A Sissy's Progress - Chapter Eleven

She's here, at last!

Perhaps I really am becoming her mindless infant. Perhaps this irrational euphoria at the sight of my smiling Mommy who is also my captor and tormenter is a sign that I'm cracking, that I'm finally slipping down the rabbit hole. Stockholm syndrome is a real thing, you know.

But you see, I was worried that she wouldn't come for me. And she is my only way out of this crib. She is the one who holds the keys to my liberty, my sodden diapers, my cage. So of course it's natural, isn't it, that my heart leaps upward when I hear her step in the hallway. And even though, when I glance up to find her proffering not lunch or a change, but yet another bottle, I can't be too mad at her.

Because she knows what's best for me. She's in charge, and I'm not. She's my Mommy.

"Gulp it all down, honey," she commands, thrusting the massive bottle into my hands—and of course I obey. "My clever little baby told me he wanted his num-nums, but it's really not time yet! So Mommy thinks there's nothing better for her little sissy baby than another great big bottle of apple juice..."

Oh, yes. Nothing better. Nothing better than a liter of apple juice to fill her little sissy baby's bloated tummy, to drain into his bladder and strain his swollen diapers to the leaking point, to stimulate his digestion and get his bowels busily churning...

Mommy really does know best, I muse. And so I begin sketching out the next chapter of my sissy saga even as I continue to gulp.

***

Have you ever given in to a temptation, not because you think it's the right thing to do, but knowing full well that it's a terrible idea? Have you ever thought to yourself that the pleasure you stand to gain in the current moment is worth any sort of future price?

Yeah, I did. Not just once, either.

Oh, I'm not referring to my steamy little affair with Julie, though heaven knows that that meets the description perfectly. No, I'm talking about that first day when I, with dry mouth and thumping heart, and unwilling to bear any longer the weight and frustration of my unyielding cage, meekly asked my wife to remove it in exchange for a diaper. I'm talking about that first morning I pulled up my dress pants and headed off to work, crinkling imperceptibly all the way.

To her credit, my wife was true to her word and gladly obliged. As she put it, it was either a cage to keep me from straying and training pants to catch my dribbles, or a diaper to do both. And at least on that first day, she honestly didn't seem to care too much which I chose. Just so long as she knew I wasn't sallying out there free to fall for the next specimen of femininity that caught my eye...

At least when it came to the diaper, I'd had a little bit of practice.

I'd been such a bundle of nerves that first Saturday, when we headed out shopping and then took a nature hike afterward. I'd become a little more resigned to the basic idea of diapers, at least in the bedroom. But I was still petrified by the idea of wearing one of those abominable diapers in public. Everyone would see, everyone would notice. Everyone and their cousin would hear, and stare in horror, and know that here was a man who, unique in the entire universe, was actually wearing an over-sized baby diaper.

Yeah. Not a single soul noticed.

I should have known, thanks to my experience with training pants at the office. Nobody's going around ogling other folks' rears - or if they are, they're too ashamed to admit it. No uniformed Pants Police are striding through crowds monitoring the decibels of everyone's clothes, alert to the tell-tale crinkle that will give away a diaper-wearer's shameful secret. Hell, most folks are so busy looking at their phones nowadays that they're doing well not to walk into poles and fire hydrants.

And so it was that only two days later, I plucked up the hormone-fueled courage to exchange my cage for a diaper, just so I could be free for a day.

It wouldn't be a big deal, I kept telling myself all the way there. Sure, I'd promised Erica that I wouldn't take it off even once—and I fully intended to keep that promise, too, even if I did have to use it for its intended purpose. But as long as I steered clear of the coffee, I would only needed to take a leak once or twice the entire day. As for number twos? I could simply hold it. Sure, naturally the idea of actually pissing my pants in the office repulsed me. But as sex-starved as I was, somehow even the inevitable warm "accident" that gently flooded my hidden padding that first afternoon still didn't seem as bad as that infuriating pink cage. 

Because after all, without the cage I was also free to express other substances from my body.

God, it felt so liberating to slip into the bathroom stall that afternoon. I was still disgusted by the warm bulk around my cock and balls, but my overriding urge to pleasure myself simply couldn't wait any longer. I'm not proud of that moment, of course. It did make me feel pretty pervy, sitting there on the stool, stroking my clearly wet diaper and pleasuring myself into a shuddering orgasm - all while I was on the clock. But my boss never found out, and I got my fix, and all was well.

Or at least, until my other boss—Erica—noticed that evening.

"Honey, did you have yourself some sexy-time fun today?" She was helping me back into my cage, of course. I'd stripped the soiled garment off the moment I arrived back in the safety of our own bathroom, then stepped into a gloriously steamy shower to scrub myself clean. Oh, if only I could spend a little more time there, maybe have some more fun... But Erica was outside, waiting impatiently to cage her man once more.

"Why?" I tried to sound nonchalant behind my towel, as if I didn't fully get the question. But the woman had a sixth sense for lies. "Shane, I can tell. Your little friend here is limper than I've seen him in a long time." Click. And there I was, back in my little pink prison. "Wait." She straightened up, cocking her head quizzically. "Honey, did you actually cum in your pants today? In your diaper?"

Of course I tried to deny it, but it came out in the end. Well, I guessed I had. It was nice to be free, you know. I'd gotten a bit bored while my code was compiling, and... She didn't mind, right? Please?

By now even I was wincing at the sound of my own groveling.

"Hmm..." Erica reflected as I pulled on my faded blue sweat pants. "I mean, I don't know. I'd rather you have sexy times only with me, honey..." But then her expression brightened. "Tell you what? As long as we can figure out a way to make sure you do it only in your diaper, I'm willing to let it go. I just can't have you taking it off and whipping it out, you know..."

Yes, I knew. I accepted her compromise, too: "just a bit of tape" around the waist of my diaper to make sure I didn't remove it. And in the end, I suppose we both felt like we'd gained something. I'd gained back the right to my own orgasms, albeit in a rather restricted sense. And she had gained a husband who was now actively invested in wearing and using the humiliating padding she'd gotten for him...