Mummy's little cuckold sissy

[sissysusie1]

The first time Sue noticed Georgie’s browser history, she’d been looking for a lasagna recipe. His laptop was still open on the kitchen counter, the screen saver flickering—some default landscape of mountains she’d never bothered to change. She tapped the spacebar absentmindedly, and there it was: a half-dozen tabs of frilly pink things, adult diapers with lace trim, and a forum thread titled *"How to tell your wife you want to be her baby girl."*

She closed the lid softly, as if it might explode. The lasagna could wait.

That was three months ago. Now, standing in the spare bedroom—*his* room, she supposed—Sue watched Georgie fidget with the hem of the satin babydoll nightie she’d bought him. It was too small across his shoulders, the straps digging in, but he kept adjusting it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"You look ridiculous," she said, not unkindly.

Georgie's fingers froze mid-adjustment. His cheeks flushed beneath the smudge of peach blush he'd applied clumsily earlier—Sue had watched him peer into her compact mirror with the concentration of a surgeon. "I know," he whispered. The words hung between them, oddly vulnerable. The nursery-themed nightlight cast soft circles on the wall, illuminating the freshly painted mint-green trim Sue had added last weekend.

 

"Come here," Sue said, patting the edge of the twin-sized bed they'd moved in. The sheets were printed with cartoon ducks, another unplanned purchase from the children's section at Target. Georgie shuffled forward, the crinkle of his plastic panties absurdly loud in the quiet room. She reached out and straightened his lopsided hair bow, fingers brushing the warm shell of his ear. "Terry from accounting asked me to lunch tomorrow."

Georgie's breath hitched. His pupils dilated—she could see it even in the dim light. "Mummy doesn't have to tell me about—"

Sue traced the edge of Georgie’s pink  hair bow with her thumb, watching the way his lower lip trembled. "But I *want* to tell you," she murmured. The crinkle of his plastic panties filled the pause as she leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear. "Terry said he’s been watching me in meetings. Said he likes how I don’t take shit from anyone."

 

Georgie made a tiny, strangled noise. His fingers twisted in the ruffled hem of his short nightie , knuckles whitening. Sue had seen that look before—on the rare occasions she’d worn a skirt shorter than knee-length to office parties. The same mix of panic and helpless arousal.

She pressed her advantage. "He’s got those big hands, you know? The kind that could probably span my waist." Georgie whimpered. Sue smirked, flicking the bow’s satin tails her manicured fingers slowly worked down to the sheethrough nylon  frilly pink baby kncikers covered in lace ruffles she patted the thick bulky crotch a few times making the plastic pants underneath crinkle and rustle  "Would my baby girl like to see Mummy try on that black dress before my lunch date? The one with the zipper down the back?"

The crib’s mobile tinkled overhead as Georgie shuddered. His blush had spread down his neck, disappearing beneath the Peter Pan collar. Sue knew exactly how far it went—she’d bathed him last Tuesday, counting the freckles on his shoulders like a constellation chart.

The mobile above the crib tinkled again as Georgie’s breath came in shallow, stuttering gasps. His fingers—painted a chipped baby pink that morning—clutched at the ruffled hem of his nightie like it was the only thing tethering him to earth. Sue watched, fascinated, as a single tear rolled down his cheek, cutting through the hastily applied blush.

 

"Shh, baby girl," she murmured, catching the tear with her thumb. The salt of it lingered on her skin as she traced the curve of his jaw. "Mummy’s just teasing." The lie tasted sweet. She’d already texted Terry from the bathroom an hour ago, the screen glowing with his reply: *Can’t wait to see how that zipper works.*

Georgie’s shoulders hitched as she leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Unless…" She let the word hang, savoring the way his whole body tensed. The nursery smelled of lavender baby powder and the faint plastic tang of his diapers. "Unless my good girl wants Mummy to bring back pictures?"

A strangled noise escaped Georgie’s throat. His hands flew to cover his face, but Sue caught his wrists easily, pinning them to his sides. The satin bow at his collar was crooked again—she’d have to teach him how to tie it properly. Later.

Georgie's breathing hitched as Sue tightened her grip on his wrists, the pulse beneath her fingertips rapid as a sparrow's. The nursery nightlight cast long shadows across his face, exaggerating the tremor in his lower lip. "Pictures?" he whispered, and the word sounded sticky in his mouth, like syrup clinging to a spoon.

 

Sue released one wrist to trace the edge of his frilly knickers and plastic panties, the crinkle loud in the quiet room. "Terry's got this habit of biting his bottom lip when he's concentrating," she said, watching Georgie's pupils dilate. "During the budget meeting last week, he kept doing it while staring at my neck. Wonder what he'd do if I unbuttoned my blouse just... here." She dragged a fingernail along her collarbone, and Georgie made a sound like a deflating balloon.

Downstairs, the oven timer beeped—the lasagna she'd abandoned three months ago, finally reheated. The domesticity of it almost made her laugh. Here she was, discussing her impending affair while her husband trembled in a satin bonnet, and somewhere in the house, their dinner was getting cold.

