I was a junior, and I was sick and tired of living in the dorms on campus. The creaking heaters that refused to turn off, the mold, the toilets that couldn’t flush shit–all of the buildings should have been razed twenty years ago, but school instead had built a bunch of other dorms they could charge more for, that I couldn’t afford, naturally. So I figured, “Fuck it,” and I managed to find a room to rent a few blocks from campus from a nice older gentleman named Willard. He’d lived in the neighborhood for years, but he told me when I came to see the room that he didn’t really need the rent money–he just hated being all alone in the house more than anything else, and so he usually rented it out to students at the local college for some company, and to help the house feel “lived in.” It was a little pitiful, but the rent was so cheap, I figured I could give him some company on occasion.
In fact, as the first semester wore on, I discovered that Willard was one of the best landlords a college student could ask for. He had dinner for me every evening if I was home–all I had to do was give him some extra money for the grocery bill. He was a bit of an insomniac, and since I often stayed up late studying, he let me use his office to work in, and he would sit in there with me, usually smoking a pipe, and we would chat. It never really struck me as odd, however, that I never seemed able to remember the things we’d talked about, or even remember doing any work for my classes. He started sitting in the study wearing less and less clothing, usually opting for an open robe, his cock hanging out, and I was, for some reason, completely unfazed as we chatted, his pipe billowing smoke, while we both had some of his whiskey.
Those first few weeks, I also noticed that, for a lonely old man, he sure did seem to have quite a few visitors who came around regularly. Some were only a bit older than me, while a few others were approaching middle aged, but they all seemed very familiar with him. They shared some other similarities too–they all were smokers, and all of them were big, hairy, burly guys. One other thing, is that they all gave me this…look. Like they were trying to suppress a laugh, or were in on some joke I had no idea about yet. I suppose I should have seen something coming, but I was just oblivious.
Then, during midterms, I wet the bed for the first time. I was mortified–I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done something like that. I managed to get the sheets through the washer and dryer without Willard noticing, but the next night it happened again. I knew I couldn’t tell him, I was too embarrassed, and yet, in his study that night, it all came tumbling out, how ashamed I was of it, how I couldn’t believe I’d lost control like that, how I was afraid I’d do it for a third night in a row. He was very understanding, holding me close on his lap until I’d stopped sobbing, and then he suggested that I start wearing diapers every night “as a precaution”.
I should have thought he was crazy. I should have left right then and never come back. But for whatever reason, his suggestion just made perfect sense to me. Diapers–of course I should just wear diapers. I never asked why he already had a supply ready for me–he just helped me strip, got me powdered and diapered, and put me to bed with a kiss on the cheek like all of this was perfectly normal. I woke up with a heavy, cold, wet diaper, but Willard was there, ready to get me changed out of it. I never bothered asking why he was so intent on helping me–I just let him, and then I went off to school like everything was normal, until a few weeks later, when I wet myself during a lecture.
I couldn’t stop it. I noticed after a few seconds, feeling my crotch turn warm, but I couldn’t do anything. I panicked. I heard it dribbling off the seat and onto the tile floor. I could smell it. I grabbed my things as quickly as I could, and fled the room, piss still running down my leg and into my shoe, and I didn’t stop running until I got home. Sobbing, I was barely able to get the words out to Willard to tell him what happened to me. He seemed…perfectly fine with it, as he hugged me tight, and when he told me that I would just have to start wearing diapers all the time from now on, it seemed like a perfectly reasonable suggestion. He helped me out of my wet jeans and underwear, got a diaper for me and helped me into it. But this time…this time, something else happened. I got hard. I got hard in the diaper–just the feeling of it was turning me on, and I started…doing things. Humping the air, grinding my crotch into Willard’s side, and my landlord shoved his hand down into the front of the diaper, finding my hard cock, and started jacking me off, his other hand pulling my face to his, and he kissed me deeply, shoving his tongue into my mouth, the taste of his pipe overpowering everything else.
I ended up on my knees, his old, hard cock working its way into my throat. I couldn’t put my hand in my diaper for some reason, and so I was forced to rub my cock through it, humping it, getting myself closer to cumming, but he came first, filling my mouth with cum. Even though I knew I had never sucked him off before, the taste was so familiar and comforting, and I came soon after that, filling my diaper with a load of cum. I pulled away from his cock and licked my lips. He said, “Time to remember everything, Baby Bear–we should have a talk,” and suddenly I could remember everything.
And never have I felt so used in my entire life.
Bracken's Corner 