Babygirl

You hurry to your seat, red-faced. You truly were the last person onboard, you barely made it. All you can think through takeoff is that you can't wait to get into the air and for the announcements to stop so you can go pee. You're bouncing your leg. Thankfully you don't have any neighbors, so they can't be irritated by it. The lap belt on the plane and the tightness of the waistband on your jeans feel like they're tag teaming your bladder, pressing against it, but it still feels like everyone's staring at you, so you don't dare unbutton your jeans.

Finally, you're fully in the air, and you wait for the seatbelt sign to turn off. But, as you should have expected due to the weather, the plane almost instantly encounters some turbulence. The seatbelt sign stays on.

You watch a few shows on the screen on the back of the seat behind you. It doesn't distract you, you have to go. Both legs are bouncing now. Appearances be damned, you unbutton your pants. It feels like every time you relax even slightly the piss tries to get out. And the bumpy flight isn't helping matters, sloshing the liquid in your balloned bladder up and down and side to side.

You keep glancing at the bathroom, door wide open and unoccupied. Maybe no one would get mad at you if you just ran over there, you're sure you could make it even with the turbulence.

Half an hour passes. You leak into your pants a little, despite now clutching tightly at your crotch with one hand and biting down on the other hand. You can't hold it, you have to go so bad. It feels like it's all going to come out, blasting out of you like a pressure washer. Another leak spurts out, creating a tiny visible wet spot at your crotch.

You're so preoccupied that you don't notice that the turbulence has calmed, and the seatbelt sign has turned off. You do notice, though, when someone else runs into the bathroom. No, no, it was open and you missed it... You could be in there pissing right now, you're not going to be able to hold it until they get out. You stand (leaking again; the spot is a little bigger, now) and wobble your way over to the bathroom door, intent on being the next person in. Maybe you can make it, maybe, maybe...

You don't make it. It leaks again and then again two seconds later and then it's a continuous stream. You're pissing your pants in the middle of the aisle, it's streaming down your legs and into your shoes and socks and making a big puddle on the floor, spreading into the footwells of the nearby seats.

It feels like the world has stopped, you can't actually be peeing yourself in front of all these people, right?

You start to cry, bracing against a nearby seat, still wetting. When you're finally done, you start walking back to your seat, shamefaced, only to be halted by one of the flight attendants.

You offer a tearful apology, and she pats your shoulder. "There, there." she says. "We'll get someone over to change you."

You blink your tears away for a moment, confused. "Change me?" You ask. "You mean, you have spare clothes I can borrow on the flight?"

"No, silly." She says. "I mean we'll get someone to get you diapered."

Another flight attendant wheels a large cart down the aisle. On it are cleaning supplies, but the majority of the cart is taken up by what looks like a giant changing table, as if sized for adults. The flight attendant pushing it, dressed like the others but for an apron, smiles and pats the padded surface. "Up you go," he says.

"What- what do you mean?" You're fully bewildered. The strangest thing is that none of the other passengers seem to be noticing the crazy thing going on here.

"Hop up and lie down, so I can get a diaper on you," the aproned flight attendant explains, simply, as if it makes complete sense to say. "You clearly need it pretty badly."

You look around, expecting someone to say something, but all the other passengers appear to be in agreement, to your bafflement. One woman even chimes in. "I've never seen anyone more in need of it in my life."

Eventually, you yield to peer pressure and sit on the table, and are coaxed into lying down by the two flight attendants. They work together to get your soaked pants off, leaving you completely bare-bottomed in front of the whole plane. You cover your certainly-red face with your hands as you're wiped clean. The aproned one pulls out a puffy diaper (there's a picture of a caterpillar on it, you notice, despite your humiliation) and asks you to "Lift up your bum!" so he can get it onto you. He secures it tightly and gives you a little pat. "Up you get, kiddo."

You step off the table, feeling wobbly and lightheaded. The flight attendant who first talked to you leads you back to your seat, and you're almost too shell-shocked to notice that a padded, infantile, adult-sized baby seat has been added. She buckles you in, and hands you a big, soft teddy bear with airplane patterns that you can't help but hug close. "There you go, honey. Here, we'll put on some cartoons."

She hands you a big sippy cup full of juice, and then turns on some kind of animated show you don't recognize. You suckle almost mindlessly at the juice, just wanting to escape this whole situation.

If you have another magic diaper idea let me know!! There’s soo much you can do with this concept

- Lil’ Soakers Training Pants: A pair of lightly padded underpants detailed with, ironically, a cast of diaper-clad cartoon animals. When donned, the wearer is incapable of making it to the restroom on time, always inches away before the flood gates break and you’re left a soggy whimpering mess in front of the potty. Not designed for capacity, but as a transitioning step for fussy littles between being in underwear and going back to diapers full-time.

- Potty-Time Pampers: An oversized pair of pampers swaddlers, complete with Mickey Mouse and friends plus wetness indicators. On the front crotch sits a plush button flush with the padding. Pressing it causes the immediate voiding of any and all bodily functions of the wearer. Perfect for training littles to use their diapers whenever, wherever the need arises.

- Air-Bags Diapers: A pair of normal underwear with a twist. The second the user has any sort of accident, they puff up like airbags into an impossibly thick and bulky diaper. Imagine being just in front of the public restroom as you fail to hold it, and having your big kid undies immediately and jarringly replaced by a swollen diaper bulging out of your clothing for all to admire.

You don't remember the first privilege Nanny took from you.

You were never a fan of choosing your outfits, you couldn't be bothered to dress yourself like a mature adult. Even when you were out at fancy dinners where everybody was wearing tight dresses or long tuxedos, you would always stick out like a sore thumb with your hoodie and sweatpants, dappled with stains that you could never be bothered to fully remove. Dressing yourself was a privilege, and Nanny had to take it away.

Wasn't that one of the first things they took, or was it your privilege to choose what you eat? You could never choose healthy options. You crammed instant noodles down your gullet every day because you could never be bothered to make something else. When you got sick of them, you'd just munch on a couple crackers, maybe some yogurt or a chocolate bar, and call it good. You always shied away from vegetables no matter what. Nanny was so worried, you could never eat the food they made for you. Not until they took away your privileges to choose what to eat, and started putting you on a structured meal plan.

Your sleep schedule was a complete mess. You'd regularly pull all-nighters and be unable to focus the next day. Nanny would always check in on you, ask you when you were going to bed. "Soon," you'd always say. "Soon" turned out to be five hours later, when you passed out at your desk and Nanny had to carry you to bed. Is it any wonder that they had to remove your choices about when you go to bed?

Medication? Who's she? You could never remember to take your meds unless Nanny cornered you with the pill bottle. You wouldn't take countertop medicine when you weren't feeling well, you'd just try to sleep the pain away. Maybe the potty wouldn't have been such a problem for you if you were willing to swallow your pride and take some laxatives. Ah well, too late now. Nanny takes care of your medication, for both physical and mental health.

