A Fair Trade

💩 DIAPER TRAINING : How to get used to pooping in your diaper ?

You don't have to be truly fecally incontinent to live like someone who is fecally incontinent. Being able to consciously poop on yourself anywhere and anytime is truly liberating! (No need to be disabled) In this post, I'll give you tips on how to successfully poop in your diaper whenever you want!

💩 Step 1 : Poop sitting on the potty, as usual, but wear a diaper (your poop will go in the diaper instead of the potty) this will get you used to the feeling of poop smearing in a diaper

💩 Step 2 : From now on, you are banned from sitting on the potty to poop... permanently. You will learn to push while standing, first do it in front of the toilet, then move away from the toilet until you are no longer in it... At first, I recommend spreading your legs and leaning forward slightly to help you push. (Don't squat)

💩 Step 3 : Now practice pooping in your diaper while sitting on a chair, on the couch, in an armchair, etc.

💩 Step 4 : At this stage, you are able to poop in any room of your house and also while sitting on something other than a toilet. From now on, the toilet is truly forbidden to you. Now learn to push while standing but in a natural position, and holding yourself up straight.

💩 Step 5 : For your first poop in public, I advise you to go to a forest where there is no one, poop on yourself while standing in front of a beautiful landscape, really let yourself go...

💩 Step 6 : Now you have to learn how to poop while walking... At first it's strange but it will take you several weeks of daily practice to get there... This step will be easier for a woman.

💩 Step 7 : Once pooping while walking has become easy, then go to a popular park and fill your diaper with poop in front of everyone... When you become comfortable, do it in a store... You really have to repeat this as often as possible...

💩 Step 8 : Poop lying down in bed. It's easier to poop while walking than while lying down, on your back or stomach... Because when you walk, gravity helps...

💩 Step 9 : Go fill your diaper with poop, during a cuddle, while you work... In any situation, it's so simple when you understand how it works!

You can help yourself with a laxative if you have difficulty at first, but don't overdo it; you shouldn't take laxatives every day. Avoid doing an enema, your goal is to be able to poop on yourself often... so don't empty your bowels of your poop, it wouldn't make sense...

Stupid Baby Story Club: Locker Room Trash

Hello, hello. I've recently started a new story series on my Patreon called Stupid Baby Story Club. It's about a young woman named Sasha and her recent admission into a secret club of college students who tell each other stories about diapers, ageplay, and humiliation. Each chapter of the story is split between the life of Sasha, and then a smaller story-within-a-story, as told by one of the members of the Story Club. Today, I thought I'd share one of those stories-within-stories with you.

This particular story is being presented by one of the club's members, Chuck. He's on the university football team - which is why he's especially paranoid about anyone else finding about his kinks. Here, he shares the tale of the one time these two separate worlds collided.

And if you want to read more of this series, c'mon down to my Patreon. Part 3 of this series just posted today! A membership in Tier 2, for only $6 a month, will get you access to the current chapters, as well as a boatload of other stories exclusive to my Patreon.

Locker Room Trash

I don’t know–have any of you ever spent time in a locker room before? And I’m not talking about high school gym class either. I’m talking about the locker room of a team. It can be a crazy place. Everyone just feeds off of everyone else. 

Like, before a game. We’re all excited, individually. We want to win. We want to show off everything we’ve been practicing. We want our family and friends and school to be proud of us. We want to defeat the opposing team so badly. And each of us just amplifies the emotions in everyone else. Crazy things start happening when you get twenty-something guys pumping each other up. Songs break out. There’s cheering. Chanting. Sometimes things get broken.

And the inverse is just as possible. If we’ve had a particularly grueling practice or, god-forbid, we lose a game–the locker room is like a funeral. Everyone’s bitter and dejected. Everyone wants to blame everyone else. Again, some crazy things can happen when you get twenty-something guys acting miserable around each other. I’ve seen fist-fights erupt over some guy’s water bottle falling off a bench.

I was new to the team two years ago, but I wasn’t new to football locker rooms. I knew what to expect.

Sure, there was a little bit of hazing. Nothing too bad. People get whipped with towels in the shower. Your face gets drawn on if you fall asleep on the bus to a game at another university. Whatever. Just brush it off.

There’s a few ways to make the experience easier. For one, you can just prove yourself out on the field. Make a few good plays–score a few points if you can–and suddenly the team stops giving you as much shit. 

But also? It helps to just not be a baby about it. The guys who get picked on the most? The ones who let everyone know how much it bothers them. The ones who try to run away and hide. The ones who try to say something to the coaches. The ones who plead for people to leave them alone.

We had a guy like that on the team last year. Andy Dimpton. He was a wide receiver from some high school in, like, Rhode Island? Fast as hell, and I had never seen the guy drop a ball–we were lucky to have him on the team. Of course, he was also built like a scarecrow and the wind could blow him over. The most timid guy I’d ever met, too. 

As you can imagine, he quickly found himself in the role as the team’s favorite punching bag. Some of the guys on the team–the ones who had been around the longest–they were merciless with him. They’d break into his locker and hide his clothes on him. They’d pull his towel off from around his waist whenever he came out of the shower. They started calling him Big Baby because he perpetually looked like he was about to start bawling at any moment.

And me? Well, you know, it was my first year too, and I wanted to fit in. I didn’t want to be another Andy Dimpton. So, you know, I…played along. Did a little teasing when I could.

I fucked up one day. Pretty badly, too.

So, I like…diapers. I mean, that shouldn’t come as a shock, considering that we’re all here right now, right? Some people say that they don’t know how they got into their kinks–they just stumbled into it and it just fit, right? But not me. I know where the diaper thing came from.

I used to wet the bed when I was a kid. My mother did her best to have patience with me when I was younger, but the older I got, the more pissed off it made her. By the time I was 12, if I wet the bed, she’d immediately empty my underwear drawer and get me a pack of those Goodnights training pants. Then, I’d have to wear those–and only those–until I could keep them dry overnight for a week. This went on for a few years…longer than it should’ve, probably. The most goddamn humiliating years of my life too. Can you even imagine being 13 and going to school in a pull-up because your Mom hid all your underpants?

Later in my teens, it stopped being as much of an issue. I was doing my own laundry, and I think Ma realized she couldn’t keep me in diapers while I was in high school. We never talked about it. She never asked if I was still having issues, and she never apologized for how she used to treat the situation. It was just…out of sight, out of mind.

But…diapers. They were the naughtiest, most shameful, thing in the world. Exactly the kind of thing that a sexually-awakening teen needed to jump start some fucked-up kink. 

Anyway, I’m in college. I’ve graduated from pull-ups to, like, the real deal. The big diapers. I know you know the ones. 

I kept a stash in my dorm room. Still do, too. I don’t get a chance to wear them all that often, though. Between football practice, games, and…well, having a social life, there’s really never a time when I’m by myself to piss in a diaper and masturbate.

Maybe you know the feeling–that one where you’ve been away from your kinks and private time for so long that they slowly become the only thing you can think about? Weeks had gone by without me touching my stash, and I had diapers on the fucking brain. All I wanted was just enough time to crawl around in one and, uh, you know…use it. 

The more desperate I got, the more chances I was willing to take. Normally, I’d never wear a diaper out in public. The absolute last thing I needed was to have the top of a diaper peaking out over the top of my pants. University Athlete Charles Stone Wears Diapers–I could just imagine that being the headline on the campus newspaper. But I needed to wear a diaper.

