DIAPER STORY
Hi I decided to write my first diaperstory!
After reading a lot, but like a lot . I decided to give it a shot! I hope you will like at but don’t be afraid to give tips. Please be Honest!
The unexpected evening..
Due my bad bladder and sometimes sketchy bowel control. I often wear protection. The story below will address some challenges
Around two weeks ago I had a remarkable evening with my friends.
That evening, I had invited a few friends over for some drinks. I don’t usually drink much, and when I do, I try to be careful. In the past I’ve learned the hard way that drinking too much can sometimes lead to accidents — so now, just in case, I wear an adult diaper when I’m drinking or when I’m out of the house for a long time. It gives me some peace of mind, even if it’s not something I talk about often.
We were all having a good time in the living room, enjoying the warmth, chatting and laughing. At one point, I stepped into my bedroom to grab my phone charger. My bedroom was much colder than the living room — I like to keep the windows wide open before bed so I can sleep in the cold. The sudden temperature change hit me hard, and combined with the alcohol I had been drinking, it was like a hand pressing me down. As I bent over, I completely lost control.
I realized I had made a mess. My friends were still in the living room, and the only way to really clean up would have been to pass right by them to the bathroom. I worried they would notice before I could do anything. In a rush, I grabbed a pair of plastic pants from my cupboard and put them on over my diaper, hoping it would keep everything contained until I had more privacy.
I went back to the living room, did my best to stay calm, and we carried on for another half hour. Eventually, everyone decided to head home. Nobody said anything until my best-known friend gave me a hug to say goodbye. As she leaned in, she whispered that after I came back from my bedroom the air smelled a little bit funny. She told me maybe it was just the air blowing in from the open windows. Then she gave me a wink, patted me lightly just above the hip, and whispered in my ear “or is it still you?”
After everyone left that night, the stress finally caught up with me. I barely made it to the bathroom before things got much worse. I ended up completely messing myself, to the point where it reached all the way up my lower back. A long shower was the only way to feel clean again.
When I was finally fresh, I put on a new nighttime diaper, climbed into bed, and tried to calm my thoughts. Not long after, my phone buzzed — it was a message from my best-known friend, Jasmine. Her message was short but clear, clear for me but not for everybody else. I was just one word; protected?
Jasmine has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. We first met in kindergarten, and even though she’s about eight months older than me, we always ended up in the same classes. Back then, that age gap felt huge, but now it barely matters.
In third grade, we started to grow really close. She became this steady presence in my life — almost like a guardian. Whenever I was at her place, her parents treated me like family, offering me food, drinks, even a place to sleep. That same care rubbed off on Jasmine. She was the one who made sure I had my backpack filled, that my homework was done, that I paid attention in class. If I slipped up, she let me know — sometimes gently, sometimes firmly.
She even looked after me in small but important ways. When I went to the bathroom at school, she often came with me and waited outside, just to make sure I was okay. She never really stopped looking out for me. Over the years, her role in my life has always been that of someone who cares deeply — someone who doesn’t just stand by, but steps in when needed.
By the time we reached sixth grade, Jasmine and I were becoming really close. But back then, the difference in our ages felt much bigger than it does now. I was still very much a little kid — clumsy, uncertain, almost toddler-like in how I handled things — while she was already starting to grow into a young adult.
Her parents had always treated me with care, making sure I was fed, welcomed, and looked after whenever I came over. And slowly, Jasmine began to treat me the same way. She made sure my backpack was packed for school, that I did my homework, that I paid attention in class.
While I was younger she even made sure I was wearing an diaper at night. I used to spent a lot of nights at her place.
But I always had an challenge. Since I was a toddler I wetted the bed, so I wore diapers. Luckily this just stopped around my 13th.
Before I was wearing diapers daily, at least until my 11th. I used to wear them at night and in some occasions by day. Around my 12th I started to gain full control.
