Whoopsies, Chapter 6 free porn video

Whoopsies, Chapter 6 ? By: Beverly Taff The trip to Paris took longer than an ordinary commercial flight. The private executive jet only had a limited range so we had to stop to refuel in Newfoundland and Ireland. On the other hand, the jet?s toilet facilities were better appointed and we were able to address our butt-plug needs satisfactorily. The lavatory was large enough to accommodate two ?seven-year-old? sized people at a time. By now we had become reasonably proficient in our toilet needs but it was still a ?four-handed? process. Finally, we landed in Paris and immediately went to bed. Jetlag had taken its toll and we were all pooped. We must have all slept the clock around and it was mid morning when we finally rose to meet Paris proper. It had been a whole day since last going ?whoopsies? so our three little tummies were bursting. It was a desperate trio of little girls that hurried to their pre-breakfast absolutions. Paris is a city that does not disappoint. We were all mesmerised by the fashions and the chic styles that almost every woman wore. The first afternoon, our mummies, Jacqueline and daddy were indulging their fancies and soon accumulated some beautiful outfits. Sadly, our tiny child sizes coupled with our voluptuous breasts and buttocks, made shopping for us impossible. In fashion terms we were freaks and we would always be in thrall to bespoke styles, but it was nice to accompany our adults and savour the fashions. It also enabled us to gather some ideas for styles and designs when we returned to our own garment design shop on the farm. Marjorie was a good artist and she made some excellent line sketches for us to use back home. We were all now excellent seamstresses and readily ran up our own outfits. Paris was an excellent source of inspiration for style. The first week of our vacation was spent entirely on shopping and restuaranting at the pavement cafes. We all enjoyed this peculiarly European custom. Our biggest regret was that we three ?little girls? couldn?t indulge in the wonderful French cuisine because of our ?liquid only? diets. The smells were delicious but it was quite impossible for us to co-ordinate chewing and swallowing. Invariably, the solid food would spill from our infantile, toothless mouths and dribble annoyingly down our jaws onto our pretty summer frocks. Each of us could only suck and we would continue to do so for the rest of our lives. At home, our mummies would readily liquidise some solid food in the liquidiser so we were not totally deprived of variety but as to chewing, our toothless gums would never breakdown a solid piece of meat. All was not lost though. We could manage liquids in our bottles with teats so when we were out at the restaurants, our mummies let us occasionally indulge in a little wine. One night after an evening at the theatre, we three got quite squiffy. We staggered into our chauffeured limousine with girlish giggles of delight. Our mummies scolded us for being silly and we tried to sober up when we realised that people were watching. By the time we had returned to our rented townhouse, the wine had really taken hold and we had to be carried over the threshold. This was not difficult though for our mummies and daddy often carried us in their arms. We were too tipsy to say bread. Fortunately, the drinking laws in Paris are much more liberal than America and we had not broken any laws. Wine can be drunk at meals by sixteen- year-olds in France and we were all over sixteen except for Jacqueline?s little baby. However, when it came to attending our toilet that night, the butt-plugs proved doubly difficult. Our drunken fingers proved very clumsy and it was quite late before we were finally ready for bed. Fortunately, the townhouse had a large commodious shower so there was little privation attendant upon our drunken toilette. The second and third weeks found us expanding our cultural education as we visited the many museums and art galleries that Paris proudly owns. Once again our group attracted many curious glances and even the occasional approach as some French lady found our appearances irresistible. Three little ?seven-year-old girls? sporting fulsome breasts and rounded buttocks inevitably attracted attention especially when they were incongruously dressed in pretty ?little girl? party frocks and suckling from baby bottles. It was very warm in Paris so we had to wear light summer frocks without our traveling capes. Our large breasts and bras were quite visible under the thin material of our frilly frocks. The mass of frills and gauze on our underskirts pushed out the hems of our frocks so that whenever we bent over we revealed our delightful frilly panties. Fortunately, I was still allowed to wear fine denier tights and a ?high cut? very frilly teddy which helped to hide my bulge. However, there was no hiding the ripe swell of our rounded hips and the feminine curve of our womanly thighs as they tapered down to our childlike dimpled knees. Those that understood anatomy could not mistake the childlike heads and