So one afternoon I took a chance. I put on a big thick diaper, pulled up my pants, and went to class. And for a while, it was good. I had wet myself once or twice and I had a little bit of a waddle as I walked around. I was extremely self-conscious of it, but the thrill of strolling around in my wet diaper was worth it.

But then I met up with some guys from the team. They were going to head over to the field and run some drills and they wanted me to join them. I tried to get out of it, saying I had other places to go or be, but… These guys, you can’t really say ‘no.’ Remember, it was my first year on the team and I didn’t want to be Andy Dimpton. So I went over to the field with them.

All my gear was in the locker room, so it wasn’t like I had to go back to the dorm room. As terrified as I was of getting caught, I thought I had a pretty good plan: Once we got to the locker rooms, I’d duck into the adjoining bathroom, take off the diaper, and toss it in the trash before getting changed in the locker room. 

And that worked. Flawlessly. Soon, I was on the field with the guys, and nobody had any idea that just a few minutes before, I had been a pissy little bitch.

I honestly had forgotten about the diaper. After a few hours of running around, it was the furthest thing from my mind. The diaper was gone, and I knew that I wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

Of course, things didn’t exactly go to plan. Kyle Wallace–this massive bear of a guy, and a senior–he was all hyped up after running all those drills. And, of course, you get one guy riled up and suddenly the whole locker room gets riled up. Everyone’s just being especially rowdy. People are playfully throwing things at each other. Calling each other names. Lots of laughter. 

Andy Dimpton is there too, and he heads off to take a shower. And Kyle’s got this shit-eating grin on his face. 

“Watch this,” he says to the rest of us. 

We watch. He goes to the bathroom and returns a minute later with the trash can. The whole fucking trash can.

And we can all guess what he’s going to do. He’s probably going to dump the trash on Andy while the guy is in the shower. Even if I didn’t know what was in the trash can, I’d have probably thought it was a bad idea. It felt like a step over the line between hazing and just being a complete fucking dickhead. 

But, also, I know what’s in that trash can.

Now, I can’t just tell him to stop. I mean–I should. I know I should. And in the thousands of times I’ve replayed this moment in my head since, I truly wished that I had said something instead. But at that moment, I didn’t want to be that guy. I didn’t want to be another Andy Dimpton.

So I said nothing, and let it play out.

It went about exactly as you’d have expected it to. Kyle went into the showers and tried to dump the trash on Andy. It wasn’t all that successful, honestly, the trash just kind of fell on the floor around Andy instead of on him. But there, among the wads of paper towels and energy bar wrappers, was a giant balled-up diaper.

I thought to myself: It’s just garbage. Nobody cares what’s in the garbage. They’re not going to look at it. Study it. Analyze it. Because who would do that, right?

But Kyle sees it, and for reasons that I still can’t quite figure out, he goes in for a closer look.

I’ll never forget his words, hearing them echo off the tiled walls of the shower as we watched from the locker room: “There’s a fucking diaper in here.”

Everyone rushes to see it. I don’t know why people need to see this diaper so badly–maybe it’s just the absurdity of it. Maybe it was just the way Kyle had said it. He could’ve said “There’s a fucking banana in here” and we’d all have come running, just because of how surprised he sounded.

There it is–my bloated diaper, isolated on the floor of the shower, kicked away from the rest of the trash.

Everyone is laughing. It’s obvious that this isn’t a baby’s diaper. There are no babies on campus, and this thing is huge. There’s only one question everyone has now: Who wears diapers?

Everybody huddled in that shower is looking at each other suspiciously. Me too–I’m glancing at everyone wildly, as if I was just as confused about where that diaper came from.

“Is it yours?” Kyle asks Andy. He picks it up–he literally picks up the dirty diaper in his hand and holds it near Andy’s face as he asks. “Do you piss yourself like a little baby?”

“Fuck you,” Andy says. “I don’t wear diapers.”

“Are you sure?” taunts Kyle. “Is that why you don’t like to hang with anyone? Because you’re afraid that we’re going to smell your dirty pampers?”

But, for once, Andy isn’t backing down: “How do we know it’s not your diaper? Maybe that’s the reason you’re always a dick–you need to get your diaper changed!”

It’s a pretty good comeback, and it summons an epic “Oooooooooh!” from the other guys.

It escalates into a fight. Very quickly, it’s not even about the diaper anymore–it’s about a guy who is sick of being picked on and a guy who isn’t about to back down while thinking he’s the alpha. 

There’s not much to say about the fight. You see one locker room fight and you’ve seen them all. They barely even touch each other–there’s a horde of sweaty guys between them, trying to keep the peace. 

The aftermath is pretty ugly, though. When the coaches demand explanations, Kyle’s seniority has most of the guys taking his side, insisting that it was actually Andy who had instigated the fight. Andy ended up getting a thorough tongue-lashing before being made to do a deep clean of the shower. 

I felt for him. I felt guilty. Even if I wasn’t the one who had gotten in his face, it was my diaper that threw the locker room into chaos. Still, I wasn’t about to say anything to anyone–including Andy. I just hoped that, in time, we’d all forget about it and move on.

But nobody forgot about it. People started calling Andy ‘Baby.’ They’d tape baby diapers to his locker. They’d steal his water bottle from the sidelines and replace it with a baby bottle. 

Heaven forbid the guy made a mistake on the field–as it would cause the rest of the team to mock him with questions about whether or not he needed his diaper changed before the next play. 

I could tell that he wanted to let it roll off his shoulders, but it was wearing him down. 

One night, as I sat all alone in my dorm room in a diaper…

One night, as I sat alone in my dorm room in a diaper, I realized what I had to do. I had to come clean to Andy about where the diaper had come from. I needed to let him know that it was my fault.

I had no idea what was going to happen after that. It wasn’t going to fix the problem with everyone else making fun of him–and I certainly wasn’t going to tell the truth to the rest of the team. But maybe Andy and I would have a good conversation about it and we could figure something out together.

In hindsight, it wasn’t a good plan. It was barely a plan. But I was so overcome with guilt that I felt like I had to do something.

One night, after practice, I asked if he wanted to grab some food with me. He agreed, and honestly, I think he was pretty thankful that anyone was giving him the time of day without teasing. We went out and grabbed some fast food burgers and went back to my dorm room. My roommate, at the time, was out off campus and it seemed like a good place to have a private conversation.

Things were actually going well. We were hitting it off, and I think we were both in need of some friendship. The more we talked, the more we seemed to have in common. We could’ve actually been friends. If it wasn’t for the fact that he brought it up himself, I had been thinking I’d skip the entire diaper conversation.

“So, hey,” he says. “What’s up with the whole baby thing? Why can’t anyone just let it go?”

“You know how the guys are,” I say. “They get something in their head and… Well, it’s like a fucking hive-mind. Nobody thinks for themselves and they just go with whatever someone like Kyle says.”

“I just…I’d love to know where that fucking diaper came from,” Andy says. “Because it doesn’t seem fair that it’s my problem now.”

I took a deep breath, not sure if I was actually going to go through with this conversation or not. 

“Andy, I, uhm, need to tell you something.” The words just sort of popped out of my mouth before I was even ready.

“Oh, okay.” He looked a little worried. I guess, if I was in his shoes, I wouldn’t know what to think either. 

“I, uh, know where the diaper came from.”

“What? You do? Where?”

“I… Well. It was my diaper.”

“Wait, what? Did you try to set me up with the diaper?”

“N-no,” I say. “I didn’t know Kyle was going to throw a trash can at you. I mean that I…”

“Oh,” he says, the truth suddenly clicking. “It was your diaper. You wear diapers and you had just…thrown that one away.”

I nodded. I had no idea what else to say. 

