Story #197: Simon Says (Part 5: Humble Pie)

Story #197: Simon Says (Part 5: Humble Pie) (Content Tags: Public humiliation, messy diapers, messy underwear, mind control, forced eating) "I hope you're ready to put on a show. Two eating contests, back to back? What a spectacle you'll be! How fortunate that you're such a pig, hmm?" The eating contests sounded awful to Buster, not just because he knew that they may damage his suave imagine, but because he'd already spent the better part of the early afternoon indulging in all the food stands of the fair. Hot dogs, funnel cake, cotton candy, fried Oreos, and everything in between. In addition, his stomach had been made more topsy-turvy by being compelled to go on as many of the rides as he could; being the mayor's son, he was able to skip most of the lines, though he didn't really want to. He didn't want to do *any* of it! But he also hadn't had much of a choice. For someone who had mentioned wanting to attend the fair with Buster, Simon had been repeatedly absent throughout the ordeal. The boy had given marching orders, setting Buster on the path he wanted, but then Simon had kept leaving to go vaguely take care of 'things' without any explanation. It was concerning, sure, but Buster couldn't help but feel happy to avoid being in the freak's presence. Simon still scared him quite a bit, and he feared that being around the dorky boy would only lead to more suffering and humiliation on his part. "I-I don't know how much I'll be able to really eat. You've already made me eat a lot today..." Buster ended up meekly responding. Simon laughed a little bit, "Don't worry about that, I think you'll find the power to press on. I'm sure you can just pop open a button if things get real tough." Buster blushed and looked away. Popping open a button on his slacks would mean risking showing part of his diaper, even if it was just a tiny bit, and even if that wasn't a problem, it still would have been a rather uncouth move for someone of Buster's status. That was something a slob might do, but not a future mayoral prospect! "...C-can I at least ditch the dirty underwear? Before the contests?" Simon looked like he was pretending to consider it, but he ended up shaking his head. "No, I don't think so. Don't you want the advantage of ruining your competition's appetite? You're coming across as pretty ungrateful, little piggy." Ungrateful? That was a laugh. What should Buster have been remotely grateful for in this situation? If he had the control to do so, he would have knocked some sense into Simon's stupid head for that. But he didn't have control over anything right now, least of all the nightmare that he found himself in; he was just a plaything in the hands of a madman. Simon continued, "I *do* have a present for you that will help, but we're going to wait until after the first contest to use it, okay? I think it'll be something you'll be in dire need of, and your opponents will probably be glad for it too." It was cryptic, which didn't make Buster any more at ease. Knowing what psychotic ideas were jingling around in Simon's head already, it was clear that it wouldn't be a gift worth giving thanks for. "Oh, good. We're just in time. Now, Simon says that you won't be holding anything back in this competition; you're going to win, no matter the personal cost. If that means having to make room, then your body will do just that. Out the back-end, of course; puking would disqualify you on the spot, but going number two in your pants is a great loophole." Simon wasn't technically wrong in his analysis; throwing up or leaving the table would be an instant loss for anyone competing, but there weren't any rules about crapping your pants during the contest. It only wasn't a viable strategy because of the social ramifications. Nobody was rushing to get an advantage by humiliating themselves. Nobody was getting an edge by taping on a ridiculous diaper to their waist. Buster would be alone in that regard. Simon directed Buster toward the table where the competition would take place, which was already set with people of varying ages who saw themselves as the future holders of a pie-shaped trophy. There were only about ten competitors in total, including Buster; about three other kids and six teens or adults. Several of which were rather portly, which was to be expected from such a contest. Buster sat down in the 'junior' section with the other kids, and he grimaced at the crinkling and squishing noises that came from his rump. The interior of his diaper was still spotless, but the exterior had those dirty briefs stuck, and it'd only be a matter of time before he ate too much and began to lose control of his bowels. Simon smiled and did the honors of wrapping the large bib that was included around Buster's neck; it was a good deal larger than a baby's bib, and it had a cartoonish picture of a fresh pie printed on it, with the name and date of the fair underneath it. Buster wouldn't be alone in wearing one, at least, but that didn't help to make him feel better. He thought Simon would head into the audience to watch from afar, but to his surprise, the boy took a different route. Simon was heading for the judge's table, where two others already sat in wait of their officiating duties. Judge Reuben, the rotund man who had been the primary judge of such events for decades, as well as a key member of the town's council, didn't shoo Simon away, but instead held out the third chair for him. It was starting to become clearer where Simon had gone throughout the morning; he'd been busy using his crazy magic to implant himself in the proceedings. Something that Buster still didn't realize, nor did the other members of his club, was that Simon's