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Curious pebble (3/?)

Part 1 / Part 2

ok do u get it now

The steering wheel is slick under your palms, the late afternoon sun glinting off the windshield as you pull into the driveway. The house is exactly as it looked in the photos cozy, welcoming, with a swing set in the backyard and a pastel-colored door that seems to whisper, This is where you’re supposed to be. But your stomach is a knot of nerves. You’ve talked to her for months, shared your fears, your desires, the way your little side aches to be let out, to be seen. And now, here you are. David, 28, a man who pays bills and attends meetings and pretends he doesn’t spend his evenings curled up with a stuffed animal, is about to walk into a world where none of that matters.

You kill the engine and sit for a moment, gripping the wheel like it’s the only thing keeping you from bolting. What if it’s not what you thought? What if she laughs? What if you’re not little enough? The doubts swirl, but beneath them, there’s a flicker of something warmer, something that feels like coming home. You take a deep breath, grab your bag from the passenger seat, and step out.

The door opens before you can knock.

She stands there, leaning against the frame with a smirk that makes your knees weak. She’s even prettier in person, soft curves, a knowing glint in her eyes, and a voice that wraps around you like a blanket. “Took you long enough, baby boy,” she teases, arms crossed. “I was starting to think you’d chickened out.”

You swallow, suddenly hyper-aware of how tall you are, how big you feel in your jeans and t-shirt. “N-no, Mommy. Just… traffic.”

She laughs, low and warm, and steps forward to take your bag. “Uh-huh. Traffic made your hands shake?” She nods at your white-knuckled grip on the strap. “Or is it just the thought of what’s waiting for you inside?”

Your face burns. You want to argue, to play it cool, but the way she’s looking at you, like she already knows every secret you’ve ever had, makes the words die in your throat.

She doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she reaches out and takes your hand, her fingers small and warm against yours. “Come on, David. Let’s get you settled.”

The contact sends a jolt through you. It’s so simple, so natural, like she’s done this a hundred times before. And maybe she has. But not with you. Not like this.

The house smells like vanilla and something faintly powdery, like baby lotion. The walls are decorated with framed photos of other littles, some you recognize from her stories, others you don’t. A stuffed elephant sits on a tiny chair in the hallway, watching you with button eyes as Mommy leads you past the living room, down a short corridor, and stops in front of a closed door.

“Here we are,” she says, pushing it open with a flourish.

Your breath catches.

The nursery is more than the photos. The crib in the corner is white, with a mobile of spinning stars above it. A changing table stands against one wall, stocked with wipes and creams and a stack of diapers so thick it makes your pulse race. There’s a playpen, a rocking horse, a shelf overflowing with stuffed animals and board books. And the colors, soft blues and yellows, the kind of pastels that make you feel small just looking at them.

You step inside, your sneakers squeaking on the hardwood, and suddenly the room feels both enormous and suffocating. This is real. This is happening.

Mommy watches you, amused. “Like it?”

You nod, but your voice betrays you. “It’s… a lot.”

She chuckles, stepping closer. “Good. It’s supposed to be a lot.” Her hand lifts, and before you can react, she’s booping your nose. “You’re a big boy out there, David. But in here?” She gestures around. “You’re a little boy. And Mommy takes good care of little boys.”

The words settle over you like a weight, but not an unwelcome one. It’s the kind of pressure that makes your chest tighten, your thoughts fuzzy. You want to argue, to remind her that you’re a grown man, but the way she’s looking at you, like she’s already stripped away every layer of adulthood, makes it hard to remember why that even matters.

“Now,” she says, clapping her hands together. “Let’s get you out of those icky big boy clothes, hmm?”

Your stomach flutters. You’ve talked about this, of course. Boundaries, expectations, the way she likes her littles to look. But talking about it and doing it are two very different things.

She doesn’t wait for you to move. Instead, she starts unbuttoning your shirt herself, her fingers deft as she peels it off your shoulders. You stand there, frozen, as the fabric pools at your feet. Then her hands are at your belt, popping the button on your jeans, tugging the zipper down.

