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The Arrangement Millie had married Thomas believing she’d won the lottery. He was kind, successful, and looked at her as if she’d hung the moon. She, at thirty eight , was a stunning contrast to his bookish forty-year-old demeanor—a real trophy wife, everyone said. He was so lucky, they whispered. For the first few years, she believed it, too. The cracks appeared in the dark, in their marital bed. Thomas’s affection was endless, but his body betrayed a different story. His micro-penis, a source of silent shame for him and growing frustration for her, made intimacy a fleeting, unsatisfying pantomime. Years of this left Millie feeling hollow, a beautiful vase slowly filling with resentment. Behind closed doors, their marriage had become a quiet prison of dissatisfaction. She endured the frustration of a sex life that left her feeling empty and unseen. Her husband’s micro-penis, a mere 2.6 inches when erect, became a symbol of everything she was missing—not just physically, but a deep, visceral connection.Millie knew his penis was way smaller than average before their wedding and this was something she thought may be able to accept "theres more to life than sex " she told herself .If she was honest his useless penis when erect was a turn off ,visually unstimulating ,physically unable to feel him inside her. Then came Mark from accounting. His confidence was magnetic, and his interest was unmistakable. Millie began to flirt more and more dress more sexily in the office then take lunch breaks together. She found hherself becoming closer to him .She was attracted to his phyiscal good looks and his body made her juices flow especally when he wore tight trousers .Millie often found herslef staring at his crotch -he looked huge .When Thomas wasn't home she would lay on her bed and masturbate or use one of her large dildos imagining Mark was fucking her sensless.Their affair began cautiously but ignited with a ferocity that shocked her. Mark was generously endowed,much to her happiness when she fnally slept with him folowing a late late at work .They had hurried back to his apartment ,his thick, eight inches providing the stimulating visual and physical consuming satisfaction she’d been desperately missing her orgasm was overwelming the first one she had had with a man in years . In his arms, she felt truly desired.The great sex helped dilute the guilt she felt for cheating on her husband ..Her affair was simply an escape, to have her physical needs met ,she had no plans to run off with Mark. The discovery was an accident. Looking for a missing earring, Millie pulled a box from the back of Thomas’s closet. Inside, folded with eerie neatness, were frilly pink baby dresses, frilly pink satin baby knickers with layers of matching lace,lots of crinkly plastic pants,cloth nappies she even found a pacifer . Her stomach turned.She loved her husband very much but this was a shock. Millie was unsure what this meant for their future was he some kind of pervert and why baby girl clothes she asked herself .The thoughts in her head drove her crazy so she confided in her close freind,Jen .It was Jen that encourage her to have an affair with Mark having listened to Millie discuss her poor sex life and Thomas " teeny little problem" .Jen bust out laughing when her freind told her what she had found hidden."haha no way oh hell thats wierd I would divorce him or at the very least continue to have my own fun if thats the sort of thing that gets him off .You need to give him an ultimatum Millie some sort of an arrangement for your own benefit. ". She confronted him that evening, the mass of nappies ,plastic pants ,frilly pink confection of satin and lace evidence laid between them like an accusation. Thomas didn’t lie how could he . He broke down, tears streaking his face as he confessed not only to his secret longing to be Susie Lynn, his baby-girl persona, but to a darker secret. He had known about Mark almost from the beginning of her affair he admitted to his wife. “I found your panties,” he whispered, his voice thick with shame and a strange excitement. “In the laundry the veing you got back late from work I suspected something by your actions when got home,you behaved differently. I noticed the panties were clearly new ones ,very sexy... you know those white silky satin and lace bikin style ones ...well I er ,mmm they were… damp ,actually wet at the crotch ...intimate stains of you and the seamen was quite evident of him .” He described, haltingly, how the soft white silky intimate garment and the added the scent had aroused him instantly. How he’d sniffed them, fantasising about the man who could leave such evidence in his wife's underwear and wondering how big her lover was. His told her about his secret masturbatory fantasies were not of reclaiming her, but of being a cuckolded sissy baby named Susie Lynn. "The thought of watching you being taken by a real man. ...someone much much bigger than me ,pleasing you making you cum thrills me ,the humiliation knowing I'm unable to please you" . He couldn't give Millie eye contact during the discussion but evetualy looked into her dark brown eyes "I guess you are seeing this Mark you keep mentioning" ? Millie, sat in stunned silence playing with long blonde hair struggling to understand this disclosure and where to go from here .Eventually she answered ,"Yes its Mark I'm seeing ,hes good to me and I need him in my life right now ...and yes hes much much bigger than you ,eight inches if you must know ,the sex is mind blowing. Millie's initial anger and revulsion was tempered by a cold, calculating clarity she made no aplogies for being brutaliy honest with her pathetic husband he should have been honest about his desires before they got married. She concluded here now was the truth of her husband, and more importantly the bizarre key to her own sexual freedom. She thought long and hard, no more running around secretly with Mark now the truth was out there ,she had no intention of giving up her lover that she was confident about.Millie was going to take her freinds advice and make sure an "arrangemnt" would be implemented to her benefit . The proposal she made was clinical, a negotiation. They would make it work for both of them The next day she met with Mark at lunch .Millie was excited "I have to tell you something theres been a development think you will find it very interetsing hun" Over a coffee and light meal she told a bewildered Mark all about her husband. Millie was quite relieved when Mark agreed ,he was quite intrigued. she told her lover all about her husband ,his secret stash of frilly baby clothing she had found ,the cuckold fantasy and what he had done with her underwear .Millie was quite relieved when Mark agreed ,he was quite intrigued. "That quite fucked up no wonder you need me to give you what you need babe" . Actually Mark I need you for sex yes but thats because my husband isnt capable of pleasing me that way, infact incapable of pleasing any woman ...hes not built like you or the average sized man " Mark sat there unsure what she meant . "I'm taling about penis size ,Thomas he's what you describe as not normal ,tiny infact . Her lover burst out laughing causing other people to turn and look " oh really.. I get it now , well how small is he ,four inches ? He said with a smirk across his face . Millie began to giggle at the absurdity ,she had already told her freind abot her husbands micro penis so why not her boyfreind ,"no ...not exactly infact half that size ...hes a tad over two and half inches ....hard.He has a medcal condition ,..a micro penis. Mark went red with laughter nearly choking on his drink. Millie began to "shhh him oh pease baby don't be cruel its not his fault " before laughing along with him .After they had calmed down from their hysterics Millie looked directly at her lover "I have this idea" she said in a calm serious tone. "Thomas can become Susie Lynn a full-time adult sissy baby girl at home. I can make the spare room into a nursery,he can sleep in a large cot , a sanctuary for his regression so you can come to stay at our house and ,make love to me in my bed . You can be a “Daddy to our own sissy baby girl I'm sure she will like that ,getting her humiliating kicks what do you think ?” Millie was quite relieved when Mark agreed ,he was quite intrigued he had no issue fucking this stunning married woman in front of her sissifed husband . Mark was soon introduced to Susie Lynn she made sure her ‘husband was appropriately dressed as her baby girl complete with short pink satin dress nappies plastic pants and frilly pale pink high waisted baby knickers with layers of pink matching lace ruffle . That first meeting was humiliating for Thomas ,the room erupted into laughter when Mark clapped eyes on him even Millie found it highly amusing she wanted Mark to meet her sissifed husband ,making sure he had nothing to fear about a jealous husband becoming an issue.A husband dressed in nappies and frills would present no threat But sometimes, Millie wanted to go further. On those nights, she craved not just satisfaction, but supremacy. She purchased an adult sized baby bouncer and would have the bouncer suspended by sturdy straps from the heavy canopy frame above the bed she once shared with Thomas . From this helpless, aerial cradle, Susie Lynn would be forced to watch everything, a living mobile of humiliation.The master bedroom would be rearranged. Susie could watch, pacifier bobbing, as Daddy thoroughly gave his pretty wife what she needed . “Come along, baby,” she purred, her voice sweet as poisoned syrup. “Daddy has a special seat for you tonight.” In the center of the room, suspended from a sturdy frame above the grand bed, was the baby bouncer. It was padded and in a pale pink pastel colour , a stark contrast to the dark, adult luxury of the room. Without a word, Daddy lifted Michael as if he weighed nothing, placing him gently into the bouncer’s harness. The seat gave a soft squeak as it took his weight, suspending him in mid-air, a perfect vantage point over the bed. The frills of his pretty pink panties and short pale pink nightie splayed out around him like a ridiculous pink cloud. Millie moved with a deliberate, unhurried grace, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting long shadows across the room. Her husband, suspended in his baby bouncer, could only watch, his wide eyes following her every motion. The air was thick with a silence broken only by the rustle of his plastic pants under his frilly knickers and the faint creak of the bouncer’s springs. She let her everyday clothes fall to the floor, a small pile of discarded fabric, until she stood in the white satin lingerie he knew so well. The same set. The white satin and lace-edged panties he had once held to his nose following her adultress liaison , searching for a truth he already knew. Her fingers hooked into the silky waistband. She slid them down, the material whispering against her skin, catching for a moment on her knees before pooling at her ankles. The delicate garment was very damp at the center, a large wet spot evidenced the testament to her anticipation. The thought of her lover—his promise, his presence —sent a fresh thrill through her. It was sharpened, made exquisite, by the audience in the bouncer. Her husband, rendered helpless in his sheer frilly pink babydoll nightie , pacifier clipped to his collar, thick cloth nappy ,noisy traslucent plastic pants and ridicously lareg frilly pale pink sheer baby knickers ,he was dependent on them now . His humiliation was her catalyst; his powerless observation fuelled her boldness. She held the flimsy white panties up, letting the dim light filter through the almost sheer satin. A mischievous smile touched her lips. Without a word, she stepped onto the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. She leaned over the bouncer, her shadow enveloping him. Gently, almost tenderly, she draped the damp garment over his head,securing them in place with his pacfier tied behind his head on a long pink satin ribbon letting them settle like a veil. His world shrank to white silk and her scent—intimate, musky, unmistakably hers.The wet crotch was direclty over his nose and the smell filled his nostrils, a perfume of betrayal and power. Behind the satin curtain, he blinked. A stifled, choked sound escaped him. And in the confines of his padded nappy and baby girl attire , his body, traitorous and