Clarity Babysits Part 8 by DeeplyF
I want to kick out my legs and buck in baby glee. In an infant, it would be behavior that would bring his babysitter down to blow on his tummy to seal the bond of infantile pleasure. At my size, probably not. I content myself instead with a slight thrusting of my pelvis. Clarity sees this as an opportunity to further enrapture me with my diaper. She positions herself between my legs and, with a corner of the top diaper in each hand, brings it up to hold it where my thrusting pen-is can jab at its surface.
"Oh, lookie here how Baby is loving his diaper. He's getting all worked up. Does he have his little stiffie back? Let's peek and see...oh yes. How fun for Baby. If I hold the diaper just right, will he be able to rub his little thingie on it until he squirts his load? Just look at him pumping away. My Little Man. Sooo big. Show me how you can make spermie goo messie in your diaper. Come on and fuc-k your diaper. c-um in your diaper for me."
I am lost in the moment. I am suc-king a dil-do in my mouth. I have this exquisite package of feminine tese and coaxing holding a diaper so that my erect pen-is can swipe it as it gets closer and closer to exploding with each jab. A gentle, condescending girl-woman voice tells my brain to just give in to the fantasy. I'm practically bucking now. The diaper is so thick and, even erect, I'm so small that I know Clarity can't see any protusion through the cotton panel she holds over me. But she has created a little fold in just the right place. This pouch in the diaper enfolds each thrust now. The heavenly tingle is coming both as I thrust and as I pull back. So close, so close. I hear her words. "Come on, Baby, shoot your load. Put it in the diaper. Put it all right in there."
I gasp and I explode into the diaper. My eyes close and the dil-do slips from my hands and out of my mouth. My arms splay out to my sides. In two or three spasms my orgasm is over. I am spent. All the sexual tension has been jetisioned with my discharge. I lay panting and limp.
Clarity brings the diaper that now bears my little puddle of goo back down to the floor. I'm totally exposed. She looks down at my smooth stomach and my shrinking organ as it leaves a slight trail of ejaculate in its recession. She looks at the tiny pool of sperm on the diaper. She must wonder what all the fuss is about. She is pleased that her part in my little psycho-drama serves to reinforce it and thereby, further fixate me on it. Does she know that this orgasm, rather than repulsing me and snapping me back to a more grown-up reality, instead frees me from all that and opens me up to any more babying that she has to mete out?
"Oh my," she exclaims. "Just look at what we have here: a little boy who is becoming sooo big that he can have a grown-up orgasm with real spermies that come spurting out of his stiff little dic-kie bird. And he did all his own thrusting, too. Was he showing off for me? Yes he was, huh? And its only natural that my Little Man wants to show off for me . He's so proud that he can make his little creamy puddle. But was he really showing off or did he just get so turned on with being pinned into fluffy baby diapers that he reacted with an erection that spewed this jizz as soon as it touched the bulky cloth?"
"Oh, I know, I know---the big he-man in you wants praise for these little dribbles you made. You just showed me you are so grown-up. It's hard for my Little Man to be taken seriously unless he can shoot real bullets from his little gun, huh? Now he just needs to work on directing all that male energy at a little self-control. Yes, Baby, real men don't just jab their stiffie wildly for thirty seconds. You'll see when you're more mature."
"But my little guy here couldn't help himself, could he? He got so excited that he was being diapered and by a young woman, too. Yes, Mister Dribbles, as soon as I was bringing this diaper to cover up your little weewee, you wanted to show off what a diaper could make it do, didn't you? Well, his babysitter enjoyed every second of your exhibition. But it's a good thing that I didn't blink or I would have missed the whole thing. That's so like a little boy to c-um so fast."
"It's like how little toddlers get when they perform on the potty. They're so proud that they did their little number one or number two in the potty that they want Mommy to see it and praise them. And that's why I'm so proud of my Little Darling. Did he make messy dribbles in his bed or on his clothes? Why no. He's getting so big that he showed his babysitter that he knew to wait until she was pinning him into his diaper to make his squirt. And he didn't even need his little handie-pandie to rub his weewee. No indeed. Once he was on his didee, my Little Man just jabbed his little stiffie right into that ole diaper, didn't he? Oh and it felt sooo good and he was sooo excited that he had a big c-um to show me sooo fast."
"Don't feel bad, Sweetums. All men are basically just like you. They're still little toddlers. Instead of showing Mommy the peepee or poopoo in their potty, they're showing Mommy---all women---their sex. They still need praise and reassurance. The women love and nurture them. It's the same ritual for the woman irregardless of whether her Little One is three months, three years or three decades. You're every woman's little Baby/Man. Every so often the Man spills over, but with you, it's the Baby that you want Mommy to see."
I feel the pacifier touching my listless open mouth. As I take it in, I know there's more Babytime to come.
