The Diaper Treatment — Part I

The following story contains adult content and is intended only for adult readers over the age of 18. Any characters depicted in adult situations are over the age of 18. This story is entirely fictional and has been written and shared for entertainment purposes only.

“Hey, honey, I had a really long, really good talk with your incontinence doctor today. And I think we need to have a talk,” my Mom said in a serious and concerned tone.

My stomach knotted up. We were sitting down together at the kitchen table, where we had our more serious talks.

Like when I sat my Mom down about six months ago, right around my high school graduation, and explained to her (with bright red cheeks) that I needed to have her make me a doctors appointment for an embarrassing little… issue… I seemingly developed out of nowhere.

Then, a short time after that, we had another more serious talk, when my Mom and I discussed, that due to that ‘issue’, it might be better that I continue living with her and attend community college for the next year, instead of going off to any of the four-year universities I was accepted into.

And now, six months later, we were discussing that ‘issue’ again, and I had a feeling it was because we both knew that ‘the issue’ had only gotten progressively worse since it first started.

What ‘issue’, you might be asking?

Well, right around my high school graduation, I started having… accidents. What the doctors termed ‘latent onset incontinence episodes’. Or as most people might know it as… I started wetting myself like a toddler again.

It started with wetting the bed, something I hadn’t done since I was too young to even remember.

Then it gradually became worse and worse and worse, to the point that I started having accidents during the daytime in public.

It only took a few accidents in public before I finally gave in and did what my Mom had lovingly suggested out of concern for me for some time… I started wearing a diaper.

I was mortified by the idea of them, of course. Here I am, an adult man, forced to suffer the humiliation of wearing a bulky, crinkly, diaper like a toddler?! But I quickly realized I didn’t have much choice.

It started with pull-ups. Like goodnites.

But again, all it took was one really bad leak out in public (I majorly wet myself during my high school graduation ceremony no less—it was one of the most humiliating moments of my life!) to persuade me to start wearing full-on, tabbed-style, humiliating, crinkly, extra-absorbent adult diapers every night, and every day.

It was because I started needing to wear diapers again that my Mom and I thought it might be better for me to still live at home my first year of college, as disappointing as that decision was for me.

Dealing with having to wear and trying to hide my diapers in a dormitory seemed like just too much for me to handle. And more importantly, by staying at home, I could continue seeing doctors with my Mom, hopefully to find a cause and cure for my inexplicable, severe urinary incontinence!

But unfortunately, it was now six months later since my problem first started.

And as I sat down with my Mom at the kitchen table this sunny afternoon, I knew it was going to be about discussing the elephant in the room of the last six months…

None of the doctors I had seen could find anything wrong with me, yet my incontinence was only getting worse and worse, with my wetting accidents only getting bigger and more frequent.

It was now to the point that I could expect to fully wet my diaper at least once throughout the day, no matter how desperately I tried not to. Not to mention I almost never woke up in a dry diaper anymore!

(In fact, my bedwetting has gotten to the point now, that last month, my Mom bought me some plastic pants to wear at night to help with some of my leaks. But I’ve refused to wear them so far! I’d still rather deal with wet bed sheets when I happen to leak about once a week, than suffer such an unbearably humiliating, babyish garment such as plastic-frickin’-pants!!)

I had no idea what exactly my Mom was going to say now to address the issue, but from the moment I sat down, I was sure that’s what this discussion was going to be about…

* * *

“So, as I was saying,” my Mom continued, “your doctor and I had a really good talk about the, well, bladder issues you’ve been having. And having ruled out everything else over the last six months, and tried about everything there is to try in terms of solutions—meds, timed bathroom visits, physical therapy exercises, etcetera—we think it’s finally time to opt for a different strategy entirely.”

“Different strategy?” I asked, feeling nervous.

“Yes,” my Mom explained. “It’s somewhat unconventional. It’s definitely counter-intuitive. And there’s a good chance you won’t like it. But the doctor explained that he’s seen remarkable success with it for patients in your position who commit to it. And given that we’ve tried everything else, it might be your only option left in terms of finally getting better and curing your… issue.”

