Ageplay/omorashi/humiliation captions and stories. Most recent fantasies tend toward femdom w/ male sub. But any power imbalance gets my gears turning. For the curious: I'm male, b. 1985.
Could've Been Worse (Based on a poster's anecdote) (1,000 wds)
Darren Doll (7,300 wds) #feminization #sissy #bullying #femdom #school-wetting
Coming Soon: Shy Teddy, a novel, or series of novelettes, featuring age regression, wetting, messing, humiliation, bullying, and female-led relationships.
I really appreciate getting messages like this, and I appreciate the fact that I can still see new likes on my old posts when I log in. I'm glad people enjoyed what I posted here. Maybe one of these days the correct switches will flip in my brain and I'll have both the inclination and the long-term focus to post more. But as it stands, I can't even muster the energy to look back at stuff I've already written, much less add more.
Part of that is entirely personal. My interests and my sense of what is worthwhile tend to change very quickly and thoroughly. So does my sense of how much time I can put into things, and for the past few months I've felt like basic work responsibilities and run-of-the-mill tasks are all I can manage.
But there's a bigger problem, because all of that is exacerbated by external factors. If I had to give one simple reason why I'm no longer motivated to express my weird little psycho-sexual fantasies in meticulously detailed writing, I'd say it's the fascism.
When I said earlier this year that I was thinking of posting regularly again and pursuing some big ideas, I was dramatically underestimating how quickly things would get as bad as they have in America. I should have realized that past a fairly low threshold of bad news and institutional collapse, I wouldn't be able to mute my dread for long enough to think through any of the titillating stories I would like to put on the internet.
That said, there are two distinctly different ways of thinking about erotica in times of socio-political crisis when evil is on the rise. On one hand, there are so many things that are so much more important than giving an outlet to myself and others for sexual kinks that probably reflect a lot of serious mental hang-ups and unprocessed trauma.
On the other hand, what could be more important than exploring the fringes of human experience and reasserting your right to be weird when there are powerful people all around who are increasingly emboldened in their efforts to reduce humanity to a condition of slavery while outlawing all kinds of alternative artistic expression? Besides, as life gets increasingly difficult, pure escapism is going to be more of a tool of survival than ever before.
I'd like to provide some people with that escape, and I'd like to be able to just say, "I'm still here and the world hasn't yet beaten my imagination out of me." But at the same time, if I even think about spending a couple hours on a story about age play and sexual humiliation, I'm invariably faced with guilty reminders that that time could be better spent volunteering in my local community or trying to develop skills that will help myself and others to survive what's coming.
And in case you don't understand what I mean by that or you're so disengaged that your reaction is to ask, "What's fascist about making America great again," I don't know what to tell you. Take a look around. The government is building concentration camps. Masked men are storming into workplaces, hospitals, and parks, arresting and often brutalizing people based on little other than their skin tone. People are being disappeared to countries with abysmal human rights records, where they have never lived or where they face serious risk of politically-motivated execution. Meanwhile, in the course of providing ungodly levels of funding for more of the same, lawmakers designed the largest upward redistribution of wealth in human history, cutting off access to health care for millions of people and potentially turning basic survival into a greater challenge than it has been for decades.
I don't know what to do about any of that, per se, but until I figure it out, writing stories about adults acting and being treated like children just seems self-indulgent. Under different circumstances, I might see it as effective stress relief after hours spent doing meaningful work and trying to make the world a little less shitty. But it's going to take a lot for me to get into that headspace.
Anyway, thanks to those of you who have kept posting these months and helped Tumblr to remain a comfortable place for unique and kinky individuals.
Hey, you know How can I contact babesvsbladders since his account has be banned on Tumblr ?
I wish I did, but I only ever communicated with him through this website. I miss his content just like I miss my own. If I may say so myself, there were certain niche interests we covered which still don't seem to be well represented in the broader community.
I know I said that I would get back to the would-be four-part story that I kind of abandoned, but I'm prone to distraction and still trying to make Tumblr fit back into a regular creative routine.
So in recent days, I've written several chapters of what's turning out to be another very long story, plus this one-off, which I found fun and some of you might as well.
It's a little bit different, with the focus still on male omorashi, but it a slightly fantastic but also not really context. I post this in full awareness that some of you will find the conceit annoying, but I'm sure others will share my timely humor.
7,500 words.
After the pornography ban went into effect, life began changing rapidly for the people of Clarksburg. Many of the men had initially been very vocal in their support of the new government, and of its plans for internet regulation in particular, but were surprised by the impact that it had on them personally once those plans were in full force.
Many had envisioned it as the start of a new era in which marital sex was recognized as a natural right and “liberated” views of sexuality didn’t interfere with expressions of their plain and natural male impulses. Cracking down on porn, they reasoned, would help society to rid itself of the perverts while encouraging young people to pair up and confine their sexual activity to stable households as God intended.
Many were shocked to find that the enforcement of those restrictions was so draconian – or that it was enforced on them at all.
“I can’t believe they took away all the porn,” Gareth said quietly to his neighbor one evening, in between sips of beer on his front porch. “I feel like they lost sight of why we all voted for them. Get rid of all that gay shit, sure. But you can’t even watch a natural-born man and woman doin’ it missionary style, anymore. It’s ridiculous!”
“It’s un-American, is what it is,” Bill agreed.
“You got that right. And this new morality police? Really overstepping their authority, I’d say. I think we all gave ‘em a round of applause when they raided that BDSM parlor. And we mostly understood that the local strip club had to go.”
“They got enough of my money, anyway,” Bill laughed.
“But my buddy Matt… The other day he got a visit from them at work because he had an old pinup photo on the inside of his locker. She wasn’t even fully nude and it’s an all-male locker room…”
“At least we can be sure of that now,” Bill interjected, extending his beer bottle toward Gareth so they could clink their necks together.
“True. But still, they took him into the breakroom in the middle of the workday and gave him some kinda line about ‘public decency’ and told him to take it down. They even made him sign a letter saying he’s sorry and warned him that if they visit him again, he’ll have to go for a reeducation course.”
“Damn.”
“And you know the worst part?” Gareth asked, looking his friend squarely in the face.
“What?”
“The officer who told him all this was a chick.”
“Shit,” Bill replied, slumping further down in his chair and shaking his head. “I thought we got rid of all that DEI bullshit.”
“Right? I’m thinking I should write a letter or something. This ain’t what any of us signed up for.”
Inwardly, each man acknowledged that this was an understatement, but neither was comfortable enough with the other to articulate precisely why. While the pornography ban was a bitter pill to swallow, the real surprise for most of its erstwhile supporters was the impact that it had – or didn’t have – on their sex lives at home.
The sudden inaccessibility of masturbatory aids led many of Clarksburg’s men to attempt initiating sex with their wives and girlfriends much more frequently and in much less convenient circumstances. Far from entering into Golden Age of regimented procreation, countless men found themselves instead coping with the humiliation of being repeatedly rebuffed in their horniness, and left trying in vain to get themselves off with the aid of nothing other than their imaginations, which had either never developed or atrophied in the presence of abundant and freely accessible porn.
In their frustration, many of those men resorted to begging, and many of their women responded by hardening their resistance, with some even shutting their husbands out of their marital bedroom altogether and forcing them to sleep in adjacent rooms.
Gareth was among those unfortunates, and though he didn’t know it, the walls of their home were thin enough that his wife Stacy was able to listen in most nights while he writhed around on the twin bed, whimpering as he tried to force himself to get hard enough for a proper orgasm.
Ironically, those sounds from the guest room had the opposite effect on Stacy as had Gareth’s begging, and she found herself getting wet while she pictured him there, falling asleep after failing to get over the finish line, much as she’d been forced to do in the past, almost every time she gave into his entreaties for sex.
Stacy had never been one for self-pleasure, but the ban on pornography ended up gifting her more orgasms in a month than she had had in the previous five years of marriage. Of course, she had to clamp a pillow over her mouth to stifle the sound of her ecstasy each time, lest she let on to her husband that she was actually fulfilling her sexual needs, as opposed to not experiencing them in the first place.
Stacy was much more willing to discuss the new situation with her female friends than with her husband, and she was quick to find that others were having remarkably similar experiences. It became a favored topic of conversation at book club meetings and weekend brunches, and in many cases, it reinforced the women’s commitment to keeping their frustrated partners at arm’s length. In fact, some who had previously given into those partners’ appeals were inspired to withhold sex more often, and some found that their experiments in teasing and denial gave them more of a thrill than their men ever had.
Those men, on the other hand, were more reticent to discuss what many perceived as a failure to master their own desire or to inspire passion in their women. Eventually, though, as imaginations kept failing and enforcement of the ban only intensified, more and more men began whispering about how they could circumvent it. VPN usage skyrocketed in Clarksburg, only to be systematically discovered and shut down by the authorities. This usually happened quietly, and some of the town’s men discovered new depths of frustration when, after being brushed off by their wives again, they went online expecting illicit porn, only to be greeted by a page stating that all their favored sites were not accessible.
