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Rosie's Role by Sally KA

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    Rosie's Role by Sally KA

    Rosie's Role 1

    Another slow one – I won't apologise, because I find reality quite slow sometimes,
    especially when it concerns self-discovery, or the discovery of others.

    And I'll get back to those naughty girls in due course.

    Rosie listened politely as her friend Jill chattered away to her short, blond friend.

    Rosie had worked with Jill for around two years, but had not previously run into Jill's friend
    Cyn. Apparently Cyn had been overseas, and Rosie gathered from her friend's conversation
    that this Cyn was something of a wild little thing.

    Little, thought Rosie, because Cyn could not have been much more than 5 feet tall. They
    must have made quite a duo, thought Rosie, as she listened to the reminisces of the two women.

    'Really??' Jill was saying in astonishment as Cyn related one of her apparently many
    adventures. Rosie was astonished too, she had to admit. Cyn had really been around. Not
    just with men, it seemed.

    'So, what do you actually do, Cyn?' asked Rosie during one of the few lulls between the
    alarming tales.

    'Oh, Cyn does everything, don't you Cyn?' Jill answered for her friend.

    Cyn smiled, and looked across at Rosie.

    Rosie felt quite out of place in the company of this adventuress. Her own experiences were
    somewhat dull by comparison. Even her clothes were dull, thought Rosie, looking down at
    the modest swell of her breasts and glancing again at Cyn's well-endowed chest. But she's
    no model, thought Rosie. Then neither am I, she reminded herself.

    Jill had left work early, to catch up with her long-lost friend Cyn, whom she had talked
    about at work for the last week or so. Rosie realised that she was a few glasses behind.

    'More drinks!' said Cyn with an air that made Rosie concerned about driving home.

    'What'll it be, sister? Double or triple?' said Cyn, placing a friendly hand on Rosie's shoulder.

    'Just another white wine and soda, please,' said Rosie, feeling slightly out of her depth.

    Jill got up with Cyn to get the drinks, and Rosie had time to look around the bar. She and
    Jill often finished off the working day with a coffee, and had always walked this small, dark
    bar with its steps leading down from the street. A bit sleazy, thought Rosie. She looked
    forward to getting home, and wondered if she should pick up something for her and
    Michael for dinner.

    The two women returned to the table with the drinks.

    'Rosie has only had one husband,' Jill was saying, 'And he's not quite like that!'

    Quite like what, Rosie wondered.

    'If anything, he's the opposite!' Jill said, grinning and taking a swig from the tumbler in her

    Rosie looked apprehensively at the drink Cyn had placed in front of her. It didn't look
    anything like a wine and soda.

    'A little something to get you in the mood for Mr Michael!' Cyn said conspiratorially as she
    sat down.

    Rosie sipped at her drink and screwed up her nose.

    'Opposite of what?' she asked Jill.

    Not only did she feel out of place here, with this strong drink and this boisterous friend of
    Jill's, but Rosie felt protective of Michael. He was a good husband, and was doing his best
    to cope with his loss of job as well as a few other recent problems.

    'Michael's a good guy,' said Rosie.

    'If a little strange sometimes,' Jill said, taking another mouthful.

    Rosie shrugged.

    'There's nothing wrong with him,' she said.

    She wondered what had got into Jill.

    'Tell Cyn what he does at night,' said Jill with another giggle.

    'A tiger?' said Cyn with interest, leaning forward.

    'He's a good guy,' repeated Rosie.

    'But not a tiger,' insisted Jill. 'Tell Cyn what he does,' she added, giving Rosie a nudge.

    'He doesn't do anything,' said Rosie.

    She was getting tired of this.

    'What, nothing at all?' said Cyn with a laugh. 'Sister, you have needs!'

    'I didn't mean that,' said Rosie crossly.

    She thought of Michael. He would probably be having a snooze right now. He had been
    battling a sort of exhaustion syndrome for over six months. It wasn't fair of Jill to be going
    on like this, she thought.

    'What does he do?' Cyn asked again.

    Rosie knew what Jill was hinting at. She cursed herself for ever telling her. Some things
    were best kept private.

