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It seems that no matter how good his intentions are, nor how meticulously he prepares, Account Representative Kioga C. Davis, MTA, SO, IHC, cannot avoid a bad run on luck. These calamities, however, are documented for our pleasure; and the young, incontinent cheetah is such a good sport. Kioga thought that his weeks-long vacation would start with a nice fetish cruise to Jamaica, but ultimately found great adversity all around him, inside and out of his diaper.

He had his intern Kyrie Danvers arrange the tickets and succeeded to talk his boyfriend, the muscular wolf Lugo, into joining him. "It'll be amazing!" he insisted as he put Kyrie on mute, she waiting on him for the final ticket number, "And Fred's going, too; he can stay in our room!"

Lugo rolled his eyes as he brushed his teeth in front of the bathroom mirror, wearing a recently-applied American Apogee heavy-duty disposable brief. His tail raised and he let out a muffled, creamy cum-fart that Kioga had drilled into him just a half-hour ago. Lugo spit into the sink.

"I don't mind changing his wet nappies while you jerk off into your diaper," he stated as he hung up his toothbrush, sighing as a rush of piss yellowed and swelled the front of his padding, "But let's talk before we share a set of handcuffs with ... "

"Sounds great!" Kioga interrupted before Lugo had finished, rushing out and unmuting Kyrie. It was late at night and the fennec's speech seemed to slur. "Yeah, you know which cruise right? Yes. _Thaaaaat_one. Sure you don't want to go?"

"Kyrie too?!" Lugo exclaimed.

"Why, what's the matter? ... Uh? What's that? Ah, that's too bad. Fred's coming and he promised he'll leave his video equipment at home. Yeah, we're friends now! You don't like him? I know he seems like a pretentious butthole, but ... Look, just order the tickets. Thanks!"

The cheetah ended his call and set the phone face-down in the kitchen. He was wearing a thick cloth diaper and hadn't bothered to pull his plastic pants over them. Kioga was in a great mood and practically controlled when his bladder and under-tail let loose.

"Kyrie's apparently going aboard a _different_cruise as an F-C representative for a business trip. Evan's going to be overseeing her for her 'business-con.'"

"Shame," his boyfriend groused as he waddled out to the living-room. He had a game on pause, some shooter-MMO hybrid that he hated, loved, and "had spent way too many hours on to back out now. The devs will fix it with the next patch; I know it."

"Sounds like you're in a bad relationship," Kioga observed, then turned a curious ear when Lugo gave a grunt of affirmation that was perhaps a little too enthusiastic for his blithe remark.

"If we're going to do this," Lugo said, "You are wearing a European Ultra or two if a drink touches your lips. I swear you could solve the California drought by the rate ... and volume ... that you process liquids. You're breaking the law of conservation of energy with your in-out ratio, bud. Sure you're not hooked up to a hose?"

"It's a blessing and a curse! But don't tell me you don't love a hot, fat, saggy diaper pressed on the bridge of your muzzle."

Lugo grinned, watching the screen as he killed a couple of guys with improbable headshots. "Ain't the worst, but you watch out if I discover I can use my own discarded piss-sacks."

"Don't quit your day job," Kioga chuckled, then suddenly ran for his plastic pants as his bowels gurgled. A thick mass punched the inside of his ring: "Honey!" he called out, "Change?"

Lugo rolled his eyes and tossed a grenade into a gaggle of folks. "Ten minutes, lumpy butt. I'll be done soon." The grenade exploded, but it didn't cover Kioga's groans or the cloth-muffled grunts of his tailhole, garrulously disgorging a horrible paste.

Under blazing sunny skies and a playful breeze that ruffled their exposed fur, Kioga and Lugo arrived at their designated pier in plainclothes, hiding naughty secrets underneath their pants and holding it in until maybe, they found another group of fetishists to share a secretive whoopsie_as they waited to board. Kioga checked the tickets and then scanned the crowd, rather impressed at how groomed and put-together everyone was. _This was the caliber of diaper-sluts and baby-furs they'd be hanging with? No other faded StarFox shirts or a onesie in public? It made sense; these tickets weren't cheap ... they would be spending the whole of two weeks knocking around the Caribbean. About half of these people wore clean-cut, starched shirts, blouses, slacks and skirts. The other half wore kitsch, authentic Hawaiian-style faire that was also impeccably pressed.

