Tale #104: Natural Consequences

Tale #104: Natural Consequences (Content Tags: Basic diaper punishment premise, pantspooping, diaper pooping, humiliation, slice of life) "I told you what would happen, didn't I? I was very clear with what your punishment would be." I didn't know which ran hotter: my shame-painted cheeks above or my filth-plastered cheeks below. "I said that if you messed up another pair of underwear, then you weren't going to get another chance. If you want to go in your pants like a baby, then fine, but you'll be going in a diaper instead, like a baby." I'd really thought that was nothing more than bluster. I'd been so sure that the most I'd deign to be afflicted with was a painful spanking or losing even more of my privileges. When the idea of actually getting put in a diaper was presented to me, I found it to be an exaggeration; simple hyperbole to emphasize my dirty misdeeds. But there it was. Right in front of my eyes and clearly big enough to fit a 'big boy' like me. A large white rectangle that could be mistaken for nothing else. This had gone from the territory of improbable to now being imminent and inevitable. "You've been doing this for too long and you're way to old be playing this game. If these are really accidents, then you definitely need to be wearing them, and if they aren't accidents, then you have a lot to explain." The skepticism in my mother's voice was unmistakable. She'd long stopped giving me the benefit of the doubt. I was turning twelve in a couple of weeks and I still soiled myself a few times a month at the least. I'd pottytrained late, only narrowly avoiding going to first grade in Pull-Ups, but my training status really should have had an asterisk next to it. Many of my accidents I was able to hide, but that still left far too many throughout the years to ignore. Sympathy had turned to frustration for my parents, which was obvious enough in their shifting attitude toward my accidents. I'd had an uptick in accidents this month and that'd been the straw that broke the camel's back; they could no longer ignore the issue, because they were finally out of patience. My most recent accident before this one had only been a few days ago. I'd been out at dinner with my family and unfortunately had filled by briefs; it'd been subtle enough in size, but not in stench, and that's when I got threatened with being diapered if it happened anymore. And now here I was, wearing nothing but a poopy pair of colored briefs and a tear-stained novelty shirt. I'd been watching a cartoon and had apparently focused a little too hard, because the next thing I knew was that I had a warm lump underneath me and an accusing shriek beside me. One embarrassing confirmation later and this was where I'd ended up: in my parents' room with a package of diapers on the bed and one taken out to show me. I wish I could say that I took defeat with dignity, but it'd be a big fat lie. I bawled, I whined, I screamed, and I threw a tantrum that would put a two-year old to shame. A few spankings later and I'd fold like a house of cards, being reduced to a sobbing wreck getting his tushy cleaned on the changing mat. My mother made a note of why she'd chosen something with tapes; she specified that I'd have to earn my way up to a Pull-Up, and then back to undies. For the first two weeks though, I'd be totally barred from using the potty. My potty would be around my waist, and then maybe I'd come to realize how badly it felt to walk around with a dump in my pants. The diaper was thicker than I'd expected from when I looked at it. The garment came in such a compact package, but once the rectangle was unfurled fully, it accentuated just how big that it was. I hadn't thought that a diaper size even existed for my age group, but then I recalled my special needs cousin had never left diapers, and he was pretty close to my age. I wasn't exactly happy to share a fashion sense with him though, and I balked at how I could possibly go about my normal life with this under my clothes. Trying to squeeze my thighs together proved borderline impossible, and when I walked, I was painfully aware that I had an altered gait. Perhaps it was exaggerated in my head, but I felt like I had a pillow between my legs! It definitely made more sense why my cousin was such an uncoordinated buffoon, I could sympathize with his plight! If an upside could be found, then it could only be that the plush padding of the oversized Pampers was soothing for my stinging, pinkened rear. The gentle smell of talcum was also calming, though if I was to be using the diaper as my full-time toilet, then that odor wouldn't prevail very long. "If you're not ready to start pottytraining again in two weeks, then we'll make it a month, and you'll be spending it like an even bigger baby." My mom told me, "Which will mean bigger diapers and new clothes. So get this all out of your system now, young man." I could only imagine how much worse it might get from here. Nightmarish thoughts of onesies and highchairs