Story #141: There's Always a Higher Power

Story #141: There's Always a Higher Power (Content Tags: Slavery, diapers, messing, humiliation, used as a mount, degraded prince, fantasy setting) Nobility of blood was a blessed thing. Mere circumstance of birth gave the highest privilege possible to those who did nothing to earn it. The affluent could merrily revel in their good fortune from their ivory towers, while the riffraff below was left destitute as mere common men. Class warfare was an art and a sport to them, with their cruelty as their instrument. The upper class knew nothing of starvation or violence; they knew nothing of struggle, strife, or sorrow. They were encapsulated in a dome where the worries of the outside world couldn't penetrate. Insular and ignorant, they looked down upon the common folk with amusement and scorn; to them, those people down below deserved to toil and wallow in their misery. It was only the natural order of things, that there should exist winners and losers in this world. The peasants were unwitting slaves of a system that the rich had gamed, and that made the hierarchy plainly evident. There was only one problem with it. There existed a class above the noble blood; their wealth and power was above all else, and they controlled all facets of how the world should operate. They were believed to be of genuine divinity and were to be revered as such. To speak ill of them or mean them harm was a grave offence that wasn't taken lightly. They were higher than nobles, and even higher than royalty. They were gods, and while they biologically no different than any other man or woman, they were treated as something else altogether. Tradition begets tradition, no matter how terrible or absurd. A noble was no more greater than a peasant in the eyes of the divine. Which would be the case that a young prince would soon learn of. The event was known simply as 'The Banquet'. It was a time for nobles, royalty, and the wealthy all throughout the land to come together and hobnob. Treaties and trade agreements would be passed, alliances would be forged, and more money would go into the cuisine alone than what most people would see in a lifetime. It was a place where excess was celebrated, and where the upper crust could share in their scorn of the dirty urchins below them. While it was primarily a place where all the attendants were on equal footing, there were also times where a Divine would make an appearance, which was a swift way to sour the mood. Most members of the Divine, while arrogant and entitled beyond belief, allowed a certain level of respect for the noble or royal class. They still saw them as lesser, but they understood their usefulness as figureheads for their edicts. So while they made sure that their ring was being kissed and that all heads were bowed, the Divine rarely ever went further than that. Prince Oliver was an attendant at this year's banquet; the boy was young, but was recognized as the future king of his nation. From birth he had been groomed to take the royal reigns whenever the time would come, and he wielded that honor quite seriously. He was a haughty little brat that felt entitled to the world and all that it offered, and he acted as though he was already in power. Those who saw the worst of it were his servants. He treated them poorly, sometimes worse than animals, and had never once felt an inclination to apologize. Why should he? He was better than them! It was ordained by the natural order of things, after all. The only hiccup was that another boy that was cut from a similar cloth would also be in attendance. Divine Lord Malek. The second youngest son of the Dramire bloodline, and legally considered to be a mortal deity, just like the rest of his family. Much like Oliver, he was consumed by his power, but in ways that far exceeded anything that Oliver had ever done. Raised to see himself as a god above mere humans, his cruelty knew no bounds and his actions knew no shame. He'd arrived at the banquet with his entourage of divine guards and his retainers. As soon as it became known, all knees around him would bend and grovel, no matter how high and mighty. It seemed that the peace should have been preserved, and that the arrival of the Divines would be without incident; everyone in attendance gave their highest respect and submission, and it was assumed that this would just be a brief appearance, as a show of power. But then Malek rested his eyes on the young prince and he saw something that he wanted. The Divine were notorious 'collectors'. Whether it be expensive artwork or ancient artifacts, or in the darkest case, people. Slavery of all sorts was universal to them, though typically not for mere labor; slaves to them were more akin to pets or toys. Usually it was only the lowest caste that had to worry of being enslaved, or those that had some exotic trait. Still, that didn't mean someone of higher value was safe. "Nesbit, I want *that* one. He'll be my newest one. He looks so regal and cute, like a little doll." Oliver hardly had any idea of what was happening until a large man came over and picked him up by the collar of his shirt. "Certainly, your