BabyAnna

Big welcome hugs Gummybear, and story readers here are in for a treat!

Rosa had always dreamed of having a curvaceous and voluptuous body, and she had spent a significant amount of time and money in her quest to achieve the perfect figure. Despite her efforts, however, she always felt like something was missing. So when her friend suggested that she try wearing a thick disposable diaper to achieve the appearance of a larger bottom, Rosa was initially hesitant. At first, she felt a sense of trepidation and uncertainty about wearing something so infantile. She worried that it would look obvious or strange, and that people would judge her for it. But as she considered the potential outcomes, her desire to be fashionable and her optimism about the results won out, and she decided to give it a try. Rosa ordered a pack of thick, absorbent diapers online and waited nervously for them to arrive. When they finally did, she was surprised at how soft and comfortable they felt against her skin. She put one on and examined herself in the mirror, feeling both excited and nervous about the prospect of wearing it in public. As she adjusted the diaper to fit snugly against her curves, Rosa noticed that her bottom looked fuller and rounder, just like she had always wanted. She was amazed at how natural it looked and how confident it made her feel. Over the next few days, Rosa wore her diaper under her clothes and marveled at the compliments she received on her figure. She felt empowered by her decision to try something unconventional and was proud of herself for embracing her desires and exploring new ways to achieve the look she wanted. However, as Rosa continued to wear the thick disposable diaper to achieve the appearance of a larger bottom, she grew more comfortable with the idea of wearing it out in public. However, she was still anxious about the possibility of someone discovering that she was wearing a diaper. One day, as she was out running errands, Rosa felt an urgent need to use the bathroom. She searched for the nearest restroom but found that it was out of order. Her anxiety increased as she realized she might have to reveal her secret to a stranger in order to find a bathroom. In a moment of desperation, Rosa made the decision to use the diaper. She felt ashamed and embarrassed, but she knew it was better than risking exposure. As she made her way home, Rosa felt conflicted. On the one hand, she was grateful for the convenience of the diaper and the freedom it gave her to move around without worry. On the other hand, she felt ashamed and infantilized by the experience. Over the next few days, Rosa struggled with her conflicting feelings about the diaper. She appreciated the way it made her look and the freedom it gave her to move around without worry, but she also felt humiliated by the idea of wearing a diaper as an adult. Eventually, Rosa came to the realization that she didn't have to choose between the two. She could wear the diaper to achieve the look she wanted without feeling ashamed, and she could also take it off when she didn't need it. It was her body and her choice, and she didn't have to justify it to anyone. From that moment on, Rosa wore the diaper with confidence and pride, knowing that it was a part of her unique style and identity. She learned to embrace her desires and celebrate her individuality, no matter how unconventional it may seem to others. The story does include certain keywords I used to prompt its generation, and based on my prompts and feedback was refined and edited by ChatGPT four times following the initial draft. I have however copied the exact text, entirely unedited, from the final generated version.

This was only meant to be a three sentence story to start with, no plans to write anything more.

I opened the door, and stood there. He looked me up and down, and grinned. Clearly he liked my short skirt, a Japanese school type design, or perhaps it was my t-shirt, the low scooped neck revealing just a little cleavage. Maybe it was the picture on it, a happy looking girl dressed very similarly but with a diaper peeking out from her skirt, or possibly the writing below that. "Daddy's Girl." "Cute," he said, his grin widening. "No," I said, "This is cute." I lifted the hem of my skirt, showed him the thick disposable diaper I was wearing underneath. His eyebrows raised, and his smile broadened. "Kinky." "No," I said, "This is kinky." I held my skirt clear of the diaper and let him see it start to discolour as I relieved the pressure on my bladder. I didn't need to force it, and he watched in rapt fascination as visible dampness rose up the inside of the waterproof covering for over half a minute. "That's just perverted," he said, wonder in his voice. "No," I said, "This is perverted." I swivelled around, letting my skirt drop down to my thighs, hiding the wetness in my diaper. Instead I lifted it at the back, and let him watch as it started to swell from within. I twisted my shoulders, turned my head to watch him watching me. His face was a picture, but he didn't move, didn't stop watching. "That's disgusting," he said. "No," I said, "This is disgusting." I dropped the hem of my skirt and instead pulled at its waistband. My fingers hooked in behind that, and into the back of my diaper. I pulled them both away from my skin. The smell was immediately obvious; I was glad he couldn't see my reaction to it, and didn't doubt his was at least as bad. The groan I heard from him certainly suggested that. "That's just abusive," he told me. "No," I said, "This is abusive." I nodded to the three men that had walked up behind him while I was distracting him. They grabbed him from behind, two of them pinning him to the ground while the third cut off his clothing, the knife scaring him into submission. They quickly dressed him again, larger versions of my skirt and top, the picture and words on his still showing Daddy's Girl. When one of them used a hand to push his penis down between his legs as they brought the front of a thick diaper up and over it, he finally spoke again. More of a scream. "This is rape!" "No," I said, in amazement that he hadn't already learned. I winked at the men holding him down, and closed my door. As the screaming suddenly became muffled I waddled away from the door. All I'd wanted was an apology, and now I needed a change instead. As I got everything ready I thought to prepare a second clean diaper too. He'd be needing that, afterwards, and many more. Until I got my apology at least, but maybe the guys would like their new toy, want to keep him. He might even like it. I did, even when I had to be patient. I sat down and wriggled in my soiled diaper, waited for them to finish, to come and change me.

