FSE

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Disclaimer: If it's not in your taste or your wheelhouse of fetishes, then it is not for you. If you are below 18 or whatever the age in your country is for Adult Content, it is not for you.

Everyone else is entreated to enjoy.

Kioga awoke like he usually did, curled suddenly around his giant stuffed rabbit as his clock radio blasted the Morning Jamz way too loud on station K-ABDL. As if a high-powered flash went off in his face, Kioga struggled upright as his senses recalibrated and his brain rebooted. The cheetah, a slender young male about twenty-two years old, reached behind him and sniped the "off" button with a learned claw, and then rasping his Velcro tongue against the roof of his mouth, he shifted to the edge and reached down. He hooked another learned claw into the leg gather of his bulky briefs, the frilled plastic crinkling as his finger dragged against the thick padding inside.

Dry, thank God.

Kioga was incontinent. Ever since the age of thirteen, there had been ... instances ... that necessitated the occasional use of diapers. Overall, some years were better than others; fifteen was a dry year and seventeen an absolute monsoon. Kioga was very sensitive. His diet had to be exact, and his stress needed to be constantly monitored. Having a high metabolism, he had to eat a lot, but he also had to eat it bland.

He could hear his Mr. Coffee brewing in the background as he slid his plastic-protected rump off the mattress, the plastic sheet crinkling beneath, and he waddled toward his ready pot of mild, reduced-acid, decaf cup of Joe. The cheetah called it "Joey" because it "didn't deserve a full-grown male's name," he'd say with a laugh when asked.

Kioga, however, was a big boy overall. He lived alone, had a nice bicycle he maintained, and he even worked an internship for a local marketing firm. This meant that Kioga was around bull-headed egoists much of the time, and so cautiousness was very important. His diaper concealment was an elegant science. After finishing his cup of Joey and a few plain turkey sandwiches, the cheetah went to his linen closet and opened it to his stash, a wealth of diapers of various thicknesses, strengths, and styles, and flipped through them with one paw with his chin seated thoughtfully in the other.

The diaper he wore to bed was enormous, a European brand scientifically engineered for the most extreme of medical cases. The crotch was two paw-widths across, making it impossible to walk properly, and the rump curved out generously, his tail resting against it and idly swishing against the plastic.

He couldn't wear this one to work. Too loud, not to mention the size factor. If he was carrying groceries all day, he could mitigate the main problem. Which, if he was selected to be the office gopher, it was a possibility ...

Kioga waved his paw through the idea like it was a cloud of smoke. No, he thought to himself, flipping through the folded stacks of padding, going from thick to thin, through tapes and pull-ups, the occasional babyprints, cloth squares, until his paw stopped upon a cotton pair of trainers, stitched thick in the crotch, and only for the dry and courageous days. No, he thought again, and then his paw travelled one diaper down to a pair of store-boughts with tape.

"Misty with a chance of rain," he sighed, a frown forming on his muzzle as he pressed his fingerpads against the waist of his current diaper, around the area where his bladder would be. It should be a normal day, he figured. Light precipitation. His thumb then traveled north to his sensitive guts and squeezed. "No chance of thunder, though."

He smirked, and then sucked in his flat stomach, gingerly wiggling his uber-briefs off his legs down to the floor, a cloud of old powder puffing into the air. He smelt his musk on the breeze, and how it mingled with the sweet, soothing scent of baby powder. Almost immediately, the cat's organ plumped, and he suddenly had half a mind to bury his face in the old diaper and breathe it in whole.

But no, he thought. It was time for work. He was a big boy, afterall. Completely nude, Kioga quickly padded to his bedroom and set the old fat one aside, and then began the process anew. The cheetah unfolded his diaper, pulling its flaps out to stretch out the center, and then applied a small layer of powder to the absorbent filling. Finally, laying alongside Tad, his stuffed rabbit, he pushed his lower body into the air and slid the garment under him, tail wagging as he pulled it through the back elastic and taped himself up with learned paws.

Even at twenty-two, he had to admit: they were pretty comfortable.

On the bus, Kioga sat straight. He was in his shirt and tie, slacks that clung to his waist but still let a little room for the garment that lay beneath. Even on his most assured of days, he needed to wear one, just in case. As the bus jolted to a sudden stop, Kioga braced himself against his seat, spraying small drops into his padding, feeling them run down his sheath and balls before disappearing into his diaper. The cheetah gripped the handrail as they soaked through. It would be a few city blocks and then he would be at work; this was normal. He crossed his legs and there was a crinkle, the sound of which he masked with a surreptitious cough. He was generally damp on his way to work.

