Auntie's Little Dream

[lolabunny]

 Chapter One: The Scent of Lavender and Longing

Notices:

I haven't been posting much because of my college, it's complicated and I have a lot of work and I also have to work to pay for it, but I promise to post more chapters. If you want to support me, there's a link to my ko-fi and my buy me a coffee. Sorry for any spelling mistakes. I'm learning to improve my English, it's not my native language.

***

The summer sun hung lazily over the sleepy suburb, casting golden streaks across the lawns and rooftops. For Lily Harper, it was supposed to be a peaceful day—curled up in her room with a dog-eared paperback, or maybe binging the latest sci-fi series she’d been raving about to her friends. At sixteen, she was a whirlwind of curiosity and independence, her short auburn hair perpetually tousled from biking through town, her hazel eyes sharp with the kind of defiance only a teenager could muster. But peace wasn’t on the agenda today. Her mother’s voice had cut through her plans like a knife that morning:

“Last-minute work trip. You’re staying with Aunt Clara. No arguments.”

Lily hated visiting Aunt Clara’s house.

The air there always smelled of lavender and regret—a cloying mix that clung to the furniture and seeped into her clothes. It wasn’t just the scent, though. It was the way the house felt: too quiet, too still, like a museum of unfulfilled dreams. She stood in her bedroom now, shoving her Kindle, a sketchbook, and a tangle of earbuds into her suitcase, muttering under her breath. “I’m sixteen, Mom. I can stay home alone. I don’t need a babysitter.” Her mother, already halfway out the door with her own suitcase, didn’t budge. “Clara’s expecting you, Lily. Be good. It’s just a week.”

A week. Seven days in that suffocating house with her aunt, who always seemed to hover too close, her smiles too wide. Lily sighed and zipped up her bag, resigned. She didn’t know it yet, but this summer—her sixteenth—was about to unravel in ways she couldn’t imagine.

 

****

Forty miles away, Clara Bennett stood in the checkout line at the supermarket, her fingers tightening around the handle of her basket. She was 28, with soft blonde hair pulled into a neat bun and a floral sundress that screamed “housewife.” She worked part-time in marketing—crafting slogans for products she didn’t care about—but her real life was at home, waiting for something that never came. Her husband, David, was a salesman who spent more time in hotel rooms than with her, and their marriage had withered under the weight of a single, devastating truth: he was infertile. Clara’s dream of motherhood, once a vivid tapestry of nursery rhymes and tiny shoes, had frayed into a quiet, gnawing ache.

The two women ahead of her in line didn’t help. They were her age, chatting brightly as the cashier scanned their items. One cradled a swollen belly, her hand resting proudly on it. The other held a pack of diapers, grinning. “I’m having my first,” the pregnant woman said, her voice bubbling with excitement. “Twenty-eight feels like the perfect time.”

“Absolutely,” the other replied, tossing the diapers into her bag. “Plenty of energy to chase them around, change those diapers, enjoy every second.”

Clara’s chest tightened. She stared at the jar of lavender candles in her basket, pretending to read the label. Enjoy every second. The words stung like salt in a wound. All the women her age were becoming mothers—posting baby photos online, swapping stories about sleepless nights—while she was left with an empty house and a husband who barely looked at her anymore. But today, something shifted. Her phone buzzed in her purse, and she fished it out to see a text from her sister: Lily’s staying with you for a week. Work emergency. Thanks, sis!

Lily. Her niece. Sixteen, bright, a little wild—like Clara had been once, before life sanded down her edges. A slow smile crept across Clara’s face as she paid for her candles. She’d always adored Lily, hadn’t she? The girl’s visits were rare, but they’d given Clara a taste of something she craved—someone to care for, to fuss over. And now, a whole week. An idea flickered in her mind, fragile at first, then blazing. Lily could be more than a guest. She could be Clara’s chance. Not just to play aunt, but to have something—someone—to call her own. A little girl. Her little girl.

The diapers in the woman’s bag flashed in her memory. Cute clothes. Soft blankets. A nursery she’d never gotten to use. Clara’s smile widened as she walked to her car, the summer heat pressing against her skin. This was fate, wasn’t it? Her luck was finally changing.

Back at home, Lily dragged her suitcase down the stairs, her sneakers scuffing the hardwood. She’d argued with her mom until her throat hurt, but it was no use. “Clara’s lonely,” her mother had said, almost as an afterthought. “She could use the company.” Lily rolled her eyes. Lonely or not, Aunt Clara was weird—always watching her too closely, asking too many questions about school, about her life. Last time, she’d even tried to braid Lily’s hair, her fingers lingering like she was savoring it. It creeped Lily out.

