Parker had long since stopped trying to hide what turned him on. At forty-two, single, and well past the stage of pretending to be someone he wasn’t, he’d embraced the full spectrum of his kinks. Diapers. Chastity. Humiliation. The deep ache of denial and the quiet thrill of being exposed—at least a little. He didn’t need a reason. He needed the feeling. The layers. The control taken away. And today, like many days, he wore his truth beneath his clothes.
—
The automatic doors slid open with a sigh, and Parker stepped into the cool hum of the downtown grocery store, the late afternoon crowd milling around in half-aimless flow. His loose cotton shorts swayed with each step, disguising—barely—the thick swell of the diaper taped tightly beneath. He could feel it with every movement: warm, swollen, soft between his thighs, clinging to his cage-locked cock in a way that made walking a slow kind of torture.
He shouldn’t have wet it again before coming out. But shouldn’t had never stopped him before.
He kept his pace steady as he made his way down the snack aisle, pretending to study a row of kettle chips while acutely aware of the faint crinkle that echoed in his ears like a guilty whisper. No one was looking. No one ever looked. That was half the thrill.
He turned a corner by the frozen section and saw him. Just a glance—a tall man with steel-grey hair, sharp eyes, a half-smile that curled like he knew something. They passed again in produce. Another look. Longer this time. Parker's stomach flipped. Then the man was gone.
Back in the snack aisle, Parker reached for a bag of chips he didn’t want. He was trying not to look around, trying not to wonder if the man had noticed. Trying not to feel so wet and exposed.
Then he felt it—close breath, body heat, someone stepping in close behind him. A voice, low and calm, tickled his ear.
“Looks like someone’s overdue for a diaper change.”
Parker’s body locked. His heart punched into his ribs. He turned just enough to glimpse the speaker: tall, grey at the temples, eyes sharp and amused beneath dark lashes. The man smelled like leather and cedar and confidence. He didn’t look disgusted. He looked in control.
“Don’t worry,” the man said, his tone smooth. “You’re not in trouble. Yet. But you’re leaking through a little, and we wouldn’t want to make a mess on the floor, would we?”
Parker’s mouth opened, closed, then he shook his head. No words. Just the deep, molten rush of humiliation and heat flooding his chest.
“I’m Damien,” the man said, extending a hand like they were meeting at brunch instead of standing inches apart between bags of chips. “My apartment’s five minutes from here. We should go get you cleaned up.”
Parker hesitated for maybe a heartbeat too long.
“I won’t ask again,” Damien said softly, hand still out.
Parker took it.
—
The city streets blurred as they walked, Damien keeping a slow, steady pace beside him. Each passing pedestrian felt like a spotlight, each glance a possibility, though none lingered long enough to confirm if they saw everything.
At the next block, a pair of twenty-something guys passed in the opposite direction. Damien's voice didn’t drop.
“Careful there, baby boy,” he said loudly. “You’re leaking through the back. That wet patch’s climbing up your shorts.”
One of the guys glanced back, clearly catching Parker’s startled expression and the awkward bulge beneath his cotton. A smirk. A second look. Parker flushed hard, heart hammering.
“You’re really putting on a show today,” Damien murmured, halfway across a crosswalk. “That thick diaper’s jiggling with every step. Anyone behind us can see it shift.”
Parker didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His cock ached behind its cage, locked and twitching uselessly in its plastic prison.
They reached a tall glass building tucked between a flower shop and a noodle bar. Damien held the door open, palm on Parker’s lower back, a quiet pressure guiding him in. Elevator. Eighth floor. Soft jazz piping through speakers as they stood side by side, Damien’s hand resting just above the waistband of Parker’s shorts like he owned that spot.
The door to Damien’s apartment clicked shut behind them.
“Strip,” Damien said. “Shirt can stay. The rest comes off.”
Parker obeyed.
—
Damien led Parker down a short hallway to a spare bedroom—simple but unmistakably prepared for more than just guests. A thick changing mat was laid out over the bed, the soft glow from a standing lamp giving the space a calm, focused warmth. Along one wall stood a tall black cabinet, its doors slightly ajar to reveal shelves stacked with folded cloths, extra wipes, and sealed packages of adult diapers. A low side table held a bottle of lube, a box of latex gloves, and a few neatly arranged toys—an anal hook, a vibrating plug, and a well-worn leather paddle. The air smelled faintly of powder and restraint. This wasn’t a nursery. This was a room of control.
“Lie back. Legs up.”
Parker obeyed, his diaper squishing as he moved. Damien crossed to the cabinet and ran his fingers along the shelves of carefully arranged diaper packages. Rearz Safari. Little Kings. Crinklz. ABU Space. Princess Pinks. An entire curated collection.
“Hmm. No, not cute enough for those. And you haven’t earned a Princess yet.” He finally pulled a Rearz Safari: thick, loud, babyish.
“Let’s remind you exactly where you belong,” he said.
He laid it out with slow, reverent hands, then turned back to Parker, peeling open the wet diaper with a squish and a rush of warmth.
“You really let yourself go,” he said, fingers brushing the cage lightly. “Still trying to get hard? That’s adorable. Sad. But adorable.”
