Fucked my boys throat with a strap on today, much hotter than I thought it would be. He looked so pretty drooling and whining with a mouthful of my cock. We started with the 4 inch so he can work is way up, but I couldn't help threading my hand through his hair and forcing his head down to the base once or twice...
My first real diaper punishment (a 100% true story!)
Working from home, I decided to wear diapers for the day—but after all was said and done (virtual meetings, projects), I didn’t actually change my attire till the early evening. My wife—vanilla by nature, but increasingly curious—was to come home early from work, and I picked up the nerve to remain diapered when she arrived. She came through the door and upstairs to find me as pictured, playing Super Mario 64, a game that released when I’d have been dressing for bed like this—if a few years out of diapers. A subtle personality, my wife smiled and remarked how cute I looked.
We proceeded to watch an hour-long episode of a TV show together, and by the time it was over, we both needed a bathroom break. I needed to pee for a while, but had been holding it, still a little shy about wetting my diaper in front of my wife. “Come with me!” She beckoned, as she abruptly rose to run to the bathroom. (For someone without an innate omo/ABDL kink, she has some adorable bathroom urgency habits! 🤩🥵) I followed her into the bathroom, where she immediately pulled down her pants, sat on the toilet and peed forcefully as she looked me over with a smile on her face. Witnessing her relief, a wave of desperation hit me—both to relieve aching bladder, and my growing erection inspired by the scene before me. “Not for you!” she commanded as she stood up, wiped, and flushed. She washed her hands and led me to the bedroom. “I need my vibrator.” She mentioned as she retrieved the Hitachi wand from her bedside.
Leading me back into the TV room, she settled into one of the beanbag chairs, and invited me to join her. “Pull down your pants,” She instructed, as I started to lie down beside her, “just a little bit, so that I can see your diaper.”
We began to make out as I heard her vibrator begin to buzz. She placed it against the conspicuous bulge in my diaper. “I’m actually pretty uncomfortable. May I pee first?” I asked gently. "Oh, you need to pee?" She teased in mock sympathy, turning off the vibrator. As desperate as I was for the vibration, I needed my erection to wane so that I could pee. "How badly?" She continued to taunt, now dancing her fingers across the surface of my diaper. "Badly. Really badly. Please, can you stop so that I can go?" Finally, she removed her hand and resumed kissing me. As worked up as I was, I managed to soften just enough that I started trickling into my diaper. Part shyness, part erection, it wasn't much at first—and it was a very good thing; because the angle of my aroused penis was enough to the edge of my diaper that the padding would not save me from the inevitable: I was leaking. I stopped, but it was too late. I peed right past the padding—and I knew it immediately.
Subtly, I shifted and asked, "May I pee sitting up?" Suspicious, she helped me up, noticing the wet spot on my pants. "What did you do here?" She leaned in to smell my pant leg. "Yep. You peed your pants! Stand up—all the way." I followed her order. "Pants down. All the way to your ankles." Now genuinely humiliated, I obliged. She took my hand and looked me directly in the eyes. "It's okay, honey. You can finish in your diaper. Go on." With trepidation and considerable embarrassment, I let go and flooded my diaper. "Oh wow! You really had to go." She playfully poked at my swelling padding. "That's my good boy." I was stunned to hear my [formerly?] vanilla wife talking to me like a skilled ABDL caregiver.
"I'm... finished." I sheepishly reported. At this news, the buzz returned as she lifted her vibrator to the front of my saturated diaper. Her other hand held mine tightly as she cooed, "You're going to cum in your diaper for me—and then we're walking over to the bathroom, where you're going to wash your pajama pants in the sink. You made a big mess!" I gasped with pleasure, the confluence of her kinky words with the intoxicating vibrations pushed me closer to the edge. "And since you can't seem to keep your pants clean, I think you're not going to be wearing them for the rest of the night, okay? Just your shirt and your little diaper." I moaned in agreement. "You're going to change into a fresh diaper that you're going to wear until tomorrow morning, do you understand? No toilet before bed." It was too much; I rapidly approached climax as my knees buckled. "Big boys don't wet their pants, do they?" I could barely utter my agreement. "And since you're not a big boy, what are you going to wear instead of pants?" I had passed the point of no return. "Diaper... diapers..." I stammered as I lost all control, exploding the entire evening's pent-up tension into my wet diaper. I could barely stand. "That's a good boy." My wife encouraged me as she squeezed my hand, pressing the vibrator firmly into my convulsing bulge.
