tupidteven

[tupidteven]

The crib gates go up, and your resistance goes down…

“Regression is progression”

See the full video on WileyWets.com

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Snug and secure!

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Soggy butt this morning

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Sugar Booger was being extra bashful that day, because I conveniently "forgot" to tell him that Mommy's new friend Tyrell would be joining us on our beach day.

I'd finally felt safe telling Ty about my now former husband. When I told him about all the late-night feedings and diaper changes, he reached out and grabbed my hand and not only told me he didn't mind, but said that he just the kind of man who's always willing to step up.

I've been imagining taking Tyrell's last name when we get married. I'd want to change Sugar Booger's too. After all, a baby should have the same name as his Daddy, right?

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Me next

KungFuCat

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It has been explained to me that I will not be earning my potty privileges back any time soon. Even though I'm trying to be the best princess for Daddy that I can be. My potty chart had so many stickers. It's not fair.

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"Whatcha doin', champ? I SAID, 'It's time for changies.' What part don't you understand? Your mama drove all the way to Babies R Us and back cause we were all out of diapers. And you think, what? That you're a big man now? You got to the count of three to get up on your change table and tell your mama how much you want me to help you with your Huggies."

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Look here, little man. We're leaving for the baseball game in fifteen minutes. You can either go in your messy Pampers or you can let Papa put you in a fresh diapie. If you're going to carry on like this though, you can forget about wearing pants.

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I don't have to explain nothing to you, you hear? Sondra and I have been seein' each other for a few weeks now. When she told me you wouldn't be a problem, I gotta say I wasn't sure if I believed it. But I came over last night at 8:30 and you was already asleep in your crib, sucking your thumb. What sort of man are you? Well, you ain't. So from now on, if you good, you'll be Daddy's Princess Baby, but if you wanna act up and cry you'll be across this lap real quick.

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You HAD choices, You HAD options, You HAD a promising future... Only now do you realize… NO WAY OUT.

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Every good boy needs to be able to take big gags like that 😈🤐

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After being caught spying on women with hidden cameras, Tommy was sentenced to spend a year as a baby. His mother agreed to take care of him, knowing he could face ten years in prison if she didn’t follow the judge's orders.

As they left the courtroom, Tommy was strapped into a booster seat, and the women he had spied on laughed loudly. "See you later this week, baby Tommy!" they teased.

Every Wednesday, Tommy would have to attend baby swim classes at the pool. The women promised to come each week to watch him suffer. In the ladies' changing room, Tommy would be blindfolded while being changed, but everyone would still see him.

When they got home, his mother took him straight to his room. Lying on the bed, she scolded him, making sure he understood why this was happening. "This is just the start," she said firmly. "You’ll also have mummy and me music, dance, and coffee mornings."

"Whatever a mummy does with her baby, you’ll be part of it," she added with a smirk.

She took off his shoes and socks. "Alright, sweetie, time to get you dressed," she said, leaning over to remove his fancy clothes. She undid the button and yanked down his pants and boxers. Tommy squirmed and screamed, trying to hide his shame.

"Keep your hands by your side," his mother commanded. He wiggled, but she just stood back and watched him struggle. Realizing he couldn’t escape, he stopped moving and said, "Sorry, mummy," feeling very small.

"Please, mummy," he whimpered, feeling exposed. His mother took off his trousers and shirt, leaving him completely naked. She pulled out a bag filled with baby things, including wipes and a nappy.

Tommy cried as she began lifting his legs, and started cleaning him like a baby. She wiped his bum and pee-pee, lifting his legs just like she would for a little one. Tommy shrieked when she wiped inside his bum, showing him the dirty wipe. "Look at this mess!" she laughed, cleaning him thoroughly.

After finishing, she sighed and applied baby powder and cream, smiling at the smell. Tommy turned bright red, feeling even more embarrassed.

The sound of the nappy rustling filled the room as she lifted his bum and taped it up snugly. "All done!" she mocked. "Remember, when Tommy needs to wee-wee or poo-poo, he goes in his nappy. Mummy will check whenever she wants."

Tommy asked if he could change himself or if he could use the potty if he was good. "No way!" his mother said, shaking her head. "For one whole year, you’ll be in a nappy like a baby, no matter where you are."

"Now, let’s get you dressed," she cooed, lifting his arms and putting a cute blue dress made for little girls over him.

Tommy sobbed as his mother welcomed the delivery men to decorate his new baby room.

She led him downstairs and, in front of men his age, plopped him on the floor with a teddy bear, making him watch Dora the Explorer.

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Elliot Kane was a name that lit up marquees and magazine covers—a 32-year-old actor with chiseled features, tousled black hair, and a smoldering intensity that had made him Hollywood’s go-to heartthrob. He’d starred in blockbusters as brooding detectives, charming rogues, and tragic heroes, but behind the red-carpet smiles, Elliot harbored a secret: he was gay, and he’d spent his career carefully guarding that truth from the world.

One night, after a long day of dodging paparazzi, Elliot scrolled through his Instagram DMs, deleting the usual flood of thirst traps and fan gushing. Then one message caught his eye—simple, unassuming, from a guy named Ryan: “Hey, loved you in Shadow Line. That scene with the lighter? Killer. Also, fellow sci-fi nerd here—Blade Runner or 2001?” Intrigued by the lack of over-the-top flattery, Elliot typed back, “Thanks, man. Tough call, but Blade Runner. You?”

