FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

This story is for strange and inquisitive people over the Age of Consent. Diapers, excretion, and a few charming males are par for the course.

Viewer discretion is optional.

The young incontinent cheetah intern Kioga put the cocky, muscular diapered wolf Lugo back up on his office table and then went to retrieve his undershirt. The slender spotted male, about twenty-two years of age, presently wore nothing but a sagging store-bought diaper plump with urine and a few sprays of cum from a mad frotting session.

There was a drastic, pungent stench in the room, and while Kioga already hated the smell of fast food freshly prepared, the secret blend of enzymes and digestion the wolf added before his poor tailhole had piled it all into the back of a European Ultra made the cheetah's eyes water. The svelte cheetah shook his head in wonder at the lumpy mass hanging between the wolf's legs, remembering how shamelessly and how earnestly he'd ground his own diaper-bound erection against it. Kioga grabbed his undershirt and wrapped it around his head.

As a desert traveler prepares for a sandstorm by swaddling his head in protective clothing, Kioga prepared for a shitstorm by wrapping his undershirt over his head. With that in place, Kioga returned to the wolf in a crinkled waddle, eyeing the slop bucket that contained his previous colonic calamity--now only a dull, bland pile of stink--and the cleaning supplies set aside.

"We don't have any more diapers," Kioga said as he undid the wolf's tapes. Lugo looked at him nervously as the side panels dropped free from his hips. Having previously changed Kioga himself, Lugo could only imagine the muddy mess that would be slathered on his rump's surface after its dramatic breach. In turn the wolf, easily twice Kioga's mass, let out a nervous whine.

Kioga stroked his chest.

"Easy there, puppy," he said through his undershirt, "I'm going to clean you as best as I can, we'll get dressed, and we're going to high-tail it...no pun intended... through the fire-escape and out to your car."

"What about the bucket?" Lugo asked, curling his paws to his chest like a cub. His voice was a rich, smooth baritone.

Kioga's eyes went wide as he remembered. His eyes were ostensibly the only visible part of his face, but his mood was quite obvious. He looked toward the slop bucket as he rested his paw on Lugo's diapered groin, which was still sticky on the other side, and he thought for a brief moment. Suddenly, Kioga had it.

"We'll put a bag around the bucket. Then lock my office. Only the janitor comes in here. I'll... I'll leave twenty dollars and a note."

"Eww, yucky; that's gross," Lugo recoiled. His voice was still deep, but his parlance had deteriorated. "Make it fiddy, daddy."

"Fifty?!" Kioga hissed, proceeding anyway with the diaper change. He pulled Lugo's diaper away from his groin. Sticky strands of semen connected the padding to the wolf's sheath, looking to Kioga like he was peeling open a hot marshmallow sandwich. The cheetah's cock thumped at this and he silently cursed it for distracting him.

"Fifty?!" he reiterated. "This was your office frat prank! Wesley's! Your boss! I don't depth-charge my pants at work! Most diapers aren't built for... for that!" The cheetah thrust a paw towards the slop bucket, seeing his doubled-over diaper buried in a mound of his own soil. This made him glare at Lugo again, and more fiercely.

The wolf held out his paws, giving a big shrug. He was curling his legs, holding them high and out of the way for better access. He was quickly relearning how diaper changes worked, after twenty-some years. "Daddy, dude. Chill."

"Magic word, pup" Kioga snapped. The cheetah was in a tiff, which helped him regain the dominant edge he'd recently discovered with today's insane diaper ordeal and, so far, two breaches in bowel confidence. At least the wolf had been wearing a European Ultra: Kioga's store-bought never stood a chance. Neither had Kioga's office slacks.

"Pwetty pwease, daddy?"

"Thank you."

"Douche."

"You--" Kioga paused, jabbing a claw at Lugo. He was going to continue his tirade, his masquerade as "Daddy-Dude" or "Douche" or whomever, but there was an elephant in the room that had to be addressed. And it wasn't because the room smelled like one had made its catastrophic toilet.

