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Chapter One Lucas stirred in his sleep as the vague shapes and colours of the room began to form in front of him. His body felt weak and heavy, and his thoughts were cloudy. He mumbled to himself, trying to form words. Something heavy covered his body - warm and soft, he soon realised it was a blanket. He had guessed it must be a mattress underneath him - one of the most comfortable mattresses he had ever slept on. Despite his grogginess, he could tell he was uninjured, and seemed to be somewhere safe. He rubbed his eyes and groaned, a bit louder and more full-throated this time, signifying his waking. “Oh my… Lucas?” He heard a voice from above him. He turned to it, startled, and saw a face staring back. A woman, probably in her mid to late 30’s, whose concern shone through her eyes as they gazed down. Though his vision was quickly returning, Lucas couldn’t trust what he saw just yet. He was sure he had to be seeing things - looking up, this woman appeared to be large. Very large, in fact - the perspective didn’t make sense to him. In any case, he didn’t recognise her, or this place, and didn’t know how she would know his name. When he didn’t answer, the woman reached her hand out and gently caressed the side of his cheek with her finger. He jolted to full alertness - the feeling of her finger against his face felt incredibly real. But again, the finger was enormous - her hand would certainly have been big enough to cover his entire face. This woman seemed to be a giant, and he did not seem to be dreaming as was his first instinct. “Wh-what the…” he gasped as he shifted away from the hand, his body still difficult to move. He felt a stiffness in his muscles, beyond the usual fatigue he would have after waking up, and what’s more, he noted that whatever clothing he had on was somewhat restrictive. Its unusual material made it difficult to move with speed. He thought to check, but given the weight of the blanket on top of him, he couldn’t do much about it. He was more concerned with the woman, anyway, whose face was now showing signs of simultaneous surprise and relief, a warmth emanating from her expression. “Oh dear, it’s alright. You’re safe here, really. You’re safe…” “What’s… what’s happening? Am I dreaming?” His eyes were transfixed on the woman, her enormous height, and what she was wearing - an elegant maid’s uniform, with a white headdress and neatly fitted black button-up blouse. “You’re not dreaming, dear. Not now, anyway. My name is Miss Hazel, and you are safe with me. I promise. How are you feeling?” Her words seemed sincere, and her demeanour certainly backed that up. She had a calming presence, a warm tone and deep, brown eyes which invited Lucas to stare into them - not least because of their size. She brushed her brown hair from her face and smiled. “I’m… I feel weak… it’s hard to move.” She nodded in acknowledgment. “Yes, the doctor said that would be the case. It should subside soon. Rest assured, you are healthy as can be, blessings.” “D-doctor? What doctor? I don’t… I don’t remember much…” Lucas began rubbing his head, tossing his messy blonde hair. “That will subside too. I can explain everything. Come…” Hazel then lowered something, a wooden frame at the side of the large bed, one which Lucas immediately wondered how he hadn’t noticed already. It was a set of pale wooden bars which lowered down, allowing Hazel to reach over to him more easily. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think it was a cr- Whoosh! The blanket was pulled away from Lucas, and a cold sweep of air sent a shiver across his body. He was wearing a plain purple t-shirt, and his legs were exposed too. When the sudden shock of the chills passed, he looked down and took a few moments to process what he saw. Between his legs, in place of normal underwear, he saw a heavy, thick mass of plastic wrapped around his waist. Though mostly white, it bore a large printed design of some kind. Though he couldn’t get a good look at it, it was clearly some kind of pink cartoonish image. As his legs shuffled in the cold, the garment crinkled loudly with the sound of plastic ruffling. There was no doubt about either of his realisations - he was sleeping in a giant crib, and wearing a diaper. “Wait, what?! What is this?” He stared incredulously at the diaper, his arms not strong enough to tear it off, though he certainly wanted to. Instead of an answer, he was greeted by Hazel’s two large hands, which tucked under his arms and promptly lifted him high into the air with seemingly no effort. He was disoriented by the sudden movement, his head still a bit dizzy. “I know, I know. I’ll explain everything here, don’t you worry.” They began moving across the room, where Hazel sat into a rocking chair not far from the crib. She placed him sitting on her lap - as a giant, her lap was easily large enough for him to sit on without bending his legs and be comfortable. He looked to a side table and saw a cup of tea and a downturned book, halfway finished. It seemed Hazel had been sitting her for some time when he slept. “Now Lucas, we’ll just go through things slowly, okay?” “How do you know my name?” “We looked at your identification when we found you. I didn’t mean to unnerve you.” “Found me?” Hazel paused and her eyes wandered a bit, clearly in thought. She was searching for where to begin. “Lucas… do you remember ever hearing about the dimension of the Amazons?” With that word, things began falling into place for Lucas, though the realisation was horrifying and he tried not to think about it too much beyond answering her immediate question. “Y-yeah… though I never looked into it too much.” She nodded. “Lucas, there isn’t any easy way to tell you this, but you seem to have had a run-in with a portal - I believe the experts called it a ‘spontaneous spacial fissure’. They open randomly and close just as quick.” “Wait, yes - I remember… I remember seeing a flash of light… I was riding my bike home from work, and suddenly I couldn’t see anything, and my skin felt tingly, and then…” Hazel began rubbing Lucas’ back gently. “It’s alright, dear. That must have been so scary. But you’re safe now, I promise.” Lucas nodded. She seemed to be able to tell he was about to start panicking. He still was on the inside, but her kind words helped stave off the worst of it. The silence prompted her to continue. “Two days ago, we found you unconscious in the garden. We immediately recognised you as a Little - that’s what we Amazons call people from your dimension. We called specialists who gave you a medical check up. Like I said, you’re perfectly healthy, but you’ll feel some after effects of the portal for a few days. We took you in and I’ve been keeping an eye for when you wake up.” “So… why am I wearing… is this what I think it is?” He didn’t gesture, but she knew what he meant right away. “Yes, it was necessary to give you some… protection. You see, Lucas… there’s some difficult things I have to tell you. Portals, from what I understand, are random events - they open and close too sporadically to be predicted. What that means is that you can’t go back to your dimension. You must stay here.” The words fell on him like a ton of bricks. It’s difficult to process the feeling of losing your entire life all in one moment. He began racing through what it really meant - all the people he wouldn’t see again, the places, his job, his apartment - and even more concerning was the realisation that, at least from his perspective, he didn’t think he would actually be missed by anyone at home. “Lucas? Darling?” She shook him gently from his stupor. He looked up at her, eyes pleading for this to be some kind of dream. “I know it’s a lot to take in. Now, the way things work here… well, when Littles come to our world, it’s necessary for a number of reasons to take care of them the same way you would a baby. It’s all to do with the way your body adjusts to the new dimension, as well as the… stronger parental instincts of Amazons. I wish it wasn’t the case, but that diaper is for your own good.” “I can never go back…” “In fact, for your own protection, you’ve already been legally adopted. It’s so you can be properly cared for. It’s for your own good, honey.” Her words were dripping with warmth and clearly intended to comfort, though she knew there was no way to fully soften this news. “Adopted?!” He shuffled in her lap in a feeble attempt to escape it, quickly stopped by her grasp which turned from gentle to stifling. “You’re going to just… keep me?” “Well, not me, per se. Officially you’ve been adopted by their Highnesses.” “High… huh?” “Oh my, yes. How silly of me. Here.” With that, Hazel picked Lucas up from her lap and rose once more, walking across the room to the window, which she pointed Lucas towards so he may look out of it. What he saw was the sprawling field of an estate, encircled by high walls with flower gardens and a hedge maze dotting the lawn. Beyond the wall was a town with tall buildings. In the foreground, just outside the window he saw old stone walls and towers, pristinely carved and kept but clearly quite old. He was in a castle, and a large one at that. “Just there, outside the hedge maze, that’s where we found you two days ago. You arrived in a flash of light and we took you inside. As you were a new arrival, the protocol would have been to hand you over to the Adoption Services, but Queen Charlotte took a quick liking to you. She had been considering adopting for a while, so she thought of your arrival as a happy accident.” “This is insane… don’t I get a say in this? You can’t just adopt me and treat me like a baby without my permission!” She turned Lucas back around to face her, propping her up in her arm and looking at him with deep sympathy. “I’m sorry, Lucas… I know this is a lot to take in, and I wish it was different, but this is how things are here. And… er, well… there is one more unfortunate thing I have to tell you…” “Hazel? Who are you talking to?” Hazel and Lucas swung their heads to the doorway, through which a figure came walking into the room. She was a woman in her 40’s or 50’s, with long, elegant blonde hair and a beautiful ornate gown in light blue. She was dressed immaculately, and immediately in Lucas’ mind it seemed obvious that this was the ‘Queen Charlotte’ he’d heard of. As soon as she laid eyes on Lucas, they lit up with joy. “Oh heavens! You’re awake! Hazel, you didn’t call me?” “Oh, your highness, I was just, erm, explaining the situation…” Charlotte came over, her heels loud even against the carpeting of the room, with joy on her face and her hands outstretched. She quickly took Lucas from her and held him in front of her face, to get a good look at him. He was none too happy about being passed around so casually, and even though he wasn’t keen on anyone in this room right now, he did feel a bit unnerved being away from Hazel and her soothing nature. “Hello there my darling! It’s so wonderful to see you. How is my new baby girl feeling?” Lucas paused. Had he heard right? Was his mind still playing tricks on him? He spoke up to make sure. “Uh… I’m not….” Hazel interrupted and spoke with a grand tone, clearly rehearsed though with a touch of hesitance in her voice as she looked at Lucas. “Y-yes, your highness, allow me to present for the first time, in her official debut to the royal family of Avalir… Princess Lucille.” “W-what?!”

Michael, don't you know I was born to turn you on? You must, you've told me it enough times. You've whispered it in my ear in public, making me blush and squirm as you laughed. You've growled it at me as you held me down at hit me with all your strength. You've teased me with it as I lay tied to your bed, unable to move. And I loved it each time. I love that I am that object for you, that toy, that serves that one singular purpose. I love that I do it so well, and that we both know I'll do it in anyway you want. I love how far you've taken me, you've pushed in that direction. My question is, can you see beyond that? (And do I care if you do?) ... "No... no I can't!," I say, shaking my head. There were tears in my eyes already, just seeing what they intended. Michael loomed over me, as he always does. I always felt smell next to him. "No? Are you arguing? Should I get the paddle, and we can have a nice long discussion about it?" He grabbed my wrist and pulled me in. My heard jumped. Even the threat made me more excited. I looked over at what the clothes they had laid out for me. I had played so many roles for them. I had been their pet, their slave, their baby, their maid. I had come out with them wearing leather vests and diapers under my clothes. However, there were still lines. "I don't know that I want that. Not yet." I whimpered. Michael walked to me. He put a hand on my shoulders, and the other reached down and cupped me below the belt. I gasped. "Are you sure you don't want it, diaper boy? Your cock seems to disagree." "I... I don't, Daddy." It sounded as fake as it felt. The truth was I longed for what they showed me, and had dreamed of it for months. The outfit itself wasn't that far off from dozens I had worn for them before. It was a onesie, bright pink and with a heart on its chest. It came with leggings and platform shows, and bows for my hair, which had grown longer and would undoubtably be put in pigtails. My leash was beside it, the collar was on my neck, and I already wore a diaper to go with it. With it, I knew they would probably tie me, and give me a gag to keep me quiet. I had worn the same before. What was different was what it meant today. I felt a hand smack the back of my diaper. Sarah came around my other side with an arm on my back. "Is that true diaper girl? I think its perfect for you. I think its perfect for you to wear every day from now on." "Uhhh..." I moaned. "Daddy, is she allowed to do that?" I asked as the other submissive teased me. To tell the truth, hearing someone who was herself being dominated talk down to me only made me crave more. If there was to be an pecking order, a huge part of me I was terrified of craved more then anything to be on the bottom of it. "Yes sweetie. Remember our ranking?" I thought back. We were both subs under him, but what we wore went beyond that. Regular clothes beat anyone cross-dressed, which beat anyone dressed as an animal, which beat, lowest of the low... "She's also in a diaper Daddy," I said. "We're the same." He shook his head. "Not anymore. Not when she's in her black diapers and her leather clothes, and you have your cute little printed diapies and onesie. You are the lowest here, and will still be from now on." My mind swirled. By far the most humiliating game they had played with me was this one. It was the one thing that pushed me right to the limit, the only that still made me begin to think of saying no. Now, they wanted to take me into public, in our club with all our friends, dressed like that. More, they wanted me to live like that, to come into their home and stay like that permanently. My heart jumped, and I wasn't sure if it was from disgust, fear, or joy. Michael turned me to face him directly. He put a hand on my diaper and pulled me in right next to him, and put the other on the back of my head. I looked away for a moment, but he turned me back, and for a second I thought he would kiss me. Instead, he just stared at me with his clear eyes. My breath caught, as it always did when I looked into them. "Are you sure sweetie? If you don't want it, you know your safety word. This can all be over now. Just say it, or let us dress you again." I was still, but was sure I was falling deep into his eyes again. Every time they hit me it was like all the will to argue left me. I felt myself melt and fall deeply into them, like a man possessed, and he did possess me. The image of me going into the club, crawling in his humiliating costume, all the nervousness it brought, fell along with my willpower into his eyes. Those eyes. It was always those goddamn eyes. ... Oh Michael don't you know you were born to turn me on? That is the part I'm not sure you understand. Or, if you understand it, you understand it all to well. It is everywhere and always to me. That feeling. That incredible, awful feeling. That arousal that is on my mind. That distracts me from work. That distracts me from relationships. That distracts me from all of life outside your impossible, clear eyes. The deep, painful knowledge that that you could get me to do anything you wanted no matter how bad I DON'T want it and the more I don't want it the more I want it because I know you want it because I don't want it and that makes me WANT it and I don't understand that. But you do, and that scares me. I am not in love with you. I am ADDICTED to you. I am OBSESSED with you, and with your impossible clear eyes. When I see them I feel like I am possessed, and I know I am possessed by you. I can stare at them for hours and not be sure what happened. I am addicted to your body. The tight, lean muscles. The strong arms, able to carry me, to pull me, to hold me down, even as I struggle (ESPECIALLY as I struggle) The size that has you always looking down on my ever so slightly, ever so noticeably, with your clear, impossible eyes. I am addicted to all you do to me. All our little games, all the strange clothes, all the things I never would have done if I never had met you. And I cant stop them. I can't stop wanting them. I don't know why I want them, I SHOULDN'T want them, but by god I do. By YOU I do. You are my god now. And that is what I am worried you understand all to well. There are lines I cannot cross, but I don't know what they are when I see those clear, impossible eyes. Not ever since I first saw them, those months ago.

