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Nick and Molly - Chapter 8 - Story by Tinker Kinkers

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Nick woke to the sound of tape being loosened.

For one disoriented second, he thought he was dreaming. The room was still dim, the curtains barely gray with morning light, and his body felt heavy with the deep, stubborn sleep that only came when an alarm went off before the sun had fully committed to existing.

Then he felt Molly’s hand at his hip.

The diaper.

He blinked his eyes open.

Molly was already dressed, leaning over him with her hair pulled back and a bright, awake expression that felt personally offensive given the hour. Her top was fitted, her shorts hugged her hips, and she looked like she had been awake long enough to become cheerful on purpose.

Nick squinted at her. “Hmmmph... What time is it?”

“Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

“That’s not a time.”

“Early.”

“Ugh. I hate early.”

“I know.” Molly smiled and ripped another tape loose with practiced care. “But Nashville awaits.”

Nick let his head fall back into the pillow. “Nashville can wait.”

“Nashville has a schedule.”

“Nashville is too needy.”

Molly laughed softly, and despite himself, the sound softened him.

The diaper around him was soaked and swollen from the night, thick with warmth that had cooled in places and settled heavily between his legs. Molly worked without any fuss, folding the front inward as she went, careful and competent, keeping the whole thing contained while Nick lay there grumpy and half-asleep.

“Full one this morning,” she murmured.

Nick covered his face with one hand. “Please don’t narrate.”

“I’m not narrating. I’m admiring product performance.”

“Hun, you’re ridiculous.”

She kissed his stomach before reaching for the wipes. “You’re cute when you’re cranky.”

“I’m not cute. I’m tired.”

“Yeah, and you're cute.”

She cleaned him gently, her touch warm and unhurried despite the early hour. The shame was there, of course. It always was, waiting at the edge of his thoughts. But it didn’t have the same teeth it once had. Not with Molly smiling and humming under her breath, not with her hands moving like this was simply part of caring for him now.

When she rolled the used diaper up and tied it away, Nick assumed they were done and his head hit the pillow again.

Then Molly reached for another one.

He lifted his head. “Wait.”

She looked at him, entirely too innocent. “What?”

“Is that another diaper?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Why are you…”

“For the drive.” She cut him off.

Nick stared at her.

Molly unfolded it and fluffed it open like this was the most reasonable answer in the world. She placed the booster she'd prepped inside the diaper with practiced ease.

“I want you to be able to sleep,” she said. “You were up early, and it’s a long drive. This way, if you fall asleep and have an accident, you don’t have to worry about it.”

“I could just use the bathroom before we leave.”

“You can do that too.”

“Molly are you sure...”

She paused, the open diaper in her hands, her expression softening.

“Sweetie, it’s just in case.”

He started to sit up. “I don’t know if I want to be in a diaper in the car.”

Molly set one hand on his chest, gentle but firm enough to stop him. Then she leaned down, close enough that her voice dropped into that dangerous, intimate register that seemed to bypass every argument in his head.

“You’ll be under a blanket. I’ll be driving. Nobody will know. And you can nap without worrying about anything.” She brushed her lips against his cheek. “You can pretend to protest, but something tells me you don't really want to.”

Nick swallowed, feeling his arousal betray him.

Easy.

That was unfair. She knew it was unfair.

His resistance wavered.

“I’m not a baby,” he muttered, more reflex than conviction.

Molly’s smile flickered, fond and reassuring. “No. You’re my very tired husband, and I’m taking care of you.”

That landed differently.

He let out a breath and lay back.

“Ugh. Okay fine.”

“Fine?”

“But don’t act like you didn’t win. Again...”

“I would never.” She said, glancing down at his arousal, she won.

A moment later, he was freshly diapered, the fit thick and snug around him, his body still too sleepy to fully process the humiliation of what he had agreed to. Molly helped him sit up, then tugged his shirt down to meet the waistband of his diaper.

“Teeth,” she said, giving him a playful swat on his padded butt. Her hand landed with a crinkly muffled thud.

