vastabdl

[vastabdl]

I am unfortunately out of diapers until next month, So back to big girl undies ;-; wish me luck, Hope I don't mess them

[vastabdl]

CAN SOMEONE HELP PAY FOR MY MONTHLY DIAPERS FOR THIS MONTH? IT WOULD BE GREAT!

DM me for my paypal

[vastabdl]

Don’t pass without Reblog if you want to be humiliated

[vastabdl]

You know what I think diapered tgirls don't deserve?

Stamina.

We should be making cutesy little cummies in our pampers if a CG so much as looks too hard at us, constantly whining and squirming as we have three different kinds of accidents in the thick, crinkly diaps we're addicted to, not trying to please our partners with our useless little girl-cocks.

I mean, seriously, why would we need to last a long time? For sex? Don't make me laugh, pants-packing transfems don't get to have sex like that, penetration is for grown-ups, and potty training failures clearly aren't grown-up (and never will be)

And sure, denial is a classic, well known for its effectiveness in reducing the notoriously weak-willed, chronically masturbating padded tgirl into desperate, pliable submission, but I'd submit to you that turning your beloved little stinker into a premature ejaculator is an even better method of control!

Firstly, what's more babyish than being completely unable to control a basic bodily function adults take for granted?

And second, can you imagine the thrill of reducing your sub to cringing, incoherent mess, begging you for a change, just by flashing some skin or groping them? By breaking their brains and teensy little cocks, you're making them deeply and irreversibly dependent. A quickshot little diaperslut will only ever attract dominants, so there's no escaping their submission, ever, and they'll be sure to stick close to you at all times, frantic for changies and protection from the big, scary, sexy adults that can reduce them to a snivelling, spasming, sticky little toddler with the barest hint of cleavage or a muscled arm.

Plus, with enough practice, you can make your overgrown pathetic Betsy Wetsy doll make handsfree cummies through a cute little chastity cage, because of course, diaper girls don't need erections.

[vastabdl]

"I am the Pretty Guardian, who fights for Love and for Justice! I am Sailor Moon! And now in the name of the Moon, I'll punish you!"

[vastabdl]

[vastabdl]

Send me everything you have 😍🥰

[vastabdl]

[vastabdl]

[vastabdl]

i love diapers and want to be diapered forever

[vastabdl]

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.

[vastabdl]

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Beast of Burden

You barely had time to pull up your pants to cover your diaper when she barged in. If she was surprised by your awkward position on the floor, she didn’t show it.

She walked straight to you. Her smile never faltering. She kneeled uncomfortably close, without any regard for the situation or your personal space.

You shivered as she got closer to you. The way she moved—the confidence in every movement—terrified you. It was like watching a tiger stroll through the jungle. She moved like her place atop the food chain was her divine right. Unquestionable.

She had nothing to fear. Unlike you.

It happened before you could react. Before you had any chance to stop her.

She reached down at your diaper, grabbing a handful of your soggy megmax and squeezing it, testing its fullness.

It was so casual. As if she had every right to check your diaper. As if your diaper was as much hers as the contents of her purse.

You were paralyzed by shock. Nobody knew about your incontinence or the diapers you’ve worn for the past 3 months.

“W-who…who are you?” you manage to say with great difficulty.

She just smiled, wordlessly pulling down your pants, exposing your soggy diaper.

“What the fu—!” you start yelling.

“Hush,” she chided, her tone leaving no room for disobedience. Despite every instinct telling you to argue, you stay silent.

“Good boy,” she purred, “you don’t need to be embarrassed. Now lay back and let me take care of this diaper for you.”

Her hand presses against your chest, forcing you down. She’s surprisingly strong. You couldn’t resist even if you wanted to.

She reaches into your bag, grabbing supplies without a trace of uncertainty. She pulls out a spare megamax, wipes, and powder, her gaze never leaving you.

Your first tab is ripped open, sending a wave of terror through you. Then the second. A terrible, horrible countdown to your embarrassing fate.

The third tab rips. No, no, no. This can’t be happening.

