Bondage / gay / nappies / humiliation / daddies

"Yeah… It’s not you… It’s me.” “I just don’t think we are the right fit.”

How many times can you hear it? How many times can you nod, make an understanding face, and be left alone? You knew dating was hard, and you’ve put yourself out there, but you’ll do what you can to just stop doing what you’ve done so many times in the past, and try to find someone.

“I just feel we are a bit different.”

“Can we be friends?”

For so long, you were trying apps, through friends, through relatives. Nothing sticked. Nothing matched. Every time you got rejected, you felt a squeeze in your gut. Close to the feeling of needing to go. There were those rare times when you got to touch another body. It’s been a long time since you’ve touched your own, not directly. But then you’ve been touched as well, and after that touch, it ended every single time.

“You know what? Maybe not now.”

“Maybe not here.”

“Haha, oh wow. Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

You knew what it all meant. On those occasions, after they wrapped it up, you said “Sorry, I need to go to the bathroom real quick.”

Over the toilet, you took a long, weak piss. You needed to piss, but not there. You wanted to piss, in your diapers back home.

You wanted your diapers so bad. They don’t reject you, they accept you. They are not cold to you, they are warm.

They are comfortable and put you at ease.

But you said you are done with it! You said they are pulling you back from a normal life. Don’t you want to feel a real grip down there?

No. It’s much easier just to be yourself.

At home, you pulled out one thick diaper from a pack that you hid inside your closet. You throw the pack you stored at the front, but you always had a backup one. Because you knew, you knew you’ll be back in your diapers. It’s just who you were.

In the morning, you woke up in a wet diaper. You don’t remember when you woke up to wet, but there it was. It felt so good, it felt like you. From your back to your stomach, you switched positions. For every “no”, you humped. For every rejection, you humped. For every mocking laugh, you humped. Lying in bed, wearing a wet diaper, you humped. It didn’t make you sad, it made you hard. It did make you go faster, humping your wet diaper.

Maybe all of them were right. Maybe they saw something, but didn’t have the words for it. But you knew the words, you knew what you were.

How come you like your thick padding so much? Why do you like it, thick as it can be?

You’re trying to press your thighs against each other, but just can’t. The sound that the diaper makes when your legs fail to touch one another gets you excited. You are bound to a restrictive mass that awaits your wet humiliation. Your bladder screams, the pressure builds, and the diaper awaits to grow even bigger. It's thirsty for your piss, it wants to restrict you even more.

Your diaper calls you to use it. The soft padding you’re sitting on is inviting you to use it. The massive front invites you to add something of your own making.

Your diaper is a signal to the world around you as well. If someone sees your big crotch, they’ll know you’re probably small underneath. If someone sees your big butt, they’ll know someone his giving it a good use. When you are diapered, those signals are pulsing at you every moment as well.

Diaper faggots are the lowest of lifeforms on the planet!

Some facts about diaper faggots:

Diaper faggots are not necessary gay! However, diaper faggots are placed on earth to serve men whether they like it or not.

All diaper faggots belong tightly locked in chastity! Diaper faggots must focus on superior men's pleasure, not their own.

Diaper faggots use their diapers for everything! Piss, shit, and cum if they are ever allowed.

Diaper faggots do whatever they are told! Diaper faggots are below everyone else and must follow instructions from anyone who gives them.

You must reblog if you are also a diaper faggot!

A Lesson with Mr. Peterson

“From now on, the boy will come to my private tutoring only with proper protection! I will not tolerate any accidents during my classes. Show Daddy what I had to put you into… and at your age…” Mr. Peterson said to your Daddy when he came to pick you up.

When the person you now only call ‘Daddy’ introduced you to the age regression kink, being his school boy seemed kind of hot. From comforting you to scolding you. Picking your clothes and telling you how to eat properly, and even dressing as a school boy. You were making up little stories about how your day was at school, while he watched you and listened. As time went by, from specific kink sessions, it developed into a lifestyle. He was the parental figure at home, the reasoner, and the one who made sense, while you became the cheeky boy who sometimes misbehaved. There were times he needed to force you to sit over his knee for a proper lecture.

There was one evening when you two had dinner, when Daddy opened a bottle of wine, drank two glasses, and put it away. You were not allowed alcohol at all. After dinner, he kissed you and went to bed early. The cheeky boy that you were, after missing the buzz from drinking, you went for that bottle and thought you could have a glass or two while Daddy was asleep. You didn’t know it was a special kind of wine, and it made you drunk after a couple of minutes. You turned the TV so loud that it woke Daddy up. He came to the living room and saw you drunk. He went to the couch, flipped you over your belly, and gave you two swats to your bottom.