We sat there in complete silence for a minute or two, though it felt like an hour. I kept hoping he’d say something, but he just stared off into space.

Finally, he did speak: “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Huh?”

“When Kyle got in my face in the shower? Or when Coach was talking to everyone after. Or…in all the days since while people have been harassing me and calling me a baby. You knew that it wasn’t my diaper and you never said anything.”

“I mean…it’s not like I could tell everyone it was my diaper.”

“But you didn’t have to,” he says. “All you had to do was have my back. All you had to do was stand up for me. Fuck. I mean, now that I think about it, even if it wasn’t your diaper, it’d have been cool if you were on my side.”

He was right. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Why the hell were you wearing a diaper anyway?”

It’s another one of those moments that I’ve come back to countless times since, trying to think if there was a better way to have handled it. But as I sat there in my dorm room with him, I felt like I owed him the truth. I thought, maybe, if he knew the real reasons why I wore the diaper…he’d forgive me.

I told him the truth: “I sometimes like to wear diapers.”

The look on his face was simultaneously of surprise and disgust. Of all the reasons that he might have guessed, me liking diapers was clearly not one of them.

“You like diapers?”

I immediately knew I had said the wrong thing. I couldn’t have told him it was for a medical reason? I wanted to go back and try again, but the cat was already out of the bag.

“You’re, like, one of those guys who get off on acting like a giant baby?” he asks.

The question feels like a punch to the gut, it’s so full of judgment. And he’s right, but not completely right. I’ve never been an ‘adult baby.’ My kinks tend to start and end with just diapers. But I wasn’t going to try and explain that to him.

I decided to try taking the conversation in a different direction. “Maybe you and I can talk to Coach about this. Like, we don’t have to tell him the entire truth…but we can team up and see what we can do about the harassment you’re getting from the other guys.”

He shakes his head, still stuck on an earlier part of the conversation. “You like wearing diapers?”

“Yeah…”

“Are you wearing one now? Is that why you brought me up here? To, like, show me your diaper or something?”

“N-no way, man. I just wanted to talk. I just wanted to–”

“Show me.”

“What?”

“Show me your diapers.”

“I’m not wearing them right now.”

“Wherever your diapers are, take them out and show them to me.”

Of all the possible outcomes, this was the one I had expected the least–Andy revealing himself as just as much of an alpha as any of the other guys in the locker room.

Look, I’ve been playing sports all my life. I’ve been on all sorts of teams and I’ve been around a ton of guys. I’ve managed to never be the guy getting picked on–so I thought that made me one of them. One of the alphas. But the truth, as I learned in that moment, was that I wasn’t one of them. I had just been lucky. Lucky that there was always some guy on the team who was a bigger target. 

And now, in a room with just me and Andy, I was the biggest target.

I went and fetched my diapers from the box I kept under my bed. I didn’t keep many on hand–just two or three. But that was more than enough.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” he spit. “I’m the guy getting baby bottles thrown at me, and being asked if I shit myself, and yet you’re the one who has actual adult diapers under their bed?”

I didn’t dare answer that question.

“Put one on,” he says.

“What?”

“You heard me, Chuck. Put one of those fucking diapers on, right now.”

“But, Andy, come on. I just…”

“It’s the least you can do for me. After all the humiliation and bullying I’ve endured, the least you can do is show me what a real diaper-wearing baby looks like.”

In the moment, that made sense to me. In hindsight, I’m not really sure why it would’ve. But, there in that room with him, I believed that I owed him that much. To show him what it looked like when I wore a diaper.

I tossed all but one of the diapers aside, tucking that last one under my shirt so I could leave my dorm and go to the bathrooms down the hall. I figured I could change into it in a stall and then come back and lower my pants for him.

“No,” he says, holding a hand out to stop me. “Do it here. I want to see.”

I can’t explain to you what I was scared of. I didn’t think he was going to hurt me, nor did I even think he was going to run and tell everyone else what he had seen. But I was terrified of him nonetheless. And, too, I wanted to do right by him. I felt I owed him this–no matter the discomfort to me.

So. I do it. I pull down my pants and boxers, and I awkwardly try to put a big diaper on myself while standing up. I’ve seen–both of us have seen–plenty of naked men in our lives. Such is life on a team. But I’ve never felt so ashamed of myself, fumbling with the thick padding as my dick just dangled helplessly between my legs.

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t smile. He just sat there and stared at me. It was like he was studying me, you know? Analyzing me. I almost wished that he would start laughing or calling me names. Anything would’ve been better than the cold mysterious quiet.

Somehow, I got the diaper on. It wasn’t straight, it wasn’t tight enough, and it probably looked like a literal toddler put it on himself, but it was on.

“There,” I say to him. “You happy now?”

“Not really.”

“What else do you want me to do then?”

“Get on your hands and knees,” he says. “Crawl like a baby.”

I lowered myself to my hands and knees. There wasn’t much vacant space in the dorm room to crawl around, but I took a few awkward and shaky strides forward. 

Still, he didn’t look amused. He didn’t look like he was enjoying this. He looked angry. It almost looked as if my eagerness to do as he asked made him lose even more respect for me.

“Do you like that?” he asks.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. I still wasn’t going to point out that this wasn’t the sort of thing that I did when I actually was enjoying a diaper–let alone the added scrutiny of him being in the room with me.

“I just wanted to see what a real baby looks like,” he says. “So that when the other guys start mocking me and putting goddamn baby diapers in my locker, I’ll remember that this is what an actual man in a diaper looks like.”

“What can I do?” I ask. “Do you want me to talk to the guys? Talk to the coach?”

He shook his head. “What for? Unless you crawl around the locker room in a diaper so that they can all see you as I see you right now, I don’t think you’re ever going to get me off the hook.”

“Well, I could–”

“Don’t bullshit me me,” he spits. “Don’t pretend you’re actually going to do that. Because you’re not, right? You’re not going to go and show the whole team that you’re a little diaper-wearing infant.”

“Okay,” I say. “So what do you want?”

He responded by unzipping his pants, opening them up. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to–it was clear what he wanted and what I was expected to do.

I’ve never sucked a man’s cock before. I’ve never touched another man’s cock. I’ve never even considered it. I’m not, like, homophobic. I just… Well, I just never thought that I wanted any of that. 

In that moment though, watching him reach into his boxers and pull out a cock that was easily bigger than mine–I didn’t bat an eye. I still thought that I deserved whatever comeuppance he believed I was owed. And if he wanted me to suck on his cock, while I was on my hands and knees–diapered–I was willing to do it.

I’m not gay. I’m not bi. I’ve never craved a dick since that moment. It wasn’t some sort of transcendent experience that made me rethink everything I knew about myself.

At that moment, though, I just knew what I had to do. And I was willing to take one for the team–even if the team was pretty much just me in a diaper. I thought about telling him that I didn’t know what I was doing, and that I had never done anything like this before. But he knew that already. The point wasn’t that I was to sexually please him–well, at least not primarily. The point was that I was to be humiliated. The point was that he was proving to me that even though he was getting teased in the locker room, I was the pathetic loser actually wearing a diaper and doing whatever it took to be respected.

I wrapped my mouth around his cock and tried my best. The first few minutes were pretty awkward. He took my head in his hands and guided me up and down his shaft, occasionally slapping the side of my face when my teeth were getting too close to his skin. But eventually we seemed to be in sync. He didn’t even have to guide my head anymore–I had found the right series of movements and the rhythm to pleasure him on my own.