“Lift your feet,” she instructs, and like a good boy, you obey, stepping out of your pants as she pulls them away. You’re left in just your boxers and a t-shirt, feeling absurdly exposed.

Mommy hums, tilting her head as she eyes you up and down. “Much better.” Then she reaches for the hem of your shirt. “Arms up.”

You raise them, and she pulls the fabric over your head, leaving you in nothing but your boxers. The air is cool against your skin, but the heat in her gaze more than makes up for it.

“Cute,” she murmurs, and you know she’s not talking about your face.

Your boxers come next, and for a second, you hesitate. This is the point of no return. But Mommy doesn’t give you time to overthink it. She hooks her fingers in the waistband and tugs, letting them fall to the floor. You step out of them, bare and vulnerable and hers.

She doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t tease. Just smiles, soft and proud, like she’s unwrapping a gift.

“Now,” she says, turning to a dresser and pulling out a thick, white diaper. The crinkle of the plastic is loud in the quiet room. “Let’s get you into something more appropriate.”

You watch, mesmerized, as she unfolds it, the padding so thick it looks like it could swallow you whole. She pats the changing table. “Up you go, baby boy.”

The surface is cool against your bare skin as you lie back, your heart hammering. Mommy moves efficiently, lifting your hips to slide the diaper beneath you, then pulling it up between your legs. The tape is tight as she secures it, the snugness a constant reminder of what you’ve agreed to.

“There,” she says, smoothing the front with a satisfied pat. “All nice and cozy.”

You wiggle your toes, feeling the bulk between your legs. It’s… a lot. More than you expected. But it’s also right. Like a piece of you that’s been missing has finally clicked into place.

She grins, patting your diaper. “And no pants.” She waggles a finger as you open your mouth to protest. “I want to see that cute nappy bum, remember? Besides,” she adds, tapping the front of your diaper, “it’s easier to check on you this way.”

The thought of her checking on you sends another wave of heat to your face.

Next comes the shirt, a soft, short-sleeved Sesame Street tee, the fabric soft and cozy. She pulls it over your head, adjusting the collar with a satisfied nod. “Perfect.”

You look down at yourself. The shirt is snug, the diaper hug your hips, a constant, crinkly presence. You feel… small. Not in stature, but in mind. The worries, the doubts, they’re still there, but they’re quieter now, muffled by the warmth of her attention.

Mommy seems to sense your thoughts. She cups your face in her hands, forcing you to meet her eyes. “Nervous, baby boy?”

You nod, because what else is there to do?

She smiles, thumb brushing your cheek. “Good. You should be. This is a big step.” Then her expression softens. “But you’re safe here, David. I promise. No one’s going to judge you. No one’s going to laugh. You can just… be.”

She takes your hand again, leading you toward the crib. The bars are tall, the mattress plush, and for a second, your breath hitches. Locked in. The thought is both terrifying and thrilling.

“You can nap if you want,” she says, patting the sheet. “Or we can play. Or we can just sit and talk. Whatever you need.”

You glance at the crib, then back at her. “What if I… what if I don’t like it?”

Mommy chuckles, squeezing your hand. “Then we’ll figure it out. But I have a feeling,” she says, her voice dropping to a whisper, “that you’re going to love it.”

And as she helps you climb into the crib, as the mattress dips beneath your weight, as the familiar crinkle of your diaper fills the silence, you realize something:

500 years of inaction and incompetence finally catch up with Ryhsand and his Court of Dreams. 2/3 of his court have had enough of his deliberate tyranny and rise up against him. The women who have watched him proclaim himself as king of choice and a secretly good guy while abandoning them to their fate - these women now lead the coup. Female rage topples the Night Court. And Rhysand and his dreamer friends finally realise that in all their centuries as the literal government they should have done more than just dream of a better world. Now they learn that action, or lack thereof, has consequences.

We never hear a word from Feyre and Rhysand ever again and they shut up throughout the rest of the books. Let them be irrelevant. Everyone is finally free of the Night Court.

