Story #149: In Depends, Dense (R-18)

Story #149: In Depends, Dense (Content Tags: Adult protagonist, brain damage, gritty reality, humiliation, pull-ups, messing, sexual content via masturbation) Adulthood was a time when a person could finally fine-tune the details of their life, where they become the final authority over their own decisions and desires. It represented independence, sovereignty over one's own affairs. Whereas childhood had a person at the whims of their guardian, of their jailer. To be dependent was to lack freedom, to lack the dignity that a full range of human actions should provide. Nobody had been counting down the days until their eighteenth birthday like Dwight had. Few teenagers had probably so utterly burned the bridge behind them as they left home, either. It wasn't a home to him though, and it hadn't been for a very long time. It had felt more like a prison, and becoming an adult had been his 'release date'. Dwight, oh-so bright, had a poor relationship with his previous guardian. He called her a guardian, because he didn't think of her as a mother, or even as a stepmother, which she was. Ava had married his father when Dwight had been eleven or so, bringing her little brats along with her and turning his home into more of a house with every day since. His father, whom his relationship hadn't been the greatest with either, had passed when Dwight was fourteen, which had left him fully in the care of Ava. She was a difficult woman to get along with, especially whenever she was fully handed the reigns of the household. Ava was traditional, absurdly conservative, somewhat narcissistic, authoritarian, and undeniably a gold digger, which was what had been the attraction with her late husband. That was actually part of the contention in their relationship, because the will reading hadn't gone as she had expected. Ava got the house, and a little nest egg to help her, but the bulk of the fortune had gone to Dwight. It was in a trust that he could only begin to access at eighteen, and he could only pull a certain amount each year, since his father wanted him to become independent and make wealth for himself. A sizable amount had already been directed to be used for higher education, which was exactly what he'd done. He had been the valedictorian at his school, and he'd had his pick of colleges to choose from. He picked one that was hours away, and openly said that he wouldn't be coming back to that house ever again. Dwight left with both middle fingers raised up high. So how was it, that six months later, he was back at that house? Better yet, why was he squatting behind the couch, getting pink in the face, while he vigorously beat off into a pair of Depends? A shameless jerk-off session that culminated not only in making the front damp and sticky, but that made the back of the garment bulge with smelly, smoldering waste? It was a lengthy and extremely humiliating set of circumstances that had led up to that point, and he had no one to blame but himself. That was the part about independence that was less glamorous, the part about your decisions having consequences, usually unforeseen ones at that. The journey that would lead to him mindlessly masturbating in a shit-packed disposable brief had started before he even left for school. It'd started with him screwing over his youngest stepbrother, Kevin. Kevin always suffered in the classroom. He wasn't mentally disabled, but he did have some things working against him, such as dyslexia and more importantly ADHD. Kevin took Adderall to be normalized, to be able to focus an average amount. Dwight had heard about how popular the pharmaceutical was to use in college, and his initial thought had been that he could sell them for a high price. His trust fund only gave him enough for the base comforts, and he knew he would need some cash to play around with. Being exceptionally clever, and living in a fairly small, simple town, it hadn't taken a lot to scam the only pharmacy. With some social engineering and some brass balls, nearly a years worth of the pills had been in his hands. Sure, that meant Kevin would likely flunk the grade he was going into, but that wouldn't be his problem. Five hundred pills, which he could easily sell for about ten to twenty dollars each, that would pay for anything he needed while living on his own. Dwight, not-so bright, ended up getting hooked on them instead. A study session here and there, then every cram session, and then every essay and project... He was working faster than ever and thinking faster than ever, and for as clever as he was, he didn't stop to consider what the physical cost of that might be. What would severe stimulus abuse do to a mind and a body that wasn't in need of them on a medical basis? Erosion, or perhaps total destruction, of the control he had over his sphincter was a consequence. Faulty bladder control to boot, that was another. Most problematic, and something that came to a head pretty suddenly, was the neurotoxic effects of taking far too much for far too long. It was safe in the proper dosage, but Dwight had easily been taking double of what that was supposed to be every day. Ultimately, he had brain damage. Not a fog or an imbalance; without mincing too many words, he had made himself at least partially retarded. There were wide enough gaps in his cognition to drive a truck through. He was intellectually impaired