thank you mummy
 

 

 I was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the living room watching the Barney DVD my wife had put on for me, making sure I followed her instruction to “behave” and “not make a sound.” I felt ludicrous in my lemon-frilled party dress with matching ruffled panties, my feet jammed into patent black maryjanes with white lace ankle socks. My wife had dragged me back from the hair salon that morning, my hair expensively permed into ringlets, and placed a large bow in my coif that exactly matched the tittering yellow colour of my dress. To complete the picture, and to ensure my silence, around my neck was a wide canary ribbon tightly securing a large pacifier in my mouth, popped in with the terse instructions to “keep it there.” I knew what would happen if I didn’t.

How exactly had I gotten myself here?

Well, that silly escapade in college didn’t help. The lads and I had all run out of a pizza restaurant without paying and straight into the back end of a patrolman bringing a slice to his mouth. It was only meant to be a jape, but it hadn’t seemed so funny when the copper cuffed us, marinara dripping off his collar, and we all ended up in court. It only meant a small fine, I thought at the time. Then, at my first job out of uni, I had been caught up in a sting at work. The warehouse blokes were selling stock out the back door on the cheap. This was the early days of plasma; all the other sales reps had pinched TVs from them, and I wasn’t about to get left out. How was I to know the stock boys were under suspicion, that we’d soon be spotted on CCTV surveillance? I got a conviction for handling stolen goods, the only tosser in sales to lose his job.

But I was a stupid young man then. I got my priorities straight, and soon I met and married Julie. She was all I sought in life: clever, beautiful, athletic, and she knew her own mind. I thought it best not to tell her about my previous convictions – they were in the past. There were other bits from my past I didn’t bother her with either – well, one thing in particular. I didn’t tell her about my fetish for women’s panties. I had hoped this too could be irrelevant, but shortly after getting our first flat together, I succumbed to an urge to rifle through her lingerie drawer while she was out, enjoying the thrill of their feel all afternoon. While I’m at it, I’ll admit to enjoying the garments after they had been worn too. Perhaps worse still, my practices were not confined to my wife’s knickers. If we stayed the weekend at her mother’s house, I would often sneak off to examine her laundry.

What can I say? I wasn’t exactly proud of myself, but my failings were harmless, nothing criminal. That is, until Caroline moved into the posh house next door. She was a young trainee lawyer: slim, blonde and very bubbly. She was a “get ahead” girl, and she and Julie really got on well. She often came over for tea or drinks, and one night when the two of them were a bit off their trolley, I happened to overhear some loose-lipped discussion about garter belts and stockings. I began to entertain foolish ideas about examining her collection.

This was all just harmless fantasy, until I once again had an afternoon all alone at the flat. Caroline had just given Julie a spare key to water her plants while she was on holiday. I had everything I needed to cook up what I know now was a foolish plot. I told myself I wasn’t breaking in – I had a proper key. And I wasn’t going to steal anything – except perhaps a pair of panties.

So imagine my surprise, halfway through a furious wank in Caroline’s massive walk-in closet, when I look up to notice a CCTV camera. And when Caroline, freshly tanned on arrival from Marseille, entered her bedroom screaming bloody murder, she rushed to her bedside table and flipped away the cover on a small red panic button.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t push this – they’ll be a patrol car here in no time.” Christ, I thought – this will be my third strike! “Please,” I begged, “I have a record.” Turns out Caroline already knew this. She’d run background checks on all her neighbours. Of all the birds to trespass—you can see what fine luck I have.

“I’d like to know what Julie has to say about this,” Caroline spat as she grabbed my arm and marched me over to our house, scarcely letting me pull up my trousers, while she phoned my wife.

And thus, the truth came out. My past, and my biggest shame, in full view. Julie, humiliated and betrayed, told me I had a choice: I could face the charges and every domino that would fall as a result, or I could do as she instructed.


That was a month ago. And now here I am, watching this stupid Barney DVD. Whilst my wife is in the bedroom – her bedroom now, as I’ve been put in the spare room, or “nursery” as I’m told to call it – preparing for a date. That’s right: tonight I am graduating from a sissy to a sissy cuckold.

The door bell rang.

“Answer the door, Sissy,” Julie called from the bedroom. “It’s Mummy, I’ve asked her to come and babysit you tonight.”

My heart sank. My mother-in-law, Elizabeth, had always disliked me, always held her nose aloft as if I smelled suspect. Her suspicions weren’t far off, considering how often I was smelling her bloomers.

I opened the door and there Elizabeth stood. I expected the usual stink eye, but she was beaming at me. “Well, what have we here,” she cackled. “I’d been told about your new status, Sissy, but I really didn’t think you’d look this adorable!”

