wimpe – Diapered Sassy

Oh honey, I’m just soooo excited that we were able to finish painting your room and getting in your new furniture and matching sheets, pillowcase, bedspread, comforter, and panties and nightdress … all just in time for the sleepover with your boy scout troop! The boys can sleep in their sleeping bags in here while you enjoy the soft warm comforts of your prissy bed. Surely they won’t be so immature as to tease you about anything.

Now now my sweetie, don’t you worry your pretty little head about what those real boys may think of your dainty room or your sleepwear, because now that their national association finally gave up fighting that ridiculous court battle, they HAVE to accept trans-gendered scouts.

Oh honey, I know you’re not transgendered, a momma always knows! 😉

But I just think that it’s so very important to raise awareness for teen trans, and you’ve always been (and I absolutely insist that you’ll always be) my sweet baby doll, so that’s exactly what we’re gonna do! Before your rough and tumble troop buddies get over here for the scheduled sleepover, I’m going to lay out all of the various makeup and perfumes and hair care and nail care accessories that me and your sisters and aunts and female cousins and both grandmas have just now given you to get you started, and arrange them neatly on your big new well-lit girly mirrored vanity.

I’ll also load up your dresser drawers and closet with all of the shoes, dresses, skirts, blouses, shorts, swimwear, sleepwear, accessories, and underwear that they so generously donated to you. I won’t have to buy you any new stuff for over a year, at which time you can get some more of your sisters’ and cousins’ lovely hand-me-downs! As you grow into their sizes, it will be so exciting to see you giving their prettiest things more wear.

I’ll demonstrate various hair, nail, and makeup techniques on you, and also upon whomever of your troop wants to bravely volunteer. Even if none of them do, I’ll still use you as a model and dress dummy to show them everything about liquid and powder base foundation, bronzer, cover-up cream, mascara, lipstick, lip gloss, eyeliner, eyeshadow, and how to match jewelry and coordinate outfits … oh honey, this will be so much FUN, don’t you think?

I’m thinking we can petition the national Boy Scouts of America to institute some new merit badges in permanent waving, mani/pedis, accessory matching, cosmetology – and we can start experimenting this very weekend with your own troop members. It sure will be a change of pace from last month’s man’s man affair, that ridiculously hyper-masculine wilderness survival primitive camping trip, don’t you think?

Oh honey, I’m just soooo excited that we were able to finish painting your room and getting in your new furniture and matching sheets, pillowcase, bedspread, comforter, and panties and nightdress … all just in time for the sleepover with your boy scout troop! The boys can sleep in their sleeping bags in here while you enjoy the soft warm comforts of your prissy bed. Surely they won’t be so immature as to tease you about anything.

Now now my sweetie, don’t you worry your pretty little head about what those real boys may think of your dainty room or your sleepwear, because now that their national association finally gave up fighting that ridiculous court battle, they HAVE to accept trans-gendered scouts.

Oh honey, I know you’re not transgendered, a momma always knows! 😉

But I just think that it’s so very important to raise awareness for teen trans, and you’ve always been (and I absolutely insist that you’ll always be) my sweet baby doll, so that’s exactly what we’re gonna do! Before your rough and tumble troop buddies get over here for the scheduled sleepover, I’m going to lay out all of the various makeup and perfumes and hair care and nail care accessories that me and your sisters and aunts and female cousins and both grandmas have just now given you to get you started, and arrange them neatly on your big new well-lit girly mirrored vanity.

I’ll also load up your dresser drawers and closet with all of the shoes, dresses, skirts, blouses, shorts, swimwear, sleepwear, accessories, and underwear that they so generously donated to you. I won’t have to buy you any new stuff for over a year, at which time you can get some more of your sisters’ and cousins’ lovely hand-me-downs! As you grow into their sizes, it will be so exciting to see you giving their prettiest things more wear.

I’ll demonstrate various hair, nail, and makeup techniques on you, and also upon whomever of your troop wants to bravely volunteer. Even if none of them do, I’ll still use you as a model and dress dummy to show them everything about liquid and powder base foundation, bronzer, cover-up cream, mascara, lipstick, lip gloss, eyeliner, eyeshadow, and how to match jewelry and coordinate outfits … oh honey, this will be so much FUN, don’t you think?

