Sissy Room

Holy thread resurrection!   You can be reported for anything. A responding police officer would use their judgement to make a decision, but if their decision was “arrest”, it would generally be thrown out of any court if it made it that far.  Doesn’t mean you couldn’t get hassled or embarrassed until it gets thrown out, though. 

SECOND CHAPTER OF THE DAY, HE'S GONE DONE-DONE IT AGAIN! FAP FAP FAP, I repeat, FAP FAP FAP, SECOND CHAPTER OF Wednesday October 14, 2026. Don't miss the above Chapter.   CHAPTER 26 The nursery door shut and he was alone with Amanda. Clamoring down the stairs. Front door open, front door shut. Car door open, car door shut. The engine note traveled through the window glass the way sounds do when you're horizontal and helpless — muffled, then clear, then gone. Jacob tracked it through the last quarter of his second bottle: Lana's car backing down Amanda's driveway, the pause of shifting into drive, the fading hum as she turned onto the cul-de-sac and he became someone else's problem, someone in a house across the way with a lawn and a life, and then nothing. Just the ceiling fan ticking. Just Amanda's heartbeat under his ear and the small wet sounds of his own suckling. *She left,* he thought. *She actually left me here.* "There he is," Amanda murmured above him, her fingers combing slowly through his hair. "There's my sleepy guy. All done?" The nipple slipped from his mouth with a soft *pop*. Amanda held the empty bottle up to the light, squinting at it like a jeweler appraising a stone, then set it on the side table with a decisive little clink. "All gone. Such a big drinker — Lana wasn't kidding. Okay, sweet baby. Nap time." *Nap time.* The words went through him with a peculiar double register: part dread, part — something warmer, something he refused to name, pooling low in his stomach alongside the milk. Being put down for a nap was nothing. He'd lain in beds before. But being *put down* by a woman who lived next door and had, until the women took him shopping the other morning, only ever waved at him over the fence — that was new territory, and every nerve in his body reported it as such. He didn't fight it. That was the part that frightened him most, in the quiet honest moments — and this was one, here in the lavender-smelling half dark, too tired and too milk-heavy for denial. He didn't fight it at all. He let Amanda ease him off her lap, let her stand him on the floor in nothing but his diaper, and followed her waddle-slow to the crib rail, thumb dragging along the bars. "Up we go. Upsy-daisy — oh, *look* at you," Amanda breathed, and there was something in her voice that wasn't quite teasing. "You are just the sweetest thing. Do you know that? Look at those big sleepy eyes." She lowered the rail and Jacob again found himself gazing at her breasts. Amanda didn’t seem to notice, turning back and swatting him on his padded bottom before placing her hand under him and pushing gently has she helped him over it, and then — this was the part that stuck — she didn't just deposit him. She *tucked* him. She arranged the blanket over him with both hands, smoothed it across his chest and seemingly flaunted her chest as both bosoms jiggled within inches of his face. She paid no mind to it and tucked the edges under his sides with little fussing motions, and then, evidently unable to help herself, selected a stuffed duck from the pile at the crib's foot and set it beside his head. "There. Mr. Quack-Quack can keep you company." *Mr. Quack-Quack,* Jacob thought, staring at the duck’s stitched face. *She named it on the spot. She's been waiting years to name something Mr. Quack-Quack and I'm the occasion.* Amanda leaned on the rail and watched him with shining eyes. Her hair had fallen out of its clip sometime during the bottle — dark auburn, gone copper at the temples in the afternoon light — and her cardigan had a dried smudge of something, jam maybe, on one cuff, and she looked, in that moment, so entirely like a woman who had wanted exactly this for so long that his chest did something complicated. "That's a good boy," she whispered. "You just rest those big eyes. Aunty Amanda's right downstairs if you need anything, okay? Anything at all." She raised the rail until it clicked. She dimmed the lamp. And she stood there one beat longer — he watched her do it through his lashes — just *looking*, drinking it in, her lower lip caught in her teeth, before she finally, finally forced herself out of the room. The door clicked shut. The hall light became a blade of gold under the door and then a coin of it as she pulled it mostly closed behind her. The bars were the worst part. Not the diaper, thick and warm between his legs, not even the humiliation of Amanda tucking him in — it was the bars. Jacob stared up at the pastel mobile turning slowly overhead, its felt stars and moons drifting in a lazy orbit along with the animals he noticed before. He couldn't look away from it, and he understood, with a cold settling in his chest, that the bars weren't there just to keep him in. They were there so he could see everything on the other side. The changing table. The diaper pail. The couch. The absurdly over-the-top décor for a baby boy. Then the doorknob. The light switch. The adult world, visible and unreachable beyond the closed door with the tiniest amount of light shining through — like a museum exhibit of a life that had been his that morning. *How did I get here,* he thought, and then hated himself for thinking it, because he knew exactly how. Step by step. Compromise by compromise. Each one had seemed so small at the time — just some protection, just some silly printed diapers, just a pacifier, just until Mommy says — and now he was lying in a crib with the smell of baby powder still rising off his skin and the smell of his poopy diaper all-but-gone and repopulated with the sweet nursery scent.  