Ava's Baby Sissy Forever

The cabin smelled of cedar and the lavender she’d packed into my bag without asking, and I stood in the doorway in my own jeans, holding the line for the last time I would ever hold it.

Ava set the bag on the bed and looked at me the way you look at a project. Not unkind. Measuring. She had driven us four hours north into the pines under the excuse of a long weekend, and somewhere past the second gas station I had stopped pretending I didn’t know what the weekend was for.

“Take them off,” she said. No heat in it. She might have been telling me the soup was ready.

My hands went to my belt and then stopped. There it was, the thing that always came too soon, a tightness low in me that had nothing to do with the cold. I hated that it answered her before I did. I was thirty-four years old. I ran a crew of nine men. I had told her, weeks ago, lying in the dark where it was safe, that I wanted this, and she had simply said good and never let me take it back.

“I can do it myself,” I said, and even I heard how small the words came out.

“You can’t, actually.” She unzipped the bag. “That’s the whole point of being here. Jeans. Now.”

I got them off. The cold pebbled my skin and my cock was already half up against my shorts, traitor, fattening at nothing but the flat sound of her voice. Heat climbed my neck. She saw it. Of course she saw it. Her mouth did something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“Those too.”

I pushed the shorts down. Standing there bare in front of a woman who was still fully dressed in her coat, I felt the floor of myself drop. My hands wanted to cover me. She watched them twitch and waited to see if I’d be that stupid, and I wasn’t, I let them hang, and the not-covering was somehow worse, like I was offering myself up for grading.

From the bag she lifted something pale and folded. Plastic crinkled. I knew before she shook it open and the thing hung from her fingers, white, padded, obscene in its softness.

“On the bed,” Ava said.

“Ava.” My voice cracked on her name. “I don’t think I.”

“You don’t think. That’s right. That’s done now.” She patted the quilt once. “On your back. Knees up. You’ve been telling me for a month how much you needed to stop being in charge of yourself. So stop.”

A wet feeling pooled behind my belly. Some clean furious part of me stood up inside my own head and said, you are about to let her do this, you, the one who fired Dennis without blinking, you are going to lie down and lift your knees like, and I lay down. I lifted my knees. The thought broke off mid-sentence, unfinished, because my body had already gone where she pointed and left the proud man talking to no one.

She was unhurried about it. That was the part that undid me. She slid the thing under me, cool against my ass, and lifted my hips with one hand flat on my lower back like I weighed nothing. Powder, a soft snowfall of it, the smell of it filling the room and filling some hollow I didn’t know was there. Her hand moved over me, spreading it, businesslike, brushing my balls and the underside of my cock with the back of two fingers, and I jerked.

“Stay still.”

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder.” She pulled the front up snug and taped one side, then the other, and the padding closed around me, thick between my thighs, holding my hard cock pinned up against my belly where I couldn’t get at it and couldn’t ignore it. Every shift of my legs pressed it. She tapped the front of it flat with her palm, twice, checking the fit, and the second pat landed right over the head and a sound came out of me I had never made.

“There,” she said. “Look at you.”

I looked at the ceiling. I couldn’t look at me.

She left me on the bed and went back to the bag, and I lay there in the thing, leaking already, the soft inside of it growing damp at the tip where I couldn’t stop it, and the shame of that, the specific shame of a grown man wetting the front of a diaper with want, ran down into me and turned hot and turned, God help me, into more want. My hips rolled once on their own. I made them stop. I made them stop because if she turned around and caught me grinding I would have to die.

She turned around with the next thing folded over her arm. Silk. A slip the color of the inside of a shell, thin straps, lace at the hem like froth. My stomach went to water.

“Sit up. Arms.”

“That’s.” I swallowed. “That’s a lot.”

“It’s a slip.” She shook it out. “Arms up, or I leave you in just the diaper and we drive into town for dinner like that. Your choice.” She let that sit. “You won’t like that choice.”

I put my arms up. She drew the silk down over my head and it slid along my chest and arms cool as water, and I felt the straps settle on my shoulders, and the lace dropped to my thighs and brushed the top of the diaper, and something in my chest pulled so tight I couldn’t breathe right. The man inside me tried one more time, a thin voice now, this isn’t you, you have a beard, you have a truck, this is, and the silk moved against my nipples when I exhaled and the voice lost the thread again and went quiet for good.

Ava stepped back and looked at what she’d made. Slow up and down. I sat on the edge of the bed in a wet diaper and a pink silk slip with my knees pressed together because I couldn’t make them stay apart, and her eyes went over me the way mine never could, owning it, all of it.

“Pretty,” she said. Just that. And the word landed in me like a hand closing around my throat, soft, and I felt my cock kick against its padded prison and a fresh dark bloom of wet spread where the head was trapped.

She crossed to me and took my chin. Tilted my face up to hers. Her thumb pressed the soft under my lip.

“From now until I say otherwise, you don’t touch yourself. Not through it, not under it, not by accident. You don’t come unless I let you, and I haven’t decided if I’m going to let you at all this weekend.” Her thumb moved on my mouth. “Nod if you understand your sissy.”

The word went through me like a current finding ground. I should have hated it. I waited to hate it. Instead my eyes stung and my hips tilted forward to chase her hand that wasn’t even there, and the humiliation of chasing nothing in front of her was so total and so good that I came right up to the edge with no one touching me at all.

I nodded.

“Out loud.”

“I understand.” My voice was wrecked. “I understand. Yes.”

“Yes what.”

I had never said it. I had thought it, alone, with my hand on myself in the shower, and been disgusted in the morning. Saying it to her face was a different country. My jaw worked. She waited, patient as stone, thumb resting on my open mouth, and the wait was the worst of it, the wait made me say it just to end the wait.

“Yes. I understand. Your sissy understands.”

Something flickered across her face. Satisfaction, banked low. She let go of my chin and my head dropped like she’d been the only thing holding it.

“Good girl,” Ava said.

I broke a little. I don’t have a cleaner word for it. The diaper was warm and wet against me and the silk was sliding on my skin every time I breathed and she had called me a good girl in a voice with no doubt in it anywhere, and I would have done anything, anything she said next, just to hear that she was pleased.

She knew it too. That was the terrible part. She walked to the dresser without hurrying, opened the top drawer, and I heard things move in there, plastic, a click, the snap of a cap. My whole skin went tight.

“Lie back down,” she said over her shoulder. “On your front this time. I’m going to take that diaper down in the back, and you’re going to keep your face in the quilt and your knees apart, and you’re going to thank me for everything I do back there, out loud, each time.”

I couldn’t move. The slip had ridden up around my waist and the cool air found me and my heart was going so hard I felt it in the mattress.

“I.” The word came out broken in half. “Ava, I’ve never. Back there I’ve never.”

She turned around with the bottle in one hand and something else in the other, slim and pale and patient, and she looked at me with the calm of a woman who has all weekend and no intention of rushing a single minute of it.

“I know,” she said. “That’s why we came all this way.”

And she clicked the cap shut, and started toward the bed.