Diary of a Sissy Baby (NSFW 18 +)
***Disclaimer*** The people depicted in this story are consenting adults over the age of 18. If you are not 18 or older CLICK AWAY NOW.
My eyes crack open and squint in the sudden light. The muggy fog of sleep smothers my thoughts and for a moment I forget where I am. I let out a yawn and rub my eyes before opening them fully. Reality crashes down on me in a soft pink wave. I’m lying in my crib, staring out at the room my Mommy had turned into a nursery. I look out through large wooden bars sized to make adults feel small and prevent escape. The walls are white with flowers and rainbows painted across their face. A mobile with baby animals rotates above my head. A large changing table stands against the far wall opposite me. I feel a pang of longing in my cock mixed with a feeling of utter frustration as I look at it. The table reminds me of the gentle torment I’ve suffered at the soft hands of my beautiful caretaker. I can hear her singing in the other room, just loud enough for a muffled serenade to make it through the door.
I sit up, crinkling loudly. The outfit Mommy picked for me today is nothing less than utterly emasculating, which is to say normal. Around my neck is a silken pink collar. A small metal ring hangs from the front, allowing easy linkage to the oft-used delicate metal leash Mommy bought last Valentine’s. A baby yellow onesie with frilled cuffs at the upper arm hugs my skin. The snap bottom crotch presses tightly against the pink, locking plastic pants covering my diapers. I wince and shift uncomfortably. I’m wet again. Not enough to warrant a change. Just enough to make me painfully aware of the shame drooping between my legs. The ever present triple thick layering and plastic cover make changes a hard-earned privilege. It couldn’t have been more than a few hours since I passed out, but with my weakened bladder the sodden result is hardly surprising. I haven’t had a dry night in months. I’ve honestly just given up at this point. I’m sure that little bit of news would make Mommy, if I ever tell her. Trapped in my crib with only my thoughts and a soggy bottom, I let out a sigh of resignation and reach for the first of many crayons.
I’m not sure how to begin this. Should I start from the beginning of my life, and work forward one fortunate mistake after another? Ugh, I’m getting a headache just thinking about putting all that nonsense into words. I guess I’ll start with an introduction. My name is… or I suppose was, Chris. My new name is Chrissie, which leads to the next “interesting” (if you want to give it such a gentrified description) point about me. I’m currently what’s known in the fetish world as an adult baby. A sissy baby, to be specific. That’s right. Diapers, bottles, dolls, frills, and pink, so much fu- err fricking pink. By the way, as a disclaimer to anyone interested, who Mommy assured me existed, I have permission to use adult words when describing the more… exciting bits of this story, despite my infantile status. Sissy babies don’t curse after all… unless Mommy gives them permission, because of course her word trumps everything.
Believe it or not, I used to be “normal”. Vanilla sex, a stable job, bathroom privileges, all of it was within my reach. I… I was the never the most assertive man, but I don’t know how she pushed me this far. A sissy baby lifestyle doesn’t offer much in the way of recreation. Sure, there’s dolls, learning numbers and letters… hell even the odd rattle or two, but anyone stuck in my position will tell you it gets old after the first few days. Any more… physical ways of passing the time just make the aftermath seem even longer and the relief is short lived. Mommy sees to that.
We met normally enough through a dating app, years ago, back when I was in control of my own bladder and wardrobe. I was young back then, and Sarah was gorgeous. Long silky legs with glossy almond hair and a pair of mouthwatering breasts that could turn a circle straight. To top it all off she had a sleight height advantage over me. An advantage only accentuated by the many pairs of high rise heels she’s worn over the years. I’ve always been attracted to women taller than me. In retrospect that was probably the first sign of my submissive side. I wasn’t bad myself back then, according to Mommy. I went to the gym regularly and was in decent shape. When I say, “decent shape”, I don’t mean anything so overt as rippling biceps or a taut set of cum gutters (apparently it’s something people call abs, if you didn’t know), but I was fit. My body doesn’t really fit the more “masculine” archetype, like broad shoulders, square jaw, taller… etc. I guess if one were to throw around labels I’d be classified under the “twink” category. Short, slender, fair skin, roughly 120 lbs… that kind of thing.
