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Baby Candy (Diapered, Dominated & Petticoated)teen sissy fem-dom
Posted 26 April 2011 - 07:14 AM
Posted 26 April 2011 - 06:36 PM
great story!! keep it going!!
mom was wrong.... big boys DO wear diapers!
professional thread killer!
Posted 28 April 2011 - 10:20 PM
Dear Cute baby, Diapered Doug and Diaperguy, thank you for posting those encouraging comments. BJ
Alison tossed my empty bottle aside and helped me slide out of the crib. “Come on, little girl,” she sighed, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “Let’s get you changed out of that stinky nappy.” I naturally dropped to all fours and crawled in the direction of the change table. Jill giggled in derision at my infantile mode of progress. “No baby.” Alison tossed her jet-black hair over her shoulders and pointed towards the doorway to the landing. “Crawl out to the bathroom and you can take your poopy nappy off in the shower. You know - like you usually do.”
This choice titbit of information set Jill giggling again, and my cheeks burned with shame as I crawled past her towards the bathroom. “Why do you make her crawl?” Jill asked.
Alison replied, “Mum said if she won’t stop wetting and messing her panties like a baby, it must be because she likes acting like a baby. So that’s how we treat her - like a baby - and babies have to crawl. ”
Jill sniggered. “Fair enough,” was her only heartless comment.
The bathroom tiles were cold under my hands and knees and I hurried into the shower recess and stood up. I looked around for my nappy bucket and realised I must have left it in the basement. Alison obviously remembered too, because I heard her run downstairs. I peeled off my sticky satin nightie and pulled down my baby panties. My dirty wet nappy hung heavily from the pink-capped pins clasped over my hips. When Alison trotted into the bathroom she was carrying the big white pail at arm’s length. Jill stood in the doorway watching as her friend tossed the empty bucket in my direction and swiftly retreated. “You know what to do,” my disgusted cousin stonily reminded me. She reached up and switched on the ceiling fan, then stepped out onto the landing.
I turned my back on the watching girls as I unpinned my saturated sticky nappy. It fell heavily to the shower floor with a soggy ‘splat!’ “Look!” Jill cried in horror. “There’s shit all over her bum!” I tossed the pins aside and cringed in shame as I crouched down and collected the sodden stinking pieces of terrycloth. I folded them up and dumped them in the nappy bucket, then slammed the lid closed. I kept my hands defensively cupped over my crotch as I stood up. I spun away from Alison and Jill and turned on the shower taps. I stood under the warming stream with my back to them, willing them to get bored and walk away. They stood there giggling at the view of my filth-encrusted posterior.
I scrubbed my badly-soiled buttocks with the bar of soap first, scraping off the worst of the mess before scouring between my cheeks. Clumps of sticky brown poo-poo fell to the floor and swirled around the drain. A few larger pieces clogged the holes and the water started building up. I had to kneel down and poke some stubborn lumps of crap through the holes so the alcove wouldn’t overflow. “Look,” Jill cried, pointing at me on my hands and knees. “She’s playing with her shit - just like a real baby.” She wouldn’t stop laughing, and even Alison chuckled at my juvenile efforts to minimise the damage. It was so embarrassing!
My clittie and ball sack weren’t too messy and I kept my back to the sniggering girls as I swiftly scrubbed my ugly male bits clean. I grabbed a washcloth and soaped it up and repeated the whole procedure, finishing up by scrubbing down my legs and washing my feet - just in case I‘d stepped in anything nasty. I tried to keep my head away from the forceful hot spray. I’d already washed my hair this morning and I didn’t want to get it wet. I turned and looked over my shoulder towards the bathroom doorway, hoping like hell the towering teens had grown bored and walked away. No such luck. They were still standing there, stupid grins on their faces as they waited for me to finish. I sighed in resignation as I rinsed the soap from my body and turned off the taps.
I shuffled sideways out of the shower recess and scuttled like a crab to the towel rail. I kept my back to them and grabbed the same pink towel I’d used this morning. It was still slightly damp, but I didn’t care as I used it to briskly rub down my glowing pink body. As soon as I was sufficiently dry, I wrapped the towel around my torso like a girl, covering my flat chest and my tell-tale genitals. “Not so fast, Candy,” Alison chided me as she stepped into the bathroom. “We have to make sure you’re really clean down there, don’t we? Drop that towel and assume the position.” I gazed up at her in horror but she was totally serious. My hands shook as I reached up to untuck the top flap of my towel from under my armpit. I turned my back on the girls again and reluctantly let my protective covering drop. I hesitantly began to bend forward, clutching the crumpled towel against my crotch and gathering my limp genitals up against my tummy in the vain hope that Jill wouldn’t discover my little secret.
Alison sternly commanded, “Bend right over, baby girl.” I tried to ignore Jill’s bell-like laughter and let the ends of my long blonde locks brush the white tiles. “Go on, baby. You know what you have to do.” I groaned as I realised what she wanted. I reluctantly let the damp pink towel drop and reached back with both hands. With my fingers spread wide I pulled my glowing pink bum cheeks apart, giving the girls an unobstructed view of my freshly-scrubbed, pinky-brown freckle. My tiny wrinkled scrotum hung down between my legs, but I wasn’t sure if Jill caught sight of my unattractive male appendage. I didn’t know that she couldn’t help seeing it, tiny as it was, but she couldn’t stop laughing long enough to comment. “That’s it Baby Candy,” Alison crooned encouragingly to me while her friend unsuccessfully tried to control her giggles. “Open up and let us see where the sun don’t shine.” I shrieked in alarm and jerked upright when Jill leaned forward and rudely goosed me. Her sharp pink fingernail scratched the delicate centre of my wrinkled opening, almost forcing its way past my clenching sphincter.
“My she’s goosey,” Jill managed to finally comment between raucous fits of laughter. I clutched the towel over my crotch as I whirled around to confront the beautiful blonde teen. An angry retort died on my lips and I swiftly wrapped the damp towel around my torso once more, hoping Jill hadn’t noticed anything untoward. I was still unaware she already knew my true identity.
“At least she’s clean - for the moment.” Alison stepped past me to open one of the vanity drawers. She took out a fat white tub and handed it to me. “Here baby. You need to clean off your make-up,” she chided me, “your face is a mess.”
I glanced in the mirror and saw that my bossy cousin was right. Clotted mascara made my eyelashes clump together and some lashes were glued to my eyelids. There were dark circles around both eyes and I looked like a panda. There was pink lipstick smeared all around my mouth too, and I frowned at my scruffy reflection. I’d already used cold cream at Aunty Mandy’s place to remove my make-up, so I knew what to do. I opened the jar and dipped in one finger, them smeared the cold white cream over my lips and around my black-rimmed eyes. I closed my eyelids as I gently massaged the cream into my lashes, too, so I didn’t see the knowing looks the girls cast each other.
When I blindly tried to turn on the tap in the vanity basin, Alison took pity on me and handed me a couple of tissues. “Wipe the cream off first with tissues,” she advised me, “then give your face a quick scrub with soap and water.” She smiled in aproval when I obeyed her instructions. I felt more confident with my towel tucked around my breasts like a shy little girl, and used the bottom flap to dry my face. “Alright Baby Candy. Hang up your towel like a good little girl and you can crawl back to the Nursery.” My face fell as I hung up my towel, and I obediently dropped to all fours before turning to face the girls.
Do you know how difficult it is to crawl while trying to keep your upper thighs demurely pressed together? I was trying to stop my balls from flopping into view and I thought I’d succeeded - until Alison gave my bobbing bare bottom a hefty whack as I shuffled past them onto the landing. I squealed in shock more than pain and rapidly increased my pace, suddenly careless of revealing my shrivelled male apparatus. The giggling girls followed me into the Nursery and as soon as I reached the change table, Alison scooped me up and lay me on my back. There was a pair of fluffy white terry nappies already laid out ready and waiting for me, and she centred my damp pink bottom over the appropriate place.
“Oh my God! What’s that?” Jill cried in theatrical horror, pointing in disdain at my floppy male appendage. I belatedly tried to cover my crotch with my hands but Alison simply batted my wrists aside. I cringed in embarrassment. If it was possible to die from humiliation, I would have passed on at that moment.
“Oh that?” Alison responded in a bored disinterested tone, “That’s nothing.” My clittie and I both shrivelled at her dismissive words. She poured a handful of sweet-smelling talc over my shrunken bits and roughly rubbed it in. I whimpered from a combination of shame and pain and turned my burning red face to the wall.
“I thought your Baby Candy was a little girl,” Jill protested, as if she hadn’t already known the truth.
“She’s the next best thing,” Alison blithely reassured her frowning friend.
“Why didn’t you tell me she was a boy?”
Alison paused before replying. “Well, I didn’t want to embarrass her. You know?” There was silence for a heartbeat, then they both screamed with laughter. Where was a transporter beam when you needed one? In my mind I was screaming, ‘Beam me up, Scotty! Beam me up! Get me out of here now!’
When Alison had herself under control she chuckled, “She’s a little sissy who loves dressing up and acting like a little girl.”
“Oh, she’s one of those.” Jill shook her head in disdain, her corn-silk blonde hair flicking around her shoulders. “She certainly looks more like a little girl than boy.”
“Doesn’t she just? I’m surprised her mother doesn’t dress her like this all the time,” Alison replied. I didn’t know whether to feel frightened or excited by her candid observation, and wondered if my Mummy ever had the same thought?
While Alison replaced the baby powder on the shelf above the change table, Jill leaned over my cowering form to examine my powder-coated genitals. “God it’s tiny,” she announced disdainfully. “No wonder she’d rather be a girl than a boy. She’d never be able to satisfy a real woman with that tiny thing.” She reached over and viciously flicked the object under discussion with the tip of one long lustrous pink fingernail. My hands leapt to cover my crotch and I squealed and writhed in pain. She grabbed my wrists and wrenched my hands aside. Jill’s malicious grin only grew wider when my shrivelled clittie shrank even more, trying to hide inside my body like a frightened snail retreating into its shell. “Aww! There, there,” the grinning blonde reassured me in faux-loving tones. She released my wrists but I kept my hands at my sides, frightened of upsetting this dominant young woman. Jill stroked my long blonde locks like a loving mother for a few seconds, then whispered in my ear, “We don’t mind if you want to be a little girl. You’re such a sissy baby, you could never grow up to be a real man. Could you, Baby Candy?”
Tears of shame brimmed in my eyes, making my vision swim distractingly. Her accusation struck too close for comfort. I wanted my dummy to sooth my anxiety, but had to settle for my thumb instead. Without realising what I was doing, my thumb crept into my mouth and I began earnestly sucking it in a desperate search for comfort. “Could you, baby girl?” Jill insisted. I shook my head in denial, hoping to appease her. Jill watched me sucking my thumb like a big baby as I denied my manhood, and although her grin widened enough to almost split her face in two, she didn’t bother teasing me further.
Alison continued preparing me for my clean nappies, folding my legs back to coat my rear with talc and rubbing it deeply into the cleft of my trembling buttocks. As she lowered my ankles she brought the front flap up over my powdery tummy, thankfully concealing my shameful miniscule male genitalia. The fluffy nappies were swiftly pinned over my hips and checked for tightness. “Lift those widdle footsies and point your pwetty toesies,” crooned Alison, making Jill giggle in derision. Clean pink plastic panties were tugged over my feet and up my legs and Alison cooed, “Good girl.” I let my feet drop and raised my bum so she could tuck in the snug elastic waistband. Alison merely smiled in approval and when I lowered my puffy plastic-sheathed rear, she tucked in the tight elastic leg bands too. “Ballerina toesies.” She threaded my feet into the same white cotton socks with the floppy pink lace frills around the ankles I’d worn before my nap, then she helped me sit up. She plucked my thumb from my mouth, clucking her tongue in reproval at the shiny thread of drool trailing from my spittle-wet lips to the wrinkled digit.
“Don’t suck your thumb, baby,” Alison chided me, shaking her head in remonstration. She turned to her girlfriend. “Where’s her dummy?” Jill disappeared into the bathroom and returned clutching my musk-pink satin nightie. She unclipped my dummy chain from the sticky lace collar of my milk-stained babydoll nightie and handed it to the tall black-haired beauty. Alison immediately shoved the amber rubber teat between my lips and I sucked on the mouth-filling nipple gratefully. The pink plastic guard slid moistly around my spittle-wet lips and chin, the light plastic chain and clip bouncing against my bare tummy.
