Search the Community

Showing results for tags 'male '.



More search options

  • Search By Tags

    Type tags separated by commas.
  • Search By Author

Content Type


Forums

  • Omorashi
    • Omorashi general
    • Omutsu general
    • Wetting experiences
    • Artwork and doujinshi
    • Fiction and fanfiction
    • Interactive stories
    • Video links and uploads
  • General
    • Bug reports
    • Off-topic discussion
    • Anime discussion
    • Guidance and counseling
    • Debate zone
    • Forum games
  • RolePlaying
    • Roleplaying realm
    • Roleplaying recruitment & discussion
  • Diapers and Ageplay's Discussions
  • Furry Fandom's Discussions

Categories

  • Animation
    • Omoani
    • Anime scenes
    • Hentai
  • Eroge & Doujinshi
    • Doujinshi Archives
    • Artwork and CG Sets
    • Visual Novels
    • RPGs
  • Female videos
    • Holding contests
    • Almost made it
    • Diapers and ageplay
    • Public wetting
    • Bedwetting
    • Cosplay
    • Desperation
    • Peeing
  • Male videos
    • Holding contests
    • Almost made it
    • Diapers and ageplay
    • Public wetting
    • Bedwetting
    • Cosplay
    • Desperation
    • Peeing

Blogs

There are no results to display.

There are no results to display.

Product Groups

  • Premium Subscriptions
  • Advertising

Categories

  • General
  • Main
  • Fetishes
  • Appearance
  • Miscellaneous

Find results in...

Find results that contain...


Date Created

  • Start

    End


Last Updated

  • Start

    End


Filter by number of...

Joined

  • Start

    End


Group


FurAffinity


Skype


Website URL


Location


Interests

Found 10 results

  1. I had quite a lot to drink during the afternoon and held as long as I could. Then finally stepped into shower in my tidy whities (Hugo Boss) and decided to video the wetting. Caution, very brief flash of male private parts. After finishing, decided to rinse off with shower, still in my undies. Movie09-09-2017_1903.mov Movie09-09-20117_1905.mov
  2. diokno44x

    female Car Wetting 2

    So, this took place during second grade, around the early to mid year if memory serves. After getting changed out of the last diaper in my pack, we were gonna go pick up more after, I buckled into the passenger seat. On the way out of the neighborhood where my elementary/middle school, Saint John Vianney was, I looked at my mom and told her, "Mommy, I gotta pee." she stopped the car, and just as I was getting out to pee on a tire, as I had done a few times when driving while diaperless, my bladder released, and I swiftly flooded my khaki pants. My mom patted my shoulder, and changed me into a fresh diaper once we got some at Toys R Us
  3. Sapphire3619