The first time Sue noticed Georgie’s browser history, she’d been looking for a lasagna recipe. His laptop was still open on the kitchen counter, the screen saver flickering—some default landscape of mountains she’d never bothered to change. She tapped the spacebar absentmindedly, and there it was: a half-dozen tabs of frilly pink things, adult diapers with lace trim, and a forum thread titled *"How to tell your wife you want to be her baby girl."* She closed the lid softly, as if it might explode. The lasagna could wait. That was three months ago. Now, standing in the spare bedroom—*his* room, she supposed—Sue watched Georgie fidget with the hem of the satin babydoll nightie she’d bought him. It was too small across his shoulders, the straps digging in, but he kept adjusting it like it was the most natural thing in the world. "You look ridiculous," she said, not unkindly. Georgie's fingers froze mid-adjustment. His cheeks flushed beneath the smudge of peach blush he'd applied clumsily earlier—Sue had watched him peer into her compact mirror with the concentration of a surgeon. "I know," he whispered. The words hung between them, oddly vulnerable. The nursery-themed nightlight cast soft circles on the wall, illuminating the freshly painted mint-green trim Sue had added last weekend. "Come here," Sue said, patting the edge of the twin-sized bed they'd moved in. The sheets were printed with cartoon ducks, another unplanned purchase from the children's section at Target. Georgie shuffled forward, the crinkle of his plastic panties absurdly loud in the quiet room. She reached out and straightened his lopsided hair bow, fingers brushing the warm shell of his ear. "Terry from accounting asked me to lunch tomorrow." Georgie's breath hitched. His pupils dilated—she could see it even in the dim light. "Mummy doesn't have to tell me about—" Sue traced the edge of Georgie’s pink hair bow with her thumb, watching the way his lower lip trembled. "But I *want* to tell you," she murmured. The crinkle of his plastic panties filled the pause as she leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear. "Terry said he’s been watching me in meetings. Said he likes how I don’t take shit from anyone." Georgie made a tiny, strangled noise. His fingers twisted in the ruffled hem of his short nightie , knuckles whitening. Sue had seen that look before—on the rare occasions she’d worn a skirt shorter than knee-length to office parties. The same mix of panic and helpless arousal. She pressed her advantage. "He’s got those big hands, you know? The kind that could probably span my waist." Georgie whimpered. Sue smirked, flicking the bow’s satin tails her manicured fingers slowly worked down to the sheethrough nylon frilly pink baby kncikers covered in lace ruffles she patted the thick bulky crotch a few times making the plastic pants underneath crinkle and rustle "Would my baby girl like to see Mummy try on that black dress before my lunch date? The one with the zipper down the back?" The crib’s mobile tinkled overhead as Georgie shuddered. His blush had spread down his neck, disappearing beneath the Peter Pan collar. Sue knew exactly how far it went—she’d bathed him last Tuesday, counting the freckles on his shoulders like a constellation chart. The mobile above the crib tinkled again as Georgie’s breath came in shallow, stuttering gasps. His fingers—painted a chipped baby pink that morning—clutched at the ruffled hem of his nightie like it was the only thing tethering him to earth. Sue watched, fascinated, as a single tear rolled down his cheek, cutting through the hastily applied blush. "Shh, baby girl," she murmured, catching the tear with her thumb. The salt of it lingered on her skin as she traced the curve of his jaw. "Mummy’s just teasing." The lie tasted sweet. She’d already texted Terry from the bathroom an hour ago, the screen glowing with his reply: *Can’t wait to see how that zipper works.* Georgie’s shoulders hitched as she leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Unless…" She let the word hang, savoring the way his whole body tensed. The nursery smelled of lavender baby powder and the faint plastic tang of his diapers. "Unless my good girl wants Mummy to bring back pictures?" A strangled noise escaped Georgie’s throat. His hands flew to cover his face, but Sue caught his wrists easily, pinning them to his sides. The satin bow at his collar was crooked again—she’d have to teach him how to tie it properly. Later. Georgie's breathing hitched as Sue tightened her grip on his wrists, the pulse beneath her fingertips rapid as a sparrow's. The nursery nightlight cast long shadows across his face, exaggerating the tremor in his lower lip. "Pictures?" he whispered, and the word sounded sticky in his mouth, like syrup clinging to a spoon. Sue released one wrist to trace the edge of his frilly knickers and plastic panties, the crinkle loud in the quiet room. "Terry's got this habit of biting his bottom lip when he's concentrating," she said, watching Georgie's pupils dilate. "During the budget meeting last week, he kept doing it while staring at my neck. Wonder what he'd do if I unbuttoned my blouse just... here." She dragged a fingernail along her collarbone, and Georgie made a sound like a deflating balloon. Downstairs, the oven timer beeped—the lasagna she'd abandoned three months ago, finally reheated. The domesticity of it almost made her laugh. Here she was, discussing her impending affair while her husband trembled in a satin bonnet, and somewhere in the house, their dinner was getting cold. Georgie's fingers twitched against her palm. "M-mummy could—" He swallowed, the Adam's apple bobbing above the elasticated frilled neck line of his nightie "Could lock my nappies. So I can't... can't touch myself while you're gone." The suggestion hung between them, ripe and glistening. Sue had seen the chastity devices in his browser history—shiny pink things with heart-shaped locks. The oven timer beeped again, more insistent this time. Sue didn’t move. Georgie’s suggestion—the way his voice had cracked on can’t—hung between them like a dare. She let her fingernail trail down from her collarbone to the first button of her blouse, popping it open with deliberate slowness. Georgie’s breath hitched, his gaze tracking the movement with the intensity of a starving man watching a feast being laid out. "Lock you up, hmm?" Sue murmured, tapping the tip of his nose with her index finger. The gesture was playful, almost maternal, but the way Georgie’s eyes fluttered shut at the contact told her everything. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the crinkle of his plastic panties loud in the quiet room. "And what would my baby girl do if Mummy came home… satisfied?" Georgie whimpered, his thighs pressing together. The sheer nightie rode up, revealing the pale pink frillly matching baby knickers the elastic of his plastic pants visble at the leg openings under whiiuch his thick cloth nappy was clear to see. Sue had picked them out herself—Little Princess embroidered across the front in small dark pink script. She’d laughed when she’d seen them online, but now, watching Georgie squirm, the humor had curdled into something darker, more possessive. The lasagna would be cold by now, the cheese congealed. Sue found she didn’t care. Terry’s text flashed in her mind—Can’t wait to see how that zipper works—and she wondered, idly, if Georgie would cry when she described the way Terry’s hands would feel on her hips. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken promises. Georgie's fingers twitched against the ruffled edge of his nightie again , his breath coming in shallow little pants that made the ribbons on his bonnet tremble. Sue watched, fascinated, as a droplet of sweat slid down his temple—she'd never seen him like this, so unraveled, so hers. "Would my baby girl cry?" Sue murmured, tracing the damp trail with her thumb. Georgie's eyelids fluttered, his lashes clumping together where tears had gathered. She didn't wait for an answer. "Would you lie here in your nursery, all locked up in your nappies and frills , and sob when Mummy texts you pictures of Terry's hands on me?" Georgie made a sound like a stepped-on squeaky toy. His thighs squeezed together, the plastic panties rustling loudly. Sue could see the exact moment the fantasy fully consumed him—his shoulders hunched, his lips parting around silent pleas. The nursery mobile tinkled overhead, a cheerful contrast to the tension coiling in the room. Sue stood abruptly, smoothing down her skirt. Georgie's gaze snapped up to follow her movement, his lower lip jutting in a pout she might have found adorable under different circumstances. "Mummy has to check the lasagna," she said, watching disappointment flicker across his face. She paused at the door, her hand on the mint-green trim she'd painted last weekend. "But first..." Georgie’s breath caught as Sue reached into the top drawer of the dresser she’d repurposed as his changing table. The pink chastity cage glinted in the nursery nightlight’s glow, its tiny heart-shaped padlock dangling like an absurd piece of jewelry. She held it up between two fingers, watching Georgie’s throat work as he swallowed hard. "Shall we see if it fits, baby girl?" Sue asked, tapping the plastic thee inch device against his knee. Georgie nodded frantically, his bonnet ribbons bouncing. The way his hands fluttered to cover himself—then hesitated, dropping back to his sides—made something hot curl low in Sue’s belly. She’d never seen him like this, vibrating with want and shame in equal measure. Downstairs, the lasagna was undoubtedly ruined, but Sue found herself kneeling between Georgie’s spread thighs instead, the crinkle of his plastic panties loud in the quiet room. His thighs trembled as she peeled back the layers—the ruffled chiffon knickers, semi clear plastic pants the thick cloth diaper beneath, the protective plastic sheeting—until he lay exposed, pink and straining he was already aroused. "It’s so small," Sue murmured, more to herself than to Georgie. His tiny less than an inch cock when soft twitched pathetically now at full erection he wasn't quite three inches and no thicker than her pinky finger . Her comment about his size always aroused him , a bead of moisture gathering at the tip. She wiped it away with her thumb, smearing it across his inner thigh in a slow, deliberate stroke. "You’ll need the extra-small cage, won’t you?" Georgie's breath came in shallow, stuttering gasps as Sue clicked the chastity cage shut with a decisive snick. The metal was cold against his flushed skin, the heart-shaped lock dangling like a cruel joke. He whimpered when she tugged on it experimentally, the chain of the padlock jingling against his thigh. "Oh, baby girl," Sue murmured, tracing the outline of the cage with her fingernail. "You look so pretty like this." The nursery smelled faintly of lavender and the sharp tang of Georgie's arousal. Sue leaned back on her heels, admiring her handiwork—the way the pink plastic strained against his pathetic little erection, how his thighs quivered when she blew softly across the locked metal. Downstairs, the oven timer beeped again, a shrill reminder of the forgotten lasagna. Sue ignored it. "Tell me," she said, pinching Georgie's inner thigh hard enough to make him yelp. "What will you think about while Mummy's at lunch tomorrow?" Georgie's mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. Sue twisted the skin between her fingers, relishing the way his hips jerked helplessly. "Use your words, Georgina." "I—I'll think about Terry's hands on you," Georgie stammered, his voice cracking. A tear slipped down his cheek, carving a shiny path through his smudged blush. Sue caught it with her thumb, pressing the damp digit against his parted lips. Georgie's tongue darted out to lick the tear-salt from her thumb, his eyes wide and wet as a chastened puppy’s. Sue let him suckle for a moment before withdrawing her hand, wiping the moisture on his nylon nightie. The sheer fabric darkened where she’d smeared it, the stain spreading like a blush. "You’ll stay right here," she said, standing abruptly. The chastity cage jingled as Georgie shifted, his legs falling open wider in unconscious supplication. Sue traced the embroidered Little Princess on his frilly knickers with her toe, watching his stomach muscles quiver. "No touching. No getting out of your nappies. Mummy will know if you’ve been naughty." Downstairs, the lasagna had cooled into a rubbery mass, the sauce separating at the edges. Sue scraped it into the bin without ceremony. The sound of Georgie’s soft crying filtered through the baby monitor she’d installed last week—high-pitched, breathy little sobs that hitched whenever the crib mobile tinkled. She turned up the volume. The next morning, Sue dressed with deliberate slowness in front of Georgie’s nursery mirror. The black dress whispered against her thighs as she shimmied it into place, the back zipper catching momentarily on a curl of hair. Georgie watched from the crib, his fingers clutching the mint-green bars. His plastic panties had developed a damp patch overnight, the scent of lavender powder undercut by something muskier. The zipper stuck halfway up her back. Sue arched her shoulders, feeling the teeth catch against her bra strap, and sighed. "Georgina," she called without turning, "come fix Mummy's dress." The crib bars rattled as Georgie scrambled up, his plastic panties crinkling loudly. His fingers—still soft with sleep—trembled against her spine as he fumbled with the zipper. She could feel his breath on her bare skin, warm and uneven. "Careful," she murmured when the metal pinched. "Wouldn't want Terry to see bruises." Georgie made a wounded noise behind her. Sue smiled, watching him in the mirror—his puffy eyes, the way his satin bonnet had slipped sideways during the night. The chastity cage left an obvious tent in his knickers the heart-shaped lock swinging with every unsteady movement. She turned abruptly, catching his chin between her fingers. "Did my baby girl touch herself?" she asked sweetly. Georgie shook his head frantically, the ribbons on his bonnet fluttering. Sue tightened her grip. "Liar." Downstairs, she poured coffee into a travel mug, listening to Georgie's muffled sobs through the baby monitor. The sound followed her to the door, mingling with the chirp of her phone—Terry, confirming their lunch reservation. Sue paused at the threshold, considering. Then she pulled out her phone, angled it toward the monitor, and pressed record. Georgie's hiccuping cries filled the speaker as she typed a caption: Missing Mummy already? Wait till you see what I send next." The restaurant was all crisp linens and low lighting, Terry's knee brushing hers under the table within minutes. Sue let him order for her—steak, rare—and laughed when his thumb grazed her wrist reaching for the salt. "You're bold today," Terry murmured, his smile all teeth. Sue sipped her wine, thinking of Georgie's tear-streaked face, the way his thighs had trembled when she'd snapped the cage shut. "You have no idea," she said. Terry's fingers traced the rim of his wineglass, his gaze lingering on Sue's lips. "You're different today," he said, leaning in. The cologne he wore—something woody and expensive—drifted across the table. Sue imagined Georgie sniffing at her blouse later, trembling at the foreign scent. The thought sent a thrill down her spine. She let Terry's hand settle on her thigh beneath the table, his palm warm through the thin fabric of her dress. "Different how?" Sue asked, arching an eyebrow. "Like you've got a secret." His thumb stroked the inside of her knee, and Sue bit back a smirk. If only he knew. Her phone buzzed in her purse—Georgie, no doubt. She'd left him sprawled in the nursery lying in his cot , his plastic panties and cloth nappy now damp with frustrated arousal, the pink chastity cage glinting under the direct sunlight. Terry's steak arrived, bloody and glistening. Sue watched him slice into it, the knife scraping against porcelain. "You ever think about sharing?" she asked abruptly. Terry’s knife paused mid-slice. A drop of blood pooled on the white plate. "Sharing?" His thumb rubbed circles on Sue’s thigh, slower now, testing. Sue twirled her wineglass, watching the light refract through the cabernet. "Mmm. My husband’s… unconventional." She leaned in, letting the neckline of her dress gape just enough for Terry’s gaze to snag. "He’d watch. If I asked nicely." The restaurant noise faded to a buzz. Terry’s fingers tightened on her leg—possessive, Sue noted with satisfaction. She imagined Georgie’s face if he could see this: Terry’s tanned hand creeping higher, the gold signet ring glinting against her pale skin. "Jesus." Terry exhaled, half-laughing. His steak forgotten, he signaled the waiter for another drink. "You’re full of surprises." Terry’s fingers dug into her thigh as the waiter set down his second whiskey. Sue watched the ice cubes swirl, thinking of Georgie’s frilly pink baby knickers and plastic panties rustling in the empty house. She leaned in, close enough to catch the sharp tang of Terry’s aftershave. "He’d kneel at the foot of the bed," she murmured. "Wouldn’t make a sound unless I told him to." The restaurant’s hum faded as Terry’s thumb traced the seam of her stockings. Sue let her knee fall open a fraction, smiling when his breath hitched. "Fuck," he muttered, dragging his palm up her thigh. His signet ring caught the light—the same gold as Georgie’s chastity lock. The symmetry pleased her. Back home, the nursery monitor glowed green in the dark hallway. Georgie’s whimpers filtered through the speaker, thin and reedy. Sue toed off her heels, listening to the rhythm of his crying—the hitched pauses where he’d clearly tried to muffle himself. The crib mobile tinkled as she pushed open the door. Georgie scrambled upright, his bonnet askew. The frilly knickers and plastic panties and nappy she’d left him in were soaked through, the Little Princess embroidery darkened with urine . Sue crouched beside the crib, tapping the bars with Terry’s business card. "He wants to meet you," she said, watching Georgie’s pupils dilate. Georgie’s breath hitched, his fingers clutching the crib bars like they were the only thing keeping him upright. The business card trembled in Sue’s grip, Terry’s embossed name catching the nursery nightlight. "M-meet me?" Georgie whispered, his voice cracking on the second word. A drop of sweat slid down his temple, cutting through the smeared remnants of his peach blush. Sue tapped the card against his nose, watching his nostrils flare. "Mmm. Said he’d love to put a face to the name." She dragged the edge of the card down Georgie’s chest, catching on the lace trim of his satin nightie. "Wants to know if you’d wear your prettiest dress for him." The crib mobile tinkled overhead as Georgie shuddered. His plastic panties crinkled loudly, the sound muffled only slightly by the thick cloth diaper beneath. Sue could see the exact moment the fantasy took root—his pupils dilated, his lower lip caught between his teeth. A dark spots spread further across the front of his frilly sheer knickers plastic panties and nappy no loner efective at holding back the leaks, the chastity cage straining against its confines. She leaned in, close enough to smell the lavender powder clinging to his skin. "Terry’s got this thing for pink," Sue murmured, tracing the shell of Georgie’s ear with the corner of the business card. "Especially sheer pink nylon or satin. Especially when it’s... damp." Georgie whimpered, his thighs pressing together reflexively. Sue smirked and stepped back, tucking Terry’s card into her bra strap. "Thought we might invite him for dinner Friday. You could serve us in your nursery attire." Georgie’s breath hitched audibly, his fingers twisting in the ruffled hem of his nightie until the nylon puckered. The crib mobile swayed as he rocked slightly, his plastic panties emitting a soft crinkle with each movement. Sue watched, fascinated, as his Adam’s apple bobbed —swallowing hard, like he was trying to choke down the idea and savor it at the same time. "Dinner?" he whispered, his voice barely louder than the rustle of his diaper. His gaze flickered to the business card tucked into Sue’s bra, then away just as quickly, as if the sight burned him. The nursery nightlight cast long shadows across his face, exaggerating the flush creeping down his neck. Sue reached out and thumbed the damp spot on his knickers , grinning when he whimpered. "Mmhm. You’ll wear the pink satin bonnet with the lace trim and some nice frilly matching baby knickers ," she said, tapping the heart-shaped lock of his cage. It jingled softly, a tiny, absurd chime. "And those frilly ankle socks. The ones with the bows." Georgie’s thighs trembled under her touch, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Sue leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Terry likes it when I feed him. Maybe you’ll kneel under the table and lick his fingers clean." The sound Georgie made was half moan, half sob. His hands fluttered uselessly at his sides before clutching the crib bars again, his knuckles whitening. Sue straightened up, smoothing her dress as she stepped back. The business card scratched lightly against her skin where it was tucked away—Terry’s name pressed into the fabric like a brand. The crib bars rattled as Georgie collapsed forward, his forehead pressing against the cool metal. Sue watched his shoulders heave—not crying, not quite, but breathing hard enough to make the ribbons on his bonnet flutter. The nursery smelled of sweat now, sharp beneath the lavender powder and Sues perfume. She reached through the bars to pinch his earlobe between her nails. "Look at me," she said, and Georgie's head jerked up, his eyes wide and wet. Terry's business card was warm from her skin when she pulled it out. Sue held it just beyond Georgie's reach, watching his gaze fix on the embossed lettering. "He's got big hands," she murmured, flipping the card between her fingers. "Thick fingers. The kind that leave marks." Georgie whimpered, his plastic panties crinkling as he squirmed. Sue tapped the card against his parted lips. "Open." Georgie's mouth opened obediently, his tongue peeking out like a chastened puppy's. Sue laid the card flat on his tongue, watching his throat work as he tried not to drool on it. "Hold it there," she instructed, stepping back to survey her handiwork. The card quivered slightly between Georgie's teeth, his breath fogging the glossy surface. Perfect. Downstairs, Sue poured herself a generous measure of gin, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. The baby monitor crackled—Georgie's shallow breathing, the occasional rustle of plastic. She took her drink to the living room, stretching out on the couch with her phone. Terry had texted twice since lunch: "You're dangerous" and "When can I see you again?" Sue smiled, tapping out a reply with one hand while the other trailed down her stomach. The crib mobile spun lazily above Georgie’s head, its pastel animals casting elongated shadows across the ceiling. Sue watched through the baby monitor screen—Georgie’s tongue still dutifully pressed against Terry’s business card, his frilly pink baby knickers plastic darkening further with each ragged breath. She took another sip of gin, the burn sharp on her tongue, and typed out a reply to Terry: "Friday. 7pm. Bring wine." Georgie’s muffled whimper crackled through the monitor as Sue stood, stretching her arms overhead. The gin warmed her belly, pooling low and heavy. She climbed the stairs slowly, savoring the way Georgie’s breathing hitched when her shadow fell across the nursery threshold. "Such a good girl," Sue murmured, plucking the saliva-slick card from Georgie’s mouth. It was damp at the edges, Terry’s embossed name blurred. She tucked it back into her bra strap—let it soak there all night, a promise pressed against her skin. Georgie’s eyes tracked the movement, his lips parted around silent pleas. Sue reached through the crib bars to thumb the damp spot on his frilly knickers rubbing them over the plastic panties. "Did my baby girl make a mess while Mummy was gone?" Georgie nodded frantically, his bonnet ribbons bouncing. Sue clicked her tongue, dragging her fingernail along the elastic leg band. "Naughty." The word landed like a slap. Georgie shuddered, his thighs pressing together with a crinkle. The business card left a faint indentation on Sue's breast where it had pressed all evening. She peeled it off now, holding it up to the nursery nightlight—Terry's embossed name warped from Georgie's saliva and her own sweat. Georgie whimpered as she twirled it between her fingers, his plastic panties rustling like a confession. "Still wet," Sue observed, tapping the card against his flushed cheek. Georgie's eyelashes fluttered, still clumped together from earlier tears. She could smell him—the sharp tang of his frustration cutting through the lavender powder. The chastity cage had left angry pink indentations on his skin, the heart-shaped lock dangling like a taunt. Sue stepped back abruptly, Georgie made a wounded noise, his fingers clutching at the crib bars. "Mummy's tired," she said, stretching her arms overhead with deliberate slowness. The neckline of her dress gaped, revealing the red marks Terry's stubble had left near her collarbone. Georgie's breath hitched audibly. She left him there—bonnet askew, knickers and plastic panties damp nappy soaking wet —and headed to the master bedroom alone. The sheets smelled faintly of Georgie's cologne from before, back when he'd shared this bed as her husband instead of her baby girl. Sue stripped naked in front of the full-length mirror, turning to examine the fingerprints Terry had left on her hips.Her black satin panties with an unmitaken dampness from her date . The crib mobile spun lazily, its tinkling melody mocking Georgie’s predicament. His wrists were tied to the bars with satin ribbons—Sue’s idea of keeping him "safe" while she showered. The nursery smelled of talcum powder and the sharp, metallic tang of the chastity cage pressing into his flesh. Down the hall, the shower hissed. Georgie strained to hear Sue humming over the water, imagining her hands sliding over soap-slick skin—the same hands that had buckled him into this crib like an oversized infant. His plastic panties crackled with every squirm, the dampness between his thighs growing colder. The bathroom door clicked open. Georgie held his breath, listening to Sue’s bare feet pad across the hardwood. She appeared in the doorway wrapped in a towel, her hair dripping onto the babydoll nightie where it lay crumpled on the floor. "Still awake?" she murmured, leaning over the crib. Water droplets fell from her hair onto Georgie’s face. He licked one off his lips, tasting her shampoo—something floral and expensive, nothing like the baby powder scent clinging to his skin. The ribbons cut into Georgie's wrists when he strained against them, the satin tightening like a lover's fingers. Sue traced the marks with her damp fingertip, watching the pink skin blanch under her touch. "So eager," she murmured, her breath warm against his forehead. The towel slipped slightly as she leaned over the crib, revealing a crescent of damp skin where Terry's teeth had grazed earlier. Georgie's gaze fixed there, his throat working soundlessly. Downstairs, the grandfather clock chimed midnight—deep, resonant tones that vibrated through the floorboards. Sue straightened, letting the towel gape further. "Terry asked if you'd wear the bonnet during dinner," she said conversationally, as if discussing the weather. Georgie's plastic panties rustled loudly, the sound filling the nursery like crumpling cellophane. Sue smirked and reached for the baby oil on the changing table. "I told him you'd wear whatever he liked." The oil glistened on her palms as she rubbed them together, the scent of synthetic coconut overpowering the lavender powder. Georgie whimpered when her slick fingers found the waistband of his frilled baby panties ,the plastic panties, the sound strangled and high. Sue peeled them down slowly, savoring the way the material clung to his damp skin. The chastity cage gleamed under the nursery nightlight as she unpinned his nappy , its heart-shaped lock swinging like a pendulum. "Shh," Sue murmured, spreading oil along the reddened skin beneath the cage. Georgie's hips jerked helplessly, his thighs trembling. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the pulse beneath her fingertips frantic as a trapped bird's. The crib mobile spun lazily overhead, casting shifting shadows across his tear-streaked face. The baby monitor crackled with Georgie's hitched breathing as Sue methodically worked the oil into his inflamed skin. His whimpers took on a higher pitch when her thumb pressed deliberately beneath the chastity cage, the metal clicking against his pelvis. "Hurts, doesn't it?" she murmured, watching his toes curl against the crib mattress. The nursery smelled overpoweringly of coconut now, cloying and thick in the still air. Sue snapped the elastic of his plastic pants back up and over his wet nappy cover against Georgie's inner thigh, leaving an angry red line. He jerked against the satin restraints, his bonnet sliding sideways with the movement. "Friday night," she said conversationally, wiping her oily hands on his nightie, "Terry wants to watch me change your nappies." Georgie's breath stuttered, his eyelashes fluttering like moth wings against his flushed cheeks. Downstairs, the refrigerator hummed to life. Sue tilted her head, listening—somewhere beneath Georgie's ragged breathing, she could hear the faint clink of ice settling in the freezer. The ordinary sound juxtaposed absurdly with the scene before her: her husband trussed up in a crib, his arousal trapped in pink frilled panties and plastic, his lips still shiny with her thumbprint. She reached for the baby powder, shaking a cloud of it as she pulled back his kncikers and nappy onto Georgie's groin. The white dust settled on the oil-slicked cage, clinging in clumps that looked like snowfall on a tiny pink prison. Georgie sneezed twice in quick succession, his wrists twisting helplessly in their satin bonds. Sue blew gently across the powder, watching it swirl in the nightlight's glow. "Terry's bringing his camera," she lied, enjoying how Georgie's hips bucked at the thought. Georgina's tiny erection strained pathetically against the fluffy nappy fabric, barely making a three-inch tent in the thick cotton. His hairless balls—pink and absurdly small—nestled in the folds of the cloth diaper, trapped beneath layers of crinkling plastic pants and the ridiculous frilly knickers Sue had special-ordered. The semi-clear plastic pants amplified every shift of his thighs, the sound deafening in the quiet nursery as he lay curled in his crib. The chiffon hem of Georgina's nightie fluttered against his thighs as he perched on the edge of Sue's vanity stool, the crinkling plastic pants amplifying every nervous shift into something deafening. Across the bedroom, Sue's reflection in the full-length mirror arched an eyebrow as she stepped into the white satin panties—the expensive pair with the sheer lace overlay that made Georgina's caged erection throb against its plastic prison. "Stop squirming," she murmured, rolling the delicate fabric up her thighs with deliberate slowness. The suspender belt's silk straps dangled like promises as she attached the first dark tan stocking, the nylon whispering against her palm before she smoothed it up her calf. The doorbell chimed at 7:30, a sound that sent a jolt through Georgina’s already tense body. Heavy footsteps echoed on the stairs, each thump a drumbeat to his humiliation. Sue’s voice, bright and cheerful, floated from the hallway. “Here she is, Terry! My baby husband. Isn’t she adorable?” Sue entered first, a vision in her white short dress, the satin lining of her skimpy panties subtly visible. Terry loomed behind her, tall and broad, his eyes immediately scanning the room and landing on Georgina with an amused, assessing gaze. A deep, masculine laugh followed—Terry’s laugh. It filled the room before he even entered. Terry's grin widened at the sight: the frilly knickers peeking beneath the nightie's hem, the way the plastic pants clung to the sagging diaper. "Christ," Terry chuckled, his work-roughened hands already settling on Sue's waist. She laughed too, bright and cruel, before flipping up Georgina's nightie without warning. The semi-clear plastic gleamed under pink frilly satin kncikers of the leg openings , showcasing the wet cotton beneath. "Oh baby girl," Sue cooed, pinching the waistband, "did you make a mess before our guest even arrived?" Georgina sat frozen on in the cot, his pale pink chiffon nightie feeling less like fabric and more like a banner announcing his shame. The double layers and lace edging were meant for a young woman , not a man. He clutched his hands together, trying to hide the tremor. “Now, let’s see how our little one is doing,” Sue said, her tone dripping with maternal mockery. She approached the bed and, without ceremony, lifted the frilly hem of Georgina’s nightie. Georgina instinctively moved his hands to cover his crotch. “Aww, don’t be shy,” Sue cooed, batting his hands away. “What’s the matter? Don’t you want Terry to see your pretty frilly baby knickers and nappy? He knows all about you, silly.” The pale pink satin knickers, covered with lace, were indeed visible, along with the bulky terry cloth nappy beneath and the semi-clear, noisy plastic pants. Terry’s smile widened. He leaned against the doorframe, watching the performance. Sue’s fingers expertly felt the front of the nappy. “Oh, dear,” she announced with theatrical concern. “You are wet so soon! I only changed you a few hours ago.” Georgina’s face burned. He had not wet himself; the dampness was from a small water bottle Sue had emptied into the nappy earlier. It was all part of her script. Sue pulled down the frilly knickers and plastic pants down to his ankles unpinned the cloth nappy, the pins clicking loudly in the quiet room. , then slowly, deliberately, began to unfold the soaked terry fabric. She smiled up at Terry, a shared look of anticipation. As the nappy opened, Georgina’s modest, caged penis was exposed. Sue undid the small chastity device with a click, “need to give him a proper clean.” Georgina covered himself, once more earning a slap on his hands from his wife earning .Terry's booming laugh and Sue's sharp slap to his wrists. "Don't be shy," she chided, unpinning the soaked nappy with practiced efficiency. The cloth fell away, revealing Georgina's tiny, flushed erection straining against the chastity cage. Terry whistled low, stepping closer as Sue produced the key from her cleavage. The lock clicked open louder than Georgina's whimper. The sudden freedom, combined with the intense exposure and humiliation, caused a traitorous reaction—Georgina’s penis began to stiffen. Sue laughed, a light, cruel sound. “Look at that,” she said, glancing at Terry. “Excited by his own shame.” She then turned and walked toward the dresser to fetch a fresh nappy and plastic pants. As she did, Terry stepped forward. He placed a large hand on Sue’s satin-clad backside, pulling her close. They shared a lingering kiss, Terry’s eyes open, looking over Sue’s shoulder directly at Georgina on the bed. Georgina watched, his hard-on now twitching a pathetic testament to his conflicted arousal. His wife, in her sexy dress and stockings, was being claimed by another man right in front of him, while he sat trapped in frilly baby clothes, damp and exposed. The scene was perfectly crafted: he was the cuckolded baby, the sissy adult, a spectacle of humiliation. And as Sue returned with the fresh diaper, smiling at Terry, Georgina knew the night was only begi Through the baby monitor's static, Georgina could hear the rhythmic squeak of their bedframe —the unmistakable sound of Sue's headboard hitting the wall at Terry's pace. A high-pitched gasp cut through the noise, followed by a throaty laugh that wasn't Sue's. Georgina's fingers twisted in the satin ribbons of his bonnet as another sound joined the chorus: the wet, slapping noise of skin against skin, too fast and too heavy to be anything but Terry's doing.The rhythmic thud of Sue's headboard hitting the wall, the wet slap of Terry's thick thighs against hers. A high-pitched gasp cut through the noise, followed by Terry's throaty chuckle. Georgina's fingers twisted in the satin ribbons of his bonnet as another sound joined the chorus: that unmistakable wet squelch of penetration, too deep and too frequent to be anything but Terry's doing. The frilly pink satin knickers rode up with every squirm, the open lace frills tickling his inner thighs. Georgina had begged Sue to let him have her worn panties but she'd laughed while buckling him into the crib—"Don't get greedy, baby girl I'll think about it"—then laghing she hiked up her dress and peeld down the white satin and cacke bikini style panties and hung them over the mobile above his head. The crotch evident of her sexual arousel a faint intimate secent ,a generous wettness in the crotch.They hung jst a few inches above his head . A particularly loud moan drifted through the monitor, Sue's voice shredded into something unrecognizable. Georgina's hips jerked involuntarily, the chastity cage digging into his pelvis as he imagined Terry's hands—big, tanned, dotted with coarse dark hair—gripping Sue's hips hard enough to leave bruises. The plastic pants crackled like firecrackers as he rolled onto his side, pressing his face into the crib bumper embroidered with pastel ducks. Georgina's thighs trembled against the crib mattress, the sheer nylon of his nightie clinging to his sweat-damp skin like a second layer of shame. Every shift of his hips sent the plastic pants crinkling—an embarrassingly loud soundtrack to the muffled groans coming through the baby monitor. The pink satin frilly knickers were cut high on the hips, the open lace frills fluttering against his inner thighs whenever he dared to move. He could see the pathetic bulge of his erection straining against the thick nappy beneath the semi-transparent plastic, the outline of his tiny pink chastity cage just visible through the layers of frilly fabric. In the next room, the bedframe hit the wall with a sharp crack—once, twice—followed by Terry's guttural groan. Georgina whimpered, his fingers twisting in the satin-edged crib sheet. The monitor crackled with wet, rhythmic sounds—Sue's breathless whimpers interspersed with whispered praise that wasn't meant for him. He could picture Terry looming over her, his thick forearms flexing as he pinned Sue's wrists above her head, the muscles in his back rolling with each thrust. A particularly high-pitched cry from Sue as he pentrated her so deeply stretching her wide and deep like never before sent Georgina's hips jerking involuntarily. The plastic pants amplified every desperate squirm, the crinkling so loud it nearly drowned out the slick slap of flesh from downstairs. The frilly knickers bunched up around the waistband of his plastic pants, the tiny satin bow now damp with sweat. He imagined Terry's big hands gripping Sue's hips—those rough, masculine fingers leaving marks on her skin—while his own trapped erection strained uselessly against the chastity cage's confines. The nursery mobile spun lazily overhead, his wifes sexy white satin panties shining in the light ,the pastel animals casting elongated shadows across Georgina's tear-streaked face. A drop of sweat slid from his temple onto the embroidered duckling on his crib bumper. He could smell himself—the sickly sweet baby powder undercut by the sharp musk of his own arousal—and wondered if Terry could smell Sue's pleasure from across the house. A particularly loud moan drifted through the monitor, Sue's voice breaking into something raw and unfamiliar. Georgina's hips jerked involuntarily, the chastity cage digging into his pelvis as he imagined Terry's hands—those big, tanned paws dotted with coarse dark hair—gripping Sue's hips hard enough to leave bruises. The plastic pants crackled like firecrackers as he rolled onto his side, pressing his face into the crib bumper embroidered with pastel ducks. Georgina's tiny erection strained pathetically against the fluffy nappy fabric, barely making a three-inch tent in the thick cotton. His hairless balls—pink and absurdly small—nestled in the folds of the cloth diaper, trapped beneath layers of crinkling plastic pants and the ridiculous frilly knickers Sue had special-ordered. The semi-clear plastic pants amplified every shift of his thighs, the sound deafening in the quiet nursery as he lay curled in his crib. Georgina could hear the rhythmic squeak of their bedframe —the unmistakable sound of Sue's headboard hitting the wall harder and faster than before at Terry's pace. A high-pitched gasp cut through the noise, followed by a throaty laugh that wasn't Sue's. Georgina's fingers twisted in the satin ribbons of his bonnet as another sound joined the chorus: the wet, slapping noise of skin against skin, too fast and too heavy to be anything but Terry's doing. The frilly pink satin knickers rode up with every squirm, the open lace frills tickling his inner thighs. Georgina had begged Sue to let him wear the matching garter belts too, but she'd laughed while buckling him into the crib—"Don't get greedy, baby girl"—and left the delicate satin straps dangling from the dresser knob just out of reach. Now they swayed mockingly with each thud from the master bedroom, the tiny bows trembling in time with the impacts. A particularly loud moan drifted through the monitor, Sue's voice shredded into something unrecognizable. Georgina's hips jerked involuntarily, the chastity cage digging into his pelvis as he imagined Terry's hands—big, tanned, dotted with coarse dark hair—gripping Sue's hips hard enough to leave bruises. The plastic pants crackled like firecrackers as he rolled onto his side, pressing his face into the crib bumper embroidered with pastel ducks. Georgina's three-inch erection strained pathetically against the thick cotton nappy, barely creating a ripple in the fluffy padding beneath the crinkling plastic pants. The semi-clear plastic amplified every involuntary twitch—his tiny pink chastity cage glinting obscenely under the nursery nightlight's soft glow. The frilly knickers rode higher with each squirm, their delicate lace frills fluttering against his hairless inner thighs like butterfly wings. The tiny satin bow at the waist had gone crooked, darkened with sweat where it dug into the soft flesh of his belly. Downstairs, the bedframe slammed against the wall in a relentless rhythm—thud-thud-thud—punctuated by Sue's high, broken moans that crackled through the baby monitor. Georgina clenched his thighs together, the plastic pants emitting an embarrassingly loud crinkle that nearly drowned out the wet slap of Terry's thrusts. The sheer nylon nightie clung to his flushed skin, its double layers doing nothing to conceal the mess of arousal and humiliation beneath. A drop of sweat slid from his temple onto the embroidered duckling of his crib bumper, the fabric darkening where it landed. The nursery mobile spun lazily overhead, its pastel animals casting grotesque shadows across Georgina's tear-streaked cheeks. He imagined Terry's hands—those thick-fingered, calloused things that could palm a basketball—digging into Sue's hips hard enough to leave bruises tomorrow. The thought made his caged erection pulse, a pathetic dribble of precum soaking into the nappy. The plastic pants amplified every shift of his legs, each movement sending the satin knickers' lace frills skimming over his hypersensitive skin. A particularly loud cry from Sue pierced through the monitor's static—half-sob, half-laugh—followed by Terry's growled "Christ, you're tight." Georgina whimpered, his fingers twisting in the satin-edged crib sheet until the delicate fabric threatened to tear. The knickers' waistband dug into his soft belly, the tiny bow now thoroughly ruined from his thrashing. He could smell himself beneath the cloying lavender powder—the sharp musk of his own frustration mingling with the sour tang of sweat-soaked plastic. Georgina's pinky toe curled against the satin-lined crib bumper as another muffled moan crackled through the baby monitor. The sheer nylon nightie clung to his trembling thighs, the double layers doing nothing to conceal the pathetic tenting of his fluffy nappy beneath the crinkling plastic pants. Each shallow breath made the semi-clear plastic whisper obscenely, amplifying the damp rustle of the thick cotton diaper beneath. The frilly knickers—those adorable satin things with their open lace frills—had ridden up again, the delicate pink bow at the waist now twisted sideways from his squirming. Georgina could feel every thread of lace against his hairless inner thighs, each flutter of fabric sending jolts through his caged erection. Three inches. That's all he could manage, even at his most desperate—a humiliating nub straining against the heart-shaped lock of his chastity device.

Hey there everyone I just first went to tell you that I am not the writer of any of these stories, I don't even know if any of these writers are still around and secondly because the website that these stories are on is infected with viruses, so I have decided to post all the stories here. Thirdly if the stories end on a cliffhanger there's sadly nothing to be done about that. And lastly if the original authors are on here and they want me to take down their story I'll do that, I'm just posting their stories to preserve them and they are not lost forever. Anyway I hope you guys enjoy these stories please leave a like and the comment, also maybe save these stories as well and spread them around to other abdl story sites so we can preserve them.

The discovery had been accidental, a forgotten delivery left on the porch that Susan opened, thinking it was a surprise gift for her. Instead of jewellery or lingerie, she found a package of premium adult-sized diapers, printed with childish pastel animals. Sam, her fiancé of two years, had walked in at that exact moment, his face draining of all colour. The confession that followed was halting, humiliating, and utterly complete. Sam was an Adult Baby Diaper Lover. Susan’s world tilted. The man she’d planned to marry, to build a life and a family with, harboured this profound, secret need to regress, to be cared for as an infant. The traditional image of a husband—a protector, an equal partner—shattered in her mind. Yet, as she watched Sam weep with shame, a different, more dominant form of affection stirred within her. She loved him, fiercely, but she could no longer see him as a man. He was something else entirely: a helpless, needy thing that required not a wife, but a mommy.Sam's penis resembeld something more like a nine year old boy so the nappies were quite the right attire for him .Even fully aroused he was not quite three inches something she was willing to overlook or so she thought until the discovery. Their engagement transformed overnight. The wedding plans were shelved, the rings put away. In their spacious home, a new dynamic was meticulously constructed. Sam, now referred to almost exclusively as Samantha or Baby Ryan in his little space, was relocated from their master bedroom. A large, white-painted crib, a man-sized piece of furniture with high, slatted sides, was installed beside Susan’s bed. His wardrobe was purged of masculine attire and replaced by a humiliatingly frilled and sissified nursery collection: short, sheer nylon nighties that barely covered his plastic pants, pale pink satin baby knickers that crinkled with every step, and dresses fit for a toddler princess, all in delicate pastels and lace. To manage the practicalities of this new life, Susan hired a college student named Chloe. Pretty, slender, assertive , and perceptive, Chloe found the entire situation endlessly amusing. She took to her role as babysitter with a creative, merciless zeal. It was Chloe who enforced the strict wardrobe, who mixed his bottles of formula, and who presided over nappy changes with a running commentary of gentle teasing. “Oh, someone’s made a big, soggy mess for Chloe, haven’t they?” she’d sing-song, unpinning the thick, cloth nappy and the crinkly plastic pants over it. Her laughter was light but pointed as she cleaned him, her eyes flicking dismissively to his tiny, less-than-three-inch erection. “All that fuss over such a little thing. Poor Samantha. Don’t worry, baby, you don’t need to be a big boy here you will always be dressed as a sissy baby girl now.” The final, most profound pillar of baby Samantha’s new reality was Susan’s new boyfriend, Mark. Where Sam had been slight and boyish, Mark was broad, rough-handed, and unmistakably, aggressively male. Susan, still a vibrant and attractive woman, had no intention of celibacy. Their relationship was open now, in one direction. Most nights, after Samantha was tucked into his crib with a pacifier clipped to his nightie, Mark would arrive. From the confines of his crib, Samantha was forced to watch. He’d lie on his side, clutching the crib bars, as the big, rough man climbed into the bed beside Susan. He’d listen to the sounds of his wife’s pleasure, see the shadow of Mark’s powerful form moving over her, his long thick penis easily seven inches a stark, living contrast to his own tiny member and infantilisation. It was the ultimate humiliation, a nightly lesson in his complete displacement. And Samantha, true to his deepest, most shameful wiring, was perversely enthralled by it. The heat in his cheeks, the tight knot of helpless arousal in nappy- his stomach—it all fed his regression. His behaviour began to mirror his attire. He became a full-time baby, and a mischievous one at that. He was caught red-handed, more than once, sneaking into the laundry to play with Susan’s discarded, silky white panties, staining them with his childish curiosity. He would try to hide and spy on Mommy and Mark during their private moments, his breathing shallow. He even caused trouble on the rare occasions Susan took him to a “littles” playgroup, snatching toys and babbling incoherently to provoke the other adult babies.All the wives at the group knew he was a cuckold sissy . The discipline for these transgressions never came from Susan. She was the nurturing mommy, offering bottles and soothing lullabies. Punishment was Mark’s domain. He would haul the snivelling Samantha over his knee, right there in the living room or nursery, peeling down the frilly knickers and plastic pants to expose the diapered bottom beneath. The spankings were not brutal, but they were firm, authoritative, and deeply shaming, each crack of Mark’s hand a reinforcement of the hierarchy: Once over his blistered bottom he was forced to stand in the corner hand on his frilly bonet his penis aroused leaking precum at the humiiatation .Man over Mommy, Mommy over Baby. Afterwards, Mark would often force Samantha to kneel and apologise, not to Susan, but to him, for being a nuisance to his woman. Samantha would hiccup through the words, his face wet with tears, a confusing cocktail of terror, humiliation, and devotion swirling inside him. His world condensed to its simple, stark elements: the scent of baby powder, the crinkle of plastic, the taste of puréed food from a spoon fed by Chloe, the intimidating shadow of Mark, and the beautiful, stern face of Mommy Susan, who loved him enough to reduce him to this. The nursery, with its locked door and soft lighting, was his entire universe. The cuckolding was his nightly lullaby. The humiliation was his oxygen. And as he drifted off to sleep in his crib, listening to the steady breathing of the real man sleeping beside his wife, a profound, peaceful smile would touch Samantha’s lips. He was where he belonged. He wouldn’t have it any other way

