Weaponised Incontinence in a World of Late Bloomers
This is my first attempt at an ABDL story. It is written in Australian English, so be prepared for the term ‘nappies’ for diapers, and perhaps some Australian-local contexts and concepts. Any strange or common concepts will be explained in parenthesis.
To figure out if you’re interested, I have here a short synopsis of what will be involved:
This story takes place in an alternate present, where a mishandled global catastrophe created an embarrassing epigenetic condition for future peoples, causing most young adults to need nappies until they’re about 16-18.
It follows the perspective of a nappy-free Nick, and his angst for his nappied and seemingly antagonistic step-sister, Laura. They’re in their last year of school, just trying to get through the popularity contest, mess, and expectations that come with it. This story features frequent messing and wetting.
The plot, characters, and world are the main focus of the story, but if you’re doing the old “ctrl+f ‘poop’, ‘mess’, ‘wet’”, you’re also in the right place. There will be lots of messing and wetting scenes. If you do a ctrl+f search for “()” , you will find the start of each wetting and messing scene. No missing them due to my verbosity, and no need for plot if that’s not your thing!
(Mostly) all characters in this story are 18+, so you don’t have to worry about feeling creepy reading it either.
There are 6 “Parts” to the story, and I’ll be releasing it in these parts.
I hope you enjoy!
The rude chill brushed Barry’s brow, skimming by on a breath of wind which rode down the wide and dead street. The road in front of the hospital, which at this time would usually host a mess of cars and sirens, lay a barren in the cold, July fog. Leaves stirred in a lonely eddy.
Barry had been standing in the silent line for near on an hour now, kept company in his now-permanent spot by the slow rustling of clothes and occasional cough - fits of spluttering which tore the line into a further frightened silence. Eyes would stare.
His cloth mask kept him warm, although nurses - with only eyes visible through the all-encompassing scrubs - had come to hand out hot water bottles earlier. Barry had refused. He was young, and about as fat as eight years between his favourite pubs had let him become. He would be fine in a bit of cold.
Those with the disease, though…
Over two years since its inception, the fluttering illness had hitch-hiked eternal sneezes all across the wide globe. It wasn’t deadly, however. Barry had sat on the couch with it in the first few months, enjoying time off work between bags of chips and litres of cold water. Sure, it knocked you out for a week, tops, but barely a percent of a percent of people got anywhere close to death. It was a blow-over, everybody believed so.
Then they found the side effects.
It was almost funny when they first appeared. Funny, at the time, to lock people away in fear of a sickness just because a few pollies shat their pants. Barry chuckled against the fog, remembering the first Murdoch rag which blasted the MP who pissed himself on the open floor of Parliament. His hot breath steamed from his mask, and a voice behind him asked;
Barry turned. A young woman stood behind him, her long hair tied into her scarf which wrapped around her mask, her hands held stiff in a long coat. He hoped that she was legitimately asking the question, rather than chiding him, because he was going to tell the story whether she thought him mad or not.
“Who thought,” he said, already chuckling, “that a politician pissing themselves in Parliament would lead to this…” and he gestured about at the great nothingness that the morning peak had become. “A guy missed the pisser in Canberra, and it stops the whole world.”
“It is a little crazy, isn’t it,” the woman nodded along, and craned to see the line stretching long behind her. “Masks, to lockdowns, to empty streets, vaccines…really got to figure out who was crazy, you know.”
“I really figured out that I can’t stand my Dad,” Barry laughed, nodding along. “Every second thing from his mouth was some cry that the country had turned into a dictatorship. You’d think they were rolling tanks through town. I had to move out. Finally turned me into an adult.”
“I found out that my Auntie was an anti-vaxxer,” the woman replied. “Never gave my cousins any jabs at all, it turns out. I should have known, from all of those Balinese statues she kept around the house. If she knew I was standing in this line…I tell you, she’s got the ingredients of this jab on speed-search.”
“Ah, I know,” Barry smiled, but his positivity faded. Not a lot of people seemed to comprehend the risk of a life of uncontrollable bowels and bladders. The disease had evolved to make that a reality, somehow - although he hadn’t caught that mutated strain. They thought that it might even do worse, but the anti-vaxxer types would call anything of the sort fear-mongering. “Ah well,” he repeated, then, “ah fuck.”
“I know,” the woman said, her eyes meeting Barry’s again. “I hope it works.”
“Yeah, same…” he chuffed, and movement caught his eye. Ahead, people shuffled. The hospital doors had flown open in the long distance, and Barry could just make out the sign on the door.
Those at the front of the line waddled in, orderly to the cold day.
“I guess it’s time,” he turned, tipping his head to the lady.
“You know,” she said, shuffling forward with him, “you’re probably the first stranger I’ve met in a year.”
“I reckon I’m about the same,” he smiled, although not with his eyes, so the woman couldn’t see it. “Barry’s my name.”
“Ingrid,” she nodded.
40 years later
Nick, feeling his knees crack, squatted to sit on the concrete steps under the near-spring sun, joining his mates with a sandwich in hand. They always sat here during lunch times, on the embankment steps which overlooked the school’s front oval. A too-aggressive game of footy bashed its way across the field, taking boys to the ground with feverish abandon.
Lachie, his KFC chips slopping out of his mouth like a spent durry (cigarette), spluttered on his story.
“…I mean, she was all over me at Michael’s last weekend.”
“Mate, she was not,” Tom cut in. “I don’t know what planet you were on, space cadet.”
“My rocket-ands crash landed on her hips mate, that was the planet,” Lachie insisted, then turned to Nick. “You saw, right?”
“Me and Christy!”
Nick chuffed. He hadn’t actually seen anything happen. What he had seen, was Christy trying politely to make Lachie fuck off.
“Yeah, nah, not sure about that one, champ.” Nick said, biting into his sandwich. “Maybe Johno knows something. Why don’t we ask him when she gets over here.” And he pointed towards the boy approaching, footy in hand. Being noticed by none other than Nick Petrios, Johno’s face raised a massive grin, and he waddled faster on over.
