It is simply a freak, a fucked over donk twat unable to live without plastic and donk.
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@shamelimitless
It is simply a freak, a fucked over donk twat unable to live without plastic and donk.
Consent
I can give you a singular experience—a truly unique experience that you won’t find in any other place. I’ve done it twice before, and I can tell you it’s hard work. I depend on some friends with a variety of… unique skills. But as I said, it’s a pretty fucking amazing experience.
There’s just one hitch: this is an all-or-nothing sort of thing. Once you start, you’re committed for the duration, and that duration starts at a week and may go much longer, depending on how much you take to it. You’ve got to give complete consent to giving total control over to me, and I mean ALL control.
You can’t imagine the scope of what I’m asking, so let me take a few minutes to get really explicit about what “total control” means. There are actually five realms of “total control” and you have to agree to all of them.
The first is physical control. I may restrain you, making you immobile or simply restricting the use of your arms or legs, such as putting you in a straitjacket. You may be gagged, blindfolded, hooded. But when I say “total physical control” that also means you may be shaved or pierced or tattooed or your body parts may otherwise be modified or enhanced or enlarged. Oh, and it goes without saying that my friends and I will be exposing you to sexual acts: fucking and being fucked, that sort of thing. We’ll be in charge of your mouth and your cock and your ass.
Next is a little similar—that’s pharmacological control, and by that I mean drugs. I may at any time administer substances, whether orally, anally, inhaled or even by injection. You may receive any drug that can affect your mind or body. There are drugs that simply impair judgement or make you suggestible, and there are others that induce overwhelming arousal or euphoria, or cause temporary amnesia.
The third realm has some overlap with the last one, and that’s mind control. You may be programmed or hypnotized or, as I said before, drugged. Your mind may be implanted with various triggers or urges, or other sorts of behavioral conditioning.
The fourth has a lot of crossover with the last one, and that’s control over your memory. I may induce a sort of amnesia so that you don’t know who you are or how you came to be in your current situation. I might remove your entire identity and replace it with one of my choosing, along with false memories. Or I may suspend your ability to record memory, so that I can interrogate you about things that you later don’t remember having told me. Hell, I could even erase the entire next week so that once you emerge out the other end you’ve got no idea whatever happened to you!
The fifth realm of control is arousal. You may become helpless to your hidden or suppressed desires and fetishes, or I may create and implant new fetishes and make it so that you don’t realize you haven’t had them all your life. Your sexual arousal may get so heightened, by prolonged edging or other means, that you will do anything or surrender anything in order to get release. I’m serious: you might get so horny that you lose control of your mind and actions! That may become part of your conditioning regimen where I continually build your sexual arousal to the breaking point where you surrender your mind to me, only to have me put you in isolation to rest so that hours later I can repeat the entire process.
So that’s what total control is. You’ve got to give me consent up-front to any and all of this. I promise you won’t come to any permanent physical harm, but I can’t promise that you won’t be permanently changed by the experience. On the contrary, I promise that this will change you, but you’ll love it. Once you come out the other side, you’ll be so happy that you took the plunge.
Now, there’s one other thing about this opportunity: it’s a one-time offer. You can’t tell me next week that you’ve mulled it over and you’re ready to go. It actually has to be now or never. There’s something about the heightened stakes of taking a totally blind spur-of-the-moment plunge that makes this process work. You can’t “make preparations first” or anything like that. I’ll take care of family, friends or work—you’ll essentially be calling in sick or going on an unexpected work trip, or something like that. My friends and I will help create the backstory and cover for you.
If you want to give your consent, there’s something specific you have to do. It’s sort of a ritual that you have to initiate in order to make it clear that you’re not just passively agreeing. I’ve been video recording this conversation so that it’s clear you’ve heard and understand what this entails, and that you’ve given consent freely. You have to do three things in order.
First, you have to swallow this pill. I’ll tell you right now that it’s a combination of a mild hallucinogenic and a hypnotic. It’ll make you a bit happy and horny and suggestible, and you’ll feel it kick-in in about five or ten minutes.
Second, you must put this muzzle on yourself. You put this penis-shaped gag in your mouth and bite down on it, and then the straps go around your head and snap into place in the back. See, this is where the small buckle is, right here. And then you put this miniature padlock through the ring and lock it in place. I’ve got a mirror to help you see what you’re doing.
The last thing is something you’ll need my help with. I’ll hold out these two fist-mitts. You’ll need to put a hand in each one and then make a fist, and then I’ll tighten the strap securely around your wrists. Up until that point, you can back out of this, and you won’t be committed. Even if you’ve taken the pill, put on the muzzle, and gotten your first hand secured in its fist mitt… even then you can shake your head and just not put your hand in the last glove and you can back out. That’s okay. I’ll make sure you have a great time, and we’ll have some freaky-intense sex.
