“You still think you don't need the diaper, sweetheart?”
We both know he does need it, but neither of us wants him to say so.
He juts his chin, still so boldly defiant. “It's dry, isn't it?”
Nevertheless, Benji whines as my palm spreads over the white, padded front, slipping between his thighs to spread them apart a little. But, true to his word, there's no sign of wetness. Thatdoessurprise me at this point.
So freaking stubborn.
The thought is laced with affection. Even if I haven’t known him for long, I love how strong and feisty he is. But I’m still on a mission.
“Okay. Let's get you out of it, then.” Gently pushing at his thighs, I make him bend his knees and part his legs fully in the standard pose for a diaper change.Thiswill be the beginning of the end of Benji's control, with him unable to use pressure to hold the release back. We both know it.
Benji's Adam's apple bobs, the gulp audible in the quiet of the cabin. I want to bottle the sound, backed as it is by his panted breaths. I wonder if I could set it as my phone’s ringtone.
I torture him by slowly peeling back the sticky tabs of the diaper, holding my palm over his crotch to keep the material in place while I work. As soon as I remove it and take away the last of the pressure over his crotch, Benji will break. I just know it. I can sense it in the tremble of his thighs, and the way he’s holding himself so tensely. He’s also at risk of biting through his bottom lip with how harshly he’s worrying it between his teeth.
Sure enough, when I peel the front of the diaper away, a couple of droplets of liquid spill from the tip of Benji's half-hard cock, and he whines, attempting to clench his thighs shut again.
“Looks like you're having a bit of an accident, bud.” I climb onto the mattress, staying on my knees between Benji's spread thighs, my knees tucked under their soft flesh, keeping them parted wide. I tug my own aching cock free of my shorts and stroke it lazily, watching him slowly break beneath me.
The droplets become a tiny stream. Benji's whole body locks up in his last-ditch effort to hold back. I can see the veins in his neck straining with the effort, his eyes watering, too.
He’s beautiful like this.
I lean over him, bracing on my left forearm while I continue to slowly stroke myself between our bodies. “You sure you can hold it?” I whisper against Benji's mouth, feeling the trickle of pee sluicing slowly down into the crevice between Benji's groin and thigh, wetting my shorts over my own thigh. “It feels like you're already getting messy, honey. You should have listened to Daddy, shouldn't you?”
The title slips out by accident, but it feels right, and Benji gasps out a quiet “Fuck” and he trembles. His face is red now, possibly with embarrassment, but I think it’s also with the valiant effort of struggling against the inevitable.
“Good boy for trying,” I murmur, then press my lips to his. He melts into the soft, sweet kiss when I slip my tongue into his mouth, and then a burst of hot liquid spills between our bodies before Benji jolts and whines as he finally loses control completely.
“Uh oh,” I grin, mouthing at Benji's ear as he sobs with relief, “someone lied to Daddy after all.” But I don’t think my words register.
Benji pees. And pees. Andpees. The liquid is hot, the scent acrid and unmistakable, the feeling slippery and then sticky against my skin. I revel in it, sucking a hickey into Benji's neck while I jerk my cock under the seemingly endless spray between us, until the force of it tapers off and I pull my urine-covered hand away, planting it on the other side of Benji's head, grinding my dick into the wetness between our bodies.
I’m throbbing for release now, but I’m too focused on Benji to come yet. “Such a dirty boy,” I say, the words more praise than admonishment.
I push up to look at him properly, his blond hair a messy halo around his head, his face pink and sweaty. There are tear tracks down the sides of his face, traveling down his temples and into his ears, while the blue of his eyes is so bright, emphasized by the red rims hiding under his wet lashes. He looks wrecked. He looks perfect.
“Do you feel better now, honey?”
Blinking slowly, Benji tries to focus his glassy gaze up at me. “I made a mess.”
“A big mess, yes,” I rock my hips down against him again, and we both groan as his cock fills and hardens next to mine. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Mmhmm.”
“You’re so hot, Benji. So fucking pretty when you lose control.”
A broken whine escapes him from somewhere in the vicinity of the back of his throat. He thrusts up to meet me, his hard, sticky dick rubbing up against my erection deliciously while his fingers dig into my hips, offering me a hint of pain to distract from the overwhelming pleasure, or maybe to add to it.
Our bodies rock together like this for a few extended moments, with words too difficult to form. I want to tell him how perfect he looks —how perfect he feels— but my brain is staticky, buzzing with the sensations surrounding me. Our breathing is ragged, with panted breaths echoed between us. We’re damp and sticky and ultimately kind of filthy, but the messiness of what we’re getting off on only makes the whole experience hotter.
“Daddy,” Benji almost whispers, closing his eyes as he writhes, “I’m going to come.”
“Fuck, yes, baby. Do it. Make us even messier.”
Beneath me, he whimpers and opens his eyes, looking so wrung out that I want to roar with pride, like some caveman. “Kiss me?”
