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Weaponised Incontinence: University Days


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Hi all, 

This is a sequel to a previously written story, but reading that isn't essential. This new story stands on its own :) 
The previous completed part is contained here:
 

If you want the vibe, I suggest reading the interludes “The Great Shittening” and "Ditzies does it Again" https://www.dailydiapers.com/board/index.php?/topic/77379-weaponised-incontinence-in-a-world-of-late-bloomers-completed/&do=findComment&comment=1888109

Below is a summary on all of the important story beats:

Prequel Summary
Three generations after the fallout of an endemic, people have been left with long toilet-training times, up to 17 years in most. 

Nick is a very average teenager, if not below-average, who rode the wave of popularity when he toilet trained himself at fourteen, amongst the youngest in his class. He joined the popular group, made friends exclusively with those who were toilet trained, and lived confidently atop his precarious pedestal.

He is however shadowed by his step-sister Laura, the class valedictorian, who is an incredible high achiever and beacon of knowledge. Her only flaw? At eighteen, she is still in nappies, with no sign of a successful training anywhere in the near future. 
Just how she wants to keep it. 

Laura is an incredible annoyance to Nick, always acting innocent to play jokes on him and scratch at his ego. Her tricks pique Nick’s intrigue one day when she soils herself in front of his friends to prank them. Nick suspects that she must have control over her movements, but just chooses to lie about it. 

Through a series of escapades, Nick goes on a number of dates with Laura’s secret nemesis, and the most popular girl in school, Cassie. It turns out that she was using Nick to get back at Laura who knows her secret - that she still pees herself sometimes. 

The story concludes with Nick finding out Laura’s secret, and her admitting to him that she likes using her nappies, and likes the way that he changes her. Unfortunately, things get strange between them as they open up to each other, and Nick moves across the city when their school year ends, to go to university over there.
Laura, of course, will attend the best uni in the city. 

Chapter 1: Houseparty Blues 

            Nick stood out on the grass under the cool and dark night, the house’s lights flooding the backyard and shining into his eyes and face. His hand formed a visor to cut through the beams, but even still his friends were just silhouettes in the brilliance. A muffled doof-doof crawled from the cracks in the shed door to his right, buzzing across the mud and grass and into Nick’s shoes. God a dance would be good right now. He was at a party, after all. 

            He took a sip of his beer, trying to listen to what his mate was saying, but getting distracted by a bassline that he thought he knew. These really were the best nights, those in late March when summer’s last tendrils fought the Autumn chill. This time of year brought with it a still and frosty cold, one that reminded you how late the night was, and let you snuggle into blankets to fight it, but that dissipated with the still-hot sun. Perfect weather, Nick thought. 

            One hand on his beer, the other around his girlfriend’s waist, perfectly chill night - this was meant to be the life.

            So why was he on edge? 

            “Yeah, well Nick’s having trouble with that, aren’t you, babe?” Sarah said, and Nick was pulled back from his strange anxiety into the moment. What was the question?

            “Trouble with what?”

            “With motivation at uni. You know, there’s that accounting subject you hate,” Sarah said, and Nick nodded absently, hand squeezing her waist. He found that even without thought, his fingers played with the exposed edge of her nappy’s waistband.

            “Oh, yeah, don’t get me started. I’d rather shit myself than listen to the lecturer.”

            “Big words from you!” Luke, who stood as a black figure against the light, whistled. “You’ve got a perfect streak - not a nappy since you were 14.”

            “Yeah, well, I’m not gonna shit myself, am I?” Nick huffed. “So I guess I’m going to keep listening to old-mate explain balancing a book.”

            Shitting pants, if that wasn’t Nick’s life now. He figured that he’d never see another wrecked nappy after moving away from her family and step-sister Laura, who had been using nappies for pleasure and revenge rather than necessity, but then he’d moved into a sharehouse with a girl who was legitimately incontinent...

            “So how’d you two meet?” Tony, the other friend in the circle asked. “First I’ve heard of this relationship.” 

