diapered cuckold

A rare emotion bubbles within you: defiance.

“N-no!! Don’twanna nap!”

You wield it clumsily, like a technical skill you haven’t used in years.

Because you haven’t.

Turning away from Mommy, you see the room that you once believed was the culmination of every fantasy you ever had.

Now it mocks you as a monument to the monotony of your life as her baby.

Dreadful silence blankets the room. Every second weakening your resolve as you wonder what she will do. Mommy never tolerates disobedience.

Will she spank you? Will she tell Daddy?  Will you spend the next 20 minutes in the corner with a bar of soap in your mouth?

You take a deep, steadying breath. It doesn’t matter what the punishment is. You’re sick of being a baby.

“I…I won’t!”

Mommy sighs.

“Jason, look at me.”

Whatever reaction you expected, this was not it. She hasn’t used your name or addressed you like an adult in well over a year.

Maybe she understands!

You stare into your eyes, searching for some hope.

“What’s gotten into you?”

Her question seems genuine. Inviting. This is your chance to tell her everything.

That you’re tired of living life as her baby, without any say in what happens in your life. Tired of the mind numbing baby shows and Fischer Price toys that turn your brain to mush.

That you’re tired of everyone in your life dismissing you like you’re some silly toddler, unworthy of respect or dignity. Tired of early bedtimes, daily naps, and boring, unspiced food.

That you’re tired of wearing diapers and having them changed whenever and wherever she decides. Tired of Winnie the Pooh overalls with snaps at the crotch, Bluey diaper shirts, and pastel onesies.

That you’re tired of diapers being the only place you’re allowed to cum—if Mommy gives you permission. Tired of listening to your best friend fuck your wife while you sleep in a crib.

It’s not cute anymore. You want to be an adult again.

“I want my old life back. No more baby stuff. I’m an adult—time you remember that.”

Mommy laughs.

“Oh, honey…no.”

The simple denial, unburdened by any explanation, feels like a slap in the face.

“What do you mean, no?”

“I mean, no. Nothing will change for you.”

“Yes, it will! You can’t force me to be your baby!”

“You’re right.”

“So, you’ll stop treating me like a baby?”

“No.”

“Then…then I’ll leave!”

“The doors right there, baby.”

For a split second, you think about your freedom—until the reality hits.

Mommy smiles knowingly as you work through the situation.

You have no adult clothes. No cell phone. No money. No car. No driver’s license. Nothing but a stack of diapers and a closet full of onesies.

“Need help packing a bag?”

Her voice oozes with the same infantile cadence you hate. No different from how a parent would entertain a toddler threatening to run away.

“Mommy gave you everything you wanted, hun. You wanted ‘the real thing,’ remember? Not role-play, not a dynamic—no, you wanted authenticity.”

She pokes your diaper.

“Well, you got it! Why do you think I insisted that you give up your law license? Or close your bank accounts and credit cards? Let your driver’s license expire? Hmm?”

She tickles your tummy.

“See, being a baby isn’t just about poofy diapies, colorful pacifiers, and adorable onesies, kiddo. Nope! Real babyhood requires utter dependence on Mommy for your every need! Babies can’t survive without their mommies—and neither can you!”

The full weight of her words crashes down on you.

“You have no money, no job, no place to go. But, sure, if you want to leave, Mommy will put you in a fresh diaper and new onesie, pack you a diaper bag, and wish you luck.”

Her smile throws you off balance.

“I’ll…I’ll call m-my…my friends…”

More laughter.

“Sweetie, everyone knows you’re a baby. Who is going to volunteer to babysit you? You can’t pay rent, can’t help with groceries, and need someone to change your diapers. Nobody is letting you stay with them.”

“I don’t need diapers!”

“You’re incorrigible, kiddo. Your diaper is leaking, by the way. Did you know?”

“I…”

“Face it, sweetheart. There is no going back. Mommy made sure of that. You’re so far from adulthood that I claim you as a dependent on my taxes. Besides, what law firm is desperate enough to hire someone with a 3-year gap in employment? Your resume will be written in crayon…”

She giggles at the ridiculousness.

“Even if you did leave, you’re not leaving behind diapers. You understand you’re not potty trained, right? And, honey, do you remember your last stiffie?”

Her silence demands an answer.

“I-I-I-I…dunno…”

She pinches your cheek.

“Aww! That’s because I took them just like your potty training! Even if I played with it, begging you to get hard for Mommy…nothing would happen. No more stiffies…ever!”

Your heart sinks into your stomach.

“Last question, baby boy. What woman wants an unemployed, impotent man-child who isn’t even potty trained?”

You shrug, defeated.

“Oh, sweetie, don’t be sad! Mommy wants that, silly! Me! I worked hard to make all your dreams come true! And mine.”

“B-but you said you w-weren’t into being a…a mommy…”

“I wasn’t…at first. But now? Fuck it turned me on stripping you of every shred of masculinity and adulthood. Breaking you down into my helpless, docile plaything. You’re my itty bitty Play-Doh, waiting to be molded by my hands.”