I'm sorry, your reply has confused me. There's no coercion here, no pay to play and I'd class this as fiction rather than fantasy. Also no consent, which does help make it dark, but you should see what I do to the first person narrator in some of my other works. This is nothing.

He sneered at me, and his voice carried contempt too. "Really?" he asked, "Accusing men of manspreading is so 2015." I retained control, didn't roll my eyes. Didn't raise my voice. Didn't step up and kick him right between those wide spread thighs. "Interesting that you use that term," is all I said, "I didn't. I just asked you not to sit opposite me with your knees wider than a desperate whore's." I hadn't said that to him originally either, but he took it well. "Well why not," he said, "I'm open for business too." "So why wave your crotch at me?" I asked. "I'm hardly going to step between your thighs and stick something inside you. You'll need a man for that." He actually brought his legs closer together at that, but only so he could lean forward, speak to me from closer across the aisle. "I'm sat down, lady, I figured you'd want a wide stable platform as you wrapped your legs around me." What could I say to that? "You'd like that would you?" He smirked, cocksure in so many ways, nodded at me and leaned back again, his knees moving further apart as he did. "Sure, you look.. experienced. We could have some fun together." I was flattered, but not enough. I played it shy though, allowed myself to blush, lower my gaze a little, look up at him through my eyelashes. "This is my stop," I said, standing up. I wriggled my hips a little as I got off the train, and it did the trick. He followed, subtly at first then with long strides catching up with me. I held out an arm and he took it in his, a right proper gentleman. He tried small talk with me on the short walk back home. I shushed him, no need to get to know each other. As we entered my house I showed him into the lounge, invited him to take a seat, walked into the kitchen. Moments later I joined him, handed him an open bottle of beer, expensive lager. My glass of wine went on the table, a cup mat that I made sure he saw me use. He got the hint, put his beer on one too. Good boy, but too late now. "Enjoy that beer while I change into something more comfortable," I told him. Corny old lines still work, especially that one, in that situation. That was always a promise. I was back quickly, my drab leggings and tunic top gone, a tasteful camisole top showing my bra, a short skirt fluffed out by petticoats flashing the top of the hold-ups I'd quickly pulled on. I'd skipped the heels, they would've come straight off again anyway. I struck a pose in the doorway. He took his bottle from his mouth, looked up, smiled, let his eyes take it all in. I wasn't in my prime any more but he wasn't complaining, patted the seat beside him. "Well hello sexy, why don't you come and sit here." Corny old lines still work, but not that one. I walked towards him but sat opposite, a reprise of our roles on the train. This time as I sat down I spread my knees, a little at first, widening as he watched. He wasn't watching them, or my thighs, but where those met, hidden behind the fluffy skirt that was long enough to drape down between them. I coughed gently, and he looked up, didn't even have the grace to acknowledge his inappropriate focus. Maybe he felt it appropriate. "I couldn't help it," I said, "couldn't keep my thighs together either." He grinned at that, put his beer on the table - on a cup mat, I was glad to see - and stood up. I grinned as he fell back down, his legs giving way beneath him. If he'd been a girl he'd have known better than to drink a beer someone else opened, that he hadn't been in control of. The joy of date rape drugs is that nobody can remember what happened. He wouldn't remember coming to my house, or me stripping him naked. I didn't have trousers in his size and his no longer fit, no over the thick diaper I'd put him in. That was what I'd changed into, why I couldn't close my thighs, and why he couldn't now close his. I couldn't send him out like that though so he got one of my old skirts, just as fluffed out by petticoats as my own, but instead of hold-ups I put him in a pair of dainty lace topped nylon socks. Annoyingly his legs looked great in those, the skirt too short to hide them. Good job I'd shaved them, and that wasn't all I'd shaved. He wouldn't want nasty hair making cleaning himself harder. He'd need to clean himself too. I told him to speak up if he didn't want the enema but he said nothing. Unconscious people tend to be quiet, but I did ask. Unconscious people don't fight an enema either, even one as large as his. Getting him back to the train was a challenge, a friend helping out, trying not to giggle the whole time. "Drunk," we explained to the only person that queried us, disgust in our voice. They didn't challenge that, a man in a short skirt and dainty socks with bright red lipstick could be easily believed to lack personal control. I'd done his lips too. He'd surely want to look his best on the train. We left him sat there, the diaper forcing his thighs apart, the skirt carefully arranged to not drape between them, his thick diaper clearly on show. Left him there, his t-shirt hiding the words written on him with a sharpie. Left him there, his head pushed back, resting on top of the seat back, his mouth open, drool escaping past those bright red lips. Left him there, to wake up, discover how we'd left him. Discover what the enema had done to him. Discover what the other passengers had done to him. Discover those words he'd be wearing for a few days. "You wanted to spread your legs. Now you have no choice. Next time we'll make it permanent." I added his photograph to my collection. One day I'd get a repeat customer; I was looking forward to that.

