how about just being a straight up punching bag ???
We exist to serve all of a mans needs, if that means letting them release their anger too, then so be it. Did you have a bad day? Take it out on me. Unhappy about anything? Take it out on me. Someone cut you off? Take it out on me. Did i overcook your dinner? Hit me until i learn how to do it right.
Wet suckles drift from your lips as warm, spiced milk trickles into your mouth.
An idyllic scene if there ever was one, with Daddy’s arm supporting your head, your body resting across his lap, as he hold's his babygirl’s nighttime baba.
Precious few things rival the intimate, nurturing serenity of being wrapped in Daddy’s warm embrace and meeting his reassuring, loving gaze.
When the world and its problems melt away, leaving only the innocence and adoration of Daddy and his little.
But the thoughts bubbling in your mind betray the innocence of a woman in a onesie and diaper, suckling peacefully on a baba.
Your eyes convey what your body craves. There was a time when your “let’s take this to the bedroom” look never failed—but that was years ago.
Back when you had a guest room, not a nursery. When your drawers were filled with sexy lace panties, not thick, thirsty diapers.
When Daddy was your husband.
If Daddy recognized the look, he didn’t show it. His warm, tender smile remained stubbornly steadfast.
Just as you were about to give up and resign yourself to your bottle of milk, Daddy guides your hands to your bottle for you to hold.
His hand drifts down your body, tracing your curves until it rests on your diaper.
The corners of Daddy’s mouth twist with the suggestion of mischief in response to your shiver of anticipation.
It didn’t matter that Daddy’s hand merely rested motionless on your diaper. Just the pressure of his hand, so tantalizingly close to your princess parts, was enough to fog your brain with jolts of electric pleasure.
Your suckling loses its rhythm as you imagined the pleasure Daddy’s hand could provide.
By the time his hand reached for your onesie snaps, even your breathing became scattered and disorganized.
Your soft, gasping moan reflects the truth and triumph of the years of denial as his hand slid into your diaper.
His fingers slowly, meticulously danced on the edges of your princess parts, teasing and taunting with the promise of more. You moan involuntarily whenever his fingers seem determined to find your throbbing button, only to retreat at the last second.
You squealed the moment his finger delicately brushed your throbbing lips, glistening with your eagerness.
But just as suddenly as it started, Daddy’s hand pulls away, leaving you whimpering and deflated with another unfulfilled disappointment. He reached over and grabbed your buzzy wand.
Doing your best to hide your disappointment, you flash Daddy your sappiest puppy dog eyes. With any luck, Daddy will use his fingers. Or better yet, your old vibrator.
Anything but the same magic wand on top of your diaper.
It’s been so long since anyone played with your princess parts without a soggy diaper in between.
So very long.
You deflate like a popped balloon when Daddy lifted you off his lap—until you noticed the devious grin etched on his face. He guides your hand to his belt.
“These things don’t unbuckle themselves, you know.”
He didn’t need to tell you twice.
You practically ripped his belt off, as if Daddy might change his mind if you waste any time.
“Baby, have you already forgot how to be a big girl? Why are my pants still on? Or maybe you prefer the wand to Daddy now, is that it?’
“Wha-?! Daddy no! I want you, please!” you bluster in terror at the possibility of losing the moment with Daddy.
Your knees nearly buckle when you see proof of Daddy’s excitement for the first time in two years.
Without taking your eyes off Daddy, you toss his pants and greedily lunge at him, determined to show him how grateful you are.
Completely forgetting about the swollen diaper between your legs.
Daddy laughs at your clumsy, squishy thrusts against him.
“Did you forget you’re a diaper girl, silly?”
Embarrassed and consumed by lusty desire, you reach for your diaper tabs. Daddy’s hand stops you.
“No, your diaper stays on, babygirl.”
“Bu-but…”
Daddy reaches down and pushes your diaper to the side.
“You need to remember who you are.”
He pulls you towards him, your body trembling in anticipation. The culmination of countless nights imagining this very moment.
Every millisecond feels like an eternity as you lower yourself down to Daddy, needing him inside of you.
A booming, animalistic scream interrupts the silence the moment Daddy’s head splits your eager lips.
Nothing could have prepared you for the sheer, mind-shattering ecstasy rippling through your body.
As Daddy slid himself deeper and deeper inside you, you lost yourself to your feral, carnal hunger, writhing and screaming in an uncontrollable, untamed frenzy.
After two long years without Daddy, it almost hurt to have him inside you, though for some reason that only made you hungrier for more.
Every sensation, every wince, every moan was proof of Daddy’s presence.
By the time you slid all the way down, with every inch of Daddy inside you, there was no more delaying the inevitable. You lost all sense of being and identity. Time and space.
The unbearable, erotic tension accumulated from years of deferred orgasms suddenly explodes out of you in a rush of pure, orgasmic bliss. Waves of warm, tingly energy ripple through your body.
Your world is intense—unfathomable—pleasure.
There is only you and Daddy, bonded by bliss. Though the ecstasy is already starting to recede.
Once you catch your breath, your eyes meet Daddy’s, pride etched in his eyes. You wiggle around, still feeling him inside of you.
“D-did you ma-make cummies too, Daddy?”
