Ernest Withers was drying the pots and cutlery, wearing his wife's pink and white polka dot apron. It had two frilly-lace pockets, one on either side of his manhood, and whether his apron was pointed over a stiffening cock he didn't know, but it felt like it was. She came into the kitchen.
"Look," she said, showing him her iPad, "look at what it says on this website." Ernest knew that tone of voice. Camelia was going to lecture him. He looked at the screen, all pink and glossy, with young, confident women everywhere. "Read it out loud," she said and leaned the back of her pencil skirt on the work-top, her arms folded over her purple and white striped blouse with its collar popped up.
"Males who can't get stiff for you are prob – " He stopped and looked up at her from the lace wings of his apron shoulders. Her look said get on with it.
"Males who can't get stiff for you are probably not males, they're sissies." Ernest got an uncomfortable butterflies feeling in his stomach. He looked up at his wife, his brows twisted in frustration. "Darling I know. I'm going to try a lot harder. Harder, geddit?" He forced a chuckle. But Camelia was not chuckling back. Quite the opposite.
"Sorry my boy, too late for that. We'll see what a course of treatment can do for you."
Ernest choked. "Treatment!"
"That's right. These women are called Diap-a-Wimp."
"What! Camelia – honey-bunch – I'm goin to make up to you big time, I'll – "
"Shut up, Ernest, and listen: ‘Sissies need to be told they're in the wrong sex and must begin a new sex-less life-style – with appropriate dress code.' "
Ernest's pulse was racing. He felt stunned as his wife continued from the website. "Once your husband is in diapers, women of Diap-a-Wimp will be only too happy to act as babysitters so that you can search for that truly male partner of your dreams, ensuring that your sissy-baby grows to like the pretty desexing clothes he will be wearing for us from now on."
Camelia looked up to see her husband's face a good deal whiter than his apron. She stepped towards him, took him sharply by the hand and pulled him after her out of the kitchen. "I've made the necessary dress-code preparations," she told him. "Which is just as well because you've got some visitors due in just a few minutes and they'll expect you to be ready."
Ernest felt himself going hot and cold in the space of being led up the stairs, through their bedroom and into the spare room. Camelia unlocked the door. He hadn't been in this room for months, but as he entered his knees felt staggeringly weak. The room was almost entirely pink, with a baby's crib with pink bars – a big one. His jaw began trembling and waves of heat seemed to flood over him one after the other. This wasn't prepared for him, surely!
His wife opened a new closet. As the door swung wide he saw it was entirely pink inside, with clothes that looked awfully like little dresses and skirts and blouses. Along the bottom: little pink and pale blue and black and white shoes. Girls' shoes. She turned on him and reached round him to undo his apron.
"Clothes off," she ordered. "Everything," and turned her back on him to reach into the rows of silky clothing in the new closet. This was truly a nightmare. He stood naked in front of her, his sex inert as always, but what she'd said just now about visitors: had she got herself a boyfriend? Or was it some people from this website place?
Then his worries got seriously worse. She had a little petticoat in her hands, holding it above his head, and told him to put his arms through. It was all white, in chiffony type material, with little ribbons resting on his shoulders as it flared out around him. He stood in a state of utter shame as she fastened buttons at the back. She followed it with a little dress in green and white gingham. Once again she threaded it over his head and his hands went through the little puffed sleeves, so that the dress slid down and rested on the petticoat. It was weird, but it seemed to spread outwards rather than downwards. Oh no! the dress had a matching pair of ruffle bloomers. He had to step his feet into them for her to thread them up his legs. He felt so silly. So humiliated! And all the while, her face wore this look of cool determination. She was looking particularly pretty today: eye make-up, lipstick, and she smelt gorgeous. "There's just one other thing you should know," she said, sorting a pair of white frilly top socks for him. "When your visitors arrive, I am going out with Dan Giles. I don't think he'll suffer your problem in bed, do you?"