In a daze of relief and soft shame, I stood before my clever, gorgeous, accomplished wife in a ruined diaper. "Well, what did I tell you to do? Go on!" I had half hoped that her punishment was just talk to arouse me—but the way she looked at me told a different story. I removed my wet pants from around my ankles, leaving the room in shame as my wife stared down my diapered butt. Dutifully, I washed my defiled pants in the sink, cleaned up, and changed into a new diaper. (And there is nothing more humiliating than a post-orgasm diaper change!) Wearing nothing but my shirt and the fresh diaper, I returned to my wife, who herself was no longer wearing pants—or underwear. The vibrator was now buzzing between her legs as she beckoned me with her finger. "Now it's my turn—and you're going to use your mouth."
my legs and arms were shaking as they supported me, keeping my body up and exposed to the assault of the toy. the shakiness was only partly due to exhaustion - it was mostly caused by the agony of being kept on edge for what felt like eternity. a small eternity of watching my drool drip onto the floor as my abs kept flexing uselessly and my pussy kept clenching around nothing and the conversation above me kept going like nothing is happening.
it was only after i felt the heavy impact of my hip hitting the floor that i realized that my limbs gave out. the sudden absense of stimulation felt like blissful silence in my body.
then my ribs burned from a mean kick.
"lazy fucking mutt."
i heard a chuckle as i curled up on the rug. then i heard the squeak of the couch and muffled footsteps. a hand caressed the side of my face. i opened my eyes timidly.
"you are a lazy puppy, aren't you?"
her words were soft. always so soft. then i felt a sudden pressure on my neck - my collar being pulled up, choking me, making me panic for just a second-
you pulled me up to my knees by the collar in a fraction of a second and slapped sharply the spot where she just caressed.
"answer, mutt."
tears rolled down my cheeks as i whined, looking up at you and biting down on the bone gag uselessly. your face expression sat precisely between anger and satisfaction. like nothing would set you off harder than me stepping out of line and like you would want nothing more in that moment. i looked straight into your eyes, surrendering myself to your cruelty.
your second slap was harder, meaner. it almost made me lose my balance. then arms wrapped gently around my shoulders.
"remember how you answer, puppy?"
i looked at the fuzzy mittens concealing my hands. i moved my fingers inside. then i moved my wrists, steping with my fuzzy paws.
"rr-arf!.."
i heard you sneer from above me before you kicked me again, half-heartedly this time. she petted my back comfortingly.
"what a good little puppy! so good when you're not slacking, hmm?"
when i looked up her, her eyes were almost gentle. there was a tiny glint in there, a spark of something else, something...
"she can be good when she's not trying to think. fucking brainless dog."
i looked at her pleadingly, seeking refuge from your cruel words. she smiled a perfectly soft smile.
"well, aren't you? aren't you a brainless little pup?"
i whined, my vision blurring. she petted my forehead.
"nothing but air in there, isn't that right?"
i saw the foggy shape of her rise, felt her hands coming up to the back of my head and unclasping the gag.
"not gonna be empty for long, sweet puppy."
the head of her cock touched my lips. i kissed it without thinking. then i felt your hand on my hip, the other pressing down onto my back, forcing it into an arch, my holes slowly getting exposed.
"open up, our dumb little pup."
her cock slid into my throat, finally silencing my head.
🎮 big brother cg who teaches his kiddo how to play on the playstation for the first time
🎮 big brother cg who teases you when the character you play dies
🎮 big brother cg who kisses your cheek when you pout because you're losing
🎮 big brother cg who let you win so you can enjoy the game a bit more and because he love to see his kiddo happy and smiling
🎮 big brother cg who, at first, didn't let you play horror games, but you kept asking, and he couldn’t say no to his kiddo
🎮 big brother cg who kills all the monsters while you're giggling and trying to find some items and building your inventory
🎮 big brother cg who hugs you tight when you're a bit scared, and lets you joke about how the monsters are losers and can't hurt you because he's here to protect his kiddo
…make me eat with my hands whilst you‘ve cut my noodles before or put me in mittens and let me eat just with a tiny spoon and make a mess all over myself
I don’t want to wear diapers…
…take me for a walk or go shopping without’em, make sure I drank a lot before or give me a suppository or a small glycerin enema, just to wet or mess myself and admit that I should’ve worn them
I don’t want to be called small or a baby…
…make me wear my cutest little outfit with triple diapers underneath, pacifier in my mouth and make me “stand my grounds” to your grownup friends that I’m “big” and “an adult”, just so I need to admit that obviously no one sees me as such
After that I come to you crying, you take me in your arms to comfort me. With a satisfied smirk you whisper that I should have been a good little and listened what you’ve told me BEFORE 😈
"Oh? Does my baby like that?" Mommy cooed around my moans as she slowly moved the vibrator in small circles. She paused the wand at one particular spot and held it there just long enough for my breath to catch followed by another moan sneaking it's way past my traitorous lips.
