38 y/o diaper lover

Given to the Lord of the Manor.

The meeting was sudden, wedding was swift, he rode in in his carriage as all the lord's and lady's do.

He found the pearl he wanted and took her to the church. The priest didn't object and the dowry to her family was handsome.

They were married in the sight of God and he sent his best house maids to her home to gather what little she would bring with her. He also sent her traveling clothes.

"Lay down, this will go fast if I do the work." The head maid said flatly. She complied, after all this was well beyond her world, she was married to a noble now.

Scrubbed clean by more hands than she could count her skin raw she laid on the bed nude as the day she was born.

Her bottom was lifted and she was succinctly diapered. A lace shirt was given to her and she put it on. It hid nothing.

"The lord does have his vices." The maid sighed. "At least we won't need to clean the carriage when you decide to pee yourself."

"Pee myself?" She sound incredulous.

"Its well known how filthy you country folk can be. Im just glad the lord had the foresight to put your but in pampers before taking you home."

Now greatly offended and embarrassed she fought back. "I am no child. I dont do that anymore!"

"It does not matter, you will be wearing them from now on as my lord has commanded. We will see if his mind can be changed or if we will just be changing you." Those we her final words as she snapped and left the room. The poor girl was headed out the door and her life left behind.

Paraded in front of the town and into the carriage l, their last memory of her would forever taint how she was viewed here. No longer the accomplished apothecary, she was now the diapered wife of a noble.

He smiled as she entered the large carriage, "Worry not, my dear, you will be given greater accommodation than you thought was possible, and your maid will make sure you are always clean and ready for me. Oh, what a future you have waiting."

The carriage began moving. The old was gone, the new was coming closer with each passing second.

It's bad enough that the babysitter never came back with the post-bedtime story bottle refill they promised, opting instead to make out with their boyfriend and leaving your nursery lights on in the process...

But now, the adults are finally home and they're already at it too. You're just hoping they decide to turn on the baby monitor for foreplay...

Someone Needs a Nap

Layla sat cross-legged on the thick, colorful playmat in the living room, the late-morning sunlight filtering through the blinds and casting soft stripes across the alphabet blocks scattered around you. The mat crinkled faintly every time you shifted your weight. She jingled a bright, colorful rattle inches from your face, her voice light and singsong. “Shakey-shakey, widdle baybee! Show me how you jingle and jiggle!”

You stared at the rattle, jaw tight around your pacifier, refusing to reach for it. The heavy, loaded mess in the seat of your diaper had been there for well over an hour now. It had started warm during your earlier ‘play’, but it had now cooled into a thick, sticky weight that squished and clung with every small movement. You knew the smell had to be noticeable, no way she couldn’t smell it, but the rule was ironclad: Littles don’t ask for changes. They wait. You huffed through your nose instead, cheeks puffed out in quiet protest.

Layla set the rattle down, trying something else, picking up the stacking ring toy, holding up a bright blue ring. “What color is this one, sweetie? Can you tell Mommy? Bwoo? Say it with me! Bwoooo!”

You tried your best not to roll your eyes, taking the ring and slipping it over the yellow rod. No response. Your pacifier bobbed as you suckled, trying to ignore the way the mush shifted when you leaned forward.

“Awww!” Mommy tilted her head, eyes wide with exaggerated concern. “What’s da matturr, widdle one?” She leaned in closer, her nose wrinkling just for a second before she smoothed it away with a bright smile. The smell was definitely there, you could tell by the brief pause, but she breezed right past it. “Somewon is awffwee fussy today! Is my little guy having a tough morning? Huh??”

You huffed again, louder this time, crossing your arms over your chest. The diaper sagged heavily between your thighs, the tapes straining.

“Is widdle baybee thirsty? Is that why he’s so gwumpy?” She reached for the sippy cup you’d knocked over earlier. The bright red liquid sloshed inside. Cranberry juice. She knew you hated the tart, metallic taste of fucking Cranberry juice.

