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A few years ago, I lived in a luxury apartment complex. Across the hall was a great guy by the name of John. John was a very well-liked guy around town, owned his own business, was attractive, dated several nights a week, and enjoyed most sports. We met while golfing at the complex’s course. He had a great knack for making everyone feel comfortable and ready for fun. A party seemed to follow him where ever he went. We became great, close friends–threw many parties for the complex between our suites, golfed, sailed and worked out together. We “doubled” often and Jon always had a great looking date. I noticed he never seem to click with anyone for any length of time, but there was never a lack of company for him. I liked him immensely. He was a wild little guy, about 5’6″ tall, but very well-built and confident. He was also a real practical joker and, if some stunt of his was too much for me, I’d fall back on my college football days and call him a fucking tackling dummy, and try to toss him down. It was never easy to get the best of little John physically.

On his thirtieth birthday, I had a surprise party for him. We threw it at my place, and I told all the guests to bring cheap halloween wigs and gag gifts. The one thing John was sensitive about was his thinning hair. You can imagine the laughs we all had watching him open the gifts and trying each one of them on. He got right into the spirit of things and even had us trying them on. But he promised me he’d get me when I least expected it.

Weeks later, I came home late from an exhausting day, fixed a sandwich and plopped into bed to tune out in front of the Television. Except for the light from the set, my room was dark. After an hour or so, I got pretty lonely and started feeling myself. I was getting aroused, so I rolled over and began grinding my hips into the mattress. The friction of the sheets as I rubbed my swollen cock head against them and the pressure of my hard-on against the mattress and my stomach felt fabulous. I was luxuriating in the ecstasy of bringing myself off.

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I thought I was a freak. You see, I am a girl and I like wearing diapers. When I say diapers I mean diapers and rubber pants. I was glad to learn that other people, especially women, wore diapers too.

It started when I was sixteen. I had a friend take me to get my drivers license. I was taking the written examination when I noticed the girl across the counter from me was dancing around. She was hopping from one foot to the other. I thought she was so nervous she would never pass the driving test even If she passed the written test. Just as I finished the written test I heard her sigh with relief and I thought she must have finished too. I soon found out what she had finished. She had just finished peeing.

She had been dancing around trying to hold it in but had finally let go. It was not obvious that was what had happened. But, as she came up to turn in her test I heard a woman say “You wet your diaper, didn’t you?” The girl said “Yes momma, I tried to hold it but couldn’t wait any longer.” I made it a point to look but could see no sign that she was wearing a diaper, let alone a wet one. Her mom must have noticed her dancing around and knew when the girl quit what had happened.

I was told it would be about an hour before I could take my driving test so I decided to use the ladies room while I waited. As I came out of the stall in the ladies room I saw the same girl. She was laying on the floor with her skirt around her waist. She was wearing a wet diaper which her mother was removing. I washed my hands real slow as I watched in the mirror over the sink. When the diaper was off her, her mother washed her up, put another diaper under her and pinned it in place. She handed the girl a pair of rubber pants. The girl stood up, pulled the rubber pants up, let her skirt down and they left the room. By the time I got out of the ladies room they were calling my name to take my driving test.

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Author’s Note: This was written for a girlfriend of mine many years ago. She chose the motif for me to write about. All flames should be directed towards her. Alas, I know not where she is.

Her eyes adjusting to the faint glow of the monitor’s lights, she awoke. Every inch of her skin was cold, but that was to be expected after ten years in thermo freeze. The room was not as she remembered it. Once shiny metal cabinets were now covered with dust; debris littered the floor. She glanced over at the three other thermo tanks in the room, there lights were out. This meant that her companions had already evacuated or more likely that they were dead.

Slowly, she lifted herself off the bed on which she lay, ducking her head to avoid the glass cover which had protected her for the last ten years. She walked stiffly over to the next tank. Commander Barton’s body was still inside, while her pulse and respiratory indicators showed her to be dead. The other two tanks, which were reserved for the two men of the crew, also contained bodies with no detectable respiration or heartbeat. She was the only surviving member of her squad.

There were nearly a hundred squads of four in isolated control rooms like this. They were separated by several hundred miles. The rational behind this was that when the bombs started to fall at least one-third of the control rooms were expected to survive. After the nuclear winter had eliminated all human life the chosen ones would emerge from suspended animation and start over; at least those who survived would.