"My pants are ruined," Kioga recalled. Wesley's malicious prank--the one resulting in the scat bucket--had proven how ineffective business-casual khakis were for mitigating incontinence.

"You're right by the fire escape, man. Kween your pwecious wittle cub, your bouncing bundle of joy, and we'll make a run for it."

Lugo's sarcasm was not currently appreciated, and Kioga glared at him through his protective shirt-mask. "Under two conditions," he said, opening Lugo's diaper further, revealing the immense mound of slop that had been weighing down the wolf's rear. Kioga had to force himself not to recoil: now the marshmallow sandwich was looking more like a s'more. The cheetah felt a little trickle pour over his sheath and his crotch grew warm again. This was his second store-bought today he'd wet to capacity.

The smell hit him like a blast of dragon breath and the cheetah's eyes watered again. Lugo's mess was a bright rusty brown and stuck to the wolf's toned rump in large, moist clumps like a spa mud mask. The material almost glowed: it smelled like hot sauce and carcass.

"One," the cheetah grunted, grabbing up the sanitary wipes and feebly wafting the scent away, "You're going back in a diaper, you naughty puppy. What you did was a bad thing. Bad!"

Kioga was out of diapers and extra slacks--the burglary of his backup drawer had also been a part of Wesley's malicious prank--but he was working on something. Many devious plans were stewing in the cheetah's mind.

Lugo recoiled from the smell, and the wolf whimpered as gravity peeled a chunk of scat from his fur and dropped it on the opened padding with a thump. The cheetah's assault was bringing the wolf quickly back to his submissive mood. Something snapped in Lugo's mind as Kioga appraised his messy backside.

Some locked-away fetish, as if from a dream...

"I will honor your request, father," he said. His voice had gained in pitch, but the words were well-enunciated.

Kioga's brow twisted. "That's rather formal for you, cub," he said. Kioga was getting into the act himself, but it was strange for an American wolf to be sounding like an English schoolpup. Had Kioga unearthed some hidden desire? He decided to play along, though was preciously mindful of the wet sack that was hanging around his own hips. Space was running out, and his groin had grown warm again. Kioga felt pee trickle under his scrotum.

"Perhaps your mum and I may send you to preparatory school after all," he said.

"I would be most delighted," the wolf mewled. "But what of your second request, sir?"

Kioga pulled out a few wipes, not wearing gloves himself, and drew the cold wipes between the wolf's rump cheeks, gathering the wet, sticky material into a large ball as he dug Lugo's naked tailhole out of the dung. When Kioga's fingers glanced against the naked orifice, the wolf moaned and bucked his hips. The cheetah's cock jumped again, and he threw the heavy wipes into the bucket with a sound splat.

"Two," Kioga said, glancing at the scat on his fingers as he pulled another wipe. "Your mother Wesleyana needs to kiss you goodbye before you leave for father's apart...his flat."

"What?!" Lugo barked, sitting up with a bolt.

"Shh, shh shh," Kioga admonished, pushing his fudgy finger against the wolf's wet nose. Lugo immediately pulled back, and was left with a sticky pungent print on his snout. Having been exposed to the open air, the stench of Lugo's expulsion was strong, but now had a softer, sweeter note in its malodorous bouquet. As for the mark left on his nose, Lugo paused to consider it.

When the wolf paused, the cheetah--fast as his breeding would imply--then pushed the tip of his finger directly against Lugo's lips. The wolf recoiled once more, scooting back on the table with his opened, loaded European Ultra diaper dragging under him, which was still attached by the elastic band around his tail. A chunk of scat shook loose and fell off the mound he'd left, which proceeded to roll across the table and fall off.

"You'll never be home in time to see The Wiggles, if you keep this up," Kioga insisted.

"I...ulp--" Lugo objected, and then a muddy finger slid into his mouth. The material upon it tasted familiar: a little burger, a little pizza, plenty of Sriracha; and he suckled obediently upon it as though it were his own bottle. His cola-bottle cock responded in kind, quickly rising from its sheath.

