Tale #84: Not An Idle Threat

Tale #84: Not An Idle Threat (Content Tags: Slice of life, lazy pantspooping, diaper punishment, messy undies, messy and wet diaper, humiliation) "If you want to keep pooping in your pants like a baby, then you can wear a diaper like a baby!" It'd been an errant threat that he'd heard repeatedly over the last year, but it'd been toothless; there were only so many times he could hear that the demotion to diapers was looming over him, before he just started to tune it out. Marcel didn't think that his grandmother would ever make good on the idea, until the day that she did. The accidents couldn't even fully be considered as such; Marcel was so fixated on his gaming that he'd continuously hold off on taking bathroom breaks, until it became too uncomfortable to keep holding it, and then he'd make the conscious decision to shit himself, as his older sister would say. The games he played were of the competitive sort, where he couldn't just pause an online match to pinch a loaf. Any normal kid would go between matches, but Marcel always found it hard for himself to find a good time. Once he found a lobby that he liked, he didn't want to have to leave, and so that meant his tighty-whities became not so tidy. Marcel was otherwise pretty typical for someone about to be twelve; he liked sports and music, and he thought school was a total drag. But other fifth grade boys weren't taking giant craps in their pants to keep a killstreak going, and they definitely weren't getting put back in Pampers by their granny. The last straw had been it happening twice in two days. It was double-XP weekend, which meant his marathon was even more intense than usual; he was found with a log in his britches Saturday afternoon, and he'd gotten yelled at for that, but did he take that to heart? No. Sunday, after dining on pizza rolls and doritos, he'd felt the urgency growing in his bowels. His grandmother had warned him earlier that morning that she was done with his childish behavior, and that he better get right today, or else there'd be consequences; again, it was the same old speech that he'd heard time after time, so he didn't take it very seriously. Still, he hadn't really planned to poop himself that afternoon. He'd made a serious consideration to get up and go use the toilet, even if that meant getting kicked from the lobby, but then he started to get crazy lucky with his gameplay. He was banking a ton of headshots, and the general noobiness of the other team was fantastic for his rank. There was an irony in the fact that he'd spent most of the match shit-talking his opponents over the headset, considering what he was going to do in his pants. He'd been cutting some pretty ripe farts over the last half-hour, and the pressure just became too unpleasant to deal with any more. Marcel muted himself to spare the other players the sound of what he'd decided to do. Channeling peak 'lazy Sunday' vibes, the boy was clad in nothing but his previously skidded underpants; he'd been sitting on his bed to play, so he stood up, with the controller still in his hand. He wasn't going to stop playing for a moment, even while he planned to soil himself; his knees bent a bit and he started to push. Marcel's bowel control wasn't below average, so even with an abundance of practice, it still took a decent amount of effort to get the ball rolling. Luckily, he'd been holding it long enough to make it somewhat easier to let go; the boy puffed out his cheeks and felt his knees tremble as a large solid snake made its slithering descent into his briefs. The cotton tented out immediately, inch by inch, until he'd successfully pinched what was easily a half-foot or more of rock-solid stink. About halfway through, when the grunting had ceased, he'd turned his microphone back on to boast about a particularly skillful kill he'd gotten. In an unfortunate turn of events, his grandmother had been walking by his room when he shouted about 'wrecking that bitch' and so she'd opened the door to scold him. That's when she caught sight of Marcel actively pushing a turd into his pants, after she'd been very clear about her expectations beforehand. "Boy, I know you're not doing a number two in your britches again! What'd I just tell you this mornin? About putting your butt back into Pampers?" Marcel hadn't had much time to feel shame from his dirty laundry getting aired over the headset; he'd heard laughter and choice words from other jerkass preteens, but only a few before the headset got ripped from him. The online lobby would get to still hear everything that followed though, if just a little muffled. They would hear Marcel getting yelled at, and the lecture about how he kept doing this and she'd had enough of it. They heard him getting spanked and the tearful pleas that followed. The last thing they would hear was the absolute blubbering meltdown that Marcel had when it was mentioned that his Xbox was being taken away from him indefinitely. His grandmother was done warning him, and he had been left wishing that he'd paid her a little more respect. She'd told him to clean himself up and that she'd be back shortly, after already taking the console with her to lock away of course. After cleaning his muddy rump and disposing of the soiled briefs, he'd spent some time crying into his pillow, and that'd be where he remained until his grandmother returned. "Boy, you best quit that bawling before I give you something