Soaktober 2023, Days 8-14

Day 8: Napping Together

Today, at a Pokemon Daycare, an Eevee, a Vulpix, a Sprigatito, and a Nickit met and quickly made friends. They ran around all morning, chasing each other, wrestling, tugging on toys, and racing each other around the yard. All that activity worked up a thirst, and the four of them returned to the water bowl over and over again. It also left them so tired that by afternoon they could barely keep their eyes open. After making sure they drank some more water, the daycare worker in charge led them to a quiet room with a mattress where they could settle down for a nap. The Eevee, Shinx, and Vulpix all curled up together, and a few minutes later the Nickit crawled into bed and joined them, wearing a soft, crinkly diaper. She had to wear it for naptime because she'd had accidents before, and she was quite embarrassed about it, but the others reassured her that it was okay, and soon all four were fast asleep.

Due to the high pokemon-to-staff ratio at this daycare the napping room was left unsupervised. All four of the little pokemon were female, so there was no danger of surprise eggs, but the worker was new and inexperienced. She forgot to make sure they want potty before their nap! All four of them had to go, because they'd been too busy playing all morning to think of taking a break to pee, and now they were too sleepy to think of it either.

The quartet were all snuggled up together, all warm and cozy in the bed. They stirred and fidgeted in their slumber, but didn't wake up enough to realize that their bladders were filling fast. And since the napping room had the relaxing sounds of waterfalls and babbling streams playing on a speaker to help anxious pokemon get to sleep, it was a recipe for disaster.

Eevee awoke to a warm, wet feeling at her ear. She found that it was caused by Shinx chewing on her ear and drooling on it. She pushed the feline pokemon away groggily, yawned, and lay back down. She had to pee. She really had to pee, but she was so tired, and getting up seemed like a lot of work. Just a few more minutes…

Vulpix woke up too, and fidgeted in discomfort from the throbbing fullness of her bladder. She stood up, stretched, and yawned. The room smelled like pee. She soon discovered the cause. Nickit's diaper was now very yellow around the crotch. Vulpix wanted to wake her up, but was afraid it would embarrass her. Someone would change her. She staggered around the room, still half asleep, looking for a potty pad or a door out, but there was none. If she made noise and asked to be let out, she'd wake the others, and they looked so peaceful. And so warm. The air conditioner made the little fire type chilly without her friends' body heat. She stumbled back to bed, flopped down, and curled up again. She didn't mean to go back to sleep, only wait until someone came to change Nickit, but the sounds of water lulled her into dozing off again. Her body relaxed, deeper and deeper.

Sprigatito was having a pleasant dream. She was playing with a ball of yarn that had a bell inside it, and it smelled like her favorite catnip. But the dream soon changed. She found herself wandering an endless series of rooms, searching for her litterbox. She had to pee so badly! She ran faster and faster, keeping her hind legs clenched together. Finally, she found a potted plant. She mewed in distress, not wanting to relieve herself somewhere so inappropriate, but she was desperate, and there was a little fountain nearby that babbled happily. It would disguise the sound, she thought. She peed for a long time, then tried to cover it, before the dream melted away and she fell asleep again.

Eevee woke again to a warmer, wetter feeling, and soft little paws kicking at her back. Sprigatito was kicking her in her sleep, sweeping her hind feet back. Liquid was soaking into her fur... but she was so sleepy. Was this a dream, or was she awake? She couldn't tell. It must have been a dream, because she felt like she was lying in a warm puddle, and that was impossible. She was in a nice, warm bed.

Vulpix whimpered in her sleep, and drifted into a semi-conscious haze. So sleepy... but her bladder. It was so full. It hurt. She was conscious of a wonderful feeling of relief though, and liquid flowing out of her. That was good. The fullness would go away soon. There was no reason to wake up then, she didn't have to pee anymore. And she felt so comfortable with three other soft, warm pokemon cuddled up with her. So warm, and so wet...

Eevee had a bad dream. She dreamed that she'd been entered in a pokemon show, but everything went wrong. She couldn't dry off after the bath, and her fur was all damp and stick instead of dry and soft and fluffed up. She went out on the catwalk, but then she heard liquid trickling, and looked down between her legs only to realize with horror that she was peeing herself in front of everyone! She squeaked with fright and embarrassment, and woke up to what was now a strong, strong smell of pee, and the unmistakable feeling of her bladder emptying.

She sat up groggily, and found herself in a very wet bed with three other Pokemon. Oh no! She was soaked! There was a huge, huge puddle on the sheets. All of them were lying in it.

Eevee was too ashamed to wake her friends up and admit to wetting the bed. She'd... she'd have to wear a diaper like Nickit, and everyone would laugh at her. The daycare workers would be furious. She might even get kicked out and never see her new friends again. The poor little pokemon snuggled up to them again and cried herself to sleep. She didn't want to wake them up and ruin this just yet. Maybe if the workers didn't know who had the accident, it would be okay. She'd just pretend she hadn't noticed.

The four pokemon grew uncomfortable on the wet bed. They tossed and turned, got up and circled and lay back down in new positions. Nickit woke up, and for a horrifying moment though she'd leaked. Her diaper was soaked, true. But when she nuzzled Sprigatito, the feline Pokemon rolled on her back. She was purring, kneading her fuzzy little forepaws in the air. But Nickit saw, to her shock, that yellow liquid was slowly bubbling and trickling from between the grass-type's legs. She was wetting her tail, and the whole bed too. Poor Sprigatito, thought Nickit. Now she'd have to wear diapers too. But Nickit thought it would be nice to not be the only one. She lay back down and cuddled close to the kitty.

Vulpix woke up to an overwhelming smell of pee. The sheets were wet against her cheek. She moved her head, and something crinkled soggily. Her head was tucked between Nickit's, right up against the dark-type's soggy, swollen diaper. She'd peed herself. She'd peed so much. Vulpix wished she could wear a diaper like that. As a fire-type she didn't like getting wet, but she had to go so badly, and didn't want to get up. It was nice and warm... and wet too, but it was a good, warm wet, even if it smelled bad. She didn't want to get up, and she couldn't: Nickit was hugging her, and someone was lying on top of her. She just let it all out, right there where she lay. Now it felt even warmer... all soaking into her fur, into her tails...

Eevee woke up with her bladder aching and twinging. She had to pee, and badly. But she was so sleepy that she didn't remember where she was, or where to go. She didn't even open her eyes. It felt soft under her. Soft and wet, like a potty pad. Had she fallen asleep on one? That was good, she didn't have to walk far. She had to go so badly. She got up, clambered over something soft, squatted, and released her bladder.

Sprigatito didn't even wake up. She had a sleepwalking problem. She stood up, stretched, and made her way to the water bowl, where she lapped for several minutes. She needed to pee, so she followed the smell of it, sure a litterbox would be there. Yes... so damp. She clambered onto Nickit's shoulders, squatted, and gratefully released her bladder with a purr.

The pokemon had started out in a cute cuddle puddle, but now they were literally cuddling in a puddle. All of them had wet the bed at least twice. The water was going right through them, and their bladders were just as tired as the rest of them. They were so sleepy that even if they woke up before they peed themselves in their sleep, they just got up and squatted on the sheets or on each other, and went to the waterbowl in a trail of wet pawprints, without even realizing what they were doing.

Vulpix woke up to weight pressing down on the sheets next to her head. They were soaked. Liquid pattered next to her head, and something sprinkled her nose and whiskers. She opened her eyes, and beheld a shocking sight: a furry brown rump, dripping and more than that. Eevee was squatting and urinating on the sheets just a couple of inches from her face! She froze in utter shock at what was happening, staring aghast at the stream of pale gold flowing freely from her friend's vulva. It was splashing onto the sheets, soaking them. They shimmered with fresh liquid, and more ran down into the depression created by the pokemon's weight. It was splashing everywhere too, sending shining droplets onto Vulpix's muzzle. Her heart pounded. Her friend was... was peeing on her, and she didn't even know. That made her feel all... funny. Sort of like she was peeing too, a rush of adrenaline and a tingle in her private parts. She couldn't move. She couldn't stop this. There was something magical about this moment she didn't want to lose.

Eevee finished emptying her bladder and lay down right in her own puddle. She was asleep at once, but Vulpix lay awake, thinking about what had happened. She started to fall asleep again, but realized she had to pee too. She sniffed Eevee's fur. Ugh, she reeked of stale urine. Then it wouldn't do any harm if she... what was she thinking? That was naughty! But Vulpix felt a little naughty. She got up, lifted her leg, and after a moment's trepidation urinated right on her friend. Her stream was unsteady as she swayed and tried to keep her balance on the soft mattress, and sprinkled all over Eevee's side. The other pokemon groaned and stirred in her sleep. Vulpix froze, cutting off the stream. But Eevee just rolled over right into her leg, bringing her down on top of her with a soggy thump. After some uncomfortable repositioning, though, they were curled up together again, with Vulpix's nose pressed right into where she'd just marked. She fell asleep again feeling very embarrassed.

