Bug Guy

The plastic crinkles softly as you shift on the couch, your pull-up and your wet shirt clinging to your skin after another sticky accident. The wetness indicator is a dark, mocking blue, and the fabric is sticky between your legs… again. You can still feel the remnants of your last "cummies," the way your hips had bucked helplessly into the padding, the way the pull-up had failed to contain you. The sticky, embarrassing aftermath had been impossible to hide, and Mommy had seen. Of course she had.

Now, she sits beside you, her expression a mix of exasperation and something softer, something that makes your stomach twist. She’s holding two things: a sleek, black penis cage, its cold metal glinting in the lamplight, and a thick, baby-blue diaper,  like an invitation. Your throat goes dry.

“You’re at a crossroads, baby,” Mommy says, her voice gentle but firm. “You can’t keep going like this. Pull-ups weren’t made for this kind of use.” She taps the cage against her palm, the sound sharp. “Option one: You stay in pull-ups, but you wear this. No more humping, no more stickies. Your little penis stays locked away, and you’ll learn to behave.” She lets the words sink in, her fingers tracing the edge of the cage. “No more sticky surprises, no more ruined t-shirts. But…” She tilts her head, her tone shifting to something almost teasing. “No more cummies either. Not like you’ve been having, anyway.”

Your face burns. You know what she means. The way you’d grind into the padding, the way your body would tremble as you chased that forbidden pleasure, the way the pull-up would give way under the pressure. The cage looks so final.

 wrist. The padding is thick, the kind that would swallow your hips whole, the kind that would hold everything, pee, messes, cummies, without a single leak. “Option two: You switch to diapers. Full time. No cage, no restrictions. Your cute penis stays free… but it stays in the diaper.” Her lips quirk. “You can hump all you want, baby. You can make as many messes as your little heart desires. And I promise you, these won’t leak.” She gives the diaper a little shake, the crinkle loud in the quiet room. “But you’ll look like what you are. A baby. A good, thick, diapered baby. A good, thick, diapered baby who will never sit on the potty again.”

The thought sends a shiver down your spine. The diaper is so obvious. So undeniable. Everyone would know. But then again… the cage is worse, isn’t it? The idea of being locked away, of never feeling that release again, makes your chest tighten.

Mommy watches you, her eyes knowing. “So. What’s it going to be, baby?” She holds out both options, one in each hand. “Do you want to be restrained… or do you want to be free?”

Your fingers twitch toward the diaper. The cage is a prison. But the diaper… the diaper is a promise. A promise of warmth, of safety, of never having to hide what you are. Of being able to give in, completely.

You swallow hard. “I… I want to be free, Mommy.”

Her smile is slow, satisfied. “Good boy.” She sets the cage aside and brings the diaper closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Now, let’s get you diapered.”

(short work of md/lb fiction. all characters are CONSENTING ADULTS!!! i do not condone minors in kink!!! also this is shamelessly indulgent bc messy middle boys have been my kryptonite lately ugh!!!!!)

when i walked into the living room, i immediately smelled something funny. riley was laying on his tummy on the floor playing video games, wearing his pokemon pajamas with a blue pullup peeking through the pants waistband.

he’d told me he was feeling like a big boy that night, big enough to skip the diaper and onesie that i sometimes put him in for bedtime.

i’d allowed it, simply because i loved seeing him like this in a pullup and his cute lil pjs. especially with his messy hair and sleepy eyes as he played his game, a content expression on his face.

“hi baby,” i said when i walked in. “how’s your game?”

“it’s good!!! i’m about to beat this boss!”

“you’re so good at that one! does it smell a little weird in here to you?” i asked, frowning as i leaned against the doorframe.

riley shifted slightly, and suddenly i could see the lump in the back of his seat. i knew just from a glance, his pullup should not be looking that full.

“baby…” i said, kneeling down on the floor next to him.

“what, mama?” he looked up at me sleepily as i rubbed his back.

“you’re a little stinky. did you poop?”

he paused his game, then looked over his shoulder at his full pullup underneath his pajama pants.

“oh, um… i guess i did.”

“you didn’t even realize?”

he blushed, and reached a hand back to feel the back of his pullup. he blushed even darker when he felt his mess.

“i guess i was so focused on my game, i didn’t really notice i was going…”

“oh honey… you didn’t even know you were going poopy?”

he hid his face in his hands.

“mmph, i guess i didn’t.”

“can you let me check you, please?”

he hesitated, then shook his head.

“no?” i asked.

he made an embarassed sound, something between a giggle and a whine. his cheeks were scarlet.

“you can, mom. i’m just embarassed. i can’t believe i didn’t even know i was… going.”

“that’s never happened before, huh?”

he whined. “never. i’m usually big enough to know if i need to go number two.”

“you usually are, but it’s okay. accidents happen, okay?”

“okay, mom,” riley said, his voice small.

“let’s just have a lil looksie.”

with riley still laying on his tummy, i pulled his pajama pants off so he was just in his pokemon t-shirt and pullup.

i rubbed his back gently, keeping him grounded and soothed while i checked his pullup. i didn’t even need to — there was no hiding what he’d done.

“that’s not even a little accident,” i giggled, feeling the back of riley’s pullup. “this is a full-up, huh? and you couldn’t even feel this while you were gaming?”

riley giggled, but it sounded more like a moan. “mooooom, stop. i feel it now.”

“i bet.” i laughed, patting his bum.

“are you gonna change me?” riley asked, looking up at me hopefully. no matter how much of a “middle” riley was, he always loved the intimacy of changes.

“yes, silly. you’re not going to sleep like that.” i kept rubbing his back. “can you stand up for me so we can go change you in the bathroom? i have a feeling this is gonna be a yucky change.”

he nodded, carefully standing up and shuffling to the bathroom.

“get your stuff ready for me, okay, riley?” i called down the hall to him.

he nodded.

when i made my way to the bathroom, riley was standing patiently with his changing mat on the bathroom floor, his wipes and barrier cream next to a clean pullup.

god, i loved him exactly like this. obedient and sweet and eager for my touch, my care. standing there waiting for direction, in his rawest and most vulnerable.

my sweet 26 year old boyfriend who was also just a little boy in a messy pullup. i loved that i got to have both sides of him.

“thank you, sweet boy. how’s that full-up feel?” i teased, squishing his bum lightly.

“oh, mom,” he whimpered, head falling to my shoulder. “it feels…really full.”

“i bet,” i giggled. “let’s get you out of that.”

“thank you.”

riley carefully laid down on his changing mat, looking up at me with adoration.

“sweet, sweet boy. you look so beautiful like this. you ready to get all clean?”

“yes please, mom.”

changes were one of my favorite times to show affection, just showering riley with kisses and gentle rubs and caresses over his chest and tummy, before finally tackling his pullup.

i helped riley get all cleaned up, watching his sweet expressions the whole time. i loved how squirmy and blushy he got.

after disposing of all the trash, i paused to wash my hands. then i held up the clean pullup riley had selected.

“you think you can handle another pullup after that full-up you just made?”

riley turned as red as a lobster.

“hmm?” i coaxed an answer from him.

“no, mama. probably not.”