I gulped, feeling even more nervous. “Well… okay. What is it?” I asked.

“Diapers,” my Mom said.

I scoffed. “Mom, I’ve been practically wearing diapers everyday for the last six months already. How is that a cure?”

“Well, there’s more to it than that,” my Mom explained. “The solution is diapers. But not just for accidents. But for all your bathroom needs, all the time.”

“Huh?” I asked.

“The regimen is fairly simple. The basic and most important aspect is simply that, once you embark upon the regimen, toilets are off limits to you from now on for peeing. You only use your diapers to pee in, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Until further notice,” my Mom explained.

I almost spit out my drink. “Mom, I think this doctor was pulling your leg. Or you're pulling my leg! That's not a cure for incontinence, that's the exact opposite!"

My Mom sighed, then pushed a packet of medical papers across the table. “I know, I know, like I said, it sounds counter-intuitive. But here’s how it works.

“Looking at some of your scans, the doctor thinks you may have a persistent distended bladder. That means your bladder is so stretched out, it can’t properly hold all your urine, nor expel it all. It’s like a balloon that’s lost it’s shape. And the fact that your bladder is extra small to begin with exacerbates the issue. Which is the cause of your urinary incontinence.

“Your bladder is stretched out and damaged, and needs time to heal. And the only way it can heal is by completely removing the pressure of any fullness from it for a while.

“However, so long as you’re still holding your pee, no matter how small amount or how short of a time it seems to you, you’re still putting pressure on your bladder. And that’s preventing it from ever fully shrinking and regaining its shape. And in fact, causing your incontinence to only get worse and worse.

“Therefore, in order to allow your bladder to start healing, you need to begin a regimen of non-stop urinary release at all times.

“Hence, the solution, like I said, is diapers. Not just for accidents, but as the only way you relieve your bladder going forward. For your bladder to heal, you need to stop holding pee at all, for any amount of time, and start using your diaper non-stop every hour of the day. And changing when needed, of course,” my Mom explained.

My jaw was on the floor. My head was spinning. I could barely believe what I was hearing.

On the one hand, what she was saying… did sort of make sense. At least from my limited medical knowledge.

But on the other hand, the treatment regimen she was suggesting… sounded absolutely, positively mortifying.

I was utterly humiliated and ashamed enough at the moments I suffered now, when I realized I accidentally just wet myself in the middle of the day. Or when I woke up in the morning with a thick, squishy, yellow diaper wrapped around my waist, just like a baby.

I hated wearing diapers. Depending on them. Using them and changing out of them. Just the smell of the baby wipes alone that I had to use made me cringe. Let alone the smell of the piss soaked diaper itself!

My Mom could clearly tell I was deeply torn as I looked away from her and stared at the floor.

Finally, she spoke up. “Look, hon, I know this must all be really hard for you. You don’t want to still be in diapers at your age. And how do you think I feel? Still having my son in diapers at the age of 18.

“But I really believe embracing this method fully is your only chance of ever actually getting out of diapers and moving on with your life. Which is what both of us want. So please, I’m asking you as someone who cares about you and only wants what’s best for you…

“Do the diaper regimen. Commit to it fully for the next few weeks, or as long as it takes. Because right now, it really is your only hope… our only hope… of you getting to wear proper underwear again, like a big boy. I mean… err… like an adult.”

I looked up at my Mom, blushed, cracked a small smile at her babyish language, looked away again.

“Okay, Mom, I will,” I said with a sigh.

“Oh, I’m so proud of you,” she said with a huge smile. “And don’t worry, I’m going to be here right next to you, seeing you through it all the way, helping and making sure we get through this together, okay?”

“Okay, Mom. Thanks,” I said sheepishly.

“Great, well, now that you’re committed, we can proceed. There’s some more details and steps to the regimen,” she continued, “but don’t worry, I can go over those when they come up. For now though, I’m just so glad you’re committed, and just know I’m committed to, and I promise, I’m going to make sure we see this through together now. And we won’t stop until you’re finally better again. Because I love you so much, my special boy.”

I blushed from her gushy language. I knew she was just trying to be nice and supportive.

