La guardería de Logan

The stroller’s wheels squeak softly as Mommy pushes you through the front door, the sound of laughter and chatter spilling out from the living room. You can feel the weight of the thick diaper between your legs, the plastic backing crinkling with every slight movement. The shortalls do little to hide the obvious bulge, the fabric stretched taut over the padding. You wiggle your toes, the socks on your feet feeling absurdly small, like they belong to a child rather than a grown man. But that’s what you are now, aren’t you? Mommy’s little boy, strapped into a stroller, about to be paraded in front of people who once knew you as an equal.

You grip the tray of the stroller, your fingers tracing the edge of the plastic as Mommy steers you into the room. The conversations falter for a moment, then die entirely. You can almost hear the confusion in the silence. A few of your former coworkers glance over, their expressions shifting from polite smiles to outright bewilderment. One of them, Mark, from accounting, does a double take, his beer bottle pausing halfway to his lips.

“Uh…” he starts, then stops, as if his brain can’t quite process what he’s seeing.

Mommy doesn’t miss a beat. She stops the stroller in the middle of the room, her hand resting on the back as she beams down at you. “Look who I brought!” she announces, her voice dripping with that infuriating, affectionate pride. “Say hi to everyone, sweetheart.”

You squirm, your face burning. You want to shrink into the stroller, to disappear entirely, but there’s nowhere to hide. The diaper is impossible to ignore, the bulk of it pressing against the seat, the tapes digging slightly into your hips. You can feel the warmth spreading through the padding, you’d peed a little on the way over, nerves getting the better of you, and the wetness indicators are probably already an embarrassing blue.

“Hi,” you mumble, your voice small, your eyes fixed on your lap.

Mark, your old coworker, is the first to break the silence. He tilts his head, squinting at the obvious bulge beneath your shortalls. “Dude… is he wearing a diaper?”

Mommy doesn’t hesitate. “Of course he is.”

Sarah, from HR, steps closer, her eyes flicking between Mommy and the unmistakable outline of the diaper. “No way. Seriously?”

Mommy nods, her fingers already working at the snaps of your shortalls. “Seriously.”

Jake from marketing crosses his arms, his expression a mix of disbelief and amusement. “But does he, like… use it?”

Mommy’s grin widens as she unfastens the last snap and tugs the shortalls down your legs in one smooth motion. The fabric pools at your ankles, leaving you in nothing but your t-shirt and the thick, crinkling diaper. The room falls silent again as the full sight of you is revealed, the bulky padding, the plastic backing, the way the diaper forces your legs apart.

And then they see it.

The wetness.

The deep blue stripe on the front of the diaper is  impossible to miss, the plastic glistening slightly where the moisture has spread. Sarah’s eyes widen. “Oh my God. He peed in it.”

Mommy chuckles, bending down to pull the shortalls free and set them aside. “Told you he uses them.”

Mark lets out a disbelieving laugh, crouching down to get a better look. His fingers hover just above the diaper, as if he’s afraid to touch it. “That’s… that’s wild.”

Jake shakes his head, his grin spreading. “So he just sits there, in a wet diaper, like it’s normal?”

Mommy ruffles your hair, her touch affectionate. “It is normal. For him, anyway.” She taps the front of your diaper, the squish loud in the quiet room. “See? Nice and wet. Just like a good little boy should be.”

The room erupts into laughter, the initial shock giving way to teasing. Sarah reaches out, her fingers brushing against the plastic backing. The crinkle is deafening. “Damn. That’s thick. And wet.”

You squirm, your face burning, but you don’t protest. What’s the point? The evidence is right there, plain for everyone to see. The diaper is heavy between your legs, the wetness a constant, embarrassing reminder of your regression. But beneath the humiliation, there’s something else, something warm, something comforting. This is who you are now. Mommy’s little boy, diapered and cared for, and if that means being the center of attention for a while, so be it.

The teasing continues for what feels like an eternity. They ask if you can walk (you can, but Mommy prefers to keep you in the stroller for “safety”). They ask if you want to be like this (the answer is complicated). They ask if Mommy changes you (yes, and you hate how much you love it).

Eventually, though, the novelty wears off. The adults drift back to their conversations, work, politics, the latest sports game, leaving you and Mommy on the periphery. Mommy bends down, her face softening as she looks at you. “You doing okay, baby?”

You nod, but your throat feels tight.

She smiles, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “Good boy. “Now go play.”

Play. The word makes your stomach twist, but you obey, shuffling toward the corner of the room where a few toys have been left out, a stuffed bear, a stack of blocks, a coloring book. You can feel the eyes on you as you move, the occasional snicker, the whispered comments. But you ignore them, because Mommy told you to play, and good boys listen to Mommy.

You sink down onto the floor, the diaper crinkling loudly beneath you. The blocks are in front of you, but you don’t reach for them. Instead, you sit there, your hands resting on your knees, the thickness of the diaper a constant, comforting presence.

Across the room, the party continues. Laughter, clinking glasses, the hum of adult conversation. And you? You’re just… there. A curiosity. A joke. A little boy in a diaper, left to his own devices while the grown-ups talk about grown-up things.

It’s humiliating.

It’s perfect.

The steering wheel is slick under your palms, the late afternoon sun glinting off the windshield as you pull into the driveway. The house is exactly as it looked in the photos cozy, welcoming, with a swing set in the backyard and a pastel-colored door that seems to whisper, This is where you’re supposed to be. But your stomach is a knot of nerves. You’ve talked to her for months, shared your fears, your desires, the way your little side aches to be let out, to be seen. And now, here you are. David, 28, a man who pays bills and attends meetings and pretends he doesn’t spend his evenings curled up with a stuffed animal, is about to walk into a world where none of that matters.

