Changing Memories
by Shino
Author’s Note: This tale is very heavy in story-building and atmosphere. You can skip to chapter 4 or 8 if you’re just here for the smut.
	Prologue

You squint as the setting sun reflects off the rear window of the car as it departs into the distance. Your best friend is no longer visible; your last view of him hanging over the back seat waving franticly at you is already painfully seared into your memory. You keep waving back even though you know he can’t see you anymore, sniffing hard to fight back the tears leaking down your face. For the billionth time, you think It’s not fair! As you slump against the attic windowsill, breaking down into painful, heaving sobs from losing your best and only friend.
	Chapter 1

You wake up the next morning at an odd angle in your small bed, still wearing the same jammies you had on as you watched your friend depart. You realize you must have fallen asleep crying, and Dad must have carried you back to bed after he got home and found you still in the attic.
Slumping out of bed, you make your way to the bathroom and take a long pee. You shake off the last drops and turn around to leave, not bothering with your usual routine of a shower and brushing your teeth. Throwing on a fresh set of clothes, you head downstairs and make yourself a bowl of cereal, but your heart isn’t in it; you don’t even remember which type of cereal you grabbed.
Dad, of course, is already gone, likely for another hectic day in the office followed by another shift at the grocery store. You love him dearly, but it’s really hard with him almost never being home, even on weekends. Without Mom around anymore, it’s really hard for Dad to take care of everything, hence the long hours and multiple jobs to ensure the bills keep getting paid. Under different circumstances, other parents might complain about a 10-year-old being left alone so much, but since Mom died, no one else other than your friend’s parents had really gotten involved, and you’ve learned to manage just fine; you spend most of your day at school, then afterwards, over at your friend’s house next door. Or, at least, you used to.
With a long, lonely Saturday in front of you, you wander through the house looking for something to do, but you’re not in the mood for TV, you don’t really feel like playing your GamePod, and you’re not really in the mood to browse online. You decide to head outside and wander, not having much else to do.
You wander into the modest back yard and meander over to the tree in the rear corner. The basic rope swing sways gently back and forth in the light breeze as you absent-mindedly bat at one of the ropes with your paw. You make your way around the trunk and find yourself facing the back side of your friends’ house, still looking completely normal and unchanged, as if he was going to burst out of the door at any second and start yelling your name.
Your curiosity gets the better of you as you wander over to his grass and approach the rear door. As usual, you skip the back door entirely and stand up on the railing to open the window next to it; that was the standard method for you and him entering and exiting the house to play; and strangely enough no one ever commented on that habit or made an effort to stop it.
Standing in what used to be the kitchen, you feel a wave of uneasiness; everything is gone. There are still several cabinets mounted to the wall and the countertop is still there, but the fridge, most of the appliances, the dining room table, even that ugly painting on the left wall is all missing; nothing but a dirt or faded paint outline in their places. You shuffle uncomfortably though the room, taking in the strangeness that continues into the living room; parts of the floor scuffed where legs of furniture used to sit; a faded outline of the rug still visible in the fake wood flooring.
You make your way up the barren stairs, skirting around a small empty cardboard box that clearly didn’t get used in the hurried packing job. You take a left at the top and stop in front of the door to your friend’s room, his “Do Not Enter” sign on the door no longer present to halfheartedly keep the adults out.
You push open the partially ajar door you’ve traversed so many times in the past, and slump down to the floor as the emptiness of the room overwhelms you, tears threatening to pour out again. It’s gone. His bed that you used to bounce on with him. The adult-sized desk and chair that often became the terrain of your shared adventures: a cave, a mountain, a castle, a skyscraper.
The dresser, gone. The town roads play mat and the boxes of toys, miniature cars, and plastic bricks, vanished. The goofy circus painting that his Dad made and hung up proudly years ago, finito. Even the broken lamp that sat crooked in the corner for years held upright by application after application of duct tape, nada. There was nothing left of him. Not a single thing.
The memories. The laughing. The fights. The epic battles and storybook adventures. The talks. The reading. The learning. The lounging and lazing. All of it poured out in waves of racking sobs and streams of tears, eventually leaving agonizing puddles of heartbreak soaking into the barren carpet. You laid there for what must have been hours, as your emotions ravaged turbulent inside of you.
It’s not fair! The repeated thought came again. All because his Dad got redeployed to Fa-, Fah, Fall… that stupid, miserable, faraway desert. All because his Dad was given less than two weeks to prepare, all because… because…
You can’t think of any other reasons, but it didn’t matter. The stupid adults and their stupid rules and stupid wars meant that you suddenly lost your best friend and there wasn’t anything anyone could do about it. He was gone.
	Chapter 2