He giggles at the question. “No, babygirl, I didn’t even know we started. Most women don’t cum in 5 seconds—I don’t know whether I should be proud or disappointed.”
“O-oh…w-well, I ummm…s-sorry…”
“Don’t be, babygirl. You’re still gonna show me how thankful you are to have Daddy inside of you! So go on, show me!”
“Okay, Daddy!”
You slide up Daddy, immediately overwhelmed by the intense overstimulation of the post-orgasm bliss. A whimper accidentally escapes your lips—the opposite of what you wanted.
As overstimulated as you were, you knew this was for Daddy. It wasn’t his fault you made cummies so fast!
Gritting your teeth, you gyrated your hips the way you used to—it was like riding a bike. As your confidence grew, you began to enjoy the dull pain from your overstimulation.
You were so wet there was almost no friction, making it even easier to bounce on Daddy.
And then Daddy moans—the greatest gift he could ever give you.
Faster and faster you gyrate, intoxicated by the growing tension in Daddy’s body, seeing the indelible signs of an orgasm building in Daddy’s eyes.
A tremor ripples through Daddy’s body—you know he was close. But so were you. Your pain is pleasure. His pleasure is your pleasure.
Everything was pleasure.
Finally, Daddy’s hands wrap you in a deep embrace, pulling you deeper into him, grunting in undeniable ecstasy.
The moment his hands pulled you in and you felt the warmth of his seed deep inside you, you screamed with your second, even stronger, orgasm.
For a moment there was only the sounds of two lovers climaxing with each other. Groans, moans, and the satisfied breathing of post-orgasm bliss.
After a few seconds, or maybe even days, Daddy’s hands brushed the hair out of your face, smiling contentedly.
“You were amazing, babygirl.”
“Th-thank you, Daddy!”
Daddy winces as you stand up. You fight back a laugh at his dramatic face, knowing you did far more than that for him.
But it didn’t matter.
His hand slid back into your diaper, a sly smile on his face.
“Looks like my babygirl is leaking, huh? Does Daddy’s diaper girl need a new diaper?”
Had your cheeks not already been flushed with two orgasms, they would’ve been beet red.
“Dadddyyyyyy!”
“What? You’re a leaky girl! And it’s Daddy’s job to get his dirty babygirl clean and ready for nini.”
You were so lost in the moment with Daddy, you forgot you were still his silly diaper girl. The diaper drooping between your legs feeling as silly as ever.
In the area that I lived in California, many people had these. In the fifties, they had been pools, but as water became more scarce and expensive, they were covered with decks, and mostly used now to store rarely needed gardening supplies and old bikes. I often wondered how many served more exciting purposes!
As far as her friends and former colleagues are concerned, she leads a perfectly normal life. But for the last 2 years, I’ve been slowly pushing her deeper and deeper into the life of an owned object. Her natural submissiveness was evident from day 1 - she clearly enjoyed being told what to do during sex, but I wanted more. Sluts like her start off with an idea of what they want, but get bored quickly if you let them. Eventually, I was controlling what she wore when we went out. Our sessions grew longer, often stretching on for several hours or even days. When I asked her to move in with me, we were still masquerading as a “couple” that shared some deep and interesting kinks, but my plan really began to take shape when she said yes. I restricted which items I let her move into my house and demanded that she sell or destroy the rest. I could tell she began to regret it but couldn’t cope with the idea she may have made such a life altering decision, and as I’d learned, found it very hard to disobey my wishes, no matter how increasingly controlling they became. I convinced her to quit her job and stay at home. I made an event of burning all of her bras and underwear, saying she didnt need those anymore. I’d still let her go out with friends, but she’d be given a humiliating task of which I required video evidence as a payment - things like flashing strangers, making out with her drunk friends, licking a toilet seat, etc… She was eventually not allowed clothing at home unless specifically requested. Then I fitted her with a permanent collar - simple enough to be thought a piece of jewelry by the unaware, but thick enough that I could use it to attach her to things for hours. I stopped letting her sleep on the bed, instead curling up in a small dog pad at foot of my bed chained to the wall. I stopped letting her use furniture altogether and changed her name to “cunt”, at least when I referenced her. With every decision I’d make, you could sense the trepidation, but she was already too deep to say no. She hated that she loved being a piece of fuck meat.
Now, I’m having some of her family and friends over for a party as shes chained in a cubby hole beneath the rug under their feet. Her entire life is mine, now. She might look scared, but she’d never have it any other way.
All women’s clothes should be sized so at least the bottoms of our diapers are exposed!!! Boys need to be able to see when our diapers are full since obviously we can’t tell!!! I can’t even tell you the number of times a Man has asked if I had a full diaper and I confidently said nope, clean and dry! only for it to turn out to be completely soaked and loaded!!!! This is why our diapers always need to be exposed because knowing the state of our diapers is a boys job!!! Not ours!!!🤭🥰💩
I'd love to have my own personal fuck doll. I'd keep her tied up all day, just using her little holes. She'd be so used that all she can think about is cock and men using her. I'd invite my friends round to take turns making her cum and cum again. She'd be nothing but a fuck toy for our pleasure. Even if she didn't want it, too bad. It's all she's good for. What a dumb fucking whore.
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