You kill the engine and sit for a moment, gripping the wheel like it’s the only thing keeping you from bolting. What if it’s not what you thought? What if she laughs? What if you’re not little enough? The doubts swirl, but beneath them, there’s a flicker of something warmer, something that feels like coming home. You take a deep breath, grab your bag from the passenger seat, and step out.

The door opens before you can knock.

She stands there, leaning against the frame with a smirk that makes your knees weak. She’s even prettier in person, soft curves, a knowing glint in her eyes, and a voice that wraps around you like a blanket. “Took you long enough, baby boy,” she teases, arms crossed. “I was starting to think you’d chickened out.”

You swallow, suddenly hyper-aware of how tall you are, how big you feel in your jeans and t-shirt. “N-no, Mommy. Just… traffic.”

She laughs, low and warm, and steps forward to take your bag. “Uh-huh. Traffic made your hands shake?” She nods at your white-knuckled grip on the strap. “Or is it just the thought of what’s waiting for you inside?”

Your face burns. You want to argue, to play it cool, but the way she’s looking at you, like she already knows every secret you’ve ever had, makes the words die in your throat.

She doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she reaches out and takes your hand, her fingers small and warm against yours. “Come on, David. Let’s get you settled.”

The contact sends a jolt through you. It’s so simple, so natural, like she’s done this a hundred times before. And maybe she has. But not with you. Not like this.

The house smells like vanilla and something faintly powdery, like baby lotion. The walls are decorated with framed photos of other littles, some you recognize from her stories, others you don’t. A stuffed elephant sits on a tiny chair in the hallway, watching you with button eyes as Mommy leads you past the living room, down a short corridor, and stops in front of a closed door.

“Here we are,” she says, pushing it open with a flourish.

Your breath catches.

The nursery is more than the photos. The crib in the corner is white, with a mobile of spinning stars above it. A changing table stands against one wall, stocked with wipes and creams and a stack of diapers so thick it makes your pulse race. There’s a playpen, a rocking horse, a shelf overflowing with stuffed animals and board books. And the colors, soft blues and yellows, the kind of pastels that make you feel small just looking at them.

You step inside, your sneakers squeaking on the hardwood, and suddenly the room feels both enormous and suffocating. This is real. This is happening.

Mommy watches you, amused. “Like it?”

You nod, but your voice betrays you. “It’s… a lot.”

She chuckles, stepping closer. “Good. It’s supposed to be a lot.” Her hand lifts, and before you can react, she’s booping your nose. “You’re a big boy out there, David. But in here?” She gestures around. “You’re a little boy. And Mommy takes good care of little boys.”

The words settle over you like a weight, but not an unwelcome one. It’s the kind of pressure that makes your chest tighten, your thoughts fuzzy. You want to argue, to remind her that you’re a grown man, but the way she’s looking at you, like she’s already stripped away every layer of adulthood, makes it hard to remember why that even matters.

“Now,” she says, clapping her hands together. “Let’s get you out of those icky big boy clothes, hmm?”

Your stomach flutters. You’ve talked about this, of course. Boundaries, expectations, the way she likes her littles to look. But talking about it and doing it are two very different things.

She doesn’t wait for you to move. Instead, she starts unbuttoning your shirt herself, her fingers deft as she peels it off your shoulders. You stand there, frozen, as the fabric pools at your feet. Then her hands are at your belt, popping the button on your jeans, tugging the zipper down.

“Lift your feet,” she instructs, and like a good boy, you obey, stepping out of your pants as she pulls them away. You’re left in just your boxers and a t-shirt, feeling absurdly exposed.

Mommy hums, tilting her head as she eyes you up and down. “Much better.” Then she reaches for the hem of your shirt. “Arms up.”

You raise them, and she pulls the fabric over your head, leaving you in nothing but your boxers. The air is cool against your skin, but the heat in her gaze more than makes up for it.

“Cute,” she murmurs, and you know she’s not talking about your face.

Your boxers come next, and for a second, you hesitate. This is the point of no return. But Mommy doesn’t give you time to overthink it. She hooks her fingers in the waistband and tugs, letting them fall to the floor. You step out of them, bare and vulnerable and hers.

She doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t tease. Just smiles, soft and proud, like she’s unwrapping a gift.

“Now,” she says, turning to a dresser and pulling out a thick, white diaper. The crinkle of the plastic is loud in the quiet room. “Let’s get you into something more appropriate.”

You watch, mesmerized, as she unfolds it, the padding so thick it looks like it could swallow you whole. She pats the changing table. “Up you go, baby boy.”

The surface is cool against your bare skin as you lie back, your heart hammering. Mommy moves efficiently, lifting your hips to slide the diaper beneath you, then pulling it up between your legs. The tape is tight as she secures it, the snugness a constant reminder of what you’ve agreed to.

“There,” she says, smoothing the front with a satisfied pat. “All nice and cozy.”

You wiggle your toes, feeling the bulk between your legs. It’s… a lot. More than you expected. But it’s also right. Like a piece of you that’s been missing has finally clicked into place.

She grins, patting your diaper. “And no pants.” She waggles a finger as you open your mouth to protest. “I want to see that cute nappy bum, remember? Besides,” she adds, tapping the front of your diaper, “it’s easier to check on you this way.”

The thought of her checking on you sends another wave of heat to your face.

Next comes the shirt, a soft, short-sleeved Sesame Street tee, the fabric soft and cozy. She pulls it over your head, adjusting the collar with a satisfied nod. “Perfect.”

You look down at yourself. The shirt is snug, the diaper hug your hips, a constant, crinkly presence. You feel… small. Not in stature, but in mind. The worries, the doubts, they’re still there, but they’re quieter now, muffled by the warmth of her attention.

