Crinkled Shame: My Diaper Cuckold Confession

I never thought I’d end up here, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest, the crinkle of the diaper under my jeans deafening in the quiet room. My wife, Claire, stands in the doorway, her lips curled into a wicked smirk that makes my stomach churn with a mix of dread and twisted arousal. She’s wearing that black lace lingerie I bought her last Valentine’s Day, the one she swore she’d never wear for me. Tonight, it’s not for me. It’s for him.

“You ready, baby boy?” she purrs, her voice dripping with condescension. The pet name stings, but it’s nothing compared to the heat flooding my face as I shift on the couch, the thick padding between my legs making every move awkward. I nod, my throat too tight to speak. She knows I’m lying. I’m never ready for this.

The doorbell rings, and my pulse spikes. Claire’s eyes light up, and she saunters to the door, her hips swaying with a confidence that used to be mine to admire. Now, it’s his. Marcus. The guy she met at the gym, all chiseled abs and smug grins. The guy who’s everything I’m not—tall, dominant, and, as Claire loves to remind me, “a real man.”

He steps inside, his presence filling the room like a storm cloud. He doesn’t even glance at me at first, just pulls Claire into a deep, hungry kiss that makes my gut twist. I’m invisible, insignificant, just a pathetic figure in the corner, dressed in the humiliating outfit Claire picked out: a too-tight onesie with cartoon trains on it, barely containing the bulky diaper underneath. She made me shave everywhere this morning, said it was “more fitting” for a baby like me. The memory of the razor’s cold bite still lingers on my skin.

“Look at him,” Claire says, breaking the kiss to nod in my direction. Marcus finally turns, his eyes raking over me with a mix of amusement and disdain. “Fuck, Claire, you weren’t kidding,” he chuckles, his deep voice sending a shiver down my spine. “He’s really into this shit, huh?”

“Oh, he loves it,” she says, her tone mocking as she walks over to me. She grabs my chin, forcing me to meet her gaze. “Don’t you, sweetie? Tell Marcus how much you love being my little diaper boy.”

My mouth is dry, but I force the words out, my voice barely a whisper. “I… I love it.” The lie burns, but the truth is worse. I hate how much I crave this, how the humiliation sets every nerve on fire.

Marcus laughs, a low, cruel sound, and steps closer. He towers over me, his cologne sharp and masculine, a stark contrast to the baby powder Claire dusted me with earlier. “Stand up,” he orders. I hesitate, and Claire’s hand cracks across my cheek—not hard, but enough to make my eyes water. “Do what he says, baby,” she snaps.

I stand, the diaper crinkling loudly, the onesie straining against my chest. Marcus circles me like a predator, his gaze dissecting every inch of my pathetic state. “Take it off,” he says, gesturing to the onesie. My hands shake as I fumble with the snaps, the fabric peeling away to reveal the diaper in all its humiliating glory. Claire giggles, and the sound cuts deeper than any slap.

“God, look at you,” Marcus says, his voice thick with disgust. “You really let her do this to you?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, turning to Claire instead. “You sure you don’t want a real man full-time, babe? This one’s barely worth the trouble.”

Claire’s smile is wicked. “Oh, he’s worth it. He’s so good at watching.” She grabs Marcus’s hand and leads him to the couch, right in front of me. They start kissing again, hands roaming, clothes shedding. I’m frozen, forced to watch as she moans in ways she never does with me, her body arching under his touch. The diaper feels tighter, hotter, my body betraying me with a sickening throb of arousal I can’t suppress.

“Tell him,” Claire gasps between kisses, her eyes locked on mine. “Tell Marcus what you are.”

“I’m… I’m a diaper cuck,” I choke out, the words like acid on my tongue. Marcus laughs again, louder this time, and Claire’s moan turns into a triumphant laugh.

“That’s right,” she says, straddling him now, her voice a sultry purr. “And you’re gonna sit there, in your little diaper, and watch a real man fuck your wife.”

I sink to my knees, the crinkle of the diaper echoing in my ears as they begin, the sounds of their pleasure drowning out my shame. But it’s there, burning bright, a twisted knot of humiliation and desire that keeps me rooted to the spot, watching, always watching, as Claire’s world spins further out of my reach.