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Bondage Predicament Part2 Video

im gay and want a boyfriend

reblog if you are also gay and want a boyfriend

In the quiet confines of my dimly lit apartment, I stood before the mirror, my reflection a distorted echo of the man I had become. The image staring back at me was not my own but that of Vaughn, my coworker, whose physique and life I had coveted with a burning envy.

The opportunity to enact my plan came unexpectedly one Friday evening after work. Vaughn was in the office gym, his usual post-work routine of lifting weights and showcasing his physique. I had prepared the serum in a small syringe hidden in my gym bag. As he finished his set and was stretching, I approached him with a friendly smile, holding a protein shake in one hand.

"Hey Vaughn, I made this new protein shake recipe. Want to try it out? I think you'll love the results," I offered, feigning camaraderie. He looked at me, a bit surprised but intrigued, and nodded. As he took the shake from my hand, I quickly moved behind him, pretending to adjust the weights. In one swift motion, I plunged the needle into the side of his neck, the serum entering his bloodstream before he could react.

Vaughn's eyes widened in shock, his hand reaching for his neck, but it was too late. The serum worked fast, his body beginning to tremble as I stepped back, watching the process unfold. "Sorry, Vaughn," I whispered, "but I need this more than you do."

His body started to deflate, the muscles losing their definition as if the air was being let out of a balloon. His skin sagged, becoming loose and pliable, his once proud physique collapsing in on itself. Within minutes, what stood before me was not the muscular, confident Vaughn, but a hollow shell of his former self, his skin now a suit ready to be worn.

With a mixture of awe and excitement, I approached the deflated form. Carefully, I began the process of donning his skin. I started with his feet, sliding my own into the empty space, feeling the warmth of his skin enveloping mine. I worked my way up, pulling the skin over my legs, feeling the strength of his muscles now mine as I adjusted them to fit perfectly. His torso was next, the sensation of his abs and chest wrapping around me was surreal, a perfect fit as if tailored for me.

As I reached his face, I paused, looking into the empty eyes of what was once Vaughn. "I had no idea what package you were hiding under those pants." I said to the empty shell, a smirk playing on my lips. I pulled the skin over my head, adjusting it around my features until I was looking through his eyes, feeling his beard on my chin.

Finally, I stood fully transformed, adjusting to the new muscles, the new face. "But now, it's mine. All of it. Your strength, your charm, and yes, even this body," I continued, speaking to my reflection as if he could hear me.

I ran my hands down the toned abs, feeling the power that now belonged to me. The thought of what I could do with this new identity was intoxicating. "Imagine the possibilities," I mused, my voice still adjusting to the deeper timbre of Vaughn's. "An account on TikTok? Nah, too mainstream. Instagram? Overdone. But an account on... Onlyfans?" A wicked grin spread across my stolen face.

The idea thrilled me. Vaughn had a following, built from his gym posts, his lifestyle shots, always tastefully done, always leaving people wanting more. But now, I could take it further, push the boundaries, explore the depths of this new persona. I'd document the journey, the transformation, the life I had stolen.

I felt a rush of excitement as I thought about the content I could create, the allure of this new skin I wore. "You would've never thought about doing this, Vaughn," I said, almost apologetically to the reflection. "But I will. I'll make this life something extraordinary, something that will make them all jealous."

In my new voice, with my new body, I began to plan. The mirror reflected my ambition, my new identity, and the life I was about to live. Vaughn was gone, and in his place stood someone new, someone ready to take the world by storm, one subscriber at a time.

And as I stepped away from the mirror, I felt no remorse, only anticipation for what was to come. "Welcome to your new life, Vaughn," I whispered, knowing full well that it was now mine.

What every mommy like to hear:

I love you mommy

9 ingredients for taming your slave, results guaranteed…

1. CHASTITY

Lock its genitals in order to restrict access. Make sure it is chaste most of the time, free only in your presence from time to time. This way, its body parts become your property and it is unable to play with itself, which ALL men do.

2. INSPECTIONS

This might seem like unnecessary play only but it is not. It send a strong impulse to its mind about who is in charge and has unlimited freedom. Do it on regular basis.

3. ROUTINES

Routines are very important, any kind of routine. To begin with, decide upon a daily routine with which it will show its respect and humility to you. Make sure there will be no skipping on routines.

4. DISCIPLINE

This is a complete must, done on daily basis. Discipline is the most essential ingredient. It doesn’t need to “deserve it”, it is simply necessary. Find the time and the will every day.