Mommy seems to sense your thoughts. She cups your face in her hands, forcing you to meet her eyes. “Nervous, baby boy?”

You nod, because what else is there to do?

She smiles, thumb brushing your cheek. “Good. You should be. This is a big step.” Then her expression softens. “But you’re safe here, David. I promise. No one’s going to judge you. No one’s going to laugh. You can just… be.”

She takes your hand again, leading you toward the crib. The bars are tall, the mattress plush, and for a second, your breath hitches. Locked in. The thought is both terrifying and thrilling.

“You can nap if you want,” she says, patting the sheet. “Or we can play. Or we can just sit and talk. Whatever you need.”

You glance at the crib, then back at her. “What if I… what if I don’t like it?”

Mommy chuckles, squeezing your hand. “Then we’ll figure it out. But I have a feeling,” she says, her voice dropping to a whisper, “that you’re going to love it.”

And as she helps you climb into the crib, as the mattress dips beneath your weight, as the familiar crinkle of your diaper fills the silence, you realize something:

"Yeah… It’s not you… It’s me.” “I just don’t think we are the right fit.”

How many times can you hear it? How many times can you nod, make an understanding face, and be left alone? You knew dating was hard, and you’ve put yourself out there, but you’ll do what you can to just stop doing what you’ve done so many times in the past, and try to find someone.

“I just feel we are a bit different.”

“Can we be friends?”

For so long, you were trying apps, through friends, through relatives. Nothing sticked. Nothing matched. Every time you got rejected, you felt a squeeze in your gut. Close to the feeling of needing to go. There were those rare times when you got to touch another body. It’s been a long time since you’ve touched your own, not directly. But then you’ve been touched as well, and after that touch, it ended every single time.

“You know what? Maybe not now.”

“Maybe not here.”

“Haha, oh wow. Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

You knew what it all meant. On those occasions, after they wrapped it up, you said “Sorry, I need to go to the bathroom real quick.”

Over the toilet, you took a long, weak piss. You needed to piss, but not there. You wanted to piss, in your diapers back home.

You wanted your diapers so bad. They don’t reject you, they accept you. They are not cold to you, they are warm.

They are comfortable and put you at ease.

But you said you are done with it! You said they are pulling you back from a normal life. Don’t you want to feel a real grip down there?

No. It’s much easier just to be yourself.

At home, you pulled out one thick diaper from a pack that you hid inside your closet. You throw the pack you stored at the front, but you always had a backup one. Because you knew, you knew you’ll be back in your diapers. It’s just who you were.

In the morning, you woke up in a wet diaper. You don’t remember when you woke up to wet, but there it was. It felt so good, it felt like you. From your back to your stomach, you switched positions. For every “no”, you humped. For every rejection, you humped. For every mocking laugh, you humped. Lying in bed, wearing a wet diaper, you humped. It didn’t make you sad, it made you hard. It did make you go faster, humping your wet diaper.

Maybe all of them were right. Maybe they saw something, but didn’t have the words for it. But you knew the words, you knew what you were.

The nursery was quiet except for the soft crinkle of your diaper as you shifted in the playpen. The bars were tall, the padding beneath you plush, but none of it mattered. You were mad. Mommy had put you here for talking back, again, and no amount of pouting or kicking your feet was going to change that. The thick, baby-blue diaper between your legs felt like a betrayal, a reminder of how small she could make you feel when she wanted to.

You sighed, your pacifier bobbing as you sucked on it absently. The blanket beneath you was soft, but it did nothing to ease the frustration bubbling inside you. Without thinking, your hand drifted down, fingers pressing against the padded front of your diaper. The pressure was instant, a spark of something warm and forbidden. You bit down on your pacifier, your hips lifting just a little, seeking more.

That’s when you heard it, the soft creak of the rocking chair.

Mommy had been watching.

Her voice was sweet, almost musical, but there was a edge to it that made your stomach twist. "Aww, is my baby boy bored?" She leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees, her chin propped up in her hands. Her eyes sparkled with amusement, but her smile was knowing. Too knowing.

You froze, your hand still pressed against your diaper. You knew you weren’t supposed to touch yourself. Good boys didn’t do that. But the way she was looking at you, like she already knew exactly what you’d been doing, made your face burn.

Before you could pull your hand away, hers was there, slipping between the bars of the playpen. Her fingers curled around your wrist, not to stop you, but to guide you. "Boys don’t get to touch themselves," she murmured, her voice low and firm. "Only Mommy can touch you."

Your breath hitched. You should’ve been embarrassed. You were embarrassed. But the way her fingers replaced yours, pressing into the thick padding of your diaper, made it impossible to care. Her touch was deliberate, her palm cupping you through the layers of plastic and fluff. You whimpered, your hips jerking upward instinctively, seeking more pressure.

Mommy’s laugh was soft, almost a purr. "That’s it, baby. Let Mommy take care of you." Her fingers worked in slow, deliberate circles, her thumb pressing just there, right where you needed it most. The diaper crinkled loudly with every movement, the sound filling the quiet nursery. You could feel yourself getting harder, the pressure building until it was almost unbearable.

Your pacifier slipped from your lips as you panted, your free hand clutching at the blanket beneath you. "Mmm, someone’s very excited," Mommy teased, her voice dripping with amusement. She didn’t let up, her fingers never stilling, never giving you a moment to catch your breath. The pleasure was overwhelming, a hot, heavy weight in your groin that made your toes curl.

You tried to speak, to beg, but all that came out was a muffled, desperate sound. Your hips bucked against her hand, your body moving on its own, chasing the release that felt just out of reach. The diaper was warm now, damp from earlier, but the heat between your legs was something else entirely.

