Story #133: Daddy's Diapered Dummy

Story #133: Daddy's Diapered Dummy (Content Tags: Light sexual reference, messy diapers, intelligence loss, genius to moron, small adult protagonist, adult made to present as younger, bad guy wins, teasing, humiliation) "Smells like you made a real whopper back there, sport. We should go take a look, okay? "Nooo! No poopie in diapee!" That's not what it smelled like out there in the park; a pungent aroma of droppings was wafting from the trunk of the diaper that the boy was made to wear. The ripe and earthy odor was impossible to ignore, even in the open air of the park. Other kids stopped playing when they heard the juvenile argument of what should have been a toddler and his father. However, Stuart wasn't a toddler (nor even a child) and the tall man beside him wasn't really his father (or even someone that he liked in any capacity), so the conversation should have come across as even more peculiar than it already was. Visually though, 'Stewie' did appear to be a child, and who else would the man be than his father? It was a strange and complex situation that required much further context to properly understand. To everyone watching though, it simply appeared that a caring father was wanting to check his 'special needs' son, because it appeared that he may have a soiled diaper. Which he did. Stewie may have denied it, but he absolutely did have a large, steaming 'whopper' in the back of his bulky diaper. He could feel the heat of it radiating against his buns, the grit of the texture on his bare skin, and the weight of it pulling his diaper down in back, which was kept tautly up by his tight onesie. He wasn't sure when he'd pooped his pants, but he suspected it was when he'd been squatting in the dirt to look at a shiny beetle. It wasn't so bad. In fact, the warmth was a welcome feeling to coat his backside and even better that it crept underneath to smother his undercarriage in that same lovely glow. His bladder had let go too, probably not long after his bowels had released, and now his crotch was bathed in that same wonderful warmth as his buttcheeks. Deep down, he knew he should hate the feeling. He knew he shouldn't even be in this situation, or in these clothes. Stewie was supposed to be Stuart: a highly respected neurologist who had gotten his doctorate by the time he was eighteen! He was supposed to be a genius, a prodigy, but now he was playing 'house' and his role was as a mentally retarded kid that still pooped in diapers! The farce had been going on for some months now. Stewie could hardly remember what it'd been like to be Stuart, or what it'd been like to be treated like an adult with a functioning brain. To be fair, it'd been a bit of a struggle back then too, due to the unfortunate circumstances of his biology. Even at twenty-seven, Stuart had commonly been mistaken for an elementary school kid. The man had a rare form of dwarfism that kept him small, but also had kept him looking proportionally normal; his features had remained fairly soft as well, which resulted in him appearing to be a child to anyone who didn't yet know him. Puberty hadn't done a whole lot for him either, other than making him painfully aware how hard it'd be to score a girlfriend. It'd made both his professional and social life difficult to navigate. Getting peers to respect him, and especially the dating world or his sex life, had been treacherous. Those things didn't matter now, because he was in a role where respect was not ever expected, and his 'sex life' was completely relegated to the poopy confinement of his sagging tardpants. Daddy wouldn't let him have a girlfriend, but that wouldn't stop the former intellectual from mounting his stuffed animals while his onesie bulged with his own steaming hot excrement. That was one of the only pleasures that he was allotted these days, and as degrading as a pleasure as it was, he took it whenever the chance was presented to him. The rest of the time, he was just 'daddy's special little boy', and such an act was considered far too mature for him. After all, he might be nearly thirty, but that's not what people saw when they looked at him, which was even more well pronounced now. Being put into diapers and juvenile clothing had made it all the more difficult to judge his true age, and his newfound inability to communicate sealed the deal. He couldn't tell anyone that he was really a fully grown adult that had been the victim of such surreal circumstances, not without babbling and sounding like an idiot. Even if he did make a cogent argument, not enough of it was believable! The boy got laid down on top of a picnic table and he could feel the warm lump smearing outward upon the mushy impact. "Nuuuh! Toppit!" The man smiled and started to slide the shorts off of him, "My, my... So fussy today. Why is that, Stewie? It's such a lovely day at the park. Maybe you're just upset that I'm giving you a bumchange, hmm?" Justin Tarkin was his name, though not a name that Stewie had used in some time, not since that name had become 'daddy' to him. The two had a complex history, which was what had led events up to this point now, where the larger of the two men was smugly obliging his diaper duties. It seemed like a distant dream to think about the chain of events that had turned a brilliant neuroscientist