5. TEASE, EDGING, DENIAL

Having and keeping its balls full will ensure its full attention towards you. It will make it beg and it will make it soft on its mind. Have you tried it for hours? No? Try it. Bigger balls equals more obedience and willingness to do anything for you.

6. RUINED ORGASMS

Your slave needs to cum and it will do anything to cum. You will allow it to cum on occasion but you will also slowly take away its right to have that pleasure. Ruin iits orgasms often and make it thank you. In time you could easily have it pleasure-less and without actual orgasms, up to you. Remember, an orgasm is not a right, it is a health necessity. It is not a reward either. Yours are important and only orgasms that should be cherished.

7. HUMILIATION

As bad as this might sound, subtle ways of humiliation are extremely effective. It needs it, it wants it. Do it. Find ways, decide up on them and act upon them. Humiliation makes it more humble. Then humiliate some more, subtly.

8. USE IT, MAKE IT FEEL USED

slaves like being treated like objects or toys. So that’s just what you need to do, use it for your pleasure and needs and then simply discard it. It’s a play, nothing more but it works just fine. Make sure you train yourself for such acts properly, in order not to appear silly.

9. EMASCULATION & PEGGING

Chastising your slave is the begging of emasculation. Pegging is another great way to emasculate. Make it your bitch, bring out its feminine side. Bringing out its feminine side works beautifully in favor of emasculation. Emasculation kills the ego every man has. Ego is an absolute enemy. 

BBC rules

I want someone to put apple screen time on my phone so I can’t look at adult things anymore🥺🥺

Releasing ABDL Shame

I recently got a private message on Fetlife from a new guy-friend who, like me and so many others have, is struggling with the guilt and shame of having ABDL interests, particularly in light of his outward masculinity.  I thought I would repost my advice here in case it can be of any help to our Tumblr friends… while we aren’t by any means experts on shame or self-care, I thought perhaps my thoughts could help others.

—

For me, there have been a couple of core concepts that have helped me release that shame and guilt. I’ll share them here in full knowledge that these aren’t the kinds of things that seep in overnight: it took me a couple of years to deeply internalize them, and even today I have to remind myself at times that I lose self-compassion or feel threatened. So, be kind to yourself… this kind of self-integration is a process, and by reaching out to others you have started it brilliantly. Kudos for your bravery!

Everyone is masculine and feminine.

Seriously, we all contain both of these energies and their requisite traits in spades. Our culture tells us a lot about how we should feel, how each gender should act, etc., but most of it is polarized nonsense for the sake of quick characterization. (One researcher refers to it as a “social role heuristic,” basically a shortcut to understand where we fit in the pecking order). For a couple hundred millennia, males have been depended upon to be bigger, physically stronger, hunt, etc., and females have been depended upon to bear and nurse children, gather provisions, nurture community support, etc., and our cultural standards have developed around these necessities. Unfortunately, we have also lumped a whole lot of psychological concepts into these functional realities as our societies have gotten more complex and our ability to abstract has improved. So big/strong/independent has turned into a role and bear/gather/nurture has turned into a role which eventually turned into a set of beliefs which eventually turned into our concept of gender.

All that to say, you are both. You are strong and independent and tough and assertive. You are also soft, open, in need of love, tender, small, and weak. Both are true, and neither requires the other to go away in order for itself to exist. As Walt Whitman famously wrote, “I am large. I contain multitudes.” I go to work, I make command decisions, sometimes I guide millions of dollars and hundreds of jobs with my choices… and when I come sometimes I want to get diapered and taken care of, and both are equally awesome. Neither requires the other one to go away in order to be true. You need to be taken care of, just like everybody else, and don’t let the business suit or power play trick you into thinking you need to polarize. You don’t. Go kick ass during the day, come home and Little-out at night. Or vice versa. You are contain multitudes.

You are not broken.

Man, this is the crux of it. Sexuality is impossibly complex, and it exists at such a fundamental level in our brain development and evolution… it pre-dates conscious thought, and our conceptualizations of our sexuality are merely best-guesses at trying to characterize something wholly abstract and base-functioning.

To think of sexualities, regardless of how culturally deviant, as being character flaws or mistakes is to miss how sexuality works. If you don’t believe me, look at the NIH-funded studies that demonstrated how easy it is to create a lemon fetish in rats. Are these rats morally corrupt? Are they broken? Are they perverts? Are they broken? Nope… their sexual development happened to overlap with a sensory stimulus and they ended up with a fetish. Awesome. Anybody got any guesses on why men are attracted breasts? Yup. Because that’s how that works.

There is nothing wrong with you. There never was. Your sexuality may be different than most people you know, but it’s not broken.  There is no normal sexuality, and I guarantee that you are surrounded by dozens of men and women at work who have sexual fetishes, bizarre interests, turn-ons and practices that they work hard to hide from the world.

