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1
Active Sissy Stories / Re: Failed and Faulty
« Last post by antonia on Yesterday at 11:17:26 PM »
I have deleted my comment from the chapter. It was inappropriate to my story.
Chapter 7
Felicity was the nanny who had taken the day off without Olivia’s permission. The message on her phone was inviting:
Hi Felicity
Sorry I was so impatient the other day, but Andy was very upset that he didn’t see his favourite nanny. He asked me to beg you to come tomorrow and to pay you a double bonus to show how much he wants you to care for him. He knows you have quite a difficult journey so he has asked me to send a car to pick you up and take you home at the end of each day.
See you tomorrow morning
Olivia
Felicity lay down on the soft bed, she looked across at Andy lying down in his cot, who stared back at her with wide eyes. She moaned at him, her mouth plugged by a large baby’s dummy. She was naked, her hair shaven from every part of her body. The injection Olivia had given her had left her incapable of any movement or resistance.
Olivia showed her a large nappy, heavily used in the past and with a blue sign printed on it “Property of the Manor Hospital”. It was quite grey, the fibres crushed and scratchy from maybe hundreds of boil washes, some stains were too deep seated to be removed. Her freshly shaved body screaming as the rough cloth enveloped her with its protecting embrace. The nappy cream and talc didn’t seem to give much comfort. The heavy duty vinyl pants also had the institutional label and included a locking chain that sealed the nappy tightly. It was old traditional incontinence protection but it was thick and functional.
The pyjamas were like scrubs, but in a dingy grey fabric that had the hospital name stencilled onto the back of the jacket and on the seat of the trousers. On her feet a pair of pink fluffy full fitting slippers with a pink pom-pom on the toes.
“You are going to Epsom Felicity“ said Olivia “a patient at the Manor Hospital who was in solitary confinement for most of her stay sadly passed away and you are going to take her place”. Felicity moaned through her dummy and weakly shook her head.
Olivia took out a stainless steel box with preloaded syringes. The first was benzocaine and lidocaine which numbed her lips and cheeks as she injected it all around her face. The second was Botox which she injected into her tongue to leave it swollen and stiff at its tip. She replaced the dummy and quickly fitted a large heavily stained and fraying bib that proclaimed “patient Manor Hospital”. A hospital plastic wristband was fixed around her wrist “Selina Sanders”
The car that brought her to Olivia’s now loaded her into the back and dumped her not far from the hospital. She dragged her feet, the drugs leaving her in a drunken state. Her fat institutional nappies causing her to waddle and stagger as she threw one leg and then the other forward, in order to walk. She drooled incessantly and tried to engage with members of the public. “I’m Flisty” she tried to say, her bib wet and dirty, and her crew cut hair style making her appear intimidating. “Help me” she pleaded as people said “ she’s escaped from the loony bin, she’s one of those nutters”.
Eventually she was taken picked up by hospital orderlies and quickly transferred to the isolation floor where Olivia’s friend worked as Duty Sister. “Selina, welcome back” she said as Felicity wet her nappy for the second or third time. She opened the door to where Felicity would be incarcerated. It had a spy hole and hatch, and was heavily reinforced with locks and bolts. Inside the room was an adult sized bed with protective bars, a locker piled high with fat, dense, grey looking nappies and discoloured plastic pants.
Felicity spluttered past her dummy “my name ith Flithty”. Her tongue rigid at the tip with Botox based serum could not help her articulate and her face was still numb with local anaesthetic so she dribbled and drooled copiously.
“Poor Selina is having personality problems again, but we’ll make her better with her special medicine won’t we”? Said Sister Mary. She led her new charge into the cell. The wall was padded and marked from previous occupation, the room smelled of recent disinfection and the bed had been made with crisp white sheets.
Felicity sat on the bed, her pretty face now haggard and streaked with tears and slobber. Her crew cut head was covered in small nicks where Olivia had been careless with the clippers. The sister disappeared for a few minutes and returned with a syringe filled with a bright pink liquid, which she injected into her mouth. It was sweet and within minutes a warm glow spread over her. Some dribbled on to her bib and fanned out from her neck. Almost immediately she began to slump and needed to be laid back, as the powerful sedation took hold and the morphine worked its magic. She would not be a problem, the chemical cosh was potent and effective; it would not be long until she would be craving and pleading for her addictive medicine. The sides of her hospital bed were pulled up and secured. She was in her cot safe and sound. The cell door clanged shut and the lock turned as Felicity was safely interred.
