I met Marcus at the bar on a humid Friday night, his eyes locking on mine like he already knew every filthy secret I hid. We skipped small talk and went straight to his place, clothes hitting the floor the second the door closed. He was older, bigger, and he took control fast, pushing me onto the bed and spreading my legs. But instead of the usual lube and fucking, he pulled out a thick, crinkly diaper from the drawer and grinned.
"Ever worn one of these for a man?" he asked, voice low and rough.
My cock twitched hard. I'd fantasized about it for years but never told anyone. "No," I admitted, already leaking pre-cum.
Marcus stripped me the rest of the way, his hands firm as he lifted my hips and slid the diaper under me. The padding felt soft and bulky against my ass and balls.
He powdered me heavy, the white dust clouding the air, then taped it snug around my waist. The pressure hugged my dick, making it throb inside the confines. He taped it tight, the plastic crinkling loud every time I moved.
"Look at you," he growled, palming the front. "Already hard in your diaper like a good boy."
He climbed on top, grinding his own hard cock against the padded bulge between my legs. The friction through the diaper was intense and muffled at the same time. I moaned and pushed up into him. Marcus leaned down, biting my neck while he reached inside the waistband to stroke me directly against the padding. My piss started to leak a little from excitement, warm and sudden, soaking into the absorbent layers. The diaper swelled and sagged slightly, the wetness spreading under my balls.
"Fuck, you're wetting it already," Marcus said, voice thick with lust. He pressed down on the soaked front, making the warmth spread across my skin. Then he ripped the tapes open, pulled the front down, and took my wet cock into his mouth. The mix of piss and spit was filthy and perfect. He sucked hard, tongue working the head while his fingers pushed the soggy padding between my cheeks and rubbed my hole.
I came fast the first time, shooting down his throat while the diaper stayed open and messy beneath me. Marcus swallowed every drop, then flipped me onto my stomach. He pulled the diaper back up but left it loose, climbed over me, and started fucking the padded crack of my ass. His cock slid along the wet inside, the plastic crinkling with every thrust. The head of his dick kept catching on my hole, threatening to push inside but staying outside the diaper for now.
He came like that, hot ropes of cum soaking into the already piss-wet padding right against my skin. The smell of sex, piss, and powder filled the room. Marcus didn't let me clean up. He taped the diaper closed again over the mess, then pulled me into his arms.
We spent the whole weekend that way. He'd make me drink water until my bladder ached, then hold me while I let go into the diaper on purpose. The warmth would spread down my thighs and up my stomach inside the thick padding. Sometimes he'd change me on the bed, wiping me slow and teasing, fingers lingering on my hole until I was begging. Other times he'd fuck me with the diaper pulled aside just enough for his cock to slide in deep, the bulk of the wet padding pressing against my balls with every thrust.
By Sunday night my skin was raw from the constant wetness and friction, but I was addicted. Marcus made me wear one home under my jeans, the sagging, cum-and-piss-filled diaper obvious with every step. The crinkle was loud in the quiet hallway. I knew I'd be back the next weekend, ready to let him push me further, make me wetter, dirtier, and more completely his.
That first night turned into months of the same filthy routine. Diapers became our language. I'd text him when I needed to be put back in one, and he'd show up with a fresh pack and that same hungry look. The sex stayed raw and direct: him controlling when I could come, when I could piss, how full the diaper got before he finally ripped it off and took what he wanted. I stopped pretending I wanted anything else. Being his diapered boy was exactly what I needed.