    In the Dark

    Happy start of the semester, for all of you whose lives still revolve around education! I'm two weeks into my semester, which means procrastinating :) Enjoy this latest one-shot! I swear, I have an idea for another chaptered story, but first, I have to line up enough consecutive free weekends to get it done. PS - For the uninitiated, "euchre" is pronounced "you-ker" (yeah, I know) *** “Thank for dinner, Mrs. Eckstrom,” Brad said genuinely as he took his plate to the kitchen sink. “Yeah, thank, Aunt Brigid,” Keith agreed, following his teammate. “You’re welcome, boys,” Brigid responded, reaching out to take Brad’s plate from him. “Can we help with the dishes?” Brad asked, making Brigid smile. “No need for that, honey, but thank you,” Brigid said. “But I’ll be sure to tell your mom you offered at the game tomorrow.” The game Brigid referred to was the first in Brad and Keith’s summer lacrosse tournament. Her nephew and his teammate lived a couple of states over, so they had bussed in with the rest of their team a day early. The small town that hosted the tournament every year reveled in the influx of teenage boys and their families, setting up temporary farmers’ markets and opening their homes to players from teams who couldn’t afford to pay for hotels. Brigid and her husband Terry lived several miles out of town, where the houses were even further apart and the only noises at night were those of nature, but Keith was her brother’s youngest son, so she had eagerly agreed to let him and one of his teammates stay in her spare bedrooms during the tournament. Brigid’s own three children were grown, so their old rooms were almost always open to guests. “So what time is your game tomorrow?” Brigid asked the boys after finishing the dishes. “We don’t play until noon, so we have to be at the field by eleven,” Keith explained. “Oh, so I don’t have to put you to bed too soon,” Brigid teased her nephew, grinning. Keith beamed in response. “I’m pretty sure that means we have time to teach Brad how to play euchre!” Brad smiled bashfully as Mr. and Mrs. Eckstrom enthusiastically agreed. As soon as he found out that Brad would be staying with him, Keith had raved about the possibility of teaching his teammate the classic Midwestern card game. The teams – the teammates versus the spouses, obviously – arranged themselves around the table, chatting excitedly. Well, Keith, Brigid, and Terry chatted excitedly. Brad was an extraordinarily quiet and thoughtful adolescent. As opposed to Keith, who was the youngest of five and came from a family of big families, Brad was an only child of two introverted parents. He was neither awkward nor unfriendly, but he was soft-spoken and diligent. His focus made him an excellent goalie, and his quiet manners made him an excellent houseguest. Of course, Brad and Keith had been friends and teammates for years, so Brad was considerably more relaxed and chatty than he might have been with another host family. Brad, being the kind of person he was, had studied up on euchre, so he and Keith made the game competitive pretty quickly. They played for over an hour and a half, laughing, teasing, and snacking on cheese and crackers and Brigid’s homemade berry sun tea. Finally, around ten PM, Brigid called a halt to the festivities, wanting to give the boys plenty of time to rest. She led the teens upstairs, directing them each to an empty bedroom. Brad thanked her as he took his pajamas and toothbrush to the bathroom to get ready for bed. He changed quickly and brushed his teeth, saying good night to Keith as he headed back to his assigned room. Keith grinned, knowing how seriously his friend took bed time. Brigid stopped by Brad’s room as he set his folded clothes back in his travel suitcase and sat down on the bed. “Do you need anything, honey?” “No, thank you,” Brad responded politely. “Everything looks great.” Brigid smiled appreciatively. “OK. Well, you can just text Keith if you think of anything. He knows his way around the house pretty well.” “Oh, I don’t take my phone into my room at night,” Brad explained, bashfulness undercutting the seriousness of his belief. “The blue light can disturb your Circadian rhythm, so mine’s downstairs with my game bag.” Brigid stopped herself from laughing. He was factually right, after all, even if she’d never met a teen (or many adults, for that matter) who would willingly part with their phones. “Alright, then,” Brigid said in a quieter tone, backing out of the room. “Sleep well, hon.” And she shut the door. And Brad gasped. Because it was dark in the room. Truly dark. The kind of dark that’s only really possible far from cities and towns, where there are not only no lights in the room, but no street lights or lights on the outside of the house to alleviate the total blackness. Just dark. Brad’s heart was already beating a painful staccato. He squeezed his eyes shut and curled to the side, trying to diminish the painful clench in his stomach, borne of both fear and shame. No 16-year-old should be afraid of the dark. But afraid, Brad was. No – terrified. Brad had