    Instead of answering, Rosie took a gulp of her drink. It tasted strong and sweet, and she
    thought she was going to cough it up, but then the fiery fluid seemed to settle warmly
    inside her. Not so bad after all, she thought.

    'See, it does you good!' laughed Jill. 'Try another mouthful!'

    Glad to have diverted the conversation away from Michael, Rosie swallowed the rest of her
    drink in one gulp. It made her shake her head like a pony.

    Another tumbler appeared at her elbow. Rosie hadn't noticed Cyn going to the bar for refills.

    Rosie looked around again, and tried to smile. Not only was she warm inside, but the room
    seemed very bright and noisy.

    Cyn's stories continued. Rosie decided that although Michael wasn't perhaps a match for
    the Brad Pitt clones Cyn seemed to have bedded at will, but he was hers. Her mind drifted
    a little as she listened to the bravura tales of feminine conquest. She hadn't really had to
    fight for Michael, she thought. He was just nice. And he needed her. He made her feel as
    though she had an important role in the world. That thought made her feel as warm as the
    drink, and she refocussed on the conversation of the other two women.

    As if on cue, Cyn turned to her.

    'So, Rosie, what does this man of yours get up to in bed?' she asked with a wicked smile.
    Choronzon: I am Anti-Life, the Beast of Judgment. I am the dark at the end of everything. The end of universes, gods, worlds… of everything. Sss. And what will you be then, Dreamlord?

    Morpheus: I am hope.

    -Neil Gaiman’s Sandman Vol. 2 Issue 4

    Rosie's Role by Sally KA

    Rosie's Role 2

    That was a joke about several weeks –– slowness can be taken too far!

    Rosie looked into her drink, watching dim lights of the bar reflected in the thin amber liquid.
    I''m a little drunk, she thought.

    ''Go on, Rosie, you told me –– it''s not a big deal,'' prompted Jill.

    ''He sleeps,'' said Rosie after moment, and giggled at her wit.

    ''Yes, but he sleeps with his……'' prompted Jill. ''Tell Cyn, Rosie, it''s hilarious.''

    Rosie sat silently. She wasn''t sure if it was a big deal or not. It didn''t mean anything. It was
    almost her secret, not Michael''s, she thought. She wished she hadn''t told Jill about it.

    ''For God''s sake,'' said Cyn. ''Does he wank himself, or what?''

    Rosie felt a hot flush run through her.

    ''No, he……'' goaded Jill.

    Rosie looked at her friend''s grinning face, then at Cyn, who was rolling her eyes.

    ''He sucks his thumb,'' said Rosie quietly. ''At night. Sometimes.''

    Jill collapsed into a fit of giggles. Cyn took a practised gulp of her drink and looked steadily at Rosie.

    ''And how does that make you feel?'' she asked.

    Rosie blinked. She had expected Cyn to laugh, or say something nasty, not ask her how it made
    her feel. That was the secret part –– her feelings. She hadn''t discussed that part with Jill, or
    anyone. Sometimes, when she lay next to Michael, watching him sleep, she felt oddly affected by
    his infantile habit. Aroused wasn''t really the word –– comforted was better. The couple had
    never discussed Michael''s thumbsucking –– Rosie was sure he wasn''t even aware he was doing
    it, but it made Rosie feel very tender towards him. It was nothing really, but Rosie felt sometimes
    that it made up in a very small way for the fact that Rosie and Michael had no children, and
    probably couldn''t have any.

    Now this manic friend of Jill''s knew about it too, and she had cut straight to one of Rosie''s
    most personal experiences. Rosie wondered if Cyn would ever meet Michael, and what she
    would think, or say, she worried. Rosie tried to decide if she had betrayed her husband, or even
    herself, in some way by telling Jill, let alone this new person. She wanted to go home, now, and
    pushed her chair out from the table.

    ''No, don''t go, this is just getting interesting,'' said Cyn, putting her hand on Rosie''s arm.

    ''Does he wet the bed too?'' asked Jill and continued giggling.

    ''No he doesn''t!'' said Rosie emphatically.

