Diaper Lover

So I just want to make a quick disclaimer at the start. This post is telling you how I, personally, started wetting the bed every night. To my knowledge, nobody else has tried doing this method, and even the people I have shared this with previously who wanted to do it never actually went through with it, so I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who has done this. I tailored this method completely to myself and can’t tell you that this will work for everyone because nobody else has ever tried it. 

Some of you may have originally seen this method on a Wordpress site I made back in 2016, as I uploaded it there originally and it got about 500 views, but because of so many requests, I decided to rewrite it and post it here on Tumblr : )

Scary ominous warning at the start, I absolutely detested the experience of doing this method, and even to this day, I remember how much it fucking sucked. I’m not telling you to do this, this is just what I did and what has made me a permanent, relentless bedwetter for the past almost four years.

In my strong belief, everything about each kind of untraining is hugely mental in nature. There are physical elements to it, like muscle degradation, but like 80% of untraining is essentially just retraining our body and our subconscious mind into accepting and embracing incontinence.

What I did to start bedwetting was kind of prey on and take advantage of my subconscious in a way. 

For a period of about a month straight, and I do mean a month, I drank a lot of water before bed and then went to sleep without a diaper on. As you can probably imagine, all that water before bed caused me to wake up in the middle of the night with a pretty strong urge to go to the bathroom (if you are not a light sleeper, this wouldn’t work). What I did was, instead of wetting myself as soon as I woke up like other guides mention (which would have been a bit unpleasant anyway as I wasn’t wearing diapers), I made myself get up and walk to the bathroom to use the toilet instead, every single night. 

I’ll tell you right now, doing this for an entire month was literally one of the worst experiences I’ve ever had in my entire life. I was constantly losing sleep and was constantly tired every day because of how interrupted my rest was, but I guess the reason I stuck with it was because I was pretty fucking hardcore about wanting to be a bedwetter at the time.

Finally, after all that, the end of the month came, and I introduced diapers to my probably completely exhausted and unhappy subconscious as an easy out to its current predicament. For those unaware, our subconscious mind will pretty much do anything it can to avoid pain or discomfort, and it will do everything it can to use as little energy as possible in running the body.

On that first night after the month of hell, I wore diapers to bed.

Like before, I drank a lot of water before going to sleep, and also like before, my body woke me up with a very full bladder. What was different this time though is that instead of making myself get up and walk all the way to the bathroom to use the toilet, I just let my bladder go and very happily wet my diaper while still laying in bed, before going back to sleep. 

The next night I did the same thing again. I drank a lot before going to sleep, and I wore a diaper to bed. This time though, I didn’t wake up during the night at all. I awoke actually feeling pretty refreshed for once, which in itself was a relief because I’d gone so long waking up exhausted, but that wasn’t the only thing that had happened. My diaper was completely soaked when I woke up.

This was the turnaround point in my nighttime incontinence. I had put my body and mind through hell for an entire month, before showing them both that there was a much easier way to deal with the problem than waking me up. 

From that day onwards, I started waking up wet more and more. I was still having dry nights here and there to start with, but as my body kept learning and kept finding no problem in making me wet while still asleep, it kept happening again and again. 

Over the course of months after that day, my body got fully in the habit of making me a complete bedwetter, because why would it ever wake me up when it was so much easier to just make me wet myself in my sleep? I went from three to four wet nights a week to it being incredibly strange to wake up dry even once or twice a month. I even had to get thicker, more absorbent diapers because my body just stopped holding anything back, and it wasn’t uncommon at the time to wake up in a leaking diaper in the morning. 

My boyfriend, Zach, started this blog a couple of years ago. When he told me he was doing it, I was absolutely mortified. He also didn’t let me see what he was writing on it and until a few weeks ago I hadn’t. As anyone who’s been following knows, Zach is super busy and has only kept up with this blog intermittently. 

Which, I guess, is where I come in. From now on I’ll be the one posting on here. First of all, this blog blew up more than Zach anticipated and he felt bad about not having the time to back and write more. He's talked about having me document my own humiliation on here, but it wasn't until this weekend where he actually decided to have me log in here and write.

