by Meeah soo
Chapter 1: Changing me
"It wasn't difficult at all to turn him into this." That is Wendy talking to her friend Steff. She is talking about me. I am sitting on the floor in my dipey, legs splayed out in front of me, coloring in my favorite Looney Tunes coloring book. My brown hair is parted in the middle and braided in pink-ribboned pigtails and I am wearing a short Hello Kitty t-shirt that shows off my plump little "milk belly."
I used to be Wendy's husband.
That seems a hundred years ago. Now I've been reduced to the status of a sissy baby. How did this happen to me?
I'm still not sure.
"One day, I was looking through some boxes in the basement for some old papers and I came across his stash of girly things," Wendy says, telling Steff the story of my transformation. "He was so embarrassed, the poor thing. He tried to say they must have belonged to an old forgotten girlfriend of his, but he was blushing so femmy pink and stammering so badly it was obvious he was lying."
Even now hearing Wendy tell the story makes me a little uncomfortable. I put my thumb in my mouth and suck.
Steff laughs. She used to work in our office before she got a job in Connecticut. She crosses her nylon-covered legs. She's wearing a soft skirt and black leather boots. I mostly notice people from the knee down nowadays. Wendy's legs are bare and she's wearing sandals. Her toenails are painted bright red.
"What did you do?" Steff asks.
"I told him I wouldn't be upset if he just told the truth. It didn't take much coaxing. Deep down, I guess he really wanted to tell me. It was quite sweet, actually. Poor dear had been hiding his crossdressing all his life."
It was true. I had wanted to tell her, but I hardly knew how. Getting caught as I had provided a kind of opening. Wendy made me lie beside her on the bed and tell her everything. When I was finished, breathless and teary-eyed, she calmly told me to strip and put on my favorite panties and nightie. I did as she said, going to the stash of girl-things she'd discovered and picking out a white satin nightie and pink lace panties. When I got back to the bed I was already growing hard inside the tiny panties.
"He'd never been much of a lover," Wendy says. "He'd get these little on-and-off again erections. But at least now I understood why. I told him to masturbate himself for me. It really didn't do anything for me, but it was kind of amusing, kind of cute watching him cum like a chick into his lace panties. That's when I got the idea to make him my little girl."
I didn't need to hear Wendy retell this part of the story to Steff. I remember so well that first time, lying on my back, nightie hiked up over my thighs. I had my hand inside my panties as Wendy watched, encouraging me. I masturbated myself like I'd seen girls do, flicking my little stiffie with my fingertips. Wendy seemed to watch with genuine interest as I came close to cumming. She reached down and stroked my nipples through the satin nightie. I arched my body off the bed, supported only by my shoulders and heels, my fingers flicking the underside of my lace-encased cock.
"Cum Misha cum for mommy," Wendy cooed, "cum my little girl…"
Oh how did she know, I wonderered. How? And then all my thought were chased away by her fingers squeezing my nipple and I moaned and soaked my panties with a warm gooey cummy…
Chapter 2: Little boy lost
"Everything changed after that day," Wendy says. "He didn't know it at first. I suspect he just thought things would go on as usual. As if finding out your husband was a sissy were something a woman would just accept as normal!"
Steff and Wendy shared a laugh.
"Well," Wendy continued, "he was certainly wrong."
I'd thought after that first time Wendy was pretty cool with the idea of my crossdressing. She encouraged me to dress-up for her on the nights we had sex. I'd pretty much always kept my body hairless, but on sex nights I'd take a long shower, during which I'd use a cream dipilatory, and make sure I was extra-smooth all over. I'd wash my already longish hair, pull it back from my face, and apply a little lipstick. Then I'd slip on one of the panty-nightie sets that Wendy had chosen for me.
"He thought I got off looking at him mincing around like a little french whore," Wendy snickered as she recounted one of the nights she had me wear a black garter, black seamed stockings, a half-bra, and a frilly white apron with matching cap. "I had him kneel on the floor in front of me and eat me out. He'd gotten to be quite good at oral by then. He'd lick my pussy for 45 minutes at a time…as long as I wanted. I didn't let him touch me with that useless little ding-a-ling of his."
