supercollectorprincess1

[supercollectorprincess1]

TW: forced regression, bodily waste, diaper use, non-con

Note that in this fantasy scenario, all individuals are adults over the age of 18!

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Why the crotch strap?

Oh, sweetie, it's really not that hard to understand! But I see the fear in your eyes – the fear that fogs your mind and clogs your rational faculties. Mommy gets it. Mommy knows how scary it is to see your new little brother getting broken in. Don't worry. Mommy will explain everything to you.

Never mind his moans. Never mind his squirming. Mommy put him in that straitjacket for a reason. He's safe now: safe from himself, from his silly attempts to escape, from everything that might disturb the process. See? He can tug and moan and writhe – like an adorable, pathetic little worm – but he's not going anywhere. Not so long as those straps are holding him tight in Mommy's inescapable hug.

The crotch strap, hmm? Aww, just look at it. It's so… wide, isn't it? Wide and strong, with stout buckles keeping it in place. It fits so well over your little brother's diaper, too. And with those pretty blue stripes running parallel with it… aww, it's genuinely beautiful!

It seems so tight? Are you sure about that, sweetie? Go on. Reach out and touch it. Run your trembling fingers over the plastic, the canvas, the lovely strong stitching… down to that cold steel buckle. Slip your fingers underneath, now. See? It's not quite so tight as you thought!

And why is that, sweetie? Why ever would Mommy leave that nice strong crotch strap loose, hmm?

Oh, I see your questioning eyes, blinking up fearfully. You don't know, do you? But don't worry. Mommy said she'd explain.

It's for a very good reason, sweetie. See, listen to your little brother, gulping and fighting in his bonds. He's struggling against himself now: against the lovely load of milk and juice Mommy pumped into him just now. Against the muscle relaxants that slowly are making it harder and harder for him to resist. Against the lovely, large fleet enema Mommy squirted deep into his bum… and that's already got him burning and aching to release.

That crotch strap is ready.

Because it will happen, sweetie. There's no way anyone can win such a fight. He'll lose: little by little, more and more, until at last he's lying there, shuddering as his bladder and bowels empty themselves over and over into his diaper. And with every addition, that diaper of his will swell: silently mushrooming out, straining against that strap, seeking for anywhere to expand and grow. With nowhere to go, sweetie… you know where it will expand, don't you?

Inward, of course. All around his cute little pee-pee. Tighter and closer, wet and mushy and ever so warm. That strap is there to tease him, to torment him, to force his mind to accept the truth: that he's Mommy's baby now, actively peeing and pooping his pants with no way to control himself. Sure, he'll keep writhing and wriggling like the stubborn fellow he is. But with every movement, that strap will tug. His pee-pee will sense it. And oh, you know what happens when little boys feel warm, wet, tight things around their pee-pees, don't you?

That's the second reason, sweetie. That crotch strap is there to tease him into arousal. Oh, he won't want to, of course. What self-respecting fellow wants to get hard from feeling his own pee and poo around him? But thanks to Mommy's crotch strap and his own submissive cravings, he will. He'll try to resist, of course – to struggle against his own dirty impulses. But with every movement, every motion, he'll feel his trapped little cock swelling, stiffening, aching… and being forced, deeper and tighter and more surely than ever, back down into the messy, squishy mass of his own soiled diaper. Still he'll fight it, and still he'll grow harder and harder… until at last, he'll be moaning and cumming, right into the humiliating mess of his smelly diaper.

That's why Mommy has the crotch strap, sweetie. Not to restrain his body, oh no. It's to destroy his pride, his sense of self… and in the end, his old erotic programming.

Aww, are you crying, sweetie? Whatever for? Are you trying to tell Mommy that you want a crotch strap, too?

She could arrange that, you know!

Image Credit: Baby-Doll.com

Be sure to check out my Ream Stories if you want to read more of my naughty fiction!

[supercollectorprincess1]

AS PROMISED: Here is my complete “tutorial” on how to make custom diaper designs for your Babygirl/Babyboy so that their playtime in Diapers is a little bit extra fun!

(And yes, in that last image, my Babygirl’s bummy is soggy, hehe)

[supercollectorprincess1]

You've mentioned in a previous answer that you don't readily have a bondage partner, and thus limits you from straitjacket play. As somebody who used to explore self bondage, achieving being tied in a straitjacket that is both secure but also escapable is possible. It's not exactly like when somebody ties you up, but it is a decent experience.

