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Day 1: Micro/Macro

Today, a female elephant was happily plodding over to the corner of her enclosure where she always relieved herself, when she was startled by a sudden movement. A little mouse had decided to help herself to some of the leftover grain from the feeding troth. She scurried out into the open with her cheeks stuffed full of seeds. But elephants, as everyone should know, are terrified of mice.

“YEEEEEEK!" the elephant trumpeted at an astonishingly high note that would have made Louis Armstrong jealous. The mouse, who was just as frightened since she wasn't expecting the massive animal to be there, squeaked in terror and scurried behind the elephant so she wouldn't be stomped on if the panicked pachyderm tried to run.

But this was a terrible, tragic mistake. The elephant had been happily painting away at a giant easel all day, taking breaks to consume gargantuan volumes of water but being so engrossed in her artwork that she ignored her bladder until it was almost too late. She was bursting, and being scared made her lose control of her bladder and stumble backward. The silly mouse scampered right into the path of a sudden waterfall! “Oh no!" she squeaked, and stopped in her tracks. The seeds dribbled out of her cheeks, and she wet herself too in sheer terror of the wall of yellow liquid plunging down at her. But nobody but her noticed, since she was immediately drenched.

The elephant's knees knocked together. “Oh dear!" she trumpeted mournfully. “I can't stop! That stupid mouse! Everyone will think I've peed myself for no reason!" gallon after gallon of pent-up pachyderm piss cascading from her privates with the force of the Nile cataracts, blasting the packed dirt of the zoo enclosure into a foaming, muddy lake that got wider and wider, and deeper and deeper. “Where did it go, anyway?" she wondered, scratching her forehead with her trunk. “Oh well." Meanwhile the poor mouse splashed and choked, paddling helplessly in the swirling whirlpool. Her tiny paws couldn't even touch bottom, and the salty pee stung her eyes so badly she was blinded. The current carried her around in circles, and every time she went under the roaring waterfall of elephant urine she was pushed under. Only by clinging to a little stick that was swapped into the yellow lake was she saved from drowning.

The elephant peed, and peed, and peed. She peed for so long that zoo guests who started out laughing at her and filming her accident to put on FaceBook got bored and went to look at other animals. And it felt even longer to the poor mouse. By the time the thundering torrent stopped, she was almost drowned. She was too tired to swim, and she'd swallowed so much of the foul, salty liquid that her bloated stomach was weighing her down.

“Kif! Kif! Help!" she squeaked. “Somebody!" She clung to the stick, which was now spinning slower and slower in the middle of the huge lake of pee. Her grip got weaker, but just as she was about to slip away, something lifted her free of the nasty liquid and set her down. She coughed, and puked up a stomachful of urine, then lay there gasping for foul, musk-scented air.

The elephant looked down at her. “Sorry, little mouse. I didn't know you were back there. Wait – mouse? EEEEEEEK!" she was scared all over again. She stumbled back and sat down in the deep pee puddle with a tremendous splash. “Oops."

The two animals stared at each other. “You - you saved me!" gasped the mouse. “Wait! You peed on me! You almost drowned me!"

“Well, it was your fault for scaring me!" bellowed the elephant. “You know I'm frightened of mice! I could never go near you without..." she stared at the mouse, then at her own trunk, which was dripping with yellow liquid. “Wait, I touched you didn't I. And I put my trunk in my own pee. Eww..."

The two animals blushed.

“Sorry," said the mouse.

“I'm sorry too," said the elephant. “I guess I faced my fears and they weren't so bad after all. This smell and taste, on the other tusk..." She went to the wading pool and washed her trunk thoroughly, then did her best to spray her rump and hindquarters down as well. She looked back at the dripping, sopping mouse. “I can wash you off too if you want."

The mouse imagined being blasted off her feet by a jet of pressurized snot-water from the elephant's trunk. “No thanks. I'll find somewhere else to get clean."

But instead of washing herself off, the mouse found a nice cozy burrow and masturbated with her paws and tail. For some reason being nearly drowned in smelly elephant pee had made her feel all funny inside.

Tomorrow, she thought, maybe she'd ask her new friend to pee on her again.

Day 2: Roleplay

Today, Laila the fennec vixen and her human boyfriend Eric played D&D over Discord with some friends from a fetish forum.

“You've successfully defeated the Inflationist cult of Bal' Lun, and retrieved several powerful magical items, including the Armor of Absorbency, the Tiara of Regression, and a Codpiece of +3 Virility. Today, your travels continue," Eric said. “Your party makes its way down from the hills of Ozark and across the plains. You find a source of clean water early in the day and drink your fill, but that presents problems after a couple hours. You're all feeling the need to make a rest stop, but the land is flat, endless prairie as far as the horizon stretches. There isn't a tree, bush, or rock outcropping in sight that could afford you any privacy. Everyone needs to make a Constitution save."

“18!" announced Kurgarth the Minotaur Barbarian.

“Despite all the ale you drank last night when you celebrated your victory, you're feeling fine. Well hydrated, but fine."

“14," said Rainbow In the Dark, the Tabaxi wizard. The group hadn't named their characters very seriously.

“You're doing fine too. You have to pee, but it's not urgent."

Laila rolled her die. “Damnit. 7."

Zerdissa, the fennec-kitsune rogue, had hydrated a little too well for her own good. Now she began to cross her legs as the party trudged across the endless grassland.

“You know, I am shorter than everyone else. Maybe there's some really long grass somewhere?"

“Make a survival check."

“12."

“It's all pretty short, maybe six inches high tops. Definitely not enough to conceal you even with a good Stealth check."

“Fine, I'll keep holding it." Laila took another generous swig of her Gatorade. She'd been pre-gaming for a two hours to help her get into character, and she was feeling it.

Every hour of travel, the constitution saves got harder as the characters grew more and more desperate. They were playing this by the rules, after all. Not the official rules, rather something Eric had found on Reddit and tweaked a little, but rules nonetheless, and there was no hope of the DM's Girlfriend effect saving Laila, or her character: not when Eric would be all too happy for her to piss herself.

“Boy, I'm really glad I picked out that Armor of Absorbency!" boasted Quellenworth, the ratfolk paladin. “I can't tell you how relaxed I feel!"

“How many times have you used it today?" asked Rainbow.

“Three I think."

“Then it has a 50% chance of leaking next time," the Tabaxi said with a smirk. “It's simple mathematics."

“Haven't you been cleaning it with Pressitigion?"

“One, it's Prestidigitation, two, the item description says it can't be cleaned by magical means to restore the padding, and three, even if it worked that way I'm not changing your diapers, by magic or otherwise."

Eventually, Kurgarth failed his third saving throw. That meant he had to relieve himself quickly, because another failure would result in soggy shorts.

“Well, since there's no cover I'll just whip it out and ask everyone to look away," the Barbarian declared. Everyone on the call giggled.

“Do you look away?" Eric asked.

“Nope."

“Nah."

“He kind of mumbled it, so no."

“Hey, Rainbowkitty, can you conjure an illusion of a bush or something?"

With the insubstantial shrub in place (which the rest of the party either succeeded on their checks to see through or snuck around to the other side of), Kurgarth announced: “Well then, I'm going to piss."

“Okay," said Eric, “Make a Nature check."

“A nature check? There's no poison ivy here, is there?"

“No, but thanks for the idea. Roll it and you might find out."

“Okay... 3."

“Is that a natural one?"

“Yes."

“Okay: there's a stiff breeze blowing, and you are pissing upwind!" Eric announced, causing the table to fall into hysterics. “It blows back alll over your legs, and – wait, Laila, you said you snuck around the bush to peek, right? Where are you?"

“Over here."

“Make a dexterity save."

Laila fervently wished she'd failed that particular saving throw. Or the Constitution save to avoid losing control during her evasive cartwheel, but the description of the Minotaur's fire hose of a stream spraying back against his toned legs and hooves still made her heart race with excitement. Quellenworth soon leaked, and Rainbow fumbled her dexterity check while attempting to empty her bladder into a series of potion bottles and soaked her hand and robes, leaving Zerdissa as the last dry member of the party.

“You can see the faint outlines of a forest in the distance, but it's at least an hour's walk. Zerdissa, one more constitution save to see if you make it."

“Thirteen."

It wasn't good enough. The kitsune's legs trembled and quivered as she felt her bladder reach its limit. A small leak dampened her underclothes. Laila listened with bated breath. Fuck, she had to go so, soooo badly in real life too! If she peed in the game... yeah, she'd be mopping afterward, but who cared?

“Since you're a Rogue, your reflexes may yet save you. Make a dexterity save to see if you can pull your pants down in time."

Laila's paw shook as she rolled the die. Either her character would have to disrobe in a panic and unleash a noisy torrent of piss right there on the dirt track in front of her companions, or wet herself under the same humiliating circumstances.

“...5."

She could hear him smirk over the call. “Well, you know, your leather armor might be easy to do acrobatic stunts in, but it's not easy to take off in a hurry. All those buckles and drawstrings. You fumble with them, and almost make it in time, but just as you're about to undo the last buckle..." There was a mouse click over the mic, and a sound effect of water rushing. Laila panted, and rubbed her crotch through her sweatpants.