into a drooling moron. It was hard to imagine that Stewie had ever been Justin's peer, let alone his superior. It hadn't really been that long ago either, maybe a year? The two had been working together on an important project, and then there had been that 'accident' in the lab... Well, it hadn't been so much an accident as it had been an opportunistic power grab by the less successful of the two. It was an easy way to erase Stuart's name from the historic moment that they were on the precipice of. Their focus had been on prion diseases, which was both terrifying and captivating. A prion, while rare to come in transmission with, was an unstoppable force once it invaded a human. What a nightmare, that a misfolded protein could cause such horror to the brain as it reprogrammed other proteins to 'flip' their switches as well. It was an agonizing fate that had no cure, but typically took a long time to become pronounced. Their objective had been novel theories for treatment. In doing this, they had to unlock a Pandora's box to find the answer; the first step of their journey was to engineer a 'super-prion' of sorts, so they could study the effects of the affliction in a much shorter time period. They used lab mice and monkeys by the truckload, but they were getting closer and closer to discovering a suitable treatment. When Justin was sure that they had a final answer, he then saw it time to do what was necessary for his own career. Stuart had been instrumental, and really had done the majority of the work; being the lead on the project, he'd also get most of the credit. Justin would be nothing but a footnote on a historical achievement. So, he decided to take Stuart out of the picture, in a way most poetic at that. He infected Stuart with the prion that they'd engineered. It was microscopic, so the diminutive man had never seen the attack coming. In a matter of days, the brilliant scientist was already losing control over his bladder and bowels; within the week, he had no other choice but to resort to wearing youth-sized diapers to contain his accidents. Stuart's mind followed suit, degrading and degenerating as he suffed cellular death at the mindless machinations of the prion. He became slower, more childlike; if he'd been allowed to continue down that path, he would have surely perished from it. But that wasn't in Justin's plan. When Stuart had been reduced down to a far enough level, that was when the cure had been injected, and what was left of Stuart's life had been saved. The only problem was that the cure could only stop the prion in action, there was nothing that it could do to rectify all that the prion had caused. The severe brain damage was here to stay, and while Stuart still retained his sense of self, he'd been made incapable of presenting that fact. It'd been a perfect crime. The pair were working with such dangerous materials, that a lab accident was completely believable. No one would bat an eye at a simple mistake in procedure causing a terrible fate to befall a scientist, even one as highly regarded as Stuart. The credit had obviously gone to the man who could still claim it. Some revisions in their documentation of the discovery would present Justin as the primary mind behind it all, and while that was suspicious, it was welcomed by those closest to it; the think-tank they worked in knew that it was a bad look for someone like Stuart, who was a diapered imbecile that drooled and shit on himself, to be the one who was the face of this accomplishment. Stuart's resignation was forced, so it was really more of a firing. His presence and history in the think tank was more or less erased to save face in front of their investors. It was better for everyone if his employment there was forgotten. That still left Stuart himself, or 'Stewie' as he'd become; he couldn't very well take care of himself anymore in his current state. That could have been left up to the state to handle, where Stuart would be offloaded to some place that could manage his care, but Justin wasn't about to let go of him that easily. It wasn't really a matter of malice, not completely; Justin felt nervous at the possibility that Stuart might recover to a degree where he could say something about what had happened. When push had come to shove, even Stewie wasn't so stupid that he couldn't realize that he'd been betrayed. He'd first been suspicious when he'd started having accidents, and when his head felt foggy, but it'd all but been confirmed when it was clear that Justin was edging him out of their partnership. He'd just been powerless to stop any of it. Getting back to the picnic table, where Stewie lounged on his back with a pacifier put in his mouth to suck on, Justin was still disrobing his charge. Off went the tights, and then the onesie got unbuttoned, and finally the swollen diaper was revealed, splotches and all. "You did a lot in here, Mr. Stinkerpants. Maybe we should switch to something a little bit bigger, hmm? So little Stewie can stew for as long as he wants. You like your icky diapee, don't you?" He playfully pressed down on the soggy front of the diaper to squish it against him and Stewie made some noise behind his drooly pacifier. Justin gave the saturated padding a firm squeeze and grinned, "Too bad some of those adult thoughts are still kicking around in that