It was hard, at first, not being allowed to have regular sex with Wendy anymore. I guess I figured it was a temporary thing, that she just needed to get used to the idea that her husband was a sissy. After all, it was probably a big adjustment for any woman to make. But as the weeks went by and she showed no interest in me that way anymore I tried to come to grips with the reality of the situation.
I couldn't really complain. Wendy had never seemed that satisfied with intercourse with me anyway, and if she could make some sacrifices to accommodate me, I could certainly do the same for her.
"It took me awhile to understand what he was thinking," Wendy says, "and then I realized…he thought I didn't like being fucked."
This time Steff and Wendy laugh a long time. I suck my thumb harder and color in a Tweety Bird with a purple crayon, trying hard to stay inside the lines. I'm so clumsy and uncoordinated lately. I feel my eyes sting with tears.
"By then, I'd been carrying on with Greg for nearly a month and it was time to do something with Mark. So I decided to step things up a little. I told him that I didn't mind him dressing as a girl, but I'd like it if he would let me dress him up as a baby girl."
"He went for that?" Steff asks.
"Well he seemed kinda uncertain at first, but what could he say? If I could accept his kink it was only reasonable that he accept mine. Besides, it wasn't that much of a stretch and I had ways of motivating him."
At first, I couldn't believe Wendy really wanted me to be her baby. But when she came home one day with a package of diapers and helped me into one, I realized that she was dead serious. I put on a babydoll nightie and a pair of white mules that matched my silver toenail polish. My diapered bottom was exposed beneath the short nightie and it made me waddle a bit, especially on the high-heeled mules. Wendy seemed really pleased. She had me walk around for her and then lie on the bed. She straddled my face and had me lick her to two orgasms. Then she let me suck her breast while she masturbated me through the diaper.
"What I did was condition him," Wendy says. She slipped off one of her sandals and flexed her pretty white toes. "I poured some warm tea onto the front of his diaper to make it wet. Then I jerked him off through the sopping material. I made him talk baby-talk if he wanted to cum. If he did a good job, I'd rub faster. I'd make him babble away incoherently for 30, 40 minutes. Sometimes it was an hour before I let him cum. It did wonders to break down his defenses. He came to associate pleasure with a wet dipey and acting like a baby."
Listening to my ex-wife explain it now, it all seems so obvious, even to my simplified mind. How could I have not noticed it before? I dimly perceive the growing warmth spreading under my bottom. I'm peeing.
Chapter 3: An all-new girl
"Well after that," Wendy is saying, "it was all pretty easy. I started feeding him the tea before he put on the diaper and nightie and we'd go to bed and I'd wet his diaper as before. Only now when he had to go use the bathroom, I'd just have him pee into the diaper."
"Whooa," Steff says, crossing her legs, and I see the wool skirt slide up her stockinged thighs. She doesn't even bother to pull it down to cover her pantied crotch. And I'm reminded why. I'm just a baby, a sissy, not a man. What difference does it make if I see? "That must have been a big step."
"At first, he was reluctant, but I simply used the conditioning he'd already undergone against him. It was simple: no pee-pee, no pleasure. Until his dipey was soaked with pee, I wouldn't touch him. And if he wanted to cum…nothing but babytalk. It worked like a charm."
It was just as she said. Once she got me to start peeing myself and talking babytalk for orgasms, I found any resistance to her plans that I might have had crumbling all around me. She made it all seem so inevitable. Besides, she really seemed to like me as her baby girl. I got used to wearing the diapers all the time and even wore them under my work clothes. I thought they gave my butt an extra puffy look in my pants and I was sure that anyone within earshot could hear the crinkle of the diapers as I walked passed, but Wendy said I was letting my imagination run away with me.
Meanwhile, the diapers would force me to use the bathroom stall to sit down and pee. No way could I stand at a urinal and take the risk of someone seeing me try to pull my penis out from the diaper. Eventually, though, I didn't have to worry about the inconvenience.
