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"You asked to see me, sir?" the thin cheetah Kioga asked, crinkling into his manager's office in the usual business casual attire, his chinos a light beige. Underneath, his generic store-bought diaper was already pretty wet; he could feel it squish between his thighs. When he sat down in a modest chair across from the athletically-refined tiger, a little wetness rushed up against his legs.

Evanstrom sat up straight in his plush executive chair, the tiger's paws folded together on top of a thick file. His fur was perfectly groomed, not a hair out of place, and his expensive rectangular bifocals rested on the bridge of his muzzle. A dark purple female dragon stood to the tiger's side, wearing a tailored business suit and holding a clipboard with documents scored with bright yellow highlight marks. She was tall, had rich lavender skin without scales, and a curvaceous, stocky form that suggested both virility and fitness. She smiled at him behind square, gold-rimmed glasses.

"I need to talk to you, Mr. Davis. This is Sakrasingh from Human Resources. We must return to your medical condition, and especially, your attitude about it."

Kioga leaned forward in his chair, squishing his diaper against the front of his pants and feeling wetness slush under his balls. "Excuse me, sir, but isn't this a breach of privacy? I have to wear those briefs, and whatever I do in my free time ..."

"Kioga," Evanstrom sighed, opening the file before him. The documents he fanned across the table were full of red ink and Kioga's own signature. They were complaint forms. "As discussed before, it's not the medical items themselves; it's your cavalier recklessness with them. It's your inability to properly utilize them: the leaks and disasters you've had during company time, on company property, and_on company property_ are a biological hazard. The money you've cost the company in furniture and carpet replacement, employee psychotherapy, and enterprise-to-enterprise relations seriously imperil your earnings capacity as an employee."

Kioga felt his cock relax and a new warmth spread across his lap, trickling against the insides of his thighs, babbling down his leg-guards, and pooling under his asshole at an alarmingly fast speed. He looked down: his pants bulged, but they were not stained.

"Sir, I don't know what I can say. My body does what it does ..."

"And your attitude sets it up for disaster. Let me ask you a question. Were you wearing any safe-guard at all when you ... what's the file say, 'publically defecated in [your] shorts during [your] awards speech at the company picnic?'"

Kioga looked down, folding his paws on top of his bulged khaki lap. "I ... was wearing a liner. But I ate something bad."

The tiger snarled, slapping the paper down and sliding the file aside. His claws were out and nearly scratched his polished oak desk as he splayed his paws out and leaned over its surface. "There were non-employee spouses and children_at that picnic that saw our star employee splatter the back of his shorts in filth. It shut down the entire event, and our _stock went down two points when someone leaked a video of it online. And purposefully leaked it, mind you."

Kioga shifted in his seat, hearing an audible slosh as the overworked gel failed to capture his waste. "My boxer-briefs caught most of it," he attempted, but Evanstrom merely shook his head and sat back in his large leather chair.

"I've brought in our Assistant Executive Human Resources Director to ameliorate this situation. You're a valuable employee, Mr. Davis, but these frequent and more importantly avoidable disasters are becoming inexcusable. They make horse diapers for normal-sized people, Kioga, and they're subsidized by the normal company health plan. Your condition isn't unrecoverable."

"Oh, sure," the cheetah growled, feeling his sheath tingle again, his ears stinging with embarrassment, "I'll try and stuff two pounds of plastic and padding down a normal pair of slacks, looking like I have a cast for a broken pelvis, and waddle around making plastic crackle noises so loud, people will think I'm making popcorn."

"Sakrasingh, please step in before I sign our employee's report as 'intractable' and 'futile,'" the tiger rumbled, his eyes dark behind his glasses.

"Of course, Evan," the dragon said with a smile, turning to Kioga. The cheetah bit the inside of his cheek as his bladder pressed against his belt. "Hello, Mr. Davis. My name is Sakrasingh Gillespie and I've been a vocational rehabilitation specialist for twenty years, here at Ferris-Chalmpers for ten of them. You've had your condition for ... ah, about eleven years now," she said, fanning through her papers, "and according to your medical records, you have recently, until this last year, had only mild problems with continence. Don't worry; you've already signed the release form.

