Curses are real.

For the longest time, I’ve been under the spell of a curse that has defined my entire life. Don’t ask me how I got it, because I couldn’t tell you. All that I know is that I discovered that I was cursed on my eighteenth birthday, when I tried to have sex for the first time some random guy I met at a bar. His name was Harry and I know this because of what happened next.

There we were, him grinding on top of me as we both inched closer and closer to climax. However, just as I was on the very edge, there was a bright flash of light and Harry disappeared. In his place was an incredibly thick diaper now taped around my sex, Harry’s name written across the waistband.

Even as drunk as I was, I started to panic. I tried desperately to remove the tapes, but no matter how much I struggled, they refused to come free. During all this, I was still incredibly horny and all my jerking a twisting around had only worsened my need for release. Seeing no other option, I grabbed the front of the diaper furiously rubbed myself through it, the sound of crinkling plastic filling the room.

Finally, I orgasmed into the diaper that had once been Harry, flopping back on to the bed exhausted. Tired, I drifted asleep, still wearing that diaper. 

The very next morning, I awoke to find Harry sleeping next me, still soaked in the juices of last night’s session. Careful as to not awaken him, I slipped out of bed, gathered up my clothes and raced out of his home.

So, that’s my curse. Every time I have sex, my partner is transformed into a diaper that I am then compelled to orgasm into. Even worse, I have found that that’s now the only way I can get it off, and it’s even better if I use the diaper first. 

However, that doesn’t keep me from picking up guys from the club, I just have to make sure i take them to my place instead, like my recent addition, George. I can already feel myself reaching the edge as I finish releasing my bladder, just a… few… more… rubs… Aaaahhhh…