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It was so good, he thought as he sat across his husband's lap, cradled in the wolf's muscular arms. Kioga wore an elegant white onesie with Victorian flares of lace at the wrists and the hood. They had just exited from their wedding ceremony and the reception: this was a rather vanilla affair, as the Perrys and the Davises--both traditional, enormous religious families stretching far back into America's and Africa's histories, Catholics and Muslim respectively--were not the type of folks to be triggered.

Really, the ABDL thing would just be more gas on the fire.

Be it the same-sex thing, the different species thing, the different religions thing, the zero-uterus zero-kids thing, there was a full septic tank of objections.

Never-mind that they'd found an intimate activity they could enjoy in mutual luxury. They called it luxury because it was something they worked for, dedicated themselves to, and claimed for themselves a little parcel of life that was truly good, truly affirming, and absolutely wonderful for them.

"Why invite them at all?" Lugo objected, dividing his own family tree into stolid absolutists and the humble grovelers--those who liked everything on Facebook.

No one was actually happy for them except for Lugo's sister and Kioga's uncle; the rest were either deviants thinking these diaper-boys had "infiltrated the corporate world" or corporate workers that thought these diaper-boys had succeeded "despite their, uh, handicap?"

Sheesh.

The wedding would be one last gesture, the newlyweds indicating the door through which the worthy could enter. After that, it would be closed forever.

Kioga had drawn a long breath, piled up in wedding plans and a wet diaper at his apartment kitchen table. "Because our parents did raise us, didn't beat us, they sent us to college, and this is a gesture of respect. If they bite the hand that feeds, they get a punch in the nose. Bingo, bango, bongo."

"I want a babyfurwedding," Lugo said, pacing to the counter to grab another slice of delivery pizza. He was wearing a pirate shirt, bandana, and a cloth diaper with excellently large safety pins.

His thick, muscular rump pushed against the white, absorbent pleats with every step.

Kioga sighed. "We can have a 'real' wedding later this year. This will be the final gesture. The lifeboats going out as their prescribed ship of the 'expected,' the 'proper,' and the deathly 'simple' sinks."

Lugo's tail flagged, and he leaned against the counter for the obvious and inevitable.

"I'm just so angry that we have to pay any tribute to them."

Kioga shrugged, smirking as he watched the lower muscles of Lugo's trunk contract, his ears perking as a few turgid squelches preceded a heavy, solid lump pulling down the back of the wolf's cloth diaper.

Lugo's stink permeated throughout the bottom half of the room in a matter of minutes, and with it Kioga turned him around, kissed him on the mouth, and grasped the hard, thick tent pitching out the front of the cloth garment.

"We businessmen carry a heavy load," he purred, sneaking a paw around back not to grasp Lugo's rump, but to slide up one of the leg holes, scoop a solid clod of Lugo's waste and smear it against his muscular rump.

Lugo gasped, and as Kioga's bare fingers stroked the wolf's tailhole, still flexing as it eliminated waste, he came in his diaper, whimpering and thrusting into Kioga's other paw as the front grew dark and a delicious, salty aroma of seed intermixed with the filthy toilet he had made in his pants.

"This is just a small fee we will pay to break the contract completely."

"I love you," Lugo grunted as mess went out and fingers went in.

The wedding ceremony took place in a stone church with far too many rainbow flags planted in the lawn. A skinny preacher with a Catholic collar that matched his studded white leather belt on his low-cut slacks greeted them with several praises, talking ad-nauseum about "the cause" and "how progressive" their city was becoming.

The dragon--dragon by species, though he was thinner than a gecko--carped on and on about the "true expression of love" and how this was the "New Chrislam" and,

"Say, boys, you ever taken meth-laxatives during a wedding? No better lube than our body's own produce! Why kiss the boy-bride when you can consummate right there before your family?"

Incensed with the boldness the preacher had tramped all over the ceremony, dog-shit shoes over a white carpet, Kioga had pushed him up against the baptismal font.

"Listen, fucko, this is the only place vanilla enough to bore everyone by its non-convictions. Do your job and get us out of here."

The preacher grabbed Kioga's bowtie and leaned against him, groaning as he pulled his erect cock out.

"You ever put cigarettes out on a dragon's nipples?"

Kioga threw him to the ground. "I would kill you, were you not to enjoy it," he said, feeling particularly sanctimonious because, well, it was his fucking wedding, "Were we not living in a society in which the rotten and the righteous co-exist, separated by the consensual premise that every man has a right to exist, no matter how wretched, so long as he does not directly imperil the life of another."

The dragon had yelped and shivered, grinning in strange animal pleasure as his cock sprang with a stream of urine and the cheetah, his immaculate cat reflexes sharpened by his disgust of this bottom-feeding reprobate, dodged to avoid every last drop and also avoided dropping a steaming fat load right in his custom diaper--a bikini-cut black Canadian Beaux--under his French-cut suit.

This was accompanied by ripping, rattling flatulence that preceded coughing, squelching chunks and one particularly long, squirting filthy snake to splurt directly into the dragon's underwear, a garment of which was not remotely absorbent, as the bumpy, sagging fecal pile under the dragon's tail was readily apparent in both vision and stench.

"C'mon, let's put some skidmarks on your white wedding!" he grunted, pissing on the sanctuary carpet as he stumbled upright like a zombie, ready to pounce.

When the dragon tried to aim the yellow, stinking stream, sneering as he yanked his balls out of his fly, Kioga's fist blasted against his eye.

The ceremony, somehow, went off without a hitch but one (Kioga and Lugo), and the family that did show up was larger than they had expected, each side showing the other "just how tolerant" they were in this progressive age they would either ride to its destination or survive through, letting all the deviants crash into the wall.