"You mean you had him pissing himself at work?" Steff says astonished, "You gotta be kidding me!"
But it was true. During the day, Wendy would come to my office, shut the door, and reach into my pants to check if I were wet. At first I held it back, but eventually I realized there was no choice. She wanted me to pee myself and I did. The first time she changed me at the office I felt terrified. She had me lay across my desk with my pants around my ankles and unsnapped my wet diaper. I felt so exposed and defenseless; the air conditioning chilling my damp bare ass.
What if someone came in?
It seemed to take forever but Wendy eventually slid a fresh diaper underneath me, powdered my ass, and fit the tabs snugly around my waist. She patted me on my padded fanny.
"That should hold my little baby," she cooed, "for a little while anyway."
All day long she had me drinking tea and water and fruit juices. If I wet myself, I had to send her an email and ask her to change me. Towards the end, she had to change me up to six times a day. She had me keep the diapers and baby powder in the lower left-hand drawer of my desk. She wouldn't even let me lock it.
"And the whole time you were seeing Greg right down the hall?"
"Yes," Wendy says. "I'd change my little baby and get him all comfy and dry and then Greg and I would take a 3-hour lunch at Midtown Hotel. By the time I came back, my pussy filled with Greg's cum, poor little Misha was sitting in piss-soaked dipeys again."
They laugh at me and I can't help it: I just start crying. It happens so suddenly I hardly know what I'm doing and it scares me and I cry even harder. Wendy shooshes me.
"Oh poor baby," she coos through kissy-lips that I never get to kiss anymore, "poor poor Misha baby wanna baba?"
She hands me my pink baba and I hold the rubber nipple to my lips and suck. The pink milky mixture is sweet and warm. I close my eyes and scrunch up my toes. I always feel much better when I take my baba. I've heard Wendy say that there's some kind of sedative in the formula; that's what she says now to Steff. I don't care. I feel much, much calmer…almost happy. I get sleepy. I stop crying. They continue their conversation now that I'm no longer fussing. I burp contentedly.
Chapter 4: The perfect nanny
"Did you tell, Greg, what you were doing to him?" Steff asks.
"Of course," I hear my ex-wife say. "He needed to know that Misha wasn't any threat, that he wasn't even a man."
"Wow, what did he say when he found out?"
"Oh he thought it was just hilarious. The idea that any man would let what I was doing to Mark happen to him…well, let's just say that it made everything perfectly clear: Mark wasn't any kind of man at all. I mean there Greg and I were going at it virtually right under his nose, and the adorable little nitwit was sitting around in a wet diaper waiting for me to change him."
"How cute," Steff says, and it almost sounds as if she means it. "He…I mean she…really is a sweetie."
I only dimly remember the time Wendy is describing now: seeing her pass by my door on her way to Greg's office almost constantly, listening to their laughter out in the hall, hearing the office gossip about their affair. Everyone looked at me as if they felt sorry for me. When I asked Wendy what was going on, she told me to stop "fussing" and be a good girl. She'd reach into my pants…or under my nightie or skirt if we were home…and check to see if I were wet. Usually I was and somehow the knowing look on her face embarrassed me and ended the conversation right then and there.
"And then a stroke of luck…" Wendy continues. "The cleaning lady found Mark's stash of diapers in the bottom drawer of his desk. He came to my office one morning in a state of total panic with a note from Juanita, that's her name. It was clear that she intended to harrass him, maybe blackmail him for money…"
"Damn, what did you do?"
"I told Mark not to worry. We'd both stay after work and I'd handle it."
This part of the story I remember much better. I couldn't understand how Wendy could be so calm when it seemed I was about to be exposed for the babygirl sissy I'd become. I sat in my office as the clock moved towards 6 pm. The floor was nearly empty and Wendy breezed into my office and sat down going over some papers. I could hear the cleaning lady emptying the trash cans of the offices further down the hall. My heart was pounding. I couldn't talk.
