Tag: Baby Bear

Baby Bear – Part 2

How could I have forgotten? I’d sucked his cock nearly every night, and most nights he’d fucked my ass as well. I’d licked his body clean from neck to toes. He’d fed me pipe smoke right into my eager mouth. And I had somehow forgotten all of it, gone off to school each day like nothing strange was going on at all. I realized I had done none of my studying that I’d needed to do, and I was failing all of my classes. The semester was nearly over, and I had no idea how I was going to turn any of it around. Perhaps it was silly to worry about school when you discover some old man has been manipulating you and forcing you into diapers, but it was something I could think about. I didn’t want to think about his old cock in my mouth–I didn’t want to think about how much I wanted his cock in my mouth, really. Because I did. And I wanted him to fuck me. And so I ran.

He probably expected me to try and run; he didn’t even try and stop me. I didn’t even care that all I was wearing was a diaper soiled with my own cum, I just wanted out of that house. I flung open the front door and ran out across the lawn, but as soon as I was outside, this monstrous fear rose up inside me. I was outside. More than outside, I was lost. I didn’t know where I was. The world was gigantic, and I had no idea where Daddy was, and I might never get home, and who was going to take care of me? I made it to the curb, tears rolling down my face, no longer able to focus on getting away, not even really understanding what I was feeling, and then he was beside me, pulling me close–Daddy. I was so happy to see him. I gave him a huge hug, and he led me back up the driveway and into the house, where the fear immediately disappeared, and my mind tried to get a grip.

“I wouldn’t try to run away again, baby bear. You all try it once, but if you keep trying, then I’m going to have to punish you,” he said. Daddy said. I struggled with his name, trying to find it in my mind, but his name was just that–”Daddy”. I remembered that was the same thing all those strange men who visited called him, and before I could ask, he explained what he had done to me, and to the rest of them over the last several decades.

It was true–he was lonely. He had been a very skilled hypnotist when he was younger, and he decided to make himself what he called “Baby Bears”–young men he’d keep in diapers, and raise to be better men than what they might have otherwise been. Better from his perspective, of course–I was horrified at the thought, but he assured me that there would be no escaping my new fate. He told me that I had already accepted the first round of conditioning, and now it was time for us to decide what kind of bear I was going to grow up to be, and how much work it was going to take for me to grow up.

You see, he would only be able to make me into a “proper bear” after he’d destroyed and erased most of who I was now. This could be, he told me, a rather violent process, and leave a person’s mind quite damaged, unless they went along with him, and willingly allowed him to destroy their old selves so they could be reborn again. I, of course, was freaking out. He assured me that the more I fought, the worse it would be for me. I was convinced that if I tried hard enough, if I proved indestructible, he would have to let me go. He smiled. It was almost like he liked the idea of me fighting back. And then he said something, some phrase I can’t remember, and things grew slippery. I could feel him ripping out chunks of my personality, and I was fighting him, trying to hold onto them, but he would just tear harder, and it would hurt, like a massive migraine, but I couldn’t let him win, I couldn’t.

I don’t know how much time passed before I came back to myself again, shaking on the floor in a fetal position, Daddy sitting in an armchair beside me. I was still me. I still had lost some, but I still remembered who I’d been. He told me to quit fighting him, that if I kept fighting him, he was going to have to make things worse for me. I laughed, and told him to give it his best shot. He looked disappointed, repeated that mysterious phrase, and this time, I had no real understanding of what was happening. When I resurfaced, however, something had changed in my mind. I was moving slower. I tried to ask him what had happened, but all that came out was baby talk. I also realized, to my horror, that I had pissed my diaper again–and that I had also taken a massive shit as well. I tried to get up, I tried to stand, but my body wasn’t working quite right. All I could do was crawl. Daddy got down at eye level with me, and told me that I was being a very dumb baby bear. That I was going to grow up and become a very dumb baby bear, and if I didn’t let him win, I was going to be the stupidest bear he’d ever raised, that I’d never even be able to go potty like a big boy again. I didn’t want to be that stupid, I really didn’t. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life wearing diapers. One day, I wanted to be a big boy, I wanted to grow up again. I was crying, and he asked me if I was done fighting him. I wanted to say no, but I was exhausted, and I knew he would win. When I went under that final time, I let him remove every bit of me that he could find. This is the last of me, this is the last little bit, the last chunk, and I’m holding on, but he’s coming, he’s coming and–

