Latest Posts by dangerousangleofadream - Page 16

One of my favorite things about boys is that it’s so very easy to arouse them. Just run a hand a little too far up his leg, back a little too far into him in line at the grocery store, nonchalantly give him a little peek of that lingerie, and he’s toast. Boys are so cute!

Welcome to the infantilization clinic, sweetie! It's no use fighting with our security. Settle down like a good boy and we can get started. Your wife, sorry, your Mommy, has booked you in for a basic incontinence prodecure to fix your attitude. It's nothing to worry about, just a quick jab with the needle and you won't be able to hold you pee ever again!

Uh-oh! I think someone's going to make things difficult for his nurses, isn't he? Does the widdle guy not want to go back to diapies? Awww, poor thing. Our clients are often very attached to their potty training, and they get so fussy when we take it away, but believe me there's much worse we could be doing to you...

That's right, little guy. We can do more than take away your bladder control if you don't behave. There are procedures for your voice, your motor functions, and your bowel control too. So either you be a good boy and let us make you diaper dependent, or you can get used to babbling in baby talk, being pushed around in a baby carriage, and using your diapers for poop as well as pee. What's it going to be?

Sweetie, we talked about this. You're not the boss anymore. You don't give orders, remember? You're my assistant now, not the other way around. To be honest, you're not really even that. You're more like the office mascot, so I don't want to hear about you raising your voice at the staff again, okay?

Don't pout, little boy! You should be grateful you've even got a job at all. Most men attend adult daycare or discipline school during the day, but I thought it would be fun to watch you running little errands for me in your adorable sailor suit and your diapers. Speaking of which... I can smell pee. Have you wet yourself again already? I swear the intern just changed you! Pants down, baby. Let's check the damage.

Oh wow. Yep, you did a big tinkle in these, honey. They're soaked! Still, nobody can spare the time to change you now, not so soon after your last visit to the baby changing station. I think we'll wait until you do a poopy before taking you again. In the meantime, get that soggy butt over to the coffee machine and make me a cappuccino. Oh, and try to remember sweetie, at work you're supposed to reply with "yes Ma'am". I'm only "Mommy" once we get home!

All Part of the Plan, Ch. 1

This caption is part of a series I'm lucky enough to write with the great @boysrbabies! Hope everyone enjoys it as much as me!

“Babe, look at me! You know I love you, you don’t have to be so embarrassed! It’s just a diaper!”

Easy for you to say.

I never thought I’d be in this situation. But here I am, being comforted by my girlfriend after putting me in my first diaper since I was potty trained.

It’s so humiliating.

This diaper, this horrible conversation is the culmination of the most embarrassing two weeks of my life. I have no idea how it got to this point. It all happened so fast.

All I know is ever since she woke me up that first morning in a puddle, my bladder control has cratered. I haven’t woken up to a dry bed since. Stripping the sheets and making the walk of shame to the laundry room became horribly routine.

As humiliating as it is waking up to a wet bed—and boy, is it humiliating—it was just the beginning. My life got much, much worse.

Turns out, peeing yourself in the middle of a bar, surrounded by your friends, makes bedwetting seem fun. I didn’t even know I had to go. One minute, I was sitting down, drinking a beer. The next, I’m looking around, wondering who spilled their beer.

At least, I thought someone spilled until I realized my lap wasn’t cold—it was warm. If I know anything about beer, it’s that beer is not warm. And then it hit me: I, ostensibly an adult, just peed my pants in public.

My girlfriend seemed to put the pieces together before I did. Maybe she saw the look of terror on my face. I don’t know. Luckily for me, she sprang into action, “accidentally” spilling her drink on me to give me an excuse for my now-soaked jeans before telling our friends that she was a little too tipsy, giving us a reason to leave.

I expected her to be angry or embarrassed on the drive home, but she wasn’t. Quite the opposite, really. To be honest, she almost seemed…excited? I don’t know. My wet pants were all I could think about.

