Behave Like A Baby And I'll Dress You In Diapers

I have joyous news!
In previous posts you’ve met My aged subby-hubby robert and his alter-ego sissy-maid roberta.
Now I’m celebrating a new addition to this humbled household.
Meet My 180-pound bouncing baby boy: Adult Baby Bob.
Alongside the blonde wig, dresses, apron and stiletto heels, hubby bob’s closet now sports two-dozen disposable adult diapers, a nippled baby bottle and a pacifier.
Happily, hubby bob hates it.
I say “happily” because that’s the difference between My dual roles as Professional Mistress and Mistress Wife.
As a Pro Domina I’m paid to give a client the punishment he wants.
If the client is a glutton for pain, I’ll whip his ass until My arm aches. I’ll target his cock and balls with as much torment as he can tolerate.
In contrast, as a Mistress Wife I please Myself, rendering not the punishment My slave hubby wants but what he deserves.
At home My goal is behavior modification; pleasuring a domesticated male-creature with pain is definitely not on My to-do list.
Fortunately, hubby bob is far from a pain slut, so his disciplinary training includes muscular sessions of severe ass and cock play.
But the penalty must always fit the crime.
There are domestic misdemeanors and there are domestic felonies.
For slave-hubby robert (and his girlie twin ms. roberta) corporal punishment alone is an appropriate penalty for such misdemeanors as disputing a command from his Mistress Wife or grumbling about doing the ironing and other menial household chores.
Domestic felonies deserve a more creative reprisal.
Hubby bob’s felonies usually pertain to his penis: how rarely he gets to use it except to piss.
bob's cry-baby act began when I eliminated his weekly self-jerk-off sessions. (See My post "Orgasm Denial," June 27, below.)
Soon the pitiful bleating about his enforced celibacy became so unbearable I caved in and allowed him one masturbatory orgy a month.
Was My slave hubby grateful?
Instead of kissing his Mistress's feet for Her act of compassion, hubby bob whined and wailed even more. He needed more sex. He needed sex with Me! It was like having an adult baby in the house with an incurable, worsening rash.
Fed up with his tantrums I issued this ultimatum:
"Behave like a baby and I’ll dress you in diapers."
Ever since, when bob starts his bawling-baby routine, I march straight to his closet and wrap his ass and balls in a disposable adult-baby diaper.
I sit on My spanking bench.
bob must crawl to Me on all fours and kneel at My feet.
Then I pull down his diaper.
I paddle his ass red with My hand.
This Adult Baby punishment scenario started on September 1, after one of bob’s scheduled sexual-release sessions.
On the first day of each month I permit hubby bob to play with his cock until he cums.
I have hectic work and social schedules.
I can’t afford to waste time waiting for bob’s sperm geyser to erupt.
So to speed things up I straddle him wearing a bra and panties and massage the cocktail sausage between his legs until it’s a bloated, throbbing bratwurst.
Then, as a reminder that in life there’s no pleasure for him without pain, I’ll batter his swollen member with My penis whip, which stiffens it even more.
Finally, I permit him to masturbate to orgasm while he chants My name. (To ensure that he isn’t fantasizing about some celebrity slut he’s ogled on TV.)
The problem has been that the whole procedure is so messy.
Last month, for example, at the climactic moment he lost control, splattering his sticky jism over the bed, the walls, even over Me.
That’s when I decided to buy the first batch of disposable adult diapers.
During this month’s sexual-release session I made bob put on a diaper and shove his hand inside to pump his pee-pee. And that’s where he safely shot his load.
That evening we were meeting friends for dinner.
I ordered him to wear the cum-filled diaper under his trousers.
It amused Me to be the only person at the table (not counting My diapered subby hubby) who knew that throughout the meal bob was squirming in curdled spunk.
The disposable diapers are also a perfect protection against him masturbating without permission when I’m away.
Before I leave to see a client, I dress bob in a diaper and serve him “dinner” (his baby bottle filled with milk).
Then I force him to his knees and cuff his wrists and ankles to a leg-spreader.
That way i can leave the wimp alone, without wondering, in My absence, whether he’s busy abusing his bratwurst.
And if My session extends into an all-nighter, I don’t have to worry.
Helplessly locked to the leg-spreader Adult Baby bob has My permission to go potty in his Pampers.
Now I’m thinking: What’s a Norman Rockwell-style, portrait-perfect American family like Mine without a 180-pound pet pooch snoozing by the fireside?