At last, as night fell, the four soggy adventurers made it to the forest.

“As you draw closer, you can see that the trees have an oddly yellowish hue," Eric described. “And, standing on the path ahead of you is a short, bearded man in robes and a pointy hat."

“Wait a minute," said Quellenworth. “What color are the robes?"

“Yellow. Vibrant, garish yellow."

Pandemonium in the Discord call. “Nooo!" “Oh, fuck you!" “Don't you dare!"

“Welcome, brave travelers, to the Enchanted Piss Forest!" the DM monologued in an absurd squeaky voice.

“Noooooooooooo!"

“I, the Whizzard, have created these wee wee woods!"

“Wee Wee Woods? Oh my God, you've made it worse!"

“Dare you enter my Magical Realm?"

“Mother fucker!" bellowed Kurgarth.

“Were you waiting a whole hour to do this?" Rainbow giggled uncontrollably.

“I can't believe you've done this!" said Quellenworth.

“Eric! Goddamnit! I will literally pee on you! Out of character!" Laila's sides hurt from laughing so hard. Not quite literally. She'd decided to try not to pee on her chair or the floor, and refilled one of her empty gatorade bottles instead, but her bladder was too much for it, and she'd spilled all over her hands, then pulled her panties and sweats back up and flooded them. She was sitting in a warm puddle right now, with the brimming bottle right there on the table next to her.

“Do it!" said Kurgarth. “Uh oh! Eric, turn your webcam on!"

And so began the party's adventure in the Enchanted Piss Forest, a treacherous and ammonia-smelling land. They would face natural hazards like bubbling brooks running with golden liquid that constantly reminded them of the urge to empty their bladders, many dangerous monsters bent on marking any intruders to their territory with their scent, and traps like rope snares that snatched unwary adventurers into the air and dangled them upside-down while vines tickled them until they peed themselves. But right now, the one in peril was the DM.

“Uh oh," Eric said as the door creaked open. “Laila? Oh my God, you can't pee on me, you're already – wait. That isn't Lemon Lime, is it? Hang on, careful of the Dungeon Master's guide! Help, I'm being sneak attacked! Aaaaaarrgh!"

“Man, I've gotta get my boyfriend to join our campaign," said Quellenworth's player.

“Yeah," said Rainbow. “I wish I'd filled my potion bottles in real life. Listening to that's making me thirsty."

Day 3: Bukkake

Today, a silly goat found herself in a very sticky situation on the farm when she jumped the fence into a paddock full of over a dozen horny and very pent-up stallions.

“Oh, hello, boys..." she said, batting her ovine eyelashes as one of the horses noticed her presence. “It seems I've wandered into the wrong pen by accident. You fellas wouldn't happen to know the way out, would you?"

“It's literally just over that fence," said a studly Bay thoroughbred.

“That fence there?" The goat turned around, swaying her hips from side to side. “Oh dear, but that looks quite high. I couldn't possibly jump over that all by myself."

“Didn't you get in here that way?"

The goat crouched with her rump high in the air, wagged it from side to side right in front of the stallions, and made an exaggerated display of failing to leap. She made it about six inches in the air, then her limbs when rigid and she toppled onto her side. “Oh, whoopsie!"

“I didn't know you were a fainting goat!" said a palomino.

“She isn't." The Bay rolled his eyes.

“It looks like I'm stuck in here with you until the farmer comes back," the goat wobbled to her feet, and ambled around the paddock with her tail held high. “It would be such a shame if something... untoward were to happen to me. I'm just a supple little doe goat, much too small for big strong steeds like you... but I know you haven't plowed a field in a long time."

The stallion whinnied in flusterment. She was right. None of them had. There was a mare in heat several paddocks over who'd been teasing them for weeks, too, and it was driving them mad. Oh, sure, there'd been a few BroJobs among the bachelor herd, but it was kind of embarrassing because they couldn't avoid each other in here like Bro Code demanded, and it made for awkward water troth conversation when you had to point out that your penmate still had a little jizz in his mane.

“I know I'm too small to satisfy like a real mare, but... wait, are your eyes wandering? My eyes are up here? How dare you stare at my doehood? Oh, I'm so embarrassed..." The flagrant female bent over and covered her eyes with her hooves, but kept her rear as elevated as ever, further flaunting her assets. The two horses looked at each other with some disgust. Clearly the only one embarrassed around here was them.

“Oh my God, shut up!" Neighed the Bay, giving a resounding Nay to the goat's obnoxious display. Try as he might to hide it, he wanted her badly. He couldn't look away from her backside, and he was dripping pre. “If you want us to fuck you, just say it! There's no need for all the theatrics!"

“Yeah! You do this every time you go into heat!" said a dapper dappled draft horse.

The goat sighed. The stallions were closing in around her, their nostrils flaring. “It seems I have no choice," she said as the first of them approached her, sniffing her genitals. She turned around and returned the favor, walking underneath him. “Oh my, what an enormous cock you have!" she crooned, lightly butting his sheath with her forehead and stroking her little nub horns along it. “Your girth is far too much for my tight little Gucchi Gussy to take, so please, just rub against my back."

The stallion groaned. “Please don't call it a Gucchi Gussy ever again," he said. “That's really cringe."

“Yeah, come on. That kinda killed my boner," said the next one in line. “Never mind, it's back. A hole is a hole, I guess."

Nevertheless, the stallion quivered as the goat wiggled her rump back and forth against his sheath. His shaft slowly slid free, and he crouched, thrusting and bumping her Gucchi Gussy with his broad tip. The goat giggled and bucked up and down, wiping the pre that was leaking from his dong across her furry rump. He mounted her like a breeding stool, sliding his length rhythmically up and down her back. From buttocks to shoulders he slid, then back, then forth again.

After about five minutes, and several more extremely tasteless and dirty remarks from the goat, the stallion came. But a horse orgasm is a messy affair if not properly contained, due to the sheer volume of stallion spooge a single stud can produce, especially after such prolonged teasing. The quarter horse blew his load like a bazooka, spurting sticky streamers of semen all over the doe's back, draining his balls with each thrust pumping more and more liquid out of him.

He stepped away, leaving in his wake a glazed goat. Her back and tail were covered in generous spatterings of horse cum, and it was dripping down her flank. “Well?" She flagged her tail again. “Who's up for some sloppy seconds?"

The second and third stallions further added to the disreputable state of the goat's hide. Their ropy projectiles splashed even her head, and left listening strands and beads dripping and dangling from her ears and horns.

The fourth, a shy painted pony, was able to enter the confines of her goatly grotto, but his load was just as prodigous as his friends', filling her and leaving the gasp gasping and dribbling semen down her legs. For the fifth, a big clydesdale, she turned around and nuzzled his immense schlong. “You know," she remarked sultrily, “Us goats will eat anything."

To proof her pointed, she licked and nibbled all over his sweaty balls and smegma-ridden sausage. “Wait, these aren't my glasses," she joked, then was silenced by a mouthful of horse cock. Within minutes, she was gulping down hot, slimy spunk, but it was too much even for her to choke down all at once. She pulled back, and caught another white pulse across her muzzle and forehead.

Yes, she was soon a very gooey goat. Soon she was servicing the stallions in pairs, then riding bareback on one while another humped her head. But she still wanted more. She was such a mess now that even the horses who could fit inside her could only find the hole by trial and error (and it wasn't always the right one, not that she minded that). The stallions' bellies and legs were spattered with spunk ready for her to lick off. Every inch of her coat was matted and caked with such an obscenely thick layer of cum that she must have gained five pounds with all that was on her (and another five with what was inside her). She was dripping, oozing, and leaking creamy white liquid profusely from beneath her tail. Her hooves squelched as she pranced around in the slippery puddle. One of her eyes was glued shut, and her nose was congested with cum too. She slurped it from her nose like snot. Which wasn't a very dignified thing to eat either, but nothing about her was dignified. It was a truly unspeakable tableau of barnyard bukkake.

But things weren't over just yet for her, oh no. One of the stallion's took his place mounting her back, but instead of the slow dribble of pre, a much more robust stream of liquid began to flow from his member. SSSssss...

“Oh, myyy..." gurgled the goat. “Is that a waterfall on my back, or are you just happy to see me?"

“I'm sorry," whined the stallion. “I can't get it up anymore, you've made me go four rounds, and I told you I had to pee! I'm not coming, I'm going..."

“Holy shit, dude, are you peeing on her? That's gross."

“That's nasty."

“Hey, I think she likes it!"

“That's it, boys..." The goat's limbs shook and locked up. She wasn't faking it now: she'd been railed so much that her legs were exhausted. “Let it all out on me. I don't care if it's white or yellow, if it comes out of your cocks, I'll bathe in it!"

“Wow..." a chestnut quarterhorse's nose began to bleed. “That's kinda hot."

