Living The Cat Life

Working from home, I decided to wear diapers for the day—but after all was said and done (virtual meetings, projects), I didn’t actually change my attire till the early evening. My wife—vanilla by nature, but increasingly curious—was to come home early from work, and I picked up the nerve to remain diapered when she arrived. She came through the door and upstairs to find me as pictured, playing Super Mario 64, a game that released when I’d have been dressing for bed like this—if a few years out of diapers. A subtle personality, my wife smiled and remarked how cute I looked.

We proceeded to watch an hour-long episode of a TV show together, and by the time it was over, we both needed a bathroom break. I needed to pee for a while, but had been holding it, still a little shy about wetting my diaper in front of my wife. “Come with me!” She beckoned, as she abruptly rose to run to the bathroom. (For someone without an innate omo/ABDL kink, she has some adorable bathroom urgency habits! 🤩🥵) I followed her into the bathroom, where she immediately pulled down her pants, sat on the toilet and peed forcefully as she looked me over with a smile on her face. Witnessing her relief, a wave of desperation hit me—both to relieve aching bladder, and my growing erection inspired by the scene before me. “Not for you!” she commanded as she stood up, wiped, and flushed. She washed her hands and led me to the bedroom. “I need my vibrator.” She mentioned as she retrieved the Hitachi wand from her bedside.

Leading me back into the TV room, she settled into one of the beanbag chairs, and invited me to join her. “Pull down your pants,” She instructed, as I started to lie down beside her, “just a little bit, so that I can see your diaper.”

We began to make out as I heard her vibrator begin to buzz. She placed it against the conspicuous bulge in my diaper. “I’m actually pretty uncomfortable. May I pee first?” I asked gently. "Oh, you need to pee?" She teased in mock sympathy, turning off the vibrator. As desperate as I was for the vibration, I needed my erection to wane so that I could pee. "How badly?" She continued to taunt, now dancing her fingers across the surface of my diaper. "Badly. Really badly. Please, can you stop so that I can go?" Finally, she removed her hand and resumed kissing me. As worked up as I was, I managed to soften just enough that I started trickling into my diaper. Part shyness, part erection, it wasn't much at first—and it was a very good thing; because the angle of my aroused penis was enough to the edge of my diaper that the padding would not save me from the inevitable: I was leaking. I stopped, but it was too late. I peed right past the padding—and I knew it immediately.

Subtly, I shifted and asked, "May I pee sitting up?" Suspicious, she helped me up, noticing the wet spot on my pants. "What did you do here?" She leaned in to smell my pant leg. "Yep. You peed your pants! Stand up—all the way." I followed her order. "Pants down. All the way to your ankles." Now genuinely humiliated, I obliged. She took my hand and looked me directly in the eyes. "It's okay, honey. You can finish in your diaper. Go on." With trepidation and considerable embarrassment, I let go and flooded my diaper. "Oh wow! You really had to go." She playfully poked at my swelling padding. "That's my good boy." I was stunned to hear my [formerly?] vanilla wife talking to me like a skilled ABDL caregiver.

"I'm... finished." I sheepishly reported. At this news, the buzz returned as she lifted her vibrator to the front of my saturated diaper. Her other hand held mine tightly as she cooed, "You're going to cum in your diaper for me—and then we're walking over to the bathroom, where you're going to wash your pajama pants in the sink. You made a big mess!" I gasped with pleasure, the confluence of her kinky words with the intoxicating vibrations pushed me closer to the edge. "And since you can't seem to keep your pants clean, I think you're not going to be wearing them for the rest of the night, okay? Just your shirt and your little diaper." I moaned in agreement. "You're going to change into a fresh diaper that you're going to wear until tomorrow morning, do you understand? No toilet before bed." It was too much; I rapidly approached climax as my knees buckled. "Big boys don't wet their pants, do they?" I could barely utter my agreement. "And since you're not a big boy, what are you going to wear instead of pants?" I had passed the point of no return. "Diaper... diapers..." I stammered as I lost all control, exploding the entire evening's pent-up tension into my wet diaper. I could barely stand. "That's a good boy." My wife encouraged me as she squeezed my hand, pressing the vibrator firmly into my convulsing bulge.

