30s | Urinary Incontinent | Married | He/Him
I write humiliating diaper captions. They are pure fantasy. Treat them as such.
If you want longer stories, go to my story blog: @destinedfordiaperstories
Have you ever been on my blog and just wanted to find some ddlg or mdlg captions, but didn't want to wade through mdlb captions?
You're in luck! Now you don't have to. I put them all here in this post.
Since this is pinned, if you, the person reading this, are looking for my mdlb captions, here is the MDLB Diaper Boy Compendium.
There is also my story blog, @destinedfordiaperstories, where you'll find longer stories. And, of course, my all-time favorite story, Sammy's Little Problem.
I labeled them as DDlg, MDlg, or M+D for both Mommy and Daddy doms.
And put a brief description of the caption. Anything with Cuckquean is labeled, as some love it, while others hate it.
The Chilies are a humiliation measurement. Five chilies means you want pure humiliation. One chili means it's a sweeter, loving caption. Squirmies can be found at every chili level.
Anyway, like this so you can always find what you're looking for.
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I've seen you before... well, many times actually. You had always been kinda shy in getting to know new people, and me as the new neighbor guy down the street was certainly no exception. You stumbled on your words when I came to your doorstep to say hello, and gave me a look that I knew was the cry for help you desperately needed. That was all it took, just that look to make a new daddy go insane.
A few dates, leading you on, thinking you'd actually get with me was really all it took. Thinking of me as your partner, thinking of me as your boyfriend. Fun really, but I couldn't lead you on forever. It certainly wouldn't be fair to give you the insanity of thinking you were anything but who you are under the pants.
You, a shamed diaper boy... trying your best to get with me, really?
You were sweet, kind, and oh so considerate. Things that would pull a lot of unknowing people in to draw. For others that could spot the differences between you and run-of-the-mill people, not so much. The nervous glances around when people would walk too close beside us on the street, pulling up your pants almost as far as your belly button when in a closed space with others, never needing to use the restroom at a restaurant even when you had a drink or two, and of course that first ever look you gave. You could always hide, and you did for a very long time, play with ordinary people none the wiser to you, but make no mistake, I'd never let you from hide me baby boy. Never again.
In theory, being a pantswetter should be more embarrassing than bedwetting. You're awake and fully conscious and you still can't hold your tinkles? You're so pathetic that you need to wear pull-ups or diapers everywhere you go? But then, if you're in 24/7 padding, it becomes normalized. You learn to manage your condition and it stops making you blush once you realize no one is whispering about you. If you have partners, there's no secret to hide after the first encounter. They already know, and they've either accepted you or rejected you.
But being a bedwetter. You have a transition period every night where you kiss your adulthood goodbye and wrap yourself up in childish padding, because your dumb-dumb sleepy brain can't help but go potty all over the mattress. You can't let yourself fall asleep after having adult fun with someone, because you know you'll both wake up in a wet bed; it's the nightmare scenario in the back of your mind. Bedtime diapering may become routine, but not exactly normal. Every sunset is a reminder that it's time to stop playing grown-up and put on your pampers. There's no escape.
I feel such a connection with Sammy and I just had to say that your writing is phenomenal. As someone who works a very professional job and also is a little who is also incontinent. It’s an interesting dichotomy. Please don’t stop this. Please keep writing. 🫶🫶🫶🫶
I’m so happy to hear you’re enjoying it! I don’t want to say Sammy was written specifically for us incontinent folks, because it’s not just for us. But I won’t lie, it makes me happiest when those who have dealt with it reads it and understands it!
And don’t worry, I fully intend to finish it, even if I never wrote another caption, this story will be finished.
This caption is for @baby-bear-den! I hope you enjoy it!
I smile as the front door opens. This is my favorite part of the day.
As always, you’re wearing your favorite big girl costume: a fancy white lab coat covering your chic clothes. Nobody would ever guess what you truly are. Or what you’re hiding under all those fancy clothes.
But I know.
For the few hours you leave the house, you get to pretend you have everything a diaper girl like you lacks. Power. Authority. Respect. It’s well-deserved, I’ll readily admit. You earned it. Not only do your colleagues respect you, but your subordinates fear you.
It makes me laugh every time I think about it. If they only knew.
“Hi, Daddy!” you chirp, walking over to me to let me check your diaper.
“Hi, sweetie!” I respond, removing your lab coat and feeling the soggy diaper under your clothes, “how was your day?”
It’s the contrast I love so much. Listening to you ramble on about roleplaying as big girl while you obediently lift your arms so I can remove your shirt. On and on you go. All the while, I strip you of your big girl costume, replacing them with clothes much more suited to your authentic self.
You continue rambling on about your “big girl” life, even as you’re standing in nothing but your soggy diaper. It’s adorable. But not as adorable as the onesie I put you in, delightfully colorful and covered in all kinds of barnyard animals.
Perfect for you.
I shove your paci in your mouth when I finish buttoning your onesie, stopping your adorable rambling midsentence. I’m done listening. You may command a room there, but not here.
I’ll never get tired of the look on your face when the paci silences you. It’s the look of a woman caught between two worlds. The moment you truly understand whatever happens outside of the house is nothing but a mirage. You aren’t the well-respected, highly competent biologist you think you are. Not at home.
Here you’re nothing more than Mommy and Daddy’s diaper girl—our plaything. You never have been—and never will be—in charge. Not over us, not over your own life. Your place is filling your diapers for us, adorably begging for changes, desperately wishing you could join our adult fun.
I carry you to your playpen, playing Doc McStuffins, before heading to the kitchen to make dinner. You may supervise others out there, but here you are supervised. The only thing you supervise here are the stuffies scattered around your playpen.
Someone walks into the kitchen. I turn around, preparing to scold you for leaving your playpen, only to find my girlfriend smiling back at me.