A horse, of course, can easily hold over a gallon of urine: and even more for a big studly stallion. And they'd been going for hours, chugging massive amounts of water to stay hydrated and not getting any potty breaks due to the goat's insatiable appetite for horsemeat. There was now a long line for the herd's new urinal. No sooner had one stallion emptied himself all over her back then another bowled her over and pinned her beneath an iron-shod hoof while he sighed in relief and unleashed a torrent onto her udder and belly. The goat writhed and wallowed in the growing puddle.

A third nutted in her mouth, but she kept sucking until he lost control, spreading his legs and letting go of a foaming river of warm, salty horse piss. “Uglgglbbl!" She bleated, pawing and splashing at the muddied ground of the paddock. “Drglgowglbbliinglglug!"

“You're drowning?" He whinnied in alarm and pulled back. “Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" He tried to pinch off the flow, but his horsey hose continued to spurt goats of steaming fluid over her forehead. He looked down between his legs and saw an upside-down, sopping goat pussy and anus.

“I said drown me, you idiot!" she spluttered. “Don't stop! Baaaahhhglglblglbl!"

The pony from before was next up. With a bit of rubbing and licking, she got him just hard enough for his dong to schlorp into her pussy before he released his own flood.

“Bleehhhh!" she gasped. “Oh, God! Piss like you've just run the Kentucky Derby!"

“Stop making puns," he said. With a strength he didn't know he possessed, he put a firm hoof on her shoulders and pushed her head down into the deep puddle.

“Make her drink," said a larger stallion.

“You don't have to make me." The goat was already lapping at the foul mixture of mud, cum, and urine, pressing her muzzle into it and blowing bubbles. “Push me down in the gutter where I belong. Yeah..." She collapsed onto her side, letting the rest of the pony's bladder drain over her sodden body. “Tread me into the muck."

Massive, shaggy hooves splashed in the muddy lake. “You're all dirty," the clydesdale said with a grin. “Don't you want a shower?"

The goat was on her feet at once, adoringly slurping at the end of his shaft. “Not yet," she crooned. “Drown me."

“Are you sure? I once filled a whole five gallon bucket, and I have to go worse now than I did then!"

The garulous goat's heart skipped with a perverted thrill. “Five gallons?" she garbled. “I wish there was a wading pool in here!" Her hindquarters trembled. Urine was pouring down her legs: not from her own bladder, which she was still holding onto even though it was desperately full, but her last lover's piss draining from her stretched vagina. It bubbled and gurgled sloppily. “Ohh... you could drown a mare in that much. It's too much for a poor little goat like me... but I'll drink all I can, big boy."

“I know you will," said the stallion, who had experienced what it was like when this goat was in one of her moods before. “Drink it all or drown, you dirty little slut."

He unleashed the Niagara Falls of horse piss streams, blasting the poor goat with a pressurized torrent from his shaft. It splashed all over his forelegs, but he didn't mind. And neither did the goat.

“Hegglglbp!" she bleated. “Bleghhgblglbl! I'blb drowglblgnglgnng agglgblblgl!" She gulped down mouthful after mouthful of hot, salty, musky, horsey tasting liquid, but it just wouldn't stop. She pressed her maw around his uretha, forcing jets out it out her nose, and stayed there while he pressure-washed her sinuses until her lungs burned. He tapped his shod hoof against her rump, which with his size and strength was a powerful spanking. “Glughhhh!" she bleated, gagging and spitting. He was still cascading over her forehead and back. More! She wanted more! More in her maw, more down her throat. “Ohggllrglgl Noohhhgblgglblblglk! All she could smell, or taste, was his dirty maleness.

“Glgglblgbl! You... you drowned me!" panted the goat when he was finally done. “How could you do this to a sweet innocent little goat like me? Oh fuck, I'm soaking!"

“Jeez, she really never shuts up unless she has a dick in her mouth, does she?" commented a stallion.

Soon the entire herd had emptied their bladders into and onto her. The ground was churned into an ankle-deep quagmire of dirty and equine fluids by their hooves. She was wallowing in it, rolling and writhing in the mess and being pressed into it by their weight as they trod on her. She staggered to her feet. She was so tired. So unbelievably tired and messy and stinky. But she raised her tail again. She wouldn't quite until every last stallion was spent. She couldn't talk anymore, only let out needy bleats, begging for more. They'd had a bit of time to rest now, and her first suitor pumped out what seemed like a gallon of spooge, freshly glazing her mud-caked, piss-soaked body.

“Yeah... that's it, baby." She slurped the goopy leftovers from his schlong. “Next... come on. I wanna drown in your cum too."

They nearly did drown her. Overwhelmingly profuse sperm soup filled her ears, gooped her eyes shot, and clogged her nose so badly that no matter how much she sneezed out more kept leaking from her sinuses. Her vagina and anus were perpetually dripping and leaking enough spunk to breed every mare in the county.

She took one final load, and one very gooey, grimy, sticky, stinky, filthy, and very satisfied goat fainted for real. She collapsed into the puddle of sexual nastiness. She was blinded, deafened, her nose and taste buds saturated with the slightly salty flavor of cum and piss. She bleated helplessly, gurgling and blowing thick, sloppy bubbles in the congealed spooge that still filled her mouth. She brought one sticky hoof to her pussy. Ohh... it was so ruined by all the massive horse cocks. What a horrible fate for a silly little goat like her.

Her loins bucked and quiver, and her own severely bloated bladder gave up with the first spasm of her climax. It was the fifth time she'd pissed herself, since the massive amounts of horse urine she'd chugged were going right through her. But the relief felt just as good. A yellow fountain bubbled and spurted out of her, endlessly draining her and mixing with the warm, sloppy puddle where she lay.

“Blck!" she gurgled, then spat out cum. “Bleh-eh-eh-ech! Oh man, I'm gonna be so sore in the morning!"

“So are we!" groaned the Bay stallion.

“Thanks for a good time, boys." She staggered to her feet and out of the puddle, looked at the fence, and peed for another solid minute. “I... I don't think I can make it over the fence again, for real. Do you think one of you fellas could give me a boost?"

“I don't think I can stand up right now."

“Are you sure? I can... make it up to you!"

Despite his soreness and better judgement, the stallion agreed, and splattered the goat with one more round of cum. As he lifted her up, a stream of warm urine dribbled onto his back. She nearly toppled off him and back over the fence, and tottered away across the farmyard to greet the farmer's truck.

“Hello," she said in the wrong direction, since her eyes were nearly glued shut with crusted spooge. “Guess who needs a shower? And a massage."

“Dagnabbit Priscilla. Not again! You've been in the horse paddock, haven't you?"

“Don't be so upset," she bleated, spreading her legs and letting another copious golden waterfall soak the dirt. “At least I wasn't in the pigsty this time."

Day 4: Teratophilia

Tonight, you're camped out in the middle of the woods, hunting for monsters. You're an amateur cryptozoologist, always researching rumors, tying string between photos pinned to a cork board with thumbtacks, and venturing into the wilderness in search of footage to post on your YouTube channel. You've never had a real sighting yet, but tonight is different. You're on the trail of the elusive Chupachimera. Locals say the beast has been in the area for years: killing ranchers' livestock, stashing deer carcasses in trees and under people's decks, and disturbing the peace with its eerie screams. According to rumors and blurry photos, it's a vaguely feline-shaped beast the size of a cougar, and ghostly white in color. Which might just be a cougar with albinism. Even you were starting to think that, until last night, when your efforts finally paid off.

You have clawed footprints that can't be a bear, mountain lion, or wolf. You have mysterious claw marks on trees with a pungent, musky odor. You have recorded calls. And you have a sighting on one of your camera traps: blurry since the lens got wet with rain, but it doesn't look like a cougar to you. Or rather, she doesn't. It investigated the camera and marked its territory on it, giving a view that looked like it was probably female.

It's 2 AM, and you're sitting in your small camper trailer, staring at a laptop screen, waiting. You've been playing back recorded calls to draw the creature near, which the neighbors probably hate, hoping for a firsthand sighting. You've also been chugging coffee and energy drinks all night to stay alert, and water to stay hydrated. As a result, you need to pee, and badly, but there's no toilet in the camper. You've been crossing your legs and fidgeting for hours, not wanting to leave the cameras to relieve yourself and risk missing anything. Or being attacked in the middle of the night.

Finally you can put the call of nature on voicemail no longer. You get up, clad in just your long johns, and leave the safety of the camper with a headlamp. The woods are so eerie at night: your light only goes a few paces (never trust Dollar Store camping equipment), and casts a blue-white pallor on the tree trunks and underbrush. You weave through the foliage, hoping you don't stumble into any poison ivy.

There's a bestial scream. You freeze, almost jumping out of your jammies. That scared you so bad you almost pissed yourself. Silly. Getting scared by your own recording.

Wait: was that your recording? You're not so sure. It sounded subtly different, but you've heard it so many times from inside the camper that maybe it sounds weird from the outside. You keep walking, watching and listening carefully.

A twig snaps somewhere, a leaf rustles. You spin around, pulling your phone out in hopes that you can at least record your demise and end up on a found footage compilation. But there's nothing, anywhere you look. Must have been a raccoon or something. And your bladder is really aching. You can't delay any longer.

