Baby Candy Chap. 12 free porn video

Chapter 12. Alison in Charge When I shuffled into the kitchen babbling around my dum-dums like a useless infant, I found Alison sitting at the table dressed in her baby- blue nightie. She was cradling a mug of coffee and reading the paper, and she glanced my way and sniggered when she heard me crawl in. "There you are!" She cried, like I'd been missing for weeks. "I was beginning to wonder what had happened to you, baby girl." She giggled, "Aww! Listen to you talking like a baby. You must really love all this baby treatment." I fell silent and she chortled at my expression of distaste. She climbed to her feet when I instinctively crawled towards my highchair. Even in her bare feet she towered over me. "Atta girl. Good baby," she praised me, as I clutched the wooden leg of the pink-painted highchair and pulled myself upright. "Baby Candy knows where she belongs." Despite being full and drenched, the mucky contents made my heavy nappies adhere moistly to my sensitive flesh when I stood up. "You had a big sleep-in this morning, didn't you, little girl?" Alison crooned. "Baby must have been all tuckered out after her botty-spank last night." I turned to frown at her, and she giggled as she crouched forward and slipped her hands under my armpits. "Upsy-daisy," she sang, as she lifted me backwards into the humiliating piece of baby furniture. I wriggled about on the padded seat, acutely aware of the creamy mess stuck to my bottom. She unclipped my dummy chain from my nightie and I let the rubber teat drop before she could rip it from my mouth. She carelessly tossed my sloppy pacifier onto the kitchen bench and turned back to me. The tight elastic waistband of my baby panties popped loudly as I wriggled back against the hard wooden back of the pink highchair, and the rich ripe smell of my messy accident drifted up to my nostrils. As Alison threaded the seat belt through the loop in the crotch strap, she glanced up at my face in alarm. "Pooh! Oh no," she groaned, her normally-smooth forehead creasing in annoyance. She shook her head in disapproval, her long raven locks flying. "You didn't, did you?" She sniffed the air experimentally, then wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Ew, yuck!" She frowned darkly at me as she lowered the hinged tray table and locked it in place against my tummy. Her dark brown eyes glittered dangerously as she scolded me. "You dirty baby! Have you messed your nappy again, Baby Candy?" I nodded guiltily, my head bowed and my shoulders stooped in misery. "Yuck-spuck! You are disgusting!" She snarled, and she almost tossed my plastic Barbie bowl onto the wide pink tray. Creamy porridge splattered across the tray, and drops of goo stuck to my nightie before she could clip a white terry bibbie around my neck. This one bore the pink silk embroidered inscription, 'Little Miss Poopy Pants,' and I shuddered in shame at the accuracy of the description. "There you go, Little Miss Poopy Pants," Alison teased me, as she straightened the frill-edged bib against my breast in a strangely maternal gesture. She backed away and tossed a small pink spoon on the tray, and I caught the rubber-coated cutlery before it bounced to the floor. "You can feed yourself this morning," she insisted from a distance, her pretty face creased in disgust. "I don't want to have anything to do with you, you stinky baby. Yucky-poo!" My cheeks blazed with humiliation as I started spooning the lukewarm porridge into my mouth, swallowing with difficulty through a throat thick and tight with shame. Alison sat at the far side of the kitchen table, as far from my stinky bottom as possible. She turned the paper around so she could keep reading, picked up her coffee cup and glared at me over the rim while she took her next sip. "That's it, Baby Candy," she encouraged me in saccharine tones, as she watched me clumsily spoon-feed myself. "You eat up all your brekky for Aunty Alison like a good little baby girl, Miss Stinky-Pants." My eyes dropped to the bowl of porridge in front of me as I cringed in shame, the lumpy food cloying in my mouth. She made up a big bottle of watered-down orange juice for me while I finished eating, and she thumped it on the wooden tray after she took my spoon and bowl away. "Hurry up and finish your bottle, baby," she urged me from the sink, "so we can change you out of that stinky wet nappy." When I finally finished my bottle, Alison took it apart and put the pieces in the dishwasher. She returned and gave my face a perfunctory swipe with my relatively-clean bibbie, then unclipped it from around my neck. She tossed my frilly bib on the bench, then reached under the tray table from the front and unlocked it. She leaned back, keeping her pretty face as far away from my crotch as she could while she raised the tray out of the way and released my seatbelt. "God you smell!" She complained. "Climb down onto your hands and knees, Baby Candy," she commanded with a sour expression. "I want you to crawl straight upstairs to the bathroom. Pee-yew! You stink! What a dirty baby girl." My face burned in mortification as I shuffled down the carpeted hallway on my hands and knees. Alison gave my bobbing bottom several hard swats to encourage me to hurry as I crawled up the stairs ahead of her. She waited at the bottom until I reached the top, then pointed to the bathroom doorway