luckily she only found that amusing. I suckled the bottle slowly, trying not to groan at the weight of it in my mouth or the embarrassment blooming in my chest.

“Rule four…” she continued, pacing once more. “No touching your diaper without asking. If I see you tugging at it or sneaking a feel, you’ll spend the rest of the day in mittens. If I catch you trying to rub your pathetic little penis against anything, I…well…do you know what a chastity cage is?”

I did, but I didn’t want to learn what it felt like. I squeezed my legs together, because erections tended to have terrible timing. I could feel the dampness of my diaper between my thighs—already there from earlier—or had I done it just recently? People didn’t actually piss themselves from fear…right?

She crossed her arms, staring at me like I was the most pathetic thing she’d ever seen. “Rule number 5,” you don’t ask for a diaper change. Ever. You wait for me to check you. Only I decide when you get a fresh pamper.”

I whimpered softly around the nipple of the bottle.

She raised an eyebrow. “Was that a whine?”

I shook my head frantically.

“Good. Because one more noise like that and you’ll be making all kinds of noises when I pull that diaper down and put you over my knee! Think I won’t?”

My heart raced. I believed her.

“Rule number 6: I don’t change poopy diapers. So if you make a poopy diaper, you can expect to stay in that poopy diaper until your wife gets back. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Miss Ella…”

“What was that?” She snapped.

“Yeth, Mith Ewwa…”

“Now,” she said, her voice softening just a notch as she reached forward and brushed a lock of hair from my face, “you focus on your bottle like a good baby. When you’re done, I’ll check your diaper. If you’re wet—and we both know you are—you’re getting changed on the living room floor. No whining, no hiding. You’re the baby. You don’t get to feel shy anymore.”

My face was so hot I thought I might faint.

“Oh, and rule number…what rule are we on now? Doesn’t matter,” she shrugged with a smirk, leaning in close for added effect, inches away from the bottle I was choking down. “If you pull any of the shit you did with those other sitters, I will bring out the reins, and you’ll crawl. On all fours, in nothing but your wittle baby diapers and a pwetty pink tutu, and I’ll parade your ass around the block!”

I nodded quickly, then forced the words out, my voice high and broken.

“Y-yeth, Mith Ewwa…I’ll b-b-be good!! I pwomise!!”

She laughed wickedly, obviously taking pride in already breaking me. “Oh, and one more thing…” she pulled out her phone. “When I want to take pictures—and I will want to take pictures—you will smile like the big, happy baby I know you are!! Now say ‘Cheese and baba-squeeze!!’”

I popped the bottle out of my mouth, milk—or whatever it was—dripping down my cheek as I said the words and flashed a wide smile.

“Good girl. ” she said, standing back up with a satisfied grin. “I need other Mommies to see how good I am at putting their bratty husbands in their place! Now finish up your ba ba, I have much more in store for you today!”

[sillyoperatorbasketballshepherd]

Oral Fixation

The phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Marissa didn’t rush to pick it up. She turned another page in her book, tea cooling at her side, and let it buzz again.

She already knew what it was, didn’t need to look. She’d check it when she got bored.

Finally, after finishing another chapter or two, she scrolled through her notifications, checking them off one by one. Instagram feeds, her digital farm that needed attending, and finally her text messages.

[Image: 8:24 PM]

Hard at work. No resistance tonight. He dropped down and opened up like he’d been waiting all day.

There he was—kneeling, arms around the man’s thighs, face buried where it belonged. Hair messy, cheeks flushed, jaw working like it had purpose.

[Video: 0:17 seconds]

Eager little thing. So needy tonight. Have you not been feeding him? He latched onto my dick like he hasn’t had a bottle for days.

She watched the rhythm of her husband’s head bobbing up and down. Studied the surrender. That trance state he entered when the fixation was being fed, when his mouth finally had something real to do. She listened to the wet, slurpy sounds and the familiar glk glk glk. He didn’t gag, he’d learned to control that weeks ago. He took every inch like it fed something deep and nameless in him.

Marissa’s expression barely flickered—like she was watching a TikTok about sourdough starters. Interesting. Predictable. Nothing she hadn’t seen ferment a dozen times before.

Because this hadn’t begun with another man. It had started in her own home, with something much smaller:

A pacifier.

He’d always had a problem with his mouth. Chewing pen caps to plastic splinters. Sucking on straws long after the drink was gone. Biting his nails or the inside of his cheek until they bled.

She used to call it nerves. Later, she saw it for what it was: a compulsion. An oral fixation he never outgrew.

It was during an argument—circular, endless—that she finally snapped. Reached into a drawer, grabbed a leftover gag gift, and shoved the pacifier into his mouth.

“Try this,” she said. “Maybe it’ll shut you up.”

And it had.

He had frozen… and softened. His eyes half-lidded. His jaw slack. That need—so raw, so embarrassing—soothed by something so small.

That was the first time she saw it clearly: It wasn’t just a habit. It was a weakness.

Bottles came next. Naturally. If he was going to suck, she might as well give him something real to swallow. Warm milk, herbal blends, rich formula that slowed the flow, dragging long and heavy down his throat. The thick liquid stretched the ritual, kept his mouth busy longer. When he finally pulled away,when the last drop was spent, he was calm, quiet, and manageable.

The way she liked him.

But milk meant accidents.

It didn’t matter how grown-up he claimed to be, or how tightly he crossed his legs. Sooner or later, the warmth filled his belly and demanded a way out. First it was leaks. Then midnight runs to the bathroom. Then wet sheets.

She didn’t shame him. She didn’t have to.

She just laid a diaper out on the bed one night and said nothing. And when he stood there hesitating, she only raised an eyebrow.

“You’re the one who wanted the bottle,” she said. “It’s only fitting that a diaper go along with it..”

That was the first time.

Diapers were a natural extension. First at night. Then weekends. Then always.

He tried to hide his face as she taped it on. But after a few nights, the hesitation dulled. The rustle of plastic became normal. Expected. Necessary.

It solved the problem, and created better ones. Ones that crinkled with every step. That kept him soft, and small, and silent, almost as much as his pacifiers did.

Because after the bottles, after the toys, and now the diapers… his mouth wasn’t the only thing being trained.

The shame burned him at first. But it wore off. Crinkle by crinkle, hour by hour, he settled into it. She kept him well-padded and well-fed. Still, he fidgeted. Lingered.

That mouth always searching.

******

At first, Marissa tried to channel his fixation herself.

He’d curl up in her arms, desperate and needy, using her breasts like a pacifier—latching on, sucking, seeking comfort in the warmth she offered. She liked the closeness it brought, the way he melted beneath her touch.

She even used him between her legs. Often. Giving him a tap on the head to let him know to get to work. Gripping him by the hair, pulling him in closer, deeper. His mouth was eager, obedient, always hungry—and she took what she wanted from it.

But it still wasn’t enough. Not for him.

And eventually, not for her either.

She could only provide so much. She could only have so many orgasms before her clit was raw. She could only handle so much.

More importantly, she didn’t want to be the one constantly managing his needs. Not when they were bottomless. Not when his hunger had begun to swallow up her time, her patience, her energy.

Taking care of a needy mouth and diapers was hard work. Constant work. Bottles, bibs, feedings, checkings, changings, calming, resetting. He was always hungry. Always leaking. Always circling her for more like it was her responsibility.

She didn’t want to have to be the only one wiping his chin and checking his padding every few hours. That wasn’t dominance. That was labor.

So she handed him off—or maybe told him off. It blurred.

Either way, the message was clear:

You need more than I care to give.

And then she made sure he got it.

He needed his mouth used, worked, trained, filled. Again and again until it was exhausted. Not endlessly suckling at her breast, not circling her thighs like a starving pet.

So she made the smarter move.

She handed him off. She outsourced the mess. The noise. The handful. At first it was just to friends and sisters and babysitters, but he was too much of a burden for them even in short spurts. She only had one other option.

When she told him, his body tensed. Eyes wide. Voice small. “No… please… not that,” he begged, he cried. “I don’t want to go that far.”

But she knew better. She didn’t argue. Didn’t scold. She just waited. Because she knew: the fixation always won.

And when it inevitable did—when he was too pent-up, too twitchy, too desperate to sit still—she handed him off properly.

To men. Real men.

