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A Sensitive Guy (Updated/Complete with Part 2, Sep 26)

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Contains: Premature Ejaculation, Humiliation, Pull-ups


Timberly Swinn, 27 F

Happy for fun, would love something deeper. Sex positive, unless you’re a fuckin’ creep.

I’m interested in technology and writing on the human psyche. I like board game nights with friends when we want to keep things low key. For a high energy date I’ll teach you how to play pickleball–I’d say, ‘Loser buys drinks afterwards’, but I don’t need free drinks.

I’m not going to quit my career for you, don’t even ask.

Looking for a sweet, sensitive guy who isn’t terrified of emotional vulnerability.

Sam scanned the dating app profile, hesitated, then looked at her picture again. She was chubby and tan and didn’t appear to be more than five foot even–only an inch shorter than himself–with a short pixie cut. She radiated confidence in her selfies; attractive, self assured, and her bio got his interest.

(Sure, why not?)

He sent her a message.

It took two weeks of chatting before Sam could work up the courage to ask Timberly out for coffee. She countered with dinner and drinks at a local club, and he fumbled typing his response so badly he sent ‘Y3<s’ by mistake.

She just…got him. They’d quickly moved off the dating app and onto a little chat app she’d recommended, and whenever he heard its notification jingle he felt his heart flutter. Timberly was funny, successful, and confident in her attractiveness–Sam thought he was just a little funny, and not in the ‘good at telling jokes’ way. He worked as an underpaid stage hand and lived out of his parents’ basement because there was nowhere else he could afford rent. What did she want out of him?

He kept expecting her to drop him, to move on to someone better. In fact, he found himself almost pushing for it–he didn’t try to hide the fact he was dirt poor or put on a persona of success.

Timberly didn’t mind. She insisted she was interested in who he was as a person, not the lack of a comma in his bank account.

So, anxious about being underwhelming but willing to give it a try, he’d put on a shirt that properly buttoned and tan pants, walked forty minutes to the bar she’d recommended, arrived twenty minutes early, and sat on a bench outside waiting for–


He hadn’t heard Timberly’s voice before, but he recognized her from her photos in an instant–though she hadn’t been wearing a vest over a crisp white shirt that gave her a look of strength and solid poise. Sam momentarily worried his jaw would hit the floor and his tongue would roll out like a red carpet, but he managed to come up with a reply instead.

“Timberly,” he nodded his head, looking her up and down and answering all at once. “I–I feel underdressed.”

“Don’t worry, I think you look just right,” she said, nodding at the restaurant door. “I’ve got us a table–and, please, you can just call me Tim.”

She led him in, ordered drinks for them when the waiter came around, and let the conversation slip into talking.

Sam knew he was doomed, then–he was head over heels for her. She knew what she wanted, and she was getting it. They talked about work–he had fairly little to offer to that conversation–but her ambition made him want to go run a marathon or climb a mountain or something, just any activity to match her intensity. They talked about growing up–there, he had more in common, they’d both been to charter schools and he had stories to swap.

“You’re cute,” she said, after placing their dinner orders.

“I–” He spluttered. The direct complement had short circuited his thoughts, and his cheeks started to burn. (Oh god, you’re blowing this. Just…breathe.) “Thank you, you look fantastic.”

“Thank you,” she said, the corners of her eyes crinkling when she smiled. “But that’s not all I meant. Did you know your ears wiggle when you get excited?”

“They do? I didn’t…” focusing on the sensation, he realized she was right–his ears were wiggling. “I didn’t know that.”

“I read people for a living. Spotting little tells in people is my business–and it can tell you a lot about a person, too, besides just which muscles are connected to which feelings in their head.” She shrugged, her body language indicating that she found the quirk endearing. “Do you know what you want to do with your life?” she asked, pivoting the conversation so quickly it gave him whiplash.

“I guess…I’d really like to be in a band,” he said, knowing it sounded lame.

Tim sat back, reaching into her purse to take out her phone. “A band, huh?”

