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Story and Art Forum
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A Home in the Hills: A Kalvassa Mythos Story (Formerly the "Classified" AU) [Chapter 12 2/12/26] 1 2
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Uh... didn't she diaper Ffrances this morning? 🤔 -
We're experiencing high temps and humidity 29c to 36c every day. We both put on Betterdry 10's yesterday morning at 7am as I had to take the wife to work and then to the eye doctor later in the morning. She changed her diaper at about 6pm and I stayed in mine until 10pm when I changed into my cloth night diapers. It's so hot that most of our water is going out in perspiration. 15 hours in a Betterdry is pretty good and no leaks either. I can't imagine how you could be comfortable even at home with all that gear on, never mind out in public. I'm still lounging in my cloth night diapers and plastic pants and the tee shirt I wore to bed but I don't wear anything over them that would compress them to my body. Have you considered that the compressing garments are yournemesis? Cloth diapers work much like a sponge and we all know what happens to a sponge when we compress it. Hugs, Freta -
I am over 50 and up until very recently have found self acceptance to being ABDL. It was around the time I was 4 or 5 that I new I was different and wanted to be back in diapers. Those feelings never went away and at around the age of seven the urge to wear diapers was getting stronger to the point I made a make shift diaper using a towel and bin liner as substitute plastic pants. The guilt and shame continued up until recently when I started to take antidepressants which have helped to clear my mind. I also found some ABDL hypnosis videos on YouTube. They did not put me in a hypnotic state but helped me to relax when wearing and made me realise that this is a part of something that makes me who I am. I cannot change this part of me and can now accept that. When wearing I no longer cover up my diapers when at home, Its a part of who I am and I am no longer ashamed -
The Shower (One Shot) I was really doing this. My heart was beating fast, louder than anything else, feeling like it was echoing in the small shower I stood in. My clothes were on — a pair of old faded blue jeans, and an old, too small T-shirt. Not my best or favorite clothes — I’d been able to argue against those, at least. But having clothes on in the shower was certainly a different experience. Knowing what was going to happen was even more different. I’m getting ahead of myself, though. And I kind of need a distraction anyway, if I’m going to be able to keep holding it in. *** So, there’s a part of me that I try and block out from myself. I’ve always been curious about… why do I freeze every single time I try and admit it, to myself or others? Maybe if you imagine me saying it really fast, it will be easier? I’vealwaysbeencuriousaboutwearingdiapersandwettingmypants. There. At least it’s out there. But I’ve tried my best to stop thinking about it, or doing anything about it. I can’t entirely silence the voice, and so I find myself unwittingly going back to online communities related to it. Yes, it’s an “it” in my head, because giving it any other name makes it feel bigger than I’m willing to let it be. On one of these escapades that I tried to forbid myself from doing, but ended up doing anyway, I’d encountered a post where someone was mentioning the same struggles that I was having regarding these desires. Normally, I would have just scrolled past — after all, I assume most people in the community have these same struggles. There were a few things that made me pay closer attention, though. The way the person had written the post was almost exactly the same way I would have. And it was detailed, but he seemed to have the exact same thought patterns I do. Secondly, he was from the same country I was from. There’s not much of a community in my country at all; the only kinds of people you can find online are these people that are creeps: too sexualized, too extreme. I’d basically realized that I was destined to be alone. My instinct still told me that it would be better to just ignore the post, and move on. Don’t engage, don’t hope, don’t do anything. That night, I ended up tossing and turning a lot. I’ve never been a particularly deep sleeper, but it felt like I’d got considerably less than my normal amount of sleep. When it got to about midnight, I figured out I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I eventually decided that I might as well message the poster. It might be a dead end, he might be a creep, but there was also a chance that it might go right. In all honesty, he’d probably think I was a creep, because I