What a Baby Sweetie


  Desmond Downley cringed in the satin frill that enveloped him deep inside his Dreamland baby carriage. Above him the trees of Central Park drifted slowly down from hood to handle. If only they could turn round now and go straight home, instead of always trying to find women itching to satisfy their passion-starved lusts, on the look-out for Mistresses with sissy babies imprisoned in their carriages.
"Oh how lucky," declared his wife above his feet. "Two ladies heading this way. They must be in their fifties or sixties, and they've seen us."
Her husband broke into a cold sweat between the pretty collar of his dress and the ribbon of his bonnet. Why the hell weren't they turning and running, instead of standing here and waiting? Then he saw them, peering down at him, their heavily made-up faces beaming from one earring to the other.
"What a beee-ooo-tiful cherub, darling. Is he available? For kissing and - sucking?"
Desmond's heart sank. They were predators of the worst kind, walking this way and that in the park until they came across some woman who would provide them with a sissified baby locked into his pram. This one was in a fussy lemon suit with a frothy blouse frill round her neck. Her kid gloves opened his bonnet wider and started pinching his cheek. He felt himself turning a darker shade.
"Oh yes," said Victoria, taking hold of the handle at the side of the carriage body and starting to pump. "You're most welcome to open his plastic pants and undo his diapers. It's what he deserves for being so sexless and impotent."
Her husband wailed with horror as he felt his back rising on his bed of frilly-edged cushions. Pump - pump - pump. She was aiming to give these women a good long chance to desex him at their ease. Now they could bend over him in comfort without straining their backs.
"We'd love to kiss babykins, wouldn't we, Thelma? Kissy-kissy-kissy, lickel diddums," and she started, without being asked, to open his white satin quilts, until his popper pants rose into the air in front of her pale blue suit and ridiculous vintage hat. Her silk gloves were busy with press studs, and in no time she was unsticking the tabs down either side of his diaper. Victoria locked the mattress at the right height and started to take out her husband's bare legs to slide the restraining bags onto him.
"Oh, he's wet himself!" declared the woman in the hat with a chuckle. "He really is a baby. Is he your husband, dear?"
"Unfortunately, yes. Totally weak and sexless. This is Baby Desmond, and he doesn't like ladies kissing and sucking him - which is why we're here in the park today. Please can you give him what he deserves?"
The women planted their feet, and eased themselves into a comfortable position above the targets of their lust: his stiffened cock, raised high in the air and his blushing cheeks deep in the well between satin cushions. When her husband's legs and arms had been fully restrained, Victoria let her guests enjoy themselves.
"Take your time, ladies. He dreads being sucked - it makes him inferior and reminds him of his impotence." She watched as his vertical penis disappeared between lipstick lips, sliding and sucking up and down, up and down.
"But da lickel babykins likes da big kissums from da nice ladies, doesn't he? Mmmm-mmmmm-mmmmmmm!"
It was one of Victoria Downley's greatest pleasures, seeing the man who had let her down in bed, wriggling helplessly with his arms and legs in four restraining bags, while women took him apart with their lipstick lips and long, eager tongues, determined to dominate the weaker sex. He was about to suffer a long half-hour or so, before she moved on and found another group of ladies who would oblige.