Good Husband [Tier 2 & Tier 3 Exclusive] (Patreon)

I consider myself to be a pretty good husband. The best? That’s not for me to say. But I’m confident that I’m, at least, pretty good.

The best teacher has been watching the other relationships around me. My own parents, for example. My father worked too much, and when he actually was home he was a cantankerous juggernaut that we all knew to stay out of the way from. So I knew I didn’t want to be like that guy.

Ben and Leah, their relationship seems good on the surface. But, as I understand it, she had to quit her job because Ben was convinced that she was having an affair with her boss because they needed to text each other after hours. She insisted that they weren’t texting about anything scandalous, it was just work-talk and idle chit-chat. As far as I know, after Ben had snooped through her phone, he hadn’t found anything incriminating. That didn’t stop him from sending a threatening message to her boss anyway. They’re divorced now, probably for the best.

I never wanted to be a jealous guy like that either.

Rebeccah, meanwhile, claimed that Gary smothered her. She had no space or time of her own. He was always there. Even when he just wanted to do nice things for her, he failed to consider that what she really wanted was a few minutes for herself.

Lewis said that he wished Gloria was more supportive of his hobbies and interests. He didn’t expect her to become an expert on guitar brands and foot pedals, but he thought it’d be nice if she at least didn’t scoff and roll her eyes when he talked about a new humbucker that really excited him.

And thus, I felt I had a pretty easy blueprint to follow for being a good husband. I needed to be supportive of her interests. Give her her own space when she needs it. I’d avoid becoming a workaholic asshole. And I’d respect her platonic and professional relationships without turning green with jealousy.

Easy peasy.

Admittedly, Samantha didn’t always make it easy on me. She worked a lot herself, and when she was actually home, her time was divided between me, her personal time, and the time spent with whatever her current hobby was.

And she was always getting into something new. Pottery, for a while. Then guitar lessons. She wanted to be a writer for a while too, and I helped her set up a space in the basement for that. Later, that space was repurposed into an area where she could start some plants that would be later transferred to her garden.

The best I could do was be supportive of whatever her current fascination was. Who was I to judge? Maybe someday, I thought, something would stick and she’d end up committing to a passion for photography or oil painting.

I had more or less accepted my lot in our relationship. I was the perpetual cheerleader. The companion. On the best days, it felt uplifting to be there for her like that. On the worst days, I felt like a dog, living just to please her.

But I keep my head up. There were small costs and sacrifices to being a good husband, and I’d bet that the Dads, Bens, Garys, and Glorias of the world would have benefited from learning the lessons that I had.

I worked from home these days, which only seemed to further alienate me from Samantha. She was going to the office everyday. She had friends and coworkers she saw in person. She had a social life. Meanwhile, I waited for her at home.

Like a dog?

I got a text from her while she was in the office: “Hey, I’m expecting some packages. When they show up, would you mind bringing them down to my space in the basement?”

“Of course,” I texted back.

I found the request mildly amusing, only because I had no idea what she was expecting. The newest hobby, most likely. What would it be, a box of art supplies? A sewing machine? A drum set?

I kept an eye on the front porch over the course of the morning, waiting to see a delivery truck pull up. Moments before I signed myself off of my computer for lunch, I saw the big brown truck slowly roll up to the driveway. Perfect timing.

I met the delivery driver on the porch, taking the stack of three boxes from him.

“Three boxes, huh?” I said. “I knew my wife was expecting some packages, but I didn’t realize there’d be so many.”

“Yeah, well, there’s more,” the burly delivery driver said with a shrug.

“Really? Like, how many more?”

“Buddy, you probably don’t even want to know.”

I felt a sinking feeling in my chest. What the hell had she ordered? And why so much of it? As the driver returned to the truck, I checked the shipping labels on the packages he had already given to me, hoping that I’d find answers as to what she was ordering. But the names were of little help. Most had generic company names like ABCo. or Bottoms Up. Those companies meant nothing to me, and could be almost anything.

