kylefox33 - Tumblr blog

kylefox33 · 14 days ago

Text

The Bedwetting Lie

Evan met Lila at a cozy coffee shop on a rainy spring afternoon. Her laugh was bright, her eyes warm, and within weeks, they were inseparable—laughing through late-night movies, sharing secrets under dim streetlights. But Evan carried a secret of his own, one he’d never dared whisper to anyone. He craved the softness of diapers, the secret thrill of wetting them in the dark, a desire he’d buried since adolescence. When their relationship deepened and sleepovers became routine, he saw his chance.

“I… I have a bedwetting problem,” he confessed one evening, his voice trembling with feigned shame as they lay in her bed, the city humming outside. “I need to wear diapers at night. I’m really sorry—I should’ve told you sooner.”

Lila’s hand found his, her touch gentle. “Oh, Evan, it’s okay. We all have our things. I don’t mind at all.” Her acceptance was a balm, and that night, he slipped into a thick, absorbent diaper under the covers, heart pounding with excitement. He waited until she was asleep, then quietly wet it, the warmth spreading, fulfilling a fantasy he’d held for years. Every night after, he maintained the lie, waking before dawn to ensure the diaper was soaked by morning, reinforcing the illusion of a medical necessity.

For months, their nights were a haven of acceptance. Lila never flinched, never judged, even helping him adjust the tapes on occasion with a smile. Evan felt a mix of guilt and exhilaration, the diapers becoming a secret addiction he couldn’t shake.

But secrets unravel. One evening, Lila stumbled upon an open tab of diaper fetish porn on Evan's laptop. As she clicked through more she found stories about faking bedwetting to be in diapers at night. Her heart sank, then hardened. “Evan,” she said later, her voice sharp as she confronted him in her living room, hands on her hips, “you’ve been lying to me. You don’t have a bedwetting problem, do you? This was all a game to wear diapers and play some sick little fantasy, wasn’t it?”

Evan’s face flushed, words stumbling over themselves. “I—I can explain. I just… I liked wearing them. I didn’t mean to hurt you. It started as a… a kink, but—”

“Stop wearing them,” she demanded, cutting him off, her eyes cold and piercing. “Now. I’m not playing your games anymore.”

But it was too late. The months of diapers, the nightly routine of wetting while lying in bed, the alarms he’d set to wake and reinforce the habit—it had rewired something in him. His bladder, once obedient, now betrayed him. A week after her demand, he woke in her bed, damp sheets clinging to his skin, the diaper he’d reluctantly stopped wearing uselessly dry on the floor. It happened again the next night, and the next. Panic set in as he realized the lie had become his truth.

Lila noticed the wet patches, the shame in his eyes. At first, she scoffed, thinking it was another act. “Still pretending, huh? Still playing your pathetic diaper game?” she sneered, crossing her arms. But after three nights of undeniable evidence—sheets soaked, his face crumbling—she finally believed it. Yet her acceptance had vanished, replaced by a cruel edge that cut deeper than any rejection.

“You did this to yourself, Evan,” she snarled one morning, standing over him as he fumbled with a fresh diaper, the scent of urine lingering in the air. “Look at you—pathetic, needing diapers every night like a baby. Did you think this would be cute? Did you think I’d keep coddling you after you lied to my face?” Her laughter was sharp, mocking, as she pointed at the bulky padding around his waist. “What kind of man wets his bed and needs a diaper to hold his mess? You’re disgusting.”

The humiliation grew, a weight pressing on Evan’s chest. “Please, Lila, I didn’t mean for it to go this far,” he whispered, voice trembling.

“Oh, shut up,” she snapped. “You wanted this. Say it—say you wanted to be a bedwetting loser who needs diapers.” When he hesitated, her voice turned ice-cold. “Say it, or I’ll make you wear that soggy diaper all day and parade you around the apartment.”

“I… I wanted this,” he mumbled, heat rising to his cheeks. “I wanted to be a bedwetting loser who needs diapers.”

“Louder,” she demanded, smirking. “And add, ‘I don’t need pussy—I only need my warm, pissy diapers.’”

Evan’s stomach churned, but he obeyed, voice cracking. “I don’t need pussy—I only need my warm, pissy diapers.”

