Redemption 8

 

“Putting the pacifier in my mouth, and carrying the doll to the bathroom, I looked in the mirror. For a moment I saw a frightened little girl, and anxiously listened if I didn’t hear my mother coming up the stairs. But then I remembered my mother smiling at me, saying I had become so pretty. I lifted my skirt and watched my diapers grow heavy while I peed, my eyes becoming gradually blurry as I began weeping.”

 

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You will find the preceding chapters of this story in “topics” under “Redemption”, with the different chapters in reversed order. To find the first chapter you just have to scroll down to the bottom.

 

Or you can go to the English “index page” where you will find a link to the first chapter of Redemption and then at the end of each chapter a link to the following.

 

Chapter 8

 

When I had finished my master I went to work as a consultant with my former employer as we had planned. He never regretted having given me that chance as I was extremely good at my job. I became a partner in the company, paid him back my student loan in no time and earned good money. I went on to buy a magnificent flat with view on the bay. But this professional and financial success didn’t make me any happier.

 

I was still as guilt laden as ever. After my break up with Bobby it had become even worse.

I still felt responsible for the death of my father and for the way this had ruined my mother’s life. At the same time I was ashamed for not having been able to stand up to her, and for having fled her. I felt also guilty of never having tried to get back in contact with her. Sweet Bobby had often suggested I should do that, but I never did.

 

I had failed all relationships in my life:

After having fled from my mother I had thrown myself in the arms of Lewis and had followed him on his self-destructive trip, letting him pimp and beat me. Once again I had fled, this time in the arms of abusive pedophile Alistair, letting him degrade me even more than what my mother and Lewis had done.

 

I was horribly ashamed about having been a drug addict and a prostitute. But I was even more ashamed of not having been able to live up to the expectations of Jenny who had really loved me. I knew Jenny had found another girlfriend with whom she was very happy and she had finally “come out”. But still I felt I had led her down. At the time I had resented the fact that she had made me wear protection to bed and it had fed all my insecurities. But since then I had simply given up trying to be dry and wore diapers to bed every night. I also began wearing diapers to go on plane trips, long journey’s by car and even museum visits. This way I avoided having to look for public toilets all the time, having to queue up for them, and having to use those, often filthy, places.

 

I developed a kind of strange attraction to diapers. I would shop around for all kind of different models, having always a large collection at hand, choosing what kind to wear for each occasion, as other people stand in front of their wardrobe choosing what to wear that day. But of course I was ashamed of that too, and didn’t want anybody to find out.

 

And if all that wasn’t enough to loath myself forever there was what I had done to Bobby. I had found a person even more vulnerable than myself and I had abused my power over him, degraded him, undermined his self-esteem, and made him my little toy. How could I of all persons have done that?

 

I was convinced I was unable to have a normal, healthy, relationship with anybody and fled even more in my job, my workload always a handy excuse whenever someone tried to get closer to me.

 

With all my time and energy devoted to my job, I was ever more successful. I became a renowned market intelligence guru giving frequent lectures, both in private venues as in university MBA programs. This of course increased the visibility of our company and new clients were queuing up. And the money followed.

 

But despite the frequency of my lectures I had to overcome myself every time again. I always remained an awkward speaker, stumbling over my words, delivering my lecture with a small, shy voice. Before every performance I was shaking on my legs and afterwards I was always convinced I had been a disaster. But the invitations to give speeches kept coming in, and people kept showing up for them.

 

One day at the end of a lecture a person came up to me to talk. It happened frequently that persons did that to talk about their specific situation, sometimes trying to get some free advice, but most of the time they became clients. So I was always very open for those kind of chats. But this time it was different. “Hi Katie.” I looked at him inquisitive: “We have met before?” He smiled, and something in that smile was vaguely familiar. “You don’t recognize me, do you? I am not surprised after so many years.”

 

He had a warm engaging voice but I still had no clue who he was. “I’m Denis, little Denis, your childhood neighbor, Tammy’s little brother?” For a moment it was as if all lights went out, but then I recovered and looked at him, still not really recognizing him. But this sudden confrontation with a person from my horrible childhood completely froze me up. Denis sensed my unease but didn’t led that disturb him. “When I saw your name on the list of lecturers I wondered if it was you. So I began looking around and when I saw your picture I knew it was you. Today’s date didn’t really suit me but I HAD to come, I really HAD to see you.”

 

Despite the professional surrounding where I have a kind of a star status, my deep inner insecurities surfaced: “Oh I see, you had to see if I was still the same little freak didn’t you?” He seemed hurt by my remark, but deciding he was just a good actor, faking his indignation, I continued, childishly: “I hope I didn’t disappoint you too much. Don’t worry, underneath this fairly normal appearance, I am still the same little freak peeing in her pants. You can go home and tell that to your nice family and have a good laugh.” I turned around and wanted to run away but he held me by the arm. Furiously I turned back to him to tell him to let me go, but when I looked at him I saw tears running down his face. He didn’t try to stop them and looked me straight in the eye: “I’m so sorry for what happened to you back then. I always liked you, I always was awed by how brave you were whenever people were hurting you. I always liked and admired you. I’m so sorry I never told anybody. But I was so small and afraid they were going to make fun of me too. The day you ran away was the saddest and the happiest day in my life. At last you had escaped that horrible place, but I thought I would never see you again.”

 

I was of course completed flabbergasted by this emotional outburst. For a moment I thought he was making fun of me, but when I realized he was sincere I didn’t know how to react. From the corner of my eye I saw a couple of my colleagues watching us from a distance not knowing what was going on. I took Denis by the arm and led him to the bar of the hotel where we choose a table in a far corner, and after an initial awkward silence we talked for a long time. His sincere interest in what had become of me impressed me and on his insistence I agreed to meet him again. Denis and I began dating and soon enough he was completely in love with me. He told me that in fact he had been in love with me since we were little kids, and had always continued loving me, often wondering what had become of me. He pretended that on several occasions when I had been made fun of by the other kids, having had to lift my skirt to reveal my wet diapers, he had tried to comfort me but that each time I had chased him away.

 

I became keen on his presence as he was kind, intelligent, funny and passionate about everything he did. Little by little I told him what my life had been after leaving my house. He never pressured me on telling anything but when I did he was always sincerely interested, non-judgmental, and supportive.

 

From my side however I didn’t allow me to fall in love with him, keeping up my protective carapace at all time. I reluctantly accepted he might be in love with me, but remained always anxious and unsure about my own feelings. I didn’t want to ruin another relationship. And of course my guilt feelings made me think I didn’t deserve this love. Denis however remained patient and understanding.

 

He tried of course to convince me that my father’s death was not my fault, that it had been an accident. But he had no argument against my conviction that I had caused the accident, and was responsible for everything that had happened afterwards.

 

Over the years I told him in detail my life after my father’s death, even the things that had happened when he was living right next door, of which he had only seen a small part. He was always sincerely awed, every time repeating how an unbelievable strong person I was for having overcome all what had happened to me.

He couldn’t convince me. I never saw the elegant, successful professional that other people seemed to see. When I thought of myself I still saw the shy, breast less, diaper wearing little girl, stumbling over her words, shaking on her match stick legs every time she had to speak in public.

 

 

Denis was still close to his family and flew back east very frequently. His two sisters had married. Tammy had 3 children and Lucy 2 and they all got together for every holiday and birthday. I knew he wanted me to come with him but he never asked me, sensing this was simply impossible for me to even consider. I had sworn to myself to never go back to that place. I learned my mother was still living in the house next door, but I never asked how she was doing, and he never told me. But then one day he said his mother has called him to tell him my mother was in the hospital and was going to die in the next couple of days. This time I reluctantly asked what had happened and learned she had been diagnosed with an advanced cancer a number of months before and had been in and out of hospitals ever since.

 

Denis looked at me silently while I was processing the fact that that awful person, my mother, was dying. I had always thought I would be relieved the day she died but I didn’t feel any relieve. After a long pause he asked me if I didn’t want to go to say goodbye. He knew of course that would ask an enormous amount of courage from me, but he also knew that bringing up that courage might redeem me in my own eyes. A way to make peace with myself, with my past, with all the things that I had done to myself and to the people that had tried to love me. For 24 hours I agonized about it but then told him to buy the tickets.

 

We went straight from the airport to the hospital. When I entered the room she was half asleep and didn’t recognize me. She looked very thin and pale, and when she tried to sit up she didn’t have enough strength. I couldn’t bring it up to kiss her or even to help her to sit up. I sat next to the bed on a chair and simply said hi. She stared at me for a fraction of a second and then, recognizing me, smiled. I think it was the first time I saw her smile in a non-sarcastic way. She whispered: “Oh Katie, you have come!” I nodded. She looked at me in silence for a few moments: “You have become so pretty” This was definitely the first time ever she complimented me, and it touched something inside me. I blushed, and felt tears welling up in my eyes. We remained silent again and when she tried to sit up again, I helped her. When she sat she looked at me very intently and began speaking haltingly: “Katie, I’m so glad you have come. I know I don’t deserve it after what I did to you as a child. I have been thinking about you often. I was afraid you were maybe death, or sick…” She went silent for a while, all the time staring at me, and then resumed her monologue: “I am glad to see you are doing great. You have been right to go away. You have done better on you own than if you had stayed with your terrible mother.” She closed her eyes and I noticed how her face had relaxed, looking much less haggardly than when I had come in.

 

I stayed at her bedside for most of the next 24 hours. She was heavily sedated and woke up only on a couple of occasions. Every time she smiled and tried to talk but was too weak. But one time I am pretty sure she asked me to forgive her. When she finally died I cried and kissed her goodbye.

 

Denis had stayed with me most of the time, and after we left the hospital we went to his parents’ home. I was glad Tammy wasn’t there, as I wasn’t ready to confront one of my childhood tormentors. I felt awkward enough meeting the woman who had reluctantly diapered me as a growing up child. But his parents were extremely nice and supportive. And Denis was so happy and proud to finally have me with him visiting his family. His mother served us a simple dinner and then, taking my courage in both hands, I said I wanted to go to my old house. Denis proposed to come along but for reasons I didn’t understand myself I told him I preferred to go alone.

 

When I got into my old home nothing had changed, and the past came flooding in. In my room the pee-stained matrass was still lying on the bed. And when I opened the wardrobe I found a stack of diapers and a couple jumper dresses hanging on a perch. Without thinking I undressed, put on a diaper and tried to put on one of the dresses. I was disappointed that I couldn’t get into the dress but then my eye fell onto another garment I had often worn in my youth but that I had forgotten about. It was a short denim skirt with an elastic waist closing with a row of buttons from waist to rim in the front. It fitted neatly around my waist, but was very short, barely covering the diapers. Next to the skirt I found a heavily used pacifier and on the bottom of the wardrobe the old rag doll that had been my only friend.

 

Putting the pacifier in my mouth, and carrying the doll to the bathroom, I looked in the mirror. For a moment I saw a frightened little girl, and anxiously listened if I didn’t hear my mother coming up the stairs. But then I remembered my mother smiling at me, saying I had become so pretty. I lifted my skirt and watched my diapers grow heavy while I peed, my eyes becoming gradually blurry as I began weeping.

 

Clutching my ragdoll I lied down on my bed, weeping. That’s how Denis found me hours later, still crying inconsolably. I fell into his arms unable to stop sobbing.

 

We married a couple of months later.

 

I still wear diapers but I’m not ashamed of it anymore. From time to time Denis will even diaper me, which is always a very tender moment. Sometimes, when I have had a bad day, I will put on the denim skirt and carry around my doll. Denis always immediately takes the clue and babies me. I love being washed, spoon-fed, and cuddled in his gentle way, finding the tenderness that I was denied as a child.

 

And I am pregnant. The baby, a little boy, is due in 3 months. I am a little scared but I know I will be a good mother.

 

  • The end –     

     

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Le double tabou 2

 

 

Vous trouverez les chapitres précédents  dans le “topic” « Tabou » en ordre renversée, le premier chapitre se trouvant tout à fait en bas.

Ou vous pouvez directement trouver le lien vers le premier chapitre dans la page « Index », et puis les liens vers les chapitres suivants chaque fois à la fin d’un chapitre.

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Chapitre 2

Une des choses qui me fascinaient chez Farah était le fait qu’elle n’avait pas d’âge. A notre première rencontre elle avait eu 13 ans mais elle m’avait parue une jeune adulte. Non seulement à cause de sa grande taille mais aussi par la façon qu’elle se tenait et se comportait. Plus tard, quand nous faisions l’amour, ou quand elle se promenait toute nue dans mon bureau, c’était aussi une féline adulte, malgré le fait que son corps n’était pas encore tout à fait formé.

Mais une demi-heure plus tard quand elle jouait aux perles avec les petites, portant un petit tablier au-dessus d’un petit short et des chaussettes, elle paraissait plus jeune que ma fille de 11 ans, avec toute l’insouciance d’un enfant.

 

A d’autres moments, habillée BCBG avec un pull sur une jupe écossaise et des bas, elle paraissait exactement la très jolie adolescente qu’elle était, fière et sure d’elle.

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Mais la nuit quand elle s’allongeait sur son lit pour que je lui mette sa couche, elle était une toute petite fille vulnérable, cherchant le confort et la sécurité maternelle.

Nous continuons à profiter de nos mercredis après-midis dans notre nid d’amour. Et en quittant ce lieu sûr nous étions encore tout excitées et prenions de plus en plus de risques. Nous prenions l’habitude de nous tenir les mains en dessous de la table en présence des autres et ne pouvions pas résister à l’envie de nous caresser et de nous embrasser quand nous croyions que les autres ne nous regardaient pas.

Aujourd’hui cela me parait incroyable que personne ne remarquait rien à l’époque. Les enfants étaient probablement trop jeunes et innocentes. Et Jérôme et Françoise étaient trop occupés à eux deux. Parce que, oui, ils étaient maintenant clairement amoureux et eux aussi avaient du mal à cacher leur jeu. Ce que, je dois avouer, je faisais semblant de ne pas voir.

Si les mercredis étaient le paradis, et que les autres jours de la semaine j’étais contente parce que j’avais l’occasion de voir mon amour – parfois seulement pendant quelques minutes le matin mais suffisamment pour échanger quelques baisers et caresses ce qui me remplissait d’assez de bonheur pour faire passer toute la journée comme sur un nuage – je supportais de moins en moins les week-ends interminables sans Elle.

Les dimanches Jérôme jouait au basket avec Salvador, ou ils partaient ensemble regarder un match, pendant que Françoise s’occupait merveilleusement bien de mes filles. Et moi, triste et irritable, j’attendais le lundi matin quand j’allais retrouver mon amour. Si le fait que Françoise et Jérôme étaient devenus amants m’arrangeait, cela m’agaçait quand même. J’étais jalouse de sa relation avec mon mari, mais encore plus de sa relation avec mes filles. Pour me venger je la traitais de plus en plus comme une servante, lui donnant des ordres et faisant des remarques sur la façon dont elle faisait le ménage. Je voyais que je la blessais à chaque fois mais elle acceptait mes remarques sans broncher. Probablement qu’elle était consciente de sa situation précaire, et peut-être qu’elle se sentait aussi coupable. La voir humiliée de cette façon ne me consolait guère mais je ne pouvais m’empêcher de continuer.

De temps en temps je pouvais convaincre Farah de passer un week-end chez nous. L’avoir avec nous, un enfant parmi les autres, était magnifique. Evidemment elle n’était jamais tout à fait un enfant parmi les autres. De temps en temps elle sortait un instant de son jeu pour me jeter un regard langoureux, plein de tendresse et de séduction, me faisant comprendre qu’elle aimerait être seule avec moi, pour retourner tout de suite à son jeu.

J’essayais d’encourager la complicité entre elle et mes deux ainées en les habillant de manière  similaire, et Farah s’y prêtait volontiers.

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Mais Antigone résistait et gardait sa distance, traitant Farah avec un certain dédain, comme elle traitait ces petites sœurs, faisant comprendre que même si Farah était plus âgée, elle gardait les droits du premier né, ce que Farah acceptait sans problème.Par contre Emmanuelle et Farah devenaient des vraies copines malgré les presque 4 ans de  différence d’âge.

Et quand les ainées étaient parties pour leurs activités multiples Farah tout naturellement se mettait à jouer aux poupées avec la petite Renée. Les observer pendant qu’elles habillaient, lavaient, nourrissaient leurs poupées réciproques m’émerveillait. .

Pour aider ma protégée de retrouver encore plus son enfance perdue je demandais à Françoise, une couturière douée, de lui faire des robes sur mesure, basées sur des modèles enfantins.

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Quand elle était avec Emmanuelle Farah devenait la petite fille modèle comme j’avais espérée. J’adorais les observer quand elle jouaient cache – cache ou trainaient dans le jardin.

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Mais tout cela ne diminuait pas l’attirance sexuelle qu’elle exerçait sur moi. A ma grande honte je devais m’avouer qu’au contraire j’étais encore plus attirée quand elle portait ces petites robes courtes.

