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Diapers are a girls best friend.

They keep your man faithful, after all, who would he be willing to try with?

They keep the bathroom clean, he's not using them anymore.

Makes him humble, tired of male bravado? Its hard to be bold when youre getting powdered for you next pamper.

Keeps him attentive, he needs a change? He will make sure youre happy.

No more surprises with damp underwear or streak marks.

It was the summer of 1985, in a quiet suburban cul-de-sac just outside of town, where pastel-colored houses and wood-paneled station wagons lined the streets like something out of a Sears catalog 📺. Sarah, the 22-year-old firecracker of a wife with her feathered blonde hair and sweet-as-pie smile, had completely flipped the script on her 35-year-old husband Mark. What began as her discovering his secret stash of adult baby magazines hidden under the bed had blossomed into a full-blown Female Led Relationship 💖👑.

No more “equal partners” nonsense: Sarah was the Queen, and Mark was her locked-up, diapered plaything. She kept him in a chastity cage 24/7 🔒, teasing him mercilessly while he spent hours on his knees providing oral service between her thighs every single night 😋. “Good babies earn their milkies,” she’d purr, grinding against his desperate tongue until she came, leaving him aching and denied. Humiliation was her favorite spice, and forced babyfication had become their new normal—Mark was slowly stripped of every last shred of adult dignity until he was nothing but her helpless, oversized infant.

That afternoon, after Mark “forgot” to hand-wash her lingerie by hand like she demanded, Sarah decided the time had come for the ultimate step-up. She’d ordered a fresh case of XL Overnight Diapers from the back pages of a discreet catalog, the kind that promised “maximum absorbency for heavy wetters” 🍼.

With her white ruffled sundress swishing around her bare legs and a matching diaper bag slung over her shoulder, she marched into the livingroom with a sturdy wooden playpen that barely contained his adult frame. The old CRT television flickered silently on the dresser, the shag carpet still smelled like the 70s, and the afternoon sun poured through the window like it was just another ordinary day. But for Mark, it was anything but. Sarah stood barefoot on the thick rug, holding the big blue-and-white box of “Baby Diapers Overnight XL” like a trophy, her eyes sparkling with wicked delight 😈.

Mark was already inside the playpen, gripping the wooden rails so tightly his knuckles turned white. His face was bright red, tears streaming down his cheeks as he let out a choked, broken sob 😭. His button-down shirt and slacks still clung to his body, but the bulge of the chastity cage underneath was impossible to hide now. The humiliation burned hotter than the summer heat outside.

“Aww, don’t cry, my little Markie-Warkie,” Sarah cooed in that sugary-sweet voice she used just for him, shaking the heavy diaper box playfully so the plastic crinkled loud enough for the whole room to hear. “Mommy went all the way to the post office to pick up your new overnight diapers! Look how big and thick they are...perfect for a grown man who still can’t control his bladder like a real big boy 💧👶. You’re going to be padded up nice and snug from now on, 24/7, just like the helpless baby you were born to be.”

Mark’s voice cracked as fresh tears spilled over. “S-Sarah… please… not again… I’m your husband, not some… some diapered freak! The neighbors are right next door...what if they hear? What if they see?!” His hips shifted uncomfortably, the steel cage locked around his denied cock throbbing uselessly against the fabric of his pants 🔒😣.

Sarah laughed, a light, musical sound that made his stomach drop. She stepped closer to the playpen, resting the diaper box on the railing right in front of his tear-streaked face. “Oh honey, you stopped being my ‘husband’ the day you begged me to lock that pathetic little clitty away and treat you like the baby you really are. Remember last night? You were on your knees for two whole hours, tongue deep inside Mommy, swallowing every drop while you leaked into your last soggy diaper 🍼😘. That’s all you’re good for now ...oral service and accidents. And yes… exhibition is coming soon. I already told my best friend Lisa you’ve been ‘regressing’ and she’s dying to see the big baby in his crib this weekend. Maybe we’ll even wheel you out on the porch in nothing but your thick padding so the whole block can wave at you!”

She reached into the diaper bag and pulled out a single, fluffy white diaper, unfolding it with a loud crinkle that echoed off the walls. “Now drop those big-boy pants right now, baby. Get on your back, legs up like a good little infant. These XL overnight ones are extra bulky-everyone will know exactly what a padded, chastity-locked mess you are the second they look at you. No more hiding. This is your life now… forced into diapers, forced to serve Mommy’s pussy with that eager tongue whenever I snap my fingers, and forced to love every humiliating second of it 👑💦.”

Mark whimpered, his shoulders shaking as he slowly unbuckled his belt, the fight draining out of him under her commanding gaze. “Y-yes… Mommy…” he whispered, voice thick with shame and unwilling arousal, stepping out of his slacks to reveal the shiny cage glinting between his legs.

It was already too late when you realized that you two were the last in the room at a party. She smiled at you. You awkwardly smiled back hoping to avoid a conversation. She was the first girl you asked out after becoming incontinent. It obviously didn’t go well.

She looks down at your diaper. “What’s it like?” she asks?

“No, I don’t mean what’s it like to wear a diaper. Gross as it would be, I could put on a diaper and see what it feels like. No, what I mean is: what is it like to be in diapers.”

“Of course there is a difference. There’s a huge difference. If I put a diaper on I would be in a diaper, but I wouldn’t be in diapers. When you’re in diapers, people expect you to be in a diaper no matter what. People say babies are in diapers because nobody expects them to stay dry without one. Just like you.”

“Unlike me if I tried one, when you take off a diaper you need to put another one on immediately. You live your life one diaper at a time. Whether you’re at work, a date, on vacation, or at home, you’re in diapers. And it will almost always be at least a little wet.”

“So what I’m asking is, what is that like? Knowing you’ll be toddling around in diapers every time I see you? Knowing you will have pee wrapped around you from now until the moment you die? Knowing everyone you know will always wonder if your diaper is wet whenever you’re with them?”

“But especially knowing that every girl you ever try to date will involve you telling them you’re sitting in front of them in a wet diaper, hoping they can ignore the infantile diaper long enough to try and date you? Because I assume most will end like it did with me.

“And that means you pretending you’re a man at a party when we all know you’re just a diaper boy. The only thing we think about when you walk in is diapers. And no women associate sexy, intimate encounters with diapers. Which means no women will ever associate you with sex.”

Full resolution here:

It's not enough to just lock the cock anymore. Why just control their orgasms when you can control so, so much more?

All it takes is a little diaper (or, in this case, a big diaper) and some locking plastic panties. That’s when you really start to control their psyche. They’re not just thinking about cumming anymore, they’re thinking about peeing and pooping too.

You strip them of their most basic biological freedom. What they once took for granted, they now have to carry around with them in the form of a warm, mushy reminder of their place. They won’t just think about when they get to have an orgasm again, they’re thinking about when they’ll get to use a freaking toilet again. You control when and where they get to use the bathroom.

You control their masculinity just by choosing a certain color for their new crinkly undergarments. Are they going to wear the pink ones? Or the ones with adorable zoo animals? They don’t even have control of the ridiculous prints on the diaper you’re going to put them in that day.

They thought they could control what clothes they wear, but that’s your decision now too. Which ones will expose their diaper the most? Which ones do nothing to hide that inordinate amount of padding on their bottom? Hell, you can control whether or not they even get to wear clothes around the house at all.

You control their sanity. Every step with the poofy padding between their legs keeps them in a constant state of humiliation. A continuous reminder of their status on the totem pole. There is nothing more demeaning to a man than having to wear big, ridiculous diaper. It’s hard to feel like an Alpha when you’ve got the Alphabet scribbled across the front of your poofy pampers. Who would take orders from someone that pisses and shits all over themselves? If they even try to speak out of turn to someone superior (which would be, well, everyone) a quick pacifier in their mouth will shut them up real quick. It’s not like they can even argue against it, they’re in a diaper for crying out loud.

