tinkerbellinpullys

[tinkerbellinpullys]

The Challenge

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

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

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

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

But day two had been… different.

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

A soft hiss.

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

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

Melanie’s eyes found you across the room.

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

She wanted you to see.

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

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

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

She didn’t say a word about it.

But her eyes found yours again.

Still challenging.

Still daring you.

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

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

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

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

You folded your hands on the desk.

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

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

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

You leaned back in your seat, studying her.

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

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

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

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

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

“I never said I was pretending.”

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

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

Then came the sound.

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

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

And Melanie?

She grinned.

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

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

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

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

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

It was power.

And Melanie knew it.

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

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

She wasn’t embarrassed.

She wasn’t broken.

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

[tinkerbellinpullys]

Just had to drop in here and say that you're cute as a button.

🙈🙈

Oh stop it! You’ll make me blush 🤭

[tinkerbellinpullys]

I love the idea of a caregiver gently training their little to love diapers.

It all starts when you inevitably have your first accident as you're cumming around your Daddy's cock.

"Did that feel too good, angel? What a big cummy for such a little girl!" You whine and squirm, desperately trying to hide the wet spot on your sheets and your burning red face, worrying that Daddy will think you're icky.

But of course he doesn't. He gives you soothing back rubs while he tries desperately not to laugh at how adorable you are.

"Playtime can be so overwhelming, can't it? No one would expect a precious little thing like you to make it to the potty under such circumstances!" Your screeches make his laughter bubble over as he sings your praises. He's proud of you for embracing the feel-good sensations so much that you didn't even notice you were wetting yourself. He's grateful you trust him to the point you show him your most vulnerable side. He loves taking care of you, including cleaning up your accidents

Daddy talks you through it as he wraps you in your first diaper. It's blushy at first, but you love how little, safe, and cozy it makes you feel.

From that day forward, Daddy teaches you to love being his padded princess. He beams with pride every time your bottom is padded in unicorns or dinosaurs, rewarding you with soft diaper pats.

At every changing, he lets you pick which print you want next. He massages your tummy and thighs, giving your princess parts teasing touches before securing new tapes once again.

Diaper checks quickly become a regular part of your day, which gives him a convenient excuse to press the soft fluffy material against your sensitive cunny. You can't help but sink into his touch. It's so cozy compared to the thin fabric of your discarded panties.

Before you even realize, just the thought of the soft padding and babyish prints makes your princess parts tingle.

When you're comfy on the couch together, Daddy absentmindedly rubs the front of your diaper until you're desperately humping his hand and making a sticky mess inside your Pampers.

He doesn't even take them off during playtime anymore, just pulls them to the side so he can fill your princess parts with his cock. Sometimes he presses a buzzy toy against your diaper until your cunny feels so good, you're no longer sure if you're cumming or wetting yourself. It reminds you that you're far too little for Daddy to touch your most sensitive places without the proper protection.

You soon realize what a relief it is to be diapered. There is something magical about feeling safe enough to not just be little, but to be a baby. Your only responsibility is to be a good girl for Daddy. You don't even have to worry about getting up to use the potty. Now you wouldn't want it any other way.

[tinkerbellinpullys]

Sweet Lullabies 🩰

@carptrout

[tinkerbellinpullys]

"my daughter is fine"

your daughter soaks her diapers and then cums in them on top of the closed toilet afterwards, knowing that she'll never be big enough to use it

[tinkerbellinpullys]

having mutuals who i think are really cool and get like. starstruck when they interact with me. is so weird. like why am i reacting like this. we’re literally both on tumblr

[tinkerbellinpullys]

[tinkerbellinpullys]

Look, I’ve got a handful of little traits, but the one that refuses to stay home is my happy food dance. Yes, even in public. No shame.

Today? A biscuit absolutely rocked my world. I’m talking divine, holy, straight-from-the-heavens perfection. I swear an angel choir hit a high note when I took that first bite.

And what did I do? Wiggled in my seat like I was being electrocuted by joy, let out an unholy groan, clapped like an enthusiastic seal, and then rubbed my belly like Pooh Bear after a honey bender. 🙈 I’m pretty sure my nipples even got hard after eating it.

I was possessed by biscuit bliss. 10/10, would embarrass myself again.