What started as a casual exchange about movies spiraled into daily chats. Ryan, a 29-year-old graphic designer from Pasadena, was sharp-witted and grounded, with a goofy charm that disarmed Elliot. They bonded over a shared love of old synth music, obscure comics, and greasy diner food. After weeks of texting, Ryan suggested meeting up. “No pressure,” he wrote. “Just two nerds grabbing burgers.” Elliot hesitated—fans could be unpredictable—but something about Ryan felt safe. He said yes.

Their first hangout at a hole-in-the-wall diner was easy, electric. Ryan’s hazel eyes sparkled when he laughed, and Elliot found himself loosening up, the weight of his public persona slipping away. Soon, they were meeting regularly—late-night drives, movie marathons at Ryan’s apartment, quiet hikes where no one would spot them. The chemistry was undeniable, and Elliot’s guarded heart started to crack open. He’d never let himself fall for a guy before, but Ryan’s warmth was pulling him in.

One evening, sprawled on Ryan’s couch after a Star Wars binge, Ryan grinned mischievously and tossed a popcorn kernel at Elliot. “Fetch, pup!” he teased. Elliot laughed, swatting it away, but Ryan kept going, ruffling Elliot’s hair and cooing, “Who’s a good boy?” in an exaggerated tone. Elliot rolled his eyes, but the playful affection stirred something unfamiliar—something thrilling.

A few days later, over beers on Ryan’s patio, Ryan got quiet, then said, “Okay, weird confession time. You know how I’ve been calling you ‘pup’? I’m… kinda into puppy play. Like, roleplaying as a dog and owner. It’s a kink thing, but it’s also just fun for me.” Elliot blinked, caught off guard. Ryan rushed on, “I don’t mean to freak you out! It’s just… you’d make a cute pup, you know?” He flashed a lopsided grin, but his cheeks were pink.

Elliot’s mind raced. He’d never heard of puppy play, and the idea sounded absurd—crawling around, pretending to be a dog? But Ryan’s earnestness softened the weirdness. “I don’t get it,” Elliot admitted. “What’s the appeal?”

“It’s like letting go,” Ryan said. “No stress, no expectations—just play. And for me, taking care of a ‘pup’ is sweet, you know? Intimate.” He paused, then added, “You’re an actor. Think of it as a role. No pressure—if you hate it, we stop.”

Elliot chewed his lip. He’d spent his life acting, slipping into other skins. Maybe this wasn’t so different. “Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll try it. But if I look ridiculous, you’re buying me dinner.”

Ryan lit up. He grabbed a spare belt from his closet, fashioned it into a makeshift collar, and knelt in front of Elliot. “Ready, pup?” Elliot nodded, awkward but curious, and dropped to his knees. Ryan scratched behind his ears, murmuring, “Good boy.” Elliot barked hesitantly, feeling silly—until Ryan’s gentle petting melted his self-consciousness. For the first time in years, he felt unscripted, free.

They started small—Elliot scampering around Ryan’s living room, chasing a thrown sock, nuzzling Ryan’s hand for praise. The more they did it, the more natural it felt. Ryan would snap his fingers and say, “Sit,” and Elliot would obey, grinning as Ryan fed him a treat (usually a pretzel). Soon, Elliot was bounding around on all fours in Ryan’s fenced backyard, barking happily while Ryan tugged a leash they’d upgraded from the belt. It was intimate, playful, and oddly liberating—Elliot could shed the polished star and just be.

Trouble came one crisp October morning. They were in Ryan’s yard—Elliot in a leather collar, leash in Ryan’s hand—when a paparazzo perched in a tree across the street snapped a photo. By noon, the image was everywhere: “Elliot Kane on a Leash—What’s He Into?” The internet exploded with memes, speculation, and crude jokes. Elliot’s phone buzzed with panicked calls from his agent, but he just sat on Ryan’s couch, head in his hands.

“I’m screwed,” he muttered. “They’ll crucify me.”

Ryan squeezed his shoulder. “Or… you could own it. You’re happy like this, right? So tell them.”

Elliot looked at him, heart pounding. Coming out as gay was one thing—he’d been inching toward it with Ryan—but as a pup? Yet Ryan’s steady gaze gave him courage. That night, Elliot posted a statement on Instagram: “Yeah, that’s me. I’m gay, I’ve got a boyfriend, and I’m into puppy play. It’s weird, it’s me, and I’m done hiding.” He hit send, braced for backlash.

The response was a tidal wave—some hate, sure, but more support than he’d dreamed. Fans cheered his honesty; queer communities embraced him as a icon. And Hollywood? It adapted. Within months, Elliot landed a role as a loyal hound in a fantasy epic, bounding across sets with a tail prosthetic and a bark that critics called “startlingly authentic.” More dog roles followed—a gruff stray in a drama, a goofy pup in a comedy—and Elliot nailed them all, his ease in the skin of a canine unmatched.

He and Ryan kept their routine, too. After shoots, Elliot would come home, slip into his collar, and curl up at Ryan’s feet, barking for a pat. The world knew him now—gay, pup, and proud—and for the first time, Elliot felt like the star of his own story.

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