After five years of marriage and a son, I realized that a big dick by itself was not predictive of matrimonial bliss and divorced Carl. I met Bruce at a community theatre company. He was helping with the scenic design and I was doing the costumes. Bruce also was divorced. His wife left him and their then five-year-old daughter. I guessed she found out that the opposite was not true either. David did his duty in the bedroom when called on, but with his physical shortcomings, pun intended, I settled for companionship.

My college major was fashion design. I never cared for modern styles. They were basically a tube with as much material as possible creatively cut away or made transparent to leave little or nothing to the imagination. I preferred making period costumes. The well-dressed 19th century woman wore ribboned camisoles, multiple layers of lacy petticoats, boned corsets and intricately designed dresses. Learning to

sew them was an art. Unfortunately, by the time I graduated, most costumes were being made offshore, so I switched to making custom window treatments. I did very well, until the next generation of home buyers decided that drapes and valences were old-fashioned dust collectors. My workshop was struggling. If things didn’t improve, I would have to start laying people off. Bruce had the same outsourcing issue as a graphic artist and he was doing freelance book illustrations and website design from home.

When my son Jack – my name is Jill and my dumbass husband thought it was funny – and Bruce’s daughter Kate, who matured into Kiki, left for college last fall, we converted their playroom in the basement into a studio for Bruce. One afternoon, our next-door neighbor called with an emergency. Their water heater was leaking and they needed an additional hose to drain it. I went down to tell him. When he left, I noticed that his home page was open. I was curious to see what he was working on, so I clicked on the “Projects” icon. Dozens of files appeared. I opened one. On the large high quality graphics screen was a video titled “Nanny for Adult Baby Fucks His Ass with Big Pink Strapon Cock.” The title said it all.

As I was engrossed with the woman’s jackhammering of a diapered guy, I heard a gasp. “Jill,” hyperventilating, “no, oh God, no,” hyperventilating, “I’m not, it’s not …,” hyperventilating. I thought he was going to pass out. He stopped and got his breath. “I’m sorry, please, I’m not, it’s not,” he reiterated. Finally, having run out of breath and words to explain the obvious, he went upstairs. I exited the video. Bruce was in the kitchen with his head down. I did a quick survey to make sure that there were no sharp objects around. Satisfied that neither of us was in imminent danger, I approached him. He looked up at me sadly.

“I’m sorry. Please don’t divorce me.”

“Why would I do that?” He looked at me blankly. “You’re a good husband and a good father. I’m the one who should apologize.” He shook his head in disbelief. “We all have our private fantasies and I had no right to look at your computer without your permission,” I conceded.

“You’re not mad?” he asked timidly.

“No.” I gave him a reassuring hug.

Actually, it was quite the opposite. What I saw turned me on. Maybe it was the answer to our unsatisfying sex life. I wasn’t sure how to make the fantasy become a reality. I needed to do some more research. “Everything will be okay. Mommy is going to take care of her baby,” I tested him. He looked at me questioningly, trying to decide if I was serious or teasing him. “Now you just run along,” I said dismissively. I need to go to my shop for a little while.”

I used my office computer to google the words I remembered from the video, “adult baby.” The search brought up dozens of sites for clothes, diapers and accessories. I was amazed that many of them were carried on conventional websites. Expanding my search to stories and videos brought a graduate education. As I got into the genre, I was confused between ABDL’s and sissies. It seemed like the former’s fetish was for being forced to wear diapers by a dominant woman and the latter was having gay sex while being dressed up as effeminate little girls. My inquiry was interrupted by the need to finger myself to an orgasm or two. Okay, I didn’t keep count.

I had never seen Bruce show any signs of being gay, so I assumed that it was domination and not cock that he craved, although they didn’t seem to be mutually exclusive. The stories used hypnosis and drugs to take control, but neither was practical. Besides, Bruce was already

willing, he just needed encouragement. Based on the videos, age play was the way to go. Conveniently, costumes were the dominant, again pardon the pun, factor. All I needed was for Bruce to let me dress him in baby clothes. Going back online, there was a discrepancy between the frilly, lacy dresses puffed out by frou-frou petticoats in the stories and the simple onesies, rompers and diaper covers available online. It was a niche I could fill.

My interest in making clothes started with my mother. She loved to sew. I remembered that she would purchase patterns from the fabric store and I recalled from my fashion classes that petticoats were the style in the ‘50’s. I searched and found dozens of vintage patterns for sale. I looked through the catalogs and ordered adult sized pacifiers and bottles. The bondage items that prevented use of the hands or restricted movement weren’t necessary. I expected that once Bruce accepted my control, he would be compliant. Ironically, at least from my

perspective, diapers were a problem. Humiliation by having lost control of the most basic bodily functions was explicit in the stories, although not in the videos, much to the relief of the production crew, I would assume. Nor did that aspect appeal to me. However, the adult disposables were expensive, their discovery in our trash bins would raise embarrassing questions for both of us and the image of Bruce waddling around in a messy diaper turned me on, fortunately addressed by another pause in my “research.” It would have to be cloth diapers.

