Baby Jas

Wow, I still can’t believe you two are almost the same age. He looks like a grown man with a big fat dick, and you... Well you still look like your waiting to hit puberty, you have a babysitter, and you still wear diapers.

No I mean you’re adorable, that’s why I still babysit you even though it’s so fucked up. It’s just shocking the difference. I put my fat tits in your face and wipe your little PP and you don’t even react. Honestly if you got a little boner I might even play with it it’s so cute. But it’s like your penis doesn’t work yet.

Well, you’re all set, nice and comfy in a fresh pamper. Now why don’t you go play with your legos while I use your parents bed for a little bit. You’re not gonna tell them right?

No of course not, because you’re my little buddy aren’t you? You love your babysitter don’t you?

You felt nervous heading into the building, unsure of what your new job even was. You still didn't even know if you wanted to work here as you weren't that familiar with business of any kind. You'd just seen that they were hiring on the website, and that it didn't require any kind of University degree or even background knowledge of the company. Although, you did find that a little strange. Nevertheless, you desperately needed the job and the money, whatever it was, as nowhere else had been willing to hire you.

As you entered the large main hall, you noticed a man leaning against the desk facing away from you. He was wearing a black fancy suit, matching your own that you wore to make the best impression you could. However, what really drew your attention was his large bubble butt, held up tightly by his suit pants. It was so big and thick that it looked as though it would rip his suit in two at any moment.

As you were fixated by this, the man turned around and saw you staring at him. He then smiled and walked over to you.

"Ahh, you must be the new recruit, correct? I'm Mr Richards." He stuck out his hand for you to shake. You didn't respond instantly, as you were too busy fixated on the rest of his looks. He was a few inches taller than you, with slick brown hair, a small stubbly beard and other features about him that left you almost dazed. However, you quickly recovered and shook his hand.

"Yes, sir, it's a pleasure to be here and I hope I'll be satisfactory to your needs." You felt so scared looking at him up close. He had quite the commanding and tough look about him.

"Hmm, well I'll be the judge of that. Follow me upstairs please." And he turned around, again pointing his large ass at you and walked off. You quickly trailed after him, trying to look anywhere else apart from his butt, which wasn't easy to do with how distracting it was. You even noticed it bouncing a little with each step he took.

It had been a great night. Probably one of the best dates I’d ever been on, if I was being honest with myself.

Anakin was adorable—small, lithe, with those wide, innocent eyes and that effortless charm. He had this way of tilting his head when he laughed, tucking a strand of his dark hair behind his ear, and every time he did it, I felt my chest tighten just a little. I was a big guy, broad and built, the kind of man who turned heads in the gym. And yet, here I was, completely enraptured by this tiny, delicate twink, feeling like some lovesick idiot.

Dinner had gone perfectly, conversation flowed easily, and when I suggested coming back to my place for a drink, he agreed with a coy smile that sent a shiver up my spine. Now, we were on my couch, bodies pressed close, his lips warm and eager against mine. My hands roamed his back, feeling the subtle ridges of his spine through his tight-fitting shirt. His hands, smaller than mine, traced along my jaw, sending jolts of pleasure through my body.

And then—disaster.

It started as a low, ominous sound, a gentle vibration against my thigh. My brain barely had time to register what was happening before the smell hit me like a brick wall.

Thick. Pungent. Unholy.

It clawed its way up my nostrils, searing itself into my sinuses like a brand. I stiffened, my hands instinctively gripping his waist. He giggled softly, shifting on my lap. Another one slipped out, hotter this time, the scent intensifying like a bomb had just gone off between us. I tried to play it cool.

“Uh, hey… you, uh—you okay?” My voice cracked slightly, my brain scrambling for an exit strategy.

Anakin nuzzled into my neck, his breath warm against my skin. “Mmhmm.” Another burst of rancid air seeped into the space between us, curling around my face like an inescapable fog. I coughed, tried to turn my head discreetly, but it was too late. My lungs were already compromised. The stench dulled my senses, made my head swim. I needed to get out—needed fresh air, but my body wasn’t cooperating. My muscles, usually so reliable, felt heavy, sluggish. My tongue was thick in my mouth, my thoughts slipping through my fingers like sand.

“Y-you know, maybe we should—uh—should call it a n-night?” I mumbled, trying to stand. My legs wobbled. I sat back down with a graceless thump.

Anakin pouted. “Aww, but we were having so much fun.” He shifted again, and another wave of pure evil erupted into the air, wrapping around me, invading my very being.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to center myself, to fight against the growing fog in my brain. I was stronger than this. I was a man—a man. And yet… The warmth of the stink wrapped around me, seeping into my clothes, my skin. It was inside me now. I could feel my resolve crumbling.

