A Walk in the Park
It was a sunny, late September day and I was doing my normal jog in the city park. The air was crisp and the leaves were starting to turn, signaling winter was not far off. Despite the cooler temperatures, I was dressed light for the day—just my form-fitting yoga pants and a crop top to show off my washboard tummy. Fortunately, my sports bra was doing a reasonable job of keeping my big breasts in place.
Taking a moment, I stopped to catch my breath and up ahead, I spied a rather odd couple just a short distance in front of me. At first, I thought it was a mother and her little girl, but as I got closer to them, I began to reconsider my first assumption. Slowing my pace, I casually took the opportunity to examine them closer.
The mother was very tall, perhaps as much as six feet, even though her heels were rather conservative. But even from my distance, I could sense that she had a strong, authoritative manner, like she was used to giving orders and being obeyed. My impression of her bearing was one of strictness; of a woman not to be trifled with.
As I casually closed the distance between us, I began to look over her companion more closely. Standing a good foot shorter than the woman, the person nevertheless looked tall for a child, which was in stark contrast to what she was wearing. I could see that she was obviously very thickly diapered under her glittery pink tights. She wore glossy white Mary Janes and a short, frilly pink and white dress that looked much like something a toddler would wear. However, her longer legs suggested she was anything but a child and as I closed the distance between us, the short, cropped hair quickly gave away that this ‘girl’ was actually a young male, maybe 15 or 16 years old.
They were engaged in a conversation, and it appeared the mother was berating the boy in a very condescending manner. I took out my cell phone and pretended to be occupied with it so I could surreptitiously listen in closer.
She had her hands on her hips as he glowered down at her charge.
“Have you wet your diapers already?” the woman demanded as she scolded the cowering boy, “I just changed you an hour ago.”
I giggled to myself as the blushing, embarrassed boy mumbled something in response, shuffling his feet as she continued to upbraid him.
Grabbing him by his twiggy arm, she turned him around to face me and with her other hand, she squeezed the very thick seat of his diapers. I saw him look over at me with terrified eyes, clearly ashamed to be caught in this humiliating, compromising position.
“You’re absolutely soaked!” she reprimanded him, “Well, I’ll just have to change you right here.”
“N-no Mommy!” he squealed terrified, sounding very much like the scared little girl he was dressed as, “P-please—n-not here.”
“Don’t be silly,” she chided him with a dismissive slap on his bottom, “If you wet your diapers like a little baby, you can be expected to be changed wherever we happen to be.”
I couldn’t believe this—a teenaged boy dressed as a baby girl who was about to get his wet diapers changed right here in the public park! This, I had to see.
Taking his hand, she led the whimpering boy off the path and over near a set of bushes, although clearly, it wasn’t going to hide their activity from anyone who happened to walk by. My curiosity piqued, I decided to observe this sissy boy and his mommy firsthand.
When they were only about 20 feet off the path, the mother took the large diaper bag that was swung over her shoulder and set it down. Opening it up, she removed a large, plastic covered pad with Disney characters across the face of it, spreading it over the ground as the sissy boy fidgeted nervously in place. Removing three fluffy thick diapers from inside the bag, she arranged them in a stack and then began pulling her boy’s pink tights down, revealing the cute and very babyish nursery print, side-snap plastic panties he had on underneath. He squirmed and squealed a little bit as she unsnapped them, removing the waterproof panties from his soggy diapers and placing them in a large plastic bag next to her.
Having always had a dominant personality myself, I was very intrigued by the obvious power this woman wielded over this weak boy and I felt compelled to lend her a hand, if she would let me.
“Good morning, ma’am,” I said cheerfully as I approached the two of them, “I happened to be walking by and I was wondering if you could use any help here.”
I knew it was a somewhat ludicrous offer, as she clearly had things in hand, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say on the spur of the moment.
The woman looked up at me for the first time, sizing me up and considering her reply. It was readily apparent that she wasn’t the slightest bit taken aback by my presence, nor did she show any qualms at changing a teenager’s diapers here in such a public place.
“Good morning,” she replied.
Even when she was speaking politely, her voice gave off an air of absolute authority and I could only imagine what it must be like to live under her strict household and rules.
“Yes, I can always use another woman’s help, if only to bear witness to my nephew’s childish ways.
“My name is Mrs. Stratford and this is Francis. As you can see, he’s perhaps a little old to still be in diapers, but as he is a chronic bedwetter, he simply can’t do without them.
“Unfortunately, as of late, the little sissy has been wetting his pants too. He’s earned himself several trips over my knee but I thought maybe some time spent during the day in baby’s diapers might persuade him to try growing up.”
I couldn’t help but giggle, imaging the frail boy over her lap getting his bare bottom soundly paddled.
“And how is it working out?” I asked.
“Not very well, I’m afraid. As you can see, my little boy couldn’t keep his pampers dry for more than an hour since I last changed him.”
Francis’ cheeks blazed a deep red with shame but I couldn’t help but wonder if some part of him secretly enjoyed his baby treatment.
“Oh—I’m sorry,” I said suddenly by way of belated introduction, “My name is Tiffany Johnson.”
“Pleased to meet you,” she said formally as she shook my hand and pulled her boy down to the changing pad. Apparently, she had no intention of including him in our conversation.
“Tell me, does he um…use his diapers for…ah, number 2?” I asked awkwardly.
