Chapter 3
L ouisa
Jax’s bodyguards—Rudy and Mateo—were efficient and professional as they escorted me from Walker’s apartment.
They wrapped me in a soft blanket before leading me through a private service elevator to a waiting black SUV with tinted windows.
Neither spoke beyond giving me basic instructions, and I was too shocked to resist or even ask questions.
The collar around my neck felt like an anchor.
I’d been sold. Like property. Like a fucking pet.
The drive was short, maybe fifteen minutes through downtown streets.
I stared out the window, watching normal people living their normal lives, wondering irrationally if any of them could tell what was happening inside this vehicle.
A college girl who’d made one bad decision after another, now being transported to some rich pervert’s lair with his cum drying on her face.
We pulled into an underground garage beneath a sleek high-rise that I recognized as one of the most expensive buildings in the city. Mateo opened my door and helped me out with surprising gentleness.
“This way, miss,” he said, guiding me toward another private elevator.
“Where exactly are we going?” I finally asked, my voice sounding small and broken even to my own ears.
“Mr. Walton’s penthouse,” Rudy answered, pressing his thumb against a biometric scanner beside the elevator door. “Well, Daddy Jax to you. Top three floors of the building.”
Of course this fucker had a penthouse. Three floors of one, apparently.
The elevator ascended silently, opening directly into a vast foyer with gleaming marble floors and artwork that probably cost more than four years of the college education I’d never finish now.
Rudy led me through what seemed like an endless series of rooms, each more opulent than the last. The place was like a museum—cold, perfect, untouchable.
Finally, we entered what was clearly the master bedroom.
The space was dominated by an enormous bed with a dark wood frame that looked sturdy enough to withstand a hurricane—or whatever kinky shit my new ‘owner’—I swallowed hard…
my new daddy— had planned. The sheets were charcoal gray, the comforter a slightly lighter shade, everything coordinated in masculine neutrals.
“Please sit on the edge of the bed,” Mateo instructed.
I obeyed, too numb to fight. The blanket slipped open, exposing my nakedness, but I couldn’t even summon the energy to care anymore.
“Arms out, please,” Rudy said, producing what looked like pink leather cuffs from a drawer in the nightstand.
“Is this really necessary?” I asked, but extended my wrists anyway. What was the point of resistance now?
“Your daddy’s instructions were very specific,” Mateo replied, fastening the cuffs around my wrists.
They were lined with some soft material that prevented them from chafing, which somehow made the whole thing worse.
My captor—another swallow, another involuntary mental correction…
my daddy— had invested in quality restraints.
This wasn’t a whim for him; this clearly represented a lifestyle.
They attached the cuffs to each other with metal clips, then to the bedpost with a short chain, positioning me so I was sitting on the edge of the mattress with my bound hands in my naked lap. I felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly helpless.
“Now we need to clean you up,” Rudy said, disappearing into what I assumed was an en-suite bathroom. He returned with a basin of warm water and a soft cloth.
“Please,” I whispered as Mateo held my hair back and Rudy began to gently wash my body. “What’s going to happen to me?”
The men exchanged a glance, some unspoken communication passing between them.
“It’s not our place to say, miss,” Mateo finally answered. “Your daddy will explain as much as he wants you to know, when he arrives.”
“But… what kind of man is he?” I pressed, desperate for any information that might help me understand my situation or plan an escape.
They continued washing me in silence, carefully avoiding my face where Jax’s cum was still drying in tacky streaks.
The gentle way they cleaned between my legs made me want to die of shame.
When they finished, Rudy set the basin aside while Mateo combed my hair, working through the tangles with surprising care.
“How many other girls has he… acquired?” I asked, the word sticking in my throat.
Another glance between them.
“You should save your questions for your daddy,” Rudy said, his tone gentle but firm.
“Please,” I begged, hating the desperation in my voice. “Just tell me something. Anything.”
