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xander.williams

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xander.williams last won the day on December 25 2013

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About xander.williams

  • Rank
    Bedwetter
  • Birthday July 1

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  • Gender
    Male
  • Real Age
    27

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  • Diapers
    Daddy
  • I Am a...
    Boy
  • Age Play Age
    2, 5, 10, or 14 when I feel little

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  1. A Baby Brother For Daddy's Little Girl

    You write well. My suggestion is to get a few chapters ahead in your story before posting. That way you always have something to fresh to share.
  2. Busted by parents - please help

    I think you need to have a conversation about privacy, but also find a better solution to the smell. A sealed container should do the trick until trash day each week. But I would look to extricate myself from the situation rather than escalate it. Get out of diapers, so to speak, before they end up asking more questions, trying to get you to see a doctor, etc.
  3. What is everyones diaper wish

    Anyone's wish come true?
  4. Informing employer about incontinence.

    I think it depends on the nature of your job. If you work an hourly position and need to take additional breaks, that presents challenges that workers in a less controlled environment do not have to worry about. But even in an office setting or one where breaks are not regulated, if access to a private restroom or office could be made available, I can see that being worth securing. I might have tried wearing to work if I had an inconspicuous place to change. As it is I couldn’t even carry a backpack across the office without it being curious to folks.
  5. Baby powder without a diaper?

    Lots of people do that for hygiene and comfort. Of course, some of it may cause cancer, but hey, your junk will be all smooth and nice smelling.
  6. Usually less than a half hour is enough for a sufficient charge. Several hours and the power level is can light the whole town again.
  7. Don't color on the wall