It’s at the moment that I’ve secured the fist mitt over your second wrist that you’ve past the point of no return. That’s when I own you. That when you give up control across all five of those realms I spoke of. That’s when you start down the journey of becoming another person.
If only this could be real I will say yes and do all
So if you can actually do this for real DM me
….i’m particularly interested in complete control/domination/inescapable longterm bondage (24/7?) by a bondage top/master/daddy to train me in enforced chastity, objectification and use as a diapered slave, forced to recycle your fluids and kept chained, plugged, gagged and strapped to a bed every night so my holes are always under your strict control! GET IN TOUCH IF YOU ARE INTERESTED. Handcuff
Please, sir, will you make love to my wife? I’m begging you, sir. She’ll kick me out if I don’t convince you. I can’t satisfy her anymore. I’m not even a man anymore. I’m a plumped up sissy Bimbo doll. My wife feminized me because I was so small down there. She said it would be hot if I shrunk even smaller. She suggested estrogen, fillers, implants, chastity, and a full wardrobe change. I did everything she said, and now she calls me mean names and slaps me if I misbehave. She’s so much stronger than me. I’m just an abused, emasculated, dumb little bimbo sissy with a soft and leaky micro clitty. Please, fuck my wife, sir. Please.
The shame and humiliation you feel begging a real man to fuck your wife is intense. But as pathetic sissy betas the humiliation is what we need every day to remind us of juat how much we failed at being men, sitting in a pretty dress leaking precum from my locked up limp clitty into my pink pampers looking up at the man who took my spot in the master bedroom helps keep me in my place
Randy’s Reward
The little silver bell on the nightstand chimed twice. Soft, almost musical. Randy froze mid-wipe in the kitchen, the damp cloth dripping onto the tile. His pulse jumped. The bell usually meant one of two things: Lauren needed something fetched right now, or he was in trouble.
He set the cloth down carefully, smoothed his onesie over the heavy, sagging bulk between his legs, and started the slow waddle down the hallway. Each step made the cold, swollen mess inside shift and squish audibly. He’d been marinating in it since late afternoon. Five, maybe six hours. The smell of stale piss was starting to creep up under the baby powder scent. He didn’t dare ask for a change. Not after last week’s reminder that “good boys wait until Mommy says so.”
When he reached the bedroom doorway, he paused, eyes on the floor. Lauren sat propped against the headboard in her silk robe, hair still slightly mussed from Marcus’s earlier visit. She wasn’t scowling. She wasn’t holding the wooden spoon or the hairbrush. She was…smiling. Soft, almost fond.
“Come here, baby,” she said gently. “Mommy has something for you.”
Randy’s stomach churned in confusion and cautious hope. He shuffled forward, head bowed, until he stood at the edge of the bed. The diaper forced his thighs apart, the onesie pulled tight across the front.
“Kneel.” Lauren commanded.
He obeyed, lowering himself carefully so the sodden padding didn’t squish too loudly. She reached out, cupped his cheek, and tilted his face up.
“You’ve been such a good boy lately,” she began, voice low and warm. “No fussing at mealtimes. You ate every bite of your num-nums without a single pout…even the mashed peas which I know you hate. You didn’t whine about having to take your pounding from my strap. And yesterday…” She traced a finger down his chest to the first snap of his onesie. “You didn’t even ask for a change when you got all messy after lunch. You just sat there in your poopy diapee, waiting so patiently until I decided it was time.”
Pop. The first snap of the onesie gave way.
Randy’s breath caught. She was undressing him. Slowly. Deliberately.
Pop. Second snap.
“And when Marcus came over…” she continued, eyes locked on his, voice dropping into that sweet, condescending purr, “you were perfect. You fluffed Marcus’ cock so nicely for me with that little mouth of yours, sucking and licking until he was rock hard and throbbing, ready to fuck Mommy. You knelt there the whole time and watched every deep thrust and every moan like a good little cuck while he took what was his, didn’t you? You held nice and still while he jizzed all over your face, painting your cheeks and lips, and you didn’t sulk even once while it slowly dripped down your chin and onto your bib during round two. And after he filled me up again, you licked all his thick cum out of my pussy, sucking it out like the eager little cleaner you are. All without a single complaint. I’ve never been more proud of my good little cuck boy!!”
Pop. Pop. Pop. The onesie burst open, exposing the cartoon teddy bears stretched taut over the massively swollen, yellowed front of his diaper. The plastic backing glistened faintly under the lamplight.
Lauren hooked two fingers into the waistband and gave a playful tug. The padding sagged heavily, straining at the tapes.
“Look at this...” she murmured. “So full. So heavy. You’ve been carrying all that for hours, haven’t you, sweetie? Just letting it get colder and squishier against your poor little bottom!”
Randy nodded, cheeks flaming. A tiny whimper escaped.
She smiled wider. “You’ve earned something nice tonight, sweetie. A real reward!”
His heart hammered so hard he thought she could hear it.