“Th-that’s…y-you’re lying!”

“No, baby. You’re going to spend the rest of your life as my baby—all because it turns me on. You could never dream of doing that as my husband. Ugh, I’m dripping just thinking about it.”

She bites her lip, sensing your surrender.

“Now. Tell me you’re Mommy’s baby. My good boy…”

Your cheeks burn with humiliation of the truth.

“I…m’your…Mommy’s b-baby…and…and good b-boy.”

Mommy winces in pleasure.

“That’s right! Are you a big boy?”

“N-no, Mommy.”

“Mmmm,” she moans, “Tell Mommy why...”

“C-cause…I-I…’mnot potty trained a-and c-can’t g-get a…a…umm…”

“Say it, little one.”

“Getta…s-stiffie, Mommy.”

“Ahh! Will you ever, ever have sex again?”

You shudder in shame. “N-no, Mommy..”

“Mhm! You’re Mommy’s perpetually pampered, eternally mushy baby boy!”

You nod, defeated and broken.

“Now, naptime. Mommy needs to play with Daddy…”

You start grabbing your blocks.

“No. Crib. You can clean after.”

Mommy’s cheeks are flushed with anticipation as she hastily tucks you in.

“Be a good boy and listen to how happy your rightful place makes Mommy.”

You barely have time to register what the rest of your life was going to be before Mommy is screaming Daddy’s name. Your useless nub twitches but remains as steadfastly squishy as your diaper.

This is how you’ll spend the rest of your life.

Utterly and completely dependent on the woman who stole your adulthood, emasculated you, and relegated you to a lifetime of pampers.

I swallowed. Then swallowed again. Vomiting all over the table wouldn’t improve the situation. Though if staff and patrons alike expected people to shit their pants in here, how much fuss could they cause over a bit of half-digested lunch?

As if he heard my thoughts, poopypants eyes connected with mine. I glanced down and poked at my half-eaten turkey wrap. He sat halfway down the long, cafeteria table, but I didn’t want to risk a conversation about the humid weather or the upcoming city council election or the load of crap he’d so loudly deposited in his diaper.

A moment later, the first tendrils of stink slithered through the background odors of pepperoni pizza, chicken pesto paninis, and minestrone soup that hung in the air. Like all rotten smells—a bag of trash left festering in the summer sun, a clump of dog shit smeared across your sneaker—the overpowering stench crawled down my nose, coiled in my throat. I could almost taste it.

The dining hall hummed along. Diners picked at salads. They talked about their weekend plans. They laughed about last night’s episode of must-see TV. No one got up and moved to escape the foul-diaper reek. No one ushered him away to be dealt with in private.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Elise didn’t look up from her phone when she asked. How many times could she reread the welcome email? “You hardly touched your lunch.”

“That guy over there shit himself,” I whispered. “Not exactly helping my appetite.”

“Really?” She looked up and scanned the room. “Who?” She sounded more intrigued than disgusted.

“Follow the stink.” I jerked my head in the the overgrown toddler’s direction. “Who’d do that? I mean, not just shit themselves, but in public?”

As we watched, a woman in a floral sundress came over and patted him on the back. She wrinkled her nose, but she didn’t stop smiling. He grinned up at her, nodded his head, and stood up.

“He doesn’t seem too bothered by it. Neither does she.”

“I’d rather die.”

She sighed. “Okay. Well, Maeva should be here any moment. If you want to finish your food, now’s the time.”

Three hours. No one said the tour would last that long. Not explicitly. I’d been on college tours a lifetime ago. Haunted site tours. Historical building tours. That stupid celebrity home tour with the obnoxious host when we visited SoCal a few years ago. Three hours. All of them. If you couldn’t squeeze more than three hours of entertainment out of seeing Nic Cage’s infinity pool, then a suburban neighborhood wouldn’t last half that long--even a suburban neighborhood built around a bizarre alternative lifestyle.

“Oh look, that must be her now,” Elise said. I’d pictured an uptight, middle-aged woman in an excessively modest dress. Graying hair in a tight bun. The stink of mothballs and moral judgment trailing behind her. The villain of a Dickens novel, basically. But this woman was maybe twenty-six or seven. She wore a plain white blouse, knee-length brown skirt with brass buttons up the side, and a pair of sandals with straps that snaked up her shapely calves. Her eyes glinted with excitement.

“I’m Maeva,” she said to Elise. “I’m thrilled to finally meet you.”

Elise grinned. “Right? Kind of feels like I already know you after all of the texts. And again, I so, so appreciate your patience with all of my questions.”

Maeva bent over and tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear. “And you must be Mitchell. I’ve heard so much about you. You can call me Miss Maeva, sweetie.”

Elise smiled serenely.

“Nice to meet you, Maeva.”

“Miss Maeva,” she corrected, smile still plastered on her face.

“Right. Miss Maeva.” I plastered on my own bullshit smile, wide as I could manage. I glanced down at my watch. “We have some stuff going on later this afternoon, so can we…?”