I couldn’t meet Jill’s scornful gaze and kept my eyes on the floor while Alison lifted me down. My cousin dressed me in the same pink gingham frock I wore to the mall, but didn’t bother lending me her matching check panties. They lay in a crumpled heap on the floor and I gazed at the big-girl pants longingly. My pink patent Princess slippers had been put away in the wardrobe, and Alison tossed my pink sneakers at my feet instead. “Put those on,” she commanded. I slipped my stockinged feet into the feminine sandshoes and crouched down to tie the laces. For some reason I couldn’t seem to remember how to tie a proper knot. I kept getting it wrong, trying again until Jill snorted with impatience.
The slender blonde crouched down in front of me and smacked my hands away. “Let me do it, you silly baby,” she scolded me. I stood up, my face burning, and I unconsciously sucked harder on my comforting dum-dums. Jill’s baby-blue t-shirt had a wide neck and as it slipped down one shoulder, I caught sight of her black bra strap. I remembered the gorgeous blonde had been wearing a tiny black g-string in the lingerie shop. I wondered if her matching black brassiere had the push-up cups she preferred? I had to stop myself from cupping my panty crotch, squirming as my clittie started to swell. In seconds both shoes were fastened with the fluffy pink laces and Jill stood with a grunt of satisfaction.
Alison had a hairbrush ready and she twirled me around and started brushing out my shoulder-length blonde locks. I winced when she tore out some knots, but didn’t even murmur a protest. My cousin gave me two high bouncy pigtails either side of my head, which she bound tightly against my scalp with hair elastics. “There should be some ribbons in that box on the vanity,” she informed her friend, pointing with her chin. Jill searched through a flat tin on the vanity and gave a cry of delight when she found two cotton gingham hair ribbons, pink and white to match my pretty outfit. “Perfect!” Alison cried as she accepted the feminine bits of cloth. In seconds I had pretty gingham ribbons tied around the base of each pigtail too.
“Aww! So pretty!” Jill crooned, sounding like she actually meant it. The girls stepped back and admired my feminised appearance with delighted eyes, then turned and grinned at each other.
I looked up at the attractive young women uncertainly, unsure what they wanted me to do. The answer came when Alison imperiously pointed to the floor. “Down you go, little girl,” she ordered, and I obediently dropped to all fours. “Dirty little baby girls who pee and poop their nappies have to crawl,” she reminded Jill, before pointing out the door towards the landing. “Off you go, Baby Candy. Crawl downstairs and we’ll put you in the playpen for a little play-time. Okay baby?” I shuffled out of the Nursery without replying. What say did I have in the matter, anyway? Jill cackled as I bumped my way downstairs on my puffy bot-bot like a proper toddler, and Alison sniggered in contempt as she slowly followed me down each step.
When I reached the bottom step I lurched forward, dropping onto all fours as required and heading for the front door. Jill clapped her hands in approval. “What a good little baby girl,” she sang, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in her melodious voice. Jill threw open the front door for me and they followed me outside onto the tin-roofed veranda. I knew where I belonged and I shuffled towards my playpen without protest. The beautiful blonde burst into fresh gales of hilarity when my cousin opened the hinged gate high for me and I obediently crawled inside. I wasn’t sure which one of them swatted my bobbing panty bottom to hurry me along, but the lacy hem of my gingham frock caught under one knee and I face-planted onto the soft padded floor. I looked like a clumsy infant incapable of even crawling properly, and their cackles of amusement made my ears ring. Even though it hadn’t hurt that much, my cheeks were blazing with embarrassment. By the time I regained my balance and swivelled around to sit on my puffy bottom, Alison had locked the barred gate behind me, sealing me inside my kiddie-prison.
“You stay here and keep an eye on the baby,” Alison advised her chuckling girlfriend. “I’ll go get her dolls and colouring books and stuff.”
“Okay,” Jll agreed, walking over and resting her hands on the top rail. The slender blonde gazed down at me with those heartless sapphire-blue eyes and I could almost feel the contempt radiating from her. I couldn’t look at her and stared through the playpen bars into the street instead. There were a few people walking along the footpath on both sides of the leafy avenue, but fortunately none of them even glanced in our direction. My pink candy-striped stroller was parked on the lawn beside the front path, like a beacon alerting the world that a baby lived here. A big baby. Me.
Alison returned a few minutes later with her arms laden with things for me. Jill skipped over to give her a hand, and she took a full baby bottle and the big pink plastic potty from my cousin’s hands, her delicately-plucked eyebrows rising in disbelief. “You have a potty for her too?”
“Uh-huh. Not that it’s had much use,” Alison disdainfully informed her friend. “Leave that there,” she ordered, tapping the plastic potty and pointing to the wooden decking with her chin. She stepped over beside my playpen and leaned over the side to drop the little pink suitcase, my colouring-in books and crayons to the padded floor. “Come closer, baby,” Alison commanded.
She had one of my frilly bibs tucked under her armpit and she reached down to clip it around my neck. It was made from pink cotton and had a wetproof plastic backing, with the usual wide band of frothy white lace around the neck hole and the outside edge. Alison tugged on the bottom to make sure it was secure, then straightened the frilly bib over my breast before standing upright. “There!” She cried in satisfaction. “Now my precious baby girl is all ready for her bottle.” She turned and held out her hand to Jill. I quickly grabbed the bottom edge of my bibbie and raised it up enough to read the upside-down inscription; ‘Princess Potty-pants.’ I shook my head in disbelief and felt the colour rise in my cheeks, and I dropped the edge of my bibbie with a sigh of despair.
The grinning blonde beauty politely requested, “Allow me?” Jill stepped closer and leaned over the top rail, steering the dripping nipple towards my lips. I saw her sapphire eyes reading the embroidered message on my bib, her grin widening. “Here you go, Princess Potty-pants.” I spat out my dum-dums in readiness and it tumbled to the padded vinyl floor. I’d forgotten it wasn’t attached to my frock. Jill thrust the clear silicon teat between my lips and I eagerly sucked down a mouthful of crisp cold apple juice. I glanced away and tried to ignore her smug bemused expression, sucking vacantly from the bottle teat like a mindless toddler. She grew bored after a few minutes, as I knew she would. She urged me, “Hold your own bottle for Aunty Jill like a big girl, baby.”
I wrapped both hands around the heavy vessel and greedily kept suckling. I was thirsty and the apple juice was delightfully chilled on this hot Summer afternoon. Both girls giggled when I relaxed and flopped onto my back, the nipple clenched between my teeth to prevent it popping out. I kept drinking and tried to ignore their snorts of laughter. “Aww!” Jill cooed. “Look at her lying there in her playpen drinking from her titty-bottle. What an absolute baby!”
“Isn’t she just?” Alison snickered. She squatted down and reached between the bars to pick up my dum-dums, then clipped the plastic chain to the lacy collar of my bib. I turned to watch her, trying not to look obvious when I discretely glanced between her slender parted thighs. I caught a glimpse of the shiny red gusset of her tiny g-string panties before she stood upright, which produced the usual turgid reaction inside my nappy.
“Look! Here comes Annette,” Jill cried, pointing towards the street. “Hi Annie!” Fragments of my erotic dream flashed in my mind and I felt my clittie thicken even more inside my fluffy swaddling. I whipped my head to the other side to see Annette approach, careful not to dribble any juice as I kept suckling. The busty brunette turned into Aunty June’s front path and skipped up the steps, her massive bosoms wobbling distractingly under her baggy white t-shirt. I couldn’t stop my clittie stiffening to full hardness as Annette stepped onto the veranda with a wide smile for her friends. Images of her huge bosom and her fabulous succulent brown nipples leapt unbidden to my mind. I had to stop myself from reaching down and rearranging the front of my nappy to give my throbbing clittie more room to grow.
“Hello Annie,” Alison greeted her short plump friend with a welcoming smile.
“Hey there,” Annette replied with a bright smile of her own, her tiny teeth startling white. Her full plump lips glistened with a fresh coat of rich glossy red lipstick, and I gazed at her fabulous painted mouth with a twinge of envy. She glanced down at my pink teddy bear potty in disbelief before stepping around to stand beside my playpen. She opened her handbag and took out a black tube of lipstick and a pink vinyl purse with a brass clip. “I forgot to give Candy her lippy. I brought her a make-up purse as well. It’s a new one I’ve had for ages and never used.”
Jill sniggered when Alison told Annette, “Thanks Annie. But I don’t think our precious baby girl need any lipstick right at this moment. She’s a bit busy.”
Annette giggled when she looked down at me lying on my back in my playpen with my bottle teat buried in my mouth, slurping noisily. “Hello Princess Potty-pants.” She shook her head in incredulity and her grin almost split her chubby round face in two. She tapped the high wooden top rail with her fingers. “Holy mackerel! You even have a playpen for her?”
“Mum borrowed it from Mandy Moore,” Alison explained, as she accepted the tube of lipstick and the little purse. She popped the lipstick in the slender bag and slipped it in the back pocket of her black denim skirt. “You know her?”
“Sure, everyone knows her. She was goal defense for the state netball team a few years back, wasn’t she?”
“Yep,” Jill replied. “She’s the tallest woman in town - over six feet tall in her bare feet - and she’s built like a brick shithouse.”
“She married a national basketball player too,” Alison added. “They’re divorced now, I hear. He played for Australia and he’s about six foot seven. Their kids are enormous, too. Have you seen them? Three girls aged between four and eight, although the youngest is about the size of an average six-year-old and her eight-year-old… Well, she’s bigger than our Baby Candy here. Taller and heavier.”
Jill nodded. “And probably way more mature,” she spitefully added. The girls glanced at me and tittered in amusement at the blush colouring my cheeks.
Annette shook her head uncertainly. Her tight brown curls flicked around her face and she bit her plump red bottom lip with her tiny white teeth. “I’m not sure if I’ve met the kids.”
“You’d remember them if you had,” Jill assured her shorter friend.
“Apparently Mandy and her girls are dropping by this afternoon and staying for dinner this evening.” My whole body jerked in alarm and the girls turned to gaze down at me with bemused expressions. “Maybe you’ll get to meet them later.”
“That should be fun,” Jill murmured, and they all started laughing again.
The sound of air being sucked back through the clear silicon nipple alerted Alison that my bottle was nearly empty. As soon as I drained it she reached over the top rail and plucked the lightweight plastic vessel from my grasp. The raven-haired beauty whirled away from me and suggested to her friends, “Let’s go inside and I’ll make us some coffee.”
“Good idea,” responded Jill.
Annette pointed at me and frowned. “What about the baby?”
“She’ll be fine,” Alison assured the concerned brunette. “She’s got her Barbies and her colouring books to keep her company, and she’s safely locked in her playpen. Where could she possibly go? Come on, she’ll be fine.”
The girls followed Alison inside, abandoning me in my kiddie-prison. I sighed in despair as I rolled onto my tummy and opened the Barbie colouring-in book, and I tipped out the packet of crayons. I could distantly hear the girls inside, chatting and laughing in the kitchen. I’m sure my current infantile predicament was the cause for much of their hilarity. I picked up my dum-dums and slipped the soothing teat between my lips, sucking it absent-mindedly. The pastel-pink crayon was already looking a little worn. I started colouring in a full-face picture of Barbie without paying too much attention to what I was doing, preoccupied with the thought of Aunty Mandy and her girls coming to visit.
To be continued in chapter 16.
Please keep posting your comments. They really inspire me to write more.
Hugs from Baby Jennie in Australia
Posted 04 May 2011 - 08:43 PM
...and then insulted lol
mom was wrong.... big boys DO wear diapers!
professional thread killer!
Posted 05 May 2011 - 08:47 PM
Posted 06 May 2011 - 07:50 AM
Posted 06 May 2011 - 09:47 AM
Over/under on when this kid snaps and goes postal on these psychopaths?
Please keep in mind; this is only a fantasy, and should be treated as such. If you aren't enjoying it.... Stop reading!
Hugs from Baby Jennie
Posted 06 May 2011 - 11:07 AM
Please keep in mind; this is only a fantasy, and should be treated as such. If you aren't enjoying it.... Stop reading!
Hugs from Baby Jennie
Take the fact that I have read the entire thing as an endorsement of my enjoyment of the story, though it does have a very horror-film sort of appeal to it. I just have to wonder in the back of my mind how much more the kid can take before he cracks.