She spent the entire drive assuaging my crushed ego, convincing me what had happened was not embarrassing, that it was just one accident, and that it was probably just stress. She promised she’d do whatever it took to help.

I have no idea what I’d have done without her there for me. She never complained about waking up to a wet bed, assuring me that it wasn't a big deal and that she would never judge me for any medical problem like bedwetting or daytime accidents. She will love me no matter what.

She was her cheerful, loving self even after my accident in her brand-new car. She calmly assured me that she understood it was an accident. She would take care of it; nothing to worry about. I shouldn’t worry or feel bad, she loved me all the same. Though she did make me sit in the back seat after.

But even with her promises that she'd love me no matter how many more accidents I had, I couldn’t shake the terror growing inside me. How could she love me when I’m suddenly peeing myself like an unpotty-trained toddler? She deserves to be with a man, not a baby.

I knew exactly what would happen if I didn’t get my accidents under control. And it terrified me.

She never said the word “diapers,” but I knew what she meant when she said we would have to find a “solution” if my accidents continued. As loving and supportive as she was, there was a definite tone of finality when she said it. She was serious. I’d be in diapers very soon unless something drastically changed—and fast.

Which brings me to the diaper she just finished taping on me.

As always, she knew what happened before I did. One second, I was watching the movie, the next I heard: “Babe, you had another accident, didn’t you?”

My cheeks burned so red you could have lit a cigarette off it.

She sighed, as if summoning her strength. “I know you’ve been trying so hard to stop having accidents, but it doesn't look like they’re stopping anytime soon. It’s time you start wearing diapers, babe.”

I sat there, too stunned to speak, as she went into our bedroom without another word. She returned a minute later with the most gut-wrenching armful of supplies I’ve ever seen.

I could have sworn there was a hint of a smile on her face, though admittedly, I was distracted by the thick, poofy diaper in her hand. But it wasn’t just a diaper. She also had a changing pad, wipes, powder, and rash cream.

She was prepared for this…

Thoughts raced in my mind. Why did she have everything ready? When did she even get everything?

"Down on the changing pad," she demanded, the authority in her voice unmistakable. She wasn’t asking.

My pants were off in a flash, wordlessly and unceremoniously stripped away.

She went to work putting me in a diaper with ruthless, expert efficiency. Everything she did was purposeful—this was not her first time putting a diaper on someone.

The implication terrified me.

“All done, baby!” she said proudly, “is your diaper comfortable?”

I’ve never been less comfortable in my life. And did she just call me baby?

She playfully tapped my diaper, forcing my attention to it. The diaper was much thicker than I ever expected, every crinkle booming in my mind as I nervously fidgeted.

How did it come to this?

There was no dignity in this position. Laying on my back, diaper fully exposed, with my girlfriend towering over me, kneeling between my legs and admiring her handiwork.

“Awww, don’t look so grumpy! You’re going to love your diapies, you'll see!”

Something about the way she said diaper—and the triumph in her voice—filled me with dread.

Did she want this?

All Part of the Plan, Ch. 2

This caption is part of a four-part series I'm writing with the wonderful @destinedfordiapers! You can find part one here.

"Uh-oh!" I said in a playful, sing-song voice. "Do I smell something stinky?"

My boyfriend straightened up and turned around slowly. His face was scarlet with embarrassment and frozen in an expression of horrified disbelief. He'd just finished doing his first poopy in his pants as an adult.

I'd been waiting for this to happen for days, and it had been hard not to start cheering when I'd seen that look appear on his face, the look that said I'm not going to make it this time. We'd been sitting in the living room watching TV when he'd suddenly jumped to his feet and rushed out of the room, and I'd followed behind him, urging him on like a proud parent. "You can do it, baby! Show me how a big boy uses the potty!"

He hadn't even made it halfway to the downstairs bathroom.

