Baby Chloe In His Satin Baby Dress Bag free porn video

Baby Chloe in his Satin Baby Dress Bag "Hello, Sheila. Come in. Do you want some help with your stuff? Oh my, there's such a lot of it." "Yes, Andrea. Help me wheel everything inside the door and we can leave it in the hall for the time being. Until we've got him ready..." The two women shared a giggle across one of the trolleys. "Is he under sedation?" asked the doctor, pulling the first one inside the door for Andrea to take it from her and park it along her hallway near the living room door. "Sort of. He's sucking his pacifier like a good little girl... waddling in his panty stroller. He's been utterly helpless for 24 hours now." All four trolleys were identical - upright trunks four feet high, four long and two wide, standing more than waist high and running silently on their pneumatic castors. The doctor brought the last of them inside and Andrea closed the door. The trolleys stood in a delicious line, mauve with pink lettering, marked: Dress 1, Dress 2, Dress 3 and Dress Bag. "Helpless?" said the doctor. "He will be. His body is learning total obedience to panties, Andrea, while at the same time absorbing his age regression. Have you been enjoying his babying experience?" Andrea Costigan led her visitor through into the sitting room of her apartment. She had her shoulder length chestnut hair in deep bobs that caught the light in a shimmering gloss, rippling round the neck ruffle of her cream georgette blouse. She was taller than her husband in any case, but in her towering heels he was like a puppet in her lap. "Oh Sheila, it's been absolutely wonderful. You can't imagine the pleasure I've enjoyed in the evenings, teasing him, making him cry and cry, and then a complete change and hearing him beg me to give him more and more. And the encouragement I've received!" "From Society members?" "From dozens of women on Facebook, but mostly from Mommy In Control members, yes. They want photos, video clips of him suffering his humiliations. I've got some lovely close-ups of his face dissolving into tears above one of his bibs." "It's always a pleasure to our members to watch another wife's husband being introduced to his new baby status," said the visitor. "Keep up the online sharing of his embarrassments and you'll be in line for an award. Does he beg for babyhood, darling, or does he still sometimes beg you to turn back the clock and make him a male again?" "Oh yes, he has lucid moments. Before I put him into his stroller yesterday, we had half an hour of crying in which he tried to persuade me to stop all his treatment and let him fuck me. As if!" The women laughed as the doctor took out her pad. "Now, let me update his profile," she said. Doctor Sheila Hood was 40, with blond hair pulled into a bun at the back of her neck so that although she wore her nursing cap of starched and polished white linen on the front of her hair, it lay horizontally backwards and looked as though it was cupping her bun inside its points. Her bosom was prominent in its pale blue nylon tunic and her hips and derriere were in similar proportions. She touched the screen of her tablet and brought up the patient's details. "Colin Costigan, aged 25 years 8 months... formerly Wiltshire." She looked up for confirmation. "Well yes," chuckled Andrea. "He's my baby, so now he's got my name." "And he is now Baby Chloe?" "Chloe Pantykins." The doctor snorted with a giggle and updated her information. "Am I right that his baby treatment started two months ago, to the day?" "Yes, August 21st, the day after I heard all about his bedroom joust with that Victoria woman." Doctor Hood looked up and her hot pink lipstick smiled, then sniggered. "So many of our members love the same motto: Infidelity equals Sissy Babyhood. It's almost like the fools come to a door, deliberately open it, then find themselves in a different life." They both giggled. "So that was when his course of Vi-Infant started, was it? I have to ask this, because it has to be sixty days of continual medication before we change him onto Frilly-In-G - stands for Frilly Infant Girl." "Yes. I remember at first I thought it wasn't working. I fed him his Vi- Infant in his drinks and watched him like a hawk about the house... but all I noticed was he was often tired. Then one day, two weeks into his course, I had a head-ache and complained about it and slumped into a chair. Well, he got all emotional... kneeling beside me, hugging me - he seemed to want to lie across my lap with his face on my breasts - and the next