It wasn’t the first time I’d spread my legs and penetrated myself for erotic purposes. Some needs kick in when you’re all alone, and there’s no shame in seeking the simple pleasures in life. I had made sure I was all alone. I’d kicked out my last boyfriend months before, made sure I picked a…
The lockdown was tolerable, the restrictions on social interactions manageable. It was the shopping that hurt, interminable queues, rationing, stress inducing behaviour from other shoppers. So I decided to embrace it on my terms. Castor oil tastes awful and works fast, unavoidable voiding inevitable. I knew what I wanted from the shop, where to find…
The Terrible Tied Tickling Torment
“No! Stop! Please… argh!” Natasha convulsed helplessly, grasping for his wrists, wriggling to avoid his probing fingers. It didn’t help her, his greater strength pinning her down and he remorselessly tickled her just above her hips. Flailing uncontrollably Natasha felt pain as her forearm made contact, realised she’d caught him, heard a horrible wet grinding…
“You want me to wear what?!” Mrs Velthon looked at Annabelle sternly. “This is the uniform. The children love seeing someone dressed as they are, forced to waddle as they are, a character in a wet diaper just like theirs.” “WHAT?! You want me to wet myself too?” Mrs Velthon sighed. “It’s a long day….
The Aftermath
Being raped isn’t meant to be fun. Sure, I had the same rape fantasies so many women enjoy, that yearning for a strong relentless man to take me against my will, the imagined degradation more arousing than the act itself. But those fantasies should always stay that way; nobody pretends the reality would be like…
Roses are redViolets are blueI’ll change your diaperwhen you’ve had a poo
Some Solo Fun
Being a furry ABDL had its advantages. People saw you in a diaper, assumed it was ok to fondle your fur around your ears, give your neck a pleasing rub that felt so good, wanted to pick you up and cuddle you. Time alone however allowed for less sociable options. Nekki looked down at her…
I’m Wet
I was wet, as she came through the door.I wasn’t wearing a diaper; I was just wet. She saw, and smiled.I hadn’t wet myself; I was just wet. As she smiled, I blushed.I was wet, and as I blushed, she spoke.“You’re wet,” she teased.I sighed. “I’m wet,” I admitted. Her smile widened.“You’re a messy girl,”…
“I wanted to ask you something.” She smiled and looked at me, inviting the question. It was hard to ask. I may have stumbled a little. “Would you.. baby me? I want a mummy to care for me.” She took it well, didn’t throw me out of the house, just asked, “But darling, I’m 82…
The Blowout
Kirsty knew all about blowouts. Anybody with small children knew. It wasn’t something anybody was ever taught, you learned about them the hard way. A blowout wouldn’t happen while a child was safely tucked away in a cot, secure, within easy reach of a change of clothes, a washing machine, a clean diaper. No, blowouts…