"Chantal, Zara and Colleen are coming round tonight, Mother. They're looking forward to a feast of entertainment provided by our little girl here. So what do you suggest we put him in for the occasion?"
"For God's sake, Emma darling, put him in the most ridiculous dress he's got." She rummages through the packed dresses in his closet as he looks up, standing between us, and hoping for something harmless and - well - male. "We should be able to find something quite laughable. There's the strawberry dress," and she pulls it out, looking a little crushed, and shakes out the white cotton printed all over with clusters of strawberries.
"The Peter Pan collar is too small, Mother, and its lace is too narrow."
"It's so short his whole panties will be on view to them. Or there's his pink silk party dress of course." She doesn't get it out because it's such a fag getting it back in between the dozens of other dresses. "You can make a big fuss of undoing his bow and asking Chantal or the others to do him up again at the back of his waist. Use a little imagination."
I snigger as Darcey shrinks in his bra and panties, hearing us discussing how we will humiliate him. No wonder he's drooping in misery: he knows there's absolutely nothing he can do about what we decide to put him in, and he also knows we want the girls to shriek with laughter at him. "I suppose we could babify him again," I say, "like we did last month: we all had a whale of a time with him that day. He wet himself time and time again and cried for an hour solid as we laughed and laughed."
Mother laughs too as she remembers. "We took his diaper off so that we could watch him wetting his panties," she says. "The trouble is though, pet, I got dreadful aches in the ribs that evening through laughing at him so much. I don't want to go quite that far."
"Well the girls WILL want to, I can assure you. They'll be totally focussed on seeing him in tears and hearing him begging for pity." I stop to think harder about what we can put on him. "There's always his panty one-piece."
Mother purses her lips, trying to remember. "Panty one-piece?" she asks.
"You know, the new dress I got him online from Sissy-Wussy-Wetsies. The pink and white dress with its own integrated panty with elastics round the tops of his legs."
My words bring a groan of pain from the clown.
"The girls are going to come round tonight, wanting him suitably controlled, Mother, by humiliating dressing. This is so babyish. I'm going to put him into this."
His moan turns into something between a groan and a wail and I know I've chosen well. "Come on," I say, gathering the whole dress, petticoats and all, into my hands so that I can present the small panty leg spaces to his feet. "Step in."
"B-But Zara," and he hesitates, probably wondering if he dare question what we have in mind for him. "It's a BABY dress. I'll feel so - so ashamed wearing it while the girls are here. Can't I wear a - a T shirt and shorts or some- "
SMACK! He reels under the slap Mother lands on his cheek from behind. I've got hold of him by his suspender belt so he doesn't fall headlong across the floor. "That's to teach you to keep your mouth shut," she cries, "but if need be, there's plenty more where that came from. Now do as you're told."
He starts snivelling and I can tell from the way he's taking extra care to thread his feet into the elastics that his eyes are filling up. "Hold your arms high," I say, "to keep them out of the way. Hands on head." The dress is in silk satin and rustles like it's got a dozen petticoats as I pull it up to his knees and then work the panty up his thighs where it's getting tighter. Mother helps me pull the panty right up between his legs, cupping his sex in its silky gusset, then pulling the waist all the way up to under his arms.
"Hands in here!" she orders, holding one of the cute little puffed sleeves for him. I hold the other, and we bring his dress together for him between his shoulder blades. It buttons from the back of his neck down to his waist, with a high sash at the level of his tits. She ties him into a bow.
Then she turns him and gives him a look up and down. "Ah-ha!" she says. "I think you're right. Look what we've got here."
There's no hiding the shiny point of his erection in the front of his dress panty. I draw the dress front out of the way, and Mother does the same on the other side, and there it is: small but unmistakeable. He's gone stiff by being put into the baby dress. "What's this about?" I say. "Explain why you've got an erection."
He starts sobbing, even though he's trying to answer me. "It's - It's because you've - you've dressed me as a b-b-baby girl - in this dre-e-esss!" and he bursts into the most pitiable fit of wailing I've ever heard from him.
"But you could be in any of the other dresses, idiot! What's the big deal with this one?"
"It's the - the sissy panty inside the dress," he wails, so anguished he's struggling to catch his breath. "It makes me feel s-s-so ashamed!"
Mother stands the other side of him with a grin all over her face. "Well," she says, "I suppose we'll be looking for signs of a more grown up little girl this evening, then maybe we'll be able to change our sissy into a bigger girl to avoid him feeling so ashamed for his visitors."
I work out a nice little refinement as he stands and sobs in front of me. A little notice, to advertise his confession of feeling ashamed at being dressed in a dress-panty - in front of visitors who will be looking for any point to focus on while they are humiliating him.
"If you don't want women to laugh at you," I tell him, plucking at his panty elastics and shaping the white silk satin over his stiffie, "maybe you should be trying to practice more manly confidence and pride. Show a bit of guts or something."
His answer is more tears, and his cock grows visibly longer and thicker. It's at that moment that the bell rings and he stifles his crying. I grab his hand and Mother takes the other, and between us we lead him into the hall, so that he can let his guests in to see what a big strong male I married.
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Sissies enjoy the huge store of Prim stories and pictures when they ENTER the Wendyhouse