But it’s when they’ve finally lost control, when they’ve no choice but to wet themselves, mess themselves, and they have to crawl up to you and beg for you to unlock and change their diapers, that’s when it really starts to sink in. They don’t have control over anything anymore. They want so desperately to wear big boy clothes, to cum, to feel like a man, to not have to fill and pack a pair of pampers, and if they do, they want out of them almost immediately. But they don’t control that anymore.

You do.

When he’s not in diapers, something I like to do with my boyfriend is take him to the potty when he has to pee. It’s a fun little ritual for when you don’t have any diapers to hand (they can be expensive!) or just want a break from them. I have him ask me nicely, “Mommy, I need to go pee-pee! Please will you help me?” while doing a cute potty dance. I check him first to make sure he hasn’t already had an accident, then I take him by the hand and lead him to the bathroom like he’s a silly little boy who can’t go by himself. Once we’re at the potty, I undo his belt and pull his pants and underwear all the way down to his ankles. Then I stand slightly behind him and hold his little willy for him while he pees. Sometimes when I try and direct his pecker at the potty, he gets a stiffie! Boys can be so silly! When he’s done, I pull his pants back up and show him how to flush the toilet and wash his hands like a big boy. He usually finds it a mortifying experience from start to finish. He hates being treated like a child almost as much as he loves it, and the drawn-out experience of being taken to the potty to do a pee can end up being even more embarrassing for him than just wetting his diaper. He gets to use the toilet, but he doesn’t get to feel like a grown-up.

Alongside making my baby wear diapers 24/7 the other big step we took which proved to be highly beneficial was me taking control of all his diaper checks and changes.

Before making this switch I’d change him maybe once a day but he’d often change himself out of convenience or embarrassment. I wasn’t checking him so he’d almost always be asking for a change. The big problem with this is he felt scared to ask for a change if I was busy or if he was 💩 which resulted in me changing less diapers over time and contributed to a feeling of isolation on his side that I wasn’t involved.

We tried to increase the amount I changed him by me assuring him it was ok to ask me any time but always after a few days we quickly fell back into the same routine.

Then I decided to try taking full control which I knew would be a lot of work for me but I hoped would help solve the feeling of shame he was suffering with at the time.

It was a huge success and actually wasn’t as much work as I had thought it would be.

The rules were simple:

He wasn’t allowed to ask for a change or change himself if I was around. Including at home, in public or on vacation.

I’d check his diaper regularly and decide when to change it

I’d change all his diapers where possible

If I wasn’t around, he’d have to ask for permission to change himself with a safety net of if I didn’t respond in 30 mins he could proceed.

From my side getting into the routine of diaper checks was hard initially but what worked in the end was setting a 2-hourly alarm/reminder on my phone prompting me to check him.

Checks are super easy and only take a minute so it doesn’t add up to much time each day. I also think checks are as important as changes in making your partner feel loved and accepted.

There are lots of ways to do it, but at home I like to get him to stand up and drop his pants exposing his diaper, where I can visually check it but also do a quick squeeze to make him blush. Comment on the state of it to add a little embarrassment but weave in encouragement to use it as well. For example “Good boy for using your diaper, it’s held your accidents well but I think it can hold for another hour or so yet”

Dry and wet changes are very easy and quick. I’d highly recommend having a changing area always setup (changing table is ideal but not required) with a mat, range of fresh diapers, power, adult sized wipes and disposable gloves. Messy changes are more work but with some disposable gloves and adult sized wipes it’s still easy to take care of these in less than 5 minutes.

Like the benefits of making him wear 24/7, being responsible for his checks and changes is actually easier for me as I’m not always worried about what I should be doing for him and when. There is a lot of benefits to just knowing he always wears diapers now and I’m responsible for keeping him clean.

In the first few weeks expect some leaks as you get used to the capacity of the different diapers and it’s ok to ask after checking them if they think it will last another hour to two etc. Once you’re up to speed though, they should have no say. Also try avoid changing them too often, they should be in diapers until they’re full and as diapers are expensive you don’t want to waste them.

From my partners perspective this change in routine really helped him feel accepted, loved and much happier overall. Checks and changes are now an enjoyable part of my day where we get some intimate and caring time together throughout the day.

Try be as strict as you can be with taking over all checks and changes but there can be exceptions, for example in certain public scenarios there might not be an option for you to change them so give them permission to go change themselves.

Not long ago, Liam had been independent, free, certain he’d never end up like the others. He had promised himself he would never give in, never waddle around like those glassy-eyed men with pacifiers and swollen nappies bulging between their thighs.

And yet now… he was kneeling on the floor, clinging to his giant teddy bear like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart. His striped pajamas clung softly to his arms, but below the waist there was no hiding what had become of him. The thick disposable diaper between his legs crinkled and sagged with every nervous squeeze of his thighs, swollen and squishy from the accident he had already had.

The scent lingered faintly in the air, warm, heavy, impossible to ignore. His face burned red, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as his pacifier bobbed helplessly between his lips. He wanted to deny it, to pretend it wasn’t true, but the squish against his bottom reminded him with every tiny movement. He was messy. Thoroughly, humiliatingly messy.

The worst part was how natural it had felt when it happened. No warning, no chance to stop it. Just a sudden cramp, a helpless whimper muffled behind his paci, and then the slow, warm release filling his nappy until it bulged and sagged beneath him. His body hadn’t even asked him anymore, it had simply done it.

He squeezed the teddy tighter, pressing his cheek to its soft fur as if hiding could erase the reality squishing around his hips. His legs shifted, the padding making a wet, muffled squelch. He whimpered. The sound was babyish, pathetic… and yet he couldn’t stop.

Because deep down, Liam knew this was what Mommy wanted.

He could already hear her voice in his head: “Good boys don’t use the potty. Good boys fill their nappies for Mommy.”

A shaky shiver ran down his spine. His cheeks burned hotter. The teddy’s stitched smile seemed to mock him, holding his secret for now, but not for long. Mommy would come soon. Mommy would see. Mommy would smell.

And when she did… she would coo at him, tease him, praise him.

Turns out they noticed. They noticed the smell of baby powder mixed with lotion. They noticed the (bigger than I thought) bulge.

These are the chapters that make up the entire series;

Chapter one - A Bedwetter's Beginning

Chapter Two - Kendra

Chapter Three - Training a Sissy

Chapter Four- A Sissy Becomes a Baby Cuckold

Chapter Five - Penis Reduction Therapy for Sissies

Chapter Six - Milking my Sissy on Date Night

Chapter Seven - Taking Control From a Sissy

Chapter Eight - Nana Comes to babysit

Chapter Nine - Two Sissies--One Babysitter

Chapter Ten - A Playdate for Two Sissies

Chapter Eleven - Nana's Retribution

One month later...

Mikey slowly stirred out of his state of slumber, not sure where he was.

As he slowly became adjusted to the dark lighting of Kendra's bedroom, he became aware of hushed voices from somewhere, possibly outside the house.

For some reason that Kendra hadn't shared with him, she'd decided to send him to bed early, and now that he'd drifted back into consciousness, he soon became aware that he'd wet his diapers, and the warm, clammy cotton clung to his bottom within his snug plastic panties. The smell of pee wafted up from under the covers and Mikey blushed that Kendra would smell it when she came into the room to go to bed.

Then he heard it again, what sounded like whispered voices, from the general direction of the driveway.

