Aeonis/Shiro

You'd be embarrassed, but this is hardly the first time they've used you. Lending them the convenience of your diaper when the mood strikes—it's become routine. Almost casual. Your way of tending to their needs, the same way they tend to yours.

As the fever fades—as the afterglow washes over—their panting on the nape of your neck turns to a kiss. One hand grabs at your waistband, wresting it your grasp and tugging up; the other cradles your rear, a firm heft, a fond grope. That sticky mess, cooling, clinging, cloying.

Eventually, you hear that final gasp of air, unsteady, shaken. Their palm, clutching your shoulder for support, tempers its grip like steel. You feel the heat splattering your back and slathering your bottom and settling in the valley of your soft, padded seat, oozing and trickling and tickling.

#diaper #lewd: Holding open the back waistband of your diaper for your caregiver while they stroke themselves slowly, ever so slowly to climax. After a minute teasing the peak, their pace mounts, their breathing hastens, each pump, each strobe audible as they race to the finish.

“Existence is pain. We gorge ourselves on momentary pleasures to distract from our misery, but we, all of us, are doomed to spiral inevitably unto the abyss of death.”

“That’s nice, sweetie. Legs up.”

Too old to need diapers. Too young to be trusted without them. Just the right age to still be mom and dad’s baby boy. u/////u

It's a dirty job, but someone's gotta do it!

Phew. Okay. Other than a couple stragglers, that's everything frooooom...Jan-Feb 2023 posted.

...It was a productive couple of months.

#diaper #messy: There’s something nice about casual messing. Just standing around busying yourself with your phone, or chatting with a friend, or lounging on the couch watching TV, when the urge to fill your diaper rises, then simply falls—not unlike the sudden droop in your seat.

#diaper #messy #gross: Sometimes, I don't know which is more embarrassing: getting changed into your friend's dirty diaper, or them -thanking- you for wearing it like you're doing them a favor. /)//////(\

#diaper #messy: Nothing gets my tail wagging faster than mom and dad praising me after heft-checking my diaper seat with a full palm. The soft slush of mud confirms it: I’m a very good boy.

A few good pats, a soft peck on my cheek, a pacifier slipping into my muzzle—bliss. u/////u

Addendum: Mom passing by shortly after with the laundry, stopping when she notices his posture and droop. Firm but gentle, she palms his seat, cradling and caressing, hearing that satisfying squish and soft purr. Then, like normal, she carries on with her task.

#diaper #messy: Teen fox in a hoodie and diaper, scrolling his phone while casually mushing himself. After a quick peek at his sagging seat, he goes right back to his browsing like it’s no big deal, albeit with a soft, contented streak of blush.

#diaper #lewd: Sometimes, being a good boy means giving your caregiver some muzzle time, unprompted, to help them unwind after a long day of work.

Gotta show them you appreciate them making money to buy your diapers.

Sure, maybe you smell a bit from time to time, you waddle a bit when you walk, and you're a bit quiet at the best of times, whether because you're shy or still getting over that childhood lisp. But you're a kind companion in spite of—or perhaps because of—these quirks.

Your friends go to you when they can't beat a video game. You always help with homework. They think your parents are super cool and chill. Best of all, they don't let anyone pick on you for your puffy underwear.

Far as they're concerned, you're officially one of the cool kids.

#diaper: Being the one kid in your friend group who still needs diapers, you'd expect your mates to pick on you for it. But it ends up quite the opposite, actually: you've developed a reputation for being discrete, helpful, and nonjudgmental—for being someone trustworthy to confide in.

But with a quiet snort through his nose, a calm suck of his pacifier, he's right back to playing his game like nothing happened, now with a comfortable heat caressing his bottom, compelling his tail to wag.

A little casual pottytime won't interrupt his gaming.

It's the prelude to a cacophonous symphony, of grunting and splorching. Instantly, in a single, effortless, reflexive push, his diaper expands, his seat sags under his shorts, its cushy basin filling with softest, warmest mud. Kiddo's knees quiver a bit at the intensity of it.

#diaper #messy: Big baby kit standing idle in the living room, intently focused on his Switch while his parents watch TV, a blur of noise in the background. Suddenly, mid-game, his tail ever-so-slightly rises—completely unnoticed, just like the rumble building in his belly.

Eventually, after enough motion, he stops, reaches a finger out, and touches one of dad's spikes, producing the tiniest arc of static.

Kiddo looks more than pleased with himself. "Thundershock," he announces with a rustly wag.

Cue dad's biggest, proudest grin.

#diaper: Snowy Zorua kit hopping over to his Jolteon dad, unusually cheery in his own, low-energy way. Gently, he tugs on his father's shirt. "Daddy. Look."

Once he has dad's attention, he quickly shuffles his feet along the carpet—rather difficult, given his bulky, diapered bottom.

The audacity of it—of squatting and scramming—leaves dad speechless. But as his boy toddles away, he can't help but let a bemused chuckle escape him.

If nothing else, he's happy kiddo knows where to do his business.

Pushing out the last few rumbling aftershocks into his pants, kit heaves a soft sigh, basking in the moment's bliss. Before long, though, he leans forward and crawls out of his parent's lap, down to the floor, where he waddles back off to play, a squish in his every step.

His father barely has time to process before kit starts to push unprompted—back stiffening, body trembling, tail lifting. It all comes out in a single, huge, mulchy wave, an explosion of warmth expanding in all directions, diaper splutting out overtop dad's legs.

#diaper #messy: Big baby kit waddling into the living room while dad's watching the news. Silently, he crawls up onto the couch, over to dad's lap, plopping his cushy rear down, wiggling around, settling in.

Dad, of course, is a little surprised. "Hey, kiddo! What's—"

"Potty."

"What do you call -that- move, then?" she proudly declares.

"...Mud Bomb..." Shiro mumbles in answer, eyes glazed over.

Kit, meanwhile, goes right back to playing his game like nothing ever happened, his only acknowledgement a contented purr as he sinks his full weight into the muck. Everyone else seems stunned at the brazenness of it. Mom, however, simply chuckles her tinkly little laugh.

In no time flat, he's unloaded a veritable mudslide all over his poor diaper, surging from back to front. The warmth spreads quickly through his parent's lap. The smell permeates the room just as swiftly, a telltale, earthy aroma.

"With all these Ground-type moves he's learning, you'd never guess he's got a little Ghost-type in him," mom playfully quips.

"I've never heard of a Zorua using Ground moves before..." says one of her friends, confused.

Cue puffy cheeks, scrunchy face, hikey tail, and one very grunty kiddo.