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He smiled stupidly around his pacifier, eyes closed, breath coming in deep, comfortable sighs. She worked smoothly and deftly, cleaning up his mess with baby wipes, before he felt soft hands and tightness around his hips as he was diapered by his wife. The wings of his disposables wrapped snugly around his hips, and tapes were peeled back and stuck to the front panel, creating a perfect, symmetrical fit that hugged his bottom, his thighs, and his package in all the ways that he loved. 

“There we go. Mr. Monroe all ready for bedtime.” She approved, patting him on his diaper, and the sensation of her hand on the bulky disposable between his legs sent electricity up his spine even in his spent state. 

He couldn’t believe how lucky he was. Perhaps few could.

She nudged him over in the bed, accompanied by the audible crinkle of the first of many diapers she would put him in, and crawled in beside him, nestling her muzzle into the crook of his neck, one hand on his powerful shoulders, and the other, almost possessively, on the seat of his diaper. 

“I love you, Trev.”

“I love you too, Erin.”

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