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Et évidemment le soir quand je la mettais au lit il y avait la mise du lange, moment suprêmement tendre et érotique. Elle m’attendait couché sur son dos avec ses jambes grandes ouvertes, portant une petite chemise de nuit. M’agenouillant à côté d’elle j’appliquais tendrement une crème anti-érythème. Puis je dépliais le lange et le couchait en dessous d’elle, le pliait autour de ses jambes, fixait les adhésifs, et quand tout était bien en place, je m’asseyais sur le lit, et la prenais sur mes genoux. Et pendant que je caressais son entre-jambes à travers la couche elle me donnait des bisous dans ma nuque.

Malgré le plaisir que j’éprouvais en voyant le bonheur et l’innocence retrouvés de mon amour, très vite cela m’agaçait de devoir la partager avec les autres. Les dimanches, au lieu de l’inviter chez moi, j’inventais donc des excuses pour m’échapper de la maison en fixant des rendez-vous avec Farah pour aller au cinéma ou faire du shopping ensemble. J’en profitais aussi pour continuer son éducation et l’emmenait souvent à des musées, ce qu’elle adorait.

Un jour en route pour une exposition, on passait devant un étalage de vêtements et Farah me demandait si j’aimais les vêtements exposés. Il s’agissait d’une tenue pour jeunes, très BCBG mais en même temps assez provocatrice: une jupe plissée écossaise, très courte, un jersey moulant de couleur vif, et des bas blancs au-dessus du genou. Comprenant sa question je proposais de rentrer pour l’essayer ce qu’elle acceptait tout de suite. Quand on était dans les rayons concernés elle en sortait deux tenues identiques à celle de l’étalage mais dans deux couleurs différentes. D’abord je croyais qu’elle voulait essayer les deux, mais elle me regardait avec ses grands yeux noirs, et m’entrainais dans la cabine à essayage ou elle me convainquait à également essayer la tenue.

Nous déshabiller ensemble dans la cabine nous excitait et, habillé rien que de nos sous-vêtements, nous nous embrassions long temps. Quand finalement on essayait les vêtements je me rendais compte que la jupe était ridiculement courte pour une personne qui avait presque 40 ans. En riant je communiquais cette conclusion à ma protégée et voulait enlever la jupe. Mais Farah m’arrêtait, m’assurait que j’étais trop sexy et, comme toujours, me convainquait de faire comme elle voulait. Nous appelions la vendeuse et demandaient d’enlever les étiquettes et d’emballer nos vieux vêtements qu’on avait portés en rentrant. Quelques minutes plus tard nous nous retrouvions à la rue portant nos petites jupes identiques.

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Sentant mon embarras Farah me prenait par la main et se mettait à courir en ricanant. Je n’avais pas de choix que de la suivre sentant ma jupe sauter à chaque pas. C’est ainsi qu’on arrivait à l’entrée du musée, nous tenant toujours par la main. J‘étais très conscient des regards des autres sur nous, mais ayant le cœur trop léger pour m’en soucier, et trop fière d’afficher ma relation avec cette jeune fille exceptionnellement jolie, je voulais partager notre bonheur avec le monde entier.

C’est à ce moment que j’entendais une voix familière dernière moi : « Alors en excursion scolaire le dimanche ? » Je me retournais brusquement pour me retrouver face à face avec Manu, mon collègue de l’école. En rougissant je balbutiais: « Ooh, salut, euh oui, je lui fais connaitre l’art. » Il me souriait mais cela ne me paraissait pas un sourire bienveillant. Son regard descendait vers nos mains, et je me rendais compte que je tenais toujours la main de Farah dans la mienne. Je la lâchais automatiquement mais je savais qu’il il était trop tard. Son regard passait de l’un à l’autre et il souriait de nouveau, cette fois d’une façon moqueuse : « Est ce que vous avez le même gout pour l’art aussi ? Je vois que vous aimez les même vêtements.» J’étais bouche bée n’arrivant pas à savoir quoi répondre. Voyant mon embarras il souriait une dernière fois: « Profitez-en, cela vaut le peine. L’expo je veux dire. Et à lundi à l’école alors.» Il se retournait et partait nous laissant seul avec notre désarroi.

Inutile de dire que je ne profitais pas de ma visite de musée. Farah par contre semblait avoir vite oublié l’incident et jouissait des tableaux exposés comme toujours, combinant une vue d’experte adulte avec la spontanéité et l’enthousiasme d’un gosse.

Le lundi Manu me prenait à part et, me disant à voix basse qu’il voulait me parler, me convoquait chez lui à la maison ce soir même.

Quand j’arrivais chez lui il me servait à boire et puis s’installant en face de moi, parlant sur son ton de grand frère protecteur, me disait que je devais faire attention, que je devais prendre distance de Farah, que les gens ne comprendraient pas notre relation. Son ton sincère et amical me touchait et je me mettais à pleurer. Avec les larmes aux yeux j’expliquais que c’était trop tard, que j’étais éperdument amoureuse de la belle africaine, que je ne pouvais plus me passer d‘elle.

Il me regardait comme sidéré, gardant le silence pendant des longues minutes. Puis sur un ton songeur il me demandait si j’étais consciente de ce que je risquais? Quand je ne répondais pas il continuait en disant que non seulement je risquais d’aller en prison, mais que je perdrais mon job, ma famille, mes enfants, tout.

Je murmurais que je le savais. Puis toujours en pleurs je l’expliquais que je savais aussi que ma relation avec une fille qui avait presqu’un quart de siècle de moins que moi n’avait pas de future, qu’un jour Farah me laisserait, mais qu’en attendant l’idée de ne plus la revoir, de ne plus la tenir dans mes bras, était insupportable.

Manu venait vers moi et me prenant dans ces bras essayait de me calmer : «  Ssst, je comprends très bien que tu sois tombée amoureuse d’elle. C’est une fille charmante, attachante, très désirable. C’est le danger qui guette pour chaque enseignant. Et t’as eu la malchance d’avoir eu du répondant. Les gens vont dire que t‘as profité de la vulnérabilité de la petite, mais moi je voie bien que ce n’est pas une petite fille innocente, épaté et éblouit par toi, la figure d’autorité adulte, mais que vous êtes tombées amoureuses l’une de l’autre comme deux adultes. Je le comprends très bien, parce que t’es une femme splendide, sensuelle et désirable. Mais tout ça c’est une explication, pas une excuse. Tu n’as vraiment pas de choix ma chère, tu dois rompre, sinon tu me mettes dans une position impossible car alors ce serait mon devoir de te dénoncer. »

Pendant une seconde je le regardais abasourdie, mais puis tout d’un coup je comprenais et je savais ce que je devais faire. Je tournais ma figure vers la sienne : « Manu, stp, ne me force pas à rompre avec Farah, ce serait ma mort. Je ferai tout ce que tu demandes ». Et l’empêchant de me répondre en plantant mes lèvres sur sa bouche, j’ouvrais en même temps son pantalon. Une seconde plus tard son pantalon était tombé sur ses chevilles, j’avais enlevé ma culotte, et, soulevant ma jupe, je l’avais attiré sur moi sur le canapé. Et encore quelques secondes plus tard il avait éjaculé en moi.

A partir de ce jour il m’invitait très régulièrement chez lui « pour parler ». Si les premières fois il essayait de mettre en scène un simulacre d’une relation amoureuse je le faisais comprendre que ce n’était pas le but, et très vite il trouvait du plaisir à me traiter de pute. Vu que ces exploits sexuelles étaient plutôt médiocres et courtes, il prolongeait son plaisir en me faisant m’exhibitioner habillée comme une pute, avec rien qu’un soutien-gorge en dentelle rouge, une jupe collante toute courte, des bottes en cuir noir, le tout accompagnée de lèvres aussi rouges que le soutien-gorge. Et moi, je trouvais que je méritais d’être traitée comme çà, qu’en fait j’étais une pute que me faisait payer par son silence. Et étrangement, cela m’excitait.

Quand j’arrivais chez lui il me saluait avec un « Ah la pute est là. Change-toi et sers-moi un verre, stp. » J’allais dans le chambre, me mettais en tenue, et prenait une bière du frigo que je lui apportais avant de m’asseoir sur un tabouret devant lui, avec mes jambes ouvertes, pour me caresser la chatte. S2bjr28Immanquablement il avait immédiatement une respiration lourde, se mettait à se frotter le pénis à travers son pantalon, et après à peine quelques minutes enlevait frénétiquement son pantalon, pour m’entrainer dans la chambre ou je me couchais sur le lit et il se jetait sur moi, me pénétrait et éjaculait tout de suite.

Conscient de ces défaillances viriles il compensait en me forçant à faire des choses dénigrantes. Je devais le sucer el il éjaculait dans ma bouche, il me faisait grimper à quatre pattes pour qu’il me prenne par dernière, ou il me faisait porter un petit tablier en dentelle blanche, noué dans la taille, comme unique vêtement. Parfois je prenais ma revanche en ouvrant son pantalon et en prenant sa bite en main le faisant éjaculer dans son boxer. Puisqu’il n’arrivait jamais à venir une deuxième fois ça coupait court notre séance du jour à sa grande frustration. Alors il me ré-convoquait le jour d’après et si je protestais il me faisait son petit speech expliquant qu’il était déchirée entre son amour pour moi et son devoir de me dénoncer.

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Bien que ces rendez-vous ne manquaient jamais à m’exciter j’en sortais toujours avec un immense sentiment d’insatisfaction. J’étais alors impatiente de retrouver ma belle amazone africaine, avec qui, par contre, les jeux d’amour devenaient de plus en plus une source d’immense bonheur et plaisir.

Un jour j’avais pris mon courage en main et étais rentré dans un sex-shop ou j’avais acheté un gode portable. En le présentant à ma copine de 13 ans elle s’était mise à rire nerveusement mais elle l’avait enfilé tout de suite et très vite le maniait comme une pro, me donnant les plus beaux orgasmes de ma vie. Evidemment elle voulait que je lui rende le service mais je refusais, expliquant que ce n’était pas à une vieille comme moi de lui enlever sa virginité. A quoi elle se mettait à rire tristement : « Je ne suis plus vierge depuis mes 10 ans, de ça mon oncle s’est occupé ».

Attendri je la prenais dans mes bras et à partir de ce jour nous alternions nos rôles avec le gode. J’étais fière de lui donner des orgasmes aussi forts que celles qu’elle me donnait.

Ce furent des semaines formidables. De cette période date la photo qui allait contribuer à ma chute, mais la mémoire de ce jour me réchauffe encore le cœur. C’est Farah qui avait eu l’idée de prendre ces « selfies », toutes les deux toutes nues, dans des positions amoureuses et érotiques. Et plus tard, pour une occasion dont je ne me souviens plus, elle avait imprimée une de ces photos, et me l’avait offert avec un poème très romantique et sensuel au verso, dans sa plus belle écriture de petit enfant.

Si mes rendez-vous réguliers avec Manu étaient le prix à payer pour qu’il nous dénonce pas je le payais avec plaisir Evidemment personne n’était au courant de ces rencontres, même pas Farah. Comme je l’expliquais déjà, ces rendez-vous humiliants m’excitaient, et je me disais que c’était la pénitence que je devais payer pour mes pêchés. Par contre être confrontée à Manu tous les jours à l’école, le voir venir vers moi avec son petit sourire hypocrite pour me chuchoter à l’oreille qu’il voulait « me parler » ce soir, devenait de plus en plus insupportable.

C’est à ce moment que tout à fait inattendue je recevais l’opportunité de partir de l’école. Un jeune parlementaire avec qui j’avais travaillé sur quelques dossiers dans le cadre de mon travail bénévole dans l’association de la vie privée, m’appelait. Il avait décidé de se présenter comme candidat à la présidence de son parti – s’il gagnait il serait automatiquement le candidat premier ministre pour son parti – et il voulait que je rejoigne son équipe comme responsable de la communication. C’était un politicien pour lequel j’avais énormément d’estime et de sympathie. Qu’il voulait m’avoir dans son équipe était incroyable. Je n’hésitais donc pas très long temps, même si cela voulait dire que je n’allais plus pouvoir voir mon amour tous les jours. Je démissionnais de mon job à l’école et arrêtait de travailler pour l’asbl – ce qui était incompatible de toute façon. Mais je gardais mes mercredis après-midis libres, en expliquant à l’école que je continuerais à aider Farah avec ses études, sans rémunération, ce qu’ils acceptaient avec plaisir.

Dès le premier jour j’adorais mon nouveau bouleau. C’était une petite équipe très motivée, et Philippe, mon nouveau patron, était un politicien avec un énorme charisme. Lui et moi devenions très proches, et il m’impliquait dans toutes les décisions, aussi bien tactiques que sur les prises de position de fond.

Je m’épanouissais comme jamais avant. Et Farah et moi profitions encore plus de nos moments ensembles, les mercredis après-midis, ou les week-ends, de plus en plus fréquents, qu’elle venait loger. Seul bémol était Manu, qui me convoquait maintenant par SMS : « on doit se parler ta protégée a de nouveau pas fait ces devoirs ce soir chez moi ». Je trouvais alors une excuse et le temps pour aller faire la pute chez lui.

Et puis l’été arrivait.

Manu partait pour tout l’été en vacances ce qui était un immense soulagement. Bien qu’en même temps mes rendez-vous secrets chez lui, ou il me traitait avec toute la méprise grandissante qu’il éprouvait envers moi, me manquaient. J’avais besoin de ça, pour me pardonner moi-même, pour me faire absolvez de mon comportement inacceptable.

Pendant le mois de juillet les enfants partaient à des stages, et j’avais arrangé que Farah puisse les accompagner. Pendant tout l’été ces frères étaient à des stages organisés par des associations bienveillantes et Farah était donc libre de ces charges familiales. La campagne de Philippe avait pris de la hauteur, et il montait rapidement dans les sondages, de telle façon qu’on commençait à prendre en compte qu’il puisse gagner. L’atmosphère dans l’équipe était surchargée et nous travaillions comme des fous. Tout cela arrangeait bien sûr Jérôme et Françoise, mais ça ne me dérangeait pas.

Et le mois d’aout était magique.

Comme chaque année nous avions loués une maison dans le sud pour y passer le restant des vacances avec toute la famille. Mais prenant comme excuse le surcharge de travail j’expliquais que cette année je ne pouvais pas accompagner. La seule à qui cela avait l’air de gêner était Antigone. Elle argumentait qu’avec les moyens de communication modernes je pouvais quand même travailler de là-bas. Elle avait bien sûr raison, donc j’ajoutais une autre motivation pour ne pas les accompagner: j’allais en profiter pour aider Farah à mieux se préparer pour sa première année en humanités. Elle avait fait beaucoup de progrès mais tout le monde savait qu’elle avait toujours pas mal de retard scolaire à rattraper. Antigone n’avait plus de réponse à ça, mais à la façon qu’elle me regardait, avec un mélange de colère et de pitié, je savais qu’elle voyait à travers mes excuses, qu’elle savait que la vrai raison était que je voulais être seule avec ma protégée.

J’ignorais ce nouvel avertissement et j’arrangeais que Farah logeait chez moi pendant tout le mois. En vérité je n’avais pas tellement de travail puisque tout le monde était en vacances, se reposant pour une rentrée qui allait être surchargée.

Les matins je préparais des exercices que Farah devait faire pendant que je passais au bureau. Le midi je rentrais, nous mangions, et je révisais son devoir. Dépendant de la qualité de son travail elle devait encore travailler un peu ou pas. Mais le restant de l’après-midi nous étions  libre. Je l’habillais dans des jolies robes d’été et, au début du mois au moins, nous sortions faire des promenades.

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A plusieurs reprises nous partions même pour une journée à la mer. Me promener main dans la main avec mon amoureuse, afficher publiquement ma relation avec la belle adolescente, me remplissait de fierté.

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Mais petit à petit nous préférions rester à la maison pour s’occuper  l’un de l’autre en toute tranquillité.

On adorait prendre un bain ensemble ou nous nous lavâmes réciproquement, ce qui était un jeu immensément sensuel. Avant, et en général aussi après, nous faisions l’amour. On pouvait passer des heures à se caresser, à se lécher, à s’embrasser, à se pénétrer prenant des tours avec le gode. Puis c’était l’heure de mettre sa couche ! Comme je l’ai déjà décrit, cela aussi était un moment d’une immense sensualité. Et une fois bien langée elle s’endormait dans mes bras.

Un des premiers jours, quand elle avait terminé son travail, elle avait sorti les poupées de Renée et s’amusait à jouer avec elles.

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La voyant jouer comme une gamine me fascinait et quand je la voyais langer une des poupées j’avais une inspiration soudaine. Je me levais pour chercher une couche. Quand elle me voyait arriver avec la couche en main elle souriait, et se couchait sur le dos en remontant sa jupe et ouvrant ses jambes. Bientôt elle était en couches 24 heures sur 24.