“Hey babe, how was your bath?” I ask, kissing her.
“Amazing, I love those new bath bombs,” she replies, “do I hear Doc McStuffins? She’s home early!”
“Yep, she got home a few minutes ago!”
I watch as she approaches your playpen, kissing you on the forehead. She picks you up and carries you back into the kitchen, sitting you in your high chair at the table.
Your face still burns in embarrassment whenever you’re locked into your highchair. I have no idea how we went so long without it. You look so cute in it, especially when Mommy puts your bib on you.
For the next twenty minutes, you sit in silence, listening to Mommy and Daddy talk about our day. We make an effort to ignore you, all to make you feel even more little. Besides, adults don’t want or need a baby to talk about her day.
Once dinner is ready, Mommy prepares a plate for you, cutting your chicken into bite-sized pieces and filling your cute Disney Princess plate with all your num-nums.
Mommy playfully feeds you before we eat, your face burning brighter every time she says, “here comes the choo choo train! Open up for Mommy!” When you’re finished, your face is smeared with mac and cheese, your bib dirty from all your “oopsies” as you clumsily spilled your food.
As we eat, I notice you fidgeting in your seat. I’m careful not to draw any attention to it. I know what’s about to happen. I surreptitiously prod my girlfriend, letting her in on your potty dance. You’re staring off into space, desperately—and fruitlessly—trying to avoid packing your pampers at the dinner table.
You continue to squirm, no doubt wondering why we’re still at the table long after we finished eating. I couldn’t help but laugh seeing the relief on your face as we finished eating, believing you’d be freed from your plastic prison before loading your diaper only for the relief to vanish, replaced with renewed terror, as I sat back down after cleaning the dishes, continuing my conversation.
The cutest toot, slightly—and adorably—muffled by your soggy diaper, escapes into the room. You whimper as our conversation stops, our undivided attention on your endearing display in your highchair.
“Are you making a stinky for us, baby?” Mommy asks rhetorically.
“Mmmmphfff!” you unintentionally respond, your body tightening to fill your diaper.
Your legs, once freely swaying in boredom, are now rigid and unmoving. You unconsciously grab the plastic of your highchair, fingers white, as you grip for leverage to push. Your eyes are wide, full of humiliation.
More toots escape into your diaper.
Finally, with one loud grunt, your diaper visibly expands, crinkling as it does.
“Good girl,” Mommy coos, “get all those ickies into your diaper, little one!” Your face somehow manages to grow an even darker shade of red.
You struggle for a few more minutes, your diaper occasionally expanding as you push the mess out. It’s adorable.
“All done, kiddo?” I ask, unlocking the highchair, “you did such a great job filling your diapee for us!”
“C-can I hab changies?” you whimper through your paci.
“Not yet, little one,” Mommy answers, “it’s almost your bedtime and I want to spend some time with you, baby!”
You look up at me pleadingly. I laugh. “Sorry, kiddo, I’m with Mommy on this one!”
I pick you up, carrying you over to the couch. I sit beside Mommy, gently laying you on your back across our laps.
Mommy tickles your tummy, causing you to laugh despite your embarrassment. “Such a cutie patootie we have! Daddy and I are so proud of you!” Mommy coos.
“That’s right, sweetie! I don’t know how we got so lucky! We have the cutest baby in the whole world! Even if she is stinky! Pee yew!!”
“Can you say ‘I’m the cutest, stinkiest pamper packer in the whole world!’ for us, baby?” Mommy asks.
You nervously suck on your paci. “I-I’m da cudest, stinkwiesth…p-pam-pamper packa in da ‘ho world," you stammer, faced flushed in embarrassment.
“Yes you are! Yes you are!” Mommy chirps proudly, “you’re the smartest baby in the whole world too! I don’t think there’s another baby who knows as much about animals as you!”
You stare back at Mommy, knowing the humiliating game that’s about to start.
“Yes you do, sweetie!” Mommy continues, “can our widdle scientist tell us what sound a cow makes?”
You squirm in embarrassment.
“You can do it, little one!” Mommy prods, “tell Mommy and Daddy what a cow sounds like!”
“M-moo,” you answer meekly.
“Surely you can do better than that!” I add, tickling your tummy, “try again, silly!”
“HAHAHA Daddy! It tickwes!!” you plead, squirming around, diaper crinkling wildly.
“Well, tell me what a cow says, silly!”
“MOOOOOOO!” you scream, still laughing after I stop.
“That’s right, baby!” Mommy says, “so smart! What about a pig?”
“OINK OINK OINK!” you squeal, starting to have fun despite your humiliation.
“Good job, kiddo!” I gush, “how about a frog?”
“WIBBIT! WIBBIT! WIBBIT!” you chorus, proud of yourself.
“Good girl!” Mommy sings, “what about a duck?”
“KWAK KWAK KWAK!” you lisp, violently blushing.
“So good!” I congratulate her, “but this is the hardest one yet! What does a baby say before bedtime?”
The smile fades from your face, “b-b-but I ‘on wanna go ni ni Daddy! I wan’ stay wif Mommy and Daddy!”
“No buts, silly,” Mommy says sternly, “Mommy and Daddy want to have some fun, and I gotta get you into a fresh diapee before you stink up the house!”
“Wha-no, PWEASE daddy!” you beg me, knowing I’m much more persuadable than Mommy.
Before I can answer, Mommy flashes you a dangerous look. “What did I say?”
You hiccup in fear. “T-that it’s b-bedtime, Mommy,” you answer dejectedly.
“That’s right, silly. Now say good night to Daddy, little one,” Mommy chides.
“G-goodnight, Daddy,” you whine.
“Goodnight, sweetie,” I say, kissing your forehead.
The last thing I see before you turn the corner is your pleading eyes over Mommy’s shoulder as she carries you to the changing table. I can’t help but smile at how adorable you are.