As a bonus, they were looking across the aisle to see who would crack first.

The dragon had applied makeup to feebly disguise the swelling given to him by the cheetah husband. He had read every vanilla passage of dedication, not changing any mention of the word "wife," with a fearful eye twitching toward his spurned customers.

Lugo had initially thought that Kioga was glaring because the audience behind them would erupt with any silly objection of some millenium-old verse of condemnation.

It was only after the fact that had learned of the assault, then laughed it off as they drove to the reception hall.

The reception itself was a more subdued affair; the DJ played all the dance songs and the lovey-dovey songs that had played at every reception since 1989. It was the final part of their payoff; it didn't matter.

Friends from High School and College congratulated them with gleaming, open-smile fervor. Kioga's friends were amazed that the twerp had grabbed someone so muscular and handsome; one particular friend who, after graduating college with a History of Hentai degree, had wound up as the manager of a local Burger Hooray and possessed a scantly-popular livestream following said,

"Yo, dude, I'm not gay, but if I was I'd get exactly that. Like if there was a Rule 63 to hot, big-tit waifus--"

"You mean husbandos?" Kioga interrupted, grinning.

"Y-yeah, exactly that. Congrats, bro."

Lugo was congratulated in a reciprocal way, all his High School football jock friends going one of two ways: the first group had various rationalizations to protect their genuine happiness for him from their weirdly austere masculinity, saying, "You know, a pair of tits and he would be one of those willowy librarian girls who whip off their glasses and take two guys up the ass."

"Are you saying my 'wife' looks like a slut?" Lugo needled them, grinning.

Lugo couldn't be pissed. Either they were happy for him or he'd throw them into the fire.

Win-Win.

"No, no!" they gasped. "All I'm saying is that ... if she ... he ..." the quarterback choked out, "wanted a train run on her, him, or xir--"

"Xir is a vendor in Maybe-Destiny-But-Good-This-Time."

"Oop! Like, if YOUR HUSBAND," the quarterback shouted, screaming his tolerance and acceptance, "WHOM I ENDORSE FOR ANY ONE SEEKING HAPPINESS--"

"What, you're saying that anyone seeking happiness should bang my husband?"

"YES! I mean no. I mean if your husband were desiring to have a train run on him..."

"It'd be a hundred cars long!" finished another.

Lugo burst out laughing, howling, wiping tears from his eyes as his barrel chest belted out joyous yelps that rattled the wine glasses, then ordered a double-whiskey for the whole team.

"All right, you fuckers," Lugo said as he paced among the group, bumping elbows and clinking drinks. "As long as you're happy with yourselves and you're happy for me."

"So yeah, what's with the diapers?" the Quarterback asked.

The screech of Lugo's shoe substituted for a record scratch.

Lugo's eyes fluttered, looking amongst the group which looked back with naked, awkward half-stares. A few glared at the quarterback,

Lugo shrugged. "You wear 'em."

Wesley and Kyrie showed up, each of them having the conciliatory, pursed smiles for each other and puffy butts that indicated that of course they'd showed up with plans to make a mess of themselves, on themselves, squishy and contained under slacks and a skirt.

Kioga and Lugo advanced upon them in tandem. Their elbows nudged the arms of the respective partner. Kioga booped his ex-lover Kyrie, Lugo damn near knocked Wesley over.

"Changing room is down the hall, two doors to the left. Little stash for The Crew."

The four high-fived and hugged.

Wesley was red-eyed. He'd been crying through the ceremony, whimpering that "His little faggot was getting hitched," and now was full of sniffles.

"It was so good, how can it be over?" he whimpered.

"The symphony of life has many movements," Kioga answered with a smirk, to which Wes broke out of his nostalgic, bittersweet misery and thrust his index fingers at Kioga, who returned the gesture.

"Eeeeeeeey!" they shouted for way too long.

The reception proceeded as prescribed, with congratulations, then a roast by the two best men (gay wedding, after all), then a catered dinner and the electric slide and drinks, drinks, drinks.

Wes messed himself during the macarena, so Kyrie dry-humped him all through the cha cha slide, then the two went off to the changing room and didn't come back for fifteen minutes.

Behind the reception table at the top, Kioga switched out his Italian dress slacks for a pair of side-snap basketball pull-aways; when Kioga seemed to rise up in his seat, Lugo would bump him and take him away to the changing room where, yep, he needed another wet diaper change.

The night proceeded until it was done.

Exciting the reception with handshakes, hugs, and kisses to the cheeks of the relatives who would actually talk to them, one carried the other to their limousine, lips locked more than they were apart.

They had boarded a private plane and were off to a remote mountain resort in Pennsylvania, a small mining town that had, at its peak, a ski lodge and pleasure complex that had been partly financed by Xian "FreDilect," the decrepit defector to decency and Ferris-Chalmpers's agent for more depraved marketing endeavors.

He called the place "Babylon," jokingly pronounced "Baby-Lawn," as it was an all-inclusive resort with several small convention spaces, every single fetish, kink, and fandom accounted for in a whirling dervish of syncronized, military-precision TimeShare scheduling.

All interests, from the delightfully decadent--even vore, inflation, and transformation accomplished by impressively intricate costumes--to the more vanilla--sci-fi, video gaming, and anime--were accounted for depending on the week. There was a main entrance for the socially-accepted stuff, and there was a back entrance for the socially secretive.

Kioga rode in his onesie for the comfort but had not discarded the expensive French suit nor the Canadian Beaux incontinence-wear mankini beneath, which was currently supplemented in the front by not only an anxious malehood half-swollen at all times, pining for pleasure, but also by a gel-swollen patina of piss as, emotionally and physically, Kioga could barely contain himself.