Elle comprenait que la voir en couches m’excitait et s’amusait à me provoquer.

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Mais quelques jours plus tard au supermarché mon regard tombait sur les tétines et quand arrivant à la maison je lui en présentais une, elle n’hésitait pas à la mettre en bouche, et très vite elle l’avait en bouche tout le temps.

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Chaque jour elle rentrait ainsi de plus en plus dans son rôle de petit bébé. Et évidemment je l’habillais en petite fille avec les robes courtes que Françoise avait cousues et qui  couvraient à peine sa couche.

 

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Un jour on partait même à la mer comme ça. Et elle se laissait faire. Je crois que le fait que quelqu’un  puisse  découvrir  qu’elle  portait une couche nous excitait tous les deux.

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Mais à la maison je l’habillais de plus en plus rien que d’un petit  débardeur qui couvrait à peine sa couche. Au  début elle protestait demandant de mettre “une jolie robe” . Je comprenait qu’elle trouvait que d’exposer sa couche mouillée était humiliant, mais l’humilier m’excitait encore plus et j’adorais voir sa couche sale dépasser de sa « jupe » quand elle se promenait dans la maison.

 

Et pour sortir faire des courses dans le supermarché du quartier, je l’enfilais vite un petit short ou un legging au-dessus de sa couche. Si quelqu’un aurait fait attention il aurait sans doute remarqué qu’elle portait une couche. Etre “détectée” par une personne qui me connaissait aurait été bien embarrassant mais nous étions tellement dans notre petite vie à nous, qu’on n’imaginait même pas que quelqu’un puisse nous regarder. Ou est ce que je continuais à  défier le sort?

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Pour notre dernière excursion je décidais de faire une randonnée à la campagne. Je lui mettais un petit short d’enfant qui ne couvrait pas sa couche, et un t-shirt. Pendant la promenade chaque fois qu’on croisait d’autres promeneurs elle  prenait ma main et avec sa main libre tirait son shirt vers le bas pour s’assurer qu’on ne voyait pas sa couche. Cela m’amusait et pour la taquiner je l’arrêtais et enlevait son t-shirt. Elle me regardait avec des grands yeux peureux et couvrait automatiquement ses petits seins avec ses mains, ce qui m’amusait encore plus. Prenant ces mains je les baissais : « Qu’est-ce que tu caches ? Tes deux piqûres de moustiques ? »

 

Elle ne souriait pas : « Pourquoi tu fais ça ?» C’était une bonne question. Je réfléchissais une fraction de seconde : « Parce que t’es une petite fille et les petites filles font ce qu’on leur demande. Allez, cours, je te suis. » Elle me regardait et hésitait, mais puis ce tournait et se mettait en route.

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Envahi d’un drôle de sentiment je la regardais s’éloigner. La belle et fière adolescente avait disparue pour faire place à un petit bébé dépendante. Je réalisais qu’elle ferait tout ce que je lui demandais. Elle était complètement à moi, mon petit joujou, et, bien que j’en avais honte, cela m’énivrait.

A l’approche d’autres promeneurs je lui remettais son t-shirt mais en faisant un nœud sur son ventre pour que ça couche reste bien visible. Puis je l’embrassais sur le front et la prenais par la main. Quand on croisait les promeneurs, une famille avec deux enfants, je sentais la tension chez la petite. Vers la fin de la promenade le nombre de promeneurs qu’on croisait augmentait, attirant des regards curieux et amusés, mais elle s’habituait et relaxait petit à petit bien qu’elle ne lâchait plus ma main.

Une fois rentrée à la maison elle voulait se précipiter à la toilette mais je la retenais : « Tu vas faire quoi ? »

Elle me regardait étonnée : « Je vais à la toilette. »

« Tu dois faire poopoo ? »

Elle riait nerveusement : « Oui »

« C’est pour ça que tu portes une couche, non ? Les petits bébés font poopoo dans leur couche. »

Elle hésitait me regardant de nouveau avec des yeux peureux, mais puis, baissant son regard, elle se mettait à pousser et remplissait sa couche. Pour les derniers jours du mois je lui interdisais l’usage de la toilette, la forçant à faire caca dans sa couche. Elle m’obéissait à chaque fois sans oser me regarder. Après je la grondais en disant qu’elle était un petit bébé dégoutant, et l’emmenais à la salle de bain ou je procédais à enlever la couche et à  la laver soigneusement. Cela devenait une autre routine journalière, une autre excuse pour d’autres jeux érotiques en plein journée.

A partir de là elle se laissait complètement infantiliser: Je la nourrissais à la cuillère, elle buvait d’un biberon, je l’habillais et lui brossait les dents, et elle jouait comme un petit bébé avec des poupées, de coloriage ou un grand ballon.

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Elle rentrait tout à fait dans ce rôle de petit bébé, heureux et peureux à la fois. Toujours dans l’idée qu’elle récupérait ainsi l’insouciance à laquelle elle n’avait pas eu droit comme petit enfant je l’encourageais à se laisser aller. Quand je lui disais de remplir sa couche elle me regardait toujours avec des grands yeux timides et coupables mais elle faisait ce que je  demandais,  provoquant toujours chez moi se même sentiment ou honte et énivrement se mélangeaient. Je la serrais  dans mes bras : « Mon grand bébé a fait un grand poopoo? C’est bien. Viens maman va te faire tout propre.»

Mais la fin de l’été arrivait plus vite qu’attendu et espérée.

La rentrée était intense. Comme attendu à mon boulot cela se déchainait. Mais aussi pour Farah et Antigone c’était une rentrée spéciale puisqu’elles changeaient d’école pour commencer les humanités. J’avais convaincue Farah de demander à ces parents de l’inscrire dans la même école qu’Antigone. Puisque c’était une école ou le port d’un strict uniforme était obligatoire j’avais proposé de payer l’uniforme de mon amour. Et elles étaient toutes les deux ravissantes dans leurs petites jupes plissées, chemisiers blancs, et bas blancs ou gris. Farah choisissait de porter toujours des bas blancs sachant quelle tranchaient merveilleusement bien avec ces jambes brunes foncées.

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Les mercredis après-midis elle venait toujours à mon bureau dans le fond du jardin pour travailler ensemble, et pour faire l’amour … J’adorais voir entrer cette magnifique écolière dans son uniforme impeccable. Mais très vite l’uniforme se trouvait sur une chaise, soigneusement plié, et elle passait le restant de l’après-midi toute nue, comme une féline sauvage. Puis, le soir, elle mettait une des robes enfantines pour regagner la maison et pour terminer la journée en jouant avec Emmanuelle ou Renée, avant de se remettre en uniforme pour rentrer chez elle.

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Manu était de retour aussi et, évidemment, me réclamait. Bien que l’idée de me faire humilier par lui m’excitait comme toujours, je n’avais vraiment plus le temps. Donc je l’appelais et expliquais que non seulement je n’avais pas le temps, mais puisque Farah n’était plus dans son école il n’y avait plus de raison de se voir pour « se parler ». En plus j’annonçais que de toute manière je ne voyais plus la petite, qu’elle c’était fatigué de moi. Je ne sais pas s’il m’avait cru mais après quelques semaines d’angoisse, je croyais le danger passé.

Je vivais dans un rêve parfait. Evidemment j’étais consciente que cela ne pouvait pas continuer éternellement, que Sarah en effet allait s’émanciper de moi. Mais cela arrivait beaucoup plus vite que je n’avais pensé, surtout après sa soumission totale pendant notre mois d’aout extraordinaire. Quand les premières fissures dans notre relation se manifestaient je n’étais donc pas préparée.

Ça commençait par des petites provocations. Quand les week-ends on faisait du shopping ensemble elle ne voulait plus acheter les habits de jeune fille BCBG que jusque-là nous adorions tous les deux, mais voulait des habits plus « ado » : des pantalons larges, type militaire, de grosses bottines, des T-shirts noir avec des dessins goths, …. Je cédais facilement et lui achetait ce genre de vêtements tout en spécifiant que je préférais quelle ne le mette pas pour venir chez nous les week-ends. Ce qu’évidemment elle faisait quand même, en se maquillant en plus.

Puis elle commençait à négliger son travail d’école. Quand je la grondais elle se défendait avec des excuses familiales : son père n’était pas rentré et elle avait dû s’occuper de ces deux frères, le huissier était venu et ils avaient saisis je ne sais pas quoi, sa mère avait eu une crise de gastrites et elle l’avait accompagnée aux urgences, … Tant de responsabilité sur des épaules si jeunes me fâchait et je proposais de venir parler à ses parents, ce qu’elle refusait catégoriquement.

Un jour, scandalisée par la façon que ma petite protégée était traitée, je décidais de les rendre une visite sans en parler à elle préalablement.

Quand j’arrivais à son adresse je me trouvais en face d’une petite maisonnette, simple, mais coquette et bien entretenue. La porte était ouverte par une belle femme svelte d’une trentaine d’années, dans laquelle je retrouvais tout de suite les traits de ma chérie. Quand je me présentais j’étais reçue avec beaucoup d’égards et d’enthousiasme. Je devais rentrer et quand le père, un grand africain, un peu plus âgée que sa femme, avec une belle allure militaire, apprenait qui j’étais il prenait solennellement mes mains dans les siennes, et me disait que cela faisait énormément plaisir de faire ma connaissance, puisqu’ils m’étaient tellement reconnaissant. J’avais changé leur fille, l’avait remis sur le bon chemin. Avec pas mal d’hyperbole il m’assurait que j’avais sauvé la vie de sa fille. Justement à ce moment la porte s’ouvrait et Farah, habillée simplement d’un jean et d’un T-shirt serrant, rentrait. En me voyant installé là dans sa maison, à boire un verre avec ses parents, un ombre passait sur son visage. Elle était enragée. Si ces beaux yeux noirs pouvaient tuer j’aurai été morte sur le champ.

L’atmosphère devenue insupportable, je m’excusais en prétendant qu’on m’attendait chez moi et les laissait seul. Une fois à la rue je devais me tenir à un poteau pour ne pas tomber. Oh la menteuse ! Sa mère n’était pas plus dépressive que moi, le père absent avec son double boulot était en train de prendre un verre chez lui en lisant un livre, et si les huissiers étaient passés ils n’avaient pas pris grand-chose !!! J’étais furieuse, jamais de ma vie j’avais été aussi déçue.

Toute la nuit je pensais à ce que j’allais lui dire, mais quand le lendemain elle m’appelait pour dire qu’elle voulait me voir, seulement entendant sa voix, je savais que je ne pouvais pas me fâcher sur elle. Elle proposait de passer chez nous avant d’aller à l’école, et je l’attendais donc dans mon bureau dans la dépendance. Quand elle rentrait dans notre nid d’amour, habillé avec la veste en jeans et la petite jupe  que je venais de lui acheter, avec des bas noirs dans des bottines, et joliment maquillé, ma bouche était cloué. Je ne l’avais jamais trouvé plus sexy.

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Je voulais la prendre là, tout de suite, ne plus parler, juste s’aimer. Mais elle me jetait un regard défiant : « C’est fini entre nous ! Tu m’as trahie. Je ne veux plus te voir. »

Mon monde s’écroulait. Pendant une fraction de seconde je ne savais plus bouger, mais quand Farah se retournait pour quitter la pièce je me précipitais sur elle et la retenait. Je m’excusais, je pleurais, je la suppliais de ne pas m’abandonner. Elle me regardait calmement mais ne réagissait pas. Je m’agenouillais devant elle et la regardant entre mes larmes, demandait si elle ne m’aimait plus un tout petit peu. Elle me regardait de haut en bas et sur un ton glacial elle répétait que je l’avais trahi et que, non, elle ne m’aimait plus. Toujours assise à genoux, la retenant par les mains, je la suppliais alors de me la laisser aimer, même si elle ne m’aimait plus.

Elle hésitait, puis haussait les épaules : « Ok, d’accord je te laisserai m’aimer. » Immensément soulagé je me mettais debout et planquais mes lèvres sur sa bouche. Elle me laissait faire, impassible, mais quand je voulais la déshabiller, elle m’arrêtait : « Ça suffit !»

Regardant sa montre elle jurait : « Merde je vais être en retard. Ils vont de nouveau me coller une rétention mercredi après-midi à cause de toi ! »

Puis se calmant, elle se tournait de nouveau vers moi : « Sauf si tu m’aides. Tu n’as qu’à faire comme si tu étais ma mère et écrire une petite note disant que j’étais malade. ». Elle me souriait – oh qu’elle bonheur, elle me souriait – : « Tu veux bien faire ça pour moi, non? Puisque tu m’aimes?» Honteusement je hochais la tête : « Oui, bien sûr mon amour. »

C’est seulement à ce moment que je me rendais compte qu’elle ne portait pas son uniforme, et qu’elle n’avait eu nullement l’intention d’aller à l’école. Mais je ne voulais pas la contrarier plus, et je me mettais à mon bureau pour écrire la note. Quand je demandais si elle avait un exemple de l’écriture de sa mère elle haussait les épaules, en disant que son école ne connaissait pas son écriture. J’écrivais la petite note, la première d’une longue série que j’allais écrire au nom de sa mère.

A partir de là notre relation changeait complètement. Maintenant c’était elle qui tirait les ficelles, qui était le maitre du jeu. M’ayant vu la supplier à genoux lui avait fait prendre conscience de son pouvoir et elle n’hésitait pas à l’utiliser.

Chaque fois que je voulais la voir je devais la supplier, et, très vite, je devais la payer pour passer un peu de temps avec elle.

On se rencontrait quelque part dans un coin de station de métro, et elle se laissait embrasser et caresser. Si elle avait envie elle me rendait mes baisers et caresses, mais le plus souvent elle se laissait tapoter sans réaction, attendant impatiemment que je m’arrête. Elle ne venait presque plus jamais chez moi dans mon bureau. Mais quand j’arrivais à la convaincre de venir, moyennant un payement supplémentaire évidemment, elle faisait l’amour d’une manière passive, sans aucune passion.

Elle ne faisait plus jamais ces devoirs, et quand je lui avertissais qu’elle allait avoir des problèmes, elle me demandait d’écrire des notes au nom de sa mère, pour l’excuser auprès de ses profs. Sachant que je ne pouvais pas faire ça trop souvent sans soulever des soupçons, je me mettais à faire ces devoirs pour elle, imitant son écriture immature. Elle acceptait ce service sans me remercier, mais j’en profitais pour lui extorquer des nouveaux rendez-vous – payants bien sûr.

Pour aller à l’école elle mettait son uniforme, mais elle portait toujours un sac avec d’autres habits avec elle, et une fois sortie de l’école elle se changeait en ado « cool » dans le style skateur avec des pantalons larges et des longs t-shirts dans des couleurs déprimants. Je n’aimais pas du tout comment elle s’habillait, mais sa beauté était telle, que même en s’habillant moche, elle était splendide. Puisque je payais pour être avec elle je trouvais que j’avais le droit de la prendre par la main quand nous étions seuls, ce qu’elle me laissait faire. Ainsi errer dans les rues sans but, la tenant par la main, devenait mon seul plaisir.

Après quelques semaines cela l’embêtait et elle proposait de m’emmener aux endroits où elle rencontrait ces copains et copines skateurs. Etre invité à rencontrer ces copains me paraissait formidable et j’acceptais avec enthousiasme, mais demandais en quelle capacité elle allait me présenter. Elle riait : « Mais la vérité ma chérie. Tout le monde sait que j’ai trouvé une nana qui m’entretient. Mais c’est vrai que tu pourrais avoir un look un peu moins ringard, si non tout le monde va se moquer de moi. Viens on va te mettre au neuf »

Chaque matin je choisissais ce que j’allais porter avec soin, toujours en vue de plaire à mon amour. J’étais consciente d’être belle et que je ne paraissais pas mon âge. Et ce jour je trouvais que ma tenue étais particulièrement bien réussit, portant un jeans très serrant et une chemise polo moulante – favorisant aussi bien mes longues jambes que mes seins – sous un manteau mi-longue à doublure et col en fourrure. Que Farah me trouvait ringard faisait mal, très mal. Mais je ne disais rien. Depuis qu’elle avait pris le dessus j’avais vite appris à ne jamais protester. La moindre remarque l’irritait et alors elle me laissait en planque, menaçant de ne plus jamais me revoir. Je savais qu’elle c’était vite habitué à avoir des revenues faciles et n’allait pas facilement m’abandonner, néanmoins je préférais ne pas prendre de risques.