You find a bush that you're certain isn't poison ivy, and unbutton your pajamas. But just as you're taking aim, there's a blur of movement. A ghostly white form, coming up to mid thigh on you, darts out of the undergrowth right in front of you with a guttural snarl.

Another high pitched scream echoes through the dark woods. This time you know it's not the recording, because it's your own. You shriek in abject terror. The animal that's just ambushed you is no cougar. That would be dangerous enough to meet up close on a dark night, but this is even more intimidating. Vaguely feline, yes, but with long, gangly limbs and feet with long, clawed toes more raccoonish than feline. The skull is longer too, with pointed fangs, large, triangular, batlike ears, and massive crimson eyes. Its body is thin and bony, with ribs and vertebrae protruding, and is almost naked, with only thin, wispy fur and a few courser patches on the joints. Its skin is indeed pale, so pale that bones might be showing through. Your mind takes in all these details, but at the same time you're paralyzed with fear, as anyone would be encountering a large predator in its natural habitat.

It's a good thing the Chupachimera lunged for you right as you'd just unbuttoned, because you're so scared you'd have peed your long johns if your dick wasn't already out. It's not so fortunate for the creature, because it's standing right in the line of fire. As you wail in panic, a stream of liquid spurts from your crotch and splashes it right in the face! You realize what you're doing, and try in vain to staunch the flow, but you're paralyzed with fear. The cryptid seems just as surprised as you, but it doesn't run, just goes rigid in shock at what's happening, only flinching and closing its eyes.

The moment passes. You regain control of your bodily functions. The monster opens its eyes, and glares up at you. Oh, god, you've soaked it. Its ears and whiskers are dripping, and droplets shimmer in the glare of your flashlight all over its head and shoulders. You feel a little sorry for the animal, but mostly you fear for your life.

“Umm... sorry?" you stammer. You back away slowly, knowing better to run from a predator. It follows, staying barely a foot in front of you. You're sure you're about to be mauled. Making noise and waving your arms to look bigger won't help. Not when you've made the creature this angry. Your retreat is cut off by a tree. Bark pokes through your thin pajamas. The Chupachimera inches closer with a low rumble. It sniffs you at crotch height, then rears up on its hind legs. It puts its paws on your shoulders, digging its claws in just enough to make you wince. The powerful jaws open. You whimper in terror, sure that your mangled corpse will be found stuffed down someone's chimney tomorrow morning.

But instead, the beast licks your face, then rubs its wet head against you, wiping off the still warm liquid. You wrinkle your nose at the scent of caffeinated piss. You're pretty sure you deserved that. But then, to your astonishment, it licks again, and gets down, but starts rubbing against your legs like a cat.

You start to edge away, still not comprehending what's going on. The chupachimera rubs its head against you at crotch height again, then turns around, raising its long tail high in the air. Yes, your suspicions were right: the beast is female. She interrupts your backing away by twining her lithe body behind you again, then flops onto her back in front of you, rolling and writhing in the leaf litter. Could this be... could this be mating behavior? Just in case you really are that dense, the cryptid reaches its nimble forepaw forward to its groin and spreads a small, slit-like vulva, and looks at you with expectant eyes.

Your blood freezes, and a chill runs down your spine. She wants you to do... that with her? You're horrified and repulsed, naturally. You're at half mast, but it must be your blood pressure spiking from adrenaline. You look at the creature's vicious looking fangs and claws. You're not sure you have a choice in the matter. And you suppose getting to study a cryptid's mating habits like this is a chance many would kill for, a discovery that could make your career. But you're not recording this.

“Fine, I get the hint," you mutter. “Let me finish peeing first." You shuffle off a few paces and take aim at some pine needles, but before you can let go the beast pads in front of you and rolls over again. You find another spot, but she repeats the gesture, then a third time, sits there right in front of you, staring at your penis.

“Cut it out," you say, backing away again. “Seriously, I'll pee on you again!" Wait. Could that be what she wants? The monster wasn't put off by you accidentally showering her face. Could it even have turned her on? You recall researching porcupine behavior in an effort to track down the Cactus Cat, which you theorized was really a misidentified desert porcupine. Their mating ritual is gross and bizarre: the male scent marks the female by spraying her with urine. Could the Chupachimera have the same unhygienic custom?

The beast opens its fang-filled mouth wide, and points at it with a finger, sticking its tongue out. That's even more disconcerting. Does she want you to pee there?

You have no choice but to test your hypothesis. You won't make it much longer: your bladder is excruciating after cutting the flow off with it so full. And who knows how long copulation lasts in this species? You take a deep breath and release yourself. She changes her mind about getting it in her mouth, but closes her eyes and moves her head back and fort under your wavering stream, allowing yourself to be drenched. Fuck... All this time, all this research, and now, at what should be the most important moment of your life, seeing an undiscovered species with your own eyes for the first time, you're giving it a golden shower.

The Chupachimera stands up and moves closer, letting you shower the length her back, then her rump. She rolls over again, chuffing and purring as your piss rains down on her belly and crotch. She sits up, and opens her mouth right under your stream, bringing her jaws closer and closer until she's almost enveloping your dick. Your heart hammers in your throat. One snap of those teeth and you're a eunuch.

You think that fear's about to come true when the creature lunges, tackling you onto your back. But instead she seizes your member with her clawed forepaw. You whimper in terror and continue involuntarily pissing yourself. You were so full your bladder's still barely halfway emptied, and a fountain shoots into the chilly night air. She takes control of your cock, aiming your stream higher and lower, left and right, showering your chest and drenching your nightshirt in warm liquid. Then she wraps her maw around your shaft. Schlurp, schlurp, schlurp... fuck, she's drinking it. Messily, but she's gulping it down.

Your bladder finally runs dry. The Chupachimera mounts you, and takes her revenge on you for her shower, marking you with strong spurts of pungent, musky urine. Then she settles down on top of you, grinding against your groin. Ow, that one hurt. You're really hard now, even though your nose is burning from the stench of piss and you're scared out of your wits. This can't be happening. You're being molested by a wild animal. You try to push her off, but something other than fear makes you accept your fate and guide her hot, dripping wet body into position. The beast draws a sharp breath as you're enveloped by her slit, but then starts making a low, growling purring noise.

It feels good. She feels good, her warm, totally inhuman but very much mammalian body pressing against yours, her wiry muscles rippling as the beast overpowers you, pinning you down and making you hers. However long Chupachimera mating lasts, you take a long time to climax, so long that your bladder is already refilled. Your breath stops. You can only gasp, and embrace her as your seed spurts into the monster that haunts these woods. You don't try to escape, but rather lie there, stroking the cryptid's bony back.

But the Chupachimera isn't done with you. It seems you've pleased her, and she wants you to mark her permanently as her mate. She stands up again, fixing you with an intense gaze that you know deep in your heart means “you are mine." Then she communicates that message in the most animalistic way possible: she turns around, lifts her tail high, and squats. You stare in astonishment. There's a huge bulge between her legs, just above the groin, far too well defined to be pregnancy, bloating, or anything but her bladder, which must be massive for her skinny frame. You can't see the color of the liquid that spurts out of her dripping slit in the headlamps glare, but you know it must be deep yellow. A jet of urine sprays your chest. She keeps getting up and squatting you again, marking you in different places: your chest, your stomach, your cock, your legs and arms, your shoulders, and finally she squats over your face and drains her huge bladder on you with a groan of relief. You can't look away from the otherworldly beauty of her genitals as she urinates, even when your eyes sting from her acrid fluids. One more experiment. You open your mouth. Fuck, fuck, it tastes horrible! So sour and bitter and salty. You choke and spit, but let her fill your mouth with the foaming torrent once more because you know she did the same for you. It's kinda kinky, you guess. You only swallow a little, just enough for her scent to be inside you, thoroughly claiming you.

The beast finally lets you up. You brush off the worst of the leaves that cling to your drenched clothing, and walk soggily back to your camper. You can hear her footsteps padding right behind you. You look down at her. No, there is no way you'll be able to get inside and lock it. You just open the door wide and let her slink in after you. You shut your laptop, plunging the interior into darkness. No need for camera traps anymore. You peel off your piss-soaked long johns and crawl into the bed, kicking your sleeping bag aside. The Chupachimera pounces, wrestling you onto the mattress with the primal embrace of a wild animal guarding its mate. She settles down beside you, and you soon fall asleep.

Day 5: Omorashi

Fox In Socks is back again this year. She is a cute little feral pet vixen, with fluffy orange fur. Her little fluffy paws get cold, so she likes to wear socks on them. Her master also likes this, but he is a very mean master, and also likes to make her have pee accidents that get her socks all wet.

It is still almost a month until Omovember starts, but Fox In Sock's master is making sure she is prepared by putting her through a rigorous bladder training regimen. Today, he has an extra hard and cruel challenge planned for her.

