“Legs wide open, Mister White. We’ve had to babify you before, haven’t we, so you know what we expect on the baby-changing-table.” Harmony Glenn and Rachel Pettiford stood on either side of his waist and lifted him by the legs to slide his diaper under his sore bottom. “Like I say, Miss Hampshire wants you punished for being so pathetically weak in front of the girls.”
“I’m not weak, Miss Glenn, I’m just so embarrassed when I have to wear Miss Hampshire’s skirt suit over one of her blouses. The girls are s********ing at me all the way through my lesson. It’s not because I’m weak.” The two women spread the pink plastic pants under him, gathered them at each leg with their ruched elastic, and began to fasten his poppers down the outside of his hips and thighs. It was as they diapered and pantied him that he felt more and more babified, as though they knew it was his sexual places that needed to be babified most.
“Of course it was because the Principal had dressed you in her suit and a ruffle blouse, Mister White,” said Miss Pettiford, ensuring the plastic pants contained every inch of disposable diaper. “Just like the first time, when she had you in one of her blouses and a skirt. And why were you punished in baby things that time, remind us?”
Phincent White’s chin was trembling, perilously close to tears. His answer came out in a sniffling sob: “B-Because I dis-GRACED myself, Miss Pettiford.”
The two members of staff sat him up and picked up a ruffled petticoat each. “And where were you when you disgraced yourself, Mister White?”
The sniffling male teacher hung his head so that his voice went into his soft, pink, hairless chest. “In Class 4 – in front of the girls.”
“Exactly. Which is why you had to be punished. Then there was last week when Miss Hampshire had you in her taffeta cocktail dress.”
Phincent White couldn’t retain his tears. Last Wednesday he had ejaculated into the petticoat slip the Head had put him into under her dress, and with slippery slip sliding on slippery satin lining, it was a done thing that he would rise to huge excitement in front of a class of girls.
“And today, it’s Miss Hampshire’s skirt suit and blouse, with one of her girdles over a pair of her panties. You’re obviously not learning, Mister White.”
“And if it happens again,” said Miss Glenn, our canes will be making you a lot more red and a lot more sore on your bottie cheeks, won’t we, Miss Pettiford?” As she spoke she threaded her petticoat onto his hands and fed it round him, standing behind him to do up his baby buttons from his neck down to his ass.
“A LOT more sore,” affirmed her colleague. She held his second petticoat ready and his arms went through the puffed little sleeves. “And Miss Hampshire said it won’t just be for one session either – it’ll start being extended day on day, so you can be a school baby for most of the week.”
Phincent’s face crumpled with shame, especially since he was now surrounded in white polyester petticoats with flounces of frills round the bottoms. They would fill out the baby dress that he knew was coming. Then he cried out with humiliation. Harmony Glenn had a pair of ruffle-butt panties in white with lines of pink ribbon all round. Surely they wouldn’t allow the girls to see them? Surely his dress would keep them covered? The women laid him on his back and bent his legs at the knees.
“Miss Hampshire insists we put you into ruffle-bottom baby panties.” She held them at his feet. “She wants them big enough to show from under your dress, so’s the girls can see them all the time. Now, hand in.”
He submitted to having a clear pink plastic mitten pushed onto his hand and fastened with poppers over his wrist, then another on his other hand. On his feet he had to wear baby bootees of soft pink satin, fastened with wide pink ribbons. He peered through tears at the dress that approached him in Miss Pettiford’s hands: it was in pink satin, doubled in thickness to give it a smooth body, flaring wider to his hips, and with horrendous puffs of ruffles for sleeves. It had the same ruffles all round the full circle hem, but the most awful thing was the huge pink collar to go round his face. It slid and sizzled this way and that as she held the dress in front for him to put his mittens through.
He wailed with misery as the two of them spread his dress round his petticoats and gathered the two sides in the middle of his back. They started buttoning him into it from the back of his neck – first down the dress to the start of the ruffles, then up his collar behind his head, and down the outside of his collar after it was folded down, so that he was all buttoned up in his dress. He begged for pity, for sympathy – for the chance to prove he can wear Miss Hampshire’s dresses and skirts in front of the girls without disgracing himself. But the women colleagues of his were merciless:
“Miss Hampshire insists, Mister White,” Rachel informed him. “And she says you are to be called Peterkin by the girls when you are a sissy baby in front of them.”
He burst out crying. “Noooo, oh noooo, pleeeeeeeease!”
“And over your dress,” said Harmony, sliding an appalling garment into his sight, “you will wear a plastic see-thru cape scattered with white daisies down to your waist with a big sissy collar.”
The agonized male couldn’t sit up any longer and slumped helplessly into the arms of Miss Pettiford as the cape was spread noisily round him. It pop fastened down the front and the women got a plastic mitten each and fed his hands through from the inside, so that once his wrists came through, they fastened to the outside of his baby cape with press studs. He felt so humiliated his cock had stiffened to its full length inside his diaper and panties. It was all so shameful.
The babified teacher wailed at the top of his voice as they prepared to take him to his next class. “Oh don’t be so pathetic,” chided Rachel. “Here,” snorted Harmony, standing behind him and reaching round the big plastic collar of his cape, “open wide for this.”
He did as he was told and got a miserable fright as the teat of a big plastic pacifier pushed into his mouth. She pulled the ribbons round his cheeks and they buckled together at the back of his neck. It quietened him down into muffled objections, which got louder when he saw what Rachel had in her hands: a stiffened satin baby bonnet to keep it in place.
“I think we’ve got him ready now,” said Harmony. “Miss Hampshire is waiting for us in the senior girls’ common room.” The schoolmistresses led him by the elbows of his cape through the school, getting closer and closer to his ordeal. But he did, and found himself faced by every senior girl in the school, none of whom wanted to miss seeing Phincent White in a baby dress. They roared with laughter as he cringed in front of them, his bonnet being plucked into shape by Miss Hampshire and his plastic mittens held out to the sides by Rachel and Harmony. It was all too much for a shy, weak, helpless male surrounded by females, and his stiffened penis found itself urgently wanting a wee. He tried pressing his legs together, he tried crouching forward as much as he dared from the waist, but he couldn’t stop it and it – ooooh – it started to ooze through, not so much in a dribble or a stream, but more in – in little squirts of ejaculate, pushing into his diaper, shaming him so pathetically, and making him burst out crying in front of everyone as his cream began to pump and pump and pump into his increasingly soggy baby padding.
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A Prim story from www.primspetticoatwendyhouse.com