Still after this, Jasmine never stopped looking out for me — even in moments that felt small but it meant a lot. Like when I started to make normal bathroom visits.
This started around highschool. When I felt the urge to pee, I usually told Jasmine I had to go. And she followed me to the bathroom. Whenever my urge to go took longer then usual, she also kept reminding to visit the bathroom.
At the most of my visits she walked with me and waited outside, just to make sure I was okay. But as our friendship deepened, she also started to check me, to correct me when she thought I needed it.
I remember one day in particular. I had waited too long to use the bathroom, and when I finally came out, there was a small wet spot on my pants. Jasmine saw it right away. Without saying anything in front of others, she quietly pulled me aside to a quieter corner of the school.
I stood there in front of her, nervous and shaking, not sure what she was about to do. She motioned for me to come closer. As I stepped toward her, I could hear her breathing, feel the weight of her seriousness, and sense her frustration. Then she gently lifted my chin so I had no choice but to look her in the eyes.
“What is this?” she asked, pointing firmly to the wet stain on my pants.
I didn’t say anything. I stood there stunned, quiet, frozen. For a moment nothing moved. Then, suddenly, she took off her shoe, lifted her right foot and stamped down on my left toes. She shouted it again, louder this time: “What is this?”
The pain shot through me, but along with it came a different kind of clarity — a realization that I couldn’t hide this from her. Jasmine knew me better than anyone. She had always demanded the truth, and I felt that hunger in her now. So I swallowed the shame and told her: I’d waited too long to go to the bathroom, and I’d leaked a little.
She listened. After I finished, she held still for a few seconds — maybe three or four — but it felt much longer. Then at first there was a quiet sound, and it grew: a laugh, soft at first and then rising, louder and louder until she was laughing out loud. People started to turn and look in the hallway. I was still there, exposed in front of everyone, and she was laughing at me.
When she finally stopped, her face moved close and she shouted, “So that’s what I thought. You were and you still are a baby.” Heads turned; whispers started. I tried to act like I hadn’t heard, but before I could make sense of it, she grabbed my arm and barked, “You come with me — I’ll deal with this mess.”
Jasmine didn’t let go of my arm. She pulled me down the hallway, and before I knew it, we were out in the main corridor. I had a wet spot on my pants, and everyone could see. She wasn’t quiet about it either. As we walked, almost running, she kept asking me questions: how did this happen, does it happen often, do you have problems holding it, is this why the smell your farts won’t go away, do you have messing accidents as well?Every word felt louder than the last, and my face burned.
Eventually, we reached the nurse’s office. Jasmine knocked once, and before the door even opened, she pushed me inside. She blurted it out straight: “Katrina, Oliver wet his pants. He even told me it happens more often. We need to do something to help him.”
I tried to interrupt, to explain that usually I was fine, and that this wasn’t something that happened at school. But they both hushed me. Before I realized it, I was sitting in the office, my wet pants being checked, and suddenly I felt so small — like I was no longer in control of my own body.
That’s when it hit me. I broke down. I started crying, hiccuping, unable to stop. The shame of being treated like a child in front of my best friend and the school nurse was too much. But then something unexpected happened: instead of mocking me, both of them comforted me. They hugged me, stroked my back, and stayed there until I calmed down.
The nurse, Katrina, asked me a few questions — whether this happened often, whether I liked being dry, whether I wanted to get better control. I told her honestly: I do not want to wet my pants, I do not want to depend on protection. I just want to be normal and have control like everybody else.
She looked me in the eye and said we’d figure it out together. Jasmine nodded, and for the first time, I realized she wasn’t just exposing me — she was pushing me toward help. After I realized this, I really wanted to hug her. So that’s what happend, me and Jasmine hugged, we took our time and she held me tightly. For the first time in years I was feeling loved and safe! While enjoying the moment I also started to feel something else. I started to feel warm, not from the inside, but around my crotch.
