Page 73 of Hush, Little Baby

The air on my skin is wild and cold. I shiver, instantly aware of every part of me, of the stretch marks marring my hips, arms, and lower belly, and the way I look so flabby from my vicious cycle of gaining and losing weight.

My dick stirs against my thigh, humiliatingly alive despite—or probably because of—the exposure. I flinch, tensing my thighs together, but Nikolaus doesn’t tease me for it. That would be too pedestrian, too easy. Instead, he runs a hand down the side of my arm, grounding me.

“Have you ever worn one before?” he asks, gentle and unhurried.

For a second, I don’t know what he means, and then I see what he’s taken from a drawer. A thick, plastic-wrapped rectangle, baby blue with clouds and cartoon animals. There’s no mistaking it for anything else. My cheeks flare with heat so intense I’m sure I’ll combust. I shake my head, eyes fixed on Duckie’s little wings, wishing I could crawl inside his fuzzy body and disappear.

“That’s okay,” Nikolaus croons. “I’ll show you. You just lie back and let Daddy do everything.”

He says the word—Daddy—like it’s a crown he’s placing on his own head, and the world tilts. Some chemical part of my brain crackles and fizzes, and everything I am falls away until only the smallest, weakest part is left. A part that wants this. That wants to surrender.

I let my shoulders loosen and flop back against the padded surface. The cold vinyl stings for a second, but Nikolaus’s warmth is right there, his hand gentle on my shin, then my knee, pressing them apart. I close my eyes, letting the ceiling clouds blur above me. My breath comes in shallow little pants. I can’t stop thinking about how I must look, bare and soft and helpless, legs spread, clutching a stuffed animal, while a grown man readies a diaper underneath me.

Nikolaus hums, not unkindly, as he unfolds the blue rectangle and slides it under my ass. The crinkle is shockingly loud. I want to curl up and die, but I can’t move. My whole body is as heavy and limp as a doll’s.

“I know it’s hard at first,” Nikolaus says, matter-of-fact. “But you’ll get used to it. You’re made for this, sweetheart. Just look at you.”

He says it like a benediction, and I have nothing left to answer but a whimper. His hand drifts up the inside of my thigh, fingers splayed, steady and sure, and I nearly buck right off the table when he cups my balls, rolls them in his palm while the other hand opens a small tub and scoops out a mound of white powder, dusting it over my lower belly.

Nikolaus rubs the powder in with his bare hand, fingers lingering everywhere with studied thoroughness, until I’m covered in a fine, starchy haze. My cock goes fully hard under his touch, straining up like some desperate signal flare. I want to die when I notice it, but Nikolaus only grins, so calm and confident it’s unreal.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” he says. “It means you like the attention. That’s good. Daddy wants you to enjoy this part, too.” He gives my shaft a squeeze—not enough to get me off, just enough to make me gasp and clutch Duckie even tighter. The slick, powdery feel of his palm on my skin is addictive.

“See? That’s my good boy.” He strokes my cock a few more times, then stops, just holding it. “But I want you to remember something.” He leans in, eyes burning. “This belongs to Daddy now. You don’t get to play with it by yourself anymore. If you want to come, you ask. Okay?”

My face blazes. I nod, mute. I can’t even imagine the words I’d use.

Nikolaus smiles, not unkindly, and pulls the thick, crinkly panel up between my legs. The feeling is bizarre and overwhelming, like I’ve been wrapped and padded and made into something that can’t break, no matter what. He tapes the diaper on, smoothing every edge, running his big palm over the bulge between my legs with a kind of pride, like he’s put the finishing touches on a work of art.

When he steps back to admire his work, my face is so hot I’m sure I could heat the room with it. But he doesn’t tease, doesn’t even look at me with anything but a kind of possessive, delighted satisfaction. I’m still naked except for the absurd thickness at my hips. My skin tingles from being touched everywhere, and my cock is pulsing against the inside of the diaper, leaking pre-cum into it.

“Perfect,” he says, low and sure and oddly reverent. “You’re so beautiful like this. I want you to see what I see, someday.” He says it like a promise, and the words scatter through me, finding every hollow place and filling it up.

He helps me sit up. The bulk forces my legs apart, but that’s nothing compared to how the movement squishes everything against me, squeezing my erection in a way that’s so all-consuming I almost moan. I clutch Duckie to my chest, my only shield from the intensity of it.

Nikolaus picks up a onesie—decorated with trains, tiny, smiling suns, and bluebirds—from the dresser and eases the snaps open. The garment is soft, butter-blue corduroy lined with gentle cotton, and I almost cry at the sight of it—that it’s something I get to wear.

Nikolaus gathers it up and holds it out, bunched at the shoulders. “Arms up, little one.”

I obey without thinking, and he slides it over my head. The feeling is weirdly intimate, the way his palms find my bare arms, guiding them into the correct holes. The fabric settles around me, and he fastens the snaps at the crotch—each pop is loud, declarative, sealing my fate with every press. The last one closes over my bulge, pinning the soft panel firmly against me.

He then pulls out a pair of softie shorts and leads each of my feet through the leg holes, then slides them up around my hips.

I let him position every finger and toe, and I can tell by his expression that he loves it.

This really is all he wants from me.

After slipping my feet into socks, he sits me upright on the edge of the dresser, one large hand on my back, and props Duckie in my lap. Nikolaus takes a long, slow look at me, eyes flicking up and down my frame.

He squats down so we’re eye level, his hands on my knees, thumbs softly circling the ridges sewn into the shorts. The smile lines around his mouth deepen, and his expression is so gentle it feels like a blanket.

“Does everything fit all right? You’re comfortable?”

When I blush and nod, he lifts me off the dresser like I weigh nothing—which isn’t accurate at all. Still, my body yields in his arms, not even a twitch of resistance left. I cling to Duckie and bury my face in the plush, muffling the world.

He walks me to the door, and as it swings open, I realize with a cold jolt that we’re about to step out into the rest of the apartment—into the domain of his employees, his guests, his world. My heart hammers. Even through the haze, panic prickles at my skin.

Nikolaus senses it immediately. His stride pauses, and he tips my chin until I have no choice but to look at him. “No one will hurt you here in my house. No one will laugh at you, or touch you, or so much as look at you the wrong way. And if they do, I’ll get rid of them. Forever. Do you understand?”