Slipping out of Kendra's king size bed, he padded over to the window. By now, Mikey had a several sets of jammies to sleep in―fuzzy, soft “diaper shirts”, that were purposely cut short, so as not to risk getting wet from the incontinent sissy's pampers while he slept. On his feet were frilly anklets, which were usually matched with his top and plastic panties, and hanging from a loop around his neck was his now ubiquitous pacifier, in babyish pink latex.

Gazing out the window, he spied Kendra wearing a slinky dress that fit her like a second skin, and a large man, with who she was speaking to in a seductive tone. Suddenly, she reached forward and began kissing him, as the man's hands roamed freely over her curvy body. Mikey was shocked beyond belief, and before he knew what was happening, he felt a strong torrent of hot pee flowing into his already wet diapers. Whereas a real man would have been filled with rage, Mikey's response was to wet himself like a toddler. A plaintive cry escaped his lips as his hands grasped at his diapers, the shame of his lack of control washing over him.

Looking back up at Kendra, Mikey bit his lip anxiously as he watched the man hold the door of his sports car open as she slid into the seat, her sexy high heels the last part of her he saw before her date closed the door.

Mikey let out a sob of anguish―she was never going to see him as anything remotely equal, or some sort of peer. No, at best, Mikey knew he was nothing but her sissy plaything, a toy to do with as she pleased.

As the car drove down the street, Mikey's gaze was drawn to the full length mirrors on the wall that covered Kendra's closet. By now, his eyes had adjusted to the dim, ambient light, and he gazed at his reflection, with his babyish top, pacifier and anklets, and his warm, soggy diapers starting to sag from around his hips.

Some man I turned out to be, he reflected glumly.

Tugging at the elastic waistband of his plastic panties to pull his heavy, wet diapers up, Mikey sighed as he looked at the cute, sissy bedwetter gazing back at him in the mirror.

As he slowly slipped back under the covers, he held his soft teddy bear close to his chest, slipping his comforting pacifier back between his lips. Between the two of them, it helped to take away some of the sting of seeing his “girlfriend” going off on a date with another man.

Over the next several weeks, Kendra never mentioned her late night liaisons and Mikey never admitted that he knew what she was doing behind his back. She was just so beautiful and sexy and he was deathly afraid of losing her, even under the unusual circumstances of their relationship. He didn't dare to confront her.

On the weekends, Kendra began dressing up Mikey more and more as her own baby girl, with pretty satin dresses in pastel colors, frilly onesies, and short, cropped tops with babyish designs on them. These were stored in the spare room next to Kendra's bedroom where she bought a large pink dresser to accommodate them.

On the weekend of Mikey's birthday, Kendra treated him to a marathon session with her strap-on dildo, milking his poor, swollen balls of a copious amount of semen, while stretching his sissy pussy to new, tormented limits. After recovering from her incredible orgasm, she dressed Mikey for the day, putting him into a delightful high-waisted, frilly pink baby dress with a bunny motif across chest below the Peter Pan bodice. In addition to his glossy black Mary Janes, Kendra had made him wear her favorite white nursery print plastic panties with his diapers, over which she pulled on some glittery, see-thru tights. Between the absurdly short hemline of the dress and the thin fabric of his tights, the playful pattern of his waterproof panties could be plainly seen, giving him a decidedly little-girl, toddler look.

Mikey pouted as he gazed at his babyish reflection in the mirrors on the wall.

Kendra was looping his pacifier around his neck when the doorbell suddenly rang.

Mikey froze in place as his eyes widened with panic. At the same time, a strong, uncontrollable squirt of pee flooded into his fluffy diapers.

“Go ahead sissy,” she said brightly, “Go answer the door.”

“Dr-dressed like this?” he quaked.

“Don't worry―it's just my mom,” Kendra replied, as if that would assuage his concerns.

“B-b-but...” he stammered anxiously.

“Don't worry sweetie―I've told her all about you. In fact, mom is the one who bought the cute dress you're wearing today,” she said with a giggle.

Mikey blushed hotly, from his cheeks down to his chest, unaware that Kendra had told someone else about his diapers and childish outfits.

“Run along, sissy,” she said, pulling him to his feet and patting the rounded, fat seat of his diapers.

Mikey stumbled uncertainly toward the door, absolutely dreading the moment when he'd be exposed to this new stranger. He held his hand on the doorknob for several moments before the doorbell rang again urgently, making him jump.

Finally, with great reluctance, Mikey opened the door and pulled it back.

Standing before him on the porch, was a tall, attractive woman in her late forties, closely resembling Kendra in many ways. Although she was a little thicker in the middle, one could easily see where Kendra had inherited her mother's big breasts and long legs. But whereas Mikey's boss tended to wear her long hair down, spilling over her shoulders, her mom wore hers in a severe bun that suggested she was accustomed to giving orders.

Despite her strict looking demeanor, her first reaction upon seeing Mikey in all his sissy glory was to burst out laughing. Standing before her feeling completely foolish, Mikey felt another surge of pee flow into his already wet diapers. It was a childish reaction, but the sissy simply couldn't help himself.

Still laughing, Kendra's mother pushed her way past Mikey. It was only then, that he saw she was carrying a rectangular shaped, gift wrapped package in her arm. Walking in, she set it down on the coffee table and turned to face Mikey.

“You're every bit as pathetic as I thought you'd be, except more,” she told him derisively.

Mikey blushed hotly as he shuffled his feet before her. It was absolutely mortifying standing before this older woman, dressed as a baby girl and feeling the warm, soggy cloth of his humiliating diapers clinging stubbornly to his bottom. He felt just as pathetic as she was describing him.

Mother and daughter greeted each other warmly, momentarily forgetting the spectacle standing before them.

Finally, after making a little small talk, Kendra's mother, Helen, turned to face Mikey.

“On the floor,” she ordered him in her firm, commanding voice, pointing to a place before the coffee table.

Having become used to being told what to do, Mikey immediately sat on the rug, the soggy wet cloth of his diapers squishing against his bottom cheeks.

“Look what mom got you for your birthday, Mikey!” Kendra said brightly as she handed the gift over to the cowering sissy.

Mikey accepted it with trembling hands, still trying to come to grips with the fact he was dressed like a toddler girl in front of this stranger. It certainly didn't help that he'd helplessly wet his diapers, either.

Ripping the pretty nursery style wrapping paper off the package, Mikey's mouth dropped open when he discovered the box contained a two quart enema kit.

Reaching down, Kendra's mother snatched the box from Mikey, opening it and revealing the custom nozzle that came with the kit―a very large, imposing, lifelike dildo.

“This is called the Sissy Tamer,” she declared with a smug grin, “And it's especially recommended for bedwetting sissies like Mikey here.”

Mikey's face was a beet red as she walked into the kitchen and started running water in the sink.

“Kendra, I like to add a squirt of dish washing soap to the mix, just to make sure he gets squeaky clean,” she called from over her shoulder.

“This is going to do you a world of good,” her daughter chuckled as she looked down on the cringing sissy.

Going to the coat closet, she retrieved a tall hat stand and set it alongside an armless chair. Taking an apprehensive Mikey by the hand, she stood him up and brought him over to her side as she took a seat and pulled her skirt back.

Her mother brought the enema bag back into the living room and Mikey could see it was nearly bursting with soapy water.

“N-n-no! P-please, Kendra,” Mikey stammered with fear.

“First―you are to address me as 'Mommy' from now on,” Kendra said firmly, “Second--this is exactly what you need, whether you like it or not.”

Mikey recognized by the tone of her voice that he was perilously close to risking a spanking so he hung his head in defeat.

“What do you say, Mikey?” she demanded.

“Y-yes, Mommy,” he bleated submissively.

Reaching up under the frilly hem of his baby dress, she pulled his tights and plastic panties down off of his saturated diapers.

