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Sissy Room
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Posts
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By rusty pins · Posted
Maybe some frozen fried rice I have in the freezer. I may make Jambalaya again from a Zatarin's box mix I have. I cleaned out one of the freezers and wasn't aware of how much frozen shrimp I had. That and some Eckrich smoked sausage should work. -
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By rusty pins · Posted
No, you are not weird! I kept reading on the forums here how much people raved about them, so I decided to try a package. I didn't like them either. The plastic was too thick like you said, and I hated the fit. I know some people were very disappointed that they stopped making them, but I think most of them went on to find better diapers anyway. You hardly ever hear anyone mention them anymore. -
By rusty pins · Posted
I don't pay attention to Youtube ads. I watch Youtube for movies, old TV shows and other things. When an ad comes on, I watch the counter in the lower right corner for the "SKIP" to come up, then I SKIP! -
By sissysusie1 · Posted
The nursery was a symphony of soft pinks and whites, a world of satin and lace that smelled of baby powder and plastic. In the center of it, standing unsteadily on thickly padded feet, was Daisy. Once David, a husband, a man with a career and a checking account, he now lived in a perpetual, crinkling twilight of infancy. His reflection in the full-length mirror was a testament to his wife Sarah’s total victory: a frilly, pale pink satin dress that barely covered the matching high-waisted knickers beneath. Over those knickers, the semi-clear plastic pants rustled with every slight movement, a constant, humiliating reminder of the terry cloth nappy they contained. His blonde hair, grown out and curled, was tied with pink satin ribbons. A large, silicone dummy pacified his mouth, bobbing gently as he sucked. It hadn’t happened overnight. Sarah’s discovery of his secret—the hidden diapers, the baby clothes, the clandestine visits to dominatrices—had been seismic. But her reaction was not the expected earthquake of divorce. It was a glacier, cold, deliberate, and all-consuming. She researched, she understood, and then she annexed his entire existence. Promises to stop were, as she rightly deduced, worthless. So she didn’t ask him to stop. She made it his only reality. She took his credit cards, his car keys, his trousers, and finally, his manhood. Sex between them was over. “You can make love to your diapers,” she’d said, her voice sweet yet firm, the voice of a mother stating an immutable fact. Then came Jake. Jake was a colleague from Sarah’s firm, tall, broad-shouldered, with a confident grin that didn’t need to ask for permission. Sarah discovered his… endowment quite by delightful accident. Eight inches, thick as her wrist, a proper man’s tool. The night she brought him home to “meet her baby girl,” Daisy’s world shrank to the size of a crib. “Dis is Jake, my widdle Daisy-doll,” Sarah cooed, leading the giant of a man into the nursery. “Jake, dis is my baby girl. Say hello, Daisy.” Daisy, from his place on the plush rug, could only stare, the dummy falling slack in his mouth. Jake looked down, a slow smile spreading. “Well, hello there, little one. Aren’t you dressed pretty?” That was the end of David the husband. What remained was Daisy, a full-time sissy babygirl and a cuckold. His own equipment, a source of secret shame long before his transformation, was now a public joke. At just under three inches and thin, it resembled a toddler’s nub more than a man’s penis. Sarah loved to point it out. “See, girls?” she’d say later, when her two closest friends, Melissa and Chloe, came over for wine. Daisy would be laid out on the changing table in the living room, his short, sheer babydoll nightie rucked up around his chest. The nightie’s matching frilly knickers, plastic-lined and crinkly, were pulled down. “This is all my widdle man has. Isn’t it teeny-weeny? Just a little button.” Her friends would lean in, giggling, as Sarah expertly wiped and powdered him. “And Jake,” Sarah would continue, her eyes glazing with remembered pleasure, “Jake is so big. He fills me up so completely, makes mommy feel so good. He makes mommy scream.” The women would laugh, and Daisy would feel a hot rush of shame that, confusingly, twisted into a pathetic, damp throb in his tiny, imprisoned erection. The nights were the crucible of his cuckolding. After his bedtime bottle and a story read in a patronizing singsong, Sarah would tuck him into his crib with its high, white bars. She’d dim the lights, leaving the door to the master bedroom wide open. “Nini-time, Daisy-doll. Sweet dreams.” Then the sounds would begin. The deep, murmuring voice of Jake. Sarah’s low, throaty laugh. The creak of the bed. Then, the wet, rhythmic slapping, a fleshy percussion that grew faster, harder. Sarah’s cries would start as gasps, then become sharp, pleading whimpers, then ascend to full-throated, sobbing wails of ecstasy. “Oh, GOD, Jake! Yes! Right there! So DEEP! You’re stretching me so good!” Daisy would lie frozen in his crib, his frilly knickers growing damp for a different reason, his face burning with humiliation and a desperate, voyeuristic arousal. He was forced to listen to his beautiful, sexy wife being taken apart by a real man, to hear her pleasure so intense it sounded like pain, to know he could never, ever come close to giving her that. Sometimes, Sarah would position his crib at a specific angle, or leave the connecting door ajar, granting him a sliver of a view. He’d see the powerful muscles of Jake’s back working, see Sarah’s legs wrapped around him, her head thrashing on the pillows. The sight of her complete surrender, the sheer carnal physics of it, was more devastating than any words. The introduction of the babysitter, Kelsey, a bubbly 19-year-old, added a new layer. Kelsey often stayed over, ostensibly to “watch the baby” while Sarah and Jake went out, but often just to be another witness. She understood the dynamic immediately and leaned into it with cruel, youthful glee. During nappy changes, she’d giggle uncontrollously. “Oh my gosh, is that it?” she’d chirp, pointing at the tiny, helpless erection that sometimes appeared. “That’s so cute! Like a little gummy worm!” She’d tickle his inner thighs, making him squirm. “Do you like listening to your mommy get properly fucked? Hmm? Does the widdle cucky-baby like that?” One night, as the familiar sounds echoed from the master suite, Kelsey came into the nursery. She sat on the edge of the crib, her hand casually rubbing the crinkly plastic over Daisy’s frilly knickers. “Sounds like Jake’s giving her a really good time tonight,” she whispered, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Bet you wish that was you, don’t you? But you’re just a baby. Babies don’t get to do that. They just get to listen.” Daisy could only suck harder on his dummy, tears of utter submission welling in his eyes. The humiliation was total. It was his air, his food, his entire universe. He was Daisy, Sarah’s sissy babygirl cuckold, dressed in frills and lace, listening to the sounds of his replacement, his tiny insignificance the foundation upon which Sarah’s powerful, sexual happiness was built. He had wanted to be a baby, and she had granted his wish in the most dominant, final way possible: by making him a perpetual spectator to the adult world from which he was forever banished, a world of deep, penetrating pleasure that echoed through the halls, a pleasure he could never give, and could now only overhear from the prison of his crib.
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