Letter: StepDaddy

By | February 22, 2016

For as long as I can remember, I have had a diaper fetish. When I was very young, I was always jealous of the younger children that wore diapers. As I grew up, I became envious of my friends that wet the bed and were given pullups to sleep in. A few times I even wet the bed on purpose, hoping my mother would buy me pullups, but she only told me it was just an accident and not to worry. Perhaps if I had kept it up for a long period of time, but I always chickened out after the first night.

As I got older, my desires turned a bit darker and I began to fantasize about spanking, being embarrassed and forced to wear diapers. The first time I heard of an enema, I was hooked and added that to my mind locker of fap fodder.

When I was 15, my mother married my stepfather – Rich. He was a good man, but it only lasted a couple years. My mom was simply too high maintenance for him, so they split when I was 17. Then, a couple months after my 18th birthday, I got accepted to go to college in the city where he lived. My mom couldn’t afford an apartment and didn’t want me to work while in school, so she worked out an arrangement with my stepdad to live with him.

After my first semester, my grades were abysmal. College was a bit more work than I expected and I spent most of my time living it up with my new friends in the city. My mother was furious about my failing grades, but so was Rich. I spent all of that break at my mom’s being bitched at, so I couldn’t wait to get back to the city.

When I did get back, I had a big surprise waiting for me. Rich had searched my room, expecting to find drugs or something to explain my failure. Instead he found my stash of adult diapers and ABDL porn. I remember how flushed I felt when I saw my box of porn on the dining room table and Rich just standing next to it. I honestly thought I was going to pass out.

I was expecting a lecture, but Rich threw me for a loop when he spoke: “Is this really what you want? To be spanked and put into baby diapers? If that’s what you need to get your act together, tell me now.”

Not sure what he was saying, I freaked out and started crying. I wasn’t sure if he was going to have me committed to a mental hospital or was making an offer. When I began bawling, however, his demeanor changed and he gave me a hug.

After a few minutes, I calmed down and begged him not to tell anyone. That’s when he told me he was serious about getting my act together. If I needed the stuff in my stories, he would make that happen.

I had really mixed feelings about that for several reasons. These desires were very strong, but they were also very sexual and he was basically my dad. The other thing was that he had always found me attractive. From the time I met him at 15, I would occasionally catch him staring at my tits or ass. It was never creepy or anything, but it was definitely a thing.

When I didn’t answer right away, he told me to put the box away and we could forget the whole thing, but he wanted to be clear that if I changed my mind I only needed to tell him. I spent the next few days completely avoiding him, other than the obvious meal time interactions.

Thinking about it, however, was something I couldn’t stop doing. This was something I wanted more than anything I could imagine. If he was anyone else, I would have jumped at the opportunity. As the days passed, I kept wearing down that mental block.

Almost a week later, I decided to bite the bullet and at dinner I told him I was interested in his offer. He told me that I should go find one of my stories that best described what I wanted or to write one if none of my stories fit the bill. There was at least three dozen stories in my box though, so I just searched for one of the few that didn’t have anything sexual in it. As much as it was a sexual thing for me, that was a completely different barrier I wasn’t prepared to cross.

He read the entire story as we ate dinner, then put it in the middle of the table until we were finished. He told me to put the dishes away and then meet him in the living room. When I got there, he took hold of my wrist and pulled me over to the couch, where he sat down and pulled me over his lap. It felt so awkward, but so amazing at the same time.

His hand smacked my ass a few times, but not very hard. I reacted, but more out of anticipation than pain. Every smack hit a little harder and harder and I could tell he was testing the waters. After a few dozen smacks, he pulled my yoga pants down to my knees. There was a pause when he did it and I could tell he was worried if he was crossing a line, but all I knew was how amazing it felt.

Under the yoga pants, I was wearing a thong, so he began to spank my bare ass in earnest. Again, harder and harder as the spanking continued. It hurt like hell, but I was loving it at the same time. It was my first spanking that wasn’t self inflicted, so I was learning as I went as well. All I knew was that I wanted to cry and he didn’t disappoint. Good thing I chose a story that highlighted the idea that all spankings should end in genuine tears.

My ass was burning when he stopped and the tears were flowing down my face and I was blubbering like a baby. He helped me up and just pulled me close for a hug as I cried into his shoulder. Before this, I had never known anything about aftercare or that I would need it after an actual spanking. He seemed to know, however, which was a very good sign.

After I stopped crying, he grabbed a tissue and wiped the snot from my face and helped me to blow my nose. I felt so young at that moment, that I knew I had made the right decision. He told me to go to the bathroom and wash my face and then meet him in my room.

When I got to my room, he was standing next to the bed and had pulled a diaper and powder from my box. It was one of my last three Molicare diapers, but I didn’t care. He patted the bed to signal that I should lay down. When I did, he pulled off my panties and I suddenly felt very vulnerable and awkward. He, on the other hand, seemed completely unfazed and simply unfolded the diaper, lifted my legs and slid it under my butt.

After a big puff of baby powder, he spent a full two minutes trying to line up the diaper, so the tapes would properly.  As soon as he pulled the diaper tight, I could feel my pussy getting wet and I was glad he couldn’t see through the diaper. Once the diaper was on tight, he told me it was bed time and tucked me in. It was only a little after 8pm, but that was part of the story I had shown him – 8pm bed time every night.

I waited for a few minutes after he left the room before I stuck my hand down the front of my diaper. That night I gave myself half a dozen orgasms and soaked the diaper without releasing my bladder.

Over the next few months, we explored this new part of our lives. It took me a few weeks before I was comfortable with him changing my wet diapers and a few months before I was comfortable with having messy diapers changed.

Rich was basically the perfect Daddy. He kept me in diapers and used just the right amount of humiliation to keep me in check. When I was good, he spoiled me. When I was bad, I was punished. Spankings were common, but it wasn’t long before mouth soaping, corner time and even enemas were added to the routine. I wore 24/7, even to school, but was given money for a wardrobe that adequately hid them from prying eyes.

About six months in, my sex drive was in full swing and I finally decided to stop thinking of him as my stepdad and started thinking of him as my Daddy. I surprised him one night by asking if we could cuddle and watch a movie, which we did all the time, but this time I snuck my hand into his pajama pants and started playing with his cock. He didn’t even flinch.

We have now been together for almost six years and I wouldn’t change my life for anything. My mom still thinks I just live here rent free, but she never visits so it doesn’t really matter.

~ Danielle ~

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This blog is kept spam free by WP-SpamFree.