Chapter 20: Frot with Love

Gila had to wiggle in his seat while driving home, as he’d emitted enough pre during his close call to make his underwear sticky. It was incredible watching all those men walking around without pants, but the end part had put a brick in his stomach. He sent a text to Jacko, saying,

“Hey man, got your number from George. While I’m sure a lot of people looooooove the risque environment that Bulge’s creates—honestly, you may need to employ security to avoid ‘window’ shoppers with all those lovely lumps sashaying around—I think the ‘personal touch’ you employed with me, and I’m guessing other customers, is gonna be a minefield. Some straight guy buying sexy underwear for the bedroom is gonna get bumped by your bulge and then have his lawyer slam his briefcase on your balls. I want Bulge’s to prosper, but what you and that guy did was kinda trashy.”

Jacko typed for a long time without posting, and then came a few ropes of text:

“Ugh. You’re right, man. Fuck. I wanna have my gay club and my professional business, too. I’m guessing I’ll have to host after-dark hours. Fuck that’s a great idea. Fuck. I got your name in for a free pair of briefs. I’m sorry what me and Drake did. Married men are so sexy. So moral, like a good dad or something. Fuck. I wanna fuck my dad.”

Gila’s eyes bugged at that last part, then more harried texts from Jacko.

“FCUK don’t tell anyone. Besides George. I wish I had a dad like George. I mean a husband FUCK”

Gila then received a message that Jacko had blocked him. The cat rolled his eyes, because the text was still there. Then he was unblocked, and blocked again. Gila started laughing, because he was just imagining Jacko running up and down the store, ranting to Drake and Marv.

“He hates me. I know he hates me. He’s gonna post it online! Oh he hates me. Maybe he’s going to sue me! Is there such a thing as bulge-rape? Because that’s what I did. I raped his leg with my bulge. And you did, too!” he’d shout at Drake.

“One man is easier to keep track of,” muttered Gila, driving home. His phone had stopped buzzing a while ago.

Then it rang, and Jacko’s name was on the screen. Gila shook his head and picked it up.

“Yes, Jacko?” he sighed.

“Are we all good?” the orange tabby asked.

“Bro,” Gila snapped.

“‘Bro-yes’ or ‘bro-no?’” Jacko asked, his voice trembling.

“Bro, you shit yourself so go clean your ass. Don’t put your stink-waves in my face.”

“The fuck’s that mean?”

“Clean your fucking ass. I have no problems with you; take care of your shit.”

“You’re not mad?”

“I wasn’t,” Gila said.

“Two briefs!”

The cat made a note not to roll his eyes too much because he still had to watch the road. “Just give to me, as a gift for my nightclub idea, what you think is a fair present. Nothing is official; we’re just guys making mistakes. Settle my claim and move on, m’kay?”

“I love you.”

Gila’s eyes fixed forward and the environment hazed. He blew a traffic light, but there were no cars. The tuxedo cat quickly shook his head and returned to his phone. “Get some help, dude,” said Gila, then hung up.

Gila entered his house laughing, which prompted George to rise up from his project. He was making a gryphon in a bottle, and it had many tiny parts. There was the sound of plastic hitting the dining room tile.

“Ah, lost the penis,” George complained. “Wait; it’s stuck in my foot.” The gecko pulled the prick from his paw. He was wearing normal attire, though as per their new tradition, his jeans were crotchless and his white Bulge’s briefs held him pleasantly. Bifocals sat on the bridge of his snout. “What’s going on with you?”

Gila’s words were like pollen, and the closer they got to his snout, the more a giggle rattled out of him like a sneeze. “Jacko … hehehe … J-Jacko at the store … hheeeh … ah, hahaha!” the cat laughed, holding up the screen of his phone as tears poured from his eyes.

George read over the texts, then his face and neck crumpled like a can in outer space. His snort was deep and guttural, rattling his sinuses, and he kept his chuckle in his chest, shaking his head as he returned to his project. “That boy ain’t right.”

“The poor sweetie!” laughed Gila. “I feel so bad for him, but what the hell?”