thing: floods of tears. And that's the way it stayed." Doctor Hood was making notes. "Did you introduce any dressing at that stage?" "A few days later, yes. To start with there was so much crying - loud crying - that I thought I'd risk using the Mommy In Control pacifier. If he objected to it, everything might be put at risk and I'd be back to square one." "Did he take his pacifier like a good little girl?" said the doctor with a grin. "He did. He was crying his eyes out across my lap when I produced it, sneaked it up his chest while his eyes were closed, and before he knew it, the big plastic teat was between his lips. Sheila, I can tell you, he loved the taste." The doctor's eyebrows lifted with a delighted smile. "He pulled and pulled on it with his tongue. I dispensed completely with the straps for his neck." "Once you get them sucking, honey, they are yours. It's the key. Somehow they feel that if you take their pacifier or bottle away from them, they will lose you too. They'll be all on their own, impotent and defenceless." "That may be so, but he relaxed, totally." Andrea's eyes narrowed ominously. "The next thing I felt my legs were wet." "He'd piddled himself." "Exactly. Everything was soaked, his pants, my skirts and stockings, the carpet. Thank goodness the armchair escaped. Anyway, that was his cue for crying again, so I had to undress him, with a little bit of resistance... not much. That was the first time I put him into a pair of my panties, telling him that was what I wanted for a little boy who wet himself. He sat on my lap for an hour, sucking his pacifier in a loose silk top and three pairs of my panties. I felt it was safe to start telling him what his real role in life was going to be." "You told me last time," said the doctor, "that he had some favourite things to wear." "Oh yes, his sleeves." Andrea paused to giggle. "I got a Mommy In Control set of puffed sleeves in pale pink. Another one he loved was being put into a bib. At that time, a week or so before his dressing treatment started, he would lie across my lap like a helpless doll, in his sleeve set, which was a little coatee just a few inches deep at the back and ribboned into a bow at his throat, but basically it was two puffed satin sleeves as if from a girls' dress. Once he was in his sleeves, he was deliriously happy sucking on his pacifier and looking down his chest at his Snow White bib. His cock was always, always, bolt upright in his panties." "Did he grow progressively weaker?" "The transformation was amazing. I could see it most in his constant tiredness, or at least he wanted to lie still all the time. I remember the day he wanted to put on a shirt and trousers. He got them ready on the bed and we had a tug of war with them. He lost in just five seconds, falling face down onto my high heels and kissing them, clutching my feet, then bursting out crying. That was another occasion when he wet himself. In fact that persuaded me to start him in diapers." "How did he cope with that, poor thing?" Sheila giggled. "Oh let me tell you about it. I had got an X-ite-a-Girl rubber apron - a peach one - and I put it on. Well... he watched me as if I was changing my head, letting out little whimpers of excitement. I sat on the settee, pulled him up from the floor and across my lap, and slipped his panties down his legs. I'd got into the way of baby talking him by then. 'Baby can't stop doing wee-wees in Mommy's living room, so we need a thick dipee inside Baby's panties. Mommy wants Baby to feel safe and dwy.' Right from that first time, he loved it. whenever I talk to him like that he gets all lovey-dovey and dependent." "That's the Vi-Infant. Did you know that there is no known example of a male who can resist it once he has been started on the treatment. One week in, with two Vi-Infants a day, and his only hope of escape would be if his mom didn't feed him them any more... and I don't know of any woman who would back out of motherhood, do you?" The two women laughed, then stopped and listened. They heard muffled wailing, with equally muffled thumping in a steady rhythm, with more wailing... and more. Eventually it subsided as the women looked at each other knowingly. "Another ejaculation," grinned Andrea; "he's loving his panty-stroller." The doctor grinned too but returned to taking notes. "Tell me about his second month then, when you had him in dressing treatment." "He was at home full time by now, of course. I made him resign his job as soon as I found out about his fling, ostensibly to get him away from