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Critiques and Writer's Discussion
For more in-depth critiques of stories and story writing discussion.
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Posts
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For me, just my own pee pee and poopie in my diapie. I guess I'm rather prudish. -
I had two peristaltic waves this morning. I wet my Super Dry Kids diaper throughout the night, so up and out of bed quite wet but no leaks and within five minutes I relaxed in the kitchen getting coffee and messed my diaper. I responded to one email, logged on to my laptop and started paying some bills. Another urge to go poopie started to build and it's difficult for me to mess my diaper while sitting down. I stood up, relaxed again and really went a big potty in my diaper. Sitting back down now sipping hot coffee while I initially trembled with the warm, squishy potty in my diaper snuggled and caressing my perineum with the innocent and naughty sensations I so much enjoy...ahhhhh!
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That’s pretty awesome that you made turd in your diaper four times in the weekend. I just made a huge one in my diaper. Wow yours was so big that it went well up the back of your diaper pretty much a nice distance up the front that’s awesome when it’s so big like that. Really feels good in the dark. You can really feel the hugeness of the turd then. I make turd in my diaper every morning, one really big one and then another one about medium sized. Then in the evening if I’m home, I always go to the bathroom in my diaper again, even if my girlfriend’s around at least she’s kind of used to it. By now she even told a few of her female friends in addition to wearing a diaper for urinary incontinence that they also make a big load of turd in it twice a day. -
By KTPottypants · Posted
Story idea been having about revenge. Chapter 1: The Ambitious Heiress Eliza Hawthorne glided through the glass doors of her high-rise office building like a queen entering her court, her sharp bob haircut slicing the air with precision. At 28, she was the epitome of modern ambition: bold red lips curled in a knowing smile that could seal deals or shatter egos, and eyes that scanned rooms for opportunities with hawk-like intensity. Her tailored black pantsuit hugged her athletic frame, paired with stiletto heels that clicked authoritatively against the marble floor. Minimal gold jewelry—a simple necklace from her family’s heirloom collection—added just the right touch of inherited elegance. She wasn’t just a marketing executive; she was the rising star at Hawthorne & Associates, the firm her father had built from a modest ad agency into a multimillion-dollar empire. Born into wealth, Eliza had been the golden child of privilege. Her parents, a power couple in the advertising world, had doted on her from the cradle. As a toddler, she’d thrown legendary tantrums in designer boutiques until she got the latest toy; as a teen, she’d manipulated her way into elite boarding schools and exclusive parties. “Eliza always gets what she wants,” her mother would say with a fond laugh, while her father nodded approvingly, seeing in her the ruthless drive that had made him successful. Scholarships? Unnecessary—daddy’s donations paved the way. Heartbreaks? Rare, and quickly forgotten amid lavish vacations to the Amalfi Coast or spontaneous shopping sprees in Paris. By college, she’d honed her charm into a weapon, networking her way through Ivy League halls and landing internships that lesser mortals could only dream of. Life was a game, and Eliza played to win, her spoiled roots fueling an unshakeable sense of entitlement. Now, as she stepped into the elevator, her phone buzzed with a text from Thomas: Can’t wait for tonight’s gala. Love you, future Mrs. Hawthorne-Reed. A smirk tugged at her lips. Thomas Reed, her fiancé, was the perfect match—handsome, ambitious architect from a respectable family, not quite as wealthy as hers but close enough to keep things balanced. They’d met at a charity auction two years ago, where Eliza had outbid everyone for a priceless painting just to prove she could. Thomas had been charmed by her fire, and their whirlwind romance led to a proposal six months ago on a private yacht in the Mediterranean. The wedding was set for 18 months from now—a grand affair at her family’s estate, with every detail micromanaged by Eliza herself. She envisioned a sleek, modern ceremony: minimalist decor, A-list guests, and a custom gown that screamed sophistication, not some fairy-tale fluff. Thomas adored her confidence, or so he said, though lately he’d gently teased her about loosening up. “You’re unstoppable, Eliza,” he’d murmur in bed, his arms around her. “But sometimes, it’s okay to just… be.” She fired back a quick reply: You know it. Dress sharp—we’re networking kings tonight. The gala was a corporate schmoozefest, the kind where deals were made over champagne. Eliza thrived in these settings, her sharp tongue disarming competitors while her hawk eyes spotted alliances. Tonight, she’d seal a major client merger, all while dazzling in her sleek black sheath dress. Hours later, the grand hotel’s atrium buzzed with the polished hum of the event—crystal chandeliers casting diamond flecks on tailored suits and shimmering gowns, the air thick with perfume and ambition. Eliza navigated the crowd with her signature poise, glass of prosecco in hand. Her friends—Sarah with her wild curls, Mia in a flashy sequined number, and Jen nursing a cocktail—clustered near the ballroom’s edge for a gossip break. “Did you see that merger announcement?” Eliza quipped, her voice cutting through the din. “Bold move. I give it six months before it implodes.” As they laughed, Eliza’s gaze wandered to the open doors of the adjacent ballroom, where a wedding reception was in full, ethereal swing. Fairy lights twinkled like stars, tables overflowed with pastel macarons and towering floral centerpieces shaped like castles, and in the center, the bride twirled in her dream gown—a confection of layered tulle, puffed sleeves, and glittering bodice, evoking a Disney princess come to life. A tiara perched atop her cascading curls, and the voluminous skirt billowed like a cloud. Eliza tilted her head, a smirk forming. “Hold on, ladies—quick detour. Nature calls.” She led them to the opulent ladies’ room, a marble sanctuary with gilded mirrors and fresh orchids. The door swung shut, muffling the gala’s noise. As they freshened up, Eliza leaned against the countertop. “Okay, did you all catch a glimpse of that bride? Oh my god, her dress… it looked like a toddler princess outfit exploded in a craft store. I mean, who over 12 wears that much tulle? It’s like she raided a kids’ costume bin for her ‘special day.’ Can you imagine waddling down the aisle in that poof? Straight out of a bad fairy tale.” Sarah snorted. “You’re savage! But yeah, it’s giving ‘my first communion’ vibes with extra glitter.” Mia giggled. “Totally. Bet she has a matching wand. Poor groom—hope he likes playing prince to her pint-sized highness.” Jen chimed in, “And the tiara? Adorable… if you’re in preschool pageant mode.” Their laughter echoed off the walls, light and carefree. Unbeknownst to them, in the farthest cubicle, the bride—Lila—sat frozen, her dream shattered by the cruel words. Tears streamed down her face as the joy of her day curdled into shame. Eliza, oblivious, straightened her dress and headed back out, ready to conquer the night. Little did she know, her careless mockery had awakened a force that would soon turn her world upside down -
Diapers are a comfort item. I get my thrill going camping and sleeping in a tent with only a thin fabric between me and strangers. I go hiking in thin pants where you can see the outline of the diaper. Mostly in places where there is few or no people.
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