🕑 Added 2025-02-04 23:12:20 +0000 UTC
Story #185: Things To Learn
(Content Tags: Slice of life, humiliation, desperation, messy Pull-Ups, dorky protagonist)
The pressure bearing down on his rectum had been growing exponentially over the last few minutes; it'd started to become something that he couldn't only not ignore, but something that had begun to usurp his focus. From how difficult it was becoming to simply clench his cheeks and press forward, he could tell that it was something tremendous that was looking for an escape.
He could feel beads of sweat on his brow, a physical manifestation of the effort required to keep the smelly serpent at bay; his feet fidgeted upon the floor, and his knees kept knocking together as he gritted his teeth. How long could he hold off on it? How long could he keep a sticky pantload from surging forth and smearing his bottom in filth?
He was supposed to be the mature example getting set; he was supposed to be in control! It was bad enough that his bladder was so unreliable, but his ego couldn't take dumping in his britches too; especially not now, whenever he was in front of someone whose respect he needed to keep.
Andrew had been specifically selected for the job, because of his maturity and intellect, but that hadn't accounted for the thing he kept secretly beneath his pants; he was supposed to be tutoring this little brat on the finer points of the multiplication tables, but what respect could he expect if he were to soil himself?
His client was a little girl named Sally, who already had a chip on her shoulder about being tutored by a boy that was only a few years older; or rather, the chip was there because Andrew wasn't the most impressive kid in person.
Admittedly, he knew that he was a dork and a geek; he was smart, but not very socially gifted, nor was he athletic in any way. He was short, chubby, and dressed in an almost stereotypical manner: suspenders, khaki shorts, glasses, and a polo with a pocket protector.
Then there was what was beneath those khaki shorts. He wore double-seated tighty-whities, but those were only to cover the disposable briefs underneath. He had bladder problems, or rather a weakness of the bladder; too much excitement, good or bad, and he was likely to dribble urine in his pants, or to even fully soak himself.
So even being in sixth grade, with high scores and an esteemed chair in the chess club, he walked around with the kind of 'underwear' that would only otherwise be appropriate for a preschooler or a dimwit in the special classes.
It was a well guarded secret, that he had miraculously kept a secret for years, but that was now threatened with the problem currently presenting itself. The obvious choice was to excuse himself to use the restroom, but that too wasn't an option he felt was viable.
He had toilet anxiety, especially whenever it came to using one at an unfamiliar place. The biggest mistake had been that he'd been in such a rush to leave his own house, that he'd forgotten to try 'unloading' before he'd left. Such a mistake had now left him in the unfavorable position of desperately clenching his buttcheeks to keep from crapping himself.
Sally hadn't seemed to notice his dilemma yet, but how long could that last? He was getting sweaty and squirmy, and it felt like only a matter of minutes before the flatulence became the horn that would herald his doom. It was already a surprise that the few toots that had slipped out had been silent and mild, and he knew that what came next would be far less subtle.
No, subtlety was a privilege that Andrew could no longer wrap his stubby little fingers around; if things came to an end here, the way that he worried, then it would not come by a faint plop, but by an earth-shattering kaboom.
A kaboom-boom. In his pants. In front of this vile little brat.
"S-start from the third row, Sally. What's three times one? And then just keep going..."
His voice had become a little shaky, now tattered by the growing discomfort in his gut, and the tension in his every muscle. Holding back the apocalypse from his pants was taking a toll that he didn't have the funds to cover, and that was *while* he was sitting down. How much more difficult would things be if he had to stand?
The little girl didn't comment on his battered demeanor, instead looking irritated that she was being forced to continue practicing the math she so clearly despised. Still, since her father had been serious about her making improvements, she had little choice but to follow along with reciting the multiples of three.
"Three times one is three, three times two is six..."
Her bored tone made it easier for Andrew to zone out her voice; all he could hear was the internal shrieking of his bowels pleading for relief. She could be getting all the answers completely wrong, and Andrew wouldn't be any the wiser to it.
His toileting preferences were starting to feel less and less important as the minutes went on. Sure, he was mortified at the prospect of using a client's toilet, especially to take a dump, but the horrifying alternative was rapidly rearing its head.
Turtle-head, that is.
Andrew went pale. He could feel that the tip of the 'iceberg' had touched shore, or rather, touched cloth. The leviathan that had been beating down his backdoor was about to beach itself, the missle was in motion, the proverbial pot was boiling over. In the simplest of terms, a gargantuan turd was already between his clenched buttcheeks, and he had meager moments to stop the log from creeping any further into his glorified Pull-Up.
"...Three times twelve is--"
"--S-Sally! Umm, good job, b-but...Uh...Can you t-tell me where your b-bathroom is? I need a s-small break..." He rudely interrupted.