In a daze of relief and soft shame, I stood before my clever, gorgeous, accomplished wife in a ruined diaper. "Well, what did I tell you to do? Go on!" I had half hoped that her punishment was just talk to arouse me—but the way she looked at me told a different story. I removed my wet pants from around my ankles, leaving the room in shame as my wife stared down my diapered butt. Dutifully, I washed my defiled pants in the sink, cleaned up, and changed into a new diaper. (And there is nothing more humiliating than a post-orgasm diaper change!) Wearing nothing but my shirt and the fresh diaper, I returned to my wife, who herself was no longer wearing pants—or underwear. The vibrator was now buzzing between her legs as she beckoned me with her finger. "Now it's my turn—and you're going to use your mouth."

For those who’ve asked about the Loudest Dip….

Here Ya Go🗣️🗣️**and I Love Summer**

Welp, today I had a genuine accident. It truly wasn't my fault - I was sedated for a procedure and it went a lil' wonky n' made my body do some weird things lol.

I'd been looking forward to summer. No more school uniform, warm weather, long days... it felt like I'd finally get a bit of freedom.

Instead, Sir decided the holidays were the perfect excuse to dress me even more childishly than during term time. Before long, I found myself dreading whatever outfit would be waiting for me each morning.

Today's was already laid out neatly on my bed: a pastel green short-sleeved Oxford shirt from the children's department age 16, the checked shorts with the elasticated back that Sir had bought from M&S boyswear and had taken up to a humiliating three-inch inseam, traditional white y-fronts, and knee-length white cotton socks held up with garters. I got dressed without a word, each item making me feel that little bit smaller.

Sir entered and nodded with quiet approval. “You look appropriately summery, my boy.” He clipped on the navy silk bow tie patterned with teddy bears, then attached the cream braces with red and blue stripes, adjusting them so the shorts sat neatly. “It is a bright, sunny day,” he added gently. “I will not have you sunburnt.” He applied a thick layer of Factor 50 children’s sun cream to my face, neck, ears, arms, and exposed legs.

Once that was done, he buckled my T-bar shoes himself before settling a straw boater on my head.

I caught sight of myself in the hallway mirror and immediately blushed. The sun cream hadn't been rubbed in properly, leaving white streaks across my nose and cheeks. Between that, the bow tie and the boater, I looked like the sort of painfully wholesome British schoolboy you'd find on an old postcard.

Outside, the contrast only made it worse.

Everyone else seemed to be wearing T-shirts, trainers and sports shorts while I walked beside Sir looking as though I'd wandered out of a children's clothing catalogue. I tried keeping my eyes down, but all that achieved was giving me a constant view of my knee socks and T-bars.

At the supermarket, Sir helped me choose a healthy sandwich and some fruit juice for lunch. Because I'd been well behaved, I was also allowed to pick an ice cream.

We took everything to the park, where Sir insisted I sit on a bench while he took photograph after photograph.

When he handed me my ice cream, he added, almost conversationally, "Mind you don't drip any on your outfit. If you do, you'll be going over my knee for a spanking, regardless of who's watching."

I became increasingly self-conscious with every photo. Sir noticed immediately.

"Oh? Have we got a grumpy baby today?"

Before I could answer, he produced an oversized light green dummy that matched my shirt almost perfectly and slipped it into my mouth.

"There we are. Now smile nicely."

The photos continued. Sitting. Standing. Hat on. Hat off. Turn around so the braces showed. One where I was told to look wistfully across the sunny grass while everyone else enjoyed themselves. I, of course, stayed obediently in the shade.

Eventually we headed home. Sir took my hand as we walked, protective but unmistakably in control. From a distance, we probably looked like a father walking his particularly well-dressed little boy home after a day out. The boater stayed firmly on my head the entire time.

At one point I quietly complained about the long route we were taking, pretending I needed to go home to use the loo.

Sir stopped, put the dummy back in my mouth and made me pose for some even more ridiculous photos.

By the time we got home I still felt hot with embarrassment. Sir looked me over with quiet satisfaction.

"You looked excellent today," he said. "That straw boater is going to become a daily occurrence. But perhaps since you complained about needing the loo on such a short excursion, we need to put you in nappies for your future lunchtime walks."

My doggybed is somehow the most comfy place in my house. Perfect for a midday nap or two.