Kioga felt a little underdressed in a funny graphic StarFox tee and baggy cargo shorts, but he wasn't the bottom of the barrel. There were a few exceptions that'd also tossed "something" on. And then there was this other guy: A sharp whistle struck his ear and he turned to see a powder-white arctic fox/otter wearing shining white and blue silk robes that blew gracefully in the sonorous breeze. His similarly- colored sunglasses were ruthlessly rectangular, like 80's vector lines. The artotic's thumbclaw fidgeted with his ticket, flipping it back and forth.

"Ah, Fred; great to see you!" Kioga said, grabbing his free hand and shaking it vigorously. The robed male ended the greeting with a sudden stiffness in his jiggled arm. The cheetah released it.

"Please call me 'Shaun,' spelled X-i-a-n," Xian said as he ran claws through his pristine matte-colored fur. Kioga spotted a line of blue splatter markings, like Dalmatian spots, that started at one side of his neck and disappeared down the collar. This guy was his own Mary Sue, through a gleaming lens of "avant garde" and "new pop music."

"Full name is FreDilection, so it's the last part. '-tion.' Shaun. I thought I'd enjoy a little anonymity," he said drily, shouldering a matching blue and white bag full of the assumed supplies. Kioga felt funny about his own supply bag.

"I, ah, you know they probably have a lot of complimentary diapers on board. European Ultras and King Cubs, I'm betting. You already registered for the con?"

"Those brands are overrated, but serviceable in their own right. Too quickly absorbent; I like how American Apogees let you stew in it before they absorb," Xian shrugged, then forgot the topic. Kioga felt his cock swell in his pants. Xian winked at him before continuing, "And yes, I barely managed to pre-register on a site dredged out of nineties dial-up. Their webmaster may very well be a toddler; how dare they treat us like children," he added with a smirk.

Lugo laughed, then continued to hang at the edge of conversation. Kioga smiled and squeezed the wolf's bicep. Lugo patted his paw.

"Y'know, maybe we missed the theme," Kioga said as he looked out over the passengers, the three slowly interweaving within the crowd and making their way to the gangplank, "I'd've brought my own work attire if I'd known it'd be 'business and binkies.'"

The artotic clapped for him. "We'd've crowned you 'Con Chair' for a name like that," Xian responded. "It's too bad these deals are so expensive; I'm not seeing a single babyfur I know. I was expecting more varied walks of life--no one is awkward here; not a single tremble," he said with a Dr. Hannibal Lecter sort of purr, "Everyone is straight-backed and well-groomed. But we don't blame the scruffy, off-putting individuals," he said, raising his open paw as if to cradle an invisible flame, "Sometimes a fetish is refuge for the abandoned, the insecure; the disenfranchised yearning to break free and revel in something unique: to reclaim the individuality the world has so cruelly denied them."

Lugo let out a low "wow," nodding affirmatively.

Xian pulled his glasses up over his brow and strode past the wolf and cheetah, standing up on tip-paw. A sudden gust of salty breeze pinned his robes against the front of his body, and it reminded Kioga how perilously desiccated their strange luminary was. Didn't otters and arctic foxes ... have some fluff to them? Kioga noticed a few errant glances bouncing off of Xian. By his evaluation, Xian was the odd man out.

"There's not even one of those damn hats in sight. What are they called?"

"Fedoras?" Kioga asked. He let out a sharp gasp as his attention caught onto a strange metal manacle affixed to the base of the artotic's tail. A small chain led inward through the robe's slit for his tail.

"Trilby and no; that was two years ago. The new chapeau du jour has a much larger brim."

"A fedora?"

"God damn you," Xian said with a stomp of his foot, turning back toward them. His tail-chain jingled. "Tropical, and white!"

Lugo snapped his fingers. "Panama."

"Yes!" Xian cheered, foisting his ticket up like a torch, "Panama hats!"

Kioga stretched himself up, his hidden padding squishing against his groin. It was distinctly warm and pressed out against his thighs; he didn't remember leaking. "There's a couple right over there," he said.

"And they look so normal," Xian added, pulling at his short pointy ear, "is the entire Furry race cleaning up? We're loading onto a ship to unload into our pants and kiss while we squish shit into each other's clefts; we're here to watch cartoons and drink Kool-Aid vodka cocktails from baby bottle rubber nipples! Can I not relax even within my fetish?"

A portly rhinoceros with an enormous Hawaiian shirt covering a comprehensive gut stumbled past him, wagging a yard-tall cup of frozen margarita. "You seen that CSI episode too?" he asked, then laughed as he stumbled past.

Xian sighed and turned back to Kioga, milling within the line. His voice was much lower; he felt walled in. "So how'd you get into the fandom?"

