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This story contains some pretty rough kinks: group femdom, forced feminization, male humiliation, diapers, watersports, CFNM… one reader called it “horribly abusive”…you get the idea. If such things disturb you, please read no further.
This story has been edited based on reader feedback. Thanks!
Bertram hesitated before walking into the kitchen where his wife was reading the newspaper. Absorbed in it, she didn’t look up. Bertram cleared his throat and said, “Hey Angela, there’s some different things in my dresser…”
Angela knew exactly what he was talking about — she had made the changes herself earlier in the day — but asked, “What do you mean, hon?”
Bertram held up a pair of lacy scarlet panties. “Well, where did these come from? They must be yours?” His drawer held about a dozen more panties he’d not brought to the kitchen.
“Oh, no, I ordered those for you. Do they fit?”
Bertram ignored the question. “But what happened to the…you know…Where are my…?”
“You mean your diapers? Oh, I thought we’d take a break. Try something new.” Bertram frowned as Angela continued matter-of-factly. “We’re going to try panties instead of diapers. I bet they’ll work just as well. Who knows? Maybe better. After all, you get to wear them all the time, not just at night. Anyway, the diapers are put away. Locked up.” Angela lifted a chain around her neck to show Bert the small key suspended on it. “I think you should go try on a pair. Let’s see how they fit.”
Bertram had a diaper fetish. He had discovered this years ago when his older sister and her girlfriend had gotten stupid drunk during a sleepover, pinned him down, stripped him, and diapered him. Hilarious. Where had they gotten the diaper? He never knew. But to his surprise and shame, his dick got rock hard and he ejaculated spontaneously even before the diaper was pinned. The girls found this unbearably hysterical and proceeded to torture him for an hour, masturbating him, taking the diaper off, putting it on, laughing at him until they passed out. Bertram slunk away to ponder what had happened. His sister never brought it up afterward, which led him to believe neither of the girls could remember the incident. But Bert never forgot it. Wearing a diaper aroused him. He yearned often to feel the naughty thrill again, and his sexual fantasies came to be dominated by scenes involving diapers and bossy women.
Angela knew about Bert’s fetish before they married. Once they started having sex and became exclusive, he let her in on his only real secret with trepidation. To his relief, it was not a deal breaker; she found it harmless, even amusing. She was more interested his evident submissiveness and figured he would outgrow the diaper bit. He did not. If anything, his fetish got worse over the next ten years. Now 36, Bertram always got hard with a diaper and rarely without one, which fueled a compulsion. He kept a small collection of diapers discreetly hidden in one of his drawers. When Angela complained about it, he responded defensively, saying he suffered from occasional incontinence. He needed to wear one sometimes, ‘just in case.’ He told Angela that she should be understanding and supportive — sympathetic rather than critical. Angela scoffed at his explanation. Why didn’t he wear them all the time? Why only sometimes, at night, and only when he was alone? Why wasn’t he seeing a urologist about the incontinence? Why did he ‘need’ cloth diapers in addition to the obvious solution of discreet disposables?
Bertram invented responses: actually, yes, it was only a night-time problem — he was simply prone to leaking before waking himself up fully; yes, he had seen a urologist, who said these things weren’t uncommon and could come and go — it was the urologist who suggested a night-time diaper was an easy fix. Bert claimed he preferred cloth because it was more comfortable and unlike the disposables, cloth didn’t make noise when he was trying to sleep. Finally, he said he went to the guest room to sleep when he had his problems because she had said she didn’t want to be in bed with him in diapers.
Angela listened to his rationalizations but wasn’t buying them. She thought he was using diapers to jerk off, period, and had been for years. At first, Angela was merely bored by the same old fetish — shit, couldn’t he at least branch out a little? Then frustrated — what the hell could she do about it? Eventually, she was disgusted — it was pathetic. She stopped trying to talk him out of it. The previous winter, during a mild case of the flu, Bertram moved fully into the guest room and then stayed — they now had separate bedrooms. This was less a new development than an acknowledgement of reality.
Angela suspected her marriage was over and became depressed. Bert refused to consider counseling; he insisted his incontinence was merely a minor medical problem, nothing more. With time, Angela’s depression stopped getting worse, but it didn’t get much better either. She had bahis firmaları a light bulb moment one day while reading an advice blog. The saucy female blogger, a favorite of Angela’s, was advising another woman frustrated by her husband’s habits: “Your man has an obsession? Can’t control himself? You’re fed up trying to control him? Fact, baby girl: you have three choices. One, replace it with something better. Two, use it to get something you want. Three, leave the motherfucker!”
