Story #104: Smarty-Pants to Farty-Pants (Part 1)

Story #104: Smarty-Pants to Farty-Pants (Content Tags: Messy diapers, humiliation, intelligence loss, brain damage, forced diaper sniffing and dirty diaper facesitting, bullied by a mushbrain, dark, slightly surrealistic horror, no happy ending) A wet gurgling reverberated the back of my diaper; I could feel the heat being trapped right against my buttcheeks, with the taut onesie making sure that the padding was snugly pressed against me. I couldn't stop the gassy blast, nor would I be able to stop what it would bring; a fart this juicy was undoubtedly the herald of countless droppings that would forcibly plop their way into my pants. "Uh-oh! I think mister 'smartypants' is turning into mister 'fartypants' over here!" Came a cackling from the sidelines. I hated that voice, and I hated that laugh that he had; it was like the chortle of a hyena put into human form. More than that, I hated that he was right. I was supposed to be the smartest kid in the room, but that hadn't been the case for some time now. Another sloppy brapping sputtered to life in my diaper and I let out a low groan that sounded half-tinged with enjoyment instead of misery. My transformation had included a mental switch flipping, where things I would have found absolutely disgusting before, were things that I openly took a pleasure in. My inner thoughts hadn't completely changed about crapping on myself, but my ingrained instincts had; my body considered it a positive experience, and my brain did the same at a primal level. I wanted to tell the obnoxious brat that the voice belonged to off; I wanted to tell him to leave me alone or to show him some respect. I could even feel the words formulating right behind my lips, but when I tried to say them, they came out wrong. "D-duuurrrrr...Fardy-tardy makey POOPS!" My humiliating announcement got me more laughter from the other kids in the room; whatever eloquence they had once expected from me was no longer considered a possibility. I had all the verbosity of a toddler and the 'brown' prose of a particularly scatological retard. "That's right, the farty-tardy *is* making poop, isn't he? He's just letting whatever smarts he has left drop right into his big, dumb diaper." My fists clenched up and my eyes shot blunted daggers right at the loudmouth who was enjoying my suffering. He was smirking at me with all the smugness of a boy that knew he had already won, and by a country mile at that. I wanted nothing more than to slug him right in his grinning jaw and to show him as much pain as he had caused me; I wanted justice, but instead what I got was a loud soggy fart that sprayed hot excrement into my diaper. "Nngh...Mmmph...Squishies make butt hot!" I informed my captivated audience, which only resulted in another bout of uproarious laughter. A wet slobber made my chin feel cool, and I realized that my drool production had been in full throttle since my flatulence had ramped up. Drooling and farting on myself was something that never quite came to a close in this form, but they didn't become severe until my body was ready to start evacuating my bowels as well. By the same measure, I could feel that trails of warm snot had treaded from each nostril and were racing each other down toward my lips. I knew what I must look like to everyone else. I knew that with every change that my mind and body had gone through to reach this point, that it was impossible for spectators to ignore the spectacle that I'd become. Even my belly and thighs had become more obviously changed, with my previously scrawny frame being addled with extra weight. The onesie didn't exactly leave much to the imagination either; it was tight on me, so it showed the baby fat I'd regained around my midsection and my chubby thighs were completely bare. It also did nothing to obscure the massive diapers that I'd come to call my underwear; the white of the padding clearly showed out the sides, and when soiled enough, brown staining could be seen even with the onesie technically on. Of course that precluded the times that my bowel movement was large enough to cause the buttons to simply pop off and for the weight of my poopy diapers to be given full room to expand outward. Currently, I was good for at least two of those a day; I soiled myself far more than twice on any given day, but it was typically only twice that the payload would be large enough to give me a clothing malfunction. An opened onesie was still preferable to the more rare blowouts that would sometimes occur. Even with the enormous capacity of these 'special' diapers, there were times that they wouldn't be able to hold back a nuclear explosion; going from fully fresh to leaking filth or having it shoot up the back, was a miserable experience. I didn't think it'd be that way this time. Small miracles, I suppose, that I'd probably only pop my onesie open than stain it badly with my own poop. I already had enough pairs of clothes with those kinds of irreparable stains on them; how fun it was to walk around with faded brown stains all over the backside of my clothes, for everyone to already know what I was bound to do. It wasn't technically unhygienic. The clothes had been washed and cleaned to a state of being sanitary, but some stains just couldn't be removed. It was a lot like how I'd gotten to the point where I was at, except the remnants of my true intellect were represented *by* the stain. No matter how many times my mind was 'sanitized', that pesky 'stain' of my past self couldn't be removed; it could become more faded with every wash cycle, but it'd still be there. At least until the bleach got busted out. I had to hope that they didn't have anything like that in their 'cabinet', and to facilitate that, I needed to be a good 'stain' and not make myself too noticeable. But perhaps that was actually preferable to this monster. He could obviously see there was still a glimmer of intelligence behind my eyes, of an awareness that didn't match the rest of me. Maybe that was why he was still so cruel? Because he knew I could still feel humiliation, but I couldn't do anything to stop it from happening. There was another flutter in my tummy. It was a bizarre sensation that I'd had to grow accustomed to; my potty signals had been altered from any point of recognition. Before, I would feel a pressure or eventually a pain, and that told me I needed