Tale #39: A Foul Heir on Gift Day (1770)

Tale #39: A Foul Heir on Gift Day (1770) (A time warped version of Unwanted Presents!) (Content Tags: Humiliation, messy diapers, wet diapers, domination, younger brother dominates older brother, forced diaper-sniffing, smelly face-sitting.) An heir to the throne should be strong, commanding, and truly deserving of the unbelievable power that came with the crown. Such a regal honor did *not* belong to someone weak, to someone soft, and yet, it currently did. This was the miserable state of affairs that the young prince Philippe had to endure. Philippe was just a babe of four, and his older brother Nicolas was a boy of nine; already, by virtue of being the firstborn son, Nicolas was set to be the heir apparent to the throne some day. Nicolas, in Philippe's humble opinion, was an uncouth braggart and a narcissistic, self-entitled layabout. He whined for special treatment more than a kitten did for milk, and his ego was coddled by all that surrounded him. The older prince was treated like a god in flesh, while the younger prince was lucky to get even the most cursory attention. Being heir meant more food on your plate, it meant being educated and kept refined by all the greatest minds of France, it meant that every opportunity for improvement was offered by the palm for you. Philippe? He was an afterthought, a back-up, in case of plague, or incompetence. The servants he had at his call were far less motivated to make sure that he was groomed into being worthy of the crown. Evidence of this phenomenon was tied right around his own waist! Four years old and still in nappies! That'd be a scandal for the prince that mattered, but for second fiddle, it was an inconsequential blemish. The one person who *did* pay much attention to him was Nicolas himself, who dumbly boasted about his good fortune, all while seemingly ignorant as to why their paths looked so different. Churlish and sophomoric, Nicholas really liked to rail on about Philippe's nappies and the excessive usage that they received. For all the stoic nobility that was being expected of Nicholas, he still had the crude, empty-headed sense of humor that better suited a peasant boy of the same age. Day in, day out, with the cruel knowledge that this country would be one day ruled by such an undeserving ruler. For someone as prodigiously intelligent and insightful as Philippe, it was an endless torture. The straw that had broken the camel's back was when it came time for 'gifting day'. It was a time when the princes were to receive gifts from the common folk as well as the nobles and foreign dignitaries. It was appeasement at its most naked, and while Philippe found it trite, his older brother was over the moon. Their difference in feelings toward the day wasn't all just from their wildly different personalities, but also from the quality and quantity of gifts being chasms apart. The future king was lavished with anything his heart could desire, while the second son got scattered trinkets of ill consequence. Philippe could have been satisfied enough with it going like that, but then Nicholas got too greedy. Of the very few gifts that the tot had received, Nicholas had demanded that it instead be given to him, and with nary a consideration of his own will, the bauble had been ripped from his hands. That'd been the spark to light the cannon. He hadn't even cared for the gift, but the fact that his brother would try to take even that from him, it was too much. The cherry on top was when Nicholas laughed and made a juvenile remark about the younger boy's 'dung-filled nappies'. Philippe was done being the second fiddle. This great kingdom deserved a mighty ruler some day, and Nicholas deserved to be positioned as lowly as one could be in the royal family. It was time to show the dullard who the real tyrant was here. His dark plot would begin the next morning, before Nicholas was set to awake, and before Philippe's soggy nappy had been changed from the night before. If his brother liked to take gifts from him, then Philippe would serve up a parcel that the older boy wouldn't soon forget. He snuck out of the nursery and to Nicholas' room, where he left a note on the boy's nightstand, instructing him that an extra present had mistakenly gone to Philippe, and to pick it up immediately. He then scurried off back to the royal nursery, so he could lie in wait for the nimrod to take the bait. It was a 'rest' day for Nicholas, so he wouldn't be disturbed by his servants, and Philippe's servants didn't expect the boy to wake or need attention for another couple of hours. It'd be plenty of time to set Nicholas straight in private. He stuffed a pillow under his blanket in the nursery, so Nicholas would think he still slumbered, and hid in the corner of the room with a toy wooden sword. As expected, since his greed knew no end, the older prince came into the room and begun to look around for the extra present that should belong to him. Philippe crept up behind him and suddenly struck his ankle with the wooden sword, using all the force that his tiny body was capable of producing; Nicholas let out a pained yelp and tumbled onto the floor, losing his balance in the confusion. "Oww! What was that?!" He cried out, rubbing his sore ankle, pitiful tears beginning to well up in his eyes. "My apologies, Nicky. That was me." His