small, responded. A tiny, throbbing erection pulsed against the thick, absorbent layers. Millie watched for a moment, her head tilted. She saw the slight tremor in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched impotently on the bouncer’s plastic bar. Satisfied, she stepped down, collected her phone from the nightstand, and typed a quick message. "On my god Jen my husnand is going to watch me have sex with Mark hes all dressed up in his baby girl clothes and in his baby bouncer ..cant wait ". Almost immediate response from her freind "ohh so excited for you ,you deserve to be happy so pleased you found a well endowed lover, love to see a pic of your baby girl haha xx" Millie snapped several pictures of her husband she even pulled back his knickers and nappy to send a photo of his erect micro penis then one of Marks penis to compare. Jen responded "oh my god no way thats so tiny awww poor baby haha wow Mark is huge love a big thick cock not had eight inches myself I m jealous enjoy !" She cast one last look at the figure in the bouncer, a silhouette crowned with white satin, shrouded in her scent, suspended in his own silent, fragrant torment. From his perch, Michael had a perfect, inescapable view. His wife, so beautiful and fierce, lay back against the pillows . Mark had stripped off now joined her on the bed . This was the first time Thomas had seen Mark naked even soft his penis was more than twice his size ,around six inches .Millie playfuly began to wank his large thick cock until it grew stiff ,fully hard standing straight up at its now eight inches. Her small hands dwarfed by his thick long shaft The comparison was a physical blow. Where Michael was swaddled in childish frilly fabrics, Daddy Mark was all taut, powerful skin. And where Michael’s own body betrayed him with a tiny, straining micro-penis, trapped erect and useless against the thick nappy, his Daddy possessed what could only be described as a weapon of pleasure—thick, and a solid eight inches of confident masculinity. He watched, as he was meant to watch. He saw his wife’s eyes, which never sought his, close in ecstasy as Mark laid on top of her ,she gasped as he gently pushed himself into her slippery tight vagina. He heard the sounds he could never elicit from her—gasps, moans,cries the rhythmic creak of the bedsprings under a weight that was not his. The crinkling of his own plastic pants seemed to mock the other, wetter sounds filling the room.Mark gave Millie all he had as she bucked upwards to meet his downward thrusts , taking all of him deep into her the head of his penis slammed into her cervix in a mixture of pleasure and pain his girth stretching the walls of her once tight vagina ,slapping sounds now clearly audible as flesh met with flesh he increased his tempo ,filling her deep.Susie Lynn watched from his vantage point his wife's legs crossed over her lovers lower back ,her face contorted in pleasure ,her orgasm was building inside as she cried out ‘ yes ….yes faster faster oh Mark please fuck me harder harder ohh yesss yess your soo big ..feels amazing ,” she sobbed and cried out ,clamped her mouth onto his broad shoulders as wave after wave of pleasure came from deep within her .Marks penis was just a blur as he speeded up with deep pentrating thrusts .Her vagina became slick ,the sheet beneath her was now saturated with a large wet spot as she leaked her juices. Mark was on the verge of cuming his large heavy balls slamming into her buttocks .The sex went on for around ten minutes until he finally let out a loud grown and exploded his seed deep inside her .Millie's crimson flushed face was clear evidence of her own orgasms .She lay under him sobbing into his chest savouring the feeling of his large thick penis still buried deep in her vagina. Thomas's humiliation was complete, a three-dimensional experience. It was visual: the stark contrast between the man taking his place and his own infantilized form. It was auditory: the symphony of their pleasure over the rustle of his shame. It was physical: the relentless, aching hardness in his own confined space, a pathetic tribute to a scene that excluded him entirely. She glanced up once, her eyes meeting his from her place beneath Mark . A slow, deliberate smile spread across her lips. It wasn’t a smile of shared joy, but of confirmed power. In that look, she reinforced it all: his status, his role, his cuckolding. He was not a husband here. He was a sissfied baby girl in a baby bouncer, watching a better, stronger man—his Daddy fuck his wife so hard , suspended between their world and his fantasy, Susie Lynn would suckle his pacifier, tears of shame and ecstasy mingling on his cheeks, watching the thick, eight inches that had stolen his wife give her everything he never could. And in that precise, engineered humiliation, they all, in their own broken way, found exactly what they needed And as the bouncer gave a gentle, swaying bounce from the motions below, Michael understood this was his only purpose: to witness, to learn, and to be forever small. On other nights Susie Lynn would sleep in an oversized cot in the spare room next door sissfied in femininity and emascualtion forced to listen to his stunning lovely wife fuck another man in her bed. He was always in a state of arousal hearing or watching his wife have sex .He had fully surrendered to them both not from giving pleasure, but from witnessing his own irrelevance.

Hi, this is a one-shot story, (potential to be extended), unrelated to my previous works. If you enjoy, please consider supporting me which will aid in future endeavours. I am a young carer for a family member and am struggling financially. Support at https://buymeacoffee.com/lmlmlm1111 to help me upload more regularly. Any requests for commission (or simply story ideas), shoot me a DM, I'd love to hear from you! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Sam headed over to Liam's house, excited for his sleepover. His friend had just turned thirteen, the same as him, and it was the first time Sam's mum had allowed him to stay with a friend. His feet trudged over the frosted grass, crunching with every step. Thankfully, the boy was wrapped up warm and snug, as ensured by his mother. Enough so, that the cold did not intrude upon his comfort. Liam had warned him about the fact his Mum could be slightly... overbearing... However, Sam decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. After all, she was a single Mother, so who could blame her for caring so much about her kid? Sam arrived at the white plastic door, and gave a light knock, so as not to disturb the neighbours. He waited, and waited, and waited some more. Standing out there in the cold with his grey camo fleece, and dark waterproof jacket providing ample protection from the downpour. After a while, he heard a creaking, as the door swung open. "SAMMMM!!!!" screeched Liam, standing in the doorway, with a foreboding figure looming above. The little lad's face encapsulated excitement, which vastly juxtaposed the image behind him. Liam appeared ecstatic, whilst the facial features of the giant above told a story of anticipation, slight worry, accompanied by a somewhat (as he perceived it) menacing undertone. "Hello Sammy! It's so great to finally meet Liam's new friend!" said the creature, with what appeared to Sam as feigned excitement. He didn't like the childish tone she spoke in, making him feel patronised, as most adults do to children. Sam did not respond, yet the creature drove onwards. "I'm Liam's Mum... I'm so happy you're staying with us, I'll treat you like my own!" she said, smile adorning her caring face. "Th-thanks." responded Sam, unsure how to expand. He felt a pat on his back as Liam's mother ushered both the boys inside. He noticed the reassuring pat to Liam's backside, but tried to think nothing of it. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It wasn't yet dinner time, so the two boy's decided to play some fortnite beforehand, in effort to pass the time. It was Sam's first sleepover, therefore he didn't yet know what to expect. His own Mother had forbade him from staying over at friend's houses on multiple occasions before, but figured since both boy's were recently thirteen that an exception could be made. Sam thought she was being harsh and unfair, upon multiple denied requests, however his Mother's stance was made out of care, and care alone. She'd heard stories of sleepovers, and felt a lack of control as to her sons life. A life she had crafted and nurtured, one she wished would not go awry. As the kid's gamed, Sam noticed his friends movements. Increased shifting from side to side, he simply could not sit still. It was as if a wiggle bug had infected his very being (a phrase Sam learnt from his beloved uncle). Liam wiggled and wriggled, as if something was wrong with him. His mate failed to sit still throughout their gaming session, seemingly possessed. That was until he did. Liam suddenly ceased all movement, still as a statue. Sam was sure he heard a whirring noise, however he chose to dismiss it as the old playstation causing a racket. It was a PS4, handed down by Liam's big brother, so almost an ancient relic. Following that moment, Liam stopped his jerky movements, and continued as normal. Sam forgot the incident quicky, more engrossed by the task at hand, winning their first fortnite duos! The boy's played and played for what felt like hours. In reality, it was only about an hour. Before long, Liam's Mum called them down for dinner. Fish fingers and chips, a working class british staple, Accompanying the dinner was a bowl of peas. Yucky! As the kids sprinted towards the dinner table, Liam's mum halted her son in his tracks for some unknown reason. Liam immediately stood frozen in place, like a soldier in formation. Sam noticed a swift hand movement towards Liam's crotch, his mother giving a slight squeeze... Her gaze shot towards Sam, before swiftly returning to her own son. Concern, yet secrecy, shone through those welcoming eyes. Another pat to the bum came, directing Liam towards the bathroom, and leaving Sam confused. Liam's eyes welled up slightly, and he avoided eye contact with Sam, as if he had something to hide. What exactly was Liam's mum up to...? Within a matter of minutes, Liam returned to the dinner table. Closely in trail, his mother lagged behind. Clearly the two had been up to something, however Sam daren't question exactly what the situation was. He considered questioning just what the two had been up to, yet Liam's shameful eyes prevented his lips from uttering the words to inquire. Regardless, due to the secrecy, he figured whatever the situation, it had to be peculiar. As Liam sat, he heard a slight rustling sound, something somewhat familiar. But he chose to overlook it, sensing tension building within the walls. The three of them sat together, enjoying the dinner dutifully prepared by Liam's Mum. It was not extravagant, nor exciting, yet it served to satisfy the hunger of the two growing teens. Liam ate up his portion of peas, seemingly compelled to, whilst Sam left his lingering on the side of his plate. "Are you boy's finished yet?" asked Liam's Mum, whilst washing up her own plate. Liam glanced over at Sam's plate, empty save for the vegetables, then back at his Mother. "We're all done mummy!". Sam's peas had remained untouched throughout the entire meal. Had it been her own son, she would have forced him to eat some, but being someone else's child, she decided to leave the issue alone. Swiftly, Liam grabbed Sam by the hand and dragged him back upstairs, towards his own room. Sam might haves protested at the sudden use of force, however Liam was bigger and stronger than him, so he was left with little choice but to follow. "Perhaps I should have eaten my veggies.", thought Sam, whilst being forcefully directed towards Liam's solemn room. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The two friends sat upon Liam's single bed, eyes glazed, staring at the TV. Each movement, whether due to elation or embitterness (Fortnite is serious business), elicited a sharp crinkle of plastic. Sam questioned his mate as to the cause, but was assured it was just a protective sheet for dust and dirt which lived upon his bed. Sam was slightly bemused, never having experienced the same with his own bed, but put it down to his parents being dozy and careless compared to Liam's single Mother. "Just be ready for my mum sam." said Liam. "She can get a bit weird when guests are over". Sam nodded, paying no real notice and continuing to game. "HELLLL YEAAAAA!!" Sam screamed, unable to contain his sheer glee. "Shhhhh..." chastised Liam in immediate response. "My mum hates swears, don't be so loud Sam.". "hellll yeaaaaa..." Whispered Sam, in sarcastic response. He felt pity for Liam, realising how strict his Mum must be if "hell" was considered a swear. His own parents weren't really bothered by how he spoke, not that they paid all that much attention to him in the first place. Before long, they both heard the foreboding footsteps of Liam's Mum heading up the stairs. It was clear she was coming for them, as she had remained downstairs for most of the night, except for the few occasions she came to check on the boys. Now that it had gotten rather late, it seemed inevitable the call for bed was coming. The door was forced open. "Liam, Sam, it's time for bed!" "Yes Mum." Liam replied, obeying his Mother's orders. Sam however, had qualms. Yes, it was late. But this was a sleepover, his first in fact, surely the entire point was to stay up late! "It's too early to go to bed!" he complained, clearly already comfortable with Liam's Mum, comfortable enough to protest bedtime. Liam's Mum pondered for a moment. "Okay Sam, you don't have to go to bed." she responded with a blank look. Sam fist pumped the air, glad he had won. Audibly came naught, not seeking to disrupt the success. "BUT..." came Liam's Mum. Sam dreaded to think what would come next. "I'd at least like you to get ready for bed, just in case Sam.". Sam nodded. It was a reasonable request, and he began to get his pajamas ready. Due to the wintry weather, he'd brought an old onesie. It still fit, but barely. And it certainly was not something he wanted to pull on in front of Liam's Mum. Adorning the onesie were adorable motifs of Simba's face, along with text stating "I just can't wait to be king". The onesie was adorable. For a seven year old. Yet Sam was about to be thirteen. He was in the same boat as Liam, both yet to have their growth spurt. Sadly, these were the only weather suitable pajamas that still fit him. His Mum insisted he bring them, due to the conditions, but Sam was not expecting to show them off! "Awww, that onesie is so cute Sam!" cawed Liam's Mum, spotting it in his bag. "But can you help me out and wear a little something extra for me... please...". ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Sam sat on the edge of the porcelain bath, an ancient remnant of the Victorian era, cringing at the white, crinkly undergarment which sat before him. It resurfaced feelings of inadequacy, shame, inferiority, and more, which plagued his young childhood. Now, the presentation of this pull-up diaper dredged up those uncomfortable emotions once more. Liam's Mum explained that Liam was still suffering with nocturnal enuresis, coupled with the occasional daytime accident. He supposed he should've realised earlier, there had been moments in school where Liam rapidly shifted from extreme discomfort to normal behaviour. Times when everyone when to the toilet, and Liam seemingly chose to hold it... Heck, take tonight's drama. Liam's Mum must have taken him away to change discreetly after their initial gaming session. "Please wear one, just for tonight!" begged Liam's Mum. "It would make Liam feel so much better if he knew his friend had the same night-time issues as him." she said. "Bu- but I don't!" Sam shouted, frustrated at the suggestion. "I know you don't Sam, I've had a long talk with your mum." She said softly, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. "We both think it would be best if you wore a pull-up to bed whilst here, for Liam's sake.". Sam shook his head, bemused at his situation. He did like Liam, and wanted to help, yet felt somewhat compelled to do so. It was almost as if this choice was illusory, and in fact not a choice at all. The way Liam's Mother had portrayed the situation, was like pulling on the babyish pull-up was mandatory for his stay. A duty, which must be fulfilled. So, with reluctance, Sam pulled the crinkly white garment up his smooth slender legs, cringing at every rustle the disposable underwear made. It felt thick, unnatural, it was a foreign body invading his nervous system. Yet the diaper also felt comfortable around his waist. A soft cushion, which provided the reassurance of protection, just in case he had any accidents. Not that he would... Following that, the Simba onesie was pulled up, rising around his body. It successfully covered any trace of the babyish underwear he now adorned for his friends wellbeing. Sam exited the bathroom, cheeks slightly flushed at the though of what he was wearing. Before him was Liam, sporting a similar onesie, only donning stitch motifs as opposed to his little Simba's. Both boy's looked very cute in their bedtime wear, and both had visible diaper bulges poking through the fabric. Sam did not realise his own, but was immediately aware of Liam's nappy bulge. It was extremely obvious, especially as the topic of diapers was understandably on his mind. He thought that Liam's diaper clad figure looked extremely cute, paired with the precious onesie, although he'd never say that out loud. The thought was somewhat laced with irony, considering his own predicament. Liam glanced over at Sam, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. For once, he knew he was not alone in this. With both boys prepared and ready for bed, Liam's Mum gave them both a slight pat on the bum. Liam was used to it, however Sam blushed a bright shade of crimson red, his new nappy being acknowledged only served to further feelings of embarrassment. At the same time, the bum tap felt almost comforting, he knew he was padded in a soft and secure frame, with nothing to truly worry about. Then came the pride in knowing this was all for Liam's sake, to make him feel better. Although, perhaps that was but a misleading comfort suggested by Liam's Mum... The reality was, she had a career in child care. She simply did not feel like taking the risk of wet sheets as was so common with young boys like Sam, even if he was night time trained, it was not worth the hassle of risking it. After all, new environments can trigger accidents. The boy's sat upon Liam's bed once more, watching YouTube to close out the night. They sat close to one another, offering comfort during the scarier videos. Their eyes grew wearier as minutes passed, as did their sense of shame. Both lads cuddled closer, ready to go to bed, seeking comfort in each others arms. They were both too sleepy and unaware to notice Liam's Mother re-enter the room and turn off the TV. She also switched off the lights, before turning on a subtle night light, so as to not completely drown the diaper-clad thirteen year olds in darkness. Sleep swept over their onesie covered bodies in fierce waves, it was growing more and more difficult to keep their eyes open. Already, their bodies failed to move as they both lay there in Liam's single bed. Liam's Mum tucked them in, and gave each boy a light peck on the forehead, as if both were her babies. Sam didn't mind, his sleepy head already in a state of bliss. He looked over at Liam, his eyes were already shut. His little snores were adorable, every breath emitting a unique sound. Liam's Mum looked down at Sam, in a tranquil yet lucid state. Noticing the kid was still awake, unlike her own son, she pushed something towards his mouth. Sam kept his lips sealed, resisting at first. Wearing a pull-up to help his mate feel better abut himself, to provide a confidence boost, was one thing. However sucking on a paci like a baby was a complete other thing. Not what had been agreed upon. Liam didn't even have one for Christ's sake! But, after time, he gladly accepted. In this state of calm, resistance was no use. Drowsiness numbed his body so much so, that logical decision was almost absent. Sam was susceptible to most any suggestion, and sucking on a pacifier was included in that. Sam drifted off, alongside his best friend. Pull-up around his waist, onesie covering his body, and pacifier in his mouth... This was all for Liam. To make him feel better about his problem, right? It felt like extreme overkill, but at least his friend would be satisfied. Two boys in bed by 8pm? It was a successful night by all accounts.

Hello there. Long time lurker, first time poster! Looking to connect with other UK folks about this weird thing we have. Mainly because we'll have the same vernacular for things, but also same time zones will make it easier to maintain conversations around busy lives. I'm 36, Bi and live in SE. Happy to connect with other ABs, CGs, sissies and everyone in-between. (Tribute Mistress' need not apply) I play in both roles, but I am mainly in my little era at the moment. Although this is lifestyle/ fetish is a big thing in my life. I still want to be able to have a 'normal' conversation with people without being all about this. (had too many convos that are just you wearing? YAWN!) That being said, this is mostly sexual for me as it is for a lot of you. So I do understand if conversations are restricted to that nature. (when you gotta, you gotta right?) Please respect that this is a very private part of my life and that sharing more personal details, photos, vids will come with trust over time. So please don't be pushy. Happy to connect on here or discord. Please do reach out. PEACE

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

Hey is there any fellow little's or caregivers that would like to maybe catch up in and around the Bendigo area? If so let me know would be great :)

"Geoff says he'll be here by seven," Lori announced, tapping her nails against her wine glass. The sound made me freeze mid-step in the hallway, one foot hovering over the creaky floorboard I always avoided. "And Gerald—" She didn't even turn to look at me. "You’ll be dressed appropriately this time." My throat went dry. The pink satin knickers I was wearing suddenly felt tighter, the ruffled lace at the thighs scratching just enough to remind me they were there. Last week, I’d tried protesting—just once—when she’d laid out a frilly yellow sundress with matching plastic pants. That earned me an evening strapped into the high chair in the corner while she and Geoff shared a bottle of red and laughed about something I couldn’t hear. Jenny arrived at six-thirty, her heels clicking against the porch steps. She was younger than I’d imagined, with her dark hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail and a clipboard tucked under one arm. "Oh, he’s *adorable*," she cooed the second she saw me, reaching out to pinch my cheek like I was a toddler. I flinched. "Lori told me you’ve been a bit of a handful lately, but we’ll fix that, won’t we?" Lori gave her that smile—the one she used when she’d already decided something and pretending otherwise was pointless. "He just needs structure. And maybe a firmer hand." Jenny’s eyes flicked down to my outfit—the baby-blue dress with the puffed sleeves, the white tights that made my legs look embarrassingly soft. "Mmm. I can see that." She set the clipboard down and reached into her bag, pulling out a thick, folded bundle of fabric. "First order of business: no more disposables. We’re switching to terry cloth nappies for bedtime. They’ll *really* help you remember your place." The terry cloth nappy unfolded in Jenny’s hands like some ominous flag of surrender. Thick and flufffy with pink hheaded nappy pins . My fingers twitched at my sides—part of me wanted to bolt for the door, but the way Lori was leaning against the kitchen island, arms crossed, told me exactly how far I’d get. Jenny smiled, sweet as poisoned honey. "Arms up, princess." The dress came off easier than my dignity. Jenny made a show of inspecting me, tutting at the disposable padding I’d been allowed up until now. "Oh, these won’t do at *all*," she murmured, peeling it away with a rip that made my face burn. The air hit my bare skin, and for one wild second, I thought about covering myself—but then Lori cleared her throat, and I froze. Jenny’s fingers were brisk, businesslike as she lifted each of my feet to slide the terry cloth underneath. The material was scratchier than I’d imagined, and when she tightened the straps, I couldn’t help the tiny, mortified noise that escaped me. Jenny patted my hip. "There! Now you look *properly* little." She turned to Lori. "Should we do the plastic pants now, or wait until after his