“Mikey―did you wet yourself??” she snapped.

“I-I had an accident,” he sobbed piteously.

“Over my lap, you big baby,” she told him, clearly annoyed, “Time for a nice, soapy enema.”

Mikey felt like he was five years old all over again as she pulled him over her firm lap, his smelly wet diapers squishing against her bare thighs. He whimpered as he felt them being unpinned and pushed back to expose his back hole, cool air against his damp cheeks.

Mikey let out a squeal of panic as he felt a cool blob of nursery jelly being pushed into his puckering hole. Before he could stop it, a squirt of warm pee escaped, further soaking into his diapers.

Having so much experience with her strap-on, Kendra easily positioned the fat dildo nozzle for the proper angle and she pushed it firmly past his little pink anus.

“OHHH!!” he cried.

Kendra's mother stood over Mikey, hands on her hips and grinning with satisfaction as her daughter slowly pushed the thick, rubbery shaft deeper and deeper into his rectum. Mikey waved his hands in the air helplessly, feeling extremely emasculated and completely at the mercy of his boss.

No sooner was the dildo rammed in to the hilt, than Kendra released the clip, sending a strong torrent of soapy water into Mikey's bowels.

“Ohhhh,” he moaned, kicking his Mary Jane-clad feet.

Kendra squeezed his right cheek as her other hand kept the dildo pushed in as far as it would go.

“There you go,” she said in a soft, soothing voice, “Just what Mommy's little bedwetter needs.”

Mikey gasped and moaned, helpless to stop his punishing purge. It brought back memories of when his real mom had given him enemas, claiming they were for his good health, although Mikey had always had his doubts. They had been particularly humiliating when administered in front of his aunt, who soon adopted his mother's methods herself.

Kendra regulated the clip judiciously, allowing Mikey to get adjusted to the volume, before opening it back up to send another strong flow into his insides. Mikey shook his fists in frustration, idly wondering how he had ever gotten into this position.

“N-no more, Mommy,” he bleated weakly.

Kendra stopped the flow and gently patted his cheek.

“There sissy―you're doing just fine,” she smiled, “Now be a big boy for mommy and take your enema. And when you're done, mommy will change your soggy, wet diapers―won't that be wonderful?”

Mikey was breathing heavily but he squealed as he felt another strong surge of warm water flowing into him. He tried clenching his anal muscles around the thick shaft of the dildo but it did no good―the water continued to flow strongly, uninhibited by his weak efforts.

At long last, the bag was finally empty, hanging flattened from the top of the hat stand.

Mikey was wheezing and moaning, his face a deep shade of red.

With a gentle pat on his bottom, Kendra slowly began easing the big dildo out of his rump, Mikey whimpering from the cramps inside.

“Careful Sissy,” she warned him, “Don't let any of that leak or you'll be going back over my lap for a different kind of session.”

As Mikey slowly rose to his feet, his hand moved to cover his caged genitals in a belated attempt to hid them from Kendra's mother. Limping down the hallway, Mikey barely made it to the bathroom without releasing the enema all over the floor.

Fifteen minutes and numerous flushings later, he emerged from the bathroom, feeling defeated and deeply emasculated.

“Mikey―come into the spare room, mommy has a surprise for you,” Kendra called to him eagerly.

Unsure of what awaited him, he walked toward the open door of the room next to Kendra's with trepidation in his heart.

“Happy birthday!” they both exclaimed as Mikey took in the transformed room.

A large pink and white crib stood in the corner, with soft pink blankets and Mikey's teddy bear laying next to the pillow. In the other corner of the room was a pastel colored, mesh-sided playpen, containing a variety of toys fit for a toddler. Nursery characters covered the pink and white walls and Mikey's changing pad lay on the floor, a fresh set of diapers waiting for him.

He bit his lip nervously as she spied Kendra's fearsome Spencer paddle hanging from a peg on the wall.

“Welcome to your very own nursery!” his boss gushed excitedly.

“It's perfect for a little pantywaist like you,” her mother added in her disparaging tone.

Mikey stood in shock, momentarily dropping his hands from his tiny, caged package as he took it all in.

“This bed will be so much better for you, sweetie,” Kendra explained eagerly, “It's got a nice, waterproof mattress cover for those times when your diapers leak.”

“--An important feature for a bedwetting sissy,” her mother added with a smirk, “But I think you'd better get your little pantywaist back into his diapers before he has another 'accident'.”

“Come along, Mikey, let's get mommy's little bedwetter onto the changing pad, I've got your diapers all ready for you,” Kendra told him as she grasped his hand and sat him down on the waiting stack of soft, fluffy cotton.

Mikey felt incredibly childish and her humiliating words washed over him in waves of shame.

Helen reached down and pushed his pacifier in between his trembling lips and Mikey accepted it gratefully.

Kendra applied a nice, sticky white coating to his rump, before powdering him over his tiny chastity device. Now that he had become somewhat used to Helen's presence, and despite the mortifying ritual taking place, Mikey's eyes began to wander over Kendra's curves and his little penis throbbed with need inside his cage. Her big, luscious boobs were impossible to ignore, especially when she was bent over him changing his diapers.

“Those aren't for you, little boy,” Helen admonished him, having seen what he was staring at, “Those are for a real man―not a bedwetting sissy in diapers.”

Mikey pouted as he sucked his pacifier in frustration. It was maddening, being in such close proximity to a sexy babe like Kendra and his child-sized penis couldn't even get hard.

Sensing his angst, Helen decided to goad Kendra's sissy boyfriend.

“I think you should thank Kendra for locking up your pathetic little wiener,” she said, a smug grin on her face, “You certainly weren't going to please a woman with it.”

Kendra stopped for a moment after securing the sides of his thick diapers around his hips to look down at her sissy boy.

“She's right, you know,” she said, placing her finely manicured hands upon her hips, “I've done you a big favor, locking your little nub in steel.”

“Please, Mommy,” Mikey whimpered with his pacifier muffling his words, “I'm soo horny all the time. Please―please unlock it, just this once,” he begged her piteously.

Wagging her finger before her, she smiled down at the helpless pansy, “Sorry sweetie. Bedwetters get diapers―not orgasms.”

Helen smirked again and she shook her head disdainfully.

“You leave the orgasms to real men and they'll leave the wet diapers and plastic panties to you,” she told him as she sifted through his growing selection of waterproof panties.

Kendra handed Mikey his teddy bear as Helen began feeding a pair of white nursery print vinyl panties over his Mary Janes.

“Here you go, sissy boi,” she said, her voice heavy with condescension, “Some cute baby panties for mommy's little bedwetter.”

Sliding them up his smooth, hairless legs, she worked them over his bulging diapers, running her fingers around the elastic waistband to ensure that all the cotton cloth was properly contained.

“Just look at you, Mikey,” Kendra said brightly, “All safe and protected again.”

“Let's get you into your playpen so you can play with your new baby toys,” Kendra said as she helped the befuddled sissy into his new enclosure.

“Aww, aren't you just the cutest thing,” she gushed eagerly as she clasped her hands together in appreciation.

Helen looked down at him as she shook her head with disdain.

“You're right where a bedwetter belongs―diapered, denied, and controlled.”

Two weeks later...

Mikey woke up to see the late afternoon sunshine dimly streaming through his nursery windows.

Reaching down between his legs, he discovered his diapers were soaking wet, as they always were after his nap. The shameful smell of pee permeated the room, although Mikey was so used to it that the diapered sissy hardly noticed any more.

Just then, Kendra breezed into the room and she crossed over to the window, pulling aside the gauzy pink curtains.

“Hello sweetie,” she greeted him cheerfully, “How did you sleep?”