that woman, who was his secretary, but in truth it was because I knew he would have to be housebound." Andrea half stood, cupped her wide, magenta taffeta skirt under her legs again and sat. "Excuse me, Sheila... getting a little bit wet in my pants." "Oh tell me about it," sniggered the doctor. "Even though he was used to my panties and my mother's panties, and wanted to wear his pretty sleeves and his bibs, I sometimes kept them from him so that he cried relentlessly. It was easy for him to cry for an hour. I couldn't shut him in my bedroom: he'd have all my nylons out on the floor, and bras, panties, everything. So he was locked into his bedroom with his important drawers shut tight. It would invariably lead to a wet diaper. When I went to let him out, I'd ring mother in front of him and tell her that he needed his diaper changing. This meant mommy had to hold the phone to his ear as mother gave him a verbal thrashing with her tongue, calling him a Baby Wetties and insisting that he wear her pink embroidered satin panties, since they were the ones that wimpy little sissies should be put into. If I wasn't holding his pacifier in his mouth during these calls, he would have cried down the phone to her." "I commend you for bringing your mother's scorn into his upbringing, darling. Do you know - and this is a Society secret which is more or less well known - babyfied males fall into two sets, one of them a lot more babyish and frilly than the other: those who have been exposed to the contempt of their mother-in-laws are invariably more delicate and sensitive than those who haven't. I think it should be written into the Society's constitution. What's your mother's name?" "Carmine." The doctor fingered 'Mother-in-Law: Carmine Costigan' into her profile document. "The trouble is," Andrea continued, "when she talks to him she makes him wet himself again. So I can undo his diaper while he's on the phone to her, and he pees himself again before I've got him back into her panties." They both laughed, then Andrea put her hand on Sheila's sleeve for quiet. They listened... and heard a repeat of the sounds of a few minutes earlier. "He's distressed," said Andrea. "Desperate for that ejaculation that won't come. Oh I love that... keeping it from him." "Is his penis ringed?" "I've got him in a Mommy's Little Controller for his testies and under his peeny knob. It lets him cum six times but no more" "Perfect," smiled the doctor. "You were telling me about his dressing treatment." "I give him an hour of girlish baby dressing before bed each night. He started by resisting petticoats and bloomers; they were making him ridiculous, he said... I was making him a laughing stock. So I took his pretty sleeves and his bibs, opened a drawer in front of him, popped them inside and locked it." Her crimson lips parted to show her gritted teeth. "I thought he was going to cry the house down around our ears. When I presented him with a baby petticoat, he practically bit my hand off to get his arms into the little sleeves. I put his puffed satin sleeves over it, and his Snow White bib, and he sucked ecstatically with his ear between the breasts of my blouse for his first full hour. We never had any more trouble: baby blouses, romper dresses and bubbles, angora baby cardigan, he laps them all up." "You will have been dressing him in individual items so as to focus their appeal to his little brain?" "Oh yes. I petticoated him on Monday and Tuesday last week. On Wednesday it was bonneting: three different bonnets: small, medium and large. Then I pantied him: loosely over the weekend, with lots of panty kissing. "And when did you start him in his panty bloomer?" "The day before yesterday. This is his third day." "Oh my goodness! He'll be well and truly helpless." "I don't care. I want him to be helpless. When you see him, you'll see him for the wimp he is, Sheila, and he's never going back to the way he was." "Excellent," said the doctor, "and today we come to dresses." She finalised her entry on screen and closed her tablet. "Get him ready to see me with his dose of Melting Weakener, while I bring in his dresses and set up the dress bag." Andrea gave a moan, bounced her bottom on her chair and pushed the taffeta of her skirt and its net petticoats into the cleft between her legs. "I'm so excited," she said, looking up to the ceiling and her cheeks and lips alive with anticipation. "Are you going to put him into it in here?" "It has to be in the bedroom, Andrea. Basically he'll be bagged on the bed, but with the possibility of