The van door slid shut with a metallic finality that sealed my fate. Strong hands pinned my wrists behind my back before I could even shout. A cloth pressed over my mouth and nose, sweet and chemical, and the world dissolved into darkness.
When I woke, I was no longer in my own clothes. Thick, crinkling padding hugged my hips and crotch, the unmistakable bulk of an adult diaper locked between my thighs by a pair of locking plastic pants. Leather cuffs circled my wrists and ankles, chained to the padded rails of a large crib. The room was dim, lit only by a night-light shaped like a moon. A woman stood over me—tall, severe, beautiful in a way that made my stomach tighten with unwanted heat. She wore a tight black dress and held a bottle of warm milk.
“Welcome home, baby,” she said, voice low and commanding. “You’re mine now. No name, no clothes, no control. Just this.” Her hand pressed firmly against the front of the diaper, and I felt the humiliating warmth of my own body responding.
I tried to speak, but she slipped the nipple of the bottle between my lips. “Drink. Or I’ll make you.”
The power in her tone left no room for refusal. I sucked. The milk was sweet, laced with something that made my head swim and my cock twitch inside the thick padding. She watched every swallow, her fingers tracing the tapes of the diaper, pressing, testing.
“Good boy. You’re going to learn that fighting only makes the restraints tighter and the consequences wetter.”
Days blurred. She fed me, changed me, bathed me, each act deliberate and humiliating. The diaper became my constant companion—sometimes dry and crisp, sometimes heavy and warm with my own release. She never let me touch myself. Instead she would strap me down, spread my legs, and stroke the outside of the padding until I was desperate, begging in broken baby talk I hadn’t known I possessed.
One night she brought a thick, realistic dildo slick with lube. She cut a small slit in the front of the diaper, pushed the toy inside, and secured it with the locking pants again. The pressure against my prostate was relentless. Every movement made the diaper crinkle and the toy shift deeper. She sat beside the crib and read to me in a soft, mocking voice while I writhed, the combination of humiliation and forced pleasure pushing me toward an orgasm I couldn’t stop.
When I came, the mess stayed trapped inside the padding, warm and shameful. She smiled, wiped my face with a baby wipe, and whispered, “That’s it. Let it all go. You don’t decide anything anymore.”
Weeks passed. Resistance faded into reluctant need. I began to crave the moment she opened the crib, the sound of tapes ripping, the cool air on my skin before she cleaned me with clinical thoroughness and fastened a fresh diaper. The kidnapping had stripped everything away—my clothes, my freedom, my pride—until only this raw, aching dependency remained.
One evening she unlocked the crib and led me, crawling, to a large padded chair. She sat, pulled me across her lap, and began to spank the seat of the diaper in slow, measured strokes. Each impact sent jolts through the padding and straight to my cock. Between strikes she praised me in that dark, velvet voice: how well I took it, how perfectly I belonged to her, how beautiful I looked when I finally stopped pretending I didn’t want this.
Afterward she changed me again, this time with deliberate slowness, her fingers lingering, teasing. When the fresh diaper was taped on she pressed her palm against it and held it there until I was hard and leaking once more.
“You’re never leaving,” she said simply. “And you’re going to thank me for keeping you like this.”
I looked up at her, the weight of the diaper, the chains, the total surrender pressing down on me, and felt something inside finally break open. “Thank you,” I whispered.
She smiled, dark and satisfied, and pulled me into her arms. The crinkle of plastic was the only sound in the room as she rocked me, one hand resting possessively over the front of my diaper, owning every inch of the body she had stolen and remade.
Outside, the world continued without me. Inside, I was exactly where I now belonged—diapered, bound, and utterly hers.
