Tale #34: Swayed (Or How I Was Enthralled by the Filthy Nappy of a Dirty Street Urchin)

Tale #34: Swayed (Or How I Was Enthralled by the Filthy Nappy of a Dirty Street Urchin) (1890) (This is a time-warped version of ‘Swayed’, a premium story!) Content Tags: (Messy diapers, classism, seat-sniffing, role reversal, brainwashing via dirty diaper, diaper worship) Percival had narrowly shaken himself loose from yet another afternoon of learning proper etiquette from his tutor. He'd fibbed to his nanny and said that his tutor had fallen ill, before scampering out of the manor before the man would arrive. There would surely be hell to pay, but the young socialite couldn't stomach another three hour session about the proper way to conduct one's self at a gala. Absence today wouldn't mean all that much in the grand scheme of his studies, and Percival felt that he deserved a break from the humdrum state of affairs at home. His younger brother, Rupert, lived for the lessons of nobility, but Percival found it all so tedious. That wasn't to say that he didn't consider his etiquette, because he did take pride in representing the dignity of the higher class of Britain. He used his status like a cudgel, swinging it down upon those who were of a lesser pedigree, and he enjoyed every snooty, sadistic second of it. But the preparation it all took; the time and effort that went into his further sophistication, it was sometimes too much to withstand. He almost found himself longing for the simple, humble life of some of these filthy little street rats. Not *really*, of course. One look at the grime coating their scrawny frames, or at the distinct lack of any formal education, and Percival immediately was reminded of how much greater he was than them, and that he could never lower himself to their dingy, classless level. Sometimes he needed that reminder more clearly demonstrated to him. Whenever he became fed up with his lessons, or with the hardships of opulence, Percival would take the afternoon to venture out into the less savory parts of this great city. He could never tell his nanny where he was heading off to, and he definitely couldn't inform Rupert, since he was a weaselly little snitch. He knew that there was some danger in traversing among the street rats, but that danger only made it more enticing for him! He felt just like the heroes in the books he had at home; swashbuckling adventurers who made courageous expeditions to unknown lands. This expedition may not be as glamorous, but there was still the fact that he was treading unknown lands, where savages may try to get the best of him. Now, if only he could convince papa to loan him the rapier that hung above his mantle... Percival turned a corner off the street, to avoid an oncoming carriage, and found himself in yet another one of the soot-stained alleys of the cityscape. This wouldn't have been all that impressive of a locale, if not for the sound of munching that came from further down. He first looked side to side, attempting to spot any open windows from the buildings that sandwiched the alley, but all he saw was unattended clotheslines. The boy clicked his tongue with disgust for how public the common caste hung their unmentionables. Percival wandered further into the alley, taking care not to ruin his pristine shoes with the muck or sludge that may mar the pavement. The sound, relentless and uncouth, was coming from just beyond the rubbish bin up ahead. Percival thought it might be some rat, or perhaps a stray dog or cat, but once he circled around the corner, he saw an 'animal' of a different sort. It was a dirty little street urchin. A small boy, probably several years his junior, who had a scraggly looking blanket on the ground that was covered with what Percival could only approximate was supposed to be cuisine. The boy was thin, likely malnourished, which also meant that he may be older than he appeared; his skin was pale, and his tangled hair was fair, but he was also plastered in an uneven sheet of grunge. The slovenly lad didn't seem to even take notice of the noble that'd just cast himself in front of him; his eyes only sought the scavenged nourishment on the blanket below, taking hardly any time to chew between handfuls of it. Percival looked at the rat with revulsion at first, but seeing how desperate his simple needs were, that revulsion turned to mirth. "Well, now what's all this then... Oi, dig up that banquet from the rubbish bins?" The ravenous child ceased his frantic gobbling and