She tossed her suitcase into the backseat of her mom’s car and slumped into the passenger side. As they drove toward Clara’s house, the city faded into tree-lined streets and tidy lawns. Lily stared out the window, her Kindle resting on her lap. She’d survive this week. She’d hole up with her books and shows, tune out Clara’s hovering, and count the days until she was free again.

The car pulled into the driveway of a modest two-story house, its shutters painted a faded blue. Lavender bushes flanked the porch, their scent already curling through the open window. Clara stepped out the front door, waving eagerly, her sundress swaying in the breeze. “Lily! Oh, I’m so glad you’re here!” she called, her voice too bright, her eyes glinting with something Lily couldn’t place.

Lily forced a smile and grabbed her suitcase. “Hey, Aunt Clara,” she mumbled, brushing past her into the house. The air hit her like a wave—lavender and regret, thick and inescapable. She didn’t notice the way Clara’s gaze lingered on her, or the way her aunt’s hands clasped together, trembling with a quiet, desperate hope.

This was going to be a long week.

[parkintochter]

I'd like to read more. Aunt Clara seems really nice, Lily shouldn't be so dismissive.

[Eagle0769]

Interesting start. Your writing is very good would like to read more  🙂

[lolabunny]

Chapter Two: The Nursery’s Secret

Notes:

Thanks for the feedback, I hope you like it, if you want to support me this is kofi Ko-fi.com/lolabunny2

Clara Bennett stood alone in the upstairs room she’d poured her heart into, her fingers grazing the edge of a pastel curtain as she surveyed her creation. It was a nursery, every inch crafted with a mother’s devotion—though no child had ever called it home. The walls glowed a delicate pink, like the flush of a baby’s cheeks, adorned with decals of whimsical bunnies hopping through fields of daisies. A plush rug, woven with interlocking puzzle pieces in shades of mint green and soft yellow, cushioned the hardwood floor. In one corner, a dollhouse stood proud, its tiny windows glinting as if lit from within, surrounded by a menagerie of stuffed animals—teddy bears, floppy-eared rabbits, and a wide-eyed owl perched on a shelf.

The air carried the powdery scent of talcum, mingling with the faint sweetness of vanilla from a candle that had long since burned out. A white wooden changing table sat against one wall, its shelves stocked with neatly folded blankets and a basket of lotions, wipes, and creams, all unopened, waiting. Above it hung a mobile of glittering stars, swaying gently despite the stillness of the room. At the center was a crib—not quite a toddler bed, but too small for an adult—its cherrywood frame polished to a shine, draped with a quilt embroidered with tiny moons. Everything was perfect, a dream spun from Clara’s longing, a sanctuary for the child she’d never had. She inhaled deeply, her chest tightening with a mix of pride and ache, then closed the door with a soft click. Lily would be here soon.
***
Downstairs, the house hummed with anticipation as Clara paced the living room, smoothing her floral apron. The doorbell chimed, and her heart leapt. She opened the door to find Lily, suitcase in tow, her auburn hair catching the late afternoon sun. Her sister, Lily’s mother, gave a quick wave from the car, already pulling away with a distracted, “Thanks, Clara! I’ll call you!” Lily barely glanced up, her hazel eyes fixed on her sneakers as she stepped inside, dragging her suitcase over the threshold.

The first thing Lily noticed wasn’t lavender, as she’d braced herself for, but roses—a softer, sweeter scent that curled through the air like an invitation. She almost smiled. It was better than that heavy, mournful lavender that usually choked the house. But then her gaze landed on Aunt Clara, who stood beaming, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles whitened. There was something _too_ bright about her today, like a bulb flickering before it burned out.

Lily snorted, rolling her eyes. “Sports? No way, not for me.” She leaned against the banister, her voice light but firm. “And boys? Please. I’d rather read a book in Chinese than deal with that.”

Clara’s laughter softened, her gaze lingering on her niece. “Studies, then. Math? You’re so clever.”

“Math? Ugh, I _hate_ it,” Lily cut in, grinning despite herself. “Give me a fantasy novel or a good series any day. Numbers make my brain itch.”

Clara’s smile tightened, but she nodded. “Well, honey, why don’t you go up to the guest room? I’ll be there in a moment.” She gestured toward the staircase, her tone almost too sweet, like syrup sticking to the words.

Lily shrugged, hoisting her suitcase and climbing the steps. The rose scent faded as she reached the second floor, replaced by something else—powdery, clinical, like a doctor’s office. She pushed open the door Clara had indicated and froze.

