Jennie's Potty-Training chapter 25

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Synopsis, Jeremy's best friend and next-door neighbour returns from her holiday and catches Baby Jennie all dressed up. Sally reveals to Baby Jennie's Mummy that Jeremy used to borrow her tutu and play ballerina dress-ups in her parents garage.

To all my readers - Merry Xmas and Happy New Year!

Chapter 25. Ballerina Baby Jennie.

When I woke up, I didn't know where I was for a few seconds. The pink bars enclosing me were familiar - yet different. They were made from pink-painted steel rather than the wooden crib bars to which I’d become accustomed. There were tall, pastel-pink, painted wooden panels at the foot and head ends, bolted securely to the high steel rails. When I stretched out, my toes barely reached the end. The one at my feet carried a huge likeness of the Disney cartoon character 'Sleeping Beauty.' The head end bore a life-size painting of the smiling blonde beauty from 'Beauty and The Beast,' drawn from the waist up. I had to admit, both Princesses looked gorgeous! I felt a pang of envy, wishing I could be a beautiful Princess, too. When I gazed through the wide-spaced bars I realised I was in my Nursery at home - but everything looked different. The room was bathed in the mellow yellow glow of afternoon sunshine, so I knew I must have slept for more than an hour. And no wonder! I had been exhausted by my busy session of playing babies with Tammy and Bonnie.

Angelica's bed was gone, and I spied a new pastel-pink dresser, a wide white wicker rocking chair, and a new change table where the old one used to stand. The low mirrored vanity against the far wall was the same, and I assumed Mummy was going to buy a new, more grown-up one for Angelica. The place looked weirdly empty without my sister's bed crowding up the spacious room. The Nursery was painted the same pale baby-pink colour, with the cute stencils of frolicking nursery-rhyme characters running at knee-height around the walls. But the posters stuck to the walls - of pretty ballerinas twirling and fluffy kittens playing - were brand-new. There was a high wooden shelf above the dresser that was new, too, and it was festooned with a line-up of seated dolls and teddy bears, some of which I recognised.

I found my usual pink baby bottle full of green-tinted water lying beside me. As soon as I spotted it, I spat out my dum-dums. I snatched up the huge plastic bottle and plunged the clear silicon teat into my mouth, gratefully slurping down the spearmint-flavoured water. I stretched out my little legs in relative luxury in the roomier, longer crib. I sucked harder on the nipple as I tried to recall how I ended up home in my Nursery. I remembered finishing my lunch in Aunty Cath's sunny back yard while sitting beside her pool, but it appeared that my cousin Bonnie and her friend Tammy had lost their appetite.

As soon as my Aunty disappeared from view, Tammy tremulously moaned, "I just wet my nappy again!" She didn't sound happy about it this time.
"Me too," Bonnie confessed in a low voice. "I almost shat myself when Mum told me she recorded what we were doing in my bedroom."
"Where was the camcorder?"
"Sitting on the shelf over the computer - and I think it was aimed at the bed."
"Oh my God!" muttered Tammy in horror, her hollow cheeks turning a whiter shade of pale.

They glanced my way, faces fraught with tension, to see if I had any inkling of the topic under discussion. I kept munching away and ignored their concerned inquiring looks, batting my wide blue eyes and trying to act as innocent as possible. There were limp shreds of lettuce and spots of barbeque sauce spilt all over my bibbie by the time I finished eating my yummy burger. I must have stolen at least half the girls’ fries too, before Aunty Cath came strolling out to fetch me. She ordered me to my feet and then unclipped my shameful messy bibbie, while commenting sarcastically to the girls; "I saw you naughty baby girls kept yourselves quite busy while Aunty Isy and I were out!"

Neither teen could look at her, and Tammy's red face looked blisteringly hot when Aunty Cath dryly continued; "I'd give your naughty bottom a sound spanking, Baby Tammy - but after watching your little… performance on that video - I doubt it would do you any good! I've called your mother instead. She's on her way over here now. You wicked baby girls can sit out here dressed as you are and wait for her." In a flash, all the blood seemed to leech from Tammy's gorgeous face again. She wobbled unsteadily on the padded vinyl lounge cushion like she was about to pass out.

I ignored Aunty Cath when she stuck one hand inside the snug elastic waistband of my Barbie-pink PVC panties to check my nappy. Fortunately, I was still mostly dry. "Come on, Baby Jennie. Hold Aunty's hand and I'll walk you out to the car," she ordered me with a condescending smirk. Then she addressed my hang-dog cousin. "Aunty Isy doesn't want to see you at the moment, Bonnie. She's too angry with you. But she's going to think up a suitable punishment for you. I've already told her - however she chooses to punish you is perfectly acceptable to me. You've been a very bad little girl, and Mummy is ashamed of you." This time it was Bonnie's turn to blush crimson.

My Mummy was already sitting behind the wheel of her white Camry when Aunty Cath led me toddling out the front. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when my Aunty opened the back door and lifted me into a huge toddler car seat. It was pastel-pink - of course - with pictures of Disney Princesses all over it, too. I glanced a trifle enviously at Angie's smaller, plain, musk-pink toddler seat sitting beside me. As soon as Aunty Cath securely buckled me in, she gave my bulging panty crotch a crisp farewell pat and brusquely kissed me on the cheek. "Try and be good, baby girl," she urged me with a thin-lipped smile. She slammed closed the car door, kissed my mother’s cheek and walked off.

Before Mummy drove away, she leaned one arm over the back of her seat and turned to face me, her expression worried. "Are you okay, baby?" she demanded, her pretty face creased with concern.
"Yeth Mummy," I replied around a cavernous yawn, catching my dummy as it fell. "I'm tired but, Mummy," I finished, unable to keep the childish whine of complaint out of my voice. "Are we going home now?"
"So the girls didn't mistreat you while Mummy was out?"
"No Mummy," I replied, sounding as exhausted as I felt. "Can we go home now? I wanna go home," I bleated, shoving my dum-dums back between my lips and sucking rhythmically on the soothing rubber teat.
"Alright, darling, alright. Mummy will take you straight home for a nap." She turned to the front and started driving, but I must have fallen asleep within minutes.