“Nah, no way,” Tom said, standing to his full and unimpressive height. He yelled at the poor approaching boy through his curly, red hair. “Turn that crinkle butt around, piss pants. We’re not playing footy with waddlers.”
Johno’s whole face fell, pulling his shoulders down with it. He pivoted meekly, taking his nappy-laden ass with him and back out to the oval.
“Gee, Nick, you can’t just point at the babies! Then they think they can join.” Tom said.
“Didn’t think he’d keep waddling-on over,” Nick shrugged.
“The gaul to even look at us,” Lachie said, and gestured to his body. From his smoothly-cut, wiry-haired chin, to his barrel-like gut, his stone fists, and his notably napply-less shorts. Lachie was quite the statue, if the Romans were in the fashion of carving brick-shithouses.
“Surprised he didn’t shit himself,” Tom added. “Or, maybe he did. Not our fault.”
Nick laughed, although he thought Tom’s words were a bit too mean. It wasn’t their fault that the rest of their cohort hadn’t figured out when they needed to go to the toilet. That was, strangely, the norm for most until they got to 17, or even older.
Nick had figured it out at the ripe age of fourteen, well before many of his peers, and driven by his sheer determination to be attractive to girls. Nobody who shat their pants was cool or hot - that fact just stood to reason. One of the infallible constants of the universe.
Now, four years on and in Year 12, his flawless pants streak had gifted him a handy and tight friendship circle, something that was sacred and never to be breached.
Hadn’t really given him the luck with the ladies like he thought it would, though.
“Hi boys,” a voice came from behind. Nick turned, to see Cassie glide down the stairs, Luke and Emily in tow. Her long, dark hair shimmered to the sunlight as it flicked around her head. Her body moved to a wide-hipped gait, trapping Nick’s eyes in a pendulum. Beneath her skirt would be no nappy - not that Nick thought the boys would kick her out of the group even if she did wear one. Cassandra was too beautiful to be excluded from any cool clique.
“Hey, Cass, maybe you can solve this one.” Lachie said, standing to greet her.
“Oh, bloody hell, Lachie,” Tom palmed his face.
“So, me and Chrissy at Michael’s party…”
“The answer is no, Lachlan,” Cassie chided, strutting her long legs by him to sit on the lowest step. “She was not interested.”
“Ah, poop,” he deflated.
“Hey, speaking of poop…” Tom laughed, and pointed across the steps. Moving towards the group with purpose was Laura, Nick’s step-sister. Her school skirt puffed and bobbed atop the thick nappy underneath, giving the impression of wider hips than was humanly possible. Her strawberry hair, pulled into a messy bun, bounced with the waddle of her step.
“She’s got a bloody towel between her legs,” Tom mocked.
“Yeah, but she’s still hot,” Lachie nodded, thoughtful.
“Oh, shut up with that,” Nick demanded - he wouldn’t hear it. “What happened to Christy-lust?” But in his head, he sighed, wondering just what was so important that Laura had to tell him now. Why did she always make a point of showing up when he was with his friends?
“You might have a nappy to change, by the looks of it,” Tom nudged Nick.
“You shut up, too,” Nick growled.
Lachie heckled as Laura came within talking distance. “Resident changer is out for lunch. He’ll be on duty later.” And he laughed, nudging Tom. Laura, stern-faced as ever, planted her foot to the step and met it with a smirk.
“You’re one to talk, Lachlan Fuller,” she beamed, “Still pissing the bed - not a mighty-high horse to yell down from.”
Lachie’s whole body flushed red, and his brow furrowed. “I’d rather piss the bed than piss my pants in the bed,” he retorted. “Anything is better than getting dressed like a baby.”
“Sure, fine, tell yourself that,” Laura rolled her eyes, landing them on Nick. “Dad says he’s picking us up from school tonight. Meet by the round-about at four.”
That was so important? Nick grumbled to himself. We have the next class together, she could have just said it then…”I’ve got band anyway,” he said to her. “I don’t need a ride from your Dad.”
“Alright, I’ll pass it on,” she said, turning immediately on her heel to leave. As she did so, the bell rang.
Nick went to the toilet on his way to class, books carried precariously above the trough as he pissed into it. In the back of the bathroom sat a changing table, and a stand-up change place, which were both occupied by two boys in his year level, cleaning themselves up. Nick remembered those days - he’d hated it, lining up for ten minutes to get the royal service of pulling smushed shit out of your own ass-hairs. His determination was the one thing Nick was able to take real pride in, and the memory made him beam.
His smile shone all the way to biology class, where he found Laura sitting front and centre before the teacher. His grin then faded. He shuffled into the almost-full room, taking his usual desk near the back left of the class. Here, next to the HVAC unit, the climate-controlled air blew away from him and into the class. This was the prime real-estate of each classroom, where the smells of dirty nappies and clouds of baby powder were magically blown away, never to bother him. Satisfied to be once more in his king’s throne, Neil pulled out his books, and followed the teacher’s notes.
The class had been studying genetic theory in the past few weeks. Nick understood the concept of genes - that somebody had traits, which could be replicated, and made things in the body. But the mechanism of it? He stared at the whiteboard in despair, watching as diagrams slowly morphed into obscure satanic markings, devouring the wall in blackness. Each new word building on some concept which had already flown over his head minutes ago. Given time, Nick could figure this out, but in time with a class like this?..
“And so, what do we call this kind of mutation?” Mr Caldwell asked, and Laura’s hand was the first raised.
“Epigenetic,” she said.
Epigenetic? Nick coughed. Where the fuck did the ‘epi’ come from?
“Caused by an outside influence changing a gene expression,” she continued.
Gene expressions can change? But, what’s the got to do with the…aw, shit.
“Can anybody think of a good example?” Mr Caldwell asked, and before he could even acknowledge Laura’s hand, her mouth opened.