Finally, the men resorted to methods that they knew about only through stories from their fathers and grandfathers. No one was sure exactly who started it or where they came from, but in the woods on the edge of town, a collection began to grow. Those men who knew of its location were empowered to swear their friends to secrecy and lead them to the hollow log, loosely covered by brush, inside which were old magazines that had survived the initial raids and bonfires, as well as new, black-market materials that someone had managed to smuggle in from outside the country.
The log technically functioned as a lending library. When new men were brought into the fold, they were informed that they could take one item home at a time and return it after they were finished using it. But few were willing to take the risk. Instead, they worked to coordinate a loose schedule among themselves, so individual users could have enough time there alone to sift through the materials, carry one of them a safe distance away, and go to town on himself before kicking dirt over his load and slinking back home with a newfound lightness of spirt and hoping that his wife would appreciate it without questioning it very much,
Gareth eventually became so comfortable with the arrangement that he nearly forgot his earlier grievances about the overbroad restrictions and the haughty morality police. Masturbation became nearly as routine as it had been before the ban went into effect, though now it was necessarily paired with long walks in the woods which he explained to his wife – accurately enough – as being intended to safeguard his health and peace of mind.
Stacy accepted this and didn’t even consider the possibility that her husband was going away two or three times a week to jack off outdoors. Though she was disappointed at no longer being lulled to sleep by the sound of him trying to get himself off in the guest room, she gave him credit for seemingly getting his desires under control, and even welcomed him back into the master bedroom as a reward.
“Don’t get too comfortable, though,” she cautioned the first night. “If you start humping my leg before I say I’m ready to have some fun, we’re going right back to separate rooms.”
Gareth accepted this, but for some reason, the authoritative warning riled up his libido enough that he had trouble sleeping, and after leaving for work in the morning, he felt compelled to take an unscheduled detour into the woods.
Occasions such as this made him confident that the shared stash would always be there when he needed it, just as internet porn had been, once upon a time. Thus, it was with an air of casual detachment that he gave a chaste kiss to his wife one Sunday afternoon and strolled off toward the woods, intent on enjoying the pleasant weather and satisfying his urges at the same time.
Around a half mile from home, it occurred to Gareth that he probably should have gone to the bathroom before he left. But a second later, he decided that that was of no real concern. He was heading for the woods, after all, so he could just pee on a tree when he got there.
Actually, he thought to himself, I’ll probably do that after I blow my load. He’d jerked off enough to know that, for whatever reason, it often felt better to do that with a full bladder.
When Gareth had first started visiting the men’s little adult library, he always made a point of checking behind him along the way to make sure he wasn’t being followed, and even searched the area for any signs of possible interruption or discovery before he pulled leaves and branches off of the opening to reach in and see which type of magazine he came up with first. This time, he didn’t do any of that, having long since learned to take his woodland porn as much for granted as he had his internet porn.
But now, when he peered into the hollow, he immediately noticed something odd. On top of the stack of magazines, there was a single, folded piece of paper. Curiously, he pulled it out and unfolded it to reveal a typewritten message: “STEP AWAY AND PUT YOUR HANDS UP.”
As soon as his brain processed these words, it was flooded with an awareness that he had come to casually suppress: that the thing he’d been doing which once seemed so normal was now illegal and that being caught with porn, even if it wasn’t technically his own, could lead him to face a stiff fine, or even jail time.
His first impulse upon reading the note was to drop it and take off running. He might have even obeyed that impulse, if not for the fact that it was immediately interrupted by a woman’s voice calling out from somewhere behind him: “Don’t move!”
Upon hearing it, Gareth felt that he wouldn’t be able to move even if he wanted to. His legs were frozen by fear, and his bladder suddenly felt much, much fuller than it had before – so much so that whatever energy he might otherwise have put into running now had to be redirected toward keeping his urethra closed off.
“Show me your hands,” the woman said firmly.
Gareth dutifully raised them and swallowed hard, the color draining from his face as he did.
“Turn around,” she added.
Slowly, he did as he was told, and found himself facing a young, redheaded woman who strode toward him in a tight-fitting grey uniform, with her hand loosely gripping the weapon holstered at her side. When she came face-to-face with him, Gareth could see that she exceeded his height by an inch or two, but stood with a confidence that made her look even taller.
Looking over each of her shoulders, Gareth could see two other women behind her who were also uniformed but not visibly armed. One, though not quite as tall, had a distinctly athletic build that she carried with an air of severe authority, which her short, black hair seemed styled to accentuate. The other woman was shorter and somewhat mousy looking, with glasses and dirty-blonde hair pulled back into a simple ponytail.
“Vice Abeyance and Natural Coupling Enforcement,” the woman nearest to Gareth said, needlessly. He had already recognized the uniform of the morality police.
“You are hereby in violation of the Socially Harmful and Aberrant Materials Erasure Act,” she declared.
“I didn’t do anything!” Gareth protested. “I didn’t know there was smut in there. I found it just now; it’s not mine. I was going to report it.”
“Nice try, Mr. Franklin,” the lead officer replied. “We’ve been monitoring this spot for several days. We’ve seen you and your friends coming and going, and we’ve seen what you do here.”
Gareth stared back at her, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. His bladder felt very heavy and there was a numbness in his groin which prompted him to squeeze his legs together. The fact that she already knew his name was proof enough that he was in a kind of trouble he’d struggle to talk his way out of.
“It is within my authority, sir,” the woman continued, “to assign each of you to a five-week reeducation course on the socially harmful effects of pornography.”
“Oh, come on,” Gareth said. “This isn’t that serious!”
Much as he hoped that he could convince them to let him off with a warning, Gareth cursed the fact that he’d been caught in the act by a female officer – by three of them, in fact, with not a man in sight who might back him up when he tried explaining that the contents of their library were just ordinary, straight-down-the-line pornography and that they weren’t hurting anybody by sharing it and giving themselves a little release while no one was around.
The gender of his accusers didn’t come as much of a surprise, though. As it happened, when the morality police started taking shape, there was unexpectedly high enrollment among women, particularly single women. It wasn’t exactly what the government had been after, but as long as they were willing to enforce the censorship and public decency laws as written, no one really saw any reason to question it.
Ignoring Gareth’s initial protest, the redheaded officer continued her explanation: “Furthermore, since you and your friends have engaged in a conspiracy to acquire and distribute these materials and conceal them from government authorities, I can also elect to refer your case to a court of law, where if convicted, you may face up to two years in prison, among other penalties.”
“Cuh… conspiracy?” Gareth croaked as his legs began to tremble and the weight of his bladder pressed further into his groin. “No, wait a minute… You got this all wrong… We just shared some magazines and stuff. We weren’t spreading them around.”
“Sharing them is spreading them around, sir,” the officer shot back. “This was a coordinated effort to expand access to illicit materials, with full knowledge that they have been categorically banned.”
“But… no…” The feeling of fullness in Gareth’s bladder now extended down into his urethra. His hand twitched with a desire to his grab his crotch, but since it remained raised over his head, he contented himself with shifting on his feet and rubbing his thighs together instead.
A spasm ran through Gareth’s core and he felt a spot of moisture blooming in his underwear as the lead officer withdrew a pair of handcuffs and her backup moved ahead to flank him on either side.
“Turn around and place your hands behind your back, sir,” she said.
Gareth did so but continued to plead his case that this was all being blown out of proportion.
“You don’t understand!” he shouted. “My wife barely ever lets me fuck her! What was I supposed to do?”
The lead officer tightened the handcuffs on Gareth’s left wrist, then paused to say, “Frankly, sir, that sounds like a you problem,” before proceeding to his right.
Once he was securely locked up, she took hold of the inside of his elbow and directed him to turn back around. Hemmed in on three sides, Gareth had to turn his head back and forth to confront the judgmental voices of the supporting officers as they joined in on undermining the rationale for his transgression.
“You’re a married man, and instead of pleasing your wife, you left her alone to go jack off in the woods?” said the tense-looking brunette, glaring at him severely from his left side.
“And on the Sabbath, no less,” added the mousy blonde on his right, shaking her head.
“She won’t let me!” Gareth whined.
“I find that extremely hard to believe,” said the lead.
“I think what you mean is she won’t let you please yourself,” clarified the officer on his left.
“Yeah,” the redhead resumed, “if you had been doing it for her before all this, I guarantee she’d be more receptive.”
The officer on his left piped up again: “Did you even try to make it worth her while? I mean, there are voluntary classes at the reeducation center on healthy relations and the female orgasm. You probably could have learned some techniques to improve your stamina. Or if that’s—” she paused to look him up and down “—not good enough, then between you and me, you could try cunnilingus. But they don’t mention that in your magazines, do they?”
“We’re not insensitive to people’s needs,” the officer on his right added in a gentler tone. “But this is part of the problem with pornography. It makes it so you don’t even have to focus on your spouse.”
Being surrounded and talked down to like this, Gareth felt increasingly nervous, and several times during their lecture, his penis twitched with the impulse to let out another spurt of urine, before he clenched his jaw and concentrated on stopping it.
“Anyway,” the lead said with an air of finality, “it doesn’t really matter why you did it or what you could have done differently. The fact is that you’ve broken the law, and now it’s just a matter of determining the extent of the consequences. Do you have your identification on you?”