I’m sure I’ll go into everything a lot more, but a big part of our relationship has been Zach supporting me by helping me with self discipline and holding me accountable. I have ADHD and struggle with focusing a lot. It’s how diapers were first introduced. Even though Zach’s been using them to discipline me for years, I still find the entire experience embarrassing, even though the humiliation definitely turns me on. I’m not one of those types who is attracted to “being little” (nothing against those who are) but I am definitely attracted to giving up control, even if the humiliation that comes from it makes me blush and want to hide. Probably why he decided to make me blog to the masses about it instead. 

This weekend I got in a lot of trouble and I know my punishment is far from over. Zach took away my potty privileges on Saturday night. It's been a long time since I've had to wear them all day and I forgot why diapers are such an effective deterrent for me, I can't stop squirming or get used to the wetness. He hasn't told me how long I'll have to be in diapers, only that it will depend on how well I do on this blog. But of course he wouldn't tell me what he meant by that. He thinks it’s good for me to have long-term responsibilities of things that I have to plan out and remember to do. He might still post some captions and updates, but I guess now I will be the default. He

Part of my responsibilities include taking pictures and posting regularly with good grammar and spelling, answering questions honestly, reflecting even when it's embarrassing, and growing the blog's following. I will be posting more but for now send me your questions...? Nice to meet you all.

I'm sure it must have been awfully embarrassing for you.

Sitting there in your high chair in front of everyone while I force fed you.

Your tummy growling more and more as that castor oil worked its magic.

"And now look at you! Feeding yourself without even making a fuss!

Isn't it funny that your Mommy told me to expect you to throw a fit over your baby food?

She also said you wouldn’t let me put you in a diaper

But that was easy too. You couldn’t wait to be powdered and diapered by me.

And I bet you are grateful for that diaper now that the castor oil is working l.

And you are pushing a wet thick messy load into that diaper

Maybe I ought to babysit you more often.

"Whats wrong diaper boy?

Oh no, I'm sorry your tummy doesn’t teel good.

Maybe it was something about, what Mommy slipped inside you during your last diaper change?

You know what usually makes you empty your bowels?

A nice big spoonful of castor oil or other equally strong laxatives or maybe even glycerine suppositories

Oh surely you don’t think Mommy would slip something up your bottom to make you poop your diaper do you?

No. No that’s right well maybe a lie down will make you feel better.

Why don’t you give that a try baby?

But don't forget you’re about to be locked up in bed for the night and that means no more diaper changies until tomorrow.

Do you think you can make it without messing? What'll you do baby?...

Oh no sweetie, you are only cumming in your diapers now!

You are such as horny sissy baby.

But there is only one way I'm allowing you to cum

And that is in your diapers.

I will make you totally brainless for me.

I will ensure this brainfuck will work on your soppy little beta brain!

I want you fully regressed back to babyhood!

In your thick pampers and onesie sucking on your paci and begging for your bottle!

You are going to be my sissy baby.

Leaking in your diapers.

Image credit Mommy Baby Bruce

That enema is hung awful high, do you know why?

The higher the bag is hung the faster and deeper the soapy enema will go into your bowel.

Sure you may cramp and feel uncomfortable. That’s to be expected with all that liquid in your bowels and colon.

But with the combination of a double enema nozzle inflated inside, you won't lose a drop.

And then after you taken all the enema, I will make you retain it for a good solid thirty minutes.

Don't worry the inflatable enema nozzle will insure it will all stay inside.

The longer you hold the more effective it becomes.

Then after thirty minutes, you will release into a thick high absorbency diaper.

Once the enema nozzle is deflated you will go boom boom in your diaper.

Aww. You don’t look very happy sweetie. But it’s ok I will change you. Eventually!

Image credit Sissy Manor

With a snug straight jacket on, and some thick padding, I decided that I’d give my faggot a challenge.

If he managed to escape from his bondage by the time I unlock his door in the morning, then he’s free to go. However, if he’s still struggling then he’s mine to keep!

Diapers were just the first step.

Now your obedience to me settles in deeper each day.

Through repetition, through acceptance.

Through the way your body loves not having to wait anymore.

Not even for a second.

So next time you feel me sliding that soft thick diaper between your legs

And wrapping that delicious padding around your bottom you will remember this.

You won’t need a reminder

You will just let go.