            “Oh, Nick moved in with me,” Sarah giggled. 

            “Moving quick,” Luke joked. 

            “It’s a sharehouse,” Nick clarified. “They had an extra bed, so I took it. Moved in about three months ago.” 

            “And that’s how the love story starts?” Tony asked. 

            “Yeah, sorta,” Sarah blushed. “I guess it’s a little cliche, but Nick offered to help me clean up one of my nappy blowouts, and we caught feelings from there.” 

            “Textbook movie stuff of the modern era,” Nick joked along, although cringed behind his facade. 

            Somewhere in the past few years Nick’s wires had crossed, and the act of cleaning a nappy and caring for somebody had become sexy, and tied itself to his off-brand masculinity. Coincidentally, Sarah must have had a thing for guys with good hands rearranging her pants, and she’d been clinging to those hands ever since.

            Now, though? Nick dreaded every off-smell he caught from her direction. It’d only been three months and he’d already uncrossed those misplaced wires well and truly. This girl could blow-out a nappy like a chocolate grenade, and he’d somehow been caught with the medic’s duties.

            She shifted in his grip, her sides tensing, and Nick’s heart dropped in dread. 

            Not now! he whined.

            But she relaxed too quickly, nodding to the conversation that carried on, and no smell came. Nick wheezed his relief. 

            “How’s the rest of uni, then?” Luke asked. “And work? I heard from Shano that you’re a bit of a salesman.” 

            Wasn’t this the question. 

            “Well, uni’s otherwise alright, I guess,” Nick said, deflating to think about it. What even got him excited these days? It wasn’t uni, and it really wasn’t Sarah’s dirty nappies. “I just…I dunno. I guess I thought that by nineteen I’d understand myself better, but that birthday is just a few months away and I still don’t know if I like what I’ve gotten into.” 

            “It’s only been a few weeks, though!” Luke said. “Can’t know whetheryou like it this quick.” 

            “Yeah, but we’ll be twenty before we know it, you know,” Nick continued his moping. “And it just seems like I’m not ready for that - to know where I want to be, and what I want to do..” 

            “I hear you,” Luke nodded. 

            “In any case, I can just hope that Greg was right, and that Commerce really is the degree to get. But then what, join the corporate wank-fest?” 

            “Who’s Greg?” Tony asked, and Nick was reminded that he’d only been hanging out with this crowd for a short while. All to get away from Laura and her drama.

            “My step dad,” Nick answered.

            “You might the office world once you get there,” Luke said, then pondered. “Although I can’t imagine you just sitting at a desk for hours on end.” 

            “Me neither,” Nick agreed. “My work now is fun, but I can’t work at a Bunnings forever.” 

            “You could.”

            “Well I wouldn’t want to, either.” Nick noted, realising that he hadn’t left himself with any options. “It would be nice if I could just keep the current status quo forever. Easy work at a hardware store, get the money, pay the rent, drink on fridays, Bob’s your uncle.” 

            “That’s what my cousin does,” Tony spoke up, and Nick almost forgot the boy was there. “He has fun with it.” 

            “Stasis life,” Nick repeated. “It’d be great.” 

            Just then Sarah drifted away from Nick’s grip, spreading her legs as she shifted onto her far foot. Nick’s hand rode her short skirt from her waist down to her bum, where his hand rested, cupping her nappy. ()

            He was startled when he felt the plastic press outwards against him

            Without even a grunt or a wink from the girl, a load dropped into the seat of her nappy, right against his hand. The plastic ballooned against him, hot and damp, as the mess creamed into the space. He then heard the wet squelch as more poured out, exploding into the seat of her pants. The nappy’s waistband puffed out with the bubbling farts, and he was sure this would be a blowout. 

He was not going to deal with this right now. 

            “Sorry to bring the mood down,” he apologised, and retracted his hand. “But I’ve got to see a toilet about a piss. I’ll be back.” And he rushed off in a puff of smoke, almost spilling his beer as he jogged across the muddy yard. 