finally looked up, swiftly chewing the last bite he'd taken and swallowing. A response wasn't immediate, which first made Percival wonder if the lad was daft, but then it became more evident that he was visually pouring over the elegance of how the older boy was dressed. "You sure are dressed all fant-sy! You must be some sort of prince!" Percival blanched once he heard the urchin speak, despising that cockney dialect that the east side of London was known for. It was indicative of the classless; it was for laborers and street rats! His annoyance turned to amusement fairly quickly though, once he realized he could really have some fun with this runt. "A prince? Are you daffy?" Percival laughed, putting a gloved hand in front of his mouth. "Don't you know who the royals are? Whose living inside Buckingham?" The small boy shrugged carelessly, not looking to all that interested in who the actual members of the royal family were. "That s'what ya' look like, guv. Din't mean no disrespect or nothin'. You mus' be rich a'least." He took a look down at his lackluster meal and then back up at the ritzy intruder with a gleam in his eye. "...Bet you'd go forra' shoe-shinin', wouln't ya? Only cost a ha'penny!" Percival pondered the offer and fumbled with his coin purse, "Halfpenny, eh? You could get something from the market with quids like that, instead of rummaging through rubbish." He lifted his shoe to take a look at it, "Hmm, go ahead. Do a bang up job and I'll make it a pence." The other boy flashed a gap-toothed grin and scrambled up to his feet, "Well, step right up, then!" He pulled a dingy wooden box from beside his blanket and grabbed a worn rag from his tattered pocket. "I migh' not hav' all tha' best tools, but I'll shine yur' shoes good! M'Spencer, Spencer Cotton. Wha' can I be callin' you?" The noble stepped forward and put a foot up on the wooden box, as Spencer crouched down to take a look at his shoe. "Lord Percival. Percival William Ambrose, of the esteemed Ambrose name, I'm certain you've heard of us?" Spencer took the rag and started to rub it vigorously across the top of the leather. "Uhh...'Fraid not, guv. But I din't even know who tha' princes were!" That put a bee in Percival's bonnet, but he kept his sharp tongue at bay for the moment. A street rat was a simple creature, they couldn't be expected to know very much, though they really should learn the names of their betters. He watched Spencer work, intrigued at the boy's attention to detail and finding the irony in the fact that such a filthy brat could make a shoe so clean. "...So, Percy...What brings ya down to this parta' London?" Spencer suddenly asked, switching now to the other shoe. The other boy resisted the urge to reach out and smack him for addressing him in such a disrespectful way, and instead glowered at him: "Its *Percival.* Lord or master Percival. I'm here on safari, I suppose. Just like those explorers who visit the Congo, or the archaeologists going to Egypt." Spencer nodded politely, but he wasn't all that sure what Percival was talking about. The noble boy had a hunch that was the case; he didn't peg Spencer for much of a reader, and in fact, doubted very much that he even was literate in the first place. After another minute of small talk, Spencer lifted the rag up and brought his eyes to a meeting point with those of his impromptu client: "There we are, Percy! Shinin' an' all clean!" Percival frowned again at the slight, but allowed his disdain to transform into spite. "Clean, eh? Then why don't you go ahead an' give my shoe a smooch." "A...Smooch? Ya' wan' me to kiss yur' shoe?" The noble nodded, now smirking. "You just said they were clean, so prove to me the strength of that conviction. You want your pence, don't you?" Spencer was visibly flustered by the request, but another look at the shoddy food on his blanket was enough inspiration to press forward. He bent down and puckered his lips, giving the shoe a little kiss, and then the other one, once Percival had switched feet on the box. "..Yup, nice an' clean!" The dirty little boy stretched out his arm and opened up his palm, expecting payment, but all he got was scornful laughter. "You street rats sure know your place! Thanks for the shoe-shine, maybe it'll ease how cross my nanny will be with me for skipping my lessons. I think perhaps...I'll keep my pence!" "B-but you said...!" "Always get it in writing, ducky! Wouldn't help a welp like you though, would it? You couldn't even read the blasted thing!" Spencer