Oh, and don't get Nanny started on your hygiene. You could never wash yourself properly in the shower, you didn't even bother to use soap or body wash or anything, and you didn't apply nearly enough shampoo to your hair! You forgot to wash your hands all the time, it's no wonder you got sick so often! And you never properly wiped after going potty either.. but Nanny makes sure you're squeaky clean in every way now.

You never had any issues with potty training, not according to you at least. Not counting the occasional tiny dribbles you'd have in your undies, or the hour and a half you'd spend on the toilet trying to make a number two before Nanny got home from work- those were surely normal, right? Time and time again, Nanny would ask if you were doing okay, and you would tell them you're fine. You weren't fine, but you wouldn't admit that. So Nanny helped you, and they took away your potty privileges.

No matter how hard you tried, you knew you had never truly satisfied Nanny in the bedroom. They'd always find an excuse to use a vibrator or their own hands to pleasure themself instead. You could never establish a rhythm, not with your hands, your mouth, or those useless little parts between your legs. Nanny never judged you for it, they found it fun to make you watch them take care of their own needs. But you were completely unsurprised about it when they started to avoid the subject of sex around you.

Even outside of how useless they were during sex, those hands could never be used for anything good. You'd constantly be sticking your fingers on the windows and leaving marks behind, picking at scabs on your face, holding that cellphone and doomscrolling until you passed out.. It comes as a surprise to nobody that Nanny doesn't let you use your hands anymore.

You know for sure one of the last privileges Nanny took was your ability to walk by yourself. You just kept wandering off in public when Nanny told you to stay close. You even tried to run away once when you thought Nanny was being too controlling. They proved you wrong, didn't they? They weren't even close to controlling back then. Not until they took away your walking privileges.

Now that Nanny dresses you every day, you feel a whole lot better in your own skin. No more baggy clothes trying to hide who you really are, Nanny loves showing off every part of their baby, especially the thick diaper always hanging between your legs with skirts that are way too short, shorts with suspiciously wide, loose leg holes, and onesies that never quite hide your crinkly leg cuffs.

There's no fussing about food now. You'll sit in the highchair Nanny built for you, your arms cuffed to the back so you can't even think about feeding yourself. And you'll thank Nanny for every last bite, no matter what food group it's from. You've put on a lot of much-needed weight since Nanny took over your feedings.

Since you were too immature to take medication orally, Nanny doesn't bother to give it through that hole anymore. All medication and supplements are given to you over their knee in suppository form. Nanny plugs you for an hour every day to keep you well-trained for your medication. You think it feels better and better every time they do it. And you feel better for it, physically and mentally.

Having Nanny hover over you while you bathed, showered, and went potty was embarrassing but necessary to make sure you kept yourself clean. But when they decided that they were still having to hover too much and that it would be easier on both of you to just start washing you themself, that was a different kind of relief. You never had to be reminded to wash your hands before you ate, Nanny would just pull you right over to the sink to clean them up. You no longer had to remember to shower, Nanny would usher you to the bathtub right after dinner every day. Your hair has never felt softer and cleaner, and the hairdos Nanny gives you every morning make you feel so cute! As for wiping properly..

You weren't allowed in the bathroom by yourself anyways, so why allow you to keep your potty privileges? Nanny thinks you look a lot cuter in thick, fluffy diapers anyways. They're embarrassing still, but you have to admit it's nice to not have to sit on the porcelain throne for an hour and a half praying that you go potty. With a diaper between your legs at all times, you can just go whenever you need. And you have to admit, your changing table and diapers are a lot comfier than the toilet.. especially when your diaper is all wet and warm like Nanny's mouth used to be..

It's a good thing your soaked diapers feel good when you're not allowed to have sexy fun with Nanny anymore. They say you're just a bit too little for that now that you're back in diapers and filling them. Nanny really likes to play with your little kiddo parts when you're on the changing table, but they much prefer rubbing you through your soaked, soiled padding, or using Mrs. Buzzy. You're not even allowed to call what you experience an orgasm anymore. You make little baby stickies in your pampers now. You hardly understand what's happening, you just know that Nanny makes you feel really good during your special playtime.

Those hands look a whole lot cuter in thick locking mittens anyways. It's especially adorable when you try to rub your diaper now.. your masturbation was cute before, but now that you can barely feel a thing, it just makes Nanny smile every time they see it! Of course though, you're never too cute to avoid a spanking for touching your diaper, and you can never even try to escape now..

Being constantly tied up or contained in your cage or playpen already made that difficult. But when Nanny started insisting on spiked booties, you knew that you had lost the game entirely. They didn't even trust you to walk like a grown-up, what hope did you have? So you'd crawl like the overgrown toddler you are, or you'd lift those mittened little hands and make an uppies motion at Nanny, begging them to carry you wherever you needed.

The part that Nanny always teased you for the most was that you offered little to no resistance for any of the privileges they took away, or the alternatives they offered. Hoodies and sweatpants for onesies, skirts, and shorts. A dinner table and silverware for a highchair with a plastic platter and colorful plastic utensils that you could never hold by yourself. A big queen-sized bed that you could leave whenever you wanted for a big, tall crib that you needed to stay in until Nanny came to get you. Oral medications for those suppositories that feel so much better to take. Cold showers by yourself for a nice warm, bubbly bathtime with Nanny. Thin, uncomfortable underwear and a cold, hard toilet for warm, fluffy diapers that feel so good when you fill them. Sex for buzzies, rubbies, and humpies. Hands go in mittens now. No walking, only crawling and uppies.

The fact that you can remember all of this at all tells Nanny that their work isn't done, though, even if you've forgotten what you lost first. Until your mind is completely free of those memories of your old "adult" life are gone, they won't be finished. They're going to take everything away until you have nothing left but Nanny and the nursery they've turned your old home into. That's all you need now. Hasn't Nanny proven over and over that they can take better care of you than you can? ♡

Hi there, little one~ Do you want to play a game with Nanny? It's an extra fun type of game because it's going to make you feel really, really good! First, let's get you situated. We're gonna lie you right down on my changing table- ohhh, don't worry, I'm not changing you yet. Your diapee is part of the fun- it's going to help the game feel good! But we're going to get you all cuffed down.. uh-oh, no squirmies, Nanny's got you! Yep, let them tighten up those straps just like that.. aww, is someone all whimpery? It's okay, Nanny has just the thing for that too. You see this? Yes, that's right, it's a paci gag! Such a smart baby! Come on, open up for me~ there you go..

