The Table - Part 2 (Patreon)

The words were ringing through my mind.

Diapers, why else would you be on this table? We are going to put you in diapers tonight and you’ll get the full patient experience.

This was impossible. There was no way this was happening right now. All I wanted to do was lay on the table, and experience the impossible grip of the restraints. But diapers. Who in their right mind wanted that?

What made matters worse were all these extremely attractive women of all shapes and sizes standing around me, eager to use me as their human prop.

This would be extremely hot if I was not in this awfully sterile medical setting and if I were not so terrified.

Theresa smiled at me as I strained against the restraints. “Don’t worry sir, we know you need protection because of your bedwetting and fecal incontinence during the day. It’s nothing to be ashamed about. We are just here to help.”

Again, she touched my hand, causing warmth to radiate from the spot she touched me.

“Hold on, I don’t need diapers. I was in here testing out the equipment and got stuck. It’s that simple. We can stop this now.”

But the older woman just nodded. “Often, patients will try to convince you they don’t need their required treatment. Excellent job, sir.”

They still thought this was part of the act. They seemed to think I was a willing participant here. Each time I asserted my instance that I was an adult, the people in the room thought I was simply hamming things up for the moment. They thought I was simply acting for their benefit. Acting like an incontinent patient strapped to a table, ready to be put into diapers.

“So what do we need to do before we start the diapering?”

The students were shuffling through their notes, searching for the right answer.

“Come on, ladies. You know this.”

“Oh, we need to make sure everything is hygienic, so we need to administer a shave.”

“Absolutely,” the professor said. She explained to the students why this mattered, while I was trying to figure out why I’d need to shave the stubble on my face to get diapered.

Only I suddenly felt a warm washcloth on my private parts and the spray of foam, and I twitched with terror.

“Don’t be afraid of his penis, ladies,” the professor said, smiling behind her serious, methodical tone. “The male penis does not bite.”

“HOLD ON!” I yelled, but the woman ignored me.

I gasped as one of them wrapped their hands around my penis to move it out of the way. The softness of the hand caused my mind to rush through ten thousand scenarios at the same time and I could feel myself growing hard under her touch.

They shaved me methodically, taking great care not to cut me. As I watched with horror, I saw the last bit of my masculinity vanish into the basin of warm soapy water. Soon all the hair on my crotch was gone. I was flipped over, and the same was done to my bottom, even as far as to take the hair in the more sensitive areas.

I was as bald as a newborn down there.

The air conditioning felt oddly silky on my bare crotch.

Right when I was about to recover from the panic attack I didn’t have, I heard it.

A loud crinkling noise of plastic being unfolded.

It was thunderous in my mind, breaking through the efficient chatter the women were having among themselves. I craned my neck forward between my legs where my penis sat limp now, looking completely defeated by this infantile moment.

Theresa held up the diaper for me to see. It was white with the letters XP5000 running down the middle. There was a strip down the middle in a faint blue. But what was astonishing was how thick the diaper was. It looked to be two inches thick and extremely puffy.

As a medical student, I had of course seen diapers this large before. They were usually for patients who had difficulty getting to the bathroom. The idea that these women would put me in one of these, in these geriatric garments was mortifying. My brain instantly switched from old people to infants, the other group who needed to wear diapers because they had no control.

Neither of these ideas appealed to me.

“I’m serious,” I pleaded as one woman began spraying gel all over my lower body. “I don’t need these.”

But the women assumed I was just playing the role of a reluctant patient.

Before I knew what was happening, my legs were unstrapped from the table and hoisted high in the air. I felt some gel in my rear end, and then to my horror a finger slipped its way inside.

“Chiane, what are you doing?” The professor asked.

The blond woman grinned at the professor and innocently, “You said he suffered from fecal incontinence as well, so I figured this would give him the real experience.”

The professor nodded. “I was going just to suggest we simulate this, but this will make the moment more realistic. Good thinking.” The woman looked down at my bulging eyes as I struggled. “And thank you, young man for volunteering. I know this can’t be easy for you. All these women in here, using you as the practice dummy.”

I couldn’t speak, raking my mind trying to figure out what the women had put up my backside. It had to have been something to make me move my bowels. That was the only explanation. And it was a bad explanation as well.

A moment ago, I thought these women would just put me into the diaper, pat each other on the back and then let me up so we can put this entire moment behind us. But now, the professor was suggesting that I use the diapers for their intended purpose.

There was no way.

So I struggled harder.

Only these armatures had the skills of professionals. My legs were locked tight as the diaper was taped over my flaccid penis. I could feel the diaper gripping around my lower body as each movement I made caused a rustling noise to shock through the room. The women weren’t laughing or giggling in my direction anymore. Instead, they were running their hands around the garment, checking the fit. One of them slid their finger under my butt cheeks and pulled the leg gatherers outwards to catch whatever might be trying to escape the diaper.

Not the diaper, but my diaper.

This was the realization that almost caused me to break down into tears.

“Are we forgetting something?” The professor asked, looking around at the young women expectantly.

The women glanced at each other for a moment while a few of them consulted their note cards.

“The plastic parties!” One of the women said, nearly surprising herself with excitement.

“Pants,” the professor responded. “We call them plastic pants. We’ll want to make sure the patient retains their dignity throughout this process.”

I gave out a bitter laugh. Dignity? What fucking dignity. Here I was, tied to a table, completely naked, save for this extremely thick plastic diaper around my waist. And now, they were going to shimmy this pair of transparent plastic pants up my legs and lock me into the diaper?

Turns out I wasn’t completely correct. The plastic pants had snaps on the side, so they merely snapped them onto my lower body and tucked inside the sides (so his diaper does not leak past the plastic pants, Theresa said knowledgeably).

The legs of the plastic pants cut into my skin, it was as if they were slightly too small. But evidently, they had to be small to keep the diaper exactly how and where it needed to be: On me.

“I think we are finished, professor,” one of my classmates said, looking me over?

“Are we?”

“God I hope so,” I prayed internally.

One of the students raised their hands while at the same time pulling a box from under the table.

“We need to make sure the patient stays warm,” she pulled out a bundle of what looked like a giant blanket. “Hospitals are usually pretty cold by definition.”

The teacher nodded.

“Let’s go ahead and put the sleeper on him.”

The students nodded and once again, I found myself being manhandled like a toddler.

First, the legs were zipped up around my feet. I didn’t expect this “sleeper” to have feet. They covered my toes perfectly and fit closely around my lower legs up to my diaper.

Next, the sleeper was rolled up my torso, and my arms slipped into the sides, and finally a collar was napped on. I heard a click, no doubt locking it in place.

I knew what this was for. This was a sleeper designed for patients who had difficulty keeping their clothes on. And only someone with a key could unlock it.

I squirmed slightly, looking down at myself. The baby blue fabric hugged my body, except where my diaper was, where it bulged out in the middle, reminding anyone who cared to watch that I was a baby and nothing more.

Just an adult who was in a diaper. An adult whose stomach was doing crazy flips praying to god he didn’t mess his diaper.

Because that would be the ultimate humiliation.

***