looked crushed; yet another injustice in a world that'd done little to prove itself fair. As he begun to rise back up on his feet, his stingy client caught sight of something strange, something that begged the question: "Is that...A *nappy*? Are you really still traipsing about in *nappies*?" Spencer looked conflicted about answering that, but for him, it wasn't just a matter of embarrassment, it was a matter of ethics. Then again, if he wanted a decent meal today, then maybe he should allow his morals to crumble just a little. "I-I...W-well..." Percival took a step forward, "I knew I smelt talcum! Well, my little waif, did you make wettums in your nappy? Or maybe you're dirty? Did none of the other street rats teach you how to use the loo?" Spencer saw some humor in it. This privileged wanker had wanted an adventure, some danger brought to the golden doors of his crystal palace; he didn't understand what he was dealing with though. He may as well been poking a bear in the nose with a stick, thinking it to be a harmless pup. "That's all *my* business, Percy, thank you very much..." The older boy took another step forward and grabbed Spencer by the wrist, "Don't talk back to me like that, you wretch! And stop calling me Percy! You've clearly forgotten your proper place, so I'm going to remind you. You're just a daft, dirty babe and you deserve to be seen in just those big nappies of yours!" Spencer could hardly fight back as the boy began to strip him of his clothes, like an older sibling preparing his younger for the bathtub. He'd really tried to do the right thing, but now Percival had far crossed a line, and Spencer was tired of being nice to such a blithe example of the aristocracy's disregard and cruelty. There was a reason that Spencer hadn't learned how to use the loo like a boy his age should, and it didn't have anything to do with inability. He'd learned long ago, that as strange as it sounded, his nappies had power over people. After one particular incident, where he'd taken things too far, and created a fully devoted acolyte, he'd decided against such flagrant misuse of his powers. Currently, he only used this surreal skill for a handful of occassions: To garner a much needed change from whomever he could find, to get food or shelter when times were toughest, and to protect himself from unsavory thugs, such as the very one in front of him. The talcum was the canary in the coal mine. Once someone began to smell it on him, the seeds had been planted for total control. Then, the very sight of his nappy would elicit a response of interest. A little wiggle here or using his hand to emphasize the bulk, that was enough to create a docile target. The real control came from when he put the nappy to use. Dirtying himself was what drove his victims batty. They'd become a loon at the sight, and the smell would make them absolutely craven. Then, once it began to sag with the weight of his dung-pie, he could let the nappy swing back and forth like a hypnotist's pendulum. Few were ever immune to it, and some were highly susceptible to it. Once Percival had stripped Spencer down, he again guffawed at the sight of the terry cloth garment, so snugly and tautly tied around his waist. "Spencer *Cotton*, huh? More like *cotton-bum*!" He gave the back a mean spirited swat. Spencer didn't respond to the joke, instead waiting patiently for the mesmerizing to begin. He only had to wait but another moment, before Percival's perception began to falter. Percival rested his hand on the back of Spencer's padded posterior and stared, feeling his thoughts begin to swirl, putting him in a dreamlike state. "So plush..." The noble murmured. Spencer nodded, it was his turn to give a wicked little smile. "Thas' right, guv. You think my nappies are tha' tops, don'tcha?" His secondhand scavenging was catching up with him; he may be a street rat and have magic nappies, but an iron gut was not something he'd acquired. Violent cramping told him that he'd need to move on to the next phase of his enthralling more quickly than he wanted, which ran a higher risk of giving the noble a bigger dose of bitters than he needed. A wet sounding trumpet note rumbled in Spencer's nappy, right against Percival's pressed palm. Instead of shrinking back in disgust, the socialite seemed more intrigued than ever. "Are you...You about to do a big jobby?" A second toot followed and Spencer let out a nervous little laugh, his stomach getting worked over something fierce; he was glad he'd had the