always been scared of the dark as a child, to the extent that he would scream endlessly if his room was too dark. His parents took him to therapists, and his fear seemed to diminish with age, but really, Brad and his family had just gotten better at managing it. They didn’t live in the country, and Brad was an only child, so there were plenty of ways to make sure he was never surrounded by darkness – night lights, hallway lights, open doors, and, when he got older, cell phones and other electronics. The Mitchell household was never truly dark, so Brad never really had to cope with his terror. Until now. And now, Brad was shaking. He could feel his heart beating wildly as he clutched the blankets around him. He tried to breathe slowly. It’s OK, he thought forcefully. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Everything’s OK. Brad kept his eyes sealed tightly shut. If he just kept his eyes closed, he could pretend that things would actually look different if they were open. And besides, he was pretty tired, so if he just kept his eyes shut, he’d eventually fall asleep, right? Brad was mostly right. The thing with terror is that it’s repetitive, and when you’re tired already, repetitive thoughts can lull the brain to sleep. Between his exhaustion from travel, his mental chants, and his refusal to move, Brad fell asleep much faster than he would have imagined. *** Brad’s eyes crept open. Or did they? Why couldn’t he see? Where was he? It took less than a second for Brad to start to panic. The darkness seemed to press around him with a fierce physicality, and he found himself taking great, gulping breaths. In the next instant, Brad simultaneously figured out where he was and why he’d woken up. He was in a guest bedroom at Keith’s aunt’s house. And he had to pee. Like, really had to pee. Bad enough that he had to thrust his hand between his legs to ease the immediate desperation. Brad let out a low whine. Obviously, he’d gone to the bathroom before bed, but he’d drunk more than usual while playing cards with Keith and the Eckstroms. Now, he had no idea what time it was – it was still oppressively dark and quiet – and he knew he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. He closed his eyes again, trying to calm himself, but not having much luck. It was just as dark now as it was when he’d fallen asleep, and he was caught between two opposing, yet equally pressing realities. He desperately needed to urinate. And he was too scared to move. Brad felt his closed eyes fill with tears. His mind was racing as he tried to mentally talk himself out of his irrational psyhchoparalysis. Just move, he begged himself silently. It’s just a few feet to the door. There’ll be light in the hallway. It’ll be fine. But he couldn’t make himself move. The prospect of standing and walking across the floor that he couldn’t even see left him petrified. This time, the repetitive thoughts weren’t relaxing, not that his swollen bladder would have let him get back to sleep, anyway. He just kept silently fighting with himself, mentally insisting that it wasn’t that hard to just stand up, while every muscle in his body refused to respond. After several minutes, his desperation worsening, Brad’s anger finally outpaced his fear just enough to force his eyes open. It was a terrible decision. The room was still entirely black, and Brad’s panic went into overdrive. Visually confirming just how little there was to see amped up his terror so badly that he felt the crotch of his flannel pajama pants dampen suddenly under his relentless clutch. The fear-catalyzed loss of control completely silenced any rational part of Brad’s brain, and he started to sob. The terror was a parasite, taking over every fiber of his body, both mental and physical. He couldn’t move other than to keep his hand grasped tightly between his legs, and he could no longer maintain a logical train of thought. The fear of the complete darkness was consuming as he cried, curled up on the bed. He was utterly helpless, crying and nearly hyperventilating. Brad didn’t hear the door open over his emotional cacophony, but the dim light from the hallway poured over him like air filling a vacuum. He gasped as his eyes flew open, slowly focusing on the silhouette outlined against the faint but permeating light from the half-open door. His senses didn’t all come back at once. The light had ignited his sight first, which unfroze his muscles. He was in the process of sitting up and blinking (still unconsciously but necessarily holding himself) when he started to hear things, like finding a station through the static on an old dial radio. “…-ppened? Brad? Honey, are you OK?” Brigid was slowly but steadily making her way over to the teen. She’d given birth to her first child over 27 years ago, and had never lost that miraculous mother’s ability to hear a crying child, even when she was asleep. Although it had taken her a second to figure out where the sound was coming from – hosting two 16-year-old boys didn’t offer as many explanations for nighttime crying as an infant did – but she’d crept out of bed