i fucking love training pants you guys have no idea. i donât see them enough in fics and stuff ugh
like. itâs not a diaper. but itâs not NOT a diaper. you still get some of that embarrassment from it feeling childish, but hey, at least theyâre not fully padded!
and the best part imo is leaking a lot / having an accident while in training pants,,, because yeah itâll leak through - theyâre not very absorbent, theyâre just meant for little dribbles when someone canât quite make it in time. so then you get that extra embarrassment because now they have to admit that yeah, they have protection but their pants are still wetâŠ
also idk but i just fucking love the fabric. like, that soft, slightly padded feeling, not too noticeable, but still nice and soft⊠idk man i just love training pants GIVE ME MORE
when you're just adult enough to control yourself most of the time, it's much more embarassing when you have an accident. the slight amount of padding - comforting, a little babyish, but big-kid sized, so you're reminded every now and then that you're not too far from going back to diapers. the cutesy cartoon designs, the thick leg bands, the plastic padding...
trying to make it to the potty - you're grown-up now, you can make it - then exploding in them, ruining the pretty pattern, having your caregiver / partner tutting at the mess and wincing, because you promised you were potty-trained, pleaded to get out of diapers, and now you're wet and messy they're thinking twice about letting you go unpadded.
There's hair falling over his face, drenched in sweat. Sweaty all over, even; it's dripping down his back, pooling in his socks, sticky and frustrating. He must stink. Good thing they're playing in an open-air stadium.
Last night's team meal percolates within him. He feels the acid rising up, the yoghurt curdling; he'd been too eager, too exhilarated after their last win, and they'd cheered for him to stuff cake in until he felt ready to burst. His underwear - tighty whities, sponsored - are making ridges on his thighs. Water retention, probably. Too many full-fat, salty meals; more Powerade and Pepsi than mineral water.
The ball rolls towards him. The team turn, waiting, faces expectant, some impatient. The cheers echo in both ears, rising as he curls his leg, about to shoot. He pushes on. Steadies his gait. Rushes for the goal, pushes against a strong-armed striker, and gets ready to strike. The goalkeeper is trembling. Our hero sees himself holding the Golden Boot, holding his childresn' hands, as the crowd whoops itself towards laryngitis.
He kicks.
Something dislodges in his belly. A cramp, sharp and biting; a sticky squelch; then there's a vulgar noise and he is forced to bend as the ball shoots into the net: a clean and perfect goal.
"Fuck, what a shot. Knew you could do it, you're the king!"
It's Jake, mid-fielder, coming towards him as the others race and cheer. His eyes flicker down the hero's legs, then up, apologetic. There's a "you okay?" on his lips but he's too polite to say it. Instead...
"Aw, mate..."
The 'king's lip begins to wobble. He brings a shaky hand to his ass, feels a lump - a gooey, runny, semi-liquid bulge - oh God, it's everywhere, something's running down his leg - both legs - and it's still going... and then there's piss, a shock of it - "wee-wee", his youngest says - drenching his front.
Now the goalie's coming over, and the youngest player; the manager's still in his victory-pose, grinning at the cameras, as much as that old hang-dog face can show a smile. They're all looking at him, worry mixed with triumph. Their hands slap, tousle, shrug off the win like it's nothing, no sweat, but they're less handsy than they used to be and some of them turn their heads, wincing at the smell. And the things they say are funny, sure, they're always funny, but a man with shitty briefs and piss-soaked socks is far too sensitive to jostle back.
"Christ, lad, what did you eat? Stinks like a rotten kebab."
"Not in front of the cameras, mate... they're taking pics, the newspapers are here, they'll have you modelling for nappies next!"
He starts to sob. His hands scrabble at his front, trying to cover it, but they're in the white Home kit, even grass stains are impossible to hide, and this is everywhere... oh god, it's diarrhea. He's having diarrhea. A runny tummy. The squits. Runner's belly. Though the wee is all his, probably exhaustion, or fright. No, he thinks, wiping away the rushing tears with his jersey, not fright, too much hydration, he's not scared, never - and then the hiccups come, and he realises how childish he sounds, crying into his shirt over a pair of messy pants, like a kid trying to master potty-training. As cameras surround him, all he can do is kneel and cry.
Eventually, the manager comes over. He towels the hero's legs, covers him up, and ruffles the shaking, sweaty blonde scalp like a devoted father, though he looks like he wants to slap him for embarassing them all. As they walk through the tunnel, the hero leans his head on the boss's shoulder, and this time the old lion doesn't shake him off. In fact, he starts to rub his back, and pats his hip.
"There, son, don't cry," he soothes, "we'll get you clean and dry, you hear? You saved us. The rest isn't important."
And the hero (team King, his reign restored) lets the old man tidy up his mucky legs and bum, switching the brown, drenched Sloggis for something thicker: plasticky new pants that make him waddle and trip over his boots. They can't afford more accidents. now there'll be interviews.
