A Sissy's Progress - Chapter Eighteen

"Hi there, baby. You've been doing so well!"

Mommy is entering my nursery now, a broad smile on her face. I sit up with a start from my meditation on my previous sentences, surprised to find her here in my nursery already. It's not time for supper already, surely? "My little sissy's been working so hard, yes he has! Now why don't you let Mommy bring you out for a change of scenery?"

Uh-oh.

Fortunately, this change of scenery doesn't seem to involve being thrust into the public eye quite in the way that playing in the yard might be. Instead, Mommy simply has me crawl after her to the kitchen, where now stands my high chair. "Up we go," she orders, and soon my squashy - but still only wet - ass is once again being buckled securely into place.

"I thought you might like to sit and watch Mommy as you write the next one," she smiles - and then produces an all-too familiar device. "But of course, we can't have our little baby getting thirsty, can we?" I sigh at the prospect, but submit passively as the feeding gag is affixed in my mouth. Resistance is useless, after all, and even whining generally earns me an extra half-liter of liquid.

Once the flow of dark liquid commences - a cloying mixture of grape, prune, and apple, to judge by the taste - she sets the laptop before me once more. "Write, sissy," she commands. "Show Mommy how sweet and clever you are!"

Gulp. Of course I will. Gulp. Not that I have a- Gulp- choice...

***

Well, what can I say? Erica had finally laid out her vision for me, or at least, enough of it to set me quaking in fear for my masculinity. She'd explained how she fully intended to take control, to ensure that I would have very little say in the running of the household and none at all in deciding affairs in the bedroom. She'd even explained that she planned to have me role-play as some sort of overgrown baby.

And despite all of that, I'd agreed to it.

The rationalizing began almost immediately. Why the hell would I have even dreamed of agreeing to such a thing? Well, you see, it wasn't actually giving up all control. I still had my job, you know. And I was still going about my business as usual in public, though the cage and diaper added a little extra anxiety. Erica had been a little tipsy that night, too. Surely she couldn't have really intended to take things too seriously. It was a new year's resolution, right? They were meant to be broken; I mean, the entire gym business model was predicated on the human tendency to not follow through on such commitments...

Yeah. I was getting better and better at lying to myself.

The first few changes came almost immediately. "Honey, I've decided that we're going to need better protection at night for you," she admonished over breakfast that bright, snow-crusted first day of the year. "Now I know Santa brought you those pretty plastic pants, and I'm sure they'll do great. But you were absolutely soaked this morning, and, well," she smiled almost apologetically, "Mommy simply can't have her little one making a wet spot on the nice expensive mattress."

There it was again, the mommy and little one talk. I opened my mouth to protest, but she coolly ignored it. "So I've already ordered a nice thick mattress protector for you, baby. It should be here tomorrow, okay?" Oh, shit- Not for real?! "Really? Like, a plastic sheet thing? For... for bedwetters?" She giggled and stood up from the table with her empty plate. "Of course, honey, that's exactly right! You do wake up in very wet pants, you know."

I flushed and remained silent, debating internally how much to push back on what sounded like an already-settled matter. "Now there's only one other thing," she called from the sink. "They didn't have one to fit the big bed - not exactly. And so..." She reappeared, and I could have sworn there was a twinkle in her eye as she spoke the next words. "I got one for the guest bed, baby. So... I guess that's going to be your new bed."

Now that was worth protesting. "Wha- Oh, come on- You mean I won't be sleeping-" "Nope, not with me," Erica returned evenly, looking me firmly in the eye. "Listen. I have zero need to sleep on a plastic sheet, baby, but you do - and you know that as well as I do. Or do I need to remind you again of exactly why that is?" I halted, blushing, as visions of Julie and my infidelity rose to greet me. "No, I thought not," Erica commented, patting my head maternally. "So be a good dear and don't whine about getting your very own bed now, okay?"

"Don't worry, Mommy will be sure to invite you into her bed for sexy playtime," she continued teasingly as I got to my feet. "And really, it only makes sense! After all, real babies aren't supposed to sleep with their mommies, are they?" "I'm not a baby," I muttered peevishly as I rinsed my cereal bowl. "Says the baby in his crinkly diaper," Erica jeered, smacking my padded behind vigorously. "Want to tell me again what a big boy you are, hmm?"

No, I actually didn't. Not when she put it like that.

***

The sheet, once it arrived, was everything I'd feared and more. The noise it made as we tucked it around the low twin bed we'd inherited from her parents was deafening, and not even the light blue flannel sheets and pastel comforters could entirely smother the din. Sitting on it honestly wasn't too bad, but as soon as one lay down on it, the soft rustle and crackle of vinyl beneath was unmistakable. It was now officially a bed made for bedwetters, and no one who saw or heard it would have doubted that in the slightest.

It was my new bed, and my new bedroom.

Oh, we didn't move quite everything of mine into the new room. It simply didn't make sense. But Erica was vocal in her enthusiasm to get the diapers and pajamas and plastic pants at least into the room "where they belonged," as she put it. And so it was that this bed also became the new place for my diaper changes, where Erica would help me into my diaper and pajamas every night, where I would wake and flood my diaper and scramble out of my crinkling bed to start a new - and hopefully more adult - day.

It was maybe a week after my shift to the new bedroom that it happened. We'd had a particularly heavy supper - a nice steak and potato dinner with lots of wine - and I'd slept like a brick despite the plastic sheet. Perhaps I'd finally started becoming accustomed to it, I couldn't really say. But what I can testify to is the odd sensation of waking that morning to find myself rested, refreshed, and curiously, having almost no need to relieve myself.

The reason lay in the cool, bloated bulk between my legs.

I'd wet the bed - or more correctly, my diaper. I hadn't done as had become customary: waking up, rolling over, and letting go because I knew I had no other choice. No, I'd literally emptied my bladder at some point during the night, in my sleep... and I hadn't the faintest memory of doing so. But unlike the last time - that time months before that had landed me in nighttime diapers in the first place - this time I hadn't even dreamed of toilets or bathrooms or even running water.

And then it happened again two nights later.

"Well, at least you were protected," Erica shrugged when I finally worked up the nerve to tell her. "I really don't see what the big deal is, baby. I mean, you used your diaper just like always, and you didn't leak. Makes no difference to me whether you go at midnight or 4 am or 8..."

Oh, but to me it did. "I'm just afraid I'm- you know, getting too used to them," I admitted, craning my neck up to watch as she pulled the final tapes in place. "I don't want to actually need them, you know..." "Honey, I don't think it's anything you need to worry about," Erica reassured me. "You've already done this exact same thing once before, remember? That was months ago. And listen: whether you wet awake or asleep, you're still staying in these nice thick diapers until I say otherwise. So just quit whining now and let's get you dressed for work..."

It was only when I was on my way out the door that I happened to catch a glimpse of her laptop screen, open to some random internet shopping site. I repeat: it was only a glimpse. But the pictures I saw on it would linger to disturb my dreams in the coming nights. For they were images of plastic pants similar to those I now wore every night, but... Lacy. And pink. And purple. And ruffled.

Good god, what fresh hell of humiliation was about to head my way?