Okay, now let's see that diaper. Aaand- oh my goodness, you really soaked this right through! One more drop and you would've leaked entirely! Aww, I can feel you heating up, is someone embarrassed that they're too little to use the potty? That's okay, Nanny likes you better like this, and that's what matters! You don't need the potty when Nanny's here to change your icky diapies <3 But I think your diaper will hold for our game.

So first, I want you to look at Nanny. I want you to look at them as they take off their sleek gray yoga pants, fold them neatly, and put them to the side. Those were yours once, do you remember? Nanny took them from you because you're too little to wear pants! But you were always too immature to wear a blouse like this one, even if it's pink like your paci gag! But off it goes as well. See how neatly Nanny folds and puts their clothes to the side? Nothing like how they treated all your undies when they finally put you back into diapers. They went right in the garbage, didn't they? And you wouldn't have it any other way. Ooooh, is something bothering you? What's nanny gonna find when they stick their fingers right into your diaper- oh my, those are some excited little kiddie parts!

Awwe, don't be embarrassed! This is just what Nanny expects from little kiddos like you. They so rarely get to see a grown-up in just their lingerie, they're just too little to know how to handle it! But take a good look, baby. Look at Nanny's thong, how thin and sexy it is, how it's completely dry against my skin. I bet you've forgotten this feeling, haven't you? Underwear, being dry.. those things aren't for you. You were made for thick diapers, your little baby brain doesn't need to retain the thought of what real grown-up underwear feels like. And there are other, even more grown-up things that you've definitely forgotten the feeling of..

Do you know what's under Nanny's thong, sweetie? Here, let me take it off and show you.. oh, what's this? I know, I've spanked you for saying this word before, but I promise I won't this time- I'm giving you permission! Yes, that's right, it's Nanny's pussy! That almost sounds like "paci," doesn't it? And it serves a very similar purpose, you can suck on Nanny's pussy just like you can suck on a paci! Or at least, you could if I was going to let you do that. No, no, sweetie. You can look, but I won't let you taste. Not today, that's not our game. Don't get fussy with me, little one. We haven't even started the fun part yet~

How about Nanny's boobies? They're a lot like a paci too, aren't they? Except they're even better than a paci, because they produce nice, warm milkies to keep that tummy nice and full. Here, let me take my bra off, and I'll let you sniff at them just like this. Ohh, do you feel Nanny rubbing your soggy diaper? Mhm, you like Nanny's hand on your diaper, don't you? If you get this excited over my hand, then I think you'll get really excited for this next part..

Here, let me take that gag out and you can nurse while Nanny takes care of you <3 I know it feels funny when Nanny gives you rubbies, it's so cute that you love them pressing your potty pants against your achey little parts so much. But I have something even better for you, and more importantly, it's gonna help Nanny feel good too! Can you guess what it is? I'll give you a hint, Nanny didn't take off their thong just so you could look at their pussy. Awww, that was such a cute little moan around Nanny's boobie! You understand what's happening now, uh-huh? Yessss that's right, Nanny loves rubbing their grown-up parts against your soggy diaper! It makes them feel so good, and seeing you be all blushy and squirmy is a big bonus.

Here, thrust your hips a little bit, you can even pretend you're inside Nanny <3 Aww, squishy squishy squishy! You're so cute when you try so hard. Oh, are you trying to feel Nanny's pussy? That's not happening sweetie, your diapee's just too thick, and I think you like your wet diapers more than my wet pussy anyways. That's okay with me. Nanny's going to keep grinding against your warm, squishy diaper, and you can play pretend and make humpies against me while you taste my milk in your mouth!

Hehe~ You're so precious when you try so hard! This is the closest you've gotten to grown-up fun in a loooong time, are you trying to prove that you can make Nanny feel good like their friends can? That's sooooo cute! I bet you want to feel more through that diaper so very badly. I can hear how desperate your little moans are. But we're here to make Nanny cum. If you do too, that's whatever, but you're going to have to work quickly if that's what you want, because Nanny's getting awfully cloooose~

Ahhh keep sucking, just like that! Keep thrusting, keep making humpies, good baby, ahhhh.. You're doing so good pleasuring Nanny... so close.. ohhhh my god! Hgghhh! Oh there we go.. you're so good at this, such a good little diaper kiddo.. You made Nanny cum so hard and all you had to do was make your diapee all warm and squishy, and suck on their boobies. Uh-oh, why are you crying? Was Nanny's pussy just too much to handle? Even with a diaper on.. speaking of which, let's check that.. ohhh, I see. Did someone not make it to cummies? Well, the game's all over now, Nanny is satisfied, so I think you're just going to have to wait until next time. I think it'll be a while until you're ready to do something like that again, though. Maybe just three or four months if you're lucky, but probably not until at least Halloween.

You look a lot cuter when you're all desperate and denied anyways! ♡

It attaches itself to you one day when you're wandering through the forest. Before you even have a chance to realize what's going on a slime darts from the underbrush, engulfing your boots and sliding up your leg underneath your clothes until it surrounds your waist, trapping you in a thick, bouncy padding. The slime forms a thick rubbery membrane you just can't penetrate no matter how hard you try to remove it. As your fingers desperately try to scrape away the goo, it rebuffs you, not allowing your digits to find purchase. You're at the creature's mercy.

When your bladder finally gives out, warm piss flooding into the gelatinous mass around your waste, the slime begins to react. It shapes its gel to caress your crotch, gently teasing you, rubbing back and forth. It seems to know exactly how to play with you, shaping itself perfectly to caress and tease you, the warm wet mass filling every nook and cranny until you just can't take it. As you find yourself splayed out on the ground begging for mercy, riding the edge of an orgasm it stops, leaving you painfully unfulfilled.

You finally manage to find your way out of the woods, looking for anyone who can help you. Plenty are willing to try, but the longer they spend with you the more they seem to... change. They start talking down to you, they insist on doing more and more for you, making decisions for you, feeding you. Coddling you. Treating you like an infant. Your protests fall on deaf ears as allies once horrified by your struggles now find amusement in your predicament, treating any argument against them as nothing more than outbursts and tantrums.

The longer the slime is attached, the more it works to degrade you. What once was simply a diaper begins to morph and change, leaving you more and more helpless and dependent on your new 'caretakers'. It starts by creating a living slime onesie that eats through any covering you try to throw over it, leaving you unable to hide the infantile attire. Once you get used to having your shame on display 24/7, it slides down your limbs, creating two mitts over your hands leaving you unable to manipulate anything with any amount of dexterity, and two booties on your feet, leaving you incapable of walking (not that you could do anything more than waddle these days), forcing you to crawl. The final humiliation comes in the form of a pacifier, the gooey nipple invades your mouth, spreading out into the shape of a shield and button on your face to complete the look. No matter how hard you try to spit it out, the adhesive bond of the gel leaves it locked in place, only releasing when a 'caretaker' decides to take it out and feed you. As you're forced to idly suckle on the bulb you can feel the slime secreting a sickly sweet, syrupy substance down your throat. As you swallow it you can feel your body moving slower, mind growing hazier, thoughts becoming more simple and indistinct. It's harder to bring yourself to resist.

