Story #193: What is Too Far?

Story #193: What is Too Far? (Content Tags: Humiliation, degradation, mental decline, chemical lobotomy, adult victim, messing, wetting, dark end) The back of the onesie bulged and sagged with every intense grunt that came from his drool-coated lips; his face was red like the fire engines that decorated the thick diaper around his waist, and his eyes stupidly crossed as a sign of how his brain had become as mushy as his diaper-seat. "Nngghhhh...! Puhhh...Pooo-poooo! Make POO-POO!" He exclaimed, his vocabulary and general communication skills having degraded to that of a particularly dimwitted toddler. Another knobby turd pushed past his slackened buttcheeks and crashed forcefully into the dirtied diaper; it crammed itself among the other simmering logs in the cramped confines of the padding, bringing with it another pungent odor to join the others in crafting a stink trail from the back of his diaper. It was a good smell, at least to him; earthy and ripe, the fumes of failure that punctuated his very existence. He no longer had the wit to acknowledge how wrong it all was, or to fully perceive just how far from grace that he had fallen; his shattered mind, his extremely diminished intellect, was simply a way of life now. He'd fought against it earlier on, he had desperately tried to hang onto the IQ points that he'd taken so much pride in, but they'd ultimately fled. It was no way for a man to be; it was a state fully bereft of dignity or pride, but it was his existence now. Connor could never have imagined himself like this, even whenever the devolution had begun, and yet here he was, slobbering and soiling himself like the retard he'd taunted his stepson of being. It'd started many months ago, whenever Connor had married Lisa. Connor had been a bit young for her, only being in his twenties, while the woman was flirting with forty, but he'd proven himself a mature specimen and she'd been a prize worth winning. Not for love, of course, but for money. Lisa's first husband had passed some time ago, and he'd left behind a modest fortune for the woman to live on and to raise their son on. She wouldn't be moving into any mansions, but she also wouldn't have to worry herself about working for the rest of her life. Enter Connor, freshly graduated from college with a business degree and looking for 'love' on the best dating apps that he could find. He'd ultimately been looking for something casual, where he could get his dick wet, but he'd ended up coming across Lisa's profile. Normally, he wouldn't have spared her a second thought, but then he saw pictures that suggested her exorbitant wealth, and he couldn't help himself. Connor wasn't a good person; he never had been, and his greed had always led him along by the nose. He was good at faking affection, but his only true love was for money. That was why he ultimately started talking to Lisa, even though she was old enough to he his mother. Ironically, she now *was* effectively his mother, and her fortune *was* spent on him, but on the garments around his waist that he was dirtying with his poop. It'd been a process though. He hadn't gone from stud to dud overnight. Connor had courted the woman quickly and had proposed within only a few dates, thinking that she was desperate to get a man in the house. He hadn't even met her son until he was moving in after a courthouse wedding had sealed the deal. Her son, a ten year old named Sammy, was somewhere on the spectrum and prone to toileting accidents in his pants. Perhaps that'd been why Lisa so readily had accepted the proposal, as dating was difficult with a special needs son. Connor had cringed at the sight of the boy, embarrassed to have such a loser for a stepson, but he'd kept his tongue under check while in front of Lisa. When it was just the two of them though, he'd let his opinions loose upon the little autist; he would use slurs and crudely joke about Sammy's problems, before getting irritable whenever the boy soiled himself. He may not have considered himself a real stepfather to the boy, but he didn't want to spend the coming years with a pantspooping retard embarrassing him. Scolding only got him so far, and so he at the very least insisted that the boy be demoted from his underpants to something more protective; the messy accidents happened often enough to justify it, at least to Connor, and he hoped it might help mitigate the odor. So Sammy's briefs, many of them permanently stained, were tossed and replaced with something more disposable and protective. Sammy didn't seem very happy about the new arrangement, but Connor wasn't exactly giving him a voice in the matter. "If you're going to shit yourself like a baby, then you'll be dressed like one." It was ironic when considering how things had ended up panning out. While Connor now squatted and made his infantile onesie sag with the weight of his own smelly shit, Sammy's only claim to infancy was well hidden under his khakis. The same irony extended to how Connor had callously referred to Sammy as a retard; Sammy was of an average intellect for his age, perhaps even gifted, and it was Connor who was drooling and babbling stupidly about his own smoldering poop. Connor's IQ had plummeted so precipitously that he was mentally little more than an oversized two year old. It was Sammy that he had to thank for that. It was Sammy who had decided that he was sick of being mocked and derided. It was Sammy that had reduced Connor into little more than a grotesque punchline to a crass joke. As it was, Sammy wasn't nearly as stupid as Connor made him out to be. The little boy might have flapped his hands and pooped in his pants, but he was deviously clever on the inside; he was enrolled in special ed, but that was a broader category at his small school, and there were kids in there for