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grantabdl · 7 months ago

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Going diapered 24/7.

Part 1: why I want to wear diapers full-time, as a 27 year-old

I’ve posted on here before that I recently started 24/7 diaper-wearing again. Well, I just hit 1 month of only wearing diapers, and using them exclusively for #1. So, I thought I would share my experience as to why I want to wear them. This is Part 1, which focuses on my history with diapers/accidents. Part 2 will focus on what it’s like now that I am 24/7 again.

I largely developed my desire to wear diapers because I had incontinence issues growing up. Specifically, I had “giggle incontinence” problems (I use quotations because, even years later, I find it difficult to admit that I have been incontinent for most of my life— but more on that later).

From the time I was “potty trained” (like 2.5-3 years old), I would wet myself whenever I laughed too hard— even if I didn’t feel like I had to go. It didn’t matter if I was laughing from a movie, or a joke, or even a bit of roughhousing with friends/family. And it never seemed to get better. Whenever I laughed too hard, I would completely void my bladder. I would wet myself at 18, just as I would when I was 4. I hated it. I hated the fact that laughing caused me so much stress. I hated knowing that watching a comedy movie would make me have accidents. Laughter is supposed to be fun— an expression of joy. But, for me, it just meant anxiety about hiding my accidents. Thankfully, I went to private schools my whole life; and, at all of them, we had to wear dark blue pants, which would hide wet stains pretty well. And, if an accident was too big, or difficult to hide, I could change without many people noticing (I always had a change in my lockers; or in a bag that I would pack for soccer). On a few occasions, I would also “spill” a drink onto my lap to cover up the wetness. If I wet myself during soccer, I would deliberately slide into mud to hide any stain on my shorts. I became so used to hiding accidents that it was just part of life.

At home, it was harder to hide. I was scolded more times than I can count for having accidents. I was told (at 18) that I “need to get ‘whatever *this* is under control” before college; and I was told (many times, as a teen— until I was 17 or 18) that, if I didn’t stop having issues, I’d be forced to wear diapers.

I still remember my first time being told that diapers were a possibility. They were presented as a punishment, or some kind of response to a perceived personal failure. I was about 11 years old, and with my mom, who knew that I had bladder problems (but not the extent of them, or what caused them). I mentioned that I needed to pee; and she treated it like a fire drill, because she had washed a pair of pee-stained underwear the day before, and had confronted me about it that morning— at that time, she knew I had issues with wetting, but she just thought I would randomly pee. There was no communication, because it was taboo for me to tell her about my problems. She would just tell me that I needed to “get over it,” whenever I would try to talk— though, I stopped trying to talk when I was about 10, and just started trying to hide the issue. So, on this day at the store (or any other day), she didn’t know that I never had issues holding it when I just had to pee— I only had accidents when I laughed too hard. But, returning to the story: she rushed me though the store like it was a fire drill; and I wasn’t too concerned. I had only mentioned needing to go, because I didn’t know where the bathroom was. Because I was unconcerned, I was drinking a coke as we walked (or, more aptly, ran) to the bathroom. As I took a sip, she smacked me over the head, and scolded me “you need to pee and you’re drinking a fucking coke, you idiot.” It was so funny, in the moment, that I bent over, laughing and wetting my pants. After the accident, I went to the car and she just bought me new pants. But, on the way home, I was scolded and told that I didn’t understand the severity of what was happening. I was told that I’d have to wear diapers if it kept happening. I never got the chance to explain what was going on, or what I wanted to do.

Looking back, I wish that her threat was true. No matter how many accidents I had— whether known or unknown— I never got a bit of protection. Not a diaper; nor a pad; nor even a “maybe we should see a doctor about this.” Instead, I hid them; and if my parents found a sign of an accident (wet underwear or pants) it was treated as me being wrong— like I wanted to piss myself.