to find out what was wrong. She’d listened at Brad’s door for only a second, calling his name softly, before deciding to open the door. The hallway night light wasn’t strong, but it was enough to illuminate the figure of the teen curled up in bed, weeping. “Brad?” Brigid repeated as she approached the bed. “Honey, what’s wrong? Did you have a nightmare?” Brad could feel the visceral terror melting away, as if the light was actually burning it from the room, but every ounce of mental and emotional space that was evacuated by terror was instantly replaced by shame. He was still shaking – panic attacks don’t let go that easily – and unable to verbally respond to Mrs. Eckstrom. His sobs had diminished into whimpers, and his breathing was slowly starting to even out, but a more pressing need remained. He still had to pee terribly. The fabric of his pants was wet in his grasp, though he could no longer tell if he’d leaked anymore, or if it was sweat from his clenched hand. The mattress shifted as Brigid sat next to him, gently rubbing his arm. “Brad? Honey, can you talk?” She hadn’t noticed his need yet; the shadows of the room were enough to keep her focused on the sound of his cries. Brad had regained just enough of his faculties to shake his head in response to Brigid’s question. He knew He needed to get up now, or else the mattress was going to end up soaked, but he was still trembling too badly to stand on his own. Another pulse rippled through Brad’s lower abdomen, sending a new spurt of warm liquid into his already-wet crotch. He moaned and bent forward, trying to use the weight of his entire upper body to press his hand more forcefully around his dick. Brigid, meanwhile, finally raised her eyebrows in recognition. “OK, honey, let’s get you to the bathroom, OK? It’s just across the hall.” She reached for his elbow, having quickly deduced that the boy wasn’t likely to move on his own. With her other hand on his back, she slowly guided Brad to his feet, though he remained bent forward slightly, both of his hands now at his crotch. Standing was both relieving and intensifying for Brad. He was so grateful to finally be moving in the right direction, literally, but changing position had put more pressure on his fraught body, and he felt a hot leak trickle down the inside of his thigh. He clenched his teeth together, determined to make it the few more feet to the bathroom. Stepping into the hallway felt like stepping from a cave into the sunshine. It was only lit by two night lights, one at either end, but to Brad, it was miraculous. Every second spent out of the dark calmed him a bit further, pulling him from the clutches of panic. Yes, his pajamas had a wet patch, but he could see the bathroom, so he felt better than he had since Brigid had first shut the door hours ago. Brigid turned her guest into the bathroom, reaching over to flip on the light and quickly adjusting the dimmer switch to a reasonable level for that hour of night. Upon seeing the toilet, Brad started to draw in a grateful breath – he’d made it. But before he’d even filled his lungs, he froze, feeling unmistakable heat spread down his thighs. He was peeing on himself. Brad’s breath hitched in his throat as he stood, rooted to the spot next to the sink. He hadn’t felt his body give out – one moment he wasn’t peeing, and the next he was, as if there was a skip in a movie scene. “Br-“ Brigid didn’t even make it one syllable before figuring out why the teen had stopped. She sighed sympathetically, but kept her hand on Brad’s arm. She didn’t want him to think she was shocked or disgusted and upset him further. Warm urine rapidly soaked through Brad’s thin pajama pants. Rivulets streamed down both of his thighs, and he could hear liquid dripping onto the tile floor. He felt hollow, as if there was a black hole in his stomach, sucking all matter inward until there was nothing left. This was the worst thing that could happen. Not only had he freaked out and woken up Mrs. Eckstrom, but now he was going to the bathroom on her floor. And he couldn’t even blame it on the panic attack. If he’d wet the bed in his sleep, or lost control while he was hyperventilating, that would have sucked, but at least it would have been excusable. Now, he was just a 16-year-old boy, totally awake and sane, having an accident two feet from a toilet. Brad wanted to scream. He wanted to collapse. He wanted to curled up on the ground and cry. He wanted to bolt out the door and run all the way back to his hometown. Instead, he just kept standing, one hand rested on the vanity, peeing down the front of himself. Time always stretches out during humiliating moments; Brad felt like he was wetting forever, when it was probably only 20 seconds or so. Which, to be fair, is a pretty long time to pee, but definitely not the hours that it felt like to Brad. “It’s OK, honey,” Brigid murmured when the trickling sounds stopped. “You can just clean yourself up – the towels and washcloths are in the cupboard – and I’ll just go get you some new pajamas. OK?” Brad nodded his assent, grateful that Mrs. Eckstrom was being