“that’s right, probably not. what do you think you need instead? can you tell me?”

riley whimpered while i teased him. “…a diaper.” he finally said.

“that’s right, let’s try a diaper tonight. maybe if you can keep it clean, we can give pullies a try again tomorrow. sound fair?”

riley nodded.

For sure! And thank you!

First off, it's a good idea to lightly fluff, and fold a diaper lengthwise. This will make the absorbency and fit better.

Second, find the leak guards, and make sure they are standing on their own, not stuck to the diaper. This will help keep you from leaking later on.

Third, place the diaper under you (if you're laying down). Or behind you (if you're standing up).

Fourth, grab the front half of the diaper, underneath where the wings start flaring outward. (Kinda where the crotch is). And fold it in half, length wise.

Fifth, pull the front of the diaper up between your legs while still folding the diaper length wise. (This helps make a place for accidents to go, so you don't leak. Very important.)

Sixth, while holding the front of the diaper to your tummy with one arm, use the other to grab a wing, pull a tape off, and place it.

Seventh, switch arms, grab the opposite wing, find the same tape as the other side, pull it off, and place it at the same level as the other tape you just did. (Important)

Eighth, do those same steps for the other set of tapes. (Top or bottom).

Ninth, adjust the wings underneath. You'll do this by finding the wing underneath the outside layer of the diaper with two fingers, and pulling it towards your backside both on the top of the diaper, and bottom, on both sides. Sorry if that sounds complicating, but I can't explain it any better.

Tenth, make sure theres two creases forming a V shape, starting from between your legs, up and out towards your hips in the wings underneath the outside layer of the diaper. (Important because this will help reduce sharp edges, and bunching of the wings later on. Also Important because it helps it fit lot better, and helps keep the tapes from digging into your hips).

Eleventh, move the top tapes on the landing panel of the diaper up until the top of the wings are level with the top of the front of the diaper. (Make sure the tapes are even on both sides. Sometimes a diaper can be cut wrong, and one wing may be higher than the other. That's okay, just match the tapes.)

Twelfth, bring the bottom tapes up to just below the top tapes. (If you get thigh chafe from the bottom tapes, you can place the bottom tapes underneath the top tapes. You just have to move one top tape up on one side, then move the bottom one to where you think the top tape will cover (no more than half) of the bottom tape. Then move the top tape to the original position it was in. If you cant remember, just reference the opposite tape. Do that again with the other side so everything matches on both sides.

Thirteenth, you'll want to make sure the leak guards and leg gathers are positioned properly. Just run your fingers through the leg holes of the diaper to make the the leak guards stand up up straight. And the leg gathers should lay flat against your legs. You don't want them to be bunched up or they will chafe, and cause leaks.

Fourteenth, while you're down there adjusting the leg gathers and leak guards, try and push out that crease in between the legs much as you can. You won't be able to fully get rid of it, but the effort helps make room for accidents later on, and it will help make things more comfortable.

That should be it! Some final adjustments of the tapes, and folding of the inner wings could help settle things in further at this point, but aren't super necessary.

“Honey, can you just get in the shower with Mommy? You can leave your pull-up on the floor for now. Just put it on top of you pants, okay?”

She reaches for the shampoo while he steps out of his pants and wet pull-up. When he pulls back the curtain to get in the shower she can tell that he’s feeling shy, thumb tracing his lips and eyes downcast.

“Come here. You get under the water while I leave my shampoo in, okay?” She picks up the soap and starts to rub it onto her hands. “Ohh…did you still need to pee more?”

He looks down at the stream steadily flowing onto the bathtub and down the drain. “Oh…maybe.”

‘Maybe’ is a little silly when both of them can see that he’s going.

“Can I get your armpits while we wait for you to finish? It was hot today and I know you got sweaty playing in the yard.”

He nods. Now his thumb is all the way in his mouth.

“Okay, are you all done?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“Did you just get in the shower right away because I told you to?”

“Yeah…”

“You are soo good. But you know that you can finish in the potty if you need to, right?”

“I was just listening to Mommy.”

“Right. You were being good. But, like I said, just tell me if you need to go potty more, okay? It’s not a big deal this time because we’re in the shower. But remember when you went pee again after I told you to change into new pants?”

He nods.

“Can you tell me what happened? Turn around so I can get your butt.”

“I forgot I needed to go pee and I was doing the dishes. And then I couldn’t ignore it and it started to just come out when I was almost to the bathroom.”

“Did your pants get wet?”

“Umm…yeah.”

“Did you go potty in your pull-up while you were outside today?”

“Ummm…”

“Yes?”

“I was crouching down to look at a flower and maybe umm…”

“Maybe you went a little bit?” She turns him back around. “I think I should have been out there supervising you is what I’m hearing.”

“Yeah, maybe…”

“Okay, let me rinse my hair and then we’ll dry off.”

She turns off the water and he reaches out to get their towels.

“Do you need a little bit more protection than pull-ups?”

“I think mommies decide that, right, not babies?”

“That’s true. Here, can I get your back for you? You got your shirt wet when you dried off by yourself yesterday.”

He blushes and turns around. Then they step out onto the tile and he picks up his pull-up and pants.

“Do you know what to do with those?”

“Throw this part away…and put these in the laundry?”

“That’s right.”

“And then get my changing mat, right?”

“Uh-huh. And what else?”

“Umm…put it down in the bedroom and get wipes and…”

“And what? I think you know that Mommy knows what you should be wearing if you’re going to pee yourself.”

Photo-credit: @toreabdl The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the cracked pavement of the quiet suburban street. Liam revved the engine of his sleek black motorcycle, the deep throttle rumbling like a growl as he leaned against the handlebars. His red and black jersey clung to his torso, the fabric damp with sweat from the summer heat. He felt invincible, young, fast, and untouchable. The world was his, and everyone else was just in his way.

That’s when he saw her.

A middle-aged woman, her dark hair streaked with silver, stood on the sidewalk, a grocery bag in each hand. She wore a simple floral dress and sensible shoes, the picture of mundane respectability. But as Liam rolled to a stop at the crosswalk, he didn’t see a person. He saw an obstacle.

“Move it, lady,” he called out, his voice dripping with impatience. “I ain’t got all day.”

The woman didn’t flinch. She simply stepped onto the crosswalk, her pace unhurried, as if his words were nothing more than a breeze. Liam scoffed, revving the engine again, the noise echoing off the nearby houses. “Hey! I said move!” he snapped, his voice sharper this time.

The woman finally turned her head, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Somebody’s forgotten their place,” she muttered, just loud enough for him to hear.

Liam barked out a laugh. “My place? Lady, my place is anywhere I damn well please.” He flicked his wrist, accelerating slightly, the motorcycle lurching forward as if to emphasize his point.

But then... something felt off.

A strange pressure had settled between his legs, a warmth that hadn’t been there a moment ago. His brow furrowed as he glanced down, his fingers loosening on the handlebars. The black fabric of his shorts looked… wrong. The material was bulging in a way it never had before, the seams straining against something thick and padded beneath.

His breath hitched.

That’s not...

