Oh Thank You Mommy For You Treat

When I took the job as her personal assistant, I knew she had a reputation as being difficult to work for.

She had told me herself that there would be long hours and that she expected a high level of attention.

And slowly, things started to change. While she was constantly demanding, constantly pushing, there was the occasional bit of praise.

Oddly, instead of being upset, I found myself hunting for those bits. Pushing myself more and more to please her. Until I found myself needing to.

And that was how she slowly worked her way into my mind.

She has made me so much more than her personal assistant, now. And so much less.

I work from home now.

Her home.

I am at her beck and call. The hours are long. Including nights. Including weekends. In fact, 24/7.

But I don't mind. She does the thinking for me, now. I no longer need to dress for work. In fact, I no longer need to dress at all.

And the rewards are endless.

On my knees.

At her feet.

Spiraling into the Void...

This might be her first night sitting for me, but it sure as hell isn’t her first time sitting a sissy in diapers. She knew just how to turn the humiliation all the way up from the get go. Not to mention wasting no time in taking away any pleasure from diapers with that little pink cage!

You hate how she treats you like a toddler in your own home. That you bought.

Ever since you became incontinent it’s been like this. She doesn’t make you wear printed diapers. You don’t sleep in a crib. She doesn’t shove a pacifier in your mouth when you're fussy.

But you still get treated like a toddler anyway. She just doesn’t even acknowledge that you’re an adult anymore. She listens to you like you’re a toddler rambling about rainbow-colored snowflakes even when you’re trying to discuss the mortgage payment.

All you hear is “that’s great, sweetie” in that dismissive tone. She’ll help you with basic tasks like tying your shoe like you don’t know how to do it yourself.

You can be in the middle of a business meeting when she will come in to your office to check your diaper. If it’s wet, you have to excuse yourself while she changes your diaper. You don’t have any say anymore.

When her friends come over they treat you like you’re a kid who came to the party because your babysitter canceled at the last minute. They put the tv on for you and expect you to not “interrupt the adults.” The only time you’re acknowledged is when your diaper is changed.

You don’t understand how you can be treated like this. You’re an adult, one who built his own company and bought for this house. How can they not see that? How can they treat you like a child?

But as you toddle into the kitchen, you see the last remaining proof that she knows you’re an adult. She’s not cooking you breakfast in a bikini for just any reason. No, she knows you still crave her.

But she won’t acknowledge that she’s cooking breakfast in a bikini. She won’t acknowledge your desire. She’ll act like there’s nothing special happening. Nothing will be said about it.

She is happy letting the situation speak for itself as you sit down for breakfast with her. You, in your swollen morning diaper, ready for a change. And her, in her bikini. Eating breakfast like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

That smile

Fifi this is the perfect dress you picked for my date with Mark, I can tell you approve, your silly little clitty is dripping from that little cage,  While i’m gone work on your chore list, my sister might stop by to check on you and you know how funny she finds it to extend that release date.   Well come over and kiss my shoes to wish me luck, behave little Fifi. Ciao

thinking ab slapping him and telling him to shut up (i do not want him to shut up i just want to hear him whimper after i say it)