And I was pleasing him. I knew this because of the way he moaned. The way he shoved his cock as deep as he could into my mouth–often until I had to pause and try to catch my breath. I knew it from the things he said.

“Are you sure you’re not some sissy little princess, diaper-boy? I’ve never had a girl suck cock as good as you’re doing it right now.”

I won’t say I hated it. I won’t tell you that I liked it either. But. I won’t say that I hated it.

He finished on my face. When it became clear that he did intend to keep me on his cock until he climaxed, I grew increasingly nervous about how that would go down. I was terrified of him pumping his load right down my throat. I just…I couldn’t even imagine doing that. But at the last minute, he shoved me off of him so that he could erupt directly onto my face.

And that was how he left me–sitting on my dorm room floor in a diaper, with my face covered in his cum.

I’ll tell you this now, since I told you everything else–and because I know that what we say in these stories doesn’t leave the group: I pissed myself in that diaper after he left. And after that, with my face still a mess, I jerked off in my diaper.

If he had stayed, I’d have done it in front of him, too.

Andy stayed on the team for the rest of the season. The bullying slowly diminished until it finally stopped. I heard some guys say that they had just gotten tired of the joke, but I don’t think that’s what killed it. I think Andy Dimpton was a different guy after that night in my dorm room. He started walking with his head held up a little higher. When people made jokes about them, he looked them right in the eyes–seeming to challenge them to say something else. 

In the locker room after our last game of the season, I watched him and Kyle Wallace give each other a hi-five. Andy had done it–he had managed to turn around his reputation and become one of the alphas. 

And I was still in the absolute middle of the hierarchy–mostly ignored.

Andy never said a word to me again. He didn’t so much as look at me. It was like that night never happened. Or, that night–and me–was so insignificant that he never bothered thinking about it afterwards.

He transferred to a different school last year. I couldn’t tell you why. As far as I know, he’s never told a single person about that night. Certainly nobody else from the team. 

Meanwhile, the team has forgotten him and moved on. There’s new freshmen on the team to tease and pick on now. I like to help out with the hazing when I can. It’s important to let the new guys know where I believe I am on the food chain. And, too, I like to remind the other guys on the team that I’m not on the bottom of the barrel. I’m not a baby.

So, no, I probably haven’t learned a damn thing. Except that I can’t ever let my interest in diapers come anywhere close to my life on the team. 

This is my first time so please be kind with me :3

How many stories have you completed?

I had to go back and count. "Completed" being the operative word. I am terrible at finishing or adding chapters to longer stories. I tend to either lose steam or not know where to take the story. But I compiled almost everything I've written that's over 3k words. I tried to post links to the ones that have previews/full-releases on free sites. All of them can be found on Patreon:

The Boss' Baby

Besties - Part 1 , Part 2

Big Daddy

Date Night

Diaper Cuck - Excerpt 1 , Excerpt 2

DREAMS Daycare

Egg Hunt

Feels Like The First Time

Here Comes the Airpwane

Maw

Meet The Parents - Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Monitored

Practice Makes Perfect

Princess Pampers

Prudish

Reflections

Rent-A-Bull

Road Trip

Season's Greetings

Severance

Stuffed

Tales From a Mommy Blog

The Baby Shower

The Box

The Check-Up

The Satin Sock

The Wet Nurse

Tinder Love and Care

Under His Thumb

Weekend Services

You Should Smile More

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Ongoing/Abandoned Projects

ABCDegree

Go Ask Alex

Hoetel Bimbo

Joy Ride

New World Order

Sissy School - Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8

Sorority Boys - Chapter 1, Chapter 2

The Hunt

The White Rabbit

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This obviously doesn't include the mini-stories and captions I've written, but I'm not about to go back and count all of those, lol.

I'm going to pin this post if that's okay. I've been meaning to catalogue this for a long time, so thanks for this question to finally make me get off my lazy ass and do it. I will try to update as more gets released.

If you'd like to find my on other sites, here's All My Links

My first messy accident

Cupid’s Punk!

1- so it feels real

There is both terror and freedom in restarting your life. Not in a cosmic sense, but in the moving-across-the-country-and-leaving-everyone-you-knew-on-the-opposite-coast sense. That is where Scarlet found herself this morning. Eyes red from her jetlag, hair a mess from the uncomfortable seats, and a puffy-eyed death stare meeting her from the scratched bathroom mirror. Even with her fresh start, the fresh apartment, she was not ready for her first day at a new job in this new, unfamiliar city. She wanted to sleep. She wanted to forget. She wanted to go back to her home with—a pang of heartbreak through her chest interrupted the thought. That home was no longer there, and no one was waiting for her to come home. Instead, Scarlet let out a dejected sigh, opened the cardboard moving box that contained the toiletries that were not in her carry-on, and got in the shower. She was up far earlier than she realistically needed to be, to make sure she could wash her hair, shave her legs, and still have plenty of time for makeup and a relaxed cab ride to work. The pipes whined and hot water splashed her face as the new-ish utilities sprung to life. She focused on getting the sleep out of her eyes.

 She resented her own anxious, over-prepare-until-exhausted tendencies. Yet Scarlet knew that on mornings where she didn’t do this, she was late. It was part of why she’d lost her last position as a Library clerk. God, that feels like a lifetime ago. If I started taking those then…what if... Scarlet let the thought drift up with the steam, and focused on the rigorous maintenance that her curly, shoulder-length bob required. The rest of the shower went likewise. She would move on to some other form of self-grooming, only for another intrusive thought to appear, and she would do her best to let it roll off of her. By the time she was done, dripping into a towel and stepping out, she had gotten most of the self loathing scrubbed off. Scarlet turned to face the same mirror. She wiped the fogged glass with one pale hand, and the same dead-eyed look greeted her. Scarlet forced a smile, hollow but just enough to come across as courteous and eager, rather than like a retail worker who was dead inside. She had plenty of practice masking in this way. 

Her breakfast was a microwaved cup of coffee and protein bar, the leftovers from her flight. She’d have to go to the grocery after work. She ate just enough to then turn to her prescriptions, the small, resentful white triangles tasting bitter and frustrating, her knowing that it was a 50/50 on whether she would be vomiting before lunch. The three small blue estrogen pills had to melt sublingually, and wouldn’t upset her stomach. They did, however, taste like minty asshole as they dissolved under her tongue while she started her makeup routine. It went quickly, Scarlet’s old “professional” looks still in her head after years of rushed mornings where her mediocre nutrition and makeup routine battled for time. Her hands danced; brushing, patting, dabbing, blending, and setting at a quick but deliberate pace. This wasn’t Scarlet’s first time working places that made her tone down her looks and cover her smattering of artsy tattoos that criss crossed her arms. Her new boss had assured her however, that so long as she wore at least business casual and none of the tattoos visible were profane, no one would care. Simple enough to cover the guillotine on her shoulder blade or the shoddy stick and poke of her highschool bff’s band “The Fart Coffins” on the opposite blade. She only sometimes regretted that one out of any of the designs on her body.  She finished with a modest amount of very neutral blush, and got up to dress in the outfit she had laid out the night before. A simple white blouse and black skirt, black tie, black flats. Should show a good first impression for a secretary of a legal office. She couldn’t help but roll the sleeves partially, however, showing hints and edges of her ink. 