bottle?" Lori smirked into her wine. "After. Geoff likes watching that part." The doorbell rang at exactly seven. Jenny clapped her hands. "Ooh, perfect timing! Let’s get you settled before we answer that, hmm?" She steered me toward the high chair in the corner—the one with the extra-wide seat and the restraints Lori had installed last weekend. The leather cuffs were cool against my wrists, and the click of the buckles sounded final. Jenny leaned in, her breath warm against my ear. "Behave, or I’ll tell Geoff you need an early bedtime." The plastic pants made a crinkling symphony as Jenny tugged them up over the thick terry cloth nappy, each rustle sounding louder than the last in the silent room. They were semi-transparent, the kind that showed just enough to emphasize what lay beneath—the outline of the bulky pink fabric pinned snug between my thighs. The waistband snapped high on my hips with an audible *click*, and when I shifted, the material protested with a chorus of noisy whispers that seemed to echo off the walls. Jenny stepped back to admire her handiwork, tapping one finger against her chin. "Oh, but we're not *nearly* done," she sang, reaching into the dresser drawer where Lori kept my things. The pink satin knickers she produced were absurdly frilled—row upon row of ruffled lace cascading down the front and back, the waistband rising almost to my ribcage. They slid over the plastic pants with a soft hiss, the lace tickling my thighs as she adjusted the layers with clinical precision. "There we go," she murmured, patting the ruffles into place. "Much prettier." The dress came next—a confection of pink satin with puffed short sleeves and a neckline trimmed in lace. It barely reached mid-thigh, and when Jenny spun me toward the mirror, the effect was immediate: the knickers peeked out from beneath the hem with every slight movement, their ruffles a stark contrast against the smooth satin. "Lori was right," Jenny mused, tilting her head. "You really do look best in short hemlines. Lets everyone see what a good little sissy you are." From the kitchen, Lori's laugh floated down the hallway—bright and careless, the way it always was when Geoff was near. The sound sent a jolt through me, and my fingers curled into the dress fabric before I could stop them. Jenny noticed, of course. Her grip tightened on my shoulder as she leaned in. "Ah-ah. None of that." She reached for something behind me—a pacifier on a ribbon, its shield shaped like a blooming rose. "Open up," she instructed, and when I hesitated, her smile didn't waver. "Or should I call Lori in here to help?" The door to the living room swung open just as the pacifier clicked into place. Geoff's voice boomed through the house—"There's my favorite girls!"—followed by Lori's answering purr. Jenny gave my hip a final pat, her fingers lingering just a second too long on the crinkling plastic. "Ready to say hello?" she whispered. But the click of Geoff's shoes on hardwood was already drowning out my muffled reply. Gerald's hands flew to his crotch instinctively, fingers splaying across the crinkling plastic pants in a futile attempt to hide the ruffled pink satin peeking beneath his scandalously short dress. The movement only made the layers shift more conspicuously, the stiff lace of his knickers scraping against the backs of his palms. Lori's giggle cut through the room like a knife—that particular laugh she reserved for when she'd caught him in some fresh humiliation. "Oh, Gerald," she sighed, swirling her wine with exaggerated pity. "As if Geoff hasn't seen it all before." From the doorway, Geoff's chuckle rumbled low and warm, his polished Oxfords clicking against the hardwood as he stepped inside. Gerald kept his eyes fixed on the floor, but he could *feel* Geoff's gaze traveling over him—lingering on the way the puffed sleeves made his shoulders look delicate, the way the satin clung to the outline of the bulky nappy beneath. Jenny's fingers dug into Gerald's shoulder, steering him forward with relentless cheer. "Don't be shy now," she trilled, her voice dripping with mock encouragement. "Go on, say hello to Mr. Taylor properly." Gerald's mouth worked uselessly around the pacifier, the ribbon tickling his collarbone. Geoff's shadow fell across him before he could muster a response—broad-shouldered and smelling of expensive cologne, blotting out the lamplight. "Now *that's* what I call an improvement," Geoff murmured, reaching out to flick one of Gerald's lace-trimmed sleeve puffs. The casual contact made Gerald flinch, his plastic pants emitting an embarrassingly loud crinkle. Geoff's grin widened. "Much better than last week's little... display." He didn't need to elaborate; they all remembered how Gerald had tried to fold his arms over the frilly yellow sundress, how Lori had made him stand in the corner until Geoff arrived to inspect him. Lori slipped her arm through Geoff's with a proprietorial ease that sent Gerald's stomach twisting. "Jenny's been *such* a help," she purred, leaning into Geoff's side. "Already got him switched to proper terry nappies. And wait till you see the new crib we ordered—" Geoff’s fingers drummed against Lori’s hip as he studied Gerald, his gaze lingering on the way the satin dress strained slightly over the thick terry cloth beneath. "Crib’s a good call," he mused, his voice rich with amusement. "But you might want to consider a playpen too. For when he gets... *restless*." The way he said it made Gerald’s toes curl inside his white tights. Jenny giggled, nudging Gerald forward until he stood directly under the hallway light, where every detail of his outfit—from the frilly knickers peeking beneath the hem to the glossy pink pacifier—was impossible to miss. "Oh, he won’t be restless much longer," she chirped. "Not after his new routine starts. Early bedtime, regular nappy checks, and *plenty* of supervised playtime." Her fingers trailed down Gerald’s arm, squeezing just above the elbow. "Isn’t that right, princess?" Gerald’s muffled whimper around the pacifier was answer enough. The ribbon tickled his neck, and he resisted the urge to squirm—Jenny had already warned him about fidgeting. Lori sighed, swirling her wine again. "Honestly, Gerald, you should be *grateful*. Most husbands don’t get this much attention." She leaned into Geoff’s side, her fingers toying with his tie. "Speaking of attention... Geoff, darling, why don’t you show Gerald what a *real* man looks like? Just so he remembers the difference." Geoff’s grin was all teeth. He didn’t move at first, letting the silence stretch until Gerald’s breathing went shallow. Then, with deliberate slowness, he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves, revealing forearms thick with muscle and a dusting of dark hair. Gerald’s eyes flicked down instinctively—then just as quickly darted away, his face burning. Geoff's cufflinks clinked against the marble countertop as he set them down with deliberate precision. The sound made Gerald flinch—a tiny, involuntary jerk that sent the plastic pants rustling beneath his dress. Geoff noticed, of course. His grin widened as he rolled his left sleeve higher, the fabric bunching around his bicep in a way that made Lori bite her lip. "See this, Gerald?" He flexed, veins rising under tanned skin. "This is what *proper* arms look like on a man." Jenny sighed dreamily from her perch on the armrest, her clipboard forgotten in her lap. "Mmm, *much* better than those twiggy little things you've got," she murmured, reaching over to pinch Gerald's bicep through the puffed sleeve. His whole body stiffened, the pacifier clicking against his teeth as he resisted the urge to whimper. Lori set her wineglass down with a decisive *clink*. "Bedtime's at eight sharp tonight," she announced, smoothing her skirt as she stood. "Jenny will give you your bottle and tuck you in properly—we've got *plans*." Her fingers trailed down Geoff's chest as she said it, lingering just above his belt buckle. Gerald's stomach twisted. He knew exactly what those plans involved—the same ones they'd had last Thursday, when Lori had come home with her blouse buttoned wrong and Geoff's tie stuffed carelessly in her pocket. Jenny clapped her hands, snapping Gerald's attention back to her. "Up we go!" she chirped, unbuckling the high chair restraints with brisk efficiency. Gerald's wrists tingled where the leather had left faint indents. "Let's get those tights off before your bath—no sense ruining such pretty things." Her fingers hooked into the waistband before he could protest, peeling the white fabric down his legs with a practiced tug. The air hit his bare thighs, raising goosebumps beneath the frilly knickers. Geoff chuckled low in his throat—a sound that vibrated through the room like a struck tuning fork. "Still can't believe you used to wear boxers," he mused, reaching out to flick one of Gerald's ruffled garters. The elastic snapped against pale skin, leaving a faint pink mark. Lori giggled, leaning into Geoff's shoulder. "God, remember how he *whined* the first time I bought him proper lingerie?" She mimed a pout, fluttering her lashes. "'But Lori, what if someone *sees*?'" Jenny's fingers worked with practiced efficiency, unpinning the damp terry cloth nappy with a series of sharp tugs. The soggy fabric fell away with a wet slap against the changing mat, exposing Gerald's hairless groin to the cool air of the nursery. His tiny, flaccid penis—barely an inch long—nestled pathetically between smooth thighs, dwarfed by the pink satin ruffles framing it. His testicles were small and tight, barely noticeable against his delicate skin. Geoff's chuckle rumbled through the room as he leaned against the dresser, arms crossed. "Christ, Lori," he mused, shaking his head. "You weren't exaggerating." His gaze lingered, heavy with amusement, as Gerald squirmed under the scrutiny. Lori smirked, running a hand down Geoff's arm possessively. "Mmm, I told you," she purred, fingers tracing the veins on his forearm. "Practically still in diapers in every way." She stepped forward, nudging Gerald's knees apart with her toe. The movement made him whimper around the pacifier, his face burning as Jenny swabbed him down with a cold wipe. Jenny made a show of cleaning him, tutting at the way his minuscule penis twitched under the attention. "Aw, does wittle baby need a fresh nappy?" she cooed, her tone saccharine as she lifted his hips to slide a fresh terry cloth underneath. The thick fabric swallowed his groin whole, the pink pins glinting as she fastened them snugly. Geoff exhaled through his nose, shaking his head again. "Damn. And here I thought my nephew was small." He flexed his bicep absently, the muscle bulging under his rolled-up sleeve. The comparison was unspoken but deafening—Gerald's entire body could've fit in the shadow of Geoff's forearm. Lori's blonde hair cascaded over Gerald's bare chest like a silk curtain as she leaned in, the ends tickling his nipples through the thin satin of his dress. Her perfume—something expensive and floral—filled his nose as she reached between his legs with a damp washcloth, her wedding band glinting coldly in the nursery lamplight. The terry cloth nappy lay open beneath him, exposing his pathetic erection to the cool air, the pink satin ruffles of his knickers framing it like some cruel joke. "Look at that," Lori murmured, her breath warm against his collarbone. Her fingers brushed his straining little cock as she wiped him down, the touch feather-light and clinical. "Three whole inches . Impressive." She glanced up at Geoff with a smirk, her free hand still tangled possessively in his shirtfront. "Told you he gets hard at the dumbest things." Geoff's chuckle vibrated through the changing table as he loomed over them, his shadow swallowing Gerald whole. "Christ. My pinky's thicker than that." He held up his hand as proof, the digit flexing—veiny and blunt-tipped, the nail squared off from years of rugby. Gerald's erection twitched pathetically at the comparison, his hips jerking upward of their own accord. Lori sighed, swatting his inner thigh with the washcloth. "Stop squirming." She pinched the tip of his cock between two manicured nails, making him gasp around the pacifier. The sharp sting sent heat flooding through him, his tiny length bobbing against the terry cloth like a metronome. "God, you're *pathetic*," she muttered, scrubbing harder between his legs. "Getting off on being humiliated by your own wife." Jenny materialized at Lori's elbow with