Kioga snickered and squat in place as his pup suckled his dirty finger, noting the moist squish of his diaper as it tightened under his hips and pressed against his groin. He'd be leaking soon. The cheetah plucked the meatball-sized clump of scat from the floor and in his own curiosity, brought it to his shirt-covered nose.

It stunk to high Heaven, even through fabric.

The cheetah coughed and wheezed, tears again coming to his eyes as he stumbled around, his wet diaper smacking between his legs, his empty stomach cramping to the obscene alchemy of smells.

"Father?" the wolf inquired, sitting up, rolling on top of his burdened garment. "Are you well?"

"Eat," Kioga growled, quickly pressing to Lugo and pushing the clay nugget against the wolf's muzzle with his forefinger and thumb.

Lugo accepted his morsel of scat with a moan of protest, but nonetheless mashed it between the top of his mouth and his tongue and swallowed it with a loud gulp. He let out a small, high-pitched belch when it had cleared. His teeth were smeared when he talked, which made the cheetah balk with wonder.

"I hope we are done playing fun and games, father. I...we shouldn't keep mother waiting."

The young incontinent cheetah intern Kioga had stumbled into a deep, perverse kink of the cocky, muscular frat wolf. It was amusing how compliant the wolf had become.

"Of course, puppy. Lay back..." he said.

The process was completed in due time, and not without its occasional hangups when the smell rendered too great for Kioga or when Kioga had to pause, feeling his own bladder release again and fill, again and again, the seemingly final corner of his drastically-sagging store bought. Its crotch wagged like an extra appendage when he walked--when he waddled--and this spurred the cheetah to finish his work, and quickly.

Kioga's diaper was full and Lugo's diaper area was empty when they finished. The muscular wolf sat up from the office "changing" table when the cheetah threw away the final wipe. Kioga waddled back to his puppy and gave him a hug.

"I'm most grateful, father," Lugo said with a charming, boyish lilt. And then his voice dropped.

"Thanks, fucker," Lugo added, laughing.

They both eyed the slop bucket, which previously had been a benign vat of inoffensive offal. The cheetah's bland diet had resulted in bland droppings. Now that Lugo had contributed with his grievous leavings, the vessel seemed to radiate. A Geiger counter went off in Kioga's head.

The two males were fixated on the bucket, their diaper ritual now complete. With an audible crinkle, the cheetah shifted his negligible weight and leaned against the wolf, who in kind started massaging the back of Kioga's skull, just at the top of his neck.

"Father," the naked muscle-wolf said, resuming his schoolchild mentality, "You said I must return to diapers, but we are bereft of them. My delicate rump remains unswaddled."

"Yes, my dear boy," the young cheetah intern returned, reaching back to stroke his puppy's erection, "That is most astute. It seems your mother Wesleyana has appropriated my supplies--and your father's extra pair of slacks, no less."

The wolf's cock responded immediately to the friendly touch, and so Kioga lay his wolf down on the table as he continued to talk. The cheetah's paw moved fast--understandable to his breeding--over Lugo's cola-bottle shaft, and was rewarded by no short supply of precum. The muscular wolf writhed and panted in response, and he clawed the surface of his changing table.

"So it's my devious estimation that your mother would be more than delighted to return my supplies: especially if it's to see her bouncing baby boy swathed in a fresh nappy."

Sweating on the table and bucking into Kioga's paw, swiftly approaching the day's second orgasm, Lugo briefly broke from his lilting accent. "Wesley's going to see me in diapers; everyone's going to know--"

"Puppy?"

"Ung, sorry. I mean mother works so hard already; must we importune her with such a niggling affair?"

Kioga was rock hard in his soaked diaper, and he didn't quite register what his puppy had said. It only glanced across his ears, still trapped in his undershirt, as a form of protest. A protest that had to be quashed, yes, but he couldn't take his eyes off Lugo's cock. The scat bucket was off in the corner, away from them, and the stench in the room had somewhat died down. They'd been getting used to it. Kioga froze with his paw around the base of Lugo's full knot. The wolf sat up.

