Jennie's Potty-Training chapter 20

Thank you for posting those comments after the last chapter. I really appreciate your thoughts. Sorry for not posting for so long, but I moved house two weeks ago and the internet wasn't connected until today. (Bloody Telstra NBN!)
Synopsis'; Aunty Cath decides to become more involved with Baby Jennie's diaper-discipline and potty-training.

Chapter 20. New Furniture for an Old Baby

I awoke on my back to the unpleasant sensation of having my dummy teat ripped painfully from my mouth. I found the nipple of a fresh baby bottle being forced between my smarting lips in its place. I sucked automatically on the familiar silicon teat and tasted cool fresh water. When I swallowed and opened my sleepy startled eyes, I found Aunty Cath leaning over the high side railing and smirking down at me, her hand wrapped around the end of a huge pink plastic baby bottle. Her long ruby nails were a perfect match for her glossy red lips, which glistened moistly in the golden afternoon glow. Her bemused emerald gaze drifted down over my nappy crotch, bulging wetly beneath my snug pink plastic panties.

"Hold your own bottle for Aunty Cath like a good baby girl, Baby Jennie," she crooned in saccharine baby talk. The bemused smile on her generous painted mouth stretched wider when I clumsily obeyed. "Good baby!” As soon as she was sure I was securely grasping my bottle with both tiny paws, her hand drifted down over my tummy to lightly cup the swollen erection trapped beneath my infantile swaddling. “Ooo, what a wet little baby girl! Aren't you, 'Mummy's Diapered Angel'?" she insisted mockingly, as she crisply patted my bulging crotch. I knew it was true. I had saturated my nappy yet again while I slept - like the helpless baby I truly was. I sucked harder on the nipple of my huge pink bottle in embarrassment, confused when only a tiny trickle managed to leak out.

More cool water squirted down my throat when I chewed on the clear silicon teat and sucked even harder. I gratefully swallowed the few drops I managed to eke out. I didn't realise I was holding a brand-new oversize baby bottle, identical to the one Bonnie had bought me days ago. Aunty hadn't yet enlarged the hole in the nipple, as her youngest daughter had cleverly done. In order to drink from this bottle, I was forced to suck hard and tongue the teat against the roof of my mouth, just to squeeze out enough to slake my thirst - like real baby breastfeeding. When my cruel Aunty heard the loud sucking sounds I was making, she chortled in derision at the look of concentration on my face.

"Oh good girl! Suck hard on your titty-bottle, Baby Jennie," Aunty Cath urged me in condescending baby talk, as her patting hand grew heavier over my throbbing clittie. She squeezed my erect genitals viciously hard through the bulky wet layers, making me gasp in discomfort around the slowly dripping nipple. "Hmph! And I can see you love your warm wet nappies, too! Don't you, baby?" She didn't seem surprised to discover the erection poorly concealed beneath my soggy swaddling. Although she shook her head in disparagement, the strange sardonic smile remained plastered across her beautiful face.

I kept sucking thirstily as I glanced through the pink painted bars, hopefully searching for any sign of Mummy or my sister in the Nursery. We were alone. Angie's bed was empty, and my anxious gaze returned to my cruel Aunty's smirking face. She released her grip on my tumescent tool, stepped on the release lever, and deftly caught the wooden side rail as it dropped. Despite her grim demeanour, she looked gorgeous this afternoon, dressed in a short white denim miniskirt that hugged her tiny waist and her plump curvaceous bottom, and a shimmering low-cut, aqua silk blouse which must have buttoned up the back.

The daring short-sleeved top seemed to change from peacock blue to iridescent green every time Cath moved – or breathed. The gossamer-thin material hugged her proudly-upthrust breasts, especially where the soft flesh bulged to form a deep cleavage above the lace-edged cups of her cheeky red, D-cup bra. Below her mid-thigh white skirt, her long legs looked muscular and tanned, and she was wearing some strappy aqua high-heeled sandals on her dainty feet. Her tiny toenails were painted the same rich ruby shade as her fingernails, looking so pretty peeping out from the vamps of her sandals. Aunty Cath hoisted me onto the change table with disarming ease and lay me on my back, and I sucked harder on the stingy bottle teat when she ripped down my glistening wet plastic panties.

"What a hopeless, wet little baby girl you are!" Aunty Cath snorted disdainfully, as she dumped my frilly baby panties in the nappy bucket. “Those are too wet to use again!” She removed all four pink nappy pins and shoved them in the bar of soap on the narrow shelf overhead. Despite desperately willing it to go down, my throbbing clittie was still mostly hard when my Aunty lowered the drenched front of my nappy. I cringed under her silent evaluating stare. She was rough and uncaring as she wiped away every trace of pee-stained powder from between my thighs, savagely scrubbing my tiny wrinkled sack and my sensitive clittie until they positively shrank in fright. When I squealed in pain and clumsily let the heavy bottle fall against my pink tank top, I was surprised when no water leaked out of the clear silicon teat. Aunty grimaced at my girlish squeals as she lifted me down. When she led me waddling bare-bottomed into the bathroom, I glanced around in befuddlement.

"Where'th Mummy? Where ith Angewica?" I whined like a sulky, overtired toddler, "Why ithn't she being put on the potty after her nap, too?"
"Because your sister woke up before you and climbed out of bed all by herself. Angelica came downstairs and found your Mummy to tell her she needed to use the potty like a big girl. Isn't she clever?" Aunty demanded in a tone laced with irony, as she forced me to shuffle backwards into my low pink seat. "Now you need to sit on your potty and try and do your business for Aunty like a big girl, Baby Jennie. Go on, baby. Sit down and get on with the job." She pushed me back and I fell backwards into the humiliating baby commode. I gave a cry of alarm and dropped my bottle when the low wooden chair almost tipped over backwards.