Une heure plus tard je me retrouvais à la rue portant un micro short, des bas en nylon à losanges et un petit pull gris à col arrondi, sous mon manteau mi-long. J’avais des cheveux longs que je portais toujours noué dans un chignon ou en simple queue de cheval assez haut sur ma tête, mais elle m’avait demandé de les laisser tomber sur mes épaules ce qui, je trouvais, me donnait un aspect non-soignée.

 ultra-mini-micro-short-taylor-momsen-L-1bis

 Je ne m’étais encore jamais senti aussi mal-à-l’aise, trouvant cette tenue encore plus « pute » que ce que Manu me faisait porter à l’intérieur de sa maison. Mais Farah, super enthousiaste, me complimentait sans cesse, et avait hâte de me présenter à ces copains. Pendant un moment je la soupçonnais qu’elle voulait se moquer de moi et me ridiculiser envers ces amis, mais puis je comprenais qu’elle était sincèrement fière que j’étais sa copine, la « nana qui l’entretenait ». Cela me rendait fière de mon côté, et éveillait un petit espoir que peut-être elle puisse redevenir amoureuse de moi.

A dream come true 12

“She smiled and put her hand between my legs: “I see my little pee-pants has wetted his diapers. But you have been a good boy, you deserve a treat.” She opened her legs and pulled me down making me sit between her legs. Before I knew what was going on she began rubbing my crotch and then, whispering in my ear, she told me to put my hand in my diapers. Blushing very hard, but unable to resist, I did as I was told and masturbated myself in my wet diapers, helped by Laura, in front of all the guests.”

You will find the preceding chapters of this story in “topics” under “True”, with the different chapters in reversed order. To find the first chapter you just have to scroll down to the bottom. Or you can go to the “Index page” and click on the link to the first chapter, and from there follow the links each time at the end to go to the next chapter.


Chapter 12

The time Laura played a 14 year old nymphomaniac, and Carol sometimes joined in for the age playing, was surely a climax in my life. But after a couple of months Laura had become bored by the games and she stopped playing. And Carol, becoming an adolescent, of course had plenty of other things to do.

Laura continued to be the master in the house delegating most household chores to me, which didn’t bother me most of the time. Although without the age play once in a while as compensation I got tired of it, thinking I really had a bad deal. I would then wonder if I should propose to Laura to stop the whole arrangement. Of course I knew this was impossible. When I had accepted Laura’s conditions of a “female led household” she had insisted this was forever, and I had accepted it.

From time to time Laura would feel guilty and treat me as a baby for a couple of hours. And of course she continued having me wear frilly girls panties at all time, regulary buying me new ones. She would come home and hand me a small present, and although knowing what to expect I would open it all excited. On other occasions, when we were shopping together she took me to a lingerie shop and helped me choose my new underwear. On those occasions she took great pleasure in embarrassing me. Sometimes she would take me in the fitting room with her, insisting I try the panties on while the salesperson, who had insisted the panties were too big for Laura, was waiting outside. Or she would make some comment with double meaning completely confusing the salesperson.
On one occasion she surpassed herself. I had fallen for a pair of pink panties for teen girls and whispered in a disappointed tone that it was a pity they were too small. Laura took the panties to a salesperson and asked her if they didn’t have them in a larger size. When the salesperson said they didn’t Laura turned to me with her most malicious smile: “That’s a pity, I think they would indeed have looked lovely on you.” The salesperson, obviously thinking this to be a bad joke, laughed politely. But Laura didn’t leave it at that: “You see, my husband thinks male underwear is boring, and I kind of agree. Besides, having him wear girly underwear keeps him in line. But the problem is that he always seems to prefer the younger models that won’t fit him. Don’t you have anything in this style that could fit him?” The salesperson turned scarlet, stammering something incomprehensible, but Laura looked at her, straight faced, waiting for her to recover her wits, which she did after a few more seconds. Still very embarrassed but trying to be professional, she began showing us models that she thought would meet my expectations. Needless to say that I hardly saw anything she showed us, so after a few minutes Laura thanked the girl and said we would be back as “my husband doesn’t seem to be in the mood for choosing his new panties today.’

But those kind of occasions were very few. Once or twice a year Isabel would invite me over for a baby-play day, which was always wonderful, but then Tom was offered a job in India and they decided to accept it. When I got the news I hit an absolute low. Both Antony and Carol were at college by then and came home only for the holidays. As my social life had become limited to my family and Isabel I felt increasingly lonely. For Laura too, the leaving of Isabel, her best friend, was hard, but she at least had a large number of acquaintances and a rather busy schedule of activities with them, while I just went to the office and stayed home to do the household, growing more and more frustrated.

But then a new person came into our life. The first time I met Vicente was when I came home from the office and he was sitting on the terrace with Laura taking a drink. She introduced me to him as her new tennis instructor and didn’t give any explanation why her tennis instructor had come home with her. He was in his late thirties, with a rather handsome, Latin look. I immediately felt uneasy, convinced they were lovers. I am sure that Laura hadn’t always been faithful, but at least until then she had been discreet about it. Laura didn’t seem uneasy at all. While I was standing in front of them, not sure what to say or do, she acted as if everything was normal, asking me why I didn’t go change into more comfortable clothes, and then I could fix them new drinks. There was nothing extraordinary about this, even in a normal couple this would be an acceptable thing to ask. But looking at the smile on Vicente’s face I was convinced he knew about the way our household was organized. I must have blushed, stammering I would be back in a few moments, and hurriedly left for my room.

But when I came down he had left, as he seemed to have forgotten the time and suddenly had realized he still had another student to train that evening. I didn’t dare to ask Laura if she had told him about our special arrangements.

From then on he became a regular visitor. In the beginning he would always leave soon after I came home, but little by little he would stay longer and one day Laura announced he was staying for dinner. Of course I prepared and served dinner but at least Laura didn’t insist I wore my apron.

But that too changed. The second time he stayed for dinner Laura told me to put on an apron, “so that Vicente can see what a sissy you are.” She had never called me a sissy, not even in private. I was shocked and protested vehemently that because I did the household it didn’t make me a sissy. While I talked I realized that probably I was a sissy, not really knowing what makes a sissy. Laura must have read my mind because she started laughing; “Ah no? And wearing girly panties, and putting on girly clothes whenever you get the chance, that doesn’t make you a sissy?”

Vicente didn’t seem surprised so I guess she had told him before. I blushed again and put on the apron that Laura was holding for me. From then on I had to wear my apron as always when doing the household regardless of the fact that Vicente was there or not. I continued to wonder if Vicente and Laura were lovers. I didn’t dare to ask fearing the answer but would be fixed soon enough. One day when I came home I found them half dressed in each other arms, kissing. I was standing in the door looking at hem transfixed but they didn’t seem to be embarrassed. Laura just looked up at me, slowly buttoning up her shirt: “Oh you are home. Is it that late already?” I looked at the smiling face of Vicente as he began to dress too, and suddenly realized they had known I was due any moment and had wanted me to find them that way. Furious I turned around and went upstairs to change.

When I came back he was gone and I decided to confront Laura. I told her that in our arrangements I never had accepted to be cuckolded and that I wanted her to stop the relationship immediately. Laura looked at me half surprised, half amused.

She seemed to think it over and then taking me by the hand led me to the couch where she made me sit at her feet: “Listen darling, that’s going to be very hard as I’m really infatuated with that strong Alpha male. But I agree that it was never part of our deal, and I understand that you object to it. So I guess we will have to make a new deal.”

I don’t know if she had it all prepared or if she was improvising but she proposed me then and there a choice between two new arrangements:

“The first possibility is that Vicente moves in, he and I sharing the big bedroom, and you choosing one of the kids bedrooms to sleep in. You would continue doing the household but Vicente would take over all the gardening and heavier work. As compensation I would baby you everyday as soon as you were done with the household”

The prospect of being babied every day was very tempting, but Vicente taking my place next to Laura in the master bedroom was of course unthinkable. So I listened anxiously to the second proposal.

“Or you can become a real man again. No more frilly panties, no more hairless body and no more baby games of course. I will continue as head of the household but you will never see Vicente again.”

I immediately knew I could not face the idea of no more babying, no more girly panties and the idea that my body would be covered by hair again was horrendous.

Deeply ashamed I lowered my eyes and when Laura asked what my choice was I whispered that I choose the first proposal. Laura laughed saying she had known this was going to be my choice.

Since that day my life has become a constant humiliation and … I love it.

From the moment Vicente moved in he acted as if he was the master of the house, at least with me. With Laura he maintained a respectful attitude, accepting her authority, but he treated me as if I was the maid. And Laura didn’t retain him. He and Laura were much infatuated with each other, being all over each other all the time. My presence didn’t stop them, on the contrary, it clearly turned them on making out in front of me.

The whole situation clearly amused and excited Laura. And I have to admit that being humiliated in this way excited me too. One day coming home from the office I put on the maids uniform Isabel had given me, and as I had expected, that inspired Vicente, who from then on had me wear it whenever I was doing the household.

On a typical day I would come home from the office, change into my uniform, serve Vicente and Laura, – who would be kissing and stroking each other all the time right in front of me – their drinks, prepare and serve dinner and clear up the table. Having finished my work Laura took me upstairs, put me in diapers and an onesie, popped a pacifier in my mouth and put me to bed with my dolly. Pure heaven. Of course most of the days it would be too early for me to go to sleep so I usually came out of bed, and played a little while on my own, wetted my diapers, masturbated in them and went to sleep. In the morning I raised early, took my shower, had breakfast, dressed the table for the two lovers and left for the office.

One day when I was doing some household chore – cooking or vacuum cleaning or ironing, I don’t remember – Vicente came up behind me, lifted the hem of my dress and squeezed my ass: “Nice ass for your age! I know some guys who would love to fuck that ass”. That first time, completely taken by surprise, I pulled my dress down, smiling shyly. Vicente roared with laughter: “Oh, look at that innocent sissy, he likes to be complimented on his ass. I bet he also likes the idea to be fucked in his ass, don’t you?” Coming back to my senses, I told him not to be gross and walked away as dignified a man can walk away when he is dressed in a short maid’s uniform.

Vicente loved that game, repeating it over and over, also in the presence of Laura who seemed to enjoy it too. Of course after that first time I was prepared, and reacted in a cool way, indicating that I found his remarks rather stupid. But then he began insisting I admit I would like to get fucked in the ass. Laura joined in saying that as I was not a man anymore I surely wanted to get laid by a real man, just as she had wanted it. I gave up, whispering that I would like that indeed.

From that day on I lived in fear they would bring home some guys with huge dicks to fuck me in the ass, threat that was repeated on a regular basis. But as time passed by and nothing happened I began to understand they were just teasing me, and that they didn’t know any candidates.

But then the story got a new twist. One day Vicente, sitting on a chair, had me kneel in front of him, and then, placing a cucumber between his legs, told me to suck on it: “Time to give you some cock-sucking training. I have talked to my friends and they don’t want to fuck you, – not the first time anyway- , but they said they love well trained cock-sucking sluts. I promised I would properly train you.”
The training became a regular thing. Sitting on my knees in front of Vicente, wearing a short maid’s dress with a lace apron knotted in my waist, and taking the cucumber he was holding between his legs, with both my hands, and get it deep into my mouth and suck on it, is one of the most demeaning experiences I have ever had. Especially because of its purpose: learning to receive a large penis this way. The idea that one day I might have to do it for real was horrific. But I loved the humiliating experience of learning to do it. And Vicente of course knew.

Although Laura had assured me that I shouldn’t be worried too much, that she and Vicente would grow tired of each other soon enough, the situation continued and Laura and Vicente behaved more and more as a settled couple. When we got dinner invitations from friends Laura went with him, leaving me diapered at home. It didn’t take long for all our friends, acquaintances and neighbors to know that, a part from having to do the washing, cooking and ironing, I was cuckolded in my own house.

But Laura kept her promise of putting me in diapers on a daily basis, which I am ashamed to admit largely compensated for it. It was great being put in diapers every day but being send to bed immediately afterwards was a little bit disappointing. I guess Laura realized that and in the week-ends she tried to make up. Since Vicente took care of the garden and of all the more “manly” chores in the house, Laura did the washing and some cleaning, and he and Laura did the shopping together, there was not much work for me to do during the week-ends except for some ironing. Vicente being hardly ever at home on Saturdays and Sundays, having either to give tennis lessons or going on tournaments, Laura babied me most of the time. As soon as Vicente left the house she put me in diapers and gave me my pacifier. She dressed me in nothing but a very short gingham smock that closed with a row of buttons in the back. As she had me eat with my hands and then swept my hands and face clean on the smock it was soon all stained but I never cared to wash it. All week-ends I was walking around in my dirty smock, heavy wet diapers hanging deep between my legs, carrying around my dolly, sucking on a pacifier. This really made the whole new deal worthwhile.

When Vicente came home and saw me walking around this way he always made disgusting faces and make sarcastic remarks about how he couldn’t understand why Laura was putting up with me. Laura would laugh and, kissing her lover on his mouth, answer that it was just for old times’ sake, and that anyway she had her compensation. And the two would make out right in front of me.

Once in a while however Vicente would come home unexpectedly bringing some friends with him. When this happened I spirited away and hided in my room until I heard the friends leave. Sometimes they stayed for dinner forcing me to stay in my room for hours.

And of course the inevitable happened. One day I didn’t hear them arrive. When they entered I jumped to my feet but then froze, clutching my dolly in my arms.

It was obvious that Vicente hadn’t planned this because he was as surprised as I was and for a second didn’t know how to react, but then he smiled one of his bright “Colgate” smiles to his friends: “O girls, you never met Laura’s husband, did you?” He turned to me, as I was still standing frozen: “You say hi to my friends Mickey?” At that moment my brain started working again and I wanted to run away but Vicente had expected it and, holding me by the arm, made me face his friends, two gorgeous looking girls in their late twenties or early thirties. “Come on girls, don’t look so scared. He may look like a complete retard, but he is very sweet, and very helpful. You know, you wouldn’t expect it but he is one of the best cocktail makers I have ever met. You girls fancy a margarita? He makes some fabulous margaritas.” The girls didn’t really react but that didn’t stop Vicente: “OK off to the kitchen Mickey, fix us 3 margaritas, ok?” With that he took me by the shoulders, turned me towards the kitchen, and gave me a soft tap on my diapers.

Getting to the kitchen I realized I couldn’t go back with the drinks dressed as I was, so I decided to hurry upstairs and change before making the drinks. But when I got to the stairs I heard Vicente voice behind me asking where I was going. He had guessed what I was up to and stopped me; “We don’t have all night you now. Anyway they have seen you, so there is no more point in changing, is there?” I shrugged and, knowing he was not going to relent, turned around and went back to the kitchen.

Coming out of the kitchen holding a platter with 3 margaritas on it, I was very conscious I was wearing nothing but a short, dirty, gingham smock, and was feeling my wet diapers hanging between my legs. When the girls saw me coming they still looked startled. One of them began giggling but the other just stared at me. When I got near to them the staring one suddenly asked why I was dressed like that. I had no idea what to answer and tried to pull down the smock, holding the platter with one hand, almost tipping it over.
Vicente walked up to me and took the platter out of my hand: “Laura makes him dress like that so that he would never forget he is just her sissy maid. And she keeps him in diapers because otherwise he pisses all over the place. The funny thing is that he loves it, don’t you Mickey?”

I cast my eyes even lower and nodded to Vicente’s laughter. At that moment Laura came in and I looked at her pleading to come to my rescue. But I should have known better. She joined the laughter and walked up to the girls, kissing them on the cheeks: “Hi Marilyn, hi Lisa, I see you have met the filthy pee-pants who used to call himself my husband” She then came over to where I was standing and lifted the rim of my little smock: “Gosh, It looks as if you have peed even more than usual. Go and change yourself before you leak all over the house. And stay in your room until I call you”

The incident must have inspired them because some time later they organized a party for a small group of their friends and told me I would have to serve. This of course was nothing unusual, but I was afraid Vicente would make me wear my maids’ uniform. Maybe I secretly hoped somewhat that he would.

But the day of the party I was in for another surprise. Laura put me in extra thick diapers, pulled white tights over them and dressed me in a pale blue polo shirt as only other garment. Of course serving drinks and snacks to their assembled friends dressed like this made me the center of a lot of mocking remarks. Especially since all of them seemed to know my status in the household.

Vicente and Laura were the perfect hosts walking from group to group chatting and making sure everybody was served, from time to time indicating me to me I had to pass with more drinks or snacks. Laura was looking much younger than her age, wearing the kind of sexy, very short, tight fitting skirt that she had begun to wear since she knew Vicente. She fitted right in with this new group of friends 10 to 15 years younger than us.

As the evening went on everybody got used to me and the attention ebbed away. Relaxing I couldn’t resist peeing in my diapers. Feeling the heaviness between my legs felt still like magic and I began enjoying the evening. Still serving drinks I passed Laura who was sitting on the couch chatting to a couple of friends. When she noticed me she asked how I was doing, calling me “darling”. Surprised by this kind attention I blushed and answered I was feeling good. She smiled and put her hand between my legs: “I see my little pee-pants has wetted his diapers. But you have been a good boy, you deserve a treat.” She opened her legs and pulled me down making me sit between her legs. Before I knew what was going on she began rubbing my crotch and then, whispering in my ear, she told me to put my hand in my diapers. Blushing very hard, but unable to resist, I did as I was told and masturbated myself in my wet diapers helped by Laura, in front of all the guests.

