Tale #96: What You're Sitting On

Tale #96: What You're Sitting On (A Sequel to Tale #89: "Don't Strain Yourself", as polled by Discord!) (Content Tags: Braindrain, humiliation, messy diapers, supernatural, brother as an antagonist, genius into moron, first person perspective, fraternal twins, ongoing storyline) My brain had been total mush at that moment, comparable to the massive mound inside my poor diaper. Having spent the whole quiz game with the smell of my own droppings, my IQ had temporarily been lowered to extraordinarily low levels. Drool openly streamed down my chin, having already coated my lips in a thick sheen, while boogers hung from my nostrils like bats from the ceiling. The bet I'd made with Mortimer for that last round, where I was so sure that I'd be able to figure out 'two plus two', had been lost. The condition of that bet meant that I had to go to my parents and inform them not only about my loaded diaper, but also that I was a retard. My mental capacity was too diminished to see the major issue with that, and how it'd come to impact my life in a big way. There were a lot of things that I still didn't understand about my own curse; at this point, I didn't even identify it as a curse, nor that it originated from my own brother's twisted mind. One such aspect was that the curse wouldn't just affect me; there were elements in play that would instead affect the people around me. While the smell of a poopy diaper would temporarily lower my intellect, the fumes from my own dirty diaper would make people around me more likely to mock me and less likely to treat me with respect. Another thing was that if I called myself a retard to someone else, then they'd believe me without question. My brother had set me up to change my familial status with a simple statement. Whether or not either of those quirks were even necessary was another question; people would already tease and disrespect me for soiling myself, and I'd eventually become mentally retarded in a very real and permanent way. I lost permanent IQ points whenever I pooped my diaper, so it was only a matter of bumchanges before I'd be a total moron. With my drooly maw and sagging, stinking seat, I stood before my parents with a mission to make good on my word. I turned around and pointed at the fuming backside of my pants. "I maked big fudgies in my diapee! ME DUMB-DUMB POO-POO **RETARD!**" That'd been the spark to ignite the cannonball, in more ways than one. Another quirk of the curse was that when I addressed myself as a retard, what would immediately follow was a massive BM in my pants. How unfortunate that I'd been wearing a cheap diaper that was already loaded to the max. My poobrained proclamation of being a short-busser was immediately confirmed by a gurgling explosion in the back of my diaper that led to a massive blowout. The back of my pants bulged even further and began to stain brown all over, while my parents looked on in shock. All the cleverness they knew me for had been erased in an instant; just as the curse laid out, people unquestionably believed me when I referred to myself as being mentally retarded. That'd carry over even when this temporary fog had been dispelled by a much-needed diaper change. I felt a sadness to be changed, and a deep anxiety when my overloaded diaper was about to be tossed in the trash. My intellect was still mush in that moment, but subconsciously it was as if I could tell my IQ points were in that balled up diaper. When I'd come back to my senses, it'd been too late for any damage control; my memory of my misadventures as a dimwit were shaky, so I couldn't even remember what I'd said to my parents. I mostly remember playing and losing the quiz game, which is what I thought my brothers were laughing about when I saw them next. It wouldn't be until later that evening, when Mortimer was bugging me about hogging the TV, that anything would come to light. I'd been just wanting to veg out on some trashy shows, since I still felt embarrassed from earlier, and Mortimer had eventually come to request the TV for some UFO documentary or something. "Buzz off, Morty. I got here first." "Hm, I don't know if this kind of show is really appropriate for you. A little too mature for your tiny immature brain." I furrowed my brow at him, "What was that? You sound like someone who wants to get hit in the face." He clicked his tongue and folded his arms. "Is that any way for a *retard* to talk to his betters?" I felt my face get hot at the slur, but before I could give him a piece of my mind, I could suddenly feel an intense cramp in my belly; the pressure grew so quickly and so powerfully, that I wouldn't be able to hold it back: "I'm not a reta--" **FRRRRRRRRT!