DadIsWriting

I'm an experienced caregiver who also loves writing. I will be sharing my ABDL writings here. | MDNI | Characters are 18 or older. | DM for custom stories

[DadIsWriting @DadIsWriting_]

You say it almost politely, as if good manners could still save you. “Daddy… I think I need the potty.” I look into your eyes. My voice drops to the same tone I use when I choose what you wear… and when you sleep. “You don’t need the potty.” I feel your weight shifting side to side over my thighs. The thick padding that’s wrapping your hips crinkles as you clench.
I already know what’s coming.
[1/4]

[DadIsWriting @DadIsWriting_]

I find her on the floor beside the crib, already half gone. Eyes half-closed, cheek against the rail, the onesie doing its best to hold her thick diaper. When I reach down she lifts her head just enough, looks up at me, and says, soft and small, “eepy.” That is all it takes.
I gather her up; her weight settles into my arms, limbs loose, breath slow against my neck. I lower her onto the mattress and rub the bulk between her thighs. “It’s ok, darling,” I say, turning the mobile on. “Daddy will stay until your safely asleep.”
Soft light moves across the sheet. I tuck the blanket snug. Then I rest my palm against her cheek and begin to stroke, thumb moving in a gentle line along the bone. She turns into it, mouth open, and latches onto the thumb as if she has been waiting. The suckling is hungry and thoughtless , her breath evening out while the animals on the mobile go round and round.

[DadIsWriting @DadIsWriting_]

If you get wetter thinking about a big, sturdy Daddy deciding you never get to choose again, you are already His. You can squirm and whisper that you’re still grown.
It does not matter.
Once the tapes seal and the crinkle starts, you will, inevitably, flood. 💦

[DadIsWriting @DadIsWriting_]

Her eloquent reply brings smiles and nods from the small circle gathered around her. The long blue dress moves cleanly under the sweater as she continues; beneath both, the pull-up sits thin enough that she can almost call it underwear. For the length of the next sentence she believes it. She believes she has left the accidents behind. The man with a black mustache beside her turns and asks whether she knows the artist personally. She does. The room treats her as reliable. She lets the treatment stand.

[1/2]

[DadIsWriting @DadIsWriting_]

@swtbabieangel @sexoconka @salvameradio Thank you!

[DadIsWriting @DadIsWriting_]

¡Gracias a @sexoconka por la invitación a @salvameradio para hablar sobre ser Daddy en el mundo ABDL!

[DadIsWriting @DadIsWriting_]

Under the talk, the fear remains: one full accident and the thin layer fails twice: once in the fabric, once in the face she has been keeping steady for them. And back, again, to diapers. The permission to stand here as reliable is withdrawn the moment a drop—or many—proves it was never earned. She keeps her movements even. She keeps the tone steady. She laughs at what the man with the black mustache just said. The joy is real. The warmth that follows is not a choice. It doesn't stop while her mouth is still open, the smile unfinished.

#ABDL

[DadIsWriting @DadIsWriting_]

Her eloquent reply brings smiles and nods from the small circle gathered around her. The long blue dress moves cleanly under the sweater as she continues; beneath both, the pull-up sits thin enough that she can almost call it underwear. For the length of the next sentence she believes it. She believes she has left the accidents behind. The man with a black mustache beside her turns and asks whether she knows the artist personally. She does. The room treats her as reliable. She lets the treatment stand.

[1/2]

[DadIsWriting @DadIsWriting_]

@crotch96 私もベビーカーに乗っていると思いました

[DadIsWriting @DadIsWriting_]

I find her on the floor beside the crib, already half gone. Eyes half-closed, cheek against the rail, the onesie doing its best to hold her thick diaper. When I reach down she lifts her head just enough, looks up at me, and says, soft and small, “eepy.” That is all it takes.
I gather her up; her weight settles into my arms, limbs loose, breath slow against my neck. I lower her onto the mattress and rub the bulk between her thighs. “It’s ok, darling,” I say, turning the mobile on. “Daddy will stay until your safely asleep.”
Soft light moves across the sheet. I tuck the blanket snug. Then I rest my palm against her cheek and begin to stroke, thumb moving in a gentle line along the bone. She turns into it, mouth open, and latches onto the thumb as if she has been waiting. The suckling is hungry and thoughtless , her breath evening out while the animals on the mobile go round and round.

[AronX @DDHusban]

What if I told you spanking is not a kink. It's just how you keep the peace in a normal marriage.