Lauren reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out the small silver key. She dangled it in front of his face, letting it swing like a pendulum. “Tonight...you actually get to fuck your girlfriend.”
Randy’s stomach flipped with dizzying hope. After months of nothing but watching and cleaning up after Marcus, she was finally going to let him inside her again. He couldn’t even remember what her warm, soft pussy felt like anymore. Just faded, desperate dreams that left him aching every night. His caged cock twitched violently, leaking even more as fresh, trembling excitement flooded through him.
She cupped the front of his diaper, giving the sodden bulk a gentle squeeze. He whimpered at the pressure against his swollen balls.
“Let’s get this off you first,” she whispered.
She peeled the first tape open with a long, deliberate rip. Cool air kissed the exposed skin of his hip. Second tape. The front panel sagged forward, heavy and clinging. Third tape. Fourth. The entire diaper finally gave way and dropped between his knees to the floor with a wet, crinkly thud.
His cock cage gleamed under the light, the tiny steel bars barely containing the straining, purple-headed shaft. His balls hung low and dark, bloated from weeks of unrelenting denial. Thick strands of pre-cum stretched from the tip of the cage toward the floor.
Lauren tsked sympathetically. “Awww! Poor thing!! Look how desperate you are...” She traced one fingernail along the bars, making him jerk. “All locked up and leaking for Mommy!!"
She produced the key again, sliding it into the little mechanism as his breath caught. The click of the lock rang like a tiny symphony in the quiet room. The moment the cage released, his cock surged upward. Painfully hard, veins pulsing, tip glistening and slick.
He gasped, hips twitching forward involuntarily, already imagining sinking into Mommy’s welcoming heat after so long.
Lauren caught his throbbing shaft in her palm and gave one slow, torturous stroke. Then she pulled her hand back and let just one fingertip trace lazily up and down his sensitive length, feather-light, maddeningly careful, barely making contact.
“Ohhh, it’s been sooo long since you’ve been inside of a pussy, hasn’t it, honey??” she cooed, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Do you miss sliding your widdle nubby inside of something warm and wet? Something other than a diapy? Do you miss making your widdle humpies? Hmm?”
Her fingertip circled the head once, then glided slowly back down to the base and up again, never giving him enough pressure.
“You want Mommy to let you try a pussy again? After watching Daddy fuck me so many times… do you think you can do better now? Hmm? You gonna show me what a big boi you are?”
Randy was trembling, his whole body quaking with desperate need. The light, teasing touches were driving him insane. Every word made his cock twitch and leak in her hand. The fantasy of finally being allowed back inside her consumed him.
“Yes, Mommy!” he blurted out, voice cracking with raw desperation. “Please let me fuck your pussy! Please!”
Lauren blinked, then broke into a wide, amused smile. She let out a soft, condescending scoff.
“My pussy?” She tilted her head, still lightly tracing her fingertip along his throbbing shaft. “You thought you were getting to fuck my pussy? Oh sweetie… that’s adorable!!”
She gave his cock one last gentle tap before pulling her hand away completely.
“No no no, you don’t get to go inside Mommy. That ship has sailed long ago. I said you get to go inside your girlfriend.” Her smile turned sweetly cruel. “But I’m not your girlfriend anymore, am I? No. I’m your Mommy now. I change your dirty diapers, I feed you your num-nums, and I decide when your little cage comes off. But don’t worry… I got you someone else that can satisfy your needs...”
Only then did she slide off the bed with graceful slowness and kneel down. She reached underneath it and dragged out...a blow-up doll.
The cheap vinyl thing emerged with a pathetic creak, glossy plastic skin, vacant blue eyes, permanently parted pink lips. She had inflated it just enough earlier that afternoon to keep it firm but still slightly yielding. She lifted it onto the bed and positioned it carefully against the pillows, legs splayed obscenely, the material squeaking softly as it settled.
Lauren glanced back at him with a bright, innocent smile, patting the doll’s shiny thigh. “Say hello to your new girlfriend, sweetie! Her name is Patty!”
Randy’s hopeful expression shattered in an instant. His shoulders slumped hard, the spark in his eyes dying as crushing disappointment slammed into him like a physical blow. That wasn’t Mommy. It was just cold, lifeless plastic.
Lauren returned to him, reaching into the nightstand drawer and pulling out a small tube of numbing cream. Randy stared past her at the lifeless doll propped on the bed, his freshly freed cock still throbbing uselessly in the air while waves of despondency crashed over him.
She squirted a thick dollop onto her fingers and began spreading the cool cream over his straining shaft, methodical and clinical, working it in with slow, deliberate strokes from base to tip. The numbing sensation spread quickly, turning everything into a frustrating, distant buzz.
Randy’s face twisted into a deep pout. A soft, miserable whimper escaped his throat as he stared at the shiny vinyl doll blankly staring up at the ceiling with its mouth open in an "O". This was what he had been so desperately excited for? This pathetic toy?
