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Kioga had groused once about this topic, then had never mentioned it again: getting old.

"But you're only 27," said the otter. "Your legs might be skinny, but the only thing wrinkly on you is that diaper."

The two employees of investment-advertisement company Ferris-Chalmpers had taken their breaks on the Executive Plane, a beautiful terrace of polished stone and glass railings on the 87th floor of the F-C tower.

They weren't supposed to be here, and funny looks they got from the executives, chief officers, and presidents of the company was not them brazenly wearing clean, white adult diapers without any trousers. After all, the American Apogee company with its high-capacity "bowel assault" brief was one of their best domestic clients, and the American public was coming back around to "supporting the troops" after the globalist, colonialist mega-nation scaled back on Middle East arrangements.

Like it or not, the adult diaper was coming into general public acceptance, as it represented the ever-present duality of a civilized nation: freedom and security. Across this x-axis was the y-axis of sexuality: was it a kinked-up vice or was it a smooth and pure virtue?

Every person landed somewhere on this spectrum: diapers were universal.

And so, while some of the executives, officers, and chieftains had come from more prestigious companies those dealing in technology, oil, and consumer goods, the paycheck at F-C was just too much to resist. So they accepted the diaper, even dealing with the occasional funky smell.

Kioga and Patterson got strange looks because this grand balcony overlooking the city of Puerto Panuela was way, way, way above their pay grade.

"Ah-hah. Twenty-seven this year. Twenty-eight thereafter. I'm dying, Patterson; as they say the gay death is in the thirties. A man no longer resembles a boy, therefore he is not attractive."

"You're saying all homosexuals are ... teenager-focused?" Pat asked.

The cheetah grinned at the otter, looking down at his diaper-wrapped package. Patterson himself was only nineteen, teasing on twenty years old. The otter was fit, energetic, and had a swirled coffee coat of beige, white, and brown. He was hung like a firetruck and had an ass so tight he could pleasure a mosquito, yet could drop turds fat enough to count as masonry.

"Well, I do admire the notion that a brand-new adult is as appealing as a brand-new car," he said, his raspy tongue dragging over his upper lip. Now that he and Pat were strictly platonic, he could indulge in all the fantasies he wanted. Kioga was hung like a reasonable ceiling fan: enough to move the air, but not enough to blow the roof off.

The cheetah's erections looked like diaper pleats, and were completely invisible when he was soaked.

"Sure, but brand-new cars don't get wiser, smoother, smarter with age," said Pat, glowering as the front of Kioga's padding wrinkled outward. "Just a pleat in the baby-pants, right?"

"Just a trick of the light."

"Sure thing. Y'know, let me rephrase: these brand-new cars don't come out of nowhere. It's decades of engineering behind them, failure and success. Every brand-new car, therefore, is older than the last."

Kioga grinned, and wrapped an arm around Patterson's waist, the brush of his forearm wiping across the top of the otter's big diaper. "So you're saying that in our society, teenagers get better every year."

"You don't trade sex partners like you do cars!" Patterson, in turn, swallowed a flash of anger and pushed the cheetah away. "See, this is why my homophobia is occasionally justified! Men just treat each other as condoms, throwing each other away once their use is expended. And similarly, both are floppy, wet, and full of cum."

Kioga chuckled. "We treat each other worse than fleshlights, because those we wash out."

"What happened to the cheetah that was ready to take my marriage proposal?"

"I'm never going to find someone as amazing as you, Patterson. So I might as well get my jollies while my joy buzzer still works."

Patterson checked his watch; they were going to go over. He'd make up the work on Monday. He leaned back against the balcony's railing. His bladder tingled, and Pat watched Kioga as he peed into his diaper, the front growing a darker shade of white as it rounded out between his naked thighs. To his disappointment, the cheetah stared at it while his own diaper tented.

"You really are manic-depressive, Kioga. Why not see a physician, get something to level you out?"

Kioga promptly lost his lecherous grin. Out of his diaper he pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, then lit up and stared Pat down. "One may say I'm philosophically incontinent as well. Kind of easy to lose your religion in this world of disappointment."

"Wasn't there some wonderful speech you made about hopping in and out of darkness? Hiding from the outside world in your own paradise, or taking up sword and shield against the real world enemies of a perfect world?"

Rage flashed in the cheetah's eyes. "I told that story to Lugo."

"Ah, he must have told me while he was sucking all his cum out of my asshole. Wasn't the cleanest one, neither. Wasn't my best work, but he sure fucked the shit out of me. "

"Take that back."

"If I wanted his cumback, I'd go over to Joe's."

"Do you wound me on purpose?"

"BDSM of the soul, asshole. Gimme a cigarette."

"Married church boys like you should be sticking to fish sticks," he growled. Kioga took a big drag and sighed, briefly wreathed in a mane of smoke before the wind took it away. "But you don't back down. Somehow I like you better when you're a complete ass."

"Because I'm reminding you when you're wrong."

"Fuck off."

"Get some pills."

"Mood pills are the microtransactions of the pharmaceutical world. I'm paying someone to let me skip my own life. I'll take the good and the bad."

"Then don't use me as your emotional diaper."

Kioga sighed, finishing his cigarette. "Fair."

"Thank you," Pat said, then softly smirked as the front of the cheetah's diaper bulged out with a hiss.

"Is this how a married couple would argue?" asked Kioga.

"Dude, your mood swings are worse than a crackhead on her period!"

"I know! I'm just..."

A waitress came by, wearing an adorable short skirt and an obvious plush diaper underneath. She offered them both coffee and sparkling water; Patterson took coffee and Kioga took water.

"I'm just ready to be in love," he said. "Life is a giant loading screen in a game you don't know will work. Full of glitchy A.I., people repeatedly running on routines they'll never fix because they don't think."

"And sometimes it does fucking work, you just gotta blow on the cartridge!"

"Okay, boomer."

"Don't you fucking start that!" said Pat.

Kioga grinned.

"Y'know, how about we marry each other with a pledge of eternal hatred? Remember my marriage math?"

Kioga grunted, his muzzle crumpling the same way it did when a drinking night punished his diaper. "How 1+1 = 1?"

"Exactly. You're my negative one."

Kioga merely cackled.

Patterson smiled, feeling lighter on his footpaws.

"So you and the Kensingtons would make love, and we make hate?"

"Yup!"

"I see that getting satanic real quick, sweetie. Body piercings on my spots, ritual sacrifices. Blood and shit."

"I mean, if I'm too rough with Clark, there's already blood and shit."

"Don't promise me a good time, Mephisto."

Patterson opened and closed his paw, bouncing his eyebrows.

Kioga wrinkled his muzzle. "You ever retrieve your keys from a drain, Patty?

"When you put it that way, maybe I don't love you as much."

"Anything to keep you off me."

"What about Lugo?"

The cheetah frowned.

"I mean it," insisted Patterson, his muzzle twitching as his lunch made its way south. "Are things settled with him, are they done, are they in process?"

Kioga stared him in the eye as lines around his face creased, then with a grunt his tail subtly rose. A chill ran through Pat; never had he seen a man shrink him down while shitting himself.

"They'll get done. Never have I had someone so thoroughly raise me up and then toss me like a corpse."

"If you need any help..."

Kioga was just about to say something cantankerous, but another turd pushed out of him, deforming the back of his diaper, and he humbled out. "Best friends should never, ever be gay. The waters get so muddy."

Pat smirked. "Love you too, buddy. Speaking of muddy waters..." the otter said, slinking around the cheetah to pull at his leg guard. Kioga smacked his paw away. He knew there was a pile of warm dirt under his cheeks.

