FSE

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Much like their entire fetish, diaper changes had one of two results: soothing, affirming partnership toward one another, or delirious, voracious lust in a more depraved direction.

As they had both just gotten off in their respective pants, splattering, sticky eruptions of seed coating their own throbbing cocks and soaking the inside of a sodden, soiled diaper and a pair of hot, hunky spandex short-shorts, the two were briefly spent and let their mind-cooling afterglow slide them into a soothing, affirming partnership.

Still dripping as his heavy wolf bulge shifted in his seed-soiled shorts, the muscular Lugo in his kink-sailor suit hefted his skinny, leaky cheetah boyfriend Kioga into the spare room they'd converted into a nursery and got to work.

Kioga wore a baggy, full-sleeved and footed onesie that had an animal-face hood on it, which Lugo lifted and kissed Kioga on the lips one more time before he grabbed the supplies. The onesie's buttflap had been already been torn open, and the cheetah's cartoon-printed diaper, which was sagging in the back and had the telltale trench of a vigorous frotting session, had a darker tint in the great, solid lump that reeked to high heaven.

Kioga had a bland diet, but that didn't keep him from dropping the occasional stinky.

Lugo popped open a circular tin looking like a can of chewing tobacco and smeared some of its minty goo on his nose. Kioga cocked his head as he watched his boyfriend work, watching him through the knees of his footie pajamas, feeling air sneak in through the buttflap to cool his moist, fleece-wrapped body.

Lugo winked. "You know, coroners would put a dab of this over their nose while examining corpses."

Kioga growled, feeling suddenly self-conscious of the tired, heavy plastic garment wrapped around his middle. "You're saying I eat corpses?" he said, but when he shifted he felt the contents of his padding shift against him: the front was soaked in pee and sticky with his own cum, and the less said about the back, the better.

"Well, we're both carnivores, so..." Lugo shrugged, then leaned close to the table. "Let's get you changed, eh?"

The wolf started with the chest, unsnapping the fasteners from Kioga's neck and working down. Bit by bit, he revealed his lover's lean body, the white chest with perky nipples, a narrow torso with handsome goldenrod sides, pitch black cheetah spots, the flat stomach with a perfect innie bellybutton, the pleated, printed waistband of his diaper, and then the large, bowling ball bulge of his protective underwear.

The sweet, scented air of the nursery hit his nostrils and poured over his exposed trunk.

Kioga looked at him with a nervous frown, knowing he might make a comment on how desperate the situation was. The cheetah wondered if the wetness around the leg-grips of the garments was sweat or urine.

Lugo caught the glance. "We'll get you fixed up, sport."

Kioga breathed out, feeling a cooling sensation overtaking him. "I wanna go out."

Lugo's brow furrowed. "I know Wes and Kyrie are out on a wine tour in the park district, or we could do something ourselves. I thought this was your de-stress day? Stay inside, work on papers or rattle out a few raids on Maybe-They-Fixed-Destiny-Finally?"

"The game's fine; you stick to your pooty MLGs."

Lugo chuckled. "All right, we can go out, but we're still keeping you in diapers, mister. No pull-ups. One glass of wine--"

"I know, I know."

Lugo went around the table and bumped noses with his boyfriend. The minty tingle made Kioga sneeze, then he curled up on the table and they kissed.

Their tongues met briefly, then Lugo stood up and wandered back to "brown-zero."

Even in his sexy Halloween Sailorwear, Lugo looked every bit the gallant gentleman. Formerly a jock of Wesley's "crew," sneaking and sniping and pulling all sorts of hazing horrors, Lugo had cleaned himself up and walked with his chest pushed out, his back straight, his wolf tail held in a gradual crescent, his triangle ears high, never folded.

He looked that way even now, what with his white form-fitting shorts dark and dripping in the front bulge and waggling with every step. The pink tip of his cock was visible through the fabric, and his balls were individually clutched.

Kioga blew a kiss to him and Lugo winked.