So, I developed an infatuation with diapers, because they felt like the answer to my issue. I started to think, “if I’m going to be threatened with diapers, doesn’t that mean they’re a solution to my problem— even if that solution is embarrassing.” But, the threat never became reality. This line of thought started when I was 12-13. I remember googling “can a teen need diapers” or “is it normal to pee yourself as a teenager.”

When I was 16, I got my driver’s license, and while my parents were away for work, I did what all future ABDL’s do. I drove to Walmart, and bought my first pack of depends. I had already seen ABDL porn (as a result of the aforementioned google searches), and knew that it turned me on. So, I can’t say the purchase was entirely to relax my stress from accidents. By that time, my laughing accidents had even calmed down a bit— I was only having issues a few times a month. But, as soon as I tried them, I loved the feeling of diapers— both sexually and for the relief they brought. I even remember putting one on for the first time, and feeling like all the stress in the world had melted away. The first thing I did when I got home, was watch “Step Brothers” which only a few years before, had made me wet myself with laughter 4-5 times when I first saw it. The contrast in those experiences, was insane. I felt so “okay” with myself in the diaper, whereas I hated myself when I was failing to hold an accident when I first saw Will Ferrell rub his nuts on a drum set 😂

I mentioned that my accidents slowed down around 16-17, and that’s true. By the time I was 18-19, it was a once-per-year kind of thing, and I spent college mostly dry, but still infatuated by diapers. That’s when I really started exploring ABDL on social media, and considering it a kink that I wanted to be involved with. But, I was in a fraternity at the time; so I only got to indulge wit it on occasion. It was more of a “see don’t do” experience at the time.

But, when I went to law school, I was on my own for the first time. I had my own apartment; and plenty of money to enjoy my fetish. I started getting more involved with the community; and I started wearing diapers more often, when I was alone.

Because of law school stress, and the drinking culture that surrounds it, it wasn’t uncommon for me to come home, and put on a diaper, to decompress while drunk. After a few months, I started wearing every night when I didn’t have friends over. My (almost) nightly routine was to throw on a diaper, grab a beer (or 5), and smoke a blunt on my apartment’s roof. Without even realizing it, I followed the exact steps that you will see on here to become a bedwetter— getting used to diapers; wetting in any position; and drinking lots before bed.

Looking back, it’s unsurprising, that this routine turned into me developing a bedwetting habit. At first, I think it was psychological— like I would wake up slightly, realize I was in a diaper, and wet before going back to sleep. But, I started wetting when I wasn’t wearing to bed; and I even had accidents with friends/hook-ups in bed with me. I always blamed it on alcohol, until I eventually confessed to one friend that I had incontinence issues and a diaper fetish— but she was incredibly considerate. I think this is when I started thinking that it was okay to wear diapers— due to both real accidents, and personal desires.

Around this time, I also focused my serious dating relationships on people in the ABDL community. A few were surprised when they realized I was actually a bedwetter, since it’s such a common trope/fantasy within the community. That really helped me embrace this part of me; and I’ll always be grateful for those who were involved.

About 2 years ago, I started working from home when I became in-house counsel and left litigation to do transactional work. And, with some help, I decided to go 24/7 at that time. This lasted for several months, but I don’t think I ever fully committed to it at the time.

But, a month ago, and after a lot of thinking, my wonderful mommy and I decided that I should try 24/7 again. She’s incredibly supportive, and has helped me realize this is something I should do.

I realize now that medical issues made me incontinent as a kid/teen. And that hatred of being incontinent manifested itself in me searching for a solution (albeit, one that was presented as a sign that there was something wrong with me).

Earlier today, I was texting my mommy; and I told her that I feel like going 24/7 now, is a “redo” of past experiences. I wish I had diapers when I was younger. But they were always presented as a sign that there was something wrong with me; and they were never actually offered as a solution— just a threat. But, now, I get to wear diapers. while accepting that being incontinent was just part of who I was/am. When I was a teenager, I would’ve killed to make the accidents go away. And, while I was told to dread the idea of diapers, I also came to view them as a saving grace.