Liam’s hands flew to his waistband, yanking the fabric down in one sharp motion. His eyes widened, his mouth falling open as he stared at the sight before him. There, snug against his skin, was a diaper. Not just any diaper, this was a babyish one, white with pastel blue stripes and tiny cartoon animals printed along the edges. The plastic backing crinkled loudly as he fumbled with it, the sound unmistakable, humiliating.

“W-what the...?!” he stammered, his voice cracking. His fingers trembled as he poked at the thick padding. “This...this isn’t...!”

The woman’s laughter rang out, rich and amused. She set her grocery bags down on the sidewalk, crossing her arms as she watched his panic unfold. “Oh, sweetie,” she said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “Looks like someone needs a reminder of where they belong.”

Liam’s face burned. He yanked at the diaper, but it was fastened tight, the tabs refusing to budge under his frantic fingers. The more he struggled, the more the crinkling filled the air, the sound bouncing off the pavement like a cruel joke.

“N-no, no, no...” he muttered, his voice rising in pitch. He kicked at the ground, his boots scuffing against the asphalt. “This isn’t happening! I... I don’t wear these!”

The woman chuckled, shaking her head. “Oh, but you do now, don’t you? Deep down, where it counts.” She tilted her head, her grin widening. “That little voice in your head? The one that likes the idea of being taken care of? The one that wants to be put in your place?” She tsked. “You can’t lie to me, Liam. I know.”

Liam’s breath came in short, sharp gasps. He looked around wildly, as if someone might appear to tell him this was all a mistake. But the street was empty. Just him, the woman, and the undeniable truth now wrapped around his waist.

His shoulders slumped. The fight drained out of him as quickly as it had come. His fingers, still trembling, finally gave up their futile struggle against the diaper’s tabs. He swallowed hard, his throat dry.

“P-please…” he whispered, his voice small. “I...I just want to go home.”

The woman’s laughter softened, though her eyes still sparkled with mischief. “Home to Daddy, I assume?” She nodded toward the end of the street, where a bright red tricycle sat propped against a lamppost, its plastic seat gleaming in the sunlight. “Seems like someone left that there just for you.”

Liam’s face flushed even deeper. He wanted to argue, to demand an explanation, to rage. But the diaper was undeniable. The tricycle was undeniable. And the way his heart had leapt at the mention of Daddy that was the most undeniable truth of all.

With a defeated sigh, he swung his leg over the motorcycle seat, wincing as the diaper crinkled loudly beneath him. He dismounted, his movements stiff, his pride in tatters. The woman watched, her grin never wavering, as he shuffled toward the tricycle, his head bowed.

The plastic seat was bright red. He hesitated for only a second before hoisting himself onto it, his legs bending awkwardly to reach the pedals. The diaper crinkled with every movement, a constant, humiliating reminder of his new reality.

“Good boy,” the woman said, her voice thick with amusement. “Off you go, then. Don’t keep Daddy waiting.”

Liam didn’t look back. He couldn’t. His face burned with shame, but beneath it, beneath the embarrassment and the confusion, there was something else. A flicker of… acceptance. A warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the summer heat.

He began to pedal, the tricycle wobbling slightly as he found his balance. The woman’s laughter followed him, echoing in his ears as he made his slow, crinkly way down the street.

And as he turned the corner, he could’ve sworn he heard her mutter, just loud enough for the wind to carry it to him:

The nursery was bathed in the soft, golden glow of the lamp on the changing table, casting long shadows across the walls. The air smelled faintly of baby powder and lavender, the scent of bedtime rituals and comfort. You’d been clingy all evening, following Mommy from room to room, your arms wrapped around her legs, your voice small and whiny as you begged for just one more story, one more cuddle. She’d indulged you, of course, but now it was time for bed. And bedtime meant one thing: a fresh diaper.

You lay on the changing table, the padded surface cool against your bare back. The plastic sheet crinkled beneath you as you shifted, your legs kicking restlessly. Mommy stood beside you, her hands deft as she unfastened the tapes of your soaked diaper. The wet padding sagged as she peeled it away, the cool air hitting your skin and making you shiver. You bit your lip, your face already warm with embarrassment. You knew she could see how flushed you were, how your body had already started to react to her touch.

“Mmm, someone’s a little excited tonight,” Mommy murmured, her voice thick with amusement. She wiped you down with a warm, damp cloth, her fingers lingering just a second too long as she cleaned you. You squirmed, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Her touch was gentle but deliberate, tracing circles over your hips, down your thighs, and then… oh… there. You gasped as her fingers brushed against you, your body betraying you instantly. She chuckled, low and knowing. “Look at you. Such a needy boy for Mommy.”

You wanted to protest, to tell her to stop, but the words died in your throat. Instead, you just whimpered, your fingers clutching at the edges of the changing table. She powdered you next, the puff of white dust billowing into the air before settling onto your skin. The scent was thick, babyish, and it only made the moment feel more intimate, more real. You were at her mercy, and she knew it.

Mommy reached for the fresh diaper, unfolding it with a practiced flick of her wrists. It was thick, extra thick, the kind that would make you waddle when you walked, the kind that would crinkle with every movement. She slid it beneath you, the plastic backing cool and smooth against your skin. But she didn’t tape it up. Not yet.

Instead, her hand found its way to the front of the diaper, her fingers pressing down through the dry padding. You let out a broken sound, your hips jerking up off the table. “Does this feel nice, baby?” she asked, her voice dripping with amusement. You nodded frantically, your face burning. You hated how much you loved it, how your body arched into her touch without a second thought. Her fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles, the pressure just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Mommy’s going to take such good care of you,” she cooed, her other hand pressing down on your hip to keep you still. “But you have to be a good boy for me. Can you do that?” You nodded again, your voice lost somewhere between a whimper and a plea. Her fingers worked you through the diaper, the padding muffling the sound of her touch but doing nothing to dull the sensation. If anything, it made it better, the way the plastic crinkled, the way the thickness of the diaper pressed back against you, trapping you in the moment.

Your hips started to lift off the table, your body moving on its own, grinding into her hand. She let you, her smile widening as she watched you unravel. “That’s it,” she murmured. “Show Mommy how much you love your Pampers.” Her fingers picked up speed, her touch firm and unyielding. You could feel it building, coiling tight in your stomach, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The diaper crinkled loudly with every movement, the sound filling the room, a constant reminder of what you were, who you belonged to.

“P-please,” you managed to choke out, your voice trembling. You didn’t even know what you were begging for, more, less, something, but Mommy seemed to understand. She leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Shhh, baby. Mommy’s got you.” Her hand didn’t stop. If anything, it moved faster, her fingers pressing harder, her touch demanding. You were lost in it, in her, in the way your body responded so eagerly to her command.

And then… It hit you like a wave. Your back arched off the table, your fingers clawing at the padded surface as your body tensed. A gasp tore from your throat, your hips jerking wildly as you spilled your seed into the diaper, the padding growing warm and sticky beneath you. You collapsed back against the table, your chest heaving, your face flushed and damp with sweat. The diaper was a mess, your mess, and the realization of it sent another shudder through you.