George shrugged, carefully assembling the model. “The gryphon has no balls? Ah. There they are. Jacko reacted the same to me when I rebuffed him. He’s a very handsome man in an idyllic Garden of Penis. A lot of people want to be with him—if for a night—but it’s so strange when a perfectly normal gay man isn’t interested. It makes him short circuit and doubt his entire approach, even though one ‘no’ doesn’t delete the several yesses he’s received over the years. Whatever you and I’ve got, Jacko wants a part of it. And perhaps the realization of us having something that he does not, it makes him frightened. It shows, perhaps, there’s a void in him. An unplugged hole, if you’ll excuse the pun. Is monogamy right for Jacko? That I don’t know. Some sort of stability structure, that I’m more sure of. He’s been hanging around boys … and he’s met two men.”

Gila nodded, crossing his arms. “Age, virility, and energy are all fleeting. Life, as well as bulges, are all so precious. I’m almost scared he’ll blink and be forty. Now he’s a creepy old man crusting on young boys.”

George looked at Gila over his bifocals, glaring.

Gila jumped. “But you! Oh, you are still in the prime of your life! Full of piss and vinegar, gasoline and nitro glycerine!”

“I’m a married old man.”

“But you don’t feel old! No part of you—” Gila winked and clicked his tongue. “—feeeeeeels old.”

George snorted and rolled his eyes, trying to hide his smile. He set his tweezers and paintbrush back on the table, then turned around in his chair. When his legs spread, his cotton-wrapped bulge flopped over the seat’s edge, and his crotchless jeans revealed the inside of his bare thighs. Gila’s toes curled and his penis thumped in his briefs. “So what you got for me?” the gecko asked.

The cat’s fingers buzzed as he reached inside his shopping bag. “Y-you see—”

George’s head nodded upwards. “And why are you still wearing pants in the house?” The gecko was naturally big, but the request gave his underwear a little stretch.

“O-oh,” the cat nervously giggled, then unbuckled his belt and fumbled with the button and fly. As soon as he succeeded, he shoved them to his ankles, then tried to walk again and nearly tripped on his cloth shackles. “D-damnit!” he laughed, then kicked his shoes off and removed his pants. The gecko smiled as Gila revealed his own briefs, which were modestly tented. “I got you these,” he said, pulling out a white pair.

George lifted his bifocals and squinted. “‘EdgyBoi™?’” he read. “‘For that little frisky lift you need. *Please check with local laws as results may vary.’ Oh, these are the undies that made you…”

Gila blushed. “Blast off, yes. But Jacko says that’s an outlier. It’s supposed to, y’know, just keep you teased.”

The gecko’s brow rose. “On edge, perhaps?”

“Yeah!”

George smirked and looked over his model. “Keeping me propped up like that; how long do you think they’ll stay on my hips?”

“As long as you want!”

The gecko chuckled. “Something tells me you’re not going to like that,” he said, then stood up from the table and received the briefs. George turned around, showing off the bottom ridge of buttock his current undies revealed. Gila licked his lips and tried not to play with himself. “Might as well get dressed, yourself. Something fresh and frisky.”

“Just undies?” the cat asked, watching as George undressed. First came off the jeans, revealing the beautiful white plane of the gecko’s bottom-wear, then those came off as well. Gila tried to sneak a peek at the grand organs dangling between the gecko’s legs, but his thick tail got in the way. George was just casually dressing, instead of putting on a show.

“Mmm, how ‘bout a shirt as well? I like that contrast of clothed and unclothed. Love you naked, but that’s for sexy times and showers.”

The gecko was in the middle of pulling his pants back up when the tingle of the EdgyBoi™ briefs thrummed through his sac and shaft. The underwear lifted and pushed his package out, and its soft texture massaged his length. “Oh, shoot,” George said, watching his member rise to about a third full, sticking many inches out from his lap, “definitely can’t wear these to work. Not sure I’d even fit in normal jeans…” Even his balls protruded past his thighs, when normally they contentedly hung against them.

“Let me see!” Gila said, rushing toward him. George put out a paw.

“Hey hey hey; I asked you to get dressed, baby!”

“Right!” the cat said, then rushed upstairs, nearly on all fours.

“Shoot,” George said again, seeing his length grow to half-ready. These briefs seemed like a ratchet system, and with his powerful organ sticking way out into the open with no hope of hiding, the gecko felt a grinning, manly surge.