You didn’t even think. Your hand shot out and swatted the cup hard. It flew across the mat, juice splashing in a sticky arc over the blocks and onto the edge of the playmat.

Layla’s expression changed instantly. The sweet, playful Mommy voice vanished completely.

"That's it." She said, her voice low and sharp. "I've had it! You've been acting like a little brat all morning."

She started counting off on her fingers, her tone growing colder with every point.

“You were fussy and impossible in your highchair, spitting out your food, wriggling and whining and making a mess like a spoiled little shit. Then you spent the rest of the morning crying and complaining about your cock cage like a pathetic, entitled man-baby. 'iT's sO uNfAiR'!! iT's tOo tiGht!! i cAn'T tAkE iT aNyMoRe!!' Wahh wahh wahh!." She mocked in a high-pitched, whiny voice.. "You kept spitting your pacifier out the second I turned away. You’ve been talking back to me all day, and not even using your baby-babble either!" Her voice carried a mix of disbelief and genuine offense, "You’ve already had two time-outs and a spanking today, and now you’re ignoring me during playtime and knocking things over like a defiant little terror.”

Layla let the heavy silence hang in the air for a moment, crossing her arms while she leered at me.

“I think someone needs a nap.”

Before you could react, her fingers clamped around your wrist with a vice-like grip. She stood, yanking you up with her.The sudden upward pull made the heavily loaded diaper droop and sag dramatically between your legs. The full, sticky weight pulled downward, peeling slightly away from your skin before settling even heavier and messier than before.

You waddled beside her down the hallway, cheeks burning, the thick padding forcing your thighs apart. Fine, you thought, clinging to a small flicker of relief despite how vicious and cold she was being. At least I’ll finally get out of this fucking diaper. She’ll change me, tuck me in, and I can reset.

The nursery door flew open. The familiar scent of baby powder and lavender oils greeted you. On pure habit, you immediately waddled toward the changing table, already reaching up to climb onto the padded surface, eager for relief.

But Layla’s grip stayed firm around your wrist, stopping you mid-step. “Uh… what do you think you’re doing?”

You froze, mumbling around the pacifier, confused. “I… d-diapy ch-change?”

She let out a short, disbelieving scoff and folded her arms across her chest. The cool, unimpressed look in her eyes made your stomach twist. “What makes you think you deserve one of those? You act like a total shithead all day, and you actually expect me to change your poopy diaper??”

The words landed like a slap. You shifted on your feet, the mess squishing again. “I.. I was just uncomfortable… it’s yucky an-and—”

“Just because you have a dirty diaper does NOT mean you get to act like a spoiled little brat.” Her voice stayed calm, almost bored, but there was steel underneath. She didn’t move toward the wipes or powder. She just stood there, arms crossed, watching you quiver in front of the changing table you weren’t allowed to climb on.

You blinked rapidly, feeling your eyes begin to water. The last traces of defiance drained out of you in an instant. “B-but… it’s really messy…”

“Too fucking bad,” Layla said flatly, her voice ice-cold and completely detached. “You made that stinky present, and now you get to cuddle with it for all of naptime.”

She stepped past you to the crib, flipped the latch with a practiced flick, and slid the wooden railing down with a heavy clack. The plastic-covered mattress gleamed under the soft nursery light. She patted it twice like a judge with a gavel. “Up.”

Your face burned hot. Your body felt small and shaky. Your voice dropped to a meek whisper. “M-mommy… please? I’ll be good…”

“Too late for that, baby.” She gripped your wrist again, firmer this time, and tugged you over to the edge of the crib. The messy diaper flopped and swayed with every reluctant step, the cooled load shifting heavily against your skin.

You were already slipping deep into submissive headspace. Your cheeks flushed deeper, eyes turning glassy. “I’m sorry, Mommy… I didn’t mean to be bad…”

“I know you’re sorry,” she replied, sounding completely unmoved. “But sorry doesn’t earn you a clean diaper.”

It was sinking in now, really sinking in. She was serious. No change. No wipes. Just… this.