Her name was Jessica Martin, an architect, art historian, construction engineer and most important a fertile female. By her acceptance into the Savior’s program, she had agreed to become the mate of one of the members of her squad. He was a loathsome man with a genius level I.Q. This requirement had almost made Jessica reject the program’s offer, but she had wanted to survive the holocaust. It was almost a relief that his life support system had failed. Unfortunately, the only two other members of the Saviors program who could help her were also dead.

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I am a dominant wife, and I dearly love to crush the male.

We’ve been married one year. I’m 29 and Gene is 26. I stand 5’10”, measure 37-25-36, and have won several beauty contests. Gene is 5’7″ and slender, and only his money attracted me. At age 23, he inherited a thriving business when his parents died; at 24, he inherited considerable stocks and bonds from an aunt. When we dated, and I discovered he could be completely dominated, I decided to share the wealth. He proposed, and learned he would have to be my slave. He agreed.

Even before the wedding I sought other couples to share fun and games. I found two perfect pairs. Bill and Ginger are 31; Don and Phyllis are 30. Each couple is socially prominent and dedicated to female domination. Bill and Don are big, muscular men who, unlike Gene, are bisexual. Although I ridicule and discipline Gene daily, Saturday night he is humiliated and punished by others.

We arrive at Ginger’s house about 9 pm. Each wife prepares her slave in a separate room. I know Bill and Don will wear rubber jockstraps and be unbound. I make Gene strip, fold his arms up against his back, and with cuffs and short chains I lock his hands to a collar. Naked and helpless, he is marched into the game room to stand at attention near us. Don and Bill, making drinks, pause and run their eyes warmly over Gene’s body.

The men kneel alongside our chairs while we three girls visit. Soon I designate one of the men to watch Gene and report if he relaxes his attention pose. When he does, Ginger or Phyllis gives him several hard swats with a paddle. One of them suggests nipple rings as further punishment. A heavy steel ring is snapped onto the tip of each nipple, and Gene’s penis rises and swells instantly. We girls laugh at his slim six inches and I tell him how inept he is as a lover.

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“Hi Craig.” she said as we passed in the hallway, “remember me?” It isn’t that I didn’t recognize her, it’s just that I didn’t expect to ever run into her again. Hilary had graduated from the university some four or five years earlier, and it is pretty unusual for former students to return to visit beyond a year or two after graduation.

“Well hello Hilary, what are you doing here?” I replied, a little surprised, since I didn’t remember her being overly friendly with me, especially since I was merely on the staff at this university, and not one of the faculty.

Hilary explained that she had been invited back to give a guest lecture to the current students on the life of a working actress on the road with bus and truck musicals.

These are revivals of old standard musicals, usual a performing vehicle for some fading variety star of twenty years ago, like Robert Goulet or Debbie Reynolds. They go from city to city playing anywhere from one day to a couple of weeks. It can mean being on the road for months at a time. The name comes from the fact that the scenery travels in a truck, and the performers in a bus. The hours are long and the work grueling, and the hotel rooms are all the same. However, the pay can be excellent, and competition for the roles is tough. If you can last it out on the road for any length of time, you are good, and you are tough.

And Hilary was tough. When she was a theatre student, she was not one your stars-in-the-eyes innocent acting students. Quite the contrary, as the daughter of professional performers, she knew what it took to succeed, and because of that she worked hard at her craft. After four years of intense study, she had developed into a talented singer, actress and dancer.

Her biggest drawback as a performer was that she was small. Petite is perhaps a better word. Standing barely five feet tall, Hilary was not the standard show girl type. All the more need for talent and sheer will to get ahead in the business.

Her small stature was never a drawback in my book. Being on the short side of average height myself, I always had a preference for small women. And Hilary fit my ideal almost to a ‘T’. At five foot, she may have weighted ninety five pounds or so, but her small body was exquisitely shaped and well packed to boot, her shape reminded me of Jennifer Grey in Dirty Dancing. When she was still a student I can remember watching her rehearse, and being fascinated with her small taut round thighs and her pert tits, that jiggled so nicely when she danced. My pulse would quicken rise whenever she was dancing on stage and an actor would lift her so that her costume would rise to reveal her high round butt encased in lycra and lace. She was the kind of vision that would occupy both my sleeping and waking dreams. I spent much of my time back stage watching her great little ass.

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