“The Novello-Virus plague,” she said. “It famously created an immune response which altered the nerves in our lower abdomen.”
“Yes…exactly,” Mr Caldwell grumbled, annoyed at the speed of her response. “Novo-2 is the reason why we all take so long to be able to control our movements. Now, have a go at the questions on page 238. They’re exam style questions, so they’re useful. Try and help each other if you don’t understand.”
Ha, if you don’t understand… Nick shook his head, and flicked to the correct page. On these sheets, the devil was incarnate once more, his powerful ritual sketches zagging across the page’s margins, making evil the knowledge held within. Nick tried to comprehend the diagram, but nothing of it could click. Not even the words on the page made sense - each italicised term was connected to every other, forming a chain of incomprehension which bound the book to an endless, circular glossary. Frustrated, Nick turned to Georgie, who sat next to him.
() Unfortunately, she was also staring blankly at the page, but Nick thought that she couldn’t be as lost as him.
“Hey, G,” he said, and the girl shifted, her butt crinkling beneath her tartan school skirt. “Do you get this Epigenetics stuff?”
Nick had thought that she’d shifted to face him, but she instead looked absently ahead. He then heard the distinctive hiss from under her skirt, as she let her mind run, wetting herself. Nick could see the nappy sag as it poked from between her legs, expanding out of her skirt. Half of the class turned to the sound, silent giggles passing between friends as they privately mocked the girl. Just over half of the cohort were free of nappies now, and they were surely keen to mock those who weren’t.
“I see…” Nick hummed, unable to capture Georgia’s attention. A plastic crinkling approached, and Nick turned to it, to find Laura making her way to his desk.
“Did you go, too?” He asked.
“No, I can help you,” she huffed, and leaned over and onto his desk.
Nick sneered - it wasn’t enough to try and hang out with him, or answer all of the questions in class, she’d now try to tutor him?
“Sure, go ahead,” he grumbled, with no other options.
“Epigenetics is when an external factor changes gene expression, right?”
“Sure, I guess,” Nick chuffed.
“Okay, well it is.”
“How?” Nick asked. “How does it matter? You’re already built, so what does changing genes matter?”
“Because your cells are constantly dividing and replacing themselves,” Laura explained, “so any changes to your genes will eventually be seen in all of your cells.”
“Yeah, okay…but how does it happen in the first place?”
“Because the thing you come into contact with either reacts with your DNA, or it changes chemistry in your body which reacts with your DNA.”
“I…” Nick wanted to ask more, but he understood the concept now. Why was it such gibberish a minute ago? How was it that Laura knew the better way to explain this than the teacher?
How did this great lesson come from somebody who couldn’t even manage to stop shitting their pants?
“Thanks,” Nick said, although with no sugar to his smile.
“You’re welcome,” Laura nodded, sharing Nick’s grit. She pulled herself up, and waddled back to her seat.
Magical smells wafted from the kitchen, dancing throughout the house and up the stairs. These called Nick, dragging him from his top-storey room down into the living area for his favourite meal of the day - dinner.
Oh, how his Mother was a good cook. Nay - a chef. That was her true calling, of course. The one career which she refused to entertain. It felt like she flopped between bosses, into and out-of life-altering decisions, a resident to all sorts of offices across the city over the years. For the past two, she’d managed to hold herself down to managing a family-run fashion shop. Who knew what came next.
Neil helped bring the plates to the table, then took his favourite seat - the one with the prime view of the TV over his mother’s shoulder. Tonight, a beautiful pot of stuffed zucchinis cooled atop a wooden block on the dinner table. Nick spooned the four bowls full, one for each guest of the table, then took his eager seat to wait.
Hauling himself from the couch, his Step-Dad, Greg, rose. His long and lanky limbs paraded themselves across the hardwood, reaching halfway across the house in no more than three steps. He took his seat opposite Nick with a smile on his angular face. Nick had lived with Greg and Laura for about seven years now. And still, the situation never felt like a fair family. It was obvious, no matter how much respect Greg tried to pay towards Nick, that he favoured his daughter and was more lenient on her. She who could never let him down. Nick swallowed resentment, because to act happy and respect Greg made his mother happy, so he would do it.
Nick heard the loud crinkle before he saw Laura. He craned his head, watching her bounce towards the table from the stairs. Laura was a lazy dresser around the house - certainly, Nick would never get away with what she did, even in his nappy-days. She wore her thick white nappy exposed, white powder drifting from her arse with each heavy step. Her hair was long and worn down, atop an oversized red hoodie. A cloud of powder puffed up from her exposed waistband as she plonked her butt on the chair next to Nick. Laura smiled at him.
“Don’t wait for me,” Nick’s mum, Julia, called as she bustled about near the sink. “Get started.”
With the signal given, Nick launched his shovel of a spoon at the dinner, enjoying it immensely. Soon, his Mum joined the table, and the rush of cutlery slowed to allow for conversation.
“What happened today at school?” She asked.
“You know, nothing much.” Nick said, intent on eating.
“I helped Nick in biology today,” Laura beamed, glancing a smirk to him as she spooned up zucchini. “We were studying Epigenetics.”
“Ah, like Novo-2,” Greg chimed in.
“Yeah, exactly, Dad,” she smiled, “Nick didn’t get it at first, but I helped to explain it to him.”
Greg beamed, and his attention turned to Nick. The young man went red, falling into his seat.
Yes, they already know you’re smarter than me… he grumbled to himself. You’ve always got to remind them, don’t you. “She did,” he said flatly.
“You’d think with the money we pay for that school, it’d be the teachers who taught the classes, not their brighter students,” Mum chimed in, annoyed. Nick sighed to the saving grace; the deflection from his embarrassment. “Did you ask the teacher to explain it again?”
“Eh, I don’t like asking too many times,” Nick said honestly, “you know, after they’d already spent so long explaining it once.”
His mum frowned, then dug back into her food. A lull fell to the table with it, where everybody seemed too consumed by eating to talk.