brother replied, circling around to face the boy. "This wooden sword must really sting; I dare say I left a bruise." The crybaby prince glared at the sight before him. "Philippe! You wicked babe! What would possess you to do such a rotten thing?!" Philippe pointed the sword at the prone prince, "I just thought it was time that us princes had a chat. To make things simple for a simpleton such as yourself: I don't think you're worthy of the throne." The older boy seemed confused, and then indignant; his toddling little brother had clubbed his leg because for matters of succession? "W-what, and you *are*?" "Oui." Philippe approached closer, "You're classless, slovenly, weak and feeble minded. You're a disgrace to the crown, and you're much better fitted to shovel dung in the stables. I will be taking your place as heir, and you will be helping me make this happen." Nicholas snarled, "You're a loon! There's no way I'm going to let you become the heir, and there's no way that I'd ever let the scent of dung near my nostrils! Now give me the sword and--" **WHAM!** Philippe brought the 'blade' down hard on the boy's other leg, making him again howl at the unfamiliar sensation of pain. "Quiet now, Nicky. You'll be giving up the crown, but you did come here for a present, and I do intend to give it to you. You do want it, don't you?" The older boy sniffled and whimpered, nursing the new bruise on his other ankle. "..Y-yeah..." So blinded by material desire that he didn't consider how disingenuous his assailant's offer must be. Philippe cracked a grin and approached, and before Nicholas could react, the tot had settled himself right above the older boy on the ground. "A beautiful view, no? My drenched nappy right above?" Philippe teased, wiggling his elegantly ruffled bottom above his older brother's face, the thick garment obviously soaked from the night before, the smell of it wafting close. "W-what are you doing? Where's my present?" "Be patient, it is on the way." Philippe answered, suddenly bending his knees a little bit. His narcissistic brother was still too daft to understand what was happening, at least until a vile wind broke in the back of the nappy, and then again it happened more loudly. "Y-you filthy wretch, what are you doing?! You better not be making a dung-pie in your nappy!" Nicholas exclaimed, wrinkling his nose at the foul flatulence. "I have to prepare you for what your new life will entail, dear brother of mine. I've got to 'make' you the present that I promised." Philippe let out some soft grunts and a wet crackling sound began to emanate from within the plush padding around his waist. A large, solid log was slowly pushing its way into the cloth below, and the back of the ruffled garment began to tent out right before Nicholas. "You always..Mmph...Find so much humor-- HMPH! --in mocking my 'manure-pants'. Is it not humorous now?" Nicholas recoiled, but there was nowhere to hide from the encroaching odor, or the growing lump. "S-stop it, Philippe! Stop it right this moment!" The younger boy could feel the turd surge all the way into his nappy, and upon its gassy escape, he could also feel a hot cramping inside his gut. He'd made sure to eat much more than usual last night at the dinner table, and then he'd snacked on plenty of fruit before bed, just for this part of his sordid scheme. He pushed down harder, and a bubbling eruption let loose a sloppy cascade of steaming droppings into the nappy. The elegant garment sagged lower with the weight of indecency inside of them and it brushed up against the heir's nose. "This is what you deserve, Nicholas. To be nothing more than my doting little nappy-sniffer; to be graced by something as truly royal as my dung-pies." Philippe suddenly started to lower himself, keeping the sagging sack of manure right atop Nicholas' nose, until he was just sitting on the boy's face. "You're going to accept this new change in roles, whether you want to or not. If you try to fight it, I'll just make things even worse for you." The toddler grunted, squirming his mucky rump around and pushing out a wet, longwinded fart into the pile; the dirty nappy rumbled from the force and with this wind came another mushy mass into the mix. "Mmph! That was a large one, wasn't it? Are you enjoying the present so far, dear brother?" Nicholas could only wiggle underneath the weight of his brother, his words incomprehensible, since his face was smothered in the heavy fabric of Philippe's padded posterior. "What was that? Doesn't matter. Now, that you've had the honor of smelling at my dung-packed nappy, like the dirty pig that you are, you're ready for the next part of my gift." Philippe started to rise back to his feet, giving Nicholas some much needed fresh air. The stinking poo-sack hung low between the younger boy's thighs, the pristine cloth beginning to mar brown with the filth contained inside. "You'll be changing my nappy, Nicholas, and once I'm clean, you'll be putting this one on." The boy explained, giving the squishy seat of his own garment a firm, teasing pat. "And then..." Philippe looked toward the ornate silver pail near his mahogany changing table. "...Perhaps more. You'll be doing *much* to prove your incompetence as an heir; and if you don't want to willingly abdicate the throne, then you'll become *my* 'throne' once more. Got it?" Nicholas nodded and gulped.