features perched atop incongruously voluptuous adult female torsos that were in turn attached to dimpled little childish arms and coltish legs In particular, Pauline?s chubby little arms and podgy fingers were a dead ?give-away?. Several times each day we caught knowing eyes smiling curiously as they studied us. At first we were self-conscious about it, but Paris is a very liberal city and we soon learned to ignore the occasional stare. Thus our party enjoyed two weeks of sightseeing. Daddy had other business to attend to during those second and third weeks so only our two mummies and Jacqueline accompanied us. Naturally we took her baby Rosie with us everywhere, each of us three ?seven-year-olds? taking turns to push the buggy. Eventually our mummies struck up a friendship with some of these more inquisitive Parisian ladies and discovered that they had a more than passing salacious interest in our conditions. Usually the acquaintance was made through Jacqueline?s baby in the buggy. The French ladies would go ?gaga? as we three ?little girls? fussed and shared turns to nurse her and look after the buggy. The classic picture of a ?seven-year-old? girl struggling to carry an infant sibling is always a persuasive image in the maternal female psyche. It invariably raised an approving smile amongst the more maternal French women. Mummy Williams spoke excellent French and we received several invitations to visit these fashionable French ladies at home. On the fourth week we accepted some of these invitations. Our mummy?s newfound friends were duly advised that our party now included a third adult ?lady? because Daddy had finished his business affairs and rejoined us. On introduction to daddy, our new French hosts were amazed to discover that the fourth lady was not all that she seemed. Daddy was now utterly convincing as a woman. Unlike some m?nage-a-trois however, our daddy was not a submissive transvestite slave to our mummies. Daddy enjoyed equal status as a full partner in the trio. Indeed, despite now living full time as a lady, she was still the main breadwinner. Recently we had started referring to him as ?she?. Her fashion shops were now very successful with outlets coast to coast back home. Daddy had combined business with pleasure and she had been on a major buying spree to stock her shops with French fashions. The French ladies all had young daughters that were all about four or five years of age and we were surprised to find that they were all still in nappies. It seemed the French ladies had the same interests as our mummies. Notes and telephone numbers were exchanged but we were unaware of this activity as we played innocently in their gardens with the little French girls. Despite our maturity, we still indulged in childlike pastimes for it seemed our minds were incongruously ?bi-polar?. We understood and enjoyed adult activities whilst simultaneously enjoying children?s games. Additionally, all the little French girls enjoyed playing with Rosie, Jacqueline?s baby daughter. As we played together, the French mothers gazed at the idyllic scene of a group of little girls squealing and giggling as they frolicked in their party frocks in the garden. Occasionally, one of the little girls would pull a face and go to her mummy to have her nappy changed. One afternoon we were invited to a huge house outside Paris. It turned out to be a chateau and had obviously once been the property of some rich duke or count. We played happily in the extensive grounds then, as the cool of the evening descended, the adults retired into the drawing room for coffee and we went into a large playroom. I was kneeling on the floor with some of the little French girls showing them how to dress their ?Barbie dolls? when my mummy looked around the door and called me across. Reluctantly I left the game and minced delicately across the room. Mummy Jones smiled affectionately as she studied the dirty knees of my tights. ?You?ll have to change those darling. Look, you?ve laddered the knees.? I glanced down and frowned. ?Oh bower. I should ha- worn de hewier denier ones. I thought I would be too wawm in this Pawis summeh.? ?Have you brought a change of tights with you?? asked Mummy Jones. I nodded and told her, ?Yes. Dey in de ca-?? ?Be a little sweetie and fetch them. Marjorie and Pauline will need some as well. We?ve been asked to stay for dinner and it?s rather formal.? My smile widened for I had come to enjoy the long social occasion of the French evening meals. Despite only being able to suckle from a bottle, we three ?children? enjoyed sitting around the table enjoying the adult conversation. I took the car keys off mummy to fetch our more formal party frocks and tights from our large ?day bags? in the boot of the car. (N.B. A boot is English for a car trunk in American.) As I skipped around the back towards the stables were the car was parked, my mummy called softly to Marjorie. ?Marjorie, be a little pet, and help Beverly to bring all the bags darling. There are some things our friends want to see.? Marjorie joined me and we brought all the bags into