Mikey yawned, “Good, Mommy,” he replied.

He watched as Kendra prepared a fresh set of diapers for him and she lowered the side of his crib railing to help him out. Today, she was dressed in a thin, low cut halter top that showcased her magnificent breasts in the most mouthwatering way. Mikey stared at her hungrily, wishing for the millionth time, he could nurse from her beautiful bosom.

As she came over to the side of the crib to help him out, Mikey always felt somewhat vulnerable in these moments. It was the the time when she saw him for what he really was―a sissy bedwetter with no more control than a diapered toddler. And it still made him blush as she gazed down upon him in his fleece jammies and pampers, no longer an adult, but just a simpering little pantywaist.

Kendra helped him out of his crib and onto the changing pad where she began pulling his rubber panties and soggy, wet diapers down.

Gazing longingly up into her pretty face and dancing eyes, Mikey realized he was hopelessly in love with her.

“Mommy's got a little something for babykins,” she said sweetly as she set a tube of something behind her and produced Mikey's chastity key from her pocket. With excited abandon, Mikey watched as Kendra inserted the key into the side of his device and twisted it, unlocking the device for the first time in 10 weeks. As the cage was removed, Mikey's tiny little member quickly began to grow with anticipation.

“Now don't get too excited, Mikey,” she giggled, “You don't get to cum today―Mommy's just going to give it some cream that's supposed to help you with your size.”

Even though he was crushed to learn that he wouldn't be cumming today, Mikey felt a surge of gratitude that she was thinking of new ways to make his little penis grow into something more of a real man's proportions.

Slipping a thin rubber glove on her hand, Kendra was careful to hide the name on the tube which said Penis Away along its side as she squeezed a generous portion onto her open palm.

“Theeere...is this what baby likes?” she grinned down upon him.

Mikey sighed and his eyes closed with ecstasy, reveling in the pleasureful feelings coursing through his body.

Kendra was very careful, shrewdly reading his body signs to judge how far she could take him before he exploded in her hand. Mikey's face was flushed and she had to stop her stroking several times to allow him to cool down, before resuming the rubbing in of the penis reducing cream.

“Don't worry, baby,” she said with her ravishing smile, “We're going to make this part of our daily routine from now on.”

Mikey could feel a monumental orgasm rising and just as he was clenching his teeth in anticipation, Kendra abruptly stopped stroking him and she removed the latex glove from her hand.

“Aww, Mommy!” Mikey cried.

“Sorry, sissy,” Kendra giggled, “But don't worry―Nana is coming over later to give you a nice, soapy enema. That should help clear out those swollen little balls of yours.”

Mikey bunched his fists in bitter frustration. He had never been so close to an orgasm before, only to be denied!

Ignoring his angst, Kendra slipped the metal cage back over his wilting erection, mashing his tiny penis into the device and mating the metal pins against the cuff ring.

“What do you say, babykins?” she asked sweetly.

Mikey shook his head petulantly.

“Come on―if you want some more of this tomorrow, you need to say your little line for mommy,” she told him firmly.

Mikey's brow furrowed and his lower lip jutted out in a full blown pout.

“Th-thank you, Mommy, for my chastity device―I really need one,” he said grudgingly.

“Yes you do, you little sissy masturbator,” she said with smug superiority as she locked the device together, rendering him once more frustrated, desperately horny, and sexless.

Several minutes later, Mikey was freshly diapered again, smelling like baby powder, and back in his crib, his head laying upon Kendra's lap as she held a 16 ounce baby bottle of warm milk to his lips.

“That's mommy's baby,” she cooed as Mikey nursed from the bottle. Nearly his entire vision was taken up by Kendra's enormous breasts in front of his face.

“Now Mikey, it's time we had a little discussion,” she began, “As you might imagine, Mommies like me have needs. Needs that a sissy in diapers just can't meet.”

Mikey mewled in protest but the big rubber nipple filling his mouth prevented him from being able to articulate a reply.

“Mommy needs a real man from time to time. A man with a real cock, not a tiny little nub like you have. So that means from time to time, say, once or twice a week, I'm going to be dating other guys and having hot, mind-blowing sex with them. Sometimes it will be at their place, but sometimes it will be here.

“Now, you can either deal with that, or we can end our relationship now―it's up to you.”

Mikey was dumbfounded―of course, he knew all about Kendra's dating but now that it was out in the open, it forced him to give her his full approval, which would only show how weak and spineless he really was.

With a little squeak, he suddenly felt the seat of his diapers growing wet and warm as a steady stream of pee began flowing helplessly between his legs.

At the same time, as he looked up into the firm but beautiful features of Kendra, he knew deep down that he would willingly play any price she demanded to remain with her.

“What do you say, sissy? Are you going to stay as mommy's little baby or do we call it quits?”

Mikey shook his head desperately.

“Please don't leave me, mommy!” he cried, the nipple suddenly slipping out of his mouth.

Kendra smiled victoriously down at her prissy toddler boyfriend.

“That's my little baby bedwetter,” she said with a smug smile, “Mommy's very happy to hear it.

“Now I know I promised you I would allow you to have an orgasm after three months, but I've decided to add another month, just for good measure. What do you think of that?”

Mikey frowned with dismay but he nevertheless knuckled under.

“Th-thank you, M-Mommy,” he said, the bottle nipple muffling his practiced line, “for my--my chastity device―I really need one.”

Tummy Time!!

They say it like it's fun. Like it's the next exciting event on a field trip.

“Tummy time!!” Amber announces in that singsong voice she always uses, clapping her hands like I'm supposed to be excited.

Kayla is already unrolling the blanket in the center of the living room. “Let’s get those wiggles out, stinker.”

I don't argue. There isn't any point. This is just what comes after breakfast bottles and “num-nums” in the highchair.

I waddle as best I can, the heavy sag of my soiled diaper rubbing between my thighs with every reluctant step. They don't even bother putting me in a clean one first. I got my change a few hours ago, so "maybe baby needs to stew in his mess for a while."

Tummy time is better than the bouncer, at least. That stupid harness seat with the dangling toys and the padded crotch strap that’s always just a little too tight, pressing the contents of your diaper into every crack and crevice it can. The thing that forces you to bounce, like some cruel mechanical rhythm, while they watch and giggle. I hate it.

But tummy time? Tummy time is softer. Slower. Deceptively kind. Lying flat. Arms pinned beneath me. Diaper ballooned out behind me. It almost feels like a break.

But it isn’t.

Because I always mess it up.

Try to stay still, try not to get worked up.

That’s what keeps circling through my mind, over and over, even as my hips twitch again, sinking into the bloated bulk of my diaper. The warm squish underneath is unbearable. The weight of a devil and an angel sitting on my shoulders.

But it's been so long! THEY are the ones that got you worked up. It's not your fault that you're horny, even with the disgusting state of your diaper right now.

If I keep it subtle. If I breathe slow. If I don’t moan. Maybe I can rock just enough. Just enough to take the edge off. Just enough to quiet the constant ache they leave me in at all times.

The teasing. The way they rub my cock with the wipe too long during changes, making sure it's "squeaky clean", fingers “accidentally” slipping into my hole while they wipe it clean and pretend nothing happened. "Why are you getting so worked up, baby?" Amber always says as she strokes me. "I'm just trying to rub the lotion in to protect you from a diaper rash!" They know exactly what they're doing, they've learned my mannerisms well enough to know how to stop when I'm right at the edge before pulling their hand off. "Such a squirmy baby!!" Kayla will giggle as she pulls a fresh diaper over my purple, twitching, dripping dick and tapes it up tight. Amber always tapping the crotch lightly and say something like, “Keep it in your pants, Romeo,” knowing full well I don’t have any.