Georgie's fingers twitched against her palm. "M-mummy could—" He swallowed, the Adam's apple bobbing above the elasticated frilled neck line of his nightie  "Could lock my nappies. So I can't... can't touch myself while you're gone." The suggestion hung between them, ripe and glistening. Sue had seen the chastity devices in his browser history—shiny pink things with heart-shaped locks.

 

The oven timer beeped again, more insistent this time. Sue didn’t move. Georgie’s suggestion—the way his voice had cracked on can’t—hung between them like a dare. She let her fingernail trail down from her collarbone to the first button of her blouse, popping it open with deliberate slowness. Georgie’s breath hitched, his gaze tracking the movement with the intensity of a starving man watching a feast being laid out.

"Lock you up, hmm?" Sue murmured, tapping the tip of his nose with her index finger. The gesture was playful, almost maternal, but the way Georgie’s eyes fluttered shut at the contact told her everything. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the crinkle of his plastic panties loud in the quiet room. "And what would my baby girl do if Mummy came home… satisfied?"

Georgie whimpered, his thighs pressing together. The sheer  nightie rode up, revealing the pale pink frillly matching baby knickers  the  elastic of his plastic pants visble at the leg openings under whiiuch his thick cloth nappy was clear to see. Sue had picked them out herself—Little Princess embroidered across the  front in small dark pink  script. She’d laughed when she’d seen them online, but now, watching Georgie squirm, the humor had curdled into something darker, more possessive.

 

The lasagna would be cold by now, the cheese congealed. Sue found she didn’t care. Terry’s text flashed in her mind—Can’t wait to see how that zipper works—and she wondered, idly, if Georgie would cry when she described the way Terry’s hands would feel on her hips.

The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken promises. Georgie's fingers twitched against the ruffled edge of his nightie again , his breath coming in shallow little pants that made the ribbons on his bonnet tremble. Sue watched, fascinated, as a droplet of sweat slid down his temple—she'd never seen him like this, so unraveled, so hers.

"Would my baby girl cry?" Sue murmured, tracing the damp trail with her thumb. Georgie's eyelids fluttered, his lashes clumping together where tears had gathered. She didn't wait for an answer. "Would you lie here in your nursery, all locked up in your nappies and frills , and sob when Mummy texts you pictures of Terry's hands on me?"

Georgie made a sound like a stepped-on squeaky toy. His thighs squeezed together, the plastic panties rustling loudly. Sue could see the exact moment the fantasy fully consumed him—his shoulders hunched, his lips parting around silent pleas. The nursery mobile tinkled overhead, a cheerful contrast to the tension coiling in the room.

 

Sue stood abruptly, smoothing down her skirt. Georgie's gaze snapped up to follow her movement, his lower lip jutting in a pout she might have found adorable under different circumstances. "Mummy has to check the lasagna," she said, watching disappointment flicker across his face. She paused at the door, her hand on the mint-green trim she'd painted last weekend. "But first..."

Georgie’s breath caught as Sue reached into the top drawer of the dresser she’d repurposed as his changing table. The pink chastity cage glinted in the nursery nightlight’s glow, its tiny heart-shaped padlock dangling like an absurd piece of jewelry. She held it up between two fingers, watching Georgie’s throat work as he swallowed hard.

"Shall we see if it fits, baby girl?" Sue asked, tapping the plastic thee inch device  against his knee. Georgie nodded frantically, his bonnet ribbons bouncing. The way his hands fluttered to cover himself—then hesitated, dropping back to his sides—made something hot curl low in Sue’s belly. She’d never seen him like this, vibrating with want and shame in equal measure.

Downstairs, the lasagna was undoubtedly ruined, but Sue found herself kneeling between Georgie’s spread thighs instead, the crinkle of his plastic panties loud in the quiet room. His thighs trembled as she peeled back the layers—the ruffled chiffon  knickers,  semi clear plastic pants the thick cloth diaper beneath, the protective plastic sheeting—until he lay exposed, pink and straining he was already aroused.

 

"It’s so small," Sue murmured, more to herself than to Georgie. His tiny less than an inch cock when soft twitched pathetically now at full erection  he wasn't quite three inches and no thicker than her pinky finger . Her comment about his size always aroused him , a bead of moisture gathering at the tip. She wiped it away with her thumb, smearing it across his inner thigh in a slow, deliberate stroke. "You’ll need the extra-small cage, won’t you?"

Georgie's breath came in shallow, stuttering gasps as Sue clicked the chastity cage shut with a decisive snick. The metal was cold against his flushed skin, the heart-shaped lock dangling like a cruel joke. He whimpered when she tugged on it experimentally, the chain of the padlock jingling against his thigh. "Oh, baby girl," Sue murmured, tracing the outline of the cage with her fingernail. "You look so pretty like this."

The nursery smelled faintly of lavender and the sharp tang of Georgie's arousal. Sue leaned back on her heels, admiring her handiwork—the way the pink plastic strained against his pathetic little erection, how his thighs quivered when she blew softly across the locked metal. Downstairs, the oven timer beeped again, a shrill reminder of the forgotten lasagna. Sue ignored it.

"Tell me," she said, pinching Georgie's inner thigh hard enough to make him yelp. "What will you think about while Mummy's at lunch tomorrow?" Georgie's mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. Sue twisted the skin between her fingers, relishing the way his hips jerked helplessly. "Use your words, Georgina."