[DadIsWriting @DadIsWriting_]

You’re already on your back, legs bent and spread, brown leg warmers framing the thick white diaper still fastened. The wand drills into the wettest part of the padding. Its vibrations travel toward your clit, trembling there like an electric tongue. Your hips twitch involuntarily, and the wand’s relentless pulses continue. You press it more firmly before you can say no.
Warmth spreads through your crotch as urine slowly releases into the diaper. The tapes hold, hold. Your mouth opens in a sound that’s half laugh, half the small noise of resistance giving way. Warmth envelops you. You pull up your top so the air can touch your skin. The smile that comes marks the end of the adult decision: you wet on purpose, simply for the pleasure of the dampness. The good girl does what her Daddy encourages. You could keep going like that all day.

[DadIsWriting @DadIsWriting_]

You’re already on your back, legs bent and spread, brown leg warmers framing the thick white diaper still fastened. The wand drills into the wettest part of the padding. Its vibrations travel toward your clit, trembling there like an electric tongue. Your hips twitch involuntarily, and the wand’s relentless pulses continue. You press it more firmly before you can say no.
Warmth spreads through your crotch as urine slowly releases into the diaper. The tapes hold, hold. Your mouth opens in a sound that’s half laugh, half the small noise of resistance giving way. Warmth envelops you. You pull up your top so the air can touch your skin. The smile that comes marks the end of the adult decision: you wet on purpose, simply for the pleasure of the dampness. The good girl does what her Daddy encourages. You could keep going like that all day.

[DadIsWriting @DadIsWriting_]

The cat seat is already buckled around you when he opens the back door. The dress is soft over the thick diaper; the padding keeps your knees apart even while you sit. He climbs into the front and glances at you in the mirror.

“Remember when you drove yourself everywhere?” he asks, quiet.

He reaches back and offers the pacifier. You open for it without speaking. He watches you take it, then turns the key.

“This is how you’ll sit from now on. Back seat, bulk locked, pacifier in. If anyone looks in you keep your eyes down. Daddy handles the rest.”

The car rolls forward. One of your hands rests on the front of the diaper while you suck. The steering wheel stays empty. You stay where you were put. 🍼

[DadIsWriting @DadIsWriting_]

The heat and the pressure build exactly where the diaper is thickest, right against the swollen place already trapped inside, the bulk itself removing any need for her to decide how hard or how long. Her hips lock onto the pillow and take its rhythm; no veto remains. A smile breaks across a mouth already open. She rocks harder, fucking the pillow through the bulk. The plastic crinkles and the sheets answer every thrust. Under the sweat, the woman who used to decide when and how is simply the one whose hips keep moving until the pillow says she is done.
[3/3]

[DadIsWriting @DadIsWriting_]

She is on her knees, the diaper already heavy and soaked between her thighs, the blue tapes pulled tight across her hips until the plastic shell is taut over the swollen bulk. The pillow sits under her. She settles her weight, and the first slow rock pulls a low, involuntary sound from her throat. Her hands plant on the mattress.
[1/3]

[DadIsWriting @DadIsWriting_]

The soaked mass forces her stance wider than any choice she still possesses, plastic wedging into the insides of her thighs and the sharp chemical scent of the shell rising with the heat. Every grind presses the cloudy softness and the thick padding directly against her pussy, holding her folds open and rubbing, rubbing. The joke about being a “pillow princess” is the last adult sentence she is able to think before her mind melts into babbles.
[2/3]

[DadIsWriting @DadIsWriting_]

You said the back seat feels safer.
So the car is parked, windows already fogging, and you’re on your back with the tapes open.
The old diaper is peeled away, and the wipe is warm against you as someone walks by outside.
Daddy’s body stays between you and the world.
“Stay still,” he says, low.
You leak the second the wipe moves.
He doesn’t flinch. He just cleans again, slower, then shows you the thicker one already waiting on the seat.
[1/2]

[DadIsWriting @DadIsWriting_]

@swtbabieangel Aww, thanks, Angel 💙

[DadIsWriting @DadIsWriting_]

Friends are already taking off their coats when you are still in the large bassinet in the middle of the living room, the thick nighttime diaper rustling every time you shift, pacifier strap locked, mittens clipped so your hands stay safe. One of them steps closer, smiling, and I hand him the soft rattle from the side table.
[1/3]

[DadIsWriting @DadIsWriting_]

Mortifying, isn’t it? You didn’t even notice when you began wetting yourself.
He might simply set the rattle down and step back. Or he might keep waving it, closer now, while the front of the diaper darkens under everyone’s eyes and I do not tell him to stop.
[3/3]

#ABDL

[DadIsWriting @DadIsWriting_]

He leans over the edge and waves it slowly above your face the way I told him—“just to entertain her.” You cannot stop the small, wet sound that leaks around the pacifier when the toy dips low enough for your eyes to track it, nor the way the padding crinkles louder as your hips lift.
[2/3]