#ab/dl babyenby

[paci-papa]

I know you hate mushy peas. I know you absolutely can't stained strained carrots. Oh, and pureed prunes, I know the thought of them makes you gag.

Unfortunately for you, I find you absolutely adorable, strapped into your highchair, ankles and wrists cuffed into place, with mushy baby food dripping down your chin.

It doesn't matter to me that you detest every bite. It doesn't bother me that I have to bribe and cajole you at each turn. It doesn't frustrate me that you throw your head to the side, lock your mouth closed, and spit out your food.

Why would it? You're just a baby after all. All babies throw tantrums at meal times. But, Papa knows what's right for them.

I love my adorable, messy, little eater!

[paci-papa]

"Papa! Changies!" You whine as you toddle into the room, legs spread to keep from squishing the fresh mess filling the back of your diaper.

"Changies?" Papa responded, walking over and pulling back the waistband of your diaper to inspect your recent 'work.' "Snuggle bug, this mess is fresh, and your diaper can hold so much more."

You grimace at the curt dismissal. You were messy. You hate being messy.

"Changies!" You demand, stomping your foot like a toddler.

You were more than willing to acquiesce to many of the restrictions Papa put on you.

The constant need for a paci? No problem.

Not being allowed to use big kid words? Piece of cake!

The early bedtimes? You actually really like those.

Eating all of your meals in a high chair? Totally tolerable.

Wearing a messy diaper though? That was a step too far.

"You aren't throwing a temper tantrum, are you, buddy?" Papa warned. His tone sending shivers down your spine.

"No! Bottom icky! Need changies!" You continued, not willing to be cowed.

"I think I know a little one who needs to learn how to enjoy their messy pants."

And, that is how you found yourself stuck in the cursed baby bouncer, your hands tied behind your back.

You moan and scream over and over and over again as you cum repeatedly. The magic wand pressed between the fabric of the seat you were stuck in and the padding between your legs, relentlessly bringing you to orgasm again and again.

You know your diaper is messy. You may have messed it again. It doesn't matter now. Nothing matters other than the overwhelming pleasure between your legs.

Papa was right, you are learning to enjoy your messy diapers. You're just not certain you won't throw a tantrum again if this is going to be your 'punishment.'

[paci-papa]

One of Papa's favorite ways to make a little one feel truly small is setting counter-intuitive rules.

Do you want a diaper change? Not only are you not allowed to ask for one, but Papa expects that you will fight getting changed every step of the way.

Exhausted and want to go to bed? You're much too little to understand what exhaustion is. No, if you want Papa to tuck you in, you need to throw a tantrum, railing about how you're not really tired.

Are you desperate for a meal other than goldfish, apple sauce, and cookies? You better be begging Papa for more snacks instead of dinner.

But, why would Papa subject his little ones to such silly rules?

Well, my sweet little goslings, being little isn't about being docile, submissive, and well-behaved.

It's about letting yourself feel and act on all of those big emotions, no matter how silly or meaningless they are.

It's about being seemingly irrational just because that's how you want to feel.

It's about being vulnerable.

Sometimes, little ones just need that extra push to remember that they're not expected to be well-behaved little boys or girls. All it really takes to be Papa's perfect little princess or prince is to let yourself fully embrace the silly, sticky, selfish little monster you were born to be.

[paci-papa]

Only appropriate language is allowed in Papa's Nursery!

Oh, you're thirsty? You don't want milk from your bottle. You want num-nums from your baba, silly goose!

Do you need to use the restroom? No, cutie, you wanna make boom-booms in the potty!

You're afraid of Papa seeing your genitalia when he changes your diaper? Silly baby, there's no reason to be afraid of Papa seeing your no-no bits!

Oh, you want to cum? No, no, sweet pea, you wanna make uh-ohs.

Sex? How would you even know what that word means? It's only special Papa cuddles to you.

Good babies use infant appropriate language. But, don't worry, sweet pea, you'll get used to it soon.

It won't be long before your grinding against Papa's leg, begging Papa to give you changies after you made boom-booms in your diapie, secretly hoping Papa will play with your no-no bits until you make uh-ohs, since it's been so long since you last had special Papa cuddles.