I lay on my back in my cot, one hand cupped over the soggy warm front of my nappy as I thirstily slurped from my huge pink baby bottle. Mummy must have released me from the car seat's restraints and carried me upstairs without waking me. I really must have slept like a baby! That thought made my sensitive clittie start to swell inside my warm wet nappy. I fondled the growing bulge I could detect through the clinging damp layers, thinking, ‘I’m just a baby - a helpless little baby girl.’ Then I started to recall the erotic scene in the cabana with Tammy, and instantly my throbbing clittie was as hard as it had ever been. I wondered what happened to the gorgeous petite blonde when her mummy arrived to pick her up? Was she destined to end up in diapers just like me? I tried to imagine what kind of punishment my Mummy would dream up for Bonnie, too.

"You've almost finished that bottle already," Mummy airily commented, startling me from my erotic diaper fantasies. "Good girl." I snatched my hand from my throbbing wet crotch and my smiling Mummy replaced it with one of her own. She must have been able to tell I was hard and excited inside my deliciously damp diapers, but she merely patted the tenting front of my Barbie-pink PVC panties and sang, "Ooo, such a wet baby girl! Finish up your bottle first and then I'll change your nappy, sweetheart." I slurped down the last remaining drops of spearmint-flavoured water, and Mummy took the empty bottle from my hands and placed it on top of the new pink-painted chest of drawers.

When she returned to the side of the cot, she glanced down to make sure her foot was treading on the release lever. She deftly caught the heavy metal side when it began to drop. It clanged noisily out of the way, sliding down until the top rail was almost level with the top of the mattress. "Here baby, let Mummy lift you down," she crooned, smiling invitingly. "Your new crib is a little higher than the old one, and Mummy will have to help you to climb in and out." As soon as I was steady on my feet, Mummy led me waddling slowly over to the new change table. It was taller than my old one, too, and a little wider and longer. When she lifted me up I found the vinyl-covered, padded top was softer than the old change table too. I thought the unending Disney Princess theme was a little overdone. Somehow the bigger table made me feel even smaller and more infantile when I lay back and compliantly spread my knees. Mummy unclipped the crotch of my pink onesie and moved the front and rear flaps out of the way. "Upsy-daisy," she cooed, smiling down at me when I sleepily obeyed.

My clittie was still mostly hard when she lowered the warm wet front of my nappy. Fortunately Mummy didn't seem perturbed by my slowly shrivelling stiffie. It perked up a bit when she scrubbed my shaft and ball sack with the cool moist baby wipes, but the head was still so sensitive, it practically disappeared when she scoured the sticky powder remnants from the delicate single eye. She powdered me generously front and back, cooing to me like I was her sweet baby girl while she massaged in the lightly-perfumed talc. Soon I was properly dressed in a comfy thick nappy and some fresh pastel-pink plastic panties. Mummy then sat me up and pulled my tiered pink gingham frock over my head and raised arms.

When my head popped free of the collar of my sleeveless dress, I found I was staring at Mummy's beautiful face from mere inches away, and there were concerned frown lines marring her normally-smooth forehead. Her olive-green eyes bored into mine and her tone sounded worried when she asked, "Baby Jennie? Why didn't you tell Mummy that your cousins had tricked you into wetting the bed?"

I paused for a few seconds, collecting my thoughts before I replied. "I didn't know, Mummy - until a few dayth ago, that ith. But I gueth I didn't bother telling you, 'cauthe I thought you wouldn't believe me."
"Why not, honey?" Even though she tried to keep her tone even, she couldn't help sounding affronted by my assumption.
My cheeks began to warm when I reluctantly admitted, "I've alwayth been a hopeleth panty-wetter, Mummy. You know that." She sighed and nodded her head in agreement, and I continued, "I thought it wouldn't make any differenth. Anyway, you decided to thtart our potty-twaining the next day, and I figured I'd be out of nappieth in a few dayth."

Mummy's expression turned mournful as she clipped the pink plastic chain of my dummy to the collar of my gingham frock. "Well that certainly hasn't happened. Has it, baby girl?"
"No Mummy," I sadly confirmed. She dumped my wet nappy and my damp Barbie-pink PVC panties in the big white diaper pail with my name on it. It wasn't until she lifted me down that I remembered that she hadn't seated me on the potty after nap time. "What about my potty," I mumbled around the teat of my dum-dums. She took my hand and led me waddling downstairs.

"After what I learned today, I think we'll delay your potty-training for the rest of the day, baby girl," Mummy replied with a kind smile. "We can start again tomorrow. Okay, Baby Jennie?"
"Yeth Mummy," I willingly agreed, relieved I didn't have to worry about accidentally wetting or soiling my nappies for one more day. But Mummy wasn't finished yet.

"But here's the thing, baby girl,” she added. “Your Aunty Bonnie may have been responsible for you ending up in nappies again - but she's not the one keeping you in them. It's up to you now, you know? You have to learn to be toilet-trained, sweetie. I don't want to send you back to school in nappies - but I will if I have to!" We reached the bottom of the stairs and she turned to face me once me. Her olive-green eyes bored into mine when she demanded, "Is that clearly understood, little one?"
"Yeth Mummy. I underthtand," I mumbled contritely, feeling my cheeks flush warmly with shame once more. If only I could learn to control myself!

We shuffled into the sunroom hand-in-hand, where we found my sister playing with her Barbies in her dollhouse. Angie's face lit up when she saw me waddling in, and she squealed in delight. "Baby Jennie! Come play Barbies with me." My two Barbies were still sitting inside the huge dollhouse, and when I took them in my hands, I smiled with pleasure at the tasteful outfits I had last chosen for them to wear. Mummy watched our contented role-playing games for a few minutes until with a smile and a knowing nod, she wandered off to attend to her own affairs. We must have been playing happily for about an hour before Mummy returned, carrying a purple sippy-cup for Angie and my usual filled pink baby bottle. She clipped a clean pink bibbie around my neck before handing me my bottle, and I accepted the heavy vessel gratefully.

I lay back on the floor with my head on my pink teddy, and sucked contentedly on my sloshing bottle of watered-down apple juice. It was the one with the nipple hole that Bonnie had so thoughtfully widened, so it was easy to suck out the contents. When the soggy wet front of my nappy cupped my sensitive genitals like a moist loving hand, I realised I must have already drenched my nappy more than once. Angie sat beside me drinking from her sippy-cup, and when I glanced her way, I could see her superior smirk around the purple plastic spout. Then I heard a high clear voice that almost caused me to choke on my juice.

