Story and Art Forum

Maddison hugged Camilla tighter and said, "I don't want to leave daycare, it's one of the happiest places for me, I even met someone special, Emilly." Maddison didn't think about it anymore, deciding to say, "I'm not going to think about it anymore, Mommy..." Maddison's stomach rumbled and she said, "Actually, I want to think about that delicious dinner."

When i was still working I really didn't care for standard time in the winter, largely because I ended up working a lot of weekends besides the full week. In this latitude (Seattle-Tacoma area) what that meant was that I'd leave for work in the dark and get home in the dark, sometimes going for a couple of weeks without ever seeing the house of the cars in daylight. To me that was a drag. Now that I'm retired I don't care so much.

Looks like the new GoSupreme Max pull-ups are now in stock in all sizes! I have a bag on the way, they are great! https://tidd.ly/4gXviW8

The gentle head rubs and cuddling of Ana broke down Alice and the little baby girl started to cry. meanwhile in the upstairs bathroom another baby girl was crying. Camilla gently picked Madison up and carried her over the toilet, Camilla sat down and sat Madison in her lap. "Oh Maddison I'm absolutely proud of you, you are such a good big baby girl, I know it must have felt scary having to use that, but you were able to help Alice and I don't want you to have to give up daycare, I can see how absolutely happy it makes you. It's going to be a little difficult for both you and Alice you were  big girls who thought you were adults in a big scary world and you have a lot of feelings you have to get out, but that's why your mommies are here to help you, and even those you are toddler teen you did a fantastic job as a big sister for little Alice." Still Maddison thought it would be a better idea to leave daycare, but Camilla wasn't having it and gave out a quick slap on her bottom which made the toddler team yelp, "Now stop that talk young lady daycare is exactly where you belong, you've been such a good girl today I don't want to have to give my little princess as a good spanking like Alice got."

The boxes arrived on a Tuesday afternoon, stacked in a leaning tower by the front door. Larry watched from the living room window, his heart doing a nervous little flutter against his ribs. He saw Amy’s car pull up, heard her cheerful curse as she wrestled the largest box inside. “It’s like Christmas,” she called out, her voice bright with determined love. “Our very weird, very specific Christmas.” For weeks, they had talked about it. Late at night, in the dark sanctuary of their bed, Larry had whispered his secret—a yearning not for pain or power, but for a profound, helpless softness. To be small. To be cared for. To be… a baby. Amy had listened, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest. She’d asked questions, her tone clinical yet kind. Did he want diapers? A bottle? A crib? With each hesitant ‘yes,’ she’d nodded, kissed his forehead, and said, “Okay, my love. We can do okay.” Now, the ‘okay’ was here, in cardboard and plastic wrap. They started that evening. The nursery was their second bedroom, stripped of its guest-bed trappings. Amy assembled the white-washed crib with an engineer’s focus, her brow furrowed. Larry, feeling oversized and absurd in his adult sweatpants, handed her screws. “Almost there,” she murmured, more to the instruction manual than to him. When it was done, she opened a box labeled ‘Clothing.’ What emerged wasn’t the simple, primary-colored cotton he’d vaguely imagined. It was a cascade of pink. Pale, shell pink. Frills. Lace. Sheer nylon and some made in pale pink satin. “I… I might have gotten carried away,” Amy said, a faint blush on her cheeks. “I was looking for the right size, and then I found this site… it’s for… well, for sissies, I guess. It just seemed so… pretty.” She held up a pair of plastic pants, the kind meant to cover cloth diapers. They were a transparent, shiny pale pink, edged in tight elastics . Next came the knickers—sheer pale pink nylon with a delicate floral pattern, lined with a thin, crinkly plastic, adorned front and back with lavish tiers of matching lace ruffles. “They’re like something from a vintage doll catalogue,” she breathed, almost to herself giggling. Larry’s mouth went dry. This was several leagues beyond his whispered