** I couldn't even finish my sentence before a huge fart ripped into my fresh padding; my eyes got wide and my mouth hung open as I could feel a firm turd slither out into the diaper, propelled out by the flatulence. I'd come to realize that being called a retard would also set my bowels into action; the curse was absolutely relentless in its quest to degrade my intellect. "...What was that? You don't sound so sure. Honestly, I thought you would have figured it out already. You don't remember what you said to mom and dad?" Mortimer smiled with a gleam in his eye. "I-I don't know what you're talking about, just piss off already!" I grumbled, flustered that I'd already made another mess in my pants. My twin laughed and leaned back, seeming to enjoy my embarrassment. "You told them that you're a *retard*. Must have been hard to admit that, huh? But those were the terms of losing that game, and oh boy did you lose... I don't think I've ever seen anyone get a negative score before!" Another fart sputtered out as a reaction from the word, and I groaned as I felt another log depart from my buttcheeks. Had I really said that? It sounded ridiculous, but with my memory being so foggy, I couldn't discredit it outright. "I-I would never say that!" Without any respect for my personal space, Mortimer reached over and pulled at the waistband of my diaper to peek inside. "Oh, sure. A smart guy like you would never say that about himself, right? And who would believe it? All the smart kids wear diapers full of poop, right?" I could feel the cool air against the crook of my back and a rage bubbled up inside of my core; toilet troubles or not, I was way smarter than my brother, and I was better in every conceivable way too! It was completely unacceptable to have him trying to smugly flex on me, when he'd been a distant second at everything in our life. "Shut up, Morty! I'm not a retard!" **BLAAAAAAAARRRRT! BRAAAAP!** My brother grimaced as he saw more filth plop helplessly into my diaper and he snapped the waistband back into place. "Ugh... Nasty... Well, you might be saying that now, but that's not what mom and dad heard from you. I wouldn't be surprised if they start treating you like one; guess I'll be the smart one now." Why was this happening to me? From my own calculations, the accidents had been occurring whenever I had to mentally strain by any measure, but that wasn't the case right now! I had only been reacting, not intently thinking, so why did I keep crapping my pants? I gritted my teeth at my brother and squirmed, feeling the hot poop smearing underneath me. What was Mortimer talking about anyways? He was referencing something I'd said to my parents, but I couldn't remember what that was. There was a threshold, where if my intelligence fell below it during one of those temporary lapses, then I wouldn't be able to properly remember, since my IQ had been too low to retain memories in an effective way. I'd find it to be different whenever I reached that level permanently, where my life would once again be a single continuum that saw no huge mental shifts; for now though, those memories would be nothing but hazy fragments. "What are you even talking about, and where do you get off in talking to me like that? Did your balls just drop or something? You know I could beat the crap out of you, right? You're dumber, weaker, fatter, uglier, and you have no friends. You're a *loser*." I still wasn't used to being on the defensive side of things. We may have been fraternal twins, but I'd always been the big winner in every category that mattered. I was the smart one, the handsome one, the athletic one, the funny one, the popular one... And he was just a chubby geek with glasses, an inhaler, and dorky weirdo interests. In that moment, I might have been wearing a diaper that I pooped in, but that didn't mean I was going to accept this paradigm shift after twelve years of status quo. "You really don't know when to shut your mouth, Ray. You're literally sitting on a *turd* right now, and you still want to talk down to me? After losing a quiz game to me and Kent? You lost a battle of wits to a *five year old*. A Kindergartner that still pisses the bed beat you by over twenty points! In a game about being the *smartest*." There was less of a playful bent to my brother's tone now, and that smug grin had flipped into being an aggravated frown. Mortimer had really thought that I would show more humility than this, by the point that we had gotten to; he'd even considered lifting the curse, if he thought that I'd learned my lesson. Yet here I was, being the same egotistical jerk as always. I clenched my fists, "I w-wasn't feeling well, there was something--" "Just stop! I can't believe how full of yourself you are! You've always been a total tool and now you're having to deal with the consequences, and you can't even look in the mirror long enough to realize that it's all your fault that this is happening to you!" Mortimer interrupted, narrowing his gaze at me; he had never intended to make his involvement known, but a part of him had kind of hoped to be given a reason. "How is any of this *my* fault? Do you know