[paci-papa]

Some littles love mindless children shows. Bright colors, loud music, and quick cuts all serve to distract while slowly destroying your attention span.

Papa loves littles who crave documentaries.

Littles who love to let their mind go blank and enjoy relearning about the mysteries of the world.

Littles who would rather fall asleep to the dulcet tones of David Attenborough, rather than Miss Rachel.

Littles who crave knowledge and learning, as long as it doesn't include how to use the potty.

Papa loves adorable little ones who absorb knowledge like a sponge, so they can excitedly yap about everything from how bottle caps are made to orca pack-hunting behaviors while Papa happily bounces them on his knee.

[paci-papa]

You looked adorable when you walked into the living room.

Your favorite pink paci was tucked between your lips. Mr. Bun Bun, your favorite stuffie, was clutched in your arms. Your diaper, in desperate need of a change, hung low between your legs, drooping below the hem of your Tangled-themed nightshirt.

Most adorable of all was the look of shock on your face as you saw Papa's new girlfriend sitting in Papa's lap. Papa's suspicion that you were not expecting to find her was confirmed when your paci dropped out of your mouth as your jaw fell in surprise and you tugged at the hem of your shirt, desperately trying to hide your diaper in shame.

Papa's girlfriend smiled, stood up, and grabbed your paci where it dangled, popping it back in your mouth.

"Looks like someone is soggy. Come here, little one, Mommy's got you," the strange woman said, grabbing your hand and guiding you to the nursery.

You blushed, but allowed yourself to be led. Despite your surprise at meeting her this way, maybe Papa having a new girlfriend wouldn't be so bad.

[paci-papa]

Your day had been horrible.

Your alarm didn't go off on time, and you were late for work.

Your boss, normally a jerk, was in an especially bad mood.

Due to all of the other stress of the day, you made stupid mistakes that just made everything else worse.

So, by the time you walked through the door, you were done. You didn't want to talk to Papa. You didn't want to be little. You just wanted to hide from the world and forget this day ever happened.

Papa didn't seem to get that message though.

Within moments of walking through the door, he has scooped you up in his arms and was carrying you towards the nursery. You thrashed in his arms the whole way, like an unruly toddler.

"Let me go! Leave me alone! I'm not a baby!" You screamed as you futilely kicked and clawed at Papa.

Papa shushed you as he gently laid you down on the changing table and strapped you in place.

"Hush, baby, hush! It's ok! It's ok! Papa knows what you need. Papa's got you!"

You thrashed, snarled, and screamed as Papa, as he had done so many times in the past, removed the trappings of your adulthood before diapering you and dressing you in childish pajamas.

"Let me go!" You roared as Papa unstrapped you from your restraints.

Instead of complying, Papa just pulled you into his arms, holding you close as you banged on his chest and kicked the floor.

It didn't take long before tears started to form on your cheeks, as your anger and frustration turned to overwhelming sadness.

Papa, without saying a word, lifted you into his arms, carried you to the nearby rocking chair, and held you as your emotions coursed through you.

Within minutes, the world started to brighten. You began to melt into Papa's touch, nuzzling into him. You even let your thumb slip into your mouth as you turned your face up to look at your caregiver and protector.

"There's my good baby," Papa said, gently caressing your check, "see, didn't Papa say it would be all alright."

You smiled softly because, despite all of your rage, frustration and sadness from earlier, here, sitting in Papa's arms, Papa was right. Everything was alright.

[paci-papa]

Papa can't help but sneak into your room every night to watch you sleep.

He loves how your thumb always finds its way to your mouth.

He loves how you hold your stuffies tight, clinging to them for protection like a real baby.

He loves how your sleep on your tummy, knees bent in the fetal position almost as if you were an actual infant.

Most of all, Papa loves watching you arch your back and grunt as you mess your diaper unconsciously, showing just how far you've fallen from the adult you were when you first entered Papa's Nursery.

[paci-papa]

You laid in your crib, squirmy, whining and moaning against your restraints. A pacifier gag was securely tied around your head. Your arms were wrapped around your body, held there by the straight jacket Papa had forced you into.

