Due to Betty's recent illness, most of Betty's sites are limited to members only, and no new registrations for memberships will be accepted at this time.

Trans News ~ Headline News ~ Science News ~ Tech News ~ Paranormal & Aliens
Odd News ~ Betty's YouTube ~ My other channel

The more you give, the
more we can give back!
There has been,

Hits to Betty's
Pubs since
Sept. 30th, 2004

Author Topic: Tommy's Story  (Read 14465 times)

0 Members and 5 Guests are viewing this topic.


  • Winner of the Golden Panties Award
  • **********
  • Posts: 268
  • Karma: +12841/-7
Tommy's Story
« on: November 30, 2022, 06:25:33 AM »
Author's note: I am somewhat underwhelmed by the total lack of any feedback, so please don't be surprised if I give up on my latest story because there is absolutely no motivation to write it, let alone complete it!

Tommy’s Story
Chapter 1

I am writing this down on the instructions of my psychologist who believes that committing the event to paper will help me come to terms with my trauma. It is hard to know where to start but the doctor said to try at the first memory.

The first thing to tell is that my mother never intended to have a child, she was happy to have a lively life partying and going to masonic dinners with my father who was a provincial solicitor. He liked to have fancy cars and be seen about town in the clubs and hotel bars where he would trawl for new clients. Despite owning what could best be described as a motorised rowing boat, he managed to get himself into a prestigious yacht club.

I arrived unexpectedly and was not really wanted, they tried to carry on their lifestyle, but being taken to late night parties wrapped in a blanket and sleeping most weekends under a pile of coats, wraps, stoles, shawls and blankets was not the recommended sleeping habit for young children.

My first memory is wetting myself as I was taken out of my warm bed to be bundled into the back seat of his old Daimler. I remember the cool sweetness of the cold night air and then the warmth spreading through the front of what was inside my flannel pyjamas. I recall the smell of leather of the back seat and the stale smell of cigarettes that clung to the fabric of the car. The perfume of my mother, the hushed tones as they got in, the smell of Ronson’s lighter fluid as he lit his cigarette with his Zippo and that characteristic clack as he slammed down the lid. The flash ended there, memory turned itself off. I have no idea how old I was, less than five more than three perhaps.

The next memory was haunting. My room was cold, it had a linoleum floor and a draughty window. I always slept with my baby shawl for comfort wrapped round me like a nappy because that gave me the most pleasure. I was never reliable, my bed wetting continued up until I was about seven years old. On this night, for reasons that escape me, I had the feeling that I needed to do a poo. The toilet was a walk along the hall and I just did not want to get out of my bed. I lay there in a daze, and as I did so I felt the log push out of my bottom and into my pyjamas. I was horrified and let out a call for my mother, who rushed in to see what could be so terrible. It must have been middle of the evening because she was not in her night clothes. My father came to see what was happening but luckily my mother shooed him away.

She cleaned me up and spirited away my accident so that nobody would be any the wiser. She asked me if I should be put back in nappies because only babies would dirty themselves like I had done. I said that she hadn’t got any nappies to put me in and to my amazement she opened the door of the airing cupboard in the hall, which was visible from my bed, and there on the bottom shelf was a huge stack of fluffy white Harrington nappies. How I wanted to say yes, for god’s sake yes, I would love to be back in nappies without any cares in the world.

The world took a turn for the worse after that. The moved from the flat into a house and the rows started, endless rows that went on and on. Relentless bickering, where I cowered in my bedroom waiting for it all to stop. He was playing the field, sleeping with his clients, sleeping with the bar maid, in fact he seemed to sleep with anybody who would fall for his cheap charms. However, the reason for his infidelity was blamed on me. I took up too much time, I was a wimp, I was dim. My mother spent more time pandering to me than fawning all over him. She was always too tired, what did she expect him to do?

My mother started to look upon me in a different light, her wonderful lifestyle had been reduced to washing ironing and being incarcerated in the new house where she had few friends nearby. The worse her world became to more she took it out on me and the worse my bedwetting became. I was now wetting the bed every night and despite my mattress being covered with a red sheet of rubber it smelled of a urinal.

She told me she had had enough and returned with two bulging pillow cases (full of my nappies) and something else I could not see. She told me that it was time to put me back in nappies at night time. She took three and folded two together into a kite shape puled off all my clothes and, in a trice, had me fully nappied with another nappy as a soaker. She pulled up the rubber pants and pushed, poked and fiddled about to ensure all the cloth was completely covered. My nappies were so thick and bulging that I could barely walk, but it mattered not because I was going to bed early.

