Tale #134: The Repeating Step

Tale #134: The Repeating Step (Sequel to 'The Missing Step') (Content Tags: Messy Goodnites, humiliation, constructed accident, little brother wins) Getting back to bed hadn't been an easy task for Dylan. Not just from the excitement bouncing around in his brain, but also because he was now trapped in a room that smelled like a loaded diaper that'd been plucked straight from the pail. There was no pail in here though, at least not yet. Dylan had certainly wished there was, since his brother's pee-soaked Goodnites didn't fare well in their trash can. Similarly to how Dylan had mentioned diapers to their parents, he'd also brought up that issue before. Landon's self-esteem was such a point of contention though, that Dylan was the one left suffering. No longer! At least not if Dylan could help it. This little incident would do well to cement his positions more firmly; once they found Landon had pooped himself, they would have to take this more seriously! If they didn't, then Dylan was going to have to put his thumb on the scale. If his supposedly 'big' brother became a bedpooper too, or it was at least believed that he was, then that'd have to be enough. Eventually, even with images of his brother's humiliation dancing in his head, the younger of the two was able to fall asleep. It would be Landon that woke up first the next morning. He would yawn, rub his eyes, and sit up in his bed, just like he had every other morning. Unlike every other morning though, he was sitting up to a much more pronounced squish than he was used to. His soggy Goodnites squished, sure, from the urine-logged polymers having absorbed everything to seep out during the night. This was not that though; this was a squish that was from something inside the back of the diaper, not a squish from the diaper itself. The immediate fumes that blew upward and assaulted his nostrils, that was what sealed the deal on figuring out what this was. Landon had pooped the bed. Or at least he assumed he had pooped the bed. He didn't have any memories of getting up half-asleep to go take a dump on the toilet, so he had to assume that he'd messed himself in his sleep just as easily as always wet himself. It was a panicked epiphany to undergo, to so suddenly be embroiled in a scandal that he didn't feel responsible for, but for whom the blame would squarely fall. It could only be his own fault, or his immature body's fault. He looked over at his snoozing brother and bit his lip. The last thing he wanted to do was to give the boy another good reason to not respect him; the bedwetting had already messed up their dynamic enough. Dylan was after all the same boy who had staunchly recommended that the plug be pulled on the pull-ups, so that something stronger could take their place. Landon toddled away from his bed, feeling the mushy load shifting precariously with each and every step. This was a situation where Dylan could actually be considered to have a point; Goodnites weren't exactly made for pooping inside of, and it was by good fortune that he hadn't just awoken to a nasty blowout in his pajamas. He started to pull out some day clothes from their shared dresser, quietly and slowly, in the hope that he could sneak out of the room and go take a shower before his brother woke up. No such luck. Not long after Landon had parked himself in front of the dresser, Dylan had started to stir. As the younger boy sat up, he didn't automatically think about what he'd seen last night, and as his brain started to turn on and prod him, he almost wondered if it had just been a dream. It was a pretty fair assumption to make after first waking, to wonder if a dream had really been a dream, or the inverse. For as much mockery that Dylan heaped on his older brother, his bingo card had never had the boy pooping himself the way he had on the toilet last night; it'd also been something he'd seen after waking in the middle of the night, further blurring the lines. But then he smelled it. Dylan smelled the shame that hung so thickly in the air of their bedroom. Everything he remembered was then made clear, and all his most wanted assumptions could ring true. That was no morning fart that was ripening the room, that was undeniably a poopy pair of pull-ups. "G'mornin' Landon... Why does it stink so much?" Dylan coyly asked as he slid out of his bed, as if he wasn't already perfectly aware. Landon stopped what he was doing and just froze at the sound of his brother's voice. Without turning to face the younger boy, he just lamely shrugged. "...Dunno. Gas, I guess." "Smells really bad in here; worse than a fart, that's for sure." Dylan pushed, enjoying the hunt that came before the kill. "Y-yeah? W-well a fart is all it is! Why don't you go down for breakfast and give me some