()Then Laura grunted, and Nick heard a plastic rustle.
She’s shifted her weight onto her furthest ass-cheek, aiming her nappy towards him. Staring off towards the TV, her face was caught in an absent concentration, gritting as she grunted again. Her hands now gripped at the edge of the table, hands strained. The seat of her nappy, pointed at Nick, shifted, something inside wriggling and poking out as she pushed.
“Oh you’re bloody kidding me…” Nick coughed. He turned to his parents in disbelief, who didn’t seem to have even noticed. They only paid attention to their dinner, Laura’s grimace and grunting falling on deaf ears.
He watched in disbelief as she strained further. Finally a hard mass shifted into the seat, her nappy bulging out to smush against her chair. She sighed, smiling, and pushed again. The nappy billowed out once more, a second lump crackling louding as it came, swelling under her ass . Laura sighed again, happy as anything, and sat squarely back down on the mess.
Nick couldn’t believe it - pointing her ass towards him and shitting in his general direction. How could somebody so clearly bright, so intelligent in any other setting, so annoyingly favoured, get away with shitting themselves at the dinner table? Nick’s stare begged with his parents, who hadn’t even looked up or to each other yet.
Finally, the smell of fresh shit and talcum powder caught his nose.
“That’s yours to change,” Julia said to Greg, and the man grunted a nod.
“Never change a nappy just as it’s messed - there’s always more,” Greg offered his wisdom, still focussed solely on his dinner.
How was the lumbering man so utilitarian as to ignore the smell of his daughter’s mess as he ate his food? Nick tried to hone his focus with such intent, wafting the scents of the pot to his nose with the zucchini. The effort of self-deception was dizzying, and he had to settle with just not enjoying the food as he shovelled it in.
() Laura crinkled again, and Nick’s eagle gaze locked to her, brow furrowed.
This time she squatted just off the seat, gripping hard to the table, but turned her head to hold Nick’s gaze as she pushed, smirking. Her whole body tensed, then a gurgle and squelch blew from her ass. The nappy bubbled from behind, squirming as a wad of liquid mess rushed to fill it. The odour was immediate, and deadly. Nick almost gagged - he wanted to cry, that he had half of his dinner left. He looked at the last zucchini in dismay. There was a second squelch - he wasn’t even expecting it - followed by a loud sigh as Laura finished off her bubbling, liquid mess. The legholes of her puffy and bulging nappy now showed brown. She took a slow seat, lowering herself onto the shifting mess, then raised her spoon back to her mouth as if nothing had happened.
“I’m going to eat on the couch,” Nick said, lifting his plate.
“Smart idea,” Greg agreed, but didn’t dare shift to move with him.
Nick moved, totally stunned. He just didn’t get it - how could a girl so smart not have figured out the toilet yet, or basic etiquette? He mused that one day it would just come to her, like everything else seemed to do with Laura - learned and adopted effortlessly to the highest degree. Sitting on the couch, he craned his head back around to her.
To Nick, it felt like her entire existence was designed to piss him off.
“Mate, I would end you at Mario-kart,” Tom grinned, ruffling Lachie’s hair as the boys walked the long path from the train station to school. Nick was glad for his morning free of Laura - on her own accord, she took the earlier train, to get to school way before classes started. It suited him - one less nappy to stink up the carriage.
“Mate, this is old ground,” Lachie insisted, pushing the boy off. “I’ve already smashed you on every track, multiple times.”
“That was years ago!”
“You’ve been practicing?”
“Of course I have. You can’t be a champion with no practice,” Tom grinned. Truthfully, a few years ago the lad had gotten into speedrunning, and failed miserably to run the game in anything resembling ‘speed’. He hadn’t picked up an N64 controller since.
“You are challenging Rainbow_Road_69 here, Lachie,” Nick chimed. “Fastest thumbs on the N69.”
“You know it,” Tom smiled.
“He’s years out of practice,” Lachie rebutted.
“And the years between now and my last speedrun is about the same as between the speedrun and you last beating me,” Tom added. “You can’t hold superiority four years after a fact.”
“Okay, bet,” Lachie said. “But let’s make this juicer.”
“I like juicer,” Tom agreed.
“Even ground - we won’t play the N64 version. Let’s do Mario-kart Wii.”
Nick’s stomach dropped. He immediately knew where this was going, and he dreaded the next sentence which he knew was coming his way.
“Nick’s got it at his place. Why don’t you invite us around tonight for the showdown,” Lachie suggested, and Tom lit up, nodding along.
Nick fell inside himself, growing nervous. Guests to the house, especially in the hours that parents would be arriving home from work, were in the domain of Grumpy Greg to approve. Whilst Nick’s Step-Dad was nice enough, there was one time when he demanded peace and cleanliness, and that was when he walked into his house after a long day at work.
Strangely, for everything Nick didn’t appreciate about the man, he respected this rule. Nick and his Mum were living in Greg’s house, after all. Coming home to a clean and peaceful home was nice. Nick knew to uphold this sanctity.
Beyond that, Nick knew that Greg didn’t like his friends. He thought that boys like Tom and Lachie were bullish and crude. Of course, Greg was right, but Nick liked his friends for their rough character, and for the shock of the more serene moments which came from them. His friends were men of surprising extremes. They certainly weren’t to Greg’s taste.
It would be a lot of effort to convince Greg to let the boys come over just after school - he’d likely suggest a weekend, or barre the activity all together. Nick went to say as much, when Cassie arrived.
“Hi, my favourite boys,” she joked, skipping up to the circle. Nick immediately lost his train of thought, and was now stuck at the station waiting for it to steam back to him. Unfortunately, the next train to arrive thought that he’d better check Cassie out, and he found himself sitting in its first class pullman carriage.
Far out, she’s got a nice ass. And hips to match, it seemed. They puffed out almost cartoonishly, holding her dress alight.
“Hey, wanna watch me smash Tom and Mario-kart?” Lachie asked her, his energy still high. “We’re going to Nick’s house after school to play it,” Tom added.