Mommy finally taped up the diaper, her movements slow and deliberate as she secured the tabs. She patted your thigh, her touch lingering. “There we go,” she said, her voice soft but laced with satisfaction. “All sticky for bedtime.” She lifted you off the table, cradling you against her chest. You could feel the weight of the diaper between your legs, the warmth of your release seeping into the padding. It was humiliating. It was perfect.

She carried you to your crib, tucking you in with a kiss to your forehead. “Now you remember how much you love your diapers, don’t you?” she whispered, her fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. You nodded, your cheeks still burning, your body still trembling from the aftershocks. She smiled, pulling the blanket up to your chin. “Good boy. Sleep tight.”

The email had been sitting in your inbox for three days. "Urgent Call: Pampers Men Commercial Casting." You’d laughed when Sarah first showed it to you, tossing your phone onto the couch like it was a joke. "Yeah, right. Like I’d ever do that." But she’d just smirked, her fingers already tapping away on her laptop, pulling up the details. "Babe, it’s five grand for a day’s work. And you’d be perfect for it."

You’d rolled your eyes. "Perfect for a diaper commercial? Really?"

Sarah had just grinned. "You’re hot, you’re confident, and you’ve got that whole ‘all-American jock’ thing going on. They want someone who looks like he’s never worn a diaper. Irony sells, baby."

You’d scoffed, but the number had stuck in your head. Five thousand dollars. That was rent for two months. A new set of weights for your home gym. A weekend in Vegas with the guys. And all you had to do was… this.

Now, standing under the blinding studio lights, the reality of it hits you like a sack of bricks. The diaper is thicker than you expected. Not just a thin pad, but a full, crinkling monstrosity that swallows your ass whole. The tape is snug, the leg holes tight around your thighs, and every time you shift, the plastic rustles like a damn announcement: "Look at me. I’m wearing a diaper."

The set is designed to look like a cozy living room, plush couch, a coffee table with a half-empty mug, a TV playing some generic sitcom in the background. But the real focus is the oversized baby blanket spread out on the floor, right in the center of the shot. Your spot. Your throne.

Sarah sits in a director’s chair, her legs crossed, a smirk playing on her lips. She’s loving this. You can tell. She’s the one who pushed for you to take the job, who drove you here this morning, who whispered "You’re gonna do great, baby" as they led you to wardrobe. And now she’s watching you like this is the most entertaining thing she’s ever seen.

The director, a no-nonsense woman in her fifties named Linda, claps her hands. "Alright, Jake. Let’s get you in position. We’re going for ‘relaxed.’ Like you’re at home, just lounging in your diaper. Natural. Comfortable."

You force a laugh. "Yeah, because that’s exactly how I spend my Sundays."

Linda doesn’t even crack a smile. "Just follow the script. You’ll do fine."

The script. Right. The script that involves you sitting on a blanket, bouncing your knees, and pretending like this is normal. Like any red-blooded American guy would choose to spend his afternoon in a diaper, sipping juice from a sippy cup.

The camera starts rolling. The voiceover begins, smooth and reassuring: "Tired of accidents getting in the way of your life? Pampers for Men: because even the strongest guys need a little extra protection."

You’re supposed to react—laugh, look embarrassed, then embrace it. So you do. You force a grin, shifting your weight from foot to foot, letting the diaper crinkle loudly under your shorts. The sound echoes in the studio, and you can feel the crew’s eyes on you. A few of them are trying not to laugh. One guy in the back is outright smirking.

"Cut!" Linda calls. "Jake, you look like you’re about to bolt for the door. We need happy. We need confident."

Sarah stands up, walking over to you. She presses a hand to your chest, her fingers tracing the hem of your shirt. "Babe, you’re tensing up. Relax. It’s just a diaper." She leans in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Besides, it’s not like you’re the only one."

You raise an eyebrow. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

She smirks. "Haven’t you noticed? The world’s changing. Guys are starting to… accept things." She gestures vaguely around the studio. "Hell, I bet half the women here have a boyfriend or a husband who wears at least pull-ups now. It’s trendy."

You scoff. "Trendy? Since when?"

"Since now," she says, poking your chest. "Since companies realized there’s a market for it. Since women realized they like taking care of their men. Since guys like you realized it’s easier to just… let go."

You open your mouth to argue, but Linda cuts in. "Jake, we’re rolling again. This time, commit."

The second take is worse.

This time, they want you to sit. Not just stand there, shifting uncomfortably, but plop your ass down on that ridiculous blanket, legs splayed, the diaper on full display. You hesitate, but the script says to do it, so you lower yourself down, the padding squishing beneath you. The crinkle is deafening. The crew laughs. Your face burns.

The voiceover continues, "Pampers for Men: because real strength is knowing when to let go."

And then… it happens.

A warmth spreads through the padding, slow and inevitable. You freeze. No. No, no, no. But it’s too late. The wetness indicators darken, the heat seeping into the gel core, the diaper swelling even more between your legs. The crew erupts into applause. Linda grins. "Perfect! That’s the shot!"

Sarah claps, her laughter ringing out. "Oh my god, Jake, you actually peed!" Her voice is a mix of delight and teasing, and you can feel your face turning red.

The camera stops rolling, but the damage is done. The diaper is heavy, sagging with the proof of your humiliation. And the worst part? No one seems shocked. No one’s horrified. If anything, they’re impressed.

Linda steps forward, adjusting your shirt. "That was exactly what we needed. Authentic. Relatable." She pats your shoulder. "You’re a natural, Jake."

Sarah crouches in front of you, her eyes sparkling. She presses a hand to your soaked diaper, her fingers tracing the swollen padding. "See? Not so bad, is it?" Her voice is soft, almost proud. "You look so cute like this. I bet you could get used to it."

You open your mouth to protest, but the words die in your throat. Because as you sit there, dripping, the weight of the diaper between your legs doesn’t feel wrong. It feels… right. The warmth, the security, the way Sarah’s looking at you like you’re hers… it’s intoxicating.

Lunch break. You’re still in the diaper, For continuity," Linda had said, sitting on a folding chair in the corner of the studio, a sandwich in one hand, a juice box in the other. The crew is scattered around, some eating, some scrolling on their phones. A few of them keep glancing your way, smirking.

Sarah plops down next to you, stealing a fry from your plate. "So. What do you think?"

You take a bite of your sandwich, chewing slowly. "I think I just made a fool of myself in front of a room full of strangers."

She laughs. "You loved it."

"I did not."

"Liar." She nudges your shoulder. "You felt it. The way it… fits." She gestures to your lap. "Admit it. It’s nice. Not having to worry about anything."

You want to argue, but the truth is, she’s not wrong. There’s something… freeing about it. No pressure. No expectations. Just the thick padding, the snug fit, the way it holds you.

A guy from the lighting team walks by, nodding at you. "Nice work, man. My brother wears ‘em. Says it’s the best decision he ever made."

You blink. "Your… brother?"

He shrugs. "Yeah. Started with pull-ups, then moved to full diapers. His girlfriend loves it. Says he’s way more relaxed now." He grins. "Plus, no more laundry stains, you know?"

You stare at him, your sandwich forgotten in your hand. "That’s… a thing?"

"Oh yeah," he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "You’d be surprised how many guys are switching over. One at a time, you know? Like a… I dunno, a movement."