His bladder control had become practically non-existent thanks to the drugs I'd been slipping into his food and drink, but his bowel control had proved to be a little more stubborn. It had definitely been getting weaker over the past couple of weeks, but by watching his diet and being careful not to stray too far from a toilet, he'd managed to avoid having any messy accidents. Now, however, he'd finally had a number two potty emergency in his pants.

It was all I could do not to rush forwards and pull him into a big hug and cover his blushing face with kisses. He looked adorable standing there in the hallway, like a guilty toddler who'd run off to try and hide his dirty diaper from his Mommy! His Mommy. That's who I was, even if he didn't know it yet. I was his Mommy, sometimes strict, sometimes loving, and always in charge.

"Pants down, baby," I told him. "Time for a diapie check!"

He didn't move. He was probably still paralyzed with shame, the poor little guy, and in any case it was too early to start introducing punishments for disobedience. That could come later.

I slipped my fingers into the waistband of his jeans and pulled them down, with some difficulty, over his thick disposable. Again, it was a struggle to stop myself squealing with delight. His diaper was drooping between his legs lower than I'd ever seen it droop before, not just soaked with tinkle, but thoroughly weighed down by the big whoopsie he'd done in it.

It was so cute! It was so sexy! Seeing a grown man reduced to this gave me a thrill like nothing else. I could feel my panties getting damp, a very different kind of dampness from the sort that my boyfriend had now gotten used to waddling around in.

I patted the sagging seat of his diaper and gave him a pitying, condescending smile that I had to fight to keep from becoming a smirk of satisfaction. "Oopsie," I said. "I guess you couldn't make it after all."

My boyfriend found his voice at last. "Please, just let me go and take care of this," he said. He sounded like he was on the verge of tears. "I can handle it myself."

I shook my head. "That's not how it works, baby. I've told you before, I don't want you isolating yourself over this. I'm going to be involved with your diapers. Changing them is my job."

"But this time is different! Please babe, this is just a one-off! I must be sick or something!"

"Sweetheart, we both know you've been struggling with your bowel control lately," I said. "I understand how embarrassing it must for you to admit that you're a pants-pooper now too, but even if you turn into a big toddler who’d fit right in at nursery school, I promise I’ll still be here for you.”

His face turned as red as a tomato. “I’m not going to turn into a big toddler who’d fit in at nursery school!” he shouted.

“I didn’t say you would, honey,” I crooned to him, stroking his hair soothingly. He was a little taller than me so I had to reach up, but I was sure he didn't feel bigger in that moment. “I was just saying that if that happens, I’ll still love you just as much as I do now. I'm trying to be supportive, baby. Do you understand that?"

He nodded mutely.

“Then I don’t think raising your voice just now was a very nice thing to do, was it?" I asked.

“No..." he mumbled. "I’m sorry.”

"Good boy."

I knew he was biting back his retort. I knew he must want to tell me that I was being infantilizing, that I was only making him feel more embarrassed, that it would be better if I just ignored his diapers and let him deal with his problem with as much privacy as possible, but despite all my assurances, he was still worried I'd ditch him, and he didn't want to get into a fight and risk pushing me away.

After all, wasn't I being the perfect girlfriend? How many other women would be so understanding if their boyfriend suddenly started peeing and pooping himself like a baby? How many other women would still be willing to get intimate with him, even if that intimacy increasingly didn't go past a handjob on the changing table?

I did feel a little bit guilty at times for all the humiliation I was causing him, but seeing him on his back with his legs in the air and a wet diaper spread out beneath him always made it all worth it, and changing messy diapers was going to feel even more empowering. I couldn't wait!

"Let's get these off then, sweetums," I said, helping him take his jeans fully off his legs, leaving him in nothing but his loaded diaper below the waist. Then I took his hand and started leading him upstairs to the changing table in our bedroom, relishing every adorable crinkle made by his babyish underwear on the way. “Don't worry, baby," I said cooingly, "I'll have you out of that yucky diapie and into a nice clean one in no time!"