along the landing. "Go on, stinky-britches! Get in there!" Brenda walked out of her bedroom and danced past my crawling form. She looked gorgeous this morning in a tiny pink denim miniskirt and a scoop- necked white t-shirt. The short-sleeved cotton t-shirt hugged her massive mammaries like an ardent lover, stretched tautly over the enormous cups of her white satin bra. She was wearing a full face of make-up, and her long tawny-blonde hair had been brushed out, hanging loose over her shoulders. Her long legs were bare, and I noticed she had painted her toenails the same pink shade as mine. Strappy high-heeled white sandals completed her ensemble, and she had a white shoulder bag draped over one arm. I couldn't help sneaking a peek up her too-short dress when she slipped past me. Pastel-pink knickers this morning, I noted. She noticed the direction of my hungry gaze and cheekily flipped up the back of her miniskirt at me before she trotted downstairs, giggling at her own audacity. For a moment I was treated to the awesome sight of her tight nylon panties stretched to breaking point over that curvaceous big bottom. "Have fun changing the messy baby, Allie," Brenda cheerily sang to her big sister. She eased past Alison and headed straight for the front door. "I'm outta here," she announced, looking inordinately pleased with herself. "See you later, girls." The front door slammed behind her, but we could hear her giggling all the way down the front path. Alison grunted in annoyance before following me upstairs. I shuffled into the bathroom on all fours and Alison stood in the doorway giving directions. "Crawl into the shower, and you can stand up in there and take off your things." When I tossed my pink satin nightie to the floor and pulled down my glistening baby panties, Alison stepped into the room and kicked the empty nappy bucket over to beside the shower stall with her toes. Her tiny toenails were painted bright red, the glossy polish glistening like wet paint under the bright lights. "Dump your baby panties in there, and your poopy nappies too. I'm not touching them," she declared emphatically, before retreating to the doorway again. She sounded so disgusted, I cringed away from her in shame. She snapped on the ceiling fan, and it whirred into life as I unpinned my dirty wet nappies. They were hanging heavily from my hips, and dropped to the shower tiles with a sodden 'splat.' I held up the pink-capped pins and looked at her in inquiry, and she ordered, "Toss them over here." She picked them up from where they landed on the floor, and held them to her nose and took a sniff. She wrenched her hand away from her face and gazed at the pins, then me, in revulsion. "God you are disgusting," she repeated, as I carefully folded the dirty wet nappies and dropped them in the bucket. "Quickly, put the lid back on," she commanded, and she sighed in relief when I hastily obeyed. It did reduce the awful stench somewhat, although there was just as much poop stuck to me as my nappies. "Turn on the shower and you can wash yourself off. Call me when you're clean and dry. And you better be completely clean," she warned me, "or you'll be sorry." She pointed to a pink towel hanging on the rail. "That's yours." She turned and flounced off in disgust, leaving me alone in the bathroom. I felt like such a big girl when I turned on the taps all by myself. Even though it should have felt wonderful to enjoy the luxury of a grown- up shower for the first time in days, it was horrible having to scrape off all the sticky poo-poo stuck to my skin. I scoured between my cheeks with the bar of soap again and again until the water ran clean, then scrubbed my buttocks hard. I started peeing while I was washing my bottom, and only realised when I spied the amber stream trickling from the tip of my limp clittie. I didn't consider that I hadn't even noticed when I started peeing. The yellow stream mixed with the shower water swirling drown the drain. It took ages before I was certain I was clean front and back, and I decided to shampoo and condition my hair while I was there. Twenty luxurious minutes later I was towelling myself dry, and I only glanced up when Alison complained form the doorway. "God! That took you long enough." She pointed to the rail and I hung up my damp towel, then she commanded, "Turn around, Candy, and bend over." My cheeks flushed with warmth when I timidly obeyed, turning my back to her. "Spread your feet wide and bend right over, baby," she cooed enticingly. I bent over till my wet hair brushed the bathroom tiles. "That's it. Now grab your bumcheeks and pull them wide apart for Aunty Alison. Go on," she firmly urged me when I appeared to hesitate. "Aunty needs to make sure you're a clean baby girl back there." My cheeks were crimson with embarrassment when I slowly obeyed her humiliating commands. I pulled my damp pink buttcheeks wide apart with my spread fingers, blushing furiously as she leaned closer to examine my winking pink sphincter. When she had taken a good long look, she giggled in approval. "Good girl. What a clean baby girl you are now." I squealed when she slapped me hard across my well-presented posterior, making my damp buttocks wobble. I jerked upright and whirled around to glare at her. Alison merely giggled at my expression of annoyance and asked, "Do you need to use the potty before you get dressed?" She