Men who understood what a mouth like his could be used for—and who had the patience to make him earn every drop. Men who didn’t coddle, didn’t coo, men who used him and his mouth the way it craved to be used. Not just just one man either. Multiple. A system of selectively chosen handlers to pass him around and take care of something she no longer had to handle all by herself. They didn’t just use him. They broke him down. Disciplined him. Dressed him up all pretty. Sent him home with a sore bottom���in more ways than one.

Some even changed his diapers, others didn’t bother, letting him return to her soaked and used, exactly as he should be.

She didn’t ask for details. Didn’t need to. The system worked. And she held the reins. Because control didn’t mean being the only one feeding, dressing, wiping. It meant knowing exactly who was doing it for you.

And making sure he never forgot whose rules made it all possible.

******

Tonight, he was with “Rico”.

“Rico” wasn’t a friend. Just another man in the rotation. Firm. Demanding. Dominant. Just like her slutty husband needs.

Now, nights like this were standard. She received updates from Rico like clockwork:

[8:48 PM] Already sucked my soul out twice and still hungry for more!

[9:02 PM] Keeps whining that he has to shit, but I told him I ain’t changing him. He’ll get the belt if he asks again.

[9:15 PM] Back in his mouth again. He’s humping like a needy bitch. Had to put something between his legs before he wore a hole in my carpet. You need to get him caged.

Marissa read each one with detached calm, like she was skimming a weather report.

Usually she didn’t feel the need to reply, just received updates. But she thought it would be funny to set the record straight.

[9:19 PM] You know what the pathetic part is? He already is caged! 😂

Another “fixation” she didn’t want to have to deal with…

[9:19 PM] You would know that if you ever actually changed a diaper, Rico…

[9:22 PM] Haha naw I ain’t doin no diaper duty. I may wipe his chin after he’s done sucking this dick, but I ain’t wipin no ass. That’s for damn sure.

She rolled her eyes, but still smirked. Her phone buzzed again.

[Voice Message 2:39 seconds]

*Wet, glk glk glk noises, eager mmm’ing.*

"Look at you, round three and you’re still desperate for this dick! Keep slobbering, bitch! I want it sloppy!”

*Heavy breathing, frantic slurping, crinkling in rhythm.*

Awww yea! That’s it you fucking slut! You know this is all you’re good for, right?? Just a warm mouth. A wet hole. You’re not a man. You're not even a sissy. You’re a suction toy in a wet diaper!

*High-pitched moaning, low-pitched groaning*

Is this really what you need? Is this how far you’ve sunk? This is your fix? You really can’t go a night without stuffing that needy mouth, can you? I'm just a pacifier to you. A big, meaty pacifier. You're addicted to dick!

*whimpering, sniffling, more crinkling*

Fuck yeah… right there… just like that—don’t slow down—fucking whore…keep going!

*Slurping quickens, crinkling intensifies*

Unnhh yea I'm bout to bust, take that dick down deeper! Unnhh that's it!! Ready bitch?? Here it cumss!!"

*Grunts, groans, lonngg exhale, wet sound slows, crinkling stops*

Don't you fucking swallow. Hold that shit! Show it to me! Wider! *spits* Hold that shit too! Now gargle!

*Whimpering, gargling noises*

Now thank your wife.

Ffank 'oo fow foinding me unh caock 'oo shuckk, Mooummy

Hahaha! Now swallow! Fucking pathetic ass bitch. Did you cum? Did you cum in that fucking diaper while you were being a good little cocksucker?

*Whimpers, whiny puppy sounds*

N-no sir...

Get over here, let me check. I ain't touching that diaper, but hold it open, let me see inside.

*rustling. silence for a beat.*

Holy SHIT! Is that your cage? I never seen one that small! It's flat! How do you fit in that?? Hmm..I don't see no jizz though. Good, Yo' ass would be gettin my belt if you did. God DAMN you're wet, though! All that since you got here?? You smell like straight piss! Get yo soggy ass outta here and go get me another beer!

*frantic rustling and whimpering*

[Audio Clicks Off]

She barely even listened to the clip.

It all blended together these days—mouth sounds, moans, that garbled gratitude. No video needed. She’d heard it enough times to draw the scene from memory. Pathetic, but predictable. She did like the degrading comments though. He needed them.

She downloaded all the photos. Archived the videos. The close-ups. The angles Rico liked to send. Her husband, red-faced and dripping beads of sweat and juices, lips stretched around his bulbous cock, moaning desperately while he ground his diapered hips into whatever was stuffed between his thighs like a bitch in heat.

Everything got cataloged—videos, notes, timestamps. They all went into the same folder labeled “Feeding Files”

She doesn’t keep the folder for arousal or nostalgia. Not even for blackmail, really. She rarely even watches most of them. Too many to count. It’s just inventory. A record of outsourced needs, so she doesn’t have to waste her own energy remembering when and how he was handled.

She went back to TikTok and scrolled through a few videos. Her thumb idled across the screen, skipping clips of recipes, dog videos, a woman silently organizing a kitchen drawer.

Then she paused. Frowned. Remembering she forgot something. Switched apps, checked her calendar, then went back to her messages with Rico.

[9:49 PM] "Almost forgot: hand him off to Marcus and Levi next. They got him for the rest of the night. 2-for-1 special. If he still needs to poop, let him. Marcus actually changes diapers...unlike someone I know...:P"

A small respite. Then another buzz.

[9:53 PM] Haha very funny. You want me to take him? He ain't gettin in my truck with no stank ass diaper.

[9:55 PM] He can walk. It's just a few blocks. Give him back his shirt but not his skirt.

She set her phone down, then sighed as she remembered something again.

[9:56 PM] Oh, and tell him not to moan so much when they're fucking his ass. They like it when he whines and pretends to struggle. Gets them harder that way.

[10:07 PM] He just left. Not before crouching down and dropped a massive dump first though. He was more upset that I kicked him out without a pacifier than about having to waddle out in public. Let me book him again for Saturday, I'm having a party.

She let out a quick exhale. A Mommy's job never ends. A quick swipe of her calendar told her he was already booked for Saturday, but it was just Viktor, and Viktor liked watching him beg too much to care what day it was. She would text him tomorrow to confirm a reschedule, but adjusted her calendar anyway.

[10:10 PM] Booked. I assume that means there will be more than enough…meat…to keep him satisfied?

[10:14] Oh yeah… they’ll use him up. He’ll be too milk-drunk and tongue-tied to whine for a while. Probably be walking funny until Tuesday!

That got a little smirk from her, but was quickly covered by a yawn. She tossed her phone aside. Not wanting to look at it anymore. Still, this was much easier than fixing bottles, changing diapers, and handing out teething toys for a needy 37-year-old.

She slid under the covers, enjoying the fact that she had the whole bed to herself tonight, but really it had been that way since one of the handlers (whose name she was now forgetting) put a crib in the other room for hubby. No more crinkling beside her, no more desperate gumming at a pacifier like his life depended on it. Just sleep. Blessed, uninterrupted sleep. With no wet sheets to wake up to in the morning.

She lay in bed, warm and undisturbed, phone silenced, her husband kept busy, kept used, kept away. For the first time in years, everything was managed. The whining, the need, the fixation—delegated. Outsourced. Solved.

Her life wasn’t perfect, but it was finally hers again.

And the mouth that once caused her so many problems?

Now it served her—quietly, obediently, and completely.

[sillyoperatorbasketballshepherd]

"Daddy and I are going to be a while, so let's put on your panties to protect you from leakies!"

[sillyoperatorbasketballshepherd]

Under Their Noses

Cody lay on his back atop the oversized changing table, his legs hoisted high in the air by his step-sister Sofía. She pinched her nose between two fingers and made a dramatic show of turning her head and gagging, but still manage to giggle at his shame all the same.

“Ewwww gross!!! Mom! He stinks! What the hell have you been feeding him?”

“You should know,” his step-mother Isabel replied matter-of-factly. “You’re the one on bottle and highchair duty.”

Sofía blinked, then laughed. “Oh, right. This must be the result of the bottle from yesterday, huh? Banana rice cereal and prune concentrate? Guess it worked.”

She gave the seat of his swollen diaper a firm, squelchy pat. “Yup. Definitely worked.”

