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Roseanne smiled serenely. Oh, how sweet this turn of events was. No more fighting, no more yelling and stress and irritation. Just a sweet little toddler of a husband, clingy and needy and wonderful…

They hadn’t had the best of relationships, truth be told. Liam was a guy’s guy - macho, a rabid sport’s lover, and oblivious to the point of insensitivity when it came to his wife. They loved one another, true - but oh, how hard it had been to remember that when anniversaries were forgotten, favors not returned, and tiny little resentments bubbled and seethed from week to week. They were drifting apart, slowly but steadily, and Roseanne had even wondered at times if she wouldn’t be better off without the dude…

And then she’d stumbled across it, entirely by chance. A good friend of hers was having a baby, and for the shower she’d been searching online for something to give. Forgetting the name of that handy, odor-reducing diaper pail she’d seen so many times at the store, she started googling “diaper dis-”: meaning, of course, to continue to “disposal can”. What on earth? What was “diaper discipline”? She’d clicked, then blinked, then clicked again, her brow furrowing in increasing surprise and weirded-out fascination…

Yet she couldn’t forget what she’d read. Wayward and forgetful husbands, rebellious young men, whatever - all could, according to this odd site, be brought under control with a little judicious discipline. By reminding Liam that she existed - that he couldn’t make it through his day without her - she could begin to shape him into a better and more sensitive, caring man. And if he had done something to deserve harsher punishment, well, there were solutions for that too… Oh, she didn’t consider herself a sadist. But even though she would have hotly denied it, you could have witnessed her a few nights later, while Hubby was out yet again with the boys watching the hockey game, she’d had her own pleasurable time in bed - her hand rhythmically stroking to the thought of Liam, wailing, naked and squirming on her lap as she rained down a flurry of smacks on his reddening bare ass…

And well, here they were. One year later, and her diaper discipline had succeeded beyond her wildest dreams. By positive reinforcement, incentives, bribes, and outright punishment, she’d inevitably brought him to heel. He wanted to see the game? Sure, but he’d have to wear a diaper to please her. Had to work late? Fine, but he’d have to spend that time in his makeshift playpen later to make up for it. Forgot to pick up something from the store? Great - but she’d also forget to change him, even when he’d blushingly protested that he needed to do number two… And so on. To this she’d added hypnosis - a dozen or so audio tracks she’d found online that promised to make the listener more docile, more willing to wet and mess themselves, more attached to their bottle and pacifier, more convinced of the fact that they were truly Mommy’s little baby boy.

But the million-dollar question - has it worked? Well, just take a look at him! Wouldn’t you say that this limp, diaper-clad individual, sleepily suckling yet another ba-ba as his Mommy-wife Roseanne strokes his head and coos what a sweet little puddle-bum he is - wouldn’t you say that he’s a changed man? No more sports, no more thoughtlessness or arguments. No, just a cute, docile little man who trots off to his big-boy job every day, and obediently waddles straight home to beg his Mommy to change his smelly, soggy, thoroughly soiled diapers…

Roseanne smiled once more. Oh, yes - such a wonderful change indeed. And how odd to think that it was all because of one errant Google auto-complete!

Image Credit: ABDreams.com

The grand living room of Claire’s home was bathed in the soft glow of pastel lights, the air thick with the scent of vanilla cupcakes and the faint, sweet musk of baby powder. Balloons in shades of baby blue and pink floated lazily near the ceiling, and a banner reading "Welcome, Little James!" hung above the fireplace. The guests, all women, all dressed in elegant, flowing dresses, chatted and giggled, their wine glasses clinking in celebration. At the center of it all stood Claire, radiant in a flowing dress, her hand resting possessively on the shoulder of James.

James shifted uncomfortably in his baby blue t-shirt, the fabric stretched slightly over his broad shoulders, a stark contrast to the thick, crinkling diaper that peeked out from beneath the hem. A large, ridiculous bow was clipped to his messy hair, and a pacifier dangled from a ribbon around his neck, bobbing with every nervous swallow. He clutched a baby bottle in one hand, the other fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The wetness spreading through his diaper only made the humiliation worse, the warmth a constant reminder of his place.

Claire adjusted the bow with a satisfied smile, her fingers lingering on his cheek. "Isn’t he adorable?" she cooed, her voice carrying across the room. "My little man, all ready to be my little boy!"

The room erupted in a chorus of "awws" and delighted giggles. James’s face burned as he felt the eyes of every woman in the room on him. He could hear the crinkle of his diaper with every tiny movement, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet pauses between laughter.

Diana, one of Claire’s closest friends, stepped forward, her eyes sparkling with admiration. She reached out, pinching James’s cheek playfully. "I can’t wait until my Mark is this well-trained," she sighed. "How’d you do it, Claire? He’s perfect."

Claire’s smirk was knowing, her tone light but firm. "Oh, it was easy, really. A few spankings when he got too big for his britches, a lot of positive reinforcement for good behavior, and absolutely zero tolerance for ‘adult’ nonsense." She ruffled James’s hair, her touch both affectionate and condescending. "Isn’t that right, baby?"

