Story #113: Stuck at the Bottom

Story #113: Stuck at the Bottom (Part 3 in 'The Missing Integer' storyline) (Content Tags: Surreal, exaggerated and crude depictions of special ed and intellectual disabilities, lots of diaper messing, humiliation, perceived to be a mushbrain, highchair messing, ongoing story) Rhys had awoken last night to the foul feeling of a turd pushing itself past his buttcheeks and cramming itself into his immense diaper. He'd hardly been cognizant, believing it to be but a bad dream, but he had no such luck. His bowel control was becoming so weak that he was shitting himself in his sleep now, or at least was very close to that outcome. He groggily grunted, his body shuddering while it allowed the hot load to jettison itself out; he was laying on his stomach in the oversized crib that he now had to sleep in, and he could hear his own pitiful flatulence helping to expel the solid outwards. His footed sleeper was already taut against him, mostly thanks to the ridiculous size of his diaper, and the extra cargo really wasn't doing him any favors. Once the snake had slithered out and coiled in the bottom of his tardpants, Rhys hardly felt like he could fall back asleep. It was the middle of the night and he was trapped behind the bars of this infernal crib, and now he would have to stew in his own filth until morning! Who could sleep under such conditions? Being wide awake and uncomfortable gave him time to ponder things. This unpleasantness was really just the tip of the iceberg for him, wasn't it? Losing overnight bowel control was but a ting drop in a very big bucket of humiliating horrors. His existence had become a nonstop nightmare, with the theme being the failures of automated bureaucracy and the death of dignity. It was sobering to look back just a month ago, when he'd been the smartest kid in his class and really in the whole school. His potential for success had dwarfed everyone else by a magnitude that was unheard of; while less experienced, his IQ had been high enough to say he was smarter than all his teachers too! But, like the tragic comedy that his life had become, pesky details such as those were unimportant. It was so easy for everyone to ignore the past, to discard the validity of their own memories, and to instead let an algorithm think for them. There were students that he'd personally helped to tutor in the past, and he'd been called a retard by at least two of them in the last two weeks! The arguments and the pleas that came out of his mouth were given the same credence as one of his new classmates screeching about how much he 'loved poop'. Mathematic equations, scientific theories, literary analysis, metaphysical philosophy...He could give lectures on it all, but all anyone could see was the diaper on his butt and the word it said. It made for a somber life. The only thing bigger than his brain had been his ego, and now they were both becoming smaller, while his diapers got bigger. If Rhys was superstitious, he might have believed that this was the punishment of a higher power for his vanity or that this was a hell of his own creation, where the contrapposta was formed around his sin of pride. He couldn't decide what was worse: being disregarded by people he'd known for years, or being bullied by the literal bottom-of-the-barrel retards that felt smugly superior to him. They were two different types of wounds that both stung in their own ways; the person he had used to be known as was being retroactively reconstructed in everyone's minds, which felt like a death of sorts, but his new persona was being crafted by mushbrained morons who only understood that the size of his diaper tacitly implied a significant intellectual inferiority to them. Past accomplishments destroyed, future expectations crafted, and he struggled to just exist in the present. His gut gurgled again and he let out a soft moan at the brewing in his bowels. His new diet was comprised almost entirely of bowel-stimulating foods; his fiber intake alone was through the roof. He no longer had to wonder why the special ed kids spent so much time farting and pooping in their pants, because that'd become his daily itinerary as well. Downing prune juice by the gallon and eating plenty of steady meals of things like oatmeal and mashed fruit would turn anyone's bowels into a log flume ride. Unlike his fellow pantspoopers, Rhys didn't like it one bit. The sensation of something hot and gooey smeared across his ass was repugnant to him; the fetid fumes of his own miasmic muck was putrid, it was anathema to everything dignified that he sought for himself. While his classmates would happily wallow in their own filth like mindless pigs, and then also like pigs to a truffle, they would go sniffing for the dirtied seats of their peers. It was a disgusting display of degradation, and Rhys had no option but to be a participant in their humiliating hunt for poo-fumes. He had the biggest diaper in the class, and that meant he had the diaper that could reach the highest amount of capacity; where else would the most pungent plumes arise from, but from him? At least here, while soiling himself in the sanctity of his own home, he wouldn't have to be concerned about noses being aggressively forced upon his bulging backside. With the realization that there was no point in suffering the cramping, since he *was* at home, and it *was* the middle of the night, the former genius knew it was time to relent his control. One tiny push, after readjusting his tummy on the mattress, and all hell would break loose inside his tardpants. The way it felt, he could only visualize it as if someone had gotten one of those science fair volcanoes and accidentally dumped way too much baking soda and vinegar inside. The eruption was loud, and it was violent, and it instantly filled his diaper with enough smelly sludge to cover his entire backside and ooze up into the front as well. There was at least no fear of leaking. Rhys wasn't sure if that was even possible in this kind of diaper, unless he had to use it for