All Part of the Plan, Ch. 3

This caption is the third of a four-part series I'm writing with @boysrbabies! Catch up on Part One and Part Two first!

“Where do you think you’re waddling off to, mister?”

She caught me red-handed and she knew it.

“I….I…I…”

Why do I feel like some misbehaving toddler?

“You…what, baby?”

I race to think of an excuse. Any excuse. Anything but the truth.

My shorts are at my ankles before I utter a single syllable. Her hand grabs at my soggy diaper, squeezing it inquisitorially. She turns me around, peeking into the seat of my diaper.

This diaper check is no different than any other the last few weeks. She doesn’t ask to check my diaper—not since my first messy accident three weeks ago—she just does it, no matter what I’m doing. I doubt it’ll ever get any less humiliating.

What is different is the look in her eyes. Her sweet smile replaced by anger and accusation. She knows I tried to sneak off to change my diaper.

“Honey, what did I tell you about changing your own diapers? That’s my job. If I ever catch you sneaking off like this again, you’ll be very, very sorry. Do you understand me, sweetie?”

“I…yes…I’m sorry,” I mumble. It’s easier not to dwell on the endless baby names coming my way.

“Good boy,” she says before spanking my soggy diaper, firm enough to feel through my padding.

She wouldn’t actually spank me, would she?

As I waddle behind her to the changing table, silence only interrupted by the crinkling of my diaper, I can’t help but wonder how it ever got this far.

I used to be her boyfriend. Now? I hardly feel like an adult. She did just catch me trying to hide my dirty diaper like a toddler after all…

We haven’t had sex since she taped me in that first diaper. Sure, there used to be the soul-crushing handjobs on the changing table, but even those have become nonexistent.

“Baby, we need to talk. I’ve been thinking and, well, I don’t think it’s right for a diaper-dependent like you to have sex. My body is off limits to diaper boys, sweetie.”

“And it goes without saying you won’t be receiving any blowjobs, that would be…gross. Or handjobs. So from now on, your widdle guy will stay in safely wrapped in your diapee as long as I’m changing your diapers.”

Now all I can hope for is one-minute (if I’m lucky) “diapee rubbies,” the horribly condescending name she gave them. And only when I’ve been a “good boy” for a few days.

The longer I go without sex, or really intimacy of any kind—and despite what she says, diaper changes are not “intimate moments”—the more I slip into docile obedience. I feel fuzzy, lost, desperate to make her smile. I can’t explain it.

But…it’s more than that. The more control over my body I lose, the more control she gains over my life. The further I slip into diaper dependency, the more dependent I become on her—and she knows it.

It’s not like I could ever leave her. The cold, brutal truth is no woman would want to be with me. Not anymore. I’m not foolish enough to believe there’d be a second date after I load my diaper in the middle of a crowded wine bar.

I’ll do anything to keep her happy. Anything. Whatever it takes to keep her from leaving me.

Even if it means letting her treat me like a toddler to keep her happy. She won’t admit it, but she’s definitely encouraging and rewarding infantile behavior. I can tell she’s enjoying this.

Even it means surrendering my dignity, privacy, and independence. And enduring the never-ending, relentless humiliation that defines my new life.

I’m trapped. I know it. She knows it. I’ll eventually have to put my foot down and fight for my adulthood that’s slipping away piece by piece, diaper by diaper.

I’m a grown man, I don’t need my girlfriend to make sure my diaper isn’t leaking. I am perfectly capable of changing my own diapers.

“Hop up on the changing table, sweetums! Such a great job!”

But how can I stop this? What if I lose her?

“Wow, baby, you must love your diapers! You sure know how to keep a woman busy!”

What other choice do I have but to submit to this humiliating new life?

“Legs up, sweetums! Gotta get all the poopie you left for Mo—me!”

Did she almost say what I think she said?

