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Author Topic: Tommy's Story  (Read 14171 times)

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antonia

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Re: Tommy's Story
« Reply #14 on: December 05, 2022, 10:51:43 AM »
Sorry I put this in the wrong story! Now where it should be.

Chapter 4

Life was quite dreary and intolerable for the next two years. On my 8th birthday nanny and Mummy bought me a Wendy house. I no longer needed the special booties, I was so used to crawling everywhere that it had become second nature. Nanny now lived with us full time and was my full time carer because my mother was more often out than in, as she enjoyed a full and satisfying social life.

At the age of seven Miss Tranter joined us. I now had a tutor come during, for what for most normal children, been school time. My language skills were very poor and I now spoke through my dummy in childish two- or three-word responses. My tutor specialised in the mentally handicapped or what today would be called challenged children. I might have had all the attributes of a baby but my mind was sharp and bursting to be stimulated. Nanny was always hovering in the background during my study sessions trying to make sure that I did not prosper but I was resilient and suc-ked in knowledge like a sponge. Miss Tranter was not fooled by my baby act and as her one-year anniversary approached she began to have huge suspicions that Nanny was not what she seemed.

One Saturday Nanny told me to play in my Wendy house with Flopsy Bunny and to give her a lovely tea party. I was so engrossed in play that I forgot to be a baby and started to tell Flopsy all about where tea came from and how it was grown and picked. Miss Tranter had taught me so well in her last lesson. I told her about the different teas and how they were produced. Flopsy listened very carefully, but she would do, because a secret microphone was sewn into her tummy.

Nanny came storming in to my bedroom where the Wendy House had been set up. “Bad baby” she shouted “very bad baby. You are talking like a big girl. What are you thinking?” She was holding my baby reins in one hand and a spanking paddle in the other. In no time at all she had be rolled over on to my tummy and my wet nappy and plastic pants pulled down to my knees. She started to whack my bottom again and again until it turned from red to purple. The pain was unbearable and eventually I was almost hoarse from crying and screaming. She roughly fixed on my reins and attached then with a large padlock to the Wendy house. She wrenched up my nappy and plastic pants and shut the door on the Wendy house ensuring I was folded up inside. She stuffed Flopsy through the window. Unfortunately, Flopsy had been in contact with my wet napkin and was quite wet and smelly with my pee.

I was so sore that it was agony to sit on the floor. I no longer had any control of my toilet anymore, and so it was no surprise when I felt myself soil my nappy. I was so confined that I had no option but to sit in my mess and endure the pain. I had no elevenses, no lunch, no tea, no supper and not even a drink. Flopsy didn’t look that happy either as I clutched her to my chest, suc-king my dummy and drooling all over her as my little play house slowly filled up with what leaked from my exhausted protection.

It was very late when my mother returned from who knows where. Nanny had spent the day watching TV in her room, occasionally coming out to make herself food or drinks. She looked into my room and was surprised to find that my cot was empty (yes, my bed had been taken away over a year ago). I was asleep in the Wendy house and completely exhausted.

My mother went to Nanny’s room and knocked on the door. Nanny had fallen asleep, having consumed a bottle of a rather fine Rioja. “Where is Tommy?” she asked.

“Hello” she slurred slightly “Everything alright?”

“Where’s Tommy?” she demanded

“He’s playing in his Wendy house” said Nanny

“It’s gone ten o’clock” Nanny; he should have been in bed four hours ago. What is going on here?” his mother spoke with a raised voice.

“He was naughty” started Nanny, but my mother was on her way to find me.

The smell in the nursery should have been a clue as to my whereabouts, but nanny was often very slow when it came to dealing with my dirty nappies and emptying the pail so the stink was not uncommon. My mother put the main room light on and then spotted the puddle of urine running under the little door of the play house onto the linoleum floor.

She spotted the padlock on the door and wrenched the door so hard that the plastic hinge broke off in her hand. Inside I was laying in a crumpled heap. My pink playsuit was covered in excrement and pee. I had been so distressed that I had also been sick and vomit was everywhere. She unstrapped my harness with some difficulty, while Nanny stood looking on. I fell out of the structure, cramped so badly that I could no longer move without the screaming pain of cramp and pins and needles. So bad was the pain of my bottom that I had managed to slip off most of my nappy inside the plastic pants. My bottom had been so severely beaten that it was blue black in colour and had been bashed so brutally that the skin had broken on one cheek. There was a very bad chance of infection.