Chapter 7
Felicity was the nanny who had taken the day off without Olivia’s permission. The message on her phone was inviting:
Hi Felicity
Sorry I was so impatient the other day, but Andy was very upset that he didn’t see his favourite nanny. He asked me to beg you to come tomorrow and to pay you a double bonus to show how much he wants you to care for him. He knows you have quite a difficult journey so he has asked me to send a car to pick you up and take you home at the end of each day.
See you tomorrow morning
Olivia
Felicity lay down on the soft bed, she looked across at Andy lying down in his cot, who stared back at her with wide eyes. She moaned at him, her mouth plugged by a large baby’s dummy. She was naked, her hair shaven from every part of her body. The injection Olivia had given her had left her incapable of any movement or resistance.
Olivia showed her a large nappy, heavily used in the past and with a blue sign printed on it “Property of the Manor Hospital”. It was quite grey, the fibres crushed and scratchy from maybe hundreds of boil washes, some stains were too deep seated to be removed. Her freshly shaved body screaming as the rough cloth enveloped her with its protecting embrace. The nappy cream and talc didn’t seem to give much comfort. The heavy duty vinyl pants also had the institutional label and included a locking chain that sealed the nappy tightly. It was old traditional incontinence protection but it was thick and functional.
The pyjamas were like scrubs, but in a dingy grey fabric that had the hospital name stencilled onto the back of the jacket and on the seat of the trousers. On her feet a pair of pink fluffy full fitting slippers with a pink pom-pom on the toes.
“You are going to Epsom Felicity“ said Olivia “a patient at the Manor Hospital who was in solitary confinement for most of her stay sadly passed away and you are going to take her place”. Felicity moaned through her dummy and weakly shook her head.
Olivia took out a stainless steel box with preloaded syringes. The first was benzocaine and lidocaine which numbed her lips and cheeks as she injected it all around her face. The second was Botox which she injected into her tongue to leave it swollen and stiff at its tip. She replaced the dummy and quickly fitted a large heavily stained and fraying bib that proclaimed “patient Manor Hospital”. A hospital plastic wristband was fixed around her wrist “Selina Sanders”
The car that brought her to Olivia’s now loaded her into the back and dumped her not far from the hospital. She dragged her feet, the drugs leaving her in a drunken state. Her fat institutional nappies causing her to waddle and stagger as she threw one leg and then the other forward, in order to walk. She drooled incessantly and tried to engage with members of the public. “I’m Flisty” she tried to say, her bib wet and dirty, and her crew cut hair style making her appear intimidating. “Help me” she pleaded as people said “ she’s escaped from the loony bin, she’s one of those nutters”.
Eventually she was taken picked up by hospital orderlies and quickly transferred to the isolation floor where Olivia’s friend worked as Duty Sister. “Selina, welcome back” she said as Felicity wet her nappy for the second or third time. She opened the door to where Felicity would be incarcerated. It had a spy hole and hatch, and was heavily reinforced with locks and bolts. Inside the room was an adult sized bed with protective bars, a locker piled high with fat, dense, grey looking nappies and discoloured plastic pants.
Felicity spluttered past her dummy “my name ith Flithty”. Her tongue rigid at the tip with Botox based serum could not help her articulate and her face was still numb with local anaesthetic so she dribbled and drooled copiously.
“Poor Selina is having personality problems again, but we’ll make her better with her special medicine won’t we”? Said Sister Mary. She led her new charge into the cell. The wall was padded and marked from previous occupation, the room smelled of recent disinfection and the bed had been made with crisp white sheets.
Felicity sat on the bed, her pretty face now haggard and streaked with tears and slobber. Her crew cut head was covered in small nicks where Olivia had been careless with the clippers. The sister disappeared for a few minutes and returned with a syringe filled with a bright pink liquid, which she injected into her mouth. It was sweet and within minutes a warm glow spread over her. Some dribbled on to her bib and fanned out from her neck. Almost immediately she began to slump and needed to be laid back, as the powerful sedation took hold and the morphine worked its magic. She would not be a problem, the chemical cosh was potent and effective; it would not be long until she would be craving and pleading for her addictive medicine. The sides of her hospital bed were pulled up and secured. She was in her cot safe and sound. The cell door clanged shut and the lock turned as Felicity was safely interred.