"Careful, baby girl, careful! What a silly baby!" Aunty Cath chided me for my clumsiness before picking up my pink bottle and handing it to me. "Try and keep hold of your bottle, little girl. Drink up while you try and do your job on the potty." She carefully tucked my flaccid clittie under the front scoop, and I stuck the bottle nipple in my mouth and sucked hard to cover my embarrassment. Only a thin trickle of water rewarded my earnest efforts.

Aunty crouched over me and after looping the restraining belt over my tummy, she reached behind the chair to securely buckle it in place. Even though it was embarrassing, I felt a momentary thrill of pleasure when I heard my wee-wees noisily tinkling into the pink plastic commode, the instant she tightened the seat belt around my bulging tummy. We both heard the distinct sound. "Good girl! Cried Aunty Cath. “What a clever baby girl you are for Aunty, doing your wee-wees in the pot-pot! Good girl!" Aunty Cath almost sounded sincere when she praised me in honeyed toddler tones. "Good girl, Baby Jennie!"

I don't think she realised my bladder was emptying without any conscious control on my behalf. It was as though the muscles controlling my vital sphincters had atrophied from lack of use. I ignored that frightening prospect and clutched my bottle with both hands, tilting the bottom higher in the vain hope that it would make it easier to suck out some water. It was a good thing I didn't realise what a picture of infantile femininity I made at that moment - sitting bound on my pink potty, naked except for the pink ribbons in my pigtails and my embarrassing pink tank top - with the words, 'Mummy's Diapered Angel' inscribed in alphabet blocks across the breast - while suckling desperately from a huge pink baby bottle. I was pleased when after a few minutes of standing over me and watching my cowed performance on the potty, my smirking Aunty Cath left me alone in the bathroom to try and finish my business.

After my fifteen minutes were up, Mummy came to collect me. I failed to produce anything else in my potty by the time she checked. "Oh good girl. Aunty Cath told me you did a wee-wee in the potty for her. Good girl, Baby Jennie," Mummy faintly praised me, as she unbuckled the waist belt and helped me to clumsily stand. I wondered if she realised she was speaking down to me in syrupy baby tones, exactly as though she was talking to my toddler sister. "What a clever girl for going wee-wees on your pot-pot!" She made me stand still while she repeatedly wiped my dripping clittie with a handful of toilet tissue, grimacing and clucking her tongue in irritation when my little tap wouldn't seem to stop leaking. Then she made me turn around and curtly ordered, "Bend right over for Mummy, baby, and stick out that little bot-bot."
"You don't need to wipe back there. I didn't do a poo-poo," I plaintively complained.

She forced me to bend forward at the waist and sternly commanded, “Hold your botty cheeks wide apart with your fingers. Mummy needs to check, anyway.”
"No Mummy, don't! Aww, Mumma!" I whinged and shuffled my feet like a fractious toddler when she repeatedly wiped my sensitive rosebud, despite my whining objections. "No Mummy, don't! I don't want you to!"

The toilet tissue felt rough and coarse compared to the soft moist baby wipes she usually used on my sensitive puffy opening. I tried to move away and stand upright, but Mummy kept me in place by grasping the scruff of my neck with her free hand. "Keep still! Stop complaining, you silly baby," Mummy stiffly warned me, completely misunderstanding my protests. "You don't need to feel embarrassed, Baby Jennie. Toddlers feel no sense of shame or embarrassment when their parents watch them perform on the potty, or when Mummy has to wipe their bits and dirty bot-bots afterwards. So why should you? After all, you look and act like a silly little toddler - so why get upset when we treat you like one? Even if you are a teenager." Even though that wasn't the cause of my complaints, my cheeks began to turn pink with shame when she pointed out how humiliated I should feel needing to be potty-trained and have my bum wiped at my age.

When she was satisfied I was clean front and back, she disposed of the tissues by flushing the toilet. Mummy gripped my hand and led me shuffling into the Nursery. She lifted me onto the change table where some thick fluffy nappies already awaited me. I could tell there was an extra soaker pad stuffed between the cloth layers as usual, due to the added bulk under my rear. As soon as I was heavily powdered all over, she pinned the nappies over my hips so tightly, they almost cut into my tummy. "Lift those footsies and ballerina toesies, baby girl," Mummy ordered, with a grim smile for my swift obedience. She drew a crackling pair of clear plastic panties over my knees and ordered, "Footsies down, and lift that botty for Mummy."

Like the pink rumba panties I wore earlier, these transparent wetproof knickers had three rows of elaborate yellow-and-white lace frills sewn across the seat. "Good girl! Now botty down, and open those little legs wide for Mummy." When the tight elastic leg bands had been safely tucked under the crotch of my thick nappy, Mummy stepped into the walk-in wardrobe. She returned holding up a pretty yellow frock. It was so sheer, I could see all the way though it when she passed in front of the light from the window. "Your Aunty Cath wanted to see you wearing this dress this afternoon, sweetie," she informed me, slipping the filmy frock over my head and threading my limp hands though the short, elastic-cuffed sleeves. "It used to be one of Bonnie's favourites, when she was little - so light and airy on a hot Summer's day."

Mummy slipped my sheer white socks with the yellow lace trim over my daintily-pointed toesies, then produced a pair of white patent Maryjanes that were slightly scuffed over the toes. I knew they had to be one of the many pairs of feminine sandals my cousins had recently given me. "Ballerina toesies," Mummy crooned again, and she smiled contentedly when she eased the gleaming shoes over my stockinged feet and buckled them tightly in place. She exclaimed in delight, "Oh good! They're a perfect fit!"

When she set me on my slippery leather soles, my eyes were drawn as though by a magnet to my feminine reflection in the mirror. The pale-yellow dress was so sheer, you could see my tiny nipples right through the gossamer material. My hands leapt to cover them in embarrassment. My sparkling pink fingernails distracted me momentarily, but then I examined my new dress. The juvenile frock had a low round neckline edged with wide white lace, with matching lacy frills around the flared hem and the short, elastic-cuffed sleeves.