privacy?" Dylan almost chuckled, but kept his composure. "Why? To change your pee-pee pants? Not like you don't do it every day, bro. Or maybe there's something else you're worried about?" If Landon had known that Dylan was privy to his poopy pull-up, then it wouldn't have come as such a shock for his bratty baby brother to seem so suddenly perceptive. As it was, Landon hoped dearly that Dylan was simply fishing for a response, baiting him with vague accusations. "I'm not worried about anything! I'm just saying you should go have breakfast. I'm gonna take a shower first." "Didn't you take a shower yesterday?" "I-I'm getting older, you dork. I have to shower every day now." Dylan obviously wasn't fooled for a second, and he also wasn't planning to let his brother destroy the evidence of what he'd done. As Landon turned to leave, Dylan reached out and grabbed the exposed waistband of the briefs that'd caused this whole chain of events in the first place. He gave a hard tug, as if to give the older boy a wedgie, but it mostly succeeded in forcing the pantload right up against Landon's bottom with a loud squelch. "H-hey!" "Something you wanna tell me, bro? Sounds like you got something icky in there, doesn't it? Something squishy." Landon knew he was cooked. He wiggled a little bit, but Dylan had a firm grasp on his waistband. "Let go! Y-you're just making crap up!" For all his squirming, the only thing that Landon successfully pulled off was liberating himself of his pajama pants. All the movement had jostled them down his legs, and now the superhero undies covering his Goodnite were all that was on display. Of course they appeared tight, pressing hard into the Pull-Up, since Dylan was pulling the material so hard. "I don't think so, baby bro. I think you pooped the bed like a dumb little baby. I think mom and dad are gonna finally put your butt back into diapers." Shockingly, at least to Dylan, that would not be the case. Dylan had confirmed what he already knew by pulling back the waistband of the Goodnite, and then he'd given the seat a bullying slap. Their mom had come in not much longer after that, once Dylan had already let go of his brother. Landon had sniffled and sobbed as the woman found out from Dylan's loud announcement that the elder son had soiled himself. Landon had tried to make excuses, but they'd fallen flat; he didn't know why it had happened, and he could only try to promise that it wouldn't again. It was all he could do to defend himself, to defend his pride. Their mother obviously hadn't been happy. Bad enough that her preteen son was still wetting the bed, but now he had messed it? Landon was frankly way too old to be doing stuff like that anymore, and she was concerned that this might not be a lone incident. Tough love had looked pretty good in that moment. And so she'd given him a warning to start, that this was an unacceptable addition to his already infantile nighttime routine, and that if it happened again, that there would be consequences. It was her hope that a stern threat may straighten him out and make him try a little harder to act his age. It'd been a devastating lecture to receive for Landon; standing there in a stinky Goodnite, stained from both ends, as his mother chided his immaturity, and while his brother watched from across the room. When he'd thought that it ended, she'd pulled him by the hand to lead him to the bathroom, so that he could clean up, and she started a whole new round of chastising. Dylan should have been happy enough to watch Landon get his ear chewed off, to be bluntly called a 'little boy' and not a big one, but it hadn't been quite the extreme reaction he'd anticipated. Dylan had pumped it up in his head as this hyperbolic spectacle, an absurd caricature of potential reality, and so the more restrained version that he'd gotten had left him disappointed. No diapers, no pail, just a vague notion of 'consequences' if it should happen again. Just a warning, for pooping his bed like a two year old. It simply wouldn't do, not after Dylan had got so excited. The boy needed to explore what kind of consequences awaited his brother, and that would mean setting up an encore for Landon to unwittingly play. Though his stage would be a bathroom instead of a theater, and instead of taking a bow, he'd be taking a dump. Figuring out how to make it happen again was about as difficult as actually executing the operation. Something about last night had been different; a unique set of circumstances that had come together to form a perfect storm. Dylan had to consider these little details that had made the whole thing possible, and it led him to three major components: 1. Landon was very tired, and therefore in a heavier sleep than normal. When he sleepwalked to the toilet, he was too drained and groggy to realize what he was doing. So Dylan needed to make sure he'd be exhausted again. 