Category: humiliation

Your girlfriend left you a few voicemails from…

Your girlfriend left you a few voicemails from school… 
Listen to all of them here.

Voices by:
@sunshine–babydoll & @maggiescappies

Wet American Summer (Part 26)

Next  chapter available on Patreon!

Part 26

Frankie: Oh Ashleeeeey…

I was in my room, alone. No sign of James. How long had he been gone? I must’ve passed out. I wanted to see him, to be with him. Where was he now?

Frankie: Ashleeeey…

I heard her voice but I couldn’t see her until my door creaked open. She had her devilish smile on, the one I wasn’t expecting to see for quite a bit after the punishment she had just received.

Ashley: What are you doing here Frankie?

Frankie: Is little baby Ashley wet? Hmm? Did she go pee-pee in her diapee?

Ashley:  Go away! Aren’t you supposed to be wearing one yourself? Go put on your Pull-Ups and leave me alone.

Frankie: Yes, I think baby Ashley has a wet diaper on! Let’s see.

It was as if she couldn’t hear what I was saying, baby-talking at me. Or perhaps she was simply ignoring my protests. At that moment I realized the diaper I was wearing was indeed wet. How did I not notice that earlier? When did I start peeing myself?

I had a vague memory of uncontrollably soaking my diaper when Sally spanked me, but that was long ago… and James changed me, didn’t he? Did I really pee myself again overnight? Maybe Frankie was right, perhaps I was becoming a baby…

Now my eyes filled up with tears. No. No no no. I wouldn’t succumb to it. Not this time.

Frankie: Pew! It stinks in here. I think this little baby has a full diaper, doesn’t she?

Ashley: What are you talking about?! I would NEVER… I would…

I froze for a second before reaching down to my butt. I felt it. There was a lump in there. I couldn’t smell anything, but there it was, lying in the back of my diaper. A proof of what I had done.

I panicked. How was that possible? Was I losing control? Shitting myself and I didn’t even feel anything.

Frankie: Hmm, I think that’s a dirty diaper you’ve got here baby. Let’s get you changed.

And just like that, without any noticeable effort, she lifted me up as if I was an infant. How?! That’s when I realized… Frankie was way taller than me. I was the size of an actual toddler… and the diaper I was wearing, it wasn’t the one James had put me in the night before. I was in an Elmo printed Pampers that I had just messed myself in.

My vision was distorted, I was lying down on my back on a giant changing mat, trying to wrestle free, screaming.

Ashley: I didn’t! I didn’t poop in my diaper!

‘’Well, that’s not suspicious at all…’‘

At the sound of that voice, I opened my eyes and realized I wasn’t in a giant nursery, wearing messy Pampers, but still in my room, in my ‘adult’ diaper, covered in sweat. It was a bad dream, that’s all it was…Then I looked over at who spoke and saw…

Ashley: Casey?! What are you doing here?

Casey: Your aunt called me this morning… asked me if I was interested in making some extra money babysitting.

Ashley: But… why? I can take care of the kids just fine, I’ve been doing it for years.

Casey: Oh honey, she asked me to babysit you! Apparently you’ve been acting up lately and should require some supervision. Don’t worry, I’ll be a cool babysitter, this way we can hang out and I’ll get paid for it!

Ashley: This doesn’t make sense…

Then I remembered my conversation with James the day before. He offered me to come and stay with him for the rest of the summer. He just asked for one more day so he could break up with Casey…

Ashley : Did … you … talk to James last night?

Casey: Hmm? Oh… no after your little outburst at the bar I went home to my dad’s. I’m gonna see James later though… why would you ask that?

Ashley: Just…

Casey : So did you?

Ashley: Did I… what?

Casey: Poop your diaper, silly! You were mumbling that when I came in.

Ashley : Huh? No! Of course not! I… listen, I know we had our differences, but don’t you see this is complete madness? I don’t need to wear diapers!

