Kayla:  Ummm…Julie What Is That Sticking Out Of The Waistband Of Your Shorts? And Don’t Say Those

Beast of Burden

You barely had time to pull up your pants to cover your diaper when she barged in. If she was surprised by your awkward position on the floor, she didn’t show it.

She walked straight to you. Her smile never faltering. She kneeled uncomfortably close, without any regard for the situation or your personal space.

You shivered as she got closer to you. The way she moved—the confidence in every movement—terrified you. It was like watching a tiger stroll through the jungle. She moved like her place atop the food chain was her divine right. Unquestionable.

She had nothing to fear. Unlike you.

It happened before you could react. Before you had any chance to stop her.

She reached down at your diaper, grabbing a handful of your soggy megmax and squeezing it, testing its fullness.

It was so casual. As if she had every right to check your diaper. As if your diaper was as much hers as the contents of her purse.

You were paralyzed by shock. Nobody knew about your incontinence or the diapers you’ve worn for the past 3 months.

“W-who…who are you?” you manage to say with great difficulty.

She just smiled, wordlessly pulling down your pants, exposing your soggy diaper.

“What the fu—!” you start yelling.

“Hush,” she chided, her tone leaving no room for disobedience. Despite every instinct telling you to argue, you stay silent.

“Good boy,” she purred, “you don’t need to be embarrassed. Now lay back and let me take care of this diaper for you.”

Her hand presses against your chest, forcing you down. She’s surprisingly strong. You couldn’t resist even if you wanted to.

She reaches into your bag, grabbing supplies without a trace of uncertainty. She pulls out a spare megamax, wipes, and powder, her gaze never leaving you.

Your first tab is ripped open, sending a wave of terror through you. Then the second. A terrible, horrible countdown to your embarrassing fate.

The third tab rips. No, no, no. This can’t be happening.

A final rip announces itself. You’re powerless to stop her. You close your eyes, hoping it’s a dream.

You feel the soggy diaper pulled away from you, cold air assaulting you. You wince in utter humiliation.

She giggles. A short, playful giggle. Barely audible, yet it hits you like a sonic boom.

A cold wipe is thrust unceremoniously onto your delicate areas. Nothing about her businesslike efficiency giving any hint of flirtation.

The wiping pauses. You hear your next diaper being expertly fluffed while the cold air assaults your exposed privates.

Your legs are suddenly thrust into the air. You squirm ineffectually as she wipes your bum clean. Your face burning violently in embarrassment.

You’re lowered onto a freshly fluffed diaper. Powder snows onto you before she diligently rubs it in, her hand showing no hesitation in rubbing your sensitive areas.

She claps her hands in finality, still smiling down at you, her condescending gaze drilling a deep hole in your ego.

Your diaper is pulled up. She quickly fidgets with the fit. Once satisfied, she gets to work taping you up.

“There. All clean, little one! You did such a great job for me! You weren’t fussy at all!”

All you can do is stare up at her. Somehow, the completely exposed diaper she taped on you is the least of your concern.

Why is she talking to you like that? You’re not some baby!

“Oh stop looking so surprised, cutie! Your soggy diaper was so obvious I couldn’t help myself. We both know you weren’t at this party to get laid. Diaper boys like you don’t get laid—they get diaper changes.”

“W-what?! These are my friends!” you whimper.

“They were! Well, before your diapers! They’re not your equals anymore, honey. They’re your superiors. You’re in diapers.”

“It’s just a medical condition!”

“Then why didn’t you tell anyone? That’s what I thought. Because you know what being in diapers means. You know you’re a diaper boy. And yet you had the audacity to show up and pretend you’re not a whiny diaper boy. That’s not okay with me, baby.”

“I was just waiting for the right time to tell everyone!”

“Well, don’t you worry about that. I’ll take care of telling the party about your diapers. You can either take my hand and follow me to tell everyone. Or, you can run away and I’ll still tell everyone anyway.”

“Or you can not tell everyone..”

“I could! But I won’t. You’re lying to everyone here pretending to be something you’re not—an adult. If you come with me, I’ll take care of you. I’ll make sure your diapers are changed and nobody teases my diaper boy. Maybe I’ll even give you diaper rubs when you’ve been extra good!”

“And if I don’t?” you say with a false bravado that she sees right through.

“You’ll be all alone. Your friends will know what you are: a diaper boy. You’ll stop being invited to parties because they don’t need some diapered baby bringing down the vibe. No girl will ever give you a second glance. You’ll be all alone in soggy diapers.”

You stutter randomly trying to comprehend your fate.