She clapped slowly, her eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. “Good boy. Now, you’ll wear that diaper all day as your punishment. Let’s see how much you love being my little bedwetter.” She forced him to sit on the couch, the wet, clammy fabric squishing uncomfortably against his skin, the smell of urine mixing with the faint scent of baby powder he’d used in a futile attempt to mask it. “Tell me, Evan,” she said, leaning in close, her breath hot against his ear, “how does it feel to know you can’t control yourself? How does it feel to be stuck in this soggy mess you made?”

“It… it’s humiliating,” he admitted, voice barely audible, his face burning. “I hate it, but… I can’t stop.”

“Perfect,” she said, her tone dripping with venom. “Because you’re mine to humiliate now. You’ll spend half the day in your dummy diaper, and I’ll make sure you never forget what a pathetic bedwetter you are.”

She withheld sex, her touch replaced by taunts that pierced his soul. “Look at you, humping your pissy diapers in the middle of the night like some desperate animal,” she’d say, watching him squirm. “You don’t deserve me—you don’t deserve anything but that soggy padding. Tell me again—why don’t you need my pussy?”

“Because… because I’m a bedwetting loser who only needs his warm, pissy diapers,” he choked out, each word a stab of shame.

When he would beg her for some time with her soft warm body and pussy, her only response would be to hand him a diaper with a look of disappointment. He was getting any "action", it was going to be in his little diaper.

Her cruelty escalated. She’d shove her hips toward him, pressing her camel toe pussy against his face, taunting, “You’ll never feel the inside of this again—only your warm, wet diapers. Smell it, but don’t you dare touch. This is mine, and you’re nothing but a diapered freak now.” The scent of her—musky, intoxicating—drove him wild, but she yanked away, leaving him trembling with longing.

Months passed, and Evan’s desire for her grew into an unbearable ache, a psychological torment that gnawed at his every waking moment. He lay in bed at night, the wet diaper pressed against his skin, the cold, clammy fabric a constant reminder of his shame. His mind raced with images of her—her smooth thighs, the curve of her hips, the warmth he’d once known. God, I want her pussy so bad, he thought, his chest tightening with desperation. It’s all I can think about—her taste, her heat, the way she used to moan under me. Now it’s gone, locked away, and I’m stuck here, humping this piss-soaked mess like it’s the only thing I’ll ever have.

The sensation was maddening. The diaper’s bulk rubbed against his thighs, the wetness seeping into his skin, a stark contrast to the fiery longing in his core. Each thrust against the padding was a pitiful imitation of what he craved—her body, her closeness. The ammonia scent stung his nostrils, mingling with the faint baby powder, a humiliating perfume that marked him as less than a man. His cock, hard and aching, pressed against the soggy fabric, the friction both torturous and pitifully inadequate. This isn’t enough, he thought, tears pricking his eyes. It’s cold, it’s wet, it’s disgusting—but it’s all I have. I’d give anything to feel her again, to bury myself in her, to prove I’m not just this… this diapered failure.

Lila grew colder, her taunts sharper. One evening, she decided to test him. “You’ve been denied so long, I bet you’d cum just seeing my pussy,” she said, a wicked glint in her eyes as she lounged on the couch, legs crossed. “Let’s see how pathetic you really are.” She hiked up her dress, revealing white panties, the fabric tight against her skin, outlining every curve. She pressed herself against his face, the thin lace brushing his lips, the scent of her overwhelming. “Do you want me, Evan?” she whispered, her voice a cruel tease.

“Yes, please,” he begged, his voice raw, his erection straining against the wet diaper. “I need you—I’ve never wanted anything more. Please, Lila, let me have you.”

She could see his arousal, the bulge unmistakable through the soggy padding. With a smirk, she untapped the diaper, the cold, clammy fabric falling away, leaving him throbbing and exposed. She spread her legs, gesturing him closer. “Fuck me, Evan. Long and hard. Now’s your chance.” She laid down on the bed with her dress still up revealing her tight butt and white panties. She gestured for him to lower her panties and take her pussy.

He lunged, heart racing, the scent of her—musky, intoxicating—filling his senses. He pulled her panties down her legs. Immediately the heat of her pussy was evident. He barely grazed her entrance, the heat of her body a fleeting promise, before his body betrayed him, spurting uncontrollably, a mess spilling between them. Lila’s laughter rang out, sharp and annoyed. “Look at you—can’t even last a second! This is why you’ll only ever cum in diapers,” she said, wiping her hands with disgust. “You’re not capable of fucking or satisfying a woman anymore. You can only hump your pissy diapers like the pathetic bedwetter you are.”