As I joined the queue in the cafe I found my eyes drawn to the bottom of the woman in front. It lacked her svelte curves, distended a little, her skirt hanging further from her legs than I’d expect. Was she.. wearing a diaper? As she glanced behind, saw my focus, she smiled. I caught her eye, smiled back, blushed. She winked and turned away. Even as I wondered how to react I noticed her reach behind, a scratching motion at her bottom, drawing her short skirt up enough to reveal her underwear. It wasn’t just padded, it was swelling before my eyes. She’d soiled herself in public, making sure I knew about it. I caught her arm, turned her to face me. I reached up and kissed her welcoming lips, our tongues teasingly probing for dominance. It was love at first shite.

This one did have a choking hazard. You can't win. So I don't play.

Being equally serious, academic analysis has found that content warnings cause unnecessary triggering and are counter-productive. Irrespective of that as an author I despise them for multiple reasons, including the blatant spoiler that would pre-emptively make the entire story pointless. See also Content Warning.

Husni looked up at the beaming face of her new Mommy and smiled back. "Cuddle!" she demanded, reaching out with her arms. Natalia couldn't resist and picked little Husni up, embracing her in a tight hug that kept going long after they'd entered the cafe. "You're just so adorable!" gushed Natalia, "I'm so lucky we found each other." Husni nestled her head against the Amazon's muscular arm but didn't reply, just enjoying the warmth and security she was feeling. They'd met literally that morning but their instant rapport, the ease with which they both adopted their new roles was entirely predictable. Indeed, the Little Portal Group were rapidly gaining a tremendous reputation entirely because of the AI algorithms that matched littles with prospective parents. It wasn't that Husni had any issues she was escaping. She just recognised the benefits and opportunities of a life of carefree abandon, someone else seeing to her every need, the chance to be loved and cherished and avoid the big decisions adult life forced upon her. Natalia would have also said she had no issues in her life, and perhaps even believed that. Indeed, had two of her friends not become mothers in the past few weeks her issues would all have been extremely mundane. Those friends gaining their first maternal experiences - one through adoption of a little, the other an actual pregnancy and childbirth - had however caused an irrevocable descent into broody desire, almost forcing Natalia into action. She'd signed up to with the Little Portal Group, wanting to take on a little that had chosen a life of dependency rather than kidnap or force a native little into a role they really didn't want, even if it was for their own good. A difficult ethical dilemna but Natalia had gone with her heart and her innate sense of fair play, and the result had been a match with Husni. The trip through the portal had been strange for Husni but not difficult, and she'd recovered quickly, marvelling at the size of the Amazons around her and how vulnerable she felt in their presence. Then Natalia had entered the room, been introduced and Husni had instantly relaxed, an instinctive perception that this was someone she could trust, be safe with. Even the inevitable first diaper had been easy. Natalia had practiced beforehand, made the experience swift and painless, treating it as a normal part of caring for, dressing and preparing Husni for the day. Husni in turn barely registered its role, the diaper not standing out against the other new clothes in which she was garbed. The matching onesie and pinafore dress were adorable and infantile, which her subconscious entirely accepted without complaint given her diminutative stature besides the Amazons around her. "She's just darling," one of them had said, with noises of agreement and appreciation from the rest of the group. "She certainly is," was Natalia's response, before thanking the Little Portal Group team and heading out into the city. "I know you want to see your new home," Natalia said to Husni as she pushed the stroller through the city, "but I haven't had breakfast yet so I thought we'd stop at a cafe on the way." Husni had smiled up at her new Mommy. These decisions were no longer hers to make and she relaxed into the freedom of just accepting what was happening around her while looking around with interest and amazement. All the cars were different, the people walking around so unbelievably large, some of them pushing a stroller just like the one she was sat in. Those contained people her size, some of them looking like pudgy child versions of the Amazons, others clearly already adult themselves but the same size, treated just like the children. Like herself. That reassured her, confirmed that she hadn't turned herself into a circus freak. Adult littles really were treated like toddlers here, kept in diapers, pushed around in strollers, dressed in cute clothes. The fascination with the world around her kept Husni distracted until they reached the cafe, and the first real chance for a cuddle. It was everything she'd anticipated, hoped for. It was everything Natalia had wanted, needed. The waitress broke the spell, drew them both back to the present. Natalia handled the questions and placed the orders, making it clear who in the relationship had control, was the decision maker. The waitress hadn't assumed anything different but Husni found it strange, not used to being a passive presence while the others around her discussed and made choices on her behalf. As though she were a child and they were adults. Husni realised that was exactly the relationship and looked up at Natalia. "I think I might love you," she said, surprised by the depth of emotion she was feeling. Natalia melted