"I'm not through with this diaper yet."

~~~

The Executive Plane was an amazing terrace of freedom and luxury, and Pat and Kioga spent the rest of the afternoon up there hobnobbing with executives who, from profit reports and the nightly news, "knew" that adult diapers were the new hot (and sometimes wet) thing, but didn't know exactly WHAT the appeal was.

They were, however, super pleased to meet the mascot of their company, who true to his name had even soiled his diaper like it was no big deal! They got on their phones and grabbed many selfies for theirTwatters and InstaGlibs.

How Kioga got the special key card to this balcony, however, was another matter altogether. It was bestowed to him by FreDilect "Xian" himself, who had a most bitter time getting it from their Chief Executive Officer, an exactingly mysterious, perfect, and unquestionable keskin named Prometheus "Prociev" Omega Pendrael.

Rumors about the man said he never stepped foot in any building of a business he did not fully endorse, from the custodians and interns all the way up to the Board and its social marketing team (especially the social marketing team. If there was even the faintest whiff of them piggybacking off of a trendy "justice" movement, Ferris would do no business with them, and in fact print a run of discounted diapers with that company's name on the inside of the landing zone up until the last day of a cease and desist letter).

Despite that rumor, Mr. Pendrael been seen ina thousand and one meetings in the towers of companies he hated--but he allegedly hovered, having borrowed some experimental tech currently in the curiously continent bowels of F-C's R&D. He just never set foot in them.

Nobody was able to confirm or deny these rumors, either, for as handsome as the keskin was, having completely smooth lavender-black skin, perceptive purple eyes, nostril slits at the end of his snout, tall nubs in the place of a mammal's ears, and a prehensile tail that ended in a silk-capped stinger, photos seemed to capture him completely in the negative, as if every single photo had him sliced out by an exacto knife.

Rumor had it that this, too, was secret tech stolen either from the U.S. Government or "borrowed" from Cavendish Holdings, an investment company by one platinum dragon Aloysius of the same surname.

The F-C R&D department was his own mindspawn, and was as ruthless as the rest of the company was charitable. While F-C gave (minor) discounts to small businesses struggling to keep stock of the F-C-brand diaper the same way that Amazon and Walmart were dumping them out, F-C R&D was sniping inventive minds from NASA, Tesla, Apple, Twatter, BP, with paychecks made from their overwhelming diaper supremacy from ensuring that every store, from Mama Maple's Homemade Candle Shoppe to Louwuis Vuvuwuitowon on the strip in Las Vegas, had them in stock.

"Isn't this flooding the market?!" opposed Evan during one of the few board meetings he was invited to.

"Flooding? That's exactly whatdiapers are for," Prociev had said, then fired Evan's intern right from under him as collateral damage.

Giving the poor kid a pink slip by way of a pink sedan, the keskin then turned around and sent Evan out of the room. "Don't flood my meetings with crap your padding can't catch."

Rumor had it that Evan wasn't escorted from the room as much as he was thrown from it by a wave of Prociev's hand. Some said that an intangible surge of energy struck the tiger's chest and flung him into the Executive's Run, a hallway made entirely out of bluish-colored crystal carved in exact ninety degree angles.

Then again, it was all rumors.

And Evan wouldn't confirm or deny them.

For Kioga to get one of these special keys, it had taken afive-hour session of Xian prostrating himself over every piece of furniture that Prociev owned in his house-sized office, making entreaties of the most maudlin sentimentality and sound logic how Kioga was the face of the company, he was the anus of the company, he was the soggy loaded diaper of the company and God damn it he might just be a Senior Account Manager but he was the soul of the company!

Prociev had stood before a great angled window that thrust into the void of Puerto Panuela, inches between his pristine, unscuffed shoes and the floor. Between his paws, long, smooth, with claws that retracted into cool flesh, tiny wooden splinters drifted together into tiny singularities of spikes.

"And you would advocate that the janitors are the blood cells of the company. That the information technologists are the nervous system. Belong they all at the bridge of this mighty vessel?"

Mr. Pendrael had been deflecting Xian's entreaties all day with his analogies.

Finally, exhausted, with his vertebra having been reshuffled until they were perfectly random from skull to tail tip, the gelding arctic fox-otter picked up a sniper rifle made completely of petrified dinosaur bone and put his mouth on the barrel.

"I'll kill myself."

Prociev turned around, his purple-diamond eyes cut perfectly by two straight eyelids. The singularity splinters between his paws grew into a tiny star.

"A private, pitiful death I won't even mention to the maid, much less your friends, family, and adoring fans. To the world you'll be a blankout, just a gap in the audio recording, a missing line of dialogue, a car key you swore you left on a counter's empty corner. I might just leave the bullet hole on the ceiling to remind me of this queer moment. But it'll be my memory alone."

"Only if Kioga gets his key!"

"It's very charitable of you, but a stupid trade. Kioga might make it if he exhanges his sordid, swampy swadvet for a textbook."

"I'll pull it!" proclaimed Xian, looping his toe into the trigger guard.

The meeting had gone extra long; Xian knew that Prociev was none too pleased with the thick, firm lump in the back of his blue bikini briefs flopping around beneath the hem of his skirt. Prociev transferred the splinter star to one paw as he drew a rifle round as tall as his stinger from his desk. He tossed the bullet and Xian caught it with a stumble. Then he loaded it.

"You really gonna carry this all the way?" asked Xian.

"Your job depends on it," said Prociev.

Xian trembled, looking down the barrel of a rifle nearly as tall as him. He trembled, panties already warm with poo, how he had loaded a round twice as thick and long as the penis he once had. This gun, whose military equivalent could not only shoot a plane down but reverse its momentum, would take him out in the blink of eye.

Rumor had it that this very gun stopped a terrorist attempt on the F-C tower.

Problem was, they never recovered the plane.

Rumor had it that it had been completely vaporized.

But Xian believed in Kioga. And he knew he was right. And if his employer, his god, was going to not only assist but endorse his permanent termination, then so be it. Xian put his toe on the trigger, then pushed down.

The gun clicked. Prociev smiled.

Xian gulped, then wobbled, bracing himself on the gun as urine flooded his panties and gushed down his thighs, splashing and splattering between his foot paws.

"Jesus Christ," the artotic whimpered as he helplessly wet himself. A gurgle ran through his stomach.

"If you ever threaten your life again, Xian," said the keskin, "then I will purchase you. Every filament, every fiber, every blood cell, and no, I'll have purchased your consent as well."

"No one has that much money!" Xian said through gritted teeth, grunting as content piled up in his rectum. The puddle surrounded his feet and grew outward, piss freely streaming from the tiny urethra hole that comprised his groin. There was already a softball-sized lump in his briefs; what trickery was this?

"It's not the amount as much as it is a specific series of numbers printed on a cheque of the proper material."

Xian yelped as his ring spread around a massive turd. Prociev merely watched, his face as calm as if his account officer was giving a weekly report. Instead, it was an artotic in a skirt pissing his panties and making a pond-sized puddle around him, wobbling to stay upright as his bowels took control to add to the unpleasant, ungainly, and malodorous lump hanging between his buttocks.

"With this sequence, you can buy a soul. You will be my ward, my child, my pet, and not until your brain is completely fixed will I dare allow you to think."

The artotic let out a guttural groan as his ass stretched and a log the size of his foot piled into his briefs, stretching the elastic to an obscene degree and hanging below the hem of his skirt. He wobbled, holding his waistband up with a paw.

"A living hell like that, then I will kill myself!"

Prociev snapped his fingers and the gun exploded, sending a round streaking up Xian's cheek and through the ceiling, then through the roof, then into space. Smoldering, the rifle had driven itself through the stone floor.

Then there was a crackle, a splurt, a yelp, and Xian's panties fell into the lake of piss with a splat. A turd the size of a small baguette lay in the crotch-strap of the briefs, colored dark brown with a faint purple hue.

Prociev cocked his head, saw that Xian was still standing amidst the wreckage, and nodded. Taking a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit, he reached behind his back, past his jacket and belt, into his pitch black slacks, and wiped beneath his tail. The keskin then pulled his splinter-ball between his paws, letting it hover, then stretched it into a perfect, shining rectangle of wood which bore the name, "Kioga C. Davis-Perry" carved in perfect script.

Xian wobbled, stepping out of his panties, and staggered to the desk. He got about halfway there before the floor accelerated toward his face.

~~~

At least, that was the story Frederick "Xian Dereliction" Darrell Mar-Kraken told his friend after he appeared in Puerto Panuela a week later. They met at Xian's city townhouse, which was a five-story apartment building built forty years ago. It had no tenants except for Xian, and many of its rooms had its walls, ceilings, floors knocked out with stairs and ramps put in for a fluid connectedness.

To Kioga, it reminded him of a map in a wartime shooting game, especially for that room-to-room, fluidity, except everything here was pleasantly clean. The cheetah wondered if he had cleaning staff, but all he found was the short, lithe, powder-white artotic mopping the floor in only his blue briefs. In this room was a couple of couches, an end table, a small music player and a minibar. The room itself was twenty yards long, as if it were two apartment living rooms or one bowling alley lane.

"Card's on the counter," said Xian, his rear facing the cheetah. His tail was high and Kioga was single; the cheetah was briefly distracted by the clean, taut roundness of those cheeks.