"Father?"

"Mind your manners, puppy," the cheetah growled, lust overtaking him. "Daddy needs some dick."

Kioga pulled his undershirt down from his muzzle and was assaulted by a pungent blast of gas, its acrid and potent stench hitting his nose. The cheetah's eyes watered and his stomach clenched again, but he was determined to fight through it. The svelte diaper daddy bent down and sucked his puppy's cock, paw moving studiously over his knot, massaging it, stroking it while the cheetah's raspy tongue worked the length, dragging against it.

"Daddy!" the wolf mewled, clamping his paws down on the sides of the table as his body went rigid. "Oh, yes! Yes!"

Kioga was rewarded by a hard shot of precum to the back of his throat, and so he ravenously pressed on. The cheetah's free paw had gone to his diaper, squishing and grinding the wet padding around his own pulsing cock, legs trembling as the warm, moist walls slid against the rigid skin. Some of it briefly stuck to him, and Kioga foggily remembered, with his puppy's dick prodding the back of his throat and his tongue frantically working it, that this would be the second orgasm this current store-bought would bear. Groping the wolf's knot with one hand and his tented diaper with the other, the cheetah was approaching fast.

"Father!" the wolf cried, spraying into his daddy's mouth, hearing the cheetah greedily swallow his load. He watched in a haze, as his dick pulsed and squirted shot after shot of cum into the muzzle lustily wrapped around it, and saw the young office intern freeze up and clutch the front of his diaper.

Kioga groaned and Kioga gasped, cum dripping from his lips as his mouth inadvertently opened, his cock flexing and unloading several strands of semen into his diaper, adding to the moist and heavy load that already weighed the garment down. As cum trickled back down his shaft and sheath, the cheetah felt a breeze tickle the underside of his aching sac.

His store-bought was shot. It had lost so much of its form that the center strap was sagging free of his groin. It was a loose, piss and cum-soaked set of underwear now. It was as good for his problem as would be a loincloth.

The cheetah stood free of the wolf's groin and wiped his mouth on his spotted arm, looking at the clock. Another hour had elapsed and no one had come to check on them. It was very strange. He was getting paid for this.

Lugo pulled Kioga in by the waist and hugged him, licking his neck just below the jawline.

"Thank you, father; I had the most felicitous orgasm."

"Hush," Kioga said, holding back a chuckle. Their intimacy was delightful and they were fast on their way to a relationship--if they weren't in one already--but their predicament still remained. Kioga had no pants, they had no diapers, they both needed a shower, and there was a big bucket of poo in the corner, slowly swallowing the two protective garments that'd been thrown in.

The piece as a whole, in some bizarre corner of Kioga's mind, looked like a potted plant, with the bucket as the pot, their soiling as, well, the soil, and the leaves of the diaper panels like the fronds of a fern.

Kioga told Lugo.

"Methinks father has worked himself too hard and his mind is in a great state of vexation," the lupine schoolpup mewled, "perhaps he would lay off the crack? For mum?"

Kioga burst out laughing, then quickly reigned himself back in.

"Father needs his crack," he joked back, "or father may find ground to choke a bitch."

"So your diaper's hanging like a pair of low-rise jeans, Kioga," Lugo said, suddenly dropping his act. "Like, if they made slutty diapers to show off a vixenista's ass, get that nice 'v' in the front going--if they made diaper thongs, you'd be a model for one. Like you are right now."

"Hah. Call up Calvin Klein; see if he's looking," Kioga chuckled, then quickly lost his smile as he looked down. His sheath was poking out; his diaper had fallen so low. "I'm not sure why I'm even bothering," he sighed, pulling the saggy store-bought up on his hips.

Lugo reached over Kioga's cubicle wall and grabbed his phone. There were five missed calls and twelve new text messages.

"Looks like mummy's worried sick," Lugo said in a half-baritone, half-schoolchild lilt.