Then they move on with their day like I hadn’t been left trembling and desperate in my own padded prison.

Just like now.

I groan into the mat, trying to stay still, but it’s no use. The pressure. The warmth. The weight of my hips against the swollen, messy bulk, it’s all too much. Even with the mush. Even with the smell. Or maybe because of them. It’s awful. It’s overwhelming. And it’s the only time I can get close. Tummy time is the only part of the day where I might get a little stimulation.

The only moment I’m not being spoon-fed, strapped into something, or hovered over so I don't get handsy. In the highchair, they’re right there wiping my chin and tapping the crotch of my diaper with condescending coos. During nap time, my hands are mittened and strapped to keep me from "getting any ideas."

But this?

Lying flat, arms pinned beneath me, diaper ballooned out behind me. If I keep it subtle, if I breathe slow, if I don’t moan, maybe I can rock just enough. Just enough to take the edge off. Just enough to quiet the ache they leave me with after every “innocent” diaper change.

I shift forward slightly. The mush spreads. The squish deepens. I exhale through my nose, slow. They’re talking on the couch, scrolling their phones, probably not even watching me. Just like always. Maybe I’ll get away with it this time. Maybe I'll—

“Uh-oh,” Kayla murmurs, like she’s caught me stealing cookies. “Somebody’s moving his hips again…”

I freeze.

Amber doesn’t even look up. Just lifts her tumbler and smirks. “He always does this during tummy time. Right when his diaper’s at its messiest. Like clockwork.”

I bury my face in the mat. My face burns.

“You are just the squirmiest little thing!!” Kayla coos, climbing off the couch and crouching beside me.

Her voice dips into that syrupy sing-song that makes everything worse. “I think he likes how it feels. Do you like that, sweetie? That warm mushy feeling smooshing under your wittle bum-bum?”

I groan into the mat, shaking my head.

Amber kneels down on the other side of me. “Tummy time strikes again!"

I go completely still. Like if I just freeze, they’ll stop. Like if I don’t move, maybe they’ll let it go. But their eyes are on me now. And they’re smiling.

“Oh, come on,” Amber teases, leaning in close so I can feel her breath on my flushed cheeks. “You were just rocking back and forth like a little puppy trying to make happy humps. Don’t be shy now.”

“You’re not in trouble,” Kayla coos. “Not if you admit it.”

I try not to move, but the pressure is building. The warmth. The need. It’s so much worse when I know they’re watching. I hate how turned on they make me. How horny all of this makes me...

“You want to rub your squishy diaper, don’t you?” she whispers, brushing my hair from my eyes. “That’s what tummy time is for.”

Amber leans over the side of the couch. “We made it nice and soft for you, didn’t we? Fresh blanket. Warm mat. Big stinky diaper, just how you like it.”

“I bet you can’t even help it anymore,” Kayla says gently. “It just happens. Like everything else now.”

They’re right. Of course they’re right.

My hips twitch again. Barely a movement, but enough. They both see it.

“There’s our baby boy,” Amber says with a smirk. “Go on, sweetie. Just slow and steady. Nice and gentle. Let that squishy diaper do what it’s meant to.”

My body betrays me again. I rock, slowly. The pressure is unbearable.

Kayla leans in close, her voice soft. “Good boy. Just like that. That’s it. Rock your little hips. You’re not even thinking about it now, are you?”

“You just do what your body tells you,” Amber chimes in. “It’s not like you’re in charge anymore anyway.”

I let out a pathetic little whimper.

Kayla grins. “Awwww, are you getting fuzzy? Is your baby brain starting to melt?”

They’re both so calm. So encouraging. Like this is normal.

“You can let go,” Kayla murmurs. “You’re already in a dirty diaper. Just give in, baby.”

“And we’ll be right here when you’re done,” Amber adds, crossing her legs with a soft rustle. “We’re not going anywhere.”

My eyes are wet. My face is burning. And still, I keep moving.

Slowly. Shamefully. My hips rock with that pathetic, traitorous rhythm. The squish beneath me spreads wider with every motion, heat blooming between my thighs like something rotten. The smell rises. Faint at first, then stronger. Rich. Humid. Unavoidable.

Kayla rests a hand on the small of my back. Firm, steady, grounding. “Uh-uh, sweet boy. No stopping now.”

Her touch pins me in place. “Tummy time isn’t over until that diaper’s really full.”

“Like emotionally full,” Amber adds with a laugh, swirling her drink. “Not just the squishy kind. The soggy, sticky, spent kind.”

I try not to whimper. Try not to drool around the pacifier. Try not to think about what I look like. Spread out like this, squirming in my own mess while two grown women supervise.

Amber leans forward, her voice bright and awful. “That’s it, baby. Rock those hips. Work it out.”

“Aww, you’re breathing so heavy,” Kayla coos. “Is your wittle diaper getting you all worked up?”

“So mushy,” Amber says. “So squishy and full. Can you feel it all smearing under you? That’s your own stink, sweetheart. Your mess. And look at you, humping it.”

I shudder, rutting harder now. I can’t stop.

They giggle like it’s entertainment. Like I’m just a toy winding down on the floor. Kayla gives my diapered bottom a light pat, and the resulting squelch makes me cringe so hard my toes curl.

“Oh yeah,” she says, drawing it out. “He’s definitely close.”

Amber sips her drink. “Think we should count it out for him?”

Kayla grins. “Or make him say what he’s doing first. In his big boy words.”

My head shakes wildly against the mat.

“Uh-uh,” she warns again. “We let you have tummy time. The least you can do is tell us what’s going on in that squishy little pampers of yours.”

I freeze, breath caught in my throat.

Amber crouches low, grinning like a wolf. “It’s not a secret, baby. We see those little hips moving.”

Kayla strokes the small of my back with maddening patience. “So come on, sweetheart. Use your words. What are you doing in your big poopy diaper?”

I shake my head. Pathetically. Hoping somehow that they’ll let it go.

They don’t.

Amber leans in, voice syrupy and smug. “What’s wrong? Too embarrassed to tell the truth?”

“I…” My mouth is dry. The smell is thick. My whole body feels hot and heavy and low.

Kayla taps the back of my diaper. Squish. “We’re waiting.”

I want to disappear. But the pressure’s too much. Their stares. The squelching rhythm beneath me. The ache between my legs. The baby talk.

Everything.

“I… I’m…”

Kayla’s tone sharpens just enough to cut. “Say it properly.”

I close my eyes. My voice cracks.

“I’m w-wubbin’… my messy diapee…”

Amber claps her hands, delighted. “Awwwwww! Did you hear that?”

Kayla giggles, brushing my hair from my forehead. “He’s rubbing his messy diaper like a wittle stinkbug. That’s so nasty, baby.”

I groan into the mat, humiliated beyond words, except they still want more.

“Tell us why,” Amber says. “Why are you rubbing it, baby boy?”

I can’t. I absolutely can’t.

Kayla pouts, mock-sad. “Do we need to get the paddle?”

I whimper. My voice high-pitched in fear and need. “Cuz… it feews… good…”

They both melt with fake awe.

Amber wipes a pretend tear. “He’s such a brave little stink monster.”

Kayla giggles again. “Tummy time really does bring out the best in him.”

I keep moving. Because Kayla’s hand is still resting on the small of my back, warm and heavy like she’s reminding me who I belong to. Because Amber’s crouched beside my face, close enough that I can smell the sweet mint on her breath as she grins.

“Go on, wiggle worm!” she whispers. “Wriggle in your muddy diaper. Rub it in. Just like that. Nice and slow. That’s what tummy time’s for, right?”

I let out a pathetic sound, somewhere between a groan and a sob.