When it was over Laura did as if this was the most normal thing in the world. “Was that good? Well you certainly deserved that, you have been very helpful tonight. Now go wash your hands and bring us more drinks, I see people who are getting thirsty.”

Contrary to what Laura had predicted they don’t seem to get tired of each other. Months have turned into years and nothing indicates that their passion is diminishing. On the contrary. After that evening where Vicente and Laura had hosted their friends and I had been treated as their little toy, he seemed to settle in even more. And if in the beginning my presence hadn’t bothered him – on the contrary he had liked having me around doing the household and enjoyed humiliating me – he now wanted more privacy with my wife.

So I began to go to our vacation home during week-ends. We have bought that vacation and week-end house a number of years ago and have enjoyed staying there when the kids where still growing up. Now it is still used by the kids who from time to time spent a week-end with friends in it, but most of the time it is just standing there unused.

The house is rather secluded and being all by myself I can completely indulge in my games. I am becoming more addicted than ever.

When Laura told me some time ago she wanted to go on vacation with Vicente this month, I didn’t hesitate for a second deciding to take my holidays at the same moment, staying by myself in our cottage.

The first rule I established for myself is that I am not allowed to use the toilet at all. Except for the few times with Isabel I have never been able to soil my diapers and I have now discovered how I really love to fill my diapers and walk around with the heavy load hanging between my legs. It not only makes me feel real babyish but I like the feeling of the warm mass spreading around my legs when I sit on it, the smell of it, and I like to push my hands deep in my diapers covering my fingers with shit.

In short, I have discovered I really am deep into scatology. The next logic decision was that I am allowed only one diaper change every 24 hours.

Another pleasure I can now indulge in unconstrained is going out shopping for girly clothes and things. I have acquired a large collections of little skirts and shorts, frilly socks, colorful tights, girly panties and shirts, dungarees, … I even bought myself a couple of dresses but those are somehow always a disappointment.
I did order some of the things on line, but mostly I love to go to shopping malls and take my time choosing.
Except for clothes I also discovered the realm of girly accessories: colorful hair bands and pins, silver painted diadems, bead necklaces and bracelets, clip on- and magnetic stud earrings …. Each time I get all excited choosing and buying hem, and then can’t get home fast enough to try them on.

Of course Laura still controls my expenditures and will ask me to show the things I bought. Occasionally she will make me a compliment on my choice but most of the time she makes mocking remarks and asks me to put on what I have bought and show it to Vicente.

But I don’t care. I even kind of like to put on my little skirts and wear my bracelets and hairpins in front of them.

And while they were gone on holiday during those last couple of weeks I have developed a routine which is pure heaven.

On a typical day I put on new diapers at night before going to bed, sometimes wetting them before falling asleep, but most days they are still dry in the morning. Of course while brushing my teeth I can’t hold up my bladder any longer and my diapers get really wet.

Still wearing a cute nightdress I put on a bib and prepare breakfast: a baby bottle with baby formula, and a bowl with some kind of baby cereals.

After breakfast I dress in discreet, but safe clothes – usual dungaree shorts or pants underneath a T-shirt or sweater – to go shopping. The shopping, as well for food and household things as for my girly closet- takes the whole morning. Towards noon it’s high time to go home as my bowels can’t hold out any more. Sometimes I let go in the car but most days I fill up my diapers when I’m safely home.

Then, with my dirty diapers hanging between my legs, it’s time to try on the new things I bought and to dress up in a short skirt or other girly outfit. Trying on different things before deciding what to wear for the remainder of the day takes another hour.

By that time it’s dinner time. Dinner consists of soup – that I drink from a cup – and vegetable and meat or fish puree. I love to eat the puree with my hands, covering my whole face with the food.

In the afternoon it’s play-time. My preferred game is playing with my dollies: feeding, hugging, kissing, washing and dressing them. I really love to carry my favorite doll around, and at night take her to bed with me.

I also play with puzzles and building blocks, or read children’s books. Of course sometimes I get bored being a little baby and change into adult clothes – but never taking of my filthy diapers – and read a newspaper, magazine or book.

From time to time I go for a walk in the natural reserve behind our house. Going out wearing shitty diapers excites me every time. Sometimes I will cross another hiker, and as I greet him, I always wonder what I would do if one of them would stop to ask me something, and would smell my dirty diapers. Exciting but scary thought. I have been planning to go shopping with soiled diapers, however each time I have backed out at the last moment. But I know one day I will do it.

The only exception to never taking off my dirty diapers before bedtime is when I go for a swim in our small swimming pool behind the house. Going for a swim wearing a small, frilly, bikini, is another one of my new discovered pleasures.

But on most days at the end of the afternoon, the diapers are soaked and messy, and I usually have to put a second diaper over them to avoid leaks, to watch some toddler program on TV.

Supper consists of a fruit mash and another baby-bottle of milk.

And then it’s time for my bath, supreme moment of the day. I first sit in the bath without water, introducing both my hands deep in my diapers, feeling the sticky mass cover my fingers. Stroking my little thing, which hardly ever stiffens anymore, I cover it with shit. Taking out my hands I lick my fingers clean and cover my mouth and face with the smelly stuff, then putting my hands back in the diapers to play a little more with my dingy. Playing like this can go on for quite some time, until I can’t resist anymore and masturbate in my messy diapers.

Next I have to clean up which is always a nuisance. But when everything is cleaned up I fill the bath, put baby oil in the water, and relax. Finally I come out, put on a nice diaper and a cute nightdress, and I can look forward to a pleasant evening reading or TV watching.

The last couple of weeks I have also been writing this last chapter of my “memoirs”, sitting behind my computer wearing a diaper – usually quiet wet – and girly clothes.
I realize that in some way the circle has come full circle, with me wearing diapers and playing dress up by myself again, just as I did many years ago. But the fact that my family now knows makes it so much easier.

It still feels as a dream come true.

And last month, during the annual family dinner that I organize every 15th of august – mother’s day in our family – Carol surprised us all by announcing that she and her boyfriend Luis, were expecting a baby. The prospect of becoming a grandfather really excites me, and I haven’t stopped wondering ever since if they would let me be a little baby alongside my grandchild. I know this is not very likely, but one day I didn’t think it likely that Laura would treat me as a baby…

Anyway tomorrow I am going to have my ears pierced so that I can wear the cute heart shaped, sweetheart hangers I have bought this morning.

cute-earrings-girly-heart-Favim_com-488398

– The end –

Lolita revisitée 18

Lolita revisitée 18

« En arrivant à destination je sortais une petite jupe du sac que j’avais emmené et demandais au garçon d’enlever son short et d’enfiler la jupe. Il était évidemment ahurit et, les larmes jaillissant dans ses yeux, il gémissait: « Mais, mais, Bertrand. Je suis un garçon ! » Je lui souriais : « Plus maintenant mon amour. T’es devenu mon joujou, ma petite poupée ravissante. Allez, dépêche-toi, regarde comme elle est jolie la jupe, tu vas être trop mignonne ».

Vous trouverez les chapitres précédents dans “topics”, sous “Lolita”, en ordre renversée, le premier chapitre se trouvant tout à fait en bas.
Ou vous pouvez directement trouver le lien vers le premier chapitre dans la page « Index », et puis les liens vers les chapitres suivants chaque fois à la fin d’un chapitre.

Chapitre 18

Evidemment sans ma pute pour satisfaire mes besoins j’avais de plus en plus du mal à résister mon désir charnel pour le petit Andrew. Chaque nuit dans mon lit je rêvais de pénétrer son petit fessier, et de lui apprendre à me sucer.

Un jour je cédais. Il portait un de ses petits shorts et je l’avais pris entre mes jambes pour lui expliquer un problème de maths. Pendant qu’il essayait de résoudre les exercices je lui embrassais dans la nuque, je lui caressais les cheveux, puis les jambes, puis ma main se reposait sur son entre-jambes et je sentais son petit bâton se raidir. Il s’arrêtait de travailler et se tournait vers moi pour m’embrasser comme on avait l’habitude. Perdant tout contrôle je le faisais se mettre debout et, ouvrant son short je glissais ma main dans son slip, trouvant son bâton, qu’il laissait caresser, figé sur place.

Je faisais tomber le short par terre, puis j’enlevais sa chemise et finalement son slip. Se trouvant debout en face de moi,tout nu excepté pour ses chaussettes, il était un peu gêné, tenant ses mains devant lui, couvrant son petit bâton, ce que je trouvais trop touchant. Le laissant attendre ainsi j’enlevais mon propre pantalon et boxer puis je l’attirais vers moi et mettais sa main sur ma bite, pendant que je caressais la sienne. A la vue de mon arme dressé il faisait de grands yeux mais son haleine devenait plus rapide ce qui me remplissait de bonheur. Je l’excitais.

Sentant le moment propice je décidais de continuer la leçon. Je lui disais de se mettre à genoux et de prendre mon bâton avec deux mains ce qu’il faisait sans hésiter. Puis je lui demandais de lécher mon pénis comme si c’était une glace. Cette fois-ci il hésitait en me regardant de nouveau avec des grands yeux. Devinant la raison je souriais et l’assurais que mon arme était tout propre et que je n’allais vraiment par uriner sur lui. Il hésitait toujours mais serrait ses mains plus fort autour de ma bite et se penchait en avant, et puis prudemment se mettait à lécher. Petit à petit il prenait de l’assurance et sentant que cela me plaisait il me regardait d’un air tout fier. Je l’arrêtais pour lui expliquer la suite des choses. Je montrais comment je poussais la peau avant vers le bas découvrant ma glande, et puis lui disait que maintenant il devait sucer la glande en le prévenant que j’allais décharger un salve de sperme dans sa bouche et que c’était la chose la plus bonne au monde, qu’il allait régaler.

Sans hésiter il faisait ce qu’il faisait et me faisait jouir comme s’il avait fait ça toute sa vie. Je poussais un grand cri et éjaculais dans sa bouche. Avec un peu d’entrainement il serait presqu’aussi bon que ma Lolita. Mais pensant à mon amour perdu les larmes jaillissaient dans mes yeux. Le petit le remarquait et toute peiné demandais ce que j’avais. Mentant je répondais que c’était par bonheur ce qui produisait un sourire magique sur sa petite figure mignonne.

Je m’asseyais sur une chaise et le faisait m’enjamber : « Maintenant je vais te faire jouir aussi. », et tout en le donnant des bises partout sur son petit corps je caressais son petit crayon jusqu’à ce qu’une petite fontaine jaillissait, couvrant mes mains de son jus. Je nettoyais mes mains en mettant mes doigts alternativement dans ma bouche et dans la sienne : « C’est bon, non ? » Tout content il hochait la tête.

A partir de ce jour je recommençais à chaque occasion qui se présentait. Bien-sûre quand les filles étaient à la maison je n’osais pas nous déshabiller, me limitant à sortir ma bite de mon pantalon pour une pipe rapide et en le masturbant tout habillé, ce qui était évidemment moins satisfaisant. Mais du moment quand on était seul on se rattrapait.

Nos nouveaux jeux limitaient évidemment le temps qui nous restait pour nos sorties « entre hommes », néanmoins on essayait de les continuer le plus possible. Andrew adorait cette complicité masculine pendant que moi j’adorais lui apprendre des nouvelles choses, et de le voir ébloui de tout ce que je savais faire. En plus quand il affichait publiquement son enthousiasme et son « amour filial » en me sautant au cou et en m’embrassant j’étais rempli de fierté. De temps en temps je l’embrassais sur la bouche sous les yeux étonnés et scandalisés des gens qui nous avaient regardés avec tendresse et sympathie.

En même temps je l’encourageais à s’habiller le plus féminine possible avec des petits shorts et des chemises en couleurs pastel. Bien que je fusse manifestement fort attiré par ce jeune garçon les lecteurs de ces mémoires savent évidemment que je ne suis pas homosexuel. Dès le début j’avais été étonné par mon attirance pour ce garçon et j’en avais une certaine honte. Je me l’expliquais par son apparence assez féminine et, tout en l’introduisant dans des activités « d’hommes », j’encourageais donc à explorer son côté féminin.

Je rêvais de le voir habillé d’une petite robe, mais n’osais pas le lui demander.

Un bon jour la chance me souriait de nouveau. Julia et Andrew étaient invités à une fête d’anniversaire costumée et ne sachant pas comment s’habiller me demandaient des suggestions. En regardant avec eux dans leurs armoires je tombais sur les vêtements qu’ils avaient portés pour leur communion quelques semaines avant et j’avais une inspiration géniale. Julia avait porté une splendide robe blanche en taffetas, serrant dans la taille avec un grand nœud dans le dos, et des manches courtes bouffantes. La robe était portée avec des jupons causant la jupe de tomber majestueusement dans un grand cercle autour de ses pieds. Ravissante ! Andrew avait porté un blazer bleu marine sur un pantalon gris et une chemise à cravate. Très classique et élégant.

Mon idée était simple : Julia se déguiserait en Andrew et vice versa. Quand je leur expliquais mon idée Julia était tout de suite gagnée mais Andrew refusait catégoriquement. Evidemment sous l’insistance de Julia et moi, et l’aide de la petite Charlotte, il finissait par céder.

Déjà à l’essayage je savais que ça allait fonctionner à merveille. Mais pour améliorer l’effet je faisais transformer la robe par Shantel – après en avoir obtenu l’approbation distraite, mais amusée, de Jennifer, la maitresse de maison. Le jour avant la fête je prenais Julia chez le coiffeur et lui faisais couper les cheveux tout court avec une coupe de garçon. Et puis c’était le jour J. Quand Andrew enfilait à contrecœur la robe que Chantel avait raccourci jusqu’à 10 centimètres au-dessus des genoux, je ne pouvais pas m’empêcher de pousser un cri d’émerveillement. La petite jupe tombait en éventail à partir de sa taille, laissant apparaitre un soupçon des jupons – raccourcis également. Et quand il était tout à fait prêt – avec un diadème blanc dans ses cheveux blonds mi- longs, des bas blancs dans des ballerines également blanches, et avec un peu de gloss à lèvres transparent et ces cils noircis – il était à croquer. Une vraie fillette.

De son côté Julia était tout aussi charmante avec son look androgyne très réussit. Ils faisaient sensation à la fête, bien qu’Andrew devait évidemment supporter des remarques taquinant de la part des garçons de son âge.

J’étais trop content d’avoir réussi mon cou et avait hâte de recommencer. Quelques semaines plus tard les filles étaient parties et j’emmenais Andrew « pour un évènement surprise ». Nous partions en voiture mais en arrivant à destination je sortais une petite jupe du sac que j’avais emmené et demandais au garçon d’enlever son short et d’enfiler la jupe.

Il était évidemment ahurit et, les larmes jaillissant dans ses yeux, il gémissait: « Mais, mais, Bertrand. Je suis un garçon ! » Je lui souriais : « Plus maintenant mon amour. T’es devenu mon joujou, ma petite poupée ravissante. Allez, dépêche-toi, regarde comme elle est jolie la jupe, tu vas être trop mignonne ». Il continuait à protester qu’il ne pouvait pas porter des vêtements de fille, que tout le monde allait se moquer de lui. J’insistais en expliquant qu’il ne devait pas avoir peur, que personne n’allait se moquer puisque tout le monde croirait qu’il était une vraie fille. Quand il résistait toujours je faisais du chantage émotionnel, demandant qu’il le fasse pour moi, que je ne demandais pas grand-chose, que c’était la moindre des choses s’il m’aimait un tout petit peu, et finalement il cédait. Soupirant il enlevait son short et enfila la minijupe plissé, motif Burberry’s, qui en effet lui allait très bien. Et il ne résistait plus quand je mettais un peu de gloss sur ses lèvres et quand je ramassais ces cheveux avec un serre-tête assortie à sa jupe. C’était fou comment en deux minutes il était de nouveau devenu une vraie fille.

L’évènement auquel on participait était une lecture de livre « Journal d’une princesse ». Je savais qu’il lisait les livres par Meg Cabot de sa sœur et les aimait secrètement, et que la lecture allait donc lui plaire. Comme j’avais espéré, il n’y avait que des filles dans la salle et puisque cela se passa dans un centre de jeunes dans un quartier défavorisé de la ville je ne craignais pas de rencontrer des gens que nous connaissions. Par contre, son style BCBG avec des vêtements Burberry, n’était pas le style du quartier et tout le monde le regardait quand nous rentrions, ce qui le mettait encore plus mal à laisse. Et je dois avouer que cela m’inquiétait aussi un peu, donc je lui faisais signe de s’installer sur une rangée dans le fond de la salle et je me mettais à côté de lui. Les autres nous oubliaient et quand la lecture commençait tout le monde était toit de suite captivée. A fin de la séance nous nous éclipsions discrètement et pendant le trajet de retour il se changeait. Juste avant d’arriver à la maison il s’excusait pour la scène qu’il avait faite. Je l’embrassais et quand je demandais s’il avait aimé notre excursion il hochait timidement la tête.