the drawing room. Mummy Jones smiled as we struggled in with the bags then she invited us to stay as she smiled at me. ?Beverly darling, these ladies would like to see your little fixture.? This was our mummy?s term for our butt plugs and I frowned uncertainly. Apart from our school friends we didn?t normally expose our plugs in public. It wasn?t a ladylike thing to do. However, both mummies and Jacqueline were present, so I couldn?t see the harm. We had been warned about nasty old men, but there were no men present except daddy, and we knew she was OK. Obediently I stepped up to Mummy Jones and turned my back for her to unlace my summer day frock. The French eyes widened as they recognised the rear fastening ties that prevented me unfastening my own frock. As Mummy slipped the frock over my shoulders, I slipped gracefully out of my frothy underskirt and let it slide down to the floor. I now stood in my special frilly teddy with its large well filled bra cups and built in clincher waist. I felt a little embarrassed as their eyes flickered appreciatively over the beautifully curvaceous swell of my hips then they clucked disapprovingly at the laddered knees of my 10 denier white tights. My juvenile legs with their knotted foal-like knees looked totally incongruous, supporting such a fulsome rounded torso. It was only above the thighs that my upper legs began to fill and soften like an adult lady as they swept up to my rounded butt. Naked, my shape looked a little bizarre but under a child?s flouncy frock the incongruity was barely noticeable. I remained with my back to Mummy Jones as she unlaced the laces and fastenings of the built in corset waist-clincher of the teddy. Then she slackened the corset and my fulsome breasts spilled free from the embrace of the large lacy cups. All the while, Mummy Williams gave a commentary in French. I had learned quite a bit of French and got the gist of her explanation. ?You?ll see ladies, that Beverly?s teddy does not have a fastening in the crotch. The girls have no need of this because their functions are completely under artificial control. Provided they are obedient and punctual there will always be somebody there to assist in their mutual toilette. They live as a permanent trio and always have to help each other. Their habits are regular and, provided they keep a good account of the time, they can always be there for each other.? She turned and smiled at me to confirm this. ?Can?t you darling?? I smiled uncertainly as I slipped my laddered tights off and stood there in only my frilly panties. My coltish young legs were now quite obvious to all and one of the French ladies even pointed to the childish dimples on the backs of my knees. These were a little incongruous on a normal child?s legs for they more resembled the dimples on chubby, toddler?s legs, but of course we were not normal little girls. I shivered a little from the cool of the evening, my fulsome incongruous ?D? cup breasts wobbled slightly on my child-sized torso and my nipples started to stiffen with the cold. All the French eyes widened appreciatively as they scanned my body then their gazes fell as one to the crotch of my panties. Suddenly I realised that without the thick frills of my teddy to hide my pee-pee, the bulge was now glaringly obvious. I had lived so long as a little girl with frilly panties and teddies that I had almost forgotten about my pee-pee. Amongst my old school friends and extended family, it had ceased to be an issue. Now the unexpected bulge was quite obvious under the flimsy transparent nylon of my sheer summer- weight panties. As the French lady?s expressions intensified I followed their gaze and looked down to see that the outline of my pee-pee was quite visible. Nervously I tried to cross my legs but it was a futile exercise. Despite my embarrassment, my pee-pee had started to grow and the ladies let out little gasps of excitement as my disobedient ?boy-toy? eventually peeked out over the top of my elasticated waistband. The French lady?s eyes sparkled with appreciation and they all clapped enthusiastically as they left their seats for a closer inspection. Then they all started chattering at once. My face turned crimson and I shuffled towards Mummy Jones for reassurance. She collected me in her arms and hefted me up onto her hip as she kissed my petal soft cheeks and stroked the front of my panties to reassure me. (Don?t forget dear readers, we three girls were still only the sizes and weights of ordinary seven or eight-year-old children. It was an easy task for our mummies to pick us up and comfort us. It also meant they could physically control us easily despite our actually being sixteen and seventeen-year-old young ladies.) As my naked breasts squeezed against her feather soft frontage, Mummy Jones whispered reassuringly in my little ear. ?Don?t be afraid darling, the ladies only want to look. They won?t harm you.? I hugged her tightly for a moment then finally relaxed. As she felt me calm down, she set me down again and tugged at the waistband of my panties. I tensed again for a moment