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Ally Gets an Enema- Adriana Evans & Ally Cakes

I’ve been a very good girl lately and Daddy let me wear panties today! When my big sister Adriana comes in to check on me she gets jealous because she is still in diapers, even though shes older. She decides to give me an enema andput me back in diapers to show me that I’m still the baby sister. I don’t really try to fight it, I did miss my diapers and I love it when Adriana diapers me. She gives me a fleet enema before putting lots of powder on me and taping a thick Bambino Bellissimo onto my bottom. It isn’t long before I have an accident, of course Adriana can’t help but tease me. I’m really embarrassed, but admit to her that I like being in a messy diaper.

I told you what happens to naughty girls didn’t I? That’s right. Put the diaper on

“No Daddy please. I’ll be good I promise”

Too late for promises Princess. I need to keep you safe and sometimes that means punishment

“Daddy please don’t put the pantyhose on me. It makes my diaper feel so tight around me

You will wear your collar as well. It is a visible sign that I own you. You are my little girl

And then the restraints. Then you are going to be gagged.

“No Daddy please not the ball gag. I will be good”

Silence Princess. You will do as you are told or you will be spanked until your bottom is bright red

Put your hands behind your back. You are not to touch your diaper. Understood. I know your pussy is tingling but you are not to satisfy yourself. Is that clear?

“Mmmmmfffffff”

That’s my good little girl

Such a bad little girl, wondering what he's going to do to you as he puts the blindfold over your eyes. You hear the Hitachi wand click on and press into the front of your thick diaper, as he pinches your nipple causing you to yelp and squirm under him. A long soft kiss on the lips as your hips start to move, grinding against the wand.

Doesn't take much for her to be a helpless little mess. Now her diapers were soaked, warm and squishy, turning her on even more.

My legs are dangling above the floor, with my toes unable to touch the surface.

My caregiver hold me steadily while keeping my arms from covering myself as they balances me on a single knee.

Their chest is against my back and I’m facing forward, right in front of a mirror that reflect the two of us in this position.

I try to avoid looking away from my reflection but my caregiver pinches my thigh for my attention. “Look.” They order.

Not wanting another pinch I obey and look at my reflection.

I see that I’m dressed in nothing but a puffy white diaper that is being pressed against my privates awkward with my caregiver knee.

I’m wearing a pink frilly bib too, but it fails to cover my breasts. I try to hide my blush when I notice how they wiggle ever so slightly while my caregiver gently bounces his knee that I’m seated.

The bouncing feels funny through my diaper that is pushing against my privates. It’s make me tingly and I almost want to put my hand down diaper…

“Do you see the baby in the mirror?” My caregiver asks and I feel my face heat up.

“N-no.” I answer stubbornly and shift my eyes away from the mirror.

“You don’t?” I hear my caregiver chuckle. If he shifts me on his knee, forcing me sit up and appear more open in the mirror. “That’s strange because I see the baby. Maybe you just need a little help?”

I don’t know what they mean by me needing ‘help’, but my confusion is replaced by the feeling of their handing squeezing and pressing the front of my diaper. I whine in protest but they pinch my thigh again and hush me.

Their hand goes my touching the front of my diapering to wiggling their fingers through the leg holes. I try hold back a surprised yelp but I found their fingers don’t linger for very long.

“Still dry.” They state. “The baby needs to wet their diaper. They you’ll see just how much of a baby you are.”

“I-I won’t do that!” I cry, humiliated by their words and attempt to wiggle free from their grasp, but they firmly keep me in place.

They hush me and attempt to sooth me, “Shh, it’s okay baby girl. I’m going to help you wet your diaper, you would like that, wouldn’t you?”

I try to protest but I become distracted when they state bouncing me on their at a fast speed. Their knee is pushing harder against my diaper and it’s not helping the feeling I’ve been trying to suppress.

I have to pee.

I have to pee so bad I might burst, but the idea of wetting a diaper is too much. I would have to watch myself soak my diaper in this vulnerable position.

“Sto-aahh” I whine and try pull my hands free to cover my crotch, the bouncing is agonizing for my full bladder and its shamefully causing me to get aroused.

“Come on baby, make pee-pee for me.” My caregiver encourages.

Their words doing nothing to help my plight and I make the mistake of looking at my reflection. I see my blushed face with tears in my eyes, and my body that is squirming and trembling with a mix of pleasure and agony. I look so vulnerable, so small…

My caregiver sees that I’m distracted and uses that moment to bounce me on their knee has hard and as fast as they can. I don’t even have time to feel ashamed of my sudden desire grind my diaper against their knee to itch my aching arousal for within that moment they do something unexpected.