powers were more intricate than they were led to believe. Simon could control people, could manipulate their thoughts, in far more subtle ways than he'd used for Buster, Bailey, or Tyler; his ability didn't require the target to realize they were being controlled. That was how Simon had operated with Layla, after all. While Buster was painfully aware that he was being controlled against his will, his older sister had been brainwashed without her knowledge, and the same would be true for the majority of Simon's victims. Part of that depended on the willpower of the victim, with the weaker willed being far easier to manipulate, but much of it was up to Simon's discretion. The judge stood up, with the microphone in his hand, and welcomed the audience to the fifty-first annual festival; he cracked a lame joke about eating pies and started to introduce each competitor by name. "...And as a special treat, it looks like we have the mayor's son joining us this year! Buster Bridgewater!" The crowd clapped and cheered, unaware of what humiliating horrors were ahead. Most probably thought this to be some political stunt for good will, considering that mayoral elections were later in the year; it was a way for Mayor Bridgewater to show that her family was like any other. "Unfortunately, Mrs. Truman came down with a cold, so she won't be joining us at the judge's table this year. Luckily, in her place, we have this plucky boy ready to take the reigns. Simon, would you like to say a few words?" Simon smirked and took the microphone into his hand, "Thank you, Judge Reuben. It's truly an honor to be up here today. I know I'm new in town, so some people may not know me, but my name is Simon, and I say that we should all enjoy the competition today; we should laugh, and have fun, and just let things happen, even if those things get a bit messy." Buster didn't realize it, but as Simon's voice rang throughout the fair on the loudspeaker, it was subtly affecting the minds of everyone in attendance. Simon was making sure that nobody tried to stop anything that he had planned, no matter how ridiculous things became. The boy was priming everyone to simply accept the absurdity and humiliation that was to come. His statement was broad enough, generalized enough, that it would ease every single person into a simple acceptance of the otherwise bizarre fiasco that they'd become witness to. There would be humiliation, but no depth of concern for the poor boy at the target of such shame; they would laugh, jeer, and gawk, but not one would feel the need to interfere with the odd way that things would go. It didn't bode well for the Big Boy's Club in general, that their suffering could be so easily made acceptable by Simon's cruel words of power. They could take on all the negative ends of the fates they were being handed, all of the bad parts that would shape their future in this town, but there would be none of the hopeful components that may cause an onlooker to try to save them. It was insidious, just as Simon was himself. "Time for the first round! We'll be starting with a classic: apple pie!" Judge Reuben announced, as the pies started to be brought out to be placed at the long table. Buster had gone into the competition already feeling full from the buffet of fried delights and sweet treats that he'd been compelled to eat beforehand, but that fullness in his belly had dulled to a nearly imperceptible ache in the pit of his stomach; Simon had used his gift to make Buster a champion in the making, which included erasing, or rather silencing the biological warnings that the boy's body wanted to scream out. With that edge, it was 'easy as pie' to keep a competitive edge. To Buster's credit, he at least tried to retain some semblance of the dignity that he knew the Bridgewater name needed to maintain; he used a spoon and took dainty bites of his desserts, so that he didn't come across as the slovenly pig that Simon obviously wanted to display him as. Buster kept this refined edge to his display for the first few pies; it inhibited his speed when compared to some of the less proud contestants, but it kept his mouth and bib tidy. Speed was a little less important in this specific contest, with quantity being the ultimate decider of the winner, but eating slowly was generally a poor tactic, since it gave the body too much time to acknowledge the overload of food being ingested. By the third pie, which was pumpkin, Buster felt turmoil in his bowels. It was a minor chaos at first, just a bubbling cramp, but it started to grow with each unfortunate bite that he spooned into his maw. The heavy weight felt as though it was multiplying with each bite, becoming quickly intolerable to the boy's delicate constitution. During the fourth pie, a blueberry affair, he had no choice but to try to relieve some of the pressure with releasing some gas. He prayed it would be quiet, but that was another prayer that would go unanswered. **Ffrrrrrrrrttt!