Story #194: No More Chances

Story #194: No More Chances (Content Tags: Slice of life, pantspooping, diapers, humiliation, punishment) "It won't happen again, I swear!" He'd said that more than once already. He'd said that just about every time that it'd happened. His words no longer held any weight, his promises empty by his own hand. "P-please! Just give me another chance!" How many 'chances' had it been now? How many times had he been given mercy and grace? How many times had he squandered it? "I'm too big for those! I'm too old!" Both assertions were false. He was a scrawny kid, and besides his apparent youth was just how petite he was in contrast to his peers. "It wasn't even that bad!" An opinion not made in good faith; it was as obvious to him as anyone else that this wasn't some small indiscretion. "You can't make me! I won't wear them!" Wrong again. He wouldn't have a choice in the matter, and if he wanted to keep from having a red bottom, then he'd need to settle his temper. Joey had messed up again, with a large emphasis on the word 'messed'. He was supposed to be showcasing his maturity; he was supposed to be a good example for his younger siblings. He was not. Not unless that example included laying down logs in his trousers like a toddler. As aforementioned, it wasn't his first time either; heck, it wasn't even his tenth! His pantspooping, which had been met with more patience than he deserved, had been going on for *years* at this point. Not every day, or even every week, but often enough to be genuinely problematic. It hadn't even been acceptable when he'd been younger, but there had been a thought that he would eventually outgrow such infantile behavior. He was ten now, with dozens upon dozens of pantloads since his supposed pottytraining at three, and his father had finally reached his limit of acceptance. If it was purely up to his mother, then he would have likely been given leeway indefinitely, but his dad was at the point where he'd had enough of Joey's nonsense. The solution, if it could really be called that, had not been decided lightly. There were obviously elements that would be issues, and it didn't necessarily get to the root of the problem, but it'd been what the final straw looked like. Pampers, or at least whatever the equivalent could be called for a boy his age. The packaging had a brand name, but it wasn't as if his dad had paid much attention to that while purchasing them, and Joey certainly didn't find any reason to identify them by a proper name. No matter what they were by that measure, they were ultimately still identifiable as one thing: diapers. Not the kind for bedwetters either; no, these had tapes and little pictures on them. They were big and bulky, with taut leg-gathers and a high waistband to prevent blowouts. They were the real deal, and now his father had one in his hand with intent in his eyes to put it on his supposedly 'oldest' progeny. Garnering the respect of his younger siblings had been hard enough as just a plain pantspooper, but the prospect of becoming a Pamper-packer instead was one that suggested maintaining rank would become possible. Joey was the oldest of four, but even the youngest was in the midst of pottytraining now, and as thing were, that'd put the youngest out of diapers before the oldest. From the other perspective, where Joey was too small-minded to peer, this was a sensible direction to take things. Whether the accidents were genuinely out of his control or were the product of laziness and inaction, the end result was the same: soiled underpants. Underwear had too high a price point to treat the same as a diaper that cost under a dollar, and depending on the mess, the garment might keep other articles of clothing from seeing ruination too. A diaper would keep everything contained; a diaper would be a lot easier to change; a diaper would mitigate the smell. But most of all, a diaper would act as a punitive measure. Aside from the pragmatic purpose of the puffy product, as disposable underpants intended to trap wayward stool, it would see a more abstract use-case. A diaper would be a constant reminder of his toileting troubles; a diaper would help to shame him out of his infantile behavior; a diaper would snugly bind his waist with the tacit implication of leverage that his father held over him for his transgressions against maturity; a diaper would act as the natural consequence of his misdeeds. All of these functions, whether obvious or not, had been at the forefront of his father's mind whenever he'd pulled the trigger on making the purchase. The man took no joy in infantilizing his son, and in fact felt embarrassed that it had come to this, but he justified it as being left with little other choice. What choice had Joey really left him? This has been the third accident in the last two weeks, and his father had even become unglued enough during the last one to make this very threat in a much less hollow way. Those words may have left his lips several times over the years, whenever he got stuck cleaning Joey's filthy bottom, but they'd always been empty. It really hadn't seemed like a real option, to either Joey or his father, and so the little boy hadn't taken them seriously whenever he'd heard them again. There would have been no way of knowing that they held as firm of a conviction as the log that'd been crammed in his Batman underoos. But now here the two of them were, with Joey quietly weeping and shifting from foot to foot, no doubt uncomfortable from the sticky number two wedged halfway between his buttcheeks. Another pair of underwear ruined, but it