Gila was fully erect as he rummaged through his wardrobe. This was exciting; this was fun: he’d get the friskiness of the bottomless Bulge’s store and the purity of doing it with his partner. Even the thought of it made his paws gravitate to his groin, but he knew he’d “spoil his dinner” if he gave himself dessert.

He rushed back down in some low-cut red Bulge’s briefs and a clean t-shirt that stopped at their waistband. Gila was grinning, plenty tented, and returned to find George back at his model, slowly assembling the gryphon. The cat detected a bit of uneasiness with the gecko—his tweezers were a bit shaky—and then he saw the glorious half-mast protruding beneath the table and George’s foot nervously tapping.

Gila purred. “Man, you’re really feeling it, aren’t you?”

George smiled. “They sure do what they say they do on the package. Feeling great.”

The cat sashayed to the table, proud to show off his own conical lump. The gecko watched every step.

“God, you’re beautiful,” said George.

Gila blushed. “I was about to say the same to you. May I…?” he asked, pointing under the table.

The gecko contemplated and leaned back, showing off the stretched white fabric. “Sure. But no paws or mouth; undies stay on. Let’s really savor this,” he said.

“Aren’t you afraid it’ll wreck your model?”

“I’ll do some administrative stuff. Organize everything and review the instructions.”

Gila nodded, then got on his knees and crawled beneath the table, and between George’s legs. The gecko leaned forward to read over the literature, then felt a warm face running up and down the length of his spire, with soft breaths sampling his loins.

“Phew,” George said, growing a bit harder. The underwear stretched even further, but it confidently wrapped around him and held him, not breaking the seal around his waist or legs. There was a lovely vulnerability as the soft, cool nose traveled lower and gently pressed against the pouch of his swaddled gonads. They pulled in his intimate scent and were accompanied by contented sighs of enjoyment.

Gila nestled himself in the cave of George’s legs, basking and inhaling the strong, masculine musk emanating from his aroused privates. His sac, so tenderly held by a soft sheaf of fabric, rested beneath a proud steeple of male imperative. “Mmf,” Gila groaned into the fragrant bundle, feeling his slit pulse beneath his tail, and his dick throb in his undies. He was already steadily pouring pre, a long thread drooling from the tip of his briefs as the trembling cone darkened with moisture.

“That’s good, baby,” George growled. His sight was blocked by the instruction manual and the table, so he was totally blind to what Gila was doing. The cat released a hot sigh of contentment right in his lap, surrounding his loins in humidity. George’s hips involuntarily rolled forward and he slumped in his chair, giving Gila full access. Up and down went the cat’s furry head, his whiskers tickling the gecko’s scaly thighs as he rubbed George’s scent all over him. The undies held the gecko high, and when he reached full hardness the tip bumped against the bottom of the table.

Gila put his temple against the apex of George’s thick protrusion, then dragged himself down. He nuzzled every hard inch, rubbing his head against the musky, stretched fabric until he reached the gecko’s potent, bulging pouch. George’s heavy eggs floated in their sling, and he stroked his face across one, then the other, and then planted his nose in the center where the root of his husband’s trunk met the savory sac.

He traveled lower, dragging the gecko’s orbs across his muzzle as his nose found the precious, sensitive slit between George’s cheeks. Gila wedged himself into this musky cavern of sweltering masculinity, and breathed deep the unique, earthy scent of the gecko’s intimate vent.

George was melting in his chair, his arms slumping and his hips rolling as his husband explored every inch of his exposed underwear. His dick sprang from under the table, rigid and full and towering over his lap. The white mountain springing from his jeans leaked and throbbed, and he dared not touch it on threat of eruption.

“God, is this cock worship or edging?” George asked.

Gila slipped out from under the table, his face fur thoroughly disheveled, and helped the gecko rotate his chair away from the table. The cat’s red undies were also happily tented, and the gecko could hardly recount the size difference against the sheer magnitude of what that modest, energetic projection meant. “I think it’s a lot of things,” Gila purred, then leaned over his husband and kissed him deeply.