As time passed, the sniffles slowed and the anger ebbed. Drained and numbed with no more tears left to cry, you sit up again and start looking around the room, remembering how the bumpy paint felt, the way the carpet bunched up in that one corner, the way the closet door squeaked at a certain speed that made it sound like an angry duck. You give the closet door a flick and hear the unusual sound again, though more hollow, more dead than you remember.
As you look into the similarly barren closet, you realize that the back panel is crooked. Intrigued, you remember him telling you once that the bathroom water valves were behind that panel. You’ve heard the story of when dad flooded the bathroom during his DIY phase, but you don’t remember ever actually seeing inside yourself. Curiosity getting the better of you, you reach out and grab the small knob in each corner and give it a tug, the panel unevenly popping off the wall.
Inside was pretty much what you expected: stud walls with pink fluffy insulation between them, a trio of copper water pipes with yellow cutoff valves nestled into it. Unexpectedly however, you notice a chunk of insulation missing and a large shoebox jammed into its place between the two outer studs. Putting aside the panel, you grab the shoebox and carefully lift it out of its nest in the fiberglass. You carry it over to the center of the empty room and pull off the lid, intensely curious as to what unexpected treasure you’ve found.
Whatever you were expecting, this wasn’t it: a travel-sized bottle of baby powder, a pacifier, a very short black belt with a keychain on it, a half-empty pack of baby wipes, and two plain white diapers, larger than any you’ve seen before. What is all this? You wondered. For the most part, it looked like the leftovers from a baby changing station or something, but the diapers were far too big and the belt was far too short.
Taking out the items one by one, you inspected them intensely, as if they would suddenly unfurl into a detailed explanation of the absurd collection of objects you just discovered. The tiny baby powder bottle was clearly used and half-empty, smelling exactly like baby powder always smells. The pacifier was a run-of-the-mill design that babies everywhere loved to clutch in their paw and chuck to the ground during their fits, and it clearly had been used; the rubber was indented with tooth marks and the pattern on the front partially worn away.
The baby wipes were similarly open and used, but still wet and ready for use as needed. The packaging doesn’t look that old; they clearly haven’t been in there for too long. The belt was a stumper. It was one of those nylon webbed belts with the plastic backpack-style buckle, and it was fairly thin. It was also confusingly short; it would barely fit around a toddler. The keychain attached to the buckle is shaped like a dog bone, but completely blank. You unbuckle the clip and hold it up at eye level, somehow expecting the meaning to reach out and bite you. Suddenly, it does. It’s not a belt, it’s a collar! It’s exactly the right size for the next of a cub. Your neck. Your friend’s neck. 