She gets up, heading towards the door. “Up to you, diaper boy.”

“I-okay! I-I’ll do it!” you plead.

“Good boy,” she coos, reaching out her hand, “you’re such a cutie. Mommy will take great care of you, I promise.”

“M-mommy?” you mutter as she pulls you out the door.

She ignores your concerns, squeezing your hand.

“Ready to start your new life, baby?” she whispers in your ear.

She’s already getting everyone’s attention before you can respond.

You stare at her captive audience, waiting for your life to change forever…

Forced Regression Stories & Captions Index

Let's be real: I've written a LOT of forced regression stories and captions. But since Tumblr doesn't allow NSFW blogs to be searched with tags like #forcedregression, at the request of folks like @buunnymichelle I'm putting together this handy index to a few notable ones. It's not going to be exhaustive, of course, but hopefully it will be a good starting point!

Forced Regression Stories

Male

Diapered, Desperate, and Denied

Just Out of Reach

Replaced… or Repurposed?

Promises Kept

The Date (Pt. 1 | Pt. 2)

Amelia's Baby Shower (Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6 | Pt. 7)

Female

Hush, Little Stacy

How Captivating!

A Model Princess (Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4)

Loose Lips

Good Baby

Hindsight

Forced Regression Captions (just a few!)

Female

Mommy's New Baby

Agent Laura in Trouble

Charles, Help Me

Now Number 28447

A Birthday Present for Mattie

The Trials of a Personal Assistant

Cheating Never Pays

Daddy's Little Darling

Rescued By Regression (Part 3, but see the other two)

On-the-Job Training

Bullied by Big Sister

Sara's New Mommy

Male

No Flirting with the Stewardess!

Sorority Sissy

Good Golly, Miss Molly

A Nurse for Carl

Justice for Jay

Chris to Chrissie?

Happy Mommy's Day, Maxie!

No Double-Dating for Adam

Changes for Baby

Steven Visit the Doctor

Sissy on the Live Stream

Nursed into Nappies

Your girlfriend looked back at you and grinned. She was always mischievous when you put her in diapers. In truth, it had been a joint decision, something to spice up your love life. But now you were unsure who was enjoying it more, you or her.

“What’s so funny, sweetie?” You asked as she began to bounce on her pink rubber ball. A moment later the smell hit and you knew exactly why she was squishing her diapered bottom up and down. She giggled and you adopted a mock scolding tone. “Looks like someone wants to make her next diaper change a hassle. Such a. Dirty girl, though I bet you’d like to get dirty in another way. Somebody wants some attention, doesn’t she?”

Your girlfriend’s bouncing transformed, becoming more akin to humping. A blush spread across her face and her tempo increased.

“Hmmm, I don’t know. Naughty girls who hump their diapers don’t get changed out of the stinky messes they make.”

Her face fell. Sure, she liked being messy, momentarily, but after a while even a fun, messy diaper got old. 

“Tell you what. Put on a show for daddy, and then we’ll go into the other room and have a little ‘playtime,’ if you know what I mean.”

She most certainly did know what you meant, and beamed again before getting to it. You sat back, content to watch and wait as your messy, moaning diaper girlfriend worked her way to the first of many orgasms. 

THE ADULT CLINIC: POST OP MESSING’S

Katie was have a nice and messy weekend off from work and she was loving every second of it . Katie recently became a diaper dependent after undergoing a surgical procedure to do so at The Adult Clinic and have been messing her diapers ever-since . Every morning she would wake up in a moist and soggy diaper and lay in it until she would eventually change it . She was of course aroused by wearing them and they made her feel sexy and so young . Her boss at work couldn’t care less about it and now that she has a Doctor’s note supplied by the Adult Clinic to wear them they couldn’t do a thing about it there and her boyfriend also finds them kinky and loves the look and even when asked changes it for her . The only drawback of wearing them are the smell of them after she messes and inconvenient times she goes but she found ways to accommodate for the changes and has adjusted to wearing them . Katie doesn’t even regret her decision of becoming Diaper dependent and prefers it this way and wonders why no one else becomes diaper dependent.

A while back I talked about making a diaper audio…. And here is my first attempt! 

I hope you enjoy the experience of wetting your pants in front of me - when it’s not the first time.

Apologies for the rough editing.  If you all enjoy this sort of thing, I’ll edit my next one better.  Let me know what you think!

My little one starts to wake from his nap under the shade of our tent, warm and flushed from sleep, with his paci still gently bobbing between his lips. He stretches, bunny clutched tightly to his chest, and makes the softest whimpery noise — like he’s not quite ready to give up his dream but knows Mommy’s here.