Really, Nick didn’t have to piss, he just had to get away, and he fumbled hastily through the house to the lone toilet at its far end, upon which he sat and locked the door behind him. 

Oh well, when in Rome, and he whipped his dick out anyway, just to see if he needed to go. Meanwhile, his other hand lifted his phone, and its fingers absently gravitated their way over to instagram, onto the profile at the top of his search history. 

Cassie’s profile. His high-school crush, and the girl who get away.

Man… Nick bit his lip, looking at her most recent photo. This girl was hot - and she’d been into him for a bit, hooking up, almost fucking. Well...it was for the purposes of social espionage on her part, but that didn’t take away the fact that it had happened

He grumbled, scrolling on, admiring her. Was there a way that, if he could go back in time, he could have kept her interest in him? She was essentially nappy-free, which on its own was a ten-outta-ten feature. Sure, she wet a pull-up or two, lots of people did, but that was relative heaven compared to the scraping up of mudcakes which he did for Sarah. 

Could he rekindle something here? Was it worth sending a DM? His finger hovered dangerously close to the button. This action would drive a fork in the road - on one prong, a perfect life with a perfectly hot chick and no nappies to be seen, on the other prong, the ruthless humiliation of crawling back to a crush who rejected you. 

Or a third prong, the one where things go alright, she leads him on, and then breaks things off again, crushing him further. 

Nick was almost convinced to just smash his finger down on that paper plane icon, but he used his restraint. Having not pissed, he stood and flushed the toilet so that anybody waiting wouldn’t question him as he left, and bustled back through the houseparty to the backyard. 

There, the glaring spotlight from the house shone harshly upon Sarah’s face,which was sour and desperate. Luke and Tony turned to greet him, their faces structured in harsh shadows. 

“Babe,” Sarah whined and Nick neared closer. He knew what was coming. 

“Yes babe,” he said, pretending not to see the distress plastered to her facade.

“Babe, I made a boom boom,” she said, and sniffled for effect. “Can you clean me?”

Nick sighed. “Yes, come on,” and he gestured her up the hill and towards the house. Having gotten what she wanted, she skipped merrily along and up ahead, beating him to the steps for the back door. 

With her ahead and in the light, he could see the extent of the job ahead. 

From under her short skirt the nappy bulged into sight, waistbands stained brown. In the small of her back, just above the waistband - and luckily clear of her cropped shirt -  sat a pool of sticky, melted shit. 

A fucking blow-out, Nick sighed.

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Chapter 2: Lines Drawn (Down Pants)

The toilet flushed, and Laura watched the pushie swim down the drain, that brave soldier, off to the waterworld. 

What a joyless waste of time, she grumbled, trudging from the cubicle and going to wash her hands. Not only did I have to find a toilet, but that pushie would have felt much better in a nappy. Screw this place.

A girl emerged from the cubicle next to hers, their hair supporting a face of perfectly made makeup, with enough contouring to convince the boys of witchcraft. Her pants were tight enough that they should have been inside the skin rather than on-top-of, and not even an undies-line was visible. Instead, the sides of a g-string hugged their hip bones above the low-rise jeans. In any other point in history, that would be trashy. 

But here in university, it was a bragging right. 

Laura washed her hands quickly - sure to be over with this waste of time - and scurried off to her next lecture. All around, girls and boys wore pants that were inhumanly skin-tight, fitting enough to put cyclists to shame. Not a skirt, cargo-pant, or baggy-jean in sight. Clothes hugged asses and waist lines, all students overbearingly keen to share one critical fact.

They did not need a nappy. In fact, they barely needed underwear at all.

How ridiculous, Laura huffed, watching the lunatics bounce around. Still, she’d bent to the pressure. On her first day, when she’d worn baggy and flared corduroy pants in her usual social defiance, her flapping ass-fabric and crinkly butt had drawn more eyes than iron filings to a wrecker’s magnet. She was lucky she didn’t end up as the day’s ridicule on Stalkerspace. 