"Y'know, with my condition, that series of text messages you sent me didn't scare the shit out of me. Rather, it scared it back in. Look, I don't know if you know what 'lol' means," said Kioga, taking his shoes off, then his socks as well as he observed the sheen of the floor. "But it doesn't mean 'loss-of-life.' Did you really go to all that length to get me this card?!"

The artotic looked over his shoulder, his bangs unusually long and covering the right side of his face. The smile on his small muzzle was bright, and his eye sparkled in the low light of the faux-destroyed building. Kioga caught a primped and prepared guest bedroom two stories up through a hole in the ceiling. "Sure as shitting, sweetie. You had lunch? You ..." Xian sniffed the air. "Had a change?"

The cheetah blushed, but moreover he turned to sniff himself. He was wearing the F-C diaper with advanced odor blockers. There was no way Xian was smelling a ... mostly ... wet diaper. Not from across this vast room.

"Yes and no," he answered, then jumped back on topic. "Xian, I would never; I don't know what to say besides now I want to kill you! Bismillah and Jesus Christ; how can you be so stupid? Did you really threaten to blow your brains out over a glorified patio?!"

"Rumor has it."

Kioga picked the card up from a clean chrome counter and promptly dropped it, the card popping from his grip with a perfect slickness. "Goddammit, hold on," he said, bobbling the thing between paws. The cheetah clapped it between his palms and then carefully pinched it.

Kioga padded across the room, his nose still sniffing. In the relief of this fresh-mopped room, he caught a whiff of his armpits. It'd been a long morning at the office. But he didn't catch the slightest scent of his diaper, not the powder, not this morning's coffee, not ... that little accident he had on the way over when a bicyclist crossed in front of his car in the middle of the block.

Last thing the cheetah needed was heated seats: he made his own.

"I don't want it," he said, thrusting the card down at the cleaning artotic.

"It has your name on it," said Xian, who got up to his knees and rubbed the cheetah's thigh.

Kioga steeled his jaw and kept the card out. Xian shrugged, reached up past the cheetah's paw, and pulled the tail of Kioga's belt out from its buckle. The standing male swallowed.

"What are you doing?"

"Don't take these as the pretensions towards romance," said Xian, opening the belt and then proceeding to the fly of Kioga's pants. "Here," said the artotic, pushing Kioga back to the couch. The cheetah kept the keycard held out, but Xian brushed past it as he undid the top button of the cheetah's pants and then slipped them down, revealing Kioga's (mostly) wet diaper. "But I do quite admire you. I don't think you get enough credit and I, as your friend, want the best for you and to make sure you know that you're appreciated."

Kioga, for his part, watched with a titillated, buzzing disconnect as the powder-white male in the bikini briefs disrobed him, slipping his trousers to his footpaws and then slipping them right off. A lump formed in the cheetah's throat, as well as one below his waist, as Xian stroked his bare, spotted thighs.

"Look, this is nice and all," said Kioga, "but no and no thank you."

"You're welcome to refuse the gift," said Xian as he unbuttoned Kioga's shirt and slipped it off his shoulders, "but I really have no use for it since it's your name emblazoned on it." A light push got Kioga to sit down on the couch, then a nuzzle, and in a moment the feline didn't know whether it was Xian or himself that had removed his undershirt, leaving him wearing nothing but his semi-dirty diaper.

"I guess you'll have to return it," said the cheetah, then stifled a low purr as Xian knelt down, pressed his face into the front of his diaper, then nuzzled and sniffed it.

"Well, it's my choice then and I'll keep it," said Xian as he ducked in low and nuzzled the cleft between Kioga's diaper and thigh. "Mmmh," the artotic sighed, and when his tongue dragged between the sodden plastic pouch and his warm fur, teasing the leg-guard, it served as a wedge and drove his legs apart.

"It's not that I'm ungrateful, but if any of that story's to be believed then I'd better say no for your own sake," said Kioga. "Who knows what your next noble move will ... ah, ah ..."

Xian's tongue slid inside the leg-guard and wet Kioga's moist balls, repeatedly licking them inside his diaper. The cheetah splayed out on the couch, legs spread wide, his ears buzzing as his cock pushed from its sheath and his heartrate fwubbed upwards.

It was one thing for this ex-male to be erotically stimulating him, a beautiful artotic that had, in years past, sodomized him with a prosthetic cock, but one who, again, had a blatant disregard for the condition of his bowels. Xian didn't care there was a small plop of poo mere inches behind the sac he was licking, in a diaper his muzzle was now penetrating, even though his nose was right there.

The past encounter, with the prosthetic, had triggered a mudslide within Kioga's rectum and the artotic had merely laughed as they evacuated like a town suffering a wildfire. As an obvious and reasonably-sized tent formed in the crotch of the cheetah's mostly-wet diaper, crinkling as the artotic slurped at his balls, Kioga couldn't help but dazedly marvel at Xian's brashness. His nose was inches from his excretion; how didn't he care?

"You don't have to endorse the things I do in your name," said Xian. The artotic in the cute blue panties rose, his short muzzle fluffed from the wetness of saliva and urine. The cheetah, too stunned to say no and too splayed for his body to be saying anything but yes, merely nodded as the ex-male reached down and pulled his diaper tapes, then opened the slightly-smelly thing up to reveal his spiny, erect cock. The front of the open diaper hung off the edge of the couch, weighed down by its wet gel core.

Neither did he notice Xian standing up and sliding his panties off until the slim artotic was climbing on top of him, his groin a completely smooth, rounded triangle. It was almost like a female's, but there was no warm, supple slit to receive a cock. Just a tiny, nigh-imperceptible hole the size of a small bead. This inert triangle glided over the cheetah's groin and Xian kissed Kioga deeply, his musky muzzle connecting with Kioga's own and a smooth tongue slipping into his maw.

Kioga's raspy tongue played with the invading member and the cheetah embraced the powder-white male, holding the warm body that straddled him and tasting a hint of his own piss.

"Nff, ah," said Kioga, and when their muzzles broke Xian wet his hand and reached beneath him. The cheetah instinctively thrust as it met with the warm, slick paw.

Xian smiled at him, his bangs still hanging over the right side of his face. "I'm not going to put myself in danger for causes I don't believe in," he said, then lowered his hips. The tight, wrinkled slit beneath his tail met the tip of Kioga's penis. "But if I go too far, here's hoping I have the sense to catch myself on the cliff's edge."

Kioga didn't know what he meant, but Xian's calm, cryptic confidence soothed him.

"Or maybe have a friend to catch you," whispered Kioga.

Xian's face tightened, and when the ring pressed against the cheetah's shaft the two males pushed against each other, Xian down on Kioga and Kioga up into Xian. The diaper crinkled as the cheetah's hips rose, Kioga not even minding as his cheeks pressed the little bit of mess. They locked faces as the cheetah pushed deep into the artotic's rectum, Kioga grunting and Xian moaning, and this is how they continued for a good while.

Kioga, wrapped up in the throes of passion, thrust from the wrinkly wreckage of his mostly-wet protection. His nipples stiff and his cock harder, he pushed into Xian again and again, penetrating the wet, silky confines of his rectum, making the neu-male squeak. Kioga's orgasms were fast and frequent, and he felt the first one spurting into the artotic's ass, filling his bowels as the cheetah continued his hunt.

"This is right," gasped Xian, "This is right!" and the artotic kissed him again and again, alternating between quick little pecks, licks to his nose and cheeks, or all-out muzzle penetration with the one biological thing the poor gelding could use: his tongue. His mind reeled, rolling and squishing as down below, Kioga pounded away at his poor little "pussy," humping and fucking and cumming as if he was pissing in him. Perhaps he was pissing in him; the poor cheetah couldn't hold it even if his paws were clamping on it. Xian didn't mind regardless: whatever Kioga was dumping into him, whatever was now leaking all over his rump cheeks and Kioga's balls and, thank God, the diaper below that, it was the cheetah's love and he'd take it wholly.

In an act of strength that his thin, wiry frame didn't portend to, Kioga bodily lifted Xian, locked lips with him, and lay him on the ground, on the artotic's shiny mopped floor, and proceeded to orgasm two. The cheetah locked hips against the artotic's rump and dumped deep, long ropes splatting in a pool up inside his colon, causing Xian to gasp as warmth spread into his guts far closer to his stomach than he expected.

Had Kioga ever fucked him before? No, Xian thought with a blush of virginity; their time together had been in reverse, and with a rubber cock. Now, the artotic could only moan and splay himself out, letting this male roll over him like an avalanche, like a werewolf mad with lust--perhaps a cheetah mad with love?