Mateo sighed, finishing with my hair. “Look, all I’ll say is this: the boss has always been right so far.”
“Right about what?”
“About which girls need what he gives them,” Rudy elaborated. “The ones he puts in the pink collar… they always end up…” He trailed off, uncomfortable.
“They end up what?” I demanded.
“Happier,” Mateo finished. “Even when they fight it at first.”
I opened my mouth to tell them they were delusional, that I would never be ‘happy’ as some sicko’s sex slave, but a more pressing concern suddenly made itself known.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I said, feeling my cheeks flush.
The men looked at each other again, and then both chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” I snapped.
“That’s not how it works here,” Rudy said, moving to a dresser on the far wall. He opened a drawer and removed what looked like a thick white cloth.
My blood ran cold as I realized what it was.
“No,” I whispered. “No way.”
“Daddy Jax’s rules,” Mateo explained, as if that settled everything. “Little girls who belong to Daddy use diapers when he’s not around to take them to the potty.”
“I am not wearing a diaper,” I told them.
“That’s not your decision to make,” Rudy replied calmly, unfolding the diaper on the bed beside me. “You can cooperate, or we can restrain you further, but either way, this is happening.”
I stared at the thick white cloth, my mind reeling with the implications. This wasn’t just about sex or ownership—this was about complete control, about stripping away every last shred of my adult dignity. The thought made my stomach twist with revulsion.
And yet, to my absolute horror, I felt a treacherous pulse between my legs.
“Please,” I whispered, hating how pathetic I sounded. “I’m not a child. I just need to use the toilet.”
“We’d lose our jobs if we let you,” Mateo said, his tone almost apologetic. “Your daddy was very clear about the rules.”
I looked between them, searching for any sign of sympathy or weakness I could exploit. Finding none, I slumped in defeat.
“Fine,” I muttered. “Just… make it quick.”
They unclipped my wrists from the bedpost, but kept them bound together as they positioned me on my back. Rudy lifted my hips while Mateo slid the diaper beneath me. The material felt soft against my burning backside, a small mercy I hadn’t expected.
“Legs up,” Rudy instructed.
I reluctantly raised my knees toward my chest, exposing myself completely.
Mateo sprinkled baby powder over my most intimate areas, the scent sweet and infantilizing.
My cheeks burned hotter than my spanked bottom as they worked together to secure the thick padding between my thighs, taping it snugly around my hips.
The diaper was bulky and unmistakable, making it impossible to close my legs properly. When they helped me sit up again, I could feel its thickness with every slight movement, a constant reminder of my new status.
“There we go,” Mateo said, reattaching my cuffs to the bedpost. “All ready for when your daddy arrives.”
They gathered their supplies and moved toward the door.
“Wait,” I called, panic rising in my chest at the thought of being left alone. “How long until… until he comes?”
“Whenever he finishes his business with your former associates,” Rudy answered. “Could be minutes, could be hours.”
“But I—” I bit my lip, the pressure in my bladder becoming increasingly uncomfortable. “What if I really need to go before he gets here?”
The men exchanged another of their looks.
“Then you use what you’re wearing,” Mateo said simply. “That’s what it’s for.”
Before I could protest further, they left, closing the door behind them with a soft click that somehow sounded more final than a slam would have.
I was alone in my new owner’s bedroom.
My new daddy’s bedroom.
No. Just, no: not my owner, let alone my daddy.
My new daddy… he put me in a collar. He put me in a diaper.
Collared, diapered, and bound to his bed. A tiny sob escaped my chest.
I tried to shift into a more comfortable position, but the diaper made it impossible. Its bulk forced my thighs apart, reminding me with every movement of my complete helplessness. I couldn’t even cross my legs properly to ease the growing pressure in my bladder.
For a while, I focused on studying my surroundings, searching for anything that might help me escape or at least understand my situation better.
Everything looked expensive, but minimal—no clutter, no personal photos, nothing to reveal the man who had purchased me.