Kayla hums gently, “Wub-wub-wub that mushy diapee… that’s a good baby…”

Amber bites her lip dramatically. “I can see your little bum trying so hard. Are you almost done, baby boy?”

I clench my eyes shut.

The pressure is unbearable. The squish. The friction. The warmth smeared everywhere. The sound. The smell. But worst of all: their voices.

“Tell us what’s happening,” Kayla croons. “Tell us what you’re doing.”

I shake my head.

Amber isn’t having it. “Use your words, mister. Or we’ll make you start all over.”

“I…” I’m breathless. Desperate.

Kayla whispers right above my ear. “What do you say when you’re making a mess, baby?”

I can barely speak.

“I’m makin’… a goo-goo…”

The words fall out of me like a confession.

Amber gasps, hand over her heart. “Oh my god. You are. You’re making goo-goo in your diapee like a good little mushy huggie humper!”

Kayla pats my back, sweet as anything. “That’s it. Ride it out, baby. Rub your nasty little stink diaper. Let your body do what it wants.”

I’m shaking now. Rocking harder. I can’t stop.

Amber giggles. “Does that feel good? Does your mushy diaper feel soooo nice on your little bits? Aww, are you gonna make cummies in your poo-poo pampers??”

Kayla’s tone stays calm. Maternal. Inescapable. “Make your goo-goo, baby boy. Make it all gone!”

And I do.

With a shudder. A gasp. A whimper into the mat. My muscles clench and tense. My knuckles turn white as my hands grip the blankie and my body rocks back and forth. All filth forgotten, only focused on the feeling.

I cum.

Right there. Face-down. Diaper full. Everything sticky and awful and hot and wrong. Kayla strokes my back. Amber claps like I just took my first steps. And neither of them moves to change me.

Not yet.

Kayla giggles. “I knew he had it in him. Or, well… not anymore.”

They let me lie there. Chest rising and falling. Face burning. Pacifier half-falling from my lips.

The warmth isn’t comforting anymore.

It’s just… gross.

The mess I made, the squish beneath me, the smell clinging to the air and my skin, it’s all too much now. My hips don’t move. My breath doesn’t hitch. It’s over. Whatever fog had taken over my brain is gone, and all I’m left with is the awful truth of it.

I came in my diaper.

While they watched.

While they talked me through it.

Kayla must see it hit me, because her smile changes. Softer. Meaner.

“Ohhh,” she coos. “There it is. There’s that little crash. Poor baby. You’re all done now, huh?”

Amber leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Not feeling so proud anymore?”

I bury my face deeper into the mat. I want to disappear. To melt through the floor. To not exist. But the diaper clings to me. It’s sticky and bloated and shameful. I can feel everything now. The squish, the smell, the cool air on the back of my thighs. Every word they say cuts deeper than before.

“You were such a little animal a few minutes ago,” Amber sighs. “Just humping and humping your poopy pampers like a good little perv.”

Kayla tilts her head. “But now? You look like you want to cry.”

I do. I honestly might.

Amber nudges my ankle with her foot. “Tell us what you did. Use your big boy words.”

I shake my head weakly.

Kayla’s voice turns mock-gentle. “Oh, honey. We saw. You might as well say it.”

I don’t answer.

Thwack.

Her palm lands hard across my diapered backside, making the mess squelch. I let out a sharp yelp.

“Say it!” she snaps.

My voice cracks, barely audible. “I… I made stickies…”

“In what?” Amber prompts. “Be specific, baby.”

I shut my eyes. “In my… m-my dirty diaper.”

They both squeal in mock delight, clapping like I just recited the alphabet.

“Yaaay! Honest little diaper freak!” Amber sings. “A gold star for stinky post-nut clarity!”

Kayla crouches beside me, fingers tracing lazy circles on my back. “And how do you feel now, hmm? All done. All empty. Just lying there in your own mess while two grown women laugh at you.”

I don’t answer.

“Do you feel like a man?” she asks sweetly. “Or do you feel like what you really are: a drooly little hump-toy who blows his load into his own mushy pampers?”

I flinch. My cheeks are wet. They’ve made their point.

Amber pulls out her phone again. “Smile. Or don’t. Honestly, the shameface is better.”

Kayla pats my head. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice before rutting like a horn-dog. But probably not.”

“Either way,” Amber adds, setting a timer with a cruel little grin, “You’re sitting in that mess another twenty minutes. Consider it part of your post-rut cooldown.”

Kayla nods, brushing imaginary lint off my onesie. “Let it really soak in, baby. That’s what tummy time’s for.”

And then they leave me.

Right there on the mat. No towel. No wipe. No change. Nothing left to say. Nothing left to do. Just lie there on my tummy.

And feel it.

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

Ethan sat on the edge of his bed, twisting the hem of his sweatshirt in his fists. The childish pull-ups he wore whispered faintly with each movement, a reminder of the half-life he had been living for months. Not underwear, not diapers just a compromise, one that let him pretend he hadn’t fully surrendered. But the charade weighed on him. He wanted to stop balancing on the edge. He wanted to fall all the way into Mommy’s arms.

When she stepped into the room, humming as she set a basket of folded laundry on the dresser, he froze. His cheeks burned hot as though she could see straight through him. She tilted her head, noticing his restlessness. “You’ve been fidgeting all day, pumpkin. Do you have something you’d like to tell Mommy?”

His throat tightened, but the words tumbled out in a rush. “Mommy… I think I want diapers. Instead of pull-ups.”

For a moment she just stared, and his chest clenched in fear of rejection. Then her whole face lit up. She crossed the room in a heartbeat, cupping his cheeks in both hands. “Oh, baby boy,” she cooed, “you’ve made Mommy so proud. No more halfway. No more pretending. My little one is ready for his diapers at last.”

Relief and humiliation surged through him at once. He nodded mutely as she hugged him tight, patting the damp swell of his pull-up. Her eyes danced with mischief when she pulled back. “You know what that means, don’t you? No more toilets. No more sneaking off like a silly big boy. From now on, all your tinkles and pushies belong in your diapers where they’ve always belonged.”

He shivered, nodding again. “Y-yes, Mommy.”

She leaned closer, whispering playfully, “Maybe I should put a lock on the bathroom door. Then you won’t even be tempted. You’ll walk past it and know it isn’t for you anymore. Only for Mommy.”

The words made his face flush crimson. The image was both dreadful and deeply comforting. Mommy saw it instantly and giggled. “Aww, baby, that blush tells me everything. You want Mommy to take the choice away, don’t you? My padded boy wants to be kept safe from temptation.”

She stood, dusting her hands as if it were already decided. “Now, let’s get rid of these pull-ups. You won’t be needing them anymore.” She opened his drawer, gathering the colorful stack in her arms. Ethan stared, stunned. “Wh-what are you going to do with them?”

“Why, give them to Anna, of course,” she answered cheerfully. “Derek still has a few good weeks in pull-ups before Anna decides he’s ready for full diapers all the time. He’ll make much better use of these than you ever could.”

Ethan’s stomach dropped. Derek, another grown man, another “little” was already well on his way down the same path. And now Ethan’s last shred of dignity was going to be hand-me-downs for him. Mommy smirked at his stricken expression. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t pout. You should be happy Derek will get to wear them. He’s still in training, you see. But you? You’ve graduated. You’re past pull-ups. You’re Mommy’s diaper boy forever.”

She dropped the gathered pull-ups into a bag, set it aside for Anna, and then turned back to Ethan with a look of triumphant affection. “Now, let’s get you padded properly. Up on the bed, baby.”

His body trembled as she guided him onto the changing mat. She tugged down his sweatpants, whisked away the damp pull-up, and added it to the pile. “The last one,” she murmured with satisfaction, balling it up. “And the very last you’ll ever wear.”