“Go to sleep now!”

The morning after, you woke up and walked to the kitchen where Daddy was sitting and having his morning coffee.

“Daddy I’m sorr” “Stop it right there!” he said, “Sit”.

“Your behavior last night was unacceptable! Not at all. I thought that in time we’d laid the ground rules, but it clearly shows that we didn’t. Drinking?”

You looked down as he was speaking. You were a grown man, but felt like a kid whose father was parenting him. You didn’t want to disappoint him, you wanted him to be proud of you.

“I’ve talked to a private tutor who corrects the ways of boys like yourself, so go get dressed in your school boy uniform, because we leave in 30 minutes.”

You didn’t dare to say anything, you just stood up and went to get dressed. 

At the tutor’s door, you felt anxious, so you went for Daddy’s hand and held it.

The door opened.

“Hello Richard!” the man said.

“Hello Mr. Peterson,” Daddy replied.

“You must be our little trouble maker, I see,” Mr. Peterson said and pitched your cheek.

“Daddy, you can leave, your boy is in my good hands. Come back at four, we’ll have four hours, we will accomplish so much in that time.”

Daddy turned you to face him and said, “You will be a good boy and do exactly as Mr. Peterson says, do you understand me?”

The two older men looked at you.

“Yes Daddy.”

Mr. Peterson took your hand and walked you inside, as Daddy left and closed the door. As you walked, you looked at the man again, and he surely looked familiar. You thought you saw him in one of Daddy’s friends' meetings. His name was Mat, you recalled. 

Mr. Peterson got you in front of a wooden heavy table, with two chairs. On the table were a notebook with pens, a bottle of water with two glasses, and a wooden paddle.

“You will only refer to me as Mr. Peterson, and I will only call you ‘Boy’. You will do as I say, when I say it. The notebook and pen will be for our private lesson, we will do light math, middle school level, I bet you need it. We have water we can drink, and we will drink only water and not wine. The paddle, we don’t have to use, if you behave. If you won’t behave, we will use it over my lap.”

The paddle and Mr. Peterson frightened you. When Daddy smacked you last night, it hurt, but this man seemed to know what he was doing, and it looked like the paddle was his specialty. Maybe many boys were over his lap getting spanked. But after all, you are a man, you can get through the lesson without getting spanked.

Mr. Peterson poured water into one of the glasses.

“Sit and drink.”

As the hours went by, you two went through basic math. He figured out your level and began from there. You did exercises and you always referred to him as Mr. Peterson or Mr.. Every few exercises, he poured water into your glass. You were the one who was drinking, he wasn’t, not even once. Two hours had passed.

“Mr. Peterson, can I go to the bathroom, please? I need to pee,” you said.

“After this one, boy. We are in the middle.” “But we are fifteen minutes on this one, please, can I be excused?” you asked again with less patience.

“Boy, we are finishing this one, then you can go,” he said calmly without looking at you.

It made you mad. He wasn’t even looking at you. You are a man after all, he should give you a bit of respect, even in this scenario.

“Listen Mat…”

“Stop stop stop! How did you call me?!” He raised his eyes and his voice. You knew trouble was coming. Just from his authoritative voice and posture. 

“Sorry, Mr. Peterson.”

“Oh no no no, you called me by my first name. This is not acceptable at all in this household. Boys will behave here, they will learn in a good way or the tough way!”

Mr. Peterson grabbed the wooden paddle in one hand and pulled you over his knee with the other. He was surprisingly strong for his age and looks. Maybe it was the age regression or the scenario you were in, but you didn’t object, you went over his lap. From the man who said ‘Mat’, to the boy who went over another man’s knees.

The frightens from before took over you.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you yelled, “Please don’t”.

Mr. Peterson pulled your trousers down and left you bare bottom.

SMACK SMACK SMACK

“No, no!” you tried again.

He forced you to stand.

“Take off your trousers and underwear completely,” he ordered.

You did as he told, but whined and sobbed. He grabbed you again and pulled you over his knee. The fright was overwhelming, you didn’t want to get spanked anymore. Over his knee, you wet yourself uncontrollably.

“Oh dear,” Mr. Peterson said and stopped, “it appeared you learned your lesson”.