Then, as I reflected on everything she just said, I suddenly felt a little worried that I had just committed to this ‘diaper regimen’ before I knew all the details.

But ultimately, I decided to just nod in agreement. “Thanks, Mom, that’s right. I love you too.”

After all, I knew she was probably right. From what I could tell, it seemed that this probably was my only chance of ever growing out of diapers again, given my total lack of improvement in the last six months.

But one thing was for sure. Now that my Mom had just gotten me to ‘agree’ to do this regimen ‘together’ with her, there was no backing out of it now…

* * *

That night, as I undressed for bed alone in my room, I wrestled with the fact that I had to pee.

Admittedly, I hadn’t yet properly committed to do what my Mom had said was required by my new ‘diaper treatment’ rules.

Earlier, while she stepped out of the house to go into the garden, I ran to the toilet and peed in it, instead of my diaper, despite what was supposedly required of me.

And now, undressing for bed, I wanted to drain my bladder in the toilet again, not in my diaper.

My diaper was already soggy from a small accident I had earlier, and I was planning on changing it before bed, anyway. But I still didn’t want to pee in my diaper if I didn’t have to, despite what I had supposedly agreed to earlier that afternoon.

Because the truth was, the whole experience of peeing in a diaper always felt so painfully… babyish.

The idea of standing in the middle of the room, squatting my legs a little as I purposefully focused on letting go… feeling the warm rush of urine splash into my disposable garment, drenching my balls and soaking into my padded butt… feeling the extra soggy squish as I waddled for a change…

It was all positively humiliating. And even though I had agreed to it earlier at the kitchen table, I was now having second thoughts.

After all, how did I know if that doctor really knew anything about what he was talking about? It was probably all just nonsense.

I decided my strategy for now would be to just use the toilet anyway, and hope my Mom wasn’t nosy enough to notice or say anything. Besides, I figured she was probably rethinking the whole silly ‘diaper regimen’ program she sprung on me earlier, as well.

So, with my bladder full, I decided to drop my soggy diaper to the floor, slip my boxers back up, and go sneak to the toilet down the hall.

I turned to leave my room, but just as I took my first step… there was a knock on my door.

I froze.

“Hey, Honey, it’s Mom,” she said. “Can I come in?”

Before I even had a chance to shout ‘no!’, the door was already open, and my Mom was suddenly standing right in front of me.

“Hey sweetie, getting ready for bed? Oh, did I catch you changing your diaper?” She asked looking down at the half-soggy, used diaper I left on the floor.

“Ummm, yeah,” I blushed, looking away. I hated when my Mom saw my diapers, talked about my diapers, did anything involving my diapers. It was all so damn endlessly embarrassing! I felt like ever since I started having accidents, I’d been quietly fighting tooth and nail against my Mom for some basic privacy around my embarrassing ‘issue’… and the embarrassing disposable undergarments it necessitated.

Then, to my horror, she picked up my half-used diaper off the floor!

“Hmmm, wow, you didn’t wet this one very much at all, did you!” She commented, holding the diaper up, squeezing the soiled padding and inspecting it.

I felt like I was going to faint.

“Umm, do we have to talk about this right now?” I grumbled. “I was actually just about to go to…” I trailed off, realizing what I was just about to say.

My Mom’s eyes darted up. “What was that?” She asked me.

“Huh? Oh, nothing…” I said, my cheeks blushing. In the moment, I forgot that I had promised not to use the toilet anymore to pee.

“Tell me what you were going to say,” my Mom demanded.

“To the kitchen!” I said, lying. “I was just about to go to the kitchen.”

“Oh, okay,” my Mom said. I took another step before she stopped me again… “But wait, hon! You’re not wearing a diaper right now! What’s going on?” she asked, clearly inspecting my crotch.

“Moooom!” I whined. “I don’t want to talk about my diapers with you anymore tonight, okay?”

I started walking toward my bedroom door, when suddenly… my Mom slammed the door in front of my face, locked it, and turned around to face me.

I froze like a deer in headlights.

“Too bad!” She said, suddenly more heated than I’d seen her in quite some time.“We’re going to talk about your diapers, whether or not you want to, because you’re not following directions.”