When Eevee awoke again, it was from a wet nose and paws prodding her. She looked up, blinking sleepily, and took in the situation she was in. Three very sad and soggy Pokemon were sitting forlornly on their urine-soaked bedding. It was now clear that no one of them was the culprit. There was just so much! Nickit's diaper was leaking badly, half the mattress was stained dark, and their weight made their paws and haunches sink into a lake of pungent liquid.

They went to the door and scratched and yelped at it for a worker to come and clean up the mess, but there was no reply. Then Nickit noticed it was dark outside.

It was night time. The daycare was closed. They'd been shut in the napping room and forgotten about, and the four pokemon knew for certain that no one would come to check on them until the next morning. They had no food, and no potty, but they had plenty of water and a nice, comfortable bed, if a very soggy one. The napping room had no toys or games to distract tired pokemon or let them wake each other up with noise, but they had each other's company.

Day 9: Gloryhole

Today, you're hanging out in a seedy club. Technically it's three in the morning, and all the non-seedy places have closed, but you're not ready to call it a night just yet. You are, however, more than ready to call a timeout for a pee break. Man, you have to go! You've been drinking and dancing all night, working up a first, and you didn't notice your need until it was an emergency situation. You head for the gentlemen's room, but just as you near the door, a guy comes out and grabs you by the shoulders.

“What the fuck, man?" you try to push the guy away, but he shakes you vigorously.

“Dude!" he says, “There's a gloryhole in the third stall from the end! You gotta try it, man! Best blowjob I've ever had, and she sounds really hot!"

This is the kind of joint where that's not an uncommon thing to find in the restrooms, and you're no stranger to having sex with strangers in nightclubs, so you thank him for his tip. But you're unprepared for the long line to the mentioned stall, at least five dudes waiting to use it. You're not sure you want to try it, especially not before you take care of your more urgent needs, but this isn't the cleanest of men's rooms even by seedy nightclub standards: the urinals are a troth surrounded by a nauseating yellow puddle, not to mention the drain is clogged to overflowing with toilet paper, and you swear you see something splashing around in the troth. You don't want to know. You turn to the line of stalls, but all are either out of order or have at least one guy in line, and when you ask, you find that they're all either being used for gloryholes, someone servicing a glory hole, or doing drugs, except for the handicapped stall, which you'd never use in case someone needs it.

“What the hell's up with that?" you say to the guy in line. “What about people who need to take a leak?"

He looks at you like you're stupid. “That's what they invented alleys for, dude." The logic is impeccable. You consider going out back to pee, but you decide you might as well just use one of the available stalls. But the thing is, it'd feel really rude and awkward to walk into a stall with a glory hole, take a piss in the toilet, and leave. You decide a short line for a glory hole is probably a bad sign, and this is confirmed when someone swaggers out of the stall with the longest line, the one recommended to you, and gives two thumbs up to the mirror.

“Aww, man, I feel good!" the guy says, and leaves without washing his hands. On the other hand, a dude walks out of one of the other stalls, whips a marker out of his pocket, and takes the time to draw out five stars on the door with only two shaded in. Okay, long line it is.

You're so anxious with anticipation that by the time it's your turn you forget how badly you have to go, plus the toilet has a lid duct taped over it and a sign saying: “DO NOT USE." So you turn to the hole in the wall, at a convenient height. You knock three times on the wall, for politeness's sake.

“You don't have to knock, big boy!" giggles a high, feminine, and very sexy voice. “Just stick it in, come one, I'm thirsty for you!"

You unzip and obey, and immediately feel rough hands grasp your cock. Long, sharp-feeling nails brush against the sensitive skin, but not painfully. She strokes you gently, quickly bringing you to rock hard, and kisses the tip, then flutters her tongue against your frenelum. You gasp in astonishment. Wow, that feels good! You grip the top of the stall divider for support as her tongue, wet and slobbery, bathes your dick and teeth scrape against it. Sharp-seeming teeth, but that's kinda hot, you decide. The noises she's making are so cute too, almost like... like purring. You wonder if whoever's on the other side of that wall is wearing cat ears, maybe even sharpened her nails into claws... kinky. Fueled by your imagination, you soon forget yourself in the experience.

“Wait a minute!" you say as you feel your loins start to pulse. “I've been practicing for No Nut November! It's been almost a week, and I've been on a bulking diet at the gym too! I – ohhhhhhhh!"

You spooge like a fire hose. The lady on the other side coughs and gurgles, gulps noisily, and paws at your dick with her petite hands. “Holy... kaff... shit!" she says, but keeps licking. “There's so much!"

“Sorry."

“No, no, I love it! Please, do it again! I want you!" Her voice almost growls with lust. “I've been in here since this place opened at four, but that was the most anyone's given me at once!"

You feel like you'll be ready to go again soon, especially if she keeps licking like that. But there's a line behind you. So you excuse yourself from the stall, hastily wiping your slimy member with toilet paper, and throw the wad in the trash before getting right back in line. You wish you had a marker to leave a five star review. That guy was right. You don't know if it's the best blowjob you've ever had, but certainly top five, and the best in a public restroom after midnight by far. Eww, you didn't wipe it off enough. Your pubes and undies are getting crusty.

The action in the bathroom's winding down, and it's soon your turn again. This time, after a few strokes with her hands, you feel not a mouth welcoming your dong, but something warm, that almost feels like a fur coat being rubbed against you. It's nice and dry in places, but dank and gooey and crusty in others. But you don't mind. Sure, she's dirty, but it's 3 AM at a glory hole, what did you expect? This is far, far beyond sloppy seconds. Whoever's on the other side must be a nasty cumdumpster.

SCHLUPP!

But tight. Fuck. She growls and hisses in discomfort, and it's a little unpleasant for you actually, but after the first few strokes, you start to get into it. Especially with that furry texture rubbing against you. You never thought you'd be into a girl wearing a fur coat, but actually that's kinda hot. As long as it's faux fur, not the real stuff. That would be unethical. You don't oppose wearing fur at all necessarily, but ruining it like this seems wasteful. Is it a coat? Or fur underwear with a hole cut in it? After another of the greatest orgasms of your life, you decide to ask.

The reply is hesitant. “Uhm, well, a lady's gotta have her secrets, don't you know? Just picture whatever you'd like more!"

There's only one guy waiting for the stall, and you're soon back for a third round. By now your heart aches with curiosity. You have to know. Her face, her outfit, her body... you want to see for yourself. You try to look under the stall divider, but you only see the legs of a step stool. And a yellow puddle on the floor. You guess she must have brought this and sat on it to avoid kneeling in that.

“Oh, yeah! All over my whiskers – mmm!" she gurgles after you finish in her mouth and face for the third time. At this, you can take no more.

“Whiskers?"

“What? No, I mean – I mean my eyelashes!" she stammers. “Why would I have whiskers?"

“You are a woman, right?"

“Well, uhh, technically... maybe, adult female would be more appropriate?"

“Ohhh... sorry. Have I been using the wrong pronouns?"

“No... never mind."

You have to know. Curiosity and lust compels you. You then commit the cardinal sin of anonymous sex with strangers in nightclub bathrooms, violating Rule #1 of Glory Hole Ettiquette. You crouch down, and peer through the aperture in the stall wall. What you see makes you gasp in horror.

“What the fuck?" you yell. For on the other side of that hole, standing on a step stool on her hind legs, is the most disgusting raccoon you've ever seen, and you've shooed some gross raccoons out of dumpsters. This one needs no dumpster, for she's a cumdumpster all to herself. She's covered in it, her fur matted with congealed spunk. It's all over her arms, her fluffy ringed tail, her cute little raccoon hands. Her ears are messy, her muzzle is messy, and oh yes, it truly is all over her whiskers. Those long raccoon whiskers are glued together, boogery strings of spooge and dried and cumsicles weighing them down. But most horrifying of all, that yellow puddle on the floor must not have all been there before she got here, because there's another such puddle on the white plastic stool where she's been standing and sitting and lying in it. She must have been here all night without ever using the toilet, even though it's right there next to her. She's just been pissing herself. And you stuck your dick in that.

“Huh? You all right in there bro? Did she bite?"

“No, she's a wild animal!"

“Hot."

“I mean she's literally a wild animal!"

“No I'm not! I'm a human I swear! I go home to my human house and I eat cereal and pop tarts out of the trash – I mean out of the fridge like a normal human!"

“What?" The guy must have bent down and looked under the stall, because he too starts swearing. “Holy shit dude! Thanks for the warning! You'd better go to the doctor, bro."

“It's fine, I've had my rabies shots last month!" protests the raccoon. “Wait! Don't go!"

The bathroom soon clears out, with its other occupants either not trusting the other glory holes to be service by humans either, or finding out for themselves.

“Oh god, I've been fucking a possum this whole time!"

“It's Oppossum, possums come from Australia!" corrects a squeaky voice.

“A pedantic possum! I'm outta here!"

“Fuck! What the fuck! A bobcat? No wonder my dick was chafing so badly!"

“Aaargh! You're just five rats in a really small but slutty trenchcoat, holding a fleshlight! My whole night's been based on a lie!"