He cried softly as I lifted up his arms to take off his shirt and jacket. The tears came light, with snuffly, puppyish keening, muffled by a bitten lip. He couldnât look at me. Just stared up at the light, little-boy brave, until I started to unlatch his belt.Â
âDonât look, please donât look,â he hiccuped, âI can do it myself, pleaseâŠâ, cracked tones fading into one long whimper as I shook my head and tugged the ruined trousers to his knees. Seeing his mess - smelling it too, that was unavoidable - he quivered, started crying louder, sobbing, âPlease, Iâm sorry, couldnât help it,â as if I cared; as if I was his mother.Â
White underpants - briefs - with a stained blue trim. Sweet and childish, writing on the front, a weekday.Â
âWhat day is it today, my pet?â
His face went beetroot-pink. Hanging his head, he whispered, âThursdayâ.
âOh, petâŠâÂ
âTuesdayâ, in soft blue, showed beneath the mess. Poor, poor darling. So high up, so proud, and he couldnât even change his underwear. If not for me, he wouldâve walked around all day in stinking briefs even before the mess, like a child neglected by a lazy nanny.Â
âIâm sorry,â he sobbed, tugging his shirt to cover the offending phrase, though it was hopeless, âI meant to change them, only I got distracted, had so many meetings, I forgotâŠâÂ
âThatâs not an excuse, you naughty boy,â I tutted, slapping his fleshiest part of thigh, leaving a mark, âReally, youâre hopeless. Such a toddler. You ought to be in nappies.âÂ
His eyes widened, terrified. I expected him to shout at me, or protest in a plummy splutter. Instead, he began to cry. His knees wobbled so pitifully that I made him sit down, but of course he saw it as a punishment, an earned suffering, feeling it squish against him and ooze down his legs was enough to send him into a catatonia of humiliation.Â
âShush, now, try and be brave, youâll be clean and dry soon.âÂ
I stroked his hair: blonde, as soft as it looked. He moved into my touch though his body urged to pull away. Drool leaked from the left side of his mouth. Without thinking, I eased his thumb between his lips. He began to suck, rhythmically, soothingly; his eyes glazed over. A wet splatter struck the floor.Â
âOh, for goodnessâ sake, RupertâŠâ
He clung to me, nuzzling my chest.Â
âI didnât mean to,â he lisped, âI couldnât help it, promiseâŠâ but I saw a little smile behind the sucking hand, a hangdog pleasure at his childishness. Then, his body stiffened. Real fear crept back into his gaze. He made a low, pathetic whimper, a wail of fright - âMy tummy hurts⊠I canât ⊠I think I need the potty.â Prfttt. âOhhhhâŠâ he moaned, âOh no⊠my tummy⊠I-Iâm frightened⊠itâll be runny, Iâll ⊠Iâll explodeâŠâÂ
When the big, strong, indestructible character just looks so pathetic and sad. All he says is âMy belly isnât feeling so good...â in a really quiet voice.
When the big, strong, indestructible character just looks so pathetic and sad. All he says is âMy belly isnât feeling so good...â in a really quiet voice.
- not being able to stop pooping. just sickies stuck on the toilet with horrible stomach aches that are hurting them to the point of tears. and even when they stop pooping momentarily, they know theyâre going to mess themselves if they get up so they just have to stay there holding their upset bellies.Â
- super wholesome nice sickie eating an unusual desert their partner tried making for the first time. it doesnât taste that good but theyâre damn proud of their partner and want to encourage them so they eat ALL of it. however the partner doesnât realize theyâve used an ingredient that theyâre intolerant to, and the sickie doesnât realize until itâs too late and theyâre doubled over on the toilet, rocking back and forth, hugging their knees and trying their hardest not to cry as unending waves of watery poop blasts out of them and they experience the worst stomachache theyâve ever had.Â
- accidents. accidents in bed, accidents in a partnerâs bed, accidents on the way to the toilet, accidents in the shower while recuperating from a bout on the toilet, being in the bathroom but still not making it on time, accidents at school, accidents while on a hike that was supposed to be a romantic date, accidents while camping after eating undercooked meat. just accidents!
stop whining. youâre a grown ass man- act like it. oh my god, youâre such a fucking baby, potty dancing like a little kid. stop that, itâs fucking embarrassing and everyone can see you. are you trying to make a scene?
donât you dare! I said hold it. I swear to fucking god, if you piss your fucking pants right now-
are you fucking kidding me? is that a wet spot? donât lie to me! you actually just pissed yourself a little, didnât you, itâs showing on your pants. youâre so embarrassing, you canât even keep your pants dryâŠ
Imagine a characters sick with a nasty cold. They feel gross enough to go to the doctor, where they find out theyâve got a sinus infection.