The diaper around your bottom was soaked to near leaking. Your ankles were spread wide, cuffed to your crib at each corner. And worst of all? The vibrator strapped to your thigh was set on just a low enough setting to be frustrating without pushing you over the edge.

Papa had caught you sneaking out of your room tonight to spy on him and his date. You had seen him on the couch, ravaging the beautiful woman much like he used to ravage you before you became his overgrown baby doll.

When Papa caught you peeking at him around the corner, he had been furious.

Babies didn't leave their cribs without permission.

Babies didn't stay up past their bedtime.

Babies certainly didn't stick their hands down their diaper and rub themselves like you were.

And so, Papa decreed that your punishment had to fit the crime. After letting his latest conquest spank you to her heart's content, he locked you into your current predicament.

Papa was teaching you a lesson. If you wanted to stay up late playing with yourself, that is precisely what you would do all night long.

You bucked your hips and moaned again, trying and failing to get any sort of relief from the persistent vibrator on your leg. You had never been so needy or frustrated in your life.

And as you turned your head to look at the nursery clock to see it was still only 11:00 pm, you knew that relief from your current torture was far, far out of sight.

[paci-papa]

When Papa grabs you, it's like he's a ballroom dancer. With grace and a delicate flick of his wrist, he has you in his arms and then spinning until your back is to him.

With a motion like a reverse dip, it takes him no effort to bend you over, presenting your pant's waistband suspiciously bulky backside to him.

If it wasn't for the deep embarrassment you felt at the well-rehearsed choreography, you would almost feel graceful in Papa's strong arms.

Unfortunately for you, this isn't a ballroom dance. It's the dance of a parent with their child.

Further, you aren't Papa's willing dance partner. No, you're just an overgrown toddler for him to wrangle.

Worse, the purpose of Papa's movements isn't to make you look beautiful and elegant. Instead, Papa's sole goal is to get a better look in your pants, so he can see the big, messy load you pushed in there moments ago for your own.

Maybe in another life, you would actually be dancing with Papa. Today, though, you are really just letting him throw you around as he checks your messy diaper.

[paci-papa]

You were so excited to go over to Papa's house. He was hosting a baby shower for a friend, and he wanted you to be there.

You had been dating and playing with Papa for a few months now, but it hadn't been serious. Just a few trips out to pizza or the zoo, followed by evenings of incredible little time in his nursery.

Despite a long term interest in AB/DL, you'd never been in a relationship like this before, and, so far, it was better than you had ever imagined it would be.

And today? Today was wonderful because your relationship with Papa was taking the next step. He wasn't just hanging out with you on a date or in the nursery. He was introducing you to his friends.

The party started out great. You were wearing your cutest outfit, and Papa's friends were all incredibly nice. They brought you drinks, complimented you on how cute you were, and talked about how lucky Papa was to have you in his life.

The only concerning thing was that none of Papa's friends appeared to be pregnant. Not wanting to be rude, you never questioned the issue, assuming that the parents-to-be must be adopting.

After a number of silly games, like seeing how fast people could drain a baby bottle (you one of course) and making a diaper out of toilet paper (somehow you were the model), it was time for presents.

One of Papa's prettier friends sat near the presents and patted the seat next to her.

"Sweetheart, would you mind sitting here and helping me open these presents?"

You smiled broadly at being given the honor and practically skipped to the seat.

You helped the woman--you never caught her name--open present after present. A parade of toys, bottles, and burp clothes passed through your hands as you dutifully showed them off for the interested crowd.

Then, the presents switched to clothes, and you started to become concerned. The woman had you display each onesie, jumper and set of shortalls for the crowd. But, despite each item of clothing being clearly designed for an infant, they all seemed perfectly sized to fit you.

Finally, only one box was left. It was small, but a nervous pit had formed in your stomach. What was going on? Why was everyone so focused on you? The look of confusion and concern on your face was adorable.

You watched as Papa picked up the last, small present himself, and got on one knee in front of you. For no reason you understood, a blush bloomed on your face.