You may think you’re a big girl, but we know better. You’re right where you belong.
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In another post you said you kept the descriptions of Sammy and Allie vague for the reader. But I’m wondering if the same is for the location because you use Stanford and USC so is it set in California?
I think the location for Sammy is vague-adjacent. Because I haven’t explicitly put a location, but…yeah it’s set in Los Angeles.
I just moved for graduate school in a very prestigious medical program and... reading your story, Sammy's Little Problem, made me cry so hard. Especially after reading why you wrote it. I've struggled for a very long time accepting myself as a little when I am generally a successful, independent, and stable person outside of it. It sparked some intimate, emotional conversations between me and my caregiver/boyfriend.
Thank you for that and the work you do as a lawyer. I have family struggling with immigration/ICE despite them legally living here from before I was born. Furthermore, I obviously do not know you at all personally, but seeing your steadfastness in your morals (from all the crazy asks/messages you receive) is inspiring. You showing your different facets has helped me think about how I have many of my own.
No pressure to reply at all to this ask. I just wanted to let you know your writing and work is appreciated from afar!
I’m so glad you could connect with it! I can see how you would too, toeing the line between being competent and independent enough to make it to med school, yet also have a kink that seemingly demands the opposite of that. Must be hard to reconcile and that’s before any of the usual shame/emotions that come with it.
But hopefully those conversations went well and you’ll have a golden age of exploration and integration!
And I’m so sorry your parents are caught up in all the horrible stuff, it’s just terrible what’s happening. Hopefully they resolve everything soon. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.
For potential fan art reasons, are you able to give more details about what Sammy, Allie, and Lindsey look like (ie height, hair style, skin tone, build, accessories, glasses, etc)?
To be honest, I don't even know what they look like! Which was intentional.
I've always described Sammy and Allie as vaguely as possible so the reader can create their own details about them. I want every Little to see themselves as Sammy, and picture Allie as whatever "the perfect caregiver" looks like to them. It makes the whole thing cozier and more personal.
So for the art, there's no wrong answer. However you see them in your head is exactly right!
Allie slowed her pace to check her phone when they reached a fork in the foot path.
“It must be that one over there,” she says, pointing to a five-story building swarming with people. “I’ll let everyone know we’re here.”
Sammy nodded, staring at the crowd.
She always loved USC’s campus, having been her second choice after Stanford. And today it was buzzing with palpable, electric energy, with the epicenter being the dorms.
A steady flow of people trickled inside, arms full of suitcases, Target bags full of supplies, and college-aged kids taking it all in. Elsewhere, parents hugged their children before leaving them for their first day of college.
“Lindsay is coming down to meet us. How are you feeling, Sammy? Doing good?”
“Y-yeah, I’m okay.”
Sammy was grateful Allie did her best to minimize the obviousness of Sammy’s Little status. Between her jeans and Stanford t-shirt, Sammy didn’t look out of place. She even thought her diaper bulge wasn’t as obvious as normal.
Even the diaper bag Allie chose wasn’t immediately identifiable as one. More like an oversized bag that nobody would guess held her diapers, pacifier, and changing supplies.
Before they left, Allie promised Sammy that she would try to be as discreet as possible out of respect for this big step, but that didn’t mean that Sammy should expect a hall pass from being a Little.
Allie rubbed Sammy’s back, guiding her to the dorms. “You got this Sammy. I’ll be right here if you need me.”
“Thanks, Allie.”
As they approached the building and the conversations got louder, Sammy watched a group of girls huddling in a circle, animatedly talking about something enjoyable.
One of the girls was wearing the Zara skirt that Sammy had in her shopping cart online the day before she was Classified. It looked even better in person. Sammy understood why she carried herself with such confidence.
What Sammy would give to be the girl in the circle, wearing that skirt, unburdened by the tyranny of her diaper.
“Sammy!” Lindsay shouted, running over to them.
Her shout drew far more attention to Sammy than she would have liked, especially when Sammy wrapped her in a bear hug.
“I’m so glad you came!”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Linds!”
Sammy had barely escaped Lindsay’s clutches when Carol and Henry swooped in to greet her.
Carol hugged Sammy, too. “Hello, dear. It means the world to Lindsay that you came.”
“That’s what family does!”
Henry smiled at Sammy. “Ain’t that the truth!”
A mother near Sammy caught Sammy’s eye and smiled. Not the cursory, polite smile made in passing to strangers in a crowd. No, it was softer than that. Her mouth and eyes pressed into something gentle and sad, haunted by the ghost of a grimace.
For a second, Sammy thought she might say something. But the moment passed. Just a smile held a beat too long.
The mother turned back to her daughter and squeezed her shoulder as if to say count yourself lucky.
Sammy stared at her shoes.
She had braced herself for the stares. Expected whispers. Laughter. Even disgust.
But somehow the way the woman looked at her—like Sammy was a baby bird chirping in its nest—was worse.
She didn’t want to fight back. She wanted to disappear.
“Wanna see my room? I need your touch to decorate it.”
“Sure!” Sammy answers, trying to sound unfazed by the onlookers.
“We’ll meet you up there,” Henry says. “Someone’s gotta carry all your things upstairs.”
Allie grabs Sammy’s elbow, sensing an opportunity. “Do you want to go alone with Lindsay?”
Sammy nods excitedly. “Can I?”
“Sure, but stick with Lindsay, okay? I won’t be gone long.”
“I’ll be fine!” Sammy assures her, cheeks flushed.
“Don’t worry, Allie, I got her,” Lindsay says, pulling Sammy towards the entrance.
Sammy let herself be pulled, reveling in the opportunity to be alone. Who would think she’s a Little without a Caregiver watching over her?