"However, this last year has had a serious string of incidents. Most of them fall into two categories: overusing a generic diaper only intended for mild leakage, and overextended wear of a medical-grade diaper. It suggests maladaptive psychosocial behavior, and your recent bouts with extreme incontinence could have been exacerbated by it."

Kioga began to sweat: his bladder was about to burst, and like this dragon had said, his cheap diaper was already overused. She continued on.

"It can be troubling to have a medical condition that your peers do not, and it's easy to become despondent: that's why there are support groups who can sympathize with you."

"I'm already part of the ABDL community," he squirmed, which caused Evanstrom to sit up in his chair and watch him closely, "And the 'DL' stands for 'diaper lover,' so there you go."

"Do you, though, love diapers?" she asked. "Modern science has crafted an array of guards, shields, and briefs for all degrees of urinary and fecal incontinence, and yet you exhibit a pattern of misusing and abusing them. Disability as it may be, your motivation to ameliorate it seems very poor."

"Kioga, as your boss, and your friend, I just want to say I'm here for you," he said, "and with Sakrasingh's input I better understand what you're going through. We want you to be comfortable in the fur you're in."

With the last of Evanstrom's words, Kioga heard the word "urine" and the floodgates released. He gasped as he sprayed down the inside of his padding, the hissing of piss causing Evan's ears to quirk, and Kioga watched in horror as wet spots formed in the insides of his legs and continued to darken the seat of his pants. The wetness spread under his tail, pooling behind him, and then dribbled down the sides and the back of the chair, wetting his boss's office rug.

Sakrasingh looked at the tiger with alarm, but Evanstrom had merely folded his clawed paws together and breathed through his nose, eyes shut and jaw clamped tight. After a few slow, drawn-out breaths, Evan opened his eyes again to see his subordinate having thoroughly wet his pants, despite the obvious bulge and silhouette of a diaper.

"I will give you two options, Mr. Davis, before I sign your release forms and let you soil your resume with the same fervor you've demonstrated here. One," he said, watching the cheetah attempt to sit upright, his puddle sloshing over the side of the chair, "You will take a mandatory two-week vacation at 80% pay, meeting with Sakrasingh daily to help you embrace your condition and enjoy the efficient medical supplements that science has blessed us with. Maybe you'll even need them less--or less powerful versions--once you've overcome this ... 'maladaptive behavior.'"

"Look, Evanstrom," Kioga husked out, every shift in his seat accompanied with a splash or a squelch, "I appreciate it, but I think being in the office, with normal pay and duties, would be healthier for me. I'm damn fine at my job."

"That you are. Very well; we have option two. Your friends and coworkers, myself included, as well as Wesley and Kyrie, have made a list of all the floor's employees that are sympathetic to your plight: it's essentially everyone who has not been reported to HR for ugly, defamatory gossip, and the company's handled those individuals according to policy," he said, flipping to page one of his file. He handed it over the desk to Kioga, who had taken his wallet out of his back pocket and was shaking it dry over his lap.

"What about Lugo?"

A shroud settled about Evanstrom. His large shoulders sagged, hanging from his excellent posture, and his eyes made the apology his lips fumbled to make.

The cheetah crumpled in his swampy seat. Everyone knew the wolf was transferring to their Pittsbrett division; everyone knew the reason why. Sakrasingh cleared her throat: she'd cleared his transfer just last week. The "Additional Comments" section was a cold and clinical essay for self-preservation, and the lines unwritten were bitter and full of spite.

"See, there you go torturing yourself again, Ky," Evan entreated.

"That's not a very boss-like thing to say," Kioga said, taking the file. Evanstrom attempted a sort of apology, but the cheetah shook it off like water, flipping through the pages as his eyes grew moist.

