This helps to keep the house quiet a little âşď¸đśđś
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Kiana Khansmith

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â
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This helps to keep the house quiet a little âşď¸đśđś

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How to regress/baby me!
Just DO it! It's all about control
If youâre regressing me, donât check; do.
Donât ask me about my diaper, check it.
Donât ask if I want my paci; force it in my mouth.
Donât ask if I want a diaper change; force me to a flat surface and change me.
If Iâm trusting you to regress me, just do it! Don't beat around the bush. I really donât wanna be the big girl that needs to be checked with. I am trusting you and you have my consent to full on regress me!
When I say, âIâm not a baby!â Iâm really just reinforcing your regressionâs grip on me. So DO it!
Picture this...
Daddy requested an outfit for me this morning.
When I woke up, I streeeeetched under my cozy covers and kissed Theodore (my bunny stuffy) on the nose. I felt my bedwetting diaper squish beneath me, pushing my soggy butt an inch or two off my mattress.
I toddled over on sleepy morning legs to my dresser, where I pulled a pair of soft pink leggings out from its hiding place under my other, more grown-up pants. They're decorated with white daisies speckled about, and they have the soft, stretchy, cottony feel of clothing made for little kids.
I stepped into them carefully, like I needed Daddy's help pulling them on, and when I got them up to my diaper, it was a little tricky to pull them over the soggy, swollen padding covering my butt.
My sleep shirt and paci stayed on and in, respectively. A baby pink pacifier and a soft blue-grey t-shirt that cuts off just below my belly button.
I felt something warm and wet escape me as I left my room. Sometimes that happens now, a little uncontrollable accident triggered by my first few steps of the morning.
As I went downstairs, I felt my diaper impacting my gait. I was waddling. With how big my nighttime diapers have to be now, and how drenched they are by morning, it's no wonder. It pushes my legs apart, and the firm padding sags low enough to be pushing against my inner thighs.
I sucked on my paci.
I crinkled with each step, and when I stretched up to grab a cup for my morning water, I felt my shirt ride up, showing the white frilly waistband peeking up above my leggings. I reached my hand back and felt the padding protecting my butt. It was firm but squished beneath my fingers.
My cheeks felt hot.
Now I'm sitting at the table, eating my breakfast, and sitting is the blushiest thing of all. The tentative lowering into my hard wood chair, the inevitable crinkle and press of my drenched padding against me, the little round booster seat I always have now, from the bulk of my wet, expanded diaper lifting me up.
Someone just liked this in my activity and I clicked on it because didn't remember writing it. I fucking cooked with this!
This was all real! It's a fairly regular occurrence! đŤ đŤ đŤ đĽ°đĽ°đĽ°
You hate the carseat.
You hate how you can't move when you're buckled in.
You hate how the tight straps dig into your shoulders.
You hate how it presses the wet and messy padding of your diaper so firmly to your skin.
You hate that you can never seem to hide your diaper under your skirt when you're in it.
But, worst of all, you hate how little it makes you feel.
Is it any surprise then, that Papa loves taking you on trips in the car so much?
Itâs okay to need mommy to help you with everything. Itâs okay to be so clingy that you throw tantrums whenever sheâs out of your line of sight. Itâs okay to need to be tucked in every night. Itâs okay to still need breast milk. Itâs okay to still wear diapers. Itâs okay to still use a pacifier. Itâs okay to still watch cartoons. Itâs okay to ask to be read bedtime stories. Itâs okay to still play with toys.
Itâs okay to act like the baby that youâve always been <3.