“Allie is probably jealous because they destroyed the old athletic dorms she stayed in like a year after she graduated. These are much nicer.”
Lindsay was not wrong, Sammy thought. Entering the foyer, Sammy would’ve believed it was a resort, not a dorm.
“Best part is, I’m on the first floor. No stairs!”
As they walked down the hall, Sammy looked inside the dorms as they passed. Most doors were open, with people walking in and out and getting to know their floormates.
Each room was its own little world. It took no effort to determine which had boys living in it and which had girls.
The first room she passed, Sammy saw a poster of Bob Marley next to a poster of John Belushi drinking a bottle of Jack Daniel's in a sweater that said “College.”
Definitely not a girl's room.
The next room was mostly white with tasteful pops of pastel highlights and lace curtains. Elegant. Feminine. One Sammy would happily live in.
Whenever the occupants noticed them walking by, they waved or smiled. One already knew Lindsay by name, though that didn’t surprise Sammy.
Lindsay was always a social butterfly.
But the farther they got from the loud, chaotic entrance, the quieter the hallway got. Every step forcing Sammy to wonder if anyone else could hear what was so loud to her.
Crinkle. Crinkle. Crinkle.
Her diaper seemed determined to blow the cover she was thoroughly enjoying.
Sammy slowed to a snail’s pace as a boy carrying a heavy-looking box passed them by, smiling at them both.
“I’m in room 32A, come say hi!” he said to both of them.
When he was out of earshot, Lindsay whispered in Sammy’s ear. “You’re fine, Sammy. Nobody can hear you.”
“H-how did you know? Am I really that loud?”
“No, silly. You’re just walking like a penguin. So, it was either that or you had an accident. And I don’t smell anything.”
“Very funny.”
“Just get out of your head and enjoy yourself. Besides, we're here.”
Lindsay walked through the open door.
“Ta da!”
The room was only half decorated, but it already had Lindsay’s fingerprints all over it: creamy whites with flourishes of forest green everywhere.
Sammy was so focused on the Lindsay side of the room, she didn’t notice the two bunk beds to her right. Or the two girls sitting on the bottom bunk.
“Hey, Lindsay! Your parents leave already?”
“Oh, no, they’re grabbing some more things from the car. I went to meet my friend here. Sam, meet my roommates, Cecilia and Jasmine.”
“Nice to meet you, Sam,” Jasmine said. “Oh, you got into Stanford?”
Sammy beamed with pride but was terrified of any follow-up questions. Questions that she didn’t want to answer.
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Lindsay answered for her. “I was secretly hoping she’d have to come here so we’d be roommates.”
Lindsay laughed before adding, “Not that I mind you guys!”
“Good save,” Cecilia added, laughing.
Neither asked any more questions about Stanford, content to show Sammy their plans for the dorm, having apparently discussed their designs before moving in.
Sammy was more than happy to let them. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a normal conversation that wasn’t tainted by being Little.
She did her best to show how thankful she was to Lindsay in furtive, appreciative glances.
For the first time in months, she felt like an adult. One of the girls. A college student like Lindsay.
Maybe Allie will realize how independent Sammy was after this. That she didn’t actually constant supervision. That she could have some independence from Caregivers.
Lindsay’s phone buzzed. She made a show of laughing at it, like it was an inside joke that Sammy needed to see.
“You have to see this, Sam!” she said, showing Sammy a text.
It was from Allie. “How’s Sammy? She doing okay? Let me know if she needs me to come get her.”
Sammy’s heart drops. Somehow she was still being treated like a Little by phone.
“That’s hilarious Linds! But a hard pass for me.”
Lindsay nodded, understanding the meaning and texted Allie.
Sammy tried not to dwell on it. Even if hearing Lindsay and her roommates talk about college parties, boys, and social lives caused a pang of jealousy, they were also giving her something special.
Being treated as an equal. An adult.
Not a Little who needed to be cared for.
There was only one problem.
Sammy felt pressure building in her stomach. She knew what it meant.
And was determined to fight it. To prove she wasn’t a Little. Not here. Not right now.
She looked at Lindsay, eyes begging for a savior.
But she was too deep in a conversation about the parties tonight to notice her best friend struggling…
This is a fanfic of @destinedfordiapers story about Sammy. You can read chapter one here.
Sammy had been glued to Alex's side all morning.
Not in a way that begged for attention. She just seemed... off. Quieter than usual. Every now and then she'd rub at her stomach or shift like she couldn't get comfortable.
Alex noticed
"You okay, sweetheart?"
She shrugged, leaning against him. "My tummy hurts."
"Cramps?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
He rested a hand on the back of her neck and kissed her forehead.
"Tell me if it gets worse."
"I will."
She meant to.
But about an hour later, she felt something... different.
She slipped away to the nursery, telling herself she was probably imagining it. Maybe she'd just leaked. Maybe she needed a fresh diaper
She wasn't supposed to change herself. That was one of the rules. Alex always took care of her.
But she didn't want to bother him if it was nothing.
By the time she'd gotten the tapes undone, her stomach was in knots.
There was blood.
Her heart dropped.
"No..."
She stared at it for a long second, her mind refusing to catch up.
Had she hurt herself? Had something happened? Why hadn't she noticed?
She grabbed a clean diaper with shaking hands, trying to figure out what to do.
"...Sammy?"
Alex's voice came from the hallway.
She froze.
"I'm in here."
Her voice sounded much smaller than she'd meant it to.
The door opened a second later.
His eyes flicked from her face to the diaper sitting on top of the bin.
Understanding crossed his face almost immediately.
"Oh, sweetheart."
The tears she'd been holding back spilled over.
"I'm sorry.”
He didn't even acknowledge the apology.
Instead, he crossed the room and took both of her hands.
"You are not in trouble."
"I changed myself."
"I know."
"I broke the rule."
"You did."
