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By the time we got home, he was feeling down about something again. His ears were drooping. As soon as the front door closed behind us, he turned to me. He pleaded:

"I'm sorry about the restaurant, I'm just new to this, and-"

"You've got nothing to be sorry about, my Pet. You were perfect." I ran one paw over his cheek, and the thumb and forefinger of the other up one long, sensitive ear.

"I just felt like we could have stayed longer if I'd been able to-"

"I think we were about done anyway, and besides, I brought the best part home with me." My paws moved down his sides, sliding over his back, drawing him close. Our muzzles locked. My broad tongue filled his mouth. Our breathing quickened. As his lithe limbs struggled to comply, my strong paws traversed his body, unbuttoning his shirt and drawing it over his arms. I pulled his long, writhing tongue into my own maw as I crouched to reach his waistline, forcing even his smaller form to bend with mine as I freed him from his jeans. It was good to feel his fur, to take in every inch of his plush softness with my fingertips while our tongues wriggled hungrily against each other. At last my right paw found his diaper, almost lifting him between his legs as I pressed into the sodden padding, still crinkling as it squished against his tender, needy crotch. I straightened up, breaking the kiss for breath as he stared upward into my green eyes, and I gazed downward into his pale blue ones.

"Good thing I got you such sturdy diapers. You're pretty wet, but they can take more."

His ears drew back, his eyebrows raised, and his head lowered as he looked up at me, smiling faintly. I knew that look: a Pet saved from some grave mistake. It made my heart swell with pride.

"There's . . . something else, Master." He seemed hesitant.

"Oh?"

"Since we started walking to the restaurant, I, well I've wanted to, but I can't make myself, and I tried when we stood up, and . . ." He was far from clear, but I thought I knew what he meant. I stroked his back with one paw.

"You had a bowel movement, and you're having trouble messing."

He nodded.

"Try squatting down." I'd read some accounts of this online before we started.

He bent his knees and flagged his tail. He leaned forward and tried lifting himself to different heights. His eyes closed in concentration. Little grunts escaped him. For part of me, it was gross, to watch a grown man trying to defecate in his diaper. Part of me, however, found it irresistibly cute to watch his struggle. The part of me that is his Master knew that this was his punishment, but it was also my duty to see his needs were met, and to alleviate unnecessary discomfort. I stroked his back, I patted his rump, I held his hands. After maybe half an hour of trying, he fell into my arms.

"I'm sorry, Master. I can't do it. Maybe if I wait a while it'll get more . . . urgent." From the way he curled up, he was clearly uncomfortable.

"There is one more thing we can try." I kicked off my shoes, and began to pad towards the kitchen.

"I don't want any drugs or anything. This is my punishment, and . . . I want to be able to do this." Something about his commitment to messing himself was silly, but his dedication to his punishment, to our trust, and to me was endearing. It was furiously cute.

"What about something soft, and white, and sweet, like you?" I called out as I reached into the freezer.

"What?"

I returned, and sat down next to him. In one broad paw I revealed six marshmallows. He picked one up.

"They're cold," he remarked.

"It makes them a little firmer, but there's not much to them, so they won't chill you."

"Why do they need to be firm?" He prepared to take a bite out of the marshmallow.

"Because you're not going to eat them."

His mouth snapped shut. He examined the marshmallow again, before his focus returned to me.

"Do you mean?"

"Yup."

"Does that work?"

"Don't you trust your Master?" His ears lowered a little at the affront.

"Of course, but . . . will it hurt?"

"Not with some lube. They're a little rough on the surface."

He whimpered. That hadn't been quite the answer he was looking for. The truth was I didn't know what it would feel like, but part of being a good Master is showing him confidence, and part of it is training him. This was training, it would help him learn to use his diaper, and I needed to be confident about it.

"Ok, Master."

I patted him twice on the head, and went to the bedroom to grab some lube. When I came back, Sherman was still curled up on one side, waiting for me. I began to undo the locks in his plastic underwear over the tail notch, and the tapes underneath.

"Master, will this work quickly?"

I stroked my Pet's side, ruffling my rabbit's fine fur.

"Do you really have to go that badly?" I tried to keep my voice soothing. This was turning out harder on him than I was expecting, at least in some ways.

"Yes, Master."

"I'll tell you what, my Pet. If these don't help you feel better in twenty minutes, you don't have to mess in your diapers. We'll figure something out for the rest of the week." He seemed somewhat dismayed at this.

