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Baby Candy (Diapered, Dominated & Petticoated)

teen sissy fem-dom

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  • Gender:Male
  • Location:Sydney, Australia
  • Real Age:58
  • Diapers:Adult Baby
  • I Am a...:Sissy
  • Age Play Age:2-3

I wrote this story based on an old Bytemine story titled,'Candie' (author unknown), and posted it here years ago. But when I last looked at it, I thought I could have done much better. There was way too much narrative and not enough dialogue. The exposition needed work, too. I've given the whole thing a major re-write and written a few more chapters, so I thought I should re-post it and see what you think. Let me know, willya? BJ.

Please note; this is a FANTASY involving forced babying, feminisation and humiliation, plus a little light bondage and discipline. All characters in this 'dominated, diapered and petticoated' tale are imaginary and exist only in my perverted little mind - and for your enjoyment.

Baby Candy by Baby Jennie

Chapter 1. Punished at Aunty June's

When I was seventeen years old, my mother decided that rather than spending my summer vacation lazing around the house, I should instead stay with my mother's divorced younger sister in the country. My eighteen-year-old sister had just finished her last year of highschool and she immediately took off for a long vacation interstate with a bunch of her girlfriends, so there would be no-one at home to look after me while Mum was at work. I protested, “I don’t need someone to look after me!”

Mum was having none of it. “My mind is already made up,” she firmly declared. “June’s girls will be able to babysit you when she’s busy.”
“I don’t need a babysitter!” I shrilly complained. My mother ignored my sulky protestations. Just because I was tiny for my age, she always treated me like a little kid. It was so unfair!

For some reason Mum didn’t trust me alone at home these days. It didn’t occur to me that she’d known for years I’d been secretly going through her and my big sister’s underwear and trying on some of their pretty silky panties. They looked and felt so lovely when I modelled them in front of the mirror, and it always made my little peenie stiff and excited. When I wanted to masturbate I made sure to only wear their used panties, which I usually borrowed from the dirty clothes hamper in the laundry. I always put them back when I was finished, normally straight away - or the next morning after I crawled out of bed. I was pretty sure Mum hadn’t noticed the cum stains I sometimes unavoidably left behind in some of their silkier knickers.

My Aunty June lived in a small country town called Willowtree, in the state’s north-west. Mum insisted I spend my whole vacation there, and at first I didn't like the idea one bit. I wanted to hang around our home alone and unsupervised, with plenty of time to myself to indulge in my exciting lingerie fetish. But then I imagined going through my teenage cousins’ underwear drawers and the thrill of trying on some of their pretty panties. I didn’t protest quite so hard after that, although I grumbled to Mum, “It’s not fair! I want to stay here and spend the summer with my friends in Sydney.”

My mother shook her head emphatically in denial. “I don’t like those boys you’ve been hanging around with lately. They’re nothing but trouble! No, you’re going to stay at Aunty June’s. I think a change will do you good.” A month prior to the holidays, I had been busted with some friends who broke into our school and spray-painted graffiti on the walls in the classrooms. The security guards caught two boys who gave up everyone else. Even though I was only keeping watch, I still ended up in a lot of trouble.

“Aw Mum,” I whined dispiritedly. She stood over me, intimidating me with her height. Mum is about five foot eight and I barely come up to her chin. Today she was wearing a pair of four-inch heels, so I had to bend my neck and tilt my head back to see her frowning face.
“Not another word, Peter,” she warned me, “or I won’t let you take your bike.” That shut me up. My bike represented freedom to me – the ability to escape the watchful eyes of my mother and big sister.

As a result I had no further say in the Willowtree matter. Shortly after the school year ended, my mother packed me into the car and drove me to stay with my Aunt June. I was quietly apprehensive during the long six-hour trip. I didn't really remember much about my Aunt or her daughters, my older cousins. I hadn’t seen my Aunty for a few years, and it was even longer since I’d seen her daughters. I knew Alison was nineteen and Brenda had recently turned eighteen, and I assumed I would be in for an endless boring summer - unless I managed to organise some private alone-time in their home while the girls were out. I kept myself amused during the long car trip by imagining going through their underwear drawers. There was a damp spot in the front of my underpants by the time we arrived.

My Aunty was there to greet us when we finally pulled up in her driveway. “Hello Jane,” Aunty June cried, smiling from ear to ear. As soon as Mum stepped out of the car, the towering brunette threw her arms around her older sister. After hugging her warmly, Aunty June turned to me. “Hello Peter,” she greeted me in a much cooler tone. “Look at you! I don’t think you’ve grown an inch since I last saw you, what… over four years ago!” Even though she is a few years younger than my mum, Aunty June is much taller and more imposing. She has shoulder-length dark-brown hair which she normally wears in a loose bun high on top of her head, making her look even taller. With her full sensuous lips painted luscious red and her dark smoky eye make-up, I thought she looked very sexy.

Aunty June favoured tight slacks and revealing short skirts, and today she was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a loose short-sleeved white top made from ‘Broderie Anglaise’ lace. The low yoke neck displayed her fabulous bust to great advantage when she bent down to give me a welcoming kiss on the cheek. I had to tear my fascinated gaze from her deep entrancing cleavage. When she walked into the house ahead of me carrying my suitcase I admired the way her skin-tight jeans nipped in her tiny waist, clinging like paint to the broad swell of her womanly hips and her curvaceous big bottom. In her four-inch navy heels she stood over six feet tall and she was built like an Amazon. I’d forgotten how attractive my bossy Aunty was.

While Aunty June made a pot of tea, my mother complained to her about my recent misbehaviour. She informed her of the spray-painting incident and Aunty June concluded, “Obviously he hasn’t been disciplined firmly enough.” I felt Mum was exaggerating and pouted like a sullen child. Except for the one recent incident, I’d never been involved in any kind of real trouble. Furthermore I was very small for my age, and usually meek, mild and timid, and I cried easily. I was quite afraid of most authority figures, and usually did as I was told. I behaved far better than most boys my age, and usually went along with my friends’ pranks merely to avoid a confrontation.


Nevertheless my mother asked my Aunt to discipline me as she saw fit! With a tight smile, Aunt June replied, “Don’t worry, Jane. I’ll be pleased to help you bring this little hellion under control.” I didn’t realise my Mum had already discussed with Aunty June on the phone my fascination with her and my big sister’s silky knickers and pretty petticoats.

My Aunty’s bright emerald eyes sternly gazed down at me, and she ran her fingers through my silky shoulder-length blonde hair. She frowned and demanded, “When did you last get your hair cut, Peter? It’s very long. Too long.”
“I had it cut just last year,” I cheekily replied, ignoring her when she reminded me to call her ‘Ma’am.’ She was so old-fashioned for such an attractive young mother.

With a disgusted shake of her head, Aunty snidely informed me, “Here in Willowtree, decent young men normally sport neat crew-cuts.” She turned to my mother. “He looks more like a girl than a boy.” Despite her intended insult, my cheeks flushed with pleasure when Aunty June told me I looked like a girl. She continued, “I think we should take him to the barber tomorrow.”
“No!” I squealed, my high-pitched voice rising another octave in fear. “I don’t want to get my hair cut. Mum! You can’t let her do that to me!”

I begged my mother and Aunt June not to make me cut my hair, protesting that long hair was the current style amongst my city peers and myself, all budding fans of hard-rock music. I didn’t mention why I really preferred my feminine hairstyle. I thought I looked more like a real girl when I posed in front of the mirror while wearing some of my sister’s pretty nylon panties and Mum’s satin half-slips. After much begging and pleading from me, my mother finally conceded. “Alright, alright!” She cut off my objections with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You can keep your hair long - on one condition - if you promise to behave and do everything Aunt June tells you.” Of course I instantly and insincerely promised I would. Aunty June gave me a reappraising stare, and she pursed her luscious red-painted lips and nodded thoughtfully.

Over the next few days I came to realize that despite her sexy figure and youthful good looks, Aunt June was rather old-fashioned and strict. She seemed obsessed with cleanliness, manners and dress. Her two daughters were similarly tall, buxom young women, and beautiful in an arrogant sort of way. Nineteen-year-old Alison had slender hips and a tiny waist, despite her generous bustline, with jet-black hair and dark, deep-set brown eyes. Although she was only eighteen, blonde Brenda had the more voluptuous figure, with a narrow waist and wide child-bearing hips, and a big round bum like her mother. Her bosom was enormous! Whereas Alison’s face was thin, Brenda had a plump round face with her mother’s sparkling green eyes. The girls obviously knew they were attractive, and I soon discovered they treated most boys like amusing playthings.

When they waltzed into the house for dinner that first evening they were casually dressed. Taller Alison click-clacked across the front veranda in a navy pair of court shoes with a modest three-inch stiletto heel. She wore a skin-tight pair of navy jeans, and a fluffy cream angora sweater with a scoop neck that showed off the plump swelling of her generous bosom. Younger Brenda was wearing a plain white button-front blouse that did nothing to conceal her heavy swaying breasts. Her top was so sheer, you could clearly see the white lace-cup bra she wore underneath and the bulging fleshy curves of her feminine mounds. Below she wore a tiny pink and grey tartan miniskirt which barely covered her plump womanly bottom, and a pair of pink strappy sandals with a skinny four-inch heel.

As soon as the gorgeous girls laid eyes on me they started teasing me. “Look!” Alison cried, “Aunt Jane brought her little girl to visit! I thought she was bringing our dopey cousin Peter to stay with us.”
“Aww! Doesn’t she look pretty,” retorted Brenda. She stepped over to me to muss my long blonde locks.
“Leave me alone!” I protested, ducking away from the overbearing teenager’s teasing hand.

“Only girls have long hair, you silly baby,” commented Alison, tossing her long raven locks back over her shoulders. Her hair was like a bolt of shimmering black silk.
“You look like a little girl,” agreed Brenda, finger-combing her long tawny-blonde hair over her generous bust for emphasis.
“Shut up! Go away,” I bleated. The teenage beauties laughed dismissively as they went to greet our mothers.

Despite their teasing, a tiny part of me had been thrilled to hear their words. Deep down inside I secretly thought I should have been born a girl. I wished I had a sexy curvaceous figure like my buxom cousins. I brushed those thoughts aside and watched the backs of the departing young women, admiring Alison’s pert bottom encased in her tight navy jeans and Brenda’s long shapely legs. I loved the way the teenagers dressed. They both looked fabulous and so feminine. I had always been interested in women's clothing, as far back as I could remember. By the time I was twelve or thirteen I had started dressing up in my mother and my big sister's panties, slips, and slinky nightgowns, whenever I found the chance to play alone at home. Their sexy undies were much too big on me of course, but I didn't care. They looked and felt so pretty! Mummy’s silky nylon panties and satin mini-slips always felt wonderful when I rubbed my throbbing little stiffie through the multiple layers of slinky feminine finery.

After I put my bike in the garage, the girls made me carry my suitcase upstairs to a spare bedroom at the end of the landing. The room was huge - twice as large as my bedroom at home, and well furnished. A three-door wardrobe stood open and empty against the end wall next to a chest of drawers. Apart from a steel-framed single bed, the other pieces of furniture were an old mirrored vanity unit with a hard-backed wooden chair standing beside it. The girls told me to shove my suitcase in the wardrobe, which I did without bothering to unpack. They watched me with amused expressions but didn’t comment before they left the room. We had a simple dinner with Aunty June and her girls consisting of cold meats and salads. I was yawning before we finished our meal and didn’t object when my Aunt suggested we have an early night.

The next morning after breakfast, my mother told me to go and shower and get dressed for the day. While I was busy in the bathroom she walked out to her car with Aunty June, opened the boot, and took out a small pink overnight bag. She handed it to her younger sister with a wry smile. “There’s a couple of outfits in here, plus some panties and a training bra.”
“A training bra?” June questioned her sister with a laugh.

Jane nodded. “Well my little one hasn’t got any boobies yet, you know?” They both laughed again, and Mum closed the boot and they strolled back into the house.
“I’ll hide this down in the basement until I think we need it,” June decided as she held up the pink bag. Jane nodded in appreciation.
“Thanks again for doing this for me - well, for him, really. I’m not sure I would’ve had the courage to-”
“Don’t worry about it,” June assured her, cutting off her younger sister’s thanks with a dismissive wave. “It’s my pleasure to help.”

When I tumbled downstairs dressed in my usual shorts and t-shirt, Mum kissed me goodbye. She hugged me tightly and whispered in my ear, “Remember, honey. You’re to do everything Aunty June tells you to do. And I mean everything! She’s in charge of you until I return. Okay?” I nodded and squeezed her in a long embrace, surprised by the tears welling in my eyes. With a final wave Mum climbed in our car and left for home, abandoning me to the tiny town of Willowtree.

Shortly after her departure, I took a solo tour of the big old house. I discovered Aunt June stored her washer and dryer in the basement, along with the family’s dirty clothes hamper. On my first morning there I prowled around down there unseen, but unfortunately, the laundry hamper was empty of silken treasures. When I gazed out the high basement windows, I discovered that my Aunty dried her delicate lingerie and her buxom teen daughters’ lace-lavished nylon undies on a rotary clothesline in the middle of the yard behind their house.

I wandered outside into the spacious back yard, fascinated by the delicate assortment of sexy panties, bras, slips, and lacy suspender-belts I spied drying on the line that sunny morning. I couldn’t stop myself from staring intently at the beautiful lingerie displayed seemingly for my arousal, while fantasising about wearing some of the gorgeous silky items. After ensuring I was alone, I sauntered over to the line until my head was surrounded by the rows of feminine finery. By checking the tags in their bras, I discovered that Alison was a 36-D bust the same as her mother, while buxom Brenda wore a 38-F cup. I didn’t know cup sizes came that large!

Aunt June happened to walk out and catch me in the act of rubbing my crotch with one hand, while the other stroked the silky-soft gusset of one of Brenda’s thick satin panties hanging on the line. She dashed over, grabbed my wrist in a painful grip and archly demanded, “Peter! What are you doing? Why are you pawing my daughters’ panties?” When I blushed crimson and didn't respond, she shocked me by leaning down and grabbing my bulging crotch with her free hand. “Aha!” She cried. “I see! You dirty little boy!”

I tried to twist free and back away from her, but she had already captured the stiffie tenting out the front of my baggy blue shorts. She loomed over me and snorted in contempt when she gave my throbbing erection a vicious squeeze. I squealed in alarm and wrenched away from her painful grasp. I protectively covered my tenting crotch with both hands as I backed away from her, my eyes like saucers.

She put her clenched fists on her broad hips and warned me, “If I ever catch you touching my daughters’ frillies again, I’ll make you wear everything you see hanging on the line!” I was so embarrassed I could barely speak. I stood there defensively covering my swollen tumescence. Aunt June mocked my tell-tale arousal, and laughed cruelly as I cowered before her, excited yet humiliated. “Maybe you’d like that?” She teased me, pointing at the silky underwear on the line, but her blazing emerald eyes remained glued to my tenting crotch. “Maybe I should dress you up in some of my girls’ frilliest lingerie and one of Brenda’s prettiest dresses, and parade you round town in them. Is that what you really want, Peter?” My throat tightened in shame and I could barely utter a sound. With my cheeks burning and my hands still vainly trying to conceal my throbbing erection, I turned and ran around the side of the house away from her, her threats and mocking laughter filling the air behind me.

When she caught up with me later inside the house, Aunt June seemed to notice the t-shirt I was wearing for the first time. She pointed at my chest and made several disparaging comments. “That picture is disgusting!” She declared, pointing at the half-naked maiden posing at the feet of a Viking warrior. She ordered, “Take that off immediately! It’s not right for sweet little boys to wear such terrible things.”

I cheekily reminded her, “I’m seventeen years old, Aunty June. I’m not a sweet little boy.” Although I realised most people treated me as if I were far younger, because I was tiny for my age, had a baby-face, and an awful high-pitched little-girl voice that I could hardly wait to change. Even though I had just finished year ten, I was by far the smallest boy in my high school. My dad was a jockey who’d been killed in a race before I was born. His insurance policy left me, my sister and Mum reasonably well off, but I also inherited his height - or lack thereof. The other kids at school nicknamed me ‘Midget,’ and I was regularly teased for being so tiny. I tried to explain to Aunt June that all my teenage friends in Sydney wore similar t-shirts, but she shook her head in response.
She scolded me, “Well we’re not that crazy big city now, are we? And mind how you address me, child. Call me Aunty June, or ma’am. You certainly need to learn some manners, little one! Come here to me.”

Over my grumbled protests, she yanked the offending t-shirt from my body and spirited it away. When she returned, she grabbed me by one ear and hauled me squealing into the bathroom. She insisted, “If you want to wear your beautiful blonde hair long like a girl, it must be shining clean and brushed prettily at all times. Come with me, child!” I whimpered that I had washed it only last week but she retorted, “I make my girls wash their hair at least every second day! All my girls,” she spitefully added for emphasis. She forcefully bent me over the bathroom sink and proceeded to soak my head with warm water, then she roughly shampooed my hair with her floral-scented shampoo.

She rinsed, conditioned, and rinsed again, then partly blow-dried my hair, and then made me sit down on a low stool in the bathroom. She vigorously brushed it dry, making me wince and whimper with every cruel stroke. “Keep quiet! Stop your whining,” she snapped in irritation. “My goodness! You really are a sissy cry-baby, aren’t you?” Finally she combed it out and despite my whining protests, trimmed the ends and the front with her sharp good scissors. I soon discovered she was giving me ‘little-girl bangs,’ with an effeminate part in the middle.

When I saw my reflection, I was embarrassed and excited all at the same time. I didn’t know how to react. I didn’t want my Aunty to know how thrilled I was by my altered appearance. I grimaced at my reflection and complained like the sulky child she accused me of being. “Boys don't wear their hair like this!” I could feel my bottom lip poking out like a sore thumb.

In an icy tone she retorted, “Such beautiful long hair is far too pretty for a boy. If you want to wear your hair long like a pretty girl, then from now on, that's how you’ll wear it - just like a pretty girl!” She spitefully insisted; “You will brush and comb it like this every morning, and I will check daily to see that my instructions have been followed to the letter.” With my fringe cut into bangs and my hair parted neatly in the middle, I knew I looked even more feminine than usual. Despite my whining protests I felt my little peenie thickening in arousal.

Aunt June sorted through the t-shirts in my suitcase and declared. “Oh no! These are all quite unsuitable!” She tossed them aside with a grunt of dismissal. “I’ll buy you some more appropriate tops to wear while you’re staying here in Willowtree. In the meantime…” She searched her youngest daughter’s wardrobe for something temporary for me to wear. She handed me an old white collared polo shirt of Brenda’s to try on which was so long, it hung down almost to my knees. It covered my shorts completely, so that it looked like I was wearing a dress. When Alison spotted my feminine hairstyle and realised I was wearing her sister’s old top, she giggled and commented scathingly; “Oh my God! Look at you! Now you really do look like a little girl!”

Over lunch that afternoon Aunty informed her daughters that she had caught me feeling up their undies on the clothesline. “Why, Peter? Why were you touching our panties?” Alison demanded, shaking her head and pursing her full red lips in disapproval. My throat tightened in shame and I couldn’t respond. The girls reproached me for being a little pervert, and then laughed their heads off when my cheeks burned red in embarrassment.

“Maybe he’d like to wear our underwear?” Brenda cruelly suggested. “Peter? Would you like to try on some panties and a bra?” I ducked my head in shame, mortified beyond belief. “Is that what you want? Do you want to dress up like a pretty girl?”
Even though I wanted to scream, “Yes! Yes! Dress me up in your prettiest panties and your sexiest bras and slips,” I couldn’t tell them the truth.

They loudly discussed what a disgusting little boy I was while I cringed in silence, my face burning. The teens agreed with their mother that I should be dressed in some of their old panties and a dress if they caught me fondling their frillies again. “I’m sure we can find something pretty that will fit him,” Alison announced with a sly smile for me. I felt so embarrassed, my whole body turned hot and cold! But for the rest of the meal, I couldn't drive the incident from my mind. I was finding their continued threats to force me to wear such sexy girls’ undies to be a very big turn-on! I finished my lunch in red-cheeked silence and left the table as soon as could. I scurried outside with my hands over my crotch to conceal my stiffie, trying to get away from the laughter and taunts of my mean cousins.

There were some boys who lived nearby playing street cricket outside my Aunt’s house in Condamine St. Despite the fact that I was a teenager and none of them looked older than twelve, after lunch I attempted to join in their games. They were all much bigger and brawnier than me, and they didn't like me right from the start. They sneered in contempt at my sissy outfit and feminine hairstyle, and said that I couldn't play with them because I looked like “a little girl” and “a sissy baby!” They asked why I was wearing shorts under my dress, and I tried to explain that it wasn’t a dress, but a borrowed shirt from my cousin - but they wouldn’t listen. A few of them actually thought that I was a little girl simply trying to act like a tough tomboy, and they wanted to bet me and their friends that I really was a girl! I kept insisting that I was a boy, but almost everyone seemed convinced otherwise.

When I refused their raucous demands to lift up my dress and pull down my shorts and prove I truly was a boy, they all started chanting; “She's a sissy gi-rl, she’s a sissy gi-rl!” over and over, until I stumbled away almost in tears. At dinner that night I grumbled to my aunt about what had happened, concluding, “Boys in this town are stupid!” I complained for the hundredth time, “I hate it here! I want to go back to Sydney.”
To my chagrin, my aunt acted as if the teasing was my fault! She scoffed, “Those nice local boys probably wouldn't let you play with them, because they realised you are obviously a juvenile delinquent; one with no manners, who hasn’t yet learned how play well with other boys.”
I became upset and shrilly protested, “That’s not true! It was completely the other boys’ fault!”

My aunt’s next comment really floored me. “Then maybe I should put you in a dress and make you play with the girls instead!" I was so surprised by this outrageous remark, I was struck speechless and started blushing furiously. I was thrilled in spite of my embarrassment, and I ducked my head down to hide my burning red cheeks. Aunt June and my cousins started chortling at my subdued, shame-faced reaction. She must have sensed how embarrassed and yet how titillated I was by her threats. She seemed delighted by my humiliated pink-cheeked silence, and unseen by me, gave her daughters a discrete wink. She added with a sly smile, “Maybe I should take you to the girls' department at the local Myers’ store, and buy you some panties and a pretty dress all of your very own! Would you like that, Peter?”

Dumbfounded, I started trembling and sweating while her girls laughed uproariously and pointed at my tenting crotch. I sank down in my seat and tried to conceal my tell-tale erection under the table. It was still hard when I skulked away from the table after dinner, and I ran upstairs to my bedroom to get away from them. I hid in my room for ages fondling my stiffie until I heard the girls leave the house. I looked out the window and saw them walking down the street., the setting sun a ball of red fire over the treetops. I decided this was a good time to check out the girls’ underwear collection. I crept out of my bedroom and stood on the landing listening intently. I could hear Aunty June messing about in the kitchen, and decided to risk it.

I tip-toed into Alison’s bedroom first, and headed straight for her chest of drawers. The top drawer was full of neatly-folded panties and brassieres, in a rainbow of colours. I was unaware the gorgeous underwear had been arranged in a particular order. Aunty June had already informed her girls of my panty-fetish, and suggested they lay out their underwear in a particular way, so they would know if I’d been rummaging through their frilly panties.

I fingered the silky-soft panties and admired the delicate lace accents, then stretched a pastel-pink pair of full-cut nylon knickers over my hips to check the size. Even though she was very slender, Alison’s panties were way too big for me. I knew it would be a waste of time trying on Brenda’s things. With her voluptuous figure, her tiniest panties would be way too large for me. I replaced the dainty pink knickers and pawed though the remaining pretty panties with trembling fingers. My erection was straining to burst through the fly of my shorts, and I clutched it against my tummy with my other hand. My heart leapt in my chest when I thought I heard footsteps near the bottom of the staircase. Terrified of being caught, I quickly threw the gorgeous feminine underwear back in the drawer. I silently closed the dresser and sneaked out of Alison’s bedroom, heading straight for the upstairs bathroom.

I locked the door behind me and urgently pulled down my shorts and underwear, and I plonked down on the toilet seat. I was so aroused, it took only a few strokes before my pounding peenie exploded in my fist. It was so hard, I had difficulty shoving the throbbing head down into the bowl so my creamy jism wouldn’t spray everywhere! I gasped in relief, my whole body shaking with reaction. When I finished panting and my throbber had gone down, I washed my hands and replaced my clothing, and stumbled out of the bathroom. I decided to have a little lie-down after my exertions, and I must admit, I fell asleep for a while. Aunty June woke me up when she called up the stairs for me to jump in the shower and then go to bed.

Later that night I couldn’t stop thinking about my Aunt's repeated threats to dress me like a girl, to the point that I could hardly fall asleep! I had to masturbate to another quick climax before I could relax. I tossed the damp sock to the floor and rolled over and dropped off. The next day however, my aunt made no further mention of making me wear a dress or taking me to Myer’s. Although she did ask Brenda to keep an eye on me when she went shopping that morning. Alison disappeared shortly after breakfast, and I didn’t see her for the rest of the day. I was both relieved - yet oddly disappointed - when Aunty June returned at lunchtime with four new t-shirts for me that actually fitted. They were completely plain, but the colours!


They were all pastels; pastel-lemon, powder-blue, lavender, and pale green. I complained about the sissy colours of course, but my Aunt snootily replied, “I could’ve bought a pretty pink one and an apricot one, instead. Maybe you’d prefer more feminine colours? Hmm?” That shut me up pretty quickly, and I put on the pastel-green t-shirt as it seemed the least offensive. It was kind of short, barely covering my belly button, but Aunty seemed pleased with my new look.

I rode my bike around the small town, all the way to a rubbish dump at one end, which looked pretty interesting. I was used to not having many friends, and would often just ride around alone on my bike exploring. The gate was locked and the dump appeared to be abandoned, although there was a hole in the cyclone mesh fence big enough for me to crawl through. There were piles of rubbish higher than a house and a wall of crushed cars over to one side. Everything looked pretty interesting. I decided to come back later and check it out. The rest of the day passed quietly enough until dinnertime, when I mentioned my visit to the dump to Aunty.

"You stay away from that filthy place!" She yelled, startling me and making me jump. “It’s dirty and dangerous.” I accidentally spilled some grape juice on my new t-shirt and down my pants. My Aunt was furious and made me immediately strip to my white cotton undies in front of my giggling cousins, while she frantically tried to scrub out the stains. She loudly scolded me all the while, informing me that if my new green top was ruined, she was going to spank my naughty bottom and then put me in a dress! I was mortified yet secretly thrilled by the warning! I didn't know what to say. In a weird way I wished that the stain wouldn't come out and she would make good her threat. I kept my hands cupped over the font of my underpants to conceal my swelling arousal.

Then Brenda snickered quietly and whispered in my ear. “A few months ago, one of our younger cousins ruined his good clothes by playing football in them down at the park. When he got home, our mum dressed him completely as a girl! She made him stand on our front porch for the rest of the afternoon, while everyone passing by made fun of him.” Brenda snidely wagered me, “I bet you’ll be next!” I found her threat both scary and exciting, and my stiffening peenie grew to full hardness. I kept my shaky hands cupped over my crotch to conceal my embarrassing tumescence. A short time later however, my Aunt June grimly announced that she had managed to scrub out the stains, and my clothes weren't ruined after all. I actually felt rather let-down when she let me dress in my damp clothes. I made sure I kept my back to them when I pulled my pants up over my semi-hard stiffie.

Lying awake in bed that second night, I somehow dreamt up the idea that perhaps I could trick my aunt into dressing me as a girl, by appealing to her hatred of ruined clothes and filth. I thought that if I snuck off the next day and really messed up my clothes in a major way, she might make good her repeated threats to dress me like a sissy girl. I shivered with a combination of terror and excitement at my bold plan, stroking my erection through my pyjama pants. When the excitement became too much, I tugged another of my worn socks over my pounding tool and let it capture the creamy mess that exploded out of me. I tossed the damp sock on the floor, panting with relief, and quickly fell asleep.

The next morning Aunty brushed and combed my hair for me after I finished in the shower, making me look like a young girl again. She nodded in approval when I chose to wear my white jeans with one of the pastel t-shirts she’d purchased for me. As soon as I finished my breakfast, I set out on my bike and rode to the outskirts of town, heading for the local dump I’d discovered the previous day. My aunt of course had forbidden me from returning there, telling me that it was both dangerous and filthy. I deliberately selected my crisp white jeans and the sissy lemon t-shirt to wear that day for maximum contrast. Before I left the house, my Aunty even cautioned me to be careful of my nice clean clothes.

I began ‘Operation Filth-Act’ as I dubbed it, by climbing over some old rusted machinery and playing inside a filthy abandoned car with no windows. I figured I might as well have fun while I was at it. Next I rubbed clods of earth and grease over my hands, and then ran my blackened paws over my face and through my femininely-styled, long blonde hair. Just to be certain I was messy enough, I even rolled around on the ground like a pig in the dirt.

I’d assumed the area to be completely deserted, but was startled to see an old man striding towards me. He called out in a raspy voice; "Hey! You there! What the heck are you doing there rolling on the ground, little girl?"

When I realised he had mistaken me for a girl, I was both pleased and embarrassed at the same time. With my cheeks glowing pink, I mumbled quietly, "Just playing." He reproached me soundly, telling me that good little girls didn’t behave that way.
“You’re filthy!” he unnecessarily pointed out. “You’d better run home right away and clean yourself up, little girl, or your Mummy will probably give you a well-deserved whipping!”

I stuck out my tongue at him like a naughty child before I scampered away. I slipped through the hole in the fence and jumped on my bike, and pedalled home like I was being pursued by demons. As I approached my Aunt’s house I spied some of the local boys playing cricket in the street. They teased me as I rode by, yelling things like; "Look at the dirty tomboy!" and “That little girl is putrid!” Several boys sounded delighted when they warned me that I would be in big trouble with my Aunty for messing my pretty clothes.

By the time I turned in my Aunt’s driveway, I was having second thoughts. I realised that I might have overdone it, and that my Aunt would be absolutely furious with my filthy appearance. I suddenly developed cold feet, and decided to call the whole thing off. As I stashed my bike, I figured I could climb through the open basement window, sneak quietly upstairs to my room, hide my dirty clothes and discretely take a shower. So I tentatively lowered myself through the small unlatched window at the side of the house, and listened carefully for my Aunt and cousins moving around upstairs. I heard nothing, and began tip-toeing quietly up the basement steps.

All of a sudden the door above crashed open! The basement light snapped on and Aunt June loomed large over me from the top of the stairs. I shrieked in alarm and froze in terror like a rabbit caught in a spotlight. Aunt June took one look at me and screamed bloody murder! Brenda and Alison came running to stand beside her, their mouths gaping. My aunt was livid as she clattered down the wooden steps. She scolded me severely and demanded, “Where have you been? How did you wind up in such a disgusting condition?”
I cowered away from her and whimpered, “I’ve just been playing outside.” She was furious, and grabbed me by the dirty scruff of my neck and shook me like a rat. I tried to wrench free, but she was too strong.

“I don’t believe you!” She yelled, “Stop lying to me, or your punishment will be even worse!” She demanded, “Where have you been? Tell me at once!” I reluctantly confessed that I had been playing at the local dump. She reminded me, “I told you that you were forbidden to play there! How dare you disobey me! You will be severely punished for this!” When she released her grip on my neck, I ducked my head and tried to slink past her up the stairs, but she yanked me back by my long matted hair, making me yelp in pain. She angrily demanded, "Just where do you think you're going, you wicked child?"

I tearfully replied, "I'm sorry, ma'am. May I go upstairs now and clean up?"
She snapped; “No! Do you want to track dirt all over my clean house and make a complete mess of everything?" She ordered, “Take off all your clothes right now! I’ll dump them in the washing machine right here.” I gazed up at her in disbelief, unwilling to undress in front of her grinning daughters. With a snort of disgust Aunt June began forcibly ripping away my filthy clothes, including my underwear. Brenda and Alison watched and giggled while she swiftly stripped me completely bare. Aunty threw my soiled clothing in the washer and started the machine. She then hurried me upstairs to the bathroom stark-naked, urging me on with several hard spanks to my bare bottom. She drew a hot bath for me, scolding me furiously all the while.

Brenda and Alison followed right behind her, snickering and whispering about me the whole time. Terribly embarrassed, I kept my hands cupped tightly over my tiny shrivelled penis and balls. Aunt June hauled me into the air and forcefully thrust me into the hot tub. She began washing me with a soapy washcloth, rubbing all over my body. She was so rough, it brought tears to my eyes! I complained bitterly that she was hurting me, but she ignored my whimpered protests and kept scrubbing me till I was pink and shining clean all over. She shampooed my hair twice and used a perfumed cream conditioner as well. She said that I deserved a sound spanking and a punishment that I wouldn't soon forget.

Edited by babyjennie, 21 December 2014 - 06:52 PM.



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Chapter 2. Sweet as Candy

Aunty June dragged me out of the tub and roughly dried me with a huge yellow towel. It was so demeaning being man-handled by her like a small child. As soon as she deemed me sufficiently dry, she sat on the closed toilet lid, her jeans stretched tautly over her plump womanly thighs. She draped the damp towel across her lap and patted her knee in blunt invitation. “Come here, child,” she ordered sharply, crooking her index finger at me. As soon as I stepped within range, she grabbed me by one ear and dragged me squealing and kicking across her towel-covered lap. With her left hand holding my neck in a vise-like grip, the other fell repeatedly on my damp pink posterior. “You naughty, wicked boy!” She scolded me as she beat me with her huge hard palm, smacking my hands out of the way when I foolishly tried to intervene. “I’ll teach you! Teach you to do as you are told!” She hand-spanked me solidly for about five long minutes, although it felt like hours to me.

