Lina's Blog.

Imagine that feeling when you’re tucked away upstairs in your cozy little nursery, locked in your crib, wearing nothing but a crinkly, thick diaper and a soft, pastel unicorn onesie snapped over your padded crotch. Your pacifier is snug in your mouth, muffling those little whimpers as you suck on it hard, feeling that babyish comfort wash over you. Downstairs, your boyfriend is hosting a wild party—laughter, music, and clinking glasses echo through the house. He’s invited a bunch of girls, including his ex, and they’re all drinking, giggling, and having the time of their lives. But you? You’re up here, hidden away like a naughty little secret, playing with your magic wand buzzing on the soggy padding of your diaper.

Now picture this: your boyfriend set up a baby monitor, but it’s reversed. You’ve got the screen right in front of your crib, showing every filthy detail of the party downstairs. There he is, groping his ex’s ass in her tiny slutty skirt and thongs, pulling her close, kissing her deep while the other girls cheer and laugh. You watch him pin her against the wall, his hands all over her, fucking her right there in the living room while the party rages on. And that feeling, oh, that feeling as you’re watching your boyfriend fucking his ex as you suddenly completely lose control and start shitting in your diaper, The hot, huge mushy mess just bursts out of you, making a loud, wet sound as it quickly spreads, filling your thick diaper, forcing you to squirm helplessly in your crib. It’s so humiliating, knowing you’re up here messing yourself like a helpless baby while he’s down there having his fun.

They are the cuuuuutest.

So adorable, huh?

They can be so adult, so confident and mature in the daytime– I love that–

Independent, super sharp, creative, big girl job, grownup friends–

but every evening, without fail, it starts getting closer to her bedtime, and a little voice in her head tells her: she should probably hold off on drinking more water...

and she really needs to say goodnight early to her friends, make up some excuse why she can't stay over– she's no fun overnight anyway, she prefers sleeping in her own bed...

because waiting for her back home, like always, is a bed with a very special crinkly mattress,

in a bedroom that, no matter how old she's gotten, has always smelled a tiny bit like a nursery,

and a dresser where, stuffed behind heaps of old clothes she used to wear,

she hides her most embarrassing, crinkly secret,

something she never quite grew out of needing since she was little,

and she would die if any of her friends found out...

And, waddling over to the bathroom to brush her teeth, all those little, embarrassing feelings come rushing back,

how small and helpless she feels because she still can't stay dry,

how the doctors all said she'd "grow out of it," but, of course, she never did,

and how she's always needed someone to protect and take care of her,

as she falls asleep in her thick, crinkly overnight diapers, designed for "big girl" accidents,

(she flunked out of pull-ups years ago)

fast asleep, a little drool escaping onto her pillow,

because, once she's asleep, she doesn't get to play pretend anymore.

She's still just a little baby

who gets to wake up with a little, dazed flutter every morning when she realizes:

her diaper is soaked again,

(no-one's surprised but her),

and she still can't make it to the big girl potty at nighttime.

So adorable.

You're gonna sleep nice and sound, sweetheart.

I sat in my playpen, while so many men came and went. I couldn’t remember how they looked, how they sounded, or even how many were there. I was partly fixed on that damn kid’s TV show with those bright lights and annoying singing.

Some didn’t notice me as they walked and were led to the bedroom. Some of them did, made a face, and kept on going. But some noticed me, smiled, and came by and stood over me, sitting in my crib. Some already had a boner, some got hard when they saw me like that, but all got aroused even more.

My little dick was locked, not by me. Every evening when there was a date planned, I was diapered, dressed in a babyish Shortall, placed in a big playpen in the living room, and shushed with a huge pacifier. I was told to keep quiet while the adults, in my bedroom, were having fun. I had to stay in that playpen, for so long. Most of the time I had to wet myself, I even had to go number two once or twice.

I even think that I oozed pre-cum for hours, but the pee always washed it away to the padding.

Although the TV’s sound was high, I tried to listen, to the voices, to the moans, to the water running in the shower afterwards. I always sucked on my pacifier furiously when the moans were louder than usual. The baby was angry, but I’m only just a baby, with a little dick.

“Wear it just in case.”

First, you heard it from your partner, but in time the sentence rang in your mind over and over. Before going to bed, lying down at night, and even sometimes during the day. “Just in case” was a sign for relief, but also stress. “Just in case” for what? Can’t you control yourself? Are you a toddler? “Just in case,” who said so? Not you. But now it's stuck in your head.

“Wear it just in case,” your partner said as the diaper package was ripped open on your bed. A thick white diaper was handed to you. It was soft and had a certain smell to it.

A week ago, you were telling your partner that you were tired of waking up a few times at night to pee, and sometimes you were actually rushing to the toilet, fearing you wouldn't make it. There were times you were so sleepy you fought yourself to get up. But the most difficult nights were the ones you dreamt about peeing. You remember one lucid dream where you were about to pee in the dream, but suddenly realized you were dreaming and screamed to yourself to wake up, not wanting to wet the bed.

“You’ll sleep better, and I’m sure you’ll stay dry, but just wear it, just in case.” The diaper crinkled under your grip as you considered what was said.