Just sleek furniture, abstract art, and what looked suspiciously like discreet anchor points built into various surfaces. The kind that could secure restraints.
My bladder throbbed painfully as time passed.
I squeezed my muscles tight, determined not to give in.
Using a diaper was a line I refused to cross.
It would make this nightmare too real, too complete.
As long as I maintained this one small act of defiance, I could tell myself I hadn’t truly surrendered.
But my body had other ideas. As another wave of pressure built, I involuntarily leaked a small amount of pee. I gasped, clenching every muscle in desperation.
“No, no, no,” I whispered, tears pricking my eyes. “I’m not doing this.”
I tried to focus on anything else—the pattern in the ceiling, the distant sounds of the city below, the lingering taste of Jax in my mouth. But my bladder screamed for relief, and another small leak escaped despite my efforts.
The warm wetness spread slightly in the thick padding between my legs. To my horror, the sensation wasn’t entirely unpleasant. The release of pressure brought momentary relief, and the diaper absorbed the moisture instantly, keeping me dry against my skin.
“This isn’t happening,” I muttered, trying to hold back tears. “This is just a fucked-up nightmare.”
But it was happening. I was here, in this strange man’s penthouse, wearing a diaper that I was slowly wetting despite my best efforts.
I had been purchased like property, my former boyfriend hadn’t even hesitated to sell me, and worst of all, my traitorous body had responded to every humiliation with shameful arousal.
Another leak escaped, larger this time. I whimpered, squeezing my eyes shut.
Just then, I heard the bedroom door open. My eyes flew open to see Jax—my ‘daddy’—standing in the doorway, watching me with those penetrating gray eyes. He’d removed his suit jacket and loosened his tie, but otherwise looked exactly as he had at Walker’s apartment. Powerful. Dangerous. In control.
He smiled, clearly recognizing my predicament. “Is my little girl wetting her diaper?”
The childish language made me cringe with humiliation. I pressed my thighs together as much as the bulky diaper would allow, desperate to hide what was happening.
“I’m not,” I lied, even as another leak escaped. My cheeks burned with shame, and I couldn’t meet his eyes.
Jax approached the bed with unhurried confidence, each step deliberate as a predator stalking its prey. He stopped directly in front of me, close enough that I could smell his expensive cologne.
“Look at Daddy when you lie to him,” he commanded, his voice deceptively soft.
I forced myself to raise my eyes, hating how easily I obeyed him.
“I’m not…” I began again, but the words died in my throat as my bladder finally surrendered completely. The warm rush of release flooded the diaper, and there was no hiding it now. The soft material swelled between my thighs, and the distinct hissing sound filled the quiet room.
“There we go,” Jax said, his expression softening into something almost tender. “Good girl, letting go for Daddy.”
I wanted to die. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. Instead, I sat there on the edge of his massive bed, restrained and helpless, as my bladder emptied itself into the diaper he’d ordered his men to put on me.
“I didn’t mean to,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face. “I tried to hold it.”
“Of course you did,” he replied, reaching out to stroke my hair. “Little girls always think they can be big girls, until they can’t.” His fingers trailed down to caress my cheek, carefully avoiding the dried evidence of our earlier encounter. “How does it feel?”
The question caught me off guard. How did it feel? Humiliating. Degrading. Infantilizing.
And yet…
“Warm,” I admitted in a small voice. “And… not as awful as I thought it would be.”
Jax smiled, a genuine expression that transformed his severe features. “Honesty. That’s what I want from you, Little Lulu. Always.”
He moved to sit beside me on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. With gentle hands, he checked the diaper, pressing the front to gauge how wet it was. The pressure made me gasp.
“You needed that badly, didn’t you?” he asked, his voice taking on that strange paternal tone that confused my emotions. “Poor little thing, all full up and not allowed to go to the bathroom. Now you need a change, I think. Go ahead and ask Daddy to change your diaper.”