I sat up, as he’d ordered. He turned me around and laid me face up on an open diaper, pulling my legs way above my head. This time, I didn’t fight the diaper. He sprinkled baby powder all over my pussy and ass and rubbed it in. I hated the smell but I acquiesced. His touch felt good. He fastened the diaper on me, pulling it taut on both sides. To my surprise, it felt sort of comforting.
He took off his clothes and I could see his hard cock oozing pre-cum. He climbed on top of me.
“Baby,” he whispered. He pushed the bottom of the diaper aside and fucked me with it still on. I was so hot that everything seemed like a dream. I barely remember it.
I slept in the next morning, and when I woke up, I wondered if any of it had actually happened. When I logged on, I found an email from him: “Such a good Baby last night, begging for her diaper.” It was signed, “Daddy.”
A week later, he wanted to get together again. There was no pretense of an evening out this time: he simply gave me his address, on the top of Sonoma Mountain, and asked me to drive up to his place. I listened to some slow blues on the way up from the city, but the music did little to calm my nerves.
It was early evening and still light out when I arrived. The house was a large, postmodern metal structure that seemed to sit on top of the world, with a spectacular view of the Sonoma Valley below. His front door was open and I walked in. I found him sitting in a lounge chair on a wraparound deck overlooking the valley.
“Hi,” he said. He stood up and gave me a hug. I moaned. I was at the point where even the mere thought of him turned me on.
“Did you design this house?” I asked. I was nervous and shaking like a leaf, trying to make adult conversation.
He just looked at me. “Take off your clothes and your underwear,” he said.
“What?” I said. I just stood there.
“Do I need to undress the baby, or is she a big girl who can undress herself?” He took my chin in his hand.
“I can undress myself,” I said.
“I can undress myself, what?” he said. He let go of my chin and slapped my face.
Stunned, I said, “I can undress myself, Daddy.”
I took off all my clothes, fumbling with the buttons on my top, as he watched me.
“On your hands and knees,” he said.
I got down onto my hands and knees.
“Does baby want her butt plug?” he said.
“Yes, Daddy,” I said. I knew I didn’t have any choice in the matter.
“Good girl,” he said.
He lubed my ass, like last time, and inserted that thing into me again. I was so aroused I nearly came.
“Open your mouth,” he said.
I opened my mouth, and he held out a baby pacifier an inch away from my lips. “Suck,” he said.
“No,” I said, and shook my head.
“What?” he said and spanked me. “Suck,” he commanded again.
“No!” I screamed.
He shoved it into my mouth. “If you drop that, you will be spanked hard,” he said.
I wanted to die of shame, but my cunt gushed like a river. He noticed. He stroked my pussy lips.
“Is baby messing herself again?” he said. “Time for your diaper.”
I tried to scream “no” through the pacifier but it was futile. All I could do was gurgle and whimper.
He got out a diaper and made me lie down on it, and then he sprinkled me with baby powder. Oddly, the smell, which used to make me recoil in disgust, had taken on a pleasant, arousing connotation because of its association with him. He secured the diaper and pulled me back up to my hands and knees.
“Crawl,” he said.
I wasn’t sure where I was supposed to crawl to, and with the pacifier in my mouth, I couldn’t ask. I picked a random direction and started off. The rug was rough and hurt my knees, and with every little crawling step I felt the butt plug wiggling inside me. Passing a mirror, I saw myself crawling on all fours, with a diaper on and a pacifier in my mouth. I was so mortified that I wanted to cry.
“Upstairs to baby’s room,” he commanded, and pointed to a stairway at the far end of the room.
I made it upstairs with difficulty. He followed behind, giving me a spank through the diaper whenever I halted. The room at the top was a baby’s room, complete with a crib, colorful mobiles and stuffed animals. I stopped dead in the doorway. I couldn’t make myself enter.
He came behind me and spanked me again. “What’s the matter, baby?” he said. “Are you afraid to go into your crib?”