Clarity Babysits Part 9
"Well, well then. Did Baby have fun? He made a creamy in his diaper just like he wanted, didn't he? My Little Man got to shoot his load for me. He got all the wiggley spermies out of his system, huh? I'll bet he had been needing that relief from the very first moment he got all aroused. My Little Precious shouldn't let all that tension build up. If a little boy could tell his babysitter that he wet his diaper and needed to be changed, couldn't he just as easily announce that he had a lot of sexual tension building up and needed to make a dribble? Then he could perform for me, like he just did, and show me how all the bad ole tension just goes away when he's done putting his spermie goo into his diaper. It's just a shame to see what happens to my little boy when he tries to act so big. Maybe he needs to be put on a schedule when he's with me. Baby needs structure, doesn't he? If I supervised while he made his little boy juice once or twice or as many times as he needed---could he really c-um more than twice?---he wouldn't have all those big-boy distractions, would he? Does he have to have his diaper to be able to make squirties? It seemed like he just did. See what a big helper he was by using his diaper? Yes, his babysitter won't have to wipe up any dribbles, will she? No. And that's being my big helper. Do you know what else? When Baby c-ums in his diaper, he will get to feel the little wet spots when I pin his diaper on. He can feel so grown up and proud when he's in his diaper feeling the c-um that he made all by himself. I can brag about my Little Precious and tell everyone that, even though he still has to be diapered, he's getting big enough to ejaculate while he's pinned up in them. See, I'll even use the big, grown-up word. Maybe we should go shopping sometime. We could go to the T-shirt shop at the mall and ask one of the girls who work there to print Baby a special T-shirt that says "I am a Big Boy who gets to c-um in my diaper'. Then everyone would know what he can do. He'll get to wear it with his thick diapers and puffy, crinkly baby panties."
All this Clarity says as if it were a lullabye that will help me through all the tension of my climax back to babytime when I'm put into my diapers. She's gentle and soft. She runs her hand through my hair as she speaks. Occasionally she gives little reassuring pats to the top of my head. She caresses the side of my face with the back of her hand. She removes the pacifier. Around my mouth goes her finger. My lips capture and caress it. She gently moves it in and out, in and out. Her gentle words go on and on. She waits until I am once again at peace and relaxed and then moves back down between my legs to diaper me.
"Baby has rubbed all the baby oil off his little weewee. We have to protect his prized possession."
She reaches into a jar of vaseline with two fingers and paints my pen-is with a tremendous gob of the contents. The excess she wipes in the two creases where my legs meet my groin. Up comes the first diaper, the one my orgasm has spattered. The diaper pin goes from mouth to diaper. The second pin secures the diaper tightly around my waist.
"Can you feel your goo, Sweetie? I bet it's right about here." She presses the exact spot with her hand. The wetness touches me right between my navel and the base of my pen-is. "Baby has a wet diaper already, doesn't he? Wet diapers, what a little thrill for my Babycakes."
Up comes the second diaper. Mouth to diaper, in go the pins. Clarity shows surprising strength as she pulls the front tight to meet the back. The diapers' fit restricts my stomach. She pops up and saunters over to get two pair of baby panties. Her darling little buns move nicely beneath their yellow panty cover. She sits on the bed and holds out the first pair: old-fashioned rubber pants.
"Come her, Little One. Step into your rubber panties for me. Put your hands on my shoulders. There we go, nice and steady. Now one foot in, then the other one. Now stand up so big."
Clarity pulls up the rubber pants. They glide up my hairless legs getting tighter and tighter as they meet my thighs. Clarity concentrates first on one leg opening , then the other. She pulls each one up as high as she can. They are so tight that she practically snaps them into place. They mold around the bulky diapers after she takes the edge and tucks it in, making sort of a pouch. Her hands fuss with the diaper. She rolls the rubber panties up, up over the diaper. The rubber presses in almost like a girdle. It assures that there is total diaper contact with my skin. She was right to put on so much oil and powder. Next come the plastic baby panties. They are an infantile print on a yellow pastel background, yellow like her panties but with a design of diaper pins, baby bottles, rattles and pacifiers. Unlike the rubber pants, these balloon out. The elasticized leg openings and waist are also tight, though, and this accentuates the panty's puffiness. It is as if I'm encircled by a big bubble.
Clarity Babysits Part 10
"Oh, aren't we just too cute in our baby panties. Just look at yourself in the mirror. I see a great big baby in bulky diapers. Can you take little uncertain toddler steps over to the mirror and then turn around and come back into my arms? Do you remember how a toddler walks? We'll have to make you practice. Next time I'll bring a video of a real two-year-old and you can learn to copy all his moves. Turn around and come to me. Not too fast. Remember you've only been walking a little while and you don't want to fall down and go boom."