The soft scuff of Ashley’s expensive heels on the polished floor was a sound that had become inextricably linked to dread. Thomas, already a trembling mess beneath the suffocating confines of his baby-sized prison, flinched, his tiny fists clenching within the too-large cuffs of the pink nightie. He’d barely managed to choke back a whimper when the first tentative sounds had drifted from the hallway—a low murmur, a soft sigh, then Sarah’s breathy laugh, a sound Thomas hadn’t heard directed at him in months, now sharp and alien in its pleasure. He’d tried to block it out, tried to retreat into the blankness that had become his only defense, but the walls were thin, and his mind, fractured as it was, refused to offer sanctuary. Then Ashley was there. Not a phantom at the door, but a solid, unsettling presence. He heard her move across the room, felt the slight shift in the air as she approached the cot. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself. The crinkle of fabric, a distinct, intimate rustle, preceded the sudden, suffocating weight that descended upon his head. It was soft, yielding, yet terrifyingly heavy. The scent, oh God, the scent. It was Sarah. Not the Sarah of rosewater and subtle perfume he knew, but a raw, pungent, animalistic fragrance that clung to the very fibers of the cool white satin fabric. It was potent, intoxicating, and utterly devastating. He couldn’t breathe, not properly. The terry cloth nappy and plastic pants were already a constant, damp pressure against his skin, but this was different. This was a shroud of intimacy, a stolen, violated intimacy that was being pressed directly into his face. He choked, a strangled sound that vibrated against the thick material. Tears, hot and immediate, welled beneath the fabric, blurring the already indistinct world. He tried to push it away, his small hands fumbling uselessly against the sheer, overwhelming volume of it. “There, there, little one,” Ashley’s voice purred, dripping with a saccharine sweetness that was more venom than comfort. It was a voice designed to mimic the gentle tones one might use with an actual infant, but Thomas heard the cruel mockery woven through every syllable. “Such a big boy, aren’t we? All tucked in and ready for… whatever comes next.” He felt her lean closer, her breath warm and ticklish against his ear. Her fingers, cool and deliberate, brushed against the satin of his frilly pink sheer baby knickers ,plastic pants underneath , then slid to the edge of the frilly knickers . He flinched again, a violent tremor running through his small frame. “Shhh, now,” she murmured, her tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, yet still loud enough to pierce the cotton barrier. “Don’t you cry. Your mommy… she likes it when you’re quiet. She likes it when you’re… good.” He could hear the muffled sounds from the hallway growing bolder, louder. Sarah’s breath hitched, a ragged sound that clawed at Thomas’s gut. And then, Ashley’s words, delivered with chilling clarity, sliced through the overwhelming scent and the cacophony of his own fear. “You know what Sarah calls you, Thomas?” Ashley’s voice was a low, sibilant hiss, meant to burrow deep into his already shattered consciousness. “She calls you a sissy loser.” The words landed like physical blows, each syllable a hammer blow against the fragile remnants of his dignity. Sissy loser. The label, raw and ugly, resonated with a part of him he’d always desperately tried to ignore. “She finds it… hilarious,” Ashley continued, the word laced with a malicious delight that made Thomas’s stomach churn. “She finds your little… predicament… utterly amusing. She loves watching you squirm, doesn’t she?” Thomas could feel his face contorting, the tears streaming faster now, soaking into the fabric pressed against his skin. He was trapped, not just by the bars of the cot, but by the suffocating intimacy of Sarah’s white silky satin flimy underwear, by the venomous words that confirmed his deepest fears. He was a sissy loser. His wife found his degradation amusing. And he was powerless to stop any of it. The scent of Sarah, once a comfort, was now a toxic reminder of his utter failure, a fragrant testament to his wife’s contempt and Ashley’s cruelty. The muffling effect of the panties, designed to stifle his cries, only amplified the internal roar of his shame, making him feel even more isolated, even more pathetic. He could feel the plastic crinkling against his skin as he thrashed, a pathetic, infantile struggle that only seemed to amuse Ashley further. Her laughter, low and guttural, was a chilling counterpoint to the rising tide of Sarah’s pleasure from the other room. The air in the nursery, thick with the cloying scent of feminine hygiene products and baby powder, felt suffocating, a tangible representation of the infantile cage he had been forced into. He wanted to scream, to claw his way out of this humiliating prison, but the panties held him captive, their damp embrace a constant, overwhelming reminder of his helplessness. The thin sheer nylon of the babydoll nightie offered no barrier against the damp silk pressed against Thomas’s face. The fabric, still warm from Sarah’s body, clung to his nose and mouth, a cloying, intimate perfume of sweat and something floral – her signature scent, now a brand of his own humiliation. He gagged, a strangled sound muffled by the silken veil, the plastic crinkle of the diaper beneath him a mocking counterpoint to his struggle. Ashley’s breath, a faint whisper against his ear, was laced with a saccharine cruelty that made his skin crawl. “Oh, Thomas,” she cooed, her voice like a caress turned razor. “Such a little baby. Mummy’s so proud of you, aren’t you, Sarah?” Sarah’s response, though not directly audible over the throbbing symphony of their passion, was conveyed in a guttural sigh that vibrated through the walls, a sound of complete surrender that ripped through Thomas like a physical blow. Ashley’s fingers, cool and deliberate, traced the elastic edge of the panties, drawing them tighter against his skin. “She says,” Ashley continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur, the words coated in venom, “that you’re just a sissy loser, Thomas. That seeing you like this… it just makes her so happy. It’s so amusing.” Amusing. The word lodged itself in Thomas’s throat, a burning ember. He tried to twist away, to dislodge the suffocating silk, but the confines of the cot were too small, his limbs too awkward, the padded sides like the bars of a cage. His breath came in ragged gasps, the air thick with the cloying scent of Sarah's desire, a scent that was now inextricably linked to his own abject failure. From the master bedroom, just a few feet beyond the nursery door, the sounds intensified. They were no longer hushed whispers or muffled sighs. They were raw, primal, unrestrained. A low grunt, deep and resonant, followed by Sarah’s sharp intake of breath. The rhythmic thud of flesh against flesh, a beat that pulsed through the house, each impact a hammer blow against Thomas’s already fractured sanity. He squeezed his eyes shut, a futile attempt to block out the sounds, but they burrowed into his consciousness, amplified by the stark reality of his situation. He was trapped, a helpless infant in a grown man's body, forced to witness the desecration of his marriage. The walls, once solid and familiar, now felt paper-thin, conduits for Sarah’s infidelity. Then, a sliver of light. A gap in the nursery door, or perhaps a trick of his strained vision, offered a fleeting glimpse into the master bedroom. It was a distorted frame, a voyeuristic window into hell. He saw Sarah. Or rather, he saw her back, her body arching, a silhouette against the dim light. He saw her hands, long and slender, clinging to a broad, muscled back – Mark’s back. And then, a flash of metal. A glint of gold. Her wedding ring, a stark symbol of their vows, twisted and contorted as her fingers dug into Mark’s flesh. The contrast was unbearable. Sarah, his wife, the woman who had promised him forever, was lost in a frenzy of passion with another man, her wedding band a mocking testament to her betrayal. The sounds of their escalating pleasure vibrated through him, each moan, each gasp, each thrust a testament to his inadequacy. He felt a prickle of sweat break out on his brow, a cold dread coiling in his gut. And then, something else. A shameful, impossible stirring beneath the layers of terry cloth and plastic. A tiny, unwanted erection. His body, his traitorous body, was responding. A vestige of his manhood, flickering even in this abyss of degradation. It was a sick, twisted irony. While his mind reeled from the horror, his flesh betrayed him with a pathetic, ignoble arousal. He wanted to weep, to scream, to rip himself free from this infantile prison. But he was paralyzed, bound by his shame and the suffocating reality of the scene unfolding before him. He felt a tremor run through the cot. Ashley was moving. Her presence, a constant, predatory force, had not diminished. He could feel her eyes on him, a physical weight that pressed down, suffocating him further. He dared not move, dared not breathe. The silken panties felt tighter, the scent of Sarah more potent, more suffocating. Then, a gentle pressure. Ashley’s fingers, cool and deliberate, were rubbing, a slow, circular motion against the bulge beneath the frilly knickers. Through the veil of silk, he could sense her smirk, could feel the wicked delight radiating from her. She knew. She saw. And she reveled in it. “Oh, look at that,” Ashley whispered, her voice laced with a predatory amusement that chilled him to the bone. “Someone’s getting excited, aren’t we? Is our little sissy boy getting… hard aww your teeny tiny baby dick all three inches hard because your wife is gettting a good hhard fucking from her boyfreind and his noce big thick cock all eight inches apprntly according to what Sarah told me.?” Her words were a whip, each syllable a lash against his already raw nerves. He clenched his jaw, fighting back a sob, a desperate plea for this to end. But the rubbing continued, a cruel, taunting rhythm that amplified his shame, his conflicted arousal, his utter powerlessness. The sounds from the bedroom surged, reaching a crescendo. Sarah’s voice, raw and piercing, a primal scream that was both ecstasy and agony, tore through the house. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure, a pleasure Thomas had never elicited, a pleasure that Mark, the intruder, was now stealing. The wedding ring, momentarily lost in the frenzy, reappeared as Sarah’s hand tightened its grip, her body writhing in ecstatic surrender. The sounds began to subside, leaving behind a ringing silence that was almost more unbearable than the noise. The house, once vibrant with Sarah’s betrayal, now felt hollowed out, echoing with the ghosts of their passion. Thomas lay in the cot, the silken panties still pressed against his face, the scent of Sarah a heavy, suffocating shroud. The sliver of light from the master bedroom, once a window into his torment, was now just a dull, accusing glow. His tiny erection, a testament to his brokenness, began to recede, leaving behind a phantom ache, a sickening hollowness. He was left with the silence, the smell, and the indelible imprint of Sarah’s shattering climax, a climax that had shattered him along with it.

Ashley’s footsteps, too light for the weight of her cruelty, echoed softly on the hardwood floor. She paused just outside the nursery door, a phantom of anticipation. Thomas, small and pathetic within the confines of the cot, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps, felt her presence like a physical blow. He knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, that the relative quiet of the last few moments was merely the held breath before the next surge of torment. The nursery door creaked open. The air, already thick with the cloying sweetness of baby powder and the faint, sterile scent of disinfectant, seemed to compress, to become suffocatingly dense. Ashley’s silhouette, sharp and defined against the dim hallway light, filled the doorway. Her face, when she stepped fully into the room, was a mask of triumphant glee, her eyes, dark and predatory, fixed on Thomas. A low, guttural sound rumbled from the master bedroom, a sound that sent a fresh wave of nausea through Thomas. It was Sarah’s lover, Mark, his primal urgency a stark contrast to Thomas’s own paralyzed state. Ashley moved with an unnerving grace, her progress towards the cot a deliberate procession. She carried something in her hand, something she’d retrieved from the master bedroom, a secret trophy of Sarah’s infidelity. As she drew closer, the faint, unmistakable aroma hit Thomas – the musky, floral, undeniably intimate scent of Sarah. It was the scent of her skin, of her arousal, of her betrayal. She stopped beside the cot, her shadow engulfing Thomas. He flinched, pulling his knees tighter to his chest, the crinkly plastic of his nappy rustling with the movement. His gaze was fixed on the floor, unable to bear the sight of Ashley’s smug satisfaction. He could feel her peering down at him, a detached amusement playing on her lips. Then, with a sudden, decisive movement, she pressed the object into his face. It was Sarah’s underwear. Damp. Warm. The delicate lace, the familiar pattern, now a suffocating shroud. The fabric was soft, yet its texture felt coarse against his skin, its scent overwhelming, intoxicatingly shameful. It pressed against his nose, his mouth, muffling his choked whimpers, forcing him to inhale the very essence of his wife’s defilement. “Oh, Tommy, Tommy, Tommy,” Ashley cooed, her voice dripping with mock pity, each syllable a carefully aimed dart. “Look what Mommy left for you. Isn’t that sweet? She wants you to remember her, to smell her when she’s… busy.” Thomas gagged, the fabric thick and cloying in his throat. His eyes, now completely obscured, squeezed shut, but the sensory onslaught was unrelenting. The scent was too much. It clung to him, seeped into his pores, a physical manifestation of his cuckoldry. He could feel the dampness of it, a chilling echo of Sarah’s intimacy with another man. He struggled against the suffocating embrace, his small fists beating a futile rhythm against the plastic. “Shhh, now, don’t cry, little baby,” Ashley murmured, her voice hardening into something sharp and cruel. She didn’t remove the panties, instead adjusting them, pressing them deeper, ensuring every breath he took was laced with Sarah’s intimate scent. “Crying won’t help you. This is all part of the game, isn’t it? You’re such a good little boy, playing along.” From the master bedroom, the sounds escalated. A low moan, a guttural grunt, the distinct creak of a bed frame groaning under duress. Each sound was amplified, distorted by the muffled darkness of the panties, hammering against Thomas’s skull. He could hear Sarah’s voice, a breathless, desperate sound he hadn’t heard in years, a sound of raw, uninhibited desire. It was a sound of surrender, a sound of pleasure so profound it felt like a physical violation. Ashley leaned closer, her voice a conspiratorial whisper, inches from his ear, yet somehow still amplified by the suffocating darkness. “Do you hear that, Thomas? That’s your wife. That’s your wife… with Mark.” She savored the name, letting it hang in the air like a venomous promise. “She’s enjoying herself. Very much, it seems.” Thomas’s body shuddered, a violent tremor that shook the cot. His breath hitched, caught somewhere between a sob and a gasp. The physical act of breathing, normally so automatic, had become a struggle, a painful reminder of his utter helplessness. He wanted to tear the panties from his face, to scream, to fight, but his limbs felt heavy, sluggish, as if they belonged to someone else. The infantile attire, designed to strip him of his agency, now served as a physical restraint, trapping him in a waking nightmare. “Sarah says you’re a… sissy loser, Thomas,” Ashley purred, the words like shards of glass against his raw nerves. “She says she finds your little… predicament… utterly amusing.” Sissy loser. The words echoed in the darkness, lodging themselves deep within his psyche. They were not new, not entirely. He had heard them whispered, implied, seen them in Sarah’s contemptuous glances. But now, delivered directly, amplified by the suffocating intimacy of her underwear, they landed with the force of a physical blow. He felt a burning shame wash over him, hotter and more corrosive than any physical pain. He was a sissy. A loser. And his wife found his degradation amusing. He could feel Ashley’s breath on his cheek, a faint, taunting warmth. “She loves watching you squirm, Thomas. It turns her on, you know. Seeing you so… pathetic. So utterly hers to torment.” The sounds from the master bedroom reached a fever pitch. Sarah’s voice, now a high, keening cry, mingled with Mark’s deep, resonant groans. The bed frame protested violently, a relentless rhythm of their shared ecstasy. Thomas felt a strange, disturbing sensation bloom beneath the thick layers of his nappy and plastic pants. A faint, almost imperceptible stirring. A tiny, conflicted erection. It was a horrifying betrayal of his own body, a testament to the twisted arousal that shame and humiliation could sometimes ignite. His mind recoiled from it, disgusted, yet his body responded, a sickening testament to his broken psyche. Ashley’s breath hitched. Her keen senses, attuned to every nuance of Thomas’s suffering, had detected it. A slow, knowing smile spread across her face, visible even through the muffled darkness of the panties. Her hand, cool and deliberate, moved from his face to his lap. She felt the small, insistent pressure beneath the layers of cloth. “Oh, my,” she whispered, her voice laced with a new, more potent brand of sadism. “Look at that. Little Tommy is getting excited. Even when you’re all dressed up like a baby, and your wife is with another man, your body still… remembers.” Her fingers, light and teasing, began to rub against the thick layers of his knickers and nappy, directly over the small, insistent bulge. “Does that feel good, Thomas? Does it make you feel like a big man?” Thomas froze, his body rigid. The sensation, coupled with the suffocating darkness and the sounds of his wife’s pleasure, was an unbearable overload. He wanted to shrink away, to disappear, but Ashley’s touch was relentless, her fingers tracing the outline of his arousal through the layers of absurd, frilly pink nylon. The scent of Sarah’s panties, now mingled with the heat of his own confused arousal, created a nauseating cocktail that threatened to consume him entirely. He was a child, trapped in a nightmare, his body betraying him in the most humiliating way imaginable, under the gleeful gaze of his wife’s tormentor. The shame was absolute, a crushing weight that threatened to extinguish the very spark of life within him. The muffled sounds from the master bedroom, once a distant, terrifying rumble, now solidified into the undeniable rhythm of Sarah’s release. A primal scream, thick with a pleasure Thomas had only ever dreamed of eliciting, tore through the thin walls. It wasn’t a cry of pain, but of utter, unadulterated abandon. His wife. His wife, giving herself over with a ferocity that stole his breath, a ferocity that had been absent from their marriage for years. And it was with him. Mark. The smug confidence, the effortless dominance – everything Thomas was not. The wedding ring on Sarah’s hand, a symbol of their vows, glinted in the sliver of light that bled from the master bedroom’s open door, a beacon of his failure, a testament to her stolen joy. Ashley’s presence beside the cot was a phantom sensation at first, a shift in the suffocating air. Then, a weight descended. Something damp, cloying, and achingly familiar pressed against Thomas’s face, stealing his breath and the last vestiges of his composure. Sarah’s panties. Her intimate, betraying panties, now a veil of shame, a smothering shroud. The fabric, still warm, clung to his skin, saturated with the intoxicating, sickeningly sweet perfume of her infidelity. Each inhale was a fresh assault, a visceral reminder of the intimacy he had lost, the intimacy he was now forced to witness, to smell. His breath hitched, a strangled sob trapped behind the cotton barrier. He tried to pull away, to wrench his face free from the humiliating caress, but his head was too small, too weak against the determined grip. “Oh, Thomas,” Ashley’s voice, dripping with honeyed malice, purred directly into his ear. It was a sound designed to soothe, but it landed like a viper’s strike. “Such a good boy, letting Mummy’s friend take care of you.” Her fingers, long and cool, traced the rough texture of the terrycloth nappy beneath the panties, a phantom caress that sent a shiver of disgust and a perverse flicker of something else – something he couldn’t name – through him. The sounds from the master bedroom intensified, a symphony of grunts and gasps, each one a hammer blow to Thomas’s already fractured psyche. He could almost feel the rhythmic thrusts, the desperate press of flesh, the raw, animalistic pleasure Sarah was indulging in. It was a soundscape of his own undoing, amplified by the thin plaster walls and the stifling embrace of the cot. He squeezed his eyes shut, desperate to escape the auditory assault, but the image of Sarah’s face, her head thrown back in ecstasy, her wedding ring flashing, was seared into his mind. Then Ashley spoke again, her voice low and conspiratorial, each word a precisely aimed dart. “Did you hear that, Thomas? That was your wife. That was her telling Mark how much she needs him. How much better he is.” A soft, almost delicate choke escaped Thomas’s throat, a desperate attempt to stifle the tears that threatened to spill. “Sarah says,” Ashley continued, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper, “that you’re just a… a sissy loser. That she loves seeing you like this. Humiliated. Helpless.” The words struck him like a physical blow. Sissy loser. The epithet, hurled with such casual cruelty, echoed Sarah’s own veiled criticisms, her dismissive sighs, her disappointed glances that had become so frequent in recent months. But to hear it articulated so brutally, so publically, by her closest friend, while he was trapped in this humiliating prison, was a new depth of agony. His mind, already reeling from the sounds of Sarah’s pleasure, seized on Ashley’s words, twisting them, dissecting them. He was a sissy. A loser. And Sarah, his wife, found his degradation amusing. The thought was a corrosive acid, eating away at the last vestiges of his dignity. His body, a traitorous instrument, responded to the overwhelming sensory input in a way that horrified him. Beneath the layers of soft cotton and crinkly plastic, a tiny, unwelcome stir began. A phantom erection, a flicker of conflicted arousal born from the sheer intensity of the situation, the raw display of feminine passion, and the perverted attention he was receiving. It was a sickening testament to his own brokenness, a final, ignominious twist of the knife. He tried to suppress it, to will it away, but it was a physical manifestation of his torment, a biological betrayal. Ashley’s sharp intake of breath was a predatory sound. Her fingers, which had been idly stroking the fabric of his knickers, stilled. Then, with deliberate slowness, she began to rub. Her touch was rougher now, more insistent, the movement creating a friction that seared through the layers of nylon. It was a calculated cruelty, a sadistic confirmation of his shame. “Oh, look at that,” Ashley purred, her voice laced with triumph. “Someone’s getting excited. Is that for Mummy, Thomas? Is that for Sarah?” Her thumb brushed against the swelling beneath the frilly pink fabric, a deliberate emphasis on his humiliation. “She loves that, you know. She loves knowing you’re a pathetic little sissy down there, all hot and bothered while she’s being pleasured by a real man.” Thomas’s breath hitched again, the friction intensifying his shame. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to beg her to stop, but the words were trapped in his throat, choked by the damp fabric and the overwhelming tide of his own degradation. He could hear Sarah’s lover, Mark, his grunts deeper, more guttural, a sound of pure, uninhibited masculine release. And then, Sarah’s scream, a shattering crescendo of pleasure that echoed the breaking of something within Thomas. It was a sound of finality, a death knell for whatever remained of his manhood. The sounds gradually subsided, leaving behind a profound, echoing silence that was almost more oppressive than the preceding cacophony. The air in the nursery, thick with the lingering scent of Sarah’s perfume and the subtle, metallic tang of arousal, pressed in on Thomas. He lay in the cot, the damp panties a suffocating weight, the ruffles of his pink nightie scratching against his skin. He was a spectator to his own destruction, a prisoner in a cradle of shame. Ashley’s departure was as silent as her arrival. He felt the pressure on his face ease as she lifted the panties, and for a fleeting moment, he saw her face. Her eyes, usually bright and sharp, were alight with a cruel, triumphant glee. A smirk, sharp and satisfied, curved her lips as she gazed down at him, her gaze lingering on his small, inert body, so utterly pathetic in its infantile trappings. It was the look of a predator who had just savored its prey, a look of absolute victory. Then she turned, melting back into the shadows of the hallway, leaving him alone. Utterly alone. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, broken only by the shallow, ragged breaths that escaped his lips. His body, wracked with a combination of physical exhaustion and profound emotional trauma, felt alien and unresponsive. The tiny, conflicted erection had long since subsided, leaving behind only a dull ache of shame. His mind, however, was a storm of shattered images and echoing taunts. Sissy loser. Amusing. Needs a real man. The words replayed in an endless loop, each repetition a fresh wound. He stared blankly at the patterned wallpaper of the nursery, the pastel colours suddenly seeming garish and mocking. The cot, once a symbol of innocence, now felt like a cage, a tomb for the man he had once been. The ruffles of his nightie, a childish adornment, felt like the binding ropes that held him captive. He was broken. Irrevocably. The man named Thomas had died in that cot, consumed by the shame, the betrayal, and the intoxicating scent of his wife’s pleasure. What remained was a shell, a hollow echo, forever trapped in the suffocating embrace of Sissy’s Shameful Night.

Ashley’s fingers, cool and deliberate, worked at the edges of the thick terrycloth nappy. Thomas’s breath hitched, a small, desperate sound that snagged in his throat. He felt the rough material pulled away, leaving him exposed to the faintly stale air of the room, a room that had once held the quiet promise of spare linens and forgotten hobbies, now a suffocatingly curated testament to his undoing. Then, a new texture. Softer, yet undeniably damp. A whisper of synthetic silk against his skin, followed by the cloying, intimate scent that filled his nostrils. It was thick, musky, laced with something metallic and strangely sweet. Sarah’s scent. The scent of her when she was… elsewhere. And now, it was being pressed against his face, a suffocating veil. He felt the elasticated edges cinch around his ears, a grotesque parody of comfort. The material was bunched, clinging, obscuring his vision almost entirely. He could make out a distorted, pinkish blur. “There, there, my little baby,” Ashley crooned, her voice dripping with a saccharine cruelty that made Thomas’s stomach clench. The words were not meant for comfort, but for a fresh stab of humiliation. She traced the edge of the knickers with a long, painted fingernail. “Such a good boy, letting Mummy dress you.” Thomas tried to pull away, to gag at the overwhelming perfume of betrayal, but his hands were useless, still bound loosely at his sides by the soft, white straps of the cot. The plastic pants, still cinched tight around his waist, rustled with a sound like dry leaves skittering across pavement. It amplified the muffled sound of his own desperate breaths. “No one likes a crybaby, do they?” Ashley leaned closer, her face a mask of amused superiority just beyond the blurry edges of the pink fabric. Her breath ghosted against his cheek, carrying the faint, minty tang of her own recent consumption. “And Sarah, well, she likes you very quiet when she’s busy.” A low thrumming sound emanated from beyond the nursery door. Distant, yet growing. A deep bass note that vibrated not just in the air, but in the very floorboards, a primal rhythm that resonated with a sickening familiarity. It was the sound of exertion, of bodies pressed close, of a passion that was not his. Thomas’s mind, already teetering on the brink, strained to process the symphony of his own destruction. “Don’t you worry, darling,” Ashley whispered, her voice now a low, conspiratorial hiss, the cooing facade dropping away to reveal the raw, gleeful malice beneath. She nudged his head, forcing him to tilt it slightly. “You just listen. Listen to how happy your wife is. Listen to how much she’s… enjoying herself.” The thrumming intensified. It was punctuated now by ragged intakes of breath, a soft moaning that was unmistakably Sarah’s, though distorted by distance and the fabric muffling Thomas’s ears. Each sound was a physical blow, a violation that seeped into his bones. He could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage of bone. “She says you’re such a… sissy loser, you know,” Ashley murmured, her lips brushing against the side of his ear, the words laced with a venom that Thomas felt deep in his gut. “She says she’s always found it so amusing. Your… softness. Your quiet desperation. It just makes her… feel so much more.” The scent of the panties grew stronger, more suffocating. It was the smell of Sarah’s heat, of her surrender. He imagined her, panting, her skin slick, her eyes glazed over. And he, Thomas, was here, swaddled in her intimate betrayal, forced to bear witness. The word “sissy loser” echoed in the small space behind his eyes, a brand seared into his already fractured psyche. It wasn’t just the sounds, the smells, the confinement. It was the deliberate, meticulous dismantling of his identity, orchestrated by the two women who, in their own twisted ways, held dominion over him. He felt a tremor run through the cot, as if the entire structure were reacting to the seismic shifts occurring just beyond the door. The thrumming escalated, a guttural crescendo of pleasure and exertion. Sarah’s voice, clearer now, a breathless, desperate cry, rose and fell. It was a sound that should have been familiar, a sound of intimacy, but here, amplified and twisted by circumstance, it was a siren song of his own downfall. Ashley’s hand moved, not to comfort, but to prod. Her fingers brushed against the damp fabric of the panties, then the plastic of the diaper beneath. Thomas felt a subtle shift, a pressure. He flinched, a involuntary spasm. His body, so often unresponsive, so often a source of his own quiet shame, was betraying him in another way. A tiny, unwelcome stirring beneath the layers of humiliating confinement. A pathetic, biological echo of the passion he was forced to endure. Ashley’s head snapped up. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, zeroed in on the subtle bulge beneath the pink ruffles of his nightie. A slow, predatory smile spread across her face, wider and more triumphant than before. She brought her hand, the one that had just touched the damp panties, closer. “Oh, look at that,” she purred, her voice dangerously soft. She let her fingers brush lightly against the plastic pants, then through the delicate lace of the knickers, directly over the spot. “Well, well. Someone’s excited, aren’t we? Even when you’re supposed to be a good little baby.” Her touch was light, almost imperceptible, but to Thomas, it felt like a brand. It was a searing confirmation of his own divided nature, his own pathetic arousal in the face of his own cuckolding. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the sensation, the humiliation, to disappear. But Ashley’s fingers lingered, a deliberate, almost teasing pressure, rubbing through the frilly fabric. The conflicting sensations – the shame, the raw auditory evidence of Sarah’s pleasure, the physical throb beneath, and now Ashley’s invasive, knowing touch – overwhelmed his senses. He felt a desperate, primal urge to scream, to break free, but the sounds coming from the other room, Sarah’s escalating cries, drowned out any nascent rebellion. He was trapped, not just by the cot, but by his own body, his own mind, and the insatiable cruelty of the women who had orchestrated his descent. The soft, sickening thud of bare flesh meeting bare flesh echoed through the thin walls, a rhythm that vibrated not just through the floorboards, but through Thomas’s very bones. The sounds were no longer whispers, no longer suggestions. They were raw, primal, undeniable. Sarah’s voice, usually so controlled, so measured, was now a breathless, guttural keen, a sound he hadn't heard in years, a sound he'd desperately, hopelessly, yearned for. It was a sound of release, of surrender, a surrender that was not for him. Each groan, each sharp intake of breath from Sarah, was a fresh lash against his already flayed senses. The air in the nursery, once just heavy with dread, now felt thick with the cloying perfume of his wife’s infidelity, a scent that mingled with the stale, papery odor of the damp panties still smothering his face. The fabric was abrasive against his skin, rougher than the nappy, rougher than the plastic pants. It pressed against his nose and mouth, a constant, suffocating reminder of his violation, and the intimate, musky fragrance of Sarah’s arousal, still clinging to the threads, was a sickeningly sweet torment. Through the narrow, sliver of a gap he could glimpse. The master bedroom, usually the sanctuary of their shared life, now a stage for his utter destruction. The shadows danced, elongated by the dim lamplight. He saw Sarah’s hair, a dark spill across a pillow, then her back, arching. Her wedding ring. It caught the light for a fleeting moment as her hand, fingers splayed, clutched at the powerful form of Mark. The metal, meant to symbolize their union, now gleamed like a tiny, mocking beacon, a stark, irrefutable testament to her betrayal. It was a symbol of everything he was supposed to possess, now being lavished on another. Thomas’s breath hitched, a ragged, inarticulate sound that was immediately swallowed by the panties. His body, a traitor, reacted to the visceral symphony of his wife’s pleasure. A warmth, a disturbing, unwanted stir, began to build beneath the layers of cloth and humiliation. A tiny, pathetic erection. It was a biological reflex, a sick, twisted response to the proximity of arousal, to the sounds of sex, to the very scent of his wife’s desire. It was the ultimate indignity, a biological betrayal that compounded the emotional devastation. Ashley’s voice, sharp and brittle, sliced through the din. "Oh, look at that, Sarah," she purred, her voice laced with a venom that Thomas felt more acutely than any physical blow. He couldn't see her, but he could feel her presence, a predatory energy radiating from the doorway. "Even he can't help himself, can he? Such a little sissy. Getting excited by Mummy's fun." Her hand, cool and surprisingly strong, pressed down on the ruffled fabric covering his groin. He felt the distinct, mortifying pressure of her fingers, moving against the fabric of his frilly pink knickers, pressing against the nascent hardness beneath. It was a deliberate, calculated act, designed to amplify his shame. He felt the friction, the intimate touch that was a grotesque parody of affection, a cruel confirmation of his pathetic state. "He's still got a little soldier, Sarah," Ashley crooned, her voice a mockingly gentle whisper, amplified by the stillness of the nursery. "Don't you worry, little one. Mummy's just having a bit of fun. And you get to watch. You get to feel it all." The rhythmic sounds from the master bedroom intensified. Sarah’s cries became sharper, more urgent. The metallic gleam of the wedding ring flashed again as her hand tightened its grip. Thomas’s erection, already a source of profound shame, throbbed with a sickening pulse, a biological testament to his own corrupted desires, amplified by Ashley’s cruel, invasive touch. It was a perfect storm of humiliation: his wife’s raw, uninhibited pleasure, the visual confirmation of her abandonment, the suffocating scent of her arousal, his own pathetic physical response, and Ashley’s sadistic orchestration. He tried to cry out, to beg, to protest, but the words were choked, trapped behind the damp fabric. His vision was a blurry, distorted kaleidoscope of shadows and light, the dominant impression being Sarah’s wild abandon. He heard the guttural grunt from Mark, a sound of pure, unadulterated release. And then, Sarah’s scream. It wasn't a scream of pain. It was a primal, shattering sound, a full-throated, unrestrained explosion of pure, unadulterated pleasure. It ripped through the house, a siren song of climax, a sound so powerful, so profound, that it seemed to shake the very foundations of the home. It was an orgasm of years, a release of pent-up frustration, a complete, devastating surrender. Thomas heard it, felt it reverberate through him, a final, crushing blow. His wife, his wife was experiencing an ecstasy he could only dream of, with another man. The sound hung in the air, raw and electric, then slowly, agonizingly, began to fade. The rhythmic sounds ceased. A profound, echoing silence descended, broken only by the ragged, desperate sound of Thomas’s own breathing, muffled by the panties. The palpable tension in the air began to dissipate, leaving behind only the thick, heavy residue of unshed tears and shattered dreams. Ashley’s hand, which had been tracing patterns of exquisite torture against his groin, slowly withdrew. The pressure vanished, leaving a phantom ache, a lingering awareness of his own corrupted body. He felt her presence shift, heard the faint rustle of her clothing. "Well," Ashley’s voice was low, satisfied, the sadism finally ebbing, replaced by a triumphant weariness. "That was… something, wasn't it?" Thomas didn't respond. He couldn't. His mind, already teetering on the precipice, had finally tipped over. The overwhelming sensory assault, the visual betrayal, the auditory torment, the physical shame – it had all converged into a singularity of pure, unadulterated brokenness. His erection, the final, cruel insult, had begun its sickening retreat, leaving behind a hollow ache that mirrored the cavernous void opening within him. He remained still, a small, pathetic figure swaddled in baby clothes, confined to the cold embrace of the cot. The damp panties still covered his face, a shroud of shame. He could feel the rough terry cloth of the nappy beneath, the constricting plastic pants, the frilly silk of the knickers, the soft cotton of the nightie. He was a doll, a prop, a broken toy. The sounds from the master bedroom had faded, replaced by the deafening roar of his own internal devastation. He was left in the quiet of the nursery, alone with the ghosts of his manhood. The sliver of vision he had, showing a fractured glimpse of what used to be his life, was now just a blur of darkness and the faint, mocking gleam of a wedding ring. The world outside the cot, the world Sarah and Mark now inhabited, was a foreign land, forever out of his reach.