On this stop boarded a fiery coyote, one Kioga knew very well. Like many of the marketing heads he worked under, this coyote was cocksure and had mastered the art of looking friendly. His name was Wesley and he was the assigned mentor of this adroit, nervous cheetah. Wesley predictably found a seat across from the nervous boy and smiled as he settled in, flicking his eyes to the other male's ambiguously thick crotch as he settled down.

"Mondays, am I right?" he said, reciting the blithe office meme, adjusting his tie which was already properly knotted. "Don't forget our video conference after lunch. I hope you're ready for a real load," leaning heavily on his last few words.

The cheetah laughed a little too loud at his mentor's address and pumped his arm in true fraternal fashion, secretly hoping that he may soon be considered "one of the guys." It was at that time, however, that a cold sweat ran down the back of his spine and into his padded seat, the young male realizing that any number of things could knock him out of the running. Though he'd yet to see any true bro-grade hazing, it was always a faint worry in the back of his head

Kioga wet himself again, this time more heavily. His pee coursed over his lap more dreadfully than any droplets of sweat that tickled the contours of his back.

On the days where he was not running errands left and right, Kioga worked in a back office near the fire escape. The office was by no means his to keep, but no one was particularly jealous of it either, for surrounding his office workstation were mountains of papers to be processed (by an intern such as himself) and the carpet was worn in patches, its craters sometimes catching the wheels of his old office chair when he moved about. The room had no windows to speak of, which was nice for privacy but a oppressive on a being's general mood. But it was private.

This had been his post for a few months now, and so Kioga made it his home. There was a very convenient set of drawers in his desk, one of which locked and loaded with backup supplies and even a pair of slacks. Just in case Sometimes, when the work would get very stressful, the cheetah would unlock the drawer and stick his paw inside, letting his fingers glance over the various diapers for that little bit of emotional protection. He was incontinent by nature, but Kioga still had to admit: they were pretty comfortable.

There was a loud knock on his door at around noon, and the cheetah jumped from his paperwork, paw skirting to his hart and the other to his crotch. Through his slacks, he could feel the swollen plastic bulge grow warm again, feeling a trickle run under his rump to the left before soaking in. Half of it went into the padding, the other half into his fur.

"Yellow light at noon, not great..." he said to himself. "Yes, come in!" he was about to ask, but Wesley had already slipped inside. The coyote was wearing a grin on the left side of his face and he jerked his head upward in the time-honored fraternal nod. The marketing aide, a male in his upper twenties, Kioga had once estimated, pushed one of the intern's filing cabinets closed and then leaned against it.

"So, Kioga. Hey. You had lunch?"

The cheetah stood slowly from his desk, tugging at his slacks so they lay smoothly over him.

"I was just going to grab something from downstairs, actually. But thanks."

The coyote balked at this, standing free of the cabinet and confidently stepping over a stack of boxes. "What, from the cafeteria? They have the only sandwiches in town whose bread has more flavor than the meat. What are they slinging today, turkey?"

"I like turkey sandwiches."

"You do, maybe," Wesley snarked, walking around the cheetah's desk with his arms crossed. His eyes seemed to dip to waist-level, but they were quick in coming back up. "Look, tell you what, chief. My treat, coffee shop down the street. I'll get you an artisan turkey Sammy and a cup of watered-down, decaf 'Joey' that still costs more than a good stapler."

The cheetah nervously backed away from his desk, feeling a familiar tingle in his crotch. He fidgeted to distract himself. "I usually eat three; that's why I was going downstairs."

"I feel sorry for your toilet," he said unsolicited. The marketing aide then clapped a paw on Kioga's shoulder and looked him dead in the eye. "You're being a pain in the ass. I'll get you three. It's no problem."

His mentor closed the distance between them and his grin turned into a smirk.

"Besides, when you're one of the boys, the cost of a sandwich will be the least of your worries."

The line was said with a certain threatening edge that reminded Kioga of what he'd felt on the bus. He felt his diaper get a little heavier and a little warmer. He felt the tiniest rumble below his stomach.

