Abdl Stuff

Moin! This ad is for you if you have a dominant streak and sometimes wish you could live it out in more than homeopathic doses. If the idea appeals to you of making the rules, even for a whole weekend now and then (entirely as you wish): the clothes, the daily routine, the pocket money, bedtime. All of it. And it’s just as much for you if there’s a side living within you that gets far too little room.

What’s in it for you:

Directing more than a scene. Classic play often lasts two hours — ageplay gives you an entire day-to-day life as your stage. Rituals, rules, consequences, a complete script that you write. If you enjoy planning, staging, and shaping structures, this is one of the richest playgrounds there is. I bring a vivid imagination in the realm of ageplay/ABDL — and the sincere desire to place it in your hands. You won’t get a sub you first have to talk into things, but one who prepares, thinks along, invests. Your creativity is the only limit that matters here.

Strict and tender at once. If control and care aren’t opposites for you — if you enjoy nurturing, shaping, and holding the reins firmly all the while — you get both here in a single act. And entirely without harshness: maximum power imbalance without you having to inflict pain, if that’s not your thing.

An effect you can see. A red face on command, an embarrassed whisper you demanded — your dominance here isn’t claimed, it’s visible and tangible in every moment. My embarrassment is real, not a show — I hate it, and I love it; that’s exactly what I signed up for. If you have a playfully sadistic streak, you’ll find someone here who feeds it — and who gifts you a vulnerability in the process that runs deeper than most other kinds of play.

Both sides of the coin. My submissive side is the focus — though what appeals to me isn’t so much a “little” identity as the power imbalance itself: the situation you design and from which there’s no escape for me. But I do switch. Everything I know and love on the receiving end, I can give just as devotedly: holding the frame, caring, spoiling, being lovingly consistent. So if you have a side of your own that gets far too little room, you’ll find someone here who knows from personal experience what it needs — and who enjoys giving you exactly that. Knowing both perspectives makes for more attentive play on either side.

Your freedom stays yours. I’m explicitly looking for a polyamorous or open arrangement. You have your own life, your own dates, your own relationships — and that’s not just okay, for me it’s part of the appeal. You get devotion without possessiveness. And that’s no theoretical concept: I already live in a committed open relationship — non-monogamy is my everyday reality, with all the honest communication that comes with it.

An adult, not a project. In everyday life I’m independent, employed, with both feet on the ground — volunteering, handy, into tech, and I can cook. The dynamic that develops between us is intentional and designed, not a burden either of us has to carry.

Safety and communication. Consent, clear agreements, safewords, aftercare — for me, that’s the foundation, not the fine print. I like talking openly and honestly about needs and limits, yours as much as mine. Humor is welcome too: if you can’t laugh together about the absurdity of some situations, you’re missing half the fun.

Dominance is work — and it should pay off for you. I know that a dynamic like this costs energy, planning, and emotional presence on the leading side. It matters to me that you’re not just giving here: your needs and fantasies carry the same weight as mine, aftercare isn’t a one-way street, and the question of what you want to get out of all this is one I’ll ask more than just once at the beginning. I don’t want to consume dominance as a service — I want a dynamic that nourishes us both.

Who I am: Early 40s, Hamburg area(germany), working in IT (yes, the cliché), no stranger to the community. Nerdy in the best sense: when something fascinates me, I dive into it thoroughly — that goes for tabletop RPGs, photography, and books just as much as for this side of me. But I’m no couch potato either: road cycling, gym, swimming. Ageplay is no uncharted territory for me — I’ve experienced a fair bit and know what appeals to me: less pain (I’m barely a masochist), far more the mind games and that particular mix of shame, helplessness, and being doted on. And still, there’s plenty of unexplored terrain. So you’ll meet someone who knows what he’s getting into — and who’s looking forward to what we’ll make of it together.

This is a fantasy that has developed over the past few days. No experience yet, purely imagination so far :)

It's Friday noon — finishing work early today! A whole weekend with a power dynamic is coming up. So the first thing after work: freshen up and into the Pampers. With an extra booster pad, of course … bodysuit over it and the short overalls on.

I've been locked all week already; the weekend is supposed to be intense, after all.

Next, my "grown-up phone" and my "grown-up wallet" go into the box, which gets locked. I won't be "needing" them this weekend anymore. Instead, I now have my age-appropriate phone. With parental controls, GPS tracking, screen-time limits, and a selection of approved apps. Instagram? Ha, forget it. Internet? Only restricted — websites that have been actively approved for me. The messages I write and my browsing behavior can of course be monitored. And from 8:00 p.m. on, it's basically just a brick, nothing works anymore anyway. And in my dino wallet?

The debit card that my "pocket money" gets loaded onto every now and then — I can pay with it like with any normal debit card, but only as much as I'm allowed. And the five-euro bill … that's it.

So, now just quickly an inconspicuous t-shirt over the overalls — we don't want to stand out too much, after all.