Quelques semaines plus tard je l’emmenais de nouveau à ce centre de jeunes. Cette fois pour un atelier avec le titre « Devenir un grand couturier » Cela faisait partie d’une série qui avait comme but d’apprendre aux jeunes un nombre de professions moins connus.

En choisissant les vêtements que j’allais lui faire porter j’essayais de ne plus faire la même erreur et de choisir quelque chose plus adaptée au public. Il ne protestait plus quand je lui demandais d’enlever son pantalon et d’enfiler une robe-salopette en jeans au-dessus de son t-shirt au dessin « gothique ». Et quand je lui donnais des longs bas multi-couleurs il ne disait rien mais je voyais qu’il était ravi. Je le maquillais un peu plus que la fois précédente et quand je l’envoyais seul dans la salle, il y allait sans hésiter. Tout fière de ma créature je le suivais des yeux et voyais qu’il était tout de suite abordé par les autres filles. Quelques heures plus tard quand il me rejoignait à la fin de l’atelier, en ricanant avec les autres filles, il avait du mal à cacher son enthousiasme. Je savais que dorénavant il ne refuserait plus à s’habiller en fille, qu’il était devenu ma petite poupée obéissante.

Evidemment il ne pourrait jamais remplacer Lolita qui me manquait horriblement, mais cela s’approchait. Seul problème était les autres membres de la famille. Ils m’empêchaient de pouvoir jouir de ma nouvelle petite maitresse à temps plein. Autre limitation était que je n’osais toujours pas le pénétrer.

C’est à cette époque que la chance venait de nouveau à ma rencontre. Je ne voyais pas souvent Jennifer, la maitresse de maison, mais quand je la voyais je ne manquais jamais à lui faire la cour. Rien de plus facile que de charmer une mère. Il suffit de complémenter la beauté et l’intelligence de ses enfants et puis d’y ajouter qu’il ne fallait pas chercher loin pour savoir de qui ils tenaient ses qualités. Jenny n’était pas différente et je savais qu’elle n’était pas indifférente à mes charmes. Néanmoins le jour qu’elle tombait en pleurs dans mes bras j(étais complètement surpris. J’avais vu qu’elle était préoccupé et avait simplement demandé si je pouvais l’aider. Mon intérêt la touchait et elle se mettait tout de suite à pleurer en avouant qu’elle était persuadé que son mari la trompait. Bien que je le sache depuis longtemps j’essayais de la calmer en metant mon bras autour de ses épaules, disant qu’elle s’imaginait certainement des choses. Mais je prenais soin de le dire de telle façon qu’elle comprenait que je mentais. Elle se blottit dans mes bras avec des gros sursauts de chagrin. Tout d’un coup je voyais ma chance. Je savais que c’était Jennifer qui avait le patrimoine et que son mari, bien qu’ayant une bonne position avec un bon salaire, vivait à ces frais. Si je pouvais les séparer je pouvais remettre en place la situation que j’avais eu avec Concha et Lolita, devenant le beau-père du petit Andrew et des ces sœurs, vivant aux frais de ma maitresse.

Evidemment je réalisais que je devais procéder prudemment sans forcer les choses. Néanmoins à partir de ce moment il y avait une complicité entre elle et moi et j’étais assez confiant que mon plan pouvait marcher. En attendant, avec ma position déjà consolidée, mon impatience pour réellement posséder le petit môme grandissait. Le désir d’enfoncer mon arme dans son petit derrière exquise devenait de plus en plus pressant. Et je décidais donc d’avancer et de donner le prochain pas. Je me mettais à jouer avec son petit trou en y enfonçant mes doigts, le préparant ainsi petit à petit. A ma frustration il n’aimait pas du tout et la première fois résistait, demandant pourquoi je le faisais. Je répondais sèchement que bientôt il allait comprendre. Sa confiance en moi était absolue et après une petite hésitation il se laissait faire docilement.

Les prochaines fois il ne protestait plus. Parfois en retirant mes doigts de son trou ils étaient couverts de merde et, comme avec son jus, je les nettoyais dans ma bouche. Il me regardait avec un air dégouté, et quand je lui demandais s’il voulait gouter il refusait catégoriquement, ce qui me contrariait de nouveau. Le traitant de petit bébé je lui disais qui ’il devait encore beaucoup apprendre. Je le faisais s’agenouiller devant moi et, pensant qu’il devait me sucer, il prenait ma bite en bouche. Mais quand je me mettais à pisser dedans il était horrifié en se retirait. Je le forçais à reprendre mon pénis dans sa bouche et pendant qu’il pleurait des grosses larmes je la remplissais. Il n’avalait pas et mon pisse débordait de sa bouche le couvrant complètement. Quand j’avais terminé il y avait une grande flaque par terre ce qui m’irritait horriblement : « Regarde ce que t’as fait ! Il faudra tout nettoyer maintenant ». Il hochait tristement la tête et voulait s’en aller, probablement pour aller chercher de quoi nettoyer, mais je le retenais, et prenant son shirt je le forçais de nettoyer le sol avec sa chemise et puis de la remettre : «Ainsi tu pourras régaler de l’odeur de mon pisse puisque tu n’aimes le boire ! »

Après cette scène j’étais rempli de honte. Je le prenais gentiment par la main et l’emmenait à la salle de bain ou je le lavais, et le promettais que je n’allais plus jamais lui forcer à faire des choses qu’il n’aimait pas. Une promesse que bien-sûre je n’allais pas tenir mais pour le moment il me croyait et il m’aimait encore plus pour ça.

Le fait qu’il m’avait résisté m’agaçait et je décidais que je ne pouvais pas laisser passer sans conséquences, sinon mon autorité allait s’effriter. Un peu plus tard l’occasion idéale pour lui rappeler qui était en charge se présentait. Ces sœurs étaient invitées à un sleepover et les parents avaient un mariage dans une ville lointaine et donc on me demandait de rester dormir et faire le babysit pour Andrew. J’acceptais bien-sûre et voyait que le petit était tout excité par l’idée de passer une nuit seul avec moi.

Ce soir quand on se trouvait seul je le demandais de se déshabiller comme d’habitude, ce qu’il faisait évidemment sans perdre une seconde. Quand il se tenait tout nu devant moi, toujours en mettant ses mains devant ses parties privées, mais tout naturel sans gêne maintenant, je le demandais de se coucher sur son lit, d’éloigner ses mains et d’ouvrir ses jambes. Une position de complète vulnérabilité. Quand il exécutait mes ordres je détectais une petite lueur d’apréhension dans ses yeux ce qui me plaisait.

Ma mise en scène était parfaite pour ce que j’avais en tête. Je lui montrais la couche jetable que j’avais apportée et demandais de soulever ses fesses pour que je puisse la glisser en dessous de lui : «Parce que les petits garçons qui refusent d’apprendre des nouvelles choses restent des petits bébés pour toujours, et les bébés portent des couches.»

Il était complètement pris par surprise et poussait un cri d’horreur mais il se laissait faire. Et cela devenait une nouvelle habitude. A chaque occasion que les filles n’étaient pas là je le langeais. Très vite c’était lui qui prenait une couche et se couchait pour se faire soigner, et il ne tardait jamais à la mouiller. C’était évident qu’il aimait ça, et au début je croyais qu’il aimait le sentiment de la grosse couche entre les jambes et du pis qui se répandait dedans. Mais quand à chaque fois il demandait d’être changé immédiatement après avoir fait pipi je comprenais que ce qu’il aimait était de se faire soigner les parties intimes par moi. Je prenais alors un plaisir à le laisser dans sa couche mouillée le plus longtemps possible, mais aussi à prendre mon temps pour le soigner tendrement ce qui nous donnait un immense plaisir érotique à nous deux.

Evidemment pendant la journée Shantel était toujours dans la maison, et puisque je voulais garder mon petit amour en couche aussi en dehors de sa chambre il fallait trouver une explication. Je lui expliqua donc que je mettais le petit en couches pour compenser le manque d’affection maternelle dont il avait souffert dès sa naissance, qu’en lui mettant une couche il pouvait s’abandonner complètement à une personne qui prenait soin de lui et qu’ainsi il se sentait protégée et aimée. Comme prévu la bonne femme me croyait sans hésitation et, même mieux, mon explication réveillait ses sentiments maternels. Quand elle le voyait se promener dans sa couche mouillée elle donnait des commentaires tendres du genre « Oh, le petit bébé à fait pipi, il faudrait le changer avant que son petit derrière ne s’irrite. ». En plus elle se mettait à l’infantiliser, en lui coupant son nourriture et le mettant un bavoir. D’abord j’étais surpris et un peu irrité par son interférence, mais très vite cela m’amusait.

Mais la vrai surprise venait quand cette gentille femme tout d’un coup commença à dévoiler un côté cruel. D’abord les commentaires changeaient : « Ah non, le petit pisseux a encore fait pipi. T’as pas honte ? T’as quel âge ? » . Quand Andrew ne répondait pas elle insistait et alors il répondait avec une toute petite voix : « 12 ans ». Elle se mettait à rire méchamment : « Est-ce que les garçons de 12 ans font pipi dans leur culotte ? » Baissant ses yeux il ne répondait pas. Elle continuait : « Bien-sûre que non. T’es un petit menteur, tu n’as pas 12 ans, t’es un petit bébé de 2 ans ! » Encouragé par son manque de réaction elle faisait évoluer les choses en le forçant à garder une tétine en bouche et en l’installant sur le sol de la cuisine avec des jouets de bébé.

Bien que ça m’agaçait un peu de ne plus l’avoir pour moi tout seule son jeu me fascinait et je laissais faire. C’est à partir de là que les choses commençaient à se gâter. Un jour après l’avoir mis de nouveau par terre avec des jouets elle l’ordonnait à ne pas bouger de là. Puis elle se tournait vers moi, et me prenant par la main, m’entrainait dans la chambre à côté, ou elle déboutonnait sa chemise et enlevait son soutien-gorge, dévoilant deux sacs ridées qui pendaient jusque sur son ventre. Sans doute il y a très longtemps cela avaient étés des belles grosses seins sexy, mais maintenant la vue de ces deux sacs recroquevillés était dégoutait.

Elle me regardait en me donnant un sourire qu’elle voulait angélique mais la combinaison avec ce vieux corps n’avait rien d’angélique. Je détournais mon regard et voulait partir mais elle me prenait la main : « Ça fait longtemps que quelqu’un m’a encore caressée les seins.» Et avant que je ne puisse réagir elle mettait ma main sur un de ses deux tas de peaux ridées. Dégouté je retirais ma main et criais : « T’es devenu folle ? Tu croyais que j’allais te caresser ses sacs vides ? » Elle me regardait avec un autre sourire, méchant et diabolique cette fois-ci: « Bien sûre. Tu ne voudrais quand même pas que je raconte à Jenny et Lewis ce que tu fais avec leur fils adoré ? » Je n’avais pas vu arriver ce chantage grossier, et la regardait, muet, horrifié, incrédule. Et quand elle remettait ma main sur un de ses seins je le caressais mécaniquement. Elle se penchait vers moi et chuchotait dans mon oreille : « Tu devrais mettre un peu plus de tendresse et de passion mon amour. » Et puis elle plantait ses lèvres sur ma bouche et je sentais sa vielle langue de vipère essayer de rentrer. Quand elle sentait que je fermais instinctivement mes lèvres elle se retirait et me regardait : «Je crois que tu n’as pas encore compris mon amour. Si tu veux rester dans cette maison tu seras mon amant, et tu devras me faire l’amour avec de la tendresse et de la passion, de tel façon que je te crois sincère. » Quand elle remettait ses lèvres sur ma bouche je me laissais faire, ouvrant mes lèvres et laissant enlacer ma langue avec la sienne pendant que je caressais doucement les deux vieilles loques qu’elle faisait passer pour des seins.

Je sentais comment elle ouvrait mon pantalon et introduisait sa main dans mon boxer, et comment – à ma surprise – mon membre gonflait dans sa main. Elle se mettait à rire doucement : « Je savais bien que tu me désirais, mon amour. » Quelques minutes plus tard nous étions tout nu tous les deux. Son corps était un désastre avec à part ses seins vides, un gros ventre, des cuisses plein de cellulite, des jambes couvertes de veines bleues, … Mais elle n’avait pas l’air d’en être consciente et me faisant la lécher partout. Et puis elle mettait du lubrifiant sur nos sexes et me faisait la pénétrer. Je venais presque aussitôt ce qui me méritait un avertissement pour la prochaine fois.

A partir de ce jour nos vies, la mienne et celle de mon petit ange, devenaient un enfer. Du moment que les filles n’étaient pas là Andrew était mis en couche, qu’il portait en dessous d’un simple T-shirt, ou, parfois d’une petite robe, et qui n’était changé qu’à la fin de la journée, forçant le pauvre gosse de se promener pendant des longues heures avec une lourde couche qui pendait entre ses jambes. Il en était très honteux et se cachait mais elle allait le chercher et le traitait de petit bébé pisseux, le reprochant qu’il puait. Quand il se mettait à pleurer elle mettait une tétine en bouche et un pluche dans ses bras et me faisait le nourrir des panades et des purées à la cuillère. Tout cela bien sûr j’adorais secrètement. Oui j’ai honte mais j’avoue que j’adorais de voir le pauvre garçon ainsi réduit à un petit bébé peureux, sans défense, tout soumis, que je pouvais alors conforter en le prenant dans mes bras, en lui enlevant sa couche et en le lavant tendrement.

Andrew prenait garde de ne jamais souiller sa couche mais un jour il avait un besoin urgent – je ne sais toujours pas si Chantel avait mis un laxative dans sa bouffe ou s’il avait simplement un dérangement des intestins – et demandait d’enlever la couche pour qu’il puisse aller se soulager à la toilette. Bien-sûr Chantel refusait disant que les toilettes n’étaient pas pour des petits bébés. Quelques minutes plus tard il remplissait sa couche pendant que des grosses larmes coulaient par ces joues. Je le prenais sur mes genoux pour le consoler et tout de suite l’odeur de son caca m’excitait. J’enfonçais ma main dans sa couche et sentait comment la masse gluante glissait entre mes doigts. Je prenais un peu de caca dans ma main et la sortant de sa couche la mettait devant sa bouche. Me regardant tristement il happait le caca de ma main. Je lui couvrait les lévres de caca et, comprenant ce que je voulais, les nettoyait avec sa langue. Le pauvre petit chéri faisait tout ce que je demandais. Il n’avait plus aucune résistance.

Mais les autres jours, avant de me laisser conforter le gosse, Chantel l’installait par terre dans la cuisine avec une poupée et avec la consigne de ne pas sortir de là, et me prenait par la main pour aller faire l’amour. Elle devenait de plus en plus exigeante, m‘obligeant de lui caresser pendant des longs moments, de lui donner des baisers sur tout son corps et surtout de lui assurer que je l’aimais et que je la désirais. C’était épouvantable. Mais encore plus grave, elle commençait à me taquiner quand Jennifer était là, insinuant qu’il y avait quelque chose entre nous, en me donnant des caresses rapides. Jenny était amusée et me donnait des clins d’œil, mais je savais que cela ne tarderait pas avant que Shantel ne dévoilerait publiquement notre « relation ».

Puisque tout mon plan risquait de tomber à l’eau, j’arrivais à la conclusion que je devais me débarrasser du mari et de la bonne au plus vite. Mais comment ? Je savais évidemment que la chance que les deux subissent un accident comme ma pauvre Concha à l’époque, était nihil. Comment aider la providence alors? Cela devenait une obsession, mais même en y pensant du matin au soir je ne voyais pas comment y arriver.

Et une fois de plus la providence intervenait, mais hélas pas dans le sens que j’avais espéré. Un jour en entrant dans la maison Jennifer m’attendait et me disait sur un ton grave qu’elle devait me parler. J’étais pris de panique et mon cœur se mettait à battre à un rythme infernal. Jennifer me faisait s’asseoir dans son bureau et puis m’annonçait qu’à son immense regret elle se voyait obliger de mettre fin à mon emploi. Pour un moment je croyais qu’elle avait découvert les perversités que je faisais subir au pauvre Andrew, et j’étais sur le point de nier tout, mais juste à temps je comprenais qu’alors elle ne m’aurait pas reçu d’une façon aussi calme et sereine. Je me taisais pendant qu’elle expliquait ce qui était arrivé. Elle était rentrée dans la chambre d’Andy et elle l’avait trouvé en se masturbant avec son short et son slip autour de ses chevilles et avec dans une main son sexe et dans l’autre une photo de lui et moi en maillot de bain, qu’elle me montrait. Je reconnais le « selfie » que le petit avait pris de nous en sortant de la piscine quelques mois avant. Jennifer continuait en expliquant que puisque Andy était amoureux de moi et qu’un amour érotique entre un élève et son tuteur était trop malsaine. Elle ne voyait donc pas d’autre solution que de me congédier. Evidemment elle me payerait quelques mois d’indemnisation mais elle préférait que je parte tout de suite, même sans dire adieu à mon petit protégé.