Baby Bear – Part 1

I was a junior, and I was sick and tired of living in the dorms on campus. The creaking heaters that refused to turn off, the mold, the toilets that couldn’t flush shit–all of the buildings should have been razed twenty years ago, but school instead had built a bunch of other dorms they could charge more for, that I couldn’t afford, naturally. So I figured, “Fuck it,” and I managed to find a room to rent a few blocks from campus from a nice older gentleman named Willard. He’d lived in the neighborhood for years, but he told me when I came to see the room that he didn’t really need the rent money–he just hated being all alone in the house more than anything else, and so he usually rented it out to students at the local college for some company, and to help the house feel “lived in.” It was a little pitiful, but the rent was so cheap, I figured I could give him some company on occasion.

In fact, as the first semester wore on, I discovered that Willard was one of the best landlords a college student could ask for. He had dinner for me every evening if I was home–all I had to do was give him some extra money for the grocery bill. He was a bit of an insomniac, and since I often stayed up late studying, he let me use his office to work in, and he would sit in there with me, usually smoking a pipe, and we would chat. It never really struck me as odd, however, that I never seemed able to remember the things we’d talked about, or even remember doing any work for my classes. He started sitting in the study wearing less and less clothing, usually opting for an open robe, his cock hanging out, and I was, for some reason, completely unfazed as we chatted, his pipe billowing smoke, while we both had some of his whiskey.

Those first few weeks, I also noticed that, for a lonely old man, he sure did seem to have quite a few visitors who came around regularly. Some were only a bit older than me, while a few others were approaching middle aged, but they all seemed very familiar with him. They shared some other similarities too–they all were smokers, and all of them were big, hairy, burly guys. One other thing, is that they all gave me this…look. Like they were trying to suppress a laugh, or were in on some joke I had no idea about yet. I suppose I should have seen something coming, but I was just oblivious.

Then, during midterms, I wet the bed for the first time. I was mortified–I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done something like that. I managed to get the sheets through the washer and dryer without Willard noticing, but the next night it happened again. I knew I couldn’t tell him, I was too embarrassed, and yet, in his study that night, it all came tumbling out, how ashamed I was of it, how I couldn’t believe I’d lost control like that, how I was afraid I’d do it for a third night in a row. He was very understanding, holding me close on his lap until I’d stopped sobbing, and then he suggested that I start wearing diapers every night “as a precaution”.

I should have thought he was crazy. I should have left right then and never come back. But for whatever reason, his suggestion just made perfect sense to me. Diapers–of course I should just wear diapers. I never asked why he already had a supply ready for me–he just helped me strip, got me powdered and diapered, and put me to bed with a kiss on the cheek like all of this was perfectly normal. I woke up with a heavy, cold, wet diaper, but Willard was there, ready to get me changed out of it. I never bothered asking why he was so intent on helping me–I just let him, and then I went off to school like everything was normal, until a few weeks later, when I wet myself during a lecture.

I couldn’t stop it. I noticed after a few seconds, feeling my crotch turn warm, but I couldn’t do anything. I panicked. I heard it dribbling off the seat and onto the tile floor. I could smell it. I grabbed my things as quickly as I could, and fled the room, piss still running down my leg and into my shoe, and I didn’t stop running until I got home. Sobbing, I was barely able to get the words out to Willard to tell him what happened to me. He seemed…perfectly fine with it, as he hugged me tight, and when he told me that I would just have to start wearing diapers all the time from now on, it seemed like a perfectly reasonable suggestion. He helped me out of my wet jeans and underwear, got a diaper for me and helped me into it. But this time…this time, something else happened. I got hard. I got hard in the diaper–just the feeling of it was turning me on, and I started…doing things. Humping the air, grinding my crotch into Willard’s side, and my landlord shoved his hand down into the front of the diaper, finding my hard cock, and started jacking me off, his other hand pulling my face to his, and he kissed me deeply, shoving his tongue into my mouth, the taste of his pipe overpowering everything else.

I ended up on my knees, his old, hard cock working its way into my throat. I couldn’t put my hand in my diaper for some reason, and so I was forced to rub my cock through it, humping it, getting myself closer to cumming, but he came first, filling my mouth with cum. Even though I knew I had never sucked him off before, the taste was so familiar and comforting, and I came soon after that, filling my diaper with a load of cum. I pulled away from his cock and licked my lips. He said, “Time to remember everything, Baby Bear–we should have a talk,” and suddenly I could remember everything.

And never have I felt so used in my entire life.