After some minutes my emotions had been cooled down. And I waved the strange warm feeling away. I was slowly getting back to my senses. And my crotch started to feel normal again, dry, clean and maybe a bit warmer. I realized that this feeling must be nothing special. It was al part of the moment.
While thinking this I noticed Katrina coming closer and closer.
After what felt like an hour, she eventually asked me a question. “Oliver, are you aware you just wet your diaper?” I froze. I didn’t want to believe it. I reached down, touched it, and realized — it was true. Katrina acknowledged it again; “Oliver you are wet”. So I checked again, and indeed the outside of my diaper was bulky and wet, even though inside, it still felt dry. My heart sank. I looked at her and Jasmine in disbelief and asked, “Am I?” They both nodded and said the same thing: “Yes, you are.”
“Is it really that bad?” they asked again. “Be honest.”
I swallowed hard. I admitted I didn’t want diapers. But I also admitted that maybe I needed them. And, compared to wet pants in public, diapers didn’t feel that bad. I said the words out loud: “No… it isn’t that bad.”
Their expressions softened. Both Katrina and Jasmine smiled, pinched my cheeks gently, and gave me a reassuring pat. For a moment, I felt small but cared for.
Then Jasmine’s face grew serious. She pushed me back slightly and said firmly, “Things are going to change. You’re not going to have to deal with wet underwear anymore. You’re not going to have to be afraid of the toilet. We’ll help you.”
Oh and by the way, we are videotaping since this morning, quit the shots! They are really cute
. If you don’t want these files accidentally being leaked. I would advise you to never contradict us in any way
Her words made me shiver. Part of me wanted to resist, to escape, but part of me also knew she meant safety and protection. And then we are not even speaking about the possible punishments.
After some thinking I felt there weight, the weight of their presence and realized I wasn’t in control anymore — they were.
Me a young but quit big man, is being controlled by two ladies half his size. Fully dependent and fully convinced, my identity was lost.
What I didn’t know then: I wasn’t alone! Maybe just maybe we can break free of this prison, break free together
Hi I decided to write my first diaperstory!
After reading a lot, but like a lot . I decided to give it a shot! I hope you will like at but don’t be afraid to give tips. Please be Honest!
The unexpected evening..
Due my bad bladder and sometimes sketchy bowel control. I often wear protection. The story below will address some challenges
Around two weeks ago I had a remarkable evening with my friends.
That evening, I had invited a few friends over for some drinks. I don’t usually drink much, and when I do, I try to be careful. In the past I’ve learned the hard way that drinking too much can sometimes lead to accidents — so now, just in case, I wear an adult diaper when I’m drinking or when I’m out of the house for a long time. It gives me some peace of mind, even if it’s not something I talk about often.
We were all having a good time in the living room, enjoying the warmth, chatting and laughing. At one point, I stepped into my bedroom to grab my phone charger. My bedroom was much colder than the living room — I like to keep the windows wide open before bed so I can sleep in the cold. The sudden temperature change hit me hard, and combined with the alcohol I had been drinking, it was like a hand pressing me down. As I bent over, I completely lost control.
I realized I had made a mess. My friends were still in the living room, and the only way to really clean up would have been to pass right by them to the bathroom. I worried they would notice before I could do anything. In a rush, I grabbed a pair of plastic pants from my cupboard and put them on over my diaper, hoping it would keep everything contained until I had more privacy.
I went back to the living room, did my best to stay calm, and we carried on for another half hour. Eventually, everyone decided to head home. Nobody said anything until my best-known friend gave me a hug to say goodbye. As she leaned in, she whispered that after I came back from my bedroom the air smelled a little bit funny. She told me maybe it was just the air blowing in from the open windows. Then she gave me a wink, patted me lightly just above the hip, and whispered in my ear “or is it still you?”
After everyone left that night, the stress finally caught up with me. I barely made it to the bathroom before things got much worse. I ended up completely messing myself, to the point where it reached all the way up my lower back. A long shower was the only way to feel clean again.