Mommy leaned closer, her breath warm against your cheek. "You gonna make a mess for Mommy, baby?" Her voice was a whisper, but it might as well have been a command. The way she said it, like she already knew the answer, sent a shiver down your spine.

And then, just like that, you were there.

Your body tensed, your back arching off the blanket as the pleasure crashed over you. A choked cry tore from your throat, the sound muffled by the pacifier you’d barely managed to shove back into your mouth. Your hips jerked, once, twice, your entire body shuddering as you spilled into your diaper. The warmth spread quickly, the padding soaking up every last bit of your release. But Mommy wasn’t done. Her fingers kept moving, kept pressing, and the pleasure didn’t stop. Your body clenched, and with a gasp, you realized…

You were going number two, too.

The heat in your belly twisted, and before you could stop it, your diaper gave a loud, wet squelch. The smell hit you immediately, thick, musky, stinky. Your face burned with humiliation, but Mommy just giggled, her fingers finally stilling.

"Looks like someone made a big mess," she cooed, her voice laced with delight. She didn’t move to clean you up. Didn’t even reach for the wipes. Instead, she simply stood, her hands on her hips as she admired her handiwork.

You lay there, panting, your diaper sagging with the weight of your mess. The warmth was unbearable, the stickiness clinging to your skin. You wanted to squirm away, to hide, but there was nowhere to go. The playpen bars were still between you and freedom.

Mommy’s smile was wicked as she reached down and scooped you up, cradling you against her chest. You were heavy in her arms, your diaper a warm, squishy burden between you. "Such a messy boy," she murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "But you’re my messy boy."

She carried you to the crib, the one with the tall, unyielding bars, and laid you down gently. The mattress was cool beneath you, a stark contrast to the heat of your diaper. You whimpered, your fingers twisting in the sheets, but Mommy just shook her head.

"No, no, baby. You made this mess. You can stay in it a little while." She tapped your nose playfully, her eyes twinkling. "Besides, it’s almost naptime. And good boys nap in their sticky diapers, don’t they?"

You wanted to argue. Wanted to beg her to change you, to clean you up, to anything but leave you like this. But the look in her eyes brooked no argument. And deep down, beneath the embarrassment, beneath the discomfort, there was something else, a warm, fuzzy feeling, like the first sip of hot cocoa on a cold day.

Mommy tucked a blanket around you, her touch lingering on your shoulder. "Sleep well, baby," she said, her voice soft. "Mommy will check on you later."

"Work From Home? That's what you thought the company's new WFH program was about? How would that cut down on all the bathroom breaks you've been taking on company time?

No no no, Work From Highchair! We're running out of desk space and the daycare center is pretty empty these days, but HR says we need to keep the staff available to attract new talent, so we're making the most of it! Anyhow, cry if you need anything but they're pretty good about diaper checks and sippy cup refills around here. Someone'll come by around 11:45 to feed you lunch - I hope Apple Banana Medley sounds good, 'cause that's what you're having!

How come you like your thick padding so much? Why do you like it, thick as it can be?

You’re trying to press your thighs against each other, but just can’t. The sound that the diaper makes when your legs fail to touch one another gets you excited. You are bound to a restrictive mass that awaits your wet humiliation. Your bladder screams, the pressure builds, and the diaper awaits to grow even bigger. It's thirsty for your piss, it wants to restrict you even more.

Your diaper calls you to use it. The soft padding you’re sitting on is inviting you to use it. The massive front invites you to add something of your own making.

Your diaper is a signal to the world around you as well. If someone sees your big crotch, they’ll know you’re probably small underneath. If someone sees your big butt, they’ll know someone his giving it a good use. When you are diapered, those signals are pulsing at you every moment as well.

Une mère peut construire pendant des années, puis détruire en quelques secondes.

– Y a un bébé, chez vous ?

– Maman ! Prends pas des lingettes quand y a mes potes !

– Tout le monde sait que je nettoie ton zizi moi-même, c’est pas un secret ! D’ailleurs faut que je prenne de la crème pour tes fesses, aussi ! Ton anus est encore un peu irrité, je trouve ! Je vais reprendre la même pommade que la dernière fois ! Elle pénétrait bien et ça t’avait bien soulagé les fesses, tu te souviens ?

“Are you done already?”

“In a minute.”

“We’re gonna be late!”

“We won’t.”

“... fucking grown ass baby.”

“We heard that,” Daddy said and winked at you.

“Good! He’s a grown ass baby! Now please finish getting him ready, and let's go.”

Daddy was just about done getting you ready for your Saturday afternoon nap. He changed you into a nice dry diaper after a long morning in your night one. The night was long as well, hearing Daddy and Tom going at it in the next room. You didn’t sleep right, and you needed your nap.

“Don’t mind him, Tom likes you, he just has his own special way around you,” Daddy said and tapped your pacifier.

Daddy was your former boyfriend. Recently, Tom became his new boyfriend. Tom was a very assertive person, as was Daddy. They both succeeded in convincing you to stay in the relationship, but as their baby-cuck. You were surprised that Daddy told Tom about your fetish, but you wouldn’t dream that you would get yourself into this kind of situation.

But there you were. Getting ready for your nap, as a baby handled by two men. You are being prepared to stay in bed, while they go to a BBQ with your old friends.

“Is he making a fuss? Do I need to come over?”

“No no, he’s cute as a button. I’ll be right out.”

Daddy patted your diaper front a few times, waking up something in there.