Kioga received a seating chart: he and many others had been relocated to an unused, formerly executive corner of the office. Evanstrom then took out a pack of Ferris-Chalmpers-branded printed teenager pull-ups, and then a stack of pressed office shirts that seemed a little short. Kioga squinted at the assortment and leaned forward, but then groaned when the crotch of his padding shifted under him with its own momentum.

Evanstrom resumed his own, his authoritative voice now padded with a careful sympathy. An iron fist in a velvet glove. "Option two: you will come to work as usual, and work with all your friends and volunteers I've selected. You will wear these, which along with our company's branding have attractive prints of recent movies and popular cartoon characters, copyright paid for, and nothing else that would cover their wetness indicators: you will wear no pants, no shorts, no underwear, not even an 'active brief' or alternative cover. If you need a change, any of your peers will assist you."

"I can change myself," he protested.

"You've been very poor at that. We just want to help."

"Pull-ups, though? Those don't hold anything."

"Prevention measures, they are," the tiger said, leaning down behind his desk. Into view, he pushed a toddler's training toilet. With a jolt of fear, Kioga realized it was large enough to fit him. "And so that's why we'll be helping you to potty train yourself. Perhaps, as your medical records suggest, you may be able to catch a few more cues from your body."

Kioga sat back in his puddle, shaking his head. Evanstrom's eyes held him in objective, detached analysis. "Doesn't that wing have toilets?" he asked.

Evanstrom chuckled. "Executive bathrooms, no less. But only those with clearance can enter them; you do not." The tiger patted the small plastic potty, practically a chamber pot. "This one's yours, to be used only with adult supervision."

Kioga felt a blush burning his ears. He was tempted to just take the vacation, but deep down, this intrigued him. "Okay, sure," he started, "but if I'm not allowed pants while on company property, walking around in an obvious diaper, how do I access the cafeteria? Do I just pack my own lunch?"

Evanstrom shook his head, and Sakrasingh began unbuttoning her jacket. "No, definitely not; you lost that privilege at the company picnic. It's been loudly marked what gluten and strong coffee does to you."

Kioga watched Sakrasingh proceed to unbutton her shirt, revealing a nursing bra holding back ample, swollen breasts. Evanstrom held his paw up towards her. "Dragon's milk contains all the necessary vitamins, supervitamins, proteins and carbohydrates necessary for dragons, gryphons, and funny enough, large cats. It's soothing to the stomach, tastes of ambrosia and honey, and is nearly dense enough to be solid food. You may have it in a bottle, or straight from the tap."

Kioga stared at the nearly-topless dragon, tracing his eyes over her ample bosom. "I'll be nursing from Ms. Gillespie?"

"Correct, or from 'Mommy' or 'Mistress' if you'd prefer," she answered, leaving her shirt off.

Kioga couldn't help the surge of stiffness that thrust against his soggy padding, the plastic crinkling as it stretched his leg guards. "And what, should I call you you 'daddy' or something?"

The tiger inclined his groomed chin, smiling without a whisker out of place, sporting a twinkle in his eye. "If that's comfortable for you. If you want the extra boost in protection and care, I can be 'daddy,' 'master,' or whichever. Regardless, it looks like someone needs a change."

The tiger stood free of his desk and moved around to the cheetah, and before Kioga could stand Evan had hooked his thick paws under the cheetah's armpits and pulled him to his feet, then swept an arm under his legs and carried him, dribbling, to a table in his office.

"The carpet's not supposed to be a wetness indicator," he mentioned as he lay the cheetah down, unzipped Kioga's soaked chinos and pulled them down to his ankles. He popped the cheetah's shoes off and then threw Kioga's pants away in a pastel-colored bin yet unseen. "So let's get this soggy boy changed; does that sound good?"

"Yes, daddy," Kioga said as Evan released his diaper tapes. He blushed when his cock flopped out into the open, swollen and covered in pee. Wordlessly, Sakrasingh gave the tiger a latex clove and personal lubricant. Kioga's paws curled against his chest as Evan stroked him from base to shaft, and mewled when the inevitable came rushing up, coating his starched collar shirt and silk tie with cat spunk.