Posted 08 May 2011 - 09:59 PM
Dear Diaperguy and Elf King, thank you for those encouraging comments. And WB Daddy - sorry for over-reacting. I've received a bit of flack from some readers concerning the potential psychological damage I might be doing to my imaginary characters, so it's a bit of a sensitive point for me. Again I apologise. All comments - negative and positive - are welcome. I hope you enjoy the next chapter.
Chapter 16. Playing Babies.
When I finished colouring-in two pictures of Barbie, I closed that book and opened the ‘My Little Pony’ booklet. A few people wandered along the sidewalk past our house, and most of them turned to stare at me in my playpen but kept walking. I mostly kept my eyes on my colouring book and tried to ignore their curious glances. After filling in two pages of prancing ponies I grew bored. I closed the juvenile picture book and pushed it aside, and stuffed the crayons back in the cardboard box like a good little girl. I unlocked the little pink suitcase and tipped out the contents. My Barbies spilled out, along with a rainbow of tiny dresses and accessories.
I kept myself occupied for a while undressing and dressing my dollies like any normal little girl, mostly oblivious to the many bemused stares I attracted from passers-by. As I settled down my bladder relaxed, and a stream of almost scalding-hot wee-wees jetted into my dry nappy with any conscious thought. I enjoyed the thrilling familiar heat for a few moments, then glanced at my pink teddy-bear potty. I gasped in alarm, biting down hard on my dummy-teat as I struggled to cut off the flow. I’d already wet and soiled several nappies today without asking to use the toilet.
Despite the potential embarrassment of being forced to use my potty in such a public place, I was more frightened of receiving another paddling from Aunty June when she returned home from work. I clumsily clambered to my feet and clutched my damp nappy front against my dripping clittie in a frustrated attempt to help control myself. I waddled to the bars nearest the front door and grabbed them one-handed for support, glancing towards the footpath to make sure the coast was clear. To my relief, the street appeared empty except for an old cream and maroon station wagon turning the corner.
With one hand gripping one of the vertical bars for support and the other clutching my nappy front, I called out, “Aunty Alithon?” I spat out my dummy and repeated more clearly, “Aunty Alison?” I tried to pitch my voice to sound like the little girl I was dressed as when I desperately pleaded, “Pleathe Aunty Alithon? I need to uthe the potty.” I didn’t realise I was uncontrollably lisping like a silly pre-school girl, even without the huge rubber teat in my mouth. The distant voices in the kitchen fell silent for a moment. “I need to uthe the potty!” I squealed only slightly louder. Despite the urgency of my need, I didn’t want the neighbours hearing my desperate juvenile pleas. “Oh pweathe Aunty Awithon? Pweathe? I weally need the potty!”
One of the girls inside said something indecipherable, then they all laughed. I sighed in relief when I heard the sound of footsteps striding down the hallway, but then I heard a car simultaneously pulling into Aunty June’s driveway. I turned and saw Aunty Mandy sitting behind the wheel of the cream station wagon parking in the drive I’d noticed turning into the street. She parked in the driveway, grinning through the windscreen at the sight of me dressed in my little-girl finery and locked in the playpen. Julia was sitting in the passenger seat beside her staring at me with huge eyes, and her little sisters were strapped in the back seat. My eyes widened in horror.
Alison stepped out onto the front veranda in her flat black Princess slippers crooning, “Do you need to use the potty, baby girl?” My head whipped towards the front door and I saw Jill and Annette walk out too, grinning down at me in wicked anticipation. I snatched my left hand from my nappy front with a guilty start and clutched my dangling dum-dums instead. The grinning girls stood behind Alison as she leaned over the top rail and asked me in syrupy baby-talk, “What is it, baby? Do you want to go pot-pot? Does Baby Candy need to go number ones or number twos?” The girls tittered as my cheeks blazed with embarrassment.
I frowned resentfully up at Alison, unaware I was instinctively raising my dummy teat to my lips, unconsciously seeking the comfort the substitute nipple usually provided. The sound of a car door slamming dragged my attention back to Aunty Mandy’s station wagon in the driveway. Julia, her eldest had already leapt out of the passenger seat dressed in blue jeans and a yellow Hannah Montana t-shirt. The chubby eight-year-old trotted across the front lawn towards me on sneaker-shod feet, her mouth open and her brown eyes wide in astonishment. I bit down in fear on the firm rubber nipple of my comforting dum-dums.
Alison crouched down and unlocked the barred playpen gate, her slender thighs demurely clamped together beneath her brief black denim skirt. I was so distracted, I didn’t even notice if she flashed her panties at me. She stood and tossed her raven locks back over her shoulder, and she opened the hinged gate high in invitation. “Come on, baby girl,” she encouraged me. “Out you crawl.”
I slithered away from the opening and clutched the bars with both hands. “No no,” I mumbled around my dummy teat, my cheeks pink with shame. “I don’t wanna.” I didn’t want her undressing me and putting me on the potty while Mandy’s girls were here to witness my shame. They were still unaware of my true sex, and I didn’t want my embarrassing secret revealed to any more people.
“Baby Candy!” Alison snapped at a volume and tone guaranteed to get my attention. She imperiously clicked her fingers beneath the raised wooden gate and pointed at the teddy bear potty a few feet away. “Your potty is out here, baby. Come on! Out you crawl.”
My fists tightened around the bars as I frantically shook my head in denail. Seven-year-old Kate joined her sister Julia on the lawn beside the veranda. She was dressed in the same fashion as her big sister, except with a baby-blue Hannah Montana t-shirt. They were both staring at me through the playpen bars in wide-eyed disbelief. “I don’t wanna,” I pleaded like a cranky toddler, my high-pitched protest muffled by the wide pink guard of my dum-dums. Aunty Mandy ponderously climbed out from behind the wheel and then she released her youngest from the raised car seat in the back. The enormous brunette was simply dressed in a black t-shirt and black slacks, with her favourite dark leather sandals on her huge feet.
“I don’t wanna,” I childishly repeated, my voice rising in fear, backing away from them all but unwilling to release my grip on the bars. I didn’t want to compound my problems by stumbling backwards on the padded vinyl floor and tumbling onto my puffy bottom like a useless toddler learning to walk.
“You don’t wanna what, baby?” Alison demanded, letting her irritation creep into her voice. Eliza wriggled free of her mother’s grasp and the enormous four-year-old raced up the front path and bounded up the steps. She was wearing a green and purple Barney t-shirt and a brief lavender-tinted denim skirt. She had pink sandshoes the same as mine, I noticed, except her white anklet socks had floppy purple lace frills around the ankles.
“I don’t wanna uthe the potty,” I wailed, my cheeks crimson with mortification. I gave up trying to contain my bladder and my whole body breathed a sigh of relief. At first my urine came out in a tiny trickle but the flow swiftly grew stronger, the hot wee-wees squirting out to drench the front of my fluffy nappies. I sucked harder on my dummy teat, seeking the solace it normally provided as I helplessly wet myself, the soothing warmth draining down between my wide-splayed thighs and soaking into the absorbent crotch of my thick thirsty nappies.
Eliza threaded her way through the teenagers clustered around my playpen and pressed her face between the bars. “Hi Candy!” She squealed excitedly. “Are you playing babies?”
Alison grew tired of waiting and let the crib gate drop. It banged against the bottom edge with a loud ‘crash,’ making me jump back in shock. I unintentionally released my grip on the bars and stumbled clumsily on the padded vinyl floor, wobbling backwards like an unsteady toddler before I lost my balance. With a wail of despair I tumbled backwards onto my warm wet bottom, my lacy dress hem flying up over my tummy as I helplessly rolled onto my back. My pink gingham skirts ended up around my chin as my little legs waggled uselessly in the air, helplessly flying apart and exposing my diapered crotch to my wide-eyed audience.
“She’s not playing babies. She is a baby,” Jill anounced in a scornful voice, and Annette and Alison smirked and muttered in agreement. Fresh tears of shame pricked my eyes and I blinked rapidly, trying to flick them away. I clumsily sat up and brushed down my wayward dress hem at the same time.
“What’s wrong, baby?” Alison demanded, her big brown eyes narrowed and her cool tone disapproving. “Is it too late? Don’t you want to sit on your potty any more?”
“I don’t think she needs to any longer,” Jill snickered.
Annette froze me with a withering glare, her tone reproachful. “Baby Candy! Did you wet your nappy?”
I gazed around the many curious and contemptuous faces surrounding my playpen bars and wailed, “Yeth! Yeth! I wet my nappieth. I want my Mummy! I want my Mummy!” I burst into tears. I couldn’t help it! I let my chin sink onto my chest, my dum-dums spilling from my lips as I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs to cry like a frustrated toddler. Mandy shuffled up the porch steps and nudged the girls aside to stand beside my playpen looking down at me. Her expression was one of scorn mixed with disgust.
“What’s wrong with the baby?” The brunette Amazon inquired, glancing at my raven-haired cousin for an explanation.
Alison shook her head, her full red lips pursed in dismay. “Hi Mandy. I think Baby Candy just wet her nappy,” she informed the taller, heavier woman. “She was supposed to try and hold it for the potty like a big girl, but…” Alison trailed off. The towering brunette leaned over the side of the playpen and grabbed me around the waist. I couldn’t believe how strong Mandy was. She lifted me over the top rail with ease and plonked me over her broad left hip, one huge hand cupping my droopy wet bottom. I instinctively wrapped my little legs around her waist as she leaned me back slightly, and she flipped the hem of my gingham frock over my tummy with her free hand.
Mandy ignored my hiccupping sobs and deftly slid her fingers under one tight leg elastic of my baby panties. As soon as she made contact with my damp nappy crotch she ripped out her fingers, shaking her head and clucking her tongue in disapproval. “She’s wet alright - although she isn’t drenched. Baby Candy doesn’t need changing yet,” was her expert assessment. The huge woman wiped her moist fingers on my bib and shoved my dummy back in my mouth in an attempt to quieten my wailing. “That nappy will easily handling another wetting or two.” I was disappointed when Mandy returned me to the playpen without bothering to take me upstairs for a change. I flopped onto my puffy wet bottom and wailed with renewed vigour.
“Why is she crying, Mummy?” Eliza demanded with a frown, her bottom lip protruding in sympathy for my unknown plight.
“It’s nothing,” Mandy reassured her concerned youngest, clutching the huge toddler by the shoulder and giving her a loving squeeze. “Sometimes babies cry for no good reason at all. It’s best just to let them get it out of their systems,” she advised. She used her toes to slide home the bolt on the playpen gate, locking me in once more. “Sometimes they just need a good cry. It’s best to let them be for a while. Come on girls.” Mandy turned Eliza around and steered her towards the front door, asking Alison. “Is your Mum home from work yet?”
My cousin shook her head and glanced at her wristwatch. “She should be home any minute. Come inside and I’ll put the kettle on.” Alison and her friends led Mandy and her daughter inside.
Kate and Julia trotted up the steps and lingered on the veranda to stare down at the crying sissy baby locked in the playpen. I saw them reading the embarrassing ‘Princess Potty-pants’ message on my bib, and they sniggered hard-heartedly before they dashed inside. I sat there with tears running down my cheeks, dripping from my chin to dampen my frilly bibbie. At least the plastic backing stopped my gingham frock from getting wet. My shoulders shook and I sobbed my heart out, snot trickling from both nostrils and seeping under the bobbing pink guard of my dum-dums. I was trapped, with no way out. I was nothing but a baby; a helpless nappy-wetting, panty-pooping toddler with no control. No control at all! I slumped forward and collapsed onto the soft padded floor on my tummy, using the cotton front of my frilly bib to sop up my snot and tears. My dummy was like a soothing fat lozenge in my mouth and I chewed on it to help calm my frazzled nerves. I don’t know how long I lay there crying, but I didn’t notice Aunty June walking up the front path and pausing on the porch steps to stare down at me in contempt.
I jerked up onto my elbows when I heard the familiar menacing sound of her high heels click-clacking towards me across the cedar boards. Aunty June was dressed in a smart navy business suit, with sheer tan hose and a pair of navy court shoes with four-inch stiletto heels. I rolled over and sat up facing her, wiping my snotty nose with the back of my hand. She looked so cool, poised and elegant. Her eyes were dark and smoky with mascara and eyeliner, and her luscious red-painted mouth was pursed into a thin hard line. Aunty June bent down and removed the lid from the pink potty to inspect the contents. She noted it was unused and replaced the flat plastic lid with a frown.