2
Active Sissy Stories / Re: Failed and Faulty
« Last post by sissyboy1212 on Yesterday at 07:47:14 PM »
Classy response from a longtime stalwart of this board. When we have differences of opinion, they should be voiced respectfully. I applaud antonia and DaraJaney both for doing just that. Even if I have a different perspective on this particular issue, DaraJaney has more than earned the benefit of the doubt, and so has antonia.
Thank you both for your contributions to this small community.
And Happy Pride to all!
Thank you both for your contributions to this small community.
And Happy Pride to all!
3
Active Sissy Stories / Re: New Arrangements for Josh
« Last post by bonzodoug on Yesterday at 06:22:45 PM »
It’s impossible to say just how much I love this story. The way it is so exquisitely described in detail: the fabrics, the perfectly realized outfits, the deep shame increasingly mingled with now-unrealized sexual excitement. It would be lovely to have more description of how much the Ladies enjoy this process of sissification. In particular it would be brilliant if his sister, Kathy, were to play a more active role, as well her girlfriends.
4
Active Sissy Stories / Re: Failed and Faulty
« Last post by DaraJaney on Yesterday at 05:58:30 PM »
It might have made more sense to put these comments on the actual topic - I'd have seen them sooner. It looks like I can delete the topic so I will do that.
I will just say that you've all had many many good stories from me over the years for free and they are all still available here. I don't see why I shouldn't seek to make a bit of money out of it like any other writer. But if you don't think it's appropriate to promote them here then I'll respect that.
I will just say that you've all had many many good stories from me over the years for free and they are all still available here. I don't see why I shouldn't seek to make a bit of money out of it like any other writer. But if you don't think it's appropriate to promote them here then I'll respect that.
5
Active Sissy Stories / Re: New Arrangements for Josh
« Last post by BabyJay on Yesterday at 05:22:35 AM »
Oh dear, poor Josh. Desperately trying to hold His wee-wee. Let's hope He manages to as He knows His name will be called and how embarrassing if His nappy leaks causing a wet patch on the front of His pants. Look forward to next episode. :)
6
Active Sissy Stories / Re: New Arrangements for Josh
« Last post by sissyboy1212 on June 14, 2026, 07:31:05 PM »
Will try to continue this story more soon.
7
Active Sissy Stories / Re: Failed and Faulty
« Last post by sissyboy1212 on June 14, 2026, 07:28:22 PM »
Thanks Antonia. I don’t judge anyone for trying to make income off their hard work, but i agree this is not the right place for teaser pitches.
Betty would have shut that down un a heartbeat.
Betty would have shut that down un a heartbeat.
8
Active Sissy Stories / Re: Fantasy Hotel
« Last post by sissyboy1212 on June 14, 2026, 07:25:59 PM »
Cute, intense story! Thanks for sharing.
9
Active Sissy Stories / Re: New Arrangements for Josh
« Last post by sissyboy1212 on June 14, 2026, 05:04:52 PM »
PART 73
She paused for dramatic effect. “Why… I must confess… it’s so difficult to choose,” she went on, “I almost want to declare everyone a winner!” She got some good-humored laughter and chuckles at her playful theatrics as she teased the crowd. “But alas,” she continued, “we’ve only got one prize.” Mrs. Standish’s eyes glimmered as she looked around the room purposefully, gleefully drawing out the suspense.
As Mrs. Standish continued to speak, Mrs. Smyth left no doubt that she had taken note of Josh’s renewed fidgeting, even as minor as it was. First, she silently leaned over and smoothed his collar with a featherlight but insistent touch. In the same motion, she brushed an invisible speck of lint from his velvet jacket, her expression softening into a gentle, almost amused smile. Her hand settled on his forearm to quiet his movements with a soft pat as if she were calming a toddler. It was a pointed cue urging him to remain still, wordlessly expressing her desire for grace and order. Chastened and meek, Josh immediately stopped squirming and tried to comply. She maintained her maternal grip on his arm until she was satisfied that he was still.