Casey: You keep saying that, yet yesterday I saw you in a pair of wet Pull-Ups and from what your aunt has been telling me, it wasn’t the first time in the last few days. Now, I’ve been hired to do a job and I’m gonna do it. First order of business is to check your diaper so lift your butt up and you better pray you haven’t actually crapped yourself cause I’m not changing that, it’s fucking disgusting.

Humiliated, I did as I was told in order to bide my time and get it over with. I was on all fours on my bed, looking like a little puppy as Casey tugged at the back of my diaper to peek at my bum.

Casey: Well, would you look at that! You seem dry enough.

Ashley: Why are you so surprised?

Casey: Come, let’s have breakfast now, we’re late enough as it is.

She pulled my door open and gestured towards it, expecting me to follow her lead.

Ashley: If you think I’m going out there in a diaper…

Casey: What, were you waiting for me to change you? For that you’re gonna have to use it first. Did you have to go now?

Ashley: No… I’m not gonna… NO! Look I’m allowed to wear Pull-Ups in the day.

Casey: Not after what you did yesterday, you can’t! Besides, I think it’s for the best… You seemed to be having too many accidents in those. There’s only so many chances one can get at potty training. I think you use them all… along with your training panties that is.

I was at a loss for words. Had I really sunk that low? To be diapered full time like a baby.

Ashley: But… then… how do you expect me to go to the bathroom wearing this? I can’t even slip it up and down!

Casey: Frankly, I don’t think anyone is expecting you to use a real toilet anyway. But if it makes you feel better… I can take you to the potty after brunch, if you can stay dry until then.

Ashley: Can’t I at least put on some pants first?

Casey: There’s no one up there anyway silly! They all left, you woke up late… Come on, enough time wasted! Get your butt up there now! Or would you like me to go get your aunt?

Ashley: No! It’s fine… I’ll go.

Hey y’all thanks so much for reading, if you liked that you can already find the next chapter on my Patreon, for only 1$ per new post! 

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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.

Some Very Exciting News

Some new and exciting, considerably longer HelplesslyRegressed photo captions and stories can now be found exclusively (and very inexpensively) on the Patreon of fellow diaper enthusiast !

Here’s a peek at the first caption available:

All the girls at Ruth’s new school were expected
to be sitting on nicely made beds at eight o’clock sharp, with their evening
schoolwork resting on their knees.
Tonight Ruth was exactly on time.
She plunked her diapered bottom onto the candy-pink satin coverlet of
the day bed.  It was in a row of other
day beds just like it, lined up along the walls of the long bubblegum-pink
dormitory …. She brought her legs together – one of the most important
comportment rules was to keep the legs together, until told to “sit like a
lady,” at which point the legs were to be spread for a diaper check – and
placed her open workbook where the teacher on duty could inspect her evening’s
progress.  

Read on !

And Allerted is still going to be posting original content at the same place, so you’ll have a lot of highly educational reading material to choose from.

In addition to it just being cool to work with another fetish writer … I am hoping that this will actually allow me to post here on HelplesslyRegressed a bit more often (although I’m about to embark on about a month of spotty Internet access … eurgh).  I do enjoy seeing all you lovely people and your reactions, so I’m excited to be able to hopefully devote more time to actually, y’know, writing for pleasure.

So this is excellent news all around, and little regressed ones everywhere should join me in celebrating with lots and lots of cake.  (Tell Mama I said it was okay.  That’s certain to go over well.)

Nightmare at RiverdaleNew story available in entirety on my…

Nightmare at Riverdale

New story available in entirety on my

Little Living #3: Less-special special outfits

This is a new (irregular) series by @helplesslyregressed aiming to provide a variety of creative behavior rules for ageplay-oriented BDSM relationships.

Let’s face it, I think everyone who likes forced ageplay has a wishlist of ageplay clothes or gear that’s just … not a responsible financial decision.  (Which doesn’t mean we shouldn’t treat ourselves when we can, or be dressed up properly by our owners for special occasions.)