From the dresser, she unfolded a thick, pastel-printed diaper that seemed impossibly big in her hands. She slid it under his hips with practiced ease, dusted him with powder, and taped it snugly around his waist. The soft bulk pressed close, spreading his legs slightly apart. Mommy’s hands lingered on the front, giving it a firm pat.

“There we go,” she said warmly. “Perfect. No more in-betweens. You’re Mommy’s diaper boy now. And every time you waddle past the bathroom, you’ll remember: it’s locked for you, forever.”

Ethan lay back, his heart hammering, his cheeks hot. He felt absurdly small, impossibly vulnerable, yet there was no denying the comfort in her words. Mommy leaned down, pressing her forehead to his, whispering the promise that sealed it all:

Seriously, babe? Come on. You should know better by now. I just put you in this clean diaper not even an hour ago, and you're already begging for a change? Don't give me that look, like you're not used to life with a thick, soggy bulge between your legs. You know my rules. You don't get to make demands. You're not the big boy of this house anymore. And while I've allowed you the privilege of growing up to be my 'Little Miss,' you'd do well to remember that your diapers are non-negotiable (like you could even stay dry these days). So, like normal, you're still expected to use your diapers to their FULL capacity. Just like before, just like always.

What? You thought you'd try and pull one over on me? Oh no, we're not playing those games. I don't care how pretty and 'grown up' you're feeling in your new 'big girl' dresses. I'm still your Mommy. And Mommy knows when her little one is trying to reach for more than she was given. And potty training was never on the table; consider it forever out of your crinkly reach.

Your tights? Yeah, what about them? They feel funny? Well, I think you look precious, and that's all that matters. Yes, I agree your tights are special, and you look very pretty in them. Oh, you're worried about ruining them? Well, I suppose diapers do leak sometimes. But if they do, not to worry. Mommy will use the opportunity to show you how to use the washing machine! Won't that be exciting to learn a new skill? Because you certainly had no idea back when you were Mommy's 'big boy', hmm? Yep, Mommy has plans for all types of new training routines, not just being my cute Lil-Mush Tush. Yes, of course. You'll need to learn all kinds of new skills. As I allow you more freedom, I expect you to be a good girl who completes all types of chores around the house now.

Now, let's practice being a proper lil-lady, shall we? Pull your dress back down, sweetie. We should be hearing your diapers more than seeing them. It's fun to show off, I know. But remember, a young lady must always practice modesty. Especially if you'd like to get Mommy's attention on matters that might concern an adult. So, you'll need to beg my pardon while you perform a proper curtsy, just like we practiced. No more excuses!

Unless...you're trying to tell me you want to go back to the onesies and playpen lockdowns again? Is that it? Did Mommy allow you to have too much maturity, hmm? Aww, do you miss being my cute little infant? We can go right back to enforced crawling, messy-faced meals in the highchair, and 7 PM crib times if you like. Is that it? Is all this new freedom overwhelming you? Are you longing for the structure of enforced helplessness again? Hmm, I suppose it makes no difference to me, really. Either way, as long as you're looking cute, I get what I want. So it doesn't matter how you end up. But now Mommy understands, and I can be more adaptable to your needs, sweetheart.

No?

Well then, I'd suggest getting used to being the new lil-lady of the house. Some advice, though - just embrace it, Hun. Because you never know when these new privileges could all end up in the diaper pail!

In fact, I've been thinking. Since you've been so fussy lately, maybe it's time I brought back a few familiar changes around the house. You know, make things a little more baby-friendly, again. Just so, you know, Mommy's not making empty threats. Besides, it'll give me the excuse to browse and do some shopping. You know how Mommy's always on the lookout for cute new items. I'll finally get to add a few things to my cart I've been eyeing (but avoiding since your recent 'grow-up'). Maybe some new onesies like I mentioned? Oh, and I'll bring back out some of your more 'restrictive accessories' from when you were training to be my helpless baby. Oh, hush, it's just for decoration, relax. But who knows, you might come to prefer being my little 'rug rat' again? Then we'll have everything ready should you need a break from all these big girl pressures and responsibilities, yeah?

Aww, you don't want to go back to being a full-time baby again? Well, if it does come to that, at least you'll know the difference, now. Maybe you'll appreciate your 'grown-up' privileges even more if they come around again, eh? Even more so when you're back crawling around, drooling on yourself, and only getting to watch Mommy during 'play time.' I'm sure some part of you will remember how valuable these privileges are, and why it's worth trying to earn them back again, hmm?

So, your little one is eating in a highchair now. Congratulations! You're moving away from just an occasional kink in the bedroom, and towards an actual lifestyle. Having your little one take their meals in 'The Big Chair' opens up all kinds of new and exciting opportunities!

Here's where you can have fun with it. Pick out some cute bibs, plates, and new utensils. But keep in mind, at a stage like this, it's again time to establish some new household rules!

The highchair is a main staple of babyhood; so, it should be considered more than just some 'prop' to drag out during 'playtime', dynamics like yours at this stage are considered advanced and go beyond a typical one-and-done 'scene.' Since you're going the extra mile to create yet another authentic lifestyle experience, your little one needs to understand their new place at the kitchen table now. Therefore, their highchair should now be a permanent fixture in your home.

Note:

Introducing big changes into your shared lives like this can bring on feelings of uncertainty and anxiety. Caregivers should always remember to take the time to exercise quiet mindfulness:

The Caregivers Mantra - A Reflection: As a caregiver, you may often have to navigate complex interactions and emotions. It's essential to take time to reflect on your role and stand firm on the expectations you set. Remember to be kind but also recognize your responsibility to remain vigilant and resolute with your efforts in this power exchange. Through this approach, a special bond will form with those you care for. They will come to understand that you are in charge and the adult in the room. --"Firm caregiver's stand, Kindness mixed with clear resolve, Bond forms, adult leads."

Feeling inspired? Just remember, you've got this! To help get started with this new stage, below are some minimum standards to implement:

Seating:

From this point on, your little one no longer has a seat at the table. That's right! The highchair is their new designated place during mealtimes. Sitting at the table is a privilege reserved for adults only. For those who used to sit at the head of the table, this new reality may hit them hard, and this is expected. Some little ones may not realize their new reality right away. But meal after meal, the novelty of using the highchair will cease. This is a moment to be firm and keep your resolve, as it's up to you as CG to establish these new routines for you both. And in time, they'll come to realize and accept that you are the head of the table now.

Food handling:

Little ones are not permitted to make use of their thumbs and or index fingers during mealtimes. Any grasping of food is only permitted with the middle, ring, and pinky fingers. The holding of any food should be 'palm-centric', meaning your little one should be delivering food into their mouths from the palms of their hands. If you've given permission, ensure they practice feeding themselves with this technique, as it encourages reduced dexterity and promotes those classic messy hands and faces. Clean-up after mealtime should be expected.

Note:

(If utensils are permitted, they should be ones designed for toddlers. Littles that are allowed to handle utensils are only permitted to grasp them with closed fists. Littles should never handle or operate utensils with their fingers at any time.)

Lip use:

When eating food, your little one is not permitted to make use of their lips. And chewing with their mouths closed is prohibited.

Note:

Food and drool can and will freely fall from your little one's mouth with this technique; this is expected. Caregivers should plan accordingly with trays, bibs, and wipe cloths.

Will this get messy? Absolutely! What part of having little ones isn't? But that's part of the fun! Feel free to create your own rules as you go. Have fun exploring and laughing together during this new stage of your journey. Before you know it, this will become your regular mealtime routine, feeling like a normal part of your evolving, regressing relationship with your special little one.

Next up:

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.”