The room wasn’t a guest room. It was a nursery, straight out of a storybook—or a nightmare. Pink walls, stuffed animals staring from every corner, a dollhouse that looked too pristine to have ever been played with. A crib sat in the middle, its quilt impossibly neat, and a changing table loomed nearby, stocked like it was ready for use. The air was thick with baby powder, and a mobile of stars spun lazily above the crib. Lily’s skin prickled, a shiver snaking down her spine. Why would her aunt have _this_?

Clara’s footsteps creaked behind her, and Lily turned to find her aunt in the doorway, holding a small plastic bag. “Do you like the room?” Clara asked, her voice bright but her eyes searching.

“It’s… pretty,” Lily said, forcing a smile. “Very cute.” She sat gingerly on the edge of the crib, which creaked under her weight, and glanced at the bag in Clara’s hands. “Why do you have this room, Auntie?”Clara hesitated, then tilted her head, her smile softening. “Oh, a friend of mine has a little girl. She stays here sometimes, so I set this up for her. Keeps it cozy, you know?”

Lily nodded slowly, not quite convinced. It sounded plausible—a friend’s kid—but something felt off, like a puzzle piece forced into the wrong slot. Clara started to say something else, but the doorbell chimed downstairs, sharp and insistent.

“I’ll get that,” Clara said quickly, setting the bag on the changing table. “Be right back.” She hurried out, her footsteps fading down the stairs.

Lily’s curiosity tugged at her. She glanced at the bag, its plastic crinkling slightly in the quiet room. No one was around. She stood, crossed to the table, and peered inside. Her breath caught. It was a pack of Pampers diapers, the kind for toddlers, their packaging bright and cheerful—white with pastel blue and pink patterns, little cartoon bears dancing across the front, each holding a balloon. A faint scent of baby powder clung to the pack, matching the room’s oppressive air.

She stepped back, her pulse quickening. Clara didn’t have a baby. Her friend’s kid, maybe, but why keep diapers _here_? Why this whole room, so perfect, so untouched? The nursery felt less like a guest space and more like a shrine.

The door creaked open, and Clara returned, her cheeks flushed. “Just a neighbor,” she said breezily. “Kids needed something, always running around.”

Lily turned, the bag still in her line of sight. “Why the diapers?” she asked, her voice steady but her eyes narrowing. “Who are they for?”

Clara’s smile didn’t waver, but something flickered in her gaze—something sharp, almost hungry. She stepped closer, her hands folding neatly in front of her. “For you, silly,” she said, her tone light, teasing, as if it were a joke. “You’ll be my baby.”

Lily laughed, short and uneasy, waiting for the punchline. But Clara’s eyes didn’t laugh. They gleamed, fixed on her, and the room’s powdery air seemed to thicken, pressing against Lily’s skin.

[wetdiaper55]

Good start

[Dirty Boy]

Apparently the desire for motherhood has driven this woman crazy, Lily should run away

[DDude25]

Following

[diaperme2017]

Hell yeah good start 

[lolabunny]

Auntie's Little Dream - Chapter 03: The Weight of Choices

 

Lily stared at her aunt Clara, her mind reeling as if the ground beneath her had suddenly shifted. She felt a mix of astonishment and concern bubbling up inside her chest. The absurdity of the situation clawed at her thoughts, and she silently repeated to herself, You have to be kidding me. A pack of Pampers diapers—brightly decorated with cartoon animals meant for infants—sat innocently on the bed beside her. But there was nothing innocent about this moment.

With a nervous laugh that barely masked her unease, Lily said aloud, "Aunt Clara, what a good joke!" Her voice wavered slightly, hoping against hope that this was all some bizarre prank.

Clara's expression didn't falter. If anything, it hardened into something more resolute. "What joke?" she asked coolly, her tone devoid of humor.

Lily swallowed hard, her throat dry as desert sand. "This... this thing about me wearing a diaper and being your baby." Her words tumbled out awkwardly, each syllable feeling heavier than the last.

Clara sighed softly, as though she'd expected this reaction from the start. And truthfully, she had. Teenagers weren't exactly known for their compliance, especially not someone like Lily, who prided herself on independence. Still, Clara had no intention of backing down. This wasn't just a whim—it was a carefully thought-out plan born out of years of longing and regret.

"It's not funny at all," Clara said firmly, her eyes locking onto Lily's. "It's reality."

Lily's heart sank. Panic began to creep in, its icy tendrils wrapping around her chest. "Auntie, I'm not a baby," she protested weakly, her voice trembling now.