hadn’t really posted much at all on the platform that he had. “Hi there. I don’t really use this account, so there isn’t really much here. So I understand if you don’t want to chat further. It seems that we live quite close to each other. Different cities, but same country at least. I would love to meet some local ABDLs. I agree there is no scene or anything here. I really wish there was. Would love to go to a munch. I’ve been away from stuff for a while now, and am only just starting to put my toes in again. I posted a link to a video I’d made a few years ago, when I’d felt more brave and hopeful than I did at that moment. Please let me know if you wanna chat.” I wasn’t particularly proud of the message. There wasn’t detail, and I could easily be blown off, but I also didn’t want to agonize over the exact thing to say. About twelve hours later, I got a response, and I was ecstatic. I was incredibly hopeful for a response, but I hadn’t expected one. After that, we’d ended up spending multiple messages to each other. Never about anything too personal or identifying, but I felt like I’d found someone who could properly understand the way I think. We didn’t shy away from ABDL topics, but we spent a lot more time talking about our other interests. I learned that he had a great passion for certain video games; he learned about my passion for playing piano and singing. We spoke about our families, and our emotions, and our hopes for the future. *** “Do you think you are a big boy?” It was about a month after I’d started chatting to him online. We’d started talking a bit more about littlespace. And while it was something I was curious about, I’d never allowed myself to imagine anything related to it. The furthest I’d let myself go in relation to that was buying diapers. I responded back, “Yes, duh. How about you?” “Also yes. But I think I’m more of a big boy than you are… 😈” “I don’t think so. After all, I don’t pee my pants.” Yes, that was mean of me. No, I don’t regret saying it. We were playing around, having fun. He’d told me he was into omorashi and desperation, and had sent a couple videos of him losing control. I hadn’t admitted to him how much it had turned me on, and how jealous I was. I’ve always fantasized about losing control, and just watching my pants (or a diaper) get soaked, and being powerless to stop it. He retaliated to my teasing by pointing out that I’d deliberately wet my bed previously. Yes, it was a longer time ago than he’d peed his pants, but it was evidence that I wasn’t a “big boy”, either. And so we’d come up with a bet to prove which of us was the “bigger boy.” A bet that I weirdly didn’t want to win. But my competitive side meant that I would put my best effort in, any way. It needed to be fair. The idea was that we had to drink half a bottle of water each hour. And we weren’t allowed to use the toilet (for pee, at least). And then the person who wet their pants first was the “littler” of us. I’d never really done any desperation play. But it sounded fun, and set off my competitive streak. And there wasn’t a downside to losing: both winning and losing sounded good. *** I realized too late that I’d forgotten to go to the toilet (I wanted to say “go potty”) after I’d woken up, so I was already at a disadvantage. It got considerably harder for me to willingly drink the water, by the time we passed the four hour mark. I’d been diligently drinking it before then, but now the pressure was starting to be noticeable. I didn’t need to do a potty dance just yet, but I was at the point where I normally would be heading to the toilet. I guessed that he was also experiencing similar problems, as I soon received a message: “How is your lil bladder feeling?” “Not great. I’m coping, but I don’t want to drink any more water. I already feel like I need to pee.” “Okay, you don’t have to drink any more water. Instead, you have to drink juice.” Clever. Both he and I knew that juice would make you more likely to pee. But he’d phrased it as a favor. And I was willing to play along. I started replying: “Ok, Dadd.” I crossed out the last part there. We hadn’t discussed titles, and it wasn’t fair on either of us for me to spring that there. I lamely added a juicebox emoji. I made myself some juice, drank it, and then continued with my game. *** About twenty minutes later, I found myself walking to the toilet. I only realized what I was doing once my pants were already around my ankles. I’d almost started peeing, but thankfully I hadn’t. I pulled my jeans back up, and headed back to my room. The first spurt happened around the sixth hour in. It was a tiny release; more like a spasm, before I realized what was going on. Looking down, nothing was particularly noticeable. My jeans appeared dry. I undid the belt, and looked at my bright red undies. Yes, there was an undeniable leak right where I suspected. It wasn’t big, but nor could I say I was entirely dry. Spurts didn’t count: they needed to be proper accidents. But we still needed to admit to them, to each other. Shit. I was going to have to admit to wetting myself. And why was that turning me on so much? “So, um, I’m not completely dry any more 🙈” “Oh, did the little boy have an accident? 