The little girl looked taken aback by her tutor's outburst, and then she narrowed her eyes with that same aggravated expression as before. She clearly wanted to get the session over with as quickly as possible, so taking a 'break' was an unacceptable ask for him to be making.
"My daddy is paying you to help me with this stupid math, not to take breaks!"
A response with such callous indifference to Andrew's plight was not at all unexpected, though it was still appalling. He'd known what a spoiled little brat his client was, and he'd already deduced how little respect she had for him.
Sally's dad was a single father, a divorcee, with little time for instilling discipline into his daughter; in a cliche as old as time, the man felt the need to compete with his ex-wife for their children's affection, which itself was a death knell for the girl being given any room to grow as a person. He worked long hours to support three kids, to give them anything they could ask for, and Sally was the most exploitative of the bunch.
"I-I'll be quick...You can get a snack while you wait..." Andrew tried to convince her.
If he knew where the bathroom already was, then he wouldn't have felt the need to negotiate any terms, but since he didn't, it was far too risky to waste time exploring the house for himself. Standing up without pinching a loaf in his pants was already going to be a herculean task, so he needed to have a straight shot once he did.
The girl scowled at him and then rolled her eyes, just as she'd seen her older sister do a million times. "Fiiiiine. The bathroom is over there."
Her finger pointed in a fairly vague direction down a hall that was connected to the living room. He would have chided her for being so unhelpful, but he didn't have the strength nor the bandwidth to get into it with her. He just nodded his head and pushed his palms on the table to slowly lift from his chair.
Standing straight took a careful couple of moments, with his back hunching over until his legs were completely straight. He had to very carefully keep his cheeks clenched, and he felt some panic as he worried that the log was about to dislodge itself before the transit could even begin.
Sally was giving him a strange look for his awkward posture, but she didn't say anything about it. Instead, she too got out of her chair and looked to be shuffling off to the kitchen, which was a boon for Andrew.
It was the perfect time to head off, with both hands cradling his padded rump and his legs as stiff as boards. He felt farts beginning to slip out with every painful step, which was making the turd betwixt his cheeks descend a little more with each toot. He couldn't remember the last time that he'd been this close to pooing himself!
Andrew made his way into the hall, grunting and groaning with each step; the cramping had become so painful that he was tempted to let go and instead focus on the cleanup, but he pushed such thoughts away from his mind.
The hall had three doors: two on the left, one on the right. Looking between them, he took a guess that it was the door by itself. He reached for the doorknob, thinking that his misery had come to an end, but he couldn't turn it.
The door was locked. His heart dropped.
Andrew jiggled the knob and then gave the door a knock, "H-hello?! Are you almost done in there? I-I really g-gotta go!"
He heard a childish giggle from the other side, "Hehe...Almost done!"
It sounded like it must be Sally's baby brother, Joey, who Andrew had only heard about briefly whenever he'd first become Sally's tutor. From what he could remember, the little boy was in Kindergarten, and Sally hadn't seemed to like him a whole lot.
"P-please hurry...! It's an emergency!" Andrew groaned, his face twisting up as an involuntary fart sputtered dryly into his disposable briefs.
Emergency was putting it lightly. This was basically DEFCON 1 for the poindexter; a code brown that required the utmost seriousness, lest that brown find its way into his britches. In response, he heard Joey humming a tune to himself; there was a clear difference in how the two boys were interpreting the severity of the 'potty emergency' at hand.
There was a temptation to inform the tyke about what Andrew was about to do inside his pants, to better help him understand the gravity of the situation, but he was too embarrassed to admit to such a thing. He instead was a sweaty mess, shifting from foot to foot, while moaning and clutching his bottom as tightly as he could.
Another fart blasted his Pull-Up and he grimaced as he felt a full inch of turd pressing against his padding; his muscles were growing weaker at a rapid pace, with his sphincter being first to become enfeebled. His body was crying out for release, for him to forgo all societal standards and to revert to a primitive state where he just defecated wherever he stood. His brilliant mind was rejecting all the dignity that he was typically so careful to retain, and instead was telling him to just become a pantsfiller.
Andrew bent over and gave a final, weak knock on the door. His desperation had hit its apex, and he'd grown too exhausted to give much force to his outcry.
"...M'almost done!" The squeaky voice chirped on the other side of the door, but it was frankly too late to matter at this point.
His time was up. Andrew wasn't going to be making it to the toilet; his toilet was instead going to be the waterless confines of his training pants, and with how sizable the payload was going to be, it would have been a major clogger anyway.
The door suddenly creaked open, and on the other side was a little boy with a goofy grin and a bulky Pull-Up of his own; instead of the plain white medical variety that Andrew sported, it was a juvenile sort that was intended for those in the middle of pottytraining: red sides, with Lightning McQueen adorning the front and back.