The wolf lifted Kioga's legs and slipped the onesie right off of them. This was not a time that the diaper was a fetish--more like a toilet bowl after an embarrassing amount of beers and wings, thankfully covered--so Lugo kept his glance off of it, keeping his eyes on the face of his lover, securing and maintaining that bond of trust with every move, as he went around the table and lifted Kioga's back, slipping the rest of the onesie out from under him.

Off came the arms, then the hood.

Then Lugo snapped on a pair of gloves and began the messy process.

"No!" Kioga objected.

Lugo cocked his head, then snapped his fingers. He returned with Kioga's rabbit, let the cheetah snuggle him, then started excavating down south.

Kioga heard tapes rip then felt the coolness of the room touch his nethers. The embarrassing smell from earlier hit his nose harder, but the menthol smear guarded him from the worst.

"Maybe if I ate it, it'd come out better the second time?"

Lugo snorted. "You get dysentery and this Oregon Trail is over, pal."

"I'm not your pal, lover!" Kioga said brightly.

"No. We are not taking refuge in old memes in the place of current justice."

Kioga grumped.

Kioga felt his legs being lifted, then a large, warm, wet wipe ran down from behind his nethers, between his legs, over his tailwrinkle, then heard it thud in a pail. The process was repeated a few more times, each one bringing a brighter shade of blush to his cheeks as he could only imagine the mess Lugo had to tend to.

Then came a simple wipe over his nethers, under the sac, around the sheath, over the waist. Kioga squeaked when his sheath was pulled down and a wipe ran over his dingle.

The wipes thudded in the pail.

"Shouldn't I take a shower?" Kioga asked.

"Not with the immaculate job I did," Lugo said, snapping the gloves into the pail and then cracking his knuckles. "I could eat the most delicate sushi off that area and taste naught but fine Japanese cuisine."

Lugo had the talent to back up his enormous ego. Usually.

Kioga sprung off the bed, tossing Tad the rabbit onto a chest of drawers. "Okie doke, then," the cheetah said, slipping back into his young adult persona. "Guess I'll grab the essentials and we'll be on the way."

"Buddy?" Lugo chastised.

The naked cheetah was halfway out the door, but stopped at the bigger man's admonition.

"Oh, Christ, this isn't about that one time at Maharaja's Coffee n' Curry, is it?"

"It is exactly about that," Lugo said, sticky seed bulge waggling almost as much as his scolding finger. "How you didn't tell me you'd been leaking all night, so when the Sultan's Grand Mudslide hit your fair shores, the levee broke and you shat up the back of your shirt!"

Kioga giggled, drunk with embarrassment. He didn't notice that a clear stream had sprung from his sheath and that he was tinkling on the carpet, nor that Lugo had quickly grabbed a puppy pad and laid it out in front of him.

His ears faintly registered the patter on the plastic. "It looked like I had poop wings; it was horrible. I'd never been screamed at in Hindi."

"No, that was English," Lugo said as he waited for his incontinent boyfriend to stop waxing nostalgic and piddling in flagrante. "It was just a heavy accent and you were two sheets and three shits to the wind."

"Crazy night," Kioga giggled.

Lugo made no comment as the trickle petered off, merely wrapped it up and tossed that in the basket as well. The eye contact he made with Kioga was reassuring, yet cautionary.

"I don't care if it's getting worse, love," Lugo said softly.

Kioga nodded and looked away.

"So, yeah, I'll bring a few diapers. And you can do diaper checks."

Lugo nodded, then bumped noses with Kioga. He also bumped something else; his cock in its sticky tight prison had gone three-fourths erect, which was already one-and-a-half problems.

Kioga blushed. "I don't like how much I love the look in your eyes."

"I've got special pants for you that'll do the diaper checks for me."

Kioga felt a tingle and a swelling, then his own cock bump up against Lugo's.

"Christ," he sighed, fighting a smile. Then he looked down at the soaked puppy pad between his feet, swollen and squishing between his toes.

In shame, he looked away, but Lugo brought his gaze back to him and kissed him on the lips.

"I'm not going to blame you for who you are," Lugo said, then with a wink pulled his soiled sailor shorts off and squat over the pad.

"N-no, wait," Kioga said, but Lugo shook his head and, smiling, let out a short grunt.