danced around in my mind, but I again thought it must surely be hyperbole. Putting me back into diapers was definitely punishment enough, without burning down my whole big-kid life into an infantile inferno. Still, I would meekly sniffle and nod my head. "Good. I'll be checking on you later, and don't let me find you trying to take that off, or we'll be starting that month even sooner." I would be left to my own devices, with my newfound diaper and the sore bottom beneath it. Needless to say, I would spend the rest of the afternoon sulking in my bedroom, desperately trying to get comfortable in my pottypants. They crinkled and rustled endlessly, with even the slightest of movements, and they uncomfortably retained a lot more heat than my underpants. It was Summer now, and already dreadfully warm outside; I shuddered to think how hot and uncomfortable it'd be to also wear pants over these, or how much warmer it'd get when I was wearing them outside under the baking sun. That wasn't even considering how it'd be once I *used* the diapers. Speaking of, my bladder had been crying out for relief for over forty minutes now. Regret gripped my heart when I thought about all the soda I'd had earlier, and I felt like I was going to pop if I didn't soon get some relief. I paced around my cluttered floor briefly and then had to stop and attempt to cross my legs, which was no simple task like this. Eventually, I had to give up. I could rip the diaper off and run off to the toilet, but the risk of getting caught was high. While I'd had soiling accidents frequently enough, I'd never had the same issue with my bladder; I hadn't even wet the bed since I was in second or third grade! The pain was too much though, so I took a deep breath and tried to let go. It was shocking difficult to get things going. Even though I desperately needed to pee, it was like my body was too well trained to intentionally go in my pants. It actually took some pushing to get the first trickle to dampen my diaper, but once the flow got started, there was no stopping it. The hiss of my own rushing urine soaking the garment was audible, but the sound was the least of the sensory elements in play; a rapidly growing warmth surrounded my crotch and seeped underneath me as I wet my diaper. It felt odd. It was reminiscent of peeing in a pool, but the warmth stayed more tautly attached to me, and the diaper felt like it was getting heavy. By the end of the stream, I could feel that the wetness had reached all the way to my agitated bottom, as the back paneling was also wicking up the hot moisture. That felt much less comfortable and I winced as my spanked tushy stung again. It was finally over. One look in the mirror and I could see just how badly I'd had to go; the formerly white material of the diaper had discolored a faint yellow and the garment had both swelled and sagged quite noticeably between my naked thighs. Putting a hand on the front, I could feel how much heat was trapped in, and the diaper squished up against my groin. It wasn't an altogether terrible sensation, but I refused to acknowledge it as anything other than humiliating and disgusting. I wouldn't give an inch on being incensed by this turn of events. I was nearly a teenager and I was standing here in a soggy diaper; I had a right to be indignant! I also refused to go beg for a change, so I'd just be sitting around in the pissy thing until my mother came back around. It was only another thirty minutes of waiting past that, and I was secretly happy to see her, since the drenched diaper had begun to chafe my skin. "You're soaked! Why didn't you come and tell me?" A bashful shrug was my only answer and she clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "Well, let's get you changed. Next time though, you need to come ask for a change, or you won't be getting one until you do." Once I was put into a dry pair, I thought that'd be the end of it, but then she started to drag me out my room to come have dinner. My attempts to get out of the obligation were rather unfruitful, and when I shifted my priorities to at least allowing me some pants, she just scoffed and mentioned that I was at home and didn't need them. There'd be three spots at the dinner table. My dad wouldn't be home from work until later, so that just left me, my mom, and my younger sister Katie. As soon as I was dragged past the threshold and into the kitchen, my sister gawked and busted out laughing. "Mom? Why is Barrett wearing a *diaper*?" My shirt didn't hang nearly low enough to cover the white diaper, so much of it was completely unobstructed from view. There could be little doubt what it was from even just a glance. "Your brother won't stop messing his shorts, so he'll be spending some time back as a baby until he decides to act grown." The woman answered, finally letting go of my hand and expecting me to take my seat. There was no point in fighting it anymore, so I took my seat at the table; my bottom crinkled and I winced at the minor pain I still felt. I could