manoeuvring himself half onto the floor so that he can roll himself ever deeper into all that lovely silk and satin." The two women got up and went in opposite directions: Andrea into the bedroom to prepare her sissy husband, while Sheila opened the door to the hallway and began wheeling her trolleys across the living room to follow her. *** Colin Costigan was wheeled into the living room in his panty stroller, his cycling legs not quite reaching to the floor. The sight that met him when his bonnet was opened brought an immediate outburst of tears. "Hello, sweetheart. Is Baby Chloe enjoying her lovely panties then?" He looked as if he was hanging in a big pair of pink satin panties, all prettied with lace and bows of white satin. Inside it he slithered from side to side in his stroller, his erect penis sliding through dozens of pairs of panties. He knew Doctor Hood from her weekly visits and she always did something to him that made him cry. She introduced him to his panty stroller a week ago, giving him such pleasure... but he knew at the time it was a bad thing for him... bad for his pride as Andrea's husband. He wanted to get back to loving his beautiful wife... or at least having sex with Vicky. But his new perverted emotions grew and grew, overwhelming him. "D-D-Doctor..." he burst out... P-P-Pantieth for Chloe, boo-hoo-hoo- hooooo," he managed, even though the lower half of his bonnet hadn't been unbuttoned yet. "Pwe-etty pan-tieth, waaaaaaa!" and his bare legs reached for the floor... first his left bootee, then his right, so that his wailing became half cries of pleasure. Andrea looked at Sheila, her mouth dropping open with admiration. "That's the first time I've heard him lisp," she cried over his noise, and she undid the rest of his bonnet buttons and spread the satin wide. "Is Chloe being Mommy's baby now den, precious?" His stroller was in pink plastic, standing on four rotational wheels, and cushioned all round to save the furniture. It rose into a ring which held the waist of Colin Costigan's bloomer, so that a ruched rim of pale pink satin gripped him at the base of his ribs. He hung inside it with his weight on the gusset, but it looked as if he was in thick wads of diapers so that his feet couldn't touch the floor. He had to reach down with one foot, or the other, to gain any movement in his stroller. His hands were out of sight, doubled up his back where they were strapped to the back of his baby bra. Over them he wore his little coatee with its gorgeously big sleeves of puffed pink satin. His bib reached down to his bloomer waist, announcing 'BABY-CHLOE-PANTYKINS'. Sheila grimaced at his noise and put her hand on his chin. "Open for Doctor Hood, Chloe Pantykins," she cried, and he opened to grab her finger between his lips. He was soon sucking hard with her knuckles pulled right up to his face. "Good Baby," she said. "Can Chloe Pantykins love his wuverly panties for the doctor? Lots of lovies? Good girly... oh that's a goo-ood girly!" It would have been useless for her to finger the front of his satin bloomer, all prettied with lace and big bows of white satin, for it contained layers and layers of panty padding. It had to be his sliding and slithering that produced his peenis stimulation. "Is he filled with your panties, Andrea?" she asked as he sucked hard and slid from one foot to the other with whimpers of pleasure. "Mine and mother's," said Andrea. "Ten pairs each. They'll be soaking when we get him out." "Just a little more soaking, Pantykins," said the doctor, gathering the back of his bonnet in her other hand and drawing his mouth onto her finger. "Oh good girly... loving Mommy's panties... and Carmine's panties too... mmmmmm, yesssss... aren't they lovely! ... Good girly... ohhhh yesssss, there's a goo-ood girly, Chloe Pantykins!" His eyes were lidding in rhythm and his legs slid a little this way, then that, as his lips gripped Sheila's finger and sucked on it to save his life. His tears had given way to moans of pleasure as his waist pushed and pulled in his stroller until he subsided into a slump of exhaustion. She spent a moment fondling his bonnet, then withdrew her finger with a loud 'slucking' dribble of saliva, and undid his bonnet completely to take it off. "Well, Baby Chloe," she said, opening her bag on the floor and taking out things she needed. A slurry of rubber announced the appearance of her apron, which she held and shook so that its folds slid out and fell open with a plop. "You know why Doctor Hood is here, don't you, my little wimp? It's