I reach down, brushing a few grains of sand from his cheek. “There you are, sleepyhead,” I whisper, leaning in to kiss his forehead. He opens those big, sleepy eyes and blinks up at me like a confused little duckling — soft, dazed, and so precious.

As I lift him into my lap, I feel it right away. That heavy, soggy squish between his thighs — warm and unmistakable. “Mmm… baby,” I hum teasingly, running a hand over the swollen front of his diaper. “Looks like someone had a big nap-time accident, huh?”

He lets out a shy little whimper and hides his face in my chest.

I lay him back on the towel with a kiss to his temple, grabbing the wipes and a fresh swim diaper. As I tear the sides on the old one, I can't help but giggle. “Oh sweetie, you really filled this one up, didn’t you? Poor squishy bum.” His cheeks are rosy now, squirming just a little, but I know he secretly loves this part — being totally bare, soft and exposed, right where Mommy can take care of every little need.

But there's another problem. Sand. It’s everywhere — sticking to his thighs, between his butt cheeks, clinging to every spot on his body.

“Alright, baby,” I say gently, helping him to his feet, his bare bottom catching the sun. “Let’s get that sandy bum rinsed off.”

He toddles beside me toward the outdoor shower, one hand clutching my fingers, the other still gripping his bunny. His steps are slow, and his head stays ducked down as we pass a few other beachgoers. His face is bright pink by the time we get there — bashful little thing, trying to hide behind me even though his bare cheeks are on full display.

“Aww, are you blushing, sweetheart?” I tease, brushing his hair from his eyes. “It’s okay. Everyone knows you’re just Mommy’s baby.”

I guide him under the warm water, holding him steady as the gentle spray hits his skin. He squeaks a little at the first touch, wiggling in place while I crouch down behind him. My hands move carefully — rinsing the sand from his back, his legs, and then finally down to his bottom. I take my time with that part, using slow circles to make sure every bit of grit is gone.

“Can’t leave any sand in those cute little cheeks,” I murmur, watching his blush deepen. “Gotta keep my baby all clean and comfy.”

By the time we head back to the tent, he’s clean, damp, and even more bashful than before — but there's a smile peeking out around his paci.

Back at the towel, I lay him down again, his bare skin warm from the sun and smelling faintly of saltwater. I powder him slowly, thoroughly — soft clouds puffing in the breeze as I work it into every fold and crease. The fresh swim diaper has little sea turtles on it, soft and puffy, and I stand him up to have him step into the swim diaper. “There,” I coo, smoothing it over. “Snug, crinkly, and ready for round two.”

Instead of a swim shirt, I decide to leave him bare-chested — his skin is just too soft and kissable to hide. His belly’s still a little round from lunch, and the way he giggles when I blow a raspberry on it? Irresistible. I slide his tiny swim trunks up his legs, tugging them over that thick diaper. They don’t quite hide it — the waistband of the diaper pokes out over the top, white and crinkly under the bright blue trunks.

“Too cute for words,” I say softly, adjusting the trunks just a little so the diaper still peeks out. “Let everyone see how well Mommy takes care of you.”

Then comes the sunscreen — cool and creamy against his warm skin. I rub it gently over his arms, his chest, his soft round tummy, down his legs and even the tops of his feet. He wiggles and giggles through it, squealing when I get to his ribs. “Almost done, silly goose,” I tease, planting a kiss on his nose.

That’s when Daddy walks over, towel slung over his shoulder and a smile already on his face. “Hey, there’s my sunshine boy,” he says, crouching next to us. “You all ready to go splash with Daddy?”

Our little one lights up immediately, wriggling up into his arms. Daddy scoops him up, patting that thickly diapered bum with one big hand. “Looks like Mommy got you all set. You're such a lucky boy,” he says, kissing his cheek and leaning down to give me a kiss.

They’re halfway to the water when it happens.

A flash of movement in the surf — slow, graceful — and our baby gasps. “Tuh… tuh… turtle!” he squeals, eyes wide, pointing frantically.

Daddy stops in his tracks, cradling him close. “You see the turtle, buddy?” he whispers, turning so they can both get a better look. The sea turtle bobs gently in the shallows, paddling calmly while the waves roll in around it.

Our little one is absolutely enchanted — slack-jawed with wonder, clutching Daddy’s neck while his legs kick excitedly in the air.

I watch them from the tent, hand resting over my heart, completely full. My sweet, squishy, sun-kissed baby boy — safe in his Daddy’s arms, dressed in nothing but his swim trunks and a diaper, thrilled by the simplest magic of the ocean.