Lugo constantly eyed the bulge throughout the flight, occasionally giving it coy brushes with his elbow or the back of his paw when he would lean down to kiss his new husband.

The muscular wolf himself, handsomely filling out his own French suit with shoulders the width of a large model plane, did not wear a diaper but rather form-fitting rubber boyshorts that had a specific sleeve for his sheath and a tube attached to the top which ran down to a bag on the inside of his leg.

Unbeknownst to Kioga, he had attached a charcoal filter to the mouth of the bag.

Following the success of the Mall of America, the nation's last mall, where customer service and comfort was held at the same standard as the products themselves (that is to say, not quite luxurious but very good when compared to the austere, impersonal, Spartan fixings of Amazon and Walmart), the plane had seats spaced with ample legroom for the passengers, stewards and stewardesses at-the-ready to serve full-size drinks, meals, and cocktails of okay quality, and even a family bathroom so a harried parent wouldn't have to hover over their toddler in a metal closet over an airplane toilet that would just as soon act as a torpedo tube for the small, unfortunate being.

The passengers, though they were all going to Pennsylvania and to Babylon, were plainly dressed. Lugo and Kioga had avoided the maiden voyage of Tyke Air, an ABDL-exclusive plane, as the moral police of the Right and the virtue Nazis of the Left had made it their duty to show the other side just how tolerant and virtuous they were over the others.

An adult, inexperienced in the ways of an adult diaper, was a perilous sight to behold. It wasn't cute like a toddler playing with a plastic carpentry set, incompetently driving nails with the hammers handle of, it was harrowing like a drunk attempting to ride a bicycle.

Tyke Air had gotten off the ground, amid a riot of news reporters and their prey, but their buzz had been bruised.

On this flight, however, everyone rode in calm, respective comfort. There had been a few strange glances at Kioga's onesie, but after one passenger, a busty tigress executive carrying her heart-stabbing, ankle-rolling stilettos in her paw, commented, "Now he's got the right idea. Hubby will wake him up when they land!"

A serene happiness sparkled over Lugo's face, his eyes bright and clear.

"We just got married," he said quietly.

"Steward!" shouted the tigress. "Round of drinks for the plane!"

Everyone screamed with cheers of joy and gratitude, not only for the free booze, but also in furry unity for the happiness of what looked to be a very good 'ship.

Lugo sighed as the bag against his thigh, swelled and grew warm. He was having trouble with the trickle as his own wolfhood could not stay in its sheath, keeping his rubber underwear rather tight.

"Hey bud," he whispered, stroking Kioga's chin. "If you need a c-h-g, you know what I mean," he said, his elbow squishing Kioga's moist bulge, "just lemme know, okay, sport?"

Kioga loved the confident protection of their adult-child play. Lugo was not condescending to him, but rather letting his husband snuggle in the warm, fleecy security of being cared for.

"I'm fine for now," the cheetah whispered back, shifting on his back and folding his ears as his warm, swollen bulge rubbed against his thigh. "I'd rather it all be part of the honeymoon. You can change me after ..." he purred, his green eyes glowing under his fleece hood. "After you've had me."

They kissed again, this time deeper. Their tongues, one smooth and one raspy, stroked against each other as a reassuring touch.

"Oh!" Kioga gasped, feeling the growing wet warmth of the front of his high-cut mankini. A jolt of pre, almost a burst of seed, was interrupted by a healthy, rushing piddle.

Lugo rested his hand against the prominent, swelling pouch and felt the heat of his own trickle move down his leg.

"We'd better be careful with you," Lugo rumbled, smiling, but Kioga could hardly hear it over the thundering of his own pulse.

His stomach grumbled, his guts clenched, and the cheetah's tail struggled against his husband's leg.

In automatic imperative, Kioga put his feet against the seat next to Lugo and raised his body, then pushed a long, hot length into the back of his briefs, the thick sticky rod sliding along the strap between his cheeks and pushing his sac into his soaked padding.

Lugo felt that hot, pliant clay shaft slither against his thigh and his own malehood sprang to attention, swooping completely out of its sheath and straining against the rubber holster keeping him from leaking.

His nose pulsed, but all he sensed was potting soil.

"Wearing one of those deodorant pads?" Lugo whispered.

"Yeah," Kioga said, his chest heaving, his rear twitching against the dirty hotdog slithered in-between. The absorbent strap going from his front under to his tail was strained, sealing the turd perfectly against him like a cowering tail. His cock strained against the soaked front pouch. Every time he moved his hips, the head of his mess stroked the back of his taut, drawn-up sac.

On-edge, he felt precum dribble against the top seal of the mankini.

"I don't know whether it's my love or my lust or my delirious delight in my depravity right now," Kioga whispered, "But I feel like I could explode."

The wolf bumped his nose against his husband's, not daring to touch anything on or around that bloated bulge.

"Here, why not grab a drink? I think your kidneys have robbed you blind," he said.

Lugo grabbed something from his pocket and then undid his fly beneath his boyfriend's head. His rubber-wrapped cock bumped against the base of Kioga's skull, to which the cheetah objected, "What are you doing? We can mile-high on the way back."

"Shh," Lugo whispered, then connected the tube of his pee-bag to a rubber nipple and put it between Kioga's lips.

Kioga suckled for a few draughts, then spoke around it. "This is really warm water, and kinda salty. What is it, plain Gatorade?"

