Premium Story #13: Pride to Poobrain II: The Crown
🕑 Added 2025-11-20 20:22:34 +0000 UTC
Premium Story #13: Pride to Poobrain II: The Crown
(Sequel to ‘Premium Story #8: Pride to Poobrain’)
(Content Tags: Fantasy setting, classism, diapers, humiliation, messing, niche brain-drain scenario)
There wasn't a singular moment that could be pointed to, for when the transformation had taken a full hold over me. It wasn't instantaneous, though I imagine it would have been less of a cruelty if it had been. The crown that I'd pushed for him to make, the one he'd been all too happy to oblige me with, was a marvelous machine that worked its twisted magic gradually.
The way that the crown began was much like an alchemist's albemic, where distillation would sluggishly drip away the pure essence of the substance within. The putrid heft of the freshly soiled nappy was itself a material source, and it would undergo the fundamental processes necessary for purification into a condensed compound. My mind was to act as the flask for which that compound would be added, and the two materials would merge into a singular solution.
That process would take time, but it would begin to warp my sensibilities with immediate haste. Within minutes of the nappy being confined to the top of the crown, hidden within a chamber that could be described as the aludel, my thought process would already start to twist strangely.
By the time he removed my earmuffs and blindfold, he had hastily fastened a fresh garment around his waist, and he'd gotten the headpiece to emanate wondrous colors of fascination, as well as emanate a diluted odor that the center chamber could not fully mask.
"It's finished, my lord. I hope the crown is to your liking."
Seeing it in action, in the dingy mirror of the workshop, I was infatuated by it. It sparked power and elegance, all rolled into one amalgam of precious metals and neatly cut jewels. Much of the cost of its production had been the last remaining share of what funds were to be allocated to the boy's projects, meaning that this would be the last labor for some time that had the full financial backing of my illustrious family.
I knew papa probably wouldn't be pleased by that, so I made an executive decision to work an angle of appeasement, to assure the little engineer didn't feel the need to field any complaints higher up the chain of command. He was under my purview these days, but I feared he was clever enough to know when to seek out a higher power.
"The craftsmanship is impeccable, Alistair. It is your finest creation by far, and I think it'll do quite nicely for my party tonight. Maybe in time, I'll have you become my personal goldsmith; your metallurgy is as impressive as your engineering." My compliments were intentionally enhanced, but they weren't fibs; as much as I felt resentment towards the child, I couldn't deny that when in service to my own needs, that he'd done a phenomenal job.
That got a smile out of him too. "You're too kind, master. I hope your guests give you the attention that you earnestly deserve."
Oh, if I had only known how cheeky that statement actually was. I'd so foolishly believed he was an ant under my finger, and that he was happy for any accolade I gave him, but those rosy cheeks were a lie of innocence. Nappied like a mere babe, but he connived with the masterful wickedness of someone far beyond his years. That gap-toothed grin wasn't kind, it was a thing of malice.
As clever as he was, my next move was one that I doubt even he had prepared for. I'm sure that on the corkboard of his mind, he'd pinned dozens of contingencies for this dark plot of his, but none of them had included a seemingly altruistic response.
"I want you to come to my party tonight, Alistair. There will be food finer than you can imagine, and perhaps you'll find inspiration from the the glamour of the city's wealthiest."
He'd been nothing but confident since I'd come down to his workshop that afternoon, but now his smirk was faltering, and in its place was confusion.
"Beg my pardon? I don't understand, master."
I thought he was being modest, that he was still fully humbled from the humiliation I'd forced upon him since his arrival here. He must not find himself worthy, I thought with a smug sense of superiority, blissfully ignorant of the truth.
"You will attend the gala as a guest, as a reward for your hard work in creating this piece for me. Fill your little belly and be merry for an evening."
Perhaps if I'd been a more empathetic person, or even one who could simply read the room, then maybe I would have come to recognize how tone-deaf my offer to him was. The gala was ultimately the thing that had drained his work of its resources, all for the sake of my own bloated ego, and here I was insisting that he partake in the very thing that'd driven him over the edge.
"...I see. That's very generous of you, sir, but I don't know if I belong among such fancy folk. I don't have anything that's look nice in a ballroom..."
I clapped my hand to his bare shoulder, my white glove defending my flesh from the laborious grease and sweat stuck to his skin. "Nonsense, Alistair. I'll see to it that you have something befitting the occasion; consider it payment for services rendered."
My own words had been carefully decided in that statement, and in the one earlier. The invitation to the party, and the attire necessary, would be what I considered a suitable replacement for the funds he would be lacking. There was no true equivalence in that exchange, especially as I planned to give him secondhand garb that my private tailor would adjust to his measurements. It was charity disguised as payment.
