TEENAGER IN DIAPERS 

	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 
through 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.