By the time she finished beating me, my bottom was red and blazing and tears were rolling down my crimson cheeks. Aunty roughly stood me up and I wobbled alarmingly and sobbed my heart out, rubbing my burning bottom with both hands. She sneered at me in contempt and callously reprimanded me. “It’s nothing more than you deserved, you wicked, wicked child! Oh stop all that nonsense! What a sissy cry-baby you are!” She swiped my tear-stained face with a corner of the damp towel and ordered me to stop snivelling. I gradually brought my ragged breathing under control, brushing away the last tears before she could do it for me.

Aunty instructed Alison, her eldest; “Look in Brenda’s wardrobe, and find this little sissy some of your sister’s oldest smallest clothes to try on.” I couldn't believe it when my peenie started to thicken, no matter how hard I tried to make it stop. While we waited, Aunt June began blow-drying and brushing out my long wet hair. I kept my hands cupped in my lap to conceal my swelling tool until Alison returned with some panties, a slip, and a short cotton sundress for me in a pastel floral print.

Aunty made me stand and I started trembling with humiliation when my arousal became obvious. I bent forward at the waist and clamped my elbows together in front of my groin in a futile attempt to conceal my evident excitement as I stepped into the plain cotton panties Brenda handed me. They were so loose, they hung off my slender hips, although my stiffie in front helped keep them up. Laughing caustically at my erection and my cowering shivering state, Aunt June and my jeering cousins began dressing me in the feminine clothes.

Even though at eighteen Brenda was only a year older than me, her smallest old clothes were grossly too large on my slight frame. The light cotton dress billowed loosely about my slender body and the hem fell all the way to my ankles. My Aunt snorted in annoyance. “These clothes are way to large. Take them off him.” The girls seemed disappointed as they stripped me again, but Aunty June snarled, “Don’t worry, girls! He’s not getting out of it that easy!” She concentrated for a moment, and seemed to remember something. “I know where I’ve got something that will fit our little sissy cry-baby. Bring him downstairs, girls,” she commanded her daughters.

Brenda grabbed one bicep and Alison the other, and I struggled to keep my hands clamped over my groin. I was dragged naked and blushing back down to the basement once more, my embarrassing stiffie cradled in my cupped palms. Aunt June quickly found and opened the sought-after pink overnight bag she’d hidden on top of the wardrobe a few days ago. She first took out a light summer frock made from pink and white gingham, shot me a malicious smirk, and placed the flounced dress aside for the moment. She then produced a pink pair of girl’s designer bike jeans that barely covered the knees, and a frilly white cotton blouse both sized for a ten-year-old girl. “Ahh, perfect,” she cried in satisfaction. She also drew out a pair of pink lace-edged sneakers and a few clear plastic packages of new nylon underwear, clearly marked ‘girls size eight to ten.’ Aunt June smirked and commented, “Good. These clothes might just be small enough to fit our little sissy.”

She ripped open a package of underwear and whipped out a pair of silky white nylon panties. They had tiny red polka-dots and narrow band of frilly red lace trim around the waist and leg openings, and there was even a matching training bra! I was shivering from a strange combination of fear and unrepressed excitement as my Aunt held down and open the shiny bikini panties in front of me. She sharply ordered, “Come on, sissy! Put your feet in the leg holes. That’s right. Good girl!” After smacking my hands away from my bobbing hard-on, she pulled them up over my stiffie, till the wide elastic waistband tightly gripped my slender waist. She grinned in malicious satisfaction. “Oh good, they fit.”

Her daughters giggled in cruel amusement when they pointed at my tenting panty crotch. I was mortified to find the girls’ size eight panties were quite a good fit on my undersized seventeen-year-old male body, despite my erection jutting out the front. The frilly nylon panties had a silky exciting feel which started my peenie leaking drops of sticky clear fluid. A shiny wet spot appeared on the front of my new polka-dot underwear. I remained speechless when my aunt teased me that my boobies needed to grow more, as she fed my limp arms through the training bra straps and clasped it in back for me.

Alison remarked that despite my bright red face and the fact that I seemed so embarrassed, I had tears brimming in my eyes - my little stiffie still hadn’t gone down! “Look how hard it is!” She chortled in derision, pointing to my tenting shame. “And look! He’s making his pretty new panties wet in front!”
My Aunt archly replied, “Obviously some part of him loves being humiliated. What a sissy!”
“Yes,” Brenda sniggered in agreement, “and I can see which part!”

Next the giggling teens dressed me in the pair of pink girl's bike jeans, which ended at the top of my hairless calves. I quickly helped to pull them on, the sooner to cover the embarrassing evidence of my uncontrollable arousal. I kept my back to the girls when I had to force my boner to one side before I could zip the fly closed. The stretch pink jeans fitted me very snugly, and gave me a rather feminine figure from behind, emphasising my rounded little butt and my slim girlish calves. I gazed down at the fine blonde down on my legs, and once again regretted the fact that puberty was so late arriving for me.

Brenda further embarrassed me by mentioning that she could see my ‘visible panty line’ through my snug jeans’ bottom, as the stretchy material drew even tighter when I closed the zipper. She gave my bottom a crisp smack that made me squeal (in surprise more than pain,) and ran the tips of her fingers over the seat of my jeans, following the leg elastic of my silky nylon knickers towards my crotch. I whirled away from her and defensively covered my tender bottom cheeks with both palms, making the girls giggle again. My Aunty then dressed me in the flounced white blouse, feeding my arms through the short cuffed sleeves like I didn’t know how to dress myself. The top was made from sheer cotton, and the red polka-dots on my training bra could be easily discerned underneath, a fact eagerly pointed out by Alison. “You can see her bra! Aww! I think that’s such a sweet look on pretty little girls,” she giggled in approval.
“Doesn’t she look cute in her little outfit?” Brenda laughingly insisted. I felt totally humiliated as the giggling girls lavishly complimented me on my sweet new look.

There were no socks in the box, so Aunt June had me wear the pink frilly sneakers without any hose. Even the laces were pink, which Brenda tied for me in big floppy bows that looked extremely feminine. The girls continued to tease and taunt me as they dragged me back upstairs to further feminise me. Aunty insisted that my cousins file and paint my fingernails, which my bossy cousins were more than happy to do. They sat me down in front of the vanity in my Aunt’s bedroom for a manicure first, and then painted my fingernails bright pink. They even made me remove my sneakers and they did the same thing to my toenails.

Brenda took out a pink vinyl beauty case and unzipped it while Alison grabbed my chin and examined my face from inches away. “She’s got gorgeous long lashes,” the raven-haired beauty commented with a hint of envy.
“Yes, they’re wasted on a boy, don’t you think?” Brenda retorted, and they both laughed. The buxom blonde did something to my eyelashes with a little black wand, and then Brenda dusted some perfumed pink powder on my cheeks.

Alison told me stretch my mouth wide as she carefully applied a coating of glossy pink lipstick to my trembling lips. I hoped no one noticed that my stiff little tool was pounding with arousal inside my silky nylon knickers. Aunt June brushed my blow-dried hair in a fluffy feminine style, and slid some barrettes in the sides for a more feminine look. When they decided I was ready, they made me stand in front of them while they closely inspected me.

I felt my heart begin to race when no one spoke for a whole minute. Brenda was the first to break the silence. “He actually looks pretty good,” she commented, although she screwed up her face in distaste as she made her pronouncement.
Alison looked serious as cancer when she nodded in reluctant agreement. “If I didn’t know any better, I would swear he was a cute seven or eight year old girl.”
Aunty June seemed pleased with her daughters’ evaluation. “I told you he was too petite and too pretty to be a boy,” she smugly reminded them. I was floored when they all sincerely commented on what a beautiful little girl I made! They seemed genuinely astonished by my altered appearance, and they stood me in front of a mirror so I could see, too.

I was shocked to see that I really did look like a pretty pre-pubescent girl. The feminine hairstyle completely altered my features, softening my jawline and making me look even more like a real girl. I was thrilled and yet so incredibly mortified, I couldn't move away from my reflection! I stood frozen to the spot in shock while Aunt June announced, “Since you look so sweet, from now on your new name will be ‘Candy’!" She warned me, “Now you better behave like a good little girl, Candy - or else!” She glanced at her daughters, who were smiling and nodding in approval.

A few seconds later she turned me to face her and sternly demanded; "What's your name, little girl?"
I whimpered "Candy" in response, too embarrassed to look her in the face.
She frowned forbiddingly and snapped; "Candy what?"
I belatedly corrected myself. "My name is Candy, ma'am.”
She smiled thinly and nodded in approval. "That's a good little girl! Put Candy’s sneakers back on her feet if her toenails are dry, will you Alison?"

After an embarrassing lunch with the girls where they constantly teased me, Aunt June announced, “It’s a beautiful day outside. Candy, I think you should go outside and play. It’s too nice a day for a pretty little girl like you to be cooped up inside.” I knew she wanted to further embarrass me by making me parade around in public dressed as a pre-teen girl. I stuttered that I didn't want to go anywhere dressed like this, but she insisted I go outside - or else she would paddle my naughty little bottom. Most reluctantly I agreed, and I shuffled dispiritedly towards the back door.

I didn't want any of the neighbourhood kids seeing my shameful effeminate attire, so I asked if I could still ride my bike, planning to pedal away from the house as quickly as possible. After thinking for a minute, my Aunt replied, “Alright Candy. You may still go bike riding. But I want you to stay close to home, and I think you should use Brenda's old bike from now on. Girls, go and fetch your old bike for Candy.” I protested that I wanted to ride my cool black Malvern Star I’d brought with me from home. Aunty ignored my mumbled objections and sent Alison and Brenda to dust off their old kiddie bike and wheel it out of the garage.

I stood there in horror when I saw what they had planned for me. It was a pink and white little-girl’s bicycle, with a white cane basket on the front and pink streamers dangling from the white rubber handgrips. Brenda and Alison shepherded me onto the kiddie bicycle standing in the driveway, and I realised with disgust that it was only a fraction small for me. I didn’t realise their old bike had already been cleaned and the white tyres filled in preparation for this day. When Alison laughed and commented that she had outgrown this bike when she was six or seven, my face fell even more. I whined in protest. “But - but - this is a little girl’s bicycle!”

Aunt June insisted, “I think a little girl’s bike is quite appropriate for you now, considering how you’re dressed.” When I continued complaining, she snapped, “That’s enough out of you! That bike is going to be your bike for the remainder of your vacation! Do you hear?” She rode roughshod over my shrill objections, demanding, “Do you want your bottom spanked again, little girl?” I shook my head in denial, my bottom lip poking out like a sore thumb. She pointed imperiously to the street. “If you don’t want another session over my knee, young lady, you’d better get going! Go on, Candy. Off you go!” I reluctantly wheeled the pink bike out to the kerbside, encouraged on my way by another stinging slap to my still tender rear. “And don’t you dare get those pretty clothes dirty, or you’ll be in for another paddling - only worse,” was her only parting comment.

As I pondered my humiliating predicament, I spotted a group of local boys in the distance approaching on their bikes. I definitely didn't want them to catch me dressed like this, so I began pedalling my shameful pink bike in the opposite direction as fast as I could. I rode quickly for about five minutes, and slowed down as I realised I was passing the roadside café at the town perimeter. Unfortunately the bike chain slipped off the gears at that moment, and it clattered noisily to the road. As I knelt at the kerbside and tried to work the greasy chain back over the spokes, I noticed how striking my pink fingernails looked. I became so anxious trying not to dirty my hands or my clothing, I couldn't successfully rewind the chain.

While muttering, stumbling and fumbling, I was startled by a gruff feminine voice from behind me. Two cute but tough-acting girls who looked about twelve or thirteen were standing over me. They were dressed in faded blue jeans and similar scoop-necked t-shirts, with scruffy old sneakers on their feet. I felt quite feminine and attractive squatting in front of them. One asked, “What’s wrong, little girl?” I didn't reply. She loudly and unnecessarily observed, “It looks like your chain fell off.”
The other girl asked more insistently; "What's your name, girly?" I didn't respond again, so she repeated the question, only much louder and more slowly, as if addressing a moron. “I said, what’s - your - name?”

Blushing with shame, I stood and faced them, and softly whispered; "My name is Candy." I sighed quietly in relief when they didn’t seem to suspect anything was amiss. The girls told me their names were Sally and Beth, and both said they were thirteen, although they were both much taller than me Beth was slightly taller and more mature looking than her friend, with short light-brown hair. Sally had dark brown hair down to her shoulders, with cute bangs over her forehead just like me. They asked me a few questions; like where I was from, and how old I was. I replied, “I’m from Sydney, and I- I’m twelve years old.” My cheeks turned pink with shame when I lied to the girls, but I didn’t dare tell these bigger girls that I was a seventeen-year-old boy. Not looking the way I looked. They seemed dubious when they commented that Sydney was very far away, and that I looked awful small for twelve.

Beth looked doubtful when she asked, “Are you sure you’re not telling fibs?”
I shrilly insisted, “I’m not lying!” I’m sure my small stature and guilty expression only made them assume I must be younger than I admitted.
Sally asked me, “If you’re really twelve, how come you are riding a little kid’s bicycle?”
I told them, “I had no choice.” My tone turned resentful when I added, “My horrible mean Aunty made me ride it to punish me for misbehaving.” I didn’t realise my bottom lip was poking out like a sulky toddler’s.
“Why? What did you do?“ Beth demanded, suddenly interested.
“I went to the dump yesterday and my clothes got filthy while I was playing in an old car,” I explained. “My Aunty went ballistic!” They nodded in understanding and Beth smiled in what I suspected was approval.

After a few more probing questions they decided that I was ‘cool enough.’ Beth asked, “Do you want to be our friend and join our gang?” I didn't respond right away. When they told me if I joined their gang, they would help me fix my bike chain, I cautiously replied that I was interested.
Sally said, “Good girl! But first you have to smoke a cigarette, for your initiation.”

I confessed to them that I had never smoked before, and they both sneered at my admission. Beth insisted, “All the big kids smoke! Are you chicken?”
I frowned in annoyance, stung by the childish accusation. I thought smoking was a disgusting habit, but I retorted; “No, of course not!” But I really needed help fixing my chain, so I agreed to go behind the nearby diner and smoke a cigarette with them.

After we trotted behind the diner together, Beth took a rather crushed packet of cigarettes and a lighter from the hip pocket of her jeans, and very unskilfully tried to light one in the gusting breeze. While she was preoccupied, Sally asked me, “How long have you been wearing a training bra?”
Her question caught me completely off-guard, and I didn't know what to say. I hesitantly replied, “I only got it today.”
The barely-teenage girl proudly puffed out her small bosom and bragged, “My Mum had to buy me a bunch of proper grown-up ladies' bras, ‘cause I need them so badly!” I hope my expression didn’t reveal what I was thinking.

Beth coughed violently when she finally managed to light the cigarette, and then she handed it straight to me. I tentatively took a couple of shallow puffs without coughing too much, and that seemed to satisfy them. Suddenly a stout old woman in a green waitress’ uniform came barrelling around the side of the diner towards us. Sally and Beth looked terrified and screamed; "Run!" I tossed the burning cigarette to the ground when the fat woman started yelling for us to stop, but we all scattered in different directions. I bolted over to my fallen bike by the footpath, planning to make a quick get-away. I’d forgotten that the chain was still dangling uselessly. The next thing I knew, another much younger waitress in a shorter green uniform grabbed me by one arm and she wouldn't let go. She dragged me away from the broken bike and clutched my arm tightly as the older waitress, still yelling, came trundling up to us.

The fat old woman’s face was red as a tomato when she gasped, “What were you girls were doing behind the diner? I smell tobacco smoke.” She demanded, “Have you been smoking cigarettes?” I was so scared, I was stunned into silence. “I asked you a question. Answer me!” She kept berating me, and a small crowd began to gather. Some people searched behind the diner and a spotty teenage boy found the still-smouldering cigarette. He shambled over with it, and presented the smoking butt to the fat old waitress with a flourish and a goofy grin. She loudly demanded, “Little girl? I asked you if you’d been smoking?”
I fearfully whimpered, "No ma’am!"

But the wheezing woman reasoned, "Then how come this burning butt has glossy pink lipstick on it exactly matching the shade you're wearing?" She demanded, “What’s your name? Where do you live? Tell me your mother’s name.” I cringed away from her and refused to answer. “I already know the other two girls. They’re both bad girls, always getting into trouble. I plan to notify their parents as well, don’t you worry about that. Now what’s your name?”

I was badly frightened, but I didn't want her to tell my strict aunt what had happened. Initially I didn't respond to her barrage of questions. Angered by my silence, she told me, “Listen up! You’re already in big trouble, and you’d better answer me!” By now a large crowd had formed around us, as this was apparently quite a major incident in this dinky backwoods town. She warned me, “If you don't speak up immediately, I’m going to pull down those fancy pink designer jeans you’re wearing, and spank your bottom while everyone watches!” With that, the young waitress who was still holding me twisted my arm painfully up behind my back, and the fat waitress gave me a couple of vicious sample swats on my already-tender bottom.

The gathered crowd cheered as I squealed and danced in pain. They laughed and yelled encouragement when the old woman began undoing the snaps of my tight pink jeans. I was already on the verge of tears, and cried to the women that I would cooperate. To the dismay of the crowd, the waitresses dragged me into the empty diner and forcibly sat me down in a booth. With tears blurring my eyes I fearfully admitted to the women, “Yes, I did it. I was smoking a cigarette behind the diner with those girls.”
“I thought as much,“ muttered the dumpy old bag. “Now tell me your name, and where you live.”
Reluctantly I told them, “My name is Candy, and I’m from Sydney. I’m staying with my Aunty, June Jones. She lives on Condamine St.”
“I know your Aunt quite well. She’s a very sensible woman,” added the older waitress. “I’ll give her a call in a minute.”

I needed to go to the toilet, but I wasn’t game enough to ask to use the ladies’ bathroom. I certainly knew I couldn’t use the gents’. Not after convincing everybody that I was a little girl named Candy. I sat there and crossed my legs, trying to hold it while the fat old woman continued badgering me. I knew my aching bladder would have to wait until I returned home to my Aunt’s place. I tried to ignore the growing pain in my lower tummy, and suffered through the angry woman’s tirade in silence. The severe young waitress took her turn reprimanding me while the fat old one telephoned my Aunt.

A short while later, my Aunt pulled up outside in her bronze Ford Statesman. She threw open the door and leapt out, and stormed into the cafe. The nasty old waitress briefly told her what had happened, and informed her, “Not only did I catch her smoking, but she lied to me when I questioned her about it. She’s a very naughty little girl, who obviously needs her bottom paddled.” Aunt June tried to hide her smile when she realised the women had mistaken me for a little girl.
“You’re right, she is a bad little girl,” Aunty agreed with the waitresses’ astute observation, and mentioned, “I only spanked her bottom this morning for some other wicked deeds.”
“Maybe you didn’t spank her hard enough,” the sour old woman suggested.

Aunty June turned to me and snapped; “This is the last straw, little girl! On your feet, Candy!” She sternly ordered, “You apologize to these women right now,” pointing to the two smirking waitresses. I couldn't see what I had to apologise for, and made the mistake of saying so.
“Why do I have to apologise to them?” I whined like a surly child. To the waitresses’ delight, Aunt June reached down and viciously swatted my bottom several times. I squealed like a startled schoolgirl and jumped away from her hard hand.
She tersely commanded, “You will tell them all you are very sorry! Now do it!” I was so shocked by the unexpected spanks on my tender rear, I almost wet my pants!

Embarrassed and red-faced, with hot tears of shame clouding my eyes, I stammered an apology to the watching women. Aunt June stiffly pronounced, “We’ll continue this discussion when we return home, little girl!” She thanked everyone for their help before dragging me by the ear out to her car, with me crying and moaning the whole way. After opening the rear door, she practically threw me into the passenger seat. She dumped the useless pink bike in the trunk, slammed the lid, and drove the short distance to her house loudly berating me the whole way.

When we reached her home a few minutes later, Aunt June was still extremely angry. She hauled me out of the car by one wrist and turning me towards the front door, spanked me all the way up her front path. Aunty has a large firm hand, and I was squealing in pain after the first harsh blow. By the second smack my aching bladder gave way, and I felt a burst of heat spreading over the front of my pants. Hot wee-wees filled the front of my tight stretch jeans and ran between my legs to soak my bottom, and then a dark stream began to form down the insides of both thighs. As I scrambled up the path I began to leave a tell-tale trail of wet spots behind me.

When my Aunt’s hard palm made contact with the warm wet bottom of my clinging stretch jeans, she immediately realised what I’d done. “Oh you dirty little girl!” She roared in alarm. “Don’t you dare step in my house in those dripping wet pants. Take them off right now! At once!” She made me remove my wet pink sneakers, then roughly stripped the stained bicycle jeans and wet panties down my shivering legs. Scolding me all the while, she used the remaining dry patches to wipe my damp calves and feet. She slammed open the front door and imperiously pointed to the stairs. “Get up those stairs this instant, you disgusting little pants-wetter! Go on! Straight into the bathroom with you, you vile child!” Naked and embarrassed, I ran up the staircase as Brenda and Alison observed from the landing goggle-eyed.

Aunty June informed her bemused daughters, “It seems turning him into a pre-teen girl apparently wasn't enough to discourage his bad behaviour.” She announced with a stern expression, “I’ve decided to turn him into a much younger girl, so that he will be sure to stay out of trouble!” After stripping off my blouse and training bra, she scooped my hair on top of my head and bound it with a hair elastic. She shoved an elasticised plastic shower cap over my head, and made sure all my hair was safely contained. She picked up a bottle of cream and squirted some onto her hand, then called her girls into the bathroom. “Brenda? Alison? Come in here and help me put this depilatory cream on him,” she ordered.

The giggling girls took turns with the plastic bottle and began smearing some smelly pink cream all over my legs and arms. They made me lift my arms up high and rubbed some of the stinky stuff into my armpits, too. Aunty June rubbed the cream into the blonde fur around my shrivelled manhood and over my tummy, although she didn’t bother with my hairless chest. She smacked my hands away when I tried to interfere. “Keep your arms up and your hands out of my way, little girl,” she snapped, in a harsh no-nonsense tone. She even rubbed some lotion into my shivering bumcrack, and both sets of cheeks were blazing with shame by the time she finished. By the time they were satisfied, the cream around my balls was starting to burn. “It hurts,” I whimpered tearfully, but Aunty June merely snorted in disdain.

“Shut up, you sissy cry-baby. You’re too immature to have all that grown-up hair. This cream will make you baby-smooth all over, the way you should be.” I gave a cry of alarm and went to wipe the smelly stuff off my genitals, but Aunty ordered, “Hold his hands, girls, and don’t let him wipe it off. It needs to stay on for another five minutes.” They gleefully grabbed my wrists and held my arms away from my body. The lotion really began to sting and burn, especially around my crotch, and I writhed in their grip. Even my arms and legs were tingling, and I blubbered uncontrollably as I danced in agony.
“What a baby,” April heartlessly chided me.
“Don’t worry, Candy. Soon you’ll be baby-smooth all over, just like any other little girl,” Brenda reassured me in faux-tender tones.

When Aunty decided it was time, the girls lifted me into the waiting hot bath. Aunty June fiercely scrubbed the cream from my arms, legs and genitals. I whimpered at her rough handling but didn’t bother protesting. I had accidentally smeared some bicycle grease on my fingers, so they received a vicious scouring as well. My cheeks were grubby and my eyes had black rings around them from where I had been crying, so Aunty used some white cold cream and tissues to cleanse my face of make-up. By the time she was finished with me, there was a mess of fine blonde hair stuck to the sides of the tub and apart from my head, I was completely hairless.

When Aunty June was satisfied I was pink and shining clean all over, she stripped off my shower cap and pulled out the plug. I watched my body hair swirling down the drain with mixed emotions. They carefully dried my steaming pink body and the girls marvelled at the smoothness of my limbs. When I glanced down to check, my peenie looked strangely bereft and childlike without its normal patch of surrounding blonde curls. Aunty wrapped me in the big pink towel and led me over to the closed toilet. In no time I was thrust naked and shivering over Aunty’s lap again, only this time I heard her curt command; “Hold his arms and legs, girls.” I looked up to see a grinning Brenda grab my wrists and stretch my arms out over my head. At the other end I felt my ankles being securely grasped by Alison. My wriggling toes were pressed to the cold tile floor.

“No,” I whimpered, “please no!” I didn’t see what she used on me, but later Brenda told me it was a special varnished pine punishment paddle which her mother kept for severe acts of disobedience. I was shrieking after the first blow but after a few minutes, I had practically screamed myself hoarse. My nose was clogged with snot and I was gasping for breath as I begged Aunty to stop. By the time she decided I had learned my lesson, the centre of each bumcheek had turned purple, and my protests had been reduced to incoherent whimpers and hiccuping sobs.

When the girls released my limbs, I was rolled off Aunty June’s lap and onto the floor. I lay on the cold bathroom tiles, a shivering sobbing wreck. The girls watched me with dispassionate interest while my Aunt strode out of the bathroom. Aunty June made a quick phone call and then dragged me downstairs and out the front door. She dumped me in the back of her car wearing nothing around me but the damp towel. She drove us a couple of blocks to her friend Mandy’s house in silent fury.

Edited by babyjennie, 11 December 2014 - 05:37 AM.



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Chapter 3. Reduced to Babyhood

We soon arrived at her friend’s place, a huge old-fashioned red brick cottage on a half-acre block. It had two floors, with a wide tin-roofed veranda on two adjacent sides. I clutched the damp towel against my trembling frame with my free hand as my Aunty dragged me inside. Mandy was an attractive mid-thirties brunette, much taller and heavier than Aunty June. She must have stood well over six feet tall in her flat Indian sandals, because she was almost eye-level with Aunty June in her glamorous high heels. My scowling Aunty told Mandy, “This is my wicked pants-wetting teenage nephew, who needs to be turned into my well-behaved little toddler niece!” She told her good friend, “I decided to name her Candy, because she looks so sweet,” before adding in a tone of disgust; “Unfortunately, she hasn’t been successfully potty-trained yet.”

June asked Mandy if she could borrow some of her younger girl’s clothes for this express purpose. “Sure thing,” her grinning friend replied, more than happy to oblige. “I’ve got some of Eliza’s old training panties in a drawer somewhere, and I’m sure I’ve got something pretty she - I mean, he can wear. God, he’s tiny for a teenager!” Mandy laughed at my troubled expression, but then she caught sight of my painted finger and toenails. She commented in a scornful voice, “Ooo, look at her pretty pink nails! Are you sure she’s a boy?” She laughed a deep booming laugh as she led us upstairs to her daughters’ bedrooms. Mandy has three girls: Julia, Kate and Eliza, and they were eight, six, and four years of age respectively.

When Mandy pulled out some of her daughter’s frocks from a cupboard, I realised with horror that her six-year-old must be almost as tall as me, and her eight-year-old girl was probably taller. Mandy chuckled, “I love his long blonde hair. He’s way too pretty and petite for a teenage boy!"
Aunty June snicked and agreed. “I know. I said the very same thing just this morning.”
Her taller friend noted, “He’s no taller than my middle daughter, although he’s much skinnier. Some of Eliza or Kate’s old frocks should fit him well enough.”

Despite my incoherent begging and pleading, Mandy proceeded to show me numerous little-girl outfits she thought might fit me. The chortling women held up the various short dresses and skirt and blouse combinations, pressing the feminine outfits against my shivering frame to check them for size. To my undying embarrassment, I could feel the beginnings of an erection stirring beneath the damp towel I clutched tightly against myself. In mock-sweet tones Aunt June crooned; "With all these lovely dresses to choose from, what does my little Candy want to wear this afternoon?" Confused and afraid, I was unable to respond, and the women continued to taunt me with a barrage of embarrassing questions.

“Do you want to wear a sleeveless sunfrock, like this one?” Mandy sweetly inquired, holding up a simple baby-blue cotton dress against my body. It was so short, it looked more like a flounced top than a dress. “The blue matches your eyes, you know?”
“Or would you prefer a pretty party frock like this one?” Aunty June demanded, showing me a glistening baby-pink satin frock with lavish white lace trimmings. “I think she’ll look much prettier in pink, Mandy. Don’t you?” I tearfully begged for them to stop teasing me, but they just laughed and called me a “silly cry-baby!” Finally Aunt June decided; "Since little Candy can't make up her mind, we'll just have to choose an outfit for her."

I turned my back on her and Mandy ripped away my towel, leaving me trembling and naked. My attempts to cover myself only made her snort with laughter. “Look how smooth his arms and legs are,” Mandy chortled in derision. “My four-year-old has more body hair than him!”
“Yes, my little Candy is baby-smooth all over,” Aunty June boasted, making her friend cackle.

Mandy’s thick brown eyebrows rose another notch when she saw the fresh red marks and purple bruises on my swollen bottom cheeks, but her only comment was; “Your Candy must have been a very disobedient little girl today, from the looks of that sore botty.” She grabbed me around the waist and turned me to face her, and I tried to keep my palms over my thickening penis. The huge woman smacked my hands out of the way and chortled contemptuously at the ready evidence of my arousal. “It looks like our naughty little sissy likes the idea of trying on my girls’ clothes,” Mandy snorted.

“Yes,” Aunty agreed with a thin-lipped smile. “I think dressing up like a little girl secretly excites my little Candy.” I stood there cringing helplessly as Aunt June held a pair of thick pink terrycloth panties down and open for me to step into. With no choice I threaded my feet through the openings and she pulled them up my calves. The tight elastic leg bands felt weirdly pleasant when she drew them up my newly-hairless limbs. She tugged the wide elastic waistband over my bobbing stiffie and high around my waist, almost lifting me off my feet in the process. The pink cotton panties were so snug across the front, they pressed my hard little tool against my baby-smooth tummy, and I marvelled at the heat emanating from my wayward erection. The soft terry-towelling felt like luxurious silk on my newly-bald skin. I felt hot and cold all over all at the same time, and blushed furiously when I realised the thick panties had a crackling inner layer of wetproof plastic between the absorbent terrycloth layers. They were little girl’s training panties! To my everlasting shame, the bulky pink toddler panties fitted me perfectly! They even had row upon row of frilly white lace ruffles sewn across the rear, which Mandy flicked up with her fingers.

My Aunt sounded delighted when she exclaimed, "Oh Candy! What a pretty plump girly bottom you have in those thick ruffled training panties!" I felt so humiliated, my eyes began to swim with tears.
Her taller friend laughed in derision and she heartlessly mocked me as the first fat tears trickled down my hot red cheeks. “Oh look! She even cries like a little girl. Don’t be such a sissy cry-baby, Candy!” The sneering brunette pushed me backwards onto the bed, and slipped some lacy anklet socks and an almost-new pair of snug black patent Maryjane shoes on my feet. She straightened the floppy pink lace frills above my ankles and turned to Aunty June. “Your Candy can keep these shoes. They don’t fit my Eliza any longer, and she’s got the smallest feet.” Mandy suggested, “There are a few cute pairs of Eliza’s old sandals she can have too, if you like. Some are almost brand-new.”

“Okay,” Aunty June agreed with a wolfish smile for me. “Thank you, Mandy” The women started brushing my long blonde hair into two high juvenile pigtails, one each side of my head. I tearfully begged them to stop, but they wouldn't listen. When they finished, they tied a big floppy bow of pink satin ribbon over the hair elastics holding my blonde locks in place. Aunty June used a comb to tease out my pigtails, making them sit up and out like the fluffy ears of a cocker spaniel. “Aww! So pretty!” She crooned to me in mock-affectionate tones. My tattered nerves finally got the better of me when Aunty June combed out my femininely-cut bangs, and I started bawling uncontrollably.

Mandy held open and up a sleeveless white petticoat for me to feed my head and arms through. It consisted of a slinky nylon bodice, with several stiff tiers of attached tulle skirts fluffing out below the waist. “Hold your arms up for Aunty Mandy, my pretty baby girl,” she instructed me in cloying sugary tones. “Come on, Candy. You’re going to look so pretty when we finishing dressing you up!” But I kept sobbing and wailing despondently, and wouldn't obey the huge brunette.

My Aunt mocked my cries of distress, demanding in saccharine baby-talk; "Doesn't our little Candy want to stop crying and finish dressing in her pretty toddler frock? I’m sure she will look so sweet!” I still wouldn't respond and so she continued haughtily, "Okay, my naughty little baby girl. Fine! It's quite warm out, so if you don't stop crying this instant, I'll take you home dressed in just your ribbons, lacy anklets, Maryjane shoes, and those pretty frilly training panties for everyone to see! Would you like that, sweetheart?" I tried to shake my head in denial and form a coherent reply, but I just couldn't stop bawling.

My Aunt only grew angrier and added coldly; "And on the way home, we'll detour through town and stop over at the kiddie’s playground beside the mall. Wouldn’t you like that, little girl?" I sniffled and sobbed and hiccupped back tears, but still couldn't form an intelligible response. My Aunt probably thought I was simply being difficult and deliberately uncooperative, so she continued icily; "And when we reach the playground, I'll gather a crowd together. I’ll announce what a bad little boy you've been, pull down those pretty training panties, dump you over my knee, and spank your sore bot-bot so hard, you won't be able to sit down for a week! Is that crystal clear, my sooky little cry-baby?"

With that she grabbed my wrist and started dragging me towards the door, bidding her friend goodbye. Mandy was laughing hysterically as she looked at the tenting front of my training panties in disbelief, then she waved farewell. "Bye-bye, Baby Candy! Have fun at the kiddie playground!" I couldn't believe this was happening to me! I realised Aunt June was deadly serious, so I knew I had to stop bawling and cooperate. To be hauled outside dressed only in frilly girl’s training panties would be far more humiliation than I could handle.