The diapers' bulk does force my legs to adjust from their normal gait. The cotton mass is a wonderful feeling. The tight rubber panties make every part of my diapered middle aware of their presence---behind, around, in front and between. I can't escape the feeling. Yet all the lubricant in and on me also lends to a squishy inner feel. I see myself in the mirror trying to act the toddler. The whole sensation is fantastic. I see Clarity eyeing me, her clasped hands up to her chin like a petite designer assessing her latest haute couture creation. She takes me in her arms when I arrive. "Come to me, Precious Pie. Now let's lie down and I'll give Baby his bottle to nurse."
She piles big pillows on the bed to prop me up. On the cabinet top she opens a can of baby formula concentrate and pours it into the bottle without diluting it. The cap with its protruding nipple is screwed in place. Clarity has me adjust my position so she can slide in underneath me. I am draped over her lap and supported by the pillows so that my head is at the same level as her chest. She hands me the bottle to hold and, in a single motion, pulls off her tube top. Her pert little breasts are round and smooth. Her tiny nipples barely rise to punctuate these two outward symbols of her young femininity.
She wraps her outer arm around my face to cradle it in the position she wants. "Let me have your bottle, Little One," she murmurs while taking it into her free hand. She brings its nipple to my waiting mouth. "Is my baby hungry after all that he's been through, huh? He's had such a big day. Will he take his whole bottle for me? Look into my eyes while you nurse, Honey Pie. Yes, there, there now. My baby is all safe and sound cradled in my arms having his bottle."
She switches hands and I suc-k down the thick, sweet formula. Her free hand drops to my crotch--thickly padded and covered by the two layers of waterproofing. There it rests and starts a comforting rhythm of little pats. I yearn to feel them on my pen-is but the bulk of my diaper prevents this. The only effect is the patterned sound of her hand gently tapping on the panty's plastice surface. It is comfort enough. Our eyes meet. Her lips are pursed to encourage what she sees in my own. Her head almost imperceptively wags from side to side as her eyebrows arch upward to lure me into continuing my intake of the bottle's nectar.
I cough as a trickle of the formula goes down the wrong way. Clarity removes the nipple from my mouth and rolls me around closer to her. Her other hand pats my back to clear the source of my congestion. The formula, the air, the position---they all combine to cause a slight burp.
"Oh dear, is Baby spitting up? Poor Little Thing. He's just taking his baba too fast. Here, nurse my breast for a little while until you're all better."
Delight of delights. Clarity positions me so that my lips can encircle that ultimate source of the baby bond. Her outer arm holds my head fast so that I can nurse. Her free hand cups her breast so the the connection is perfect. My lips seal off the area of her areola. My tongue flicks her rec-umbent nipple. Taking the bottle required a greater aperture of my mouth than she. She's so small, a young babysitter playing at being Mommy. The only sound is that of my suc-king and the occasional little moan of pleasure and contentment that I cannot contain. My hand meets hers in cupping this marvelous breast. Our fingers interlock there for a time. Through them I try to squeeze hers to communicate my gratitude for this treasure. She eventually pulls her hand away. Next I feel the baby bottle nudging the corner of my mouth. Eager more for the feel of this engorged nipple than for the fluid it administers, I willingly switch. In my mind I haven't given up Clarity's sweet breast, but instead transferred her to the bottle's source of lactation. I'm being breast fed. Clarity senses my transference, too. She engages in this ritual of bait-and-switch, bottle to breast, breast to bottle, until the bottle's contents are drained. When the sound of air being suc-ked from the bottle is heard, she pulls away the nipple.
"Good boy," she praises. "I thought my Baby needed his baba and he did,too, didn't he? Baby likes to suc-k so much. Just close your eyes now, Baby. That's it, just like a baby to fall sleep at his mommy's breast all full and content. Shh, shh. Quiet time for Baby."
Clarity Babysits Part 11
She continues to murmur incomprehensible, nearly inaudible soothing sounds. My mouth remains open with my lips occasionally bruching her nipple as they fall into a rhythm of closing and opening that matches the deep breathing of my utter relaxation. Clarity's hand ightly bruches my hair from my forehead. Her gentle pats seek to hold it in places in its new position.
she rocks me in a near undiscernablsway. The her finger lights on my parted lips. My reverie is disturbed only to the extent that my lips close around that heavenly digit and resume suc-king.
"So much formula," interrupts Clarity in a whisper. Bending her mouth down to my forehead she rests her lips there and plants another of her light-as-a-feather kisses. She doesn't break it off, but chooses that point to ask me a question. The skin on my forehead can feel her lips moving to form the words,"Are you wet? Huh? Did that big bottle make Baby wethis diaper? Let's check and see."