and there was no guarantee that he'd ever recover. He'd spent the last eight months, living it up as an adult: partying, getting laid, drinking and doing drugs. All of that would be behind him now, possibly forever. He would have no choice but to once again become dependent, like a small, stupid child. He'd been brought back, after the college had kicked him out for both his drug abuse and more importantly because he was no longer intellectually capable of that level of higher learning; his dorm mate certainly didn't want to share a room with someone shitting their pants, nor would professors want to waste time on someone who was stupid enough to stew in their own waste. College was no place for a retard, regardless of how smart he had been at the start of the year. A social worker had gotten involved and contacted his stepmother about sending him home. A lot of the details got skimmed over, but the core issue had been discussed: Dwight had been abusing drugs and Dwight now suffered brain damage as a result. The severity wasn't mentioned, nor was the loss of his bowel control and the ensuing 'protection' that'd been needed. For whatever reason, his stepmother agreed to take him back in, though she could have easily refused. A three hour car trip later with the social worker, where they'd had to stop midway through, because Dwight had dropped a big sticky lump in his Depends, and they arrived back in his old neighborhood. Right in front of his childhood home, the one that Ava had gotten in the will, in lieu of a few extra zeros on the check. Dwight mentioned that he wanted to go it alone, that he didn't want to be escorted to the door like an invalid. The social worker had agreed, but had said that she'd need to come back later, to discuss matters with what she called his 'interim guardian'. Dwight didn't like the implications, but that would have to be a matter for later, so he'd just dumbly nodded his head. He'd rung the doorbell and his stepmother had been the one to answer. Even at eighteen years old, the woman still looked at him like a small, unruly child. He'd grown taller than her a couple of years ago, but that size was meaningless in terms of who had the power. She'd scowled and commanded him to get his butt inside the house, which he'd reluctantly obeyed. What would follow was a long, hateful lecture about being a drug addict and that he deserved to face the consequences of his actions. Ava got louder, angrier and more openly toxic as her screed did proceed, and Dwight had really no choice but to keep taking it and taking it. Until he shit himself again. She'd been on her umpteenth paragraph about 'personal responsibility' and what being an adult was supposed to mean, and Dwight had just felt something big, hot and mushy squeezing past his buttcheeks and smearing the seat of his Depends. The sound of him shitting had been surprisingly pretty quiet, but not completely silent, and the Depends were woefully inadequate at covering the smell of a contained bowel movenent. The woman wrinkled her nose and looked positively disgusted, "Did you just shit yourself?! Did you seriously just shit in your pants like a goddamn infant?" While extremely conservative in most matters, the same couldn't be said for her choice of words whenever she was angry. Dwight tried to shake his head, "N-no...! I...I..." "I swear to god if you shit yourself in my house, you little delinquent..." The woman growled, "Turn around. You're going to make me have to check your pants like you're a preschooler with messy undies, because I don't believe for a second that you only had gas." Dwight didn't turn. He just stood there with a stupid look on his face, mouth hanging open like an imbecile; he could feel the warm mush pressing against him, tightly from the lesser capacity of the adult pull-up. Ava scowled at the flagrant disobedience and she moved around him to inspect his backside. With a single motion, she dropped his slacks around his ankles, and that revealed the dirty Depends to her. The flimsy backside of it bulged with his freshly squeezed excrement and that look of pure disgust returned to her face. "You're in a fucking diaper! Did you really mess your head up that much? You're just retarded now?" The words 'diaper' and 'retarded' did the heavy lifting in those inquiries to make Dwight feel lower than he thought was possible. He didn't want to think that either of them were applicable to him, but the truth was a bitter pill that he couldn't deny. "N-notta dia-PURR, it is a 'adult brief', a Depends." He lamely retorted, which made the woman scoff. Ava reached over and pulled the waistband of the 'briefs' out by the hook of her fingers. She already knew what she expected, but she looked down inside and let out a frustrated sigh at the semi-solid release that had been trapped back there. "Depends, huh? Well, you shit in it like it's a diaper, so that's what I'm going to call it. Did you piss yourself too?" She went to examine the front and saw it still looked pretty dry, though a very small 'bump' caught her attention and made her shake her head in further disgust. "...Ugh, does it excite you to crap all over yourself like an invalid?" She spat at him, to which he blushed and quickly shuffled his hands in front of his crotch. His stepmother, while being adamantly opposed to drugs, had also always been very 'sex negative'. She was a prude who had gone so