Perhaps this would be a wonderful experiment.

The next morning, Kioga surveyed himself in the mirror one last time before leaving home. He wore laceless leather shoes for easy removal, expensive dark socks for the immaculate young business professional, and nothing above them until the plastic-backed, company-branded, teenager training pants that safely swaddled his groin. As he well knew they were rather thin, and the padding itself rounded out the bulge of his gender instead of disguising it.

The cartoonish article fit cleanly around his hips, its elastic waistband gently flattening the fur. Built for a developing young male's body, the shield itself smoothly swooped over his adult groin and sat snug against his svelte rear. Despite the nature of the garment, Kioga thought it rather handsome, and when he posed his libido responded, causing the front to stretch out with lewd crackling noises and betray his dirty mind. The cheetah stared at his padded tent and saw that his accordioned leg-guards were stretched out straight, only a hair's breadth from leaving his pelvis and revealing the sides of his powder-white balls, and lamented that it was a shame he couldn't take _himself_home.

Kioga had to waddle as he turned, his frugal pull-ups straining against his swollen anatomy. Completing his appointed ensemble was a starched shirt that ended immediately at his pleated waistband, the tailor-cut angles highlighting his wedge-like torso in straight lines. His sleeves ended at his small defined biceps, and his silk tie, baby blue, ended before his covered navel.

As he admired himself, however, enjoying the look of a strapping young lad, a shock ran through his stomach and his hackles spiked. Not only did he look like a bright young kitten "so cute and mature for his age," he looked exactly like that bright young kitten he was thirteen years ago, at the ripening age of eleven, albeit a little thinner and much shorter.

Kioga was attending The Blasingame First Nazarene Church with his parents for a normal Sunday service. He'd just gotten out of a Sunday School lesson, one he found reasonable but thoroughly dogmatic. It was funny how people took the furious Old Testament at face value, and he brought this up among his supposed friends. When little Kioga argued that God may have been a little too violent with his people, beating them like savages when their curiosity got the best of him, a fat fox called Kioga a wuss and pushed him.

Another one of these so-called friends grabbed his pants and yanked them down, also dropping a pristine pair of pull-ups down his thighs. The shock was great for the handsome little kitten, and right there in the open he lost control of his bladder, his pee stream arcing from his flourishing cock onto a pile of unused bibles and then splattering all over his paws as he tried to regain control of the little monster.

Oh, the laughs and the howls that came from his church buddies. The jeers, the nicknames: Pee-oga, Diaper Davis, Bible Dumper, and "Hey cheetah, are those tear marks actually tinkle streams?"

The twenty-four-year-old's eyes grew moist in the mirror, and he whimpered as his stomach rumbled and his rear pushed out a turgid, pungent log into the back of his training briefs. The clay was thick and unyielding, bulging the already-strained diaper backwards and stretching it to its limits. His shit was so hard, in fact, that it stuck out under his tail like a second erection, like a butt-plug had fallen out, and in the same regard it refused to break inside his padding, stopping the rest of his dirty, metallic-smelling movement at the final station of his bowels and leaving his anus stretched open.

Light paw-pads skipped down the hardwood floor. Here came the fennec, Kyrie Danvers, intern and girlfriend, walking on stocking feet and wearing a pair of cotton-white panties under a short white undershirt plastered with princesses. A pacifier on a pink ribbon pulsed on her nursing lips, and she stopped to admire her svelte, intelligent lad of a boyfriend.

Her ears fell she saw tears making their way over Kioga's black cheetah trails, and then she saw the stubborn backwards thrust in his diaper fighting the erogenous forward thrust of his cock. The garment's elastic cords bracing his hips stood out precariously from the handsome red banner that connected held the absorbent portion up.

"Kee!" she exclaimed, her pacifier popping out, bouncing between her braless breasts as she ran to him. Her paw gingerly surveyed the strained lump in the back of his briefs; her nose twitched at the acrid earthy scent. "What's the matter; should we get you that vacation? Juice and video games, rare diaper checks? I'll even lay out the rubber mat so you can leak in peace."