"I think she does! Oh yes she does! My little one *loves* her buzzy time!" Mommy made the vibrator wander along the front of my diaper, carefully *avoiding* that spot this time. I pushed my hips into the vibrator, trying to reposition it.
She shifted her body slightly, getting one arm around my waist while the other continued to tease me with the promise of sweet vibrations if I could only make her hit ... the right ... spot!
"But I wonder, which does she like more? Her buzzy wand..." Mommy finally let the wand land on that spot again and pushed my hips down into the bed. "Or her *diapers*". At that moment, she grabbed a fistful of my diapered bottom and pushed me up into the vibrator, trapping my body between her kneading hand in the back and the wonderful vibrations in front.
"Fuuuuuuuuuuck" I moaned as the vibrations seemed to tear through my body, reach her other hand, and reverberate through the rest of me. I reveled for that moment as I felt climax approaching.
Then I heard a click and the vibrator stopped.
"Oh no. We don't use that language in this house. Guess we're done for now".
"Noooooo..." I whined, desperate for that release. Just a few more seconds were all I needed. Surely she wouldn't be so cruel!
But looking up into her deep violet eyes, seeing the smirk hiding at the corners of her lips, I knew I was fucked. She could easily be that cruel. I felt a shiver run through me in anticipation of what was to come.
"I don't know..." She mused, while her left hand continued to cup and squeeze my diapered butt. A diaper that was now soggy. When had that happened? "That was an awfully *naughty* word for such a little one to say. And naughty Little ones don't get to have fun things like time with their buzzy wands."
My body tensed as I sensed a trap. "But!" She exclaimed "maybe my little baby didn't know what she was saying. Maybe she'd be willing to give up saying such naughty words if it means getting to finish."
Her eyes locked with mine as I felt the Contract hover, like an open question. I could always say no; a Contract couldn't be entered unwillingly, after all. Last time, I had bartered away "my ability to use the potty when diapered" when she discovered I was a "little baby whose panties were all wet" after she'd been toying with me for the better part of an hour.
Before that, I had been moaning her name over and over while she edged me closer and closer to orgasm but never reaching it. That time, I traded her the ability to "call her anything other than 'Mommy' when turned on". Which beat the alternative she had offered: "Needing a pacifier in my mouth to orgasm".
And just like those other times, I knew this was a mistake. But my rational mind wasn't in the driver's seat. She wanted me not to cuss? Fine. I didn't need to be able to say "Fuck". I could scream incoherent nonsense for all I cared. I needed to cum. Now.
"Yes" I whispered in agreement and felt the Contract click into place. There was a moment of disorientation, but it subsided as quickly as it had arrived, leaving behind a sense of .... something missing. Not a gaping hole, but noticeable. Like the last two times, it felt like there was a forgotten thought hovering just out of reach.
Mommy wasted no time bringing back the vibrations and thrusting my body into the vibrator.
"Ohhhhh Fuuuuuuuudge" I moaned as she angled the vibrator more directly, hitting the right spot over and over. "Frick, it feels so good, Mommy!" My brow furrowed. Had I just said ....
Mommy turned the vibrator up and the thoughts evaporated. "Oh gosh! I just want to make cummies, Mommy!" I nearly yelled, before my cheeks heated, realizing the words that had just come out of my mouth. "Sorry, Mommy. I meant 'cummies'. No, not cummies, 'cummies!' Gosh darn it, I'm trying to say 'cummies'! Frick!"