pointed to the toilet, as though I might be unsure what she meant. Despite my delight at being offered the use of a grown-up toilet, I slowly shook my head in denial. Alison's smile widened to a grin. "I didn't think so. After all, you already did everything in your nappy this morning, didn't you, little girl?" My cheeks blushed pinkly in response, and she laughed and shook her head at my uncontrollable baby ways. "Come with Aunty Alison to the Nursery, Baby Candy, and we'll get you dressed for the day." She twirled away from me and the hem of her flounced nightie flew up, giving me a quick glimpse of her shiny nylon knickers. I could see she preferred full-cut bikini panties like her sister, and they were baby- blue to match her nightgown. I meekly followed her along the landing until she glanced back over her shoulder at me and realised I was walking. She spun around and pointed an imperious finger at the carpet. "On you hands and knees, baby," she sternly insisted, and I instantly dropped to all fours. "Babies who pee and poop their diapers have to crawl, remember?" She cruelly reminded me. I crawled naked into the Nursery and she pointed to the change table. "Up you hop," she ordered. She had no problem letting me stand or walk when it suited her. I climbed up onto the padded surface and lay back on the fluffy white nappies laid out ready for me, centring my bottom over the appropriate spot. "Good baby," Alison damned me with faint praise. She leaned against the side of the change table, trapping the hem of her nightie. The light cotton material tightened against her unfettered bosoms, and I gazed at her massive mammaries in awe. My eyes were fixed on the low V-neck of her nightie where it was pulled down in front, her huge breasts threatening to spill free at any moment. Without me realising it, my stirring clittie started to thicken and swell. She brusquely powdered my baby-smooth crotch and bottom and rubbed in the silky perfumed talc, ignoring my growing hardness. I was grateful when she pinned me in my nappies without commenting on my embarrassing tumescence. I was surprised when she grabbed my hands and helped me sit up. "Climb down, Baby Candy," she ordered. "You can dress yourself, little girl. Alright? You can do that by yourself, can't you?" I slid off the change table and wobbled unsteadily due to the wad of cloth forcing my thighs apart, and I nodded uncertainly. "I mean, you're not really a baby. Are you?" I shook my head emphatically and Alison smiled for the first time, her pleased expression lighting up her beautiful face. "Good girl. I need to take a shower and get dressed, too. Okay?" She walked out, leaving me alone in the Nursery. I stared around the room uncertainly, unsure where to start. There was a big stack of pastel-coloured plastic panties on the shelf under the change table. I pawed through them disinterestedly. They were all so transparent, and would leave no doubt that I was heavily diapered underneath. I remembered the satin rumba panties Aunty purchased for me, and shuffled over to the chest of drawers. I opened the top drawer and found it full of panties - plastic-lined rumba panties and big-girl panties. I picked up a pair of silky pink knickers made from lustrous nylon, and they glimmered attractively in the light. The glossy white pair with the red polka-dots and the red lace trim were in there too, that Aunty June made me wear that momentous first day. I momentarily caressed the satiny gusset between my thumb and forefinger, my little clittie hardening in excitement. I knew Alison would never consent to me wearing big-girl panties like these. For a moment I considered ripping down my thick fluffy swaddling and pulling on some grown-up knickers. But what else could I wear? In haste I tore open all the drawers. The second drawer contained my polka- dot training bra and some ribbed tights, plus a half-dozen pairs of frilly anklet socks. In the next I found my pretty pastel t-shirts, and some feminine tops with ruffled short sleeves. The bottom drawer held a couple of girl's sweaters and a stack of short flared skirts. I scurried over to the wardrobe and threw open the doors. I couldn't find any of my male clothing. There were no trousers - not even the pink bike jeans. Even my suitcase was missing. So much for my hopes of changing into my normal clothes and running away. Not that I had any money - or any transport back to Sydney, hundreds of kilometres away. And there was no way I was going to try hitchhiking back to Sydney while wearing a dress. My skin crawled at the thought, my clittie shrivelling in fear. I ignored the fluffy white petticoats, and flicked through the half-dozen dresses hanging in the wardrobe. I already knew the yellow one I wore home from Aunty Mandy's was too short, and discarded it. I knew it would leave my diapered crotch permanently on display. There was a longer, pastel-pink cotton frock that was so sheer, when I held it up to the light I saw it would require a petticoat underneath. I tossed that one aside, too. I didn't want to wear a frothy pettie like a little girl. The starched white cotton frock was missing. I assumed it was in the wash. I pulled out a simple baby-blue frock and examined it. It was sleeveless, with wide shoulder straps and a plain yoke neck. It had shirring around the bust so it would be snug up top, but the heavily flounced skirt