I don’t have the wardrobe of lolita-goth dresses, waist-trainer corsets, and frilly panties that I’d love to have, but I can be instructed to dress up in something humiliating very easily.  

Here are some elements that I always find it embarrassing to incorporate into an outfit, because they just feel so childish.  And telling me that if I’m going to be bratty, I need to dress in something more appropriate to my maturity level is a sure way to get me pouting.

  • Aprons (the less useful the design, the better – a little lacy waist apron feels more foolish than something actually helpful for cooking)
  • Chunky pony-bead jewelry, especially beaded jewelry with my name on it
  • Ankle socks with lace at the cuffs
  • Opaque white tights
  • Slips or bloomers under my regular clothes (most effective if combined with punishment for being unladylike if my slip shows for an instant under my skirt)
  • Oversized leg warmers
  • Stretch leotards instead of regular shirts (bonus points if they are tight enough to make my diaper bulge on either side of the crotch)
  • Tight shapewear (panty-girdles or those hourglass-waist thingies) layered over my diaper or panties (makes it difficult to change or remove)
  • Butterfly hair clips
  • T-shirts with animals on them
  • Pastel pink or baby blue nail polish/eye shadow
  • An obviously fake pearl necklace with day clothes
  • Wrist-length gloves, especially lace, on a not-cold day
  • Carrying a backpack instead of a purse

The people I know in real life would be so horrified if they understood why I have a “whimsical,” “ironic” collection of cartoon-character earrings …

My Mother Gave Me a Dollar; She Told Me to Buy a Collar

I had never known my real name.  My mother, my grandparents, my teachers; every one of them called me by a nickname.  But on this milestone birthday, my mother had promised to tell me what my name truly was.

She’d also promised me a lavish gift that would show me exactly what my life from then on would be like.

The night before my birthday was spent at my grandparents’ house.  I begged them to give me a hint as to what this gift would be.  They laughingly refused and told me they were dying to see my reaction, too, but to avoid the temptation to give hints they needed to keep their distance.  They told me teasingly that I was old enough to amuse myself and to go outside.  At least that wasn’t hard; I loved hiking, so I explored the hills around their house to my heart’s content.

As I drove back to my mother’s house, my heart was in my throat.  I’d fantasized all my life about my real name: would it be beautiful?  Of course it would.  Long, dramatic, fantastical?  Or short and strong?  Whatever it was, I just knew it would tell me who I truly was.

My grandparents waited in the living room while I climbed the stairs with my heart in my throat.  “Mom?” I called.

Her voice drifted back from my bedroom.  “In here!”

I went toward my room – and stopped dead as soon as I saw a sliver of the floor through the open doorway.

My dark blue carpet was gone, revealing beautiful floorboards underneath, scattered with pink and white hooked rugs.  I moved forward into the doorway and couldn’t help a gasp.  Everything, everything, was either white or pink.  A crystal chandelier with pink drops had replaced my light fixture.  My soft grey walls were now a soft shell pink.  Iridescent pink toiletries sat in a salon-ready array of pink glassware on the new white wicker dressing table in the corner. Underneath that table sat a pink porcelain pot with a white flowered pattern and a handle – was that a chamber pot?  My once-natural wicker bed had also been painted white, and finished with a skirt of downy white ruffles under a pink crushed velvet bedspread.  Toward the foot of the bed, delicate little pajamas were folded – a short nightshirt with a lace yoke and teeny-tiny shorts, the fabric of both garments totally sheer with lilac stripes and embroidered edges.  Dainty lace-edged pink pillows were piled at the head, and just before them – a pink leather collar set with shimmering rhinestones.  Similar leather bands lay on each corner of the neatly pulled-up blanket, and these were tied to the bedposts with broad pink grosgrain ribbons.

Mom smiled and opened the closet.  “That’s not all.”