“Wha… what do you mean?” I whimpered, unexpectedly intimidated. She hardly ever used such a stern tone with me. It was only when she was really, really mad.

“Well, the first and primary rule that we discussed today is that you will be wearing your diapers at all times. The treatment isn’t going to work if you’re not wearing your diapers. Because that means you are holding your pee, which means the treatment can’t work because your bladder can’t get better,” she scolded.

“It was just for a minute…” I whimpered.

“It doesn’t matter!” she scolded. “The guidelines are very clear, if you’re holding your pee at all, for any reason, at any point in the day, the treatment will fail. Which means you’ll never be getting out of diapers. Is that what you want? To still be in diapers, living with your Mom into your 20s? Your 30s? For the rest of your life? Still wetting yourself like a baby?”

I blushed bright red. “No,” I murmured.

“Well, then, what needs to happen?” My Mom asked.

“I… need to put a diaper on,” I sighed.

“Good boy,” my Mom said, making me blush even more.

I slowly turned around, feeling horrifically humiliated and degraded. But I knew there was no point in arguing with my Mom when she was like this. And I guess she did, sort of, have a point. I guess I was breaking the rule that I had agreed to.

I approached the stack of diapers I kept in my dresser drawer, pulled a fresh one out, and turned around.

My Mom was still standing in my room, her arms folded, her eyes watching me.

“… well?” I asked. “Are you going to leave so I can change?”

“No,” my Mom said, to my confusion.

“Do you want me to put a new diaper on or not?” I asked, exasperated.

“No, I don’t want you to put a new diaper on,” my Mom said.

I looked back at her, more confused than ever.

“I am going to put your new diaper on you, for you,” she declared.

My eyes widened. I could barely even comprehend what I just heard.

“Mom… what… what are you talking about?” I stammered.

“Buddy, for too long, I’ve let you break rules in this house without consequences. Which is fine, you’ve always been mostly a good kid,” she explained.

“But this time, it’s different. The stakes are too high. I’m just too worried you won’t do what the program requires, and therefore you won’t finally get better, unless I’m strict with you. Otherwise, you just won’t be motivated enough.

“So, here’s how it’s going to work. Every time you break a rule, you’re going to lose a privilege. And you’re going to be made to feel even more like a baby.

“Why, you might ask? Because I know that’s why you’re breaking the rules. You’re embarrassed. Your ego won’t let you do what’s necessary. You feel humiliated, because your ego is telling you you’re acting like a baby.

“Well guess what? From now on, when you don’t do what the program requires, because you’re too scared of feeling like a baby, I’m going to make you feel even ten times more like a baby, so you’re motivated to follow all the directions perfectly, until the regimen is finally over. Capeesh?” She asked in a no-nonsense tone.

“Mom… come on… you… you can’t be serious…” I blubbered, red faced and horrified.

“Oh, hon, I’m dead serious,” she said in a soothing voice. “Because I love you too much to let you screw this up. And you’re about to find out right now just how serious I am about you obeying me and the rules going forward.”

“Huh?” I asked.

Before I could even look up…

My arm had been grabbed…

I’d been swung sideways and forwards…

And suddenly, to my horror, I was over my Mom’s knee. For the first time in my life.

I felt my boxers being yanked down, making me blush red hot in humiliation. I was now naked on my Mom’s lap!

“Remember, hon, this is for your own good,” she said.

And that’s when the pain commenced.

* * *

Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

I was already begging for mercy before the spanking had even really begun.

Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

I’d never experienced anything as painful, humiliating, and degrading as it before in my life.

Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

The spanking went on and on and on as I screamed and begged my Mom to stop.

Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

Soon, tears and snot were pouring down my face as I helplessly thrashed and flailed. But I just couldn’t escape her grip. She was just too determined, and had me right where she wanted me.

Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

Before long, I was willing to do or say anything to make the pain in my ass stop burning. It was unbearable.

“Mommy, please! Please! I’ll be good, I promise! I’ll wear my diapees! I’ll wear my diapees and use them like you said!” I pathetically shrieked and squealed at the top of my lungs.

Finally, the blows came to an abrupt halt. “What was that?” my Mom asked.