 

"I—I'll think about Terry's hands on you," Georgie stammered, his voice cracking. A tear slipped down his cheek, carving a shiny path through his smudged blush. Sue caught it with her thumb, pressing the damp digit against his parted lips.

Georgie's tongue darted out to lick the tear-salt from her thumb, his eyes wide and wet as a chastened puppy’s. Sue let him suckle for a moment before withdrawing her hand, wiping the moisture on his nylon  nightie. The sheer fabric darkened where she’d smeared it, the stain spreading like a blush.

"You’ll stay right here," she said, standing abruptly. The chastity cage jingled as Georgie shifted, his legs falling open wider in unconscious supplication. Sue traced the embroidered Little Princess on his frilly knickers with her toe, watching his stomach muscles quiver. "No touching. No getting out of your nappies. Mummy will know if you’ve been naughty."

Downstairs, the lasagna had cooled into a rubbery mass, the sauce separating at the edges. Sue scraped it into the bin without ceremony. The sound of Georgie’s soft crying filtered through the baby monitor she’d installed last week—high-pitched, breathy little sobs that hitched whenever the crib mobile tinkled. She turned up the volume.

 

The next morning, Sue dressed with deliberate slowness in front of Georgie’s nursery mirror. The black dress whispered against her thighs as she shimmied it into place, the back zipper catching momentarily on a curl of hair. Georgie watched from the crib, his fingers clutching the mint-green bars. His plastic panties had developed a damp patch overnight, the scent of lavender powder undercut by something muskier.

The zipper stuck halfway up her back. Sue arched her shoulders, feeling the teeth catch against her bra strap, and sighed. "Georgina," she called without turning, "come fix Mummy's dress." The crib bars rattled as Georgie scrambled up, his plastic panties crinkling loudly. His fingers—still soft with sleep—trembled against her spine as he fumbled with the zipper. She could feel his breath on her bare skin, warm and uneven. "Careful," she murmured when the metal pinched. "Wouldn't want Terry to see bruises."

Georgie made a wounded noise behind her. Sue smiled, watching him in the mirror—his puffy eyes, the way his satin bonnet had slipped sideways during the night. The chastity cage left an obvious tent in his  knickers  the heart-shaped lock swinging with every unsteady movement. She turned abruptly, catching his chin between her fingers. "Did my baby girl touch herself?" she asked sweetly. Georgie shook his head frantically, the ribbons on his bonnet fluttering. Sue tightened her grip. "Liar."

 

Downstairs, she poured coffee into a travel mug, listening to Georgie's muffled sobs through the baby monitor. The sound followed her to the door, mingling with the chirp of her phone—Terry, confirming their lunch reservation. Sue paused at the threshold, considering. Then she pulled out her phone, angled it toward the monitor, and pressed record. Georgie's hiccuping cries filled the speaker as she typed a caption: Missing Mummy already? Wait till you see what I send next."

The restaurant was all crisp linens and low lighting, Terry's knee brushing hers under the table within minutes. Sue let him order for her—steak, rare—and laughed when his thumb grazed her wrist reaching for the salt. "You're bold today," Terry murmured, his smile all teeth. Sue sipped her wine, thinking of Georgie's tear-streaked face, the way his thighs had trembled when she'd snapped the cage shut. "You have no idea," she said.

Terry's fingers traced the rim of his wineglass, his gaze lingering on Sue's lips. "You're different today," he said, leaning in. The cologne he wore—something woody and expensive—drifted across the table. Sue imagined Georgie sniffing at her blouse later, trembling at the foreign scent. The thought sent a thrill down her spine.

She let Terry's hand settle on her thigh beneath the table, his palm warm through the thin fabric of her dress. "Different how?" Sue asked, arching an eyebrow.

 

"Like you've got a secret." His thumb stroked the inside of her knee, and Sue bit back a smirk. If only he knew. Her phone buzzed in her purse—Georgie, no doubt. She'd left him sprawled in the nursery lying in his cot , his plastic panties and cloth nappy now damp with frustrated arousal, the pink chastity cage glinting under the direct sunlight.

Terry's steak arrived, bloody and glistening. Sue watched him slice into it, the knife scraping against porcelain. "You ever think about sharing?" she asked abruptly.

Terry’s knife paused mid-slice. A drop of blood pooled on the white plate. "Sharing?" His thumb rubbed circles on Sue’s thigh, slower now, testing.

Sue twirled her wineglass, watching the light refract through the cabernet. "Mmm. My husband’s… unconventional." She leaned in, letting the neckline of her dress gape just enough for Terry’s gaze to snag. "He’d watch. If I asked nicely."

The restaurant noise faded to a buzz. Terry’s fingers tightened on her leg—possessive, Sue noted with satisfaction. She imagined Georgie’s face if he could see this: Terry’s tanned hand creeping higher, the gold signet ring glinting against her pale skin.

"Jesus." Terry exhaled, half-laughing. His steak forgotten, he signaled the waiter for another drink. "You’re full of surprises."