fantasies. It was terrifying. It was exquisite. “Let’s get you dressed, sweetie,” Amy said, her voice shifting into a new register—softer, higher, maternal yet firm. The process was a ritual. First, the fluffy white cloth diaper, pinned snugly around his hips with giant, old-fashioned safety pins topped with little pink roses. The crinkle of the plastic pants  as she pulled them up was deafening in the quiet room. Then the frilly pink plastic lined pants, the lace tickling the tops of his thighs. A pale pink sheer nighhtie , covered in tiny embroidered roses, edged in matching lace  . She added mittens—soft, pink satin mittens that rendered his hands useless—and tied a frily matching satin  bonnet under his chin with a satin ribbon. Finally, she propped him before the full-length mirror they’d leaned against the wall. A stranger stared back. A giant, pink, frilled infant. His face, still masculine with its thirty-eight-year-old stubble, looked utterly lost under the lace-edged bonnet. A hot wave of shame washed over him, followed immediately by a dizzying, deep-seated calm. This was it. This was the vulnerability he craved. “My beautiful baby girl,” Amy whispered, kneeling beside him, her reflection smiling. “My Lucy-Lou.” The name settled over him like a second skin. Larry receded. Lucy-Lou blinked back from the mirror. That first night, she gave him a bottle of warm milk, laced with a drop of honey. He sucked on the large, silicone nipple, eyes closed, while Amy read a children’s book about bunnies. Afterward, she tucked a pacifier into his mouth and laid him in the crib. The bars felt both imprisoning and profoundly safe. The frilly, sheer pink baby-doll nightie only covered the top half of his frilly knickers ,she took a worn teddy bear and placed it into the crook of his arm. “Goodnight, Lucy-Lou,” she sang softly, and turned off the light. In the dark, Lucy-Lou sucked rhythmically on the pacifier, the crinkle of her plastic pants the only sound. She felt her body, swaddled in softness. And she felt, with a sharp, undeniable clarity, the tiny nub of her arousal, trapped beneath the layers of cloth and plastic. It was a pathetic, insistent little throb. A baby’s dick. The thought made her face burn with humiliation even as the warmth spread. She’d always been small—less than three inches when hard, which was rarely with any conviction—but swaddled like this, it felt microscopic. Inconsequential ,medically known asa micro penis . Amy knew he was well below avarage in size and over the years had lerned to accept it . The next morning during the first diaper change. Lucy-Lou lay on the changing mat, legs raised, exposed. Amy, wearing rubber gloves, wiped her clean with efficient strokes. Her eyes flicked down, and she paused. A tiny, pink protrusion, no bigger than her  thumb-tip, stood stiffly against Lucy-Lou’s stomach. “Oh, look at you,” Amy said, her voice not unkind, but observational. “All excitedare we you like your pretty baby clothes ?” She didn’t touch it. She simply powdered the area, pinned  a fresh cloth nappy closed, and redid the frilly plastic pants. But her touch was quicker, cooler. Later, over coffee (for her, a bottle for Lucy-Lou), Amy was quiet, pensive. The seed was planted. The care was still there, meticulous and thorough. But a distance had opened. Amy would dress Lucy-Lou in increasingly elaborate outfits: pink satin short frilly dresses  dresses with puffed sleeves, short pink or lemon sheer nighties with lace yoke inserts, bonnets with ribbons that she’d tie in bows atop Lucy-Lou’s grown-out hair. She’d take pictures sometimes, cooing, “What a pretty girl!” But her eyes, when they met Lucy-Lou’s, held a complex new calculus. The phone call with Janice happened a week later. Lucy-Lou, playing with blocks on a blanket in the nursery, heard Amy’s voice through the wall, low and urgent. “…just doesn’t do anything for me, Janice. It’s like… nothing is there ..its..usless. He’s my baby now. And I love my baby. But I’m a woman. I have needs… No, you don’t understand. It’s  really tiny. Like a little bean… I know, I know…cheat on him  ..no  I couldn't do that despite the recent opportunities  ...no.  