Turned Into Mommy and Auntie’s New Baby Boy — Part 1

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.

As I woke to the morning sunshine, the first thing I noticed were the baby blue guardrails on the sides of my bed.

Then, my eyes peeled across the brightly colored nursery themed wallpaper. Then the chest of baby toys in the corner. The scribbled crayon drawings hanging on the wall, the stuffed toys on the dresser… and worst of all, the diaper changing table.

I sighed. I was waking up in a toddler’s bedroom. Practically a baby’s nursery. And like every morning since I moved back home from college a few weeks ago… it took me a second to remember why this is now what my bedroom looked like.

Of course, my bedroom looked like a normal, teenage bedroom all the way up until I left for college, just last fall.

But the issue was… college didn’t work out that well for me. As much as I couldn’t wait to move out and live on my own, as humiliating as it is to admit, I just couldn’t handle the responsibility.

It wasn’t long after the start of my college career that my grades began slipping. I started flunking classes. I got busted drinking under age and lost my scholarship. And ultimately, before I even completed my freshman year, I flunked out and had to suffer the embarrassment of asking my Mom if I could move back in.

“Of course you can move back home with me, Bry-bry,” my Mom said in a cheery voice, wrapping me in a hug after I finally got home and told her everything. “You’ll always be my baby!”

But that same day I returned home, when I went up to my bedroom, I had a rude awakening. While I was gone, my bedroom had been turned into a toddler’s nursery!

I was furious, of course, but my Mom seemed to be having none of it when I complained.

“Hon, while you were gone, I turned your bedroom into a room for your baby cousins to stay when they visit. I’m sorry that’s inconvenient for you, but I didn’t expect you to flunk out and need to move back in,” she had explained nonchalantly that first night.

“But Mom! Can’t I change it back?” I whined.

“No, Bry-bry. I don’t want you replacing any of the furniture or decorations in there,” she explained. “I put a lot of work into turning your old bedroom into a nice place for your baby cousins when they visit. You didn’t make any effort to visit me while you were gone, so I think it’s only fair that I made room for them. And I think I do deserve visitors to keep me company, once you inevitably move back out again.”

“Mom, come on, you can’t be serious! It’s my bedroom,” I argued.

“No, it was your bedroom,” she said. “It’s now my spare bedroom that I’m allowing you to stay in, rent free, provided you don’t interfere with the furniture or decorations.”

“Mom, come on! This isn’t fair!” I whined.

“Too bad! You don’t get to decide what’s fair anymore, I do!” She snapped, shutting me down. Her tone was far more stern than anything I’d ever heard from her before.

She took a deep breath and continued. “Now, Bryan, I know you’re not used to strict rules and behavioral expectations from me. But I’ve done some reflecting on why I think you might have had the trouble you did while on your own for the first time in college. And I think it’s clear I’ve been far too lenient on you for far too long. So, as long as you’re living under my roof again, I expect you to follow my rules and obey my decisions, whether you like them or not. And if you don’t obey my rules, I promise, I’m no longer afraid to punish you if I need to. And that includes punishing you if I find one thing changed in that bedroom without my permission.”

“Punish me?” I whimpered in disbelief. “Mom, what are you talking about? I just want to put my room back the way it was. Please!”

“I said no!” My Mom scolded. “Now zip it. End of discussion. Another word and you’re grounded.”

“But… but… it’s a baby’s room…” I said in a wounded whimper, “I don’t want to sleep in a baby’s room. It’s… humiliating… I’m an adult…”

At that, my Mom stopped, turned to me, and finally giggled. “Aw, what’s wrong, Bry-bry? You don’t want to be Mommy’s baby anymore? Is that what this is all about?”

“Stop it,” I pouted, turning away, my cheeks red with anger and embarrassment.

“Oh, calm down,” she said. “Look, I know you don’t like it, but believe it or not, I think it’s actually for the best you don’t get too comfortable here again. Just think of it as good motivation for you to get back on track to move out again by time college enrollment starts up again next year.”