The errand was fast and it was relatively problem-free except for a couple of things: one, Kioga had to walk a little more carefully as his bulged-out crotch would constantly rub between his legs, but no one seemed to notice and the coyote, usually so verbal with whatever was on his mind, didn't say a thing. Two, while Wesley's food order was fast and efficient, the demands of his coffee beverage made his sensitive stomach turn: triple-shot espresso, black, and filled with hot water because he hated the taste of coffee. "Go figure, I hate coffee. But it's not like I got any other option, right, chief?" he'd said sideways to his intern. "If I wanted an energy drink I'd have the Incredible Hulk piss in my mouth."

In time-honored fraternal fashion, Wesley roughly elbowed his charge in the stomach, sending him stumbling back a few feet. Kioga massaged his abdomen as his guts began to churn, but nothing came of it but a cold sweat and a weird look from his mentor.

The third problem: the barista had terrible handwriting. They made their way back to the office with Kioga carrying the sandwiches and Wesley carrying the drinks, constantly switching them from paw to paw.

The first thing Kioga did when they got back was take a sip of the coffee Wesley had handed him. It was weak, it was black, it was delicious, it was decaf; it was assuredly his. It settled nice on his stomach, or at least that first sip did. When he got back to his office and closed the door, the cheetah lay a paw on his swollen groin and felt it squish against him. His store-bought diaper was almost at capacity and Kioga would probably have to change at work today.

And the day had started out so predictably. The young male shrugged.

"A change in time saves nine," he said to himself, butchering the old phrase as he walked around to his desk, undoing his buckle with one paw and reaching for the drawer with the other.

It was unlocked.

Kioga's heart went cold and he felt a trickle of urine fill up the last dry corner in his sagging bulge. He told himself that he'd probably just forgot to lock it, but the concession to himself was half-hearted and left him sweating. Kioga was a big boy, overall.

Big boys lock their toys.

The cheetah sat down and woke his laptop, getting all his programs up and running while the other paw pulled the drawer open and he calculated his next diaper. Kioga didn't look down into the drawer, for if he were to take inventory, he would have found a critical absence and a startling alteration.

But, since he didn't, his learned paw blindly grabbed past his emergency Ultra (because cramming a European Ultra into his current slacks would have been akin to stuffing a pillow into a tube sock) for his reserve store-bought, placing the thin garment on his desk as he pushed the drawer closed. His paw reached for the fastening on his slacks and was summarily interrupted by a loud ringtone on his computer, causing him to jump and yet again void more piss. He cringed as it leaked into his maxed-out garment.

With nowhere to nest, the trickle of pee ran down the inside of his leg gather and stopped beneath his rump. Would Kioga lean back, it would leak out the top of his waistband, just above his tail. The cheetah resolved to sit upright, his paw shaking as he adjusted his screen, jaw quivering as that familiar ringtone filled his ears.

Wesley was calling him for that video chat he'd mentioned briefly on the bus; it must have slipped Kioga's mind. The cheetah's free paw reached for his coffee as his other clicked to answer. The coyote quickly popped up on the screen, accompanied by the faces of no less than five of Wesley's coworkers. They were roughnecks and testosterone-filled young men, all of them. But, dressed in their expensive stiff shirts and fancy silk ties, they gave off the initial air of fine breeding. Unfortunately for any optimistic viewer, this talent only extended to the jobs they possessed, and not in the manners with which they handled themselves.

They were silver-tongued snakes, one and all, and it was not by coincidence they were all previously part of the same undergraduate fraternity, which in itself was reputed to produce the most mean-spirited bullies who, fueled by spunk and alcohol, actively sniffed for weakness like a cruel and efficient pack of feral wolves. Their brotherhood had produced a fine crop indeed. Kioga simultaneously feared them but saw the pristine European cars they all drove--if he could survive their antics and join them, he'd not only be a big boy: he'd be a man.

Like the baby bottles he sometimes enjoyed in the privacy of his apartment, Kioga brought his warm coffee beverage to his lips and nursed from its disposable lid, pulling a good amount into his stomach before his mind--and the rest of him, consequently--realized what Wesley had done. And as the caffeine of a triple-shot espresso surged through his veins and as his body, so bland and inoffensive, lit up like a wick of fire crackers, Kioga's paw shot to his stomach, just below the view of his camera, and frantically kneaded it.

"Afternoon, sport! You ready for that load?" Wesley asked. Kioga, breathing through his teeth as his guts ground against each other, put on his best smile. The coyote kept using that word...