multiple days straight. Even on his worst day, when he was literally pooing himself every ten minutes for the entirety of the school day, he hadn't had any leakage. Unsurprisingly, that was also why he only got one change a day while at school, and only three in total overall. One in the morning, after his breakfast-time BM, once before his class was over, and once right before bed. The only reason he got even that many was probably because for as thick as the diaper was, there was only so much protection it offered against the odor. It surely wasn't about dignity, since apparently his 'retardation level' was at the point where it was believed that he preferred to be in a messy diaper; that it was supposed to make him happy. Definitely seemed that way for the other kids in his class, but he was the total opposite. He had stopped asking for changes altogether, since the SPED teacher just rolled her eyes and told him that he liked being poopy, as if her preconceptions of his intellect were more valuable than his personal insight and request. It was one of the things that Rhys was convinced was making him stupider. Having to sit in his own mess all day, while frequently adding to it; having to smell that awful aroma for hours on end. It made it hard to even think. The boy would eventually drift back off to sleep, even with what was plausibly a gallon of steaming hot shame in his diaper. Waking up would have him groggily roll over and feel the sticky poop squelch and spread even further; it was a terrible wake-up to have, and worse because his younger brothers had come to nudge him up. The twins were seven, and before the incident, he'd say that was also the number they ranked on his 'annoying' scale; they were obnoxious, but had respected the pecking order in the household. Nate and Tate had gone up to a full ten once they'd realized that their older brother was now little more than a big baby. They didn't understand the details of 'why' or 'how' and they didn't care to; the only thing that mattered was that they had gone from the little brothers to being the big brothers. The pair never had a role model of what a 'good' big brother was, so they'd really just morphed into bold bullies. "Wakey-wakey, dumb-dumb! It's time for breakfast! How's that sound? Some num-nums for your tum-tum?" "...And you can make a giant stinky in your highchair, just like every morning!" The two were practically interchangeable; they dressed the same and acted nearly identical, so the only ones that could tell them apart were their parents. If Rhys had bothered to be a more involved sibling in the past, then he'd probably have that power of discernment too. Regardless of who was saying what, they were both being a pain. Rhys groaned and looked at the pair with fury in his eyes. He was beyond the point of yelling at them or threatening them, because he knew neither option held any weight. If he got verbal, then he just got a pacifier, and attempting to get physical was a losing proposition, because his diaper made him too clumsy and uncoordinated. "Just let me out..." He murmured, wanting to get breakfast over with, so he could get changed out of this stinking poop-sack around his waist. "What do we say, Rhys? What's the nice thing to say?" One asked with a broad grin. "...Please." "That's a good boy!" The other giggled as they unlatched the side of the crib and let him out. As to be expected, it was troublesome to maneuver his way downstairs with a diaper full of stool. His gait was awkward and bowlegged, and it was obvious that for someone like him, it would actually be faster to crawl on his hands and knees. The taut sleeper kept the diaper pressed tightly against him too, which further complicated his ambulatory skills. The twins energetically circled around him, like obnoxious little orbiters, while he made the sludge-trudge down to the kitchen. They were commenting on the fact that he already stunk and were asking if he'd pooped himself during his sleep, to which he quietly denied. Right before they reached the threshold of the kitchen, one of them gave his padded rump the hardest slap they could muster and then ran past him to get to their seat. This had become an average morning for him, sans the dump in his pants, which usually came ten minutes later while strapped into his oversized highchair. "Mommy! Rhys already has poop in his pants!" One of the twins loudly tattled. "A lot of poop too! His diaper felt super-squishy!" "He can't help it, Tate. He can't control when he goes boom-boom on himself, now hush up and have some pancakes." The woman responded, placing down some plates at the table. Rhys was still in disbelief over the fact that his parents had so easily been swayed by what was obviously a clerical error. Rhys had shown nothing but brilliance for the entirety of his life so far, and his mother had praised him for his intellect, and yet she'd been just as quickly fooled as everyone else. When he'd first come home after that first day, when his parents had already been informed by the school of the situation, he had thought they'd be in his corner. Instead, they seemed to truly believe that they just hadn't realized that their special son was 'special' in a less glamorous way. They took it as a failure of their observation, rather than a failure of the school's records. They'd been sympathetic to him at first; they'd used gentle tones and simple words to convey that they knew Rhys *wanted* to be treated like a genius, but that this would be better for someone like 'him'. Rhys had been loud, he had been angry, and he'd advocated for himself to the full extent of his ability. After enough whining, the sympathy had faded and been replaced by irritation. It was the same irritation that his special ed teacher always carried toward him; it was the resentment of having a 'retard' pretending to be smarter than a 'normal person', like an adult rolling their eyes when a kid thought they were clever. So the gentle tones turned more stern, and Rhys found himself getting 'paci-punishment' fairly