"I told him to relax," Wendy laughed. "And when Juanita came to the office she was surprised to find both of us sitting there. She looked from Mark to me and I could see she understood the situation instantly. She smiled and winked at me and I knew we'd come to an understanding then and there. 'Her name is Misha,' I said. And then I turned to Mark and said, 'come here sweetie pie and let momma check if you're wet."
"No way!" Steff said, stroking her nylon-encased calves. "He didn't."
"What choice did my little sissykins have? Of course he did."
And it's true, I did. Of course, I was so nervous by that time that my diaper had soaked nearly through. They didn't even bother to close the office door. What if someone working late came walking passed? Wendy had me lie over my desk and changed me right in front of the cleaning lady. She let me lie there a long time, her hand on my damp ass while they talked. I was blushing all over I was so ashamed. I could just make out what Wendy was doing over the rush of blood in my ears. She was hiring the cleaning lady as my nanny.
"She's been such a godsend. Greg and I were out most nights by then to all hours, and sometimes I'd sleep over at his place. Now, with both of us working, I really needed someone to look after Misha. Well, Juanita turned out to be the perfect nanny: strict and discrete. I don't know what I'd do without her. She's a live-in, but she has this afternoon off. You'll meet her eventually. Wonderful nanny."
"He didn't complain at being turned over to another woman? Letting someone else see him like that?"
"What was he going to say?" Wendy says cooly. "He really had no choice in the matter. Besides, Juanita has some experience as a dominatrix, so she knows how to handle disobedience. Not that my precious baby angel is much trouble at all, are you snookums? No, by that time, I'd pretty much stopped touching him at all in a sexual way. So if he wanted to have his precious little cummies, he had to let Juanita do it for him."
It was true. By now Wendy had all but stopped doing anything sexual with me on a regular basis. She understood that I still needed my regular "rerogramming" sessions. But that was now my nanny's job. So while Wendy continued her affair with Greg—hardly even keeping it a secret any longer—nanny tended to me. I dressed in my frilly things and nanny fed me my bottle and spooned me babyfood out of jars. Yes, I was now eating nothing more solid than fruit sauces and strained meats and vegetables. Nanny would feed me while watching tv, rock me against her perfumed bosom when I was done, and pat me until I burped.
She would set me on the floor sucking on my pacifier or to play with my plastic key-ring or to color in my coloring book. I guess whatever was in my baba and food helped keep me placid and happy. Everyone always said what a good baby I am. Sometimes nanny would paint my nails or do my hair. Once she painted my toenails each a different color. That night when Wendy came home she was delighted with my pretty candy-colored toes and I felt so happy that she was pleased.
At the same time I was being reverse potty trained which meant that I was slowly losing all my toilet privileges. Although I still tried to hold it in, I had taken to having little "accidents" and pooping my dipey pretty regularly. I was so ashamed and afraid when this first started happening but nanny seemed delighted. She always made it a point to keep my soiled dipey to show Wendy when she got home. No matter how tired my wife was she seemed thrilled to see the wet shit at the bottom of the diaper. On those nights before nanny put me down to sleep, Wendy would help me have my cummy herself. I found myself having poopy accidents more and more often.
"He was ready by then," Wendy says, "ready to be Misha fulltime and forever. The last step in the transformation was to introduce him to his new position in our little family once and for all. That meant bringing Greg over."
"Oh yes," Steff said, clapping. "Tell me all about that. I've got to hear how that went!"
Wendy interrupted her story to glance down at me. "Whatsa matter?" she said, talking in her singsong baby-talking-tone that made me feel better in spite of myself. She touched my damp crotch with the tips of her luscious toes. "Did baby make wet again? Awwww, its okay sweetie."
She stroked my soft and soggy little pee-pee with her soft bare toes. Then Wendy slipped her pretty foot back into her sandal, reaching down to fix the strap around her ankle. She looked back up at Steff and grinned, "You're just going to love this part of the story."