Nick shuffled to the bathroom, brushed his teeth with his eyes half-closed, and tried not to think about the fact that he was about to get into the car wearing a diaper.

When he came back into the bedroom, Molly was gathering a few last-minute things. He saw his gym shorts in her hand and reached for them automatically.

She pulled them back.

He blinked. “Aren’t those for me?”

“They’re going in the car.”

Nick stared at her.

“I have a blanket for you,” she said brightly. “And a pillow. You can get cozy.”

“In just this?”

She glanced down at the diaper, then back up at him.

“Under the blanket, yes. And it’s easier for me to check you if you’re sleeping.”

His face heated immediately. “Molly.”

“No one’s going to see, sweetie. Coffee first, quick breakfast, then you can curl up and sleep all the way to Nashville.”

He should have protested.

He opened his mouth to protest.

But Molly was already ushering him toward the stairs with one hand at his diaper, her mood too sunny to argue with and the smell of coffee already drifting from the kitchen.

By the time they got into the SUV, Nick was too tired to keep being embarrassed with any real stamina. Molly had the passenger seat reclined slightly, a pillow waiting against the window, and a soft blanket folded on the seat.

He gave her a look.

She smiled. “See? Cozy.”

“This is suspiciously well planned.”

“I’m a thoughtful wife.”

“True, but you’re a devious wife.”

“Also true.”

Nick slid into the seat as carefully as he could, the diaper shifting under him. Molly handed him the blanket, and he pulled it across his lap with more urgency than he wanted to admit. Once covered, the humiliation became more abstract. Still there, but muted. Hidden.

Molly climbed into the driver’s seat, started the car, and glanced over at him with a smile that was softer than teasing.

“Sleep, love.”

Nick wanted to say he wasn’t tired.

Instead, he closed his eyes.

He was asleep before they reached the interstate.

When he woke again, the car was not moving.

At first, he only registered fragments: sunlight brighter than before, music playing low, the soft rumble of the engine, the faint breeze coming through Molly’s open window. His neck was warm against the pillow. The blanket was still over his lap.

Then he became aware of the diaper.

Wet.

Not soaked through, not uncomfortable exactly, but definitely used. Definitely thicker and warmer beneath him, pressed between his legs by the angle of the seat.

His face warmed before he was fully awake.

Molly glanced over. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

Nick blinked at her. “Are we stopped?”

“Yeah.” She nodded toward the windshield. “Traffic. Bad accident up ahead, apparently.”

Nick lifted his head enough to see rows of cars stretching in front of them. Brake lights. Stopped lanes. A few people standing outside their vehicles in the distance.

“How long?”

“We haven’t moved in about twenty minutes.” Molly rested one hand lightly on the wheel. Her window was down, and the breeze played with loose strands of her hair. In her fitted top and shorts, relaxed and sunlit, she looked unfairly beautiful for someone ruining his life through logistics. “Good thing we left early.”

Nick tried to smile.

His stomach gave a low, familiar twist.

The smile disappeared.

Oh no.

Not now.

He shifted in the seat, and the diaper pressed heavily beneath him. His bladder had clearly made use of it while he slept, and he felt a small need to pee more, but that was not the problem waking up in him now.

Molly noticed his face change.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” His voice came out too tight. “Just wondering how long traffic is gonna be.”

“I don’t know yet. Maps says there’s a big delay, but it doesn’t say when we’ll start moving.”

Nick stared forward.

Another cramp rolled through him, deeper and more insistent.

He gripped the edge of the blanket.

Molly’s expression sharpened with concern. “Nick?”

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

Her eyes softened, and a tiny smile tugged at her mouth. “Sweetie, I think you already did.”

She reached under the blanket and gave the front of his diaper a gentle squeeze.

Nick inhaled sharply.

“Molly.” The word came out almost with a whine.

“What?” she whispered. “Just checking.”

“It’s not that kind.”

Her hand went still.

A second passed.

Then understanding crossed her face.

“Oh.”

Nick looked out the window, humiliated by the single syllable.

Molly withdrew her hand slowly. “Okay. Hmm.”

“I need a bathroom.”

“I know.”

“Like, soon.”