"Filtered water, promise," Lugo said with a suppressed smirk, then as he saw Kioga's suckles turn into gulps, the cheetah's eyebrows furrowing at an attempt to source it, he added, "Artisanally-filtered."

Kioga clenched to seal the shit-sausage spreading histailhole, faintly worrying that he might fossilize his junk if he left it packed in his despoiled bedroom underwear.

He then remembered the warm vein he had constantly felt against his back, flowing down his husband's thigh.

Kioga realized what he was drinking, and with a blush and another squirt inside his diaper, he drank it until his belly bloated and the bag at his husband's leg hissed like a depleted juice box.

Strangely, he felt more intimate with his husband with this silly prank, wondering if it even was a prank. With a belly full of filtered ... well, it was practically water at this point, and Kioga burst into laughter as he made the mental connections that this may as well be Mother's Milk, coming from the body of a hot-blooded mammal to sustain him.

The rabbit across the way, a mild-mannered sort with expensive frameless glasses and Apple's new hovering iPad Executive, eyed them sideways with a quiet, amused grin, then returned to his four-dimensional time lapse spreadsheet.

Lugo's "water" ran through him like everything did--really, Kioga thought that he ought to get his livers, kidneys and intestines checked for the lazy, hasty way they rushed everything through him, like the author of a venerated series pumping out another goddamn series sequel because his/her bank account and/or ego was anemic, the ostensibly-called "writer" slamming out another hyper-talented, bow-and-arrow junior-high floozy stuck in a love triangle in a post-apocalyptic battle royale game world, plus transgender vampires, or another everyman you-know-who fighting a haunted I-don't-care in the author's home geographic region because-of-course but also it's a totalitarian society because all-corporations-and-politicians-are-evil, and whining and pandering to the pedantic public sells like ...

Shit, Kioga thought as he sat up from Lugo's lap, trying to ignore his bladder's pulse or the smash of his shatwurst weiner-shitzel mess hot-dogging between his cheeks.

"What do neo-millenials buy nowadays, Lugo?" Kioga asked. "What do the kids like?"

Lugo's eyebrow arched. "If you don't know the answer to that question, you might want to get out of marketing."

"I manage client accounts, dork. It's Wes in Strategy that powders those bums."

"Vine made a comeback when they combined with Rainbow Dashboard, inventing those Brow-Cams."

"That's right," Kioga snapped his fingers, massaging under his stomach with the other paw. "Vehicle dash-cams for your face. There was so much scandal at the start."

"I forgot," Lugo said, his eyes bugging at the fifty-six jockstraps Kioga was hiding around his groin. "Sheezus, I think you overshot the market. That bubble is going to burst."

The cheetah laughed, both at the joke and the scandal, even though the latter had hazarded several hundred lives.

The product testing had been perfect, but people blew through the Disclaimers.

"Post-pubescent minors were accidentally livestreaming their self-experimen--"

"Oh fuck's sake, that's plenty," Lugo said, then looked down at his squirming husband. "Speaking of plenty..."

"I'm sorry?" Kioga said, grunting and gasping as he writhed overacross Lugo's lap. There was a solid bar of poo spanning from under his tail to the back of his balls, and his groin was starting to hurt from the weight of the soaked padding.

Also: bladder pressure.

"I'm not sure this diaper's going to make it, husbando," Lugo whispered.

Kioga sighed. "I want you to rip it off at our honeymoon," he said, clenching his teeth as a trickle started from his sheath, tumbling down into the back. "We're not supposed to see each other beforehand!"

"And the changes at the reception?"

"Strictly professional."

Lugo nodded, mind rolling. He wanted to honor his husband's wishes, but a huge puddle in an Italian suit would, eh, literally dampen their spirits.

"Excuse me, miss?" Lugo asked as a stewardess walked by.

The woman, who turned out to be a skink with small breasts and a bit of a point in the front of her skirt, stopped by with a charitable grin and an affected effeminate voice.

Little bit of bass in that concerto.

"Yes, can I help you sirs?" she said with her tent growing in the front of her skirt.

"That's pretty nice," Kioga purred as that point hovered within inches of his head.

"You stop it," Lugo chuckled as he gently swatted Kioga's forehead and reached under the skirt and squeezed a very male shaft pushing out the front of a pair of thong panties. "Yes, so I know you have airsick bags, but for passengers that can't make it to the ... ?" he dragged out the final implication.

The stewardess hissed through her reptile lips, hips twitching and leaking against the wolf's paw. "I'm ssssorry?"

Lugo removed his paw when he felt that first bit of precum dribble over his paw. "Heh, some portable bottles? He has a sore back, could only waddle to the--"

"Oh!" she/he said, now sporting a dark spot in the front of her skirt. The other passengers chuckled, enjoying this luxurious, decadent new age of gender agency. "A portable ur... u're ssssure what I mean. One ssssecond."

The stewardess strutted to the back, getting a few quiet requests on the way. Bathrooms in the front lit up with green lights, and those passengers snuck on up to them.

She returned with a plastic portable urinal, but when Lugo tried to take it, she yoinked her hand back. "I'm ssssorry, but only licenssssssed nursssessss can use these."

Lugo scritched Kioga's forehead. "Hope you don't have performance anxiety, bud."

Kioga mrowled, then struggled to unzip his onesie, then his Italian suit pants, then pushed down the front of his fat, squishy mankini. It looked like a gray cloth athletic cup, completely swollen. He pulled his penis out into the open, shielded decently by the seats, and the skink hissed in pleasure, the front of her skirt straining with a clearly-defined shadow of a lizard cock highlighted in a skirt hoisted, by its rigidity, way above her knees.

She put the pee bottle's funnel over his cock and it erupted with a few splashes.