“Two of us are squirrels, you prick!"

“Where the hell have you guys been, there's been a skunk splashing around in the urinal troth all night!"

“Skunk? What the fuck!"

That's the final straw. The bathroom clears out entirely. Except for you.

“Well, cutie... looks like you've got me all to yourself now. Ready for round 4 yet?"

“Hold the fuck up. You're a raccoon."

“Does it make a difference? You told me I was wonderful!"

You philosophize for a while. You hear a sink running outside, and someone hyperventilating. “Fuck, fuck, it's so chafed! My girlfriend's gonna kill me! I should've trusted those two stars in the stall door!"

“I guess I did," you concede. “But giving strangers blowjobs under false pretenses is pretty fucked up, even if you're good at it! Total dick move! And the other thing is, you've been pissing yourself, haven't you?"

“Yeah."

“The toilet's literally right there!"

“I could fall in, my butt's too small for the seat. And it's got one of those automatic flush thingies."

That's a fair point. You guess you can hardly blame her. But that reminds you. You have to piss. Fuck, you have to piss so bad. You search the now deserted bathroom for a usable toilet or urinal. But the stalls are all terrible. And the urinal troth? That really is a skunk, underneath some graffiti that says “IM THIRSTY" with the R backwards. Eww. Fuck no. Maybe you'll use the alley. Then you hear a scream from outside.

“Fuck! Oh my god! You said you were a cougar, not a... a cougar! I've never using a glory hole in an alley again!"

You groan despairingly. “I really gotta take a piss," you say. “If the toilet in your stall isn't a nightmare, any chance you could unlock the door and let me use it?"

There's a faint splash, and a sticky, furry body slides under the divider. “Nah. Look at me, dude. I could do with a rinse."

“A what?"

“Just because I'm not splashing around in the urinal doesn't give you the right to assume I don't like golden showers."

Golden... showers? Your brain short circuits a bit. “You want me... to pee... on you?"

“I meant rinse my mouth, but I don't mind getting wet either."

Now that's just nasty. “Uh... okay," you say, not seeing any better options at the moment. You're bursting, and the alternative is a cougar-infested alleyway or a skunk-infested urinal. You look down at the glory hole. “But can we do it through the wall?"

The raccoon slides back under and climbs back up on her stool. You feel her little raccoon paws stroke your cock lovingly, and she laps at the tip. You're so desperate now that you only get to half mast, though. You have to pee. You have to pee. Just imagine it's a urinal. A urinal all by yourself, with no one watching.

“Mmm... wow, you should drink more fluids," comes a voice from the other stall. Sharp teeth lightly hold you there as the flow strengthens. “Mmmmglblbglbl!" she purrs. There's no imagining anything but what's happening. You're peeing right in this raccoon's mouth. She's drinking it like some kind of dirty public bathroom piss slut.

Wow. That's pretty kinky.

You release all that pent up liquid, with a powerful, enduring stream that would earn inappropriate comments at a row of urinals, and also earns several from the raccoon on the receiving end.

“Oh, yeah... soak me! Mark me!" she gasps, then lets her maw fill again. The puddle on the floor is growing, creeping under the stall until it reaches your shoes. She wraps her maw around your dick, slurping and gulping like she hasn't drank in a week, but it's still spilling everywhere.

Finally your flow ebbs. She licks the last drops from you. You sneak another peek through the glory hole, but the clever raccoon has seen this coming, and given you a view of nothing but her dripping-wet butt. She hops off the stool and slides under the stall again. Holy shit, she's really drenched. Not that it's done much to clean off the crusty, gummy dried spooge, it's just made her even dirtier.

“You've already seen me," she says. “So there's no harm in trying a round without the glory hole. The floor's kinda wet in my stall though, so be careful."

“Actually, I think I'm gonna call it a night," you say. Then, at her pout, you reconsider. “Well, okay... one more, but that's it."

Finally, you leave the stall and wash your hands. Then give the raccoon a boost onto the counter to wash hers, which results in you needing to wash them all over again.

“That was fun," the animal says, splashing her face and combing cum out of her whiskers. “By the way, you know anywhere I can crash tonight?"

“Uhh, all I got's my apartment," you say, “and it's a one bedroom."

“Cool! Thanks, dude!"

“Wait, I didn't agree to -"

“By the way, I can't help with rent or utilities, I'm not house trained, and sometimes I get the munchies and raid the fridge. Or the trash can."

“I - I just bought a new couch!" you lie. You just bought one. For $25 on Craigslist.

“What, so you'll stick your dick in me, but you don't want me getting my raccoon cooties on your couch?"

“I - I didn't mean that, I meant I won't want you scratching it up with your claws!"

“They're not that sharp. Ohhhh, wait..." she grins and licks her lips. “So you're saying I'd have to sleep in your bed?" She winks, which is really more of a blink because one of her eyes is glued shut with semen, and does the universal “finger in hole" gesture. You didn't know raccoons could do that, but those little hands are impressive in more ways than one. The raccoon, still nowhere near clean, leaps into your arms with a gooey squelch. Piss drips down your shirt.

“Okay, fine, but you're showering before you get in my bed."

“Cool. You think you can help me get this spot on my back? It always gets really gross. I can help you wash. Oh, also, sometimes I get really horny at night and just can't help myself. You don't have any issues with me rubbing one out in bed next to you while you sleep, do you? Ooh, do you have an electric toothbrush? I could borrow that!

It's not until you're halfway home in the Subway, with a car all to yourself thanks to the raccoon dripping piss all over your lap and the seat, that you realize you never really agreed to this. But by then, it's already too late. Your No Nut November plans are completely cancelled, and you're already thinking about adding her to the lease.

Day 10: Praise Kink

Today, Fox In Socks's Omovember training continues, but she's hit a setback. The feral vixen's master is normally very harsh and cruel to her, setting impossible challenges for her bladder and punishing and berating her severely for failing them. There is nothing wrong with this: a pet fox's self-esteem should always be kept in check, but two days ago he went too far: he told her he wouldn't love her anymore if she peed in the house again, and when the inevitable happened and he spanked the vixen, ground her muzzle into her puddle, and pretended to make her sleep outside in the rain and told her she was banned from the house, the poor fox became terribly depressed, and couldn't stop breaking down in tears even when he let her back in after midnight. She had to have a day off of bladder training yesterday to recover, and today she is still fragile and needs more gentle training and positive reinforcement.

In the morning, Fox In Socks wakes up. She has to pee, but her master's alarm hasn't gone off yet, so she has to wait quietly, fidgeting, for another 45 minutes. When he wakes up, her master checks that the bed and the fox are still dry, and praises her for making it all night, and waiting for his alarm like a good fox. He even calls her a good girl for bringing him her daytime socks and holding still while he takes off her sleep socks and puts the daytime ones on her. She squirms when he presses on her full bladder, but she didn't have an accident.

What are some other reasons Fox in Socks is a good fox?

Fox In Socks is a good fox for eating all of her breakfast, and for drinking her entire bowl of water with it.

Fox In Socks is a good fox for coming when called, and doing tricks. Fox sits, fox lies down, fox rolls over, fox shakes her master's paw, but she also has to do some harder tricks. Fox has to stretch, with her nose to the floor and her tail to the sky, and her hind legs to the two sides of the room. Her socks slip on the floor, slowly sliding farther and farther apart. Her inner thighs strain to stop her from slipping, but her master presses down on her rump, pressing her down, down, down. Her paws slide out behind her, and her belly slithers to the floor, with lots of weight on her full, full bladder. Then Fox has to lift first one leg, then the other, cocking it like she's marking something without losing a single drop of urine.

What a good fox she is for staying dry through all that! A good fox deserves another drink as a reward. She doesn't have to drink the whole bowl, but she laps up quite a lot of water. “Good girl." Master praises her, and pats her head. “Do you have to go potty?" he asks.

Fox In Socks nods and whimpers. Her master tells her she is a good fox for being honest, and scratches under her chin just where she likes it. Since, she was honest, she can choose whether to wait another two hours before she can relieve herself, or only have to wait one hour but have to listen to recordings of running water the whole time. The silly fox chooses the running water. She thinks she can handle it. But the vixen has already held it in all night, and a bowl and a half of water only add to the volume of liquid sloshing around in her bladder. Poor Fox in Socks can think of nothing but peeing. Oh, how she longs to go outside and relieve herself on the grass like a wild animal should.

Every five minutes, Master comes back to check on his pet, and remind her how she's such a good girl for making it this long. The last fifteen, she can't stop fidgeting and potty dancing, so he sits next to the desperate animal to encourage her to hold it in. He pets her and tells her he won't be angry if she has an accident. After all, he tells her, nobody could expect a fox to hold in so much fluid, especially with the sounds of streams and fountains teasing her. He keeps reminding her that he knows she must have to go sooooo badly, which only keeps the vixen's own mind on her desperation.

But despite all this distraction, Fox In Socks makes it. Mostly. Her crotch for and the sofa cover under her are damp, but her master pretends not to notice. He tells her how proud of her he is, and he tells her that she did better than any owner could ever expect a wild animal to do.