“Go on.” She nodded toward the mattress and delivered a firm, encouraging swat to the seat of your bulging diaper, making the mush spread wider, pressing it intimately against you.

Your chin quivered as you climbed up. The second your bottom settled onto the crib mattress, the loaded diaper squished loudly against the plastic sheet. You cringed hard, a tiny embarrassed squeak escaping around your pacifier as the warm, sticky mess redistributed, coating more of your skin.

Tears welled up instantly, spilling over. “I’m s-s-sorry Mommy! I’m so s-so sorry! Please change me! PLEASE!”

The words came out muffled and pathetic through the pacifier, but desperation made you keep going, as if that might somehow fix it.

Mommy didn’t react with sympathy. She reached into the corners of the crib for the restraints she hadn’t used in weeks. The soft leather cuffs dangled from short chains anchored to the frame. You didn’t fight as she took your wrists and buckled them snugly. Left, then right. Then your ankles. The chains gave you only a few inches of movement. You could wiggle, but you couldn’t reach down to touch or adjust the front of your diaper. The realization made fresh tears roll down your cheeks.

You spat the pacifier out, letting it drop onto your chest. Switching to the babytalk she usually loved, you pleaded, “I’ll be a good boy! I’ll dwink all my juice! I’ll stack all da bwocks! I’ll pway patty cakes! Pweez, Mommy! PWEEEZ!!”

She picked up the discarded pacifier and set it aside. Instead, she opened the drawer below the crib and pulled out the oversized one. The thick, bulbous silicone one with the locking strap. Your eyes widened.

“I’m sorry sweetie,” she said, but her expression held no real remorse. Just that cool, distant authority. “But this is the bed you made for yourself, so now you have to lay in it.”

She pushed the oversized pacifier against your lips. You opened automatically, but the thick bulb forced your jaw wide, stretching your mouth full. The silicone filled you completely, pressing down on your tongue. She buckled the strap behind your head, tight enough to keep it secure. The familiar pacifier was gone, this one turned every sound into a muffled, helpless noise.

“Nap time, little one.” She planted one cool kiss on your sweaty forehead, then pulled the miniature blanket up over your body, tucking the edges neatly. The stupid teddy bear was shoved gently under your armpit. “Maybe three hours in a full diaper will reset you a bit.”

Your eyes widened in panic. A desperate, high-pitched whine escaped around the thick pacifier as the reality crashed down on you. You immediately started struggling, yanking hard against the wrist and ankle restraints. The chains rattled loudly as you twisted and pulled, bucking your hips and kicking your legs as much as the short tethers would allow.

“Mmmph! Mmmphhh!” you cried desperately, the oversized pacifier turning your pleas into pathetic, muffled noises. Tears poured down your face as you thrashed. "MMMPH!!! MMPPPPHHHH!!"

Every frantic movement made the heavy, sticky mess in your diaper shift and squish obscenely. The cooled load smeared further across your skin, pressing into every crease, the mush spreading warmer and more disgustingly with each tug and wiggle. The more you fought, the worse it got, but you couldn’t stop. Panic had taken over.

Layla simply watched you with that same cold, detached expression, completely unmoved by your breakdown.

You kept struggling, sobbing around the giant pacifier, chains clattering, the messy diaper loudly squelching with every desperate motion. The humiliation burned through you, but the fear of three long hours trapped like this was stronger.

Mommy reached for the crib railing and lifted it with a solid, final click, locking it into place. The bars rose smoothly, sliding up between you and the rest of the nursery. From the other side she looked down at you: wrists and ankles restrained, thick messy diaper prominently on display beneath the blanket, face streaked with tears and flushed with humiliated submission.

“Mommy will be back to check on you later,” she said calmly. Then, with the faintest smirk, she added, “Maybe…”

She flicked on the overhead mobile. The colorful animals began to spin slowly, playing their soft, mocking lullaby, twinkling notes that felt far too cheerful for your situation.

“Why hello there, young man! I’m so glad you decided to stop by. Lindsey’s been talking about you constantly for the past month, haven’t you, honey? Isn’t that right?