“Sure, it’s kind of the fantasy, isn’t it?” And it was true, it’d been Sam’s fantasy…when he was twelve. Now, he just gave that answer because he didn’t know what else to say. “Up on stage, popular…”

Eyes off him completely, Tim said, “I guess so. You don’t strike me as the ‘popular’ type.”

Sam winced. “Ouch.”

Her gaze returned to him, and softened a little. “Oh–I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. I was thinking, though…is popularity chasing really your thing? That’s what you think will bring you fulfillment?”

He shrugged. “I don’t…I don’t know, really. It sounds cool? But when I think about all the work that’d go into that…I don’t know. It sounds exhausting. I’d really just like to be comfortable, I think–to have friends and people I care about, to have enough free time where I can have fun, to work a job that feels like it helps people.”

She set down her phone on the table and smiled. “That’s more like the Sam I know. You’ll do just fine.”


“I just mean, I’m enjoying this,” she said. The waiter finally stopped by, but she just asked for more water and waved him away. “I like you, Sam.”

“Thanks.” Trying to find a way to fill the space and respond, he asked, “What about you? I know you like your job, but is there anything else you’re looking for in life?”

She grinned. “Oh–I crave attention.”

The night went great. Better than great–they talked for hours. His crush deepend, and at the end, she drove him home. He had to awkwardly admit they were driving back to his parent’s place, but she didn’t mind; he got into her BMW and rode with her.

What he wanted was to go back to her place, to hit it off in a big way, but that could wait. The night had gone well, and Tim seemed happy–he didn’t mind patience, in theory.

Unfortunately, he had a tough time convincing his body of that–during the back half of the drive home, Tim had to shift the way he sat three times to hide the unfortunate erection that’d cropped up. It just wouldn’t go away, even as he kept trying to shift the conversation towards serious topics–for reasons he couldn’t quite put into words, Timberly simply made him horny.

Parking on the curb, Tim walked around to get his door, let him out, and took his hand.

“I had a really nice time tonight,” he said.

“Me too,” she replied. “I’d like to take you out again.”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Please! And–”

She leaned in to kiss him, and–

(Oh god, oh god–)

Sam’s cheeks caught fire and he found himself unable to stifle a moan that carried into Timberly’s lips.Without warning, he found himself spurting into his boxers right there on the street, mingling embarrassment and bliss.

Tim pulled back. “Was the kiss that goo–Sam?”

He couldn’t help but breathe rapidly, trying to keep his face placid, unable to totally resist the sensitive shocks of bliss currently dribbling out of him. “Um…um–”

Sam looked down, stupidly, shocked to see it’d soaked through. He’d stained his pants with the unexpected orgasm, right there at the end of the date, and Tim’s gaze followed his.

“f**k–” he started, blush rising, before turning and sprinting into his home.

He simply could not face Tim for another second.




Chirp chirp!

Sam didn’t answer his phone until the fifth chirp. He couldn’t bear to read the rejection message Tim had inevitably sent. Things had been going well, she’d liked him, and then he’d just blown it.

(Ugh, no pun intended.)

Finally, though, he had to face the music. Checking his messages…

‘Hey, Sam, I had a really nice time tonight. Don’t be embarrassed about the accident at the end–it’s not your fault.’

‘I’d still like to go out with you again, I really didn’t mind.’

‘How does lunch on Tuesday sound?’

‘I knew someone in college with a similar problem. I didn’t think less of you, I was just surprised is all.’

‘Are you okay, Sam?’

Eyes widening, he responded to the most important part first.

‘Tuesday–lunch. Yes please!’

Things went great again, until they didn’t.

Sam hadn’t experienced another bout of early ecstasy since their date, so he wrote it up as coincidence. Over excitement after a long dry spell and a wonderful night. Just to make sure, he even rubbed one out the night before.

It didn’t help.

They had great food, great conversation, and this time he didn’t even have the dignity of going out to the car–she reached across the table to hold his hand, gave it a squeeze, said how lovely he was looking that afternoon, and–

(Oh god.)

He was just glad they’d sat in a booth instead of a high top, it gave him a modicum of privacy as his cock twitched and he came in front of Timberly for the second time.

“Oh, Sam–are you–” she started.

He felt he had to nod, wanting to melt into nonexistence.

She let him breathe, twenty seconds passing, before she said, “Hey, don’t worry about it. You can’t help it, so what’s the problem?”

“Right…” he said, looking down. His jeans were stained yet again, the faint smell of cum wafting out of the booth.

But when Tim smiled at him…he didn’t mind so much.

Their third date was the real breaking point.

A movie at the mall, then dinner. That was the plan. But then Zoe Kravitz came on screen, and–


Tim gave his hand a gentle squeeze, whispering under the sound of the action on screen. “Shh–it’s okay, Sammy.”

That only made his blush deepen.

After the film, standing in a nook by the theater exit, he tried to explain. “I swear–this was never a problem, this never happens–”

“I don’t care,” Tim promised. “I’m not judging you, Sam, it’s just little accidents that happen. Some boys are like that. But…if it’s going to keep happening, you might need to do something about that.”

Looking down, she gestured to the dark stain on the front of his jeans. It looked for all the world like he’d peed his pants.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I guess…I could just wear a condom all the time?”

She thought about it, then shook her head and took his hand–just that touch made him shudder for a moment, though thankfully he didn’t humiliate himself in front of her again. “I have another idea.”

He didn’t know what she was talking about until they were deep in the mall’s retail outlet, coming up on the juvenile potty training aisle, and–

He dug in his heels. “Woah! I’m not going to wear–” he dropped his voice into a low stage whisper, “diapers!”

“I’m not thinking about diapers,” she said, doing nothing to match his volume shift. “Pull-ups. They make them up to your waist size, and they’ll do the trick, right?”

“I, but–” he started, feeling exceptionally small–and not just in a physical sense, remembering his slim waist.

“Sam,” Tim said, looking him in the eye. “Nobody except you or I will know, and it’s better than having to change your pants every time we hold hands. I’ll buy them, and a new pair of pants so we can finish our date. Just wear the pull-ups, ok, sweetie?”

She wouldn’t stand for self-consciousness. He knew that, and he didn’t want to argue about the details of his diaper needs in the store when he knew he’d lose. Trying to match Timberly’s own assuredness, he nodded. “Sure.”

She picked up the nearest pack, one decorated with Disney princesses, and nodded. “Ok. Let’s go find some pants, get checked out, and then we’ll find a bathroom for you to change.”

Sam hated that the pullups worked, but, well…they worked. He found himself dealing with his ‘Boy accidents’ more and more around Tim, but at least they were contained now, and all it cost was a pink waistband and the shared knowledge that he had puffy absorbent princess prints for underwear.

They continued to date, weeks stretching into months, until the relationship had proper labels attached. “Boyfriend and girlfriend”. Quaint, but when Tim had declared that the terms were appropriate…he’d needed a fresh pull-up.

He got to meet Tim’s friends–meeting up for game night, he was reasonably sure none of them noticed when he tensed up after Timberly laughed at one of his jokes. He had to change his pull-ups in the bathroom–twice–but had a great night otherwise.

They even had sex–sort of. He lasted until she had her shirt off, but she was more than content to let Sam use his mouth and fingers to make her happy, kneeling at the foot of her bed and spending half an hour giving her the pleasure he could get in two seconds.

And she never judged him. Not once. If anything, Timberly liked that she could make him pulse with pleasure just by giving him a smooch on the cheek or a squeeze of the hand. She smiled when he got flustered, said he reminded her of a kid on the playground, blushing over incredibly mild PDA.

And it was mild, too. She could just stroke his hair and leave him moaning, and a deep-throated kiss was better than any marathon session he could imagine. If she really wanted, Tim could snuggle up to him on her couch during a movie, wrap her hands around his waist, and leave him quivering and drooling from pleasure. The third time she got him a pack of fresh pull-ups, she referred to them as his ‘happy pants’, and he wasn’t sure he could argue.

The weird thing, though–it was just Timberly. He didn’t deal with it at work, he didn’t deal with it at home, only when he was out with her. Something about that touch, or her words, or just something made him utterly unable to control himself.

He started to like it, and he was pretty sure he loved Tim, too.

Four months into their relationship, she dropped two bombshells on his head.

“Do you want to move in with me?” she asked, followed by, “And–your accidents are getting worse. I really think we need to get you a chastity cage.”


Tried something new with this one, incorporating some elements I don't often use! Let me know what you think. ^^

Part two, the conclusion of their story, will be out soon!

If you want to support creative endeavors like this one and get access to more content like it, you can do so here:



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Okay, this one was pretty funny. And hot. I really like how it’s “just her” and the power she has over him. The idea that he needs to control himself around her but simply can’t is a pretty fun idea. There is one line, “He had to change his pull-ups in the bathroom–twice–but had a great night otherwise,” which made me wonder if he’s actually still getting pleasure out of this. But  cute, fun short story. 

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56 minutes ago, garyg said:

Good start but a chastity cage would eliminate the need for pretty pullups.



Actually, the idea that a chastity cage will prevent a male from ejaculating is simply urban legend.  Likewise the idea that you have to be erect to have an orgasm.  The obvious exception is prostate massage, but there are others.

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13 hours ago, TheKyleMovie said:

Okay, this one was pretty funny. And hot. I really like how it’s “just her” and the power she has over him. The idea that he needs to control himself around her but simply can’t is a pretty fun idea. There is one line, “He had to change his pull-ups in the bathroom–twice–but had a great night otherwise,” which made me wonder if he’s actually still getting pleasure out of this. But  cute, fun short story. 

Part two will be out here before too long :D So there's more to cum. I'm glad you're enjoying the concept, I really liked where this one ended up! 

5 hours ago, Babypants said:

Actually, the idea that a chastity cage will prevent a male from ejaculating is simply urban legend.  Likewise the idea that you have to be erect to have an orgasm.  The obvious exception is prostate massage, but there are others.

Our poor little Sammy is so sensitive, even the best cage in the world is only going to get him so far. ;)

2 hours ago, littlebopeeper said:

A fun story; really enjoyed reading it.  It would be even more fun, purely for the sake of science, for our hero to have sex with other women, and determine whether this is a generic problem or a specific one!

I don't think Ms. 'Craves Attention' Timberly will be very interested in sharing, unfortunately. 😏

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2 hours ago, PeculiarChangeling said:

Our poor little Sammy is so sensitive, even the best cage in the world is only going to get him so far.

Well, there's always chemical castration ...

2 hours ago, PeculiarChangeling said:

Part two will be out here before too long :D So there's more to cum. I'm glad you're enjoying the concept, I really liked where this one ended up! 

Our poor little Sammy is so sensitive, even the best cage in the world is only going to get him so far. ;)

I don't think Ms. 'Craves Attention' Timberly will be very interested in sharing, unfortunately. 😏

Screw Timberly (or not, as the case may be).  Sammy needs to step up and take one for the team.  Besides, he could make a fortune as a kind of test dummy for corporations not wanting to risk workplace sexual harassment.  If Sammy doesn't respond?  You're hired!  

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The more i think about it, the more I dislike the very idea of "premature ejaculation."  It's a cultural construct, and a leaky one at that.  

If you have any doubts about this, go have a talk with a prostitute.  Ask her if she is disappointed by customers who ejaculate "prematurely."

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13 minutes ago, Babypants said:

The more i think about it, the more I dislike the very idea of "premature ejaculation."  It's a cultural construct, and a leaky one at that.  

If you have any doubts about this, go have a talk with a prostitute.  Ask her if she is disappointed by customers who ejaculate "prematurely."

It's okay if the construct is leaky, so is Sam. ;)

If there was a more fitting term, I'd use it - Hypersensitive ejaculation? Uncontrollable ejaculation? But most people wouldn't know what I was referring to! 

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I certainly enjoyed a coherent pre-jac story. I wonder if Sam will end up using his pull-ups for other things too. I agree betas should always be caged.

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  • 3 months later...

Part Two


Though Sam could barely recognize his life anymore, he could identify where it had all shifted, where the slide into his new role had turned into an inescapable avalanche.

It had all begun with two keys.

The first key locked his new chastity cage.

The second key unlocked Tim’s front door.

The cage wasn’t because Timberly wanted to deny anything from Sam–obviously not. She explained how she didn’t mind him having fun, she wouldn’t even mind if he masturbated, but his ‘special times’ were becoming so frequent lately that it was becoming a problem. They couldn’t snuggle on the couch or even hold hands without one of his accidents interrupting.

A pink, plastic, locking shell, something to keep his cock isolated and unstimulated, might mean he didn’t go through quite as many pullups in a day.

She’d even let him keep the key, right in a special spot in her dresser.

Still, Sam couldn’t exactly shake the feeling that this escalation was more than just practical. She’d proposed something intimately disquieting at the same time that she offered him a major life improvement–getting out of his parents’ basement and into her house.

So, after taking a few days to think about it, Sam added two keys to his life. One to Tim’s home, and one to his own cock.

She helped him put it on–just fumbling with his dick for a moment had been enough to make Sam spurt into her hands, but in the post-coital limpness that followed, she got him all locked up inside the pink plastic chastity device.

Then he got to see his new place.

No more basement apartment, no more paying rent to mom, no more dependence on his parents–he was his own person, with his own home. Or, well, with his own room in Timberly’s home. Her former office, in fact, but who was checking?

An attempt had been made, but sleeping in her bed was off the table–every time he rolled over and brushed his skin against hers, he woke up to startling bliss, and he’d been so crabby and sleep deprived the next morning that Tim decided he needed his own space.

It was a nice room, too–Tim’s old desk was huge, a great work surface for him to work on projects; it was nearly as big as the old single mattress in his basement abode. He’d initially seen the appeal of the work surface, but it’d taken some advice from Tim for him to decide what to use it for–since there wasn’t any more pressing work just then, he found an old lego kit that’d been languishing in a storage box of his for years for lack of time and space.

Sam had space to arrange every piece, and Tim didn’t say a word about his hobbies being juvenile or a waste of time.

He tried not to be embarrassed by the diaper pail she’d installed under his new desk. It was for practical reasons; even with the cage he still went through a couple pullups every day. It’s not like he’d have to bring guests in here and explain to them why he had the pail.

Timberly was still out and about a lot, so they spent more time chatting than speaking in person, but that wasn’t new–they’d always spent more time messaging each other than face-to-face. Occasionally she’d ask him to do specific chores around the house that’d been languishing, and he was more than happy to do so–it’s not like she was asking him to pay rent or anything, and he just wanted to see her smile when she came home to a clean home.

If anything, the notification chimes that came when she had a little job for him became highlights of his days off–they were an opportunity to make Tim happy.

Their time in bed got more interesting, too–his cage didn’t really stop him from dribbling out into his pants when things started to get hot, but his chastity at least made it so he lasted sixty seconds instead of six.

After ten days of this new arrangement, Tim had another idea.

He was bringing in barely minimum wage at his dead-end job, so why bother going to work? She made enough, so she could pay him an allowance to do chores, and he wouldn’t have to spend all his time doing something soul-crushing. Sam wasn’t about to say no to an offer like that, not when he’d fantasized about quitting a thousand times.

Maybe it hadn’t been mature for Sam to tell his manager to go f**k himself with his ‘World’s Best Boss’ mug when he went to pick up his last check, but he didn’t care about burning that bridge. He had Tim.

Then something else…changed.

Tim’s house was nice, but it wasn’t massive, and it only had one bathroom. One morning, while Tim was getting ready for work, Sam found himself needing to pee, and the bathroom door was locked.

He knocked, shifting his weight from side to side. The need to go had come on fast. “Eh, Tim? Are you in there?”

She replied sweetly, unaware anything was wrong. “Yeah, do you need something?”

“I have to pee,” he explained.

“Oh, sorry. I’m on the toilet right now.”

And that was that. He paced, he tried to think of something else. He let seconds drip past, but he had to go, and the need wasn’t getting any better. It’d come on strong and without warning, like his bladder just forgot to tell him how desperate he was until the need was at a Ten.

He knocked again. “Tim?”

“Yeah, Sammy?”

“How much longer?” Bouncing from toe to toe in a dance of desperation, he fought the urge with all his determination. “I, eh. I really need to go.”

“Oh, well…” She paused, then made an absurd suggestion with the same tone and cadence she used when she asked him to do the dishes. “Just use your pullups, sweetie. They’re meant for that, anyways.”

(She can’t be serious, can she?)

But before he could contemplate the suggestion anymore, his body decided, ‘Yeah, that’s a great idea,’ and gave up fighting. He froze in place, mortified as he felt urine flood into his pullup, soaking the garment front to back.

It didn’t go quickly, either–his bladder had been full to bursting, and once the trickle started, it didn’t let up. Terrified something might spill out into his jeans, he just stood there, frozen and acutely aware of the humiliation dribbling into his technically-not-a-diaper.

A moment later, Tim flushed, and after a brief hiss of the sink, she pulled open the door. Drying off her hands, she said, “Okay, it’s all yours.”

He stared at her, cheeks flushed bright red. “Um…I don’t need to go anymore.”

Her eyebrows raised, but Tim didn’t laugh or tease, she just smiled. “Oh, okay–well why don’t you throw that soggy pullup away and you can take a shower?”

Natural. Like nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all. Looking back, it was as though she’d expected this outcome and been prepared for it.

Sam was too mortified for that level of scrutiny just then. Nodding, he hurried to clean himself up.

But, just like his other accidents, these didn’t stop happening. And, just like when spurting into his boxers, piddling his pants always managed to happen in front of Tim: They’d get in her car to go somewhere, and as soon as they were on the highway his bladder would suddenly be desperate for release. They’d be over at her friend’s house, and the bathroom would be occupied. They’d be out for a walk, or any one of a half dozen other problems–it was as though his body had decided that it only needed to go when the bathroom was unavailable.

The pullups held up most of the time, but occasionally, he’d have to deal with crescent moon stains around the leak guards, marking his accidents for everyone to see.

What Tim suggested next didn’t even surprise him, though it caught him off guard that she didn’t even wait for his approval or confirmation. She just came home from work one day with a package of puffy, white adult diapers. He didn’t recognize the brand, but it’s not like he spent much time wandering the diaper aisle at the pharmacy–he’d just have to trust Tim’s judgment and assume that “Trests” would be effective for the job.

When protests were made by Sam, Tim had silenced them with ten words.

“Don’t you want to be a good boy for me?”

After that, he wore his diapers obediently, and never looked back.

His bladder didn’t look back, either–once he had somewhere to go potty wrapped around him at all times, he didn’t seem able to make it to the toilet at all. Something in him had accepted his diapers wholesale, and now it was hard to even think the word ‘Toilet’ without feeling an immediate release.

After only a few days, it became hard to even notice when he’d gone.

After a few days more, it became hard to even notice when he was wet.

Eventually, when Tim came home to find Sam had leaked through his diapers and onto her couch without noticing, she declared she’d had enough. If he wasn’t going to keep track of his diaper’s state, she would, and so a new part of their dynamic got added: In the morning, she’d check him, and when she found him inevitably soaked, she laid him out on his desk and changed his diaper.

He’d have to change himself around lunchtime, but it took Timberly texting him a reminder to get him to do it, and once she got off work, she simply deprived him of pants so she could tell when he needed a freshie at a glance.

That was good, though, because checking him with touch had its own side effects. All it took was Tim’s hand cupping his crotch, and he’d have the same reaction as always–brief, humiliating bliss. He’d already grown to associate the feeling of his soggy diapers with orgasms, and that was a correlation he didn’t want to reinforce in his thoughts.

The plastic sheet she got to go over his desk made it look distinctly like a changing table, which Sam found to be an odd coincidence, but he didn’t point it out. What he did point out was that he could no longer use the surface for his hobbies.

To that, Tim suggested he simply play on the floor–it’s not like he was using that space anyways, and there was plenty of room down there.

Really, though, as long as Tim didn’t mind his accidents, Sam didn’t either.

After a month living together, Timberly suggested just one more change, sandwiching her proposal between idle commentary about work and a question about what he might want for dinner:

‘Do you want to try a strap on?’

Sam had taken it with surprise–he doubted he could handle a strap on. Occasionally when they’d started fooling around, Tim had tried fingering him, and just a second or two of anal play was enough to make him dribble in his diapers. How was he supposed to deal with being fucked?

But then, Tim had clarified, and it all made a lot more sense.

‘You’d wear it. Don’t get me wrong–I like your mouth–but I’d also like to be fucked, and since you can’t do it yourself,  maybe you could use a substitute? I’d really like that, sweetie.’

He got it, then–his own cock was kind of useless, trapped in a cage, and ready to spurt helplessly at a second of contact. It felt good for him, at least when he wanted that reaction, but wasn’t much good for Tim.

So, they got a strap on. Or, ‘they’ didn’t. Tim picked it out for him.

It felt awkward putting it on over his diaper; a puffy layer of padding between him and his new cock. Still, Tim liked the look, pulling him in for a bliss-inducing kiss that had him needing to sit down for a couple minutes before they tried the strap.

Once he’d caught his breath, though, Tim pushed him down onto the bed, slid out of her panties, and began to ride his store-bought cock like she’d been the one locked in chastity for weeks.

Being inside Tim like this felt nothing like the sex he’d had before. Intimate and apart, slightly demeaning but full of connection at the same time. He was fulfilling his role in a way that he felt like he should, and yet…in a way that was focused all on Tim’s pleasure, because his own was already guaranteed. He just focused on having his ‘cock’ inside her, giving her pleasure, and imagined they were having real sex for the first time in their relationship.

What he didn’t expect, while Tim’s breath grew quicker and she began to grind her hips harder, was the sudden pressure that exploded out of nowhere in his belly. It was without warning, without any sort of chance to hold it or wait–he needed the bathroom, now.

“Tim, I–” he blurted, but before he could finish the words she’d bent forward, the back of her hand on his head, pulling him into a deep, passionate kiss.

He didn’t have the words, or the sense, to finish his objection. Feeling her tense and moan into his lips was enough to bring out his own comparatively delicate orgasm, and all in that same instant, the unexplained and unexpected pressure won out.

They held each other tight through the simultaneous climax. The whole time, Sam felt heavy, solid mush spill out of him and into the seat of his diaper, enough to make it crinkle as it swelled. Whether she noticed the little grunts that escaped his mouth, or the shifting of his body that happened automatically to help facilitate the humiliating accident, Sam couldn’t say.

After a long, quiet moment, Tim pulled away, and Sam had to look her in the eyes and admit what’d happened.

“Tim, I–” he started, eyes huge.

“Shh,” she said, looking down on him. “It’s okay, baby. You couldn’t help it.”

She was right. He couldn’t, and even though it didn’t make any sense, her acceptance–her radical willingness to take every demeaning, humiliating thing that happened to him and laugh it off with a smile–made him melt.

Timberly smoothly got up off his strap-on, off his mucky diaper, and rolled next to him in bed, snuggling close so her head was against his.

“I love you,” he said, with the full vulnerability of exposing how he really felt.

“I love you too, baby,” she said. “I knew you’d be perfect, once I was done with you.”

Sam didn’t know what she meant by ‘done with him.’

He didn’t care, either. It didn’t matter.

He was in love.


Author's note: Sorry this took so long to upload! I forgot. 

If you'd like to be kept abreast of future mistakes by yours truly, you can go check me out on Patreon! (How's that for a sales pitch? 🤣)



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  • PeculiarChangeling changed the title to A Sensitive Guy (Updated/Complete with Part 2, Sep 26)

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