to really cry about!" In her arms had been a large plastic bag from the store. Inside the bag was the very thing she'd threatened him with for the last couple of years. This wasn't an idle threat anymore, this was a clear reality; she'd bought a package of diapers. Crinkly, bulky, thick and white. No amount of fussing, pleading, or promises to be better would stop them from getting taped around his waist. He thought that they were at least just a message, to only be worn for show, as to shame him out of his lazy behavior. Marcel was wrong about that. His grandmother told him, in no uncertain terms, that he was barred from using the toilet until further notice. If he was going to act like he wasn't toilet-trained, then she was going to make him start from the beginning, and that meant the toilet wasn't even an option. The rest of that day had been a haze. He remembered spending a lot of time in his room, hiding his shamefully padded behind under the shroud of his blanket, and thinking about how stupid this all was. He experienced four of the five stages of grief while cooped up in his room; anger at his granny, sadness over the loss of his Xbox, bargaining that he could somehow talk his way out of this, and a whole lot of denial that this would be anything but a one-day thing. Marcel couldn't brood in his room forever. By the time it became evening, he was forced from his room to come join the dinner table. He put some briefs on over his diaper, and then some baggy basketball shorts; as unrealistic as it'd prove to be, he didn't want his siblings to know what he was being forced to wear. Not Rochelle, his sixteen year old sister, nor Wesley, his nine year old brother. He came to the table like nothing was wrong, though his puffy eyes were a dead giveaway that he'd spent a lot of time crying today. Marcel could hear his diaper crinkle when he sat down at the wooden chair, but it didn't seem noticeable enough for anyone else to hear it. Dinner went pretty normally at first, and Marcel almost could forget that he was wearing a diaper like a jumbo-sized baby, but he began to feel rumblings before too long. His bladder had already been aching for the last thirty minutes, but now his bowels had kicked back up too, and he was beginning to feel pressure down there too. His idea was that he'd wait until after dinner and then ask his grandmother to let him use the bathroom, since she couldn't expect him to really use them, right? So he engaged in the dinner table small talk and he ate all that was put on his plate, even the okra that he always complained about. Marcel wanted to act 'good' so that the wrinkled woman would reconsider her position, and he was still stupid enough to think that would work. Finally, once everyone had finished, his grandmother told him to get the dishes cleaned up and that seemed like the right moment to make his move. Rochelle and Wesley had gone into the living room to watch some television, which just left Marcel in the kitchen with his grandmother. "Umm...Grandmama, I really gotta use the toilet." He bashfully stated, trying to keep his voice down. "Oh, is that right? Well, you don't gotta tell me, child; you can go ahead and go." Marcel had felt so relieved to hear that, and with a small thanks, he had made a move to exit the kitchen. "Where do you think you're going? I told you to get on those dishes." She sternly reminded, grabbing him by his arm. "But you said I could go to the toilet..." "You thick? What'd I tell you earlier? Those Pampers are your toilet from now on. You didn't have any trouble using your pants like a toilet to play your computer games, so I don't see why that'd matter now." Marcel could feel his face getting hot. It'd been one thing to decide to crap his pants for the sake of his gameplay, but it was an entirely different thing to be told he had no other choice. To be told that his only option was to go in his pants, when he was very much capable of using the toilet. "B-but... G-grandmama.." He started to stutter, desperate to change her mind. "No buts, Marcel. Not unless yours wants another whoopin'. Go in your Pampers and I'll change you; that's what babies do, they potty in their diapers and get changed by a grown-up. Now get to work on those dishes." Her mind was made up and he was on dish duty. The discomfort down below was worsening as he stood in front of the sink, and while he began to rinse off the dishes, he could feel his resolve beginning to crumble. With the warm water running over his hands as he scrubbed, it became especially difficult to keep a lid on his bladder; it got so bad that he started to let small spurts of urine splash into the garment to relieve the pressure. A little bit of peeing could only lead to more and more of the same; once the process had been initiated, one couldn't really just stop until the act was fully finished. Marcel swayed from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable, until he just stopped and decided to let go. With the dribbling increased to a stream, he could feel warmth spreading rapidly across his padded crotch; the diaper soaked it all in, swelling and sagging lightly with the weight of his soggy release. He'd been holding it for so long that he could feel the pee even soaking into the back of the puffy garment too, getting his buttcheeks damp and heated. After a full thirty or more seconds, his bladder had completely emptied, and he felt at least one sort of