You deserve to try to be happy.

The pursuit of happiness is, as the US Declaration of Independence so eloquently puts it, an inalienable right. I think it’s an inherent trait; a motivational force built into each of us in some degree that drives behavior. So goddamnit, if something makes you happy and you can do it without violating others’ right to their pursuit of happiness, go after it. Few things make me as happy as diapering my wife, and few things make me feel as loved as being diapered. So I’m going to do it a lot; it’s fantastic. If I’m not doing it enough, I’m going to create time, and if I find I’m doing it too much, I’ll back it off, as it isn’t actually making me happy. Your pursuit of something that makes you happy isn’t just nice, it’s essential to embracing your own beautiful humanity. So fucking run after it; find your thing, and do it a lot. If your partner isn’t game, that’s OK… he/she doesn’t have to be, and he/she has a right to pursue happiness too, and you guys can work out how that will work for you. Pursuing happiness is part of valuing your own humanity; if you would want it for a friend, you can want it for yourself.

Let shame teach you, then let it go.

Shame and fear researcher Brenè Brown says it better than I ever could in her TED talk on shame:

“In surviving this last year, I was reminded of a cardinal rule — not a research rule, but a moral imperative from my upbringing — “you’ve got to dance with the one who brung ya”. And I did not learn about vulnerability and courage and creativity and innovation from studying vulnerability. I learned about these things from studying shame. And so I want to walk you in to shame. Jungian analysts call shame the swampland of the soul. And we’re going to walk in. And the purpose is not to walk in and construct a home and live there. It is to put on some galoshes — and walk through and find our way around.”

It’s OK to feel it.  It’s OK really dislike that feeling, too.  But let it teach you; let it tell you about your beliefs and your contradictions without judging yourself for feeling those things.  Then, when you’re ready, choose to begin to step out of it.  Avoiding shame (like avoiding any feeling) just compresses it into a more potent version of itself, and it comes out in dark and unpredictable ways.  Don’t try *not* to be shameful, but rather ask what it teaches you about yourself, then choose to replace shame with compassion as you walk out of the swamp.

I hope this is helpful, and I’m really glad you reached out; that moment of vulnerability is a moment of profound creative and renewing energy.

My Best,

RY

James' heart pounded in his chest as he heard the doorbell ring. He glanced at his wife, Jessica, who wore a mischievous grin. "Remember, behave like a good little baby," she whispered, her voice dripping with seductive intent.

Jessica opened the door to reveal Jennifer, the 21-year-old babysitter they had hired for the night. She was a petite brunette with an innocent face, but her eyes held a glint of mischief that matched Jessica's.

"Hello, Jennifer," Jessica said, her voice taking on a motherly tone. "Thank you for coming on such short notice. Unfortunately little James here can’t be trusted to stay home alone."

Jennifer nodded, her eyes flicking to James, who was dressed in nothing but a diaper. His face burned with embarrassment, but his manhood stirred beneath the soft fabric.

"I understand," Jennifer said, her voice barely hiding a smirk. "I'll take good care of him."

Jessica leaned in, her lips brushing against Jennifer's ear. "He likes to be teased," she whispered, her voice low and sultry. "And he has a bit of a... wetting problem."

Jennifer's eyes widened, but she nodded, understanding the game. Jessica gave her a knowing smile before turning to James. "Be good for Jennifer, baby," she said, her voice dripping with mock concern.

As Jessica left, James felt a shiver of excitement run down his spine. He was alone with Jennifer, at her mercy. He could already feel the wetness spreading in his diaper, the humiliation and arousal mixing into a potent cocktail.

Jennifer led him to the nursery, her hand firm on his arm. "I could tell when I arrived you already need a fresh diaper, don’t you baby?” She pushed him onto the changing table, expertly unfastening the tapes of his soaking wet diaper and exposing his erect member.

“Someone's excited," Jennifer teased, her fingers brushing against his hard length. James moaned, his face burning with embarrassment. Jennifer chuckled, her fingers tracing lazy circles around his tip.

She cleaned him up, her touch gentle yet firm. Grabbing a fresh diaper from the drawer, she places it under his bum, liberally applying baby powder and securely fastening the tapes.

Jennifer admired her work and couldn’t help but notice how cute James looked in his babyish garment, it even said ‘Pampers’ along the front, just like a real baby diaper!

“Now, does baby want his bottle?" she asked, her voice dripping with fake innocence. James nodded, his face flushed with desire.

