Controlled Urgency By Zrathie A red fox entered the breakroom inside Northwind Psychiatric Retreat, a small rural mental health centre. Inside, seated at the small table, was a coyote sipping a coffee and reading the news on her phone. "I've got a favour to ask?" purred the red fox. Sometime later, outside in a car, another coyote waited. The car door opened, letting in a brief gust of cooler air from outside. Ashby barely moved, only flicking his ears toward the noise as his eyes tracked the figure being guided into the back seat. She was a coyote, like him. She stepped in with measured, steady movements but wasn't in control—she was being handled. The fox nurse, who had introduced himself as Alder, stood beside her, one hand on her upper arm, the other briefly adjusting the straitjacket straps that held her arms securely against her torso. "This is Nyx, your last-minute travel companion. She's a biter, so she won't be very talkative," the fox remarked. Alder's remark came almost offhandedly, his tone carrying a hint of amusement. Ashby's gaze lingered on the muzzle strapped around Nyx's snout. It was sturdy, made of thick black material, and buckled snugly behind her head. She couldn't part her jaws, speak, or do anything but sit there in silence. She barely reacted to the comment, not even a pair of one-syllable grunts in the cadence of "fuck you." Her ears twitched slightly, but her expression remained unreadable. Alder, meanwhile, was a picture of ease. He had the air of someone entirely at home in his role, his orange-red fur sleek and well-groomed, his cream-coloured muzzle curved in something that wasn't quite a smirk but was close enough to one. His uniform—a dark blue staff polo tucked neatly into his slacks—was crisp, his ID badge clipped to the front. There was something about his eyes, though. Sharp, attentive, always watching. Although this was common with foxes, their vertical slit pupils always carried a hint of knowing. Being at least two steps ahead of anyone else. He checked Nyx's restraint straps before nudging her into her seat correctly. "Comfortable?" he asked, though he didn't expect an answer. Nyx said nothing, of course. A soft puff of exhaled breath escaped from her nose, nothing more. She settled into place, the thick padding of her adult diaper around her waist making her shift slightly as she adjusted to the seat. Ashby watched her, trying to determine if she was a friend or foe. She looked… normal. Nyx looked almost too normal. Her fur was a mix of tawny brown and sandy beige, her markings soft and natural. He had eyes whose gaze was currently cast ahead. They didn't have a glassy or spaced-out look he'd expected from a biter. Usually, they would be in a placid, drugged haze with lulled, unfocused eyes out in dreamland while being transported like this. Nothing about her appearance suggested she belonged in a place like this, but neither did he. The fox patted the top of the car before shutting the door, sealing them inside. A moment later, the driver's door opened, and he slipped into the front seat, his tail flicking slightly as he got comfortable. "Alright," he said, fastening his seatbelt with a quiet click. "Let's get moving." The engine hummed softly, the faintest vibration passing through the seat beneath him. Ashby sat still; his body relaxed more out of habit than ease. His gaze drifted unfocused across the car's interior until movement caught his eye. In the driver's seat, Alder reached up and adjusted the rearview mirror with a practised flick of his fingers. The angle shifted, first showing Nyx beside him, her muzzle thankfully still strapped tight, then settling squarely on him. For a moment, he caught his reflection. His golden-yellow eyes stared back, sharp and alert, even if the rest of his expression remained carefully neutral. His sandy-brown fur was dusted with darker markings, the telltale patterns of a coyote, though his muzzle was lighter, a soft cream that ran down his throat. His black nose pad twitched slightly; his ears, tall and pointed, flicked once before stilling. He looked… the same as always. But something about seeing himself like this—in a car he didn't control, wrapped in a straitjacket, a thick adult diaper wrapped around his waist—made it feel different. The fox's eyes met him through the mirror. There was that same sharpness, the ever-present flicker of amusement as if Alder knew what he was thinking. "Don't look so serious," the fox said casually. "We've got a long drive ahead." Ashby didn't answer. He only held the fox's gaze for a beat longer before shifting his attention away, fixing his stare on the window instead. Outside, The Northwind Psychiatric Retreat stood behind them. Ahead, the open road stretched far and empty. It could be worse, Ashby mused to himself. At the very least, he wasn't the only creature suffering the humiliation of being diapered. With that, the engine rumbled to life, and they rolled forward—heading toward the long stretch of road between here and the faraway city. The road stretched ahead, long and steady, bathed in the light glow of the mid-morning sun. The vehicle's cabin was quiet, aside from the occasional hum of tyres against the pavement and the rhythmic tick of the turn signal whenever Alder changed lanes. Ashby sat still, his body held in place by