“Yeah, that sounds great,” Cassie beamed. “As long as you’re okay with me beating the lot of you.”
Cassie was in? Suddenly, Nick had much fewer reservations about prodding Greg for permission.
“I’ve just got to ask Greg if I can have people over,” he butted in. “We should be fine, though.”
“Oh, Greg loves me, it’ll be fine.” Lachie waved a hand, “3:30 train, all.”
At recess Nick fumbled with his phone. He pulled himself around behind the art buildings - apparently the old smoker’s paradise, before the school cracked on to it - and dialled Greg’s number.
He was nervous. He desperately wanted Cas - his friends - to come over, but wasn’t sure how to approach this conversation. He held little reservation in admitting that Laura would know the right strings to pull, but he wasn’t going to stoop to asking her. He was a big boy who didn’t mess himself, he could call up his step-dad.
Nick dialed the final number, and the phone rang.
Nick almost became relieved, he could see the excuse forming ‘oh, hi Greg’, as the man walked into his door, ‘I tried to get onto you, but you didn’t answer. I’m sorry, we tried to keep things tidy’, yes, that would work. It…
“Hello, Nick?” Greg’s voice crackled.
Damn it. “Hi Greg,” Nick splattered nervously, “I was wondering if I could have three friends around after school, to play video games.” His voice fumbled the words. A silence was drawn. “I’ll make sure that everything is clean before you get home. You won’t even hear us - we’ll be in my room.”
Greg hummed, then nothing. Were Nick wearing a nappy, he’d have peed himself.
“Three friends, hey?” Greg mused. “Would they be Lachie, Tom, and Luke?”
“Lachie, Tom, and Cassie,” Nick corrected, and Greg chuffed, as if he was amused to hear a girl’s name.
“Right, usual suspects,” Greg said, then, “you’re just playing video games?”
“Tom wants to verse lachie at Mario kart.”
“None of the sort,” Nick bit his tongue. Of course, Nick had assumed this, but Greg was right to suspect it. Tom, Lachie, and Luke could be rowdy when they wanted to be. It had happened before. “This is year 12 after all, we shouldn’t be drinking on school nights.”
“Yes, you’re screwed on…” Greg said, implying that the others weren’t. Nick understood. “Yes, that’s all fine, Nick. Your friends are welcome around,” Greg said finally, and rather quickly, “Just get them to go home before dinner - I don’t want other parents thinking that I neglect to feed guests.”
Nick was stunned. How had this been so easy? Maybe he’d turned on some unknown charm, or he’d done some unknown deed to land in Greg’s nice-books.
Maybe the man just pitied that Nick had to eat dinner next to his soiled daughter.
“Thank you, Greg!” Nick beamed. “I really appreciate it.”
“All is good,” Greg agreed, “just keep the place clean for when I get home.”
“And keep out of your hair,” Nick finished the sentiment. “You’ve got it.”
Nick whistled on the way to his next class, elation in his veins after he confirmed the good news with the boys - and Cassie. Most importantly Cassie. Nick was surprised that she wanted to come around to his - even though she was effectively ‘one of the boys’.
It’s not like they weren’t mates - they’d hang out at lunch sometimes, they’d talk at parties, but never one-on-one. No, Nick didn’t have the confidence for that. She’d certainly never been to his house. It seemed to push at some barrier of their friendship that she so jovially accepted the offer. Nick just hoped to high heaven that his room was clean enough for a girl. He thought about what damning articles might be on that unmade bed of his. Eh, if only he could distract them all downstairs for five minutes whilst he tidied up…
() His thought was interrupted as a girl from the younger year level, walking towards him, stopped in her tracks. Her eyes bulged wide, her knees buckled inwards, and her hand darted to her butt. A rude squelch and slop accompanied from under her school skirt, and the girl was held in stunned silence. Wet farts continued to blurt from the girl’s nappy. Nick disdainfully caught a waft of the toxic mass as he walked by. He gagged at the terrible stench, and was thrown into a strange thought.
Why does Laura grunt so much when she goes?
He’d never thought it strange that Laura put so much deliberate effort into her filling her nappy, but she always did. Most teens - even himself back in the days when it applied - couldn’t stop themselves. You’d be particularly self aware to even catch yourself off guard when relieving yourself. It just sorta happened - that’s why you weren’t toilet trained. The girl he just passed - now waddling off towards a change room - must have been training right now to have known what was coming.
Eh, maybe Laura’s just constipated a lot, He shrugged, although something further nagged at him. The way she smirked at dinner - was she fucking with him? Saving a poo just to mess with him? How could she even do that?…
“Hey, Nick,” he heard from behind, and turned. There stood Laura, her hair tall in its bun, her shirt tucked into her skirt over the obvious bulk of her nappy’s waistband.
“Ah, the brainiac,” he greeted, “what do you want?”
“I heard your friends are coming over tonight,” she said, and Nick could swear that mischief rose with her voice. He gritted his lips.
“Yes, they are,” he wormed out. “Who told you?”
“Lachie, of course.”
Yes, Lachie, the weak link. Was he just teasing that he thought Laura was cute, or was he serious? Nick couldn’t imagine anybody being serious about such a thing.
“I did a pretty good job convincing your dad,” Nick grinned, remembering to be boastful. “You know how he hates Lachie and Tom. Got him right on board. I wonder what him warming up to me means for you…”
“I think you’re just lucky that he’s only got positive things to say about Cassie,” Laura teased.
Nick’s brow furrowed.
“He’s never even heard of her,” he puzzled. How did Cass change his mind?
“Well, she didn’t, until I put in the good word this morning,” Laura smirked, twirling her skirt. “I told him that she’s toilet-trained, and he thought that it must have made her a good influence to have hanging around me. I also mentioned that all of your friends are toilet trained - it’s like, your thing. He seemed impressed - I don’t think he knew that you all valued it so much.”