Thinking of which, she opened her facebook and scrolled through the posts as she walked. Each uni had a ‘Stalkerspace’, apparently. These were online groups where students posted pictures of each other, of terrible car-parking jobs, of awful fashion choices, and bitched about lecturers. They were generally full of memes and good fun - until they weren’t.

As she scrolled, Laura came across a picture of a boy, taken from behind as he walked away from the camera unknowingly. Their pants were soiled brown - the poor bastard had worn ‘em tight and white, but now they were streaked with rust. The comments section was a orgy of idiots tagging their friends, and the odd self-aggrandiser. 

No, Laura did not want to end up the subject of a Stalkerspace post - the University Love-Letters page though, she wouldn’t mind. She conformed to the norm, wearing tight jeans, under which she had on a thin pull-up. Knowing the telltale signs, Laura could see other students she passed who had equipped themselves with the same tactic. That put her at ease. 

Sure, Laura could control herself, and had only been in 24/7 nappies for her secret enjoyment for the last few years, but she found that without having to constantly test her supposed level of control before, it was not as high as she’d hoped. She didn’t intend to use the pull-up, but it had proven a necessary precaution. 

She soon reached the lecture hall in the university’s engineering sector, on the dark side of the land where few people spoke, and even fewer had the confidence to look at her. The doors to this theatre were at the stage rather than the rear, and Laura entered alone - as usual - and found her regular seat in the centre of the third row. As expected, those boys who piled in after her daren’t cross the no-man’s-land which was a two-seat proximity to a girl. A clear radius formed around Laura, which annoyed her. She was just a human, after all. 

Maybe I smell? she thought, and patted the seat of her nappy. It was neither wet nor dirty, so it wasn’t her odour keeping them away. 

At least she could solve such a problem…

The lecture hall was ancient and massive. It was lit by industrial lighting hung too-high overhead, clad in bricks from the time before this land was even colonised, and decked in folding lecture-desks so rusty and old that they ground dust onto your knees. The university had a widely acclaimed engineering program, and it was for precisely that reason that it saw no investment.

The lecturer strolled to the podium and promptly started the lesson. He was a portly man with scruffy sideburns, a broad brimmed hat, and a large duster. He’d worn this uniform to all four of the lectures previously, no matter the warm weather nor the darkness in the hall. A true engineer, it seemed. The man found a solution and stuck to it.

The gist of the lecture was simple enough, covering general kinematic concepts and talking about torques and reciprocating motion. Laura had seen it all before, not only in her physics class last year, but in her own personal study. 

“And with that in mind, let’s look at this example,” the lecturer, Alan, pointed to some badly-photocopied pencil drawing, handed down from textbook to textbook for ten thousand years, black on its edges, “what will be the torque on the pulley?” 

It seemed a trick question - the diagram stated in its barely legible words that the system had a rope of constant velocity, so there would be no torque as there was no rotational force, only translational. Laura was very chuffed in herself for spotting the trick, and threw her hand up. 

Another hand beat hers by a millisecond, raised by a lad with blonde, scruffy hair in the first row. 

“There is no torque, it’s a constant rotation,” the boy answered, stealing Laura’s words. Alan chuffed, his ruse caught in the first instance, and clapped for the young man. 

“Yes, that’s a good spot,” Alan said, and explained the trick to the class. “What’s your name?”

“Tom,” the boy answered.

Laura was impressed, but supposed that uni was like this, right? She’d finally come to be among equals, as it were. In fact, all survival guides said that you should make friends with these best-performers in class, to raise your own grades. Laura considered that this student, Tom, should be high on her priority list of people to meet. 

As the lecture continued, she and Tom had three more battles-of-hands, of which Laura won a single contest, and answered just as impressively. She’d caught Tom’s eye as she gave her answer, but his expression didn’t hold the admiration her’s had held. 

He looked annoyed, and turned slowly back to the front. 