"Are you Sally's friend?" He asked unabashedly, seemingly unaware that Andrew was mere seconds away from soiling himself, and also apparently uncaring that his infantile 'underwear' was on full display.
Emphasis on the 'full' part, as the odor of feces was pungent and radiating off the little boy's bloated bottom. If Andrew wasn't in such a state of distress, then he would have pondered why Joey had been taking so long, whenever his pants were already weighed down with his own poop.
The answer was actually in the boy's hands though, as he was carrying a couple of matchbox cars. From what the dorky tutor could process, it seemed likely that the tot had simply been using the tiled floor as a racetrack, and that using the potty hadn't been anywhere on his agenda.
There was no time to chastise him. There wasn't even time to answer his question! Instead, he immediately brushed by the boy and awkwardly darted into the bathroom. He didn't even have the time to close the door behind him; the gargantuan steamer had already made it another inch into his pants, and seeing the toilet made his bowel pressure kick into overdrive.
As he got in front of the porcelain throne, his fingers fumbled desperately to unbutton the front of his khaki shorts. He was gasping and groaning, the counter on the timebomb nearly reaching zero.
As soon as his shorts fell to his ankles, it was over. He didn't get to the part where he could tug down his briefs, nor the Pull-Up underneath. He was about to match the Kindergartner in the worst way.
What made it worse? Sally's voice at the doorway.
"Eww! Joey! You stink like poo! Daddy says you're supposed to use the potty, not your pants!"
"It was an accident." The little boy replied, though he didn't sound all that remorseful about it. He had a casual tone that heavily implied that he had little interest in pottytraining, and that he knew there wouldn't be consequences for his lack of compliance.
A petty sibling squabble like that was low on Andrew's list of matters to care about right now. Andrew may as well have been off in his own world, with the two younger kids a million miles away. Which is also why he didn't seem to notice that the girl was starting to jeer at the fact that she could see his underpants.
She was going to see a lot worse than that though. Already there was a squint from the fact that his briefs looked so oddly bulky, and perhaps she could have chalked it up to a difference in gendered undergarments, but then he had to go and put them to bad use.
The sticky pantload was making a final descent, like a rocket falling to the earth, and Andrew was well past the point of being able to do anything to stop it. He'd burnt up every last bit of his willpower and restraint to get even this far, so it shouldn't have come as a shock to him, but his eyes bugged out nonetheless.
A distinct crackling sound filled the air, amplified by the acoustics of the bathroom, and he clenched his fists at his side. A final pained groan betrayed his pitiful dismay, and hard flatulence punctuated the shameful task now at hand; the turd, rock-solid and like a mighty python, surged with a full-body shudder to welcome it.
The back of his 'briefs' began to immediately bulge, as if impacted by a piston, and his Pull-Up crinkled under the newfound weight that was forcing it to expand as an accommodation. The first big push was completely involuntary, but then the log stalled out as it gave him the appearance of having a stubby little tail.
With a behemoth BM betwixt his buttcheeks, and his useless sphincter at the point of complete submission, he had to start willingly push the mass further out. A few miserable grunts from his drooly lips, and the dork was able to once again start the total evacuation that now seemed like a forgone conclusion. His briefs continued to tent in the back, the fabric at the mercy of the padding being pooed upon, and he could feel the knobby steamer beginning to coil up like a thick pile of rope that was settled against his bottom.
"Sally! Your big kid friend is makin' a poo!" Joey giggled, equally shocked and amused by the dirty display in front of him.
Sally was at a loss for words. She'd not given Andrew much respect before, whenever he'd simply been her dorky tutor, but now it seemed that such respect would be finding a new bottom level. She already found it absurd that her baby brother was still loading his pants in Kindergarten, but Andrew was even older than she was! He was *supposed* to be her brainy tutor!
It took yet more effort for Andrew to pinch off the troublesome log that had been causing such discomfort, and he almost feared that his Pull-Up wouldn't be able to contain it, but the heavy mound ended up being snugly trapped within the infantile garment.
Andrew leaned forward, looking ready to collapse from the effort, but he kept his footing. With the pain now gone, his dominant feeling was relief, followed by excruciating shame. He meekly peeked over his shoulder, spotting the two gawking children, with Sally looking downright disgusted by what she'd just witnessed.
His cheeks went up in flames, much like he figured his reputation would soon follow. There was no excuse to make, especially not for someone so cognitively capable that they were a tutor.
"S-Sally...I..."
She didn't give him a chance to explain himself, not that an explanation good enough existed: "I can't believe you! You went in your pants like a BABY! Just wait until my daddy hears about this!"
It was time for damage control. The only question was: what did damage control for something like this look like? He would need to figure that part out *fast*.