The driver returned with another stack of boxes, setting them down next to me. And then he returned to the truck one more time before coming back with one last box.

“Is that it?” I ask.

“Looks like it. For now.”

“Here’s to hoping you don’t come back tomorrow with even more.”

“If I come back tomorrow,” he quipped, “you should probably cut up her credit card.”

I would never do something like that to Samantha–nor would she have let me–but the man wasn’t wrong. I waved him off, and was left with a pile of boxes.

I brought everything inside the house, looking for any clues as to what was in the boxes as I did. I wouldn’t open the boxes without her permission, as tempting as it was.

“Your packages arrived,” I texted her. “There sure are a lot of them.”

“Thank you for letting me know,” she texted back.

I had somehow convinced myself that it’d be rude to ask her what she had ordered, but it dawned on me how silly that was. Why couldn’t I ask? Why shouldn’t I know? Besides, didn’t it make me a good husband to be engaged with her new hobbies?

“What even is all this?” I asked.

There was a long gap of time between when she read the message and when she responded. “It’s just some art pieces and decorations. I’ve got it in my head that I want to do some redecorating. I probably got a little carried away in ordering things, but you know how I am.”

That I did. Her answer was good enough for me. Other than dealing with the task of moving the boxes down to the basement, I was over the mystery of the boxes' contents.

One or two at a time, I carried the boxes down the steps into our finished basement. Most of the basement had been made into a den of sorts. There was a bar and a TV and a sofa, but we rarely used it unless we were entertaining company. It was past this area where Samantha’s room-of-many-purposes was.

It didn’t occur to me until I was in the room that I hadn’t been there in a while. Last I saw it, she had seedlings growing, with pots and plant racks set up under bright lights. Now, everything was gone and removed. The walls had been painted white. It was a blank slate.

It was a little curious, if only because I wondered what she’d use this room for next. The contents of these boxes, her text suggested, were intended to redecorate the house with. Right? Or had I just assumed that?

By the time I was on my final trip to the basement with the last of the boxes, my mild curiosity had grown considerably. Exactly what was she planning to redecorate with? What did she have in mind?

I hadn’t asked her if I could open one of the boxes. Yet she hadn’t told me not to, either. And so I’d open just one. Not because I thought she had anything to hide, but because I was curious as to what she was getting into now.

If anything, I was engaging with her interests. I was being a good husband.

I picked a medium-sized box. I told myself I had chosen it at random, but I’m sure I used some sort of logic that combined picking a less-conspicuous box and a box that had multiple items rattling around inside of it.

What was I expecting to find? I’m not even sure. Throw pillows, picture frames and new sconces, maybe? Brightly colored geometric shapes that were supposed to be hung on a wall? It could’ve been almost anything and I probably would’ve just shrugged and nodded as if I should’ve known.

Except what I found in the box was not even close to being in the realm of my expectations.

“What the hell…”

It was like grabbing a spoonful of what you thought was vanilla ice cream, except it was actually mashed potatoes. I know what mashed potatoes taste like, but I’d be so confused by this near-opposite flavor profile that I’d probably be disgusted until I figured out my mistake.

I was expecting ice cream in this box. But it was full of mashed potatoes.

These were not sconces and throw pillows. These were…clothes? I pulled a neatly folded pink dress from the box and unfurled it, only to be further confused. Who was a dress like this for? It had a childish, dare I say ‘infantile’ design to it, with its pastel pinks and cutesy ruffles. But the dress was sized far too large for an actual baby.

If this was a decoration, I’m not sure I was too excited about this new aesthetic.

I set the dress aside, delving back into the box. Now I needed to see more, if only because I hoped to find a Rosetta Stone, of sorts, that would help me decode the purpose of this dress.

Pacifiers? Again, not really a decoration. In fact, it’s at this point that I’m sure it’s one of two things: Either she lied to me about what her boxes were for, or she received the wrong boxes.

I checked the shipping labels. Well, they were all addressed to her, and to our address. That didn’t entirely rule out a mistaken shipment, but my gut told me that it probably wasn’t.