She straightens me up so that she can slide out from under me. I fall back on the supporting pillows now halfway propped up by them. Clarity brings the outer baby panties down. They are so huge that I need to only moomentarily raise my thick, diapered middle for her to be able to slide them on down and off. The tight rubber panties are another matter. Clarity has to straddle both my legs and roll the rubber down starting with the waist band. I gaze at the sweet vision of her, dressed only in her tight little yellow, flower-print panties, laboring away at removing my own baby version of tight panties. Her pert little breasts are so firm that there is only and occasional jiggle from her efforts. Finally, exasperated by her lack of progress, she straightens up and sets her bottom on my shins. With hands on her hips she takes a deep breath in frustration and puts on a mock face of displeasure. Her look is blaming me! All I can do to counter is to continue to gaze upson her chest as she sticks it out in defiance of the rubber panty"s resistance.
She is forced to retreat and tells me to stand up. I rise. Clarity drops to her knees, her head is level with my diaper. Were it not for my diapered condition, I would think of our position relative to one another as one about to go to fellatio. Clarity must have had similar thought. After she has the rubber panties rolled about halfway down, she stops, turns her head up to me, flashes a big grin and, with a twinkle in her eyes, says, "I'm so proud of my biggest little boy." She's practically resting her chin on the now-exposed diaper, right where the tip of my pen-is might be if it were erect and if it were not confined by a diaper. If, if...but neither condition exists.
Once the rubber roll clears the bulge of my rump, it is an easy task to pull it down to my ankles and have me step out. My legs are free to move and Clarity taps them to indicate she wants them spread wider apart. Her little hands are like butterflies as she flutters them up my legs to the thick white cloth mass that is my crotch. She presses the palm of her hand against its bulk and applies upward pressure. She continues to move this hand back so she can assess the diaper's condition on my bottom. The hand returns and, half on my smooth thigh, half on the diaper, works its way along the edges of both. Her little pat-down concludes with her hand on the diaper area directly over what is now my little baby peepee. There it remains as she again turns that fresh face and its happy grin up to me.
Clarity Babysits Part 12
"Baby's diaper is dry. He didn't wet. My, my, what a big boy we have here. Should I be thinking that he's ready to be potty trained? Does he want to turn his diapers in for training pants? I don't think so," she teases as she shakes her head to say "no". "I saw how Baby liked to love his diapers, wet diapers, Little One. Won't it feel sooo good to have our tight rubber panties pressing in all that wetness for you to feel? So wet inside and so dry outside, all bundled up in a wet diaper that is with you wherever you go. No getting away from it until your babysitter decides to change you, is there? We can't miss out on that, can we?"
Since I don't have to wet, I stand dumbly not knowing what to do. Clarity rises from her knees and spreads a water-proof sheet (is it rubber?) over the baby blanket already on the floor. Like before, she gets me into a prone position centered on the sheet (it is rubber!). Once again she's fussing with my diapers, this time unfastening the diaper pins on either side of the outer one, which she then brings back down on the rubber sheet. So great had been the combined thickness that it now feels I have practically nothing between my legs, even though the first diaper, thick enough on its own, is still pinned to me.
Clarity stands up before me and slowly pulls down the waistband of her own panties. There's so little of her that is covered that there wouldn't be much to revealing it all. But Clarity's sense of play and tease has her lower them as if she were hesitant. She stops when the waist reaches the beginning of her little tuft of hair. After the pause, all is exposed. There is a slight bikini tan line. It and the manner in which her tiny bush has been trimmed and shaped say that her little bikini bottom certainly doesn't cover very much. She must turn a lot of heads at the beach or pool.
I don't get very long to take in this latest marvel because she quickly steps out of her panties and sits squarely on my diapered pubis. With her tushie in place, her knees rise and I witness the same arousing view I had earlier but now without her panties to block it. Her full outer labia seal together the two slender inner labia and close off any of the delights beyond the folds. An alluring little slit goes up the length of her pussy. She could show more but I can't hope for more. Why has she decided to bestow this gift upon my eyes?
"Remember, Honey Pie, to really be a baby, we have to have wet diapers. And, it doesn't matter if they are wet from the inside out or the outside in."
She giggles and bears down. A little rivulet of her pee drips down her slit and starts spreading its wetness to my diaper. She's wetting my diaper! I'm being doubly regressed. My diaper is being wet and mentally I'm going back to that question of so many young boys (and older ones), "How do girls pee?"
How does she contain the stream? It's not spurting out. It's like a little spring that just gurgles out. My astonishment is soon overcome with the feel of expanding wet warmth over my pubic area. On and on Clarity loosens her little trickle. It's so like the wetting-your-pants game you play with yourself thinking that you will just relieve a little of the pressure and then a little more and more until you realize that you're soaked.