“I’ll… I’ll wear my diapers, and use them… I promise,” I said through hiccups.

My Mom slowly lifted me back up and sat me on the bed next to her. I wiped away my tears and sniffled as I sat next to her on my bed, still stark naked.

“And are you going to do everything else Mommy says from now on, too?” My Mom asked. “That means following all her rules, no matter how embarrassed you might be by them?

I slowly lifted my teary gaze, gave another nod.

“Good boy,” my Mommy said, rubbing my back and smiling again. “That’s my good boy. I knew you’d come around.”

The sudden gentle touch and sweet tone of her voice felt undeniably good in my abused, red-bottomed state.

“Just remember, sweetie,” she continued. “I only spanked you like that, and I only do everything else I’m going to do, because I love you, and care about you, and want you to finally be able to be a real big boy again, okay? So just remember that. Any time I punish you, it’s just because I love you so much.”

I looked up at her, and gave another teary nod. “Okay, Mommy, I love you too,” I murmured, my head spinning too much to resist her adoration in the moment.

“That’s my good boy,” she said wrapping my nude body in a giant hug. And I practically melted in her arms. Her love felt so good compared to the spanking just moments ago.

“Now come on, let’s get you in your diaper for tonight,” she said, standing up and picking up the fresh diaper I had grabbed from off the floor.

I suddenly remembered how this argument had started. She had said she was going to put my diaper on me. An unbearably humiliating thought.

But now, after my punishment, my bottom was far too stinging and red for me to possibly resist. I sniffled and nodded yes. I just wanted to get this over with and go to bed.

I turned around to lay down on my bed, assuming that’s where my Mom was going to change me. But instead, she stopped me.

“Uh-uh, no, let’s go change your diaper in my room,” she said.

“Your room?” I asked.

“Yep! Now come on, I don’t want to have to give your tushy another little paddling for not listening,” she said in a joking tone, holding her hand out.

I quickly got to my feet and grabbed her hand. Even jokes about getting a spanking again sent a chill of terror down my spine and a fresh buzz of pain through my poor, stinging, red butt cheeks.

* * *

My Mom laid me down on her bed as she stood over me unfolding my fresh diaper. I felt just like a baby.

Beneath me was a baby changing mat that I’d never seen before. It also made me feel just like a baby.

And next to me, on her dresser, were baby changing supplies I had never used thus far during my time in diapers—baby powder, ointments, gloves, etc.

All of it made me feel just extra, extra infantile.

“I picked up all these new diaper changing supplies on my way home from your incontinence doctor today,” my Mom explained.

“I figured we should start taking your diapering more seriously, since you’re going to be fully diaper dependent for your weewees going forward. At least until your bladder is finally properly healed, and you can start potty training again.”

Start potty-training again, I thought to myself in horror, her words reverberating through my head. It hadn’t even occurred to me that’s what the process would be… I would have to become fully diaper dependent, then I would have to be potty trained all over again, just like a toddler.

I shuddered at the thought. And at this point, I realized I didn’t have any idea of a timescale of when that would be. Was I going to be diaper dependent like this for two weeks? Two months? Longer??

I shuddered again in horror to myself. But I was distracted as my Mom calmly instructed, “Butt up. Diaper time.”

I squeezed my eyes shut in humiliation as my Mom slipped the crinkly garment under my bottom. I’d been wearing diapers for months now… but I’d never had to wear them like this.

Having someone else change me like this… like I was an actual baby… made the already embarrassing, infantilizing diaper, feel about a hundred times more utterly humiliating.

Then, my Mom started dumping baby powder all over my crotch. The sickly sweet, undeniably infantile smell made me just want to die.

Then, she started rubbing the baby powder into my groin with her gloved hand. That’s right, across my ass cheeks, into my butt crack… around my balls and penis.

I covered my face with my hands and cringed in horror. I couldn’t believe this was happening.