So, in that case, what was all this? It was unlike her, so far as I knew, to lie to me–and these were not decorations for the house. And so the new question was: What was the purpose of these items? Was she…expecting? That didn’t seem right either, as she had always been firmly against having children.

I returned to the opened box. There were more things to discover yet, and I wondered if any would help me learn about what Samantha’s plan was.

But the next few items only confused me further. Plastic pants? I had a vague idea of what they were for, but I always assumed that garments like this were antiquated in the day and age of modern disposable diapers. Plus these were, again, not at all infant-sized. Next, a large bib with ‘Baby Girl’ embroidered on it. Then…suppositories? Again, I had a general idea of why someone would use these, but I failed to see what purpose they held here.

“Oh wait,” I said softly, the words gently tumbling out of my mouth as I looked over everything again.

I was starting to see some of the connective threads. These things weren’t for an actual baby. It was for an adult who wanted to dress, maybe act, like a baby. I had heard of this before–one of those fetishes that I just never understood well enough to have much of an opinion on. But all this stuff? And Samantha’s attempts at covering it up? I had a new hunch in my gut:

Samantha had an interest in pretending to be a little girl.

I laughed and shook my head. As usual, when she got an idea in her head, she really went all out. Plastic pants? A bib? Who would’ve thought of those things? And suppositories? That was certainly…a commitment.

I had no idea what was in the other boxes, but I could make some educated guesses. More babyish clothes. Toys, maybe. Baby bottles?

Diapers.

My heart raced, feeling like I had stumbled into something I shouldn’t have. True, she didn’t tell me to leave the boxes alone–but probably only because she knew that I wasn’t usually the prying type. Now, I felt like I betrayed her.

I carefully put everything back in the box as neatly as I could, trying to remember the placement of things as I found them. I closed the box. I considered resealing the box, but I didn’t have the brown packing tape used to seal the box in the first place–and any other type of tape would only suggest that I had tried to cover up my mistake.

Instead, I left the box as is, stacking some other unopened boxes on top of it. Later, when she found the box, she could ask me about it. Maybe I’d deny having opened it, claiming it was delivered like that. Maybe I’d admit to having opened it, but only because I thought it was something else? None of these options really felt right, but I let it go for now. I could only hope that I had a better answer for her by the time she asked about it.

I left the basement, but by the time I was back in the living room I was already scrolling through results of a search on my phone for ‘diaper fetish.’

It didn’t do much for me, I didn’t think. I wasn’t disgusted by the concept of it. I could even understand some of the basic emotions and needs that might power a fetish like this. The desire to be controlled. Or even just cared for.

Samantha was a powerful woman by day–a manager at her company. With that sort of stress and responsibility over her head everyday, I could almost see her choosing something like this to unwind with.

I saw the pictures online. Men and women, alike, with their giant diapers on. They had onesies and dresses. Bonnets. Pacifiers. Giant cribs and changing tables.

Was that the new future of Samantha’s room in the basement? Would it serve as her nursery next?

The more I saw, the more I felt the concept beginning to grow on me. Big babies lying on their back, feet kicked up in the air as their partners–Mommies, Daddies, caregivers, bigs, etc–stood between their legs, ready to clean them up and put them into a fresh diaper.

I saw some of the darker places this type of play could go. Paddles. Straps and locking cuffs. Sensory deprivation. Cribs that locked like giant crates or cages. Asses hanging over someone’s lap, ready to be smacked. Chastity devices.

I never considered myself to be a very dominant person, especially in bed. I had my moments, but they usually came from Samantha just being overly submissive to the point where it made dominance feel natural and obvious. Still, those moments were few and fleeting. She typically positioned herself as the more domineering one. I never complained about that, and neither did she. Of course, now I was wondering if I needed to pay even more attention to her needs. Is that what she needed? Did I need to step up and become ‘Daddy?’

I tried to imagine it. Her, crawling on the ground in a large thick diaper. Would I like that?

My cock started to grow in my pants. Yeah, I think I liked that.