something that I don't?" The boy let out a dry laugh, "Yeah, you could say that. Let me ask you a question: do you think I could make you crap your diaper with a single word?" Confusion swept over me, and I was wondering what the heck he could be talking about. "...Huh? You think you're a wizard now or something? Look, just because you read all those dumb, dusty books doesn't mean--" "Ray, you're a *retard*." A juicy fart powerfully rasped and bubbled into my diaper; even while in the middle of talking, I could feel my own body changing gears and an immense pressure building in my rectum. Before I could comprehend it, I exploded into the back of my diaper with a loud splattering of hot, heavy mush. I was so caught off-guard that I just sat there with an open mouth and wide eyes, while Mortimer casually watched. "Geez, that sounded like a really big one. Good thing that mom and dad will probably be looking to get you bigger diapers after that big blowout earlier. Something tells me that you're going to need the extra capacity." Mortimer snickered, leaning back and basking in my shameful unloading. As I felt the last lump pass and plop wetly below, I grabbed at my gut and stared at my brother. Had he really just caused that to happen? Just by calling me the 'R-word'? "H-how did you..." "I guess those dusty old books weren't so stupid after all, huh? Turns out that there's some real magic in them. Just enough to concoct a spell of my own, or a curse, I guess..." A curse? A *magical* curse? There was simply no way! I thought that he must surely be lying, but there wasn't a trace of trickery in his expression. Mortimer at least believed that he'd been responsible for what was going on, and as much as I wanted to call that childish, the evidence surely pointed in his favor. "...There's no way. There's no such thing as magic!" Mortimer raised an eyebrow, "No such thing as magic? So you're telling me that you just started pooping yourself whenever you try to think, and that's just something normal? Or that becoming dumber whenever you smell a poopy diaper, that's just normal stuff? No magic needed?" I bit my lip and shifted in my seat; the hot muck had coated the bottom of my buttcheeks and due to how I was seated, it was spreading to the front as well. The smell was faint right now, but only because it hadn't had much time to drift up. "W-well...I mean...How could *you* do something like *this*?" "Oh, that's right. Ray is the perfect son and I'm just the leftover scrap, is that it? There's no way that Mortimer could be better at something than the little 'Ray' of sunshine!" My brother dramatically pantomimed, looking positively salty as he did. He lowered his hands and reached over to pinch the back of my dirty diaper, "That's what you mean, right? You think I'm too stupid or worthless to do anything special. Well, oh brother of mine, you're going to be doing a whole lot of things that are 'special'. Well... Special *'ed'* at least." I grimaced and felt for the first time that the power dynamic of our relationship was completely different. There was no shred of meekness left in Mortimer's tone, and meanwhile I was quivering like a daisy in an autumn gust. "M-Morty, look, I didn't mean it like that, really, I--" "--I wonder how much this is." He cut me off, giving the back of my warm seat a hearty grope and feeling the weight of my droppings in full. "Probably only one or two; that blowout you had earlier was probably closer to four or five." "H-huh?" "IQ points, dummy. How many do you think you're sitting on right now?" Mortimer smiled. "I-I don't understand..." Or maybe it was that I really didn't want to. "Oh, come on. You're not that stupid yet. You've probably only lost like twenty since this started. Have you really not noticed yet? Well, I guess you wouldn't...It happens so gradually, and you can't really think that hard without squeezing out a turd into your pants..." The boy mused, pushing up his glasses. "You're literally depositing all your thoughts into your diapers. You're crapping your brains out; pretty funny, right? The bigger the load in your pampers, the larger the loss. You don't lose them until you get changed though, so at least you have that; if you just want to stay poopy, then you can hold onto these IQ points!" Mortimer gave another big squeeze for emphasis and then kneaded the mushy seat with a cruel smile. I was in a state of shock. I really didn't want to believe him, but his face betrayed no lie. Every dirty diaper that had been carelessly balled up and thrown in the trash, had been carrying my precious intellect. "You're not laughing, Ray. You don't think that it's funny? Maybe you're still too high-brow for potty humor; why don't we fix that?" Mortimer reached his fingers over to my waistband again and peeled the back open; he just left it open and used his other hand to waft the smell up. "I think you'll find it a lot funnier in a few minutes..."