She stood and shook her head at me, contempt etched on every line of her beautiful painted face. I sucked harder on my dum-dums as I cautiously regarded her. Without a word my Aunty crouched down next to my playpen and reached between the bars. The glowering brunette slapped my thighs wider apart and forced her fingers inside one tight elastic leg band of my baby panties. Aunty June didn’t bother scolding me; she merely shook her head in disgust as she wiped clean her glistening fingers on my humiliating bibbie. She stood and strode inside, leaving me shuddering in her wake and trying to master my wayward emotions.
Mandy’s girls must have grown bored with the adults’ conversation in the kitchen. They drifted outside a few minutes later and Julia skipped over to her mother’s station wagon. Kate bounced down the porch steps behind her and watched as her big sister collected their jump rope from the back seat. Four-year-old Eliza was carrying one of my big pink baby bottles when she stepped onto the veranda. She had her blonde hair in pigtails bound with floppy pink ribbons just like me. I realised Eliza and I were the only ones there wearing dresses. And of all the little girls, I was dressed in the most feminine babyish frock. The realisation only made me feel smaller and more infantile. Eliza crouched on the other side of the bars, carelessly letting her bare knees splay wide. I saw the oversized toddler had graduated from training panties to lavender cotton big-girl panties and I felt an ugly flash of jealousy.
Eliza poked the sloshing plastic bottle through the bars, clumsily aiming the nipple for my mouth. “Here Baby Candy,” she quietly offered, her expression consoling. “Mummy said you probably needed a drink after all that crying.” I spat out my dummy and numbly let the kind-hearted toddler slip the seeping silicon teat between my lips, and I sucked automatically. Apple juice again, I distantly noted, but watered-down this time. Eliza held the heavy plastic vesel for a few moments, then guided my hands so I was holding my own bottle. “Good girl,” she muttered, smiling encouragingly.
“Come on Eliza,” Julia yelled impatiently. “Leave the baby alone and come turn the rope for me.” I watched the young girls as they arranged themselves on the front lawn and took turns skipping, feeling jealous of their freedom - and their grown-up big-girl underwear. They were chanting a little rhyme as they turned the rope, and the steady cadence was rather soothing to my ragged psyche. I sat there slurping from the teat of my baby bottle, feeling for all the world like a real baby girl enviously watching the bigger girls sing and play.
When my cousin Brenda came strolling up the footpath accompanied by her pretty blonde friend Trish, I didn’t even care. Brenda looked gorgeous in her tight white t-shirt, pink denim mini-skirt and white strappy high heels, her enormous breasts jiggling and swaying with every confident stride. Her shorter friend was similarly dressed in a brief blue denim skirt with a pink t-shirt, and pink sneakers without socks. I recognised the attractive seventeen-year-old from my trip to the mall with Alison this morning and shrugged dispiritedly. What was one more witness to my infantile humiliation? What was one more bucket of shame piled on top of a mountain of embarrassment?
The cute teenager was already giggling as she walked up the front path, her cornflower-blue eyes locked on me in the playpen.
“See Trish? There she is - just like I told you,” Brenda crowed triumphantly. They leapt lightly up the veranda steps and strode across the veranda, and stood leaning on the top rail of my humiliating kiddie-prison gazing down at me in contempt. I returned their stares with dull uninterested eyes.
“Gosh!” Trish responded, curling her top lip in disgust. “She really looks like a little baby in that playpen, doesn’t she?” As if seeing me in my humiliating stroller and bulging nappies this morning wasn’t enough to convince her?
“Let me hear you babbling like a good little baby girl,” Brenda insisted, trying to show off her control over me. She wanted me to perform for her girlfriend like a trained seal - or an obedient, well-disciplined toddler.
I didn’t see the point of resisting and let my bottle nipple fall from my lips. “Ma-ma!” I burbled wetly, ignoring of the stream of liquid dribbling down my chin. The girls sniggered and instinctively backed away a few inches from the spray of juice. I squealed louder, “Ma-ma! Ba-ba goo-goo ga-ga goo-goo!” Mandy’s girls must have heard me over their chanting because they fell silent. Julia and Kate stopped turning the rope, pausing their skipping game to stare over at me with renewed contempt.
“See?” Eliza pointed to me, yelling excitedly to her big sisters. “I told you. Candy is playing babies!”
I shoved the nipple of my bottle back between my lips and tilted the base up high. I sucked in a huge mouthful of juice, then started babbling again with the teat still copiously leaking. Apple juice squirted from the corners of my mouth and splashed down my chin as I mindlessly gurgled, “Ba-ba ma-ma num-num-num-num.”
Trish’s laughter died and her blue eyes narrowed, and I saw her purse her pink-painted lips in contempt. She shook her head at my revolting infantile display and turned away in disgust. She said to Brenda, “Thanks for showing me the baby. I’ve gotta run. I’ll come back and help you babysit another time, okay?”
“Sure thing,” Brenda replied. She stepped closer to the front door and cocked her head, listening. “Sounds like a full house inside. I’ll see you later, Trish.” Brenda tossed me a disdainful grin before she disappeared inside.
“Bye Bren.” The cute blonde visitor didn’t bother saying goodbye to me. Why would she? I was nothing but a baby to her. A useless big baby. She skipped lightly down the front steps and gave the silent girls in the front yard a farewell wave before turning onto the sidewalk. As she walked away, Trish couldn’t help glancing back at me sitting forlornly in my playpen. Even though she was too far away for me to read the contemptuous expression on her face, I could see her disdainfully shaking her head until she vanished from sight down the street.
At Julia’s insistence the girls started chanting and skipping again. My bottle was empty and I threw it against the bars in a childish fit of temper. It bounced back, rolling across the Barbie-print pink vinyl floor and coming to rest beside my foot. I sulkily kicked it away again and shoved my dummy in my mouth. My lips and chin were sticky with spilled juice and the pink plastic guard stuck to my face. I found that forcing my saliva out made it less sticky, so I sat there dribbling copiously as I noisily sucked on my dum-dums. Why should I care? I’m just a baby.
A couple of girls in the neighbourhood must have heard Julia and her sisters singing their skipping song, and they wandered into our front yard and greeted Mandy’s girls by name. I recognised one of the visitors. She had short blonde hair and was the same height as Kate, the seven-year-old, although she was thin as a rake under her pink ‘Princess Kylie’ t-shirt. Kate yelled a greeting. “Hi Bella, Hi Emily!” Both girls were dressed in blue jeans and t-shirts, like Mandy’s older children. I didn’t recognise red-headed Bella in the green top, but I remembered meeting blonde Emily at Kate’s seventh birthday party. I shuddered at the embarrassing recollection. Emily was the girl who insisted on feeding me the second bottle while I was locked in the crib at Aunty Mandy’s, after the party. I remembered the bigger girls crowding around three sides of my cot to mock me, laughing at me and poking my nappies through the bars whie I lay there without even a blanket to cover my diapered shame. Emily had wanted to make me drink more so I would wet myself again, so she could help change my nappy.
The two new visitors strolled over beside the veranda to stare at me through the playpen bars. I returned their stares with vacant eyes and burbled wetly, “Ma-ma ga-ga ga” between sloppy slurps on my dum-dums. Like the others, they turned up their noses at my infantile performance. I could see Bella instantly dismissed me from her mind. To the sneering redhead I was nothing but a big baby, and therefore beneath her notice. She whirled away and asked Julia if she could join in their skipping game, and little Eliza was more than willing to surrender her place as a rope-turner.
Emily was another matter. The skinny blonde girl stepped across the lawn right over to the edge of the veranda, a few feet from the bars, her blue eyes wide as she watched me acting like a baby. She stared at me for the longest time, making the colour rise in my cheeks again. I ducked my chin and picked up my blonde Barbie, and pretended to be fascinated with changing her high heels while I mumbled some nonsense.
Eliza paused beside Emily to point at me. “That’s Baby Candy. She loves playing babies.”
“I know,” the fascinated seven-year-old replied. “I’ve met Baby Candy before at your place.” Emily eventually tore her big blue eyes from my cowering frame and twirled around to watch the skipping girls. I exhaled heavily, only then realising I’d been holding my breath.
The cute blonde four-year-old trotted over to the front steps and joined me on the veranda. Eliza stood right next to the playpen bars and crouched down to examine me with wide brown eyes. She didn’t seem to care that her thighs were splayed wide apart and she was showing off her pretty lavender panties. But then why would she care? After all, I was just another little girl - just like her. Eliza whispered, “It’s okay, Baby Candy. I like playing babies too, sometimes. Can I come in there and play babies with you?” Her sweet request surprised me, but I shrugged my shoulders like I didn’t care.
“Num-num-num-num,” I stupidly replied around my sticky dum-dums. They way I saw it; I didn’t really have any say in the matter. I couldn’t unlock the gate from the inside. I was a prisoner inside this juvenile wooden prison. Eliza took my lack of response for a ‘yes,’ and she tried to slide open the bolt securing the hinged barred gate. Either her fingers were too small or she wasn’t strong enough, because she gave up after a minute of struggling.
Eliza looked at me and frowned. “I can’t open it. I’ll have to get my Mummy.” She stood and trotted inside the house, her brief skirt flipping up in back to reveal her cute panty bottom. I returned to watching the skipping girls on the lawn, unaware that I was unconsciously studying their techniques and the way the young girls interacted. My subconscious was trying to imprint the memories of normal little-girl behaviour so I could learn to better fit in. I glanced over when Eliza came shuffling back out, looking dispirited. She stepped over to the side of the playpen with a sad little smile for me. “I’m sorry, Baby Candy,” she muttered. “Your Aunty June and Mummy said the playpen was only for dirty little girls who won’t stop wetting their panties. They said I’m not allowed to play in there with you.”
I noisily sucked my dum-dums but didn’t reply. I didn’t really care anyway. I watched as Eliza trudged down the porch steps onto the lawn. She trotted over towards the other girls, her blonde pigtails flopping attractively, then paused and turned back to me. She approached the edge of the veranda with an expression on her face that told me she’d just had a brilliant idea. “I know!” Eliza quietly exclaimed. “If I want to get in the playpen and play babies with you, I have to be a dirty little girl too!” She squatted down, grinning madly at me. I instinctively shifted onto my knees and crawled over to the side of the playpen closest to the edge of the veranda. I wanted to see what she was doing, wondering what she intended?
To be continued...
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Hugs from Baby Jennie in Australia
Posted 09 May 2011 - 07:10 AM
Posted 12 May 2011 - 10:02 PM
Posted 15 May 2011 - 10:18 PM
Eliza was crouching down on the front lawn facing me with her little feet spread wide, staring intently at her groin. She held her little denim skirt up and away at the front so I could see the crotch of her pretty lavender panties. She took a deep breath and held it, her cheeks puffing out and turning red. She screwed up her mouth, frowning in concentration. My eyebrows climbed up my forehead when I realised what she was doing. A tiny dark wet spot appeared on the front of her panties, spreading rapidly down between her legs. The light cotton fabric was soon overwhelmed and a golden stream of urine bubbled through her panty gusset, gushing from between the little girl’s legs with an audible ‘hiss.’
I clutched the bars in my fists and felt my own bladder spasm in sympathy with the naughty little girl wetting her pants right in front of me. A soothing warm stream surged out of my limp clittie, splashing around me and soaking into the thick terrycloth. I let go of the bars with my right hand and clutched the familiar comforting warmth against my genitals. I felt myself sinking deeper and deeper into the world of diapered infancy. We were just two naughty little toddler girls helplessly wetting ourselves. We couldn’t help it. “Ga-ga goo-goo,” I mumbled quietly around the slippery pink guard of my dum-dums as I freely drenched my nappy. “Ga-ga goo-goo ga-ga goo!”
A couple of girls noticed what Eliza was doing. Emily yelled, “Julia! Look at your kid sister!”
Bella snorted in derision. “Is she pissing her pants?”
“Eliza!” Julia screamed, throwing the rope handle aside and running to her little sister. Eliza ignored the pandemonium around her, focused on piddling her panties like a naughty little girl. The was a wet patch the size of my palm on her panties now, although her golden stream disappeared into the grass without a trace. Julia grabbed Eliza’s arm and roughly yanked her to her feet.
“What are you doing?” The horrified girl demanded. Julia shook Eliza violently for a second or two. “You dummy! Mummy will be furious with you!”
The cheeky four-year-old looked like she was having second thoughts. “I couldn’t help it,” she wailed. “It was an accident!” I remembered using the very same childish excuse myself only a few days ago.