Elise cleared her throat. “We talked about this on the way over, remember? Agreed we’d both clear our schedules?” She turned to Maeva. “No rush. We want to get the full experience.”

Maeva straightened up. “Absolutely. We’ll get started. We’re going to meet up with my boy later, by the way. He needed to finish his chores first. He neglected to weed whack when he mowed the lawn last week. Heather pointed the dandelions out to me this morning.”

“How frustrating, ”Elise said. “Sometimes you have to stay on top of them, or nothing gets done.”

“Excuse me?” She’d never mowed the lawn in her life.

“Or not done correctly, anyway,” Maeva said. She waved her hand dismissively. “But he’s a good boy most of the time.”

I felt like the two of them would whine about lawn work indefinitely if I let them. “Alright, then. Tour time?”

Maeva grinned and raised an eyebrow. “I love the enthusiasm. I gave a prospective couple a tour last week, and the boy pouted the entire time. I felt so bad for his wife, but needless to say, I couldn’t recommend them.”

“That’s awful,” Elise said. She shot me a sideways glance.

“I’m sure that won’t be a problem today,” Maeva said. “On to the little boy's room!”

“The little boys' room?”

“The restroom,” Maeva said.

“I know what it is, but I’m alright,” I said.

“Sweetie, I really think you’d feel better if we got you comfortable.”

“I’m fine. Perfectly comfortable. Went right before we left home. Not that it’s any of your concern.”

Maeva cocked her head and got a quizzical look. “No, silly. We need to get you in a diaper.”

I laughed. “Right.”

They stared at me.

I turned to Elise. “What is she talking about? I agreed to a tour. That’s it.”

Elise winced. “Well, I…”

“Well, you what, Elise?”

She shrugged.

“Are you kidding me? With as much as you’ve droned on about this place the last three months, you could have mentioned that detail, don’t you think?”

“All boys on Aranvalle premises wear diapers,” Maeva said. “There’s a one-hour grace period for mail carriers and what have you, but that’s the only allowance. And some of us would prefer to eliminate that loophole, too.”

“Well, then we’ll have to make the tour an hour then, won’t we? I mean, how much can there be to look at? If you’ve been to one suburban development, you’ve been to them all. No offense.”

Maeva’s strained smile settled into a frown. “Aranvalle isn’t just any development. It’s a community. And it’s important that you understand—that we all understand—if you’re a good fit.”

“Our financing is straightforward,” I said. “We’ll keep the lawn mowed and the trashcans stowed away. All the standard HOA crap.”

“It’s not about the money for us here. I thought our low home prices made that clear. We only want homeowners who embrace our lifestyle. Who want to be a part of something bigger. Active members of our vibrant community. At the end of our tour, I will go before the board and make a recommendation about your application.”

“I see,” I said. “And your recommendation about our…suitability—it carries a lot of weight?”

She beamed. “They haven’t gone against my recommendation yet.”

If Elise had told me that morning that I’d need to participate in this nonsense, I would have refused outright. Just like I’d refused to read the books she’d given me. Or the countless articles she’d forwarded. I’d tried one of the videos after she pestered me every day for a week. The presenter spoke slowly, smiled constantly, and made expansive gestures as she explained why men should embrace the diapered lifestyle. I suffered through five minutes of the drivel before jumping to the newest Defunctland ep. Indulging her obsession with this lunacy seemed like a bad idea. And yet, ignoring her overtures had gotten me nowhere. If anything, my reticence stoked her enthusiasm. But if I wasn’t the barrier—if we simply weren’t welcome here—that’d finally put all of this nonsense to rest. I could suck it up and wear a diaper for a couple of hours to never hear about Aranvalle again.

“Sure. If that’s the rule, then that’s the rule.”

Elise frowned at me. “Mitchell, you promised you’d explore this with an open mind.”

“Like I said, let’s get on with it.”

Maeva smiled. “Wonderful. Then off to the little boys' room we go.”

***

The ‘little boys room’ was a bathroom. Of sorts. It had sinks, but no toilets. Weirder still, no toilet stalls--just acres of pristine blue tile gleaming under bright fluorescent lights.

“Diaperboys don’t need privacy,” Maeva explained as we stepped into the room. Her voice echoed in the mostly empty space. “We see all your wet and stinky messes when we change you anyway.”

Instead of toilet stalls, a row of four changing tables lined the back wall, each with stacks of diapers, wipes, powder, and ointments behind them. Sweet-smelling baby powder, diaper rash ointment, and the faint odor of piss permeated the air. As we walked in, a woman stood with her back to us. Two knees poked out to either side of her. “Oh my,” she said to the man on the changing table, her tone syrupy sweet. “You left a big ‘ol mess for mommy today, huh?” A moment later, the dirty diaper stench smacked me across the face.

Elise and Maeva continued chatting, Maeva explaining excitedly all of the diaper changing amenities and Elise nodding along as if any of this would actually impact us. On the table, the woman blew raspberries on the guy’s stomach. He giggled.