That snapped Kioga into action, and he bolted out from Lugo's muscular arm, into the center of the room. Kioga remembered his undershirt, still wrapped around his head but free of his muzzle, and pulled the garment off, tossing it aside. He looked at the slop bucket. His shit fern.

"Father, why are you staring at the diaper pail?" Lugo asked, reaching for Kioga's tail as it twitched and bobbed.

A wry smile broke across Kioga's muzzle. A shit-eating grin. As he turned back to his puppy, who was now batting at his tail, he let out a malicious chuckle. Lugo stopped playing with his tail and looked at his diaper daddy with a most quizzical expression.

"Father, what machinations are bouncing about your head?" Lugo asked.

The cheetah strode over, his store bought sliding down his hips, and kissed his reclining puppy on the lips. His lips had the faint taste of scat, which made Kioga's stomach roil. The cheetah felt the familiar tickle of his bladder releasing again, but since his diaper had fallen, it sprung free of his sheath and landed on the wolf's hip, trickling down his leg. This did not vex Kioga, and so he pushed harder to mark his cub, wetting the well-defined features of Lugo's side. The wolf whined like a pup.

"Revenge," the cheetah said as he finished urinating, and then shook the remaining droplets onto Lugo's chest. "Call your mummy, Wesleyana, and tell her to bring father's supplies."

Feeling dry of mouth, and positively parched on the inside, Kioga waddled to a filing cabinet and found his stash of sports drinks. One he gave himself and gulped down half the bottle, the other he gave to Lugo after the muscled frat-wolf had called his fraternal Alpha.

As they waited for Wesley to come through the office to their door, Lugo nursed his sports drink like a baby bottle and Kioga moved a few items about the room: most importantly was the slop bucket, which he positioned in front of the door about eight feet from the entrance. That was Wesley's rough height plus a couple feet for good measure.

Wesley came into the room to see his Beta wolf posed naked on an office table with an adult-sized pacifier in his mouth. The coyote had brought the burglarized contents of Kioga's emergency drawer in a laptop bag. Stupefied and stunned at what he saw before him, he made a few more steps into the room, asking repeatedly what the living Hell was going on, if Lugo had gone mad, and if that intern, who wore diapers for medical reasons and not for some sick fetish, had converted the wolf.

When the confident and long-winded marketing employee stopped to take a breath, he was hit with a spicy and sulfuric cloud of filth, something he'd later describe as an old outhouse with a drop pit. Raw sewage, to put it succinctly. It was in this fleeting moment of consciousness that Wesley saw the janitor's bucket on the floor and saw the prank office-stamped European Ultra out the top, which was more covered in shit than it was ink from Wesley's malicious prank.

"Don't tell me that's all Kioga's doing? That's practically irradiated! No, no way," Wesley said, coughing in to his shirt sleeve, not hearing the door close behind him. "I remember college. You used to drop these megatons all the time, Loggo. So you're now a puppy that messes his diaper?" the coyote demanded.

Lugo just cutely nodded, sticking his thick chest out and wagging his tail.

"Jesus. That cheetah's more persuasive than I first thought. Guess I have a new Beta now. Where is the leaky-puss?"

The coyote heard a sodden crinkle behind him.

"Hey Wesley. Hope you're ready for a real load."

Kioga came out from the corner he was hiding in and, just as quick as his breeding would imply, shoved Wesley before he could react. The coyote plummeted in the directions of his toes: face-first into daddy and puppy's slop bucket.

Wesley's muzzle plunged into the sloppy mix of scat, wipes, and diapers with a loud wet slap, his impact spraying some of the fetid material onto the coyote's crisp white shirt. Lugo burst out laughing at this, pacifier falling into his lap, and Kioga stood grinning with his arms folded. The coyote's face remained embedded in their waste for a long amount of time, so much so that Lugo began to wonder. "Father, is mummy okay?" he asked before replacing his pacifier.

The cheetah, losing his intoxicating gaiety, unfolded his arms and approached the placid body.