to use the toilet. Now, it felt more like tantalizing tickle and whenever it came, it was impossible for me not to address it immediately; it felt like being forced to flex a muscle and it felt incredibly good to do it. I'd never associated my time on a toilet with some hedonistic ritual, but now it felt as if it was the peak of bodily pleasure. Releasing my bladder or bowels into my diaper made my body feel the same as when one would wake up early in bed and be allowed to drift back off into slumber. Total euphoria, which ultimately did little to mute the accompanying shame that would follow. That flutter intensified and I instinctively went with the flow of it; pushing was the natural move to make, it was almost an automatic response. I let out a moan and stuffed two fingers in my drooly mouth to suck on; I had been on my hands and knees to crawl around, but now I was on my haunches with my free hand being used to balance myself. Powerful wind broke behind me and that thunderous rumble brought with it a long pole of mush that began to jettison itself into the back of my diaper. A small lump formed in the backside of my onesie, like a baseball had found its way between the cushion of the diaper and the fabric of thr onesie. "Eww! Look! You can *see* it!" I heard one kid jeer. I wished that was all they were going to be seeing; one little lump would have been getting off very easy. But I'd been brought here to be a spectacle, so I wasn't meant to have such luck. These kids were promised a show, and I was the star that wasn't to let any fans be disappointed. "Yeah, I told you that he really craps his pants now. That's why he's in special ed now, because he's a total retard!" "So nasty...I can't believe I used to cheat off of him!" "Probably wouldn't be the smart move now, unless the test is about poop!" Their words burned away at my resolve, what little I had left anyways. The fluttering in my gut was coming in waves, so I could already tell this would be a lengthy and thorough display that I'd be giving today. My previous academic achievements meant little to the vicious voices of my prior classmates, not when the 'top of the class' was drooling on himself and shamelessly taking a huge dump in his diaper. I'd never been 'popular', but I'd at least used to get respect for my intellect. I was the one to go to when someone needed help on an assignment or with their homework; admittedly I'd been haughty about it, but not enough to deserve a mortifying fate such as this! Nobody would think of me as the 'know-it-all' anymore, I was just going to be 'that gross retard who used to be a normal kid in our class'. The one who deserved the blame was the same boy who had decided to bring me back in here. I'd been languishing in special ed for the last few months, but I'd at least had my humiliation being private and self-contained to kids who would have little room to mock me. That personal hell wasn't enough for Dylan though. Dylan. The red-haired delinquent who'd turned my life upside down. It was his fault that I'd undergone such a heinous transformation, and I was the only one who knew about it. The miscreant had been jealous of my intellect, or perhaps more frustrated over his own, and he'd seen it fit to take such things out on me. He did a blended schedule, where he was in general education for most of the day, but where he still went to the SPED rooms for some of his classes. He had some serious behavioral problems, and at least one learning disability that kept him from staying on track with the rest of the kids in our grade. He was always clowning around in class and causing disruption for the time he was actually there. I'd resented him for it. I was there to learn, and this buffoon had been an obstacle. The more time he acted up, or the more help he needed with stuff he should have already known, was time that the teacher couldn't proceed with the actual lesson plan. My peers might not have cared too much, but I'd been acutely aware that I was being deprived of a proper education! So, admittedly, I'd used the slur on him first. I'd offhandedly called him a retard while complaining about his misbehavior in class, and I hadn't exactly looked around to see if he was in the room when I said it. Then again, the only reason I wouldn't say it to his face would be because of a genuine fear of being punched over it. Dylan hadn't been happy about it; he hadn't made a big stink about it then, but bitterness had been brewing quietly under the surface. I wouldn't know about anything like that until the day that he made me into *this*. He'd come in one day and told the teacher that the SPED hall was looking for some kids who could spend some time helping out; not assistants, which was a far more involved role, but what was essentially a 'motivational speaker'. Apparently, it was thought that having a 'normal' kid come down and talk about how anyone could excel, was just the sort of thing needed for morale. In hindsight, that was a silly thing to think. Sure, some of the kids in those classes weren't that far off from normal, but there were also drooling morons in there who had the same brainpower that their stool-packed diapers did. What good would a motivational speech about 'academic excellence' be for someone who got so stumped by a block puzzle that they crapped their pants? Still, the teacher had asked for volunteers, and I hadn't been able to say no. My ego had been in need of a massage, and I had planned to make part of my speech address the disruptive way some of them acted while in the general education classes. If only I could have known what irony would follow. **BRAAAAAAP! PBFFFFFT!** My memory was interrupted by another fat steamer beginning to make its gassy descent into my diaper. That baseball sized lump was expanding to approach more of a softball, and the front of my onesie was quickly becoming drenched in my own drool. "Ugh, it got even bigger!" "You ain't seen nothin' yet, trust me!" Their disgust at my mindless behavior was a mirror of what my own reaction had been when I went down to the special ed room. I'd been prepared for idiocy, but I hadn't expected to see a boy around my age taking a big dump in his pants. I hadn't even thought about how many kids in there would be in diapers in the first place, let alone how many of them would be using them! (Too big for one post! Part two will finish this story up)