He cleaned Parker with care. Wipes, powder, fingers brushing the cage, behind his balls, his thighs, back to front. A slow, methodical rhythm.
The new diaper slid beneath him with finality. Damien taped it snugly over the cage, inspecting the fit like an artist admiring a frame. Then his hand lingered—palm pressed against the front, fingers slowly kneading the thick padding over Parker’s caged cock. A groan escaped Parker’s lips.
“You’re such a good boy,” Damien murmured, his tone softer now, but no less commanding. “All locked up and padded like you should be. So obedient. So needy.”
He rubbed in slow circles, the pressure constant but controlled, letting Parker squirm just enough without any hope of release. “Feel that? That’s mine now. All of you. And you’re going to keep this diaper on until I say otherwise.”
“So thick. You’ll be waddling for hours.”
—
“Now,” Damien said, helping Parker sit up, “That was a premium change. Wipes, powder, a rare print. You don’t think that comes free, do you?”
Parker didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.
Damien sat on the edge of the bed and crooked a finger.
“Come here. On your hands and knees.”
Parker crawled across the bed, the thick diaper between his legs forcing his thighs apart. Every movement brought an audible crinkle, every shift a reminder of his swollen padding and the cage pressing hard beneath it.
As he reached, Damien leaned forward and cupped the front of Parker’s diaper, his palm firm against the plastic.
“There he is,” Damien murmured, massaging the thick padding slowly. “My good boy. All warm and locked up. Desperate.”
He let his thumb stroke the outline of the cage beneath. “And still trying to get hard, even now. You’re just pathetic in the best way.”
Damien smiled. “Let’s see how good that mouth is, then.” Damien had unzipped his trousers, revealing a thick, veined cock that hung low and heavy, already half-hard. Uncut and substantial, it curved slightly upward as it thickened, the flushed head just starting to peek from its sheath. It was the kind of cock that demanded respect—seasoned, potent, perfectly intimidating. Damien’s fingers idly traced along its length, casual and confident.
“Use your hands,” he said. “Undo my belt. Slowly.”
Parker freed Damien’s cock and leaned in slowly, licking the underside of the shaft from base to tip. The musky, masculine scent filled his nostrils, dizzying. He pressed soft kisses along the length, reverent, then opened his mouth and took the head between his lips.
Damien groaned, thick fingers curling into Parker’s hair. “That’s it. Get it nice and wet. Show me how grateful you are.”
Parker sucked deeper, his tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing as he worked the shaft into his mouth inch by inch. The thick girth stretched his jaw wide. Drool ran down his chin, dripped onto his diaper. He moaned softly, cage pulsing with each humiliating, desperate suck.
“Sloppy little fuckhole,” Damien muttered. “Locked up, padded, and gagging for cock. You know you’ll never get off, don’t you? Not in that cage. Not ever.”
Parker whimpered around him, sucking harder. His hands gripped Damien’s thighs, fingers digging in for balance as his mouth was used, again and again, his own denied arousal burning behind layers of thick plastic.
“Just a mouth now,” Damien said, voice low and dangerous. “That’s what you are. A good, obedient cock-sucker in a pissy diaper.”
With a growl, Damien pulled free and gripped his slick shaft tightly, stroking with fast, practiced strokes. His breath grew ragged, chest heaving. The veins on his cock stood out, the head swollen, angry, glistening with Parker’s spit. His hand pumped harder, faster, as Parker knelt below, lips parted, tongue out in obedient anticipation.
“That’s it,” Damien hissed, teeth gritted. “Open wide. Show me where it belongs.”
With a guttural moan, he came hard. The first spurt landed directly on Parker’s tongue, hot and salty. The next struck his cheek, followed by a third that painted his nose and upper lip. Thick, heavy ropes kept coming—five, six, maybe more—marking him thoroughly. Damien stroked through the orgasm, milking out every drop as his cock twitched and jerked in his hand, each pulse claiming more of Parker’s face.
His chest heaved as he finished, the last dribble sliding off his cock onto Parker’s chin.
“Don’t you dare wipe it,” Damien said, voice rough with satisfaction. “Let it dry. I want you to feel it every time you breathe.”
He snapped a photo—no face, just diaper and cage and dripping submission.
“One for my collection. My diapered boy.”
—
Damien helped him onto the bed, settling him carefully among the soft blankets and the lingering scent of powder and restraint. Arms around him. Fingers in his hair.
“You did well,” he whispered. “You gave me everything. You’re safe now.”
He wiped Parker gently, kissed his forehead. Let him rest in silence.
“When you’re ready,” Damien said, “We’ll talk about next time. But for now, you rest. You’ve been a very good boy.”
Part Five: The Walk of Obedience
Damien helped Parker dress—shorts barely containing the Safari bulk, shirt tugged over the waistband. As Parker reached the door, Damien stopped him.
“One more thing.”
He handed Parker his phone. A blank message thread.
“On your way home, I want a picture. Somewhere public. Risky, but not obvious. Show me the padding. That’s your final task.”
Parker crinkled his way home, cheeks burning, cock caged, diaper warm.
Three blocks from his door, he ducked into an alley, lifted his shirt, snapped a pic. Bulge. Print. Shame.
He hit send.
Damien replied.
"Good boy."