Cody whimpered behind his pacifier, face blazing. He hated how easily she could talk to him like that. Like this was all a game. Like he was beneath even her mockery.

It hadn’t always been like this.

Just a few months ago, Cody had been a free–if slightly aimless–22 year old guy. Drifting between jobs, spending too much time gaming, and occasionally mouthing off to his newly blended family. His step-sister Sofía had just moved back home after college, and Isabel, his father’s new wife, had become the de facto authority in the house once his dad took a job overseas.

Cody hadn’t respected her. That was his first mistake.

It didn’t happen all at once. At first, it was just new rules — curfews, scheduled chores, phone checks. Isabel called it structure. Cody called it controlling. But when he started skipping job interviews, sneaking out at night, lying about who he was with, she didn’t argue. She watched. Quietly, patiently. And then one morning, the bathroom was locked. His clothes were gone. In their place: a stack of folded diapers and a note that read, “Actions have consequences. Let’s try again.” There was no shouting, no second warning — just a new reality, imposed with the same calm finality she used for everything else.

Now, several months later, Cody lay back on the padded changing table, legs lifted high and held firmly in place by Sofía’s perfectly manicured hands. She let out a groan of exaggerated disgust, her nose wrinkling as she inspected the swollen, soiled diaper beneath him. A soft, humiliated sound escaped him around the pacifier in his mouth. His face burned, cheeks flushed with helpless shame. His exposed bottom twitched slightly in her grasp, still sticky from the mess he’d made earlier. He hated the way she held him, like he was some dirty, helpless doll, something to be handled and wiped down without dignity.

Across the room, his stepmother, Isabel, tied her thick dyed hair into a tight bun. “I warned him,” she said, almost more to herself than to Sofía. “There’s a difference between immaturity and deliberate disobedience. Once he crossed that line, I had no choice.” She snapped on a pair of latex gloves, as though about to perform a procedure, not just a diaper change.

Sofía laughed. “He does look kinda proud of himself. I mean, just look at him—laid out like a wittle baybee, butt up, waiting for Mommy to come clean his dirty diapee! Hahaha! Pathetic.”

Isabel approached the table, giving Cody’s hip a firm pat. “Legs up higher, sweetie. If you’re gonna make a mess that big, you can display it proudly..”

Cody obeyed, the movement awkward and humiliating. Sofia helped him, but only a little, letting him do most of the work. His abs and limbs trembled slightly with the effort, but Isabel didn’t acknowledge it. She was already focused.

With practiced motions, she unfastened the diaper’s tapes, letting it peel away with a wet squelch that made Cody wince. Her expression was unreadable. She didn’t even flinch at the sight—or smell—of his mess. She’d done this many times. 

“I told you this would happen,” Sofía said in a singsong voice, adjusting her grip on Cody’s thighs to hold them high, his messy exposed bottom fully on display. “You kept pushing her, and now look at you. What’s that expression? Play stupid games, win stupid diapers?”

Cody squirmed, the changing table creaking faintly beneath him, his body completely at their mercy.

Sofía smirked. “Remember when he used to argue with you, Mom? All that swagger, all those little tantrums. What was it you used to say, Mamá? ‘If you act like a brat…’?”

“‘…you’ll end up over my knee,’” Isabel replied with a quiet smile. “And he did.”

Cody whimpered, his face flushing. That first spanking had been a turning point, dragged across Isabel’s lap in front of Sofía, pants around his ankles, dignity gone. 

“You cried like a little niño, remember?” Sofía added with a grin. “Kicking, crying, and whining while I held you down and your first diaper got taped on. Your behavior hasn’t improved much since.”

Isabel’s voice was calm as she began to wipe him down with slow, deliberate strokes. “You stopped acting like a man, Cody. So I stopped treating you like one. This isn’t punishment, sweetheart. It’s retraining. You made it clear you didn’t want the responsibilities of adulthood. So we stopped giving them to you. No more decisions, no more privileges.”

“Translation?” Sofía leaned in, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “You threw tantrums until you got put back in diapers. And now you’re stuck in them. You’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”

Cody squeezed his eyes shut.

Sofía sighed, glancing down at him, “you’re lucky we didn’t go straight to the highchair and bottle feedings from day one. You were practically asking for this! Acting like such a brat almost immediately!” Sofía added, brushing hair from her face with a hand she wasn’t using to hold his ankles. “All bark, no backbone. Honestly, Mom, you were too soft on him at first. Letting him eat real food and use the toilet like a big boy? You spoiled him.”

Isabel wiped thoroughly, clinically, making no effort to spare his dignity. Fondling the wipe around his balls, swiping through his buttcrack.

Isabel chuckled softly. “I wanted to give him a chance to grow up. Turns out he needed the opposite.”

Sofía scoffed and forced his legs wide open to expose him further, allowing her Mother to get better access to cleaning her step-brothers’ puckered little butthole. “If he were mine, boy clothes would be banned. He’d be all bows, ribbons, and pretty dresses.”

Isabel smiled faintly as she reached for the cream. “Don’t tempt me. He still has some privileges… for now.”

Cody flushed deeper as she gently, but thoroughly, rubbed the ointment across his skin, applying it with slow, practiced fingers.. He hated how routine it had become. How normal it now felt to be changed by his stepmother while his stepsister watched. 

“Unfortunately… touching yourself isn’t one of those privileges you get anymore, is it, Cody?” Isabel said, her voice almost proud as she gave his cheek a playful pinch. “Not since we added the cage, huh?”

She tapped the flattened little metal prison around his cock and balls, making it clink on the end of her nails. He flinched and gave a small, instinctive nod.

Sofía leaned closer, grinning. “Aww. Poor wittle baby. Stuck in diapers, and still can’t make his little cummies. That must be so frustrating!!”

Isabel gave a slight nod of approval. “It’s necessary. He showed us he couldn’t be trusted with his body, so now he doesn’t get to make decisions about it.”

She unfolded the new diaper and slid it under him. “Soon, he won’t even remember what freedom felt like,” Isabel said gently. “Just routine. Obedience. And maybe, one day, gratitude.”

“How long has it been since you used the potty like a big boy?” Sofía mused aloud. “Two weeks? Three? You should hear how he whimpers when the ten-second timer goes off and he has to get off the toilet and go fill his diaper instead. It’s adorable!!”

“He’s lucky I still let him earn pull-ups on good days,” Isabel said as she dusted powder across his skin. “But lately…there haven’t been many of those, have there, Cody?”

Cody didn’t answer. He stayed quiet, his body still as she pulled the thick diaper up between his legs and taped it snug around his hips. Shame pooled behind the pacifier bulb in his mouth. Isabel approached the table, calm and in control. 

“He’s been slipping this week,” Isabel said to her daughter, her voice low with carefully measured disapproval. “Wetting before nap. Messing after breakfast.”

Cody flinched behind his pacifier, heart sinking. He thought that was what they wanted. That was how babies behaved. That was what they'd trained him to do.

Wasn’t it? Or was it the other way around?

Sofía clicked her tongue. “Poor guy just can’t seem to figure it out, huh?”

“He’s trying,” Isabel said finally. “In his own way.”

Sofía leaned in, eyes gleaming. “Trying’s cute. But you’d think after six months, he’d have picked up a few things.”

Cody flinched at that, but stayed quiet. He had picked up on things. He thought he had. Wake up. Drink what they give you. Mess after breakfast. Nap wet. Don't ask too many questions. Smile when praised. Apologize when scolded. But no matter how carefully he played the part, it always came back to this: them being disappointed, him being confused, and him getting taped back into yet another diaper.

Isabel smoothed powder over his skin. “Some lessons take longer to sink in.”

Sofía smirked. “And some boys just aren’t meant to graduate.”

“There,” Isabel said, dusting her hands with quiet finality. “Fresh and dry. Let’s see how long that lasts.”

Sofía let his legs drop with a dramatic sigh. “You’re welcome, baby bro. Auntie Sofía’s arms are tired from holding up that heavy little mush tush!”

Cody had a lot of things he wanted to say to his step-sister, but all of them would  only lead to bars of soap in his mouth, or another trip over Sofia’s knees for a date with Mr. Hairbursh.

Isabel gave the front of his diaper a final pat, sealing the last tape with clinical precision. “You’ll thank me for this one day, cariño. But for now, we keep working on your attitude… and your control.” She nodded towards the kitchen. “Sofía? Bottle, please.”