1. Secure all the buckles on the back, then slip the jacket on like a shirt.

2. Connect the arm straps together, but do this in front of you. You just want 4 inches of the strap through the buckle (if your buckle has teeth, just go through the portion with teeth)

3. Place the 4 inches of strap in a door, about mid torso height. Close the door. At this point you are facing the door, looking at the strap that's stuck in the door.

4. The tricky part. Via twisting and kneeling, cross your arms and work your body through your arms and the door. You will not use the chest strap (at least until you perfect the technique).

5. Turn your body and walk away from the door until your arms are snug. Turn the other way, tug, and the strap should pop out of the door jam.

It takes practice and determination, but it is very possible. When you're ready to escape, work your arms over your head. It'll take a little struggling, but you'll get it! There are a few videos/ pics out there that show this technique. Best of luck if you ever choose to give it a try!

Oooooh I might just have to give this a go! 🙂‍↕️💜🙏🏻

[supercollectorprincess1]

[supercollectorprincess1]

[supercollectorprincess1]

You tried to fight it, you tried to block it out. The hypnotic music worming through your ears, a mixture of infantile lullabies, soothing voices, and even stern ones overlayed with each other. It was all so chaotic it made your head spin, like you were in a trance.

Even though you were blindfolded, you could swear you were seeing waves, spirals, stars. Was it just your imagination? Or was it something they put in your bottle? Maybe it was the sour liquid slowly seeping through the bulb of the pacifier in your mouth. Every time you suckled for air your mouth got a little more numb. Drool seeping from the sides of your lips.

You felt so claustrophobic. Any attempt at movement was haulted in some way, and every time you did, the diaper between your legs crinkled.

But the worst was the churning feeling in your bowels. A combination of bubbling and cramps that made you feel sick to your stomach. You knew what you had to do, what they wanted you to do, but you didn’t want to give this place that satisfaction.

You kicked and screamed and whimpered into your gag, but you couldn’t even hear yourself over the hypnotic music. No way they could hear you down the hall. More likely, they didn’t even care.

You got the feeling you weren’t the only one here. You’d heard the same whimpers and whines when they were escorting you down the hall. But that was just when you were in a straitjacket. What kind of sick ‘rehabilitation’ program was this??

The bubbling in your guts was unbearable. How long had you been holding it? You’d lost track of time long ago. You couldn’t even say how long you’d been here. Was it hours? Or days? Being in a blind, hypnotic haze really messes with perception of time.

You clenched, thrashed, tugged, did anything you could to try to make the cramps go away. But you knew there was only one way to end it. It had to happen eventually. You knew it did. They obviously weren’t letting you go any time soon. Or maybe they would once they got what they wanted?

The voices in your ears told you it was okay. That this was normal. Well…your “new” normal.

It’s what good girls do…

Mess your diaper…

Mary had a little lamb…

Be a baby…

You’re a slut!

Little lamb…litTLe lamb!

It’s not like you know how to be an adult…

You’ll never use the potty again!

It’s okay…

Everything will be fine…

Poop your diaper!

Let it out…

You don’t know if you made the decision yourself, or your fried brain just followed what the voices told you, but you gave one last, desperate clench, then relaxed…letting everything flow out of you.

All of your senses seemed to focus on the warm, icky sensation now present in your diaper. Even the music seemed to stop. As uncomfortable as you were before, that was increased 10 fold.

You tried to struggle more, to escape the messy muck somehow, but it only made it worse. The music kicked back in again, or maybe it never stopped? You couldn’t feel your mouth anymore, just the drool dripping down the sides of your cheeks. The spirals in your eyes intensified.

Maybe they would come change you now. Let you go. Release you from the confines of your mind.

But they were still hours away, or maybe days? There was no telling anymore. The music continued to play, the mixture of melodies numbing your brain.

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This is my new site for wittlesissybaby! Follow me here, Subscribestar, or Allmylinks to stay updated!

Also, please take 2 seconds to go follow this other random blog @wittle5i55ybaby real fast. Just in case…

[supercollectorprincess1]

[supercollectorprincess1]

[supercollectorprincess1]

[supercollectorprincess1]

No yellow snow left behind by this Bunnie!🌨️🐰

[supercollectorprincess1]

remember when the daily wire was like "we should make a documentary where cis men try to sign up for women's sports by claiming to be trans women" and then they had to make it a fictional movie instead because, surprise surprise, women's sports leagues don't just. let cis men play. y'know, the way conservatives claim they do. and apparently, none of the people they were casting were willing to undergo hormone replacement therapy. I wonder why that is. why these men might not want to have female-presenting bodies. it might make them a bit distressed. about their genders. I wish there was a medical synonym for "distress" that would go well after the word "gender"

[supercollectorprincess1]

Wanna actually see my content? Tired of Tumblr not showing you steamy new captions whenever they come out?