within at that, but tried to hide it from her new child. "I do love you," she said, then had to hide her own surprise that she hadn't lied, hadn't exaggerated. Somehow in just a couple of hours she'd bonded entirely with her adopted daughter, already felt that maternal need to always be there, always protect and support her child. That emotional connection survived through to food arriving. It didn't end then, the arrival of breakfast just forcing other considerations into focus. Hunger, for both of them, and the new experience of being fed; of feeding. That proved straightforward, a bottle full of warm milk easy for Natalia to offer, one arm cradling Husni and letting her use her own hands to hold it in place as she suckled. That freed Natalia's other arm, scrambled egg easy to scoop one-handed with a fork, toast eaten with fingers, offered and shared with Husni as she took a break from the bottle. The eye contact between them had to end eventually but it was a jarring interruption, loud exclamations and performance enthusiasm. Ursula had been Natalia's friend for many years and they regularly caught up for dinner or attended the same parties. Natalia hadn't yet broadcast her adoption though so Ursula had all the surprise and delight of a friend that wanted to show support and celebrate. "Is she yours?" she asked, "She's just adorable! What's her name? When did you get her? Oh, you're so.. oh!" Emotions overwhelmed Ursula, finally halting the continuous loud stream of enthusiasm. "Husni is my daughter," confirmed Natalia proudly, "She arrived just this morning - we haven't even been home yet, we popped in here for breakfast on the way back. What brings you here? I hadn't expected to meet anyone!" Ursula had explained the cafe's proximity to where she worked, the opportunity to enjoy a nice coffee while getting out of the office mid-morning, then returned the conversation to Husni. In the meantime Natalia busied herself putting Husni into the provided high-chair, using the straps to hold her in position, her inexperience as a mother making her take longer with the basic task while also going overboard with the restraints. She didn't want her new baby put at risk! Husni had found this all a shock. One moment being fed by her new Mommy, now she was being strapped into a chair, no physical contact, not part of the conversation even when she was the subject of it. "Mommy?" she said, the question inherent in her tone. "Hush baby," said Natalia, "Mommy's friend wants to know all about you. Sit there and be a good girl while I tell her how wonderful you are." Husni didn't appreciate this. "I can tell her," she said, "and we can still cuddle while you talk." "Oh, isn't she just adorable," said Ursula, "You're so lucky to have found one that wants to engage." Natalia nodded, understanding and appreciating the compliment. "You're right, I can't believe I found her," she said, "but she does need to learn that she can't be the centre of attention all the time." Natalia reached into her bag and pulled out a pacifier. For Amazon children it was a perfect size, which also made it ideal for adult littles, as Husni immediately discovered when Natalia pushed it into her mouth. She spat it out. "No!", she said firmly, perhaps a little loudly, "I'm not.." Ursula never learned what Husni was not, as Natalia used the open complaining mouth as an opportunity to put the pacifier back in. This time she twisted something on its front and Husni discovered that she could no longer spit it out, stop it quelling her complaints. "Be a good girl," admonished Natalia, "and we can talk later and I'll give you a big cuddle and then a nice warm bath for you to soak in." That did sound good but Husni hadn't yet adjusted to her new role in society. She did have feelings for Natalia, was already accepting her loss of decision making, but this felt a step too far, too soon. She reached up and tried to work out how to release the pacifier. Ursula laughed at that. "Oh, isn't she cute. Such a little rebel. You're going to have your hands full here." Natalia grinned at her friend. "You might be right," she accepted, "but gorgeous baby girls need to know how to behave." She reached over to Husni in the high-chair and gently but firmly took one of her arms, drawing it down to her legs and using a soft padded strap to hold it in place. The high-chair had been designed for littles, for keeping them secure not only from accidentally falling out but also from resisting the control their adopters legally imposed upon them. The second arm was swiftly secured, and Natalia contemplated fastening Husni's legs too. "I'll let her kick," she said to Ursula, "She'll get tired but the physical release might be what she needs." Ursula verbally gushed her admiration for Natalia's consideration, the two of them talking together and barely paying intention to Husni. It meant they missed Husni's chest convulsions as the pacifier triggered her gag reflex, induced vomitting. Husni kicked her legs in desperation, tried screaming for help, her arms tugging futilely against the unrelenting restraints. "Aww, look, she's having a tantrum." The Amazons finally noticed Husni's distress and reached across the table to each other, sharing a moment of adult unanimity. "She's still so cute when she's like this," admitted Natalia, "but I don't want to cause her distress. She just needs to learn that she can't be the centre of attention all the time." "You're so right," said Ursula, "You're going to make a marvellous Mommy. She's so lucky she has you." Natalia remembered that, forty minutes later, the paramedics telling her it was too late, all over, that her little had choked to death on her own vomit. Husni would never again be the centre of attention, had completely escaped the stresses of adult life, would forever be loved for who she was. Who she had been. Such a lucky little.