“Vanilla formula with a splash of prune juice,” Sofía called, already moving. “He’s overdue, isn’t he?”

Isabel leaned down and gently brushed his hair back. “This isn’t a punishment, Cody. It’s structure. The same structure your father needed…and responded to.”

Cody blinked, confused. His father?

Sofía reappeared in the doorway and froze, her smirk growing by the second. “Wait… you never told him??” she asked, laughing. “Oh my God! He really didn’t know!”

Cody looked between them, his heart thudding. “Told me what?”

Isabel didn’t answer right away. Instead, she adjusted the fit of his diaper, smoothing the waistband in slow, practiced strokes.

Sofía crouched beside him, voice syrupy but quiet. “Your Papá was in diapers too. Right here. On this table. With Mama changing him, except he didn’t drag it out like you.”

Cody’s eyes widened, stomach twisting. “No…” he breathed behind his pacifier.

“Oh yes,” Sofía whispered. “Two months. He was messy, entitled, mouthy…just like you! But he learned. Fast.”

Cody’s cheeks burned. “How did I not know?”

Isabel placed a hand on Cody’s belly, smiling. But this time her smile wasn’t matronly in tone. It felt sharp, almost cruel. “Because we didn’t want you to.” She said, face impassive, “Your dad…he was tougher. We gave him room to fail, to mess up, to figure things out. You…you need this more. You’re fragile. You slip. So we have to be harder on you. Tighter. Because you’re not ready to be free yet.”

Cody swallowed hard, a creeping understanding settling inside him like cold stone. Suddenly it all made sense.

They always found a reason to deny him the chance to get out of diapers. If he wet and dirtied too many, they claimed he didn’t know how to control his urges, so he needed to stay in diapers. But if he managed to hold it too long, they would say he “must be constipated” and give him a suppository, an enema, or something extra in his bottle to help things move along.

His reactions never helped. If he cried over a dirty diaper, they called him too whiny, unable to handle discomfort. But when he didn’t cry, they whispered that he must like the feel of it, that he was getting used to it, so there was no sense in taking him out of diapers now

Feedings were no different. Sofía would spoonfeed him mushy food, but often ‘accidentally’ missed his mouth, letting soft bits drip down his cheeks and chin, then she’d scold him for not even knowing how to eat properly, too clumsy and helpless to manage something so simple. But if he stayed too clean and neat, swallowing every bite without a spill, she’d say he wasn’t acting ‘little’ enough. No matter what, he couldn’t win.

Every small action was scrutinized, judged from every angle. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how perfectly he followed the rules, it was never enough. The standards were impossible, and that was the point.

When Sofía’s friends were over—lounging on the couch, watching, laughing, helping with his changes—the rules got even crueler.

If Cody didn’t whine or whimper about his cage hurting, if he managed to stay quiet and composed, he was punished for being unimpressed. For not finding them hot enough.

“Not even a twinge?” Sofía would say, circling him slowly. “Wow, girls. Guess we’re not hot enough for him.”

The next thing he knew, he’d be over her knee–or theirs—reminded, painfully, how wrong that answer was.

But if he did leak—if the pressure built and a few shameful drops escaped—he was labeled a disgusting little pervert.

“Filthy boy,” one of the girls would sneer, holding up the damp padding like evidence at a trial. “Couldn’t even keep it in.”

And then came the spanking. From one girls lap to the other, until he was red and raw, sobbing into his mittens while they laughed and posed for pictures.

There was no winning. Only different flavors of shame.

Isabel’s voice cut softly through his thoughts. “It’s not about numbers, Cody. You’re not being graded. You’re being watched.”

Sofía leaned against the table, casual and cruel. “That’s why we only give you ten seconds on the potty. If you really wanted to be dry, that should be enough, right??”

Cody’s stomach turned.

“You keep trying to win a game we never told you the rules for,” Sofía said. “But you’re not here to pass tests. You’re here to learn trust. Obedience.”

“Exactly,” Isabel said gently. “A baby doesn’t ask how many bottles he needs to finish to grow up. He just drinks when he’s fed, wets when he needs to, and trusts his caretakers to decide when he’s ready. That’s what we’re teaching you.”

His mouth felt dry, even as he felt the damp bulk of the diaper beneath him. It was conditioning. Not training. They didn’t want him ready—they wanted him regressed.

“But we’re not completely cruel,” Sofia said brightly,  voice syrupy and saccharine. “We’ll give you a chance to earn a pull-up today. Maybe even big boy undies. All you have to do is have one dry nap!”

She knelt beside the table, brushing a strand of hair from his flushed face. “Do that, and maybe we talk about a pull-up..”

She paused, letting it sink in. Then:

“Or maybe we finally unlock that little pee pee prison of yours. Let your little guy breathe for a minute.” Her grin sharpened. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Cody’s brow furrowed, skeptical, but the idea of getting out of chastity for even a little bit. But he’d be lying if he said the idea didn’t excite him. It was months ago when Isabel last slid that small silver key into the lock of his cage, clicking it open.

“Today’s a test,” his step-mother had said softly, “You just have to get through a diaper change without spewing your little goo goo. Do that, and you won’t have to wear the cage ever again. Show us you can handle it.”

But it wasn’t Isabel changing his diaper that time. It was Sofia, and she didn’t have a shirt on. Her tits were out, and they bobbed up and down while she wiped him down, humming casually like it was nothing, her fingers slow, gentle, firm.  She said his thingy was dirty, really dirty from being in the cage for so long. She just kept wiping it..and wiping..and wiping…and wiping..and wiping.

“Gross!” they said when he shot his load all over his chest, her hand, his diaper, the ceiling.

“Disgusting!” They said, as they clamped the cage back around his pitiful penis, “Your STEP-SISTER is kind enough to change your diaper, and you can’t keep yourself from spurting all over the place in less than a minute?”

They reminded him of that every chance they got. He hadn’t been allowed out since.

Now they had another ‘challenge’ for him. A ‘test’ to see if he could earn a chance at better underwear.

“One dry nap, baby boy,” Sofia whispered. “That’s all it takes. Wake up dry, and you get to get all sticky in a pair of big boy boxers!”

Cody’s breath hitched behind his pacifier at the possibility. He nodded in agreement.

Isabel smiled, then turned toward the kitchen, commencing the test. “A big bottle. Full formula. No drops left behind this time.”

Sofia returned with the bottle already prepared. Cody should have guessed it would be one bigger than he’d yet to see. Huge, warm, heavy with thick vanilla formula and just enough prune juice to “keep things moving.”

“You can drink it right here,” his step-sister said sweetly, lifting his head and guiding the nipple to his lips.

Cody tried to protest, but the pacifier was swapped out for the rubber nipple before he could speak. They held the bottle for him, tilted it high.

Sofía counted down softly. “And not a single drop left. You know what happens if there’s condensation...”

His lips moved obediently, throat working to swallow the sickly-sweet liquid. It seemed endless. The bottle gurgled and sloshed with every pull. By the time it was done, he could feel the pressure in his belly—heavy and inevitable.

“There we go,” Isabel cooed, wiping his chin. “Such a good boy.”

Isabel picked him up with practiced ease and patted his back, gently, rhythmically, until a quiet burp slipped free. He flushed. The humiliation was almost routine now.

He looked up at his step-mother as she laid him down in his crib, desperation flickering behind his eyes. “How long…how long do I have to nap?”

Isabel tucked a blanket over him. Her smile was serene.

“Until we think you’re ready to get up.”

Cody closed his eyes. He didn’t need to ask what that meant. They would wait. Wait until the moment he lost control. Because that moment would come. It always did.

The diaper rustled softly as he shifted, pressure building in his gut. He could already feel it happening—his body giving in, the conditioning too deep, too practiced.

Sofía dimmed the lights on her way out, humming as usual.

Isabel lingered, stroking his hair. “Have a good nap, sweetheart” she whispered. “You’ve earned it.”

He closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. This wasn’t just a nap. It was just another trap.

[sillyoperatorbasketballshepherd]

"Watcha doing, little one? Why are you coming into my room? You know the only reason you're allowed in here is if you need your diaper changed. Are you wet?"