    Another of my Fetlife short stories. This was his favorite part of the day. He had been working late for several weeks, but the project was finally over, and he was walking in the door before six for the first time in too long. He knew what would await him, too: a bouncy babygirl of 27 who more likely than not would have a wet diaper swinging beneath the hem of her skirt. Sara was his wife and babygirl, his best friend and his greatest responsibility. She had missed him so much these past weeks, and he was looking forward to giving her the attention she deserved. No sooner had he closed the door behind him than Sara appeared, running around the corner in her socked feet and slipping on the wood floor as she came to a stop. He caught her before her butt hit the floor. “Hi, Daddy!” “Hello, yourself. You need to be more careful.” He pulled her up and gave her a quick appraisal. As expected, she was soaked. She was careless about changing herself when he wasn’t home. There was paint on her hands and her shirt. Taking him by the hand, Sara practically dragged him toward the living room. “I painted you a picture today, but you have to close your eyes first.” He dutifully placed his free hand over his eyes and was led on. They came to a stop. “Ready, Daddy? Okay, open.” Removing his hand, he saw a picture of the two of them holding hands in a field on a sunny day. It was finger painted, with little fingerprints at the ends of the “brush” strokes. It was good, so far as finger paintings went. It was also on the wall. “Sara Jane, I’m very disappointed in you!” Her smile faded instantly. Her feelings were hurt. Her lower lip started to tremble. “You don’t like it? I did it just for you.” “Sara, you know better than to color on the wall. You’re in big trouble, young lady.” Without ceremony, he marched her to the naughty corner in the kitchen and placed her nose on the wall. “Do not move until I get back.” Walking upstairs to the bathroom, he made an effort to calm down. He had been stressed for weeks; his job was riding on this project. His job rode on every project – it was that kind of business. He had been looking forward to spending the weekend relaxing, but now he had a chore to do instead. And Sara did know better. She wasn’t 23 anymore! She did this to get attention. It wasn’t his fault that he had to work so much, and it was childish of her to blame him by acting out. Well, he thought, if it’s attention she wants, she’s about to get some. Changing out of his work clothes helped calm him down, but he was resolved to handle this appropriately. He was a permissive daddy most of the time, but this was a step too far. Opening the chest at the foot of the bed, he considered for a moment and selected the wooden hairbrush. Back in the kitchen, Sara was sniffling in the corner but hadn’t moved. He set the brush on the table, the unmistakable sound of wood on wood making Sara stiffen. Her sniffling grew louder as she heard a chair being pulled out. “Sara, come to me.” When she turned around, he was standing at the sink with a bottle of soap in hand. She had had a mouth soaping once. It was awful, the worst punishment she could think of. Slowly, she walked over, not daring to lift her head. When she was standing right next to him, he took her chin in his hand and gently lifted it until she was looking him in the eye. He turned on the water, reached for her left hand, and began washing the paint off. He did it without saying anything. Normally Daddy would be lecturing. He would be telling her that she had disappointed him, that she was going to be punished and knew she deserved it. Instead he was saying nothing. She was relieved that she wasn’t getting a mouth soaping, but his silence was discomforting, almost scary. As she felt his hands working over hers to remove the paint, she looked over her shoulder at the hairbrush on the table. She was looking at it when he took her other hand, and she didn’t snap out of it until she felt the towel drying her fingers and palms. “Daddy…” she ventured. “Hush, baby.” He reached under the sink and hung up the towel on its bar and then got a grocery bag from the collection they kept for disposing of diapers. He lifted her arms for her and removed her shirt with the still-damp paint on it and placed it in the bag. When he lowered her skirt, she stepped out of it without being told. It, too, went into the bag. She was standing in the kitchen in just a soggy diaper and socks. Taking her by the upper arm, he pulled her toward the table, dropping the clothes by the door to the laundry room. He positioned her to the left of the chair, sat down, and now she was on his right, tears silent on her face, her nipples growing hard without her shirt. “Sara…” At the mention of her name, she started to cry a little harder. She knew she shouldn’t have painted on the wall. She knew exactly what she was doing, in fact. It had been weeks since she had had his full attention. She knew his project ended today. At the time, this seemed like a good idea, but looking at the hairbrush, and looking at the expression on Daddy’s face, she knew it was wrong. It was just wrong. “Sara, why did you paint on the wall when you knew it was wrong?” She hesitated, and then whispered, “Because…because you’ve been gone so much (sob!). I wanted to make you something, and I thought (sob!)…I thought if I made it on the wall, you’d know I needed you around more (sob!).” She was holding in a lot of tears. He could see that. “Sara, I had to work late to provide for us. I’ve been working very hard. I miss you when I’m gone; you know I miss you when I’m gone. I don’t deserve to come home to a problem. I don’t work so much because I like it. Now I have to spend Saturday painting the wall. I understand that you need more attention than I’ve been able to give you lately, but you know that bratting and breaking rules is not the right way to tell me that. When I need to work late, you need to be mature about it. When you need to tell me something, you use your words. Do you understand why I have to punish you?” She sobbed out a meek, “Yes,” and laid herself across his lap in an act of contrition. She felt awful. She hated to disappoint him, to make him angry, to let him down. She knew he was right, and she was wrong. She laid herself across his lap because she needed him to take the guilt away. She did her best to stop crying, to take her punishment like a good girl. It’s not that he ever minded her crying during a spanking, but she felt she owed it to him to accept her spanking, and not to cry, kick, or reach. His hand striking her wet diaper made a whump sound. The impact jarred her, but it did not really hurt through the padding. She knew that wouldn’t last. He always started out spanking her on her diaper, especially if it was used, so she could feel how babyish and ridiculous it was to be in this position, to be getting spanked at 27 like the naughty girl she was. He didn’t say anything. He had said what he had to say already, she understood it, and he didn’t need to belabor the point. She knew bratting was wrong. She didn’t need to be reminded again beyond her bottom. He finished his fifteenth spank on the diaper. She was more determined not to cry when she felt his hand under her searching for the tapes to her diaper. I deserve this and need it, she thought. She lifted herself slightly to help him find the tape, and he found it; she bent forward further and grabbed the arms of the chair. The air felt cool on her slightly red bottom as the diaper was pulled back to expose her round checks. The first spank was still with his hand. He was spanking faster and harder now. This wasn’t about him being angry. This was about teaching a lesson. Maybe this counted as the attention she wanted, but he wouldn’t make it fun for her. This wasn’t bedroom play. This was discipline. Still trying not to cry, each slap produced a quiet grunt from Sara. She had had many spankings before. This one was not exceptional. It stung, and her eyes were squinched shut, but she was breathing through the pain as best she could. Despite herself, she was counting the strokes, and when the hundredth fell and there wasn’t another, she found herself red in the face but otherwise composed. She heard the hairbrush sliding off the table. “Your warm up is done.” He pulled her diaper down further, tucking it between her legs and exposing her thighs. Sara started to turn around but was stopped short by the thwack of the wood on her bottom. Within five spanks, Sara was struggling to hold in the tears, white knuckling the chair legs. Twenty, thirty, forty spanks and her bottom was turning from red to crimson. From experience, he knew that he was approaching Sara’s pain limit, but she had earned more. He intended to spank her so that she would feel it for days after the wall was fixed. Through her tightly clenched eyes, tears were escaping. She might not be able to stop the tears, but she could do her best to stifle her cries. THWACK THWACK THWACK Her bottom was turning from crimson to purple. The spots receiving the most spanks had a hint of white. He knew she would have a mild bruise on both cheeks. He was surprised by her fortitude. She was normally a cry baby. He decided that twenty more spanks – very hard – would be enough. He slowed down the pace and delivered one stroke every five seconds. At the first very hard stroke, Sara’s eyes shot open, loosing a flood of tears, but still she made no sound other than harder and deeper grunts. CRACK…CRACK…CRACK…CRACK!!! And it was over. It almost surprised her. Her heart was racing. She couldn’t hold her head up anymore. She went limp at the sound of the brush being set back on the table. Looking down at her butt, he knew that this was certainly her most severe spanking ever. Lightly, he place his hand on her cheeks, feeling the heat radiating off of her and the toughening of her skin. With her butt almost numb, Sara sensed his hand almost as a shock of electricity. The sensation made her shudder. She could feel sweat in the small of her back. Other that the pain, she mostly felt tired. Tears were still running, as was her nose. “Baby…” At the sound of his voice, she couldn’t hold it in anymore. First one long sob, then another racked her body. The pain had expiated her guilt, and the released emotions and built up hormones found their release in her sobs and wails. The almost violent movement of her body with each sob surprised him. He rubbed small circles on her bottom and back, but made no other effort to comfort her. He knew she needed to cry it out. When she finally stopped, he helped her to her feet, taking the sodden diaper from between her legs and leaving it on the floor for the time being. She was a little unsteady, and her face looked a fright. Guiding her to the sink, he wet a paper towel and wiped her eyes and face, brushed her hair back. Holding her hand, he walked her upstairs and laid the changing pad on the floor, then spread one of her overnight diapers on the pad. He didn’t need to say anything. She laid down on top of the diaper, and lifted her butt to help him position it correctly. He reached up to the table for a tube of Desitin. “Hold your legs, baby.” Sara held up her own legs and shivered at the feeling of the Desitin making contact with her spanked skin. It soothed the pins and needles feeling, but it accentuated the feeling of swelling. He coated her thoroughly and gave her a tap on the thigh, signaling for her to lower her legs again. Closing the diaper over her, he taped it shut and then removed her socks from her toes. For the first time since the spanking, they made eye contact. Sara’s eyes were brightening. She didn’t smile, but she looked as if she felt safe, as if she understood. “You were a brave girl for your spanking; all is forgiven now. I think you need some extra rest, so now is your bedtime.” She nodded slightly and accepted his hand as he helped her to her feet. She walked to her crib and climbed in; he raised the rail and covered her with her blankie. “I’ll bring you a baba in a little while. Good night, baby.” “Good night, Daddy.” He turned off the lights. “Daddy?” “Yes, sweetheart?” “I love you, Daddy.” ‘I love you, too, pumpkin. And your picture was pretty.”
  8. Have a New Years resolution?