more reasons than simple intellectual failings. Inside that colorful classroom was a medicine cabinet that held a wide range of pharmaceuticals for all the different students and their conditions. Sammy was well aware of it, and he understood well that such medications could have serious repercussions for someone who didn't need them, especially the psychiatric drugs. Over the course of a couple of months, he started to pilfer the supply; he would wait until the classroom was in chaos and the teachers were distracted, and then he'd take a couple of different pills from the cabinet. All he had to go on was the warning from earlier in the year, whenever another student had taken medicine not meant for them; what had the teacher said? "Taking something you don't need can really mess up your noodle!" That's exactly what he wanted, for Connor at least. He wanted Connor to feel exactly what it was like to be viewed as stupid and incapable; he wanted his terrible stepfather to reap what he had sown. And so he kept collecting the pills, keeping them secure and hidden in his room, until he felt that he had enough of them. Then, he started to crush them into a fine powder and lace the bottles of fine wine that Connor so gladly enjoyed. His mother didn't drink, and it wasn't the kind of wine that Connor would share with guests, which made it perfect for acting as the medium of Connor's destruction. It was a gradual shift at first. The man started to get foggy with his thoughts, and he would misplace or misremember things; the amalgamation of psychiatric drugs made havoc for a brain that wasn't supposed to be taking any of them. The doses were small enough and spread out far enough that they were hard to screen for with any tests. These weren't simply temporary effects either, but were the results of very real neurological damage that were adding up. Being an adult, Connor's neuroplasticity wasn't good enough to reverse the damage being done either; bit by bit, he was being slowly, chemically lobotomized by the little boy he'd been disparaging as a retard. Eventually the incontinence began. It started with intermittent bedwetting, and Lisa insisted that her young husband protect their mattress by wearing protection to sleep. So the man received his first package of adult diapers, much to his chagrin and humiliation. Those first ones weren't nearly as thick as what he was pooping in now, and they had been rather generic in their appearance, but they had been a wonderful start. Sammy had actually considered stopping things there, thinking that Connor would gain some empathy from all his tribulations, but he instead got more bitter. Feeling his self-esteem crumble, the young adult became even more cruel to his stepson; part of that could be blamed on a brain that had already been damaged to the point of losing some control over his emotions, but Connor had also began to drink more heavily each day, which damaged his inhibitions even more. So Sammy didn't stop what he was doing. He happily continued his vendetta without a second thought. If he had been a little older, or rather, a little wiser, then he might have understood that the gravity of his actions were greater than he assumed; by all accounts, he was destroying the life of another person, as part of a petty grudge. He thought Connor deserved whatever he got, on account of his cruelty, but it was truly an unequal response of force. The incontinence grew in severity over the next couple of weeks after that, starting to result in piss-soaked pants during the day as well, and Lisa was becoming irritated about it. The affection she'd had for her young husband had started to fade, not only because of his slowly melting brain, but because she'd started to see him for who he really was. The drinking, the laziness, the excessive spending, and outraged outbursts. The woman had been sadly desperate to wed again, so that she could have a partner and her son could have a father, but it had become clear that Connor was a mistake. He was much too young and immature for her, resembling more a shitty teenage son than a doting husband and father. The sudden bouts of incontinence had really just been the cherry on top to kill her attraction in its steps. However, divorce was a messy affair to get into, and she hadn't thought to make him sign a prenup; it pained her to think that the louse might get half the fortune that her late husband had left for her to live on. She did start to treat him more coldly, like an unwanted guest instead of a family member, and the man hardly seemed to notice. Disregarding the fact that his brain was being aggressively disassembled by his stepson's hand, Connor wouldn't have cared much for Lisa's affection in the first place, and if anything, he welcomed her distancing herself from him. All he wanted was her money and resources, as he certainly didn't find the older woman all that attractive. In that way, it was mutually beneficial for Lisa's disgust and Connor's apathy. Connor continued to see specialists about his degrading condition: urologists and neurologists mostly. The urologists were convinced that it was a psychological problem, and the neurologist he was seeing wasn't concerned enough to perform any in-depth tests, especially whenever he found out that Connor was an everyday drinker. To the busy man behind the clipboard, he thought it was obvious that Connor was simply dulling his mind with alcohol. "You need to cut the drinking. That would be my assessment; frequent intoxication has a wide range of long lasting neurological impairments. If I had to guess, that would be the reason for the brain fog." And that was the end of it. Connor didn't want to be shamed by a doctor over his vices, and he didn't believe in the efficacy of a shrink, so he stopped seeking medical help altogether. Instead, he