looked long enough to cover my diaper. I held the dress against my body and twirled to face the vanity mirror, my damp locks flying around my face. For just a moment - for one brief, tantalising second, I thought I saw a real girl twirling to face her reflection in the mirror - only it was me. I stared at my feminine image for a few seconds, full of longing. If only I was a real girl! If wishing could have made it so, my breasts would have budded and my ugly male bits would have turned into a beautiful puffy slit long ago. I ignored the thrilling sensations from my swelling clittie and shook off the delightful thought. I pressed the blue frock against my tummy, examining the length with a critical eye. Still too short. I tossed it on my crib mattress and chose another dress from the wardrobe - a gingham outfit with tiny pink and white checks. It had a scoop neck edged with a narrow band of white lace, and a wider band of matching white lace around the hemline. The heavily flounced skirt fell from a high Empire waist, and the sleeves were mere puffy additions with elasticised cuffs. They flared out over the shoulders, barely covering the arms. When I held it against my body, the hemline fell halfway down my thighs. I figured this one was the best I could do. Hopefully it was long enough to conceal my shameful nappies. I guided the gingham dress over my head and slid my hands through the elastic cuffs of the short puffy sleeves. After I pulled it down over my body and smoothed out the flounced skirt, I checked my appearance in the vanity mirror. I was relieved to find my nappies were completely concealed from casual view. From the top drawer, I took a white pair of rumba panties with lavish pink lace frills across the seat. I threaded my bare feet through the leg holes and tugged the plastic-lined panties up and over my huge diaper. When I examined my reflection, things looked okay from the front. When I twirled around to check the rear, my skirts flew up around my waist, exposing my packed fancy pants. I brushed the back of my frock down, but the frothy lace frills across the seat hung down below the white lace-edged hemline. I remembered what Aunty June said about my ruffled rumba panties before Kate's birthday party - how the shimmering lace frills across my seat would draw everyone's eyes to my big diapered bot-bot. I grimaced at the embarrassing memory. When I smoothed my skirts down in back and checked, I realised she was right. If I bent over even slightly, you could see the frilly pink lace peeping out below. It looked cute - but not the look I wanted. I pulled down the shiny satin panties and stepped out of them, and kicked them aside in distaste. Instead I drew a plain pair of transparent pink plastic panties up my legs. I pulled the snug elastic waistband high over my diaper and let it snap into place around my tummy, and then spread my knees and squatted slightly. This helped the tight elastic leg bands to slide most of the way up my slender thighs, and I tucked them in under the crotch of my nappy just to be safe. At least when I checked the rear view in the mirror, you could barely tell I was diapered. My swirling skirts kicked out from my padded hips and puffy bottom, making my silhouette look even more feminine than usual. I gently twirled from side to side, making my lace-edged hemline rise slightly as I critically inspected my appearance. Even without my hair done, I really looked like a little girl. "Look at you admiring yourself in the mirror!" Alison chortled from the Nursery doorway. "Just like a real girl. And look at these dresses scattered all over the place. How many outfits did you try on, Princess?" She shook her head I disbelief when I held up one finger. She stepped into the room in her flat black Princess sandals, and I admired her appearance. She was wearing a cherry-red, scoop-necked t-shirt, with three-quarter length sleeves. The colour was a perfect match for her manicured oval fingernails. Her generous bust was well displayed, with a deep entrancing cleavage. Her top was so tight, I could detect the lace edges of her bra cups underneath. Her black denim miniskirt was longer than Brenda's, coming half-way down her slender mid-thighs. Although her jet-black hair was neatly brushed into a high bouncing ponytail, I noticed she wasn't wearing any make-up. Her perfectly shaped lips looked oddly pale and uninteresting without their normal coating of glossy red lipstick. She picked up the baby-blue dress I'd tossed on my crib, and pointed to the pink frock on the floor. "Just like a real girl," Alison repeated with a knowing smile, slipping the blue frock back on a hanger. "Has to try on half her wardrobe before she's happy." She giggled at her own clever observation. "Hang the discards back up like a good girl, Candy." She hung up the blue frock herself, then moved aside so I could hang the pink one in the wardrobe, too. "Good girl." She indicated the yellow dress I'd dropped on the other side of the wardrobe, and I moved to pick it up. I didn't realise that when I bent right over, Alison had a perfect view of my tautly-stretched pink plastic panties and the fluffy white nappies they struggled to contain. "Put away your pretty rumba panties too, sweetheart, unless you want to wear them this morning?" I tossed the frilly baby panties back in the top drawer and shoved it closed. Alison