 

Terry’s fingers dug into her thigh as the waiter set down his second whiskey. Sue watched the ice cubes swirl, thinking of Georgie’s frilly pink baby knickers and plastic panties rustling in the empty house. She leaned in, close enough to catch the sharp tang of Terry’s aftershave. "He’d kneel at the foot of the bed," she murmured. "Wouldn’t make a sound unless I told him to."

The restaurant’s hum faded as Terry’s thumb traced the seam of her stockings. Sue let her knee fall open a fraction, smiling when his breath hitched. "Fuck," he muttered, dragging his palm up her thigh. His signet ring caught the light—the same gold as Georgie’s chastity lock. The symmetry pleased her.

Back home, the nursery monitor glowed green in the dark hallway. Georgie’s whimpers filtered through the speaker, thin and reedy. Sue toed off her heels, listening to the rhythm of his crying—the hitched pauses where he’d clearly tried to muffle himself. The crib mobile tinkled as she pushed open the door.

Georgie scrambled upright, his bonnet askew. The frilly knickers and plastic panties and nappy she’d left him in were soaked through, the Little Princess embroidery darkened with urine . Sue crouched beside the crib, tapping the bars with Terry’s business card. "He wants to meet you," she said, watching Georgie’s pupils dilate.

 

Georgie’s breath hitched, his fingers clutching the crib bars like they were the only thing keeping him upright. The business card trembled in Sue’s grip, Terry’s embossed name catching the nursery nightlight. "M-meet me?" Georgie whispered, his voice cracking on the second word. A drop of sweat slid down his temple, cutting through the smeared remnants of his peach blush.

Sue tapped the card against his nose, watching his nostrils flare. "Mmm. Said he’d love to put a face to the name." She dragged the edge of the card down Georgie’s chest, catching on the lace trim of his satin nightie. "Wants to know if you’d wear your prettiest dress for him."

The crib mobile tinkled overhead as Georgie shuddered. His plastic panties crinkled loudly, the sound muffled only slightly by the thick cloth diaper beneath. Sue could see the exact moment the fantasy took root—his pupils dilated, his lower lip caught between his teeth. A dark spots spread further across the front of his  frilly sheer knickers plastic panties and nappy no loner efective at holding back the leaks, the chastity cage straining against its confines.

 

She leaned in, close enough to smell the lavender powder clinging to his skin. "Terry’s got this thing for pink," Sue murmured, tracing the shell of Georgie’s ear with the corner of the business card. "Especially sheer pink nylon or  satin. Especially when it’s... damp." Georgie whimpered, his thighs pressing together reflexively. Sue smirked and stepped back, tucking Terry’s card into her bra strap. "Thought we might invite him for dinner Friday. You could serve us in your nursery attire."

Georgie’s breath hitched audibly, his fingers twisting in the ruffled hem of his nightie until the nylon  puckered. The crib mobile swayed as he rocked slightly, his plastic panties emitting a soft crinkle with each movement. Sue watched, fascinated, as his Adam’s apple bobbed —swallowing hard, like he was trying to choke down the idea and savor it at the same time.

"Dinner?" he whispered, his voice barely louder than the rustle of his diaper. His gaze flickered to the business card tucked into Sue’s bra, then away just as quickly, as if the sight burned him. The nursery nightlight cast long shadows across his face, exaggerating the flush creeping down his neck. Sue reached out and thumbed the damp spot on his knickers , grinning when he whimpered.

"Mmhm. You’ll wear the  pink satin bonnet with the lace trim and some nice frilly matching baby knickers ," she said, tapping the heart-shaped lock of his cage. It jingled softly, a tiny, absurd chime. "And those frilly ankle socks. The ones with the bows." Georgie’s thighs trembled under her touch, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Sue leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Terry likes it when I feed him. Maybe you’ll kneel under the table and lick his fingers clean."

The sound Georgie made was half moan, half sob. His hands fluttered uselessly at his sides before clutching the crib bars again, his knuckles whitening. Sue straightened up, smoothing her dress as she stepped back. The business card scratched lightly against her skin where it was tucked away—Terry’s name pressed into the fabric like a brand.

The crib bars rattled as Georgie collapsed forward, his forehead pressing against the cool metal. Sue watched his shoulders heave—not crying, not quite, but breathing hard enough to make the ribbons on his bonnet flutter. The nursery smelled of sweat now, sharp beneath the lavender powder and Sues perfume. She reached through the bars to pinch his earlobe between her nails. "Look at me," she said, and Georgie's head jerked up, his eyes wide and wet.

Terry's business card was warm from her skin when she pulled it out. Sue held it just beyond Georgie's reach, watching his gaze fix on the embossed lettering. "He's got big hands," she murmured, flipping the card between her fingers. "Thick fingers. The kind that leave marks." Georgie whimpered, his plastic panties crinkling as he squirmed. Sue tapped the card against his parted lips. "Open."

Georgie's mouth opened obediently, his tongue peeking out like a chastened puppy's. Sue laid the card flat on his tongue, watching his throat work as he tried not to drool on it. "Hold it there," she instructed, stepping back to survey her handiwork. The card quivered slightly between Georgie's teeth, his breath fogging the glossy surface. Perfect.