Mommy looked down at me with a predatory glee. "Well what kind of Mommy would I be if I denied my little one her 'cummies'?" she cooed as she puppetted my body, gyrating my hips into the still humming vibrator. "Nooooooooo!" I cried as I felt the climax approaching. "Fudge! I didn't mean this, Mommy! Fudge! Fuuuuuuudge!" I tried to resist the oncoming wave, but my body had other plans.
Orgasm finally took me, the cresting wave pouring through my body. I felt another warmth pooling beneath me as my back arched and my body crashed back down to the bed over and over. As the spasms turns to shudders, Mommy leaned over and kissed my forehead. When she pulled back, there was an orange glowing thread trailing from her lips. I could feel a faint tugging followed by a *snap* in my mind as she pulled the thread free. She wrapped it around her finger next to a pair of identical strands, one in azure and one in violet.
"Oh you deliciousy desperate little thing" Mommy said contentedly, staring at her hand and eliciting tiny whines from me as she patted the front of my soggy diaper. She turned back from admiring her collection of my Fragments to look down at me with that insatiable hunger of hers. "Mommy cannot wait to see what you're willing to part with next".
I love the idea of adopting a couple and turning them into obedient little twin sibling but there's also something so beautiful about the idea that one of them might not actually want this.
She has to watch her girlfriend get doted on and cared for with love that only a mother could offer her child knowing that they fought back and are locked into a straight jacket with a collar chained to the corner because she didn't want to sit in her highchair before her morning change.
She gets to struggle against a cage under her diaper while she watches her former girlfriend cum time and time again on the changing table before getting taped back into a fresh clean diaper.
Having her face shoved against the outside of her sisters messy diaper because her sister behaved so nicely that she deserves a reward and she chose the "Adult time with sister" option. Not that they'd ever actually have adult time, this is as close as they'd ever get.
Maybe eventually she'd behave well enough to get a reward herself, but no matter how well behaved she is, her reward will always be something she can't stand. Until she finally starts to enjoy the depravity, then it's onto the next creative way to make her squirm.
I managed to save some old posts through discord embeds and an old blog backup. This one gets a new ending because the embed is unfortunately not long enough to give it the whole thing.
I squirm from my seat in the playpen, the crinkling from beneath me causing me to immediately blush. I'm not supposed to be here, reduced from a 27-year-old man to some sort of overgrown toddler.
I should be sitting on the couch with Lydia kneeling on the floor, blushing as she sucks me off in that slutty cheerleading outfit she absolutely hates.
Instead, I'm sucking on a binky, watching the clock, hoping that Lydia decides she's had enough fun with me before I lose the battle with my bladder that feels full to bursting.
I should never made that bet.
I should have known better.
Fucking Patriots screwed me again.
"There's my little football star," an all-too-familiar, sickly sweet voice coos as my wife walks into the room, "Are you enjoying your day as Mama's special little man?"
I scowl up at her, frustration and embarrassment boiling in my belly as she approaches.
"Uh oh!" She coos as she catches my expression, "Is someone feeling like a wittle grumpy goose?"
I groan and roll my eyes at the childish treatment, absolutely hating being treated like a child.
"Hm," Sheila says, placing a thoughtful finger to her lip, "Are you cranky because you need a change?"
In a moment, her hand is between my legs, squeezing and massaging the crinkly padding between my legs.
She shakes her head in disappointment.
"No? In fact," I feel a carefully manicured finger slip under the leg band of the diaper, "You're bone dry! No, no, no! That won't do! You must be dehydrated! Give me a minute, big guy, and Mama will get you all fixed up!"
I whimper as my wife walks off and my bladder twinges.
Wearing the diaper for losing a stupid bet is one thing, but, wetting it?
I shudder.
It doesn't take long before my wife is back, a large bottle of what appears to be juice in her hand.
She smiles as she unlatches the gate to my pen and gently pats her thigh.
"Come on, big boy! Crawl to Mama! I've got some delicious num-nums for you!"
In a moment she stepping back, slowly backing away until she reaches the couch and sits down.
Sighing, resigned to my fate, I do as I'm instructed. I shift to all fours and crawl, diapered ass swaying behind me, to where my wife sits waiting.
"Good baby," she coos at me as she reaches down and helps me crawl into her lap, "Such an obedient little loser! Yes you are!"