You propped yourself up from your hands and knees so that you could submit to Michelle's humiliating diaper check.

Michelle was your 'Big'. After several drunken disorderlies around campus, and a reputation for sleeping with (and fucking over) several girls at the dorm, you were quickly labeled as a 'problematic student'.

It happens to a lot of incoming Freshman and Sophomores. Their first few years at college, without supervision, some don't know how to handle the freedom and end up abusing it.

So, in an effort to alleviate the problem and keep the campus/dormitory looking good, a program was established to help students better transition into their adult life. These problematic students obviously weren't ready to be adults, and they must need 'parental' supervision because, without it, they apparently didn't know how to behave.

Seniors in good standing would be assigned a 'little' that needed correction. They would monitor, counsel, and sometimes punish their little to make sure they were making proper choices. But, call a spade a spade: they were basically your glorified babysitter.

The program quickly evolved, with each dorm finding more and more...successful methods of rehabilitating their peers.

The powers that be at the University simply looked the other way. After all, constantly expelling students made them look bad, they couldn't develop a reputation for constantly admitting delinquents, and hazing was something that happened all the time anyway. So, they decided to leave each dorm to their own devices.

Unfortunately for you, the device at your dorm was quite possibly the most humiliating of them all. They called it the 'Crinkle Correction'. They said it served as a way to 'start fresh', by starting you over in big, fat, crinkly diapers.

You had little choice in the matter. At only 20 years of age, the citations you received for drinking could get you expelled, or worse, put in jail. Girls around campus could file reports that you abused/assaulted them (even though you didn't), and it would ruin your reputation and any chances of landing a good job. Your only choice was to man up and take it.

"My goodness you are wet!" Michelle exclaimed. "Look how plump and puffy your pamper is!"

You flushed as you knelt in front of her, wearing nothing but your soggy diaper, feeling her grope and poke every square inch of the front in order to emphasize her point.

After she was certain that your cheeks couldn't get any redder, she placed the tip of her finger into your waistband, and gently pulled back.

"D'awww! Why is it crying?" she cooed as she peeked inside, referring to your caged cock. Michelle thought it was the perfect solution to keep you from fucking every girl on campus (as if the diapers wouldn't serve the exact same purpose), "you're leaking chastity tears!" she giggled, wiggling her hips in her sweatshirt with nothing but panties underneath. She knew it drove you crazy, she liked watching you clench your legs in an attempt to stem the flow to your crotch.

She circled you, watching you tremble. You wondered if other Bigs were as dominant as her, as demeaning, or did you get unlucky in that regard too?

"Did you go poo poo too?" she sneered in her sinister voice, circling you like a lioness around her prey.

"Y-yes ma'am..." you whimpered.

Frumpp!!

A swift kick to the back of your droopy diaper, her foot perfectly landing at the base of your balls. It wasn't her first time. You groaned and collapsed forward on your hands and knees.

"Tell me." She hissed into your ear. "Tell me what you did in your diaper."

"I went poo poo's in my pampers, Mommy!!" you whined into the floor, trying your best not to sob in front of her. She'd made you call her 'Mommy' since the first day she 'adopted' you.

"Awww!! Is that what that stench is?" She asked, as if she didn't know it as soon as you crawled in. She probably could have smelled you from down the hallway.

"Yes Mommy!!" you blubbered, losing your composure. "Sorry for stinking up your room!! B-baby needed to make a boom boom!"

It was pathetic. Pitiful. But you told yourself this was your only chance of staying in college and landing a solid career.

"Hmmm...well I'm sorry, little one, but you know I don't change dirties. You're gonna have to go find an RF for that..." But that didn't stop her from pressing her hand to your padded behind and mushing the mess into your backside while you cringed and whimpered.

RF's were 'ReFormed' students that had already made it through their semester of Crinkle Correction. Having to change dirty diapers served as a reminder of what they'd been through, and how easily they could go back if they ever decide to slip up again.

You obviously knew this. You'd had to make several crawls of shame through the hallways to one of the RF's rooms. But Michelle insisted that you come show her your filthy diapers first.

"Off you go," she said, taking the pacifier dangling from your neck and putting it back in your mouth. She smiled triumphantly, turning back to finally find some bottoms to put on.

Dismissed, you begrudgingly made your way out the door.

"Come back later, loser." she called after you. "I've got some girlfriends coming over. We'll play dress-up and turn you into a wittle baby gurl!"

As if. You thought. No way you would subject yourself to that level of humiliation! But she must have read your mind.

"If you do, and you're a good wittle pwincess, I might let you borrow my vibrator!"

God damnit. You thought. I'll be there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[sillyoperatorbasketballshepherd]

[sillyoperatorbasketballshepherd]

Mav just didn't want to lay down for his nap today for some reason. I wonder why.... 🤔

Watch the whole video at one of the links below!

justfor.fans/MavInDiapers

scatbook.com/BabyMav

[sillyoperatorbasketballshepherd]

Piggy

DAY 29

He stood silently in front of the camera—hands behind his back, head lowered, skirt freshly steamed. It was bubblegum pink, like most of his wardrobe now. He wore it not because he liked it, but because he had been told to. The man on the screen now held complete control over his routine, his body, his words.

The voice crackled through the speaker. Calm. Deep. Commanding.

“Lift your skirt.” It said. “Show me what you’ve become.”

He whimpered, but obeyed without hesitation. The red light of the webcam capturing everything.

He hooked his fingers around the hem of the skirt and lifted slowly, exposing the glossy panties beneath as he dipped into a curtsy like he’d been trained to. Splattered across it was the word he’d come to embody over the last few weeks: Sissy.

“Tell me what you are.”

His stomach tightened. His face flushed. Still bent at the knee, he spoke—softly, but clearly. The words now came naturally, like the lines of a prayer. “I’m a pathetic, submissive little sissy. I exist to obey, to be used, and to be humiliated.”

There was a pause. A quiet click—Daddy taking a screenshot, no doubt.

“Now, tell me what you WERE. What you used to be.”

Just four weeks ago, he’d been arguing online with anyone and everyone. Typing things like:

“The world’s going soft.”

“Everyone’s turning into sissies.”

“Cry about it. Bunch of babies.”

“Men need to take back control.”

Projecting. Those type of men are ALWAYS projecting. Every accusation is really a confession.

That was before he had found Daddy’s message board. Before the back and forth. Before the teasing messages began. Before the dares, the “jokes,” the challenges. Before the control.

It had started with a dare. One humiliating challenge at a time. Daddy had been patient. At first, it was just wearing panties for a day. Then taking a photo. Then recording a short video calling himself a “soft little sissy boy.” He told himself it was just a game, that he was proving a point, trolling for a laugh. But Daddy knew. Daddy always knew. He had studied his habits, his insecurities, his secret cravings. Buried beneath all that online bravado was just a very submissive soul that wanted to be told what to do. He didn’t destroy the man—he slowly unwrapped him, layer by humiliating layer.

Now, on Day 29, he was dressed in his prissy sissy attire, personifying the exact thing he had claimed the world had become.

He closed his eyes. This part always stung. “I was arrogant. Angry. I thought being in control meant being strong. I mocked others to hide how lost I was.”

Another click.

“And what are you now?”

He swallowed, inhaling shakily. His voice cracked as he answered on cue.

“I’m a pretty little sissy bitch, Daddy!”

A pause.

“Louder.”

He felt the shame rush up through him like heat, but he obeyed.

“I’M YOUR PRETTY LITTLE SISSY BITCH, DADDY!!”

The man on the other end of the black screen kept making him say it until he was shouting so loud the neighbors could probably hear. Finally, the next set of instructions came.

“Pull down your panties you little bitch. Show Daddy what you have underneath.”

Swallowing his embarrassment, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of the panties and slowly pulled them down, exposing the white diaper beneath—bulky, smooth, and infantile. He turned around, bent forward slightly, and arched his back. That position had taken a full week to perfect. He used to tremble the whole time. Now it was automatic.

“All the way.”

He pulled the panties the rest of the way down, as far as his garters would allow. exposing the back of his diaper fully. Even from the behind, the camera could see the bottom was plump and yellowed from earlier accidents. There was no sign of dignity, though. That had been stripped weeks ago.

“What are you?” The voice asked again.