Anakin ran a hand down my chest, his fingers tracing lazy circles. “Relax,” he murmured, his voice honeyed and sweet.

I tried to respond. Tried to say no, I need air, but the words wouldn’t come. My lips moved uselessly, my brain too sluggish to form a coherent thought. I was losing. Losing to the stink. And as Anakin snuggled closer, releasing another devastating blast that melted what was left of my resistance, I realized something horrifying. I wasn’t sure I wanted to fight it anymore.

A deep, primal part of me still fought—still clawed at the edges of my mind, screaming at me to resist. I was strong. I was disciplined. I wasn’t some dumb, brainless jock who let a pretty boy turn him into a drooling mess. But the stench… oh god, the stench.

Anakin’s farts had already battered my senses, worn me down like waves eroding a cliffside. Each breath I took dragged more of his stink into my lungs, dulling my thoughts, making my body feel heavy and warm. I was slipping, my willpower draining with every second I spent trapped in his cloud of corruption.

I groaned, forcing my hands to push at his waist, trying to create space. “N-no… I gotta—”

Anakin simply giggled, his soft fingers tracing over my jaw. “Aww, don’t fight it, big guy. You were made for this.”

Made for what? My sluggish brain tried to process his words, but everything was getting harder to understand. And then he pulled out his secret weapon.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he lifted one leg and slid off his sneaker. The moment the shoe came free, a wave of concentrated, festering foot funk rushed into the air, thick and heady. My already weakened mind barely had time to register what was happening before Anakin—sweet, evil Anakin—pressed the inside of the rancid sneaker right over my nose.

I gasped in shock, inhaling a full, unfiltered lungful of pure, fermented twink foot stench. My brain short-circuited. It was over. The last vestiges of my resistance shattered like glass. My thoughts, my intelligence, my very self melted under the overwhelming power of his scent. The acrid, vinegary musk of sweat-soaked fabric and well-worn insole invaded every part of me, rewiring my brain, hollowing me out. Everything felt warm and fuzzy. Thoughts? Didn’t need ‘em. Words? Hard. Brain? Empty.

I let out a deep, dumb-sounding grunt as my body relaxed completely. My arms, which had been trying to push him away, instead wrapped around his tiny waist, pulling him in close. He giggled, knowing he had won.

“That’s a good boy,” he cooed, rubbing a hand through my hair. “You don’t need all those pesky thoughts. Just be my big, beefy boyfriend, yeah?”

I nodded, my heavy head lolling back against the couch. “Mmm… yeah… beefy…” My voice sounded different—deeper, dumber. Like my intelligence had leaked right out of my ears, replaced by an all-consuming need to obey.

“Good boy,” Anakin purred, shifting to straddle my lap. He let his sneaker fall to the floor, but the damage was already done. His scent had infected me, changed me. I wasn’t the same man I was an hour ago.

I was his now. His big, dumb, muscle-bound boyfriend.

It didn’t take long for me to settle into my new role. My old self—the strong, independent man who thought for himself—was long gone. Now, I was just Anakin’s big, obedient, muscle-bound boyfriend. I didn’t think much anymore. Thinking was hard. Anakin was much better at thinking than I was, so I let him do it for me. All I had to do was listen. And obey.

“Babe, go get me a drink,” Anakin would say, snapping his fingers, and I’d lumber to the fridge without hesitation, my body moving before my mind even processed the words.

“Rub my feet,” he’d hum, wiggling his toes in my lap, and I’d eagerly scoop up his reeking feet in my big hands, pressing my lips to his noxious feet as if worshiping a god.

I lived to please him. His happiness was my happiness. But sometimes—sometimes—that pesky little part of my brain, the last flickering remnant of the man I used to be, would stir.

Like the time Anakin told me to carry all his shopping bags through the mall. My biceps bulged under the weight of his endless purchases, and something deep inside me whispered, Hey, maybe this is a bit much… Or when he casually told me to massage his feet with my tongue. For a split second, my brow furrowed, my lips parting like I was about to say something. And every time—even the smallest sign of hesitation—Anakin would simply turn around, grin mischievously… and let one rip.

A deep, low brrrrrrrrpppffftttt would rumble from his tiny frame, a vile, noxious cloud slithering into the air and wrapping itself around my head. And just like that—poof!—any thought of resistance melted away. My eyes would go glassy, my jaw slack. The thick, putrid stench would flood my nose, creeping into my brain, softening it like warm butter.

Anakin would giggle, wiggling his fingers in front of my dazed, dumb expression. “Aww, is my big boy getting all fuzzy-brained again?”

I’d just grunt, sinking deeper into the fog, my powerful body going completely slack under his spell.

“Now,” he’d coo, booping my nose, “what were you saying, babe?”

