I really dont get the mean, humilliating cucking honestly, ABDL is supposed to be cute and vulnerable
He really was perfect. The kind of man my mother would swoon over and gush to her bridge club about. Handsome in a quiet, effortless way. A gentleman who held doors, remembered birthdays, and had a knack for making waitresses laugh when they looked like they needed it most. He had a good job, he dressed well, and he smelled even better. He wasn’t just “boyfriend material.” He was the sort of man who came wrapped up in a bow labeled husband.
But of course, life has its little ironies. The man who could make my mother glow with approval, who had my friends all asking if he had a brother, turned out to be… well, a bit of a disaster where it mattered most. He tried, oh, he tried so hard, but he just never had the spark, the fire, the confidence. In bed, he was less a roaring blaze and more a damp match. And so, as a practical woman, I made the only reasonable decision. If he wasn’t fit to be my lover, he could still be my husband. He just needed a role more suited to his talents.
That’s how I ended up with a man who sleeps every night in a crib. My husband. The once-perfect gentleman, now the sweetest, most obedient little boy. His “manhood”, that word hardly fits anymore, cushioned in a thick diaper that I tape on with my own hands before tucking him in. He never argues, never pouts. He just sucks his pacifier and looks up at me with those big, trusting eyes while I adjust his mobile and kiss his forehead. Sometimes, when he stirs in the night, I hear the faint crinkle and the muffled sigh of relief as he wets himself. By morning, his Pampers are swollen, sagging between the bars of the crib. And I’m always there, smiling sweetly, cooing about what a good baby he is while I change him.
It’s not that I don’t love him. I do. I love his loyalty, his sweetness, his silly little smiles when I praise him. But a woman has needs, needs my “baby” could never hope to meet. Which is why I slip into something my husband would never recognize, something short, silky, and daring, when I leave him tucked up in his crib. He falls asleep to the sound of his lullaby machine, clutching his teddy bear, while I step out into the night.
There’s another man waiting for me. Men, sometimes. The kind I’d never marry. Too wild, too reckless, too selfish for a ring. But perfect for what my baby husband cannot give me. One leans against the bar with a crooked smile, his hands rough as they slide down my waist. Another has a laugh that fills the room, and when he pulls me close, his teeth graze the curve of my neck. I melt into it, into the heat of real desire.
And always, always, in the back of my mind, the comparison tickles me. Him, kissing and biting my neck, leaving little red marks for me to cover later. And my husband, back home, sucking on his pacifier with the same eager rhythm, drooling a little onto his pillow. My lover’s hands pinning mine above my head, his body pressing hard against mine. My husband’s mittened hands clinging to his teddy bear, wiggling in a soggy diaper. The contrast is delicious.
By the time I slip back into the house, shoes dangling from my hand, the night’s echoes still humming through my body, he’s exactly where I left him. My sweet little husband, curled up in his crib, his diaper swollen and heavy. He stirs when I open the door, eyes blinking open, pacifier bobbing as he lisp-whispers, “M-mommy?”
I lean over the crib, brushing his hair back, smiling like the devoted wife everyone thinks I am. “Yes, sweetheart. Mommy’s home.” He smiles through his pacifier, utterly content, never knowing what lipstick stains I just wiped off or whose scent lingers faintly on my skin.
He doesn’t need to know. He doesn’t need to be anything more than what he is: my perfect husband, the kind my mother loves, who will never stray, never fail me. My diapered little man, soggy and docile, waiting patiently in his crib for the life I chose for him.
And me? I have everything I want. A baby to care for, a man to come home to, and the freedom to be loved and touched as I please. He may have been a zero in bed, but with a diaper and a crib, he’s become the perfect ten, for me.