George pushed his long tongue into Gila’s mouth, then twitched as he felt a small, hard protrusion rub up against his spire. “Shit,” George hissed, moving his lips against Gila’s in light, smacking caresses as the cat’s hips rolled his moist, pointed crotch against his stretched briefs. The Edgy undies thrummed around his crotch, their soft fabric and elastic lift spurring him toward a burst. The gecko’s heart fluttered, and every kiss on his lips and every grind against his groin unbuckled another belt of restraint.

God; is my husband really gonna make me cream my jeans? He thought as he humped back, rubbing swords with his legs spread wide.

Gila’s hot breath rushed around Geoge’s head, and his hips hungrily thrust against the gecko’s titanic white tent. The briefs were good to their name; they kept George rock-hard and completely enveloped. His nuts were beautifully sheathed under a towering, aching dick, and his cheeks clenched the clean fabric.

The center could not hold. George felt his sac, already lifted and held to his body, tighten against his groin. The scent of sex suffused the air, with both males straining in their briefs and leaking all over their crotches. The tents rubbed together like sticks for a fire, with Gila’s own balls tight and bulging against the bottom of his undies. Their malehoods seemed to sing, resonating with each other in love and need. Both men panted as they kissed and nuzzled, desperately trying to stave off their squirting eruptions, but tantalizingly tormented by the teetering inevitability of the other. They didn’t want to cum early, but they wanted to cum, and their oozing, soaked spires relentlessly reminded them with increasing moisture, heat, and musk.

Grinding their tented undies together, Gila and George growled and huffed, resisting a pitch change in their voice. A voice goes low or high, and that would be another … that would be another sign … that they were going to …

George jolted first, his length grinding against the cat’s shaft like a whetstone, and groaned deep. His loins throbbed, his slit clenched, and his cock jumped in his decadent, sleek briefs. The tip grew dark and fast. George panted as his balls pumped silky white essence up his great length, Gila’s red tent rubbing all the while. The crown of his crotch tower bubbled with thick liquid, drooling on all sides, then a mighty pump flung the first rope into the air, right onto Gila’s shirt.

Gila moaned as his own edging, built-up lust surrounded his crotch, causing him to burst. He panted and grunted, freezing against George’s spewing geyser, and let out a long moan as he erupted in his briefs, spraying strands across his husband’s lap and stomach as he filled his pouch with sperm.

Both men writhed and shivered as they squirted in their sticky underwear, which quickly turned white and shiny all across their stretched surfaces.

“Oh God,” they both exclaimed, legs spread as their cocks jolted and oozed. Their crotches swamped in hot, salty goo, they looked dazedly at each other and the fragrant, masculine mess they made.

“Shit,” George whispered, his shaft and sac still lifted in the perky briefs. “Could get into a lotta trouble at a nightclub. All humpin’ and rubbin’ and ready for another round.”

“But just us,” Gila said.

“Well, yeah,” George said, wiping a thick strand off his stomach. Gila immediately leaned forward and took the gift, sucking on the gecko’s fingers. He walked forward and sat on George’s lap: their sticky bulges squished together. “But everybody’s gonna be watching.”

Gila’s lips popped off the gecko’s fingers. “You wanna do more public stuff? I mean things that’ll be permitted. Hidden from the general public or only with consenting public.”

George’s chest rose and fell. He rubbed Gila’s hip, and licked his lips when he saw the gooey lump between the cat’s thighs. “Welp, I’m still a business owner. So while I do have the shield of being gaily married, I ‘on’t think anywhere besides the Pacific Coast would permit me to be a degenerate. And I use that term loosely; I primarily mean sexual savant.”

“Sure,” said Gila. Then his tail vibrated like a guitar string, which made George’s brow ridge rise. “You wanna go to the store? After we shower?”

George sighed, but he couldn’t help his smile. “Hoo boy. I know where this is going.”

Gila giggled, already skipping toward the stairs. “No you don’t, silly!” he said.

“Jesus Christ; how many products does PDC have?” asked George, eyeing the new package.

Gila purred. “As many as there are fetishes!” he giggled. The cat ripped open the bag and snapped the clean white briefs like a flag. Out of the parcel also fell a small manual.

The gecko folded his thick arms, his heavy lizard tail languidly waving behind him. He was only dressed in a towel, and the master bedroom was fresh with the hot, fragrant perfume of minty body wash. George had joked, observing Gila’s shampoo and his skin cream, “guess there’s two genders: fur and flesh.”