Julia pushed her little sister away in contempt and ran inside the house, yelling, “I’m telling Mummy!” Eliza awkwardly shuffled inside after her big sister, her thighs spread wide to reduce the leakage, gnawing her bottom lip anxiously.
I ignored the jeering bigger girls in the yard and crawled to the side of my playpen closest to the front door, straining to hear anything from inside. I wondered how much trouble Eliza was going to be in? I could hear Julia running and yelling all the way to the kitchen, the little tattle-tale. Things went quiet for a few moments, then I heard Aunty Mandy raise her booming voice. I couldn’t make out what she said, but she sounded cranky. I clearly heard the sound of a hard hand smack a naughty wet little bottom and Eliza’s corresponding wail of remorse. I reached back and rubbed my own warm wet bottom in sympathy for the kind-hearted little girl.
Julia trotted out looking extremely pleased with herself, and she tossed me a smug smirk before she bounded down the steps to join her friends, yelling instructions as usual. I knelt there pressing my face between the bars, trying to hear what was going on inside. I heard Aunty Mandy and Aunty June chatting as they walked upstairs with Eliza still sobbing quietly. I expected they wanted to change her wet pants, and wondered if Eliza would be borrowing my big-girl panties for a change? I couldn’t prevent the thrill of arousal I felt at the odd thought. Another girl wearing my panties! When I couldn’t hear anything except the murmur of teenage girls’ voices from the kitchen for several minutes, I eventually grew bored.
I turned away and crawled back to the front of the playpen to watch the playing girls in the yard. Another two girls had joined the skipping group while I’d been distracted. I didn’t recognise them, and fortunately the new arrivals didn’t pay much attention to me. The little rhyme they sang as they took turns skipping was very catchy, and I found myself singing along with them in my head. The watching girls were clapping their hands in time, too. I began softly clapping along with them, sucking my dummy-teat at the same time. I tried to keep it quiet. I didn’t want the bigger girls to notice me.
I was startled when Aunty June strode out onto the veranda on her elegant click-clacking high heels. Her dark brown hair was piled up on top of her head in a tight bun, the loose strands held in place with dozens of bobby pins. She still wore her fitted mid-thigh navy skirt but she’d removed her jacket to reveal her hourglass figure, and she was wearing a silky white chemise with spaghetti straps over her suntanned shoulders. Her top was sheer enough that I could see the outline of her white lace brassiere underneath, and more than a hint of her deep fleshy cleavage.
Aunty June demurely pressed her plump womanly thighs together beneath her prim navy skirt as she crouched down beside my playpen. She threw open the bolt and raised the hinged gate, standing at the same time. I looked up at her expectantly, waiting for her to order me to crawl out. Instead Aunty Mandy walked out cradling her youngest over one hip. Eliza looked like she’d been crying and although her eyes were dry now, she still looked miserable. I thought I recognised the pink guard of the dummy bobbing in her mouth. It was the first one Aunty Melody gave me at Kate‘s birthday party - a spare pacifier the attractive young mother kept in her daughter Cindy’s change bag. From the way Eliza was earnestly sucking my spare dum-dums, it looked like it had found a new home.
Eliza was wearing one of my frilly bibbies, too, and the light plastic dummy chain was attached to the lacy bib collar with the teddy bear clip. Her bib had lavender lace frills around the collar and outside edges, and there was purple writing embroidered across the white cotton front. I read the embarrassing words, ‘Piddle Pants Baby,’ and poked out my bottom lip in sympathy for the poor child. Then I remembered - she was too little to read. She probably didn’t even know what it said. Aunty Mandy had removed her daughter’s skirt and apart from the bibbie, Eliza was wearing only her purple t-shirt and a nappy - one of her old ones, I suspected. She wore pink plastic panties over the top, just like me. She looked even more babyish than me. I was still wearing my pink gingham frock, which was at least barely long enough to cover my baby panties. Aunty Mandy lowered her daughter to the floorboards, turning Eliza so she was on her hands and knees facing the open gate. “Go on,” Mandy roughly commanded. “Crawl in there where you belong, you naughty little girl.” She gave her daughter’s bobbing nappy bottom a hefty wallop to send her on her way.
Despite her earlier eagerness to join me in the playpen and play babies, Eliza didn’t look too happy now. The girls in the front yard ceased their play to watch the humbled little girl crawl inside the playpen to join her big baby friend. Aunty June closed the gate and bolted it behind her, then stood dusting off her hands. “That should teach her,” she muttered to her taller friend.
“And keep her out of trouble.” Mandy nodded grimly in agreement before the women returned inside the house.
I let go of the bars and flopped back down on my puffy wet bottom to stare at the big diapered toddler kneeling beside me. She likewise swivelled around to sit on her bum facing me, her little legs splayed helplessly wide by the fluffy mass of terrycloth between her thighs. Her dummy bobbed up and down in her mouth, the pink plastic guard gently nudging her snub nose up and down as she busily sucked. She straightened her frilly bibbie across her breast, and I’m sure she was completely ignorant of the tell-tale legend it bore. I likewise busily sucked on my dummy-teat, silently regarding her for a minute. I felt compelled to break the silence, but didn’t know what to say. The best I could manage was, “Ga-ga goo?”
Eliza’s big brown eyes regarded me warily over the bobbing pink guard of her dum-dums for a few more moments, then I could see she was smiling. “Goo-goo ga-ga goo-goo goo!” She babbled in reply. Her cheeky smile grew so wide it escaped the wide plastic guard. Even her eyes were smiling. “Goo-goo ga?” She started giggling and the sound was so infectious, I started laughing. I don’t know why. It seemed my emotions were on a roller coaster today, and in seconds we were lying on our backs on the soft padded floor of the playpen laughing and giggling hysterically. Eliza grabbed my empty bottle and threw it over the top rail onto the grass, which produced a fresh bout of hysterics. It was all so silly.
We settled down after a few minutes and managed to sit up. Eliza picked up my Princess Barbie and asked in baby-talk, “Can me play wif your Barbies?”
“Yeth,” I shyly mumbled in reply. I nodded and picked up the brunette doll, and we began undressing them. Eliza and I didn’t say much as we changed our dollies’ clothes and shoes. We just glanced at each other and giggled again, occasionally making babyish babbling sounds to attract the other’s attention.
Jill and Annette walked out a short time later and stepped over beside the playpen to look down at us. Eliza stared up blankly at them, then babbled childishly, “Ga-ga goo-goo ga!”
I sloppily echoed her sentiment around the slippery wet guard of my dum-dums. “Ma-ma ga-ga doo-doo ba!” I burbled wetly. Spit bubbles formed in the corners of my mouth and popped wetly. The girls just laughed and shook their heads in derision.
“What a pair of babies,” was Jill’s dismissive comment.
Annette looked at us with a thoughtful expression. “When I was about eight or nine, I used to love dressing up my little brother in a diaper and one of my old frocks. He was about four or five at the time.” My ears perked up at that piece of information and my clittie instantly grew hard.
Jill giggled and asked, “Didn’t he object?”
“Not really,” the busty brunette replied with a shake of her curls. “I loved playing ‘Mummies and Babies’ with him. He looked really cute dressed as a big baby girl.” I discretely reached under my gingham frock and clutched my warm wet nappy against my straining erection, covering my impulsive actions with my Barbie doll.
“But not as cute as our Baby Candy, I’ll bet?” Jill insisted.
“No way!” Annette replied, and she reached over the top rail to gently pinch my blushing pink cheek. “She’s the most beautiful baby girl I’ve ever seen!” They both sniggered again before she and Jill turned away and walked off.
Eliza and I simply looked at each other and burst into a fit of giggles once more. Although I was saddened to see buxom Annette go, I couldn’t say the same of the tall blonde beauty. There was something about Jill’s cruel sapphire eyes and heartless manner that frightened me. I was glad to see the back of her - especially her peachy bottom beneath her brief twitching blue denim skirt.
Brenda wandered out as the shadows were lengthening under the trees, the scene lit by the golden glow of the slowly setting sun. She smiled when she heard Eliza and I carrying on like silly babies. “Aww! Listen to the little babies babbling,” she cooed, her honeyed voice dripping with contempt. “How sweet!” I fell silent when the buxom blonde crouched down and opened the hinged gate. “Come on girls,” Brenda urged us. “It’s dinner time. Crawl out and we’ll get you ready for din-dins.” I crawled out ahead of Eliza and headed for the front door on my hands and knees. Brenda yelled into the yard, “Julia? Bring your sister inside in a few minutes and wash your hands for dinner. Okay?” The chunky brunette nodded.
“We’ll just finish this go,” Julia replied, and Kate nodded hopefully.
“Give us five more minutes?”
“Okay,” Brenda replied, and she returned her attention to the big babies.
After she crawled out of the playpen, Eliza naturally attempted to rise. Brenda’s firm hand on her back kept the little girl on all fours. When she looked up in confusion Brenda informed her, “Little girls who piddle their pants are nothing but big babies, and babies have to crawl in this house - unless a grown-up is holding their hands.” With a nod of her head she indicated my bobbing plastic-sheathed bottom disappearing inside the house. “Off you go, Baby Eliza,” Brenda sternly insisted, pointing after me crawling down the hallway. With a frown of annoyance Eliza headed after me on her hands and knees, her dum-dums clenched between her teeth - just like me. Suddenly playing babies wasn’t so much fun.
I crawled into the kitchen where Aunty June and Aunty Mandy were waiting for us. “Aha! Here come the little babies,” Aunty June cried in sarcastic delight. Alison giggled at my infantile progress towards the highchair. Brenda herded Eliza crawling into the kitchen behind me and asked her mother, “Which baby girl do we put in the highchair first?”
“I don’t wanna sit in the highchair,” Eliza sniffled. The grown-ups ignored her whimpered protestation.
“It depends,” replied Aunty June. “Which baby need changing the most?”
Aunty Mandy stepped over beside her youngest in her flat Indian sandals and reached inside the waistband of her daughter’s packed pink baby panties. She roughly pulled away the back of Eliza’s pilchers and reached down inside, feeling the bulky cloth bunched between the little girl’s helplessly-splayed thighs. “My baby is still dry,” Mandy reported, removing her hand. She let the tight elastic waistband snap back against the little girl’s back before standing upright, and I saw Eliza grimace around the wide pink guard of her dummy.
Aunty June likewise stepped over in front of me. “Kneel up, Baby Candy,” she ordered. I obeyed, rising on my knees to face her, my eyes level with her crotch. “Hold your dress up out of the way like a good little girl.” I raised the lace-edged hem of my pink gingham frock over my stained damp bibbie, and Aunty leaned down and pulled aside the waistband of my baby panties. “Pee-yew!” She cried, wrinkling her nose in disgust and letting the waistband snap back against my tummy. It didn‘t really hurt, but it was very embarrassing. “I don’t need to feel that nappy to know it’s wet. I can smell your stinky pee-pee from here, you bad baby girl!” Aunty June shook her head in despair. “What have you got to say for yourself, little girl?”
I let my dress hem drop and stared at Aunty June blankly. What did she expect? I was a baby. A big, nappy-wetting, panty-pooping baby. Babies were always wet or dirty. They had no choice. They couldn’t control it. I couldn’t control it. I’m just a baby. In that frame of mind I sloppily replied, “Bub-bub bub-bub bub-bub ba!” Brenda and Alison burst into a fresh fit of giggles. I gazed up at my frowning Aunty June with wide innocent eyes and drooled copiously around the guard of my dummy, feeling the warm saliva trickle down my chin.
Aunty Mandy grimaced in disgust. “What a dribble-puss!” Eliza turned her face away from me, as if she didn’t want to be associated with the drooling, diaper-wetting big baby.
Aunty June snatched up my bibbie and roughly wiped my chin. “Tsk-tsk! Look at the mess you’ve made of your bibbie. It’s drenched with your drool!” She unclipped my 'Princess Potty Pants' bibbie from around my neck and tossed in on the breakfast bench. “You’ll need a clean one for din-dins.” Aunty June shook her head in disappointment and pointed back to the hallway. “Off you go, Baby Candy” she sternly commanded. “Crawl upstairs and I’ll change you into a clean nappy, you silly baby.” I dropped on all fours and obediently crawled back into the hallway and towards the staircase, drooling and babbling like a real baby. “Put Eliza in the highchair and feed her while I change my wet baby,” she suggested to Aunty Mandy. As I crawled up the stairs I heard Eliza squealing objections and Aunty Mandy’s deep booming voice scolding her to sit still and behave.