"...I'll send over a servant to...Clean you up, as well. You'll come tonight freshly bathed, groomed, and clothed in much nicer linens than what you are accustomed to. I'll inform my tailor to take extra care in sizing for your..."
My eyes drifted down toward the bulky white undergarment around his waist, the one that unbeknownst to me had been sloppily affixed mere minutes ago, to replace the one I'd originally seen coming down here, which was now corrupting my brain from on high. Spying the thick padding, my mind became fuzzy and warm, as though I was looking at something that sparked joy instead of disgust or ridicule.
"...Your...U-uhh, n-nappy.." I slowly stammered, eyes still caught in a trap of inexplicable fascination.
That moment was merely the first of many worse to come. It was the first symptom of the lowly state Alistair conspired to reduce me to, and I was foolishly oblivious to the fact that it signified a tremendous change in my life.
Alistair knew, and that evil little smile would curl back up. His plan hadn't accounted for an invitation, but that didn't mean his plan would be derailed; quite the contrary, as his presence meant a closer seat to the show, and it also meant retaining a form of control over how things would unfurl.
"I'm grateful, master. I'll make sure to be on my best behavior."
There was no deception there. Alistair would be quite the little gentleman, and he would find that night to be instrumental in cementing his own status as being favored by the wealthy denizens who would be in attendance. It was an opportunity, one he would fully utilize, to boost himself up on the hierarchy, and in contrast, it would be my opportunity to lower myself far beneath what I ever considered a possibility.
As promised, I would send over a servant to clean him up, and I would tell my tailor to dress him appropriately. Still petty, I did mention to her that his attire should be fittingly childish, and that it would be best to keep his ego in check by keeping his nappy somewhat noticeable to the discerning eye.
It was in my best interest to diminish his value in the eyes of my prestigious guests, not just for the sake of my own fragile ego, but to assure nobody thought much of poaching him from my family's reach. His talents and his wit would make him desirable in anyone's court, and they would probably treat him more respectfully too, so I needed to subtly smudge his cheek with the dirt of the lower-class, of the less valuable.
Focusing on his cherubic appearance, nappy included, felt to me as the most prudent option. I couldn't bring him into the party in the dirty disarray of his work uniform, with oil and soot staining his pallid face, so this was the next best option. If people were quick to judge him by his diminutive and immature form, then that'd be all the less I'd need to keep an eye on him.
As for myself, I would put the crown down in my chambers for a time, so that I too could prepare myself for the evening. My assumption would be that this paused the process of fusion, but that things would continue as soon as I was bearing the headpiece again. Off my head, my mind felt a little clearer, but the damage was already present; the corruption would steadily be spreading, because the infection of devolution was already upon me.
While I got myself ready, with the same sort of itinerary that I'd pushed upon Alistair, I would find myself looking more at the crown and its craftsmanship. It was complex and spoke to my affluence; the intricacies of the mystical technology were lost on my ignorance of that field, but I found my fingers rubbing over the center chamber of it, as if even then I subconsciously knew what was inside. Without fully knowing, the crown was alluring to me.
It would be some hours later, before I placed it back on my head. Once I was freshly bathed and clothed in my finest wardrobe, then the crown would be gleefully placed back atop my dome, and the insidious process would continue where it had left off. I again felt the odd tingling of something afoot, but that buzz in my brain was too pleasant to attribute to malfeasance.
One last glance in the mirror would give me all the confidence needed to strut my way from my quarters and to the main ballroom, where I would soon be expecting guests to arrive. The staff had been diligently preparing the party to my specifications, so striding in would present me with the wondrous sights of their labor.
Elegant decor, gorgeous arrangements of flowers, a troupe of skilled bards, and tables that were packed to the last inch with plates of extravagantly prepared culinary delights. With an arrogant smirk, I felt satisfied that everything had come together to be more decadent than that of any events my peers had planned in the past. The competitiveness between the disgustingly wealthy was a fierce beast, and I'd always been a strong competitor; this would be something that would take years to top!
Hands gloved and clasped together behind my back, I would survey every inch of the ballroom to inspect for any possible imperfections. The guests would very soon begin to arrive, so it was only natural that I assure no single thing had been left out of place.
Even with my scrutinizing gaze, which was not known for being reasonable, I could find no errors or mishaps; everything was in place, everything was exactly to the letter. Everything was perfect.
My esteemed guests would begin to trickle in over the course of the next hour, some early and some fashionably late; right on time, led in by the tailor I had lent out, was Alistair, and he was in the exact attire that I'd insisted upon.
Seeing him so dolled up was a strange sight to behold; I had hardly seen him cleanly bathed before, let alone with neatly brushed hair and clothing that looked like it had never seen a single day of manual labor. As specified, his manner of dress was selected to emphasize his childish appearance, and no part did that better than the ill-fitting shorts which sculpted the roundness of his nappy quite brazenly.