Downstairs, Sue poured herself a generous measure of gin, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. The baby monitor crackled—Georgie's shallow breathing, the occasional rustle of plastic. She took her drink to the living room, stretching out on the couch with her phone. Terry had texted twice since lunch: "You're dangerous" and "When can I see you again?" Sue smiled, tapping out a reply with one hand while the other trailed down her stomach.

The crib mobile spun lazily above Georgie’s head, its pastel animals casting elongated shadows across the ceiling. Sue watched through the baby monitor screen—Georgie’s tongue still dutifully pressed against Terry’s business card, his frilly pink baby knickers plastic  darkening further with each ragged breath. She took another sip of gin, the burn sharp on her tongue, and typed out a reply to Terry: "Friday. 7pm. Bring wine."

Georgie’s muffled whimper crackled through the monitor as Sue stood, stretching her arms overhead. The gin warmed her belly, pooling low and heavy. She climbed the stairs slowly, savoring the way Georgie’s breathing hitched when her shadow fell across the nursery threshold.

"Such a good girl," Sue murmured, plucking the saliva-slick card from Georgie’s mouth. It was damp at the edges, Terry’s embossed name blurred. She tucked it back into her bra strap—let it soak there all night, a promise pressed against her skin. Georgie’s eyes tracked the movement, his lips parted around silent pleas.

Sue reached through the crib bars to thumb the damp spot on his frilly knickers rubbing them over the  plastic panties. "Did my baby girl make a mess while Mummy was gone?" Georgie nodded frantically, his bonnet ribbons bouncing. Sue clicked her tongue, dragging her fingernail along the elastic leg band. "Naughty." The word landed like a slap. Georgie shuddered, his thighs pressing together with a crinkle.

The business card left a faint indentation on Sue's breast where it had pressed all evening. She peeled it off now, holding it up to the nursery nightlight—Terry's embossed name warped from Georgie's saliva and her own sweat. Georgie whimpered as she twirled it between her fingers, his plastic panties rustling like a confession.

"Still wet," Sue observed, tapping the card against his flushed cheek. Georgie's eyelashes fluttered, still clumped together from earlier tears. She could smell him—the sharp tang of his frustration cutting through the lavender powder. The chastity cage had left angry pink indentations on his skin, the heart-shaped lock dangling like a taunt.

Sue stepped back abruptly,  Georgie made a wounded noise, his fingers clutching at the crib bars. "Mummy's tired," she said, stretching her arms overhead with deliberate slowness. The neckline of her dress gaped, revealing the red marks Terry's stubble had left near her collarbone. Georgie's breath hitched audibly.

She left him there—bonnet askew, knickers and plastic panties damp nappy soaking wet —and headed to the master bedroom alone. The sheets smelled faintly of Georgie's cologne from before, back when he'd shared this bed as her husband instead of her baby girl. Sue stripped naked in front of the full-length mirror, turning to examine the fingerprints Terry had left on her hips.Her black satin panties with an unmitaken dampness from her date .

The crib mobile spun lazily, its tinkling melody mocking Georgie’s predicament. His wrists were tied to the bars with satin ribbons—Sue’s idea of keeping him "safe" while she showered. The nursery smelled of talcum powder and the sharp, metallic tang of the chastity cage pressing into his flesh.

Down the hall, the shower hissed. Georgie strained to hear Sue humming over the water, imagining her hands sliding over soap-slick skin—the same hands that had buckled him into this crib like an oversized infant. His plastic panties crackled with every squirm, the dampness between his thighs growing colder.

The bathroom door clicked open. Georgie held his breath, listening to Sue’s bare feet pad across the hardwood. She appeared in the doorway wrapped in a towel, her hair dripping onto the babydoll nightie  where it lay crumpled on the floor.

"Still awake?" she murmured, leaning over the crib. Water droplets fell from her hair onto Georgie’s face. He licked one off his lips, tasting her shampoo—something floral and expensive, nothing like the baby powder scent clinging to his skin.

The ribbons cut into Georgie's wrists when he strained against them, the satin tightening like a lover's fingers. Sue traced the marks with her damp fingertip, watching the pink skin blanch under her touch. "So eager," she murmured, her breath warm against his forehead. The towel slipped slightly as she leaned over the crib, revealing a crescent of damp skin where Terry's teeth had grazed earlier. Georgie's gaze fixed there, his throat working soundlessly.

Downstairs, the grandfather clock chimed midnight—deep, resonant tones that vibrated through the floorboards. Sue straightened, letting the towel gape further. "Terry asked if you'd wear the bonnet during dinner," she said conversationally, as if discussing the weather. Georgie's plastic panties rustled loudly, the sound filling the nursery like crumpling cellophane. Sue smirked and reached for the baby oil on the changing table. "I told him you'd wear whatever he liked."

The oil glistened on her palms as she rubbed them together, the scent of synthetic coconut overpowering the lavender powder. Georgie whimpered when her slick fingers found the waistband of his frilled baby panties ,the plastic panties, the sound strangled and high. Sue peeled them down slowly, savoring the way the material clung to his damp skin. The chastity cage gleamed under the nursery nightlight as she unpinned his nappy , its heart-shaped lock swinging like a pendulum.