before Mummy Jones reassured me again. ?They only want to inspect your little fixture darling. Don?t be afraid, they won?t hurt your pee-pee. Try and be a brave little sissy boy. Look, you?re pee-pee?s not afraid is he?? I was forced to admit, that despite my fear, my pee-pee was standing as proud and erect as ever a pee-pee could. He was not going to be scared by a few nosey ladies. Whatever I might have felt, it seemed that me pee-pee had a mind of his own. I squeezed him for reassurance and his hardness finally translated itself to me. He was the master here and all the ladies seemed to know it. I suddenly realised that secretly, the ladies were frightened of my pee-pee. I had finally learned that important sublimal message, even the bravest girls were a little fearful of a little boy?s pee-pee, especially an erect one. Having realised this, I became less afraid and Mummy Jones slipped my panties off. Now that I was butt naked, I bent over obediently to present my peachy rounded bottom and expose my ?little fixture?. There were sudden gasps from the French ladies then some more chattering in French before I felt Mummy Jones?s key click into the butt plug. Mummy Williams continued in French. ?Now ladies, Marjorie will demonstrate the technique for their toilette. Come, madammes, let us go to the large shower by the swimming pool. The chateau possessed a large swimming pool with it?s own spacious changing area. We were taken to the large changing showers were Jacqueline arrived with an old fashioned ?chamber pot?. Mummy Jones instructed me to squat over the pot whilst a now naked Marjorie deftly unscrewed my butt plug. Fortunately, I was not ?bursting? so there was no splash or mess. A modest quantity of whoopsies trickled into the pot but there was not the usual nightly build up of pressure. I made a mental note to try and persuade Mummy Jones to let me go whoopsies more than twice a day if I wanted to avoid the usual evening eruptions. The French women let out gasps of curiosity followed by giggles of surprise when they realised that I urinated from the base of my penis, just like a little lady. Then, to my surprise and delight, Mummy Jones adjusted the dial on her control panel and the valve inside my erect pee- pee changed directions. My pee-pee squirted urine out like a little boy. Because I was still erect, the liquid spouted out over the front of the chamber pot and the French ladies squealed with delight. Marjorie quickly mopped up the unexpected puddle. She knew it was not my fault and she frowned at Mummy Jones with annoyance. She should not have made me pee like a boy when my pee-pee was still hard. The stuff sprayed everywhere. After I was finished, Marjorie and I swapped places and I unscrewed her butt plug whilst Mummy Williams continued the commentary. ?You?ll see that the young ladies always take the chance to evacuate themselves whenever the opportunity presents itself. Also they have no reservations at all about their difference of genders. Their needs are greater than their inhibitions. All three little girls are totally dependent upon each other.? Even as she finished commentating, Pauline appeared and quickly demanded to be released from her frock to take an unexpected opportunity to whoopsy. Marjorie unlaced her frock and quickly disrobed Pauline whilst I unscrewed her butt plug. This clearly demonstrated that we had no inhibitions about any part of our private toilette despite being quite obviously of different sex. As we cleaned ourselves up Mummy Williams continued her explanations and the French ladies chattered amongst themselves. Finally we were ready to get dressed and we returned to the drawing room where our daytime play- clothes still remained. Here we were delayed unexpectedly and only given time to each slip on a fresh pair of panties. Back in the drawing room, one of the French ladies took Mummy Jones aside and we were asked if we wanted to be nursed by the ladies. Marjorie, Pauline and I were a little bemused at first then Jacqueline explained that all the ladies still had their milk. It seemed that one of the necessities for membership of their little club was to breast feed their children for as long as possible. Still butt naked, we were lifted onto the lady?s laps and each offered a breast. Then we were passed around all the ladies until we were full and each lady was relieved of some of her milk. I felt a little uncomfortable about this because whenever I sat on one of the French lady?s laps, they invariably tampered with my still erect pee-pee through the silky panel of my panties. Fortunately, Mummy Jones had turned my internal pee-pee valve off, so nothing escaped. Nevertheless, I couldn?t help squirming as my silky panties slithered provocatively on their silk and velvet laps. As Pauline, Marjorie and I suckled at their breasts, we exchanged knowing glances. We three now realised that we were involved in some sort of secret French society and it remained to be seen where things would take us. After we had each suckled at every French mother?s breasts, all the little French girls