because we have to have a little more medical treatment for our little baby girly." Colin Costigan started to whimper as his wife took his bib off and undid his baby coatee. His hands came into sight, clipped to the back of his bra, as he bleated: "Andrea..." his voice as dainty as a child's, "no medi tweatment for Chloe... pleathe." His wife ignored him. "What will his new medication do to him, Sheila?" she said, putting on her own apron. Both women had X-ite-a Girl aprons. Andrea's was pink, while the doctor's was white and larger. The rubber was thick but as smooth as glass, with a bibbed top that hooked over the head, while the waist belt wrapped round and buttoned under the arm, so that there was a large, self-coloured button on either side of the waist. The wide apron had a big pocket tab detail at each hip with a mock button for purposes of worrying the baby. The spread of rubber was wide, so that even though Andrea's dress was full skirted, it was still covered with pink rubber, hissing across the taffeta beneath. "Frilly Infant Girl will introduce him to new, hormonal emotions," said Sheila, pulling a set of white rubber-gloved over-sleeves up her arms, snapping the elastic onto her shoulders. "He may have felt weak and emotionally insecure up until now, but FIG will make him feel completely like a girl. It's supposed to be amazingly realistic, although heaven knows how women can calculate that from males who have been treated with it. It'll definitely make him want to be dressed the way you want. Dresses, panties, blouses and skirts... he will crave all these: the prettier they are, the more exciting they will be to him." "Mommy," came the plea as both women undid his pantie-waist and opened out the stroller, "pantieth pleathe, Mommy... No medithin for Chloe, Mommy... pleeeeeeeathe!" They lifted him by the bunch of panties that held his thighs and waist, and brought him to the settee, dropping only a few pairs. "Baby Chloe is not having panties now," declared Sheila, lowering him onto the rubber aprons across the laps of both women with his face on her outside arm. He kicked and wriggled in slithers of panties across the rubber, and Sheila had to hold him tight round his top half as Andrea opening out the folded pairs of panties round his abdomen. "Yuck! What a messy little princess," she said, showing the wad of sticky panties between his legs. "The Vi-Infant is doing its work," sniggered the doctor. "This is a naughty baby girl!" cried Andrea, her lips squeezed in annoyance, and she rolled him over into their apron bibs, pulled away the intervening panties, and rained a shower of smacks onto his chubby bottom cheeks. Her husband squealed with agony, his hands fastened in view at the back of his bra, as smack after smack tanned his bottom. "Very good, Andrea," praised the doctor as they turned him onto his back again. "He's as naughty as any male, probably naughtier, now that he's a sissy pantie-waist, but at least we know he has an ample store of sticky, gooey cum." "He's going to need it, isn't he, in his dress bag?" "He certainly is, but I'm going to feed him a full bottle of it in a minute, laced with his FIG. It goes into the bloodstream quickly and converts readily into a form of sperm that is mostly feminine in its characteristics. That's partly how FIG works: as it builds in his sexual area, it gives him an intensely feminine feeling down there, so that when it squirts, it fills his testes and penis with girlishness. He will feel like he really is a little baby girl." A wail came from the husband lying across their skirts and he turned to bury his face in the doctor's white apron. His blond curls slid this way and that as his lips and tongue slithered across the smooth rubber. With the panties dropped into a pile on the floor, Doctor Hood was ready to prepare the baby's bottom and penis for his dress bag. They slid him round across their skirts, so that his naked body except for his bra was lying the other way. "The key to dress bag treatment," she explained, "is maximum contact with little dresses, but with contact that is powerfully effective. You know from the last couple of months how effective his treatment has been up to now, making him so weak and weepy." "The result of his Vi-Infant, I imagine." "Indeed. Well now it's the effect of his Frilly Infant Girl which will make the dresses in his dress bag so forceful. But we also have to make his body receptive... especially his most sensitive spots." "His prick, you mean?" "Yes, but starting here, with his nipples and