I eyed the door. “Look. We really don’t need to do this. I get the idea.”

“Don’t be silly,” Maeva said. “Diaper changes will be a fundamental, daily part of your life at Aranvalle. I already explained that.”

“Right. But we’re not living here. We’re on a tour.”

“Not yet,” Maeva said. “But that’s why you’re here. To see if you’d like to become a part of our community, right?”

I glared at Elise. “Something like that. But, look. I won’t tell if you won’t. I mean, no one has to know that you stretched the rules a bit.”

“You don’t understand. This isn’t about me getting in trouble. You—”

Elise cut her off. “You agreed that you’d keep an open mind today, Mitchell. You promised me.”

“Yeah. This—” I gestured at the diaper change happening a few feet away “—is not keeping an open mind. This is fucking absurd.”

The woman at that table frowned over her shoulder at us.

Deal with it, lady.

Elise stepped closer. She squeezed my arm. “Please, babe. It’s only for a short while. Do it for me?” Her eyes searched mine for understanding. “If you still feel the same way at the end of the tour…” She shrugged.

“If I still feel the same way at the end of the tour, what?” I pressed.

“I’ll drop it.”

“All of this nonsense? Aranvalle. Diapers. This whole female-led relationship thing?”

She paused, bit her lip, then nodded.

“Fine,” I said. “But if word of this gets out to anyone we know…”

She shook her head vigorously. “Of course not.” She ran her finger across her lips, zipping them. “Our little secret.”

Maeva gestured to the changing table right next to the occupied one. That seemed like a breach of etiquette. Like pissing in the urinal next to another dude when ten others were open. But what did I know?

Maeva patted the top of the vinyl-topped table. “Up we go.”

I scooted up onto the table. If I squinted, I could almost imagine I was at the doctor’s office for my annual physical. Getting poked and prodded and asked about my diet felt like a more comfortable scenario in that moment.

“Go ahead and remove his pants, shoes, and underwear,” Maeva instructed Elise.

“I think I can handle…”

Both women glared at me. I raised my hands in surrender.

Elise stepped closer to the table. She reached out, then let her hand drop to her side. Nodded, as if mustering her resolve. Then nodded again. “Right.”

I wanted to remind her that she’d brought this on herself. That she’d brought this on both of us. If I could wear a frigging adult diaper, she could take my pants off without my reassurance.

She yanked off one sneaker. Then the other. She moved up to my pants, fumbling with the button on my jeans. She unzipped them and worked them down my legs. Her warm hand rested on my bare leg for a moment, her head inches from my crotch. A familiar position. Or at least it had been earlier in our marriage. She glanced up at me, blushed, then looked away again.

Then she reached my boxer briefs. Hesitated. Maeva stepped closer and pointed at my crotch. “See the stains? Here. And here. And here.” Her ruby red fingernail grazed the outside of my underwear each time.

Elise stood straight and sighed. “I’ve been doing his laundry long enough I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Hey,” I said. “If the detergent sits on my clothes too long before you start the wash it discolors my clothes. I’ve told you that.”

“So it’s my fault?” Elise asked. “For cleaning your pee-stained laundry?”

“I told you, it’s not…” I prepared to double down, saw the expression on her face, and thought better of it.

“That’s still damp, there,” Maeva said. She shook her head. “You’d think with as much pee as they leave in their undies, there wouldn’t be so much on the bathroom floor and toilet seat.”

“Tell me about it,” Elise said. “He mostly uses the downstairs bathroom. I avoid it like a hazardous waste site.”

“A problem of the past, if you join our community,” Maeva said, a note of pride in her voice. “The bathroom is my domain in our household.”

Elise chuckled. “I could get used to that.”

“You’ll love it. All their messes stay in their pants where they belong until we’re ready to deal with them.”

“Where they belong?” I laughed. “I’ve been toilet trained since I was two years old.”

“Boys never fully potty train,” Maeva said. She pointed at my crotch. “Case in point.”

I felt a flush of heat in my cheeks. Maybe I dribbled a bit when I tucked my junk back in my pants. So what? I’d been in a hurry to get out the door. In a hurry to get to this stupid place. That had nothing to do with toilet training.

“Can you imagine walking around with urine stains in your panties?” Maeva continued. “I can’t. But for a boy, it’s normal. That’s why they all belong in diapers. No need to pretend at potty training or control or any of that. Just hand that duty over to a mature, responsible woman.”

Elise hooked her fingers into the waistband of my underwear on each side, then tugged them down. I awkwardly scooted one butt cheek up, then the other, until my underwear lay on the floor and my ass stuck to the cool vinyl. I instinctively covered my junk.

Maeva chuckled. “That’s totally unnecessary. I’ve seen plenty of penises. Yours is nothing special.”

The woman next to us tittered. “Boys. So concerned about their peepees, but no worries about someone seeing they’ve piddled in their pants.”

Maeva and Elise laughed with her.