“All fresh and clean! Doesn’t that feel so much better? No more ickies in your diapee!”

Ugh. It really does.

All Part of the Plan, Ch. 4

This is the fourth and final part of a caption series I co-wrote with @destinedfordiapers, a very sweet little boy who likes to think he’s a grown-up, even though he can’t hold his tinkles! Here are the links to parts one, two, and three.

"Don't be shy, sweetie," I said, dragging my boyfriend outside. "My friends already know all about your little diapies. There's nothing to be ashamed of."

In truth there was nothing little about the thick disposable diaper pushing his legs apart and forcing him to waddle like he'd only just learned to walk. I'd ordered them online, custom-made to look like sized-up Pampers with their white and teal coloring, although at the moment they were looking more yellow than white. They were the only thing he wore.

"I don’t want them to see!" he whined, digging his heels into the floor. "They'll make fun of me!"

"Baby, you’re a grown man who stills needs diapers," I said, rolling my eyes. “You’re going to have to get used to people making fun of you. Boys who wet and mess their pants aren’t entitled to respect. Now stop fighting me and come outside to the pool.”

“No!”

I stopped trying to pull him and he staggered back unsteadily, looking surprised. If he thought I was going to let him off though, he was mistaken. I spun him around and spanked him hard, one, two, three, four, five times on his diapered butt. Through the thickness of his puffy pants, he likely couldn’t feel a thing, but the message was the important thing. I’m the adult. You’re not.

I turned him back around to look at me and pointed my finger into his face like a strict teacher who’d lost her temper with a naughty child. “Listen here, little boy!” I shouted. I saw his eyes widen as the chatter and laughter coming from outside ceased. Everyone could hear what I was saying. “If you don’t start behaving right now, I swear I will take off your diaper, put you over my knee, and spank your bare bottom in front of all our guests!”

His eyes swam with tears and his bottom lip trembled adorably. "I'm sorry..." he said in a whisper. "P-please don't spank me."

I felt a wonderful tingling down below. My big macho man reduced to a snivelling toddler... The expression on his face wouldn't have looked out of place on a three year old!

I'd been getting more and more strict with him over the last couple of weeks. I balanced it out with lots of loving cuddles and cooing, but I wanted him to understand that I had the authority to discipline him if I felt it was necessary.

First I'd started smacking his cute little tushy more often, whenever he whined or got sassy with me. Then a few days ago I'd caught him trying to change his own diaper again. It hadn't even been a messy one! He'd only wet it a little, but he must have been desperate to take some small bit of control over his babyish problem, to take a break from lying on his back on the changing table with his legs in the air while I tickled his tummy and baby-talked to him. That was the first spanking he'd earned over my lap, but I was sure it wouldn't be the last.

I took him by the hand again. "Come along then, diaper boy."

This time he didn't resist as I led him outside, though I felt his grip on my hand tighten at the outbreak of snickering that greeted us when we stepped into the warm sunlight. One of my friends even let out a poorly muffled shriek of laughter at the sight of him toddling out in nothing but his huge, soggy diaper.

I beamed and waved at everyone, and soon the chatter started up again. There were about two dozen people, not all of whom I knew. Some friends of friends had been invited, including some hot guys lounging in deckchairs by the far side of the pool.

My eyes raked over the well toned body of a particularly handsome man. He spotted me looking, so I flashed him a smile and pretended to toy absent-mindedly with the strap of my bikini top, making my breasts jiggle temptingly.

“Who’s that?” my boyfriend asked, scowling. He was trying not to look at any of the guests, but he'd noticed my flirting.

"I don't know, sweetie," I said. "Not yet anyway. I think I'll go and chat him up."

"B-but what about me?"

"Awww, honey... You know I love you, but I still have needs.”

“But then… maybe I could… you know…”

“Ew,” I said, shutting him down at once. “No. I’m sorry baby, but the whole idea is just gross. Don’t even go there.”