So here you are: completely and totally dependent on your caretakers, perpetually drugged, and continually edged but never able to cum. You knew you used to hate it but as the weeks turn into months turn into years, you start to enjoy it. No more responsibilities, no more working, no more thoughts.

You don't remember the first privilege Nanny took from you.

You were never a fan of choosing your outfits, you couldn't be bothered to dress yourself like a mature adult. Even when you were out at fancy dinners where everybody was wearing tight dresses or long tuxedos, you would always stick out like a sore thumb with your hoodie and sweatpants, dappled with stains that you could never be bothered to fully remove. Dressing yourself was a privilege, and Nanny had to take it away.

Wasn't that one of the first things they took, or was it your privilege to choose what you eat? You could never choose healthy options. You crammed instant noodles down your gullet every day because you could never be bothered to make something else. When you got sick of them, you'd just munch on a couple crackers, maybe some yogurt or a chocolate bar, and call it good. You always shied away from vegetables no matter what. Nanny was so worried, you could never eat the food they made for you. Not until they took away your privileges to choose what to eat, and started putting you on a structured meal plan.

Your sleep schedule was a complete mess. You'd regularly pull all-nighters and be unable to focus the next day. Nanny would always check in on you, ask you when you were going to bed. "Soon," you'd always say. "Soon" turned out to be five hours later, when you passed out at your desk and Nanny had to carry you to bed. Is it any wonder that they had to remove your choices about when you go to bed?

Medication? Who's she? You could never remember to take your meds unless Nanny cornered you with the pill bottle. You wouldn't take countertop medicine when you weren't feeling well, you'd just try to sleep the pain away. Maybe the potty wouldn't have been such a problem for you if you were willing to swallow your pride and take some laxatives. Ah well, too late now. Nanny takes care of your medication, for both physical and mental health.

Oh, and don't get Nanny started on your hygiene. You could never wash yourself properly in the shower, you didn't even bother to use soap or body wash or anything, and you didn't apply nearly enough shampoo to your hair! You forgot to wash your hands all the time, it's no wonder you got sick so often! And you never properly wiped after going potty either.. but Nanny makes sure you're squeaky clean in every way now.

You never had any issues with potty training, not according to you at least. Not counting the occasional tiny dribbles you'd have in your undies, or the hour and a half you'd spend on the toilet trying to make a number two before Nanny got home from work- those were surely normal, right? Time and time again, Nanny would ask if you were doing okay, and you would tell them you're fine. You weren't fine, but you wouldn't admit that. So Nanny helped you, and they took away your potty privileges.

No matter how hard you tried, you knew you had never truly satisfied Nanny in the bedroom. They'd always find an excuse to use a vibrator or their own hands to pleasure themself instead. You could never establish a rhythm, not with your hands, your mouth, or those useless little parts between your legs. Nanny never judged you for it, they found it fun to make you watch them take care of their own needs. But you were completely unsurprised about it when they started to avoid the subject of sex around you.

Even outside of how useless they were during sex, those hands could never be used for anything good. You'd constantly be sticking your fingers on the windows and leaving marks behind, picking at scabs on your face, holding that cellphone and doomscrolling until you passed out.. It comes as a surprise to nobody that Nanny doesn't let you use your hands anymore.

You know for sure one of the last privileges Nanny took was your ability to walk by yourself. You just kept wandering off in public when Nanny told you to stay close. You even tried to run away once when you thought Nanny was being too controlling. They proved you wrong, didn't they? They weren't even close to controlling back then. Not until they took away your walking privileges.

Now that Nanny dresses you every day, you feel a whole lot better in your own skin. No more baggy clothes trying to hide who you really are, Nanny loves showing off every part of their baby, especially the thick diaper always hanging between your legs with skirts that are way too short, shorts with suspiciously wide, loose leg holes, and onesies that never quite hide your crinkly leg cuffs.

There's no fussing about food now. You'll sit in the highchair Nanny built for you, your arms cuffed to the back so you can't even think about feeding yourself. And you'll thank Nanny for every last bite, no matter what food group it's from. You've put on a lot of much-needed weight since Nanny took over your feedings.

Since you were too immature to take medication orally, Nanny doesn't bother to give it through that hole anymore. All medication and supplements are given to you over their knee in suppository form. Nanny plugs you for an hour every day to keep you well-trained for your medication. You think it feels better and better every time they do it. And you feel better for it, physically and mentally.

Having Nanny hover over you while you bathed, showered, and went potty was embarrassing but necessary to make sure you kept yourself clean. But when they decided that they were still having to hover too much and that it would be easier on both of you to just start washing you themself, that was a different kind of relief. You never had to be reminded to wash your hands before you ate, Nanny would just pull you right over to the sink to clean them up. You no longer had to remember to shower, Nanny would usher you to the bathtub right after dinner every day. Your hair has never felt softer and cleaner, and the hairdos Nanny gives you every morning make you feel so cute! As for wiping properly..

You weren't allowed in the bathroom by yourself anyways, so why allow you to keep your potty privileges? Nanny thinks you look a lot cuter in thick, fluffy diapers anyways. They're embarrassing still, but you have to admit it's nice to not have to sit on the porcelain throne for an hour and a half praying that you go potty. With a diaper between your legs at all times, you can just go whenever you need. And you have to admit, your changing table and diapers are a lot comfier than the toilet.. especially when your diaper is all wet and warm like Nanny's mouth used to be..

It's a good thing your soaked diapers feel good when you're not allowed to have sexy fun with Nanny anymore. They say you're just a bit too little for that now that you're back in diapers and filling them. Nanny really likes to play with your little kiddo parts when you're on the changing table, but they much prefer rubbing you through your soaked, soiled padding, or using Mrs. Buzzy. You're not even allowed to call what you experience an orgasm anymore. You make little baby stickies in your pampers now. You hardly understand what's happening, you just know that Nanny makes you feel really good during your special playtime.

Those hands look a whole lot cuter in thick locking mittens anyways. It's especially adorable when you try to rub your diaper now.. your masturbation was cute before, but now that you can barely feel a thing, it just makes Nanny smile every time they see it! Of course though, you're never too cute to avoid a spanking for touching your diaper, and you can never even try to escape now..

Being constantly tied up or contained in your cage or playpen already made that difficult. But when Nanny started insisting on spiked booties, you knew that you had lost the game entirely. They didn't even trust you to walk like a grown-up, what hope did you have? So you'd crawl like the overgrown toddler you are, or you'd lift those mittened little hands and make an uppies motion at Nanny, begging them to carry you wherever you needed.

