thingsienjoy

[thingsienjoy]

Cheeky bubba plays a trick on mumma

[thingsienjoy]

If you, like me, are sick and tired of your husband not lasting through the night, let me tell you, ladies. Look no further than these diapers right here. Hi, YouTube, this is "Mama to Husband" here again on my channel to review Pampers Baby-Dry. When I first regressed Baby Boy, I had no clue which diapers to put him in and consequently was dealing with leaking, blowouts... You name it. But I started using Pampers and they've been on my shopping list for at least 5 years now. Just a really absorbent diaper with a nice line that changes color so I can tell at a glance.

[thingsienjoy]

Always remember to get your babies used to diaper checks in public places..

It'll make them feel even more little and helpless!

After all, what's more embarrassing than risking getting caught while your girlfriend checks your soaked diaper? 🤭

[thingsienjoy]

A dialogue from this morning at the breakfast table: Baby has his little bowl of chocolate cereal and his bottle. Mommy sits down with a hot cup of coffee next to him.

*deutsche Übersetzung weiter unten*

Mommy (smiling): "Well, my little darling, why are we looking so jealous?"

Baby (pouting slightly): "I want coffee too, Mommy! You always drink coffee and I never do. Please, I'm so tired..."

Mommy (laughs heartily): "Oh my goodness, you want coffee? Sweetie, you're much too small for that! Coffee isn't for babies. You have your bottle, and that's just fine."

Baby (still pouting): "But I want coffee again too... I'm not a real baby..."

Mommy (amused, pats Baby’s head): "Oh, but you are my real baby. Just look at yourself – in your diaper, with your pacifier in your mouth! You don't really think you're ready for coffee, do you?"

Baby (quietly, still pouting): "But... why not?"

Mommy (laughs softly, stirs her coffee): "Because coffee is for grown-ups, my sweet. Adults drink it to stay awake and focused. You don’t need that. All you need is your bottle because it calms you and makes you happy. You love drinking from it, don’t you?"

Baby (nodding slightly): "Yes... but coffee…"

Mommy (smirking): "Besides, you wouldn't even like the bitter taste. And if you drank coffee, you'd be all jittery and wiggling around! You wouldn’t be able to settle down the whole day and wouldn’t be able to be good, and I’d have to chase after you all day! Plus, after coffee, you’d give Mommy a big messy surprise in your diaper. We don’t want that, do we?"

Baby (quietly): "No, Mommy..."

Mommy (laughs): "Exactly! You want to be calm and relaxed. And what helps with that? Your bottle. That's exactly what you need to stay peaceful and happy. No coffee for little babies."

Baby (pouting): "But grown-ups always drink coffee…"

Mommy (smiling): "Yes, adults do that because they need it. But you? You need Mommy, your diapers, and your bottle. Let the grown-ups have their bitter drinks. You get something much better – warm milk that soothes you and makes you so calm."

Baby (quietly): "But I’m big too..."

Mommy (laughing teasingly, but lovingly): "Oh, of course you’re big – with your big pacifier, your big diaper, and your big bottle that you're going to drink from now while Mommy finishes her coffee before she loses her patience." (Takes the bottle and puts it in his mouth)

Baby drinks from the bottle and nods.

Mommy (gently strokes his head): "Good. Now be a good boy and enjoy your bottle. I can’t handle this kind of conversation before my first coffee. You’ve got everything you need, my little darling. Let the coffee be for the big people – and you stay Mommy’s sweet, content little baby with your bottle, okay?"

Baby nods and drinks.

Mommy (smiling proudly): "That’s my good boy!"

Ein Dialog heute am Frühstückstisch, das Baby hat sein Schüsselchen Schokomüsli und sein Fläschchen. Mama setzt sich mit einer heißen Tasse Kaffe zu ihm an den Tisch

Mommy (grinst): „Na, mein kleiner Schatz, was schau’n wir denn so neidisch?“

Baby (schmollt leicht): „Ich will auch Kaffee, Mama! Du trinkst immer Kaffee und ich nie. Bitte, ich bin so müde…“

Mommy (lacht herzlich): „Ach du lieber Himmel, du willst Kaffee? Schatz, du bist doch viel zu klein für sowas! Kaffee ist nichts für Babys. Du bekommst dein Fläschchen, und das ist auch gut so.“

Baby (schmollt weiter): „Aber ich will auch mal wieder Kaffee… ich bin doch kein richtiges Baby…“

Mommy (belustigt, tätschelt Babys Kopf): „Oh, aber das bist du doch, mein richtiges Baby. Schau dich doch mal an – in deiner Windel, mit deinem Schnuller im Mund! Du denkst doch nicht wirklich, dass du bereit bist für Kaffee, oder?“