	Chapter 3

This feels absolutely bizarre. You can’t think of a single possible reason for these items to be hidden away like this, the collar especially. Out of sheer morbid curiosity, you snap the collar around your neck. It’s a little loose but otherwise fits well, which would make sense given that your friend was a little bigger than you. Except none of this makes sense, you think. Supporting the theory that the collar was his, you suddenly realize it smells like him too. Now that you’re wearing it, his scent is strong and you’re now absolutely sure this stuff was his and he wore this. A lot.
Still bewildered, you reach down and pick up the final items: a pair of plain white diapers, except larger than any diapers you’ve seen in the past. Normally baby diapers seem comically small, but these looked like they’d fit… you. Him. They’re kid-sized diapers, not baby diapers. Your friend wore diapers. Not just as a baby, but now. As a kid. A twelve-year-old kid.
Unfurling one of the diapers completely, barely taking notice that the tapes have the number 7 printed on them, you get a sense of how big they really are. Heck, these might even fit a thin adult. Maybe they do. Maybe they are! Maybe these are those diapers old people wear when they can’t control themselves anymore. That’s gotta be it, but why in the world would your friend wear them?
You’ve seen him use the bathroom. Heck, you even remember once you saw his (surprisingly large compared to your own) peepee when you went to go wee once and he hadn’t locked the door. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him wear diapers… though the more you think about it, the more memories come back of an occasional unexplained crinkling noise, of his shorts looking tighter than usual, of him occasionally being obsessed with tugging his shirt down all the way.
You realize you know the what now, just not the why. It slowly dawns on you he’s been wearing them occasionally around you for over a year or maybe longer, but you still have no idea why he’d do that. Did he have a medical problem with going potty he hadn’t told you about? Was he actually not potty trained at all and he’d just been pretending to use the bathroom? Is there some secret purpose to diapers you don’t know about? You have a thousand questions and precious few answers.
With the diaper unfurled and open flat on the bare carpet, you suddenly have an idea. But no, you banish that thought immediately. That would be ridiculous! Diapers are for babies! They’re for old people that can’t hold it by themselves! They’re for your friend, the intrusive thought declares. He wore them too, the voice murmurs reassuringly.
You don’t want to. You don’t want to, but the curiosity is eating at you. You want to know why. You need to know why. You need to understand. You gradually stand up and look around, listening intently for some intruder that magically appeared in the house without you hearing them sooner. You look out the window, somehow expecting to see some nosy neighbor with a pair of binoculars staring back at you from afar. But nothing. It’s silent and dead. Not a soul around that you can see or hear.
You carefully take off your shoes and pull down your shorts surreptitiously, like you’re in the process of committing some sort of crime. You gingerly remove your boxers too, exposing your butt and sheath. You suddenly feel exposed and naked to the entire world, as if every eye was suddenly turned upon you. Embarrassed and covering your bits with your paw, you do your best to line yourself up with the diaper on the floor, and sit down awkwardly with a slight “pffff” noise.
	Chapter 4

It feels strange. Scratchy. Poofy. Lumpy. You feel the fur of your tail catching on the edge of the waistband. You squirm and shiver slightly, less from cold and more from the unnatural sensations.
Am I really doing this? you think. Am I really about to put on a diaper at 10 years old? Am I crazy? The thoughts race though your head, but almost independently, your paws still reach out to pull the lower flap of the diaper up towards you, the leg guards dragging awkwardly against the fur of your thighs. You pull the flap the rest of the way up, though it still feels too short to fully cover your sheath. As you do so, you realize the tapes are on the top flap and facing the wrong direction; the diaper is turned around the wrong way.
Intensely embarrassed about your error despite no one being around to witness it, you roll off the diaper and rotate it around the correct way. You also take a moment to readjust where you’ll be sitting, as you can see you were too low down the diaper, causing the front flap to seem short. As you absentmindedly scratch at your thighs where the leg guards rubbed, it occurs to you that you also forgot to use the powder that was in the box, since quelling the itchiness and scratchiness is probably the whole reason it exists.
You twist open the top of the tiny bottle of powder, and a cloud emanates upwards like a tiny explosion, causing your nose to itch and your face to contort as you accidentally inhale a small cloud. Covering your nose with your paw, you sprinkle the powder onto the diaper and the leg guards especially, overdoing it as the powder came out much faster than you expected.
The irritation in your nose fades as you pull your shirt up high and line yourself up again with the diaper, this time ensuring the tapes were correctly oriented. You again plop yourself down on the diaper, the “pffff” of the diaper this time accompanied by another cloying cloud of powder. You reach down for the second time to grab the bottom flap and bring it up over your bits, the powder falling off the inverted surface and down onto your sheath like fluffy snow.
You tug the flap towards you, this time noting that the front and back waistbands are much better aligned, and scoot the flap back and forth a few times to snug up the leg gathers. It feels like wearing tighty-whities again, except if it was made from a towel or something else soft and fluffy. The powder has made a big difference; instead of everything feeling scratchy and itchy, the contact points feel silky and smooth.
It takes a couple tries, but eventually you figure out a way to awkwardly hold the flaps at the correct angle while keeping them tight and still having a hand free to grab the tapes. Unpeeling the tape from the outer flap, you pull it snugly across the right side of your belly and push it down onto the other flap, pressing down into your belly firmly, then repeating the same awkward process on the other side, before moving onto the bottom two tapes. Your tapes aren’t very well aligned, but they’ll do.
Every tiny movement triggers a cloud of powder and an exceptionally loud crinkle; it’s like wearing a combination of a pillow and a bag of chips. You awkwardly roll onto your side and collect yourself into a standing position. You can feel the rear of the diaper caught under the base of your tail, so you reach behind you and clumsily undo the fifth tape and retape it over the base of your tail, hiking up the rear waistband to a more appropriate height.
	Chapter 5