Xian tried for another kiss but Kioga dodged it, and instead locked his jaws around the blue fur splots on Xian's neck as his second orgasm concluded. The artotic could only stare at his ceiling in wonderment as he was filled with the triple sensation of being perfectly, wholly, gaily bottomed-out. His bowels had that strange twinge that precluded an important bathroom emergency, one that would literally emerge whether he wanted it or not, but at the same time were curiously open. The slick squish that originally began their fucking had evolved into obscene slurping and schlorping: Xian's asshole was open, soaked, and stretchy. That passage used for much less sanitary functions felt simply filthy now: there was such a perverse thrill, combined with the intimacy of ardent love, of letting this person go after his body with the sexual need of holy fire. The fact that it was a male breeding his shit-hole was just an amusing visual.

It was strange to dissociate, but Xian did it on a fairly regular basis. Having disconnected himself from the hormonal, lusty world of having an animal's musky, dangly bits attached to the mortal progeny of an Almighty creator, Xian often watched the world from behind a pair of blue-crystal shades. He dared not make them rose-colored: that made most of the anthro world a cruel parody. But blue, as if all the people were hatchling angels fumbling through the sky toward Heaven.

The world was cute and beautiful in blue.

The cheetah on top of him was a mad, voracious beast, and Xian bit his lip as Kioga drew his nape into his wet mouth and clamped down. Xian hugged the cheetah's wiry body and kissed the side of his head, his shorter arctic fox-otter legs wrapping around his waist. He winced as a twinge of pain went through his bowels, the fucking hard and continuous with a seemingly endless and wonderful supply of pleasure and wetness. Xian cringed and lamented as streams of cum and (perhaps) piss ran down his buttocks, up his back, and all over his freshly mopped floor.

That cheetah snarled into his neck and redoubled his efforts. Xian groaned as his rectum and ring relaxed, and with an embarrassing blurt his ass squirted a mixture of cum tinged with a slight bit of brown. The milky cocktail gushed over Kioga's cock and hips, which just made the animal drive faster, harder, more passionately into him. His spiny, medium-sized cock rammed at the artotic's anal walls and his prostate, which rang out like an electric joy buzzer because it had nothing to connect to. Xian looked down at his Ken-doll groin, the invisible pee slit, and lamented his own handicap.

He chuckled in between grunts, his cheeks going red as he felt another lurch of the cock inside him and another wave of liquid squirt inside him. "Between your incontinence and my castration, we're a couple of cripple-dicks."

Kioga either didn't hear him or heard him fully, and in response he grabbed Xian by the legs, pulled out of him, and flipped him over. The sudden unplugging of his rump caused the artotic to gush another wave of cock and "bathroom juice" all over his cheeks, thighs, and floor, to which the cheetah gave a deem mrowl and dove under his tail, lapping, sucking, and slurping Xian's soaked asshole until his jaw popped. Xian, in return, groaned deep and pawed at his perfectly-mopped floor. That raspy tongue slipped right past his ring and seemed to drive deep, licking and hooking around the walls of his flooded cistern and causing an ungodly amount of fluid to pour out of the poor artotic. Xian feared that if solid matter made it out of his colon, what the cheetah might do to the embarrassing turd.

But the only log that was splitting Xian's hole was Kioga's cock, and the cheetah shoved right back into him, knees splashing in the ungodly puddle as he dumped cum the way a normal person might piss. No wonder Kioga was so skinny--he was constantly dehydrated! But Xian took it like he'd taken a horse lover last week. It was a solid experience--literally--but the horse had, again, literally, came and went. He didn't even stay long enough to diaper Xian up and let him make a cute little tinkle and cum dump in his padding. Instead, farting and blurting, Xian had done it on the toilet, the wet squirts echoing througout the empty building.

This was a strange, opposite version, thought Xian as Kioga's arms trembled on either side of him. This was a wild, love-starved animal, and he was either gorging himself of meaningful sustenance, or purging himself of some devil. Perhaps it was just a cleansing, Xian thought as he saw the shadow of Kioga's tail raise, then heard a crackle and a small pfft. The cheetah's hips froze, hilting his sex deep within the neu-male. Xian looked back, off the reflection of a chrome table leg, and saw a cable of scat spooling out of Kioga, curling up in a stinking, moist pile between his calves. Maybe Kioga did need it: Xian was glad to be there for a dear friend.

With that, the cheetah's cock jolted again, pouring another load into the artotic until he felt positively bloated, and the male collapsed atop Xian with a thundering heart and peaceful, open-mouthed panting. Xian decided to take a nap as the stink of Kioga's musk and turds wafted about the room. A couple hours in, he let his bladder release, warming up the lake, with its scat island, that Kioga had made during their session. Xian marveled at the funny feeling as piss flooded around his groin, a man piled atop him and buried deep inside him, the remnant of their love hovering about the room as a miasma.

"I love you," whispered Xian, to which Kioga grumbled and slurped at his neck.

Ah, another romantic bankruptcy. Xian could write it off.

~~~

Deep into the night, Xian's bowels flooded and the artotic woke up worrying he'd shit himself, soon realizing in this swamp-infested room, the floorboards assuredly decaying from cold, acrid body fluids, that the cheetah was involuntarily urinating inside of him. This squatter, who'd hours ago squatted and lay a pyramid of a turd on his floor, was unconsciously bandying about like a wastrel. He was pissing, and Xian was his pants. His diaper.

Intimate, he felt at that moment, as this was the worst of Kioga, and it wasn't terrible. Just a poor, broken creature doing as he normally did. He wasn't to be pitied for his troubles, but rather recontextualized he qua him. What a poor fucking bastard. That said, Xian couldn't spend all night marinating in a swamp of cheetah semen and artotic piss, with a steady supply of feces leeching into their man-made pond.

"Key?" asked Xian.

"Mmmph."

"Dude, you gotta wake up. You're not even drunk."

"I could be if you'd give me the chance..."

"Baby, we already fucked. There's no point in the Arto-Clast."

Kioga stirred. "The what?"

"I ..." Xian paused. Sometimes he wore diapers with special filters, so all his body waste turned into strange, sanitary water that he cut hard liquor with. "Nothing."

"You wanna fuck?" the male slurred.

"Baby, we already did," said Xian, his spine starting to ache. Did Kioga have a single cell of empathy in him, or did he shit where he pleased because he'd given up on controlling or mitigating any of his problems?

"I bet it was great, too."

Xian's eyes rolled. How could the star mascot of Ferris-Chalmpers be such a worthless anthro being?

"Kioga, do you have any awareness of where you are, what we've done, and how we are right now?"

"You're sounding like Lugo."

Xian's lower jaw jutted out, but he couldn't slap the man pinning him to the stinking sewer floor.

"Kioga," Xian said slowly, pronouncing it "Kai-Oh-Guh" which was incorrect, but an innocent way of needling him. Frederick wouldn't be disappointed in this boy. "We've made..." and then stopped. If he had to remind Kioga of the passionate sex they'd had, he'd sound like a demanding harpie. But how could Kioga be as a skeleton, forgetting everything and just rattling around?

"It's nothing," Xian said, and then slid out from under Kioga with the fluid agility of a half-otter, letting the cheetah collapse in their lake of sex and excrement. "Do you want a shower or anything?" Xian shivered at this bone-softening chill of depression. He wouldn't be surprised if the cheetah would curl up and die right where he lay.

"Everything's good," said Kioga, and Xian had half a mind to find his phone, three floors up, and call an ambulance.

"Just ... let me know," said Xian with a shudder, and ran to take a shower. On the way, he grabbed some bread, swiped it in some fish mayo and jelly, and with the lump in his mouth mixed a cocktail of Arto-Clast and Bitter-Water, and slugged the concoction down.

He showered, dumped everything in his rectum to the drain, stomped down the solid stuff, and emerged dry, fluffed, with a new blue bikini hiding his non-parts to a cheetah snoring in a lake of filth. Xian punched his own hand, growling curses at a level meant for devil-worship, and seized the cheetah by the nape and dragged him up two flights of stairs to a wide hot-tub.

He washed the insensate male, even going so far as to yank his head above water when the whole construction collapsed into the suds. Xian then hefted the hundred-pound male, mostly through rage over any muscular construction, into his bed where he slammed the corpse into the downy sheets and, after re-mopping the floor, spent the rest of the night staring at a story he was writing, where the entire planet was really a diaper and its non-renewability was a frightening time bomb.

His aggravated, tipsy mind grasped at strands of narrative: The Earth-Diaper didn't represent the planet per se. Nature would always come back, even through a collapse. The diaper was the modern anthro world, and it was reaching a point of capacity where the brain couldn't keep up with the technology.

Well, no, thought Xian as he rammed his knuckles against his desk, his little foldable laptop bouncing, "It's not technology that's exceeding us. That's just machines. Don't touch a machine, it doesn't do anything. Not unlike a super-powered motorcycle. Just don't twist the throttle. Rather ... it's culture. Just ..."

The artotic's forehead hit the desk.

"God damn it," he squawked. "Rather, the diaper of our lives, and the exceeding capacity, is too many dreams, too many expectations, for one mortal life. So we load it and we load it and then it leaks. It hits the floor, where we make a royal mess of our lives. That mess lands on the public floor, and we expect others to pick it up."

Xian slammed his keyboard, breaking a couple of keys and cracking the glass-topped desk. "But it can't be as simple as 'we are mortal, we are constrained, so we should live small lives.' But the diaper is universal," he said, crossing past the door to his room, to a snoring, cleaned cheetah, to a closet full of the folded shit-condoms. He picked up a folded, crinkling rectangle and kissed it, then hugged it to his chest, feeling its soft cushion. "We hold so much in our hearts. A diaper just catches the leakage, which we do need. We do leak ..." he said, his eyes warming with tears at the corners, "and it is good."

Xian kissed the diaper and tucked it under his arm. "Our world, as a culture, just needs a bigger diaper and a hardier bladder. We will make bigger messes but we will make more glorious strides forward. Even with a heavier burden trailing beneath our tails. But there is a certain point where it could become too much," the artotic said, slipping into his bedroom. He effortlessly splayed Kioga out and wrapped the diaper around his groin, folding the tapes into place like he was changing batteries in a controller.

"And that is where we will rest. We will recharge, we will change. We will face the new day fresh and clean and energized with all the knowledge of what's come before! And we will be so rich," he said with a tremble, then crawled into bed before he cried too much more. He kissed between Kioga's eyes and then yanked him close, cradling him like a plush doll.

"Exhausted, we refill ourselves at the table of life. And life is so good."

