How Not To Babysit part 11
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How Not To Babysit - Part 24 free porn video
PART 24: BERIBBONED
I'm not sure what's going on at this point. I hate Mr. Owens. I'm afraid
of him. He's not allowed here. There's no way Mom and Larry *asked* him
to come by. So he paid for the pizza - that doesn't entitle him to use us
to play his perverted game. I could leave. L could call the police. I
could change and tell him to go. I *can* take control. Stewart can take
control. Why are doing exactly what Mr. Owens says. I want this diaper
off. I want these embarrassing clothes off! Is Stewart naked?
My reverie took over and I missed out completely on what Mr. Owens has
been saying to Stewart. I try to focus but the diaper is driving me crazy
and the ill-fitting top is humiliating. The pig-tails... I can feel them
now. I can feel them tugging on the sides of my head. I sit on the floor
and hear my diaper crinkle as it cushions me. Why am I letting all this
happen? I'm hard in my diaper. I'm excited by being out of control. With
Owens calling the shots, I'm absolved? I'm not responsible? I *can* enjoy
all this without it being my choice?
I hate myself. I am weak.
"Now, have you ever gone around dressed as a woman before, Stewart?"
Owens asks him.
Stewart mutters something and shakes his head side to side. I can tell
he's mesmerized. Does he like this? Did he come here hoping something
like this would happen? I figured he was hoping to see what happens with
me, if I was gay. But I'm not! Not Gay! No!
"Stewart!" I call to him.
Owens hands him some panties from my mom's drawer; sexy panties in pink
and black with ruffles and lace. Stewart's fingers trace the edge of the
waistband. He is getting hard. I stare at his penis for a moment. I
haven't seen many in real life. He's not circumcised. It's weird.
Stewart looks up at me. He's unsure but he tentatively steps into the
panties.
"This is okay?" he asks. "I'm allowed to wear them?"
"My mom..." I start but falter.
"Ah, she won't get bothered if you clean up after yourself," Owens
interrupts. "Pull them up!"
He delights in encasing his privates in the delicate material. I can see
his face. He *wants* to dress-up. Without prompting he delves into the
drawer and seeks out the matching bra. It's in his hands before anyone
can comment.
"Oh, that's pretty. You going to put it on as well?" Owens coaxes him.
There's no real point in coaxing. Stewart is hooked. He quickly slides
into the bra as if he has practiced. In no time, there are balls of Mom's
socks in the bra cups. He hefts them and rub his belly and bra cups.
"Do you like this, Stewart?" I ask quietly. "Why?"
I want to know. I don't know why I like it. I don't know why I hate it
too. This is wrong.
"Stop!" I yell. "We can't do this," I say. "These are Mom's things. We
can't... You can't wear them!"
Stewart's face falls. He's only part-way to satisfaction. I can see him
tenting the girlie panties. The horrible tent that is ruining the
smoothness that is supposed to be there. They aren't for men or boys.
They are for women. They are for my mother.
"Just stop," I repeat.
"Not your mother's things, eh?" Owens asks. "Are there any other clothes
we could use? Your sisters?"
"No!" I blurt out. "Not Emma's stuff. No."
"Katie has some clothes in *her* closet," Jenny chimes in, almost on cue.
"Yes!" Stewart cries out in relief. "I saw the outfits earlier."
He shoves both Owens and myself aside and enters my bedroom.
"Yes!" he says loudly.
I hear the sliding of clothes hangers on the rod. He's taking some
clothes out of my closet to wear. This is better. These are... mine? I can
share... the girl's clothes in there?
I'm still on the floor in my mother's room when Stewart hops out of my
room wearing the red mini-skirt and tank-top combo. He's delighted.
"You're pretty," Jenny eventually says. I'm stuck. I don't know what to
say or do. He is delighting in this. He is excited about wearing the
woman's clothes. He looks pretty good! Maybe some...
"Make-up?" I say out loud.
I'm pointing at the ensuite, where Mom keeps her make-up spread out over
the counter. Why am I pointing?
Stewart takes little encouragement. He runs past me and into the ensuite.
He's playing with various pencils, wands, and brushes. I have no idea.
He's practiced. He's competent. When he finishes up, he's a girl.
"Oh my god!" Stewart calls out as he does a little twirl and giggles.
"I'm the mommy!" he says in a falsetto. "I am Mommy!"
Owens has been quiet for a while. It didn't register with me until now. I
scan for him. He's in the hall with his hand to his mouth. He has a bulge
in his pants. Tears are welling up. He's enthralled.
What the hell is wrong with us?
I snap my fingers. This has to stop. We've gone too far. We're in the
wrong here. I will be the voice of reason: the voice of reason in a
diaper, fuchsia rumba panties, a tiny skirt and a pink tank-top. Dammit!
I tear the tank top over my head and pull down the skirt.
As I'm working the clasp on the rumba panties, Mr. Owens looks over at
me.
"Katie!" he says to me. "You must be eager to try on what I brought for
you.
"Darlin'," he says to Stewart, "be a dear and fetch me that bag I
brought."
What you brought for me? The bag? The duffle bag with god-knows-what in
it? For me? It's probably a new dress or a dolly or my imagination runs.
I blush and grab for the wall. My legs are failing on me again. I can't
let him dress me in whatever is in that bag. I can't! I must stop this. I
must. I must see what's in the bag first. I have to. I'm so curious!
I fall to my rear again and stare at Mr. Owens. Jenny looks to him as
well.
"What's in the bag?" she asks. "Is there something for me too?
"I have all manner of things that would delight a baby girl," he states.
"Would you like any of that?"
"I'm not a baby!" she declares. "I'm the daddy!"
"Oh," he says softly. "You wouldn't like any of it then."