I’m thinking we can petition the national Boy Scouts of America to institute some new merit badges in permanent waving, mani/pedis, accessory matching, cosmetology – and we can start experimenting this very weekend with your own troop members. It sure will be a change of pace from last month’s man’s man affair, that ridiculously hyper-masculine wilderness survival primitive camping trip, don’t you think?

diaperedsassy:

Princess by bobbyvenice

I (of all people) should be wary about mocking or pointing fingers for the purpose of making fun of others. My 5-year-old imaginative cousin Bobby enjoys playing dressup with the all the little neighborhood girls around his age. His favorite character to play is a princess, and for Halloween his mom and a neighbor lady did him and the lady’s daughter up to the nines – roller set, makeup, nail polish, kitten-heeled Mary Janes, tights, panties, petti-pants, hoop skirts, crinoline and tulle underskirts, floor-length ballgowns, scepters, and tiaras. They were simply adorable, and I was secretly jealous of all of the favorable attention and oohing and aahing they were getting from pretty teen girls and ladies.

After cousin Bobby and his little gal-pal princess friend got back from trick-or-treating, I mercilessly made fun of poor Bobby, even to the point of shaming the poor little fella to tears.

When my gross insensitivity toward my sensitive girlyboy cousin was reported to my mom, she bought a cropped girly Princess tee from a teen clothing store in the mall, a pacifier and a gaudy Princess costume tiara from Target, and a shiny feminine lavender-colored

protective

plastic diaper cover from the adult incontinence section in a medical supply shop.

My new hairstyle came courtesy of my Aunt Jean, who is not only Bobby’s mom but a professional hair stylist to boot.

So now, at least in front of family and close friends, my bedwetting is no longer secretly kept under wraps but is exposed, in a most embarrassing girly fashion.

Family reunions really suck now.

diaperedsassy:

Princess by bobbyvenice

I (of all people) should be wary about mocking or pointing fingers for the purpose of making fun of others. My 5-year-old imaginative cousin Bobby enjoys playing dressup with the all the little neighborhood girls around his age. His favorite character to play is a princess, and for Halloween his mom and a neighbor lady did him and the lady’s daughter up to the nines – roller set, makeup, nail polish, kitten-heeled Mary Janes, tights, panties, petti-pants, hoop skirts, crinoline and tulle underskirts, floor-length ballgowns, scepters, and tiaras. They were simply adorable, and I was secretly jealous of all of the favorable attention and oohing and aahing they were getting from pretty teen girls and ladies.

After cousin Bobby and his little gal-pal princess friend got back from trick-or-treating, I mercilessly made fun of poor Bobby, even to the point of shaming the poor little fella to tears.

When my gross insensitivity toward my sensitive girlyboy cousin was reported to my mom, she bought a cropped girly Princess tee from a teen clothing store in the mall, a pacifier and a gaudy Princess costume tiara from Target, and a shiny feminine lavender-colored

protective

plastic diaper cover from the adult incontinence section in a medical supply shop.

My new hairstyle came courtesy of my Aunt Jean, who is not only Bobby’s mom but a professional hair stylist to boot.

So now, at least in front of family and close friends, my bedwetting is no longer secretly kept under wraps but is exposed, in a most embarrassing girly fashion.

Family reunions really suck now.

Whoa – WAIT! Driver, slow down and stop for a moment … Is that – is THAT – oh no, it can’t be …

Oh yes it can be, because it is. John Corzine in the flesh, former company CEO, now apparently a full-blown full-on sissy baby girl, closely supervised while playing up on top of the kids’ playscape in the public park.

I never would have figured Corzine for a fetishist – he always seemed like such a straight arrow, a normal regular guy, with zero kinks. Is his baby girl fetish the reason why he had to step down from his executive leadership position?

Actually no, he was forced to step down because his performance as CEO – the very same position you hold now – just wasn’t up to snuff. Under his reign, our company’s stock dropped, our sales decreased, but our corporate bond debt and our fixed costs went up dramatically, The shareholders and bondholders are practically rioting.