You won’t need a push because you know. Diapered means done

The apartment smelled of lavender and baby powder, a scent that had become Mark’s new normal. He sat cross-legged on the living room floor, his chubby fingers clutching a stuffed dinosaur. His onesie, a bright blue with little white clouds, rustled as he wiggled his diapered bottom. The thick padding between his legs crinkled with every movement, a sound that would have embarrassed him but now filled him with a warm, fuzzy comfort.

Jessica, his girlfriend, lounged on the couch, scrolling through her phone. She glanced at him occasionally, a smirk playing on her lips. "Look at you, sweetie," she cooed, reaching down to ruffle his hair. "Such a good little boy."

Mark giggled, his eyes sparkling with childlike joy. He didn’t remember why he was like this, only that it felt right. The world was simpler now. No stress, no responsibilities, just toys and snacks and the occasional warm, tingly feeling in his diaper.

The doorbell rang, and Jessica’s friend Emily let herself in. "Oh my god, Jess, he’s adorable," Emily gushed, dropping her bag by the door and kneeling beside Mark. She pinched his cheek, and he beamed up at her, proud of the praise.

"You’ve done such a good job with him," Emily said, her voice dripping with amusement. "He looks perfect."

Jessica grinned. "He’s a natural. Took to it like he was born for it."

Mark, oblivious to their conversation, reached for a sippy cup on the coffee table. He took a long sip, some of the sweet juice dripping down his chin. Jessica took a bib, and he happily let her tie it around his neck.

As the afternoon wore on, Mark’s diaper grew heavier. He squirmed, his face scrunching up as he tried to ignore the warm, squishy feeling. Jessica noticed immediately.

"Uh-oh, someone needs a change," she teased, nudging Emily. "Think he could stay dry if he wanted?"

Emily laughed. "No way!"

Mark looked up at them, his expression innocent. Then, suddenly, his face lit up. "Boys drool," he announced proudly, his voice high and sing-song, "girls rule!"

Jessica and Emily burst into laughter. Jessica clapped her hands, delighted. "Oh my god!" She scooped Mark into her arms, ignoring his surprised squeal. "Such a good boy!"

Mark giggled, his cheeks flushed with happiness. The praise made his heart swell. He didn’t know why the phrase had popped into his head, only that it made his mommy happy.

Emily grinned. "I think someone deserves a treat for being such a good little boy."

Jessica nodded. "Definitely. But first, let’s get him out of that soggy diaper."

Jessica laid Mark on the changing table in the nursery, his legs kicking happily. Emily stood nearby, watching with amusement as Jessica undid the tapes of his diaper. The scent of baby powder filled the air as she cleaned him up, her touch gentle but firm.

"You’re doing so well, sweetie," Jessica murmured, sprinkling powder onto his skin. "Such a good boy for Mommy."

Mark cooed, his fingers twisting in the soft blanket beneath him. He loved this part, the attention, the care, the way Jessica’s voice made him feel safe.

Emily leaned in, her voice playful. "You know, Jess, I think he’s ready for something a little... thicker next time. Don’t you?"

Jessica smirked. "Oh, absolutely. Maybe even a nighttime diaper. What do you think, Mark? Want to try a nice, crinkly nighttime diaper?"

Mark clapped his hands, his eyes wide with excitement. "Yes, please!"

Jessica laughed, fastening the fresh diaper around his waist. "Such a polite little boy."

After his change, Mark was rewarded with a bottle of warm milk. He curled up on Jessica’s lap, sucking contentedly as she stroked his hair. Emily sat beside them, occasionally reaching over to pinch his cheek or tickle his toes.

"You’re so lucky, Jess," Emily sighed. "He’s perfect."

Jessica smiled down at Mark, her voice soft. "I know. He’s my good boy."

Mark, half-asleep and warm in her arms, murmured against the bottle. "Love you, Mommy."

Jessica’s heart melted. "Love you too, sweetie."

As the sun began to set, Mark’s eyelids grew heavy. Jessica carried him to the crib, tucking him in with his favorite blanket. He snuggled into the soft sheets, his diaper crinkling with every movement.

"Night-night, little one," Jessica whispered, kissing his forehead.

Mark yawned, his voice barely audible. "Night-night, Mommy."