"Master, I don't want to fail my punishment. I want to earn your forgiveness. I want to trust you with, . . . with everything."

"I know you do, my Pet, but I can't leave you hurting. I'd never do that. If this doesn't work, we'll alter your punishment, but you're forgiven, just the same."

He seemed calmed at that. He chewed on his lower lip.

"Do you want me to start?"

"Please." His plea was soft, but definite.

I opened the tail slit of his plastic underwear, and then his diaper. I couldn't resist running my fingers through the fur under his warm diaper seat. He was a little sweaty back there, but nothing else. The rear padding was almost totally dry, the damp sogginess between his legs scarcely reached the base of his perfect rump cheeks. Gingerly, I lifted his tail, lowering the crinkling plastic to expose his perfect pink pucker. With practiced care I squirted a few drops of lube on his entrance, before working them gently in with a finger.

"mmmhh . . . " He sighed in faint pleasure. He'd had nothing back there for over a week now, and he was used to more regular attention. We both smiled as he pressed against my paw, yearning for more.

"Shhh shh shh," I breathed, "not now, my Pet. It's diaper training time now." With my other paw I patted his diaper over his lower buttocks, reminding him of its warm, embracing, ever-present safety.

Withdrawing my paw, I began to spread a drop of lube over the first marshmallow, smoothing over its rough, sugary surface. For just a moment, it resembled the gritty slickness of my rabbit's tongue, but soon the feeling was gone.

"Ready?"

"Yes, Master."

Pressing one corner of the cold-stiffened marshmallow to his slick tail-hole, I began to push it inside. It began to tear, melt, and dissolve, but I got most of it in. I could feel my Pet restraining moans as his Master focused such intimate attention under his tail.

The second was much easier than the first. He was already stretched and slippery. In went the third, the fourth, the fifth. By the sixth his voice became more urgent.

"Mmmh . . . so full!"

"It's ok, my Pet. That's the last of them." With one thick index finger I pushed the last of the marshmallows deep within his rabbit rump, as far under his puffball tail as I could reach.

"Now just relax. I'm going to wash my paws, and I'll be back to tape you up."

He lay on his side, drawing deep breaths, as I padded off to the kitchen to wash my paws of sugar, lube, and well, tail-hole. I couldn't have been gone for more than two minutes, but by the time I returned his face was already strained. I knelt behind him and began redoing the tapes, tightly wrapping the base of his tail, before locking the plastic underwear back around his waist.

"It's ok," I echoed my words from the start of the punishment, "I'm lifting from you the responsibility of deciding when to go. Let it happen. I'll be here."

"I can feel . . . oh . . . my insides . . . erg . . . it's like they're fighting . . ." he struggled for a while, and all I could do was sit there and stroke his fur, assuring him it would be ok. I didn't mean to hurt him, but his struggle was more than that.

His body's years of training were fought the need to evacuate his bowels. The apprehension he felt at accepting his punishment, the hope of avoiding at least part of it by holding out, fought his hope to complete his punishment and earn, as he saw it, forgiveness. The apprehension he felt before going out in the morning fought the reassurance he felt in his Master's commands. The shyness he felt when approaching the hostess fought the security he felt in his Master's company. His worry at relying on me fought his desire to submit to me. His fear fought his courage to trust.

After five minutes or so, he was able to calm down. Slowly, he stood. His legs were a little wobbly. I stood with him, helping him up.

"I'm sorry. I just couldn't." He pressed his face into my chest, and wrapped his arms around me.

"It's ok" I returned the hug, stroking the back of his head and neck. "You've got about fifteen more minutes, and if that doesn't help, we'll let you out."

He held me tightly, burying his face in my fur, even through my shirt. He felt like he was failing. We stood for another five or ten minutes, just holding each other.

Suddenly, his grip tightened. His legs failed him, and I was holding him up.

"Oh," he gasped. His belly spasmed, his tail flagged, and his knees bent.

"This is . . ." his whole body clenched, forcing a grunt out of him.

I held his upper arms as I crouched to support him, the spasms forcing him into a squat.

"This is strangely involuntary . . ." It brought a chuckle to my face. He smiled at me in between the waves of muscle contractions, before clenching his eyes closed.

