This story contains some pretty rough kinks: group femdom, forced feminization, male humiliation, diapers, watersports, CFNM... one reader called it "horribly abusive"...you get the idea. If such things disturb you, please read no further.
This story has been edited based on reader feedback. Thanks!
*
Bertram hesitated before walking into the kitchen where his wife was reading the newspaper. Absorbed in it, she didn't look up. Bertram cleared his throat and said, "Hey Angela, there's some different things in my dresser..."
Angela knew exactly what he was talking about -- she had made the changes herself earlier in the day -- but asked, "What do you mean, hon?"
Bertram held up a pair of lacy scarlet panties. "Well, where did these come from? They must be yours?" His drawer held about a dozen more panties he'd not brought to the kitchen.
"Oh, no, I ordered those for you. Do they fit?"
Bertram ignored the question. "But what happened to the...you know...Where are my...?"
"You mean your diapers? Oh, I thought we'd take a break. Try something new." Bertram frowned as Angela continued matter-of-factly. "We're going to try panties instead of diapers. I bet they'll work just as well. Who knows? Maybe better. After all, you get to wear them all the time, not just at night. Anyway, the diapers are put away. Locked up." Angela lifted a chain around her neck to show Bert the small key suspended on it. "I think you should go try on a pair. Let's see how they fit."
*
Bertram had a diaper fetish. He had discovered this years ago when his older sister and her girlfriend had gotten stupid drunk during a sleepover, pinned him down, stripped him, and diapered him. Hilarious. Where had they gotten the diaper? He never knew. But to his surprise and shame, his dick got rock hard and he ejaculated spontaneously even before the diaper was pinned. The girls found this unbearably hysterical and proceeded to torture him for an hour, masturbating him, taking the diaper off, putting it on, laughing at him until they passed out. Bertram slunk away to ponder what had happened. His sister never brought it up afterward, which led him to believe neither of the girls could remember the incident. But Bert never forgot it. Wearing a diaper aroused him. He yearned often to feel the naughty thrill again, and his sexual fantasies came to be dominated by scenes involving diapers and bossy women.
Angela knew about Bert's fetish before they married. Once they started having sex and became exclusive, he let her in on his only real secret with trepidation. To his relief, it was not a deal breaker; she found it harmless, even amusing. She was more interested his evident submissiveness and figured he would outgrow the diaper bit. He did not. If anything, his fetish got worse over the next ten years. Now 36, Bertram always got hard with a diaper and rarely without one, which fueled a compulsion. He kept a small collection of diapers discreetly hidden in one of his drawers. When Angela complained about it, he responded defensively, saying he suffered from occasional incontinence. He needed to wear one sometimes, 'just in case.' He told Angela that she should be understanding and supportive -- sympathetic rather than critical. Angela scoffed at his explanation. Why didn't he wear them all the time? Why only sometimes, at night, and only when he was alone? Why wasn't he seeing a urologist about the incontinence? Why did he 'need' cloth diapers in addition to the obvious solution of discreet disposables?
Bertram invented responses: actually, yes, it was only a night-time problem -- he was simply prone to leaking before waking himself up fully; yes, he had seen a urologist, who said these things weren't uncommon and could come and go -- it was the urologist who suggested a night-time diaper was an easy fix. Bert claimed he preferred cloth because it was more comfortable and unlike the disposables, cloth didn't make noise when he was trying to sleep. Finally, he said he went to the guest room to sleep when he had his problems because
she
had said she didn't want to be in bed with him in diapers.
Angela listened to his rationalizations but wasn't buying them. She thought he was using diapers to jerk off, period, and had been for years. At first, Angela was merely bored by the same old fetish -- shit, couldn't he at least branch out a little? Then frustrated -- what the hell could she do about it? Eventually, she was disgusted -- it was pathetic. She stopped trying to talk him out of it. The previous winter, during a mild case of the flu, Bertram moved fully into the guest room and then stayed -- they now had separate bedrooms. This was less a new development than an acknowledgement of reality.
Angela suspected her marriage was over and became depressed. Bert refused to consider counseling; he insisted his incontinence was merely a minor medical problem, nothing more. With time, Angela's depression stopped getting worse, but it didn't get much better either. She had a light bulb moment one day while reading an advice blog. The saucy female blogger, a favorite of Angela's, was advising another woman frustrated by her husband's habits: "Your man has an obsession? Can't control himself? You're fed up trying to control him? Fact, baby girl: you have three choices. One, replace it with something better. Two, use it to get something
you
want. Three, leave the motherfucker!"
'Use it,' Angela thought. She began researching diaper fetishes online and was amazed to find so much to read. Evidently, Bertram was not unique. Within a week, Angela had hatched the beginnings of a plan. She ordered a chastity device, several small brass padlocks, an assortment of feminine panties, a miniature nanny-cam and a few other items. The shopping itself was more fun than she'd had in months; to her surprise, the tiny hidden camera was cheaper than both the panties and the cage. One morning, after everything had finally arrived, she confiscated Bert's diapers and left in their place a stack of panties. In mere minutes she installed and tested the hidden nanny-cam in his bedroom. Finally, she removed all of his boxer shorts. The boxers she cut up -- grimly, but with satisfaction -- vowing he would never wear them again. His diapers she locked in a sturdy footlocker. The key to the footlocker went on a chain around her neck.
*
Having sent Bert to try on his panties, Angela waited a bit for him to return. She wasn't surprised when he did not. She put down her newspaper and went to look for him. She found him in his bedroom still holding the scarlet panties, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. Angela stood in the doorway. "Nice, huh? You know, you might as well try them on, hon."
"But Angie..."
Angela motioned for him to go on -- do it. Bertram reluctantly pulled off his slacks. He became embarrassed as he lowered his boxers -- not because Angela hadn't seen his smallish penis, but because she was watching him try on panties. As he stepped into them, Angela casually walked to the bed and pocketed the boxers, his last pair, soon to be shredded. The panties fit well -- Angela had done her homework -- until Bertram's cock hardened and comically distorted the fit. His slit began to leak.
"Wow! I think someone likes wearing women's underwear!" said Angela, pointing at his dick, teasing him with feigned surprise. "I told you you'd like them. Take off your shirt." Bertram did so without thinking and soon stood in nothing but socks and scarlet panties. "Now, see -- isn't that sexy?" She sat on the bed and drew him to herself. With one hand she rubbed his penis through the panties; with the other she fondled his butt and, with her fingers, traced the panty line in back. Almost immediately Bertram jizzed his panties. "Whoops!" Angela acted surprised at the quick ejaculation and removed her hand from the oozing front of the panties. "See hon? Don't deny it -- I can tell you love your new underwear. Now clean yourself up and put on a fresh pair."
"But Angie, what if I have a problem at night?" Bert objected.
"Like I just said, you put on a fresh pair." Then she added, "We can get a waterproof pad for the bed if we have to." Smiling to herself, she left.
Over the next couple of days, Angela made a saucy show of checking out Bert's panties. "What color today, hon? Maybe we match." "Oh, I'm jealous -- your panties are sexier than mine!" "I bet you'd love a skimpy thong, wouldn't you, naughty girl!" She would surprise him by lowering his zipper to peer inside for a visual check. Sometimes she slid her hand down his pants and rubbed or patted the front of his panties, making sure to leave him frustrated. On at least one such occasion, Bert finished himself off in the bathroom. One evening Angela pantsed him in the backyard as he was minding the grill. "Got to make sure my girl's not going commando!" she laughed. She smacked his butt as Bert hastily pulled his shorts up.
