Category: forced ageplay

Interesting Places to Make Your Adult Baby Go …

  1. In a small plastic cup with a childish design.  Result: “Aww, baby, did you miss again?”
  2. In a measuring cup.  Result: “Now, little one, I’m not sure you held it quite as long as you could have done.”
  3. In an ice-cube tray.  Result: “Talking back to Mommy just earned you two pee-pee cubes in your bedtime diaper.  Do you want to make it three?”
  4. In her own cupped hands. “Sweetheart, couldn’t you catch it all?  Such a clumsy baby.”
  5. In a funnel aimed at the regular potty.  “You keep missing the potty, little one, but this will help.”
  6. On a washcloth which is then used to scrub her breasts in the bath.  “You know you like when it makes a nice lather, baby.”
  7. Into a pile of every pair of big-girl panties she owns. “Every one of them wet again?  I guess you’d better start the laundry over once I’ve gotten you taped up in the diapers you clearly need.”

Humiliate me … seasonally!

  • Have me paint the frosting details onto a gingerbread house using only my nipples as brushes.
  • Dress me exclusively in novelty costume pieces – striped socks, a jingle headband, and light-up necklace, a frilly apron – nothing else. 

  • Pack as many pine needles as you can possibly fit between my cheeks … then diaper me snugly over them.
  • Ugly sweaters with cutouts over the breasts.
  • Alternately, body-writing humiliation incorporating the usual “fuck this slut” content into a drawn-on ugly sweater pattern.
  • Allow me to masturbate only with jingle bells, so you can hear how into it I’ve gotten at any particular point.
  • Whenever I want an orgasm, make me write you a letter in crayon explaining why I’ve been good and consequently deserve it, then sit on your knee and read the letter aloud to you.
  • Same as above, but make me do it in song form instead.
  • Tape or tie the fluffiest mittens you can find onto my hands, then make me masturbate in front of your friends.

Good girls only have to look at the time-out c…

Good girls only have to look at the time-out chair for five minutes a day to remind them of what happens to bad girls.  Bad girls have to sit on it for at least five minutes a day, no matter what, with increases in time-out and other little tiny changes based on their behavior.

Now tell mummy … and remember you only get to answer once on your birthday, for the whole year afterward … are you going to be a good girl this year, or a bad girl?

Remember when you could just open things up do…

Remember when you could just open things up down there whenever you felt like it?  You abused that grown-up privilege – so now you can play with the zipper, but Mommy takes care of everything under it.

I see that our new rule about “no new diaper u…

I see that our new rule about “no new diaper until the old one is full” has made you much more interested in your bottles!  That’s good.  Mummy was so worried when you weren’t drinking your milk.

sunshine–babydoll:Uh oh baby! That doesn’t go there!!! But now…

:

Uh oh baby! That doesn’t go there!!!

But now that you’ve started, you had better let Mama watch you keep going for a while, so she can see exactly how bad you were planning to be and exactly how hard she should punish under your diaper.

The Daily Curtsey

“It’s time for your daily curtsey practice, princess.”

She is solicitously ushered to the dance studio, where cheerful hands pull off her dress and stockings.  She’s laid on a mat on the floor, her diaper removed and her under-diaper parts efficiently wiped down.  Gloved fingers – she can’t see just whose – massage an ointment into her clit and pussy lips.  Almost immediately she knows which balm she’s been treated with today: the one that makes her swell and tingle, makes her private parts pink and plump.

“Let’s get you dressed for your lesson, now.”

She used to think of herself as an average-sized woman, but she is lifted so efficiently by her attendants that she feels small and frail.  The leotard is pulled over her head.  Its hem lies in soft scallops just above the well-waxed, already-swelling skin of her mound.  The top is tight enough to force her breasts into strained mounds above a punishing seam, the fabric stretching sheer over nipples that have grown erect against her will.

“Up we go, princess!  Onto the practice stand.”