Chapter 5: Daddy's home, or the moment of truth
"I decided not to give him any warning. I figured he had to be a fool not to know I was fucking Greg by now. I was getting dressed for a date and had called Juanita over early to tend to Misha. The whole thing was a set-up. The little darling never suspected a thing."
Hearing Wendy talk about my cuckolding now makes it hurt all over again. But I guess it doesn't hurt quite as much as it used to. The memory has started to fade away, like so many other memories, such as what it was like to be Wendy's husband or even what it was like to be a man. Sometimes when she tells someone the story it almost sounds like she's talking about someone else. I feel a little sorry for the guy called Mark and then I realize with a dulled shock that Mark used to be me.
"Juanita came over and got Misha settled in front of the tv with a fresh diaper and a baba just like she always did. My sweetpea was watching cartoons and coloring in one of his coloring books when Greg arrived."
Steff leaned forward, "So Greg just showed up? What did Mark do?"
Wendy laughed. "He didn't do anything, of course. Did you sweetums?"
It was true. I was so shocked to see Greg standing in the doorway of the "playroom" that I lapsed into a kind of impotent stupor. I just stared up at the tall, broad-shouldered, and ruggedly-handsome man staring down at me. My beautiful wife was having an affair with this man and there was nothing I could think to do about it. I could only imagine what he was thinking, hands thrust into the pockets of his chinos, a bemused expression on his face. There I was, his "rival" for Wendy's affections, sitting on the floor at his polished shoes wearing a diaper and no shoes of my own, just pink paint on my toenails, and holding a baby bottle in my painted fingers.
At that moment, Wendy came to the doorway, stood on tiptoe, and gave Greg an all-too- familiar kiss on the mouth. My heart sank. She was dressed in a tight black cocktail dress and the leather pump sandals I loved.
"Whoaa," Greg said, getting a look at Wendy. "Now don't you look good enough to eat."
He slipped his arm around my wife's petite waist and pulled her in close. The kiss he gave her was nothing less than x-rated. When it was over, the two of them looked down at where I sat, tears pooling in my eyes.
"So this is the baby," Greg said, with more than a touch of sarcasm. "Cute little thing, isn't she?" He squatted down and looked at the picture I was coloring: a farm scene with some lambs. "Oh that's a very nice picture you're coloring Misha. When you're done, can Uncle Greg have it to put on my wall at work?"
My wife's boyfriend grinned.
"Oh what a wonderful idea," Wendy clapped. "Oh of course Misha would love for you to have her picture, wouldn't you dear?"
I simply sat there, eyes big as saucers, saying nothing, and looking at Greg like he was an apparition from another dimension. He looked so big and strong and powerful. I couldn't help but wonder what Wendy ever saw in me in the first place. At the same time, everything inside me was screaming at me to stand up, to say something, to do something. This man was here to steal my wife away from me. And I was letting it happen!
"He didn't make any objection at all?" Steff couldn't believe it.
"Not a peep," Wendy said. "What could he possibly have said at that point that would make any difference whatsoever?"
It seemed to me that everything was going on around me without me having to do or say anything at all. Wendy started giving instructions to Juanita about when to feed me and put me down for the night and telling her the names and numbers of the restaurant and club they were going to be at. It was all a barely intelligible hum to me. At one point, I realized that all three of them were waiting for me to do something, but I couldn't imagine what. I didn't dare to look up but I could sense them looking down at me and feel their sense of expectation.
Wendy spoke first. She sounded annoyed. "What's the matter with him anyway?" she said to Juanita. "I thought you gave him something to help him along?"
I realized then what the chalky-tasting strawberry-flavored stuff was. Nanny was growing impatient and I knew I was making her look bad. But I couldn't help it. I couldn't let this happen to me: I just couldn't make a poopy in front of Greg.
But I couldn't fight against what had already happened. And I didn't even try to resist as nanny slid her hand down the back of my dipey and thrust her finger up my fanny. I squirmed a little as she wriggled her finger round inside me. Greg laughed at the humiliating treatment I was receiving. Nanny pulled the finger out from inside me and sniffed it. She seemed satisified.