‘Use it,’ Angela thought. She began researching diaper fetishes online and was amazed to find so much to read. Evidently, Bertram was not unique. Within a week, Angela had hatched the beginnings of a plan. She ordered a chastity device, several small brass padlocks, an assortment of feminine panties, a miniature nanny-cam and a few other items. The shopping itself was more fun than she’d had in months; to her surprise, the tiny hidden camera was cheaper than both the panties and the cage. One morning, after everything had finally arrived, she confiscated Bert’s diapers and left in their place a stack of panties. In mere minutes she installed and tested the hidden nanny-cam in his bedroom. Finally, she removed all of his boxer shorts. The boxers she cut up — grimly, but with satisfaction — vowing he would never wear them again. His diapers she locked in a sturdy footlocker. The key to the footlocker went on a chain around her neck.
Having sent Bert to try on his panties, Angela waited a bit for him to return. She wasn’t surprised when he did not. She put down her newspaper and went to look for him. She found him in his bedroom still holding the scarlet panties, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. Angela stood in the doorway. “Nice, huh? You know, you might as well try them on, hon.”
Angela motioned for him to go on — do it. Bertram reluctantly pulled off his slacks. He became embarrassed as he lowered his boxers — not because Angela hadn’t seen his smallish penis, but because she was watching him try on panties. As he stepped into them, Angela casually walked to the bed and pocketed the boxers, his last pair, soon to be shredded. The panties fit well — Angela had done her homework — until Bertram’s cock hardened and comically distorted the fit. His slit began to leak.
“Wow! I think someone likes wearing women’s underwear!” said Angela, pointing at his dick, teasing him with feigned surprise. “I told you you’d like them. Take off your shirt.” Bertram did so without thinking and soon stood in nothing but socks and scarlet panties. “Now, see — isn’t that sexy?” She sat on the bed and drew him to herself. With one hand she rubbed his penis through the panties; with the other she fondled his butt and, with her fingers, traced the panty line in back. Almost immediately Bertram jizzed his panties. “Whoops!” Angela acted surprised at the quick ejaculation and removed her hand from the oozing front of the panties. “See hon? Don’t deny it — I can tell you love your new underwear. Now clean yourself up and put on a fresh pair.”
“But Angie, what if I have a problem at night?” Bert objected.
“Like I just said, you put on a fresh pair.” Then she added, “We can get a waterproof pad for the bed if we have to.” Smiling to herself, she left.
Over the next couple of days, Angela made a saucy show of checking out Bert’s panties. “What color today, hon? Maybe we match.” “Oh, I’m jealous — your panties are sexier than mine!” “I bet you’d love a skimpy thong, wouldn’t you, naughty girl!” She would surprise him by lowering his zipper to peer inside for a visual check. Sometimes she slid her hand down his pants and rubbed or patted the front of his panties, making sure to leave him frustrated. On at least one such occasion, Bert finished himself off in the bathroom. One evening Angela pantsed him in the backyard as he was minding the grill. “Got to make sure my girl’s not going commando!” she laughed. She smacked his butt as Bert hastily pulled his shorts up.
The nanny-cam revealed that Bert was jerking off in his panties pretty much every night — at least, every night that Angela bothered to look. This was as she suspected. She wanted to confirm he was doing it but otherwise wasn’t much interested in watching. Clearly, the real problem wasn’t that Bertram was incontinent but rather that he was a chronic, compulsive masturbator. Panties hadn’t changed that.
Titillating as his panties were, it was only a matter of time before Bert approached Angela to request a diaper. He hemmed and hawed, but she knew what he wanted. “I really think I might need one tonight.”
“What, you mean a diaper?”
Bert nodded sheepishly.
“Well, um, you know…in case I have a problem. I think I almost did last night.”
Angela patted his cheek. “Oh, we don’t need a silly old diaper anymore, do we? I’m really proud of you. You haven’t had a single accident in your panties!” Angela smiled and walked away.