I couldn’t move. I started to cry.
He is a big man, a bodybuilder, and I am petite. He picked me up and carried me into the crib as I continued crying, laying me down on a pink blanket with a balloon motif. I sucked the pacifier hard, trying not to drop it for fear of being punished. Once I was in the crib, he removed the pacifier and gave me a tiny baby bottle that looked like it was full of some sort of juice.
“Suck,” he said again.
I drank the juice, but pretty soon I had to pee. I knew I was in grave danger of actually wetting my diaper if he didn’t let me out.
“I have to pee, Daddy,” I said.
“Well, we wouldn’t want baby to wet her diaper,” he said. He picked up a blue plastic bowl from a shelf in the corner and brought it over to the crib. He pulled off my diaper and put the bowl underneath me.
“Pee into this potty trainer, baby,” he said, and smiled sweetly.
I tried, but I was too turned on to urinate with him standing in front of me. “I can’t,” I said. “I’m too turned on.”
“Can’t you pee in front of your Daddy?” he said. “Do you want me to leave the room?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t want you to leave.” I wanted him standing there, watching me, for some reason I couldn’t fathom.
I tried again, letting go with everything I had, and managed to pee in the bowl while he watched. My pussy was contracting so hard that I could only let go of a few drops at a time before an orgasm overtook me.
He took the bowl from me and carried it into the adjoining bathroom, where he dumped it into the toilet. There was something strangely intimate about him handling my urine. He handed me a baby wipe and told me to wipe myself. I had to do it in front of him. When I was finished he took the wipe from me and tossed it out.
“Do you want Daddy to kiss you goodnight?” he said.
“You’re leaving me here all night?” I said, and began to cry.
He told me not to cry. He kissed me goodnight on the forehead.
I stayed in the crib all night, crying, managing to sleep a bit, and mostly getting myself off, over and over again. I was too aroused to sleep, thinking about him.
The next morning, he came into my room and fed me baby food for breakfast.
The crib is mostly where I live now. I have given up my job at the software company.
At night, before tucking me in, if I’m lucky, Daddy fucks me in the ass and then inserts my butt plug to make sure his cum doesn’t drip out.
Sometimes, he handcuffs my wrists and ankles with leather restraints to the bars of my crib for the night, which makes me feel all nice and secure.
Sometimes he lets me suck his cock instead of the pacifier or the baby bottle, and he makes me swallow every drop of his cum.
If I wet my diaper instead of peeing into my potty trainer, he spanks me long and hard as punishment.
He makes me poop in front of him, and if I can’t poop on command, he puts dirty, nasty things inside my ass to make sure I do. I have grown to love the feel of those nasty things.
I know now that this is where I was meant to be.
I know now that Daddy was right that I wanted the thing I dreaded the most.
And I know now that this is what I saw in him that first night in the bar: that he, and only he, could make me into the baby that I really am, and that he would punish and humiliate and take care of me.
Just like I need.
Any Port In A St
orm
Phil, Manchester
I hadn’t planned on spending Friday night getting fucked senseless by two hot guys. I hadn’t planned on getting stuck in town after work, either, not when the snow was just starting to come down thick and fast.
And I really hadn’t planned on getting soaked by someone’s coffee while I was walking through Piccadilly Gardens towards the tram stop. Not his fault, though. No, the one I cursed was the dick who barged past us, so that we stumbled into each other.
“Shit, I’m sorry!”
I looked up from the wet stain on my coat, and recognized the man as someone I often saw in the local sandwich shop at lunchtime. “Not your fault. That dickhead . . .”
And then the PA crackled into life, announcing that the Bury tram was delayed due to frozen points.
“Oh, fuck. That’s all I need.”
My fellow soakee asked, “Your tram?”
“And I really don’t want to stand around soaking wet in this weather.” There went my plans for getting home early. “I suppose I’d better go and find a public toilet with a working hand dryer.”