The soft, yielding plastic of the baby pants crinkled against his skin, a sound that should have been childish, innocent, but now felt like the rasp of chains. Thomas lay trapped, the damp, intimate scent of Sarah’s panties clinging to his face, a suffocating shroud. Ashley’s voice, a silken whip, slithered through the muffling fabric. "Hear that, little one? That’s Mommy having fun. Mommy’s not playing with you anymore. She’s found someone much, much better. Someone who can… really please her." The words, muffled as they were, burrowed into his skull. Ashley's breath, warm and laced with something sharp and sweet like cheap perfume, tickled his ear. He could feel her presence, a predatory stillness radiating from her, a stark contrast to the frantic energy now vibrating through the house. From the master bedroom, a low moan, unmistakably Sarah’s, drifted through the thin walls. It was a sound Thomas hadn’t heard in years, a sound of raw, unadulterated need that clawed at his gut. It was followed by a deeper, guttural rumble, Mark’s voice, a sound of confident possession. The thud of flesh against flesh, a rhythmic, insistent beat, began to pound through the house, each impact a hammer blow against Thomas’s collapsing world. He tried to stifle a whimper, a pathetic, infant-like sound that escaped despite his will. The fabric pressed harder, muffling the sound but amplifying the suffocating intimacy. It was the scent of his wife, yes, but now it was tainted, imbued with the foreign tang of another man’s desire. He could almost taste it, a bitter, metallic aftertaste of betrayal. "Oh, listen to her go," Ashley whispered, her tone dripping with a perverse delight. "She’s really into it tonight, isn’t she? You’re not giving her that, are you, Thomas? You’re just… a little sissy loser." The words echoed the taunt Sarah had used earlier, amplified now by Ashley's gleeful delivery. "Sissy loser." The label clung to him like the sticky residue of the baby lotion Sarah had applied to his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, the visual of the nursery – the pastel walls, the toy mobile spinning lazily overhead – blurring behind the dark fabric. But his ears, cruelly, were wide open. The sounds intensified. Sarah’s moans grew higher, more desperate, punctuated by sharp intakes of breath. Mark’s grunts became more frequent, deeper, a primal testament to his exertion. The thin walls of the house seemed to offer no insulation, no barrier to the raw, unvarnished act of his wife’s infidelity. It was a symphony of his own undoing, each crescendo a stab to his heart. He could feel the faint tremor of the bed through the floorboards, a subtle vibration that synchronized with the rhythm of their passion. It was as if the house itself was participating, groaning under the weight of their illicit union. Thomas, small and helpless in his oversized nightie, felt utterly consumed by the sonic assault. The air in the nursery grew thick, heavy with unspoken accusations and the intoxicating, acrid smell of fear and arousal. His body, a traitorous instrument, responded in a way he couldn't control. Beneath the layers of unfamiliar fabric, a tiny, insistent stirring began. A flicker of confused arousal, a perverse echo of the passion unfolding in the next room. It was a shameful, humiliating response, a betrayal of his own anguish. He felt a flush creep up his neck, prickling his skin. He was ashamed of it, disgusted by it, yet it persisted, a grotesque manifestation of his shattered manhood. Ashley, her senses honed by a perverse attentiveness, shifted. Her presence felt closer, her gaze, even through the veil of fabric, seemed to bore into him. A soft chuckle, low and knowing, escaped her lips. "Well, well, well," she purred, her voice a mocking caress. "Look at that. Even in your little baby clothes, you’ve still got a bit of… life in you. Trying to get excited about Mommy’s pleasure, are we? That’s cute. Sad, but cute." Her hand, cool and deliberately slow, moved towards him. Thomas tensed, his breath catching in his throat. He could feel the delicate friction of her fingertips through the layers of nylon and terry cloth, tracing the shape of his small, unwanted erection. It was a violation, a confirmation of his pathetic state, amplified by her cruel amusement. "Don't worry," she whispered, her voice laced with a sadistic glee that sent shivers down his spine. "It’s okay. Mommy likes it when her little sissy gets… excited. She finds it so, so amusing." He felt a prickle of tears behind his eyes, but the fabric prevented them from falling. He was trapped, not just by the cot and the clothes, but by his own pathetic biology, by the cruel machinations of these two women. The sounds from the master bedroom swelled, reaching a fever pitch. Sarah’s gasps became frantic, ragged breaths, her body writhing in a frenzy of pleasure. Mark’s deep, resonant groans filled the air, a guttural testament to his release. And then, it happened. A piercing, primal scream ripped through the house, a sound of pure, unadulterated ecstasy that shattered the silence. It was Sarah, her voice raw and uncontrolled, a sound of abandon that Thomas had never heard, a sound of pleasure so profound it was almost painful to witness, even through muffled ears. It was a climax that spoke of years of pent-up longing, of a desperate need finally met. The wedding ring on Sarah's hand, he knew, would be glinting in the dim light, a stark symbol of the vows she was so carelessly discarding in this moment of ecstatic surrender. The sounds of passion slowly began to subside, replaced by heavy, rasping breaths, the quiet sighs of satiation. The rhythmic thudding ceased, leaving a hollow, echoing silence in its wake. Thomas lay still, his own breath shallow and ragged, his body humming with a residual tension. The erection, a brief, shameful rebellion, began to recede, leaving him feeling limp and deflated. He was utterly spent, physically and emotionally drained, the residue of his wife’s pleasure still ringing in his ears. He was left with the undeniable, soul-crushing knowledge that Sarah had found a fulfillment with Mark that he, her husband, could never provide. The silence that descended was not peaceful; it was the heavy, suffocating silence of a battlefield after the war, a silence where only the echoes of destruction remained. The air vibrated with it. A low thrum that started deep in the house, in the master bedroom, and seeped into the very fabric of the nursery. Thomas, cocooned in the suffocating dampness of Sarah's panties and the scratchy embrace of his infantile attire, felt it not just in his ears, but in his bones. The muffled sounds from beyond the thin walls, once whispers, had escalated into a primal symphony of Sarah’s surrender. He could distinguish the rougher timbre of Mark’s exertions, a deep, rhythmic grinding that spoke of a power Thomas could only imagine, let alone possess. Then came Sarah’s voice, not the carefully modulated tone she used with him, nor the brittle laughter she shared with Ashley, but something raw, untamed. It was a series of gasps, punctuated by little choked cries that clawed at the fragile remnants of Thomas’s dignity. He squeezed his eyes shut, but it made no difference. The sounds were not just external; they were drilling into him, re-etching the lines of his inadequacy onto his very soul. The nylon knickers beneath his nappy, a cruel joke of frills and mockery, felt impossibly tight. He could feel the sticky residue of Sarah’s arousal seeping through the fabric, an obscene reminder of his wife’s active participation in his own undoing. The scent, potent and cloying, was a constant assault, mingling with the faint smell of baby powder and the stale air of the room. It was the smell of his marriage decaying, the perfume of betrayal. Ashley had been a phantom presence for a time, her cruel amusement a palpable weight in the room. He’d felt the rough texture of the panties being pressed, almost rubbed, against him through the thin fabric of his borrowed knickers. Her breath, hot and laced with something akin to triumph, had ghosted his ear as she’d whispered more venomous truths, words Sarah had supposedly uttered about him being a pathetic, impotent thing. The sensation had been an involuntary jolt, a sickening flicker of arousal that Ashley had somehow sensed, her touch a sadist’s scalpel dissecting his shame. He’d tried to suppress it, to will it away, but the body, even a broken one, retained its traitorous impulses. It was a final, gut-wrenching insult, to feel a physical response to this utter degradation, a biological betrayal that confirmed Ashley’s damning assessment. Now, the house was consumed by Sarah’s escalating pleasure. The guttural sounds from Mark were a steady, relentless beat, a drum of conquest. And then, Sarah. It was a sound that ripped through the oppressive silence that had begun to creep back in. Not just a moan, but a raw, full-throated scream, a primal release that seemed to tear itself from her very core. It was a sound of utter abandonment, of ecstasy so profound it was almost painful to hear. It wasn't a cry of love, or even passion, but of pure, unadulterated animalistic gratification. Thomas flinched, the sound reverberating through the cot, through him, shattering the already fractured pieces of his mind. He could feel it, the tremor of her climax, echoing the violent thrusts he imagined were still happening. He pictured the wedding ring, the symbol of their union, glinting on her finger as she clung to Mark, lost in a pleasure he could never provide, a pleasure so potent it was breaking him. The sound hung in the air, a sonic monument to his failure. It lingered, morphing from a scream into a series of breathless, choked sobs that were, impossibly, intertwined with pleasure. It was the sound of a woman utterly consumed, a woman who had found what she was missing, and it had happened on his watch, in his house, while he was trapped, infantilized, and utterly powerless. The symphony of their coupling began to recede, the heavy breathing and the soft thuds of flesh giving way to a strained, contented silence. A silence that was far more deafening than the noise that had preceded it. It was the silence of completion, of satisfaction, a silence that screamed of a new reality for Thomas, a reality where he was no longer the husband, but a forgotten, broken thing. Ashley's presence had become less distinct, her cruel laughter fading into the general cacophony. Thomas felt a final, tentative touch, a fleeting brush of her fingers against his cheek, perhaps, or a phantom pat on his head. He didn't know. He couldn't register it. He was too far gone. The sounds had done their work. The visceral assault had culminated in a complete disintegration. His eyes, still involuntarily squeezed shut, felt heavy, glued together by a mixture of tears and something else, something akin to the residue of a terrible dream. He could feel the weight of the panties on his face, a damp, suffocating shroud. He was no longer Thomas, husband. He was a sissy loser, trapped in a baby’s cot, the echoes of his wife’s pleasure a permanent scar on his consciousness. The raw, animalistic climax of Sarah, the ultimate testament to her uninhibited desire for Mark, had been the final detonation. It had detonated his mind, leaving behind only shards of shattered ego and the lingering, suffocating scent of his own profound failure. He was left, a hollowed-out shell, waiting for an oblivion that the sounds had already granted him.

A Tiny Erection, A Wife's Orgasm The thin walls of the nursery seemed to hum, vibrating with Sarah’s ecstatic cries. Thomas, swaddled in the stiff embrace of the cot, could feel the tremors not just in the floorboards, but deep within his own bones. It was a primal sound, a raw, uninhibited outpouring of pleasure that clawed at the edges of his shattered composure. The muffled scent of Sarah’s damp panties, still a suffocating veil over his face, mingled with the phantom musk of her arousal, creating a nauseating, intoxicating perfume that clung to his skin. He was drowning in it, in her release, in the stark, undeniable evidence of her infidelity. Through the sliver of darkness he could perceive, the master bedroom’s light cast shifting shadows. He saw Sarah, a silhouette contorted in abandon, her back arched, her hands gripping a powerful frame. Mark. The name was a dull ache in his gut. He saw the glint of metal – her wedding ring, a stark, mocking punctuation mark on the scene of her ultimate betrayal. It was a symbol of their vows, now twisted and defiled, worn by a woman who had utterly abandoned them. Each gasp, each guttural grunt from Mark, each desperate plea from Sarah, was a hammer blow against the dwindling remnants of Thomas’s dignity. He was trapped, a spectator to his own undoing. The childish confines of the cot, designed for innocence, now served as a cage for his utter desolation. The terry cloth of the nappy chafed his skin, a constant reminder of his infantilization. The crinkly plastic pants rustled with every shallow breath, a pathetic soundtrack to his shame. And the pink nylon knickers, so absurdly delicate and revealing, felt like a brand, searing his manhood with their mockery. He’d always been insecure, a man who tiptoed through life, desperate for approval. Sarah’s contempt had been a slow burn, a gradual erosion of his self-worth. But this… this was an inferno. And then, a foreign sensation, alien and deeply disturbing, began to stir beneath the layers of humiliation. A faint, almost imperceptible warmth. A tremor that had nothing to do with Sarah’s pleasure, and everything to do with his own grotesque biology. His body, a traitor to his mind, was responding. A tiny, involuntary erection was pushing against the elastic of the pink knickers, a biological mockery of his utter emasculation. The realization hit him like a physical blow. He was aroused by his own cuckolding. The thought was so grotesque, so utterly shameful, that a choked sob escaped his lips, muffled by the panties. It was a betrayal of himself, a final, sickening twist of the knife. He, Thomas, a man who had always struggled with his virility, who had always felt inadequate in Sarah’s eyes, was experiencing a flicker of arousal at the sight of his wife’s raw, unrestrained passion with another man. It was a perverse testament to his weakness, a confirmation of everything Sarah and Ashley implied he was. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the sights and sounds, but it was useless. The experience was too visceral, too overwhelming. The scent of Sarah, so intimately entwined with Mark’s presence, filled his nostrils. The sounds of their exertion echoed in the chambers of his mind. And the burgeoning, shameful arousal beneath his nappy was a constant, burning reminder of his own pathetic state. He tried to rationalize it. It was a desperate, biological reflex. A primal response to the raw display of sexuality. But the shame burned hotter than any rationalization could extinguish. It was proof, in his own mind, that he was broken. That his very essence, his manhood, was corrupted. He was not just a victim of their cruelty; he was complicit in his own degradation, his own body betraying him in the most humiliating way possible. He felt a new wave of dread wash over him, even more potent than the fear of what was happening in the bedroom. This internal betrayal, this conflicted arousal, was a deeper, more profound form of violation. It was the destruction of his own identity, the shattering of his sense of self. He was not a man, not anymore. He was a broken thing, a specimen of perverse arousal and abject shame, trapped in a cot, forced to witness the very act that was extinguishing the last embers of his pride. The world outside the nursery faded into a blur of oppressive darkness, the only reality the suffocating scent, the vibrating walls, and the burning shame of his own traitorous flesh. He was a prisoner of his senses, a captive of his own broken psyche, witnessing the final eclipse of his manhood. Ashley's triumphant smirk was a sharp, predatory glint in the dim light, a beacon of malice in Thomas's suffocating world. She hadn't moved from her position beside the cot, a silent sentinel watching the unraveling of a man. The air, already thick with the cloying scent of Sarah’s perfume and the lingering musk of their shared transgression, now seemed to hum with Ashley’s cruel anticipation. Thomas, strapped in his absurdly small prison, the damp, overwhelming presence of his wife’s panties a second skin of humiliation, could feel the tremors of the house, the residual echoes of Sarah’s guttural release. It was a sound that had vibrated through his very bones, a shattering confirmation of his inadequacy. He remained frozen, a statue carved from shame, the world outside his vision a terrifying unknown, a realm where his wife was consumed by another. Then, Ashley moved. A whisper of movement, almost imperceptible, but Thomas’s heightened senses, honed by fear and dread, registered it. Her hand, cool and deliberate, reached down, not to free him, but to find him. He felt the clumsy, stifling layers of the terry cloth nappy, then the slick barrier of the plastic pants, and finally, the delicate, restrictive embrace of Sarah's frilly knickers. Her fingers, surprisingly strong, pressed against the bulge beneath the thin nylon. Thomas flinched, a desperate, instinctual recoil, but Ashley’s grip tightened, her touch both invasive and clinical. "Oh, look at that," Ashley purred, her voice a low, seductive hiss that crawled under Thomas’s skin. "Little Thomas is getting excited. Even though he's locked away like a bad little baby, his body still remembers what real pleasure feels like, doesn't it?" Her words were daggers, each one expertly aimed at the fragile remnants of his dignity. The conflicting arousal that had bloomed within him, a testament to the raw, uninhibited passion he’d just been forced to endure, now felt like a grotesque betrayal of his own self. He wanted to weep, to scream, to somehow erase this physical manifestation of his wife’s pleasure and his own pathetic reaction to it. But his throat was tight, choked with a shame so profound it rendered him mute. Ashley leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear, carrying the faint, sweet undertones of whatever she’d been drinking. "Don't you worry, darling," she murmured, her fingers beginning a slow, deliberate exploration, a mocking caress that twisted the knife deeper. "Sarah loves seeing you like this. She told me, you know. She finds your pathetic little whimpers… amusing. And this?" She pressed down, her touch growing bolder, rubbing through the layers of fabric. "This is just the icing on the cake, isn't it? A ‘sissy loser’ getting a hard-on while his wife… well, while his wife is having the time of her life with someone who actually knows what to do with her." Each stroke of Ashley’s fingers was a deliberate violation, a sadistic confirmation of his emasculation. He was trapped, physically restrained, and now, his most private, involuntary response was being weaponized against him. He could feel the faint, insistent thrumming beneath her touch, a tiny, shameful ember that Sarah’s powerful climax had somehow ignited. It was a cruel, ironic twist – his body betraying him in the very moment his wife was experiencing the ultimate betrayal of him. "It’s a shame, really," Ashley continued, her tone laced with feigned sympathy. "All this energy, wasted. You should be there, Thomas. You should be the one making her scream like that. But you’re just a baby, aren’t you? A baby in a cot, with a soggy bum and a little tent in your pants." Her laughter was a brittle, sharp sound, devoid of genuine mirth, filled only with a cold, hard cruelty. "Don't you like it? Sarah likes it. She likes knowing you’re here, hearing everything, feeling… this." She gave a final, firm press, a sadistic punctuation mark to her ministrations. "It’s the ultimate humiliation, isn't it? To be so utterly useless, so utterly… sissy." The words settled over Thomas like a shroud, heavy and suffocating. "Sissy loser." He heard Sarah’s voice, clear as day in his mind, not spoken now, but echoing from some earlier, unremembered taunt. It was a label Ashley was intent on branding him with, a final, indelible mark of his shame. He could feel the dampness of the panties against his skin, the intimate scent a constant reminder of Sarah’s infidelity and Ashley's malicious glee. His erection, a minuscule, pathetic assertion of his fractured masculinity, began to subside under the relentless assault of shame and despair. It wasn't a thrill he felt, but a sickening horror, a visceral revulsion at his own body’s involuntary participation in his own undoing. He squeezed his eyes shut, a futile attempt to block out Ashley’s presence, her voice, the entire grotesque tableau. But even in the darkness behind his eyelids, he saw the glint of Sarah's wedding ring, felt the phantom weight of the frilly knickers, heard the phantom echoes of Sarah’s cries. He was not just a passive observer; he was an unwilling participant, his very physiology a tool for his own destruction. The sounds from the master bedroom had finally, blessedly, begun to fade, replaced by a profound, echoing silence that was somehow even more deafening. Sarah and Mark were likely lost in their own post-coital haze, oblivious to the silent devastation they had wrought. But Ashley remained, her cruel attention a relentless spotlight on his broken state. Ashley finally withdrew her hand, the absence of her touch leaving a raw, exposed feeling. Thomas didn’t dare open his eyes. He could feel her watching him, her gaze an invasive force. He waited, bracing himself for whatever new torment she might devise. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken menace. Then, with a final, satisfied sigh, Ashley moved away. He heard the soft swish of fabric, the faint click of a door. He was alone. Utterly, irrevocably alone in the suffocating darkness of the nursery, the scent of Sarah’s shame clinging to him like a second skin, his erection now fully flaccid, a pathetic testament to the night’s brutal dismantling of his manhoood. The ruffles of the pink nightie felt like a cruel mockery against his skin, the soft fabric a stark contrast to the brutal reality of his shattered self. He lay there, a small, broken thing in the cot, the world outside his prison fading into an indistinct blur, his mind already beginning to fragment, to retreat into the safe, dark corners of his newfound helplessness.

Hello there everyone it's baby Dorothy Pansy here in with my girlfriend who just found out today that I was an adult baby girl after I was at work and she found it in my man cave, baby cave GF says, she is laughing I have to type this after she set out a lovely outfit for me she thought they were old till she seen my pink nappies and pulled out a dress and white tights and size 8 Mary Janes and realised I came home to go to golf until she said right back changes first and I cried when my nappy was on like a baby girl she said xx

How do you all like to sleep as a sissy? I'm typically in big night shirt or girly cotton pajamas. Either my diaper stick out just a little from the night shirt or comes above my pj pants. Either way it's cute.