Now it is potty time for Fox In Socks. Her little bladder is agonizingly full, but she's proud of herself too, and a potty break feels much better if an animal knows she has earned it. Her master tells her to stay, and lays a potty pad out on the floor. She sits there whimpering, her lower lip and her hindquarters quivering. “Okay, you can get on it now!" he says. “Good Fox!"

She runs for the pad, but being a smart fox, she remembers that he didn't give her permission to pee just yet, and stops herself just before she unleashes a foxy flood. “Can I go potty yet?" she asks.

Her master laughs. “Good girl, remembering you need permission. Yes, you can go potty."

With a desperate sigh, the fox squats down. A strong, straight, yellow stream sprays against the potty pad, hissing and splashing. The puddle spreads and spreads.

“Stop. I said stop!" Master says to his fox, just before she ends up with wet, stinky socks. Fox looks up at him pleadingly. “Sit. Good girl. Stand up. Turn around. Now roll over."

Fox in Socks looks at the yellow puddle she just made and grimaces, but she rolls over like a good fox. She lies on her back in her own pee. She can feel its warmth soaking into her fur.

“Good girl. You can go some more."

Fox smiles. She relaxes a little, letting a wavering fountain soak her cute fluffy tail while she wags it back and forth in the stream.

“Good fox. Stand up again. Do you still have to pee?"

She does, of course. After such a long hold, this is still a very full fox. She squats and wets in the puddle again. Master reaches down and pets her wet back, then puts his hand under her stream. Fox squeaks in shock and immediately stops.

“Sniff," he says. “Now sniff the puddle. Good girl. Rub your face in it."

Fox in Socks whines, but she obeys. Fox steps in her fresh, warm urine, getting her front pair of socks all damp, and rubs her chin, her cheeks, and her forehead in the pungent, musky fox fluids.

“Do you like getting all wet?"

Fox nods guiltily.

“Good fox. Okay, give me some kisses." Master puts his hand out for his fox to reluctantly lick. She wrinkles her nose and gags at the taste of her own piss.

“Good girl. I know you didn't like it, you just need to drink more water. But you're a brave fox for trying. Do you still need to pee?"

“Yes..."

“How badly?"

The potty dance the poor fox is doing is proof enough.

“You can finish going in a minute, but now it's my turn to go potty. Hey! No, stay on the potty pad. Your socks are all wet now: you don't want to track it on the floor, do you?"

The vixen whines, but her tail starts to wag with anticipation until she tucks it under. She stands before her master, watching as he unzips his pants.

“What's the matter? You just said you liked getting wet."

The fox just whines. Her master ignores her, and starts to pee. His stream lands on the potty pad next to her at first, splashing her socks with golden droplets, but then he moves his aim higher. It's a nice, strong stream, not too dark but still obviously yellow. He soaks Fox's socks on one side, and moves up to her flank, then lets his warm stream crash down on her back. The fox instinctively lowers her head and submits, allowing herself to be marked with her master's scent. What a good fox. His piss cascades down her flanks in yellow waterfalls, and soaks deep into her fluff. He moves it back and forth, getting her cute orange rump, then her shoulders, and finally her head. Fox in Socks shies away and shakes her head.

“Hey. Get back her. You have to get alllll wet. Good girl. Sit!"

Fox sits, her heart pounding and her tail wagging as she looks up at her master's dripping cock. His stream starts again, splashing down on her forehead and muzzle. Wet, wet fox.

“Good. Open your mouth. Drink it. Good foxy potty."

This is now an extremely wet fox. Her fur is dripping all over. And she still has to go. She reminds her master that it's her turn now. He praises her for telling him. The potty pad is soaked now. It might overflow if she pees too much, so he slides a water bowl into the center of the puddle.

The fox in her wet socks knows she'll have to drink from the bowl when she's done, but she doesn't hesitate to squat down and releases her still full bladder. Her pee splashes noisily against the metal at first, then the sound becomes the heavy burble of rising liquid. It rises, and rises, until the bowl is full, and would keep rising if she had a bigger bowl. But she doesn't, so she overflows it for ten whole seconds. Finally, she's empty, but Fox's tail wags furiously as she bends down, sniffs at the yellow liquid, paws at it, then starts to lap at it like she hasn't already drunk a bowl and a half of water this morning.

“Does it taste good?"

“No..." tears run down Fox's cheeks.

“But you're drinking it anyway. Silly fox."

“Mmmbbllbll!" The silly fox blows bubbles in her urine.

She's such a cute little fox that she deserves some cuddle time before being given a bath. Her master makes sure to praise her for holding still while he washes her, even when a little soap gets in her eyes. Soon she's a nice, clean, dry, fluffy vixen who barely smells like pee at all.

At least, until a couple hours later, when the poor thing wets her bed. But even so, her master still praises her. He tells her it's okay to have an accident sometimes, and it's proof that she was very brave earlier and tried so hard to hold it in that her bladder got tired. She's a wet fox again, but she's still a good fox.

Day 11: Petplay

Today, Ada the anthro Lynx lost a bet with her boyfriend Grayson. After making one too many dog jokes about the wolf, he'd gotten her to agree that the winner of a game of Uno had to be the other's dog for the entire day.

To get him back, she decided to start the humiliating game by waking him up at 5:45 AM demanding food and being taken out to pee, just like a real dog. What she didn't anticipate was him locking her out of the bedroom and going back to sleep, but not before putting a collar on her and putting thick mittens on her paws. Ada whined and scratched at the door for a while, but there was no response. The lynx sighed and crawled to the living room, where, completely naked, she curled up on the couch. She hadn't wanted to wake up that early anyway.

When she woke up for real, it was half past 9. She had to watch her “owner" eat his toast and orange juice, and wait to be fed her own breakfast: cold beef stew from a bowl on the floor. She didn't like it, but she didn't complain: she was just grateful he hadn't gotten her kibble.

But now, the lynx really needed a walk. Her bladder ached from holding her morning pee in. She went to the door and whined. Finding a leash there, she put it in her mouth – ugh, it tasted like laundry – and crawled back to Grayson, wagging her stubby tail.

“No. Not yet. You'll get a walk later," he said.

An hour later, Ada was desperate. She started pawing at his lap.

“Do you need to go potty?" the wolf asked with a sly smile.

“Arf!"

“Okay, here you go."

To Ada's dismay, instead of being led out in the backyard, the wolf spread something out on the floor and pointed expectantly at it. “Is that... is that a fucking puppy pad?" she said with a glare. “When did you even buy that?"

“Shh. Dogs don't talk, remember? Now go potty like a good puppy."

Ada had to go too badly to be picky. She crawled onto the potty pad, squatted, and peed, blushing deeply since she knew he was watching. Her stream sprayed the padding with a loud hiss. She looked down and saw the foaming puddle spreading. She had to spread her paws farther and farther apart to avoid getting them wet.

“Good girl!" Grayson patted her. “Do you want a treat?"

Ada nodded and wagged her tail. Grayson went into the kitchen. He came back with a jar of peanut butter and a spoon. At least this wouldn't be that bad.

Then he pulled down his pants.

“Are you kidding me?" hissed the lynx.

“Dogs don't talk, bitch. Does the puppy wanna bone?"

“Make sure you don't contaminate our peanut butter!"

He slathered his dick with peanut butter and sat down on a chair in the dining room. Whining and pawing, Ada snuffled at his crotch, closer and closer. This part she had to admit she enjoyed. She licked him a few times, then took his gooey, peanuty length into her mouth.

“Good dog." Grayson patted her head.

By lunchtime, Ada was a dirty “dog." Grayson had taken her for a short walk around the backyard on her leash. She'd forgotten it had rained, though, and there was the one flowerbed they hadn't gotten around to planting yet. He made her dig in it, bury a bone, and roll around in the mud, then showered her off with the garden hose. He also seemed to really enjoy watching her lap water from a bowl, because he kept making her drink over and over. But that had effects on her bladder.

Ada, this time on her leash, crawled onto the potty pad again after another session with the peanut butter, and a hard plastic bone stuffed in her vagina. She shimmied onto the pad carefully, avoiding the large puddle she'd left earlier.

“Don't squat this time," Grayson ordered. “Lift your leg, like a real dog."

“Female dogs don't do that!" protested Ada.

“Yeah that do, sometimes."

Fuck, she thought. This was gonna be a mess. She cocked one leg, teetered dangerously, and started to urinate. Sure enough, it was a total mess. Her unsteady stream sprayed everywhere, not only soaking the potty pad but spraying the floor beyond and dribbling down her leg. But Grayson either didn't notice or didn't care.

After some belly rubs, and more water, her bladder quickly refilled. By the fourth time she had to pee, the potty pad was completely soaked. Grayson refused to change it. Ada's ears burned with shame as she crawled into the puddle, feeling her own stale urine seep into the fur on her knees and paws. She didn't bother cocking her leg or even squatting: she just stayed there on all fours, with her legs together, and peed all over her shins and paws. It was so warm, soaking her fur and wetting her toe beans.