“I’m a pathetic pamper princess.” He squeaked. He had been trained to say different phrases depending on what part of the daily ritual they were in.

“Say it properly.”

The sissy cringed, bringing his voice up a few octaves. “I-I’m a pwathetic pampurr pwincess, Daddy!!”

Silence hung in the air. For a moment, he wondered if he had said it too quietly. Then, finally:

“You know what comes next.” The black screen said definitively. “Mess for me.”

The command struck like lightning. Not because it was shocking, but because it was expected. He had been trained to hold until permission was granted. The pressure had been building for hours, and now, permission had come.

With the the little red dot of the webcam staring at him, with his body trained through a relentless 29-day routine of regression and control, he let go.

His knees buckled slightly, his face burned, but he pushed.

The release wasn’t just physical. It was emotional. Mental. His body let go, helplessly, humiliatingly. The diaper swelled, the back expanding noticeably. He whimpered softly as the warmth spread and the diaper dropped, the full weight of his transformation settling in. Even after a full week of messing diapers, he still wasn’t used to the utter shame and humiliation.

“Smush it.” He ordered. “Feel what you’ve done. Let it sink in.”

The sissy groaned as he reached around and pressed the mess into him, spreading the warmth further across his backside, forcing himself to feel the shame of what he’d done.

“Smack it.”

Each dull thud landed like a hammer, pounding in the shameful truth of what he’d become. And of course, to really drive the point home, the man didn’t let him suffer in silence.

“What do you say??” came the order—calm, merciless.

His cheeks burned, eyes stinging.

“I… I’m a filthy pampered piggy.”

“Get down on the floor.”

He sniffled, face flushed, and dropped slowly to his knees, he sat back fully on his haunches, letting the loaded diaper flatten beneath him, squelching he let all of his weight sink down into the mess he had just made.

“Slide in your muddy mess, piggy,” he commanded. “Put your thumb in your mouth and oink for me.”

He followed his orders, flexing and stretching his legs and making his body move back and forth over the disgusting diaper while he sucked his thumb and oinked through the rubber pig nose.

“Oink…Oink…”

It was the most humiliated he’d ever been in his entire life, only further emphasized by Daddy’s laughter on the other end of his screen. No, not laughing, cackling.

He didn’t cry this time. There were no more tears left. Only obedience. The diaper crinkled as he shifted, the metal chastity cage pinching and pressing into his pelvis.

The voice returned, softer now.

“If you can say something to impress me, I will let you stop. Make it good.”

The sissy exhaled, searching for the proper words. Finally, he just relaxed, and let them flow out without even thinking: “I’m Daddy’s filthy little sissy. B-because I couldn’t stop running my mouth, I called everyone weak. I said they were turning into sissies. I thought I was so smart. So tough. Now, I mess myself because I don’t deserve control. You showed me what I really am. That I don’t need to be strong. I just need… to submit.” He swallowed, then added “I’m happiest like this—helpless, humiliated, and trained.”

Another long pause, he wondered if he should say more.

“You’ve come a long way, piggy.” He eventually said “stand up.”

The sissy clambered off the floor, the dirty diaper sinking back down as gravity took back over.

“Do you remember today’s assignment?”

He nodded, head bowed, swallowing the lump in his throat before reciting: “DAY 29: Go to the mailbox at 9 a.m. Skirt. Bra. Collar. Dirty diaper. Pacifier. No hiding. No excuses.”

“Good. Make sure the neighbors see. They should know what you are too.”

His cheeks flushed. His mailbox wasn’t just at the end of his yard. It was down the block at a community box. The inevitable glances. The neighbors who had been over when he had a cookout, praised him for doing a good job, for “being a man”. Then there were the ones who turned their noses up at all his political signs and flags and his jacked up truck, they would see him too. He wondered how hilariously ironic they would find it.

“Yes master.”

“And what are you going to put in the mailbox?”

He hesitated, fingers trembling slightly as he held the small padded envelope. It was already addressed. Already stamped. There was no question left—only obedience.

His voice was barely above a whisper. “My key.”

“The key to what?”

He swallowed hard. Eyes stung. “My chastity cage.”

“The key to your ORGASMS. At least, the uncaged ones. I may still let you press a vibrator over your poopy pampers if you behave. But even that will go away at some point.”

All he could do was whimper. Oh far his life had fallen, and so fast.

“I already own you, sissy. You know that right?” Daddy continued, With every incriminating task you perform for me,” “you fall deeper into the rabbit hole. Every picture, every video, every humiliating message—it’s another chain. And guess what?”

A pause. A click—maybe the sound of Daddy scrolling through his latest post. Maybe just to savor the silence.

“Your fans adore you.”

His breath caught. He didn’t want to know how many were watching. How many strangers had seen the clip of him practicing his curtsy, the one where his soaked padding peeked from beneath his skirt, or the video where he humped his bag of used diapers.

“They don’t see a man anymore,” Daddy said, voice low. “They see exactly what I’ve made you into: obedient, exposed, pathetic… and perfect. Much better than the image you tried to make of yourself before. Now they know the real you!”

The sissy had stayed off the internet as much as he could over the past few weeks. The message boards he frequented and Daddy’s dedicated site were too much embarrassment to handle.

“Tomorrow you will make a Grindr account. It is high time we put that overactive mouth of yours to good use.”

That caught him off guard. “Wait… Daddy, I—” he started, voice cracking, the first real edge of resistance he’d dared show in days.

“Do we have a problem?”

“N-no sir.”

“Let me remind you of something.”

There was a soft rustle of paper—familiar. The sound of a folder being opened.

“I have everything.” Daddy’s voice was quiet now, but sharp. “I know your name. Your job. Your family.”

The sissy’s stomach knotted. He already knew this. But hearing it out loud, so casually, made it feel like the walls were closing in.

“So here’s how this works.” Another pause. Lethal. “You keep obeying, you keep being my good little pet, and everything stays between us and your adoring fans. But if you ever forget your place… if you hesitate, or flinch, or fantasize about walking away—then I let the rest of the world see what I see. Not just some sissy in a diaper. You. The REAL you. Do I make myself clear?!”

It was a hard pill to swallow, which is probably why the lump in his throat felt so big. “Y-yes Master.” he whispered, eyes burning with shame. “There’s no problem. I’ll do it. I’ll make the account.”

There was a long pause. Then a soft chuckle came through the speaker.

“Good girl. Now that we understand each other,” Daddy continued, “you’ll also be setting your profile picture in your sissy outfit. Bra, thigh-highs, garters, pacifier. Diaper FULLY visible.”

The blood drained from his face.

“No blurring. No filters. No shame.”

Another beat.

“And you will message five men by tomorrow night—‘Hi, I’m Daddy’s filthy little toy. Do you want a turn?’”

He already knew the answer, but he had to ask. “Ar-are you going to make me suck their cocks, Daddy?”

He laughed again. “Did you think I was making you practice on those toys for nothing?”

His face flushed crimson as memories surged forward—hours on his knees, gagged and obedient, practicing with silicone shapes and vibrating training plugs, all under the guise of “obedience drills.” He’d thought it was just about humiliation. Just about control behind closed doors.

But no.

This had always been the plan. He should have seen it coming.

“You’re ready now,” Daddy said, “Or at least… ready enough to be used. You will be sucking dick daily, so you may as well get used to the thought of it now.”

His chest tightened, shame rising in his throat like bile. But this time, he didn’t protest. This time, he just nodded.

Because Daddy had already taken everything from him—his control, his pride, his manhood—and now, with a few simple words, he was about to take his sexuality, too.

But beneath the fear was a tremor of something else.

Excitement.

Purpose.

Not the man he once was, but the obedient little thing he had become.

He was going to please his owner. His Daddy. And, apparently, a lot more men to go along with it.

[sillyoperatorbasketballshepherd]

Mommy has waited long enough!

Hello, everybody! *curtsey*

My mommy has decided everyone has waited long enough, and after two failed comebacks, already, my mommy has taken over my Tumblr accounts and given me a strict work schedule. Regular posting resumes THIS WEEK, and a new subscription option is in the works too! Hopefully premium content will be back up this week as well!