“And honestly?” she continued, “I know you don’t want to hear this, Bry-bry, but being downgraded to a toddler’s room for the time being is actually quite the fitting punishment for your behavior at school that led to this situation in the first place. I know it’s embarrassing for you to be sleeping in a room decorated for a toddler, dear. But I think that a little embarrassment might be good for you to help you learn your lesson. After all, a little light humiliation never hurt anyone, and lord knows most other parents would be punishing you far, far worse after what happened.”

I looked back at her with wounded eyes of disbelief, shocked that she had decided that I deserved to be embarrassed as punishment.

“But… Mom… I… I… I…” I meekly stammered.

“Shhhh, no more, dear, that’s it,” she said, quieting me. “Now, I told you you would be grounded if you said another word, and you did just that. But since this is your first offense, I’m going to let you off with just a trip to your room until I call you back down for dinner. Got it?”

“But… but… but…” I pathetically whimpered again.

“Bryan! No more. To your room, right now. Unless you want to earn the first spanking of your life on your very first night back home,” she scolded.

And with that, I knew her mind was made up. So with teary, humiliated, defeated eyes, I finally accepted my fate and trudged back up to my new bedroom—a bedroom perfectly fit for a child sent there by his mother as punishment for talking back.

* * *

I rolled over in my crib-like bed, still resentfully reflecting on the fact that I was waking up in a toddler’s nursery again.

Yet, the truth was, as humiliating as it was to have to stay in such a childish room at my age, over the past several weeks since I returned home, I had started to get mostly used to it.

After all, for the price of living rent-free, the bed was comfy enough. (And thankfully, as much as it felt like a crib—with its short pink and blue rails running half the length of the bed, its headboard decorated with cartoon firetrucks, and blankets decorated with ponies and rainbows—it wasn’t an actual crib.)

The baby toys and stuffed animals in the corner weren’t actually bothering me (as much as I wished I could replace them with a TV). The foam, multi-colored alphabet mat across the floor was easy enough to ignore (and to be honest, the foam actually felt pretty comfy to walk on in my bare feet when climbing into bed at night.) Even the diaper changing table against the wall of the room wasn’t that big of a deal to me anymore. (After all, it’s not like there were actually dirty diapers being changed in my bedroom, thank god!)

But despite getting used to all of that, the one thing I still couldn’t possibly get used to, no matter how hard I tried…

Was the diaper I was wearing.

I slowly sat up, cringing as the soft, crinkly padding rustling between my legs suddenly reminded me of the worst part of my life since returning home… the pull-up diaper my Mom now made me wear to bed.

It started last weekend. Every night since… the incident.

Every night since, my Mom sent me to ‘get ready’ for bed around 9:30. I brushed my teeth, used the bathroom, and returned to my bedroom to wait for my Mom to help me ‘finish getting ready’ for bed.

She would then come to my bedroom holding a disposable Goodnites pull-up in her hand.

“Here’s your protection for tonight, honey,” she would say, handing me the humiliating garment. “Do you need help putting it on?”

“No!” I grunted every time she asked.

“Well okay, just checking. Do you want me to step out again while you change?” She asked.

“Yes!” I would resentfully grunt again.

“Well okay. I’ll step out and be back in a moment,” she said, turning to leave.

“You know you don’t have to come back in. I’ve got it…” I would whimper.

And she would always frown and respond, “Sorry hon, but you know I need to properly check your diaper before you go to bed. I need to make sure it still fits you right, and more importantly, I need to make sure you’re actually wearing it. After all, we don’t want to have to change your sheets again because you’re too shy about your issue to wear your protection, like when you had your last accident—“

“Okay, okay!” I said, acquiescing and hoping to just end the embarrassing conversation as fast as possible.

My Mom would then step outside. And I would drop my underwear and step into the babyish pull-ups. And every night, with hands trembling in disbelief and humiliation, I would pull the crinkly diaper up my legs and over my crotch, cringing at the soft, absorbent, padding tightly hugging my groin and butt.

