You sat and coloured idly in your baby bondage gear:
🔒 Mittens
🔒 Baby Booties
🔒 Harness
🔒 Diaper Cover
🔒 Pacifier Gag
All secured with magnetic locks.
The grownups talked:
"Do they need to be locked up like that"
"Not really, they just like it, Don't you baby ...?"
You nodded.
"Do you want to be let out?"
You shook your head.
"See, they just like it better this way"
Of course, it was true. You wouldn't take your diapers off or talk, or walk, even if you could. You even picked all the gear out for them to put on you. But you kept asking them to secure you in all your locks anyways... just for fun.
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I know, I know. You're picturing a big, dramatic scene where I pull down your pants, spank you into submission, tape you into a thick diaper and lock it into place.
You know what's so much more delicious to me? Diaper humiliation as routine. As lifestyle. As background noise.
You come home from work and swap out your house keys for a big pacifier, which you clip to your collar. You pull out your phone as you walk to the living room, casually removing your pants and underwear with your other hand. You lie down on the floor and spread your bare legs in the air, assuming the expected position as you submissively wait for your nightly diaper. Your legs dangle there stupidly as you suckle and scroll.
I let you dawdle like that for a minute or two before coming to oil and powder your bottom. You tell me about your day, drooling a bit through your paci, and I tell you about mine. I fold up the diaper nice and tight against your waiting bum and seal it.
No scene. No roleplay. No taunting or threats. Peeing in diapers and sucking pacifiers are just your everyday home life, as much as Netflix and takeout would be for a normal couple.
Because every once in a while, when you're not expecting it — as you're waddling to the kitchen in your soggy pampers or feeling a rope of drool ooze onto your dinner bib — it hits you like a ton of bricks: What a silly diapered dummy you are! When did being drooly, padded, and humiliated become so natural to you? So unremarkable? Your face will get hot, you'll feel squirmy in your tummy, and it will be so delicious, because it came out of nowhere.
And once it's made routine for you, you will sometimes forget that it's *not supposed to be*.
You'll lay down in the living room for a diaper after a long day of work, not realizing that Mama's friend's car was in the driveway when you got home and they walk into the living room while you're just lying there, oblivious. Mama's got you halfway changed into your diaper before it registers that her friend *hasn't seen you like this before* and is acting like this is totally normal.
You'll walk up to Mama while she's on the phone and after telling her something you'll realize that your paci was still in and the person on the line heard you lisping adorably around it and you'll have to pray Mama can come up with some excuse for what they just heard.
Your adult friends will come over and you'll be scrambling at the last minute to make sure you didn't leave any baby toys stuck in the couch cushions or a bottle in the drying rack ... again.
"Baby" will eventually become your everyday state and you'll have to work to remember what real adults talk about with each other. You haven't *forgotten*, you just haven't thought about it in a while so the memories are a bit *fuzzy*. Harder to recall. Buried in your memory under an ever growing pile of stuffies, bottles, and diapers.
Slowly slipping further and further into this "new normalcy" and each time you come up for air, finding it a bit harder to find the surface and shift back to your grown-up mindset. And when you do, how beautifully red your face will get as it dawns on you just how long you had stayed under that time.
What's with that frowny face, hmm? Look, I got you a yummy ice cream! Aren't you going to thank me for being such a good babysitter?
No? Awww, are you still grumpy because I checked your diaper in front of all those people at the pool? I'm pretty sure they already knew what you were wearing, sweetie. Your Mommy put you in those extra-thick swim diapers for a reason, and it wasn't to preserve your dignity. She told me explicitly to make sure as many people as possible find out you're being diaper punished.
Or is this about the spanking I gave you? Because I did warn you what would happen if you tried to stop me changing your dirty diaper in the ladies' room... Oh well, if you don't want your ice cream, that's fine. I have another, less optional treat for you to enjoy by the pool. Two big boobies full of breast-milk!
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Some of y'all need someone threatening to regress you and take a billion pictures to put into a cute little baby book to show to all of your old friends and any girls that you try to date. "This was the first time I ever put her in a bouncer!" while you stand there in a soggy diaper while your Mommy shows your new crush all those embarrassing pictures. 🥰
I squirm from my seat in the playpen, the crinkling from beneath me causing me to immediately blush. I'm not supposed to be here, reduced from a 27-year-old man to some sort of overgrown toddler.
I should be sitting on the couch with Lydia kneeling on the floor, blushing as she sucks me off in that slutty cheerleading outfit she absolutely hates.
Instead, I'm sucking on a binky, watching the clock, hoping that Lydia decides she's had enough fun with me before I lose the battle with my bladder that feels full to bursting.
I should never made that bet.
I should have known better.
Fucking Patriots screwed me again.
"There's my little football star," an all-too-familiar, sickly sweet voice coos as my wife walks into the room, "Are you enjoying your day as Mama's special little man?"
I scowl up at her, frustration and embarrassment boiling in my belly as she approaches.