I was successfully able to retrieve almost all of my stories from Patreon after my account was deleted, and all my old content will be available to access on day one. My mommy has also decided that in addition to my audios and captions we will now be doing video content as well. Starting this week you will now be able to watch as my mommy humiliates, degrades, and sissifies me. Most video content will be locked behind a subscription, though I’ll make sure to always share some on Tumblr as well.

I apologize for the constant delays and hiatus, though rest assured i am officially back for realsies this time. My mommy is making sure of it, and she’s threatened to make me post even more embarrassing videos if I don’t stay on schedule!

[sillyoperatorbasketballshepherd]

“Hahaha! Look at you all helpless! Do you need Mommy to rock you to sleep?? Huh??

🎶Rock a bye bayyyybeee in the treee toppp!! Whennn the wind blowwsss hahahaha!!!"🎶

Just kidding, loser. You won’t be sleeping here tonight. This bed is for Mommy and Daddy!! And when he gets here, he’s gonna pick you up like the helpless little diaper cuck you are and put you in your new crib!

And if widdle cucky wants a diaper change before bed? Well…let’s just say the ‘wind’ won’t be the only thing that needs to blow if you catch my drift…”

[sillyoperatorbasketballshepherd]

The Belt

I love strapping the belt across their tummy. It doesn’t really do anything. It’s not like they’re going to roll off the changing table. They could easily unstrap it as their hands are free, but they know not to unless they want a very different type of belt.

Instead, it just serves as a way to belittle them even further. As if having to lay and wait for a someone to change their dirty diaper isn’t belittling enough. I often keep them strapped to the table for way longer than necessary. I leave the room to allow them to contemplate what it is they’ve done. They literally have to just lay there, contemplating the mess they made inside of their diaper while they stare around at what used to be their little “man-cave”. They're plagued with thoughts of how their life used to be, back before the diapers and pacifiers and ba ba's. They're left wishing they would have appreciated the toilet more, being able to do their business and being able to flush it all away instead of having to sit and stew in it and wait for a humiliating diaper change. Maybe they'll even remember what it was like to have sex.

Sometimes I’ll get them really worked up before I leave to “go grab something real quick”. You wouldn’t believe how many times I've come back to find them rubbing the front of their soiled diapers! Hell, one time I caught them on their tummy taking their poopy pamper to pound town! I guess the little strap doesn’t keep them from rolling over after-all!

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[sillyoperatorbasketballshepherd]

What’s your humiliation kinks, may I know ?

[sillyoperatorbasketballshepherd]

"Oh my god he's sooo cute!!" Leyna exclaimed.

"Isn't he, though??" My wife, Kayla, declared proudly.

"And he's so well behaved!!" Ava admired. "Look at him dwinking his widdle ba ba without making a fuss!! Didn't you say you put one of Brad's condoms in there?"

Kayla nodded ecstatically, "Mhmm!! Five, actually!"

Ava and Leyna both turned to her, eyes wide, impressed. Kayla giggled and shrugged "It was our anniversary..."

The girls exchanged knowing looks, then laughed it off.

"And he doesn't mind drinking the cum of a man who is fucking his wife?" Leyna asked, shocked.

Kayla just shrugged, "He doesn't really have much of a choice. Plus, he's used to getting it straight from the source so..."

It took the girls a second for that to register. "Wait...you mean he--"

"Sucks Brad's dick dry like it's the last drop of water in the desert? Yea, that's exactly what I mean." Kayla laughed, "Why do you think he's in a pretty pink tutu? Brad likes his hair to be in little bows and pigtails so he can tug on them while he's fucking wittle hubby's face!"

"Well if he sucks a dick half as well as he sucks that bottle, I'd say you got a little whore on your hands." Ava quipped.

Leyna leaned in close, examining the bottle that was slowly undulating up and down, white, creamy liquid sloshing back and forth inside. "So what else is in there?"

"Oh you know...hormones, beta blockers, stool softeners, and lots of fiber to keep his tummy and diapers full! I call it his special 'formula'!"

Suddenly I felt like I could taste everything she was describing, wincing as I swallowed the liquid pooling in my mouth, only for it to be replaced with a fresh batch again and again.

"I dunno if he likes it..." Leyna said, studying my face.

"Of course he does! Don't you, Billie??" Kayla beckoned, "Show Mommy's friends how much you like your milkies!! Come on! Wave your rattle!!"

Obediently, I wagged my hands back and forth and gave the 'happy baybee' expression i've been taught to do. My diaper could hardly be heard crinkling over the sound of the wailing rattle.

The girls "Awww'd!!" and cooed and "Oh my godded" in unison, pinching my cheeks and tickling my tummy while I suckled.

Ava shook her head, impressed "He’s so well-trained!” I knew Ava had several men at home that she keeps as slaves. Kayla told me about them, but I'd never met them. "Don't worry! You will soon!" she always says. I'm a little worried about what that means.

"Oh please? Waving a rattle and babbling like a baby?? That's nothing..." Kayla scoffed, "Watch this: Hubby! It's time to make pushies!!"

My stomach felt like it was about to fall to the floor. I knew this was coming, but I guess a small part of me hoped it was just a veiled threat. Something for her to say and make me squirm. Yet here she was, pulling the bottle out of my mouth with a sssskk! and lifting my legs up by the ankles so that all the girls could see the bottom of my diaper.

"Come on, hubby!" Kayla encouraged, "Be a good gurl and use your diapers the way Mommy intended!!"

Leyna and Ava both gasped, covering their mouths as they figured what was going on.

"Is he gonna try to poop himself? Leyna asked incredulously.

"Not 'try'," Kayla corrected, giving me a stern look through my lifted legs, "He will! And he has 60 seconds before he suffers the consequences..."

I've faced those consequences many times before, I wasn't about to suffer them again. As embarrassing as it was to be surrounded by a group of beautiful girls encouraging me to dirty my own diaper--let's be honest--my dignity was long gone already.

Leyna and Ava alternated between watching my face and the squished up diaper between my legs as it slowly expanded, pressing outward as I pushed out a warm, mushy load I'd been holding for the better part of 6 hours.

Whatever fragile scrap of manhood or self-respect I thought I still possessed was obliterated the moment their laughter hit the air.

But at least that chorus of cackling didn't last long before the pungent stench assaulted their noses.

"Oof!!" Leyna winced, clamping her fingers around her nose and using the other hand to try to waft the smell away. "He stinks!!"

"Awwww!!! Widdle baybee went poo poo in his pampurrss!!" Ava intoned mockingly, laughing as she tested the warm, hefty load drooping between my legs.

"Stinky gurl!!" Kayla giggled, booping me on the nose and making it wrinkle like the other ladies. "Say 'that's how I make boom booms because I's just a widdle baybee!!"

I repeated the humiliating line like I'd done many times before, but it was a bit different with a bigger audience.

Leyna still seemed to be in shock. "I just can't believe it. You made a grown man literally shit himself!! Doesn't he get embarrassed?" She asked Kayla, like I wasn't even part of the conversation, like what I had to say didn't matter.

“Oh, he does get embarrassed." Kayla said, "But the thing is...he likes it. Don't joo, widdle guy?? He likes being humiliated and not being in charge. If his widdle pee pee wasn't wocked away in a widdle cagey cage, he would have a widdle baybee boner in his poopy pampies!! Wouldn't you, hubby??”

Judging by the painful throbbing in my penal region, I'd say she was right.

"You're a miracle worker." Ava said, impressed. “I'm gonna need you to come train my subs. Do you make him ask permission for diaper changes?”

Kayla grinned. “Of course! He even has to practice! Want to show the girls how you ask nicely, sweetheart?”

I felt my face puckering up, but I quickly washed it away, getting into character. I lifted my knees and started lightly kicking my feet up and down, waving my arms and wriggling my body back and forth.

"WWWaaaahhh!! Waaaahhhh!! Mommy!!" I cried--or at least pretended to, "I went poo poo's in my pampers wike a widdle baybee!! Wahhh!! Wahh!!! Want changies, Mommy!! Can I have changies??"

It was an absolutely pitiful display, only further emphasized by both Ava and Leyna's shock and awe, followed closely by another fit of pitying giggling.

“Awwww!!” Ava said, wiping away tears of laughter. “That is precious!! Do you always record him saying it?”

Kayla clicked her phone off and set it to the side, smiling. “Every time. Feel free to do the same!”

Both girls smiled as they pulled out their own phones, aiming them at me.