    She lied. Michael had wet the bed on their wedding night, and had been mortified. He had been
    drunk, and it took the pair some time to remake the hotel''s bed and to concoct a story in the
    morning. Michael''s late mother had also tried to tell Rosie something about Michael wetting his
    bed, but she spoke about it in such a round about fashion that Rosie couldn''t really make head or
    tail of what she was saying.

    ''All men are just babies, really,'' said Cyn, ''Look at the way they behave. And their toys.''

    ''Ferraris, yachts……'' offered Jill. ''Another round?'' she added, getting up.

    Rosie felt miserable about letting this stranger know her husband sucked his thumb, and just
    nodded. She wanted another drink now. She had decided to get a cab home and get her car in the morning.

    ''Does it turn you on to see him lying there sucking his thumb like a baby?'' said Cyn as Jill
    weaved away to the bar.

    Rosie looked unhappily at Jill''s friend. She wanted to say that their sex life was not really much,
    and mostly the only stimulation she got in bed was the odd, illicit feeling she got from seeing
    Michael with his thumb in his mouth, and that sometimes Michael cuddled up to her in his sleep
    and she replaced his thumb with a teat from her small, soft breast; she wanted to tell someone
    that she sometimes imagined that her husband was her baby.

    Rosie tried not to cry, and looked away from Cyn''s eyes. They were actually quite kind eyes, she
    thought, and wiped her own eyes before meeting the other woman''s gaze again.

    ''Maybe you should explore things a little, Rosie,'' said Cyn gently. ''Or just talk to someone
    about it, if you want. You can talk to me. I''m staying at the Townhouse for the next few months.''

    A yelp disrupted Rosie''s tangled thoughts. Jill had half tripped on the way back from the bar,
    and had managed to keep hold of all three glasses while spilling most of their contents.

    ''I think we need to leave,'' said Rosie, surprising herself with her forthrightness.

    Cyn rolled her eyes again, and got up to help Jill.

    A few minutes later the three women stood in the evening chill of the street. Everything was
    shining in the light drizzle, and Rosie hunched her shoulders for warmth.

    Cyn and Rosie maneuvered Jill into a cab, and sent her on her way home.

    ''I live the other way,'' said Rosie, turning from Jill''s departing cab to Cyn. ''Do you need a lift?''

    Cyn looked around the street.

    ''No. I''ll be fine, but you should be going,'' she said, motioning to a cruising cab.

    ''You get yourself home safely, and remember, look after your baby. Maybe that''s what he
    needs,'' she said as the cab pulled to the kerb. ''And you,'' she added, meeting Rosie''s eyes.

    Rosie gave brief instructions to the driver, and flopped back in the seat. What a weird night, she
    thought. She brushed her hand across her face, and let it rest on her breast for a moment. She
    thought of Michael and wondered if he would be cuddling up to her later on. What an unusual
    woman Cyn was. ''Explore……maybe that''s what he needs……and you……''

    With a slight shock, Rosie felt an erect nipple beneath the soft fabric of her bra, and dropped her
    hand to her lap. She spent the rest of the trip home watching the orange lights of the streetlamps
    colouring the wet sidewalks. She remembered the golden drinks, and her head swam a little.
    Choronzon: I am Anti-Life, the Beast of Judgment. I am the dark at the end of everything. The end of universes, gods, worlds… of everything. Sss. And what will you be then, Dreamlord?

    Morpheus: I am hope.

    -Neil Gaiman’s Sandman Vol. 2 Issue 4


      Rosie's Role by Sally KA

      Rosie's Role 3

      Rosie paid the cabbie outside her apartment building, and watched the cab drive away in
      the rain. She felt light-headed and slightly silly. Rosie didn't usually drink more than one or
      two small glasses of her wine and soda, but found the rare feeling of being affected by
      alcohol pleasant.

      She had quite a responsible position in the world, she told herself. She was really the
      breadwinner in her family of two, she mused.

      'I'm in charge,' she said, and giggled in her surprise at saying the words aloud.

      Rosie stretched her arms straight out from her shoulders and turned a slow circle, enjoying
      the lights of the street rushing past her eyes. Then she stood still, and cleared her throat.

      'I'm in charge,' she told the lamppost next to her. 'I'm in charge of me, and I'm in charge
      of my house, and I'm in charge of…'

      Rosie paused. Michael would be home, either waiting for her or asleep alone.