emerged from the playroom and started to suckle at their respective mummy?s breasts. They didn?t seem at all surprised to see us only in our panties and we discovered later that they often played together naked when their mummies met. Apparently, their mummies had just been sounding out our mummies to see what was acceptable. As soon as all the little children were fed they were undressed and a pool party was organised. The pool at the chateau was divided into two sections and the little French children were only allowed in the shallow section because they could not swim. We immediately decided it was our duty to teach the French girls to swim and we frolicked naked in the pool splashing and squealing whilst dinner was prepared. Needless to say, all the little French girls were curious about our breasts and my pee-pee. As we older girls each supported a pupil and showed them the strokes necessary for swimming, I felt quite a few secretive little ?investigations?. As their arms swept around practising the breaststroke, I would feel inquisitive little hands ?accidentally? connecting with my now constantly erect pee-pee. I suppose it was partly my own fault, because it was difficult to avoid ?poking? the girls in the tummy with my erect pee, as I held them in front of me and supported them in the water. In the end, I was reluctantly forced to get out of the pool and leave the lessons to Marjorie and Pauline. Those little French girls were not as innocent as they seemed. Then an unfortunate accident occurred in the pool. One of the little French girls unexpectedly soiled herself and we all had to evacuate the smaller pool. It was an unpleasant event but fortunately it only affected the small shallow pool. We three now realised then that all the little French girls were just like us, in not being able to control their whoopsies. They were always obliged to wear nappies. As the French mummies dressed their children in their essential nappies, they explained this to our mummies and we realised why they had shown such an interest in our ?little fixtures?. We took one last plunge in the adult pool whilst each little French girl obediently lay on her back and lifted her legs as her mummy folded her nappy. Then they secured the laces at the back of each daughter?s frock. It seemed that apart from our ages and our ?little fixtures? there was little else different between our newfound French friends and us. For the dinner, we were unexpectedly dressed in our first ever ankle length party gowns. I secretly shuddered with pleasure as I felt the beautiful satiny sheath slither smoothly against my fine denier tights and panties. The gowns were so sheath-like that they slightly hobbled our knees, and we swayed uncertainly as we teetered on our first adult heels. Then we were all ushered into the dining salon. The little French girls wore their prettiest party frocks and sidled forward as they entered the salon obediently in single file and each took a ?high chair?. Then we three minced excitedly as we hobbled along and were made to sit at the large dinner table. We learned that the French made a big issue of the evening meal. It was an important family event where table manners and proper behaviour were reinforced. Our mummies smiled as we conducted ourselves with due decorum and settled smoothly into our chairs. However, the question of ?the correct way to hold our knives and forks? would never become an issue here. All we ?children? drank only from bottles for we could only suckle. Additionally, we were all expected to suckle quietly and not make any slurping noises. The French children were each given larger bottles than we three and we were a little puzzled. Our bottles were less than half the size and the feed did not assuage our hunger. Once the main meal had been finished, we three older ?children? were still hungry but this was quickly addressed. After the French children were shown to bed we were to be allowed to stay up with the adults. Our little tummies started to rumble with hunger and I glanced nervously towards my mummy as the first rumble erupted. The hostess glanced at me and waved her arms with concern. ?Ahh! Mrs Jones. Your children, they ?are still ?ungry no?? I looked up apologetically and nodded as another rumble erupted. Then Pauline?s tummy growled and the French mothers all exchanged looks of mock concern. Finally, Marjorie?s tummy grumbled and it was obvious to all that we were starving. The hostess glanced questioningly towards our mummies and the both nodded their assent. Immediately, the French ladies invited us to sit on their laps. We three exchanged nervous glances with each other and glanced questioningly towards our own mummies. The nodded reassuringly as three of the French mummies patted their laps and smiled invitingly. We slipped down from our chairs and each moved to sit on the offered lap. Our long silky gowns made it difficult to clamber onto the laps so the French mummies reached down adoringly and fondly hauled us up towards their breasts. Our gowns slithered provocatively and they had to hold us