Jessica and Emily stood in the doorway, watching Mark drift off to sleep. Emily shook her head, still grinning. "I can’t believe how well the hypnosis took. He doesn’t even remember being an adult."

Jessica crossed her arms, proud. "Told you it would work. He was always so stressed, so... resistant to letting go. Now look at him. Happy as can be."

Emily chuckled. "So, what’s next for your little boy?"

Jessica’s eyes sparkled with mischief. "Oh, I’ve got plenty of ideas. Maybe a playdate with some other regressed boys. Or a trip to the park in his stroller."

Emily clapped her hands. "I have to see that."

Jessica grinned. "Oh, you will."

As they turned off the light and closed the door, Mark sighed in his sleep, his diaper crinkling softly. Somewhere in his mind, he knew he was exactly where he was meant to be, safe, loved, and utterly, blissfully little.

I wanna be self-conscious; wondering if people notice. I want you to make me take a large water bottle with me and make me drink it all. Force me to fill my bladder so I have no choice but to fill my cute little diaper

Part Two

Two weeks made a difference. Not loudly, not dramatically, but in ways Camie struggled to articulate. The lavender scent no longer registered when he pulled clothes over his head. The pastel bedroom no longer felt borrowed or preserved; it felt inhabited. The satin nightdresses rotated with the quilted pyjama sets without commentary, and while he still rolled his eyes occasionally as he buttoned them or tugged them down over his hips, the irritation had dulled into routine. Arthur had not pushed aggressively since that first confrontation. He had not needed to. Instead, he corrected Camie’s tone when it sharpened, reminded him to “slow down” when he moved too abruptly, praised him for cooking properly, commented when he looked “put together.” The rhythm of the house had stabilised with quiet precision. Dinner at seven. Gym at six. Showers staggered. Bed by eleven. Camie told himself it was simply structure, something he had never particularly prioritised before. Perhaps it was good for him.

The hair had crept up on him almost unnoticed. He had meant to get it trimmed a week earlier, but work had been busy and Arthur had remarked that it “sat better” slightly longer. So he had left it. Now it brushed below his jawline, the ends soft from the volumising shampoo Arthur had introduced into the shower lineup without comment. When damp, it curved inward faintly instead of falling blunt and straight as it once had. One morning Camie stood in the hallway mirror running his fingers through it, frowning at the way it framed his face. “Right,” he muttered. “That’s enough.” He booked a same-day appointment at the barbers before he could reconsider.

Arthur was in the kitchen when Camie came downstairs with keys in hand. “Heading out?” Arthur asked without looking up from his laptop. “Haircut,” Camie replied. Arthur’s fingers paused for a fraction too long. “You need one?” Camie scoffed and gestured at his head. “Look at it.” Arthur looked up properly then, not glancing but assessing. “It suits you.” Camie rolled his eyes. “It’s in my eyes.” Arthur leaned back slightly. “You always cut it too short.” “I do not.” “You do. You lose shape when it’s cropped.” Camie huffed a laugh. “It’s hair, not a sculpture.” Arthur stood and walked around the table slowly. “It frames your face better like this,” he said evenly. “Less harsh.” Camie shifted under the steady gaze. “You analysing my bone structure now?” “Someone has to,” Arthur replied.

When Arthur lifted a hand to brush a strand from Camie’s cheek, Camie protested instinctively. “Don’t do the stylist thing.” Arthur’s hand hovered for a brief second before completing the gesture anyway. “You’ve got good lines,” he said quietly. “Why blunt them?” Camie swallowed. “It’s just a trim.” Arthur met his eyes. “You don’t need one yet.” Camie tightened his grip on his keys. “I’ve had short hair since I was fifteen.” “And?” “And that’s how I like it.” Arthur’s expression didn’t waver. “Or that’s what you’re used to.” The sentence landed heavier than it should have. “It’s getting long,” Camie muttered. “It’s getting better,” Arthur corrected. “You’ve changed your routine. You’re sleeping properly. Eating cleaner. Training smarter. Why revert something that’s working?” The word revert settled uncomfortably. Camie steadied his breathing automatically, and Arthur noticed. “That’s better,” he said quietly.

