All Are Extremely Hot Except The Pullups/diapers

all are extremely hot except the pullups/diapers

Favorite Omo Things

Tied to something and not being able to go

Squirming, whining, begging to be allowed to pee

Wetting overalls

Not being able to undo a belt in time

Stubbornly pretending to not have to go and then having an accident

The sniffles, whimpering about wet pants

Forced to drink

Being told/forced to wet pants on purpose

Being teased and humiliated about not being able to hold it

Wetting pull-ups and leaking

Diapers

Wetting in someone’s lap

Holding contests

Being tickled and having an accident

Being praised for wetting pants, “good girl” etc.

Being threatened/put in diapers because of an accident

Sleepy wetting/bedwetting because of medication or alcohol

Wetting uniforms/nice clothes

Being comforted after an accident

When I first tell you I want you to ask permission before you go to the bathroom, you think it's about general control. You think it's about learning that you need to ask permission for even your body's most basic needs.

For the first two weeks, any time you ask, I say yes. It lulls you into a false sense of security. If I'm going to say yes every time, you don't need to worry, right? At first, you asked at the first sign of a twinge in your bladder, just in case, but now you've decided it's okay to wait until you naturally would head for the bathroom.

The next time you ask, I say no.

"No?"

I shake my head. Your brow furrows. Your bladder is full, but it's not that bad, you suppose. Uncomfortable but not painful. You shift in your seat, not used to having to hold it when the bathroom is right there, but in situations without easy access to a bathroom, you've definitely held worse. You squirm a little in your seat for the next hour until you gather up the courage to ask again. I say yes. You sigh in relief and go.

I let you get comfortable again. Too comfortable.

A week later, we're out running errands, and you don't like using the public bathrooms. It's hot, and you drink the full volume of your water bottle without thinking. In the car on the way home, you try to discreetly press your thighs together. You shouldn't have had so much to drink. The seatbelt is uncomfortably tight against your aching bladder.

The second we pull into the driveway, you immediately ask to go to the bathroom. Thinking--assuming--I'll say yes. Must be I understand what a dire situation it is? But I shake my head. Your eyes go wide.

"Please," you beg. "I have to go so badly. It's been four hours, and I had way too much to drink."

Too bad. Your steps on the way into the house are cautious and slow, not wanting to jostle your full bladder. You stand just inside the door, not sure what to do. You cross your legs. You barely make it fifteen minutes before asking again, but I won't let you. You let out a sob.

"I can't hold it," you plead. "Don't make me wet myself."

Another fifteen minutes, I tell you. Then you can go.

You squirm and shove a hand between your legs, unable to stay still, not used to holding so much. Your bladder screams for relief. Looking at the bathroom door makes it worse, but you stand right outside it anyway, knowing you're going to need to dash in as soon as possible once the fifteen minutes are up.

When the timer goes off, I tell you you can go. You race into the bathroom and slam the door. With the toilet in sight, your muscles quiver, a tiny leak escaping you as you desperately try to get your pants unbuttoned. Please please please. You finally get your pants down and sit down on the toilet in a rush, the pee gushing out of you into the bowl. You look down at your pants--you avoided a big mess, but your underwear is undeniably wet. You hide it in the back of the laundry pile, not willing to admit that you almost didn't make it.

You never know when I'm going to say no. Sometimes I make you drink a glass of water before bed and tell you you better not wake me up. When you wake up in the night with your bladder heavy, you'll just have to hold it. You toss and turn, trying to wait until morning. You cross your legs and wait for me to wake up. By the time I do, your bladder is hard and swollen. You run to the bathroom as soon as I let you.

One morning, I give you a choice. You get two bathroom breaks from now until tomorrow morning. You can relieve your desperate bladder now, but then you'll be stuck with only one chance to go for the rest of the day. You whimper and whine, already needing to go so badly, but you try to hold it. Throughout breakfast, your hips rock restlessly against the chair. The sound of the coffee pot dripping isn't helping. You barely make it to 10am before having to use one of your passes--but now you only have one more for the entire rest of the day.

I remind you to drink: you wouldn't want to get dehydrated. You want to save your last bathroom trip for before bed, but by 5pm, you know you're not going to make it. You ask to go right after dinner, but I make you wash the dishes first. You double-cross your legs and stick your butt out, squirming, the warm water on your hands making small drips escape despite your best efforts. Every so often, you have to stop and shove your wet hands between your legs, no time to dry them off first if you want to prevent a leak. You know it's a losing battle, but you try anyway, fighting your own body's basic instincts.

There are still two dishes left to wash when you feel the hot trickle down the inside of your thigh. Oh god, no. It takes you a few seconds to stop it. Putting your hands back in the water is torture, but you know your only hope is to finish the dishes and make it to the bathroom before your bladder bursts. You're dripping steadily now, your pants getting wetter and wetter as you frantically finish washing the last two dishes.

What a mess, I tell you. You show me the empty sink with tears gathering in your eyes. Fine, I say--go ahead.

You're already wetting yourself, but you run into the bathroom anyway, letting the rest out into the toilet.

You let out a cry of relief, but it's short-lived. No more bathroom breaks now until morning, and it's barely 7pm.

You're not going to make it, but you'll try.

same!!

I just think that I should have my bladder control privileges taken away. I take it for granted, going to the bathroom when ever I want most of the time. I need to be made to really savor and treasure when I’m allowed to sit and relieve myself in the same place my betters get to pee… I’m a piss toy. A bladder holding, pee for brains slut. I’m made to drink as much as I am told and to whimper and shake from the effort of keeping my underwear dry. My bladder is literally meant to be a squish toy with built in crying sound effects. I am supposed to let my stomach bulge with water until I’m dripping down my legs consistently, creating an ever growing puddle that foreshadows the imminent collapse of my muscle function. I’m a water balloon for piss for anyone who wants to fill it and I’m never ever allowed to let it go until I burst

Support your local transfem this month by giving her the most mind melting head of her life

thinking about sitting on a cute tgirl’s lap. i’d start shifting my ass around on her lap, i’ve got to get comfortable! definitely no ulterior motives~

soon enough, i’d feel her get hard underneath me. i feel her pressing into my ass, i moan at the sensation. i spin myself around so i can look her in the eyes. i start grinding my cock onto hers, moaning into her ear. i pull my head back to see her bright red, turned on yet so embarrassed.

i push the hair out of her face and lean over to suck on her neck. the red, teethy marks I leave on her that mark her as mine. she grabs my hips and speeds up my grinding, i hear her whining get louder and more intense.

i whisper encouragement into her ear: “come on, cutie, that’s right, good girl, cum for me”. she sighs and i feel a warm liquid begin coating my cock. i look down and see her cumming all over herself and me. i go to kiss her, praising her for doing such a good job.

“such a good girl.”

mmmmmmmmmmmm-

Hey what if you made a schedule for when I was allowed to use the bathroom. Maybe you just made me sit next to you on the couch as I squirmed and pressed my thighs together. Perhaps you could slyly whisper in my ear “Aw.. do you have to go that bad? I’m sure you can last until your scheduled time … it’s only in 2 hours..” and I could beg and beg but you’d insist that the only ways I could relieve myself is to wet myself, wait the last 2 hours, or get a 𝘱𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵…

You know.. what if..