He was already on his back when she walked in, the plastic sheet crinkling under the thick, padded diaper taped around his waist. At forty-eight he was gray at the temples, soft in the gut, and completely shaved below, just the way she liked him. The baby print on the diaper looked ridiculous stretched over his thick thighs and heavy balls.
“Hands behind your head, baby,” she said, voice low and flat. No baby talk. She didn’t need it. The diaper did all the talking.
He obeyed. She climbed onto the bed still in her work skirt and blouse, popped the tapes on the diaper, and pulled the front down. His cock was already half-hard, lying thick against his stomach. She wrapped her fingers around it without ceremony and started stroking, slow and tight, using the slick of the lotion she’d rubbed into his skin earlier.
“Been holding it all day like a good boy?” she asked.
“Yes, Mommy.”
Her grip tightened just under the head, thumb dragging over the slit. “That’s what I like to hear.” She worked him in steady pulls, the wet sound of lotion and pre-cum filling the room. Every few strokes she let go and pressed two fingers against the head of his cock, rubbing in tight circles until his hips jerked.
“Stay still,” she warned. “You move and I stop.”
He froze. She went back to long, firm strokes, occasionally reaching down to cup his balls, rolling them, tugging just enough to make him grunt.
When he started leaking steadily she used the wetness to slick him faster, the diaper crinkling every time his thighs twitched.
“Tell me what you are,” she said.
“A big baby who needs his diaper and Mommy’s hand on his cock.”
“That’s right.” She sped up, wrist twisting on every upstroke. “And big babies don’t get to cum until Mommy says.”
She edged him three times, bringing him right to the edge then squeezing hard at the base until the urge passed. By the fourth time his cock was dark red, twitching in her fist, a steady stream of clear fluid running down over her knuckles. She finally let him have it, pumping fast and rough, the other hand pressing down on his lower belly so he couldn’t thrust.
He came hard, thick ropes shooting up his stomach and onto the open diaper. She kept stroking through it, milking every drop, until he was whimpering and oversensitive. Only then did she slow, wipe her hand on the inside of the diaper, and tape it back up over the mess.
“Nap time,” she said, patting the front of the soaked diaper once. “And if you soak this one too, Mommy will come back and do it all over again.”