When I was finally fresh, I put on a new nighttime diaper, climbed into bed, and tried to calm my thoughts. Not long after, my phone buzzed — it was a message from my best-known friend, Jasmine. Her message was short but clear, clear for me but not for everybody else. I was just one word; protected?
Jasmine has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. We first met in kindergarten, and even though she’s about eight months older than me, we always ended up in the same classes. Back then, that age gap felt huge, but now it barely matters.
In third grade, we started to grow really close. She became this steady presence in my life — almost like a guardian. Whenever I was at her place, her parents treated me like family, offering me food, drinks, even a place to sleep. That same care rubbed off on Jasmine. She was the one who made sure I had my backpack filled, that my homework was done, that I paid attention in class. If I slipped up, she let me know — sometimes gently, sometimes firmly.
She even looked after me in small but important ways. When I went to the bathroom at school, she often came with me and waited outside, just to make sure I was okay. She never really stopped looking out for me. Over the years, her role in my life has always been that of someone who cares deeply — someone who doesn’t just stand by, but steps in when needed.
By the time we reached sixth grade, Jasmine and I were becoming really close. But back then, the difference in our ages felt much bigger than it does now. I was still very much a little kid — clumsy, uncertain, almost toddler-like in how I handled things — while she was already starting to grow into a young adult.
Her parents had always treated me with care, making sure I was fed, welcomed, and looked after whenever I came over. And slowly, Jasmine began to treat me the same way. She made sure my backpack was packed for school, that I did my homework, that I paid attention in class.
While I was younger she even made sure I was wearing an diaper at night. I used to spent a lot of nights at her place.
But I always had an challenge. Since I was a toddler I wetted the bed, so I wore diapers. Luckily this just stopped around my 13th.
Before I was wearing diapers daily, at least until my 11th. I used to wear them at night and in some occasions by day. Around my 12th I started to gain full control.
Still after this, Jasmine never stopped looking out for me — even in moments that felt small but it meant a lot. Like when I started to make normal bathroom visits.
This started around highschool. When I felt the urge to pee, I usually told Jasmine I had to go. And she followed me to the bathroom. Whenever my urge to go took longer then usual, she also kept reminding to visit the bathroom.
At the most of my visits she walked with me and waited outside, just to make sure I was okay. But as our friendship deepened, she also started to check me, to correct me when she thought I needed it.
I remember one day in particular. I had waited too long to use the bathroom, and when I finally came out, there was a small wet spot on my pants. Jasmine saw it right away. Without saying anything in front of others, she quietly pulled me aside to a quieter corner of the school.
I stood there in front of her, nervous and shaking, not sure what she was about to do. She motioned for me to come closer. As I stepped toward her, I could hear her breathing, feel the weight of her seriousness, and sense her frustration. Then she gently lifted my chin so I had no choice but to look her in the eyes.
“What is this?” she asked, pointing firmly to the wet stain on my pants.
I didn’t say anything. I stood there stunned, quiet, frozen. For a moment nothing moved. Then, suddenly, she took off her shoe, lifted her right foot and stamped down on my left toes. She shouted it again, louder this time: “What is this?”
The pain shot through me, but along with it came a different kind of clarity — a realization that I couldn’t hide this from her. Jasmine knew me better than anyone. She had always demanded the truth, and I felt that hunger in her now. So I swallowed the shame and told her: I’d waited too long to go to the bathroom, and I’d leaked a little.
She listened. After I finished, she held still for a few seconds — maybe three or four — but it felt much longer. Then at first there was a quiet sound, and it grew: a laugh, soft at first and then rising, louder and louder until she was laughing out loud. People started to turn and look in the hallway. I was still there, exposed in front of everyone, and she was laughing at me.
When she finally stopped, her face moved close and she shouted, “So that’s what I thought. You were and you still are a baby.” Heads turned; whispers started. I tried to act like I hadn’t heard, but before I could make sense of it, she grabbed my arm and barked, “You come with me — I’ll deal with this mess.”