bowl of oatmeal up there. How frustrating it must be, to live such an unfulfilling life..." Even a nimrod like Stewie could tell when he was being mocked, or more accurately 'teased'. The little dunce squirmed on the picnic table, pushing himself up against Justin's grip and letting gas spew out to warm his bottom all over again. Justin let out a little laugh, "Now, now, settle down... I didn't mean to get you so 'excited'. You're not a grown-up anymore, so don't go trying to act like it, especially here at the park." It'd been something that had weighed on his mind earlier on; it hadn't made a lot of sense to put so much effort into the infantilizing of his care. If Justin just wanted to keep an eye on him to make sure he didn't blab, then he definitely now had the money to hire full-time care for the diapered tyke. Instead, Justin had fully enmeshed himself in the role as 'Daddy', and while Stewie did have babysitters, it was still Daddy that took care of him the most. Stewie had thought that maybe it was guilt, but Justin acted too snidely for it to be that, which also made it feel that a paternal motive was unlikely as well. It seemed more likely that the act was a way to help break whatever was left of Stuart down into Stewie; being babied and treated like a mushbrained mudbutt had made a noticeable impact on what was left of his intelligence and former identity. His pool of vocabulary words had grown even smaller, his memories had become foggy, and his wits had degraded even further without proper stimulation. Stuart's whole life had been adapted to his new role as a 'mentally retarded preteen'; he might be nearly thirty on paper, but Justin never introduced him that way to anyone. Any former ties were gone. He'd had scant little family that he had kept in contact with during his stint as a scientist, and even fewer friends. His life had been dedicated to his work, so he hadn't had time for such things. That made it even easier for Justin to whisk him away to another part of the country and to rebuild his identity from the bottom up. Nobody would come looking for him and nobody would ask any questions. He'd spend every day in shit-packed diapers, drooling on himself and losing even more of his former self. He'd eventually forget that he'd ever been an adult or a genius in the first place, and nobody else would know either. His name had been legally changed, his former lab partner was his guardian, his physical appearance had slowly altered, and his mind was becoming as intellectual as the poopy diapers he sat in. The only adult thing to remain would be libido, and expressing that would remain a filthy humiliation in the smelly confines of his padding. A pressure suddenly built in his bubbling gut and he helplessly pushed on the feeling to relieve it. Another juicy fart sputtered to life and he lifted his legs up, grabbing onto his toes with his hands and stiffening his posture on the table. "Mmmghhh! Hrrghhh!" He grunted behind the pacifier, his cheeks growing pink in strain. "Guess I was right to wait another moment. You always have a round two of number two, don't you?" Stewie squeezed his eyes shut and bit down on the pacifier with the baby teeth that he'd never properly grown out of (and of which he was gradually beginning to lose, with nothing to replace them). He could feel something large starting to pass his spreading cheeks, and his dirtied diaper began to slowly tent out with a knobby lump; the steamer crackled loud and slow as it pushed into his diaper, and his body fully shuddered from the sensation of it. "Making a big present for Daddy? Such a sweet boy." Justin cooed, putting his palm under the growing bulge and feeling the heat of the expanding garment. "Nnghh...! Dat...my...poooopie! Daddy, dat my poopie!" He exclaimed, the pacifier falling from his mouth and dangling from the cord that pinned it to his onesie. A gurgling gasbomb went off and the log rapidly descended, quickly doubling the size of the smelly lump that Daddy had his hand on. "I know, champ. Daddy's going to take care of it, don't you worry." The man chuckled, giving the warm bulge a firm squeeze and mashing it flat against Stewie's rump with a sickening squelch. Stewie let out a few more toots, and a few more clumps would find their way into his overloaded Pampers, but he was winding down, and the sudden effort he'd had to make had exhausted him. He let go of his feet and moaned, flopping back fully on his back as the last of the flatulence helplessly escaped. His mouth was coated in slobber, and his nostrils were leaking too; he panted and reveled in the delight of his fresh filth, he was too dumb not too. "All finished up? Such a good little dummy you are. Let's get you cleaned up, and then we can go get you an ice cream cone before we go home, how does that sound?" The man asked, giving the front of the diaper a few pats. "Yeth Daddy...Ice cweam yummy..." He responded in a tired tone, a childish lisp coating his every word. "Mmhmm...And then we can go home and get you lunch and a little afternoon nap. You can tell your stuffies all about how much fun you had with Daddy." The diapered dummy certainly had a private conference in mind with the stuffed animals in his crib, though there wouldn't be much talking involved. Hopefully he'd have a full diaper again after lunch.