Clara tilted her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Oh? You are, you're already throwing a tantrum."

Lily's face flushed crimson at the accusation. Heat rose to her cheeks, betraying her embarrassment. "Why is that?" she demanded, trying to sound defiant despite the quiver in her voice.

"It's simple," Clara explained matter-of-factly. "I can't have children. But now..." She gestured to the room around them, her gaze sweeping over the crib-like bed, the dollhouse, the stuffed animals, and finally landing on Lily. "Now, you'll be my baby while you're here in my home."

Lily's breath hitched. She glanced around the room again, taking in the surreal details—the puzzle-piece rug underfoot, the mobile twirling lazily above the tiny bed, and most disturbingly, the diapers scattered nearby. Everything seemed to close in on her, suffocating her with its overwhelming implication. Her initial disbelief morphed into outright dread.

"You're crazy!" Lily blurted out, her voice rising in pitch. "I'm not a baby, and I don't wear diapers!"

Without another word, she bolted toward the door, desperate to escape the madness. But Clara moved faster than Lily anticipated. In an instant, her aunt's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist with surprising strength. Lily stumbled back, startled by the sudden resistance.

"Young lady," Clara said sharply, her voice cutting through the air like a whip, "you're going to come back here, like a good little girl. And I'm going to put you in a diaper."

"I'm not—" Lily started, shaking her head vehemently.

"I don't care," Clara interrupted, her tone unyielding. "You're a baby now. If you don't cooperate..." She paused, letting the weight of her next words sink in. "If you don't come here willingly, I'm going to call your mother. I'll tell her you've been disobedient, that you hit me, wet the bed, and refused to follow my rules. Knowing your mother, that guarantees a lot of consequences. No phone. No leaving the house. And definitely no boarding school."

Each sentence landed like a dagger, piercing Lily's resolve. The boarding school. How could she forget? It was everything she'd been looking forward to—a fresh start, new friends, freedom from the monotony of her current life. Missing out on that would ruin everything. Her dreams, her plans, her future—all snatched away because of one summer with Aunt Clara.

Tears welled up in Lily's eyes, but she blinked them back furiously. Defiance warred with desperation within her, but ultimately, the fear of losing everything won. Slowly, reluctantly, she shuffled back toward her aunt, shoulders slumped in defeat.

Clara's smile returned, softer this time but tinged with triumph. "Very good choice," she murmured approvingly. Then, without hesitation, she pulled Lily onto her lap, cradling her niece as though she were indeed a small child.

"Now, little girl," Clara cooed, stroking Lily's hair gently, "tell me what you are."

Lily hesitated, biting her lip until it hurt. Humiliation burned hot in her cheeks, but she knew there was no way out. Not yet. "I'm... a baby," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Clara beamed, clearly pleased with the response. "That's right, sweetheart. Now come on, Strawberry Shortcake." She lifted Lily off her lap and guided her toward the changing table. "Let's get you into a diaper before you have an accident."

As Clara positioned Lily on the padded surface, the teenager stared blankly at the ceiling, her mind racing. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening. Yet the cool vinyl beneath her and the rustle of plastic as Clara opened a diaper told her otherwise. Each second felt like an eternity, stretching endlessly as reality crashed down around her.

And through it all, Clara hummed softly, her movements deliberate and calm, as though this were the most natural thing in the world. For her, perhaps it was. But for Lily, it was a nightmare she couldn't wake up from.

 

[parkintochter]

Clara actually is crazy  

[wetdiaper55]

I like the story,,,,lets see how this goes

[lolabunny]

 Chapter 4: The Rules of the Game

Lily stared at her aunt Clara, her heart pounding like a trapped bird against her ribcage. The room seemed smaller now, suffocating her with its pastel walls and childlike decor. Clara worked methodically, her movements precise and unhurried as though she’d done this countless times before—except that she hadn’t. This was all new for both of them, but only one person appeared to be enjoying it.

Clara gently removed Lily’s clothes, leaving her in just her big-girl underwear. Her tone remained soft, almost soothing, as if trying to ease an unruly toddler into compliance. “Let’s use something more protective, darling,” she said with a smile that bordered on maternal pride. “Let’s use a pretty diaper.”

Lily clenched her fists, fighting back tears of humiliation. She watched helplessly as Clara unfolded the diaper—a stark white rectangle adorned with colorful drawings of animals frolicking through meadows. It crinkled audibly under Clara’s hands, each sound amplifying Lily’s mortification. 

