This was why I got so excited when my wife Fenella sent me round to her mother’s house for the day. I was either facing a day of ironing my Mother-In-Law’s lingerie and occasionally her blouses and dress-pants, or Cheryl would be dressing me in one of her blouses, and then a pair of her panties and make me sit opposite her and talk to her about how much I loved her clothes. I felt so close to my Mother-In-Law in those moments. Yes she was arch and distant with me, lecturing me about my perverted sexual appetite for her clothes as she rolled her stockings up my legs and fished under my panties for the suspenders.

On this occasion I so wanted her to get hold of me and clasp me into her bosom so that my silver blouse and her ice blue blouse were united in a loving embrace. The thought quickly brought me to a hard-on, and being Cheryl, she saw that straight away.

“I hope you’re not going to get an erection inside my panties, my boy,” she declared, lifting the front of my blouse to examine the offending panty point. “Heaven knows I’m bending over backwards to meet your sexual impulses as it is, never mind providing you with the opportunity of an orgasm. Fenella might have told me I can play dressing up with you, but just don’t forget the reason for it. It’s to satisfy my wish to dominate you, Cecil Wilting. You have a dominant Mother-In-Law and you’re going to do as I say.”

“Yes, Cheryl. I’m sorry. But it’s so difficult not to feel – aroused.”

“Maybe so, but I’ll give you ‘aroused’ if there’s any hanky-panky inside my clothes, do you understand?”

I wished I could promise her there wouldn’t be, but I knew to the contrary. I was feeling ecstatic in her silver blouse and pink panties, being lectured by her. This was one orgasm I could do without, but everything was overwhelming me: the satin jabot in front of me, the neatly edged little collar of her blouse as she told me off, my panties pulling harder and harder against my knob. I couldn’t hold it. It was coming. Ohhhhhh! It swelled through my cock and into her panties, into her blouse, and pumped into sight in pulses of white cum in front of my waist.

“Tch!” she tutted, “I might have known. No male control whatsoever. You’re a weak, dribbling little pantywaist, Stephen Wilting.”

“I-I’m sorry Mother-In-Law. I’m so sorry.” I stood as the pulses continued until they died down leaving me crestfallen and weak in front of her.

She shook her head. “Come with me. You are going to do precisely what I tell you to.” She led me into one of her spare bedrooms and to my shock I was faced with a baby crib, with wooden bars and frilled silk surrounds, large enough to contain an adult baby. Immediately I wanted to be her baby, or rather, I wanted her to force me into babyhood under her control.

“Get into the crib,” she ordered, “and lie on your back. If you act like a baby, that’s what you are going to be.”

Once I was on my back, with my knees doubled up in front of me, she secured my wrists to the bars in ribbons, the same with my ankles, and I gazed up at her, crimson faced I am sure, almost looking up her skirt and certainly gazing admiringly up at her bosom and her silk blouse buttons. She was on the phone, talking to a friend, and my heart sank as I realized she was inviting her round to join her. I was going to be seen by another woman!

Fifteen agonizing minutes later, Cheryl had a low stool at the head of my crib, with not one but two of her friends sitting round, looking down at me, drawing the offending cum-filled panties off my legs and preparing a baby’s large diaper to spread between my butt. I couldn’t say a word in my defence: Cheryl had a pacifier in my mouth, and what could I say in any case, other than I was indeed an ideal adult sissy baby for them, wanting them to chastise me with scornful blame and dress me in rubber knickers over my diaper so that when I squirt again, which I knew I would, it would simply fill my babyish diaper with all sorts of sissy cum and baby wee-wees. The tears welled down my cheeks as she put a bonnet round my face and fastened it with pink ribbons under my chin. “Astrid,” she said, “and Violet, Cecil is going to have to be kept in a diaper now, I can see. I would be most grateful if you pop in as often as you can to give me a hand looking after the baby. And unless I’m mistaken, that’s just what this naughty sissy baby girl wants us to do.”

My only answer, as I sucked on my pacifier, was to send a squelch – squelch – pisssss into my diaper as the visitors “Ahhhed!” down at me from their crib-side stools.