“Oh, she’s just being shy tonight, I guess. She’s not too used to folks spending the night, you see… No, no, don’t go! Listen, Lindsey’s been telling me how much she wanted to hang out with you, so I think a nice little weekend sleepover is a perfect opportunity to get to know one another! There won’t be any classes or varsity sports or frat nonsense getting in the way. No, just a nice quiet sleepover for you two to chill and relax together…

“Now, we’ve got a few rules in this household, young man, and I expect you to abide by them if you’re going to be my daughter’s friend… Hush, Lindsey, Mommy’s talking! Oh, you say you’re happy to do anything? Aww, that’s wonderful! You’re such a nice young man, aren’t you?

“So, first things first. Now you might have noticed that Lindsey’s all ready for bed. That’s the first rule: bedtime for kids in this household is 8 pm, no exceptions. And yes, that does apply to you! I don’t care that you’re going to be twenty next month, young man. You’re only four months older than Lindsey, after all, and if you’re not twenty-one, you’re still underage as far as our family’s concerned…

“Second rule: none of those silly boxers or briefs or panties in our beds. I’m sorry, but Lindsey’s been our sweet little puddle-maker for the last nineteen years, and she’s shown us all that even big college-age kids can still have plenty of accidents. Don’t worry! I’ve already got some nice fluffy big kid pampers ready for you, young man. I’m sure you’re going to like them once you try them. They’re so nice and soft and cute…

“Now only one more rule, okay? One more, and then we’ll get you changed around. No messing around with your pampers, okay? Look, I know all about horny teenagers, young man. And I’m sure we all know what you want to do with Lindsey once you’re alone here in bed. So we’re just going to put a couple of wraps of tape around your pampers, just to keep things all protected and safe, okay? No unwanted pregnancies in our household - at least, not on my watch!

“Wait… where are you going? Oh, you want to go home already? Such a pity that the door might have locked behind me… Now, why don’t you come on over here so we can get you changed around, hmm?”

Image Credit: ABDreams.com

In the hushed glow of their 1980s nursery, where a glowing Care Bears nightlight cast pastel stars across the walls and the faint click of a wind-up mobile played *Frère Jacques*, Mommy sat in her oak rocking chair, prairie dress pooled like whipped cream around her thighs, bonnet framing her soft curls. Her little man—now permanently reduced to “Baby”—knelt on the shag carpet, taped into an extra-thick overnight diaper printed with tiny rocking horses, the plastic tabs sealed with pink duct tape so he could never undo them himself. Six months ago he’d thrown a grown-up tantrum over her rules; tonight marked the start of forever. No more big-boy underwear, no touching, no release—only warm, squishy peepee and poopoo messes that Mommy changed when *she* felt like it.

I'm to be thickly diapered all day as a grounding punishment, and of course that means staying in my pajamas that accentuate my padding ; (

If I'm lucky and don't misbehave I *might* get changed into a new diaper before bedtime. It's just very unfair >:T

As Anna sipped her glass of wine in the easy chair, a pleased, satisfied smile slowly began to appear across the features of her very pretty face. She twirled her long, silky dark hair in her free hand as she gazed off toward the hallway, listening intently. In the room next over, the harsh, rhythmic slaps of a hard wooden paddle could be distinctly heard, swatting the tender bare bottom of Francis, her neighbor's teen-aged sissy boy. His mother had left the door wide open, so that every crisp swat of the paddle, every sobbing howl of the boy being so thoroughly punished, could be easily heard.

And howl he did. With Francis' high-pitched voice, he sounded more like a five year-old schoolgirl than the young man he really was.

And while Anna couldn't actually see the tears now streaming down his face, she could plainly hear the penitent tone of his crying, accompanied by the hard, angry swats of his mommy's paddle on his soft, youthful bottom. To be sure, he was now regretting his earlier bluster and rudeness towards Anna. That, and his quite silly claim when he had boasted that he didn't need to wear diapers for bedtime. She had laughed out loud at him when he had said it but his mommy had taken a much more serious view of it. Now he was in his nursery, prissy shorts and panties down, bent over her lap, and getting a much needed lesson in truthfulness and manners.