"Shh," Sue murmured, spreading oil along the reddened skin beneath the cage. Georgie's hips jerked helplessly, his thighs trembling. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the pulse beneath her fingertips frantic as a trapped bird's. The crib mobile spun lazily overhead, casting shifting shadows across his tear-streaked face.

The baby monitor crackled with Georgie's hitched breathing as Sue methodically worked the oil into his inflamed skin. His whimpers took on a higher pitch when her thumb pressed deliberately beneath the chastity cage, the metal clicking against his pelvis. "Hurts, doesn't it?" she murmured, watching his toes curl against the crib mattress. The nursery smelled overpoweringly of coconut now, cloying and thick in the still air.

Sue snapped the elastic of his plastic pants back up and over  his wet nappy cover against Georgie's inner thigh, leaving an angry red line. He jerked against the satin restraints, his bonnet sliding sideways with the movement. "Friday night," she said conversationally, wiping her oily hands on his nightie, "Terry wants to watch me change your nappies." Georgie's breath stuttered, his eyelashes fluttering like moth wings against his flushed cheeks.

Downstairs, the refrigerator hummed to life. Sue tilted her head, listening—somewhere beneath Georgie's ragged breathing, she could hear the faint clink of ice settling in the freezer. The ordinary sound juxtaposed absurdly with the scene before her: her husband trussed up in a crib, his arousal trapped in pink frilled panties and  plastic, his lips still shiny with her thumbprint.

She reached for the baby powder, shaking a cloud of it as she pulled back his kncikers and nappy onto  Georgie's groin. The white dust settled on the oil-slicked cage, clinging in clumps that looked like snowfall on a tiny pink prison. Georgie sneezed twice in quick succession, his wrists twisting helplessly in their satin bonds. Sue blew gently across the powder, watching it swirl in the nightlight's glow. "Terry's bringing his camera," she lied, enjoying how Georgie's hips bucked at the thought.

Georgina's tiny erection strained pathetically against the fluffy nappy fabric, barely making a three-inch tent in the thick cotton. His hairless balls—pink and absurdly small—nestled in the folds of the cloth diaper, trapped beneath layers of crinkling plastic pants and the ridiculous frilly knickers Sue had special-ordered. The semi-clear plastic pants amplified every shift of his thighs, the sound deafening in the quiet nursery as he lay curled in his crib.

 

The chiffon hem of Georgina's nightie fluttered against his thighs as he perched on the edge of Sue's vanity stool, the crinkling plastic pants amplifying every nervous shift into something deafening. Across the bedroom, Sue's reflection in the full-length mirror arched an eyebrow as she stepped into the white satin panties—the expensive pair with the sheer lace overlay that made Georgina's caged erection throb against its plastic prison. "Stop squirming," she murmured, rolling the delicate fabric up her thighs with deliberate slowness. The suspender belt's silk straps dangled like promises as she attached the first dark tan stocking, the nylon whispering against her palm before she smoothed it up her calf.

 

The doorbell chimed at 7:30, a sound that sent a jolt through Georgina’s already tense body. Heavy footsteps echoed on the stairs, each thump a drumbeat to his humiliation. Sue’s voice, bright and cheerful, floated from the hallway. “Here she is, Terry! My baby husband. Isn’t she adorable?”

Sue entered first, a vision in her white short dress, the satin lining of her skimpy panties subtly visible. Terry loomed behind her, tall and broad, his eyes immediately scanning the room and landing on Georgina with an amused, assessing gaze.

A deep, masculine laugh followed—Terry’s laugh. It filled the room before he even entered.

Terry's grin widened at the sight: the frilly knickers peeking beneath the nightie's hem, the way the plastic pants clung to the sagging diaper. "Christ," Terry chuckled, his work-roughened hands already settling on Sue's waist. She laughed too, bright and cruel, before flipping up Georgina's nightie without warning. The semi-clear plastic gleamed under pink frilly satin kncikers of the leg openings , showcasing the wet cotton beneath. "Oh baby girl," Sue cooed, pinching the waistband, "did you make a mess before our guest even arrived?"

Georgina sat frozen on in the cot, his pale pink chiffon nightie feeling less like fabric and more like a banner announcing his shame. The double layers and lace edging were meant for a young woman , not a man. He clutched his hands together, trying to hide the tremor.

“Now, let’s see how our little one is doing,” Sue said, her tone dripping with maternal mockery. She approached the bed and, without ceremony, lifted the frilly hem of Georgina’s nightie. Georgina instinctively moved his hands to cover his crotch.

“Aww, don’t be shy,” Sue cooed, batting his hands away. “What’s the matter? Don’t you want Terry to see your pretty frilly baby knickers and nappy? He knows all about you, silly.”

The pale pink satin knickers, covered with lace, were indeed visible, along with the bulky terry cloth nappy beneath and the semi-clear, noisy plastic pants. Terry’s smile widened. He leaned against the doorframe, watching the performance.

Sue’s fingers expertly felt the front of the nappy. “Oh, dear,” she announced with theatrical concern. “You are wet so soon! I only changed you a few hours ago.”