“Aww, what’s the matter, baby?” Lauren cooed, still coating him thoroughly, her voice sweet but laced with amusement. “Are you pouting now? After all that begging? Would you rather go straight back in your cage instead?”
Randy’s eyes widened in panic. He shook his head frantically. “N-no, Mommy!! Please…”
She raised an eyebrow, still slowly working the cream along his length. “Then tell me. Tell me you want to fuck your girlfriend. Tell me you want to fuck your little dolly.”
His face burned with fresh shame, bottom lip trembling. “I… I want to fuck my girlfriend,” he whispered hoarsely. “I want to fuck my little dolly… please.”
Lauren smiled sweetly, clearly enjoying his humiliation. “Good boy. Now...I'm going to give you have sixty seconds. One whole minute.” She finished spreading the last of the cream as she spoke. “If you can finish inside Patty before the timer runs out, you get to cum. If not…” She shrugged, her voice dripping with mock sympathy, “back in the cage you go.”
She set the tube aside and reached back into the drawer, pulling out the small egg timer. She held it up between them, twisting the dial slowly with a deliberate click-click-click until it read exactly 60. The plastic device looked almost innocent in her hand, yet it now held his entire pathetic chance at release.
Randy’s gaze flicked helplessly between the timer and the lifeless doll splayed out on the bed before him, legs spread wide, glossy plastic body waiting silently like the only “pussy” he was allowed. His numbed cock twitched in the cool air, desperate and distant at the same time. This cheap blow-up toy was truly his only shot tonight.
Lauren’s lips curved into a knowing smirk as she watched him stare. “Ready, sweetie?”
He nodded so hard his whole body shook, bottom lip trembling with a toxic mix of shame, frustration, and frantic need.
She released her hold on the dial of the timer, and it started ticking.
“Go.”
He scrambled onto the bed, knees sinking deep into the mattress. His shaking hands fumbled to line himself up. The numbing cream made his cock feel like it belonged to someone else, but the ache in his balls was excruciating. After two clumsy thrusts that slid uselessly along the cool silicone, he finally pushed inside. The cheap fake vagina difficult to work into, tight only because of the unyielding plastic.
He started humping immediately, frantic and sloppy, hips snapping forward with raw, animalistic desperation. High-pitched, broken whimpers and moans spilled from his throat without restraint. The doll squeaked and crinkled violently beneath him, the cheap vinyl louder and more humiliating than any of his own diapers had ever been. Every desperate thrust made the plastic body shift and squeal, her lifeless legs flopping bonelessly against the sheets.
Lauren laughed softly behind him, low and delighted, leaning in so he could hear every cruel word. “Oh my god! Listen to you. Humping that plastic slut like it’s the last pussy on earth!! Look at how hard you’re trying for Patty. That’s all you get now, isn’t it, baby? No warm, wet Mommy pussy for my little cuck anymore. Just this cold, fake dolly and sixty pathetic seconds.”
She glanced at the timer. “Actually...now it's forty seconds!” she called sweetly, her voice dripping with amusement as she watched his hips piston faster.
Randy sobbed openly now, the sound mixing with his frantic grunts. He humped harder, more erratically, the bedframe rattling with every desperate thrust. The doll’s glossy body squeaked and protested under his weight. His swollen, purple balls slapped uselessly against the vinyl. The numbing cream made every sensation feel maddeningly distant, yet the deep, clawing pressure in his denied balls kept building anyway. So close, so cruelly close.
“Twenty seconds.”
He was crying harder, open-mouthed sobs pouring out as he drove into the lifeless toy with everything he had. The plastic threatened to pop or collapse under the force of his frantic humping. Tears streamed down his flushed cheeks while pathetic, keening noises escaped him. This was it, his only chance.
“Ten.”
He wailed, body shaking violently, thrusting with wild, jerky desperation. The doll squealed louder than ever. He could feel the edge of release clawing up from somewhere deep inside, right there, almost within reach—
The timer dinged sharply.
Lauren’s hand shot out and yanked Patty away mid-thrust. The doll was ripped from under him, leaving his numbed, throbbing cock slapping wetly against his own stomach. Untouched, denied, still desperately leaking.
“No, no, no, please, please!” Randy’s voice cracked into raw, childish wails. He kept bucking helplessly into empty air, hips jerking in frantic, useless spasms, tears streaming down his face as the orgasm slipped away once again.
“Awww, baby…” Lauren patted his sweat-damp hair while he cried, her voice sweet and soothing but laced with unmistakable mockery. “I’m sooo sorry!" She didn’t sound sorry at all. "You were so close that time! Maybe next time you’ll be a quicker little humper..."
Randy blubbered incoherently, body trembling with overwhelming frustration and shame, still weakly humping the empty air like a broken toy.
Lauren retrieved the cage without hurry. As she looped the base ring around his swollen, aching balls, Randy broke completely. Fresh tears spilling as the familiar, unforgiving confinement returned.