Kioga shook his head. "Plenty of that already. Just had a bad memory." He could feel her paw fondling the head of his compacted scat lump like it was a second cock. Her other paw twitched toward his actual cock, but instead slipped under his shirt and rubbed his tummy. The contrasting actions between the two paws seemed the exact symbol of their relationship, a swirling maelstrom where pet names like "Mummy" and "Da-da" could morph into "Mommy, Sir" and "Big Daddy" respectively.

"We gotta get you to work, then," she purred, paw crawling up to tease his nipple, her soft breasts squished against his shoulder, other paw, palm and fingers, fondling and coursing over his stiff, dirty under-lump. Kioga swooned under the mix of pain and pleasure. Nerve endings fired off in four locations: his cock drooled pre as it strained against a taut, padded wall. Kyrie's heartbeat pulsed against his bicep as her breasts squeezed his arm. His rectum throbbed against the hard train of scat as his bowels futilely moved against it, anus continually, agonizingly choked around its girth. Finally, he felt the precise, teasing prick of a few claws as the fennec pulled the nipple on his flat chest. The storm drove Kioga into a frenzy.

He winced as his cock lurched, dribbling sexual vigor as it stubbed itself once more against its moist prison. Kioga recalled one time, as a hormone-drunk pubescent in school, that he opened his fly and pinched his sheath shut to prevent a full-blown erection in math class. His cock persevered in spite of this difficulty and actually found its sudden, perverse bondage so deliriously appealing, so harrowing its peril, that it erupted in his sheath, spewing cum and filling it like a water balloon. His sheath's capacity, of course, had its limits, and when then the mounting pain forced Kioga to release himself it exploded just like a water balloon, bursting against the bottom of Kioga's desk with a resounding splat and then raining gooey stalactites down over his thighs and the floor below.

"Cock-Balloon Kioga" and "Cummy Chum Splatty-Spunk" came from that disaster.

Kioga's stomach rumbled again and he cried out as that dreadful sword of shit braced against his prostate.

Kyrie kissed his ear, then let her tongue slither inside of it. Her paw gingerly fell over the darkened apex of his fat crinkling tent, and her pinky brushed over a small tear in his strained waistband before slithering down between soft padding and coarse pubic fur. "Little kitten seems all backed up. Let's untie those knots."

And from there, it was a scene of beauty. His lovely little girl pulled down the front of his diaper, allowing a few more inches of shit to pile out of him and into the poor garment in an unceremonious thud. Her warm paws exposed his quivering, sensitive phallus, and she set her wet muzzle, velvety and undulating, around it. In the midst of his clean hallway, likely to be hers as well, the amorous fennec woman backed her soiled cheetah boyfriend to the wall, he painfully waddling with his training pants stretched impossibly in two ways, and gingerly lowered the tearing waistband over his cock and tucked it between his balls.

The sudden decrease in load caused the garment to lurch down his thighs. They would have fallen to his knees or the floor, but the elastic tail ring seized on his tail, and the pungent sodden pouch could no more than droop low. Kioga's bowels emptied those precious few inches with a vehement squelch, and that turgid, slimy log slid down past his prostate and stopped once again in his bereaved, pulsing rectum. This sudden, heavy shift squeezed a guttural grunt from his throat, and the cheetah's paw snapped to Kyrie's large ear for support as he gasped for air.

The fennec grinned, stroking his thigh with one paw as the other reached between his legs to jostle the fetid protrusion. "All in good time, love," she said with a coy grin. She was so pretty; her eyes sparkled with passion and mischief as her nose pulsed at his drooling pink appendage, naked to the mirror and photographs in his hallway. The sight of her soothed him; she was a spry young thing and absolutely irresistible in this moment with her girly pink pacifier dangling between her supple breasts, whose nipples rigidly poked through her clean cotton shirt. And her bikini-cut panties, what an innocent garment those were--the white article hugged her sensitive gender but became absolutely lurid when, she leaning forward and opening her mouth around his cock, they tightened against her plush pubic mound and creased into her delicate wet folds.