“Why do you care?” Camie asked finally. “Because it suits you,” Arthur replied without hesitation. The simplicity disarmed him. Camie thought about the barbershop, the familiar buzz of clippers, the sharp edges he had always walked out with. Then he thought about the way his hair now fell naturally around his face, softening his reflection in a way he did not entirely dislike. He hovered over the cancellation notification before pressing it. “There,” he muttered. Arthur nodded once. “Good. I’ll show you how to style it properly tonight.” Camie snorted. “You’re unbelievable.” Arthur returned to his laptop, routine reasserting itself around them.

A week later, the shift deepened. Camie had not noticed when cooking transitioned from volunteer effort to expectation. He had not noticed when Arthur began leaving folded laundry in baskets for him to sort, or when the dishwasher waited full until he emptied it. Arthur worked longer hours at the dining table, headset on, laptop open. He went to the gym, showered, dressed, returned to work. Camie filled the gaps. One evening he stood at the sink, sleeves pushed up, lavender steam rising around him, and thought clearly: I didn’t move in to be domestic staff. The thought lingered.

That was why the dinner caught him off guard. He came downstairs after showering, hair brushing his jawline, prepared to suggest takeaway. Instead, he stopped halfway down the stairs. The table was set properly. Candles. Cloth napkins. Plates aligned. Arthur stood at the stove in a fitted dark shirt rather than his usual lounge tee. “…What’s this?” Camie asked. “Sit,” Arthur replied evenly. “Am I being proposed to?” Camie joked. Arthur’s mouth twitched faintly. “It’s been a month.” He poured wine into two glasses. “Since you moved in. I thought it deserved marking.”

The meal was thoughtful, plated carefully. Camie stared at the first course in genuine surprise. “You made this?” Arthur met his gaze. “Yes.” “You?” Arthur didn’t react. “I can cook.” Camie shifted slightly. “I didn’t know you could cook like this.” “You do most of it now,” Arthur said evenly. The statement should have stung. Instead, it landed as appreciation. “You’ve stepped up,” Arthur added. There was no sarcasm. The acknowledgement loosened something in Camie’s chest. The wine warmed quickly. Conversation flowed. Work frustrations. Gym progress. Small jokes. Arthur laughed more openly than he had in weeks.

When dessert arrived, Arthur placed it carefully in front of him. “You remember that place in Shoreditch?” “The Italian one?” Camie asked. Arthur nodded. “You ordered something like this.” Camie blinked. “You remembered that?” Arthur held eye contact. “I remember things.” The air shifted slightly. “Why did Calli leave?” Camie asked before he could stop himself. Arthur took a measured sip of wine. “We wanted different things.” “Like what?” “She was focused on work. Travel. Career progression.” “And you weren’t?” “I wanted something more stable.” “Stable how?” Arthur exhaled quietly. “Home-focused.” The word was deliberate. “Like kids?” “Eventually.” Camie studied him. “You never mentioned that.” Arthur’s mouth curved faintly. “You never asked.” The answer was smooth, framed as incompatibility rather than conflict. “So she didn’t want to prioritise it?” Camie pressed. “No,” Arthur said evenly. “And I didn’t want to keep negotiating.” Camie nodded slowly. “That sucks.” Arthur’s gaze softened slightly. “It does. But you’ve made it easier.” “The house,” he clarified. “It’s easier with you here.” Candlelight flickered across Camie’s sleeves. Arthur noticed. Camie did not. “You’ve been good,” Arthur added quietly.

The candles had burned low by the time Arthur cleared the final plate. Camie leaned back in his chair, warm from wine and attention. The irritation he had carried dissolved into gratitude. Arthur returned from the kitchen carrying a folded stack of fabric and placed it neatly at the end of the table. “I’ve been thinking,” he said calmly. “You shouldn’t keep living out of half your wardrobe.” Camie frowned faintly. “I’m not.” “You are,” Arthur replied evenly. “You rotate the same few things around the house.” He lifted the top item slightly. Soft pink fleece joggers. Beneath them, a matching robe. A pale satin lounge set. A soft knit blush dress. And on top, a short fleece turtleneck dress, plush and structured. Camie’s smile faltered. “You’re joking.” “I’m not.” “They’re hers.” “They were.”