James nodded meekly, his pacifier bobbing as he did. The wetness in his diaper had spread, the warmth seeping into the padding, and he knew there was no hiding it now. The women around him laughed, their voices a mix of amusement and approval. Diana clinked her wine glass against Claire’s, her envy palpable.

"I wish my Mark would take to it this well," Diana admitted, shaking her head. "He still tries to talk like a grown-up sometimes. Can you believe it? Like anyone actually wants to hear a man’s opinion."

Claire patted Diana’s arm reassuringly. "Give it time, dear. After the election, they won’t have a choice." Her voice was calm, almost serene, as if she were discussing the weather. "The Women’s Party is going to make sure every boy knows his place. No more voting, no more jobs, no more thinking they’re in charge." She glanced down at James, her expression softening. "And honestly? It’s for the best. Look at him. He’s happier this way."

James wanted to argue, to protest, to do something, anything, to reclaim a shred of his dignity. But the conditioning, the spankings, the rewards for obedience, the way Claire’s approval made his chest swell with a shameful kind of pride… it all kept his mouth shut. Instead, he brought the baby bottle to his lips, the sweet formula a small comfort against the humiliation.

Diana sighed, her gaze lingering on James. "You’re right. It is kind of sweet, in a way. I mean, look at him. He’s like a big, cuddly teddy bear." She reached out, giving James’s diaper a playful pat. The squish was loud, and James flinched, his face burning even hotter. "Does he ever try to fight it?"

Claire laughed, the sound musical and light. "Oh, he used to. But after a while, he realized it was easier to just… let go." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The first time I put him in a diaper, he cried for hours. Now? He doesn’t even notice. And the accidents? Oh, he hates them, but what’s he going to do?" She laughed again, and the other women joined in.

James’s fingers tightened around the baby bottle. He remembered that first time, the shock, the anger, the way Claire had simply ignored his protests until he’d given in, exhausted and defeated. Now, the diapers were just… normal. A part of life. A part of him.

Diana’s eyes gleamed with determination. "I’m going to start with Mark this weekend. Maybe a nice, thick diaper for our date night. See how he likes that." She giggled, and the other women murmured their approval.

Claire beamed, her hand resting on James' shoulder. "And soon, we’ll have a real little boy to take care of. Won’t that be fun, James? You can help us with Mark. Show him how to be a good little boy, just like you."

James’s throat tightened. The idea of teaching a nother man to be as helpless, as small, as he was now filled him with a mix of dread and something else, something almost like longing. He’d been so resistant at first, but now… now, there was a strange comfort in the simplicity of it all. No decisions. No responsibilities. Just Claire’s voice guiding him, her hands taking care of him.

As the women returned to their conversations, James stood there, his diaper heavy and warm, his pacifier bobbing with every breath. He was a spectacle, a prop, a good little boy, and as much as it shamed him to admit it, he couldn’t imagine being anything else.

Caroline has to go into witness protection to hide from a criminal gang, but she’s less than happy about her new identity as Betsy, an incontinent young woman living in a trailer park with her strict Mommy.

***

“So I’m getting a new name?” Caroline asked dubiously, as the car sped down the highway. She didn’t like the idea of witness protection. She was used to the life of a wealthy young socialite from the city, and she wasn’t keen at all on leaving it all behind, even if it was only for a few weeks like the agency promised. But what choice did she have? She shuddered at the thought of the De Vries getting to her. The crime family were notorious for the cruel and unusual punishments they inflicted on the people who had wronged them.

“It’s not just your name,” Mr Harris, the agent, replied. “You can be tracked by your habits, your tastes, your sense of style, so all of that’s got to change as well. The agency has a full character profile for you to adopt.” Keeping his eyes on the road, he reached over to open the glove compartment and take out a brown file, which he handed to her. “That’s the new you.”

Caroline opened the file. “Betsy Jackson?” she read with distaste. That was a hick name if ever she’d heard one. Surely nobody could look at her with her sleek, silver-blonde hair and elegantly made-up face and think she was a Betsy Jackson. It got worse. “What the fuck?!” she exclaimed, staring down at the paper. “What is this, Harris? It says I live in a fucking trailer park!”

Even now, a year into this whole new....adventure, Susan still wondered if she did the right thing. After all, her sister Barbara wasn't a trained psychologist. She had zero medical background. She didn't have any kids of her own so what could she possibly know about raising a son in 2026?

Yet Susan had indeed listened to the advice of her older sister and the results were now lying on one of the two queen beds in her hotel room. There he was: Tyler, her 19-year-old son. Former 3-sport star who seemingly lost his mind a bit in college, majoring in parties and pussy while hardly ever going to class. He apparently did drugs too. The bad kind. Reefer and such. Barbara told Susan once boys start in on that the next step is usually heroin and then he's gone forever.

So what was a mother supposed to do, especially after the college gave Tyler the boot and he had to move back in with her, where the partying, drugs and sleeping with anyone with a vagina continued? Right under her roof! Drove her insane.