“No, no!” I pleaded. “I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you want,” I managed to wail. I was able to muster my strength enough to stop crying, yet my excitable little tool refused to go down.
As I sniffed back the tears and gulped for air, my Aunty archly asked me, “Are you going to behave and finish dressing properly, Candy?”
I whimpered in reply; "Yes ma'am."
“Are you going to be a good little girl for Aunty?”
“Yes Aunty.”
“Tell me,” she insisted.
I tried not to snivel as I dismally whimpered, “I’ll be a good little girl for you, Aunty June.”
She responded with a tight smile; "Now that's my good little girl! Arms up, Candy, and hold your head up."

My humiliation mounted when the sadistic women resumed where they’d left off. The flounced shortie petticoat was lowered over my head and threaded over my compliantly-raised arms. The silky-smooth nylon bodice slithered liquidly over my shivering torso, making my little nipples hard as buttons. I noticed the stiff tulle underskirts were edged with a wide layer of frilly white lace, making them look even more feminine. At least they covered the embarrassing bulge tenting out the front of my thick cotton panties - if only just.

Lastly came the pale-pink satin, little-girl’s party dress. There was a high, wide, darker pink satin waist sash that tied in a floppy bow in the back. It had a high round neckline and fastened up the back with a row of tiny pearl buttons. The juvenile frock had sheer, elbow-length puffy sleeves, and oodles of white lace trimming around the cuffs, collar and hemline. Both women ‘Oohed!’ and ‘Aahed!’ over me as they straightened the lacy dress hem over the bouncing layers of stiff tulle petticoats. The frock fitted me very snugly around the bust and like the pettie, was extremely short. My tears finally dried and Mandy gave my tear-stained face a hard rub with the damp towel.

Aunt June produced her make-up bag and after a few minutes, mascara, pink lipstick and a hint of blush had been applied to my drying eyes and cheeks. Mandy seemed astounded by my transformation, and dragged me over to a floor-length mirror to show me how pretty I looked. I was stunned to see I looked exactly like a cute oversized six-year-old girl, dressed up in a pretty party frock all ready to be taken out. My little legs looked smooth and hairless poking out below the frothy white petties, and the brief frock left most of my slender thighs exposed. I tentatively raised my dress and petties in front a couple of inches and spied the crotch of my thick pink terrycloth panties. I trembled all over as I stared in wonder at my feminine reflection, the frothy white petticoats swaying and bobbing distractingly with my every tiny movement.

Both women seemed thrilled with the results of their handiwork, and commented that I looked “So sweet!” and "Adorable!" Mandy warned me, “Now I want you to behave yourself in my house, Candy, like the good little girl you appear to be.” Before I could even catch my breath, the women grabbed my hands and hustled me downstairs to the kitchen. The thick crackling panties, frothy petticoats and my bobbing satin skirts all made me feel incredibly juvenile and feminine. The petties also made a very noticeable rustling swishing sound whenever I walked or moved about. I felt terrified as they led me downstairs, but still extremely aroused!

Mandy offered, “Since you have been behaving like a good little girl - so far - you may have some milk and cookies - if your Aunty gives you permission.” When I glanced at her, Aunty June smiled and nodded her approval.
After enduring such a humiliating experience, I wasn't at all hungry. To Mandy I politely replied, "No thank you, ma'am."
But my Aunty smiled tightly and asked, “Would you rather go out in the back yard and play with my friend Mandy’s little girls instead?”
I fearfully demurred again, “No thank you, ma’am.”

Aunt June spitefully insisted, “Make up your mind, little girl! You have to do one or the other. Either have something to eat and drink with the grown-ups, or go outside and play with the other girls.” The thought of venturing outside dressed like a pretty toddler girl terrified me, so I chose the milk and cookies option. The grown-ups’ coffee was already brewing, and my cheeks burned with shame when I noticed Mandy filling a pink sippy-cup with milk for me. She snapped on the lid and handed the plastic toddler’s cup to me with a condescending smirk. I meekly followed them when they strolled into the living room with their steaming mugs in hand.

I carelessly flopped down on the couch as I normally did while wearing shorts. Both women started cackling as I unthinkingly sat with my bare thighs splayed wide open as usual, unaware I was giving them an unobstructed view of my padded panty crotch. Aunt June snorted back her laughter and shook her head as she remonstrated with me. "Candy! Bad girl! You can’t sit like that! Unless you want your sweet frilly training panties to be disgracefully exposed, you’ll have to sit with your knees pressed demurely together or with your little legs crossed. That‘s how little girls must sit while wearing short skirts with tulle petticoats underneath."

I blushed rosily and immediately clamped my knees closer together, as much as the thick crackling wad of cloth between my thighs would allow. I pressed the spout of the sippy-cup between my lips and sucked down a few mouthfuls of cold milk, my throat swollen with shame. With my free hand I simultaneously tried to push my dress hem down in front to cover my training panties, the cool pink satin slick against my fingers. The women chuckled at my frustrated efforts, and Mandy commented with a giggle. “Will you look at him - I mean, her! Look how prettily she blushes - just like a real girl!” After I drained half my sippy-cup, they spent the next twenty minutes teaching me how to sit and stand properly like a polite little girl - one wearing a too-short toddler dress with flaring petties underneath. By the time they let me pick up my sippy-cup of milk, my erect peenie had dwindled into insignificance.

I couldn't eat many cookies and when I said I was full, Aunt June insisted I had to toddle out to the back yard and play with Mandy’s girls anyway. I was feeling extremely self-conscious, as one could imagine. I didn't want to be embarrassed in front of any more people, even much younger children. But Mandy tightly clasped my hand and commanded, “Come with me, little Candy. I’ll introduce you to my daughters.” A smirking Aunt June followed close behind us, to better observe my ongoing humiliation. The three little girls were playing jump rope on the patio, and they were all dressed in similar light cotton, sleeveless sundresses. The oldest, Julia, had loose, shoulder-length brown hair and a slightly pudgy figure. Her two solidly-built younger sisters had similar long blonde locks tied up in frothy bunches like mine, but without the ribbons. I felt woefully overdressed in my shiny satin party frock, frilly petticoats and ribbon bows.

I stared straight down at my lacy anklet socks and the shiny black patent Maryjanes on my feet, red-faced with shame while Mandy introduced me. “Girls! This is Aunty June’s little niece, Candy, from Sydney. Candy, this is Julia, Kate and Eliza.” When the girls finished murmuring their greetings, Mandy asked her daughters, “Please make little Candy feel at home, as she is a very shy little girl.” She stage-whispered to her youngest, “Candy had to borrow one of your frocks and a pair of your old training panties this afternoon, Eliza, because she wet her panties and jeans earlier.” The girls giggled at this juicy titbit of gossip, and turned to stare at me with wide reappraising eyes. I noticed they all had brown eyes, like their mother.

While my cheeks blazed with humiliation, Kate chirped, “You look very pretty in my baby sister’s party dress, Candy.” The three girls politely asked me to join them in skipping rope, but I timidly whispered that I didn't know how. Aunt June asked Mandy’s children to be good little girls and teach me, and they were happy to oblige. Then my Aunt said that she and Mandy were returning inside.
Aunty June warned me, “I want you to play nicely with the other girls, Candy, and behave yourself like a good little girl - or else!” She added with a sly grin, “I’m going to come out later and watch you jump rope, Candy, so I suggest you’d better let the other girls teach you properly.”

After the adults departed, the girls crowded around me and asked me a few questions; about my age and where I was from, and how often I wet my pants. I blushed at their blunt interrogation and told them, “I’m from Sydney,” and then hesitated. I was so nervous, my voice came out in a high-pitched squeak. I even sounded like a shy little girl! Since the tough girls at the diner obviously hadn’t believed me when I told them I was twelve, I tentatively told these younger girls, “I’m eight years old, and I almost never wet my pants.” Their expressions seemed to indicate that they scarcely believed either answer. I sighed with relief when they didn’t quiz me further about my real age.

The middle girl, Kate, stepped close to me and examined my face from inches away, making my pink cheeks turn a rosier hue. Her brown eyes were a lighter shade than her sisters’, wide and inquisitive. She sounded envious when she asked, “Are you wearing make-up?” I nodded, innocently batting my long black lashes at her. “You look really pretty,” she complimented me. “You’re so lucky!” I realized these girls actually thought I was a little girl, too. I didn’t know whether to feel excited or relieved, but I figured it would be less embarrassing to maintain the charade. I decided to watch them carefully and try to act just like them, so they wouldn’t notice any difference.

“Our Mum never lets us wear make-up,” the oldest girl added. “Did your mum do your face for you?”
“My Mum never lets me wear make-up either,” I told them, gnawing anxiously on my bottom lip. Well, it was true - and I was trying to bond with these little girls. I could taste my glossy pink lipstick, and stopped myself from chewing my painted lips. “My Aunty June did it for me.” My response seemed to satisfy them.
Julia asked, “Do you want to skip first, Candy?”
I softly replied, “Could I just try being a rope-turner first?” The others said that was okay, but Julia reminded me I had to take a turn jumping later. When she handed me the wooden handle at one end of the rope, I realised how much taller than me she was. The top of my head barely reached her nose and Julia was only eight! No wonder they didn’t believe me when I told them I was eight years old.

I had the rope turning down all right after a few minutes, but when it was my turn to jump, that was something else entirely. At first I actually made a few reasonable jumps, but I forgot to hold down my short dress and flaring petties at the same time. My skirts flew up high around my waist, and the girls giggled merrily and pointed at my indecent panty display. “Naughty girl!” Kate scolded me.
“Stop that, Candy!” Julia insisted, and then she started laughing. Even the four-year-old got in on the act.
Eliza pointed at my exposed crotch and chanted, “I can see your panties, I can see your panties! You’re a bad girl!”

The girls prissily insisted I had to hold my dress hem down and stop showing off my frilly petties and training panties like a bad girl. I wanted to make a good impression, so I tried hard to act demure and ladylike. However I became so involved with trying to hold down my bobbing dress and petties, I couldn't even make one good jump. After many fumbling turns, I was able to successfully hold down my wayward skirts and make a few decent jumps simultaneously. I spied Aunt June and Mandy watching my antics through the kitchen window, pointing at me and giggling at my poor attempts at demure feminine behaviour. Their laughter threw off my timing and the rope slapped my ankles. I was grateful to surrender my place and take up one end of the rope again.

Julia unexpectedly asked me, “Do you want to sleep over at our house tonight? It’s Kate’s seventh birthday tomorrow, and you could stay for the party in the afternoon, if you’d like?”
I imagined trying to keep my male identity a secret while surrounded by a troop of clamouring seven-year-old girls, and politely replied, “No thank you, Julia.”
The three girls seemed disappointed by my response, and the bossy eight-year-old demanded; "Why not? Don’t you like us?"
“No, no, it’s not that,” I sheepishly protested. I made the lame excuse, “My Aunty June is really strict. She probably won't let me sleep over.”

However, Julia dashed into the house and asked my Aunt for herself. To my disappointment, a few moments later Aunt June and Mandy strolled out to join us. My sadistic Aunty announced, “I think it’s a wonderful idea for you to have a sleepover with the girls, Candy. You can attend Kate’s birthday party tomorrow, too! Won’t that be fun?” I meekly tried to object, but soon found I had no further say in the matter. Aunty June insisted I take a turn jumping rope while she and Mandy watched, and my cheeks blushed rosily with shame as I shuffled into place. The girls cheered me on when I successfully managed a few jumps without showing off my ruffle-bottomed panties, and Aunty nodded in tight-lipped approval when I finished my turn.

After ringing her daughters, Aunt June decided to remain with us for dinner that night. She insisted, “I want you to help the other girls set the table, Candy, and you can help wash the dishes afterwards like a good little girl should.” I frowned and resentfully poked out my bottom lip at her. My Mum never made me do the dishes at home. That was girl’s work! Aunty June criticised my table manners while we ate dinner, ordering me to take smaller mouthfuls. “Tiny morsels, darling. Little girls have dainty table manners, Candy,” she reminded me with a teasing grin.

It was a relief to escape from the table, but Mandy made me wear a frilly bibbed pinafore apron while I carefully washed the dishes in the sink. “Here, baby,” she cooed, slipping the loop over my head and tying the waist sashes in a floppy bow behind me. “Put this pretty apron on first, so you don’t splash anything on your good frock.” I couldn’t look at Mandy’s daughters when they clustered around me to dump their plates and cutlery in the sink.
Kate’s arm brushed against mine as she leaned past me, and she paused to stroke my hairless skin. “Gosh, your arms are so soft and smooth,” she commented in admiration, smiling at my bashful expression.
“That apron looks really cute on you,” Julia whispered in my ear before she dashed away.

Shortly after dinner, Aunt June packed her handbag and curtly warned me, “Now Candy, make sure you obey Mandy tonight - no matter what! And mind you play politely with the other girls - or else!” Despite my abject pleas, Aunt June then departed, assuring me with a dismissive wave; “You’ll be right, Candy. Stop carrying on like a big baby!” She turned to her friend and grimaced. “What a sooky cry-baby! I’ll return before lunch tomorrow, Mandy, to help you get things ready for the party. Goodbye, girls.” She waved to Mandy’s daughters, but disappeared without so much as a backward glance for me.

Mandy seemed pleased that I was staying at her place overnight. Like Aunty June, it appeared she was enjoying my humiliating predicament. It seemed to me that she relished the opportunity to feminise a sissy teenage boy like me, and reduce me to the status of a toddler. Mandy removed my frilly pinafore apron after I finished the dishes, but then she pointed me in the direction of their living room. “Go and join the girls and you can have a little play before bedtime,” she ordered.

I had to sit quietly with her girls and play with their Barbie dolls for ages. Julia loaned me one of her older dolls, one with half her hair chopped off, and the girls pushed handfuls of tiny dresses, tops and plastic shoes across the carpet towards me. After an hour or so of dressing and undressing and role-playing with our Barbies, I truly began to feel like the six-year-old girl I appeared to be. Then Mandy walked into the lounge room and announced, “Girls! It’s bedtime for Eliza and Candy.”
I whined in disbelief, “But it’s only just past seven o'clock!”

Mandy snapped in irritation; "Don't give me any back-talk, missy. All little girls need their beauty sleep!" Julia, Kate, and Eliza all chorused they wanted me to sleep with them in their rooms, but Mandy decided there was not enough room in their small bedrooms. Instead she suggested, “Eliza’s old crib is still set up in my bedroom. Candy can sleep in there tonight.” The girls giggled merrily at the announcement. Mandy wasn't joking however, and she led us into her spacious bedroom and showed me the huge pink-painted wooden crib standing against the side wall. She lowered the barred side rail and to my horror, lifted me in to check if it was long enough to accommodate my seventeen-year-old body. To my chagrin, it was big enough if I curled up my legs a little. I was surprised when her pleased smile faded and she coldly demanded, “So tell Aunty Mandy the truth, little Candy. Are you a bed-wetter, too?”

I tremulously exclaimed, "No ma'am!" I meekly lay there in the spacious wooden cot gazing up at her stern features. The girls giggled at my reply and I blushed rosily again when I spied the pink padded baby change table standing against the wall next to the crib.
Mandy warned me, “If you’re a bed-wetter as well as a panty-wetter, you’d better tell me right now, little girl! I don’t want to find out the hard way.”
I cringed at the girls’ bright peals of mocking laughter, and again hesitantly assured their mother, “I- I’m not a bed-wetter. I never - well, almost never wet my pants.” She hardly seemed convinced by my stammered denials as she lifted me out of the crib and set me down.

“Alright, then. You can just wear a nightie and panties tonight. Kate? Go and find Candy something pretty to wear to bed.” Mandy sent her middle daughter to select one of their prettiest nighties for me to wear. They soon returned with one of Julia’s lace-lavished, knee-length, pink nylon nighties, and I accepted the feminine garment with shaky fingers. Mandy untied the sash at the back of my dress and brusquely asked me, “Do you need any help undressing, little one?”

I considered my stiffening little tool and shyly replied, “No thank you, ma’am.”
She curtly told me, “Change into your nightie and go wash your face and hands. Make sure you brush your teeth and go potty. After you’ve finished, I’ll come back and tuck you into the crib for the night.” She and her daughters then left me alone, the children sniggering and whispering secretively amongst themselves. It took me ages to unbutton the back of my party frock. There were so many tiny buttons! I found myself wishing I’d let Mandy help me. I finally removed my dress and took off the frothy petticoat, and lay them neatly on Mandy’s bed. I slipped off my shoes and socks, then slid the slinky nylon nightie over my head. It felt like expensive silk sliding over my baby-smooth arms and body, and my stiffening tool grew to full hardness inside my crackling training panties.

The grinning young girls were waiting for me when I hesitantly tip-toed into the bathroom. I defensively clutched the silky flowing nightie against the front of my snug crackling training panties and shivered nervously as I entered the cold tiled room. Kate handed me a brand-new pink Barbie toothbrush with pink bubblegum-flavoured toothpaste already smeared on the bristles, and Julia ordered me to hurry up and brush my teeth. She closely supervised Eliza and me as we brushed and rinsed, treating me exactly the same as her four-year-old sister. “Here Candy. Mum said you had to rub this stuff on your face before you washed,” Julia commanded.

Eliza watched as her sister smeared a handful of the white cold cream on my face, and she made me rub it into my lips and around my eyes, too. After we washed our faces and hands, I was startled when Julia pulled down her baby sister’s panties to her ankles. She helped Eliza sit back on a big pink potty she placed in front of the toilet. The plump toddler simply held her baby-blue shortie nightie up around her waist as if this were an everyday occurrence, and she loudly emptied her bladder in the big plastic potty without a care in the world.

Julia pulled the hair elastics out of Eliza’s pigtails and gave her hair a quick brush while the toddler her business on the potty. “Are you finished, sis?” Julia asked, when the sound of her baby sister’s stream trickled to a halt.
Eliza took a deep breath and held it. She scrunched up her pretty little face and strained and pushed. We all heard the noisy final squirt into the plastic potty. “I finished,” she announced with a proud smile.

Julia placed the wooden hairbrush aside on the vanity bench and beamed at Eliza in approval. “Good girl!” She spread the little girl’s thighs wide and carefully wiped her damp puffy slit with some folded toilet tissue, which she then threw in the toilet. After ensuring her little sister’s crotch was patted dry, Julia assisted Eliza to her feet and pulled up her matching blue panties. She emptied the potty into the toilet with a loud ‘splash’ and placed it back on the tiled floor, then looked at me inquiringly. “Well, Candy? Don’t you have to go potty, too?”
With my cheeks flaming with humiliation, I shook my head in denial. “No. I don’t need to go,” I told the bossy bigger girl. I couldn’t meet her bemused stare.

There was no way I was going to let her pull down my panties and put me on the potty like a big baby! Although I was pleased that Mandy’s daughters apparently thought I was a little girl, too. Otherwise they wouldn’t have been so casual about exposing themselves to my youthful male eyes. I figured they might be mad at me for fooling them, and I didn’t want them pulling down my panties and discovering the truth. Julia stared at me in apparent disbelief, asking again, “Are you sure?” When I nodded vehemently, she shrugged her shoulders dismissively. “Oh well, suit yourself,” was her only careless comment, before she rinsed and then replaced the big pink potty in the bathroom cupboard.

Mandy returned and completely ignored me, asking Julia if I had done everything she instructed. Before the officious oldest girl could answer for me, I sullenly replied, “I did everything. Why do I have to sleep in a baby’s crib? It’s not fair!”
Mandy disdainfully sniffed, “Stop complaining! I’m sure you’ll get used to it soon enough.” She cautioned me not to whinge any more as she grabbed my hand and hauled me down the hallway to her bedroom. She lifted me into the wide wooden cot with disarming ease, and drew a soft fuzzy pink blanket over me. My newly-hairless legs were so sensitive, I felt every individual fibre brushing my skin. I lay on my back with my knees bent and stared up at her apprehensively. Mandy tucked me in and kissed me goodnight, then raised and locked the barred safety rail in place with a loud ‘click!’ To my ears, it was the sound of a prison door slamming. “Good night, baby girl,” she sang. “Sleep tight, and don’t let the bedbugs bite.”



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Chapter 4. Bedwetting Baby Candy

Mandy switched off the overhead light on her way out. She left her bedroom door open a crack, so the room was partially lit from the landing. As I lay there alone in the semi-darkness dressed in my feminine finery, I felt the familiar erotic feelings wash over me. The ruffled little-girl panties and slippery nylon nightie were really turning me on, especially after having been dressed and treated like little girl all day! My arms and legs felt completely different without their normal layer of fine blonde down, and felt so feminine when I stroked my baby-smooth surfaces. I clutched my straining erection through the thick training panties and began fondling my throbbing hard-on through the stiff layer of crinkling plastic. An intensely pleasurable sensation swept over me, momentarily distracting me from my infantile imprisonment. The plastic lining between the two terry layers rustled loudly as I rubbed my stiffie and wriggled about in ecstasy.

With a guilty start I pulled my self-pleasuring hand away, realising that anyone who peeked through the doorway would easily catch me playing with myself. I folded my knees and rolled onto my belly, the thick plastic mattress cover crackling noisily under the thin cotton sheet in unison with my crinkly plastic-lined panties. My hard little peenie felt wonderful when I gently rocked back and forth on my baby-smooth tummy, pressing my crotch against the mattress till the throbbing head was sliding erotically against the wide elastic waistband of my snug terry panties. A few drops of pre-cum oozed out, making the front of my panties moist and slippery.

When the sensitive tip of my peenie made contact with the front of my slinky nylon nightie, I had an orgasm without touching myself for the very first time in my life. I twitched and shuddered in excitement, gasping for breath as my throbbing peenie spewed creamy jism into my nightie and all over the front of my pink panties. The front of my training panties and the bottom of the nightie grew sticky and damp, and when I came to my senses, I feared someone might notice. I rolled over and pulled the fuzzy baby blanket over me and tried to fall asleep, hoping my cum-stained panties and nightie would somehow dry out during the night. A short time later however, Mandy wandered into her bedroom and switched on the overhead light, making me blink rapidly in surprise.

The enormous brunette stepped over to the cot side. I saw she was holding up a pair of frilly pink nylon knickers in one hand. She cooed, “I hope you haven't fallen asleep yet, sweetie. The girls forgot to give you these pretty matching panties for your nightie.”
I clutched the damp training panties against my gooey genitals beneath the blanket In fear. I sleepily protested, “I don't need a change of panties!”
She peered down at me from over the side rail and shook her head, her long brown locks flicking either side of her large moon face. She primly insisted, “Little girls in my house always wear fresh panties at bedtime, Candy. You will be treated no differently.”

Mandy folded back the fuzzy blanket and started to lift my nightie hem. At once she noticed it was damp and sticky in front, and she sighed and looked annoyed. “Oh no! Candy! Did you have a little accident?” She flipped my nightie all the way up over my chest and angrily yanked down the front of my damp training panties, examining the slimy insides with her probing fingers. “Damn! These panties are wet! You naughty girl! I asked you if you were a bed-wetter and you lied to me! You’re a very naughty little girl!” She scolded me severely for soiling my nightie and training panties, before she unlocked the crib side and dropped it with a loud clatter.

My eyes started tearing over when she snorted, “I know exactly how to handle a disgusting little bedwetter like you! She growled, “You bad little girl! Wait till I tell your Aunty that you wet your pants again!” My first fear was that she was going to phone my aunt and inform her what I’d done. I miserably begged her not to make the call, but after pulling my sticky training panties back in place and dumping me on the padded change table, she stormed downstairs and snatched up the phone.

She returned a few agonising minutes later to inform me that my Aunt was also furious with me. “June said she knew you couldn’t be trusted - that you were nothing but a sissy pissy cry-baby. She agreed with my decision that you should be pinned in nappies like a baby!” I begged Mandy not to diaper me, but she crisply informed me, “It’s no use complaining! I’ve already made up my mind.” With her face set like stone, Mandy strode into the en-suite bathroom and returned with some baby oil, baby powder and lotion. She placed them on the wooden shelf set at head height over the change table. Then she disappeared into her huge walk-in wardrobe and emerged moments carrying a stack of fluffy white cloth nappies and a bunch of rustling wetproof panties. She placed them on a handy shelf under the pink padded table.

I tearfully pleaded with her not to make me wear nappies. “Please no? I’m not a baby,” I whined in protest. “I don’t need nappies!” I didn’t realise how much I sounded like a sulky two-year-old.
She scornfully replied, "I left you alone for only half an hour and already you've wet yourself! How could you possibly last through the whole night locked in a crib?" I started weeping again, but she paid no heed to my tears of distress as she yanked down my crackling damp training panties.

Without another word she pushed me down onto my back. She forcibly spread my thighs and began scrubbing my sticky crotch and tummy with some scented baby wipes. The moist wipes were cold against my warm flesh, but my uncontrollable little tool began to react to her intimate handling nonetheless. Ignoring my growing hardness, she rubbed baby oil all over my baby-smooth parts with her large soft hands. Then she turned me over and gave me a crisp hard swat on my badly-bruised bottom. “Ow!” I cried in pain as fresh tears sprang from my eyes.

“Control yourself, little girl,” she scolded me. While she was thoroughly oiling my bruised buttocks, Julia and Kate - who’d heard all the commotion - opened their mother’s bedroom door to peek inside. Mandy caught sight of them peeping around the edge of the door and she held me face-down as she scolded her daughters. "Hey! We're busy in here! Didn't I teach you girls to knock before you enter my bedroom?"

“Sorry Mummy.” Eight-year-old Julia was bold enough to ask, “What’s going on, Mummy? Why is Candy on the change table?”
Mandy candidly replied; "Candy had a little accident in her training pantiesand I'm getting her all cleaned up. I'll let you girls know when I'm done changing her into something more… appropriate!” The girls giggled in amusement and continued trying to peek at me. As I lay there face-down covering my eyes with my forearm and snivelling in shame, I heard Mandy warn them; “Scoot you two! If you girls don’t get out of here pronto, someone else is might end up wearing nappies to bed, too!”

The giggling girls hurriedly departed and Mandy sprinkled sweet-scented baby powder all over my trembling bruised botty-cheeks. She rubbed in the lightly-perfumed talc with smooth sure strokes and then turned me over. Sneering in contempt at my throbbing little stiffie, she heavily powdered my front, too, but didn’t bother rubbing it in. “What a naughty little girl,” she chided me, scowling and shaking her head in disapproval. Mandy lifted my legs into the air to adjust the layers of thick terrycloth nappies under my bottom, then let my feet drop to raise the front flap over my tummy. It was like my genitals were being encased in a soft fluffy towel. My thighs were forced wide by the bulk of cloth wedged between them.

She pinned the side flaps securely in place over my raging erection. The steel nappy pins were huge, with big pink plastic clips over the heads to prevent them accidentally opening. I tried to press my thighs together but it was impossible. My enormous babysitter sang, “Footsies in the air and point those pretty pink toesies.” Mandy slid some noisily rustling pink baby panties over my pointed toes and up my legs, whispering confidently, “These plastic panties will surely keep my big baby from wetting her nightie again tonight. Alright, footsies down and lift that bot-bot. Good baby, and down.” Mandy carefully tucked all the stray bits of nappy under the pilchers’ tight elastic waist and leg bands to prevent any leaks. “Point those toesies again, baby.” Just in case, these were followed by another pair of plastic-lined satin rumba panties with lavish lace trimmings.

“Just to be sure,” Mandy said, with a grim smile for my look of discomfort. The outer panties were covered in a layer of baby-pink satin, with five wide rows of frilly white lace decorating the seat and matching bands of softer narrower lace around the elasticised leg openings and waistband. When she finished adjusting them and stepped back, I reached down and with shaky fingers stroked the satin layer covering my padded crotch. The puffy panties were unbelievably soft and smooth to the touch, and felt delightful. They were extremely frilly however, and made me look even more like a big baby girl. Despite my embarrassment my erection pulsated madly beneath the multiple layers of soft fluffy swaddling.

Mandy dressed me in a clean baby-pink satin shortie nightie which matched my frilly rumba panties, before lifting me up and laying me on my back in the crib. After she raised and locked the barred side rail, she cooed mock-sympathetically, “Baby must be thirsty from all that crying. I’ll be right back.” She returned a few minutes later carrying a pink baby bottle full of warm milk! She ordered me to start drinking as she forced the warm latex nipple between my lips and warned me she wanted the eight-ounce bottle drained before I went back to sleep. She only departed after I obediently started noisily sucking down the contents. To my dismay she returned a few minutes later with all three of her grinning daughters.

Mandy informed them, "Baby Candy had to be put back into nappies and has to drink from a baby bottle because she wet all over herself in the crib tonight." I plucked the dripping teat from my lips and stared up at her in horror.
The older girls laughed and a wide-eyed Eliza asked, “Mummy? Is Candy really wearing nappies?”

Mandy replied; "She sure is!" She reached over the top rail and stood me up in the cot and the girls gathered around to stare at me. “Show them, Baby Candy.” Mandy ordered me to lift up my shortie pink satin nightie to display my matching frilly rumba panties. I obeyed, clutching the half-full baby bottle to my breast with my free hand, shivering with shame.

The girls giggled as their mother then pulled down both pairs of my wetproof panties in front, exposing the thick nappies pinned tightly beneath. I almost fell over and clumsily grabbed at the chest-high crib rail for support. The girls laughed again and chanted over and over; "Baby Candy’s wearing nappies! Baby Candy’s wearing nappies!"

Mandy grimly reminded her youngest; “This is what happens to all bedwetters, Eliza!" The four-year-old gave me a disdainful sniff and turned her back on me in contempt, her loose blonde hair flicking over her shoulders. Mandy pulled my baby panties back up, lay me down and leaned over the side rail to tuck me back in the crib. I hadn't yet finished my bottle, so she stuck the nipple in my mouth and held it in place for me, ordering me to drink it all. The girls pressed their faces between the wooden bars and giggled in derision as I obediently suckled down mouthful after mouthful of warm milk. Mandy warned me, “Baby better not try to take off her nappies or climb out of her crib during the night, because if she did, Aunty Mandy would have to spank the daylights out of her!” She and the girls sniggered when I visibly cowered at the threat, before they left the room and Mandy switched off the light.

Lying there numb with shock, I faintly heard Mandy and the bigger girls watching television in the living room downstairs. Exhausted from my humiliating ordeal, I eventually fell asleep, but I awoke some time later with an urgent need to pee. I didn't know what to do, as I had been forbidden to take off my nappies or climb out of the cot. After a while, the pressing need became an overwhelming urge. I lay there shivering and twitching spastically and the next thing I knew, my nappy was filling with urine. The gushing as so hot it surprised me, and it seemed to pour out of me forever. It splashed against the front of my nappy, bouncing back against my genitals, before dribbling down between my spread thighs to soak into the rear. I was scared, but at the same time wetting my nappy was such a relief - and the clinging warmth around my genitals felt very exciting! As my endless flow finally trickled to a halt, my excitable peenie reacted to the humid warmth and started to swell.

I quietly lay there afterwards, discretely caressing my sensitive stiffie through the warm wet cloth and the slinky baby panties for ages, till the landing light abruptly switched off. Mandy crept into the darkened bedroom and turned on her bedside lamp, filling the room with a soft yellow glow. I was frightened that she might check my nappy and discover I had wet myself, so I pretended to be asleep and tried to will away my pounding erection. In the dim light I cautiously watched through slitted eyes as Mandy began quietly undressing, peering through the bars to try and see what she was doing. I happened to catch glimpses of her bare shapely bottom and large swaying breasts when she peeled off her white nylon bikini panties and unhooked her enormous white cotton bra. My eyes went wide when I realised her titties were even bigger than cousin Brenda’s. If anything, my stiffie only grew harder when I realised she wasn’t wearing any underwear beneath her shortie nightie. I quickly clamped my eyes shut when she crept over to me dressed only in her wispy yellow nightgown.

Reaching through the crib bars, she gently pulled back the baby blanket, lifted the front of my slinky babydoll nightie, and stuck her finger up one of the leg openings of my wetproof panties. She clucked her tongue in reproval and crooned softly, "Ooo, you’re so wet! Baby Candy needs changing again!" This time Mandy quietly lowered the clattering barred rail, and I pretended to gradually awaken. She grabbed my nappy crotch and squeezed hard, and I think she could tell my peenie was hard and throbbing beneath the warm wet layers.

“I think my little girl likes her wet nappies,” Mandy giggled, teasing me as she pulled down my wetproof panties. She unpinned my drenched nappies right there in the crib. Fortunately my stiffie had started to shrivel in fright, and she ignored the lingering evidence my arousal. She gathered my ankles in one huge hand and rolled me back onto my shoulders, and slid the wet nappies from under my bum with practised ease. “Ooo, you are saturated!” As she carried the soggy diapers over to the nappy bucket beside the change table, she commented, “Baby Candy certainly is a heavy wetter!"

She returned shortly and began wiping me down with the cool moist baby wipes, followed by lotion and then powder again. I erected fully under her gentle caresses, blushing mightily at my lack of control. Mandy smiled enigmatically and shook her head in bemusement at my obvious excitement, then she pinned me in some fresh nappies with the big pink-capped diaper pins. My pounding erection felt wonderful when it was trapped against my tummy by the tightly-pinned nappy. She slid the same damp plastic panties and the pink rumba panties back on me, all the while quietly humming; ‘Rock-a-bye Baby.’ In truth it was all quite pleasant really, in spite of my fearful exhausted state.

She tucked me in, and raised and locked the side rail. She whispered, “Try and go right back to sleep, little girl. We have to get ready for the party in the morning. It’s going to be an exciting day tomorrow!” I wanted to roll onto my tummy and thrust my powder-coated stiffie into the soft fluffy folds that sweetly cocooned me, but Mandy climbed into her bed a few feet from my crib and switched off her bedside lamp. I knew she would hear me wriggling about on the plastic-covered mattress, so I lay on my back clutching the crackling plastic panties against my bulging nappy front, holding my stiffie beneath in a vaguely comforting grip until I finally fell asleep.