I could hear it: the soft rustle of his diaper after each push. I drew him closer, sitting down and wrapping his arms around my neck, his head over my shoulder. I reached one broad, shaggy paw to cup his padded seat.

"OH . . ." He called out as his whole body squeezed. I could feel the warm squishy mass filling the rear of his diaper, pushing it out and spreading between his buns, under his tail, and down between his legs, against his balls. He really did have a lot built up back there. He was shaking all over.

For several long minutes he stayed in a squat, wracked by forceful convulsions that emptied him out. The only sounds were his grunts, sighs, and the noises from his rear. The front of his diaper had grown even soggier, its swollen yellow thickness nearing three inches, and his seat filled out with warm mess. I hadn't quite been certain I could believe the reviews when I bought them, but these diapers sure could take what he could dish out. It was nice to know my promise to safely look after whatever he'd need would be kept.

"Feel better?" I asked when the spasms seemed at last to have subsided.

"Much better, Master."

"I'm glad, Pet."

"Master? That wasn't anywhere near twenty minutes, right?"

"Not even close."

He beamed. He'd been a good Pet, an obedient Pet. I patted his head.

"Now come have a seat in the kitchen."

I started off toward the kitchen. When I glanced back, I caught him in a moment of decision. He wasn't sure if he should ask me for a change, if he wanted to try being so wet and messy, but he knew his Master was aware, and he decided to trust me. He followed. With each step his mess squelched up between the mounds of his rump, and against the back of his overfull balls. He could feel it spreading, and the way it made his diaper and his cheeks slide against each other. It was written in his face and the way his diaper moved.

I pulled out one of the wooden chairs of the kitchen table for him, and sat in one myself. He hesitated a moment before taking a seat. At last he sat, slowly, eyes closed, ears nearly sideways in concentration.

"You can feel it squeezing and sliding, pressing and squelching up around you, filling between your buns and under your balls, can't you?"

He nodded.

"And yet, you're completely safe. Everything's contained. You have nothing to worry about. Between the diaper and the plastic underwear, I can barely smell you."

My brown bear nose is pretty sensitive, especially when it comes to body smells: musk, waste, sweat. I could smell the mess, to be sure, but no worse than a mild case of gas.

I reached for his paw, and held it gently, not guiding it anywhere. His gaze lifted into mine. He was reassured, but contemplative. If I know my bunny, he was thinking over the week, wondering how much of it he'd spend with his rump fur matted in mess.

"Tell me about the purpose of the trip, the business reason behind it." I wanted to move the discussion away from the unusual, to return to mundane topics, get him used to going about his life trusting in his Master's diapers to take care of him.

We talked for an hour or so, conversational topics drifted, and before long his mind was off his padded predicament. Finally, I figured he'd had enough.

"Alright, my Pet. It's time to get you changed." I stood up, retrieved the changing mat, and padded into the bathroom. Sherman followed me, each step still careful and halting, pausing to feel the now cool sodden mass squishing around between his legs and over his rump. When at last he entered, I had everything ready: mat, powder, wipes, and a fresh diaper.

"You've really gotten quite soggy," I couldn't resist a grin. "How does it feel in there?"

"It's . . ." he was embarrassed again. "It's not so warm as it was, and it's really squishy and . . . almost slimy. The padding's really swelling as it absorbs all the um . . . liquid, and it's getting kind of . . . tight."

"You mean that thick sodden diaper's pressing into your bunny bits." I reached out with a paw to cup his crotch, feeling the weight of his sodden squishy over-pronounced bulge, pressing it gently against him.

"Mmmh . . . yes, Master," he couldn't resist leaning in towards me, just a little, his caged cock no doubt calling for attention from its metal prison deep under his padding. "It's making, well it's keeping my balls rather warm, and pressed against me. It doesn't hurt, just . . . I'd be glad of a change, Master."

"Well ok then. Lie down on the mat."

He complied, and I began the process of changing him, just as I had before. This time, however, when I lifted his legs, there was a lot more to deal with. The padding may have absorbed much of the liquid, but a lot of thoroughly squished sodden scat had worked its way into his fur, and needed to be cleaned out. I won't deny that it wreaked. I won't deny that it was gross, but at the same time, I had promised to assume this responsibility from him. I am his Master, and I needed him to know that there was nothing I wouldn't do for him, even if that meant changing his dirty diapers. Neither of us said a word, but we shared subtle, reassuring noises as I cared for his most intimate regions.