Quelques heures plus tard je me retrouvais dans ma caravane déprimante et puisque plus rien ne me retenait dans cet endroit sinistre je prenais la décision de partir et de me réinstaller dans la maison que je louais toujours en ville. J’emballais mes quelques possessions et prenait la route vers la maison plein de souvenirs de ma chère Lolita.

– la suite: https://clairodon.wordpress.com/2014/11/14/lolita-revisitee-19/

 

 

next story – Prochaine histoire

Sorry for not posting for so long but I have had my mind on other things. However I think I might get back to the writing table soon. It would help if I would get some encouragement. Just some comment on (one of) the stories you have liked.

Je n’ai pas eu envie d’écrire le dernier temps mais je crois que je pourrais me remettre à l’écriture bientôt. Un peu d’encouragement sous forme d’un petit commentaire concernant les histoires que vous avez aimés pourrait me motiver.

Claire

Histoires récentes – Recent stories : 13 Mars – March 13th 2014

Vous trouvez la liste complète des histoires dans la page “index”.
You will find the complete list of stories on the “index” page.

Today I published the 3rd chapter of Billyboy in shorts: During the long absence of Melinda Jenny continues to treat Billy as a young boy, which he loves. But when Melinda returns he is too happy to be her little pet slave again. https://clairodon.wordpress.com/2014/03/13/billyboy-in-shorts-3/

On January 2nd  I published the – richly illustrated – 3rd chapter of Sick Little Monsters: Julien and Christina continue their mutual humiliations, both loving humiliating the other as much as being humiliated themselves. Christina is first promoted to school-whore and then kept in shitty diapers, as for Julian he is made to wear girl clothes. https://clairodon.wordpress.com/2014/01/02/sick-little-monsters-3/

On the 22nd of November I published the second chapter of Living in Paradise, the continuation of this happy age play and feminization story: George gets more and more wound around Nathalie’s finger, accepting all her strange, somewhat kinky, demands and quirks. He has no clue where this is going to lead him but he loves it. https://clairodon.wordpress.com/2013/11/22/living-in-paradise-2-2/

Le 30 Janvier j’ai publié le premier chapitre d’une nouvelle histoire: Double tabou :Martine raconte comment elle est tombée amoureuse de son élève de 13 ans. Dans ce premier chapitre elle raconte les circonstances. Les suites c’est pour les chapitres suivants. https://clairodon.wordpress.com/2014/01/30/le-double-tabou-1/

 Le 24 décembre j’ai publié  le 6ième chapitre de La Revanche: Alex, à sa grande joie, mais à la grande détresse de son père, semble en route pour devenir une vraie fille. https://clairodon.wordpress.com/2013/12/24/la-revanche-6-3/

 Le 14 octobre j’avais publié le 17ième chapitre de Lolita revisitée : Après la mort de Larry, Bertrand reprend le contrôle de Lolita, plus que jamais. En même temps  il trouve une nouvelle victime pour satisfaire ces besoins pédophiles.
https://clairodon.wordpress.com/2013/10/14/lolita-revisitee-17/

 

 

Billyboy in shorts 3

As they entered the changing room they found it was bigger than expected with a long table from wall to wall with 3 changing pillows on it. Billy was relieved to find the place empty and hurried to take off his sweater and unfasten the braces from his dungaree shorts. Jenny opened the buttons on the sides and the shortalls fell to the floor revealing his soaked diapers: “Look at that! We are lucky that they haven’t leaked yet.” She unfastened the diapers and made them fall to the floor too. As he was standing with his private parts exposed she unfolded a new diaper on one of the cushions and then told him to sit on it. Just as she had folded the diapers around his legs and was fastening the tapes a girl of 13 or 14 years old walked into the room with her little 3 year old sister.  She looked flabbergasted seeing the big boy being diapered but Jenny smiled at her as if this was the most normal thing in the world.”

 

 

 

What happened before?

You will find the preceding chapters of this story in “topics” under “Billyboy”, with the different chapters in reversed order. To find the first chapter you just have to scroll down to the bottom.

Or you can go to the “Index page” and click on the link to the first chapter, and from there follow the links each time to the next chapter.

 

Chapter 3

Overnight there was a sudden change in the weather and the next morning they woke up to a beautiful spring day. Jenny served breakfast on the terrace and, enjoying sitting in the sun, they took their time. After breakfast they went upstairs as always to have his diapers taken off and to get washed. His toilet done he ran off to his room to get dressed. As he realized they were running late he didn’t wait for Jenny to choose his clothes as was the custom on other days.

When she came into his room he was almost dressed having put on the same clothes as the previous Friday. She looked at him surprised and then told him he couldn’t go out dressed that way, as it was going to be too hot.  She had heard the weather forecast and the temperature was going to be very high for the season.  She told him to take off his clothes whiles she chose a more appropriate outfit.

When she took one of his pairs of tight fitting navy blue shorts and a white and blue striped dress-shirt with short sleeves he gasped. Until then he had never worn shorts to his new university and he had managed not to attract the attention of his classmates. He had even befriended a small group of co-students, both boys and girls, and although he always remained quietly in the background, he felt he had been accepted as part of that small group.  Going out dressed as a little schoolboy would of course change all that.  But at the same time he loved wearing that kind of outfit as it automatically made people treat him in a condescending, protective way. It always felt so right.

After a second of hesitation he pulled down his trousers and began dressing in the clothes Jenny had handed him. While he was dressing she returned to his wardrobe taking out all his pants: “It’s spring, the good weather is there to stay, you won’t need any pants for the coming months, do you?”  He smiled meekly and nodded in agreement.

As expected his arrival at uni didn’t go unnoticed. His friends at first thought it was some kind of joke. But asked why he was dressed that way the only answer he could give was that the weather was fine, which of course didn’t satisfy his friends. When the following days and weeks he came to school always dressed as a little schoolboy people thought he was a weirdo and began keeping their distance. He soon found himself alone most of the time, observing the others from a distance. And with that came back the obsession with girls with his member trying to burst out of his little shorts. He began regretting that Jenny didn’t make him wear his chastity device.

 

He began to dislike school, and after classes he came home even faster than before. And he loved Thursdays when classes ended early and he could join Tommy to play. One of those days when he and Tommy were drinking their milkshakes, Jenny asked if they would like to go to an amusement park that week-end. Of course the two boys were enthusiastic and they immediately made the practical arrangements. Tommy would come over the next day to sleep over, so that they could leave very early on Saturday morning, and come back the same day. As it was a long drive they would come home late at night and Tommy could sleep over again and go back home on Sunday.

On Friday Tommy arrived while Jenny was still preparing dinner. She told the boys to go to their bath already and that she would join them shortly to help washing them. As Bobby found himself sitting in the bath waiting for his friend to join him he hoped Billy would take his whizzy in his hand again to make it grow hard, but when his friend joined him he was carrying a number of plastic toys, – little ducks, bottles, boats and other floating stuff- and the two of them were soon playing, splashing water all over the bathroom.  When Jenny entered the room she looked a moment cross, but then shrugged and smiling told them to stand so that she could wash them. This time Tommy felt less awkward getting used to the strange ways of the house.

After the bath Jenny had helped both of them get dry and as usual had helped Billy to put on his pajama shirt and then had taken him by the hand and led him to his room with his bare bottom. Tommy feeling slightly jealous followed them to the bedroom and watched again how Billy lied down on the bed on his back with his legs open and how Jenny applied the baby powder between his legs and over his jewels, and then folded the diaper around his legs and fastened them. Again Jenny turned towards him and asked if he wanted to get diapered too. He blushed even harder as on the previous occasion, and hesitated for a couple of seconds speechless, but finally blurred out that he was fine.  Jenny gave him an amused smile.

The 3 of them went downstairs where Jenny served dinner and, without asking anything, she took Tommy’s plate and cut the food in small pieces, and then did the same for Billy. They had to go to bed immediately after finishing their food, since they had to get up early. When Aunt Jenny had boarded both of them and they were alone Tommy softly glided out of bed and joined his friend, putting his hand on his soft diapers. Billy put his hand in Tommy’s pants stroking his little dingy until it became hard, and bending over, his tongue found his friend’s mouth.

The next morning Billy came out of bed with his diapers soaked again, and went to the breakfast table without being changed. Tommy, disgusted, kept his distance from his friend with whom he had been so intimate the night before. During breakfast Jenny asked them if they were ready for the long drive. Both boys, all excited about going to the amusement park, answered they were more than ready.

Jenny seemed to hesitate but then addressed herself to the older boy: “Billy, I have been thinking that since you have such a small bladder, and we don’t want to stop every so often, maybe it would be a good idea if you would wear diapers during the drive.”

He looked at her for a moment thinking she was kidding, but then realizing she was serious, he turned blood red, catching his friends flabbergasted gaze.  He wanted to protest that that was completely unnecessary but Jenny took him already by the hand and kissed him on his cheek: “That’s a good boy. I knew you were going to be reasonable.”  He immediately gave up any intention of resistance, and thinking the idea of being protected for the trip was not unattractive after all, he followed her, avoiding looking at his friend.

 

Tommy followed them and watched once more his big friend being diapered. And Jenny, sensing his fascination, once again asked if he didn’t want to be diapered for the trip too. She wasn’t sure but thought that if she would insist he would probably give in. But when he faked indignation again she just shrugged: “Ok, as you wish”. Was that disappointment she saw in his eyes?

When Billy was safely diapered Jenny showed him a pair of denim shortalls she had prepared for him to wear: “Look, with those nobody will be able to notice your diapers”. Billy wasn’t so sure as the shorts would be fitting tightly over his bum, but they looked comfy, and without further hesitation he stepped in the shorts as Jenny was holding them open for him. When she pulled them over the diapers, closed the buttons high in his waist on either side and then fastened the bib to the braces, it felt very comfortable indeed. She then had him put on a loose hanging, long sweater over them, and he was ready for the trip.

It was indeed a long drive. After some 3,5 hours they were approaching their destination, and Jenny drove into a service station to get gas. Tommy immediately jumped out of the car and dashed off to the restrooms. Jenny smiled at Billy: “See how comfortably you are? You would never have held out this long, would you?”   When the tank was full Jenny parked the car and when Tommy rejoined them, they all went inside for a drink, where Jenny went for the bathrooms too.

Half an hour later they entered the amusement park and the 3 of them spend a great morning enjoying one ride after the other. At lunchtime they choose a cozy place to eat. When they had ordered and were waiting for their food, Jenny told Billy to follow her because if he didn’t want to have leaks it was high time to get a change. He blushed, asking softly were they were going to do that. She looked surprised by his question: “Oh I’m sure they have a special changing place. Lots of parents with their little kids are coming here.”  Billy blushed even harder: “Oh, no!  I can go to the men’s rooms and take off the wet diapers myself.” She looked even more surprised: “And put on new diapers by yourself? I don’t think that’s a good idea darling.” Billy protested that he didn’t need new diapers, that  as long as they were in the park they had access to bathrooms. But she didn’t agree, explaining that when he would have to go to the bathroom later on, wearing dungaree shorts, that would be quiet a hassle. And standing up indicating that the discussion was over she waited for him to follow her.

When they got to the bathrooms there was indeed a door with a pictogram of a diapered baby. As they entered the room they found it was bigger than expected with a long table from wall to wall with 3 changing pillows on it. Billy was relieved to find the place empty and hurried to take off his sweater and unfasten the braces from the bib. Jenny opened the buttons on the sides and the shortalls fell to the floor revealing his soaked diapers: “Look at that! We are lucky that they haven’t leaked yet.” She unfastened the diapers and made them fall to the floor too. As he was standing with his private parts exposed she unfolded a new diaper on one of the cushions and then told him to sit on it. Just as she had folded the diapers around his legs and was fastening the tapes a girl of 13 or 14 years old walked into the room with her little 3 year old sister.  She looked flabbergasted seeing the big boy being diapered but Jenny smiled at her as if this was the most normal thing in the world: “Hi there.  Taking care of your little sister?”  As the girl was still speechless Jenny continued: “I’m taking care of my big boy. Normally he doesn’t wet his pants anymore but today we preferred not to take any risks.”  She took both hands of Billy and made him jump off the table. She then held open the dungaree shorts and Billy, without daring to look up, stepped into them. When the buttons and braces were fixed Jenny took his sweater and put it in her bag; “You won’t need this anymore, the weather is getting really hot.” She then bent over, fetched the wet diapers off the floor and rolled them in a ball: “Wow, you really wet those didn’t you?”  She threw the diapers in the bin and turned to the oldest girl, who was still gaping at them. She looked at the little one: “She is really cute, what’s her name?”  The sister snapped out of her freeze: “Euh, Mandy, her name is Mandy.”  “And what’s your name?” “Oh, I’m Julia.” Jenny hold out her hand: “Hi Julia, nice to meet you, I’m Jenny. And my big boy here is Billy. Need any help Julia? “The girl still not sure what to think nodded: “No, no, I’m used to taking care of my sister. Thanks.”  “Ok, then we’ll be off, we don’t want to spend the whole afternoon in here, do we Billy?”  Billy, very self-consciously, nodded and then followed her to the door without speaking. Julia opened the door, let Billy pass, and then door in hand, turned towards the girl: “Excuse the boy for being impolite, but he is a little bit shy with girls. Have a nice afternoon you two. Maybe we‘ll see you later on one of the attractions. Have fun.”  

The afternoon went by as fast and as pleasantly as the morning. At the end of the day they went to another restaurant to have a quick meal before starting the long drive back home. While Jenny was waiting for her after dinner coffee, which took some time to come, the boys started a card game. They were soon absorbed in their game and didn’t even notice that Jenny got her coffee, went to the bathroom, and on her way back stopped at the counter to pay. So when she got back to their table and announced that they were leaving both boys were taken by surprise. Arriving at the parking place Jenny put her hand between Billy’s legs and noticed he needed a change for the trip. To his horror she told him to take off his shortalls standing next to the car. He protested because all around them people were leaving, but she pointed out that nobody was paying any attention. Knowing he didn’t have much choice, he looked anxiously around to see if anybody was watching, and then hurriedly took off the dungaree shorts before sitting down on the back seat were Jenny had spread out a new diaper. In no time she had fastened the diapers and, jumping up, he pulled on the shorts.  It went all very fast and nobody had seen a thing except for Tommy of course, who had been watching as fascinated as ever.

Jenny turned to him and decided this was the right moment: “Ok Tommy your turn!” The boy looked horrified and protested loudly. But Jenny was not going to let him off the hook this time: “Come on. You haven’t been to the toilet for more than 4 hours, we will be driving for another 4 hours and you drank quite a lot during dinner. You know perfectly well you are not going to hold out, and I am not planning to stop.” Tommy looked desperate, but knew she was right.  So when she walked up to him and began unfastening his trousers he didn’t react and a few seconds later his pants fell to his ankles.  When he was lying on the back seat and she folded the diapers around his legs and fastened the tapes in his waist he felt horrible.  Every time when he had watched his friend being diapered he had noticed Billy seemed to like it. But now that it was his turn it didn’t feel good at all. It brought back old memories when his mother had scolded him for being a little baby when he had wet his diapers. But Jenny and Billy didn’t notice his perturbation. Jenny told him to pull on his pants and while he did Billy asked if it didn’t feel safe. Voiceless the boy shrugged.

Bobby felt horribly humiliated, and the feeling of the diapers between his legs was a constant reminder of his humiliation. After a while he got used to it however and he accepted to play cards with his friend. But still he couldn’t get his mind to it and the game went on kind of boringly, until they just stopped. A little bit later both boys fell asleep. Two or 3 hours later Tommy suddenly woke up because of the pressure in his bladder. He wanted to ask Jenny to stop at the next gas station but then remembered the diapers and realized she was not going to stop. The idea of wetting his diapers was horrifying, so he would have to hold out until they were home.  He soon couldn’t think of anything else and he began wondering how long they still had to drive. The kilometers went by ever more slowly and he decided to ask the driver how long the trip would still take. Jenny of course realized why he asked, and smiled: “We have been in a traffic jam while you slept. It will take at least one more hour to get home. But Tommy, don’t torture yourself, just let go, you are well protected, trust me.”

The remainder of the trip was torture indeed, and when they finally pulled up before Jenny’s house, he was in desperate condition, but tremendously relieved he had made it.  He knew however that as soon as he got up and uncrossed his legs that it would be a miracle if he made it to the bathroom.  Immediately jumping out of the car, he ran to the door feeling the pressure build with every step. But Jenny was not in a hurry. She and Billy first took out their stuff from the car and then calmly walked up to the house. Standing impatiently before the door, jumping from one leg to the other, Tommy suddenly couldn’t hold out anymore. Losing control his bladder deflated itself completely, and he felt the warm wetness spread around his legs.  He was devastated. To make matters worse he felt tears welling up to his eyes, and then couldn’t help crying. He had not wet himself since he was a small child, and now, 10 years old, he was standing in front of this closed door, wearing soaked diapers.