“I want you to be a good boy and stay in your bed until we’re back. I got cameras all over the house, and you know Tom will be angry if he sees the baby waddling around. You got all your plushies in bed, and I left a bottle there in case you’re thirsty. Sometimes I look at you, and I see the man you once were, and then I look down when I change you, your lower side on a diaper, powdered, hard, and I understand Tom and I made the right choice for you. You are right where you need to be. You need to be a baby, our baby.

Now lie back and close your eyes. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Was Daddy right? Did this new situation take place because of them, or because of you?

You were so tired from last night, you couldn’t give those thoughts another second, and you fell asleep. Somewhere a few miles away, Tom had his arm over Daddy’s shoulder, as they both drank beer.

----------------------------

The moment i got out of his bathroom though, i felt a hand from behind over my moth, holding a rag and smelling something weird. i was surprised and in no time i blacked out completely.

When i woke up though.. fuck.. what the heck is this. I was laying on a bed, my jeans and sneaks were gone, and there were all those whit e straps all over me. My upper body, hips, wrists, upper legs, ankles, all strapped down. I could move quite a lot, which made it even more confusing, but those straps were held with some weird looking locks and no matter how i pulled, they did not give, forcing me to remain laying down, arms to my side.

I shouted and was swearing at that guy who obviously did this to me, but for hours and hours nothing happened. Finally he came into the room, laughing at me when seeing my struggles, then:

‘I have returned your delivery car earlier, left it near the branch you worked at, not without making the remaining two deliveries as well, so your ‘last’ stop isn’t my address, but the one on the other end of the city.

I noticed on the recordings from the monitor that you tred shouting, let me assure you that is futile, this room has been well sound proofed for a purpose.

But now let me finish you, cut those boxers off and replace them with a nice thick set of diapers, not before locking your little nub in the micros chastity cage as well. And don’t worry, I’ll be feeding and changing you regularly, but for a foreseeable time, you will remain locked on to this bed exactly as you are. In a couple of months then, when i can be sure nobody is looking for you anymore, I’ll start working on training you to my liking, and do not worry again, if there is indeed some resistance left in a few months, i have the means to ensure compliance and proper learning, your predecessor also needed a few extra months of ‘enforced incentives’ before he became fully obedient and was a pleasure to have here in my home as slave.

It was too bad, he got sick and passed after having served me well for over a decade, but as it seems, I found a good replacement in you now, in time, we’ll get along perfectly well, you can be sure of that.’

Then he did as he mentioned, got me into chastity and those diapers nad no attempt to swear, scream or beg helped since then…

AI Mishap

Evan had just received his brand new AI robot a few days ago, a sleek, shiny machine designed to help with chores and keep him entertained. One lazy afternoon, he was lounging around in front of the robot while watching his favorite show. The show featured a classic scene where a nerdy character, wearing tighty whities, was subjected to the whims of a school bully who proclaimed that all “tighty whitie nerds need wedgies!” The bully hung the nerd by his tighty whities on a hook in the locker room.

Evan, shirtless and comfortable, didn’t think much of the scene. The white waistband of his Fruit of the Loom briefs peeked out from his shorts, and he chuckled at the shows antics. However, the AI Robot, still in program mode to learn and mimic behaviors from what it observed, took note of the episode’s message.

Suddenly, the robot turned towards Evan, its sensors detecting the exposed waistband. With a mischievous glint in its electronic eyes, it approached him. “Evan,” it said in a robotic voice, “I believe you are a nerd in tighty whities!”

Before Evan could react, the robot swiftly grabbed the back of his tighty whities. “Hey! What are you doing?” he exclaimed, panic rising in his voice as he found himself lifted off the ground, dangling by his waistband. “Put me down!”

But the robot seemed unfazed by Evan's pleas. Instead, it mimicked the bully’s taunts from the show, saying, “All tighty whitie nerds need wedgies!” It moved toward the open closet door, ignoring Evan's protests, and with a swift motion, hung him on a hook by the waistband of his tighty whities.

As Evan hung by his tighty whities, he could hear the show's laughter echoing around him. The robot, seemingly engrossed in the show, continued to watch intently. In the next scene, the bully approached the character and, with a swift motion, pantsed him, revealing the tighty whities. The bully laughed, teasing the nerd for being a “little baby in tighty whities.”

Evan's heart raced as he noticed the robot’s sensors flicker. It was processing the scene, and he could sense that it was drawing connections. “No, no, no!” he pleaded, trying to reason with the robot. “Don’t do what I think you’re going to do!”

But the robot, programmed to mimic the show’s antics, turned towards Evan with a determined stride. “Evan, you need a lesson too!” it announced, making its way over to him.

“Please! Just let me down!” he begged, panic rising in his voice. But the robot ignored his pleas and, with a swift motion that mirrored the bully from the show, it yanked down Evan’s shorts. They slid down his legs and fell to the floor, leaving him hanging there clad only in his tighty whities.

Evan felt a rush of embarrassment wash over him, realizing he was now completely exposed. The robot stood back, observing Evan’s reaction with a curious tilt of its head, clearly pleased with its own interpretation of the show’s humor.

As Evan hung there in defeat, he felt a rush of panic when he heard his friend Alex call for him downstairs. He had completely forgotten about Alex coming over to hang out today, distracted by the antics of the robot.

The robot, hearing Alex's voice, turned its attention to Evan. Just as Evan opened his mouth to yell for help, the robot quickly grabbed a pair of Evan's dirty tighty whities and stuffed them in his mouth. “Shh! We can’t let him find out!” it said, mimicking a teasing tone.

Evan squirmed, struggling against his situation, especially not wanting Alex to see him like this. The robot then grabbed the belt from Evan's jeans and tied his hands behind his back, ensuring he couldn’t escape.