2. Landon had eaten a lot of greasy junk food that'd upset his bowels, and that was why he'd had to get up to poop in the first place. It also meant he hadn't had to push very hard to take care of his business, which had helped keep him in a state of sleepy limbo. So Dylan needed to make sure he'd need to poop in the middle of the night again. 3. Landon had worn underwear over his Goodnites last night, which wasn't something he usually did. He'd worn them because they had gone out, and he'd been made to put on his Goodnite early, and he'd wanted to make sure that they would be perfectly hidden. He'd forgotten to take them off before bed. With the extra pair of undergarments on, he'd sat on the toilet after only pulling the outer layer down. Each component was absolutely necessary to replicate the toilet mishap. The only problem was finding a way to organically make all those elements come together; it could be months before that perfect storm came even a little close to forming again. If he wanted this to happen, and for it to happen again tonight, then he had to use more artificial means. Luckily for Dylan, he was a pretty clever boy. It'd taken a good chunk of the day to assemble a plan, but it was seemingly foolproof by the time he had finished, and it wouldn't take much in terms of resources. Just three things. Sleepytime tea, a melatonin pill, and some milk of magnesia. A conspiratorial brew that Dylan would offer when they watched the 'Captain Underpants' movie that evening; he'd have his own cup to throw off suspicion, but it wouldn't have the same fun ingredients. By bedtime, Landon was fading fast. He got dressed in his Goodnite and his pajamas, then he was asleep within about ten minutes. Dylan would wait a little while, to make sure Landon was deep under, before he made his next move. This was the most risky part, because it relied on Landon being an even heavier sleeper than normal. It was Dylan's hope that the tea and the melatonin would nip that problem in the bud. Dylan needed to add the third component, he needed his brother to have on the undies again. Dylan pulled the boy's pajama pants off of him slowly, and then just as cautiously, he finagled Landon's legs through the briefs, as if threading a needle. Once they were snugly in place, he pulled the pants back on and he backed away. Now it was time to play the waiting game. There was no way that Dylan could sleep when he knew the show could start at any minute. He'd sacrifice a good night of sleep, but he'd make sure that he saw the fruit of his labor. It was about two hours later, when Dylan was barely keeping his eyelids up, that he heard a juicy fart sputter to life. Next he heard a soft groan and the rustling of sheets. From his own bed, Dylan watched as his brother got out of bed with both hands on his butt and starting to sleepily exit the room. Dylan got up and followed, just like last night, and he watched Landon shuffle into the bathroom without closing the door again. The younger boy caught up in time to see Landon shaking his pajama pants down to his ankles, and then him pulling down his briefs, before sitting on the toilet in his Goodnite. Was it really going to work? Was Dylan just an absolute genius? Genius might have been too strong a word, but he was at least victorious. More flatulence stormed the Pull-Up, echoing from within the toilet; it sounded wetter and it got more sloppy, more and more until it was undeniably the sound of his brother pooping himself. The heavy dose of the liquid laxative was taking its toll, and it would cast a catastrophic fury upon the soggy Goodnite around Landon's waist. The older boy sat there for a few minutes, the evacuation coming in waves; each wave consisting of rude noises and the splattering of soft poop into the Pull-Up. There was some soft grunting, more likely from discomfort than strain, but Landon didn't look aware of what was really going on. Once he felt he'd 'finished', he reached over for the toilet paper and dabbed at the back of his loaded seat, as if wiping. Standing up, bowlegged from his load, he pulled the briefs back on and then his pajama pants. He flushed an empty toilet, washed his hands, and waddled back to the bedroom to go back to sleep. Dylan followed quietly, unable to contain his glee, and he felt that a repeat accident would surely give his brother what he deserved for being such a big baby. Once Landon was settled back into bed, Dylan again pantsed him and removed the briefs, to hide any proof of foul play. Just like last night, he was again laying in his own bed and suffering the smell of a dirty bottom. Once again, he couldn't wait for morning to come. He needed to see what these 'consequences' would be.