They go home with some hefty antibiotics to help knock out their infection. Their appetite has been super low, so their system is essentially empty. They take a pill with nothing in their stomach and go to bed.
They must have been too feverish to read the pill bottle, cause theyâre surprised when they wake up in the middle of the night with excruciating gas pain. They grunt out a few short, wet âbraps,â but their stomach seems to need to let out something more solid, so they hurry to the toilet.
Thereâs not much in them to begin with, but a thin stream of acidic, burning shit sputters our of their ass. Their cramping belly and feverish skin has them dizzy and soaked in a cold sweat as they weakly strain. The way their tummy is gurgling and cramping makes them think theyâve got more to go, but the reality is theyâre too empty to pass much more.
They sit on the toilet moaning as they struggle to pass tiny little âfrrpsâ that sputter into the bowl dryly and provide them no relief. After being reduced to a tearful, slouched over lump, they decide to just get back to bed.
They chug a big glass of water before getting back to sleep. It soothes their empty, angry stomach enough to lull them to sleep, but theyâre awoken a half hour later.
They barely make it to the toilet before an explosion of watery diarrhea surges from their rear, making them cry out in pain. They feel so ill. Whatâs the matter with them??
They notice their pill bottle on the bathroom sink and reach for it. In large warning letters it reads, âTake with a meal, may cause explosive diarrhea.â They groan. A loud, slimy gurgle struggles through their bowels and they sigh, grunting to push out a wet blast into the bowl.
After a few more sharts, they haul themselves back to bed. Itâs almost morning, so they reach for their phone. Theyâre gonna need another day off.
my bf has to take trips a lot (like monthly for 3 days BUT ITS A LOT OKAY I MISS HIM) and when heâs coming back he tries to edge himself or hold his piss so that as soon as i see him he just starts beggingâŠ
like heâs genuinely come back and just gotten straight on his knees begging to piss himself. he came in, locked the door, and just got straight on his knees and looked up at me with the widest teariest eyes just begging please please please. AHHHHHH
and yes it happened tdy again and so iâm posting about it whatever
Mr Smith found it increasingly hard to focus on the other man's words as his need to relieve himself from both holes became more apparent, uncomfortable pressure brewing in his abdomen. His lack of attention appears to draw the ire of William, who stands infront of the hazy classroom with a large ruler and piercing glare, ready to dish out sadistic punishment.
(â ïž Scat Warningâ)
The last thing Alex could remember before landing in this predicament was trying on several swimsuits he'd ordered online.
He wasn't too sure where he was, looking around and recognising it to be a terribly plain classroom of sorts, and he found himself desperately shifting his legs together, needing the toilet. Alex was also sitting at one of the student desks, golden sunlight shining upon his pale skin as he frowned.
"Oi!" The sound of someone's harsh voice caused him to tense up, Alex snapping his head to the direction it came from. It had emanated from the teacher's desk where previously no one had been just a second ago. Though now it was...William?!
"You, pay attention to me." William snapped his fingers at him, voice crooning and low as he stalked down the aisle of tables to where he was. William held an unreadable expression and strange emptiness to his brown eyes that were narrowed at him with suspicion. In his hand was a large, wooden ruler that he twirled about, Alex swallowing nervously when the shorter man sat upon his desk.
He leaned over too close for his liking, tapping the ruler against the table in an irritating manner.
"Do you know why you're here?" He questioned slowly, Alex feeling the younger man's lemony breath upon his face. He made a screwed face at William's strange behaviour, moving back to keep some distance.
"No?" He replied, confused. "Why are you wearing that awful outfit? You of all people I would expect to dress better." Alex scoffed at the other man, looking him up and down in judgement at the horrible orange and red stripes upon his suit-he looked like a circus act! To be fair it fit snugly against his handsome figure now that he was looking more closely at it.
The wooden ruler came down inches away from his hand upon the table, sounding out with a loud, and threatening thwack that made him go white and flinch back. This sudden movement only caused him to whimper as his desperation only grew larger.
"You address me as Mr Tailor when speaking to me, and you do not insult your masters either! You are here because you are a disobedient brat." Again he struck the table with the ruler, Alex bringing his hands up to cover his ears to block out the horrible sound. "Cowering now then? Where's that gobby mouth of yours gone?" There was a twisted grin of amusement painted upon the face of William, completely uncharacteristic of him. Alex only stared wide-eyed at Mr Tailor as he stood up once again in a stiff manner, marching to his desk to take something out his drawer.
Good lord did he forget that anxiety set off his...toilet related issues, this situation in particular especially causing his stomach to be upset.
"Alex!" William barked at him from his desk, holding a textbook. "I will grant leniency if you answer me correctly." Alex wanted to roll his eyes at how silly William sounded. Yes the man could speak formally, but he still spoke in that Yorkie slang of his in nearly every other setting that wasn't academic. Seeing him talk in this manner was just-uncanny.