"Baby, could you open this last present?" Papa asked softly.

Delicately, you reached for the box in his hand. A clamshell container, much like a jewelry box, but decorated in rainbows and unicorns. You opened up the box and looked inside. On a velvet padded cushion sat a beautiful adult-sized pacifier, in your favorite brand and style.

You looked up at Papa, confused.

"Little one," he began as you looked at him, "would you do me the greatest honor in the world and agree to be my full-time baby?"

The blush that covered your face and neck was overcome with tears of joy as you fell into Papa's arms.

"Yes, Papa, I will!" You answered as you clung to him.

Papa's friends broke into applause as Papa picked you up and carried you back into the nursery.

After a quick outfit change, the party continued. As you were passed around from one of Papa's friends to another in your diaper and toddler party dress, you smiled and giggled fully enjoying the party.

No, not just a party: A baby shower. Your baby shower.

You had never been happier.

[paci-papa]

"But, Papa, the plain white diapers are soooo boring!" You whined at me, poking the thick, white padding between your legs.

After months in diapers, you have proven to be such a heavy wetter (and so unaware of the state of your own diaper), that Papa was forced to only put you in the highest capacity diaper he could find--plain white Trests.

"Well, baby if they're so boring, why don't you fix that?" Papa said as he smiled.

"Fix it?" You said, your demeanor suddenly switching to that of a confused puppy.

Papa grinned and helped you sit on your play mat. He then pulled out a big pack of markers and handed them to you.

"Yes, baby, fix it! Why don't you make your pretty little diaper as cute as you!"

You giggled and clapped your hands as you caught Papa's meaning. You happily took the proffered markers and went to work drawing flowers, suns, dinosaurs, princesses and trucks on your crotch and tushy.

By the end of your arts and craft adventure, your diaper looked better than any of those silly 'printed' diapers, if you did say so yourself.

As you waddled into Papa's office to show off your work, you couldn't help but think to yourself that maybe plain white diapers weren't quite as bad as you thought they'd be.

[paci-papa]

You had begged Papa to go with him to the gym. After four months as his live-in toddler, the thing you missed about your adult life more than anything else was working out.

Sure, you occasionally got breathless as you toddled wildly around the house, running from Papa as he tried to dress you, change you, or, occasionally, spank you. But, it wasn't the same as the meditative relief that came from running on the treadmill or the warm burn of lifting heavy weights.

So, you were ecstatic when, one day, Papa finally relented and agreed to take you with him to work out.

You were practically bouncing in excitement as you reached the check-in counter. You didn't even care that the discreet pull-up hiding under your shorts was already a little damp.

"And, just who do we have here, sir? Well we be needing a guest pass?" The handsome and fit young man at the counter asked Papa, eyeing you up and down in a way that made you blush.

Papa responding cheerily, "No, Oliver, this is a new member. I imagine they'll be joining me much more often from now on. Can I get some sign-up paperwork?"

Oliver, the gym attendant smiled and did as Papa asked. While Papa filled out the paperwork, you took the opportunity to take in the sights and smell of the gym. Everything was just as you remembered it.

Papa finished his paperwork quickly and handed it to Oliver. The gym attendant looked at it, then back at you, and smiled.

"Alright, why don't you come with me, sweetheart? And we'll get our newest member all set up!"

You easily took the handsome man's hand, after Papa reassured you it was ok, of course. Papa walked the other direction, heading towards the lifting equipment.

You were so distracted watching, Papa's path, you didn't notice where Oliver had brought you.

"Here we are!" The young man announced cheerily, causing you to look up and your jaw to drop.

You weren't standing in front of the cardio equipment or a yoga studio. You weren't looking at free weights or fixed lifting equipment. There weren't any stands for medicine balls or tires to flip.

No, your heart dropped as Oliver handed you off to the care of a young woman, her title of daycare attendant proudly displayed on her name tag.

You turned to Oliver with a look of betrayal on your face. He just grinned.

"Don't worry, sweetheart! Your Papa listed all your preferences! Miss Sally here will get you set up in a nice bouncer so you can work on your leg strength! And, if you're lucky, one will be free where you can watch your Papa work out too!"