It dawns on you the ridiculousness of your current predicament. You’re standing in an empty abandoned house wearing no pants and a bright white crinkly diaper, a strangely comfortable collar around your neck, every move causing an audible crinkle, the air dusty with baby powder, and yet somehow it feels… good. Like really good. Better than cake and ice cream and Dad’s snuggles and a comfy nap good. As if the pain and heartbreak of the last 24 hours evaporated into one of the poofs of powder your butt gives off as you move. Is this why, you think? Is this why he wore them?
You look around and take in the aftermath of your experiment. There’s a clear outline in the shape of a diaper baby powdered onto the carpet, the spare diaper, pacifier, and baby wipes lie innocently next to your crumpled shorts and boxers, and the shoebox open on its side as if everything else dramatically spilled out from inside it. If you weren’t wearing a diaper right now, you’d consider it the strangest sight you’d ever seen.
As you crouch down to start cleaning up the assorted items, you feel the inner lining rub against your sheath in a strange way, causing you to shiver in strange delight. That’s weird you think. You stand up and crouch down again, triggering the same sensation a second time. Your paw goes to your poofy crotch without even thinking, and as you rub your paw the sensation doubles. Oh wow, the woozy thought emerges. That feels… wha… wow.
After a blissful moment lost in the new and strange sensation, you snap back to awareness. What? Why did that feel good? You wonder. You realize that at some point during your lapse in perception you reached out and put the pacifier in your muzzle. You don’t remember doing it, but it definitely feels like it belongs there. Your paw feels something strange under the diaper. You pull open the waistband and look down your belly, only to be greeted by the tip of your own peepee. It’s… bigger. Poking out the opening of your sheath. It’s… hard. Like it stiffened up from its usual somewhat floppy state.
You’re concerned about what’s happening down below, but also strangely uncaring because it feels right somehow. Like this new sensation is a good thing, something to pursue. You’re happily sucking on the pacifier in your muzzle like a toddler, and it’s pleasant. Your head is filled with strange and unusual thoughts, things you’ve never felt before. But you also know that you want to keep feeling them too.
Suddenly feeling the urge to get home and back to your own room, you hastily gather up the remaining items, use your bare footpaw to scuff the powder outline on the carpet away, and start heading for the door of the room when you realize you’re not wearing any pants or shoes; you can’t go outside like that. You clumsily drop everything and awkwardly tug on your shorts, having to shuffle it up over your now considerably larger butt and crotch. It takes longer than usual to reach back and fix the button strap that goes over your tail, then you slip your shoes back on. You more carefully pack the powder and remaining diaper back into the box, and start making your way back to the kitchen door to leave.
You skip the usual window egress this time and leave by the actual back door for once, shoebox tucked under your arm as you pull the door snugly closed behind you. You slink your way back to your own back door as if you were leaving the scene of a crime. No one was watching, but if they were, they might have seen the collar with its shiny bone-shaped tag, or the pacifier still plainly visible in your muzzle. Or perhaps the way you were waddling due to the bulk of the diaper between your legs. Or maybe the distracted look on your face as you tried to ignore the pleasant rubbing sensation against your stiff sheath as you walked.