When I twirled around to check the rear, the floaty frock flew up high around my slender waist. I stared over my shoulder, waiting impatiently for the flounced hem to settle so I could see how much of my infantile underwear would be exposed to casual view. The lace edging on the hem softly settled on top of the lowest layer of yellow-and-white lace frills dancing across the seat of my rumba panties, leaving the sagging white crotch of my bulky nappy completely exposed beneath the transparent plastic pilchers, front and back. And I wasn't even wet yet!

Mummy stood behind me and turned me around so that I faced the mirror properly, resting her hands on my narrow shoulders and smiling at our reflection. I plucked at the lace edge of my filmy frock in front, fruitlessly trying to cover my bulging panty crotch.

"You really do make a darling little girl," she complimented me. I couldn't prevent the shy smile drawing apart the corners of my pink-stained lips. But then Mummy's smile vanished like it never existed, and she shook her head ruefully as she reached around and clipped my pink dummy to the wide lacy collar of my yellow toddler frock. "If only you would learn to use the potty and grow up!" My tremulous smile faltered but before I could respond, Mummy took my hand and hauled me out onto the landing. I awkwardly waddled towards the top of the stairs after her.

When my shiny leather soles slipped on the carpet, she jerked me upwards by one arm until I clumsily regained my balance. She sternly cautioned me; "Careful, baby!"
"It'th thethe shoeth! They're too thwippewy!" I shrilly complained.
Mummy frowned down at me in irritation. "Too slippery? Then maybe you'd better bump your way downstairs on your bot-bot, little one - like a real toddler."

I shoved my dum-dums into my sullen mouth to cover my protruding bottom lip. When Mummy led me to the top step, released my hand and paused expectantly, I grumpily flopped onto my heavily padded rear. I let my slippery soles slide down onto the step below. "Go on, baby," she urged me in crooning toddler tones as she waved in indication. It was as though she was encouraging a real baby girl to perform for her Mummy. "Show Mummy how you bump your way downstairs on your bot-bot, all by yourself. That's it. Oh, good girl! That's the way, baby." She continued her stream of syrupy faux-praise as I slid down step by step like a small child on my puffy padded rear, following me all the way to the bottom. "That's it, baby girl. Oh good girl! Who's a clever baby? Hmmm? My Baby Jennie! That's who! Yes she is!"

I felt even more embarrassed when I realised my smirking Aunty Cath had watched the entire humiliating charade from the kitchen doorway. I glared up resentfully at Mummy when she took my hands to help me to clumsily stand, which merely drew a sharp snort of callous laughter from her sister. "Don't you give me any of your filthy looks, little girl!" Mummy tartly reprimanded me. "If you keep behaving like a baby - we'll treat you like a baby. Now come with Mummy, baby girl." I pressed my dum-dums into my mouth with my free fingers to help conceal my sulky expression, and tried to avoid Mummy’s intimidating gaze.

She dragged me by the hand into the kitchen, where Aunty Cath stepped back cradling a fresh mug of tea. "Very pretty!" Aunty announced, as she watched me waddle past with my bottom lip protruding resentfully. "Your cup of tea is on the bench," she said to my mother, indicating the steaming blue mug with a nod of her head. "Your big baby girl looks almost as cute as Bonnie did in that frock - when she was about six years old. I really think yellow is Baby Jennie's colour," she commented with an enigmatic smile. She fluffed out the flounced, lace-edged hem of my floaty new frock over my diapered hips. "Doesn't she look darling?" I was glad my sulky mouth was mostly concealed by the wide pink guard of my dum-dums, and I resentfully sucked harder on the amber rubber teat.
"Yes, she looks very pretty," Mummy responded, in a tone that sounded like she couldn't care less at that moment.

"I'm so glad you two had that little…'chat' yesterday morning. My girls have cupboards full of old clothes I can give you for your special little girl. Where's your bottle, Baby Jennie?" Aunty unexpectedly asked me, and for a moment I couldn't remember. I busily chewed on the rubber teat in my mouth as I concentrated.
"I weft it in the barfwoom upthtairth," I mumbled around my mouth-filling dummy, wondering which 'chat' Aunty was talking about.

"You left it in the bathroom upstairs, did you?” Cath demanded. “Well, you'd better go and fetch it, little girl! You shouldn't leave your baby bottles lying around, child. They might get germs!" Her alarmed tone carried a note of dire warning.
"Yeth Aunty Cath," I responded, trying in vain to keep the surly tone out of my voice. All that did was make me sound like an irritable two-year-old.

"Off you go, baby! And make sure you bump your way back downstairs properly, little girl, like a good baby should. Off you go, quick-sticks!" Aunty Cath encouraged me on my way with a hard swat on my padded posterior, and I squealed like a frightened little girl as I hurriedly waddled away. I clumsily dashed upstairs as fast as my bulky nappies would allow me, wondering fearfully if Mummy had told Aunty Cath about my embarrassing confession on the change table.

I resentfully bumped my way back downstairs like a useless toddler, blushing with shame even though I felt certain no one was watching. I was terrified of disobeying my strict, domineering Aunty Cath. When I shuffled down the hallway clutching my half-full pink baby bottle, I heard my Aunty saying to Mummy, "You don't have to make your mind up now. Harry dumped all the furniture on the street for the council collection this coming Saturday morning, but I had April and Bonnie carry or wheel all the stuff I thought you might need into my garage. You can come and have a look this afternoon, if you'd like?"

Their conversation abruptly halted when my leather soles crisply struck the kitchen's linoleum floor. Both women turned to stare appraisingly at me over the rims of their mugs as I noisily waddled closer. I knew whatever they were discussing probably involved me, and tried not to imagine what new humiliations they had dreamed up for me.

