FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

I sat down on the carpet in front of him, legs folded beneath me. I set down the plastic, the wipes, and powder, unrolled the changing mat, and began to unfold the diaper: soft interior up, front and rear wings spread, laid out with the rear away from me, so I'd be between my Pet's legs when I taped it on him. The only sounds were the soft, crinkling noises of the diaper and Sherman's slightly quickened breathing. I took my time.

"Sherman," I looked up at him, trying to keep my eyes neutral, my voice a mix of stern command and deep concern, "You know you can always trust me with anything. You are my Pet, and as your Owner and Master nothing is more important to me than seeing to your needs. I was disappointed, Sherman, that you didn't trust me with your cage, that you didn't ask about keeping it off. It's there to help control your need to cum, a need with which you could no longer entrust me when you left it off."

I had practiced this, or at least most of it. I tried to hide it in my face and my voice, but I was desperate for him to understand. I wanted this to bring us closer together, and I couldn't bear for it to drive him away from me.

"I want you to trust me, my Pet, with all of your needs. That's why this week, I'm going to be seeing to some of your most basic ones. I'm lifting from you a responsibility you've carried since you were a kit. For the next week, you will wear diapers, except when I remove them from you. I alone will change them. I want you to trust me with the responsibility of knowing when and where you need to be changed. I don't want you to worry about holding it in or finding the right time or place to relieve yourself."

My voice softened, almost pleading. "You know you can always ask me for anything, Sherman, but this week I want you to try and rely on me. If you really need a change, you can always ask, but I'm going to try to anticipate your needs, and I want you to trust my judgement."

I resumed my stern voice, straightening my posture. By this point his expression was worried, trying to take it in, and my paws tensed with nervousness over getting through the speech, making him understand. "This is your punishment, Sherman."

For a long moment, he was silent. I could see it in his eyes: he was going over the week, wondering how he'd get through each task in diapers, what might cause problems, what I might make him do. Finally he spoke, quietly, haltingly:

"Master, . . . I'm not . . . your kit; I'm your Pet."

Those last three words were like a refreshing wave of warmth. He was still my very own Pet. This beautiful bunny remained mine. Never has being reminded of that ever failed to please me. I beamed back at him, his lithe nude form still fidgeting, his fine, plush white fur exposed, poofing, standing on end in nervousness.

"No one's going to treat you like a kit, Sherman. No baby talk, no onesies, no bottles or strollers. I don't want you to be a kit. I love you just the way you are, but for this week, I want you in diapers." I'll admit a lot of the resources I could find online about diapering adults, especially subs, catered to treating them like cubs in one way or another, but that was honestly never what I had in mind.

He mulled it over, chewing his lip while I watched him. His eyes fixed worriedly on the diaper laid out before him. "Alright, Master. What do I do first?"

It felt so good to hear him comply, to know that he'd do this for me, that he'd trust me even with his most basic responsibilities. More than that, it felt good to forgive him. In our house, punishment has to come with forgiveness. I don't get to punish my Pet for some wrongdoing, and also keep being angry with him; that would be like extra punishment. I wanted to put his transgression behind us.

"Lay down on the diaper, Sherman. Your tail should line up with the tail notch, and your legs should be to either side of me."

His reaction wasn't exactly eager, but it was obedient.

"Good Pet." I whispered. He smiled in response. I could tell it was forced; his eyes betrayed his nervousness, but he was trying his best to please me.

"Now I'm just going to make sure you're clean." I drew a wipe with one paw, and began cleaning the sweat from his hips, his crotch fur, cleaning the base of his cock, his cage, and his balls. They were nearly the size of lemons, and already firming up with a week in chastity. They've always been big, but his long periods of denial, and the strong steel band around his plush sac, securing the tube of his cage, made them so much more . . . enticing.

"mmhhmmhhmhh" My Pet let out a soft whimper. I wasn't hurting him. It wasn't exactly sexual, but it was intimate: close and caring. He lay still as he allowed my strong paws to tend to his most sensitive areas, trusting me. I wiped down his inner thighs before placing my paws under his calves.

"Alright, now. I'm going to lift your legs, and I want you to keep them still, and up." I gently eased his legs into the air, holding his ankles up with one broad paw as I wiped the backs of his thighs down with the other.

"That's an obedient Pet," I breathed as I smoothed the fur of his perfect white fluffy heart-shaped rump with a fresh wipe, reaching into his crevice to feel around his tail-hole, sure to get everything nice and clean. I got a tiny squeak out of him when I pressed a wipe-covered finger, just briefly, against his entrance.