Baby (leise, schmollend): „Aber… warum nicht?“

Mommy (lacht sanft, rührt in ihrem Kaffee): „Weil Kaffee für große Leute ist, mein Süßer. Erwachsene trinken ihn, um wach zu bleiben und sich zu konzentrieren. Du brauchst das nicht. Du brauchst nur dein Fläschchen, weil es dich beruhigt und glücklich macht. Du trinkst es doch so gerne, oder?“

Baby (nickt leicht): „Ja… aber Kaffee....“

Mommy (schmunzelt): „Außerdem würdest du den bitteren Geschmack gar nicht mögen. Und wenn du Kaffee trinken würdest, würdest du doch ganz hibbelig werden und rumzappeln! Dann würdest du den ganzen Tag nicht mehr zur Ruhe kommen und nicht mehr lieb sein können, und ich müsste dir den ganzen Tag hinterherrennen! Auerdem würdest du Mama nach einen Kaffee eine große Sauerei in deiner Windel präsentieren. Das wollen wir doch nicht, oder?“

Baby (leise): „Nein, Mama…“

Mommy (lacht): „Genau! Du willst doch lieb und entspannt sein. Und was hilft dir dabei? Dein Fläschchen. Das ist genau das, was du brauchst, um ruhig und glücklich zu bleiben. Kein Kaffee für kleine Babys.“

Baby (schmollend): „Aber Erwachsene trinken immer Kaffee…“

Mommy (grinst): „Ja, Erwachsene tun das, weil sie es brauchen. Aber du? Du brauchst Mama, deine Windeln, und dein Fläschchen. Lass die Erwachsenen mal ihre bitteren Getränke haben. Du bekommst etwas viel Besseres – warme Milch, die dich beruhigt und dich ganz entspannt macht.“

Baby (leise): „Aber ich bin auch groß…“

Mommy (lacht spöttisch, aber liebevoll): „Aber klar bist du groß, mit deinem großen Schnuller, deiner großen Windel und deinem großen Fläschchen, das du jetzt trinkst und Mama in Ruhe ihren Kaffee trinken lässt, bevor sie die Geduld verliert.“ (Nimmt die Flasche und steckt sie ihm in den Mund)

Baby trinkt aus dem Fläschchen und nickt

Mommy (streicht ihm sanft über den Kopf): „Gut. Dann sei doch brav und genieß dein Fläschchen. So eine Diskussion ertrage ich nicht morgens vor dem ersten Kaffee. Du hast doch alles, was du brauchst, mein kleiner Schatz. Lass den Kaffee den Großen – und du bleibst Mamas süßes, zufriedenes Baby mit deinem Fläschchen, okay?“

Baby nickt und trinkt

Mommy (lächelt stolz): „Das ist mein braver Kleiner!"

[thingsienjoy]

Severed

Ding

The door to the elevator opened, and you immediately felt a familiar warmth spread between your legs. You shook your head in confusion and dropped to all fours.

It had felt like just moments ago that you had waddled out of the nursery and onto this same elevator. Your diaper, so full and heavy, had been drooping low between your legs, threatening the integrity of the snaps on your onesie.

But, looking down at yourself now, you were in a pair of shortalls and a white and blue striped shirt. And, judging from the relatively thin feeling of the padding between your legs, the accident you had just had was your first in the diaper you were wearing.

All of this would have seemed strange to most people, but to you and the fellow residents of BebeCo's underground nursery, this was your life. From the moment you gained consciousness, laying in the large, mesh sided playpen, this had been all you had known.

Your days were filled with feedings, playtime, nap time, and diaper changes. Despite knowing you were an adult--knowing that when you crawled onto that elevator, your body was returning to a normal adult life--you never were able to form any cohesive memory of what it was like to be treated as anything but an overgrown toddler.

"Welcome back, Baby Ricky!" The sing-song voice of Miss Milkshake, your beautiful, big-breasted nanny rang out as you crawled into the room, "Nanny has missed you, big boy!"

You both shudder and drool at her voice. Both fear and hunger tug at your heart.

Memories of your first weeks, or was it months, in the nursery flash through your head. Spankings, mouth soapings, hours spent in a bouncer in a messy diaper, and more punishments all administered by the attractive devil hovering above you danced through your mind.

Every one of your attempts to escape your life as an overgrown toddler, to fight back against your captors, were thwarted over and over again. That was, they were until one day, it finally happened. They broke you.

Your stomach rumbled as you let your weight fall onto the slightly damp padding of your diaper. You looked up at Ms. Milkshake and raised your arms, an unspoken request for uppies.

You let out a happy gurgle as she picked you up with almost inhuman strength and placed you on her hip.