"Hello? Mrs R? Jeremy? Hello? Is anyone home?" I heard our neighbour Sally Green's out-of-breath questions and the back screen door slam shut at the exact same time. Sally's family had been away on holidays for the last two weeks, and I hadn't noticed the Green's return. My heart froze when her pretty inquisitive face appeared in the kitchen doorway, just as she called out; "Jeremy? Mrs R? Mum said Angie hadn't RSVP'd for Daisy's birthday party- Oh! Hello, girls. Hi, Angie. Who's your little friend? Where's Jeremy?"
"Jeremy's gone," Angie replied with a contented smile. She pointed to where I lay on the floor. "Baby Jennie's here now."
"Baby- Oh my God! Is that... Jeremy? Is that you?"

The pretty thirteen-year-old was dressed in an oversized white, short-sleeved shirt, and a pair of baggy khaki shorts that hung to her knees. She was wearing a colourful bikini top underneath, and I could see the swell of her proud young bosom through the sheer white cotton shirt. Below her golden tanned calves, her sandshoes were old and scuffed, although her shoulder-length, tawny-blonde hair was centre-parted and neatly brushed. Her pretty face was narrow and angular, her chin slightly pointy. When she grew angry, she had a tendency to look hatchet-faced. Today her bright-blue eyes glowed from out of her smiling bronzed face, and she looked like she had just stepped off a beach - which she had.

I let my half-full bottle drop the instant I realised I was still nursing on the silicone teat, accidentally spurting juice all over my frilly bibbie. I was shocked by her unexpected appearance, and a jet of wee-wees uncontrollably squirted into my damp nappy. Sally had burst in so quickly, there was hardly time for it to register before she was standing there towering over my cowering diapered form. I lay supine on the carpet dumbfounded with hot tears of shame pricking my eyes, even as my damp nappies warmed comfortingly around my botty.

Sally bent down and stuck out one hand, poking my thickly diapered crotch with her fingertips and making me cringe in embarrassment. "Jeremy?" She demanded incredulously, "Why are you dressed like that, Jeremy?"
"Stop calling her that!" my sister shrilly protested, tossing Sally a forbidding frown. "Her name is Baby Jennie!"
Sally ignored Angie's strident objections to chortle, "Man, you look really cute!" She laughed even louder after she read aloud the humiliating message on my frilly bibbie; "'Little Miss Poo-poo Panties,' hmmm?" My cheeks were burning with shame, and I fought to hold back my brimming tears.

Sally Green was my best friend, and I didn't know how I felt about her finding me dressed in my effeminate baby clothes. We had grown up together, gone to school together, even attended the same classes for most of our lives. We were so alike when we were little - skinny pre-schoolers with matching shoulder-length, platinum-blonde locks and bright blue eyes, dressed identically for most of the seasons. Sally hated wearing dresses when she was younger, and always wore shorts or jeans. People often mistook us for sisters, and I think that was one of the reasons my Daddy made me cut off all my hair. It didn't help. Sally talked her mother into letting her have her hair cut into a short boyish bob too, for a couple of years.

By the time Sally was about nine or ten years old, she only owned two dresses - and I had probably worn them more often than she did. She didn’t mind, and she often encouraged me dress up in her old frocks while we played with her dolls in her room. She seemed to understand my odd fascination with all things feminine, and she was the only person I’d ever told about wanting to be a girl. Around the age of ten her fascination with ballet started, and Sally discovered her feminine side. From that moment on, everything changed. I had to accept that two or three afternoons per week, my best friend was no longer hanging around to play with me. She was mostly busy at ballet classes.

We still remained the best of friends though, and spent most of our vacations running in and out of each other's homes. Until about a year ago, just after she turned twelve. That's when Sally started to shoot up. She'd always been short and skinny, just like me - but suddenly she grew up - and out! Her bosoms developed in a matter of months, it seemed to me. At first there were only puffy baby bumps sticking out the front of her t-shirts, like fat oversized nipples. She used to complain they were tender and got really sensitive sometimes. If I ever accidentally bumped my elbow against them, she would scream in agony and turn away from me, cupping her sore boosies with her hands and moaning quietly until the pain dissipated. Then we went to separate high schools, and we saw a lot less of each other. The next thing I knew, she was almost six inches taller than me, her shoulder-length hair had turned tawny-blonde instead of platinum, and she was wearing a proper grown-up ladies' bra.

Even though Sally was still skinny, her bum had gotten much bigger, too. I thought a big butt would make her look awkward or unattractive, but strangely, her larger caboose seemed to suit her new curvy figure. By the time she turned thirteen, our conversations became oddly stilted. I couldn't help staring at my best friend's entrancing fleshy breasts or her curvy round bottom cheeks where they poked out from the seat her tiny short-shorts, and she must have noticed my newfound fascination. I think my hungry gaze made her uncomfortable, because I didn't see her as often after that. Even though she was only a few months older than me, now she was fully a head taller, and she always seemed to be busy with her girlfriends from highschool these days, anyway.

Mummy walked into the sunroom a few seconds later. She was as surprised by Sally's unexpected appearance as I, but dissembled swiftly. "Hello Sally! Welcome home! I see you've met my new big baby girl?"
"Hi Mrs. R!" Sally cried in greeting, before turning back to confront me. "So, Jeremy? You finally told your Mum about you always wanting to be a girl, huh?"
"I- Um… I- I-" I stammered, feeling my flushed cheeks turn a rosier hue.
"She mentioned it a few days ago," Mummy informed her, with an indulgent smile for me.
"Did you tell her how often you used to borrow my dresses?" Sally artlessly demanded of me.

My mouth couldn't seem to form words properly, and Mummy smoothly interjected before I could reply. "Your dresses too, Sally?"
"Oh yes," my best friend responded with a complete lack of guile, smiling at the happy memories. "Jeremy always used to love borrowing my dresses. He adored wearing my old ballerina tutu."
"That's not her name," Angie grumpily interrupted again, climbing to her feet.