    Do you have a resolution, and if so, what is it? Bonus mojo for ABDL related resolutions, naturally.
  9. BDSM Test

    Yeah, this sounds about right. == Results from bdsmtest.org == 100% Switch 99% Boy/Girl 96% Brat 91% Ageplayer 81% Daddy/Mommy 63% Submissive 55% Sadist 52% Masochist 51% Experimentalist 44% Owner 40% Exhibitionist 39% Dominant 39% Slave 38% Master/Mistress 30% Rope bunny 29% Rigger 27% Voyeur 27% Pet 25% Vanilla 15% Degradee 8% Non-monogamist 6% Degrader 6% Primal (Hunter) 2% Primal (Prey)
  10. Visiting doctor office in a diaper anyone?

    Never done this, but my general experience with doctors these days is they always ask if they spot a potential issue but don’t press it if you don’t want them to. I believe they’re trained that way: do their due diligence, but let the patient decide what they want to talk about.
  11. Diaper bulge ??

    I don't do AB clothing. I wear my sweats at home, and they're an athletic fit without the diaper. With it, especially if I'm wearing my terry-lined plastic pants over an M4, it's definitely obvious.
  12. Do people buy ABDL ebooks on Amazon?

    I'm nervous about publishing. All characters are adults, but they role play as below-18 ages, and of course it's so easy for those outside the community to misconstrue what that means. I have other, normal books published on Amazon, and I don't want to get banned or worse.
  13. She's just not ready