Nick grimaced, his confidence waning. He’d really believed that he’d spoken through to Greg, but this achievement wasn’t his. Just like everything else seemed to do in the eyes of his family, this success found its roots with Laura. He grumbled, eye twitching, but had nothing else to say but “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Laura smiled, and skipped off, away to her next class. Nick hummed, his mind racing. Laura was up to something, but what would she do?
Nick slammed on cupboard doors, folding clothes at lightspeed to cram them into appropriate spaces. Used tissues were relegated to the tissue box for later rubbish sorting. The covers were thrown over the bed - laid smoothly rather than evenly, just for the effect of cleanliness.
He’d told his friends downstairs that he needed to use the loo quickly, and had distracted them with ice-cold water. He hoped that they suspected nothing.
Finally, the room clean, he strolled downstairs to fetch them, and pile them all into his abode.
The first event of the evening would be Lachie versus Tom, on each championship cup, it was decided. Nick fired up the Wii, and handed the remotes to his mates, who licked their lips and twitched their thumbs in eager anticipation. They sat on the beanbags at the foot of the bed, right in front of the small TV, whilst Nick took his place on the edge of his bed. He’d presented Cassie with his office chair, the bees knees of modern ergonomic comfort, and she seemed to pause at her options. Finally, as the first track started, she lay down next to where Nick sat, taking the centre of the bed, close to him.
Nick was petrified. The skin of her arm was within a hair’s distance of his leg. He swore that his leg hair even touched her - like some strange forcefield of sensors bolted to his thighs. He sweated, unable to squirm away as he was already squashed on the edge.
Cassie must have sensed his aroused discomfort, for she grunted, pulled herself up, then sat down on the bed instead, placing the bowl of popcorn and chips between her and Nick.
Nick was certainly a lot calmer in this position, and grabbed a mighty handful of snacks, deferring any talking. Cassie seemed unfazed- maybe Nick was just imagining her reactions - and the two of them relaxed to watch the war ahead.
It was clear that, somehow, Lachie had an advantage in this game. Tom’s speed and reflexes on his old N64 - lovingly painted over, into the ‘N69’ - did not transfer to the Wii. Perhaps he relied too heavily on his experience and reflexes, because Lachie’s thumbs outpaced him in each moment requiring agility and wit. Lachie played the game expertly, hanging back in the mob to get the best weapons, then holding onto them until the perfect moment to ruin Tom’s lead. In the end, his strategy prevailed, and he won three of the four cups, causing Tom to slump in defeat.
“Alright, who’s facing the champion next?” Lachie asked, beaming from behind the controller. The room paused, all glancing between each other. Nobody wanted to get their ass handed to them.
So Nick had a better idea.
“I think you’ve destroyed enough egos today, mate,” Nick said, “I reckon me versus Cassie next,” and he turned to her. “Your choice of map.”
Cassie nodded along, her face cool. “I wouldn’t underestimate me, Nick,” she teased.
“I didn’t. Maybe I thought you’d be a better challenge than Lachie,” he teased, and she chuckled along.
“Alright, then,” Cassie said, shifting forward on the bed. She held her hand out to Lachie. “Hand over the remote, tiger. Let me show you how it’s done.”
He reluctantly handed her his controller. Nick tried the same trick on Tom, but the boy was nowhere near as jovial in playing along. His twitching hand reached straight for the chips, which he used to pacify himself. He then shifted residence to the office chair, to watch from a distance.
Cassie chose rainbow road. Which, of course she did. When you want to prove your worth, it’s the one track to choose. Nick could see right through the facade - or so he thought. He wondered, briefly as the lights counted to green, which approach would be a better flirting tactic; would he let her win, to boost her ego, or would he crush her, just to show her how good he was?
When the light went green, Nick found that he didn’t have a choice.
Cassie was good - good enough that beating her was a challenge. She and Nick seemed to pull the same tricks, as if they’d both been practising the same moves, waiting for the next party to show off. The fun had been called off, real competition in its place, which Nick could see from a glance had consumed Cassie’s face. It was a hot race of equals, right up until the third lap. Nick had been drifting a corner, out ahead, when a surprise from behind blew him off the track. A blue-shell, not even from Cassie, had knocked him out of contention. He ceded his defeat, bowing to his opponent.
“I don’t think I really earned that,” Cassie said, awkwardly accepting the bow.
“Well, you dodged the blue shell and I didn’t. That earns some recognition.”
“Maybe,” she hummed.
There was a knock at the door.
Nick’s head turned, and before he could greet the person on the other side, they had already entered.
Laura strode into the room, and much to Nick’s surprise and relief, she was wearing pants around the house! At least that’s not whatever she’s got in store, he thought, remembering that his friends’ permission to hang here today was her doing. She wore a loose, cropped top, and a baggy pair of trackies (tracksuit pants, joggers, etc.) which didn’t quite disguise the thick nappy hidden underneath. In the free space between the hem of the short top, and the waist of her pants, poked out her ruffled nappy waistband. It crinkled to her every step.
“What do you need?” Nick asked before she could speak.
“Oh, I just wanted to see what all of the fun was about. Maybe challenge the champion to a race.”
Nick knew that there must’ve been some trojan horse hidden within the request - it couldn’t have been Laura’s plan to just waltz in here and smack his friends at Mario kart.
“Nah,” Lachie piped up, rummaging through the bean bag. “I don’t really want to beat a baby. Seems unfair.”
“How can you control a Kart if you can’t control your piss?” Tom added. Nick knew for a fact that it was much more than her piss that Laura couldn’t control, and knew from experience never to underestimate her. He turned to Cassie, who’d gone red in the face, grimacing away from the boys. Nick read the second-hand embarrassment, and thought maybe he should give Laura a go. That seemed to be what Cassie thought, anyway.
Against his best caution, Nick handed her his controller.
“You versus Lachie,” he said. “If he beats you - ”
“When I beat you,” Lachie clarified.
“ - you…I don’t know…leave us alone until everybody goes.”