She looked at him, waiting.
There was no disappointment in his face. No frustration. Just concern.
"You were scared," he said softly. "That changes things."
She let out a shaky breath.
"I think something is wrong."
He gave her hands a little squeeze.
"There isn't."
She frowned.
"But... there's blood."
"It's your period."
She blinked.
Then blinked again.
"...Oh."
He watched the realization settle in.
"My first one..." she murmured. "...since I became…”
"Became an L2, yeah”
"I completely forgot."
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"I figured."
She huffed out a laugh through the last of her tears.
"That's really unfair."
"It is."
He brushed his thumb across her cheek.
"But next time?" He said to her
She nodded.
"You come get me."
"Even if I think it's nothing?"
"Especially then."
"And even if I'm scared?"
His answer came without hesitation.
"Especially then."
She leaned into him, finally letting herself relax as he wrapped his arms around her.
"I'll take care of it," he murmured.
"Thank you."
"And for the record..."
She looked up.
"You weren't in trouble the second I walked through that door and saw that diaper."
She smiled then. A real one.
"There she is."
He kissed the top of her head before reaching for a fresh diaper
"Now come here, sweetheart. Let's get you cleaned up."
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Sammy glared at Allie, who returned it with a smile.
The small, thin plastic bag was all that was about to separate Sammy’s hand from Kaya’s warm, stinky poop.
Inspiration struck Sammy. “You know, poop is a great fertilizer. I bet if we leave it, we’ll have the best lawn in the neighborhood!”
“Nice try, Sammy”
Kaya sits next to Sammy, panting happily in the shade of the oak tree.
“Proud of yourself, Kaya?”
Sammy reached down and grabbed the poop.
“Ew, ew, ew!”
Allie laughed at Sammy’s clumsy, yet ultimately successful, operation.
“Okay, let’s go wash your hands.”
“Don’t need to tell me twice!”
Sammy followed Allie inside, while Kaya decided she wanted a few more minutes of sunbathing.
“It’s hot outside,” Sammy said, holding out her hand for Allie to squirt the soap.
With her hands washed, Sammy headed to the couch to enjoy her lazy Saturday morning.
One thing Sammy was grateful for—despite Allie Little-proofing all the streaming apps—was that Sammy could still access all the educational documentaries she loved.
And not just the ones for Littles and children.
Scrolling through Netflix, she found an interesting show called “A Trip to Infinity.” Satisfied after watching the trailer, she put it on.
A few minutes later, Allie came into the room holding a basket of laundry.
“This is what you watch for fun? My brain hurts and it’s only been 30 seconds!”
“It’s fascinating.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Allie said walking away.
Sammy was so focused on the show, she shook when someone knocked on the door.
She stared at the door, unsure if she should open it or wait for Allie. She was saved the trouble.
“I wonder who that could be?” Allie opened the door.
“Jeez, a sister can’t drop by unannounced to say hello? Way to make a girl feel welcome!”
Everyone laughed as Allie let Lindsay in and shut the door.
Lindsay saw Sammy’s show and giggled. “Some things never change, eh?” She sat next to Sammy.
Sammy knew Lindsay long enough to know she was excited about something, but looking for an opening.
She gave it to her. “So, what’s up, Linds?”
“Well, I wanted to see if you and Allie wanted to come help me move into my dorm on Monday since it’ll be harder to hang out for a while.”
Sammy recognized the pure joy on Lindsay’s face, the excitement of starting her next chapter in life. She understood it. Understood why she wanted her best friend there for it.
And understood that she didn’t mean to cause the sharp pangs of jealousy and grief tearing through Sammy.
She was happy for Lindsay, of course. Genuinely, authentically happy.
“Wha—? Oh…” Sammy stammered.
It wasn’t that Sammy didn’t want to be there for Lindsay. She did.
But she should be getting ready to move into her own dorm…
Lindsay noticed Sammy’s hesitation, eyes wide with the realization that her question was vastly more emotionally complicated than she expected. She should have known.
“O-only if you want to, of course! I…” she said, looking to Allie for support.
Unlike Lindsay, Allie understood why Sammy would be hesitant. What emotions must be bubbling inside of her.
Maybe it would be better to tell Lindsay they had plans to save Sammy the burden of answering—let alone going.
But another voice, stronger and more assured, echoed in her head. Telling her what she knew was true.
Sammy needed to be the one to decide.
“What do you think, Sammy?” Allie asks.
Sammy dreaded being on campus, surrounded by peers embarking on their college experience, knowing she’ll never be a part of it.
The alternative scared her more.
What would it mean if she hid from reality in her nursery, protected by the very thing that was stealing her future?
No.
“I-I’d love to help, Linds!”
Lindsay breathed a sigh of relief before hugging Sammy.
“Yay! Thank you so much, Sam! I know it won’t be easy but…but I couldn’t imagine doing this without my best friend with me!”
Allie watched Sammy and Lindsay discuss the dorm, the move, and Lindsay’s plan to decorate it. Sammy never ran from the conversation. She had never been prouder of Sammy.
Maybe Sammy can make it to Stanford after all.
Lindsay stayed another hour before Allie hinted that it was almost nap time. Not wanting to make it seem obvious, Lindsay came up with an excuse about packing.
“Bye guys, see you Monday!”
With Lindsay gone, Allie sat next to Sammy.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this? I can tell Lindsay something came up, I know it will be difficult after everything…”
“I’m sure, Allie. I…I need to do it. Even if it sucks.”
“You’re stronger than you realize, you know that?”
Sammy nodded solemnly. “It’s…it’s just how can I make it to Stanford if I’m too scared to face the world? Why should I be ashamed of who I am?”
Allie saw the determination in Sammy’s eyes. “That’s a very mature way of thinking about it. I’m so proud of you, Sammy.”