Bruce was in the kitchen when I returned home. The table was set and I could smell pizza. “Here,” he offered me a piece of paper. “It’s the password for my computer.” He looked at me sadly and sighed. “I deleted the files. I don’t want to have any more secrets from you.” It was clear that his contrition was sincere.

I was about to hand him the paper back and assure him that it was okay. Then I realized that he was offering me control over his computer and his browsing. Baby steps on the way to domination. I put the note in my pocket. “Okay,” I said sternly. “When you watched those videos, did you masturbate?” His eyes went wide. “You said no more secrets,” I challenged him. He hung his head sheepishly. “And did you pretend it was you?” He nodded. I had him! “Do you have a little girl’s name?” He took a deep breath. “Alice,” he admitted. “Well, Alice, no more wanking without my permission.” He submissively agreed.

The sewing patterns and ABDL accessories arrived a few days later. Little girls are flat chested, so I used one of Bruce’s t-shirts as a measure for the bodice and a pair of extra-large briefs for the diaper covers. By the end of the week, I had all the supplies I needed. On Monday, I explained to my four Vietnamese workers that business was slow, so we would be making theatrical costumes. I assigned them dresses, petticoats, bibs, bonnets, ankle socks and booties. The adult diapers would have been too hard to explain, so I made them myself. By the end of the week, everything was ready.

On Saturday morning I told Bruce to shave and then come back to the bedroom, I had a surprise for him. His anticipation of sex was enough to encourage his compliance. “I want your face to feel soft and smooth like a baby’s bottom,” I teased him provocatively. I laid out the baby clothes on the bed while he was gone and conspicuously put a wooden hairbrush next to them. When he returned, his eyes went wide. “Get undressed,” I ordered him. “Mommy wants to meet baby Alice.”

“Jill,” he hesitated. I could see he realized that, unlike his namesake, once he went down the rabbit hole there was no coming back.

“Little baby girls don’t use words and they obey their mommies or they have a session with Mr. Hairbrush,” I warned him. He looked at the bed, at me, back at the bed, took a deep breath and began to undress. I laid out the diaper and fastened it. I inserted a finger in the leg

opening to make sure that they were tight. A pink nylon rumba panty with rows of lacy white ruffles on the back, a full white nylon petticoat with layers of flounces, a pink dress with white ruffled cap sleeves and a short skirt exposing the panty, white ankle socks and white booties completed the adult baby wardrobe.

I picked up the hairbrush, smiled to reassure Alice that I was pleased with her obedience, styled her hair into bangs and tied on the bonnet. I studied her face. “Don’t move.” I applied a hint of blush, bubble gum pink lip gloss and used a curler and mascara to give her long fluttery lashes. I stepped back. Alice looked like a baby doll, literally. “I need to have your ears pierced,” I mused. She started to speak. “Shhhsh,” I put a finger to her lips. “Babies do not use words without their mommy’s permission,” I reminded her.

Let’s go have breakfast. I took her hand and led her to the kitchen. I pointed to a low stool. When she was seated, I tied on a bib embroidered with “Baby Alice” and pink bunnies, picked up a bottle I prepared and put it up to her mouth. She gave me a questioning look. From the stories, I knew that bottles were used both to reward and punish. “It’s just Enfamil, baby formula.” She took the nipple and began to nurse. “And diuretics and a laxative.” She stopped. I held the bottle firmly in her mouth. It was voodoo, but believing it would have the same effect. “You’re the one that fantasized about being diapered,” I admonished her.

I undid her bib and used it to wipe up the dribbles around her mouth. “Mommy needs to go to her store and baby Alice needs to come too.” She looked shocked. “Oh, did my little baby girl think that she would just play dress-up at home?” Do you remember the old saying, be careful what you wish for? Well, you got it and mommy is gong to keep you that way.” I couldn’t tell if she was terrified or excited by her future. Probably both, but it didn’t matter “You don’t have to go out in the neighborhood, “I paused, “at least not yet,” holding out the prospect of future humiliation, another common theme in the stories. You can get in the car in the garage and lie down in the back seat.

I took her hand, picked up my purse and started for the door. “Wait! Does baby Alice need her didee changed?” I pulled down her diaper cover and checked. “No? Well, maybe later, when all those nice drugs mommy put in her bottle do their job,” I reinforced the inevitability. She reluctantly allowed me to put her in the car. Maybe I should rethink the baby reins. They were much more authoritarian.