She glanced at the traffic ahead, then at her phone mounted near the dash. Her playful expression vanished, replaced by the kind, practical focus Nick had come to recognize.

“Maybe it’ll clear in a few minutes,” she said. “Once we’re moving, I’ll get off at the first exit. Rest stop, gas station, anything.”

Nick nodded, grateful for the optimism even though his body did not believe in it.

Minutes passed.

Traffic did not move.

The pressure built.

At first, Nick could manage it by sitting still and breathing carefully. Then that stopped working. He shifted, leaned forward, leaned back, clenched every muscle he could, then regretted each adjustment as the swollen diaper made every movement strange and awkward.

Molly watched him with growing concern.

The car behind them was close enough that he could see the driver through the windshield in the side mirror. Cars lined both sides. A truck idled next to them. They were surrounded by people and trapped inside a private disaster.

Molly quietly rolled up her window.

The sound made Nick look at her.

“What?”

“Just giving you a little privacy.”

His stomach dropped. “Molly.”

“I know.” Her voice was gentle. “I know you don’t want to.”

“I can’t.”

“I know.”

“I can’t do that.”

She reached across the console and took his hand. “Okay.”

But her eyes said something else.

Not pressure. Not excitement. But they smiled with, something?

Awareness.

She knew before he did.

Another cramp hit, stronger this time, and Nick bent forward with a sharp breath.

Molly squeezed his hand. “Hey. Look at me.”

He shook his head. “I can hold it.”

“Maybe.”

“I can.”

“Okay.”

The word was kind, but the traffic still didn’t move.

Another five minutes passed.

Nick’s breathing grew uneven. His face felt hot. His hands were clammy. He was acutely aware of the diaper under him, not as protection now, but as a possibility. A terrible, impossible possibility.

Molly leaned closer, lowering her voice.

“Can you undo your seatbelt?”

He stared at her.

“Why?”

“Just to take pressure off your stomach.”

He hesitated, then unclipped it. The sound was too loud in the quiet car.

“Try turning a little,” she said softly. “Maybe up on your knees, facing the seat. Hands on the backrest. It might help.”

Nick went cold.

He understood immediately what she was suggesting.

“Molly.”

“I’m not telling you to do anything,” she said quickly. “I’m just trying to help you get comfortable.”

“That’s not what this is.”

Her face softened with such tenderness that it almost hurt to look at her.

“Sweetie, whatever happens, it’s okay.”

His eyes burned.

“No, it’s not.” the almost-whine returned.

“Yes,” she said. “It is.”

He wanted to argue. Wanted to insist that there was a line here, some final barrier between the strange but manageable thing they had been exploring and this humiliating cliff edge he could not possibly cross, and never come back from.

But his body did not care about dignity.

His body cared about relief.

With shaking hands, Nick pushed the blanket to the floor, then turned awkwardly in the reclined passenger seat. The diaper shifted thickly beneath his shirt, wet and heavy and impossible to ignore, he felt it droop slightly. He got onto his knees facing the seat, hands braced forward, the position making his face burn so fiercely he felt almost numb.

Molly leaned over the console and rubbed his back.

“That’s it,” she whispered. “Breathe.”

“I can’t believe this is happening.”

“I know.”

“I can’t.”

“You don’t have to decide anything. Just breathe and try to relax.”

Nick closed his eyes.

The alarm bells in his head were deafening.

Not this. Not this. Not in the car. Not with Molly. Not while traffic sat all around them. Not in broad daylight. Not in a diaper. I can’t poop my diaper.

But Molly’s hand moved slowly up and down his back, steady and warm.

“You’re safe,” she said. “I’m here. Nobody knows. Nobody can see. It’s okay.”

Nick focused on her voice.

On the engine hum.

On the music playing low.

On the feel of her palm between his shoulder blades.

The pressure became unbearable.

His body made the decision his mind could not.

He gave in. He bore down just slightly, and that's all it took.

The world narrowed to a single, devastating moment of release. He felt his mess slide out slowly at first, making contact with the inside of his already wet diaper, pushing the padding out away from his skin, before he felt the warm mush expand to fill the space inside between the damp padding and his skin.