“Fuck," She groaned. “I think your puppy needs a bath."

“You don't need a bath yet," Grayson said with a sadistic grin. “Not until bedtime."

Ada was left to sit uncomfortably on a towel, fur damp and now reeking of her pee. After barely an hour, her bladder was clamoring for release again, but she was done playing his sick game. When he refused to let her out to potty, she slunk away, muttering to herself: “You want me to be a dog, huh? Well, I'll mark my territory like one."

She sniffed at a spot on the hallway rug. Yes, this would be perfect. It could fit in the washing machine, and the floor under it was linoleum. With a naughty smirk the lynx circled three times, knelt in a sort of squat, and released her aching bladder. FFWWSSSSS... Oh, god, it felt so good. Her heart was pounding. This was so naughty. She was a bad dog now, but it was Grayson's own fault. She was marking his rug, covering it in her acrid feline scent. The puddle on the rug grew bigger and bigger: the carpet couldn't absorb all that liquid! He hadn't let his pet out, so she was having an “accident." Justice.

After well over half a minute, her stream finally waned and slowed to drips. Ada shook her rump to get rid of the drips, wishing dogs could use toilet paper. She turned around, her collar jingling – only to say Grayson standing over her with an evil grin. Uh oh.

“Well, well, well... look who's a naughty puppy! You peed on the rug, didn't you?"

Ada whimpered.

“Looks like you're not house trained well enough. I guess I'll have to rub your nose in it, right?"

“What? Grayson, what the fuck? I -" She tried to crawl away, then yelped as he seized her collar and manhandled her back towards the puddle. Her heart was hammering. He had to be joking. This had gone too far, he was rubbing her face in her own piss? That was disgusting! But she couldn't bring herself to yell the safe word. It had gone too far when she pissed all over the rug, on purpose. She really was a bad dog. Maybe she should just accept her punishment. She stopped resisting, and let him force her head down, pressing her nose against the wet carpet. That smelled so bad. It was warm and damp, liquid wetting her chin.

“Bad dog!" Grayson slapped her rump a few times for good measure, then walked away, leaving the lynx wet in multiple places and confused.

Fifteen minutes later, she found her water bowl empty. She whined and pawed at it.

“Are you thirsty, pup?" Grayson asked. “Then come this way!" He led her into the bathroom, and patted the toilet seat.

“What the hell? Okay, rubbing my nose in it was one thing, but I'm not drinking from the toilet!"

“Are you sure? I cleaned it extra thoroughly this morning, and I've been flushing it every half hour to make sure there's no chemicals in the water. I even cleaned inside the tank. This toilet's probably cleaner than our dishes."

“Haven't you been using it?"

“Nope. I've been peeing out back."

“We have a perfectly good bathroom by the garage!"

The wolf shrugged. “Maybe you had a point with the jokes about me marking my territory. Now go on, doggy. Drink up."

Ada swallowed a gag. She knelt before the toilet. The porcelain was pristine, at least, he wasn't lying about that. She felt a little nauseous, but if she thought about it it was probably just because the only time she ever had her face this close to the toilet was if she was throwing up.

“If I puke, you're cleaning it," she warned. She took a deep breath, leaned her face closer and closer to the surface... and started to drink. It was a tentative lap at first, then more and more vigorously. Mmm... the water actually tasted good. A little minerally and bitter compared to the filtered water from the fridge, but better than the water from the dog bowl he kept filling. She drank, and drank, and drank, her tail wagging, until her stomach was full.

This, of course, soon left her bladder full to bursting again. She looked at the saturated potty pad.

“Do you need to pee, little doggy?"

She nodded.

“You can go, but wait a minute. This big bad wolf has to mark his territory. Sit... stay... come. Sit. Right there on your dog bed. Now stay..."

Mark his territory... Ada kind of wanted to watch. He'd watched her relieve herself enough today, and what he'd said about going outside kind of turned her on. But he wasn't going outside. He was unzipping his pants right there.

“Grayson? What exactly is your “territory?" You better not be about to piss on me."

“What's wrong? I thought dogs liked getting wet! Besides, you just drank from the toilet."

“The clean toilet."

“Urine is sterile."

“No it's not, that was debunked years ago!"

“Well, you've had my cum in your mouth all day. It's as sterile as that. Anyway, you don't have to drink it, just let me mark you."

The lynx's brain short circuited. Mark her... she was his territory. His property. That's how a dog would think. He would mark her and claim her as his own. His mate. Yes... she sat at attention, tail wagging furiously. “Arf arf!"

“Good girl." The wolf smiled seductively. Yellow liquid dripped from the end of his member, missing Ada's nose by inches, then a spurt hit her forehead. Fuck! This was disgusting, this was disgusting... SSSssss....

“God damn you," she mumbled as his hot stream rained down on her back. She knelt on all fours, letting her boyfriend shower her back, from her shoulders to her rump.

“Hey, I said sit," he commanded. She sat up, wincing as he hosed down her tits with a jet of musky wolf piss. God, his scent was intoxicating. She wanted to be his. She wanted it all over her. The lynx closed her eyes and bowed her head, flicking her ears in discomfort. It was going all over her forehead now. “Good dog," he growled. “Such a submissive slut puppy."

“Ohhh..." Ada moaned. He was going straight onto her muzzle now. The smell of wolf musk was so strong. She didn't think, she just obeyed her instincts. She tipped her head back and opened her mouth.

“Hey, looks like the puppy's thirsty after all!"

“WHRGLGLBLGL!" was all poor Ada could reply. His urine flooded her eager maw, pooling in a bubbly lake and spilling out the sides down her soaking body. So salty. Sour. It tasted so bad. But she took a big gulp, shuddering as the acrid wolf liquid ran down her throat. Slutty puppy... yes... puppy needed more.

He showered her for another thirty seconds, and let her lick the last drops from the tip of his cock. The lynx was thoroughly soaked.

“Did you like that, doggy?"

“Ruff!" Ada rolled over for a tummy rub, but nature soon called for her with great urgency. She started to squat over the soaked potty pad, but he yelled: “Stop!"

“Arf?"

“Are you still thirsty, pup?" he asked. She nodded. “Then wait right here." He went to the kitchen, and brought out... the empty water bowl.

“Oh my god..."

“Ssh. Dogs still don't talk."

Ada laughed. She knelt over the bowl and gratefully relieved herself. She was glad the sound of her pee spraying the metal and splashing into the bowl drowned out her breaking character as a dog by purring. The liquid rose quickly, and the bowl filled to the brim, then spilled over.

“Stop!" Grayson tugged on her leash. “You can pee more later. Get yourself a drink."

Ada turned around and sniffed at the bowl. It had the acrid scent of feline piss, but she was so well hydrated that it wasn't that strong. Maybe it wouldn't taste that bad. She dipped her tongue into the pale yellow liquid. No, it still tasted awful, but for some reason she wanted to drink it all anyway. It must have been dog instincts. She lapped, and lapped, and lapped at the foul-tasting urine in the bowl. Her bladder twinged, so she shamelessly lifted her leg and peed on the floor, still happily drinking. That meant getting her nose rubbed in the puddle when she was done, but that was fine. The sopping “dog" tackled her “owner," jumping on him and licking his face, and shook herself, spraying piss all over the room.

“Oh, fuck me, jesus. Maybe this was a bad idea. Come on pisspup, you smell horrible! I think you need a bath!"

Ada followed her boyfriend into the bathroom, leaving a trail of wet pawprints and drips in her wake. Bathtime for wet dogs, and sex with their fur sopping, ensued. It even smelled like wet dog. Or wet wolf, anyway, since Grayson was the source of the odor. After eating her dinner from a bowl on the floor, the lynx lay with her head in his naked lap while they watched TV on the couch, then crawled into bed with him. He'd forgotten to take her potty before bed, but Ada was already planning an “accident," even if she didn't technically have to be a dog tomorrow morning.

Day 12: Medical Play

Tomorrow, Fox In Socks has to go to the vet for a checkup, so today, her master is giving her a practice checkup to make sure she is prepared for everything the vet will do. This is a good time for an educational presentation on how to examine a pet fox.

(Disclaimer: you should only give a checkup like this to a fox who can talk)

First, put your fox in its pet carrier. Make sure your fox drinks plenty of water before leaving, but do not give her a chance to go potty since she will need to give a urine sample at the vet's office.

Next, put the carrier in the car and drive around. An exotic pet vet might be a long way away, so stay in the car for at least an hour. Pets who are not used to car rides or are afraid of the vet may urinate in their carrier from fear. Fox In Socks has not had an accident in her carrier. If your pet is brave and stays dry, you should keep her in her carrier until she has an accident so you, the owner, are used to sitting in a vet waiting room while your fox sits in her own pee. This is also good practice for if you ever have to take your fox on an airplane trip, or to the DMV.

Sit in the “waiting room" for at least an hour. To fully simulate a vet's office, have your friends bring their untrained dogs to bark and growl at your fox and further terrorize her. One of Fox In Sock's master's friends has an extra poorly trained unneutered rottweiler. He responds to the smell of fox urine by lifting his leg and marking the pet carrier, soaking both it and the fox inside.