Yikes, so that explains why Corzine is no longer the leading light in the executive suite, but why the new submissive sissy status? He must really be into that kind of thing, huh? Is it as a way of trying to cope, to deal with all the build-up of incredible pressure, of letting off excess steam? Or just as a way to get his pervy rocks off?

None of the above, actually. Corzine’s not into this sissy stuff at all, in fact he’d do anything in the world to be able to escape from it. You know the kind of people that actually own this company don’t like failure, no siree Bob, they don’t. So Corzine got a nice quiet friendly chat from a traditional consigliere

wiseguy enforcer from the old country, who told him to either right the company’s financial ship or face the consequences.

So what happened?

Let’s just say that when given such a generous opportunity, Corizine sadly failed to take advantage, so now his position and lifestyle are … different. Much more disciplined, much more regimented, much less flexible than they used to be when he was still an independent adult male, free to make his own decisions about what to wear, what and when to eat, when to bathe, when to go to bed, when to get up. Those kinds of things.

That’s … horrible! Poor Corzine! Say, who’s that serious strong-looking woman with him? She looks like a caregiver of sorts, a strikingly sexy but really determined, no-nonsense nanny.

That’s Loretta Francisci, the head boss’s grand-niece. Don’t let Lovely Loretta’s gorgeous knockers or her long blonde actress-style tresses or her flashy pearly whites or liquid-brown doe-like eyes or curves like a mountain road or her long legs like a champion filly’s fool ya none. She’s tough as nails, and it’s her job to watch Corzine like a hawk, to make sure he don’t try to escape or pull any funny business or nuttin’ like that. Inside her big diaper bag is a nasty Colt 45 that can handle most trouble, and one special touch of her special necklace pendant alarm can have an entire fleet of armored SUV’s full of heavily-armed muscle here in just moments. Plus, she’s a stone-cold killer who’s made her bones and proved her worth using just her bare hands. Corzine knows better than to try and run. She wouldn’t let him get so much as ten feet.

Wow … just … wow. That’s sobering, and scary. Driver, I’ve had enough sightseeing for the day. How about you get me back to the office now?

Yes, sir. Incidentally sir, I have it on very good authority that you might want to take a look at the most recent company quarterly earnings report. It’s not looking so good, sir. It’d be a real shame if Corzine got himself a new well-dressed crib mate to swallow pureed pees & carrots with, and to shit dirty diapers with, ya know what I mean … sir?

So we didn’t just happen to randomly drive by here, did we now, driver?

No sir, we did not.

Tell your superiors this – “Message received.”

Whoa – WAIT! Driver, slow down and stop for a moment … Is that – is THAT – oh no, it can’t be …

Oh yes it can be, because it is. John Corzine in the flesh, former company CEO, now apparently a full-blown full-on sissy baby girl, closely supervised while playing up on top of the kids’ playscape in the public park.

I never would have figured Corzine for a fetishist – he always seemed like such a straight arrow, a normal regular guy, with zero kinks. Is his baby girl fetish the reason why he had to step down from his executive leadership position?

Actually no, he was forced to step down because his performance as CEO – the very same position you hold now – just wasn’t up to snuff. Under his reign, our company’s stock dropped, our sales decreased, but our corporate bond debt and our fixed costs went up dramatically, The shareholders and bondholders are practically rioting.

Yikes, so that explains why Corzine is no longer the leading light in the executive suite, but why the new submissive sissy status? He must really be into that kind of thing, huh? Is it as a way of trying to cope, to deal with all the build-up of incredible pressure, of letting off excess steam? Or just as a way to get his pervy rocks off?

None of the above, actually. Corzine’s not into this sissy stuff at all, in fact he’d do anything in the world to be able to escape from it. You know the kind of people that actually own this company don’t like failure, no siree Bob, they don’t. So Corzine got a nice quiet friendly chat from a traditional consigliere

wiseguy enforcer from the old country, who told him to either right the company’s financial ship or face the consequences.

So what happened?

Let’s just say that when given such a generous opportunity, Corizine sadly failed to take advantage, so now his position and lifestyle are … different. Much more disciplined, much more regimented, much less flexible than they used to be when he was still an independent adult male, free to make his own decisions about what to wear, what and when to eat, when to bathe, when to go to bed, when to get up. Those kinds of things.