Josh’s world seemed to shrink with every doting correction, each kind but unwavering touch that reshaped him into a vision far removed from the boy he once knew. He sat enveloped by lace and velvet, the soft tickle of frills a constant reminder of his new reality.
Humiliation flared in small, sharp bursts. He fought the urge to fret and fidget beneath the layers of lace and velvet, his corset pressing firmly against his ribs. The heat of humiliation flared across his cheeks, and he could feel the prickling sensation of his skin against the starched collar that now sat perfectly, the frills fanned out to their full, ostentatious glory.
Noting his still lowered head, Mrs. Smyth whispered ever so softly, “Josh, sweetheart, chin up please.” She lifted her hand up to delicately tap his chin a few times with her fingernails. She gently but insistently nudged his face back up, returning him to a more demure pose. She was loving and firm as she continued to shape his posture and demeanor to project a dainty and refined image. Josh swallowed, his lips parted as her touch lingered beneath his chin. This simple act of angling his jaw felt impossibly intimate. It was a painful reminder that every inch of him was being curated for the approval of the women gathered around the table.
His mother noted this interaction with satisfaction and nodded approvingly. The subtle exchange between the two women reinforced their shared goals for Josh. As Mrs. Standish continued to carry on, Josh felt small and utterly powerless. He tried to keep his breathing shallow as he silently pleaded for the awards to conclude quickly.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Standish teased the crowd a bit more, and Josh’s insides twisted with anxiety. He tried to shrink and turn invisible in his chair, desperately hoping she would not call his name. His heart thumped faster. A flock of butterflies fluttered wildly in his tummy, and his little man raged futilely in its cage. He glanced nervously at his mother, at Kathy, at the crowd, searching for a miracle, but all he saw were amused faces and eager eyes waiting for the next moment of entertainment. Kathy’s eyes sparkled with pride and affection as she watched him, and his mother’s expression shone with satisfied approval. And of course, the discomfort in his bladder remained insistent.
After several more agonizing moments, Mrs. Standish’s eyes finally drifted toward him. The room was abuzz with laughter and anticipation, but for Josh, the world had shrunk to the suffocating confines of his Fauntleroy suit. His insides twisted with dread as Mrs. Standish drew out the moment, her cheerful theatrics only heightening his suspense.
Josh clung to the hope that perhaps, just perhaps, he would be spared further spectacle. “Don’t pick me, please don’t pick me,” he silently pleaded, his thoughts tumbling over one another as he tried to will himself into the background. Desperate for relief from the ache in his bladder, he squeezed his knees together and felt the crinkly diaper rustle beneath him.
Then, Mrs. Standish paused with an expectant smile on her face and locked in on the sissified lad. Trapped like a deer in the headlights, Josh held his breath and felt his cheeks flush even more. Even before she spoke, Josh knew what she was going to say.
She paused for dramatic effect. “Why… I must confess… it’s so difficult to choose,” she went on, “I almost want to declare everyone a winner!” She got some good-humored laughter and chuckles at her playful theatrics as she teased the crowd. “But alas,” she continued, “we’ve only got one prize.” Mrs. Standish’s eyes glimmered as she looked around the room purposefully, gleefully drawing out the suspense.
As Mrs. Standish continued to speak, Mrs. Smyth left no doubt that she had taken note of Josh’s renewed fidgeting, even as minor as it was. First, she silently leaned over and smoothed his collar with a featherlight but insistent touch. In the same motion, she brushed an invisible speck of lint from his velvet jacket, her expression softening into a gentle, almost amused smile. Her hand settled on his forearm to quiet his movements with a soft pat as if she were calming a toddler. It was a pointed cue urging him to remain still, wordlessly expressing her desire for grace and order. Chastened and meek, Josh immediately stopped squirming and tried to comply. She maintained her maternal grip on his arm until she was satisfied that he was still.
Josh’s world seemed to shrink with every doting correction, each kind but unwavering touch that reshaped him into a vision far removed from the boy he once knew. He sat enveloped by lace and velvet, the soft tickle of frills a constant reminder of his new reality.