“And if I win?” Laura asked.
“You get…my dessert after dinner?” Nick mused, unsure of what seemed like a good prize. He had no idea what Laura might want.
“I was more thinking something gross, like you all have to do a shot of Dad’s ouzo or something,” Laura shrugged, then strolled to take Tom’s vacated bean bag. “Sound fair?”
“Eh…” Nick wanted to object. If his friends shotted Greg’s grog, Laura could easily twist that as stealing the old man’s drinks, and Nick knew that would go down worse than the ouzo. His friends would never be allowed over again. Plus, Greg had been specifically concerned about drinking.
“Yeah, that’s a deal,” Lachie smirked, and Nick cursed under his breath. Lachie took Cassie’s controller, and chose his level. In the TV’s reflection, Nick could see Laura’s intense focus. Her fingers were still as bolts, welded to her palm, tense and ready.
Nick already knew that a mistake had been made.
The race blew into action. Lachie took a fast lead, rampaging his way through the pack of racers. Meanwhile, Laura drove backwards, and lined herself up at an obstacle. Then, she sat her character still.
“You’re desperate to leave us the fuck alone, aren’t ya, piss girl?” Lachie teased, but Laura smirked, silent. He lapped her then, with the full ensemble of characters bumbling in his tail.
Laura chose that moment to boost.
Her kart bounced off the obstacle, then flew high, over a boundary of the map, clipping through the terrain. Then, when her character was picked up, she was set down behind the finish line, and drove over to complete a lap.
Then she reversed again.
Lachie was sweating, just halfway through his second lap when Laura clipped the stage once more, finishing her second lap in an instant. On his split screen, the end of his second lap was just in sight, and Lachie drifted towards it, water running down his forehead.
Laura clipped the terrain again, as if it was nothing, and crossed the lap for the third time.
The race came to a close, the bouncy music rumbling the room as the TV replayed her calm roll over the line. Lachie lost a hold of the controller, letting it bounce to the floor. He was gobsmacked.
“Yep,” Laura smiled, placing her remote down. “Nice win, Lachie.”
“That’s insane!” he pointed his palm to the screen. “How’d you do that?”
“Practice.” She shrugged. “Look up the ‘lap-skips’ next time you’re bored.”
And with that she stood, hands to her hips, quite pleased with herself.
“God, I hate ouzo,” Tom shuddered, watching her rise. “Why’d you have to lose, Lachie?”
“I won us a free drink. Try that for perspective.”
Laura nodded, said “I’ll be back, and then I’ll leave you alone,” and skipped off, out the door and down the stairs.
God damnit, Greg won’t be happy, Nick gritted his teeth.
“Did you know she could do that?” Tom asked.
“I had zero idea,” Nick said. “Aw, man. I hate ouzo. I hate it more than Greg loves it…”
“I’ve never had it,” Cassie said, “I’m only 17.”
“Yeah but we all know that means nothing between you and parties, Cassie,” Tom chimed. “You’d marry a cider. Fuck it, you’d marry the whole ten-pack.”
“Maybe I would,” she chuffed. “But do you reckon I’d marry an ouzo?”
“Shotgun wedding, maybe.”
Just then, the door creaked open, Laura sauntering back in. She carried a tray in two hands, four shots already poured into glasses sitting atop. Even accounting for the nappy, her step looked strange to Nick as she tracked into the room. Maybe it was just her concentration in holding the platter still, but Nick could swear that her gait was wider than before - her hips swinging around in her pronounced nappy waddle.
She swayed her legs on over, plastic ruffling all the way.
And then it made sense.
() Nick caught the earthy, musty aroma before Tom declared it. The whiff of fresh poo radiating from Laura’s padded behind as she waddled past sweetly with drinks. Still, she was without a hint of a grin.
*There’s the trojan horse…*Nick sighed.
“Christ, you stink!” Tom coughed, holding back none of his disdain. He recoiled in the office chair, elbow shooting up to cover his nose. Nick thought that Tom was overreacting - this was a very mild mess, did he not know how bad it could get?
“I do?” Laura quizzed, her face dropping to confusion. She took a hand from the plate, patting her tummy to feel for its fullness. “I don’t feel like I have to go, but maybe…” and replacing her hand to the tray, she popped her knees and stuck out her butt. Her body and face tensed as she grunted.
“What are you doing!” Nick finally caught his senses.
“I don’t feel like I have to go,” Laura shrugged, standing straight again.
“No, love, it’s already in your pants, believe us!” Lachie said.
“Come on, put the drinks down and get your stinky ass out of my room!” Nick demanded, standing off the bed. Laura turned, handing the tray to Tom, and forcing his hand to catch it instead of covering his nose.
“I just don’t think I messed…” Laura said in a voice sweet and innocent, and craned herself around to peer at her backside. She threw her leading hand to her nappy’s back waistband, and before Nick could object, pulled it open, peeking down her ass crack.
Everybody’s eyes watered.
A cloud of pungent fumes puffed from her frilly waistband, blanketing the room in deadly gas. Tom’s eyes watered, his hands stuck on the ouzo tray and unable to defend himself. Lachie fell from his bean bag, using limp limbs to throw himself towards the far wall. Cassandra launched herself up the bed, banging her funny bone into the headboard.
“Oh, looks like I did mess, huh,” Laura declared, her grin devious.
“Oh, you think so?” Nick growled. “Come on, get out.” And he grabbed her arm to pull her to the door.
But she stood firm, planted to the carpet of his room.
“Looks like you need to change me,” she said.
“Me?!” Nick fumed, then tugged. “Do it yourself.”
“Well, you’re the one who promised Greg he’d come home to a clean house. I don’t think this…” her eyes rolled to her pants, “…is clean.”
Nick’s own eyes drifted to Laura’s nappy, poking out above the trackies’ waistband. Nick had indeed promised Greg a peaceful return home to a clean house. He knew that the man would chuck a hissy fit at the mildest inconvenience to his immediate enjoyment of his abode. Nick had foolishly taken responsibility to deliver these conditions.