~~~

Xian awoke at roughly three in the morning. Kioga was sitting at the edge of the bed, only in the diaper, rotating a tall glass of water in his paws.

"Sleep well?" asked Kioga.

Xian sat up, a pleasurable warmth running through him at the memory of those virile, leaky hips driving into him, remnant tingles of a lovely cock ramming into him. "I did! You?" he asked, pawing at his downy sheets as he sat upright, sat pretty for the slender spotted male.

"Ever have a dream so resonant, so vivid: it is complete not only by the fullness of its present state, but augmented by a full, and storied past. You are living within your dream, and everything is old, yet new: you remember everything, and yet it all charms you with a strange, bright excitement."

Xian sat up in his bed, his clean tailhole pulsing against the strap of his blue, form-fitting undies, half-hopeful that perhaps that cheetah would turn around, smile at him, then kiss him as he guided him back onto his lap. They would make out, warm in each other's arms, and Kioga would slip the front of his diaper down and the strap of Xian's thong aside: then they would make love again while Kioga said: "You are my vivid dream."

"Why yes, I do!" said Xian, letting the bedcovers fall to reveal the hip-strap of his alluring underwear.

"That is how I slept," said the cheetah, his face illumined a strange blue, and smiling because of it. "It was a dream of ... a lover ... and the one memory that was hazy was that of agony and betrayal. I spent a whole day with him, innocent and free. No politics, no terrorists, no neurotic bloggers calling all the old, rusty stuff racist and the new, bland stuff progressive. Nothing but the excitement of being with a man that loved me and a world that deserved to be loved. Oh, and we made love ... so many times. It was all private; we weren't rude to anyone--but seeing each other in clothes, our eyes were like seduction rays and soon one of us were on our knees, or on our backs, and the ardent throb of our hearts transferred to that of our loins and our semen shot from us as liquid covenant. Even our bathroom needs: We locked eyes and squatted together, holding each other upright by grasping each other's forearms. He filled his briefs as I filled my diaper, and even the most absurd, gut-level crackle of our body's functions was drowned out by the anthem of our understanding. It said, 'I know you need to shit, and you're beautiful when you do even that.'"

Xian smiled, his groin growing warm, and in the wake of his cock's absolute absence, he instead wet his undies and the bed, shamelessly and joyfully spreading a yellow, musky puddle around him.

"It's so beautiful, and then what?"

The cheetah inclined his chin as he watched the artotic piss himself, the cute little stream spraying between his legs in glimmering tumult.

"The dream went on and on," said Kioga, then beckoned Xian close. He pulled the artotic against his back, where Xian emptied his bladder down the cheetah's spine into his clean diaper. Xian wrapped himself close around the male's body, a shimmering, electric peacefulness soothing his every nerve as his panties grew soaked. "Goodness, you're a hydrated boy. Resuming, the dream continued as much as my heart could stand, I ... the front of my diaper is blue and still tented from a relentless nightly emission. That lover, oh. I smiled and kissed his beautiful lips even as I stripped his soiled garment and cleaned his gorgeous, dirty bottom."

"Yeah, and then?" Xian asked, feeling his groin pulse as the last dribbled into the cheetah's diaper.

"I awoke," said Kioga simply. With an easy, non-aggressive push, the cheetah slipped out from under Xian's grasp and stood to face him. His entire front glowed an icy blue, and seemed to flicker as Xian blinked. "And found myself face-to-face with a beautiful man who had sold his soul in order to purchase Heaven."

Xian froze. "Sold his soul...?"

Kioga reached forward and parted Xian's hair, which made his own body glow all the more blue. "Who, in wanting to see the most beautiful and golden manifestation of love, half-blinded himself."

Xian scampered back on the bed, right into his own puddle. He whapped the side of his head and the room went dark, then pulled his bangs back down.

"I ... what a weird dream!" Xian stammered. "Then you woke from that one, right?"

Kioga crawled onto the bed, his diaper bulging between his thighs, and parted Xian's hair again. His claws were out, gripping the bed as he advanced upon him. He ran his fingers over a trench in the side of Xian's jaw, the back of his claw clicking against healed, exposed bone.

"Am I still asleep?"

"I cut myself shaving."

Kioga's jaw stiffened. "Then fell in the shower, assuredly. What happened with Mr. Pendrael?"

"Got you a giftcard."

The cheetah chuckled low and deep. "That's very charming. Why not cash next time?"

"I can't afford it."

"That's rich, coming from you," he said, then leaned in. Xian tried to slink away, whimpering, but Kioga grabbed him by the back of the head and kissed him. Xian didn't know whether to punch him or scream, but it was too late when Kioga's thumb rubbed against the artotic's right temple and the room glowed blue again. His eye, completely covered by hair, was visible in full, not unlike an anime. "Look at you, Xian the martyr. Mutilating yourself for a cause no one benefits from ... in this case, loving me."

"Not so fast!" said Xian, his heart hammering at speeds approaching arrest, his head dizzy from the sexual assault. "I have x-ray vision."

"How x-ray?" Kioga asked, folding his arms and sitting on his calves.

"Your bowels are empty."

The cheetah snickered. "Cute parlor trick. You saw me take a shit. I was fucking your little twink ass while I did it."

"The surgeon that botched your colorectal appeasement left his initials in suture."

"You son of a bitch!" Kioga roared and pulled his claws from the bed, thread and feathers flying as he swiped his open paw at the artotic. Xian, in response, punched him exactly in his stitched intestine and caused the cheetah to crumple to the floor. Kioga lay there gasping and wheezing.

The room glowed red, then Xian pulled his hair back. He took one of the cheetah's wrists, used its claw to cut his bangs, then dropped the limb to the floor. "You're fine. Just in a lot of pain."

Kioga coughed. "How's this different from any other day of my life?"

The artotic drew a long breath, rolling his eyes to the ceiling, then began stripping the sheets. He grabbed the plastic and polyester piss-shield and wrapped that up as well. His heart thundered, and his fur stood on edge. The room continued to glow red. Xian didn't see Kioga on the floor, but a skeleton with guts and an absorbent strip hovering beneath its pelvis, all of it wriggling next to his dresser. "Because usually it's a stronger male who's acting as your rubber bumper when you're ricocheting through life!" he shouted, his teeth chattering as tears spilled from his eyes. "You fucking asshole, I liked you. You took me back to a time that, like your dream, didn't have me constantly braced against cowards defending their greed with gobbledygook. In today's sewer world where everything's racist. Everything's sexist. Everyone deserves everything except for me, who started from nothing and co-piloted a diaper empire. None of it counts because my ancestors are European; obviously my diapers are made from the woven fur fibers and the ground bones of the aborigines. I'm Swiss, God damn it!" Xian screamed, "I'm the polite country! Oh, but none of that mattered," he growled, kicking an adult rattle into a potted plant, shattering the latter. "Not with you."