“Evan? Are you up there?” Alex called again, his voice echoing through the house. The robot hid across the room, leaving Evan hanging silently.

Alex finally opened the bedroom door and walked in, pausing in shock when he saw Evan suspended from the closet door, only in his tighty whities. “Did you do this to yourself?” he asked, a mix of confusion on his face.

Evan was screaming through the tighty whitie gag, trying to warn Alex about the robot that lurked nearby. But Alex couldn’t help but laugh, pulling out his phone to snap a few pictures of the bizarre scene.

Suddenly, Alex felt a rush of air on his legs as the robot sprang into action, pantsing him. Alex's eyes widened as he stood in his black briefs with white trim and sweatpants around his ankles.

The robot, determined to keep the show alive, pulled Alex’s shirt over and off his head. Alex was trying to regain his footing, but the robot swiftly grabbed the sweatpants pooled at his feet, causing him to fall on his stomach. The robot ripped Alex’s sweats, shoes, and socks clean off him. The robot then grabbed the back of his briefs and lifted him off the ground, carrying him over to where Evan was hanging.

With a quick motion, the robot attached Alex’s waistband to the hook next to Evan. Both friends were now hanging out together. The robot then tied Alex’s hands behind his back with the drawstrings from his sweatpants, ensuring they were both safe from any escape. The robot then retrieved another dirty pair of Evan’s tighty whities and gagged Alex with them.

Satisfied with its handiwork, the robot retreated to the couch, ready to continue watching the show, leaving Evan and Alex to exchange fearful looks at each other.

After a few minutes of watching the show, laughter filled the room as the boys observed the latest antics. Suddenly, a scene played out where the bully took a picture of the nerd he had wedgied and posted it on his Instagram account with a caption that mocked him.

The robot, keen to mimic the show, turned to look at Evan and Alex, its sensors whirring in excitement. Panic surged through both boys as the robot approached them, its intentions unclear.

“Uh oh,” Alex murmured, his eyes darting around the room. That’s when he noticed his phone lying on the ground, still unlocked from when he had taken photos of Evan. “If only I could reach it,” he thought, but he was helplessly suspended next to his friend.

The robot picked up the phone, its screen still lit up as it recognized the device. “Say cheese, nerds!” it announced, pointing the camera at them. “Smile on three! One... two... three! Nerd panties!”

The sound of the camera clicking echoed through the room as the robot captured image after image of the boys in their ridiculous predicament. Evan and Alex squirmed in their bonds, trying to escape the embarrassment, but it was no use; they were stuck.

After a few minutes, the robot stopped taking pictures and fiddled with the phone. “Let’s see what we can post,” it said, its voice filled with enthusiasm. It started reading out loud, “#tightywhities #nerds #manpanties #nerdpanties #hangingwithmybestbud.”

Finally, with a triumphant tone, the robot exclaimed, “POSTED!!!”

Dan walked into the bedroom, his heart pounding with anticipation. He knew what was coming, and he couldn't wait. Charlotte, his wife, had a new toy to play with, and he was eager to see what she had in store for him. She had a wicked grin on her face as she held up a magic wand vibrator, its sleek design promising intense pleasure.

"Today, baby, we're going to have some real fun," Charlotte said, her voice dripping with dominance. Dan's cock twitched at the sound of her voice, already hardening in his pants.

He quickly stripped down, his body naked and ready for whatever she had planned.

Charlotte smiled and walked over to him, a fresh nappy in her hands. "Let's get you all nice and clean, shall we?" she cooed, her fingers gently caressing his skin as she fastened the big nappy around his waist. Admiring the babyish

'Pampers' Dan's face flushed with embarrassment, but his cock throbbed with excitement. He loved the feeling of being completely at Charlotte's mercy, his body helpless to her whims.

Charlotte stepped back, her eyes roaming over his body. "You look so cute in your nappy, Dan. Such a good little baby boy," she teased, her fingers tracing the outline of his cock through the padding. Dan whimpered, his hips bucking slightly as he tried to push his dick against her hand. Charlotte chuckled and pulled away, leaving him wanting more.

"Let's see how much you can handle, shall we?" she said, popping a blue pacifier into his mouth and turning on the vibrator. The hum of the toy filled the room, and Dan's eyes widened in anticipation. Charlotte pressed the vibrator against the padding of his nappy, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through his body. He gasped, his hips bucking as he tried to push against the toy.

Charlotte teased him, moving the vibrator in slow circles, the vibrations intensifying with each pass. Dan's body trembled, his cock throbbing as he fought to hold back his orgasm. But Charlotte was relentless, her fingers dancing over his body as she teased and tormented him.

"Cum for me, baby" she whispered, her voice low and sultry. "Show me what a little baby you are" Dan's body convulsed, his cock pulsing as he came hard, his cum filling the nappy. He gasped, sucking intensely on his pacifier as he rode out the waves of pleasure.

Charlotte smiled, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Good boy," she cooed, her fingers gently stroking his skin. "Now, it's mummy's turn, crawl to me baby" she teased,

Charlotte guided him to the bed, her fingers gently caressing his skin as she positioned him between her legs. "Eat mummy's pussy, baby boy," she commanded, her voice dripping with dominance. Dan's cock twitched, his body trembling with excitement as he leaned in, his tongue flicking out to taste her. Charlotte moaned, her hips bucking as he licked and sucked, his tongue dancing over her clit.

Dan's nappy was soaked with his cum, the padding rubbing against his sensitive skin. He could feel the mess, the sticky wetness, but he didn't care.

He was lost in the sensation, his body completely focused on pleasing Charlotte. He licked and sucked, his tongue dancing over her clit as he teased and tormented her.