pressure leaving him. The sudden shift caused him to let out a large bubbling fart as well, which made him feel more embarrassed, since his grandmother was still in the room. Marcel didn't plan to poop in his diaper at this moment. His plan was to finish the dishes and to then go hide in his room again, to avoid having to do the deed in front of anyone. Unfortunately for him, the sink had quite the bounty of dirty dishes, and the cramps were getting more severe. As much as he wanted some privacy, it just wasn't looking like it was in the cards for him. The boy rocked back and forth on his heels, a sponge in one hand and a dirty plate in the other; he was squeezing his buttcheeks as tightly as he could, which felt strange with the diaper being so soggy, but errant toots were making their way out. With every gassy misstep, he was lurching closer to losing his grip, and there were still several dishes left to tidy. Another fart sputtered into the back and it was all over for his attempt. He could feel that a log was touching 'cloth' and unless he teleported immediately to the toilet, there was no possible way that this turd would end up anywhere else besides his diaper. Marcel gave in; he'd already pissed himself, so why fight finishing the job? He could poop, finish his chore, and then sneak past his siblings! His cleaning briefly stopped, only so he could focus on 'dirtying' instead. Marcel closed his eyes and pretended that he was in front of his TV, and that he was in the middle of a match, just like earlier. The preteen let out a soft grunt and stopped holding back, instead actively pushing to move things along. Almost instantly, the large steamer began to fully crash itself into his puffy Pampers, making an impressive landfall that slowly created a big bulge in the back of his basketball shorts. "Hey Grandmama, can we have ice cream sandwiches for dessert? Um, what's Marcel doin?" The sound of his little brother's voice made him open his eyes in terror. Wesley had already teased him before over his lazy habit, but he'd at least understood it in the context of gaming, but this was of a different sort. Marcel couldn't stop it at this point either, the firm pole had tented out his diaper in back, and the pressure was forcing him to finish. "Your *baby* brother is makin' a big mess for your Grandmama to clean up, that's what he's doing. I think he might need more greens on his plate from now on though, he's havin' some trouble." Marcel couldn't interject, but not just because he was in the middle of pooping, but because his grandmother had come behind him and started to tug his shorts down. After seeing him starting to strain with how solid the load was, the woman had figured that he was too 'constricted', and that he needed to give his diaper more room to expand. The basketball shorts came down, showing his underpants that were poorly hiding the diaper he was currently taking a dump in. "Well, if this ain't the silliest thing. You trying to pretend like you're still a big kid?" The woman scoffed, tugging on the elastic of the skidded briefs and letting it pop against the crinkly padding underneath. "Marcel's wearin' a diaper! Why's he got Pampers, Grandmama?" The younger, curly-haired boy gawked. "Because he keeps usin' his underpants like Pampers." The woman curtly answered, beginning to tug the briefs down as well, which better showed off the soggy, yellowed diaper with the massive 'brick' bulge in back. "He peed himself too!" Another flatulent push made the massive python push further out, and by this point, it was becoming difficult to keep going. The firmness, size, and length were all very impressive, but such attributes were making it impossible for him to keep going, as the diaper had tented out as far as it could. His grandmother seemed to notice this and she put her hands around his waist: "Spread your legs, child. Do that little 'booty dance' you used to do in the first grade." She warmly instructed, which only made Wesley laugh more openly. What else could he do? Now was hardly the time to balk at her humiliating orders. The boy widened his gait like a sumo wrestler, and then closed his eyes again as he started to perform the 'booty dance', which just consisted of shaking his padded butt around. As demeaning as it was, it did just the trick. The rock-solid loaf got pinched off and settled lower into the bottom of his sagging diaper, and that also made it so he could finish pushing the rest of his droppings out in quick order. Marcel let out an exhausted sigh and caught his breath, while his grandmother reached down to cup the sagging seat of his dirtied diaper. "That's a whopper right there; looks like your Pampers could barely take it. I may have to order you some rubber baby pants if you're goin' to be going like this." She commented, giving the warm mound a squeeze, and then patting his stinky rear. "Go ahead and step out of your underpants and your shorts. I don't want them gettin' dirty." She told him, helping him keep his balance as he obeyed her order. "Good. Now finish up those dishes and we'll get that mudbutt cleaned." As Marcel listened to the jeers of his younger brother, while standing there in a full diaper, he was having some serious regrets about his choices and wishing he hadn't been so dismissive of his grandma's threats. He only had himself to blame, and he had a bad feeling that being 'toilet trained' all over again wouldn't be over any time soon.