Kioga's head drunkenly sparkled with lust and passion, and he drew breaths in sharp heated gasps as he writhed in pleasure tinged with pain and embarrassment: the raw metallic stink of his open-air defecation filled him with a terribly perverted hunger that should have completely nullified her tender caresses.

He knew, however, she was in on it too. As her one paw tenderly fondled his cotton white sac, pulling the orbs in alteration against the sad crinkling plastic, as her wet, velvety mouth bathed his cock in pleasure, the tongue dancing around the barbed prick and sometimes tickling the slit, her other paw reached back and prodded against his mess, driving it up against him, careful not to break that load-bearing load.

He was getting close and had to check himself. His cock was now squirting shot after shot of sweet precum into her mouth, down her throat; he felt his sac clutch against his mess-flecked undercarriage with the fuse ready to light. To stave himself off, he instead he ran a paw between her ears and through silky brown headfur, trembling as he felt the top muscles in her scalp work the jaw down below, she slurping and sucking on him. With a quick breath of air he ran both paws up the massive conches of her ears and suddenly thought of two urinal bowls.

A bit of spittle slopped from the corner of her mouth as she opened for a quick breath. Another rope, half pre, half saliva, drooped from her chin. She looked up at him with a healthy lust, and reached up to stroke his tummy as she dove back down on his cock and hilted her cold wet nose against his coarse pubic fur, forcing him to bend forward and brace the back of her head with his paw with a loud, lusty moan. Her other paw rubbed that rigid mound in the back of his diaper, shifting the shit insistent on impaling him, and was rewarded with a high yowl as Kioga went over the edge.

Kioga grabbed the sides of the fennec's head and tumbled into a swift, mad rhythm as orgasm overtook him, his cock throwing up spurt after spurt as he repeatedly drove it into her mouth, his mess jostling, prodding against him as the fennec's mouth filled with the sticky fluid. Some of it made it down the back of her throat, but a lot more leaked out the side as she struggled to keep up with his frenzied humping, strands upon strands of the stuff drooling out the sides of her mouth in long ropes, pooling and coiling on her pretty princess undershirt.

Kioga gasped in relief and removed the beast, another stream spitting out the end and landing on her pacifier and breasts with a quiet smack. Kyrie swallowed his load with a loud, lewd gulp, then grinned up at him with a patchy, melting beard of cum, her paw still manipulating his leaky cock.

Kioga petted her head, unsure whether to ask him for a change or to do it himself before work. Either prospect was so exciting, and as he looked down at his girlfriend, seeing her cum-dappled shirt clinging wet against her breasts, watched her pacifier dangle between them as it dripped with the same stuff ... as he stole a glance down at her flat belly and at a pair of bikini panties ardently clinging to her fair sex, eyes following the moistened cotton contours, Kioga realized he was still erect, and more than ready for another go.

"How's round two sound?" he husked out, stroking her sticky muzzle as if to masturbate it.

A smile ripped across Kyrie's face, and she sat straight up on her knees to pounce him.

Then she paused, and withdrew.

"Be right back, darling?" she asked as she stroked his sloppy shaft. Kyrie's ears lowered and blushed. "Forgot my morning routine."

Now it was his time for mischief. Kioga grinned, and put his paw against the back of her head. "No," he said simply, and filled her muzzle as it whined around him. Kyrie twitched, she whimpered, she put a paw against the inside of her thigh to stave it off, but Kioga found himself without remorse as he fucked her face, looking down below at the beautiful trouble about to unfold.

Driven by her own hunger and her boyfriend's firm insistence, she lewdly slurped and suckled on him, the fennec's knees thumped against the hardwood floor in a brief pee dance. She pinched her leg in an attempt to distract herself, but her body froze, and she sheathed his cock to the hilt, suckling on that drooling pacifier as her bladder released.