"Your tutu, too?" Mummy tried not to look surprised, but couldn't keep the expression of astonishment from her face.
Sally turned to smile up at her and nod. "When you used to babysit Daisy for us, while Mum collected me from ballet classes every week… You remember?"
"It was only a year ago that Daisy started taking classes, too," Mummy replied a tad shortly, before adding in more sugary tones; "Yes darling. Of course I remember! Go on," she encouraged the smiling blonde teenager, who was momentarily lost in her pleasant memories.

"I thought Jerry would have told you?" My Mummy shook her head and smiled ruefully. Sally shrugged her shoulders and continued. "While mum was picking me up, Daisy used to drag Jerry over our place so she could put on one of my old tutus and play ballet school. I normally used to pass on my exercises and techniques to Daisy after my classes, and one afternoon about two years back, Jerry wanted to join in."
"Jennie!" Angie forcefully insisted, placing her tiny fists on her hips and glaring at my best friend. "Her name is Baby Jennie!" She stubbornly poked out her bottom lip at Sally.
"Shh, please darling," Mummy hushed her. "Go on, Sally."

Sally turned back to me to ask, "Remember, Jerry?" I was blushing violently, my mouth agape but rendered speechless for the moment. Sally's smile turned fond when she continued to my mother, "Daisy said Jerry wanted to try on one of my tutus, too. He was standing in front of the wardrobe, touching the satiny bodices and stroking the tulle skirts, until eventually Daisy told him to stop fooling around and try one on."
"And did he?" Mummy prompted. From her knowing expression, she looked like she had already guessed the answer.

"He sure did!" Sally cackled, with barely a glance at my scarlet features. "Mum and I came home to find Daisy and Jerry prancing around together in my old tutus. My sister was giving Jerry a ballet lesson, and he was doing quite well - until we startled him and he stumbled!" She laughed aloud at the memory and continued; "Of course he wet himself when we walked in on him. Remember?" Sally turned to me and asked with a condescending smile. "Do you remember that day, Jerry?" How could I ever forget? It all started out so innocently, a little over eighteen months ago. Sally was a few months short of twelve, and Daisy was still only five at the time.

When it was time to pick up Sally from ballet school, her mum Ellen usually dropped her five-year-old daughter Daisy at our place, for the twenty minutes or so it took her to make the return journey. Our Mummies often took turns minding each other's kids, whenever they needed to pop out on short errands. Even though Daisy wanted to go to ballet classes like her big sister Sally, the school didn't accept students below the age of six. She had to wait until her next birthday, later that year. On the afternoon in question, Daisy wanted me to play at her house, and the determined little girl took my hand and dragged me over to their garage.

The Green's have a spacious double garage, but one bay had been set up as a studio for Sally to practise her dance routines. Her dad had lined one side wall with tall mirrors, there was a sprung wooden floor built over the grey concrete slab, and a professional balance bar was mounted at the correct height on the mirrored wall. Sally even had a boom-box to play CDs, and when she cranked it up for dancing, it was really loud. Standing against the back wall was an old mahogany three-door wardrobe, and when Daisy ripped open two of the doors, my eyes nearly popped out of my head.

Sally had been studying ballet for a couple of years by then. Every few months her mum bought her at least one new tutu for the concerts and eisteddfods where she regularly performed. There were skimpy white practice skirts on one upper shelf, a collection of rolled-up knitted leggings and tights I could see in a half-open drawer underneath, plus an array of ballet slippers in the open space below the drawers. But it was the items in the full-length hanging space beside it which captured my attention. Dangling from some special plastic hangers were several full dance tutus, with stretchy satiny bodices and shoestring straps, and masses of frothy tulle skirts bunched below. There were a few different sizes, all in beautiful soft pastel colours, and the impulsive five-year-old reached in and grabbed a pretty white tutu that looked the smallest. I hadn't even noticed her stripping off her shorts, sandshoes and t-shirt, and she stepped into the frothy outfit and yanked the shiny leotard up around her skinny torso with practised ease.

I was lost in a world of my own, staring in fascination at the beautiful feminine outfits remaining in the wardrobe. When I tentatively caressed the soft satiny bodice of the baby-pink tutu closest to me, my body began trembling with excitement. My little pee-pee instantly grew hard inside my undies, poking out the front of my denim shorts as I hefted the frothy, musk-pink net skirts with my palm. I was amazed at the almost-weightless, gently bouncing material.

When Daisy spoke, her piping voice startled me so much that I almost wet my pants. "That one will probably fit you." Her next forward suggestion caught me completely by surprise, and I forgot to ask if I could use their toilet - although I knew it was useless trying to pee-pee with a hard-on, anyway. "Why don't you try it on?" I gasped in embarrassment and snatched my hand away from the fabulous feminine finery as if it was on fire, feeling my cheeks flush warmly with guilt and shame. "You can - if you want to." It was as though she could read my mind!

Daisy took control of the situation by brushing me aside and taking out the pretty pink tutu. She boldly held it up against my torso, and I was certain she must have felt my skinny body shivering with excitement. "It should fit you. Go ahead," she encouraged me with a friendly smile. "Try it on." Her smile turned furtive when she quietly added, "I won't tell anyone - if you don't want me to." It was as though she instinctively realised we were doing something wrong. I didn't know why, but we both felt this activity was something we should probably conceal from the grown-ups. I went to accept the shiny pink tutu from her with trembling fingers, but she ordered, "You have to take off your shorts and t-shirt first, silly! And kick off those sneakers, too."

I turned my back to her when I pulled down my shorts, because I didn't want her to catch sight of the embarrassing stiffie tenting out the front of my pee-stained white underpants. My t-shirt joined my shoes and pants on the floor, and Daisy handed me the shimmering pink tutu. I opened the bodice wide and carefully stepped through the leg holes under her direction, while nervously keeping my back to her. I dragged the leotard bottom up my skinny little legs. I pulled the snug but stretchy, baby-pink bodice up over my shivering torso, and when the frothy tulle skirts covered my bulging stiffie in front, I sighed in relief. Only then did I dare turn to face Daisy, who smiled broadly at my feminine appearance and nodded in approval.