"Give me your bottle, baby," Aunty Cath gruffly ordered. She held out her hand and imperiously curled her fingertips until I meekly handed it to her. "This is the stuff I was telling you about," she said to my mother, picking up a conversation from earlier. After unscrewing the nipple, she stood the huge baby bottle on the counter, and then she opened a white plastic bottle she took from her handbag. She poured about half a nip of the contents into my baby bottle, and the dark green liquid swirled inside the water. Aunty Cath gently shook the baby bottle to mix the contents, until the water turned an even, transparent light-green. She screwed on the pink cap and handed it to me with a sly smile. "There you go, baby girl. Suck it and see."

I spat out my dummy teat, letting it dangle against the filmy bodice of my yellow frock. I frowned in suspicion at my smirking Aunty before I tentatively raised the clear silicon teat to my mouth and tilted the bottle up. I hesitantly sucked on the nipple and was pleasantly surprised to find the water now had a crisp minty taste. I couldn't prevent a tiny smile creeping across my face as I tilted the bottle up and sucked harder. "See?" Aunty Cath turned to my mother, smiling triumphantly, and then continued; "I told you she wouldn't mind the spearmint flavour. The chlorophyll liquid acts like a deodorant, and will reduce the stench of her urine and stool considerably. Just make sure she drinks thirty ml. per day in ten ml. doses, preferably mixed in three different bottles of water." Aunty placed the white plastic bottle of chlorophyll liquid on top of the kitchen bench for Mummy.

"Thanks for that, Cath. I hope it works," my mother replied, but she didn't sound particularly confident.
"Wait till tomorrow. I'm telling you; her pee-pee won't smell at all by then." I plucked the bottle nipple from my lips and winced away in fright when Aunty Cath loomed over me, but she merely intended clipping a clean bibbie around my neck. "Stop cringing, you big sissy cry-baby," she sternly chided me. I clutched my bottle and glanced up at my domineering Aunty, pouting resentfully at the disgust in her tone. She turned back to my mother to add, "The only drawback is that the chlorophyll liquid tends to stain. It's not too bad when it's watered down; like now. But I would make your messy baby girl wear a bibbie whenever she has a green bottle, nonetheless."

After snapping home the two chromed fasteners behind my neck, she stepped around to face me. With uncharacteristic kindness, Aunty Cath unclipped my dummy chain from the white lace collar of my filmy yellow frock. Smiling broadly, she reattached it to the similar wide lace edging the collar of my pale-yellow bibbie. As soon as she stepped back, I pressed the heavy bottle against my body with one arm and with my free hand, grabbed the delicate white lace sewn around the bottom of my bibbie. I tilted it up so I could read upside-down the embarrassing words I knew had to be embroidered there. The message proudly proclaimed in shimmering golden thread; 'I'm a sissy pissy cry-baby!' My cheeks turned crimson with shame, and I tried in vain to suck back the humiliating tears that welled unbidden in my rapidly-blinking blue eyes.

Cath's emerald eyes narrowed when she saw my eyes glistening and my long lashes fluttering, and her sensuous upper lip curled in contempt when I sniffled loudly. "Aww! That's right! You're a big, sissy pissy cry-baby, aren't you Baby Jennie? I wonder if you're wet already? Are you, baby? Is your nap-nap wet yet, diddums?" Aunty teased me in condescending, saccharine toddler tones.

"You told me her nappy was drenched again after you got her up from her nap, didn't you?" Mummy asked her sneering big sister.
"Yes, I found her curled up in her crib sucking her dum-dums, wet through!" Cath turned her disdainful gaze on my cringing form before demanding curtly; "Weren't you, baby girl? Tell Mummy," she sternly commanded.

"I- I- I wet my nappy, Mummy," I admitted shamefacedly, before childishly attempting to excuse my infantile behaviour. "But it happened when I wath athleep. I'th not my fault! I wath althleep, Mummy!" I protested, whining like a cranky two-year-old. My frowning Aunty crouched in front of me and slipped her fingers inside one leg hole of my tight-fitting baby panties to check my nappy crotch. I sniffed loudly as a single unstoppable tear trickled down my bright red cheek, and I snivelled resentfully, "Honetht! I wath athleep, Mummy! I couldn't help it!"

"Such a sissy pissy cry-baby," Aunty Cath spitefully criticised me. "My, my! Her nappy is still dry!" she commented in wide-eyed surprise to Mummy. She removed her probing fingers and rubbed the dry tips together and sniffed them, as if she couldn't believe her eyes.
"I only got her off the potty a few minutes ago, remember?" Mummy reminded her, "She managed to do a wee-wee in her pot-pot for Mummy at last."
"Even so, I doubt that she'll stay dry very long, Isabell," Aunty Cath cruelly predicted. "You know what a hopeless little panty-wetter she's always been."

Tears of shame began to trickle down my blazing hot cheeks and I sniffed heavily to prevent my nose from running. My callous Aunty turned to me with a frown marring her beautiful features. "Oh stop all that sooking and snivelling, Baby Jennie! You're such a sissy cry-baby! Go and play with your sister in the sunroom, little girl."
"Make sure you call one of us if you need the potty, baby," Mummy sternly reminded me.
"And make sure you finish that bottle before I come and check that nappy again, you little sook! Go on, you sooky little cry-baby! Leave the grown-ups to chat. Off you go!" Aunty Cath's broad palm was startlingly loud when it connected with the puffy seat of my thick rumba panties. I clutched my sloshing bottle and danced away from her in terror, brushing away the shameful tears from my burning red cheeks.

Angie was preoccupied watching TV when I waddled into the sunroom. She barely gave my tear-streaked face a second's glance before her disinterested, cornflower-blue eyes returned to the flickering screen. Rather than sit beside her, I stood behind her off to one side, and started sucking on the teat of my baby bottle. It took a real effort to draw out a decent mouthful of green water - but I was thirsty, and I sucked harder and swallowed as I blinked away the tears. When Angie seemed oblivious to my presence, I sidled closer to the doorway to the kitchen and tried to linger within earshot of the grown-ups. I felt certain Mummy and Aunty had been talking about me when I returned with my baby bottle, and I was curious to hear what my Aunty had to say. I tried to quietly slurp the spearmint-tinged water from the stingy nipple as I listened intently to their conversation.