I frowned and waved her in.

“Oh dear,” my mother-in-law tutted. “I’ll see to it that you give me, and all your guests, a proper curtsey.” She handed me her large, heavy holdall, which must have weighed several kilo.

“A bit heavy, is it?” she smirked knowingly. “I’ve brought a few things along today. Listen, Sissy: I know you have taken the liberty of inspecting my panties on occasion. This evening, we shall sort out some redress for that behaviour, shant we?”

Just then my wife emerged from the bedroom, partially dressed in stockings and basque, her hair tied up and make up expertly applied.

“Hello Mummy,” she called “I see you’ve met the new addition to the household."

“Yes indeed, Julie,” she replied. “I think we’ll have some fun tonight – though not nearly as much as you will!” The two of them laughed heartily.

Julie returned to the bedroom, and mother-in-law Elizabeth turned to finally fix me with that stare of disgust.

“You know, Sissy, I’ve always had a hunch about you. I knew my daughter was too good for you, and now you’ve gone and proved it. I’m hoping she finds a real man tonight, someone who can give her the care and attention she needs.”

The thought of Julie cavorting with another man distressed me to my core, but it became clear I actually had the urgent need to pee. “This is all well and good, Elizabeth,” I said, “but I need to use the loo.”

“Two mistakes, Sissy,” she spat. “First, when you address me, you will call me Nana, not Elizabeth. Elizabeth is the name adults use when addressing me, and you are no longer an adult. Secondly, in keeping with your status, the washroom is off limits to you.”

I stared in disbelief. “But I need to use it, Nana,” I pleaded, hoping she would reasonably relent.

With a smirk on her face, she walked over to her capacious old lady handbag, the one I had carried in, and removed from it a pink plastic potty. Holding it up and showing it to me, she informed me that from now on, whenever nature called, I was to ask nicely for my pink potty.

I glared at her, but I hadn’t much of a choice: I could ask for the damn thing, or piss my pants. “Can I have the potty please?” I asked.

“Well, that wasn’t asking very nicely, was it?” she faux-moped.

I tried again. “Pleasei> Nana, may I have the potty?”, adding some wretched sweetness.

“Well, sissy, it’s a pink potty, and you have to ask for that, or you won’t get it. Shall I explain it again, sugar?” she laughed.

My abs quaked. “Nana, may I have the pink potty please,” I finally managed, not without telling desperation. “Of course, dear,” she replied with a smile, placing it on the floor in front of her. “Come here, and I’ll get you ready to sit on it.”

I took a couple of steps forward and suddenly felt her hands under my dress, tugging at my lacy panties. Instinctively, I put my hands down to do it myself, but she smacked my wrists away. When she had snaked the panties down my legs and over the patent maryjanes, she told me to take a seat.

“Now then, you can do your business, but you are not to get up until I tell you to. I want to make quite sure you are finished before you get up.”

It was quite uncomfortable. The potty was set very low, and I couldn’t manage to get my bits in a proper arrangement. Perhaps it was the awful position I was in, but suddenly I couldn’t manage to relieve myself. I was concentrating so hard that I didn’t hear Julie come into the room. But I could smell her fine perfume before I saw her, and from my lowly seated position I could see a whole of her beauty. She was dressed in a short pink ra-ra skirt with black fishnets and black stiletto shoes. Her amble breasts were accentuated by an uplift bra over which she wore a tight white blouse, unbuttoned to show plenty of cleavage, and over that a short black bolero jacket. Her make-up was elegant and enchanting, her lips a faint pink to match her skirt and long painted finger nails.

I hadn’t seen Julie dressed like that since we had dated so long ago. It reminded me of the amorousness and lust we’d shared then, how much redemption I had felt looking into her soft green eyes.

Those eyes filled with tears of ecstatic hilarity when they found me on the pink potty.

“My goodness Mummy,” Julie heaved, barely managing to form the words between giggles. “Why are you making him use a potty?”

“Because! Sissy asked to use it,” her mother replied, turning to me, “didn’t you sissy? Tell Mummy exactly what you asked me. Use your words, dear.”

Feeling the heat rise in my face, I replied: “Please Nana, may I use the pink potty.”

This set both women off in stitches. Julie began snapping pictures on her iPhone, showing them to her mother, which got them roaring again.

When they finally righted themselves, Julie told her mother that she was off for the evening, but not to wait up for her, as she was bound to be late. She bent down and kissed me on the forehead, her eyes holding me in nothing but pity. “Now you be a good sissy and do as Mummy tells you, otherwise Mummy will have to use the hairbrush.”

As I heard her car start and glide out the drive, I knew that my future would no doubt be as sodden as my past.