lordship. He shall be yours." "P-put me down! Who do you think you're accosting, you brute?!" Oliver shrieked, fidgeting wildly to no avail. "Silence, you worm. You now belong to Divine Lord Malek." The man asserted as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. "What?! I'm a prince! A member of the royal family of Zufan! Unhand me this instant! Mother, father!" Oliver's clamoring meant nothing. While the king and queen were within view, they were powerless to lend their son anything more than a pitying frown. The Divine were not to be crossed or questioned, or else it could spell the annihilation of their entire kingdom. "A feisty one...Go ahead and collar him, Nesbit. Make him presentable as my steed for the remainder of the evening. I won't be sullying my feet any further." The retainer nodded his head in understanding and began to strip the prince of his regal attire, until he was reduced down to nothing, which was an apt metaphor of what was becoming of the power or status he was once held dearly. The rest of the guests at the banquet were torn between pity, fear, and amusement. It was a horrifying sight to see one of their own being debased without recourse, but to them, it seemed more akin to a sacrifice. If Oliver had to become a tribute to spare the rest of them, then they'd simply be thankful that it wasn't them who had to take the role. First came the metal collar that branded him as a slave. Oliver was familiar with them, as the Divine usually put all their slaves in one. It was rigged to explode if it was tampered with, and the same result could come from the press of a remote, if the slave tried to escape or rebel. Attached to it was a chain that would be used as a leash, though considering the explosive, the leash wasn't technically necessary. And then came the *other* thing; since he was to be a slave of the Divines, an animal, he would no longer be allowed the privilege of using a toilet to relieve himself. He'd be expected to urinate and defecate wherever he was, just like the beast of burden that he was, and to keep things tidy, he would be thickly diapered. It was also a way to emphasize the lower status that he now had, to have his waste kept taut to him and on full display. The dehumanization was the point. The prince was to be made a permanent plaything of a higher power, or perhaps more accurately, something to be collected. While the Divine looked down on the nobles just as they did the peasants, they were still aware of what made for a more impressive 'trophy' to display. It was already almost unheard of for a noble to be enslaved by one of them, let alone a young prince of a powerful nation. Oliver was a unique addition to Malek's stables, and he'd surely want to show off his catch to his peers. That would come later though; tonight, Oliver would simply be a mount, so that the Divine Lord didn't have to lower himself by walking on unholy ground. Malek was a few years younger than Oliver, which is the only reason this would work at all in the first place. Someone as soft of body as a prince wouldn't be able to carry around someone of similar size, at least not very far. As Oliver was fit with a saddle and Malek got atop his back, the prince could remember how he'd treated some of his servants in equally dehumanizing manners. Oliver would then be forced to slowly move around the fancy party on his hands and knees, his thickly diapered ass swaying constantly with his labored movement. He could hear others whispering about him, pointing and gawking at what a pathetic sight the prince had become. Nobody dared to stand up to the tyranny of the Divine, even as Oliver openly pleaded for help; it would be suicide to interfere with this enslavement, and everyone seemed to be adapting quickly enough to the dehumanization of the boy. If he was to be labeled a slave by the Divine, then Oliver was to be little more than a subhuman animal, appropriately chained, collared, diapered, and mounted. Malek even had a riding crop, which he had no qualms with using to smack at his slave's thickly padded rump. Any time that Oliver would become exhausted, he would feel the back of his diaper getting whipped hard, not that it was very painful with all that cushion. After a couple of hours, all the fancy party food that Oliver gorged on was coming back to haunt him. The pressure was growing in his belly, and soft farts were slipping out with increasing frequency and power. It should have been obvious what was expected of him, but Oliver couldn't make peace with the idea of actually using the diaper he'd been taped into. "Why are you slowing, you miserable mule? Shall I strike you harder?" Malek growled, raising the riding crop in his hand threateningly. "R-restroom..." Oliver moaned in pain, another louder fart sputtering out into his garment. The younger boy smirked, "Such a filthy, lowly creature you are. Slaves are not fit to use a human toilet; you are to use that sack around your waist as your toilet. Go ahead and fill it, I think that'll amuse me." Oliver grimaced as the burning in his gut became more severe. Stuck in this position, it was difficult to hold back his