"Oh Isabell!" Aunty Cath sounded exasperated, a common event for her. "You must remember them," she insisted forcefully. I heard my mother loudly sigh at her big sister's crude coercive tactics. "You've met them. They lived directly across the road from me for more than ten years, after all. An older couple - Harry and June - with their sixteen-year-old retarded daughter. She had cerebral palsy, and spina bifida, too, I think - plus a raft of other medical problems. The doctors never expected her to make it to puberty, but I'm sure she turned sixteen before she died. Although she was no bigger that your average twelve-year-old."
"Did they move her about in some kind of pink wheelchair?" Mummy asked, sounding uncertain. I could tell from her tone she was struggling to remember.
"Yes, that's right! Although it was more like an oversized toddler's stroller, with suitable child-restraints and everything. I know! You met them last Summer, when you were leaving my place with the kids one Saturday afternoon. The Andersons were wheeling Candy inside after a trip to the park."
"Oh yes, that's right! I remember. The poor thing," Mummy sympathised.

My callous Aunty snorted dismissively. "Poor parents, more like it! The child is dead and buried, but her death tore their marriage apart. The wife has left for parts unknown, and the husband… He's a drunken wreck! I found him reeking of booze first thing in the morning, hauling all this stuff out onto the street. When I asked Harry what was going on, he told me they'd sold the house and she was divorcing him. He was getting rid of everything and moving interstate. 'Too many bad memories,' he told me."
"How tragic," Mummy murmured sympathetically.

"Yes, well. Every black cloud has a silver lining, as they say. His misfortune is your good fortune," Aunty Cath parroted philosophically. "The main thing is; he was throwing away a whole lot of solid-steel furniture designed for an incontinent, adolescent invalid who needed to be safely restrained - including a highchair, that pink stroller you saw, and an almost-new, bigger crib. He even had a playpen for her!"
"A playpen?" Mummy repeated incredulously. I imagined her delicately-plucked eyebrows were soaring up her forehead, as were mine.

"Yes, a huge playpen made from stainless steel bars, but it's painted pink, too. It has a wet-proof padded floor, and was designed to keep her safely confined," Aunty Cath continued, in a tone that brooked no argument. "Candy could crawl around some, and even stand and walk for brief moments unassisted, so Harry had to make sure she couldn't get into mischief when they needed to leave her alone for short periods of time. Wait till you see the furniture," she chortled richly. "Poor Candice - the dead child - was a little retarded for her age. She was a huge fan of Disney cartoons, so everything is painted pastel-pink, with darling Disney Princess decals all over it. I'm sure your little sissy fairy will just love it!"

The following prolonged silence indicated my mother didn't necessarily agree with her big sister's interpretation of the facts. After an interminable time, Mummy ventured, "Maybe Baby Jennie will be potty-trained by this weekend as we planned, and we won't need all that st-"
"I don't think so," Aunty Cath abruptly interrupted her younger sister in her usual forthright manner. "She's always been an effeminate little panty-pissing, sissy cry-baby. I don't think she ever will - or wants to - grow up. And the lockable crib I've got in my garage is big enough to hold her until she's eighteen, if need be."
"What if I can't get her potty-trained?" Mummy muttered, sounding close to despair. I tried to blink back the tears of shame that suddenly filled my eyes to overflowing.

"You just hand Baby Jennie over to me. Three days," my Aunty promised. Her confidence terrified me. "You give that sissy pissy cry-baby to me for three days and nights, and I guarantee you - I'll send her home properly toilet-trained!" I heard the crisp click-clack of Aunty's high heels approaching the doorway, and I frantically waddled over to sit beside my sister.

When I plonked down onto my padded bot-bot knuckling away the tears, I realised my nappy was already a little moist between my legs, and the delightful humid warmth pressing against my clittie only stimulated my unreliable bladder to unleash once more. The soothing warm flow trickled out of me as I discretely rocked backwards and forwards on my comforting damp nappy, trying to ignore our overbearing Aunty as she poked her head around the doorway to check on my sister and me. I urgently thrust the clear teat between my pursed pink lips, tilted my baby bottle up high and sucked hard, chewing on the stingy nipple to eke out more water. I kept my blurry eyes averted from Aunty's gaze, swallowing the scant trickle though a throat thick and tight with shame. I knew I should have called out and asked Mummy to put me on the potty, but it was already too late - and I didn't want my strict Aunty Cath any more involved in my toilet-training regime than she was already.

I heard Aunty's high heels click-clacking away from the doorway and back into the kitchen. When I caught the distant murmur of their conversation resuming, I sighed with relief. I focused on drawing a thin stream of green minty water out of the narrow teat, careless of the delightful warm stream that simultaneously trickled out of my limp clittie. Angie was watching another episode of 'The Pony Club,' and I enjoyed watching the second episode with her. It almost came as a surprise when I heard the sound of air being sucked back through the nipple's tiny hole after I finally drained my huge bottle.

I was relieved I had finished it when Aunty strode into the sunroom and stopped in front of me. "Good girl," she murmured with a thin-lipped smile of approval. She crouched down right in front of me, snatching the empty pink bottle from my grasp and placing it aside on the carpet. Her short white denim skirt slid up her plump womanly thighs, and I caught a tantalising glimpse of her shiny red panty crotch before I timidly lowered my gaze. Aunty Cath wiped my damp lips and chin with my frilly bib, and grimaced at the trickle of clear snot that had oozed unnoticed down towards my top lip.

She wrapped the damp bibbie around my nose and ordered, "Close your mouth tight and blow, baby." I reflexively blew out hard through my nose, and felt a mass of warm snot spray from my flared nostrils. Aunty Cath carefully wiped my dripping beak and scraped off some slime from above my top lip, then let the dirty yellow bibbie drop to my chest with a condescending smile. "Lift up your dress hem high for Aunty, sweetheart."