Nick’s breath caught and stayed caught. His face went numb with embarrassment, his ears burning, heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat. The diaper shifted beneath him, taking what his body surrendered, changing shape in a way that made the reality of it impossible to deny. He felt the mess creep up his butt, and simultaneously slide forward to the base of his balls, and fill all useable space in between.

Molly could see the rear of his diaper expanding downwards and the leg gathers pulling to accommodate the bulk, and felt her own face flush.

Time slowed.

Then stopped.

For a few seconds, he was nowhere but inside his own body, overwhelmed by relief and horror and the strange, helpless intimacy of Molly’s hand still moving gently over his back. He felt another wave hit him, and he instinctively gave another small push. The diaper expanded even more, and he felt this new wave of mess fold on top of what he had already done.

When it was over, he stayed frozen, and released the urine that was still nagging him. The diaper now felt thicker, tighter, warmer. It was snug and heavy in a way he hadn't yet experienced.

He couldn’t look at her.

He couldn’t look at anything.

Then he felt Molly’s touch slide lower, tentative and light over the seat of his diaper. Not grabbing. Not yet. Just acknowledging, checking, reassuring.

“Oh, sweetie,” she whispered over the slight crinkling sound produced by her touch.

Nick shut his eyes harder, fighting their flutter.

“Oh no… I’m sorry, oh no no no...” he said, barely audible.

“Sweetie.” Molly’s voice was immediate. Firm. “Please, don’t apologize.”

“I just—”

“It’s okay love. You were stuck. You had no choice.”

“I did.”

“No, really, you didn't.” Her hand moved back to his shoulder. “And even if you did, I’m still here, and it's okay.”

Something in him cracked at that.

He turned his head just enough to look at her.

Molly’s face was still flushed, her eyes bright with an emotion she was trying very hard to keep gentle. Nick could see it anyway. Concern, yes. Love. Pride.

And desire.

She was trying to hide that last part for him.

But she was terrible at hiding things from him.

Her hand drifted back once more, this time with a little more pressure. A cautious squeeze through the thick padding.

Nick gasped before he could stop himself.

Molly froze. “Too much?”

He should have said yes.

He should have been horrified.

Instead, arousal shot through him so abruptly that it left him dizzy.

He shook his head.

Molly’s lips parted slightly.

“Oh,” she said softly as she slid her hand further under him, feeling the noticeable bulge at the front of his diaper.

Nick looked away, mortified and undone, how could he have an erection from this?

“Molly.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Oh I think I do.”

He laughed once, shaky and humorless. “Why is this happening? This is crazy.”

“Maybe.” Her voice was quiet and warm. “But it's okay, and you’re okay.”

Her hand stayed there, careful and reverent, and Nick hated that his body responded with arousal. Hated it and needed it and felt himself collapsing under the impossible collision of shame, relief, exposure, and Molly’s tender fascination.

She leaned closer.

He turned toward her.

The kiss was awkward, twisted across the console, his body still half-turned in the passenger seat, the blanket tangled around his knees. But when Molly’s mouth found his, everything else blurred. He kissed her like he needed somewhere to put the panic. She kissed him back like she could hold it.

For one reckless minute, there was only Molly, and the full diaper between his legs. And both were okay. Maybe even more than okay.

Then a horn blared behind them.

Both of them jolted.

Nick jerked back, eyes wide.

Molly snapped upright. “Traffic. Shit!”

The car ahead had moved.

The car behind honked again.

“Oh my god,” Nick whispered.

Molly fumbled for her seatbelt, face flushed, trying not to laugh and failing a little. “Okay. Okay. Shit. Shit. We’re moving. Shit.”

Nick scrambled awkwardly back into position, keeping himself raised off the seat as much as he could, one hand gripping the door and the other braced on the console.

Molly glanced at him with immediate concern. “Can you sit?”

“Are you kidding?”

“Okay.” Her voice turned practical at once. “Just hold yourself up for a minute. I’ll get us off at the first exit.”