“Mommy, please!” he sobbed, voice high and desperate. “Just one more chance! I was so close. Please give me ten more seconds! I can do it this time, I swear!”
She continued calmly pressing his still-rigid, leaking cock into the tiny steel prison, ignoring his frantic pleas.
“Nooo!! Mommy! Don’t lock it yet!” he wailed, tears pouring down his cheeks. “Please! I’ll do anything! I’ll fluff more than just Marcus’ cock! I’ll suck any cock you want me to! I'll dress like a little princess!! I’ll suck every dick in town!! I’ll be the best little fluffer ever! Just please don’t lock me up again!”
“Shhh, shhh, baby...” Lauren cooed softly, her tone calm and condescending as she worked his throbbing shaft deeper into the cage. “This is for your own good. Back where you belong. You know you can’t be trusted with a free little nubby."
Randy kept sobbing and bargaining through broken hiccups. “I’ll suck them every time… I’ll swallow every load… just give me one more try… please, Mommy!”
She continued to ignore him like he was nothing more than a fussy tottler. "Hush now, honey. Mommy knows best. Good boys stay locked up tight so they don't get silly ideas!"
The lock clicked shut with a final, cruel snick. "There we go!!! Nice and snug! Maybe we'll give you another date with Patty next month. But only if you're on your best behavior!"
Randy let out a devastated wail at the sound of his chance at orgasms clamping shut.
Lauren reached for the discarded diaper, the same cold, clammy, pungent one he’d been wearing all day. The inside was sticky and rank now, the scent sharp and unmistakable. As she slid the heavy, wet padding up between his trembling thighs and pulled the front over his newly caged cock, Randy continued sobbing openly. She didn't even give him the satisfaction of a fresh diaper. Just taped the old one extra tight and snug, so every movement would remind him of his failure.
The cold, wet padding pressed against his overheated skin. Randy cringed visibly, shuddering at the clammy, squishy sensation that immediately soaked through to his cage. The familiar stench of his own stale piss filled his nose as the heavy, mushy bulk settled between his legs.
She had to hold the weight of the soggy bulge upward so it could be contained as she snapped the onesie buttons around it. Even with the fabric holding it, the heavy diaper still sagged noticeably under its own weight. She patted the mushy bulk fondly. “There we go!! All snug again. My perfect, denied little cuck boy!! Still marinating in the same wet mess.”
She gently pushed his pacifier between his trembling, sobbing lips.
“Here, baby. Suck on your paci. That’ll make everything better, won't it?” she cooed, pulling him into her lap and rocking him gently. “Shhh… no more big tears now. This is what you wanted, remember? You were the one that begged me to diaper and deny you. Mommy's just giving her widdle baybee what he always dreamed of!"
Randy sucked weakly on the pacifier, still hiccupping and whimpering softly around it, face buried in her neck as fresh tears rolled down his cheeks. His caged cock throbbing uselessly against the unforgiving, cold, piss-soaked diaper that now felt more humiliating than ever.
Lauren hummed a soft lullaby, smiling into the dim room, already looking forward to how sweet and obedient her little cuck would be with another full month of perfect service...all in hopes of getting another chance at fucking a plastic pussy.
Diaper Punishment
“Mom! He pooped his panties! Oh god it’s so gross.”
Shane stood there frozen as his cousin held up his skirt to see that, yes, he had pooped his panties.
“I told you he was a pantry pooper, mom. And you know what that means?”
Shane bawled in response as now his aunt Mary walked in, smirking. “Pampers. Pampers for Shane.”
“Pampers!” Emily yelled.
How had it gotten to this point? How?!
Well, he had dropped out of college. Or, more accurately, been booted. Which is what happens when you don't ever go to class, get drunk basically every other day and twice on the weekends and fuck any college skank who comes within a foot of your twitchy cock
His single mom, overwhelmed already at home with Shane's five younger siblings and no man at home since Shane's worthless father had walked out--a move that didn't make her a very fan of man, including of her oldest son--took up an offer from her former husband's wack job of a sister. "Send him to me. I'll turn him into a proper member of society and a proper girl."
No idea what that meant, his mom thought, but bon voyage. Did Shane refuse to go? Of course. No 19-year-old boy will willingly go live with his weirdo aunt and his weirdo 25-year-old cousin who as far as Shane could tell had never dated or done much of anything in her life. Very weird family. And he was now going to be the centerpiece and showpiece of that family. Because while cousin Emily was indeed homely and unfuckable and undateable, she was quite skilled at computers and so quite easily planted some things on Shane's computer that would attract the attention of the authorities if the time ever came for that. Or, he could be a good boy and come live with them.
