Dangerousangleofadream - Femdom

It was supposed to be a regular night. You being tucked in bed by your babysitter at 7:30. You know, the usual.

But here you were, being changed by someone you’ve never even met in the middle of a party. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Your babysitter decided to take advantage of the open house. What choice did you have but to go along with it? Nobody ever listened to you. Nobody cared what you had to say. The only thing that mattered was the state of your diaper.

Her friends could not get enough of you. They’d never met a diaper boy in real life. They couldn’t believe someone your age actually lived life without any trace of adulthood. Spending all his time in diapers. No chance at any sexual freedom.

You’d think they’d want to spend their night drinking and partying. And they did, of course. But you were the center of attention. Your diaper was checked way more than necessary. You got more diaper pats than ever before.

You were paraded around in so many outfits before they settled on what they called the “Tommy Pickles” look. They watched too much Rugrats growing up apparently.

It was hard enough to have your babysitter around. She was beautiful and loved teasing you, especially during diaper changes. You always went to bed filled with insatiable arousal.

But this—this was worse. You were surrounded by beautiful girls. Being touched, teased, and titillated. You’d never felt more infantilized. And you live an infantile life.

Then it happened. Your babysitter finally decided it was time to change your diaper, much to the girls’ delight. Her friend begged her to “change the diaper boy!”

So here you were. Mid diaper change surrounded by a group of beautiful girls laughing at you. Laughing at your “little guy” hidden under your diaper. Up way past your bedtime.

This was not how the night was supposed to go.

Women are teaching males to combat stress in focusing only on Women’s Needs.

Of course she does.....we just exist to serve her in whatever way gives her greatest pleasure or profit

look at you, sitting so pretty on your throne. “Your Highness,” they say. “Prince of the realm,” they call you. but do you remember the words I was whispering just hours prior? “my pretty boy,” you’d heard, while gasping at the teeth that nipped at your collarbones. “the royal slut,” you’d told me, when I asked of your title, while you lay draped across that throne of yours. crown askew, hair messy, pressing your hips against mine in an effort to take me as deep as you could, looking absolutely debauched. if you don’t recall, that’s perfectly fine, but when you make eye contact with me, standing amongst the royal guards & I give you that look, you’re going to remember. and I shall watch, pleased, as you squirm in your seat