“You deserve to be comfortable in this house,” Arthur continued. “You’ve done more than I expected.” Camie swallowed. “That doesn’t mean I need to wear her stuff.” Arthur leaned back slightly. “Why not?” “Because it’s not mine.” “It’s just fabric.” Camie’s irritation rose. “That’s not the point.” Arthur’s gaze sharpened. “Lower your tone.” The correction landed instinctively. “You’re escalating,” Arthur added calmly. “I’m offering comfort.” The wine blurred Camie’s thinking slightly. “You’ve been sleeping better. Eating better. Training better. You look better,” Arthur continued gently. The compliment hit harder than expected. “You stopped fighting small changes,” Arthur added. He lifted the fleece turtleneck dress and held it out. “Try this.”

Upstairs, alone, Camie laid the dress across the bed and stared at it. It looked soft. Harmless. Nothing like him. He pulled his shirt over his head. The fleece slid over his torso easily, warm against skin faintly scented with lavender. It hugged slightly at the waist before loosening over his hips. He tugged the hem down instinctively; it stopped mid-thigh. His throat tightened. He almost took it off. But Arthur’s words echoed. You’ve adjusted well. You look better. He stepped into the hallway and walked downstairs.

Arthur stopped walking when he saw him. His gaze travelled slowly from collar to hem and back again. Not hungry. Not overt. Assessing. Satisfied. “You look comfortable,” Arthur said quietly. “It’s… soft,” Camie admitted. “Sit,” Arthur said calmly. And without fully understanding why, Camie did.

Camie was still sitting stiffly on the edge of the sofa when Arthur moved again. Without breaking the quiet rhythm of the room, he returned to the folded pile and lifted something small from beneath it. “Those won’t keep you warm,” he said lightly. Camie frowned. “What won’t?” Arthur held up a pair of knee-high fleece socks. Pale pink. Thick. Soft. Camie stared. “You’ve got to be kidding.” Arthur didn’t smile. “You said you were cold upstairs last week.” “That was once.” “And you complained about the heating bill.”

Arthur stepped closer and crouched so they were eye-level. “You’re self-conscious about your legs,” he said calmly. Camie stiffened. “What?” “You tug the hem down every time you stand.” The observation landed with uncomfortable precision. “And these fix that.” He held them out. No demand. Just offering. Camie exhaled slowly. “You’ve thought about this a lot.” “I pay attention,” Arthur replied evenly. Camie took the socks and pulled them on without looking at him. The fleece slid easily over his calves, rising just below the hem of the dress. The warmth was immediate. The coverage subtle but undeniable. “They’re warm,” he admitted quietly. “Good,” Arthur replied.

Camie leaned back slightly, then asked what had been pressing at him. “So… what, this is it now?” Arthur’s gaze sharpened faintly. “What is?” “This,” Camie gestured vaguely to himself. “Is that pile what I’m allowed to wear at home?” Arthur did not react immediately. He stood slowly, recalibrating. “Allowed?” he repeated calmly. “You know what I mean.” Arthur stepped back slightly, removing pressure. “There’s no ‘allowed.’ You’re not a child.” “It feels like it,” Camie admitted quietly. Arthur’s expression softened slightly. “It shouldn’t.” He moved toward the kitchen, picking up the empty glasses. “I suggested options. You chose to wear it. You could have said no.”

The truth landed uncomfortably. Camie had said no. Then yes. Arthur leaned against the counter. “I’m not restricting you. I’m improving comfort. Structure. Presentation.” He paused. “If you want to wear the old joggers, wear them. I just don’t think they suit the way you’ve been lately.” The pivot was subtle. Not command. Preference. “You make it sound like I’ve changed into someone else,” Camie muttered. “You’ve refined,” Arthur corrected evenly. The word was deliberate. Camie sat with it. “I just don’t want this to become… expected,” he said quietly. Arthur stepped forward slowly. “It’s only expected if you like it.” Ownership reframed as autonomy. Camie nodded slowly. “Right.” It wasn’t conviction. It was compliance. Arthur saw the hesitation, the slight tightening of Camie’s jaw. He did not push further. “You don’t have to fight everything,” he said softly. “Yeah,” Camie replied. “I get it.” He didn’t. Arthur knew that. And that fragile reluctance was the next thing Arthur would need to address.