both pragmatic and quiet. He couldn’t bring himself to talk yet, so he was glad to have a plan, of sorts. While Brigid snuck off to find an appropriate pair of sweatpants, Brad set about cleaning up the humiliatingly large puddle on the floor. He hated the idea of soiling the Eckstrom’s towels, but he knew they’d have to do laundry, anyway, and his sodden pants weren’t going to be of much use sopping up his accident. The floor cleaned (or at least dry), Brad cautiously shut the door and stripped off his drenched pants and underwear, cringing at the sensation. He decided against taking a full shower; he didn’t know how loud the pipes would be, and he had no desire to wake Keith or Mr. Eckstrom. Instead, he soaped up a washcloth in the sink and ran it over his lower body, trying to scrub away the feeling of filth. Just as he finished drying himself, he heard a gentle knock at the door. He wrapped the towel around his waist and turned the knob. “Here,” Brigid said simply, handing him one of her son’s old pair of sweatpants. Brad managed to whisper “Thanks,” his first words since falling asleep. He shut the door and slipped on the pants, then gathered all of the soiled clothes and towels. Brigid was waiting for him when he opened the door. She reached past him and flipped off the still-dimmed bathroom light. “The laundry chute is just this way,” she gestured down the hall. “I’ll run the wash in the morning.” Brad nodded as he followed her to the indicated chute and quietly shoved the pile of cloth past the flap. But then he froze, his stomach already clenching. “OK, sweetheart,” Brigid said encouragingly. “Let’s get you back to bed.” Brad flinched visibly. Even the thought of returning to the pitch-black room elevated his heart rate. Brigid furrowed her brow. “Come on, buddy. You need some sleep.” Brad hunched forward, his lower lip quivering. He couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t. “It’s OK, Brad,” Brigid said softly, trying to guess what was wrong. “It was just an accident. It won’t happen again.” Brad shook his head rapidly. He felt so small. Yes, he’d just had a meltdown and wet himself (in his host’s house, no less), but somehow, admitting he was scared of the dark – being scared of the dark – was even worse. A single tear slipped down his cheek. Moved, Brigid reached up and combed her fingers through the teen’s hair. “What’s wrong, honey?” she prodded. “Why don’t you want to go back to bed?” Brad sniffled. He desperately didn’t want to go back to the guest bedroom, but he also couldn’t bear the thought of further inconveniencing Mrs. Eckstrom. He’d already woken her in the middle of the night and peed on the floor of her bathroom. Brigid kept running her hand through the young man’s hair, waiting patiently for his response. This certainly wasn’t her first experience with a teenager reluctant to disclose something. But even raising three kids of her own didn’t prepare her for what came out of Brad’s mouth. “It’s dark.” The second word came out as a squeak, but Brigid understood. She understood all too well, remembering how she’d shut the door after saying goodnight, effectively trapping the boy in the room. She felt awful. None of her own children had ever been afraid of the dark; it was just a natural state during the country nights. Most of her family had grown to appreciate the complete lack of light, finding it soothing. She’d always shut her children’s doors at night and hadn’t thought twice about the habit with Brad. “Oh, honey,” she apologized, pulling the now-trembling boy into a hug. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you in the dark like that.” Brad bit his lip to keep from sobbing audibly. He was so ashamed. Mrs. Eckstrom shouldn’t have to be sorry; he should be able to be in a dark room without freaking out. “Brad, listen to me,” Brigid ordered gently. “You do not have to stay in the dark. We can turn the light on, or leave the door open, or I can find you a night light. Whatever you want, sweetheart.” Brad looked up, his eyes shining with tears. “That’s OK?” he asked hesitantly. Brigid hugged the teen tighter, her heart aching. “Of course it is, honey. It’s no problem at all.” Brad straightened, releasing himself from the hug. “C-can you just leave the door open?” he stammered. He’d already seen how relieving the light from the hallway was, and he figured it would be the least intrusive option. Brigid smiled knowingly. “I think that’s a great idea.” She placed a hand between Brad’s shoulders to steer him toward the guest room. She paused at the threshold, letting the teen walk in by himself. Her maternal instincts wanted to tuck him in and make sure he was safe, but she didn’t think the teen needed any more infantilizing for the night. Brad slid under the covers, then turned to smile at Mrs. Eckstrom, gratified for everything she’d done, but especially for the low but meaningful light coming from the hall. “Good night, Mrs. Eckstrom,” he whispered, his eyelids already drooping. Brigid stepped back, not touching the open door this time. “Good night, sweetheart.”
  4. knarkill9