"Not to worry," she announced with a self-satisfied air. "Misha poop soon."
Maybe it was her finger inside me that broke down my last resistance and loosened me up. Maybe it was just the working of the liquid now gurgling in my tummy. Maybe it was just the inevitability of it all…but I could feel my bottom lip tremble as the last of my resistance started giving way.
"Oh!" Wendy said, suddenly seeming excited, "I do believe you're right Juanita. Look at our little Misha's face, Greg dear…" She motioned behind her, "Get the camera. Hurry! Look at her adorable pout! You've got to get a picture of this! I want it for my screen saver at the office!"
"I've got the camera right here," Greg said, grinning, looking through the viewfinder. I could hear the hum of zoom of the lens. "Come on, honey," he coaxed me, "you can do it."
"Yes darling," Wendy chimed in, kneeling in front of me. She looked so sexy in that little black dress, her eyes shining. "It's all over now. Let it happen and its all finished and we can begin our new life. There's no choice. I'll have you no other way. Do it for mommy."
"Pweeze…" I squeaked involuntarily using my babytalk, like I always did now when I was upset or excited. "Pweeze momma…"
She leaned closer and I could smell her perfume, even the lipstick on her beautiful mouth. I was crying now, crying because I knew that those lips would never kiss mine again with sexual desire. I'd never be her lover again.
"It's over, honey. There's only one thing left for you to do for me and you know what it is. You know what momma wants. Now show her you're a good girl."
Did I even make a conscious choice at the end, or did my body just take over…or was it a combination of the two? A wet burbling sound was muffled inside my diaper and that was followed by a long soft poop that seemed to go on and on forever. It slowly filled my diaper with a strangely comforting warmth I'd soon come to crave in my baby-future. I sat there, stunned, mortified, speechless. I was sitting on a warm squishy lump. I smelled. Greg snapped pictures. Wendy stuck a binky in my open mouth and kissed me on a cheek wet with tears.
"Oh Misha, Im so proud of you. You did it, baby. You're finished."
And I knew she was right.
I was finished.
Chapter Six: And baby makes three
"How could he ever overcome that," Wendy asked Steff. "I mean, can you imagine him ever trying to act like a man again?"
"It's hard to imagine. I mean, you'd just have to laugh at him standing there in his diaper demanding to be taken seriously as a man!" Steff said.
And then, as if to prove their point, both she and Wendy laughed at the very thought.
It was true. If she'd had me castrated, Wendy could not have more effectively emasculated me than she had at the moment I dirtied my diaper in front of her new lover. How could I ever challenge Greg for Wendy's affections after my rival had seen me dressed as a diapered sissy and, weeping helplessly, shitting myself virtually at his feet? I could never live down the humiliation. I could never see myself as a man again: how could anyone else? I was psychologically castrated and there was nowhere for me to go but to accept my role in our new "family."
"The rest was a breeze," Wendy said. "He didn't put up any more resistance at all. I think the poor dear may even have had some kind of nervous breakdown. I guess it was the intense humiliation. He actually seemed to escape into infantilism. Under ordinary circumstances, that kind of delusion wouldn't have been healthy. But in this case, it was just what the doctor ordered, so to speak. Misha stopped talking at all, except, of course, to utter baby-talk. I think she may have actually lost the ability to speak. She stopped walking—after all, where is there she can walk to?—and contented herself to crawl or be carried. Mark will never go back to what he was, thank god. He'll never be a man again. So now it's a matter of building up his sense of worth as a sissy baby. We do everything we can to make him feel good about that, don't we pookums?"
Wendy leaned forward and ticked my belly.
"That's so sweet," Steff said, "I noticed that he's wet himself several times since we've been talking."
"Oh, it's true. Misha has no control over his bodily functions at all anymore. I guess I should change her."
"Would you mind if I did it?"
"Oh of course not. Would you? You don't mind?"
"Of course not. She's so cute and besides," Steff grinned, "I guess I could use the practice. I didn't get a chance to tell you. Scott and I are finally going to get that family we always wanted. I'm pregnant."