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đď¸ â˘ Cars & Crayons ⢠đď¸
(and maybe a diaper change too)
This helps to keep the house quiet a little đś
Do you ever just look down and smile because your diaper just makes you happy when your getting dressed in the morning or getting ready for bed or pooh bearing around on a weekend or even during a change of clothes or diaper
Mmhm⌠I do that more than I probably should for someone whoâs 27 years old and still in diapers. There are moments where I catch a glimpse of myself......just a grown woman standing there in nothing but a crinkly, puffy diaper and a silly little shirt.....and I should feel embarrassed⌠and I do. But even through the humiliation, I smile.
When I wake up soggy, hair messy, paci still in my mouth, and the back of my diaper all swollen and warm from another nighttime accident⌠I should feel ashamed. And honestly? I do. Iâm a full-grown woman who canât even stay dry through the night. But part of me melts into that shame, because it means I donât have to fake being something Iâm not.
And on the weekends, when Iâm waddling around Pooh Bearingâno pants, diaper fully on display, paci clipped to my shirt, stuffie in hand; itâs humiliating to realize how little I really am. Iâll plop down to play with blocks or babble nonsense to myself, and Iâll glance down and see the swollen bulge between my legs and think, "This is what Iâve become." A grown woman who canât be trusted out of diapers.
Even diaper changes make me squirm. Being laid down, having my soggy and messy accidents untaped, while I hide my face in my hands, being wiped clean like an overgrown toddler who made.... yet another "present for Daddy" . Thereâs no dignity in it. And yet⌠I smile. Because in those moments, Iâm not pretending. Iâm not performing. Iâm just being who I really am:
A deeply regressed, very diaper-dependent little girl who never made it out of babyhood.
So yeah⌠itâs embarrassing. Itâs humiliating. And it also makes me feel safe and seen in a way nothing else ever has.
đ´đ´đ¤đ¤đ¤
Baby Girl
By the time we get home from the park, my baby is quiet. Not in troubleâjust worn out. Emotionally and physically. That kind of accident drains a little one, even if they wonât admit it. I can feel the weight of it in their clingy little hugs, the way they donât let go of my shirt as I carry them inside.
Their diaper crinkles softly under their shorts as I sit us both down in the rocker. They don't askâbut I know what they need. I ease my shirt aside and gently guide them to latch.
They melt into me.
There it isâthe sigh, the release. My baby nursing, safely tucked in Mommyâs arms, comfort flowing with every slow, rhythmic suck. One hand clutches my bra strap, the other rests gently on my tummy. I stroke their hair, soothing little shhh sounds leaving my lips almost unconsciously.
And then⌠I feel it.
A shift in their body.
A slight tensing in their legs.
That familiar pause.
And before I can even look down or ask, I feel it in my lap. A soft grunt, barely a sound at all, and then the warmth spreads through their diaper. Heavy, slow, solid. Their little body presses against mine as they fill their diaper againâcompletely, fully, and without a second thought.
They donât even unlatch.
They just keep nursing.
No announcement, no shame this time. Just natural. Automatic.
Like itâs what their body was meant to do. Like theyâve accepted that this is who they are right now.
I hold them closer, one hand slipping down to pat their now-squishy bottom through the padded seat of their shorts.
âOh, sweetheartâŚâ I murmur. âYou didnât even try this time, did you?â
They whimper around my breast, shifting slightly, but they keep suckingâno words. No excuses. Just that little noise they make when theyâre deep in babyspace and donât want to leave.
I keep rocking.
Keep nursing.
Keep holding.
âPotty training is over,â I whisper, kissing their hair. âYouâre not ready. Not even close. And thatâs okay.â
Their diaper warms againâjust a small dribble this time, mixing in with the mess they already made. I smile softly.
âYouâre not ready to think about the potty. Not when you canât even stay clean while nursing in Mommyâs arms.â I reach down and give their bottom a slow, firm squeeze. âNo more undies. No more stickers or charts. Just diapers. Big, thick, crinkly diapers. Twenty-four-seven. At least for the next month.â
They let out the tiniest hum against my skinâcontentment, maybe surrender. Either way, it seals it.
âYouâll use your diapers,â I continue softly. âPee. Poop. Every little accident. And Mommy will change you, clean you, and cuddle you like the baby you are. No rushing. No pressure.â
They finally unlatch with a sleepy sigh, eyelids heavy, breath warm on my breast.
âYouâre mine,â I whisper. âAnd Mommy decides when itâs time to try again.â
I lift them gently, diaper squishing as I shift them onto my hip. Itâs a big mess. A heavy one. But theyâre so relaxed now, so soft and obedient in my arms, like the decision to give up on the pottyâjust for nowâhas unburdened them completely.
I carry them to the nursery, humming softly as I lay them down on the changing table. Time to clean them up again. Powder, lotion, wipes... all part of being Mommyâs baby.
And as I peel back the tapes, I already know this isnât the end of a journeyâitâs the beginning of a new chapter. One where they donât have to try so hard. One where they can just be.
Diapered. Loved. And completely mine.

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I just bein smoll đĽşđđĽ°đ
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Letâs show the whole city how much of a baby you are, Buddy.
And thereâs no escape from these pajamas until this diaper is filled to the brim.
- Daddy
Princess started wondering if this kind of life really was for her, as she paced back in forth in the play pen Daddy had set up for her. Daddy had bounded her hands because she tried to take off her diapers which was a big no no. She used to be a party girl, going to bars on the weekends. She was out of control. Now it was Saturday night and she was spending her night cooped up in the playpen about to mess her diaper for the first time. For the first time in her adult life she was controlled. It came through the mittens that bounded her hands. It came through her diaper which restricted her toilet access..but most importantly it came from Daddy who took it upon himself to train this adult woman into a submissive toddler. She knew what she was getting herself into. She wasnât here against her will. She was here because thatâs exactly what she wanted to be. However, Princess was finding it a lot harder than she had expected.
can baby walk yet?
Nope đđź not in lil space! Just a crawling baby who still gets tired quick!
A certain somebody was feeling particularly shy about going outside for her afternoon walk with her black onesie under her denim shortalls, complete with a cute diaper bulge from a very-wet nappy. She had been quite fussy all afternoon. Her excessive caffeine in the morning never fails to ensure that her diapers stay dry for more than a couple of minute, but the afternoon walk is no excuse to abandon the rule of âno changes until the diaper is completely used.â
I decided to give her one last opportunity to prove to me that she could be a big girl and accept her outfit, but after the fussing resumed, I left her in the hallway and walked straight back to our bedroom. Moments later, I re-emerged, this time holding her pacifier and a brand new clip. Without a word, I affixed it to the front bib of her shortalls.
Before this most recent addition, a keen eye might have noticed her infantile status. But now? It was as blatant as the pacifier clip dangling in plain view. Nothing screams âchildishâ more than a pacifier. I let it hang there, a clear testament to her status, while I snapped a quick picture to capture the moment - maybe to serve as a stark reminder for future tantrums. Finally, I tucked the pacifier into the front pocket, leaving only the clip visible to the world. To the average passerby, it would raise no eyebrows. But for our dear Miss Crinkle Butt, already turning crimson from the mortifying nature of her new accessory, it would be a VERY memorable walk.