As I groggily came to the next morning, Mandy was leaning over the crib rail to check my nappy. She cupped her large hand over the bulging crotch of my satin rumba panties and pressed the warm wet wad of cloth against my groin. I was startled when I realised I was not only wet but hard as a rock down there. Mandy’s moon face split into a wide grin when she realised my nappies were drenched. At least, I think that was why she was grinning.

Mandy muttered, “Aww! Did Baby Candy wet her nappy again?” To my surprise she seemed to expect it rather than be annoyed. When she saw I was finally awake, she crooned in a bright happy voice, “Good morning baby girl! Your nappy is a bit wet, but I think you’ll be safe enough until after breakfast.” She lowered the crib rail and lifted me down. “Off you go, baby. The girls are waiting for us in the kitchen.” She sent me on my way with a crisp swat to the rear of my drooping plastic-sheathed bottom. I waddled downstairs and shuffled down the hallway with my hands cupped defensively over my soggy groin. Mandy followed right behind me, and I was glad when my stiff little tool began to dwindle.

In the kitchen there was a big pink highchair waiting beside the table where Mandy’s girls were seated. Before I could object, the huge woman lifted me into the juvenile device and plopped me on my warm wet bottom. She fed the waist belt through the loop of the crotch strap, then buckled the restraints in place around me. "Babies who wet their nappies have to be fed in the highchair," Mandy stated in a sing-song voice, as if it were a familiar mantra. Stunned that the infantile contraption was actually big enough to accommodate me, I couldn’t even voice a protest when she lowered the hinged pink tray and locked it securely in place against my tummy. Her three daughters were already eating milky cereal from brightly coloured plastic Barbie bowls, and they didn’t look at all surprised to see me being strapped into the highchair like a big baby. It was obviously an oft-repeated ritual they had witnessed many times. A similar full pink plastic bowl of cereal was placed on the tray in front of me, but no spoon.

Mandy stepped behind me to clip a frilly pink bib around my neck. My mouth fell open in astonishment when I realised what she was doing. “I don’t need a bib!” I wailed, tugging at the bottom of the lace-edged bib in a futile attempt to remove it.
“Shh, baby,” Mandy firmly commanded, and she smacked my hands away from the humiliating baby napkin. “Leave that alone.” I snatched my hands away and glared at her resentfully. “Babies who wet their nappies have to eat in the highchair, and babies in highchairs wear bibbies. No more fussing!” The unasked question about eating utensils was answered when the tall woman picked up a big pink plastic spoon and loomed over me. She dipped the spoon in my bowl and shovelled a large scoop of soggy cereal into my gaping mouth.

“That’s right. Eat up, Baby Candy. Good baby!” Mandy grinned and praised me as I reflexively chewed and swallowed. “Eat it all up for your Aunty Mandy like a good little girl. Now open wide.” Before I could object to this relentless infantile treatment, another spoonful of cereal was pressed between my lips, then another, till I was forced to consume the entire contents of the pink Barbie bowl in humiliated pink-cheeked silence. When I had eaten every last scrap, Mandy nodded and smiled in heartless satisfaction. She roughly wiped my grubby face with my bib, and then gave me a baby bottle full of orange juice to drink while she attended to her own breakfast. I was thirsty and despite my shame, I thrust the nipple between my lips and started sucking. Fortunately the girls left the table soon after they finished eating, and I don’t think they noticed me slurping from the teat of a pink baby bottle.

I realised I needed to pee again and didn’t bother trying to hold it. I was strapped in a highchair and couldn’t escape, so I relaxed and warmed my nappy afresh. The hot wee-wees squirted uncontrollably from my limp peenie, spraying against the front of my saturated nappy and splashing back against my tummy before trickling erotically around my tiny sack and dribbling down beneath my bottom cheeks. I wriggled about in the rising warmth as I gulped down my juice, perversely enjoying the comforting soggy heat around my genitals. When Mandy finished eating her breakfast and I had drained my bottle, my grubby bib was removed. I was released from the highchair and the towering brunette escorted me upstairs to the bathroom.

After sending her girls away, Mandy stripped me of my satin nightie and matching rumba panties. She then tugged down my glistening baby panties and unpinned my saturated nappies. They fell to the floor with a loud wet ’plop!’ “What a wet baby girl,” she reproached me with a sad shake of her head. She dumped the sodden pieces of cloth in a white nappy bucket. She produced the big pink potty from the cupboard and placing it in the centre of the cold tiled floor, seated me on the humiliating device. “I want you to try and do number ones and number twos in the potty like a big girl, Candy,” she instructed me, like I was a hopeless toddler who needed to be told what to do. “Go on, baby. Show Aunty Mandy how you do your business on the pot-pot.” She sat on the closed toilet lid watching me and encouraging me to ‘do my business’ for ten awful humiliating minutes. I huddled in front of her hunched over the pink potty, wracked with shame and failing abysmally.

Her girls all seemed to find a reason to visit the bathroom while I was perched on the potty. Every few minutes a different head would pop around the doorway to ask their mother a question or check on my progress. My cheeks were blazing with shame by the time a disgusted Mandy gave up on me. “Up you hop,” she commanded, then peered into the empty potty behind me. “Well that was a complete waste of time,” she complained. She lifted me into the hot tub with a snort of impatience before replacing the unsullied pink potty in the cupboard. I was given a complete baby bath, lifted out, and then carefully dried off by the grimly-smiling woman. She hung up the damp towel and then dragged me by one hand out of the bathroom towards her bedroom. I kept my other hand cupped defensively over my shrivelled genitals, but fortunately the girls didn’t see me when she hauled me glowing pink and naked across the landing.

As Mandy prepared to start dressing me in her bedroom, I saw her readying some fresh thick cloth nappies on the change table. I shook my head in silent refusal, my blue eyes wide in trepidation. She signalled me to come closer to the padded table with her crooked index finger. “Come here, little girl,” she ordered with a grim smile. “It’s time to put Baby Candy back in nappies, where she belongs.”
I backed away as I begged her not to diaper me again. “No! Please no, Aunty Mandy? I don’t really need nappies. I’m really seventeen years old, not two,” I timidly reminded her.

She stepped closer and demanded in a voice oozing sarcasm, "Is that so? In that case Baby Candy, how come you still wet your pants? How come you wet your training panties in the crib last night, like any other two-year-old, and needed changing into a nappy? Then I had to change that wet nappy before I went to bed! Not to mention your fresh night nappy was drenched when I took it off this morning, too! And how come you couldn't perform on the potty just now for Aunty Mandy like a big girl?”
I wailed, “I don’t know! I’ll try and control myself better from now on. I promise!” I pleaded. She simply sniffed in disbelief and grabbing me under the armpits, lifted me into the air.

Mandy plonked me on my back on the soft pile of white cloth laid out waiting and ready for me on the padded vinyl table top. Despite my objections, the fluffy nappies felt soft and comforting under my damp bottom. She replied shortly, “I’m in no mood to take any chances with you today. I’m going to have a house full of screaming kids this afternoon. I don’t have time to deal with a silly baby who still has accidents in her panties. You are going to have to stay in nappies all day long, whether you like it or not! Now hush up and settle down - or baby will get another botty-spanking from Aunty Mandy!”

The threat of more punishment certainly shut me up. To my disappointment Mandy diapered me as heavily as she did the night before, pinning two of the thick terrycloth nappies tightly around my loins. She covered my fluffy nappies with a clean pair of rustling transparent pink plastic pilchers, then drew over the top some musk-pink satin rumba panties, similar to the ones I’d worn last night. She lifted me down from the change table and slid a very short, layered white petticoat on me made from frothy chiffon layers. It swished femininely around my wide padded hips. The snug nylon bodice felt wonderful as it slid over my trembling torso, till the shoestring straps settled neatly over my shoulders. I felt an uncontrollable surge of arousal as I slid my palms over my stiff little nipples, relishing the silky feminine feel of my pettie. Mandy brushed out my hair and styled it in two high fluffy pigtails again, and then combed out my bangs in front. She tied some darker pink ribbons around the hair elastics securing my pigtails, forming two big floppy pink bows either side of my head. Then she slipped some white lacy ankle socks and the black patent Maryjane shoes on my feet.

A lace-lavished, heavily flounced, musk-pink, little-girl’s party dress was produced on a padded satin hanger, and it rustled noisily when she slid it free. Mandy explained, “This dress is made from heavy bridal satin. Isn’t it gorgeous?” She demanded, as she eased the slithering frock over my bowed head. She reached through the elasticised cuffs and gabbed my hands, feeding them through the short puffy sleeves. The party frock was so short, it barely covered the bulging crotch of my matching pink satin panties. “Aww! Look at you! You look just like a sweet, adorable little toddler girl!" Mandy gushed in delight. She dragged me over to a mirror to show me how beautiful I looked. After seeing my reflection, even I could hardly believe I was a seventeen-year-old boy. I looked like a six-year-old girl dressed like a big baby! Despite my embarrassment, my stiffening peenie only grew harder inside the confines of my soft fluffy diaper.

She led me waddling awkwardly downstairs to the lounge room where her girls enthusiastically complimented me on how pretty I looked. To further humiliate me, Mandy raised the front of my dress and petties and exposed my diapered shame to her daughters. Their eyes went wide when she announced, “As Baby Candy can’t be trusted to use the potty like a big girl, she needs to be kept in nappies and baby panties all day today.” Her girls laughed at my crestfallen features when Aunty Mandy released her grip on my petties and smoothed down my bobbing skirts in front for me. She instructed her grinning daughters, “Keep an eye on her for me this morning, girls, and be sure to check her nappies regularly. Silly little toddlers like Baby Candy can’t be trusted to tell us when they’re wet!”

To Mandy's amusement, Julia stood over me and patted me condescendingly on the head. The plump eight-year-old pulled her brown hair back into a short business-like ponytail and then crooned to me, “Cheer up, Baby Candy. I’ll be your pretend-Mummy for the day. We can play ‘Mummies and Babies,’ and you can be my precious baby girl all day long! Won’t that be fun?” I felt so humiliated, my cheeks were burning and my ears were red and buzzing. I was made to help decorate the house for the party, handing up streamers and inflated balloons to the bigger girls. Eliza and I weren’t allowed to stand on the chairs because Aunty Mandy said we were too little.

After about an hour of decorating Aunty Mandy brought us all some chilled apple juice to drink. The bigger girls were given plastic cups, Eliza had a pink cup with a lid and a sipping spout, but mine was served to me in a baby bottle. So unfair! The girls all grinned at me when I stuck the nipple in my mouth and thirstily gulped down the contents. Now and then without saying a word to me, Kate or Julia would stop right in front of me, lift up the front of my dress and petties with one hand, and then slip the other inside the waistband of my baby panties for a quick wetness-check. My cheeks burned with shame each time they squeezed my nappy front and loudly announced to their mother, “Baby Candy is still dry, Mummy!” Thankfully I remained dry all morning.

About 11:00 a.m. Aunt June turned up, along with my cousins Alison and Brenda. They had all taken the time to do their make-up this morning and they looked beautiful. Alison had painted her lips glossy red like her mother, while Brenda’s luscious mouth glistened with bright pink lipstick. Both teens were wearing blue jeans and light summer blouses, and they looked slim and attractive this morning when they strolled into the sunroom at the back of the house. My cousins seemed amazed at my transformation into a convincing toddler girl. “My God! Look at him!” Alison cried in delight, “I love his hair in pigtails. He looks so much like a little girl!” She shook her head in disbelief, her long raven locks flying.

“She looks about six years old,” cackled Brenda. Her long tawny-blonde hair was tied back in a neat ponytail which fell halfway down her back. She strode over beside me and flipped up the front of my dress and petties. “Look, Alison!” Brenda squealed, her luscious pink lips forming a broad smile. “She’s wearing nappies and rumba panties!” Both teenagers burst into fits of laughter. I turned away from them in shame, trying to push my dress hem back down like a shy little girl.

“Aww! It’s okay, little girl,” cooed Alison in a tender tone, chucking me under the chin like I was a sulky toddler. “You look really pretty in that sweet little frock - and Mum hasn’t even put any make-up on you yet!”
“I bet you’ll look gorgeous then, Candy!” Brenda confidently predicted, and teasingly demanded, “Won’t you love that?” I gazed down at the floor with my cheeks burning, too embarrassed to admit the truth.

I looked so much the part that my cousins talked to me and treated me exactly as though I really was a sweet little girl - and it was turning me on! But Aunty June seemed annoyed with me from the moment she set eyes on me. She strode into the room wearing a short denim skirt and a pair of navy sandals with four-inch stiletto heels, which showed of her long shapely legs to advantage. Her white cotton button-front blouse was demurely fastened below her throat, but it was sheer enough to give tantalising glimpses of the white lace bra she wore underneath, which struggled to contain her massive heaving bosoms. Her long dark-brown hair was tied up in a loose bun on top of her head as usual, and she looked very sexy.

“She might look sweet but she’s a very naughty little girl,” growled Aunty June, “making lots of extra work for Aunty Mandy. Not only is she a pants-wetter, she’s a bed-wetter too! Candy had to be put back in nappies last night because she wet her panties again like a silly baby after she was put to bed!”
“Really?” Alison demanded, staring at me with goggle eyes. “You wet the bed, little girl?” Brenda simply laughed uproariously.

Aunty June demanded of me, “Have you apologized to Aunty Mandy for your disgusting lack of control, Candy?” I tried to hide the tears of shame pricking my eyes by staring down at the floor. I numbly shook my head in denial, making my pigtail ribbons dance. She insisted, “Why not? Answer me, little girl.” I didn't know what to say. I just stood there with my head bowed until Aunt June angrily snorted, “You silly baby!” She demanded, “What’s wrong with you?” Again I failed to reply. How do you answer a question like that? “Are you wet? Does your nappy need changing? Speak up.” I foolishly shook my head again instead of responding verbally. Finally she’d had enough. Aunty June grabbed my wrist, jerked me closer and snarled, “What’s the matter with you, you silly child? Answer me!” With my throat constricted with shame, I still couldn't respond. She must have thought I was intentionally being difficult, for she lost her temper and snapped; "I've had it with you, little girl!"

Aunty June yanked me over to the couch, sat down and dragged me face-down across her bare shapely thighs. I felt a sharp warning twinge from my bladder and realised it was full. I needed to pee - and soon! She raised the hem of my short dress and my rustling petties in the rear, revealing my bulging, lace-lavished, pink satin rumba panties. She proceeded to spank my frilly diapered bottom hard and fast with her large palm, while Aunty Mandy and all the girls watched and giggled. The plastic lining of my rumba panties and the plastic panties beneath made the savage swats sound twice as loud.

Despite being heavily padded I started weeping, more from the humiliation than the pain. Aunty kept spanking and scolding me regardless. Finally I couldn't hold back my wee-wees any longer and I began wetting my nappies while she spanked me. The urine seeped out of my peenie rather than gushing out, and the comforting warm stream seemed to go on and on! I felt mortified, but the erotic sensation of spreading heat around my peenie and ball sack was incredibly arousing.

When Aunty June finally finished chastising me, she reached between my legs and slapped my thighs apart. She wormed one finger inside a leg opening of my baby panties and pressed my warm damp nappy against my crotch. She ripped out her glistening finger and scathingly announced to all, “Oh no! She’s soaking wet!” She gave my bobbing bottom a fresh series of harder spanks and scolded me afresh for lying when I denied needing a nappy change. “You silly baby! You should have told me or Aunty Mandy when you wet your nappy. You’ll end up with a nasty case of diaper rash if you're not changed promptly. What a hopeless baby girl!” She kept me perched face-down over her lap while she bounced me up and down with her knees, and my sensitive peenie rubbed against the wonderfully warm wet front of my nappy. It instantly reacted to the stimulating warmth and started to swell with arousal.

When Aunty June paused to catch her breath, Mandy volunteered to change my wet nappies. “I’ll change Baby Candy if you like. Everything I need is upstairs under the change table in my bedroom.”
But Aunt June growled, “No Mandy. I’ll do it. My silly big baby girl has caused you enough trouble already.”
“Let me help,” a grinning Mandy offered. The two women each took one of my hands and dragged me upstairs to change me. The girls followed down the hallway and watched us from the foot of the stairs, pointing and jeering at my departing back. Despite their mocking laughter, my swelling stiffie grew to full hardness as it rubbed against the front of my warm soggy nappy with my every stumbling step.

As my Aunty lifted me onto the padded change table and removed my frilly outer rumba panties, Aunty June commented to Mandy, “It’s a good thing she’s wearing two pairs of wetproof panties, seeing she’s such a heavy wetter.”
Mandy chuckled in agreement. “Yes, she was drenched when I checked her last night. I changed her before I went to bed and when I took off her nappy this morning, it was saturated!” She tugged down the tight pink plastic pilchers and unpinned my yellowed urine-soaked diaper. The huge brunette peeled down the front flap and snorted in contempt when she spied my stiff red peenie poking out. It remained hard and throbbing while Mandy wiped me over with some cool moist baby wipes, and then Aunty June liberally powdered my hairless crotch and bottom and rubbed it in. My little tool was crimson and swollen by the time she released her grip, and it bobbed above my powdery tummy as though begging for her attention.

“My goodness, she certainly seems to like the baby treatment,” Aunty Mandy sniggered in a disparaging manner as she pointed to my little stiffie.
“I think our Baby Candy loves being treated like a helpless little baby girl,” Aunt June agreed, her saccharine voice tinged with sarcasm. As she pinned the clean nappies around my waist she warned me in syrupy baby-talk, “Listen to me, Baby Candy. You’d better behave like a perfect little angel at Kate's birthday party this afternoon.” Her voice lowered menacingly when she added, “Or else!" I gazed up at her forbidding expression, my eyes wide with fear.

When they finished pulling up my rumba panties, they sat me up on the change table with my little legs dangling over the side. Aunty June took her make-up purse out of her handbag and began to paint my face. In a few minutes mascara, rouge and pink lipstick had been added, and when I glanced at my reflection in Mandy’s vanity mirror, I saw I looked like a pretty little girl again. “Ahh, that’s better,” cooed Aunty June, beaming in approval. “Now you look like a beautiful little girl again.”
“She certainly does look gorgeous,” Mandy agreed with a smile, making my head swim and my stiff clittie pound with excitement inside my fluffy swaddling.

Aunty June lifted me down from the table and affectionately swatted my diapered bottom. “Make sure you play properly with the other girls,” she warned me, The women laughed and walked off chatting, leaving me alone in the bedroom. I stared at my feminised reflection in amazement. I reached under my swirling petties and discretely pressed my hands over my little stiffie, pressing the soft absorbent cloth against my straining tumescence. Despite my uncontrollable arousal I was feeling very humiliated, and I didn't want to go outside. In the distance I heard Aunt June instruct her girls to drag me downstairs and play with me. I gasped in dismay and released my thrilling grip on my pounding peenie.

Alison and Brenda and Mandy's daughters, Eliza, Kate and Julia, all raced upstairs and dashed into Mandy’s bedroom. They were giggling and calling me "Pretty Baby Candy," and Mandy’s girls declared that they wanted to play with the precious diaper-baby. My cousins spied the huge wooden crib and Alison pointed at it and asked, “Whose crib is that? Is that where Candy slept?”
Brenda demanded of me, “Candy? Did you sleep in the crib last night?” I blushed and didn't answer but Mandy's daughters crowed; "Yes she did!"

Brenda saw the empty pink baby bottle lying in the crib. Giggling, she picked it up and asked Mandy’s daughters, “Is this Candy’s? Did she have a bottle last night at bedtime?”
The girls responded again for me, shrieking “Yes! It’s Baby Candy’s baby bottle!” Julia scornfully added, “She’s drinks from a bottle because she’s just a baby!”
With a wicked grin Alison suggested, "Let's give Baby Candy a fresh bottle right now!"

Brenda laughed and volunteered, “I’ll ask Mum if it’s okay.” To my annoyance Aunt June agreed it was a fine idea, and she allowed her sniggering daughter to fill a fresh bottle with warm milk. Brenda soon returned and sat on the edge of Mandy's bed, and she lifted me onto my back so my head rested in her broad lap. “Here you are, baby girl.“ When I pursed my lips closed and turned my face away she smugly warned me, “You better drink up, Baby Candy. Mum said you have to finish the whole bottle like a good baby girl.”

The girls all watched and laughed as Brenda rammed the latex nipple in my mouth. In soothing maternal tones she ordered, “That’s it, baby. Drink up, Baby Candy. Good girl. Drink your warm milkies all down like a good little baby girl.” She clutched my head to her opulent bosom and rocked me back and forth as I noisily suckled on the dribbling teat. I couldn’t believe the cushiony softness of her massive mammaries, and I realised that one of her thimble-sized nipples was poking me in the ear. I found her treatment a confusing combination of eroticism and humiliation. I felt so ashamed as I meekly lay there in her arms being fed like an infant, but I was still hard as a rock inside my fluffy nappies.

When I finally finished the eight-ounce bottle, Brenda sat me up and successfully burped me. “Good girl,” she cried in approval, and she firmly patted me on the back again. I produced another lusty belch, totally beyond my control. “What a good baby girl!” Brenda chuckled, and she slid me off her lap. I stumbled to my feet, my bare knees splayed wide by the mass of fluffy terrycloth wedged between my thighs, acutely aware of the pounding hardness tenting out my nappy front.

Alison watched me like a hawk as I swayed and stumbled for balance, and she asked, "I wonder if she’s wet yet? Baby Candy had such a big drink. We’d better check the baby’s nappy before the party starts. Don’t you think so, girls?" They all laughed hysterically as I started blushing all over and drawing away from them, my hands flying down to cover my bulging nappy crotch. I didn‘t want them to see my stiffie poking out the front. “Come here, Baby Candy,” Alison insisted in that firm maternal manner she must have inherited from her mother.

“No!” I shrieked in alarm and backed away. “No, no!” I made a waddling dash for the door, clumsy because of the thick wad of cloth bunched between my thighs. The girls easily caught me and dragged me back into the bedroom. “No! Please don’t?” I squealed. “I don’t want to!” I wailed, sounding for all the world like a terrified two-year-old girl. Brenda slammed closed her mother’s bedroom door and locked it to prevent my escape.

Alison carried me back to the big bed and roughly threw me onto my back. “Stop all that carry-on!” The black-haired beauty cried in annoyance. “There’s no need to be shy, Candy. You’re just a baby, aren’t you? Babies aren’t shy.” While Alison and the other girls held my arms and legs spread wide, Brenda tickled me until I was shrieking with laughter and almost in tears. As my unwanted erection thankfully dwindled, I felt a few hot spurts of urine escape into my clean nappy, totally beyond my control.

Brenda tossed my short dress and petties over my face before yanking down the front of my wetproof panties. She reached inside my nappy and boldly poked my damp genitals before fingering the moist cloth in front. Brenda ripped out her hand to examine her glistening fingers, and sneered at my cringing shame. “Awww!” She loudly announced to all, “Our baby girl’s nappy is only damp - so far! These thick nappies will easily handle another wetting or two.” She then pulled my baby panties back into place and ordered the girls to let me up from the bed. I stood on shaky legs, with one of Mandy’s girls tightly clutching my hands either side of me. I felt so humiliated as they led me waddling down the stairs and out onto the back patio, the girls laughing their heads off when I ineffectually tried to press down my bobbing hemline like a shy little girl while they still held my hands captive.
To be continued in chapter 5. "Humiliated at the Party."

Well? What do you think? I've written a few more chapters, so please post a response here if you want to read more.
Hugs from Baby Jennie in Australia

Edited by babyjennie, 19 October 2012 - 07:58 AM.



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This chapter is dedicated to Emma Sweet. Enjoy, baby!
Hugs from Baby Jennie

Chapter 5. Humiliated at the Party

The first guests arrived for Kate’s birthday party around noon. Brenda and Alison wandered out to the back patio and asked Aunt June, “Mum? Can we be excused? We’re way too old to attend a kiddie party like this.”
Aunt June agreed. “Okay, girls. Mandy and I probably won't need any more help. I’ll see you at home this evening.” I timidly asked if I could be excused too, but Aunt June snapped; "Certainly not, Candy! Especially after Mandy went to all the trouble of dressing you up so prettily!” My face fell and I stared in dismay at the bobbing lace-edged hemline of my pink satin frock, which is why I didn’t notice Aunty June slipping a tiny white pill into a half-empty bottle of orange cordial and shaking it till the tablet dissolved. Her daughters laughed as they walked away waving goodbye to me. I was seething with envy when I watched them stroll out the side gate towards the street.

Aunty poured some of the sweet orange cordial into a pink plastic cup, snapped on the lid and handed me the sippy-cup. “Here you go, Baby Candy. Drink up, sweetie,” she commanded, smiling at my sullen expression. Snickering as I drank from the juvenile cup, Aunty June continued in that patronising tone, "You look so adorable in that gorgeous little party dress, sweetheart! I love the way your petties swish and bounce so attractively every time you move. And the frilly lace on your rumba panties peeping out so delightfully below, constantly draws everyone’s eyes to my prissy little poppet’s big diapered bot-bot. Such a sweet look on little baby girls. Don't you want everyone to see how beautiful you can look, Baby Candy?” She suddenly dropped the cloying baby-talk and her voice lowered menacingly. “This is a very suitable punishment for a disobedient sissy pants-wetter like you! You’d better be on your best behaviour this afternoon, because if you're not… Well, you haven't seen anything yet!"

I finished my drink and stared down at the patio tiles in fear. Aunt June ordered me to look up at her in a voice suddenly dripping with honey. “Look at Aunty, darling. Don’t be shy, sweetie. Look up at me. Good girl.” She placed a little gold cardboard crown on my head and pulled the elastic band under my trembling chin. “Ooo, so pretty!” She commented in that syrupy voice, before warning me; “Make sure you keep your crown on like a good little Princess. Now give me your sippy-cup, baby girl.” She refilled my pink plastic toddler’s cup with the remaining orange cordial and handed it back to me “Have one more drink, sweetie, then give your sippy-cup back to Aunty to mind for you.”
“I don’t want any more to drink,” I complained. Despite my grizzled protests, she pressed the cup spout to my lips and forced me to drain the contents. My stomach was starting to slosh with all the liquids I’d been made to consume.

“Shhh, baby. Drink up.” Aunty tilted the base of the cup up high to pour the remaining few drops down my throat. She snatched the spout from my lips and lectured me. “Now, now, Baby Candy! Little girls like you can’t be trusted to walk around with a normal cup, sweetie. If you want another drink later, come and ask Mandy or me. We’ll bring you this special sippy-cup, or even better, your baby bottle. Now you go and play properly with the other children, and make sure you join in all the games like a good little girl.” I didn’t want to walk around carrying a toddler’s sippy-cup or have to drink from a baby bottle again, so I just shook my head in frustration. When my Aunt’s attention was distracted by a crying little girl, I scurried out of her sight as fast as my thick nappies let me waddle.

The party guests were mainly seven and eight-year-old boys and girls - mostly girls, with some parents with toddlers in attendance, as well. Most of the little girls were around my height or taller, and I remember thinking, ‘They must breed them big in the country.’ I approached a small group of boys, but they simply turned their backs on me and studiously ignored me. I was a little annoyed at first, until I remembered how I was dressed. There were only a couple of younger girls dressed like me, wearing fussy party frocks with lace-trimmed anklet socks and classic black patent Maryjanes, but their dresses were made from brushed cotton, not shiny thick satin, like mine. The remaining girls were dressed in more casual outfits, ranging from light cotton sun-frocks through to jeans and sparkly bejewelled pastel t-shirts, with a rainbow of shiny patent Maryjane sandals.

I felt horribly overdressed in my shimmering musk-pink party frock with all the lace trimmings. I stood alone at the far end of the huge sunroom, nervously smoothing down my short flared party dress over my swaying petties. Whenever I moved, my bobbing petticoats threatened to expose my bulging baby panties beneath and the obvious thick nappies they struggled to contain. An attractive young mother strolled over and in a sweet contralto voice, asked me; “What’s your name, sweetie?” Her shoulder-length platinum-blonde hair curled up and out at the base of her neck, and she had an attractive heart-shaped face that showed her concern when she asked, “Why are you standing out here all alone? Don’t you know any of the other girls?” She was dressed in a light white cotton, A-line dress that clung to her lithe frame. It fell to her mid-thighs, and was sheer enough that I could see the lace-edged white nylon slip she wore underneath.

Making sure to keep my voice high and feminine, I shyly whispered, “My name is Candy, ma’am, and I’m from Sydney.” I pointed to my Aunty June in the lounge room, where she was crouching down talking to a eight-year-old blonde girl. “Aunty June is my aunty, and I’m staying with her and Aunty Mandy for the holidays.”
The woman glanced at my Aunty and nodded in sudden understanding. “Oh, I see. Well you’re a very pretty little Princess, darling!” She kindly straightened my satin frock over my billowing petties for me, and I had to stop myself from backing away from her gentle touch. Part of me was terrified she was going to flick up my frothy petties and discover my embarrassing infantile underwear. I defensively pressed the front of my shimmering satin frock over my bulging panty crotch.

She chuckled at my demure feminine behaviour, and her smile lit up her pretty heart-shaped face. “You needn't be so shy, Candy. You look darling in that pink satin frock. I love little girls in frills and bows. Come with me, sweetie.” She led me by the hand over to a group of chatting bigger girls and introduced me to them, telling them I was a very shy little girl named Candy, all the way from Sydney. The seven and eight-year-old girls politely said hello to me, but as soon as the kindly woman departed, they returned to their conversation without including me. It wasn’t like they were deliberately being rude - more like they simply assumed I was much younger than them, and hardly worth their notice. I hung around the little group, listening with half an ear to their inane conversation while I concentrated on keeping my wayward bouncing dress hem in place. When I glanced down, I noticed that most of the girls were wearing little chunky high heels. Even though they were only an inch or two, their high-heeled Maryjanes made the younger girls seem much taller than me.

Within half an hour the rest of the guests had arrived, and Mandy organized a game of pin the tail on the donkey. By hiding behind some of the bigger children, I managed to sit that game out. Unfortunately Aunt June noticed what I was doing, and she looked annoyed with me for disobeying her instructions. Next it was time to have a spelling bee. Clapping her hands loudly for our attention, Mandy requested all the boys line up on one side of the room, and all the girls line up on the other. Aunt June tapped me on the shoulder and quietly cautioned me. “Candy? I want you to be a good little girl and play properly with the other children this time. Go on,” she sternly insisted, swatting my padded bottom to send me on my way.

I wasn't thinking, and so I naturally lined up with the boys. A rude boy pushed me hard in the back and yelled, "Get on the other side where you belong, you dumb girlie!" I tripped and fell to my knees with a shrill squeal, and felt a hot spurt of wee-wees jet into my nappy. My dress and petties went flying up in back, revealing my bulging lace-trimmed baby panties to the row of jeering boys. Whimpering in shame, I clamped down on my nervous bladder, and with difficulty managed to stem the warm trickling flow. Blushing furiously, I tugged my short hem down in back and scrambled to my feet. I scooted over to the other side with the rest of the grinning girls, struggling to control my wayward petties and wondering if any of the boys realised I was wearing nappies underneath my frilly fancy panties.

I saw Aunt June snickering at my embarrassed red face as her chortling friend Mandy started the game. When reaching the front of their line, a boy or girl would be asked to spell a word. If they missed, the other side would have a chance to spell it correctly. I was developing an overwhelming urge to pee, but I didn't know what to do. I wanted to drop out by misspelling a word, and slink off somewhere quiet to wet my already-damp nappies in private.

But the words were far too easy for me and for some strange reason, I couldn't intentionally make a mistake. Aunt June and Mandy noticed me dancing from foot to foot in the queue of girls and unconsciously pressing my fist against the front of my dress, right over my padded crotch. They glanced knowingly at each other when they saw me doing my unmistakable potty-dance, and Aunty June smiled wolfishly in anticipation. After a while all the boys were knocked out of the spelling game, and I was left facing off against two bigger girls. By this time I was squirming and shuddering in need, I and really couldn't hold in my pee any longer. While I slowly spelled out the winning word, with everyone silently watching, I drenched my nappies with hot urine.

Despite the fact that I was sure everyone could hear the noisy stream gushing into my diaper, the feeling of relief was incredible! I gave a loud sigh of thanks when I finished spelling the word ‘incontinence,’ and couldn’t help smiling at the sudden comforting warmth filling my nappies. There was a smatter of desultory applause and for my reward, Mandy had me reach into the girls’ pink grab-bag of prizes. As my stream of wee-wees lazily dribbled to a halt, I pulled out a ‘Princess Barbie’ doll in a clear plastic package. Remembering how I was dressed, I tried to react like any normal, excited little girl. “Yay! A new Barbie!” I squealed, and I jumped up and down in pretend-excitement as I proudly held up my new doll. I politely thanked Aunty Mandy, and several of the other little girls gazed enviously at me as I sidled away.

Aunt June signalled me to come over and show her my new dolly. She admired my prize and opened the packaging for me, then she hugged me and crooned in my ear, “Good girl, Baby Candy! You’re behaving like a very good little girl now. I’m proud of you, little one.” She handed me my doll and lifted me in the air with disarming ease. She sat me on her lap, warning me to hang on to my new dolly carefully for the rest of the day. She then whispered in my ear, “Does my little girl need her nappy changed yet?”
I felt too ashamed to tell her the truth and stuttered, "N-no Auntie," ducking my head as I lied. She firmly patted the warm moist wad of cloth bunched between my legs and could instantly tell I was lying by the distinctive wet sound.