the snug embrace of his restraints. The straitjacket wasn't unfamiliar—it had been a part of his reality for a while now. The padded bulk around his waist, though? That was something else entirely. The staff told him it was just a precaution and standard procedure. Hopefully, it was just a measure for incontinent patients, and if he'd asked Alder, he'd stop somewhere and assist him to a restroom. As the car rumbled onto the open road, Ashby sat stiffly in his seat, his restraints ensuring there wasn't much else he could do. His ears flicked at the distant hum of traffic, but his mind stayed fixed on one thing—his self-control. The sensation was wrong, unnatural in a way he couldn't quite push from his mind. He hated it. It was belittling and unnecessary. But fighting against it wouldn't change anything, and he knew that. The unfamiliar thickness of the diaper between his legs was unavoidable, but it didn't have to matter. Bone-dry. That's how it was, and that's how it would stay. He would endure no matter how long this drive lasted or what the Alder or Nyx did. He had trained himself to hold it. He had willpower. Bone-dry. His ears twitched, flicking toward the only passenger in the back with him. Nyx sat across from him, bound just as he was. If she had thoughts about their situation, she didn't—or couldn't—share them. The muzzle strapped over her snout saw to that. Alder sighed, tapping the wheel. "Man, last-minute transfers are the worst. Especially when you don’t have time to plan for the drive." His ears flicked slightly like he was waiting for something. Then he added, "Right, Nyx?" She nodded once stiffly. After that, she was eerily still, her posture relaxed but not entirely natural, as if she were carefully measured in how she held herself. Her eyes had been watching the passing scenery for a while now, unfocused and distant. Ashby studied her for a moment. There was something strange about her presence, not in the obvious ways—not the restraints or silence—but in how she carried herself. Nyx didn't fidget. She didn't glance around the vehicle like he had when they first got inside, gauging exits, memorising details out of habit. She was just… calm. She was too calm, not the sedated kind or the calmness of despair; something was off about her. He turned his attention to the fox upfront. The nurse, Alder, hadn't said much since they left besides the comment to Nyx, his hands resting lightly on the wheel, occasionally drumming his fingers against it in a casual rhythm. Ashby's eyes narrowed slightly. Something felt off—not wrong, necessarily—but off. This drive had been scheduled for a week, and suddenly, he had another passenger. He glanced at Nyx again. She still hadn't moved much. He tried to ignore how his fur prickled slightly along the back of his neck. The smaller facility they left wasn't far behind them now, and the city with its more centralised one was still far ahead. The road in between was long, and he had no way of knowing how long the drive would last. He settled into the silence for now, keeping his thoughts to himself. And waiting. The vehicle's hum was steady, and its motion was smooth as it cut through the long stretch ahead. The car's interior smelled of clean upholstery and faint traces of antiseptic—subtle reminders that this was no ordinary trip. The restraints made sure of that. Ashby shifted in his seat; the straitjacket kept his arms snugly against his torso. Irritated by the lack of freedom, his ears flicked, but he forced himself to focus elsewhere. Across from him, Nyx sat in much the same state, her straitjacket mirroring his own, though her situation was even more restrictive. The muzzle strapped over her snout kept her silent, making her unreadable in a way that unsettled him. Alder in the driver's seat was quiet for the last half-hour, just the occasional glance in the rearview mirror, a silent reminder that he was watching. For the first stretch of the ride, Nyx was still composed, offering no sign of discomfort. But over the last few minutes, something had shifted. Ashby noticed it in the subtle way her body tensed—nothing dramatic, just a faint change in her posture. She adjusted her position slightly, shifting her weight from one side to the other. Then, after a few minutes, she did it again. At first, he thought little of it. The restraints weren't comfortable. He knew that well enough, but Nyx's movements became more frequent as time passed. Her movements were small, almost imperceptible fidgeting, suggesting something more than discomfort with her seat. His ears perked as he observed her more closely. Her thighs pressed together slightly, and her tail, what little freedom it had, flicked in an uneven rhythm. It hit him then—she had to pee. A realisation that should have been trivial but wasn't. Ashby's gaze flicked toward the driver, but Alder remained focused on the road, unconcerned. Either he hadn't noticed, or he did but was waiting for a rest area to pull up in. Ashby swallowed. The car's interior suddenly felt claustrophobic, and the situation was more intimate than he liked. He looked back at Nyx, watching how her nostrils flared slightly as she took a slow, measured breath. She was holding it. And Ashby doubted it was easy. A strange feeling settled in his stomach—not quite sympathy, not quite