Nick stared straight ahead, humiliated, breathless, and still shaking from everything that had just happened.

Outside, traffic began to crawl forward.

Inside the SUV, the air felt thick with secrecy.

The tinted windows hid them from the world.

Molly merged carefully into the moving lane, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching briefly over to touch Nick’s arm.

“Hey,” she said softly.

He looked at her.

Her face was still flushed, still shaken, but steady now. Loving.

“We’re okay.”

Nick swallowed.

He wasn’t sure he believed that yet.

Traffic crawled forward in uneasy little bursts.

Molly kept both hands on the wheel now, her posture alert, her eyes moving between the cars ahead, and Nick beside her. He stayed half-raised in the passenger seat, arms trembling from the effort, one hand braced against the door and the other against the center console.

It was not sustainable.

He knew that.

Molly knew that too.

But neither of them said it.

For a few minutes, the only sounds were the low music from the speakers, the faint hum of the engine, and the tires rolling slowly over pavement. Nick stared through the windshield, jaw tight, trying to focus on anything except his own body. Anything except the weight, warmth, and bulky mess trapped inside his diaper. Anything except the knowledge that Molly knew every part of what had happened and had not looked away. Not just not-looked-away, but leaned in.

Ahead, flashing lights came into view.

“There it is,” Molly said softly.

Nick lifted his eyes.

The accident was bad enough that traffic had been pushed around it using the soft shoulder. Orange cones narrowed the lanes. A state trooper stood near the median, waving cars through in careful, staggered movements. Farther ahead, a tow truck angled across part of the road, its lights turning the morning air red and blue.

Molly followed the line of cars onto the shoulder.

The SUV dipped slightly as the tires left the smooth lane and found the rougher edge of the side of the road.

Nick tightened his arms.

“Almost through,” Molly said.

He nodded once, unable to speak.

Then the front tire hit something.

Not a pothole, exactly. More like a raised seam where the shoulder had been patched badly, hidden until they were right on top of it.

The SUV bounced.

Nick’s arms gave out.

For one awful, unavoidable second, gravity won.

He dropped back onto the seat.

The contact stole the breath from his lungs as he felt every bit of the mess he’d made, once again spreading, even further.

Everything shifted beneath him at once: the huge diaper, the trapped mess, the humiliating evidence of what his body had already done. The pressure surged through him, not pain, not exactly, but an intense, overwhelming sensation that hit so hard it seemed to light every nerve at once. It was a sensory overload that almost brought numbness.

Nick made a sound he could not stop.

Molly’s head snapped toward him. “Nick?”

He couldn’t answer.

His hands gripped the seat and console, but he didn’t lift himself again. He meant to. Some part of him screamed that he should, that sitting down made it real in a new way, made it worse, made it impossible to pretend he was only managing the aftermath.

But his body had already learned the truth before his mind could deny it. He felt his cock growing, straining against the mess inside his diaper, he wanted it to stop, but couldn’t help it.

The humiliation fed the sensation.

The sensation fed the humiliation.

Round and round, each making the other sharper, deeper, harder to escape.

His face burned. His throat tightened. His body continued to respond in a way that made him want to disappear and stay exactly where he was at the same time.

“Oh… my... god... ” he whispered.

Molly’s eyes flicked from the road to him again, then down to where his hand was resting on the front of his diaper.

Understanding moved across her face.

Not all at once. Slowly.

She saw the panic first.

Then the surrender.

Then the way his body had stopped fighting what his mind was still trying to reject.

Her lips parted slightly.

She looked back to the road quickly, but the flush in her cheeks deepened.

“Sweetie,” she said, her voice careful, “are you okay?”

Nick laughed once under his breath. It was not really a laugh.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you need me to pull over?”

“We’re moving.”

“I know, but—”

“No.” He swallowed hard, staring straight ahead. “No, just… keep going.”

The SUV rolled over another uneven stretch of shoulder, smaller this time, but enough that Nick felt the diaper press up into him again. His eyes closed briefly.

He should have lifted himself.

Instead, he settled.

Not comfortably. Not casually. But with a slow, helpless resignation that felt like stepping over another invisible line.