My Mom would then come right back in. And as I squeezed my eyes shut in unbearable embarrassment, my Mom would walk around me in a circle, inspecting the diaper, checking the fit, sticking her fingers into the waist and leg-bands, and commenting things like, “I hope you don’t pee the bed as heavily as you did when you were first potty-training. I’m not sure these pull-ups can handle that much of your peepee.”

Finally, she would dismiss me to climb into bed, where I would jump beneath the pony-themed covers, eager to hide my humiliating, babyish pull-up diaper from her eye-sight… as well as my own.

I would then spend what felt like hours tossing and turning, humiliated by my punishingly early bedtime, my baby-crib-like bed, and most of all, the crinkly diaper I was being forced to wear.

A diaper, I would think to myself over and over again in shame, restlessly squeezing and feeling the crinkly padding against my groin and butt.

My Mom makes me wear diapers!

And the worst part about the stupid pull-ups was… I wasn’t even a bed-wetter! I’d never had a bed-wetting accident in my life. At least not since being potty-trained. And every night she put me to bed in a pull-up, I predictably woke up completely dry.

But the reason my Mom thought I was a bed-wetter was… well… because of a certain incident that happened last week.

An incident that just happened to be one of the most humiliating events of my life…

* * *

It was last Saturday, and my Mom was having her sister, my Aunt Hazel, over for dinner.

I was on my best behavior, as my Mom warned me I should be. Which meant I spent the evening passively sitting with the two women, listening, smiling, and mostly just keeping my mouth shut, lest I say something rude and invite my Mom’s punishment.

The evening was going fine, with a boring dinner, a boring chat over dessert, and a boring TV movie, all of which I sat through without complaint, despite feeling like a captive, utterly bored out of my mind. Like a child forced to sit through a family dinner without his gameboy.

But the trouble was, because I was so bored… my mind started to wander. And at some point in the night, as my mind restlessly turned over any and all stones that might provide some form of mental entertainment, I started to have… dirty thoughts.

Private, dirty thoughts, that gave me a private, massive hard-on under the dinner table while I quietly ate with my Mom and Aunt.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, the thoughts themselves… happened to be about my Aunt’s breasts.

One part of me was mortified by this, of course. I knew it was wrong.

But the other part… just couldn’t help but look at them every chance I got.

I’d never noticed it before, but that night, I was just transfixed by how gorgeous and voluptuous my Aunt’s breasts were for her age. They seemed to be popping out of the top of her dress, calling for me, begging for me to stare.

I knew my attraction was wrong. In fact, I knew it was filthy and dirty and downright unacceptable. I knew if my Aunt or Mom even had an inkling of what I was thinking about, I’d be grounded for rest of my life, to say the least.

But knowing just how wrong and naughty the fantasies were… made them all the more irresistible. I couldn’t help but get hornier and hornier, entertaining my own private filthy thoughts, picturing myself over and over again, shoving my face into my Aunt’s gorgeous, all-embracing tits, grabbing and squeezing them, sucking them for their milk, begging her to let me be her little baby!

I would shake myself out of my obscene fantasies again and again, disgusted by my own filthy desires and apparent utter lack of self-control. And I would instead then try to focus again on the boring conversation my Mom and Aunt were having.

But just when I thought I was finally pushing the awful, forbidden horny fantasies out of my mind, my Aunt would casually make a teasing comment like…

“Oh Bry-bry, your new bedroom upstairs is so cute! It makes me feel like it was just yesterday that I was helping your Mom breastfeed you and change your diapers. Just like on the changing table you have upstairs in your bedroom, right now.”

I would blush and laugh the teasing comments off. All the while secretly plummeting right back into a spiral of unbearable horniness, fueled by utterly taboo fantasies, the likes of which were unlike anything I’d ever fantasized about before…

Fantasies about my Aunt’s naked breasts. Fantasies about her holding me like a baby. Fantasies of drinking her milk while she moaned, of wearing baby clothes again, of her changing my diaper…

My irrepressible, shameful urges only grew to new heights as we all sat down in the dark to watch a TV movie together. By time the movie was over, I realized, in utter humiliation, I had just spent several hours on the couch with my Mom and my Aunt, while having one of the longest, hardest boners of my life, right beneath my jeans.