Occasionally, the spanking was interrupted so that his mommy could make a specific point to her errant son. This was always followed by a particularly hard swat from her paddle to emphasize her remarks, in which Francis let out another piteous howl of pain. Anna could easily imagine him, crimson bottom in the air as his feet kicked and thrashed about wildly, his panties tangled around his ankles, helpless to stop the assault on his stinging, defenseless cheeks. The paddle would be leaving fresh, angry marks on his buns with each blistering smack, until the entire surface was a hot, blazing inferno of cherry redness.

At long last, the humiliating punishment was finally over. All that could be heard now were Francis' sobs and crying as his mommy dressed him for bed. It took about five minutes, during which time, Anna patiently sipped from her wine.

With his mommy leading him by the hand back out of his nursery like a little child, Anna beamed with amusement as she took in his humiliating makeover. It was a sniffling and defeated sissy that now stood before her, all of his previous bluster, a thing of the past. Gone was the delicate silk blouse he had been wearing before. Now he had on a short, frilly fleece top decorated with bunnies and giraffes that barely extended to his navel and a hem ending with a flouncy white ruffle. The top's overall pink color was set off by the short puffy white sleeves that accented his toneless, skinny arms. On his feet were lacy pink anklets, giving him the further look of little girly-ness.

But what really stood out was the big, fat, bulky diaper now securely and shamefully pinned around his narrow hips. It was quite wide between his smooth, hairless legs and it forced him to toddle about with a very baby-like waddle. The thickness of his diapers hinted that a long night of wetting likely awaited the incontinent boy. His shiny white nursery print plastic panties covering his diapers were stretched to the limit; they were snug, yet well fitted, and his mommy had taken great care to make sure all of the voluminous cotton cloth was contained within them.

As he stood before her, still sniffling, he stared at the floor in abject shame while he held his stuffed teddy bear in his hand and a baby bottle filled with warm milk in the other. His cheeks and neck were blushing a deep shade of red and he couldn't bear to make eye contact with his stunning next-door neighbor.

Looking him up and down closely, she smiled and crossed her sexy, shapely legs, dangling a high heel within his field of vision.

"Francis would like to make a confession to you," his mommy announced, standing alongside him with a chart of some kind in her hand, "Go ahead, honey...what do you say to Miss Anna." Anna smiled sweetly and sat up forward to better look at the emasculated sissy. "Yes Francis--what would you like to tell me?" she asked sweetly.

He swallowed hard and tried to clear his throat. "I...um...ah..."

Never having been seen before by his neighbor while wearing his shameful nighttime diapers was absolutely mortifying for the bedwetting teenager. And her having been such an intimate witness to his spanking only made matters worse. He could only hope the floor might suddenly open up and swallow him, abruptly ending his humiliating misery.

"Honey, talk to Miss Anna--not the floor," his mommy chided him as he shuffled his feet.

His face blushed an even deeper shade of red as he looked up into his pretty neighbor's chestnut eyes. She smiled back at him with expectation but underlying that was a smug confidence and superiority from having just seen him be so thoroughly put in his place by his mommy.

"I hafta wear diapers at night," he mumbled, the embarrassment nearly overwhelming him as tears of shame welled in his eyes.

"And why is that, Francis honey?" she asked innocently. "Um....cause, um...I'm a be-bedwetter," he replied, once more staring at the floor.

Anna reached her slim, finely manicured hand over and gently patted the fat, bulging seat of his diapers, feeling for herself, the smooth plastic panties that would be retaining all his wetness tonight. Her other hand went to his chin, delicately raising it and forcing him to look her in the eyes. "And is that why you sleep in a crib with a waterproof mattress cover on it?" she asked tenderly.

He cringed as she made mention of his shameful bed meant for a baby. "Yes, Ma'am," he replied between sniffles as he blushed anew.