Part 1 I can’t say I was in a bright point of my life, literally or figuratively. The perpetual darkness of third shift work coupled with the lackluster performance in my freshman year of college and losing my girlfriend of two years only a month before had sent me down a spiral of depression that I wasn’t certain would have an achievable recovery. I thought when I graduated from high school that I’d had life all figured out. I would take the job working the night shift at the airport for a few years, then go on to become a hot-shot business man or advertising executive. The airport would provide me with free tuition to the university a few hours from my home town, and the degree would get me the rest of the way. I guess to tell you a little bit about myself... I’m Adam Stafford. I’m the youngest child of Dennis and Joanne Stafford, and brother to Megan. I grew up in a small community that kept me sheltered from just about everything not small-town or Jesus-y. My Dad is a pilot for United Airlines, my Mom an executive for the local hospital. They divorced my sophomore year of highschool in a very messy battle, and pretty much alienated everyone in the family from each other. We’ve all gone our own ways, really only communicating for weddings, funerals, birthdays, or normal holidays. Don’t feel bad, it really is better this way. I had a pretty good childhood, no major complaints. I was always outgoing as a kid, knowing that a sharp wit and self-deprecating humor would remove any ammo that any school bullies would seek to leverage. Not to be arrogant, but I was a cute kid. Unfortunately for me, the cuteness never really went anywhere. I never hit that magical growth spurt that would cause me to tower above my friends, dunk a ball, or set records of the track. I currently stand a slightly below average height of 5’6”. I also never seemed to experience the flood of testosterone that would sculpt my body like a Greek god either. I guess I just stayed cute and youthful when everyone else became handsome and matured. But, like I said, I was never really picked on, so I didn’t mind my height or looks. I was moderately popular by highschool, usually being known as the smart-ass class clown. I had no trouble maintaining a 4.0 grade point average while also cutting jokes constantly. My humor and confidence opened up doors for me. I was nominated to prom court my Junior year, and also started dating a beautiful girl named Sarah. She was a grade younger than I was and came from a well-respected family not far from mine. As my perverted uncle Nick would say “That girl comes from good stock.” She and I dated all through my senior year, never really had any fights, and my parents adored her and hers adored me. We were voted “Most Likely to Stay Together” by the yearbook committee and happily danced in the spotlight as homecoming king and queen... a real shocker since I didn’t play football. Sarah was heart-broken when I decided to move for school. She had known it was my intent, but I think she assumed I would change my mind because we were dating. I had considered staying a time or two, but with the still fresh divorce of my parents and my sister moving away to California for school, I knew I couldn’t stay in small-town America for much longer. After the initial shock wore off, we made the plan together that she would move in with me after she graduated and we would attend college together, live together, and live up to the expectations of the yearbook committee. My job, coupled with free tuition would allow us to get an apartment together and, down the road, we’d both graduate. We’d start a family, be rich and successful, and have a marriage so happy that our grandkids would tell their children about. It was that simple, and it all laid out perfectly. She and I did everything together while we dated. I loved it at the time, but later realized that the friends I had prior to us dating all seemed to have move on. I didn’t have any core friends anymore, she consumed my every waking moment. I don’t think she was trying to cause a falling out, I think she was just so in love with the thought of being in love that she couldn’t let go. Sarah and I were both each other’s first for just about everything. We awkwardly explored our raging teenage hormones not long after we started dating, both trying to build the courage to take things just a little bit further each opportunity we had. I can vividly remember the look on Sarah’s face when she touched my cock for the first time. It was over my shorts, but I could tell she tried to play it off like an accident as her hand slowly rubbed on my thigh. Of course having zero experience and a beautiful girl rub her hands on me caused some tenting to happen rather quickly. She noticed. It was the first touch that shot electricity through my body as we laid cuddled up on the chair in the den of her parents upscale country-chic home, a blanket covering our still-clothed bodies. She moved her hand away quickly at first contact. I could see her face from the corner of my eye, flushed with excitement, very lightly nibbling on her lower lip with nerves. After a few seconds, I felt her hand begin to creep back up. I heard her sigh audibly as she very carefully laid her hand on my now fully erect dick. I could see the faintest smile form on her face as she crossed the hurdle. Both of us were too afraid to do much else, but she did very gently rub for a moment before we heard the garage door open, signaling that our alone time was at an end. From that day on, we both pushed the envelope just a bit more. I took advantage of days she would wear skirts to school and use the ease of access to fondle her anytime we had some privacy. I’m happy to say that I was her first non-self-induced orgasm, right there under that same blanket on that same chair. I can remember hearing her try and stifle her moans, no doubt fearful of waking her parents directly above us in their bedroom. It nearly sent me over the edge as well when she sucked my fingers clean right after. One evening while her parents were out celebrating their anniversary, Sarah excused herself to the restroom in the middle of ‘The Goonies’ and emerged wearing only her baby blue thong and matching bra, her hair tied up with a white lace ribbon. She approached me, my jaw now slack from the beauty I was witnessing, and yanked the blanket from my lap. She settled in on her knees in front of me trying to appear confident and sexy, but I could see her trembling from nerves. I could tell how big of a step this was for her. She pulled my shorts and boxers down, nearly ripping them in the process, and stared wide-eyed at my dick. She never really looked closely at it while using her hands. She would usually play coy and keep watching TV while jerking me off. Now though, she was face to face. I can still see the shimmer from the chapstick on her lips as she very slowly moved her mouth over the head of my cock. She froze once it was in for what felt like an eternity. I could hear her breathing becoming rapid, and for the first time in front of me, I saw her hand move quickly into the waistband of her panties as she touched herself. As she began moving my dick in and out of her mouth, her hand motions became more rapid under the thin baby blue fabric. It wasn’t 3 minutes into the blowjob before Sarah had a massive orgasm, seemingly larger than the ones I could giver her with my own hands or tongue. She pulled her face away, a trail of saliva extending from the head of my cock to her lips and only said ‘fuck’. I believe it was at that very moment that Sarah realized that she had a passionate love for giving head. She attacked my dick after that, like there was nothing else in the world. She didn’t flench when I came, just swallowed and tried to keep going until I pushed her off due to the sensitivity. Things progressed from there. Sarah gave me head every chance she could, preferring to give orgasms rather than receive them. We finally had sex a few weeks after that, in the dark basement bedroom of a friends house. I was disappointed that she didn’t seem to enjoy it as much as I thought she would, opting after maybe 5 minutes to have me pull out and finish in her mouth. We didn’t have sex often, but when we would, it always ended in the same way. Everything in life was perfect, even after I moved… or so I thought. I went home many weekends and we seemed to pick up right where we left off. Everything was perfect. Until Sarah cheated on me, at least. I heard about it from a former classmate still living back home. He said he saw Sarah and some guy in a car together driving in town. He said it was a new looking BMW, a car that isn’t very common in our small town, so he took notice and tried to see who was driving. He didn’t recognize the guy driving, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was her, he got a clear view from the windshield as they passed on the road. He said he turned around to see what was up and after about 5 minutes of following them, he said he saw Sarah sit up tall, then lean her body across the center console of the car. He said he didn’t see her again for about 10 minutes and that the guy started driving pretty erratic during that time, and kept rolling his head around. He followed at a distance and eventually saw her head rise again and they carried on. He followed them until they turned into a restaurant. He circled the block and watched them walk hand-in-hand into the building. He even said she was wearing a little yellow sun dress... I knew it well. She always looked amazing in it. I guess it goes without saying that I felt like I had been stabbed in the chest as I listened to his recanting of the story. I trusted the guy and knew he wouldn’t be saying these things to fuck with me. I quickly got off the phone with him and called her, but it went straight to voicemail. I tried again, again right to voicemail. Finally she sent me a text asking what was up. I didn’t know what else to do so I said “Jeremy saw you two together. I’m bummed you never offered to give me road head.” Of course this elicited a call back right away. I was heartbroken, but I did appreciate that she didn’t try and deny anything. She didn’t lie. She said she wasn’t happy anymore and wanted to move on. By this point, I knew what she meant. I had started working third shift already and had a rapid decline in happiness. I was always cranky, always tired. She was right and I hated myself for it. “You’re not you anymore, Adam. You’re sad all of the time... you sleep constantly. You don’t strike up conversations on the phone, and that’s all we have most of the time since we can’t be together.” She had told me as I stared blankly at the wall of my kitchen, tears now flooding my vision. “I’m sorry you found out like this, but I’m glad you found out.” “Yeah, pretty shitty way of you breaking it off though.” I countered. She agreed. That was the last time we spoke. After Sarah ended it, I sunk further into a depressive state. My life revolved solely around work, school, and Netflix in my basement studio apartment. Typically I would wake up around 10 in the morning and catch the campus shuttle to class. The classes were specifically scheduled for employees of the airport, allowing us to work nights and attend school without as much sleep depravation. After class I would usually eat some dinner in the campus cafeteria and do some homework, then report in for my shift. I didn’t mind my job. It was easy compared to the manual labor most people had to do to pay for their tuition. I drove a tug around pulling trailers of packages bound for different planes all night. All... night... long. I could usually start my shift with a conversation with the dock supervisor and not talk to another person for the rest of the night. I was known as ‘Tug 4301’ and drove the exact route from the south dock to the west ramp, spots 1, 3, 5, 7, and 9, then back to the south dock to reload and do it all again. We weren’t allowed to have music, cell phones, audio books, or anything else to help pass the time due to FAA regulations, so I had hours to see the same sights, and have the same thoughts and internal conversations. At around 3 in the morning, I would park my tug back behind the south dock and begin the walk back to the shuttle to campus. From the bus stop, it was a brief walk back to my apartment. By this time, the vast majority of the factory employees had already departed, meaning the bus ride was usually as isolated as the tug. Back in the basement abyss, the daylight blacked out by thick curtains and a “Please do not disturb, I work the graveyard shift!” sign that the previous occupant had left behind, I ended my day with some concoction of frozen meals and another episode of The Office. Occasionally, I would think about Sarah. How her hair seemed to shine as intensely as the sun. How she would nibble gently at my lower lip when she would kiss me. How she would deftly put her hair up in a ponytail and lick her lips before she would push me back towards the bed or chair... or floor and nearly attack my dick. These memories would cease thanks to my self delivered orgasm, and I hate to say it... sometimes I would cry. I would always feel ashamed. By 5am, I would be asleep, waiting for the alarm to signal that it was time to live another instance of Groundhog Day all over again. It was nearly six months into this routine that I decided it was time to get help. I knew I was depressed. I scheduled an appointment with a counselor at school on a Monday morning. I didn’t work Sunday nights, so Monday was usually my ‘live like a normal person’ day, but I knew I was going to keep going down darker and darker paths until there was no return. Fortunately by this time, the nagging memories of Sarah had faded to an occasional jolt of emotion that would strike unprovoked, but would subside after a quick orgasm. “Have you been eating alright, you look really thin...” the counselor said as I sat in the chair across from her. The question reeled in my thousand yard stare. “Umm... probably could eat better, to be honest. I don’t have much of an appetite, really.” I awkwardly responded. I had lost a significant amount of weight in the past few months. At my high school graduation, I was nearly 140lbs. At my last work physical a few days prior, I was down to 116lbs. Even at 5’6”, I was looking too thin for my frame. “Adam, this is pretty serious. I think you need to see a doctor... this may be more than you and I can handle alone. You’ve got me a bit worried.” she said with a concerned look. “Will you do that? Will you promise me that you’ll see one of our doctors?” “Yeah, I guess so. Yeah.” murmured back. “And I want you to promise me, Adam... I want you to promise me that you’ll look after yourself until then. And I want you to promise me that you’ll come back and see me after your appointment. I’m going to schedule it. Okay?” “Yeah, of course.” I said, realizing that she was genuinely worried that I would hurt myself. “I will, I promise.” She smiled at that, and attempted to give me a reassuring pat on my hand. “Maybe you should hang out with some friends until then. Maybe try and have fun... see a movie, bowl, laser tag... try and not be alone if you can help it.” she said as she escorted me to the end of the hallway of the student health center. I smiled as best I could. I hoped it to be warm, but the look on her face told me that she could see right through the facade. The walk back to my apartment seemed colder than usual. I looked around at the other people navigating their way thought the urban campus with their heads slung low to protect from the biting wind and wondered if I was alone in feeling like this, or if there were others near me right now that were struggling just as bad. Maybe if I tried, I would find others like me and we could pick each other up. If I tried... but I really didn’t feel like trying. They probably wouldn’t either. I arrived back to my apartment and sat in bed, turned on Netflix, and opened up my laptop. It wouldn’t hurt to look and see if anyone was out there. Maybe grab lunch with someone, maybe a movie. I decided to check around on some of the school forums and Facebook to see if any groups were meeting soon. I didn’t see any that really caught my interest. I eventually ended up Craigslist thinking maybe there were some groups posting on there. I browsed for a while, nothing piquing my interest. I was about to close out the page when I saw the ‘Personals’ section and decided to browse that avenue as well just for the heck of it. The ‘F for M’ section was pretty sparse, most of the women looking were significantly older, had children, or were blatantly looking for money in exchange for company. While I wasn’t seeing anything that interested me, I was finding some thrill in reading the posts. Some were witty, some funny. Some were so sexually charged that I considered responding for a split second, kids or age be damned. I navigated each section enthralled by how some people were able to put themselves out there so openly, so anonymously vulnerable. I envied their cavalier attitude and only wished I could put myself out there like they did. I kept going down the rabbit hole, page after page, profile after profile. Some of the specifics people were listing were repulsive, but many made me jealous that I didn’t have Sarah to try them with. I wasn’t really prepared for some of the detail I encountered in the ‘M for M’ section, to say the least. I had never really given much thought to gay sex, it was something that went undiscussed in sheltered small-town USA. I didn’t have any issue with gay people, but I honestly didn’t give it much more thought than that. But the level of detail described of the litany of posts from just today... I didn’t have to use my imagination much. I clicked through post after post, caught up in reading the carnal nature of the post, intrigued beyond belief by what I was reading. Most of the posts didn’t talk about love or relationships, they talked about gritty sex. They talked about gang bangs and blow-and-gos. Anonymous mouths for anonymous dicks. It was enthralling. “Loving but Firm Professional seeking Young, Inexperienced to Nurture and Teach” the title read as I scrolled down the list, measured now by minutes scrolling rather than pages. It was lost in the sea of others, but it stood out to me for some reason. I clicked the link and stared intently as the screen flickered from the main page to the posting. “Hi, thanks for reading. I’m a 38 year old legal professional looking for a young boy between 18 and 22 to teach about sexual desire. Ideal candidate is slim and naturally submissive to power, and completely inexperienced with men. I want a boy I can build from the ground up. Must have an open mind. Message me if you think this is you, you’ll know right away if it is.” Fuck. I don’t know what came over me at that moment, but my heart began to race, my hands became sweaty, and my lips dry. I read and reread the post multiple times, each time exciting me more. It was as if instinct required that I replied. I straightened myself up in bed and began to search my laptop for a face picture that was generic enough to be lost in a crowd. I didn’t want this guy recognize me right away, just in case. I found a full body picture from earlier in the fall at a Halloween party back home. I didn’t dress up, but I thought I looked decent, and the ball cap I was wearing at the time obstructed part of my face. “Hello. I’m not gay, so I’m not sure why I’m replying to be honest. I've never been with a guy. I'm 18, a freshman in college. Something about your post. It struck me. I don’t even know what else to write. You don't have to write back if you don't want or if I don't fit what you say you're looking for." Attachment: 1” My heart was frantically beating in my chest as I hit send from my spam collecting Yahoo Mail account. I had felt more alive in these few minutes than I can remember feeling since moving to the city. I stared at the inbox, nearly expecting an immediate rejection reply or an email from someone back home saying they were cat-fishing and happened to reel me in. I stared at the screen for at least five minutes, barely breathing before setting the laptop down and getting up to use the restroom and grab a drink. I nearly dove across the room when I heard the ‘Ding’ signifying a new email. “Save 15% or more on car insurance with Geico”. Damn it. What the hell was I doing. I’m not gay. I’ve literally never even thought about it until 10 minutes ago, and now I’m so worked up to get the attention of someone writing on a public forum. I closed the laptop and walked over to the chair to focus in on Season 4 of The Office... yet again. Sipping on the Diet Coke and watching Dwight be Dwight and Jim be Jim, the urge to check again struck me. It had been some time, surely enough for some sort of response. I retyped the password into the Yahoo Mail page and saw the familiar ’Inbox (1)’ notification staring me in the face. I clicked, and went weak as the page opened. There it was. “Re: Seeking” I took a deep breath and clicked on the email that loaded painfully slow. “Hello. Thanks for writing. I know you. Don’t worry, not you specifically (although hard to tell with the photo so far away). I know your type though. I'm willing to bet that you just happed to stumble upon my message without really going out and looking for it. I have a feeling this is so new to you that you've really got very little desire in actually meeting anyone. If you are serious about at least meeting up and discussing more, send me a better picture. -Steve” With a slight smirk on my face, and my heart back to racing, I opened Facebook to find a better picture to send. I selected one from a family vacation in Hawaii. I had shaggy, dirty blonde hair and was standing shirtless in front of a waterfall on the Napali Coast. I was bronzed by the sun, and a smile beaming on my face. A tinge of pain hit me as I looked at the picture, I was standing there with Sarah. Her beautiful face staring up at me, a smirk affixed to her full lips, and her gorgeous body clad in a small red bikini. I drew in a deep breath and downloaded the photo to my desktop and cropped Sarah’s face and body out of the picture until only myself and the waterfall remained. “As requested. -Adam Attachment: 1” Sent. I felt as if I were going to vomit at that point. If this were a rouse, I was surely busted. It was clearly me in the photo, no mistaking that. A screencap of the conversation with my picture plastered there was surely enough to ruin any chance I had at a happy life, if malice were intended. Ding. Inbox (1) “Re: re: re: Seeking” “You’re perfect, baby. Perfect in every way. You are exactly what I was hoping you would be. My name is Steve. I’ve been pretty clear with what I’m really looking for, so I hope that you’ll understand when I say that I’m not interested in games and flaking out on meetings, etc. If you really are interested, and if you really are willing, I want to meet you face to face. Send me your phone number if you want to keep going. Attachment: 1” I double clicked the attachment, fearful that what I had conjured up in my mind would be a far stray from reality. The painfully slow wi-fi struggled to open the picture, but when it did, I was stunned. He was so handsome. Large, for sure. Not fat at all, but he had to be at least 6’6” judging by the SUV that he towered over. He had a stern smile and an intense gaze at the camera... it felt as if he took the picture specifically for me. His hair, his suit... he was the personification of masculine. I struggled to figure out how only a few hours ago I was numb and seemingly entirely heterosexual, and now I was lusting over a man. A dominant man... and I wanted it to happen so bad. I did everything I could for the next few hours to distract myself from the email. I had to be at work tonight, so no phone, no email. I knew if I wanted to go through with this, I would need to decide well before then. He was very insistent that the only content in the reply be my phone number. What if I sent it and he called while I was working? What if he began texting me with times and locations and I was unable to reply? I knew I had to decide now. Being the decisive and confident guy I am, I flipped a coin. Okay... heads, I send my phone number. Tails... I don’t. Simple. Leave it up to fate. With a deep breath, I flipped the coin into the air. Heads. “I’m serious: 555-776-2323 -Adam”

As I push open the front door, the familiar scent of baby powder and fresh laundry greets me. I kick off my heels, leaving them by the door, and hang my coat on the rack. The house is quiet, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. I tiptoe down the hallway, my curiosity piqued by the unusual silence. Pausing at the nursery door, I peek in. The room is bathed in soft, warm light, casting a gentle glow on the white crib and the array of stuffed animals that line the shelves. My little girl is fast asleep, her tiny hands clutching a well-loved teddy bear. Her chest rises and falls with each soft breath, and her dark lashes cast shadows on her rosy cheeks. I step into the room, my heels sinking into the plush carpet. I approach the crib, my eyes scanning the sleeping figure. She's dressed in her favorite outfit - a fresh nappy, plastic pants to keep everything clean, and her frilly pink satin lace ruffled baby knickers. The sheer pink frilly nightie she's wearing leaves little to the imagination, but I don't mind. It's part of her charm, part of what makes her my little girl. I reach into the crib, gently stroking her soft cheek. She stirs slightly, her nose wrinkling before she settles back into her peaceful slumber. I smile, my heart filled with a warmth that only she can ignite. I lean in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before straightening up. As I turn to leave the room, I notice the changing table. The sight of it sends a thrill down my spine. The memory of my close freinds daughter . 21 year old attractive Carol her very capable hands changing my sissy little girl's nappy is one that never fails to excite me. I can almost hear the rustle of the fresh nappy, the snap of the plastic pants, and Carol's soft coos as she tends to my little girl. I leave the nursery, my mind filled with thoughts of Carol and my little girl. I make my way to the kitchen, my stomach rumbling with hunger. I open the refrigerator, pulling out the ingredients for a simple dinner. As I begin to cook, I can't help but feel a sense of contentment. This is my life now - taking care of my little girl, providing for her, loving her. And it's more than enough for me. As I set the table, I hear the front door open. I turn to see Carol walking in, her cheeks flushed from the cool evening air. She smiles at me, her eyes sparkling with warmth. "Hello, Susan ," she greets, hanging her coat on the rack. "Hello, Carol," I reply, returning her smile. "How was your day?" "It was good," she says, walking over to me. "Your little girl was a perfect angel. She slept most of the day away." I laugh, "That sounds like her. She's a little night owl." Carol grins, "She is. But she's such a sweetheart. I love taking care of her ." I reach out, placing a hand on Carol's arm. "Thank you, Carol. I don't know what I'd do without you." She places her hand over mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You're welcome, Susan . I'm happy to help." We stand there for a moment, giggling at this unreal situation but one we have all embaraced to some degree. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoes down the hallway. We both turn to see my husband ,my sissy little girl standing in the doorway, her teddy bear clutched tightly in her hand. She looks up at us, her eyes wide with curiosity. "Mommy?" she asks, her voice soft and hesitant. I smile, walking over to her wrapping m arms around her "Yes, sweetie? What is it?" "I had a bad dream," she whispers, burying her face in my neck. I stroke her back, soothing her down her short pink sheer nightie and gently patting the matching pink sheer overlay nylon frilly knickers that made a soft crinkle noise from the plastic pants she wore underneath . "It's okay, sweetie. Mommy's here. You're safe." I guide her over to the table, sitting down with her in my lap. Carol watches us, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I'll finish dinner," she says, turning back to the stove. As I watch Carol move around the kitchen, I can't help but feel a sense of gratitude. I have everything I could ever want - my husband is now my little girl, a home filled with love, and a babysitter who's become so much more. I lean back in my chair, my little girl snuggled safely in my arms, and I know - this is where I'm meant to be but there was only one thing missing from my life now and that was a man to share my bed -and have fullfilling sex life The next morning, I wake up to the sound of my little girl's laughter echoing through the house. I smile, stretching my arms above my head before getting out of bed. I slip on a white silk robe and make my way downstairs, following the sound of her giggles. As I enter the living room, I see Carol sitting on the floor with my little girl, playing with her favorite stuffed animals. They both look up as I enter, their faces breaking into wide smiles. "Morning, Susan ," Carol greets, her eyes sparkling with warmth. "Morning," I reply, walking over to them and ruffling my little girl's hair. "What are you two up to?" "We're having a tea party," my little girl says, holding up a tiny plastic cup. "Want to join us?" I smile, sitting down on the floor with them. "I'd love to." We spend the next hour playing and laughing, enjoying each other's company. But as the clock strikes nine, I know it's time for me to get ready for my date tonight. I sigh, hating to leave the cozy scene we've created. "Alright, sweetie," I say, standing up and holding out my hand to my little girl. "Let's get you changed into something nice for Carol. Mommy has a date tonight." Her face falls slightly, but she takes my hand and lets me lead her upstairs. I can hear Carol following us, her footsteps soft on the stairs. In the nursery, I pull out a fresh nappy, plastic pants, and a pair of frilly pink satin baby knickers. I lay them out on the changing table, turning to my little girl. As I watch Carol move around the kitchen, I can't help but feel a sense of gratitude. I have everything I could ever want - my little girl, a home filled with love, and a babysitter who's become so much more. I lean back in my chair, my little girl snuggled safely in my arms, and I know - this is where I'm meant to be. "Arms up, sweetie," I say, helping her out of her nightie. She complies, lifting her arms above her head. I slip the nightie off, tossing it into the laundry basket. I help her step out of the baby knickers, pulling them down legs with the plastic pants .i unined the cloth nappy and let it fall away her tiny flaccid penis and harless lsmall bals now on dispaly . I feel a dampness in my panties thinking about my date with Jake tonight ,how his trousers bulge at the front . He finally asked me out knowing I was married after I confessed my husband was a sissy adult baby on a works night out. I had one too many drinks and disclosed everything to him ,we had become close work colleagues and I felt excited to be around him . "my god i'm so lookng forward to tonight I said looking at Carol its been a long time since i was with a man . Carol looked at me smiling "its nothing more than you desrve Susan even my mum thinks you shold date oher men she thinks its so funny your husnabd has a tiny penis and wears baby girl clothes ....do you think you will be bringing Jake home tonight ..I can have melissa in her cot eve before you leave if you want " .That would be so nice yes lets have her ready for bed before I go out ,I'm not sue how long I will be but I know I do want to bring him home . " I turned to look at my baby her penis now becoming hard until its was sticking up twitching , all fully erect and under three inches , no thicker than my index finger . I began to tease her "aaawww someone is getting excited is that because you like the thought of mummy in bed with another man,...a much bigger man ". Carol began to giggle " Ohh poor baby will be all alone in her cot listening to mummy and her boyfreind making grown up noises " . Next, I slip the nappy under her, securing it around her waist with napy pins followed by a noisy pair of semi clear plastic pants, pulling them up and over her nappy and smoothing them into place. She giggles as I tickle her tummy, her eyes sparkling with laughter. "There you go," I say, standing up and admiring my handiwork. "You look perfect I' sure Carol will fiind something pretty and frilly for you tonight so my bofriend can meet you I know hes looking forward to seeing you in your baby clothes, he thinks its hillarious ." I walked acros to the wardrobe and pulled out a short frilly pale lemon colured satin party dress with ruffled lace and pretty ribbon bows and selected a pair of sheer frilly lemon colured baby knickers . Once she was fully dressed I asked her to twirl around in front of the mirror. "I like my outfit, Mommy." I smile, brushing her long blonde her hair. "I'm glad you do, sweetie." As we're finishing up, I hear the sound of footsteps in the hallway. I turn to see Carol entering the room again , a soft smile on her face. "She looks adorable, Sue " Carol says. I nod, looking down at my little girl. "Alright, sweetie. Mommy has to get ready for her date. You be good for Carol, okay?" She nods, her eyes wide. "I will, Mommy. I promise." I lean down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "That's my good girl. I'll be back before you know it." I leave the nursery, making my way to my bedroom. As I close the door behind me, I can't help but feel a sense of excitement. Tonight's date is with someone new , someone from work I've been looking forward to meeting out of the office for weeks. I smile to myself, already anticipating the night ahead. But as I begin to get ready, I can't shake the feeling of guilt that's nagging at the back of my mind. I know my little girl is going to be upset that I'm going out again, and I hate leaving her with Carol when she's feeling like that. I sigh, trying to push the thought away. I know I can't keep my little girl locked up in a tower forever, no matter how much I might want to. I select some new white sexy satin panties and matching bra with a camisol top. I choose my sexy figure hugging black silk dress and black high heels .As I finish getting ready, I hear the sound of my little girl crying from the nursery. I pause, listening for a moment. I can hear Carol's soft voice, soothing her, telling her it's okay. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my own nerves. I know Carol will take good care of her, just like she always does. I take one last look in the mirror, making sure I look perfect. My long dark brown hair is the way was styled yesterday . I smile, satisfied with my reflection. I'm ready for tonight. I turn to leave the room, but pause as I hear the sound of footsteps in the hallway. I turn to see my husband standing in the doorway, Caro has him ready for bed , he s wearing one of her short pink nighties pink and sheer with lace ribbons and friled time lace edges ,its so short his its unable to hhide his frilly pink sheer baby knickers -his favourite nigime babywear. His eyes filled with a mixture of humiliation and excitement. "Going out to meet him then , I see," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. I nod, walking over to him. "Yes, I am. And you're going to be good for Carol i want you on your best beahviour for Jake he wont stand for any nonsense " He swallows hard, his eyes flickering down to the floor. "Yes, Mommy. I know but but I dont want him to see me like this . " I reach out, cupping his chin in my hand and tilting his head up so he's looking at me. " I know you dont but its important he understands the dynamics of our relationship , that you are no threat so waht better way than you being dressed up as a bay girl and anyway hes seen pictres of you he ones on my phone so dont worry now be a good girl . Now, get in your cot. It's time for you to listen to Mommy's date he will be here any minute ." He nods, turning and walking over to his cot as Carol helps him climbe in giving a view of his filly pink pantied behind , pulling the blankets up around him. I watch as he gets comfortable, his eyes never leaving mine. I smile and ean into th cot brshing my hair back as i kiss him on the forehead my perfume lingering as I turn and walking out of the room. As I make my way downstairs, I can hear the sound of my little girl's cries fading away, replaced by the sound of Carol's soft voice. I take a deep breath, knowing that everything is going to be okay. Because no matter what happens, I know that Carol will take care of my little girl, just like she always does. And as for my husband, I know he'll listen to me, just like he always does. He will love being a cuckold, loves the humiliation and embarrassment of knowing that I'm with another other man. And I love giving it to him, enjoy watching him squirm as he listens to me having sex with my lover I might even let him watch . I open the front door, stepping out into the cool evening air. I can hear the sound of my date's car pulling up to the curb, and I smile, ready for the night ahead. Because no matter what happens, I know that I'm exactly where I'm meant to be. Its around midnight when Jake and i get back home ,the huse is quiet , Carol comes down to meet Jake and update how my baby girl has been . "she creid for quite a while when you left but shes all settled now and her nappy is clean and dry " Jakes laughed listening to my husbands pretty babysitter talk this way about the man I'm married to . "Jeeze I need to see this for myself Susan he sounds like a total loser " "you will dear buts lets have a glass of wine first" Around twenty minutes later we cept up the stairs shhh "we dont want to wake baby if we can help it " In the dimly lit spare room, converted into a makeshift nursery, my husband lay on his back, a soft pink pacifier dangling from his mouth. Jake and i stood holding hands looking down into the cot The room was filled with the faint hum of the baby monitor and the distant ticking of the old wall clock. My baby girl husband stirred, his eyelids fluttering open as he took in the scene before him. "Hello, sweetie," I greeted him "We're home. This is Jake, the man I work with at the office. He's staying the night and he wanted to meet you." A weak smile tugged at my husband's lips as he tried to push himself up, but I gently placed a hand on his chest, urging him to stay put. "Now, now, don't you dare hide under the blanket," I playfully scolded, snatching the blanket away to reveal his pink frilly knickers and plastic pants. Jake, standing beside me , let out a loud laugh, "No way, oh wow, Sue! You didn't tell me he was into this so badly hes wearing a fucking nappy as well ," he said, with amusement. I looked at Jake a mock glare, "Shh, he's sensitive about it," I whispered, before turning my attention back to your my baby girl . "Jake, this is my baby girl, Melissa. Melissa, say hello to Uncle Jake". My husband, was trying to shield his lower half from Jake's view, squirmed under my watchful gaze. "awww dont be shy ,my baby doesn't want my new boyfreind to you to see in your nappy... plastic pants and frilly knickers, does she, baby?" I teased, taking hold of his arms and moving them out of the way of hs knickers . My husband's face flushed a deep shade of red, but the corners of his mouth twitched, fighting back a smile. Jake, ever the observant one, noticed the silent exchange. "Well, I must say, it's nice to finally meet you, under... these circumstances," he said, extending a hand towards my husband, who hesitantly took it, a small smile finally breaking through. Its made me feel ecited and liberated inside knowing his acceptance of my immenent adultry . As the room filled with a comfortable silence, I couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth. This was going to be an interesting night, I thought. Carol came in to the room "is she okay sue " Oh yes Carol my baby girl is jsut fine apart from feeling embarresed but now the shock is over its time for bed " I gave Jakes hand a squeeze as a hint I was ready to be made love to . Jake's body was a symphony of taut muscles and raw power as he leisurely unbuttoned his shirt, each movement deliberate and tantalizing. I frantacially unbuckled his trousers, the fabric straining against an impressive bulge, a testament to his arousal. His hand snaked up my dress, finding the dampness between my thighs, my new white satin panties already soaked with excitement and anticipation. I wasted no time, my fingers hooking into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down to free his throbbing erection. It sprung out, long and thick, easily eight inches, and I couldn't help but reach out, wrapping both hands around its considerable girth. I looked up at him, your eyes filled with hunger, before lowering my mouth onto him, taking him in, inch by inch. Jake's breath hitched, his hands tangling myr hair as I worked him with your mouth, MY tongue swirling around his tip. I could feel him pulsing, his desire mirroring MY own. Soon, I were down to your bra and panties, my heels still clicking against the floor as I knelt before him. In one swift move, he grabbed hold of me in his powerful arms , lifting me off the ground and throwing me onto the bed. I gasped, my heart pounding in my chest as I began to pull down your panties, the silky fabric catching on my heel before he yanked them off , discarding them . He was over me , his thick cock nudging at my slick, wet entrance. I could feel every long, thick inch of him as he slowly slipped inside, stretching me wide. I gripped his buttocks, My fingers digging into his flesh as I arched my back, taking him deeper, my body craving his. He filled me completely, his hips moving in a rhythm as each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through my body. I could feel the tension building, my breath coming in short gasps, my body teetering on the edge of ecstasy. This was just the beginning, and I knew it was going to be a night to remember. "Fuck, baby," he grunts, his hips slamming into mine. "You feel so fucking good." I can't respond, can't do anything but hold on for dear life as he fucks me. I can feel my orgasm building, my body tensing as the pleasure becomes too much. I let out a cry, my back arching as I come, my pussy pulsing around his cock. "God, yes," he groans, his pace slowing as he rides out my orgasm with me. "I love feeling you come on my cock." I'm panting, my body covered in a sheen of sweat, as he pulls out of me. I can feel his cum leaking out of me, mixing with my own arousal. I smile, knowing that I'm marked as his, claimed by him. But as I lie there, catching my breath, I hear the sound of rustling fabric coming from the nursery. I freeze, my eyes widening as I realize what it is. I look up at Jake, who's listening intently, a smirk on his face. "My husband," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "He's... he's in there." Jake's smirk grows wider, his eyes filled with a dark, twisted excitement. "Let's give him a show, then," he says, his voice low and husky. Before I can respond, he's flipped me over onto my hands and knees, his hands gripping my hips tightly. I can feel his cock, hard and ready again, pressing against my ass. I moan, my head falling forward as he slides into me, filling me up completely. I can hear the sound of my husband's frilly baby clothes rustling as he jerks off, the sound of his plastic pants crinkling as he moves. I can picture him in my mind's eye, his tiny penis hard as he watches another man fuck his wife from the open bedroom doors . The thought sends a thrill down my spine, makes my pussy clench around Jake's cock. "Fuck, baby," Jake grunts, his pace picking up. "You like that, don't you? You like knowing he's listening to us." I can't deny it, can't lie. "Yes," I moan, my body moving in time with his. "I love it." I can hear my husband's soft moans now, can hear the sound of his hand moving faster, the sound of his breath coming in short gasps. I know he's close, know that he's going to come soon. The thought of him listening to us, of him coming while Jake fucks me, is enough to send me over the edge again. I let out a cry, my body convulsing as my orgasm hits me hard. Jake follows me, his cock pulsing as he comes inside me again, filling me up completely. We collapse onto the bed, our bodies slick with sweat and cum. I can hear my husband's soft moans, know that he's come too. I smile to myself, knowing that he's listening to us, knowing that he's heard every moan, every cry, every thrust. As we lie there, catching our breath, I can hear the sound of footsteps in the hallway. I turn my head to see Carol standing in the doorway, her eyes wide as she takes in the scene before her. "Carol," I say, my voice soft and husky. "How much did you hear?" She swallows hard, her eyes flickering down to the floor. "Enough to know that you two had a good time," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. I smile, sitting up and patting the bed beside me. "Come here, Carol. I want to show you something." She hesitates for a moment before walking over to the bed, sitting down beside me. I reach out, taking her hand in mine. I can feel her pulse racing, can feel the heat radiating off her body. "I want you to listen to something," I say, my voice low and husky. I turn to Jake, nodding towards the nursery. "Go on, Jake. Give Carol a show." He grins, standing up and walking over to the nursery door. He pushes it open wider , stepping inside. I can hear the sound of my husband's soft moans, can hear the sound of Jake moving around the room. Carol's eyes widen, her breath catching in her throat as Jake walks back into the room, my husband in his arms. He's dressed in his frilly baby clothes, his tiny penis hard as its sticking up from the leg oenings of his knickers as he watches Jake carry him into the room. "Oh my god," Carol breathes, her eyes wide as she takes in the scene before her.Jakes massive penis hadn't gone unnoticed I smile, squeezing her hand. "This is what turns me on, Carol. This is what makes me feel alive. Watching my husband be humiliated, watching him be cuckolded by a real man." Carol swallows hard, her eyes never leaving the scene before us. Jake has laid my husband down on the bed then placed him over his lap . Jakes large hands began to spank my little girl hard over his frilly pantied bottom . I can feel my own body responding, can feel myself becoming aroused as I watch the scene unfold before me. I can see the look of humiliation and shame on my husband's face. I smile, knowing that he's learned his lesson, knowing that he'll never try and be a man again. I turn to Carol who is giggling at my sissified husband getting a spanking from my boyfreind . Taking her hand in mine. "Thank you, Carol. Thank you for being a part of this with me." She smiles, her eyes filed with laughter I've never felt so... alive its hillaroius ." I squeeze her hand, as I look over at my husband, I know that he'll be a part of it too, whether he likes it or not. Because this is our life now, and we're all in it together.