Laura ignored the boy’s poor facial control - she had to see if she could chat to him in the tutorial sessions, to at least analyse whether his brain was worth cracking, before ruling him out.

Presently though, as Alan rambled on presenting a number of worked-through problems, Laura felt her bladder tingle. She needed to pee. 

Damn, she grumbled. On the toilet before she hadn’t needed to pee at all. Having never really toilet trained, her body didn’t yet know to let it all out whenever she came across a toilet. Instead, it saved its payload for just the right moment to expel it all, because she’d been used to that being anytime and anywhere

Can you ask to use the toilet during a lecture? she wondered. Laura had never seen anybody raise a hand and request a leave. In fact, she wasn’t sure you even needed to do that, but she’d also never seen anybody just walk out, either. Given the doors were at the front of the hall, her absence would be noted by everybody, and very public. She died at the thought of the lecturer asking her what she was doing, and having to explain it to the class.

Laura wouldn’t have been panicking if she was wearing her regular nappies, but these pull-ups weren’t designed for a full load of piss. They were meant to catch accidents, not take a whole bladder!

She stared to the clock, there were only twenty minutes left.

Maybe I can hold it, she resolved, but the feeling grew more desperate by the second. Suddenly her whole pussy was tingling with desperation, dancing against the thin pull-up she had on, she could barely think of the notes which she desperately scribbled. Distraction would not hold back now. 

Just a little, relieve the pressure. Her desperocity had pushed her past this line, and holding tight those flood gates, she released a trickle.

Oh good lord it felt magical! Not the pissing, but pissing in her nappy. Warmth spread up and down her crotch - a pool of moist warmth. The nappy expanded against her skin, pushing back onto her against the tight jeans. It swelled, forcing her legs slightly apart, making her groin hot. She fucking loved this feeling. 

But this trickle was enough, and she went to close the stream, to stop any leaks.

She couldn’t stop peeing.

Why the hell did Laura think she had that much control? Panicking, she pressed her hand against her crotch, but that just pushed the piss to the sides, and she tore hit mitt away before it caused a leak. 

She could hear the piss. 

It was barely over. 

Laura’s eyes darted about, had the sound drawn any attention? Luckily, Alan - the ever charismatic, portly, and authoritative man of engineering - held the class almost wholly. Still, to Laura his words were drowned by the coursing of pee in her pull-up. 

Somehow, the padding kept expanding, growing warmer, and pushing harder against her pants. Maybe it would hold after all. Laura calmed for a moment, feeling that it wasn’t all so bad. 

Then it stopped expanding, but she still kept peeing. 

She stared down in horror to see the imprint of her nappy form as a dark shape on her crotch, the wetness having seeped through and to the surface. Then, the dam broke, and a trickle of piss broke the right leg band to course down her thigh and to the back of her knee. 

She had a disaster on her hands.

Then the left band succumbed to the pressure, another river of piss breaking free and winding over her other thigh. Thankfully, she finally stopped peeing, but the residual pool inside the pull-up flowed out through the cracks in the wall, streaming down her thighs to puddle on the seat and floor. 

It stopped as soon as it had begun, and somehow without anybody turning to stare at her, but there were larger problems to deal with now. 

What would she do about the piss puddle? And how would she get out of here without anybody noticing? She could see her picture now on the Stalkerspace, clear as day for all of the university to see. Of course, there didn’t seem to be any social hierarchy at university - high school days were over - but she had no idea yet what the repercussions of such embarrassment would be, especially when all of her friends and acquaintances saw it. 

 Come on, you’re smart, Laura reminded herself. She could engineer her way around this. All she had to do was get out of this room without bringing attention to herself, then make it to the train without showing off her dark-stained pants. Those were the requirements, how did she meet them? 

She dropped her pencil, then used the rouse to get her head below her desk. The pee puddle was but a few drops, and being in the centre of the aisle of seats, nobody would have to walk past her spot to get to a door. She could just leave the piss, solved. 