I obeyed her softly-spoken commands automatically. Aunty Cath drew aside the tight elastic waistband of my transparent plastic baby panties, then slipped her fingers inside my humid swaddling. When I dared glance up at her frowning face, I shuddered at the contempt I could see in those brilliant emerald orbs.

"Baby Jennie's wet again!" Aunty Cath announced in a voice pitched loud enough to carry into the kitchen. I cringed at the disgust in her tone, and caught a flash of contempt in my sister's wide blue eyes before she turned back to the flickering screen. Cath loudly demanded, "Do you want me to take care of her this time?"
"Already? How wet is she?" Mummy asked, stepping into the doorway to frown down at me in dismay.
"Not very - not that it makes any difference. You told me she was supposed to come and tell you when she needed to use the potty, even if she didn't make it in time."
"Yes, that's right," my mother slowly agreed, although she didn't sound happy conceding the point.

"Alright then. You let me take care of your naughty baby girl this time," Aunty firmly insisted. "I suggest you take Angelica for a walk outside or something. Give me about an hour…" While she was talking, Cath loosened her silken hair and then gathered her long dark-brown tresses in her fingers. She re-tied them in a tight bun on top of her head, adding to her already-impressive stature. I stared in fascination at her magnificent breasts under her shimmering aqua top as they jiggled and swayed with every brisk movement of her raised arms.

"If you insist," Mummy hesitantly replied. "We could always drive down to the mall for an ice-cream…"
"What a good idea! A suitable reward for someone who is learning to use her potty like a big girl." Strict Aunty Cath had nothing but smiles for her fair-haired niece.

The TV show had just finished, and Angelica clearly heard Mummy's last muttered suggestion. "Oh Mummy! Yes please! Ice-cream, ice-cream, ice-cream," my sister chanted excitedly, but I could only frown despondently at the fate that awaited me. In moments Mummy had collected her handbag and car keys, and she escorted my bubbling sister out the front door without a word or even a backward glance for me.

I watched Aunty's receding back with rising dread when she carried my empty bottle into the kitchen with a purposeful stride. I was surprised when Cath returned a few minutes later clutching my toddler harness and the matching pink leather reins. I didn't see the additional small, pastel-pink, patent-leather straps she clutched in one hand, even when she snapped off the blaring television.

"Hands out in front, little girl, and hold your head up for Aunty." She threaded the pink harness over my obediently-outstretched hands and up my arms, and she fed my pig-tailed head through the appropriate loops. The heavy leather straps settled on my shoulders like the weight of the world. For a few terrifying moments I feared Aunty was going to drag me outside to publicly humiliate me. She crouched behind me and tightened the waist and chest straps over my spine. At least she didn't buckle the crotch strap in place, but instead tucked the dangling pink leather band under the chest strap in front. Cath stepped around to stand in front of me, and she bent forward until her lush breasts almost surged free from her lace-edged red brassiere. I openly gaped at my voluptuous Aunty's deep entrancing cleavage while she tugged my embarrassing stained yellow bibbie out from under the harness straps and smoothed it over my trembling breast.

She made sure my dum-dums was still safely clipped to my bibbie's frilly lace collar before she sternly commanded, "Reach for the stars, baby girl. Hold your hands high above your head for Aunty, Baby Jennie, and keep them still." When I swiftly obeyed, her tone instantly turned cloying. "Good baby girl! That's it, diddums. Show Aunty how you reach for the stars, Baby Jennie." I heard a tiny bell jingle and felt a narrow strap being wrapped around one raised wrist, and then Aunty seemed to be fiddling with a buckle. She repeated the procedure on my other wrist, and I was relieved when she told me I could lower my arms.

I found Aunty had buckled what appeared to be slim, pink patent-leather watch-straps around my slender wrists. They were snug without being too tight, but when I tried to turn my arms around to closely examine the buckles, Cath stopped me with a single raised finger and a sharp warning. "Ah-ah-ah! Leave those alone, little girl!" Her tone softened when she crooned, "Those are your new... 'baby bracelets!' I bought them especially for my naughty big baby girl. Aren't they pretty?"

Mystified as to their purpose, I rotated my hands back and forth to hear the sound of little bells merrily jingling. There was a tiny spherical brass bell attached to each pink strap, which made me think Aunty had buckled some fancy cat collars around my wrists. "Now put those handy-pandies on the floor, Baby Jennie, and show Aunty how you kneel on all fours like a little puppy dog. Go on! Good girl." I meekly followed her saccharine instructions, and then felt her clipping the pink leather reins to the rear D-rings of my toddler harness. The dangling teat of my dummy brushed against the carpet, and I grabbed it before fluff got stuck to it.

Aunty gave a single sharp tug to make sure the reins were well secured, and then dragged me irresistibly in the direction of the hallway. "Come on, baby girl," she urged me in condescending baby talk. "Come on, diddums! Crawl for Aunty. You can crawl from now on, like the silly little baby you've been behaving. Come on!" I helplessly followed the insistent pull of the reins, shuffling along after her across the carpet on my hands and knees like a clumsy six-month-old, making the little bells at my wrists jingle attractively. I whimpered abjectly around the dummy that somehow found its way back into my mouth.

"Baby won't learn," Cath muttered irritably, but it sounded like she was talking mostly to herself, "so Aunty will have to teach her a harsh lesson." I hesitated at the first carpeted step and dared to look up inquiringly at her. Another sharp yank on the reins dispelled any illusions I might have harboured of being allowed to stand. Her beautiful face was a mask of disapproval, her full sensuous lips pursed into a thin red line and her emerald eyes flashing in warning.