My father came back from work at that moment and took one look at me, lashed out at my mother saying she should not treat me like a sissy baby and then left. We never saw him again and my wonderful caring mother seemed to leave with him. Potentially, we were now going to be homeless as the house would have to be sold, but life had a surprise in store for us. As my father gunned his car towards one hundred miles an hour, having just consumed many gin and tonics, the off-side tyre got a sudden and fatal puncture that took my father and his car up a very large tree. The insurance money came at a very opportune time and we no longer needed to move or for that matter be poor.

Sadly, the hatred that was building in my mother towards me did not seem to abate, if anything she was becoming more resentful each day. Each day she became more spiteful and harsher with her humiliating punishments. I was five years old.


  • Ballerina
  • ****
  • Posts: 13
  • Karma: +22/-6
Re: Tommy's Story
« Reply #1 on: November 30, 2022, 08:03:19 AM »
Please continue!

Baby Mac

  • Ultimate Sissy
  • *********
  • Posts: 163
  • Karma: +388/-8
Re: Tommy's Story
« Reply #2 on: November 30, 2022, 08:31:37 AM »
Excellent first start wow it feels like a horror novel. Looks like Mommy's out for him.


  • Ballerina
  • ****
  • Posts: 11
  • Karma: +0/-2
Re: Tommy's Story
« Reply #3 on: November 30, 2022, 09:31:47 AM »
Please continue Antonia, I for one love your stories, oh dear I hate to think how Tommy ends up when and if he ever gets a wife,but I know that must be jumping the gun a bit.


  • Baby Buns
  • **
  • Posts: 3
  • Karma: +5/-2
Re: Tommy's Story
« Reply #4 on: November 30, 2022, 10:06:43 AM »
Please continue, Antonia. I adore your stories.


  • Winner of the Golden Panties Award
  • **********
  • Posts: 268
  • Karma: +12841/-7
Re: Tommy's Story
« Reply #5 on: November 30, 2022, 11:58:04 AM »
Chapter 2

Being put in nappies every night was now a permanent addition to my life. My mother was cold and practical as she dressed me for bed. There was very little emotion and even less love as she tugged and pinned up the thick nappies between my legs. All the while, she would call me a pissy little baby, as she pulled the waterproof baby pants over my protection. One night she came up with a new surprise, her continual taunts left me tearful and upset, as I looked away trying to hide my sad little tears, she gave my leg a slap to get me to look at her. As I swung my head round in surprise, she forced the large teat of a pink dummy into my mouth. I don’t remember ever having had a dummy as a baby, but the large latex nipple in my mouth almost made me choke.

How she lambasted me for my new symbol of infantile behaviour. “Look at the little baby suc-king his binkie. Look at piddle pants in his big baby’s nappy. Is baby crying? What a booby.”

She flapped open a pink nightie covered in lacy frills and threaded it over my head and arms. “Now you look like a proper little baby girl, don’t you?” she asked scornfully. “Mummy is fed up with you and wants to go back to work and have a proper job. Mummy is fed up with looking after a sissy, bed wetting baby.” She said smoothing down the sleepwear that came to the waistband of my rubber pants. “If that dummy comes out, I will spank you. I don’t want to hear you anymore and this will stop your whining and moaning once and for all.”

I was ushered into my bed and she pulled the blankets over me. There were no sheets, only the rubber sheet beneath me and the somewhat soiled and smelly blanket over me. The nappy bucket in my room added to the pervasive odour of my room. Although I could not remember ever having had a do-di as a baby, I somehow had an instinctive reflex that told me what to do. I fell asleep suc-king my dummy like a toddler and never stirred as my bladder emptied helplessly in my waiting nappies. I wet myself at least twice that night, who knows the actual number, but in the morning, I was soaked. My new pink nightdress was wet, the rubber sheet beneath me glistened with what had leaked out of my nappies. I suc-ked with distress on my dummy.

My mother came in and I thought I detected a small smirk on her face as she saw that I was sat in my soaked bed and still suc-king on my babyish soother. She said very little but stripped off my nappies and rubber pants in one swift action to leave me sitting on my wet rubber sheet. My blankets absorbed some of the pee lying on top of the rubber sheet. She lifted the lid on my nappy pail and threw in my pants and nappies as a single parcel. My nightdress was removed and I sat on top of my bed naked.