doubled down on thinking these maladies would stop on their own, which itself may have been attributed to his devolving brain function. The drinking only increased from there, which meant so did the pharmaceutical poisoning he was receiving. Within another week or so, he'd given his wife a reason to separate their living quarters: Connor had shit the bed in his sleep. Lisa had the unfortunate experience of waking up to a noxious odor right beside her. Groggily lifting the blanket and looking to her side, she wrinkled her nose at the intensifying of the stench; her young 'stud' of a husband wasn't just soaked, but his bloated, bulging diaper had nasty brown smears around the legbands. He'd soiled himself like an infant. She banished him to the guest room after that and voiced her concerns about what she thought was simply unfettered alcoholism; already defensive about it, they got into a big argument, but she didn't back down. Sammy felt bad that his mother was having to manage the trouble he'd started, but he rationalized that it would all be worth it in the end. Connor's newfound fecal incontinence worsened further from that point; every night would lead to involuntary soiling in his sleep, and would soon after start happening during the day as well. He'd already been wearing cheap, pull-up style Depends during the day because of his bladder, but they would soon prove inadequate to manage his condition. The proof of that would come during a rare sit-down dinner with the three of them. Connor usually ate in his bedroom, as he didn't even pretend to like his family by this point, but he'd joined Lisa and Sammy at the table that night to air grievances about Sammy leaving his toys around the house to be stepped on. He would never get a chance to berate the boy though, as midway through the meal, he felt a deep gurgling in his bowels; if he'd been more cognizant, then he likely would have excused himself to the bathroom, but his brain was getting pretty mushy by this point, and he thought he just had gas. It wasn't just gas. The fart was anything but silent, and what came next was a flood of biblical proportions; the man winced, gripping the dinner table, as wave after wave of sludge pounded his adult pull-up. The garment couldn't possibly hold up to the devastation, and his slacks became the repository for all the overflow to settle. It was a vindicating moment for Sammy to witness, especially after his own daytime accidents had been scrutinized and mocked so severely by the young man. The little boy didn't make any remarks, instead just smiling as his mother angrily tore into Connor for how disgusting his behavior had become since their wedding. It didn't help Connor's case that he had a glass of wine on the table already, or that the young man's handsome physique had gradually grown disheveled and chubby; whatever attributes that had been attractive were simply no longer there. After that evening, the two weren't divorced on paper, but neither pretended that the marriage was anything more than a sham. Connor demanded that Lisa pay for him to keep his lifestyle in a ritzy apartment, but the woman refused, instead stating that he wouldn't be getting any more money from her. She wouldn't give him the chance to take any in a divorce, and instead wanted to make him uncomfortable enough to leave on his own. Fast forward a couple of months after that, and everything Sammy had done had finally fully caught up to the man. Connor's drinking had become worse, he'd imbibed too many of the various psychiatric drugs, and his brain was fully fried. Since he mostly stayed in his room, only wandering out whenever Lisa and Sammy were asleep, neither had realized just how bad it had gotten. He'd become mentally retarded, plain and simple. Not the 'retarded' that he'd crudely accused Sammy of being, but mentally retarded in a clinical sense. His IQ was on par with a toddler, he drooled and ate his own boogers, and his toilet training was a distant memory. Lisa had only found out because he'd lost the ability to change his own diapers, or at least stopped caring to, and she'd noticed the intense odor coming from his bedroom. When she opened the door, she was greeted by a floor covered in dirty diapers, and with Connor vacantly sitting in one that hadn't been changed in days. The leaky, overfilled diaper hadn't been a bother to him, and he hadn't seemed to care about her reaction to the sight. Instead, he'd just looked up at her with a drooly mouth and mumbled something about being out of 'happy juice'. And that's how Sammy's stepfather had instead become his 'baby brother'. That's how the marriage had been neatly annulled, and in a stroke of either pity or sadism, Lisa had opted to take on legal custody for the devolved man. A more extensive series of labs had pointed toward lengthy drug abuse, in addition to his rampant alcoholism, but Lisa had never suspected her son of any involvement. It helped that Sammy played the role of a dutiful 'big brother' to the drooling nimrod who had once been his stepfather. Had Sammy gone too far? Almost definitely. Did he have regrets over it? Almost none. Connor made for a bad dad and a bad person, and he'd be much less of a bother in the new form that he'd taken on. So now he here sat, slobbering mindlessly on himself and gyrating his flabby buttcheeks against the hot mound of shit that he'd created, which itself was an apt metaphor for the journey he'd taken in the name of greed. Sammy cringed a little at the sight, but he didn't shy away from it; this was his own work after all. "Mom! Connor pooped!" Connor's tongue lolled out to the side in an idiotic smile, a few remaining farts sputtering wetly into the bubbling muck beneath him. It was he who was undeniably the retard now, and Sammy didn't plan to ever let him forget that.