The exchange raised kaçak iddaa a compelling question. If Bert had an ‘accident,’ would she let him have a diaper? He mulled it over for two days before deciding he had not much to lose. He waited until late afternoon on a Saturday (if he got his wish for a diaper, he needed time to enjoy it). He checked on Angela’s whereabouts — she was in the living room — before stepping outside. Bracing himself on the deck railing, he concentrated and released a small amount of pee into his panties. When a dark spot appeared on his shorts and a drop of urine actually fell onto the deck, he was satisfied and went inside to find Angela.
“Angie… um… I think I had a little accident.”
Angela was calm. “An accident? What do you mean, Bert?”
“Well, in my underwear. I had a little accident,” he repeated.
Angela frowned and looked from his crotch to his face and back. “You mean your panties? You peed your panties? Take your shorts off. Let me see.”
Bertram blushed and dropped his shorts. “Just a little. Yeah, sorry. Maybe I really need diapers after all.”
Angela smiled kindly. “Well, let’s have a look.” Bertram opened his legs to show her the wet spot. Angela inspected the panties and dismissed it, “Oh, silly. It’s just a teensy bit — an itty-bitty panty piddle. I thought maybe you had a BIG accident. Go clean yourself up and get a fresh pair. No big deal!”
Bertram left frustrated. No big deal? What did he have to do to get a diaper?
Bertram considered the problem for a week and decided, again on a Saturday, that he didn’t have much to lose by raising the stakes. As before, he located Angela — she was in the kitchen — before sneaking into the bathroom to thoroughly soak his panties. He had drunk a lot of water and held his pee as long as he could. Stepping into the bathtub, he let loose and drenched the panties, splattering the tub, his legs, and feet in the bargain. Should he dry off a bit? He regretted the mess he would make if he traipsed, dripping, into the kitchen. He waited until most of the pee had run down the drain before seeking out Angie in the kitchen.
“Angie…I’m sorry. Well…I’m sorry…I’ve had another accident.” This time it clearly was not ‘just a teensy bit’ and Angela marched him quickly, firmly to the bathroom he had just left. Seeing the wet tub and footprints, she understood immediately what had happened. “Now, Bert, this was no accident! You deliberately peed in your panties, didn’t you?”
“Pissing yourself in the bathtub and lying about it is not going to land you in diapers, young lady! Now you clean yourself up, rinse out those panties, and scrub this tub! I want you in clean, dry panties — no pants or shorts — in 15 minutes! Understand?” Bert nodded sheepishly. “And don’t forget the floor.” Angela turned to leave, then stopped and calmly explained, “Wetting yourself in the bathtub does not qualify as a real accident, Bertie.”
What did she mean? Did she want him to have a real accident? What was that, even? Where did he need to wet himself for it to count as a real accident? Whatever Angela intended, Bertram couldn’t face it. Instead, he decided to buy some new diapers to replace the ones Angela had confiscated. He would simply have to avoid getting caught and find a new place to hide them.
Angela had expected this, of course, and even marveled that it had taken Bertram so long — more than a week — to get around to it. She knew he would buy them online, knew where he shopped, and knew how to monitor his email. When the package shipped, she had the tracking number before he did. ‘Dumb shit,’ she thought to herself. She considered intercepting it and forcing him to reorder but decided to let him receive the package so she could catch him with his contraband.
On the scheduled delivery day, Bert sat in the living room pretending to read as he waited for UPS. When the brown truck finally arrived and left the package, he casually but immediately opened the door to claim it. “What’s in the package, hon?” Angie asked with apparent indifference. “Oh, just some books I ordered.” He glanced at the box and decided the sender was too suspicious looking to let Angie see it. He gathered his things, including the box, and walked to his bedroom. He slid the box under his bed and returned to the living room to avoid arousing Angela’s suspicion.
Hours later, after supper, after some forced conversation, Bertram yawned and headed for his room, bidding Angela good night. Angela nodded as he left but stayed in the living room. She opened her laptop to watch on the nanny-cam as Bert opened his precious package. She waited until the box was opened and the new cloth diapers were inspected. In fact, she waited much longer, until Bert had actually stripped and straddled the thick cloth and begun pinning himself into them — he was an expert. Then she rose and retrieved from her bedroom the chastity cage and a lock, pocketing both.
She entered Bert’s room without kaçak bahis knocking. He was startled and busted. “Bertram! Where did you get that?!” Angela demanded, pointing at his diaper.
“Um. It came in the mail.”