"You look like a pretty ballerina now, too!" she commented with a delighted smile. She straightened the bobbing flared skirts around my hips and adjusted the shoestring straps over my narrow shoulders. My pulsating stiffie was clamped against my tummy by the tight leotard, and the engorged shaft felt so hot! Daisy then flopped onto her bottom, and I watched in amazement as the five-year-old competently tied a pair of glistening leather slippers around her slender ankles. It looked so complicated; I was sure I couldn't do it. Fortunately, I didn't even have to try. There were several worn pairs of proper ballet shoes lying in the bottom of the mahogany wardrobe, all in similar shades of dusky-pink. She clambered onto her hands and knees while she poked about in the wardrobe, until she found the shoes she was seeking. I noticed Daisy's rear end was covered by row upon row of thick fluffy white lace ruffles. Her ruffled bum looked really cute poking out from under the stiff tulle layers of her underskirts, and I wondered if my seat was similarly attired. Then she ordered me to lift up one foot, and she measured one shoe against my sole.

I couldn't see what she was doing because of the wide-flared layers of bouncing musk-pink tulle bobbing around my hips, but I obediently held up my leg and tried to keep my foot still. "These should fit you," she grunted as she sat back.
"I don't think-"
"Shush up," Daisy quietened me in a firm tone of authority. Before I could lower my foot, she slipped one dusky-pink shoe into place and started looping the straps around my ankle. "Put your foot down and keep still," she sharply commanded. "This isn't as easy as it looks."

It looked impossible when I watched her do her own, but I couldn't even see what was happening below my swirling skirts. It took her a few minutes to fasten both slippers on my feet, but as soon as the last strap had been tied in place around my calf, Daisy jumped to her feet. She dragged me onto the bouncy wooden floor, and as soon as I saw my reflection in the full-length mirrors, I stumbled in shock. Except for my short, platinum-blonde hair, I looked like a real ballerina! We both did, giggling in delight as we gaily skipped about to make our stiff skirts bounce as high as possible. The stretchy satiny bodice felt as smooth as silk when I ran my trembling fingers up and down over my flat tummy and bosom, and I sighed at the rush of feminine feelings the slick sensations provoked.

Glad that my erection was still safely concealed from sight, I faced away from the mirror and glanced back over my shoulder, and then bent right over to check the rear view. Under the multiple swishing layers of musk-pink tulle, my little botty was covered by a mass of frothy baby-pink ruffles, too. I thought the extra padding over my seat made my bottom look rounder and more feminine - and somehow more attractive. My tiny feet looked so dainty in the flat ballet slippers, too, and the pink leather straps winding around my slender calves looked so pretty.

"Now come with me to the practice bar. Let me show you some things," Daisy bossily insisted. I meekly followed her directions, learning how to do the regulation warm-up stretches at the bar and attempting my first clumsy plie. My little stiffie was still hard but the concentration required to hold some of the strange uncomfortable poses eventually made it wilt. Despite the effort involved, I was having fun! I felt like a pretty ballerina, too. It was impossible not to skip and twirl at every turn, making my wide-flared skirts dance crazily around my slender hips. I smiled happily whenever I glanced at my feminine reflection in the mirrors. Naturally I forgot to keep an eye on the time. I was unsuccessfully attempting a flying leap Daisy called a 'jettez,' when the garage double door unexpectedly opened. Sally and Mrs Green were sitting open-mouthed in their family car, staring at me as I clumsily clambered to my feet.

I'd twisted my left ankle slightly in the fall, and I stumbled badly when I tried to put my weight on it. Before I could regain my footing, Mrs Green was standing beside me. She grabbed my arm and lifted me to my feet, demanding, "Jeremy sweetie? Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself, honey?" My mouth opened and closed like a gulping goldfish, but no words came out. Feelings of shame, fear and embarrassment fought to colour my face scarlet. I shook my head as I felt a warm spurt in my underpants. I clutched the bouncy tulle skirts against my crotch, trying unsuccessfully to grab the head of my leaking peenie. It was an impossible task, with the mass of stiff tulle netting blocking everything from my grasp. Then a trickle of wet warmth ran down the inside of one thigh, making me moan. I knew I was blushing furiously - I could feel the hot flush covering both cheeks, before radiating down my neck and up around my ringing ears.
"Oh no! He's wetting himself!" Daisy cried in horror, her tone reflecting the disgust of a small child who had long ago successfully mastered toilet-training.

Mrs Green cried in alarm, "Oh no, Jerry! Not again!" She swiftly scooted me off the wooden floor and onto the concrete section, but then she was less concerned. She carefully steered me along as I limped outside, ending up on the lawn in their back yard. I was sobbing with shame by the time she helped me step out of my dripping pink tutu on the grass, hoping like hell my Mummy wouldn't wander into our adjoining back yard at this inopportune moment. The padded leotard crotch and frilly panty ruffles were drenched with urine, and I cringed in embarrassment as I stood there in my saturated underpants. I tried to apologise for my mishap, but it was difficult to form words when I was crying so hard. "It's alright, honey. Aww, it's okay. Shh! Don't cry," Ellen Green reassured me. She shook out the dripping ruffles and tossed the damp dance frock on the dry grass. "You looked so feminine in this pink tutu, Jerry! I almost thought you were a real girl! If your hair was longer, you could really pass for a pretty little girl, honey."

Those were the only consoling words that actually penetrated the fog of mortification that surrounded me. I decided then and there to stop letting my Dad take me to his barber any longer. I wasn’t going to let him boss me into having my hair shaved off every month. I wanted to grow my hair out again. I didn't care what Daddy said! I wanted to look like a pretty little girl again. Sally arrived a few moments later clutching my shoes and clothes. Her mum unwound the complicated pink leather laces from around my calves, tut-tutting in annoyance when she realised some of my wee-wee had trickled down my legs to wet the thin leathers straps, too. She tossed the damp ballet slippers aside with a grunt of annoyance, commenting, "These shoes will need a good wipe-over, too."

The stony-faced woman dressed me in my t-shirt like I was incapable of dressing myself, but merely handed me my shoes and my shorts. "Don't bother putting those on, little one," she cautioned me, speaking to me like I was a hopeless toddler. "There's no point. You need to change those wet knickers first, and I think you'll need a clean pair of socks, too. Okay? Off you go to Mummy, Jerry. She'll take care of you. Go on! Go home to Mummy, honey." I limped through the gap between the oleander bushes towards my house on my damp stockinged feet, clad in only my t-shirt and my dripping undies. I clutched the dry items of clothing to my shuddering breast, sniffling back my tears of shame and wincing in pain and humiliation.