stepped over to my chest of drawers and opened the second drawer. She took out a pair of sheer white cotton socks with two wide rows of pink lace sewn around the ankles. "Put these on," she commanded, tossing the feminine hosiery to me. She scrabbled through the shoes piled in the bottom of my wardrobe, and pulled out a pair of baby-pink Princess slippers similar to the pair she was wearing. She tossed them on the floor at my feet. They were low ballet flats with big darker pink satin bows over the toes. "You can wear these, too," she decided for me. "They go perfectly with that outfit." After pulling on the socks and straightening the lacy pink frills around my ankles, I slipped my feet into the flat slippers. They were a perfect fit, although they didn't feel too secure when I hesitantly shuffled around. It felt like my heels were about to slip out of them with my every waddling step. Alison examined my appearance and nodded in approval. "That outfit looks really sweet on you," she commented with a pleased smile. "I love little girls in pink gingham. I swear, Candy; you don't look a day over eight years old." She pointed to the hard wooden chair in front of the mirrored vanity. "Come and sit down and I'll brush out your hair," she commanded. When I sat down, she stared in the mirror at my reflection, looking pointedly between my splayed legs. I demurely tried to press my thighs together, but the thick mass of fluffy terrycloth frustrated my efforts. She giggled at my unsuccessful attempts at shy feminine behaviour. "I can see your baby pants," she teased me, then her expression turned thoughtful. "Wait here a second, Candy." She dashed out of the nursery in the direction of her bedroom. When she returned moments later, she was twirling a pair of pink gingham knickers around her right index finger. "Here baby," she crooned, "these pants will go perfectly with that outfit." I felt a thrill of arousal when I realised she was offering to let me wear her knickers. She indicated I should stand, and held the full-cut cotton panties down low and open for me to step into. I clutched her shoulders for support as I threaded my glossy Princess slippers one at a time through the tiny elasticised leg holes. Alison whipped them up my legs to my knees, and I released her shoulders and held my dress up out of the way for her like a good little girl. She had to stretch the waistband wide to tug them over my packed baby panties, and I hoped she wouldn't notice the tenting front of my nappy. I was surprised at how easily they slid over the tautly-stretched plastic panties though, and it moments she had them settled around my waist. "There you go. Look in the mirror, Candy." I obediently turned to the vanity mirror and raised my flounced skirts high above my waist, discretely rearranging my nappy front so my stiff clittie was pressed against my tummy. The pink gingham panties actually covered my bulging plastic panties front and back. They were a pretty good fit, and did much to relieve my fear of accidental exposure. I was relieved to see you could barely tell I was hard and throbbing down there. Alison insisted, "Doesn't that look cute? Do you like them?" I nodded uncertainly, biting anxiously on my bottom lip. Although the pretty check panties mostly covered my diapered shame, they were a very snug fit. The way they bulged heavily around my crotch and bottom was a dead give-away. "They're not as pretty or silky as some of my nylon panties you were pawing through in my panty drawer, but they go perfectly with that dress." My face fell, my cheeks burning with embarrassment, which only made her laugh. I wondered how she knew. I let my dress hem drop when she indicated I should sit again. When she realised my hair was still wet, she abandoned the wooden-backed hairbrush on the vanity. "We need to dry your hair a bit first," she decided. "Come with me to the bathroom." I followed her across the landing and into the bathroom, grateful that she didn't make me crawl. Maybe she forgot? She wrinkled her nose in distaste at the nappy bucket sitting next to the shower stall. "After we finish getting you ready, you'll have to dump those dirty nappies in the laundry tub to soak. Take the bucket outside and leave it at the top of the staircase. Okay, Candy?" I nodded obediently and whisked the nappy bucket onto the landing. When I returned she was plugging in a hand-held hairdryer. "Stand there and bend over with you head hanging down," she instructed me. I assumed the required pose and Alison began blow-drying my hair upside- down. She brushed it out as she dried me off, the coarse bristles ripping some of the knots from my hair and making me whimper. Fortunately Alison didn't seem to hear my pitiful cries over the noise of the blow-dryer. If she had, I'm sure she would have mocked me for carrying on like a big sooky baby. When my hair was completely dry, she let me stand upright and ordered me to face the bathroom mirror. She used the brush to tidy my long fluffy locks over my shoulders, and then opened one of the vanity drawers. Alison took out a baby-pink satin Alice band and turned to me with a smile. The headband was about an inch wide over the crown, tapering to narrower points that Alison slipped behind my ears. She fussed about with it until my hair looked perfect, and we both smiled at my reflection. I couldn't prevent my clittie from