"Fo-cus." William said firmly, shooting a glare at him. He looked away, biting his bottom lip, starting to jig his leg up and down to ignore how his stomach ached. "How many men are required to play the thieves in an Ali Baba pantomime?"
Alex found his English-expert self to be twitching in utter annoyance at this question, this wasn't even a subject related thing, more logistics if anything. Though a strange force appeared to keep him pinned, and dumbfounded in place as the answer appeared to slip his mind.
"I...don't know Mr Tailor." He mumbled out weakly, shrinking into his chair at the fury present in William's eyes.
"'I don't know' is not a number. Try again." His voice was level, though to Alex it was only imminent warning before danger.
"Uhm. Ah- forty-two?" A nervous smile graced his face in an attempt to appease the irate man, his ruler swinging up and down faster than ever before. He shook his head slowly.
"Idiot boy. I should've known you were the dimmest of the bunch with how you frequently soil your clothes." William's face held a genuine disgust that made Alex's blood run cold, though also flowing to other- parts of his body. "I had to rescue you last week from that closet with your pants all muddied, the least you could do would be to listen to me." He clenched his jaw at the other man's words. Absolutely not, he refused to be aroused by such deprecating words, slowly moving his hands to his crotch to hold himself.
He now remembered his earlier, accident, that happened after work last week. Right now, he was in that exact same outfit, albeit dry, again on the verge of exploding, though this time from both ends. Alex would probably die if he crapped his grey suit-pants, from both embarrassment and the cost it would take to buy a new one.
The pain in his stomach refused to subside as gas steadily built up. He really wanted to fart but didn't want to capture the temper of Mr Tailor even further by making such vulgar noise. Maybe he could do it quietly-the pressure of gas was becoming too unbearable for him to think any longer on that decision.
He dug his nails into the table and pushed as discreetly as he could, though to his horror, instead of the wind quietly passing, a loud, sticky splort noise erupted from his arse. It was a damp sensation in the back of his pants that smelt rancid-Alex feeling his face heat up, hiding it within his hands. His need to poo now was even more intense. Even though farting had made his stomach feel better-the force of pushing had caused him to lose slight control of his weak bladder. Any wetness wasn't visible but he could definitely feel it in his underwear-and it made him tremble in both excitement and anxiety, cock now at full mast from the humiliation.
âWhat the hell do you think you're doing- stand up!â Mr Tailor bellowed in fury as he sped-walked over to where he sat, Alex simply glued to his chair. He was sure if he moved he might accidentally piss himself, or worse, release the shit that had been building up for the past hour. But Mr Tailor didn't appear to care, grabbing him by the nape of his collar and yanking him upwards.
Alex choked at the feeling of his tie strangling him as Mr Tailor tilted his head back with force, coming close to his face. Revulsion was present upon it-upset quickly welling up inside Alex at the fact this was not the sweet and gentle William he knew, the one that soothed him through what was half nervous breakdown and half a fetish discovery. This one was cold and harsh, and spoke in a near identical manner to him.
âEnjoying embarrassing yourself I gather.â He murmured into his ear, using his wooden ruler to prod at his dick. Alex let out a low whimper, squeezing his eyes shut and attempting to glance away. âDon't you dare look away. Look at me.â There was a mocking tone to his voice as he let go of his nape, stroking his calloused hands through Alex's blonde curls. It was a weird mix of comforting and underlying threat-this version of William could tear his hair out easily with little remorse.
âCan I go to the toilet- sir?â He whined aloud. Embarrassment burnt through him as he stuttered out these words in shame-he'd not called anyone âsirâ since he last left school. But now he was somehow back here? Alex bit his bottom lip as another urge to piss overcame him, bringing one hand to the front of his trousers and other to the back. He could feel shit pushing against his anus, Alex clenching his bottom together to try hold it back.
A smile of fondness graced upon Mr Tailor's face, though there was that dark sadism that glimmered in his hypnotising gaze. The younger man shook his head with much enjoyment, causing tears to well in Alex's eyes at the blatant denial.
âYou're still being punished.â Mr Tailor stroked his cheekbone with his thumb, Alex leaning into it. âYou can hold it until your detention is finished.â Alex sniffed as he vehemently shook his head, making a squeaking noise when the hand that was caressing his face trailed down his body-Mr Tailor lifting the back of his jacket up to snake a hand into his trousers. Alex shivered at Mr Tailor's cold hands groping his bare arse, feeling him play with one cheek squeezing and digging his nails into the plump flesh. Mr Tailor appeared unimpressed, or at least wasn't showing what he was feeling. Alex then let out a stilted moan when he felt thin fingers brush his hole before reaching down to rub his penerium, a choking noise emerging from him as precome wept from his cock.