Next, bring your fox into a small, enclosed room to simulate the vet's office. Take your fox out of the carrier and place her on the examination table. Make sure to apologize to yourself for her being a bad fox and pissing in the carrier out of spite.

Put on a pair of clean rubber gloves, and examine your fox all over her body. Poke and prod, shine bright lights in her eyes, and touch her in very personal locations. Pay extra attention to the area under her tail. If your fox growls or snaps, put a muzzle on her, after examining her teeth and tongue. Force a popsicle stick into her mouth, deep enough that she gags.

Next, take your pet's temperature. If you have a vixen instead of a male fox, you can put the thermometer in her vagina if she prefers that. This is what this fox asks for, but she still kicks and struggles and complains that the thermometer is cold. To be thorough, her master also takes her temperature orally, using the same thermometer. It's okay, she licks herself down there anyway.

Now it is time for the fun part: taking a urine sample. Put a plastic cup on the table and make your fox squat over it. If it has been long enough since her accident her bladder should be nice and full. Fox In Socks has a shy bladder, though. She can pee in front of her master, but when strangers are around she gets nervous. So her master calls in an “assistant" (one of the friends with the untrained dogs) to watch the process. The poor fox squats, but she can't make her bladder release. If your pet refuses to provide a urine sample like this, make her drink some more water and wait in her wet pet carrier for a while. Repeat until your fox cannot hold still and stop potty dancing, and starts whining that she is about to have an accident.

Success! A thin dribble of yellow liquid patters into the cup. It trickles slowly out. This fox is still so nervous that urinating is difficult and uncomfortable, but she is so full that after a few minutes of dribbling on and off her bladder gives out. Now she can't stop. The liquid rises higher and higher, reaches the line on the cup, and keeps right on rising. That is enough. But the fox can't stop! She keeps going and going, until the cup overflows. This is a common problem with pets who have large bladders. Wow, just look at how much that little vixen held in! A huge puddle spreads across the examination table.

Once your fox is done peeing, it is time for some more physical examination. Make her lie on her back on the table, even if there is a puddle on it.

It looks like the urinalysis results are inconclusive! More tests are necessary. Give your fox more water and wait until she is completely bursting again. Make her lie on her back on the table with her hind legs spread. Rub your fox's vulva with petroleum jelly, and “gently" insert a catheter into her urethra all the way to her bladder. This process will be uncomfortable: your fox may scream and writhe in pain. Remind her that this is medically necessary. It is for her own good. Once the catheter is fully inserted, put a towel and a foam block on the table, and make your fox lie on her back with her rear end elevated. Guide the catheter tube over her face and open the little drain valve.

Your fox's distended bladder should now be draining itself all over her little foxy face. This may also cause your fox some discomfort. It will also get her all wet. This is normal.

Finally, carefully guide the tube into your fox's mouth. The results of this may vary. Some foxes will thrash around and refuse to let you do this. Some foxes will bite the tube. Some foxes will spit it all out. But this fox swallows. Glug, glug, glug. Fox In Socks is drinking her own urine, right from the tap. Her mouth fills and overflows with salty, musky liquid. Fox is crying, but she doesn't stop swallowing. She involuntarily pees through the catheter in her mouth for almost two minutes, miserably sipping the contents of her bladder from the tube.

Diagnosis: this fox has advanced stage Nasty Piss Slut Vixen Syndrome. Sadly there is no cure for this chronic condition, and the only treatment is regular urine therapy and bladder conditioning.

If the vet is busy and has to do other things, your fox may have to wait for an hour or more before the catheter is removed. Make your fox sit on a towel and gradually soak it with urine with the tube rendering her completely incontinent. Even after it is removed her muscles might be tired and sore, so expect her to have more accidents in her carrier on the way home.

Day 13: Size Difference

Today, a very ambitious corgi met up with three larger dogs in a back alley to settle a bet.

“I don't know about," said one, a Newfoundland. “You sure she can take our entire knots? I didn't think she'd be this small. Not to brag or anything, but I think I'd probably break her in half."

“She may be short, but look at that ass!" said a St. Bernard. “I'm sure she can stretch more than she looks."

“Word around the dog park is she's a 'size queen,' said the third male, a large akita. “I heard she once got gangbanged by the entire police K9 department and still wanted more."

“I don't want to hurt her," the Newfoundland said doubtfully.

“I can hear you boys, you know that right?" the corgi yipped. “And you heard wrong. It wasn't police K9s: it was five Cane Corso personal protection dogs."

“Yeah, but you know, stereotypes aren't everything," said the Newfoundland. “I'm not saying I stare at other dogs' dicks when they lift their legs, but some Cane Corsos aren't that impressive."

“Dude, you stare at other dogs' dicks when they lift their legs all the time," said the akita.

“Okay, maybe, but that makes my opinion more qualified than yours!"

“Are you going to fuck me, or just stand around talking?" yapped the corgi impatiently. “I don't have all day: if I'm not back in my yard by 5:30 my owner will find out I can open the gate."

“Fine, but I'm doubling the stakes," said the Newfoundland. “If she takes all of us without bleeding, I'll give you four tennis balls each."

“Holy shit," said the St. Bernard. “I can't do double stakes... three pristine extra large rawhide chews, take it or leave it."

“Deal," said the Newfoundland.

“I'm in," said the Akita. “So, who's first?"

“I'm the best hung, so obviously I go last."

“You are not!"

“All of you shut up." The corgi waddled confidently underneath the Newfoundland's belly and sniffed his sheath, then the St. Bernard, then the Akita. “Nope, you're not the best hung, pal. I'll pick you for a warmup, then you -" she pawed at the Newfoundland and Akita in turn. “And you go last."

The corgi faced away from the three males, spread her thicc hindquarters, and assumed a position of submission. The Newfoundland strode up to her, crouched down a little, and rubbed his sheath against her rump until he was hard and dripping.

“Come on big boy, give it to me – yeeeeeeeek!" the corgi squealed. “Oof - I guesss you're a grower not a shower, huh? Well, show me what you've got!"

“Told you guys." The smug Newfoundland mounted the much smaller bitch, forcing his tremendous girth into her cookie. The corgi grunted and gritted her teeth as her hole was stretched, but grinned and panted as the big male pounded her puppy pussy. Her paws slid on the dirty alley ground, until her nose bumped into a crate.

“Oh yeah – urgh! I told you I can take it! Harder! Harder!"

“Holy cow. I can't believe it even fits," the St Bernard commented.

“Yeah. I bet she'll be so stretched out when it gets to your turn you don't even feel it."

After several minutes of brutal humping, the Newfoundland moaned in pleasure, and pumped an enormous amount of hot seed into the smaller dog. But it wasn't over yet. His massive knot began to inflate. The corgi winced and grimaced in discomfort. “Oooof, that's a big one. Fuck yes. Oh my dog!"

His knot was so big that it put pressure on her bladder, causing a river of pee to suddenly burst from the corgi's cunt, soaking the dirt and discarded newspapers beneath.

“Eww," said the akita.

“Don't worry boys, this happens sometimes!" the corgi said cheerfully. “I'm not really satisfied if a stud's too small to fuck the piss out of me." Her back paws were standing in the growing puddle by now.

After a long time, the Newfoundland finally withdrew with a wet SCHLOPP! A creamy squirt of cum was queefed out of the corgi's cookie as he walked away. The akita quickly took his place.

“Ugh. You should be throwing in an extra tennis ball for making us deal with your sloppy seconds."

“Hey, I wanted to go last!"

“Fair point."

“Shut up and fuck me!" barked the corgi.

The akita dig just that. His red rocket wasn't as girthy as the Newfoundland's, but it was longer, and the corgi was soon whining and shrieking in pain as his tip slammed her cervix.

“Are you sure you're okay?" he asked. “Should I stop!"

“No!" yelped the corgi. Tears ran down her face, and snot from her nose. “You could try being gentler, though. You're not trying to hammer in a nail."

The akita spurted a torrent of spooge, overflowing white goo down the corgi's legs. He too knotted the smaller dog, dragging her around in a display of dominance, before leaving her ravaged and gasping for air, at the tender mercy of the final participant in the bet.

The corgi walked under him, snuffling and nuzzling his sheath until over eight inches of dog meat was draped over her eyes. “Oh, yeah," she growled. “Let's see how well you can use this thing." She lay down and rolled over, forcing him to squat low to reach her hole. He smashed that thing vigorously, pounding the corgi into the dirt like a piledriver. Her eyes rolled back in her head and drool ran down from her lolling tongue. "Fuck," she groaned. “I think I'm gonna be sore tomorrow, but it's worth it. Fill me up, big daddy!"

The St. Bernard howled in relief at his climax. He'd been pent up for weeks, and his enormous dong sealed her ravaged hole so tightly that halfway through his long orgasm the pressure forced her off like a water balloon slipping off a hose. With similarly messy results. Enormous spurts of cum splattered all over the corgi, gunging her fur with creamy St. Bernard semen from crotch to chin.