growing harder inside my soft fluffy swaddling when I gazed at my convincing feminine appearance. "All I need to do now is my make-up," Alison declared, as she unzipped her black beauty case. She sat on the bench seat in front of the vanity mirror and laid out everything she needed on the flat surface beside the basin. I sidled closer to the mirror and leaned against the vanity as I watched her reflection. She leaned her tummy against the bench, thrusting her face closer to the mirror. Her breasts heaved forward, almost surging out of the top of her scoop-neck t-shirt. I caught a hint of the delicate black lace edging her low-cut brassiere, and I admired the deep fleshy cleavage formed by her bountiful bosoms. My buxom cousin tidied up her eyebrows first with a little brush, then opened a long skinny tube of mascara. She held the tiny bristle brush dangerously close to her eye, then blinked slowly and deliberately. I watched in amazement as her eyelashes grew thicker, blacker and longer. It was like she was creating a pretty frame for her beautiful big brown eyes. She noticed me watching intently and smiled at me in the mirror. "Your lashes are so long and thick, Candy, you hardly need any mascara," she commented a trifle enviously. When she finished, she re-coated the tip of the wand with sticky black goo, and handed the brush to me. "Want to try?" I'd experimented with my sister's make-up at home on a few occasions. Not too often, as I was terrified of her or Mum catching me. Mascara took ages to clean it off, too, which always presented a problem. I took the spiky black wand with trembling fingers, and tried to calm my nerves as I moved the coated tip closer to my right eye. I held the bristle end against my upper lashes and blinked slowly, trying to imitate Alison's movements. My eyelashes instantly thickened and lengthened, and I couldn't help smiling in delight. "See, baby?" Alison crooned. "It's not too hard, is it? Just make sure you don't poke yourself in the eye. If you smear any on your eyelids or underneath, I've got some cleansing tissues here that will get it off. Okay?" I nodded and carefully did the lower lashes, then moved to the other eye. Alison returned to outlining her mouth with the sharpened tip of a cherry-red pencil. When she finished, she stretched her lips wide, let her mouth relax, and then smiled in approval. I fluttered my eyes, staring in delight at my feminine long lashes for a few seconds, and saw her smiling at me in the mirror. I handed her the mascara wand and she gave her lashes another generous coat, lengthening them even more. Her eyes looked huge! She nodded in approval at her appearance and returned the wand to the tube, screwing the lid on tightly. She gripped my chin and checked my eyelashes. "That looks very pretty," she complimented me, making me smile in delight. "You didn't make a mess, either. Good girl." Alison released my chin and turned away to hide her superior knowing smile. I didn't realise that my limited expertise revealed that I'd already had some practice applying my own make-up. She used a kohl pencil to outline her eyes, then smudged them with a rubber eraser on the other end, making them dark and smoky like her mother's. She kept her mouth slightly open as she evened out the dark lines, her big brown eyes wide and her concentration totally focused. I watched as she unscrewed a red tube and slid out a tiny sponge on a stick. It was covered with red stain, and Alison leaned forward again until her mouth was inches from the mirror. I tore my eyes with difficulty from where her meaty breasts were trying to escape the confines of her low-cut top. I watched her face instead, trying to study her techniques. She began applying the stain to her stretched lips, filling in between the lines she had previously drawn. In moments her whole mouth was glistening cherry-red, a perfect match for her t-shirt. She turned to me with her wet lips stretched wide, her mouth contorted in the rictus of a smile. I could see she was thinking about offering to paint my lips too, but she seemed to change her mind. She screwed the cap back on the tiny red bottle. "I don't think red is your colour, little girl," Alison mumbled to me through wide-stretched lips. "Pink lipstick would be much more appropriate for your cute little outfit." She opened another pink vinyl beauty bag I assumed belonged to her sister. "Brenda's got a fabulous pink lippy... Ah, here it is!" She took out a gold tube of lipstick and popped the cap. "That's the one." She dived back into the pink vinyl bag and rummaged around. "Aha! Here's the base coat." She unscrewed the tiny pink bottle and slid out another tiny pink-tipped sponge on a wand. "Stretch your lips wide like mine, sweetheart." It was slightly difficult understanding her with her mouth held in that contorted position, but I followed her instructions and felt her paint my stretched lips with the strange little sponge. "You have to hold your lips like that for a few minutes until the stain dries," she warned me. We looked weird when we stared at ourselves in the mirror, and we both had to giggle. Her lips were painted cherry-red, mine pastel-pink. "I know we look funny," she commented, "but trust me - it's worth it. This stuff stains your lips and keeps them looking pretty for hours, even after your lipstick has worn off. You'll see." She let me relax my