The warehouse door slammed shut behind Marcus, the heavy bolt echoing like a final sentence. At twenty-eight, he had walked in expecting a quick payoff for the “favor” his old college roommate had begged for. Instead, two men in black had stripped him, cuffed his wrists behind his back, and shoved him to his knees on the concrete floor.
“Strip the rest,” ordered the taller one. His voice was low, calm, and absolute. Marcus’s clothes were cut away with a utility knife until he knelt naked, cock soft from fear and the cold air. The shorter man wheeled over a padded table already laid with thick, crinkling white diapers, baby powder, and a bottle of clear lube.
“New rule,” the tall man said, stepping close enough that Marcus could smell leather and sweat. “From now on you piss when we tell you. You shit when we tell you. You come only in your diaper like the pathetic faggot you are.”
Marcus tried to speak. A gloved hand slapped him hard across the mouth. “Diapers don’t talk unless spoken to.”
They lifted him onto the table. The first diaper was thick, the kind meant for heavy overnight use. They powdered his balls and cock roughly, the talc stinging where the knife had nicked him. The plastic backing crinkled loudly as they taped it snug around his hips, the front panel pressing his cock flat. A second diaper went over the first, even thicker, the tapes pulled tight enough to make his hips ache.
“Stand.”
He stood. The double diapers forced his thighs apart. Every step made the plastic hiss and the padding press against his hole and balls. They marched him to a metal chair bolted to the floor and strapped his ankles and chest down. A pacifier gag was forced between his teeth and buckled behind his head.
The tall man unzipped. His cock was already half-hard, thick and veined. He rubbed the head against the front of Marcus’s diaper, smearing pre-cum across the plastic. “You’re going to learn to love this sound,” he said, then pressed the tip of his cock against the padded crotch and started pissing. Hot urine soaked through both layers, the warmth spreading instantly, the diaper swelling and sagging between Marcus’s spread thighs. The smell of piss and powder filled the air.
Marcus’s own bladder betrayed him. The pressure of the wet padding and the helplessness made him leak. A slow, shameful trickle turned into a full flood, the diaper growing heavier, hotter, the plastic sagging lower. The men laughed.
“Look at the little faggot wetting himself already.”
They left him there for what felt like hours. Every time he tried to hold it, the soaked bulk pressed against his prostate and another spurt escaped. His cock, trapped in the piss-warm padding, started to swell despite himself. The tall man returned, noticed the bulge, and pressed his boot against the front of the diaper, grinding the wet mass against Marcus’s trapped erection.
“You’re getting hard in your own piss. Good boy.”
The shorter man returned with a vibrating wand. He taped it to the outside of the diaper, right over Marcus’s cock, and switched it on. The low buzz traveled through the soaked padding straight to his shaft. Marcus moaned around the pacifier, hips jerking uselessly against the straps. The orgasm built fast and humiliating, his cock pulsing inside the hot, wet diaper, cum mixing with piss as the men watched.
They didn’t stop there.
Over the next days the routine was relentless. Morning diaper changes involved fingers slick with lube pushing into his hole while the old diaper was still taped on, stretching him while he was forced to piss again. They made him crawl, made him suck cock while the heavy, used diapers sagged between his knees. Every orgasm was ruined or trapped inside fresh padding, the mess and cum left to stew until the next change.
On the fifth night the tall man finally fucked him. Marcus was on all fours, two soaked diapers taped together so thick he could barely keep his knees under him. The man cut a slit in the back, pulled the sodden padding aside just enough, and shoved in raw. Each thrust pushed the front of the diaper against Marcus’s cock, the wet bulk rubbing him raw until he came again, untouched, crying around the pacifier while the man filled his ass and then taped the diapers closed over the mess.
By the tenth day Marcus no longer fought the changes. When they laid him down he lifted his hips obediently. When the wand was taped to his diaper he spread his legs wider. The shame had burned down to something hotter, needier. The tall man noticed.
“Say it,” he ordered one evening, pacifier removed.
Marcus’s voice was hoarse. “Please… make me wet again.”
The man smiled, unzipped, and gave him exactly what he begged for.
The warehouse door never opened again from the inside. Marcus stopped wanting it to.