We meet at the ice cream parlor; you discreetly reach into my crotch. Checking my diaper. — "You're wet." Not a question, a statement. My face changes color, noticeably redder …

"What do we say?" — "Yes, Mommy, I've already wet my diaper," quietly enough that no one can really hear it, loudly enough that I'm still afraid someone might. I hate having to say it out loud. I love having to say it out loud.

We go into the ice cream parlor. "I want 3 — no, 4! scoops, an ice cream bombe!, with pistachio, chocolate and …" You order. One scoop of Smurf ice cream in a cone for me, and the strawberry sundae for you.

After we've eaten our ice cream, we go for a walk, hand in hand. From the outside, we probably look like a normal couple. On the inside, it feels different — I'm not allowed to let go of your hand, after all …

We stop briefly at a playground; luckily no one's there, and I'm allowed to swing for a bit before we head home.

Once we arrive, I strip down to the bodysuit; the Pampers gets thoroughly checked once more, and yes, it has definitely not gotten any drier in the meantime. I get my mittens put on and am allowed to sit on the living room floor and play a little while you watch a movie. It's 7:00 p.m., dinner time. Pasta with tomato sauce, of course … what else. I get my bib put on — I'm such a messy eater, after all … — and am placed in the high chair. Secured with straps, the tray locked in place.

I can't eat by myself; the mittens prevent that very effectively. So you feed me. You've developed a certain mastery at feeding me in a way that leaves my face and the bib especially filthy afterwards. You had to learn that first, too. Now you do it perfectly … At the end of the meal, a photo of it: "You really are a messy eater" … The color of my face is only a few shades away from the color of the sauce.

7:30 p.m., time to get ready for bed. Washing my face, brushing my teeth. You do that, of course — how would I do it myself with the mittens on. Then you lay out the changing mat in the bedroom; for the night, I mercifully get a fresh diaper. Especially thick, of course, with a thick booster pad, of course … not that I could possibly ignore what I'm wearing between my legs. You put me into the onesie sleeper and zip it shut; even if I weren't wearing the mittens, I wouldn't get out of it. Into the crib — click and click, the latches are shut and locked.

Through the bars, there's one more good-night kiss on the forehead. It's 8:00 p.m., it's still light outside … and I'm supposed to sleep?

The next morning you wake me by reaching through the bars under the blanket, checking with an expert's touch how wet I am. "My little bedwetter really soaked his Pampers again, didn't he? Good thing you're wearing your Pampers, otherwise your whole little bed would be wet." Being woken in such a humiliating way … I hate it. Being woken in such a humiliating way … I love it.

After breakfast I'm allowed to shower, and you get me ready for the day. Fresh Pampers, fresh bodysuit, inconspicuous pants and t-shirt. Today I'm allowed to meet a friend. And do whatever I want with my "pocket money." We meet in the city; waddling slightly, I arrive at the café.

She knows about our power dynamic; she smirks when she sees me like this. "Obviously your Mommy dressed you …" Off to a great start — instant red face. We have a nice day; I order the occasional drink I can afford and pay for it with my "kiddie debit card." In my head I have to keep track of how much I still have available. If I want to buy a Lego set later after all, it's going to be tight. In the app connected to the card, you can view every transaction.

But you're not doing that today — you have a date, too.

In the afternoon I come back; playing on my phone much along the way wasn't an option — with what, anyway, the phone can't do anything. Arriving home, your date is still there; you freshen me up in the bedroom. Fresh Pampers, and this time a little surprise. The Hush plug that I can control with the pacifier gag gets quickly slipped in as well. And of course I then get the pacifier gag in my mouth; all taken care of like that, it's off to the crib for a "nap." To make sure I behave, this time you strap me down with the Segufix restraints. So there I lie; every time I suckle on the pacifier, it vibrates inside me. Not a bad feeling, not at all. But when I think about the situation, it really is absurd. You say goodbye and head to the living room. Your date is waiting.

I can hear your date; I hear you two having "grown-up" fun while I lie there in my crib. There's no question of a nap; the plug, controlled by my pacifier, won't allow me to sleep even briefly. And the sounds you two make … well, they don't help either.

Knowing that you can also watch me through the camera at any time — lying there, squirming restlessly … doesn't help with sleeping either. On the contrary, it's getting tight in the chastity cage … this is going to be a truly restless hour.

Eventually your date leaves again. Because I was so well-behaved, I'm allowed to have some fun and hump Steven. The big plush dog. You give me 5 minutes. I know I don't stand a chance — the thick diaper, the cage … but as horny as I am by now, I try anyway.

The suckling on the pacifier gets more intense; you can hear the buzzing of the plug … desperately I try to get my release. You're amused. "3 … 2 … 1 … aaaand done," and you practically have to pull me off Steven. God, this is embarrassing. Bright red face, and not just from the exertion — horny and sexually frustrated at the same time. How I hate it, how I love it. To finish, we head to the sofa together for some cuddling. My head in your lap, you stroking my hair. Still with the pacifier gag in my mouth, but now noticeably calmer than before.