Check out my Wordpress! It’s totally free and open, plus it’s a heck of a lot easier to navigate. Why not stop by? :-)

[supercollectorprincess1]

Who can guess how many times they've been caught at it back there xD A particularly fun comm for @Gearsnfears (on twitter) featuring his OC Pierce and my own Sina :3c

[supercollectorprincess1]

Uh-Oh! Not only is Shelly stuck in her thick sleeper, but Sir is yanking her diaper up to squish around the full diaper, much to her disgust! Of course, things only get  worse for her as she prepares for another explosion in her pants~

Inspired by the PokeSleepers drawn by @BunnyKissesU~!

Make sure to check out Patreon for much more~! www.patreon.com/34qucker

Enjoy~!

Art by @34qucker

[supercollectorprincess1]

Please, Daphne, please… Remember, we were friends once… Remember…

Samantha lay prone on the table, legs splayed, her mittened hands bound - while over her stood the imperious figure of Daphne, AKA Rehabilitative Therapist #49173. Poor Samantha had had had no idea what she was getting into when Daphne, her old childhood friend, had invited her to tour her new place of work, the New Beginnings Correctional and Rehabilitation Facility. She’d jumped at the opportunity - after all, she’d fallen out of touch with Daphne for years, and loved the idea of rekindling their old friendship. What better way to do it?

That was the plan. But within minutes of arriving, she’d begun feeling very faint - perhaps due to the strong chemical smell of what Daphne said was a recent fumigation - and had needed to sit down. She must have dozed off, as far as she could figure. And when she’d come to, she’d found herself in this ludicrous position: trussed, diapered, and thoroughly helpless. What on earth was going on?

Amid her rising panic, she’d been relieved when Daphne came striding into the room. “Oh my God, Daphne, there you are! What the he-” But Daphne, smiling superciliously, had thrust a baby’s pacifier into her friend’s open mouth. “Hush there, little one,” she commanded. “Now I’ve got you exactly where I want you. Don’t you just love getting together with old friends?” She laughed harshly, sardonically, and Samantha stared in bewilderment. What was going on? Was Daphne going to…hurt her? Kidnap her?

But Daphne soon made everything clear. “Remember that sleepover in third grade, Samantha? Oh, I do. I was the one in the pink princess nightgown, the one wearing Goodnites because, guess what? I was still wetting the bed. I was the one you laughed at, giggled over, called a baby. Well, I really don’t think you’re going to be the one doing the laughing after this, will you? Ha, definitely not. I’ll be the one doing the laughing now. I’ll be watching our wonderfully effective program regress you, forcing you into babyhood beyond anything you ever imagined possible…” Samantha quailed under the malicious gleam in Daphne’s eyes.

She grinned sadistically down on her helpless friend. “Let’s see - diaper? Check. Restrained? Check. Pacified? Check. Medicated with sedatives, diuretics, laxatives, and muscle relaxants? Check! And so, I think you’re definitely ready for your real initiation, BABY Samantha. Let’s see what a bit of hypnosis can do to an otherwise sane young woman, shall we?” She flipped a switch, and the room immediately filled with a swirl of tinkling music, cooing voices, and gently throbbing pulses. Samantha whimpered, feeling the sound penetrating her brain, beginning to weave a seductive web of hypnotic suggestions throughout her mind. Such a helpless baby… No use resisting… Good baby girl… Wet little diaper baby… Obey, little one… Obey… Wet…

She fought back as best she could, but she could already tell it was a losing battle. Must not… Give in… Daphne… Help… Please, Daphne… Don’t do this… I’m not a baby… But already the hypnosis was drowning out her own thoughts. Baby, yes… Repeat after me… I am a baby… I am a wet little baby… Obedient little baby… She struggled helplessly, her hands tugging vainly at the straps, her eyes pleading. But Daphne merely smiled condescendingly, her hand firmly massaging Samantha’s diapered crotch.

“Who’s the baby now?” Daphne asked quietly, watching the hope flicker and fade in Samantha’s tearful eyes. And from within Samantha’s own mind came the response that she utterly loathed and yet was coming to believe no matter how hard she fought. I am. I am the baby now.

[supercollectorprincess1]

Ryuko Matoi | Kill La Kill

hey-HEY! How'd you get under there!? 

What happens after is up to Ryuko, I hope it was well worth the view 😏

Find variations and more artwork on Patreon

Patreon | https://patreon.com/lazyblazy

[supercollectorprincess1]