I managed to sneak up to my bedroom without Mummy catching me, and I stripped off my wet clothes and hung the undies and socks over the window sill to dry. I used the t-shirt to dry my crotch and legs, and then tossed it under my bed. As soon as I dressed in a clean t-shirt, socks and undies, I replaced my shorts and sneakers. Then I wandered downstairs to find Mummy to tell her about my twisted ankle. After a kiss and a long cuddle with Mummy, I shuffled outside to play with my friend Michael, completely forgetting to do anything about my wet things upstairs. I didn't know that my mother discovered my damp socks and undies later that afternoon. Mummy could smell urine on the underwear she found, and after dumping the smelly things in the laundry basket, she spent a frustrating half-hour searching my room for a wet pair of my shorts. She found the t-shirt under my bed, and although it was dry, it reeked of urine, too. Fortunately for me by the time she called me home for dinner, my wet clothes and the missing shorts had completely slipped her mind.

The next day at school, Sally discretely told me her mum hadn't been upset about my wearing one of her old tutus. "But," my best friend scolded me, "mum was really annoyed that she had to wash the tutu you wet, and the shoes. It took her ages and ages!" I blushed bright red and bowed my head in shame, and was relieved when Sally patted my knee forgivingly. "It's okay, Jerry. She's not upset with you any more, or anything. Really." I was hugely relieved by that news, and hoped her mum wouldn't mention anything to my Mummy. When I returned home from school that afternoon, I watched for any sign that Mummy was upset with me or wanted to talk to me about something, but she seemed completely distracted by my baby sister. Dinner that night passed without any mention of my humiliating accident, and the knot of fear in my tummy gradually unwound.

When Daisy came running over to our place the following afternoon, I felt grateful that she didn't mention my most recent wetting accident to my Mummy, or the fact that I had tried on one of Sally's tutus. Her mum had driven off to pick up Sally from ballet classes as usual, and when Daisy grabbed my hand and hauled me outside, I willingly followed her. I wanted to get the chatty little girl away from my Mummy before she said anything too embarrassing. As soon as we walked outside, Daisy trotted ahead towards her parent's garage, urging me on with an imperious wave. "Come on! Hurry up," she exhorted me. "We can do some more ballet practice before Sally gets home."

Even though I desperately wanted to wear a tutu again, I still felt acutely embarrassed about my unfortunate wetting accident, and I decided to run to the toilet first. When I joined Daisy in the garage a few minutes later, she was already dressed in her gleaming white tutu and dusky-pink ballet slippers. She had taken out the frothy pink tutu and hung it ready and waiting for me on the wardrobe door. A pair of familiar pink ballet flats sat on the floor below them, too, and I knew they were in my size. "Mummy had to hand-wash this tutu, you know," Daisy informed me with a brief frown, "and she scrubbed these shoes clean, too, so they wouldn't stink of your wee-wees." She opened one of the lower wardrobe drawers and indicated a stack of puffy pink underwear. "Mummy said if you wanted to wear a tutu and do ballet practice with us, you could - but you have to wear a pull-up underneath. That's the rule. She doesn't want to have to wash everything all over again."

The pull-ups were 'Goodnights for girls,' in a pastel-pink colour, with colourful cartoon characters printed across the wide stretchy waistband. 'They're my old ones from last year," Daisy explained. "I don't need them anymore. Mummy had most of a package left, and she said you could use them." I drew out one of the rustling pink disposable panties with trembling fingers. For a moment I considered refusing. But my stiffie was already pounding with excitement inside my shorts, and when I gazed at the shimmering baby-pink tutu hanging on the door, desire overwhelmed my sense of shame. I kicked off my shoes first, then carefully kept my back to the little girl watching me while I removed my shorts, t-shirt, and stained underwear.

I faced the wardrobe as I fed my trembling sock toes through the ruffled leg-holes and drew the pull-up over my thighs. Then I tugged the crackling papery underwear over my bobbing stiffie. The stretchy, high-waisted bedwetter panties were a fraction small for me, and firmly trapped my little hard-on against my tummy. Again I marvelled at the heat produced by my throbbing erect organ. I discretely kept facing the wardrobe until I had the pink leotard wrapped snugly around my torso. I turned to face her as I neatly arranged the elastic shoestring straps over my slender shoulders. I couldn't keep the happy smile from my face when I politely asked in a high girlish voice, "So what are you going to teach me today, Miss Daisy?"

Daisy giggled at the question and took my hand, and she led me onto the dance floor to face the mirrors. From the front, I couldn't see any sign of my new infantile underwear, even when I lifted my bouncing musk-pink skirts high and closely examined my satiny-smooth crotch in the mirror. When I turned around to check the rear view, the extra padding made the fluffy baby-pink lace ruffles across my botty poke out even more. I thought my bottom looked plumper and more feminine than ever. Daisy interrupted my narcissistic self-examination to prissily insist we start the warm-up exercises. I smiled dreamily and nodded obediently as I joined her at the bar.

When Mrs Green and Sally returned home this time, their only reaction when they caught sight of me dancing around in the pink tutu was to smile and give me a friendly wave. After they walked inside the garage, Daisy caught her mother's obvious questioning glance and brightly announced, "Don't worry, Mummy! He's wearing one of my old pull-ups under his tutu." When Sally grinned broadly at that statement, my pink cheeks turned a rosier hue and I bowed my head in shame.
Mrs Green's only response was to smile and say; "Good girl, Daisy! And you too, Jerry. That's all I ask, kids. Okay?" Was she telling me I was a good girl too? My heart fluttered in my chest. I didn't know whether I should feel embarrassed or thrilled.
"Yes Mummy," Daisy intoned, and I silently nodded in red-faced agreement.

Sally intervened at that point, telling us she wanted to show us something she'd learned in class today. She was still wearing her normal work-out outfit, consisting of a black leotard and tights. She slipped a short practice tutu made from dangling feathery strips of pink and white chiffon over the top, so she would feel dressed up like the other girls. As soon as she tied on her ballet shoes, we returned to the practice bar and did some more warm-up exercises. It felt like Sally's mum was standing there staring at my ruffled padded bum for ages. I discretely watched her reflection in the mirror while I practised my plies. Mrs Green smiled and nodded in what I hoped was approval before walking inside the house.