Jennifer prepared a bottle, her movements slow and deliberate. She sat down on the rocking chair, pulling James onto her lap. He took the bottle, his mouth closing around the nipple.

Jennifer's hand snaked into his diaper, her fingers wrapping around his hard length. James moaned, his body tensing as she began to stroke him. The sensation of her hand inside his diaper, the humiliation of being treated like a baby, it was all too much.

He came with a muffled groan, his body shaking with the force of his orgasm. Jennifer chuckled, her hand slowing to a stop. "Good baby," she cooed, her voice filled with satisfaction.

James lay in her arms, his body spent. He could feel his diaper growing heavy, the wetness spreading. He blushed, his heart pounding in his chest.

Jennifer stood up, carrying him to the crib. She laid him down, her fingers tucking him in. "Sleep tight, baby," she whispered, her voice filled with warmth.

As James drifted off to sleep, he could hear Jessica returning. He could hear their whispers, their laughter. He knew they were talking about him, about his little... accident.

He blushed, his body tensing at the thought. He was embarrassed, yes, but he was also excited. He couldn't wait for the next time.

Jessica entered the nursery, her eyes softening as she looked at James. She leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear. "You were a good baby tonight," she whispered, her voice filled with pride.

James blushed, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew he had pleased her, and that was all that mattered. He closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep with a smile on his face.

The next morning, James woke up to find Jennifer gone and Jessica standing over him. She was dressed in a silk robe, her hair tousled from sleep. "Did you have a good night, baby?" she asked, her voice filled with amusement.

James blushed, his body tensing at the memory. He nodded, his face burning with embarrassment. Jessica chuckled, her hand reaching out to stroke his cheek. "Good," she said, her voice filled with satisfaction. "Because we're doing it again next weekend."

James' heart pounded in his chest, his body already tensing with anticipation. He knew he was in for another night of humiliation and pleasure. And he couldn't wait.

“Oh, and Jennifer mentioned she might even bring a friend this time”

My room, once a refuge of teenage angst and digital distractions, was now a twisted cartoon, a candy-colored testament to my complete and utter defeat. My life, I could now see it all so clearly, had become a joke, a punchline that I was forced to endure, day after padded day. The layers of diapers, the softness between my legs, it was now my reality. It was my everything.

The door swung open, a burst of laughter filling the space, and there she was, my ex, Emily, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and something akin to twisted affection. She had always been like this, making me feel so, so small.

“Ooooh, Jason, did you fall again?” she exclaimed, her voice dripping with mock concern. “I know how hard it is with those huge diapers! They’re so big and round that you just can’t stay on your feet!”

She approached, a predator in a human form, offering me a hand that I desperately needed. I knew, that I was just going to fail again, it was inevitable. I tried to move. I tried to get up. But it was impossible, I was being pulled back by the soft, padded chains that held me to the floor. She was right, I was like a Russian nesting doll. Unable to stay upright. I was going to fall again.

*"Here, let me help you." she said, as she pulled me up and made me stand by the wall. "There. Standing up again! Oh. Oh. Oh. Down we go again!" she laughed.

And down I went, a clumsy, diapered heap on the floor, and she broke, her laughter ringing through the room, a sharp yet strangely welcome sound. It had become almost comforting now, being laughed at. And that was the most depressing thing I knew.

*"Sorry, sorry for laughing," she said, wiping a tear from her eyes. "But it’s so cute how you wiggle those skinny arms trying to keep standing, only to fall down! I can't believe after four years with those giant diapers you still haven’t gotten used to it. You seem to have everything else here down pat, with your mummy and all!” She finished, laughing again.

I could only sit there, a pink bow perched ridiculously on my head, my mouth stuffed with a pacifier that offered no comfort. Then I looked down, the layers of diapers between my legs so overwhelming, I didn’t even know where to begin.

“Don’t worry, Jason, I’m only teasing,” she said softly, reaching out and patting my head. “It’s just…sometimes it’s so funny to watch. You look so cute in those diapers and ribbons. Do you remember how you use to hate it, and now? You’re just my big diaper boy?”

I stayed silent. Nothing to say. Then she smiled.

“Should I help you change that diaper?” she asked, her voice laced with an invitation I could not refuse, a challenge that had become my truth. “Or would you like to just lay there on the floor a bit longer?” she added.

I could only look at the floor. I would go with her, of course. She was always the one in control, and that wasn’t going to change. I just turned to face the wall, the way that I had come to accept my place. She would take it all from me. All of me. She won.

And that was my life now, a never ending cycle of padded humiliation and the knowledge that, somehow, I was actually enjoying this.