Soon he was spanked, perfumed, taken to a salon, sissified, plugged, taught to curtsy and prance and preen and parade. Was he pantied? Oh yeah. Pantied with his cousin's panties and his aunt's and soon enough his own. Whole assortment of panties for a good pantygirl. Auntie and cousin told folks around town that their nephew/cousin was emotionally fragile and transitioning and who was he to disagree, what with the computer threat hanging over him. But auntie warned him from the first time she pulled a pair of panties up his legs and situated them just so on his hips and clitty: "I don't put up with panty poopers. I never have and never will. So if you poop your panties you will be going into Pampers. And you will never come out of them. Not in a day, not in a week, not in a month, not ever. Ever. Not in five years or 10. Or 20. And if auntie ever died well, Emily, was only a few years older and she and Shane could be in their 60s together and she would make sure he was still in his Pampers sucking his pacifiers.
And now, just as they were about to go out shopping, lo and behold Shane felt his stomach churning and soon enough a revolting load was filling his panties. Perhaps auntie had helped out with a little something in his breakfast but the fact he remained he pooped his panties.
Emily would get the chance to put him into his first thick, crinkly, humiliating diaper. Shane waited for his cousin to take him and lay him down and remove his filthy undergarments and stick him into diapers for good.
"No, not yet," auntie said. "We'll still go to the mall and he will go in his poopy panties so everyone who smells him or sees him will know why he's going to be in Pampers for good. So come on, panty pooper, off we go."
And off they went, for the next stage of Shane's now wretched existence.
The start of this reminds me of an older story, but upgraded. Just a real strong vibe.
The terror of radical self-acceptance through the control from a trusted, idolized, or feared female, on occasion a strong, dominant, older, taller, slightly evil, slightly chaotic good, and mysterious sorts of male antagonist. None of them caring for back talk or rebuttal. That's what you'll find with @pantiesandpamperssissypart2
always realistic, but with enough 1980's-television-level: "Will Johnny make the canyon jump? find out next time on.." narration. As well as a Looney Toons, or Jim Carreys, The Mask level of sequence of event and finding fortunately unfortunate fates. like that cartoon of the droopy-eyed-dog where the expectation is always subverted a certain direction.
This author, in my humble opinion, should be considered a staple of a generation of padded losers. Like, on your bookshelf, you've got The Odyssey, Of Mice and Men, 1984, Where the Sidewalk End's, The Illustrated Man, and a collection of 1,001 of pantiedandpamperedsissy's short stories.
Thank you to acutiepatootie for the way-too-kind words. But any writer likes to hear compliments so I will take them!
Aw poor boy, got his belly stepped on by her feeder and got posted online right after that
When your fat pad becomes a cock cage.
I wore a cock cage from time to time in the early years of my marriage. It was my wife’s idea and it fit well into our dom/sub dynamic. I’d wear it while I did house hold chores and I’d get it unlocked when I completed them. On Sunday afternoons I’d be mowing the front lawn wearing my cock cage.
I still wore it as I started to put on weight. Even when I developed a belly hang that pretty much covered it. In fact it still fit me for years until it didnt. Once I hit 400 lbs and had developed a sizeable fat pad it was no longer practical. One night in bed I asked my wife if she thought about finding a new one. “No need,” she said. “This is doing the job.” And she sunk her hands into my fat pad.
By then my fat pad had started to swallow most of my dick. And in the subsequent years as I reached 450 lbs it swallowed up more and more. It was so emasculating and yet a turn on. A big reason was because it turned my wife on immensely. “Your fat pad is your cock age now,” she said one night. “Oh you poor guy. You’ve lost access, haven’t you.”
I told her I had. But the truth is I still have a way. I can lay on my side and wedge a stiff pillow under my belly. I just don’t. I prefer a fat pad for a cock cage.
I don't even remember his name at this point. He just goes by Slave.
He put out a Craigslist ad looking for a dominant woman to put him in his place. Typical desperate sub bullshit. Wanted to be ordered around, spanked, maybe edged a little. When I messaged back, he got all distant. "Not into men," he typed defensively. I remember laughing at the screen. Dominant women worth a damn are rare as hell. He knew it, I knew it. All I had to do was wait. His desperation and horniness won out in about three exchanges. "Fine," he said. "But we start small."
Small. Right.
I told him the deal: come over Saturday, clean my house top to bottom. No funny business, just scrubbing. Oh, and he'd be wearing a cage the whole time...my little insurance policy so he wouldn't get any bright ideas about touching himself while bent over the toilet bowl. He showed up all timid and shit, blushing like a bitch, his underwear already soaked with juices leaking out of his locked up shrimp dick. I clapped the chains around his wrists and ankle.
"Now mop."
He came back the next weekend because the denial left him stupid and aching. Then the weekend after. Chores turned into daily expectations.
The diapers went on because I wanted to see how far I could push a grown man before he broke into something soft, stupid, and completely mine. Because watching him waddle in thick padding and wincing at every embarrassing crinkle humored me. Because making him feel every humiliating mess he made amused me even more. Watching the way his face burns when the front sags heavier, when the mess smears warm against his skin, how the stench of shame follows him everywhere he goes, and how I won't let him change until he's earned it. Until he's debased himself enough to amuse me.