But surely Laura, after making this mess of his afternoon, could just do this herself.
“You can’t do it?” he asked. “I know you won’t just sit around like this.”
“I don’t do a good job,” Laura shrugged, “Dad’ll smell me as soon as he gets home. He won’t be happy with you.”
He won’t be happy with me? Nick grumbled, his mind construing into the tangled thought process of a Greg. WWGD? Certainly, Greg would come home and smell a poopy nappy. He would find the poopy nappy, and undoubtedly instead of blaming Laura for messing herself and not cleaning it up, he would blame Nick for not taking care of it, given his promise of cleanliness. In fact, Laura would be praised by Greg for attempting to clean herself, and Nick would be sledged harder for allowing her to do it, knowing it would make Greg upset. Laura couldn’t possibly be the star child if her problems were her own fault, and hers to solve.
But maybe Nick was prepared to take that bullet today. He did have the ouzo to blame on her.
“I’ll clean you.” Lachie offered, with all too keen of a grin.
“Yeah, nah,” Nick held a palm to stop the lad. “You absolutely will fucking not. Bloody hell, let’s get this over with, Laura.”
“I don’t think I can wait up here,” Tom gagged, almost crying. “It’s painful to breathe.”
“Yeah, wait downstairs. Help yourself to the TV,” Nick grumbled, his afternoon over in an instant. “I’ll be down soon.” And with that, he pulled Laura out of the room, across the hall, and to the changing table of the upstairs bathroom.
An innocent smile plastered across her face, she happily jumped onto the high, cushioned bench, wrestling with her pants. Nick dug through the nappy cupboard, looking for an appropriate replacement. Pink and frilly, with big letters saying ‘I absolutely suck as a human being’ would do the trick…
“You suck, you know that?” Nick said, pulling out a fresh nappy and slamming it on the bench. He now found Laura lying down on the table, her legs spread and bent, so that her feet sat soles-down near her ass.
“Your friends are stuck up,” she said, her face red.
Nick thought that he saw embarrassment across those cheeks - but he couldn’t have. Laura was just moments before smiling and giddy, her plan well executed. He didn’t buy the bait of her phony humiliation, instead remaining silent.
He reached for the tapes, pulling them from the plastic and lifting back the nappy’s front. He was prepared for a mighty mess, given the smell, but saw only a small, clay-like mound stuck between her ass cheeks. It looked like a pain to clean, and he frowned.
() Laura’s hand snatched at his. Her eyes were wide and ablaze.
“Put it back.” She demanded in a whisper.
“Put it back on!” She yelled, her leg twitching. Nick seemed dumb to the urgency, sceptically pulling the top band back to the girl’s stomach. His finger fiddled at the tapes.
The nappy jerked at his fingertips, caught only by the tape. Laura’s legs squirmed as a hot mess splattered into the nappy, the recoil almost tugging its waistband from Nick’s grip. Slimy shit gurgled beneath the padding, bursting to the splutter of the girl’s ass, forcing the padding further outwards. Nick, mortified, let his gaze drift slowly to the scene.
The nappy bulged at Laura’s waist, saggy and oozing at the leg holes.A spurt of liquid mess painted the table to either side of the nappy’s seat, projected from the crevice of her legs.
“Oh, my, god,” Nick and Laura uttered in unison - although for different reasons.
Then she said, “wait, keep holding,” and grunted, her legs hunching up into the air. Straining, she pushed out a final spurt of mess, which bubbled rudely against the seat of the nappy. Then, silence.
Finally, Laura wrenched her chest up, peering past her stomach to see the mess. Her face immediately dropped, stunned.
“You clean me, I clean the table,” she suggested.
Nick was numb. He didn’t consider this to be much of a deal, but he nodded to it anyway, waiting for her to lie back down.
Then, watching for any change in Laura’s expression, Nick carefully pried open the front of the nappy. Oh, how he now wished for the mess which he’d seen before.
What greeted him was about 100 times more pungent and stomach turning. An ocean of milky-brown cream sloshed in the valley between the leg-bands, mushy, putrid chunks spread within. Luckily, due to the nappy being bloody-well off at the time, it hadn’t caked all of her skin, making this job a little easier. Still, the muck seemed to flow down into the space of her ass crack, and Nick wondered how far back it went.
. He didn’t quite know where to start, but made an effort anyway. First, he taped the nappy back closed. Then, finding the dire-situations rag, he laid it under Laura’s bum and back, with her full cooperation. Liquid mess had leaked to the small of her back, almost pooling to her crop top, but luckily it was saved.
Then, he untapped the beast. Deft hands had the brown river styx held within, which quickly made its way into a biohazard worthy plastic bag, and then the bin. This job seemed like a needless waste of wipes, but there was too much shit to stink up the shower, so wipes it was.
One would expect wet-wiping your step-sister’s soiled ass and vagina to be pretty up there with the weirdest, most uncomfortable tasks imaginable, but Nick and Laura had long ago grown past the awkwardness. This was a job which he resented only because of how frequently he did it, not because it gave either of them the icks.
. Then, baby powder applied, Nick slipped the new nappy under her and taped it up tight. Not even waiting for her approval, he turned the exhaust fan onto max speed and washed his hands, ten years wiped off his life.
“Rag and table are yours to clean,” he said through the mirror’s reflection, watching for her nod. “Better check your top, too.”
Well, he’d have sworn that she’d deliberately fucked with him back in his room, the way she paraded about with a perfectly timed and smelly nappy. He’d have sworn that her need to push, and her ritual, impeccably convenient timing, meant that Laura had some level of control over herself.
But after that shit-show?
That display looked a lot more like a regular teen - alerted at the last minute, no ability to stop it.
Still, with his afternoon in shambles, Nick had to believe that Laura had some control over her bowels, and that she was using it to fuck with him.
He just had to find better evidence to prove it.