Georgina’s face burned. He had not wet himself; the dampness was from a small water bottle Sue had emptied into the nappy earlier. It was all part of her script.

Sue pulled down the frilly knickers and plastic pants down to his ankles  unpinned the cloth nappy, the pins clicking loudly in the quiet room. , then slowly, deliberately, began to unfold the soaked terry fabric. She smiled up at Terry, a shared look of anticipation.

As the nappy opened, Georgina’s modest, caged penis was exposed. Sue undid the small chastity device with a click, “need to give him a proper clean.”

Georgina  covered himself, once more earning a slap on his hands from his wife  earning .Terry's booming laugh and Sue's sharp slap to his wrists. "Don't be shy," she chided, unpinning the soaked nappy with practiced efficiency. The cloth fell away, revealing Georgina's tiny, flushed erection straining against the chastity cage. Terry whistled low, stepping closer as Sue produced the key from her cleavage. The lock clicked open louder than Georgina's whimper.

The sudden freedom, combined with the intense exposure and humiliation, caused a traitorous reaction—Georgina’s penis began to stiffen.

Sue laughed, a light, cruel sound. “Look at that,” she said, glancing at Terry. “Excited by his own shame.”

She then turned and walked toward the dresser to fetch a fresh nappy and plastic pants. As she did, Terry stepped forward. He placed a large hand on Sue’s satin-clad backside, pulling her close. They shared a lingering kiss, Terry’s eyes open, looking over Sue’s shoulder directly at Georgina on the bed.

Georgina watched, his hard-on  now twitching a pathetic testament to his conflicted arousal. His wife, in her sexy dress and stockings, was being claimed by another man right in front of him, while he sat trapped in frilly baby clothes, damp and exposed. The scene was perfectly crafted: he was the cuckolded baby, the sissy adult, a spectacle of humiliation. And as Sue returned with the fresh diaper, smiling at Terry, Georgina knew the night was only begi

 

Through the baby monitor's static, Georgina could hear the rhythmic squeak of their bedframe —the unmistakable sound of Sue's headboard hitting the wall at Terry's pace. A high-pitched gasp cut through the noise, followed by a throaty laugh that wasn't Sue's. Georgina's fingers twisted in the satin ribbons of his bonnet as another sound joined the chorus: the wet, slapping noise of skin against skin, too fast and too heavy to be anything but Terry's doing.The rhythmic thud of Sue's headboard hitting the wall, the wet slap of Terry's thick thighs against hers. A high-pitched gasp cut through the noise, followed by Terry's throaty chuckle. Georgina's fingers twisted in the satin ribbons of his bonnet as another sound joined the chorus: that unmistakable wet squelch of penetration, too deep and too frequent to be anything but Terry's doing.

The frilly pink satin knickers rode up with every squirm, the open lace frills tickling his inner thighs. Georgina had begged Sue to let him have her worn panties  but she'd laughed while buckling him into the crib—"Don't get greedy, baby girl  I'll think about it"—then laghing she hiked up her dress and peeld down the white satin and cacke bikini style panties and hung them over the mobile above his head. The crotch evident of her sexual arousel a faint intimate secent ,a generous wettness in the crotch.They hung jst a few inches above his head .

A particularly loud moan drifted through the monitor, Sue's voice shredded into something unrecognizable. Georgina's hips jerked involuntarily, the chastity cage digging into his pelvis as he imagined Terry's hands—big, tanned, dotted with coarse dark hair—gripping Sue's hips hard enough to leave bruises. The plastic pants crackled like firecrackers as he rolled onto his side, pressing his face into the crib bumper embroidered with pastel ducks.

Georgina's thighs trembled against the crib mattress, the sheer nylon of his nightie clinging to his sweat-damp skin like a second layer of shame. Every shift of his hips sent the plastic pants crinkling—an embarrassingly loud soundtrack to the muffled groans coming through the baby monitor. The pink satin frilly knickers were cut high on the hips, the open lace frills fluttering against his inner thighs whenever he dared to move. He could see the pathetic bulge of his erection straining against the thick nappy beneath the semi-transparent plastic, the outline of his tiny pink chastity cage just visible through the layers of frilly fabric.

In the next room, the bedframe hit the wall with a sharp crack—once, twice—followed by Terry's guttural groan. Georgina whimpered, his fingers twisting in the satin-edged crib sheet. The monitor crackled with wet, rhythmic sounds—Sue's breathless whimpers interspersed with whispered praise that wasn't meant for him. He could picture Terry looming over her, his thick forearms flexing as he pinned Sue's wrists above her head, the muscles in his back rolling with each thrust.

A particularly high-pitched cry from Sue as he pentrated her so deeply stretching her wide and deep like never before    sent Georgina's hips jerking involuntarily. The plastic pants amplified every desperate squirm, the crinkling so loud it nearly drowned out the slick slap of flesh from downstairs. The frilly knickers bunched up around the waistband of his plastic pants, the tiny satin bow now damp with sweat. He imagined Terry's big hands gripping Sue's hips—those rough, masculine fingers leaving marks on her skin—while his own trapped erection strained uselessly against the chastity cage's confines.