Clarity shifts back a bit. The flow stops with her action. The motion of her two planted feet creates a small opening as the labia part. What a vision! She settles in and gives a little grunt to restart. Now her pee soaks into the diaper's folds at my crotch. It spreads downward to my bottom. Finally she is done.
She stands and a few late drops fall on my chest. I don't know how to respond. She walks away and reappears with a container of baby wipes. She rubs herself over the area that is wet from her contact with my diaper. She does so seductively: slowly allowing the wipe to absorb and replace her pee's moisture with its own. When she is done with one wipe, she crumples it and flips it onto my chest. She turns her back on me so she can see her bottom in the mirrored wall. She performs the same slow swipe on each of her tight little buns starting high and finishing up low, manoeuvering each time delicately into the crevice that divides them
Having cleaned up, she kneels, still totally naked---her little pussy just darling---between my legs and replaces the outside diaper. She pins it as tightly around my waist as she has the strength for. I feel the inner diaper's warm, wet snugness instantly.
"Rubber panties, Baby. We don't want you leaving any wet spots, do we?
The rolled up rubber is now more like a band that, once around my ankles, binds them together. She gathers up the used baby wipes and waves them under my nose. "Wouldn't Baby like to be all fresh and clean, too? Not until I say, though. Now we're back fully diapered. So helpless...just a helpless little baby in a wet diaper. He didn't even get to control his own pee, did he? No. I had to do it for him. Poor, helpless little baby. When we get our rubber panties and our pretty baby panties back on, we can waddle around all wet. Ohhh, all squishy wet between our legs. What fun for Baby. Stand up and come over to the bed here so I can pull up your panties. Careful...little baby steps so you don't trip and tear them. Come on. Come to me."
Clarity Babysits Part 13
She sits on the bed and holds out her arms to encourage me to come to be cuddled in them. I carefully stand and shuffle to her. She greets me with pats to determine the extent of any spreading wetness. So far there hasn't been enough time to allow it. Tucking in loose ends, she recreates the pouch and repeats the task of getting the tight rubber panties around the diapers' bulk. The nursery-print baby pants quickly follow.
With a little pat to my fanny she propels me toward the mirror. I take it slowly. I want to please her with my toddler walk and I want to gaze into the mirror at Clarity. She stands naked, straight and assured, hands on her hips and with a self-satisfied Mona Lisa smile. She knows that there are more fun and games before she is to reclaim her clothes.
The wet mass of the diaper that Clarity has soaked rubs against my inner thighs as I slowly approach my babysitter. The tight rubber pants hold the witness to me and cause me to walk with my legs splayed out. The compression of the rubber makes any adjustment to the diapers' bulk impossible. I'm still taking in the fact that the wetness is not mine; it is hers. It has the same soggy, bulky feel that I would have achieved by wetting myself, but it's different psychologically. She did it and I'm wearing it. Is this anything like a woman feels when she is filled with the sperm of her lover after his climax? Is she proud to have his essence oozing out of her sex as a reminder of the love the two of them had just shared? Or is she repulsed by the fluids that are not her own and will eventually form wet spots on her bedding or her panties as they seep from her body?
In my infantile state, how do I feel about this wet diaper? When it is my Babytime, to wet a diaper becomes like a sexual climax---even better, because it can go on and on as I release more and more from my bladder. There is no single spasm like in an orgasm. Of course, there is not the intense moment of pleasure, but this is replaced by the total freedom of release without consequence. I carry around the release. It is warm and soft and touches me not only on my pen-is but in other areas filled with little sensors: my balls, my bottom, my inner thighs and that nether region of male sensitivity between the scrotum and the anus. Now, for the first time, that wet release came from another. The feeling is the same but I have to understand that Clarity did this to me. By so doing she has stirred a latent femininity: I am the receptacle and she the depositor. Roles have switched. Is this how women feel? Is pregnancy the ultimate expression of this feminine role? What will happen if and when I add my own warm pee to Clarity's? Will this spell be broken or will I be able to experience a certain bisexuality as my diapers force me to carry around Clarity and me, albeit in the form of our own pee. Wow...this little vixen has opened avenues of sensuality and psycho-sexuality that I have never before even thought about, let alone been able to experience.
All this passes through my mind like a dream---speeded up and out of order, convoluted. Clarity notes my new lack of focus when I arrive to her.
"What's wrong, Sweetie? You look all confused. It's OK, my Little Baby is just having new things happen to him today. Is it scaring him? Awww, come over to the bed and kneel down. We'll get you all comfortdd so you aren't so frightened. Am I scaring you because I'm all naked? Is my Little Boy seeing a live naked girl for his first time? There, there now, Sweetie, my nudity won't hurt you. Why no, it won't. In fact, I have another nice toy that will comfort us both before I put my clothes back on. Let me show you."