Xian paced around the writhing skeleton, the vertebrae of its tail lashing behind it. "The world was rebooted from my dreams. Once more, I was a little boy in high school, willing to relive the vulnerabilities of my teenage years, and I looked at you as a boy that wanted to take you to casual restaurants with my last forty dollars. To movie theaters where we'd sneak in snacks. To awkward kisses on the sidewalks that had us scared that the other would hate us. To love notes written in bad cursive. I had a crush on you," he said, shivering as he fought back sniffles. "You hear me, Kogari Darvish?! I HAD A CRUSH ON YOU!"

~~~

"So Xian really almost killed himself with a 1-caliber rifle." said Kioga, lighting another cigarette and leaning against the glass balcony railing of the Executive Plane. "All to get me this. And you, I suppose. It's pretty spiffy up here."

"How is a cannon a viable personal weapon? Newton's third law, right?'

Kioga shrugged. "Perhaps they found a fourth law, I dunno."

Patterson waved his paw in front of his face. Kioga glared at him, thinking he was being prissy and rude, but there was no prissiness about Pat. "There's also rumors he's had other work done, this time through Aloysius's company. Cavendish Holdings."

"What do you mean?"

"Let's just say when he goes to the toilet, before the first fart there's a plop."

Kioga reeled. "What, more work? Jesus Christ; this cyber-eugenics is gonna run tiny mushroom pricks like myself into extinction. I'd say you're part of the master race, but you're married."

Patterson sneered. "And I already have a baby on the way. You're already not helping your case, butt plunderer. A person who's fixed his bowel incontinence by always having a dick up his ass. You're not gonna have a teenage son jerking it to weird porn."

The executives and chief officers around them grumbled and moved away. Those who had tried to tolerate the lower employees wearing nothing below their waist except for the company diaper also flaked off. Most of them were too busy making money to be having casual sex in the office. Securing a lucrative new deal with a super-rich client was way better than a diaper-dropping rimjob at a company meeting! Perhaps that constituted part of their resentment.

The cheetah grinned, eyes twinkling from the ribbing. "Yeah, and I'm not gonna be changing tiny diapers every two hours. My diaper-babes are gonna be crying in ecstasy, not for ... everything else that babies cry about. Perhaps I'm a hedonist for preferring my own pleasure over setting up a future generation. But like I was saying earlier. I'm old. I'm almost in my thirties, and therefore I'll be sure to take a nap before our gaming session tonight."

"Can I come over?"

"Not with the conversation we just had. You're married and you're still cockteasing me."

"Because I'm an idealist. Maybe a hedonist that wants a perfect present and future. If you are objectively better than Susan and Clark and my stepkids, then I want to make a clean break to seize the better future. To secure you."

"Yeah, it's a bad idea. You'll shoot your eye out."

"I don't know whether to love Xian or punch him."

"Don't; he knows all of your weak spots."

Patterson grumbled, turning and leaning back against the railing. There were at least thirty people here that made twenty times the amount he did. And here he was flashing his diaper like a deviant. The wind through his thigh's fur felt amazing. "Why would you even entertain the idea?" asked Patterson.

Kioga chuckled, then took another drag on his cigarette and flicked it off the building. "Sure, buddy. Do I want revenge for you wrecking my marriage? Yes."

"Hey, I was just the gun, I wasn't the paw that pulled the trigger!"

"But you left the safety off. Anyway: Do I want revenge? Yes. But will that be conflicted by the fact that I very much like you, and therefore we will be together, and therefore I'll be the very undoing of my plan for retribution? Yes."

"I might have to take care of the kids first."

"Oh, look at you! Enough energy for your spouses, and your kids, and your video games! You damn teenagers don't know how good you got it, all this limitless ability but nothing in the brain to direct it."

Patterson sneered. "Sucks to suck, boomer."

Kioga giggled.

Patterson smiled. It was great to see Kioga in a better mood. He was so fucking sick of the cheetah's incontinent emotions. No wonder Lugo left him. "So, is it really true Xian has a cybernetic eye?"

Kioga thought back to that night and shivered. Of how he attacked his friend, planning to cause actual damage to him. He was so frustrated, so humiliated, because in that moment, Xian was an angel from the sky, ready to lift him into another plane of existence. Kioga had lashed out at Xian because he'd exposed his own wretchedness. He was shooting God's messenger: what an asshole.

Xian was a showman above all else. Ever commercial that Ferris-Chalmpersreleased went through him. On the side, Xian had even edited the recent Star Wars movies to be as perfect as the Reboot Magnum, a 7-hour affair encapsulating 1-9. It wasn't the best Star Wars movie of all time, but people ended their day-long viewing believing they'd seen a historical film. Xian's edit took up 10-16, making a 5-hour movie that flowed so well, people forgot how to grab things with their actual paws. He made the Force real. "It's that or a parlor trick," Kioga said, "Even did it earlier today. Told me how many turds I had in my colon and well ... how many did I have in the bathroom, today? When I wore my tighty-whities and shat them like a high school twerp?"

"Shat them like a high school twerp in a scat porno. Took all I had not to plow your shitty ass right there, and let my balls rest in that hot load." Patterson flinched as Kioga pulled his pack out of his diaper and lit yet another one. His diaper swelled in the front, a thick nine-inch sausage pushing out and curling down to stretch out the bottom. Were Pat any more hung, he'd be stretching the leak guards like a normal cock stretches the leg elastic of normal briefs. "No, thanks. I think it was four or five when it was all said and dumped."

"That's the number he told me. And the funny thing, I'd already messed that morning. Cozy diaper before work, I froze up while doing dishes and had to squat. God, they piled out of me. I humped my diaper against the sink until I came."

A lump formed in Pat's throat, and his cock pulsed against the bottom of his brief. He felt wind sneak past his balls, cooling swollen padding he didn't even know he had wet. The line between a wishful porno and a sedate, married reality was stretching like his leak guards.

"And he has a scar, you said?"

"Now he says it was makeup. Had the scar from his parents, who really, really wanted a fancy French girl."

"... why would he threaten to kill himself?" Pat asked, trying to force blood back to his brain. He was staring at Kioga the same way Lugo was staring at him: forbidden meat. Something to be stashed away in drawers, like a smoking or a drinking addiction, and hurriedly indulged in the dark behind the family house.

You chose all this, Pat, he told himself, you not only chose one spouse, but two, who do all the things that you want to do to Kioga right now. Like bend him over the railing in public, like that hot gryphon guy. Like plow him in the middle of a church after taking a big shit, like that smooth dragon guy. Stop it. Don't get greedy or gluttonous. Greed will have you betraying your friends. Gluttony will betray your heart. Be it a literal or spiritual heart attack, you will fail if you push it too far.

"I don't know. It's his choice," said Kioga, then looked down at Pat's predicament. He smirked. "And I don't know why I'm suddenly the hot one. Everyone's coming onto me except the man who broke my heart. But Jesus Christ, cutie."

The cheetah couldn't even get sensual, he was just amazed, stunned, and confused at Patterson's giant cock. "If that bulge was on the other side of you, I'd have taken it for the world's most impressive shit. I'd change you and steal it right out of your diaper, have it framed. Sell it to the Obstiph of Dia-Pai where he'd seal it in gold."

"Then you should really stop staring."

"Maybe it's some wacky Aesop's fable, or worse, a devil's pact, where you're blessed and cursed with such a wonderful burden. You really should be careful."

Pat sighed, then hugged Kioga. The cheetah froze, unused to such a feeling. "Thanks for being my rubber bumper."

Kioga smiled, then his lip twitched at the terminology, flashing him right back to his horrible night with Xian. "I ... I don't know how I became the mature one; God knows I'm never like this, but ... I'll do what I can. Want me to flick you in the balls?"

"Nah, just ... man, this is the grossest thing for me to ask," said Pat, standing back up, grabbing his coffee for something to hold onto. "But ... if you can save a marriage, save mine?"

Kioga felt his chest split and then cave in on itself. In the wake of his own failed relationship, people could scavenge all the parts of what he did wrong and use them for themselves. How opportunistic. How parasitical. But then a warmth surged through his torso, some of it leaking into his diaper, and he stood tall, his chest broader and rebuilt. "As my friend, of course," he said, then kissed Patterson on the cheek, not even minding when his wet, swollen diaper crinkled against Patterson's hard, tented one. "After all, I'm almost thirty. Time for me to be a wise, old mentor."