He hung his head, and I could see tears forming in his eyes again.

“I know it’s hard to accept," I said firmly, "but I’m not your girlfriend anymore, sweetie. I’m your Mommy now, and it’s not appropriate for you to be pestering me for sex."

"I wasn't pestering..." he mumbled. "And you're not my... I just don't want..."

"If you're a good boy tonight, Mommy will give you diapie rubbies when you're on the changing table tomorrow," I offered, like a mother coaxing a small child with a treat. "You can make stickies in your morning diaper before I put you in a new one! How about that, sweetums?”

"M-my morning one?"

"That's right, baby."

"B-but if you give me rubbies right before you change me, that means it will be when I'm... when I'm... you know..."

"When you're poopy?"

He pouted. “Yes!”

I sighed. “I offer you a treat, and what do you do? You start fussing about how it's not good enough.” I shook my head. “Just for that, from now on all your orgasms will be in dirty diapers, never clean ones. I hope that teaches you a lesson about being grateful, sweetie."

"What?! But...!"

"Not another word out of you, little man! Why don't you be a good boy and splash around in the shallow end? Then I can go and find out what Mr Stud's name is, okay?"

There were a few seconds where he seemed to struggle with himself, and I wondered if a full blown tantrum might be coming. Then his shoulders slumped and he said, "Yes, Mommy..."

I smiled. Everything was perfect. My boyfriend, now ex-boyfriend, had been reduced to helpless diaper dependence. He'd never be able to get another girlfriend. If his stinky diapers didn't put them off, the infantile attitude I was nurturing in him certainly would. He'd stay right where he belonged, under my thumb, while I'd be free to seek adult pleasures elsewhere.

All according to plan!

Pay attention, little boy! Yes, I'm talking to you. Don't think I don't see you whispering back there. Ugh, typical male... This may only be a college tour, but I am a woman and you owe me your undivided attention when I'm speaking.

That's enough back-talk! Honestly, you boys really are just big babies, aren't you? There's no point trying to reason with you. Either you settle down now and show me some respect, or I contact the matriarchal authorities and report you for toxic masculine behaviour. You know what happens then, don't you? They'll cut your ego down to size with an incontinence procedure and it'll be bye-bye boxer shorts!

Aww, what's the matter? You've gone so pale! Don't like the idea of being stuck in diapers for the rest of your life, huh? Then after this tour is over you're coming back with me to the dorm for a bit of diaper discipline, a little taste of what your life will be like unless you drop the attitude. You can spend the night peeing and pooping your pants and count yourself lucky. Now, on with the tour! On your left...

Hired Help pt.1

Hired Help pt.2

Hired Help pt.3

Kira Ann smiled slyly to herself as she snapped a photo of her and Jack relaxing in the hot bath together. The warm water and soft candlelight created a sensual ambiance, and Kira knew the image would be perfect to taunt her husband with.

She had been enjoying her affair with Jack for months now, and her husband had been patiently waiting in his cage, knowing better than to question her actions. Kira loved the power and control she had over her husband, and she reveled in the fact that he was completely at her mercy.

With a few taps on her phone, Kira sent the photo to her husband, along with a teasing message. "Having a relaxing night with my favorite guy," she wrote, knowing that the image and words would drive her husband wild with desire and frustration.

As she settled back into the bath, Jack wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. "You're a naughty girl, Kira," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear.

Kira giggled, feeling a thrill of excitement. She loved being a hotwife, and she knew that she had the perfect setup. A loving husband who accepted her needs, and a passionate lover who fulfilled her desires.

As the night wore on, Kira and Jack enjoyed each other's company, their pleasure and intimacy heightened by the knowledge that Kira's husband was watching from afar, his desire and longing growing with every passing moment.

@hotwifelifestyle101 @hotwifeforyou69 @stillnot-her-husband @still-a-wolf

Gone Too Soon

Of all the reasons to cry like the toddler she is, this is by far the most adorable.

