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This is a long story that develops the characters over time. I will post the first chapter now, and add to it as time passes. Comments and feedback are welcome and appreciated. Chapter 1: The Beginning or the End Carolyn was forty-one, tall, auburn-haired, and still turning heads at the country club. Ten years of marriage to David had not dulled her beauty, but it had dulled everything else. David—forty-four, senior partner at a downtown law firm, broad-shouldered once upon a time—had let the courtroom stress and the after-work bourbon settle around his middle. His once-confident baritone now carried a slight wheeze after two drinks, and in bed he lasted less than two minutes on a good night. Carolyn had stopped counting the nights she lay awake beside him, thighs clenched in frustration, pretending to sleep so he wouldn’t paw at her again. She loved the house, the cars, the vacations, the platinum card with no limit. Divorce would mean losing all of it, and worse—gossip, loneliness, starting over. Affairs were out of the question; David still had friends in every judge’s chamber in the county. She needed a solution that kept the money and destroyed the problem at the same time. That solution arrived in the shape of her oldest friend, Linda. Linda was a clinical hypnotherapist with a discreet practice on the north side of the city. She was petite, dark-haired, always dressed in flowing black, and possessed a calm, almost amused authority that made people obey before they realized they had decided to. On Saturday they sat on Carolyn’s sun-drenched patio Linda with nice glass of wine and Carolyn with tall glasses of peach iced tea—Carolyn never touched alcohol—Carolyn poured out her misery. “I’m dying inside, Linda. I need real sex, and I need to not feel guilty about it. But I can’t leave him and I can’t cheat without destroying everything.” Linda listened, swirling her glass, then smiled like someone unveiling a gift. “There’s another way,” she said. “I’ve seen it work. We take away the man he thinks he is. We make him small. Dependent. Grateful. We put him back in diapers, turn his tiny premature ejaculations into something he can only feel when he’s padded and helpless. And once he’s hooked on that helplessness, he will give you permission—out loud—to take a real man. He’ll beg for it eventually. I’ve read the case studies. Carolyn’s pulse hammered. “You’re serious.” “Completely. I’ll handle the hypnosis. You just play the loving, heartbroken wife who’s trying to help with his ‘little problem.’ He’ll never suspect.” They shook hands like business partners. Three nights later Linda arrived for what David thought was a casual dinner. He liked Linda—she flattered him, kept his bourbon coming, and laughed at his war stories. By ten he was loose, laughing a bit too loud, and bragging about a case he’d just won. Carolyn watched Linda’s fingers move—a subtle circle on the stem of her glass, a soft hum under the music. David’s eyelids sagged. His head nodded. “David,” Linda said gently, “look at my pendant.” The silver chain appeared between her fingers as if by magic. David’s gaze locked on it. Thirty seconds later his chin rested on his chest, breathing slow and deep. Carolyn’s heart hammered as Linda leaned close to her husband’s ear. “David, every night when you’re asleep and you feel the need to urinate, you will simply relax and let it flow. You will not wake up. You will not remember this instruction. You will feel safe and warm as you wet the bed. And whenever you hear me say the words ‘lawyer’s rest,’ you will return to this deep, obedient state instantly. Do you understand?” A low “Yes” rumbled from David’s throat. “Good boy.” Linda snapped her fingers. David blinked, straightened, and reached for his bourbon as if nothing had happened. That night, at 3:17 a.m., David stirred. His bladder pressed full and heavy. Normally he would swing his legs over the side of the bed, pad to the bathroom, stand tall, aim. Instead, still half-dreaming, he relaxed. A hot flood spread beneath him, soaking his cotton pajama bottoms, pooling under his hips. He sighed, rolled over into the wetness, and slept again. At six-thirty the alarm buzzed. David woke to the clammy reek of urine. He sat bolt upright, heart racing. “No. No, no, no—” He ripped the sheets off, balled them in a panic, and stuffed them into the washing machine on hot before Carolyn stirred. He showered twice, scrubbing himself raw, and swore it was a one-time fluke—too much bourbon, stress, anything. The next night it happened again. Same warm surrender, same shameful dawn discovery. He was shaking when he hid the second set of sheets. On the morning of the third day Carolyn “discovered” the wet sheets. She touched his arm with theatrical tenderness. “Honey… the bed was wet again. It’s okay. It happens. We’ll figure it out together.” David’s face burned crimson. “It’s not—I don’t know what’s—” “Shh. I love you. We’ll get through it.” That evening Linda returned. Dessert had barely been served when she leaned across the table and murmured, “Lawyer’s rest.” David’s eyes glazed. Fork frozen halfway to his mouth. Linda’s voice was velvet. “Tomorrow morning, when you wake up wet again, you will feel overwhelming relief at the thought of wearing diapers. You will tell Carolyn—your own idea—that the adult thing to do, the responsible thing, is to wear protection until this passes. You will feel proud for suggesting it. You will not remember I told you this.” Snap. David finished his cheesecake, oblivious. The next morning, voice trembling, David said exactly what he’d been told to say. Carolyn let tears well—perfect, sympathetic tears. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s so mature of you. Of course we’ll get what you need.” By noon they were in a bland medical supply store that smelled of plastic and antiseptic. David’s ears flamed as the clerk—heavy-set, bored—rang up a case of thick, white adult diapers with blue leak guards and tiny teddy-bear prints along the landing zone. “Overnight maximum absorbency,” the clerk said cheerfully. “These’ll hold anything.” Back home, Carolyn unwrapped the first diaper with ceremonial care. David stood in their bedroom in just his socks, hands awkwardly covering his groin. “Lie back, sweetheart,” she cooed. “Let me take care of you.” The diaper crinkled obscenely as she slid it under him, dusted him with powder that smelled like babyhood and surrender, and taped it snug. His tiny penis twitched against the padding, already half-hard from pure humiliation. “There,” she whispered, patting the front. “My big strong lawyer, safe and dry.” That night they went to bed. David lay rigid, listening to the loud rustle every time he moved. At some point he drifted off. When he woke at dawn, the sheets were pristine. The diaper was not. Heavy, sagging, warm, it clung to him like a second skin. He reached down with a trembling hand and felt the sodden weight. A strange, liquid shame coursed through him—followed by a pulse of something darker, something almost like relief. In the bathroom mirror he caught a glimpse of himself: forty-four years old, successful, rich, powerful—and standing soaked in a teddy-bear diaper. Behind him, Carolyn leaned in the doorway, smiling softly. “Good morning, baby,” she said. “See? Problem solved.” And somewhere deep in David’s mind, a tiny voice whispered that this was only the beginning.

Dear Mommy, When you put your husband or boyfriend into diapers, do you still accept him as a man or does he become your child ? And if you no longer accept him as a man, have you sought and taken a lover to satisfy your unmet sexual longings ?