Makeup for Sissy Babies

As soon as I crawled within reach of the highchair, Bonnie grabbed my around my slender waist and dragged me to my feet. “Upsa-daisy, Baby Jennie!” She twirled me around, making my rustling white chiffon petties dance and sway, before grabbing my padded hips and hoisting me into the air. She thrust my damp puffy rear into the pink highchair seat, and after Tammy placed the blinking camera on the breakfast bench directed at me, the two beautiful teens worked together like a well-oiled machine. While Tammy slid the pink wooden tray over the chair arms and securely locked it in place, Bonnie pulled the worn white leather seat belt tightly around my waist over my pink cotton frock and bunched chiffon petties, before buckling the end safely out of my reach behind my back. My bladder reacted normally to the increased pressure by emptying the remainder of its contents into my already soiled nappy, without any conscious control from me. The half-moon cut-out of the highchair tray pressed against my overloaded tummy, and I ineffectually tried to wriggle back a few millimeters to give my poor bloated stomach some relief. The normally soft nappies felt scratchy and irritating on my tender bottom, as I painfully shifted from cheek to bruised cheek like a good diaper cuck.

Bonnie clipped a clean baby-blue bib around my neck while she began reminiscing about how our relationship went sour. “When I was fourteen and April was seventeen, we were about the same size. She was an inch or so taller, but she was so skinny at that age; I outweighed her by like, ten kilos.”

“Wow! She must have been thin,” interjected Tammy enviously, and my buxom cousin briefly frowned in annoyance. Bonnie placed her voluminous brown leather shoulder bag on my tray, and started searching inside. After a few moments of poking around the rattling contents, she produced a small beige make-up purse with a shiny brass snap clip.

“Here we are!” Bonnie cried victoriously. “I put together a little make-up kit for my precious little niece. I know how much she loves looking like a pretty little girl. Don’t worry, sweetie,” she mockingly reassured me, when she saw my worried, embarrassed expression. “These are all in your correct summer colours.” Both girls giggled at this thoughtful comment as Bonnie pawed through her bag to produce two more items, which she handed to me and tol me I was little sissy baby