"Now It's time for powder," I warned him, as I finished wiping the area around the base of his puffball tail. Gingerly, I dusted his lifted, exposed bunny buns with talcum powder, as if I were applying a lot of salt to a fine dish, before I massaged it into his fur, oh so gently, with my fingers. I worked it into the base of his tail, his inner thighs, his cheeks and the space between, anywhere moisture might lead to rash or chaffing. At last I lowered his legs back to either side of me. I was finally able to see his face again, and he was blushing: bright pink cheeks shone under his pure white fur, the same forced smile on his face as he stared back at me with soft, sky-blue eyes. Something about that expression always gets to me. My heart skipped a beat. It was all I could to to keep from grinning maniacally.

I sprinkled powder again over his front, rubbing it into his longer, curlier, silkier crotch fur, his inner thighs and plush sac, sure to get plenty of it anywhere the cage might rub him. He was so hard in there. However embarrassed or afraid he might have been, the paws of his Master were caressing his most intimate places, and it was making his trapped bunny cock drool through the stainless steel tube's slit.

"Someone's enjoying this, just a little . . ." I mused, triggering a faint whimper in response.

"OK, time to wrap you up." I carefully positioned his caged cock and balls, and drew the front of the diaper through his legs, spreading the wings over his hips, pulling it tight, almost up to his belly button. "Only the best for my Pet," I explained as I worked, "I had them ordered from overseas, based on the best reviews I could find. It should hold most anything you can dish out, and stay soft and secure." The padding was nearly an inch and a half thick already, and it was still dry. The plastic coating crinkled reassuringly. I reached for the wings of the bottom half, and drew them around his hips. Each side had two tapes. I paused with the first tape, on the lower right, ready to attach to the front, drawing the diaper taught around his thigh.

"Sherman," My tone was different this time: a special tone, a startlingly earnest, open plea. I use this only when I need an honest answer from him, not what he believes is right to say, or what he thinks will please me. "Do you want this?"

He paused again. The unmistakable scent of talcum powder filled the air, masking the scent of travel sweat on my bunny, and the usual smells of home. The house was silent. When at last he spoke, his voice was equally earnest. Even lying on the floor, with me over him, he couldn't bring his eyes to meet mine. They stared at the ceiling. "Otis, I feel like I've really failed. I've failed you, and I've failed myself. I don't just want your forgiveness. I want to earn it, and that's why I'll do this."

"As you wish." I taped up the diaper, drawing it taught around his waist.

"Alright, time to stand up." I stood myself, and offered him a paw. He accepted it, his own white furred forepaw engulfed in my strong, shaggy grip. I drew him upright. His stance was wide, his legs adjusting to the unusual bulk between them. I padded behind him, and fastened the tape over the tail slit, drawing the waistline tight, and securing the leak guards around the base of his slightly powdery puffball tail. With one finger, I reached into the seals on each thigh, making sure the leak guards there were in place, too.

"One more thing," I leaned over and unfolded the plastic object I'd set out. It was a set of transparent plastic underwear, with straps designed to draw tight around his thighs and waist. "It will let me check your diaper, wetness indicators and all," I motioned to the yellow markings that would dissolve and turn blue when wet, "but it will keep you and your clothes dry even if you get wet enough to make the outside of the diaper damp." I could tell he was getting nervous at the prospect of being so soggy.

"It also locks." I pulled up the chain around my neck, where I kept the key to his cage. There was an additional tiny key. "So only I can get in."

He whimpered, but when I knelt to present the garment for him, he stepped into the leg holes. I pulled it up over his hips, and tightened the straps before fastening three tiny padlocks from my pocket: one for each thigh, and one for his waist, at the small of his back.

"There we go." I stood in front of him, looking him up and down, admiring my work. "How does it feel?"

He took a few experimental steps, wincing at the crinkle of the plastic pants and the thick diaper underneath, fighting the urge to waddle in the bulk of the padding. I could tell he was worrying about hiding the sound, wondering what to wear, how to act, what to tell anyone who noticed. Finally he turned back to me, pressed his paws into the padding on his crotch and his rump to feel the soft, thick, comforting warmth of it, and forced another smile.

"It's warm, soft, and safe. It holds me tight, and it's with me always. It's here to take care of whatever I need, like my Master."

Sometimes my Pet has moments when he outdoes himself, when he's so perfect I can't help but sweep him up in my arms and kiss him deeply. This was one of those moments. He wrapped his arms around my chest, and welcomed my broad tongue into his muzzle as one strong paw held him close, and the other lifted him, pressing into the crinkly padding of his thickly diapered rump.

For several long moments our muzzles remained locked, tongues playing and exploring. At last, we broke for breath, and I let him down, slowly, until his feet were on the carpet again. From the way he beamed up at me, his worries were gone: he'd accept this punishment. I was so glad, so relieved. I must have been beaming at him, too.

"You'd probably better unpack. I'll finish cooking."