This story is complete. The lack of prologue, the absence of consequences? These are the spaces that allow imaginations to play. Why would I destroy such creativity?

Well, most readers never comment, I suspect only a subset of DD story forum users are interested in sexually explicit stories involving adults, and a very small minority of those will appreciate first person fellatio. So thank you for the kind words, and don't worry about the lack of comments. I'm not

Fellatio is a loving tender treat, a gift involving soft lips and a willing tongue, teasing, tormenting and eventually giving release to a lucky man. Getting face fucked was nothing like that. I don't know when my drink was spiked but I can guess who. I woke up when he splashed cold water on me, looked down, saw him using a small towel to dry my pubic mound. It was bare. I flinched, tried to bring my arms around to stop him touching me there. They hardly moved, pressure on my wrists, preventing me drawing them from behind my back. The movement drew his attention, made him look up, smile at me. "Ah, you're awake," he told me, as though I hadn't noticed. "Let me finish up here and we'll get you comfortable." I spoke too, in my mind. The actual sounds I made were grunts, conveying none of my words, not telling him to stop. Not asking him what he was doing or why. Not even asking why my mouth was full, and why trying to talk made my tongue sore. My tongue was sore. Another thing I hadn't noticed. The grunts might have turned to a pitiful whine. He looked at me curiously then his face cleared. "Ah, the piercing," he said. "I'll finish up and fetch you a pain killer." Piercing? What piercing? Wait, my tongue? He'd pierced my tongue? Why - and what with? Those thoughts were hidden from him, didn't distract him from what he was doing, kneeling between my widely spread legs. I hated that position, hated having him there, hated the vulnerability it made me feel. I was vulnerable too; he was fully dressed now but that wouldn't take long to change; I was just seconds away from being raped. He didn't rape me, not then. Arms under my thighs, lifting me, a hand swinging across and beneath me. He lowered my legs again, ignored my heels kicking futilely against his back. Reaching down he pulled something up around my hips, clothing of some form. Plastic covered? He was putting me in a diaper! I looked at him in confusion, my kicking paused while I tried to think through what was going on. Ok, it was clear what was going on, he was pulling the front of the diaper between my legs, using it to cover the mound he'd just shaved bare, hairless for the first time in many years. What wasn't clear was why. He spoke again, telling me why. "I," he said, pausing, emphasising himself, "control you. I control your actions, I control your whole life. You're in diapers to remind you that I control whether you even go to the toilet." He wasn't gloating, threatening, laughing, just calmly sharing how he viewed our situation. "I choose whether to change you when you're wet," he added, "I control your comfort." That didn't sound good. "Now, let's get you more comfortable," he said, and got up from between my legs. He left the room, giving me my first chance to take stock, look at where I was, how I was dressed. It was a normal living room, a couch, TV, various electronics and some shelves, books and a vase, some ornaments and a picture. I couldn't see the picture clearly from my position on the floor, turned my focus to myself. That proved quick. I was wearing a diaper and nothing else. Well, something around my wrists but I couldn't see that. I wriggled my fingers, tried to see if they could inform me but could reach whatever was there, stopping me moving my arms. I struggled to sit upright, the diaper making it strangely hard, stopping me closing my legs fully and adding a thick layer I had to overcome. He re-entered the room as I made it, walked over to me, crouched down beside me. "Good, you're sat up already. That'll help," he said. Help what? "I'm going to remove the gag," he told me, "so that you can take a pain killer. You can take the pill, wash it down with a glass of water, get a break from whatever discomfort your tongue is causing, or you can try and talk or scream or shout and get the gag straight back