A onesie and skirt set

You scowled at him as he held up a white shirt with a pink sailor collar. “No!” You shouted at him as he slid the shirt over your head. He unclipped your left hand to slide your arm through the sleeve, before immediately securing it back to the headboard. He did the same on the other side. He pulled the bottom of the shirt down. You expected it to stop around your waist, but he kept going, down over the diaper. It wasn’t a shirt, it was a onesie.

A new—found anger bubbled in you as you watched him snap the onesie over your diaper. He then unclipped the bar at your legs, sliding a pink sailor skirt up your legs. Much to your disappointment, the bar was clipped back once the skirt sat on your hips.

The muscular man approached, hair brush in hand. He began running the brush through your hair. You felt his hands pull sections doing God-knows-what-with.

When he was finished he stepped back, admiring his work. He cooed at you. “Who’s daddy’s precious girl? Aww, don’t you look adorable.”

You glanced across the room at your floor length mirror, and you felt like crying. You looked like a baby, hair pulled back, held by a large pink bow. Your small breasts disappeared beneath the fabric of the onesie, leaving you flat-chested and girl-like. Even the long skirt couldn’t hide the tiny bulge at your crotch.