I roll over on the king bed, the mattress dipping hard under my weight. The sheets are still warm and damp from where Alicia and I just finished. Her scent all over me, mixed with that sharp tang of sweat and sex. My cockβs heavy, softening but still slick, hanging thick against my thigh as I turn onto my side.
The AB monitor is propped up on the nightstand. Itβs off, screen black, not really necessary this time of day. Still, I reach over and thumb the power button. The feed flickers on, and there they are: the cuck and his wife.
He's already splayed across the giant changing table, legs wide, big bulging diaper massively swollen and stained a dark yellow, sagging heavily between his thick thighs. Thereβs a subtle, rounded tent at the peak of his pamper where his pathetic little hard-on undoubtedly strains uselessly against the inside of the pissy padding. It's not hard to miss... if you know what you're looking for because you've seen it dozens of times.
Alicia steps into frame, blue nitrile gloves already snapped on with that crisp pop that always makes his gut jiggle in anticipation. She doesnβt speak at first. Just hooks two fingers under the leg gathers on one side, then the other, tugging them outward so the tapes are fully exposed. Then comes the slow, deliberate pullsβrrrrripβ¦ rrrripβ¦ rrrripβ¦ rrrrrripppβfour long tears that screech faintly through the monitorβs speaker. The sodden front flops down like a wet rag, peeling away from his skin with a soft, sticky sound I can almost hear from here. The smell probably hits her then. Sharp ammonia mixed with that faint sourness of hours-old urine, but her face stays calm, professional, like sheβs changing a geriatric patient.
Only now does his little dick come into full view from above. A whopping three inches springs free, pointing straight up toward the camera, twitching every few seconds like itβs got its own desperate heartbeat. The head is shiny, slick with a steady bead of pre-cum thatβs been pooling inside the diaper all day. A thin string of it stretches and snaps as the padding falls away. Beneath it, his balls are swollen and pulsing, half-buried in the crease where thigh meets groin.
She says something to him that I didn't quite gather, but whatever it was, it was enough to make him cringe and turn fifty shades of crimson. His face flushes deep, eyes squeezing shut for a second before flicking open again, wide, glassy, pleading without a word. His whole body tenses. His belly fat quivers in a slow ripple from chest to navel. The little cock jerks harder at the humiliation, more leaky pre-cum gleaming out of the tip.
She tugs a few wipes from the package with a crinkle comes through the speakers like faint static. The cuck gasps the instant the cold material touches his clammy skin. She smirks, and slides the wipe through the creases of his thighs, up and around the bobbing cock without ever making deliberate contact, then under the overhang of his belly. Another pass downward on the opposite side. The wipe comes away dark yellow and sodden. She folds it, discards it, and grabs another.
Sheβs methodical, clinical. Every motion precise. His little shaft throbs and weeps with each incidental brush of her wrist or the wipeβs edge, but she never touches his tiny dick directly, never even acknowledges it.
She drags the wipe across his balls, though, cleaning them in slow, overlapping strokes. His scrotum tightens at the cold, his little cock jerks hard, twitching up at the sky like itβs desperate to even be noticed.
The next wipe goes between his cheeks: she lifts his legs just enough to reach his crack, pressing in with long front-to-back drags, then back to front, folding the wipe until itβs mostly clean. His hole clenches visibly. Another soft, pathetic whimper escapes.
By the fifth wipe his breathing has turned into ragged, shallow pants that send slow waves through his belly. The little dick is darker now, veins prominent, head swollen and glossy. He whimpers again, high and needy, the sound leaking through the tiny speaker. His gut jiggles with each pant, pre-cum glazes down his shaft, making it shine even in the camera's pixels. He knows better than to speak, though. Hands stay flat at his sides, fingers twitching but not daring to reach.
Good boy. I think to myself.
"Good boy." she says aloud, the words echoing my thought through the speakers.
Thinking back, he has been well-behaved today. He knelt silently at the foot of the bed while I railed her, staring into her eyes that were busy rolling in the back of her head. He didn't touch his diaper, kept his arms by his sides andβmost importantlyβdidn't crap himself. He came to clean up as soon as he was called, slurped every last drop of my jizz out of his wife's pussy without hesitation, and even moaned gratefully when he cleaned her juices off my cock and balls.
She pauses now on the feed, wipe dangling from her fingers. Tilts her head, studying him like sheβs weighing a decision. She must be thinking the same things I am, weighing how well behaved he's been today...this month. His eyes flick up, big, wet, and pleading like a dog begging for a treat. Lips trembling. Fuck, I can practically hear the silent βpleaseβ from across the house.
She smirks, considers for a bit longer, then shrugs one shoulder like itβs nothing. Muttering something too quiet for the mic to catch. Then she reaches for the lotion bottle, squirts a small cold dollop into her palm. His whole body locks up, quivering in raw anticipation.
She smiles at his eagerness, or maybe just how fucking pathetic he looks, then reaches out her gloved hand. With only her thumb and two fingers, she gently wraps them around his shaft in a loose, barely there grip. She starts stroking. Slow. Teasing. Up. Down. Barely any pressure, just enough to make the skin slide. His belly surges in waves. I hear the panting now, ragged and puppy-like, carrying through the monitor.
His hips buck hard. Tiny helpless thrusts chase her hand. Cock throbs thicker in her fingers. Veins bulge. Head swells dark and purple.
Five strokes. Six strokes. Seven.
Then she lets go and pulls her hand away completely.
His whole body convulses, gut rippling, thighs clenching, little cock twitching and jerking wildly in the open air. Whimpers turn into broken, keening cries. A frozen heartbeat passes. Then the first spurt fires out. Thick, white, ropes of cum dribble down his untouched shaft, coating his pulsing balls. Another twitch. Another dribble.
Ruined. Completely fucking ruined.
Probably the only orgasm sheβs allowed him in weeks, and she stole the best part of it in half a dozen lazy strokes.
Sheβs already peeling the gloves off and casually tossing them in the bin while heβs still spasming on the table. She doesnβt pause to watch. Doesnβt even glance at the pitiful spurts spewing out of him like a an ungripped garden hose. No mercy, no acknowledgement, no amusement. She has a fresh diaper pulled out and unraveled before the last pathetic pulse even leaves him. Not even a glimmer of pity on her face.
His poor little cock is still twitching in the open air, leaking the final dribbles all over his belly and thighs when she hooks her hands under his knees and lifts his legs without ceremony. The motion makes his whole lower body tilt, the last of his useless loser load smears across his skin as she slides the clean padding underneath his bottom. She doesnβt wipe the sticky mess. Doesnβt comment on his blubbering cries. Doesnβt care. Just powders, pulls, and presses. Tape. Tape. Tape. Tape.
She pats the front once. Firm. Dismissive. Then leans down close to his ear. I canβt hear the words, but his whole body flinches like she just promised him another month of nothing. Even more tears start raining down his cheeks.
Alicia straightens, glances up at the camera for a split second. Our eyes meet through the screen. She gives the tiniest smirkβknowing damn well Iβm watchingβthen winks and blows a small kiss toward the lens. She leaves him there on the table to cry. Belly still heaving. Lying there spent, sticky, trembling. His little cock swimming in a warm, gooey puddle inside the fresh padding.
I chuckle low in my throat.
I own a grown man in a diaper who just got ruined in less than ten seconds. And his wife is coming back to me right now.
My dick is already throbbing hard again. Thick, heavy, ready and waiting.
Alicia slips in. "Sorry about that." She says sheepishly.
"No worries." I reply with a grin. "Didn't take long at all."
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