Griefmire's Playground, Part 2

Story 1 of 3, Post 31 of 33 for September. Getting caught up!

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The perverse demon looked through the dreamscape at all the people inside it, all those who were asleep. Even in the day-lit hemisphere, there were hundreds of thousands of people asleep at that moment, napping, dozing, or sleeping on an unusual schedule. But Griefmire didn't have as much power over them because of the effect of the sun on their brains. Even the rare instances when he could give a day-time sleeper a nightmare, it wasn't usually as vivid or disturbing. He'd long ago learned to tune out that hemisphere and focus on the one that rested in the night. That's where his power laid, in the darkness where the mind couldn't perceive everything around it, where it could imagine things to fill that void. He felt them in the distance, their minds wide open to his influence, and he flew through the air at demonic speed, searching for one that seemed especially enticing to him. He could sense them, almost as if he smelled them, and some had more attracted "smells" than others. He caught the scent of one to the south and flew in that direction, finding himself looking down on a tiny apartment in which rested Stephanie Doyle, a young office worker trying to make a place for herself in the corporate world. Griefmire hovered over her bed, invisible to any human eye that might have been present and open, and observed Doyle for a moment. The human slept peacefully in her bed, her pretty face betraying no sign of the turmoil that raged behind it on a daily basis in the stresses of the busy business world. The demon smiled and descended, reaching out and sinking his claws into her head. They passed through flesh and bone, doing no physical harm, and connected with the mind.

Stephanie sat at the conference table, patiently listening to Scott Figelson droning on about sales, profits, and costs. He was a nice guy, but his presentations were always very dry and boring. Suddenly, she felt a strong pressure in her abdomen, the urgency of a very full bladder. How had it gotten so full so quickly without her even noticing? Scott was still going on, but she knew she couldn't wait.

She stood up from her chair. "Excuse me. I'll be right back."

"Stephanie? Where are you going?" Her boss, Larry Warden, sat at the end of the table, his eyebrows raised in surprise and disapproval.

"I just need to use the bathroom."

"These numbers are important, Stephanie. Everyone here needs to hear this. Just wait."

"But, Larry, I really have to--"

"You're a grown woman. Surely you can hold it for a few minutes until Scott's done with his presentation."

"No, sir, I--"

"Sit down, Stephanie. We don't have time for this."

She started to object again, but she was cut off by a burst of warm wetness in her crotch as her bladder gave way. She yelped as she stood in the middle of the conference room, desperately trying to stop the flow. Her efforts had no effect, though, and the pee quickly spread to her thighs and started to run down her legs, the wetness in plain view of all of her co-workers.

"You're wetting your pants?! I can't believe this! Stephanie, why didn't you use the bathroom before the meeting?! You could have avoided all of this, and now you're wetting yourself like a little girl!" Warden thundered.

His loud, angry voice frightened and humiliated her, and the pee flowed even faster as she started to cry.

"Answer me!"

Stephanie's response was to begin apologizing through her sobs as her stream finally began to slow, her bladder emptying itself into her pants and onto the floor.

"What a disgraceful display! You should be ashamed of yourself, Stephanie! I've never had anyone behave like this in my office before!"

Damon Phillips spoke up from his seat. "What can you expect when you let women in the workplace, Larry? You know they can't control themselves like us men." The others around the table, all men, nodded and muttered their agreement.

"You're right, Phillips. But now that she's here, she's our responsibility. Let's get her cleaned up, guys."

At Warden's direction, the men stood up and began to crowd Stephanie. Still crying, she begged them to leave her alone as they grabbed her and lifted her up onto the table. They held her down while one of them unfastened her wet slacks and pulled them off her, followed by her underwear. One of them produced some wipes and began cleaning her off while she struggled to get free, her most intimate area exposed to all of them. Next, someone produced a large, thick diaper, and in the back of her mind, she wondered where these things were coming from as her feet were lifted up. The diaper was placed under her, and her crotch and ass ere powdered before the tapes were secured at her hips. Scott Figelson lifted her by her armpits and pulled her to his chest, rubbing her back and cooing at her softly to calm her down, calling her "baby" and telling her everything was all right.

Stephanie sat up like a shot in her bed with a gasp, panting from the stress of her dream. Her face was wet with real tears, but that wasn't all. As the fog and confusion cleared from her mind, she realized the sheets she was sitting on were wet and cooling, the shameful result of her night-time accident. Fresh tears and sobs came as she got up and stripped her mattress, dumping her wet sheets into her laundry basket before beginning to scrub the mattress and finally showering the pee off her. Consumed with shock and shame, she had another crying jag while she was in the shower. Nothing like that had ever happened to her. Where had that dream come from?