From that day on and for the next six or seven months, I used to go over to the Green’s garage two or three times a week and dress up in a rustling pink pull-up, my gorgeous pink tutu, and my ballet slippers. I would practise warm-ups and some basic steps with Daisy until Sally and her mum returned, and then we would spend at least another half-hour going over some of the techniques and routines Sally had learned in class that day. That was when Sally taught me to curtsey like a polite little girl, too. Her mum had giggled and covered her mouth with her hand when I demurely curtsied for her one afternoon, but her only comment was; "Oh my God! That's so adorable!" I had no idea how many pull-ups were in a packet, or that Daisy's remaining unused disposable panties must have been used up in a few short weeks. The wardrobe drawer was always full of the rustling papery underwear. I didn't realise that Ellen Green had been buying a fresh package for me every month, ever since my ‘ballet lessons’ began.

I never wet my pants again during our ballet classes. Well, not really wet them... There were a few occasional damp spots, but those didn't count. I always made sure I went to the toilet just before Daisy arrived to collect me on those Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons, about an hour after I got home from school. I always had to wear one of the puffy pink pull-ups anyway. As Daisy firmly reminded me; "That's the rule. Mummy said." When the weather grew cooler, we sometimes wore special dance tights under our leotards, either white or flesh-coloured, made from a stretchy lycra-nylon blend. The wide elastic waistbands always came up high over my belly button, and I loved the way the snug material pressed my pull-up tightly against my groin. It always made me feel wonderfully safe and secure, although I couldn't have explained why. I thought my legs always looked smoother and sleeker when I was wearing the flesh-coloured tights, too. I loved the silky feminine feeling whenever I caressed my lycra-clad thighs.

In the middle of winter, we all wore these cute pastel-pink bolero jackets, made from the softest fluffy lambs wool, with short backs and three-quarter length sleeves. I thought we looked so cute in our matching jackets. We sometimes wore knitted legwarmers over our tights, too. My toeless, baby-pink leggings had a stirrup that passed under the arch of the foot, and then Daisy would tie my ballet slippers on for me. My knitted legwarmers were long and stretchy enough to pull up almost to the crotch of my leotard, like sexy grown-up ladies' stockings, but most of the time we left them flopping around below our knees. I loved wearing my pretty pink legwarmers, too. I always thought the extra bulk bunched around my calves only made my little footsies look even daintier.

I never told anyone, but sometimes I used to leave my dry pull-up on when I changed back into my shorts after dancing. I would secretively stuff my balled-up underpants in one pocket. That way if I had a bit of an accident during the afternoon, I could remove the damp disposable underwear, dump it in the trash, and then replace my clean undies without Mummy ever finding out. After the papery pull-ups protected me from one particularly embarrassing accident in front of my friends, I decided to keep wearing them after every ballet class. I'm pretty sure no-one ever noticed the extra padding around my bottom and groin, or heard the tell-tale rustling sound the papery pull-ups sometimes made when I walked around. I found occasion to wear the disposables even on the days when we weren't dancing, and I'm pretty sure no-one noticed the missing panties from the drawer. Sometimes I even left my pull-up on after I wet it a little. I found the humid warmth wrapped around my genitals both soothing and exciting. I'd always assumed my Mummy never found any of my wet pink pull-ups in our garbage bin. Now I wasn't so sure.

Unfortunately for me, a few months later Daisy turned six. She was then allowed to attend ballet classes, too. After that, she wasn't so interested in doing extra practice at home afterwards. Sally had filled out by then, too, and she obviously had other things on her mind apart from running a dance studio for little kids in her dad's garage. Our classes proceeded as normal for a couple more months, but slowly things changed. We missed a few days of practice here and there at first, then there was a week of no classes. We got together to dress up and dance a couple of times after that, but sporadically. Then a few weeks of the holidays passed without a lesson, and that was it. Even though the whole experience had been delightful for me, I regretfully chalked it off as a done deal.

I did sneak over to their garage and try on a tutu and my ballet slippers on my own a couple of times, while their family was out. They often left the side door of the garage unlocked, so I usually had access. It wasn't as much fun dressing up without the other girls present, although I cheekily took the opportunity to wear my tutu without any underpants or a pull-up underneath, either. Even though I knew I was being naughty, it felt wonderful when I rubbed my rock-hard erection through the clinging satiny leotard front. Sometimes I would dance in front of the mirror with my stiff tool pounding against my tummy, as I twirled and whirled like the beautiful ballerina I was in my dreams. My little stiffie would get so hard and excited, I would pause facing the mirror, and then frantically caress the front of my silky leotard over my throbbing little tool for ten or fifteen minutes at a time.

Sometimes I fantasised about being a beautiful little girl, who was pampered and coddled by her loving Mummy. Other times I dreamed I was the most beautiful ballerina in the whole world, and everyone had come to watch me perform on stage. I skipped, hopped and pirouetted for my adoring audience on the other side of the mirror. I assumed no-one would notice the tiny stains I sometimes left behind in the front of my tutu crotch. But one day I found the garage side door securely locked, and there was no access through the double garage door without the remote control. When I occasionally checked over the ensuing weeks, my entrance remained barred. After a while, I stopped going over to check, and my dreams of being a beautiful ballerina faded into the mists of time.

My thoughts were ripped back to the present when Sally commented, "I'm glad he finally told you about wanting to be a girl. I've been telling him to tell you for years!" Mummy's perfect arched eyebrows crawled up her forehead at that comment. I didn't think my face could get any hotter, but then Sally asked, "But why the nappies and baby panties, Mrs R.? Why is Jeremy-"
"Baby Jennie!" Angelica shouted, and Mummy frowned and raised a warning finger at her.
"-Baby Jennie dressed like a baby?" Sally completed the question, her expression mirroring her confusion.

Mummy replied, "Two weeks ago, I started potty-training Angelica, and Baby Jennie - Jeremy - mocked her and laughed at her." I wondered in amazement, 'Was it really only two weeks ago?' Mummy tossed a quick warning frown in Angie's direction, wordlessly advising my cranky sister to remain silent. Angie shut her mouth with a loud 'plop' and Mummy continued her explanation. "Angie threw such a tantrum; I knew it would be a real problem getting her to sit on the potty again. And when I discovered that Jerry had wet his pants again that same day, I decided to kill two birds with one stone. I spoke to my husband, and we decided to put Jerry back in nappies again - and dress him like Angie, too. We hoped that when we started potty-training both of them two weeks later, Angie would be willing to follow her brother's example."