in. Is that clear?" I nodded. "Good. Are you going to be a good girl?" I hated him for that. Bad enough to force this situation onto me, now he wanted me to admit that doing what he wanted was 'good'. I didn't nod. "No pill then," he said, shaking his head at me. "Last chance. Are you going to be a good girl?" I blushed, closed my eyes and nodded my head. I wouldn't be helping myself by sitting here in pain but didn't want to see him enjoy his little win. His hand on my chin, holding my head steady. The sensation of something happening with my mouth, fingers brushing my lips, a tugging sensation. Cold air reaching my mouth. I closed my mouth. Swallowed the saliva that had been building up, almost gagged at the plastic taste of whatever he'd had in there. Then looked at him in shock, opened my mouth again. The gag went straight back in. He'd been ready, and my question became grunts. "Now now," he said, "You promised to be a good girl." I had, but that was before I'd tried to swallow, felt something on the top of my mouth, a stud in my tongue. I hadn't forgotten he'd pierced my tongue but feeling it was a shock nonetheless. Not least because of where I felt it. Tongue piercings are near the front of the tongue, seen teasingly when the mouth is open, a seductive promise possible by sticking your tongue out, revealing it past your teeth. I couldn't do that with this one. It was in too deep, must have been two inches along my tongue, maybe more. The confusion on my face seemed to amuse him. "Found the stud?" he asked. I nodded, wrinkled my brows in a puzzled frown at him. "It's not for show," he said, "It's for my pleasure." I thought about that, and didn't like where those thoughts took me. For him to get pleasure from that stud meant being that far into my mouth. Maybe further. I shivered. He grinned. "Let's try again," he said, pulling the gag from my mouth once more. I swallowed again but didn't try and speak, just enjoyed having my mouth closed. I opened it again as he put a pill to my lips, let him push it in. A glass held to my mouth, tilted, cool water filling my mouth. I swallowed it, the pill with it, then another mouthful. The glass was drawn away from my but I followed it, unexpected thirst needing to be satisfied. He laughed at that but brought the glass back, let me finish it. Moments later the gag was back in. I hadn't tried to speak but he didn't want to give me the chance. Instead he used my shoulders to lower me back to the floor and rolled me over onto my stomach. "That's a very cute look," he said, a firm slap on the padding covering my bottom making it clear which look he liked. It didn't hurt, physically, just the reminder of what I was wearing, what that meant. It made me think about that, made me realise my bladder was ready for release. Another thing I hadn't noticed. Not something I had time to worry about, instead trying to track what he was doing to me now. He'd reached under my shoulders, lifted my upper body off the floor and was now dragging me across the room. "There," he said, "Now, lets get you turned around." He picked up my ankles and pulled them with him as he walked around me, swivelling me on my bottom. My eyes widened as a wooden chair came into view, its seat around the height of my eyes. I looked up at him in confusion. He didn't notice, or didn't care. Maybe both. His focus was on fastening my ankles to the back legs of the chair, leaving my legs spread uncomfortably wide around its front legs. Getting the second ankle fastened made that worse, as he pulled me right up to the chair, its strange curved cut-out at the front now against my face, making me close my eyes. "Thought that might be a bit high," he said, walking around behing me. "Come on, up we go." He reached down as he said that, lifted me, and I felt him kicking something in under me. As he released me again I found it was a padded cushion that raised me higher, enough that my chin was now just above the height of the seat. I pulled my head back, looked at the chair now that I could see it better. It was a sturdy wooden chair, but with a curved cut-out in front and, I could now see, a hinged section that could swing around in front of it, leaving a hole a few inches wide in the seat at the front of the chair. I already knew the seat was the right