I’ll post more in part 2. But I suppose I just wanted to vent about my experiences, and how I got to this stage.

#babyspace #diaperboy #peepants #babyboy #ab dl #incontinence #incontinent boy

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diaperedamberthe2ndcumming · 8 days ago

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Ambers Accidents pt 2

I woke up with a start, the sunlight streaming through my window, and a strange sensation between my legs. My heart sank as I realized the familiar warmth and wetness—I had wet myself again, this time in my sleep. The pull-up I was wearing, a humiliating reminder of my punishment, had done its job, but the feeling of lying in my own urine was mortifying.

As I lay there, frozen in embarrassment, my bedroom door creaked open, and my mother walked in. Her eyes immediately went to the large wet spot on my bed and the pull-up that had failed to contain my accident.

"Oh, Amber, what have we here?" she said, her voice stern. "Looks like you've had another accident. Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

I felt my face burning with shame as I sat up, my pull-up sagging under the weight of the urine. My mother helped me out of bed, her hands gently guiding me to the bathroom. She removed the wet garment, cleaning me thoroughly, her touch both comforting and humiliating at the same time.

"There, all clean," she said, her tone softening slightly. "Now, let's get you dressed for school. You don't want to be late."

I nodded meekly, feeling like a little child as she dressed me in a cute pink dress, complete with frilly socks and Mary Jane shoes. My long blonde hair was brushed and tied into pigtails, making me look even younger than my already youthful appearance.

"There, my little princess," she cooed, adjusting my hair. "You look adorable. Now, remember to be a good girl at school, and no more accidents."

I nodded again, feeling a strange mix of emotions. On one hand, I was embarrassed and ashamed, but there was also a small part of me that enjoyed the attention and the way my mother was taking care of me.

At school, I tried my best to act normal, but the pull-up beneath my dress was a constant reminder of my humiliation. I felt self-conscious as I walked into Mr. Johnson's class, my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The day seemed to drag on forever, and I held my breath every time I felt the urge to use the bathroom, terrified of having another accident.

During lunch, I sat alone, picking at my food, when suddenly I felt a sharp pain in my stomach. Before I could even process what was happening, I soiled myself, the warm mess filling my underwear. Panic-stricken, I jumped up, knocking my chair over, and ran out of the cafeteria.

I sprinted home, my eyes stinging with tears of humiliation. I tried to sneak into the house, but my mother was waiting for me in the hallway.

"Amber, what's the rush? And why are you home so early?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.

I stood there, frozen, unable to speak. She grabbed my arm and pulled me towards her, her eyes fixing on the back of my dress. With a swift motion, she lifted the back of my skirt, revealing the soiled underwear.

"Oh, Amber, not again," she sighed, shaking her head. "I thought I told you to be a good girl. Come with me."

She marched me upstairs to my room, where she undressed me, her movements efficient and matter-of-fact. She pulled down my soiled underwear, and the smell hit me, making my face burn even hotter. She cleaned me, the rough cloth wiping between my cheeks, and then dressed me in a fresh pull-up.

"You're going to wear these from now on, young lady," she said firmly. "And we'll see if that helps with your little problem."

The rest of the day was a blur of infantilizing care. She cut my food into small pieces at dinner, making sure I ate like a well-behaved toddler. After dinner, she took me to the bathroom, sitting me on the toilet and waiting until I peed, praising me like a child. I was then bathed and put to bed early, the soft teddy bears surrounding me in my crib-like bed.

The next morning, I woke up to my mother's gentle touch, helping me out of my pull-up and into the shower. She washed my body, her hands lingering on my breasts and between my legs, causing a strange tingling sensation. After the shower, she dressed me in a frilly, baby-doll dress, complete with a pair of white lacy pull-ups.

"You look so cute, my little baby girl," she cooed, adjusting the frilly socks on my legs. "Now, let's get you off to school."