To his disappointment the interaction had ended quickly, with Mr Tailor glancing at his hand which was mildly filthy with a frown. âDirty boyâŠâ He mumbled something else under his breath. âSoiling your underwear again- unbelievable. Come to the front with me.â Alex didn't have much of a choice in following this order, having his wrist grabbed and held in a tight grip as he was practically dragged to the front of the classroom. He didn't have much energy to resist, keeping himself hunched over and grabbing his dick in order to hold back the flood. He wished he could loosen his belt, though it wasn't like he could do much under the thumb of Mr Tailor.
âBend over.â Mr Tailor ordered after letting go of him, pointing to one of the front desks. Alex frowned in confusion as he squirmed where he stood. âBend over that desk!
Alex scrambled quickly to do so, wincing at a spurt of piss absorbing into his trousers.
âCan I please go to the toilet sir?â He was close to bursting into tears, gathering that he was about to be spanked by that massive ruler Mr Tailor held in his hand. There was no way he'd manage to stop his bladder and bowels from exploding into his trousers when being hit over and over again.
He stiffened up when he felt Mr Tailor stand directly behind him, holding his waist as his hands trailed down to his arse in a ticklish manner-before being jolted forwards and squealing at the sensation of being smacked by the other man.
âYou've got a nice arse you know- it's very round. I should plug it to stop these accidents of yours-we'd both enjoy it.â Alex bit his bottom lip, rolling his eyes back when he could feel Mr Tailor fondling his dick through his front while pressing up against him. He pushed back against his crotch, secretly wishing that Mr Tailor would get this over with and fuck him-he was beyond caring of how, needing the other man inside him or touching him until he was shuddering uncontrollably. Though his desperation was still a problem, the position he was in causing more gas to slip out. It was not damp but fully wet this time, causing Mr Tailor to relinquish his precious touch.
âI will give you ten strikes.â This was said in a casual manner, Alex feeling Mr Tailor bent over upon his back. âFour for your misbehavior yesterday. Three for your foul mouth. And two for your lack of self-control. Understood?â Mr Tailor asked, brushing his thumb over Alex's lip from behind, before shoving several fingers into his mouth for him to gag on. âGood to hear.â A mischievous smile appeared on his face as he stood up and took several steps back.
The first strike came with surprise, and much force that stung so badly that a tear fell down his face. Alex swore his cock was now dribbling piss, though he couldn't move his hands to stench the flow, with his elbows resting on the table. Another blow then came, quickly in succession with another brutal one that made him moan aloud in pain and arousal, Alex squeezing his legs as tightly as he could.
âLegs apart.â The ruler Mr Tailor used was inserted between his thighs to separate them, a despair washing over Alex as the realisation he was about to wet himself fully hitting him then. Clenching his thighs together was the only way he'd hold his piss, Alex letting out a yip of protest as another crack sounded out from behind him. The dribbling began to turn into a steady stream he oh-so tried to stop, but that was quickly thwarted when the ruler again came down on his arse, causing his bladder to press against his belt.
Alex squeezed his eyes shut as warmth began to spread across his crotch and down his legs, hearing the liquid dribble to the wooden floor in a loud pitter-patter. He could feel the fabric of his pants chafing torturously against his tip, mind immediately jumping to needing to jerk himself off like last time this had happened. Maybe he'd use one of the desks to hump against, put a display on for Mr Tailor to be softer upon him.
âMaybe I have to-â Mr Tailor struck him mid sentence, the combination of his soaked trousers and Tailor's ruler causing a burning sensation to spread across his buttocks. â-hit harder for you to learn!â The man kept to his words as the ruler again hit Alex with a ferocity unlike before, causing him to arch his back and howl in pain. He wondered what this entire fiasco would satisfy within Mr Tailor-his own perversions maybe? Curiosity? Alex leaned more heavy on the latter due to how Tailor was groping his sensitive areas, wondering how satiating it must be for William to witness his total humiliation, while unrelentingly horny during it all. Vague fantasies of being made to piss himself that he'd used to furiously get off these past days flashed across his mind-now that he thought about it this was why he was being punished! There had been a knowing, and smug look to Mr Tailor's eyes throughout everything, he knew about his filthy secrets.
Now that his bladder was empty, his gut was now churning and gurgling non stop. Alex's lip trembled at the sensation of the massive log breeching his hole, trying so hard to to stop it turtleheading into his wet pants.
At that sensation he could feel his cock twitch from a memory of his early adulthood, when he had once soiled his pants during a university presentation, a mixture of nerves at being the centre of attention and forgetting to go to the toilet prior inducing his sphincter to squeeze out watery waste as he pathetically stuttered through choked tears and strange looks from his peers. Miraculously no one noticed how obscenely the back of his jeans bulged, even though Alex was sure he was about to pass away on the spot. The embarrassment of trying to hide his hot mess from sticking out his pants, trying to stop people from commenting upon the smell and- the erection he gained that day had scared him, but also excited him. It wasn't one of his proudest wanks but god was he so, so horny from that recollection, Alex's insides squirming as he felt Mr Tailor strike him again.