It was as if she'd hit him full in the heart with a sledgehammer. He had no time to reply, and certainly not to argue because they heard the doorbell chime. "Sit there in your dress, and look pretty when I bring them upstairs," she said. "You'll have to be looked after while I'm out for the rest of the day."
Ernest tried to imagine who these people could be – Care workers? Nurses from the Day Care Centre? And they were going to see him like this. He wished he had a mirror to check out what he looked like: this dress and petticoat barely went past his waist, and he was wearing these silly baby-girly panties with ruffles across his butt.
He heard voices in the hall, excited women coming up the stairs. Then, all too quickly, they were upon him: Camelia leading two women into the room: smart women, in their forties, smiling all over their glossy, crimson lips.
"Here he is," said his wife as the three of them gathered in front of him as he sat sheepishly on the edge of the bed, "the one who can't erect for me – ever!"
One of the women wore a face net from a black satin ribbon in her hair, and a huge white blouse with a narrow, dogstooth skirt to below her knees. The other had two roses at one temple. She wore a blouse and skirt too: pale blue with dark navy. They planted carrier bags on the floor and dipped into them to pull out slithering aprons in pink silky material.
"Hello Ernest," said the woman with a net as she put her apron over her head and fastened it round her waist. "My name is Zandra, darling. We hear you've been a naughty boy. We're going to make you our little baby so that you learn to behave better for your Mistress."
"Hello my boy, I'm Nadine," said her partner, who was now in an apron of peach silk down to below her knees. "We're going to call you Nesta from now on, sweetie, because you will be our little girl baby. Oh my goodness, what lovely clothes you've got in your baby closet for us to dress you in."
"We can't wait to start dressing you," said the first, picking out a rustling dress in pastel pink. She was interrupted by the doorbell, the signal for Camelia to pass her husband over to the visitors.
"I know you'll treat him the way he deserves," she said: "plenty of dressing, and strict discipline to make sure he learns and appreciates."
Ernest Withers panicked as she disappeared and left him in the company of these two strangers. No sooner had Camelia gone than the women rounded on him as if masks had dropped from their faces. "Wimps like you, boy," said Zandra, her nose inches from his so that he breathed her heady perfume, "have to be kept in the prettiest little frocks and shown yourself in the mirror, constantly."
"That way you can see what a pathetic little pansy you are, you sexless little weed," said Nadine, pulling his gingham dress off over his head. "And there's one thing we can promise you, sissy: we will show you as much scorn and contempt as you deserve from all women."
"Obviously, Sissy Nesta, you go into a big baby diaper," continued Zandra, opening out a very large white adult diaper, and Ernest Withers almost died of shame as the two women threaded it between his parted legs, drew it up at front and back, and pressed the tabs flat to seal him into it up his belly and chest. His petticoat floated back into place over it.
The pink dress dropped over his head and its white silk lining slithered over his petticoat as Zandra fastened its buttons down the back, doing its sash belt into a bow high above the back of his waist. There were pretty panties to match, with silk ruffles all round which made his cock ache unmercifully as Nadine drew them up his legs and pulled them into place over his diaper.
"What are your babysitters going to have to do, honey?" asked Zandra. Their captive was too close to tears to manage an answer. "Yes, we're going to have to check out how much your baby dickie likes the girls' things we're dressing you in. And for that, we have to fasten these naughty handies back here, out of the way."
"Not forgetting, of course," said Nadine, "a pretty bonnet for our new girlie."
The silky sides of a white baby bonnet gathered round his face, with pink trimming round the edges and girly buttons forming a sweet circle round his face. It made his diapered cock ache with sexual helplessness all the more.
"And naturally," said Zandra, sitting him on the edge of the table, "we have to make sure our baby LIKES being dressed in her new babywear, don't we, Nadine? I'll give Little Nesta my finger to suck, while you find his naughty wimpy little sex and make it fall in love with its diaper and panties.
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