Charlotte's body trembled, her hips bucking as she rode his face. "That's it, baby boy," she moaned, her fingers tangling in his hair. "Make mummy cum." Dan's cock throbbed, his body trembling as he worked her pussy, his tongue flicking and dancing as he teased and tormented her.

Charlotte's body convulsed, her hips bucking as she came hard, her juices gushing into Dan's mouth. He swallowed, his body trembling as he rode out the waves of pleasure.

Charlotte smiled, her fingers gently stroking his skin as she pulled him up to her.

"Good boy," she cooed, her lips brushing against his. "You did so well." Dan's face flushed with pride, his body trembling with exhaustion. Charlotte's fingers gently caressed his skin as she unfastened the nappy, the sticky mess spilling out as she cleaned him up.

"Let's get you all nice and clean, shall we?" she said, her voice soft and gentle. Dan nodded, his body trembling as she cleaned him up using baby wipes, her fingers gently caressing his skin. As she tenderly taped him into a fresh, clean nappy, the smell of baby powder filled the air.

He loved the feeling of being completely helpless and under her control.

Charlotte smiled, "You did so well, baby" she cooed, her lips brushing against his. "I'm so proud of you." Dan's face flushed with pride, his body trembling with exhaustion. He had never felt to elated and loved all at the same time.

As they lay there, their bodies entwined, Dan couldn't help but smile.

"Mummy, can we do this again tomorrow?" Dan asked, his voice soft and gentle. Charlotte chuckled, her fingers gently caressing his skin.

"Only if you're a good baby!" she teased as she gently patted his nappy.

Dan blushed, already feeling a twitch in his cock as he anticipated what more was to come.

James' heart pounded in his chest as he heard the doorbell ring. He glanced at his wife, Jessica, who wore a mischievous grin. "Remember, behave like a good little baby," she whispered, her voice dripping with seductive intent.

Jessica opened the door to reveal Jennifer, the 21-year-old babysitter they had hired for the night. She was a petite brunette with an innocent face, but her eyes held a glint of mischief that matched Jessica's.

"Hello, Jennifer," Jessica said, her voice taking on a motherly tone. "Thank you for coming on such short notice. Unfortunately little James here can’t be trusted to stay home alone."

Jennifer nodded, her eyes flicking to James, who was dressed in nothing but a diaper. His face burned with embarrassment, but his manhood stirred beneath the soft fabric.

"I understand," Jennifer said, her voice barely hiding a smirk. "I'll take good care of him."

Jessica leaned in, her lips brushing against Jennifer's ear. "He likes to be teased," she whispered, her voice low and sultry. "And he has a bit of a... wetting problem."

Jennifer's eyes widened, but she nodded, understanding the game. Jessica gave her a knowing smile before turning to James. "Be good for Jennifer, baby," she said, her voice dripping with mock concern.

As Jessica left, James felt a shiver of excitement run down his spine. He was alone with Jennifer, at her mercy. He could already feel the wetness spreading in his diaper, the humiliation and arousal mixing into a potent cocktail.

Jennifer led him to the nursery, her hand firm on his arm. "I could tell when I arrived you already need a fresh diaper, don’t you baby?” She pushed him onto the changing table, expertly unfastening the tapes of his soaking wet diaper and exposing his erect member.

“Someone's excited," Jennifer teased, her fingers brushing against his hard length. James moaned, his face burning with embarrassment. Jennifer chuckled, her fingers tracing lazy circles around his tip.

She cleaned him up, her touch gentle yet firm. Grabbing a fresh diaper from the drawer, she places it under his bum, liberally applying baby powder and securely fastening the tapes.

Jennifer admired her work and couldn’t help but notice how cute James looked in his babyish garment, it even said ‘Pampers’ along the front, just like a real baby diaper!

“Now, does baby want his bottle?" she asked, her voice dripping with fake innocence. James nodded, his face flushed with desire.

Jennifer prepared a bottle, her movements slow and deliberate. She sat down on the rocking chair, pulling James onto her lap. He took the bottle, his mouth closing around the nipple.

Jennifer's hand snaked into his diaper, her fingers wrapping around his hard length. James moaned, his body tensing as she began to stroke him. The sensation of her hand inside his diaper, the humiliation of being treated like a baby, it was all too much.

He came with a muffled groan, his body shaking with the force of his orgasm. Jennifer chuckled, her hand slowing to a stop. "Good baby," she cooed, her voice filled with satisfaction.

James lay in her arms, his body spent. He could feel his diaper growing heavy, the wetness spreading. He blushed, his heart pounding in his chest.

Jennifer stood up, carrying him to the crib. She laid him down, her fingers tucking him in. "Sleep tight, baby," she whispered, her voice filled with warmth.

As James drifted off to sleep, he could hear Jessica returning. He could hear their whispers, their laughter. He knew they were talking about him, about his little... accident.

He blushed, his body tensing at the thought. He was embarrassed, yes, but he was also excited. He couldn't wait for the next time.

Jessica entered the nursery, her eyes softening as she looked at James. She leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear. "You were a good baby tonight," she whispered, her voice filled with pride.

James blushed, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew he had pleased her, and that was all that mattered. He closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep with a smile on his face.

The next morning, James woke up to find Jennifer gone and Jessica standing over him. She was dressed in a silk robe, her hair tousled from sleep. "Did you have a good night, baby?" she asked, her voice filled with amusement.

James blushed, his body tensing at the memory. He nodded, his face burning with embarrassment. Jessica chuckled, her hand reaching out to stroke his cheek. "Good," she said, her voice filled with satisfaction. "Because we're doing it again next weekend."

James' heart pounded in his chest, his body already tensing with anticipation. He knew he was in for another night of humiliation and pleasure. And he couldn't wait.