“Um…” Gareth swallowed hard and clamped his legs together again. “My wallet’s in my back left pocket.”
“Officer Broderick,” the lead said, looking to the muscular brunette. “Will you get that for me?”
Broderick advanced on Gareth without hesitation, and he instinctively shrank away, then began bouncing his foot as the urge to empty his bladder intensified sharply.
“Will you hold still, sir,” Broderick said while reaching for his pocket, and Gareth forced himself to stop, pursuing his lips and squeezing his eyes shut with the effort. As soon as his wallet was extracted and the officer had taken a step back, Gareth resumed bouncing his leg, then began alternately bending his knees until his entire body was swaying conspicuously.
As Broderick handed off the wallet to her lead, the third officer laid a hand on Gareth’s shoulder. Though the gesture was gentle, it still took him by surprise, causing him to jump and interrupting his dance. A second spurt of pee finally escaped into his underwear. He clamped it off immediately but also felt his face drain of whatever color was still remaining. He feared that the wetness was now showing through on his pants, but he didn’t dare look down and risk drawing attention to it. He could not, however, prevent himself from beginning to dance even more frantically.
“My goodness,” said the smaller officer at his side. “You don’t need to be so nervous. This is your first offense, right? I’m sure they’ll go easy on you.”
“All right, Mr. Franklin…” The lead officer looked up from his identification. “Why don’t you have a seat while I call this in? It should only take a couple of minutes. Broderick, Macy, just keep an eye on him.”
With no pretense of gentleness, officer Broderick strode back over to Gareth and grabbed him by the arm to lead him over toward the very log that contained the evidence against him, while Macy followed close behind. Broderick backed him up to toward the log until he fell down into a seated position, landing with a wince and immediately beginning to scissor his legs while shifting position in an effort to find the one that put the least strain on his bladder.
This went on for a solid minute, with Gareth staring off into space, before Broderick finally called out to him and said, “What the fuck is the matter with you? Can’t you sit still?”
“I think he’s nervous,” Macy answered for him with a smile.
“No…” Gareth said. “I mean, yes, but it’s not…” He looked at each of the nearby officers, then cast a fleeting glance toward where the lead stood holding Gareth’s I.D. in one hand and her phone in the other. Finally, he looked down at the ground and quietly confessed, “I have to go to the bathroom.”
Gareth glanced back up at them a brief moment later and felt some of the color returning to his face in the form of a blush. But he couldn’t tell whether it was brought on more by the sight of Broderick rolling her eyes, or the sound of Macy chuckling while she answered simply, “Oh!”
Nothing more was said for another minute, while Gareth continued scissoring his legs and shifting weight from one buttock to the other, while periodically letting out little, involuntary whimpers of strain.
“He looks like he’s going to piss his pants,” Broderick said at last.
Gareth looked up to see Macy frowning pensively at him, before she looked toward her commanding officer who was still standing at a distance with her phone to her ear, apparently waiting on hold.
“Hang on,” Macy said to Gareth, then walked off in that direction.
“Yeah, seriously, hold on,” Broderick reiterated, her voice tinged with disgust.
For several more seconds, Gareth alternated between squeezing his eyes shut, staring at the ground, and looking toward the spot where Macy stood with the officer in charge, gesturing back toward him and saying something he couldn’t hear.
The lead looked over with an impatient expression, and then both women walked back toward him. The as yet nameless redhead held the phone so it was still pressed to her ear but angled away from her mouth, and stopped directly in front of Gareth, so that she was looking down her nose at him.
“Officer Macy says you need the toilet?” she inquired.
Gareth looked back at the ground and nodded.
“Okay, well, I’m just waiting to confirm that they’ve got a spot for you at the registration office. It’s a two-minute walk to where we parked the van, and a ten-minute drive at the most to get there. We’ll take you to the restroom right after.”
At that, the officer turned to walk away, but stopped without taking a step when Gareth whimpered and then gasped out: “But I don’t think I can wait that long.”
The lead officer’s expression hardened as she turned to face him again. “I don’t get it,” she said. “If you came out here with the intention of masturbating, why do you have to go to the bathroom so badly?”
Gareth shrugged helplessly, leading officer Macy to interject on his behalf: “It probably doesn’t help that he’s scared.”
Broderick laughed dismissively. “No, he probably just doesn’t know how to control himself. If he’s the kind of guy who jacks off in the woods, who knows?”
“I… forgot to go before I left home,” Gareth croaked.
“See?” Broderick said triumphantly.
“I still don’t get it,” the lead officer professed, sounding frustrated. “Didn’t you walk here? If you have to do that badly, how were you planning on making it home? Or was it your intention to just urinate on the ground? Do you realize that’s another violation of public decency which I could add to your file?”
“No, please, I…” Gareth began to scissor and bounce his legs even more erratically.
“I don’t know if you should scare him any more than you already have, lieutenant,” officer Macy advised gently. “You might make him pee his pants.”
“It is just pee, isn’t it?” the lieutenant asked firmly. “You don’t have to take a shit or anything?”
Gareth blushed harder. “Just pee.”
“Are you sure?” officer Broderick interjected. “Little boys don’t always know when they need to go.”
“All right, let’s keep this professional,” the lead officer cautioned despite her own impatience. She then adjusted the phone’s position against her face, reacting to someone coming back on the line. “Yes. Yes, ma’am.”
She turned away and raised her hand to Gareth, her index finger pointing up to silently command that he wait one minute for her to be finished.
“That’s right. Gareth Franklin,” she continued, stepping further away while he leaned forward to listen in, involuntarily putting pressure on his bladder. “Possession of illicit materials, distribution, concealment, conspiracy to distribute… public indecency, masturbation without medical necessity. Recommend expedited hearing before a court of virtue.”
Gareth’s blood ran cold as he listened to the list of accusations and imagined them being repeated by a judge. It didn’t sound to him like they were going to go easy on him as Macy said they would. And it didn’t seem fair. He’d just looked at some porn. They didn’t actually catch him masturbating and there was no conspiracy. The lending library hadn’t even been his idea in the first place! If they convicted him of all those charges, how would he ever be able to face his friends and family again? How could he expect his wife to let him keep sleeping in the master bedroom with her after she learned that he was only able to keep his hands off of her because he’d been jerking off in the woods?
“Wait, please!” Gareth cried out, struggling to his feet. “Please, you can’t do this to me!”
Broderick moved toward him, but before she could reach out and push him back down onto the log, Gareth lunged forward in an effort to close the gap between himself and the lead officer, so he could throw himself on her mercy.
He managed only two steps before losing his balance and, unable to catch himself with his hands cuffed behind his back, fell to his knees then pitched forward and landed with his face in the dirt, his ass up in the air.
As soon as the pain registered in Gareth’s mind, his bladder gave up all control and a sudden warmth settled into his crotch and began spreading out in all directions. Urine poured down both legs and quickly began to puddle between his knees. The three women heard it before they saw it, but after recovering from the impact, Gareth rocked backward until he came to rest on his knees and revealed the wet patch not only his lap but also on his belly.
He made no effort to stop the flood while kneeling there and staring up at the lieutenant, but once again repeated the word “please,” while she looked down at him with an expression that revealed shock, disgust, and pity all at once.
“Aww, he’s wetting his pants,” Macy said, stating the obvious.
“Gross,” Broderick added.
“Sorry to interrupt, HQ,” the lead officer said into the phone. “Can we actually put a hold on this? This situation just got… a little more complicated… No, no cause for alarm; just… I’ll call with an update later. I think you’re going to like this.”
“He’s crying,” Macy observed while the lieutenant hung up her call.
Gareth tried using his shoulders to wipe the tears and the dirt from his face, then looked back up at the lead officer with pleading eyes. “I’m sorry,” he moaned.
“What are you sorry for?”
“For everything! I’m sorry I didn’t follow the rules. I’m sorry I didn’t try harder with my wife. I’m sorry I wet my pants. I’m sorry, please don’t take me to jail!”
After a long moment’s silence, the lieutenant looked to each of her colleagues and said, “Officer Broderick, officer Macy? Can I speak to you over here for a moment?”
The trio left Gareth in his puddle and walked about 20 feet away together, then stood there for over a minute, conversing in hushed tones and occasionally glancing over at him while he watched them out of the corner of his eye.
Finally, the three officers retraced their steps and encircled him again before the redheaded lieutenant declared: “All right, it looks like it’s your lucky day. We’re still going to send you for a reeducation course, but you’ll be able to do it on your own time. You’ll receive registration instructions in the mail by next week.”
“You can take it as an opportunity to look into some of those sex ed courses, too,” Broderick interjected.
“Apart from that,” the lead officer continued with a nod, “the consensus here is that you’re just too pathetic to put through the whole process. Personally, I’d really rather not load you into the van and have to smell your piss for the next ten minutes, so we’re just going to advise you to consider this a very, very stern warning. But I expect you to be on your best behavior going forward, and please don’t think that this means you can just wet your pants anytime you want to get yourself out of trouble with us. If I ever see you in this state again, I’m charging you for public urination, and I’ll see to it that the maximum penalty is applied.”