That’s … horrible! Poor Corzine! Say, who’s that serious strong-looking woman with him? She looks like a caregiver of sorts, a strikingly sexy but really determined, no-nonsense nanny.

That’s Loretta Francisci, the head boss’s grand-niece. Don’t let Lovely Loretta’s gorgeous knockers or her long blonde actress-style tresses or her flashy pearly whites or liquid-brown doe-like eyes or curves like a mountain road or her long legs like a champion filly’s fool ya none. She’s tough as nails, and it’s her job to watch Corzine like a hawk, to make sure he don’t try to escape or pull any funny business or nuttin’ like that. Inside her big diaper bag is a nasty Colt 45 that can handle most trouble, and one special touch of her special necklace pendant alarm can have an entire fleet of armored SUV’s full of heavily-armed muscle here in just moments. Plus, she’s a stone-cold killer who’s made her bones and proved her worth using just her bare hands. Corzine knows better than to try and run. She wouldn’t let him get so much as ten feet.

Wow … just … wow. That’s sobering, and scary. Driver, I’ve had enough sightseeing for the day. How about you get me back to the office now?

Yes, sir. Incidentally sir, I have it on very good authority that you might want to take a look at the most recent company quarterly earnings report. It’s not looking so good, sir. It’d be a real shame if Corzine got himself a new well-dressed crib mate to swallow pureed pees & carrots with, and to shit dirty diapers with, ya know what I mean … sir?

So we didn’t just happen to randomly drive by here, did we now, driver?

No sir, we did not.

Tell your superiors this – “Message received.”

bust-in-my-pants:

“Today is the day where we put your package exactly where it belongs… inside this nice thick diaper! I have had enough of watching you do the potty dance and then freezing as you send a mass of wetness down your legs like a little boy. Do you know how embarrassing it is being married to a wimpy little pants pisser like you? I can see your lower lip quivering; don’t you even think about crying right now. If you have to wet yourself like a baby, then it’s only fitting that you wear an adult version of baby’s underwear. So from now on you can let your diaper do the holding since you’re not man enough to. Now drop your pants because this is going on you right now”

I couldn’t blame her. She definitely wasn’t overreacting; she wasn’t being a raging psychotic dommy-”mommy” bitch. After all, it wasn’t as though I’d just wet myself once, or even only twice. Or even once in a three-month period. Or sixth-month period.

No. It was all the damned time. Multiple times in a week, or even within a single day, sometimes.

I’ve been to every urologist in the tri-state area, but I’m a medical mystery to each and every one of them; no effective treatment has been found for my extreme bladder control issues. None.

If you can’t control a situation, then the best you can hope to do is to try and contain it. In my case, the application of this universal truth could not possibly be any more literal – the diaper would act as the physical collection containment device to prevent the unrestrained outflow of my shameful smelly sticky wet yellow urine.

Too embarrassed, too prideful, and too deep in denial to admit that I had such an obvious juvenile control problem, I let the problem get out of hand – literally. My wife insisted upon her being the one to diaper me, not trusting me to do it in either a proper or a timely fashion myself.

“Do you know how embarrassing it is being married to a wimpy little pants pisser like you? I can see your lower lip quivering; don’t you even think about crying right now … it’s only fitting that you wear an adult version of baby’s underwear. So from now on you can let your diaper do the holding since you’re not man enough to. Now drop your pants because this is going on you right now”

Our relationship forever changed that fateful day. I was already incontinent, but with her cutting emasculating words and actions I had now lost control of my self-respect, my manhood, and my marriage as well. I was no longer in charge of even my most intimate of private issues. This soon extended to my bedtime, my bath time, my bathing habits, my diet and feeding times, and even what I wore, first to bed and then outside the house as well.

She morphed almost overnight from being my equal partner wife into my all-powerful all-knowing all-encompassing “mommy”. The most intimate contact we now have these days is no longer sex but when she cleans and changes me, or when she bathes me like an infant.

A very young, extremely attractive fitness-buff couple moved in recently just down the block. The nineteen year old drop-dead gorgeous fashion-model wife is extremely non-jealous and open-minded, and she has no problem with her twenty-one year old bull stud Adonis husband servicing my lovely wife, thus giving my wife what I am no longer allowed to provide (and he does it so much better and more frequently than I ever could anyway, as my wife never tires of reminding me).