mouth after a few minutes, and advised me to gently touch my lips with my fingertips to check they were completely dry. I did so, smiling in unabashed delight while looking at my pretty painted mouth in the mirror. My lips were dry to the touch, like hers. Now I really looked like a girl - and a pretty girl, at that! My stiff clittie throbbed with excitement inside my tightly-pinned nappy. I had to stop myself from reaching under my frock and rubbing the bulging front of my pink gingham panties. Instead I leaned my padded crotch against the vanity bench, discretely pressing my throbbing clittie against the soft absorbent cloth that cocooned me. Alison stood and leaned closer to the mirror to apply a thick coating of glossy cherry lipstick over the top. Her mouth looked fabulous, and I gazed up at her in envy. She smacked her painted lips together to even them out, and they looked full and red and inviting, the shiny gloss glinting attractively in the bright bathroom light. I unconsciously mimicked the actions of her mouth as she painted her lips; stretching, rubbing my lips together, then pouting along with her. When she noticed what I was doing, she laughed. I blushed in embarrassment. I was only trying to memorise her movements so I could practise on myself in private, sometime in the future. She capped and tossed her lipstick back in her beauty case, and picked up Brenda's gold tube of lipstick. "This will make you mouth look fabulous. Turn and face me, baby." I turned to her and she crouched down till her beautiful painted face was inches from my own. "Open your mouth a little, and stretch your lips just a little bit. Like this," she instructed, shaping her perfect, glossy red lips in indication. When I successfully mimicked the position and shape of her luscious lips, she murmured, "That's right. Good girl. Now keep your mouth just like that." I shuddered as she smoothed the creamy stick across my lips, covering the stained skin with a thick, faintly-perfumed layer of moist, glossy pink lipstick. I hoped she didn't notice me pressing my hands over the front of my gingham frock, clutching my nappy front tighter against my straining clittie. "Now do this." She pressed her plump lips together and gently rolled the them inwards, then smacked them open. I mimicked her actions again until she smiled in approval. "Good girl. Now smile." I gave her an exaggerated pouty smile and her beautiful face lit up again. "Gosh, you really are a pretty little thing," she commented with disarming honesty. My happy smile grew broader and I felt my cheeks flush warmly with pleasure. "Right. All we need now is some blush - not that you really need any, with those pretty pink cheeks of yours," she gently teased me. "You blush so prettily - just like a shy little girl, you know? It's adorable!" My cheeks turned a rosier hue as I nodded, and I had to stop myself from gnawing on my freshly-painted bottom lip. She opened a little pink pot of pressed powder and took a small brush from her make-up bag. After twirling the end of the brush in the pot, she leaned closer to the mirror and sucked in her cheeks. I watched carefully as she brushed the pink powder across her cheekbones, bringing a rosy hue to her cheeks. She repeated the movements on both sides until they matched perfectly. She turned her head from side to side in critical evaluation, then nodded in satisfaction. I thought she looked stunningly beautiful. "Here baby." She handed the tiny pink pot and the little brush to me, and watched as I carefully imitated her movements. I stirred the bristles into the pressed powder, then gently stroked the soft brush across my cheeks, dusting the pink powder along the lines of my cheekbones the way she did. She smiled and nodded in approval when I turned my face from side to side, checking my appearance. "Good girl. You look very pretty, Candy," she complimented me as she took the brush and pot from my fingers. In minutes all the lids were replaced and everything put away, then she turned to me. "Alright, Candy. I want you to take your nappy bucket downstairs to the basement, and dump your poopy nappies in the laundry tub. I'll come down and show you what to do, okay?" I waddled out of the bathroom ahead of her, scooted along the landing and picked up the diaper pail. Despite the lid being in place, the smell of my messy nappies drifted up to my nostrils, and my hard little clittie began to shrivel. I shuffled downstairs carrying the huge bucket, and when I reached the bottom, I turned and headed for the doorway to the basement. Alison skipped down the stairs behind me, and pointed to the tub in one corner. "Put the plug in first, and half-fill the tub with warm water," she instructed me. While the taps were running, she pointed to a big plastic tub of Napisan on the shelf nearby. "Toss a capful of Napisan in the tub, and then throw your stinky diapers and baby pants in there to soak for a couple of hours. Alright?" When I nodded that I understood, she rewarded me with another brilliant smile. "Good girl. Don't you dare open that bucket until I'm gone," she warned me, backing away just in case. "Wash your hands when you're done, and meet me upstairs in the kitchen. Okay?" She turned and bounded up the stairs, and I followed her a few minutes later. When I shuffled into the kitchen, Alison was standing at the sink filling one of my big pink baby