When her ears lowered, Kioga chuckled. He soothingly pet her head, and gave her gentle there theres as the sharp crease in the bottom of her panties grew yellow, and then rivulets trickled down her thighs, and finally issued a loud splattering against the hardwood floor as her accident proceeded right through the darkened garment in a clean, musky stream. She whimpered around his shaft; he pet her head as her puddle grew, the constant trickling a machine gun in her ears as the hot, acrid liquid soaked into her shins' fur and funneled back through her naked, clawed toes.

"Poor girl. Looks like you should have went before we started," he purred, his nostrils flaring as the sweet, acrid musk reached his nostrils.

The fennec blushed, then with a grumble reached back and grabbed the mass tenting out the back of his trainers, propping the nasty padded head against her palm. She levered her fingers against its girth, breaking it in two. Kioga gasped as a drain plug inside him popped loose, a rush of foul feces thundering into the feeble garment. His stomach caved as his bowels vehemently evacuated.

Kioga gasped as the diaper drooped between his thighs, his piled-up mess hanging in the padded sling, visible between his spent balls. With the shock, his cock tingled, and the fennec tasted a new liquid running down her throat and over her tongue. She swallowed as best she could, but twin streams soon began leaking from the corners of her muzzle and dribbled down her spunk-spackled shirt. The cotton clung to her breasts as it darkened with piss. Her nipples poked out against the wet fabric. In a daze, the cheetah pulled his leaking length from her mouth and sprayed her down like a stack of bibles, soaking her face before aiming at her pacifier, saturating the pink binkie and the area around it. The rush of liquid cut dark stream down the front of her shirt and further wet her saturated panties, finally draining in the swamp between her knees.

Urine coarsed down her paw as the fennec masturbated through her soiled undies, teasing her clit and prodding at her folds. She moaned as she lapped at his stream, squishing soaked cotton back inside her slit, her nose pulsing shamelessly in the raunchy bathroom stench they'd curated. With a groan, Kyrie popped the musky pacifier back in her mouth and she came, whining as sticky feminine nectar spurted into her abused undergarments.

They sat like that for a few moments, the perverted afterglow washing over them like a humid breeze. Kyrie's pacifier fell back out as they breathed through their mouths, the depraved fetor slowly encroaching on their sobering minds.

"I, uh, we should probably get to work," Kyrie said, stumbling to her feet.

"Now that we got that out of our system," Kioga agreed, gingerly stepping out of his diaper. Kyrie stopped him.

"Look, love, I'm all for creature comforts and little exceptions, but you did just mess your training briefs."

Kioga was bent over, the garment hovering over their swamped hardwood floor. He tried not to obsess about the nasty pile of mud he saw rolling in the dirty lining. "Yeah, and I'm going to change them."

"Sakrasingh's gotta change you," the fennec said, attempting to rearrange the crotch of her panties, her paws coming away with strands of fem-cum between her fingers.

A blush rushed up in Kioga's ears. "This thing won't possibly stay on."

"We'll put a bigger one over it."

The cheetah froze, and then frowned. "You mean I have to drive ..."

"Yes," she said with a rueful chuckle, already shrugging out of her shirt. Her breasts were soaked; the fur clung to her pleasant mounds. "You have to drive to work sitting on your naughty little doody-butt and have your appointed mommy change your icky-woo-woo nappies."

Kioga pulled his trainers back up his body as high as they could go, cringing as his warm load pressed up against his butt cheeks. The waistband, torn, sagged past his sheath.

"Let me just get a granola bar," he said.

When Kyrie shook her head, her broad fennec ears waved. She removed her panties and wrung them out over the wet floor. "Nuh-uh. No solid food. Mommy's milk."

"It's a dragon, she's not my real ..." he started, then slumped. "Fine. But I promise you, this isn't an attitude problem! I'm just putting in my hours to get Evan off my back."

Kyrie leaned in and gave him a kiss. "Now you're just fussy. A change and some warm milk will make you a happy little kitten," she said, then padded off to their nursery leaving wet pee-pee paw-prints.

"This isn't over!" he called after her.

"Hasn't even begun, Kee!"

Perhaps this experiment would drive him crazy.