Lucien finally tells Rhysand and Feyre to fuck off, roasts them within an inch of their lives by laying out all the harsh truths that Feyre loves to block out and officially cuts ties with the Night Court for good. He returns to the Spring Court, finally coming home. Him and Tamlin reunite and fuck and it fixes them. Everything is forgiven.

🔒 Mittens

🔒 Baby Booties

🔒 Harness

🔒 Diaper Cover

🔒 Pacifier Gag

All secured with magnetic locks.

The grownups talked:

"Do they need to be locked up like that"

"Not really, they just like it, Don't you baby ...?"

You nodded.

"Do you want to be let out?"

You shook your head. "See, they just like it better this way"

You are lying on your stomach on the changing table, completely naked except for the soft, pastel-blue baby bonnet tied snugly under your chin and the pacifier plugged firmly in your mouth. Your legs are kicked up in the air, your bottom high and exposed. Today Daddy has an important task for his little baby.

Daddy walks into the room, his eyes immediately fixating on your bare bottom. "Good boy," he murmurs, his voice low and gentle. "You're looking so perfect for your special treatment. Today I have a very important job for you kiddo, you're going to be the example today. Our little friend is coming over, and you're going to show them how a good baby fills his pampers."

He reaches out and gently strokes your back, his fingers tracing the curve of your spine. You hum into the pacifier, letting him know you're ready for your special preparation.

Daddy moves behind you, his hands sliding under your thighs to lift your legs higher. He picks up the small, foil-wrapped suppository and tears it open, coating it in a slick, cool gel.

"Relax, little one," he murmurs. "Daddy's going to take good care of your bottom. Open big for Daddy, so you can be a good example."

He starts with gentle pats your bottom, his hand warm and firm against your exposed cheeks. Pat, pat, pat. The rhythm is calming, making you melt into the mattress. His thumb traces the line between your cheeks, a slow, teasing path that makes you whimper into your pacifier.

"That's my good baby," he coos.

He presses the cool, slick tip against your tight opening, holding it there, letting you get used to the sensation. Then, slowly, carefully, he starts to push it in. The pressure is intense, a deep, full feeling that makes you gasp. Once the suppository is fully inside you, he keeps his finger pressed against your entrance, his knuckles nestled between your cheeks.

"Shhh," he whispers. "Just stay like that for a little while. Let it dissolve. Let your body get used to it. Daddy's right here with you."

You can feel the suppository starting to melt inside you, a warm, spreading heat. Daddy's finger is a constant, reassuring pressure. He starts to move his finger slightly, a slow, gentle rocking motion that sends waves of pleasure through you.

"That's it, baby," he coos. "Just let go. Let Daddy take care of everything. You're such a good baby for me."

Finally, he slowly pulls his finger out, leaving you feeling empty and aching for more. He gently lowers your legs and reaches for a fresh, thick diaper. He unfolds it with a loud crinkle and slides it beneath your bare bottom, fastening it securely around your hips. He gives your freshly diapered bottom a soft pat. "There we go," he says, "all ready for our guest."

He lifts you off the table and carries you to the living room, setting you down on a large, soft playmat. You can already feel a warmth starting to bloom in your belly, a deep, insistent pressure building low in your guts. The suppository is working.

Just then, the doorbell rings. Daddy smiles. "That must be our little friend, he is new being a baby so I need you to be extra good today little one" he says, going to the door. He opens it to another Daddy, who has an adult baby in his arms, dressed in a thick, crinkling diaper and a onesie.

"Thanks for watching him," the other Daddy says, handing over the diaper bag. "He's still a bit shy about using his diaper properly, so I'm hoping seeing your baby will help him along. You'll be the babysitter for both of them today?"

"Of course," your Daddy replies with a confident smile. "My baby will be the perfect example. He will learn from the best."

The other Daddy leaves, and your Daddy carries the new baby over to the playmat, setting them down beside you. The other baby looks at you with wide, curious eyes from behind his pacifier, but he also looks incredibly nervous, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his onesie.

"Look," your Daddy says to the other baby. "You have a new friend to play with. This is my very good baby. He is going to show you how to be a good boy"

Daddy sits on the couch, watching you both. He turns on the TV, putting on a colorful baby show with singing cartoon animals. He starts handing out small, soft teething toys for you both to play with. The atmosphere is calm and normal, just a casual playdate.