Okay, I thought, let’s unpack that. What was it that I liked about it? Was it that she was dependent on me? That she was putting herself in a vulnerable and helpless position, hoping that I’d take care of her? Maybe.

Maybe…the diapers were just hot. There was something so naughty and taboo about them. We adults aren’t supposed to like things like this. We’re supposed to use toilets and…

I thought about her wetting herself in a diaper. I tried to imagine the look on her face just before it happened. Maybe she’d see me staring at her and her cheeks would blush a pretty scarlet as her legs parted and she emptied her bladder into the diaper. Would I even know? Could someone tell if a diaper was being wet in if they were staring at it?

There was only one way to find out. Another search on my phone later and I was watching a young woman squat so that she could flood her diaper. I watched as the diaper’s color changed. It looked saturated. It began to sag between the woman’s legs.

I had to laugh. Yeah. Yeah. I liked that.

I can change a diaper, right? I had never changed one before. I’m not sure if I had even touched a diaper before, honestly. But I thought that I could do it. I’d certainly try. Of course I can change a diaper. I’m a good husband.

I watched another video of a man changing an adult baby’s diaper. I had no regrets for watching the video, though I didn’t really learn much about how to actually change a diaper. The man had opened the diaper, made some comments about how dirty she was, and then proceeded to climb up onto the surface she was laying on so that he could fuck her brains out on top of her wet diaper.

Okay, but that sounds nice too.

I remembered the suppositories. Again, I had to respect her dedication to this role. I wondered what her thought process was for those. Did she think that it would be difficult to willingly…go in her diaper? Did she know?

It made me curious as to how long she had held this interest from me. Obviously for as long as the idea had been in her head, but I wondered how long that was. From the second we met, was there a part of her that wanted to be treated like a little girl again? Or did this just pop into her head one day?

Not for the first time that day, I could feel my heart sink in my chest. I wondered if I had somehow gotten in the way of her fantasy being realized sooner. I tried digging through old memories of conversations past, wondering if I’d find times where she was trying to tell me something and I had stifled her.

No. Logically, I knew this was the wrong way to think about this. Secrets are hard to get out sometimes. And I didn’t know. She knew that.

But I know now. And that was all that mattered.

I would show her that I wanted to share this with her.

That night, she came from work as she usually did. I met her at the door, giving her a tight hug and a kiss on her lips. This far into our relationship, we still had a spark for the physical, thankfully, and I hoped it didn’t come off as too awkward.

“Well well,” she said, smiling coyly. “This is a nice greeting. Horny? Or did you break something?”

“Can’t a guy be happy to see his wife come home?”

“You can forgive me for questioning your ulterior motives,” she said, laughing. “I like this. But I’m also suspicious that you’re a robot who has replaced my husband.”

In my best robotic voice: “Robo-Hubby does not compute this.”

She laughed, slipping past me in the foyer, headed towards the kitchen. “I’m smelling food. Did you cook?”

“Yeah, uhm, a little bit.”

“A hug, kiss, and dinner? Are you buttering me up so that you can buy a PlayStation 5?”

“I’d have to be able to find one first.”

“What’s on the menu?” she asked, sniffing at the air again. She seemed perplexed by the food she was smelling. I thought the scent was obvious, personally, but I also knew what the food was.

“I made something special for you.”

“Do you mind if I change out of my work clothes?” she asked. “That won’t ruin the ambiance, will it?”

“Not at all,” I replied. “Your comfort might even enhance it.”

She smiled again, a big wide smile full of curiosity and wonder. It had been a while since I saw that smile, and I prayed that I hadn’t made a mistake with tonight. I wanted this to be good.

When she returned, her dark hair was down and she was out of the tight navy-blue business suit and instead in some black yoga pants and a white tee. Honestly, she could’ve been wearing a burlap sack and I probably still would’ve thought she looked phenomenal at that moment.

“Here, have a seat,” I said, pulling a chair out from the kitchen table.