a fresh nappy, her clipboard tucked under one arm. "Aw, but that's what makes him *special*," she cooed, patting Gerald's flushed cheek. Her thumb brushed the corner of his mouth where drool had collected around the pacifier shield. "Most men would be furious in his place. But our Gerald?" She leaned in, her breath hot against his ear. "He *likes* it." Jenny crouched to retrieve a dropped nappy pin, and Gerald caught the briefest flash of pale blue nylon peeking beneath her pleated schoolgirl skirt—the kind of silky, youthful panties Lori would never wear now that she'd "graduated" to Geoff's taste in lingerie. The glimpse lasted only a second before Jenny straightened, her dark ponytail swinging, but it was long enough to make Gerald's face burn hotter. At nineteen, Jenny had the lithe, effortless grace of a ballet dancer, all long legs and sharp elbows, with a sprinkle of freckles across her nose that made her punishments feel like playground teasing. "Bath time, princess," she announced, popping the 'p' with relish as she hauled him upright by his elbow. The plastic pants hissed with every step toward the bathroom, their crinkling syncopated with the click of Jenny's Mary Jane shoes. She ran the water just shy of too hot—another little punishment—and didn't wait for it to warm before guiding him in. The porcelain was cold against his bare thighs, and he bit down on the pacifier to keep from yelping when she poured a pitcher of water over his head. She washed him with the same brisk efficiency as a nurse scrubbing down a stubborn patient, her nails scraping just enough to remind him she could hurt him if she wanted to. The soap smelled like artificial strawberries, the kind marketed to children. "Arms up," she ordered, and Gerald obeyed, letting her scrub his pitiful biceps with a loofah. She lingered over his chest, where Lori had insisted he get waxed last month, her fingers tracing the now-smooth skin with mocking approval. "Much better," she murmured. "No one wants to cuddle a hairy baby." The towel she used to dry him was suspiciously thin—another calculated humiliation that left him damp and shivering as she herded him toward the nursery. The changing mat crackled under his bare back as Jenny rummaged through the dresser with the casual cruelty of someone who knew exactly how powerless he was. She shook out a fresh terry cloth nappy with a snap of fabric, the pink pins glinting between her fingers like tiny knives. "Legs up," she commanded, and Gerald lifted his hips obediently, the motion sending a drip of bathwater down his inner thigh. The sound of Lori's laughter floated up the stairs—sharp, bright, and entirely unrestrained. Gerald stiffened in Jenny's arms as another peel of it echoed through the house, followed by the low rumble of Geoff's answering chuckle. The nursery door was cracked just enough to let in the clink of wine glasses and the occasional murmur of conversation, each indistinct word prickling Gerald's skin like static. Jenny's fingers tightened around his wrist as she fastened the last nappy pin with a practiced twist. "Ooh, sounds like someone's *very* excited," she cooed, her breath warm against Gerald's temple. Below them, Lori giggled again—that particular breathy laugh she only used when Geoff's hand was somewhere it shouldn't be. Gerald squeezed his eyes shut, but Jenny just laughed, patting his freshly powdered thigh. "Aw, don't worry, princess. I'm sure your wife will tell you *all* about it tomorrow." The plastic pants rustled as she shook them holding them to the light then lifted each leg into them pulling them up his scrawny ,taunt as she tugged them up over the terry cloth, her fingers lingering just long enough to make Gerald squirm. "Though..." Jenny's smirk was audible as she snapped the waistband against his hips. "You might want to cover your ears tonight." She leaned in conspiratorially, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Geoff's big man very big I imagine ." Jenny made a show of selecting his nighttime attire, tapping one finger against her chin as she surveyed the wardrobe labeled "Frilly Baby Knickers" in Lori's looping cursive. The hangers rattled as she pushed through satin and lace, finally pulling out a monstrosity of pink chiffon with ribbons that trailed to the floor. "Oh, this one," she cooed, holding it up so the lamplight shone through the sheer fabric. "Short enough to show off your frilllly knickers and plastic panties , but long enough to keep you modest." Her wink took all the mercy out of the words. Downstairs, a chair scraped against hardwood, followed by Lori's throaty "Oh, *God*—" cut off abruptly by what sounded like a palm slapped over her mouth. Jenny giggled, adjusting Gerald's satin nightie with mock solemnity. "Mmm, and judging by that *bulge* in his slacks earlier..." She traced a fingertip down Gerald's chest, stopping just above the waistband of his plastic pants. "I'd say your wife's in for a *very* educational evening. Now lets get you into some nice frilly bbay knickers oooh these are very pretty they will match your nice frilly nightie "enny gigled as she held up the pale pink frilly baby girl syle knickers covered in matching lace and pink satinbows "very pretty lift your legs good girl " .The cool soft delicate babric slithered up hhis legs and was pulled high over the plastic pants .She looked into hhis eyes and gave him a few rubs at the front . Gerald's pacifier clicked against his teeth as he clenched his jaw, the ribbon tickling his collarbone. Jenny plucked at it playfully. "Bet you wish you could make her sound like that, huh?" she murmured. "Instead of... what was it Lori said? 'A disappointed sigh and three pathetic thrusts'?" Jenny's fingers traced the lace edge of Gerald's frilly knickers beneath the crinkling plastic pants, her nails catching on the satin ruffles as she dipped lower she teased him about his predicamant "I'm sure Geoff will end up staying the night baby girl " she murmured, her breath warm against his ear. Her fingertips found his stiffening length beneath the terry cloth—no thicker than her pinky—and Gerald whimpered around the pacifier as precum dampened the nappy. "Oh God," she laughed, her delicate fingers rubbing him with clinical precision. The contrast was obscene—her manicured nails, against his pathetic erection. "You're *leaking* already? And over *what*?" Her thumb circled the tip, smearing slickness across his tiny head. "Over me telling you the truth? That your lovely wife can't feel you? " Jenny withdrew her fingers with a wet sound, wiping them on Gerald's nightie She patted Gerald's crotch through the rufflled pink satin and plastic pants, the crinkle loud in the sudden quiet. "Be good a good bbay girl , sweetheart. And don't—" She paused, tilting his chin up with one sticky finger. "*Don't* touch yourself. You know the rules." i will be back with your bottle in two mintes. Gerald lay on the changing table listening to his wife and her lover downstairs .Jenny was right he knew they would end up sleeping togther it was inevitable. Jenny's low heeld shoes clicked against the hardwood as she reappered and approached, her pleated skirt swaying. She perched on the edge of the changing table, swinging one leg as she surveyed Gerald's flushed face. "Mmm. Someone's *frustrated*." Her fingers trailed down his chest, stopping just above the waistband of his plastic pants. "But we can't have that, can we?" Jenny's fingers closed around Gerald's wrist with the same cheerful finality of a nurse securing an IV. "Right, let's get you into your cot for the night," she chirped, steering him toward the oversized crib wedged between the dresser and the rocking chair. The bars gleamed under the nursery lamplight, polished to a clinical shine. "You *need* to be asleep before Mommy and Daddy come to bed—" Her grip tightened just enough to make the threat land, "—or you might end up with a smacked bottom. And I *bet* Geoff can spank harder than your wife." The pacifier muffled Gerald's whimper as Jenny lhelped ifting him into his new cot and closing the railing with surprising strength. His satin nightie rode up, exposing the frilly pale pink baby panties and crinkling plastic pants beneath as she deposited him onto the starched crib sheet. The mobile above tinkled—pastel-colored horses frozen mid-gallop—as Jenny leaned in to fasten the safety straps across his chest and thighs. "There we go," she murmured, adjusting the restraints with the precision of someone who'd done this before. "Nice and snug." Downstairs, Lori's laugh spiraled up through the floorboards—bright and breathless in a way Gerald hadn't heard in years. Jenny paused, her head tilting toward the sound like a cat tracking a bird. "Oof. Sounds like someone's *really* enjoying her new bedtime routine," she teased, plucking at Gerald's ruffled collar. The plastic pants hissed as he shifted, the sound drowning out another gasp from below. Jenny's smile sharpened. "You know what I think? I think Lori *likes* getting spanked too. Bet she never told you that, huh?" Gerald squeezed his eyes shut, but Jenny just laughed, tapping his nose with one polished fingernail. "Aw, don't pout. It's *good* for her." She reached for something on the nightstand—a bottle of warm formula with a nipple absurdly large for an adult. "Now open up, princess. We've got *just* enough time for your nightcap before—" A particularly loud moan drifted up the stairs, followed by the unmistakable creak of the master bedroom door. Jenny's grin turned wicked. "—before things get *really* noisy." The formula was cloyingly sweet, the kind designed to induce drowsiness. Gerald gagged around the rubber nipple, but Jenny held it firmly in place, her other hand stroking his hair with mock tenderness. "Shhh, baby. Bottoms up." Her thumb brushed his temple as another thud reverberated through the ceiling—heavy footsteps, then Lori's muffled "Oh *fuck*—" cut off abruptly. Jenny's eyes gleamed. "Mmm. Someone's *definitely* getting a spanking." The creak of the stairs was unmistakable—that particular third step that groaned under Geoff’s weight, followed by Lori’s lighter footsteps, slightly uneven now. Gerald lay perfectly still in the crib, the safety straps pressing into his thighs, his ears straining against the rustle of his plastic pants. The nursery door swung open without a knock, and Lori’s perfume hit him first—jasmine and something darker, mingled with the faint musk of Geoff’s cologne. "Just checking on my sissy baby husband," Lori announced to the hallway at large, her voice husky in a way Gerald hadn’t heard in years. The bathroom light flicked on down the hall, illuminating her silhouette in the doorway. Her silk blouse hung open, revealing a white satin bra edged in lace, the cups straining slightly. Her skirt—normally immaculate—was creased at the hip, as if someone’s hands had been there. Her hair, usually sleek, tumbled over one shoulder in loose waves, the ends slightly damp at the nape of her neck. Geoff’s chuckle rumbled from the hallway, low and warm. "Take your time, princess." The endearment, usually reserved for Gerald, landed like a slap. Lori leaned over the crib railing, her blouse gaping further, and Gerald’s breath hitched. The scent of her—wine and sweat and something saltier—clung to her skin. Her lips, still swollen and glossy, brushed his forehead in a mockery of a goodnight kiss. "You’ve been *so* good tonight," she murmured, her breath hot against his temple. Her fingers trailed down his chest, stopping just above the waistband of his plastic pants. "Jenny says you didn’t fuss at all during your bottle." From the hallway, Geoff cleared his throat—a sound that vibrated through the floorboards. Lori’s hand stilled, her wedding band cold against Gerald’s ribs. "Almost forgot," she whispered, straightening just enough to tug something from her skirt pocket. A single pink satin ribbon, frayed at one end. She looped it around Gerald’s wrist with deliberate slowness, her nails scraping his pulse point. "Geoff’s idea. So you remember who you belong to." The ribbon tightened around Gerald’s wrist with a soft *snick*, the sound barely audible over the creak of the crib springs as Lori leaned in closer. Her breath was warm and wine-sweet against his cheek, but her fingers were cold as they traced the satin bow. "Pretty," she murmured, her voice thick with something Gerald couldn’t name. "Just like you." Behind her, Geoff’s shadow loomed in the doorway, his broad shoulders blocking