"load..."

"Yeah, sure," he responded, playing it off. For a moment, his body seemed to settle down, throbbing dully as he worked through it. "You giving me some homework?"

One of the five chimed in. Unsurprisingly, they were all carnivores, some exotic and some less so, all variations of canines and big cats. "It's going to seem like a lot at first, but you may have already had time to digest," a tiger said teasingly.

Kioga didn't remember Wesley sending him any additional work this morning. There weren't any special projects, no special emails aside from the regular updates. It was yet to occur in Kioga's mind, as a mass made its way through a large bend in his abdomen, that they may have been speaking about something else entirely. The cheetah felt a heavy weight pile up deep in his gut as solid waste queued up in accelerated fashion, his bowels on a mad overdrive of caffeine and fear.

"Yeah, Mondays. Am I right, fellas?" the cheetah asked in vain, reciting the blithe office meme. The six opposite him looked from side to side--as if they were in the same room together--and all burst into laughter at his expense. Kioga blushed brightly in his ears, and his stomach plunged another level. The cheetah's tail suddenly flagged and he stabbed the "mute" key with a learned paw.

A loud fart blew out of his rear, muffled by his diaper but still resounding throughout the room. The smell was bland and earthy, a precursor of things to come, and as the blast trumpeted out the cheetah attempted to sit as straight as possible, his entire body trembling as shit began to pile against his anus. He couldn't lose face to these guys.

"Pussycat, we lost you!" a wolf declared. "Check your connection?"

Wesley was the next to talk, and by this point was leaning close towards his screen, his head filling the camera. "Hey, friend, you feeling all right?" he asked.

The cheetah coughed as he unmuted the computer, paw fighting his tail offscreen. His tail would not go down, insisting on staying raised high and away from his pucker, which began to bulge within the confines of his soaked padding. "I'm fine, sir. Just a little tired. This decaf's not doing it for me," he said, raising the cup onscreen, "but what choice do I got; am I right?"

His cold sweat reemerged, running down his neck and back and dribbling into his briefs. Kioga took a perfunctory sip of his coffee, mostly for show, which got a raised eyebrow from Wesley's close-up face.

"You sure that's decaf, sport?" the coyote asked, wagging his own coffee in view. In the background of his head, an orange striped arm emerged and patted him on the shoulder. The coyote's muzzle twitched into a grin that he quickly hid.

"Oh yeah!" the cheetah laughed, his mind inflamed with embarrassment, caffeine, and several warning lights from down below. So distracted and so affected, and surrounded by young men who'd assuredly put less prudent things in their mouth, Kioga gulped down half of his coffee and slammed it onto the desk, smiling nervously.

The wolf on the corner screen had to turn away from his camera as his fist jumped into his muzzle, and in failing to hit the "mute" button on his computer, betrayed his failing façade with a few chuckles.

Kioga looked at him strangely, affording himself one last moment of clarity before the potent batch hit his stomach. "What's his problem? Nobody ever chugged coffee befo--"

His next fart was cut short by a solid, slimy plug.

"Oh, God. E-xcuse me, I..."

A great pressure had mounted in his guts, one he'd been previously able to mask. But with this new surge of caffeine, and all these predatory faces looking in at him, the cheetah had no choice but to yield. He grabbed his phone in pantomime, pointing at it with the screen pointed toward himself. He was trembling desperately.

"Gentlemen, I'll be right back; I have to answer this call." With the next push that opened his pucker wide, Kioga frantically struck out at his computer, at the off button, at the mute button, but his paw was a mess, shaking uncontrollably. With one final jab his screen went black, and with that Kioga planted his feet against the floor and grabbed his chair with both paws, letting the wave hit him in full force.

The first log of shit was massive and thumped against his padding with such force that it pushed back against him, soon collapsing as the second log smashed against it. The sticky matter filled into his diaper and pressed under his backside, sliding up his crack and down under him, against his sac and around it. The cheetah's abdomen flexed and continued to relentlessly push, and the second log did not break as it flooded into his padding, instead becoming a continuous stream of shit that smashed and crumpled against his leg-guards, pushing his balls up against him as it filled up the front, and wound around his tail as it bulged out against back of his diaper, a solid lump growing in the seat of his pants.