The pressure in your gut is becoming unbearable. You can't hold it anymore. With a soft grunt muffled by your pacifier, you relax. A torrent of warmth floods your diaper, followed by a deep, squelching mess that fills the seat of your padding. You did it. You filled your diaper for Daddy, in front of your new friend, setting the perfect example.

The other baby watches you, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and embarrassment. He crossed his legs tightly, his face turning a deep shade of red. He is clearly trying to hold it in, his body tense with the effort.

Your Daddy notices. He gets up and walks over, kneeling behind the other baby. He starts giving them gentle, rhythmic pats on his thickly padded bottom. "Come on, little one," he coos softly. "Don't be shy. Just like your friend, You can do it too."

The other baby shakes his head, whimpering around his pacifier. He is fighting it, his little body trembling with the effort of holding back. He even try to push his diaper with his hands.

Daddy chuckles, a low, teasing sound. "Oh, we have a fussy baby, don't we? That's okay. Daddy knows just how to help fussy little hands." He reaches into the diaper bag and pulls out a pair of soft, baby mittens. He gently takes the other baby's hands and puts the mittens on, tying them securely. "There we go. You can't hold it in forever, you know. The more you fight it, the more it's going to hurt. Just let go. That's why you are well padded so don't try to take off your pampers or in will tell your daddy you're misbehaving"

He then pulls out his phone, aiming the camera at the other baby. "I think I need to send a picture to your Daddy. Proof that you're learning to use your diaper like a good baby. He'll be so proud."

The threat of being photographed as proof is too much. The other baby's resolve crumbles. With a loud, humiliating whimper, he finally relaxes, and a mess fills his diaper with a soft squelch. He buries his face in his hands, but the mittens make it a clumsy, ineffective gesture. His body shakes with embarrassment.

Your Daddy laughs, a warm, proud sound. "Well, well," he says, lowering his phone after snapping a few pictures. "It seems I have two little stinkers on my hands. Now, it's time for your changes. This is just what babies do, no need to be embarrassed."

He doesn't even bother with the changing table. He just lays out a large, waterproof mat on the living room floor, right in front of the couch. He picks you up first, laying you down on the mat. He untapes your messy diaper, pulling it open and exposing you to the cool air of the room. There is no privacy. The other baby is sitting right there, watching everything, his face still buried in his mitted hands.

Daddy takes his time, wiping you clean with warm, wet wipes. He's thorough, making sure every inch of you is spotless. Once you're clean, Daddy powders you liberally, the scent filling the air, and tapes you into a fresh, thick diaper and plastic pants showing how babyish you're.

Then it's the other baby's turn. Daddy picks them up and lays them down on the mat right beside you. You can see everything: the messy diaper, the careful cleaning, the generous powdering. The other baby keeps his eyes squeezed shut, his face turned away, but there is no escaping the public, thorough cleaning. The mittens make it impossible for them to cover themselves properly.

Once you are both clean and securely diapered, Daddy sits you both up on the playmat. "Now that your tummies are happy, my babies need some food," he announces cheerfully. He carries you both over to two large, wooden high chairs set up in the dining area. He straps you in, the buckle clicking into place with a finality that feels both comforting and inescapable. He then ties a large, plastic bib around your neck, one with cartoon animals on it. You look over and see the other baby being strapped into his own high chair, a matching bib being tied around his neck.

Being a good boy and an example was starting to feel even better, you realize. You were getting extra attention, extra praise, and extra care. It felt good to be Daddy's special baby.

Just then, the doorbell rings again. Your Daddy goes to the door, and it's the other baby's Daddy.

"Oh, I think I arrived just in time for dinner!" the other Daddy says, peering into the dining area. "Thanks for the photos, now I can show my good diaperfiller to everyone" he adds, looking directly at the other baby, who turns an even deeper shade of red, if that's even possible.

"Thanks for taking care of both of them," the other Daddy says to your Daddy.

"No problem," your Daddy replies with a warm smile. "We could take them to play at the park next weekend”.