Puerto Panuela was a city with revised and massively reduced regulations: while they did not allow nudity or obscene underwear on the streets, some of their products allowed for casual nudity on the packages, far away, of course, from children’s products. George’s body wash displayed a handsome, naked crocodile with a modestly average penis. Gila’s shampoo had a cheetah—not that one—whose off-center stance allowed his startlingly long tube to hang beneath his thigh.

“Hygiene products for real men,” bragged the tagline of Homme Homme Homme, and they sold reasonably well to heterosexual males as well. “Intoxicating masculinity,” was their cheeky slogan. Naturally, Pendrael, Davis, & Co. bought the company right up, and stocked them in all their pharmacies and wellness stores.

“So these,” Gila said, grinning as he snapped open the manual, “are called Teasies. ‘Apply a dime-sized dollop of the glycerin easement serum to the assigned pad in the back of the brief. Results within forty-five minutes; briefs are semi-impermeable but please be within five minutes of a facility as the item does not guarantee odor control nor full security. Bladder and bowel incontinence may be caused by an underlying medical…’ Okie doke.”

Gila was still naked, and the tuxedo cat’s petite genitals wiggled between his legs as he squat down and unfurled the underwear near George’s feet. The gecko smirked, feeling a rise in his towel. “So it’s an expensive suppository kit,” he said, watching Gila apply the gel.

“Actually it’s better!” said his husband. “Instead of barraging you with a stimulating depth charge, it just lightly licks your anus as you walk, giving you that tempting, precarious urge.”

“Uh-huh,” George said, quirking an eyebrow. He shed his towel and allowed Gila to pull the undies up his body. His husband spent a little extra time packing his thick penis into its designated pouch, then kissed the cotton bulge and stood up with an erection.

“Okay, let’s go shopping,” the cat purred.

The drive out wasn’t too bad, but George would be lying if he said he didn’t already feel the provocative tickle against his crenulated hole. His heart fluttered as a subtle simmer bubbled in the bowl of his pelvis. He wore normal jeans, despite Gila’s insistence on wearing Werk pants.

“The last thing I wanna do is wear assless chaps in a Wally World,” he’d said.

They actually didn’t go to Wally’s, but to Walter’s World. Walter’s was a similar big box store that had a more open-minded proclivity to general products. Not only did they openly stock—in an “adults-only” section—marital aids and sex toys, but had shelves of kink items and even a section dedicated to Bulge’s briefs and Pendrael’s diapers. It was able to stay off a naming lawsuit from Wally’s, partly because this store was founded first, and the general public knew the distinction in quality between the two stores.

When George and Gila pulled up to the place, the gecko was already squirming in his seat. What made matters worse was that his gyrations rubbed his private vent against the gel patch of his Teasies, amplifying the warm thrum of his healthy bowel passage.

“Let’s just get in and get out,” George said, feeling the front of his underwear grow tight. It was like his husband was constantly stroking under his tail with two wet fingers.

While they were shopping, Gila never let go of George’s hand. The cat watched him with a serene grin as his pinky ran up and down the inside of the gecko’s palm. Gila asked him many times, “How you feeling?” and George would repeatedly say, “Fine,” with a rumbling growl.

That rumble was not unique to his throat, because his nutritive tract was healthy and now provoked. A heavy, solid mass formed in the basin of his chambers, and his tail hole felt hot, almost puffy.

Gila filled their basket with his free paw. A cramp struck George and the gecko suppressed a hiss. His grip tightened on the cat’s paw, which made Gila’s ears perk and him look over.

“Is it time?” the cat asked, his tail waving.

“Erkh,” George complained, trying to clench down. A bolt of discomfort shot through his ring and pressure built in his gut. “W-we should wrap this up.”

They went to self-checkout and Gila was quick to scan everything through and have his phone ready. George was now massaging his stomach, because the heat and pressure building up in his abdomen was turning to pain. A leaden weight thumped in the base of his pelvis and his rectum strained with mass.

“H-how can these be called Teasies? Did you measure correctly?” George whispered. His tail was raising and his thighs wanted to squat on their own.

Gila fumbled with his phone. “Ah!” he said. “I mean I think so? Fuck, maybe I chose ‘for regular irregulars.’ How long do we…?”