feel my sister's eyes on me, as if trying to decide how she should process these new developments. "You look cute in a diapee, Barrett. Like a little baby boy." The girl teased, obviously trying to rile me up. I puffed out my cheeks and refused to look at her or acknowledge what she'd said. Being punished was bad enough without dealing with my sister's nonsense too. My mother went to get me a plate and I folded my arms while I waited. "Is baby brother feeling shy? Or maybe embarrassed? I'd be embarrassed too if I was pooping myself and getting diapered for it. Are you gonna start doing that in your diapers now? Boys are so gross..." The girl was a few years younger than me, but she'd never let the age difference matter when it came to bugging me. None of it penetrated, at least until she threw one more dart at the board. "...You kinda look like Daryl now!" Hearing my cousin's name, at least when being used in this specific way, was finally enough to goad a reaction out of me. It was a sore spot, because I'd had similar thoughts of dismay when first seeing myself in the diaper. "S-shut up! I don't look like him!" "Yuh-huh. If you left your mouth hang open all the time, then you two could practically be twins." She teased with a sly smirk. "You two settle down." My mom chided as she came back and set down a plate in front of me. "Barrett, you should thank your aunt the next time you see her. I had to ask her about what kind of diapers to buy for a twelve year old boy that still goes number two in his pants." I was positively seething. Nevertheless, I began to stuff down my anger by digging into my meal. The conversation around the table shifted to the more mundane, with my sister explaining how her day had been and some tiff that she'd had with one of her friends. It was inane, but still a welcome reprieve from the vicious mockery I'd been the target of. After procuring seconds, my gut was beginning to send me signals about the inevitable consequences of my gluttony. My body kept very regular, which had never helped my issue with accidents, and if I was too follow the rules for the next two weeks, then it'd lead to at least three poopy diapers a day! I'd already gone in my briefs earlier, and now I was due again to visit the porcelain throne. Alas, my access had been revoked, and my new approved dumping zone was... right underneath me. "M-may I be excused?" I quietly asked. "Don't interrupt your sister. You can be excused when you finish your plate and when we're done as well." A quiet groan passed my lips and my shoulders slumped at the response. How ironic, that now that I was expected to soil myself, that I was trying my hardest to avoid that. My briefs had obviously not been given the same respect, which was had gotten me here in the first place. I picked at my plate, but it was hard to eat any more when I was dealing with rolling cramps in my belly. As the pressure became more painful, I began to fidget anxiously in my chair, which attracted my mother's attention. "Sit still, Barrett!" "I gotta go to the bathroom!" The woman frowned, "You're wearing it, kiddo. I thought I was pretty clear about that." I bit my lip, "Well, can't I at least go somewhere private?" "It's a little late to be feeling ashamed of yourself." I hung my head again and blushed. Regardless of how many accidents I'd had in the past, I'd never felt so embarrassed as I did now that messing myself was mandatory. Diapers were meant to be pooped in, but I couldn't bring myself to do it; I just wanted to hold it. Mind and body were not unified on this front though, and no matter how much I tried to hold the behemoth back, I was starting to lose the battle. Little farts were first to start popping off, and then louder ones that were harder to hide. My diaper took all the gas and began to grow warm with the flatulent rumbling. The pain was eventually too much. I shut my eyes and lifted my bottom off of the chair just slightly; inch by inch, I squeezed a rock-solid turd out into my diaper. It crackled upon exit, and my diaper rustled as it bulged with the firm lump being made. My face grew redder with every soft little grunt I had to make, but eventually I was able to pinch the steaming hot pole of poop off in my pants. "Mommy, I think the baby is pooping his diapee." My sister snidely chirped, only having to hear what was coming from the garment to make an informed guess. "Is that true, Barrett? Are you going boom-boom? Tell mommy you need your dirty diaper changed and you can have one." My mom cooed, serious about what she said earlier. I opened my eyes and with a warbling lip, I sheepishly looked up. "I-I need my diaper changed. I just went number two." Two weeks of this left. Even longer if I wasn't able to earn Pull-Ups after that. I could be a little diaper baby some time! Still, I knew I shouldn't have been surprised; after years of pooping my pants, being demoted back to diapers seemed like a pretty natural consequence. Things would surely be getting much worse before they got better.