A final rip announces itself. You’re powerless to stop her. You close your eyes, hoping it’s a dream.

You feel the soggy diaper pulled away from you, cold air assaulting you. You wince in utter humiliation.

She giggles. A short, playful giggle. Barely audible, yet it hits you like a sonic boom.

A cold wipe is thrust unceremoniously onto your delicate areas. Nothing about her businesslike efficiency giving any hint of flirtation.

The wiping pauses. You hear your next diaper being expertly fluffed while the cold air assaults your exposed privates.

Your legs are suddenly thrust into the air. You squirm ineffectually as she wipes your bum clean. Your face burning violently in embarrassment.

You’re lowered onto a freshly fluffed diaper. Powder snows onto you before she diligently rubs it in, her hand showing no hesitation in rubbing your sensitive areas.

She claps her hands in finality, still smiling down at you, her condescending gaze drilling a deep hole in your ego.

Your diaper is pulled up. She quickly fidgets with the fit. Once satisfied, she gets to work taping you up.

“There. All clean, little one! You did such a great job for me! You weren’t fussy at all!”

All you can do is stare up at her. Somehow, the completely exposed diaper she taped on you is the least of your concern.

Why is she talking to you like that? You’re not some baby!

“Oh stop looking so surprised, cutie! Your soggy diaper was so obvious I couldn’t help myself. We both know you weren’t at this party to get laid. Diaper boys like you don’t get laid—they get diaper changes.”

“W-what?! These are my friends!” you whimper.

“They were! Well, before your diapers! They’re not your equals anymore, honey. They’re your superiors. You’re in diapers.”

“It’s just a medical condition!”

“Then why didn’t you tell anyone? That’s what I thought. Because you know what being in diapers means. You know you’re a diaper boy. And yet you had the audacity to show up and pretend you’re not a whiny diaper boy. That’s not okay with me, baby.”

“I was just waiting for the right time to tell everyone!”

“Well, don’t you worry about that. I’ll take care of telling the party about your diapers. You can either take my hand and follow me to tell everyone. Or, you can run away and I’ll still tell everyone anyway.”

“Or you can not tell everyone..”

“I could! But I won’t. You’re lying to everyone here pretending to be something you’re not—an adult. If you come with me, I’ll take care of you. I’ll make sure your diapers are changed and nobody teases my diaper boy. Maybe I’ll even give you diaper rubs when you’ve been extra good!”

“And if I don’t?” you say with a false bravado that she sees right through.

“You’ll be all alone. Your friends will know what you are: a diaper boy. You’ll stop being invited to parties because they don’t need some diapered baby bringing down the vibe. No girl will ever give you a second glance. You’ll be all alone in soggy diapers.”

You stutter randomly trying to comprehend your fate.

She gets up, heading towards the door. “Up to you, diaper boy.”

“I-okay! I-I’ll do it!” you plead.

“Good boy,” she coos, reaching out her hand, “you’re such a cutie. Mommy will take great care of you, I promise.”

“M-mommy?” you mutter as she pulls you out the door.

She ignores your concerns, squeezing your hand.

“Ready to start your new life, baby?” she whispers in your ear.

She’s already getting everyone’s attention before you can respond.

You stare at her captive audience, waiting for your life to change forever…

[vastabdl]

Imagine (AB/DL Story by CradleQuill)

This content is intended for consenting adults aged 18 and older. All characters depicted within this material are fictional and at least 18 years of age. _

Imagine still needing diapers at your age. Imagine liking them too. You just sit there all day, filling your pants like a helpless little baby. That's what gets you off, isn't it? Feeling helpless and pathetic. Knowing you're too little to even make it to the potty on your own.

You just want to be a complete and total baby all the time. You don't want to have to worry about adult responsibilities. You just want to sit there in your full pampers, literally wearing your potty. Letting your mind get dumber and dumber as you slowly unpotty train yourself a little more each day.