Clarity reaches behind the bed and produces what I take initially to be a dil-do---a realistic nine-inch pen-is. But once my eyes move away from the large phallus, I see that at its base is a short three-inch version of the same thing, but pointing the other way. Coming out of their mutual base are two straps.
Clarity quickly secures the shorter of the two dil-dos into my my mouth by snapping the straps together behind my head. The three-inch length does not gag me but it is long enough to nearly do so. I kneel before her with my lips encircling three inches of coc-k while a fuller nine incher sprouts from my mouth.
"See, Baby, isn't that soothing? Judging from the size of what we have in out mouth, we can pretend we're suc-king our own little dic-kie, can't we? Don't all little boys fantasize about being able to do just that? But, of course, with a teeny tiny weewee like yours, that is just a fantasy, isn't it? Well, now you have a cute little coc-k actually in your mouth so let's see what we can have you do with the big, real-man coc-k coming out of your mouth.
Clarity Babysits Part 14
Clarity grabs the dil-do by its shaft and tilts it straight up, thereby forcing my head back. Staring up at the cieling and then past my nose at the dil-do, I am an observer to Clarity's slow stroking. She's pretending to masturbate this phallus right before my eyes.
"Oh my, my," she purrs, "look how erect this big coc-k is. Can Baby imagine how good it would feel if I were doing this to his little baby boner? Go ahead, Little One, take your hands and rub that little weewee. Can you even feel it through your panties and diapers? Because you wanted to be a baby, that little pen-is is all tucked away, isn't it? You will just have to pretend while you watch me play with this big pretend coc-k. As you suc-k on your little pacifier pen-is, can you imagine how yours would feel if I had it in my mouth? Would you be getting a little tingle if the wetness of my mouth was taking you in and if my lips surrounded your shaft? You have fun now, Sweetie, pretending to be me and making love to that little dic-kie bird of yours in my mouth."
Having planted this idea in my mind, Clarity starts to do to the large dil-do the very thing she has suggested to me. She works slow and sensuously. "Watch me, Baby, and imagine what being a real man right now would feel like." She moves her mouth down the shaft and closer to mine. Were it not for the phalli in our collective mouths, I would think she was moving toward me for a kiss. But no, the motion reverses as she withdraws and gradually allows her dil-do to slide from between her two lips. Once it is out, she makes a show of teasing it with her tongue and then punctuates her action with a slow kiss to the very tip from her pursed lips. Then the scene is repeated. The dil-do starts to glisten from her saliva. From the wet folds of my diaper I can feel myself getting aroused. I start a vague thrusting to try to increase the stimulation to my pen-is and to mentally put myself in the place of the fortunate dil-do that protrudes from my mouth.
Clarity notes my thrusts and flashes a pleased smile when her mouth is next dil-do-free. She seems to know exactly what I am imagining and locks her eyes on mine as she goes down yet again on the dil-do I am offering up to her.
"Is my little man getting all excited?" she teases. "He gets to touch his little weewee through his baby pants and diapers. Is he trying to masturbate like the big boys do? Can he make himself squirt into his diapers? Is he sooo big? My Little Baby has his dic-kie bird all pinned up in diapers, doesn't he? Why goodness, he couldn't use it to please me even if I let him. But, guess what? I'm going to let you put this big, hard dil-do in my pussy! Won't that be fun!? You can try to rub your little stiffie through your diapers to try to c-um while you thrust this big pretend coc-k into my pussy to make me c-um. My Little Man gets a chance to shoot his load in his diapers while he gets me off with the dil-do from his mouth."
This said, I'm treated to Clarity spreading her labia open as she takes the dil-do slowly into her pussy. There is her sex, not six inches from my face. She sets me to a rhythm of probing and withdrawing. I can smell her juices starting to lubricate the dil-do's passage. She takes most of the dil-do's nine inches. By controlling my head with her hands, I am being trained to go in some seven inches and pull back some four inches. To get better leverage, I cease rubbing my plastic panties and use my hands on the bed. Should I lay my hands on her tiny thighs to immobilize them to assure the accuracy of my thrusts? I decide not to change the moment and concentrate on pleasing Clarity with just the right motions.
Of course, the resistance from within her tight little vagina forces the dil-do in my mouth deeper inside me every time I send the outer extension deeper inside her. Again the duality of the whole experience starts to overtake me: I am fuc-king her...I'm fuc-king myself...she's fuc-king me...she's fuc-king herself. All the notions of pleasure are tumbling around and around---it's like clothes in the dryer: a flash of this item, then this other, then gone, then another.
I'm getting lost in my attempt to bring my darling tormentress to climax. Damn the consequences---my hands go to her thighs. What tender skin! I gently push them to open her to me(To me? I've become the dil-do. It is my manhood and Clarity is letting me pleasure her with it.)