I took her to a local sushi restaurant on our first date after which we went bowling. I somehow managed to avoid making a fool of myself during and she graced me with another, and another, and another. Before I knew it we were madly in love. We fucked like rabbits back then, running our hands over each other’s bodies, caressing every crevice and exploring every taste the other had to offer. Those were wonderful times. And then I went and pissed the bed, literally. I don’t remember much but I apparently had a bit too much to drink. I woke up the next morning with Sarah gently tapping me awake, agonizing concern written on her face. Agonizing for me that is. It’s a special kind of humiliating to wake up wet as an adult man. The feeling is even worse when it happens in the same bed as your miracle girlfriend.
The door creaks open, and I look up from my scribbling. Sarah’s face peeks through the crack and her expression lights up with affection. The rest of her follows shortly and she dances over to me. She’s wearing a thin, dark blue nightie that ends just below her navel. A pair of racy panties in the same color trimmed with black lace cover her womanhood and a perilous triangle of space between on her bottom. She leans over the railing and traces small circles across my plastic panties with one delicate nail. “Wakey-Wakey Chrissie baby. Did Mommy’s snookums have a nice nappy-poo?”
Her breasts hang perilously close overhead. My eyes are drawn to the tantalizing valley between her curving mounds and my mouth waters. I swallow loudly and feel my manhood stir in its stainless steel prison. Such devices were one of the first changes in our relationship. Baby girls didn’t need erections after all, and it curbed my “nasty little habit” of personal amusement without permission. Much like my self-autonomy, they’ve gotten smaller over the years. My current captor is barely a half inch in length and reduces me to a mere nub. Sarah loves it.
I let out an excited gurgle and smile winningly, hoping my behavior will earn me some relief. Sarah’s eyes crinkle with laughter and she leans further down. “Aww, how cute are you?”
I gasp as her devilish fingers find their way to my chest and begin to toy with my nipples. It’s amazing what months without access to your manhood does to your overall sensitivity. It doesn’t take long before I’m writhing on the sheets, trying to escape her torment while my frustration leaks out in a steady stream of sticky, unmet need. “Ooh, is my widdle guwl hungwy,” she coos, playfully batting away my questing hands. “Poor baby, we better get some food in her tummy, stat!” She pulls back a second later, leaving me red faced and breathing hard.
“Oh? Let’s see how my little angel has been doing.” She picks up the drowned-in-glitter, glossy pink notebook next to me. The cover flips open and her eyes light up with excitement. “Oh my, baby. There’s an awful lot of big adult words in here. Aren’t you a smart little thing?”
I watch in obedient silence as she skims over the few written pages and her legs begin to fidget and rub against one another. I hear her breaths growing heavier and wish more than ever that I could tear off my infantile mantle and have my way with my clearly aroused wife. To feel the smooth skin of her legs gliding against me, faces locked in a passionate kiss as hand- the fantasy puffs out as a hot gush of pee soaks into the thirsty expanse of my diapers. I didn’t feel a thing.
A moment later Sarah sets the diary down on my lap and lowers the railing. I swing my legs over the side of the mattress and wait expectantly as she leashes me before gently guiding me to my hands and knees. She stands back up, leaving me staring up at her with my ridiculously swollen backside sticking out.
“I want you to write lots and lots more for Mommy, ok?” Her eyes twinkle mischievously and she bites her lip. “If you do a good job, you just might get a reward.”
I wasn’t going to let a golden opportunity like that pass me by. “Yeth, Mummy, I wite wots n wots,” I lisped happily. Thoughts of the potential favors I might earn flashed through my head. God, I might even get to have a proper erection!
She gives the collar a tug. “Now, let’s go fill up that tum tum.”