The part that Nanny always teased you for the most was that you offered little to no resistance for any of the privileges they took away, or the alternatives they offered. Hoodies and sweatpants for onesies, skirts, and shorts. A dinner table and silverware for a highchair with a plastic platter and colorful plastic utensils that you could never hold by yourself. A big queen-sized bed that you could leave whenever you wanted for a big, tall crib that you needed to stay in until Nanny came to get you. Oral medications for those suppositories that feel so much better to take. Cold showers by yourself for a nice warm, bubbly bathtime with Nanny. Thin, uncomfortable underwear and a cold, hard toilet for warm, fluffy diapers that feel so good when you fill them. Sex for buzzies, rubbies, and humpies. Hands go in mittens now. No walking, only crawling and uppies.

The fact that you can remember all of this at all tells Nanny that their work isn't done, though, even if you've forgotten what you lost first. Until your mind is completely free of those memories of your old "adult" life are gone, they won't be finished. They're going to take everything away until you have nothing left but Nanny and the nursery they've turned your old home into. That's all you need now. Hasn't Nanny proven over and over that they can take better care of you than you can? ♡

ActiveUps by Discrete-Wear

A package of adult pull-ups found tucked away in the corners of old gymnasiums and sports apparel stores. Blowing off the dust on the crinkly plastic packaging reveals them to be incontinence wear for active individuals. They emphasize the breathability and discretion of the product to an unnecessary level, the branding repeating “wear on the go!” at least a dozen times.

There’s an image of a model on the front holding a baseball bat ready to swing. Strangely he’s wearing nothing to cover his underwear, opting instead for just a pair of the pull-ups which are, upon inspection, way too childish for any self respecting adult to consider seriously wearing. They have cutesy decals of sports items with drawn-on faces and a similarly clad cartoon mascot in the middle of the crotch.

The twist is that they’re not designed for discretion whatsoever. Pulling up the leg cuffs snugly around your waist makes a small, almost unnoticeable change in the wearer. Your awareness of the pull-up’s presence on your body dissipates immediately. You have no capacity to understand that your waistband is peeking out, or that you’re just on the verge of leaking. You don’t exactly call attention to the fact, sure. But that doesn’t stop you from undressing in the locker room down to just your saggy afternoon pull-ups on full display to everyone while you’re absolutely clueless to the humiliating situation you’re in. That is, until you slide them down and the magic dissipates just as fast, leaving you a blushing mess in full view of your peers.

The Hero’s Curse

This one is something of legend. Due to its nature, stories of its power can only be told from those who have witnessed it, not held subject to it. The myth says that only those with true intentions and pure hearts are shown access to it, its location obscured by a harrowing journey across several continents. The item in question sits alone on a golden altar, deep in a forest still untouched by most all. An inscription on the golden surface reads, “for those who wish to go back.”

The item itself is, you guessed it, a diaper. Its appearance varies, but it’s usually similar to an oversized pair of pampers or huggies, with a design matching the particular interests of the brave adventurer chosen to wield it. Once donned, the padding empowers your intelligence and strength to inhuman levels. You can do graduate physics in your head and lift a car with one hand.

This comes at a steep cost, a burden that only the artifact’s chosen can shoulder. You are, in every way that counts, reduced back to the bodily capabilities of an infant. You’re constantly clad in childish clothing such as pajamas and overalls, the only common thread from day-to-day being some motif plastered over your chest with an inscription along the lines of, “Still potty training!”

Your toilet capabilities are reduced to basics permanently. You’re frequently stuck mid-battle in a potty dance, a dribble of urine almost constantly staining the crease between your thigh and crotch. A small backpack with Elmo’s face is attached to you at all times, its contents of changing supplies and gigantic baby diapers refilling themselves from nothing.

You slur your well-read words as if you’re just learning them and toddle around awkwardly before delivering your devastating blows. You deftly duck a killing hit from an adversary and take the short moment squatting as an excuse to push into your pants. You have to tug on the king’s robe as he presents you an award for bravery because you desperately need a change from someone who can handle it. And yet, stories will be still be told for ages of you and your strength and cunning (albeit with maybe a few details missing).

Adaptive-Fit Formal Garb

A small formal wear shop sits in the very back of certain outlet malls, usually ones far past their prime. Its small confines are bright and lively, featuring all sorts of apparel in many fashionable brands. There’s never anyone working there, and a large sign in the center of the shop always reads, “Closing. Take what you need,” in hastily scribbled sharpie. Anyone in their right mind would jump at the opportunity for clothing like this at the low-low price of free, and that’s exactly what the store is counting on.

The clothing’s spell seems simple at first. You realize halfway through the night, whether you’re attending business dinner or fancy date, that you need to use the restroom an uncharacteristic amount. You’re squirming in your seat as you excuse yourself, plopping down on the porcelain throne just in the nick of time. This pattern continues, your every potty-break becoming more and more desperate until finally you have a lapse in control. You dribble just a bit into your pants right as you’re desperately undoing your undergarments. You swear under your breath, careful not to disturb the next stall over.

After cleaning up to the best of your ability you sulk towards the stall and begin washing your hands, your eyes widening in shock as you look at your reflection. You’re no longer dressed to the nines and ready-to-impress. No, your fancy leather or delicate fabric has been replaced under your nose by the most laughably infantile outfit possible. No doubt the resident of the stall next to you holds back a laugh as they wash themselves up, your cheeks burning a deep crimson.

“Sweetie, I don’t get why you’re so fussy.”

“Really?” he rolled his eyes to accent his sarcasm.

“That’s exactly the attitude I’m talking about,” I untapped his diaper, “Didn’t you ask for this?”

“Yeah, but…” he trailed off, probably unsure of a reply. What a silly little guy I had on my hands.

“Your mommy literally won the lottery, and so did you! Sure, she sleeps with other big boys now, but look at your life! You have a mommy that loves you, you get to live out your fantasies in diapers as a baby, and you even have a nanny that thinks you’re just the most precious little thing,” I booped him on the nose to drive home my point.

“B-Buh I wanna cum! And I wanna watch big boy movies and use the potty!” He whined.

“Sorry munchkin,” I wiped his private areas down as I giggled at his childish display, “but your mommy pays me to keep you out of trouble, and all of that definitely sounds like trouble for a little one.”

“B-Buh—”

His adorable stammering was cut off by his pacifier, which I had learned to shove in his mouth if he got too cranky.

“Should’ve been more careful what you wished for,” I shrugged, “now why don’t we sit you on the playroom floor to watch Bluey, while I make you some grilled cheese.”

Resigned to his new role, he only nodded in submission as the pacifier bobbled between his lips.