“Like I said, I didn’t…I mean…I didn’t know I’d be sitting in my underwear in front of a stranger when I got up today.”

Maeva turned to Elise. “See? He’s not concerned that he pees himself, just that I might have seen it. Not a concern for his hygiene. Or for your comfort when you have to launder his dirty clothes.”

“Hey,” I said, “what the hell kind of tour guide are you? Aren’t you supposed to sell us on this place?”

“No need to be cwanky,” Maeva said. “This is all part of the experience. Go ahead and lie back, and we’ll get you all taken care of.” She placed a hand on my chest and gently pushed me back onto the table.

I slowly lowered myself down against the surface. My neighbor smiled contentedly up at what I could only assume was his wife as she dusted his junk with baby powder. I stared at the ceiling, trying not to think about what was going to come next. Or about how many nasty diapers had been changed on this same table.

“The women in Aranvalle carry diaper bags everywhere,” Maeva said. “They sell some really fashionable ones in the community store.”

“Oh, I’d love to stop in at the store,” Elise said.

“Of course. But in any case, sometimes you’re in a rush and forget to bring his diaper bag. Or you only packed two diapers, and your boy has three blowouts. For those situations, there are diapers available in all of the boys’ rooms for free.”

“This little super soaker managed to wet through his nighttime diaper and booster pad,” our neighbor said. “Leaked down into his Sketchers. I thought we’d just be out for a bit and left his bag at home. Live and learn.”

Maeva held a massive white diaper. She squeezed the plastic surface, and it crinkled. I’d never seen an adult diaper before. Not in person, at least. A few ads here and there. That one SNL sketch. I’d imagined something medical-looking. This resembled a baby diaper. But it seemed ridiculously thick, all out of proportion with its overall size. Like a caricature of a diaper.

“Uh, there’s no way that’s going to fit under my pants,” I said. “I don’t wear skinny jeans or anything, but come on.”

Maeva unfolded the diaper. “You want to flatten it out like this. That ensures the leak guards pop out.” She ran her finger down the interior, pointing out two strips of fabric on either side of the interior. “There’s one back here, too. It doesn’t totally eliminate blowouts, unfortunately, but it reduces them.” She handed the diaper to Elise.

Elise turned the diaper over in her hands. She ran a finger over the leak guard. “It’s softer than I imagined.”

“Hello,” I said, waving my hand. “Earth to Elise. Won’t fit.”

The stupid thing only grew larger and fluffier as Elise kneaded the plastic with her fingers.

“Alright, now slide the diaper under his bum,” Maeva said. “You shouldn’t have to wrangle him. Tell him what you want him to do at first. Eventually, he will learn to anticipate your expectations. Not just during changes, but in general.”

Elise made eye contact with me. Her expression was unreadable. “Scoot your butt up so I can slide this underneath you.”

“No need to beat around the bush. It’s not a ‘this,’ it’s his diaper,” Maeva said.

“This is ridiculous,” I said. “You badgered me into wearing one of these things, we aren’t doing a group changing session too.” I reached for the diaper.

Elise yanked it away, eyes going wide.

“Boys aren’t allowed to change their own diapers,” Maeva said. “Ever.”

“Come on,” I snapped. “It’s not rocket science.”

“And now is a good time to go over a couple of other rules.” Maeva held up a finger. “No asking for changes. Those happen when a woman sees you need one. Two. No taking your diaper off or fiddling with it. And definitely no sticking your hand down there to play with yourself.”

I sighed. “Sure, whatever. But again, we don’t live here, sooo...”

Maeva bent over me, reaching to the far side of the changing table.

“What are you…hey!”

She cinched a strap fabric tight against me, pinning my arms to my sides. I squirmed against it, trying to wiggle free.

“If you struggle enough, I’m sure you can get a hand free,” Maeva said. “But if you do, there are additional restraints I can get from the supply closet.” She pointed at a metal locker in the corner. “I don’t think either of us want that, do we?”

“Fucking ridiculous!” I spat.

“Sorry about this,” Elise said to the woman at the table next to us.

“Oh, it’s fine,” she replied. “Remember when you were like this?” she asked the man on the table. “Throwing your wittle temper tantrums?”

He nodded slightly.

“What did Miss Veronica’s boy tell you after that time I paddled your bum in the Kroger’s parking lot, hmmm?”

He turned to face me, his flushed face close enough to mine I could smell coffee on his breath. Closer than I ever wanted to be to another dude—especially one getting his diaper changed. “She said I should expect to spend the rest of my life in diapers. The sooner I got used to that, the happier Mommy and I would be.” The corners of his mouth turned up slightly.

I rolled my eyes and turned to face the ceiling again. “That’s great. So happy for the two of you.”

“It’s alright, sweetie,” his ‘mommy’ said. “Some boys take time to embrace their place in the world. I’m glad you found yours.” She blew another raspberry, and he burst into a fit of giggles.

Maeva smacked my left hip lightly.

“Ow!”

“Lift up.”

“Or, you know, you could ask?”