"That would be okay with me ... boomer."

They hugged tight, then began the act of squeezing each other just in case one of them had to go. The prank failed mutually. They parted, smiling, and Kioga pinched Patterson's cheek. "You come onto me again, I'm sneaking laxatives into your food for a week. And it'll be the whole cocktail, too: PassThru to make it real quick, then SoothBlurt to numb your intestines, so you won't know you're shitting until it's running down your legs. Then you'll really appreciate your husband and wife."

"But what if you're objectively better?"

Kioga chuckled, his voice going deep as he puffed on his third cigarette. He snapped his fingers at the waitress, who brought him a golden glass of whiskey and a fiber bagel. "We wouldn't be having this conversation if I were."

"But ... I want it all ..." said Pat.

Kioga kissed his nose. "You're a megalomaniac with a heart of gold. And you'll have it all, your palace, if you don't hop from build site to build site. What you want is not the tumult of volume: a thousand cocks will all look the same and yet the face, a wobbling mass of smoke and mucus. Nothing, no one! A cavalcade of cocks, a slurry of semen ... an afterglow leading into the chill of loneliness. There is no quality in quantity, love. Build your temple."

"But..."

Kioga whapped Pat on the nose.

"Settle down. And I mean that in both ways. I know you're married to your ideals. So: in your mental sickness and health," he said, tapping Pat's nose with each word, "You. Must. Stay. True."

"And why would ..." Pat drifted off, seeing a sharp black figure at the corner of the balcony, where a giggling sphere of ... coffee ... without a cup ... hovered above a thin, smooth lavender paw. "We'll have this conversation later."

Kioga gulped, grasping the rail to preserve his strength, which was oddly draining as fast as he could summon it. "N-no," the cheetah said with a grunt, a fart rasping into his diaper. The hiss of urine was audible to everyone in close proximity, with many of the executives knowingly smirking from their star actor's predicament. It sounded like piss on a plastic shower curtain, loud and percussive. "Shit, what did I drink. No, we're taping up this chapter. And if it ever overflows, we're changing and starting fresh again."Kioga gulped, grasping the rail to summon the last of his strength. A guttural rattle went south through him, and the hiss in his diaper

Patterson felt a gurgle inside him as well, and the air that snuck into his obscenely tented white diaper teased his tailhole and made it clench. The otter gasped as his bladder released and his cock erupted, audibly pissing for the gap in his leg guards, splashing back onto his balls.

"Wh-what the fuck," Patterson whispered, staring aghast, stupefied, as he watched his diaper swell up around his cock. Invariably, automatically, his paws wandered down to his crotch, bulging and round like a white football, and he bent over the nine extra inches to feel that stream spraying from the nozzle.

That hiss hitting plastic turned to a stream splashing against a puddle, and the horn stalks atop the strange lavender creature's head seemed to perk. With a smile, the keskin turned about, his suit as black as a negative. He seemed to hover over to the two that were flooding their exposed diapers, his purple eyes glittering with amusement as the males watched their padding grow round and heavy. The straps between their legs grew wide, pushing their thighs apart as they sagged downward, growing into basketballs, then beachballs, hanging heavier and heavier from their hips.

The CEO of Ferris-Chalmpers seemed to speak, but the males in their early and late twenties were too distracted to see if his mouth actually moved. In their periphery they saw a beautiful, smooth creature in a void-black suit, his head somewhat feline, somewhat reptilian, with no obvious nose or ears. Just those giraffe-like nubs atop his head, and two little slits for nostrils. A strong tail waved behind him, jingling with a platinum-chainmail sheath covering the foot-long tip. It was strange: the air itself had a light odor of fresh piss, like the bathroom of a busy bar. Nearby executives had a funny look of relief on their faces, even though they were standing still.

"Every Christmas, after the partying and carousing and after my family has gone to bed, I make it a priority to read over the biographies of all my employees. Tens of thousands: ever read War and Capitulation in a month? It gives the company a more personal feel, that I own, in some part, each and every one of you. By your own free will: we are beautifully capitalist."

Kioga and Patterson's heart fell into their diapers: their jobs couldn't be in more peril were they to give him a lap-dance while dropping logs. Perhaps he would like that. Their ears caught fire as the hissing turned to splattering, urine exceeding their diapers and drizzling down their thighs, onto their shoes and the fine stone tiled floor of the Executive Plane.

"It gives me a strange empathy, like a giant guardian dragon walking through his city, spreading its toes to avoid stepping on its citizens. Or ... making a couple of extra circles should it need to relieve itself. Life has many speeds, and I understand the little people who struggle to keep up with the dragons."

His tail waved behind him, but the otter and cheetah didn't quite notice, struggling to hold up the hips of their diapers as their leg guards trickled as freely as their cocks.

"But I won't chain you to a train that's going too fast," the keskin said, drawing the sphere of coffee close to his face and sipping from the surface.

In trying to adjust their diapers, their paws grew wet, which made their waistbands all the more slick. Patterson blushed as his slipped past the base of his cock, revealing the thick, fleshy shaft to his company's master. Kioga's fell to his knees, revealing the cat's entire pink tool, pissing and pissing into the swollen plastic basin.

The air then gained the strange presence of a savory fart, scores of different digested diets teasing their nose.

"My question to you, asked on your own behalf, is: do you deserve to be here? Do you think you'd ever be capable of ... handling the pressure?"

Patterson and Kioga's paws slipped at the same time, and the diapers fell to their ankles with a wet splat that sprayed up their calves and shins. Some even spurted on Mr. Pendrael's shoes, which he glanced upon with a quiet, amused raise of his eyebrows.

"L-look," Pat stammered, trying to hold the head of his organ. When his webbed paws seized it, he was rewarded by an insane sprinkler spray, like putting one's thumb on the end of a garden hose. "I'll just take a sick day. Get this fixed, y'know, we're allowed sick days!"

Kioga had, with the remaining shreds of his dignity, aimed his penis at the saturated padding between his ankles, trying to look as a continent person should, relieving himself in the restroom. Problem was, he was completely bottomless and not in front of a urinal. Rather, he was urinating in public, in a flooded diaper, and the loud splatters on the soaked gel were the only sound besides Patterson's splatters. The air seemed thick with scores of pungent, wet farts, and even though they had relieved themselves earlier that day, their bowels felt strangely full. Patterson looked at Kioga, Kioga at Patterson, and they heard each other's guts gurgle. Moist gas ripped from the otter's ass, causing him to drop the diaper, and as their streams tapered off, their socks soaked in their shoes, surrounded by large puddles of piss, the two males' ears went back as their bowels rumbled and their tails rose away from their rears.

"You don't need to find the 'right' words," said Pendrael, his shoes untouched as the lake of urine travelled under him, "as you already know them. You just need to arrange them in the correct order: that's as far as a 'magic code' flies with me. Can you handle ... the pressure?"

Kioga groaned as thick, heavy content pushed against his anus. Patterson clenched his teeth and hissed as his ring spread around a turd wide as his cock. It crowned between his butt cheeks, visible to everyone behind him.

"N-no," stammered Kioga, then with a jolt he moaned and fell forward. Patterson caught him, and like his dream Kioga locked his paws around the top of the otter's forearms. Patterson responded in kind, grasping Kioga's, and the two watched each other's pupils dilate in perfect sync with their anuses. With poots and blats erupting from their rear ends, muffled by content piled thick against their exits, the two began their bathroom ritual in tandom.

Squatting over their flopped, soaked diapers resting in their lakes of piss, the otter and cheetah openly defecated before the chiefs, officers, and presidents of their multibillion dollar company, recreating a thousand and one commercials that F-C had run on increasingly public TV channels. Patterson thought, his face clenching as much as his rear unclenched, his thighs trembling as a long cable of thick, moist, fragrant feces poured out of his asshole, curling and curling and curling between his heels, that should this trend continue, Fortnight and the rest of his friends would be openly wearing diapers in high-school.

"This is," grunted Kioga, a loud, rattling fart cutting off one log and then pushing out another, "a lot of pressure to handle, sir."