"Oh, what a big boy!" she chuckled as the cheetah sprayed into the plastic reservoir, and Lugo looked on with a hungry lust, his own cock trembling and leaking into his rubber underwear, as Kioga filled the bottle as fast as a soda fountain.

The other guests murmured and giggled at the lewd display. Professionalism was maintained, but its veneer did not hide the loud pleasure purring from the cat way up front, who could readily hear it.

"I have to go next!" the rabbit with the hovering iPad said.

"Yes, me too!" said the busty tigress executive.

"This is Tyke Air 2.0," Lugo chuckled.

The stewardess left for the green-lit bathrooms, and one by one the lights turned red.

Kioga sighed in relief. He still stunk of potting soil, and squirmed from time to time to indicate the mess that was contained, just barely, by a thick absorbent strap between his cheeks.

Lugo murred. "Can't wait to change you, love."

Kioga brought his husband's face down to his own and kissed him deeply. His diaper bulge was completely outlined in his onesie; the rabbit across the way, waddling with a prominent tent as he undid his belt and made his way to the restroom, winked at the two before carrying on.

Kioga said, his eyes glistening and his smile warm and wide, "You already have."

By the time the plane landed, the stewardess was walking with a limp, and too-many happy guests lingered on the plane. Lugo and Kioga exited ahead of their designated row.

When they passed the skink, she sneezed, and with a wet rasp sounding like a whoopie cushion filled with jelly, a brown-tinged stream of lube and that male unmentionable spurted against the back of the bottom of her skirt, dribbling down onto her stockings. (or a lump that sags past the hem)

"You know," Lugo said, "they make underwear for that kind of problem."

Aboard the shuttle for the lodge complex, Kioga rode on Lugo's lap, breathing sharp and shallow as he held a swollen stomach.

"Labor pains?" Lugo whispered, to which Kioga only sucked in air and firmly nodded.

"Water's going to break and the sewer's going to back up," he gasped, then reached down to smooth the synthetic cloth of his ballooned groin. "And the levee's already stressed."

"Sure, sure," the wolf whispered.

Lugo handled all of the technicalities, got the room key and directions to it; he flagged down a bellhop with a few green bills and had the boy escort them to their room in an efficient--but not rushed!--manner.

He didn't have much time to admire the vast complex, both modern with its polished granite floors and plush hallway carpeting and rustic in the high-vaulted rafters of logs, a naked cedar ceiling ending in a glowing glass dome, but knew the place to be good--as soon as his husband was in a condition to enjoy it.

Lugo unlocked the door and carried his husband across the threshold of the suite, light kisses to his lips to distract him from his throbbing body.

Once he was in the room, he helped Kioga hurriedly undress, stripping him of his onesie, his suit jacket, his silver vest, his collared shirt and bowtie, his trousers, until all he was left in was his undershirt and his mankini diaper, which indeed was fat, round, and pendulous in the front and fully inflated in the back, a thick, plump strap like a bicycle tire tube running between his cheeks.

Keeping with the requested theme, the suite itself was built as an adult-sized nursery. There were large letter-blocks on a race-car print floor blanket, a king-sized crib with its front gate open, even the kitchen section and bar--with a complimentary bottle of Mother Wyvern's Ichor Oil for Choleric Wards (liquor)--was exaggeratedly vaulted so that an adult could not reach the counter without a step-stool.

The flatscreen TV was set on the ground, and surrounded by red plastic with fake bunny ears and a remote with giant pictures of shows for buttons.

While Lugo was distracted admiring the room, Kioga whimpered, bent over, and held his crotch. The bottom of his black bikini grew dark with liquid, then dribbled out of the sides and onto the carpet between his feet.

Lugo gasped and leapt into action. "Potty emergency!" he said. He picked up Kioga, now leaking onto his jacket sleeve, and when he rushed him rushed to the bathroom, blowing past a shelf full of cartoon diapers and puppy pads, he found the usual toilet taped shut with a cutesy card atop it saying, "You're not an adult, you might fall in!"

However, there was a very large training potty in the corner.

Lugo kissed Kioga's nose and set him in front of the plastic trainer. Nuzzling the whimpering cheetah, he then squat to the side to avoid the incoming tinkle stream, pulled the cheetah's soiled mankini diaper down to his ankles, let out an awed expletive at the colossal turd his little boy had made, and made Kioga sit on the potty.

"Oh God, Lugo, I didn't mean our honeymoon, the consummation of our love and dedication, to begin this way," Kioga sniffled, "I should just lug around a giant septic tank and hnnnnnngh..."

Kioga paused, then along with the plastic prattle of pee pattering in the potty's repository, pushed out an echoing poot and then squelch as he slimed the bowl.

The overwrought romantic speech was a pleasant, queer juxtaposition to this natural, if bombastic, elimination.

Kioga was in was a completely vulnerable state, openly pooping before his purported parent in this role. His ears folded and he blushed as he looked up at Lugo, who was hovering over him with his arms crossed, making sure that everything from now on made it into the bowl.

Kioga tried to keep his grunts silent, but the telltale, echoing sticky plops under his rump seemed loud as thunder. He watched his husband in complete reliance, gaining security in this defenseless moment.

With a final sigh, Kioga felt the last of his waste slither and pop out of his body. Lugo had discreetly moved his diaper off to the side with his foot, the garment stretched, soaked, and hanging open like some messy candy wrapper.

"All done, there, Key?" he asked with a reassuring softness.

"Mm-hmm," Kioga said as he nodded.

"All right," Lugo said, grabbing wet wipes from the shelf, "now turn around so I can clean your bottom."

