A Sissy's Progress - Chapter Seven

Ouch.

Dammit, I shouldn't be writing smut when I'm caged like this. I wince and roll once more onto my back, grimacing behind my pacifier as my poor prick vainly tries to assert itself in its ever-present cage. It's hard not to get aroused when I think of the lovely times I've had with Erica—of how beautiful her naked body is, of how her tight wetness around me feels... But of course there's nothing to be done anymore. I'm just a caged sissy baby squatting here in my soggy diapers, and it's about as likely for me to find pleasure inside a woman as it is for the proverbial pig to fly.

But dicks don't really listen to logic, do they?

I feel another grumble in my stomach, a gurgling that reminds me that as embarrassing as it might be to sit here in my increasingly wet diapers, sooner or later there's a whole other level of shame coming my way.

The sunlight in the room is shifting now, and I wonder idly long it will be before lunch. Odd as it might sound, I am feeling hungry again. Oatmeal and juice may be bulky, but they also disappear from my stomach faster than the ordinary sort of breakfast other guys my age get to eat. Maybe Erica will let me have some kind of special treat for writing so much? Maybe something as decadent and grown up as... chocolate? A hamburger?

I might not be able to change much about my predicament. But I can at least do my best to make her happy—and that means writing another chapter.

So here we go!

***

You're starting to get a sense now of what my life was gradually becoming. Hell, even I could see what was going on, despite my naïveté, and I didn't like where it was heading. Erica had me by the balls - literally. She had me locked and caged, and I couldn't even pleasure myself in private to alleviate the smoldering urgency that had started to plague me night and day. I needed release badly - but I had no idea how to get it.

Persuasion didn't get me anywhere. Sweet-talking and emotional appeals didn't earn me anything more than a smile and a contemptuous remark of "Well, of course you'd say that, honey. You just want me to unlock you..." Not even gifts and offers to buy her shit softened her resolve—and let me tell you, when even that didn't work, I knew I was screwed. Or rather, the opposite.

My last resort—getting angry with her—fared worst of all. Unfortunately for me, it was only a week later that I discovered what nasty consequences my little temper tantrum had had...

I'd been at work all day, as usual. Just the normal daily grind, nothing special: deadlines, shifting project requirements, clients who never seemed to provide the right information. Yeah, we all get it. And I'd headed home through the insanity that is rush hour traffic, same as usual, ready for supper and a nice relaxing time in front of the TV. Oh, and maybe for another go at persuading Erica to let me have some fun, for the love of god.

Dammit, why did that ass of a disc jockey insist on playing the Rolling Stones? And that song in particular?

With Mick's hoarse yells of "I can't GET NO!" winding their earwormy way through my brain, I stepped into the house and found Erica waiting for me. "Hey, babe," she smiled, with what I only noticed later was a very suspicious twinkle in her eye. "How was work?" But it was only once I was headed into the bedroom with my briefcase that she called after my retreating back. "I gotcha something you might be interested in, honey..."

Oh, had she.

"What the hell is this?" I was staring down into my underwear drawer, my mind initially refusing to process what I was seeing. For crowding alongside my usual Calvin Kleins and Hanes were three neat stacks of strange-looking garments, white and blue and baby pink. If I hadn't known better, I would have said they were-

"I got you some new underwear, honey!" Erica had come up behind me and slipped her arms around me affectionately. "I know how you were having trouble with a bit of dribbling and leaking, you know. And well," she tittered quietly, "I felt a little bad. So here! Try one on, honey. They should help take care of that wet little problem of yours!"

I still remember the palpable shock that went through me as I held aloft the first pair of adult-sized training pants—there was simply no other term to describe them—in my trembling hands. "They're training pants?" I couldn't keep the disbelief from my voice. My wife had locked me in a cage that made me occasionally dribble, and then had the audacity to mock me by purchasing these humiliating things? Some of them were even pink, for fuck's sake...

"Oh, that's such a cute name for them!" Erica was giggling openly now, clearly relishing my astonishment. "Yeah, let's call them your training pants from now on, Shane. You know, the pants that you need when your wife is training you not to, oh, I don't know... fuck around with other women like a complete jackass!" Shit—right in my Achilles heel. My wife knew how badly I felt about that affair now, and she was taking full advantage of it at every turn.

"But, but-" I was still ready to push back at least a little on this absurdity. "Honey, did they really have to be pink?" I lifted a second pair distastefully from its stack, only to uncover beneath it a second pair festooned with lavender and pink flowers. "Calm down, honey," Erica chuckled, patting my back in a gesture that was almost maternal. "It's wasn't me, honest. They were cheaper as an eight-pair grab bag of assorted patterns. And well, excuse me for trying to save money here, mister..."

In the end... Well, the end was a foregone conclusion. She knew it, I knew it, and every reader of this story knows it by now, too.

So yes, I pulled down my Hanes, which already featured their own damp patch of incrimination. I winced as Erica gleefully pointed it out, reminding me that once I was safe in my training panties that wouldn't matter anymore. I cringed silently as I stepped into what I suspected would be only the first of many, many pairs of thickly padded training pants. And once I had pulled them up around my waist, even though they were softer and oddly more comfortable than any other briefs I could remember, I blushed and tugged as irritably at them as if they were cut from sackcloth and lined with sandpaper.

"Oh, stop it, honey," Erica smiled, patting the thick crotch of my new training pants. "I know you're going to love these once you get used to them. They're going to fix that whole dribbling problem for my locked-up little hubby, after all. And no one but you and I will notice, okay?"

She planted a kiss full on my lips and gave a second pat to my crotch—a pat that was barely felt through this odd new bulk between my legs. "Now, put on those big boy pants and let's go have supper. I'm hungry!"

And of course I, being the good husband I was, obeyed.