“Baby boys need lots of baby powder so they don’t chafe and get a rash from their droopy diapers,” my Mom commented. Then she laughed. “I mean, I’m not saying you’re a baby, hon. Not at all. It’s just, well, I guess for our purposes, you kind of are one. At least a little bit, until your tired little bladder finally gets better, and you can start potty training to become a big boy again. But until then, when it comes to your diapees, the more we pamper and treat you like a baby, the better the treatment will be. That means lots of baby powder, lots of diapee changes, and lots of having your Mommy change you and take care of you,” she cooed.

I was speechless. This was all becoming so much worse than I ever feared.

Finally, my Mom pulled the diaper up my legs, fastened the tapes, and gave my padded crotch a good pat, sending baby powder poofing up the top of the diaper and out the sides.

“There we go, sugar-booger. Mommy’s all done with your diapee change,” she cooed.

I slowly opened my eyes again, looked at my Mom, and frowned. This was unbearable. But at least, I thought, this ordeal was finally over.

But when I tried to sit up, I discovered that wasn’t the case.

“Oops! Not so fast, pamper pants,” my Mom said, gently guiding me back onto my back. “Mommy needs to check one more thing. You just lay back, okay?”

I sighed and waited, not knowing what was going on, but just hoping she would get it over with.

Suddenly, I felt her hand pressed on my tummy… then lower onto my bladder. Then, she started squeezing and prodding.

I suddenly remembered that I had to pee pretty bad before my Mom walked into my bedroom. And now, the fullness of my bladder was making itself very known, not just to me… but also to my Mom.

“Huh,” my Mom said. “Hon, your bladder feels really full. What’s going on? When I looked at your diaper on the floor of your room, it wasn’t even that filled. Are you holding your peepee? You know that’s not what we talked about you doing anymore.”

“I uh… no… I’m not holding it,” I lied.

My Mom raised her eyebrow. “So, you’re telling me… you don’t have to pee right now?”

I hesitated, not sure if I should lie again, but also feeling like I was in too deep now to change course. I insistently shook my head no.

“Hmmm, well, okay then,” my Mom said.

I felt a small moment of relief. It seemed as though my Mom bought it.

“Then I guess you won’t mind if I do this!” my Mom suddenly shouted in a giggly voice.

Suddenly, I felt her hands in my armpits, in my tummy, around my neck…

Tickling me! Tickling me worse than I’d ever been tickled before!

I suddenly burst into maniacal laughter, squirming and squealing like a toddler.

“It’s the tickle monster! The tickle monster is here to visit!” my Mom shouted in glee as I helplessly, hysterically burst into laughter, writhing uncontrollably on her bed.

And before I knew it…

Hissssssss. Hissssssss.

Hissssssssssssssssssssssssssss.

I was peeing myself uncontrollably. Freely spraying my hot urine into my fresh diaper while my Mommy made me laugh and laugh and laugh with painful abandon.

Hisssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss.

Finally, my Mommy stopped, and we both heaved, catching our breath from laughing harder than either of us had in a long time.

Then, it slowly dawned on me what I had done in my diaper. And my Mom figured it out at about exactly the same time, as she placed her hand on the front of my now wet diaper, and gave the freshly warm, soggy padding a squeeze.

“Hmmmmmmm,” she said with a knowing smile. “I think you weren’t being totally honest, little guy. This diaper feels really wet. Like somebody had a full bladder, and just made a real big peepee when Mommy started tickling them. Is that what happened? Hmmm?”

I looked back at my Mom, sheepishly, and finally nodded yes, my cheeks now red with embarrassment.

My Mom smirked. “And let me guess, you weren’t going to the kitchen earlier when I walked into your room. You were going to go try to sneak to the toilet? Like you did earlier today, when I was in the garden?”

My eyes widened. I felt like a deer in the headlights again. But this time, I had the good enough sense to know I was totally busted. I nodded yet again.

“That’s what I thought,” my Mom said, seemingly not too angry. “You know, Mommy’s smarter than you give her credit for. And she has her ways of finding out the truth when you’re not being honest.”

“Yes, Mommy,” I nodded, feeling embarrassed and ashamed about being caught.

“Well, thank you for fessing up, hon. Mommy’s proud of you. But now that I know that’s what happened, that means you have to lose a few more privileges for the time being to help get you back on track with your program,” she explained.