In honeyed baby-talk she cautioned me; "Really, baby? Okay… But if I find out you're not telling me the truth, I'm going to have to do something you won't like, sweetheart." Pointing to the bare dining table, she continued in the same syrupy tone, "If I find my little girl is lying to me, I'll have to change her wet nappies right over there on that table, where all the other little children can watch! Would you like me to do that, Baby Candy?" I fearfully shook my head in denial. She slipped her hand under my dress and petties as she warned me; "So I'll ask you one more time. Do you or don't you need a nappy change, sweetie?"

I knew she'd find out anyway, so I miserably nodded my bowed head and sheepishly admitted the truth. “I think I might have wet my nappy, Aunty June.” My cheeks blazed with embarrassment as I humbly apologised to her. “I’m sorry, Ma’am.”
When I dared glance up at her face, Aunt June unexpectedly smiled and praised me. "That's a good little girl for telling Aunty the truth." She really was stunningly beautiful when she smiled. She then waved to Mandy, and indicated that she was taking the baby upstairs to her bedroom for a diaper change. Our hostess merely smiled and nodded her head in understanding, so Aunty June led me by the hand upstairs to the master bedroom. I waddled wetly alongside her, carelessly dragging my new Barbie along by one leg.

Aunty June ordered me to hold my dress and petties up above my waist as she lifted me onto the change table. She unbuckled my Maryjanes and dropped them on the floor with a clatter. “Lie back, baby,” she commanded, making sure my frothy petties were pushed up my back and out of harm’s way. While she was removing my rumba panties and pilchers, Mandy wandered in carrying a pink baby bottle full of orange cordial for me. She gave Aunty June a sly wink.

“Awww! Look at the precious big baby girl having her nap-naps changed!” Mandy cooed, smiling at the infantile spectacle I made. In saccharine baby-talk she asked me, “Are you being a good wittle baby girl for your Aunty June, Baby Candy?” Mandy slipped the dripping nipple of the plastic bottle between my lips before I could reply, and softly stroked my hair as though to calm me. “Good baby, drink up.”

Aunt June unpinned my warm wet nappies and spoke to me using similar crooning baby-talk. “She’s being a very good baby girl for her Aunty. Isn’t she? Yes she is! She’s a precious wittle Princess!” I don’t know why I found it incredibly rousing when she talked to me in that condescending baby voice, but I felt my limp peenie begin to thicken. I foolishly tried to cover my bits with my hands, but Aunty June simply batted my arms aside. “No need to be shy, Baby Candy. After all, you’re just a helpless baby girl. Aren’t you? Babies are too little to understand such grown-up concepts.”

Mandy laughed. “That’s right,” she agreed with my Aunty. “Babies never feel embarrassed or ashamed. They’re too little.” She leaned closer to June and quietly whispered in her friend’s ear, “I crushed up another one of those fluid tablets you gave me and put in her bottle, as you suggested.”
“That should produce some interesting results later,” Aunty June cryptically replied, and then she gave me a shark-like smile that gave me pause for concern. “What a wet little baby girl,” she crooned to me, as she pulled the drenched diapers from under my bum. She bundled up my soggy nappies and tossed them in the big white nappy bucket at the foot end of the change table.

Aunty June wiped me down with a handful of cool moist baby wipes, and she was unusually gentle when she carefully cleaned my wrinkled back door and my swelling little tool. Despite the humiliating circumstances, I felt a really pleasant sensation wash over me as they took turns oiling and powdering my bottom and crotch. Mandy kept talking down to me like I really was just a baby girl, and for some reason the humiliating treatment was really turning me on. Soon I was fully hard and throbbing again, the women chuckling in amusement over my uncontrollable erections. When they finished diapering me, Aunty drew the same damp pilchers up my raised legs and tugged them over my bulky clean nappies. The wide elastic leg bands felt cold and cloying against my sensitive skin. I frowned and sucked harder on the dripping rubber teat in my mouth to cover my displeasure.

“Those baby panties are a little wet. Aren’t you worried they might smell of pee-pee?” Mandy asked my Aunty, who smiled nastily before replying.
“I think it appropriate that an older child who still needs to wear diapers should smell like a baby, even when she’s just been freshly changed.” Aunty tugged the frilly satin rumba panties over my glistening baby panties as she continued, “The lingering aroma of her stale wee-wees reminds her - and others - of her true status: that she is nothing but a silly baby girl who still wets her panties and wets her bed.” My throat thickened in shame, and I suddenly found it hard to swallow the cold orange cordial.

Mandy laughed and nodded, and then she was called outside by her daughters. She left with a wide departing smile for my noisy slurping sounds. As soon as I finished my baby bottle, Aunty took the empty plastic vessel from my hands. She lifted me down and when I was steady on my feet, she rearranged my shiny pink frock and swishing chiffon petties to sit prettily. “There you go,” she crooned in satisfaction, as she straightened the gold cardboard crown on my head. “My pretty little Princess is all fresh and dry again. Let’s take you back outside to play with your little friends.” Taking my hand, she led me downstairs and back out to the party clutching my Princess Barbie to my breast.

Despite soaking my nappy less than an hour later, no one bothered checking up on me. I even managed to drink unnoticed from a normal cup a few times, when I was certain my Aunty or Mandy weren’t watching. I couldn’t understand why I was so thirsty! But I wasn’t game enough to put down my Barbie doll, and I had to cart her around with me everywhere. The rest of the afternoon passed without any major incidents, until near the end of the party. I felt the need to pee once again, as I had been discretely sneaking cups of my favourite creaming soda whenever I could. I quietly crept out to the empty back patio where I could drench my already-wet nappy in relative privacy.

I stood in the corner staring over the railing into the spacious back yard, and I spread my feet a little wider. After making sure no one was watching me, I squatted slightly and relaxed my straining bladder. In moments I felt the almost scalding-hot urine surging out of my peenie to drench my thirsty damp nappies. I was really starting to enjoy the comforting clinging warmth rising around my crotch and bottom. It actually made me feel like a helpless pampered infant. I had been standing out there peeing for only a few seconds when some of the bigger girls at the party came strolling outside. The group included the two girls I’d beaten in the last rounds of the spelling bee, and they didn’t look too happy to see me.

When they spotted me they marched straight over. One large girl with short dark hair and wearing a plain blue cotton frock sneered as she called out, “Hey Candy? We just heard you’re still a ‘diaper-baby.’ Is that true?”
The other girls sniggered when my cheeks turned bright red with shame. Another girl demanded, “Is that so, Donna? Hey baby? Are you wearing nappies?”
I guiltily lowered my gaze, unable to face my accusers. I suspected one of Mandy's daughters must have told them I was diapered. “I don’t know what you mean,” I lied, shivering with fear. My voice came out in a frightened squeak. “I’m a big girl. I don’t need nappies.” I timidly denied their accusations even as the hot stream continued to trickle out of my peenie, but they weren't convinced.

A big fat eight-year-old girl in a tight yellow dress that looked a size too small for her, snatched my Barbie from my trembling fingers. She snarled sarcastically; "You think you're so clever for winning the spelling-bee! But you're really just a big baby who still has to wear nappies!" As I grabbed for my doll, she held it high out of my reach over her head. I found myself up on my tippy-toes, straining to recapture my kidnapped dolly.
“Give her back!” I shrieked.

Another horrible girl giggled and suggested; "Let's pull up her dress to check if she’s really wearing a diaper." I almost lost my balance when the jeering children surrounded me and I squealed for them to leave me alone. A vicious little girl yanked my dress and frothy petticoats up high in the rear, completely exposing my frilly wetproof panties and my obvious drooping wet nappies. “Look, everyone!” She shrieked, “She’s wearing frilly rumba panties like my baby sister!”

“She’s got a nappy on underneath!” The girl in the blue cotton frock exclaimed, “Look! You can see it drooping down between her legs! She must have wet her nappy!” All the children howled with laughter as I struggled in vain to push down my dress and petties and wrestle free.
“Baby wet her nappy, baby wet her nappy,” they began to cruelly chorus. Tears of shame filled my eyes. “Baby wet her nappy, baby wet her nappy.” I wanted a bolt of lightning to burst out of the perfect summer sky and strike my tormentors dead.

Fortunately for me at that moment, the young mother who earlier led me over to play with the other girls came striding out. She instantly realised I was being picked on, and crisply demanded to know what was going on. “You girls! What are you doing there?” She commanded, “Leave her alone!” The children surrounding me kept laughing at me and poking my padded groin, making me cringe and whimper. Several spiteful girls told her I was nothing but a big baby who still had to wear nappies. I was crying uncontrollably by the time she marched over and scattered my tormentors. “Give me that,” she snapped. She took my Barbie from the horrid fat girl’s hands. Handing my dolly back to me, she ordered the nasty children to leave. “Go on,” she sternly ordered the sniggering girls, pointing inside the house. “Go inside and leave her alone.”

As they reluctantly shuffled away they continued taunting me, saying things like; "I bet your nappies are full of pee-pee!" and; “What a stupid big baby!”
One girl yelled on departing, "Go ask your Mummy to change your smelly diapers, you dirty little baby!" My burning red ears rang with their mocking laughter, and I struggled to cover my shameful baby panties with my billowing petties and slippery satin frock.

The kindly young woman bent down closer to me and commented sweetly, “That’s a beautiful pink frock you’re wearing, Princess. I love that colour on you. So pretty!” I sniffled in misery and clutched my dolly to my bosom, but didn't respond. She asked in a softer voice as she rearranged my tilted cardboard crown; "Are you wearing nappies underneath that pretty party frock, Sugarplum?” I was so embarrassed, I stared down at the ground in shame. My flounced pink skirts and stiff lace-trimmed petties filled my blurry vision. I shook my head in useless denial, making my frothy petties sway and dance distractingly. She squatted next to me and continued, “I saw that nasty girl pull up your dress and petticoats. It really looked like you were wearing baby rumba panties with nappies underneath, sweetie. What‘s your name again, Princess?”

“C-c-candy,” I stuttered fearfully, trying to sniff back my tears. Despite my earnest efforts, my eyes started clouding over with fresh tears of shame. I felt like such a sissy cry-baby, and my drooping wet nappies weren’t helping!
In an even softer voice she cooed, “How sweet! But how come a big girl like you is still wearing nappies and baby panties, Candy?” She lifted my trembling chin with one finger and dried my tear-stained cheeks with the ruffled edge of her floral cotton apron, her beautiful face inches from my own. Her sweet perfume filled my senses, and I found myself staring up in fascination into her wide sky-blue eyes.

I reluctantly confessed, “My Aunty June and Aunty Mandy made me wear them to the party be-because I wet my panties yesterday, and I w-w-wet the bed last night.”
"Oh I understand, darling,” she cooed sympathetically. “But why do you still wet your bed at your age, Candy? You’re a big girl now. Surely you must be six or seven?" she asked, maternal concern shining in her beautiful blue eyes.
I whispered, “I don't know why I wet the bed. Maybe it was an accident,” I lied, sounding like the overgrown toddler I appeared to be.

She smiled at my childish excuse and suggested, “Maybe if you try to keep your nappies dry for a while, your Aunty June might let you wear big-girl panties again someday soon.” I nodded my head in hopeful agreement as she continued gently wiping my tear-stained cheeks with her frilly apron. I’d much rather wear sexy big-girl panties than these stupid thick nappies and plastic baby panties. She softly asked, “How are those nappies going, sweetie? Do you need a change yet?” I was too embarrassed to tell her the truth. I shook my head again in mute denial. In a soft but sceptical tone she insisted, “Really, Candy? You mean to tell me you’ve kept your nappy dry all afternoon?” I nodded apprehensively.

She pointedly sniffed the ammonia aroma wafting up from around my groin, chuckled and shook her head. "Wow! I don't think even I could go all afternoon without going to the potty. Are you sure they're not a teensy bit wet, baby doll?" She smiled conspiratorially as she cooed confidentially; "You can tell me." I knew she didn't believe me anyway, so I shyly whispered that they might be just a little wet. She gently clasped my hand and said, "That's okay, Princess! Just a little wet?” she questioned in exaggerated disbelief. I timidly nodded and she murmured, “It might be a little hard for you to tell, sweetheart. Maybe I’d better check for myself.”

I didn't say anything and before I knew it, she had stuck her other hand under my short flared dress and petties. With ease gleaned from years of practise, she slipped her searching fingers inside the tight elastic waistband of my wetproof baby panties and squeezed the sodden front of my nappy. She cried out in horror, "Oh honey! Your nappies are soaked!” She ripped out her searching hand and stood erect, wiping her damp fingers on her apron. “We’ll have to change your diaper right away!" I kept staring down at the bobbing hem of my shiny pink frock, trembling and red-faced with shame. She generously offered, "I'll tell you what we can do. Why don't you show me where they keep your nappies, Candy? I can change your diaper myself. Then we don't have to bother anyone else. Your Aunty June and Aunty Mandy will be so proud of you for staying dry all afternoon! Isn't that a good idea, Princess?" She kept hold of my hand and started to lead me inside.

I was so embarrassed, I kept my head down and whispered, "Oh no thank you, ma'am."
She probably thought I was too shy to let her change me, so she continued soothingly. "It's okay, sweetheart. I know you're very shy. But don't worry, I change little girls’ nappies every day! I have a two-year-old named Cindy who is still in diapers. She used to hate having her nappies changed, but I soon helped her get over that..." She saw my demeanour wasn't improving and she swiftly added; "Oh Candy, of course I didn't mean that you're like a two-year-old, sweetheart! I can see that you’re a big girl. But we still need to change your nappy as soon as possible.”

I timidly thanked her again but told her that I only liked my Aunty June or Aunty Mandy to change my nappies. She smiled and merely gripped my hand tighter, and insisted, “Alright, sweetie. I understand. But you need to be changed right now, so I’ll take you to your Aunty June. Let’s see what she has to say.” I clutched my Barbie doll against the bodice of my slippery satin frock with my other hand as she led me waddling wetly back inside.

When we passed the cruel children hanging around in the doorway, the bigger girls began teasing me again, hissing things like; "Go get your dirty nappies changed, you big baby!" and “Pooh! You smell like wee-wee!”
The beautiful young mother warned them to stop mocking me. “Be quiet, Donna Dixon! If you girls can’t behave yourselves, I’ll ring your mothers and get them to come pick you up right now!” Her threat sent them packing, and the mean girls trotted off muttering darkly amongst themselves.

The attractive blonde mother brought me waddling slowly over to Mandy and Aunt June. “June, Mandy,” she called as we approached. “I’m afraid we have a dripping-wet little girl here, desperately in need of a nappy change.” My Aunt’s inquisitive expression turned to one of sour amusement, and Mandy sniggered when the blonde woman continued, “Some of the children found out Candy’s wearing nappies, and they were teasing the poor thing unmercifully.”

Aunt June and Mandy laughed in contempt at my bowed head and tear-streaked cheeks, and warmly thanked the helpful young woman. Aunty June smiled in appreciation and said, “That’s very kind of you, Melody." She informed her, “Baby Candy has been a very naughty little girl, so she needed some special ‘diaper-training’ today.”

Melody told them, “I offered to change her wet nappy myself, but little Candy is very shy.”
My Aunt June laughed and surprised me by agreeing. She said to Mandy, “I think it would be a wonderful idea if Melody would change Baby Candy’s diaper. We‘re both too busy winding down the party and cleaning up.”
Mandy chuckled and nodded agreement before turning to Melody. “Baby’s clean nappies and plastic panties are upstairs in the main bedroom, under the change table.”
As Mandy snickered at my horrified expression, Aunt June leaned over me and commanded, "You behave like a good obedient little girl, Baby Candy, and let Melody change your wet nappies without any fuss."
I cringed and whimpered, "Please no, Aunty June?”

She gripped my chin tightly and forced me to look up at her stern features. Aunt June gazed resolutely into my watering blue eyes and warned me in a cold uncompromising tone; "All right, Baby Candy, I'll give you a choice. Either you be a good little girl and let Melody change your wet nappy, or I'll give you a bare-bottom spanking in front of everyone, and Melody will still change your wet nappies, but right there on the dining table! It's up to you, missy."
Melody observed with a forgiving smile, “She certainly is a little fuss-pot.”
“That’s because my naughty little girl has got a little secret, and she doesn’t want anyone to know,” my cruel Aunty confided.

I started crying afresh, but Melody clutched one of my hands and cooed reassuringly, "It’s okay, Candy! There's nothing to worry about. You'll feel much better after we change you out of those yucky wet nappies. Come on. Come with Aunty Melody." She led me waddling heavily up the stairs towards the bedroom. I snivelled in abject protest every step of the way.

Aunt June laughed at my foot-dragging departure and Mandy called after Melody, “Everything you need to change the baby is under the change table or on the shelf above in my bedroom. Take your time changing her nappy, Melody, and by the way - I think you’re in for a real surprise!" I noticed that some of the nasty girls who had been teasing me were watching me being led upstairs. They laughed snidely and pointed at my retreating back from across the room. I didn’t realise that as I waddled up the stairs, they could see right up my short flared dress. The sniggering girls had a perfect view of the drooping seat of my lace-lavished rumba panties below my frothy petticoats. My sagging baby panties struggled to contain the saturated nappies that hung heavily from the pins clasped at my hips.

Continued in chapter 6.

Let me know if you are enjoying this re-write of an old sissy-AB story.
Baby Jennie

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I really love this story, hope there may be more soon.
What ever the weather is like, always nice to be wet inside.




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I've read it all and am ready for more. Soon please




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Baby Jennie,

I have not had a chance to get through this entire story -- but it looks great as I would expect. I am glad to see you back here -- I've missed you.




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Dear Junyour and Cute baby, thanks for those encouraging words. And Stephykate? Awww, thanks, darlin'! Good to be back exposing my filthy little mind to the world. Hope you enjoy it! Hugs from BJ

Chapter 6. A Dummy for Baby Candy.

When we reached Mandy’s bedroom, Melody tried to comfort me and crooned for me to stop crying. “Oh there, there, Candy. Don’t cry, little one. It’s alright. Don’t worry, honey. Everything is going to be alright.” She suggested in a kind soothing voice, “Maybe if you manage to stay dry for the rest of the day, your Aunt might let you out of nappies tomorrow.” She noticed the open crib next to the change table and with wide disbelieving eyes asked me, “Candy? Is this where you slept? Did you sleep in the crib last night?” Melody seemed surprised when I nodded silently in reply, too humiliated to open my mouth. She examined the huge wooden crib and raised the high barred side until the metal latch clicked into place. She looked lost in thought for a moment, but then she turned to me and slipped her hands under my armpits and scooped me off my feet. She lifted me onto the padded change table and dumped me on my soggy bottom with a loud wet ‘plop!’

Melody checked there was powder, a tub of wipes and lotion on the narrow shelf above the change table, then she pawed through the stack of big nappies and large wetproof panties on the shelf underneath. She observed; "These bigger nappies and baby panties must be for you, honey." Again I sat there and didn't respond, letting my Barbie dangle despondently by one leg. She selected two of the thick white nappies and a pair of transparent pink plastic panties decorated with circus animals and white lace trimmings, and placed them ready at the foot of the change table. As she arranged the fluffy terrycloth nappies together beside me, I started weeping again.

The pretty blonde paused and looked thoughtful for a moment, then her face lit up. “Wait here a minute, Candy. I'll be right back!” She returned a few minutes later leading her two-and-a-half-year-old daughter by one hand and clutching a big pink vinyl diaper bag in the other. The cute little girl was dressed in a yellow cotton frock with puffy elbow-length sleeves, like mine. Her dress was short enough that I could see the shiny crotch of her yellow plastic panties drooping underneath. Melody said, "Cindy, this is Candy. This is my daughter, Candy, and her name is Cindy. She's very wet too, just as I thought. Could you please be a big girl and help me change her diaper, Candy?" I felt very embarrassed but would do anything to delay my own impending humiliation, so I nodded and hopped down from the change table. Melody took out a colourful vinyl-backed changing mat from her diaper bag and asked me to spread it open on Tammy’s king-size bed.

In crooning baby talk, Melody said; "It's time for a nappy change, Cindy. You be a good girl and show Candy how easy it is. Okay?"
Cindy giggled and cheekily chirped, "No!"
Melody repeated in a firmer voice, "I need you to be a good girl for Mummy today, Cindy! We have a special little girlfriend here with us."
Cindy again defiantly yelled; "No!" But her sweet smile seemed to indicate she was merely being playful.

Melody grimaced and insisted, "Okay, baby girl, let's get you undressed." She sat her squirming daughter on the edge of Mandy’s bed and after telling me to hold her still, she took off Cindy's white patent Maryjanes and her short yellow party frock. She dived into the change bag and gave the restless little girl a pink baby soother to suck to quieten her objections, and together we made Cindy lie down on the changing mat.

“Here, Cindy.” I gave the wriggling toddler my Barbie to hold and the delighted child grabbed her with glee. Cindy examined my doll’s long lilac Princess gown and peeked underneath to see if Barbie was wearing any underwear. She wasn’t. I’d already checked. Cindy squirmed and chortled around her dummy when her loving Mummy tickled her and blew raspberries on her milky-white tummy. Melody took out some clean nappies, a new pink dummy in a case, a couple of pairs of plastic panties, baby powder, oil and lotion from the voluminous diaper bag. She spread everything in readiness on the bed. While Cindy lay there sucking noisily on her pink soother and playing with the pink plastic crown pinned in my Barbie’s long blonde hair, Melody slid down her daughter’s transparent baby panties, then unpinned and removed her yellowed wet nappies.

Melody ruefully commented, “These nappies are saturated, Cindy! I’ll have to wring them out first before I can pack them away.” She left the room for a moment to noisily wring out the drenched diapers over the en-suite toilet. She quickly returned and slipped the heavy used nappies in a plastic bag, then placed that bag in another zippered compartment of the gaping diaper bag. Melody thoroughly cleaned her baby's bottom and crotch with baby wipes, then she rubbed Cindy down with baby oil and some pink lotion. She cooed, “There! That’s better, isn’t it sweetheart?” The chirpy little girl giggled in delight and nodded contentedly. Melody had me sprinkle her daughter’s groin with baby powder and then spread it around her puffy slit and into her bottom crease with my trembling fingers. She then diapered and dressed her giggling toddler, and Cindy laughed happily throughout and had a great time of it.

When she was finished, Melody turned to me and crooned; "See? See how easy that was, Candy? Now it’s your turn, sweetheart." She continued speaking to me in soothing toddler tones as she first removed my cardboard crown and placed it on the vanity. "Let’s take off your pretty pink dress first, little girl. We don't want to spill lotion or anything on that gorgeous satin party frock of yours and ruin it." I hesitated, but she was insistent as she unbuttoned the back of my frock. "Come on, honey! I can't let you stay in those drenched nappies another minute!" I gazed up at her with fresh tears of shame pricking my eyes, but Melody simply ordered, “Lift your chin sweetheart, and raise your hands over your head. Come on, baby. Reach for the stars.” She pulled off my slithering satin dress and then my frothy petticoats, and neatly draped them on Mandy’s king-size bed. I felt so embarrassed standing there in just my saggy wet nappies and frilly baby panties in front of her and her bemused daughter.

Melody suggested to her suddenly-fascinated toddler, “Cindy, why don’t you take Candy’s Barbie and go play outside with your dolls.”
“No Mummy. I don’t wanna,” Cindy refused, with a determined shake of her head that made her short blonde pigtails dance. She remained kneeling on the change mat watching us closely, her blue eyes wide over the bobbing pink guard of her pacifier.

Melody sighed in resignation and sat me on the edge of the big bed to unbuckle and remove my black patent Maryjanes. She left my lacy anklet socks in place, and ordered me to hop up and lie back on the changing table. I was still reluctant to reveal the full extent of my shame, but Melody was growing impatient. “Come on, baby girl.” She lifted me bodily into the air and plonked me on my soggy bottom, then firmly pushed me back down onto the change table. I started sobbing again but Melody simply sang, "There, there, Candy. This will only take a few minutes. Now lift up your botty, Sugarplum, so I can whip your pretty panties down and unpin those wet nappies. I promise, you'll feel much better when we’re done."

I lay there on my back, limp as a wet noodle and snivelling like a truculent toddler. Melody proceeded to drag down my wetproof rumba panties without any assistance from me. She shook her head in annoyance as she peeled down my glistening pink plastic panties over my limp legs and yanked them clear of my feet. She crumpled up the inner pilchers and tossed them in the nappy bucket at the end of the change table, commenting, “These panties are too wet to use again. You are saturated, little girl! You’re worse than Cindy!” It was so humiliating being compared with her two-year-old. Melody unpinned my soaking wet nappies, and as soon as she lifted away the soggy yellowed nappy front, she spied my hairless shrivelled penis and balls. She seemed puzzled for a moment, but then tried unsuccessfully to hold back her peals of laughter. She finally exclaimed, "Oh Candy! You're really a little boy, aren't you!"

I cringed in shame and whimpered, "Yes ma'am. I’m sorry, ma’am." She covered her mouth with one hand and turned her face away so I wouldn't see her laughing. Even Cindy started giggling, although she probably didn’t understand what was so funny. When Melody had herself more under control she asked me, “Alright, Candy - or whatever your name is. Tell me. Why are you dressed like a big baby girl?”
“It’s not my fault! This is how Aunty June and Aunty Mandy decided to punish me,” I sniffled morosely, my cheeks blazing with embarrassment.
“Punish you? Why, sweetie? What did you do that was so naughty?” Melody made me tell her some of the bad things I had done, including wetting my pants and drenching my training panties and my nappies in the crib. She frowned and shook her head at my uncontrollable baby ways, her full pink lips pursed into a thin line of disapproval.

She pulled the soggy nappies from underneath me, rolled them up, and they joined the baby panties in the nappy bucket. She grabbed a handful of baby wipes and raised my legs to wipe my damp bottom. When Melody spied my poor bruised butt-cheeks she cried out in shock. “Oh my! Look at that bottom! It looks to me like some naughty baby got their botty spanked rather recently.”
“Aunty June did it! She beat me!” I shrilly complained, twisting around on the change table and trying to check out the damage for myself.
“Keep still!” Melody snapped, forcing me to lie back on the soft padded surface. “I’m sure whatever punishment your Aunty June meted out, you probably deserved it. You must have been a very naughty little girl - I mean, boy.” I shook my head in denial, unwanted tears brimming in my eyes.

She frowned at my thickening erection as she wiped me clean and she began to soundly scold me. “Behave yourself, Candy!” She snapped, “Does baby need another botty-spanking from Aunty Melody? Perhaps you’d like me to give you a sore red bottom, too?” I urgently shook my head in denial and she concluded, “I think your Aunty June made the right decision, Candy, punishing you this way.” I started weeping abjectly but my stiffie still wouldn't go down, even when the hiccuping sobs wracked my body. Melody shook her head in annoyance, her smooth forehead furrowed with frown lines. When she realised I really couldn’t control myself, she seemed to take pity on me.

“You can’t help it, can you? Oh there, there, precious! Don’t cry.” Her tone turned soothing and she automatically slipped into the normal sing-song baby speech she used with her toddler daughter. She pushed my ankles together, collected them in one hand, and raised my feet high in the air. She folded my knees back and rolled me onto my shoulders, sliding the arranged nappies under my raised rear with her free hand. When she let my legs drop, there was a fresh pile of cushiony softness under my bottom. “Shh, baby. You actually make a very beautiful little girl, you know?” I heard her step over to the diaper bag on the bed and there was the sound of a package being ripped open.

The next thing I knew Melody was forcing a latex teat into my mouth. Expecting another baby bottle I started to reflexively suck. When I felt the plastic guard bobbing against my nose, I realised what it was. It was a toddler-size dummy! “You have a little suck on that, sweetheart. It’s a good thing I keep a new soother in the diaper bag as a spare for Cindy,” Melody observed with a small smile for me. To my surprise, sucking on the fat rubber teat seemed to calm my tears somewhat. She gently ordered me to keep sucking on the pink dum-dums, then lifted my feet in the air and rolled me back onto my shoulders again to powder my rear. As she lowered my feet onto the cool vinyl surface, she soothed me in reassuring baby-talk. “I’m sorry you’re being punished, sweetie - but maybe some time in nappies and baby dresses will help you learn a valuable lesson.”

Adding to my humiliation, Cindy still wanted to help diaper me, so Melody allowed her daughter to clumsily assist with powdering my tummy. I felt absolutely mortified when the little girl sprinkled a cloud of sweet-smelling talc over my bits and between my legs. She rubbed some of the baby powder onto my tummy, intuitively avoiding my bobbing stiff peenie. The little girl pointed at my swollen red hardness and demanded inquisitively, “What’s that, Mummy?”
“Ignore that, Cindy,” Melody commanded her daughter with a tight frown for me. She gave a disparaging sniff. “Some babies just get a bit excited having their nappies changed. They can’t help it. Here, let Mummy finish up.”

Cindy stepped back and watched her mother tightly pin the clean nappies over my embarrassing erection. I heard the contented two-year-old noisily sucking on her dummy, just like me. Cindy even helped her Mummy tug a clean pair of transparent pink wetproof panties up my legs and over my thick fluffy nappies. These baby panties had a cute print of baby circus animals all over them, and a band of narrow white lace edging the leg and waistbands.

When Melody finished tucking in the leg bands of my baby panties around my nappy crotch, she folded the waistband under, too. She kissed my powdery tummy and blew a loud raspberry in my belly button that made me giggle uncontrollably. “There you go, baby! Safely diapered at last,” she sang, smiling in approval. “You’ve been a very good little girl for Aunty Melody.” She tickled my tummy and fingered my ribs until I couldn't stop laughing. As my unwanted stiffie gradually diminished, I even felt a few hot spurts of fresh wee-wees escape into my clean nappy. I was still giggling when Melody sat me up and then helped me clamber down from the change table.

Just as Melody was finishing putting my dress and petties back on me, Aunt June and Mandy came striding into the bedroom. As soon as she spotted the pink pacifier bobbing in my mouth, Aunty June demanded, “Baby Candy? Where did you get that dummy, you bad little girl? Did you steal it?”
Mandy frowned menacingly at me and asked, “Have you been giving Melody a hard time, Baby Candy?”

Thank goodness Melody spoke up for me! The kindly young mother replied, “Baby Candy has been a very good little girl for me, but her nappies were drenched! She should have spoken up sooner and told someone she needed changing. She was practically swimming in pee-pee!” She informed the nodding women, “She got a little upset when I was changing her, so I gave her a pacifier to calm her tears. Don’t worry - it’s a spare brand-new one I keep on hand for Cindy.”
Mandy wryly commented, “Look at her sucking that dum-dums! It certainly seems effective! Maybe Baby Candy should use a baby soother all the time!”
Aunt June laughingly agreed. “Little girls who still need nappies must have a pacifier to suck on, too.” She turned to Melody and grinning cheekily, asked the beautiful young mother, “Did you discover my naughty baby girl’s little secret?”
Melody giggled and archly replied, “I certainly did!”

Aunt June and Mandy took a few minutes to thoroughly explain the whole situation to her. Melody seemed shocked to learn I was really seventeen years old, and the women laughed and laughed when the pretty blonde shook her head in disbelief. I blushed rosily and instinctively sucked harder on my dummy for comfort. Melody observed, “When I first saw Candy, I honestly thought she - I mean, he - was a pretty little girl aged around six or seven. And when I took her nappy off, I thought she - I mean, he was a little boy about the same age. I mean, he doesn’t have any hair down there, or anywhere.”

Aunty June commented, “We used some depilatory cream to make sure our little girl didn’t have any nasty grown-up fur down there.”
Melody giggled at my embarrassed expression. “He’s way too pretty and effeminate to pass for a teenage boy. I think his sweet toddler frock and feminine hairstyle admirably suit his sissy juvenile nature.”
“Too true,” Aunt June agreed, and she turned to me and noted with a small frown, “My little one looks a tad worn out. Are you a bit tired, Baby Candy?” She asked mock-solicitously.

I took out my dummy and crankily insisted, “I’m not tired!” When she asked me if I had taken a nap yet today, I sulkily replied; “No ma’am! I don't need naps.”
She forced the latex soother back between my pouting lips and responded in that condescending maternal manner, "Oh yes you do, sweetness! Keep sucking your dummy, little girl. All little toddlers who wet their nappies need to take nap-naps, and you've had more than enough excitement for one day. Now mind you keep that dummy in your mouth, Baby Candy." With that Aunt June quickly drew off my dress and petticoats, and then removed my frilly socks. She lowered the safety rail on the crib, picked me up and dumped me inside, and swiftly raised the bars back in place.

I frowned in irritation and complained around the dummy that I didn't need a nap. Aunty June merely forced me to lie back once more. “Behave yourself and stop whinging, little girl. Do you want another botty-spank before nap time?” I shook my head in frantic denial and tried to cover my shameful nappies with the fuzzy pink baby blanket. Aunty June snatched it away, saying, “Baby doesn’t need that. It’s too warm for a blankie.” She tossed the fuzzy blanket on Mandy’s bed and patted my bulging crotch in a dismissive gesture. Her cupped hand made that distinctive ‘thwack-thwack-thwack’ sound on striking my tautly-stretched plastic panties.

I was lying there in the locked crib with my nappies and my transparent pink baby panties exposed for all the world to see. The women seemed to revel in my blushing embarrassment, and teased me for a being a big diaper baby. I lay there cringing under their taunts while sucking harder on my dummy. Cindy stood next to my crib holding onto the rails with one hand, staring at me and giggling around her dummy as she handed me my Princess Barbie doll. Aunt June picked up my empty baby bottle and suggested, "Our cranky baby girl probably needs some warm milk to help her fall asleep. I’ll make up a fresh bottle for her."