"I, yes. Mummy's just resting; I'll just pull her snout out of the potty--"

It was only for a split second, a fleeting glimpse requiring a second look to verify, but it was the one warning Kioga got. The coyote's ears twitched--likely from being called "mummy"--and then Wesley pushed himself out of the slop bucket to turn fully around, now standing face to face with the young office intern. The fur on his face, everything from his ears, forehead, down to his neck and the top of his shirt, was covered in Lugo and Kioga's shit. His face reeked like an open sewer. From the swampy mire of his despoiled countenance, his eyes glowed brilliantly like two vengeful pyres.

The coyote licked his lips once, clearing a layer of brown muck from his long canine muzzle. Never did he break eye contact with the cheetah as then he did the unthinkable, swallowing the foreign filth his tongue had collected. A trickle of piss ran into Kioga's diaper, and finding no place to go, ran down his leg.

"Think it'd be funny to make me eat shit, eh sport?" the coyote growled, seeing the cheetah leak and make a dark wet spot on the carpet around his foot. "It looks like you're already regretting it."

"Wesley," Kioga protested. The cheetah tried to summon the same courage that he'd used to talk down to Lugo, but being practically nude in front of his mentor, wearing nothing but a second store-bought that had failed today in front of his mentor, facing a coyote-shaped mask of his and his puppy's own mess... Kioga's reserve began to crumble. The cheetah could feel his sports drink welling up in his bladder. Wesley, while not as enormous as Lugo, was larger than Kioga, and when he channeled his inner beast, the coyote towered above both of them.

Behind his two betters, Lugo whined.

"I, Wesley ... I could really use what's in your bag," the cheetah stammered, pointing at the laptop case strung under his mentor's arm.

"Yeah?" Wesley said, a growl deep in his throat. "Well I think you lost that privilege, bro-cub."

The coyote jabbed Kioga in the chest with two fingers. When he'd pulled himself out of the bucket, Wesley had gotten some on his paw, and now had stained the cat's white chest.

"I think I could use what's in this bag," he said, quickly moving to unzip it, open it, and then dump Kioga's diaper supplies across the floor. Kioga's backup office slacks fell out and crumpled on the floor.

"Y-you want to wear a--?" the cheetah stammered.

"You and Lugo were down here for an awfully long time," Wesley denoted, the clay on his face slowly settling. His bright eyes glared through it and he talked with a slimy silver tongue, as if he was just holding a conversation with a potential business client. His tone was keen and even, but there was an edge of malice that kept both of the other males anxious, and rightfully so. The coyote unbuckled his pants and undressed, continuing his conversation.

"And lo and behold, you're off in 'Fetish Land' on company time. And I know I started this--I'll admit to taking some of your time. But you've lost that concession. Don't think of reporting me. Not with this new shit I got on all you. Or all this shit," he said, circling at his face. Wesley tossed his pants and underwear aside. It was normal underwear, nothing special.

"There was a part of me, admittedly, that thought if this whimpering galoot," he said, indicating Lugo as he untied his tie and then, oddly, began retying it, "really liked your peepee pants, and no offense, bro-cub; I know you need them ... If this whimpering galoot liked them so much, then maybe _mummy--_that's me, right?--could maybe take them for a spin. What the Hell; why not?

"In some Bizarro universe, you could have gotten two converts in one day, kitty-scat, but not with what's going on up here." He drew another big circle around his soiled face before turning away from Kioga, stooping down to grab the cheetah's one spare set of slacks. When Wesley stooped, his tail raised and he blew out a loud fart that echoed from the walls.

Kioga moved to grab his slacks, but Wesley's wretched cloud stopped him in his tracks.

"Oh yeah, and I had a big lunch today; I suppose you didn't see how many sandwiches I bought myself when I took you out. I swear I am actually tasting turkey sammy you'd eaten right now, by the way.

"So here's how it's going to work, sport," he said, stepping into the cheetah's skinny slacks. Wesley was at least a couple of sizes larger than Kioga; the intern didn't see how he could possibly fit...