tight to their bodies or we would have slipped off again, such was the silky textures of our gowns. Then we were pressed towards their breasts. As each French lady held us securely; her hands were pre-occupied with supporting us, so another of her companions came forward and gently released her swollen breasts from the support of the beautifully crafted nursing bras they each wore. I was fascinated with the beautifully made lingerie and fingered it inquisitively. I would really have liked to be wearing something of the same beautiful quality and design. The French ?mummy? tut-tutted with frustration and motioned to her friend. Then her friend gently took her companion?s breast and offered it to my lips. It was only then that I realised I was being offered a second feed of milk to assuage my hunger. I glanced again at mummy Jones who nodded encouragingly so I greedily took the offered breast. As the beautiful milk began to flow I glanced around at Marjorie and Pauline. They were also sucking greedily and we exchanged contented smiles as our nursing ?cows? gave off little gasps of pleasure. Occasionally we changed nipples until our nurses each gave a little squeal and shuddered contentedly. Then we were removed from their breasts and passed around the table to each be fed at a different breast. It had become apparent, that each of the French mummies had a serious suckling complex and could not give up suckling their babies. This dysfunctional fixation had brought them together and now the women had formed a special private club. Once a week, they behaved like a group of wine connoisseurs testing different vintages. On Thursday nights, they gathered at the big ch?teau to swap experiences. In the privacy of the chateaux they each took a different child and breast-fed a little of their milk to her. At the end of the night, after every mummy had fed every little girl, they discussed the pros? and cons as they prepared their little girls for bed. This had been a special night because they were desperate to discover what it was like to nurse older children. After having seen us on the boulevards of Paris, the French ladies had been desperate to form an introduction. This was a special night and we had been allowed to dress in our beautiful gowns for the French mummy?s benefit. The most curious aspect was that they actually discussed their sensations and their milk not only amongst themselves, but also amongst us three ?children?. I must admit it was a little bit bizarre but I was surprised to learn that each different mother?s milk actually tasted slightly different. Whilst the mothers were obviously rating each child for their sensitivity and suckling skills, I for one was certainly rating each mother for the taste of her milk. I also learned that the ?mummies? reached ?pleasure? much faster, if I ?tongue-lashed? their bounteous nipples as I sucked. The first time I did this, the French Mummy let out a squeal of delighted surprise then groaned with delight as I felt her heartbeat thundering to a climax in my ear. All the other mummies urgently demanded to know what had happened but it was several moments before she could reply. She was too busy clasping me tight to her breast and gasping with ecstasy as she squirmed with delight and nearly dropped me. Finally, she stabilised and gazed into my knowing contented smile. ?Oooh-ooh Beverly! You are a little beauty, are you not? Were did you learn that little trick, my Cheri?? The other mummies gathered around avidly as she explained how I had tongue-lashed her sensitive nipples. Immediately, Marjorie and Pauline did the same to their own ?cows? and they likewise reacted by plunging into orgasmic pleasures. Needless to add that then we had to do it to every mummy just before they had finished their milking. At the end of the session, the French mummies gabbled excitedly and they could not get enough of our company. The French mothers were also very pleased with we three for we had no teeth. The little French girls still had ?milk teeth? and they occasionally accidentally bit their mummies if they got too excited or greedy. This was another reason that the French ladies had approached our mummies. A long discussion developed as the French Mummies learned that our mummies had developed a special drug that prevented a child?s adult teeth from developing. When the child?s milk teeth fell out, the second teeth never replaced them and a child would remain a suckler for life. Invariably, the child?s face and jaw would remain permanently ?child-like? in shape and profile as the second teeth failed to grow. This was what gave we three ?girls? our babyish faces that triggered the motherly, suckling instincts in any mothers who met us. It also gave us an innocent countenance that totally belied our ages or knowledge. After the wonderful pleasures of ?tongue-lashing? during suckling, our new French ?mummies? earnestly wanted to learn everything about us. That night we were invited to stay over and we were a little disturbed to learn that our mummies and the French were going to attend our nightly