In real time, Kioga watched with amazement as Lugo's tailhole expanded around a thick, brown plug that slithered out of him. Against his own disgust, the cheetah felt his own cock rising as the first fragrant, filthy turd fell between Lugo's feet and a second one stretched the dark ring of his anus.

Lugo pulled Kioga closer and put his warm muzzle around the cheetah's modest length, lapping at the tip before massaging the bottom with his warm, wet tongue.

The pungent stink of wolf scat struck Kioga's nose as a second brown log lay over the first, but all Kioga could think of was the pleasure radiating from his groin as his boyfriend sucked him off as he defecated on the training pad.

A trump of flatulence sang through the hallway as Lugo's body pushed a third snake of feces out of it; this one coiled atop the first two and Kioga felt his balls clench into his body as his mind, his nose, and his eyes recoiled at the mess the wolf was making.

Kioga's length, hot and wet from a relentless muzzle wrapped around it, squirted jets of precum down Lugo's throat, then as the wolf grunted as he finished making his toilet, Kioga swooned at the pressure and pleasure.

The cheetah's cock lurched in the wolf's mouth, then he gasped as electric joy ran through him. His modest length pumped seed into Lugo's mouth at a desperate rate, each jet coming faster than the last until he saw the wolf's cheeks bulge with liquid.

"Oh God, Lugo, oh God," Kioga stammered, then stumbled back to grab onto the threshold of their bathroom door.

He stared down at the pile of scat on the training pad, then up at the grinning muscular wolf that had a white frosting at one end, a brown smattering at the other.

Lugo wiped his dirty tailhole with his fingers, then wiped it off on a wet-only corner of the pad. "I don't mind exchanging one dirt for the other," he said, standing. "And I don't mind having a boyfriend with a few loose seals."

Kioga stared down at the pile. "N-need any help with that?"

Lugo laughed, gathering the pad up by the corners and wrapping it up. "What, and roll around in it? Please, I ain't feral. Now let's get you those pants."

Kioga and Lugo joined up with Wesley and Kyrie at the Mall of America, the next city over. It was not the one in Minnesota; that one had gone out of business once Amazon had introduced drone freight delivery and Walmart had partnered with Lyft/Uber and Rascal Scooters.

There was no need to "go" shopping anymore; the shopping was either done for you or you were "taken" shopping by an automated driver, first in a car, then on a motorized scooter.

The final Mall of America had gathered up all of the United States' failing businesses, Sears, Woolworth's, Macy's, Hot Topic, and given them one last chance at dignity. As a result, the customer of today was greeted with the delightful nostalgic trip of yesteryear, with a smiling customer service agent at every turn and all the random, delightful knickknacks to shove into shopping bags and trundle back to the car with what seemed to be a celebrity's fortune of stuff.

The Mall of America brought back the delirious glory of rabid materialism, delivering a department store experience at the price of a five and dime.

The prices of all goods plummeted in the wake of Amazon and Walmart's rampages, who could not compete with that sheer stampede of customers snatching up everything in sight in what seemed to be a consumerist amusement park, instead of an ugly website, a lonely mobile app, or a vast, soulless fluorescent lighted warehouse.

It brought back the joy of shopping.

In the first half-hour, Wesley was already in a frilly Lolita Goth dress, Kyrie had her gigantic fennec ears pierced four times and wore an evening dress from the fifties, Lugo had the claim slips for a washer, dryer, and wore a plaid sweater vest, and Kioga had twenty-three used Xbox OwO games and a ginormous Covfefe Fappe Mocha Juffulia.

"Kioga, bud," Wesley said, twirling his lacy parasol as he leaned over, letting random passerby snicker at his frilly pink bloomers. "You know what coffee does to you."

"Yup," the cheetah shrugged, biting off the softball-sized crown of whipped cream. He slapped the side of a brand-new diaper bag that said "American Apogee" on the side in red, white, and blue block letters.

American Apogee: For the Patriot Incontinent of All His Love for His Nation.