“Hey! Did I say you could pull out, dumbass?"

“Sorry. Oops, I made a mess of you didn't I?"

“Screw the mess, get back in there before your knot blows up."

His knot was already half swollen, making the corgi wail as he breached her tender walls with it. “Aah! Oh my God!" she gasped. “Wow... you're hung like a horse!"

After fifteen minutes, he finally withdrew from the quivering corgi. She staggered to her feet and presented her pussy for inspection. There were a lot of other bodily fluids, but they had to admit she hadn't bled at all. It was hard to believe after the violent rawdogging she'd just been on the receiving end of.

“Pay up, dude," said the akita.

“Oh. Okay, so, the thing is, I don't actually have eight tennis balls," the Newfoundland said nervously. “I can do four, two for each of you. Can you take an IOU?"

The other males growled, but the corgi put her herding breed instincts to good use by nipping at their heels. “Excuse me? What about my end of the bet?"

“What did you bet again? I guess it doesn't matter since you won."

“Oh, I bet on his side," she pointed to the Newfoundland.

“Why did you bet against yourself?" asked the Akita. “You said you could take us."

“Call it hedging my bets," the corgi said with an imperious grin. “Looks like I lost, which means I have to let you have your way with me for the rest of the afternoon!"

“I'm kinda tired," said the St. Bernard.

“I said, I have to let you have your way with me for the rest of the afternoon. Did you think I'd come all the way out here with three big studs like you just to let you leave after one round?"

“I don't think this is how the whole gambling thing works," whined the Akita.

“Who cares!" said the Newfoundland. “Come on, guys, what are you, chicken?"

“Good boy." The corgi sidled up to him and licked his sheath. “Which one of you wants to roll over for me first?"

“Seriously? This alley's filthy," said the St. Bernard.

“That didn't bother you when I was on my back. Sit. Play dead!"

“Fine..." he whined, and went belly up.

“Good boy!" the corgi climbed onto him, and carefully sat down on his red rocket. “Hey! Let's make a new bet! If I can take all of your cocks to the hilt without barfing, I have to let you lift your legs over me."

“You want us to mark you?" asked the Akita. “What the fuck?"

“You've never marked a bitch before?" laughed the Newfoundland. “It's totally hot! Imagine her covered in our scent so every dog in town knows we've claimed here!"

“Oh," said the St. Bernard. “That makes sense." He straddled the corgi and slapped his still glistening and slimy meat missile in her face while she rode the Newfoundland.

“Ugh," said the bottom dog. “Like I wanted to see your balls and ass."

“You stare at other dogs' balls and asses all the time. Close your eyes if you don't like it."

“Mffglk!" gurgled the corgi, drooling profusely on the Newfoundland's chest. “Fuck, yeah! Snap my collar!"

What had begun as taking turns had now become an orgy, with the slutty corgi spitroasted on two enormous dog dicks, deepthroating one while she rode the other. The St Bernard's balls were far from drained, and he erupted a fountain of cum. The corgi greedily gulped down the first few spurts, then had her face painted creamy white when he pulled out midway through. Meanwhile, the akita had decided to grind against her ass, and exploded sausage juice all over her thicc furry cheeks and striped her back with spooge up to her collar. But even this wasn't enough to satisfy the incorrigible corgi. She wanted more, and she was going to get it!

The akita was next, dipping his stick in her gullet while she lay on her back, and nearly drowning her in sticky white substances.

“UGgllrglk!" the corgi gurgled, thick cum bubbling from her mouth. She licked her lips and sneezed. “Two down, one to go, boys." She straddled the Newfoundland again in 69 position, sliding her jaws all the way over his thick sausage until she seemed impaled on it. In and out, in and out the little dog slid, gagging, choking, and drooling, but never puking.

“Jeez, do you even have a gag reflex?"

“Wow, look at her go!"

The Newfoundland came like a fire hydrant. His dong slipped out of her mouth, and a fountain of hot spunk rained down all over both him and the corgi, then she gulped several more generous spurts from the tap.

“Woops, looks like you got some on your own face!" she said. “Here, let me help you with that."

The males were enjoying themselves so much that they gave her two more rounds of blowjobs each. Sometime they stood while the low-profile dog stood beneath them: other times she rode one of them or lay beneath them. After taking nine loads in the mouth in total, and many more in her pussy and all over her body and face, that cumdumpster of a corgi didn't have a clean spot left on her coat.

“Looks like I... lost the bet again," she panted. “I guess I have to be marked now, don't I?"

“I guess so," said the St. Bernard.

“You boys are such big dogs, and you can cum like horses. Now show me if you can piss like them too."

They'd been at it for hours, and all three studs' bladders were uncomfortably full.

“Not to brag or anything," said the Newfoundland, “but I can take a five mile walk, lift my leg on every single tree and lamppost, and still have enough left over to flood the patio when I get home."

“Oh yeah?" boasted the St. Bernard. “Well, whenever I lift my leg on a walk, the storm drains overflow!"

The akita grinned. “When I go outside in the morning, my owners have time to go in, make their breakfast, and finish it before I'm done peeing!"

“If you're gonna have a pissing contest, then have a literal pissing contest," said the corgi. “You decide who goes first."

“I'll do it." The akita stepped up, straddling the smaller dog and lifting his leg. “You sure about this? If those guys aren't lying, you might drown in it!"

“Make me yours, big boy, come on!"

“Suit yourself." The akita released his bladder. A strong stream of yellow liquid, reeking of masculine dog musk, cascaded down on the corgi's back. Sheets of urine poured off her flanks, soaking the dirty ground as well as her fur. He pushed out an extra strong spurt, pressure-washing her shoulders in a hissing flood, then walked away.

“What the hell? You said you could piss for so long -"

“Calm down bitch, I'm not done yet. I just thought I'd give the others a turn."

The St Bernard took his turn lifting his leg over the short, squat dog. He deluged her buttocks with a firehose of steaming piss. She moaned, raising her rump into the powerful stream and wagging her stubby tail, getting off to the jet of liquid blasting her crotch. But the Newfoundland had even more perverse plans. He lifted his leg and released a gentle, steady stream right on her head. “You like that, bitch?" he asked.

“I've seen chihuahuas pee harder than that."

“Oh, I'm just breaking the seal. Here, let's see a chihuahua do this!" He turned around, lifting his leg with his dong pointing right at her face. The corgi valiantly stared down the barrel, only closing her eyes when his stream began again. A gushing torrent of dog urine drenched her face, washing over her snout and forehead and blasting the three dogs' cum away in the torrent.

“Fuck, dude, isn't that a little too far? Her face?" the St Bernard asked. But the corgi opened her mouth into the stream, letting her mouth fill with the foaming yellow waterfall, then began to drink, taking big gulps of the warm, salty liquid, then lapping greedily at it and showering her muzzle as his stream waned.

“What the fuck? What a slut!" the akita nearly gagged just watching.

“I can't believe she's actually drinking it," said the St Bernard.

The Corgi gasped and panted, spitting out urine. “What can I say? I'm a thirsty pup!"

By now the puddle of urine surrounding the small dog was so large that the akita had to wade into it to take his next turn, drenching the corgi down with a still impressive stream. She rolled on her back in submission and happily allowed the male to flood her belly, which was bulging and bloated from the amount of fluids she'd consumed. She got up and wrapped her mouth around his still pissing cock, whimpering in delight as she gulped down as much of the salty liquid as she could. The thirsty little puddepup seemed intent on draining his entire bladder, but he pulled out and splashed away.

“By the way, no need to take turns!" she said. “If your aim's good enough, I don't mind being a target for two at once."

The Newfoundland and St Bernard looked at each other. “Dude, you're right, this is hot," said the previously uncertain dog. They splashed up to her and lifted their legs in mirror images of each other, their heels crossing above her head. They looked at each other. “Don't cross the streams," joked the St Bernard. Then they began to relieve themselves, shooting twin torrents of pungent yellow pee right into the little corgi's face.

“WHARBLRGGBLBGLRGLBLGBL!" in typical canine fashion, she gleefully treated the streams of liquid like she was being sprayed in the face with a garden hose, shaking her head from side to side and snapping at the streams. Their streams faded to dribbles after a while, but she gave them each personalized attention, slurping at their dripping cocks until she stimulated them to releasing more hissing, salty floods in her face. Not to be outdone, the akita slipped the tip of his cock into her cookie and flooded her, leaving her gasping in pleasure and queefing spurts of cum mixed with urine, which she greedily lapped up from the filthy ground.

“Hahhh... wow!" the drenched dog panted. Every inch of her fur was completely saturated with their musk now. “You really soaked me! I guess that's what I get for playing with big dogs, right? That was almost too much even for me! You must've really drunk a lot, huh? I'm almost glad it's over!"

“Over?" the Newfoundland said with a grin. “Who said anything about it being over? C'mere and I'll drown you for real."