"Oh, my sweet boy, did you miss me?" Your nanny cooed as she walked you to the large rocking chair in the room.

You didn't respond with words. You never responded with words anymore. Words got you punished.

Instead, you laid your head on Ms. Milkshakes breast and tugged at the collar of her shirt, exposing her ample cleavage.

"Oh, someone is hungry?" The large woman laughed before sitting down and settling you in her lap, "Lucky for you, Nanny is extra full this morning!"

You couldn't help drool running down your chin as Ms. Milkshake exposed her giant breasts. You felt a twinge of pleasure in your diaper as you stared at her luscious mounds, a feeling you've grown to recognize as a sign of your repressed adulthood.

Ignoring your 'no-no parts,' like the good baby they have turned you into, you let Ms. Milkshake press your head into her nipple before beginning to greedily suckle on her tit.

Ms. Milkshake let out a sigh of relief as her milk began to drip down the back of your throat. She then began to gently massage your cheek as you suckled, looking down at you with a familiar, maternal gaze.

Softly, she began to speak.

"Your outie is fully potty trained."

You moan softly into your captors breast as she speaks.

"Your outie was never even a bedwetter."

You close your eyes and try to imagine a life without diapers.

"Your outie graduated from college."

Tears start to roll down your eyes.

"Your outie's favorite food is pizza, and," Ms. Milkshake bends in and whispers conspiratorially, "I'm going to tell you a secret, no one cuts it up for him!"

You close your eyes and start to grunt, as, without conscious thought, you mess yourself.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you continue to drink at Ms. Milkshake's breast and mess yourself.

You come to a sudden realization. This moment, imagining your life as an adult outside of these four walls as you breastfed and messed your diaper, was as close as you ever would come to actually being an adult.

[thingsienjoy]

[thingsienjoy]

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!”

[thingsienjoy]

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.

[thingsienjoy]

My coworkers all think it's adorable that my wife eats lunch with me every day at work.

I see their grins as, daily, she walks past the front desk in beautiful outfits that show off her perfect body.

I watch them stare with curiosity at the large picnic basket she is always carrying with her, filled with a home cooked lunch.

I hear them whispering about how lucky I am to have found a woman like her.

If only they knew the truth.

The low-cropped tops my wife wears aren't there to show off her figure.

I've never once tasted the food my wife packs away everyday in her picnic basket.

And, as far as being lucky, well, my co-workers aren't wrong there.

Every day at noon, when the door to my office closes, I am no longer the successful, well-respected professional they know me as.

I transform into Mommy's baby boy, getting changed into a fresh diaper before suckling my lunch out of my wife's beautiful breasts.

And, you know what, despite my occasional soft protests as my wife presses my head to her chest, I wouldn't want to live my life any other way.

[thingsienjoy]

How to regress/baby me!

Just DO it! It's all about control

If you’re regressing me, don’t check; do.

Don’t ask me about my diaper, check it.

Don’t ask if I want my paci; force it in my mouth.

Don’t ask if I want a diaper change; force me to a flat surface and change me.

If I’m trusting you to regress me, just do it! Don't beat around the bush. I really don’t wanna be the big girl that needs to be checked with. I am trusting you and you have my consent to full on regress me!

When I say, “I’m not a baby!” I’m really just reinforcing your regression’s grip on me. So DO it!

[thingsienjoy]

things mommy says to little princesses when company is over (not me ofc!)

1. “Sweetheart, if you’re going to keep making those faces, just tell everyone the truth… you’re trying not to mess yourself right now, aren’t you?”

2. “Go on, show them your outfit! Mommy matched your onesie to your diapers today. Isn’t that cute?”

3. “If you don’t stop whining, I’ll check your diaper right here in front of everyone. Don’t think I won’t.”

4. “You don’t need to speak, baby. We all know littles don’t get a say once their diapers start crinkling like that.”

5. “Aw, you’re fussy because you’re overdue for a change, huh? Do you want Mommy to tell them how long you’ve been sitting in that soggy diaper?”

6. “Go ahead, crawl over to Mommy. Everyone should see how sweetly you move when your diaper’s that thick.”

7. “You told me you wanted to be babied more. Well, standing here red-faced in front of your friends with a squishy butt is exactly what more looks like.”

8. “Don’t pout. They’re not laughing at you…. they’re just surprised such a big baby could make such a big stink.”

9. “Do you need to go potty, or should Mommy just lay you down right here and let everyone watch you try to hold it?”

10. “You’re so quiet now. Not so confident with your paci clipped on and your diaper peeking out, are you, sweetheart?”