Over coffee and biscuits in Barbara's house, Babs explained step by step how she would reform Susan's wayward son "but just be warned and I'll only say this once: If I save him from a wretched future that probably ends with him like his loser father, you need to accept that the son you knew for 19 years will be gone. For good."

What in the world did that mean? He wouldn't be a man anymore?

"He'll have his man parts but his mind will be in pieces and replaced by something compliant, pliable, softer, agreeable. More feminine yes, but still a male. But not a son like you had."

Susan said she had to sleep on it and then when she walked in and found Tyler and some whore smoking dope in the basement she called her sister and said, yes, we need to do this. For his own good.

And now, well, there were the results. 200 pounds of diapered sissy. Feminized. Sissified, was the word Barbara used. Back into Pampers "and never getting out of them" in more of Barbara's words. "He'll be lisping and mincing the rest of his life," in yet more of Barbara's words. "You don't ever have to worry about him doing drugs again. Or drinking anything outside of his baba. No more girls in his life. No more pussy. In fact he'll barely have anymore cummies." Cummies. That's what Barbara called them that first day when her humbled and humiliated son was returned to the house by Barbara, who brought him in on a leash and his diapers on obvious display under a short skirt.

It had taken some adjustments, sure, but she had finally been convinced it was all for the best and it was nice having her baby back. She worried about what would happen as she aged. Like, Tyler at 45...what's that looking like? Barbara assured her she would set something up for him to be taken care of by a kindly woman or a cruel man and not to worry. For now, in the sissified present, Barbara had also helped by setting up a lot of babysitters to help Susan. Usually girls around Tyler's age who didn't mind the extra cash for the very odd babysitting job. Ugly sitters, cute sitters, they all enjoyed embarrassing Susan’s boy.

No babysitter on this trip to Niagara Falls, though, a spot Susan had always wanted to see. Just her and her thickly diapered son, who was currently passed out after a busy day on the boat. Yes, people looked at them a bit strangely--the mom holding her 19-year-old son's hand as he toddled and waddled around while wearing pink shorts--but folks accept pretty much any lifestyle these days.

Susan went over to her sleeping son and patted his thick rump and he stirred slightly. She rubbed the rear of it and he practically mewled in his sleep and she had to admit handling her diapered pansy of a son like this....stirred some feelings in her soul. And her body. Something about his utter submission made her tingle in a way no man had since she herself was back in college. Was that sinful? She'd have ask to Barbara. Barbara would know.

She rubbed his back a bit, feeling his ever-present bra and remembering the cries he released the first time he got fitted for one of those by a pretty salesgirl who had apparently never seen a diapered sissy.

Susan decided to order a bit of room service. Tyler would get his baba and baby food and maybe, just maybe, depending on Susan's mood, perhaps he'd get a bit of her breast too before she put him down for the night.

The secret to a quiet mind (and a happy Queen). 🗝️

Traditional dating tells us that a man’s "needs" come first, and we’re left managing the fallout of his distractions. I chose a different path.

In an established FLR, chastity isn't a punishment—it’s a sanctuary. By placing his physical urges under my authority, I’ve removed the "white noise" from our relationship.

He is more attentive, more productive, and more deeply devoted than he ever was when he was "free."

Nancy’s baby girls

The fluorescent lights of the department store bore witness to Nancy's unsettling campaign to regress her former daughter-in-law, Ava, and Ava's mother, Barbara, into compliant infants, a transformation she enforced with chilling resolve and public humiliation. In the brightly lit fitting room, a scene unfolded as Nancy, with a firm grip, pulled a frilly yellow baby dress over Barbara’s head, ignoring the older woman’s muffled protests as it settled over her bulky diaper. "Ava Marie," Nancy’s voice cut through the air, sharp and unyielding, "you stop acting up this instant while mommy dresses your sister!" Ava, already struggling in a similar outfit, recoiled, her face flushed with fury. "No! You’re not my mother! You can’t do this to us! We’re adults, for Christ’s sake!" she shrieked, stomping her foot with the petulant force of a defiant toddler, a display that earned Nancy a fleeting, sympathetic glance from the saleswoman hovering nearby with an armload of yet more infantilizing garments. Nancy’s smile was chillingly sweet. "Ava, what did mommy say?" she purred, her eyes narrowing. "Do you want a spanking, little miss?" At the threat, Barbara whimpered, tears already streaming down her face as she gazed at her reflection, utterly babified and now squirming uncomfortably in a freshly wet

Their cheer-leading routines were very popular until they visited the wrong Middle Eastern country where their team was playing. Arrested for public indecency they were renditioned to a special prison in Afghanistan. There to be rehabilitated and taught to dress properly...

What is it about adult pacifiers

Why do they make you feel so little?

So small and submissive

But also safe

They have such a soothing effect: Pacifiers can calm babies.

Sucking on a pacifier can help your little fall asleep faster and sleep more soundly.

And that feeling of the silicone or rubber filling your mouth just reminds you that you are not the one in control

Instead you feel a release of endorphins, and feel more relaxed

It makes you feel a sense of belonging in babyhood

Welcome to your beautiful abdl life sweetheart!