😈” “A tiny one. I’m still a big boy!” “If you say so.” After that, I realized that I needed to pay conscious attention to my bladder. Any distraction would mean I was more likely to let go again. The thought did make me hard, which thankfully did make it a tiny bit easier. I didn’t feel the need to pee as much, because I needed to cum. Once my erection went down, the need to pee doubled, though. I lost control and a bigger spurt exited. Now, it was noticeable. There was a tiny pee circle on my jeans. I blushed, feeling happy, embarrassed, and excited, all at once. I peed my pants! And after that, it was going to go downhill fast. I couldn’t concentrate on my game at all. I’d started the same interaction with the NPC three times, and still didn’t understand what I was supposed to do, or what he was saying. And the battles I’d had before had been going poorly, because I couldn’t properly sit still. I was squirming, and holding my legs together, but I didn’t properly realize that I was. I didn’t know if I’d be able to go through with this. “Can I ask permission to go potty?” I asked. I knew what the answer was probably going to be, but there was no harm in trying. “Are you safewording?” I hadn’t said a safeword, but I was so grateful he’d asked. “No. I’m green. But I’m worried about making a mess. And it feels like I’m going to pee my pants any second. And I’m kind of scared of losing control like that, even though it makes me excited.” I didn’t type it: my body was shaking too much for that. Instead, I’d sent it as a voice note. “In that case, no. Big boys can hold it. But if you’re scared of making a mess, why don’t you go somewhere where there’s tiles or something, so it’s easier to clean up?” Because that would mean I’d need to leave my room, and potentially face someone who could see the wet spot that was already on my jeans. And I didn’t want to change. I kinda liked the idea of being in wet pants. But it would be less of a mess. I listened out, and when I was sure there was no one near my door, I took a mad sprint to the nearest bathroom. There was no toilet in it, but there was a shower and sink. But standing up and walking through to the bathroom had made me let go a little more. The wet spot that had been previously coin-sized had now become fist-sized. I also hadn’t properly thought this through. Neither of the taps properly closed, so there’s always a slight dripping from them. Normally, I could ignore it. But each drip felt like it was taking away what little control I had left. Drip. Drip. Drip. I ended up stepping into the shower, because there was a drain there, so there wouldn’t be a puddle to clean up. *** And so here I was. About to pee my pants and give up my big boy status. Standing in a shower with dripping sounds around me, wearing some old jeans that already had a pee stain. Every single second that I was holding on was feeling more and more pointless, and more and more painful. I was going to pee my pants any way, why not just do it now? Hell, I’d already peed my pants. Just not “properly”. It took one particularly loud Drip for me to let go. It felt like relief and release and freedom. No, it felt like way more than that. It felt right and wonderful. I loved the splashing noise that the pee was making on the tiles. The hissing noise getting filtered by my underpants. The way I couldn’t stop it, even if I’d wanted to. The way my jeans were getting darker and darker. The embarrassment and exhilaration. I was so disappointed when the stream stopped coming. I sent a message, “I couldn’t hold it any more. I tried my best. But nope, I’m soaked. It feels so good, though.” “Yeah, I bet it was super duper good to pee! Looks like I won this one, little guy.” I was blushing and grinning. “Yes, well done. Turns out you are bigger than me.” -
Pretty much anything but tequila. Luksusowa Polish potato vodka is my favorite vodka. Unfortunately, they don't carry it anywhere near where we live. Single malt scotch neat, blended for rusty nails, bourbon neat I used to buy Bookers when I was working. I like Meyers Plantation Punch dark rum. If I'm going to drink I like to drink something that I can savor. IPAs are our go to beer, cabernets and merlots in red wine, sauvignon blancs in white wine. Hugs, Freta
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