	Chapter 6

Rushing back up to your room, you stash the shoebox away in the back corner of your closet, then hurriedly strip off all your clothes and make your way to the bathroom, using the potty stepstool to climb up on the counter and get your first proper look at your new outfit in the large mirror.
Your wide eyes dart across your reflection, from the pacifier still gently bouncing in and out of your muzzle as you suck on it, to the black collar around your neck and the shiny dog bone tag hanging from the clasp, to the white streak of powder up your belly, and finally to the big white poofy diaper enveloping your lower half like an extra fluffy pair of tighty-whities. You turn around and look at your rear in the mirror. The elastic ruffles around your tail and the taped strap over the top accentuate your tail and the poofiness of the diapered butt below.
You turn back around and again bring a paw to your crotch, trying to alleviate the strange, swollen yet pleasant feeling of your peepee rubbing against the diaper’s fabric-like inner lining. You’re also getting the urge to pee, as you haven’t gone since you got up and suddenly really need to go again. Moving your paw away, you argue in your head if you should take the diaper off and use the toilet properly, or if you should really risk it and use the diaper for what it’s designed to do.
Before you can make up your mind, the urge to pee overwhelms you and the tip of your stiff peepee dribbles a little pee, gravity causing it to run down your sheath and soak into your fur. It feels strange and a little gross; like wetting the bed or peeing in your bathing suit at the pool. Confused and unsure however, you don’t make much of an effort to stop.
Soon, a steady stream of pee is spraying from the tip of your peepee, bouncing off the fabric of the diaper, and soaking your fur and dripping off the bottom of your balls. You notice the front of the diaper turning darker and slightly yellow as the liquid is absorbed. There’s no stopping it now, and your bladder empties itself with intensity, causing a pee shiver to spread across your body. The front of the diaper is now visibly yellow with pee and the whole thing is sagging on your hips; the weight of the diaper heavy and distracting.
As the stream turns to a dribble which in turn becomes a few errant drops, you realize what you’ve done, and more importantly, how little you care. It felt really, really, really good. And the sagging diaper is even more warm and comforting than it was earlier. You can smell the acrid twinge of your pee, but somehow, it doesn’t bother you like usual. Instead, it just makes you feel comfortable, more at ease.
You climb down from the counter and return to your room. You’re a tad chilly, so you go to your closet and grab the kigu your dad got you for the holidays, slipping into it with ease thanks to the button-down front. You lay down on your bed, and find your paw inexorably drawn back to your now soggy and wet crotch.
As if driven by instinct, you begin to rub the front of your diaper again, and the sensation is way more intense than before. Where previously it was a silky caress of fabric, it was now a squishy damp hug of pleasure around your sheath. You can feel your peepee again sliding out the top of your sheath and swelling. As it stiffens, your paw massages the squishy padding against it, sending waves of pleasure though your entire body.
Your mind completely blank and operating on instinct now, your paw moves faster as the mushy material moves up and down your shaft, your peepee stiff as wood and your entire body vibrating with waves of intense pleasure. You suddenly feel yourself tense up and the sensation of a cramp happening at the base of your cock, as your paw grips tightly and you buck your hips up into the air. You feel your shaft throbbing and twitching, and it feels like you’re trying to pee but nothing is coming out. Your eyes roll back into your head as the sensation of debilitatingly intense pleasure crashes into you.
	Chapter 7