Where once there had been jeans and blouses and the occasional baby-doll dress, now there were literal baby-doll dresses.  Full skirts jostled for space, held out by rustling crinolines.  Peter Pan collars with lace edges hugged the hooks of the hangers.  I saw blue gingham and pink polka dots, a mint-green pinstripe and a sober lavender plaid.  On the floor, worn tennis shoes and hiking boots and the few pairs of heels Mom had occasionally convinced me to wear were gone.  Instead I saw a sole pair of pearly sandals next to beaded ballet flats and patent-leather mary janes in shiny black and white, plus every pastel color imaginable.  The black pair had heart-shaped golden padlocks on the straps.

She slid open a drawer, too, and lace foamed out – lace from ruffled and beribboned panties.  They were enormous.  I saw a camisole, too, in baby pink satin.  And under it, something rosebud-patterned, tightly folded, stiff-looking – no.  No, those could not be diapers.  They couldn’t.

I stared at my mother in shock.  She was smiling. 

“Happy birthday, darling,” she said.  “Oh, my dear girl, you’ve done such a good job of growing up.  From potty training to preschool to making friends and learning manners, to real school to … oh, every little milestone there is!  You’ve made your mama so proud.  You’ve done a good job.  You’ve done enough. You’ve won.  You don’t have to work so hard anymore; you were good enough at growing up, and now you can be my tiny baby again.  You’ll never again have to use a grown-up toilet, make a grown-up decision, or have a grown-up responsibility.  The room is a well-deserved bonus, but that’s your special birthday gift: freedom.  Your life from now on is just household chores, following rules, and looking pretty.”

Reeling, horrified, I grasped for something familiar in this strange world I’d been presented with.  My name!  She was going to tell me my name, the perfect woman’s name that had always been mine.  We’d always planned – I’d ask and then this strange, surreal joke would end.

“Mom,” I said, “my name?  You said on this birthday you’d tell me my name.”

“It’s Mama now, darling,” my mother told me.  “I will give you a little spank to help you remember if you forget more than once.”  As I tried to incorporate that little tidbit into my spinning worldview, my mother looked at me, her eyes shining with tenderness.  “Can’t you guess, dear?”  She gestured around at the pink, pink room.  “I planned it just for you.”  She smiled gently as she prepared to tell me the lifelong secret.

“Your real, legal name … is Bubblegum.”

Little Living #2: Powder my … nose

This is a new (irregular) series by @helplesslyregressed aiming to provide a variety of creative behavior rules for ageplay-oriented BDSM relationships.

An underrated element of humiliating ageplay is baby powder.

(Personally, I am … maybe overly fond of the fancy tins of talc powder with scents like rose and lavender.  They’re feminine and old-fashioned, and my style of ageplay is very sort of … simultaneously controlling and hedonistic, rooted in this overtly regressive, pseudo-Victorian aesthetic.  Others insist on nothing but plain drugstore baby powder, and more power to ‘em.  But I go through a lot of the gift-y stuff you find in the fancy bath section at discount places.)

Depriving a regressed slave of the privilege of touching herself?  Let her do it only with a powder-puff … and send you a picture of the results to prove she’s desperate.

Looking for a lighter element of bathroom control?  Forbid a little one to use toilet paper.  If she wants to absorb any remaining moisture, that’s what her jar of baby powder is for.

And she has to take that with her if she leaves the house, of course.  While direct public exposure has all kind of consent issues, a lot of doms like to impose something on an adult baby to keep them just a little off-kilter: a childish bracelet, or a pair of baby-pink socks.  Making a woman carry a large plastic shaker of baby powder in her purse at all times is perfect for this.

Click HERE to read previous chapters and learn what happened…

Click , he’s creating these awesome photo edits.

How to Get Young Adults to Wear Diapers (Part 2)

Full story:

Part 2
 
Joanne: Alright here we go. Day 1. My name is Joanne Stuart. I’m not sure if I need to introduce myself or not but… I’m 20 years old. Hum… and I’m an occasional bed wetter. It doesn’t happen often, but during stress periods… there are sometimes a few occasions in a row. So yeah, I’ve been asked to test this new product. It’s called Goodnites Plus, I’ve heard that’s only a temporary name and the marketing team is gonna come up with something more.. adult, to differentiate the target audience. Here’s the packaging… pretty bland, I’m sure they’re gonna work on that as well.