He let his weight rest fully on the seat.

The shame crashed through him so strongly he almost couldn’t breathe.

Then, beneath it, through it, tangled with it, came more of the other feeling.

Warmth.

Pressure.

Arousal so intense it frightened him.

Molly glanced over just in time to see his expression change. To see his subtle rhythmic movements on the seat.

The grip of her right hand tightened on the steering wheel. Her left slid down to her crotch.

In spite of her attempt to be discreet, Nick saw it.

He saw her watching him put the pieces together. Saw her trying to keep her face soft and supportive while something hungry and fascinated moved just under the surface. She understood what was happening to him. Maybe not completely. Maybe not in words.

But enough.

Enough that her voice dropped when she spoke.

“You don’t have to hold yourself up anymore,” she said.

Nick’s heart stumbled.

“Molly.”

“I’m not teasing.” Her eyes stayed on the road, but her cheeks were flushed. “I just mean… if sitting is easier, then sit.”

“It’s not… easier.”

A beat passed.

Then he added, barely audible, “It just feels…”

Molly’s breath caught.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

The car merged back toward the right lane as the shoulder route curved around the last of the accident scene. The road smoothed beneath them. Traffic began to move faster, not fast yet, but steady. Cars spread out, the crisis loosening into ordinary delay.

Nick stayed seated.

He hated that Molly knew.

He loved that Molly knew.

He could feel both truths inside him at once, impossible to separate.

Molly reached over and rested her hand on his thigh, not pushing for more, not touching the diaper, just anchoring him.

“Hey,” she said softly.

He looked at her.

Her eyes flicked to his, then back to the road.

“I see a rest stop sign.”

Nick turned his head toward the windshield.

REST AREA — 10 MILES.

The words landed like rescue.

And, confusingly, like a deadline.

“Ten miles,” Molly said. “We’ll pull in there, park somewhere quiet, and I’ll help you get cleaned up.”

Nick nodded.

His mouth was dry.

“Okay.”

“We have everything we need,” she continued, voice calm and practical, though the color in her face had not faded. “Wipes, bags, clean diapers, clothes. The bear bag is finally getting to prove itself.”

Despite everything, Nick let out a shaky laugh.

“Oh my god Molly, you’re impossible, not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“pshhhh.”

“Okay, sorry mister serious. It’s extremely not funny,” she corrected solemnly. “The bear bag is a very serious piece of emergency equipment.”

Nick covered his face with one hand, laughing once more because the alternative was falling apart. Something she said rang loud in his head.

Clean diapers. The word "clean" unlike himself at the moment.

The word "diapers" not just "a" diaper, but "diapers" plural. And surely she wasn't going to put him in another one. There was only an hour left on the drive.

Molly smiled, but when she reached for him again, her touch was gentle, bringing him back out of his thoughts.

“You’re doing really well,” she said.

“I'm sitting in a—”

“I know.” Her voice softened before he could finish. “I know. And you’re still doing really well babe.”

Nick looked out the window.

Cars passed slowly on their left. Sunlight flashed across the dashboard. Somewhere outside their tinted glass, the world continued in complete ignorance.

Inside, everything had changed again.

He sat there, fully seated now, no longer trying to hold himself apart from what had happened. Every small movement of the car reminded him. Every shift of his hips, intentional or not, sent another hot wave of embarrassment and sensation through him. He could not make himself unaffected by it.

And Molly kept glancing over.

Not constantly.

But enough.

Enough that he knew she was watching him discover this new, terrifying part of himself in real time.

Enough that he knew she liked what she saw.

Nick swallowed hard.

“Molly?”

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t let me be weird alone.”

Her hand found his again over the console.

She threaded her fingers through his and smiled.

“And you better promise me the same,” she said.

The rest stop sign appeared again.

5 MILES.

Molly squeezed his hand.

“Almost there.”

Nick nodded, though his body was still humming and with everything he didn’t know how to name.

Almost there.

Five miles to cleanup.

Five miles to privacy.

Five miles before he had to stand up and face what had happened.