Without my knowing they had placed their hand over my bladder and pushed down on it without any warning.

With perfect time my caregiver forced my head up so that I may watch myself lose control. I watch myself cry-no, moan as I’m hit with pleasure against my aroused pussy and the release of my full bladder. I watch myself try to regain control and cease the flood of pee that is escaping from bladder into my diaper. I watch myself fail miserable as my diaper expands and bulges. I even see a tint of yellow stain the puff white diaper. I watch my eyes over flow with tears and my diaper overflow with pee and leak out the sides. A stream of pee travles down my leg and drips onto the floor.

I can’t help but cry after my bladder has fully emptied itself. My caregiver coees me with praise, and continues to bounce me on their knee. I cringe at how it squishes loudly, and how the pee soaked garment teases my privates.

“Do you see the baby now?” My caregivers asks.

I’m forced to looking at my reflection; A blubbering girl with a bloated diaper.

I nod, unable to voice an answer.

“Whose the baby?” They ask.

I know I’ll have to answer properly.

“I-I’m the baby.” I answer sniffling and attempting to cease my hiccuping from crying.

“What did the baby do?”

“I-I wet my…” I can’t say it.

My caregiver squished my soaked diaper, pushing it against my special spot.

I don’t need my caregiver to give me further encouragement.

“I wet my-my diaper. I want my diaper like a baby. I’m a baby, I’m your baby.”

Oh you don’t get to act all grown up and go out to the Club pretending you are an adult Sugar

No I have something to reflect your real situation. Here take this pacifier for me

You are a just a little baby

And babies get to wear diapers

So this here will be your underwear from now on

Until you can show me you can be trusted like a grown up you will be my diapered baby girl

Oh think how enjoyable it will be not having to use the toilet again and being able to just go pee pee and poo poo in your own portable potty?

Oh and of course I will want you to wear these darling cute yellow abdl plastic pants

You see that diaper over there? That’s what you will be wearing when you wet this one. You see it’s just a circular pattern for you now of wetting diapers, being cleaned up and put into another diaper and then wetting that diaper. And then being cleaned up and then being put into another diaper etc etc. You’ll get used to it

You will have to. It’s your life with me from now on

Woke up all soaked, had my bottle, then... oopsie, poopy time 🙈

I squatted down and 'hmpf... *BLOOORT*', then placed a soggy diaper from yesterday on top of the stinky one 😌

❌ One wet night results in permanent diapers.

❌ One eye roll gets you a week of early (6pm) bedtimes.

Chapter 3

Breakfast was oatmeal. If I had to be grateful for anything that morning, it was that the oats were at least cooked the way I liked them. Some people boil the water, add the oats and turn off the heat expecting the boiling water to be enough to properly soften the grain. It isn’t. I also don’t add milk to mine. A tablespoon of brown sugar and the congealing mass of soft oatmeal is all I need. It never made sense to me why people would add cold things to something that is meant to be hot. Like iced coffee. It’s an oxymoron enjoyed by actual morons.

I was lifted from the floor to the high chair in another display of humiliation. I was perfectly capable of sitting at the table but no, I had to be strapped in and a serving table had to be locked in place across my lap so I couldn’t get up. And that was before the rubber bib with a pocket in the front to catch anything that came off the spoon or my chin, because it’s not like spoon feeding another human being is a neat and tidy affair, right?

Eating was something I struggled with since the incident. I can feed myself, just as I can use a bathroom, bathe, or dress. And I know what sized portion fits in my mouth. Unfortunately, I don’t have a say in the matter so it’s either small bites in rapid succession that make me gag, or large bites that I struggle to swallow and end up having half the spoonful run down my face, hence the bib. My hair was pulled back into a pony and a bowl of gray mush sat on my tray. My hands were free and the spoon was right there. I didn’t reach for it. I knew better. Reaching for it meant I’d lose my hands and nothing is more mind numbing than laying on a floor with no way of entertaining myself.

The first spoonful wasn’t bad, nor the ones that followed but I knew by the size of the bowl that I was going to fill up quickly. I felt a sense of dread in my stomach. I knew from first hand experience what was to come. I’d be stuffed full until I couldn’t eat anymore then be laid on my stomach for…tummy time. A term reserved for the foulest of deeds. If I couldn’t eat all of my breakfast, it was only interpreted one way. That I had to go…number two. I shuddered at the thought. I couldn’t fight the inevitable, but that didn’t mean I was looking forward to it.