What? Cuckolding? God, that’s… is that cruel? …No, .mmmmm  ... yes  suppose you’re right. He wanted this. He wanted to be helpless… Maybe he needs to see what a real man is like. To understand his place…I do iss having a decent sex life ” Lucy-Lou dropped a block, the plastic clattering on the hardwood. Her heart hammered against the tight confines of her dress. Shame and a sick, thrilling terror coiled in her stomach.His tiny penis began to stiffen . Janice came over the next day. She was Amy’s oldest friend, brash and loud, with a humiliating teasing  laugh. She took one look at Lucy-Lou, swaddled in frills and sitting in a specially sized high chair being fed mashed bananas by Amy, and burst out laughing. “Holy hell, Amy! You weren’t kidding! She’s adorable!” Janice squatted down, eye-level. “Aren’t you? Aren’t you just the prettiest little sissy baby? Who’s a good girl?” She pinched Lucy-Lou’s cheek, hard enough to make her eyes water.Janice was a slender attactive woman in her early forties with lovely long light brown hair .Lucy-Lou had always found her sexy in those short skirts and right now he could see her panties, a glimps of cream colured satin panties streching tight between her legs.He became aroused. “Janice has agreed to babysit sometimes,” Amy said, wiping Lucy-Lou’s chin. “When Mommy has to go out.” The ‘going out’ started soon after. Amy would come home late, her hair mussed, smelling of foreign cologne and something else—a musky, salty scent that clung to her skin. She’d became  happier and he noticed how much looser she felt  when they did have sex . She’d change Lucy-Lou’s nighttime nappy with brisk efficiency, her mind elsewhere humming a tune . Sometimes, she’d talk in baby talk to her babified  husband .She chose the right time to confess she was seeing someone during a napy change . “Mommy had a nice dinner,” she’d say, unpinning the soggy cloth. “With a friend from work. His name is Ben. He’s very tall. Very… strong.....and very big were it counts ” She’d glance down at Lucy-Lou’s inevitable, humiliating little hairless penis and watched it becoming quickly aroused  growing to full erection. Amy began to snigger “Nothing like you, my little Lucy-Lou. You’re my sweet, tiny ickle  baby girl . That’s all.” One night, Amy didn’t come home. Janice stayed over, sleeping in the master bedroom. Lucy-Lou cried in her crib, a silent, shaking cry behind her pacifier, until exhaustion took her. The ultimitate humiliation came a week later. Amy bathed Lucy-Lou in the kitchen sink, her movements tender. “Lucy-Lou,” she began, her voice gentle. “Mommy’s friend Ben… he’s going to be coming around to our home soon. He’s Mommy’s… special friend. You understand, don’t you? A little sissy girl like you needs a daddy sometimes. And since your… since you are my full time  baby now, Ben will be like your new daddy. He might be here when you go to sleep. You might hear things ...noises ...grown up noises coming from mummy's bedroom . But you must be a good girl and not make a fuss.” That Friday, Ben arrived. Lucy-Lou was in her playpen, dressed in a particularly frilly pink dress and matching frilly pink satin baby knickers , her plastic pants poking out from the leg openings  crinkling with every squirm. Ben was everything Amy had described: towering, broad-shouldered, with a thick beard and hands like shovels. He smelled of leather and clean sweat. He looked at Lucy-Lou, his expression a mixture of disbelief and dark amusement. “So this is the baby,” he boomed, his voice vibrating in Lucy-Lou’s bones. “This is Lucy-Lou,” Amy said, slipping her arm around Ben’s waist. She was glowing, vibrant in a way Larry had never seen. “Be nice.” Ben chuckled. “Oh, I’ll be nice. To you.” He cupped Amy’s face and kissed her, deep and possessive, right there in the living room. Lucy-Lou watched, a cold knot tightening in her stomach.He watched his stunning sexy wife locked in a passionate embrace ,Ben's hand slowly sliding up her short skirt until they reached her bottom .He lifted her skirt exposing her white silky pantied bottom and gave it a palyful slap .She giggled " ooohh naughty you  but please  not in front of the baby ..well not yet anyway"  That night, after Lucy-Lou was put to bed in her crib in the nursery, dressed in her fresh nappy and plastic lined pink frilly baby knickers and short pink babydoll nightie the sounds began . They started in the master bedroom next door —low murmurs, Amy’s giggle, the creak of bedsprings. Then Amy’s voice, rising in breathy sighs . Then soft sensual moans until the noises became much more audable with