You awake in your bed, the smell of pee and sweat filling your nostrils. You can immediately tell that it is later in the day, as the angle of sunlight though your curtains has moved to the other side of the room. You shift slightly and immediately hear and feel a combination of crinkling plastic and squishing goo. Pausing for a moment to listen, you make sure Dad hasn’t come home early, then sit up a bit so that you can look inside the diaper.
Your peepee has returned to normal, sliding back inside its sheath and returning to its normal soft state. The inside of your diaper is rank with stale pee and there’s a slight metallic scent, but in a somehow pleasant way. Your fur is soaked with pee, and you feel slightly itchy where the diaper has been in contact. At the tip of your sheath, your fur is slightly matted.
Reaching your other paw down into your diaper, you feel something slightly sticky, and pull your paw back out. There’s a small amount of shiny clear goo on your finger, and you sniff at it. It smells weird; metallic and slightly fishy. You grab a nearby sock and wipe your paw clean, confused as to what the unexpected goo is. Maybe it had something to do with the crazy feelings you felt when you were rubbing your peepee. You’ve never felt anything like it before, but it felt really, really good.
You gingerly roll out of bed, still in your Kigu. You pick up the pacifier that fell out of your muzzle while you were sleeping from your pillow and pop it back in. The collar is still around your neck, and you reach up and scratch the fur underneath. Waddling to the bathroom, you take another look at your diaper though the open front of the kigu in the mirror. The yellow tinge is now darker and evenly spread across the entire diaper’s surface, and it’s sagging much more than it was before, likely due to you stretching out the waistband while exploring inside.
You hike up your diaper and waddle over to the toilet, intending to pull it down and go pee, before realizing as before that you’re already wearing a perfectly functional potty. You stand in front of it and start peeing as if you were aiming for the bowl, feeling the warm liquid once again flow over your fur and saturate the diaper. You can feel the fresh infusion of pee making its way backwards and warming up your butt.
You take a moment to enjoy the warmth and wait for another pleasant pee shiver to pass. Buttoning your kigu back up, you waddle your way out of your room and downstairs to make some dinner. Dad likely won’t be home until well after dark, so you decide to make some pizza rolls to munch on. You prefer them from the oven, but that requires Dad’s help, so instead you put a handful on a plate and stick them in the microwave.
As your pull your now lava-hot rolls from the microwave, you grab a juice box from the fridge and make your way out to the living room. After depositing your meal on the table, you grab the controller for your GamePod and fire up the TV. As you sit down on the couch, you can feel your diaper squish out of the way of your butt.
Several rounds of Sci-Fi space battles later, you polish off the last of the pizza rolls, suck dry your juice box, and pop the pacifier back in your muzzle. After a few moments, you feel your tail flag. As usual after eating, you feel the urge to make a trip to the potty to do your business. This time though, as you start to get up, you hesitate. Pee is one thing, but do I really…? You think to yourself. Another heated debate takes place inside your head as you argue with yourself if you’re really willing to do this.

	Chapter 8

Before you can make up your mind, you feel your tail beginning to flag more urgently, your body deciding the argument for you. Already halfway standing, you now crouch down and scrunch up your face as the cramping sensation grows, and you can feel the tip of the log starting to poke out your hole.
Landing on all fours now as your body takes over and your tail flags high, you grunt as another stream of pee starts spraying from your tip and large log begins pushing out of your tailhole. You can feel this one is much bigger than usual, probably because you didn’t go after breakfast like you usually do. You feel it push against the diaper and start to break up and fall down into the padding, smearing all over your rump in the process.
Before you have a chance to catch your breath, the whole rear of the diaper is packed with logs of mud, and your diaper is soaked to the point of nearly leaking. The intense smell of poop overwhelms your nostrils, and you suddenly panic about how you’re going to clean everything up.
You try to stand up, and the feeling of poop smearing against your butt and all over your ballsack overwhelms your senses. It’s dirty. It’s mucky. It’s filthy. It’s incredibly stinky. And yet… it’s still not as bad as you expected. Almost… fun, somehow. Like getting away with something naughty and taboo.
The muddy sensation and incredibly heavy diaper is too much to handle standing up, so you stay on all fours and slowly crawl your way back up the stairs to the bathroom. The smell continues to fill your nostrils, and the gooey mucky soggy rubbing is starting to make your peepee stiff again.
Eventually making it to the bathroom, you strip out of your kigu and crawl into to the tub, plopping down into a lying position with a sickly squelch. You can feel every square millimeter of the fur on your butt and ballsack merged with poopy mud, the sog of the diaper against your sheath is incredible, and the combined smells of stale pee and intense poop are nearly overwhelming your nose.
You pull at the tapes of your diaper, ripping them off one by one, each one impossibly loud for a small strip of sticky plastic. As you lift the heavy top flap of your diaper away and allow it to flop open, the smells redouble and you look down onto the disaster below.
Everything is glossy and gooey; the inner lining of the diaper appears to have ripped open at some point and spilled the absorbent contents out onto your sheath. The poop that has spread forward from the rear of the diaper is clearly visible; your ballsack is completely caked in it, and even the front of your sheath has gotten a bit muddy. The inside of the diaper is like a mountain range of gooey brown stretching nearly all the way to the front waistband.
Unsure where to begin, you instinctively reach down to wipe things off and instead end up smearing the combined mess all over your sheath and paw. Horrified, you try to wipe it off again, only managing to smear your sheath and paw further. As you do so, you feel your sheath starting to throb again, the way it did earlier before the incredible feeling took over.
Morbidly wondering why anyone would find pleasure from playing with poop like it was mud, your peepee apparently has decided you like this, as it begins to emerge from your sheath again, growing stiff and firm like last time. This time though, your muddy paw is directly on your peepee, and without thinking, you begin massaging the filthy muck into your shaft, your other paw coming down and massaging your balls as if it had a mind of its own.
Your sheath throbs and the wave of pleasure washes over you again, your mind now dedicated solely to reaching that unbelievable state of intense stimulation. You reach down under your ballsack and scrape more muddy poop onto your paw, then return it to your shaft and rub it in hard.
The smell is intoxicating, like some sort of alluring poison, clouding your judgement and driving you to throb, thrust, grope, and quake, awash in pleasure. Your paw moves rapidly up and down, goo squelching out from between your fingers, your ballsack twitching, and your other paw massaging the base of your sheath and rubbing your absolutely filthy tailhole, all without conscious direction.
With an intense thrust up into the air, you begin to quake and clench, the peeing sensation returning and your balls tightening up. You look down at your peepee as this is happening and notice a small amount clear goo dribbling out of the hole on your tip. Overwhelmed, your eyes roll back and you slowly stop moving, aside from the occasional twitch, throb, and dribble.
You again come to, awash in a sea of sensation, and the acrid smell of poop redoubles. You look around and realize that not only are your paws filthy with muck, your legs and chest are too. You don’t know what that orgasmic sensation was, but you know that it’s something you desire greatly, and already begin looking forward to the next time you can “paw” your peepee with diapers or mucky poo.