My mother, who I did not think had a huge love for me, looked decidedly shocked.

“Nanny.” She said in a matter-of-fact tone “Pack your bags and please leave now. You are most assuredly fired.” She took out her phone and photographed the scene. “I can finish you in an instant, so please don’t even think about arguing”.

It took almost two hours for my mother to clean me up, then get rid of the play house and the mess inside it. She even gave Flopsy a really good bath too and had her clean and dry by the time I was put down in my cot.

Nanny left in rather a hurry. I heard later that she left in such a hurry that she was pulled over for speeding and smelling the Spanish wine on her breath the police found she was over the alcohol limit and prosecuted from drink driving.

I woke up late on Sunday morning and I was inconsiderable pain and had wet my nappies as usual. I was waiting for Nanny to come and change me when I remembered that Nanny had been sacked. I listened for my mother, but could hear nothing. I became very nervous, as I hoped that she had not gone out and left me all alone again. I was very hungry having eaten nothing the day before.

The large door knocker sounded on the front door. I heard voices, my mother, Miss Tranter and maybe two other people. Who could they be?




krystalasbaby2017

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Re: Tommy's Story
« Reply #15 on: December 06, 2022, 04:17:17 AM »
just got caught up, boy was that nanny a monster.  Mummy has not been nice either till she got rid of nanny.
Looking  forward to reading about who came thro the front door along with Miss Tanner.


Baby Mac

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Re: Tommy's Story
« Reply #16 on: December 07, 2022, 04:43:20 PM »
Love it

SissyShellyDC

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Re: Tommy's Story
« Reply #17 on: December 07, 2022, 06:11:32 PM »
Another work of art!  You are in the Pantheon of AB Sissy story writers with DaraJaney and Johnathan.

antonia

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Re: Tommy's Story
« Reply #18 on: December 08, 2022, 07:10:32 AM »
Chapter 5

I heard a lot of people coming up the stairs, there was a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach and my nappy rash was particularly severe and very irritating. I clutched Flopsy close to me and rose to my knees in my cot. The weight of my nappy caused it to sag so that I could feel it resting on the back of my calves. I was suc-king my dummy furiously and my bib that was already very wet from my dribbling became saturated.

My mother was remonstrating with a man outside the door telling him that everything was alright and that there was no need for him to be there. Another woman chimed in and said that they had to investigate every complaint where children were involved. Miss Tranter, my lovely Miss Tranter, said that she believed that I was being abused.

In walked a policeman, a woman with a clipboard, Miss Tranter and my mother. They all looked at an eight-year-old boy kneeling in his cot in wet nappies dressed as a little baby. There was a positive intake of breath and astonishment.

“Tommy” greeted Miss Tranter clearly distressed at the sight of me crying and in such a humiliating position.

“Miss Tranter” I said with no sign of a lisp or any other baby talk, no longer would I have to say “Mith Twanter.” I was going to be a proper boy from now on, now I knew my nanny had gone.

“I am Mrs Wainsworth” said the rather stern looking middle-aged lady with the official looking board and black briefcase. “I am from Social Services, and I have come to see how you are keeping. There is nothing to worry about, we are going to make sure that you are safe sweetheart.”

The policeman who was wearing his big helmet said “and I am Constable Barker. There’s no need to be afraid, you haven’t done anything wrong. I had to come and see you as well because we heard all about you at the police station.”

“Look at you” said my mother lowering the side rail of my cot. “What a mess you are in silly boy. Look at the state of you and look at your bedtime nappies that you must wear because you are a bed wetter.” She pulled down my nappies and plastic pants as I kneeled there and encourage me to stand as she slid them off my feet one foot at a time. My blazing soreness was evident for all to see. The great thump my wet nappies made as they hit the floor was evidence as to how long I had been left in them. “Let’s get you cleaned up and into your underwear.”

I looked a bit surprised. Miss Tranter looked even more surprised. “You keep him in nappies all the time” she said looking at my mother in disbelief.