"No, baby girl," Aunty Cath scolded me in answer to my unspoken request. "You keep crawling up those stairs. You were supposed to tell Mummy or me when you needed to go potty. Weren't you, Baby Jennie? You want to act like a silly, spoiled, sissy pissy cry-baby? Well, Aunty will treat you like one. Get upstairs!" She practically dragged me up the steps by the reins. I clumsily scrambled behind her on all fours, jingling like Santa's sleigh. I was momentarily thankful my floaty yellow frock was so short, the lace-edged hem didn't catch under my knees and make me painfully face-plant in the carpet. I was so terrified as I awkwardly followed her, I began to uncontrollably soil myself!

"Oh no! No, no, Aunty!" I squealed in alarm, hot poo squirting into my warm wet nappy as I crawled onto the landing. "No Aunty! Poo-poo! Poo-pooth!" I wailed in distress, my speech temporarily lapsing into infantile blabbering when I realised I was helplessly wetting again, as well.

"What was that?" Aunty froze in mid-stride, and then she whirled around to tower menacingly over my prostrate form. "What?" Aunty Cath stridently demanded again, as she gathered the reins in one fist. I could feel her hovering over me like a ravenous vulture, and kept my guilt-ridden face turned away from her furious glare.

"Poo-pooth! Wee-weeth!" I sobbed too late, "I need to do poo-pooth! I need my potty!" She loudly sniffed the air above my bottom, then; SMACK! I shrieked like a terrified toddler when her hard hand came crashing down on my unreliable back door.

"I don't think so!" Aunty stormed in fury. "I think it's a little too late for that, baby girl!" Even as the next solid log tried to slide out of my tender opening, her broad palm loudly connected with the ruffled seat of my thick baby panties. SMACK! I gasped in shock as the emerging firm turd was slammed mostly back inside my straining poo-poo hole. SMACK! I squealed like a frightened schoolgirl and tried to crawl away, as far the reins would permit.

Aunty kept the leather reins curled tightly in her fist and pursued me, yelling, "Get into the Nursery!" SMACK! SMACK! "Go on! You dirty, bad little baby girl! Go on!" SMACK! SMACK! She spanked my bobbing bottom with such force, it hurt even through the many wet layers protecting me. SMACK! SMACK! "Keep going, Baby Jennie! Crawl straight though into the bathroom, you vile child!" SMACK! SMACK! I didn't see her collect the punishment paddle from the diaper bag, lying open beside the pink padded change table, but I felt the difference when it came slamming down on my dirty wet bottom. CRACK!

I squealed in real pain and crawled even faster. As soon as I scrambled onto the cold bathroom tiles, Aunty Cath unclipped the pink leather reins and tossed them back into the Nursery. She placed the wooden paddle aside on the bench seat and forced me to roll onto my back. I lay there snivelling pathetically and whimpering in fear. Aunty Cath knelt between my widespread feet and ordered sharply, "Shut up! I'll give you something to really cry about in a minute, you dirty, bad little baby girl!" Aunty unbuckled my white patent Maryjanes and removed them and my frilly anklet socks. She shoved the yellow lace-trimmed socks inside the shiny shoes, before pushing them out of the way under the vanity bench seat. She tucked the lace-edged front hem of my floaty yellow frock under the lower strap of my toddler harness in front, and then grabbed my right hand. The bell jingled gaily as she pressed my slender forearm against the D-ring on the chest strap, and in a trice, my right wrist was inexplicably bound to my toddler harness.

While Aunty grabbed my other hand and held it to my breast, I turned my head to stare in confusion at my trapped right wrist. I saw a tiny metal clip attached to the thin pink patent strap buckled around my forearm, which Aunty had clipped to the D-ring over my right nipple. Before I knew it, my jingling left wrist had been similarly shackled to the matching D-ring on the other side of my toddler harness. When I tried to wrench my arms free, I found the delicate patent-leather bands and the strong steel clips were unbreakable.

With a shark-like smile for my frustrated bell-ringing efforts, my cruel captor commented in evident satisfaction; "There! That will keep those naughty handy-pandies out of the way! Won't it, Baby Jennie?" She didn't seem to expect a reply, and I simply sucked harder on my dum-dums when she ordered me to lift my bottom. As soon as my hips were thrust high in the air, she reached under me to tuck the lace-edged back of my floaty yellow frock under the rear of my harness, safely out of harm's way. "That's the way! Good girl! Now botty down, baby," she commanded in syrupy tones, exactly as though she was talking to a real toddler girl.

When my puffy padded rear settled onto the tiles, Aunty Cath forced my bent knees even wider apart. "Lift those little footsies in the air for Aunty, bubby," she cooed, her mocking tone making me cringe even as I hurriedly obeyed. "Knees back, and toesies right up high, baby," she urged in that condescending saccharine tone. When she was satisfied, she reached down and placed her hand right over the big squishy lump bulging out the rear of my baby panties. "That's it, diddums. What a precious, big sissy baby girl!"

The heel of her hand rested over my nappy near the base of my spine, where the messy lump started. As she pressed down, she rolled her open palm forward towards my warm wet genitals, forcing the sticky mess to mash towards my balls and clittie. "Ooo, I can feel a big squishy lump in your nappy, little girl!" Cath chuckled, but she didn't really sound amused. She demanded in that sickly-sweet voice; "Is it all lovely and warm and squishy in there, Baby Jennie? Is it, diddums?" She poked and prodded the hot fresh turds trapped inside my warm wet nappy, mashing them moistly around my sensitive clittie until it naturally began to swell.

"Does that feel nice?” Cath crooned. “All that hot squishy poo-poos in our nap-naps?" My guilty blushes intensified when she moved her hand to cover my thickening clittie, and she commented with a cruel knowing smile; "I bet it does! I think my naughty baby girl enjoys doing big wetties and poo-poos in her nap-naps. Don't you, Baby Jennie?" How did she know?

Her hand continued crisply patting the swelling hardness she could detect bulging out the front of my dirty wet nappy, and I ducked my teary eyes away from Aunty's self-assured leer. I sucked harder on my dummy teat and refused to answer. "Don't you, baby girl? Hmm?" She sounded supremely confident when she murmured, "I'm sure you do." Her tone turned more cloying when she crooned, "I'm sure my sissy pissy cry-baby just loves it! Wiggle those widdle footsies about in the air for me like a happy baby, little girl. Go on! Show Aunty how much you love the feel of your poopy wet nappy."