Now she starts meeting my thrusts with more urgencey. The smell of her arousal fills my nostrils. The sight of her pussy approaching, receeding is a miracle. Her low moans of pleasure tell me that I am pleasing her, albeit with an artificial phallus much larger than my own equipment.
And speaking of my own pen-is, it has erected within the diapers. I have been subconsciously thrusting it in vain into the diapers' white cotton mass. There's no way to get the real friction to cause that sublime release unless...unless the sheer emotion of bringing Clarity to orgasm can cause the synapse. But Clarity has trained me to be the perfect lover for her. She did this by diapering me. There is no way I can match the stimulation to myself in my diaper that I am providing her with the dil-do. The irony of being deprived the pleasure of this moment because of the diaper fetish from which I derive so much pleasure is lost on me, but it will surelly hit me later.
For now, though, Clarity is ramming her precious pussy right at my face. She appears enraptured. Her hands clasp my head and hold it so that she can finish herself off on the piston I have been the camshaft for. I am treated to a view of the female orgasm that I never expect to see again, or, better said, experience again. A series of contractions and little gasps and Clarity is there. Her thighs fight my hands to squeeze in against the dil-do's girth. Her pussy lips twitch to be further stimulated on their sensitive folds. Her hands hold my head tight. Then release to flutter at my hands, motioning for them to be off her slender thighs. She squeezes them against the sides of my head to achieve new sensations from a new position relative to the dil-do that fills her.
Since my only breathing is through my nose, the smell of female post-coital juice is as much a part of my respiration as the oxygen I require. From my restricted posture I resume pumping my diaper so that I may join her in a state of post-orgasmic bliss. I'm getting nowhere and Clarity eventually notices my motion. She raises herself up on her elbows and gazes at my diapered rear in its pathetic bobbing.
"What's the matter, Baby? Are you still trying to make your little squirtees? My Little Man---trying to make his goo in his diapers. I know you love your diapers. Do you want to shoot your load in them again? Well, since you were such a good boy just now, I'm going to get you all fixed up to make your little boy creamy in your diapers. Won't that be fun!"
Clarity Babysits Part 15
Clarity sits up and slowly backs out of the dil-do. I am left resting on my chin gazing at the juncture of her legs. Then she lifts a leg over my head and rolls onto her knees. I glance over at the twin curves of her yummy little bottom before she scoots off the bed and busies herself at the chains in front of the mirror where this whole incredible episode started.
Clarity is attaching a sort of canvas hammock to the front two chains. From another apparatus in the cieling she attaches two more chains which drop down behind the first two and are connected to the two rear corners of the canvas. Clarity fiddles with the chain lengths so that the front two are shorter than the two in the rear. This suspends the canvas at an incline. Below the canvas she positions a bench. I notice straps dangling to the side of the canvas.
"OK, Little One, we're all set up here. Lay back on your blankie so I can take off your panties and diapers. That's my Big Helper. Off come our pretty baby pants. Now let's roll down these rubber panties. Lift your bottom to help. That's a good boy. We want to help Clarity go fast so we can start playing with ourself, don't we? Yes, there, there---I know how much my little boy likes to play with his little peepee. Let me unpin these wet diapers. You're wet, aren't you? But look, no little pre-c-um spots! But we're going to make some goo for me, aren't we? Come over to your sling and we'll get all ready to go."
Clarity leads me to the canvas. I'm left standing but inclined so that my upper torso goes flush on the canvas. My head is beyond its end. I look at myself in the morror. The double dil-do gag still fills my mouth and juts out obscenely, still wafting the scent of Clarity's climax. My arms hang free of the canvas surface. In a daze of anticipation, I don't resist when Clarity ties them together below me and the sling. Thus partially immobilized, Clarity efficiently scoots about, still totally naked, and buckles my body to the canvas. One of the straps goes below my arms so that there is now no way for me to back off. The end of the canvas runs across my stomach, leaving everything below it hanging free.
Clarity retrieves my wet diaper and places it on the bench below my pen-is. I can see it all reflected in the morror in front of me. She adjusts the chain lengths to lower me. I accomodate by spreading my legs.
"Patience, Little One, everything is just about set. Just let me step into something more comfortable," she giggles.
To my astonishment, that something is a strap-on dil-do, most likely the same one she had used on me earlier. She grabs a big jar of Vaseline and comes to me. First my hands are untied.