the hallway light. He didn’t speak, but Gerald could *feel* his gaze—heavy and amused—sliding over the crib bars, the safety straps, the way Gerald’s plastic pants crinkled with every shallow breath. Lori’s thumb brushed the inside of Gerald’s wrist, her nail catching on the ribbon’s edge. "Don’t take it off," she whispered. "Not even for your bath. I want to see it tomorrow." Jenny materialized at Lori’s elbow with a quiet rustle of her pleated skirt, her clipboard tucked under one arm. "All tucked in," she announced, her tone bright and rehearsed. She reached over Gerald to adjust the mobile, sending the pastel horses into a slow, tinkling spin. "And *such* a good boy tonight. Didn’t even fuss when I put his nappy pins in crooked." Her fingers brushed Gerald’s thigh through the terry cloth, the touch just shy of too rough. Lori straightened, her blouse slipping further off one shoulder. "Good," she said absently, her attention already drifting back to the hallway where Geoff waited. Her fingers lingered on the crib railing for a beat too long, her wedding band glinting dully in the lamplight. Then, with a sigh that wasn’t quite regret, she turned away. "Night, baby," she tossed over her shoulder, the words already half-lost in the rustle of her skirt. Jenny lingered, She leaned over the crib, her dark ponytail swinging forward to brush Gerald’s chest. "Don’t worry," she whispered, her breath minty with gum. "I’ll check on you later. Make sure you’re not *too* lonely." Her fingers trailed down his arm, stopping just above the satin ribbon. "And if you’re *very* good..." She tapped the pacifier shield with one polished nail. "Maybe I’ll even let you suck my thumb." The first whimper came through the nursery wall like a distant radio signal—faint, staticky, but unmistakable. Gerald lay rigid in his crib, the safety straps biting into his thighs as Lori's breathy "Oh—" dissolved into a gasp. The headboard thumped against the shared wall in a slow, deliberate rhythm that made the mobile above him tremble. Jenny had left the nursery door ajar just enough—three inches, he'd counted—and through the crack, the master bedroom's shadows stretched long and suggestive across the hallway carpet. "Faster," Lori moaned, the word cracking halfway through. The bedsprings shrieked in response, the tempo accelerating until Gerald could *feel* the vibrations through his crib bars. A particularly loud creak made him flinch, sending his plastic pants crinkling like cellophane. He squeezed his eyes shut, but that only sharpened the sounds—the wet slap of skin on skin, Geoff's guttural "Take it," Lori's answering sob as she came apart. The satin ribbon around his wrist suddenly felt suffocating, the frayed edge scratching at his pulse point with every ragged breath. Jenny had been right about the dirty talk. Geoff's voice rumbled through the wall, dark and viscous with possession—"Who's your *real* husband?"—and Lori's reply was half-scream, half-surrender. The bedframe slammed against the wall hard enough to dislodge one of Gerald's pastel horse figurines from the mobile. It landed in the crib with a plastic *click*, its frozen gallop now upturned beside his hip. Lori's climax hit like a thunderclap—a series of shattered "Oh God oh *God*s" that tapered into wordless keening. The headboard's rhythm stuttered, then surged harder, faster, until Gerald could *feel* the moment Geoff lost control. Lori's cry splintered into something raw and involuntary, the sound of a woman unraveling at the seams. "Don't stop," she begged, voice ragged, "don't *ever* stop—" The final thrusts were brutal in their precision, each one punctuated by Lori's hitched gasps and the sickening *thwack* of Geoff's hips against hers. Silence pooled in the nursery like spilled milk. Gerald realized he'd been holding his breath when spots danced behind his eyelids. The pacifier had fallen from his mouth at some point, the ribbon now limp against his collarbone. Down the hall, a faucet ran briefly before Geoff's low chuckle filtered through the walls—the satisfied rumble of a man who'd proven his point. Lori's answering murmur was too soft to decipher, but the sleepy contentment in it made Gerald's stomach twist. Geoff rolled off Lori with a satisfied groan, his softening cock glistening in the lamplight—still thick enough to make Lori's thighs twitch as it slipped free. She reached for him instinctively, her fingers tracing the damp trail he left across her stomach before pressing a kiss to his collarbone. "Mmm," she murmured against his skin, her voice still hazy with pleasure. "That was *exactly* what I needed." His cum pooled between her thighs, warm and slick, as she stretched luxuriously against the rumpled sheets. The scent of sex hung heavy in the air—musky and sweet, mingling with the jasmine of her perfume. With a lazy sigh, she reached for her discarded white satin panties, the lace edging them still damp from earlier. The fabric made a soft *thwick* as she pressed it between her legs, mopping up the evidence of Geoff's possession with a slow, deliberate swipe. Jenny's barefeet tiptoed on the floor just outside the nursery door, the sound barely audible over the creak of the crib springs as Gerald shifted. She'd heard *everything*—the headboard slamming against the wall, Lori's shattered cries, Geoff's growling possessiveness. Now she lingered in the hallway, one hand on the doorknob, her pulse fluttering in her throat. The master bedroom door stood ajar, spilling golden light across the carpet, and through the gap she could see Lori sprawled across Geoff's chest, her satin bra askew, her fingers idly tracing patterns in the sweat on his sternum. Geoff's chuckle rumbled through the wall as he palmed Lori's hip, his thumb brushing the reddened skin where he'd gripped her too tight. "Told you you'd like it rough," he murmured, nipping at her earlobe. Lori's answering laugh was throaty and unrepentant, her legs tangling with his as they both lay on top of the bed , the covers lay in a crumpled hheap on he foor . Jenny's breath hitched—she shouldn't be watching, she *knew* she shouldn't—but the way Geoff's hand slid possessively down Lori's spine held her frozen in place.Loris hand was slowly wanking Geoffs oversized penis until he was fully hhard once again ,Jenny caught sight of his hugh erection at least eight inches she thought.She knew cocks came in different sizes but he comparsion between Geoffs and Geralds was significant. Inside the nursery, Gerald's plastic pants rustled as he curled onto his side, the safety straps digging into his ribs. The satin ribbon around his wrist had twisted tight enough to leave a faint mark, the frayed edge scratching at his pulse point with every shaky breath. The mobile above him tinkled softly, the pastel horses frozen mid-gallop, their cheerful colors garish in the dim light. The nursery door clicked open without warning, spilling a wedge of hallway light across Gerald's crib. Jenny stood silhouetted in the doorway, her silhouette haloed by the glow from behind—and for one dizzying moment, Gerald forgot to breathe. Her nightie was scandalously short, the flimsy chiffon barely skimming the tops of her thighs, and the lamplight turned the pale fabric translucent as she stepped forward. Every curve was outlined in stark relief: the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips, the pert thrust of her nipples beneath the thin material. The pale blue panties beneath were clearly visible now—silk, he thought dazedly, with a lace trim that peeked just above the nightie's hem as she moved. "Shhh, baby," she murmured, though Gerald hadn't made a sound. Her fingers were cool against his flushed cheek as she leaned over the crib railing, the neckline of her nightie gaping to reveal the shadowed cleft between her breasts. The scent of her—vanilla body lotion and something muskier underneath—filled his lungs as she pressed a hand to his forehead. "Just checking your temperature." Her thumb brushed his temple, lingering just a second too long. "Wouldn't want my favorite sissy getting *overheated*." Gerald's plastic pants crinkled violently as he shifted, the sound absurdly loud in the quiet nursery. Jenny's lips curved as her gaze dropped to where the terry cloth nappy bulged beneath his satin nightie. "Mmm. *Definitely* running a fever," she teased, her fingers trailing down to press against the dampness seeping through the layers. His whole body jerked at the contact, the pacifier falling from his lips with a wet *pop*. Jenny caught it deftly, the ribbon dangling from her fingers like a pink satin snake. "Tsk tsk. You know the rules—pacifier stays *in* at bedtime." Beyond the nursery wall, the headboard resumed its rhythmic thumping—slower now, more deliberate. Jenny's head tilted toward the sound, her ponytail sliding over one shoulder. "Sounds like Mommy's *still* getting her spanking," she murmured, her voice rich with amusement. Her free hand slipped beneath Gerald's nightie, her nails scraping lightly over the crinkling plastic. "Bet she's *dripping* by now." Her fingers found the waistband of his terry cloth nappy, peeling it back just enough to expose the damp padding beneath. "Just like someone else I know." Beyond the nursery wall, the headboard resumed its rhythmic thumping—slower now, more deliberate. Jenny's head tilted toward the sound, her ponytail sliding over one shoulder. "Sounds like Mommy's *still* getting her spanking," she murmured, her voice rich with amusement. Her free hand slipped beneath Gerald's nightie, her nails scraping lightly over the crinkling plastic. "Bet she's *dripping* by now." Her fingers found the waistband of his terry cloth nappy, peeling it back just enough to expose the damp padding beneath. "Just like someone else I know." The master bedroom door creaked open down the hall, spilling laughter and the scent of sex into the corridor. Jenny froze, her fingers still hooked in Gerald's nappy, as Lori's voice floated toward them—husky and sated. "Geoff, *stop*—you'll make me scream again—" The rest dissolved into breathless giggles, followed by the unmistakable sound of a palm connecting with bare flesh. Jenny's eyes darkened as she slowly withdrew her hand from Gerald's nappy, her breath coming faster now. Jenny's fingers traced the scalloped lace along the waistband of Gerald's frilly satin knickers, her nails catching on the delicate pink threads. The fabric barely shifted beneath her touch—no telltale stirring, no hint of the pathetic little nub straining beneath layers of terry cloth and crinkling plastic. She pressed her palm flat against the front, waiting, then let out a theatrical sigh when nothing pressed back. "Awww," she cooed, her voice dripping with faux sympathy as she pinched the empty satin between her thumb and forefinger. "Did widdle baby get *all* excited listening to Mommy take her big rough man?" Her other hand slid beneath the hem of Gerald's nightie, fingertips skating over the plastic pants with purposeful rustles. "I could *hear* how much she liked it—those juicy wet slaps when he really *pounded* into her—" Gerald's breath hitched as Jenny's fingers found the damp spot near the inner thigh of his plastic pants, right where the terry cloth underneath had grown soggy. She tutted, rubbing the moisture between her fingers with exaggerated interest. "Ohhh, *somebody* leaked," she whispered, leaning in so close her vanilla-scented breath fogged the pacifier shield. "Was it the way Geoff growled when he came? Or maybe..." Her nail scraped a slow circle over the plastic, right where his pathetic erection *should* have been. "...when Lori screamed *his* name instead of yours?" Down the hall, the headboard resumed its relentless rhythm—thump-thump-*thwack*—accompanied by Lori's throaty moan of "*Fuck* yes—right *there*—" Jenny's grin turned wicked as she hooked her thumbs into the waistbands of both plastic pants and nappy, peeling them down just enough to expose the pink satin knickers beneath. The ribbons along the sides were still perfectly tied, the bows undisturbed despite Gerald's squirming. "Look at you," she murmured, tapping the satin-covered mound with one polished fingernail. "All dressed up with *nowhere* to go." The plastic pants crinkled loudly as she tugged them back up with a decisive snap, the sound drowning out Gerald's muffled whimper. "Don't worry, princess—" She patted the damp terry cloth with mock comfort. "Mommy will change you in the morning. If she can *walk* by then."