[tinkerbellinpullys]

I’m basically a hundred percent sure that being bent over a lap and spanked until my ass is purple and I’m dripping down my thighs would solve every problem in my life rn

[tinkerbellinpullys]

Big Girl Rebellion

I used to be potty-trained.

I mean, really trained. I had sparkle undies with cartoon kittens, knew when I had to go, and even wiped all by myself. I used to feel proud of that—smug, even. Big girl Sophie, the girl who didn’t need help. The girl who didn’t wear diapers like the other littles.

But that was before.

Before they decided I needed to be “reminded” of my place. Before the charts and the baby bottles and the locking potty lid. Before the first thick diaper was taped onto me while I screamed and kicked and swore I’d never use it.

Spoiler: I did.

And now? Now I’m sitting in the middle of the playroom, legs spread wide by the swollen padding between them, surrounded by plushies I didn’t choose and building blocks I’m expected to play with. I’m wearing a pastel onesie that snaps between my legs, stretched tight over a very obvious, very used diaper.

And I’m not letting Nanny Clara change me.

“You’re stinky again, Sophie,” she says gently, kneeling in front of me with the calm, patronizing tone they all use. Like I’m some baby who doesn’t know better. “Come on, sweetie. Time to get you cleaned up.”

“No,” I snap. I turn my face away like the toddlers do when they’re being bratty. “I like it.”

She blinks, but only for a moment. She’s trained for this. “Sophie,” she tries again, more firmly this time. “You’ve been sitting in that diaper for almost an hour. I can see it hanging between your knees.”

I spread my legs wider on purpose, grabbing one of the blocks and banging it on the floor.

“So?”

“So,” she says, biting back her sigh, “you need to be changed.”

“No, I don’t.”

She pauses. “You used to be such a big girl…”

I round on her. “Exactly. Used to. But you took that away. You put me in these. You made me sit in the corner until I messed myself. You’re the one who clapped when I did it. So now? Now this is you getting what you wanted.”

I shift deliberately, the mush shifting with me, and watch her flinch just the tiniest bit.

Deep down, some part of me loves it.

Nanny Clara puts the wipes and clean diaper back in the basket, standing slowly. “Fine,” she says, her tone still syrupy sweet. “You can come find me when you’re ready for a change, okay, sugarplum?”

I ignore her. She walks off.

Good.

I hate her. I hate all of them. I hate that they took away my panties, made me ask permission for everything, from snacks to TV time. But mostly, I hate that I stopped fighting.

Because now? I’m… getting used to it.

The padding between my legs feels natural. The squish doesn’t bother me anymore. The smell makes people wrinkle their noses and call me names “stinky butt,” “messy miss,” “diaper girl” but I’ve started to like those names.

When people talk down to me, coo at me, lift my skirt to check if I’m wet—I feel small. Powerless.

But safe.

That’s the worst part.

“Hey, diaper girl,” a voice calls.

I glance up. It's Brandon, one of the caretakers. Young, tall, broad shoulders and sleeves rolled up to show his arms. He’s smiling, crouching to my level, and he’s got that teasing twinkle in his eye.

I shift a little, letting the weight of my messy diaper tug at my hips.

He wrinkles his nose. “Yup, that’s what I thought.”

“What?”

“You filled your pants again, huh?” he says. He’s not mad. He’s amused. Like I’m a toddler who just finger painted on the walls.

I look down at the blocks, pretending not to care, but my cheeks go pink anyway.

“Did you already tell Clara no?”

I nod, sulking.

“Figures,” he chuckles. “You’re always so stubborn. Used to be the big bossy girl, remember? Telling everyone you were too old for naps and that only babies wore diapers.”

“I was right,” I mutter.

He leans in. “You still think you’re not a baby?”

I glare at him.

His eyes flick down to the bulging seat of my diaper.

“Coulda fooled me.”

I should hate that.

But I don’t.

I like the way he looks at me now. Not like an equal. Not like a girl with control. But like a helpless little thing who can’t even keep her pants clean.

And maybe I am that now. Not because they forced it on me but because I let them. Because it’s easier to lean into it than to keep fighting. Because it’s soft and warm and oddly comforting to give up the grown-up fight and just be… soggy.

“Come on,” he says, scooping me up like I weigh nothing.