“Besides, daycare can’t be worse than being on a college campus, with people my age, as a Little, right? If I can do this, I can do anything!”
“Oh, yes. You’re absolutely right. Are you excited about daycare? In two weeks, you start your own college journey. It may not be the same as Lindsay’s, but it’s yours.”
“Y-yeah…I think so,” Sammy answered with far less confidence than before.
“Think so?”
“Well…I want to show everyone I’m not just a Little, that I’m still the same person that got accepted into Stanford…”
“Is there a but in that sentence?”
“I read the Little’s Preparatory Academy welcome packet you left on the counter and… well, did you see the supply list for the first day? Markers, crayons, stickers, and glue sticks!”
“I did, yes. I know it looks odd, but this is where Stanford recommends for you. It must be good if they chose it, right?”
“I guess…”
“Sammy, look at me. You can do this. I believe in you. And even if you change your mind, I’ll love you just as much, got it?”
“Change my mind? Never. I’ll show them; I’ll be the best student the Little’s Preparatory Academy has ever seen. It’ll be no different from high school. Well, except for…you know.”
Allie laughs, hiding the anxiety from Sammy’s determination to continue down the path. Not because she doesn’t believe in Sammy, but because she sees the version of Sammy that would be crushed by the loss of her dream.
“Maybe Lindsay will never help me move into a dorm, but by this time next summer, we will both be college students!”
“I don’t doubt it for a second. But…”
“But?”
“Next summer is a long way away. It’s already past naptime.”
“I’m not tired, Allie! Please can I finish my show? Please?”
Allie sighs. “Fine, but unlike the infinity, you still have a finite amount of time before I put you down.”
Sammy sticks out her tongue. “So funny!”
Ten minutes later, Sammy is fast asleep when Allie picks her up and deposits her into her crib after changing her diaper.
Sammy let herself drift to the bottom of the pool, enjoying the temperature and the silence of being underwater. For a few fleeting moments, Sammy could almost believe she was free for the first time since her Classification.
Down there, under the water, it was easy to pretend she was alone, with nobody to tell her what to do, or to be careful, or to dote on her.
Nobody to remind her she was a Little.
The reprieve was short-lived as her lungs begged for air.
“Sammy! Sammy! Look!” Hannah squealed the moment she surfaced, waving pool noodles like a trophy.
“I’m sure she’s seen pool noodles before, Squirt,” Jane chided from the ledge of the pool, her feet dangling in the water. She was clearly enjoying her chance to prove she was responsible.
Unfazed, Hannah swam to Sammy to hand-deliver a noodle. “Here, you take the blue one. The pink one is my favorite!”
“Thanks,” Sammy said, taking the noodle.
“Wanna play mermaids?”
“Wait until Emily comes so we can play together,” Jane insisted.
Hannah huffed but didn’t argue. “Kay…”
“And don’t think you don’t need to tell me if you have an accident or you’ll get in trouble, remember?”
“Duh!” Hannah replied, showing no sign of embarrassment.
“That goes for you, too, Sammy.”
Sammy nodded, cheeks burning, remembering she was in a swim diaper. She somehow managed to forget. But now that she was focused on it, she wondered how she managed not to notice it.
Watching Sammy’s smile falter, Jane slid into the pool.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” Jane whispered. “I guess I’m used to Hannah not worrying about her diapers.”
Sammy was grateful Jane understood. “Thanks. Maybe Hannah is right to not care.”
“Nah, she’s just used to it. Once you’re at daycare for a while and realize you’re not the only one going through this, it gets easier.”
“Yeah, daycare is the BEST, Sammy! It’s so much fun! We get to play all day, and you can be my best friend!” Hannah shouted at the prospect of it.
Hannah’s genuine excitement took Sammy by surprise. It was one thing to accept she was a Little. But how could Hannah love daycare when that was where her dreams of becoming a teacher died?
Yet, Sammy couldn’t shake the idea that maybe Hannah was the lucky one. Hannah didn’t fret over the future, her past, or anything but the present. She had no reservations about being a Little.
Wasn’t there freedom in that? Power even?
Sammy glanced around the pool, studying each person, searching for any evidence to contradict the unmistakable truth: Hannah was the happiest person there.
Why shouldn’t Sammy want that for herself?
She spends so much energy worrying about how people see her…and for what? It won’t help her stop being a Little.
All she had to do was let go.
Sammy realized Hannah never stopped talking about daycare.
“And the playground has three slides! And there’s a tower where we play Knights and Princesses! You could be a Princess!”
“The most beautiful princess in all the land!” Sammy said in her most regal voice.
“Mhm! And and your Knight in Shining Armor can save you from the dragons!” Hannah added, excited that Sammy was engaging.
A twang of sadness hit Sammy at the thought that a boy—another Little like her—would be that Knight in Shining Armor.
But Sammy resisted, determined to stop herself from another pity party.
Not today.
She looked at Hannah's expectant face, eager to play, and decided that for today, at least, she would let herself enjoy the moment. What harm would there be in being Little for the afternoon? She can worry about everything else later.
She’s earned a day of fun.
“My Knight will be the most gallant in the kingdom! He’ll protect his Princess from 100 dragons if he has to!”
At a table a few feet away, Kendra tops off Alyssa and Linda’s wine. Linda had just sat back down, her face reflecting the exasperation of dealing with a little struggling with potty training after months of success.
Kendra raises her glass. “To the joys of being a Caregiver.”
“Never a dull moment,” Linda agrees.
Allie watches Emily shyly approach the pool.
“Poor thing, she says, “Must be tough having accidents being an L3.”
“We have a meeting with her Daycare Supervisor on Monday to discuss her accidents. I’m not sure she’ll like their recommendations very much.”
Kendra nods in agreement. “Nope, but it’s what's best for her. They’re the best in the business for a reason as you’ll see, Allie.”