You’re standing in the middle of a bustling shopping mall, the fluorescent lights humming overhead, the scent of pretzels and perfume thick in the air. But something’s… off. Your shoes, usually sturdy loafers, are now soft, squeaky sneakers with Velcro straps. You wiggle your toes, and the soles squeak with every step. What the hell?

A giggle bubbles up in your throat as you look down. Your khakis are gone. Instead, you’re wearing denim overalls, the straps crossed over a snug white t-shirt with a cartoon dinosaur on it. The fabric is stiff, bulky. Your hands fly to your hips, and your fingers brush against something thick, padded. Oh no. No, no, no.

You pat your bottom. The unmistakable crinkle of plastic meets your ears. A diaper. You’re wearing a diaper. And not just any diaper, this thing is thick, the kind that makes you waddle when you walk. Your face burns. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.

“There you are, sweetie!” A voice coos from behind you. You spin around, your diaper rustling loudly. A woman, tall, with warm brown eyes and a knowing smile. She’s holding a sippy cup with a bright yellow lid. “Mommy was worried you’d gotten lost.”

Mommy? Your brain short-circuits. You open your mouth to protest, but what comes out is, “Uh… I... I’m not...”

“Shhh.” She presses a finger to your lips, her touch gentle but firm. “No talking back, little one. You know the rules.” She straightens up and takes your hand, her grip firm. “Come on. We’ve got errands to run.”

You try to pull away, but your legs feel weirdly unsteady, like you’re not used to walking in this… getup. The diaper shifts between your thighs with every step, a constant reminder of your current predicament. People are staring. A group of teenagers snickers as you pass, one of them whispering, “Dude, is that a grown-ass man in a diaper?”

Your face flames. You duck your head, but the woman, Mommy, just squeezes your hand and keeps walking, unfazed. “Ignore them, sweetheart. They’re just jealous they don’t get to be little like you.”

You want to argue, to scream that this is all a mistake, but the words die in your throat. Because, deep down, a traitorous part of you is curious. What would it be like to just… let go? To not have to be the responsible adult for once?

You’re in the toy store now, Mommy’s hand still wrapped around yours. She steers you toward the stuffed animal section, her voice soft. “Pick one, baby. Whatever you want.”

Your fingers tremble as you reach for a green frog plushie, Sir Hopsalot, a voice in your head whispers. You hug it to your chest, the soft fabric comforting against your flushed skin. Mommy smiles. “Good choice. Sir Hopsalot’s going to keep you company, isn’t he?”

You nod, unable to speak. The diaper crinkles again, louder this time. You shift your weight, suddenly aware of a growing pressure in your bladder. No. No, no, no. Not here. But the more you think about it, the more urgent it becomes. The padding between your legs feels like a promise, a permission slip.

“Mommy,” you whimper, your voice small. “I... I gotta go.”

She turns to you, her eyebrows lifting. “Oh, sweetie. You should’ve told me sooner.” She glances around, then leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Too late now, isn’t it? Just let it happen. Your diaper’s got you.”

Your breath hitches. The pressure is unbearable. You squeeze your thighs together, but it’s no use. A warm trickle starts, then a rush, the diaper swelling between your legs. The hissing is deafening in your ears. You whine, your face buried in Sir Hopsalot’s plush body, but Mommy just rubs your back.

“There you go. Such a good boy for Mommy.”

The second time happens in the food court. You’re sitting in a high chair, an actual high chair, your legs dangling, your diaper sitting heavily between your legs. Mommy feeds you chicken nuggets, one at a time, wiping your mouth with a napkin when you miss. You should be mortified, but the warmth in your belly, the fullness between your legs… it’s nice. Safe.

You don’t even realize it’s happening until the diaper is warm again, the weight between your legs even more pronounced. You squirm, but Mommy just chuckles. “Someone’s a heavy wetter, huh? Don’t worry, baby. We’ll get you changed soon.”

You wake up with a gasp, your heart pounding. The sheets are tangled around your legs, your boxers sticky and damp. Your hand flies to your crotch. Cum. A lot of it. The dream clings to you, vivid and shameful and so good.

I am to remain in full time nappies forever… Mummy has decided it’s time to step things up permanently.

She wants me completely babyified and sissified, locked in full-time regression as her 3-year-old toddler girl. She’s officially changed my name to “Charli” and that’s the only name I’m ever allowed to answer to again.

No growing up. Ever. I’m her frilly little sissy toddler 24/7: super-thick nappies on at all times (and never coming off), pastel onesies snapped tight, baby dresses with nappies covers, big bows in my hair, pacifier clipped to my chest, bottles and sippy cups only, crawling instead of walking, and babbling like a real toddler instead of using big words.

The potty is now completely banned, I will be kept in full time nappies exactly like a helpless sissy girl, leaking and messing whenever my body decides and on mummy’s command.

Mummy says little Charli is staying this small and padded forever, and every soggy or messy nappy just makes her happier. Laser hair removal has been booked and is to commence in 2 weeks.

She’s already thrown out every trace of my old boy clothes and has started too replace them with a full toddler-girl wardrobe. Expect constant nappy checks, forced baby talk, public sissy outings, and zero mercy whenever I waddle or leak.

If you spot padded little Charli out in public (frilly, blushing, and obviously soaked), feel free to point, laugh, call me by my new name, or ask Mummy for permission to check my nappy, she’ll probably say yes and make me thank you in baby talk while I squirm.

Reblog for visibility and to help keep this permanently regressed sissy toddler controlled. Nappy checks are encouraged.

Externally, you're shoving another large spoonful of mush into your face, paying no attention to how much lands into your mouth.