———————————————————

As always, all characters depicted are 18+

The mall was alive with noise, chatter, laughter, the clatter of shopping carts, and the distant hum of a children’s play area. You sat in the stroller, your shortalls buldging just enough to hint at the thick, crinkly diaper beneath. The plastic seat was uncomfortable, but that wasn’t why you were squirming. No, it was the way your body had been betraying you all afternoon, the way your hips kept lifting, the way your fingers kept twitching toward the front of your diaper, rubbing, pressing, needing.

Mommy pushed you forward, her voice light as she chatted with a friend on the phone. You bit your lip, trying to ignore the growing pressure, the way your diaper seemed to beg for attention. But it was no use. The crinkle of the padding was too loud, too tempting. You shifted again, your thighs pressing together, your hips rolling subtly against the seat. The friction was maddening, but it wasn’t enough. You needed more.

Your breath hitched as you finally gave in, your body taking over. You humped the seat of the stroller, your diaper crinkling obscenely with every movement. The sound was unmistakable, the noise drawing a few curious glances from passersby. Your face burned, but you couldn’t stop. Your hips lifted, your body arching as you ground against the plastic, your fingers digging into the armrests. The pleasure coiled tight in your stomach, your breath coming in ragged, desperate pants.

And then...

"Nngh...M-Mommy"

Your voice broke, the words tumbling out as your body shuddered. Your toes curled in your shoes, your back arching as the wave crashed over you. Your diaper was warm, sticky, the padding clinging to you as you collapsed back against the seat, panting. The stroller was a mess. You were a mess.

Mommy finally noticed. She ended her call, her eyebrows raising as she took in the scene. She sighed, shaking her head.

"Oh, baby," she cooed, her voice dripping with amusement. "Did you make cummies?"

You whimpered, your face burning as she wheeled you toward the family restroom. The automatic doors hissed open, and Mommy didn’t waste a second. She lifted you onto the folding table, her hands deft as she unsnapped your shortalls and tugged them down, leaving you in nothing but your soaked, sticky diaper and your t-shirt. The cool air of the restroom hit your exposed skin, but it did little to cool the heat in your face.

"Look at you," Mommy murmured, her fingers pressing into the front of your diaper. The padding squelched under her touch, and you let out a whine, your hips jerking involuntarily. "All sticky. Did you think you could just do that out there, in front of everyone?"

You shook your head, your voice lost somewhere between shame and pleasure. Mommy tsked, her fingers lingering as she rubbed the front of your diaper, making you squirm.

"Naughty boys don’t get to hide their diapers," she said, her voice firm but fond. She grabbed a fresh diaper from her bag, the crinkle of the packaging loud in the small room. You watched, mortified, as she peeled the tapes off your ruined diaper, the sticky sound filling the air. The cool wipes she used to clean you up were a small relief, but the embarrassment was overwhelming.

She took her time, powdering you thoroughly before fitting the fresh diaper beneath you. The new padding was thick, the tapes snug as she secured them. You wiggled, the crinkle of the clean diaper a stark contrast to the sticky mess you’d made.

"There we go," Mommy said, patting your thigh. "All fresh and clean. For now."

She didn’t bother pulling your shortalls back up. Instead, she simply lifted you back into the stroller, leaving your thick, babyish diaper on full display. The restroom door swung open as she wheeled you out, the noise of the mall rushing back in. You could feel the eyes on you, the way people’s gazes lingered on the obvious bulk between your legs. Your face burned, but Mommy just laughed, her hand resting on your shoulder.

"Let’s go, baby," she said, her voice sweet.

The plastic crinkles softly as you shift on the couch, your pull-up and your wet shirt clinging to your skin after another sticky accident. The wetness indicator is a dark, mocking blue, and the fabric is sticky between your legs… again. You can still feel the remnants of your last "cummies," the way your hips had bucked helplessly into the padding, the way the pull-up had failed to contain you. The sticky, embarrassing aftermath had been impossible to hide, and Mommy had seen. Of course she had.

Now, she sits beside you, her expression a mix of exasperation and something softer, something that makes your stomach twist. She’s holding two things: a sleek, black penis cage, its cold metal glinting in the lamplight, and a thick, baby-blue diaper,  like an invitation. Your throat goes dry.

“You’re at a crossroads, baby,” Mommy says, her voice gentle but firm. “You can’t keep going like this. Pull-ups weren’t made for this kind of use.” She taps the cage against her palm, the sound sharp. “Option one: You stay in pull-ups, but you wear this. No more humping, no more stickies. Your little penis stays locked away, and you’ll learn to behave.” She lets the words sink in, her fingers tracing the edge of the cage. “No more sticky surprises, no more ruined t-shirts. But…” She tilts her head, her tone shifting to something almost teasing. “No more cummies either. Not like you’ve been having, anyway.”

Your face burns. You know what she means. The way you’d grind into the padding, the way your body would tremble as you chased that forbidden pleasure, the way the pull-up would give way under the pressure. The cage looks so final.

 wrist. The padding is thick, the kind that would swallow your hips whole, the kind that would hold everything, pee, messes, cummies, without a single leak. “Option two: You switch to diapers. Full time. No cage, no restrictions. Your cute penis stays free… but it stays in the diaper.” Her lips quirk. “You can hump all you want, baby. You can make as many messes as your little heart desires. And I promise you, these won’t leak.” She gives the diaper a little shake, the crinkle loud in the quiet room. “But you’ll look like what you are. A baby. A good, thick, diapered baby. A good, thick, diapered baby who will never sit on the potty again.”

The thought sends a shiver down your spine. The diaper is so obvious. So undeniable. Everyone would know. But then again… the cage is worse, isn’t it? The idea of being locked away, of never feeling that release again, makes your chest tighten.

Mommy watches you, her eyes knowing. “So. What’s it going to be, baby?” She holds out both options, one in each hand. “Do you want to be restrained… or do you want to be free?”

Your fingers twitch toward the diaper. The cage is a prison. But the diaper… the diaper is a promise. A promise of warmth, of safety, of never having to hide what you are. Of being able to give in, completely.

You swallow hard. “I… I want to be free, Mommy.”

Her smile is slow, satisfied. “Good boy.” She sets the cage aside and brings the diaper closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Now, let’s get you diapered.”

“Hmmm…I feel like it’s missing something,” said Skylar, holding the cutely dressed voodoo doll with her arms outstretched and rotating it back and forth. Thus far, she’d done a splendid job turning the previously naked and featureless figure into the spitting image of a sissy baby. Dressed in a frilly pink shirt, a poofy diaper, and a tutu that did nothing to cover it, it was hard to say what her masterpiece was lacking. Her finger traced the threads of pink yarn sprouting from the top of the doll’s egg-shaped head as she mused all the blushy possibilities.