"Ask not how you can change your nation, but when your nation will change you! :3" was their slogan, and to the dismay of the ancient authoritarian Right and the capricious authoritarian Left (their current oppressed minority was dead people), it ran during primetime television.

"So you're outta the changing room?" Kyrie asked, stunned at the way her pearl necklace fell across her breast, and the way the green chiffon exposed and advertised her bosom.

Kioga shrugged. "How I do my business is nobody's business but my own. I'm not 'out' of the changing room; I just have my name on the door."

He took a sip of coffee and immediately felt his guts rumble.

"And with due diligence," Lugo said, arcing an eyebrow at Kioga's groin, then his face, "It will be a private business."

Kioga rolled his eyes and nodded, then put his free paw in his pants pocket.

The pants in question--"special pants"--appeared to be a simple pair of khakis. Kioga had told Lugo, in consternated confusion, that if Lugo was going to let the pants do his diaper checks by the existence of wet spots showing through around the leg guards, then it'd already be too late.

Lugo had casually remarked that if Kioga just keeps tabs on the weight of his diaper--which would be very obvious once it neared capacity--then there would be no problem.

"So Wes," Kioga asked, "are you, ah, y'know right now?"

The coyote smirked. "I actually already messed myself," he said, twirling his parasol.

His three companions let out gasps of confusion and amazement.

The coyote smelled none the worse than lilac perfume and baby powder.

Wes's smirk grew to a grin.

"I'm packing a whole 'nother butt back there," he said, and for demonstration turned around and waggled his frilly pink tukus. It had seemed rather ... otterish ... and bubbly for a coyote. "Got me some deodorant strips from Pussytech working overtime."

"Ah," Kyrie said, chuckling, then explained, her faux-emerald earrings jingling, "It started out as a feminine strip for the heavy days or the, ah, bakery days--yeast infections, glorious topic to talk about--" she inserted as all the males cringed, "but once the AB Universe--the community, not the international diaper and battleship manufacturer--got hold of them their business exploded."

Kioga felt a warmth in his crotch, then relaxed and let his eyes roll skyward. Pee hit the front of his padding, then rushed in a flood into his swaddling, which swelled back against his groin.

His three compatriots pursed their lips, trying to hold back their smiles at this extremely telltale facial expression.

"Speaking of explosions," Wesley snarked.

Kioga glowered, but couldn't maintain too severe a frown: the swollen, moist warmth around his nethers, cradling him and reassuring him better than any delirious politician's platitudes, was a pleasure to be fully savored.

"Y'know, making fun of handicapped people--" he started, then Wes rolled his eyes.

"We all have some sort of handicap," the coyote said, placing his paw on Kioga's shoulder.

Even when Wes was right up against him, Kioga could only make out the faintest scent of dirt, and even then, it smelled like potting soil and not of raw fecal material.

"Some of us have it worse than others, be it a physical limitation, a mental impotence, or a destructive vice they bring upon themselves," Wes lectured, "but you can't claim a moral violation when one, we are not making fun of you in an openly malicious manner, and two, you are fucking reveling in it."

Kioga's eyes fluttered. Wes wasn't usually so sober and straight shooting; he usually was a frat-bro ankle-biter whose games consisted of playfully irritating his friends to the point of their own folly.

"I can't hide behind my disability?" Kioga asked.

Kyrie let out an audible groan, but Lugo stood transfixed.

"You can't stand on it as a moral pedestal," Wes said, "because it cheapens the plight of those who actually suffer from it."

"But I do actually suffer from it!"

"Then I am sorry and you have my pity."

Kioga's teeth flashed and he leaned into Wesley. "I didn't ask for your pity, and you won't have me as your emotional beggar by tossing it as alms!"

Wesley was grinning. Kyrie was pinching her tear ducts, eyebrows high in tired frustration. Lugo's lips were sucked into his mouth, his teeth gently pressing them to prevent a smile.

The coyote had outfoxed the cheetah.

"You know," Wesley said, pausing as a grunt caught in his throat. He had further messed his bloomers. "it speaks to the egoistical fortitude of a being when his tower of self is collapsed by the simple prod of a battering ram the size of a toothpick."