“Okay… Thank you,” Gareth said without quite meeting her eye. “But… how am I supposed to get home?”
“That’s the neat part,” officer Broderick answered. “You walk!”
“This is really the best thing for you,” officer Macy added sympathetically.
“Yeah,” the lieutenant went on, “we decided that the public humiliation of going home like that, knowing why it happened, will probably teach you more of a lesson than standing up in court would have. But you better go straight home to your wife. Don’t try to sneak into a friend’s house and change your pants, or anything. And don’t try warning them that we found out about their little jerk-off club. We’ve already nabbed a couple of the others, and if you tip anyone off, we’ll know.”
Gareth’s heart raced at the mere thought of walking home in his state, but there was effectively nothing he could do but hang his head and nod his assent. As he did so, he heard the quiet jingle of a set of handcuff keys, which the lead officer held out in front of her before saying, “Officer Broderick, will you uncuff him, please?”
Broderick cringed but took the keys in hand, then took a couple steps toward Gareth before stopping and saying, “Can you stand up please, sir? I don’t want to risk kneeling down in your piss.”
Gareth was hesitant to do so, because amidst the feelings of shame, fear, relief, and powerlessness, and the sensation of his urine cooling against his skin, he also felt something else: His penis was stiffening slightly. He tried to will it to go down, and when that didn’t work, he climbed to his feet anyway, but remained slightly hunched over in hopes that it would prevent any of the three women from glancing down and noticing a bulge that might prompt them to change their minds, and make things worse for him than they would have been.
As he stood up, the urine that had pooled in his pant legs poured down over his shins and calves. He joined Broderick in cringing in disgust, but somehow even this didn’t cause his partial erection to dissipate. The residual cascade turned into a trail which followed behind him as he stepped out of his puddle and toward the officer, who turned him around and yanked his arms as far away from his body as she could before unlocking his left hand, then pushing him back while holding onto his right arm to unlock that as well.
The lieutenant handed Gareth’s wallet back to him, and the three turned away without another word. “Well, that was interesting,” she declared. “So, who’s next on our list?”
Gareth stood there for another moment, looking down at the humiliating state of his clothing and imagining how it would look to anyone who passed him on the street or glanced out their window as he made his way home. When it became clear that the morality police really had no further use for him, he began rigidly walking toward the edge of the woods, wincing at how his sodden clothing clung to him.
Coming face to face with civilization again, he steeled himself to step out into plain view, and began walking as quickly but as casually as he could, hoping against hope that amidst the steady Sunday afternoon traffic, most people would simply not pay him enough attention to notice that he’d wet his pants.
Nevertheless, it felt like there were a thousand eyes upon him for the entirety of the walk – and those imagined gazes were all the more accusatory because, though he made every effort to remind himself that there was nothing sexy about what had just happened, his penis just would not go all the way down.
In fact, it stiffened even more while he stood on his doorstep, trying to muster the courage to go inside and face his wife. It became fully erect when he finally crept through the door and heard Stacy’s footsteps approaching, followed by her voice saying, “Oh, honey, you’re ba… Oh my god! What happened?!”
Gareth stared and the floor and fumbled to reply: “Noth… It’s a long… Can we not talk about it, Stace?”
“What do you mean not talk about it?” she asked insistently. “Did you wet your pants? How did this happen?”
“Um… Yeah, kinda. Like I said, it’s a long story.”
“It can’t be that long. You left here, what, an hour ago? You couldn’t hold it for an hour? Is this some kind of a problem that you’ve been hiding from me?”
“No!” Gareth exclaimed. “I swear, this has never happened before. It was… Something… caused it.”
Stacy stared at him quizzically, obviously waiting for an explanation that would make more sense to her. Gareth’s mind reeled trying to think of a plausible one that was free of the truth’s most humiliating details, but his embarrassment had already crippled his defenses, and he quickly broke down and told her everything, still wearing his pee-soaked pants, right there in the entryway.
He admitted that the pornography ban had presented more of a challenge than he anticipated, and that his sexual frustration had only subsided after he and some of the other Clarksburg men hatched their plan to keep a stash in the woods. He admitted that that was where he went on his walks, and that that was now the only reason why he was able to sleep beside her without pestering her for sex.
Finally, he told her about his run-in with the morality police, embellishing slightly to imply that they’d deliberately kept him from the toilet for much longer than they had. However, her awareness of the timeframe made it impossible for him to avoid acknowledging that it was primarily fear, not desperation, that caused his accident.
“Oh, you poor thing!” Stacy said when he was done. “That must have been awful for you.”
“Yeah… I just… really want to change.”
“Aww. I understand,” Stacy cooed. “Well, let’s get your shoes and socks off, then you can come right to the laundry room.”
Gareth was taken aback at the sight of her kneeling down in front of him, and he reacted by thrusting his hips backward in hopes of making his erection less noticeable.
“You don’t have… I can get it… You go on ahead,” he said.
“Nonsense,” she tutted as she began unlacing his shoes. “I’m sure this is uncomfortable enough without you bending over, and anyway, the less you have to move, the less pee you’re going to drip on the floor.”
Gareth saw no use in arguing, and after she’d finished untying his laces, he raised each foot to let her slip his shoes off, then lifted them again so she could yank off his wet socks. Gareth then followed her barefoot to the laundry room, and barely even registered the fact that she was leading him by the hand.
“I’ve heard a few stories about those morality police,” Stacy said. “I can’t believe people actually supported the bans and didn’t realize it was going to lead to this, but I guess that’s just the world we’ve got to live in now.”
“Yeah…” Gareth said, questioning, for the first time, which way his wife had voted.
“I’m sure you’re not the first person this has happened to,” she said, arriving in the laundry room and standing her husband up against the washing machine to look him in the eyes. “Did the officers threaten you? They didn’t hit you, or anything?”
“No, they didn’t…”
“But they were big guys?”
“Um… Actually no, they…” Gareth lowered his head and mumbled into his chest, “They wuh wim…”
“They what?”
“They were women,” he said, just loudly enough for her to hear.
Stacy raised her eyebrows and repeated the phrase slowly and loudly, in an expression of clear astonishment: “They were women?”
“Yeah… um… I guess a lot of the morality cops are…”
“And they scared you so much that you peed your pants?”
“It’s not that they scared me,” Gareth said weakly but defensively. “It’s more that… they said they could take me to jail and stuff. It was the situation.”
“Still…” Stacy said.
Gareth read her tone as one of disappointment, and was once again made to wonder why he was so aroused.
“God, you even got it on your shirt,” Stacy said, her fingers tugging at the spot where his pee had spread downward while he was pitched forward into the dirt. Without another word, she began pulling it up over his head, and Gareth reflexively raised his arms to let her take it off of him. He also tried to push his hips backward again, fearing his wife might lean into his erection, but being already pressed against the washing machine, there was nowhere for him to go.
Stacy tossed the shirt into the machine and commanded, “All right, now take your pants off.”
Gareth froze. “Um… okay,” he said. “I’ll finish up here. You’ve done enough.”
“Since when do you do your own laundry?” Stacy chuckled. “Come on, the quicker this gets done, the quicker we can put it behind you. I’ll get this started and you can go hop in the shower.”
“Um…”
“Why are you being so bashful? Is this just because we haven’t been fucking lately? Afraid you’re going to get all riled up and end up running right back to the woods?”
“That’s not funny,” Gareth sulked.
“Sorry… Come on, take your pants off.”
Again feeling stuck, Gareth relented and yanked down his pants as quickly as he could, leaving his underwear on and hoping that somehow, his wife either wouldn’t notice his state of arousal, or would politely ignore it.
“Thank you,” Stacy said, taking the pants out of his hands and conspicuously holding them up to examine the stain for a moment before dumping them into the machine. At the same time, her eyes flicked over to her husband again and her gaze fleetingly swept over his entire body. She seemed to notice only then that he still wasn’t fully naked.
“And the underwear, obviously,” she said, reaching for the detergent, which she then measured and added to the drum, before selecting the cycle and starting the machine running.
Noticing that her husband hadn’t moved in the interim, she scoffed and asked, “Do I have to do it for you?” Then, without waiting for him to reply, she stepped close to him – enough so that he could feel her breath on his neck, and hooked her thumbs under the waistband on his boxer briefs on either side of his hips.
Before Gareth could properly react, Stacy dropped to her knees again, yanking his underwear down to his ankles. Her attention went straight to his feet while she waited for him to step out of them, which he promptly did, allowing her to slide them out of the way. In his surprise, Gareth made no effort to even cover his erection, which protruded into her peripheral vision before finally drawing her full attention.
A smile slowly crept across Stacy’s lips.
“Aww… You’re hard?” she asked, her voice dripping with condescension while she looked up at him from the floor. The volume of blood trapped in Gareth’s penis did not prevent more from rushing to his cheeks and eliciting a rosy glow which made Stacy smile even more broadly.
“I… um…”
“Wow, you are really hard,” Stacy observed. “Why is that, huh? Does someone like it that those strange women were so mean to him?”