Too terrified to disobey her, I waggled my bare feet in the air, kicking and thrashing my pink-painted toesies in a poor imitation of a contented baby. She continued crisply patting the bulging crotch of my noisy wet plastic panties, the loud swats growing heavier and harder.

My trapped hands thrashed uselessly in front of my bosom all the while, making me feel even more helpless. Despite the terrifying circumstances, my thickening clittie swelled even more under her swatting cupped palm, until it visibly tented out the front of my filthy wet nappy. "Ooo! Look! Who's a happy poopy baby? Hmmm? Look how much you love your dirty wet nap-naps!" Aunty Cath laughed as she ruthlessly squeezed my sensitive stiffie through the pissy wet cloth. It was a cruel sadistic sound. Finally she decided; "That's enough playtime, little one. Footsies down flat on the floor, Baby Jennie. Now lift that botty, baby." She ripped down my snug plastic panties with such force, my stinky wet nappy was almost pulled down at the same time. Thank goodness Mummy had pinned it so tightly!

"Bot-bot down now, baby." Aunty left my crackling baby panties bunched around my ankles, and as soon as my messy botty dropped to the tiles, she loosened the pink plastic, child-proof caps, and unsnapped the huge steel nappy pins. "What a dirty little girl," she muttered crankily, placing the four pins aside on the vanity bench. "Your mother thinks treating you like a silly baby will cure you of your bedwetting and pants-wetting. And believe me, Baby Jennie, if you don't smarten up - I have some special furniture put aside for her that will ensure you'll always be kept bound and helpless, like a true infant - safely under control or under Mummy's watchful eyes the whole time. Is that what you want?"

Cath peeled away the yellowed front of my sticky nappy before I could respond, frowning down at my turgid excitement - before she was forced to turn her face away from the stench that was unleashed. "Pooh!" she cried in disgust, "Oh you dirty, disgusting little girl! Look at all that mess!" My thickening clittie was brown-stained and creeping up my tummy with excitement, no matter how hard I willed it to go down. She let the soggy nappy front plop wetly to the floor between my splayed thighs, and then leaned over my cowering form to open one of the vanity drawers. "I think Aunty is going to need some gloves for this," she commented frostily, slipping on a pair of the thin latex gloves from the cardboard box in the drawer.

Cath ignored my swelling erection for the moment and removed the damp soaker pad. She taped it shut before tossing the sodden disposable diaper in the bin under the vanity. I lay back and watched her through tear-blurred eyes, rapidly batting my long black lashes to clear my vision. She was extremely careful when she used my dirty wet nappy to collect most of the sticky waste from around my groin, although she didn't bother cleaning my stiff little tool. Then she gathered my ankles in one hand, thrust them high in the air, and folded my body in half, until the tip of my shit-coated stiffie bobbed millimetres away from the pink plastic guard of my dum-dums.

Aunty Cath kept my toesies forcibly pressed behind my head as she scraped away the worst of the solid brown mess trapped between my buttocks. Then she rolled me even further back onto my shoulders so she could tug the stinky cloth nappies out from under the small of my back. When she let my feet drop, she simultaneously slid my rustling panties up to my knees. I was surprised to find a damp but unstained section of my nappy still underneath my botty, but then she instructed in an enticing sing-song voice; "Footsies down, and lift that bot-bot high for Aunty, Baby Jennie."

Despite the baby panties trapped around my knees, I carefully planted my bare feet on the cold tiles either side of my filthy nappy, and clumsily obeyed her crooned commands. My waggling pink fingernails danced uselessly under my chin as I struggled to maintain my balance. Aunty Cath slid the soiled diaper from between my legs and carefully moved it aside. "Atta girl! Keep that bot-bot up in the air for Aunty, baby," she sang. I was confused when she dragged my stiff plastic panties back up my splayed thighs and over my messy bottom without wiping me down first. I knew I was still dirty down there - I could feel icky poo-poo sticking to me front and back - and she hadn't even pinned a nappy on me!

While Cath was preoccupied tugging the tight elastic waistband high around my slender waist, I discretely slid my fingers beneath my humiliating lace-edged bibbie and across the snug leather chest strap of my toddler harness, trying to reach the D-rings on the other side. The pink patent cuffs around my wrists were too tight to allow much free movement, and my candy-pink fingernails were too short to reach either the tiny buckle or the steel clip on the opposite wrist. I was trapped! "And bot-bot down, baby," she murmured. I dropped back down, my air-filled panties popping noisily around my tummy, suddenly aware that I was Aunty Cath's helpless prisoner!

Aunty knelt forward and reaching under my bibbie, groped for my harness. She grabbed hold of the wide chest strap between my floundering hands. "Sit up, Baby Jennie." She used the strong leather toddler harness to haul me upright, and I was uncomfortably aware of the sticky mess still staining my botty cheeks and my messy rosebud. I squelched moistly onto my frill-laden bottom, and the baggy plastic panties stuck to my sensitive skin front and back.

"The tight leg elastics on those rumba panties should safely contain any mess while I deal with your naughtiness," she commented with sneering certainty, her beautiful face inches from my own. Cath's lashes were long and darkened with mascara, and I noticed she had pencilled in her delicate arched eyebrows, too. I had to lower my fearful eyes from her unrelenting emerald stare, and then she snorted and released her grip on my toddler harness. "Get on your knees, you bad little girl," she commanded in a harsh no-nonsense tone as she deftly climbed to her feet. I scrambled to obey, moving clumsily because my wrist cuffs were still shackled to the chest strap of my toddler harness.

To be continued in chapter 21.

Please keep posting your comments here. I love to know what my readers think of my naughty sissy-baby story.
Hugs from Baby Jennie

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