Sarah smirks. "Told you."

The afternoon drags on. More takes. More sitting. More crinkling. By the fifth hour, you’ve stopped caring about the crew’s laughter. You’ve stopped caring about the camera. You’ve even stopped caring about the fact that you’re soaking wet and have been for most of the day.

Because here’s the thing: It feels good.

Not just the diaper, the attention. The way Sarah keeps touching you, adjusting your shirt, whispering in your ear. The way Linda keeps praising you, telling you you’re nailing it. The way the crew has gone from smirking at you to… respecting you. Like you’re part of some exclusive club.

By the final take, you’re bouncing on the blanket, laughing as the voiceover plays for the hundredth time. "Pampers for Men: because even the strongest guys need a little extra protection." You’re not acting anymore. You’re living it.

And when Linda finally calls "That’s a wrap!" and the crew starts packing up, you don’t move. You just sit there, the wet diaper clinging to you, the blanket beneath you, the rightness of it all settling into your bones.

Sarah kneels in front of you, her hands on your knees. "So… what do you think? Ready to sign a permanent contract?"

You look down at yourself, the soaked padding, the way it clings to you, the way it shouldn’t feel so good.

This isn’t just a commercial.

"Seriously, Maddie? Again?!" She sighs as she pulls back the comforter on my side of the bed.

I blush at the tell-tale white streaks staining our black sheets.

"We talked about this. Masturbation is a disgusting habit! And doing it in bed? While you're sleeping next to me? And leaving a mess for me to clean up..."

She walks up to me, livid, reaches up, and yanks me by the ear.

"Well, I've fucking had it. I'm done cleaning disgusting, cum stains of my sheets because you have the self control of a toddler."

(this is a work of md/lb fiction. all characters are consenting adults!!)

inspired by a lovely lil guy 🍯🐻 he knows who he is! thanks for the inspiration, honey

“how was your day?” i asked sam when he walked in our apartment in his work clothes, dropping his bags and slumping over to me. i wrapped my arms around him and he buried his face in my neck.

“not good. i screwed up this report and it affected the whole team. i feel so stupid.”

“oh, baby. im so sorry that happened. you’re not stupid, sweet pea.” i said, running my hands through his hair. “you’re very very smart, and you work so hard.”

i held him like that for a few minutes until he finally pulled away.

“do you wanna have a special little night to take your mind off things?” i asked.

sam shook his head.

“i’m gonna shower and go to bed early. sorry, baby. just not in the mood to be little tonight.”

“okay” i said gently. “i’ll leave some dinner out for you, and there’s some leftover brownies if you want those too.”

he nodded, giving a small smile. i could tell he was still stuck in his head.

there was nothing to do but give him some space and let him come to me when he was ready.

after sam showered, ate dinner (and two brownies) he sat down on the couch next to me to watch some TV.

“feeling better after your shower and some food?”

he nodded, curling up into my side. “so much better.”

i wrapped my arms around him and played with his hair, ruffling his curls gently.

he leaned into my touch, whimpering softly.

“i love when you make that sound.”

he blushed. “what sound?”

i mocked the little whimper, causing him to blush even darker.

“i don’t sound like that.” he huffed.

“yes you do, grumpy boy.”

“no i don’t.”

i giggled. “okay, fine. no need to get all worked up about it.”

i kept playing with his hair, then my hands when down to his back, slowly and rhythmically rubbing.

he whimpered again.

i giggled. “you did it again, baby.”

his brown furrowed slightly. “no i didn’t!” suddenly his thumb was finding its way to his mouth. he sucked it, soothing himself as he curled back up against my side.

“it’s okay, sweet pea. nothing to be embarrassed about. there’s nothing wrong with making your lil whimpers and moans when you’re relaxing.” i kept rubbing his back. “in fact, i really like it when i can hear that deep manly voice of yours suddenly sound not so big.”

with his thumb still in his mouth, he whined, “mommyyyy, you’re doing it again.”

“doing what, hun bun?”

“makin’ me feel small…”

“oh, i thought you were going to be a big boy tonight?”

he sucked harder on his thumb, looking up at me, his eyes already starting to glaze over as he melted into littlespace.

“i am a big boy, mama!! i promise!”

“you promise?” i teased. “if i recall correctly, just yesterday you woke up in a onesie and a very full diaper, sucking on your paci like a lil baby.”

sam blushed “maybe…”

“does that sound like something a big boy would do?”

sam buried his face in my neck. “no, mommy, it sounds like something a little boy would do…”

“that’s right. and you are just a little boy, aren’t you?”

he whimpered. “yes mama.”

i kept rubbing his back, cooing at him for a few more minutes while he nuzzled into me.

i patted his back firmly, queuing him to get up.

“go bring me a diaper.”

he looked at me with wide eyes. “a diaper? why?”

“because you need it, honey bun. i can tell. bring me a diaper and your changing basket.”

he looked embarassed, but he obeyed, shuffling off to his nursery and coming back with one of his favorite dino diapers and his little basket that held wipes, barrier cream, and lotion.

i laid out his changing mat on the floor, helping him lay down on his back. he was so pliant for me when he got all subby.

i rubbed his tummy gently, and he kicked his feet in the air, giggling.

“squirmy lil worm.”

i took off his pajama pants and big boy boxers, exposing his lil boy parts to the air.

“is cold mama!!!” he said, rubbing his eyes and squirming some more.

i put my hand on his tummy firmly to hold him still. i reached into the basket to find his emergency paci that we kept in there for changes.

“open.”

he obeyed, and i slipped the paci into his mouth.

i watched as his brain melted even more, my big, smart, emotionally mature boyfriend suddenly dissolving into a little boy as he sucked and chewed on his paci. his eyes were glazed over and locked on mine, like i was his whole world.

“legs up, you silly worm.” he obeyed, and i slipped the diaper under him.

after some powder and barrier cream, i taped him up securely, and rubbed the front of his fresh new diaper.

“that’s much better, huh?”

he nodded, giggling as he sucked his binky. “mommy?” his voice was muffled by the pacifier.

“what is it, honey bear?”

“can i wear my favorite onesie tonight?”

“of course you can! that’s a very good idea. should we go to the nursery and get you all cozy?”

he nodded.

i led us to the nursery, sammy following behind like a lost puppy. he looked so cute in nothing but a t-shirt and his diaper. i patted his poofy diaper butt as he walked into the nursery.

“can you find your favorite onesie for me?” i asked my little guy.

sam grabbed the onesie with the cute teddy bears on it. he handed it to me without saying a word. i could tell from that doe-eyed look in his eyes that he really needed this. he needed to be babied and taken care of and be treated like my actual little boy.

“oh this is a good one, isn’t it, honey bear?”

he nodded, lifting his arms for me to take off his t-shirt. so eager.

i tugged his shirt off until he was standing in front of me in nothing but his diaper. i ran my hands over his tattooed arms, admiring how gorgeous this grown man looked when he was reduced to nothing but a sweet little diaper boy.