"Baby did such a good job on me with his dil-do that I really feel that I should return the favor. Does my Little Guy think I can find that special spot again? I want to help him make his little boy c-um and I figure by me helping him with the dil-do while he plays with himself with his hand, we'll have him creaming onto that diaper in no time. Here's what I want my Big Helper to do to get me ready: reach into the Vaseline jar and give a good coating to my dil-do. Watch yourself in the mirror so you can see what you're doing. There you go. Now spread it around. Yes, Baby is playing pretend Jack-Off, isn't he? Now spread some on your own little dic-kie. There you go. Don't you dare make squirtees yet. Now let's see who has the bigger coc-k. Stroke yours with the left hand and mine with the right. Hold them out there so we both can see in the mirror. Oh my! I think I've got you by about four or five inches. But a little baby pen-is isn't really fully-grown, is it? Well enough of this shower room comparing. Baby still gets a nice tingle, doesn't he? When he c-ums, it feels just as good as if he did have a real grown-up pen-is. Keep your legs spread for me, Big Boy. Watch me in the mirror. Do you know what I'm doing? Nod your head "yes". That's the way. Too bad you're so busy suc-king that little coc-k or you could tell me how much you need that diaper to have a good squirt and how I help you c-um by putting a big pretend pen-is up your bottom. Yes, he could. My Little Precious is all turned upside-down, isn't he? He c-ums in his wet diaper and not in a wet pussy. He has to have a big stiffie in him to make his spermies rather than having his little stiffie in a girl to get off. He looks like a big man but inside he's just a little sissy baby who needs to be dominated by little girlie babysitters who put him in diapers and baby panties. And now, who is going to be my little dil-do bitch plaything? Show me how much you want me. Present that tight little rosebud so that I can give you what you want. Watch me in the mirror. Do you see who is the dommymommy and who is her little plaything?"
Clarity is right, of course. While I'm enthralled with her litany of my reality, she is punctuating it with the slow, gentle insertion of her strap-on dil-do up my rear. By lowering the chains, she has me at exactly the right height for her shorter stature. By spreading my legs to accomodate my lowered torso, I have also made my bottom an easier target for her intrusion.
The sensations are fantastic. Though I have had a dil-do up my rear before, I've never had it being controlled by another while I'm in the posture I'm now in. Nor have I been masturbating and watching it all happen in a mirror. The diaper would practically be incidental except for Clarity's constant references to it. I feel like a Southern belle wearing a corset that is too tight on a day that is too hot taking in an emotional load that is too much. Why gracious me, if I could just swoon so I could be freed of the restraining clothes and carried to a cool, darkened room to recover. What do I need to adjust to these overwhelming stimuli? A bottle of formula, a breast to suc-kle, soothing words and a slow drift into sleep. My circuits are overloading.
But, I get ahead of myself. Clarity brings me from that dream to this reality way past my own preconceived ideas. She is hitting my prostate and it is sending waves of pleasure/pain right to the circ-umsized ring that defines the head of my pen-is. My God, how fine is stroking this super-sensitive area with my thumb and forefinger. I want to grind my ass into that dil-do. I want to be a young woman in the midst of ecstasy who pleads with her lover to fuc-k her harder and faster. I pump my ass to Clarity's invasion. I simultaneousy try to open myself even more to her penetration and clamp down to make it more intense.
Clarity Babysits The End
In the mirror I can see that Clarity has the self-satisfaction of knowing that she has me completely turned on. She has the confident air of a woman who knows that what she is doing is bringing pleasure. Her eyes meet mine in the mirror.
"Oh my, oh my. My Little Man has become a twitchy little sex-crazed girl, hasn't he? Is she sooo hot? Does her want big male coc-k? Just look at her---she can't get enough, can she? Why no, she can't. She has a coc-k in her mouth, out of her mouth, in her "pussy" and in her hand. There are too many to keep track of, huh, Baby? Can she suc-k harder and spread her little pussy wider and masturbate faster? Look at your diaper, Sweetheart. That's it, Babycakes, there's the big, soft white diaper. Can you make a big squirt for me on your diaper? Her is a good girl for me, huh? Yeees she is. She make a big load for me. Come on now. Make a creamy on your diaper. Can a tidy little missy make all her messy dribbles fall right on her diaper? Can Baby squeeze both his rosebud and his little stiffie. Oh yes, doesn't that feel good? Oh we're so twisty. Are we c-umming? Are we? Put it on the diaper for me. Oh yes. Just a Mommy Big Boy messing his diaper with his c-um."
And Clarity is right. Her words are the trip-wire that brings on the explosion. Release, intense pleasure, the concentrated essence of this whole experience shooting from my pen-is in that flash of erotic wonder. My c-um spurting forth and falling into the diaper's cradle. I would love one of those super-slow films to capture its ejaculation, its free-fall and its impact on the diaper's white surface. It's me, isn't it? All those little spermies now puddled up and soaking into the diaper, they are me. Clarity has put me in a set of circ-umstances wherein she has channelled all this energy and all this pleasure to get the real me back into diapers, the ultimate symbol of lack of control, of dependence, of freedom, of security. The rapture, the sweet rapture.
Betty Pearl's Sissy Stories 20.1
Topic: Clarity Babysits by DeeplyF. (Read 11761 times)