"O-okay, Lugie," Kioga said with a purr, then stood from the pot, which incredibly was already half-full, and turned around, bending over at the waist with his paws on the rim.

It was a natural animal revulsion that kept Kioga from looking down at his own toilet. Were he a continent feral or fur, he would have just walked away.

Lugo was gentle with his ward's messy bottom, first scooping out the primary mass of dirt between his cheeks, piling up the sticky clay in the wipe before wrapping it up and throwing it in an available pink and blue babyish waste bin, adult-sized of course.

He then moved to the insides of the skinny cheetah's rump cheeks, performing the same function, sneaking chance glances at his husband's pink tailhole, not forgetting the other role he played...and it played...in their relationship.

For now, however, he cleaned Kioga as the deluxe-sized child he was, and then when he was done he patted the cheetah's small, perky rump, admiring those firm, delightful glutes meant for running.

Kioga stood, turned around, and kissed his husband, naked and clean. Lugo almost folded into him, sliding right into a passionate embrace, then patted the cheetah's small chest.

"Let's get you ready for our wedding night," he calmly said, pulling an enema from the shelf.

Kioga kicked the potty behind him just to make a sound. "I think I'm cleaned out," he chuckled. "But what about you?"

Lugo's eyes widened. "Do you want to have me on our honeymoon?"

Kioga giggled, feeling his length pour out of its sheath, growing erect and waggling attractively above his firm white balls as he closed the space between them and kissed Lugo on the lips.

He squeezed the wolf's large, muscular rump. "There will be time for everything. But how about I take care of you for a bit? "

The wolf's thick, wild maleness had been straining against its confines, pushing out the front of his handsome black French slacks. His rubber underwear, sealed when the tube disconnected, was wet with precum and musk from the underside of his shaft down to his heavy sac.

His initial reaction was to object--so long had he waited through a painful non-committal, non-denominational wedding of exquisite blandness, a neat-though-overlong reception, and finally a plane ride across the continent, which was nice but proximity to his husband just drove the madness further--but as he saw the naked, slender body of his love, his small pectorals firm and his shaft hard, pink, and the tip beading with pre, Lugo could do no better than assent.

"Of course, dearest," he said in a low, warm, rumbling voice, "You lead the way."

Kioga spun the hose of the enema around his finger, perkily walking to the bathtub faucet.

His foot bonked against the training potty, and the romance of the moment was jarred by the constant, droning stink of the toilet he'd mostly made inside.

"Ah, right," Kioga giggled, then opened it up to briefly marvel at his masterpiece.

"Goodness gracious, I am a big boy," he said.

Lugo could not agree more, especially now that Kioga was bent over and facing away from him, his pert, clean, round rump cheeks resting under a tail that luxuriously waved.

A tightness in Lugo's throat accompanied that in his pants, and when he shifted the gradually rising level of pre in his rubber briefs swirled around his heavy, hanging potent sac.

Lugo looked around. "We could, um, pour it down the bathtub drain, or..."

The main toilet was taped shut with baby-pink and blue duct tape, with the cutesy message on top.

"I'll get a pocketknife," he rumbled, then Kioga caught his wrist.

Lugo jumped back--the grin on the cheetah's face was that of a slasher.

One hand was against the half-full training potty. The other held the enema bag.

"No," Lugo said, but was interrupted by a whine as his erection strained harder than he could remember against its rubber jacket. "Oh God," he moaned, pawing at his tented, straining groin, fumbling for the zipper.

"Not yet, puppy," Kioga giggled.

Lugo's mind began to swim, delirious with the depraved lewdness of what Kioga was suggesting.

"Y-you don't clean a messy floor by adding more mud to it..."

Kioga tittered, his throbbing shaft bobbing with every step. "no but you make it slick for mud wrestling. Come on! We'll have time for everything! Yes or no?"

Lugo was leaning against the wall, heart throbbing in his chest and his shaft. The flap of his trousers had stretched open, revealing zipper teeth clutching desperately to each other.

These pants were not tailored for someone so well-hung to be brazenly testing them with his sexual enthusiasm. As such, they began to rip around the surly incursion, revealing the gray of his rubber briefs.

"N-n..." he attempted, but he couldn't force it out. "Let's throw more mud on it."

Carefully, Kioga hooked the enema bag on a door hanger and then poured the potty's contents into it. It stunk as the fresh sewage it was--good God did it stink--but it all made it in.

For a moment, Lugo forgot the context of the moment, and merely saw a naked cheetah with a prominent pink erection dumping his urine and feces into a rubber bag, which he then proceeded to squeeze until its contents were a viscous liquid.

For that moment, he couldn't fathom why the room stunk to high Heaven of a hot bathroom where everyone over the course of a day had missed the toilet.

"I'm waffle-squishing!"

"Don't, oh my God Kioga," Lugo said. His erection thankfully flagged for a moment, clear pre soaking the bottom of his muscular rump, but the depraved, filthy event about to happen made his cock spring again, leaking in a constant stream, lapping against his pulsing pucker.

Kioga filled the rest of the large bag with water.

Lugo's rubber underwear sagged, and when he clenched to shift his soaked rump away from the sticky pool, cold sweat shocked his body as it leaked down his leg.

"All right, puppy, pants down," Kioga said, grabbing Lugo by the seat of his slacks and turning him around.

Kioga spanked Lugo, the rubber smack sending more pre spilling down his legs.

"What a big leaky boy!"

It was so good, Kioga thought as he wrapped his arms around his husband's waist and undid his slacks, gently opening the flaps to let his rubber wrapped erection spring free, then slip them down to his ankles to reveal that little pee bag set-up he'd drank from earlier.