A normal woman her age would cry about all the things she’s lost. Most adults don’t willingly give up every freedom and privilege that comes with adulthood.

And she has lost plenty of privileges over the years.

But she’s not crying because she has the potty training of a newborn. She doesn’t mind that she’ll helplessly fill every diaper I tape on her—or that she’ll never go a day without diapers again.

She’s not crying because her wardrobe can only be described as “Daycare Chic.” She enthusiastically traded her big girl clothes for onesies, frilly tutus, and an ever-growing collection of Bluey-branded outfits.

She’s not crying because everyone treats her like the overgrown toddler she is. She’s proud of her pamper packer status.

She’s not crying because her princess parts will never play outside of her thick, soggy diapers. A wet diaper and a cuddly stuffie are all the stimulation she needs.

She’s not even crying because she’s being sent to bed at 7:30–before the sun has even set. She’s exhausted from an eventful day of diaper changes, naps, and cartoons.

No, she’s not crying for any of the reasons you’d expect from an adult without any traces of adulthood.

She loves her new life. She belongs in her thick pampers, being talked down to by her former peers.

Which brings us to this adorable little tantrum.

My little cutie lost her favorite paci!

Well, not so much lost as destroyed. Our dog decided to take the paci for a test drive.

Poor baby. Her favorite binky gone too soon.

Now she’s overwhelmed without it to soothe her. And, of course, the pile of binkies on her bed just aren’t the same!

She only wants THAT binky!

It might sound trivial to an adult, but it should be clear that she’s not an adult.

For someone like her—with the emotional range of a toddler—it might as well be the end of the world. She’s not acting, either.

This is who she is.

Right now, she’s working through some “big feelings” over losing her binky with the only tool available to her.

Crying.

Whatever “big girl” faculties she once had are long gone. Neatly packaged away in a tiny box, stored in the deepest pit of her psyche. Or maybe she lost them the same way she lost her potty training—years of disuse.

I don’t know. And it doesn’t matter in the end.

All I know is that the advice in books for parents raising toddlers is the same as how to help the overwhelmed girl in front of me.

When she calms down, we’ll work through all her big feelings together. I’ll model proper emotional regulation for her while she tells me about her big feelings.

I’ll acknowledge and validate them, too. “It’s okay to be upset, honey. It’s not easy losing the things we love, is it?”

Then I'll pick up my sobbing babygirl and rest her in my arms, rocking her gently, assuring her that Daddy will always be here for her. Nothing calms her down faster than a loving embrace in my arms.

I am her safe space, after all.

After that, I’ll do my best to distract her from this Paci-Gate scandal.

It shouldn’t be too difficult—her attention span is about as advanced as her potty control. Plus, if I know anything about her, she’ll never turn down a baba of “chokkie milk.”

She’ll be asleep before she finishes her baba.

Like clockwork.

But unlike parents raising a tantruming toddler, my little one will never grow up.

No matter how often we practice regulating our “big feelings,” the lesson will never truly sink in.

She’ll never grow out of these tantrums.

And that’s okay—I wouldn’t have it any other way.

She’s my forever Babygirl. My perpetual toddler.

I couldn’t be happier.

Photo: Daddyiwantthis

This has got to be my biggest fantasy!

"Focus on me", Dani had advised, when I had explained my anxieties about public submission; kneeling beneath her on a leash on the tube, with people looking at me and making sarcastic comments.

"You have to get used to it" she told me, when I begged her not to make me do it again. "I want people to see that you're my slave. It makes me feel powerful".

"You may look up at me" she granted and I looked up at her in awe. She did look powerful. And if I concentrated solely on her, I could block out the others.

"Focus on me" she said, "And it will become easier".

A fantasy caption by p. Pic by Cassandra Prosser (of course)

"You won't safeword will you?... you'll give me what I want?"

It’s the law

Our purpose is different, but our goal should be the same. To enable girls to lead.