frequently. So he'd stopped complaining by this point and instead was choosing the path of least resistance for now. He still had aspirations of restoring his good name, but the constant denialism wasn't doing any good, so it was better to just go with the flow. He wouldn't lower himself by intentionally acting like a cretinous tard, but he wouldn't spend every moment of the day trying to prove his intellect either. His mother came up and gave the back of his sleeper a firm squeeze to confirm that he'd indeed pooped the bed in his sleep. She didn't say anything about it, instead leading him over to the highchair and helping him get into it, just as she did every morning. It was especially large, not just because he was older, but because it needed to support the immense diapers he wore. Even so, the diaper often barely looked contained within the seat. The belt went across his midsection and the tray came down; he was given a large plate of pancakes that had already been cut up into tiny syrupy pieces, a bowl of oatmeal, a bowl of mashed prunes, and a large bottle of milk. A bib got tied around his neck, but not utensils were afforded to him; he wasn't considered smart enough to use them, so he'd have to use his hands like a feral primate. He already knew he wouldn't be let out and be given a bumchange until he completely cleared his plate; it was a lot of food, which had become standard, and that was why he'd gained over ten pounds in the month's time that he'd been a 'retard'. The extra weight showed mostly on his tummy so far, and it wasn't as if he got the opportunity to burn any of it off. Using his hands as scoops, Rhys began to stuff his mouth with the bountiful breakfast in front of him. There was no way to eat like this that didn't make him get messy; globs of oatmeal and pancake bits would splatter onto his bib and sleeper, the area around his mouth became stained with the prunes. As expected, Rhys would become quite flatulent as he gobbled up his morning allotment of slop. Big juicy farts would start to sputter out past his buttcheeks, well-muffled by the immense bulwark of the diaper, but reverberating against the wooden seat of the highchair. His brothers would giggle at all the rude noises he made, finding his denigration to be the apex of comedy. A part of him had been hoping to avoid the breakfast BM this morning; he'd thought that since he pooed himself an extra time in the night, that he wouldn't defecate on himself at the kitchen table. There was no such luck on that front for him; the gas was becoming more intensive, more thunderous and sloppy. "Hnnghhh! HRRRNGGGHHH!" He couldn't help himself. The loud grunts were involuntarily passing his lips, causing the food in his mouth to dribble down his chin with drool as a pathway. Rhys put his hands on the tray of the highchair, knuckles turning white as his face turned beet-red. He could feel his buttcheeks beginning to spread inside his diaper, and a truly titanic turd was the one making them part like Moses and the red sea. If he'd only had mush to push, then this strain would've been nonexistent, but this was clearly going to be a very firm turd with the length and girth of a python. "MMMMPHHH! NNGGHH!" **FRRRRTTBRAP! BLLLARRRT! CRAAACKLE!** His face twisted up in pain. The cramping in his belly was unbelievably bad, and the lengthy log was far too huge to push out while sitting flat in the highchair. He had to push himself up, as much as was possible with the belt and the tray in the way; he needed just enough lift to let this brown behemoth through! The twins were snickering and watching the show; for anyone else, this disgusting display would be an appetite-ender, but the two boys were still at the immature age where gross things were more funny than vile. The sound of heavy, wet crackling came in intermittent bouts; every time he loudly let out a grunt and a push, the crackling would signify the anaconda had slithered another couple of inches. After the third big push, Rhys could feel it had at least made the contact with the back of the diaper, and that emboldened him to double-down on his efforts to get the deed over with. The 'sub-45 IQ retard-diaper' had no trouble with accommodation, regardless of how hefty his dumps were. The garment would continue to expand, even after he pushed pound after pound of poop into it. Today was no exception; even with him already having some serious weight being hauled in the seat, the diaper graciously would accept the foot and a half of sticky 'rope' that he was about to coil up. It became harder to push once the gargantuan log was knocking at the seat, and Rhys had to push even harder than before. He was straining so hard to defecate that he had to close his eyes and grit his teeth; it was such an arduous process that snot began to seep from his nostrils and beads of sweat began to form on his brow. Once there was no more room for the turd to go outward, it began to pile up, coiling like a snake. Each crackling inch made the mound larger and larger, as Rhys struggled to push out an unending turd that'd easily be over a foot and a half long and weigh at least two pounds. It was the kind of load that a normal diaper had no hopes of properly containing, but his trusty trademarked tardpants were more than capable of the job. He actively shat himself for more than five minutes. It was such an exhaustive event that once the loaf had finally been pinched, he let himself plop his fully weight right on top of the freshly cut mess and began to pant heavily. "My, my! Someone had to make a big poopie, didn't he?" His mother cooed, coming over to wipe the drool, sweat and snot from his face, as if he was a helpless infant. "Finish up your breakfast and we'll get that icky diaper changed, okay? Then we'll get ready to go to the park for some fun." He had just remembered that today was Saturday. That meant no nightmare in the SPED room today, but apparently it *did* mean he'd be going out in public. That meant a stroller, that meant a leash, and that meant assured humiliation.