He helped Lugo out of his slacks one foot at a time, the sloshing of his rubber pants obvious as it hung from his butt in a liquid lump.

"I love you," Kioga whispered as he put his thumbs into the waistband of Lugo's garment, unsealed it, and worked that down his legs.

There was a sloshing pond of musky pre, absolutely delicious, sending Kioga's cock into rapid throbs that overtook him so completely he nearly drank the contents and climaxed all over Lugo's wet rump.

"I love you too," Lugo said as he worked off his suit jacket and handed it back to Kioga.

The cheetah led his wolf husband to the bedroom, where he had Lugo mount the bed and stay on his hands and knees. The king-sized crib had a luxurious duvet spread over the top. One side was full of adorable cubs in rompers and diapers, and the other was full of adult supermodels of all species and both sexes wearing the same.

Erotically, some of the models had swollen groins and lumpy bottoms.

Lugo raised his tail with a shudder, his enormous wolf cock hanging thick, red, and erect between his legs, the knot the size of two golf balls, his heavy, pre-soaked sac like two tennis balls in a wet, fuzzy bag.

"You are so beautiful," Kioga whispered as he poured Lugo's pre into the stinking toilet enema.

Kioga held the sloshing bag high, trembling as his thin arm could only somewhat handle it, then suckled on the tip before lining it with Lugo's tight pucker.

Lugo's tailhole twitched, and his cock spurted clear liquid onto the bed. "This has to be one of the filthiest--"

"Shh, love," Kioga interrupted, then inserted the hose.

Lugo grabbed the top of the cover, where it was flipped over to the adults in fat diapers, and put the blanket in his mouth.

Kioga opened the valve and watched the enema's clear hose turn light chocolate brown with the warm, viscous slimy cocktail of cheetah waste, water, and precum. The bag was hot and heavy; Kioga swore there was nearly a gallon in there.

Lugo's intestines groaned as the sewer water entered him, promising himself to haunt Kioga with even worse incontinence, full bladder releases and surprise diarrhea if he died of septic shock or dysentery.

His scourge would be especially pointed during fast diaper changes at the office--Kioga would drop his pants, rip the old one off, and then Lugo would tickle his nose. Kioga would sneeze, sharting all over the bathroom stall, the back of his thighs, and into the seat of his unprotected pants around his ankles.

After hot showers, when he was feeling clean and pristine.

During every orgasm, especially when seated at the edge of the bed and his new husband was sucking him off.

The sticky, stinking liquid rushed into Lugo as if the wolf's bowels were hooked to the end of a flushing toilet. Lugo felt his stomach expand against his shirt as Kioga's sewer water gushed into him, splashing past his rectum and up the first turn, up the second turn, in its deluge picking up logs, chunks, and slime of Lugo's own waste.

His belly swelled into his undershirt and continued to expand against his buttoned shirt.

Lugo tried to reach down to undo a few buttons and release the pressure, but the first thought of "release" made his paw fly back to the bedcover and his jaws bite down on it, his mind telling his body to please try and relax as his large intestine filled with a hot slimy cocktail of piss, precum, water, and liquid feces.

As such, his intestines churned and throbbed, telling him they were plenty full, and if he could get to a bathroom or a ditch or really the back of his pants would work, that would be wonderful.

Lugo's cock felt the bottom of his muscular belly swell against it, and a snap-pop-pop from below presented his expensive French-cut shirt having burst below the chest, undershirt stretched around a gut bubbling with shit.

Lugo removed the blanket from his mouth, trembling with a cold sweat, feeling his pucker throb as it tried to bow outward and spray its gallon-plus of contents. He swore he could feel one of his turds floating in his expanded sewer pipe and bumping against the sides.

"Oh-okay, love, Key, Kioga," he gasped, his lungs pressing against the top of his pregnant belly, "What's your plan, because we gotta move fast."

There was a deep rumble and a gurgle.

"Because regardless, I'm gonna be moving fast!"

"All right, all right, don't mess yourself... yet, " Kioga said as he ran to the bathroom, grabbed the biggest diaper he could find--wow, even folded up it was the size of a decorative couch pillow!--and ran back.

Remembering diaper decorum, Kioga opened the thing and powdered it in the appropriate areas, from meatus to anus. The diaper's landing zone could fit a single-prop plane. If Kioga punched a hole in the center of the diaper, he could wear it as a poncho.

In fast cheetah speed, the naked newlywed sped over to his husband, pink penis bobbling out from his groin, and diapered him up faster than it took to pull on an undershirt, tapes ripping, powder poofing, plastic crinkling as he wrapped it securely around his waist.

Lugo stayed put on his hands and knees, breathing slowly. "Just like this, or do you want me to squat?"

Kioga's mind was going to crazy places. "No, better!" he said. "If you can squat..."

Lugo took measured scoots off the bed, hearing the slosh of his swollen, cramped bowels, feeling it in heavy waves splashing against the walls. The diaper was tented in the front with his mighty shaft.

Lugo then squat, and drawing one more breath--

"Now hold on, just fifteen seconds," Kioga said, padding around behind Lugo.

Lugo's ears followed him, then he heard the crinkle of the back of his pleated waistband as Kioga pulled it far and away, pulled his tail out of the slot--what, like a premature diaper check?--and then put one foot inside.

"What are you doing?"

"Putting on a diaper."

"While I'm--? Jesus, the leg holes!"

"Yeah, yeah, like you're a medical engineer."

Kioga hopped out, grabbed a tarp, and slipped it under them. Wasting no more time--and hearing a squirty fart and a whimper from Lugo--Kioga stepped into the back of Lugo's diaper, a leg through each leg hole, his tail through the back, and lined his shaft up between Lugo's baby-powdered muscle buttcheeks.