“Mmmmm!~”

Reeling from the barrage of shivers coursing throughout his spine, Dalton could feel every flick of Skylar’s finger despite standing on the opposite side of her obnoxiously girly bedroom. Much like Skylar’s sack doll, he too was adorned with identical sissy baby paraphernalia. “L-Listen…” he pleaded, pulling at the diaper around his waist to no avail. Regrettably, being so handsy with his diaper saddled him with unintentionally tented consequences, “...I know w-what I did was wrong but–MMMF!”

“Shhhhhhh!” Skylar cooed, pushing her pointer finger against the doll's mouth to seal her deceitful victim’s lips. “The time for talking is over. I gave you plenty of chances to admit to cheating on me but you kept on making excuse after excuse. At this point, your words hold no more water than a…oh…”

Lightbulb!

With a devilish smirk brimming along her lips, Skylar snatched the half-full water bottle from its spot on her desk. Twisting off the plastic lid and tugging on the front of the doll’s diaper, she savored the horrified yet sultry look on Dalton’s face as the front of his diaper was pried open by a mystic force far beyond his comprehension. “... than a thoroughly soaked diaper!” she said, giggling maniacally as she began to pour water into the voodoo doll’s diaper.

As the burlap plaything’s diaper expanded, so too did Dalton’s. Unfortunately, due to the limitations of Skylar’s black magic, water couldn’t simply materialize within the crinkly pamper from nowhere, forcing it to be filled with the only source of liquid he had on hand. The palpable mixture of pleasure and pure humiliation was almost too much to handle as the already plush diaper swelled around his reactive member.

“Hehehe! I’m sure all those girls at the club you couldn’t keep your hands off are going to have a blasty-blast playing with you,” teased Skylar, brushing the back of her finger against the dolly’s mushy diaper front as she squeezed the last of the water from her bottle. “Now, now. Don’t get too excited yet. We haven’t even started your makeup.”

💜 Artwork By CodiBaby 💜 💕 Story By CrissieBaby 💕 💛 Commissioned By sbds11567 💛

SubscribeStar: subscribestar.adult/crissiebaby pixivFANBOX: crissiebaby.fanbox.cc All CB Links: linktr.ee/crissiebaby

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…I will not goon inside my diapers. I will not goon inside my diapers. I will not goon inside my diapers…

A faint dusting of cherry red blush burned against Ethan’s cheeks as he wrote the same degrading sentence over and over again while dressed in a skimpy schoolgirl uniform with a bulky diaper poking out underneath. Sadly, this wasn’t the kind of embarrassment born from a place of perversion or arousal. Instead, the rosiness contained within his cheeks was tinged with regret. “H-How long did you say I have to do this, Mistress?” he asked, removing the pencil from his right hand and stretching his sore digits.

“You know…I don’t recall setting a time limit. Guess a little sissy troublemaker like you will just have to keep writing until I say so,” said Ethan’s domineering wife, Madison, soaking in her subby hubby’s pathetically prissy whimpers. Eagerly assuming the role of a sexy teacher at Ethan’s request, she was determined to give him the kind of firm, yet titillating discipline he was sorely in need of. 

Unfortunately, Mistress Maddy’s idea of what constituted “firm, yet titillating discipline” greatly differed from Ethan’s. Back when he first proposed the scene to Madison, he had envisioned himself lying across a desk on his tummy for a steamy spanking session; not sitting at a desk writing the same ridiculous phrase on loop. “Ugh! This is duuuuuuumb!” he said bitterly, his inner brat being dragged out of him as he worked his way down his fifth page of the night, “Also, for the record, goon is a stupid word.”

Narrowing her gaze, Madison coyly raised her eyebrows. “Oh, really…” she said, her tight pencil skirt sizzling as she uncrossed her legs and pressed her stocking-clad foot into Ethan’s padded crotch, “...What word would my slutty sissy baby have preferred? Stickies...cummies…Sissy squirties…oh, and please, do speak up when you’re in my classroom. I won’t tolerate any mumbling,” she said, plucking a 12-inch ruler off her desk and tenderly hooking Ethan’s chin with it.

“I…uh…” muttered Ethan, unable to string a coherent thought together as his blue balls melted beneath his Mistress’s heel. A contentious combination of panic and pleasure soon set in, causing his penmanship to grow increasingly poor as his writing utensil began to wobble in his hand. Remembering the rules he set with Madison before their fun began, jizzing in his diaper would result in his cock receiving a full month of detention locked in his smallest cage. 

Snickering at how flustered Ethan was getting, Madison doubled her efforts as she leaned forward and mooshed her toes against the outline of his swollen cock. “Uh oh, my sissy isn’t going to need remedial lessons, is she?” she teased, the velocity of her stroking steadily increasing.

“I-I…” Ethan sputtered, his tongue slipping from his mouth as three days' worth of pent-up semen was unleashed within his plastic nappy. Powerless to prevent the color in his cheeks from darkening, this was the hot-blooded humiliation he was looking for,  “...I gooned in my diapee…”

💜 Artwork By CodiBaby 💜 💕 Story By CrissieBaby 💕

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DISCLAIMER: This classic Crissie story contains diaper usage, forced crossdressing, and other ABDL themes. I hope you enjoy!

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Zeke couldn’t believe his luck. It was bad enough that he had to look after his little sister, Kelly, on his only day off, let alone having to chaperone an 8-year-old’s birthday party at the single girliest place he’d ever laid his eyes upon.

Zeke’s mother was supposed to accompany the girls to the Pretty Pretty Princess Doll Factory for Kelly’s party, but of course, she chose today of all days to get sick. This left Zeke as the only person who could look after the party.

At first, Zeke refused, but after an obscene amount of begging (and a sizable bribe), Zeke agreed. However, as soon as he entered the factory, he realized didn’t ask for nearly enough.

The Pretty Pretty Princess Doll Factory was a paradise of girliness. Everything from the walls to the displays were all painted different shades of pink. There was a costume shop, a makeup store, and even a massive playground. Kelly and the other girls couldn’t have been happier, but Zeke couldn’t have been dreading this anymore.

The day started with pizza, cake, and presents. As the girls all screamed and giggled with each other, Zeke sat alone at the edge of the table, gorging himself on a large cheese pizza all to himself.

After lunch, it was time for the tour to start. An employee dressed in a bright purple princess costume came to greet them. “Hello! My name is Princess Lilac, and I’ll be giving a very special birthday girl a personal tour of my kingdom.” The girls all cheered and followed the employee through a pair of double doors.

It took Zeke exactly 5 seconds to be bored out of his mind. He lagged behind the group of hyperactive grade schoolers, his eyes locked on his phone, only looking up to make sure one of the girls didn’t jump off a catwalk or something.