Melody announced with a disappointed smile, “I’m afraid Cindy and I have to leave now. But if you need someone to babysit your big baby girl, June, just give me a call. I’ll take ‘special care’ of your naughty Baby Candy.” Melody impishly added, “Your precious toddler girl could even play Barbies with my Cindy, now that she has her very own Barbie doll.”
Mandy looked down at me and sneered in contempt. "Oh my! Playing Barbies with little Cindy! Wouldn't that be fun, Baby Candy?"
My Aunt warmly thanked Melody, and suggested, “I’ll call you tomorrow to arrange a play-date for our little girls, okay?”

As Melody agreed, the women walked out, and little Cindy waved goodbye and trilled to me; "Bye-bye, Baby Candy!" Everyone laughed when I hesitantly waved back, cringing in shame. I noticed that Aunt Mandy left her bedroom door ajar when she stalked out. I called out for her to please close it, but she ignored my plaintive request. I could hear the women chatting and laughing amongst themselves as they walked downstairs. A few minutes later, a group of children remaining at the party wandered upstairs and poked their heads around Mandy’s bedroom door. When the bigger girls spied me lying in the crib, there was a collective squeal of glee and they rushed inside.

The girls surrounded three sides of my crib, laughing and chanting, “Look at the big diaper baby!” and “She’s sucking a dummy! What a baby!” They taunted and teased me, asking, “Have you wet your nappies yet?” I turned away from them and rolled onto my side facing the wall. I buried my red blushing cheeks in the sheets, biting down on the comforting latex teat to help fight back the tears. They made fun of my transparent pink baby panties with the circus animals and the frilly lace trim, and tried to poke and smack my bulging nappy bottom through the crib bars. I was so humiliated, I pressed myself against the bars lining the wall and clutched my Barbie tighter, and sucked harder on my baby soother for solace.

Aunt June and Mandy returned and I begged them to make the horrible children leave. My Aunty ignored my tearful pleas and simply rolled me onto my back. She plucked the dummy teat from my mouth and replaced it with the nipple of a full baby bottle. She calmly ordered, “Drink up your warm milk for Aunty like a good baby girl.” She held the end of the bottle for me like I was incapable of holding it for myself, making me feel even more humiliated. “That’s right. Good baby,” she praised me in that sickly-sweet voice. Knowing I had no choice but to obey, I compliantly suckled on the rubber teat, making the children howl with fresh laughter. “Good girl! Drink it all down for Aunty June.” She kept the nipple pressed between my lips until the bottle gurgled dry.

A bigger girl with short blonde hair politely asked, “Would another bottle help Candy to wet her nappies soon? I’d love to help change her, ma’am.”
Aunt June chuckled indulgently as she replied, “I’m sorry, Emily. We just changed Baby Candy’s nappies a few minutes ago. But don’t worry.” She confidently predicted, “I’m sure our big baby girl will need changing again soon.” When Emily’s face fell, Aunty June added, “If you like, we can make up another bottle for you to feed the baby. But you must hold her bottle for her, and make sure she drinks it all up. Little babies like my Baby Candy can’t be trusted to hold their own bottles.”

The skinny eight-year-old girl nodded in agreement, dancing on the spot in excitement. With a smile and a nod to her friend, Mandy wandered downstairs to the kitchen to make me a fresh bottle of milk. When she returned a few minutes later, Emily accepted the warm vessel with a grateful smile. “Come over here, Baby Candy,” she crooned enticingly to me, reaching between the bars. “Slide over closer to this side and I’ll feed you your bottle. That’s right. Good girl.”
“If she wets her nappy, you should be able to see it straight away through those clear baby panties,” Mandy pointed out, poking the bulging crotch of my nappy through the transparent pink plastic covering for emphasis. “Call me or Aunty June, and we’ll let you help change her nappy next time. Okay?”
“Okay!” Emily enthusiastically agreed. “Thanks, Mrs Moore.” The watching children teased me unendingly as Emily made me suck down another full bottle of milk. Aunt June and Mandy left me to the girls’ devices without a backward glance for me.

After I finished the second bottle, the girls made a big point of checking my nappy, but they could clearly see I was still dry. Even though I needed to pee again already, I was determined to hold it for as long as I could. Emily and the girls soon grew bored watching me lying there meekly sucking my dummy. I closed my eyes and ignored them, and pretended to fall asleep. They walked off chattering quietly amongst themselves, and soon I was left alone in my crib in silence. I sighed with relief as I let a hot stream of wee-wees gush out of my limp peenie. I lay back and relaxed, letting the soothing hot flow pour over my baby-smooth tummy and trickle around my sides, the warm rivulets running down between my forcibly-splayed thighs. When my endless stream finally trickled to a halt, I rolled onto my front again. The soggy cloth cupped my genitals like a warm loving hand, and my peenie inexplicably began to stir. It grew harder and harder inside my humid diaper prison, until the hot head was creeping up my hairless tummy towards my belly button.

I gently thrust my hips against the crackling plastic-covered mattress, enjoying the way my stiff little tool slid into a soggy warm groove in the front of my nappies that seemed ideal for the purpose. I chewed on the rubber teat in my mouth and sucked harder as I rocked and rolled on my warm wet swaddling, my eyes drifting closed as I fantasised about being a pretty pampered little girl. Every time I thought I heard someone coming up the stairs, I froze and pretended to be asleep, listening intently for a few minutes. When I thought it was safe, I began thrusting my stiff peenie into the warm wet folds of my nappy again. I was too nervous about being caught to really concentrate on my self-pleasuring session. Even though it was enjoyable, I didn’t manage to reach a climax. Finally the sounds of the party died down and to my relief, I could hear in the distance when the remaining guests were picked up by their mothers. Exhausted from my humiliating ordeal, I finally drifted into a fitful slumber, dimly aware of an uncomfortable full feeling in my bowels. I didn’t even wake when a second hot stream poured out of my shrivelled peenie a short time later, enveloping my genitals in fresh comforting warmth.

After waking me later that afternoon and checking my nappy, Aunty June announced to the empty room, “My goodness! Baby Candy is soaking wet again!” She didn’t look surprised to find me saturated, and lifted me out of the cot and carried me over to the change table. The vinyl surface was cold against my warm body, making me gasp. I was still half-asleep when she removed my baby panties and unpinned the sodden mass of cloth bunched around my loins. “These nappies are drenched,” she commented in distaste, as she dumped the heavy wet bundle in the nappy bucket. She grabbed a handful of cold baby wipes and carelessly scrubbed my shrivelled genitals and between my cheeks. “Baby Candy is such a heavy wetter,” she scolded me. ‘We might have to find something more absorbent for my wet little baby girl.” She took two of the thick cloth nappies from the shelf under the change table, and arranged them between my splayed legs.

I wanted to ask Aunty June if I could use the toilet before she pinned the clean nappies over my hips, but Mandy walked in singing, “Oh, our little baby girl is finally awake! What a long nap she had in her crib. Baby Candy must have been all tuckered out from the party.” She asked me in syrupy toddler tones, “Does Baby Candy want to use the potty before Aunty June gets her ready to go home? Hmm? Does our precious baby girl need to go pot-pot?” When the women gazed at me with questioning expressions, I shook my head in embarrassed denial. Even though I needed to do a poo, I was afraid Aunty Mandy would bring out the big pink potty from the bathroom and make me sit on it while everyone watched my humiliating performance. She insisted, “Are you sure, baby?”

“No fank you, Aunty Mandy,” I sheepishly replied around the pink guard of my dum-dums, my cheeks rosy with embarrassment. The rubber teat in my mouth made me lisp like a little girl. “I don’t wanna uthe the potty,” I lied. Aunty June harrumphed in disbelief but she proceeded to pin the thick cloth nappies tightly around my freshly powdered loins. She covered my clean diapers with some crackling yellow plastic panties this time. They had colourful Nursery-rhyme characters all over them, and looked really cute.

“Here baby. Let me have that dum-dums for a minute,” ordered Aunty Mandy. She neatly plucked the rubber teat from my lips. I remained meek and silent while Aunty June dressed me in a sheer yellow cotton sundress that barely covered my diapered hips. She replaced my white anklet socks with the pink lace trim, and buckled my black patent Maryjanes back on my feet. Mandy was busy attaching a plastic chain to the ring of my pacifier. It had a white clip on the end shaped like a teddy bear, to fasten the chain to my dress so I wouldn’t lose my pacifier. After Mandy clipped the pink plastic chain to the lacy collar of my yellow frock, she popped the amber rubber teat back in my mouth. “There you go, baby girl,” she sang, smiling in approval when I automatically began to suck. Aunty June lifted me down and set me on my feet, and I staggered clumsily when she released me. I glanced in Mandy’s vanity mirror and I could see the crotch of my baby panties poking out below the floaty hem of my too-short yellow frock.

When we left Aunty Mandy’s that night, I was sucking on the teat of my new pink dummy and Aunty June was carrying two large plastic bags full of things for Baby Candy. I shuddered at the thought of the contents and didn’t understand when Mandy sang out from her front door; “Call me tomorrow June, if you need to borrow the furniture!”
“Don’t worry,” Aunty June replied, “I certainly will!”

Are you enjoying this story? Then post a response here and let me know, okay?
Hugs from Baby Jennie in Australia

Cute Baby

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I just love his (her) embarresment, please do continue it
What ever the weather is like, always nice to be wet inside.




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Another great chapter. please keep the humiliation coming. I can see he won't learn yet. Please post the next chapter as soon as you think it is ready, since I think this story is great and your writing is super.


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I just noticed that you're missing a chapter i see 1 through 5 and 7 but i don't see chapter 6. Is it not posted here or is it posted elsewhere?



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Oops! Thanks Baby Toa. I screwed up! Me bad! But I've corrected the mistake, and reposted the chapters in the correct order. Thanks for mentioning it.
Hugs from BJ

Chapter 7. Dirty Little Girl.

Aunty June made me sit in the back seat of her old Ford Statesman with the overflowing plastic bags full of girls’ clothes and baby stuff sitting on the bench seat beside me. She buckled me in like I was incapable of doing it myself, patted my bulging plastic panty crotch in a deliberately condescending manner, and then she climbed into the front seat behind the wheel. We drove in silence for a few minutes until I suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to fart. I knew my bowels were dangerously full and I needed to go number twos pretty badly. I thought releasing some gas might alleviate the pressure on my packed colon.

As a loud ripple of gas trumpeted out of my bottom, I felt the unmistakeable sensation of a warm wet turd sliding out of my anus. The firm fat log stretched my little hole painfully wide for a few moments, before mashing moistly against the seat of my nappy. I squealed in dismay and started to wet myself in shock as I uncontrollably soiled my tightly-pinned diaper. With nowhere else for it to go, the hot poop started squishing around in my crack, before oozing up my back towards the tight waistband of my plastic panties. My body was thrust against the seatbelt when Aunty slammed on the brakes, forcing even more smelly excrement to squirt out of my tortured sphincter.

As the car screeched to a halt, I screeched like a terrified little girl. I bit down hard on my dummy teat in fright, almost slicing the rubber nipple in two. Aunty turned to glare over her shoulder at me as I slumped back in my seat, slowly settling into the semi-soft pile of hot poop cushioning my bottom. “I hope you haven’t done what I think you’ve done, little girl?” Aunty June icily demanded, staring at me in genuine disgust.
I started crying like the sissy baby I was dressed as when I sulkily replied, “I couldn’t help it, Aunty.” She glared at me in disbelief. “It wath an ac-thident!” I wailed like a useless toddler around the teat of my dummy, the hot stream of wee-wees continuing to pour out of me.

“Accident my foot!” She angrily interjected. “Aunty Mandy asked you if you needed to use the potty only five minutes ago, you dirty, bad little girl! Why didn’t you tell us you needed to go poo-poos then?”
“I didn’t know I needed to go,” I lied, sobbing in misery around the dummy still clenched between my teeth. She glared at me in silence for a whole minute while I slowly sank deeper and deeper into the warm creamy mess filling my nappy. I wriggled about on some of the firmer lumps, trying to get comfortable. My actions made the tight waistband of my baby panties crackle and pop, releasing some of the musty, fruity-herb aroma mostly contained until then. I sat there with my head bowed in guilt and my cheeks burning with shame, the ripe smell of my dirty accident slowly fouling the air around us.

Aunty June wrinkled her nose in disgust and shook her head in disdain. “Only silly little babies can’t tell when they need to go number twos,” she commented with a sneer of contempt, fanning her hand in front of her face. “You must really be a baby after all. Is that what you are, Baby Candy?” She demanded, as she wound down her window all the way. I could only shake my head in useless denial and sniffle tearfully in reply. “Yes, I think so,” she decided for me with chilling finality. “You’re nothing but a silly little baby girl; one desperately in need of potty-training and diaper discipline.”

She turned to the front and started driving again, and minutes later we turned into Aunty’s street and drove up her driveway. Alison and Brenda were outside the house eagerly awaiting our arrival. They watched from the veranda as Aunty June seized my hand and led me waddling slowly and carefully up the front steps in my floaty yellow frock. “Hello girls,” Aunty greeted the goggle-eyed teens. She cruelly informed them, “Your naughty little niece Baby Candy has just soiled herself. I need to take this dirty little girl straight up to the bathroom and change her messy nappy. Come and help me.”

The beautiful teenagers followed us along the hallway and watched from the foot of the stairs as Aunty relentlessly dragged me upstairs. They followed at a more leisurely pace and stood in the bathroom doorway watching us with open mouths. Aunty removed my Maryjanes and my frilly anklet socks, then she made me climb into the cold enamel bath. She stripped me of my remaining feminine finery in the tub, and she grunted in annoyance when she pulled down my yellow plastic panties. “These baby panties will have to be soaked in the laundry tub before I can toss them in the machine. Yuck!” The leg bands were stained brown with sticky excrement around the crotch, and she carefully rolled them up and tossed them in a large white bucket sitting beside the bathtub.

“What a messy baby. Spread your feet wider, Baby Candy,” she ordered. She leaned down to unpin my dirty wet nappy. The heavy terrycloth layers fell open to the bottom of bathtub, landing between my splayed feet with a loud wet ‘splat!’ There was a huge pile of stinky brown excrement smeared all over the crotch of my drenched diaper, all the way to the back seam. “Oh no!” Aunty complained, “Look at all that mess. What a dirty little girl!”

There was a collective gasp from the watching girls when the extent of my disgrace was revealed. Brenda folded her arms under her enormous bosom and cried in revulsion, “Yuck-spuck! What an awful stench! Pooh!”
Alison theatrically held her nose between her thumb and forefinger. She declared in a muffled tone of disgust, “Pee-yew! I’m not changing any stinky diapers. No way!”

I instinctively covered my filth-encrusted genitals with my hands, but Aunty June savagely smacked my wrists aside. She scolded me, “Don’t touch! It’s dirty, you silly baby.” I cowered away from her and hid my hands behind my back to avoid the stinging smacks. She shook her head in disgust. “Silly girl! There’s no need by shy here, baby. After all, it’s just us girls.” Brenda and Alison laughed at her cruel admonition.

Aunty June crisply informed her girls, “Settle down you two! Changing dirty nappies is all part of taking care of a baby - something you will have to do for your own babies soon enough.” She hid her sly smile from her daughters when she suggested, “A few weeks of taking care of a big baby like Baby Candy will make excellent preparation for your own future motherhood.” What she didn’t say was, ‘and make you more careful about using birth control.’ The girls moaned and groaned in disagreement as their mother dumped my stinky nappies in a big white bucket. The only words that rung in my head were; ‘a few weeks…?’ How long did Aunty intend dressing me like this?

Aunty June ordered Alison to take the bucket containing my dirty nappies downstairs. “Dump them straight in the laundry tub with some Napisan, along with those badly stained plastic pilchers. Let them soak for a couple of hours, Allie, then I’ll throw them in the washing machine later.” Alison groaned in disgust as she carted the smelly bucket away. Aunty June turned to me in the bathtub, her full red lips compressed into a thin hard line. “Now let’s get you sorted, you dirty little girl.” There was sticky brown poo-poo stuck all over me, and Aunty hosed me down with a hand-held shower spray first. “It’s a good thing we got rid of all that nasty fur down there,” she commented unkindly. “I’d hate to have to clean you up then.”

She blasted away most of the mess from my hairless crotch and bottom with the stinging hot spray. She mumbled sourly in annoyance when she had to scour between my stained cheeks with a soapy washcloth to dislodge some of the more stubborn pieces. After she had washed all the sticky excrement down the plug hole, she allowed the tub to fill. “Sit down, baby,” she brusquely commanded, and she gave me my second scalding-hot bath of the day. She washed me all over with a coarse flannel, treating me like a helpless toddler incapable of doing it for myself. After she was satisfied I was perfectly clean, she left me alone for a few minutes. When she returned she commanded, “Come on, baby girl. Out we hop!” She lifted me out and stood me on the bathmat, wrapping a fluffy towel around my body.

When I was dry, Aunty June snatched my hand and led me along the landing into her bedroom. She called over her shoulder; “Girls! Come and watch how I diaper Baby Candy. This will be part of your babysitting duties over the next couple of weeks.” My cheeks blazed with fresh shame when Alison and Brenda piled into their mother’s bedroom to better observe my ongoing humiliation. There was a pink, vinyl-backed cotton change mat already laid out waiting for me on the end of her queen-size bed, beside a pile of white terry nappies and a clean pair of translucent pink baby panties. As soon as Aunty had arranged two of the fluffy nappies together in the centre of the change mat, she lifted me off my feet and lay me on my back. She said to her watching daughters, “I want you to bring the change table down from the attic tomorrow, and set it up in Baby Candy’s bedroom. It’ll be much more convenient for changing this big baby’s nappies in future.” The girls nodded obediently as my bottom came to rest on a thick cushion of soft cotton, like a cherub’s bum resting on a fluffy cloud.

The teenagers laughed in derision when I instinctively covered my tiny wrinkled genitals with my hands, but Aunty June simply smacked my wrists out of the way. “None of that, little girl,” she chided me. “There’s no need for false modesty here, Baby Candy. You’re just a little baby girl, after all, and babies aren’t shy about having their nappies changed.” After powdering me heavily and pinning the fluffy white nappies around my loins, she ordered me to raise my feet. “Point those wittle toesies in the air for me, sweetie,” she cooed, and she smiled victoriously at me when I timidly obeyed. “Good baby. Now footsies down and lift that wittle bot-bot.” She ordered the girls to watch closely as she tucked the tight elastic leg bands of my baby panties in under the crotch of my thick nappy. “Make sure all baby’s nappy is tucked inside her plastic panties. We don’t want any leaks,” she warned her grinning daughters. “Baby Candy is such a heavy wetter.” Aunty hauled me to my feet and dressed me in the same pink satin nightie and the lace-lavished plastic-lined panties I had worn last night at Aunty Mandy’s.

The girls showered me with sarcastic compliments for my pretty pink babydoll nightie and matching satin rumba panties. Aunty June ordered Brenda, “Take Baby Candy’s hand and lead her downstairs, will you darling? It’s time to feed our little girl some dinner.”
Brenda laughed and sang, “Come on, Baby Candy! Time for din-dins!”
I looked to Aunty with a pleading expression, but she simply waved me away. “Go on, Baby Candy. Off you go! And mind you obey my girls, little one. They’re going to be your babysitters from now on.”

I was scowling in annoyance when Brenda dragged me downstairs, my movements clumsy because of the mass of fluffy terrycloth bunched between my thighs. My cheeks grew warm and I felt a fresh blossoming of heat in my nappies when my buxom blonde cousin lifted me onto a high kitchen stool to feed me my dinner. I gripped the sides of the padded seat to stop from sliding off, hot wee-wees spurting out of my peenie. My bare feet didn’t reach the footrest and I felt like I was sitting in an adult version of a highchair. I let my legs swing freely underneath me, unconsciously behaving like a small child as I admired the pretty pink polish on my toenails. Aunty had cooked a beef stew for dinner, and mine was served in a plastic bowl with a serving scoop of steamed rice.

Brenda tied a dishcloth around my neck as a makeshift bib, and then approached me stirring the steaming contents of my bowl with a spoon. The buttons of her yellow cotton blouse were strained almost to breaking point by her massive bosom. Every time the spoon circled the bowl, her huge breasts wobbled distractingly inside the lacy white hammock of her bra. She knew I was staring at her abundant fleshy cleavage, and she shot me a malevolent grin as she ordered, “Open wide, Baby Candy! It’s time for Aunty Brenda to feed you some din-dins.” I knew there was no point protesting. I obediently opened my mouth as the loaded spoon approached.

“Eat it all up for Aunty. Show me how you chew your food like a big girl. Good girl,” she praised me, beaming in approval when I meekly chewed and swallowed, despite my blazing red cheeks. Brenda shovelled another heaped spoonful into my mouth, smiling condescendingly at my submissive attitude. She flicked her head, tossing her long blonde ponytail back over her shoulders and out of harm’s way, making her huge bosom wobble distractingly. I couldn’t help staring at them and wondering what her nipples looked like.

When Aunty June returned downstairs, she asked her daughter, “Is Baby Candy eating up all her din-dins like a good little baby girl?” She sniggered at my woebegone expression when her youngest smiled and nodded.
“She sure is! What a hungry bubba!” Brenda shovelled yet another spoonful of hot stew into my mouth before I was ready. Brown liquid dribbled from the corner of my mouth, and I felt my cheeks turn pink when it trickled down my chin and onto my makeshift bib.
“I think Mandy packed a pretty bibbie for our special baby girl,” Aunty June commented, flicking up the stained tea towel covering my breast. “I’ll get it out for Baby Candy to use tomorrow morning.” Alison and Brenda giggled in cruel amusement when my rosy cheeks turned scarlet with fresh shame.

I was sent to bed clutching my new Barbie dolly as soon as Brenda finished spoon-feeding me my meal. Aunty didn’t bother checking me before she put me down, and she made me wear the same damp nappies and baby panties to bed that night. At least I was allowed to sleep in a big-girl’s bed, even if Aunty ordered me to keep the dummy in my mouth all night. She clipped the dangling pink plastic chain to the collar of my nightie, and I unconsciously fingered the pink plastic clip shaped like a teddy bear. Aunty June left me alone for a few minutes, and I reached under the bedclothes and caressed the slick front of my bulging baby panties. I could already detect a warm damp spot through the thick layer of plastic, and I squeezed the front of my nappy over my thickening tool. I snatched my hand away from my groin and tried hard not to look guilty when Aunty walked back into the room.

Aunty June gave me a cool appraising stare before she handed me an eight-ounce baby bottle of warm milk. When I lay there stupidly clutching the warm plastic vessel and staring at it in disbelief, she ripped out my dummy by the plastic chain, making me squeal in alarm. She sniggered as she took my arm and steered the amber rubber teat towards my lips. “Here baby,” she crooned, talking down to me like I was a useless toddler, “Aunty made you a lovely warm bottle for night-night. It’s only a small one. We’ll have to buy you some bigger bottles tomorrow, won’t we? Yes we will! Now drink it all up your milkies like a good little girl, then pop that dummy back in your mouth. It will help you get to sleep.” She only left me alone after I obediently started sucking down the warm milk. “Good night, Baby Candy,” she sang from the doorway, as she turned out the overhead light. “Sleep tight, little girl. We have a busy day of shopping tomorrow.”

As soon as I heard the sound of her footsteps fade into silence, I thrust my right hand beneath the sheets and grabbed my bulging groin through the warm plastic panties. I massaged my pulsating stiffie through the bulky wet nappies, loving the sensation of the squishy warmth pressing against my throbbing tool. When I finally drained my bottle, I carelessly tossed it aside and let it fall to the floor. I shoved the rubber teat of my pink pacifier into my mouth in its place. It was thrilling being dressed like a pretty girl, even a little girl, despite the humiliation I’d been subjected to all day. I wondered what kind of shopping Aunty June planned to do with me tomorrow? I wriggled about in my bed, enjoying the brush of the slick satin nightie against my silky-smooth skin. Was she planning on buying more little-girl clothes for Candy? I was thrilled - yet terrified - by the thought.

My rock-hard tool throbbed with arousal inside my warm wet swaddling. I reached inside my deliciously humid nappies and caressed my raging erection. In moments I climaxed, the creamy jolts of cum easily absorbed by the fluffy terrycloth covering my tummy. When I stopped shaking I wiped my fingers clean on the front of my nappy and removed my hand from my baby panties. I rolled onto my side, curling my sticky fingers around my nose while my other hand cupped the crotch of my rustling baby panties. The scent of my cum and my wee-wees filled my nostrils as sleep finally claimed me. I drifted off while sucking on my mouth-filling baby soother, and I didn’t even stir when I repeatedly drenched my nappy during the night.

The next morning Aunt June strode barefoot into the spare bedroom and threw back my bedcovers, jolting me awake. She had tossed a maroon chenille dressing gown over her mint-green shortie nightie, and her fluffy robe was belted tightly around her slender waist. She poked and prodded my bulging plastic panties between my legs, sighing at the warmth she could feel. She slipped a cold bony finger under one leg band at the crotch and she snorted in contempt when she detected my saturated state. She wrenched away her searching fingers, carelessly wiping the tips clean on the front of my satin nightie. “Hmph! Wet again, I see. What a baby! Oh well, I’m not going to bother changing you until after breakfast,” she announced, before lifting me out of the bed. She clasped one of my hands tightly in hers and led me waddling downstairs to the kitchen.

I had to endure the laughter and taunts of her daughters when they spied the thick wet nappies and baby panties drooping down between my legs. I slowly waddled into the brightly-lit kitchen, my head bowed and my cheeks ablaze. The girls were still dressed in their pyjamas and they looked gorgeous this morning, despite wearing no make-up and their scruffy bed-hair. I noticed neither girl was wearing a bra, and my mouth watered at this bounteous display of voluptuous feminine beauty. Alison was wearing a loose baby-blue cotton nightie with tiny pink flowers embroidered across the shirred bodice. Despite falling demurely to her slender mid-thighs, her nightgown had a daringly-low lace-edged V-neck, which displayed more than a hint of her huge creamy breasts.

Brenda was dressed in a hip-length, pastel-yellow shortie nightie with a high round collar edged in narrow white lace. It was made from thin cotton with a matching pair of full-cut lace-edged panties peeping out from underneath. Her panties were so tight, they clung like paint to her big round bottom. She had muscular well-shaped calves and plump womanly thighs like her mother, too. Her flounced Empire-line top was so sheer it was almost transparent. I could clearly see her massive breasts bulging underneath, capped by a pair of fat russet nipples that poked out like thimbles through the light cotton material. I didn’t realise it but I began to salivate at the sight of those succulent red-brown caps. A frilly plastic-backed cotton bib was clipped around my neck before Brenda lifted me onto the vinyl-covered bar stool, plonking me heavily on my drenched nappy bottom. She smoothed the lace-edged bib over my breast, chortling at the embroidered inscription.

When she turned and walked away, I picked up the frilly lace at the bottom of my bib and turned it so I could read the words written across the front in pink silk lettering two inches high. ‘Mummy’s Little Nappy Wetter,’ the message proudly proclaimed me to be. I dropped the edge of my bib and frowned at my buxom cousin’s receding back, my bottom lip protruding like a surly toddler’s. My taller raven haired cousin approached me holding a small plastic bowl and a rubber-coated spoon. She laughed at the embroidered message on my bib, or it might have been the sulky expression on my face.

It was Alison’s turn to spoon-feed me this morning and she seemed to delight in deliberately missing my mouth, repeatedly smearing my lips and chin with warm porridge. Every time she leaned closer to slip the spoon in my mouth, the lace-edged V-neckline of her baby-blue nightie gaped open. I watched entranced as her huge meaty breasts surged forward, threatening to spill over the top, straining against the light cotton material which barely contained them.

I think Alison could tell I was perving at her big breasts, which only provoked her to treat me with greater contempt. “Open up, baby. Here comes the choo-choo,” she commanded. “Good baby. Open wide.” She made the sound of a chuffing steam engine as the loaded spoon approached. She gradually increased the pace of her feeding until I barely had time to swallow before the next heaped spoonful was forced between my writhing lips. “Aww! What a messy bubba. Oops!” She tut-tutted in mock-reproval. Excess food slid down my quivering chin before cascading onto my bib. She simply scooped up the spilt porridge with the spoon and pushed it back in my mouth, singing, “Waste not, want not.”

Aunty June ate her breakfast while she watched Alison feed me, nodding and smiling in approval at her daughter’s efforts to humiliate me. “Give her a couple of bottles while I have my shower, Alison,” Aunty suggested as she rinsed her empty bowl in the sink, and then she disappeared upstairs. Brenda had finished her breakfast too, and while the kettle was boiling, she made up two bottles of juice for me and handed them to her grinning big sister.

After being forced to drain two eight-ounce bottles of watered-down apple juice by Alison, my grubby face and hands were scrubbed clean with a warm damp washer. “You can sit there for a little while and digest your brekkie, little girl,” Alison commanded, before she too disappeared from view. I sat there on the tall barstool, my feet dangling uselessly, not game to climb down from where they had perched me.

Only when Aunty June returned did she carefully remove my sticky stained bib. “What a good baby girl, eating all her brekkie for Aunty Alison,” she crooned to me in mock-approval, as she lifted me down from the high stool. Aunty June was wearing a calf-length denim skirt and a fluffy grey angora sweater that hugged her curvaceous bosom like a long-lost lover. Her luscious lips were painted dark red, and she had brushed on mascara and some black eyeliner to enhance her huge emerald eyes. It had turned a little cool this morning with an overcast sky, and she had decided to wear some tan knee-high boots as protection against the chill. When Aunty June lifted me down she towered over me, and I noticed her shiny boots had a two-inch platform sole as well as a menacing narrow six-inch heel. With her long dark-brown hair piled high on her head in a loose sexy bun, my buxom Aunty stood well over six-and-a-half feet tall! I felt like a tiny infant as I awkwardly waddled upstairs beside her, clutching her hand for support.

She dragged me into the bathroom, stripped me of my drooping baby panties and drenched nappies on the tiled floor, and made me sit on the toilet. I meekly sat there while she put the plug in the bathtub and turned on the taps. I didn’t feel the need to empty my bladder, probably because I had drenched my nappy just before breakfast. And there was no way I was going to try and evacuate my bowels with her standing over me watching me like a prison guard. After sitting there in humiliated silence for several long minutes, Aunty June icily demanded, “Well? Have you done a wee-wee or a poo-poo yet, Baby Candy? I haven’t heard anything, little girl.” Without waiting for an answer she grabbed my shoulders and rudely thrust me forward, folding my chest over my knees. “Let me see.” She peered into the empty commode behind me, clucking her tongue in disapproval.

“I don’t need to go!” I wailed in distress, feeling the blush creep up my cheeks as she man-handled me like a recalcitrant toddler.
“Are you sure?” She demanded, tilting me back and eyeing me in apparent disbelief. My vision swam and tears of shame brimmed in my eyes as I nodded earnestly. My cheeks blazed with embarrassment when Aunty June scathingly replied, “That’s what you told us yesterday, little girl. And look what happened in my car...” she cruelly reminded me. “I had to leave the windows open all night to air out the stink!”

Her emerald eyes flashed in warning as she took a plastic pinafore apron from a hook behind the door, and she slipped the loop over her head. She tied the cotton waist sashes behind the small of her back, covering her from neck to mid-thigh in a thick layer of protective transparent plastic. “Well you’d better not do anything in the bath, because if you do…” She let the threat hang unfinished in the steamy air and simply lifted me into the waiting tub. The water was really hot and as soon as my bum hit the bottom of the tub, I started peeing. I spitefully relaxed and emptied my bladder into the hot water, hoping Aunty wouldn’t notice. Thankfully she was preoccupied soaping up a wet flannel.

After another of her scalding-hot baby baths, Aunty wrapped a towel around me and carried me into the spare bedroom. She snatched the damp towel from me and lay it out on the bed. “Lie down, baby, and we’ll get you dressed for the day.” Her grinning daughters followed a few minutes later to further witness my infantile humiliation. Aunty June powdered me all over, leisurely rolling and folding my tiny frame this way and that as she slid a thick bundle of white terrycloth under my raised rear. She didn’t bother giving me any directions this morning, treating me like an incompetent six-month-old incapable of following the simplest instructions.

She pinned the fresh thick nappies over my loins and drew some plain tight transparent pilchers snugly over my heavily swaddled hips. After tucking in the leg bands, she covered them with some white satin rumba panties with several rows of wide yellow lace shimmering across the seat. Her watching daughters snickered in amusement as she sat me up and dressed me in another fancy short party frock she must have borrowed from Mandy’s youngest. This crotch-length toddler dress was fashioned from crisp, heavily-starched white cotton, with yellow lace trimmings and a wide yellow satin sash sewn around the high Empire waist. It even had two layers of stiff white tulle petticoats sewn inside edged with yellow lace, to make it flare out crazily over my diapered hips. Aunty June buttoned the back of the frock up to the nape of my neck, then she tied the yellow sash behind me in a big floppy bow.

The thin cotton anklet socks were white with elaborate yellow lace trimmings, which my Aunty ordered me to fold down neatly. She fussily made me rearrange the wide lace frills above my ankles till the floppy yellow rows were even, then handed me my Princess Barbie doll. “Here you go, baby,” she cooed, like she was doing me a big favour. “Here’s your dolly. You can take her shopping with you. Make sure you hang onto your Barbie like a good little girl.” After she buckled my black patent Maryjanes on my feet, she took my free hand and led me to the kitchen. She collected her handbag and keys, gripping my hand tightly as she led me down the hallway towards the front door. When I whimpered and tried to pull back, I realised her daughters were standing right behind me, blocking my escape.

“Please no?” I uselessly begged, writhing in shame in her iron grasp. “No, no! I don’t want to!” The heartless girls shoved me forward. I had nowhere to go; there was no escape.
Aunty held up the pink toddler’s dummy and shook the attached pink plastic chain in warning. She threatened, “I’ll make you keep this in your mouth all day if I hear one more word of complaint!” My eyes widened in fear. I clamped my mouth shut and shook my head in frantic denial.