She softened slightly, her tone shifting to a mock consolation. “Maybe the diapers feel almost as good as pussy, right?” she said, patting his tiny, spent bulge as she taped him back into the cold, used diaper. The wet fabric squished against his skin, the ammonia smell stronger now, mingling with the baby powder’s faint sweetness. “You better get used to this, Evan. This is your life now—a diapered loser who can’t even handle a real woman.”

As she walked away, Evan stood there, the diaper’s bulk heavy and humiliating against his thighs, the cold wetness a constant reminder of his shame. I’ll never feel her again, he thought, his mind consumed by the image of her pussy—warm, inviting, forever out of reach. I want it so bad it hurts—every inch of me aches for her, but all I have is this pissy, clammy prison around my waist. I’m trapped, humping this diaper like it’s my only salvation, but it’s nothing like her. Nothing will ever be like her.

623 notes · View notes

kylefox33 · 19 days ago

Text

Little Lion Man

I’d do terrible, unforgivable things to be in any other position than this.

Don’t act like you wouldn’t, either. You’d be avoiding her too if you were in my position.

I never thought I’d be running off to poop my diaper, desperately hoping the stink wouldn’t give me away.

And yes, I know how childish and infantile that sounds.

Yet here I am.

“Honey, you don’t need to be so shy around me—I’m your babysitter! Poopy diapers are part of the job!”

Babysitter.

I hate having a babysitter. Of all the indignities of my new life, having a babysitter might be the worst.

I mean, how would you feel if your wife hired some random person to come over and watch you?

It’s not fun. Especially when “watching” includes checking and changing diapers.

My diapers.

“I…I wa-wasn’t shy! I just…just didn’t…”

Don’t laugh. You try sounding like an adult in front of her in a poopy diaper. You’d be muttering, too.

“Didn’t want your babysitter to pull back your diapie and find the pushie you left for her?”

Pretty much.

Diaper checks are just so demeaning. Hard to feel like an adult as I’m spun around and feel my diaper pulled back so someone can take a peek.

And it’s not like anyone ever asks me. They just do it. As if I don’t get any say just because I need diapers.

“Y-you don’t need to! I had a…a..accident, Miss Olivia.”

“You certainly did, you lil stinker! Doesn’t get you out of a diaper check, though, silly. I still need to see what I’m dealing with. Go on, turn around, handsome.”

I know what you’re thinking. You’d never let yourself be reduced to this. You would never let her spin you around and check your diaper. You’re not some baby, unlike me.

I’m sure you’d look adorable yelling and screaming like a toddler.

Not me. What’s the point in arguing anyway?

It doesn’t matter what I say or what I do—she will never think of me as an adult.

That ship has sailed.

All I can do is obediently let her check my diaper while I pretend she isn’t the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life.

I wish I could say I was used to it. But I’m not—and I don’t think I ever will be.

You don’t just “get used” to having a beautiful woman look at you like this. No different from any of the other actual babies she babysits.

She doesn’t see me as an adult. And she never will.

Until you’ve experienced it, you couldn’t possibly understand what it's like to believe you’re an adult. To have gone to college, have a job, and get married.

But knowing all she sees when she looks at me is an overgrown toddler in desperate need of a diaper change.

All I want is to have someone, anyone, acknowledge that I’m still an adult. Not some helpless baby in a poopy diaper.

“Good thing I checked, kiddo! You’re one wrong move away from a blowout! Let’s get that bummie on the changing table!”

“Hey!”

Ugh, I hate diaper pats.

Especially from her. Having this absolutely stunning woman think so little of me she playfully pats my poopy diaper is unmistakable proof of how she sees me.

You don’t pat someone like that if you respect them. She’d never pat her boss’s butt. That’s reserved specifically for silly babies.

“Sorry, mister, I couldn’t resist! That droopy little tushie was just asking for it!”

I doubt it, but it doesn’t matter what I think.

I don’t know what’s worse. This slow, horrible march to the changing table with her humming behind me while my crinkles sing along.

Or the messy diaper change barreling toward me when I get there.

Welcome to my life.

475 notes · View notes