She looked at me showing particular interest to my nappy region. “You’re getting nappy rash” she remarked “serves you right.” She took three nappies from the stack by my bed and started to fold them together. I spat out my dummy and told her that I didn’t wear nappies during the day. “You do now” she said “I am tired of you being a little boy by day and a baby by night. Now I am going to keep you as a baby girl all the time.” She stuffed the soother back in my mouth

She soon had me back in nappies and dressed in another pink nightie. We went together into the kitchen and I was surprised to see that my old highchair had come back. I started to grumble and was rewarded by having the back of my legs slapped three of four times leaving deep red marks. She strapped me in using a baby harness that had a line of little bells across the breast plate. It rattled every time I moved. The large terry bib that she tied around my neck helped to silence them

She fed me a bowl of some pasty cereal, but I did not recognise the taste except to note that it was horribly sweet and unctuous. She wiped my messy face on my bib and then put a bottle of milk into my hand and encouraged me to suc-k on the rubber nipple. I asked for my regular beaker and was told that from now on baby would use baby feeding equipment.

It took ages to drink, as I was not used to using a bottle. My mother picked up my do-di and tied it to a ribbon that she pinned with a nappy pin to my bib. She released me from the highchair and to my concern I was still wearing the pink leather harness. She took me back back to my bedroom and told me to hop into bed. She attached the harness to straps with two padlocks that I had not noticed before attached to the side of my bed.

“Dummy” she ordered. I put it into my mouth puzzled. She left the room and returned with five bottles of milk, a plate of rusks and some sandwiches which she put on a little table by my bed. This is your lunch, snacks and tea” she explained “I am going out today because I have a job interview and I can’t take a sissy pissy pants with me can I?

I started to cry. “Exactly the reason you cannot come with me – you’re a big sissy cry baby” she scorned. “Now, while I am out, you are going to wet your nappies for sure, so I am going to let you use what you have on now, before I change you again. If you need to do a poo then I suggest you do it now.

It took me a while but I managed to wee in my nappy but strain as I might, I could not soil my nappy, especially with my mother watching me. Once I had finished, she re-nappied me with an extra nappy in place and an even larger pair of waterproof pants. “You cannot change yourself, so I suggest that if your nappies get too wet that you stuff a dry nappy down inside the front of your pants. So here are another six dry nappies for you.”

Then, with a slam of the door she was gone and I was left sitting on my bed in the biggest nappy I had ever had to wear. My dummy was my only comfort. She had left me no toys, no books to read and there was nothing nearby that I could reach. At eleven o’clock I was thirsty and drank one of my bottles, then I ate a rusk and very bored I lay down to sleep suc-king on my dummy. I wet my nappies. I awoke to the sound of the postman putting some letters through the letterbox, I thought it was my mother coming home. I was very disappointed, but had no idea what time it was. I ate my sandwich and had another bottle of milk lying on my back and looking up at the ceiling as I suc-ked on the rubber teat. My nappies took another wetting and I could feel myself beginning to itch. I was starting to get a full-blown case of nappy rash. This was not going to be helped by the need to soil my nappy. I tried every which way to stop it coming. I clenched the cheeks of my bottom hoping to keep everything in, I tried sitting bolt upright with my knees firmly together and finally I tried putting my hand beneath me and trying to push it back. It was all in vain and I had to suffer the indignity of making a dirty nappy in the most humiliating of circ-umstances. I cried as slowly, and without any choice, the mess slowly eased its way out of me and forced against the tight confines of my terry nappy, squeezing out in all directions as it tried to make its escape. It was exquisitely painful would be the only way to describe the feeling and trying to raise my bottom from the red rubber sheet gave little relief, so tight was I held in place by my harness. Tears rolled down my cheeks from the pain and the embarrassment, only to fall onto my bib still damp and dirty from my breakfast, dummy suc-king and bottle feeding.

Eventually, I had a full nappy that stuck to me like a mud pack around my groin and bottom. There was no way to escape it. I cried some more as my bladder released another big wetting into my nappy to leave it saturated. I picked up a clean nappy from the pile my mother had left me and tried to stuff it next to my sore skin hoping it would provide some dry fluffy relief from my wetness. The plan worked, but within half an hour it was damp and uncomfortable again.

I ate a rusk and drank another bottle of milk, more out of boredom than thirst or hunger. I replaced my dummy because it really did seem to help me cope with the stress. The light was starting to fade as I wet myself again. I hardly thought about it anymore. I picked up another dry nappy and stuffed it down the front of the previous insert. This time it seemed to stay quite dry but my rubber pants were stretched to their limit with six nappies contained within them.