foresight to pilfer a few extra nappies from the clothesline earlier. "Y-yeah, mate, its gunna be a helluva brick to lay!" The first steamer began to crash down, as promised, colliding and expanding against the noble's curious palm. He pulled back, just a little, to give the artist room to work, and watched a lump grow in the fabric, like the runt was growing a nubby little tail. "So big.." The mesmeric way that the fabric tented out was completely overtaking Percival's ability reason. His stunned viewing was only interrupted by Spencer suggesting something between soft little grunts. "Why dun'ya bend down and take a whiff?" It sounded absurd! It should he obvious to anyone that a befouled nappy wasn't going to smell like a bed of roses! But, the offer was strangely tantalizing. In a brief, fleeting moment of actualized shame, the rich lad took a look around the alleyway to make certain no one saw a member of the esteemed Ambrose family, willingly lower themselves to take in a nose-full of a currently filling nappy. Spencer smiled, hearing the growing strength of Percy's sniffs. Then, as the bouquet had been too alluring to take in at a distance, Spencer could suddenly feel that Percy's nose had made contact with cloth. Seizing the opportunity, Spencer gave a huge push. "Nnnngghhh...!" There was wet, violent rasping and an eruption worthy of one of the volcanoes in Percival's books. Spencer felt a hot geyser of semi-solid poop blast into the backside of his nappy, immediately giving relief to his tormented gut, and forcing a shamelessly content sigh to rise from within. Percival still had some faint conception that this wasn't just wrong, but it was an affront to every shard of his affluence. He couldn't resist it though; he'd already buried his nose further and further into the boy's nappy, desperate to get more of the pleasant fragrance. Even within the blooming garden at the manor, or the decadent kitchen, he had never been so enamored by an odor. Then the nappy had suddenly swelled and expanded all around his nose, and it'd put the noble over the top. The warmth, the squishing of the cloth, it all enticed and invigorated him into a state of willing submission to his new obsession. He deeply huffed at Spencer's dirty nappy, trapped in the fog, and then his precious was taken away from him. Spencer had moved forward, taking away Percival's idol and causing the wealthy boy to sprawl forward on his hands and knees, crawling after the sagging seat like an animal. The urchin turned around and grinned, "I oughta call ya' Percy poosniffer; ya really liked it, huh?" The older boy gulped and nodded, "T-that smell was divine...I need more..." Spencer tapped his chin, "I s'pose that coul' be arranged, forra' price. Tell ya' what; change my nappy, gimme all the quid in yur' purse, an' I'll let you keep it, how's that sound forra' fair trade?" Percival agreed of course, though he had little experience in such matters. He was willing to learn on the job, if it meant that the prize would be that which he now coveted most. Spencer unveiled a little bag with some supplies, and after clearing the blanket off, the smelly brat laid down and presented his dung-packed britches to his excited servant. It took a while, especially with how distracted Percy was, but he eventually got Spencer cleaned up, well powdered and tied into a new nappy, with the steaming one off to the side. Then, without second thought, he laid his coin purse on the ground as well. "..There! The nappy is mine now, right?" Spencer sat up, checking that everything was tied well into place, and then he stood up to his feet and picked the dirty garment up off the ground; it sagged, pinched between his fingers, and flies had started to take a liking to the stench. "Hmm, well...Ya think ya cleaned me up good?" Percival nodded, "Yes, yes, of course!" Spencer smirked and bent over, jutting his padded rear out at Percy. "...Then giv' my bum a lil' smooch." The boy dangled the dirty nappy in his hand, "You say you cleaned me up, so prove it! You wan' to be paid, don'tcha?" The noble didn't see the irony in this twisted mirror, all he saw was opportunity. He was head over heels to give the fresh pants a kiss! Spencer laughed and picked up the coin purse, another idea seeming to enter his head. "...One more thing. Show me where ya' live, then you can have my smelly nappy. Deal?" Percival eagerly agreed. He may have skipped his lessons today, but he'd come to learn something after all; class doesn't equal dignity.