Diaper Loser

My business is going well, the balance sheets are perfect. Cockiness and humility are drumming into me. For some time now, I have been carrying the strict balance between my legs. It is dominated by a stunning lady called "Luna Venus". She is a specialist in the subtle exchange of blows between my little perverted fantasies of happiness and the great cinema she makes of them.

It all started quite harmlessly with me, too. My dream mistress locks and keeps me chaste with a strict contract. With each unlocking, the models of my prison become smaller and smaller. At first nine, then six and now a shameful three centimeters of basket length. The one who is most surprised is myself that such a mutation is possible. For my mistress, these are planned, self-evident processes and an important part of the education and shaping of my loser existence. Initial revolt is now extinguished in me. I feel what my divine mistress does with me is right and must be a blessing. In the mirror, I look at the cute remnant of my former splendor and remember the moment that made me completely her servant.

"Spread your legs" I heard her whisper very close to my neck. Her tender lips miss by just a hint the fine hairs that stand up with excitement all over my body.

Hostile takeover! Deftly and quickly, I was wrapped by her. Irritated, my gaze wandered downwards. An absorbent paper nappy with a ridiculous teddy motive adorned my loins. She unmistakably made my new standard clear to me. As if in a trance, I affirmed my new, bizarre duty. But not enough, it got worse. Everywhere my eyes looked, slippery, oily latex nappies. A dream world for all chastity belt nappy slaves. With slender fingers and sweet smile, my goddess chooses a transparent button model. Like a horny symphony, the click of the snaps sounded, and Luna Venus is my ravishing conductor. A shameful outfit of a special kind, the purpose of which I was soon to learn. She instructed me to drink plenty of still water in a short time. After an hour, the first pressure contractions began. With a practiced hand, she massaged my thick nappy package and the bladder underneath. Bravely, I fought the urge to urinate and my beautiful therapist. "Out of the question," my inner voice kept telling me.

My inherited shame tried to prevent the worst. But the pressure became unbearable. I opened, like a defeated knight, the floodgates of my little castle. More and more, my nappy mistress won the battle for me, and the last pillars of my self-respect buckled like straws in the wind. I felt the warm gush that soothed my shame. It wasn't unpleasant, but it was a damning verdict on my manhood. Contractually sealed, I now stood before her with a shrunken penis wrapped in a rubber nappy. Heavily hypnotized, my tired eyes followed her sensual lip play. Gently but clearly she branded me "bed-wetter". "Your new life as a Diaper Loser begins now! Your permanent state for life!" were her last words as she released me from the session locked and diapered.