Because in the end, deep down, you don't want to be able to go back. There's a part of you secretly hoping one day you'll wake up in a wet diaper that you're certain was dry when you fell asleep. And that part of you hopes it won't realize how far you've fallen until it's too late to go back. You don't want to have to make choices, isn't that right, little one? You might as well have every choice taken from you, even if that means never getting to decide when it's convenient for you to fill your pants.

Something tells me you'd be happier that way. You'd get to be the little baby you've always dreamed of being. No more adult worries or expectations. Just diapers and stuffies and Daddy changing you after you've pottied all over yourself again. This really is the life you want, isn't it? If you admit it and beg me, maybe I'll make all your little wishes come true.

[vastabdl]

Cuckquean diaper hood ideas :

Taping the diaper around your cuck’s face and drawing a big smiley mouth on the tape so everyone knows how much she loves her pissy diapers all over her face (alternatively, letting your lover do this to the cuck..)

Gagging your cuck with your lover’s wet panties before wrapping her diaper around her head. Nothing cuter than a cuckie girl with a wet diaper hanging from her neck, whining and pleading as she dreads the inevitable, only to be silenced by a superior woman’s panties shoved in her mouth, and a diaper taped firmly over her face.

You or your lover pissing a diaper to then be taped around your cuck’s face. Make her tell you both how much she loves to wear her superiors’ peepees. And when her words are too muffled by the diaper to make out what she’s saying, have her keep repeating it louder and clearer each time (maybe you or your girlfriend can film this even).

Taping a picture of your lover’s face over your cuck’s dumb diaper face.

Securing the diaper to her head by tying it in a stupid little bow under her chin.

Referring to your cuck as you and your lovers little peepee head.

Writing mean and embarrassing things all over her diaper hood for you and your lover to laugh at (bonus points because cuckie won’t know what you wrote until it’s taken off, if you even let her see then, letting her know also you and your lover snapped some great pix beforehand.) Hoods are so dehumanizing as is, but now that you’ve turned her into a faceless pisshead, replace her identity with whatever you and your lover like for that day and write it all over her diaper hood.

Take a group photo of you three while she’s hooded. You and your lover embracing with only eyes for each other, while cuckie kneels on the floor with just your hand atop her diaper hooded head. What a nice memory to have of you, your lover, and who else was that again?

Calling for cuckie to come to you while she’s blindfolded by her own piss. Mocking and laughing at her when she runs into something or goes the wrong way or falls over. Asking her what’s so hard about it and encouraging her that it might be easier if she just crawls.

Making her beg and plead to be hooded during you and your lover’s intimate time, in effect training her to be turned on by the smell of her used padding and to desire being your depraved, nasty little bitch. Make her admit how much she loves it and prefers to be this way, how much lower she sinks when like this.

If/when a used diaper/pull up can’t be used, pull your lovers panties over her head, maybe even multiple pairs, maybe secure them all in place with a pair of panty hose tied in an adorable bow under her chin. Letting her know how stupid and clueless she looks wearing your girlfriend’s underwear on her head like that.

Putting her little girl panties over the used pull-ups around her face (so close, yet always so far..) Or putting a pair of your lover’s panties over it, as a reminder of what she’s too immature to be granted access to (Or, fuck it, stack them all up- pull-up hood first, then her moronic little girl panties, then your lover’s sexy lace; a perverse little display of the hierarchy in the relationship)

Refer to it as her princess crown, and invite your lover over unannounced while your little cuckie princess prances around with her used pull ups on her head. Sneak into her playroom taking videos as shes lost in play with her idiotic crown on. Grab her attention as you and your lover stand there filming, and tell her to wave to the camera for mommy and dada!

If cuckie leaks in the night, rub her face in those piss soaked sheets in front of your lover before you tape her sodden diapers around her head. Tell your lover it’s your cuck’s bedwetting hood of shame.

Above all, make her behave as though she genuinely enjoys it and likes it and wants it. She better be laughing and smiling and begging hard for it. Enforce gratitude when she’s hooded, you and your lover want to hear how thankful she is to you both for making her into your stinky, gross, undesirable, little peepee head.