The dream demon laughed as he watched her from above, savoring her embarrassment and distress and feeling his power grow. He was tempted to linger and maybe give her another nightmare, maybe even force a second accident, but there were too many other potential victims out there. He took one last look, smiling sadistically as she washed her groin before floating away in search of his next target. He crossed a large stretch of land before feeling called to a moderately-sized house in a nice suburb. Inside, a family of four slept in their beds. A boy of seven rested in one room, and a girl of ten slept in another. He ignored them. Unlike many demons, he had no interest in children. Their life-forces were innocent and strong, ripe for temptation and often easy targets. But corruption wasn't his goal or his mission. He was meant to debase and demoralize humans, and adults were much more fertile ground for this, although they were more challenging targets. Griefmire liked the challenge, though. He relished the game of attacking confident, full-grown human and tearing them down, weakening their defenses and opening them up to further influence. He flew to another room and found the parents, Andre and Denise Steepleton, sleeping side by side. He observed them for a moment, peering into their minds and sizing them up. This allowed him to see their deep fears and insecurities as well as determine the needs and limits of their physical bodies. Finally, he chose his victim and closed in, reaching out and making the connection.

"Pass me another beer, Danny." Andre sat back in the lawn chair, enjoying the slight chill of the night air on his skin.

"Here you go, dude."

The two of them were sitting with three other friends, just five guys hanging out and taking it easy, enjoying some time away from wives, girlfriends, kids, and other responsibilities. Here, they were just men enjoying themselves, being themselves, getting buzzed, and having some laughs. There was no game on TV, but they could always talk about sports as well as the new movies they'd seen and the jokes they'd heard. It was a good night.

"So, the guy says, 'What did you expect? My wife's an exorcist!'"

Everybody laughed as Todd finished his joke, the kind of joke that would have irritated their women.

As the laughter died down, Stephen spoke up from his seat. "There was this blonde who went to see a podiatrist because her foot kept hurting her."

Andre's phone dinged, and he tuned the conversation out while he pulled it out of his pocket to look at the notification. It was a text from his mom checking up on him the way she always did. He fired off a quick response and put the phone away again, turning his attention back to his friends.

"And she says, 'Oh, I thought that was some kind of mushroom!'"

Everybody laughed again, but Danny stopped suddenly. "Aw, man! Alright, who farted?"

There was more laughter, followed by a round of denials. Then Todd noticed it too. "Ooh, someone really did fart! Damn! Who did that?"

More denials before Stephen noticed it too, and the guys all started to get curious as they decided it may have been more than a fart. They stood up and started looking and sniffing around before Danny leaned over to Andre, took a whiff, and said, "Oh, I think I found it."

Incensed, Andre brushed him off. "What are you talking about?! It's not me!"

"It smells like it is! Dude, you smell just like my kids used to when they shit their diapers. C'mere and hold still." Danny grabbed him and, before Andre could stop him, he had tugged on the back of his pants, peering down inside them. "Yep, here it is! Andre had an accident."

There was a round of disgusted expressions as Andre finally felt the load resting in the seat of his pants. It was true: he'd shat himself!

"Look, guys, I don't know what happened! I didn't even feel--"

Luke patted him on the back. "It's okay, buddy. We got you."

"What do you mean--"

Danny had his phone in his hand. "Yeah, I'm calling Denise. She'll come take care of you."

"Denise? No, you--"

"It's okay, buddy. She'll be here in a few minutes. Hey, Denise. Listen--"

"Don't tell--"

Luke shushed him. "We gotta let her know to come bring you some clean pants. Just be quiet and let us handle everything."

Danny put his phone in his pocket, and Andre started to protest again, but strangely, Denise stepped around the corner as if she'd already driven the distance from their house.

"Hey, baby. You had an accident, huh?"

"Denise, I don't know why he called you. I can--"

"Shhh, it's okay, sweetie. Mommy's here now."

"Mommy?"

"Come on, lay down for me, and let's get you cleaned up." She coaxed him onto his back in the grass while his friends carried on talking a few feet away. She pulled a tub of baby wipes out of her purse and set it down before stripping his pants and underwear off him. "Ooh, stinky boy! You made a big mess, didn't you?"

Stephen glanced over. "No wonder we were smelling him!"

Denise started wiping him off, ignoring all of his protests and attempts to stop her. When she was done, she pulled a diaper and a bottle of powder out of her bag, sprinkling him and taping the diaper on as his friends watched. "There, now! All clean again! See, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Danny looked down. "Thanks for coming and cleaning him up, Denise."

"No!" Andre said out loud, finally waking himself up. It had all been a dream. But as his wife sat up beside him, he realized that it hadn't all been a dream.

"Andre, baby? What's wrong?"

"I-- I had a dream, and I think I shit my pants."

"WHAT?! You shit the bed?! Baby, what the fuck?!"

Griefmire cackled in delight as he watched the couple tumble out of bed, turn the bedside lamp on, and inspect Andre's boxer-briefs to find that he did indeed have a large load of poop in the seat. He watched the wife's reaction, first anger and then concern as she regained control of temper. He watched the husband shake his head in confusion, his cheeks burning. He didn't know what happened. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. It was rare, the demon knew, and he'd certainly never preyed on Andre Steepleton before. But the fact that he'd made the man poop in his pants had him thinking he needed to pay the home another visit some time. He noted the house's location and flew away to make more mischief.