Ich heiße Marco und bin 40 Jahre alt. Seit über 25 Jahren, habe ich diese Sehnsucht nach Windeln. Es gibt einfach nichts schöneres, als dieses unbeschreiblich schöne Gefühl zwischen den Beinen.
"Seriously, Maddie? Again?!" She sighs as she pulls back the comforter on my side of the bed.
I blush at the tell-tale white streaks staining our black sheets.
"We talked about this. Masturbation is a disgusting habit! And doing it in bed? While you're sleeping next to me? And leaving a mess for me to clean up..."
She walks up to me, livid, reaches up, and yanks me by the ear.
"Well, I've fucking had it. I'm done cleaning disgusting, cum stains of my sheets because you have the self control of a toddler."
She drags me towards the bed, yanking my head towards the crusty streaks left behind by my late-night daliance.
I whine and squirm, but am unable to do anything to shake free of the firm grip she has on my earlobe.
She shoves my face into the cum-stained sheets. My nostrils are filled with the distinctive musky scent of my mingled scent and seed.
"Now lick," she commands, pressing the palm of her hand firmly into the back of my head, "You're not going anywhere until these sheets are spotless."
Tears start to fill my eyes as I comprehend what she's saying.
Shame and embarrassment, already coursing through my veins, begin to overwhelm me.
"Please," I whimper out as tears begin to roll down my cheek, "Don't..."
My plea is cut off as she shoves my head even harder into the mattress.
"I didn't say, 'Talk,'" she growls, "I said, 'Lick.'"
Sobbing as she releases her grip just enough to give me the slightest control of my head, I do as she orders.
I let my tongue lull out of my mouth like a dog and, slowly at first, begin to lap up my dried up mess.
As I lap up my shame, the bitter taste of my seed mixes with the salty taste of my tears.
As she releases my head, satisfied with my obedience, I begin to lick faster, wanting this all to be over as soon as possible.
I don't know how long I'm kneeling there, nose pressed into my firm mattress, before she announced that I'm done.
"Good boy," she coos, signaling an end to my torture, "That mess is cleaned up, but how are we going to prevent this from happening again? Oh, I know."
With barely suppressed glee, she walks up from behind be again, laying something thick and rectangular next to me on the bed.
A pit forms in my stomach as I recognize the plastic object.
"No," I say, desperation flooding my whole being, "Not that."
The smirk on her face as I turn my eyes towards her tells me more than any words she could speak.
"Since you have the self control of a toddler," she purrs, placing a hand on my shoulder, "Then I may as well treat you like one."
She grabs the object--the thick, betwetter's pull-up--off the bed and slaps it into the palm of her free hand.
I wince as if I've been slapped.
"It's time you learned that that cute, little cock of yours is mine, and just mine."
I try to back away as she looms over me, only to bump into the frame of the bed.
"Which means, from now on, only me--its owner--gets to touch it."
She bends down, letting her voice drop lower, as she continues to slowly tap the infantile undergarment into her hand.
"You need to take a piss?"
Crinkle.
"You ask me."
Crinkle.
"You need to take a shit?
Crinkle.
"You ask me."
Crinkle.
"You need to itch that dick?"
Crinkle.
"You ask me."
Crinkle.
"You need to cum?"
This last question is a growl.
"You fucking ask me."
She takes me by the chin, tilting my eyes up to meet yours.
"From now on, that cock is mine. You're not allowed to touch it. You're not allowed to pull it out. You're not allowed to so much as brush against it without my permission, understood?"
The taste of my own shame still fresh on my tongue, I nod my head in acquiescence.
"Good boy," she coos, releasing my chin, "Now, stand up so I can get my cute, little cock wrapped up nice and snug where you can't torture the poor thing anymore than you already have."
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