I whimper at her sing-song at the reminder of why I'm in this position as she settles my head on her thighs. As I blush, looking up past her beautiful breasts to her grinning face, for a moment, I can't help but think this whole situation isn't too bad.
That thought is short lived, though, as Sheila reaches over and squeezes the bulge involuntarily forming in my diaper.
"Oh," she giggles, "Does my little football know-it-all actually like his little didi's? Just you wait until their wet! I hear that's when most silly little things like you learn to love them the most."
I kick my legs, blush, and moan as her hand works its way back up my body to the ring of the binky in my mouth, before she plucks it from between my lips.
"Now," she coos, "Let's get you fed."
In a moment, the rubber nipple of the pacifier is replaced by the nipple of the bottle. A single drop of sweet juice drips from the tip of it and hits the back of my tongue.
I make eye contact with my wife and shake my head no.
My bladder aches as I silently plead with her for some relief to this humiliation.
"No?" She hums softly, looking down at me with a raised eyebrow, "Someone wants to welch on his bet? He never wants to see this in that cute little cheerleader outfit he loves?"
I blush and avert my eyes in shame.
As humiliating as this is, am I really willing to give up any chance of retribution to avoid this?
I feel my cock press against the dry padding of my diaper again as I think of Sheila looking up at me with her mouth full, wearing an embarrassing outfit, instead of the other way around.
I shake my head, 'No,' again.
"That's what I thought," my wife clicks, "Now drink."
I do as I'm told.
Slowly, I start to suckle the sweet liquid out of the small hole in the nipple of the bottle.
Sheila brushes my hair back, cooing at me like an actual infant, while a drink.
"Such a good boy, such a good little boy," she purrs.
My bladder screams.
I know I'm on the verge of losing control.
I know there is no escaping my fate.
I close my eyes, slow my suckling, and give in.
HHHHHIIIIIIIIIISSSSS
The sound of urine splashing against the filling of my diaper announces my defeat.
Sheila grins.
"Oh! Looky here! Is my big, strong husband making tinkles in his didi?"
Her hand is back on my crotch in a moment, pressing the warm, swelling, sogging padding into me.
"Good boy! Doesn't that feel much better?"
I can't make eye contact with her as she begins to massage my growing member through my infantile pants.
"Oh, it definitely does! At least your no-no bits say so!"
I whimper into the nipple of my bottle, the juice nearly drained from it.
"You know what would make it feel better? I bet if you got to nurse a little straight from the tap? What do you think, little man?"
I don't have time to even comprehend what is happening before my wife is using her free hand to pull out a breast and replacing the bottle in my mouth with her beautiful, round areola.
Suddenly, I'm overwhelmed with sensations of pleasure, embarrassment, and submission all day once.
It takes what feels like seconds until I am bucking my hips into my wife's palm, squirting a sticky load into my already soaked diaper.
I pant around my wife's breast as the world slows down and the reality of what I've just done washed over me.
"Good boy," Sheila coos, brushing her fingers through my hair as I nurse on her chest like an infant, "I think you and I are going to have lots of fun for the rest of the day. This was the best bet I've ever made."
She kisses my forehead.
I close my eyes and let regret wash over me like the waives of the ocean.
No "ifs," no "ands," no "buts." This isn’t a negotiation. This isn’t a phase. This is your reality now, and the sooner you accept it, the easier it will be for both of us. You don’t get to argue, to bargain, or to pretend this is temporary. It isn’t. You’re here because you need to be here. Because you’ve proven, time and time again, that you can’t be trusted to manage even the simplest parts of your own life.
So let’s start with the basics.
You no longer wear “grown-up” underwear. Those days are over. No more briefs, no more boxers, no more pretending you’re something you’re not. From now on, your bottom is wrapped in thick, crinkly diapers, diapers that will hold everything you can’t. And you will fill them. You’ll wet them when you’re nervous, when you’re excited, when you’re just sitting there, squirming in your seat because you’ve forgotten how to do anything else. You’ll mess them when you’re overwhelmed, when you’re tired, when you’ve had too much to eat and your body decides for you. And you won’t ask. You won’t dare to ask. Because good boys don’t ask. Good boys let their caregivers handle it.
And you? You’re not a good boy yet. But you will be.