"Oh Steff," Wendy clapped her hands, "that's just wonderful."
The two women hugged.
"I'm so happy for you," my ex-wife gushed. "Maybe we can arrange a play-date, share babysitters. Funny, though, I was just thinking how your baby will grow up…and poor Misha here…"
The women dissolved in titters.
Steff slid off the couch and got down on her knees beside me. She matter-of-factly began changing me. Meanwhile, my ex-wife described how happy she was with our new living arrangement. Stef pulled the taped strips at the sides, lifted my knees, and slid the soaked diaper from under me.
"Aw, is the pwetty baby wet-wet," she cooed in baby-talk. "Aunt Steffi will take care of you precious."
She smiled down at me. I gurgled contentedly, sucking my baba. Wendy handed Steff my diaper bag and started describing her sex life with Greg.
"God, he's insatiable," my wife gushed. "I mean, we're talking porn-star sex. The guy is hung like a moose and he can last forever, but he doesn't have to go at me for more than a couple of minutes before Im exploding like Chinese New Year. It's like he's got a blueprint of all my hot buttons and he's memorized them all.
"The other day, well, its not been announced yet so please don't tell anyone, but Greg was promoted to senior vice president."
Steff looked up. She'd slid a fresh diaper under my bottom.
"Isn't that the promotion Mark wanted?"
"Yup. But I knew he wasn't up to the challenge. And look at him," Wendy chuckled, "I'd have to say I was right. Probably Mark knew it, too. So I guess you could say that I cleared the way for the better man. I made the right choice. When Greg got the word from old man Bogan, he called me into his office, which, by the way, used to be Marks, had me get on my knees and," Wendy blushed, "give him a contratulartory blow-job. Then he laid me out on Mark's old desk and fucked me so silly my leg were wobbly for three days after."
Steff laughed, "Oh," she said, looking back down, "Look at Misha's little clittie. It's stiffened all up!"
It was true.
The thought of Wendy's slender legs wrapped around Greg's waist, her pretty ankles crossed as he pounded his thick cock into her had me unmistakably aroused. Just like it always did.
"Aw, look at pookums," Steff blew kisses at me, "how adorable." She pushed my swollen little clittie to the side with her finger"
Wendy laughed. "Oh she fusses something terrible when she's in that state."
"Does the pwetty baby-waby want Aunt Steffi to take care of that for her?"
I whimpered with frustration.
Steff snickered. She pulled a baby wipe out of the diaper bag. Meanwhile, Wendy placed the heel of her sandal against my lips for me to suckle. I took the slender leather pacifier into my mouth and began sucking. I heard Wendy describing how I'd benefit from Greg's mega-promotion after all. They'd already drawn up plans for a new nursery next to their bedroom…
Between the scent of Wendy's pretty foot encased in the sexy leather sandal and Steffi's hand on my clittie, I came quickly into the baby wipe. Steff finished cleaning me up and taped up my fresh diaper. She put my baba back in my hand and I sucked, contented, at the drugged formula as she leaned forward and placed a light kiss on my forehead.
"Oh I think Greg is home," I hear Wendy exclaim, all girlish excitement.
Her sandals click-clack across the floor and she's in his arms, kissing him passionately. I'm aware of all this through the haze I seem to exist in almost all the time now. It's all so far away, like adulthood, like my old life. Somewhere…somewhere above me they are talking—Wendy, Aunt Steffi, and Daddy—talking about adult things I don't understand anymore and a warm oddly comforting feeling spreads across the front of my diaper. Strong hands pick me up and my thin useless legs dangle, my soft feet hang far off the floor. My head lies against a broad shoulder…
"Mommy will come up later precious," Daddy says…
Greg, I mean, no daddy.
And mommy, later…no Wendy…mommy…the tape is playing, my lullaby tape, and I'm lying on my back in the crib…mommy, mommy, mommy, and the warmth spreads again across the front of my diaper…and I'm never growing up…and i'm crying and someone is changing me…
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