It is 1 in the afternoon. Fox In Socks has not peed since 7:30 AM. Her master let her outside before he left for work, but she has lost indoor peeing privileges. Her litterbox and potty pads are locked in a closet. She has the run of the house other than that and the bathrooms and kitchen, so she can't pee in the sink or bathtub, no matter how desperately she wants to. Most foxes left alone in the house would gleefully mark everything in the house with their piss, but Fox In Socks is a good fox. She is very well house trained, and knows that only bad foxes pee where they are not supposed to. She can hold her bladder all day until her master gets home if she doesn't drink too much. But Fox is required to drink a bowl of water every hour. A good fox must stay well hydrated, but not go potty in the house. This is very hard. The bowl isn't that big, but it adds up over time. Master has bought an automatic water dispenser that slowly drips into the bowl at a rate that is safe for a fox but will fill her bladder up quickly. If she waits too long it will overflow, and she will be in trouble.

She was a thirsty little fox in the morning. Her master gave her very dry food for breakfast that dried out her mouth and made her want to gorge herself on water. She eagerly lapped up fresh, cool water, enjoying the feeling of it filling her belly and knowing it would go to her bladder soon. She kept the bowl empty, and even licked the spigot. But by 8:30 she already felt the urge to pee. That was fine. It wasn't that bad. It even felt good to deny the urge to do what was natural. Good foxes do not pee on the floor. Good foxes do not pee on the furniture. Good foxes do not pee in the house. But the urge quickly got worse. She dutifully returned to the water bowl every fifteen minutes.

Now Fox has to go very, very badly. She can't endure the discomfort from her bladder in silence. Fox fidgets. Fox paces around the house. Her footsteps are soft in her soft fox socks. She lies down and takes a nap, but has a bad dream about having an accident in her master's lap. She wakes up and returns to her bowl, only to find it's almost full. So fox has to lap, and lap, and lap. She's so full it's hard to think about anything but peeing, and every few minutes the automatic water dispenser loudly pours more liquid into the bowl, reminding her of her growing need.

Fox in Socks is scared. She knows she might not make it until her master gets home, and she knows what will happen to her if she doesn't. A bad fox must be punished. She wishes her master had put her in diapers. Fox does not like to sit in gross wet diapers, but she has to go so badly she would anyway.

But at 1:30 her master surprises her by bursting through the door. Fox jumps off the couch, and stands there hoping she didn't just leave a wet spot. She has to go so, sooo badly. But she is so happy to see her master home early that she runs to greet him with her tail wagging furiously. She's always happy to see him, even when she's scared and guilty because she's had an accident in the house, but today she's overjoyed, because the stupid animal actually thought he came home early because he changed his mind about trying to make her hold her pee all day long. What a naïve thing for a fox to think. Oh, no, he took the afternoon off to personally attend to torturing her bladder. But he's happy to see her too. A happy fox is a very cute sight. It is even cuter when she is wearing socks, and cuter even than that if the fox is doing a potty dance while she greets her owner. He makes her wait while he checks the house for puddles. No puddles. Good fox.

Fox In Socks runs to the back door, then the bathroom door, then the door to the closet with her litterbox, and begs to be allowed to relieve herself. He sternly tells her to be quiet, and that good pets do not demand potty breaks: they can pee only when their owners see fit. Fox sadly sits outside the bathroom door while her owner empties his own bladder. He doesn't quietly pee on the edge of the bowl, either: he makes his stream splash loudly right in the center, taunting her with the burbling sounds of liquid hitting liquid. When he comes out, he teases her even more by bragging about how much better he feels. Then he sits down at his computer and plays video games for a whole hour. His desperate must sit there and wait, without any complaint: interrupting a match will earn her a spanking or some other harsh punishment.

But Fox's owner is not totally neglectful. He makes sure she has food, and plenty of water. And since she's been so patient and waited the whole time, he rewards her with playtime when he's done, after lifting her tail to check that she's still dry. He starts off by throwing a few toys down the hall for her to fetch and laughing at the way she waddles with her hind legs pressed close together, and the way her stocking'd paws slip on the floor.

“I don't want to play fetch right now," whines the fox. “Please can we play another way instead?"

Her master agrees. He pats his lap, and Fox In Socks jumps up on the couch. But she doesn't get the calm petting and cuddling she wanted. No, her master roughhouses with his pet. He wrestles her, and tickles, her, and rubs her belly. When the vixen protests that it's making her have to pee even worse and tries to get up, he holds her down and teasingly pokes and prods at her tummy: first under her ribs, then at her belly button, then her inner thighs and directly on her overfilled bladder.

Then, he does something very naughty to his pet. He fingers his fox. He holds her in his lap and rubs his fingers between Fox's legs, over Fox's cute, fuzzy pussy, and holds her mouth closed with his other hand. Master ignores Fox's squeals of protest and continues to caress the vixen's vulva. Fox can't stay dry anymore. She's getting all wet and slippery down there. She's very tempted to let out a little pee to try to ease the pressure, and hope he doesn't notice. But she knows he would, because she's so desperately full that if she let go even a little there would be a flood in her master's lap. Fox in Socks knows she'd be punished, but he wouldn't really be angry. It's been seven hours. She's been a good girl. She's done her best. She could succumb, accept her punishment, and let it all out right now.

But she doesn't. No matter how much she complains and struggles, the vixen doesn't want her torment to stop just yet, and she's too proud and too repulsed by the idea of wetting herself to give in. She squirms and struggles as her master's digit penetrates her sex. She arches her back and kicks her sock-wearing paws in the air, curling her toes. Being touched like this should feel good: and it does, Fox feels all tingly between her legs. Her heart beats faster and she drools against her master's palm. But she can't enjoy it when her bladder is so full and the stimulation makes her body clamour for release! Every time he presses his finger in her bladder throbs and spasms. Fox starts to wish she'd lose control, but she can't bring herself to let it happen, and just as it seems all hope is lost...

He stops. He pulls his finger out of his fox, and he wipes her crotch off with a damp washcloth. He leaves her hot, bothered, and still desperate. Then he gets out her leash, and takes Fox for a walk.

Foxes be exercised with a daily walk. Foxes should be taken potty during a walk, but this one isn't. She isn't even allowed to relieve herself during the stroll: she has to walk along, keeping up with her owner's longer strides, and try to hide her potty dance from passerby. Fox struggles not to cross her legs, and to think about things besides peeing and sex. But she can think of little else. She keeps her tail down, covering her private parts, and she's very glad a blush of shame wouldn't show through her fur. She has to wear a muzzle that leaves her nose exposed, and she has to sniff every plant, fire hydrant and lightpost, where the neighborhood dogs have peed.

It's a long walk in the hot sun. By the time she gets home, the poor vixen is bursting, but she's panting from the heat, and the fox is so thirsty, that the moment she's unmuzzled and let off her leash, she runs straight to her water bowl to drink. Lovely cold water splashes her muzzle and runs down her throat. The bowl's nearly full. It's not that much liquid, but she's already drunk so much. 3:15. Almost eight hours. How much longer can she possibly make it? Desperation like this comes and goes in waves. After a while her body gets used to it and she feels okay, but only for a little while, until the ache in her bladder returns. She feels okay for now... but all that liquid... Fox in Socks looks pleadingly at her master.

“Oh, are you still thirsty? You don't need to drink more yet, but you can if you want." He smirks evilly, and fills another bowl. He sets it down before her. Fox stares at it, her heart sinking. He isn't wrong. She is still thirsty. But if she drinks extra, she knows he'll tell her it's her fault for drinking too much if she has an accident. When she has an accident.

Fox's master takes her on a car ride next. A long, long car ride. He buckles her up in her little car seat with her harness and seat belt, and goes for a drive. He runs several errands (using mobile order pickup. Foxes aren't allowed in stores, especially not ones who could make a huge puddle on the floor at any moment, but no one should ever leave a pet in a hot car alone). She has to wait in the parking lot for what feels like hours, and he takes the long way around every time. Finally he pulls back into the neighborhood, almost to the driveway, with the poor vixen squirming and writhing in discomfort... only to remember one more errand.

He drives over the speed bumps in the neighborhood a little too fast, jolting and jostling his pet's bladder to the limit. Fox In Socks yips and scrunchies her eyes closed. She's leaked! Oh no, no, no, she's leaked! It was just a little, but she felt it come out. Another bump, and more liquid escapes her. She can feel it under her, warm and wet on the towels covering her carseat. Her bladder is in agony! But it was just a little. Her master promises there's only one more errand. Maybe she can make it home.

It's after 5 O Clock now, and Master gets stuck in rush hour traffic. The last store isn't that far, but it's too far for this fox. Her abused bladder starts to leak worse and worse. Maybe that extra water really was too much. The damp spot under her gets bigger and bigger. She doesn't dare to look, but she's sure she can feel liquid soaking through her socks. The temptation to let go is almost overwhelming, but she keeps holding on. It's just a little leak, she tells herself, even though she knows it probably isn't. Maybe her master won't notice. The smell of urine is obvious to her, but humans can't smell as well. When they get to the last store she gets another second wind, and regains control until the car hits the speed bumps again on the way back. Several more spurts freshly wet the damp fabric and fur, but there's so much liquid in her it doesn't make the slightest difference to the discomfort she feels.

