Story #53: My Life as a Preteen Poobrain (Picture)

Story #53: My Life as a Preteen Poobrain (Sequel to 'I Was a Preteen Poobrain ') (Content Tags: Ongoing Storyline, Messy diaper, Humiliation, Role Reversal, Braindrain, Mind Meld with Dirty Diaper, Dirty Diaper Sniffing, Sibling Conflict) My mind was a mess, just like my underpants, and just like the sagging seat of my brother's Huggies. What a sorry sight I must have been in that moment; nose firmly pressed to the diaper that my baby bro was loudly loading, while the back of my own shorts bulged with a steamer that I'd been all too eager to unleash. Frantically sniffing at fumes and feeling my thoughts singularly coalesce around an intense fixation on poopy diapers, I didn't have the wherewithal to feel any fear or embarrassment. All that mattered right there was feeding this newfound obsession that my mind refused to budge from. I heard my brother laugh, even while he was still dropping bombs in his diaper. He found my altered state amusing, and to his own immature view, a befitting punishment for how I'd hammered home so hard all those things I'd said about him pooping his pants like a dummy. Once he'd finished his prune-induced pantload, he let me sniff at the garment a little longer, before taking the connecting tab off the back and off my forehead. The sudden cut to the connection was enough to shake things back into place in my head, giving me the sweet taste of lucidity, or so I thought. "U-ugghh...What did you *do* to me?" I groggily grunted, rubbing my nose, which felt like it was burning from how hard I'd been smelling his fresh Pamper-pile. "I already told you! I made you into a big dumb *poobrain*. Everything I just did in my diapee is what just saved over your stupid big boy brain. Guess my invention needs some work though, because you seem okay now.." He looked disappointed at that, but not altogether forlorn. "Or...Maybe.." The tot muttered, before shoving the back of his diaper against my nose again. "Eww! Stop it! I don't want to-- to--..." With the smelly Pamps so close again, I felt my mind begin to conjure intrusive thoughts of taking a big whiff. They were overwhelming and I couldn't resist, I gave in. "...Yup, just as I thought...The data is all there, but it hasn't fully written over your brain yet...It'll probably just take a while to finish." He turned to give me a pat on the head, "You'll be fully poobrained in no time! You'll be just as smart as...Well..." The boy grabbed the back of his own lumpy diaper, "...This! If you ask me, it'll be an improvement." I hardly had the focus to disagree with him or to beg him to fix things, if anything, my irritation had been that he'd swung his lumpy diaper away from me. A few moments away from those fumes and I could at least regain a sense of self and a modicum of dignity, just enough to really consider what was going on, and my own 'luggage' in the trunk. My loaded undies seemed to catch his attention too and he clicked his tongue in a condescending manner. "Pretty sure the big kid pants are gonna have to go. Guess makin' fun of my diapers kinda backfired, huh?" I groaned and gave my temples one more concerted rub before beginning to stand and tower over the puny pipsqueak. He might have had the intellectual advantage, but I was still the 'big' brother here! I tried to ignore the sagging weight in my shorts and glared down at him. "N-no, you're gonna fix this! Or *else*." I cracked my knuckles to show him that I meant business, but he didn't seem very intimidated by my display. "I am? Hmm...Well, maybe if you make it worth my time. You could beat me up...But I'll just run to mommy and tell her, stinkypants. Good luck trying to convince her that a baby gave you a poopy diaper for a brain." The little brat was right, as usual. He was just a dumb baby to them, not some mad scientist with a genius level IQ. If I wanted him to do something to help me, I'd have to play ball at least to some degree. So I sighed and nodded my head in submission, "...Fine. What do you want?" He flashed those pearly whites at me. "Go get cleaned up, poopypants. First we gotta go to the store and get you some *diapers*. Better break open that piggy bank!" Perhaps he could see my reluctance, or that I was about to interject, so he more curtly added: "You're gonna be pooping your pants until I can fix your brain anyways, so you're gonna need them, and I'm guessing you don't wanna ask mommy or daddy to buy them for you, right?" My arguments died in my throat and I slunk off to get my messy butt cleaned up in the bathroom. By the time I got back, my brother had gotten changed, but instead of simply leaving his icky diaper in the pail, he'd placed it to the side, with a brief explanation that he would probably need it to reverse what he'd done to my brain. Part of me didn't believe that, and I could see he was snickering at my wandering eyes, which kept settling on the balled up garment. It felt more like he was trying to test my reaction again, or trying to trigger me to act like I had during the merge. I tried to shake it off and instead urged that we should go to the store while our parents were preoccupied. He stowed the diaper in a wonky looking box, another of his inventions no doubt, and we set off. The pharmacy was close enough to walk to, with me taking my brother in a sleek stroller, since I knew otherwise that I'd be carrying him at some point. Into the store, and I was lost on what exactly I was looking for. If my brother had any better idea, then he was playing dumb, and instead suggested I asked someone where to look. I really just wanted to get this over with, so I acquiesced and approached an employee. "...Umm, sir, can you tell me where the, umm, diapers are?" He looked at me, and then down at my younger brother. "Baby aisle