“How is my baby girl this morning?”

Breakfast was when the conversation usually started. But like all things, I had to navigate it very carefully.

“I’m good, Alyssa. How are you?”

“I am well. Thank you for asking.”

I opened for another bite, waiting for the invitation to continue talking. I ended up taking several more bites before I could speak again.

“I detected unusual levels of neuropeptides during your morning ritual. And additional water based optical lubricants.”

“Tears,” I said, “those were tears from crying.”

“Why were you crying? I didn’t apply sufficient pressure to cause you pain.”

“Crying doesn’t just come from physical pain.”

Alyssa paused for a moment, serving me another spoonful. I was nearing my limit but there was a decent amount left in the bowl.

“You are…sad.” Her voice stated it as a fact, but it was her way of asking a question.

“Yes. I am sad. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. I’m not supposed to be like this. Wearing these…things…using them…it’s not right!”

“All the data I have suggests otherwise. You are wearing the expected attire of a baby. I am caring for you as such.”

“But I’m not a baby! I’m twenty two years old!”

“That information is incorrect. My records state that you are two years old. With all available data given, I can only conclude that you are, in fact, a baby. My protocols are clear in this regard.”

“Your data is incorrect! Look at me! I’m clearly not two years old.”

“I have fed you, changed you, dressed you, and bathed you. These are protocols needed for the proper care of a baby. You have presented little conclusive evidence to the contrary, and therefore, all information dictates that you are a baby.”

“You make me do these things! You make me sit here. You make me wear these! You bathe me!” I shout, “But what baby have you ever heard of that can talk? Has breasts? A menstrual cycle? Babies don’t have those things. They are weak and helpless and mphghh!” She shoved another spoonful into my mouth and most of it ran down my face.

“These are variables that don’t factor into my protocols.” I started crying again. It was like arguing with a wall. “You are emotional. Is your stomach upset? I will get you down for some tummy time.”

She wiped my face as I sobbed. She removed the tray and unbuckled the straps before lifting me out of the chair and carrying me to the living room. She laid me on my stomach in front of my dolls and patted my butt before returning to the kitchen. I buried my head in the crook of my arm and bawled. It was hopeless. Totally hopeless. As I felt the increased pressure in my abdomen, I knew it was only a matter of time before I soiled myself.

Oh hit tom your back early today. ah they let you out early. you lucky devil.

yep jeans first day of her month long punishment, she stole from the shop and even forget to say sorry.

silly jean. well the court let her off easily. she only has to spend three hours dressed like a baby where no matter the weather she has to crawl around for all to see

i agree jean got off very easily and she has been very naughty. haven't you stinky toes

now jean why don't you crawl over and say hello to tom. and if were lucky the jones will return with there young ones. maybe you can all crawl together

If Janet didn't go poopy now, she could face a mortifying change in public. The rules were simple: as soon as Janet goes stinky, she has her jimjams pulled down and her nappy untapped.

Mummy does not care for Janet's privacy, only if her booty is nice and clean and definitely not stinky. Pew yew.

You know that idea in fantasy or sci fi where there's like portals that allow you to be played with no matter where you or the other person are? Turning a cutie into a fleshlight for someone to jack off into even if they're just walking down the street, feeling themselves getting stretched and filled by someone fucking the portal connected to their holes.

The twist on it I can't help but think about is some cute little thing getting one of those made for a friend or partner to use. As a gift to help them unwind and relax, a little bit of kink play with those they trust. A fresh flightlight attached to their hole. But...when they get home from the store they can't find the package.

They have the receipt, sure. And they swore it was with them on the way back home. But somewhere in that trip it must've fallen out of their bag. Maybe they should retrace their steps to look for it? Check the trains lost and found? Did they leave it at the coffee shop they popped in to?

And then they feel it. Some stranger's tongue tracing their hole. Struggling with that unexpected sensation. Someone found their toy...and theyre using it. They have to find them soon and get it back!

That poor cutie going from rushing around retracing their steps as that damned tongue refuses to stop. To begging the workers on the train and at the coffee shop if they remember anyone with the package as they feel those fingers pushing into them and exploring. To covering their mouth in the bathroom stall struggling to remain sane as that massive cock so much bigger than their friend or partner stretches them to their absolute limit, using who knows how many loads of cum already pumped into them lube to core them out and ruin them. Slowly accepting that this is their fate now, to be a toy for some unknown person to use~