Making Him the Perfect Hubby "You what?!" said Erin Johnson to her husband Bob, with a tone of both anger and incredulity in her voice. This was supposed to be an evening of pleasant romance between the two, but like most such evenings, it hadended prematurely. Usually, Bob at least lasted until he and Erin were lying together in bed. But increasingly, he wasn't even lasting that long, and tonight, as they were dancing slowly, and just as Erin's desire was started to build, Bob had gotten that terrible sheepish guilty look on his face. Looking down, Erin noticed a spot of dampness spreading across the front of his pants. "I'm sorry sweetheart" Bob whispered in reply. "You're just so beautiful and sexy that I can't control myself. I'll do better next time, I promise." "Oh, sure you will" mocked Erin. "Just like last time, and the time before that, and the time before that? I've heard your promises before. Well this time, that's it. There's no reason why I should have to put up with the frustration that you put me through, and from now on I won't." Bob had never seen his wife this angry before. "Erin. What are you saying? You know I love you. You know how sexy you are. That's all it is. I'll do better." But in reply, Bob's wife took his face in her hand, looked him in the eyes, and said "You know what you are like, Bob? A baby. Babies can't control themselves and you can't control yourself. So if you're going to act like a baby, I'm going to have to treat you like one. When babies wet themselves,what do we do?" "D..Diaper them?" said Bob hesitatingly. "That's right" continued Erin."Diaper ...nappies them. And that's what I'm going to do to you. We're going to go to the store, get some diapers and pink plastic pants, and that's what you're going to wear until you learn how to control yourself like a man." "Y..you're going to make me wear diapers like a baby boy?" said Bob, whose voice had begun to quiver as he became more and more upset. "Please Erin, don't do that. I can control myself. I promise I can. Don't put me in diapers. Please. Give me another chance. I can do it." Erin looked at her poor husband. Tears were starting to flow down his cheeks, and he had actually dropped to the floor and was hugging her around her legs, pleading with her to let him try to show her that he could be a man. But Erin was unmoved. She'd suffered frustration too many times. "Look at you" she said. "You're crying. Just like a baby. It shows that I should be putting you in diapers, and the sooner the better. But I don't know where this 'baby boy' stuff comes from. I didn't say anything about making you into a baby boy. A real man wouldn't have to be put into diapers by his wife. But you're not a real man - you're a sissy. And sissies don't get put into baby boy clothes -they're dressed as baby girls. And that is exactly how I'm going to be dressing you." Erin took her husband's hand in hers and pulled him to a standing position. "Come on. Let's get this over with. I don't want to waste the whole evening." Bob was so upset he could scarcely understand what was happening. Meekly, he followed his wife to the car, and sat in the passenger seat with his head down and the tears still flowing as they drove to a nearby pharmacy. After parking the car, Erin started to walk to the store, but then noticed that Bob wasn't moving from his seat. Returning to his side, she opened the door, and in a quiet but very firm voice said "Bob - if you know what is good for you you'll come with me this instant. I know you don't think things could be any worse for you than they are now, but I assure you they could be. If you want me to stay with you, you will come with me into this store right now and you will do as you are told. Have I made myself completely understood?" Bob looked up at the wife he adored, saw the seriousness in her face, and quickly scrambled from the car to accompany her into the store. As soon as they got inside, Erin spied the assistant store manager - a woman named Amanda who was a friend of Erin's from high school days. "Amanda" Erin called out. "Where are the adult diapers?" Amanda pointed toward the back of the store. "Back of aisle 4. And good for you. It's about time you took control like this." Bob couldn't believe what he was hearing. "D..does Amanda know why we're here?" he whispered. "Yes, as a matter of fact she does" replied his wife. "I've talked about your little problem with her a number of times, and it was actually her suggestion that I try putting you in diapers. You know that she's never married and she's told me a bunch of times that she can't figure out why I ever got married - and why I married you especially. Well, your little 'prematurity' problem has certainly convinced her that she's been right all along." By then they were in the adult diaper section. Mrs. Johnson picked out a pack of a dozen extra thick terry toweling nappies , and then motioned to her husband to follow her to the check out line. As she approached the checkout area, Amanda settled in behind an unoccupied register and motioned for them tolet her check them out. "Well, Bob" Amanda said a laugh, as she rang up the fluffly white nappies "I see that Erin has finally come to her senses and is following one of my suggestions." "Well, I had to try something" said Erin. "He's really no better than a baby. Luckily I ordered those other items a few weeks ago, so I've got some adult size plastic pants waiting for him at home . And an adorable pink satin baby bonnet. And a nice pacifier. And a short pink frilly satin baby dress in Bob's size with some cute frilly pink satin panties covered in lace on the front and rear very very girl and sissyish!" Bob's eyes grew large when he heard this, but as he started to say something, his wife interrupted"Shh. I didn't invite a comment from you. Try to at least show me that you can control your tongue - if not your tiny privates." By then Amanda had handed Erin back her change and put the diapers in a large plastic bag. "So" said Amanda "are we on for later tonight then? I get off work at 10, and Jimmy's coming by my house at 10:30. I can tell him to bring his brother along for you. I can assure you that Jimmy'sbrother Tom is not like your little baby here. I used to date him and I know from many long nights that Tom's got the tool and the skills to make sure you get what you need." "Sounds great" said Erin. "I'll be there right around 10:30 - after I put this little one to bed Bob was very quiet as they walked back to the car. He made sure he opened the door for his wife, then got in on the passenger side. Erin, in contrast, was smiling and humming; she'd been waiting for this night for quite some time. Everything was set. Everything was going smoothly. Bob's transformation into the perfect husband was about to begin. Bob, meanwhile, did not yet fully believe what was happening to him. His wife had bought diapers and a an outfit of baby girl clothes for him, and if he understood what she was saying, she was also planning to go out with another man. He decided that his best strategy at that point was not to make Erin any angrier with him than she was already. Maybe this was all just a threat, or even a joke. When they got home, Bob scurried out from the car and ran around to open the door for Erin, then opened the door to the house for her. As soon as they got inside he took her coat and hung it up, then as she sat down in the living room he knelt in front of her to remove her shoes for her and asked her if she wanted a drink. After fixing her a drink, he knelt again in front of her. "Erin" he said. "You know I love you and would do anything for you. But you aren't really going to make me wear diapers are you? This is silly. All you have to do is tell me what you want and how you want me to behave better and I will." Erin smiled. She knew that with a little effort she would be able to get Bob to do what she said, but hadn't realized it would be quite this easy. But Amanda had been right. She had told Erin that Bob's lack ofskill (and size) in the sack could be turned against him to get him to go along with basically anything that Erin wanted. And with a little prodding and encouragement from Amanda, what Erin had finally realized that she wanted was for Bob to become her maid rather than her lover “ there were lots of other men around who could fulfill the lover role. Erin wriggled her toes in Bob's face and laughed at his predicament. "Oh sweetheart" she said "I know you'd try your darndest to please me, but the harder you try, the quicker you seem to mess. This is the only thing I can think of to do. So yes, I'm going to put you in diapers. You know it's what you deserve. Just look “ I can still see a spot of wetness on your pants. And we both know how sticky and messy your underwear is right now. That is such a babyish thing to do. Isn't it? Well “" Erin leaned over and took Bob's face in her hands, making him look her in the eyes. "Isn't it?" "Y..Yes" he stammered, while doing his best to avoid his wife's strong gaze. "And" continued Erin, "the best way to deal with a babyish mess problem is with diapers. So let's not have any more foolishness. Get those clothes off. It's time for you to become my baby girl." Bob looked up at his wife. Her gaze was strong and commanding. They both knew that he'd obey. Slowly Bob removed his socks and shirt and pants. Erin could see the mess he'd made in his underwear, and as Bob saw her staring at the wet spot his face grew red with shame. He hesitated for just a moment, but Erin motioned with her finger for him to pull them down. "Now doesn't that feel better" she said "to get those messy underpants off?" Bob nodded in agreement, but didn't say a word. Erin next old him to go to their bedroom and to return with a large plastic bag from her closet, containing the items she had purchased during the past few weeks. When Bob returned with the bag, Erin reached inside and pulled out a large changing pad. Placing it on he rug, she motioned for Bob to lie on it face up. Erin next got out a container of baby wipes to clean him up, then told him to lift his legs so she could slide a diaper beneath his rear. In a moment she had it in velcroed in place. Next came a pair of plastic pants followed by the very frilly pink satin panties.She slid them up his legs and tooked them over his nappy and plastic pants.Only a small amount of plastic could be seen from the leg openings she thought that this would be okay because she would like visitors to see that he truly was a sissy baby in diapers and needed the plastic pants She then had Bob stand up, and slid the large sizepink satin baby dress over his head. After helping him get his feet she pulled it down (the frilly skirt of the dress barely coming below his waist so the ruffled pink satin panties were visible in typical baby girl fashion then buttoned it up the back. Next came the baby bonnet, tied tightly beneath Bob's chin. Stepping back, she walking completely around her new "baby girl." "Just perfect" she said, with a laugh. "If you're a good baby girl, maybe you'll be able to get out of diapers in a couple of weeks. I'm sure you'll be eager to graduate to panties by then!" "OK, now come here, sweetie." As Bob started to stand up and move towards his wife, he saw that she suddenly had an angry look again. "NO! Not like that. Not standing up. Like a baby. On your hands andknees." Bob realized she was serious, and immediately got down on his hands and knees to crawl to where Erin was now sitting. When he got there, he saw that she had pulled a baby bottle from the bag and was holding it towards him. With only a slight hesitation, Bob did as he knew was expected of him “ he leaned forward and took the bottle's nipple between his lips and started so suck, rhythmically taking in the warm baby formula. "That's a good little girl" laughed Erin. "Now as soon as you finishthat up, it will be time for you to go to bed. I'll be going out, so I need you safely tucked away." Bob got a pained expression on his face as he heard his wife's comment, but obediently continued sucking on the bottle, until it's contents were completely drained. Looking up at his wife, he now asked "Y..You aren'treally going to go out with someone else are you? Please tell me that you were just kidding." Erin laughed, and gave her husband a kiss on the head. "Crawl over here, sweetie." And Erin lead her husband to where he could look at himself in a mirror. "Look and tell me what you see." "I .. I see me dressed in baby clothes." Bob quietly replied."That's right. And do you look like someone that I'd want to go to bed with? Now be honest." Bob looked again in the mirror, and then even more quietly replied "No...I guess not...I...well, maybe you could let me wear something else." "But Bob" his wife exclaimed "You're dressed this way for a reason. And you know what that reason is don't you." "Yes" her humbled hubby replied. "And what is that reason?" asked Erin. "Tell me. I want to be sure you fully understand." "I wet .. well, that is, messed my underpants ” prematurely." "That's right. You ejaculated prematurely. Like a baby. And it's because I love you that I'm going to train you now to behave better. And that training starts with wearing diapers and being my baby girl. But as long as you're a baby girl, you can't be the one I have sex with. So of course, I'll be going out with other men. Or shall I say, I'll be going out with real men. Let's get you into bed. Crawl behind me and I'll get you tucked in." Bob crawled after his wife, into the guest room. "I might be bringing Tom home later to spend the night here, so you'll be sleeping in this room. Be sure you don't get out of bed. I'll be very angry if you do. You'll probably have to go during the night after drinking all that formula, but that's what the diapers are for. I'm expecting you to be wet by morning time “ it isn't good for you to hold it too long." Bob climbed into the bed, and Erin then pulled the blankets up and tucked them around him. She could see that tears had started to form in her husband's eyes. She had no desire to make him sad like that, but he was just going to have to learn. She was in charge now. He was going to be trained to serve her, and part of that training was going to involve feminizing him. It was the best thing for him, thought Erin “ and certainly the best thing for her. She gave him a kiss on the cheek, then walked downstairs and out of the house to drive to Amanda's for her date with Tom. Early the next morning, Bob heard his wife calling his name. "Bobbie baby" she called. "Crawl on in here. I have someone I want you to meet." Bob obediently got out of bed and started to crawl into his wife's (and what used to be his) bedroom. He was terribly uncomfortable, however, because he was fighting the powerful urge to wet his diaper, but was desperate not to. Maybe, he thought, Erin would relent and let his use the bathroom like an adult if he did everything else she asked of him. As he crawled into the bedroom, he saw that Erin was in bed beside a handsome man in his early twenties. "Bobbie baby" Erin said as she saw him enter the room. "You're a good girl for crawling in here the way you knew you were supposed to. This is Tom. Tom, this is my husband Bob. Bobbie, I'd like you to say hello to Tom and to thank him for taking me out for sleeping with me. Oh -- and tell him why I had to go out with him instead of sleeping with you and the fact he has a nice thick seven inch cock. The young man beside Erin in bed smiled and then laughed as he heard Erin instruct her husband that way. Bob flushed red with embarrassment and shame looking at the very large thick erect penis befre him, well over twice his size he admitted to himself but compliantly replied. "H..Hello Tom. Th..th..thank you for taking Erin out and for sleeping with her. I know it was what she wanted and needed after I, uh .., I messed too quickly before we were able to sleep together." "Good girl" laughed Erin. "Now how about that nappy. It must need changeding by now." "No" said Bob. "It's still dry. I was hoping you'd let me use the bathroom like a big b.. I mean like a big girl." "Oh, is that what you thought? Well, I will let you “ when you become a big girl. But for now you're a baby girl, so the only place you can wet is in your diaper. Come on. Let's see you go." Erin got out of bed and walked over to Bob. He could see that she was completely naked and couldn't help staring at her beautiful body. Erin saw where he was looking, and smiled, thinking how difficult it must be for him to see her like that with another man in her bed. She knelt down on the rug next to her husband and gave him a little kiss on the cheek. "It's OK sugar. There's no reason to be so uncomfortable. Just relax and let yourself go." Then turning to Tom she said "Would you turn on the water in the bathroom. That will probably do the trick." Tom walked into the attached bathroom and turned on the water then returned to stand next to Erin. By then, Bob's need was overpowering and he started to go in the diaper. From the look of shame on his face, and the increasing sag in the fluffy nappy Erin knew immediately what was happening, and so did Tom. "See now, that wasn't so bad, was it." said Erin when Bob had finished. "Now we can get you changed. " Erin retrieved her changing items from the corner of the room, told Bob to lie on his back on the changing pad.Bob placed his hands over the front of his frilly baby knickers to hide them from Tom."Don't be shy you know Tom is going to see how I keep you all pretty and what frillly baby girl panties you have to wear" She quickly movey his hands away and pulled up his baby dress to keep it out of the way, pulled down the pink satin frilly panties to his ankles then she yanked down the plastic pants, and undid the nappy pins . Tom, of course, was watching this whole exercise -- with alternating looks of amusement and astonishment, and Bob felt greater shame than he'd ever felt in his life. When Erin opened the diaper, she took a moment to point out to Tom the small size of her husband's privates. And then to emphasize the point, she gave Bob a little tickle between the legs to get him aroused, and to show her lover that even when her husband was aroused it was not a very impressive sight. thats as big as she gets only three inches ,its like a six year olds she giggled and watch how quickly he messes" she said with a very sarcastic and mocking laugh. she gave him a few squeezes and strokes with her thumb and forefinger along the thin tiny shaft. Even though Bob did his best to control himself, and despite his feeling of shame at being handled that way by his wife in front of her lover, in less than a minute her stroking produced the expected effect. "Now you see why I've put him in diapers -- and why you're the one I'm sleeping with." Erin commented to Tom, as she got out a baby wipe to clean her husband up, and then put a clean terry nappy in place pinning it with pink headed nappy pins . She then selected a pair of semi transparent crickly plastic pants shaking them out before sliding them up his slender legs. . Okay lets get yo u some nce frily pink baby knickers ooh yes these are so pretty she held them up smiling so sos frily and girly the panties were made of a sheer pale pink double overlay of chiffon with ruffled pink matching lace on the front and rear .Erin laughed at her husbands blushing face as she puled them high up and over his plastic pants and nappy Erin kept her husband in diapers full time for the next few weeks. Even when he went to work he wore a disposable diaper beneath his suit, and Erin marked it with her initials across the adhesive tabs to make sure he couldn't remove it without her knowing. Bob would try to drink very little in the morning so that he could make it through the day without wetting, but when he got home he'd have to really let go -- and then wait uncomfortably while he did his chores until Erin came home. Usually she'd make him give her a drink first, but after relaxing with that for a few minutes she'd change him. Bob would be so thirsty in the evenings that he'd drink a lot then, and between that and getting used to using the diaper, after just a few days both he and Erin were surprised to see that he actually started to wet the diaper in hissleep. "Well -- you really are a baby now, aren't you" Erin laughed the first time this happened. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You never could control yourself from cumming before you were supposed to, and now you're peeing in your sleep as well." Bob felt shamed and humiliated, and wisely decided against asking Erin right then about when he'd be able to try having sex with her again. But even worse than that humiliation was the shame of being seen dressed in diapers and a baby girl dress by Erin's dates and friends. It was about a week after Bob's punishment had begun that Erin invited Amanda over to see how things were going. She instructed Bob to make some tea and bake some cookies, and then when the doorbell rang, she sent him crawling over to open it. Amanda almost didn't see him at first, but then noticed the adult sized baby girl on hands and knees at her feet. "Bobbie Johnson" she laughed. "You do look like Erin has put you in your place." Amanda then walked into the living room where Erin was already sitting, and the two of them began to chat while Bobbie fetched them some tea. "So" inquired Amanda "are things going as well as they look?" "Better than you can imagine" said Erin. "I can't believe I put up with Bob's infantile performance for so long. I've seen Tom a few times this week already. What a difference from Bob! I feel so much better. No more of that terrible frustration." Amanda smiled. "I knew that was what you needed. And how about Bob. Is he showing signs of doing any better?" "Well, not in that respect" laughed Erin again. "Here, I'll show you.Bobbie. Come in here please." Bob crawled back into the living room. When he got there, Erin told him to lie on his back , and then she slipped his frilly knickers , plastic pants and nappy down to his ankles . "See, he gets hard whenever I expose him like this, but he looks more like a little boy than a man" she said, as Amanda marveled at the sight of Bob's tiny thin erection. "That's really it ..oh dear its so tiny ?" laughed Amanda. "Yes, I'm afraid so." replied Erin. "Now watch and see how long he can keep it. Bobbie, I'm going to rub you now and I want you to keep from cumming as long as you can. Amanda is going to count slowly." Bob's face was blushing a deep red by now. "Erin, please" he begged "can't you test me later, when no one else is here?" "NO" replied Erin. "I want Amanda to see. Now be quiet, or when Ifinish I'll give this little thing of yours a spanking too. Is that what you want?" Bob bit his lip and made a small whimpering "No ma'am" sound. "I thought not" said Erin. "Now here we go. I'll start as soon as Amanda says one." Amanda waited about five seconds, and then began her count. Erin took hold of her husbands little penis and started to very quickly stroke it up and down. Amanda could see Bob straining his face, but she'd barely reached a count of ten when she saw him clench his teeth as a few spurts of semen dribbled out from between Erin's fingers. "Well -- not quite ready for me to give up my boyfriends" laughed Erin, as she pulled up Bob's nappie and panties . "I'll wipe you later. For now, Amanda and I are going out. And don't wait up for us. We're going to be double dating tonight." Just then, Amanda reached into her purse. "Before we go, Erin, I have a little something for Bobbie" Erin and Bob each looked over at the small object that Amanda now held in her hand. "Wh ..what is it?" asked Bob somewhat anxiously. "It's a pacifier" said Amanda. "See, this elastic goes around your head, and this part goes in your mouth." "B...b..but, it's shaped like a, well, you know." "That's right" chuckled Erin as she took the pacifier from Amanda's hand and began to put it in her husband's mouth "it's shaped just like a short little penis but this one is slighly bigger than yours What a wonderful little present, Amanda. Just the thing for a sissy husband to suck on. Say thank you, Bob." Bob tried to obey, but all that came out of his mouth was a muffled sound. Amanda and Erin began to laugh, and were still laughing as they exited the door to go out. But as they left, Amanda turned back to where Bob was still kneeling on the floor. "See, Bobbie, now you can have a little one in you mouth while Erin gets a much bigger one to keep her happy later." And then the two women were off. Late that evening, Erin returned home, feeling quite tired but also quite satisfied after a pleasant evening with Amanda, Jimmy, and Tom. Before going to her own room, she looked in on Bob, who was sleeping peacefully with the penis pacifier still firmly in place. Erin smiled at his babyish sucking noises, and gave him a little kiss on the cheek, thinking to herself how well everything was working out. It felt so good to have regular sex with men who could fill her the way she needed, but she did still love Bob and wanted to keep him -- not as a lover, of course, but as a companion and servant. He was soon going to be the perfect husband, she thought to herself -- completely submissive and fully feminized. Who could want more? Bob knew that the only way he was ever going to get out of diapers and baby girl clothes was to be completely obedient and to do his best to always do what Erin wanted. He tried hard every day to behave the way his wife wanted, and Erin was pleased to see that he no longer hesitated to obey even when she told him to masturbate in front of her dates. One morning, about three weeks after her diapering of her husband had begun, Erin informed Bob that if he wanted, he could begin to wear diapers onlyat night. Bob understood the need for continued diaper at night, since he now was rarely dry when he awakened in the morning. But he was quite grateful for any improvement in his treatment by his wife. "If I do let you out of diapers during the day, you won't make me regret that decision, will you?" Erin asked her husband. "You will continue to be obedient and do all your chores, and serve me the way that I want. And you won't have any wetting accidents, I hope." "I promise" Bob replied. "I'll keep doing what you say. And it's only at night that I ever have accidents." "And you won't bother me for sex with you, will you. You understand that you're still a long way from getting that privilege again." "Yes, of course, dear. I understand." "OK then. From now on during the day you can wear panties instead of diapers. I went to the store yesterday and bought you seven pairs. One for each day of the week. You'll find them in the dresser in your room." Erin informed her husband. "P..panties? You mean I don't get to wear regular underwear?" asked Bob. "Of course not" laughed Erin. "What ever made you think that. Do you mean to tell me that you don't want to wear panties? Because I can keep you in diapers if you'd like. Tell me. Which will it be?" "Panties, please" replied Bob. "I'm sorry. I didn't understand. But please, I'd be most grateful if you'd let me wear panties instead of a diaper during the day." "That's better" said Erin. "And while we're at it, I'm also going to let you graduate from baby clothes to something more suited to a little girl of four or five. You'll see that I've put some new dresses and skirts and blouses and sweaters in your room as well. Go put one of the pretty party dresses on for me to see. I think you'll like them." Bob didn't know whether to be happy or distressed at this news. It was wonderful that Erin was going to let him out of the baby clothes. But he had thought that when that happened he'd be permitted to go back to wearing his regular clothes again. Now he realized that Erin's punishment was going to last a lot longer than he'd ever expected. "How ... how long will I have to dress in those clothes" he asked his wife. "Well, that depends on you." replied Erin. "If you're really a good little girl But if you give me any trouble, I'll have to keep you as a preschooler for longer than that. Now go to your room and get changed into the peach colored dress." Bob was so relieved to be able to wear something other than diapers and baby clothes, and to be permitted to walk upright instead of crawling, that he eagerly hurried to his room to change into panties he picked out a sheer high waisted pair of pale lemon cououred ones with lace ruffles on the rear , the colorful little girl's party dress that he found in the closet, white anklet socks, and shiny black patent leather shoes. He then returned to get Erin's approval of his appearance. "Very nice, sweetie. Just adorable, in fact. Now, one of the first things I need to show you now that you're old enough is how to sit properly like a little girl and how to curtsey. When you sit in a dress, Bobbie, it's important to always keep your knees together so your frilly panties are not on show So if you're in a chair, you want to sit up straight, knees and ankles together or else knees together and ankles crossed, and with your hands folded neatly in your lap. Sit on this chair and show me. That's it. Very nice. OK, now if you're sitting on the floor you want your legs together and folder under your or to the side. Give it a try. Excellent! You know, it's almost as if you were born to be a girl Bobbie" Erin teased. Bobbie blushed at the comment, but was also pleased that he was doing so well at behaving the way Erin wanted. "OK" giggled Erin. "You know what? You're doing so well that I've got a little reward for you. Come over her and stand in front of me. That's it. Now turn around and spread your legs and lean over. You can put your hands on the footrest to steady yourself if you'd like." Bobbie had no idea why Erin was putting him in this position, but he knew better than to disobey. And in any case, she'd said it was going to be something he liked. The next thing Bobbie felt was Erin pulling down his panties in back. Looking around, he saw her putting vaseline on the first finger of her right hand. "Now just relax, sweetie. This may feel a little cold at first, but I know that you'll like it pretty soon." The next thing Bobbie felt was Erin's finger probing at his opening in the rear. Automatically, he tightened up a little, without even realizing what he was doing. Erin rubbed the insides of his legs with her other hands. "Just relax sweetie. This won't hurt at all" Erin said, and the combination of her stroking of his thighs and her soft words did the trick. Bobbie was able to relax a bit, permitting Erin to slide her finger all the way inside him. Slowly, she worked it forward and back. "There now, doesn't that feel nice?" she said, but before Bobbie could answer he felt another finger join the first one. Erin could see that Bobbie was enjoying the experience. His face had started to flush, and his little penis was as hard as it could get tenting out in his seethrough panties . "H'mm -- just what you needed I think" laughed Erin. She then wrapped her other hand around his little member through the panties. Bobbie began to thrust back and forth, simultaneously rubbing against Erin's hand in front and moving her fingers back and forth in his rear. In about thirty seconds, though, it was over. Bobbie gave a final thrust and Erin could feel him release his mess into the panties. "What a good little girl you are" she laughed. "Now go get yourself cleaned up, put on a clean pair of panties, and you can start on your chores. And if you're really good, we can do that again tomorrow." Bobbie spent the next four weeks in his little girl role. Each day, when he returned from work, and before even beginning his after-work chores, he changed into one of the little girl outfits that Erin had obtained for him. She'd gotten him two very frilly party dresses, but also a couple of short little-girl skirts. His panties, which he wore all day underneath his work clothes also, were all particularly well suited to his new little girl life; one pair was white satin with lace ruffles across the front and rear another was satin aagin very frilly and childish pink with little matching ribbons all around the waistband, and the others were similarly very girlish in sheer nylon and ruffled .At night he slept in short frilly nylon baby doll nighties with nappies and plastic pants along with frily knickers . Erin also noticed that the transition from diapers to panties seemed to also parallel a transition in Bob's attitude. His complaining about her treatment of him had stopped, and instead he had become intent on really being as good and obedient as he could be. Partly, Erin knew, his eager obedience related to his desire to earn the favor of having her rub him to release if he'd been good that day. These "reward" treatments always involved some initial probing by Erin of her sissified husbands rear with her fingers, or, after the first week, with small dildoes. "OK" Erin would say with a smile towards the end of the day if Bob had been satisfactorily obedient "we can do it." Bob would get as excited as a little puppy when he heard this, and at Erin's command he would fetch the dildo from Erin's dresser and then present himself on all fours with rear raised for ready insertion. Erin would pull up his dress or skirt, pull down his panties in back, and work the dildo back and forth inside him until he was ready to explode. A little rub or even just a couple of flicks with her fingers on his front was then enough to finish things. "Thank you Erin" he would always say, to show her how appreciative he was for the pleasures she provided him. Even Erin's sleeping with other men was now something that they both accepted as a natural part of their new arrangement, and Bob's chores included helping her prepare for dates. These were, in fact, probably his favorite chores, because they made him feel that he was contributing, in at least an indirect way, to his wife's pleasure. He would run her bath, lay out her clothes, brush her hair, do her nails, and help her dress. And it was also his job to make sure that there was a supply of lotions available if Erin and her date should desire them as part of their intimate activities. Erin always made Bob greet her dates at the door, which helped quickly put the minds of any new dates at ease regarding concerns about going out with a married woman; after seeing Bob in his little girl's outfit greet them at the door, any concerns they might have had regarding a husband's jealousy were immediately allayed. Another change that occurred during Bob's first week as a little girl was that Erin brought him in to have him pierced. Bob thought she meant that his ears were going to be pierced, and he was quite concerned about going out in public with studs in both ears. Of course, Erin did plan to eventually have his ears pierced, but not at this time. So it was with a mixture of relief and fear, that when they went to the piercing studio, Bob realized that Erin and the two woman on duty (a friend of Erin's named Pamela and a very pretty young shop assistant names molly who had just turend 18 ) were discussing piercing him in more intimate locations. "Pull down your knickers dear" instructed Erin, as Bob stood nervously in front of the three women in a back room of the parlor. Bob knew better than to disobey, though Erin could see from the flushed expression on his face and from the nervous shaking of his hands as he undid his belt that he was both quite fearful and ashamed about the way Erin and Pamela were discussing him.Molly hadn't said much but her amusement was plain to see on her face. "Do you keep him in panties all the time?" asked Pamela when she saw the frilly pink little undies Bob was wearing. "Yes" replied Erin. "And at home he dresses as a little girl now but at night he still wears nappies and plastic pants ...baby girl clothing." Erin then motioned to Bob to remove his panties also, and when Pamela saw his flaccid hairless little penis less than an inch in size she laughed and commented "Well, I bet you don't get a lot of pleasure from that pathetic lttle thing." He looked across as Molly held her hand to her mouth to stop herself from lauging out loud. " thats so so teeny she said between fits of laughter ..awww I'm sorry for laughing " "No dont be sorry " chuckled Erin "In fact, all this started because of how poor he was at satisfying me. So I finally just decided to stop letting him use it that way anymore." "I assume you get it elsewhere" responded Pamela "or do you just get sissy here to satisfy you in other ways?" "Mainly elsewhere" giggled Erin. The shame and humlation Bob felt caused his penis to become hard . Oh look hes getting hard molly shouted as she giggled at the same time . Pamela and Rein turend to look . oh yes mmm I expect he finds it a turn on knowing you sleep with other men ...much bigger men " . "Then is the idea to permanently chastise him?" asked Pamela. "I have a couple of ways of doing that, so that it would be basically impossible for him to cum anymore. I don't do many of those, but I do get a few women every year who have decided to go that route. Or is it just something for decoration that you'd like?" Pamela asked these questions while inspecting Bob closely with her hands. The questions, however, were directed only to Erin -- it was obvious that this was a decision that was being made by Erin and Bob's feelings were basically irrelevant. But Erin and Pamela both did note that Bob's face went from very red to almost white at the mention of permanent chastisement. "No -- not a permanent chastity I don' think" replied Erin (much to Bob's relief), "but I would like to have control in that respect -- so that there's no chance of him doing anything without my permission." Pamela and Erin then discussed Erin's wishes a little further and Pamela generated a couple of possible option. The one they finally settled on involved insertion of a small ring through Bob's foreskin and another at the base of his scrotum. Pamela showed Erin pictures that showed how a small lock could be used to attach the two rings, which would make it almost impossible for Bob to masturbate without the lock being removed. "Let's do it" decided Erin, and an hour later she and Bob were home and Erin was watching, pleased with the new jewelry her husband was wearing beneath his panties. It was during Bob's third week as a little girl that Erin first decided to have him actually watch her be intimate with one of her dates. The man in question (Paul) was another ex-flame of Amanda's who had come highly recommended in the satisfying-a-woman department. Amanda had told him that Erin was married but that he didn't have to be worried at all about Erin's husband -- that in fact, Erin only had sex outside of marriage but not with her husband. The plan for the evening was for Erin and Paul to stay in and watch a video and then for Paul to stay the night. As usual, Bob had a variety of chores to do to help prepare for date -- making some hors d'oeurves, ensuring that the clothes that Erin would be wearing were all nicely cleaned and ironed, hand washing the lingerie that Erin had selected for the evening and for sleeping, shining Erin's shoes, picking up the video, buying champagne, straightening up the