“No! …I… I don’t know why it…”
“Or does it just want whatever attention it can get?” she suggested, placing her lips very close to the head and raising her eyes to look at her husband and gauge his response. “Does it want a kiss?” she offered with a mocking pout, then pursed her lips so they barely grazed the tip.
The miniscule contact was enough to make Gareth lightly sigh in pleasure, but no sooner had that passed his lips than he gasped and jumped in surprise and sudden ecstasy, as without warning, Stacy took his member all the way into her mouth and dragged her lips wetly over its length until it sprang out again.
A tremor ran through Gareth’s body which left him clutching the washing machine for support, his eyes closed and his mouth hanging open. Stacy watched from the floor and giggled at the intensity of his response, then playfully tapped the top of his shaft to make it bob up and down, and giggled some more as she stood up and added his piss-soaked underwear to the load.
“I guess you can take a shower now, unless you… want to follow me to the bedroom,” Stacy said, walking out of the laundry room ahead of her husband, but turning to look back at him and bobbing her head to the side in a come-hither gesture.
Gareth took a moment to recover from the surprise of her momentary fellatio, and a further moment to recover from the surprise of her subsequent invitation. Then he bounded after her, following his erection like a divining rod.
When he caught up to her in the bedroom, she was already in the process of removing her top. After tossing it onto the floor, she guided him by the arm and backed him up toward the bed until he fell onto it in a seated position, so that his eyes were roughly level with her chest while she proceeded to remove her bra.
Stacy tossed that aside and well, and then pushed her husband onto his back, finished undressing, planted her knees on the mattress on either side of him, and shimmied forward until she was properly positioned to settle onto his cock.
Gareth clutched at her thighs and expelled a deep sigh as she did so, then began to buck gently underneath her while she rode him. Her pussy lips squeezed successively harder on his cock as he thrust deeper and deeper inside her, and they matched each other’s rhythm while building toward a mutual climax.
“Oh, poor baby…” Stacy moaned. “Baby’s so horny… Oh! Baby needs me… to take care of… his wet little… cock.”
Stacy pressed her hips slowly and firmly downward a few more times, then arched her back and raised her face to the ceiling to howl at the arrival of her orgasm. Gareth stared up at the spectacle in wonder for a long moment before exploding inside of her and pitching his head back until his vision greeted the headboard upside down.
When they both had finished, Stacy collapsed over top of him and rested her forehead on his shoulder for a moment, before gently lifting herself off of his shrinking member and rolling onto the bed beside him.
As they lay there in the afterglow, listening to the distant whirr of the washing machine which preserved their awareness of the circumstances behind this sexual reawakening, Gareth thought to himself: Maybe I will take some of those classes after all.
I’m not rlly an incest girlie outside some of the general normie trappings, but I’m not gonna yuck anyone’s yum about it? I’m a cnc freak and both of those basically have the same root of “what if there was someone who wanted me so bad they would do something terrible to fuck me”, pretending otherwise seems silly
like 80% of kinks involving any rp boil down to “what if someone wanted me so bad they would do something fucked up about it” and/or “what if there was a fucked up power dynamic I could exploit/be exploited by”. everyone just wants to feel wanted and in (or out of) control man and some people externalize that in off color ways, idk what to tell you
People have a tendency to react to incest fantasies as if the person indulging them is saying, "What if I were fucking my sibling?" when in fact what they are saying is, "What if the person I'm fucking were my sibling?"
Superficially, these might sound like identical utterances, but there's actually a world of difference between them. It's the difference between having an unhealthy attraction to a family member and having a perfectly normal attraction to someone who is NOT a family member and then PRETENDING that your relationship is transgressive and taboo.
This distinction is even more important, and should be even more obvious when it comes to ageplay fantasies. But vanilla folks tend to see one of two adults behaving child-like in a sexual context and assume that the other one wants to have sex with actual children. It's absurd, because you can probably see that their partner has fully developed breasts or facial hair, so it ought to be pretty clear that they're physically attracted to adults. Any other characteristics that people willfully adopt in the bedroom are just window dressing; they don't magically transform an unrelated, adult partner into something else.
Well, I was a week late in posting my New Years-inspired story. That's a less than auspicious start to 2025, but I'm willing to give myself a mulligan on the first few days.
I am tentatively resolved to remaining active on here in the coming weeks and months, as well as establishing a presence on other platforms for my fetish fiction.
In the meantime, I'd like to once again express my gratitude for those of you who continued following me after I kind of fell away from Tumblr and this type of content in general. I can't really account for my absences other than by saying that my mental health took some turns which made it difficult for me to indulge fantasy in the structured way that yields my perhaps excessively detailed fiction.
I'm also chronically self-conscious about that excess, which has held me back from making a novel available without first editing the absolute fuck out of it. That said, I'm going to either buckle down on giving Shy Teddy that edit this month or else bite the bullet and release it as a >100,000-word monstrosity.
Of course, first I've got to complete the short series that I started more than a month ago. I know it must be frustrating to read two parts and then be left hanging, but I'm trying to get back in the saddle, and once I do, I've got big plans.
That's not to say that I'll definitely follow through on those plans, but if I do, I think some of you are in for a treat. A lot will depend on whether I'm able to maintain enough efficiency with the work that actually keeps a roof over my head, so I can still devote some time to these extracurriculars without getting totally burned out.
Apart from that, though, I'm very highly motivated by attention, so if you like the content I post in the days to come, like it, share it, comment, send me a DM, etc. (Oh, and give me some money. [LOL, just kidding] {...Unless... 🤔})
Bobby awoke late in the morning on January 1, with a headache and a lingering haziness that told him he had overdone it the previous night with his New Year’s Eve celebrations. As he steeled himself to cope with the hangover, he felt grateful for the familiar embrace of the diaper he was wearing. It made him as feel comfortable and secure as ever, despite his disorientation – so much so that he considered turning over, pressing himself into the thick padding, and going back to sleep for a little while longer.
But as recollections of the previous night trickled into his waking mind, Bobby’s pleasant feelings were supplanted by a dawning confusion and mild panic. He’d gone to that New Year’s Eve party with his girlfriend, and wasn’t she supposed to come back to his apartment to spend the night afterwards? Had she? And if so, why was Bobby sleeping in a diaper when he had never worked up the courage to confess the things he liked to do when she wasn’t around?
Wincing in the light, Bobby forced himself to look around and confirm he’d woken up in the bed alone. As he propped himself in the bed to search for any signs Miranda had been there, his hand found something wet and his attention was drawn down to the puddle he’d just been sleeping in. Slowly, he raised his now wet fingers to his nose, hoping to find it was just spilled water, but was immediately struck by the unmistakable scent of the first pee after a night of heavy drinking.
After casting a paranoid glance over each shoulder, Bobby pushed himself up onto his knees, straddling the wet spot and looking down at the crotch of his diaper, which he was wearing without any pants over it.
“Did I leak?” he wondered to himself while pressing both hands to the diaper and examining the leg gathers. Although the padding was wet, it was far from soaked, and Bobby felt sure that there was no way he could have leaked it enough to make the sheets as wet as they were, especially considering how securely it was taped around his hips and thighs.
It occurred to Bobby that he could barely make the tapes that straight and snug even when he was perfectly clear-headed. How had he done it when he was blind drunk? And what the hell happened last night anyway?
Bobby left one hand resting on his diaper and raised the other to his mouth, touching his fingernails to his teeth while he wracked his brain for the last thing he could remember. He could vaguely recall sharing a passionate kiss with his girlfriend at midnight, but try as he might, he couldn’t remember getting home or going to bed.
“Miri must have decided to go home after the party,” he thought. “Jeez, I hope we didn’t get in a fight after having such a great time all night.” After a long moment, it occurred to Bobby that his phone would likely hold some clues. With sudden purpose, he lunged for the bedside table only to stop short, his heart in his throat, when he noticed the glass of water and two aspirin that had been left there for him, alongside a note in Miranda’s handwriting.
“When you’re done sleeping it off, we need to talk,” it said.
No sooner had he processed these words than he became aware of sounds coming from the other room. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted into his bedroom to overtake the smell of urine, and as he pictured his girlfriend waiting for to confront him with an unpleasant discussion, he was overwhelmed by a rush of emotions which quickly made him feel as if he were going to cry.
Bobby’s first instinct was to strategize some way of talking his way out of this situation, but he still didn’t know exactly what the situation was. Miranda must have stayed over after all, but then what? Did he wet the bed with her in it? In his drunkenness, did he decide it would be a good idea to put a diaper on then? But then where was his girlfriend for that? Surely, even when he was sloshed, Bobby wouldn’t be so stupid as to diaper himself in front of her. Bobby reasoned that after he’d had an accident, she must have left the room in disgust to go sleep on the couch.
Maybe, he thought, I just have to apologize for wetting the bed and remind her that it’s the only time of year I get that drunk. This could’ve happened to anybody. It’s embarrassing as hell, but she’ll understand – as long as I get out of this diaper first.
Having reminded himself that sometimes, other people wet when they’re drunk, too, Bobby looked back at the wet spot on his bedsheets and allowed himself to entertain the notion that maybe it hadn’t been him who wet the bed. Maybe when he stepped out into the kitchen, Miranda would be the one apologizing to him. Maybe there was some drunken logic at play that told him he should put his diaper on to avoid getting wet from her pee.