height for someone sat on a cushion in front to rest their chin on it. Now I realised they wouldn't have a choice, if their head was placed at that height in the cut out at the centre, and the front of the chair swung into position, clipped into place. It was like a pillory, but holding the head upright rather than facing down. This would leave someone sat in that position facing the crotch of anybody sitting in it. He tugged me into position, fastened the curved wooden bar behind my neck, and sat there in front of me, his crotch brushing my nose. That was his next target, gripping it with one hand and pulling it painfully up. I opened my mouth to gasp with the pain and his other hand pushed something into it, prevented me closing it again. Obviously I tried struggling free. My ankles had a little flex, letting me change the angle of my knees, but I couldn't get them free, couldn't move away from the chair. With him sat in it I couldn't move the chair either, although with my neck in that wooden embrace I'd have had to go with it. My arms remained tied firmly behind my back, wrists together, stopping me even reaching the diaper I knew was wrapping my freshly shaved body. All I could do was watch in horror with a sense of inevitable doom as he unzipped his jeans and pulled out his flaccid penis. He reached down beside the chair and picked up another cushion, pushed it back behind him so he could comfortable sit right up against my distended jaw, allowing his penis to rest inside my unwillingly gaping mouth. I'd guessed we'd end up like this, after finding out about the piercing, but was confused anyway. He made no attempt to make me lick him, arouse him, just lifted his legs onto the table behind me, leaned back and turned on the tv. Actually sat there drinking beer, his cock in my drooling mouth, otherwise ignoring me. I tried talking to him, the thing holding my mouth open and the thing inside it preventing proper words. He didn't try and interpret them, didn't respond, just watched TV. Had another beer. That reminded me of the drink I'd had earlier, the coffee I'd had with breakfast. They'd finished with me, wanted back out, and I didn't think he'd gone to the effort of diapering me, tying me up and fastening me into this chair just to let me go to the toilet now. So yes, of course I did. I sought relief for my bladder, as that was the only thing I could control. Hot humiliation as hot liquid spread around my crotch and my bottom. Strange sensations as the padding wrapping those swelled. He must have noticed. "Have you wet yourself yet?" he asked. My blush was the only reply he needed. His response wasn't verbal, made itself known in my mouth not his, as he started to get erect. The drool had made my mouth very wet, now my tongue could taste him making it wetter, his body generating lubricant it didn't need. We sat there a while longer, the warmth down below cooling off, becoming a damp clammy feel. I wondered if he'd take it off if I asked, if he'd insist on replacing it with another diaper. At least that would be clean, dry. The football finished, he turned the TV off and turned his focus to me. "How's your diaper?" he asked, "Do you want a change?" My face must've been a picture. Disgust at having him in my mouth, distress at being in a wet diaper, desire to be taken out of it, horror at being changed into a clean one, humiliation at him knowing all those feelings and not wanting to show them. The semi erect penis in my mouth revealed I'd shown them, and its increased rigidity told me he liked that I had those feelings, liked being able to force me to experience such humiliation. I tried to pull back, avoid choking on what was now entirely filling my mouth, tried again to bite down on it. All that did was make the piercing rub him from underneath, make my lips gently brush against the base of his shaft. He liked that, started rocking back and forth. My neck trapped in that wooden embrace stopped me moving my head away, whatever he'd put between my teeth prevented me from stopping him, and that stud in my tongue, so far back in my tongue, did its insidious job, arousing him as he thrust repeatedly into me. I sat there helpless, a plaything for his entertainment, unable to respond or react even as he put his feet back on the floor, gave him better