Fox In Socks is finally home. Just in time, or too late? It's getting dark. It's 7:08. Almost twelve hours. Her master opens the car door and unbuckles her. She reluctantly stands up. She knows she's leaked badly, and she knows she'll be in so much trouble for wetting her carseat. She also knows jumping down from the seat will probably make her lose control there on the driveway, which any good fox who really wants to not have an accident in the house would gladly do since she'll be in trouble either way. But not a naughty little fox like this one.

Her master lifts her down, lifting only by her chest. Fox cringes in shame, because she knows he normally supports her butt. He only picks her up like this when she's wet. He knows. He shows her the massive wet spot on the towels and the pet carseat, and makes her wait while he puts the seat in the garage. He brings her inside, and makes her stand still while he lifts her tail for inspection even though he already knows. Her socks are wet, stained dark with urine. Her fur is wet. Her tail is wet. Fox starts to cry.

Even a mean master has to know when he's gone too far in potty training his pet. Fox In Sock's master takes pity on her. He tells her he's sorry for pushing her too far. He tells her she's been a good girl all day, and promises her that if she can make it to 7:30 she can go potty anywhere she wants.

This makes Fox In Socks cry even harder. She looks longingly at the closed door blocking her from her litterbox. This is the most cruel, sadistic thing he could possibly have done. She's been teased too much and endured the pain and discomfort for too long to just make it to the potty, without the payoff. Fox would much rather be told what to do and have her needs ignored until she has an accident, then punished for it. How dare he do this to her? How dare he make his sweet, innocent fox choose to be naughty?

There's still ten minutes left. Fox In Socks gulps. She has to choose. “A - a potty pad!" she yelps, knowing that she'll flood it. But then she asks timidly: “But first can I have some water? And sit on your lap?"

With five minutes to go before she's allowed to go potty, Fox's master sits down on the couch in just his sweat pants and a faded t-shirt. He puts a towel down on his lap, so she won't get him wet. Fox's heart pounds. She feels so guilty for what's about to happen. He's put the water in a baby bottle for her. Fox gets on his lap and starts suckling. Her hindquarters quiver with the effort of holding back the flood. Cool, tasty water going down her throat... filling her tummy... going right to her bladder that she knows can't hold another drop. She presses a damp forepaw to her groin, straining to hold it in. Her paw quivers. Oh no, no, no, that feels so good, but it brings her to the very verge of an accident. She can't pleasure herself yet, or she'll burst!

The vixen takes another swallow of water. Bladder so full... yeah... she lets her paw rub against it a little. A small leak escapes her. She yips in distress. But there's the towel under her. She just needs to not soak through!

“Just two more minutes, girl. I know you can make it."

No! She can't do it! Her bladder's going to explode! She wriggles, and tries to get up, but he holds her down.

“Not yet. It's not time yet. You have to keep holding it in."

Fox In Socks wants to be a good girl very badly, but her poor fox bladder just hurts too much! And she knows she'd never make it all the way to the potty pad. It's too late, she thinks self-pityingly. She takes a few more sips of clean water, imagining the fluid all passing straight through her, and at 7:29 her tortured bladder gives up.

Ssss... the towel is soaked through in seconds. The fox starts to cry again. She tries to stop, but she can't stem the flow for more than a few seconds. Warm liquid saturates her socks.

“Hey! Bad Fox!" yells her master. Fox finally manages to stop. She cowers in his lap, whimpering and quivering. Bad Fox. She's a bad fox. She didn't make it. She didn't try to make it. She should get up now, and stagger her way to the potty pad before she -

Master's phone alarm goes off. It's the really loud obnoxious one, at max volume. 7:30. The fox, being an animal, yelps in fright and pisses herself. Her stammered apologies degrade into animalistic whining.

Ssss.... sss... ss. Ssssssssss...

Fox can't stop. Fox soaks socks. Fox floods her master's lap with yellow fox pee. Master forces her legs open and pulls her tail aside.

“You're a very bad fox."

Fox in Socks whimpers in agreement. Her master holds his hand against her gushing crotch, then holds his dripping hand in front of her face for her to see what a mess she's made. He wipes it on her, then pulls the sopping towel out from under his pet and holds it over her muzzle. She struggles and tries to push it away, but takes fast, huffy breaths of the soaked, reeking cloth. Soaked... soaked... it's soaking into her fur, this is so gross! And she's soaking her owner and the couch too! She'll be in sooooo much trouble! He'll probably make her clean it up with her tongue! Her tongue... she sticks it out and licks the cloth. It's not the worst her pee has tasted. She's drunk so much water, it's not that bad. Master stuffs the pee-soaked towel into her mouth and holds it to her nose. All Fox can taste and smell is her own urine. This is what happens to bad foxes. This is what happens to foxes who can't hold it in. He pulls her paw from her pussy, where she's frantically rubbing, and replaces it with his own. The vixen moans and curls her toes, relishing the pleasure but trying to hold back the flood still. But she just can't stop. It hurts! Her bladder is still so full! She lets go and lets the blissful warm of her accident spread all over.

“Hold on girl. Stop when you can. I need to punish you."

Fox wants to be punished. Fox knows she deserves it. She bites down on the towel, squeezing salty liquid into her mouth one more time before master takes it out. He unscrews the baby bottle and pours the remaining water out on her. “All out of water. You drank it all. But you're still thirsty, aren't you?"

The fox shakes her head fearfully.

“Stop lying. Get up," he orders, and holds the empty bottle to her crotch.

“Go potty."

The vixen whimpers sadly. She still can't stop for even a few seconds without leaking. No amount of fear of what's about to be done to her can stop her from filling the bottle to the brim, and she still has to go sooooooo badly! Bursting fox. Thirsty fox. She's so, so thirsty even though her stomach is full.

Her master tucks the bottle in her mouth and puts the wet towel over her face again. The vixen starts to sip, and pee. So much pee... it feels so good to finally let it out after all this time. It feels even better when he holds a washcloth to her sex while she pisses herself, and rubs her in the stream, harder and harder. Hot, salty liquid pours down her throat. Fox in Socks whines and shudders. She's having an accident. She's being forced to drink her own piss. Disgusting. Soaked in urine. She's soaking herself. She can't hold it. Poor, poor little fox...

Smothered in a sopping towels, gulping down her own fresh, pungent, salty pee, the little fox reaches her limit. Her bladder clenches and spasms. She hardly notices being penetrated again, or the washcloth being wrung over her muzzle. It's gotten up her nose. She's still gushing. Her climax is swept away in the endless flood of pee, and the vixen goes limp in her master's lap. Her bladder continues to drain in long, dribbling spurts for another minute, drenching them both.

Master finally removes the towel, and takes the bottle away. It's empty. She was sucking on the drenched towel. His vixen looks up at him tearfully, dripping.

“Good girl." Master pets her head, wringing even more piss out of her soaked fur.

“I'm not a good girl. I didn't make it..."

“Yes you did. I set the alarm for 7:31. You peed just where you wanted, didn't you?"

“Either way I'm not a good fox..."

“You're good enough for today. You've earned a bath. Do you want it now, or cuddle first?"

“Cuddle first..." The cute wet fox curls up on her master's lap. “Before the bath, can you give me a shower? A warm, yellow one?"

Day 6: Dubcon

Today, Paisley the feral pine marten had an argument with her owner about consent.

“For the last time, it doesn't count as bestiality if you can give verbal consent," said her owner in a tired voice. “You pass the Harkness test, end of story. Now shut up and eat your breakfast."

Paisley nudged her bowl of mixed berries and shredded chicken closer to the edge of the table. “Ah, but I'm your pet and you're my owner! That creates an unhealthy power dynamic between us that invalidates any consent I give, and that makes you a marten molester!"

Her owner took another sip of orange juice. “Uh huh. Yesterday you accused me of animal abuse for not letting you masturbate on my lap during a zoom meeting – hey! Don't push that over!"

Paisley lay down on the table with all four legs spread out and her tail swishing, a smirk on her fuzzy face. “Exactly. You treat me like an object for your own pleasure and neglect my sexual needs."

“Not being available to you 24/7 isn't neglecting your sexual needs! I fulfill them all the time, but not when I am at work, doing my job, that I need to do for money so I can pay for things like the mortage, wifi, and food!"

Paisley was slowly scooting across the table. “See? Now you're throwing the fact that I'm dependent on you for food and shelter in my face! You being able to take those things away makes you using me for sex inherently coercive!"

“Oh, my god. I need to block Twitter from the wifi... assuming Elon Muskrat doesn't destroy the whole website... you know what fine? Name one coercive, abusive, or neglectful thing I've done to you."

“Within the past month?" Paisley inched ever closer to her owner's plate. “When I showed you my private parts and said you could look but not touch, you touched anyway."

“Do you mean when you were on my keyboard, I picked you up to move you, and you rubbed yourself against my arm, or the time you stole my electric toothbrush and used it as a vibrator?"