She’s lifted by her arms, and she knows enough to point her toes as the dildo slides home.  Long and soft, it’s already been oiled for her; she saw the coating glisten over the pink and blue glitter silicone, and anyway she can feel how it slides home like it was made for her.  (For all she knows, it was.)  It’s flexible enough that it doesn’t carry the vibrations from the little, humming bulb attached to the bottom of its upright shaft.

“Remember, right foot forward, left knee tucked back, and do try to be graceful enough that the stand won’t bend.  Now, down.”

She has to do this every day, and she doesn’t hesitate anymore.  Daintily pinching out the short skirt, she sinks into a girlish curtsey, head up, smiling for an invisible audience.  Her pin-curls bounce as she rises in time with the instructions.  She can see herself in the mirrors that circle every studio wall, smiling like a little film star.

“Up … and down.”

She manages to sink deeper this time, feeling the soft silicone ripen into a firmer impalement as her weight compresses it.

“You must touch the curtsey-button, princess!  It’s so easy for you to forget things, isn’t it?  Touch the button each time – Or we shall get the pink cane.  Up … and down.”

On the third try, her plump clit kisses the vibrator.  It’s nearly silent but shockingly powerful, enough to rock her on the stand even as the dildo pushes inexorably at her cervix.  The full dip is always enough to make her feel the dildo in her core.

“Much better, princess!  But mind your balance.  Straight up, straight down.”

She doesn’t need that reminder.  Any torque on the dildo turns this daily practice’s feeling from discomfort to pain.

“Better, dear.  Up … and down.”

She’ll be at this for exactly half an hour, just like every day.  She widens her smile, re-settles her feet, and tries to find a pace that will give her the right stimulation in her aching clit.

Bottles infuse the daily drink with vitamins that grown-up…

Bottles infuse the daily drink with vitamins that grown-up growing girls need – vitamins that don’t come from a regular cup.  How does Mama know?  She just does.

Mothers also know that the sunlight on Baby’s thighs is healthier than sunlight anywhere else.  A big baby needs more vitamins, so adult baby girls must keep their legs spread and their diapers uncovered.

Mother knows best, after all!

A Fantasy

I am a doll, round and poseable.  My skin is textured like a dainty glove.  My clit is a little rosebud of pale pink silk, vivid between legs stuffed to perfect plumpness.  When I’m naked and upright, it barely peeps out to be visible, but it’s so easy to spread my legs.  Every time a finger strokes that silky bud, or anything at all touches it, the feeling thrums through my soft body, but I am curiously weak and I cannot flinch away or hide myself from the touch.

Most of the time I’m dressed, though, and to get to that part, you have to lift or lower layer after frilly layer: pinafore, dress, petticoat, lacy bloomers, ruffled panties, snug little diaper.  With tight, tight panties pressing its thickness close to me, the diaper is taut and smooth and puts a constant, steady pressure on my ribbon-slick clit.

My face is re-painted regularly, making my mouth a rosebud the same color as my clit.  When you lay me down, my eyes close softly and I can’t reopen them until you sit me up.

When you don’t get your way in some other realm, you come to mine to relieve your feelings.  When you’re bored, you pull down my bloomers, panties, and diaper and you rub my clit absentmindedly until I can’t think.  You tie my hands with baby-blue yarn, turn my ragdoll body over the arm of the sofa and spank my round bottom with assorted implements.  I live in a dollhouse filled with the torture implements you’ve devised out of popsicle sticks, clothespins, little plastic hangers with lambs on them.  All the furniture in my dollhouse has little ribbon cuffs in which you can secure me in any position you like. I spend hours rubber-banded to a little china potty chair with my ruffles around my knees.  I live in silent fear of your shoelaces.  

You dress me however you like, always in absurd lace and layers. You’ve taken the belt from a toy soldier and put it around my neck as a collar.  It will always be a little too tight.

Today you came in with a bobby pin.  It’s as long as my stuffed forearm.  There’s nothing I can do.

Now this is perfect presentation.

Now this is perfect presentation.

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