While he and my wife are getting their rocks off and their freak on, his young wife practices her maternal diapering, feeding, bathing, and dressing skills with me as her practice baby. Thanks to her extreme beauty (I mean hey, as you can see in the above pic my lovely wife is certainly no slouch in the looks department herself, but this sweet young neighbor? – HOLY COW) and thanks to my utter and complete lack of a sexual outlet, this young girl’s attentions & ministrations are as intensely frustrating as they are infantilizing and ego-crushing.

When I finally decided to voice a principled objection to this crazy arrangement, I got “disciplined” (i.e. spanked) by all three of them! So now I am under the watchful eye and authoritative hard hairbrushes (of the women) and the leather belt (of the man). Two mommies and one daddy. Life has become so hard and so complicated. For me, anyway.

bust-in-my-pants:

“Today is the day where we put your package exactly where it belongs… inside this nice thick diaper! I have had enough of watching you do the potty dance and then freezing as you send a mass of wetness down your legs like a little boy. Do you know how embarrassing it is being married to a wimpy little pants pisser like you? I can see your lower lip quivering; don’t you even think about crying right now. If you have to wet yourself like a baby, then it’s only fitting that you wear an adult version of baby’s underwear. So from now on you can let your diaper do the holding since you’re not man enough to. Now drop your pants because this is going on you right now”

I couldn’t blame her. She definitely wasn’t overreacting; she wasn’t being a raging psychotic dommy-”mommy” bitch. After all, it wasn’t as though I’d just wet myself once, or even only twice. Or even once in a three-month period. Or sixth-month period.

No. It was all the damned time. Multiple times in a week, or even within a single day, sometimes.

I’ve been to every urologist in the tri-state area, but I’m a medical mystery to each and every one of them; no effective treatment has been found for my extreme bladder control issues. None.

If you can’t control a situation, then the best you can hope to do is to try and contain it. In my case, the application of this universal truth could not possibly be any more literal – the diaper would act as the physical collection containment device to prevent the unrestrained outflow of my shameful smelly sticky wet yellow urine.

Too embarrassed, too prideful, and too deep in denial to admit that I had such an obvious juvenile control problem, I let the problem get out of hand – literally. My wife insisted upon her being the one to diaper me, not trusting me to do it in either a proper or a timely fashion myself.

“Do you know how embarrassing it is being married to a wimpy little pants pisser like you? I can see your lower lip quivering; don’t you even think about crying right now … it’s only fitting that you wear an adult version of baby’s underwear. So from now on you can let your diaper do the holding since you’re not man enough to. Now drop your pants because this is going on you right now”

Our relationship forever changed that fateful day. I was already incontinent, but with her cutting emasculating words and actions I had now lost control of my self-respect, my manhood, and my marriage as well. I was no longer in charge of even my most intimate of private issues. This soon extended to my bedtime, my bath time, my bathing habits, my diet and feeding times, and even what I wore, first to bed and then outside the house as well.

She morphed almost overnight from being my equal partner wife into my all-powerful all-knowing all-encompassing “mommy”. The most intimate contact we now have these days is no longer sex but when she cleans and changes me, or when she bathes me like an infant.

A very young, extremely attractive fitness-buff couple moved in recently just down the block. The nineteen year old drop-dead gorgeous fashion-model wife is extremely non-jealous and open-minded, and she has no problem with her twenty-one year old bull stud Adonis husband servicing my lovely wife, thus giving my wife what I am no longer allowed to provide (and he does it so much better and more frequently than I ever could anyway, as my wife never tires of reminding me).

While he and my wife are getting their rocks off and their freak on, his young wife practices her maternal diapering, feeding, bathing, and dressing skills with me as her practice baby. Thanks to her extreme beauty (I mean hey, as you can see in the above pic my lovely wife is certainly no slouch in the looks department herself, but this sweet young neighbor? – HOLY COW) and thanks to my utter and complete lack of a sexual outlet, this young girl’s attentions & ministrations are as intensely frustrating as they are infantilizing and ego-crushing.