When Jenny saw the tears running down his cheeks she understood what had happened and wanted to take the sobbing boys in her arms to tell him it was alright. But he shook himself free, and pulling at the door made it clear that he just wanted the door to be opened and didn’t want any consolation.

This was the beginning of the end of the friendship between the two boys. Tommy, ashamed of what had happened, avoided the house from then on. Not that he was angry at Jenny but he didn’t want to be confronted with the person who had witnessed him wetting his diapers. Billy was different. As Billy was wetting diapers himself he wasn’t ashamed towards him. And so the two boys would still meet up at the skating ramp or in the woods to play together. But that wouldn’t last either.

After having discarded all his pants, forcing Billyboy to go to campus in shorts every day, Jenny continued changing his wardrobe. She bought him a whole collection of shortalls and dungaree shorts, having him wear those whenever he went out playing. Billy really liked to wear them as he found them extremely comfortable.  Most of them were in denim, but some were made in flowery print or pastel colored fabrics. And if initially Jenny bought the loose fitting models with a high waist buttoning up on the sides, after a while she began buying him also models that consisted of little shorts with a small bib and braces that crossed in his back. Of course his little friends at the skating ramp, although still awed by his skating skills, made fun of his outfits and little by little took their distance.

Even Tommy became ashamed of being befriended to the big boy wearing kiddy outfits. Billy, used to losing his friends every couple of years, didn’t mind.  Having Aunt Jenny mothering him was better than having friends. And when Jenny insisted he wear diapers underneath his shortalls at all time, to avoid the hassle of having to take them off to go to the bathroom, he accepted that without protesting.  

 

Billy had always loved fixed routines. He liked to know what would happen in advance and what he was expected to do in any circumstances. This way he avoided making mistakes and upsetting his mother. It gave him a great sense of security and tranquility. Jenny understood this and she gradually guided him into a routine that was defined in quiet some detail.

In the morning she would slip out of the bed without waking him, dress and go downstairs to prepare breakfast. She then came back to wake him up and he would follow her to the kitchen were his breakfast – a glass of orange juice, a bowl of cereals , a jam sandwich cut in small pieces,  and a glass of milk to finish – was waiting. After breakfast she took him to the bathroom where she helped him out of his diapers and washed him. While she left him alone to brush his teeth and then to relieve his bowls in the toilet, she went to his room and prepared the clothes for the day.

Next she helped him dress. On weekdays it would always be tight fitting shorts – grey or navy blue, flannel or ribbed corduroy.  He always wore them with under-knee socks – white or blue- and a V-neck sweater.  Usually he wore a white, or white and blue striped, buttoned shirt underneath the sweater, but sometimes she would let him wear a, pastel colored, T-shirt.

After she had kissed him goodbye he would bike to school. At school he kept mostly to himself, observing the girls from a distance, feeling his cock growing in his shorts, until he had to ran off to the bathrooms to masturbate.  Lunch too was always the same. He bought a turkey and cheese sandwich and a coke from the vending machines and then joined a number of undergraduate girls to eat. He felt very ambiguous about this, sometimes thinking he would prefer to eat alone.  It had started when one day one of the girls had spotted the handsome boy, wearing his little schoolboy shorts, sitting by himself and, taking pity, had invited him to join them. Since then the girls would not let him sit by himself anymore, always insisting he join them for lunch. They always made fun of him, but in a gentle way. They had of course asked why he was always wearing shorts and Billy, used to have to answer that question for his whole life, had answered truthfully, that his aunt Jenny liked him to wear shorts because it was healthy. And asked why his legs and arms were kept hairless, he had, looking genuinely puzzled, answered by stating the obvious: “But hairy arms and legs are so ugly!” The girls of course had been greatly amused and intrigued by his answers and since then he had become their lunchtime mascot.

After lunch he returned discreetly to his classes and after class he biked immediately back home. Most of the time Jenny was not there when he got back, but she always prepared his outfit for the afternoon. This of course was invariable a pair of dungaree shorts with a T-shirt. And she always placed diapers next to his clothes. He loved the snug feeling of the diapers securely kept in place underneath the shortalls. He couldn’t imagine not wearing them anymore.

Next he would do the household – Jenny always left a note with instructions – and his homework for the university. When Jenny got home early she prepared a milkshake for both of them and they drank them sitting together on the terrace. She would always take him between her legs and rubbing softly on his crotch, giving him soft kisses in his neck, she helped him come in his wet diapers. Which of course was one of the best moments of the day. After their snack she told him to play with his toys while she answered her mails.  He loved those peaceful ends of the afternoons, building his models, organizing his collections, or just sitting on the floor playing with his little toy-cars, under the watchful eye of Aunt Jenny.

Next they prepared dinner together and immediately after diner she took him upstairs to give him his bath. Playing with floating toys in bath was another great moment of the day. After letting him play for a while she would come back and taking his member in her hand, telling him little boys needed to practice a lot and had to keep all their fluids flowing, she helped him masturbate for the third time.  She then told him to get out of the bath, wrapped him into a bath towel, dried him, and diapered him for the night. Helping him dress into his pajamas she put him to sleep in the big bed where a couple of hours later she would join him.

His life was heaven. He didn’t miss his mother anymore and even the absence of Melinda was hurting less every day.  And then one day Jenny, all excited, announced that that evening Melinda would be back.

Billy became immediately as excited as Jenny. He suddenly realized how empty his life had been the last couple of months. Easy and happy, but purposeless. Now his goddess was going to be back, his life was going to have a focus again, he was going to be able to devout his whole being again to her happiness and pleasure.  Jenny, dressing up to go fetch her lover at the airport  put on her sexiest little skirt and top , and then took out a pair of blue school shorts for Billy. But before help him dress in them she took out the chastity device: “We better put this back on, won’t we?” Billy nodded enthusiastically. He was anxious for being at the mercy of his mistress again. His little bird was her possession. He should never have taken off the device. Only Melinda had the right to allow him to cum. Being at her mercy, being her little toy, was what made him happy, what was giving sense to his life. He felt suddenly very guilty for not having worn the chastity device all the time as she had ordered.

Pulling up the tight fitting shorts over the device he noticed proudly how it formed a bulge in front. Tucking a white skirt into the shorts, and putting on  knee-high white socks, he looked in the mirror, and couldn’t wait for his mistress to see him. She would make fun of his angelic looks and he would be happy.

However when Melinda came out to the airport hall she waived enthusiastically at Jenny but completely ignored Billy. She pushed her luggage trolley up to where they were standing and the two girls fell into each other’s arms and embraced passionately, attracting curious looks from the bystanders. Billy disappointed and chagrined, knew the worst thing he could do was to try to attract Melinda’s attention, so he waited awkwardly until the girls stopped kissing.  After a while, it seemed an eternity, Melinda freed herself from Jenny’s embrace, and seemed to notice Billy for the first time: “Oh, I see you brought the boy. Ok that’s perfect. He can push the trolley. Come let’s go, I am anxious to be home.” She took Jenny by the hand and started towards the exit. Tears welling up in his eyes, Billy followed them with the luggage.

That evening the two girls ignored him completely and Billy slept alone for the first time in months after having to have to diaper himself. Thinking about his mistress in the next room he couldn’t help his cock from growing, hurting like hell in its cage. He cried himself to sleep.

The next morning before going downstairs he had taken off his wet diapers and was wearing very small 4-pocket shorts, hoping to get Melinda’s attention. Again he had noticed how the cage made a nice bulge in his shorts. When he walked into the kitchen only Jenny was there. She gave him a guilty smile, and complimented him on his looks: “Just be patient, she’ll want you soon enough.” At that moment they heard Melinda coming down the stairs. Billy waited anxiously  standing next to the table. This time when the goddess, wearing a pair of sexy shorts herself, walked into the kitchen she noticed him immediately. Coming over to him she kissed him and put her hand on his crotch: “Has your little thing been waiting for your mistress all this time, darling?”  Billy turned all red: “Euh, yes, no, euh.”  Melinda irrupted in a happy laughter: “That’s what I thought. I knew I couldn’t trust the two of you. I guess we’ll have to start all over then, won’t we?” 

Without waiting for a reaction she handed a small present to the boy.  Curious he couldn’t wait to unwrap the package, discovering a leather, fur lined, dog collar, assorted arm bracelets and a leash: “I’m planning to make you my little pet more than ever. I missed you, did you miss me?” he threw his arms around her neck: “Oh yes, I missed you very much, and I would love to be your pet. Thanks Melinda.”  While Melinda put on the collar around his neck his eyes met those of Jenny and he noticed her preoccupation, but too happy to have his mistress’ attention, he completely ignored Aunt Jenny.

The next days he suffered horribly as Melinda kept his thing in its cage but made him serve her with his tongue and fucked him in his ass with her dildo. She made him wear the collar at all time, even to go to school, where his lunchtime girly fan club made more fun of him. At home, where he was back to wearing little maid shorts when doing household chores,  whenever  he didn’t have to work Melinda attached his wrists to the dog collar making him completely dependent. And making him her little pet as she had said she would, she had him eat and drink out of a dog dish that she put on the floor in front of him, making him empty it bending forward without using his hands.

After 5 or 6 days she relieved him from his cage and allowed him to penetrate her. As if it was the first time all over again he came much too fast making his mistress angry. As punishment he was kept in the cage for a complete week.

Billy was treated either as the household maid or as a little sweet helpless pet. No more happy little boy playing with his toys.  But he got his erections under control again, so that whenever Melinda released him, he gave her wonderful orgasms, bringing himself to new heights of bliss at the same time. Little by little the 3 of them got accustomed to the new routine.  

This went on for a number of weeks and then Billy overheard the two girls discussing the organization of their yearly costume party. Deciding this year’s theme would be Cleopatra and Cesar, they got all excited discussing what they would serve, but mostly what they would wear. Billy, lying at his mistress feet, wondered how they would dress him, bus as he was not allowed to speak when not directly spoken too, couldn’t ask.

He didn’t find out until the day of the party. Melinda wore a long gown with a side split, revealing her long legs. Jenny on the other hand had chosen a short white skirt with a broad colored waistband, and as top a broad golden necklace to which a triangular cloth was attached, barely covering her delicious small breasts, that was knotted in her back. Both girls worked very hard at their eye make-up and the effect was stunning: two Egyptian goddesses.  While they were dressing up Billy helped the hired cooks and waiters to put everything in place. The waiters were dressed as roman  centurions, while Billy was still wondering what he was going to wear.  

 

When everything was ready and the first guests were due to arrive any moment Melinda called Billy and told him he was going to be her slave, wearing nothing but a tunic and sandals. The tunic consisted simply of a rectangular piece of white linen with an oval shaped hole in the center. He had to pass his head through the hole and then put a leather belt around his waist to keep the whole thing together. The tunic was very short, not even reaching half way down the thighs, and, as it was of course open at either side, he was sure people would notice he was wearing a chastity device underneath.  But not only was he to be almost naked she put on the fur lined arm wrists and attached his hands to the collar. And to finish she put on the leash.  It was the first time she attached the leash to his collar and he smiled at her. It would be his coming out as Melinda’s little pet slave. He felt strangely excited and proud.

She told him he was to stay next to her for the duration of the party because she wanted all her friends to meet her cute pet.  As the guests started streaming in Billy, standing half a step behind his mistress, with Melinda holding the end of the leash in her hand most of the time, soon realized that all the guests were lesbian or gay. From time to time Melinda would introduce him to one of her friends, but most of the time she would ignore his presence, except for occasionally letting him sip at her glass or, when a waiter passed with food,  placing a toast in his mouth.  At a certain moment , about an hour after the party had begun, a tall, handsome, sad-faced man in his mid-forties, dressed as a magnificent roman general, with a short skirt and a long purple cape draped around his shoulders,  walked in. Melinda greeted him showing more sympathy than for most others: “Hi Barry, so glad you decided to come. I’m so sorry for you. How are you doing without Brian?” The man looked at her with very sad eyes: “Not good, Melinda, not good, as you can imagine. But I’ll survive.”  Melinda looked at him intently, clearly intrigued by what he said: “Come on Barry. You must have seen this coming, no?”  His face grew even sadder: “Not at all”. 

Melinda posed a second before answering: “Well then I guess it’s true when they say that love is blind. You should have known that those kids grow up sooner or later, and that when that happens they want to fly out on their own, with all the experience and knowledge you have given them. Have you never read Pygmalion? “He looked at her and nodded:  “Yes I guess I knew this would happen, but choose not to see it.”   Melinda, having a sudden inspiration turned towards Billy, and pulled him forwards: “But there are exceptions my dear. Look at this one. I’m sure he will never want to grow up, remaining a toy-boy forever. You know what? To ease your pain I will borrow you this little pet for the day. “

Taking Barry by the hand and pulling Billy with his leash, she started to leave the crowded place: “Come, follow me, both of you”. She took them upstairs to Billy’s room where she then turned towards Barry: “Don’t you think he’s just too cute?” She lifted the front flap of his tunic revealing his locked up private parts: “He‘s all yours, except for this little bird in its cage which is reserved for me. But except for that he is all yours.” Turning him around she lifted the back flap “Look at that tight little ass. He loves it when I fuck him with my dildo, but as far as I know he has never received a real life dick. He is going to worship you even more than he does me.”  She kissed the bewildered Billy on his lips and continued: “And if he is as good a cock sucker as he is a cunt licker he is going to take you to heaven.”

Billy looked at her with pleading eyes. How could she do that to him? But she did as if she didn’t notice his distress and addressed herself to the poor boy: ”Now you be a good boy and try to make Barry happy. “And then she turned to the man: “Enjoy the little toy. I assure you he is the best trained little pet you’ll ever get.”

The next moment he was alone with the tall, athletic man, who took off the briefs he was wearing underneath his skirt, revealing the largest dressed member that Billy had ever seen, even on pictures, and then pulled the boy down with the leash. Understanding what was expected from hi, Billy went down on his knees and took the impressive dagger in his mouth.

He first put his lips just around the tip of the weapon sucking delicately on it, but following Barry’s instructions he gradually got his mouth around a large part of the dick, holding the base between his hands which were still attached to the collar. He was a natural as Melinda had suspected, and it didn’t take long for his new master to come with a big spout in his mouth. Billy, to his surprise, liked the taste. When Barry pulled his dick from his mouth Billy automatically licked his lips to the amusement of the man: “Oh you like that, don’t you? Let me taste too.” He pushed Billy on the bed and lying next to him kissed him on the mouth. Billy as always loved to be kissed and responded passionately to the pleasured surprise of Barry whose member   didn’t take long to grow hard again. Turning Billy on his belly he penetrated his ass deeply, making Billy scream in pain and pleasure.

This time Barry’s orgasm lasted very long, and when he finally pulled out, both he and Billy were exhausted. Panting next to each other they recovered slowly. After a few minutes Billy felt that Barry was looking at him and opened his eyes. The man smiled kindly: “Did you like that?” Billy, as always eager to please nodded and whispered yes, which was not even untrue. Barry smiled more broadly: “Me too. You really know how to make a man happy.”  Billy felt Barry’s hand move along his leg until it reached the chastity device. He pulled up the tunic and, sighing, looked at the small bird in its cage: “Maybe I should have kept Brian locked up like that. Does it hurt?” Billy shook his head: “Not anymore.”  Barry smiled again and stroked Billy between his legs:” You really are a pretty bitch. I like it all smooth and hairless.” But then he jumped up, arranged his clothes, and pulling Billy by his leash, they went downstairs to rejoin the party.

When they entered the room with all the guests Melinda noticed them immediately and came over to where they were standing. Barry complimented her on her perfect little pet.  Melina smiling proudly turned towards Billy: How about you. You like my brother?”  Billy, realizing who he had been fucking with, turned red, and didn’t know how to react. He didn’t want to upset Melinda by saying he had loved to be fucked by Barry, but he didn’t want to upset his new friend either. Anyhow, incapable of lying, he stammered he liked Barry. Both brother and sister irrupted in laughter: “Well sis, you wouldn’t consider selling me your little pet, would you?”  Melinda posed for a few seconds as if she was considering the question: “I’m very fond of him as you can imagine, but they say everything has a price, don’ they?” Not understanding they were making fun of him Billy couldn’t believe what was happening. With his eyes all wet he blurred out that he didn’t want to leave her. This made them laugh even harder: “You are so sweet. Ok I won’t sell you then, but Barry I will borrow him to you for a week, how about that?”

Without hesitation Barry accepted the offer, kissing his sister to thank her, and then before Billy really realized what was happening, pulled at his leash, and said goodbye to his sister saying he couldn’t wait to take his little pet home

–          To be continued – .