“i can’t believe such a baby has all these grown up tattoos!!” i said with a laugh.

sam giggled, covering his face with his hands.

i pulled them away. “c’mon, let’s get you in your onesie.”

i helped him step into his cozy onesie and then i had him lay down on the nursery floor rug so i could snap up the buttons on the crotch. i would never get sick of seeing how his diaper looked bulging underneath the onesie.

it was the hottest thing i’d ever seen, and i could not get enough.

i gave his tummy a few rubs and tickles, causing him to giggle and kick his feet up again.

“mommyyyyy” he whined.

“yeah, baby?”

“stop tickling”

“oh, like this?” i tickled his tummy again, pinching the side gently, which made him wiggle and scream with laughter.

“mommyyyyy!! stoppppppp”

i finally stopped, watching sam roll around, cheeks blushing and eyes full of laughter. i wanted to eat him up.

“okay, okay, enough riling up the little one before bed. do you wanna sleep in your crib tonight, or with mommy in the grown-up bed?”

sam’s thumb went into his mouth as he started pondering his options.

“want my crib. but i also want mommy.”

i laughed. “you can’t have it both ways, baby.”

sam pouted.

“okay, how about this: you can have your sippy cup and we can read some books in your crib, but then when it’s night-night time, you need to get in the grown-up bed with mommy. does that sound fair and fun?”

sammy nodded. “fair and fun, mama.”

“okay good, pick out some books, while i go get your bottle going. do you want chocolate milk tonight?”

sammy nodded again. “yes please. in my dinosaur sippy cup?”

“sure, baby. i’ll be right back.”

in the kitchen, i found his favorite sippy cup with the cute little dinosaurs on it. i filled it up with chocolate milk, and made my way back down the hall.

back in the nursery, i found sam laying on his tummy, playing with his play-food. there was a stack of three books next to him, his picks for storytime.

i felt a wave of affection wash over me as i watched him playing, kicking his feet back and forth, so focused on the plastic vegetables he was playing with.

“i’m back sammy, you ready for some stories?”

he got into his crib, snuggling up with his blankie and favorite stuffie. i gave him his sippy cup, and he happily started to drink it.

there really wasn’t enough room in his crib for two adults, but some nights like this, we made it work. i sat beside him, pulling him into my lap for storytime.

he snuggled into me as i started to read him “if you give a mouse a cookie.” even though it was one of his favorites that we read allllll the time, he was completely entranced by it.

the only sounds in the nursery were my voice reading the story, sammy gently sucking on his sippy cup, and some occasional crinkles as sammy wiggled in my lap.

we stayed like that for two more books, and then it was night night time.

“you ready for bed, lil guy?”

sammy looked like he was half-asleep already. i kissed the top of his head and helped him stand up.

i led him back to our bedroom, watching as he curled up in bed with his stuffie, blankie, and paci.

i gave his diaper a quick check, feeling that it was only a little soggy in the front. he must have wet it during storytime.

“mommy, what’re you doing?” sammy asked sleepily, words muffled through his paci.

“just giving you a lil check before bed. only a teensy bit soggy. plenty of room for my little bedwetter.”

sammy blushed. he hated when i reminded him that he sometimes actually had accidents at night. nothing was blushier for him than going to bed dry and waking up soggy.

“all good.” i said, patting his diaper through his onesie. “that’ll last you through the night.”

sammy giggled. “c’mere mommy, wanna snuggle.”

“coming, honey bear.”

i crawled in bed with him and let him cling to me like a needy little koala. i rubbed his back soothingly, listening to him sucking on his paci and letting out little whimpers and moans every few minutes as he got comfy.

“night night mommy.” he finally said, drifting off to sleep.

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:

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 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."

You shift in your soggy nappy, the plastic crinkling softly beneath you. The wetness is uncomfortable, but you’ve learned not to complain. Complaining only earns you a patronizing pat on the head and a reminder that good boys don’t fuss. The playpen bars are cool against your fingers as you grip them, watching the scene unfold in front of you.

Across the room, Mark sits in a plastic chair, his legs spread wide in his thick pull-ups. He’s grinning, his mouth slightly open, tongue poking out as he counts on his fingers. "One plus one is... uh..." He squints, scrunching his face in concentration. "Three?" His caregiver, Allison, claps her hands. "Oh, what a silly boy! But you tried so hard! That’s what matters!" She ruffles his hair, and he beams up at her, proud as if he’s just won a Nobel Prize.

You know better. You know that one plus one is two. You could recite the entire times table up to twenty before you were six. You could derive equations, write essays, debate philosophy. You were brilliant. Top of your class. A degree in theoretical physics, for God’s sake. But that was before.

Before the world decided that intelligence in men was a threat.

The shift didn’t happen overnight. It was gradual, insidious. First, it was just encouragement for men to "embrace their softer side." Then, it was mandatory sensitivity training, where men were taught to suppress their competitive instincts, to yield, to submit. The media started calling ambition in men "toxic," and soon, universities began to phase out male-led research. You watched as your professors, the brilliant minds you admired, were replaced by women who smiled indulgently at your questions and told you to "let someone else take the lead for once."

You fought it. You excelled. You published papers, won awards, proved you were still valuable. But the more you achieved, the more suspicious they became. "Why does he need to prove himself?" they’d whisper. "Isn’t he just compensating?" The awards stopped coming. Your research was "too aggressive," your tone "too dominant." You were told to "step back," to "let others shine."

And then, the final blow: the Regression Act.

Now, intelligence in men is treated like a disease. The smarter you are, the more they baby you. It’s a twisted kind of logic. if you’re capable of great things, you must be dangerous. So they strip it all away. They put you in diapers, in playpens, in rooms with bright colors and soft edges.

The plastic of your soggy diaper squelches as you shift again, the wetness seeping against your skin. You try to ignore it, but the dampness is a constant, clinging reminder of what you’ve become. You don’t even have the dignity of bladder control anymore. The Regression Act made sure of that. The drugs they gave you, supposedly to "calm your male ego," left you with the bodily autonomy of a toddler. You can feel the weight of the diaper between your legs, swollen and sagging, the wetness indicator a bright, mocking blue.

Across the room, Mark lets out a triumphant giggle as Allison claps for him again. "Six times seven," she prompts, her voice sickeningly sweet, like she’s coaxing a puppy through a trick. "Come on, Mark. You can do it!"

Mark’s brow furrows. He sticks his tongue out, counting on his fingers. "Six... seven... uh..." He scratches his head, his pull-ups rustling as he wiggles in his chair. "Is it... twelve?"

Allison laughs, ruffling his hair. "Oh, you silly, silly boy! No, no. But you tried so hard! That’s what matters!"

Mark grins, puffing out his chest. "Yeah! I’m a good boy! I don’t need to be smart like some people." He glances at you, his eyes gleaming with smug satisfaction. "I’ m being dumb! And I don’t even have to wear diapers like you!" He wiggles his fingers at you, his laughter booming. "Why would anyone want to be smart if it means they end up like you?"

Your face burns. You can feel the heat creeping up your neck, the humiliation twisting in your gut. He doesn’t even know what six times seven is, and yet here he is, lording over you like some kind of king. All because he’s dumb enough to be trusted with pull-ups. All because he’s proud of his own ignorance.

