Premium Story #10: The Party-Pooper: Afterparty

Just a little more lift from the chair...Just a tiny bit more... And success was mine. The turd slithered out slowly but surely, piling almost immediately in the spot that the broad end of it had stained a minute prior. The crackling of its exit was deafening, and so was the moaning gasp of sublime relief that would join it. Still hardly a cocked eye from my parents. This must just be routine. In my post-poop haze, as my arms became too tired to support my body, and my bottom plunged back into the chair with a subtle squish from the fat shit I'd taken, I saw a glimmer of something strange in my spaghettios. It was only for a moment, and I thought I might be imagining it, but I thought I saw the 'little me' again...The cool one, not the drooly one. I saw him at this table, surrounded by friends in their pajamas, and all happily enjoying plates of pizza. I blinked, and it was gone. The phenomenon would reemerge a little while later, when it was time for my bath. My body was very messy, mostly from food, so it was no surprise when the bubble bath was drawn. Apparently I was too much of a retard to be trusted with not pooping in the tub, so my diaper from dinner would stay on, with only plastic pants to keep it from taking in water. That mistrust was well placed, because while mindlessly squeezing a rubber ducky, I had started to squeeze something else. More fetid flatulence, this time muffled by a foot of water; the gassy eruption caused a different kind of bubbles to lift to the surface, as if I was a one-man Jacuzzi. Those bubbles would flutter more copiously as the farting became more powerful, reaching an apex as I launched a barrage of firm torpedoes beneath the tide. Some stinky bubbles took flight, and they flitted playfully in front of me. In the glistening reflection of them, I saw the other 'little me', and he was having his own fun in the bath. Padded like me, though in a colorful swim diaper, and gleefully making the bubble bath a lot more bubbly with his red-faced misdeeds. Was the connection between these realities still open in some way? Just minimized into these fleeting scenes? Would I be seeing the most painful one before the end of the night? Yes. Yes, I most definitely would. Dried, changed, and dressed for bedtime. A much thicker diaper for sleep, one which the immense stuffed bear in my crib also sported. My footed sleeper was zipped up, a bottle of juice was left in the crib with me, and the only glow left in the room was the infantile night light on the wall. There was a baby monitor on the nearby table, but I didn't give it much thought. What was my thought? After a day full of miserable humiliation and degradation? Now possibly trapped forever in this existential horror show? I was a little horny. Maybe it was the tightness of the pajamas, because they forced the padding around my crotch more tautly against my privates, but I was quickly getting hard. Unfortunately for me, my poor member was locked behind two different layers of imprisonment, so there would be no way for me to wield my shaft like a Pentecostal handling a snake. My eyes drifted toward the bear, its backside made fat and inviting by the diaper it was borrowing. Was I really going to lower myself to such a degree? Would I debase myself by deflowering this stuffed animal? Would I ravish its padded rump with my seed, and ejaculate with pride from my Pamper-humping prowess? Yes. Yes to all of the above. Was it another fit of losing control over this form? I wanted that to be so, but I don't think it was. Both mine and this form's needs were collaborating, maybe it was a terrible sign that my soul had begun to merge with this reality's version of me. I flipped the giant bear onto its stomach, and I mounted it from behind with forceful gusto, one hand on the top of the bear's diaper, and the other pressed hard against the back of the bear's fuzzy head. With the beast's face smashed into the crinkling sheet below us, I began to thrust with a primal lust that made me more a savage beast than it. Our diapers squeaked and crinkled, and I felt my member pressing hard into the three inches of absorbent padding that constrained it. Panting, moaning, and squinting my eyes, I became a slave to my passion. My gaping maw gave flow to rivulets of sticky drool, and those drops sloppily splattered onto the back of the bear's diaper. My imagination ran as wild as my libido, with memories of the real sex I'd once been accustomed to. Embarrassingly, I'd never put this much passion into my love-making with my wife; our relationship in bed had been as stodgy and formal as the rest of my life. Quick missionary mission, a couple of times a week, like running the trains on time. This bear's Pamper-clad backside was getting the best lay that I'd ever given. In my flustered fuck-fest, I began to pepper my diaper with little toots. The lack of dignity didn't stun me for even a second: my humping did not cease. Nothing would stop this padded plowing now, and nothing would stop the subsequent sowing of my seed. Not even when the baby monitor crackled to life and began to very vividly paint me a picture; my thrusting slowed, but it didn't stop, and my ears picked up what was coming across the transmission. It was the sound of me fucking my wife. Well, not me, but the 'better me' that I'd jealously watched have a fabulous birthday party. The one who was now ending the day with a perfect finish in the bedroom. The sound of their passionate copulation would mix and mire with my own, contrasting the differences immediately. He got pussy, and I was getting diaper-butt. The farting got explosively worse, and for a moment, I actually did have to stop humping the stuffed animal beneath me. I grunted, lips wet and smacking, and snot bubbled from my nostrils as a massive pole of shit began to crackle into my diaper. The bulge in back was quickly eclipsing the one in front; that should have killed my lust on the spot, to unleash such a gargantuan turd in the middle of this makeshift intercourse, right? The taut sleeper made it really coil up like a heavy rope, it warmed my buttcheeks and it made my crib reek like a diaper pail. My boner should have been finished, my manhood made flaccid... No, it made my libido explode. All the primal feelings intensified into white-hot desire, as if shitting myself mid-hump was the ultimate aphrodisiac. Putrid poop pie in my seat, throbbing red rod in the front, and getting cucked by myself on the baby monitor: there was no stopping the wheels on this bus. The hump-dump-and-pump came to an explosive finish only a few moments later, once I had a hand playing with the lump in my seat like it was a sex toy in my backside; my breath sputtered, so did gas from my bowels, and I shot sticky white ropes into the front at the same time as I made another brown rope in the back. I would collapse on top of the bear, my cock now drowning in my own melted pearls, while hot poop crept under my balls. The front of the diaper was warm and swollen with seed, the back lumpy and hot with droppings. I openly drooled on top of the bear, forced to listen to the second round of my alternate self's endurance match with the wife I no longer had. My mind felt like it was dipping under the surface again, and I don't think it'd be coming up for air this time. My birthday was coming to a close, just like my exhausted eyelids. Party-pooper into party-pooper, dud to stud in the sack, and a life where I would only know to let go at all opportunities.