aureoles. Remember he's going to be girlified, so they'll become nice and important to him." There was an outburst from Sheila's lap as this news came home to him. She ignored it and reached under him to undo the back of his bra. She also undid the clips across his wrists. "Are you sure you want his hands free?" asked Andrea, taking the brassiere and bracing herself to intervene. "No need to worry, darling," said the doctor. "Your little baby will soon be helping us with his own medical treatment, won't you, Chloe Pantykins?" The baby husband was trying to get his hands out from under himself so as to take some kind of part in what was happening to him. They held onto him to prevent his wriggles from making him slide to the floor. The doctor pulled him onto her rubber sleeve cover, clutched him tightly, and picked up the bottle from the table behind their settee. "Good girl drinkies now, pet," she said, presenting the big plastic teat to his lips. They opened as if she'd said a magic spell, and a moment later he was sucking and drinking, his big blue eyes staring into Doctor Hood's with total security. Andrea was most impressed. "Is his dress bag ready yet?" she asked, seeing how contented her husband was. "It's all ready in the bedroom, hon. Why don't you go and have a look what's waiting for him?" Andrea couldn't restrain her curiosity. She slid herself out from under her husband's legs, helped to re-arrange him cosily and left him gurgling his hormonal drink with the doctor. Her immediate impression in the bedroom was dresses, dresses, dresses... all of them in little girls' styles and so colourful and pretty. They were laid out in rows on the bed, their lacy petticoats towards her as if she was looking up their skirts. She thought she was going to see a bag, until she realised how it worked. Every dress had a little stuffed fabric hanger inside its neck and shoulders, and each hanger hung on ribbon stitched onto a backing of deliciously liquid satin in a smooth beige colour. Her investigation found this to be only the lining, for it was the backing of a sheet of coral pink satin the size of the whole king sized bed, with maybe twenty little girls' dresses hung across it in two rows. What precious dresses too: one of them was a yoked party dress with a white silk bodice and very full pink satin skirt. Another was a flower girl dress in burgundy satin, turned back to front so that a huge sash and bow lay down its glossy skirt. There were little day dresses which buttoned at the back in pale blue silk with pretty flower designs; dresses with tiers of nylon net that burst from the waist in fabulous skirts, and dresses in polka dot taffeta, plaid silk and ruffles of crystal satin. These had been the contents of Sheila's trolleys, and here they were, ready to surround the girlish body of her erring, defeated husband. She squeezed her legs together and had a nice little thrill, then hurried back to help get him ready. When she slid her skirt back onto the settee, Sheila had just put the empty bottle aside and lifted the doe-eyed baby more upright, so that he was sitting with his back against her breasts. She got a smear of gel on her finger and spread it round and round one of his nipples. "P-Pantieth for Chloe," he warbled, gathering his knees up to his chest. "He's trying to block you," said Andrea, prising one of his knees out to the side. "It's a natural reaction to having his lovely nipples treated, isn't it, Babykins?" commented Sheila. "Isn't that gooey and wuverly, when Doctor Hood plays with Baby Chloe's titties?" She had a little white package which she opened out into a circle of gossamer tissue and plastered flat so that it covered his nipple and an inch of aureole all round. Then her fingers massaged his chest all round it, gathered the two ends of fine ribbon that ran round the rim, and pulled them delicately tighter and tighter, until the baby's nipple and aureole stood an inch above his chest in a nipple pointed ball. She touched it with a finger tip and a whoop of surprise escaped the sissy. He was mesmerised by his extended nipple, watching it, hoping that Sheila would caress it again. Instead she treated his other nipple in the same way, until another circle of fine fabric clothed it in a ball by the time she had tied it into a little ribbon bow underneath. "Does Baby Chloe want to feel her little titties, Pantykins? Does she want to play with them herself?" Sheila lifted one of his hands and brought it close to the balled pair of tits. "Chloe's titties are so soft and