I parked in front of the store. “Mmmm, mmmm,” Alice babbled urgently as she looked around. “Does Alice want mummy to go in back and use the delivery door?” I interpreted. She made a pleading whimper. “Oh, too bad,” I commiserated mockingly, “that door is locked from the inside.” I took her hand. Alice cowered while I pretended to search for my keys. “If you don’t want to draw attention to yourself, then stop making a fuss.” I finally relented and she scrambled inside.

Alice froze when she saw the women. I kept hold of her hand and dragged her in. They stopped working and looked at us. “I am starting a new business,” I explained, “and Alice,” I introduced the adult baby I had in tow, “is going to model them for us.” Being publicly exposed was the ultimate humiliation imposed in the stories. The women covered their mouths in astonishment. Alice shrunk back. “Really Alice, these

nice ladies made your pretty dress and petticoats. Today they’re working on your sleepers. Don’t you want to thank them,” I taunted her. After a futile struggle, she realized that there was no place to hide. “This is Anh, this is Linh and these are her sisters Minh and Pham.” To Alice’s surprise, their interest was professional, not prurient. They chattered in Vietnamese as they checked her dress, adjusting and arranging her skirt and lifting her petticoats.

“Can we see underneath?” Minh asked, pointing to the diaper cover. I walked over. Alice looked at me pleadingly. “Behave,” I said sternly. I pulled the diaper cover down to her knees. The women crowded around inspecting her diaper.

“You made these?” Pham asked. I nodded. “Your baby needs to be changed,” she exclaimed with a laugh.

Apparently, Alice had been trying to hold her bladder in hope of a reprieve and lost control when she was startled. No wonder she was reluctant to have the women look her over. “Okay, you can change her,” I offered. “I have some clean diapers in my office.” I wasn’t sure that the women were expecting to provide childcare, but they seemed to be amused and it would be even more humiliating for Alice. I got a large

sample of blackout curtain material with a polyester backing to use as an adult-sized changing pad and a pink flowered diaper. Alice had finally accepted her situation and was waiting docilly when I returned. I spread the changing pad on the floor. “Lie down,” I ordered, pulling on her arm and guiding her to lie flat with her legs raised. I handed the diaper to Minh. I stood so that Alice couldn’t see that I had my phone out and was videoing.

Minh unfastened the diaper and peeled it back. I could see from the yellow color that Alice had let go a full bladder and the diaper design worked to absorb it. Three was a burst of giggles when the women saw what was underneath. I sighed and shrugged. I handed Pham a pack of wipes from my purse. She gave me a questioning look. I nodded my approval. She passed them out and the four of them started to clean Alice up, leading to more amusement as the effect of four Asian women playing with her pecker after a week of chastity had the inevitable effect. The women looked at me for guidance. Again, I nodded my approval. It only took a few more minutes before Alice began to moan and then deposited a sizeable puddle of cum on her stomach.

Minh offered me the package of wipes. Instead, I bent down and took out Alice’s pacifier. She started to speak. I silenced her with a frown. To the amazement of the audience, I scooped up a glob of cum. Alice looked wide-eyed as she anticipated what was about to happen. I brought it to her mouth. “Open,” I ordered. “There are worse things that mommy can feed her little baby girl,” I warned her. She reluctantly complied. From the excited chatter behind me, I expected the women had come, sorry, not sorry, to realize that this was not about theatrical costumes. To reinforce my dominance and her submission, I continued to feed Alice her cum. When it was gone, I diapered her and pulled up her rumba panties.

Helping Alice to her feet, I dismissed the women and took Alice to my office. I removed the pacifier. “Just listen,” I cautioned her. "What I found on your computer got me started doing some research. It turns out there are a lot of websites that offer adult baby products. The clothes are disappointing. I believe there’s a market for real baby clothes for adults and they bring good money. I want you to build me an online store with a catalog. You will be the model. You have permission to speak.”

Alice had been sucking on her pacifier since the morning and she still had the taste of cum. It took a minute for her to be able to speak. “I can do the website, but I don’t want to model for it. You said you weren’t going to take me out in public. What if someone recognizes me,” she complained worriedly.”

“The only people using the website are adult babies too. At best you would have an equally discreet playmate. Otherwise, they too would be concerned about being discovered.

“What if they posted my picture anonymously or worse blackmailed me?” he argued.

“If this was one of your stories, I could blackmail you with the video I took of you in a pissy diaper getting a handjob and eating your own cum.,” I threatened.

“What? No,” he pleaded, “you didn’t, did you?”

I showed her my phone. “But no,” I conceded, “for the same reasons I accepted you as an adult baby, I wouldn’t, I couldn’t hurt you. Whether you want to go back to working in the basement while I struggle to keep my business going or you model for me, that’s your decision.”

And that is how Bootie Boutique became the premier adult baby porn site. But that’s another story.