ABDL Story - The Sissy Baby Streamer

I told myself I would shut the stream down after last week. The lie sat under my tongue while Sloane set the phone on the tripod and angled the ring light toward the edge of the bed.

“Live in four minutes, baby girl.” Her voice stayed level, almost bored. “You know the rules.”

My cock was already hard against the thick padding between my legs. Twenty-seven years old, and the crinkle when I shifted made heat crawl up my neck. The adult diaper had been on for nearly an hour. Still dry. She had not given me leave to use it, and the need pressed low in my belly like a second heartbeat.

I could have stood up. Walked out. The door was six steps away.

My knees stayed on the duvet.

Sloane ran two fingers under the elastic of the pink satin shorts she had put me in, checking the fit over the bulk. The shorts rode high on my thighs. Soft fabric. Ugly truth underneath. My cock twitched hard enough that she smiled without looking at my face.

“There he is,” she said. “Already leaking for Mommy before the viewers even join.”

“Sloane.” My voice cracked on her name. “I can keep it dry. I do not need…”

She pinched the front of the diaper through the shorts, firm and exact, and the rest of the sentence died. Precome wet the tip of my cock against the absorbent lining. Shame hit so sharp my eyes stung. My hips still pushed into her hand for more.

That was the part I hated most. How fast my body sold me out.

She let go and reached for the remote wand on the nightstand. Small. Pink. Already paired to the app on her phone. Last stream she had used it only once, a short buzz under the padding that made me gasp on camera and then beg off-mic when she cut the feed. Tonight the wand went into a pocket sewn into the diaper itself, pressed flat against the base of my cock and the soft skin behind my balls.

“Hands behind your back.”

I locked my wrists. She cuffed them with soft leather, snug, then clipped the short lead to the headboard so I sat upright on my heels with my chest open to the lens. The pose shoved my padded crotch forward. The satin stretched tight over the bulge.

My mind threw up one clean, ugly thought: if the people from work ever typed the right search phrase, this was the face they would find. Devon from product, diapered and hard, waiting for a woman to make him wet himself on a public feed.

I almost laughed. It came out as a sound too close to a sob.

Sloane smoothed my hair, then painted my mouth a soft rose with a lipstick she twisted open one-handed. She did not ask. She never asked. The brush of her thumb on my lower lip made my cock jump again, and the wand shifted with it, a dull pressure that promised worse.

“Say it,” she said.

I knew which line she wanted. The stream title was already typed in the go-live screen on her second phone. Sissy baby gets kept and cared for. Rules night. Diaper check. My stomach dropped every time I read it.

“I am Mommy’s little girl,” I said. The words scraped. “I follow the routine.”

“And if you break a rule?”

“You take care of me in front of them.”

Her eyes warmed. Approval landed harder than any slap. My thighs shook.

She opened the stream.

The soft chime of viewers joining filled the quiet room. Numbers climbed in the corner of the phone. Forty. Then eighty. Chat started scrolling before I could catch a full breath.

Sloane turned the main camera toward me and sat just out of full frame, one hand on my thigh, the other holding her phone where I could see the comments if she angled it.

“Say good evening, baby.”

“G-good evening.” My voice was thin. The diaper made a soft noise when I adjusted on my heels. Chat exploded in laughing emojis and filth. Someone typed crinkle king. Someone else typed make her use it.

Sloane read that one aloud, calm as weather.

“They want to see you wet, little one.” Her nails traced the waistband. “You have been holding it since dinner. Mommy checked.”

I had. She had watched me drink the water. Two full bottles. Then she had locked the bathroom and put the key in her bra.

“Please.” The word slipped out before I could cage it. “Not on stream. After. Offline. I will do anything offline.”

“You will do anything either way.” She kissed the corner of my painted mouth. “That is what safe and small means in this house. You do not get to pick the room.”

The need in my bladder spiked. Heat flooded my face. My cock stayed rigid in the wet-ready padding, throbbing in time with my pulse, and the wrongness of that, hard while I nearly pissed myself, made my throat close.

Sloane opened the app and thumbed the intensity slider.

The wand woke under the diaper.

A low, steady buzz hit the root of my cock and the tender strip of skin behind. My back arched. The cuffs bit my wrists. A broken sound left me that the mic caught clean. Chat spiked. I saw the word pretty and the word pathetic in the same second and both of them went straight to my dick.

“Breathe,” Sloane said. “Use your words if you need to go.”

I shook my head. Pride, or the scrap of it I still dragged around. She turned the wand up one notch. The vibration thickened. My hips rolled without leave, grinding the thick crotch of the diaper against nothing, seeking friction like an animal.

“Look at the camera,” she said.

I did. Rose mouth. Wet eyes. Grown man in pink satin with a full, crinkling bulk between his legs and a remote toy milking him on a public feed. The version of me who closed sprint tickets and argued about architecture in meetings lived a thin life compared to this. That thought should have killed the heat. It fed it.

Sloane’s free hand slid under the back of the shorts and pressed two fingers to the tape at the rear of the diaper, testing. Clinical. Caregiver work. My ass clenched. She hummed.

“Still dry. Good boy. Good girl. Both, tonight.” She nipped my ear. “Tell them what you are.”

“I am…” The wand pulsed. My cock jerked and leaked. “I am Mommy’s sissy baby. I wear diapers. I stay small for her.”

“And you like it.”

The resistance rose clean and hard, a flash of the man who used to jerk off in private and call it enough. You are going to come in a wet diaper on camera for strangers, and you will still want her to call you good after. I tried to swallow it down. It stuck.

“I like it,” I whispered.

“Louder.”

“I like it.”

Sloane smiled for the chat and turned the wand higher.

The buzz climbed into a thick, relentless thrum right under the head of my cock through the padding. My thighs shook open. Precome soaked a warm patch at the front. The need to piss stacked on top of it until I could not sort which pressure would break first. Tears spilled without drama. Just wet tracks through the light powder she had dusted on my cheeks.

“Mommy,” I gasped. “I am going to… I need to go. Please let me off camera. Please.”

“No.” Soft. Final. “You go where you are. That is diaper care, baby girl. That is the routine.” Her palm cupped the front of me, holding the bulk, guiding. “Push. Let go. Then Mommy is going to take that hard little cock out and show them how pretty you spurt when you are already wet and ruined.”

My whole body locked.

Chat was a blur of demands. The wand kept grinding. Her hand stayed firm on the soaked-ready padding, a promise and a threat in the same grip. My hole clenched around nothing. My cock kicked. The first hot trickle escaped before I could stop it, a thin line of heat blooming in the front of the diaper, and the sound I made was pure surrender and pure panic braided into one raw note.

Sloane’s eyes darkened with pure hunger.

“There we go,” she said, almost tender, and thumbed the wand to its highest setting as the trickle became a stream I could no longer hold. “Now keep your eyes on the lens. Mommy is going to open you up while they watch. And you are going to thank every person in this room when you come.”

Her fingers hooked the side tapes of the diaper.