Bobby clung to that optimism while gingerly climbing out of the bed in search of grown-up clothing. But he remained wary of going out to face her, of smelling the pee on his skin whether it was his or hers. He wanted to rinse it away in the shower first, and he certainly wanted to get rid of the diaper before she saw it, but he also didn’t want to keep her waiting for him if she was upset.
Normally, waking up in a wet diaper meant that he would just strip it off, fold it up, and stuff it in the bathroom garbage, then make sure to take the bag out well before Miranda came over. The fact that she was in the apartment with him meant that he would need to come up with a whole new procedure, which was made more difficult by him being hung over.
Bobby stripped off his damp sleep shirt and tossed it onto the bed, then put on a fresh t-shirt and found a pair of loose-fitting pants which he could wear over his diaper just until he slipped into the bathroom. Once he did that, he would just have to stuff the diaper into the trash before taking a quick shower, and hope she wouldn’t look into the bathroom garbage before he could take the bag out.
After slipping the pants on, Bobby also grabbed a pair of ordinary underwear and turned to head for the door, but stopped short to look back at the bed and its wet spot. Although he couldn’t think of any scenario in which she wasn’t aware of what had happened there, he still didn’t want her being reminded of it if she went back into the room, so he paused to pull up the covers and hide it as best he could before heading to the bathroom with his clean underwear in hand.
Bobby barely managed to turn in the direction of the bathroom before Miranda’s stopped him in his tracks simply by clearing her throat. As he jumped and turned to face her, he hastily stuffed the underwear into his pants pocket and winced as he inadvertently caused his diaper to rustle. His pulse quickened when he met her eye, but he tried his best to act natural.
“I thought I heard you rustling around,” Miranda said. “Going somewhere?”
Bobby tried not to read into her choice of words, but faltered nervously in his effort to respond.
“I was… Uh… I was just going to go to the bathroom before I came to talk to you.”
Miranda shook her head decisively. “I think this time you can wait,” she said while gesturing for him to follow her. “Come on. I made breakfast.”
Bobby winced a second time, assuming that her sarcastic reply settled the question of who had wet the bed. He also noted that there was something ineffable about her stern but matter-of-fact tone, and while he cautiously padded into the kitchen behind her, he reassured himself that she couldn’t be that upset with him if she’d been willing to cook him breakfast.
Bobby slowly settled into a chair, taking care not to rustle any more than was necessary, then convinced himself to get the ball rolling with a modest, if unavoidable confession.
“I’ll be honest,” he said. “I don’t remember very much of last night.”
“Yeah, that’s not surprising,” Miranda replied. “You were in rare form last night.”
“I hope I didn’t do anything terrible. It’s just so easy to lose control on New Year’s Eve. It’s the only night of the year I really go wild. You know I’m not usually much of a drinker.”
“Yeah, and I guess now I have a better understanding of why that is.”
Bobby felt his cheeks getting flushed, assuming this was a reference to his apparent accident.
“Yeah… Like I said, I don’t remember much of what happened, but… I woke up and, um… I saw that the bed was wet, so I guess… um, I…”
Bobby trailed off for a moment, then willed himself to look into his girlfriend’s eyes as he tried to reclaim his senses.
“Look, I’m sorry, Miri. I don’t know if I got it on you or anything, but, you know, it happens sometimes when people get too drunk. It was just a one-time thing, so please don’t hold it against me. I mean… it’s not like I’m a bedwetter or something. You know… How many times have we stayed over at each other’s places?”
Miranda indulged a conspicuous pause before replying: “Well, technically, you didn’t wet the bed last night.”
Bobby straightened up in his seat, feeling as if a massive weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “So it was you!” he said a bit too excitedly.
Miranda positively cackled in response. “What?! No! Of course not, Bobby. It was all your piss. I just mean you didn’t wet the bed in the sense that you didn’t wait until you were asleep to start peeing.”
“What?! I don’t…” Bobby trailed off again while returning to a slumped, submissive posture.
Miranda raised an eyebrow and cocked her head to the side, scrutinizing her boyfriend. “You really don’t remember anything, do you?” she asked.
“Not really. Not after midnight.”
“That’s okay, I have video.”
To Bobby’s ear, her tone remained ineffable, and he couldn’t tell whether she intended her declaration to be merely informative, teasing, or threatening. On some level, he hoped that she would clarify by just showing him what she was referring to straightaway. But on another level, he wasn’t sure that he wanted to see it at all.
Miranda pulled out her phone and pulled up the video in question, but did not immediately press play or show it to her boyfriend. Instead, she set the phone down in the space between them and set to work filling in some of the other gaps in Bobby’s memory.
“So, we hung around the party for about an hour after the ball drop. You kept getting more and more wasted, but it wasn’t anything too crazy. We were having a good time. Things only started to get weird on the walk home. We were talking about the difference between guys and girls when they get drunk. I said something about how girls become more like little kids – they get affectionate and giggly and super-emotional – but boys become full-on babies. I was just kind of trying to make fun of how you couldn’t walk or talk properly at that point, and how I was going to have to take care of you when we got home. But then you just wouldn’t let it go. The whole rest of the walk, you were like, ‘I’m baby! I need my diapee and baba. Mommy’s gonna take care of me when we get home!’ It was gross.”
The sudden humiliation compounded Bobby’s hangover and made him feel like he was going to pass out. He glanced at his girlfriend’s face just long enough to register the expression with which she punctuated the last word, and then he proceeded to star down at his lap while hoping that somehow this was still a dream.
“I thought it was just a weird joke,” Miranda said, “but then we got home and this happened.”
She pushed her phone closer to Bobby, waited until she was sure he was looking at the screen, and pressed the play button for him.
The video began with Miranda’s voice speaking from behind the camera as she steadied it on the image of her boyfriend sprawled out on the bed, still fully clothed. “Wait, say that again,” she said, sounding slightly confused.
“I need a diapey,” Bobby replied without hesitation, lifting his arm languidly to point in the general direction of the dresser where he kept his ABDL supplies hidden.
“Why are you being weird?” Miranda asked, the confusion in her voice becoming more pronounced.
In the video, Bobby then sleepily draped his forearm over his face while stretching to make himself more comfortable on the bed. “I’m not weird, you’re weird,” he chuckled. “You said I’m a baby but you let me go alllll night with big boy undies on.” He raised his other arm and let it fall until a limp finger was pointing roughly toward his crotch.
“What?!” Miranda’s voice interjected before Bobby went on, heedless of her disbelief.
“You’re lucky I didn’t have a accident,” he said. “Then who would have had to clean it up?” He paused to thrust the same limp finger toward the camera before heavily spitting out the answer: “You!”
“Look, Bobby, I’m sorry I compared you to a baby,” Miranda said. “It was just a joke, and it’s done now. I feel like you’re taking this way too seriously.”
“Nope!” Bobby chirped while turning over and snuggling into the pillow, looking strangely pleased with himself. “You said it, can’t take it back. How’m I even sposda go to the potty if I can’t walk, huh?
“Bobby, are you saying you have to go to the bathroom…? Come on, get up. I’ll help you.”
The video began to move closer to the bed but stopped in response to Bobby raising his arm and swatting at the air to shoo Miranda away.
“Shh. Babies can’t talk, either,” he declared before slapping his hand against the front of his pants and leaving it there, loosely gripping his crotch. “That’s why I need a diapey. Can’t tell you when I gotta go potty.”
“Uh… I think you just did. Seriously, come on, get up. You’re obviously not going to wear a diaper. That’s not something we just have sitting around, babe.”
“Uh-huh, I got lots of ‘em,” Bobby said, barely lifting his arm to indicate the dresser again. He paused to drunkenly smile and laugh to himself before adding, “Obviously.”
The video then clearly picked up Miranda whispering, “What the fuck?” before the image bounced across the room and leveled on the dresser. “Which drawer…?” she asked tentatively, pausing for a moment before she pointed the camera back at her boyfriend and repeated, more loudly, “Which drawer?”
Bobby laboriously propped himself up in the bed, obviously struggling to make his eyes focus on the objects on the far side of the room. His arm thrust forward again but he didn’t even bother pointing this time as he said, “Bottom left,” then collapsed back into a prostrate position.
Miranda pointed the camera down at the indicated drawer and opened it to reveal a stack of towels. With her free hand she reached under them until her hand met different texture and she once again whispered, “What the fuck?”
“What the fuck?” she repeated theatrically after moving aside the towels to reveal her boyfriend’s stash.
“Bobby, these have cartoon prints on them! Why do you have these?”
Bobby stretched again, evidently struggling to keep himself awake, and kept his eyes closed while he answered. “’Cause I’m baby,” he said insistently, almost impatiently. “I need it.”
“You don’t need it!” Miranda practically shouted back. “You’re a grown man, dating a grown woman. You go to the bathroom in the bathroom.”
“Mm-mm,” Bobby shook his head. “Babies don’t know how to go bathroom. You gotta put the diapey on me.”