The shit finally gave way from the pain, pushing through his straining asshole against his will. It slowly crowned outwards against his panties and balled into a thick sludge that mixed with the remnants of piss in his cold trousers. A lewd, pained whine came from his mouth as he voided his bowels, pushing hard once he realised trying to hold it all in was futile. After the softer, less solid waste had passed a more ribbed and hard shit was coming out, Alex wondering how this looked in Mr Tailor's eyes. Seeing him bent over and moaning, struggling against the large brown log that split him wondrously into two-Alex biting his bottom lip and shuddering at this thought.
The thick thing eventually passed with no more coming out of him, dress-pants sagging with the weight of how heavy it was. If not for his belt, Alex was sure his trousers would've fallen down by now, legs feeling weak at how long he'd been standing. He could feel hot tears of embarrassment run down his face-his rim feeling puffy and sore from how stretched out it'd been from his untimely accident. Alex then let out another sob at how sheerly overstimulated he was, fussed up golden curls sticking to his sweaty forehead, glasses knocked askewed.
Through blurry vision he saw Mr Tailor come close to his face once again, Alex letting out a shriek as he attempted to shy away from hands trying to touch his face.
âDo not resist.â The firm voice instructed, Mr Tailor undoing his belt buckle.
Alex chewed neurotically at his nails as he thought about that morning-having woken up in a complete sweat accompanied by a painful erection he remidied by humping his pillow, finishing in only a few seconds with a pathetic keening noise. At first he'd been worried he had messed the bed, like he did in that nightmare? dream? He didn't know at this point which one it was, and didn't care, keeping on his streak of avoiding interacting, or even passing by William to avoid those feelings from rising to the surface. He'd done this ever since he wellâŠlost control in front of William.
Lord, he wasn't sure he could face the other man at all without his knees crumbling inwards-the memory of Mr Tailor, the mean William permanently seared into his head all day causing pulses of arousal to come in waves. He held mixed feelings-of enjoyment and upset, there was a part of him that liked such rough treatment, and another part of him that shrivelled up into an accursed ball and cry like a baby.
Rudely, Alex was thrown out his thoughts when somewhere in his peripheral vision, a paper ball was flung across his classroom. He had to push away the more illicit thoughts he had in his brain and concentrate on not absolutely losing it in front of his devilish year-nines, the lot of them little cretins who frequently disobeyed his orders with a childish glee. From rage procured from his student's constant disrespect and disturbed sleep, Alex stood from his chair and began to bellow.
âRight, we don't do that Callum!â He indignantly scolded, pointing a finger at the petulant boy who opened his mouth much like a fish would, spluttering in outrage as he began to start arguing back.
This pushed something within Alex over the edge, blinding, uncontrollable rage spurring him on to yell over the boy's protests.
âNo! Don't you dare talk back to me-after you have chosen to repeatedly disrupt my lessons, as well as the education of others around you!â Alex pointed his finger accusedly at the boy, who paled as he continued. âYou out of everyone in this class especially should know to pay attention. Particularly, after that, twenty. six. percent. that you received in the last test you've done.â He sneered, hearing the rest of the class giggle at the boy's misfortune at being singled out under his ire. Alex shot them all a fiery glare.
âAnyone else want to volunteer in his bloody place?â He questioned out loud in a threatening manner, shakily breathing in and out.
To his misfortune this didn't have the intended effect of being intimidating that he was hoping to achieve, only hearing collective gasps and giggles across the room at his slip up with the word âbloodyâ-Alex internally screeching in frustration and embarrassment at being wound up by a bunch of bratty thirteen year olds. A new anger at this spurred him on to continue, opening his mouth to give a further verbal lashing to the rest of them, only to be stopped by the sound of knocking on the door.
He froze, blood running cold as the stranger knocked upon the door again.
Reluctantly, Alex walked to the door of the classroom. He'd be well and truly fucked if it was SLT, or some other management people.
Opening the wooden door, Alex had the strong urge to close it once he saw who was there. William, standing there and beaming like an idiot, an unassuming expression on his face as he looked up at him. Alex had the strong urge to melt into the floor, indecisive of what to say with how much his brain was overheating.
âMr Tailor.â He murmured surprised, face flushing red as he swallowed anxiously. A deep pleasure shot through his body at the memory of his dream, Alex feeling horror as his dick began to twitch, showing interest in the other man. What didn't help stave this off was being reintroduced to the signature lemony scent that William wore like in that morning's dream, completely overwhelming him after days of avoidance.