When I finally decided to voice a principled objection to this crazy arrangement, I got “disciplined” (i.e. spanked) by all three of them! So now I am under the watchful eye and authoritative hard hairbrushes (of the women) and the leather belt (of the man). Two mommies and one daddy. Life has become so hard and so complicated. For me, anyway.

bust-in-my-pants:

“We just changed your diaper ten minutes ago and you’re wet already? Look, We are a ways away from our car, I have a lot of shopping to do and I am not about to allow diaper changes to get in the way of that. I think it’s time to throw away your Pampers collection and bust out with the big guns. You know what that means honey, I’m putting you in an ‘overnight’ diaper that is thick, absorbent and plastic-backed. That way you can wet yourself all day without needing a change right away. You might begin to waddle with a thick wet diaper between your legs, but I’d say it’s time to go public with your diaper dependence anyway”

Initially I was SO excited to find out that our smoking HAWT next-door neighbor Celeste was foregoing summer school at her college to come live at home for the summer.

Celeste is two years older than me and I’ve had a crush on her since kindergarten, and I’ve shamelessly lusted after her ever since my stirring hormones turned on in middle school. I can’t count the number of times I quietly secretly photographed and videoed Celeste from my upstairs bedroom window looking down into her backyard, as she innocently tanned in her bikini, mistakenly believing that her tall privacy fence adequately shielded her from pervs’ prying eyes. Well, I suppose it actually did … just not from this particular persistently pernicious perv.

I understand Celeste was selected as Miss May for her school’s fundraising calendar featuring the prettiest girls on campus, and that she earns money part-time as an upscale department store lingerie, swimwear, sportswear, and formal wear model. Now that she’s home for the summer, I think she looks even better than ever.

I’ll be a high school senior next year, which is great – or it would be if I wasn’t still hopelessly incontinent. Talk about cutting into my social life and completely killing any chance of a dating life!

Not many people know about my condition since I wear the easily-concealed thin adult underpants at school, with a doctor’s note thankfully keeping me out of P.E., plus frequent

discreet visits to the school nurse’s private office for my

depressingly necessary diaper changes.

So it was with a mixture of fear, dread, and longing when I learned that mom had secured Celeste’s services for the summer as my designated “nanny”. On the one hand, the thought of such frequent heart-stopping intimate (albeit mortifying and disgusting) contact with a way-out-of-my-league girl like Celeste was exciting and titillating. Hell, I had even been really excited

throughout the school year

by all the ticklish touchy-feely diaper changes administered by the still-sexy 44-year-old school nurse MILF with the 44D’s. Of course, one day really sucked when my always-smiling angelic nurse called in sick, leaving my diaper change in the pudgy hands of the stern stocky vice principal in charge of discipline. OH, YUCK!

Anyway,

I knew better than to even dare to dream that I could ever be a boyfriend or husband to an absolute goddess like Celeste, but

I still hated for her to have to see me as the incontinent diaper wearing sissyboy that I am and always have been.

I feared her scornful snickers, not only at my condition but by my helplessness and by my mushy mutant micropenis, but she was surprisingly nonjudgmental and down to earth. Celeste did not ignore the elephant (or rather the mini-mouse) in the room, raising her lovely eyebrows in surprise, then diplomatically covering her mouth to hide her amused smile the first time she saw my lip-balm-travel-sized inchworm, but she thankfully said nothing derogatory, at least not directly to me or within my earshot. I don’t think my already-shattered ego could have withstood that.

However, Celeste did put her perfectly-pedicured pretty foot down when it came to my crazy frequency of diaper wettings. She loved to shop and was always on the go, and she wasn’t about to let my frequent fillings cramp her busy social lifestyle. She let me know in no uncertain terms that she WOULD be putting me in the thick swaddling bubble-butt monsters that could adequately withstand multiple wettings, but which were clearly discernible at quite a distance, leaving no doubt as to what they actually were.

I tried to cry and complain to mom, but my mom was so thankful to have someone as reliable as Celeste to look after me that my teary complaints fell on deaf ears.

Trips outside the house with mom were always something I dreaded, especially when we were running low on diapers. The fact that she could draw attention merely by virtue of her statuesque beauty would always draw additional public attention to my unfortunate situation, much to my cringing shame.