Inspecting her pants, she noted that the piss streams went between her thighs and dripped out of the pants before the knees, following the decrepit leather seat she sat on. So she only needed to cover her crotch and upper legs. 

Far-out, her crotch was wet. The pull-up had beaded out so much pee that it had left a complete shadow of itself in her jeans - and she didn’t even want to know what her ass looked like, the whole thing felt wet and pooling. How would she cover herself up front and back? 

She looked between her books and her bag, playing with the zipper on her coat, before it hit her. Tie the coat around my waist! And thank God she had it, because it was too warm for a coat anyway and she’d almost not worn the thing.

But what about the front?

I’ll hold my bag in front of me! 

Won’t that seem weird? 

Just until we get to the train. We’re going straight home.

Fine…

As the lesson ended, Laura enacted her plan. She fuddled with her bag as the lecture hall emptied and the lecturer departed. Finally, as the last groups left, and before the next class entered, she stood and tied her jacket to her waist, then held her bag like an idiot in front of her. Annoyingly, the Tom guy from the front row was also taking his sweet-ass time, and Laura couldn’t dally any longer and risk drawing the attention of the last remaining students. Her disguise enacted, she waddled out of the lecture theatre as smoothly as possible, hoping nobody watched her. 

With every step, she could feel the soggy, damp nappy mushing about between her legs, forcing them apart and churning with piss. Laura took the most direct line possible to a bathroom to change into a dry pull-up, then trekked for the train, collapsing relieved when finally on board and in relative solitude. 

There’s only two ways forward, she thought as the train pulled away. Either I toilet train properly, or wear nappies to uni. And she knew which of those options she’d be more excited to try. 

 

***

 

Laura browsed her uni portal that afternoon, looking for the questions for her classes’ tutorials. Alan, the lecturer, had warned to come to his tutorials well prepared, and she was determined to be a star student. Sure, it was only first-year, but typically one’s GPA only coursed down over the years. Ace the early stuff, Laura thought. Good habits.

She sat lazed on the couch with her laptop in hand, and a solid mess piled in her nappy and pressing against her skin. She’d made the pushie maybe half an hour ago, and she wouldn’t bother changing until somebody came home to do it for her. Anyway, there was definitely more to get out, and it would be a waste to change now. 

And she loved this feeling. 

Loading up her socials, she found that she’d been tagged in a Stalkerspace post by a new friend of hers, Hassan, from her thermodynamics class. The man had tagged her in a few good memes this week - he had good taste - so she absently clicked it, expecting to be entertained. 

The post was a picture of her, taken from behind as she walked to the toilet, a streak of piss running down her jeans, trailing from underneath the waist-hung coat. The comment section was a mile long list of people tagging their friends, and some far-from-friendly discussion points which floated at the top with tens of replies each.

Even the post itself was unnecessarily mean: “You’d think they’d stop letting literal babies into uni, lol.” it read, with eloquent comments asking if the OP saw a dummy in Laura’s mouth, if she carried a duffel bag, if she smelled like shit, if she called the lecturer ‘dadda’, how she must have paid her dumb-baby way into uni, and many others. 

I can’t believe it… Laura’s stomach dropped. She could believe that somebody had taken a picture for internet points and clout - that much made sense to her. What was baffling was the sheer animosity held in the responses. She’d never experienced such extreme views in her life, and she’d been shitting her pants since she was born! What planet were these people living on? Where did they get their rocks off? 

Now she was determined to know who the fuck posted this, because she would give this deluded and bigotted piece-of-shit a god damned piece of her mind if she ever saw them. What the hell kind of hateful views were they harbouring? How insignificant was their own security, ego, and esteem? She rage-clicked on the name of the OP, a Tom Harber, and brought up his profile. 

It was the smarty-pants from her lecture today. 

You?! she fumed, then felt her smirk grow wide on her calculating head. You want to have a fight with a ‘baby’? You’re on

You’ll be very sorry that you crossed me…

 

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