real, throaty, guttural moans that Lucy-Lou had never, ever heard from from his wife . “Oh god, Ben… yes… right there…god you feel soo bi” The rhythmic, visceral thump of a headboard against the wall. Thump. Thump. Thump...flesh on flesh slapping noises as Ben lay on top of Amy pounding his hugh thick cock in and out, streching her so deeply as she wrapped her long slender legs over his broad sholders .Amy began raking hhis back with her finger nails moanig louder and louder feeling every inc of hher lover has the oversized penis slammed into her cervix with each vigorous thrust  Lucy-Lou curled into a ball, the pacifier falling from her lips. She pressed her hands, still mittened, over her ears, but the crinkle of the plastic pants was louder. She could hear Ben’s voice, a low growl. “Take it, Amy. Take all of it. Fuck, you’re so tight…” A strange, agonizing thing happened in Lucy-Lou’s nappies and  frillies  . Her tiny penis, pathetic and insignificant, grew hard as a little pebble harder than she  could ever recall . Hot tears tracked down her cheeks, soaking into the lace of her bonnet. She was horrified. She was aroused. The two feelings were a twisted braid, inseparable. She was her wife’s sissy adult  baby, listening to her wife being taken apart by a real man. This was her place trapped in an oversized adult baby cot and cuckolded . This was her punishment. This was her reward. She couldn’t help it. One mittened hand crept down, under the layers of frilly nylon and crinkly plastic, through the leg opening she pulled at the  cloth nappy moving it so that she found access to the hot, slick little erect nub. She touched it. A jolt shot through her, part pleasure, part searing shame. She rubbed, frantic l like a woman would massage a clitoris , her breath hitching in sobs, as Amy’s cries crescendoed down the hall into a raw, shuddering scream of release ,Amy bucked herentire  body tremmbled and shook as wave after wave of pleasure hit her ,she sobbed and cried , the powerful orgasms were something she had longed for throughout her married life and suddenly retuned .The feeling of being filled up by someone so large ,so handsome  was intense . The next morning, the dynamic was set in stone. Amy changed Lucy-Lou’s soaked diaper—the evidence of her nocturnal… activities clear on the cloth. Amy didn’t comment. She just smiled, a knowing, almost pitying smile. “Did my baby have a busy night?” she cooed, pinning a fresh nappy  closed. “Listening to Mommy and Daddy Ben?” Janice’s niece, Megan, entered the scene soon after. She was a very cute blonde , eighteen, bored, and savagely mean. She thought babysitting “the freaky sissy” was the funniest thing imaginable. During changes, she’d point and laugh, a sharp, cruel sound. “Ew, look at it! It’s looks so tiny it belongs on a baby  ...! Does it even work?” Megan would say, while Janice chuckled, holding Lucy-Lou’s legs apart. “It gets hard, believe it or not,” Janice said, wiping efficiently. “Like a little bean. Pathetic especailly when his mummy is having sex with her boyfreind .” They began dressing Lucy-Lou in the most extreme outfits. A pink satin baby girls dress , yards of lace during the day . A sheer pink nylon nightie and sheer  frilly The boxes arrived on a Tuesday afternoon, stacked in a leaning tower by the front door. Larry watched from the living room window, his heart doing a nervous little flutter against his ribs. He saw Amy’s car pull up, heard her cheerful curse as she wrestled the largest box inside. “It’s like Christmas,” she called out, her voice bright with determined love. “Our very weird, very specific Christmas.” For weeks, they had talked about it. Late at night, in the dark sanctuary of their bed, Larry had whispered his secret—a yearning not for pain or power, but for a profound, helpless softness. To be small. To be cared for. To be… a baby. Amy had listened, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest. She’d asked questions, her tone clinical yet kind. Did he want diapers? A bottle? A crib? With each hesitant ‘yes,’ she’d nodded, kissed his forehead, and said, “Okay, my love. We can do okay.” Now, the ‘okay’ was here, in cardboard and plastic wrap. They started that evening. The nursery was their second bedroom, stripped of its guest-bed trappings. Amy assembled the white-washed crib with an engineer’s focus, her brow furrowed. Larry, feeling oversized and absurd in his adult sweatpants, handed her screws. “Almost there,” she murmured, more to the instruction manual than to him. When it was done, she opened a box labeled ‘Clothing.’ What emerged wasn’t the simple, primary-colored cotton he’d vaguely imagined. It was a cascade of pink. Pale, shell pink. Frills. Lace. Sheer nylon. “I… I might have gotten carried away,” Amy said, a faint blush on her cheeks. “I was looking for the right size, and then I found this site… it’s for… well, for sissies, I guess. It just seemed so… pretty.” She held up a pair of plastic pants, the kind meant to cover cloth diapers. They were a transparent, shiny pink, edged with a ruffle of white lace. Next came the knickers—sheer pale pink nylon with a delicate floral pattern, lined with a thin, crinkly plastic, adorned front and back with lavish tiers of matching lace ruffles. “They’re like something from a vintage doll catalogue,” she breathed, almost to herself. Larry’s mouth went dry. This was several leagues beyond his whispered fantasies. It was terrifying. It was exquisite. “Let’s get you dressed, sweetie,” Amy said, her voice shifting into a new register—softer, higher, maternal yet firm. The process was a ritual. First, the fluffy white cloth diaper, pinned snugly around his hips with giant, old-fashioned safety pins topped with little pink roses. The crinkle of the plastic-lined sheer knickers as she pulled them up was deafening in the quiet room. Then the frilly plastic pants, the lace tickling the tops of his thighs. A pale pink onesie, covered in tiny embroidered roses, its legs ending in footed cuffs. She added mittens—soft, pink mittens that rendered his hands useless—and tied a bonnet under his chin with a satin ribbon. Finally, she propped him before the full-length mirror they’d leaned against the wall. A stranger stared back. A giant, pink, frilled infant. His face, still masculine with its thirty-eight-year-old stubble, looked utterly lost under the lace-edged bonnet. A hot wave of shame washed over him, followed immediately by a dizzying, deep-seated calm. This was it. This was the vulnerability he craved. “My beautiful baby girl,” Amy whispered, kneeling beside him, her reflection smiling. “My Lucy-Lou.” The name settled over him like a second skin. Larry receded. Lucy-Lou blinked back from the mirror. That first night, she gave him a bottle of warm milk, laced with a drop of honey. He sucked on the large, silicone nipple, eyes closed, while Amy read a children’s book about bunnies. Afterward, she tucked a pacifier into his mouth and laid him in the crib. The bars felt both imprisoning and profoundly safe. She draped a frilly, sheer pink baby-doll nightie over him and placed a worn teddy bear in the crook of his arm. “Goodnight, Lucy-Lou,” she sang softly, and turned off the light. In the dark, Lucy-Lou sucked rhythmically on the pacifier, the crinkle of her plastic pants the only sound. She felt her body, swaddled in softness. And she felt, with a sharp, undeniable clarity, the tiny nub of her arousal, trapped beneath the layers of cloth and plastic. It was a pathetic, insistent little throb. A baby’s dick. The thought made her face burn with humiliation even as the warmth spread. She’d always been small—less than three inches when hard, which was rarely with any conviction—but swaddled like this, it felt microscopic. Inconsequential. Amy saw it too, the next morning during the first diaper change. Lucy-Lou lay on the changing mat, legs raised, exposed. Amy, wearing rubber gloves, wiped her clean with efficient strokes. Her eyes flicked down, and she paused. A tiny, pink protrusion, no bigger than a thumb-tip, stood stiffly against Lucy-Lou’s stomach. “Oh, look at you,” Amy said, her voice not unkind, but observational. “All excited for breakfast?” She didn’t touch it. She simply powdered the area, taped a fresh cloth diaper closed, and redid the frilly plastic pants. But her touch was quicker, cooler. Later, over coffee (for her, a bottle for Lucy-Lou), Amy was quiet, pensive. The seed was planted. The care was still there, meticulous and thorough. But a distance had opened. Amy would dress Lucy-Lou in increasingly elaborate outfits: pink gingham dresses with puffed sleeves, nighties with lace yoke inserts, bonnets with ribbons that she’d tie in bows atop Lucy-Lou’s grown-out hair. She’d take pictures sometimes, cooing, “What