Maeva turned to Elise. “I find that nonverbal signals work best to convey what you need. Once you work out a system, most changes will go quickly and smoothly.”

“Except when you want to take some more time,” the woman at the table next to us said. “Sometimes, my boy needs a bit of extra attention. A slow, sensual cleaning of all his little bits. It’s an unparalleled bonding experience.”

“Really?” Elise said.

“Oh, absolutely. He knows he’s dependent on me for his most basic needs, and we both cherish that.”

I snorted, not caring who thought I was rude at this point.

“Alright, now slide the diaper underneath him and try to line it up,” Maeva said. “It’ll take practice. Have you changed a diaper before?”

Elise nodded. “I babysit my niece a couple of times a month.”

“Great. This is the same idea. Bigger diapers. Bigger messes. But the principle is the same. You want a tight fit, but not too tight. That and making sure it’s symmetrical will help avoid leaks. And he’ll look cuter, too.”

Elise tapped my side. I sighed and lifted myself off the table, my bare ass hovering in the cool air.

Elise tapped my waist again. I lowered myself back down and sank into the warm, soft fluff of the diaper.

“See, you’re already getting the hang of it,” Maeva said, beaming, at Elise.

“Yeah, doesn’t seem so hard.”

“Speaking of hard,” Maeva chuckled, “one other variable you need to deal with is that lil’ guy. You want to make sure his peepee is tucked down in the diaper. Not pointing up. Don’t want him peeing on his shirt, do we?”

I felt a laugh coming. I tried to clamp my mouth closed. Tried to shove it back down my throat. But laughter exploded out of me.

Elise frowned. “What?”

I shook my head, feeling my face flushed with the stifled laughter.

“He doesn’t think he will actually use the diaper,” Maeva said. “He thinks he will play along and then leave before that’s ever a necessity. Right?”

I shrugged. At least as much of a shrug as I could do strapped down to the table.

Maeva leaned over the table, her face inches from mine. “But he should know I’ve never seen a boy hold out that long.” Her eyes searched mine for a moment, then she shrugged and straightened up again. “Let’s wrap this up, hhhmm?”

Elise stood at the end of the table. “Feet on the table. Knees spread wide.”

“Knees spread—”

She gripped my knees and spread my legs.

“Good,” Maeva said.

Elise gripped the front of the diaper and pulled it tight, up, and over my junk. She pressed her knuckles into my belly button, then smoothed first one side of the diaper against me, then the other.

“That’s what you’re going for,” Maeva said. “Tight and symmetrical. But make sure you leave a bit of room in the seat.” She locked eyes with me. “So he has plenty of room for a big poopy if he needs to make one.”

I met her smug smirk with a placid smile. No way was I going to let her get in my head.

“Dust him with powder before you tape,” Maeva said. “That’ll help prevent diaper rash and keep him smelling sweetly. At least as sweetly as a boy who sits in their own pee all day can smell.”

Elise pulled out the tapes, each cracking loudly, then put them in place. With each one, the diaper grew tighter, hugging my butt and cupping my balls in a cloud of fluff.

Maeva clapped her hands. “Perfect. You’re a natural.”

Elise smiled.

“Adorable, isn’t he?” Maeva asked. “Diapers really fill out the butt, nicely, too. You just need to forget about the stinky messes that butt will be leaving for you to clean up.” Maeva popped the straps. “Okay, up you go.”

I sat up and shook my arms to start getting rid of the pins and needles, then swung my legs off the table. The diaper ballooned out in every direction, a bulbous absurdity that erased all but the faintest outline of my junk. The waistband reached all the way to my belly button. It felt like sitting on an overstuffed pillow.

“How does that feel? Are you comfortable? Is the top too tight?” Elise asked.

“Pants.”

“I’m afraid not,” Maeva said. “Boys in Aranvalle aren’t allowed pants in public. We like to see when you’re soggy or stinky enough for a change.”

“Pants,” I repeated.

“Hon,” Elise said. She glanced at Maeva, who stood with arms crossed, and winced. “It sounds like they have a pretty clear rule about this.”

I snatched the pants up myself. “I don’t care what you people do. We don’t live here. This is me meeting you in the middle. No, this is me meeting you way the hell past the middle, Elise.”

Maeva stared me down, her eyes locked on mine. Finally, I turned away to focus on pulling up my pants.

“I’d like to add a stop that wasn’t on the tour plan I provided you,” Maeva said. “Someone who can help with attitude adjustments.”

It was only then that you realized your blankets were at your feet, leaving your drenched diaper on full display.

And you wishing you wore a shirt to bed.

“Relax, honey. It’s just me,” she chortled as you desperately tried to cover yourself.

“I…I can explain!”

“What’s there to explain, silly? Your bed is dry, and your diaper is wet. Seems pretty obvious why you’re diapered.”

The fear of your diapers being discovered always made you believe you’d be relentlessly teased, mocked, and shunned.

Yet she didn’t seem the least bit repulsed by your bulging diaper. If anything she was acting like they were perfectly…normal.