Kioga shrugged. "I have to. I just pulled this asshole into it," he said with a poor chuckle, indicating Lugo. He then whined, dismayed, as he saw his shorts resting in a long, blatant curve against his fat, soaky bulge.

"Don't worry; it's not that obvious. I've been under terrible pain for what I've prepared," he said with a wag of his tail, the chain jingling. "What about you?" he asked Lugo with a sneer.

"Don't worry; you'll see if I still like you," he responded. Lugo elbowed Kioga as they reached the ticket counter. "Buttplug," he whispered to Kioga. Xian overheard.

Xian slammed his fist against the counter and turned around, crumpled ticket thrust out like a sword. "Fox McCloud is a physical manifestation of Krystal's desperate wish for a perfect warrior, brought to life by the power of the Krazoa spirits and the collected memories of childless James McCloud after Andross obliterates him across the galaxy!" he shouted, garnering a loud, violent roar from his surrounding audience.

"I was going to take my kid to that!"

"Hey, I grew up on StarFox!"

"That movie's not even out yet!"

"Fucking dick!"

"I didn't understand half of what he said ... the good guy's name is 'Fox?'"

Kioga pinched the bridge of his snout, and submitted his ticket after Xian stormed up the gangplank. This prick was really going to spoil StarFox 7 in the midst of a BabyFur Convention?

"Fuck sake ... Xian, wait," he called after him, running up the path. Xian was not stopping. He flailed after him. "Look, hey, we can get half-refunds if we back out now; I don't want to start this on a bad note!"

The cheetah's claw caught the artotic's little tail-chain and snagged. The artotic stumbled forward and a loud, sloppy pop smacked their ears.

Xian fell to his knees and with a grunt, choked out a pitiful entreaty: "Oh God, no." A wet, muffled fart thumped under his tail and subsequently drowned under an avalanche of wet splatters, shaking the metal beneath them. The robed male stumbled to his feet as, his butt unplugged, his tail out straight and shaking, he vehemently messed his diaper.

His arm quaked against the loading plank's rail as his tailhole's final few notes ended in rasping, squishy coughs.

"Let's get checked in," he whispered in a quavering voice, stumbling into Kioga's arms as the cheetah helped him stand. "I'm wearing a generic and its capacity is clearly calling my bluff."

Xian followed behind Kioga and Lugo in short, measured steps. He cringed as a heavy grocery bag crinkle rang out his every move and his dislodged buttplug swam in a murky mire of fresh shit that drooled, staining his ruined white rump. Excess sloshed between his rump and balls, creeping over the leg-guards. The skinny male moaned as a warm, sticky trickle snaked down his thigh.

Kioga knew that diaper waddle: Xian held his legs straight and rolled his footpaws through every step as to not squeeze or squish the floppy wad assuredly hanging from his hips. Even his crinkles were saturated, groaning with the weight.

The cheetah and his crew arrived at the front desk just as he felt an electric tingle at the tip of his sheath. He clenched his teeth as his fur spiked. An older brown bear with clean cut fur greeted them; Kioga handed over his credentials as a loud hiss smacked his padding and soaked his sheath, gathering between his legs. The khaki groin of his shorts grew round, and his cock swelled as it swam in soaked padding.

The bear's claws rattled against his computer keyboard; he looked up when the casually-dressed cheetah braced himself against the marble-topped desk. He saw behind him a muscular wolf resting one arm on top of the other and casually sucking his thumb, and a strangely dressed, skinny arctic fox ... something ... with a stiff-set jaw and a frightened look in his eyes. A pungent, savory odor tickled the bear's nose: perhaps the buffet was starting early.

When the cheetah, their guest Davis, Kioga C., looked up at the bear, the receptionist politely smiled and confirmed their reservation, printing out a few room keys and handing the bundle back to the disturbed male.

"I hope you enjoy your stay. First presentation is set to commence in two hours," he said, gesturing out to the main hallway. Everyone was so nicely dressed. A young fennec female crossed between two men in sharp pressed suits; Kioga almost recognized her. He missed the tiger behind her.

"Oh, thank you!" he said sheepishly, leaning against the desk as he took the room's welcome sheaf. His shorts were hanging forward off a throbbing tent of plastic, wet gel, and a barbed erection that drooled like a drunkard.

Kioga turned one-eighty to his friends, who immediately recoiled from the fat protrusion pushing out the front of his shorts. "Dude, we're in public!" Lugo whispered.

"I'm sorry; it just happened!" Kioga hissed.

The bear politely ignored them, pretending not to hear. His leering eyes glanced over Kioga's rump and they lingered when he saw a full, plush bulge under the guest's tail.