Quickly he exited the room and shut the door behind him.
âAre you alright? I heard some proper yelling in there.â William tilted his head in curiosity, glancing between the classroom door and Alex, who avoided his gaze at all costs. He was scared of what he'd find if he made direct eye contact with the man-an irrational thought in his head arising. Maybe William could read his dirty, shameful thoughts like in the dream. Alongside the fact anyone walking down the corridor they were in definitely heard him lose complete control in front of his students.
âReally, what's going on in there? The kids can't be pissing you off that bad can they?â William placed his hands on his hips, a grin widening across his face. It was much like in the dream, but with more humanly, warm characteristics.
Alex felt his knees buckle at the sight of this, the need to touch himself becoming unbearable. He clenched his jaw, willing himself to stay grounded and remind his rabidly horny brain of where he was, a SCHOOL! With annoyance, he pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing deeply in and out, willing himself not to combust then and there.
Confusion swept across the previously happy face of William, who took a step back.
âI'm alright.â Alex gritted out in a clipped voice, words coming out more harshly than intended. âIf you're done with bothering me, I need to attend to my class.â He quickly turned his back to William's confused face before the other man could answer, ignoring the heaviness in his chest. It was perhaps better if he distanced himself from the younger man-before he had the opportunity to do so first.
Taking someone on a walk and watching them grip their stomach and cringe when they think you arenât looking. So of course the other person tries to distract them and make the walk longer. Maybe making a wrong turn or too until the other *has* to stop.
And all they hear behind them is a long wet PHBLRT, along with crackling and whimpering. They turn around to see the other person frozen in place, their knees knocked together, their red face twisted into a grimace. They casually approach the other person and peer behind them, catching sight of the new lump in their pants. It's quiet, so the hissing sound is able to be heard loud and clear when they give up on holding back their bladder as well.
"Awww did someone have to go potty? That's too bad. I wish you'd told me, I would have cut our walk short."
Bonus: They have nothing to change into so their forced to walk the way back messy, and they've been walking for an hour.
Bonus Bonus: Turns out they took too many wrong turns and they end up lost. It's been a while, and it seems like someone has to go again...
currently living for the slow progression of stomach symptoms before someone realizes they're sick
they wake up a little early urgently having to take a dump. it's a little loose, but definitely within the realm of normal. after that their tummy is super gurgly and kind of crampy, so they chalk it up to hunger and eat an extra big breakfast.
a few hours later they're back in the bathroom taking an even looser shit - mushy poorly formed not-quite-diarrhea - rubbing their gassy, bloated belly. Clearly their guts are a bit unsettled. A light lunch should help.
But by the time they finish eating their discomfort has morphed into nausea. they lay on the couch rubbing their bloated belly for a while, letting out dangerously wet farts and acidic burps. and then their stomach lurches and they retch and clap their hand over their mouth, barely making it to the toilet in time to vomit, heaving over and over. their guts cramp violently and they try to clench up, but mushy diarrhea fills their underwear as they puke, bursting out with each heave.
All they can do is whimper and lay their head on the cool toilet seat as their tummy clenches and they lose it from both ends. they're kneeling in a puddle and realize that at some point they lost control of their bladder, just to add insult to injury.
Cleanup takes so long that they have to stop and have more diarrhea halfway through, luckily in the toilet this time. Maybe it's a virus, maybe they ate something bad- either way, they're definitely sick.
re-watching Dr Strangelove has given me a dark (ish) idea...
a Defence Secretary (middle-aged, known for being uppity and sharp) is lured into playing a wargame / simulation. The higher-ups, including the President - know it's not real, but he's none the wiser. The scenario? WW3.
As the sirens blare and the situation (seemingly) intensifies, the government & secret service leaders are bundled into the command centre. The poor Defence Secretary tries to maintain composure, huffing and pouting when he's rushed around, but things go from bad to worse.
North Korea are seconds from a nuclear launch. Russia, confused but offended they weren't contacted, has followed suit.
All eyes are on the President. He passes the metaphorical (and literal) mic to his Defence Secretary. There's silence. Then...
Sniffling. Whimpering. A slow drip-drip of shame, beneath the desk. A burbling, liquid fart.
The Defence Sec got so frightened that he wet himself. No, worse -soiled himself - loudly and copiously - and now his expensive suit's not only wet but smelly, lumpy at the back. Shielding his blushing face, he slumps forward, terrified and humiliated, and begins to cry into the desk.
Eventually, an aide intervenes. He picks the poor Defence Sec up by his armpits, like he's a sleepy little kid, and half-carries him out of the room. For a moment they're worried he'll need sedation; he's hysterical, shrieking for help, the situation more apparent now he's on the move again, out in a hallway lined with armoured military personnel. But the aide, skilled at dealing with their master's moods, just wipes the boss's face and cleans him up.