"So you are making fun of my disability," Kioga growled.

"Oh yes," Wesley chuckled, "because you held your diaper up like a shield and, surprise surprise, it popped like the world's most disgusting water balloon."

Kioga clenched his teeth and closed his eyes. He measured his words slowly and tried not to murr as he felt another hot set of trickles down his sheath, over his sac, and into his warm, wonderful padding.

"In another life, Wesley I-forgot-your-last-name," Kioga said in a measured tone, "I think you and I would be married. God, I hate you," he sighed, "with all my being. But it is your ability to so thoroughly dig inside me, find my last nerve and twist it, that would you use your powers for good, you may invariably be the best husband I, or the world, has ever seen."

"Dear me," Wesley said, placing his paw on his heart. He backed away from the cheetah, who was wringing the shoulder-strap of his diaper bag with the same fury and viciousness he assuredly would with Wesley's neck, and stood alone from the three.

Kyrie's eyes were wide open, as were her gigantic ears. She dared not look at anyone but Kioga, as she knew that should she look to Wes, he would simply redirect her gaze to the final male.

Lugo stood with his arms folded over his chest. His face was expressionless, set in stone, and his eyes watched with impersonal curiosity his own boyfriend with this shocking confession.

After Kioga kept his eyes closed for too long, Lugo cleared his throat.

"Speaking of," Lugo said, "how many years has it been we have been dating, and not a single proposal?"

Kioga lowered his gaze. "This is such a fucking buzzkill; I am so sorry."

"Are you breaking up again?" asked Kyrie.

The look that Wes shot the fennec woman was one of pure indignation, so strong, harsh, and naked that were it not for an assault charge, he would have definitely slapped her face.

Kyrie met Wes's look with prim satisfaction. "I say that as a friend, not an ex-lover," she said.

"You never say such a thing in any context," Wesley hissed.

"Denying the truth won't make it go away," Kioga said, who now got to correct the coyote and because of such, was lightly smiling. "Like standing in a street wishing a truck won't hit you because it'll hurt your feelings. And other things."

"I don't want to have any lovers' drama," Lugo said, "and I'm not a great philosophizer like apparently you and Wesley are."

It became apparent that Lugo's eyes were moist, and that a parcel of people had stopped around them, listening to what seemed to be an impromptu stage show.

Kioga felt another trickle, but as he relaxed it turned into a rush. He tracked the flow as far back as his rump, and felt the padding rise up against his cheeks. He stole a glance down as Lugo prepared his next few sentences. The wolf was reasonably bright, but was much more fluent in concretes than he was abstract thought.

Kioga suppressed a scream which came out as a muffled meow.

His pants seemed to have shrunken, drawing in as his diaper had swollen out. The clean, light khaki hid zero wrinkles, and seemed to clutch around his groin as if a form of latex. Even the flat spots of his diaper tapes were evident, and Kioga swore he could read the garment's brand, American Apogee, through the fabric.

His fly was also down, exposing a vast canvas of white with red and blue brand lettering.

"I will not deny that Wesley is a great dude. Sure, he's been a piece of shit from time to time, but he's always had our backs except for the first time," Lugo said. His eyes flicked to Kioga's crotch, which looked like it had gained twenty pounds just in that area and had literally gained a couple. "Wow you filled that up fast. Anyway, let's not hold our emotions hostage and trot this out over a month of passive-aggressive epithets. Key, why did you say that, and am I wasting my time on you?"

Kioga nodded, taking a few quick breaths. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and shivered as the sound of popping threads ripped from his underside. He reached under him and felt a seam along his groin stretched to capacity.

Nervously, he took a sip of coffee, then felt a mass in his torso move south. His stomach grumbled, then his bowels rattled.

"I just meant to pay Wesley a compliment," Kioga said, trying not to take deep breaths. He clenched his rear. "And in another life, were I to desire someone as radical and complicated as that trickster, sure. I'd marry him in a heartbeat."

Lugo inclined his chin. "Are you saying I'm simple?"

Kioga raised his own muzzle, clenching his teeth. "Yes."