Oliver then turned to 'Miss Sally,' the, no, your daycare attendant.

"Oh, and Sally, this little one is apparently in a pull up, and based on her application, my guess is that you'll want to make a stop at the changing tables first."

Your heart sank as the handsome young man walked up, and you meekly let Miss Sally lead you into the gym daycare.

Frustrated and defeated, all you could do as you made an embarrassing walk of shame to yet another changing table, is wonder how you could have expected Papa had anything else in mind when he agreed to let you join him at the gym.

[paci-papa]

It's not right! You aren't a baby! You're a big girl!

At least that's what you keep telling yourself.

Yes, you agreed to let Papa treat you as his daughter. But, you are a middle, not a little!

Of course, you love it when Papa and his friends talk to you like a child! It makes your princess parts all tingly.

Sure, you might occasionally enjoy hosting a tea party for your dolls and stuffies. But, that didn't mean anything, even tweens like acting babyish sometimes.

Also, maybe you were occasionally caught watching Miss Rachel instead of more mature shows like My Little Pony. There's nothing wrong with giving your brain a little break sometimes!

And the bedwetting? Well, you were a bedwetter into your teens the first time around, so why would the not-so-occasional accident shouldn't mean anything as to your middle cred now.

If only that was how Papa saw it.

But, here you find yourself, stuck in a playpen, dressed in a onesie, on the verge of your first daytime 'accident' in decades, all because Papa 'put the puzzle pieces together' and determined that this is 'what you really wanted.'

You let out a cry of shame as, with a loud hiss, your body gave out, and you soaked the padding of the diaper you wore. Your diaper.

Tears roll down your cheeks as you clutch Samson, the pink teddy bear you took everywhere with you, and realized that no matter how much you protested, how unfair this was, or how big you really were, from now on, this was your life.

[paci-papa]

Our vacation together had been incredible! Two months, hopping across the globe, seeing different sights, exploring different cultures had been a once in a lifetime experience. And, Papa is not exaggerating when he says that he thinks it has brought us closer together than we have ever been.

The experience was so good that Papa hasn't even missed treating you like his adorable, subby little tot. However, Papa would be lying if he didn't admit that he was worried that you'd struggle to retake your rightful place as his silly little plaything when we finally returned home.

However, seeing you sitting here in your highchair, in your soaking wet diaper, half covered in oatmeal, laying fast asleep on the tray from the jet lag like an overtired infant, has made my worries disappear.

Papa snapped a picture to commemorate the moment.

I mean, how are you ever going to claim you're really a big kid again when you're confronted with this adorable evidence of your permanent immaturity?

[paci-papa]

"Papa.... Papa!" You whispered desperately in my ear, trying to wake me up without disturbing my latest partner.

I slowly opened my eyes to see you looking at me with a hint of fear in your eyes.

"Baby, what are you doing up? It's..." I look at the clock, "2:00 am!"

You bounce frantically from foot to foot, pressing your hand hard between your legs.

"Papa," you whined, "I gotta potty!"

I looked at you confused before answering.

"Alright, well, just go then! That's what your diapers are for silly... Oh!" I stopped short, suddenly remembering our decision to try potty training.

"Paaaaapaaaaa!" You cried, more desperate and less worried about waking up my bed mate, "I gotta go!"

Your plea was cut short as, before both of our eyes, a large wet stain formed on the crotch of your PJs and began spreading down your legs.

"Oh, sweet pea," I said, getting out of bed as the realization of what had just happened struck you, "Maybe we were a little premature on the potty training decision."

Tears welled up in your eyes and started streaming down your cheeks as I took your hand and led you back to the nursery. By the time I had undressed you and lifted you to the changing table, the cheeks on your face were just as wet as those on your bottom.

Expertly, I wiped away your tears and urine before diapering you and placing you back in your crib. You stared at me longingly from behind the bars as I turned off the light.

"Ni-night, baby! Sleep tight. Maybe we can try potty training again in another few years."

The sound of your renewed, soft sobs were silenced as I closed the nursery door and sleepily walked back to bed.