He watched the road ahead, Molly’s hand in his, the bear bag waiting somewhere behind them like a promise and a threat.

For the first time, he was not sure whether he wanted the five miles to pass quickly or last forever.

paddedlittleparadise

TW: forced regression, bodily waste, diaper use, non-con

Note that in this fantasy scenario, all individuals are adults over the age of 18!

–––

Why the crotch strap?

Oh, sweetie, it's really not that hard to understand! But I see the fear in your eyes – the fear that fogs your mind and clogs your rational faculties. Mommy gets it. Mommy knows how scary it is to see your new little brother getting broken in. Don't worry. Mommy will explain everything to you.

Never mind his moans. Never mind his squirming. Mommy put him in that straitjacket for a reason. He's safe now: safe from himself, from his silly attempts to escape, from everything that might disturb the process. See? He can tug and moan and writhe – like an adorable, pathetic little worm – but he's not going anywhere. Not so long as those straps are holding him tight in Mommy's inescapable hug.

The crotch strap, hmm? Aww, just look at it. It's so… wide, isn't it? Wide and strong, with stout buckles keeping it in place. It fits so well over your little brother's diaper, too. And with those pretty blue stripes running parallel with it… aww, it's genuinely beautiful!

It seems so tight? Are you sure about that, sweetie? Go on. Reach out and touch it. Run your trembling fingers over the plastic, the canvas, the lovely strong stitching… down to that cold steel buckle. Slip your fingers underneath, now. See? It's not quite so tight as you thought!

And why is that, sweetie? Why ever would Mommy leave that nice strong crotch strap loose, hmm?

Oh, I see your questioning eyes, blinking up fearfully. You don't know, do you? But don't worry. Mommy said she'd explain.

It's for a very good reason, sweetie. See, listen to your little brother, gulping and fighting in his bonds. He's struggling against himself now: against the lovely load of milk and juice Mommy pumped into him just now. Against the muscle relaxants that slowly are making it harder and harder for him to resist. Against the lovely, large fleet enema Mommy squirted deep into his bum… and that's already got him burning and aching to release.

That crotch strap is ready.

Because it will happen, sweetie. There's no way anyone can win such a fight. He'll lose: little by little, more and more, until at last he's lying there, shuddering as his bladder and bowels empty themselves over and over into his diaper. And with every addition, that diaper of his will swell: silently mushrooming out, straining against that strap, seeking for anywhere to expand and grow. With nowhere to go, sweetie… you know where it will expand, don't you?

Inward, of course. All around his cute little pee-pee. Tighter and closer, wet and mushy and ever so warm. That strap is there to tease him, to torment him, to force his mind to accept the truth: that he's Mommy's baby now, actively peeing and pooping his pants with no way to control himself. Sure, he'll keep writhing and wriggling like the stubborn fellow he is. But with every movement, that strap will tug. His pee-pee will sense it. And oh, you know what happens when little boys feel warm, wet, tight things around their pee-pees, don't you?

That's the second reason, sweetie. That crotch strap is there to tease him into arousal. Oh, he won't want to, of course. What self-respecting fellow wants to get hard from feeling his own pee and poo around him? But thanks to Mommy's crotch strap and his own submissive cravings, he will. He'll try to resist, of course – to struggle against his own dirty impulses. But with every movement, every motion, he'll feel his trapped little cock swelling, stiffening, aching… and being forced, deeper and tighter and more surely than ever, back down into the messy, squishy mass of his own soiled diaper. Still he'll fight it, and still he'll grow harder and harder… until at last, he'll be moaning and cumming, right into the humiliating mess of his smelly diaper.

That's why Mommy has the crotch strap, sweetie. Not to restrain his body, oh no. It's to destroy his pride, his sense of self… and in the end, his old erotic programming.

Aww, are you crying, sweetie? Whatever for? Are you trying to tell Mommy that you want a crotch strap, too?

She could arrange that, you know!

Image Credit: Baby-Doll.com

Be sure to check out my Ream Stories if you want to read more of my naughty fiction!

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One of my favorite stories! 🔥☺️

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