      She felt a sudden panic as she felt around herself for her purse. There it was, slung by its
      strap over her searching arm.

      'Silly me,' she said, and walked towards the bright light of the doorway.

      Carefully, she entered her code on the keypad by the big doors, stumbling a little as she
      made her way inside. The warm air of the hallway rushed around her, and she stopped to
      look at herself in the big mirror next to the elevator.

      Not bad, she thought, looking herself up and down. For a 35 year old chick. She giggled as
      she assessed herself.

      Nice hair, good legs, if a little short, and nice ass. She giggled and turned around again.
      The tight tan pants she wore to her job as a company accountant showed off her curves
      very efficiently, she told herself. Tummy could be flatter, she thought, patting the slight
      bulge below her belt that she could never get rid of. She drew in her breath and pulled her
      pants up tight. I hope no-one's looking, she thought suddenly, envisioning as well as
      feeling the seam of the pants dig into her crotch. She turned to look through the glass
      doors to the empty sidewalk. Good, she thought, but I should get rid of that bulge below
      my belt. After all she thought, I'm not pregnant, closing her eyes as she ran her fingers
      down below her belly to her pubic mound. She wondered what it would be like to be
      pregnant, then looked at her face in the mirror. Pregnant. Not a word she would probably
      ever use about herself now, she thought, biting her lower lip. No babies. She had to catch
      her breath. Snap out of it, she told herself. You're drunk. So what, the same voice replied.
      Rosie stood still and pushed out her tummy as far as she could and checked her profile.
      She imagined her full womb pressing outwards against the big white panties she wore.
      Mommy's coming baby! She said to herself, and laughed to stop herself crying. Drunk
      drunk drunk, she told herself.

      Oops, she thought suddenly, realising that distending her stomach made her feel a strong
      urge to pee. At least it got her mind off babies. Jill had had two abortions, while she herself
      was yet to make a child. I wonder if I could make a child, she thought. If only there were
      ingredients you could find. She should explore the options, she told herself in her work
      language: 'Explore…'

      Another, more urgent spasm from her bladder reminded her to get moving. The elevator
      doors opened as she reached them and one of her elderly female neighbours emerged.

      'Hello Rosie,' said the woman.

      Rosie said hello, and judged from the surprised look on the old lady's face that she hadn't
      been able to cover her drunkenness very well.

      'I hope you had a good night, dear,' said the woman as Rosie stepped into the elevator.

      'Yup,' said Rosie, and belched involuntarily as the doors closed.

      She felt tired now, and grew impatient as the elevator reeled itself slowly upwards. Her
      tummy hurt, and she slipped undone the big brass buckle of her belt. She still felt
      constricted, and realised that her pants were still pulled tight up around her hips. She slid
      them downwards a little, sighing at the relief it gave her.

      At last it reached the fifth floor. Rosie slid between the opening doors and walked quickly
      to the door of her apartment. She fumbled for the key, then let herself in.

      It was very quiet inside the apartment. Rosie turned on the hall light, and opened the door
      to the bathroom off the hall. Putting her purse on the washbasin and flicking on the light
      over the mirror, she shut the door, slid off her pants, yanked down her pantyhose and
      panties, and sat back on the toilet. Home, she thought, as she relaxed, spread her soft
      thighs slightly and peed for what seemed like five minutes.

      I could almost sleep here, she thought dreamily, then reminded herself that she had to
      check on Michael. Not check on him, she corrected herself, go to him. I haven't got a baby,
      she thought with a brief pang of bitterness.

      With a deep breath, she stood up and waddled to the washbasin. Stepping out of her
      shoes, she slid her pants and underclothes to the floor and crossed her arms to peel off her
      blouse and vest. She stood in the centre of the bathroom and looked down at her breasts.
      She had to steady herself against the basin as she turned to face the mirror.

      Rosie licked her fingers, then put her wet fingertips to her chin. She slid them down over
      her breasts, circling each of her thickening nipples with the pad of her index fingers. She
      could feel every tiny bump on her aureoles. She slipped off the bra's shoulder straps and
      gently lifted her breasts from their cups, sliding the bra around her body to unfasten the
      clasp. She let the garment drop, and her fingers resumed their path down her body.