wuverly, aren't they?" she cooed. He was afraid to touch, but summoned his courage, and took one of them between two fingers and a thumb. He wailed with ecstasy, rotating his nipple and aureole between his fingers. His lips hung open with passion as his other hand looked for the other. His eyes closed with pleasure as both sets of fingers frilled and rippled his dressed nipples. While he pleasured himself Andrea saw that Mommy's Little Controller had been removed from his penis and Sheila had a sheath in similar gossamer fine material ready to slip over it. Her gelled fingers brought a grizzle of passion from the baby's lungs, as she spread it out over every part of his member and scrotum and further, over his groin. The little garment closed round his shaft, which stiffened noticeably as it surrounded his delicate parts. The ribbon pulled it tighter all over his genitals, gathering it into a little ribbon bow behind the upright root of his penis. As with his nipples, the tighter the casing pulled, the more its fleshy contents swelled with his strong desire for tactile stimulation. "His tits are longing for his dresses, Sheila," said Andrea, smiling with anticipation and delight. "His tits and his clitoris," laughed the doctor. "But this is how it should be: he must have dress contact in his most sensitive places. We're ready for Wuverly dresses, aren't we, Chloe Pantykins? Shall Mommy and Doctor Hood take Baby to his wuverly dress bag?" Between them, the women lifted their helpless baby. He was holding his legs and arms as wide apart as he could as if he needed to take care of his newly delicate parts... to protect them until they could meet the dresses he had heard about. Andrea backed in through the bedroom door, with Sheila and their baby bundle following, and the time had come for Baby Chloe to be put into his dress bag. "Let's pop our baby girl down here for a moment," said Sheila. "Baby Chloe can feel lovely in her new titties and clitty, ready for her wuverly girly dwesses, while we get her beautiful Baby Girl Dwess Bag ready." They set him down in the heart of the big armchair Andrea used for dressing and feeding her husband, while Sheila and Andrea approached the bed. "I love this lemon silk dress with satin coatee," said Andrea, gasping with delight that her unfaithful husband would soon be kissing it and snuggling his bare skin all over it." "Let's see," said the doctor, lifting the hem of the dress and finding a small label clipped between the skirt and its lining. She showed Andrea. "Felicity Curran," she read, "aged four and three-quarters." Andrea looked with astonishment. "Is that...? Does this dress...?" "...belong to Felicity Curran? Yes it used to, now contributed to Mommy In Control. Her mother will be a member, and like all of us, she's keen to have stupid and unfaithful males re-conditioned with the help of her daughter's dress." The doctor felt under the white satin dress beside it to show the label. "Oh, this one was Felicity's as well, look." "How gorgeous! So he'll be smothered in dresses from lots of girls, then?" grinned Andrea, her pulse driving twice as fast. "Look: Anita Featherly, aged six; Marie-Claire Geroux, aged three and a half..." They looked at twenty labels and told Baby Chloe about all of them, so that he was gasping in his spread-eagled posture in his chair, showing the women his delicate bits and how erectile and desperate they were for contact with his lovely dresses. "Shall we put Chloe Pantykins into her lovely girls' dwesses den?" said the doctor, turning back to him. Andrea was there too, and they lifted him between their pink and white aprons of cold rubber and carried him across to the sea of beautiful dresses. "This way a fraction," said Sheila, sliding his bare back from a summer frock of glazed white cotton onto a Barbie dress in hot pink satin. "Baby Chloe's handie," she said, lifting a dress of primrose silk overlaid with chiffon and dropping it in sizzles over his arm again. He was similarly slipped between pink and pale orange dresses on his other side. As he lay in his dresses, an extra strip of pretty dresses was lifted from one side and slid over him, landing across his body in a hiss of rustles and closing him into a double layer of little-girl dresses from below his feet to his chest. A wail of sheer bliss escaped him as his sensitive places were caressed with silky dress contact, followed by whimpers and moans of pitiful pleasure. The dresses were clipped in place, leaving him buried in a constantly moving heap of slipery pastel