By the time I reached the change table Aunty June entered the Nursery, and she walked over and scooped me off my hands and knees. She sat me on the edge of the padded table and removed my pink sneakers first, then pushed me onto my back. She ripped my baby panties down and off, snorting with annoyance when she saw they glistened with urine inside. She didn’t bother scolding me when she unpinned my drenched diapers and dumped them in the nappy bucket. She shook her head and clucked her tongue in irritation several times, but she didn’t say a word. Aunty June wiped me down front and back, making sure to scrub away every trace of urine-stained powder. She didn’t bother giving me any instructions either. She simply rolled and pushed my limp body into the positions required to wipe and powder my bottom, and slid some clean nappies underneath me.
She powdered my front and briskly rubbed it in, but this time my shrivelled clittie didn’t react at all. In moments the fluffy nappies were pinned tightly around my loins. Aunty drew the same pink baby panties up my legs, and I grimaced at the clammy feel of the damp leg elastics against my sensitive inner thighs as she tucked them in. When she snapped the tight waistband against my powdery tummy, I caught a whiff of my stale urine and I recalled Aunty June’s heartless advice to Mandy. She said it was appropriate that an older child who still needs to wear diapers should smell like a baby, even when she’s just been freshly changed. With the sweet perfume of baby powder filling the air and a hint of stale urine wafting up to my nostrils, I knew I smelled like a real baby.
Aunty didn’t bother replacing my shoes and I crawled out to the staircase in my stockinged feet. As I was bumping my way downstairs on my puffy bot-bot, Julia and Kate came running inside. When the sisters saw me clumsily descending like a hapless toddler they slowed in the hallway, pausing at the foot of the staircase to watch me. I tried to ignore their solemn expressions and their wide staring eyes, and when I reached the bottom I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled towards the kitchen. That semed to break the spell and the girls ran past me, giggling in derision.
Aunty June followed me downstairs after washing her hands in the bathroom, and she gave me a hefty wallop across the bum to hurry me along as she strode past me in the hallway. Even though her broad palm was noisy on my puffy plastic panties, I barely felt a thing. As I approached the doorway to the kitchen I heard Eliza’s muffled whimpers. “I don’t wanna be a baby anymore,” she pleaded. I could tell from the quaver in her voice that she’d been crying. “I don’t wanna, Mummy.”
“You should have thought of that before you wet your pants,” Aunty Mandy scolded her in her deep booming voice. “Now open up, Baby Eliza. You’re going to eat every scrap of this baby food before I let you out of that highchair.”
“No Mummy! Noo - gmph!” The little girl’s feeble protest was abruptly cut off and a thrill of fear shot through me.
To be continued in chapter 17, "Girls on Film."
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Posted 18 May 2011 - 07:16 PM
mom was wrong.... big boys DO wear diapers!
professional thread killer!
Posted 31 May 2011 - 10:38 PM
Chapter 17. Girls On Film
When I crawled into the kitchen I saw Eliza strapped into my pink highchair - well, her old highchair, really - and Aunty Mandy had a spoonful of tasteless baby food jammed between the writhing girl’s lips. Her lavender-edged bib was smeared with blobs of beige paste and her face was a sticky mess. Obviously she’d been resisting the baby treatment, trying to fight the humiliating spoon-feeding. She’d soon find resistance was useless - as I had quickly discovered for myself. It was easier to give up and simply accept everything the grown-ups dished out - to be the baby they wanted you to be. Aunty June silently pointed to a corner of the kitchen and I crawled to the indicated spot. I rolled onto my bottom, sitting up so I could watch Aunty Mandy discipline her daughter.
Julia and Kate were seated at the table, and my cousins Brenda and Alison had served them small portions of Aunty June’s tuna and egg casserole. It looked and smelled fabulous, served on a bed of steaming white rice. The teenagers served themselves next and joined the others at the table. The younger girls kept glancing up between mouthfuls at their grubby-faced sister in the highchair, but whipped their heads down towards their plates whenever their mother looked their way.
“Open up, baby,” Aunty Mandy commanded Eliza, her face set like stone. When the distressed little girl began to sniffle and cry, Mandy bargained with her. “If you eat up all your didn-dins like a good little girl and you manage to keep that nappy dry, I’ll let you wear a pair of big-girl panties home. Alright? But if you keep making a fuss and carrying on like a sooky baby, then you’ll stay in diapers all night. I might even ask Aunty June if I can have the crib back. You could sleep in your old crib again tonight, just like when you were a baby. Wouldn’t you like that?”
“No Mummy, no!” Eliza tearfully objected. “Don’t make me sleep in the crib any more. I’m not a baby.” She sniffled heavily, trying to contain her emotions. “I’m sorry. I’ll be a good girl,” she pleaded.
“Alright sweetie,” Aunty Mandy responded in a more soothing voice. “You eat up the rest of this baby food and I’ll let you out of the highchair and change you out of that nappy. Okay?”
“Okay Mummy,” Eliza agreed, her bottom lip trembling. She sniffed back her tears and opened her mouth wide, and let her mother shovel in another loaded spoonful of goop. As soon as she swallowed Aunty Mandy had another heaped spoonful at the ready. Eliza obediently opened wide once more.
“Good baby,” Mandy praised her with a small triumphant smile. She scraped the bottom of the plastic bowl with the spoon. “Almost done.”
When Mandy handed Aunty June the empty Barbie bowl and the spoon, Aunty June gave her friend a warm wet washer in return. Mandy swiftly scrubbed clean the little girl’s face and removed her filthy stained 'Piddle-Pants Baby’ bib. She handed the mucky items to Aunty June and raised the hinged tray out of the way. In moments Eliza had been unbuckled from the restraints and lifted down. Aunty Mandy clutched her daughter’s hand so she wouldn’t have to crawl all the way upstairs, and Eliza gave her mother a grateful smile. “I’ll take Eliza up to the baby’s Nursery and change her, alright?” Mandy requested.
“Sure thing,” Aunty June agreed. “Come here, Baby Candy.” She lifted me into the highchair and strapped me in place, then locked the pink tray table against my tummy. She unclipped my dummy and it joined Eliza’s pink dum-dums on the kitchen bench. Aunty June showed me the front of the pink and white bib before she sniggered and clipped it around my neck. It told the world I was ‘Aunty’s Diapered Darling.’
“I’ve finished my dinner,” Julia announced, placing her knife and fork neatly together and pushing her empty plate away. “Can I feed the baby please Aunty June?” Brenda and Alison stopped eating long enough to turn and smirk at each other, then me.
“Certainly, darling,” Aunty June replied, sounding delighted by the idea. “Here’s Baby Candy’s dinner, and here’s her special baby spoon.” She handed a loaded pink plastic Barbie bowl and my pink rubber-coated spoon to the eager eight-year-old.
When she approached the highchair, Julia was barely tall enough to reach my mouth with the spoon. That didn’t deter her and she stood on tip-toes. “Open up, Baby Candy,” she bossily insisted, leaning her torso against the side of the tray to improve her reach. She shovelled in a spoonful of beige paste and ordered, “Chew baby. Good girl, that’s right. Chew up all your yum-yums.” It was terribly embarrassing being spoon-fed by a little girl ten years my junior, but I tried to suppress my sense of mortification. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m just a baby,’ I chanted in my mind as I munched and swallowed, ’just a helpless baby girl.’ I repeated the sentence like a mantra, forcing myself to believe it. ‘I’m just a baby, a helpless little baby girl.’
I opened my mouth and chewed as Julia commanded, even though the sloppy flavourless goop didn’t really need chewing. She wasn’t very accurate with the rubber-coated spoon, and I ended up with baby food splattered all over my face. I didn’t care. Babies don’t get embarrassed. They have no sense of shame. The other girls watched Julia clumsily spoon-feed me with varying expressions - from contemptuous to fascinated to disdainful. I ignored them and spitefully drenched my nappy, relishing the rising heat around my genitals and wriggling my bottom in the spreading wet warmth. ‘I’m just a baby.’
When Mandy escorted her daughter by the hand back into the kitchen, Eliza was walking awkwardly and didn’t look very happy. She was wearing her little lavender skirt again and looked so grown-up, except for the way she kept reaching under the back of her tiny skirt with her free hand to pluck at the bottom of her panties. “I’m sorry, Eliza,” Mandy apologised shortly. “I didn’t bring a spare pair of panties for you today. Mummy thought you were a big girl. You’ll have to wear those old training panties of yours until we get you home.” No wonder the little girl was squirming in discomfort. Her old plastic-lined training panties must have been way too tight, and the bulky cotton crotch prevented her from closing her thighs normally.
“But Mummy,” Eliza whined. “Why can’t I borrow some of Baby Candy’s big-girl panties? The white ones with the red spots were very pretty.”
“Because we don’t know what nasty things that naughty baby girl has done in her pretty panties,” Aunty Mandy haughtily sniffed in reply. I remembered drenching those polka-dot panties a few days ago, and suddenly I had difficulty swallowing, even though my pureed food was a smooth homogeneous paste. “Now stop complaining - or would you rather wear that nappy home?”
“No Mummy.” The little girl clamped her lips shut and let go of her mother’s hand, backing away and shaking her head in denial. Eliza waited until her mother turned away to watch her big sister before sidling over to the kitchen bench.
“Good baby,” Julia sang to me as she spooned the last of the tasteless paste between my food-caked lips, recapturing my attention. She turned to Aunty June sitting at the table. “I’m finished feeding her. Baby Candy ate up all her din-dins.”
“Did she? She’s a good baby girl,” confirmed Aunty June with an approving smile for the pleased eight-year-old. “Thank you Julia. There’s a bottle of milk for her in the microwave. Do you want to give the baby her bottle?”
“Yes please,” Julia happily agreed.
The chubby girl skipped over to the microwave and clicked open the door, and took out one of my huge pink baby bottles. “Give it a little shake first, but be careful not to spill any. Hold the nipple closed with your other fingers.” Julia did as commanded and closed the teat, swirling the bottle to evenly distribute the heat. She stepped over to me beaming with pleasure and shoved the teat in my face. Warm milk sprayed my face and bibbie before I could trap the spurting nipple between my messy lips. I didn’t attempt to take the heavy vessel from Julia’s hands and simply sucked hard, eagerly swallowing down the warm sweet milk. Memories of my fantasy of breastfeeding from Annette’s enormous bosom leapt unbidden in my mind, and my clittie began to reflexively swell inside my humid nappy.
Kate had finished her dinner and she stepped over beside Julia to watch her sister bottle-feed me in my highchair. Her expression was one of amusement tinged with contempt. When Julia grew bored, she gestured to me to hold my own bottle. I grabbed it and tilted the base up high, careless of the milk trickling from the corners of my mouth, thinking, ‘I’m just a baby. I’m a helpless little baby girl.’ Aunty Mandy ordered, “Julia, take your sisters out the front and gather up your things. I’ll be with you in a few minutes and we’ll drive home. I just have to speak with Aunty June first.” Julia obediently gathered up her younger sisters. They politely bid Aunty June and her daughters goodbye before dashing down the hallway towards the front door.
Aunty June followed Mandy into the hallway, where they paused to talk quietly for a few minutes. I couldn’t hear what they were saying over my slurping baby bottle, and enviously watched the teenagers finishing their yummy meals. Brenda and Alison rinsed their plates, dumped them in the dishwasher and cleaned up the pots and the colander. By the time Aunty June said goodbye to Mandy and the girls and returned to the kitchen, I’d drained my bottle. “Alison, wipe the baby down and then take her upstairs and put her straight to bed. I hear she threw a tantrum this afternoon. She can have an early night.”
“Sure thing, Mum.” Alison approached me holding up a warm wet washer and smirking broadly. “Our poor baby girl must be exhausted after her busy day of shopping and playing with her little baby friends.”
After she finished roughly scrubbing my filthy face, Alison unclipped my stained bibbie and tossed both items on the kitchen bench. She picked up my dum-dums and shoved the amber rubber teat between my lips, and clipped the chain to the lacy collar of my pink gingham frock. I noticed the other dummy was missing from the bench. I wondered if Eliza had secretly snatched it up before she left, to use when she wanted to play ‘Babies’ later? Alison lifted me down from the highchair and I dropped on all fours and crawled to the hallway. I heard Brenda giggling at the sight of my bobbing panty-bottom swishing femininely from side to side as I clumsily shuffled out of sight. “Ga-ga goo-goo ga-ga goo,” I babbled. The nonsense rhymes seemed to help suppress my sense of shame. “Ga-ga ga-ga goo-goo goo!”