I felt even more embarrassed than the day before as I walked into Mr. Johnson's class, the lacy pull-ups rustling under my dress. I could sense the other students' curious glances, but I kept my head down, focusing on the desk in front of me.

As the day progressed, I felt Mr. Johnson's eyes on me more and more. I could sense his desire, the way he looked at me when he thought no one was watching. My heart raced as I wondered what he might do.

Finally, the bell rang, signaling the end of the day. I gathered my things, eager to escape the stares and my own growing arousal. Just as I was about to leave, Mr. Johnson called out.

"Miss Amber, a word please," he said, his voice deep and commanding.

My heart skipped a beat as I turned to face him. His eyes were intense, burning with a mixture of desire and authority.

"Yes, Mr. Johnson?" I managed to squeak out, my voice barely audible.

"I've been noticing your… struggles lately," he said, stepping closer to me. "And I think it's time we address the root of the problem."

I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. Mr. Johnson's hand reached out and gently lifted my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.

"You've been a very naughty girl, Amber," he whispered, his hot breath caressing my face. "And naughty girls need to be taught a lesson."

Before I could respond, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me towards the closed door of the classroom. My heart was pounding as he locked the door, ensuring our privacy.

"Now, let's see what we have under here," he said, his fingers deftly unbuttoning the back of my dress. He slid the straps off my shoulders, letting the dress fall to the floor, leaving me standing in just my lacy pull-up.

"Such a naughty outfit for a naughty girl," he murmured, his eyes raking over my body. "But I think we can do better."

With that, he reached down and ripped the pull-up from my body, leaving me completely exposed. I stood there, trembling, my nipples hardening in the cool air.

"That's better," he said, his voice hoarse. "Now, bend over my desk."

I did as I was told, my heart racing with anticipation and fear. I felt his hands on my bare skin, caressing my ass cheeks, and then the sharp smack of his hand against my flesh.

"You've been a very bad girl, Amber," he growled, delivering another smack. "And I'm going to teach you a lesson you won't forget."

Each smack of his hand sent a jolt of pain and pleasure through my body. I bit my lip to stifle the moans that threatened to escape. Mr. Johnson's hand left red marks on my skin, and I could feel my pussy getting wetter with each strike.

"Oh, you like this, don't you, you little slut?" he hissed, his hand moving between my legs. He slid a finger into my wetness, making me gasp. "You've been a very naughty girl, and now you're going to be punished."

He pushed me onto my back on the desk, my legs hanging over the edge. In one swift motion, he unzipped his pants and pulled out his throbbing cock.

"Please, Mr. Johnson, I…" I started to protest, but my words were cut off as he pushed his thick member into my mouth.

He held my head in place, thrusting his cock deep into my throat. I gagged, my eyes watering, but he showed no mercy, using my mouth for his pleasure. His hands gripped my hair, controlling my movements as he fucked my face.

After a few minutes of this, he pulled out, his cock glistening with my saliva. "Now, it's time for your real punishment," he said, his voice thick with desire.

He positioned himself at my entrance, his cock pressing against my pussy lips. With one hard thrust, he buried himself inside me, claiming my body with his own. I cried out, my back arching off the desk as I felt him fill me completely.

Mr. Johnson began to move, his hips slamming against mine, driving his cock deep within me. The desk creaked with each powerful thrust, and I felt my orgasm building, the pleasure mixing with the pain from the earlier spanking.

"That's it, you dirty girl," he grunted, his hands gripping my thighs. "Cum for me, Amber. Show me how much you love being punished."

His words sent me over the edge, and I cried out as my orgasm ripped through my body. My pussy clenched around his cock, milking him as waves of pleasure washed over me.

Mr. Johnson continued to pound into me, his own release building. With a final, powerful thrust, he came, filling my pussy with his hot cum. He collapsed onto me, his weight pressing me into the desk, our sweaty bodies sticking together.

As we lay there, catching our breath, I realized this was just the beginning. Mr. Johnson had finally given in to his desires, and I knew that my submission to his discipline was far from over.

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