Unbetitelt

Just DO it! It's all about control

If you’re regressing me, don’t check; do.

Don’t ask me about my diaper, check it.

Don’t ask if I want my paci; force it in my mouth.

Don’t ask if I want a diaper change; force me to a flat surface and change me.

If I’m trusting you to regress me, just do it! Don't beat around the bush. I really don’t 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!

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.

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.

🏎️ • Cars & Crayons • 🏎️

Mmhm… I do that more than I probably should for someone who’s 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. I’m a full-grown woman who can’t even stay dry through the night. But part of me melts into that shame, because it means I don’t have to fake being something I’m not.

And on the weekends, when I’m waddling around Pooh Bearing—no pants, diaper fully on display, paci clipped to my shirt, stuffie in hand; it’s humiliating to realize how little I really am. I’ll plop down to play with blocks or babble nonsense to myself, and I’ll glance down and see the swollen bulge between my legs and think, "This is what I’ve become." A grown woman who can’t 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" . There’s no dignity in it. And yet… I smile. Because in those moments, I’m not pretending. I’m not performing. I’m just being who I really am:

A deeply regressed, very diaper-dependent little girl who never made it out of babyhood.

Their diaper crinkles softly under their shorts as I sit us both down in the rocker. They don't ask—but I know what they need. I ease my shirt aside and gently guide them to latch.

They melt into me.

There it is—the sigh, the release. My baby nursing, safely tucked in Mommy’s 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 again—completely, fully, and without a second thought.

They don’t even unlatch.

They just keep nursing.

No announcement, no shame this time. Just natural. Automatic.

Like it’s what their body was meant to do. Like they’ve 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.

“Oh, sweetheart…” I murmur. “You didn’t even try this time, did you?”

They whimper around my breast, shifting slightly, but they keep sucking—no words. No excuses. Just that little noise they make when they’re deep in babyspace and don’t want to leave.

I keep rocking.

Keep nursing.

Keep holding.

“Potty training is over,” I whisper, kissing their hair. “You’re not ready. Not even close. And that’s okay.”

Their diaper warms again—just a small dribble this time, mixing in with the mess they already made. I smile softly.

“You’re not ready to think about the potty. Not when you can’t even stay clean while nursing in Mommy’s arms.” I reach down and give their bottom a slow, firm squeeze. “No more undies. No more stickers or charts. Just diapers. Big, thick, crinkly diapers. Twenty-four-seven. At least for the next month.”

They let out the tiniest hum against my skin—contentment, maybe surrender. Either way, it seals it.

“You’ll use your diapers,” I continue softly. “Pee. Poop. Every little accident. And Mommy will change you, clean you, and cuddle you like the baby you are. No rushing. No pressure.”

They finally unlatch with a sleepy sigh, eyelids heavy, breath warm on my breast.

“You’re mine,” I whisper. “And Mommy decides when it’s time to try again.”

I lift them gently, diaper squishing as I shift them onto my hip. It’s a big mess. A heavy one. But they’re so relaxed now, so soft and obedient in my arms, like the decision to give up on the potty—just for now—has 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 Mommy’s baby.

And as I peel back the tapes, I already know this isn’t the end of a journey—it’s the beginning of a new chapter. One where they don’t have to try so hard. One where they can just be.

I just bein smoll 🥺😍🥰💕

Let’s show the whole city how much of a baby you are, Buddy.

And there’s no escape from these pajamas until this diaper is filled to the brim.

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 wasn’t here against her will. She was here because that’s exactly what she wanted to be. However, Princess was finding it a lot harder than she had expected.

Nope 👎🏼 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 “no changes until the diaper is completely used.”

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.

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."

"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."