You could practically see the hearts light up in the corgi's eyes. She rolled belly up in the puddle, a little fountain burbling from her ruined cookie as she peed herself in submission. The newfoundland let his two companions finish soaking her first, then stepped up and relieved himself with a grateful sigh, no longer lifting his leg to mark his conquest but simply draining his bladder, first soaking her body for a good thirty seconds, then doing his best to drown her, flooding her mouth with a foaming yellow waterfall that cascaded all over her face.

Laughing among themselves, the three males left the alley, leaving the sopping, dirty corgi to shake herself off, spraying the walls and dumpster with piss. She staggered after them, her belly nearly dragging on the ground and her hind legs spread wide in a painful waddle due to how badly her rear had been wrecked. She returned to her yard, pulled the gate shut behind her, and collapsed onto the ground, blissfully releasing a flood of piss right where she lay. She'd drank so much of the big dogs' musk that wherever she peed would smell like them for days. Inside her doghouse, in her water dish, all over the fence... the liquid was still running through her system, straight to her bladder. She squatted and drenched the ground, making a huge, muddy puddle, and rolled in it, even digging her muzzle into the musky ooze. Her owner would be home soon, but luckily there was a wading pool in her yard. She rinsed herself off and settled down on the back porch to drip dry, daydreaming of the railing she'd received that afternoon.

Day 14: Orgasm Denial

Today, Paisley the pine marten was punished. The furry little brat had it coming all week, and this morning, when she woke her owner up early on a weekend because she was horny, and shoved her head up his boxer shorts and bit him in the scrotum when he went back to bed after ten minutes because she complained that him using a sharpie on her didn't feel as good as her vibrator, that was just the last straw. It was clear that she needs to learn that orgasms are a privilege, not a right, and that pets aren't entitled to them.

He tied the naughty marten up, with her hindquarters held apart by a spreader bar, her front paws covered by pink mittens and tied together, and a muzzle over her face, and her muzzle and mittens both tied to another bar attached to the spreader in a way that let her move a bit but kept her from reaching her crotch with either her paws or her face. He flipped her on her back and tickled her fuzzy tummy, lower and lower until he touched her in a very sensitive place, but after a few minutes of teasing he left her wet but unsatisfied and scrolled through social media, with noise cancelling headphones on to block out her complaints.

After half an hour, he came back. He picked Paisley up and set her on his lap, and covered her eyes with one hand while he tenderly stroked between her legs with the other. The pine marten moaned and purred with pleasure, but he stopped again. Over and over all morning he teased her like that, sometimes stimulating his needy pet with his fingers, sometimes with an electric toothbrush, sometimes with a marker in her vagina, and every time he brought her closer and closer to the edge, but every time he left her hanging.

Paisley started out in denial of the denial, sure that it was just a little prank and he'd finish her off the next time... or maybe the next. That soon turned to anger. She cursed her owner out when he abandoned her, and threatened to chew up his headphones and pee in the air conditioning vents. Then came bargaining. “Okay, I get it! I'll let you sleep in on weekends until Thanksgiving, just let me cum! Please!" was her first offer. Then, after a particularly long and grueling session that kept her right at the edge and left her quivering with sexual frustration: “Please, I'll do anything!" She sobbed. All the fur between her legs was drenched and sticky with her own juices, and her muzzle was a mess of drool. “You - you can dress me up in that stupid hot dog costume and put the photos on Instagram! You can use me as a cumrag! Just stop torturing me like this!"

Her owner liked the second suggestion. He masturbated on her, rubbing his cock against her soft fur until he spurted all over it, but only to further torment her by reminding her by making her watch him take care of his own urges while she was still restrained and envious.

Soon the pine marten was experiencing another kind of desperation, too. She got breaks from the muzzle to eat and drink, and all this panting and drooling made her very thirsty, but she wasn't allowed out of the spreader bar to relieve herself. She writhed back and forth, trying to find a position that wasn't as hard on her bursting bladder, but she couldn't put her hind legs together.

“You'd better let me cum quick or I'm gonna pee myself!" she whined. “I'm not joking! I can't hold it in much longer!" She wriggled and squirmed like a furry noodle, her bladder throbbing with every movement. Paisley was secretly (or not so secretly) into pee holding, and her steadily growing desperation only worsened her constant, unsatisfied arousal, but the alternative was to not keep holding it. She lay there, panting and drooling in her muzzle, imagining the blissful release, the feeling of warm liquid soaking into her fur, and the pungent smell. She was going to have an accident, and be cruelly forced to lie in it by her abusive, uncaring owner!

It would've been a mood killer for most animals, but Paisley's predicament was that having an accident turned her on too. Every part of it: the relief, the self pity, and even getting all wet. So she stubbornly held on, even through another round of having her rear end held in the air by one leg while she was fondled and molested with a magic marker. If she'd pissed all over her owner, he'd have deserved it, but she knew he'd make her punishment go on even longer, so only when he set the shuddering mustelid down and left the room did she give in and trade the arousing discomfort of an aching bladder for the arousing discomfort of soggy fur.

Her owner didn't care at all that she'd peed herself, or that she was helpless, lying there marinating in her own piss. He just slid her around in the puddle, using her body like a mop, and teased her with a vibrator, rubbing it over her sopping pussy for a few seconds, then holding it against her muzzle until she sneezed, and repeated it over and over.

The next stage was depression. Paisley just felt gross now. She ached from not being allowed to move. She was helpless, reduced to marinating in her own urine, constantly turned on yet never finding release. She tried to scoot her way to the wall and grind against the corner, but her master caught her before she could climax. Her only solace was the discomfort of a full bladder, so she begged for water over and over, drinking as much as she could until she was bursting with liquid again.

It wasn't until after her third accident that her owner finally agreed that she'd learned her lesson. He brought her into his lap again and rubbed between her legs, now stopping only for long enough to let her arousal die down again.

“Mmmfff! Stop – stop it!" Paisley gasped. She'd been stimulated for so long that even the lightest touch was almost painful it felt so good. She writhed and tried to claw at her owner's shirt. She'd been left soaking for a while, and her bladder was already full again. And he kept making it worse by jabbing his finger down on it, making her squeal in discomfort. “Ahh! Noooo! I don't care if I cum anymore! I'll be a good girl! Just... cut... it..." she blew bubbles of spit in the slimy froth that filled her muzzle, and kicked weakly against the spreader bar's hold. But he wouldn't stop, and from bare fingers he moved to the toothbrush again, using it to massage every sore joint and between her paw pads while he kept her right on the edge of the release she so badly needed.

“Eek!" she squealed as he brought it to her throbbing pussy once more, stimulating not just her loins but her bladder. “Oh, fuck – you can't - I'm gonna pee on you!" After that she couldn't speak anymore, only gasp, pant, and whimper as she struggled. Until, finally: oh, such a blissful feeling! The pine marten's mind fell apart as pulse after pulse of ecstacy dissolved all those hours of tension. Every muscle in her body shuddered and relaxed, including her bladder, which gradually drained and soaked her tail and her owner's lap. “Ahhh - damnit! Now you're all wet too! I'm sorry – I'm sorry – sorry -" The experience was so emotionally draining that the exhausted animal lay limp in her owner's lap while he took off the muzzle, gag, mittens and spreader bar. She couldn't stop crying.

Paisley's owner had to pet her for fifteen minutes before his pet finally calmed down. The marten was a total mess. Her formerly sleek and silky brown and cream-yellow fur was wet and sticky with drool, crusty dried jizz, her own sexual juices, and both fresh and stale urine.

“Th-thank you," she panted, her lower lip still quivering. “That felt so good..." She looked hopefully at the vibrator and wagged her tail. “Again?"

“Paisley, what did we learn today?"

“Again, please?"

“I don't know..." said her owner. “You don't deserve one after peeing all over me. And you really need a bath."

The marten whimpered, looking down at her owner's urine-soaked jeans. “I'm really sorry... you didn't let me go potty."

“That's true," he sighed. “Since you asked nicely, I guess you can have one more round, if you're okay with staying all wet and stinky until you're done."

“YES Thank you thank you thank you!"

Her owner cupped her rump in one hand, and curled on finger around between her legs, gently touching the pine marten's tiny vulva and rubbing back and forth.

“Mmm... wait! Can I have a drink first? My mouth's so dry!"

“I guess so. But don't drink too much: you don't want to pee yourself again, right? If you have an accident right after your bath I'm not washing you again."

“What if I have one before?"

“You literally just went. If you pee again that soon I won't believe it's an accident. You can make sure you go before the bath, though."

An hour later, Paisley was panting in ecstacy as her owner carried the freshly piss-soaked pine marten to the bathroom. He'd tried to discourage further “accidents" by turning her upside down when her climax was getting close, and fingering the mustelid with her head resting between his legs and her furry little butt up in the air, but this just resulted in a yellow waterfall dribbling all over her. “I know you did that on purpose," he scolded her. “You're lucky you're so cute. Silly little pissmonger."

Paisley had learned her lesson: pets are not entitled to demand their owners let them cum. The outlook for her future behavior wasn't great, but for now she was content to be bathed and fall asleep in her owner's lap.