“I’m not putting this on you! Are you crazy?”
“Okayyy,” Bobby answered in a teasing, sing-song voice. “But if you don’t wanna change me, I guess I just hafta pee my paaants.”
“Oh my god, do not do that.”
Bobby lightly moaned while casually grabbing hold of his penis through his pants. “But I gotta go.”
Miranda turned the camera toward Bobby’s bedroom door and thrust her hand into the frame to snap her fingers and point at it while giving a single word command: “Bathroom!”
Bobby answered with his own, equally short command: “Diapey!”
“No!”
“Okay.” Bobby drunkenly chuckled again and shrugged his shoulders before repositioning himself on the bed and visibly grinding his hips against the mattress. “I guess I got no choice.” He lifted his arm behind him in an abortive attempt to point at his girlfriend one more time while saying, “This is your fault.”
“What…” Miranda began just before the video picked up the image of the bedsheets taking on a darker color, first in the area just below Bobby’s crotch, and then around his thighs and hips.
“Oh my god, stop,” she shouted as the image went blurry with the motion of her rushing forward, just before it cut off abruptly.
As soon as it did, Miranda casually took back her phone, and began waiting patiently to see what Bobby would say first.
All the color had drained from his face as he watched, and when he returned to his senses, he realized that he had been steadily peeing into his diaper since the moment he saw her uncover the secret he’d been keeping in his dresser all these months.
When he finally spoke, it was as much to drown out the sound of his intensifying stream as it was to break the tension. Of course, he had no idea what to say and was forced to content himself with a lot of stammering and false starts: “Um… I’m… I… Um… I’m sorry.”
Sounding no less confused than she had in the video, Miranda replied, “Bobby, I don’t even know what you’re apologizing for, really.”
“Um… well… for… uh, first of all… for… for peeing… in the bed like that.”
Miranda frowned and shrugged her shoulders. “Whatever. It’s your bed. I don’t have to sleep in it. And after that little performance, I’m not sure I will be again.”
Bobby buried his head in his hands. He couldn’t think of anything else to say for himself, so he sat there in silence, trying not to squirm too much from the fullness of his diaper while he waited for Miranda to make it clear whether or not she was now his ex-girlfriend.
“So, do you want to explain the diapers, or what?” she asked finally.
Bobby didn’t look up before replying. “I wear them sometimes.”
“Obviously. Why?”
Bobby shrugged and then slumped. “It feels good, I guess.”
“Okay? And why do they have to look like that?”
“Well… I like… I dunno. That way it feels more like… more like I’m a kid again. Like I’m innocent and cute or whatever.”
“Just what every girl wants in a boyfriend,” Miranda spat back sarcastically. “And do you actually want people to see you like that?”
“No!” Bobby answered insistently, as if she were accusing him of cheating. “I mean… I guess… I wanted you to, eventually, maybe. Just… not like this.”
“Ew.” Miranda wrinkled her nose. “So what would have been the good way for you to show off your baby diapers to me?”
Bobby shrugged again. “I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it. I just know that… I was… I was planning on telling you eventually.”
Miranda scoffed. “I don’t think I would have wanted you to. I’d rather not know. But I can’t exactly unsee it now, can I?”
Bobby pressed his face into both his palms as if hoping he could make the whole world disappear.
“Ew,” Miranda repeated. “Are you going to cry, now? How did I never know that you were such a baby?”
“I’m not a baby,” Bobby protested, but his voice cracked as he found himself actually fighting back tears. “I just said that last night for fun. I’m the same man I always was. I just like to… play sometimes.”
“I’ll bet you do,” Miranda said, tauntingly. “So, what, you put yourself in baby diapers, you pee in them, and then you rub yourself in them until you cum? Is that it?”
Bobby’s cheeks went red as he fumbled for a response. “Um… It’s…”
“That’s all right, you might as well admit it,” Miranda advised. “I didn’t get it on video, but after you pissed yourself last night, you kept trying to get yourself off by grinding your cock into the wet spot. I finally agreed to put you in the diaper because I thought maybe it would make you stop, but then when I was leaning over you, I had to keep swatting your hands away because you wouldn’t stop trying to play with my tits. I ended up giving you a handjob just to keep you quiet, which was weird because I think you were too drunk to even enjoy it, much less notice that I wasn’t.”
“I’m sorry…” Bobby moaned.
“Whatever,” Miranda said, with a surprisingly gentle turn. “I’m sorry that you won’t even be able to remember the last time I ever jerked you off.”
Bobby used the heel of his palm to wipe a tear from each eye before he began pleading. “Do we really have to break up over this? Can’t we just pretend that it didn’t happen? I love you and I thought you loved me. This doesn’t have to change anything. Not really.”
“I do love you,” Miranda said. “But it’s like I said: I can’t unsee what I saw last night. Even if I could pretend like I don’t know what you do when I’m not around, what happens if I want to go out and party again? How can I trust you to get drunk and not revert to baby mode where you decide you’re going to piss in your pants again?”
Bobby wiped away more tears and blubbered, “Please don’t leave me.”
“Stop crying, it’s gross,” Miranda groaned. “You’re just proving my point. I’m not going to be able to just stop seeing you as the adult baby you actually are, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I have to dump you.”
With a quavering gasp, Bobby forced himself to meet Miranda’s eye. “Really?” he asked.
“I mean… that’s kind of up to you,” she answered. “I don’t think I can let you fuck me anymore. I doubt I’d be able to feel your cock inside me without thinking about how it looked bulging against your piss-soaked pants, or squirting in my hand before getting wrapped up in those cartoon prints. That’s not exactly a turn on for me, you know. But if you’re okay with me filling that need elsewhere, there’s no reason why we can’t still be boyfriend and girlfriend—or maybe better yet, mommy and baby.”
“What… What do you mean?” Bobby asked.
“Bobby, do you have any idea how many guys at that party would have taken me home last night if I asked them to? Some of them were every bit as drunk as you were, but I’ll bet any of them would have fucked my brains out and not pissed their pants. Up until last night, I thought that was your job, but not anymore. If you want to stay together, it means we can still go out together, but we’re not necessarily going home together.”
At that, Bobby felt the tears welling up in his eyes again, but he couldn’t tell whether they were tears of sadness or of relief. Though he’d been clinging to the hope that he could still salvage his manhood in his girlfriend’s eyes, now that was out the window. But he couldn’t deny that it seemed like a sacrifice worth making in order to keep her in his life.
“You don’t have to decide right now,” Miranda explained. “I already had a few hours to think this over while I was waiting for you to wake up. And I’ll be honest… I was going to just break up with you. But I had some help seeing this in a different light.”
“Huh?” Bobby croaked.
“I was so…” Miranda paused to consider her words. “…flabbergasted by what you did last night that I needed to find out if you were just crazy. I mean, I’ve heard about people peeing on each other and stuff like that, but a grown man wearing baby diapers and wanting to be changed? This is all brand new to me.”
Bobby wanted to launch into an explanation of how he used to think he was alone, too, and how he eventually discovered a vibrant and diverse ABDL community, but almost before he opened his mouth to speak, Miranda raised a hand to silence him.
“I know, it’s not that unusual. I mean, obviously they make those diapers for someone. But I’d never heard of it, so I started texting with some of my girlfriends who I know are a lot kinkier than I am.”
Noticing the sudden appearance of terror in Bobby’s eyes, Miranda raised her hands in a gesture of reassurance and explained: “I didn’t mention your name or what happened. I just told them that I found out something about someone I’ve known for a while, and I wanted to see if they’d heard of anything like it. And lo and behold, some had. Heck, at least one of them, Lucy – you know her, she was at the party too – she’s even kind of into it. She had one boyfriend who called her mommy and everything.”
Had Bobby not been so emotionally drained by the preceding several minutes, he might have felt vindicated by this information. Miranda was right that Bobby knew her friend Lucy, but Bobby suspected that he knew her even better than Miranda realized.
Not only had he seen her at the party, but at one point, when he was coming out of the bathroom, Lucy had seen fit to grab him by the crook of his elbow and take him aside to smooth out his rumpled clothing, check his awareness, and advise him to drink some water and pop a few breath mints before kissing his girlfriend at midnight. It was only the latest of many instances where Bobby felt she was giving off strong mommy vibes.
“Lucky for you,” Miranda continued, “she helped me to recognize the fun part of having an adult baby I can control and play with however I want. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still gross, but now that I’ve gotten over the initial shock, I think I might be more inclined to laugh than to cringe next time I get to watch you pissing yourself.”
As she imagined what that future accident might look like, Miranda glanced down at Bobby’s crotch. Noticing this, and noticing her furrow her brow a second later, Bobby instinctively crossed his forearms over his lap, which only served to confirm what Miranda suspected.
“Bobby, is your diaper bulging more than it was last night? I didn’t get to see what it looks like under your pants before, but that seems kind of full.”
Fearing both her disgust and her laughter, Bobby whimpered, “No,” but immediately betrayed the lie by leaning forward in an effort to further conceal the evidence.
Miranda did not hesitate to reach out and start prying his hands away. “Are you sure?” she asked, insistently. “Why don’t you let me check?”