bowels for very long, but he despised the idea of giving Malek what he wanted and obviously the idea of befouling himself in general, especially while surrounded by all his former peers and lessers. Another juicy fart blasted his seat and he let out a pained groan. A prince's 'business' should not be so public, nor so demeaning! Oliver was supposed to be royalty, he was supposed to be better than everyone else by virtue of his bloodline! He was noble, not a mindless beast that unloaded their droppings wherever they so happened to be! There was no stopping it now, especially once Malek's heel slammed into his ribs, which caught him off-guard. He could feel the log beginning to squeeze past his buttcheeks and make contact with the puffy white material of his poosack. His expression was strained, but his eyes betrayed both shock and humiliation, as a loud, sickly crackling came from his rear. A large knobby stool pushed into his diaper and a lump began to visibly form behind him as the gnarled log of poop made a titanic landfall. Oliver couldn't resist but to grunt and groan, his body becoming sweaty with physical strain at the unfamiliar pose he was forced to take. The bulge in back continued to grow, while Oliver's body shuddered and spasmed with each great push. His bladder chose this time to release as well. The pressure he was exerting to empty his bowels was more than enough to cause first a trickle, and then a flooding throughout the crotch of the garment. The diaper swelled with hot urine in front, while the back continued to grow lumpy with the boy's solid waste. "I didn't say you could stop. Animals like you are supposed to relieve themselves without stopping." Another mighty strike from the riding crop got belted against Oliver's backside, though this time there was a foul squelch from his poop getting smeared against his bottom. Oliver moaned in discomfort and attempted to continue his work as a steed, while also having another turd halfway out into his diaper. As he moved obediently across the floor, farts were still ripping out and he was wincing as he could feel the heavy log still trying to exit while he was in motion. The other partygoers could watch with morbid interest as the newly minted slave struggled to continue soiling himself while playing 'horsey' to his superior. The hot droppings in his diaper clung to his bottom and all the constant motion meant that he continued to feel the muck squish and smear against him. There was no reprieve from the shame of it, and the longer the party went on, the more he began to notice that flies were buzzing around and landing on the lumpy backside; the poop fumes he left trailing behind him baited them and it only made him feel more like a barn animal. "I suppose he's earned a short break to eat. Chain him up and give him something." Malek finally got off of Oliver and the prince felt much better; it was exhausting to haul around the other kid for as long as he had and he honestly wasn't sure how much longer he could have lasted. His chain was secured around a decorative pillar and a bowl of food was put down on the floor in front of him, as if he was a dog. The food was all mashed up together in a very unpleasant looking arrangement, but it was at least food from the party, which meant it was still of a much higher quality than what his future held. He was given no utensils, and he didn't want to lower himself to using his hands, but he was genuinely hungry. Begrudgingly, the former prince began to scoop up the slop with his hands and shoveling it messily into his maw. He could still feel everyone's eyes on him, on what a disgraceful sight he'd become in a very short time, yet still nobody deigned to give him his freedom. Already they were considering him as a slave, as if his royal blood had meant nothing in the first place. He hardly looked very royal now either, to be leashed and collared, to be hobbling around on all fours with a smelly diaper sagging behind him. He was little more than an exotic pet and that would be what the rest of his life amounted to. "I suppose this means that I'm no longer in your service?" Came a voice behind him. Craning his head back, his mouth and hands covered in food, Oliver saw his young servant looking down at him. Matias was around his age, but had been born to a servant class to the royals; he had been Oliver's personal attendant for all the petty needs that a prince could have. To be honest, he'd also been exceptionally cruel to the servant for his own amusement, so this was a bit of irony. The servant raised his foot and began to grind his heel right into the back of the prince's poopy diaper, which caused the contents to squish and smear loudly. "Maybe now you can get a taste of your own medicine, you horrid little monster." Oliver groaned and grimaced, his ego buckling under the epiphany that this wouldn't be ending any time soon for him. Once Malek grew bored of him, it wasn't like he'd get to be the prince again; it was far more likely he'd be pawned off to another Divine or traded to one. He was a commodity now, after all. Malek was cruel, but there were certainly far worse masters to have...