“No, he’s far to big to be kept in nappies, he’s eight years old for goodness’ sake” she retorted. “My goodness how you have grown recently” she said struggling to put on a pair of infantile pants that I hadn’t worn in three years, and they were terry towelling training pants that were badly stained at that. She struggled to find any clothes that weren’t for a baby girl and opted for a big baby grow with the snaps hanging down, over which she put some pink stretch towelling shorts. She plucked out my dummy and threw it into my bed. “You must stop suc-king that binkie, how old are you? I must be a bit tougher on you and make you grow up.”

Constable Barker and Mrs Wainsworth were not looking very impressed by this performance. I looked like a baby and clearly had no clothes befitting my age. Miss Tranter stated the obvious “look at his bed, they replaced his bed with a cot. He eats his meals in a big high chair. She and nanny forced him to wear a bib and speak like a baby. This poor boy is broken.”

“Shut up Miss Tranter” barked my mother “you don’t know anything.” She helped me out of my cot, but I almost stumbled, because my legs were so weak from not walking but crawling everywhere.

“Look, he can barely walk, because he was made to crawl about on his hands and knees like a baby. Do you think his knees would look so sore if he had been walking?” Miss Tranter was boiling with emotion. How I loved her at this moment. “They forced him to stay in nappies for so long that I doubt he has any control left now.”
As if on cue, I felt the front of my rather small and insufficient underwear grow warm as I wet myself profusely. I dripped onto the linoleum of my nursery floor.

“Need I say more?” asked Miss Tranter

Mrs Wainsworth sprang into action and in a trice had me lying on my back on my changing table as she took off all me wet clothing and with professional efficiency had me cleaned up with baby wipes and dressed in clean nappies and protected with my plastic baby pants. I looked towards my dummy but she shook her head “Time to be a big boy now Tommy” she said firmly but kindly.

She grabbed my hand and took me downstairs with everybody in procession. The constable was speaking to my mother and writing things down in his notebook. Miss Tranter was asked to look after me while Mrs Wainsworth filled out several forms she had on her clipboard. She handed the forms to my mother and took me outside. I seem to have been sold or exchanged for paperwork. We got into the back of the police car and waited for the constable to join us.

We set off with nobody saying anything for quite a long time. “Your mummy is in a lot of trouble Tommy and she needs to sort things out. In the meantime, I am taking you to a special place full of boys and girls just like you. You will be able to grow up and be a proper big boy again.”

The sign outside the dark spooky building said “The Orphanage of the Blessed Sister Mary”. I did not feel that this latest part of my life was going to be a picnic. As we walked up the driveway, having waved Constable Barker goodbye, the overall impression was one of quietness and austerity. On one side, surrounded by a tall wall was a kitchen garden. On the other side was a large grassy area that had three enormous washing lines that ran the length of the garden. One had maybe four or five dozen nappies and twenty pairs of plastic pants fluttering in the breeze. Another was full of institutional grey dresses and grey shorts. The last was hung with aprons, tabards, bibs and other protective wear.

The door was opened by a nun in her full habit, all in black, all very depressing and sombre. A couple of girls all dressed in grey with grey protective smocks, were working with a large tin of polish with rags and dusters to buff the floor to a rich shine. They looked about my age, they looked sad, subjugated, and subservient. The nun pointed at a corner “There!” The two souls rushed to apply new polish and vigour.

We entered a dull office that smelled of polish, indeed, the whole atmosphere was of polish and incense. The furniture was dark, heavy with massive curtains allowing the smallest chink of light to fall on the massive desk before me. There were two chairs facing the window in front of the desk and we sat. We were left alone.

A matronly woman entered; it was the Mother Superior. “You! Stand outside the door and face the wall and do not move.”

Baby Mac

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Re: Tommy's Story
« Reply #19 on: December 08, 2022, 11:46:24 AM »
Uh oh from the clutches of one tormentor into the clutches of many. These women are going to give him a strict a unpleasant Christian upbringing.

krystalasbaby2017

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Re: Tommy's Story
« Reply #20 on: December 09, 2022, 05:56:19 AM »
From the sounds of this new beginning in his life, things don't look much better for our sissy baby love the story keep up the great writing.

 

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