 Scarlet made sure her hair was dry, shook her head as a jolt of the last taste of estrogen left her mouth, and called for her cab. Just before leaving, she packed her purse, and heard an unfamiliar jingling at the bottom. Fishing through the myriad receipts, dust bunnies and half finished chapsticks, she finally found the culprit, and her heart dropped. A simple gold ring, with an inscription inside; Futile – the winds –/ To a Heart in port –The singular band was heavy in her hand, and Scarlet felt the heartbreak all over again. She wanted nothing more than to scream. She wanted to sob until her throat was hoarse, to wail in pain. She wanted to call her. Instead, she tenderly wiped the welling tear in one eye to preserve her mascara, roughly threw open the drawer to toss the precious bomb in with a clatter. The front door slammed and locked behind her.  The cab hummed quietly as it rode down the dense city streets, and Scarlet focused on taking in the sites of tree leaves slowly changing color through the cab window. She was headed further downtown from her new apartment, and even still there were beautiful trees she wasn’t familiar with. This is exactly what I thought the East Coast to look like, and yet it’s even more beautiful than I could have imagined, she mused to herself. She was used to her hometown in the Bay, the palms and pines of the San Francisco and Oakland areas all she had made friends with until now. The trees were dotted in front of the tall downtown shops, looking like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. She took a picture every now and again, killing time until her quiet cab driver pulled over to a sidewalk. Scarlet smoothed her skirt, handed the man his fare and a tip, and stepped out in front of a small office building. Her flats echoed against the shiny, reflective tile as she followed signs and elevator directories to Kane Arbitration & Mediation Legal Services.  The interior of the elevator shined, polished enough that Scarlet could see her own reflection.

 She took a moment as she rode to the fourth floor, using the reflection to adjust her skirt. She was so tall that no matter what she wore, it always eventually turned into a skirt shorter than intended, and that was the last thing she wanted to project on her first day.  Once the soft fabric was in place, better resting on her hips and covering much of her long thighs, she noticed she had arrived. Scarlet swallowed, her nerves making it louder than she had wanted, and exited as the doors parted. 

Kane Legal was one of the only offices on this floor, and it didn’t take her long to find, but she paused outside the door anyway. She took solace in the fact her new employer wouldn’t be able to see her through the doors frosted glass. Scarlet had a moment to steady the shaking in her hands. 

There’s nothing left for you back there. This has to work. You have no other option. The thought was supposed to be comforting. 

She opened the door and recalled all the times that thought would light a fire in her—to ignite the contrarian and spiteful nature she had to anyone that doubted her. A year ago, this would have made her unstoppable…but the last year was harder than she could have ever predicted. The reception area of the office was nicely decorated, looking like the kind you’d see on a mid-budget daytime law drama. No one was at the desk that she assumed would be hers, so she tried to peer around a corner leading to what she assumed would be Miss Kane’s proper office. Sure enough, a door at the end of the hall was open and revealed a head of deep black hair peaking just over the top of a large computer monitor. Scarlet took a moment for them to notice her.  

In another life, Scarlet would have confidently marched into the office, head held high, with enough swagger to convince anyone that she owned this office. Now the poor girl stood there, shivering as her future awaited. The Scarlet of a year ago would have left this newer Scarlet behind, just like the one she cared about the most. She prayed this wasn’t some kind of test. 

“Excuse me?” She called out, causing the head to twitch, “I’m looking for Miss Kane?”

The top of the head rose for a pair of eyes to see just over the top, and then a hand brusquely slid the monitor on a pivoting stand out of the way. Scarlet recognized her now, the telltale hazel, almost golden eyes and a striking streak of platinum blonde to one side having stuck with her since their video interview. “And you have found her.” Her voice merrily sang, reverberating down the tiled hall. She stood. “You must be Ms. Finch. I am so glad to finally get you out here. May I be the first to properly welcome you to Caulfield Valley, I hope your flight was smooth?” Scarlet was immediately put off balance, having to look up at someone for once. Even if Emilia Kane hadn’t been in imposing black heels, she would easily have three inches on the six feet even Scarlet. She effortlessly glided down the hall towards Scarlet, her hand outstretched. Scarlet met her, returning her’s for a handshake. The taller woman’s hands were so soft.

“Ah, t-thank you, Ma’am.” She politely smiled, and decided to rest her hands on the strap of her purse so as to not fidget. “I appreciate that, it was a long flight.” She wanted to divulge how exhausted and sore she was, but held back. 

“That is such a shame.” Emilia twisted her mouth into a concerned frown for a moment, a hand grabbing her chin in thought. “If you ever need to fly for me again, I can make sure you have better accommodations. Thankfully, your first day probably will not be too demanding. I am hoping to simply get you familiar with the way I organize best and have you operating at full speed before my next big meeting in…,” She checked the date on her phone, pulling it from the breast pocket of her dark green suit, “-three days. Does all that sound good?” Scarlet sighed in relief. “More than good, Ma’am, I’m sure I can be up to snuff by the end of the day.” She was a tiny bit surprised by how confident she sounded. “Oh please, Ma’am makes me feel old.” She waved a hand as if shooing the notion away, “I know to most it is respectful, but I prefer ‘Miss’ or just Emilia if it is all the same to you.” She rested the same hand now on her hips, which Scarlet noted were surprisingly accented in this type of suit. She nodded in response, and Emilia gestured for her to sit in the chair behind the receptionist desk. 

The woman looked like she was off a runway, the two piece suit and platinum jewelry complimenting her intense eyes and the vibrant streak of silver- no, platinum blonde in her hair. The hazel of her eyes became almost amber-gold as the light from the windows caught them. When her new employer wasn’t looking, she shook her head to erase the thoughts. Scarlet couldn’t exactly be thinking about how attractive her boss was if she didn’t want to risk her new living situation. 

“—and your last employer said you were familiar with all of these programs, is that right?” The question snapped Scarlet back to reality as Emilia motioned to the open windows of the computer. 

“That’s right. All of this is right in my wheelhouse.” Scarlet affirmed, grateful that the job didn’t seem to have any sudden surprises. “And this looks like a pretty standard inter-office set up on the phones as well. Would you prefer a call or a ping on your computer when you have a call or a client?” She hoped the question would help make her seem competent and ‘a go-getter,’ something her father had told her once upon a time about starting a new job. “A call is fine unless I am already with a client. If I do not respond, you may call regardless.” Emilia said, a small smile of approval spreading across her red lips. “On the topic of clients, occasionally you are to sit in for meetings and you will be taking notes. These are legal matters and meet the standard of attorney-client-privilege. So it is vitally important you understand that anything you hear or write down in those meetings are confidential, but could end up under scrutiny if we were ever to be sued or subpoenaed. Are you comfortable with that?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.” Scarlet nodded, “To be clear, any notes I take are private between you and I unless that happens right? Like—” she kicked herself for her valleygirl filler word, and tried to recover, “a doctor? For example, I wouldn’t talk about this with anyone except you or the client, even during off hours?” Scarlet couldn’t lie to herself and say that didn’t make her anxious. Her understanding of the legal system told her there were a million and one ways to mess up proceedings if everyone didn’t know them ahead of time. The clarity would help alleviate that anxiety. 

“Exactly. We can talk about it informally outside of the office but we must use discretion. God forbid  you run into a client at a bar, make sure neither of you are shouting without realizing. However you got the most important part. Good job.”  Something inside Scarlet warmed at her new boss’s approval. Emilia’s phone lit up and began ringing in her hand. She rolled her eyes. “I have to take this,” she explained, grabbing a small packet from the top drawer of the desk, “Just answer the phone if any calls come in and start filling this out with your info so I can make payments and records and such. It will only take a moment!” Emilia walked back up the hall, closing the door of her office. Scarlet could hear her talking in a tone that sounded professional and even, but couldn’t make out anything specific. 