      Rosie felt again the roundness of her tummy. She licked her fingertips again and ran her
      fingers below her belly, through the thick curls of her pubic hair, the tips of her nails
      tickling the folds of her vulva.

      She watched her fingers in the mirror.

      'Exploring…' she thought with a wry smile.

      Rosie folded a towel and placed it on the side of the bath. She spread her fingers across
      her thighs, then, breathing in, she sat on the bath edge and slid the fingers of one hand
      back to her vulva. With a featherlike touch she brought herself almost to a climax, then,
      panting slightly, she turned on the shower and washed, repeating the near climactic
      movements under the soapy water.

      She shivered slightly as she walked to the bedroom.

      Michael was curled up on his side of the bed. He made small groaning noises as Rosie
      climbed in beside him, taking care not to upset his arm as he sucked his thumb.

      'Hello baby,' Rosie whispered, her usual pet name for her husband resonating this time
      throughout her body.

      Once she had settled in the bed, and was sure that Michael was sound asleep, Rosie
      positioned herself so that his mouth was close to her breasts. Slowly, she slid her
      husband's thumb from his mouth and guided his lips to her nipple. She came only a few
      moments later, unable to prevent herself from both grunting loudly and pushing against
      Michael. Michael made sleepy noises as Rosie hushed him by holding his head close to her

      'It's ok, baby, my sweet baby,' Rosie said.

      Thoughts and words swirled through her still blurred head. Rosie's self-confessed desires
      mixed with the wild suggestions of the strange Cyn.

      I need to look after my baby, thought Rosie without really knowing what she wanted to do.

      'My baby,' she muttered to Michael as he nuzzled against her.

      Very gently, she took one of his hands and, pulling the thumb outwards she guided it back
      into Michael's mouth. Michael seemed to become more wakeful, and resisted the gentle
      pressure of Rosie's own hand.

      'It's alright, you're my baby, my sweet baby,' Rosie whispered.

      She felt the resistance of Michael's hand lessen. Once he settled again, she took his free
      hand and le it downwards to his groin. He was awake now. Michael's fingers seemed
      uncertain as she wrapped them tenderly around his erect penis, and with her hand around
      his, began to move his fingers slowly up and down. Michael nuzzled closer to Rosie, then
      released his thumb from his mouth and sought out her nipple again. Rosie's fingers were
      still wrapped around his as he came, and she felt the hot, sticky semen running between
      her fingers as well as his.

      They lay together without a word for some time, then Michael moved to get out of the bed.

      'No, stay, baby. Stay with Mommy,' said Rosie, shocking herself with the use of the word,
      and hoping that Michael would not be horrified.

      'Need to pee pee,' said Michael quietly.

      'It's ok, baby,' whispered Rosie in Michael's ear. She cuddled him for a few moments and
      cupped his genitals in one hand.

      , shocking herself again.

      Michael made to get up again, then stopped. Rosie felt his muscles tense, then relax.

      Rosie felt herself rising to another climax as she gently squeezed Michael's still-thick but
      now soft penis. She lifted it up and let it fall to one side, and began to press gently on
      Michael's lower stomach.

      'Pee pee now, baby,' she repeated into Michael's ear in an almost inaudible whisper.

      Michael groaned.

      After a couple of hesitant dribbles, he began to pee, slowly at first then in a full stream.
      Rosie held his head close to her and stroked his hair as Michael soaked the bed, his thighs
      and Rosie's tummy. She felt his eyelids fluttering against her delicate skin, and hugged
      him tighter when she felt his tears running over her breasts. He was crying steadily as
      Rosie felt the wetness spreading across the mattress and under her hips.

      'It's ok, baby, you're just having an accident, Mommy's here,' she chanted slowly to
      Michael as he cried himself to sleep.
      Choronzon: I am Anti-Life, the Beast of Judgment. I am the dark at the end of everything. The end of universes, gods, worlds… of everything. Sss. And what will you be then, Dreamlord?

      Morpheus: I am hope.