I’d blink slowly, struggling to remember. Had I been about to argue? About to resist? No, that didn’t sound right. Anakin knew best. Anakin was everything.

“… Nothin’, babe,” I’d finally murmur, a dopey, love-drunk grin spreading across my face. “Just wanna… make ya happy.”

He’d giggle and pull me into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “Good boy.”

And just like that, I was his again. Fully. Completely.

Obedient. Mindless.

Happy…

Hey everyone, Junior is hitting all his appropriate developmental milestones! Can we all let him know what a sweet little thing he is?

Just try not to mention his potty training…poor thing is still a ways off from getting out of diapies.

The apartment was quiet except for the soft, rhythmic hum of the public access channel, its pastel colors casting a dreamy glow over the living room. Mark sat cross-legged on the floor, his pacifier bobbing slightly as he sucked, his eyes fixed on the screen. The narrator’s voice was a velvety whisper, each word wrapping around him like a warm blanket. "You are safe. You are loved. Boys don’t need to think, because Mommy thinks for you. Boys don’t need to worry, because Mommy takes care of everything. All you need to do is sit, and listen, and let Mommy make all the big, hard decisions for you..."

Lisa watched from the couch, a cup of tea steaming in her hands. She had been Mark’s caretaker for nearly two years now. She had to admit, she loved it. There was something deeply satisfying about watching a grown man melt into a state of pure, unquestioning obedience.

The TV flickered as the program transitioned to a new segment. A cheerful jingle played, and a cartoon sun beamed down on a group of giggling, diaper-clad men playing in a sandbox. The narrator’s voice returned, even sweeter this time. "Did you know that boys’ brains are just too small to understand big, grown-up things? That’s why Mommy has to make all the important choices for them! Boys can’t drive cars, because they’d get lost. Boys can’t have jobs, because they’d just forget to go. And boys can’t even use the toilet properly, which is why they all wear nice, thick diapers, just like you, sweetie!"

Mark shifted slightly, his diaper crinkling under his onesie. He didn’t seem to notice the condescension in the words. To him, it was just the truth.

Lisa took a slow sip of her tea, savoring the moment. She had read the studies, of course, the ones that "proved" men’s brains were biologically incapable of handling responsibility. The Women’s Party had funded the research themselves, and now it was broadcasted daily, drilled into the minds of every boy and man in the country. Boys are simple. Boys are helpless. Boys need Mommy.

The screen changed again, this time to a live-action segment. A stern-looking woman in a crisp blazer stood in front of a whiteboard, pointing to a list of rules written in bold, colorful letters. "Rule Number One: Boys do not speak unless spoken to. Rule Number Two: Boys do not make decisions. Rule Number Three: Boys wear diapers at all times, because accidents happen, and Mommy doesn’t want to clean up messes!" She smiled at the camera, her tone shifting to something almost maternal. "And remember, boys, if you ever feel sad or confused, that’s just your silly little brain trying to think too hard. But Mommy knows best, so just relax, and let her take care of you."

Mark let out a soft, contented sigh, his pacifier slipping slightly from his mouth. Lisa reached down and gently pushed it back in. "That’s a good boy," she cooed. He didn’t react, his attention fully absorbed by the screen.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. She picked it up, her lips curling into a grin as she read the text from her sister: "Heard they’re expanding the hypno programming to prime time. About time! Now all the naughty boys who still think they’re in charge will get a nice, long dose of the truth."

Lisa typed back a quick reply: "Mark’s already halfway gone. Another few months of this, and he’ll be perfect."

She set the phone down and turned her attention back to the TV, where the program had shifted to a segment about the "science" of male regression. A woman in a lab coat stood in front of a brain scan, her expression serious. "Studies show that the male brain is hardwired for dependence. Without a strong female figure to guide them, boys simply can’t function. That’s why the Women’s Party has made it our mission to ensure every boy, from the youngest to the oldest, is properly cared for. And what’s the first step in proper care? Diapers, of course! After all, if a boy can’t even control his bladder, how can we expect him to control anything else?"

The camera panned to a group of men in a daycare setting, all dressed in pastel onesies, their diapers puffy and thick. One of them was coloring with crayons, his tongue poking out in concentration. Another was being fed from a bottle by a smiling caretaker. The narrator’s voice was warm with approval. "See how happy they are? No stress, no worries, no responsibilities. Just pure, simple joy. That’s the life every boy deserves."

Mark let out a tiny, happy gurgle, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach for the screen. Lisa chuckled. "You like that, don’t you, Marky? You like seeing all the other boys being taken care of just like you."

She stood up and walked over to the TV, turning the volume up just a little. The next segment was a lullaby, sung in a soft, soothing voice. "Hush now, little boy, don’t you cry, Mommy’s here to dry your eyes. You don’t need to think, you don’t need to try, just let Mommy love you, and everything will be just fine..."