Her snickering daughters followed us outside. They watched from the veranda as Aunty dragged me down the front path and out to the sidewalk. “Bye-bye Baby Candy,” they sang, waving to me and laughing at my terrified expression. There was a brisk wind gusting about, and my dress flew up around my waist for a few seconds. I struggled to hold down the front of my skirts and petties with the Barbie doll I clutched in my free hand. My anxious eyes darted around the street, hoping there were no witnesses to my humiliating exposure.

I whimpered in fright but a fierce look from Aunty rendered me silent. I kept my mouth closed as Aunty June escorted me numb and trembling down the two long blocks to the small local shopping centre. Fortunately we didn’t pass anyone on the way, but when we approached the shops, I saw a few people wandering about. Aunty smiled tightly as I clutched both her hand and my Princess Barbie in terror, sticking like glue to her side the whole way. I fearfully tried to conceal my small frame behind the billowing skirts of her long dress. She led me past a couple of women who seemed to take no notice of me, thank goodness, and then she dragged me inside a new-and-used children's clothing store, right next door to a busy hairdressing salon.

Inside the spacious store Aunt June dragged me over to the ‘pre-teen girls’ section first. She took her time selecting a number of appropriately juvenile dresses and skirts for me to try on. She even picked out a white petticoat with a silky nylon bodice, holding up the plastic hangar as she examined the fullness of the fluffy chiffon skirts. She filled a plastic shopping basket with girls’ tops, some lacy anklet socks, and a few pairs of pastel-coloured ribbed tights. A pretty teenage salesgirl in a red shirt and a tiny pair of denim shorts bounced over and asked Aunty, “Can I help you, Ma’am?” I saw her breast pocket bore the store logo - ‘Toddlers to Teens.’
“Not right now thanks,” my Aunty replied with a polite smile. “I’m just picking out a couple of new outfits for my little girl.”

The blonde teen turned and glanced down at me, her pretty face breaking into a broad smile. She rested her hands on her bare knees and crouched down so that we were almost at eye-level, granting me a perfect view down her gaping red blouse. Her creamy breasts surged forward, barely held in place by the white cups of her plain cotton bra. “Aren’t you a pretty little thing,” she cooed. “And don’t you look gorgeous in your sweet little party frock.”
Aunt June tossed me a condescending smile when I glanced down shyly at the floor and blushed bright pink without replying. In that cloying saccharine voice she chided me; “What do we say when someone pays us a compliment, baby?”
I couldn’t look at the smiling young woman when I replied in my best little-girl voice, “Thank you, ma’am.”

Aunty sniggered at my convincing attempt to sound like the little girl I was dressed as. “Good girl,” she praised me with mocking eyes. I was relieved when Aunty snatched my paw and dragged me away from the grinning salesgirl. “Come along, Baby Candy. Let’s try some of these cute outfits on you.” She led me into a large communal fitting room designed for mothers and toddlers, and I stared in fascination at my reflection in the huge mirror mounted on the end wall. I actually looked like a little girl aged around six or seven, despite the shiny crotch of my satin rumba panties peeping out below the bobbing hemline of my lacy petticoats.

Aunty June hung up the clothes she’d selected for me on a nearby hook mounted on the wall. She swiftly unbuttoned the back of my dress and untied the yellow satin sash. “Turn around and face me, baby girl,” she ordered, twirling me around. “You’ll have plenty of time to admire yourself later,” she remonstrated me, as though I was a vain little girl fascinated by my own reflection. In truth I was, but it was so embarrassing being scolded for my excusable behaviour like a naughty toddler in front of other people.

“Give your dolly to me for the moment, baby.” She took my Barbie from my hands and stuffed my doll in her shoulder bag. Despite the fact that there were two other mothers in the change room with their toddlers in tow, she removed my white cotton frock. One after another, she slowly made me try on all the clothes she had selected for me. My cheeks were already crimson when the other little children noticed my obvious thick nappies and baby panties, but when they started to whisper to their Mummies and point out my diapered shame, I wanted to shrivel up and die! When the adults turned to stare at my humiliating nappies, I let my chin droop and lowered my teary gaze to the shiny black shoes buckled on my feet.

Aunty ignored my grizzled protests and fed my limp arms through the sleeves, bunched up the petticoats and frocks, and slipped them over my submissively bowed head. I meekly stood there, trembling with humiliation as she tugged me this way and that. After carefully checking the fit of each garment, it would be ripped from my body and the next frilly outfit thrust in its place. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore what was happening to me when she pulled down my rumba panties. She unbuckled my Maryjanes and then slid my frilly anklet socks off my feet. My plastic panties were so transparent, you could see the big pink pins underneath and every crease and fold of my nappy. I felt certain everyone was staring at my shameful infantile underwear. I was grateful when Aunty slid a stretchy pair of white ribbed tights over my bare feet and tugged them up to my knees. The lycra-cotton felt so soft against my baby-smooth skin, and I marvelled at the silky erotic feel.

Aunty June had to stretch open the wide elastic waistband to slide the thick tights over my bulky nappy, but then she tugged the waistband high around my waist. She seemed satisfied with the fit, and ripped off the tag before she slipped my rumba panties back over the top. She put my socks back on my feet too, rearranging the yellow lace frills to sit attractively around my ankles, and then buckled the black patent Maryjanes over the top. She smiled in approval as she informed me, “Lovely! That’s how little toddler girls are supposed to wear their tights, honey.” After what seemed like hours, Aunty dressed me once more in the starched white cotton frock she’d picked out for me first thing this morning. She gathered together the clothes she’d selected for me and dumped them in the shopping basket, then dragged me out of the change room and over to the infant and toddler’s section.

She released my hand and picked out a package of extra-large, contoured cloth nappies from the shelf with a cry of delight. The string-tied package was enormous! She then searched for the girls' extra-large wetproof baby panties, but the bin where they should have been on display lay empty. I timidly waddled after her like an obedient puppy, blushing and holding my head down in disgrace. The helpful young salesgirl wandered over and asked Aunty, “Need any help?”
Aunt June asked, “Do you have any more girls' extra-large wetproof panties in stock? There aren’t any left in this bin.”
The girl motioned to an assortment in size ‘large,’ asking my Aunt, “How big is your baby? Our ‘large’ will fit most big toddlers.”

To my undying shame, my Aunt reached down and raised the front of my skirt and petties. She loudly declared; “My big baby is right here! And as you can see, she really needs the extra-large baby panties!” I tried to back away and push the front of my dress back down, but Aunty’s iron grip on my hem stopped me. She continued scathingly, “My naughty little girl still wets her panties and her bed occasionally. I’ve decided to put Baby Candy back in nappies, pilchers, and toddler frocks for a few weeks, as a suitable punishment." When she released her hold on my frock I stumbled backwards like a clumsy toddler, almost tumbling onto my padded bottom.

The attractive teen salesgirl fought to hold back her laughter. Grinning madly, she offered to check the stock room out back. “You wait here with your big baby,” she told Aunty. “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.” She returned a few minutes later holding up a small stack of extra-large, girls' baby panties, followed by another young saleswoman who was struggling to keep a straight face. Her brunette associate was carrying a handful of shiny satin rumba panties like the ones I was wearing. I could tell the lace-lavished panties were lined with a thick layer of stiff wetproof plastic.

“These ones should fit her,” the grinning blonde confidently predicted. “They’re all extra-large.” With the salesgirls and some other interested customers looking on, my Aunt made me pull up my dress and petties above my waist, completely exposing my frilly satin rumba panties with the obvious bulging nappies underneath. I knew my bladder was full and I had been suppressing the need to urinate for several agonizing minutes. I shifted my weight from foot to foot in a restrained version of a toddler’s potty-dance until the smirking salesgirl snapped, “Stop fidgeting, Baby Candy! Keep still for your Mummy.” I could have protested that Aunty June wasn’t my Mummy, but I knew it wouldn’t have made any difference.

Aunt June held a crackling pair of shiny pink PVC panties stretched across my slender waist. She gleefully announced, “Oh good! These will fit her just fine!” I moaned from a combination of shame and pain as I felt a sharp spasm in my loins. I went still as a statue, my little feet spread wide, and instinctively bent my knees as a burst of scalding-hot urine jetted from my tiny tool. In the momentary lull, I would have sworn they could all hear the unmistakable sound of my wetties tinkling into my nappies. The hot stream seemed to pour out of me for ages, and the rising heat around my bum and genitals was strangely comforting.

The brunette salesgirl observed my vacant expression and my tell-tale stance with wide eyes, then she stared at my drooping panty crotch before she burst out laughing. “Oh my! I think some little girl just had an accident in her panties,” she giggled. The watching women gathered around us heard her derisive comment, and many started laughing at me.
“Baby Candy!” My Aunty scolded me. “Bad girl! Why didn’t you tell me you needed to use the potty, you silly little girl?” She shook her head and frowned in disapproval, then held out her shopping basket and nodded for the salesgirls to drop the baby panties inside. “I think we’ll be needing all those wetproof panties,” she said in a sorrowful voice. As if the idea had suddenly occurred to her, she asked the chuckling teenagers, “I don’t suppose you stock potties big enough for my overgrown toddler? Maybe I could try potty-training her all over again?”
“As a matter of fact, we do!” The pretty blonde grandly announced. “Bring your little nappy-wetter over to aisle six.” Leading the way, she escorted us to the section with several shelves displaying a variety of brightly-coloured plastic potties.

She stood on tippy-toes, her tight blue denim jeans shorts hugging her lush round rump before she lifted down a pink potty shaped like a teddy bear in front. Her grin grew to Cheshire Cat proportions as she placed the portable toddler’s toilet on the floor in between my widely-splayed feet. “This is the largest girl’s potty we stock, suitable for toilet-training children from four to six years. I’m sure it will be big enough to hold your little girl. And see? The teddy bear’s ears make little handles for your toddler to hang onto, while she does her business on the pot-pot. It comes with a lid too, to help reduce the smell when she’s done,” she demonstrated while removing it, “and the whole thing comes apart for easy cleaning. You can even toss it in the dishwasher,” she confided conspiratorially.

“That looks fine,” nodded Aunty June, smiling in grim approval. “We’ll take the potty too.”
The overly-helpful salesgirl suggested, “Do you want me to pull her panties down and unpin her nappy so she can try it on for size first?” For one awful moment I thought Aunty was about to grant the girl permission!
Instead of answering her, Aunty turned to me and demanded, “Baby Candy? Do you still need to use the potty, little one?”
“No! I wailed in alarm. I shook my head in fearful denial. The horrified expression on my face made both women laugh.
“Did you wet your nappy already?” Aunty demanded in a surprised tone as if she didn’t already know the answer. “Tell me, baby.”
“Yes, I wet my nappy,” I confessed, tears of shame filling my eyes. “I wet my nappy! I want to go home! I want to go home now!” I shrilly demanded.

Aunty’s wolfish smile instantly turned into a severe frown. She reached into her handbag and produced the big pink pacifier on the plastic chain. Without a moment’s hesitation, she thrust the amber rubber teat between my trembling lips and held her hand over the guard until she could feel me sucking. “I warned you not to complain! Now you can keep that in your mouth for the rest of the day, Baby Candy!” Aunty muttered darkly. She turned to the stunned young woman watching us, her pretty mouth agape. “Take this potty and these nappies up to the front desk, please miss. We’ll meet you there in a minute. I want to pick up a couple of extra-large baby bottles, and I need a spare pacifier with a chain and clip for my naughty little toddler, too.” After pointing us in the right direction, the chuckling salesgirl stood from where she had been crouching at my feet, and she carried the humiliating pink potty and the bundle of terry nappies back to the front desk.

There was a huge pile of bibs on sale, stacked on one of the tables we walked past. Aunty paused to flick through the selection. She laughed at some of the embroidered messages and chose a few of the larger ones for me. I noticed they were all in feminine pastel colours, with lavish lace trimming around the neck holes and outside edges. Some of them had protective plastic backings, for the messier toddlers. Aunty made sure a few of those went into her shopping basket, too, before she resumed her search for the baby bottles and dummies.

When we shuffled over to the checkout a few minutes later, I was sucking on a new, bigger pacifier. It was a ‘Nuk No. 4, therapeutic trainer,’ and the huge amber rubber teat filled my mouth in a strangely satisfying way. There was a pink plastic chain running from the loop of my humiliating pink pacifier, all the way to a brightly-coloured clip shaped like a daisy, which was attached to the stiff wide Peter Pan collar of my starched white frock. The light plastic chain was long enough so that it bounced distractingly against my chest with my every awkward shuffling step.

The smirking blonde salesgirl was waiting behind the counter to ring up our purchases. She took the time to read some of the messages on the bibs Aunty had chosen for me. Her eyes drifted from each bib to my blushing pink cheeks and then back to the next embroidered script, and she giggled several times and shook her head in apparent disbelief. After she rang up the half-dozen big pink baby bottles, she hefted one in assessment. “These are the biggest baby bottles we stock,” she confided to Aunty. “They hold about twenty ounces each.” The clear silicon teats were huge, too, and easily looked as big as the nipple of the new dummy in my mouth. The girl patted the pile of nappies and the wetproof panties she had already bagged up on the counter, and then she stared pointedly at my drooping satin panty crotch. She giggled, “It looks like your Baby Candy will be needing some of these as soon as you return home.” Contempt was clearly etched on her pretty features when she snorted to my Aunty. “What a lucky big baby girl she is to have such a generous Mummy looking after her!”

“Thank you, Miss.” Aunty put her purse away and turned to me. “Hold out your arms, sweetie. Good girl.” Aunty June pushed the handle of a packed plastic bag over each hand and slid them up around my wrists. One was filled with shiny plastic panties and rumba panties, the other was overflowing with lace-edged bibs. “Here darling. You can carry this too,” she insisted, handing me the big pink potty shaped like a teddy bear. Aunty made me lug the embarrassing pink plastic potty all the way home, and our pace was slowed by the heavy bundle of nappies and the bags of baby things we were carrying.

To be continued in chapter 8. "Baby Won't Learn."

Please post a response here if you are enjoying this re-edited version of a classic sissy-AB tale.
Hugs from Baby Jennie in Australia


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i like this story i don't get to read some of the good ones very often.



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Chapter 8. Baby Won’t Learn.

We were still a block from Aunty June’s house when I realised I needed to do a poo. I felt a painful clench in my lower gut warning me of an impending bowel movement. I gazed at the humiliating pink potty in my arms in despair. Somehow I knew that if I confessed my need to Aunty, she would have no hesitation in pulling down my baby panties, unpinning my wet nappies and thrusting me on the shameful toddler potty right there on the sidewalk. I clenched my bum cheeks tighter and tried to press my thighs together, but the huge wad of wet cloth bunched between my legs frustrated my efforts. I gritted my teeth around the soft amber teat filling my mouth and silently prayed I would make it home unscathed, but my mental entreaties fell on deaf ears.

We were a few doors from Aunty June’s place when a boy on a red bike rode out of nowhere, darting alongside us in a blur of movement. He skidded to a halt a few feet in front of us and expertly dismounted, startling me. I jumped back in alarm and almost dropped my new potty. Beyond my control, a huge log of poo-poo squirted out of my straining sphincter. I moaned as I felt the unmistakable hot rush fill the seat of my warm wet nappy. A muffled fart fluttered out from under my flounced white frock, but fortunately no one seemed to notice. I clamped down with my sphincter muscles but the warm muddy feeling engulfing my genitals told me it was already too late.

“Hello Mrs Jones,” the boy greeted Aunty June, glancing inquiringly at me as he flicked his bike stand down and deftly balanced it on the metal prongs. “Do you want a hand with those parcels?” He was about ten years old, with wide blue eyes and a shock of short blond hair. He was wearing a striped rugby jersey over a pair of khaki shorts, with socks and sneakers on his feet.

“Hello Jimmy! Aren’t you a good boy! Here, darling,” she said, handing him the huge bundle of white cloth tied with cord. “You can carry Baby Candy’s nappies.”
“Nappies?” The blond boy asked in some confusion, glancing pointedly at the big pink dummy jammed between my lips. I could feel my face getting hotter as I tried to walk without smearing my smelly poo-poos all over the place. Jimmy turned and kept pace with us, and I realized the ten-year-old was several inches taller than me - ‘just like everybody else,’ I thought despondently. He asked, “Isn’t she a little old to be wearing-”
“Baby Candy is a hopeless bed-wetter who still wets her panties too, so I’ve decided to treat her more like the little baby girl she obviously wants to be,” explained my cruel Aunty.

I shuffled alongside them, my cheeks burning with shame as I tried to keep my anal sphincter tightly clenched. A case of bolting the barn door after the horse had escaped, I’m afraid. I knew I was waddling heavily, poking my bum out in an attempt to minimise contact with the sticky contents of my drooping nappy, but it wasn’t really helping. Fortunately my Aunty hadn’t yet noticed my embarrassing messy accident, and she took the package of nappies from Jimmy’s hands on the porch before leading the way into the house. “Thank you, Jimmy. Say hello to your Mum for me,” she tossed over her shoulder in farewell.

“Sure thing, Mrs Jones. Bye-bye Baby Candy,” he said, giving me a friendly wave goodbye. As he walked past me towards the porch steps, he must have sniffed the rank aroma of poo-poo in air around me. He made a face and screwed up his nose like he could smell something nasty. Jimmy almost stumbled down the stairs when he turned to look back at me in wide-eyed astonishment. I scurried inside the house as fast as I could waddle, my cheeks pink with shame and my mucky nappies sticking moistly to the sensitive areas between my legs.

The biggest surprise came after we walked in the door and the girls called out from the kitchen that lunch was ready. After a laughing Alison took the huge plastic potty from my arms and Brenda took the plastic bags full of baby stuff, I found the big pink highchair from Mandy’s house sitting beside the table in my Aunt’s kitchen. I was horrified when without being asked, Brenda lifted me into the humiliating baby chair and plonked me on my messy bottom. As I settled into the thick pile of warm crap wedged between my botty-cheeks, the awful smell rose up around my nostrils, filling them with the aroma of my most recent infantile accident. Brenda swiftly buckled me in, then lowered and locked the hinged tray in front of my trapped tummy She sniffed the air and made a funny face before she moved away.

Aunty smiled at the suitably infantile picture I presented in the big pink highchair. She suggested, “Girls, you can feed the baby her lunch while I go upstairs and make up the cot for her afternoon nap.” Oh no! “There are some new bigger baby bottles in this bag, too,” she mentioned, motioning for Brenda to take the plastic bag looped over her arm. “Make up a bottle for her, will you?”
Brenda pulled out one of the huge pink plastic bottles and exclaimed, “Gosh, Mum! These bottles are enormous!” She held it up so her big sister could see. “How much do they hold?”
“About a pint each,” replied my grinning Aunty, before turning to me and commenting in that syrupy baby-voice; “It’s a great big baby bottle for a great big baby girl.”

Alison yanked out my pacifier and unclipped it from my frock collar. I squealed in pain and fingered my sore bottom lip, frowning resentfully up at her. “I love your new dum-dums, baby,” she giggled, as she placed the oversized baby soother in a glass of water on the kitchen bench. She returned to clip a big pink plastic-backed bib around my neck which had a picture of Bambi and Thumper on it. In saccharine baby-talk she asked me; “Does widdle Baby Candy want her bottle first, or some din-dins?” I spotted the two empty jars of toddler food on the bench just as the microwave pinged. Alison sniffed the air around me and when her pert nose wrinkled in distaste, my cheeks began to burn with shame. She backed away from me shaking her head in dismay, her big brown eyes widening in shock.

Brenda shot me an evil grin as she took out a steaming plastic Barbie bowl full of innocuous grey gruel. She carefully stirred the contents and tested a little on her lip to check the temperature, grimacing at the bland taste. She stepped closer to my highchair, leaning her flat tummy against the tray as she steered a heaped spoonful of gruel toward my lips. She paused for a moment, sniffed loudly, and screwed up her nose. She stared at my embarrassed expression with reappraising eyes. “Oh-oh.” I think she could tell I had pooped my nappy, because she chuckled richly in amusement even as she shook her head in disbelief at my uncontrollable baby ways. “Open up, Baby Candy,” ordered Brenda with a superior smug smirk, and I knew I had to obey. “Open up, you smelly baby girl.” In a few minutes there was slimy pureed goop smeared all over my face and running down my chin.

By the time Aunty June returned, Brenda was scraping the bottom of the bowl and Alison was standing beside the highchair holding one of my new oversized baby bottles full of warm milk at the ready. “Mum, did you know the baby pooped her nappy?” Brenda asked conversationally.
“She stinks,” added Alison, fanning her hand in front of her face.
“What?” Cried their mother in dismay, racing over to us and sniffing the rank aroma around my bum. “Oh Baby Candy! I asked you if you needed to use the potty less than half an hour ago! You silly baby!” She snorted in contempt and complained to her girls, “Baby won’t learn! I think this wicked little girl likes sitting in her smelly messes! I’ll change her poopy nappy after she’s finished her bottle, girls.” Aunty June picked up my dum-dums from the counter. “Bring my naughty baby upstairs to the Nursery when you’ve finished feeding her.”

“Here, baby. Aunty Alison has a nice warm titty-bottle for you.” When she thrust the warm silicon nipple between my lips, milk gushed into my mouth and spurted down my throat. I realized my raven-haired cousin must have enlarged the hole in the teat to make it easier - and quicker - to feed me. She held the end up for me, smiling down at me in that smug superior manner as I obediently suckled. She grew bored after a minute and cooed, “Hold your own bottle, Baby Candy. Go on, you can do it,” she encouraged me, speaking down to me like I was an incompetent infant. I clutched the heavy bottle with both hands and kept suckling, frowning around the sides of the huge plastic vessel at my slender big-busted cousin as she cleaned up the lunch things. It took me ages to drain my bottle and my cheeks were getting tired from sucking by the time I was finished. I banged the plastic vessel on my highchair tray when it was empty, gasping for breath, then I burped loudly. The girls tittered in amusement at my embarrassed expression.

“Look at that messy face,” Brenda teased me. She scoured my grubby lips and chin with a warm soapy washer until it hurt. When I tried to turn my face away, she simply grabbed the back of my head and trapped me in place, then scrubbed even harder. I whimpered in pain and she snapped, “Stop whining! I wouldn’t have to be so rough if you weren’t so messy!” Me, messy? That was so unfair! Alison laughed at my sulky expression as she unlocked the tray and opened it wide, and Brenda stepped behind the highchair to loosen the waist belt. “Come on, Baby Candy,” she crooned to me in encouragement. “Hop down and we’ll take you upstairs, so Mummy can change you out of that stinky wet nappy.”

The girls had removed the single bed from the spare room while we’d been out shopping, and Aunty had them set up Eliza’s wooden crib from Mandy’s in there, instead. The crinkly plastic mattress protector was covered in some juvenile pink cotton ballerina sheets, all ready and waiting for me, and the fuzzy pink baby blanket was also in evidence. Aunty June placed me on my back on a crackling, vinyl-covered padded change table her daughters had moved down from the attic in readiness. First she took off my Maryjanes and frilly anklet socks, and she slid them out of the way under the change table. She pulled down my rumba panties and slid off my ribbed tights, and then tugged down my pink plastic panties, too. I cringed in embarrassment when she made a big point of checking the leg bands for poo-poo stains. She gave a grunt of satisfaction when she saw they were damp but unstained, and she placed the smelly baby panties aside to use on me again.

Aunty June stuck the big pink pins in a bar of soap on the shelf above the change table, then lowered the front of my dirty wet nappies. “Oh no! Aw hell!“ She flinched at the mess I’d made and she made several nasty comments about my disgusting lack of bowel control. “What a poopy baby! Look at all that stinky mess. Yuck-spuck! Oh well, big babies make big messes, I suppose.” Aunty June sighed heavily in resignation. “And you are a big baby, aren’t you, Baby Candy?” She didn’t seem to expect me to respond, so I remained silent. She scrubbed at the smelly brown mess smeared all over my bottom cheeks and between my thighs, insisting, “Yes, that’s right. That’s all you are. A hopeless big baby with no control. No control at all.”

By the time she wiped my peenie clean with another handful of baby wipes, my tiny tool had started to react to her intimate handling, despite her callous touch and her disdainful words. She ignored my swelling stiffie as she sprinkled powder over my bottom and bits and rubbed it in. I was writhing in embarrassment by the time she pinned my diaper over my uncontrollable tumescence. She merely sniffed in disapproval and gave the tenting front of my nappy a hard smack that made me squeal in pain. She drew the same damp pilchers up my legs and tugged them over my bulky swaddling, then replaced my frilly rumba panties. She produced a new white cotton babydoll nightie and lowered it over my bowed head, before lifting me into the crib for an afternoon nap.

The flounced nightgown barely fell to my hips leaving all my diapered shame on display. I plucked at the lacy hemline in a futile attempt to tug it down and cover my bulging rumba panties, my bottom lip poking out like a sore thumb. I accepted the oversized baby bottle of warm milk she handed me without protest. I gazed up at Aunty June’s impassive features when she raised and locked the high crib side in place. “That’s where silly little babies like you belong - locked in a cot and pinned in thick nappies,” she commented disdainfully, steering the nipple between my lips. “And that’s the way you’ll stay, Baby Candy, until you can prove to me that you’ve grown up a bit.” She clipped my dummy chain to the collar of my nightie, closed the curtains and marched out.

As soon as I had drained the huge bottle of warm milk, I pushed aside the empty vessel and thrust my dummy teat back in my mouth. Hot wee-wees poured out of me when I rolled onto my tummy, and I spitefully relaxed my bladder and enjoyed the sudden rush of familiar warmth. I was locked in my crib with nowhere to go, so I might as well act like the baby they were treating me as. The stimulating warmth gathered around my sensitive genitals, pooling under my tummy, but safely contained by my double layer of protective panties. As soon as the soothing flow trickled to a halt, my little peenie started to reflexively stiffen. My swelling tool crept up my belly and when I pressed my hips into the mattress, the sensitive underside rubbed against the warm soggy front of my nappy. I sucked harder on my dum-dums as I gently rocked on my bulky swaddling, thrusting my rock-hard rod into a groove that formed in the moist terrycloth, enjoying the erotic stimulation of my warm wet nappies and my pretty cotton babydoll nightie.

My Aunty had bought me a bunch of girl’s clothes, and I suspected that she intended dressing me like a little girl for the rest of my vacation. Even though I would have preferred to wear silky big-girl panties and dress like a sexy teenage slut my own age, I was secretly thrilled by the thought of dressing like a pretty little girl for the next few weeks. Despite the potential embarrassment, this was a fantasy come true for me! I was going to be dressed like a girl and treated like a girl for several weeks. I wondered if I could convince people I really was a little girl? It would probably be less embarrassing that trying to convince people I was a teenage boy rather than an overgrown baby girl. I decided to do my best to get away with it. The crackling of my baby panties mixed with the crinkling of the thick plastic mattress protector beneath my pink ballerina sheets, the familiar sounds of the Nursery heightening my arousal. I thrust myself harder and faster into my warm soggy nappy, panting around the wide pink guard of my pacifier.

In a few minutes I was gasping for breath around the mouth-filling teat as I shuddered and writhed to completion. My throbbing peenie exploded inside my warm comforting nappies, spraying sticky stuff all over the front of my diaper. But I knew this time my mess was safely contained, and as my satisfied tool shrivelled to normal size, I relaxed completely and fell asleep on my tummy. I didn’t even stir when a hot stream of wee-wees gushed out of my flaccid member. I sighed happily in my sleep when the wonderful wetness enveloped me in familiar comforting warmth.

I had the most delightful dreams that afternoon. I dreamt I was a beautiful baby girl, safe in the loving arms of my Mummy. She undressed me on the change table and removed my soggy wet nappies, murmuring affectionately to me the whole time. She wiped me down with warmed baby wipes, her soft fingers delving deeper and deeper into my feminine furrow, rubbing me back and forth in a wonderfully pleasant way that made my coo and gurgle with pleasure. Then she rubbed powder over my bottom, delving deeply into my crack and massaging the silky talc around my puffy little nether lips.

Mummy raised the front of my thick fluffy nappy over my powder-coated crotch and as she pinned it tightly around me, I instinctively started to pee. I giggled and cooed, waggling my feet in the air like a contented infant as Mummy gently pressed the lovely warm wetness against my sensitive places. She crooned in approval as she rubbed her fingers up and down over the slippery crotch of my satin-covered plastic panties. I wanted to tell her I couldn’t help it. It wasn’t my fault. I was just a baby, a helpless little baby girl… I suddenly awoke on my back, my warm wet nappies a sodden weight on my swollen hard tool. My cousin Brenda was leaning over the side of my crib, her hand on my tenting panty crotch, massaging my throbbing erection with the front of my drenched diaper.

“Ooo, listen to you,” she crooned in that sly teasing tone of hers. Brenda clutched my straining rod through the crackling baby panties and squeezed. “You love it! You love all this sissy baby treatment!”
“No, no!” I feebly protested, before I remembered to spit the dummy out of my mouth. I could feel my cheeks turning pink with embarrassment.
“You should have heard what you were saying in your sleep!” Brenda mimicked my high-pitched voice with unerring accuracy. “I heard you. ‘I’m jutht a baby girl! I’m jutht a baby girl,’ you were moaning. Don’t try to deny it,” she scoffed away my dying protestations. She gave my rock-hard erection a few reassuring squeezes that made me gasp in pleasure before she released her grip on my baby panties. Snatches from my dream replayed in my head and I struggled not to look guilty. Did I really say that?

“Come on, baby girl,” Brenda sang invitingly. She unlocked and lowered the side of my crib. “It’s time to change you out of that wet, wet nappy, and get you dressed for an afternoon of play.” My voluptuous cousin was wearing a fluffy white lambs wool sweater this afternoon, with a low round neckline that showed off her massive cleavage to great advantage. Despite the slight chill in the air she was wearing a brief faded blue denim miniskirt that barely covered her crotch, exposing most of her plump womanly thighs. She wore white knee-high boots with a five-inch heel and a discrete one-inch platform sole, so she towered over me when she helped me clamber down from the crib. Her long blonde hair was brushed back in a neat ponytail and she had a full face of make-up. Mascara and black eyeliner made her emerald eyes look huge, and her luscious lips glistened with glossy red lipstick. I thought she looked beautiful, as usual.

She lifted me onto the change table and sat me on my warm wet bottom with my little legs dangling over the side. “Arms up, sweetie,” she sang. Brenda removed my white babydoll nightie and tossed it over the end of my crib. “On your back, baby.” She smiled sweetly as she turned my body and forced me to lie back, encouraging me to obey with that tender smile. “Lift that little bot-bot for me,” she commanded, smiling warmly in appreciation when I readily obeyed. Her painted red lips drew back in a broad smile, her emerald eyes twinkling with mischief when she saw how the soggy nappies clung moistly to my swollen erection. “Good girl!” She tugged down my tight plastic panties to my knees, ordered, “Down,” and then drew them clear of my compliantly-raised feet. “Good girl,” the buxom teen praised me again, fluttering her long black lashes at me in feminine approval. I glanced down at my pretty pink toenails and waggled them in the light. Until that moment I’d forgotten about the bright pink polish my domineering cousins had painted on my finger and toenails.

“Ugh! These nappies are saturated!” Brenda complained. She carefully rolled them up and tossed them in the nappy bucket. “What a wet baby girl.” My buxom blonde cousin made short work of wiping me down. She handled my throbbing stiffie with complete disregard for my feelings. I don’t know why, but I found her cavalier treatment rather exciting, and my hard little tool was red and pounding by the time she decided I was clean enough. Brenda gave my twitching erection a quick slap at the finish that made me squeal, and she sprayed a cloud of sweet-smelling talc all over my bottom and bits without bothering to rub it in. She made me lift my bum while she slipped another pair of fluffy white nappies underneath me, and she pinned them tightly around my waist. She tugged the same damp pink plastic panties up my legs, the clammy wet leg elastics making me grimace in distaste.

Brenda noticed my sulky expression and shrugged her shoulders dismissively. “Mum said I had to dress you in the same baby panties you wore at nap-time,” she offered by way of explanation. “Wet or not. Sorry.” It might have helped if she actually sounded like she meant it. She made sure the damp leg elastics were tucked safely up under the crotch of my bulging nappies, then shook out the white rumba panties with the yellow lace ruffles across the seat. She rolled up the frilly satin panties and slid them over my feet and up my legs, and tugged them over my slippery plastic panties. She grinned at my look of dismay as she helped me to sit up with my little legs dangling over the side of the change table again.

“Point your toesies like a pretty ballerina,” she urged me in that syrupy voice. “Good baby.” She slipped the same sheer white socks back on my feet, before straightening the elaborate yellow lace trimmings around my ankles. Instead of the Maryjanes I expected, Brenda slipped my pink sandshoes on my feet and tied the lolly-pink laces in two huge elaborate bows. “There,” she cried, patting my shod foot in satisfaction before letting it drop. “Now hop down, Princess, so we can put your pretty dress on.” She lifted me down and I clutched the side of the change table for balance, the thick nappies forcing my thighs unnaturally wide. When she opened the cupboard I noticed my suitcase and all my clothes had disappeared. There were half a dozen toddler frocks hanging in there in place of my jeans and shirts, and I could see several pairs of almost-new Maryjane sandals sitting on the bottom, all in my size.

Brenda dressed me in the same starched white cotton frock Aunty June made me wear to the shops that morning. I slumped in resignation as she tidied up the attached stiff petticoats underneath to make them sit prettily. She twirled me around and buttoned me up, then tied the wide yellow ribbon sash in a big floppy bow behind my back, fussing about with it until she was satisfied it looked perfect. She took the ribbons out of my hair, loosened my pigtails, and then brushed my long blonde locks till they were gleaming. I was just starting to relax and enjoy the masochistic pleasure of having my knots brushed out when she tilted my head forward, gave me a centre part, and began styling my hair into two fresh pigtails sitting high either side of my head. “There! That’s much better,” she cooed in satisfaction. She re-tied my yellow satin hair ribbons in place. “Now you look like a pretty little girl again.” She took my hand and squeezed it affectionately. “Come on, baby. Come with Aunty Brenda.”

