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“I just… I want you to want me to try it…”

“I do, Kammie, and I think you’ll look adorable.” I smile as he hides his face in my arm. “But whether I like how it looks doesn’t matter if you hate how it feels. And you know I love your pretty princess panties, don’t you?”

He nods, not looking up, and the flush spreads even further, deepening under the collar of his oversized tee. I can hardly stand how fucking sweet he is, the deliberate helplessness of it, the way he makes every single thing feel like a privilege he’s trying to earn.

I want to ruin him for every other kind of affection.

I think about how he looked last night, perched at the edge of the mattress with his knees pressed together, panties pulled tight over his ass while I worked him open. The way his knuckles whitened on the bedsheets, his breath stuttering through his pacifier as I slid two fingers in, stretching him slow while his cock dripped onto the pink cotton.

He’d shivered when I told him how pretty he looked, all bare thighs and trembling hips and desperate little whimpers muffled by the paci—so close to coming from nothing but my words and my hand inside him. I’d kept him there on the edge for minutes at a time, just because I could, just because I wanted to see what happened if I never stopped telling him how perfect he was.

“I’ll be just as happy buying you dressers full of panties if you decide you hate the diapers,” I say, tipping his chin so he has to look at me. “But you won’t know if you never try it, will you?”

A slow nod. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good boy.”

Tension drains out of him like water from a cracked cup.

I stand. “Come on.”

He takes my hand without looking up, fingers sliding between mine. He doesn’t let go the whole walk down the hall. Once we’re back in his bedroom, I sit him on the edge of the bed and retrieve one from the small closet in the hall, holding it up as I walk back in to him.

The diaper is pastel pink with dancing elephants decorating it.

He stares at it, chewing his lower lip, the pacifier clutched limply in his hand but not in his mouth. His shoulders hike up, and for a second I think he might bolt, but he doesn’t move as I tug his shorts down his thighs and off his ankles. I peel off his cute white panties, smiling at the tiny blue bow at the center of the waistband.

“Alright, sweetheart,” I say, keeping my voice calm, “lie back for me.”

He does, arms folded over his stomach and gaze fixed determinedly on the ceiling. There’s vulnerability in it, but also a trust that’s so beautiful it almost hurts to look at. I unfold the diaper and slide it beneath his hips. He tenses, not in fear but in anticipation, a full-body flinch that relaxes once the rustle of plastic settles beneath him.

“These are a little big,” I tell him, “but they’re the right size for you, promise. If you end up liking this, we’ll get you the best ones. Might even have a custom changing table built for your room, if you want.”

“Really?” he asks, his voice as quiet as a mouse.

“Sweetheart,” I say, taping the diaper up on one side, then the other, “if you want a changing table, you’re getting a changing table. With the biggest, fluffiest mat you’ve ever seen.”

He covers his eyes with the back of one arm, but I can see the smile beneath it. He breaks into a breathy giggle as I pat the finished product with a flourish.

I ease him into sitting up. The diaper crinkles and the sound alone makes him blush to his hairline, but he doesn’t seem horrified, just self-conscious. He shifts, wriggling on the soft bulk, searching for something in the sensation.

“Well?” I ask.

He mashes the pacifier into his mouth and looks up at me, speaking around the nipple. “Soft.”

“Yeah?”

He nods, cheeks puffed around the shield.

I smooth the hair from his forehead. “That’s the point, baby. There’s more to it, you know. Usually there’s powder and lotion and the whole nine yards, but I figured we could start simple.”

He pulls the pacifier out again for a second, holding it to his lips. “Why would you need powder?”

“It keeps your skin safe if you’re wearing it for a long time.”

He looks down at the elephants, then at me. “I don’t know how I feel about it.”

I sit next to him on the bed. “That’s okay. Do you want it off?”