When Scarlet realized she could not eavesdrop, no matter how hard she tried to focus, she instead grabbed a pen from the desk and focused on the forms. They were typical of starting with any new employer: tax info, new address, signing agreements. Scarlet was sorely missing the over-designed packets she would receive on her first day at each of the oversized chain stores she had grown up working at. The kind that tries to convince the reader that “we’re a family here,” isn’t the same as “your boss will not give a single shit about you if you think for yourself.” They were always a riot to laugh at with her fellow cashiers, clerks, and baristas. 

Everything was astonishingly professional, and felt tailored to the tiny law office. The forms were of course up to every standard Scarlet was aware of, but everything appeared handwritten and then copied from a master document. The young woman marveled at the curves and loops that seemed so practiced, so official. Calligraphy as a hobby?

Scarlet’s daydream was broken as the phone rang. Her arm sprung to life, grabbing the phone and bringing it to her ear. “Hello, Legal Offices of Miss Kane, how can I help you?” Her mind auto piloted the greeting, a tactic she’d learned as a young adult to perform before any social anxiety made her hesitate to answer. 

There was a silent beat, broken only by soft background hum from the receiver. A deeper voice finally spoke. “Oh, is Miss Kane not in?”

“I’m sorry, she’s stepped away for another call. I’m the new secretary.” The professional mask came back to her like a second skin, despite over a year of disuse. “Can I take a message for you?”  Scarlet offered.

“Er,” The voice stammered for a moment, then clarified, “Yeah. Actually, you can tell her that I have to back out of Friday’s meeting, I won’t be rescheduling. She can keep the deposit. Goodbye.” Scarlet busied herself scribbling the note down. 

“Wait, I’ll need to tell her your name.” She tried to catch the man before he disconnected.

It was too late, the line went dead. Scarlet took a confused look at the receiver before returning it to the cradle. She tried to imagine what would have someone behaving this way, but even her previous customer support and retail work did not track here. Scarlet merely blinked in confusion and returned to filling her new employment forms. She could hear the muffled speech of her new boss, not able to pick distinct words, only cadence. The forms were dull and simple enough, and before too long Emilia’s office door clicked open. 

Scarlet was finishing the bottom lines of the last page, hoping quietly to impress the imposing woman, as childish as that want may be. Emilia’s heels marked her approach down the hall, and Scarlet spun gracefully in her swivel chair to face her. “Did I hear a call come in while I was gone?”

“You did, and I've got a message,” Scarlet tried her best to sound professional yet nonchalant, “your Friday meeting canceled, said to keep his deposit.” She looked up to Emilia to gauge her superior’s reaction. Emilia gave nothing but a solitary eyebrow twitch. “He didn’t leave a name and hung up…is that normal?” 

“Whether it’s normal or not, we get to keep the deposit for my time, and that’s what matters to me.” Emilia said, too hurried to be as casual. Scarlet decided to just let that slip.There was something going on here, but she would catch the intricacies of the client relationships soon enough. 

Emilia very pointedly avoided her gaze to check the time, and excused herself again. The rest of the day moved slowly, save for asking Scarlet for a coffee run in the afternoon, which turned into buying a cafe scone for Scarlet’s lunch as well. 

She busied herself with memorizing the upcoming schedule, the program, and the routine expected of her. She tried not to fidget as the caffeine had its way with her later in the day. The bouncing of her leg coincided with an increase in worry. Would she have another reaction to this medication like her last, and be unable to sleep? Would Emilia be angry that she wasn’t being proactive in some way? How was she supposed to know? She paused, trying to stop ruminating. She lifted her hands away from the keyboard. They were shaking, and she squeezed her eyes closed. When Scarlet opened them, they focused through her fingers, at the sticky note she had written down the message, and the smaller coffee order beneath it. Sighing, she wrote down the coffee order on her phone and on her desktop notepad. If she could do nothing, she would be constructive and prepared for the future. 

Her hands kept shaking for the remainder of the shift. Scarlet wasn’t sure if it was the anxiety, the caffeine, or her meds. She’d been so isolated until moving she hadn’t noticed if the shaking started then. Just past five, Emilia’s heels clicked down the hall, a smart designer purse over one shoulder. “Now, is there anything I can clarify before we leave?” Her voice sang again and the hall reverberated in tune with her voice like Brian Eno was behind it. Scarlet shook her head, smiling with her mask back on as she spun to face Emilia again. 

“Thank you so much, but I don’t think I’ve got any questions yet.” Scarlet wanted to be sincere in thanking her, drop the facade and business-casual tone. Speaking without rehearsal tended to bite her in the ass lately.  She squeezed her hands between her thighs to try and avoid any probing questions. Scarlet could only imagine suspicious and overbearing concern at best if her new boss thought there was something wrong with her medically. 

“Is there anything else I can help with? I’ve just been organizing your schedule and getting used to the layout in here all day.” She desperately wanted to get her groceries before it was too dark. 

“No thank you, Scarlet. You’ve already helped me enormously, you have no idea.” Emilia ushered Scarlet out the door, and locked it behind her. 

*  *

If one thing in the world could be counted on, it was chain stores being identical on the inside. Scarlet pushed an identically squeaky cart up identically packed aisles among indistinguishable brands. The only difference really seemed to be the accents. She approached bulk rice bags, hesitated, and drew out her phone with dread. Her meager bank account balance confirmed her fears, and she begrudgingly went for the generic. Other staples like cheap instant ramen and pasta followed suit. The sole splurge was the cheapest, sweetest, garbage brand of red wine she could find. 

Her cab ride was identical, save for the setting sun behind her. Purples and oranges and cotton-candy-clouds danced behind her, out of view, as she slowly sank her head against the cool glass of the window. At least the trees are still pretty. She raised her phone again to try and take a picture, but the camera went grainy in the growing dark. 

Her new apartment greeted her with the same lonely  tone as when she first received the keys. It was cold, it was empty, the furnishings were bland and picked by the property management company. Nothing here was hers yet, save the stacked boxes of cardboard. Her tired arms carried the groceries to their appropriate resting places, and she cracked open the wine before settling on the couch. Out of habit she reached for her remote, only to remember she didn’t have a TV yet. Sold for the moving expenses. 

Scarlet was so tired of sighing. She took a swig of wine, an old comfort that was basically a juicebox and rubbing alcohol that reminded her of being broke in college. She opened her phone, wishing for any stimulation. Her friends, (rather former friends)  were still posting stories, still sharing their bad takes and inane jokes. She considered getting off the couch to do the same. It was all performative anyway, right? But the energy wouldn’t come when she called out for it. Another sip, and she swapped apps. Scarlet noticed the singular blink of darkness on her phone’s screen.

“Please, you piece of shit. I really can’t afford you to die right now.”  Her worries seemed unfounded, as the brilliant screen returned and the malfunction wasn’t replicated for the rest of the night. What was strange, however, were the kinds of new accounts she was being recommended as she scrolled her timeline. 

Now, Scarlet was no prude. She enjoyed fucking and her alone time as much as anyone. Estrogen and Progesterone even maybe had her hornier than the average. But her timeline wasn’t  full of this much smut. She had friends in the sex work game, but she didn’t exactly like, share, favorite, reblog, or any other influencer verb their content. Another website breaking their algorithm again?  

Even if Dani did porn, she didn’t do this kind of porn. Morbid curiosity, and a slight increase in her pulse, beckoned Scarlet onward. 