The mattress was soft, and the sheet had little ducks on it — of course they did. Somewhere beneath the shame, down where he kept the things he'd never say out loud, a part of him was already relaxing into it. His thumb drifted toward his mouth. He caught himself, clenched his fist against his chest, and stared harder at the mobile. *I’m not a baby,* he told himself, in a voice that sounded less convinced every time the mobile came around again. Jacob lay in the crib and stared at the mobile. The felt moon winked past. The lion grinned. *Ready,* he thought. *Everything ready. Like a machine, remember?* The thought wouldn't sit still. It kept sliding. *Ready for what. What's ready. The nursery here was ready — she had all of it, the crib, the changing table, the wipe warmer, the sheets that smell like — like her detergent, certainly washed and placed in the crib just for him.* His brain offered that up and then tried to take it back. *She wouldn’t — but then why is my stuff in the other room? It seems obvious — but no, she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.* Sleep grabbed the thought mid-sentence and folded it in half. *Not in one morning — a machine she said — How long have they been—* The mobile turned one slow revolution. The elephant chased the giraffe. The lion grinned and grinned. --- He woke to the wrong ceiling. There was no crack. For three full seconds — soft, blank, warm seconds — he didn't know anything at all. There was a crib rail in his vision and there was a soft weight against his side and a smell of powder and lavender and his thumb was, mortifyingly, near his mouth, and the ceiling was wrong, it was cream where it should be white, and the light came from the wrong direction, and his body simply did not volunteer a single piece of adult information. It offered, instead, a floaty contentment so total it was like being underwater. He didn’t need to get himself up. Somebody would come. Somebody always came. That was all a baby needed to know. *I’m not a baby!* Jacob sat up on his knees, the sheets fell off of him and the crinkle of his diaper lead him to look down, back up again, and his hands found the crib bars. They were solid. The bars were not from the sunlight through the blinds in his bedroom at home. He wasn’t in his bed. He was in a crib. Then the memory rebooted — *Amanda's house, the crib, the bottles, Lana left* — and it all slammed back into place except the floaty part, which lingered treacherously at the edges like a scent. The door eased open. "Aw," Amanda whispered, peeking around it, her face lighting up like she'd opened a present. "Is somebody awake? Is somebody all awake from his nappy-nap?" *I was asleep ten seconds ago,* Jacob thought. *Did she hear me? Was she listening at the door? Of course she was listening at the door.* "There's my guy!" Amanda swept into the room, and she'd changed — no, not changed, added: she'd tied an apron over her cardigan, a cheerful yellow thing with cherries on it. "Did you have a good sleep? Did you? Look at those rosy cheeks, you slept like a little rock, huh?" She lowered the rail and reached in and he was lifted, actually lifted, over the bar and out of the crib — she was stronger than she looked. Small and soft as she was, there was some muscle underneath those alluring curves. She somewhat awkwardly set him on his feet, and she crouched to his eye level and held his face in both hands and inspected him like a melon at a market, then moved one hand to the crotch of his diaper and gave it three firm squeezes in quick succession. "Dry," she pronounced. "Still clean! Good boy. You held it through your nap. *Such* a big boy." *I'm eighteen,* he thought, and even inside his own head it came out sulky and thin, and even he didn't believe it anymore, and — there it was. The protest was barely a protest now. It was a formality. He noticed himself noticing this, and filed it in the drawer of things to not to think about, a drawer that was getting very full. "Okay, baby." Amanda straightened up, dusted her hands on the cherry apron like a woman about to begin an important project. "Nappy's over, so you know what that means. Playtime! Just for a little while — Mommy said I could." *Playtime.* He was steered, hand on his shoulder, toward the corner of the nursery where a low plastic gate had been unfolded while he slept — he hadn't even seen it arrive — forming a pen around the area with the toy chest and the rug and a small mountain of stuffed animals. The gate clicked shut behind him with a cheerful little plastic *snick*, and Amanda knelt outside it, arms folded on the top rail, chin on her arms, beaming at him through the bars. "There. Comfy? We'll just have a nice quiet play, and I'll be right here the whole time." Jacob stood in the pen in his diaper, surrounded by stuffed animals, and reached — because his hands had apparently decided this independently of any committee — for the duck. Mr. Quack-Quack had a brother, apparently. He sat down on the rug with it, arranging its webbed feet, and refused to look up at the sound Amanda made, a small high "*oh!