You are not trusted to manage your bathroom needs. That’s why you’re in diapers. That’s why, when you shift in your seat, when you clench your thighs together, when you whimper because you feel it coming and you know you can’t stop it, no one will rush to help you. You’ll sit there, your face burning, your diaper swelling, and you’ll learn. You’ll learn that resistance is useless. That your body doesn’t belong to you anymore. It belongs to us. To the people who know what’s best for you.
You are not trusted to regulate your emotions, either. When you pout, when you cross your arms and try to look defiant, when you stomp your foot like a child throwing a tantrum, we’ll just laugh. Because that’s what you are. A child. A little boy who doesn’t know how to behave, who needs firm hands to guide him, to remind him of his place. And when you cry? Oh, you’ll cry. You’ll cry when you’re frustrated, when you’re embarrassed, when you realize just how small you’ve become. But no one will comfort you. Not the way you want. Instead, you’ll get a pacifier pressed between your lips, a bottle shoved into your hands, a firm voice telling you to settle down. And you will. Because you have no other choice.
You function best when someone else is fully in control. That’s the truth you’ve been running from. You like it when decisions are made for you. When you don’t have to think, to worry, to try. When you can just… let go. And that’s exactly what you’re going to do here. You’ll let go of your pride, your dignity, your silly little delusions of independence. You’ll let us dress you, feed you, clean you up when you’ve made a mess of yourself. You’ll let us decide when you eat, when you nap, when you’re allowed to speak. And you’ll be better for it. Happier. Because deep down, you’ve always known this is what you needed. Someone to take the reins. Someone to remind you, every single day, that you’re not in charge anymore.
You will be changed, fed, dressed, and quieted as needed. Not as requested. Not when you beg. Not when you think you’ve earned it. When we decide it’s time. When we say you’ve been good enough, or when we simply feel like it. You’ll lie on the changing table, your legs kicking uselessly as we wipe you clean, as we powder your skin, as we slide a fresh diaper beneath you and tape it snugly around your waist. And you’ll stay still. You’ll take it. Because that’s what good boys do.
And humiliation? Oh, sweet, naive thing. Humiliation isn’t a punishment here. It’s a reminder. A reminder of who you are. Of why you’re wrapped in plastic and tape, why you’re drinking from a sippy cup, why you’re sitting in a high chair while the world moves on without you. It’s a reminder that you don’t get to be ashamed. You don’t get to be anything but what we say you are. And what we say you are is this: a baby. A little boy who needs to be taken care of. Who wants to be taken care of, even if he won’t admit it yet.
So here’s your first lesson: Stop fighting it.
The diaper between your legs isn’t going anywhere. The bottle in your hands isn’t a suggestion. The way the other boys look at you, the way the caregivers smile when you squirm, the way your own body betrays you again and again, none of it is an accident. It’s design. And you? You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.
Girls need to be spanked until they cry all their big girl thoughts out, put in diapers so thick they can't walk, and tied down in their crib so that they don't have to. Sorry I do make the rules and this is what I've decided. If you fuss then I can add more things to that list.
"my, my, you were able to make yourself cum so quickly just by humping your diaper against your pillow? clearly you love them so much that it would be a terrible disservice to take them from you, wouldn't it?~"
Take away their adult privileges when they get home.
Restrict screen time
Make them ask for food, littles need help to get those things!
Make them change into a diaper, pull-ups or training pants to enforce the fact that they are little and need this just in case. You should probably help them into their little gear too tops!
Ask them if they need to go to the bathroom periodically, especially before car ride or when out in public, make them go potty even when they say they’re fine. Do they really know? Can you really trust a littles judgement? :P
Stop them when they try to do things for their selves and remind them just how small they are.
Run their bath for them, even if they don’t want to have a bath! You’re their caregiver, you take care of them and make these decisions for them!
Give a list of chores to do while you’re away, punish/ground them if they don’t follow through.
If they’ve been on the computer for too long stop them. They’re too little to spend that much time on a computer, coloring in a coloring book is more appropriate for somebody their age.
Encourage them when being little, remind them that it is okay to be little around you ♡
Be sincere in your interest when they are being little, playing, coloring etc.
Understand that your little is not a slave and isn’t going to be as easily told to do things like a slave might. Expect some resistance at times they are the child in this, they do pout and fuss.
You are their caregiver, so care for them as if they were a child, and make sure that they know that they are the child here. That’s the whole point of a power exchange relationship in this context.
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