Introduction What would happen if, no matter how old you are, your parents found your stash? Well, on an already miserable day, that’s exactly what happened to Tom. How will both he and his dad handle it? Chapter 1 - Rejection ‘Well, thank you for coming in today, myself and the panel will discuss the interview and the recruiter will get back to you in due course’. Tom could see in the eyes of the interviewer it was going to be another rejection. He couldn’t understand it, just over a year ago he’d graduated with a 2:1 in Architecture. He thought he’d walk into a job, but he’d applied to every company he could find, and had 15 interviews never getting further than the second round. He couldn’t understand it, what was he doing wrong? Whatever it was it wasn’t how he presented himself. He looked gorgeous in his grey slim fit suit and smart tan shoes. He is 5’9, short jet black hair, with beautiful bright blue eyes, but I guess it’s what you say in interview which is important, not how you look. He stood up, grabbed his posh leather bag his dad had gotten him for his graduation, shook the panel’s hands and made his way out into the busy London street. No sooner had he stepped out the building a rough looking man bumped into him with a cigarette burning a hole right into the shoulder. ‘Hey!’ said Tom. ‘Fuck off, prick’ cursed the man as he hurried on. It was the final straw, a tear rolled down Tom’s face. He couldn’t take much more of life at this point. Everything was falling apart, or that’s how it felt. 23, no job, no friends who are local, his mum has passed away and he’s still living with his grieving dad Steve. After travelling back by train Tom let himself into the house and rushed straight upstairs to his room. ‘How’d the interview go?’ called his Dad from his study. ‘Crap’ shouted back Tom. Once in the room he started to undress. He hung up his suit jacket and inspected the burn. Maybe it could be repaired? Probably not, now he doesn’t even have a suit if he gets another interview. Nevertheless he took off the trousers and placed the suit in its special bag like always, before putting it in the wardrobe. He grabbed his joggers and a t-shirt and turned to lay on his bed, but as he did, he saw something which made his blood run cold. Could this day get any worse? His worst nightmare was lying in front of him. His heart thumped in his chest as if it was about to exit it. His face flushed red, sweat started to bead on his forehead, panic started to set in. Lying there in front of him was one of his adult nappies, and on it a note. “Hey son, let’s talk, love Dad”. Tom had bought these nappies a few months back from a medical supply company whilst his Dad had been away for work. He’d been interested in them for a while. He’d enjoyed the few he’d tried but he’d not had the courage to wear them once his dad got back. He’d hidden them under his bed in a carrier bag, but clearly his dad had found them. He couldn’t believe it, how could this happen? For an hour he sat there thinking of excuses he could make, plausible stories he could tell. “They’re not mine”. “I’ve been having bedwetting problems”, “I…” none of them seemed convincing. He didn’t feel like he could leave the room. After at least an hour and a half his dad called ‘dinner!’ Heart thumping and head racing he made his way down the stairs. He was physically shaking. When he saw his Dad at the table, he froze. ‘So you don’t think they’ll ask you back?’ asked his Dad. ‘No’ Tom tried to say, but nothing came out. ‘No’ he said eventually in his third attempt. ‘Sit down it’s getting cold’ said his Dad gesturing to Toms dinner. Tom made his way over and sat down in silence. For a short while they both ate, but Tom really wasn’t hungry, if anything he felt sick. He just shuffled his food around. When his dad had finished he reached out and put his had on Tom’s. ‘Talk to me Tom’ he said gently, trying to make eye contact. Tom was physically shaking, he couldn’t speak, he was living his worst nightmare. His Dad lent across to him. ‘I found your nappies mate’ he said. Just hearing that out loud drove through Tom like a train. ‘They’re not mine’ he blurted out. It was like a reflex, he heard himself say it, but he didn’t think he’d actually processed what he was going to say yet. His dad gave him a soft smile. ‘I know they’re yours son’. He said softly. ‘Tell me why’ he asked. Tom put his shaking hands over his eyes, tears now starting to well up. ‘Please talk to me son’. ‘I’m sorry Dad, I’m such a failure. I’ve got no friends, I don’t have any hobbies, I can’t get a job, I’m going nowhere. I’m a disappointment. If mum were alive she’d be heartbroken at what a useless adult I’ve become’. ‘Oh don’t be silly’ said his Dad. ‘You’re going through a tough time, I know, we both are, but you have your whole life ahead of you. You’re only 23’ Tom couldn’t look at his Dad, he still had his hands over his eyes. ‘I just wish things were like years ago, when mum was alive, when I was carefree and….happy’ sobbed Tom. ‘Is that why you bought the nappies?’ His dad asked gently. ‘I dunno, I dunno why I bought them’ said Tom regretfully. ‘Do they take you back, to a happy place? Are they a stress reliever for you or something?’ His dad enquired. ‘I guess so, I’m sorry, I’ll throw them away, please don’t think I’m a weirdo or a sicko dad, please’ said Tom. ‘I don’t, I understand, if they relax you and you want to wear them that’s fine. I wore them myself for a bit when I was your age’. Tom immediately pulled his face out of his hands. That was an unexpected sentence. ‘What?’ Said Tom in shock. ‘I wore nappies as a stress reliever, to regress for a few years, never did me any harm, better than drugs or booze’. Said his dad dismissively. Tom didn’t know what to say, he just stared at his dad in shock, and in a strange sense, relief. His dad got up and gestured to Tom to get up and give him a hug. Tom obliged, got up and put his arms around his Dad. ‘You’re still shaking’ he said. ‘This might be the perfect time for one of those nappies’. Chapter 2 - Relief When Tom went back into his room the nappy was still there laying on the bed. Half of him desperately wanted to put it on the other half wanted to throw it out the window. Eventually the half that wanted to wear it won out and he started to unfurl it. After he’d just had permission to hadn’t he? He slowly pulled down his joggers, pulled down his boxers and sat himself on the nappy. He laid back for a moment and stared at the ceiling. “What am I doing?” He repeated to himself, but his desire to carry on pushed through and he slowly and carefully applied the 4 tapes of his Tena Maxi adult nappy. He slowly closed his legs. The nappy popped and crinkled as it resisted. The feeling was amazing, he could feel the stress of this bizarre day drain away. After a while his dad called up. ‘You can come down you know, I want to watch Traitors’. Tom and his Dad had been watching it on catchup together each evening. Tom stood up, his nappy crinkling, not overly loudly, but noticeably in a quiet room. He pulled the joggers over it and looked in the mirror. It wasn’t noticeable from the front. He made his way down and quickly sat in the chair, so his dad couldn’t notice or tell. Tom was hugely into the Traitors on TV, but his mind was elsewhere tonight. As his dad commented on it, he just managed the occasional “yeah” instead of the usual debate. Eventually it finished and his dad switched off the TV. He looked across at Tom expectantly. ‘So did you put one on?’ He asked. Tom paused for a moment. ‘Yeah’ he said shyly. ‘Feel better now?’ asked his Dad. Tom breathed out slowly. ‘Yeah, I guess I do’. He said eventually. ‘Good’ said his dad. If that’s all it takes to relax you, just wear them son, I won’t judge. ‘Can I ask a practical question though?’ ‘What?’ asked Tom uncertain. ‘Do you, wet yourself?’ His dad asked plainly. ‘No!’ exclaimed Tom, as if it was a ridiculous question. He’d worn three on his own, and it had not remotely occurred to him to wet them. It was just the feeling of the bulk he liked. He wasn’t about to start wetting himself! ‘I mean, it’s not a crazy thing to ask Tom’ his Dad said. ‘You’re wearing a nappy and I ask if you wet yourself’. There was an awkward pause. ‘Well, if you do have an accident, I’ll put some bin bags in your room. Take it off, ball it up, put it in the bag, tie it up and put it outside your door, I’ll get rid of it. Don’t put it in the bins in the house, they can smell after a bit’. ‘Oh for god sake dad, I don’t wet myself!’ Repeated Tom as he got up to leave the room. ‘Hey’ called his dad grabbing his arm. ‘Don’t walk off on me, I’m being understanding and supportive. ‘It was a perfectly reasonable question and I wanted to make sure we have a plan for it’. ‘I know, sorry Dad, it’s just weird that’s all’ said Tom genuinely. ‘I guess I’m just embarrassed, y’know’. ‘Yeah I get that son, wearing a nappy is embarrassing, but it’s nothing to be ashamed of, people wear them for all sorts of reasons. As long as they’re helping you, it’s all good, I’m proud of you for talking to me about it at all and doing what makes you happy. I don’t think I could have handled it so well with my dad if he ever found mine’. Tom thought to ask his Dad if he ever wet his nappies, but it just felt too weird. Chapter 3 - The bathroom problem Tom stood in the bathroom cleaning his teeth, then habitually turned to the toilet to do a wee before getting into bed. As he went to grab it his hand slammed into his pad, not his boxers, opps. He reached inside and tried to pull it out the top, but he’s not that well endowed and it wouldn’t reach well enough even with the nappy pulled right down, he’d just pee all over himself. He tucked himself back down, squatted and reached into a leg guard. The guard was tight, but he managed to get the head out and point it to the toilet. He tried to go, but the pressure of the leg guard was stopping the flow. He squatted even more, and eventually wee squirted out, some in the loo, some up the wall and some in the bath. It was very awkward, and it had made a huge mess, but eventually he was done. He hurriedly started to clean up bathroom. Once in his room, he dropped his joggers, took off his t-shirt and looked at himself in the mirror. Like before, half of him thought he looked good with the nappy on, the other half thought he looked like a freak. For a moment he planned to take it off, but ultimately decided against it, he didn’t have many, he didn’t have any money and he didn’t want to waste it. He pulled on his pjs over the top of it. It took a while before he fell asleep, the feel of the nappy seemed somewhat overwhelming. It was keeping him awake, but eventually he did drop of. … He looked over at the clock with one eye, 3:10am. He woke up for a wee at this time every night. For a split second he thought about going in his nappy, but it was just a second. He made his way to the bathroom, where exactly the same thing happened as earlier, except worse, because this time he was half asleep. Like before he hurriedly cleaned up, to what he thought was a good standard, and made his way back to bed. … The following morning, he woke as usual and made his way downstairs. ‘Jam on toast?’ asked his Dad? ‘Yes please’ said Tom still a little sleepy. As his Dad made breakfast, he turned to Tom. ‘Ok, here’s something I gotta say’. He said. ‘If you’re going to wear those nappies in my house, I’d much rather you wee in it and cleanly dispose of it, than wee all over the bathroom’ he said waving the butter knife. ‘Sorry, I thought I cleared up’ said Tom in a bit of a panic. ‘I just need some practice, sorry’. ‘Tom’s’ dad turned around. ‘If you want to wear, but still use the loo. I’ll get you some pull-ups, but if you’re in those it’s just not really practical, unless you remove it, which of course pretty much ruins it. Tom thought again about asking his dad if he’d wet his, but like before it just felt odd and creepy to ask his dad that. ‘I’ll try sitting next time’ said Tom. Chapter 4 - A Subscription! It may surprise you to know that after his shower that day Tom put on regular underpants. He’d had his fill, in fact for the next 2 days, no more nappy and it was only mentioned a couple of times by his dad, gently enquiring whether he was wearing one or not. That doesn’t mean Tom hadn’t thought about what had happened virtually every waking minute. It was just that after the initial rush it just felt too awkward to go about his normal daily routine at home, in front of his dad, with a nappy on. That initial confidence had been lost. Tom was at his computer at about 11am, his Dad was in his study downstairs working. He’s a self employed accountant, he works from home most days, only occasionally going into the city to meet a client. There was a knock at the door. “Sign here please mate” Tom heard the delivery driver say, before several thud sounds. Tom made his way down curiously. In the hall his Dad was positioning 3 large boxes. ‘What you ordered?’ asked Tom. His dad stepped back with a big proud grin. ‘Open one’ he said. Tom stepped forward and pulled the tape off of the box on top and flapped it open. ‘Nappies!?!’ He said in shock. ‘Why have you ordered nappies?’ Tom said with a look of confusion on his face. ‘Because you told me you like to wear them, so I’ve ordered you them for you.’ Tom looked at the huge pile. 21 per pack, 3 in a box, 3 boxes. 189 nappies! ‘Well how many are you expecting me to get through?’ He asked incredulously. ‘I don’t know, but you save on delivery if you spend over £80 and get 10% off if you sign up for a subscription, so I got 3 cases’. ‘A subscription!’ Tom said almost shouting. ‘It’s ok, I can cancel it, there’s no commitment’ said his dad waving it off. ‘Look they’re there if you want one. You feel stressed, or just want one they are there. Take a pack up to your room, I’ll store the rest in the spare room’. Tom walked up to his room carrying his bag of nappies. He couldn’t decide what he thought about it. It had been great that his dad hadn’t freaked out, it had been a huge relief his dad was so supportive, but buying him 3 cases without asking? As Tom looked at the nappies in the pack on his bed next to him, he had an odd feeling. He wanted to put one on of course, but he also now felt this uncomfortable expectation from his that he would, and that if he didn’t his dad be oddly disappointed that he’d wasted his money. He put the pack to one side and made his way downstairs. He tapped on his dad’s study door. ‘I’ve got to ask dad, why have you ordered me three cases of nappies without asking me if I want them?’ His dad turned around on his office chair and took off his reading glasses. ‘Because son, if I’d have asked if you wanted me to order them you’d have said no, and I know you want them deep down. You can’t afford them, and you’d not order when I’m here even if you could, so I just ordered them for you. Save you the anxiety. You’re under no obligation, they’re there if you want them’. Chapter 5 - No obligation Tom’s days were not as full as they could be. He’d get up, have breakfast and then go on the job hunting sites. If there was anything to apply for, he’d apply for it. Generally though he was done by lunchtime and scratching around for something to do. Today was one of those days, he’d applied for one job, he didn’t really like the sound of it, but it was that or apply for nothing. He went over to the pack of nappies that had just arrived and pealed them open. They were the same make as the ones he’d bought, but these were the highest absorbency ‘Ultima’ version. He pulled one out, and held it. Just holding it in his hand gave him a buzz. He un furled it and felt the contrast been the smooth plastic outer shell and soft padded inside. It gave him a magical, warm and excited feeling inside. He slowly pulled down his jeans, then his boxers and laid himself on the bed. Slowly and carefully he pulled the nappy up snuggly between his legs and securely taped it on. Instantly the day went from empty and dull to a whirlwind of emotion. He no longer felt bored, he felt excited. The nappy, that his own dad had bought him no less, sat comfortably and reassuringly between his legs. He reached down and felt it. The bulk was considerable, his man parts locked away beneath the thick padding. He laid on his bed in just his t-shirt and nappy, just enjoying the moment for a while, before lifting himself up from his dreamlike state to stand. The nappy pushed between his legs. As his walked over to his mirror he could feel its presence with every step. He looked at himself in the mirror. He liked what he saw, he thought it looked both cute and smart all at the same time. … “Knock-knock” ‘Hi son I’m done, fancy a walk?’ Called his dad through the door. Tom dived to the floor to grab his jeans and then tried to pull them on in a panic. As he did, his door started to open. Before long he was standing there in front of his dad, trousers half up in a t-shirt and nappy. ‘Ah, you tried one’ said his dad. ‘Like em?’ ‘Err yeah’ said Tom. ‘A bit thicker’ ‘Yeah, I thought well, if you do wet yourself, these will last you a bit longer’. Replied his dad. Tom didn’t know how to reply to that. His instinct was to say ‘I don’t wet myself’ like before, but in truth he was thinking about giving it a go, given how difficult it was to use the loo. ‘I can’t go for a walk in this’ said Tom, pointing to his nappy. ‘Why?’ asked his dad. ‘Err, why do you think?’ Replied Tom. ‘No, genuinely Tom I don’t know why’ his dad replied. ‘Tell me’ ‘People will notice!!’ said Tom. ‘Who’s going to notice?’ said his dad incredulously. ‘You can’t tell it’s there under clothes’ he said confused. ‘It’s a private thing, no one knows what underwear you’ve got on, get over yourself’. Tom finished buttoning up his jeans. They were actually a little tight with his Tena Ultima nappy underneath. ‘I’m going to take it off’ he said as he started unbuttoning again. ‘Right’ said his dad authoritatively. ‘I’m supportive, but to a point. I won’t have piss all over the bathroom and I’m not having you waste nappies by putting them on, then just taking them off again moments later. They’re expensive. Do up your bloody trousers and stop being silly’ Tom didn’t really know what to say. He stopped unbuttoning. ‘Does it really not show?’ ‘No son, it doesn’t’. Now come on it’s a nice day, let’s get some fresh air. … As Tom walked along the bulk of the nappy was present with every step. Both he and his dad were fast walkers, but in his nappy and tight jeans he was struggling to keep up a little. It was a beautiful day. They went to the park, had an ice cream and on the way back walked past the local pub. ‘Fancy a cheeky pint?’ Asked his dad. They often went into the pup together. ‘Yeah, why not’ said Tom. They both had a couple of pints before it was time to leave. They didn’t talk about Toms nappy at all, mostly about the Traitors on TV. ‘Ok, I’m going to pop to the loo and then we’ll head off’ said his Dad. ‘Ah yeah, me too’ said Tom. His dad stopped and looked at him. ‘You do make me laugh, why are you doing it to yourself? You can’t wee all over the floor in a public bathroom, it’s rude and disrespectful’. Tom looked at him, kinda accepting that he had a point. Whilst it felt so crazy to wet himself, as his dad became more accepting and as Tom was waddling around in the nappy anyway, it felt increasingly silly to not use it for what it was designed for. ‘The thing is son’ said his dad. ‘They deteriorate after 4-6 hours anyway, so you gotta change it whether you use it or not, you may as well use it. Tom stood and waited whilst his dad went to the loo. He was breaking his neck, but he couldn’t go. Something in his brain was telling him no. He couldn’t just wet himself right there in the middle of the pub! As they walked back, Tom was getting increasingly desperate and his dad noticed. Tom was walking quicker and quicker and couldn’t stop grabbing his crotch. His bladder felt like it was going to burst. ‘Stop walking a minute’ said his dad, stopping himself. Tom stopped, the urge unbearable. ‘If you don’t let it go you’ll hurt your kidneys. That’s what I did, it was agony for days. That’s why I’m trying to help you. Just go, you don’t have to be embarrassed in front of me’ With that Tom’s bladder burst, right there in the street. Wee poured uncontrollably into his nappy. He stared desperately at his jeans in the full expectation that wee would be pouring down them, but it was not. What he could feel though was his nappy expanding and getting larger and tighter in his jeans. After what felt like forever, he stopped. ‘Come on then’ said his said. As Tom walked on the nappy felt completely different to before. It was much much bulkier, oddly to him though it didn’t feel at all wet. It had clearly absorbed all the wee and left him dry, which was pretty amazing actually, who’d have thought they’d work so well? It felt so strange yet at the same time so comforting to have had an accident and been protected by his nappy. It also made him feel small, having just stood there in front of his dad and wet himself. As they walked along his dad turned to him and chuckled. ‘So I guess that answers my question. You do wet yourself.’ Chapter 6 - Something awkward Over the next few days Tom had worn a nappy on and off, even when wearing all but a couple of very carefully managed wees has been in the toilet, with great difficulty. He was really conflicted about whether to wear one or not. Even though his dad was fine with it, almost encouraging it, he was still embarrassed to talk about it, and felt a little silly with it on. Things had been reasonably normal. His dad had enquired occasionally as to the state of his nappy, but it wasn’t often. Just things like. “If you’re wet son, don’t forget to change regularly”. His dad had also bought him some powders and creams and impressed upon him the importance of good skin care and hygiene. “Wearing nappies isn’t dirty or gross son, but you do need to up your game on hygiene and skin care” he’d said. … As they sat and watched tv that evening, Tom decided he’d do a wee in his nappy. He stood and after a few odd movements he started to wet himself. ‘Good lad, I notice you’re getting better at that’ said his dad. Tom stood a while longer until he’d finished, then sat back down in his now wet nappy and finally said something that was increasingly bothering him. ‘Dad’ he said. ‘Can I ask you something really awkward?’ His dad switched off the tv and looked at him with suspicion. ‘Okaaay’ he said slowly, Tom took a deep breath. ‘Do you like me in nappies?’ He eventually asked. ‘What do you mean?’ asked his dad. ‘Well, like just then, and other times, you seem to be encouraging it. Like you want me to be in nappies and wet myself and stuff’ asked Tom. His dad moved his gaze away for a moment thinking about what he was going to say. Eventually he returned to Tom. ‘It’s not about me, it’s about you son. I just want you to have what I never had, an understanding parent during this part of your life. It’s obviously in our genes to like this. I’ve passed it on to you. I want it to be as easy and enjoyable as possible for you to go through. Not like my experience. I’d have loved my dad to have accepted my nappy wearing, but I never got it, and I never got to find out what he would have done or said.’ ‘I see’ said Tom. ‘Granddad never knew?’ What would you have wanted granddad to do or say?’ Asked Tom. ‘I’d have liked him to say it’s fine, I’d have liked acceptance, I’d have liked….to have…well it doesn’t matter’. ‘No do say’ said Tom. ‘Heck, we’re beyond holding back aren’t we?’ Tom’s Dad paused for a considerable time. ‘I’d have liked him to change me. BUT that doesn’t mean I’m asking to change you!’ He blurted out Tom sat there, looking at his Dad. ‘Do you want to change me then?’ He asked gingerly. ‘No, No!’ said his dad definitely. ‘That’s not what I meant, I wish I’d not said that’ ‘You don’t want to, or you feel like you don’t want to ask?’ ask Tom. His dad looked increasingly uncomfortable. ‘I can’t do this’ he said starting to stand. Tom grabbed his arm like he had his a couple of days before’. His dad sat back down. ‘What do you want from this?’ Asked Tom. ‘Why are you so supportive? Why are you buying them for me?’ Asked Tom ‘Son please’ said his dad desperately trying to end the conversation. ‘No, come on dad, we gotta have this discussion’ insisted Tom. His dad started to claw at the said of the chair. ‘Because I remember how much I wanted to go back into nappies, and if I’m honest a part of me still does want to occasionally. I remember bottling it up for years, the anxiety of trying it, hiding it, feeling wrong and weird. When I discovered you’d inherited this from me I decided I didn’t want you to go through what I did. I wanted you to be yourself, be happy, fulfil your desires, be content in yourself’. Tom didn’t know what to say. His dad went on. ‘And if I’m completely honest, I want to share in your joy of it, in a way I never got to. Sorry I know that’s selfish, I don’t want to put you under any pressure, this mustn’t be about me’. ‘I really do appreciate that dad, thanks so much’ said Tom as he came over for a hug. ‘Have I got it right?’ His dad asked ‘What do you mean?’ Asked Tom ‘Do they make you feel how I think they do?’ ‘They do make me feel happy and relaxed’ said Tom. ‘A kind of contentment I’ve not felt in a long time’. ‘Then tell me son, tell me why you shouldn’t wear them as much as you want?’ After a long pause ‘When I say I’m not asking to change you, please don’t think it’s because I wouldn’t. If you asked I’d be right there for you, but I’d never put you under any pressure to, you know that don’t you?’ ‘Yeah I know that dad’ said Tom. ‘I’m not sure that’s something I could handle, at least not now’.