The Defence Sec's white sports briefs (he plays tennis, you know, but he's useless at it) are ruined. They're stripped gently from him, he's cleaned up with baby wipes and water, and his hair is stroked as he's eased into a brand-new suit that doesn't fit. The aide tuts as the Defence Sec buries his face into his underling's chest, and sobs forgiveness.
"You do know it was just a drill, right?" the aide wonders, aloud.
The Defence Sec looks up, bottom lip wobbling, shakes his head.
"I'm not a baby..." he whimpers, eyes wide and broken. But the damage is done. For the next few years he'll be know as the guy who lost his cool during a mock DEFCON meeting; the boss who peed and pooped his pants before they'd even got the button out. And there's no limit to the diapers a man can get in the post, especially if the CIA are sending them.
Saying âI canât hold itâ while actively pushing. Red face, grunty voice, etc
The subtle shift in expression when someone goes from relaxed to focused as they start pooping. Itâs like you can visually track their gradual surrender to nature, the moment they shift from competent adult to animal relieving itself.
Solid accidents in uncommon places. Being on a bumpy bus ride that makes your turtle-heading poop bump against your hole over and over like itâs trying to pry you open from the inside. Being in the crowd at a big area game, struggling with all your might not to relax your bum, then seeing your red face pop up on the megatron right as your gut decides to bear down and work that poop out. Being stuck in an elevator with important colleagues when your poop decided itâs time to come out and despite urgent clenching, youâre forced to stare your colleagues in the face as your hole gapes open.
Side note: solid accidents are almost *more* embarrassing because itâs likeâŠyou couldnât hold that? Not being able to hold a loose liquidy poop is one thing but not being able to hold a big solid poop? Childish incompetent incontinent behavior
Iâve harped on about this before but vocal pooping >>> announcements like âitâs coming outâ, âIâm goingâ, âIâm poopingâ, âitâs happeningâ etc itâs so good idk why
I absolutely LOVE LOVE LOVE both the self destructive possibilities with purposely letting out leaks while super desperate to try and maintain control and the sadistic aspact of someone controlling you and making you let out leaks even if it'd make you lose control or youre just too desperate to handle it.
Being super desperate out in public, wearing light trousers and not being anywhere near a bathroom.. Trying to subtly let small leaks into your underwear to keep your bladder from reaching completely full.. It could go so wrong so quickly but it's so addictive đ« One leak being particularly difficult to stop, going on for a little longer than intended and all you can feel as you move around is your soaked underwear, not easily being able to check if you have a visible wet spot on your clothes that others can ses đ€đ€đ€
On the other hand..
Someone controlling your bladder (would work in person or over messages) and them knowing you're in public and knowing you're desperate, making you let out leaks of different lengths and of increasing difficulty, not caring if you're embarrassed to be soaking your underwear around people, not caring or giving any leniency when you say you don't think you can do it again, or you don't think you could stop if you tried again, or if you leak for as long as they tell you it'll soak through to your trousers and everyone will see... đ« đ« đ« đ€đ€đ€
Them making you relax all your muscles and try not to lose it. Making you let out little drips and spurts, and when you're at your absolute limit, making you try to fully let go for a second and then immidately stop. If you succeed then they make you do it again for 3 seconds, then 5.
When you tell them you can feel it starting to drip down the inside of your thighs and you can tell it's soaked through your trousers and everyone can probably see, they make you do it again. And again. Until you can't stop the leaks anymore and you're straight up pissing yourself because they told you to đ« (except they pretend they thought you could hold it and tell you you should've had better control despite the way they bullied your bladder and kept you full on drinks the whole time)
This but letâs take it a step further, and involve messing. Having farts coaxed out of you, being praised for your noisy, spluttering gas. Wearing tight underwear because it shows your ass off better, but really they mean it makes the mess more obvious. Being told off for making such a nasty smell, having it come out as a solid lump only to bubble and rip out into a stinky, sticky stew.
Degradation and praise in eprocto except its reversed>>
Someone groaning in embarrassment, pain and relief as gas pains move lower and lower down their abdomen. They made the mistake of eating something that didn't agree with them, and now their body is eager to relieve itself. Unfortunately, their partner is a bit of a sadist, and upon discovering their little problem, is massaging the gut in all the right ways, kissing their forehead and telling them they'll feel better in no time, and they're doing so well. They're super embarrassed, and their lover laughs hearing the suppressed farts hit their lap, feeling the sickly warmth hit them, and inhaling as deeply as possible to make them feel more humiliated.
Bonus points if the sadistic one comments on the smell, leaning in close to their poor partner's neck.
"Hmm, guess those spices really didn't agree with you, they're coming right out again. My poor angel. I don't mind though, you smell delicious."
Messing / Omorashi Heaven @fartresskathy - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