Allison sighs, shaking her head at you like you’re the disappointment here. "Now, now, little one. No need to be jealous. Mark is just being a good boy by not trying too hard. Isn’t that right, Mark?" She turns back to him, her voice dripping with praise. "You’re such a good boy for not overthinking."

Mark preens, nodding eagerly. "Yeah! I’m a good boy! I don’t need to be smart! Smart boys end up in diapers!" He giggles, pointing at your soggy nappy.

The words hit like a slap. You can feel the wetness in your diaper shifting as you squirm, the plastic crinkling loudly. Mark snickers, and you want to crawl into a hole and disappear. But you can’t. Because this is your life now. Because the world decided that intelligence in men is a sickness. And because, no matter how much you know, no matter how much you could do, you’re nothing more than a soggy, helpless little in a playpen. While Mark, dumb, proud, pull-up-wearing Mark, gets to sit in his chair and count on his fingers like it’s some kind of achievement.

Toby’s workday had been long, the kind that made his shoulders ache and his mind buzz with spreadsheets and deadlines. As he pulled his car into the driveway, he let out a slow breath, already feeling the tension melt away. Home. His sanctuary. And more importantly, her... his wife, his love, the one person who could turn the world’s chaos into something manageable.

The front door creaked as he pushed it open, the familiar scent of vanilla and something sweet, maybe cookies, maybe her lotion, wrapping around him like a hug. “Honey?” he called, his voice already slipping into that softer tone he only used for her.

“In the living room, baby boy,” her voice floated back, warm and teasing. “Hurry up, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Toby kicked off his shoes, leaving them haphazardly by the door, and padded down the hall. The moment he stepped into the living room, his breath hitched. The curtains were drawn, casting the room in a golden, late-afternoon glow. The TV was already on, the bright, cheerful theme song of Bluey playing softly in the background. A pile of Legos sat on the coffee table, half-built and waiting. And there she was, his Mommy, curled up on the couch with a blanket draped over her lap and a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

“There’s my big boy,” she cooed, patting the space beside her. “Come here. You look exhausted.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Toby crossed the room, his tie already loose, his shirt untucked from the drive home. The moment he was close enough, she reached up and tugged him down onto the couch, her fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt. “Let Mommy take care of you,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Toby melted into her touch, his body already relaxing. This was his favorite part of the day, the moment he could shed the adult world and just be. Be little. Be hers.

Mommy’s hands were gentle but firm as she stripped him out of his work clothes, peeling away the slacks, the socks, the briefs. Toby wiggled a little, his face heating as the cool air hit his skin. He knew what was coming next, and the anticipation made his toes curl.

“Such a good boy, letting Mommy change you,” she praised, her voice dropping into that sweet, condescending tone that made his stomach flip. She reached for the diaper on the coffee table, a thick, babyish one. Toby’s cheeks burned.

“Uh-uh,” Mommy tutted, tapping his hip lightly. “Lift up. That’s it.”

The diaper rustled as she slid it beneath him, the crinkle loud in the quiet room. Toby bit his lip, his fingers twisting in the blanket as she fastened the tapes snugly around his waist. The thickness between his legs was immediately comforting, the way it hugged him, the way it owned him. He let out a shaky breath, his body sagging into the couch.

“There we go,” Mommy murmured, smoothing her hands over the front of his diaper. “All nice and snug. You’re gonna be so comfy, aren’t you?”

Toby nodded, his face buried against her shoulder. He could already feel the warmth spreading through him, the way his mind went fuzzy and soft at the edges. The diaper was wet, suddently wet but he didn’t care. Mommy didn’t seem to mind either. If anything, the way her fingers lingered as she adjusted the leg cuffs made him think she liked it.

“Now, what’s my good boy need?” Mommy asked, already reaching for the hem of her shirt. Toby’s breath hitched as she pulled it over her head, revealing the soft lace of her nursing bra. His mouth watered.

“M-milk, Mommy?” he whispered, his voice small.

“Such a polite little thing,” she cooed, unclasping her bra and letting it fall away. Toby’s eyes locked onto her, his body humming with need. She guided him into position, helping him latch with practiced ease. The first pull of sweet, warm milk had him moaning, his fingers clutching at her sides.

Mommy carded her fingers through his hair, her other hand resting possessively on his diapered bottom. “That’s it, baby. Drink up. You’ve been so good today.”

Toby whimpered around her nipple, his free hand reaching blindly for the pile of Legos. He fumbled with the blocks, his movements slow and uncoordinated as he sank deeper into his little headspace. The TV played in the background, the bright, cheerful voices of Bluey mixing with the soft sounds of his sucking, the occasional crinkle of his diaper as he shifted.

He wasn’t thinking about work anymore. He wasn’t thinking about anything, really. Just the warmth of Mommy’s skin, the taste of her milk, the way his diaper squished a little every time he moved.

Mommy pulled him off with a soft pop, wiping his mouth with her thumb. “Had enough, sweet boy?”

Toby nodded, his eyelids heavy. He was so relaxed, his body boneless and warm. Mommy helped him lie down, tucking a pillow under his head and draping the blanket over him. His Legos were still scattered across his lap, half-built and forgotten.

“You just rest, okay?” she murmured, brushing a kiss over his forehead. “Mommy’s right here.”

Read Part 3

The Rave bumped and thumped as you danced in the crowd, taking the occasional shooter that Nellie handed you with a smile. Despite the embarrassing diaper change with Mary, you were having a great time.

The night passed quickly, and you soon found yourself in a car bound for Ashlyn’s house.

You sat between Ashlyn and Mary, feeling their warmth smush into you on either side.

“Here,” Ashlyn rummaged through your diaper bag, eventually producing a baby bottle containing a blue liquid. “Drink this.”

‘What is it?”

“Powerade and some other stuff. Should help with the hangover tomorrow.”

“Smart,” you reached for the baby bottle.

“Ah ah ah,” Ashlyn chastised. “Let Mommy help you with that!”

You rolled your eyes as she held the bottle in front of your face, but you accepted the rubber nipple between your lips without much complaint.

“Ahww!” Mary cooed at the sight of you literally drinking out of Ashlyn’s hands, “Aren’t you two the cutest Mommy Baby duo!”

“Thanks, Mary!” Ashlyn beamed, while you could only blush as the relentless suckling of the bottle answered for you.

You waddled awkwardly from the car to the door step, hoping that the girls wouldn’t notice the excitement beneath your diaper. You don’t know if it was caused by being at the mercy of these three beautiful women, the edible, or something else entirely, but you were horny. Desperate, even. Ravenous. It took all your mental restraint not to vigorously massage the front of your diaper right then and there.

“Hold up, baby.” Ashlyn placed a hand on your shoulder, “I want to check your diaper before we go in.”

Her hand gripped your padded crotch, giving it an indulgent squeeze.

“Just as I thought,” Ashlyn grinned, “Wet and excited.”

You blushed, remembering how desperately you had to pee in the Uber. You wanted to avoid the humiliation of a wet diaper for as long as possible, so you didn’t mention it. You hadn’t made it undetected long…

“I’m not surprised,” Nellie chuckled as the four of you walked into the nursery “especially after the aphrodisiac he just glugged down.”

“Wait what?” You blinked.