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I wiggled on the floor, looking up at Mommy with the biggest, most pathetic eyes I could muster as she put on her make up.
My diaper, and the large messy accident in it from an hour ago, squished beneath me uncomfortable. My tush was starting to itch. I desperately hoped I wasn't getting a rash.
I didn't just want a diaper change. At this point, I knew I needed one. But, as Mommy, my wife, got ready for a night out with her friends, I didn't dare ask for one.
Babies don't ask for changes.
I had written that mantra in crayon 200 times last week, while sitting in a similarly icky situation. I wasn't willing to risk that, or a worse punishment again.
Mommy looked down at me softly.
"What's wrong, cutie? Why the long face?"
Even with the invitation, I wasn't going to push my luck by complaining about the state of my diaper, instead I through my arms up in an unspoken request for a hug.
Mommy knelt down and wrapped me in her arms.
"Oh, is my big boy sad Mommy's leaving him?"
I whimpered softly and breathed in the smell of my wife's perfume, blushing as I secretly hoped she was taking in my smell the same way.
I almost giggled in relief as I felt Mommy's hands drift to the waistband of my diaper and pull it back, in the all-to-familiar motions of a diaper check.
"Oh, sweet pea, missing Mommy isn't your only problem, is it? Let's get you changed."
I could have cried out in relief, but I didn't.
Instead, I crawled behind my wife into the nursery, and laid on the changing mat obediently as she quickly and expertly cleaned me up.
She tickles my belly when she's done. I can't help but giggle and blush.
"Such an obedient little man!" She says, smiling.
I look away, the reminder of my submission both overwhelming and arousing. A noticable bulge forming in the front of my diaper.
Mommy plants a deep, passionate kiss on my lips, cupping my padded manhood in her hand.
"So obedient, in fact, I think Mommy's going to let you make another type of mess in your pants for you while I'm gone."
Mommy stands up, walks to my crib, and pat the crib mattress. I whimper softly, but comply.
Mommy places a magic wand and my favorite stuffed bear in the crib with me before closing the side. I watch her sway her ass seductively as she walks out of the room.
"Ni-ni, little man! Enjoy your reward."
I'll I can think as she shuts the door, is how lucky I am to be here obedient overgrown infant.
I whine as I sit on the cold linoleum, naked except for my soggy diaper. I stare up at Mommy pathetically as the familiar patter of urine hitting porcelain fills the room.
"Mama, please," I plead, "it's bad enough you won't let me use the potty. Why do I have to sit here and watch you use it?"
Without breaking her stream, Mommy leans down, lifts my chin with a finger, and plants a deep, passionate kiss on my lips. A deep blush covers my body as I moan hungrily into her lips.
As she finishes peeing, she pulls away, standing up so her immaculate pussy is nearly in my face. I let out a small, needy cry as she reaches for toilet paper.
"Because, baby," Mommy lectures as she wipes herself just in front of my face, "You need to remember both of our places."
She tosses the toilet paper into the porcelain bowl before pressing a foot to the front of my diaper, pinning me to the floor. I fall back, leaning on my hands, as she looms over me and presses the sole of her foot into my manhood.
"You are my submissive little pamper packer, who can't even be trusted enough to know when he needs a change."
I whimper at the truth of those words while simultaneously grinding my hips against her.
"And I am your Mommy. Your caregiver, your lifebringer, your goddess."
"I can give you pleasure..."
I moan as she massages my cock through my diaper.
"Or pain."
I cry out as she shifts to fully stepping on me.
"And through it all, it's your job to worship me like I deserve. Now, on your knees, my pathetic little pampers packer, and worship Mommy in front of her throne, just like she deserves."
Her words were all I needed. I rose to my knees and pressed my lips to the warm, wet ones between her legs and whispered out my prayers of devotion to Mommy until she was fully satisfied, over and over and over again.