The nursery mobile spun lazily overhead, his wifes sexy white satin panties shining in the light ,the pastel animals casting elongated shadows across Georgina's tear-streaked face. A drop of sweat slid from his temple onto the embroidered duckling on his crib bumper. He could smell himself—the sickly sweet baby powder undercut by the sharp musk of his own arousal—and wondered if Terry could smell Sue's pleasure from across the house.

 

 

A particularly loud moan drifted through the monitor, Sue's voice breaking into something raw and unfamiliar. Georgina's hips jerked involuntarily, the chastity cage digging into his pelvis as he imagined Terry's hands—those big, tanned paws dotted with coarse dark hair—gripping Sue's hips hard enough to leave bruises. The plastic pants crackled like firecrackers as he rolled onto his side, pressing his face into the crib bumper embroidered with pastel ducks.

Georgina's tiny erection strained pathetically against the fluffy nappy fabric, barely making a three-inch tent in the thick cotton. His hairless balls—pink and absurdly small—nestled in the folds of the cloth diaper, trapped beneath layers of crinkling plastic pants and the ridiculous frilly knickers Sue had special-ordered. The semi-clear plastic pants amplified every shift of his thighs, the sound deafening in the quiet nursery as he lay curled in his crib.

 Georgina could hear the rhythmic squeak of their bedframe —the unmistakable sound of Sue's headboard hitting the wall harder and faster than before  at Terry's pace. A high-pitched gasp cut through the noise, followed by a throaty laugh that wasn't Sue's. Georgina's fingers twisted in the satin ribbons of his bonnet as another sound joined the chorus: the wet, slapping noise of skin against skin, too fast and too heavy to be anything but Terry's doing.

The frilly pink satin knickers rode up with every squirm, the open lace frills tickling his inner thighs. Georgina had begged Sue to let him wear the matching garter belts too, but she'd laughed while buckling him into the crib—"Don't get greedy, baby girl"—and left the delicate satin straps dangling from the dresser knob just out of reach. Now they swayed mockingly with each thud from the master bedroom, the tiny bows trembling in time with the impacts.

A particularly loud moan drifted through the monitor, Sue's voice shredded into something unrecognizable. Georgina's hips jerked involuntarily, the chastity cage digging into his pelvis as he imagined Terry's hands—big, tanned, dotted with coarse dark hair—gripping Sue's hips hard enough to leave bruises. The plastic pants crackled like firecrackers as he rolled onto his side, pressing his face into the crib bumper embroidered with pastel ducks.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Georgina's three-inch erection strained pathetically against the thick cotton nappy, barely creating a ripple in the fluffy padding beneath the crinkling plastic pants. The semi-clear plastic amplified every involuntary twitch—his tiny pink chastity cage glinting obscenely under the nursery nightlight's soft glow. The frilly knickers rode higher with each squirm, their delicate lace frills fluttering against his hairless inner thighs like butterfly wings. The tiny satin bow at the waist had gone crooked, darkened with sweat where it dug into the soft flesh of his belly.

Downstairs, the bedframe slammed against the wall in a relentless rhythm—thud-thud-thud—punctuated by Sue's high, broken moans that crackled through the baby monitor. Georgina clenched his thighs together, the plastic pants emitting an embarrassingly loud crinkle that nearly drowned out the wet slap of Terry's thrusts. The sheer nylon nightie clung to his flushed skin, its double layers doing nothing to conceal the mess of arousal and humiliation beneath. A drop of sweat slid from his temple onto the embroidered duckling of his crib bumper, the fabric darkening where it landed.

The nursery mobile spun lazily overhead, its pastel animals casting grotesque shadows across Georgina's tear-streaked cheeks. He imagined Terry's hands—those thick-fingered, calloused things that could palm a basketball—digging into Sue's hips hard enough to leave bruises tomorrow. The thought made his caged erection pulse, a pathetic dribble of precum soaking into the nappy. The plastic pants amplified every shift of his legs, each movement sending the satin knickers' lace frills skimming over his hypersensitive skin.

A particularly loud cry from Sue pierced through the monitor's static—half-sob, half-laugh—followed by Terry's growled "Christ, you're tight." Georgina whimpered, his fingers twisting in the satin-edged crib sheet until the delicate fabric threatened to tear. The knickers' waistband dug into his soft belly, the tiny bow now thoroughly ruined from his thrashing. He could smell himself beneath the cloying lavender powder—the sharp musk of his own frustration mingling with the sour tang of sweat-soaked plastic.

Georgina's pinky toe curled against the satin-lined crib bumper as another muffled moan crackled through the baby monitor. The sheer nylon nightie clung to his trembling thighs, the double layers doing nothing to conceal the pathetic tenting of his fluffy nappy beneath the crinkling plastic pants. Each shallow breath made the semi-clear plastic whisper obscenely, amplifying the damp rustle of the thick cotton diaper beneath.

The frilly knickers—those adorable satin things with their open lace frills—had ridden up again, the delicate pink bow at the waist now twisted sideways from his squirming. Georgina could feel every thread of lace against his hairless inner thighs, each flutter of fabric sending jolts through his caged erection. Three inches. That's all he could manage, even at his most desperate—a humiliating nub straining against the heart-shaped lock of his chastity device.