V1nz

You know how to fuck with shy subs?

Roughly grab their chin, force them to look you into your eyes and ask them embarrassing questions and make them admit to embarrassing kinks until they’re flustered and blushing, close to crying because it’s so hot and it makes them so needy and horny but at the same time they’re so ashamed.

What a Girl Wants

Your best friend smiles sweetly at you as you waddle to her, grateful the music is loud enough to drown out the crinkling of your diaper.

Your loaded diaper.

You wonder if she saw you squatting down behind the bar, filling your diaper. You had been so careful finding a secluded space to do your business.

It wasn’t easy—the bar was busy as ever for a Saturday afternoon. But you’d even managed to slip away from Daddy! Surely nobody saw you!

Yet, as you approached Jen, you weren’t so sure.

Does she know?

“Hey, cutie!” Jen said happily over the Kesha song in the background, “You hear the song? This used to be our jam!”

It had been your jam, back in college. When you two were inseparable. All those memories came flooding back.

Those were the days.

Back when you wore bikinis, drank cheap vodka, and closed bars together. Back when you used to compete to see who could get the most numbers from boys, laughing at their desperate, pathetic attempts to hook up with you.

People say it’s time to grow up after you graduate college. Jen did—but not you.

“Sweetie?” Jen asked, “Earth to Emmy?”

You snapped out of your reverie—back to reality and your messy diaper.

“What? Oh, yeah!” you answered, “Gosh, this song reminds me of Spring Break! I miss it!”

Jen smiled again. You tried to hide your jealousy. Jen looked so beautiful in her bikini—and there you were, hoping to hide your bulging, messy diaper.

She takes a breath. “Emmy…come here,” she says seriously, “What’s going on? You’re hiding something…”

You take a tentative step forward. “A-am not!” you say too quickly, sounding more like a toddler than adult.

Jen laughs. “Oh? You’re not, are you? Then I see no reason why you’d be nervous for me to check that diaper of yours.”

“Jen!” you shriek, looking around nervously to see if anyone heard, “No!”

“I’m not gonna ask again, Emmy. Turn around. Now.”

Red-faced and near tears, you obey your best friend. You stand in front of her and move to turn around so she could check your diaper.

Before you do, Jen puts both hands on your shoulders, a stern, yet maternal look on her face.

“Honey, I’m not trying to embarrass you, okay? Your Daddy asked me to keep an eye on you. And that’s what I’m doing. Don’t think I didn’t see you at the bar. Were you making pushies?”

You summon all your strength to not cry. You can’t believe your best friend in the world now treats no differently than a toddler. And ask you—in public—if you made “pushies.”

“Y-yes, Jan,” you sigh.

“Thank you for being honest, honey,” Jen says turning you around, “I need to see if you’re about to have a blowout, though.”

Your face burns as you feel Jen lifting the back of your skirt with one hand, prodding at it with the other. It’s too much. You cover your face, unwilling to see if your infantile display has an audience.

“Looks like you’re fine for now, Emmy,” Jen said, playfully tapping your diaper, “But we should find your Daddy before you stink up the bar!”

“O-okay….,” you whisper, still covering your face.

“Oh, stop being so embarrassed, Emmy. This what you wanted!”

“I-I…I didn’t want…this!” you squeal, losing the battle against your tears.

“Emmy, come on. You asked Brad—I mean your Daddy—to wear diapers! You loved being his little princess! What changed?”

“Everything,” you thought to yourself.

Jen wasn’t wrong about that. But it wasn’t supposed to end like this. You didn’t mean to go this far.

“Everyone just treats me like a big baby now!” you scream, tears flowing down your cheeks, diaper swaying as you stomp your feet.

“Do you hear yourself, Emmy?” Jen said softly, “You’re throwing a tantrum at a bar in a poopy diaper while everyone watches! And you expect us to treat you any different?”

“Not a tantrum! I don’t want to wear diapers!”

Jen sighed, genuine sadness in her eyes. “Sweetie. Your diapers aren’t for fun anymore. You need them. You did this to yourself! What did you expect?”

“But! But!” you continue to sob, “Not a ba—mpgh.”

A pacifier is placed in your mouth, silencing you.

“Sounds like someone needs a nap,” Daddy says, “Sorry, Jen. I should’ve known she was due for a tantrum.”