*" pressed through both hands. From downstairs, faintly, her phone buzzed. "Oh — hold that thought, sweetpea. Don't go anywhere." She laughed at her own joke, already moving. "I'll be right back. One second." He was alone in the pen for perhaps two minutes. Long enough to look around the room properly, and looking around the room properly was a mistake, because the room rewarded close inspection with new horrors: the changing table, restocked, a folded stack of diapers beneath it that hadn't been there before the same thick ones Lana had ordered — she'd restocked while he slept — and the closet door standing open an inch, and through the inch, hanging things. Colorful things. Things with snaps at the crotch that certainly wouldn’t fit Tommy. Amanda's voice drifted up through the floor, bright, delighted, half-a-conversation: "—no, no, he's fine, he's *adorable* — yes! Just like you said — oh you *sneak*, I could kiss you—" A pause. Laughter. "Firmer? Really? Okay, okay. Yes. Yes. I remembered. I’m your favorite machine? I never thought I could receive such a lovely compliment." Amanda chuckled and Lana’s laughter could be heard faintly from the phone speaker. *I remember. I'm like a machine, remember.* The words dropped through the floorboards and into him and sat there, cold, next to the warm milk weight of everything else. *She's on the phone with Lana. Right now. Firmer — what's firmer? The diapers? He heard the word *Thursday* distinctly. Then the word *weekend*. Then a laugh from Amanda that folded in half with genuine mirth — "Lana. *Lana.* You did not. You didn't already — oh my God, how many — " — and then, damningly, in a tone of awe: "You're going to spoil him." Then footsteps on the stairs, and Jacob looked down at the duck with enormous intensity, beak flattened into a plausible shape, as if he'd been doing nothing his entire life but this. "There's my good boy," Amanda said, coming in, phone gone, cheeks pink. "Look at you, playing so nice and quiet. Was he being good? Was baby being *so* good for Aunty Amanda?" She lowered herself to sit cross-legged outside the pen, and something had changed in her, something he couldn't name at first — and then he could. She'd been *giddy* all morning. She wasn't giddy anymore. She was settled. Calm in the way of someone who has just received very good news and is holding it, warm, in both hands. "So," she said conversationally, resting her chin in her palm, watching him hold a stuffed duck — *his* stuffed duck. "When Mommy gets back, we're going to have a very nice afternoon, you and me and her. Coffee for the mommies. And somebody—" she tapped the top rail of the pen, *tap tap tap*, "—is going to get to see something very special. Very soon." Jacob's head came up. Something in his face must have asked the question, because Amanda's smile went soft and knowing and just a little bit wicked, exactly like Lana's, and the resemblance was its own small horror — *she's not as dissimilar from her, they’re feeding off of each other—* "Uh-uh," she said. "No guessing. Babies don't need to guess. Babies don’t need to *know*. Babies just get *surprises*." She reached through the bars and fluffed his hair with her whole hand, rumpling it thoroughly, and he sat there and let her. "Big surprise for a little boy. That's all I'm saying. *All* I'm saying." The doorbell rang. "Ooh!" Amanda sprang up like a jack-in-the-box. "That'll be her. It’s Mommy! Come on, diaper boy — out of the pen, out of the pen, up we get— let’s go see Mommy." and the gate was opened and he was towed by the hand, waddling, out of the nursery and to the head of the stairs, just in time to see Lana come through the front door with a canvas tote over her shoulder out of which the unmistakable neck of a cognac bottle protruded, quite the contrast from the diaper bag she arrived with earlier. "There's my baby, Mommy missed you so much," Lana said warmly, setting everything on the hall table and opening her arms. “Did you have a good nap? Were you good for Amanda?" "He was *perfect*," Amanda called from the stairs, one hand possessive on Jacob's shoulder. "We played, he finished his second bottle, he was an absolute angel. Babysitting report: ten out of ten." "I knew I left him in good hands." Lana's eyes went from Amanda's face to her hand on his shoulder to Jacob himself, standing there in nothing but his diaper, and her smile deepened by degrees, like something rising through water. "And how's the diapee? Dry?" "Bone dry. Checked twice. I was surprised, but after that poopy adventure, I don’t think we’ll be talking about potty training quite yet." Amanda joked, once again getting a loud, exaggerated chuckle out of the girls. *They're discussing my bladder,* Jacob thought. *Like the weather. Like a plant they're watering. Like one of Amanda’s stupid cucumbers.