He had so wanted to keep this a secret from this woman he had come to idolize since she had first moved in next door last month. But now all the terrible secrets of his sissy lifestyle had been fully exposed to her, revealing just what a simpering pantywaist he truly was.

"Well. Now wasn't that easier than getting your little bottom spanked, hmm?" she asked the humiliated boy.

"Yes Ma'am."

Once more, she gently patted his thickly diapered bottom maternally, looking into his eyes which only made him squirm even more uncomfortably before her. "Francis also wanted to show you his bedwetting chart," his mommy volunteered as she held the grease-board up with a monthly calendar superimposed in it. "The Ws represent every morning that Francis has woken up with a wet diaper. As you can see, he hasn't had a dry night the entire month." The object of her discussion bit his lip and stood fidgeting, his cheeks burning brightly with acute embarrassment as his childish habit was revealed before this beautiful young woman.

"Well, it certainly looks like you belong in diapers, Francis. Maybe when I come over to babysit you, I'll just get you changed--first thing," Anna suggested. Francis shook his head vehemently.

"No! I don't wet during the day," he protested in his whiny, high pitched voice.

"I'm not so sure..." she said uncertainly, "I think just to be on the safe side, I'll put you into your diapers and plastic panties as soon as I come over. Especially since you have such cute panties to wear," she giggled as she fingered the pretty lace around the leg holes of his vinyl underwear.

"Mommy!" he cried desperately, "don't let her do it!"

She crossed her arms over her chest and scowled down at her diapered sissy son.

"When she's babysitting you--she's in charge, Francis. That'll be up to her. "And maybe if you were diapered during the day, that might give you more incentive to stop wetting your bed during the night," she reflected.

"Come along baby," Anna said as she stood up, towering over the diminutive boy in her high heels, "it's beddie-bye time for you now. Let's tuck you into your crib and then it will be lights out."

Her voice had taken on a tone of voice reserved for ordering around toddlers as she led the defeated, spanked sissy back into his nursery. Waddling awkwardly, Francis pouted but he let her take his hand as she led him into the warmly lit room he spent much of his time in.

Taking a moment to marvel at the furnishings, Anna paused as she took in the full-sized crib, painted in pink with white trim, the similarly painted dresser, stocked with a row of dolls along the top, and a low, sturdy changing table covered with practical, waterproof vinyl, along with stacks of diapers and plastic panties. The faint but stale smell of pee-soaked diapers could be discerned from a large plastic diaper pail in the far corner, despite it's closed top. There could be no doubt that a bedwetter slept in this room. Lastly, frilly pink curtains diffused the light coming in from the single window and Anna caught sight of the polished, well used wooden Spencer paddle hanging up next to the dresser.

She led him over to the crib and pulled back his baby blankets, tucking him in and making sure his teddy bear was close by to snuggle with. As she smoothed his ruffled blond hair out of his eyes, he didn't even notice as she coaxed the rubber nipple of his baby bottle between his lips and urged him in her sweet gentle voice to nurse on it.

"That's it, baby, sweet sissy dreams...night-nite."

Here it is, folks - the current (as of Dec. 2019) listing of links to all the parts of the various multi-part series I’ve created so far. Thanks to @carneliannobility for the suggestion - I hope it’s useful to my readers!

Oh, and just let me know if I’ve forgotten anything! 😁

Amelia’s Baby Shower:

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII

The Crinkle/The Waddle:

Part I | Part II

Daphne’s Diapered Depilation:

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVI | Part XVII | Part XVIII | Part XIX

The Date:

Part 1 | Part II

Doctor Wissler, or, How I Learned to Stop Smoking and Love the Diaper:

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Epilogue

Mile-High Baby:

Part I | Part II

Mrs. Stratford’s New Baby Sitter:

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVI | Part XVII | Part XVIII | Part XIX | Part XX

Music Lessons:

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

Pomona the Diaper Disciplinarian:

Part I | Part II | Part III

Purple Prose: