I took away my husband’s manhood. Not that he had much of it to begin with. Although I’m not proud of what I did, I don’t feel guilty either. He had it coming.
It all began when we were into our 10th year of marriage. Suddenly my husband told me he was attracted to diapers. I didn’t understand, and he had to explain how he liked to wear and wet diapers, and to masturbate in them. I couldn’t believe what he was saying. It came as a huge shock. It felt as bad as if he had been cheating on me with another women. Or worse, because that at least I could have understood.
But he continued by telling me about his fantasy of being babied, and his hope that I would participate by babying him. I made it clear that he shouldn’t even dream of it – although that was probably what he had been doing for some time. On the contrary if he wanted to save our marriage, he should stop his disgusting and silly games immediately. He gave me a disappointed look as only reaction. I insisted he show me where he kept his diapers and then told him to get rid of them. Meekly he obeyed.
And that was it. For a couple of years, we didn’t mention it again, acting as if nothing had happened. But our love-making, never very frequent, became now sporadic.
Occasionally when I borrowed his PC to look up something, I would stumble on pictures of girls in diapers. So, I knew he was still attracted to it, but I kept an eye on him, making sure he didn’t have any opportunity to wear diapers himself.
And then, some years later, a new thunderbolt hit me: One day he had to present himself to the police in the context of a child-pornography investigation! His laptop was confiscated for examination and he admitted he liked to look at pictures of pre-pubescent girls. He insisted it were non-sexual, nonnude pictures, and pretended that next to his diaper affection he had a fetish for children’s’ clothes. Poor excuse.
I had to face the fact that I was married to a paedophile. Eventually his computer was returned as there was nothing incriminating found on it. But by that time, I had taken a number of measures.
At first, I had considered divorce but decided against it. He was a decent wage earner and was expecting a nice heritage from his parents. Divorcing him would make my life a lot more difficult. But of course, I had to make sure I kept him in line from then on and make arrangements for making living with him acceptable to me.
The first measure was that we wouldn’t share the same bed, or room, any more. Not to sleep, nor anything else. He meekly said he understood. Next, he was not allowed to use the computer without my presence. I immediately noticed he thought that was hard. This only confirmed my conviction that he was really addicted to looking at the pictures of diapered girls and young children in pretty dresses or tight-fitting shorts. I pictured him sitting behind his screen with his hand between his legs, masturbating in his boxers. Nauseating.
But if I could control him at home there was no way I could prevent him from doing nasty things at the office or watching his smart phone. I gave it some thought and then came up with something worth trying. Since he had asked to be diapered, I would grant him that, preventing him to fuddle himself. He would still be able to watch the girls but getting aroused could be made very uncomfortable.
When I announced that I wanted him to wear diapers to the office he got all excited. It took some experimenting but after a while I got exactly what I had hoped for.
I bought disposable diapers and when I diapered him – I never let him do it by himself – I took care of folding his dick backwards between his legs, and then tightening the diapers very hard around his legs. And after he had had a few leaks I added some extra padding. Over his diapers I had him wear a tight-fitting, body-type, romper, fitting tightly around his legs. But contrary to the traditional “onesies” this body didn’t open in the crotch. He had to step into it and pull it up, and it closed with a short zip in the back.
To take off the diapers and to free his member, he would have to go to the bathrooms and strip completely, taking off his shoes, pants, sweater, shirt and onesie. I knew he would never dare to do that at the office.
Over time this treatment worked even better than I had hoped for, as his small dick got conditioned not to harden anymore. I don’t exactly remember when and how I began to suspect this, but one day, probably after he had been diapered for about 2 years, I decided to test it.
Out of the blue I asked him if he still liked to watch girls in diapers. I knew he did because I regularly checked what he did on his smart phone. And he knew of course that I knew. But taken by surprise, he blushed, and then stammered that he did indeed, but only very occasionally. I gave him an angry look and asked me to show me on the laptop the sites he liked to visit. He blushed even harder but did as asked. As he began browsing through a picture site with diapered girls his hand went automatically down to rest on his crotch. But except for some discreet caressing of the thick pack between his legs he kept quiet. On his face I could see that he enjoyed it, but that was it. I thought this interesting and quiet amusing.
I repeated this a couple of times and got more and more convinced that he was enjoying himself but without a hard one. I wanted to be sure and so the next time I had him visit one of his favourite AB/DL sites (by then I had mastered the specific terminology), I had him sit behind the screen wearing nothing but a T-shirt. No pants, diapers, onesie or even boxers. He had given me a surprised look but did as asked. Almost immediately I saw his penis grow a little bit and began to think I had been wrong.
But as I let him go on browsing for at least half an hour I noticed that his small dick never grew bigger than 9 or 10 cm and didn’t really get dressed. Smiling I asked if he didn’t want to masturbate. He blushed very hard but didn’t know how to respond. His hand had been caressing and softly squeezing his member in an automatic fashion, but he now took his hand away. I took his hand and put it back in place and told him to go on: “Show me how you get a hard one looking at those pictures.” He gave me an embarrassed look and I realised he knew he couldn’t get a hard one anymore. But I insisted, and he began rubbing his dick rhythmically. It’s size and shape hardly changed at all, but his face grew all red and he began to breath heavily, until I saw a small amount of liquid dripping from his member.
I felt great. My filthy, paedophile husband had become a eunuch. I asked him if he didn’t think he was pathetic. He looked down at the wetness on his hand, without answering. But when I insisted, he nodded shyly. His timid admission encouraged me to go on. “But maybe you are looking at the wrong pictures? Show me where you watch those little girls in pretty dresses.” He looked at me pleadingly, but I didn’t relent. Half an hour later I made him masturbate again in the same pitiful fashion but this time looking at a children’s clothes web shop.
Although I had never really thought about it, I had unconsciously wanted to take away his manhood and probably had hoped to achieve it this way. And it had worked. I felt elated. It was only then that I realised how much I despised my husband and how bad I had wanted this kind of outcome. The result was even better than whatever I had secretly hoped for.
He must have been aware of his condition for some time and that had probably helped to gradually further erode his self-esteem. But the fact that I knew now made him even more obedient, almost submissive.
And I was not going to be kept from enjoying humiliating him even more.
I knew that it was impossible that his colleagues didn’t know he was diapered. The thick diapers with extra padding concealed underneath his pants would probably not be obvious on an occasional encounter, but for those who spend every weekday of the year in his presence it was not possible that they hadn’t noticed. But when I began probing my husband about the reactions of his colleagues, he maintained that they didn’t know. I concluded that they were just being friendly and didn’t want to embarrass him, thinking probably at some medical condition.
I decided I was going to change that tolerant attitude. The routine until that moment had been that in the morning, when he got out of bed, he took off his diapers, showered, and had breakfast before I put him back in diapers, and he dressed to go to the office. I now told him to have breakfast wearing his wet diapers. After breakfast I accompanied him to his room where he took off the diapers and I re-diapered him immediately, without giving hm the chance to wash up. Only in the weekends he was allowed to shower. Before long he had a faint urine, smell hanging around him permanently.
After a few weeks of this treatment he begged to be allowed to wash before going to the office. When I asked him why he asked, he told me one of his female colleagues had taken him apart. She had said she didn’t want to intrude in his privacy, but she and the other colleagues were worried, asking if he had a medical condition. Expecting this for a long time he had been prepared, and answered that indeed he had an, uncurable, incontinence problem. Although she probably had expected this answer she had been embarrassed, and shyly said she was so sorry for him. But then she had added that maybe he should make sure to wash up better before he came to the office.
I celebrated another victory! He had now become a publicly admitted, urine reeking, diaper boy. And of course, I didn’t allow him to wash before going to the office.
He tried to protest telling me that if I didn’t let him wash, he would stop the whole thing. And as if suddenly realizing he should never have accepted being threatened like I did anyway, he added that he had had enough. Angrily he began to undress clearly with the intent of getting out of his diapers.
I had expected this for some time and was prepared too. I smiled and calmly asked how he thought his colleagues were going to react when they learned he was a pederast. He stopped and looked at me aghast: “You wouldn’t do that, would you?”
I looked him in the face: “Try me”
He paused for a moment but then shrugged his shoulders: “OK you do that, and then I’ll just deny it. Let’s see who they are going to believe.”
I smiled again, and then slowly answered that I would just have to send a scan of the PV of the police interrogation in which he was questioned concerning child porn and in which he admitted to watching pre-pubescent girls on line. Seeing him decompose I knew I had him more than ever in my power. Most of his colleagues had young children and he knew they were not going to make the distinction between child porn and pictures of young girls posing in dresses.
So, he continued to walk around as a bad smelling pee-boy. I probably got somewhat used to the urine smell and didn’t notice it that strongly anymore, but one day when we were standing in line at the check-out counter of the local supermarket, I noticed how people began looking around, and then gave him surprised and disgusted looks. From then on, I took care never to be together with him in public, sending him alone to buy the heavy groceries.
It made him a social outcast which of course had been my objective.
To go to his workplace, he stopped using the bus, preferring to walk for three quarters of an hour each morning and evening, rather than to be confronted with the disgusted faces and remarks of the other people on the bus. And at a certain moment I learned somewhat by accident that his employer had considered firing him since his colleagues refused to share a workplace with him. But firing someone for the consequences of a medical condition was against the values of the company. So, they gave him a him a separate office for him alone.
But I was still not satisfied because I noticed he began to live his solitary life in a very defiant way, as if to say “Yes, I wear diapers, yes, I reek of pee, but I’m a free man. I don’t need any one of you to live my life.”
This attitude convinced me he needed to be punished more, to be humiliated more. Or were this just the excuses I gave to myself, not wanting to admit how much I enjoyed my power over him?
Anyway, one day I decided that from then on, he not only would have to wet his diapers but also to mess them. No more toilets for my disgusting paedophile husband! He didn’t even look surprised when I told him.
Until then when coming home from the office the first thing he did was to take off his clothes and diapers to go to the toilet. After what I re-diapered him for the rest of the day.
With the new rule this routine changed only slightly. When he came home from the office, he was not allowed to take off his diapers and usually would fill up his diapers shortly after his arrival. He preferred the privacy of his room to do so, but most of the time I made him mess up his diapers while I watched, knowing this annoyed him. And I always kept him for a while in his dirty diapers, often having him take off his clothes, with the heavy diapers hanging between his legs. He hated having to fill his diapers and always remained standing or walking until he could change, avoiding sitting at all cost. To change I sent him to his room with nothing but a roll of toilet paper. He had to keep the dirty diapers in his room in a plastic bag until, once a week, the garbage truck passed to collect it. Even keeping the bag well closed, and having the window open permanently, couldn’t prevent the room to smell. Even his clothes became impregnated with the stench. That didn’t improve his social standing, of course.
I was very satisfied with myself. My husband always insisted he hadn’t done anything illegal, and hadn’t hurt anyone, but I couldn’t agree less. He had hurt me, and for that he deserved the punishment I was giving him. And I was also convinced that if I hadn’t stopped him, sooner or later he would have transgressed another line, ending by molesting little girls in the street, or worse. Watching the filthy smelling creature in his dirty diapers, I was proud I had saved society from him.
To make sure he didn’t forget what a sick person he was, I made him masturbate in his diapers in front of me very regularly watching a slideshow of little girls dressed in short dresses, skirts and tight-fitting shorts. I enjoyed watching him shift back and forth as I imagined his member, which was always fixed tightly between his legs, growing hard just enough to make him feel uncomfortable. He never failed to get aroused in this pathetic way, although he would try not to. And when I had the laptop connected to the big screen of the TV-set he was completely helpless, starting to breath heavy almost immediately. And each time the whole thing was over in less than minute.
He was no longer a man and had no dignity left. Or so I thought.
Except for going to the office and doing some of the household shopping, he never left the house anymore. I on the contrary had an ever-busier social life. That meant that in the week-ends he was often home alone. Except for making sure he had no access to a computer, even confiscating his smart phone on those occasions, I couldn’t care less what he did while I was gone. Even if he would take off his diapers, he had become a recluse and I was sure he would not venture outside our house. The fact that he couldn’t get rid of the smell of urine and faeces hanging around him helped to see to that.
We lived in a residential street with free standing houses in small gardens. We never had sought to integrate and had no contacts with the neighbours. Not even those next doors. When we would bump into each other we limited the socialising to saying hallo. So, I was only slightly aware that the neighbours whose garden touched ours at the end in the back, had a young child. She must have been some 4 years old when my husband had been interrogated by the police. We were now 7 years later, and she had grown into a pretty, lively, tween. But I was not aware of that.
Neither did I really know that when I was gone my husband liked to do some gardening, or simply sit in the garden to take a sun bath. That’s how they got acquainted, talking to each other over the fence. Even being outside his smell would be noticeable and with the innocence of her age, she had asked why he smelled like that. As I imagine he had blushed and then, “admitted” he had a medical condition, even telling her shyly he wore diapers. His “condition” impressed her, and she sympathised with this poor man who shut himself off from society because of having to wear diapers.
One day she climbed over the fence and from then on, the two of them spend hours together talking. He became her confidant to whom she told her little girl secrets, and who gave her “wise advice”. And next, she began to send him selfies. I don’t know if he asked for it, but I suppose he innocently suggested he would like to have her picture to look at when he felt lonely. The friendly, naïve, little girl began to send selfies on a regular basis.
That’s how I discovered their relationship. I was incensed. After all the measures I had taken I hadn’t been able to prevent exactly what I had feared most. On one picture they were together, him holding one arm around her shoulder and she is looking up at him, in blissful awe. I realised she had a huge crush on him. I was terribly mad and disgusted. He had crossed the line of fantasy to reality. And even if his condition made it impossible for him to physically rape her, he was molesting her.
I knew I had to stop him. My first idea was to warn her parents. (I had immediately recognised the surroundings on some of the pictures and had realized who the girl was). But they would probably just have prevented her to make any more contact with him. And that would have been way too easy on him.
After some thought I decided on the course I would take.
I didn’t tell him I had discovered his new perversity but decided to get in touch with the girl. After a few days I succeeded in making contact by stopping her in the street. I presented myself as my husband’s wife which made her blush, confirming my suspicion that she had a crush on him. I thanked her for keeping my husband company and that relaxed her. I told her I appreciated what she did and asked her to come and visit us the next Saturday, what she accepted.
On Saturday I made sure my husband was only wearing some very thick diapers with extra padding underneath a T-shirt. When I opened the door and let her enter the living room, announcing cheerfully “look who has come to visit you.”, he jumped up and wanted to run away. But there was nowhere to escape. They looked at each other and froze. He tried to cover his diapers with his hands, stammering something unintelligible. I did as if this situation was completely normal; “Come on darling, don’t be shy. I’m sure your little friend knows you wear diapers.”
I invited the girl to sit down and asked her if she wanted to drink something. At first, she said she was fine but when I insisted, she asked for a coke. When I left them alone to fetch the drink, I noticed how they looked awkwardly at each other. When I came back, she was nervously chatting away. I noticed how she tried not to, but couldn’t help, looking at his wet diapers. I put the glass in front of her and then turned to my husband: “Oh I think I would like to have a coke too after all. Darling can you fetch me one while I get acquainted with your friend?”
He stood up and with the very wet diapers dangling deep between his legs walked away. She followed him with her eyes, staring at the diapers. When he was gone, she shyly looked back at me and I noticed immediately how much the sight of my husband with his dirty diapers had disturbed her. I smiled at her but before I could say something he came already back into the room and she stared again at him. I tried to look at him with the eyes of someone who was not used to see him walk around like that every day, and I understood how disturbing it was. The fact that he tried to prevent the diaper to dangle by putting one hand on it didn’t really help. I thanked him for the coke and then kindly suggested he needed a change. He looked at me almost grateful as this was not yet the hour he normally would be allowed to change. He turned to the girl and murmured he was going to be right back. As he hurried away her eyes followed him again for a few seconds but then she cast them down. I knew that the awe had been replaced with some mixture of pity and disgust.
When he came back wearing jeans, I saw the relieve in her eyes. But to make immediately sure she would not forget the pitiful sight of a few moments earlier I turned to him: “That’s better. But have you put on your plastic pants over the diapers? We don’t’ want to have your jeans all wet again, do we?” He looked at me surprised as he never wore plastic pants, hesitated a fraction of a second, and then timidly answered he hadn’t. I smiled at him warmly: “That’s’ ok. They’ll hold out for the moment.” I stood up and told them I would leave them at their usual chat as I had some work to do.
Less than 10 minutes later she came into the kitchen to say goodbye. When I expressed surprise on her leaving already, she stammered she still had some other things to do. Knowing that the complicity between them had been shaken, I smiled to myself. Part 1 of my plan was working out exactly as I had hoped.
I walked her to the little gate of the front yard and then put my hand on her arm: “Listen my dear, I think I have to warn you. You are a nice girl and I understand you are feeling pity for my husband but be careful. Men of his age who befriend young girls like you don’t want just to be friends.” She looked at me at first not grasping the meaning of what I said but then, suddenly understanding, she looked shocked. « No, no, that’s not true! You are wrong. He wants just to be my friend.”
I looked at her intently: “Ok, I’m sure you are right.” And then, still holding her arm, I continued: “How about you? I think you are a little bit in love with him, aren’t you? Would you like him to be attracted to you?” Again, she looked shocked, and turning very red she stammered: “No, no. I’m too young! That would be sick.”
I released her arm: “Indeed that would be sick.” And then wanting to make sure she would go home with the sight of my husband in his soaked diapers clearly planted in her mind I went on: “But he is a sick man anyway, as you have seen. I must admit that most of the time I’m disgusted watching him walk in the house with his dirty diapers. I think it is wonderful you want to be his friend. I hope we will see you again soon? “
She nodded but without much enthusiasm. So, I decided to press on: “As your visit today was so short why don’t you come back next Saturday? Both me and my husband would be very happy.” She hesitated but, probably not knowing how to get out of it, accepted the invitation.
Next Saturday I waited for her in front of the house and when she arrived asked her to wait just a moment, as my husband was not ready yet. She looked surprised but said she would wait. I went inside and told my husband, dressed in nothing but wet diapers and a shirt, to sit in front of the big screen. Although this was not the normal hour for his pathetic masturbation session he didn’t hesitate. I started the slideshow and went outside to get the girl. I told her to be very silent as we wanted to surprise him. My timing was perfect. As she entered, he was already coming to his climax just at the moment that the slideshow got to the part where I had added several the selfies of the young girl.
She understood immediately what was going on and gave a loud horrified shriek. She turned around and wanted to run away but I stopped her: “I wanted to warn you about his filthy ways, but I knew you would have to see I for yourself to believe it.”
My husband, still panting slightly, had stood up and watched her in an anguished way. But he didn’t say a word. What could he say? The girl looked at him, first horrified, then sad and finally angered. I told him to go to his room.
When we were alone, I explained her how things where at our place. I told her my husband was a paedophile, but as so far, he had done nothing illegally, there was no way to put him away. However, I was convinced that sooner or later he would act on his tendencies and I felt responsible for protecting girls like her from this horror. I explained that was why I kept him in diapers, something the dirty old man liked by the way. I went on saying I felt horrible as I had failed to prevent him from contacting her.
She listened with growing anger and indignation: “He has no medical condition? He lied all the time to me? He likes to watch pictures of little girls? He, he does, you know what, he does that, by looking at pictures of me?” I answered yes to all her questions. She was extremely disappointed and angry.
Seeing how angry she was I thought it was the right moment to get to my objective: “You have every right to be furious at him. But you should be mad with me too. I knew what a filthy pederast he is and still I let him unguarded at home, when there were young girls like you living next door.”
She looked at me and answered exactly what I had hoped: “But you can’t guard him all the time can you? “I shrugged:” I don’t know. Guess not. But I should.” And then, as if it was an inspiration of the moment, I went on: “But maybe you could help. I think you could you help me, and at the same time get the opportunity to get back at him for the awful way he has treated you. To punish him for all the lies and the deceiving. Would you do that?”
I noticed how the word “punish” immediately got her interested. She was really still a kid and in her view of the world it was normal that when you did something wrong you had to be punished. And getting to punish an adult was of course exciting. She looked at me eagerly: “How? What do you want me to do?”
I told her my idea and she accepted it without hesitation, and we decided to put our plan in place immediately. I went to my husbands’ room and told him to get dressed and to come to the living room. When a few moments later he entered the room, he was surprised to find his little girlfriend still there. Ashamed he looked at the floor and began stammering an apology, but I interrupted him: “It’s alright dear. She isn’t mad. She is even glad that you like her so much. Isn’t that true?” I had turned to the girl who, as a perfect actor, nodded: “At first I was surprised to see what you did while watching my pictures. But then I understood it showed you love me.” He looked from her to me and back, not knowing what to think. The girl was sitting on the couch and motioned to him to come and sit next to her.
When he did so, she immediately began telling him he was her best friend and she hoped she was his friend too. I saw how this relaxed him and took that as a cue to tell them I would leave them alone.
As soon as I left the room, she put her arms around him and kissed him on the lips. He tried to pull back, but she withheld him. Next, she rested her head on his shoulder, took his hand and put it on her knee. Again, he wanted to pull back, but she whispered in his ear: “Please. Don’t be afraid.” This time he bowed towards her put his lips on hers and moved his hand under her short skirt.
Of course, I hadn’t really left, and when he completely forgot his surroundings, and was all absorbed in his fiddling underneath the little girl’s frock, I had silently entered the room and filmed the whole disgusting scene. After a few minutes I told them that that was enough. He jumped up and, seeing me still holding my phone in my hand at eyes height, understood.
He let himself fall back to the couch and began once more to apologise. But I stopped him: “You realise that with this little video I can send you to jail, don’t you? And You know what they do to pederast in jails!” He gave me an anguished, panicked look. I went on: “But for the moment we won’t do that. However, I’m never going to let you be alone anymore. Your little friend will come and watch over you whenever I must go. And you’ll have to obey her just as you obey me, otherwise the video will go to the police.” He looked relieved and softly said thank you.
I smiled, knowing how cruel children can be. The poor bastard.
< To be continued? If you want this story to be continued, please let me know. >