“Alright, Bry-bry, it’s your bedtime,” my Mom finally said, shutting off the TV.

When I slowly got up to leave, hunched over and hobbling due to my painfully stiff erection, my Auntie stopped me.

“Bryan, dear,” my Aunt said, “come give your Auntie a hug and kiss goodnight.”

I froze like a deer in headlights while my Aunt came over to me, wrapped her arms around me, and pulled me in close to her bosom.

“It’s so good to see you again, Bry-bry. Just remember, in your Mom and Auntie’s eyes, you’re still just our little baby boy,” she said, holding me tight. “You let me know if you need anything while I’m still here tonight, okay? Even if it’s just that you can’t get to sleep and want me to bring you a glass of warm milk.”

I squirmed and nearly shot a load into my pants right then and there.

Mortified, I nodded, gave her a quick kiss goodnight, and raced back to my room, humiliated and horny out of my mind.

With a boner raging fiercer than a thousand suns, I jumped under the blankets of my toddler-sized bed and started cranking it harder than I’d ever cranked it my life!

My sudden, unbearable horniness was no doubt partially because I hadn’t jerked off once since I’d returned home. The stress of living with my Mom again, the lasting embarrassment of flunking out of college, and the humiliation of being forced to sleep in a toddler’s nursery, had all killed my libido.

Or at least, so I thought. Because suddenly, the humiliation, the infantilization, the overpowering helplessness, it all seemingly melded and twirled together in the deep recesses of my mind.

And now, it was bursting from my long repressed subconscious, manifesting itself as unbearable, uncontrollable, sexual fantasies of intense humiliation, infantilization, and forced, utter babyhood!

I squealed and moaned, cranking my tiny, hard cock under the sheets, replaying in my head over and over again the image of my Aunt’s breasts… imagining her holding me while I sucked her tits… teasing me about how I was just her little baby.

My eyes landed on the changing table across the room, and I was suddenly picturing her changing my diaper like I was a baby again, just like she so vividly described at the dinner table!

“Change my diapers, Auntie…” I murmured and grunted under my breath. “Change me… Feed me… Hold me… I’m just a baby, Auntie! A baby with wet diapers!”

I was right on the edge, getting closer and closer! Finally, I shrieked…

“I had an accident, Auntie! I need a diaper change, Auntie! Make me wear diapers, Auntie!!!”

SQUIRTTTTT—SPLATTTTTT

The hottest, wettest, stickiest load of my life suddenly exploded like a canon from my pecker, spraying like a fire-hose all over my underwear, my sheets and my blankets.

I grunted and pumped myself for several more seconds, squeezing and spraying out every last drop, panting and whimpering with unbearable sexual release.

My body gave one last climactic spasm… and I finally collapsed back into my toddler-bed in an exhausted heap.

That’s when my bedroom door suddenly flew open.

And my Aunt came bursting in.

* * *

“Bryan! Are you okay?!” My Aunt said, bursting into my bedroom and turning on the light.

I was stunned, confused and alarmed. Not only had I just exploded with one of the biggest climaxes of my life, just beneath the blankets, I was now dripping with an ocean of freshly sprayed jizz. I had no idea what was happening.

“I was just walking past your room when I heard you calling for me,” my Aunt explained, approaching me in bed.

My eyes widened. My alarm turned to horror. I realized my Aunt had heard me calling her name while I climaxed. I was mortified.

“Uh… I… uh…” I stammered. I was speechless, my whole body started burning bright red in embarrassment. I began to feel waves of regret and shame as I remember what, exactly, I had just been fantasizing about…

My Aunt came closer, putting her hand on my shoulder. “Bryan, dear, whatever is wrong, you can tell me,” she urged.

I was still dumbstruck. All I could think about was the gallon of sticky cum under my blanket that she was now inches away from. I had no idea what to do.

“Are you sick, dear?” My Aunt asked again, putting her hand on my forehead. “Your face is red and sweaty and warm. Do you think you have a fever? Should I go get your Mom so we can take your temperature?”

