Tshanahanxxx

“Need to go wee-wee, Jakey?” Jake’s mum asked, looking concerned. Jake gave a sharp shake of his head, trying to ignore his brother Josh tittering at the remark. He shot the boy a withering scowl, intending to communicate a fierce warning to his bothersome younger brother, but even at its meanest his pudgy little face was only capable of displaying a fussy petulant pout. Josh just smirked at the display - prompting Jake to feel a pang of jealousy at the sight of the maturely dressed ten-year-old leaning casually against the ticket barriers. Their mother never made Josh hold her hand, call her mummy, or comply with any other of the myriad infantile rules that somehow seemed to apply only to Jake, and never to his little brother. “Are you sure, honey? You’re mighty wriggly…” his mother continued. “Yes!” he insisted. It was true he was fidgeting, but he was only trying to get loose from his mother’s relentless grip on his hand. He felt as if everyone in the entire train station was

"Let's get you out of that sticky dress, sweetie." Rachel stripped him of his stained dress and told him to sit quietly as she searched through her old clothes for something extra feminine for Jamie. She was pleased to find that Jamie obeyed her without question. He was clearly distraught with his soggy diaper in plain view, but there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing other than ask Rachel for a diaper change. "I know you said it's best for me to wear these…" said Jamie, "...but I really think I can hold it...and these diapers feel so...icky." Rachel chuckled. "Is that so? Maybe they wouldn't be so icky if you didn't wet and cum in them." A pink doll collar dress caught her eye and Rachel pulled it free. A pair of bright pink rhumba panties came with it. Rachel raised an eyebrow. "Tell ya what, Jamie. Why don't we give you a little test? Something to help us decide what to do with you." Jamie perked up. "Anything!" "I'm going to put you in this dress and stretch these

“Good morning, sweetkin!” Prince Llewyn awoke with a start, inhaling in fright as he glanced around his chambers. In his dreams, there’d been a terrible cackling witch standing over him, swirling in mystical purple light. He put a small hand to his bare chest as he registered the figure of an ordinary flaxen-haired middle aged woman opening the thick royal red curtains. It was only Nanny. He narrowed his eyebrows. What was she doing here? “Did my little prince sleep well?” she asked. The boy let out a snort of displeasure. Little Prince? Llewyn knew he was small. He could hardly forget it. Even the youngest pages at court towered a good foot above his head! But he was thirteen years old, and the heir to his father’s kingdom no less. A babysish nickname like that was hardly appropriate, even from his old nursemaid. “Don’t call me that.” he instructed haughtily, crossing his arms. Nanny sat down on the side of his bed, prodding him mischievously on the nose. “What else shall I call