As he glanced beneath the cute, trembling sac of cheetah maleness, Patterson noted that the long, slender turds falling out of Kioga's asshole were patchy in their shades, and light mixed with dark. Wet mixed with hard, with some of the blackest of patches having a strange violet hue.

"Food in, product out," said Mr. Pendrael, "And as we focus the product, the pressure increases."

As the keskin spoke, Patterson and Kioga gasped, half-screaming as they passed turds as thick as their wrists. Both males stared beneath the other's sac, watching an impossible rope of stool coil and coil beneath them until it met with their anus, causing both of them to stand. They embraced as they pushed another foot out ... but since they were standing, it smeared against their cheeks and tumbled down their legs and calves. Both of them winced as they shit on themselves.

"The pressure and the weight increases, all the while our outreach, our profits, turn right back around and create more volume, redoubling the pressure, the weight, until we're shitting diamonds."

Patterson and Kioga yelped.

Mr. Pendrael frowned, then lifted his paw into the air, two fingers up, then spread them. The waitress from earlier, her skirt swishing above her diaper, was joined by a crew of five others who promptly began mopping up their urine, rolling up the soiled padding, and with two snow shovels, scooped up two piles of multi-shade shit that, in Patterson's estimation, had to be four pounds apiece ... and perhaps the entire volume of their large intestines.

If he had a colostomy, the otter would have been using a garbage bag.

The keskin sipped on his sphere of coffee. "And this is the threshold we slowly approach. Shitting diamonds is not possible to even the most adamantine of anuses, thus you see the dangerous pressure that F-C plays with, especially at its higher levels. Think of an inverted pyramid, the whole thing filled with ... " his nostril pulsed. "product. And the tip--at the bottom--is the aperture through which we have to deliver it. Could you handle that pressure?"

As a waitress ran by, Mr. Pendrael grabbed a wet wipe from her tray, then reached behind himself, under his jacket, into his trousers, and wiped under his tail. Patterson saw several other executives doing the same and he knew exactly what had happened.

Kioga and Patterson shared funny looks as a topless wolf lady and ... a cat with his penis hooked to a pissbag ... mutually cleaned their rear ends. The twitches and inflections on each others' face told them exactly when fingers breached them, giving the insides a good wipe.

"I think we did an okay job," grunted Patterson as his long, flaccid cock wobbled in the skunk's paw, wiped up and down until it was tan and shiny.

"Quite the thrill, really," said Kioga, his eyes wide as the cat put a wet rag on the end of a flexible wire rod and slid it up him. And up. And up. "Geez, trying to take a DNA sample?"

"I'm sure there's a few in you," said Pendrael.

Their audience vibrated with polite laughter, but the keskin didn't so much as smile. Patterson tried to keep his eyes on him, to see if his lips actually moved, but whenever he spoke, the otter was occupied.

"So is there a constipa... compensation package for all this?" asked Kioga, and Patterson watched as the cheetah's breast pocket grew thorns.

"I was just seeing if you were worthy to be here, outside the selfish sacrifice of an old friend of yours," said Pendrael.

Kioga's breast pocket exploded, ripping off his shirt as splinters flew through the air, forming a bowl beneath Pendrael's coffee sphere. The liquid lost its shape, and reformed in the new vessel beneath it. Patterson watched in wonder, and didn't realize that the wolf had dried him, powdered him, and diapered him until he stood up and crinkled.

"Don't you mean selfless?" asked Patterson.

Pendrael stared at him and the words came promptly into the otter's head.

Selfish because Frederick M. Kracken is on the prowl for the most dangerous lover.

Kioga stood, cracking his back, crinkling in the new diaper that had appeared around his waist. Both he and the otter were outfitted in beautiful, semi-glossy briefs of a silvery-lavender hue. "Wow. And here I was thinking it was just fat executives smoking cigars and buying child prostitutes for politicians."

"Those are Tuesdays."

Kioga and Pat froze, staring at Pendrael. The keskin didn't blink or smirk. The otter and cheetah stood in place, perfectly clean and energized, but suddenly cold. They looked to Prometheus Pendrael for answers, but he just stood there, his feet planted on the ground, his coffee in an artisan cedar bowl perched atop his smooth, alien grayish-purple fingers. His tail hovered behind him, the tip sheathed in shimmering platinum mail.

"Well, um, thanks for the interview," said Kioga, patting his exploded shirt pocket, touching his nipple, then recovering his pens from the stone floor. He fumbled around for his cigarettes, and found the pack rolled up in his shirt sleeve. "We ... both appreciate your time and happily await your response."

A paw came out and touched Patterson's shoulder. The otter leaped, farting nothing but clean air into his shiny silver diaper. Kioga and the keskin watched the poor boy recover himself and awkwardly straighten his tie. Pendrael sent his coffee away with the wolf waitress; Patterson noticed her breasts were smaller than Susan's and mentally chalked that up as a win. Perhaps he was just a lusty young man: good thing he had two spouses to milk him dry.

The CEO of Ferris-Chalmpers watched him, and Patterson puffed out his chest. If Pendrael had read his thoughts: great. He was finally thinking some pure ones. Prociev put a paw on both Kioga and Patterson's shoulders. He smiled, and speaking with a mouth of straight, white teeth, he said,

"I'm glad both of you are here."

"Does this mean we get a raise?" Patterson blurted.

Kioga glared at him, but secretly was glad there was another hothead in the company. Meant someone else could make all his mistakes for him. Prociev chuckled, which extended to a full-mouth grin and a throaty laugh. The entire time, the keskin didn't break eye contact--in fact, to each of the males, it seemed he was staring directly at him with both eyes. Both of the boys were glad there wasn't an ounce of waste in them. "That depends on one thing," Mr. Pendrael finally said. "Can..."

"No, we can't," said Patterson.

"Too bad; you're promoted anyway. Now get back to work; you start next week."

The cheetah grinned at the CEO, and seized his hand and shook it until he was sure the keskin would file charges. "Thank you so much, sir, you don't know what this means to us!" he said, then grabbed Patterson by the shoulders and pushed him, dragging him off the Executive Plane.

"We made it, Patterson! We're gonna have sexy secretaries, extramarital affairs--at least I will, you fucking prude--big cars, fancy houses, hahaha, people will be protesting us on the streets! Someone's gonna dredge up my Twatter and call me homotransarachnocoulrophobic and how many women did I rape? Oh man. I get to be a bad guy on the fake news. Maybe I should run for President. What if they discover my diaper fetish; I'm done for ... But you asshole, you fucking asshole!"

"Me?!" said Patterson as they excited into the lobby. "What the fuck did I do?"

"You got me the job! We are fucked! This is going to be hard work; we're going to be at board meetings and reading financial reports and there will be decisions that will determine the future of the company and I'm not ready for real responsibility! And what if the executives use us as a magic toilet again?"

"What?" asked Patterson, his nose wrinkling. "What was that last part? Magic ... toilet?"

"Oh fuck off! We were shitting like we were fucking dinosaurs. There were huge piles; we were squatting and it actually touched our assholes."

The otter's eyes darted back and forth, and he shook his head. "I dunno what you're talking about," said, rocking on his feet, putting his paws on his hips. "We just went out there bottomless; it's cool at a company that sells diapers and diaper advertisements."

The cheetah's ears lowered. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean, what are you talking about; that's a weird fever dream," laughed Patterson. "Look: you're only slightly soiled."

The otter tried to reach around Kioga to pat his tiny lump, but the cheetah retracted his claws before he smacked that paw away. The cheetah looked down and saw their diapers were white. He patted his shirt pocket, and it was complete. Inside, there was a wooden card with his name embossed on it.

"I ... don't know ... what is going ..."

At that point, Mr. Pendrael came through the doors with a squad of executives and Kioga stopped him cold. The executives crowded around the two young, diapered males, looking like secret service agents ready to subdue them.

"Mr. Pendrael! Mr. Pendrael," said Kioga, sweat moistening his brow, urine moistening his diaper, "One quick question."

"I said you got the job. Don't make me regret it and promote you to the Board. Or as we call it, the Eighth Circle of Hell."

"You're very twisted and funny, sir. Very twisted. Very funny ..." the cheetah said, and blushed as he felt a turd slide out of him, resting beneath his buttcheeks, in his padding. "Anyway, did Fred Kracken shoot his eye out with a one-caliber rifle? Is there such a gun, and ... does he have a cybernetic eye?"

The CEO's eyes seemed to flicker, his short, smooth muzzle contorting into a smirk.

"That's a nasty rumor, don't you think?"