It wasn't so obvious that someone might immediately recognize what sort of garb he was concealing, but the overall poofy aesthetic screamed a confession of being juvenile and unremarkable. Since I knew what lurked beneath that taut material, I found myself again staring with a bizarre intrigue, just like earlier in the workshop.
"Alistair, I'm glad to see that my servants did well to civilize your appearance. You look like you could be a young noble, instead of a simple artificer who is sullied with the grease of machinery." I smiled, putting my hand on his shoulder.
The boy looked uncomfortable, as though he had never been clad in anything so stuffy, or placed in such a refined environment. These were gilded halls of opulence, full of hobnobbing between those whose status was higher by an unimaginable magnitude, and for which money was as plentiful as the air itself.
He was a little rat from the slums, who had only recently understood the glory of a full stomach or a warm bath, so the cultural shock must have been tremendous. That knowledge sat quite well with me, because it meant I didn't have to feel concerned that he would steal any of my light, nor would he be confident enough to make inroads with any of the other families.
"Yes, master...Thank you again, for the gracious invitation to your ballroom." He meekly replied, awkwardly pinching at the fabric that covered his padded rump, as if it was too tight.
"The pleasure was well-earned, my little engineer. This is your reward for your labor, so by all means, go and enjoy yourself; nobody here will know that you don't belong."
That in itself was a lie. Dressed up and cleaned was a start, but it wasn't as if I'd been able to do anything to give Alistair the regal refinement that would truly allow him to fit in here. He would still be a low-class urchin, and that much would be impossible to hide: from his posture, to his demeanor, to his dialect, he would be pegged as someone lesser.
As I watched him wander off to one of the banquet tables, to scope out the sort of food that he may never again be given the opportunity to try, my eyes stayed locked onto the bulbous shape that the shorts betrayed upon his backside. The nappy that enthralled me, that begged my attention, that my mind couldn't escape the thought of.
Another tingle shot through my skull, sharp but oddly pleasant, and I imagined for a moment what might be trapped inside the thick padding's walls; a vivid memory of the bloated state it had boasted when I'd first discovered his secret was blaring, and I had to shake my head to dislodge the image.
Why was I thinking so much of that? Why was my interest so affixed and my imagination so crisp?
I instead would distract myself with conversation, I would distance myself from the urchin, but try as I might, the fascination wouldn't flee. It helped little that all my guests were smitten with the immaculate crown I wore, and every wide-eyed gushing of compliments would only serve to remind me of the one who was responsible for its creation. My lips remained tight when asked of who I commissioned it from, only mentioning it was a craftsman for whom my family retained, but his name kept wanting to tumble from my throat, not for his edification, but as an indication of whom my thoughts were most consumed by.
Unable to escape these thoughts, I'd find myself eventually wandering the ballroom to keep the minuscule machinist in my sights, and then after a lengthy longing, I'd again approach him. Alistair had spent much of his time snacking; without knowing anyone here, his attention primarily defaulted to sampling the wares of the chef's efforts.
And all of those rich flavors, far more complex than any sort of slop that the rat had been eating before tonight, would have profound consequences on not just his delicate gut, but on my reputation. It would result in a singular event that served to propel me from the top of the heap, down to the ditches below.
A muffled yet lengthy rasp of gas would be the starting point of that event; a sound that went ignored by my guests in the loud bustle of the ballroom, but which to me alone was a deafening trumpet from heavenly angels. A rude noise that should have disgusted me, that should have further entrenched my classist attitude toward the whelp under my wing.
A slight look of discomfort overcame Alistair, and his knees were suddenly knocking, while he glanced around the room, with cheeks full like a chipmunk. He knew what was destined to happen, and so did I, and the thought had my head spinning.
Another burbling of ripe rapture, and his knees would start to fold; his skilled hands would curl into crude balls of uselessness, and his face would twist up in strain.
Mere feet away, cutting my way past guests, and I could see him lowering ever-so-slightly, with his padded bottom jutting outward, as if reaching out to greet me. I couldn't contain the maelstrom that my mind had mixed up into, all that could exist was the suddenly deep obsession that the crown was bestowing upon me.
A dry crackling that became wetter with each second passed, and taut fabric that hugged the nappy snugly, even as the nappy began to bulge with the dastardly droppings of the lower class. My hand was desperate to reach out and grab hold of the warm lump being expertly crafted by the artificer, it was all I could imagine that I wanted.
And that is exactly where my hand would show up, where it would grip, much to the shock of the still-soiling worker.
This was the catalyst for my destruction, and even as he turned to me with some surprise in his eyes, there was a knowing smirk starting to part his lips. The things about to happen to me, at the fault of the crown I was so vain of, would be my destruction.
The party would be very memorable to everyone in attendance, but for none of the reasons I could have ever hoped.