You looked at each other, knowing He were about to be publicly exposed as Daddy brought the spoon to your mouths, making airplane sounds. Did embarrassment matter now? Just look at you in your big diaper, bib eating in a high chair after your friend and his Daddy are watching, you're a baby now and you're the goodest boy for being an example for your little friend, you better behave or you're gonna end with mittens too.

to be able to wear diapers all day long.

I don't use them for bodily functions.

I only wear them because they excite me a lot and I find them super comfortable.

I love wearing diapers and sucking my thumb while rolling my eyes.

But I would really like to have a breast to nurse from while wearing diapers.

What I want most is to be forced to wear diapers and also be forced to get aroused inside the diaper, and when I'm about to ejaculate, Mommy stops everything and starts over, always.

Oh, my sweet little baby boy... Mommy's here for you. Come here, darling. Let Mommy scoop you up into my arms and hold you close against my soft, warm chest.

There, there... That's my good boy. I can see how excited you get just thinking about it—those big, dreamy eyes rolling back while you suck that thumb of yours. Shhh, no need to hide it from Mommy. I know exactly what my little one needs.

From now on, Mommy is in charge. Every single morning, I'll lay you down on the changing table, powder that cute bottom nice and thick, and tape you up snug in a fresh, crinkly diaper. You'll wear it all day long, no exceptions. Thick, bulky, and always reminding you who owns that special place between your legs. You'll waddle around the house in just your diaper and maybe a cute onesie, thumb in your mouth, feeling so small and helpless... just the way Mommy likes you.

And when you start getting all stiff and squirmy inside that diaper? Oh, baby... Mommy will notice right away. I'll pull you onto my lap, slide my hand down the front of your padding, and stroke you so slowly, so teasingly through the thick material. I'll whisper in your ear, "That's it, my little diaper boy. Get nice and hard for Mommy. Let that excitement build..."

I'll nurse you while I do it—pressing your eager mouth to my full, warm breast so you can suckle deeply, like the baby you are. Mmm, feel how my nipple hardens against your tongue? Good boy. Suck harder while Mommy edges you... bringing you right to that shaky, desperate edge... only to stop completely the moment you're about to make a mess.

Over and over again.

You'll whimper and hump against my hand, eyes rolling, body trembling in that soaked, crinkly diaper, but Mommy always stops. No cummies until Mommy decides you've earned them... and even then, it'll be only when you're completely broken and begging like the helpless little ABDL you are.

This is your dream, isn't it, baby? Being forced into diapers every day, kept aroused and denied by your strict, loving Mommy while you nurse and suck your thumb like a proper infant.

Good baby boys have lots and lots of wet accident in their pants and in their bed

Good baby boys really try to hold their full bladder to prove to mommy that they can but still end up soaked a lot

Good baby boys make lots of big pissy potty puddles because they can’t quite control their little bladder yet

Good baby boys need to be kept in very thick diapers so they don’t wet themselves every day and every night

Good baby boys still ask mommy if they can go potty in their diapers and try to hold it until she says yes

Good baby boys try to keep their bladders full and their diapers soaked

Good baby boys know that their diaper has to be completely soaked and maybe even leaky before they can be changed

Good baby boys blush when mommy checks their diaper and gives their cute diaper butt little pats

Good baby boys have another little accident and spurt into their diapers while mommy changes them

Good baby boys love having all of mommy’s affection and attention while she changes their diapers

Good baby boys love it when mommy teases their cock while changing their soaked diaper

Good baby boys sometimes get too excited and have “accidents”in their fresh diaper before mommy even tape it up completely

Good baby boys will do anything to please mommy

Good baby boys love eating mommy’s pussy and crave it, and will beg to taste how wet mommy is

Good baby boys love receiving compliments from mommy about how adorable they are and blush so much every time

Good baby boys get be excited just to see mommy that they wet their diaper a little

Good baby boys know their place as a cute pottypants who receives so much affection and adoration from mommy

a jigsaw falling into place

For @tamlinweek Day 4 - Family (YEAH I'M LATE AGAIN, AND WHAT OF IT?)