These days, most nights you were going to sleep diapered, especially when you had lots to drink before bed or when you were really tired.

“Did you get diapered?” “Want me to help you get on your diaper?” “Are you good for tonight?”

Those kinds of questions were being asked before bed. At first, you were a bit shy about it, but now it was just a part of the evening routine.

Lying in bed, your mind always wandered. Will you eventually wet yourself? Why are you wearing those if you’re always waking up to pee and waking up dry? Sometimes in the middle of the night, you woke up to the bathroom, but for a split second, you thought about just letting go in the diaper instead of leaving the cozy bed. But you won’t do it, you mustn’t. You won’t choose to wet yourself. Wetting your diaper consciously isn’t an option. 

For more than a week, your partner brought you new kinds of diapers. Baby printed ones, with colorful prints on them. And they were thicker for sure.

They don’t seem like a solution to a medical or serious problem. The diapers look cute, comfy, and welcoming. After you wore one, you looked at yourself in the mirror, turning around, appreciating how cute it looked on you, and, weirdly, how cute you looked.

Those diapers are not bad, they are good. They are funny and playful. Nobody who wears this kind of diaper has a problem. These were your thoughts at night in bed. You fantasized about how they would look swollen and soaked.

The new diapers created a new fear. Wetting intentionally.  

No, you didn’t want that, and you brushed those thoughts away as you fell asleep.

That night, you had your first dream about being a baby. Not a tiny baby acting as one. It was a lucid dream, and you saw yourself wearing the same diaper you saw in the mirror before going to bed. You knew it was just a dream, and that was your chance to see the cute diaper swell and grow big.

You released your bladder, half forgetting you were dreaming.

Finally letting go. Finally stepping into the diaper trap you desperately wanted to avoid. Enjoying the new feeling of warmth. Enjoying your new childish behaviour.

"Yeah… It’s not you… It’s me.” “I just don’t think we are the right fit.”

How many times can you hear it? How many times can you nod, make an understanding face, and be left alone? You knew dating was hard, and you’ve put yourself out there, but you’ll do what you can to just stop doing what you’ve done so many times in the past, and try to find someone.

“I just feel we are a bit different.”

“Can we be friends?”

For so long, you were trying apps, through friends, through relatives. Nothing sticked. Nothing matched. Every time you got rejected, you felt a squeeze in your gut. Close to the feeling of needing to go. There were those rare times when you got to touch another body. It’s been a long time since you’ve touched your own, not directly. But then you’ve been touched as well, and after that touch, it ended every single time.

“You know what? Maybe not now.”

“Maybe not here.”

“Haha, oh wow. Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

You knew what it all meant. On those occasions, after they wrapped it up, you said “Sorry, I need to go to the bathroom real quick.”

Over the toilet, you took a long, weak piss. You needed to piss, but not there. You wanted to piss, in your diapers back home.

You wanted your diapers so bad. They don’t reject you, they accept you. They are not cold to you, they are warm.

They are comfortable and put you at ease.

But you said you are done with it! You said they are pulling you back from a normal life. Don’t you want to feel a real grip down there?

No. It’s much easier just to be yourself.

At home, you pulled out one thick diaper from a pack that you hid inside your closet. You throw the pack you stored at the front, but you always had a backup one. Because you knew, you knew you’ll be back in your diapers. It’s just who you were.

In the morning, you woke up in a wet diaper. You don’t remember when you woke up to wet, but there it was. It felt so good, it felt like you. From your back to your stomach, you switched positions. For every “no”, you humped. For every rejection, you humped. For every mocking laugh, you humped. Lying in bed, wearing a wet diaper, you humped. It didn’t make you sad, it made you hard. It did make you go faster, humping your wet diaper.

Maybe all of them were right. Maybe they saw something, but didn’t have the words for it. But you knew the words, you knew what you were.

How come you like your thick padding so much? Why do you like it, thick as it can be?

You’re trying to press your thighs against each other, but just can’t. The sound that the diaper makes when your legs fail to touch one another gets you excited. You are bound to a restrictive mass that awaits your wet humiliation. Your bladder screams, the pressure builds, and the diaper awaits to grow even bigger. It's thirsty for your piss, it wants to restrict you even more.

Your diaper calls you to use it. The soft padding you’re sitting on is inviting you to use it. The massive front invites you to add something of your own making.

Your diaper is a signal to the world around you as well. If someone sees your big crotch, they’ll know you’re probably small underneath. If someone sees your big butt, they’ll know someone his giving it a good use. When you are diapered, those signals are pulsing at you every moment as well.

Awh, is cucky frustrated in his wittle cage?

The nanny cam shows Mommy all your wittle wiggles on the changing mat while Miss Courtney gives you changies, hehe.

You're so precious, sweetie. Now you be good for your cucky sitter, she's going to put you in your girly wittle nightgown after she puts you in your nighttime diapees. No-no, no touchies for you tonight, cucky. Maybe when Mommy comes home from her date in the morning, but not tonight, love.

If you behave, Mommy will give you touchies while she feeds you your morning baba mixed with Daddy's cummies left over from tonight(:

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