Drawings, videos, and staged photos of women in things she’d only seen in racy HBO content. She didn’t even know what to call the more intricate…props…but felt herself linger on a clip of a woman riding a…pleasure machine plugged into the wall behind her. Scarlet’s face matched her namesake and she scrolled on. A woman sitting at a home office, the quintessential framing of every vlog you’ve ever watched. Finally somebody is fucking sane in this world. She clicked the video without even reading the caption, and the perky eyed labrador retriever of a woman began to speak.

“Hi everybody! This is the Channel of O. SO!” The blonde clapped for emphasis. “You’re trying to learn about BDSM, and you have no idea where to start.” Scarlet’s eyes went wide, she took another sip, and watched the woman jumpcut and explain through terrible jokes. It was a trainwreck, steam engines exploding in her mind. It made her hot in the crotch. Scarlet finished her glass, finished the video, and poured herself another while going deeper to the woman’s personal channel. More videos, more introductory guides. Scarlet polished the second glass, and was too engrossed despite the initial impulse to cringe to even pour another. 

Her alarm rang to remind her to take the rest of her medication, pulling her out of her trance.How long had she been zoned out? It was eight thirty. Losing track of time like that wasn’t uncommon for her and this diversion was welcome. She resigned herself and went to go take another dose of bitter antidepressants and her dose of Progesterone. Once the poison was administered, she looked across her kitchen to the counter where she left her phone. It lay there, like a metal megalith, imposing despite being a little plastic rectangle. Scarlet had to gather her nerve just to walk across the room and lift the damn thing. Once it was back in her hand, she used shaking hands to unlock it. The Channel of O was still smiling up at her, and she felt her cheeks getting redder. 

Her glass of wine was forgotten as she brought her phone to her bedroom. She unboxed her duvet, and sat on the soft material as the video resumed. Scarlet was enthralled, soaking in every bit of knowledge she could. 

“There’s all kinds of different dynamics! You’re probably familiar with a ‘master/slave’ dynamic,” The blonde woman began, “but there’s also pets and owners, and even daddies, mommies,—” Scarlet’s pulse quickened,”—or more generically caregivers and littles! Sometimes that’s called ABDL if it involves diapers.”  Scarlet felt her breath catch in her throat. Her fingers flew into a flurry, and a private internet search later, her phone was filled with images that made her heartbeat accelerate. 

Videos, drawings, and many, many depictions of adult women, with all their curves and freckles and other parts that excited Scarlet, in thick diapers. They ranged across all body types, and the infantile garb varied from plain white plastic to over the top patterns to evoke baby diapers. 

Scarlet continued to scroll, eyes wide in wonder and excitement. She finally stopped, a thumbnail capturing her attention like a punch to the gut and clicked the video. Scarlet’s mouth went wide, and felt herself starting to leak into her panties. 

A gorgeous, curvaceous woman was lying on her back,  supple lips wrapped around the nipples of another woman, in nothing but a pastel colored diaper and delicate, lacy lingerie top. The tender moment evoked  breastfeeding, save for the “mother” holding a massive vibrator against the woman’s…diaper. 

The “baby” of the couple was moaning, growing louder, and Scarlet felt a tent growing under her skirt. Eventually, the “baby” was screaming, thrusting her hips into the massive sex toy, in time with cries of “Mommy!”

Mommy’s smile was intoxicating. She was very clearly getting off just as much as her baby, her face painted a combination of maternal nurturing, hedonistic pleasure, ecstatic elation, and sadistic control as she began thrusting the enormous vibrator in time with her partner’s thrusts. 

It was obviously acting on the merit of pornography, but Scarlet couldn’t tear herself away. She allowed her hand to snake up to a nipple poking through her top. Scarlet realized her own arousal, and in embarrassment, closed the tab, flinging her phone to the edge of the bed like it was a dangerous spider. 

She flung the covers off, racing to the bathroom for a cold shower.  

WETTYORNAH’s Hypno Guide

DISCLAIMER: Hypnosis isn’t for everyone. I understand that the idea of it is hard to believe for many people. The truth is, I’m with those people. However, the magic of hypno is letting yourself try and believe it. It takes effort from a good hypnotist and effort from a good subject. If you’re expecting results off the bat, you’re failing yourself. Give it time, listen again and again, and try to believe. Eventually, you might find yourself in a situation you can’t believe your way out of 🤷🏻‍♂️

I’ve labeled them based on the type of hypno I like. As I’m DL rather than AB, you won’t find much about regression or baby like behaviors. This list is mostly meant for encouragement to wear diapers, or bladder control. The three categories are bedwetting (self explanatory), lifestyle (stuff like committing to diapers, realizing they’re right for you), and fuck yourself over (dangerous hypno that usually has a condition, like if you give in and wet, you’ll never be able to stop) They are mostly meant for male listeners as far as I can tell.

So let’s get into it

BEDWETTING/LIFESTYLE

Curse Night Diapers - EMG

This one forces you to wear diapers to bed, along with wetting them. This one doesn’t exactly encourage incontinence, but the fact you’re going to bed in diapers which you will wet will fulfill that desire to become a bedwetter.

BEDWETTING

Bed Wetter - Sarnoga

Doesn’t encourage diapers, but does make you enjoy bedwetting. There’s mention that you’re too immature to choose diapers. This file basically sets you up to become a bedwetter and end up having someone make the choice for you that you need to wear diapers to bed. Great to use with the help of someone else.

FUCK YOURSELF OVER/BEDWETTING Bedwetter Fear to Reality - EMG

Makes you anxious about having an accident, you choose to wear diapers or not. Of course, if you do have an accident, that’s it. One leads to another. Dangerous if you don’t want to find yourself trapped

LIFESTYLE

Diaper Dependence 1 - Champtehotter

The first in his series of making you diaper dependent. This file causes you to commit to diapers and explains why you need them. This is a great first step, and then you can move on to the next one once this one has fucked your mind.

LIFESTYLE

Diaper Train 1 - Sarnoga

This hypno also encourages you to commit to diapers. Each lesson will have you wearing diapers more, first at home alone, then around people, then out in public. It does this by making you feel like you can’t use a toilet to get relief. WARNING: this one did mess with me, and in some files encourages bedwetting even when sharing a bed just to prove you really need diapers.

LIFESTYLE

Every Good Boy Wears Diapers - Sarnoga

Explains every reason why you need diapers to avoid making messes. Diapers are the best choice for boys is the main message

LIFESTYLE

The Diaper Does It - Sarnoga

Makes you love your diapers and give them your control. The main twist of this file is that if you don’t wear diapers every so often, you will start having accidents in your pants. Basically makes a timer in your head so you must come back to diapers.

LIFESTYLE/FUCK YOURSELF OVER

Master your Bladder -

Teaches you that your bladder is in control of your life, and the only way to fix it is to take the control away. Causes bladder incontinence.

FUCK YOURSELF OVER

Diaper Drug - Champtehotter

Imagine you’ve been injected with a drug that makes you love your diapers and become bladder incontinent. As long as you don’t cum, it won’t be permanent. I dare you to listen.

FUCK YOURSELF OVER

Pantswetter Incontinence

Makes you have accidents whenever and wherever until you have no choice but to wear diapers.

Thats it for now, I definitely got more but this took longer than I thought. I like every single one of these, and I think you will too. Let me know how it goes or which one you enjoyed most.

A Halloween Story: Ghost Dick

Content Warning: ghost fucking, cnc, public

It started when I entered the house. My friend's friends rented the place for their halloween party and it looked absolutely awesome. It had everything: it was situated between tall trees, soft lights were scattered all around the place, most of them in carved pumpkins, giving the whole place an eerie glow. Paired with the low and dense fog it looked spooky. They decorated for the occasion as well: plastic skeletons and other fun halloween decorations were cleverly placed all around.