Kioga felt a slimy wetness and smelled his own stink. He looked down and saw a squirt of creamy liquid brown in the seat of the diaper, a small splatter under Lugo's rump.

"Messy, leaky boy," he purred, then kissed the back of his husband's neck as he pushed the tip of his shaft against Lugo's tight, throbbing, slick, dirty pucker.

"You fucking sure about this?" Lugo whispered. The wolf felt the urgency of his tailhole's flagging integrity--one side had a beautiful cheetah cock wedged against it, ready to pry it open, the other side had a tsunami of mess crashing against it.

This would not hold.

"From here until the end of time, love," Kioga whispered, then pushed into Lugo's tight pucker, his fur spiking as pleasure radiated from his shaft as the wolf's slick, smudged hole squeezed him, leaking liquid over its hard pink surface and then down his sac.

Lugo's guts rumbled, and then they crashed.

The wolf clutched his stomach with one hand and the small of his husband's back with the other, ears clenched tight against his head as his anus unclenched entirely, gushing over the cheetah's groin with a filthy, turd-turgid semiliquid. He let out a long, low moan that was part humiliation, part relief, and part uncontrollable, unlimited pleasure.

It splattered into the center of the diaper's under-strap and spread in both directions, spilling against the back of the wolf's sac and then around, pooling and turning the bottom of the diaper's front a dark brown, tumbling back and filling out the seat, lapping at the underside of Kioga's rump.

Kioga's eyes rolled as the acrid sewer stench seared his nostrils. His cock quivered, squirting pre into his lover's bowels which poured brown, filthy mess all over him, covering his groin and the top of his thighs in feces.

The pressure was intense against his cock and it fought him with every thrust, the wolf's anus and rectum clenching him in waves as they flooded Lugo and Kioga's diaper, the garment swelling and sagging lower and lower toward their knees.

Kioga gripped the plastic-wrapped hips of his husband and kept thrusting, the wolf's tail pressing against his own stomach as he kept thrusting, his cock's clear jets utterly lost in the continuous mudslide.

The diaper grew heavy and swung with every thrust of Kioga's hips; the cheetah felt the pleated waistband pull at the top of his rump as the under-strap grew thick and pushed his tiny thighs apart.

The leg guards mostly held, the sticky brown river lapping at these levees and occasionally spilling over down the insides of two males' thighs as they mated in filthy frenzy.

Kioga was growing close. The hot, smooth brown slime continuously sprayed and poured against his cock, down his balls, and utterly coated his mates filthy rump as he fucked it. His own groin made sticky slaps as he pounded Lugo's shitting hole and his balls dragged through the mucky under-strap, plowing troughs.

Kioga's own rump was soon coated in the stuff, too, that mixture of his piss and shit and Lugo's shit and pre; Kioga's butt had rarely been as sticky, sloppy, and stinky--even when he was messing his own diaper!

It was everywhere inside that enormous plastic brief wrapped around both their waists and groins, keeping them close: was there not the pernicious sewer stink of piss and feces, parodied by a light cloud of baby powder, they could have been mud wrestling.

Mud seemed so much cleaner.

The unthinkable then happened, and a solid log of wolf scat crashed into the head of Kioga's shaft, still buried deep as the rest of Lugo's facilities evacuated.

Lugo moaned, embarrassed and uncomfortable, but could not help himself but to submit to his body's demands. Against his husband's cock, his bowels continued to push. His tailhole spread wider, and Kioga felt a hot, wet, sticky head complimentary to his own prod against the base of his ballsac.

One log exiting, another one entering.

Lugo's moans climbed up into a whine as his pucker was stretched to its max. His breathing came in short, shallow gasps, and he found himself humping backwards, sliding his hips and his ring along Kioga's cock, double-penetrated by his own fecal dildo.

Kioga succumbed to the tightness, too, and so feeling his own cock build into that hot, throbbing impulse, his sac tightening against the prodding log, he reached down into the front of Lugo's diaper, plunged into a lake of sewage, and pulled Lugo's colossal wolf shaft free to pawed at it with a slick, sticky, stinking fist.

Lugo humped forward into the paw and backward against his husband's shaft and his own lodged log. His cock poured clear fluid more than ever and his ass throbbed. There was a gallon and some of waste hanging from the plastic sack strapped around his hips, the same filthy liquid pooled around his footpaws, and yet he felt purer than he had ever before.

His husband was wrapped around him and buried deep inside his body, sharing together their passion for each other and such a dirty ritual.

A simple animal "morning ritual" shared in unity in their diapers and all over their bodies.

Kioga's pudding-coated paw flew up and down the wolf's robust, enormous length, painting it brown as its motion tossed spritzes of shit across Lugo's white stomach and chest, the squelching sound of lubed masturbation combined with the crinkle of the diapers straining waistband. The tip of his cock flared, a stream of pre cutting through the muck, and as Kioga and his own log kept him spread apart in a constant combined feeling of mating and defecation, the flood of his fecal enema crashing and flooding over his groin, his rump, his thighs, Lugo let out a mighty howl and erupted ontohis stomach, chest, and nose.

Kioga kissed into the crook of his neck as he sprayed, one hand reaching under to squish their overfilled diaper, spilling more hot brown liquid over their thighs and ankles, the other catching ropes of seed as they jolted past.

"I love you," he whispered to Lugo as the wolf's howls settled.

"I love you too, darling," Lugo said, then with one final push squeezed his solid, thick turd past his husband's cock into their diaper.