He was silent for a second or two, and then said, “Look, my flat’s only at the bottom of Market Street. Come and get yourself dried off. I owe you at least a hot drink. Maybe dinner.”
If he’d been a complete stranger, or if it had been a warm night, or my own place had been closer, I’d have turned him down. But all I could think of was a warm flat and a hot drink just five minutes’ walk away. “Thanks.”
He set off at a rapid pace, saying. “I know you from somewhere.”
“We have the same taste in sandwiches.” He broke into a grin. “And men.”
Sitting in a café, watching a nice arse go past, looking up to see someone at the next table doing the same thing. “By the way, I’m Phil.”
“I’m Steve.” He dodged around a knot of shoppers. “You’d think people would want to get home with this weather.”
“That bastard who knocked us over certainly wanted to.”
“Let’s hope he’s waiting for the Bury tram.”
That thought kept me warm until we reached the entrance to his apartment block. It was only one of the most expensive towers in Manchester, a soaring glass shard that looked down the length of Deansgate. “I’m impressed.”
“My boyfriend’s income, not mine.”
The hope I hadn’t even noticed until then fizzled away. Still, the offer of a hot drink and maybe dinner was welcome without any extras. “As long as it’s warm and dry, I don’t care who’s paying for it.”
But when we got through his front door, I cared. The boyfriend was home, and he was stunning. Tall, lean, blond, and with a beautiful mouth. Wearing clothes that had to be made to his measure, they fitted his measure so well.
He said, “Thought I’d get home early, it’s a nasty night.” Then he saw me, and said, “And I see you’ve brought dinner with you.”
The way he looked at me made it clear exactly what he meant.
I glanced at Steve, who looked embarrassed. “Sorry, Phil. Julian, I only brought him home because I spilt my coffee all over him. And I wasn’t leaving him out there.” He waved at the floor-to-ceiling window, with its magnificent view of the city – and the snowstorm.
Julian tensed up. “Ah. Sorry about that. I assumed . . .”
It was obvious what he’d assumed. “Do you two make a habit of getting in a takeaway on Friday night?”
That tall lean body relaxed again. “Well, yes. Variety is the spice of life, and all that.” He looked me up and down appraisingly. “But you’re here to get dried off. Go and get those wet clothes off.” He smiled reassuringly at me. “And then put some dry clothes on.” He looked at the snow. “You’re welcome to stay for dinner regardless. No strings. Unless you already had plans?”
I decided without even thinking about it. “I didn’t have plans.” I looked Julian over, quite openly checking out his crotch. “But I think I do now.” I started unbuttoning my coat.
Steve put his hand on the small of my back. “You sure? I really did only invite you back to get dried off.”
“I can think of worse ways to get warmed up.”
He slid his hand down to cup the curve of my arse. “Good. But let’s get these wet clothes off.”
I pulled off my coat. “Need to do something about this.”
Julian said, “I’ll sponge it,” and took it from me. Elegant hands, well cared for. I thought about those hands on my body, and felt my cock push against my trousers. My wet trousers. Julian glanced down, and a tiny smirk touched the corners of his mouth.
Steve said, “Bathroom’s this way.”
I followed him, taking the chance to check out his arse. Not the first time I’d admired those tight buttocks, but tonight I wouldn’t have to imagine them naked.
Normally I’d start unbuttoning from the top, making it a bit of a striptease. Not tonight. The wet trousers came off first, and quickly. Not that Steve seemed to mind, because he paused in his own unbuttoning to take a good look. “I didn’t ask you home with ulterior motives – but I’m not too unhappy now about that guy shoving me.”
“Neither am I.”
My sweater and shirt I took more time over. Steve kept watching, assessing what he saw. Finally he said, “You know, if I’d had any idea that you might be up for it . . .”