She did so, curiously looking around the room. “This is something. I don’t know what you’re up to, but it feels like you’re up to something.”

“What I’m up to,” I said, grabbing something I had stashed in the fridge earlier, “is showing you that you can trust me with anything.”

“I…hmm,” she said, laughing to herself. “I’m not sure what you mean by that. Should I know what you’re talking about?”

I placed the item down in front of her on the table. It was a plastic baby bottle, already filled with some chardonnay.

“Oh,” she said, her eyes growing large and her cheeks turning pink.

“I…I realize I probably wasn’t supposed to see what I saw today,” I said. “But…I did. And I thought that–rather than pretend that I didn’t see anything–I’d show you that I was okay with all of it.”

“You saw what came in my packages today, huh?” she asked, sighing a little.

“I did. But…I need you to know that none of it upset me, okay? I did my research. I learned some things. And, honestly? I’m pretty excited about it.”

She still looked embarrassed, but she laughed anyway. “Yeah?”

“So this is my little treat for you tonight,” I said. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll, uh, be the Daddy.”

She didn’t just laugh, she giggled. The embarrassment seemed to be wearing off quickly now, replaced with excitement and curiosity.

“Okay,” she said. “Show me what you got, Daddy.”

“Well, first and foremost, you have your baby bottle there in front of you. Make sure to drink up every drop. It’s good for you, you know.”

She smiled, bringing the bottle to her mouth, sliding the nipple between her lips so she could suckle from it.

“And for dinner tonight, I’ve prepared every little girl’s favorite food…”

I slid the plate of chicken nuggets in front of her. A small pile of batter-dipped pieces of processed chicken on one end of the plate, and a helping of tater-tots on the other, with a little pond of ketchup between the two.

Her cheeks turned pink again and she set the bottle down again. “Are you serious? You did this…for me? Because you saw what I ordered and you thought…”

“I know,” I said, cutting her off. “Look, I do owe you an apology for looking in the boxes. I really shouldn’t have. I just didn’t think I’d see that stuff, you know? But it was a blessing in disguise, I think. I dunno, looking through that stuff and doing research online…I feel like I know a lot more about what you want. A lot more about you. And I like everything that I learned.”

“Well, what can I say? That’s very sweet of you. And…I do like chicken nuggets. Maybe I could get some silverware? A napkin?”

“Oh don’t be silly,” I said, placing the bib she had ordered around her neck. “Little girls can’t use silverware. And we’ve got this bib here to make sure you don’t make any messes.”

She blushed again, picking up a piece of chicken and taking a bite of it. “Well, this is good.”

“This is what you like, right?”

“Well,” she said, shrugging. “It’s…” She stopped herself and considered her words a little more carefully. “This is new to me too. But so far, so good.”

I took a plate of food myself and sat down next to her. Before taking my first bite, I glanced over in her direction again, seeing her holding the bottle at her mouth with both hands. Imagining this was one thing, but I was completely charmed by the sight of it actually happening. So cute. So natural.

“So you have a whole night of this planned?” she asked, exchanging the bottle for a full chicken nugget that she deposited into her mouth at once.

“Well, I’ve got a few things and…”

“Did you open all the boxes I ordered?” she asked.

“No. It was just one of them, at first. Later, when I realized what I wanted to do tonight, I did open one or two more.”

She nodded. “In that first box that you opened, what did you find?”

“A dress. Some plastic pants. Pacifiers. That bib you’re wearing. And…suppositories.”

Her cheeks darkened again as she laughed. “Wow. Quite the first impression, huh? And you weren’t scared away?”

“Confused,” I said. “But I pieced it together and, voila, here we are.”

“I’m curious to see what’s next.”

“Well…I was thinking that maybe we could get you into something more appropriate?”

“My clothes? What did you think that I should wear?”

“For starters,” I said, “we should probably get you into a diaper.”

Her eyes shot open and she spat some of her wine out of her mouth in surprise. I didn’t think this would have been such a revelation to her.

“I-is that okay?” I asked.