He has to beg now. Properly. On his knees, chain rattling, diaper drooping between his thighs. "Please, Sir, I need a change." I make him spell it out: tell me how full it is, how fucking pathetic he is, how much I own him. Sometimes I make him hump the mop handle while he begs, pathetic little thrusts that only grind the filth deeper. Make him plop and grind on the floor like a pig in the mud, oinking for me. If he's convincing, if he sounds broken enough, desperate enough, filthy enough, the self-loathing thick enough...maybe I let him crawl to the changing mat. Maybe I tape a fresh one on while he whimpers and thanks me around the pacifier shoved in his mouth.
If he's not entertaining? If the performance is sloppy? Voice too steady, not enough shame, not enough squirm...I walk away. Leave him there. Forehead on tile, ass up, chain taut, stewing in his own filth for hours. Sometimes overnight. I guarantee his begging will get more frantic and pathetic the next time.
The cage keeps him leaking instead of cumming, and the humiliation just feeds the loop. Keeps him obedient. No matter how much he hates himself or debases himself, he'll do more and more for even a chance at relief.
He eats kibble out of a steel bowl on the floor now. Dry, cheap dog food. If he's been extra good (meaning extra pathetic) I piss in it to make it mushy for him. Easier to chew. He laps it up without complaint, ass in the air, chain clinking, diaper crinkling with every bob of his head. No hands. No manners. Just a hole that swallows whatever I decide to feed it.
He sucks a mean dick now too. That whole "i'm not into men" thing evaporated real quickly when he became desperate for a diaper change or for 30 seconds of buzzy time over his bulging diaper. Now it's just what he does when I snap my fingers. Eyes water, drool runs down his chin onto the front of his diaper. He sucks like his next change depends on it...because sometimes it does. He used to gag more. Now he just takes it deep, sucking and slurping like the trained little cocksucker he's become.
He never asked for any of this. Thought he was getting an afternoon of getting bossed around. Instead he got erased, one small concession at a time, until nothing remained of the man who put up the ad. Now he's just there: waddling, crinkling, leaking, sucking, eating slop off the floor, all because I find it amusing. Because I can do whatever the fuck I want with him. Because slaves don't get to decide.
He's mine now. Pathetic. Pampered. Filthy. Mine.
There's nowhere for him to go. No keys to the cuffs. No phone. No outside world left to crawl back to. Just the house, the chain, the diapers, the bowl, my cock, and the endless cycle of debasement.
I keep in diapers because it's funny how low he sinks. How much he stinks. How completely he's forgotten he ever had a choice. He's nothing but a toy. A sad, crying, crinkling, broken, obedient toy.
That’s all he is anymore. That’s all he’ll ever be.
The twice-daily feeding is another opportunity to make the inmates regret the crimes they have committed. Any concept of enjoyment has been removed from meal time, with the bland and bitter mush being pumped at a constant rate. If any is spilled it’s immediate punishment. The inmates are exhausted and bloated after each feeding
Damian used to be a cool guy. He had the latest clothes and know the best clubs. Problem is that cool crowd was a bad influence. When he was caught for stealing thankfully he was able to just get probation. His PO saw what being cool was doing to Damian, so he established some rules.
Damian was reunited to wear a white button down with a bow tie and suspenders every day. He has thigh high socks and new thick glasses. Finally he got braces installed. His PO threw out all his other clothes and this is all he has known for the last 2 years.
Honestly it's the best thing that happened to Damian, his old "friends" abandoned him but he's found a new group through a DnD campaign his PO made him attend. Damian has never been happier. He's a few months away from his sentence being over but he doesn't plan on changing a thing.
Diaper Punishment
If his dad hadn't been holding him by the hair and forcing him to keep his eyes open to stare at his mom displaying his girlfriend Kara's diaper for all to see, Jack would have his eyes tightly closed and refuse to watch this atrocity.
Alas.
"Look at her! This is YOUR fault. Now you're both going to get punished."
Kara was already bawling, her ass spanked an hour ago, her diaper filled 10 minutes ago. Now Jack started crying too and all that did was egg his dad on as he tightened the grip on Jack's brown hair. He listened to his mom lecture Kara. "Filthy little thing, aren't you? Aren't you?"
"Yes Miss Karen," Kara finally replied.
"Yes you are. I should have guessed a Lutheran would be either too stupid or too arrogant to follow very simple rules in a truly Catholic household like this. Now look at you. Diapered. Punished. Humiliated. Displayed. You happy now? Was sucking my son's cock worth it?"
The burst of tears meant no, it wasn't worth it.
"Mom, please, stop," Jack said.
His mom glared over. "You just sit in your poopy Pampers and watch, sissy."
So she had smelled his diapers. Or seen them drooping. Or heard him filling them. Whatever sense she used to discern it, she was completely right about the fact he stood five feet away in filthy, revolting, messy, stinky, poopy Pampers.