With practiced ease, Clara slid the diaper beneath Lily, positioning it snugly between her legs. The cool plastic lining pressed against Lily’s skin, foreign and invasive. Clara then secured the adhesive straps, pulling them tight enough to ensure a perfect fit but not so much as to cause discomfort. Finally, she patted the front of the diaper lightly, the gesture oddly tender yet profoundly degrading.

The scent of talcum powder filled the air, sweet and cloying, making Lily feel nauseous. She couldn’t look away from the cartoon animals staring up at her from the fabric wrapped around her waist. In that moment, she felt stripped of everything—her dignity, her autonomy, her very identity. All that remained was a helpless, humiliated teenager encased in a garment meant for infants.

Clara, however, radiated satisfaction. To her, this wasn’t degradation; it was fulfillment. A dream long deferred had finally taken shape before her eyes. She gazed down at Lily with an expression of pure joy, as though she’d just completed a masterpiece. “There we go, darling,” she cooed. “Now you’re properly dressed. Let’s add some clothes over your new… *underwear.*”

She reached for a onesie lying nearby, its design simple yet childish—a pale blue fabric with a golden star embroidered across the chest. The snaps running down the front gleamed mockingly as Clara pulled it over Lily’s head and fastened it carefully. Next came a fluffy tutu skirt, pink and frilly, which Clara layered over the onesie. The combination was absurdly adorable—and utterly humiliating.

“Wow, what a well-behaved little girl!” Clara exclaimed, clapping her hands together in delight. She leaned forward and playfully patted the bulge of the diaper beneath the outfit. “You’re looking absolutely precious, sweetheart.”

Lily’s cheeks burned crimson, her embarrassment reaching unbearable levels. She wanted to scream, to cry, to protest—but she found herself paralyzed by shame and fear. Instead, she sat silently, her body rigid, as Clara took her long hair and began arranging it into two neat pigtails. Each strand was brushed and tied with a matching bow, completing the transformation.

Just when Lily thought things couldn’t get worse, Clara produced a pacifier—the final indignity. Before Lily could resist, her aunt slipped it into her mouth and secured it in place, ensuring it wouldn’t fall out easily. Then, with surprising strength, Clara scooped Lily up effortlessly, cradling her like a real baby. 

“What a beautiful little girl,” Clara murmured, rocking her niece gently. “And wearing something non-slip for herself, too. Let’s talk about your rules, shall we?”

Carrying Lily into the living room, Clara settled onto the couch, holding her close. Lily squirmed uncomfortably, acutely aware of the crinkling sounds emanating from the diaper every time she moved. Clara adjusted her grip, keeping Lily securely nestled against her chest.

“Alright, sweetie,” Clara began, her voice firm but gentle. “Here are the rules while you’re staying here. Rule number one: You are not potty-trained, so you will use diapers exclusively. No exceptions.”

Lily tried to speak, her muffled protests drowned out by the pacifier wedged firmly in her mouth. Clara ignored her attempts, pressing a finger to the pacifier to keep it in place. “Rule number two: If I give you a pacifier, you cannot remove it unless I say so. Only I decide when it comes out.”

Her gaze softened slightly, but there was no mistaking the authority in her tone. “Rule number three: I choose what you wear. No arguments. And rule number four: I decide what you eat. No junk food, no sneaking snacks. Everything must be nutritious and approved by me.”

Clara paused, tapping her chin thoughtfully as she considered additional guidelines. “Oh, and let’s add this—one nap per day, mandatory. Bedtime is at eight o’clock sharp. No phones, no books without permission. And most importantly…” She leaned closer, her eyes locking onto Lily’s wide, frightened ones. “…you will address me as ‘Mommy’ whenever we’re alone. Understood?”

Lily’s stomach churned. She nodded weakly, unable to do anything else. Her mind raced, searching for a way out of this nightmare, but she came up empty. For now, resistance was futile.

Clara smiled warmly, seemingly pleased with her newfound role. “Good girl,” she praised, planting a kiss on Lily’s forehead. “Now, let’s have a bottle of milk, shall we? Something nice and calming to help you settle in.”

As Clara prepared the bottle, Lily sat slumped in her arms, defeated and overwhelmed. She told herself repeatedly that this would be temporary—a fleeting phase she could endure until her mother returned. Surely, it wouldn’t last long. Surely, she’d find a way to reclaim control.

But deep down, doubt lingered. How long could she hold on to hope in a world where even her own body felt foreign?

For now, all she could do was sit quietly, listening to the faint rustle of plastic beneath her and praying that this ordeal would end sooner rather than later.