house, etc. etc. Then, in the early evening, he ran Erin's bath for her, and when she was done he was called on to dry her hair and brush it, help her dress, help her with her makeup, and so on. In addition, Bob knew that Erin would want him looking his little girl best, so he made sure he "naired" himself completely during the afternoon (Erin was very strict about him not having even a hint of body hair anywhere), and then dressed himself in the pink party dress with a short little-girl's style white cardigan sweater, anklet socks with shiny black shoes, and pink hair ribbons to hold the little pigtails in place on either side of his head. Then, at about 8:00 pm, as he helped Erin with some last minute preparation to get herself ready for an evening of good sex, Bob heard the doorbell ring. "That should be Paul" said Erin to her poor sissified husband. "Go let him in for me." Bob was always nervous about meeting one of his wife's dates for the first time. Even when the date had been told about Erin and Bob's situation, there was always that moment of shock on first seeing Bob that made Bob feel extra humiliated and shamed. But this time turned out to be worse than usual. Bob answered the door, keeping his eyes down and curtseying nicely the way Erin had taught him, and it wasn't until he had taken Paul's coat that he realized that this was someone he had met before. "Bob Johnson" laughed the man at the door. "I wondered if this was going to be you. I mean, how many Bob Johnsons could there be in this area? Do you remember me? From back in high school?" Bob remembered Paul clearly now. In high school, Bob had been one of the small, not-very-athletic and not-very-popular kids, while Paul had been a top athlete and one of the school leaders -- and one of the most popular with the girls. Bob had vivid memories of Paul and his friends picking on him and teasing him when they were in high school. Especailly in the showers ,he had been teased about his tiny penis and he knew Paul was very well endowed One time, when they'd been drinking after a football game, Paul and some of his friends and some of the cheerleaders had cornered Bob and forced him to go into the girl's locker room with four of the cheerleaders where they made him put on a cheerleader's outfit and then come out to show the group of guys how he looked. It had been the worst experience of Bob's life. But he also remembered dating a girl in high school for a short time who would break her dates if Paul or one of his group asked her out at the last minute. Bob had always wanted to get back at him for all the teasing and bullying, but obviously that was not how things were working out. "Y..yes, I remember you" said Bob in a quiet voice, his face flushed with embarrassment. "Do you remember that time in the girl's locker room" laughed Paul. "That was hysterical. When those girls dragged you out and you were wearing that outfit with the tight sweater and the red skirt -- we couldn't stop laughing. I guess I should have expected something like this would happen to you eventually. Once a sissy always a sissy." Bob flushed even redder, but had no response to Paul's question. They both knew that Bob remembered the incident in all its shameful detail. Bob showed Paul into the family room, then curtseyed again and left to fetch him a drink. A moment later he was back with drink in hand. "Thanks Bob" said Paul. "Or is it Bobbie? I think Amanda said something about calling you that now. So tell me Bobbie -- where is that lovely wife of yours? Amanda said she's very sexy. I can't believe you managed to marry someone that I'd want to have sex with, but life takes strange turns doesn't it. But I guess this was to be expected if you did find someone attractive -- that eventually she'd need someone like me to step into the breech that you can't fill successfully. That's it, isn't it? That you couldn't do your manly duties the way she wanted." Paul stared at Bob, obviously awaiting a response this time to his question. After an awkward moment of silence, Bob finally replied. "Y..yes" he admitted. "That's right. She ...she needed more than she was getting from me so she's started dating." "And how often does she let you do it?" asked Paul, with a huge grin on his face as he enjoyed the discomfort he was putting the poor sissy through. Bob looked down at his feet, unable to meet Paul stare. "Never -- any more" he quietly admitted. Just then, they both turned around as they heard Erin enter the room. They both saw that Erin looked great. She was wearing high heels exposing her delightfully pedicured and polished toes -- pedicured and polished by Bob of course, sheer stockings, a short tight navy blue knee length skirt with a slit up one side that wen all the way to her waist, and a baby blue angora cardigan sweater that was buttoned only about half-way up and which did little hide the fact that she was braless. She walked right up to Paul and gave him a big long sexy kiss. "I see you've met my husband" she laughed when she and Paul finally broke from their hug. "Yes -- actually, we'd met before" said Paul. "Hasn't Bob ever mentioned that I was one of his friends in high school? And didn't he ever tell you of the famous cheerleader incident?" "No he hasn't" said Erin. "Bobbie, dear, you should have told me. Were you dating a cheerleader?" "Uh -- that's not quite it" laughed Paul. "The sissy here was not really the type to get a cheerleader date." Paul then proceeded to tell Erin all about the incident, and also told her about asking out girls who he knew were dating Bob. "So" he concluded "it really doesn't surprise me that much that all these years later here I am about to spend the evening with his wife while he's spending the evening in sissy girl clothes. He told me that you never have sex with him anymore -- only with other guys. Is that right?" "It's true" laughed Erin. "But I do let him diddle himself in front of my dates sometimes. That's about all the sex he ever gets now. Would you like to see." Paul was laughing so hard by now his eyes were watering. "Sure. I could use a funny show. " Erin took Paul by the hand and the two of them sat together on the couch. Erin gave Paul a kiss, and then undid her sweater completely, so that he could kiss and rub her breasts, while she slipped one hand inside his pants. "Mmm" he cooed, as she felt him. "Amanda was right. You are well endowed. Wait till you see Bob and how puny he is." As she said this, Paul pulled his head up from Erin's chest and looked over at the sissy standing in front of them. At that point, without removing her hand from Paul's pants, Erin motioned for Bob to pull up his dress and play with himself. "OK honey -- time to put on your quick little show" she laughed. Bob's face was beet red. This was worse than it had been with any of Erin's other dates. She was being much more amorous in front of him than she ever had been before, and the fact that Paul had been one of his tormentors in high school made everything even more humiliating than it would have been anyway. In high school he'd always hoped that he'd someday be able to get back at the popular kids who had teased him and picked on him, but now here he was with one of them about to have sex with his wife while he was standing there dressed in the clothes of a four year old girl. Despite the shame, Bob knew he had no choice but to do as Erin instructed. As Erin and Paul continued to pet on the couch, Bob stood in front of them and pulled down his frilly ruffled litttle girl panties and then held up his dress with one hand. Paul and Erin looked over, and the first thing Paul noticed was that the locking chastity that Erin had had installed. "Well" said Paul to Erin, "I guess he doesn't do anything with that without your permission. What a clever little system you used. Where do you keep the key?." "Just right here on my key ring in my purse" replied Erin. "Here, I'll unlock him so he can play with himself a bit for us." Erin retrieved the key from her purse and called Bob over so she could unlock his privates. "OK, now rub it till it's hard honey" she told him. "That's it?" laughed Paul, when he saw the unimpressive dimensions of Bob's privates. "Bobbie boy, I can't imagine you were ever able to satisfy this lovely woman with that little dick of yours." "As a matter of fact, he never did" said Erin. "Here, let's show him what a real man looks like. Bobbie, stop playing with yourself for a minute and come over here and undo Paul's pants. I want you to see what it is that I need." Obediently Bob knelt in front of Erin and Paul and reached up to undo Paul's pants. Erin then pulled Paul out of his pants. Even Bob was shocked at the difference in size both length and thickness between him and Paul. Paul grinned as he saw the expression on Bob's face. "Well" said Erin to her sissy husband. "What do you think?" "It ... it's much bigger" said Bob in almost a whisper. "And much better for pleasing me" said Erin. "Now -- before Paul and I really get it on I want you to give it a little kiss and thank Paul for helping to take care of me." "Wh .. what do you mean? Kiss it? Do you mean that." asked Bob with a tone of astonishment. "Just a little peck sweetie -- right on the tip" said Erin, with a giggle. Bob looked up at his wife and saw her look of determination. Submissively, he did as he was told, leaning forward to place his lips quickly where his wife had instructed. "There, that was very nice" said Erin "And now thank Paul for taking care of my needs." Tears had started to well up in Bob's eyes as he quietly whimpered "Th..thank you Paul -- for -- for sleeping with my wife." "Why, you're very welcome" laughed Paul. "My pleasure in fact. Of course, it's not a pleasure you ever have anymore is it. So let's get back to seeing you give yourself a little pleasure. Stand back up there and let us see you give that thing a little rubbing. Erin told me that I'd better watch carefully or it will be all over before I've even looked." The tears were now streaming down Bob's face, but he did as he was told he became erect his tiny puny penis ,he pumped it with finger and thumb -- lasting no more than 40 seconds this time. "Well, what a show!" laughed Paul. "Short but fun." "Go clean yourself up sweetie" instructed Erin. "Then come on back here. I think Paul and I are going to do it right here in the family room, and I think it would be fun to have you watch this time." Bob returned from the bathroom a few minutes later. Even before entering the family room he could hear the sounds of Erin and Paul's lovemaking. Not sure what to do or where to stand, he awkwardly sat in a corner away from the lovebirds, who were then focused solely on each other on the couch. He could see that Erin was excited to a degree that she'd never been with him,she was straddling Paul sliding up and down on his long thick eight inch shaft sinking lower and lower until he was all the way inside her and was doing things with (and to) Paul thatshe'd never done with him.The sound of flesh slapping on flesh ,they changed positions Erin now on her back her legs over his shoulders as he began to slam his hardness in and out slowly at first until he began to speed up. Erin began to bite his shulder to muffle her cries , feeling his penis so deep inside she began to shake and trembel the white silk panties around her ankle waving with each thust as her climax neared ,she goraned louder and louder the sofa squeeked and shiftted into the wall . The activity continued for almost an hour in a variety of positions, and during all that time Bob sat quietly like a good little girl in the chair, watching but not speaking, and with his legs properly crossed at the ankles and his hands neatly folded in his lap (the way that Erin hadtaught him to sit). When the lovers were finally done they gave each other one final deep kiss, got dressed, and then Paul left, without having spoken another word to Bob. But after waving good-bye to Paul, Erin returned, sat back on the couch, and called Bob over to sit on the floor (with legs properly folded underneath him of course and with his hands together on his lap) in front of her. "OK -- clean-up time honey. There really isn't much to do tonight. Just make sure the kitchen is straightened and the dishes done. And, of course, you need to do your cleaning right here also." said Erin, pointing to her just-used feminine lair. This was one duty that Bob really had mixed feeling about. On the one hand, it was the only time he ever really was permitted any form of intimate contact with his wife. On the other hand ....... "Well" she said, when he was done licking her clean "now you've seen what it's like when a real man makes love to a woman. Not exactly like our old sessions, now was it?" Bob had no choice but to agree. "You know" continued Erin "you'd never told me about that cheerleader incident before. I'd like to hear more." "Wh..what do you mean" stammered Bob. "Well -- for starters -- did you like it? Being dressed up as a cheerleader I mean and being paraded around in front of Paul and the other football players." "No, of course not. It was terrible. I hated it. I cried." "Oh, come on. You must have liked some parts of it just a little bit" teased Erin. "I mean -- how about when you had to take off all your clothes in the locker room with the cheerleaders. That must have been a bit fun. I bet you got excited. Did you?" A flush of crimson flushed across Bob's cheeks. "Well, no, it wasn't fun. It was embarrassing. But I did get excited. I didn't want to, but I did." "And how did all the girls react when they saw you with an a tiny erection?" Bob looked down, and answered in a voice that was so soft that Erin could barely hear when he'd said. "They laughed at me." "They what?" asked Erin. "I couldn't hear. Don't whisper sweetie. I just want to know what happened." "They laughed at me" said Bob, a little louder this time, "because, well, you know." "Because you're not very big." said Erin. "Was that what they were laughing about." "Y...yes" said Bob as the beginnings of a tears started to form in the corners of his eyes. "Oh, don't cry sweet girl" said Erin, as she dabbed at his eyes with a kleenex. "There's nothing the matter with a sissy boy not being very big. I bet that's true of a lot of sissies. So what else happened. Paul said to ask you about the happy face. What was that all about?" "He told you that!" whimpered Bob. "I..I can't tell you about that." "Of course you can" said Erin, leaning over to give him a little hug and then patting his head and letting him lay it in her lap. "I'm your wife. You love me. I know that for sure. You should tell me everything. There's no reason to hide experiences from me." Bob had started to cry once again, but through his tears he told Erin the rest of the story. "Wh..when the girls saw me with a, well, you know, with an erection, they laughed and then one of them got out her make-up kit and put lipstick on it -- on the tip, and then got out an eyebrow pencil and drew in two little dark spots as eyes and a smile face. All on the tip. And then after they dressed me in the uniform and made me go out and show they guys, they made me hold up the skirt ,I was wearing some white silky nylon panties that belonged to one of those girs and they pulled down the panties so the guys could see the happy face." Bob started to cry a lot harder as he finished the tale. Erin patted his head. "That's OK little sissy. " she said. " It's OK to cry. That's what little girls do. Go ahead. Cry it out. It will make you feel better." Bob continued to cry for several minutes, before finally regaining his composure. "There, there" said Erin. "Now don't you feel better. Aren't you glad you told me about that, and stopped trying to hide that from me. No more hiding anything from mummy , do you understand?" Bob looked up at his wife with an almost overwhelming feeling of love and devotion, and at the same time a sense of the complete, almost maternal control that she now had over him. "You know what I think?" continued Erin. "I'll bet that that wasn't the only time you were ever in panties when you were younger. It's time to tell me all about those other times too. There were some other times, weren't there?" Bob looked up at her again, and nodded. "Yes ...a...a couple of times." "Well, tell me about them" said Erin. "Once ....once was when I was only about 13 . It was halloween" Bob said. "My parents were away and I was staying with a neighbor -- an older woman -- Mrs. Conrad --whose own children were adults. I had a halloween party to go to, but my mom had not told Mrs. Conrad about it. So I got back from school that day, and didn't have a costume to wear, and it was too late to go buy one." Erin listened quietly as her sissy husband continued to tell her of this shameful experience that he'd never discussed before. "Mrs. Conrad looked around for something to use. I said I could go as a ghost, but she didn't want to ruin any of her sheets. Finally she said that she was sure there must be something in the attic. A few minutes later, she came back with something in her hands -- a girl's dance costume that one of her daughters had worn years earlier when she was a princess in a ballet recital." Erin began to chuckle. "Was there a tutu and everything?" she giggled. "Yes" admitted Bob. "and tights, and ballet shoes, and even a silvery plastic tiara." "And you agree to wear that?" asked Erin. "My goodness -- you must have been a sissy even way back then." "No, I didn't agree." protested Bob. "But Mrs. Conrad kept insisting, and telling me that this was the only costume she had, so that if I wanted to go to the party, I had to wear that costume. And when I complained and said no, she just told me I was being silly, and that since it was halloween, it was OK to wear any kind of costume, even that kind. I still didn't want to, and said I couldn't because I wasn't really a girl, but Mrs. Conrad then started to get angry and said that I wasn't a cowboy either but that I wouldn't object to wearing a cowboy costume. Well, finally, partly because she was getting so angry, partly because I really wanted to go to the party, and partly just because her arguments seemed to make sense to me, I agreed." "Oh, wow. I wish I'd been there." laughed Erin. "So -- you put on the costume?" "Well, first, Mrs. Conrad made me take all my clothes off" blushed Bob. "She was very direct -- simply told me to stand there and get undressed, and when I stopped at my underwear she came over and pulled that off me too, and handed me a pair of panties to wear instead." "And how did that feel, sweeties?" asked Erin. "I .. I didn't like it, and told her that I should at least get to wear my own underpants, but she didn't pay any attention to what I was saying. And then, well, she got made at me because, I ..well, I responded to the feel of the panties." "You mean you got a little erection?" said Erin in amazement. "Did Mrs. Conrad see it. What did she do?" "She saw it poking the panties, and made me take them down, gave it a swat to make it relax, and then taped it back between my legs. I was actually crying by this time, but she was so wrapped up in getting me into the costume that I don't think she really noticed." "Then" Bob continued "I put the panties back in place, and had to put on a pair of tights, a leotard, and tutu. Mrs. Conrad also put make-up on me." Just as Bob was saying this, he realized that Erin had started to let her hands wander down underneath his panties (with one hand) and underneath her panties (with the other). He stopped talking, and just lay there to enjoy the moment of closeness between them. "Bobbie dear" said Erin "I think I'm going to interrupt you for a couple of minutes. There's something I want to get, and then you can continue your story." Bob moved to let Erin get up, then sat waiting, unsure (and nervous) about what it was that she might have in mind. She was gone about three or four minutes, and when she returned and Bob saw what she was wearing, all he could do was open his mouth in shock. Erin was still dressed in her blouse and sweater, but she had removed her skirt and panties, and was wearing just her stockings and a garter and ... the item that really caught Bob's attention ..a strap-on dildo! "I think it's time you got experience feeling is like with me really working one of these in and out inside you" Erin said, with a huge grin on her face. "I suspect you'll enjoy the feeling -- and certainly I know that I will! " Erin then walked over so that the device was bobbing directly in front of her sissy husband's face. Bob wasn't sure what he should do or what was expected of him. This dildo was much bigger than anything his wife had ever used on him before, and she'd never used one as a strap-on. "Bobbie" said Erin at bit sternly "when you see one of these, up nicely erect like this, in front of your face -- whether it's my strap-on or a real one of one of my lovers -- I expect you to show your proper respect by kissing it. Go ahead." Bob knelt in front of his wife, looked up at her face, and could see clearly from the determined look that met his glance that he would be well advised to do exactly as Erin said. So -- meekly and obediently --he leaned over and planted his lips on the tip of the object still bobbing in his face. "Very good" said Erin. "And now -- put the tip in your mouth. NOW BOBBIE! Get it all wet and smooth. I assure you that you'll be a lot happier in a few minutes if you do." Erin smiled at the sight of her sissified husband with the end of the dildo between his lips. "Good girl" she said. "When you think that's enough, turn around on your hands and knees and put your arms on the floor and your head on your arms." Bob continued with his licking of the strap-on for another minute, then nervously turned around and got into the position indicated by his wife. Erin could see that he was visibly shaking with nervousness --which made her even more pleased with his obedience. As he adopted the position, Erin moved behind him, and pulled up his skirt and pulled down his panties. Bob could feel the hard object rubbing between his cheeks, the end starting to make them spread. "You're about to be taken,Bobbie" said Erin. "I'm sure you'll grow to like this, even if it isn't so much fun today. " Bob, who had been fearfully compliant up to this point, was suddenly overcome with trepidation. "Oh Erin, sweetheart. Please. Don't. I beg of you. Please. I'll ...I'll do anything you want. But not this. Please." "BOBBIE" replied his wife. "DO NOT COMPLAIN. You know how much I dislike that. And has it ever gotten you what you want before? No? Of course not. It just makes me angry. I want to use this on you. It will make me feel good. Isn't that what you want? Don't you want me to be pleased?" "Yes, of course, sweetheart, it's just that ....." "Then no more whining and no 'just that's' again." commanded Erin. "This is what happens to sissified men, and it is going to happen to you! Just keep going with your story of the Halloween party. I want to hear all about that while I do this." Meekly, Bob tried to continue his story. "Th...th..then Mrs. Conrad took me to the party. I wanted to run from the house to the car so that no one would see me, but Mrs. Conrad didn't rush at all and she had me by the hand. Unfortunately, her next door neighbor -- another older woman -- was out in her front yard gardening and when she saw us she called Mrs. Conrad over to say hello. I had to go over too. I'd met this woman a couple of other times, but she didn't recognize me at first -- not surprisingly. In fact, at first she asked Mrs. Conrad 'What's this little girl's name?', and I had to tell her it was me, Bob. She stared for a moment and ...." . Just at that moment in telling the story, Bob felt his wife press the strap-on hard against his opening. Although he knew he should just try to relax, he couldn't, and his body automatically resisted the intrusion until Erin reached down to help spread him with her hands -- and suddenly Bob felt the end of the dildo slip past the opening and slide deep inside. "Good girl! See -- now that wasn't so bad was it?" laughed Erin. "Just go on with your story while I have my fun back here" she said as she leaned over and gave her sissy hubby a little kiss on the back of the head. Bob tried to continue to tell Erin of his Halloween party experience, but the feeling of his wife having her way with him with the dildo from behind made it somewhat difficult for him to focus on his memories. "The ...the woman" Bob continued "stared at me again, made me look right up at her, and then said 'Why it really is you, bobbie. What a wonderful Halloween costume. You look just precious. Mrs. Conrad you really have a talent for costumes. ' Then, turning to me again, she asked if I could pirouette for her, and Mrs. Conrad made me do a few ballet twirls and prance around a bit for the woman." As Bob continued his story he could feel his wife increasing the speed and intensity of her thrusts, and could tell from her breathing that she was getting very close to a climax. But when he stopped relating his tale, Erin quickly gave him a slap to tell him to continue. "Well, after that we got in the car and drove to my friend's house. I didn't want to go in. All the excitement of thinking about the party was gone. Instead, all I could think about was what my friends weregoing to think when they saw me. I begged Mrs. Conrad not to make me go in, but she just got really mad when I said that. She told me that she'd gone to a lot of effort to get me looking pretty in my costume, so there was not a chance in the world that I was not going to go to the party. She then got out of the car, walked around, opened my door, and took my hand. All I did was look at my feet as we walked up to the front door. Mrs. Conrad rang the bell, and as I heard footsteps approaching I wanted to run away more than anything in the world, but Mrs. Conrad squeezed my hand tightly and said to me in a very stern voice to quit acting up -- that I looked very pretty and everyone would like the costume." "Then the door opened. It was my friend's mom. She ......" . Just then Bobbie realized that Erin was beginning her climax. He had been doing his best to move his hips to meet each of her thrusts -- wanting very much for her to be pleased with his "performance", and now he pushed back extra hard just as Erin was pushing forward with one last intense thrust. Bobbie could feel her whole body shudder, and then, after one loud gasp, she stopped thrusting and just lay across his back. "Mmmm" she said. "That was delightful! We definitely will be doing this again." Then with a quiet laugh she said "So --tell me sweetie -- how did your mom's friend react when she saw you?" As Erin relaxed in the afterglow of having introduced her husband to his first strap-on experience, Bobbie continued his story of his Halloween party humiliation. "Well -- at first she thought I was one of the girls, dressed up as a ballerina, but there were only a couple of girls invited to the party and she didn't recognize me as one of them. The way I remember it is that she seemed a bit confused, and asked Mrs. Conrad who 'this pretty little one is?'. Mrs. Conrad made me tell her, but when I did she didn't really react at all. She just told me how cute I looked and what a wonderful costume it was, and then told Mrs. Conrad what time to pick me up. My friend's mom then ushered me inside where all the other kids were already playing a party game. She stopped the game to get everyone's attention and then told them "Bob's finally here kids. Doesn't he look cute." Erin was giggling by now at the thought of her husband when he was a child greeting his friends in his ballerina costume. "And what did you friends think? Did they think you looked cute." "It..it wasn't funny." protested Bob. "I was so embarrassed, and the guys all laughed at me and called me 'tutu sissy'. The girls were nice though and told me they liked the costume a lot, so I ended up playing mostly with the girls at the party. My friend's mom was nice too, although that probably made it worse. When it was time for the 'best costume' contest she made me do some ballet steps and in front of everyone she showed me how to do a ballet curtsey and then made me do curtsey for everyone who wanted to vote for me for best costume. Well the guys thought that was so funny that they all said they'd vote for me and I had to do a curtsey for each of them, which was horribly humiliating." "Oh, I'm sure it must have been a really embarrassing experience at the time. But I bet you really did enjoy it just a little bit, didn't you? There's nothing wrong with that you know. It's OK to admit that when you were a boy you sometimes wished you were pretty like a girl." "NO" said Bob. "I didn't." "Not even once. Not even a little bit" teased Erin. "Not even when you were dressed up like a pretty ballerina?" Bob blushed as he thought back more on his Halloween experience. "Well" he admitted "maybe just a little. Th..the girls and the moms all were very nice to me and told me how pretty I looked and that did make me feel good." Erin smiled at her sissy husband's response, and thought to herself that if he had a side to him that really wanted to be pretty and to be treated like a female, what she had planned for him was certainly going to satisfy those feelings. "Oh, by the way" said Erin, changing the topic. "Did I mention that a friend of mine is going to be coming over for lunch on Saturday, and she's bringing her sissy husband with her for you to play with? She first turned him into a feminized sissy almost two years ago and she said they're always on the lookout for other little-girl sissy men for her sissy to play with." And then with a laugh, Erin said "I'm sure you two will have lots of fun!" The impending visit preyed on Bob's mind all week. He kept hoping Erin would tell him that she was just kidding, but of course she wasn't. On Saturday morning Erin reminded Bob that he should take extra care to make himself look as pretty as possible. "I strongly suggest that you wear something that you think will make me pleased with your appearance." she told him. Bob took a long time deciding what to wear, finally choosing to put on his may jane shoes, pink knee socks, very short red skirt, and pink little-girl's style lambs wool sweater set (the cardigan and pullover each had flower patterns in embroidery). He also put his hair into short braids (one on each side like pigtails) tied with small red ribbons, and added a two small red heart barettes to his hair as well. Then he went see Erin for "inspection." "Oh sweetie." Erin said with a big smile (much to Bob's relief -- he was always nervous about inspections). "You look very nice. Now remember, when my friend Mrs. Smythe shows up, I want you to answer the door. The first thing you should do after she enters is curtsey and introduce yourself. I bought a present for her sissy husband Alicia. Mrs. Smythe told me that Alicia loves rhumba panties, so I bought her a pair for you to give her. When you meet her I want you to curtsey to her as well, then give her the gift and give her a tiny kiss on the cheek. You and Alicia will be serving us lunch -- so be sure to get out a apron for both of you to wear while you're cooking and serving and cleaning. But then you should have some time to play together after lunch. Mrs. Smythe said that Alicia is bringing some of her dolls to play with. I want you to play nicely with Alicia and not cause any trouble -- OR ELSE. Is that understood." Bob dreaded the thought of the visit, but knew that complaining would get him nowhere, so he meekly nodded his head and uttered a polite "Yes ma'am. I understand." Bob spent most of the rest of the morning making preparation for the visit -- straightening the house, getting everything ready for lunch, and so on. He was very nervous, and when the doorbell rang at exactly the appointed hour, Bob jumped with a startle, but then went to get the door. When he opened the door, Bob was met by the sight of a very tall very attractive woman, about five or ten years older than Erin. Mrs. Smythe's height was further enhanced by the steeply high heeled shoes she was wearing, and Bobbie noted a distinct old-fashionedness about her appearance -- her stockings were black with noticeable seams up the back, and she was wearing a long gray wool flannel skirt and a high neck victorian style white blou se. "Why hello" said Mrs. Smythe, in an accent that immediately revealed her British heritage, "You must be Bobbie. How very nice to meet you." And then as Bobbie curtseyed, Mrs.Smythe continued "How adorable you look dear. I can see already that Erin has you very well trained as a sissy." Then, turning to the sissified man who was holding her hand as if her were just a child, Mrs. Smythe said "Alicia, say hello to Bobbie. You two will be playing together today." Mrs. Smythe's husband was as small as she was tall -- Bobbie guessed he was barely above five feet tall (if that), with narrow shoulders and an overall rather frail appearance. Alicia was decked out in an clothes that Bobbie immediately thought of as a typical little girl's church outfit -- black patent leather shoes, yellow anklets, a very short yellow party dress, white gloves, and small yellow purse. Alicia had one very large yellow ribbon just lightly to one side on the top of her head, and otherwise her long blond hair fell freely in large ringlets down onto her shoulders and her back. "Hello Bobbie" said Alicia with a curtsey. "You look very pretty." Bobbie returned the curtsey, just as Erin had told him to do. "Hello Alicia. You look very pretty too." said Bobbie, who then reached over to the table near the door to get the present for Alicia. "Here" said Bobbie. "This is for you." Bobbie hesitated a moment, but then realized that Erin had just appeared from down the stairs. Knowing what was expected of him, and fearful of incurring Erin's wrath (especially in front of company) he then leaned over and gave Alicia a tiny kiss on the cheek. "Well hello Arlene" said Erin to Mrs. Smythe. "We're so pleased you were able to visit. And I see you brought Alicia along with you. Wonderful. How are you Alicia?" The little feminised sissy curtseyed politely and then in a sweetly soft and surprisingly high pitched voice "I'm very well, thank you Mrs. Johnson." "Why don't you open your gift sugar" said Mrs. Smythe to her husband. Alicia neatly removed the wrapping paper, undid the box, and then let out a squeal of delight. "Oh mommy look" s/he said to Mrs. Smythe. "Panties. Just the kind I love. Oh thank you Bobbie." "Why don't you put them on?" said Mrs. Smythe. "May I!" exclaimed her husband excitedly, and then Alicia held the sk irt of her dress up high above her waist as his wife pulled the panties he was wearing down his legs and replaced them with the new rhumba panties he'd just received. As this change of panties was being performed, both Bobbie and Erin noticed something odd. Alicia was completely shaven so she looked rather babyish between her legs -- which didn't surprise Erin and Bobbie too much. What did surprise them was how small Alicia was down there, and the fact that they couldn't notice any sign of testicles! Mrs. Smythe noticed the stares and laughed. "Ah" she said, "it seems you've noticed what a baby Alicia is down there. You can have a feel Erin. What do you think?" Erin reached over, pulled Alicia's little penis up out of the way. and felt around below and behind it. "There ..there's really nothing there!" she said, somewhat started. Poor Alicia was blushing furiously by then, but did nothing to stop Erin's fingers from their exploration. "That's right" said Arlene Smythe. "When I first made him into a sissy he just seemed to be excited all the time and I couldn't stop him from playing with himself. I warned him what would happen, but I guess it just wasn't something he could control. In any case, you can see what I had done -- had him gelded you might say. What about your husband. How have you dealt with that problem?" "Well -- I'll show you" laughed Erin. "Bobbie -- show Mrs. Smythe and Alicia how I control your chastity." Bobbie hesitated for a moment, but then pulled up his skirt and pulled down his panties. "Lie down on the couch here so they can see better" instructed Erin. Bobbie lay on the couch and Mrs. Smythe then kneltbeside him to get a good look at what Erin had done. "Oh -- now that is really nice" said Mrs. Smythe as she admired the piercings that were used to lock Bobbie's penis back between his legs. "I can see that it must keep him completely chaste , and he has to pee sitting down. What a marvelous idea. If I'd thought of doing that, Alicia here might still be able to get an erection. I assume you keep the key, Erin?" "Of course. I have two copies actually. One in my purse and another in my locked jewelry box upstairs." "Can we see it unlocked?" asked Mrs. Smythe. "Alicia gets so envious of sissies who have not been gelded, but she also loves to see a sissy penis in working order. Bobbie's does work I take it?" "Oh yes" laughed Erin as she used the key from her purse to unlock Bobbie's penis. "Not that he gets to use it very much -- and certainly I never let it near me!" With the lock removed, Arlene Smythe reached over to give some squeezes so that she and her sissy husband could see Bobbie's privates in action. As expected, it took just a little bit of stimulation to bring him to attention. "Can..can I give it a little kiss?" asked Alicia, looking up at Mrs. Smythe. Bobbie's eyes grew wide, and he looked over at Mrs. Smythe and then at his own wife assuming (and certainly hoping) that she would make clear that this wasn't the kind of game that he liked. "Well -- I guess that's up to Mrs. Johnson" laughed Arlene. "What do you think Erin. Can my sissy give it a little kiss?" Erin looked at Bobbie and had no trouble reading the meaning of the look of fear in his eyes. "I don't see why not" she laughed. "In fact, I'll tell you what. We can put Bobbie on this coffee table over here and tie his hands and feet to the table legs so he can't move. Then Alicia can play with him however she wants. I can see that Alicia would like that-- and, well, I do think it's time for Bobbie to learn about these things." Bobbie knew better than to protest, but couldn't stop a few tears from welling up in his eyes as the two women placed him on the coffee table and tied his hands and feet in place. "There" said Erin. " That should do it. Why don't we go upstairs Arlene and let these two play by themselves for a little while. I'll show you some pictures from our photo album." The two women then got up and left the room, but not before noticing that Alicia was giving her new sissy friend somewhat more than just a little peck of a kiss. About twenty minutes later the women came back downstairs. By then, Alicia was sitting off to the side by herself playing with a doll. Bobbie was still tied to the table, and the women could see that the aroused state that his penis had been in when they'd left had been replaced by a flaccid limpness now. Both women laughed at the sight, giving each other a knowing look, and then Erin went over to release her sissy husband from his bonds. "Go play with your dolls for a few minutes, dear" laughed Erin. "Then you and Alicia can get us some cakes and coffee."