The cheetah let out a large yowl as his guts pulsed again--why did he have such a large breakfast--and once he'd pinched off that second mass a third one started in its wake. Kioga's legs kicked out and went under his desk, his crotch bulging obscenely with urine and mess, stretched tight from a diaper beyond its capacity. And with another push, a chill shot through the cheetah as one of his leg guards parted from his leg.

A sick bulge filed down the right side of his leg, slimy and smelling of wet dirt. It tinged his slacks a streak of brown, the fur beneath smeared in filth as shit slithered out of his leg-guard and hung behind his thigh, weighing the pantleg down. His leg twitched when he saw it, and it swung pendulously as it passed under his knee.

Kioga shifted in his seat, and as the sticky muck clung to his fur, shifting against his ass and around his sheath independently of him, the cheetah trembled and let loose the remnants of his bladder, which quickly made its way through the fragrant, sticky mess and out his distended leg-guard, darkening his pants before forming droplets on the fabric's surface and dribbling through to the carpet below.

Trembling, Kioga slowly stood, and a broken cudgel of shit fell onto his shoe, breaking over it with impact. His diaper sagged against the confines of his slacks it and its messy leak outlined clearly. His slacks, still unbuckled, sagged from his waist as well. The smell that flooded his small corner office was that of a terrarium: a moist, fertile smell of loam yet not without a few acrid notes.

His diet was bland, thank God.

The cheetah knelt and opened his diaper drawer, shifting uncomfortably as the few pounds of his soiled and soaked padding moved against him, smearing against his groin's fur until it was caked, coated, and thick with a layer of ...

Scat.

That terrible word made him shiver. Kioga then leaned over and looked into his diaper drawer, past his pants darkly marked with urine and streaked brown, and taking inventory of the drawer's contents let out a loud cry.

His backup slacks were gone. His wipes were gone. And his only remaining diaper--a European Ultra reserved for special emergencies--was coated in stamped ink: "FINAL NOTICE" "URGENT" and "FOR DEPOSIT ONLY" coated the white plastic exterior. Originally innocuous for their intended purposes, these stamps were in the present context defamatory and degrading.

And, right on cue, the speakers on Kioga's laptop lit up with applause and hollering.

"Mondays, am I right? What a load of shit!"

"How was your call? ... to nature!" another said. The slapping of paws followed his jab.

"You take no shit from anybody, do you Kioga? You give it! Yeah!" a third said. In the background, the wolf continued to giggle and roll about on the floor.

And there was a final statement from Wesley:

"Hey kitty-cat. Bro-cub, I know you can hear me. I think you just turned your monitor off. Ha. So how was your big load?"

Kioga's head was spinning. Every delirious step around the office was done in a waddle, his soiled diaper rubbing against him as it hung by tapes that were quickly failing. He'd been hazed after all. Or'd been pranked. It was premeditated, regardless.

The cheetah sat down with a whump, further stewing in his own waste as it smashed up against him, leaking past his leg. With a sudden impulse of anger, Kioga turned his monitor on and leaned back in his chair, glaring at them one and all. A potent rage boiled inside him and he looked over his audience with keen reproach. They were all grouped together now on Wesley's camera, except for the wolf who was doubled over on the floor and still howling off-screen.

Kioga's yellow eyes narrowed into razor-sharp slits and his ears folded.

"So," he said with a low growl in his throat, holding his stamped garment of shame up beside him. "Is this all a game to you?"

The tiger burst out laughing and Wesley answered his intern with a shrug. "You're pretty smart, bro-cub. Maybe it is."

"Good," he answered, his fangs on display. What came next was fully unexpected, both to his audience and to himself. Later reflecting upon it would make him glow with pride.

"Then who's changing me?"

A different big cat--a lion--whooped and clapped at the cheetah's challenge. A wide grin broke across the coyote's face as he nodded his head approvingly.

In a mass hive consciousness most befitting of a brotherhood of hooligans, the five onscreen pointed offscreen at the floor, where the wolf remained with pained gasps of laughter. Catching up with the hive-mind, however, the wolf stopped his laughter and scrambled to face them, his head barely visible on his original screen.

"Hey guys, what? What am I doing?"

Kioga, with his paws now steepled before him, leaned forward as he pushed another load into the seat of his swollen diaper. When the wolf looked back through the screen at the cheetah, who was pristine above the waist and nothing of the sort down below, Kioga smiled at him with a most predatory smile.

"I'll see you in my office," he said.