      -Neil Gaiman’s Sandman Vol. 2 Issue 4


        Rosie's Role by Sally KA

        Rosie's Role 4 (final)

        The next morning, Rosie woke first. She groaned, and rubbed her forehead. She felt terrible.

        She glanced at her husband, and eased her plumpish 35 year old body from the bed. She
        need a glass of water. Badly.

        The skin on her legs itched, and she scratched her thigh with her fingers as she walked.
        Then she smelled the sharp odour of stale urine.

        The night came flooding back. Rosie rubbed her fingers together and felt the remnants of
        her husband's discharge still there.

        To confirm her worst suspicions, Rosie turned back to the bedroom, and lifted the
        bedclothes aside from the soundly sleeping Michael. The dark mark of still wet urine spread
        across the lower sheet. The mattress would be soaked, Rosie thought with a droop of her shoulders.

        She looked Michael, who lay sucking his thumb.

        Rosie went to the kitchen, and poured herself a big glass of water.

        She saw her naked reflection in the kitchen window against the still dark outside.

        'What have I done?' she asked herself.

        Michael woke when he heard his wife in the shower. He rolled over, smiling. What dreams
        he'd had. He loved it when he could remember his dreams.

        He became aware of the wet sheet beneath him. He sat still for a moment, his head on one

        Rosie had come home, and had gone to bed. She called him baby, and made him come. He
        thought he'd wet in his dream. My God, he thought. I've wet the bed again.

        Michael got out of bed quickly. She'd have to know, he thought, looking at the extent of
        the wet patch.

        In the shower, Rosie pieced the night back together. She was well aware of the feelings
        aroused by the combination of Cyn and alcohol. It was just that she didn't give them a
        chance to affect her behavior. Well, last night she gave in to what she had feared as her
        'dark side'. Rosie giggled mischievously. And what had happened. Well, the Devil hadn't
        arisen from Hell or anything, that was for sure. She had made her husband ejaculate , and
        he had wet the bed. End of world. Ha. She giggled again. And she had come herself, about
        three times. End of world indeed. Thank you Cyn, she thought. And bourbon. Thank you
        bourbon. Rosie grinned at her reflection in the mirror. No horns, she noticed, so on we go.

        There was a soft tap at the bathroom door. Rosie knew what it was about.

        Michael entered the steamy bathroom carrying a bundle of damp sheets.

        'I'm sorry,' he said to Rosie with feeling. 'I really am, I'm so sorry, I'll do the wash after
        you go…'

        'Don't worry baby, it's only a wet bed. You've wet the bed before,' she said lightly.

        'Well, yes, but…' said Michael.

        'And you'll wet the bed again, won't you baby?' Rosie said. 'Hand me the conditioner, will
        you baby?' she asked, turning to Michael with her eyes tight shut under the shampoo
        bubbles flowing down her face.

        Michael found and gave her the conditioner. He wondered why she wasn't more upset.

        'Well, won't you?' repeated Rosie.

        'Won't what?' said Michael. He was still trying to decide why Rosie wasn't upset.

        'You'll wet the bed again, you know you will, don't you?' Rosie said from the shower.

        'I don't know,' said Michael. What was this about, he thought.

        'Your mom spoke to me about it,' said Rosie. She was starting to feel excited again. She
        was exploring, she felt. Hunting for the truth, and having a good time doing it.

        'But that was ages ago,' said Michael, sounding petulant.

        'Guess what she told me?' said Rosie.

        This was fishing as much as exploring. Michael's mum hadn't really told Rosie anything
        other than there had been 'problems'.

        'I dunno, Rosie, er, accidents, I dunno,' said Michael unhappily.

        'Yes, and…' Rosie continued.

        'Oh, bedwetting, diapers, really Rosie, it was so long ago, I'm sorry about the bed, okay?'
        Michael said defensively.

        He was sorry too. He had been in heaven last night. He had dreamed that Rosie wanted
        him to be her baby. This morning, it was just gruelling, standing here naked, with an
        armful of soiled sheets, being teased about his childhood.
        'That's right, baby, diapers,' Rosie continued. Mmmm, she thought, sliding her soapy
        hands over her breasts.

        'You're mom told me lots of things, Michael,' she said. 'Can you get me the white soap
        from the dish over there,' she added.