“You've threatened to take away my water bowl as a punishment."

“I said I'd replace it with one of those hamster bottles if you didn't stop peeing in it. And I gave it back because you stuck the nozzle in your vagina and peed yourself anyway."

“You made me sleep on urine-soaked bedding."

“I warned you I was only washing it once in a day. You waited until right before bedtime to pee on it."

“A caring owner would have let me sleep in bed with him."

“You've lost that privilege on work nights because you scratch me in my sleep, you molest me in my sleep, you pee on my sheets, you pee on the crotch of my boxer shorts and try to blame me for it..."

“Oh that's right! The other night you made me sleep on your nasty piss-soaked pillow even though my bed was dry!"

“Who peed on my pillow, Paisley? Who peed on it? That's right, it was you, and when did you pee on it? At 3:30 in the morning, while I was sleeping on it, because you were mad that I locked you out of the office."

“You call me degrading names like cumslut, cumdumpster, piss brat"

“Those are terms of endearment, and they're accurate when you're literally covered in it from head to toe and still begging for more."

“And just last night you chased me, cornered me with a broom, and pinned me down to strip me naked and touch my genitals!"

“Goddamnit... your diaper, which you asked to wear, was leaking all over the house and you refused to let me change it even though you'd been wet for four hours. I would be a neglectful pet owner if I let you give yourself a rash."

“Whatever. You're still a dumb pervert!" Paisley had finally come within range. She snatched a piece of toast from her owner's plate and ran off with it. Before he could catch her she'd retreated to the top of the bookcase.

Her owner gave up on the toast, and the house was peaceful until he tried to leave for work and found his car keys missing.

“Paisley?"

“Hmm?"

“Where are my car keys?"

“You mean my car keys."

“I'm not playing this game. Give them back, I have to go into the office today."

“You mean abandon and neglect me?"

“If I have to call an Uber, I won't use you as a cumrag for two weeks."

A pouting face appeared over the top of the bookcase. “Okay, fine. I'll give them back."

“Good girl."

“If you let me pee on your lap, and leave your wet undies for me to play with."

“You fucking... fine. You have five minutes before I have to change and wash myself off."

One minute later, the defeated man was slouched on a chair, with his pine marten standing on his thighs, her front paws on his shoulders, sloppily french kissing him. The mustelid happily squatted down and urinated for a good fifteen seconds, soaking through his athletic shorts and briefs with warm yellow liquid and causing them to tent out. When her bladder was empty, Paisley backed off a little, licked and nuzzled her handiwork and pressed her front paws into the wet fabric, then returned to licking his face.

“Fuck, I told you not to get it on my shirt or my face, you little perv." He looked at his watch, sighed, and stroked the marten's back. “You know, I really don't think I'm the coercive one here."

Day 7: Virginity

Today, two mink tried to mate for the first time, but they didn't really know how it worked. Both of the animals were fully grown, but young, and they'd been raised at a fur farm. The fur farm kept animals alone in tiny cages and never even let them see the sun or feel grass under their paws, so as you can imagine it didn't have a very comprehensive sex ed program either, especially not for animals who were supposed to be turned into hats and coats instead of bred. They'd been rescued and brought to an animal sanctuary, where they had a spacious cage with lots of room to run around, swim, and frolic. Now the pair were feeling the natural urge to do a bit more than frolic, but they weren't sure where to begin.

“What are we doing wrong?" asked Madeline, the female of the two. She was an elegant black and white coated specimen. “This doesn't feel any different from normal wrestling? It makes me feel all excited, and like I want to be doing something more, but what?"

“I don't know," said Milo, the male, who was silvery gray but rather scrawny. “My private parts feel all funny, though, in a good way. I think we're supposed to do something with those?"

“Mine do too," said Madeline. The two mink looked at each other, felt awkward and self-conscious, and looked down away from each other's eyes, which made them feel even more awkward and self-conscious. Never before had they been more aware that they were wild animals that didn't wear clothing, so said parts weren't really private, but they also rather enjoyed the sight. “Wait, I remember! I think you're supposed to... put yours inside mine. And then... something comes out of you and goes inside me I think."

“The only thing that comes from here is pee," Milo said skeptically. “Are you sure that's right?"

“Wait, you're right, that's what I heard! The boy's supposed to pee inside the girl!"

“Eww! That sounds really gross!"

“I know," Madeline said meekly, “But it's supposed to feel really good. Nellie told me she heard from Ricky, who heard from Ashley, who heard from... I forget."

“Are you sure you want to try it?" Milo asked.

“I guess so." Madeline got up and turned her rump toward him.

Milo was nervous, and his penis wouldn't get hard at first, but after rubbing against Madeline's fur for a bit, he very carefully mounted her.

“Oh! Wow!" Madeline gasped. “That felt good. Are you peeing yet?"

“No," said Milo. “I'm trying!" He felt nervous and a little sick at the thought of relieving himself inside the mink he loved. He squeezed and tried as hard as he could, but the liquid wouldn't come.

“What's wrong?"

“I... can't do it!" he said. He pulled back from her and turned around, shielding himself from her sight, but even then nothing came out. His erection started to go down, and a tiny bit squirted out the tip of his penis, but it was only a few drops, and when he looked up and saw that Madeline was watching, he couldn't go at all. “Wait, I remember! It's really hard to pee when it's stiff like this. Once I had a weird dream, and I woke up with it hard and I couldn't pee!"

“Hmm." Madeline scratched her furry chin. “But if it's soft it won't go in. Maybe you just don't need to go badly enough. It might only work if your bladder's really full. I know! Drink a bunch of water and we'll try again later!"

“Okay, fine. But if I have to drink and hold it in, you do too."

Both mink were used to holding their bladders for long periods, since they tried to only pee right before the cages were sprayed down, but they drank so much water that soon Milo was bursting.

“Wait a little longer," she said. “Until you're about to have an accident. I don't want to have to do this again."

That time came pretty quickly. Madeline was shuffling uncomfortably around the enclosure with her tail down and her hindpaws together: she really had to go too. Finally she was satisfied that her mate was desperate enough, and this time rolled on her back. Seeing her cute face looking up at him made Milo a bit less nervous. She only had to touch him a little, bringing him to three quarters mast and spreading her legs as wide as she could.

“Is it in?" Milo asked.

“Yeah. It's in."

“Okay. Then I'm going to try to pee." Milo closed his eyes and tried to imagine the fur farm workers spraying the mink cages with hoses (since he'd never seen a real river or waterfall). Nervous as he was, it took a while before he felt liquid start to flow out of him. It was just a little spurt, then a trickle, but then his cock softened a little and it became a gentle but steady stream. Madeline gasped in shock. It felt even warmer and wetter than it already had. “Oh, God – I'm peeing in you!"

“I know." The mink stared at each other, both blushing profusely under their fur. Madeline whimpered and closed her legs around his midriff. “Oh, it's so warm! It feels good, but... ahh! It's leaking out! Is this supposed to happen?"

“How should I know!" Milo squeaked. He thrust deeper into her as if he were trying to plug the leak with his body, but he could hear liquid trickling and dripping. The fur of his crotch got all wet. Madeline looked so embarrassed and uncomfortable, but when he tried to pull back she wrapped her forelegs around his shoulders and hugged him.

“Don't stop," she whined. “This feels... Eeeeeeee, my butt's getting all wet!"

“My paws are getting wet too," he said. He kissed her cheek, and licked her nose. She licked back, and in another fevered breath their mouths were locked together in a passionate embrace while his bladder slowly drained into her.

Once it was over, the mink were both terribly embarrassed. “I can't believe I just did that," said Milo. “Yuck, your back and tail are soaked!" she smelled strongly of his urine. For some reason that made him hard again, but they washed off as soon as they could.

A while later, their friend Rufus the fox came by the cage. “What have you been doing all morning? You two are giving each other... the look," he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“We tried having sex," said Milo.

“Really? Well, lucky boy! And girl too, I hope. How'd it go?"

Madeline blushed.

“It was fun, I guess, but it wasn't quite what I hoped," Milo answered.

“Hmm, usually it's the ladies that say that their first time. Did it hurt?" Both mink shook their heads. “Tell me more, tell me more. Maybe I can give you some tips. Did you finish inside her?"

“I guess so." Milo hadn't heard that euphemism before. “Most of it kind of spilled out, though. There was a lot... because I waited for so long."

“Yes, that can happen," the todd said with a nod. “But that's a good thing. I assume you did it the usual, breeding way?"

“I think so," said Madeline.

“Well, if that didn't satisfy you, don't give up. A lot of animals prefer oral, both females and males."

“Oral? You mean, like with... our mouths?"

“Yes, exactly. It's just like licking yourself down there, but you lick someone you love instead. Some even say it's better to give than to receive."

Madeline's heart thumped nervously. Did that mean... “What happens when the male... finishes? What does that mean?"