Angelica could no longer restrain herself. "Her name is Baby Jennie, Mummy!" she stridently insisted, "She's not my brother. She's my baby sister!"
"Alright, darling, alright," Mummy soothed her, patting her shoulder reassuringly. "Let me finish. Fortunately, our plan worked. My husband made a new potty-chair for Baby Jennie and a couple of days ago, Angie happily followed her example by sitting on her pot-pot and doing her business on the potty for the very first time." Mummy sounded so proud when she added, "She's been successfully using her potty ever since, like a big girl."
"Yes, Sally! Look!" Angelica insisted, raising the tiered skirts of her pink gingham outfit to proudly show off her puffy pink underwear. "I'm a big girl now! I wear pull-ups and I take them off to go to the potty, all by my own self!" Sally smiled brightly at her and nodded in approval, but Mummy looked grim at the endless interruptions. I hoped Sally wouldn't mention that her mum always insisted I wear similar pink pull-ups under my tutu, too.

"Unfortunately Sally," and here Mummy turned her frown on me, "my naughty Baby Jennie hasn't been quite so successful. She can't seem to stop wetting and pooping her nappies. She doesn't seem to want to use the potty like her big sister Angelica. So I told her that if she wanted to continue acting like a silly baby girl, that's how we would treat her."
Sally smiled and nodded, as if Mummy’s explanation made perfect sense. "Why the name 'Baby Jennie'?" she queried, her bemused pale-blue eyes shifting from my blushing red face to Mummy's and back again.

Mummy smiled at the memory when she explained, "She chose it for herself. One of the carers at the Church Nursery asked my baby what her name was, and she told them, ‘Baby Jennie’." I clumsily sat up, and Mummy leaned down to softly stroke my bowed head. She crouched down and straightened one of the tangled tiers of my gingham frock. "We've all been calling her that, lately. I guess she looks so much like a pretty little girl in her gorgeous toddler frocks, it was embarrassing for her to be called by a boy's name when we were out in public. So she's my sweet little Baby Jennie now. Well, Sally? What do you think of my big baby girl?"
"Gosh Mrs. R! She's- It's a mind-blower! But he - I mean, she - looks adorable!" Sally grinned, and then began to laugh. She suddenly asked, "But why the baby bottle and that bib? I mean, he- Ah, excuse me, she was nursing on a baby's bottle?"

Mummy looked from me to Sally and then informed her, "I warned Baby Jennie yesterday; if she didn't try harder to stay dry like Angelica, I would treat her more like the hopeless little baby she's been acting. Every day she refuses to use the potty properly like a big girl, she is reduced in status. Soon she'll be back to being treated like a six-month-old infant if she's not careful. Now promise me you won't say anything to your friends, please Sally? I don't want my naughty child's diaper punishment to be the talk of your school. After all - providing I can finally potty-train this little Missy - she might be attending your school next year." Both Sally's and my eyes bugged out of our heads at that astounding piece of news. Sally went to an all-girls' high school on the other side of our suburb. I didn't know that Justine, the gorgeous red-head from the Church Nursery, also attended the same school, although she was in year ten. Sally was about to start year eight, the same as me.

"Don't tell anyone? Boy, Mrs. R! That's going to be a hard promise to keep!” Sally laughed. “I mean, she's adorable! I'd love to tell all my friends all about this little cutie!" Sally paused to think for a few seconds, and then her expression brightened. "Okay - but on one condition. I want to take her to my little sister's seventh birthday party on Sunday afternoon, okay? She'll love it! It's a 'Fairy Princess' party, and all the girls will be wearing tutus and fairy wings. Baby Jennie can even wear that old pink tutu of mine; the one she used to love wearing. She's hardly grown since then, and I'm pretty sure it will still fit her."
"Yay!" My sister threw her hands in the air and danced on the spot in excitement. "A Fairy Princess party!" She turned to stare entreatingly at Mummy, her little face a mask of concern. "Can Baby Jennie come too? It'll be such fun! You didn't forget the party, Mummy - did you?"

Mummy laughed away her fears. "No sweetie. The invitation is still on the fridge door, remember? Mummy didn't forget." She turned to Sally. "Sorry I didn't RSVP. I thought I already told your mum that Angie could go." Mummy paused for a few seconds, biting her bottom lip in concern before continuing. "I just wish you'd mentioned Baby Jennie's fascination with your ballet dresses a long time ago, Sally," she remarked to my grinning friend. Mummy turned her evaluating gaze in my direction. "But we won't need to borrow one of your old tutus, darling," she added, although her olive-green eyes never left my blushing red face. "If Baby Jennie loves dressing up in your ballet tutus so much; it's about time we bought her one of her own."

"So it's a deal then?" Sally demanded, grinning madly at my astonished expression and Angelica's delighted squeals.
"It's a deal!" Mummy laughingly agreed, and they both shook hands on the contract.
"Well Baby Jennie, you're about the cutest big baby girl I've ever seen! I wish I could stay and help change your wet nappy, but I have to run." She turned to Mummy and asked, "I'll check with my mum that it's okay for Baby Jennie to come to Daisy's party, alright? See you later, baby. Bye everyone." She waved to the room, laughed loudly at the expression on my face, and swiftly disappeared through the door to the kitchen. Moments later we heard the back screen door slam behind her.

Mummy only chuckled at my aghast expression. How did Sally know I was wet? Angie scampered from the room, squealing that she needed to do a poo on the potty. Mummy seemed in no hurry to follow her. She had grown confident of her daughter's ability to use her potty all by herself. She took the time to grab my chin and give my head a little shake. "At least now you'll own your own tutu, baby, so you can stop borrowing the other girls'. And Mummy would love to see her little girl twirling around like a pretty fairy in her swishy dance tutu. Now put that nipple back in your mouth and finish your juice like a good little girl, while I go and check on your sister. She's using her potty like a big girl! Then I can finish cooking our dinner, and maybe Angie can help Mummy feed you in the highchair tonight," Mummy suggested with a wicked teasing smile, before heading towards the hallway and the downstairs bathroom.

To be continued in chapter 26.

Please leave a comment here if your are enjoying this naughty sissy-AB tale.
Baby Jennie

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