Alison followed me crawling upstairs and into my Nursery, chuckling at the infantile babbling sounds I was making. I paused beside my cot and the raven-haired beauty commanded, “Kneel up, baby girl.” She unclipped my dummy chain first, then untied my pigtail ribbons and pulled out my elastic hair bands. The hair accessories went on the vanity. Alison lifted the hem of my frock and I raised my arms so she could slip my juvenile gingham dress free of my body. “Keep your hands up, sweetheart.” Alison replaced my frock with a silky nylon nightgown. Like my pink satin nightie, this sheer white baby doll gown barely covered my diapered hips, leaving the crotch of my bulging pink plastic panties permanently on display. She clipped the chain to the high round collar of my billowing nightie and then patted my crib mattress. “Up you hop, baby.”
As soon as I climbed inside and lay back, Alison raised the barred side rail and locked me in. She didn’t even bother checking my nappy. She closed the curtains as it was still light outside, then stepped to the door and switched off the overhead light. “Sweet dreams, Baby Candy,” the grinning beauty wished me before she closed the Nursery door behind her. My tummy was full and my nappy was warm and wet. I let my hands rest on the front of my bulging baby panties and gently pressed the warm wad of cloth against my clittie. I closed my eyes and drifted off while I was fondling myself, chewing contentedly on the rubber teat in my mouth.
I jerked awake when I felt someone’s fingers worming inside the tight leg of my baby panties. “Ma-ma?” I burbled wetly around the sloppy pink guard of my dum-dums. I don’t know what time it was. It felt like I’d been asleep for hours.
“Shh baby girl. Shh.” It was Aunty June’s voice, but her tone sounded abnormally calm and soothing. “Here darling.” She gently plucked out my dummy teat and replaced it with the nipple of a baby bottle. Cool water trickled down my throat and I grabbed the heavy vessel to prevent it striking me in the face. Aunty lowered the side of my crib and flipped my slinky nylon nightie over my tummy, then tugged down my crackling baby panties to my ankles. “You’re so wet!” She whispered, but she didn’t sound annoyed or angry. “I’ll have to change you or you’ll wet through and soak the bed sheets. Relax, baby. I’ll do it.” She unpinned my wet nappy and pulled it out from under me without bothering to ask me to lift my bum.
I opened my eyes a fraction and cautiously glanced around. Through the drawn curtains I could see it was dark outside. The Nursery was dimly lit by a Tinkerbelle night light on the vanity, and the house was deathly quiet. Aunty June tossed the sodden bundle in the nappy bucket beside the change table, took two clean nappies from the shelf underneath and returned to the side of my crib. Her long dark-brown hair lay loose over her shoulders, softening her hard face. Although naturally pretty, she didn’t look anywhere near as beautiful as when she was properly made-up. She was barefoot, dressed only in her mint-green nylon nightie and obviously ready for bed. Her legs were long and shapely beneath the brief lace-edged hem.
I tried not to stare at her heavy swaying breasts as they shifted beneath the sheer silky material of her nightgown. It was clear she wasn’t wearing a bra and her nipples were the size of thimbles, like her youngest daughter, poking out prominently through the filmy material. I wondered if she wore panties to bed like her daughters, but the light was too dim for me to tell. Aunty June gave me a quick clean with scented baby wipes front and back, then dusted me with powder. She scooped up my legs and rolled me back onto my shoulders, sliding the prepared nappies underneath me. In moments they were pinned tightly around my hips and my damp baby panties replaced. “Back to sleep, baby girl,” Aunty June whispered as she gently stroked my hair. I sucked down another mouthful of water and didn’t reply. I didn’t understand why she was being so nice to me. I didn’t realise that she was actually treating me like a real baby girl - one who couldn’t be held responsible for her actions. The smiling brunette raised the crib side and quietly walked out, and I closed my eyes and fell asleep once more.
When I woke up again it was daylight and I was lying on my back. I stretched as much as I could inside the confinement of my crib, then patted the front of my baby panties. I was wet - as usual. I chewed on my dum-dums, enjoying the familiar feel of a nipple in my mouth, and squeezed my crotch harder. Very wet. And hard. I caressed my throbbing clittie, pressing the stimulating wet warmth against my tenting hard-on. I dimly remembered Aunty June changing my nappy last night, but I wasn’t sure if it was merely a fragment from a pleasant dream. I strained to hear any voices, but the big old house seemed strangely silent. I continued massaging the front of my crackling plastic panties, revelling in the naughty erotic sensations. Part of me wondered if I should roll onto my tummy to conceal what I was doing from anyone who might wander in. Another part insisted, ‘I’m just a baby. I don’t care. Babies don’t feel embarrassed or ashamed…’
“Goo-goo goo-goo ga.” I started babbling quietly around my dum-dums, slurping noisily on the firm rubber teat, and my babyish sounds seemed to encourage me. I slid my hand inside my pink plastic panties, relishing the sweet ammonia smell seeping out, and pushed my fingers beneath the warm wet cloth. “Ba-ba ma-ma goo-goo goo!” I clutched my throbbing moist clittie and began stroking it, wriggling and kicking my little legs in the air like a real infant. I was a baby. A helpless baby girl. The thought made my throbbing clittie even harder and I frantically caressed the swollen shaft as I burbled wetly, “Ba-ba goo-goo goo-goo ga-ga ga!” That was how Brenda discovered me when she bounced into the Nursery.
I didn’t know how late it was, but the beautiful blonde had already showered and dressed for the day. She was heavily made-up as usual, her full lips painted with glossy pink lipstick and rosy pink blush emphasising her high round cheeks this morning. Mascara and black eyeliner made her emerald eyes look huge and they sparkled with wicked anticipation. Her long tawny-blonde hair was brushed back into a neat high ponytail flopping halfway down her back. Around her narrow waist she wore a crisp white cotton skirt with multiple pleats, which flared out attractively over her wide child-bearing hips and big curvaceous bottom. The hem fell to her mid-thighs, very demure for Brenda, and she had white cotton socks and pink sneakers on her feet. She wore a baggy, oversized sheer white cotton blouse, unbuttoned all the way, and under it a stretchy pink boob-tube top pressed her enormous breasts against her lush body. From the way her thimble-sized nipples poked out, I didn’t think she was wearing a bra under the skin-tight shirred top. I sucked harder on the rubber teat, ignoring the rush of saliva in my mouth.
“Oh my God!” The buxom blonde giggled in derision as she leaned over the crib rail. Her wobbling breasts threaten to spill free of her boob-tube. Her tone turned reproachful. “Baby Candy! You can’t stop playing with yourself, can you?” Brenda reached in and ripped my hand out of my nappy, grimacing at the urine glistening on my fingers. “Bad baby!” She gently smacked the back of my wrist in remonstration. “Stop that, you naughty baby! Oh, you’re wet!” She thrust my damp hand away. “I hope you haven’t pooped that nappy too, you smelly baby girl?”
“Ga-ga goo-goo ga-ga ga!” I replied around my sloppy dum-dums, making her giggle.
“You cute baby! Roll over, baby girl.” I turned onto my tummy as she unlocked and lowered the barred side rail. Brenda lifted the waistband of my pink baby panties at the back, bent closer and took a loud sniff. “Nope,” she declared, sounding pleased. “You’re wet but not poopy. Good girl. Crawl out baby, and you can come downstairs for breakfast.” I slid out of the crib and dropped on all fours, and followed her out of the Nursery.
Brenda paused halfway down the stairs and turned back to watch me. I obediently crawled to the top, sat down and lowered my bare feet to the step below. She smiled in approval as I bumped my way down the first few steps on my droopy wet bottom like a big baby. “If you can hold your poo-poos till I put you on the potty after breakfast, I’ll let you finish what you were doing in your crib,” she promised with an enticing smile.
“Goo-goo ga!” I smiled up at her around my dum-dums and nodded eagerly. I was pretty sure I could hold it till then, wondering if the daring teen would let me suckle from her beautiful breasts at the same time?
Brenda laughed again, her huge emerald eyes sparkling. “I love it when you talk and act like a real baby girl. Keep doing that,” she insisted, “and I’ll give you an extra treat as well.” She flipped aside her unbuttoned shirt front and cupped her massive mammaries meaningfully beneath the shirred pink boob-tube, lifting them high so her nipples almost popped out the top. She released her unfettered F-cup breasts and let them flop down, then giggled at the hungry expression on my face before she whirled around and skipped downstairs. My clittie grew harder inside my deliciously drenched diaper. I admired her plump womanly thighs and muscular tanned calves, and the enchanting way her big round bottom erotically twitched from side to side beneath her pleated white skirt. She really was a beautiful girl, with a fabulous figure. I noticed a visible panty-line beneath her tight cotton skirt too, which aroused my curiosity as well.
To be continued...
Post a response here if you want me to continue.
Posted 31 May 2011 - 11:28 PM
Posted 04 June 2011 - 01:09 AM
Posted 04 June 2011 - 07:39 PM
plus i wonder if her cousin is wearing any underwear...
mom was wrong.... big boys DO wear diapers!
professional thread killer!
Posted 04 June 2011 - 11:06 PM
After I crawled into the kitchen babbling like a mindless one-year-old, Brenda helped me climb into the highchair. “Up we get, sweetie,” she cooed. She sounded so sweet, like she was talking to a favourite toddler niece. I didn’t see her phone sitting on top of the fridge, the camera lens aimed at my pink highchair. Brenda kept her back to the phone camera and buckled me in, lowered and locked the tray, then clipped a frilly bib around my neck. “Here’s your pretty bibbie.” I didn’t bother checking if it carried an embarrassing message, although I could see Brenda smiling when she read the words. I didn’t care if my pretty bibbie told the world I was a ‘Little Miss Squishy Britches.’
“Open up, Baby Candy. Good girl.” Brenda spoon-fed me my porridge, wiped my face with my bibbie when I made a mess, and giggled when I babbled messily between mouthfuls. Encouraged by these signs of approval, I kept up my juvenile shenanigans. Brenda finally ignored the constant stream of food and spittle dripping down my chin and kept feeding me regardless, careful not to block my grubby face from the camera lens with her voluptuous frame.
She gave my face a quick wipe with my bibbie when we finished, and then handed me a bottle of juice to hold all by myself. “Here you go darling,” Brenda sweetly encouraged me, “here’s your ba-ba. Hold your own bottle for Mummy.” The smiling blonde beauty didn’t tease or torment me as I greedily shoved the teat in my mouth and tilted the base of the bottle up high. I didn’t even notice that she referred to herself as ‘Mummy.’ She was playing the maternal role to the hilt. Brenda simply treated me like a real baby girl, doing everything for me and expecting nothing of me. In a way it was very soothing, and I relaxed into my assigned role while she tidied up the breakfast things.
When I finished my bottle I banged the empty plastic vessel on the pink tray, squealing “Ba-ba! Ba-ba!”
“Yes baby, ba-ba! You finished your bottle like a good widdle baby girl,” Brenda praised me in syrupy baby-talk. “Good girl, Baby Candy! What a good baby girl!” She took the empty bottle apart, threw the bits in the dishwasher and switched it on, then returned to me holding up my pink pacifier. She waggled it at the end of the pink plastic chain, asking, “Does baby want her dum-dums?”
“Dum-dums! Dum-dums!” I squealed, leaning forward against the tight wooden tray and reaching for the amber teat with my lips.
Brenda laughed and let me wrap my pouting lips around the substitute nipple before pushing it deeply into my mouth. She clipped the dangling plastic chain to my nightie collar with an affectionate smile. “Come on, baby,” she sang. She raised the tray and released me from the leather straps. “Climb down and you can crawl upstairs to the bathroom and I’ll put you on your pink potty. Won’t that be fun?” She kindly eased me forward and helped me clamber down from the highchair like I was incapable of doing it myself.
“Ba-ba ga-ga goo-goo ga!” I happily replied around my dum-dums, crawling ahead of her out the door. I assumed Aunty June was already at work, and I couldn’t hear Alison moving about upstairs. I hoped my older cousin had gone out for the day too. The fewer witnesses to the humiliating performance I was about to be forced to give - the better.