Ok baby, I'm almost done checking your exercise...aaand all done! How'd you do? Well you didn't get any questions right. That's ok though! I know you tried your hardest. Now, lets check that diaper! Oh my, soaked again, good job buddy!

What do you say we get you in a clean diaper and then get in some well earned playtime! Doesn't that sound fun?

You want to go back to studying, why? Yes cutie, I know you have a test on Monday, but I don't think any more studying is going to help. Instead why don't we unwind from all that stressful, boring schoolwork. Oh baby, it makes me sad seeing you so stressed and worried. I know you've been trying so hard but to be honest, no amount of studying is going to help you.

That's ok though! No one is going to be upset when you fail, not your teachers, not your mommy, not me. We all know that you've been trying your best. It's just sometimes a person isn't ready for big college kid subjects like organic chemistry or calculus. Sometimes it's clear that even though someone is the same age as adults in college they aren't really ready to be adults at all.

You can usually tell when a person suddenly starts to fail all their classes, they have to move back in with their mom, they start throwing tantrums, and they have more and more trouble going to the potty when they need to to the point where they need to wear thick absorbent diapers all the time.

Now it'd be silly to blame a person for having trouble being grown up right? So instead we help them! Like having them spend more an more time watching shows and playing with toys they haven't seen in 20 years. When their tutors quit because they didn't sign up for diapers changes, then their mommy goes out and hires a new tutor who will still try and help, but doesn't mind diaper changes and playtime when big adult subjects are too much.

But after I put you back in diapers, I chose your outfit for date night: a sexy little black dress, cute heels, an expensive bra. You did your hair and makeup perfectly, like you would have in your clubbing days. If not for the fat, disgusting diaper peeking out from under your flirty tiered skirt, you would have felt confident and desirable, just like the night we met.

But then, before our candelight dinner, I clipped the big yellow pacifier to your shoulder strap. I fastened the silicone scoop bib around your neck and applied the numbing gel to your tongue and lips.

Knock knock! Just kidding, I took the door off your nursery weeks ago. Assume the position.

Hmmm, it took you almost 3 seconds to pick yourself up off the floor. Your coloring book isn't that important, honey. This is important. That's a demerit. ❌️

Hands clasped together sweetly. Good. ✅️

Toes turned in towards each other. Very cute. ✅️

Paci was already in. Glad to see it this time. ✅️

That soggy diaper is poking out proudly! Don't flinch. SMACK! And again. SMACK! You stopped smiling with your eyes. You always lose focus on the second spank. Demerit. ❌️

What's this? Barely any drool on your bib? Are you still swallowing your spit when I'm not around? Unacceptable. That's a BIG demerit. ❌️❌️❌️

These seem like little things, but your rules are important, honey. It's not just about bedtimes and diaper changes, it's about how you hold your body. How you react emotionally. How you speak. Anyone can follow the big rules. It's the little rules that will turn you into the humiliated diaper dumper I want you to be.

I'll give you a positive mark because you're starting to cry, and crying is encouraged when you disappoint me. ✅️ We've still got a lot of work to do, though.

Come pick out your paddle.

Imagine moving into your own place for the first time in your life. You go to bed in your normal clothes, but in the morning, you're shocked to wake up wearing a fluffy white diaper and childish onesie, with a giant pacifier in your mouth.

You scramble out of bed in a wild panic. Your doors and windows are locked. There's nobody here but you. You call the police, but are too embarrassed to explain what happened, and they shrug off your vague complaint as the jitters of a young adult who's scared to live alone.

The same thing happens the next night: when your eyes open, you can feel the bulky crinkle between your legs and the onesie holding your diaper snug against your crotch. The paci nipple is planted firmly between your lips.

You throw the clothes away. You get the locks changed. You set up a camera in your room at night, but there's always something wrong with the feed. You look into moving, but you can't afford to break your lease.

Again and again, every morning, you're diapered, onesied, and pacified. You feel violated. You lie awake for hours each night, waiting for something to happen, but sleep always takes you eventually.

After a few months, you stop fighting it. You're too exhausted to be scared anymore. You even go to bed wearing the onesie already, since you're sick of replacing your normal bedclothes that always disappear by morning.

"Oh I don't normally use AI, I just wanted it to plan my trip"

You lived on this planet for decades, you know what you like, there are hundreds of websites where you can type into any search engine " things to do in [area]" and have at least a hundred different options.

"Oh I only use it so I can figure out what to make during the week with what I have"

The most popular website as you type in "recipes" into google have sections where you click dinner- quick and easy and those usually rely on staples + 1 or 2 items. I found 30 recipes on chicken alone.

"I had a writing idea, so I typed a few sentences into Chat GPT and I was able to write 20 pages with it."