"Show me anyway!" she decides.
Soon the bag is at Mr. Owens feet. Stewart pirouetted and curtseyed as
Owens opens it.
"Come here cutie," he indicates me but Jenny approaches. I join her.
I peer into the bag as he opens it. At first I can't see much but as the
zipper parts, I can make out white lace. I want to see more. I want to
wear whatever he pulls out. I hate myself. I love the humiliation. I want
him to turn me into a real baby. I want to kick him out. Dammit!
I gape.
Owens digs around inside the bag without revealing anything. Everything
in the bag appears to be sealed in plastic. Finally he finds what he
wants.
"Where is that lovely lady of the household?" he calls out.
Stewart presents himself eagerly. He is stepping from one bare-foot to
the other. He is ecstatic. Owens is Stewarts personal Santa Claus.
"I brought these along for some reason and I think you will enjoy them,"
he says as he presents a package to Stewart.
It's a small, flat package that is slightly larger than a 4x6 photo. He
squeals. As Stewart tears the packaging to shreds, Owens pulls out a pair
of ladies shoes. They are very tall black pumps, I think. Owens coughs to
get Stewart's attention. Stewart snatches them up and cries out in
delight. He tumbles into my room and I can just see him sit on my bed.
He's fumbling with the packaging. I look back to Owens.
He pulls out a larger plastic encased bundle and indicates that I should
sit in front of him.
I do. I'm letting him do all of this. I am consenting. I am lost. I am
just as much of a pervert as he is. I smile.
He pushes on my chest gently.
I roll onto my back, resting my soles on the floor with a bent knee.
"Does Katie-baby need a change?" he coos.
I shake my head back and forth.
"That," he indicates the rumba pants with his finger, "will clash with my
choice of attire for you this evening. It must come off."
I raise my hips in anticipation. I'm helping? What's wrong with me? I
work the clasp for him and pull the rumba panties off. He smiles.
"I'm sure you'll agree that these are so much better," he says as he
presents a pair of canary yellow plastic pants.
He slides them up my legs. I'm letting him. I don't want to but I'm
letting him. I'm enjoying this. I hate that I'm enjoying this. I'm hard
in my diaper. I think he can tell.
Once the plastic pants are in place, Owens pats my crotch a few times. He
definitely knows I like this. Dammit! I do.
While I'm touching the plastic pants and enjoying the lace at the leg-
holes, he encases my feet in socks. I crunch to see what he's doing. They
are white children's tights! I can tell. I can see the crotch of the
garment being inched towards my groin. His hands are working the material
up my legs and over my knees. His fingers stroke my thighs and massage my
calves. It's delightful.
No sooner are the tights on than he offers me his hand to get me to sit
up.
Seated, I rub my hands over my encased legs. I run them over my crotch. I
can feel the plastic of the panties and the stiffness of the diaper
underneath. I grab my ass. It's covered in ruffles. The tights have a
ruffled butt. I sigh. I love it, I think. I have to stop this. I have to
enjoy every moment of it. This is wrong. This is great!
I feel him handling my feet as I delight in my tights. He runs a finger
the length of my sole and I give him a reflexive kick.
"No!" I say.
"Ticklish, are you?" he muses.
"No!" I state firmly.
He goes back to rubbing my encased feet. Suddenly one foot is secured in
leather. I peer down the tights to see what I'm wearing. White Mary-
Janes. Similar to the black ones I wore home from school on Friday. Was
it Friday? Just yesterday?
He secures the shoes to my feet. I can feel the hard leather soles. I
know already that I won't be able to get any traction in these shoes. I
might not even be able to walk. Oh my god. I'm turned on.
"I have real cloth diapers in here should you soil yourself on my watch,"
he says with a smile. "I'd like the opportunity to pin one on you."
I'd like that too. I think. Real diaper? Not disposable? Why do I like
it?
I'm dumbfounded. He simply spins his finger in the air and eventually I
understand. I turn my back to him.
I hear the unpacking of what will soon be my dress. This baby's dress
that I am looking forward to wearing. This baby's dress that I need to
wear. This dress that will damn me just a little bit more. I raise my
arms in expectation.
I feel the satiny-softness of the garment pulled down over my head. I
look at myself. I'm wearing some kind of tutu with a tank-top attached to
it. It's weird. It puffs out a lot. I feel Mr. Owens working behind my
back.
He holds my shoulders firm to keep me from rising or turning around.
"We're not quite done yet, missy," he says.
I swallow.
Do I really like this?
There's more rustling behind me. Plastic pouches being opened. Soon I am
enshrouded. The dress hovers above me. My arms are back in position
anticipating the new garment. It's white, I believe. And there's yellow.
And there's silk. It must be silk. It's feels delicate as it comes down
over my head. I feel it fall into place and drop my arms. I examine
myself as Mr. Owens goes about some fumbling behind my back.
I'm wearing a white silk dress with very large yellow polka-dots. These
dots are exactly the same shade as the plastic pants. Either it's a set
or Mr. Owens went through a lot of trouble locating all this. There's a
large ribbon of silk wrapped around my waist and a huge bow on my back. I
feel silly.
I'm dressed as a baby. I'm seriously dressed as a baby.
"You know," he says as he appraises me. "Your hair could use a little
change as well."
He pulls out two lengths of ribbon. They match the yellow of the dress.
They will be in my hair any moment now....
What am I doing? Why am I letting this happen? I should be angry. I
should be fighting. I should be yelling.
I giggle as he masterfully ties the ribbons into my hair and removes the
cheap hair ties.
Jenny speaks as he works. She has been captivated until now.
"What's in the bag for me?" she asks.
Mhairi
- 09.02.2022
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