Mommy’s fingers traced the waistband of your boxers, her painted nails clicking softly against the elastic band of the fabric and skin. “Such a big boy,” she cooed, her voice syrup-sweet yet it was edged with held back laughter. The fabric snapped against your skin as she tugged it down slowly, leaving you open and exposed to the cool air and mommies touches. 

Her eyes widened playfully, lips parting in mock surprise acting as if she hadn’t seen it a thousand times over. “Oh, look at this!” She pinched the air an inch from your small flaccid little cock, her breath warm against your ear. “Not a dick at all. Just a widdle… pee-pee.” The word dripped with honeyed ridicule towards his small groin. “Guess what tiny pee-pees need?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. The soundly crinkle of thick plastic filled the room as she unfolded a diaper, pink colored, always pink, printed with cartoon ducks. You shuddered as the chilly air met your exposed skin, her hands grabbing and hoisting your knees to your chest with practiced ease. Baby powder snowed over your small groin, her palm slapping your inner thigh when you squirmed towards the cold puffing. “Hush,” she murmured, taping the sides of the diaper on snug. A firm pat landed on the padded bulge between your legs. “There we go! All safe and smol.”

The nursery door creaked open. Three of Mommy’s friends clustered in the doorway, curious as to what’s going on in the room “Meet my new project!” she trilled, yanking your onesie up to expose the now swollen diaper. Their laughter rang like windchimes in the room. “Aren’t those legs just adorable?” one giggled, phone camera flashing to take a picture of the scene. You felt the warm drip of humiliation and something else tighten in your body. The diaper grew damp, yellow spreading across the front.

“Oopsies!” Mommy sang, thumbing the wetness. Her friends erupted in squeals. “Time for din-din!” She unbuttoned her blouse, heavy breasts spilling free from confines of a bra. You gagged before trying to get bearings as she shoved a nipple past your lips, her fingers vise. “Suckle properly,” she hissed, smile never slipping. Milk hit your tongue, thick and cloying. Her heel ground into your soggy diaper, rhythmic, as she hummed Rock-a-Bye Baby.

mommy rose
888-430-2010