* “Well, shall we?” Amanda asked after their chuckle, “I’ll take him, you make those drinks extra special, and meet you on the couch out back.” “Extra special coming right up!” Lana excitedly announced grabbing the cognac out of the bag while Amanda took Jacob’s hand and they both smiled at each other and went opposite ways. Jacob was lead outside to a perfect mid-September day in nothing but his diaper. In his daze of compliantly going through the motions of his humiliating treatment, he frantically looked around. Amanda’s backyard was a gorgeous oasis of flowers, vegetables and tall plants — he felt a bit at ease that he likely couldn’t be seen by any onlooking neighbors, though he probably would never know if they could see the big baby through their windows. But regardless, there he was outside in nothing but a huge, crinkly baby diaper. And it was probably going to be wet again soon. Walking around the corner, Jacob noticed that Amanda had set up the area by the aforementioned couch while he was asleep. Jacob was lead over and installed on a blanket on the grass with Mr. Quack-Quack and a set of oversized plastic keys. “I’m coming!” Lana sung from the distance as the sliding door was shut harder than when Amanda had closed it. Lana’s footsteps could be heard along with the clinking of spirited iced coffees in two glasses, amber and generous, clinking. The women settled onto the couch on the back patio with their coffees ——, and for a while the afternoon simply went on without consulting him. The sprinkler two houses down ticked. Someone's lawnmower hummed and quit and hummed again. The iced coffee glasses sweated rings onto the little metal table. The cognac appeared in the coffee, judiciously, and both women made small sounds of satisfaction and toasted each other with a *tink*. "—so Denise tells me — and I quote — 'she told me he was waddling around the store like a baby, Amanda, what will the neighbors think,'" Amanda said, waving her glass. "And I said, 'Denise, I *am* the neighbors, and I think he's precious.'" "Denise has never had an original feeling in her life," Lana said placidly. "Exactly what I said! Well. I said something like that. With more swearing." *Who is Denise? Who is ‘she’ in ‘she told me’ — someone saw me at the mall — *waddling* — I thought maybe only a few people noticed, but — did *everybody?* Jacob turned the plastic keys over in his hands. *Firmer,* he thought. *Thursday. Weekend. How many — how many what? How many rooms?* The overheard fragments circled like the mobile animals, chasing each other in a slow ring. *A very special surprise. You're going to spoil him.* He put a plastic key in his mouth and bit it, absently, and it was some minutes before he noticed he had done it, and by then both women had seen, and he could hear them not mentioning it, which was worse. Jacob’s thoughts spun in unfinished sentences. Utterly confused he collapsed on his back on the blanket with the keys still in his mouth. Lana checked his diaper without pausing her sentence. He was sitting on the blanket and she simply reached over from her patio chair, hooked two fingers in the side of the crotch band of his diaper, peeked, released — *snap* — and continued, "—and honestly the price was criminal, I nearly bought two," without so much as a comma of interruption. Amanda nodded along as if the world contained nothing unusual. Jacob sat on the blanket with his stuffed duck in his lap and plastic keys dangling from the side of his mouth and let the sun move across the lawn and understood, in the wordless way that one understands weather, that this was simply what his life contained now. Diaper checks. Coffee dates. Being treated like a baby. The sprinkler two doors down chattered on. Lana stretched, checked her phone, and drained the last of her coffee and cognac. "Alright," she said, with the brisk warmth of a woman putting a period on a day. "It's getting toward suppertime, and somebody—" she looked at Jacob over the rim of her glass as she stood, "—needs to get home." *Home,* Jacob thought, rising too, Mr. Quack-Quack clutched to his chest before he could think better of it. Lana gathered the blanket, folded it over her arm, and smiled down at him — that slow, deep, proprietary smile, backlit by the lowering sun, and she reached out and cupped the back of his head in one hand. "Besides," she said, "we want to get you home and fed and in bed on time tonight, baby. You've had such a big day." Her thumb stroked once through his hair. "And it’s not over yet, baby — no it’s not.. Because when my little man goes down for his night-night beddy-bye— " she bent to his ear, and her voice dropped to a warm, delighted, conspiratorial murmur, "— Mommy's going to show you your brand-new room."

Kayla thought she had won so when her new mommy came back Into the room with a book and a baby bottle. ”Wh- what n- no I- said I didn’t want it!” She cried  She couldn’t believe she truly was going back to the old neighborhood which was called Babyhood!  kayla too The bottle  “Fine if I drink this will the punishment get shortened!” Kayla still thought she had a say in anything but she was now a baby and mommy was in charge! 

I've seen a lot of people paying via their phones too. I guess its a debit/ credit card app or so on their phones? Apple pay? 🤷‍♀️ I don't know the particulars I'm not that hip, cool, or tech savvy. I juat see peops at checkouts ahead of me tapping their phones in stores. 

Ana smiled at her girlfriend, finding the idea interesting, and said, "Let’s tell Maddison what her sister did and let her decide whether to administer a spanking after she talks to her sister." Camilla agreed, adding, "But I have a feeling this won’t be the last time Alice interferes." Ana smiled and said, "And regarding the costumes, Maddison suggested that she and I go as a pair—for instance, as the Winchester sisters—while you and Alice could go as another pair." Just then, the intercom rang.