I squeal in surprise, my arms going around his neck on instinct. “I didn’t say yes!”

He smirks. “You didn’t say no either.”

He carries me easily, one arm under my bottom, not even flinching at the squish he’s got his hand pressed against. The air shifts as he walks, and I catch a whiff of myself, sharp, thick, unmistakable.

He definitely notices. But he doesn’t stop holding me.

“Bet you’re proud of yourself, huh?” he murmurs, bouncing me slightly. “Filling your diapers like a good little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl,” I whisper, but it’s weak.

“Coulda fooled me,” he repeats, echoing himself.

He lays me down on the changing mat in the nursery, the crinkle of the plastic loud under my onesie. I stare at the ceiling as he un-snaps me, exposing the bulging diaper underneath. His hand hovers.

“Still want to say no?”

I glance down at the disaster I made in my pants, and I actually smile.

“Maybe just five more minutes,” I say softly. “I like how it feels.”

He raises a brow, but he doesn’t argue. Just gently re-snaps my onesie and sits beside me on the mat, tousling my hair.

“Guess you’re really one of the littles now, huh?”

I nod.

No shame. No fight left.

Just a warm, squishy diaper and the soft hand of someone who treats me like the messy little girl I’ve become.

And for the first time, I don’t want to be anything else.

[tinkerbellinpullys]

Nursing as a form of regression has to be talked about more often.

Cradling a shy baby who wants to breastfeed but won’t ask directly, wrapping them up in a straightjacket while gently rubbing their soon-to-be-soggy diaper and cooing down at how sweet their baby looks suckling away, having no choice but to accept Mommy’s milk

[tinkerbellinpullys]

sub/little who's frustrated their dom isn't paying enough attention to them to so they squat and mess themselves on purpose right in front of them. bonus points if they're wearing underwear.

[tinkerbellinpullys]

I sniff the air as I walk into the nursery. The room, which typically smells faintly of used diapers, smells worse than usual.

Three little ones, dressed in matching onesies, only distinguished by color, sit in the middle of the floor, building a city out of wooden blocks.

"Good morning, little ones! How is my little pod of sweet peas doing this morning?"

The three infantilized adults all turn to me and smile, giggling at the praise. Paci's bob in mouths as they coo and babble in glee at the sight of their Papa.

"What adorable little cuties," I say smiling, "But, it smells like one of you left Papa a big, stinky present in their pants."

As I expected, they all three shift uncomfortably in their seats at those words, blushes blossoming across cheeks. Months of being treated as permanent toddlers has effectively taken away their own abilities to notice the state of their diapers.

"Alright, sweet peas, assume the position."

Like actors a well rehearsed play, my three little ones burst into motion. They crawl to the oversized crib before grabbing the lowered railing to pull themselves up. It only takes moments before I am facing three adorable, padded little butts, presented for my careful inspection.

I walk up behind each blushing baby and give their rear ends thorough, revealing squeezes.

"Well, I guess I was wrong!" I announce to my adorable little audience.

Three little cuties let out a collective sigh of relief.

"It wasn't just one of you making Papa a present! It was all three!"

Three bodies tense in front of me all at once. I give the nearest mushy little tushy a playful smack.

"You better hurry over to the changing tables, little ones," I sing off, "Last one there smells like a rotten egg... well, at least for a little bit longer than the other two."

I can't help but grin as my three overgrown tots drop to their hands and knees and crawl at full speed to the changing table. Life is so good.

[tinkerbellinpullys]

How does one become as adorable as you asking for that same friend hehe

Hahaha. Oh tiny tot. I can’t really answer that.

My best answer: be yourself 🩷

[tinkerbellinpullys]

Umm… be adorable? I’m really not sure what I did to end up with a babysitter 🧐

How does one get you to babysit them asking for a friend???

Hmmm that's a good question ask @tinkerbellinpullys how she did it

[tinkerbellinpullys]

🙈

Well I have got some news for you I have had the pleasure of babysitting this little cutie the last couple of days

She insists she's not a baby but a big girl the screenshot doesn't sound like she is does it @tinkerbellinpullys

[tinkerbellinpullys]

😱

Accidentally sucked on my yucky pacifier (the one I use for soap/spice related punishments) instead of my normal one and it kinda just ruined my night 😂