toilette. We were divested of our party gowns and stripped naked then made to bend over whilst our mummies unlocked the butt plugs. We were then left to attend to our own absolutions and emerged from the shower beautifully pink and fresh to face the gazes of all the French ladies. Mummy Jones motioned to us to turn and bend over and we became a little nervous. Normally we removed our own butt plugs then our mummies simply re-locked them tight after we had completed our toilette and replaced our own butt-plugs. Tonight, there was obviously some sort of demonstration. We bent over and felt the practised fingers of our mummies deftly screw our butt plugs. At first we felt nothing unusual but then Marjorie gave a little squeak. ?Oh-oh. Mummy Yow in too deep! Iss gone past my butt! I can feew i? inside me.? I peeped nervously over my shoulder just in time to notice that these were not our normal butt plugs. Mummy Jones was just about to insert Pauline?s butt plug when I noticed that it was not the normal shape. The screw collar was of course the same but instead of the normal short flat top, the plug was shaped like a giant penis. The penis would then be inserted past our threaded rectums and deeper into our tummies. Then the threaded collar was turned and the giant cocks were locked into our peachy little bottoms. We were being ?buggered? and we couldn?t do a thing about it. I gave a whimper of fear but Mummy Jones simply stroked my rounded butt and reassured me it would not hurt. ?They can?t hurt you darling, they cannot exceed the width of your threaded sphincter, you will simply feel them inside you.? To reassure me she motioned to Marjorie who was now fully plugged. ?Can you feel yours darling?? ?Onwy a wittl? bi? wen iss goin? in.? replied Marjorie. ?Does it hurt?? continued Mummy Jones. ?No. Wen iss inside, I can? feew i?,? lisped Marjorie. ?There, see,? reassured Mummy Jones, ?Now don?t be a baby and let me screw it in.? I relaxed a bit and spread my legs as I normally did then she deftly screwed it in. I had to admit there was no pain, for the screw-in dildo was no wider than my threaded sphincter. All the French ladies clapped when we finally stood up with our new plugs locked in place. Our faces were a little red with embarrassment, but there was nothing we could do. The owner of the chateau then ushered us to our bedroom and our mummies dressed us for the night. We were surprised to learn that our nightclothes were not our usual attire. Each of us was slipped into a sort of all-in-one tutu with long sleeves and built in mittens. Finally each ?all-in-one? garment was secured with fastenings at the back of the high neck collar. As we were put to bed, the French mummies were intrigued to learn that we three slept together. However, they were relieved to learn that our new sleeping clothes prevented any untoward activities. We could not even reach our own intimate parts properly, except to finger them through the silky material of our all-in-one?s. As we were laced into our new night attire, it was obvious that we could not escape without adult assistance for the special collars around our necks needed a little key to unlock them. To outward appearances the collars resembled diamond ?chokers? but we knew differently. We were prisoners in silk and frills. We three exchanged worried glances. These were not our normal nightclothes or our normal butt plugs. ?What was going on,? we wondered. We were soon to find out. As we clambered into bed and assumed our usual collective embrace, we all suddenly began to feel our ?butt-plugs? begin to move inside us. Somebody had remote control of our butt-plugs and they were causing them to twist and vibrate. As the plugs started to squirm and writhe inside us we let out three squeals of surprise followed by involuntary grunts of pleasure as we felt the vibrations start to stimulate our groins. Within moments, we three were squirming helplessly on the huge four-poster bed as the ladies gazed on appreciatively. My pee-pee immediately sprouted to its maximum extent and pushed ludely at the front of my tutu as it tried to escape from its soft silky prison. At the same time, Marjorie and Pauline developed wet patches in the crotches of their tutus as they spread their silk encased legs and drummed their feet urgently on the bed. Soon they were desperately fingering the crotches of their tutus in an attempt to relieve their urges. Frantically I tried to wrap my fingers around my pee-pee but the tutu was too stiff. I could not get my fingers around my pee-pee and I was compelled to simply press hard against it in an attempt to ?frot? my self towards relief. It was the same for the girls. The crotches of their tutus were too unyielding to allow them to accurately reach the ?exact spot? and we all three squealed and hooted in our frustrated unrelinquished needs. Finally, we each reached ? satisfaction? and whoever was controlling the butt-plugs, switched them off. We let out gasps of relief and fell into a tight trio of embraces as sleep eventually overtook us. Rnd of Chapter 6 ? To Be Continued