“I’ve heard nothing but rave reviews,” Allie said.
“Oh, they work wonders,” Linda agreed. “You couldn’t have chosen a better place to help Sammy.”
“I guess that’s why Stanford recommended them. It’s a relief knowing Sammy is in the best place for her to make it through the program.”
Allie couldn’t place the look between Kendra and Linda.
“So, Sammy is still set on Stanford?”
“Oh yes, she’s quite determined. With any luck, she’ll be enrolled for spring semester!” Allie said proudly, as if rebuffing the look.
“Well, a Caregiver's work is never easy—every Little has their own challenges. Sammy with college, Emily with potty training. You really hit the jackpot with Hannah, Kendra.”
“I wish I could take full credit, but I don’t know where we would be if it weren’t for the program. Hannah had the same issue, you know. Determined to go to college. So, I understand the anxiety.”
“What do you mean?” Allie asked.
“Having to worry about Sammy failing college courses. That’s what makes the program a lifesaver; they really focus on helping Littles accept their regression and avoid all that unnecessary trauma.”
“I’ve heard it can be devastating for Littles. I imagine it’ll be such a relief when Sammy lets go of Stanford, and you have a sweet Little like Hannah. I got lucky Emily wanted to be an artist. All I needed to help her was a few hundred dollars of art supplies.”
Allie forced a smile, fighting a storm raging inside her. She watched Hannah splash around, giggling.
She wanted Sammy to make it to Stanford, of course. Sammy was her Little; her job as a Caregiver was to help her be happy. The thought of holding a heartbroken Sammy, knowing she would never make it to Stanford, was almost too devastating to imagine.
But deep down, she wondered if Kendra and Linda were right.
Was it not more loving—compassionate even—to guide Sammy away from Stanford? Isn’t it her duty to ensure Sammy avoids unnecessary trauma? Would she be a bad Caregiver to even let Sammy try, knowing the odds are stacked against her?
Allie watched Sammy playing mermaids with the girls, lost in thought.
Laughing and out of breath, Sammy and Hannah swam to the ledge, both smiling ear to ear.
For the first time in weeks, Allie saw the same joy that Hannah radiated on Sammy’s face. An authentic, reflexive happiness.
Seeing Sammy embracing the moment, enjoying herself as a Little, Allie let herself imagine a world where Sammy was always this happy, this free, this unburdened. A quiet, aching wish to keep Sammy right here. Laughing and small and safe.
A world where she never has to mend Sammy’s shattered heart from a future determined to crush it.
And the terrible thing, the thing that frightened Allie most, was how much it sounded like love.
My gift to you was the realization of every single fantasy you ever had.
The opportunity to be Daddy’s diaper girl, spending every moment under my loving, doting care. All the thick, crinkly diapers you ever wanted. All the tender, explosive orgasms from getting fucked on a Sesame Street changing table as a bedazzled pacifier dangled from your onesie.
You never thought about the gift you would one day give me in return. Why would you when you were living the life you used to dream about?
The life you greedily fantasized about as you jackhammered yourself with a vibrator every night.
Which is why you didn’t understand why I laughed as you stuttered your way through a well-rehearsed speech about taking a break from diapers.
That you wanted to be a big girl again!
No.
Your gift to me was watching you realize that you’ll spend the prime of your life right here in your nursery, drooling from your Paci during a midday nap.
That your version of the profoundly feminine is forever an overworked, tinkle-filled diaper taped around your needy mound, your curves hugged by a soft onesie with cartoon prints on it.
You were never a big girl. Never the sexy, independent woman you thought.
So, I've been posting Sammy's Little Problem on reddit as a way to stash it just in case this blog gets deleted. And it is making me nostalgic.
I frequently say it's my favorite story, but I don't think I've ever explained why. Because on the surface, it's very different from my normal humiliation-focused captions. I mean, it's a story full of littles, caregivers, and regression after all.
Yet, it's also the most authentic expression of my own experience of becoming incontinent, neatly packaged in allegory. It's a story of grieving the life I had planned and reconciling with the feelings that nobody would ever respect me because of the diapers.
Which is why the universe Sammy is set in is so perfect. Stripped of the ABDL decorations, Sammy's universe formalizes involuntary reclassifications that strip away a planned future and reassign you to a diminished category, and you have to find out whether you can still be yourself inside it.
Sammy's grief is my grief. I became incontinent shortly after I became a lawyer. Right on the cusp of living the life I worked so hard for, the same way Sammy lost everything on the cusp of attending her dream school. Being in diapers felt like it negated everything.
The universe let me channel my real emotions, hidden behind allegory, and dress them in an adorable diaper story. They are authentic emotions, deeply vulnerable, but safely distant enough because readers attribute the emotion to Sammy, not to the author.
My other captions are nowhere near as ambitious. While they often have their root in the same fears, they have no real emotion, at least not mine. By authoring the mockery—staging it, controlling it, deciding exactly how the humiliation landed and when and how far it went—I stopped being the person it was inflicted on and became the person inflicting it.
My humiliation captions master shame by controlling it, but in doing so, admit that the shame is real. It doesn't resolve the existence of shame; it merely puts me in control of it. My captions glamorize the fall and erotic enjoyment of succumbing to shame. Useful, yes. But it is merely armor.
The goal of Sammy is to deny the existence of shame altogether. Sammy adds what my captions lack: love. That even in a world where the reduction is made real, it need not define her. That she can thrive in spite of it.
The thing you hated most about your incontinence being public knowledge was how everyone treated you after learning you were in diapers. Before it happened they treated you like the adult you were.
Now you're just treated like a silly boy in diapers. It's like the diapers give them cover to act goofy. How can they possibly embarrass themselves in front of the guy in diapers?