The inside was warm and welcoming, with soft music. There was punch, there were snacks, it was glorious. It was the first time I was really excited for a party like this when I normally tried to avoid too many people at once.

"It's a real haunted house!" my friend promised. Sure, of course it was. The whole thing was more of an old villa that was rented out for parties and such. It had a huge garden and many large rooms, perfect for things like this.

I felt a sudden chill on my nipples, causing them to harden and I was glad for my bra. Weird, though, that the cold would affect them like this. It wasn't particularly cold in the house. I shrugged it off and got myself some punch, mingle with the other guests. I wished that I had plugged my ass up. The weird chill on my nipples would be perfect. My cunt clenched around nothing. A plug up my ass would've made this so much better, but I didn't wanna risk it when there were so many people I didn't know.

There were some seriously awesome costumes all around, making me glad I'd made the effort myself. Spooky snacks and brightly colored drinks made the party perfect. I saw sexy witches and vampires, zombies, skeletons.

Then I felt it again, the sensation at my nipples. It was like something - something -, was touching them. I looked around, one or two women looked a bit funny as well. Was I not the only one? I discreetly swiped a hand down my front, but the sensation didn't stop. I made an excuse and went to one of the bathrooms. To my embarassment I couldn't hold in a moan when my nipples were pinched. My tits have always been sensitive. I stumbled into the bathroom, locked the door. My harsh breathing was loud and I was glad it wasn't a public bathroom where anyone could just walk in. I took a deep breath and slid my top off, then the bra. Yeah, my nipples were hardened and red aching points. They were so stiff and I thought I could see how they were manipulated. As if transparent fingers were there, rolling and pinching them. It certainly felt like it.

I could also feel how my cunt pulsed. I bet it was swollen and puffy, too. Fuck.

"Hey, you ok?" asked someone and knocked. Shit, how long had I stood here, looking at my own tits?

"Yeah, yeah," I said. "Be right out." I slid my bra and top back on. What else was I supposed to do? I unlocked the door to step out just in time for the transparent hands to palm my breasts, weigh them. They rubbed the palms all over my stiff nipples and I felt a gush of my hot wet arousal and squirmed a bit, rubbing my thighs together.

I tried to look normal when I got back to the main area, but soon noticed that I wasn't the only one behaving weird. Not only women, either. A lot of the people around lookd mildly concerned, some downright aroused. I saw cocks tenting pants and people trying to hide movements between their legs.

I wonder what was going on. My arousal peaked when I heard the first loud moan. "Fuck!" a man that was about my age groaned. "Fuck something's sucking my cock, fuck!" He exclaimed and pushed his pants down to reveal a stiff, glossy cock. I was fascinated and I thought, yes, I saw something moving, bobbing up and down his shaft.

The friend that invided me struggled, but something forced her arms up and her top and bra off. "Stop! Stop!" she shrieked but to no avail. Her pants came off too, but her cat ears stayed on as we all got to see her glistening pussy. "Ghosts," she moaned. "Fuckin haunted, house," but she couldn't finish her sentence. I was in the best position to see an invisible cock spreading her lips and sinking deep into her cunt. It was incredible to see her spread around nothing, or, rather, around something invisible.

I felt someone pant against my neck, icy cold. Oh god. The ghosts haunting this house had just waited for this, right? For a group of people to come here voluntarily so that they could fuck them - fuck us. I was pretty sure my ghosts knew that I was enjoying this like the slut I was. A cock was pressed against my ass, slid thorugh my crack and I wriggled my butt against him.

"Come on," I murmured. "Is she goung to be the only once having fun?"

I heard him chuckle. How perfect would it be to have him haunt me daily? To go to work with him there, always being able to touch me like this?

I moaned when I saw my friend sinking to her knees, still shrieking and struggling. She didn't seem to kneel willingly and then I saw why. Another invisible cock speared her asshole. "Get out of my ass! No! Out!" Her body was rocked as the cocks fucked her in tandem.

I looked around to find the other guests in various states of undress. Some were naked, some only lost their pants or their tops. I saw tits shaking with the force of thrusts and cocks being manipulated but the best thing was when the first guy got ghost-cock in his ass. First he struggled like my friend did, but then he really got into it. He begged for more, harder, more more more. I'm sure he came so hard he blacked out for a moment.

And I was denied. The hands still rubbed my tits, pinched my nipples. I barely noticed him undressing me because I was so frustrated. Everyone got cock but not me. When I was naked, I leaned over one of the couches to present my ass and cunt to my ghost. His cock nudged my folds, thick head pressed against my entrance without being pushed in. I tried to wriggle it in, pushed my ass out but he denied me and just started to tease my tits again.

I watched as cunts and asses got fucked. At one point, the ghosts manipulated two guests so they ended up with his cock in her cunt while both were fucked in the ass. Ghostly figures became more and more visible with each orgams.

The ghost teasing me finally gave in. He eased his cock into my cunt slowly and I didn't dare to complain as long as he'd just fuck me. The sensation was incredible. I felt his cold cock in me, spreading me but when I looked behind me, nothing more then a faint outline was there.

My tits jiggled with the steady thrusts. I tried to pinch my own nipples, but an invisible hand batted my hands away and I huffed and moaned, as I felt a mouth at my left tit while the other was being played with by cold fingers. So, a second ghost joined us? I wondered if they were able to stand at the same spot? Once fucking my ass while the other railed my pussy? Could I tempt them?

I reached around and spread my ass cheeks for them. "Slut," the ghost murmured and I felt a finger at the tight ring of muscles. A thumb slid inside.

"Someone better cum on her ass, we need lube," I heard him and wondered if I was the only one. The other gueses didn't seem to communicat with the ghosts at all. I looked for my friend. She was begging and begging for it to stop as she was forced to orgasm agian. When she didn't stop begging, something was shoved down her throat. How many ghosts were here?

I pushed back against the cock fucking me, but the rythm never faltered, torturously precise and slow. My juices were already dripping out of my cunt, down my thighs. I moaned when I felt cold cum on my ass and the tip of a cock between my cheeks.

Oh, god, yes. They could definetly stand on the same spot. The cum was spread around between my cheeks and a thumb slid into my asshole again, deeper this time, to tease me. It was soon replaced by the tip of a stiff, hard cock.

"Please, please, please," I babbled when it forced its way into my ass while I was still pounded from behind. Both cocks pushed deep into me until they were filling me completely. It was wonderful. They pressed me against the couch, forced me to stay still while I was impaled on these gorgeously thick, hard, cold cocks.

"This one's a keeper," one of them said as I struggled to fuck back against them, unable to move, still pressed against the couch.

"Mmm, yeah. You would like that, right, slut?"

The cock in my ass started to move, while the one in my cunt continued to pin me. "We'll choose you. You'll be our slut and toy 'til next year's Halloween." Now both cocks started to move, slid in and out of my holes and I fought to keep my eyes from rolling backwards. "You see how many of you are getting fucked right now? The next 364 days all of them will only fuck you. All day, every day." They started to move faster, harder. I panted, moaned. Yes, fuck. "Get used to two cocks in your slutty holes, make it three. You'll never be empty again as along as you're ours."

They fucked my wildly, forcefully and pushed me over the edge one time, two times, three times. Countless times as each and every ghost in this fucking villa filled me with cold cum.

And as they promised, the whole year at least one cock was up one of my holes no matter the time or the place I was.

Please leave a spooky tip for me on ko-fi 🎃

@monstergasms I hope you like this :D it's not quite what you requested, but as close as I could manage.

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