Humiliation flared in small, sharp bursts. He fought the urge to fret and fidget beneath the layers of lace and velvet, his corset pressing firmly against his ribs. The heat of humiliation flared across his cheeks, and he could feel the prickling sensation of his skin against the starched collar that now sat perfectly, the frills fanned out to their full, ostentatious glory.
Noting his still lowered head, Mrs. Smyth whispered ever so softly, “Josh, sweetheart, chin up please.” She lifted her hand up to delicately tap his chin a few times with her fingernails. She gently but insistently nudged his face back up, returning him to a more demure pose. She was loving and firm as she continued to shape his posture and demeanor to project a dainty and refined image. Josh swallowed, his lips parted as her touch lingered beneath his chin. This simple act of angling his jaw felt impossibly intimate. It was a painful reminder that every inch of him was being curated for the approval of the women gathered around the table.
His mother noted this interaction with satisfaction and nodded approvingly. The subtle exchange between the two women reinforced their shared goals for Josh. As Mrs. Standish continued to carry on, Josh felt small and utterly powerless. He tried to keep his breathing shallow as he silently pleaded for the awards to conclude quickly.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Standish teased the crowd a bit more, and Josh’s insides twisted with anxiety. He tried to shrink and turn invisible in his chair, desperately hoping she would not call his name. His heart thumped faster. A flock of butterflies fluttered wildly in his tummy, and his little man raged futilely in its cage. He glanced nervously at his mother, at Kathy, at the crowd, searching for a miracle, but all he saw were amused faces and eager eyes waiting for the next moment of entertainment. Kathy’s eyes sparkled with pride and affection as she watched him, and his mother’s expression shone with satisfied approval. And of course, the discomfort in his bladder remained insistent.
After several more agonizing moments, Mrs. Standish’s eyes finally drifted toward him. The room was abuzz with laughter and anticipation, but for Josh, the world had shrunk to the suffocating confines of his Fauntleroy suit. His insides twisted with dread as Mrs. Standish drew out the moment, her cheerful theatrics only heightening his suspense.
Josh clung to the hope that perhaps, just perhaps, he would be spared further spectacle. “Don’t pick me, please don’t pick me,” he silently pleaded, his thoughts tumbling over one another as he tried to will himself into the background. Desperate for relief from the ache in his bladder, he squeezed his knees together and felt the crinkly diaper rustle beneath him.
Then, Mrs. Standish paused with an expectant smile on her face and locked in on the sissified lad. Trapped like a deer in the headlights, Josh held his breath and felt his cheeks flush even more. Even before she spoke, Josh knew what she was going to say.
10
Active Sissy Stories / Re: Fantasy Hotel
« Last post by HallowGiga on June 14, 2026, 01:32:41 AM »
One Week Later
The shock had faded into a dull, rhythmic despair. The sex workers had established a grueling routine. Tim spent his nights trapped in the mahogany crib in the nursery, his limbs heavy and his mind foggy.
The most terrifying change had come on the third day.
“We decided we don’t want to deal with poopy diapers,” Kate had announced that morning.
They had laid Tim on a changing table, stripping him of his diaper. Lexi appeared with a gallon-sized bag of warm water and a nozzle. Tim’s eyes had gone wide with terror as they flipped him onto his stomach.
The first enema was a violation unlike any other. The cold intrusion, the cramping fullness, and the subsequent forced evacuation into a bedside commode while the women watched and laughed had shattered what was left of his pride.
But it didn't end there.
“To make sure we don’t have any accidents between morning flushes,” Kate said, “we’re going to give you a little stopper.”
She held up a large, stainless-steel butt plug with a wide, pink crystal base. Tim’s muffled screams filled the room as she forced the luncricated thick bulb through his sphincter, stretching his anus to a painful, burning limit.
“There,” Kate said, patting his rear. “Now you can only pee in your diapers like a good girl. The plug stays in until tomorrow morning’s cleaning.”
The constant pressure of the steel plug and the permanent stretch of the coc-k-pacifier became his entire reality. He was a closed system—fed through one end, plugged at the other, leaking only into the plastic against his skin.
One Month Later
Tim—or Tammy, as his brain was beginning to subconsciously respond to—no longer fought when they dressed him. The girls treated his existence as a mundane fact of life, like a household pet or a piece of furniture.
They introduced a new "playtime" activity. In the center of the nursery stood a custom-made rocking horse.