    Just a short story I'm reposting from my Fetlife page. Enjoy. It's day 12 of potty training. Day 11 was a little better than Day 10, but when your girl is having 8 accidents a day at the age of 27, you can't help but wonder if this is unnecessarily adding stress to both you and her. You're certainly not happy; the carpet certainly isn't happy; the couch is off limits; she's so disappointed in herself. This stressed out girl who is always worrying about the potty is not the playful rascal you married. She's usually a chatterbox, but right now she's on the floor with her dollies barely making a peep. "Baby, let's take you to the potty." "Okay, Daddy," she sullenly says. She doesn't really expect success anymore. Her self-esteem is at a low ebb. She stands up and you take her hand, guiding her into the bathroom, lower her Elsa panties, and help her onto her potty. "Okay, go tinkle." You wait two minutes, then another two. "I guess I don't hafta go, Daddy." She sounds dejected, maybe even ashamed at her failure. "I guess not, sweetheart. But that's okay. Let's fix you a sippy cup." She stands and puts her thumb in her mouth while you pull up her panties, and then you walk to the kitchen. Baby girl is standing behind you while you fill up her cup. As you shut off the faucet and turn around, you are greeted with a girl innocently looking around, thumb in her mouth, completely unaware that she is peeing a river on the tile. "No!" you cry more harshly than intended. "We...just...ugh..." After twelve days of frustration, this is too much. Again and again she has wet herself and soiled herself. She's gone through more pairs of panties in twelve days than she goes through diapers! At first she looks confused and scared by Daddy's outburst, but then as she looks down and sees and feels the familiar yellow stream running down her legs from beneath her dress, she instantly starts crying. "I'm sorry, Daddy! I'm trying so hard but I'm not getting any better!" "Aww, baby. It's not your fault." You embrace her, and now she's wet your pants too, but it's just baby pee, another part of being a daddy. She's finished peeing but still sobbing, great heaves that she can't control, twelve days of disappointment and frustration coming out. You scoop her up and carry her to the rocking chair, sitting with her until her sobs subside into slow tears and sniffles. "Baby," you say, "we need to talk." "Can I have some dry panties first, Dada?" "That's what we need to talk about. I think you need to go back in diapers." She starts crying again, "Aww, but I'm trying so hard. I'll do better - I promise!" "Shh...there there...I know you are trying very hard. But it's been almost two weeks and you haven't made any progress. If I thought it would make you happy to keep trying, I would. I would do anything to make you happy, but I don't like how stressed and sad the potty is making you. It's not your fault." "It's not?" "No, it's Daddy's fault. I wanted to make you happy when you said you wanted to be a big girl, but I should have realized that you weren't ready and that it would make you sad and frustrated. I don't like it when you feel like that. Can you tell me honestly that you've been happy?" She grips a handful of your shirt in her fist and tries to pull herself even closer, burying her head in your chest so that her cry of 'No!' is muffled. "Daddy, I tried so hard and never got better and I thought you were mad and I just wanted to be a big girl like my friends who don't wear diapers and I just couldn't make it stop happening and it was so...humiliating! Waa!" This is the big girl crying now, the woman with pride, the woman who loves you so deeply, the woman who is forever balancing her big and her little selves. The woman who relies on you to help her reconcile both personalities into one happy person. You didn't do that job very well. You've let her down. You stroke her hair. You rub her back. You tell her you're sorry over and over again, because this really was your fault. You should have known better. You should have known to tell her no when she asked for big girl panties. You wanted to, but when said "pretty pretty please," you just lost your nerve. But you can fix it now. Cradling her still, you carry her to the nursery. She isn't crying anymore, but she's exhausted from all that crying and struggling to stay awake. Setting her on her feet on the rainbow rug in the center of the room, you pull her dress over her head and pull down the offending panties, tossing them into the diaper pail because she won't be needing them again. You lift her onto her changing table and place the strap across her naked body. Her thumb finds her mouth as usual. You leave and return a minute later with a warm cloth. Her eyes are closed but open instantly as you pull her thumb away and replace it with her binky. She smiles and closes her eyes again. Very gently, you wipe away the tear stains from her face with the cloth, wipe her nose, and then wipe off her bottom and her weewee spot. Her breathing becomes more rhythmic. She sucks harder on her pacifier. You select a Bambino Bianco from the diaper stack and lift her legs, spreading the diaper underneath her. Lowering her legs, you reach for the powder and give her a good dusting, rubbing it in thoroughly. You find the Desitin and rub just a tad onto the place where she usually gets itchy. After wiping your hands on the cloth, you close the diaper over her and tape it tight but not too tight. She's your angel in white. "Baby, are you awake?" Her eyes open and her hands come together as she stretches her arms and smiles. It's the same smile she makes after a long trip. The smile that says, "I'm home." Your heart melts. Now you're the one fighting tears. "Do you forgive me?" "Uh huh," she says, lowering her arms and closing her eyes again. That's the best feeling in the world, you think. You unsnap the strap from across her tummy, carry her to your bedroom, and lay her in bed. Removing your jeans and shirt, you slide into bed next to her, feeling the thick padding of her diaper as you snuggle close. She's asleep already, a secure and happy woman again. The puddle in the kitchen will wait - everything important is in this bed. Soon you are asleep as well.
  14. I'm just wondering how many people buy them and what they consider a fair price.
  15. I think it depends on your anatomy. If you leak before the diaper is fully used, it's likely because the point at which your urine enters the diaper is saturated and you're adding fluid faster than the diaper can absorb it and wick it away. In other words, in addition to the diaper itself, where/how the end of your penis is situated in the diaper determines how much of a diaper's capacity can be used before leaking. I did find that wearing a condom catheter under my diaper, to channel the urine further back so that it enters the diaper behind my scrotum, helps to prevent leaks and get more use out of the diaper. The catheter can be uncomfortable, however, and doesn't adhere well in a wet environment. I haven't done that in over a year.