Jasmine didn’t let go of my arm. She pulled me down the hallway, and before I knew it, we were out in the main corridor. I had a wet spot on my pants, and everyone could see. She wasn’t quiet about it either. As we walked, almost running, she kept asking me questions: how did this happen, does it happen often, do you have problems holding it, is this why the smell your farts won’t go away, do you have messing accidents as well?Every word felt louder than the last, and my face burned.
Eventually, we reached the nurse’s office. Jasmine knocked once, and before the door even opened, she pushed me inside. She blurted it out straight: “Katrina, Oliver wet his pants. He even told me it happens more often. We need to do something to help him.”
I tried to interrupt, to explain that usually I was fine, and that this wasn’t something that happened at school. But they both hushed me. Before I realized it, I was sitting in the office, my wet pants being checked, and suddenly I felt so small — like I was no longer in control of my own body.
That’s when it hit me. I broke down. I started crying, hiccuping, unable to stop. The shame of being treated like a child in front of my best friend and the school nurse was too much. But then something unexpected happened: instead of mocking me, both of them comforted me. They hugged me, stroked my back, and stayed there until I calmed down.
The nurse, Katrina, asked me a few questions — whether this happened often, whether I liked being dry, whether I wanted to get better control. I told her honestly: I do not want to wet my pants, I do not want to depend on protection. I just want to be normal and have control like everybody else.
She looked me in the eye and said we’d figure it out together. Jasmine nodded, and for the first time, I realized she wasn’t just exposing me — she was pushing me toward help. After I realized this, I really wanted to hug her. So that’s what happend, me and Jasmine hugged, we took our time and she held me tightly. For the first time in years I was feeling loved and safe! While enjoying the moment I also started to feel something else. I started to feel warm, not from the inside, but around my crotch.
After some minutes my emotions had been cooled down. And I waved the strange warm feeling away. I was slowly getting back to my senses. And my crotch started to feel normal again, dry, clean and maybe a bit warmer. I realized that this feeling must be nothing special. It was al part of the moment.
While thinking this I noticed Katrina coming closer and closer.
After what felt like an hour, she eventually asked me a question. “Oliver, are you aware you just wet your diaper?” I froze. I didn’t want to believe it. I reached down, touched it, and realized — it was true. Katrina acknowledged it again; “Oliver you are wet”. So I checked again, and indeed the outside of my diaper was bulky and wet, even though inside, it still felt dry. My heart sank. I looked at her and Jasmine in disbelief and asked, “Am I?” They both nodded and said the same thing: “Yes, you are.”
“Is it really that bad?” they asked again. “Be honest.”
I swallowed hard. I admitted I didn’t want diapers. But I also admitted that maybe I needed them. And, compared to wet pants in public, diapers didn’t feel that bad. I said the words out loud: “No… it isn’t that bad.”
Their expressions softened. Both Katrina and Jasmine smiled, pinched my cheeks gently, and gave me a reassuring pat. For a moment, I felt small but cared for.
Then Jasmine’s face grew serious. She pushed me back slightly and said firmly, “Things are going to change. You’re not going to have to deal with wet underwear anymore. You’re not going to have to be afraid of the toilet. We’ll help you.”
Oh and by the way, we are videotaping since this morning, quit the shots! They are really cute
. If you don’t want these files accidentally being leaked. I would advise you to never contradict us in any way Her words made me shiver. Part of me wanted to resist, to escape, but part of me also knew she meant safety and protection. And then we are not even speaking about the possible punishments.
After some thinking I felt there weight, the weight of their presence and realized I wasn’t in control anymore — they were.
Me a young but quit big man, is being controlled by two ladies half his size. Fully dependent and fully convinced, my identity was lost.
What I didn’t know then: I wasn’t alone! Maybe just maybe we can break free of this prison, break free together