"I've eaten shit today, and it's not my favorite, but I massively appreciate you cooking dinner for 'mummy' and so I feel I should return the favor and serve up some of my own. And since you so enjoyed my prank this afternoon; since you enjoyed--hup!" he said, hopping as he yanked the slacks up his thighs, straining the fabric, "since you enjoyed messing yourself so much that you had to have Lugo give it a try, I thought I may as well join the frenzy. But I'm not using diapers, nah."

"No diapers? Then how are you going to...?" the intern asked, watching his mentor jam his shirt-tails into the poor, beige-colored slacks.

"Let me make this clear," Wesley interrupted, "I eat shit, you eat shit. You shit _your_pants--hup!" he said, sharply inhaling as he buttoned and zipped the pants up with clear difficulty.

"I shit your pants."

"What?!" Kioga yowled.

_ _ "It's a two-for-one deal, this day only, sport," Wesley said, walking up to the leaky cheetah. "I shit your pants, and you eat shit. Package deal. It's almost too good to be true."

The coyote was right in Kioga's face now. The smell coming off his muzzle was obscene, and it made the cheetah cough. "I...Wesley..."

"Lay down, bro-cub. You're out of your league," he snarled.

"I..." Kioga said, feeling the pressure in his bladder well up. This was going to be bad on several accounts. With a bat of his paw as some form of surrender, the cheetah knelt down on the floor, his diaper squishing against the carpet, and then lay supine.

Wesley the coyote was quick to follow, and this top-dog marketing Alpha squatted over his intern's head, facing towards the slender male's near-naked groin. Seems along the coyote's hips popped and strained, and he almost couldn't get his rear low enough due to the tightness of the fabric. With his canine tail raised and his elbows resting on his knees, a paw playing with his wristwatch, Wesley made bathroom talk with the aide who, by his forceful machinations, was going to be his toilet.

"So, sport! Did you hear about that outage over at the stadium yesterday? No running water during a league game! I hear that half the toilets overflowed; some had to be replaced."

A hot blast of rancid gas blew through the tight fabric and hit the cheetah right in the nose. Kioga thought he would wretch then and there, but was waylaid by another putrid burst of gas that went on for seconds, filling the cheetah's lungs, making him cough right against the coyote's clothed rump as it concluded with a wet squelch. Kioga fell back against the carpet.

There was a dark, shiny stain on the slacks against Kioga's nose.

"Wesley, hey..."

"I only caught the game on TV, but the whole ordeal was so awkward for the home team I think they lost out of embarrassment. Hold on, chief; fire in the hole."

Wesley leaned forward against his knees and his tail went high. His next fart splattered and sputtered until a solid log bulged Wesley's clothed tailhole and put a tent against the rear of his pants. Kioga watched in horror as the seam running down the center, already stretched to the limit by holding too much coyote, dripped with wet slime. The bulge pushed out towards the cheetah's face, and then the fabric pushed back and mashed the mess in both directions across the canine's cheeks, tainting the tan fabric with a sticky, smelly smear.

Kioga couldn't hold it much longer. His bladder was aching for release; sprinkles were leaking into his diaper and running down his thighs, darkening the carpet under his hips. Wesley punctuated his first load with a loud fart, the blast of which spotted the cheetah's face with fecal flecks.

"Wesley!" Kioga protested, and then his bladder released, unloading a steady stream into his useless, room-temperature garment. It soaked up through the waistband and pooled on his stomach before running off on both sides. It spilled past his diaper's loose leg gathers and puddled beneath him, catching the coyote's attention.

"You should really start investing in the heavier brands if you're risking an emergency in the office," the coyote said, grunting as his abdomen cramped and his tailhole stretched as another long, slimy log smashed into his pants and spread against his cheeks, punctuated by an onerous squelch. The seat of Wesley's straining pants was dark, wet, and smelled absolutely rank. "Doesn't seem like those diapers are doing you any favors. Not today, anyhoo. Aaaah..."

