“Bridget – my darling – sob-sob – please don’t do this to me – sob-sob – pleeeease!” Robert Trimming looked appealingly into his wife’s eyes, except that she was more concerned with opening his satin bonnet into its luxuriously babyish pink shape, then threading it over her husband’s head as her mother held him firm so that they both got it onto him. Renata, her mother, watched with satisfaction, her lips curled with scorn.
“Oh please – sob-sob – please don’t!” He spoke now from a deep surround of white satin lining, so soft, so glossy, with pretty pink frills along his bonnet edges. He might have got hold of his bonnet and tried to widen it so that he could see Bridget and Renata better, but his hands were fully mittened in matching pink satin and secured to the legs of his high chair, specifically to prevent such unwanted interventions. He could however see the front of his baby dress swelling in front of him from his throat where Renata was doing his bonnet ribbons into a large bow, before it gathered inside the feeding and playing tray of his chair. “Ohhh” Boo-hoo-hoo!” he wailed, as a tide of babyishness rose over him in his misery.
“There’s no point weeping and wailing, my boy,” snorted Renata in front of him. “We’ve decided you will be our baby and that’s the end of it.” She had his plastic feeding bib ready, but wanted to show him something before putting it on him. She turned it to face him, and his crying shot up an octave. It read: Baby Rachel. “You can’t satisfy Bridget in bed. You can’t satisfy in ANY way whatsoever. You’re a waste of space as a man, Robert. From now on you will be Baby Rachel and we’ll dress you as such.”
Her sniff of finality as she put his bib on him proved how she meant every word. His only hope was his wife. “Bridget – sob-sob-whimper – I’m BEGGING you – pleeeeease change your mind. Pleeeeease don’t make me your baby!”
With a shock, the chair clunked beneath him and he found himself reclined back at forty-five degrees, so that his frilly baby bloomers stuck out in front of him in a froth of pink nylon.
“You can save your breath, Babykins,” Bridget told him with a shake of the head. She inserted her fingers into one leg of his bloomers and worked them under the elastic of his plastic pants. “Mother and I are going to dress you and bath you and change you every day, and you’ll be the darling baby of the family for all our friends.” Her fingers found his diaper and slid inside it, exploring for dampness, finding his aching cock. She snorted with contempt. “You were right, mother: he’s stiff.”
Renata leaned over their baby’s face from behind, softly plucking at the frills that surrounded his bonnet. “Of course I was,” she affirmed, looking at him down her nose. “He loves being in petticoats and panties, and as for this sweet satin dress? Well!”
Another wave of despair rose over Robert Trimming. A feeling of girly baby helplessness overwhelmed him and he was not going to escape from it. Perhaps his dream was coming true: his Mother-In-Law was mothering him, as was his wife. The pleasure in his diaper was telling him he should relax, accept and embrace his new relationship with them, and his cream spurted forward to convince him of it.
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