“You might have done more than nod in passing in the sandwich shop queue?” I looked him over; compact body, shorter than his boyfriend but more solidly built. Big cock, though thick without being out of the ordinary in length. I wanted that cock, in my mouth or in my arse. But I’d liked the scenery even when it was fully clothed. The clothes hadn’t hidden a shock of dark hair over a square-cut face, with an engaging smile. “If you’d asked, I’d have probably said yes. Maybe even if you’d mentioned Julian.”
He grinned. “That was why I didn’t ask. Not with someone I might have to see at lunch the next day.” He moved closer; close enough to run his hands down my chest. Cool hands, still chilled from outside. Like cold fire running over my skin, making the nerves tingle.
I pulled him in close for a kiss. I could taste just a trace of coffee. He kissed me back hard, tongue thrusting into my mouth, and pushed me back against the wall. The tiles against my back were cold, but I didn’t care. Hard cock against mine, his hands twined in my hair. I moaned around his tongue, wanting more than I already had.
He pinned me against the wall for a moment more, then pulled back, giving me room to ease away from the wall. “Sorry. You were cold enough already.”
“It’s OK.”
He slid one hand down my back, and further down to cup my arse again. Skin against skin now, nothing between us. I leaned in against him, shifting just enough to make it an invitation, and he eased his hand round to press a finger against my hole.
God, I wanted more of that, but, “Is this fair on Julian?”
Steve smiled. “He was serious about us getting out of our wet clothes. And I might as well get you ready while we’re in here.” He let go and stepped back. “Bend over.”
I leaned on the vanity unit, watching in the mirror as he squeezed some cream into his hand. Then he slid a finger into me. Just one finger at first. Then another, pressing deeper, deep enough to make me gasp with pleasure. “Enough, if you want me to last!”
“If you’re that desperate, you’re probably out of practice.” But he eased off, enough so I didn’t feel as if I needed to thrust against something, anything, even the edge of the vanity unit.
He was right about me being out of practice, so I did my best to hold still while he worked me enough to make sure I was ready. Then he pulled out.
“Now we see if Julian has laid the table.” He quickly rinsed his hands. “Ready?”
I thought he was being metaphorical. He wasn’t.
The lights in the main room were turned off, the only light in the room coming from the city lights below. Julian was standing by a dining table set up near
the picture window, placed so that the diners could look out over the magnificent view. And the table was laid with a white damask tablecloth. No cutlery, I was very pleased to see. Just the heavy white cloth, shimmering in the flickering light reflected by the snow dancing outside the window.
Julian’s pale skin gleamed in that same eerie light, making him look a little unreal in that first second or two. And then the scene steadied, and I was looking at just a naked man standing by a table. Tall and lean and beautiful. And, like Steve, his cock reflected the rest of him. Julian had length, but was slim.
They liked variety. But so did I, and I was very happy with the variety on offer. “So how are we doing this?”
Julian smiled and patted the table. “One at each end, if you’re happy being in the middle.”
Not having to choose which one of them to have first suited me just fine. I walked over to the table, Steve following behind, and found that there were two damask napkins to go with the tablecloth, one at each end. The one closest to me was folded into a simple triangle, the one further away was a more complex rolled and tucked affair. “You like a bit of formality even for Friday night takeaway?”
Julian waved a hand at the table. “We do like the finer things in life.” He smiled ruefully. “At least at the weekend, when we’ve got time to appreciate them.”
Upper class, but definitely no twit, and quite capable of sending himself up. I liked him even on a few minutes’ acquaintance. Enough that I wanted more than just his cock. I took the extra few steps to stand in front of him, and reach up to pull his head down for a kiss.
No taste of coffee here. Just the human taste of a warm mouth – and the feel of warm hands on the bare skin of my back as he pulled me closer. Then a body at my back, as Steve hugged me from behind. Hugged both of us, and Julian pulled away, laughing.
“Damn it, two pairs of cold hands are a bit much!”
“Foreplay’s off the menu, then?” I asked.
The Mammoth Book of Urban Erotic Confessions Page 29