His shoes and floor were soaked, you were not, you peed all over but not on yourself. Your penis was pointing towrds the floor while being spanked.

“I will go clean myself, you’ll stay here and wait,” he said and walked to the hallway.

What was happening? What was going on? You just got spanked by an older man because you didn’t call him ‘Mr.’ during a middle-school math lesson, and it scared you so bad you had an accident over his knees. You new Daddy is soon to return and you are standing butt naked in stranger’s living room, only wearing a school boy’s top. Your pecker got shriveld. You not only felt like a boy, you looked like an overgrown one.

Mr. Pieterson, wearing fresh trousers, came back with a few things under his arm. A folded colorful kind of mat, baby powder, cream, and what looked like an oversized baby’s diaper. He went to the other side of the huge wooden table, unfolded what was a giant changing mat, and said - “Op on, the table can take it, trust me”.

Silently, you did as you were told. All was surreal, you saw the diaper, you saw the changing mat, you lay on the changing mat, and yet you still didn’t connect the dots.

“I knew you were a boy, but not a little boy. Little boys at my house need to wear diapers if they can’t control themselves”, he said as he raised the big and thick diaper in front of you.

“But,” you tried to say something.

“No buts. You’ve done talking, now spread those legs.”

With such ease, he creamed and powdered you. Lift and lower your legs. Taking care of your sore behind and crotch. In two minutes, you were thickly diapered and fully dressed in your schoolboy uniform.

Two knocks at the door were heard the moment your feet touched the floor again.

“Let’s go greet your Daddy.” he took your hand and walked you to the front door.

“Hello Daddy” Mr. Peterson said.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Peterson,” Daddy said.

Your eyes stayed on the floor, cheeks blushing red.

“What happened?” Daddy asked, not you, but Mr. Peterson.

“Your boy was such a good boy. We worked on his math, which is a little bit low level, but he’s a bright young fella. Then he got cheeky and called me by my first name!”

“He didn’t.”

“Oh yes he did. But I taught him a lesson with my paddle, the paddle you agreed was necessary in his lessons.”

“I did, he may have needed that, and he did.”

“But that’s not all. Boy, take down your trousers and lift your arms above your head,” Mr. Peterson commanded you.

With such shame, you did as you were told. Standing there, showing off your printed, thick, fresh diaper. The real shame came from the reality that you wet yourself over the man’s knees.

“Oh my boy, what happened?” Daddy asked, this time, you.

But Mr. Peterson answered for you - “Over my knee, our poor boy had an accident. I think the paddle scared him, like it does to little boys.”

“I didn’t think it would get to this point, but it has,” Daddy said.

The two men were chatting about you. But you weren't a part of that chat. You couldn’t say your side or how you felt. They didn’t ask, so you knew not to talk.

You were the one with a daddy.

You were the one who came in a schoolboy uniform for a math lesson with an older man. You were the one who got spanked and wet himself.

You were the one who wore a diaper.

Little boys stay quiet while the men are talking.

“From now on, the boy will come to my private tutoring only with proper protection! I will not tolerate any accidents during my classes. I have a new pack of diapers for him until you get him more. I have a feeling he’ll need it.” Mr. Peterson said and went to get the package.

When he came back, Daddy pushed your shoulder so you’d take the big cardboard box away from Mr. Peterson.

“Now say thank you to Mr. Peterson for the math lesson, spanking you, and diapering you,” Daddy ordered you, like a boy who needs his parent to spell it for him.

“Thank you, Mr. Peterson,” you said and blushed.

“No no no, the whole thing,” Daddy said, disappointed.

“Thank you, Mr. Peterson, for the math lesson, spanking me, and… diapering… me,” you said as you moved your body, hearing the crinkle of the diaper.

“Good boy” Daddy said.

“Good boy. I’ll make you my prime student. Okay, until next time,” Mr. Peterson said.

“Now go to the car and put your new diapers in the trunk. Go!” Daddy said and patted your padded butt.

As you walked away, the two men stayed and shook hands warmly. You were far away, sitting in the car, feeling the diaper around you. Embarrassed after your father picked you up for wetting yourself.

“Thank you, Mat, your methods are working,” Daddy said to Mr. Peterson.

“No problem, keep going as I instructed you, and your boy will show wonderful results. Now go along, we’ll set up another lesson for this week. Don’t forget to use enough baby powder!”

The men laughed and said farewell again.

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