traction for his thrusts. Now his pubic mound was bouncing off my face each thrust, his hair scant protection from what felt like being hit in the mouth every second. If being hit in the mouth included several inches of penetration and a ball sack bouncing off your chin. As his orgasm approached fortunately the thrusts were shorter even as they were quicker. My drool kept him sliding easily between my lips and the painful bumps from his crotch had pretty much stopped now. The weird sensation of him rubbing against the piercing had not, was intensified, made me realise how effective it was - at both its jobs. It was there to arouse him, and it was doing just that, but that meant me being penetrated, humiliated, taking him deep into my mouth, and I was doing that, whether I wanted to or not. Maybe in other circumstances I'd have wanted to. Give him a blow job, but with me in control. I wasn't in control here, I was his fuck toy, and he was face fucking me now with increasing pace. In a blow job you can control when orgasm happens. I had no control here, knew it was imminent but not when, was breathing in at just the wrong moment. I choked, spluttered, my mouth suddenly full of a thick salty taste, and the drool dripping down my chin was suddenly joined by another liquid - and not just my tears which had finally come, at the moment he did. A couple more thrusts and he stopped, leaned back in the chair, his breathing calming as his penis softened. It was still in my mouth, occasional little pulses, more liquid that I didn't want on my tongue. I just sat there, staring at the pubic hair that had been my sole vista for over an hour now, hot with anger and frustration at my helplessness and feelings of humiliation. I didn't move; couldn't move, couldn't talk, my mouth still gaping and plugged. A minute later he finally spoke. "Ah, that's better," he said, "my bladder is bursting and I was never going to be able to go with an erection like that." I looked up in panic. Was he planning to..? No. He was getting up instead, his penis sliding from my mouth, leaving a trail of stickiness down my chin and on the seat of the chair before he stepped over me, dragging it up my face and across my hair. I shook with rage at this treatment, on top of everything else he'd done, but he ignored me, took the hateful device from my mouth and I could finally close it, swallow all that drool, everything else in there. While I was doing that he was unfastening my ankles, then released my neck from its restraint. I would've collapsed then, fallen backwards onto my bound arms, but he was stood there, held me up. Reached below my arms and pulled me upright, held me steady until I'd got me feet below me, remembered how they work, fought through the pain of blood flow returning to them and finally stood up without needing his help. He was taller than me, my head reaching only his shoulders. That made his next action easier, one arm wrapped around me, just below my shoulders, the other pulling the front of my cold sodden diaper out so he could flop his still wet penis over the top, dangling down from my belly button into the diaper. I knew what he was about to do before he did it but that didn't lessen the shame. As his hot urine soaked my skin, made my newly shaved area sting, caused the diaper to swell further I wept in raw distress. He'd pierced my tongue, pierced my mouth; now he was piercing my dignity. The emotion overwhelmed me and as I rested my head against his shoulder I finally allowed him his well earned victory, needing his strength to hold my collapsing body as ripple after soul searing ripple of violent orgasm flooded through me, even as he continued to flood my diaper. Later, while he was finally changing my soaking diaper, I looked up at him and asked shyly, "When's the next match?"

Thank you for devising your own brand, and it's always a delight when my stories inspire others, even if it's basically a rewrite of Supersoft Fluffies. I do though like that rather than Supersoft's faux "we're here to help the unfortunately incontinent" your brand takes a different approach. The full range of Supersoft products is detailed (in reverse chronological order) here: https://stories.annaumea.me.uk/wp/category/supersoft/

This story is complete and will not be continued.