satin and silk. "Now for Baby's face dresses, sweetheart," cooed the doctor from the opposite side of the bed so that she looked down on him from above his head. From the side of the bed, where they had been hidden, a double row of party dresses rustled into sight and folded over him with his wife's help. Colin Costigan wailed in agonies of pleasure. He wanted dresses... he wanted to be covered and fondled and slithered in them... but it was too acute... too delicious... and much too girlish. "Little Chloe needs to be buttoned up inside her wuverly dwess bag, doesn't she?" said Sheila, arranging dresses over his head where they slithered and hissed, four or five dresses deep. "Oh look, you baby creature," cried his wife, helping to spread dresses around his hair, it's little Angelica Watson's dress in front of your nose. Isn't that lovely!" A whimpering moan escaped the peach coloured satin: "Kissy-kiss for Angelica's dwess," he whimpered, making both women burst out laughing. The top layer of dresses was folded over him, his head disappearing under rushes of satin, and Sheila turned her attention to buttoning him into his dress bag. The bag was a triple layer of pink satin in thickness, lined in beige, fastening down the front from above his head to below his feet with a dozen large pink dress buttons. Then the bottom of the bag folded back up itself, with another ten buttons fastening from one side across to the other. While the two women buttoned him in, the occupant of the dress bag wanted more contact, more passion, more sliding and pushing and wriggling, so that the bag shimmered and rustled and changed shape continually. "Now we lift our helpless little darling into a half dangle, half roll position on the bed," explained Sheila. On either side of the bed, the trolleys themselves had been opened out into two upright pylons, connected across the bed into a mini gantry. From its centre, thick ribbons of satin hung onto the bed, and these were what Sheila now fed through the rings stitched into the ruched top edge of his dress bag. Once threaded through and pulled tight, the top of the bag lifted clear of the bed, so that the soft, bulging bag of dresses nearly came clear of the satin bed spread. "What do you think, hon?" she asked as Andrea sat beside it and watched and listened. The bag bulged and changed continually, as its occupant warbled and cried out in muffled wails of ecstasy amidst the hissing of dress materials: stepping, cycling, waving, walking. Sheila showed her friend how a simple turn from the side was enough to roll the bag over, so that he slid into different little dresses with a wail of passion, provoking more slithers of desire... and all in a quicker slide towards total girlishness. "Oh Sheila," she said, "this is the happiest day of my life." She cupped her face in her hands. "How wonderful of you to let me have so many dresses for a day. And from so many little girls too. I'll take video footage later, when we take him out of his bag, to send it to that Victoria woman. And we'll have a record of the pretty frocks that turned him into a little baby girl." Sheila shook her head. "There's something you don't understand about the Satin Baby Dress Bag, darling," she said. "You don't take the sissified occupant out of it today, nor even tomorrow. When I gave him his bottle of jism earlier, I was giving him all the nutrients he will need for intensive ejaculations for two whole days." Andrea gasped with delight, holding her cheeks. "Then, when I come back to see you on Saturday, we take him out, we organise all the little dresses, and provide you with two dress closets... because when the Society awards Satin Baby Dress Bag treatment to a Mommy, she gets to keep all the little dresses." Andrea couldn't help it: she burst out crying, ruining her eye make-up with an outburst of joy. As she did, they both noticed the rhythmic sliding of the dress bag and the wails and moans that were rising higher and higher... to a peak... and a girlish squeal of orgasmic pleasure came from somewhere in the middle of the pink satin bag. "I'll bet that was Baby Chloe's Anita Featherly dress," giggled Andrea. "No," said Sheila, thoughtfully. "I think it was the Angelica Watson one with satin buttons down the lovely white bib and a wide peter pan collar between puffed pink sleeves," and they roared with laughter together, then turned over his dress bag for him to slide into a new set of lovely, frilly little-girl dresses. *** This story is in the Stephanie Room in Prim's Petticoat Wendyhouse