Brenda took her time following me upstairs. I didn’t realise she had stopped to collect her phone and check the video images she’d recorded of me performing like a real baby in my highchair. The sound was tinny, but the only image of her was of her back and the back of her head. She was satisfied no-one could identify her in the recording. Brenda was smiling gleefully when she joined me in the bathroom. My pink plastic teddy bear potty was sitting in the middle of the room next to a blue towelling bathmat. She pointed to the bathmat and ordered, “Lie down there on your back, baby.” She turned her back on me and switched on her phone camera again, setting it on the vanity bench so the image included my potty and me lying back on the blue mat. The beautiful blonde stepped over beside me and knelt down facing me, once again careful to keep her face tilted away from the camera lens.
“Lift that widdle bot-bot,” she sang. I obediently raised my soggy bottom and she whipped down my pink plastic panties. “Ballerina toesies,” Brenda cooed, and she tugged them clear of my feet. “Good girl.” She tossed them in the nappy bucket and pressed down on the sodden front of my diaper with her fingertips. “Ooo! What a wet nappy! What a wet widdle baby girl,” she crooned in a voice thick as treacle. She didn’t look or sound upset with me. If anything, she seemed delighted to find me drenched as usual. She unpinned me and drew the front down, and I think she was a little disappointed I wasn’t hard and throbbing as usual. “Lift that bot-bot for Mummy,” she sweetly ordered, and she slid the drenched diapers from underneath me. They joined my baby panties in the nappy bucket and she quickly replaced the lid. She stood up and moved to the sink to wash her hands.
“Alright, baby. You can hop on your pot-pot.” Brenda smiled in approval when I rolled onto my tummy and crawled towards my potty. I grabbed the teddy-bear ears for support and clambered to my feet like an unsteady toddler. I straddled the infant commode and flopped down on the low plastic seat with a sigh of relief, my dummy clenched between my teeth to stop it popping out. Brenda leaned down and kindly pulled the lacy hem of my white nylon nightie up out of harm’s way, then tucked my limp clittie under the seat scoop in front. “Go on, baby. Show me how you go wee-wees and poo-poos in your potty like a good little girl,” she encouraged me as she stepped out of camera range again. “You won’t get your special treat unless you do,” she warned me.
Even though it was embarrassing being put on the potty and watched like a hopeless toddler, I tried to concentrate on Brenda’s tempting promise instead. I fantasised about lying across her lap as she lowered her top and exposing her luscious russet nipples to my wide hopeful eyes. She leaned back against the vanity bench watching me with those sparkling emerald eyes, a little smile playing about her pretty pink lips. The thought of suckling from Brenda’s magnificent breasts again instantly made my clittie start to swell, and I naturally sucked harder on my dum-dums in excitement. I had to think of something horrible to make my swelling tool shrivel enough to let me pee. I imagined Aunty June coming at me with the punishment paddle, and that seemed to help.
I inhaled deeply, bit down on the rubber teat as I held my breath, and pushed down hard with my tummy muscles. My face turned red and my cheeks bulged like a chipmunk’s, but Brenda’s melodious voice sweetly encouraged me. “That’s it. Good girl! What a good baby girl!” She clapped her hands in delight when she heard my amber stream gushing into the plastic bowl, then I let out a muffled fart. My cheeks turned pink when she giggled at the rude sound, but she didn’t stop egging me on in syrupy baby talk. “That’s it, Baby Candy. What a good widdle baby girl! Push out a great big poo-poo in your potty. We don’t want you accidentally messing your nappies like yesterday.” I cringed at the unwelcome memory and bit down harder on my dum-dums as I pushed even more.
I felt my anus dilate and a hot stream of slurry squirted into my potty, the stinky mess farting noisily out of me. I felt my pink cheeks turn a rosier hue and I ducked my head in disgrace. Despite my embarrassment, as my golden stream dwindled to a halt I took another deep breath, held it and pushed again. Some firmer lumps popped out of my straining sphincter and plopped noisily into the bowl. After another few minutes of pushing and straining, no more came out of me. I looked up hopefully at Brenda, but she shook her head in denial. “No baby. You have to sit there for a few more minutes, to make sure you’re really finished.” She giggled as she added, “I don’t trust you, baby girl.” She turned on the bathtub taps and dropped the plug in the drain, then squirted some fragrant bubble-bath into the filling tub.
I didn’t see her collect her phone from the bench before she walked out. Brenda dashed into her bedroom and downloaded the images from the camera onto her computer, giggling gleefully at the clarity of the recordings. You could see - and hear - everything! She emptied the phone’s memory card and set the camera to video mode again, then walked into my Nursery. She held the phone out and carefully examined the moving images on the screen as she panned around the room. If she set the phone on the change table, she’d be able to record us in the crib. Brenda placed the phone on the edge of the padded surface and bent over the table to examine the image. If she tilted the camear lens just so, the viewer would be able to see anyone lying in the crib, but someone sitting up would have their face concealed from view. Perfect!
Brenda carefully noted the position, then picked up her phone and stepped over to the tall wardrobe at the end of the room. She selected the toddler frock she wanted for me to wear - the sheer yellow one with the elaborate white lace accents, and took out my fluffy chiffon petticoat as well. She hung them on the end of my crib opposite the change table, then picked out some white anklet socks with pretty yellow frills, and my black patent Maryjanes. She stuffed the socks inside one shoe and tucked the feminine footwear under the change table. Finally she laid out two clean fluffy nappies, arranging them in the centre of the padded table, and she made sure there was a pretty pair of yellow plastic panties on top of the pile on the shelf underneath.
She returned to the wardrobe and closed the door, then reached up and carefully placed her phone on top. Brenda made sure the lens was aimed at the change table, and tilted it forward for an overhead view. She knew the camera would capture her face when she walked back to pick up the camera, but she intended editing those parts out. She checked the recorded image and smiled in delight, switched off her phone and walked out of the Nursery.
I was still perched on my potty in the bathroom, sucking my dum-dums and wrinkling my nose in distaste at the nasty smell when Brenda stepped into the bathroom fanning her hand in front of her face. “Pooh! Yuck-spuck!” she cried in revulsion, screwing up her pretty face. I ducked my head in disgrace and didn‘t see her place her phone on the vanity bench again and switch on the camera, the recording lens aimed at me. She turned off the bath taps and the room suddenly went quiet. She stepped over to the toilet and wrapped a long length of toilet paper around her hand.
In the deafening silence Brenda demanded, “Did you do a poo-poo in the potty?” I nodded, looking up at her and hoping for a smile of approval. Her expression was one of maternal concern and she sounded like she was speaking down to a real toddler when she asked, “Was it a big poo-poo, baby girl?”
I nodded again, babbling “Poo-pooth!”
“What else did you do in your potty, Baby Candy? Tell Mummy?”
“Wee-weeth,” I lisped in my high-pitched little-girl voice, eager to please my buxom babysitter. “Wee-weeth Mummy!”
“What a good baby girl! Such a good baby for Mummy!” I beamed up at her, basking in the warmth of Brenda’s praise. “Alright baby girl. Hop up and kneel beside your potty on the mat facing away from me, so I can wipe your bits.” I obeyed, climbing off the plastic commode and sliding onto all fours, unaware my bare bum was facing the recording camera.
“Legs apart. Wider, baby,” Brenda firmly insisted, as she tossed my silky nylon nightie up over my back. “Face down and bum up. I have to wipe your widdle clittie first.” I submissively spread my knees wide on the bathmat and tilted my bum up, rolling my hips back to give her better access to my leaking tool. Brenda reached between my thighs and wiped the dripping tip of my clittie, and it twitched into wakefulness. “Good baby. Now pull those dirty botty-cheeks apart so I can wipe your bum,” she commanded, flicking her long blonde ponytail out of her way over her shoulder. Glad that my shame-tinged cheeks were turned away from her, I let my hot red face rest on the mat and delicately spread my bum cheeks.
“Oh baby! What a dirty little poo-poo hole,” she tittered, her tone a mix of revulsion and amusement. “Hold those cheeks wide apart for Mummy and don’t let go.” I writhed in embarrassment as she carefully wiped my messy back door again and again, scraping away every trace of sticky faeces from my winking sphincter. “Keep still, baby girl. Hold it just like that. Good girl. We’re almost done here.” It was mortifying - yet strangely erotic being tended to by Brenda in this highly personal manner. In spite of my overwhelming sense of shame, my sensitive clittie swelled in arousal, but I made sure to keep my bum cheeks stretched as wide as possible.
“Don’t move, baby. Stay like that.” She made me remain in that humiliating exposed position while she disposed of the soiled tissue and emptied my potty into the toilet. The contents dropped into the bowl with a noisy ‘splash.’ She flushed the toilet and dumped the empty but stained pink plastic potty in the shower recess, muttering, “You can deal with that later, little girl.” She turned to me with a false bright smile. “It’s bath time now, baby,” she sang. She made me turn around and kneel up facing her so she could remove my silky baby doll nightie, laughing when my little stiffie popped into view. She unclipped the dummy chain from the lacy collar and placed my dum-dums on the vanity bench, then helped me climb in the bath. She picked up her phone, made sure it had recorded my embarrassing clean-up, and switched it off. While I soaked in a hot tub full of strawberry-scented bubbles, Brenda disappeared.
I lay back relaxing in the steaming water, thinking about my promised breastfeeding session with Brenda and discretely fondling my stiff little tool beneath the bubbles. I wished I had my dum-dums, and glanced longingly at the oversized baby soother on the vanity. I didn’t wonder what my conniving cousin was up to at all. I assumed she was getting my nappies and stuff ready. First Brenda slipped into her bedroom to download the latest recording she’d made onto her computer, regretting that her phone’s memory was so limited. She plugged in the charger at the same time and made sure her phone was recharging. She dashed downstairs and found some Blu-tac - temporary sticky putty - in her mother’s utility drawer in the kitchen.
Brenda warmed up a handful of the blue putty, kneading it between her fingers to make it sticky as she trotted upstairs. She moved the chair in the Nursery over beside the wardrobe and climbed on top. She wadded a lump of Blu-tac on top of the wardrobe where she wanted to stick the phone, then jumped down. She stuck the remaining adhesive to the underside of the change table, close to where she would need it afterwards. Finally she removed my white leather toddler harness and matching baby mittens from the wardrobe, grabbed the matching leather reins, and shoved everything in the vinyl change bag beside the padded table. It already contained a few fresh nappies and some clean baby panties for me. The slim plastic tub of moist scented wipes had been refilled and there was a bottle of baby powder packed in the inside pockets, plus some empty plastic bags for the used nappies. Satisfied with her preparations, Brenda collected her phone and returned to the bathroom, setting it on the vanity once more.
She recorded every moment as she gave me my baby bath - how I played with the frothy bubbles and cooed and babbled for her like a contented baby girl. Brenda treated me like a real baby and washed every inch of me front and back. My clittie was stiff and hard with excitement by the time she pulled out the plug and ordered me to stand. Bubbles stuck to my body and a mound of white froth almost covered my little hard-on. Brenda wiped away the scented remains from my hairless crotch with a damp washcloth and her touch made my stiff clittie surge to greater fullness, rising up to slap my hairless tummy. She giggled at my evident arousal and deliberately angled my body so my embarrassingly tiny erection would be recorded by the camera, too. After Brenda helped me clamber out and dried me off, I dropped to my hands and knees without being told.
“Good girl,” she praised me, popping my dum-dums back in my mouth. I sucked on the firm rubber teat gratefully. Brenda discretely picked up her phone on the way and frowned when she realised it was only three-quarters charged. She only had about fifteen or twenty minutes of video recording left before it conked out and needed recharging again. I crawled after the beautiful buxom blonde into the Nursery with my stiff little clittie noisily slapping against my tum-tums, the pink plastic chain dangling from my lips and the white clip brushing the floor. I saw my voluptuous cousin shrug her shoulders as she mentally reassured herself, ‘That should be long enough.’
“Wait there beside your change table, baby girl,” Brenda ordered, pointing to the required spot. I crawled into position facing the head end of the table, my bare bum towards her as she stepped over to the wardrobe. She silently hopped up onto the chair and swiftly stuck the recording phone camera in place on top of the wardrobe, making sure it was secure and tilted to the correct angle. She noisily jumped down and when I turned to look back over my shoulder to see what she was doing, she pointed at the padded surface and commanded, “Up you hop, baby. Lie down on your change table and I’ll pin you into a lovely fresh nappy. Isn’t that what you want?”
To be continued...
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Hugs from Baby Jennie in Australia
Posted 08 June 2011 - 08:30 PM
mom was wrong.... big boys DO wear diapers!
professional thread killer!
Posted 08 June 2011 - 09:15 PM
Please, do not take that as a criticism of the story. It's just a reaction, is all.
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