By the 45-minute mark, Zeke was starting to regret wearing such uncomfortable walking shoes. His feet were absolutely killing him. While the girls were all standing around Princess Lilac as she talked about another dull machine, Zeke decided to take a seat on a bench to rest for a second.

While Zeke sat, his phone was lit up with messages. His girlfriend, Kat, was still pissed at him for kissing another girl at a house party last week, and he was doing some serious damage control. The pair furiously texted back and forth, spending little energy to even acknowledge what the other was writing. He didn’t even know how much time had passed before he looked up and noticed the party had moved on without him.

Zeke wandered around for a few minutes, trying to catch up with them, but he was so incredibly lost. Everything looked the same: pink, pink, and more pink. With his frustration mounting, Zeke decided to enter the next door he came across.

The door led him to another set of catwalks that hovered over a number of various conveyor belts that weren’t in use. Each belt had several nude, life-sized dolls lined up neatly and wrapped in plastic. Zeke started to lightly jog towards the other side when his phone buzzed again. He reached into his pocket to answer, only to lose his grip on the phone and watch it tumble down onto one of the conveyor belts.

Looking over the edge, Zeke figured it was only about one story down to the conveyor belt. With no regard for caution, he stepped over the railing and lowered himself until he could safely drop.

As he landed on the rubbery surface of the conveyor belt, he found that it was much more springy than he assumed it would be. The shockwave he caused resulted in all of the nude dolls bouncing off the belt and onto the ground. His phone was also launched, flying through the air and landing right at the mouth of a big machine.

Zeke tried to walk but discovered the belt was much too unstable for that, leaving him to claw along the belt until he could finally reach his phone.

Little did Zeke know that the tour group had arrived at the main attraction. The factory allowed visitors to create and design their own life-size version of their favorite doll from the Pretty Pretty Princess collection.

“As the birthday girl, you get to go first!” said Princess Lilac in her sugary sweet voice. “Do you know what doll you want?”

Kelly nodded enthusiastically, “I want a big Betsy Wetsy doll.”

With no more deliberation, Princess Lilac escorted Kelly to a control panel. Kelly diligently picked out a short, pink princess dress with puffy sleeves and a tiara. She also added two giant, fluffy diapers, some lacy stockings, and a pair of pink high heels. Then she moved on to make-up, leaving no space unpainted.

With everything selected, Kelly hit the “Make My Dolly” button with innocent enthusiasm.

For Zeke, she couldn’t have pressed start at a worse time. Just as he got his hands on his phone, the conveyor belt started moving forward. The force caused him to fall backward. He tried to get up, but the unstable floor beneath him made that an impossibility. With no escape, Zeke was pulled into the machine.

Princess Lilac let the girls over to a big room with a viewing window, “Here you’ll get to watch while your dolly is dressed and-” The sudden sound of Lilac’s phone ringing cut her off in the middle of her speech. She reached into her bra and pulled it out. “You girls stay right here and watch. I’ll be off to the side if you need anything.”

Princess Lilac walked to a corner of the room, leaving Kelly and the other girls to watch as Zeke was pulled into view by four mechanical arms, his screams muffled from inside the insulated room. The girls rushed to the glass and started laughing at the boy’s misfortune, the loudest of which was Kelly, who was silently annoyed that her brother was being such a stick in the mud. She squinted her eyes and smiled, ready to enjoy the show.

The machine wasted no time removing Zeke’s clothing, which it mistook for the doll’s wrapping. In a matter of seconds, he was completely nude.

The arms then laid Zeke down on a padded mat as he was forced to watch two of the largest diapers he’d ever seen be carried toward him by more mechanical arms. They were not real diapers but were instead filled with cotton stuffing that was designed to make the padding even bulkier than the real thing.

Zeke pulled and wiggled as much as he could, but it was no use. The machine lifted his butt off the mat and pulled the first diaper onto his waist, simultaneously spraying his crotch with a perfume that strongly smelled of baby powder. It wasn’t over, though, as the second diaper was soon added, separating his legs over a foot wide.

The arms continued by adding two long, silky stockings to his legs, which hugged him in a way he had never felt before. He felt the front of his soft, pillowy diapers begin to tent in defiance of his own displeasure with the current situation.

A pair of heels were then placed on his feet. The heels were far too small, but the machine did its damnedest to make sure they fit. After an agonizing few seconds, his feet were wedged inside the shoes.

More robotic arms descended and lifted him up, allowing a corset to be wrapped around his torso. The arms pulled the strings tightly as Zeke felt all air leave his lungs. And his lungs weren’t the only thing to feel pressure. The corset also was doing a number on his stomach, which was working its way through digesting an unhealthy amount of cheap pizza.

Zeke knew an eruption was pending. If he didn’t escape soon, these bright white diapers might not be so white anymore.

The machine paid no mind to Zeke’s plight, lifting his arms high in the air and sliding down the pink princess dress that Kelly had selected. The dress was made of silk, with lace and ruffles scattered all around. At his waist, the dress was bellowed out by a built-in petticoat that pushed the skirt wide and high, ensuring his diapers would be visible from every angle.

A metal mask was placed on his face. He shouted as the metal warmed up and printed make-up onto him, according to Kelly’s specifications. While that happened, a big blonde wig with strands of hair that extended down to Zeke’s lower back was positioned and glued onto his head.

Zeke gasped for air the second the mask parted ways with his face. If he had a mirror, he would’ve seen the sum total of lipstick, blush, concealer, eyeliner, eye shadow, mascara, and every other product under the sun that had been precisely slathered onto his face.

As soon as the finishing touch of a small, golden tiara was placed on his head, Zeke was yanked toward a large cardboard box. The arms placed him inside and secured his hands and feet with large twist ties.

The killer was a fifth twist tie that was placed around his waist and pulled tight to make sure the new dolly would be jostled in the box. With the corset and the twist tie combined, Zeke’s bowels could no longer handle the pressure. A large pizza’s worth of poop was squeezed out of him like a tube of runny toothpaste. 

With the dolly in place, the box was sealed shut and lowered onto a conveyor belt that exited the machine. Zeke thrashed around inside the box, using every ounce of strength he had to break free of his restraints, but all he managed to do was smear the mess in his pants even more.

The box was lifted one last time as pretty pink wrapping paper was applied for the birthday girl. Zeke could no longer see anything beyond a dull glow of light that strained through the thin pink covering.

Finally, Zeke felt himself come to a stop. The box was clumsily lifted up and dropped to the ground, slamming Zeke against the mush in his nappies. He grimaced.

Tiny hands began to tear the paper away, allowing Zeke to look up at his sister and her many friends grinning deviously down at him. He blushed with the heat of a thousand suns.

Kelly leaned in close to Zeke’s face, admiring her own handiwork.

“I think I have a new favorite dolly.”

THE END.

Artwork By CodiBaby 💜

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