“Yeah…” she said, scratching her head. “I…yeah. You know what? That sounds good. Let’s do that.”

There was something about her reaction that felt a little off to me. I was giving her all of her fantasies, so why did she seem a little reluctant about it? Nerves, I assumed. Anxieties and insecurities. Maybe it was human nature to feel some apprehension when finally faced with your deepest fantasies. There was always that fear that it wouldn’t be as good as you wanted it to be.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded, finally smiling again. “Yes. Diaper me, Daddy.”

Dinner ended quickly. My recollection is a little fuzzy here, but I don’t think we were at the table much longer. Maybe we scarfed down our food in a hurry, but we also might have just left a lot of food on our plates when we left the table.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” she asked as she followed me into our bedroom.

“I have the gist of it.”

She laughed. “How much research did you do today?”

“All of it.”

In the bedroom, I pointed to the bed. “Up you go, Baby.”

She smiled, cheeks blushing again. “Yes, Daddy. But…my pants?”

“I’ll take care of those.”

She threw herself onto the bed, landing on her back with a giggle. I descended upon her pants, thankful that the stretchy yoga pants had no zippers, buttons, or buckles to contend with. In one fell swoop, I had eased her pants and panties down her legs, past her knees and then off from her feet.

Her exposed pussy glistened through the small strip of hair she kept between her legs. “A baby should be perfectly smooth down here.”

“Are you going to shave me?” she asked.

“Something to consider for the future.”

“But to be clear,” she said, “you think it’s important for a baby to be clean shaven?”

“Yes.”

She moaned satisfactorily, nodding her head.

I pulled out the diaper. I found them in the second box I had opened. They were soft pink in color, a tone so pale that if you didn’t have anything white in the vicinity of them, you’d have assumed they were actually white.

“Ready for your diaper?” I asked.

“Very,” she cooed.

I unfolded the monstrous diaper, trying to remember the things I had cobbled together from various videos earlier. Tapes in the back. Slide it under her.

“I like this,” she said, as I tucked the back of the diaper underneath her ass.

“Getting diapered?”

“Well, sure. But…this,” she said, waving her hand towards me. “This little powertrip you’ve got going on right now. This daddy-energy.”

“Yeah? Didn’t think I could do it?”

“You’re doing great.” It wasn’t an answer, but I wasn’t going to push for anything else. She seemed happy, and that was all that was needed for the moment.

“I saw–in my research–that people used, like, baby powder? I don’t think we have any. But that’s something I’d probably want to use next time.”

She laughed. “I’ll smell like a baby.”

“That’s the point,” I said with a shrug.

“Would you care?” she asked. “Walking around in public with me while I smell like a baby?”

Public? I hadn’t considered that her fantasies would take us out of the house and into the public eye. I was tempted to ask her to elaborate, but I quickly realized that it didn’t matter what she had to say–I found the idea of ‘public’ to be quite exciting.

“I wouldn’t mind,” I said. I folded the front of the diaper up over her kitty, carefully taping the sides to the front of the diaper. It was pretty self-explanatory.

“Good to know,” she said.

“Well, that’s it,” I said. “You’re in a diaper now.”

She ran her hands over the bulky plastic garment between her legs, the soft crinkling noises filled the room. She offered a satisfied moan.

“Well?” I asked. “Is it everything you wanted?”

She laughed and shook her head.

Her response was so distant from my expectations that I had to laugh as well. “What do you mean? Do you not like it?”

“Oh, I love it,” she said, rubbing the diaper again with her hands. “But that’s not what you asked me.”

I repeated my question again, more for my benefit than hers: “Is it everything you wanted?”

“It is not,” she said, looking up at me. Still smiling.

“I don’t understand. Did I do something wrong?”

“You’re a sweetheart,” she said. “You’ve done nothing wrong. But…no, this isn’t what I expected.”

“So what did you expect?”

“Well, for one, the roles would be reversed.”

“Wait…what?”

“I…didn’t order all of these things for me,” she said, shrugging.

“I don’t understand.”