“Hrrgh!” George grunted. His ring was starting to spread, and both his solid mass and the gel were massaging him open. “I gotta find a bathroom, now.”

“O-okay!” said Gila, cursing as the self-checkout rejected his payment. The cat just dropped all his products there and looked to the edge of the store. There were the normal bathrooms, then a family bathroom, then a Pendrael, Davis & Co Premium Adult Wellness Facility (hygienic and incontinence products for purchase). Gila took his husband’s hand and pulled him along.

George at this point was doubled over, the pressure causing him to limp. His bowel muscles squeezed against the firm, building mass, pulsing and insistently approaching a horizon of inevitability. A few more minutes, and they would take over, regardless of the public space or how clean his briefs were.

Gila got to the Pendrael door and noted the price, also seeing a disclaimer that a Praetorian would be summoned “to happily assist if your maladies occupy you for longer than thirteen minutes.”

They barely got the door shut before George gasped, groaned, and doubled over.

“No, no, baby; not like that!” Gila stammered, and rapidly worked to undo the gecko’s pants as he heard the first crackle and grumble of the gecko’s natural, bacterial act. With a fwoosh, the cat got George’s pants to his ankles, and he looked up to see the twin peaks of male productivity: one, the gecko’s prodigious cock was up at a forty-five degree angle, and the back of his briefs was already bulging with a healthy, firm mass.

George’s head was spinning, but two channels were wide open in his body. His tail raised, his body moved mountains into his briefs. The cotton flapped as material thundered into the fabric, stretching the strong fiber and tugging hard at his waistband. He grunted and huffed, leaning against the changing table as his bowels bore down and shoved mounds of fragrant, crackling mass out of him.

It was not until a wet warmth hit his shaft that he realized Gila had extracted him out the front of his briefs. As the back continued to stretch and sag, loading down with his building mess, his husband sucked him to stiffness with impressive speed. George gasped as his ass gaped around another log slithering out into his undies, grunting and groaning while Gila slathered his shaft in spit.

Gila rose quickly while unzipping himself. In solidarity, he dropped his own pants to his ankles, and planted kisses all the way up to his husband’s mouth, where he slid his tongue in deep. Their lips slurped and smacked as Gila’s paws slithered south.

“C’mon,” purred the cat, licking the gecko’s tongue. The earthy, pungent odor was already flooding the room. One paw stroked the slick, thick member, and the other grabbed one of George’s rump cheeks, spreading it. “Let it all go, baby. Give your kitty everything. No secrets. No hesitation.”

George was a confident, established man, but swimming in the tempest of Gila’s feral lust was another level altogether. He blushed as the cat extracted his balls and jiggled his mess; he melted as Gila tugged his shaft and whipped out his own.

“One more push; that can’t be all you got,” Gila whispered, licking George’s ear membrane. The gecko felt on fire—almost warm-blooded—as that push did summon another solid mass. He quivered as he felt his ring spread, and another cable start to spool out of him.

“All male, all mine,” the cat purred. He kissed his husband deeply and switched his paws to both their members. The room was humid with George’s prominent, fertile clay, and they were a couple of lusty men with their pants around their ankles, pricks sticking out of their briefs. As Gila kissed him and stroked him, he felt his own crackle, and groaned deep into George’s mouth. The cat’s private passage spread, and his tighty whities began to sag as he loaded them with his piquant bounty.

“Oh god, I’m soiling,” moaned Gila. He bucked his hips and faltered, and the pouch between his legs wiggled, big with both his balls and his dump neatly packaged.

George hissed, his undies weighed down and his rump cheeks sticky. His hard cock jumped with the first spurt and he clutched his husband’s rump. The gecko cradled the cat’s load and he felt it growing heavier. Gila’s tongue invaded his mouth, twisting around his own, and he deeply kissed back as his shaft lurched and spewed. Heavy ropes leapt over the clean concrete floor, crossing the cat’s own as his smaller member sprayed its own pearly gift.

The cat’s mind swam as both his bowels and balls unloaded. The dominant scent of their toilets filled his nostrils, and he ferally found himself frotting against George’s cumming cock. Catching a few strays off the gecko’s jolting rod, seed soaked his undies once more, and in the afterglow Gila staggered to lean against his husband.

