I am amazed by how excited I am. I’m in a hall of maybe thirty women of all ages, attending my first meeting of the Husband Babyfication Society. No big deal, but my fingers are twitching and I know I’m glowing under the arms and between my legs. I can’t understand it at first, but things start to fall into place for me.
Session leader Isabel Haynes stands up from her seat and addresses the society members. “Ladies, our first two adult babies today are from comfortable homes in town, brought into babyhood by both their wives and their wives’ mothers.” There’s a buzz of approval: evidently the women present sense a better style of adult baby when they are the product of a combined female upbringing. “I am sure you will want to tease them for your own pleasure, especially if we make them suffer spasms of shame and girlishness as we scrutinize them on stage.”
“Oh yes,” cry several audience members, and the tone of female hunger for taunting weak males is set from the start.
“So here they are for your pleasure,” she concludes. “Please welcome Basil Waterman, led by his wife Louella, and Shay carter brought on for us by his Mother-In-Law Fiona Manright.”
The applause is long and loud, in response no doubt to the ‘little-boy-lost’ appearance of both the males. I should call them ex-males, because they are so obviously overpowered by the effect of their little girl costumes. “This is Fanny,” explains Louella, before leaving her husband to his own devices on stage, “And this is Jess,” says Fiona as she straightens his bonnet for him under the keen gaze of thirty women and arranges his dress and petticoats so that his plastic pants are suitably on view before she leaves him.
A pregnant silence falls on the hall as the women allow the sissies to take in the horror of their ordeal. I can only imagine how these two feel when every face is sneering with hostile scorn and contempt. The silence is broken by an instruction called from the front row.
“Hold your dresses out wide for us, you wimps.”
There are s*****s all round.
“Slide your knees together to make your diapers caress your girly dickies.”
That one gets more of a laugh.
“Wiggle your plastic pants to make yourselves feel more girly.”
“Suck harder on your dummies, you pathetic babies.”
“We want to see you wetting yourselves in front of women.”
The calls have a visible effect on the sissies. They panic, seeing that they can’t escape the teasing of the audience that surrounds them. Their pacifiers bob up and down in their mouths with intensive sucking, their dresses rustle with femininity as they shake at the shoulders and hips and their legs squeeze and fidget in an effort to control their bladders.
“Hold your dresses up, girlies,” cry their audience. “We want to watch you wetting yourselves for us.”
And as if totally subdued by the power of a female audience, the wimps comply with abject surrender, holding their dresses high with one hand while they wank the shiny plastic of their gussets with the other. Their faces show the misery of surrendering to a baby-girl climax for the satisfaction of the Babyfication Society.
There are 744 Prim pics at www.primspetticoatwendyhouse.com/feminization.htm