“No!” I finally sputtered. “No, I’m fine,” I pleaded, trying to sit up.

“Well then, let’s at least help you cool down,” my Aunt said. “Let me just pull some of these blankets off—“

And that’s when it happened. I was helpless but to watch as my Aunt yanked my blankets back, glanced down, and froze.

We both stared down in shock at the massive wet spot across my underwear and sheets. I was mortified.

“Oh!” my Aunt finally said, dropping my blankets and stepping back.

“Auntie! I… I… I…” I stammered in shock and horror.

I then burst into hysterical tears. It was all just far, far too much.

I heard myself sobbing like a baby for what felt like several minutes, until my Aunt put her arm around me, comforting me.

“It’s okay, deary, it’s okay,” she said. “This sort of thing is totally normal, even for a boy your age.”

Her comment took me by surprise. I managed to calm down enough to look up at her, taken aback, not sure if I had just heard her right.

“Really, dear, this is no big deal at all,” my Auntie continued. “I’ve been through it with more of your cousins than you can imagine. Now, I completely understand why you called out to me from your bed. I thought I heard you say something about having an accident and needing a diaper.”

My eyes widened in disbelief and horror. I still couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“I promise, dear, lots of boys your age still wet the bed like this,” my Aunt continued. “It’s no big deal, just a little pee. We’ll change your sheets and get you cleaned up in no time.”

It suddenly hit me. I finally understood. My Aunt thought the puddle of cum she looked at was just urine. She thought I had wet the bed and called for her. Not jizzed the bed while I called for her.

I nearly fainted with relief. Sure, the fact that she thought I peed in the bed was a little embarrassing. But it was still a million times better than her knowing the mortifying truth.

I took a deep breath, tried to dry my tears, and started frantically nodding in agreement.

“That’s right, Auntie! I’m so sorry, I just didn’t know how to tell you. But… but… but that’s right, I had an accident,” I said, frantically trying to get my story straight. “Yeah, I guess I just fell asleep so quickly… and I forgot to use the bathroom before I got into bed… and I guess I woke up just as I started wetting the bed, and so I called out for help without thinking!”

My Aunt nodded sympathetically, rubbing my back and comforting me. “Don’t worry, dear, everything’s going to be okay, I promise,” she cooed as I continued catching my breath and drying my tears.

After a moment, she asked, “Does your Mother know about your bedwetting?”

I felt a sting of panic. It was, of course, a reasonable question for her to ask. But now, I knew I had to answer in the only way that made my story make sense. Or at least, didn’t reveal me as a liar if and when she talked to my Mom.

“No. She doesn’t,” I said, still sniffling. “I’ve been wetting the bed for a little while, but I’ve been afraid to tell her. I guess I was worried she would think I was a dumb little baby. I guess that’s why I called out for you. Because I thought… maybe you could help me, instead. Since, you know, you said I could ask you for anything.”

“Oh dear, of course,” my Aunt said, pulling me in close for another hug against her warm breasts. I secretly cringed, feeling the hot sticky mess smear under my blankets as she held me, feeling more disgusted than ever by my perverted fantasies about her not just five minutes ago.

“Don’t you worry, hon,” my Aunt said, “I’m gonna help you get cleaned up and taken care of tonight. And before I leave, I’ll make sure you have the support you need for your problem from now on, I promise.”

“Thanks, Auntie,” I said, sniffling and drying my tears.

“I’ll be right back with some towels and a change of sheets. And don’t you worry, I know for a fact that your Mom will understand completely once I sit her down and explain what you told me,” she said with a warm smile, turning and leaving my room.

I stared after her with wide, mortified eyes. The full gravity of the situation was now slowly dawning on me.

I realized that I had just convinced my Aunt that I was a bed-wetter. And now she was going to convince my Mom I was a bed-wetter.

I suddenly wanted to chase my Aunt down in the hallway and tell her it wasn’t true! I wasn’t actually a bed wetter! She didn’t need to tell my Mom anything!

But I knew I couldn’t! Because the alternative—the truth about what I had done under my blankets that night—was just so much worse.