far as to try to bar him from dating whenever he'd been in high school and grounding him whenever she'd found the most vanilla porn on his computer. Unfortunately for Dwight, the brain damage had spiked his already strong libido to absurdly high heights. He was having to get 'relief' five or six times a day, and his inhibitions had a hard time keeping him from doing so at inappropriate times. More shamefully than those powerful urges was that his arousal was very tactile in its activation; rubbing against the material of the Depends was often enough to make him rise to action, and pulling on his waistband had forced the front of the garment to come up against his member. Though, what was likely more to blame was the sticky lump in his trunk... She smacked his padded ass hard and the load got mashed flat; the hot mush smeared and spread across his buttcheeks, eliciting a pathetic whimper from the man. Some brown stains began to seep through the light padding, showing more clearly that he was a moron that had crapped in his Depends. "You're disgusting. Absolutely disgusting! I can't believe what a reprobate you are; shitting in a diaper in my house like some kind of retard and then getting an erection from it! Can you even clean yourself up? Or are you just completely incompetent now?" "I-I can...Can clean up...my butt..." His words staggered out, slow and labored, his ability to reach them being worsened by the extreme level of shame that was poured over him. "Can you? Then prove it. Prove that you can still do *something* to help yourself." The man awkwardly fumbled another Depends out of his bag, along with some generic brand wet wipes. Without another word, he waddled his way off to the bathroom and closed the door behind himself. He'd hardly been back home for twenty minutes and already he'd made an absolute fool out of himself. Looking in the mirror was hard for him. His handsome face was still there, along with a fairly attractive body, but it was just a lie. The way his mouth hung ajar and his chin was slicked by drool; the shit-packed Depends sagging off his butt... He wasn't the stud he'd once been. Out of a morbid curiosity, he turned around to check out his own ass. The white 'brief' was subtly bulging with excrement and stained brown in multiple places, likely because of Ava's less than gentle hand. Seeing it wasn't necessary, since Dwight could easily feel the way that the hot shit smeared against his backside and threatened to move underneath him as well. He sat on the toilet, with the lid still down, and he immediately felt the load shift further. He was just trying to take off his socks, so that he didn't make a mess of them, but leaning forward to peel them off had unforeseen consequences: the muddy waste oozed forward and began to coat the underside of his balls. The tingling was insane, and the tactile pleasure made him tent the front of his Depends immediately. It was too much to try to resist. His hand pawed the bulge in front of him and gave a gentle rub. He may as well give himself some relief, shouldn't he? He'd just been scolded for his arousal, so it made sense that he should 'solve' the issue for a few hours. Carefully, he stood back up and lifted the lid of the toilet up. He didn't want to risk a blowout by sitting flat on his load, since he wouldn't be completely stationary. There was also the embarrassing yet very real risk that he would evacuate his bowels again upon orgasm, as had already happened to him a few times. Dwight lowered himself back onto the toilet and began to rub the front of his Depends more vigorously. After he'd had enough action over the pants, he took things to the next level and plunged his hand down the front of his dirtied undergarment. There was panting and squirming as he jerked off in the bathroom; it quickly became a sweaty affair from both the exertion and the lack of decent ventilation in the room, which also led to the smell of his own filth becoming quite thick. Dwight didn't care, and in a way, those conditions actually strengthened his arousal. He felt close to a glorious climax when he was disrupted by a horrible pressure in his bowels; he knew it would resolve on its own if he let it, but he wouldn't be able to continue with this discomfort. With a hand still around his shaft, he squinted his eyes and began to grunt. With a big enough push, Dwight was able to force things along; a mighty steamer began to crackle as it squeezed itself out into his already mucky seat. He didn't wait for the turd to fully exit before he continued his horny deed, he only waited until the discomfort had subsided enough to get back at it. So there he was, still laying a major pipe of shit in the back of his Depends, while he more traditionally 'layed pipe' in the font. It was disgusting and degrading, but he was too horny to care. He didn't even finish pinching off the fat turd before he began to spurt and soak the front of the adult Pull-Up. He slumped where he sat, panting heavily and moaning as each pulse hit him and splattered the inside of his Depends. Lingering farts bubbled shortly after the log had made a full exit, and Dwight noticed that his face was a mess of drool and snot. Before he could fully recover, there was a knock at the door. "How long are you going to be? I thought you said you could handle it!" He had definitely handled *something*, but the diaper change hadn't been it.