“Nevermind that, baby,” Ashlyn waved dismissively. “You were the one who was so excited to do... it after the rave, after all.”

“Ahww, that’s so precious!” Mary interjected.

Ignoring Mary, your needy eyes found Ashlyn: “So… can we do… it?” You blushed at your own desperation, but your libido raged as you smelled the faint scent of sweat mingle with the glitter on Ashlyn’s skin.

“Such an eager baby!” Amusement rang out in Ashlyn’s voice, “but do you really think Mommy wants to do it with a little boy who’s been peeing his diaper all night?”

“B-but you said if I was a good boy…” your thoughts trailed off as the words caught in your throat.

“Let me say this in a way you’ll understand, sweetheart,” Ashlyn’s words dripped with condescension: “Big girls don’t do icky stickies with pamper pissers. But you’re in luck! If you behave, I’ll make you my very own diaper boy. That’s what you wanted anyway – to be mine, right baby?”

“Yes.” The word left your lips just as another thought surfaced: “But what happens if I don’t? Don’t behave, I mean?”

“Well, for one: you definitely won’t get to make stickies tonight. Otherwise, I suppose you could try pursuing my affections like a big boy after tonight, but…” Ashlyn laughed to herself, “that would certainly hurt your chances!”

“So… what do I have to do?”

“Oh! I’ll get the baby book!” Mary squealed before Ashlyn could answer.

“And I’ll get the camera!” Nellie dashed out of the room with similar enthusiasm.

“Camera? What are they talking about, Ashlyn?”

“Don’t you want to find out?” Ashlyn’s eyes glimmered with mischief.

Your curiosity combined with your carnal desperation left you with only one plausible course of action: You gulped before nodding.

“Good boy.” Ashlyn ruffled your hair, “Now let’s get you dressed for your first ever baby book photo!”

Ashlyn produced yet another humiliating T-shirt from the nursery’s dresser; this one proudly proclaimed, “I Chose Pampers over Pussy!”

“I got the camera!” Nellie returned, holding up a polaroid camera.

“And I got the baby book!” Mary beamed as she held out the book, which was already opened to its next available page. You could clearly make out laminated polaroids of diapered adults –both men and women– on the previous page.

You felt like you had swallowed a book, yourself: “What are you going to do with the photo!?” You asked in horror.

“Me?” Ashlyn bit her lower lip, “I just keep them for my… personal enjoyment. Pictures do last longer after all…”

“Could be worse,” Nellie snickered, “I usually blackmail my rave babies into doing my homework for me.”

“Now let’s get your picture taken!” Ashlyn took the camera as Mary and Nellie approached you.

“Say ‘cheese’!” The camera clicked as you buried your face into Mary’s hip.

“Someone’s a shy baby,” Mary giggled.

“Adorable,” Ashlyn murmured, “Now let’s see about your reward, diaper boy!”

Ashlyn handed the camera off to Nellie before trading places with the two other women. She slid her fingers through your hair before firmly gripping a handful. She stuck out her boot right in front of your soggy, padded crotch.

“Hump Mommy’s boot.”

The command was all you needed. You soon found yourself rutting desperately against Ashlyn’s ankle. Ashlyn’s fingers danced through your scalp, adding another layer of euphoria to the sexual catharsis building in your diaper. It didn’t take long to spurt into your greedy protection. You let out a desperate little moan as you finished.

*Click* You heard the shutter of the polaroid camera.

“You belong to me now,” Ashlyn’s hot breath whispered into your ear.

You barely remember the subsequent diaper change and getting tucked into the Racecar bed.

Epilogue

————————————————————————

As always, all characters depicted are 18+

Image credits to the illustrious @princessofpees (https://princessofpees.tumblr.com/ <-@ wasn’t working for some reason?) and @diariesofadom for the image. Definitely check their content out if you haven’t already!

The bedroom was warm, the kind of warmth that made Lukas’s eyelids heavy and his limbs loose. The nightlight Anna had plugged in cast a soft, golden glow over the changing table she’d set up last week, just a "temporary solution," she’d said, though Lukas knew better. The table was already stocked with wipes, powder, and a stack of thick, crinkly diapers. His stomach twisted as Anna unfolded one now, the plastic rustling loudly in the quiet room.

Lukas shifted on the edge of the bed, still in his work slacks and button-down, his fingers picking at the hem of his shirt. He’d been wearing pull-ups for two years, ever since Anna had first suggested them as a "just in case" solution. At first, it had been embarrassing, but over time, the convenience had won him over. No more midnight trips to the bathroom. No more accidents when he was too tired to move. Just… comfort. But tonight, Anna had other plans.

"You’ve been using the potty less and less, baby," she murmured, holding up the diaper. It was thick, adorned with tiny blue cars, the kind meant for toddlers. Lukas’s face burned. "Might as well make it official."

Lukas opened his mouth to protest, but the words died on his lips. He had been using the pull-ups more. A lot more. He’d wake up damp most mornings, the padding swollen and warm. Sometimes, he’d even wet them during the day, just because it was easier. Anna knew. She always knew.

She didn’t wait for an argument. Instead, she knelt in front of him, her hands warm as she undid his belt, then the button of his slacks. The fabric pooled at his ankles, and Lukas swallowed hard as the cool air hit his skin. His pull-up was already damp, he’d wet it an hour ago, too embarrassed to say anything. Anna tsked as she peeled it off, tossing it into the trash with a soft thud.

"Such a wet boy," she murmured, but there was no real scolding in her voice. Just warmth. "Let’s get you into something more comfortable."

The diaper crinkled loudly as she slid it beneath him, the plastic cool against his skin. Anna powdered him generously, her fingers brushing lightly over his thighs, his hips. Lukas shivered, his breath hitching as she tapped the tapes into place, snug and secure. It was so much more than his pull-ups. So much more real.

As she helped him into a soft onesie, she leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. "Oh, by the way," she whispered, her voice dripping with playful authority, "from now on, all your orgasms happen in your diaper, baby. No exceptions."

Lukas’s face flushed crimson. He’d never done that before. The idea was mortifying. Thrilling. His body reacted before his mind could catch up, a shiver running down his spine. Anna, ever the teasing mommy, didn’t give him time to overthink it. Her hand slid down, cupping him through the thick padding, her fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles.

"Let go, baby," she murmured, her breath warm against his neck. "Show Mommy how much you love your new bedtime pants."

Lukas’s hands clenched the sheets. He tried to resist, but Anna’s touch was relentless, her voice a hypnotic lullaby. "That’s it," she cooed, her fingers pressing just a little harder. "You’re so close. Just let go."

A whimper escaped his lips as the pressure built, his hips bucking helplessly against her hand. The diaper crinkled with every movement, the sound filling the room. Lukas’s breath came in short, sharp gasps, his body trembling as he finally surrendered, his release spilling into the thick padding. The warmth spread, the crinkle growing louder, more insistent. Anna’s praise washed over him, her voice soft and soothing.

"Such a good boy," she whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Now you’ll sleep like a baby."

Lukas’s fingers twitched toward his diaper as Anna tucked him into bed, his cheeks still flushed. Anna smirked, knowing she’d won this round. She brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, her voice barely above a whisper.