“I bought them for you.”

“Oh wait. So…you mean…you wanted me to be…”

She nodded her head. “Yeah. I wanted to ask you to be my baby.”

I felt like such a fool. I had seen the things in the boxes and I assumed. I assumed everything, assigning myself a role and bulldozing straight forward to the point where Samantha was now in a diaper, even though she was the one who wanted to put me in a diaper. I couldn’t even take the moment to consider how I felt about being the ‘baby’ myself.

“Oh my god,” I said. “I’m…sorry! I didn’t mean to push you into this. I just thought…”

She laughed. “Oh gosh, no. Please don’t apologize. You didn’t know! And you saw all those things…”

“Like the dress.”

“...like the dress. And you’d connect the dots in your head and, of course, this is what you’d come up with.”

“But you went along with it?” I said.

She shrugged. “You seemed so dedicated and I thought that I’d see where it goes.”

I was laughing now, trying to imagine this from her perspective. She had come from work, only to be thrust into a surreal situation based on a misinterpretation of something she actually wanted.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“I like this. That’s not entirely surprising to me. But I hadn’t really thought about this possibility much.”

I collapsed on my back next to her on the bed. She rolled over onto her side, kicking her bare leg up over my legs while her arm landed on my chest, stroking my chin. I could hear the rustling of her diaper as she moved, and it was now pressed against my hips.

Finally, her actual intentions began to dawn on me. She wanted me to be the one in a diaper. The one in a dress. The one being asked to use the suppositories.

“Are you okay?” she asked, softly whispering into my ear.

“I’m just trying to imagine myself in a diaper,” I said, almost immediately laughing at how absurd that sentence sounded.

“But you would do that for me, wouldn’t you?” she asked, her lips now pressed against my ear so that she was talking directly into my brain. “Because you’re such a good husband?”

My cock had already been hard, but it felt like it was throbbing now.

“Yes,” I said. “Of course. Anything for you.”

“I want to turn that room in the basement into a nursery,” she said. “It wasn’t a complete lie when I said that I was going to be redecorate.”

I laughed again. I hadn’t considered that.

“I didn’t order the big pieces yet,” she continued. “The crib. The changing table.”

Hearing the words ‘changing table’ turned my cheeks red. It implied that a place was needed for, well, the changing of one’s diaper.

“Why not?” I asked.

“I wanted to make sure you liked it first. So, you know, I still need to get you into a diaper.”

“Anytime,” I said.

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

“Will you wet your diapers for me?” she asked.

I nodded. For a moment, I thought I was just imagining it, but…I could’ve sworn that I felt her diaper getting warmer as it was pressed against me.

“Like I’m doing right now?” she added.

“You…you’re wetting?”

“I am. Want to feel?”

I reached down between her legs, feeling the diaper swell and thicken in my hand.

“This could be you,” she said.

“I want it to be.”

She moaned, satisfied with that answer.

“But right now,” I added. “It’s you.”

“Mm. It is me. And what are you going to do about that?”

That was a good question. What was I going to do? I had watched a lot of videos that day, and all this new information had sort-of congealed into a bunch of unprocessed thoughts that felt just out of reach at this moment. I decided to go with my gut. What did I want?

I shimmied myself out from underneath her, positioning myself over top of her instead. I reached down, peeling back the tapes of the wet diaper. I sat up long enough to pull my own pants down, revealing my rock-hard cock.

She offered another approving moan as she nodded. “Fuck me. On the diaper.”

Later, it’d be me in a diaper. And I already knew that I was going to love it. Maybe it was all new to me, but anything that excited her this much was good for me. I’d wet myself. Fuck it, if she wanted me to mess myself too, I’d do that for her. I knew she’d take as good care of me as I would of her.

We’d take turns. I didn’t even need to say that out loud, I was sure that we both knew this.

I slowly pushed myself into her wet pussy, feeling her tense as she clung to me. I’d give her all of me, with the promise of more later.

I consider myself to be a good husband. A good daddy.

And eventually, a good baby.