After a half-hearted struggle, and with his cheeks burning and his heart racing, Bobby relented and let his girlfriend take hold of his waistband.
“Let me just…” Miranda said. “Lift your butt up.”
Bobby pushed himself out of his chair long enough for her to yank his pants down his thighs, then settled back into the simultaneously comforting and humiliating squish of his sodden diaper. A moment later, the humiliation overtook the comfort as Miranda laid a hand over his crotch and gave a series of probing squeezes.
“Oh my god, this is completely soaked!” she exclaimed, before bursting out laughing.
Bobby tried to convince himself that laughter was the best reaction he could have hoped for, but it still cut through him like a knife and prompted him to once again bury his head in his hands.
Miranda pulled Billy’s pants the rest of the way off and discarded them with a flourish before grabbing his wrists and commanding, “No, don’t hide.” After forcing him to meet her eye, she declared, “This is the perfect proof of concept,” and kept hold of one wrist in order to drag him onto his feet and lead him back to the bedroom.
As he toddled behind her, legs forced apart by the wet padding, Miranda turned back to him and scolded, “I can’t believe you pissed yourself again already. Seriously, how did I never know that you were such a baby?”
“I had to go when I woke up but you wouldn’t let me,” Bobby whined.
“Oh my god, so what?” Miranda shot back. “Big boys can hold it for ten fucking minutes in the morning. And men are capable of telling their girlfriends, ‘No, you wait for me’.”
In the bedroom, Miranda physically positioned her baby boyfriend beside the bed and then pushed him down onto it. Consciously, Bobby knew that it wasn’t a sexual gesture, but his cock didn’t. The feeling of his nascent erection pressing against his wet diaper only intensified his embarrassment, as did the smell of last night’s pee, which faintly penetrated the covers to reach his nose.
Bobby was compelled to cover his face with his hands yet again, while lying back in the changing position, but Miranda was no more willing to tolerate the gesture this time, and so she leaned down to pull his hands away and pin them to the mattress on either side of his head. This, of course, did not diminish his arousal, and Bobby could only imagine how red his face became while he struggled to cope with his dread of how she would react if she opened his diaper to find that the entire situation was turning him on.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Miranda declared, her face only inches from his. “I’m going to change your diaper, and if I can do it without being completely grossed out, I’m going to call Lucy and tell her exactly why I was asking her about adult baby boys. I think she’ll be really interested, for more reasons than one.”
Miranda stood upright to take in the full image of her boyfriend lying on his back in just a shirt and wet diaper, flushed with embarrassment, before she went on:
“You know all those guys I mentioned I could have gone home with? Well, it turns out Lucy did go home with one of them. I got to hear all about it when we were chatting this morning. He sounded really hot, and apparently after they fucked, they started talking and my name came up.”
Miranda registered the curiosity in Bobby’s expression at the same time as she reached down to fondle the edges of the diaper, gearing herself up to un-tape it and reverse the process she’d so begrudgingly carried out the previous night.
“Yeah,” she said, “I guess he admitted that he’d been checking me out last night before he realized I was there with someone. I don’t know if she was just joking, but Lucy actually told me that she said he should have gone for it anyway, because she didn’t think you were man enough for me. What are the odds, huh?”
At that, Miranda began peeling off the tapes of Bobby’s diaper while she continued:
“Then she said something really interesting. I don’t know if she was still a little drunk from last night, but she let it slip that she’s been wanting to go to bed with me for a while, and she said the two of them discussed it, and they agreed that if they ever got the chance, they’d love to have a three-way with me.”
With all four tapes removed, Miranda left the diaper loosely covering Bobby’s groin and went on: “So now that I know you and I aren’t going to be fucking anymore, I think I’m going to take them up on that offer. But don’t worry. You can come, too. You’re just going to have to keep your diaper on.”
To drive the point home, she brought her hand down on the front of the one she had just removed, patting it several times and eliciting a shudder and a wince from her boyfriend when she made direct contact with his erection. Miranda raised her eyebrows in surprise and pulled the diaper open in a grand gesture to reveal his cock sticking straight up in the air.
Bobby found himself torn between the impulse to cover his face again and the impulse to masturbate, so instead he grabbed the bedcovers tightly in both fists and writhed in discomfort while his girlfriend stared down at his erection and chuckled.
“I was going to ask whether you’d be into that,” Miranda said, “but I guess I don’t have to. You fucking pervert, this is really turning you on, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ve seen you this hard in a long time.”
To Bobby, her tone came across as almost encouraging, which caused one impulse to win out over the other. Before he was even consciously aware of it, one of his hands reached for his cock to begin stroking, but before he could get started, Miranda slapped that hand away, grazing the head of his penis in the process.
“You already got to cum last night,” she cautioned. “We’re not doing that again.”
Bobby only moaned in response, while averting his eyes.
“Put your hands at your side and keep them there while I go and get you a fresh diaper,” Miranda commanded.
Bobby complied, but continued squirming on the bed as his libido battled his willpower. When Miranda was back in front of him, he dutifully lifted his ass off of the bed to let her remove the used diaper and replace it with the new one.
“Yeah, so I’m definitely going to call Lucy after this,” she said. “But first let’s get you taped up before you’re tempted to start touching yourself. I think we should keep you nice and wound up while we make our arrangements. That three-way is going to be incredible, and you’re going to be able to listen to every minute of it. Maybe while he’s taking turns with us, Lucy and I can take turns going into the other room to check your diaper. Do you think she’d want to change you? Do you think you could keep your hands to yourself if she did?”
Miranda carefully pressed the diaper down over her boyfriend’s erection and began taping it up with surprising adeptness. Bobby found himself still unable to muster any response to her inquiries other than a groan.
“Actually, I think maybe we’ll do it together,” Miranda said with note of inspiration. “I know I was probably supposed to wipe you down and put powder on you or something just now, but let’s be honest: you’re lucky I’m doing this for you at all. If you want me to do it right in the future, I’ll bet Lucy can show me the ropes. Maybe the three of us will even take a little shopping trip together, to get everything I’ll need.”
Miranda laid her hand over Bobby’s diapered erection to add emphasis to her next line: “Wouldn’t that be fun?”
Bobby shuddered in response, and Miranda withdrew her hand quickly.
“Oh my god, that thing’s ready to blow, isn’t it?”
Miranda paused to withdraw her phone and then said, “Okay, I’m going to go make that call now. You better think about baseball or something, ‘cause I don’t want to find jizz in that diaper when I come back. I think if Lucy does agree to change you later, I’ll let her decide what you should do to thank her, and I don’t want anything to be off the table because you couldn’t control yourself.”
Miranda raised her phone in front of her face, and Bobby assumed that she was searching her contacts to dial Lucy until he heard the click of her camera shutter. Bobby felt the cold prickling of newfound embarrassment as that sound was followed by the sound of an outgoing text message. After that, Miranda finally raised the phone to her ear and turned to leave the room.
“Lucy? Oh my god, you are not going to believe this…” she said, before her voice trailed away, leaving Bobby listening to his own breath catching in his throat while he tried not to cum, or to cry.
One night. That’s all i ask. Just make it one night without waking up in a wet diaper. Can you do that? Just go ONE night without pissing yourself. If you do, i’ll give you back your big boy underwear, and you’ll never have to wear diapers again! But if it comes morning time and your stars have disappeared, you can say bye bye to all of your chances of being treated like a real man. Bedwetters and pamper pissers don’t deserve to do big boy things. So just prove to me that you’re man. You can do it. I know you can!
Now just finish up your bottle. Yes, I know you’ve already had two, but I want to make sure you’re nice and hydrated before you go off to beddie byes! Why are you whimpering? Are you worried you can’t control yourself?”
As you watch your "little sister" breastfeeding, you feel a tingle in your groin, which blends seamlessly with your jealousy over all the attention she's getting.
You're not desperate, but the feeling makes you very aware of your bladder, of how easy it is to release, and of how upset mommy gets when you do it without waiting until you're over the potty.
When you feel the warm wetness spreading over your thigh, you can't quite tell whether it was a conscious decision or a natural reflex, and even though your heart is racing from the knowledge of how much trouble you'll be in, you know that mommy will shift all her focus onto you at any second.
You stare down at the puddle that's begun forming at your feet, and you resolve to take the good with the bad. You'll practically have mommy's undivided attention, as long as sis doesn't decide to act out even more...
Hey there! First i would like to say that i love your work! I recently found your blog again, and i saw this story called “what is mine is yours”
I really like that story and was wondering if you plan on making another chapter? 😇
I'll have two or three more chapters of this one coming, but to be honest, I'm still struggling to make Tumblr part of a regular routine again. Hopefully once I do, I'll actually be able to juggle a handful of different recurring characters and scenarios.
"I can't believe my step-sister made the boy from the neighboring campsite pee himself. She always bullies the cute ones.
"I'm sure I saw him pouting and trudging this way down the trail. I want to make him feel better. Maybe if he just sees me in my pull-up and understands he's not the only big kid around here who still has accidents sometimes..."
Either the Girl Goes or I Do @lostcontrolfreak - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
