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As the girl sat there in the nursery she seemed oblivious to the fact she was wearing a huge nursery print Diaper and that shewas sucking on a giant adult sized pacifier

She seemed to revel in her status. She couldn’t have appeared to have been happier. She was blissful. I was amazed! I had been asked by the owners of the ABDL regression clinic to come visit them to see for myself their work.

“As you can see, our regression hypnosis therapy is extremely effective. The women you see here is 27 years old. She has fully regressed to a babylike state. Her trigger word is “tinklepants”. She has been undergoing our infantilisation treatment for 4 weeks and is almost fully regressed. When we take her out of the trance she has no memory of this. It’s fascinating”

I observed the young woman sucking happily in an adult baby bottle filled with warm milk. “We do add certain supplements to the milk. Sometimes a sedative more often diuretics to weaken the bladder impulse. Nothing irreversible or damaging though”

“As you can see she has surrendered to her new pleasure entirely. The sensation of wearing the diaper. She is now a little diaper slut. The act of her rubbing her diaper and touching her princess parts will send a shiver of delight inside her to the point of causing orgasm”

“But the regression goes even deeper. Watch. She is now experiencing an overwhelming urge to wet her diaper. She has a tingling sensation compelling her to wet. As if that is a completely natural reaction. It is now that we know the hypnosis has been effective”

“So now the girl’s bladder empties into the diaper. The warmth of her urine spreading all over the diaper until it becomes soaked and heavy. But she experiences no shame or embarrassment whatsoever. On the contrary the unusual act of wetting the diaper brings her a strong sense of arousal and satisfaction”

“She feels an intense sense of pleasure. Her pussy is pulsing. Her hand unconsciously moves towards her wet diaper feeling the dampness against her skin. The feeling of the soaked diaper against her skin sends shivers of pleasure up her spine.”

“Look how she surrenders to her new pleasure. She is reveling in the sensation of being diapered and it being wet. She is reduced to being a naughty little diaper wetting babygirl. Plying with her pussy through her pissy soggy diaper. Look at her cheeks turning red and listen to her moans. She is lost in a world of hypnotic ecstasy rubbing her diaper and cumming in it.”

“And afterwards, whilst still in that state she goes back to her bottle. Happy to repeat the cycle again. Tomorrow we will show her the video of this as she will have no memory if it at all! She is a high performing corporate accountant. She earns hundreds of thousands of dollars a year. This is her release. She pays us handsomely for providing this service to her. Perhaps you would like to enroll on our abdl therapy course too Mr Boobar?…”

Image credit Milky Shell

The crayon snapped in Kira’s fingers with a satisfying crack. She grinned, tossing the broken pieces onto the table where her half-finished coloring sheet lay abandoned. The letters at the top of the page K-I-R-A were barely recognizable, scribbled over in angry, jagged lines. She didn’t want to color. She didn’t want to sit still. And most of all, she didn’t want to admit how much she liked the thick, crinkly diaper tucked under her plaid skirt, already damp from the apple juice she’d gulped down at snack time.

Mr. Thompson didn’t even look up from his desk. "Kira," he said, his voice calm but firm, "that’s the third crayon this week."

Kira stuck out her tongue, swinging her legs under the table. The movement made the diaper shift between her thighs, the padding squishing slightly. She loved that feeling, the way it made her waddle, the way it reminded her she didn’t have to be big here. But today, she was in a mood. A bratty mood. "They’re stupid anyway," she muttered, kicking the table leg.

The classroom was quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the occasional crinkle of a diaper from one of the other littles. Kira glanced around, her lips curling. Most of them were obediently coloring, their tongues poking out in concentration, their diapers peeking out from under skirts or shorts. Boring.

Mr. Thompson finally set down his pen. "Kira," he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument, "you know the rules."

She rolled her eyes, but her heart fluttered. Rules. Rules meant consequences. And consequences meant...

"Yeah, yeah," she huffed, crossing her arms over her blouse. The fabric pulled tight over her chest, but she didn’t care. She wanted him to see her. To notice. "What’re you gonna do? Spank me?"

Mr. Thompson didn’t react. He just stood, his chair scraping back, and gestured toward the couch in the corner. The lesson couch.

Kira’s stomach twisted. She bit her lip, torn between the urge to bolt and the part of her that wanted this. Needed it. The diaper between her legs felt heavier suddenly, the wetness spreading as her body reacted to the thought.

She didn’t move fast enough. Mr. Thompson’s hand closed around her wrist, gentle but unyielding, and guided her toward the couch. Kira’s breath hitched as he sat, pulling her over his lap. The skirt rode up, exposing the babyish pattern of her diaper, thick, white, with little purple cricles printed along the edges. The tapes were secured snugly, the plastic backing crinkling as she squirmed.

"Kira," Mr. Thompson said, his voice low, "you’re better than this."

The first smack landed before she could retort. The sound echoed through the room, sharp and final. Kira gasped, her fingers clawing at the couch cushion. The sting radiated through the diaper, but beneath it, something else unfurled, something warm and needy. She whimpered, her hips shifting involuntarily, the padding squishing against her.

"You don’t get to decide when you follow the rules," Mr. Thompson continued, his hand coming down again. Kira yelped, but she didn’t fight. She couldn’t. The diaper was warm now, the wetness spreading, and every smack sent a jolt through her, making her feel small and safe and seen.

By the time he stopped, Kira’s cheeks were flushed, her breath coming in short, shaky gasps. The diaper was heavy between her legs, the wetness clinging to her skin. She didn’t want to move. She wanted to stay right there, draped over his lap, where everything was simple and she didn’t have to be anything but little.

Mr. Thompson helped her up, his touch careful. "Better?"

Kira nodded, her throat tight. She could feel the tears pricking at her eyes, but they weren’t sad. They were the kind that came when you were so full of feeling you didn’t know what to do with yourself. She sniffled, rubbing her face against her sleeve like a child.

"Good," he said, patting her head. "Now, let’s try coloring again. And this time, no breaking the crayons."

Kira nodded, her fingers twisting in the hem of her skirt. She didn’t trust her voice yet. But she didn’t need to. The diaper, the warmth, the way her bottom still tingled, it all told her everything she needed to know. She was little. She was safe.