Hello everyone, Love to get to know a few people who are also into nappies. Looking for freinds, anyone else active here?

The soft, rhythmic lullaby of the baby monitor hummed from the nursery, a gentle counterpoint to the quiet house. Emily stretched, a secret thrill unfurling in her chest. She glanced at the clock, her pulse quickening as a soft knock echoed from the front door. He was punctual. She slipped from the bed, careful not to disturb Tom’s slumbering form, and padded silently to the door. Cool air whispered past her as she welcomed Jake inside. His dark eyes met hers, a silent current passing between them. He stepped in, his hand brushing her arm, a fleeting spark. She led him upstairs, their footsteps muffled by thick carpet. As they neared the bedroom, Emily glanced at Tom her 39 ear old husband , lost in dreams, oblivious. Jake followed her into the en suite. She turned, her breath catching as his fingers traced the curve of her neck, her long blonde hair long cascading down her stunning looks then slid to her silk white nightgown’s hem. He lifted it slowly, his touch igniting a trail of fire. She watched him undress, his body a sculpted contrast to Tom’s soft curves. A wave of anticipation washed over her. She pulled away, her heart pounding. Back in the bedroom, she stood by the bed, Jake behind her, his hands resting on her hips, his breath warm on her neck. She looked down at Tom’s peaceful face. Her fingers traced the edge of Tom’s short frilly nightie, lifting it to reveal frilly pink baby girl style knickers. She slipped her hand inside, finding his tiny penis, soft and warm. She stroked it. Tom’s eyes fluttered open. Emily smiled, her voice a low murmur. "Good morning, Tom. It’s time to wake up, sweetheart. Jake’s here." Tom’s eyes widened, a blush creeping up his neck as he saw Jake. His hand reached down, tugging at his knickers, revealing a stirring erection. He met Emily’s gaze, shame and desire warring in his eyes. Emily leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear. "It’s okay, Tom. You know you love this. You love watching me with Jake, don’t you?" Tom’s breath hitched, a faint nod. His erection grew. Emily straightened, meeting Jake’s eyes. It was time. Jake smiled, pulling her close. His hardness pressed against her. Emily turned to Tom, her fingers finding her nightgown hem, lifting it over her head. She stood naked, vulnerable, aching. Tom’s gaze devoured her, hungry and intense. She saw the struggle in his eyes, but she knew him, knew his secrets, his fantasies. This was what he wanted. She pressed against Jake, his hands firm, demanding. She closed her eyes, pleasure building. Tom’s soft whimpers, his ragged breaths, told her he watched, he loved every moment. Jake lifted her onto the bed. Emily opened her eyes, meeting Tom’s. Tears glistened. She reached out, brushing his cheek. "It’s okay, Tom," she whispered. "This is what you want. This is what we all want." Tom nodded, his body trembling as Jake pushed her thighs apart. Emily looked down at her lovers long thick penis around eight inches in legth and thicker than her wrist ,she gasped as Jake entered her slick tight vagina , arching to meet him. She looked at Tom, love and desire swirling, knowing this was where they belonged. She shuddered betheath Jake as he began to slide incn by inch into her .The room filled with their moans, a rhythmic symphony. Tom watched, wide-eyed, his hand tentatively finding his own erection, stroking it in time. Jake’s thrusts deepened, fingers digging into her hips. Emily bean moaning ,she bit into Jakes shoulder as he thrust deep into her ,soon she felt her orgasm building. She reached for Tom’s hand, entwining their fingers her wedding ring glinting in the light . "Tom," she gasped, pleasure raw. "Touch yourself, sweetheart. Come with us." Tom’s cheeks flushed, but he didn’t pull away. He quickened his strokes, breath coming in short gasps. Emily saw the battle in his eyes, but she knew his limits. This was what he needed. Jake tensed, gripping her hips, finding his release. Emily cried out, her own orgasm crashing over her. She looked at Tom, his eyes a mix of pleasure and pain as he found his release, convulsing. They lay entwined, bodies trembling, breaths ragged. Jake pulled out, grabbing a tissue. Emily turned to Tom, her fingers brushing his cheek. "Are you okay, sweetheart?" Tom nodded, meeting her gaze. "Yes," he whispered. "I’m… I’m good." Emily smiled. She knew this wasn’t easy for him, but he loved it, loved the way it satisfied a hidden part of him. Jake watched, a small smile playing on his lips. "You two are something else. Never seen anything like it." Emily laughed, entwining her fingers with Tom’s. "We’re not your average couple. But it works for us. It satisfies us all." Jake nodded. "I can see that. And I’m glad to be a part of it." Emily turned to Tom, her gaze full of love. "Do you want to join us in the shower, sweetheart? We could all use a little cleaning up." Tom’s eyes widened, excitement sparking. He nodded, reaching for her hand. "Okay. I’d like that." As they moved to the bathroom, Emily felt a deep contentment. This was their life. Complex, complicated, but theirs. The shower filled with laughter and suds. Tom giggled as Jake tickled him. A moment of pure joy. Back in the bedroom, fatigue shadowed Tom’s eyes. Emily turned to Jake. "Thank you. For everything." Jake smiled, brushing her cheek. "My pleasure. Truly." Emily turned to Tom. "Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you into your nightclothes and into bed." Tom watched as she pulled out his favorite frilly nightie. She helped him into it, her touch gentle. As she tucked him in, he smiled, contentment in his eyes. "I love you, Mommy. So much." "I love you too, Tom. More than you’ll ever know." As Emily turned off the light and slid into bed, pressed against Tom, her hand finding Jake’s, she felt gratitude. For Tom, for Jake, for this life. Not perfect, not conventional, but theirs. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but they would face them together. As a family. *** The dimly lit restaurant hummed with conversation. Emily sat across from Jake, her hand resting on his, excitement fluttering. It had been too long since just the two of them. A pang of guilt pricked her. Tom was at home, in his nursery, with Janice. Janice, with her long dark hair, her sharp wit, and her penchant for mischief. Not her first choice for a babysitter, but tonight, Emily needed a night out. Jake squeezed her hand. "You okay?" She nodded, forcing a smile. "Just… thinking about Tom." Jake’s gaze softened. "He’s in good hands. Janice might be a handful, but she’s responsible. And she loves Tom. She’ll take good care of him." Emily nodded. Janice might be wild, but she loved Tom. And she was right for the job, in more ways than one. Emily sipped her wine, imagining Janice teasing Tom, changing him into his frilly nightie, laughing at him in his cloth nappies and plastic pants. The thought made her smile. Tom could handle Janice. He was a grown man, but also a regressed sissy baby. He loved the attention, the teasing. It was good for both of them. The waiter arrived. As Emily reached for her knife and fork, Jake’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen, brows furrowing. "It’s Janice. Do you mind…?" Emily’s heart pounded. "Go ahead. Answer it." Jake put the phone to his ear. "Hey, Janice. Everything okay?" Emily watched his expression shift, a slow smile spreading. "I see. Well, isn’t that interesting." Her heart raced, imagining the scene at home. Janice, mischief in her eyes, telling Jake about Tom’s tiny erection, his frilly nighties, his love for Jake’s size. She could almost hear Janice’s laughter, her teasing. Jake hung up. "Everything’s fine. In fact, it sounds like Tom and Janice are having a lot of fun." Emily raised an eyebrow. "Fun?" Jake’s smile widened. "Apparently, Tom’s been telling Janice all about us. About our… arrangement. And she finds it highly amusing." Emily laughed, the sound bubbling up. "Of course she does. Janice has always had a unique sense of humor." Jake’s hand found hers. "She also finds it… arousing." Emily’s breath caught. "Arousing?" Jake nodded, desire and amusement in his eyes. "She’s been teasing Tom about my size. And she’s been referring to him as Tammy Louise." Emily laughed again, relief and excitement washing over her. "Tammy Louise?" Jake nodded, his smile growing. "Apparently, she thinks it’s a perfect name for him. Given his… predilections." Emily shook her head, love and amusement filling her. "Only Janice. She’s something else, isn’t she?" Jake squeezed her hand. "She certainly is. And I have a feeling that tonight is going to be very interesting indeed." As they finished their meal, anticipation built. Their little world had been turned on its head. As they left, hands entwined, Emily wondered what awaited them. The drive home amplified the excitement. *** Janice hummed, finishing dressing Tammy Louise. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. She stepped back, gazing at the tiny figure. "Oh, Tammy Louise," she said, mock sympathy in her voice. "Look at you. Just the cutest little thing." Tammy Louise blushed, eyes downcast, his tiny erection straining against his cloth nappy. Janice reached out, tracing its outline, a slow smile spreading. "And what do we have here? Is little Tammy Louise feeling excited?" Tammy Louise squirmed, cheeks darkening. "Janice," he whispered, shame in his voice. "Please." Janice laughed, her fingers finding the hem of his frilly knickers, pulling them up over his plastic pants, his nappy, his tiny erection. She held them to the light, sheer pale pink nylon shimmering. "Oh, these are perfect. So girlish, so babyish. Just the thing for a little sissy baby like you, aren’t they, Tammy Louise?" Tammy Louise didn’t answer, eyes fixed on the floor, body tense with embarrassment and arousal. Janice stepped closer, stroking his cheek, his hair, his tiny erection. "And look at that. Your little peepee is sticking up, all proud and hard. Does it like the way I’m dressing you, Tammy Louise? Does it like the way I’m making you feel?" Tammy Louise swallowed hard, body trembling. "Yes," he whispered, barely audible. "Yes, Janice." Janice smiled, her fingers finding his nightie hem, lifting it to reveal soft skin. She ran her hands over him, gentle, teasing, leaning in to whisper. "Good girl. Because I like dressing you, Tammy Louise. I like making you feel like this. And I think you’re going to like what I have planned for you tonight." Tammy Louise’s eyes widened, breath coming in short gasps. "What do you mean?" he asked, fear and excitement mingling. Janice laughed, reaching for her phone. "I mean, I’m going to take some pictures of you. Pictures of my cute little sissy baby, all dressed up in his frilly knickers and his plastic pants. Pictures that I’m going to share with my friends." Tammy Louise’s body tensed, horror flooding his face. "What? No, Janice, please. You can’t do that." Janice smiled, fingers finding the camera app. "Oh, but I can. And I will. Because I think it’s funny, Tammy Louise. I think it’s funny that you’re a grown man, a husband, a father, and yet here you are, dressed like a baby, feeling like a baby, liking it. And I think my friends will think it’s funny too." Tammy Louise’s body trembled, eyes filled with shame and desire. "But… what if someone sees? What if someone recognizes me?" Janice laughed, snapping picture after picture. "Oh, Tammy Louise, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I mean, look at you. You’re just a tiny, helpless little baby. Who would ever recognize you like this?" Tammy Louise shuddered, humiliation and arousal warring within him. He knew Janice was right. He was at her mercy. As she continued to photograph, to tease, to humiliate, a sense of surrender washed over him. This was who he was. This was what he wanted. He felt gratitude, love, for the woman making his fantasies real. Janice’s phone pinged with messages. She smirked, scrolling through replies, mischief gleaming in her eyes. "Let’s see his babydick," one friend wrote. "How small is it?" another asked. "And how big is his wife’s boyfriend?" a third chimed in. Janice looked up, meeting Tammy Louise’s gaze. He stood there, tiny erection straining against nappy, knickers, and plastic pants, cheeks flushed. "Looks like my friends want to see more of you, Tammy Louise," Janice said, amusement lacing her voice. "They want to see your tiny babydick. They want to know how it compares to your wife’s boyfriend’s." Tammy Louise’s eyes widened, body tensing. "What? No, Janice, please. You can’t do that." Janice laughed, already dialing her friends for a group call. "Oh, but I can. And I will. Because my friends are curious, Tammy Louise. They want to see what makes you tick. And I’m going to give them a show." Tammy Louise’s body trembled, fear and desire battling as Janice put the call on speaker, placing her phone on the dresser, camera pointing at him. He was about to be put on display, humiliated in the most intimate way. "Oh my god, Janice," a voice exclaimed, excitement bubbling. "Is that him? Is that Tammy Louise?" Janice nodded, meeting Tammy Louise’s gaze. "Yep. This is Tammy Louise. Isn’t he cute?" The other young women laughed, amusement and curiosity in their voices. "Aww, he is cute. Look at those frilly knickers. And those plastic pants. He looks like a baby." Tammy Louise’s cheeks flushed, body trembling. "Let’s see his babydick," another voice demanded. "Come on, Janice. Show us." Janice smiled, her fingers finding the waistband of Tammy Louise’s knickers, pulling them down to reveal his tiny erection straining against the nappy. "Oh my god," a voice gasped, shock and amusement blending. "It is tiny. Look at that thing. It’s like a little pea." The women laughed, teasing, humiliating Tammy Louise, making him the butt of their jokes. "No wonder Emily has a lover," one said, amusement thick in her voice. "I mean, look at that. It’s not enough to satisfy a woman, is it?" Tammy Louise’s body shuddered, shame and desire warring as he heard their words, the truth in them. He was small, inadequate, not enough for his wife. As the women continued to laugh, to tease, to humiliate, a sense of acceptance washed over him. This was who he was. This was his place. As Janice continued to display him, to humiliate him, he felt gratitude, love, for the woman making his fantasies real. He wanted Jake. Tammy’s face burned a deep crimson as Emily exposed him, her laughter echoing. Jake chuckled, eyes sparkling. Tammy squirmed, trying to wriggle free, but Emily held him firmly. "Now, now, Tammy," Emily cooed, "no need to be shy. Jake here has seen all of me, it’s only fair you show him a little too." She winked at Jake, who grinned, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. Tammy’s mind raced, heart pounding. The humiliation was intense, but so was the arousal. He felt the heat, the throbbing, his body responding despite his protests. "Emily, please," he whispered, barely audible. She just laughed, turning to Jake. "Isn’t she just the cutest thing?" Emily mocked. "All dressed up in her little nightie and panties. You’d never guess she’s a grown man, would you?" Jake pushed off the doorframe, walking towards them. Tammy’s breath hitched. Jake’s eyes never left Tammy’s face. He stopped beside Emily, looking down at Tammy with amusement and something more, something that made Tammy’s stomach flutter. "She’s something else, alright," Jake rumbled, his fingers brushing the frilly material of Tammy’s nightie. Tammy shivered, his body betraying him by leaning into the touch. Emily watched, a smirk on her face. "You know, Jake," she said, teasing. "Tammy here has been a very naughty girl. She’s been touching herself while thinking about you." Tammy’s eyes widened in shock and embarrassment. "Emily!" he exclaimed, outrage and mortification blending. Emily just laughed, turning to Jake. "Isn’t that right, Jake?" she purred. "Our little Tammy can’t help but think about you when she’s all alone in her room." Jake’s eyes darkened, his gaze intensifying. Tammy felt the heat, the tension, the promise. He swallowed hard, body trembling with fear, excitement, and arousal. "You know, Emily," Jake growled, "I think Tammy needs to be punished for her naughtiness." Emily’s eyes sparkled. "Oh, absolutely. But I think you should be the one to do it." Tammy’s eyes widened, heart pounding. He looked from Emily to Jake, body trembling. What did Jake have in mind? Would he be able to handle it? Tammy’s stomach dropped as Emily suggested the spanking. He looked at Janice, standing by the window, hand over her mouth, stifling laughter. She enjoyed this, his humiliation. It made him feel small, insignificant, but also… alive. His heart pounded, breath coming in short gasps. Jake considered the suggestion, looking from Tammy to Emily. "You think he can take it?" he rumbled. Emily smirked. "Oh, I think our little Tammy can take a lot more than he lets on. Besides, it’s not like he has a choice, does he, sweetheart?" She turned to Tammy, eyes gleaming. Tammy swallowed hard, body trembling. He should protest, but the words wouldn’t come. He nodded, a barely audible whisper. "Yes, Emily." Emily clapped her hands, eyes sparkling. "Oh, this is going to be so much fun." She turned to Jake. "Well, Jake? What are you waiting for?" Jake walked towards Tammy, confident strides. Tammy’s heart pounded as Jake approached, his body betraying him by leaning into Jake’s touch as he grabbed Tammy’s arm, pulling him up from the cot. "Over my knee, Tammy," Jake said firmly. Tammy’s legs moved on their own, positioning himself over Jake’s lap, stomach resting on his thighs. Tammy felt Jake’s muscles, hard and unyielding. He also felt something else, something that flushed his face and made his body tremble. Jake was… aroused. He felt it pressed against his stomach, a jolt of excitement. Emily watched, eyes gleaming. She walked to Janice, whispering and giggling as they watched Jake position Tammy. "Ready, Tammy?" Jake rumbled. Tammy nodded, a whisper. "Yes, Jake." Jake raised his hand. Tammy braced himself, body tensing. Then, Jake’s hand came down, hard and swift, a sharp smack on Tammy’s frilly pantied bottom. Tammy gasped, body jerking. The pain was intense, but so was the pleasure, the humiliation, the excitement. Jake spanked him again, and again, each smack harder. Tammy felt the heat building, body squirming. Jake held him firmly, hand coming down again and again, each smack a jolt of pleasure and pain. Tammy heard Emily and Janice, their giggles and whispers filling the room, their eyes on him. It made him feel small, insignificant, but also… alive. His heart pounded, breath coming in short gasps. He felt the heat, the throbbing, his body responding despite the pain. Jake spanked him again, and again. Tammy felt tears prick, body squirming. Jake held him firmly, hand coming down again and again. Finally, Jake stopped, hand resting on Tammy’s red, sore bottom. Tammy felt the heat, the throbbing. He also felt something else, something that made him blush. He was… aroused. He felt it, pressed against Jake’s thigh, and knew Jake felt it too. Jake helped him up, expression unreadable. Tammy stood on shaky legs, trembling with pain, pleasure, and embarrassment. He looked at Emily, then Janice, their eyes gleaming. He knew he should be humiliated, angry, but all he felt was… alive. Tammy’s face burned with humiliation as Emily exposed him, his tiny erection on full display. He tried to cover himself, but Emily slapped his hands away, eyes gleaming. "Oh, Tammy," she mocked, "look at you. All hard and ready. Did you like your spanking that much?" Janice giggled, pointing. "Oh my god, Emily, look at that thing. It’s like a little baby boner." Jake chuckled, looking at Tammy with amusement and something else. Tammy felt the heat, the humiliation, the arousal. He tried to shrink back, but there was nowhere to go. Emily reached out, fingers wrapping around Tammy’s erection. Tammy gasped, body jerking. He looked up at Emily, eyes wide. "Emily, please," he whispered, barely audible. Emily just smiled, her grip tightening. "Oh, Tammy," she purred, "you liked that, didn’t you? You liked being spanked by Jake. You liked being his little girl." Tammy felt the pleasure, the humiliation, the arousal. He knew he should protest, but his body refused. He nodded, a whisper. "Yes, Emily." Emily’s smile widened, thumb rubbing the head of Tammy’s erection. Tammy gasped, body trembling. He felt the heat, the pressure, his body responding. "Well, isn’t that interesting," Emily said, amusement in her voice. She turned to Jake. "Jake, what do you think we should do about this?" Jake looked at Tammy, his gaze intense. Tammy saw the heat, the desire. It made his stomach flutter, body tremble. "I think," Jake rumbled, "that Tammy needs to learn his place. He needs to learn to behave, to obey." Emily’s eyes sparkled. "Oh, absolutely. But I think we should make it fun, don’t you?" Tammy’s heart pounded as he looked from Emily to Jake. What did they have in mind? What would they do to him? He couldn’t wait. Tammy’s face flushed as Emily and Jake discussed his punishment, his tiny erection twitching. He felt their eyes on him, saw their amusement. It made him feel small, insignificant, but also… alive. His penis, hard and aching, stood at attention, barely three inches long. Thin, puny, nothing like the thick, throbbing cocks he’d seen. But despite its size, it was rock hard, twitching with anticipation. Emily reached out, fingers wrapping around Tammy’s erection again. Tammy gasped, body jerking. He looked up at her, eyes wide. "Oh, Tammy," she mocked, "look at you. All hard and ready. You’re like a little puppy, aren’t you? Always ready to please." Tammy’s face burned, but his body betrayed him, erection twitching in her grip. He felt the pleasure, the humiliation, the arousal. He knew he should protest, but his body refused. Jake watched, gaze intense. "Emily," he rumbled, "I think it’s time we give Tammy his punishment. Don’t you?" Emily’s eyes sparkled. "Oh, absolutely." She turned to Tammy. "What do you think, Tammy? Are you ready for your punishment?" Tammy’s heart pounded as he looked from Emily to Jake, body trembling. He knew he should refuse, but the words wouldn’t come. He nodded, a whisper. "Yes, Emily." Emily’s smile widened, grip tightening around Tammy’s erection. Tammy gasped, body trembling. He felt the heat, the pressure, his body responding. "Good boy," she purred. "Now, let’s see. What should we do with you?" She looked at Jake, thoughtful. "What do you think, Jake? Should we make him clean the house in his little nightie and panties? Or maybe we should make him cook dinner for us, dressed like this?" Jake chuckled, looking at Tammy with amusement and desire. "I think that Tammy needs to learn to please. He needs to learn to serve." Emily’s eyes sparkled. "Oh, absolutely. But I think we should make it fun, don’t you?" Tammy’s heart pounded. He didn’t know what they had in mind, but he knew he was in for a world of trouble. And he couldn’t wait. Tammy’s sobs grew louder as Janice placed Emily’s discarded panties over his head, the wet crotch pressing against his nose. He smelled it, the scent of Emily and Jake’s sex, and cried harder. Humiliated, frustrated, angry. He wanted to be part of it, but instead, he was here, in the nursery, dressed like a baby, forced to listen to them fucking next door. Janice watched him, amusement and pity in her eyes. "There, there, baby girl," she soothed. "You’ll have your turn soon enough. For now, just listen to Mommy and Jake. Listen to how much fun they’re having." Tammy’s sobs subsided, body trembling as he listened to the sounds from the next room. Emily’s moans, Jake’s groans, the sound of flesh slapping. It made him ache, his tiny erection throb. Janice sat on the cot next to him, rubbing his back. "That’s it, baby girl. Just listen. Let it make you feel good." Tammy closed his eyes, his body responding to the sounds, to Janice’s touch. He felt the pleasure, the humiliation, the arousal. He was hard, aching, but trapped here, dressed like a baby, forced to listen to his wife fucking another man. The sounds grew louder, more intense. Tammy heard Emily’s moans, Jake’s groans, the flesh slapping. It made him ache, his body tremble. Janice’s hand moved lower, brushing the front of Tammy’s plastic pants. Tammy gasped, body jerking. He looked up at Janice, eyes wide. "Janice, please," he whispered, barely audible. Janice just smiled, fingers rubbing his erection through the thin sheer pink nylon knickers and plastic pants. The crinkle of the plastic pants audibly reinforced his babified state. "Shh, baby girl," she soothed. "It’s okay. Just let it feel good." Tammy’s body responded, his erection throbbing. He felt the pleasure, the humiliation, the arousal. He knew he should protest, but his body refused. He pushed against her hand, seeking more. The sounds from the next room reached a fever pitch, Emily’s screams of pleasure filling the air. Tammy felt his body respond, the ache, the need. He was close, so close, and with a final cry, he came, his body shuddering. Janice smiled, fingers milking him. "Good girl. That’s it. Let it all out." Tammy’s body trembled as he came down, spent, his mind filled with pleasure, humiliation, and shame. He looked up at Janice, tears in his eyes. He began to speak, something she couldn’t hear, the pacifier and his wife’s panties muffling his speech. Janice pulled the pacifier from his mouth. "Janice," he whispered. "Why are you doing this?" Janice’s smile faded, her expression serious. "Because, Tammy, you like it. You like being humiliated, being used, being made to feel small. And I’m here to give you what you need." Tammy’s heart ached as he realized the truth. He did like it. It was who he was, who he had always been. There was nothing he could do to change it. Emily’s orgasm was intense, her body convulsing as Jake’s thick, eight-inch cock filled her completely. She felt every inch, stretching her, penetrating deeply, hitting places she never knew existed. "Oh god, Jake," she moaned, voice hoarse. "Fuck me, harder. Faster. Give me all of it." Jake obliged, body pistoning in and out, his weight holding her legs up and back, giving him complete control. He was relentless, his cock slamming into her, balls slapping against her ass with each thrust. Emily felt the pleasure, the intensity, her body responding. She felt her orgasm building again, body tensing, breath coming in short gasps. "Jake, I’m going to come," she cried, voice barely audible over the sound of their bodies. "I’m going to come so hard." Jake growled, cock slamming into her, body tensing. "Come for me, Emily," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "Come all over my cock." Emily’s body obeyed, her orgasm ripping through her, body convulsing. She screamed, voice echoing, nails digging into Jake’s back. Jake came with her, cock pulsing inside, body shaking with release. He groaned, collapsing on top of her, cock still buried deep. They lay there, bodies entwined, breath ragged. Emily felt Jake’s cock, still hard, still inside, and smiled. She knew this was just the beginning, that Jake had more in store for her, for them. And she couldn’t wait. Tammy’s tiny cock throbbed in Janice’s hand as he listened to Emily’s screams of pleasure from the next room. He heard it all, every moan, every gasp, every slap of flesh, and it drove him wild. Janice looked down at him, amusement and lust in her eyes as she watched him squirm. She saw his body respond, his cock throb. He was close, so close, and she wanted to push him over the edge. "Come on, baby girl," she whispered, mockery in her voice. "Come for me baby girl. Show me how much you like listening to your wife fucking another man." Tammy’s body responded, his cock throbbing. He felt the pleasure, the humiliation, the arousal. He was close, so close, and with a final cry, he came, his tiny cock pulsing in Janice’s hand. Janice smiled, milking him until he was spent. "Good girl. That’s it. Let it all out." Tammy’s body trembled as he came down, spent, his mind filled with pleasure, humiliation, and shame. He looked up at Janice, tears in his eyes. "Janice," he whispered, voice hoarse. "Why are you doing this to me?" Janice’s smile faded, her expression serious. "Because, Tammy, you need it. You need to be humiliated, to be used, to be made to feel small. And I’m here to give you what you need." Tammy’s heart ached as he realized the truth. He did need it. It was who he was, who he had always been. There was nothing he could do to change it.