"Uh oh!" She coos as she catches my expression, "Is someone feeling like a wittle grumpy goose?"
I groan and roll my eyes at the childish treatment, absolutely hating being treated like a child.
"Hm," Sheila says, placing a thoughtful finger to her lip, "Are you cranky because you need a change?"
In a moment, her hand is between my legs, squeezing and massaging the crinkly padding between my legs.
She shakes her head in disappointment.
"No? In fact," I feel a carefully manicured finger slip under the leg band of the diaper, "You're bone dry! No, no, no! That won't do! You must be dehydrated! Give me a minute, big guy, and Mama will get you all fixed up!"
I whimper as my wife walks off and my bladder twinges.
Wearing the diaper for losing a stupid bet is one thing, but, wetting it?
I shudder.
It doesn't take long before my wife is back, a large bottle of what appears to be juice in her hand.
She smiles as she unlatches the gate to my pen and gently pats her thigh.
"Come on, big boy! Crawl to Mama! I've got some delicious num-nums for you!"
In a moment she stepping back, slowly backing away until she reaches the couch and sits down.
Sighing, resigned to my fate, I do as I'm instructed. I shift to all fours and crawl, diapered ass swaying behind me, to where my wife sits waiting.
"Good baby," she coos at me as she reaches down and helps me crawl into her lap, "Such an obedient little loser! Yes you are!"
I whimper at her sing-song at the reminder of why I'm in this position as she settles my head on her thighs. As I blush, looking up past her beautiful breasts to her grinning face, for a moment, I can't help but think this whole situation isn't too bad.
That thought is short lived, though, as Sheila reaches over and squeezes the bulge involuntarily forming in my diaper.
"Oh," she giggles, "Does my little football know-it-all actually like his little didi's? Just you wait until their wet! I hear that's when most silly little things like you learn to love them the most."
I kick my legs, blush, and moan as her hand works its way back up my body to the ring of the binky in my mouth, before she plucks it from between my lips.
"Now," she coos, "Let's get you fed."
In a moment, the rubber nipple of the pacifier is replaced by the nipple of the bottle. A single drop of sweet juice drips from the tip of it and hits the back of my tongue.
I make eye contact with my wife and shake my head no.
My bladder aches as I silently plead with her for some relief to this humiliation.
"No?" She hums softly, looking down at me with a raised eyebrow, "Someone wants to welch on his bet? He never wants to see this in that cute little cheerleader outfit he loves?"
I blush and avert my eyes in shame.
As humiliating as this is, am I really willing to give up any chance of retribution to avoid this?
I feel my cock press against the dry padding of my diaper again as I think of Sheila looking up at me with her mouth full, wearing an embarrassing outfit, instead of the other way around.
I shake my head, 'No,' again.
"That's what I thought," my wife clicks, "Now drink."
I do as I'm told.
Slowly, I start to suckle the sweet liquid out of the small hole in the nipple of the bottle.
Sheila brushes my hair back, cooing at me like an actual infant, while a drink.
"Such a good boy, such a good little boy," she purrs.
My bladder screams.
I know I'm on the verge of losing control.
I know there is no escaping my fate.
I close my eyes, slow my suckling, and give in.
HHHHHIIIIIIIIIISSSSS
The sound of urine splashing against the filling of my diaper announces my defeat.
Sheila grins.
"Oh! Looky here! Is my big, strong husband making tinkles in his didi?"
Her hand is back on my crotch in a moment, pressing the warm, swelling, sogging padding into me.
"Good boy! Doesn't that feel much better?"
I can't make eye contact with her as she begins to massage my growing member through my infantile pants.
"Oh, it definitely does! At least your no-no bits say so!"
I whimper into the nipple of my bottle, the juice nearly drained from it.
"You know what would make it feel better? I bet if you got to nurse a little straight from the tap? What do you think, little man?"
I don't have time to even comprehend what is happening before my wife is using her free hand to pull out a breast and replacing the bottle in my mouth with her beautiful, round areola.
Suddenly, I'm overwhelmed with sensations of pleasure, embarrassment, and submission all day once.
It takes what feels like seconds until I am bucking my hips into my wife's palm, squirting a sticky load into my already soaked diaper.
I pant around my wife's breast as the world slows down and the reality of what I've just done washed over me.
"Good boy," Sheila coos, brushing her fingers through my hair as I nurse on her chest like an infant, "I think you and I are going to have lots of fun for the rest of the day. This was the best bet I've ever made."
She kisses my forehead.
I close my eyes and let regret wash over me like the waives of the ocean.
This is what happens when you don't listen to Mommy. You were asked to clean up, and you didn't listen. Maybe a sore bottom will help you remember to listen to what I say.
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“There’s no way you’re getting out of this now. We agreed you’d wear the onesie whenever I asked since it was so expensive.”
“BUT-”
“No, I don’t care that I’m asking you to wear it to the club. You’re doing it. Oh! And since you were such a brat about it, you’ll also be going there in a diaper!”
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