She led me waddling awkwardly downstairs and along the hallway towards the front door. When I realised her intention I started to pull back. “No, no!” I whimpered. Her grip on my hand painfully tightened. “Don’t make me go outside dressed like this again! Please no?”
“Come along, Baby Candy,” Brenda chided me a trifle impatiently. “We already warned you what was going to happen to you. Didn’t we?” She hauled me towards the front door, commanding, “Come with me, little girl. You don’t have any choice.” She threw open the door and dragged me onto the front porch. I blinked blindly in the hazy afternoon glare.

I was momentarily relieved when she didn’t lead me towards the front steps and into the street, instead turning me to the right. My relief was shattered by an incredible sight. There was a big wooden playpen sitting in the middle of Aunty June’s front porch waiting for me! My mouth dropped open in shock and I moaned in protest as Brenda pushed me towards the humiliating kiddie-prison. It had a padded wooden floor covered in baby-pink vinyl, with a pattern of posing Barbies printed all over it. There was a low barred gate in the side closest to me with hinges on the top, which Brenda opened upwards. It was only about eighteen inches high and the same wide. She placed one large hand on my shoulder and forced me to my knees. “In you go, baby,” she urged me, directing me to crawl through the narrow gate.

I crawled inside and she gave my padded bum a few firm swats to encourage me to hurry up. I barely felt a thing, thanks to the multiple layers of fluffy terrycloth protecting my bot-bot. As soon as she lowered the gate behind my heels, she slid home the bolt and locked me inside. I turned around and clambered to my feet to appeal for mercy. My nose barely cleared the top rail of the oversized playpen. The soft padded floor made my footing uncertain and I almost stumbled to my knees. I clutched the vertical wooden bars in my fists and shook them in impotent rage. “You can’t do this to me,” I squealed in horror, trying to keep my voice down. I realised I sounded like a frightened little girl and tried to lower my pitch. “You can’t leave me out here dressed like this!” I still sounded like a terrified pre-schooler.

“Be quiet and settle down,” Brenda reprimanded me with a wag of her finger. She tried to sound stern but she couldn’t wipe the amused smirk from her beautiful round face. “We told you if you didn’t behave, you’d end up on our front porch dressed in girl’s clothes, for all the world to see. It’s just that Mum decided you were too much of a baby to be trusted out here all on your own - not unless you were ‘suitably confined,’ as she put it.” She patted the top rail of my kiddie-prison. “Hence the playpen,” she concluded, with a wry smile for my look of disgust. I didn’t bother asking where my resourceful Aunty had dug up this huge playpen on such short notice. “You wait there for Aunty Brenda, and I’ll bring you your dolly and a bottle to drink. Wouldn’t you like that, Baby Candy?”

I poked out my bottom lip in surly reply, and she grinned at my sour expression before leaving me alone in the playpen. I turned towards the street and stared in trepidation through the tall wooden bars at the world outside. There was a strip of front lawn about ten yards wide, then a low hedge separated Aunty’s property from the tree-lined street. Except for a couple of low bushes either side, most of Aunty June’s front porch was painfully exposed to the casual glance of anyone passing by. There wasn’t even a balcony railing to hide behind. My anxious eyes darted from one end of the leafy street to the other, trying to see if there were any witnesses to my current infantile predicament. Fortunately the neighbourhood seemed quiet and empty this time of the afternoon, but somehow I knew that situation wouldn’t last long. I jumped when Brenda abruptly reappeared on the front porch, holding my Princess Barbie and a full pink baby bottle of watered-down apple juice.

She tossed my Barbie onto the padded playpen floor, placed the enormous bottle upright on the wooden veranda, and produced a terry bib from under her arm. “Come here, darling,” she sweetly ordered. When I shuffled closer to the side rail, she reached over and clipped the frilly pink bib around my neck. My huge dummy was already attached to the lace-edged collar, dangling at the end of the pink plastic chain. When my dum-dums bounced against my chest, I instinctively clutched it for emotional support. I released my grip on the bars and raised the bottom of my bib to see if it carried any humiliating message. The words ‘Little Miss Potty-Pants’ were embroidered across the front in white lettering three inches high, and I cringed in shame.

“Sit down darling and I’ll give you your bottle,” Brenda urged me in soothing baby-talk. I resentfully released my grip on the wooden bars and flopped backwards onto my heavily padded rear, my plastic panties making a noisy ‘whoomph’ when the trapped air suddenly gushed out around the tight elastic waistband. “That’s a good girl.” Brenda leaned over the top rail and thrust the clear silicon teat into my mouth. Cool juice squirted down my throat. I sat there few a few seconds staring up at her massive bosoms as they swayed enticingly inches from my nose, sucking on the bottle teat like a mindless toddler.

“Hang onto your bottle, baby,” she encouraged me, speaking to me as though I really was just a little baby girl. I clutched the sides of the heavy vessel with both hands and kept the nipple pressed between my lips. “Good girl, that’s right,” she lovingly praised me. “What a good bubba!” I eyed her suspiciously when she gave me a broad approving smile, her emerald eyes sparkling with merriment. “I think I know where my old Barbies are packed away,” she mused thoughtfully. “I probably have a bunch of Barbie dresses and stuff somewhere, too. I’ll have a look for you,” Brenda promised before she walked off and left me.

I sat there slurping on the teat of my huge baby bottle, eyeing the empty streetscape fearfully and waiting for someone to stroll by and notice me. My skin crawled in terrified anticipation. I grew tired of holding up my bottle so I lay back on the soft padded floor of my playpen and tried to relax. At least I didn’t feel quite so visible lying on my back while sucking on my big pink baby bottle. I was trapped, with no one to turn to and nowhere to go. I remember thinking, ‘I want my Mummy!’ I almost didn’t notice when I began wetting my nappy, cool liquid trickling down my throat as hot liquid squirted out of me down below. It took me ages to drain the huge bottle and when it was empty, I carelessly tossed it aside. It rolled across the padded vinyl floor and came to rest against the bars near the street. I lay there burping uncontrollably for a few minutes, my stomach feeling bloated and full.

When Brenda returned, she was carrying a small pink suitcase. It looked like something she might have carried to kindergarten when she was a little kid. “Here you go, darling,” she cooed, beaming with pleasure as she stepped around to the side of my playpen. “Look what Aunty Brenda found for her precious little girl to play with.” She leaned over the bars and opened the tiny case, turning it upside-down and emptying the contents on the soft padded floor. A naked brunette Barbie tumbled out first, followed by a veritable shower of tiny dresses, skirts, tops and pants cascading around my head.

From my position on my back with my head near the bars, I could see up Brenda’s short denim skirt. She was wearing a tiny pair of white nylon panties that cupped her proud pubic mound in front so tightly, I could see a hint of the crease between her nether lips beneath the silky fabric. When Brenda realised I was perving up her brief miniskirt, she demurely clenched her plump womanly thighs tightly together and pressed her skirt against her crotch with one hand. She gave me a knowing smirk, shaking her head in mild disapproval at my blatant ogling. I blushed and sat up, tearing my gaze from her fascinating pudenda to examine the collection of dresses and stuff. I picked up a shiny pink purse covered with sequins and shook it experimentally. I tossed Brenda an inquisitive look and she grinned as she explained, “It’s full of shoes, handbags and accessories for your Barbies.”

I discarded the purse and picked up the old brunette Barbie and one of the shiny pink dresses, not bothering to hide my look of distaste. “Good choice,” Brenda commented, her grin widening. “You can dress my old Barbie in that pink frock first, and find some matching shoes and a handbag for her, too. Change your Princess Barbie’s outfit too, and dress her up in something pretty.” When I looked ready to refuse she warned me, “If I don’t see you playing with your Barbies like a good little girl, I’ll take you and your dollies down to the kiddie playground at our local park. You can play with some of the pre-schoolers down there. Maybe they can teach you how good little girls are supposed to behave.”

When I scowled and immediately started tugging the shiny pink frock over the brunette doll’s head, Brenda snickered and nodded in approval. Her voice turned saccharine-sweet when she crooned, “That’s better! What a good little girl you’re being for your Aunty Brenda now! I’ll come back in a little while to check on you, so make sure you dress up your Barbies to look beautiful. Okay? Good girl.” She obviously didn’t expect me to reply because she walked back inside still chuckling to herself.

I dressed up her old brunette doll first and then tipped out the sequined purse of tiny plastic shoes and accessories, trying to find a pink pair that matched. I undressed my Princess Barbie and changed her into a cute little yellow strapless cocktail dress. It had a tiny strip of Velcro up the back to fasten the bodice in place, so it fitted her snugly around the bust. There were several pairs of yellow high-heeled shoes, and it was easy to find a pair that matched. I found a yellow handbag and some tiny yellow plastic sunglasses, too, so she was fully kitted-out. I didn’t think my blonde Barbie looked as pretty in the yellow outfit, so I dressed her in an ankle-length baby-blue ball gown instead. I tried light blue and navy-blue shoes and handbags on her, seeing which colour looked best with her shiny satin outfit. My dummy flopped in my way a couple of times, so I popped the amber rubber teat in my mouth mostly to get it out of the way.

I glanced up from my dolls when I heard the sound of high heels click-clacking up the front path. I don’t know how long I’d been playing in the playpen. It felt like hours to me. I spied Aunty June mounting the steps to the front porch, and she was accompanied by a plump brunette forty-something woman in a knee-length cotton frock. The woman’s flowing dress had a colourful pattern of tropical flowers all over it, mostly in reds and yellows, and she wore a pair of red medium-heeled court shoes on her stockinged feet. Aunty June was wearing the same outfit as this morning including her tan platform boots with the six-inch heels. She looked at least a head taller than her plump matronly friend. “Here she is!” Aunty June crooned in that condescending saccharine voice of hers. “Here’s my Baby Candy playing with her dollies!”

Her brunette companion stepped over to the side of my playpen and she leaned over the top rail and peered down at me. “My goodness, June. You’re right! He does look like a little girl!” My Aunty merely sniggered and nodded in agreement. “How old did you say she is?”
“Seventeen,” Aunty replied, her voice dripping with contempt. “My naughty baby girl is really seventeen years old, although she acts like a fussy two-year-old sometimes.”
“She certainly looks like a two-year-old in that playpen,” the brunette laughingly agreed. I glared at the chubby woman resentfully, unaware that I was sucking noisily on my dum-dums like an fretful toddler. She crouched down and reached through the bars to poke my padded crotch, letting her fingers rest against the satin front of my rumba panties. She could feel a warm patch, and her eyebrows crawled up her forehead in surprise. “Ooo, she’s wet, too! I love the bib! ‘Little Miss Potty-Pants’ indeed!”
“Is she wet again? She was supposed to ask for the potty.” Aunty opened the front door and called down the hallway. “Brenda? Can you come here please?”
“Coming Mum,” was the distantly yelled reply.

When the buxom blonde came trotting out, Aunty June asked her, “Did you change the baby before you put her in the playpen?”
Brenda nodded. “She was drenched after her nap, so I had to change her.”
Aunty June frowned at me before asking her daughter, “When you put Baby Candy in the playpen, did you tell her to call you if she needed to use the potty?”
“Of course, Mum,” Brenda replied, lying through her perfect white teeth. My mouth fell open in shock and my dum-dums tumbled out, bouncing against the bottom edge of my frilly bib. She did no such thing! She never mentioned using the potty to me.

Before I could voice a protest Aunty June asked her, “Did baby ask you if she could use the potty, Brenda?”
“No Mum. And I’ve been out here quite often, keeping an eye on her. Hi Mrs Fields,” she said to her mother’s friend, their next-door neighbour.
“Hello Brenda,” the plump brunette cheerily greeted my deceitful cousin. “I think your charge might need a fresh diaper.”
“Baby Candy!” Brenda scolded me, scowling in disapproval as she leaned over the side of the playpen to glare down at me. “Why didn’t you tell me you needed to use the potty?” My mouth gulped open and closed like a drowning goldfish as I struggled to find the words to reply.

Aunty June ordered, “Stand up, baby. Let me check that nappy.” Brenda stepped aside to give her mother greater access. My cheeks were blazing with embarrassment as I shakily clambered to my feet. My bottom lip poked out resentfully as I thought, ‘It’s not my fault! No one told me to ask for the potty.’ I didn’t realise that I was unconsciously slipping into the mind-set of a normal toddler waiting to be told what to do. Aunty June ordered me closer to the playpen side with a flick of her fingers. In that syrupy baby voice she commanded, “Come here to Aunty and lift up your dress for me, sweetie.” Aunty reached down between the wooden bars as her friend stepped closer and rested her hand on the top rail, watching me with narrowed eyes.

I raised the front of my dress and petties up over my tummy, blushing with shame as I exposed my bulging rumba panties to the watching neighbour. I spread my feet wide and leaned my shoulders back, bending my knees slightly and thrusting my crotch towards the bars to make it easier for Aunty June to slip her hand inside the waistband of my wetproof panties. I didn’t realise I was assuming the normal pose of a diapered toddler having her nappy checked, but I saw Aunty’s friend smiling and nodding in approval at my submissive child-like stance.

“Baby Candy!” Aunty shook her head in disapproval and withdrew her glistening fingers from my plastic panties. “She’s wet alright, but not saturated,” she informed her friend. When she turned back to me, Aunty June was scowling darkly. “Bad baby! Why didn’t you ask Aunty Brenda to put you on the potty?” I let the front of my dress drop with a guilty expression, and she wiped her damp fingers on the front of my bib with a grimace of distaste.

“I - I - I-” I stammered uncertainly. I didn’t know what to say. No one had told me I was supposed to ask for the potty. I was wearing nappies and I’d been forced to use them like a baby for the last two days. It seemed completely natural to just let go in my diapers.
“Maybe she forgot,” Brenda kindly suggested with a condescending smile for me. “After all, she is just a baby.”

Aunty June harrumphed loudly at that statement, her emerald eyes glittering dangerously. “Baby won’t learn,” she sternly chided me. She picked up the dummy bouncing against my breast and unceremoniously thrust the amber rubber teat back between my gaping lips. I reflexively began to suck, drawing the soothing latex nipple deeper into my mouth. “Maybe she needs another botty-spank?” I quivered in fear at her cruel suggestion and felt a fresh warm squirt of urine jet into the front of my damp nappy. I bit down on my dummy teat as I clamped down with my sphincter muscles, and with difficulty managed to stem the flow.
Brenda asked, “Do you want me to change her nappy, Mum?”
Aunty June shook her head, her cold calculating eyes on my face the whole time. “No, she can stay in that wet nappy for the rest of the afternoon as far as I’m concerned.”

Mrs Fields laughed at the noisy sucking sounds I was making. “My my! She certainly loves her dum-dums, doesn’t she?” Aunty June chuckled menacingly and nodded in agreement. “Didn’t you say you bought her a new potty this morning, June?” Grace Fields asked. When Aunty nodded again, her friend continued, “Why don’t you leave her potty out here on the veranda so she’ll remember to ask someone to put her on the pot-pot next time she needs to go.”
“That’s a fine idea,” agreed Aunty June. She turned to her daughter. “Brenda?”
“Sure thing, Mum,” the grinning blonde teen agreed, with a malicious smirk for me. “I’ll go fetch her potty from the bathroom and bring it our here where Baby Candy can see it.”

‘And where the rest of the world can see it, too,’ I thought with mounting trepidation. I clutched my dress hem and tried to straighten my petties as Aunty warned me, “You’d better not wet that nappy again, little girl. Try and remember to ask Aunty Brenda to put you on the pot-pot like a big girl, okay?” She then turned to her friend and suggested. “Come inside Grace, and I’ll make you a fresh pot of tea. Brenda will take care of the baby.” The women strolled inside and I clutched the wooden bars and stared at their retreating backs until they disappeared. Brenda danced out a few minutes later carrying my new pink teddy bear potty.

“Here you are, baby,” she crooned. Brenda was grinning madly as she sat the huge pink potty next to my playpen, a few feet from the porch steps. “Now you call me or one of the grown-ups if you need to go, and we’ll take care of you. Alright?” I considered how embarrassing it would be if Brenda pulled down my panties and unpinned my nappies right here on the front veranda and sat me naked on the teddy bear potty for all the world to see. I shivered from a combination of fear and anxiety. The mere thought caused a fresh burst of heat in my nappies. This time I couldn’t stop it. The hot stream poured out of me in a rush, and I bent my knees and spread my thighs slightly to give the crotch of my nappies more room to absorb my wetties.

Thankfully Brenda didn’t seem to notice as I helplessly drenched my diaper. She chirped, “Wait there, baby. I’ll be back in a minute,” before she dashed back inside the house. I stood there clutching the playpen bars and wetting my nappy, glaring at the humiliating pink potty like a resentful two-year-old.

To be continued in chapter 9, "Fun in the Playpen."

Please post a response here if you are enjoying the new chapters.
Hugs from Baby Jennie in Australia


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I like how this story is turning out. I say keep up the good work. ^_^

Cute Baby

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Love the story
What ever the weather is like, always nice to be wet inside.



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Dear Cute baby and Little Daddy Toa (My how you've grown!) thank you for those encouraging comments. I hope you enjoy the next bit....

Chapter 9. Fun in the Playpen

When Brenda strolled out a short time later she was carrying a cold drink in one hand and a small bundle of books in the other. I spat out my dummy and glared up at her like a cranky toddler. “You didn’t tell me I was supposed to ask for the potty,” I complained, whining like a sulky two-year-old. She sidled past the playpen to the swing seat at the far end of the veranda and placed her drink on the floorboards and a thick paperback novel on the vinyl-covered, padded bench seat. I turned and followed her inside my playpen, clutching the wooden bars with one hand for support. When she bent over I couldn’t help admiring how her tight denim skirt wrapped around the swell of her womanly hips and her beautiful big round bottom.

She stood and turned to gaze down at me in contempt. “I didn’t realise you had to be told to ask to use the potty.” Brenda sniggered and gave me a condescending smirk that made my cheeks flush with warmth. “I mean, how old are you, really? Two? Or maybe three? Let’s face it. Most pre-schoolers have enough common sense to ask to be taken to the toilet. Obviously you don’t. You really are a hopeless little baby, you know?” I didn’t know what to say. Without thinking I shoved my dummy back in my mouth to cover the embarrassing silence.

She leaned over the side of my playpen, holding out two thin books and a slim cardboard package. “Here, Baby Candy. Mrs Fields bought you some colouring-in books and some crayons.” I tore my gaze from her astonishing cleavage and accepted the slender volumes from her with an expression of distaste, which made Brenda giggle. Her massive fleshy mounds began to jiggle and I couldn’t help staring at them in awe. She pressed the packet of crayons into my hand and insisted in a teasing tone, “Aren’t you a lucky little girl?” One was a Barbie book and the other was a ‘My Little Pony’ colouring-in book. Both had colourful cardboard covers and were printed on cheap paper. The packet contained a dozen colourful fat crayons, and the writing on front proclaimed they were ‘safe for children 2-5 years old.’

When I disdainfully let the books drop to the padded floor of my playpen, Brenda frowned and gave me a warning shake of her head. “Uh-uh, baby! Mum said you have to colour in at least one page from each book and show them to Mrs Fields before she leaves. Otherwise you’ll get into trouble. You don’t want that, do you baby?” I shook my head in denial, my bottom lip poking out like a sore thumb. I flopped back onto my padded bottom and reluctantly picked up one of the books. I grimaced and opened the Barbie colouring-in book to examine it first. It contained dozens of black and white cartoon drawings of Barbie in different outfits. There were close-up shots of her pretty face, half-body drawings, and full-length pictures to be coloured in.

“Get on with it,” Brenda warned me, smiling in that smug superior way of hers before she returned to the swing seat. She arranged the cushions against the arm at one end, picked up her book and reclined on her side with one elbow on the cushions. The wooden seat swung lazily on the long steel chains bolted to the rafters. “Mum said I had to stay out here keep an eye on you so you can tell me when you need to use the potty. Alright, baby girl?” I glared up at her through the bars of my playpen, chewing on the rubber teat in my mouth to silence a rude retort. As if I was going to let her sit me on the potty out here, in front of anyone passing by?

She picked up her drink and took a swig, the ice-cubes tinkling against the glass like wind chimes in a light breeze. Her emerald eyes watched me dispassionately over the frosty rim. I lay down on my tummy facing her, my damp nappies bunched under my groin, and pressed the Barbie book flat at a random page. I opened up the package of crayons and tipped them out, and I picked out a pastel-pink crayon and started colouring in Barbie’s face. Brenda smiled down at me and nodded in approval. She took another hefty gulp of her diet soda, making her huge bosoms heave attractively beneath her fluffy white top. When she put down her drink and opened her book, she curled up her long legs so that her white leather boots rested on the seat cushion, her slender high heels pressing against her big round bottom. Her tiny denim skirt crept up around her wide womanly hips until I had an unobstructed view of the crotch of her shiny white nylon panties.

I felt my peenie begin to stiffen inside the comforting wet warm folds of my nappy. I wriggled about on my hips when the swelling head slid up my baby-smooth tummy towards my belly-button. I kept my lustful gaze glued to the shiny crotch of her panties for a few minutes, chewing mindlessly on my dummy teat while my little stiffie grew to full hardness. When Brenda glanced up at me over the top of her novel, I tore my eyes from her proud pudenda and tried to concentrate on colouring in my chosen drawing. I gave my Barbie sky-blue eyes and hot-pink lips. I kept sneaking glances at my cousin’s panty crotch, obsessed with the hidden treasure I knew to be barely concealed beneath the thin layer of silky nylon material.

I don’t know what book she was reading, but Brenda was obviously enjoying it. Her paperback had a lurid cover showing a couple dressed in eighteenth-century clothing. They were locked in a close embrace and kissing passionately. The title was ‘The Captain’s Daughter,’ splashed across the front in scarlet embossed lettering. Her eyes remained riveted to the pages even when I began to discretely rock and roll on the thick wad of wet cloth cushioning my sensitive stiffie. My plastic-lined rumba panties and plastic pilchers rustled noisily as I wriggled about on the padded vinyl floor. Fortunately Brenda didn’t seem to notice. I kept stealing glances at her exposed underwear, and my eyebrows crept up my forehead when I saw her right hand slide down over the front of her skirt. I watched entranced as she began rubbing the heel of her hand against her panty crotch through the denim material. Her tight nylon panties cupped her nether lips so snugly, I could see every delicate crease and fold of her pouched womanhood.

Brenda sighed languidly as she curled her fingers under the hem of her short denim skirt, letting them brush against her exposed panty crotch. The tip of her index finger trailed from the shiny gusset of her silky white knickers all the way up to the top of her feminine crease. I could see her mouth below the bottom of her paperback novel, and she was occasionally gnawing her plump red bottom lip with her white top teeth. Her fingertip slid down an inch along the slippery furrow between her puffy pussy lips, then came to rest over one particular spot. A second finger joined the first, and she began to slowly massage the same spot over her panty crotch in tiny circles. She sighed again, a little louder this time, and the circling fingertips began to move a fraction faster. The tip of her pink tongue poked out as she delicately licked her painted lips that had suddenly gone dry.

I gasped quietly in excitement as I watched my voluptuous older cousin caress her secret spot. I clamped my lips around the soft rubber teat in my mouth to silence my muffled cries, my stiff little tool pounding with excitement as I thrust my raging hard-on against the warm soggy front of my nappy. I clutched an aqua crayon in my hand, my colouring book all but forgotten as I discretely masturbated against the drenched cloth of my sodden diapers. Brenda removed her playful fingers to turn the page of her book, and I could see a tiny, shiny wet spot staining the gusset of her pretty white panties. I thrust my hips even harder against the padded floor of my playpen when her naughty hand delved under her skirt once more and the secretive caresses began anew. My throbbing peenie was rock-hard with excitement and the slick wet front of my nappies felt so good. I wriggled and rocked on my warm wet swaddling, thrusting faster and faster, panting harder and harder.

I froze when I heard Brenda’s gay laugh. When I tore my eyes from her moist panty crotch and dared to glance up, I realised my cousin had been watching my tell-tale masturbatory antics over the top of her book. “I knew it!” She giggled gleefully, batting her long black lashes at me coquettishly. “I knew you were enjoying this sissy baby treatment.” She slid her hand away from her panty crotch and demurely tugged down her denim skirt. She sat up, placing her book aside to stare down at me with a condescending smile. “Look at you!” She guffawed in amusement at my guilty expression. My eyes dropped to the half-finished picture in front of me, my cheeks blazing with embarrassment. Her tone turned cloying when she added, “Awww, it’s alright, baby girl! Aunty Brenda doesn’t mind if you get all excited being treated like a helpless sissy baby. Go on!” She ordered, “Keep doing what you were doing. Show Aunty Brenda how you rub yourself against the front of your nappies. Go on, do it!”

I felt so ashamed, I wanted to shrink away to nothingness and disappear. But my stiffie was throbbing with arousal inside my wet swaddling, demanding relief. I sucked harder on the teat of my dum-dums as I obediently began thrusting my rock-hard tool into my warm soggy nappies, rhythmically pressing my hips against the padded floor of my playpen while she watched. Despite my pink-cheeked embarrassment, she must have been able to read the arousal on my face. Brenda began to laugh, and she covered her luscious red mouth with one hand. “Aww! Look at you, Baby Candy!” She chuckled, “You look like a real baby, wriggling about on your tum-tums like that.” Her voice was thick as molasses when she crooned, “Yes you do! You look like a pretty little baby girl in your playpen! Pretty Baby Candy in her wet, wet nappies. Such a beautiful, helpless little baby girl.” I grunted wordlessly around the fat dummy-teat in my mouth, her kind words washing over me like a warm sweet bath.

“Ooo, listen to you! Are you trying to talk? Make some baby sounds for me, Baby Candy. Go on! Show Aunty Brenda how you talk like a little baby - or I’ll have to get Mum and tell her what I caught you doing.” I froze like a statue for a few seconds, terrified by her threat to fetch Aunty June. Brenda abandoned her book on the swing seat and stood up, striding over to the side of my playpen in her towering, knee-high platform boots. “I didn’t tell you to stop, did I?” Her question carried more than a hint of warning. I shook my head slightly as I compliantly rocked and rolled on the warm wet front of my nappy again.

Brenda leaned on the playpen rail and smiled down at me in approval. “Good girl! Keep wriggling on your tum-tums like that. That’s better. Good baby. Now I want you to make some baby sounds for Aunty Brenda. You know? Go ‘goo-goo’ and ‘ga-ga’ for me.” She commanded, “Go on, do it!”
“Goo-goo ga-ga goo-goo-goo-goo,” I mumbled shame-facedly around my mouth-filling pacifier. My cheeks were blazing with embarrassment and yet my little stiffie was throbbing so hard, it felt like it was about to explode. I couldn’t understand why I found it so arousing to be humiliated like this by my buxom teenage cousin. “Goo-goo ga-ga goo! Ga-ba! Ba-ba da-da goo-goo goo!” I babbled like an excited infant as I frantically thrust my pounding tool into a delightful groove that had formed in the soggy front of my drenched diaper.

Brenda leaned over the side of the playpen and reached down to pat my bobbing frill-covered bottom. Her meaty breasts surged forward, almost escaping the low-cut confines of her fluffy white sweater. “Good baby,” she crooned in loving maternal tones that made me gasp in pleasure. “That’s my special little baby girl.” She rested the heel of her broad palm against the frilly layers decorating my tushie and she patted my padded rear with affectionate loud swats. The pleasant vibrations travelled through the snug baby panties and my warm wet nappies to that sensitive place between my legs, heightening my arousal. The sound of her cupped fingers rhythmically striking my plastic panties reminded me of the familiar sounds of the Nursery, and I began to quiver with unrepressed excitement. “Keep making your baby sounds while you wiggle about. That’s my precious little baby girl!” She sang in approval. “What a sweet little bubba!”

“Ga-ga goo-goo-goo!” I babbled nonsensically. I stared up at my buxom babysitter through the tall wooden bars in adolescent adoration. I slammed my diapered hips against the padded floor of my playpen with more urgency, overcome with desire. “Ga-ga goo-goo ga-ga goo!”
“Good girl! Good baby! That’s my beautiful little baby girl!” Brenda had her booted feet spread wide for balance as she leaned over the top rail to pat my bottom. I was looking right up between her spread legs. I could see the crotch of her shiny white panties stretched between her plump womanly thighs, where the pouched gusset adhered to the moist flesh underneath. I stared at the tiny damp spot staining the shiny white material in wide-eyed fascination, my mouth filling with saliva. I wondered if Brenda ever wet her panties too, and that was the erotic thought that seemed to drive me over the edge.

“Goo-goo ga-ga-ga!” I sucked harder on my sloppy dum-dums as I made my baby sounds. Suddenly the hazy afternoon light started strobing before my eyes. I let my head collapse onto the slick vinyl surface of my playpen and clenched my eyes shut, thrashing my feet and waving my hands about like a mindless infant. “Ga-ga goo!” My face became suffused with blood and I felt my cheeks grow hot. “Goo-goo ga-ga goo-goo.” Even with my eyes tightly closed, there were coloured lights exploding inside my eyelids. “Ga-ga! Ma-ma!” A thin layer of perspiration burst out of my pores, dampening my forehead and my upper lip beneath the bobbing pink guard of my dum-dums.

“Who’s my precious baby girl, hmmm?” Brenda demanded in tender loving tones. “Who’s my beautiful bubba? Baby Candy, that’s who!” The affectionate swats on my bouncing bottom grew firmer and faster, the erotic vibrations sending me wild. I was oblivious to everything except her crooned words of approval, the comforting touch of her firm hand on my bottom, and the thrilling feel of my clinging wet nappies.

“Ma-ma! Ba-ba! Ga-ga-goo!” I squealed, sounding for all the world like an excited baby girl. My pounding peenie exploded inside my warm wet nappies, spraying sticky cum all over the front of my diaper. My whole body shook from the violence of my orgasm. I twitched and writhed on my tummy with each massive jolt, gasping breathlessly around the teat of my dum-dums as the aftershocks made me tremble like jelly. “Ma-ma! Ma-ma!” I burbled wetly, drooling uncontrollably in my moment of passion.
“That’s it, baby. What a good baby girl,” Brenda giggled as she praised me. “Get out all the bad baby juice for Aunty Brenda,” she cooed in approval.
“Ma-ma! Ma-ma!” I slobbered in relief. I barely felt the warm stream of spittle trickling around the pink guard of my pacifier. Excess saliva dribbled unheeded down my chin, forming a shiny puddle on the pink vinyl floor of my playpen.

Brenda laughed gaily as my twitches and shudders gradually slowed to a halt. She gave my trembling bottom one last crisp hard spank before she stood erect. She leaned on the top rail with both hands and stood there grinning down at me, until I opened my eyes and anxiously glanced up her. She inquired in that sickly-sweet tone, “Was that good, baby girl? Did Baby Candy like that, hmmm?” When I went to take the dummy out of my mouth, she stopped me with a warning wag of her finger. “Ah-ah-ah! Aunty Brenda didn’t say you could spit your dummy out, baby girl.” She insisted, “You keep that dum-dums in your mouth and tell me how much you enjoyed yourself in baby-talk, like a proper baby should. Go on!”

As I came down from my tumultuous climax, my feelings of exhilaration and arousal were replaced by a sense of humiliation and abject shame. My eighteen-year-old cousin had just witnessed me masturbating to orgasm into my wet nappies, and I felt so embarrassed. I wanted to shrivel up and die. The guard of my dummy was wet with drool, and it feel mushy and sloppy against my lips. I wriggled the amber rubber teat around in my mouth with my tongue, sucking it automatically. When I caught sight of the slimy puddle of spit on the floor of my playpen, I cringed in shame. I wiped it up with the edge of my bibbie, hopefully before anyone noticed. Brenda sat back down on the swinging porch seat and picked up her drink and her book. “Go on, little girl. Let me hear you babble like a happy baby while you do your colouring-in,” she encouraged me with a sly smile. “I love it when you make your baby sounds.”

I could feel my cheeks getting hotter as they suffused with fresh blood, and I picked up a dark-green crayon with shaky fingers. Moments after my mind-blowing climax, I suddenly felt terribly ashamed to be dressed like a sissy baby out in public where anyone could see me. My wet nappies which moments before felt so stimulating, abruptly felt cold and clammy around my shrivelling genitals. But I knew I had no choice except to obey my bossy cousin’s humiliating instructions. “Ga-ga goo! Ga-ga goo-goo! Goo-goo goo-goo ga,” I mumbled around the fat rubber teat which filled my mouth, struggling to sound like a contented baby in spite of my overwhelming sense of shame. I focused on the drawing in front of me, trying to avoid Brenda’s superior satisfied smirk.
“That’s it, baby,” Brenda sweetly encouraged me. “Now you sound like a proper baby girl.”
“Ga-ga ga-ga goo-goo goo,” I babbled shame-facedly as I mindlessly coloured in Barbie’s dress. “Ga-ga goo-goo ga-ga ga.” I kept my eyes glued to the page in front of me. I didn’t want to look up and see her smirking down at me. “Ga-ga goo-goo, goo-goo ga.”

To be continued...

Are you enjoying this naughty sissy-AB story? Then post a rsponse here and let me know, okay?
Hugs from Baby Jennie in Australia



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Hehe i like how it's turning out Jennie ^_^ and thanks for noticing that i have grown.

Cute Baby

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This just so good, please do continue
What ever the weather is like, always nice to be wet inside.