** The gassy outburst broke through the relative silence of the event; it was muffled by the thick confines of his diaper, but not enough to go unnoticed by the crowd. "Better out than in!" The old judge joked over the microphone, leading the crowd's laughter with his own good spirited chuckle. Buster felt his face grow hot with humiliation, but he couldn't stop eating to process the shame; Simon had given him clear instructions to win this thing, and that meant he was incapable of stopping until he was named the victor. Unfortunately for him, that first toot was just the heralding horn for much larger things to come. By the sixth pie, which was pecan, a few of the other competitors had waved the flag of surrender and bowed out of the contest. There were still several others whose resolve appeared as strong as ever, and Buster knew his tribulation wouldn't end until they too had thrown in the towel. Brainwashing be damned, Buster's body was still beginning to rebel against this trial he'd been forced into. His bowels were becoming uncomfortably full, and the farts were slipping out more frequently, with less input from the boy himself. At the rate that things were going, it would only be a matter of time before his bowels began to void without his permission, which perhaps was exactly what Simon wanted for him. "Time for a five minute intermission! The next set of pies will be rhubarb, and everyone's drinks will be refilled. If you need to unbutton your pants, now would be the time." The old judge joked as he changed the tallies on the scoreboard. The small break was hardly a godsend. It was meant to help thin out the competition by giving everyone's bodies time to register the ridiculous amount of food that they'd eaten thus far. Simon took the opportunity to come over and check on his little entry, his smile as broad as ever. Meanwhile, Buster was taking the pause as a moment to clutch his aching gut, and hoping that he could maintain control over his sphincter. "You're going a little too slow out here, Buster. You're eating like you're at a fancy dinner, when you need to be eating like a pig at the trough." The boy's bib was relatively untouched, which was plenty evidence to what Simon was accusing him of. He glared at the boy, "What, would you rather me eat with my hands?" Simon snickered and nodded, "Yes, I think that'll do nicely. Start doing that, and eat like you're starving; this is a contest of gluttony, not of being fancy. I think we might also need to make things less restraining for you..." That didn't sound good to the boy at all. "...What do you mean? You want me to unbutton my pants like everyone else?" "No, I don't think that will be enough. You're clearly being restricted by those silly slacks of yours. I want you to take them off completely." Buster blinked, his mouth hanging open briefly as the words washed over him and he was able to process them. It sounded too insane to be true, to be what Simon truly wanted of him, but there wasn't any other way to take it either. His body reacted before his mind did, as he stood up and started to both unbutton and unzip the dark slacks that'd kept his shameful secret hidden thus far. Down around his ankles they went, and he casually stepped out of the pooled cloth as though he was casually changing for bed. Now out in the open, the immensely thick diaper, which was covered only by the turd-laden briefs being used as a glorified cover, his status as an elite could be fully ripped away from him. The crowd took no prisoners in mocking him relentlessly for it; there were too many different voices to make out everything being said, and too much vicious laughter, but the tone was undeniably negative. The briefs did nothing to hide the bulk of the diaper, and the brown-stained bulge in back was of immediate interest to all the onlookers. "Don't cry, little piggy. Everyone is having a good time. You still have a couple of minutes before the next round starts, so why don't you make a pie of your own? A nice, big mud-pie to help make room for all that yummy rhubarb that you're about to eat. Go on, get to it." Simon cooed, giving his unwilling participant a pat on the head. "N-no...please, not that..." He quietly pleaded, upset but unable to even shed tears of shame to show it. "Too bad that we came too late for the pie making contest. You could have taken home another blue ribbon!" Distasteful jokes aside, Simon was being fully serious about what he intended for Buster to do, and Buster had no other choice but to fully comply. Simon was in his head completely now, and it took very little coaxing to push him along to fulfill his task. Even if Simon hadn't made the order, Buster's bowels were in desperate need of some emptying, so the command was nearly unnecessary. Buster squinted his eyes shut and bent his knees a little bit, just enough to give him a proper posture for pooping. The grunts were too quiet to be heard in the cacophony of mirth from the crowd, and the same was true for the flatulence that followed, but sound wasn't the only indicator that he'd be presenting in this situation. The mess that came pouring out wasn't quite as firm as what had settled in his briefs this morning, but it was still solid enough to take a definite shape; piece by piece, the back of the diaper began to fill with small logs, and a clear bulge began to form in front of the audience. "Shoo-wee! Looks like Buster's makin' room for the next half of the contest! Now ain't that a strategy that you don't see very often?" The judge announced, as if the audience couldn't see for themselves what Buster was up to. Simon seemed pleased, giving Buster another pat, though this time on his lumpy rear. "There you go! Now sit back down and get ready to win this thing, okay? Remember what I said about using your hands." Dejectedly, and now with a fresh dump in his britches, Buster sat back down at the bench with a noisy squish from underneath him. He was disgusted with himself, with the 'pie' he was now sitting on top of, and the gurgling in his gut was evidence that it wouldn't stop there. It was pointless to hope for the contest to end either, since he already knew the second contest wouldn't be far from the conclusion of the first. Before the end of the day, he'd be flushing every bit of pride he had down the toilet, or more accurately, dumping it in the back of his diaper. Humility had never been a strong suit for him, and now he would get to choke down slice after slice of humble pie.