This humiliation sent me over the edge. Before I knew it, I was covering my face with my mittened hands, trying to melt away.

“Oh no you don’t,” Kayla said sweetly. “No hiding, baby! You wanted this, remember? This is our little agreement. And Mommy loves showing you off. Now do your poopy pamper dance and beg my friends to let you get your diaper changed!"

I sniffled, but obeyed. Splaying my arms and legs out to the side, opening myself to a full display for their phones to capture my degrading diaper dance. Repeating whatever humiliating line they could conjure up. Finally, they ran out of ideas.

"Pweez may I have my diaper changed??" I asked with wet eyes.

All three girls looked at each other, considering. Eventually, Ava shrugged, taking charge and scooping up the half empty bottle of 'formula', pressing the nipple to my lips.

"Not until you finish your ba ba!!"

*****

“I have to say, Kayla…” Leyna began slowly, a mischievous tone creeping in, “this is kind of amazing.”

Kayla raised an eyebrow, sipping from her glass. “Oh?”

“You’re just so in charge of him. I love it.”

I had just gotten changed into a fresh diaper, sitting on the floor and pretending to play with my dolls and blocked. I was still coming out of my post-orgasm haze. Kayla had thought it would be funny to pull out the vibrator and have me show the girls how I masturbate even when I have a cage and a dirty diaper on.

Leyna leaned forward. “I mean… does he really listen all the time? Even to your friends?”

I squirmed. Kayla smirked, eyeing me. “He does when he remembers what happens if he doesn’t.”

Leyna turned to me with mock-serious eyes. “So if I told you to crawl over to me and bark like a dog, you’d do it?”

I looked at Kayla first. She gave me a single nod.

Without a word, I clambered onto to all fours and slowly shuffled over to where they were sitting on the couch, crinkling as I went. Sitting back on my haunches, I let out an exaggerated bark, panting letting my tongue hang out afterwards for good measure. Leyna burst into delighted laughter.

“Oh my god,” she said, turning to Kayla. “That is powerful.”

“I'm gonna show that video to my slaves.” Ava said, contemplating, "Let them know what will happen to them if they misbehave."

“I mean…” Leyna trailed off, sipping her wine. “My husband’s been a bit full of himself lately. I think he could use a little... attitude adjustment.”

Kayla chuckled. “Start small. Give him rules. Catch him breaking them. Then offer him a choice: obedience, or diapers.”

Ava added, “And don’t give him too much attention. Let him earn it.”

Lena’s eyes sparkled with possibility. “You two are horrible influences. And I love it.”

Kayla raised her glass. “To soft boys, padded bottoms, and women who know what they want.”

Glasses clinked, and they sipped their adult drinks like true adults.

Down on the floor, I shifted nervously, wondering if my life would ever go back to how it was before. But, honestly? Deep down, I hoped not.

[sillyoperatorbasketballshepherd]

For SOME reason @dumbbnuuy seems to forget that SHES JUST A LITTLE BABY TOOOOOOOO

[sillyoperatorbasketballshepherd]

He grunted softly behind his pacifier, cheeks red from exertion and shame. Sweat beaded on his brow. His legs trembled from the repetitive pushing, but he had to keep bouncing, or else the stupid little alarm would sound and she’d start his time out all over again.

It wasn’t a punishment that necessarily hurt—but it wore on him. Deeply. The mess, the motion, the crinkling heat—it all built into a singular sense of helpless discomfort. Exactly what Miranda intended.

Now, nearly an hour later, his legs trembled with fatigue. The constant up-and-down effort had become mechanical, more a desperate plea than compliance. The mess in his diaper squished with each bounce, warm and humiliating, a reminder of exactly why he was here. Every motion renewed the sticky discomfort between his legs, and every second he stayed in that harness was a second longer he had to marinate in the consequences of his outburst.

He should have just used his words earlier.

He should have said “Yes, ma’am.”

The door opened with a slow creak.

Miranda stepped inside, arms crossed, a faint smirk on her lips. Her expression unreadable, her presence filled the room more thoroughly than the smell ever could.

She sauntered toward him, bare feet silent against the padded flooring. Her gaze traveled down from his red, sweat-slicked face to the swollen bulge of his diaper. She took in the slight sag, the way it discolored at the back. Her nose wrinkled, but not in disgust.

In satisfaction.

He froze mid-hop and instinctively tried to hide his face in the padded straps. Shame rushed through him like a current. The pacifier strapped into his mouth muted his voice, but a pathetic whimper escaped—a hybrid of apology and exhaustion.

“Mmm.” She tapped a finger to her chin. “That smell tells me something, baby. You finally made your mess, didn’t you?”

He nodded, frantically now. Another bounce forced more of the mess against him and made him squirm. It wasn’t the punishment that got to him—it was the not knowing when it would end. The waiting.

Miranda circled him slowly. “Tell me something,” she said. “Have you learned your lesson yet?”

He nodded again, harder, with pleading eyes. Muffled whimpers behind his pacifier. The bounce almost stopped. He tried once more—up, down, a weak attempt—and whimpered again, looking straight at her. Desperate. Repentant.

She stopped behind him. Rested a firm hand on his lower back.

“You know why I had to do this,” she said calmly. “You broke the rule. You disobeyed me, you got mouthy, and you called me a name I never want to hear again.”

He closed his eyes. The memory burned almost worse than the rash beginning to itch between his legs.

“This,” she continued, patting the back of his full diaper with a firm thud, “was your choice. You are the one that got yourself into this mess!”

A tiny sob escaped his pacifier as he nodded apologetically.

“You want out?”

He nodded immediately, tears welling. She could see it—he wasn’t faking this part. The pride had drained away. What was left was pure need. Need for forgiveness. Need to be let out. Need for her.

Miranda leaned in, whispering close to his ear.

“Bounce.”

His heart skipped. He had already been bouncing, weakly—but now the command made it real. He bounced harder, mess smearing beneath him with each desperate hop. He whimpered into the pacifier, humiliation burning red across his cheeks.

Bounce. Squish. Bounce

“Good,” she said. “Now… tell me what you’ve learned.”

He spat his pacifier out of his mouth, letting it dangle down on the clip like he was dangling from the ceiling. But Miranda smacked him hard across the face and stuffed it back into his mouth.

“Did I say you could take that binky out of that filthy little mouth of yours??” Miranda growled. “You’ll speak through it. Loud enough for me to understand. Like a good little boy who knows his place.”

He froze for a beat, then forced himself to keep bouncing—up, down, thighs screaming—and tried to speak around the silicone bulb that filled his mouth.

“Mmph… sowwy Ma’am… I—mmph—I be good now…”

“Louder.”

He bounced harder. More urgency in each pathetic hop.

“I sowwy! I be good! No more back talk, pwomise!”

She tilted her head. “And why are you in timeout, sweetheart?”

He didn’t hesitate—he couldn’t. He wanted out. He needed the change. The squish was unbearable.

“Cuz I was a mouthy baby… I f’got my pwace…”

The room was quiet for a moment, save for his desperate bouncing and the slick noise of a well-used diaper. Miranda nodded, somewhat satisfied, and started circling her dangling husband. Her hand came to rest under his chin, forcing his eyes up to meet hers.

“That’s right,” she whispered. “You forgot. And you needed reminding.”

He nodded quickly, bouncing still, breath ragged and desperate.

“Say it. One more time. While you bounce.”

He did.

“I a mouthy baby… an’ I need Ma’am’s rules. Pwease change me now… I sowwy…”

Miranda let him bounce for five more agonizing seconds. Then:

“Stop.”

He obeyed instantly, legs nearly giving out. The straps held him up while he panted in exhaustion. Her voice was low, satisfied.

“You remembered your place, little one. That’s what timeout is for. Not just the mess. Not just the bounce. The lesson.”

She began unfastening the straps with deliberate precision, her fingers working slowly. Each release was like a gentle mercy.

He collapsed softly into her arms once free, barely able to stand.

“Now…” she sighed, letting him down onto the floor, dusting off her hands. “Let’s get you changed. And then we’ll see if you’re ready for cuddles… or if you need another hour in the bouncer.”

[sillyoperatorbasketballshepherd]

Such frilly sissies deserve nothing but teasing!💕

[sillyoperatorbasketballshepherd]