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Bobby

Damn! I wish I knew how long she's going to keep me in here this
time. I think the worst part of this punishment is not knowing. But
there's nothing I can do about it. In fact, there's not much I can do
about anything the way I'm fixed. I'm laying in a large-size crib,
with about 8 layers of diapers pinned on, covered with a very babyish
pair of plastic panties. Not the usual place to find a 18-year old
boy. A webbed top locked to the rails makes sure that there's no way
I can get out. Besides, this time she strapped my wrists and ankles
to the mattress with hospital restraints. Mom doesn't miss a trick. I
guess she figured out that I've been amusing myself by masturbating,
so this time she made sure that I can neither play with myself thru
the diapers, nor roll over on my stomach and do it by rubbing against
the rubber sheet. I can't even talk. A large pacifier strapped in my
mouth takes care of that. All I can do is lay here and use my diapers
the way a baby does. Oh, yes. Mom has been feeding me plenty of
liquids (from baby bottles, of course), so I'm wetting regularly.
There's a pretty good chance that before she lets me out, I'll have no
choice but to mess as well.

As I lay here, my mind drifts back to the first time Mom used diapers
on my as a punishment. I was 10 at the time, and Mom had been bugging
me about not wiping myself well enough. My underwear always had brown
stains in the seat. One day, when she was putting my dirty underwear
in the laundry, she decided enough was enough. She stormed into my
room, thrust a particularly soiled pair of my underwear in front of my
face and shouted, "Bobby, I've had it with you. If you're going to
dirty your pants like a baby, then that's what you're going to
become." She quickly removed all my clothes, and left the room
locking the door behind her. I stood stark naked in my bedroom not
knowing what she was going to do next. I found out soon enough when
she reentered the room carrying a stack of diapers, plastic pants,
safety pins and baby powder. I struggled, but to no avail. Mom was
pretty strong, and I was still a little boy. So, pretty quickly, I
found myself pinned into diapers and wearing nothing over them but
plastic panties. Then, Mom said, "Bobby, you're going to be able to
mess your pants as much as you want now. I'm keeping you in diapers
for a whole week. You're going to use them just like a baby does.
I've locked the bathroom door, and its going to be off-limits to you.
Don't ask to be changed when you're wet or messy, either. I'll change
you when I feel like it. I want to make sure that you appreciate what
its like to be wearing dirty diapers. Maybe a week of that will
convince you to wipe yourself when you go to the toilet. And, if I
catch you touching your diapers yourself, the punishment gets extended
for the whole summer, and I'll keep your hands restrained as well.
Now, go out in the backyard and play." "But Mom, I'm wearing nothing
but diapers. I can't go out like this!" "Babies go out in diapers
all the time, Bobby. If you want, you can put on a tee-shirt, but I
want your diapers and plastic pants to stay in full view, so that
everyone can see what a baby you are". Luckily, none of my friends saw
me that time, but some of the neighbors sure noticed. They all seemed
to approve of the way Mom was punishing me, and I felt even more
ashamed.

Well, that was the first time, but it certainly wasn't the last. Mom
decided that diapering was the most effective punishment she could
find for me, and used it whenever she had any excuse. Gradually, other
baby items got added to the punishment. I soon had a large layette of
oversized baby clothes, as well as bottles, pacifiers, rattles and
other baby toys. Mom got hold of an old playpen, and I spent many a
diapered day sitting in it playing with my toys. As time went on, mom
found a carpenter who would build her some oversized baby furniture,
and so my crib and my high-chair made their appearance.

My punishments were of varying lengths. For minor offenses, I was
usually just diapered overnight, or maybe for a weekend. During the
school year, I was always allowed to dress normally for school, but
sometimes Mom sentenced me to spend afternoons, nights and weekends as
a baby for periods ranging from a week to a month. When I was 13, I
flunked math in school, and so, besides having to go to summer school
(dressed as a normal boy), I had to spend the whole summer as a baby.
That was the summer that Mom got the crib and high-chair, and when I
wasn't in school, I was treated exactly like a 1-year-old toddler. I
was fed baby food in my high-chair, drank my liquids from a bottle, and
spend every night of the summer sleeping in the crib. Of course, I
was always well diapered, and had to use them just like a baby. Mom
took me to the beach in just my diapers, and I had to explain to
anyone who asked that I was being punished for being a bad boy.
Everyone seemed to approve.

Last week, I turned 18, and I decided that enough was enough. The next
time Mom told me I was being punished in diapers, I yelled that I was
too big for that sort of punishment, pushed her out of the way, and
stormed out the door. I guess I wasn't too good at running away,
because it only took a few hours before the police found me and
escorted me home. Mom was ready for me. She had wrist and ankle
restraints on me before I knew what was happening. It didn't take her
long to get me into the state I'm in now. After my wrists and ankles
were secured to the crib mattress, she force fed me a quart-sized
bottle of baby formula, and one of juice. Then she removed the nipple
and replaced it with the pacifier I still have strapped in my mouth.
Then she smiled, kissed me on the forehead, and as she locked the top
over the crib, she said, "Pleasant dreams, Baby Bobby. You'll have
plenty of time to lay and think about how bad it was for you to run
away, and how you're going to be punished for that. This time you're
going to be a baby for a long, long time." Then she turned out the
light and closed the door. That was 48 hours ago, and I'm still here.
Twice a day, she comes in, changes my diapers, and feeds me another
two quart bottles, and a jar of baby food. She keeps telling me that
I've been a very bad boy, but I'm going to become a good, sweet little
baby. She hasn't given me a clue as to how long my babying is going
to last this time, or even how long I'm going to be left restrained in
my crib, but I have a feeling I'm going to be a baby for a long, long
time.