He nuzzled George’s chin, and reached beneath his tail to rub the heavy load. Gila looked down at the gecko and grinned: both of them held the other’s bulky, sagging bottoms, their cocks hanging out and dripping.

“Messy big boys,” Gila purred, “briefies full of bunk.”

“Sheezus Christ,” George sighed. He looked around the room, taking inventory of its facilities. The load hanging against his thighs felt like another appendage, especially with Gila fondling it. The adult changing table was steel, with a center channel and a drain. A shower wand hung from the wall. A vending machine in the corner, colored purple and gold, contained Bulge’s briefs; Pendrael, Davis, and Co. adult diapers; and Homme Homme Homme hygiene refreshers such as colognes, oils, and wipes.

“Good afternoon and welcome to the Pendrael, Davis & Co. Premium Adult Wellness Facility,” said a voice that was all at once fatherly, brotherly, and intimate. “We detect two males and fecal particles. Far be it for us to waylay your actions either needed or necessary, but your allotted time is up. Please register payment for twenty more minutes, or if indeed you are in need of caretaking assistance, please stay where you are, or press the bright purple button for Praetorian help. There is one standing outside the door right now.”

The knock came immediately after. “Mister Stronghold, Mister Straczynski?” asked a baritone male voice. It carried the strange clinical coldness of a beautiful brass sonata played too perfectly. “Please follow the door instructions; I’ll be entering in three minutes.”

Gila and George scrambled, both of them fumbling for their phones but realizing they were in their pockets, around their ankles. When the cat bent down, the hefty mess stretching his briefs squished against his rump, releasing a burst of its potent aroma.

“Eeeugh,” the cat prickled, feeling the thick, warm mass spread his thighs. He managed to grab his phone, then waddled like the shit-pants he was to bloop it against the terminal.

“Your payment of thirty-five dollars has been registered. Please enjoy a thirty-five percent discount at our vending machine. Purchases at the vending machine do not extend time,” said the terminal.

“Thirty-five dollars?!” Gila gasped.

George was just leaning against the changing table, accepting the fact that he was hanging around with a floppy, cummed-up dick and briefs filled with a colossal dump. “Thanks for taking me out, baby,” he said.

“Thank you for your patronage,” said the voice on the other side of the door. Again, he sounded like he was congenial—all the right pitches were there—but he was still a far cry away from the terminal’s automated voice. “I will be here in twenty minutes if you need me … or if I’m necessary.”

There was something threatening in the Praetorians’ distinction of those two clauses.

“Uhm,” Gila said, waddling and feeling his turds shift against him. He glanced down and saw that his shorts were pristine, but knew that wouldn’t be the case if he kept risking it. The cat went to sit down on a bench and thought better of it, then carefully removed his shoes and hung up his shorts. “I guess we clean each other? Is that okay?” he asked, gingerly pulling himself up onto the changing table.

George did the same and slipped off his shoes and pants. By virtue of the briefs’ tail-catch, his underwear stayed up. His paranoid ear panels listened for quiet splats. His nostrils bore with great patience the overwhelming musk of their dung: while it was indeed marvelously erotic to be able to let go and soil their briefs with liberating abandon, the afterglow was reminding them that messes were messes, and as such should be cleaned.

Gila’s fur spiked as the first thing that touched the changing table was, indeed, the warm, heavy bulge hanging from his hips. The mound piled up and pressed against his cheeks, and as he lay down his legs spread around it. George was already pulling his briefs off. He turned them inside out and carefully laid his great mountain of shit into the toilet bowl.

“Sure that’s not going to clog?” asked Gila, leaning up on the table. The crotch strap of his briefs bulged as material shifted upward and half-swallowed his ballsac in dung. It was warm and sticky and overall comfortingly inviting, despite the prominent, stinging scent. Gila felt his crotch hardening at the sensation.

George retrieved a nearby plunger and flipped it around to its pointed handle. “I’ll make it fit,” said the gecko. Gila blushed as he admired his husband’s body; he looked marvelously cute with his big strong torso filling out his tank top, and his bottom half completely naked. A notable patch of soil crawled up his backside, framing a fragrant brown triangle below his thick tail.