I realized I was trapped. There was nothing I could do.

So I bit my tongue and accepted my fate in embarrassed, red-faced silence, as my Aunt returned a few minutes later with a towel and change of sheets.

After helping me clean up and change my bedsheets, she even tucked me into my bed. “Don’t worry, dear, we’re gonna take care of you. Before you know it, you’re gonna have everything you need to be our perfect, happy little baby boy, again, I promise,” she said, giving me a kiss on the forehead before leaving and shutting out the lights.

As I rolled over to go to sleep that night, her words echoed in my head again and again. I found them both strangely disconcerting, and strangely comforting, at the same time.

And I wondered with dread about just how painful my Mom’s reaction to the situation was going to be.

I knew it wouldn’t be long before I found out.

* * *

The next evening, my fears about my Mom’s reaction were confirmed.

“This is for you, dear,” my Mom said, suddenly handing me a pull-up diaper as I got ready for bed that night. “Don’t worry, your Aunt told me everything. I’ll be helping make sure you’re safe and dry every night from now on, even if you’re too shy to ask me for help, I promise,” she said with a disconcerting wink.

I was mortified the second I looked down at the humiliating, disposable goodnite, of course. But I knew I couldn’t tell my Mom that I didn’t need it.

After all, I had convinced my Aunt that I had been wetting the bed for a while, but I had just been too shy to ask for help. Now, I knew my Mom would never believe me if I told her I didn’t actually wet the bed.

So, starting that first night, and every night since, I’d been obediently putting on the utterly humiliating pull-ups my Mom brought me, biting my tongue as I wore them to bed, and spending every night hating myself for ending up in the utterly humiliating situation.

It wasn’t embarrassing enough that I had to sleep in a toddler’s bedroom, I would think to myself. Somehow, I had brought it upon myself that I also now had to wear a diaper while sleeping in that room, too!

* * *

As I sat up in bed on that sunny morning, one week since my Mom first started making me wear the pull-ups at night, something occurred to me.

Looking across the room at the diaper changing table, I finally realized the humiliating irony of the situation.

On the night of my out of control, shameful, perverted fantasies, I suddenly remembered what I had wanted. I had wanted my Aunt to turn me into a baby and make me wear diapers again.

And now, here I was being forced to wear a humiliating disposable diaper, and it was just mortifying. After all, it was embarrassing enough to wear a disposable diaper at all at my age. Having your own Mother make you wear that diaper, practically changing you into it every night, was a hundred times worse.

I cringed, hating myself once again for my perverted, absurd fantasies. I immediately felt glad that I hadn’t even had so much as an erection since that humiliating, fateful night when my Aunt stumbled upon my… ‘accident’.

Frankly, I was now eager to swear off such perverse, humiliating sexual fantasies for the rest of my life. I was sure, now that I actually had to suffer the humiliation of wearing a diaper, I would never have such an erotic notion toward the subject again.

I shook my head, resolving to try to just put the whole thing behind me as soon as possible. Hopefully, my Mom would soon see me waking up in enough dry pull-ups, she would stop making me wear the stupid things altogether.

I finished sitting up in bed and stretched. As I did, I suddenly felt a painful twinge in my bladder, which caused my attention to shift entirely.

I suddenly realized I needed to pee. Badly.

That wasn’t unusual for the morning, of course, but I realized it was probably a lot worse due to how much juice I drank last night when my Mom offered it to me with dessert. It also didn’t help that my bedtime was so darn early…

I jumped to my feet, ready to make a run down the hallway, the pressure in my bladder suddenly getting worse by the second. But as I went to open my bedroom door…

It didn’t budge. The handle wouldn’t turn.

I tried it again. And again. I started frantically twisting and yanking and throwing my full weight on the doorknob, all to no avail.

I finally realized that my bedroom door was locked from the outside.

I was suddenly trapped.

And as I stood there in my nursery, naked except for my pull-up diaper, I felt the pressure in my bladder suddenly becoming unbearable…

And I knew I wasn’t going to be able to hold it for much longer.

[To be continued in Part II - Coming next post!]