Kyrie gasped and Lugo's biceps flexed as he looked away. Wesley glared at Kioga as if he was standing on the edge of the cliff and debating what should be an obvious choice.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Wesley whispered.

Kioga bent as his stomach cramped. His bowels were throbbing with his elevated heartbeat, full to bursting. "Hold on, hold on," he grunted, then felt it go away.

Kioga let out a slow, relieved breath. "Lugo, you're simple in the way a good modern car is designed. You have no superfluous frills, no arbitrary design choices, you are pure and built exactly as you need to be.

"Oh God," Kioga interrupted himself, feeling a solid, thick plug press against his anus, stretching it outward. When the cheetah bent over, a tiny tear zipped from the fabric under his tail.

Lugo nodded, breathing easier. "All right, fine, but why take something pure as me over the crazy cosmic wonder of Wesley?"

The hole in the back of Kioga's pants was roughly the length of his hand. He felt the warm, swollen plastic through the slit. "Because Wesley is some crazy prototype from the 1960's that is a beauty at car shows but breaks down every hundred miles. He's a switchback of contradictions, he's a miserable pile of secrets, he's--oooof!"

Kioga put his hands on his knees and fell victim to his body's totalitarian imperative. He tried to clench his tailhole, but it opened without him, and he felt a hot, slimy log of scat thicker than Lugo's fist thunder his way out of him like a vengeful anaconda.

"Shit shit shit, no," Kioga groaned, and soon the crackle of his padding was replaced by the ripping of cloth as the growing lump in his rump tore the back of his pants wide open, revealing a pure white, lightly-tinged diaper expanding down and out with an extra load.

Assuming it was empty, Kioga was met with a second startling fury as his bladder released, gushing a torrent of piss from his cock that audibly sounded throughout the mall, sounding like a garden hose spraying a Slip-N-Slide.

Already, the crowd had been murmuring and this grew to a groaning, bored frustration as "one of those diaper people on primetime commercials, the ABCDLs" was clearly revealed to them. Parents hid their kids' eyes, but the kids had seen the commercials too and so everyone's feigned innocence was blown right out of the building.

His piss stream hurt his urethra--this coffee fappe was evil!--and the front of his pants swelled and expanded, threads breaking, fabric tearing as the back dropped limply between his legs. A second train of scat crashed into the first, piling up beneath his rump cheeks and smearing them sticky and stinky.

His diaper was completely exposed now, inflating like a marshmallow in the microwave, and the crotch of his khakis had completely ripped away to become some office version of a cowboy's chaps.

With a final poot and a gasp, Kioga wobbled to stand upright, feeling an enormous, warm, moist pile mush up against his ass and the back of his balls, possibly larger than the great chocolate pyramid Lugo had made this morning.

Kioga waddled forward, feeling the diaper squish against the inside of his naked thighs.

There were a few cheers in the audience, mostly from reckless college-age males and from females with footlong margarita glasses or with neon-colored hair.

"I, um," Kioga started, seeing the flash of camera phones as the rest of the crowd tut-tutted and evacuated. Every step crackled loudly; his hips burned from the diaper pinching him with its weight. "Thanks for letting me get all that out."

Wes snorted.

"You're going to marry me," Lugo demanded.

Kyrie gasped and Wesley yelped, unable to hold back his tears. "My little faggot is getting hitched!"

Kyrie smacked him.

Kioga blushed, broke into laughter, then stumbled and fell back on his ass. He fell on his diaper, which caught him like a beanbag chair.

It was the size of a small one.

Kioga shook his head, delirious with joy. "I, uh, let's get me changed first."

"There's a wedding chapel on the third floor," Kyrie offered.

"Unless we're changing you during the ceremony--" Wesley said.

Lugo smiled. "I think I might lose the ring in that mountain of--"

"Yeah, we're not doing that," Kioga said, stumbling to his feet with Lugo's help. He fell into Lugo's arms, against his chest. A moment passed, then he looked up into Lugo's eyes. "You really want to marry a choleric, capricious, incontinent cheetah?"

Lugo nuzzled his fiancé.

"I can't leave you to that crazy coyote, can I?"