bottles with watered-down apple juice. She carefully placed the leak-proof seal on top and screwed on the nipple, then turned to the kitchen table. There was a big pink bag sitting on one of the chairs, and I noticed it was covered in shiny wetproof clear vinyl. When Alison packed the bottle upright in one of the inside pockets, I realised what it was. It was a baby's diaper bag! I waddled over to take a closer look, and saw it was already packed with a change of nappies, some clean baby panties, and one of my frilly bibs. There was a plastic bottle of baby powder in one pocket, and a slim tub of baby wipes in another. I stared at the bag, then my grinning cousin in horror. A packed diaper bag meant she intended taking me out somewhere! I backed away from her, shrivelling in fear. She tossed my dummy in the diaper bag too, then picked it up by the handles. She eased the loops over one shoulder and picked up her black leather handbag, then held out her free hand for mine. "Come on, Candy. Let's go." I kept shuffling backwards, concealing my hands behind my back. She strode towards me as I backed into the hallway, clumsy because of the massive wad of terrycloth bunched between my thighs. "Come on, little girl. You don't have a choice. You know that. Give me your hand - or would you rather I get out the toddler harness and baby reins, and make you wear them?" I froze at the threat of being harnessed and reined like an uncontrollable toddler in public. She clicked her fingers at me and waved her hand in front of my face in an imperious gesture, and I took her hand with great reluctance. "That's better," she cooed, turning me around and steering me towards the front door. "Come with Aunty Alison, baby. We're going to meet my girlfriends, and we've got some shopping to do." I shuffled towards the front door with foot-dragging reluctance, pulling back against her hand. I felt a nervous spurt of wee-wees splash into my nappy. "No, wait. I have to go potty," I pleaded, pointing to the upstairs bathroom. "Too late now, Candy. You should have used the potty when you had the chance. Come on! We need to get going." She mercilessly dragged me towards the front door. I gave a squeal of despair and lost control of my bladder, and a burst of heat splashed into my nappies. Even though I knew I looked like a convincing little girl in my pretty gingham outfit and with a face full of make-up, I didn't want to suffer any more public humiliation. But Alison's grip on my hand was too secure, and moments later I was stumbling onto the front veranda. Alison released my hand to swiftly lock the door behind us, cutting off my escape route. She steered me down the front steps, where I caught sight of my next unwelcome surprise. There was a huge kiddie stroller sitting on the grass beside the front path. It had a pink and white, candy-striped canvas seat, with a pink tubular steel frame, and it looked big enough to hold me. There were white rubber handgrips, and the legs ended in a pair of sturdy, double white rubber wheels. I moaned in despair when Alison used her body to herd me backwards towards the demeaning kiddie-carrier. I pleaded, "No, no! Please, no, Alison? Not that?" She dropped her handbag and my diaper bag on the grass, and grabbed me around the waist. "Aww! Aunty Alison," I feebly objected, but she ignored my whimpered protestations. I felt the backs of my calves strike the footrest and I stumbled backwards with a cry of alarm. She half-pushed, half-lifted me into the low canvas seat, and the tubular steel sides were barely wide enough for my diapered hips. I settled onto my puffy damp bottom and she forced me to lie back in the low reclining seat. I wriggled around, trying to get some purchase so I could lift myself out, but Alison was too quick for me. She lowered a H-strap made from pink nylon webbing over my head and shoulders, the chest piece forcing me to lie back again. In a trice the ends of the H-strap were clicked into the appropriate slots under the seat of the stroller, and I was trapped. My thighs were forced apart by the pink straps, and my flounced dress was bunched up over my tummy, revealing my bulging gingham panties. I didn't realise that with my legs splayed wide, the pink-checked crotch of my cotton panties failed to cover my packed baby panties. There was an inch or more of exposed pink plastic either side of the narrower cotton crotch piece, bulging with terrycloth, and you could see where the tight wetproof elastic leg bands cut into my upper thighs. There was a wire tray under my seat, and Alison stuffed my packed diaper bag in there. She hung her handbag from one of the handles, unlocked the rear wheels, and grabbed the white rubber handgrips. "Alright, little girl. Let's go," she sang, steering my stroller onto the path and wheeling me towards the street. In moments we were on the footpath and heading for the centre of town, where Alison planned to meet up with her friends. I tried to stop myself from anxiously gnawing on my pretty painted lips, and for the first time I found myself wishing I had my soothing dum-dums to chew on. To be continued... Please post a response here if you are enjoying this sissy-AB story. This site has no reader counter, so unless you leave a comment, I don't know if you are enjoying this story or if I should continue. Let me know, will you? Hugs from Baby Jennie in Australia