would be the last, at least if his father had any say in the matter. What would have been so hard about using the toilet? It was less than twenty feet away from where Joey had been playing on his computer. Fortnite might not have a pause button in the middle of a match, but a loss in the game would have surely been preferable to the loss that his dignity was about to take. Joey knew this too. There hadn't been any mystery about what the cramping in his gut was related to, nor was the outcome all that difficult to forsee. He could call it arrogance, that he thought he had plenty of time to heed the call of nature, but that'd just be a meaningless lie to himself; no, he'd recognized how badly the turd craved freedom, and he'd been able to analyze just how unreliable his backdoor was at staying locked. There had been knowledge of what was bound to happen. He wasn't a gaming addict by any means, nor did he care that greatly about his stats; the only provocateurs to blame were his own apathetic laziness, his shocking lack of disgust, and the comforting thought that the worst-case scenario would be another lecture. He hadn't willingly pulled the trigger, but he hadn't thought it necessary to do anything about stopping that gun from firing. And now where was he? Standing with a bowed gait from the steamer in his seat, with tear-stained and rosy cheeks, and with a complete paradigm shift looming over him. His luck, just like his father's patience, had officially run out. What came next was awkward for both of them, though for different reasons. His father's diapering skills were as sharp as ever, as to be expected with four kids, but he'd obviously never diapered a kid as old as Joey; in most cases by Joey's age, the boy hadn't even needed parental assistance in cleaning himself up, and when he did, it had never been on his back with his legs propped up in the air. Joey was effectively being treated no differently than his youngest sibling, Arthur, who crapped in his pants (or rather his Huggies) on the daily. The same position being taken, the same supplies being used, and the same gentle, yet firm hand. After the baby wipes were discarded into his messy underwear, and the last tape had been neatly pressed to the landing zone, then the dust had officially settled on the first new chapter of Joey's life. Or perhaps it would have been more accurate to call it a prologue, with no planning epilogue in the near or distant future. The sad truth of it, for Joey at least, was that plenty of his accidents were in-fact true accidents. His laziness obviously played a hand in many of them, where he saw it an acceptable loss to befoul himself instead of getting up or stopping his fun to use the toilet, but there were times where it was purely a matter of his own unfortunately tumultuous bowels. Pooping his pants wasn't simply a lark or a jape, it was often just the circumstance he found himself in. His control was lackluster, for reasons that simply weren't obvious, and that meant it wasn't a switch he could just flip to appease the man who'd just demoted him from big boy pants. If anything, his newfound undergarments might make his situation worse than before. Once the sheer humiliation wore down, or whenever he realized that he wouldn't be getting out of them anyway, then he may simply adapt to the cards he'd been dealt. If his real accidents kept underwear out of his reach, then why not just embrace the padded prison? Why even try, if one unfortunate pantload could ruin all his good will? Joey didn't dare whimper those words to his father, not that he could get anything out other than his whining sniffles, but they did drift throughout his mind. He'd had what felt like an eternity to ponder such things as he'd been flat on his back, getting his first diaper since infancy, and his motivation would be starting from a seriously tormented position. The small comfort he could take, as he sat up with an embarrassing crinkle, was that the padding was surprisingly comfortable. Maybe it shouldn't have been such a surprise, considering the puffy material that was hugging him, but he'd never really considered that whenever he saw Arthur toddling around. His assumption had always been that it must surely be uncomfortable, that it must be itchy or chaffing. It was at least cumbersome, that much was true. As he tried to stand up, he could recognize the disarray that the diaper brought to his sense of coordination, and doubly so as he attempted to walk in them. He didn't dare complain about that, at least not now, since his father's temper was clearly still simmering. With bowed legs, bereft of experience, he bent down to pick his shorts back up off the floor. He might have no choice about whether or not he was wearing a diaper, but he could at least make the choice to cover the crinkly garment up. His balance was shaky as he got the first leg in, and he could feel that the diaper's bulk made his shorts more difficult to fit into place. If there had been a mirror in the room, then he would have had the misfortune of seeing how little the shorts helped to obscure his new shame; the oversized Huggies were covered, sure, but the outline of the babypants cut through the taut material rather blatantly to anyone looking. Joey wouldn't dare to spend the next couple of hours within view of his siblings, so long as it could be helped; that was made all the more difficult to accomplish, since he shared a room with the middle boy, and second oldest, of their family: Henry. Their relationship was already tumultuous from their proximity in quarters and in age, though simultaneously