This picture captures your final moment of shame, the culmination of a journey you never thought you'd take. It all began years ago when you met Daddy online and moved in with him. When he first suggested trying out diapers, you laughed in his face. Sure, you liked being his little girl, but not this little.
You still don't know how he did it, but a few weeks after that conversation, you had your first accident. Just a few spurts, nothing too bad, but enough to make you squirm. You claimed it was a freak accident, but deep down, you knew it was the start of something bigger. And before long, Daddy brought home a pack of pull-ups.You argued about it, of course. You didn't want to give in to this babyish lifestyle. But during that argument, you had another accident, and that eroded your position. So, reluctantly, Daddy cleaned you up and put you in your first pull-up.
Over the next few weeks, you felt yourself slowly losing the ability to hold your bladder. You fought it at every chance, trying never to be more than two minutes away from the toilet. But the wet pull-ups kept piling up, and one lazy Sunday afternoon, it happened. Daddy asked if you needed a change, and you claimed you didn't. But when he checked you, your pull-up was close to leaking. You had wet yourself and didn't even notice.
Since then, pants privileges in the house were revoked, and Daddy regularly checks your pull-ups. Then, a while later, you had your first messy accident. Daddy was calm and supportive as you cried on his chest, but a couple of days later, when you came home from work, you found a changing table stocked with thick ABDL diapers, your pull-ups gone forever.
You tried to hold on to some sense of control, to make it to the bathroom whenever possible, but successful attempts became few and far between. So, you finally gave in to your diapers. Well, maybe a little too much. Now, you don't notice anything happening down there until a grown-up takes you to the changing table. You are fully unpotty-trained.