Xian's sandal smacked as he moved his foot: there was a muddy puddle on the floor. He was sweating. The room was smelling like wet dog food.

"Oh dear; it looks like there's been a spill," he said as he stepped off his own sloppy stain, his footpaw soaked his dress, "Gravy or chocolate ice cream; you should have someone look at that."

Xian made a show of removing his sandal and throwing it in a nearby trash bin. The bear politely smiled and picked up his handset.

"Off to the room; now or never!" he said, grabbing Kioga's belt and pulling him forward. Lugo shrugged at the receptionist and followed them.

Kioga had the diaper waddle as well, but his was constricted by a hard cock tweaking against his wet briefs as he walked. Xian occasionally left smudgy, pungent paw prints as he hauled a hefty sewer against his undercarriage. Lugo rolled his eyes at the two overloaded fetishists as his own dirty little secret swished innocently, emptily, against his intrigued, semi-swollen sheath.

Lugo chuckled as he saw a dark smudge seep through the bottom of Xian's hem. His nose analyzed the creeping scent, growing stronger as they filed through hallways of concerned guests. Chinese, perhaps? Whatever. These guests were all in their damned business suits--was he on the right cruise?--and by the time they'd reached their room, a strange brown stripe had formed on the back of Xian's robe. And to think this strange, skinny pervert made a fuck-pillow of his boyfriend?

"Hey Fred, think fast," Lugo said, and when Xian turned to him, Lugo pushed him backwards. The diminutive otter/arctic fox man fell straight on his overloaded bottom, and his diaper burst like a fat tick. There was a loud thump, and the borders of Fred's robe lashed outwards as warm, liquid feces beat at their innards, painting everything within their reach a ruddy, fox-fur brown. A blue female horse in a black dress suit gasped and clopped off.

Xian sat in his own flack, in a dripping swamp that exceeded his dress and drew sticky lines up the walls and across the carpet. His diaper had popped, and what menial solidity his feces maintained formed an ergonomic cushion around his nethers. A mold of his testicles, perineum, anus, and tailbase secured him, held him, like the suitcase of an exotic firearm.

Xian laughed as he wallowed in his own leavings, tears streaming down his unsoiled face as he sat in the decal of what looked like an enormous (brown) paintball splatter. A crowd of business suit furries had gathered on either side of the hallway, shouting expletives amid timid protestations of pity for this "mentally handicapped individual." Xian heard none of it.

Xian laughed as he stood. His over-soiled diaper fell between his heels with a thud, and he stepped out of it like a sweaty pair of panties. His onlookers gasped, screaming at him against righteous protests not to tease the handicapped. The withered artotic took the room keycard from Kioga with a flick of his wrist, and left the broken, blown-out plastic peanut-butter cup of scat on the floor as he swiped the door open and entered, his loosed, dripping steel buttplug bouncing between his legs like an errant bell clapper.

"You're mad!" Kioga shouted as he waddled into the room, his khaki shorts squeezing his wet diaper like an orange. The cheetah self-consciously ran his finger along his rump, right on the diaper line, to find two distinct wet strips where his leg guards clutched his buttocks.

Xian turned to him with a drunk smile, even though he'd put nothing into him and let plenty seep out. "No, dear; I'm quite happy," he giggled, shedding his silk robes and throwing them in a tiny hotel trash bin. His legs were soaked, striped, looking like the map of a rocket's blast radius as he strutted nakedly to the shower, each paw-fall stamping a sticky step. His messy, scat-painted buttplug swung freely under his tail.

The cruise ship blew its horn and the boat lurched into motion. Xian locked the bathroom door and Kioga felt a fierce, thick buildup in his guts, his tail automatically rising. Kioga dropped his shorts to reveal a bright yellow diaper, the wetness indicator striped blue all the way from his pubes to his tail.

Lugo went into action, removing his shirt and squatting before his cheetah cub boyfriend, offering the erect nipple on his sculpted pectoral as the cheetah also squat, though for a distinctly different process. Kioga suckled on the wolf's nipple as he grunted and pushed, filling the back of his besotted, floppy diaper with a hot, coiling load.

The wolf dropped his shorts and the plastic pants beneath to expose his own engorged cock. It didn't take but a couple of pulls to mess the front of his boyfriend's cartoon t-shirt with thick, phlegmy wolf-cum. The viscous, translucent ropes drooped from StarFox's printed face and landed on the boat's short hotel carpet: Kioga's stinky, sagging diaper swung inches above and continued to swell.

"Xian might join us next round, eh?" he purred.