“Oh, ‘it came in the mail,'” she mocked him. “A free sample, I suppose! Where’s mine?!” She slapped him. “You deliberately defied me, Bert! I said no diapers and you willfully disobeyed. You ordered a diaper just so you could beat off! Isn’t that right?”
Bertram nodded sheepishly.
She threatened to slap him again. “Take it off!” Bertram hastened to comply, and Angela snatched the diaper away. “Where are the others?” Bertram pointed to the box on the bed. “Is that all of them?”
“It better be,” she warned. “I try to help you with your ‘incontinence,’ but all you can think about is jerking your little dick into a diaper!” As she gathered the diapers, Bertram watched, ashamed, and silently mourned his loss. Angela fumed and pointed to the bathroom. “Get your pathetic ass in there! You have 15 minutes to shave off your pubic hair. You do it however you want, but that little dick better be bare when you get back here. I want every hair gone. Any hair I find I’m going to pull out or burn off! Understand?!”
“Yes, Angela.” Bertram retreated to the bathroom and shut the door, stunned by the turn of events and frightened by Angela’s sudden fury. He was mortified by the idea of shaving his pubic hair but relieved to escape his wife’s wrath. It took longer than 15 minutes, but he managed to emerge bare. Meanwhile Angela added the illicit diapers to the footlocker. When Bert came out of the bathroom, hairless, his hands sheepishly covering his groin, she wanted to laugh at the pathetic sight but remained stern. She pointed to the bed and Bert sat. Angela fished the chastity cage out of her pocket and without even showing it to Bert, roughly parted his legs and began to fasten it — first the ring around his denuded base and balls, followed by the hard-plastic tube over his penis. She was not gentle. Though she had never done it before, she had studied the instructions and watched a video. At last, she produced the small brass lock and snapped it shut. She slapped his imprisoned penis for good measure. She had already added the lock’s two keys to her necklace; now she lifted the chain and pointedly jiggled her collection of keys.
“Listen to me! No diapers and no more secret jerking.” She glared at him and asked, “Do you know what a Prince Albert piercing is?” He knew exactly what it was but shook his head. Angela tapped the cock cage. “Trust me, missy, before you try to escape, you’d better look it up. If I ever catch you trying to take this off, you’ll have a hole in your dick faster than you can pin a diaper! Got it?”
Bertram nodded submissively. Angela finished, “Now put on your fucking panties and go to bed!” She shut the door and returned to her laptop to watch him inspect the cage. At first his mien was angry. Eventually, he was disconsolate. Finally, he pulled up his panties and snapped off the light.
The following days were uneasy. Bertram learned he had to sit to pee, and wipe after; that he could not comfortably cross his legs; and that he must ask permission to remove the cage for cleaning. Worst of all, he could no longer masturbate, and it was driving him crazy. Angela unlocked him and timed his shower from the bathroom door. Bertram replaced the clean cage after drying himself and Angela locked it again.
On Bert’s third evening in chastity, they were both sitting in the living room — neither talking, both reading — when Angela’s phone rang. It was her friend, Sheila. “Oh, hey you. What’s up?” As she answered the call, Angela rose and walked to her bedroom, out of Bert’s earshot. Her chat with Sheila was brief, but Angela emerged from the bedroom wearing earbuds and pretending she was still on the call. She went to the kitchen, lingering close enough to the living room for Bert to overhear whatever she wanted him to.
“I’m not kidding…Yes, finally…
“Panties. …Yep. And guess what — I locked it…[giggle] …
“Yeah, he tried…
“Not unless he has a real accident…
“I don’t know…[laughter] …
“In public?! … [more laughter] …
Figuring Bert had heard enough, Angela returned to her bedroom and ended the phony call. A few minutes later, she came back to her chair in the living room and picked up her magazine without comment. Bertram was stunned by what he had heard. After a moment of silence he asked, “Angie, were you just talking about me?”
“Hmm? Oh, no, not really.”
“Angie, I heard you. You were talking about me!”
“Okay, maybe. What’s the big deal?
“Who were you talking to?”
“Just a friend. Don’t worry about it.”
“But that’s private! Angie, I can’t believe you did that!”
Angela stopped toying with him. “Okay. Yes, Bert, I talked to my friend. Yes, I told her you wear panties. And that you’re locked up now. Get over it. Why should I be embarrassed? It’s not my fetish. Anyway, she already knew about the diapers.” She ended the exchange with a pointed admonition — “Get used to it, missy!” — and went back to her reading.
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