I nodded, very dismayed, but knowing there was little I could do about it now.

“Starting tomorrow, I’m going to put locks on the bathroom doors. When you have to go number two, or take a shower, you can come ask me for permission to unlock the bathroom for you, and I’ll supervise you to make sure you’re not using the toilet to pee. But that’s what we’re going to have to do until you earn my trust again,” she explained.

I looked up, mortified by the implication of this new rule, but swallowed and gave a an obedient nod.

“Next, it looks like I’m going to have to be totally responsible for changing all your diapers from now on,” my Mom explained. “That way I can start weighing and feeling your used diapers, to make sure you’re using them completely. And that way I’m keeping an eye on how often your peeing, and making sure you’re not dehydrated… or peeing where you shouldn’t be. So from now on, you’re no longer allowed to change your own diaper under any circumstance, okay?”

I gave another nod, this one a little tearful, as I realized just how utterly infantile and humiliating my life was about to suddenly become.

“And finally, since I’m going to be changing so many of your diapers going forward, I’m going to have to get you a proper changing table for your bedroom,” she said. “That way diaper changes are more frequent and easier for both of us. Your bedroom is probably going to become a little bit more like a baby nursery for a little while, but maybe that’s just all the more motivation for you to fully follow the diaper regimen so you can earn your big boy undies back again at some point. Okay?”

“Okay, Mommy,” I said, tears in my eyes.

I sat up and my Mom rubbed my back. “There, there, honey, it’s okay. Mommy’s here. Everything’s gonna be okay. Mommy’s gonna take good care of you, okay? It’s all going to be okay if you just trust and listen to your Mommy at all times, and know that I love you very, very much.”

“Okay, Mommy, thank you, I love you, too…” I said half-heartedly with another teary nod of my head.

And with that, my Mommy walked me back to my room by the hand…

And tucked me into my bed, just like I was a little baby again.

* * *

I had been laying in my bed in the darkness for some time after my Mommy tucked me in and shut out the lights.

I rolled over and reached down to my already partially wet diaper, slightly annoyed that I had put myself in the position of wetting my night time diaper before bed, depriving me of the privilege of going to sleep in a dry diaper.

The events of that afternoon and evening were now swirling around in my head like crazy. Was I really going to let my Mom put me through this unspeakable humiliation every day and night from now on?

Did I even have a choice?

Now, feeling bored, and suddenly a little horny, I decided I might as well do what I often did when I couldn’t fall asleep—jerk off.

I looked over my shoulder toward the door to make sure it was closed, then carefully undid the tabs on one side of my diaper, reached into my wet padding, and began gently stroking myself…

For some reason, as utterly humiliating as it was to admit… the wet padding felt really, really good against my cock.

I had been jerking off in my diapers for a while now. I didn’t have much choice, as I enjoyed jerking off before going to sleep, and I needed to wear a diaper to bed if I didn’t want to soak my blankets and mattress with urine.

But I had never stroked myself in a wet diaper before… that is, until tonight.

I started going faster and faster, the warm, squishy padding suddenly feeling incredible. It felt so perverse, and humiliating, and wrong…

And so, so right.

I suddenly thought about my Mom spanking me… picking up my wet diaper to inspect it… scolding me… changing my diaper, tickling me while I peed my diapee in her arms…

It all felt so, so wrong… so filthy, gross, wrong, wrong, wrong…

And so fucking right!

I was suddenly pumping my cock harder than I’d ever pumped, crinkling my moist diaper, shaking my whole bed on its hinges, as I audibly grunted and squeaked.

Finally… spluuuurrrtt!

I blew a massive euphoric load into and out above the waistband of my diaper, then fell back onto my bed, half-elated, half-utterly disgusted and ashamed of myself.

I tried to wipe up my cum with as much of the front of my diaper as I could, then taped it back up and rolled over to go to sleep.

A slow, creeping smile came across my face.

Maybe, this time with my Mom during my ‘diaper regimen’ was about to be the worst, most humiliating experience of my life…

Or maybe, there was a small chance that it might also have its perks.

… it’s filthy, naughty, shameful perks.

TO BE CONTINUED

IN PART II