“Oh—that’s not an issue. I give him a nice, long soapy enema every morning so we don’t have to deal with that,” she explained matter-of-factly.
Francis was squirming on the pad in an agitated state, about to make some attempt to defend himself when Mrs. Stratford pulled out a baby bottle of milk and pushed it into his squalling mouth. He quieted somewhat but his blushing cheeks and chest indicated just how humiliated he was by all this.
Unpinning the soggy cotton cloth, she pulled it away from around his hips and that was when I let out a little gasp of shock. Looking down, I saw that his tiny little genitals--completely devoid of any pubic hair, were securely locked in a steel chastity device of some kind. For a moment, I was at a loss for words until I finally found my voice.
“Oh my—is that what I think it is?”
“Yes it is,” she replied firmly, “Several years ago, after I started putting Francis in diapers again, I discovered that he was playing with himself every chance he got. I won’t tolerate that kind of behavior in my house so I immediately fitted him with a tamperproof chastity device. I’m happy to say he has been erection- and orgasm-free ever since. I’m a firm believer that sissies that wear diapers shouldn’t be having erections and you can be assured that Francis will never have one, so long as he lives under my roof.”
I couldn’t help but shudder at the thought of her total domination of this sissy boy but I also felt a tremendous surge of admiration and respect for the intimidating woman.
Francis lay there, nursing from his bottle and squirming with his pink tights gathered around his ankles as Mrs. Stratford began patiently arranging the soft cotton diapers, one on top of the other. I noted that they had soaker pads apparently sewn down the length of them which only added further to their bulk.
Squeezing a big blob of diaper rash cream on her hand, she used the other to lift Francis’ ankles over his head and coat his curvy little bottom with it. The boy squealed and blushed all over again at having his pink rosebud exposed to me. After a thick, sticky coating had been applied to his cheeks, Mrs. Stratford slid the soft stack of diapers underneath his rump and lowered his legs.
Sitting down next to them, I observed closely, Francis’ reddened face and his look of humiliated anguish.
“Don’t worry baby,” I giggled, “You needed your sissy diapers changed and soon you’ll be safe and protected again.”
Francis seemed to take little solace from my words as his aunt powdered him all over and pulled the thick bulk of cotton up between his thighs.
“My, those are so soft,” I remarked as I felt the fluffy cotton for myself, “I can see why he was so tempted to play with himself.”
“Yes, well—those days are a thing of the past,” Mrs. Stratford quipped as she pinned the diapers tightly around his slim hips, “I keep Francis on a tight rein and under very strict rules. No computer use, limited TV, early bedtimes in his nursery, and hard spankings for when he doesn’t toe the line.”
I couldn’t help but giggle again.
“He has his own nursery?”
“Oh yes, it seemed like the natural progression of things,” she explained, “Francis sleeps in his own baby-style crib, he has a playpen, and lots of sissy outfits to wear every day.”
By now, both sides of his diapers were once again pinned snugly around his hips with pink clown-headed pins and Mrs. Stratford laid out another pair of snap-on plastic panties; these ones in a colorful pink nursery print. One by one, she snapped the metal snaps up the sides of his swaddled hips, encasing his bulging pampers once more in practical waterproof vinyl.
“Okay sissy, stand up so I can pull your tights up,” she ordered him.
Sheepishly, he got to his feet awkwardly, the thick diaper inhibiting his movements. Only then, did he spy the two older women on the path that had stopped and were looking his way. Hastily turning around, he nursed from his bottle, desperately hoping they would go away.
Ignoring his fidgeting, Mrs. Stratford began tugging his glittery tights up his smooth, hairless legs until she reached his fat diapers, which required quite a bit more effort to cover.
“It’s easy to find tights in his size but nearly impossible to find some that will fit over his diapers without a lot of wrestling,” she told me with her maternal wisdom.
I looked the prissy teen up and down, marveling at the thorough job this woman had done in transforming him to look like a diapered little toddler girl.
“You know, if you ever need a babysitter for your little sissy, I’d be happy to help out,” I offered.
“I think that would be wonderful,” Mrs. Stratford replied, “As long as you’re comfortable using a wooden paddle when necessary—sometimes Francis can get very fussy and he needs his bottom warmed.”
“Oh—don’t worry about that. I used to spank my little bother with my hairbrush,” I assured her, “After I was finished with him--he’d have difficulty sitting down for several days later.”
“Perfect. That’s just what he needs. If you’re free this Saturday, it would be an immense help to me.”
“Done! Here’s my cell phone number so you can get a hold of me.”
“Wonderful,” she said as she entered the number into her own phone, “Well—we must be off now, it’s almost Francis’ nap time and I wanted to get him a new pacifier before we head home…Say goodbye to your new babysitter, honey.”
Francis was still thoroughly embarrassed by the whole scene and he could barely make eye contact with me.
“B-bye, Miss Tiffany,” he squeaked.
“Bye-bye, baby Francis,” I giggled.
Seeing how shy and timid he was, I couldn’t wait to find an excuse to take him over my own lap to warm his bottom with her paddle. I’d make sure those sissy tears were really flowing! And I know several of my friends like Amber and Leah would just love to come over and be a part of it.
With everything I had in mind for him—by comparison, what he went through today would be a just a walk in the park!
THE END
� Betty Pearl's Sissy Stories 20.1
Topic: A Walk in the Park (Read 11958 times)