they were one another's only viable playmate within the house. Arthur was obviously a toddler, and Lena was the sole girl, who herself was only in first grade. That wasn't to say that either of the smaller kids would refrain from seeking the attention of their elders, but it was clearly unwanted. Henry, who was nearing eight, was a mischievous gremlin with a penchant for stirring up trouble. He acquiesced easily enough, at least whenever Joey got visibly frustrated with him, but he was always rattling some kind of irritating scheme in his head. Be that as it may, it hadn't stopped Joey from seeking sanctuary in the cramped room that they shared. He'd dug out some looser fitting mesh shorts, as to keep his shameful secret less obvious, and had then proceeded to spend the rest of the afternoon by reading some comic books. Henry had thankfully stayed away, at least for a time, which had given Joey enough space to better come to grips with the hand he'd been dealt. Maybe he was out playing with the other kids in the neighborhood? Or tormenting their younger siblings? Whatever the case, it didn't matter to Joey. All that mattered was that he got some solitude. And he did, at least for a while. After spending a few hours in Pampers though, his gut had gotten to gurgling, and it wasn't due to hunger. Once again, the urgency in his bowels had returned; it started as a light burbling, which he hadn't paid any mind, but it then would soon upgrade itself to a deeply uncomfortable pressure in his lower gut. That left him with mixed feelings of confusion, embarrassment, and spite. What was he expected to do now? He didn't remember his father giving him instruction on how his toileting habits would be impacted by this punishment; his first thought would be that he'd be expected to use the toilet as he normally would, but that would mean getting help with untaping and retaping the diaper back into place. Or perhaps he was expected to just use the diaper like a big baby? Was that an element of the punishment that he was supposed to abide? That didn't seem likely, since the whole reason his father was so upset was because of his accidents, but perhaps it was to better teach him to want to avoid the humiliation of being made to actively soil himself. Joey tried to remember what his dad had said, but it was already a blur. His emotional state had been utterly compromised by the heated lecture, and thus he'd hardly been able to retain any of the key details of the punishment. Joey had been completely hung up on the diaper part, to where nothing else had even registered. How long was he supposed to be in them? Was it a temporary garb that he'd get out of after a set amount of time? Or was it something he could only escape after proving his worth? Another nasty cramp rolled around in his soft belly and he let out a gentle whine. A decision would need to be made soon, before the decision was made for him. The query wouldn't be to poop or not to poop, it would only be a matter of *where* he pooped. His instinct was to just go use the toilet and then put the diaper back on as well as he could; if necessary, he could go to his dad to ask for help with that. On the other hand, once he had accepted the spite burning inside of him, he could instead make a mess that the man would have to dirty his hands with tidying. His dad had decided to diaper him like a baby, hadn't he? Even after Joey had sobbed and pleaded for leniency; even after Joey had insisted that'd he'd do better! Why not give him the consequences of his decision? He knew his father hated changing stinky diapers, from the plenty that he'd witnessed personally being attended to by the man, so it would be a fair retribution! What was the worst that could happen? Joey was already in a diaper, so it wasn't like his dad would have that in his back pocket any longer. Either way, it was time to decide. With a wry smile, which still betrayed a certain weakness of conviction, he carefully got out of his bed and rubbed his aching stomach. His accidents, while many were avoidable, were still lapses of control, so doing this intentionally wouldn't be easy for him. He would have to possibly put a little effort in. Joey walked over to the dresser and placed his palms flatly on the top to balance himself, before lowering his knees into a squatting position. He was emulating what he'd seen Arthur do a hundred times; this was a posture that would surely facilitate the befouling he intended to commit. Almost immediately upon reaching this position, a gassy sputter would rasp against the back of his padding, and he realized how much closer he was to evacuation than he'd thought. If he'd instead decided to use the toilet, then it may have been a photo finish to make it! That made him feel a little better, and then a little worse. It validated his decision, but it also validated his father's choice to stick his scrawny butt back into Pampers. Joey took a deep breath and began to push down on his tummy muscles. There was a large salvo that desperately sought to escape, and he was going to make it happen; he'd be pooping in a diaper for the first time since being a toddler. As misfortune would have it, as soon as he'd gotten comfortable and to the point of no return, he would hear a holler from the stairs: "Joey! Blake is here!" Would come Henry's squeaky voice, announcing that Joey's friend had stopped by to see him. It was too late to stop now, no matter how much he wanted to. The load would be dropping into his pants within moments, and he'd be squatting here with a dookie diaper, while his good friend waited on him.