The Day the Pussy Forgot It Was Ever Anything Else

I never left the crib that morning.

Mom didn’t carry me out. She simply unlatched the side rail, let it drop with a soft clunk, and climbed in with me (naked, warm, milk already beading at both nipples). Haley followed, phone in one hand, a thick black strap-on already buckled around her hips, the shaft glistening with strawberry lube that smelled like candy and sin.

The overnight plug (inflated to its maximum) had kept me stretched and aching for nine hours. My hole fluttered around it like a heartbeat. The diaper beneath me was a swamp of prostate fluid and pee; the cage had stayed bone-dry while my pussy did all the leaking. Mom reached between my legs, unlocked the heart-shaped padlock with a deliberate click, and eased the plug out in one slow, slick pull. A thick gush of lube and my own juices followed, soaking the crib sheet. My hole gaped (pink, swollen, twitching) and refused to close.

Mom’s eyes darkened. “Look at that pretty cunt. It’s already begging.”

She didn’t give me time to breathe. She rolled me onto my stomach, knees under me, ass high, face pressed into the waterproof mattress. Haley knelt in front of me, cock bobbing inches from my pacifier. Mom spread my cheeks wide (cool air on hot, lathered skin) and drizzled fresh lube straight into my open hole. It burned, then melted, then burned again.

“Count for Mommy,” Mom said, voice velvet and steel.

The first thrust was Haley (thick, ridged, merciless). She fed the entire length into me in one slow, unstoppable push. My pussy swallowed her greedily, clenching around every vein. I screamed around the pacifier, drool pouring down my chin, the cage slapping uselessly against my belly as my body rocked forward.

One.

Mom took the second turn. She had swapped to an even thicker toy (nine inches, knotted at the base like a dog cock, slick with her own arousal). She mounted me from behind, breasts pressed to my back, nipples dragging across my skin as she sank in to the hilt. The knot popped past my ring with a wet, obscene sound. My vision whited out. Prostate lightning shot up my spine. Clear fluid jetted from the cage in rhythmic ropes (not a single drop from the locked clit, all of it **** out the back by the knot grinding my gland).

Two.

They took turns for an hour (slow, deep strokes that dragged over my prostate like a tongue, then brutal, punishing slams that punched the air from my lungs). Every time I got close to blacking out, they slowed, let me hover on the edge, then started again. My pussy made wet, squelching sounds that filled the room. The crib rocked. The diaper beneath us turned into a puddle.

At some point Mom pulled out, flipped me onto my back, and straddled my face. Her pussy was dripping (swollen, shaved, tasting of salt and milk). She ground down, smothering me, while Haley fucked me missionary-style, legs over her shoulders, the strap-on bottoming out with every thrust.

“Suck Mommy’s clit while your pussy gets bred,” Mom ordered, voice ragged.

I obeyed, tongue lapping desperately, drinking her down as she came on my face (hot, flooding pulses that ran down my chin and neck). Haley followed seconds later, slamming the knot home and holding it there while my prostate convulsed around her, milking another ruined orgasm from my ruined cock. Clear fluid sprayed across my belly, my chest, the crib bars.

They didn’t stop.

Mom moved down my body, unlocked the cage for the first time in days (just long enough to ice my cock until it shrank, useless and soft), then locked it again with a bigger, tighter ring that **** my balls forward and made the cage sit even more cruelly. Haley replaced the strap-on with a remote-controlled prostate massager (curved perfectly, thick bulb pressing directly on my gland). She taped it in place with medical tape, then taped a fresh overnight diaper over everything (extra thick, printed with tiny pink hearts).

The remote went to Mom.

The rest of the day was one long, slow, unbearable tease.

Breakfast: highchair, oatmeal fed by spoon, massager on a pulsing pattern that milked me in slow waves while Mom nursed me at her breast.

Bath: the massager stayed in, vibration on high while Mom and Haley took turns washing me, fingers teasing the tape, the jewel, the stretched rim.

Lunch: on my knees, nursing from Haley while Mom controlled the remote, cycling through patterns that made my pussy clench and leak in helpless, rhythmic spasms.

Afternoon: “pussy rest” on the mat, legs spread, diaper open just enough for the massager to be visible. Mom and Haley watched a movie, casually turning the intensity up whenever I started to relax, forcing another ruined orgasm that left me sobbing and dripping.

Dinner: soft foods on the floor, eating from a bowl like a puppy, massager on random (every unexpected pulse making me hump the air, pussy gaping around the toy, cage swinging uselessly).

Bedtime: Mom inflated the massager one notch larger, taped a double diaper over it for the night, and tucked me into the crib with a fresh bottle of her milk laced with a mild sedative.

Haley kissed my forehead, the pacifier, then the bulge of the diaper.

“Sweet dreams, pussy-girl,” she whispered. “Tomorrow we lock your clit away for good and start you on hormones. Your little cock is officially retired.”

The massager pulsed once (deep, possessive) as the lights went out.

My pussy clenched around it, grateful, and leaked me into oblivion.