The room was dim and quiet, save for the soft rustle of fabric and the occasional mechanical hum of the white noise machine in the corner. The restraints weren’t tight, but they were firm, deliberately so. Just enough to keep him open. Exposed. Obedient.
He was blindfolded, his eyes covered in thick blackout padding. Over his ears, large, padded headphones pulsed with a slow rhythm of hypnotic loops—chimes, affirmations, and a male voice, deep and calm, whispering gentle instructions that melted into his brain like warm syrup.
“Good sissies stay still.”
“No thoughts, no choices… just crinkles.”
The pacifier gag kept his mouth full and silent. It was big, stretching his jaw, silencing any resistance. His hands were mittened, fingers useless inside the soft padding. Every part of him had been dulled, softened, stripped of control.
He didn’t know how long he’d been like this. Time didn’t matter anymore.
What he did know was that he wasn’t alone.
A presence shifted nearby. The bed dipped slightly. A hand—a strong, adult male hand—rested on his diapered thigh and squeezed gently. A low chuckle followed.
“That’s it, little one,” came the familiar voice. Deep. Confident. Completely in control. “Still soaked. Just like I expected.”
The heat rushed to his face. He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t explain himself. Not that it mattered.
“You couldn’t even last a few hours,” the man continued, his voice thick with amusement. The hand moved, palm running slowly over the front of the soggy diaper, pressing it down to feel just how full it was. “You don’t even try to hold it anymore, do you? That’s good. That’s very good.”
He trembled slightly beneath the touch. The voice in the headphones kept looping.
“Sissies don’t use toilets.”
“Sissies are grateful to be padded.”
“Messy… helpless… happy.”
The man leaned down, his breath warm near the boy’s ear. He tugged one earphone away for just a moment—just long enough to speak words that weren’t part of the recording.
“You asked for this,” he said softly. “You begged for structure. For discipline. For someone to take control and make the decisions you were too weak to handle. And now look at you.”
A pause. A pat to the front of the diaper.
“My crinkly little project. Hopeless. And perfect.”
Then the earphone was slid back into place, sealing the boy back in his sensory cocoon. The voice resumed:
“Good diapered sissies thank their caregivers.”
“Fankk ooo” he murmured into the gag, but it came out even more muffled.
“You’re welcome, little one.” He said with a chuckle, placing his hand on the front of the plump padding again. He could feel that the sissy was hard, of course he was. He pressed down harder. The sissies hips immediately started thrusting, gyrating beneath him, like he’d pressed ‘on’-switch. The man didn’t even move his hand, just left it there while the desperate sissy squirmed beneath him. He groaned and moaned through his pacifier gag, whimpering, so starved and needy for some sort of stimulation other than the hypnotic buzz coursing through his headphones.
It didn’t take long. 30 seconds maybe before the sissy was spasming beneath his grip. His breath came in short, muffled gasps behind the gag. Then, finally, a long exhale as his balls emptied into his padding the same way his bladder had.
“Every release brings you deeper.” The voice in the headphones reminded him. He tugged at the bonds.
And so he lay there—helpless, humiliated, hypnotized in his own sticky shame—with no idea how long it had been or how much longer he would be trained like this.
He didn’t want it to stop.
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