	Chapter 9

Putting aside the afterglow, you start to panic as you have no idea where to start with the cleanup, and the intense smell, previously intoxicating, is now starting to make you feel sickly. Out of desperation, you reach up and turn on the faucet of the tub, leaving the handle streaked with brown muck and clear goo.
After flailing to avoid the initially cold water, you start rinsing off your paws, slowly working your way across your body. The water runs dark brown with muck, diaper goo, and the mysterious clear goo from your own peepee. The smell is atrocious, but luckily the bathroom fan is doing its duty. The bottle of body wash eventually got involved too, adding foam to the mucky water.
Eventually, after nearly an hour in the tub, half a bottle of body wash, lots of awkward stretching, and liberal use of the handheld shower hose, both you and the tub are clean. The collar and pacifier had come off once your paws were clean enough, and tossed aside onto the floor. The diaper had been unceremoniously scooped into the thankfully empty bathroom garbage can, leaving a mucky drip trail that took its own cleaning session to get rid of.
You grab a towel from the rack, and start toweling off. You notice your sheath is much more sensitive and tender than normal, so go dry off extra gentle down there. You can still smell a faint smell of poop on your paws, but after scrubbing your paws over a dozen times, there’s nothing more you can do about that.
After drying off, you throw your towel into the laundry hamper and put some normal clothes on. You know the diaper in the bathroom is still waiting to be dealt with, so you make your way back to the bathroom, and grab a hold of the modest garbage can. It’s too heavy for you to lift, so you carefully drag it out into the hall, and gingerly down the stairs, with a thump, thump, thump from each step.
You drag the can out into the garage, and struggle to lift it up into the bigger garbage bin, immensely thankful that pickup day is tomorrow. Afraid of having the evidence discovered, you also throw some Styrofoam chunks from the workbench on top in a pitiful effort to hide things. You look back down at the poor bathroom garbage can and realize it’ll need to be rinsed out, but after what you cleaned up earlier, that doesn’t seem too bad.
	Epilogue

By the time Dad got home, you are already tucked into bed and hoping you hid the evidence well enough. The collar and pacifier are tucked back into the shoebox at the back of your closet, and the smell in the bathroom has thankfully dissipated.
You pretend to be half-asleep when dad comes in to check on you, and give him a hug and kiss before rolling back over and clutching your pillow. He clicks off the lights and exits the room, thankfully unaware of the day’s events.
You yawn and bring your paw up to your muzzle. Absentmindedly, you start sucking on your thumb; a habit you stopped doing years ago. Well, up until now that is. As you drift off, you find your mind drawn back to the mess in the tub, and the rubbing of your wet padding in your bed earlier. You feel a slight twinge in your sheath as you fall asleep with visions of diapers swirling around in your head.

~ © Shino Puppy, 2021 ~