Jen laughs, “I think she needs a new diaper first, Brad. Poor thing loaded her diaper a few minutes ago.”

Daddy lifts your skirt before you can react. Your diaper is unceremoniously checked for the second time in minutes.

“Pee-yew, Peanut!” Daddy says, “We better clean that tush, pronto!”

Jen stops Daddy. “I don’t know about the men’s room, but the women’s bathroom has a dedicated changing pad. It’ll be tight, but Emmy can fit. I don’t mind changing her!”

“Are you sure, Jen?” Daddy asks skeptically, “That diaper is full of her poopy!”

“Really, Brad, it’s no big deal! She’s my best friend! We’ve been friend since we were in diapers! I guess some things never change, huh Emmy?”

You’re startled back into focus. “I..ummm….”

“Here’s her diaper bag. Be generous with the cream, something tells me this won’t be her last stinky today.”

Jen grabs your diaper bag from Daddy, reaching her hand out for you. “Grab my hand, cutie. Don’t want you getting lost with a poopy diaper!”

You sheepishly take her hand, ignoring the laughing of the crowd.

“Don’t mind them, Emmy,” Jen coos, “They just think you’re adorable with your diaper dropping below your skirt. You’re still as popular as you were in college!”

Okay, I'm a bit embarrassed to say, I came while imagining Barbie doing this for you... I mean, you wear her key, so it just seems right she'd wear something too, right?? Anyway, not sure if this counts as a "Barbie-caused" orgasm, but wanted to let you know, if you decide it does.. Anything to help Barbie get that number down, is my motto... ;-)

Oh I love that idea! We’ll have to try this!! 🥰

I’ll count it, thanks for letting me know to help Barbie.

@barbie4princess

I took my wife out for a meal and then to the theatre. Neither venue was of the type that allowed public reprimands, and throughout the journey back, I knew she would be getting her whip out as soon as we got home.

Now do the same to my backside and I might accept your apology.

It’s about her lifestyle now, not your fantasy.

I've got to admit, I can't seem to stay away from your blog (That seems to be a reoccurring theme around here.) Keeping a boy on an academically tied release schedule sounds like the perfect way to keep college students in line (And just what I need 😅). Have you kept any other boys on unusual schedules before?

I’m very pleased to hear it! Come! See! (Just don’t cum.)

I’m sort of constantly setting “goals” for chaste boys. I don’t always put a ton of thought or planning into it. I just dish out assignments as I think of them. Let’s see. So, just off the top of my head, within the last couple days:

 I gave one married man an assignment to make dinner every day for the next 14 days.

 I told one young chap that his orgasm depended on the outcome of a cricket game. (I know next to nothing about cricket so we’ll see what happens.)

I made one guy roll a pair of 12-sided dice to determine the number of days until release.

I checked in on a student whose orgasms are tied, not to grades, but to the number of social events he attends. He’s a veritable hermit and he needs to get out and make friends. This is one of my favorite things to do, by the way.

I implied a man might be getting out if he sent me flowers. The flowers arrived and I sent him pictures of me entertaining guests with the flowers in full view. A small key was nestled into the arrangement. No release, though. Woops!

I checked up on several men in weight loss chastity. That’s always ongoing. It’s fun to watch the pounds melt away.

Played the most dangerous guessing game: Guess the date I’m thinking. Guess too low and you get punished by adding double or triple the difference. Guess too high and, well, obviously you are prepared to do that many days. You can keep that date.

“Shhhh…!”

Toni Tywin clasped a black leather-gloved hand firmly over the mouth of the bemused and frightened Franklin, rudely awoken from his half-slumber in the warm liquid luxury of his jacuzzi. How this blonde with the extravagant ponytail, the black catsuit and the gleaming smile had managed to overcome his state of the art digital security, Franklin knew not. As the woman placed a finger to her lips to indicate his complete silence, what the software inventor who owed too much money to all sorts of wrong people, did know was that he was in serious trouble.

As for Toni, her performative handgagging was, she reflected, something of a habit now. After all, she didn’t care what her victim’s last words, pleas, cries or denials were…

Source: the extraordinary femdom digital artist gabimcs, who posts on Deviant Art. From one of his Killer Femdom series, More Fiercer Than The Male.