Instead of a saddle, it had a large, upright dil-do bolted to the seat.
Every afternoon, they would remove his butt plug and strap him onto the horse, his legs splayed wide. The rocking motion forced the toy deep inside him over and over again. When the timer dinged, they would take him off, his inner thighs aching, and immediately reinsert the steel plug.
He was never empty.
Two Months Later
The "experience" evolved. To maximize the "value" of the stay, the women set up a second playpen in the lobby, right next to the reception desk.
This was the ultimate humiliation. Regular male clients—men who looked like Tim used to look—would check in for their own sessions. They would see the small man in the frilly dress and diaper, sitting among a pile of dil-dos, suc-kling on a silicone pen-is.
“What’s that?” a client would ask, pointing and laughing.
“Oh, that’s just our Baby Tammy,” Kate would say, leaning over the desk. “She’s a very naughty girl who forgot how to be a man. Feel free to give her a pat or a tease while you wait.”
Men would walk over, poking at his diaper or make lewd comments. Tim would look up at them, his eyes brimming with tears, making frantic “Mmppphh! Mmppph!”sounds, begging for help.
“Listen to her!” Lexi would chirp from the sofa. “She’s such a chatty sissy baby girl today! She’s telling you how much she loves her toys.”
The more he tried to beg, the more they dismissed it as "happy baby babble."
Three Months Later
The day of his supposed release arrived. Tim sat in the breakroom playpen, his stomach heavy with his morning feeding of "sissy food." His jaw ached from the pacifier, a sensation that had become so constant it was almost invisible to him.
Kate and Lexi stood by the coffee machine, whispering. Tim’s heart leaped. Was this it? Were they going to give him his clothes back?
Emma walked in, overhearing them. “Are we really talking about letting her go?”
“The three months are up today,” Lexi said, looking over at Tim.
“But look at her,” Emma said, gesturing to the playpen. “She’s so content. Do you really think she remembers how to be an adult? She hasn't walked on her own in weeks. She hasn't spoken a word. It would be cruel to dump her back on the street. She wouldn't last a day.”
Kate nodded slowly, her chin in her hand. “You’re right. And think of the waste. We’d have to throw away all this custom gear. Plus, we have more clients than ever now; we’ve got plenty of 'food' to keep her fed.”
Tim’s eyes went wide. He began to thrash, hitting his mittened hands against the mesh. No! No, please!
The three women approached the playpen. They didn't look like monsters; they looked like doting parents. They looked down at him with genuine, twisted affection.
“Tammy, sweetheart,” Kate said, reaching down to stroke his hair. “We have some wonderful news. We’ve decided that you’re much happier here with your mommies. You don’t ever have to worry about the big, scary world again.”
“You get to stay our baby girl forever,” Lexi cooed.
Tim’s chest heaved. A long, broken wail built up in his throat, but it emerged only as a series of wet, muffled grunts against the coc-k-pacifier. Tears streamed down his face, soaking into the lace collar of his dress.
“Oh, look!” Emma cried, clapping her hands.
“She’s so excited she’s crying! Happy tears for our sweet Baby Tammy.”
Kate leaned over and kissed his forehead.
“Welcome home, baby girl. Permanent residency is going to be so much fun.”
As they walked away to prepare his next bottle, Tim collapsed onto the pile of dil-dos, the crinkle of his diaper the only sound in the room, knowing the sun would never rise on Tim Miller ever again.
The shock had faded into a dull, rhythmic despair. The sex workers had established a grueling routine. Tim spent his nights trapped in the mahogany crib in the nursery, his limbs heavy and his mind foggy.
The most terrifying change had come on the third day.
“We decided we don’t want to deal with poopy diapers,” Kate had announced that morning.
They had laid Tim on a changing table, stripping him of his diaper. Lexi appeared with a gallon-sized bag of warm water and a nozzle. Tim’s eyes had gone wide with terror as they flipped him onto his stomach.
The first enema was a violation unlike any other. The cold intrusion, the cramping fullness, and the subsequent forced evacuation into a bedside commode while the women watched and laughed had shattered what was left of his pride.
But it didn't end there.
“To make sure we don’t have any accidents between morning flushes,” Kate said, “we’re going to give you a little stopper.”