        Angrily, Michael grabbed the soap, and handed it past the shower curtain to his wife. It
        was bad enough that she, and probably most women, he admitted, would never
        understand what he really wanted, but it was worse that she was raking over what
        happened with him and his mom.

        Michael's mom had only died a year before. Michael had often been sick as a child, and
        partly because of his illnesses he had relied on diapers for much of his childhood and even
        his young adulthood.

        'OK, Rosie, I used to wet my bed, in fact I wore diapers to bed until I was 20, I had
        accidents in theatres and on trains, ok, I wet myself I front of my first girlfriend and I
        couldn't get into the army because I was a bedwetter. Did she tell you anything else? And
        you know I wet the bed when we got married and I wet last night. And I'll probably wet
        again. Are you happy Rosie?'

        Michael snorted as he finished his little speech.

        'I'm very happy, baby,' said Rosie sweetly. 'Come in here.'

        Michael was glad to get under the warm shower, even if the alcove was a little cramped for

        Rosie loved the way her rounded body bumped and slid against Michael's angular frame.
        His penis was at just the right height to poke under her tummy and push against her vulva.

        'Where are you going?' said Rosie in mock disappointment as Michael tried to edge past her.

        'Take a pee,' said Michael.

        'Stay here,' said Rosie. 'See if you can hold it.'

        'Why?' asked Michael. 'I need to go.'

        Rosie held Michael by his penis. Michael pulled away, and realised by his wife's grip how
        serious she was about him staying.

        'Come on Rosie, I have to go, now,' said Michael.

        'Can't baby hold his pee pee?' said Rosie with a smirk.

        'Look, I'll go in the shower. Let me go,' said Michael. He would never lay a hand on Rosie,
        but he wished she would let him get about his morning routine.

        'Maybe baby needs a diaper. Then he could go anywhere,' said Rosie, leaning towards
        Michael, kissing and licking his ear, and turning off the shower with one hand.

        Michael felt a spurt of pee escaped inadvertently. Rosie had to have felt it over her fingers
        as she continued to grip his cock.

        'Does baby want a diaper?' she cooed, letting go of his member and sliding behind him,
        gently grinding herself against his buns. 'Does baby need his diaper? Then if he has an
        accident it will be all ok and his mommy will be happy.'

        Michael stopped still. What was Rosie saying? She wasn't just tossing words around. Or
        was he hearing things that weren't there. Michael realised he would have to do some
        investigating. He turned to Rosie, almost clubbing her sideways with his rigid penis.

        'Baby, would you like to wear a diaper for me?' Rosie whispered to him.

        Michael was caught between tears and laughter.

        In a moment, his body spoke for him. He grunted and ejaculated over Rosie's tummy.

        'Poor baby, you can't control yourself, can you?' she said, looking sadly at her husband and
        stroking his hair.

        Michael shook his head. He couldn't control himself.

        Finally, his jolting spurts finished. He turned to the toilet bowl to satisfy his next
        overwhelming urge – to urinate.

        'No baby, in here,' said Rosie, pulling him back into the shower alcove.

        'Have to pee,' said Michael.

        'Hold on,' said Rosie, taking his cock and balls in her hand as she had the previous evening.

        'Can't' said Michael, and peed regardless. He couldn't have stopped if he tried.

        Rosie looked at him seriously.

        'I think it's high time you were back in a diaper, don't you?' she asked him.

        Michael nodded.

        'Say yes,' Rosie said.

        'Yes,' said Michael.

        'Yes what?' asked Rosie.

        There was silence. Michael saw his own mother standing before him, diaper in hand. He
        thought of his wife, who really ran the house. He owed her. He also needed to be diapered.
        He knew that he would wet himself again soon. It was high time.

        'Yes Mommy,' he said.

        The words hung in the steamy air of the bathroom as Michael's Mommy led him back to
        the bedroom.

        The End
        Choronzon: I am Anti-Life, the Beast of Judgment. I am the dark at the end of everything. The end of universes, gods, worlds… of everything. Sss. And what will you be then, Dreamlord?

        Morpheus: I am hope.

        -Neil Gaiman’s Sandman Vol. 2 Issue 4