    Creating male wetting videos

    Hello all! I have not contributed much to this site, but I visit it on the regular. As far as female wetting videos/pictures and anime artwork goes, this site has a ton of great content. The site also has a good amount of male content, but I am not into any of that. However, I am feeling rather bored at the moment, and thought it might be fun to try and make some videos of my own. So to get to the point, are there any females on this site who would be interested? I am not looking to make a profit, but I am taking requests. Before I start making videos/pictures or anything, I want to know if it is worth the effort. Please give me constructive comments and I will get back to you as soon as possible. I can start making videos by tomorrow if I get requests. Thank you
  5. DesperateCAN

    Quintus Desparatus Est.

    Hello Everyone, so, i studied Latin in my younger years, and our textbook studied the childhood exploits of the ancient Roman Poet Quintus Horatius Flaccus better known as Horace. This story is set in the year 40 B.C. in the small Italian village of Venusia. Enough History! Enjoy! --------------------------------------- Quintus awoke at dawn, he had dreamt that he was making love to the most beautiful girl in school, Julia. He fell back asleep, and when he awoke again, only his mother, Scintilla remained. "Quintus! Your Sister and Father have already left, and you have overslept! Go now or Flavius will have your ass!" Quintus felt a strong jab in his lower abdomen, and felt the urge to use the cultus, but he knew he would be caned if he was late, so he rushed to school. He ran to school for 2 miles, which he would regret later. He was greeted outside the school, amidst the other children, by his best friend Gaius, " Quintus" he said with a sound of relief in his voice" I thought you would get the piss beaten out of you if you had arrived later", Quintus felt a sharp pain in his bladder, and was reminded of his need, he crossed his legs and grabbed his penis through his tunica. The teacher came out, and motioned for the children to enter. Two hours later, Quintus was on the set of a nightmare. His need had gone up 100%, he couldn't cross his legs or the magister would notice. If only he could do it for just a moment..."QUINTUS!" Said Flavius angrily." Why are you not writing down the Arithmetic on your tablet?" Quintus panicked, he didn't want to get caned."I was sir", he said as he pointed to the tablet. Flavius was impressed, he knew Quintus was a smart child, but something was off with him today, he was very squirmish.. "Magister","may I go and relieve myself" asked Quintus hopefully. "No you will wait until after school, like all the other children, if you ask me again, you will write lines until sundown. Quintus waited, and suffered for 2 more hours. Finally, it was time to go home. He rushed out of the classroom, and went to the toilet, which was a stone outhouse. As soon as he was about to open the door, he felt a large meaty paw on his shoulder. He turned around and it was Decimus, the meanest, tallest, strongest, and most ruthless kid in school. "Yo Quint-fag, I gotta take a huge shit so move", Quintus was horrified, he had been waiting all day long, and now to be denied by Decimus. Before he could open his mouth, Decimus was moaning in relief. It was too much for Quintus, who lost it all right there. It felt so good to let all that pent up liquid out. When Decimus finished, he looked at Quintus' soiled tunic, and laughed. "Guess you are more of a baby than I thought you were". Quintus returned home, and fell asleep.
  6. Version 1.0.0

    95 downloads

    Drank a lot of hot green tea today to remedy a sore throat and needless to say it didn't take long for me to get desperate for a pee. Decided to do it in my flimsy pajamas, didn't wear underwear so you can really hear it splash and hiss into the material.

    Free

  7. View File Desperate hissing pee in thin pajamas Drank a lot of hot green tea today to remedy a sore throat and needless to say it didn't take long for me to get desperate for a pee. Decided to do it in my flimsy pajamas, didn't wear underwear so you can really hear it splash and hiss into the material. Submitter Solstice Submitted 09/07/2017 Category Desperation Clothing Pajamas  
  8. Ashi

    Good Pup!

    From the album: Ashi and Zest Omorashi Art

    Artwork by Xywolf Characters belongs to @Ashi and @Zest
  9. Ashi

    Holding Contest - Miri

    From the album: Ashi and Zest Omorashi Art

    Artwork done by Miri Characters belong to @Ashi and @Zest

    © Miri