a pretty girl!” But her eyes, when they met Lucy-Lou’s, held a complex new calculus. The phone call with Janice happened a week later. Lucy-Lou, playing with blocks on a blanket in the nursery, heard Amy’s voice through the wall, low and urgent. “…just doesn’t *do* anything for me, Janice. It’s like… nothing. He’s my baby now. And I love my baby. But I’m a woman. I have needs… No, you don’t understand. It’s *tiny*. Like a little bean… I know, I know… What? Cuckolding? God, that’s… is that cruel? …No, you’re right. He wanted this. He wanted to be helpless… Maybe he needs to see what a real man is like. To understand his place…” Lucy-Lou dropped a block, the plastic clattering on the hardwood. Her heart hammered against the tight confines of her onesie. Shame and a sick, thrilling terror coiled in her stomach. Janice came over the next day. She was Amy’s oldest friend, brash and loud, with a smoker’s laugh. She took one look at Lucy-Lou, swaddled in frills and sitting in a specially sized high chair being fed mashed bananas by Amy, and burst out laughing. “Holy hell, Amy! You weren’t kidding! She’s adorable!” Janice squatted down, eye-level. “Aren’t you? Aren’t you just the prettiest little sissy baby? Who’s a good girl?” She pinched Lucy-Lou’s cheek, hard enough to make her eyes water. “Janice has agreed to babysit sometimes,” Amy said, wiping Lucy-Lou’s chin. “When Mommy has to go out.” The ‘going out’ started soon after. Amy would come home late, her hair mussed, smelling of foreign cologne and something else—a musky, salty scent that clung to her skin. She’d be brighter, looser. She’d change Lucy-Lou’s nighttime diaper with brisk efficiency, her mind elsewhere. Sometimes, she’d talk. “Mommy had a nice dinner,” she’d say, unpinning the soggy cloth. “With a friend from work. His name is Ben. He’s very tall. Very… strong.” She’d glance down at Lucy-Lou’s inevitable, humiliating little erection. “Nothing like you, my little Lucy-Lou. You’re my sweet, tiny baby. That’s all.” One night, Amy didn’t come home. Janice stayed over, sleeping in the master bedroom. Lucy-Lou cried in her crib, a silent, shaking cry behind her pacifier, until exhaustion took her. The confession came a week later. Amy bathed Lucy-Lou in the kitchen sink, her movements tender. “Lucy-Lou,” she began, her voice gentle. “Mommy’s friend Ben… he’s going to be coming around more. He’s Mommy’s… special friend. You understand, don’t you? A big girl like you needs a daddy sometimes. And since your… since Daddy is my baby now, Ben will be like your new daddy. He might be here when you go to sleep. You might hear things. But you must be a good girl and not make a fuss.” That Friday, Ben arrived. Lucy-Lou was in her playpen, dressed in a particularly frilly pink dress and matching bloomers, her plastic pants crinkling with every squirm. Ben was everything Amy had described: towering, broad-shouldered, with a thick beard and hands like shovels. He smelled of leather and clean sweat. He looked at Lucy-Lou, his expression a mixture of disbelief and dark amusement. “So this is the baby,” he boomed, his voice vibrating in Lucy-Lou’s bones. “This is Lucy-Lou,” Amy said, slipping her arm around Ben’s waist. She was glowing, vibrant in a way Larry had never seen. “Be nice.” Ben chuckled. “Oh, I’ll be nice. To you.” He cupped Amy’s face and kissed her, deep and possessive, right there in the living room. Lucy-Lou watched, a cold knot tightening in her stomach. That night, after Lucy-Lou was put to bed in her crib in the nursery, the sounds began. They started in the master bedroom down the hall—low murmurs, Amy’s giggle, the creak of bedsprings. Then Amy’s voice, rising in breathy sighs. Then moans. Real, throaty, guttural moans that Lucy-Lou had never, ever heard from her. “Oh god, Ben… yes… right there…” The rhythmic, visceral thump of a headboard against the wall. *Thump. Thump. Thump.