Joanne rips open the package and pulls out one of the briefs, shows it to the camera.

Joanne: Here’s the… underwear. I’m gonna unfold it, give you a look. I wore the girl’s Goodnites a few years ago when I was at summer camp and they had flowers and butterflies on them… very girly. These I guess are a bit more adult, they’re a light pink, no design. They’re probably gonna add some up, they told me they were only for testing, so… Yeah I’m not sure what to say, they look similar to the old model, a bit larger. They have tear-open sides, I think that makes them look a bit like Pull-Ups for toddlers. I mean, you can tell they’re not regular underwear. The padding around the crotch looks thicker too, but I remember my Goodnites leaking one time when I was 14 so I’m guessing that’s a good thing. Alright… gonna put it on.

The camera cuts.

Joanne appears again, wearing a camisole and the Goodnites Plus.

Joanne: I’m back! Hum yeah, this is kind of awkward but anyway. Hum… The diap.. product, is comfortable enough. It’s like wearing a cloud on my bum basically.

She giggles, puts her hands on her face, blushing.

Joanne: Sorry, hum… It definitely feels thicker than how  I remember the old Goodnites felt. Especially between the legs. As for discretion… I’m not sure I’d wear that at a sleepover, I’m gonna try with PJ pants on too, but right now I feel like my butt just doubled in size. I mean look at this.

She turns around, her movement accompanied by a crackling sound. She shakes her bum with the same crinkling.

Joanne: It sounds like a diaper too, I would NOT get away with that around people. For private use it isn’t so bad, it kind of smells and crinkles like a diaper which I recommend you tone down if you want young adults to buy this. I feel as though I’m getting dressed up as a baby for Halloween, if you get what I mean. The old Goodnites had the ‘’fabric layer’’ which helped, but maybe since this one is thicker you couldn’t get that done, I don’t know?

She jumps up and down a bit.

Joanne: The fit is snug. The thickness between my thighs is a bit weird, but oddly reassuring…. and that’s it I guess. I’ll see you back in the morning with the results.

Joanne turned off her camera.

I couldn’t believe I was actually doing this, at first. There I was, first night, feeling like an over sized toddler with a diaper between my legs. Regardless of what they wanted to call it, that was still exactly what it was… a big, thick diaper for old kids who still couldn’t keep their pants dry at night.

Now it made me feel like I was one of them, not-yet-fully-potty-trained kids. I guess I always kind of was, but I never identified that way. Now that I was back in Pull-Ups it was hard to be in denial. I had to call myself a bed wetter.

The realization dawned on me as I was putting on my flowery pajama pants to cover my Goodnites. Joanie the bed wetter. Could be my new Youtube nickname, I thought, laughing at myself. If only I knew what was to come…

I turned my camera back on to do my actual vlog for my Youtube audience. I filmed the whole thing with my diaper on. The lower half of my body wasn’t in sight and I wore PJs anyway. I got a bit self conscious whenever I moved my bum a bit, as the plastic sound was omnipresent, but in retrospect, nobody’s paying attention to that.

I talked about my day and whatnot, read a few fan questions and answered them, obviously avoiding to talk about the fact that I would soon go to bed in my diaper, then pee in it. Whether it would be in my sleep or not was the question on my mind.

I edited my video, saved it on my desktop like all my other stuff. I would have to post it on my channel the next day.

I crawled to my bed with a sigh. I patted the front of my diaper and for the first time in my entire life I almost wished I would wet the bed… I didn’t want to have to wet that thing while I was awake.

Yaw?
This story was commissioned by a Patron. Want to read the rest of it? Commission your own story? Read another one of my original stories? Head over to my Patreon!

I’ll also be posting the next chapters for free on Tumblr 😉

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