“Don’t worry, baby. Your secret is safe with us!”

“U-us?” you whimper.

“Yes, silly. Who do you think pays the internet bill? Ryan sees all the adorable diaper websites you visit.”

The blood drains from your face.

“Awww, baby! Look at me. You have nothing to be ashamed of, okay? To be honest, your diapers make so much sense!”

“Th-they do?”

By now you’re thoroughly confused. This is nothing like how you expected the exposure of your darkest secret to go.

“Yes, hun. I thought you were handsome when I met you. But something about you made me feel maternal—not attracted. Like you were fragile and all I wanted to do was protect you from the big, scary world. I couldn’t explain it.”

She pats your diaper.

“But now it all makes sense! You are too fragile for the world! You’re not a man; you’re a baby in a trenchcoat pretending to be a man. Well, you don’t have to pretend anymore.”

“I…I’m not pretending! It’s just…just…”

“What did I just say, hmm? I see the real you. The baby boy that’s dying to be acknowledged and nurtured. Let go, baby. You’re safe.”

Her words linger in the air. Every part of you wanting to believe her. Yet, you hesitate.

She senses the battle raging inside you. The tug-of-war between your heart and brain.

“It’s hard to let go, isn’t it? You’ve spent your whole life denying who you are. Building up the adult façade, convincing yourself that’s who you really are. But don’t you see? It’s all a lie! A prison cell you sent your authentic self to rot!”

Your first instinct is to argue—how can she say the entirety of your adult life is a lie? She may find it easy to casually dismiss your adulthood, but not you.

But once again, your mouth doesn’t open. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice grows in strength, making it harder to deny the truth in her words.

“I can see it in your eyes, honey. You know I’m right. Don’t let the lies win. Just admit it. Tell me who you really are.”

You shake your head, unable to say the words.

“I…I can’t! People w-would..I have…”

She sighs but regains her composure quickly. “Well, if you truly believe you’re an adult, then prove it.”

She edges closer to you, biting her lip, her cleavage directly in your line of sight.

“Rip that diaper off and fuck me like a man.”

Your eyes linger on her body, taking in every curve.

“B-but…what about Ryan?” you ask, hating that you brought him up.

“What about him?” she purrs, straddling your body. “Take off your diaper. I’ve seen the way you look at me. Now’s your chance, big boy.”

Despite being so close to her, feeling her body on yours, the voice grows louder than ever before.

Resisting.

“See?” she exclaimed, beaming, “You only thought you wanted me because that’s what men are supposed to want. But deep down, you knew it was a lie. Just like being a big boy, baby. Don’t you get it?’

The voice is impossible to ignore now.

“I…I’m scared…”

She pulls you into her, resting your head on her chest. Somehow you instinctively knew there was nothing sexual about it.

It was something entirely different.

“I know, baby. You still have all those icky adult worries rattling around that head of yours. Making you think you should keep pretending to be a big boy. But you’re not a big boy, are you?”

Her hand slowly pulls down her bra, letting her nipple rest an inch from your lips.

She guides your head towards it.

“Are you, baby?”

Her nipple slides past your lips, tickling your tongue.

You look up at her, her eyes meeting yours.

She nods, rubbing your back.

You latch on and suckle.

Nothing is said for the next ten minutes. Or maybe an hour. You lost all track of time.

Lost in the moment. Lost in her.

The door slowly creeks open as Ryan peeks his head in. Sarah waves him in, smiling from ear to ear.

Sarah rubs your back and kisses your forehead before gently nudging your head. “You can go back to suckling in a minute, baby. Ryan and I need to ask you something.”

You look up at her confused. “Ryan?”

“Hey, buddy,” he whispers, sitting next to you on the bed.

His sudden appearance in such an intimate position—with his girlfriend no less—causes you to try to pull away from Sarah.

“It’s okay, baby. Ryan isn’t upset—quite the opposite.”

Ryan pats your diaper playfully. “She’s right, buddy! I couldn’t have been happier to see you feeding so adorably. It means you accepted who you are. And, maybe, if you want…”

He looks at Sarah who nods in agreement.

“Baby, what he’s—what we’re trying to say—is we care about you. We want nothing more than to see you embrace who you really are. No more pretending to be a big boy.”

You look at both of them, wondering why they’re both suddenly so tentative.

“Buddy, if you want…we’d love to be your Mommy and Daddy.”

The voice in your head screams in pure joy.

“R-really? You wanna b-be my Mommy?” You look at Sarah, who’s teary eyed. “A-and my Daddy?” You look to Ryan, who winks.

“Yes, honeybear. If you want that, of course!” Mommy coos.

“I…I…but, but what about—”

Sarah puts a finger to your lips. “No, little one. No more buts, no more concerns. Leave everything to Mommy and Daddy. All you have to do is say yes, baby.”

You could barely contain your happiness. “O-okay, Mommy! I want you to be my Mommy and Daddy, please!”

Mommy and Daddy immediately wrap their new baby boy in a hug, a moment of pure joy and affirmation.