This was his and Kara's punishment for the cardinal rule in the Smithson household: NO SEX BEFORE MARRIAGE! It didn't matter if a couple had been dating for eight months like Jack and Kara. It didn't matter if they were both 24 years old and in their sexual primes. It didn't matter if they loved each other. All that mattered is that there was no sex in the house unless they were married. And sucking a cock was part of Karen and Bill Smithson's definition of sex. So when Karen popped into the bedroom as Kara and Jack just couldn't take their horniness anymore after a week with his mom and dad and she saw Kara on her knees with Jack's dick in her mouth...well, the punishment was going to fit the crime.
They couldn't act like normal adults? They couldn't follow orders like adults? They couldn't hold off on their urges like adults? Then they'd be treated like the immature brats they were. Karen had Bill go up into the attic and "get Jack's diapers from before," which was how Kara learned that, yes, his folks used to use diaper discipline on him. Now they'd use it on both of them.
Dual spankings followed, Kara over Karen's knees, Jack over his old man's. Then the powderings and the diapers, both handled by Karen since Bill had always said he didn't change diapers. As she taped Jack up she smiled and said, "This clitty is going to be in diapers for a long time, sweetie."
What the fuck did that mean? She couldn't keep him in diapers, right? Not at 24. Right?
Who knew.
In the present Jack stood there helpless, watching his mom debase his girlfriend. "You know what? You like using your mouth so much, why don't we fill it with something that will keep it occupied and keep you silent. Bill, the penis pacifier please?"
The WHAT? Jack wondered. Bill finally let go of his son's hair with a warning: "Don't move."
Disappeared into the box from the attic again. Emerged with a, yes, penis pacifier. Strapped it on Kara, plugging that sinful mouth of hers "for good" in Bill's words. For good? They couldn't keep her pacified, right? They couldn't keep two 24-year-olds in diapers for good, right?
Wrong.
Rules are rules. I have to respect alpha's orders.
My new husband gave the retard his permanent new look, how do you guys like it?
Huge plug up my bum, topping off with a #ridiculouslythickdiaper
Diaper dependence. Incontinence. Using diapers for their intended purposes. Potty training would no longer work. Insurance will cover your adult diapers.
Believe it or not those types of phrases turn on a lot of diaper fags. They imagine a life where they can never ever escape their diapers. 24/7 nothing but diapers. What a fun thing to rub off a squirt to! Pampers forever!
Of course the reality is much different. Rashes. Smells. Skin breakdowns. Societal shunning. Family embarrassment. Logistical nightmares on long car trips. Humiliating episodes at airport security and uncomfortable seat mates on the plane. HR knowing about it at work to give you special accommodations which soon everyone knows about, not to mention they can see the waddle, hear the crinkle and smell the piss and shit. The daily grind of everyday diapers soon even robs a sissy of the libido that got them into the mess in the first place! Shouldn’t have retrained your bladder and sphincter after all. Huh, who knew that would be a bad idea? Other than like 99.9 percent of Earth’s population.
So this becomes the reality: A work conference at the hotel. Taping yourself into double diapers for all the workshops you have to sit through. Double diapers mean more attendees will probably noticed your padded butt and like it or not will likely think less of you and that could hurt you landing some deal. At some point you’ll simply mess without knowing and have to excuse yourself and take your discrete diaper bag to a restroom and change. Diaper dependency and incontinence aren’t just things you jerk off to now. In fact you really don’t jerk off to it much at all now. The diapers are now just your bitter reality. So you tape yourself into them and remember the better times–the less, uh, wetter times. If you could you’d tell other sissies and diaperboys to not do what you did. But there’s no time for that now: Now you have to get into your diapers for the day. And continue on for the rest of your life as a diaper-dependent sissy with no way out.
It's the pointing at the diapers and the message written on said diapers that makes it even more absurd.
Yes, thank you, sissy, for pointing out that you are wearing your Potty Pants. We wouldn't have known without that help.
It's not like the thick, humiliating, ridiculous, stained, soiled diapers were already a dead giveaway that you're wearing your potty. The skimpy pink shirt didn't give us a hint you were a diaper-wearing sissy faggot. The ridiculous and quite frankly embarrassing bonnet didn't tell us you were a sexless diaper-humping virgin who has probably never been allowed within 15 feet of a woman's vagina.
Your happy, pleased yet vaguely terrified look definitely doesn't let us know you live to be exposed like this, to be spread near and far to everyone with an internet connection.
This entire ensemble is a testament to about 75 failures and 158 poor life decisions. Yet here you are: Diapered, posing, posting, sending and now exposed for good. Maybe a relative sees this. A coworker. A friend. A parent. Or a stranger who jerks off to it because they want to be you or because they want to fuck you (hey, some people don't have standards).
So yeah, never would have known all that just looking at this. Thanks for pointing to the potty pants so we know just exactly what you are.
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