* Lucy-Lou curled into a ball, the pacifier falling from her lips. She pressed her hands, still mittened, over her ears, but the crinkle of the plastic pants was louder. She could hear Ben’s voice, a low growl. “Take it, Amy. Take all of it. Fuck, you’re so tight…” A strange, agonizing thing happened in Lucy-Lou’s frilly bloomers. Her tiny penis, pathetic and insignificant, grew hard as a little pebble. Hot tears tracked down her cheeks, soaking into the lace of her bonnet. She was horrified. She was aroused. The two feelings were a twisted braid, inseparable. She was her wife’s baby, listening to her wife being taken apart by a real man. This was her place. This was her punishment. This was her reward. She couldn’t help it. One mittened hand crept down, under the layers of frilly nylon and crinkly plastic, through the slit in the cloth diaper. She found the hot, slick little nub. She touched it. A jolt shot through her, part pleasure, part searing shame. She rubbed, frantic and small, her breath hitching in sobs, as Amy’s cries crescendoed down the hall into a raw, shuddering scream of release. The next morning, the dynamic was set in stone. Amy changed Lucy-Lou’s soaked diaper—the evidence of her nocturnal… activities clear on the cloth. Amy didn’t comment. She just smiled, a knowing, almost pitying smile. “Did my baby have a busy night?” she cooed, taping a fresh diaper closed. “Listening to Mommy and Daddy Ben?” Janice’s niece, Megan, entered the scene soon after. She was eighteen, bored, and savagely mean. She thought babysitting “the freaky sissy” was the funniest thing imaginable. During changes, she’d point and laugh, a sharp, cruel sound. “Ew, look at it! It’s like a little button! Does it even work?” Megan would say, while Janice chuckled, holding Lucy-Lou’s legs apart. “It gets hard, believe it or not,” Janice said, wiping efficiently. “Like a little bean. Pathetic.” They began dressing Lucy-Lou in the most extreme outfits. A pink satin short  dress with yards of lace duringhe day . A sheer pale pink  nylon nightie with a matching sheer pink nylon ruffled baby girl knickers always with nappies and occasinally with added plastic pants for extar protection against leaks. They’d tie pink ribbons in her hair, forcing it into pigtails. They’d parade her in front of Ben when he was over, watching football. “Look at your little girl, Ben!” Megan would trill. Ben would glance over, grunt, and slap Amy’s backside as she brought him a beer. “Cute,” he’d say dismissively, his eyes already back on the game. The dismissal was more humiliating than any mockery. The pinnacle of the humiliation ritual involved Amy’s worn  underwear. After a night with Ben, Amy would peel off her white silk satin panties—flimsy, often damp with her own excitement or Ben’s release. She wouldn’t wash them. She’d bring them into the nursery, where Lucy-Lou would be waiting for her bedtime bottle and story . “Here, baby,” Amy would murmur, her eyes glinting. “Something to remember Mommy by.” She’d drape the damp, fragrant silk over Lucy-Lou’s face, like a veil. The scent was overpowering—Amy’s perfume, her musk, the tang of sex. It was the smell of her satisfaction, a satisfaction Lucy-Lou could never provide.Amy would sit by the cot feed her baby the bottle of warm milk and relay all the details of her new exciting sex life telling her infantalised sissy husband .Details of how Ben gives her such wonderful orgams .Amy  rubbing the front of the thick pink sheer nylon frilly  padded crotch of his sissy knickers, the crinkle of plastic pants , clear and loud renforcing his baby  status .Lucy -Lou   arched her back until finally cuming into the soft cloth nappy “Sleep tight, my cuckold baby girl.” Lucy-Lou would breathe in deeply, shame and devotion mixing in her gut. She’d suck her pacifier, the taste of silicone blending with the pungent, juicy aroma on the intimiate white satin silk. Her hand would invariably drift under the covers when hhis mummy wsn't present , finding that tiny, traitorous part of her. As she listened to the muffled sounds of Amy and Ben starting another round in the room down the hall—the groans, the slapping of flesh, Amy’s choked cries of “Yes, yes  oh fuck  god fuck me yes fuck me harder ...faster faster ! Give it to me hun give it to me ..I love your massive cock !”—Lucy-Lou would touch herself. Small, frantic circles on her babydick. The pleasure was acute, sharp, and deeply wrong. It was the only kind of climax available to her now: a tiny, shuddering pulse of release into her cloth diaper, accompanied by a flood of hot tears, a silent sob caught behind the pacifier and the satin pantied  mask  of her wife’s soiled panties. She was Lucy-Lou. She was a sissy. She was a cuckold. She was her stunning wife’s beloved, humiliated, baby girl. And in the dark, drinking in the proof of her own inadequacy, she finally felt complete.