Wesley let out a long, luxuriant sigh, and the front of his pants spotted darkly around the crotch. These patches quickly spread outward along the insides of his thighs and down his legs, dribbling down his ankles on either side of Kioga's head. When the coyote's piss traveled backwards to the soiled and lumpy seat of his pants, there formed an acrid mixture that formed droplets along its surface above the cheetah's face which then began to rain.

Lugo let out a long, low whimper, sucking on his pacifier as he watched his daddy, writhing under a dominant and defecating coyote. He saw Kioga laying in a soaked, disintegrating diaper that leaked piss everywhere and take a drizzle of sewage his own set of backup slacks.

Wesley looked at the muscular wolf with a fraternal nod. The scat on his face had mostly settled, and for the most part had been largely forgotten in his perverse circus of depravity. "Don't worry, puppy," Wesley said mockingly, grunting as he continued to soak Kioga's tight trousers. "Daddy just needs to know his place. You know 'mummy' is fair.

"Ain't that right, sport?" Wesley asked Kioga with a sneer, squatting down further and rubbing the soiled seat of his pants against the cheetah's snout. "How's that two-for-one treating you?" Kioga let out a loud howl, which was muffled against Wesley's mucky rump, and the coyote laughed in response, not hearing his seams tear further as he leaned into his toilet.

"It's all in fairness, bro-cub; I eat shit, you eat shit. You shit your pants, I... shit!"

Something large had been hiding inside Wesley, and perhaps it was this proper defecating posture that'd worked it loose. But the coyote could feel it tunneling through, barreling through his colon like the underground metro. There was a sick gurgle that Kioga's ear easily traced, his ears being practically adjacent to Wesley's sordid bottom, on its tumultuous path around Wesley's last internal bend. The cheetah knew, his face streaked in sick lines of urine and scat, to close his eyes.

The loose freight hit the pile in Wesley's pants like a train crash and barreled through. It hit with a rippling splat that was muffled by the present rank garbage, and it proceeded to bulge the seat out until the entire area bowed outward. And then the seams gave way.

With the soggy rips of fart and fabric, Wesley's pants opened like a bomber's bay doors and spilled the wealth of its fetid contents upon the cheetah's face. A mountain of wet, loose poo spilled on Kioga's face and coated it in shiny brown slop. This calamitous pile of fudge parted upon Kioga's open muzzle and spilled inwards as he coughed, which sprayed the dark sludge back on Wesley's soiled ass and his rent, ruined pants. Blinded by the same refuse that melted into his throat and over his Velcro tongue, the soppy wet cheetah coughed and retched, writhing under Wesley as the coyote rippled with yipping laughter, his own eyes watering to the reprehensible stench.

Lugo whined around his pacifier and wet himself, a stream of urine arcing from his half-erect cock and splattering on the table in loud, percussive hits.

The door of Kioga's office suddenly opened and the tiger under Wesley's fraternal pack stepped in. He, too, wretched from the felonious fecal fetor. His eyes went wide and beheld all.

"What in the name of...Lugo?! Kioga? WESLEY?!" he swore, burying his muzzle in the crook of his arm. Diapers and diaper supplies were scattered on the floor. Powder, baby wipes, a baby's bottle--it was all strewn on the carpeted floor of Kioga's corner office filing room. There was a muscular wolf in the background, sucking on a pacifier and openly urinating onto a table, his piss streaming onto company carpet and pooling. There was the incontinent office intern on the floor coughing under a flowing mound of shit. His destroyed, swollen diaper was in tatters of plastic and gel flakes; a large dark puddle surrounded his hips. Finally, there was the tiger's his superior, Wesley the marketing Alpha, wearing a cracked, flaking mask of scat on his face and a scat-spattered office shirt. This was all above an excruciatingly tight set of business slacks split in the rear, displaying the coyote's shit-smeared rump mere inches hovering above a thrashing intern who again, was drowning in scat.

"What the fuck's going on in here, Wesley; is this one of your pranks? What do you call this?!" the tiger asked.

"Ah," the marketing Alpha paused, turning to the tiger, his underling, desperately searching for an answer.

"The Aristocrats?"