They act silly because they don't need to worry about impressing you like they would with a guy they may be interested in. There is no pretense of sex with a guy in diapers. You're like a puppy to them. A cute plaything they want to cuddle and protect. Sex is the last thing on their mind.
Now all you get are the funny faces, puppy talk, and playful comments about your diapers that do little to hide the mockery in their voice. They may not call you names like "diaper boy" or "baby" or anything like that, but its the subtext in everything they say, every interaction.
You hate it. You just want to be normal. Like you were before. You're sick of being treated like this. Just because your bladder doesn't work the same as theirs shouldn't make you less of a man.
But as you look up at her, you know none of that matters anymore.
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"Oh? Does my baby like that?" Mommy cooed around my moans as she slowly moved the vibrator in small circles. She paused the wand at one particular spot and held it there just long enough for my breath to catch followed by another moan sneaking it's way past my traitorous lips.
"I think she does! Oh yes she does! My little one *loves* her buzzy time!" Mommy made the vibrator wander along the front of my diaper, carefully *avoiding* that spot this time. I pushed my hips into the vibrator, trying to reposition it.
She shifted her body slightly, getting one arm around my waist while the other continued to tease me with the promise of sweet vibrations if I could only make her hit ... the right ... spot!
"But I wonder, which does she like more? Her buzzy wand..." Mommy finally let the wand land on that spot again and pushed my hips down into the bed. "Or her *diapers*". At that moment, she grabbed a fistful of my diapered bottom and pushed me up into the vibrator, trapping my body between her kneading hand in the back and the wonderful vibrations in front.
"Fuuuuuuuuuuck" I moaned as the vibrations seemed to tear through my body, reach her other hand, and reverberate through the rest of me. I reveled for that moment as I felt climax approaching.
Then I heard a click and the vibrator stopped.
"Oh no. We don't use that language in this house. Guess we're done for now".
"Noooooo..." I whined, desperate for that release. Just a few more seconds were all I needed. Surely she wouldn't be so cruel!
But looking up into her deep violet eyes, seeing the smirk hiding at the corners of her lips, I knew I was fucked. She could easily be that cruel. I felt a shiver run through me in anticipation of what was to come.
"I don't know..." She mused, while her left hand continued to cup and squeeze my diapered butt. A diaper that was now soggy. When had that happened? "That was an awfully *naughty* word for such a little one to say. And naughty Little ones don't get to have fun things like time with their buzzy wands."
My body tensed as I sensed a trap. "But!" She exclaimed "maybe my little baby didn't know what she was saying. Maybe she'd be willing to give up saying such naughty words if it means getting to finish."
Her eyes locked with mine as I felt the Contract hover, like an open question. I could always say no; a Contract couldn't be entered unwillingly, after all. Last time, I had bartered away "my ability to use the potty when diapered" when she discovered I was a "little baby whose panties were all wet" after she'd been toying with me for the better part of an hour.
Before that, I had been moaning her name over and over while she edged me closer and closer to orgasm but never reaching it. That time, I traded her the ability to "call her anything other than 'Mommy' when turned on". Which beat the alternative she had offered: "Needing a pacifier in my mouth to orgasm".
And just like those other times, I knew this was a mistake. But my rational mind wasn't in the driver's seat. She wanted me not to cuss? Fine. I didn't need to be able to say "Fuck". I could scream incoherent nonsense for all I cared. I needed to cum. Now.
"Yes" I whispered in agreement and felt the Contract click into place. There was a moment of disorientation, but it subsided as quickly as it had arrived, leaving behind a sense of .... something missing. Not a gaping hole, but noticeable. Like the last two times, it felt like there was a forgotten thought hovering just out of reach.
Mommy wasted no time bringing back the vibrations and thrusting my body into the vibrator.
"Ohhhhh Fuuuuuuuudge" I moaned as she angled the vibrator more directly, hitting the right spot over and over. "Frick, it feels so good, Mommy!" My brow furrowed. Had I just said ....
Mommy turned the vibrator up and the thoughts evaporated. "Oh gosh! I just want to make cummies, Mommy!" I nearly yelled, before my cheeks heated, realizing the words that had just come out of my mouth. "Sorry, Mommy. I meant 'cummies'. No, not cummies, 'cummies!' Gosh darn it, I'm trying to say 'cummies'! Frick!"
Mommy looked down at me with a predatory glee. "Well what kind of Mommy would I be if I denied my little one her 'cummies'?" she cooed as she puppetted my body, gyrating my hips into the still humming vibrator. "Nooooooooo!" I cried as I felt the climax approaching. "Fudge! I didn't mean this, Mommy! Fudge! Fuuuuuuudge!" I tried to resist the oncoming wave, but my body had other plans.
Orgasm finally took me, the cresting wave pouring through my body. I felt another warmth pooling beneath me as my back arched and my body crashed back down to the bed over and over. As the spasms turns to shudders, Mommy leaned over and kissed my forehead. When she pulled back, there was an orange glowing thread trailing from her lips. I could feel a faint tugging followed by a *snap* in my mind as she pulled the thread free. She wrapped it around her finger next to a pair of identical strands, one in azure and one in violet.
"Oh you deliciousy desperate little thing" Mommy said contentedly, staring at her hand and eliciting tiny whines from me as she patted the front of my soggy diaper. She turned back from admiring her collection of my Fragments to look down at me with that insatiable hunger of hers. "Mommy cannot wait to see what you're willing to part with next".
Which captions of yours turn you on the most? Do you ever read them after you write them to get off?
This on is easy: The Ugly Truth and As Good As It Gets
Really anything written for @theneedfulthings. But especially The Ugly Truth. That one is the closest to a treatise of what I love most. Pleasure as corruption.
But for the second question, no. As soon as I post something, it’s dead to me. All I see is grammar mistakes, missed opportunities, and awkwardness.
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