The wall panel beeped, giving them a warning of ten minutes. George started, flushing the toilet and preemptively stabbed the great mass; it all went down smoothly.

“Best stop faffing around,” the gecko said. “Shit; a regular shower takes this long.”

Gila chirped as he found himself suddenly manhandled with none of the gentle niceties of romantic intercourse. He was a care patient for his husband, an invalid requiring a nurse: his legs were lifted and his briefs were removed with an efficient shimmy; any clods, logs, and turds that fell out were simply scooped up and tossed near the vast sink drain; his briefs themselves were inverted, dumped, and then held out with a pinky finger.

“You still want these, babe?” he asked.

“It’s inefficient to throw them away,” the cat said, sitting up with his legs spread. He felt the squish and stretch of adherent clay on his buttocks as he rose up: it was bizarrely invigorating to be messy and positioned for cleaning!

George smirked, turning them inside and out to display a layer thicker than a birthday cake’s frosting. “The, ehm, amount of diesel fuel used to mine lithium for rechargeable batteries may pale in comparison—”

Gila blushed, keenly aware of his dirty, naked crotch squishing against the changing table as he sat upright. “Place them in the laundry pail and clean me before we run out of time.”

George shrugged, glancing at the service panel. “You sure are making this a-romantic.”

“Oh I am, now.”

“Mmhmm,” said George, then he got to cleaning. He moved Gila back so his rump was positioned over the drain, then cleaned him with the shower wand in an easy three minutes. The blower wand right next to it fixed Gila right up, then he gave the whole table a spray to remove any residue. Gila slipped off and George got on, and the cat turned on the shower wand to full pressure to make sure he got it in the nick of time.

The service panel gracefully clicked, blinking with a two-minute warning. The fatherly, brotherly, intimate voice said, “Please be aware of your new response time. We hope you enjoyed your ablution or absolution. Please respond to the prompts; voice is acceptable, Mister Stronghold and Mister Straczynski.”

“How did he know?” asked Gila.

“The Puerto Panuela Praetorians are grateful for your services. We recognize our favorite customers.”

“Favorite?!” asked Gila. The boiling-hot water—George’s favorite—sprayed up the leopard gecko’s chest and soaked his tank top.

“You are all my favorites,” said the voice.

Then the militaristic, metronomic tap returned to the door’s other side. “This is Prae Makoto,” said the officer. “Do you need anything?”

“No!” Gila called out, his eyes watering as the room filled with steamy flatus. It gradually abated thanks to fragrant descaling solution and Vesuvian-level water, but in the meantime it was an endless, rippling gas leak.

“Do I need to come in there?” asked Prae Makoto.

“Nope!” called Gila.

“See you soon,” said the Praetorian.

The service panel blooped and room lights strobed bright purple. “Ready or not, sport, I’m coming in there!” the robotic voice said. “Got sixty seconds to clean up; though it’s nothing I ain’t seen before.”

George and Gila were dried and away from the table, quickly putting on what clothes they hadn’t shit. The cat spotted a couple pairs of briefs in the vending machine and had them dropping out the bottom in record time.

“Five, four, three—” went the voice, with the young military snake sighing behind the door. They heard the racking of a gun. Both men wobbled as they inaccurately slipped their feet into the leg holes of their underwear, then their pants. George’s were up, and Gila’s were around his knees when a handsome, stoic, clean-cut pit viper entered with a bazooka-like ONE-Z launcher held diagonally before his chest.

The officer’s slitted eyes flicked between the two men. His tongue darted out to taste the air, and his face remained the same. “Cutting it close, there, aren’t we, gentlemen?” he asked. Above Gila and George, large fans howled to life, exchanging every molecule between floor and ceiling.

“Y-yeah, but you have to admit the time is pretty short!” said Gila, pulling his pants up the rest of the way.

The mamushi viper looked almost like his feral counterpart with his lack of facial expression. He raised his left wrist and glanced at his watch. “The time wasn’t short,” he said. “You were overlong.”

“O-okay,” said Gila.

“I’m glad we understand each other,” said Prae Makoto. “Thank you again for using our services: ‘Nature is messy. We are clean.’”

“Hear hear!” cheered the cat, which earned him a strange look from George, and a blank stare from Makoto. “...no?”

“No,” answered both reptiles.