“You know, cumming." The mink looked at the fox blankly. “Jeez, they really didn't teach you much in that fur farm, did they? The same thing Milo did inside you down here earlier." He gestured at his own crotch with a paw. “Usually, he cums in his partner's mouth. She – or he, or whatever – can spit it out, or swallow."

“Swallow it? Gross!" the pair of mink said in unison, looking at each other with horror.

“Hey, a lot of animals really like the taste. Or he could pull out instead. Personally? I love it when a vixen lets me finish all over her face and then lick her clean afterward. But be careful to warn her so she can close her eyes," he addressed Milo seriously. “I got it in my girlfriend's eye by accident once, and boy was she mad! Be careful, it really stings. Anyway, if you want your partner to give you oral you should be willing to do the same for her: don't be a selfish lover." He leaned in close to the fence. “You can even lie back to front and do it to each other at the same time! If you're lucky, you'll both cum at the same time."

“Both?" Milo asked nervously. “Girls can cum too?"

Madeline glared, and elbowed him in the ribs. “Why does this surprise you? I... I didn't think about doing it during sex, but I guess it makes sense."

Rufus laughed. “Oh, man, you two really have a lot to learn! Yeah, girls can cum too! It's not quite the same, and you'd have to ask another female animal how it feels, but it's usually harder for girls to cum than boys."

“Really?" said Milo sheepishly. “It was pretty hard for me."

“That's probably because of anxiety. It'll get easier with experience. A lot of guys have the opposite problem: they cum too early, and can't stop themselves! Well, I've gotta run, I hope that helps you! See you later!"

The fox trotted off, leaving the two mink staring at each other in abject terror.

“What did he mean by... come?" Milo asked.

“He must mean peeing. I think he meant Go instead of Come but he got the words mixed up. Or maybe it's a slang thing."

“But... but on your face? In your mouth?" stammered Milo. “That's disgusting!"

“In yours too!" she said. “Don't forget, he said it's selfish to not let your mate do it to you if you want them to let you do it! And he said to lick it off, too!"

“I never wanted to learn those things about him," Milo groaned. “Are you sure he's not making this up? Maybe it's a prank, to see if we're dumb enough to actually do it."

“He seemed pretty honest to me." Madeline was blushing so hard her fur felt like it was on fire. “Maybe we should try it. I don't know, maybe it's more fun than it sounds. What we just tried sounded totally gross, but you enjoyed it too, didn't you?"

“I guess... okay, fine, I'll try it."

Another couple hours, with frequent returns to the water bowl, and Milo's bladder was throbbing again. Madeline hadn't drunk quite as much, but she was in desperate, desperate need of a potty. Milo felt so sorry for her he almost asked if she wanted to try having him lick her while she “came," or went, or whatever the right word was. But he wanted to put that experience off as much as possible.

“Okay, I'm pretty sure I'm ready again," Milo said. He lay down on his side with his legs spread. Madeline approached him timidly. The female mink sniffed his genitals and scowled.

“Ugh. You still smell like pee a bit. We need to wash off better after this." But she gave his sheath a cautious lick, then another, and another.

“Oh... that feels good..." Milo groaned. “Wait! Stop licking the tip like that, or I'll..."

Madeline pulled back, a slimy string of drool connecting her tongue to his shaft. “You'll pee? I thought that was the point. Just do it, I thought you said you needed to."

Milo whimpered. This was so gross! He couldn't believe she was letting him do this. He shivered as she returned to her licking, taking his whole length into her maw. He didn't want to do it, but her stimulating touch just made it start happening. The first spurt of liquid came out all by itself. Madeline's eyes widened in shock, and she pulled away, grimacing and shaking her head. She spat on the ground.

“Are you okay?"

“Yeah. It just surprised me a little. It's... I don't know. Let me try again."

“Seriously?"

This time the spurt was longer. Madeline shuddered, but let the liquid stay in her mouth for a bit. It dribbled off her tongue, too thin and watery to be saliva. “It's actually not that bad," she said. “It's a little salty, and bitter and sour too, and musky. It doesn't taste good, but... it feels really good. My heart's racing so fast right now. Here, listen!" She pressed her chest against his ear, then returned to his shaft.

“Mine is too. It feels... oh, ahhh!" He gasped. Her touch and the feeling of his bladder releasing were one and the same. Fluid started to rush out of him, driven by the throbbing pressure that he'd held back just for her. He could hear it pour into her mouth, and overflow out the sides onto the dirt.

Madeline coughed. “On your back. Push it down with your paw so it goes toward your tail." She took him into her mouth again. This time he only had to relax to start the flow. He was half hard and half soft, but it felt wonderful. She withdrew again, but his stream kept going, a shimmering golden fountain of clear liquid tinted yellow. It splashed down on Madeline's muzzle, all over her face.

“Ack! Ouch! Not in my eye!" she hissed.

“You didn't warn me you were going to do that!"

“Sorry. Never mind. Ohhh, it's so warm... you're getting me all wet..." She nuzzled his scrotum and the base of his shaft, bumping his penis and making the fountain shoot all over his belly. Droplets rolled off their fur, then started to soak in. Madeline put his mouth over him again and bit down: gently, but Milo gritted his teeth in pain as his hose was pinched off. “Stop! Let go!"

She did, and an extra powerful spurt sprayed the roof of her mouth. “Urk!" she drew back, shaking herself. Milo did his best to stop the flow out of concern for his mate.

“Are you sure you're okay?"

“It just went in the back of my throat," she said. “Are you finished yet?"

“No. I think I drank way too much."

“Then I want to try swallowing."

Milo was too shocked and aroused to say a word. He just released his bladder into her mouth. At first it seemed like she couldn't make herself do it, but then “gluk!" she swallowed noisily, then a second time without effort.

She was drinking it? She was actually drinking his pee? Was this really how sex was supposed to go? But Milo found watching this made his stomach not churn but swarm with butterflies. He felt only the affection he'd had for her since they were first rescued together. She pulled back one more time, and closed her eyes while his bladder finished emptying on her face.

“You look pretty like that," was all he could say. “I'm not sure about the smell."

Madeline was soaked. Her fur was matted into little spikes, and her whiskers were dripping. “What about licking me clean?"

Milo whimpered. “Rufus didn't say I had to do that part, only that he liked it!" Madeline bared her teeth. “Besides, you – you were acting like you enjoyed getting all wet like that!" he stammered. “And I thought you... wanted me to lick you somewhere else."

Being reminded of her own urgent need almost made poor Madeline wet herself. The black, white, and slightly yellow-stained mink whimpered. “Fine. If you like it too, promise we'll lick each other clean after? I don't think you'll have to try very hard to finish me off, or whatever he called it! I have to go so badly, and I just drank even more!"

She rolled over on her back in the fresh puddle of Milo's urine. The male sniffed her crotch. She smelled good. So good, so inviting... his instincts took over. He started to lick, but almost immediately a jet of hot, foul-tasting liquid sprayed into his mouth."

“Yech!" he pulled back, and immediately got sprayed in the face and eyes. “Ow, it stings!"

“Now you know how it feels!" she said, then whined plaintively. “Keep going, I can't make it stop!"

“I think yours is worse. You didn't drink as much and you've held it in for longer." Milo reluctantly put his mouth to the source of the pulsing stream. She was right. It tasted bad, but it felt good. Good, but, so, so wrong! And so disgusting! But this was what she was willing to do for him, and if he'd do it for her... it was love, breaking all the boundaries of what seemed right or wrong.

Milo wasn't sure when he first swallowed some of the acrid stream, or when she ended up on top of him, but she was squatting over him now, panting with the pleasure of relieving herself.

Both minks were completely drenched. That was fine, though. Minks liked water.

“Ahh... wow, that felt so good!" Madeline panted. “Now we'd better clean up. It looks like a little got on you down... here!"

A few minute later, both mink were very surprised to find out how sex was supposed to work, when Milo's body spasmed out of control, and he felt liquid rushing through his cock even though his bladder was empty, while Madeline found warm liquid that tasted a little different than what she'd just experienced spurting into her mouth.

“What... just happened?" she asked as they sat there recovering. Her lips, muzzle and whiskers were all dripping with sticky ropes of clear, milky goo. “You told me only pee comes from there."

“I thought it did! I don't know what this is... but it felt amazing!"

“It tastes okay, I guess, but my face is all sticky. It's like... crotch boogers. You're definitely licking it off."

That was when it downed on the two formerly virgin mink that this must have been what Rufus meant by “cum."

“Are you kidding me?" Milo yelled. “You mean we... we just peed on each other for no reason?"

“How could we have been so stupid?" blubbered Madeline. “I can't believe we thought Rufus was talking about peeing in each other's mouths! What kind of freak would do that?"

They sat there for quite a while, avoiding each other's eyes and feeling sorry for themselves. Then Madeline mustered the courage to say what had been on her mind the whole time. “Well... even if that wasn't how mating is supposed to work, I still enjoyed it. And you did too, right?"

“I guess so. Do you want to try doing it this way again sometime? I know it's weird, but it felt really good."

“Not sometime. Now. Let's drink some more water, and in a while I want to try doing it the way Rufus suggested. Both of us at the same time."