[thingsienjoy]

Things that make me feel realllly small realllly quick:

Being told I'm "too little" for x,y and z

Forcibly grabbing my hand when in a public space (Especially when crossing the street)

Headpats!!!!!

Forehead kisses!!!

Being picked up!!!

Diaper checks ( Especially like ones where it's played like a hug but realllyyyy)

Questions about my diaper (are you still dry? Do you like the bunnies? Etc. )

Invoking pet names ! (For me it's Petal, kiddo, little one [or princess, girl , little Petal/flower especiallyyyyyy], or baby bun)

Cutting up my food/helping my eat or drink

Getting dressed by someone else

NOSE BOOPS!!!!

Being read to

Cooing/ baby talk

Biggest of all: making me sit lower than them/enforcing physicality of being small

Im sure this list will never back fire having it out.... never ever....

[thingsienjoy]

People keep asking to know about "my wildest fantasies" so I figured I'd put them up here as a pinned post 🦊

It's not an easy question to answer. The silly thoughts of a diaperbrained little vixen go somewhat like this:

I dream of being kept as a diaper dependent baby by a strict yet loving caretaker or better yet -- couple or group of caretakers 💕

I want to live like a bedwetting toddler and and have all my rights and privileges taken away. Never allowed out of my diapers, never left unsupervised unless properly secured or restrained. Never allowed to do anything witout asking mommy or daddy first. Everyone would know and understand that Nemi is a diaper girl and collectively make sure I don't break my rules.

I'd sleep in reins or restraints in my crib, in my own room -- the nursery. It'd have a changing table, a play pen and all of it would be kept in 50 shades of pink 💕🩷. One wall of the room would be fitted with shelves and entirely covered by stacks of hundreds of diapers and the whole place would reek of scented pamps and baby powder to the point where it'd be unbearable for any normal adult.

I'd never choose my own clothes and all of them would be childish and frilly and shiny pvc plastic -- and cute and pink and and and and leave very little doubt that I'm a pamper packing little fox 🥺💕

When going to the park or just outside I'd always be kept on a leash and never let to wander off. I'd always have to carry a lil backpack with extra diapers, powder, cream, my stuffie and my paci -- and a paddle in case I do something bad and need to be diciplined.

When on roadtrips -- or just a ride to the store -- I'be snuggly strapped into my five point harness car seat. Pacigagged and heavily diapered in my onesie or puffy snowsuit if it's cold -- hugging my stuffie and watching my cartoons on the screen on the neckrest in front of me.

There'd be no reason to unbuckle me except for changies -- and if I ever behave badly when away from home they'd just put me in the car for a few hours to think about what I've done. Like, if I make pushies without permission at mommy's friend's house she'd grab my arm and give me a few swats with the paddle before taking me to the car, strapping me in for long timeout in my soggy mess 💕

When visiting mommy or daddy's friends I'd always be visibly diapered and have my paci in while the adult's talk. I'd be put on the floor with my headphones and my iPad with strict parental control preventing me from accessing anything but kids' shows and my diaper blog here on tumblr . Everyone would know to do random diaper checks and talk over me about the state of my diapee and how cute I look in the outfit mommy or daddy picked out for me 💕

Sex would be off-limits for me. Perhaps except for when mommy or daddy let trusted friends breed me if I've been bad and need a reminder of my place and that I have absolutely no say in what happens to me 🩷💕

I'd be told I'm too little for adult fun and my ever so thick and soggy diapers would ensure that this rule is never broken! I'd have to love my pamps the most -- cuz that's all little girls like me understand.

I'd be entirely dependent on my diapers to make my lil girlcummies and I would be conditioned into liking it no other way (reality check; this already happend x3). All play would have to be administered or at the very least supervised by an adult -- and I'd only get to make cummies in entirely soaked and messy diapers 🥺💕

In this scenario I'd make my contribution to the household by selling diaper content online (with every cent going into mommy's account!) I'd be doing diaper and Little-fashion modelling, play with other Littles on cam -- and generally do all cleaning and tidying while thickly padded and wearing my maid dress 💕

Oh what this lil crinklebutt wouldn't do to have this be my life. At least some of the time 💖💕

[thingsienjoy]

To continue the reblog series on kinky stuff I like: Locking Mittens.

Such a simple tool with such great effect. Once you have locked them, you are unable to remove your diaper and have about as much manual dexterity as an actual baby. And, contrary to most heavier restraints, you may move around freely while still being under full control of the keyholder. So many possibilities…

Reblog this post, if you as well like to be restrained with locking mittens when wearing diapers.

[thingsienjoy]

Reblog if you have an ABDL Tumblr

So everyone can find each other!

[thingsienjoy]

🍼reblog if your littlespace age is 0-3 🍼

[thingsienjoy]