She held up a large, stainless-steel butt plug with a wide, pink crystal base. Tim’s muffled screams filled the room as she forced the luncricated thick bulb through his sphincter, stretching his anus to a painful, burning limit.
“There,” Kate said, patting his rear. “Now you can only pee in your diapers like a good girl. The plug stays in until tomorrow morning’s cleaning.”
The constant pressure of the steel plug and the permanent stretch of the coc-k-pacifier became his entire reality. He was a closed system—fed through one end, plugged at the other, leaking only into the plastic against his skin.
One Month Later
Tim—or Tammy, as his brain was beginning to subconsciously respond to—no longer fought when they dressed him. The girls treated his existence as a mundane fact of life, like a household pet or a piece of furniture.
They introduced a new "playtime" activity. In the center of the nursery stood a custom-made rocking horse.
Instead of a saddle, it had a large, upright dil-do bolted to the seat.
Every afternoon, they would remove his butt plug and strap him onto the horse, his legs splayed wide. The rocking motion forced the toy deep inside him over and over again. When the timer dinged, they would take him off, his inner thighs aching, and immediately reinsert the steel plug.
He was never empty.
Two Months Later
The "experience" evolved. To maximize the "value" of the stay, the women set up a second playpen in the lobby, right next to the reception desk.
This was the ultimate humiliation. Regular male clients—men who looked like Tim used to look—would check in for their own sessions. They would see the small man in the frilly dress and diaper, sitting among a pile of dil-dos, suc-kling on a silicone pen-is.
“What’s that?” a client would ask, pointing and laughing.
“Oh, that’s just our Baby Tammy,” Kate would say, leaning over the desk. “She’s a very naughty girl who forgot how to be a man. Feel free to give her a pat or a tease while you wait.”
Men would walk over, poking at his diaper or make lewd comments. Tim would look up at them, his eyes brimming with tears, making frantic “Mmppphh! Mmppph!”sounds, begging for help.
“Listen to her!” Lexi would chirp from the sofa. “She’s such a chatty sissy baby girl today! She’s telling you how much she loves her toys.”
The more he tried to beg, the more they dismissed it as "happy baby babble."
Three Months Later
The day of his supposed release arrived. Tim sat in the breakroom playpen, his stomach heavy with his morning feeding of "sissy food." His jaw ached from the pacifier, a sensation that had become so constant it was almost invisible to him.
Kate and Lexi stood by the coffee machine, whispering. Tim’s heart leaped. Was this it? Were they going to give him his clothes back?
Emma walked in, overhearing them. “Are we really talking about letting her go?”
“The three months are up today,” Lexi said, looking over at Tim.
“But look at her,” Emma said, gesturing to the playpen. “She’s so content. Do you really think she remembers how to be an adult? She hasn't walked on her own in weeks. She hasn't spoken a word. It would be cruel to dump her back on the street. She wouldn't last a day.”
Kate nodded slowly, her chin in her hand. “You’re right. And think of the waste. We’d have to throw away all this custom gear. Plus, we have more clients than ever now; we’ve got plenty of 'food' to keep her fed.”
Tim’s eyes went wide. He began to thrash, hitting his mittened hands against the mesh. No! No, please!
The three women approached the playpen. They didn't look like monsters; they looked like doting parents. They looked down at him with genuine, twisted affection.
“Tammy, sweetheart,” Kate said, reaching down to stroke his hair. “We have some wonderful news. We’ve decided that you’re much happier here with your mommies. You don’t ever have to worry about the big, scary world again.”
“You get to stay our baby girl forever,” Lexi cooed.
Tim’s chest heaved. A long, broken wail built up in his throat, but it emerged only as a series of wet, muffled grunts against the coc-k-pacifier. Tears streamed down his face, soaking into the lace collar of his dress.
“Oh, look!” Emma cried, clapping her hands.
“She’s so excited she’s crying! Happy tears for our sweet Baby Tammy.”
Kate leaned over and kissed his forehead.
“Welcome home, baby girl. Permanent residency is going to be so much fun.”
As they walked away to prepare his next bottle, Tim collapsed onto the pile of dil-dos, the crinkle of his diaper the only sound in the room, knowing the sun would never rise on Tim Miller ever again.
The more you give, the more I can give back.
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