Everything you ever wanted, but could never admit.

“But before you say yes, baby, just know that we expect you to fully live your authentic baby life. That means you’re leaving every part of your adult life behind. You will be our baby—and only our baby. That means diapers, nap times, babas, binkies, and bedtimes, okay?”

Ryan nods in agreement. “We will take care of everything, baby. No more bills, no more rent, no more no more job. We’ve talked long and hard about this. We can afford a baby. So your only job is to listen to Mommy and Daddy like a good boy. Does that sound like something you want?”

Both of them seemed so confident, so sure they want you to be their baby, there was no more hesitation.

“Yes, Daddy! Yes, Mommy! I wanna be your baby!”

Your moment of ecstasy was short lived, however.

“I think the baby needs a diaper change, babe. Poor thing is leaking everywhere. Why don’t you do the honors?”

Mommy tickles your tummy. “Does Mommy have a leaky boy? Yes, she does. Come on tinkle pants, let’s get you clean. We have a big day ahead of us.”

“W-we do, Mommy?”

“Yes silly boy! This room is no place for our little one! We gotta get your nursery set up, buy diapers for our lil stinker, and donate all these big boy clothes! But in the mean time, where are your diapers kiddo?”

You point to the closet.

Mommy opens it up and inspects your hidden stash.

“Oh my gosh, babe! Look at this onesie!!! Ahhh, and the binky!”

Daddy looks at you seriously. “Buddy, you’ve been hiding all these adorable things from us? Naughty baby!”

Mommy grabs a new diaper, wipes, powder, a onesie, and your binky.

“C’mon baby, let’s go start our new life as a family!”

I mean, look at the amused way she’s smiling at my grunts and toots, as if I were an actual toddler she was babysitting.

It’s the look of someone who absolutely expects me to helplessly fill my diaper. Like it’s as natural as the warm summer sun melting our ice cream.

“Why are you fighting it, cutie? Just relax and enjoy your ice cream before it melts. I’ll change you when we’re finished eating.”

See what I mean?

In her eyes, I am literally just a baby in bigger diapers—she doesn’t consider me an adult at all. Not to be mean or dismissive, but because it would be ridiculous for her to think otherwise.

It’s why she can’t even conceive that I could possibly be embarrassed about pooping my diaper right here in public, because that’s just what babies do.

Just like she won’t think anything of marching me to the bathroom to change my diaper right there on the bathroom floor.

Babies fill their diapers, and babysitters change them. It’s just what needs to be done.

No matter how many times it happens, it never gets any easier for me. I’m tired of the silly waves I get from women in the bathroom while I’m getting pooped wiped off my butt. Tired of being so casually dismissed by adults my age—and younger.

I’m tired of everyone treating me like I’m a baby.

“Honey, you’re getting ice cream everywhere but your mouth.”

I know she’s right. I feel the melted ice cream trickling between my fingers. And on my cheeks from eating as fast as I can.

With a giggle, she leans over and wipes my cheeks clean like I couldn’t do it myself.

“There, much better. Such a messy eater.”

I’m sitting here in a poopy diaper and she’s worried about the ice cream on my cheeks.

“Did you get all the poopoo out?” she inquires loudly, not even considering it to be an embarrassing question, “You’re not doing the poopoo dance anymore.”

I nod my head, but another bubbly toot betrays me.

All it earns me is a skeptical stare and a shrug. “Are you sure about that, mister?”

I hate being talked down to like a baby. Every single time.

It doesn’t matter what I do or say—she’s fully convinced that it’s what I need.

“Well, let’s go get that diaper changed, honey,” she says with an air of finality. Before we leave the table, she grabs some wet wipes from my diaper bag and cleans my fingers.

“Can we change at home, please?”

“Buddy, we’re 15 minutes away from home and there’s a perfectly good bathroom right here.”

I didn’t expect any other answer, but at least I tried. I let her take my hand and lead me to the bathroom.

“Hey girl! I thought you were babysitting today?”

A group of three girls close in on my babysitter, each more beautiful than the other.

“Oh, I am! He’s been so good all morning I thought he deserved a treat. It’s too nice out to be inside all day.”

They all look around confused for whoever she’s babysitting, obviously assuming it’s not me. I know it’s a Pyrrhic victory, though.

“Ummm…you could’ve just said you had a date, Liv. He’s cute.”

As much as I want to enjoy the compliment—and relish in the brief moment when people look at me as an adult—I know it’s borrowed time.

“He certainly is a cutie pie! But I don’t think he’s ready for dating quite yet! This lil’ stinker needs a diaper change.”

All three women stare at me in utter disbelief.

Exactly what I expected.

I’ve seen this same look countless times. The moment when they demote me from an adult to baby in their minds.

My babysitter just smiles. “I’ll call and explain after I put him down for his afternoon nap, okay? His Mommy will never forgive me if he gets a diaper rash.”

They give me that same infantile wave as my babysitter leads me to the bathroom to change my diaper.