The light continued to fade and I had no access to the little lamp in my room, nor the light switch by the door which illuminated the centre light. It became very dark and I had no choice but to try and sleep. It was as black as pitch in the room. I pulled my smelly blankets around me, now oblivious to the smell of my own piss, the smell of my nappy bucket and my recently soiled nappies. My do-di was such a comfort.

I don’t know what time it was when my mother came back in. I had wet my nappies yet again and they felt like they weighed at least a ton. She breezed into my room turning on the bright centre light. My eyes struggled to adapt to the sudden brightness.

“Phew, what a stinky baby we have here” she remarked “has baby made a poopy in her nappies? I think she has! What a dirty, smelly little girl you are.”

I had no tears left. I was wet, smelly, dirty and very sore in a badly soiled nappy. What did she expect?

My mother seemed in better humour as she set about the task of cleaning me up and completely filling up my nappy bucket with my day’s efforts. She ran me a bath and let me play with my toy ducks as she set about laundering over a dozen dirty diapers left in my bucket. I was clean by the time I heard the washing machine start on its task.

We returned to my room, the room smelt of air freshener, my red rubber sheet had been cleaned and smelt of Dettol disinfectant. My blankets had disappeared and my mother unfurled a brand-new fitted flannelette sheet which she put over the top of rubber sheet. Another flannelette sheet was fitted and on top of that a beautiful thick baby quilt with pictures of fluffy rabbits and other little animals.

A large fluffy towel was put on top of my quilt and I was ordered to get ready for my nappies. A large jar of cream was opened and a huge dollop of zinc and castor oil cream was worked into my skin to soothe and protect me and help eliminate my rash. A generous powdering of baby talc was applied. Nappies were pinned on and instead of my normal rubber pants she came up with a pair of plastic pants which were an innovation at that time. She sat on my bed next to me and gave me a hug. I could have cried I was so happy and I hugged her back with all my might.

She dressed me in a pink onesie that was so soft that it was paradise. I was enveloped in floral fragrance and pink softness. She opened a packet that contained a new terry bib that was white and had a matching pink trimming that matched my onesie. It had a bunny appliqued on the front and although I couldn’t read it, it was embroidered with the words “Mummy’s Baby”.

She put my harness back on, pulling the bib through so it was on the top. I was put back in my high chair and firmly secured as she started to prepare dinner for us. “Mummy has got a new job baby girl” she announced happily “I don’t have to be stuck here all day trying to look after a little brat with an incontinence problem. Now I can spend time with other grown ups and don’t need to pretend that I enjoy the conversations of a five-year old. I know you have had a horrible day but that doesn’t matter does it, as long as Mummy can feed you and change you.”

“Now the good news is that little Tommy is going to get a nanny to look after her, while mummy goes to work. I have told nanny that Tommy is a little bit broken and still needs to be in nappies like a little baby. You will continue to wear nappies all day and every day sweetheart, because nanny said that she does not look after young potty-trained children because she has trained specifically for babies still on the bottle and in nappies.

You will NOT let mummy down, will you?” she glared at him menacingly.

I considered my awful day and weighed up my options. It was best that I adopt the life of a baby, maybe I would find love and comfort in my new role?

[Author's note: I am so thankful for your very kind comments, how much joy it brings me to write when people interact. Encouragement like this will bring a long and fruitful story I promise]

Baby Mac

  • Ultimate Sissy
  • *********
  • Posts: 163
  • Karma: +388/-8
Re: Tommy's Story
« Reply #6 on: November 30, 2022, 01:04:51 PM »
You out do yourself and others with this. Thank you i hope the nanny is a real monster.


The more you give, the more I can give back.

The dots in the map below represent every person who visited Betty's since May 17, 2020. Blinking dots show people currently here. However if you haven't clicked on anything in a couple minutes your dot won't blink until you click on something again.


Hits to Betty's Pubs since Sept. 30th, 2004

eXTReMe Tracker

Website, forum design, software, & security on this site is copyrighted. It was made personally by Betty Pearl, of Betty Pearl's Pubs, Sissy Stories, buffalobetties, pearlcorona. Betty's Pub is a non-profit organization & support group for the transgendered, & Fetware community. We don't sell anything, & we don't data mine your personal information & habits to sell like MOST other sites do. We respect your privacy & won't sell it out for a few bucks.

Site for: Sissy Stories, ABDL Stories, Sissy Art, Crossdressing, Transgender