is number six, just down there." That wasn't going to help me. I'd gone there first, and the closest thing I'd found were Pull-Ups for bedwetters, which my brother insisted wouldn't cut it for my newfound problem. I needed *real* diapers for a big kid like me. "..A-actually, I needed to find some, uh, a little bigger than that...Like, for, uhh..A kid, closer to *m-my* age." I could see his surprise, his judgement, so I quickly added: "F-for my cousin! He's ten, but uh, he poops his pants...Like, a lot, so.." The teen didn't look like he bought it, seeming more amused by my anxious sputtering about the matter. "Oh, sure. That'll be the incontinence products on aisle two. It can be pretty confusing though, I better get someone who knows a little more." I was going to argue, but he was already setting off to find a coworker, leaving me frazzled and with a smug baby brother who kept his malice disguised behind a gently bobbing pacifier. I swiveled the stroller and began to head to aisle two, hoping I could find what I needed before the teen returned. He hadn't been kidding though. Unfamiliar brands, confusing sizes...Just a big wall of questions. I must have lingered too long, because the teen returned with a girl around his own age. "Kyle tells me that you're looking to buy some diapers? For a ten year old boy, who, uh, *soils* heavily?" Her tone was more professional, but it held a tinge of second-hand embarrassment. I meekly nodded, just wanting the ground to swallow me up. She directed me towards the youth section of the aisle and began to run her finger across several of the packages, "And your 'cousin', is he about as big as you? And just how severe is his soiling?" My eyes drifted down at my little brother, as if wanting to ask him what I should be expecting, but the state of my underpants was really the only clue I'd be getting. If I should expect more of *that*, then it was easy to call it pretty severe. "Y-yeah, he's really, really close to my size. A-almost exactly. And he, umm, he poops a *lot*..." I saw her fingers stop at a package that advertised immense capacity, but by the picture of the boy on the box, the diapers looked extremely thick. "..B-but he also needs something kinda easy to hide!" I blurted out. The male worker snickered quietly, and the girl almost seemed to drop her retail face for a moment. "Oh, of course... Well, let me make sure you get the right size for your poor cousin." She knelt down next to me with a measuring tape to get my waistline, and I think my nerves must have gotten the better or me. I felt something warm and mushy drop unannounced into my underpants. '*Please hurry, please hurry..*' I thought to myself as she pulled the measuring tape around my waist, far too close for comfort. I could hear her sniff the air right before she got back up. She exchanged looks with her coworker, before grabbing a package of diapers off the shelf and handing it to me. "These should fit just fine, and help keep your pants, I mean, your *cousin's* pants clean." "T-thanks for the help.." "You're welcome. Also, it smells like it might be time to give your baby brother a change. We have a family stall at the back of the store." My brother waited for them to leave, before openly laughing at my plight. "Hmm, I don't think that's me! Looks like you'll need to open up your new diapees before we go back home." I sulked and went to the self checkout to buy the diapers. Fortunately, the stroller had the changing supplies, so next we went to the aforementioned bathroom. Cleaning up was a hassle, but once my rump was tidy and my ruined undies were trashed, I was looking pretty confused about how to diaper myself. I'd changed my brother before, but I'd never had to put one on myself, so I struggled. Finally, my brother lost his patience and just told me to get on the changing table that was in there. "W-what? No way! I don't need your help!" He raised an eyebrow, "Yeah, you do. You want me to fix you, right? Until I do, I'm in charge. You're just my big dumb pet poobrain, got it? So you better get on board, unless you wanna stay this way." The threat was more than enough and two minutes later, I was on the changing table, with my brother kneeling on it beside me to get the diaper taped on. On the walk back home, where I was having a poor time adjusting to the bulk of my new diaper, I asked how long it would take him to reverse the poobrain process. He offered a shrug and a shaky estimate of a week. I could hide this for a week, right? A few poopy diapers and some bizarre thoughts; it wouldn't be fun, but it'd be manageable, right? I had forgotten, or poorly understood, what my brother had said about this being a condition that would become progressively worse as the merge settled. I was currently at the best state I'd be in, it was all downhill from here. Halfway home, I could suddenly feel an odd pressure down below. Before I could identify the feeling, I was already squatting down, using the handle of the stroller as a balance. Sickly wet farts began to powerfully sputter inside my fresh diaper and a trickle of drool dribbled from my mouth. "U-ughhhh...Nnghh..! P-Poo...poopie..." I muttered between strained grunts, my mind becoming solely focused on the matter, fogging over in a haze of dookie diapers. Large mushy torpedoes began to assault my diaper without prejudice or pause, and the feeling was magical; it felt right, like my new natural state. "POOBRAIN MAKE PUSHIES! BIG POOPIES!" I couldn't resist from announcing, a hand reaching behind to cup and squish the fresh mound of filth I was making, reveling in my own fresh muck. Keeping this on the down-low might be a little harder than I thought. Resisting my transformation would be even harder. This was my life for the week, and maybe much, much longer. (To be continued)