curiosity, but something in between. How long has Nyx needed to go? How much longer could she last? Nyx was trapped just like him, but at least he could voice his needs. His gaze lingered as she shifted again, pressing her back against the seat as if that would help. It wouldn't. He knew that. She would be better off trying to get the fox's attention, but she stayed silent. While she simply couldn’t ask for a rest stop, she could draw attention to her situation, or perhaps she knew they were stopping somewhere soon and didn’t want to bother Alder. Ashby turned his head toward the window, pretending not to notice, but his ears betrayed him, still angled in Nyx's direction. It was only a matter of time before this matter would become more pressing. The car hummed along the road, the faint vibrations of the tyres against asphalt filling the silence. The two coyotes sit in the back, their straitjackets keeping them restrained, their adult diapers still bone-dry. The fox nurse Alder kept one paw on the steering wheel, and the other casually adjusted the mirror. Nyx has been shifting for a while now—subtle at first, then more pronounced. Her thighs pressed together. Her posture was stiff. Despite how awkward it would be, Ashby wondered if he should speak up on her behalf. Mentioning another creature’s bodily needs would be embarrassing for her, but what choice did he have? Thankfully for Ashby, Nyx moved to get the fox’s attention. Nyx finally looked up and made eye contact with the fox nurse in the mirror. Her ears flicked back as if trying to capture Alder’s focus. The fox regarded her in silence for a few moments before speaking. "Nyx, is something wrong?" he said. She nods her head once. "Uncomfortable, Nyx?" The fox’s tone was more amused than sympathetic as if he knew the answer before she did. Another nod, quicker this time. "Pain?" She shakes her head, but there's tension in how she does it. "Nauseous?" Another shake, a little more impatient. Alder tilted his head slightly, the classic fox posture tic. His voice remained smooth and clinical. "Do you need to pee?" Ashby felt Nyx tense beside him before she answered. A single, urgent nod. Her breath came quicker through her nose, making it flair, and her ears flicked back. The fox exhaled lightly through his nose, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. "Yeah, I figured," he said. "I saw how much juice and coffee you had this morning. You probably didn't expect to sit in the car for hours today, huh?" Nyx didn't move. Ashby could picture her situation, a slough of drinks before an unexpectedly long ride. It was why he had declined anything besides the two slices of toast before he was trussed up for this journey. The fox sighed, but not unkindly. "Sorry about that. This trip sprung on you at the last minute." There was another quiet stretch before his voice took on that same smooth, even tone. "How bad is it?" She shifted slightly in place. "Mild?" She sharply shook her head. "Moderate?" Nyx shook again, faster. Alder took his time with the last question. "Heavy?" For a moment, Nyx didn't move. Then she nodded—once, twice, three times—frantic and urgent. Her ears flattened, her nostrils flared, and her breath hitched as if admitting it made the sensation worse, more real. Alder clicked his tongue against his teeth. "So, a bit of a bathroom emergency, huh?" Nyx nodded twice, her nose snorting out a huff of breath, betraying the urgency of the nonverbal answer, and her ears pinned back. The fox exhaled lightly through his nose and adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. His tone was smooth, businesslike—unbothered. "Well," he continued, "unfortunately, the diaper stays on until we arrive. I cannot make an exception for you, Nyx." He didn’t sound cruel about it. Just... factual. Like this was routine. "If I start making exceptions, one of the more violent patients might use it as an opportunity to try something." His tone remained steady as if reading from a rulebook. "It won't leak, just let it out, and you'll feel better." He glanced in the rearview mirror, meeting Ashby’s gaze. The coyote tensed, suddenly feeling more trapped than before. "My job today is simple," Alder continued, still watching him. My job is to make sure you arrive safely. That means no stops, detours, or bathroom breaks. I need at least another staff member present before I'm allowed to remove any restraints. Your job is to sit and relax until we get where you're going. If you need to pee, just pee." He let the words settle before adding, almost as an afterthought: "Or hold it. Makes no difference to me, but it'll make things uncomfortable for you," Nyx stayed frozen momentarily as if her body was fighting against what she knows is inevitable. But the fox offered no alternatives. No stops. No exceptions. The road stretched ahead. The car kept moving. Ashby now understood the stakes; even if he did ask for the restroom, he would be denied. The vehicle moved steadily down the road, and the engine hummed the only constant sound.  Alder's voice still lingered in the air. "Unfortunately, the diaper stays on until we arrive." Nyx was sitting still—too still. Her ears remained pinned back, her posture slightly slumped—not in exhaustion but in quiet defeat. Ashby watched her from the corner of his eye. Minutes passed. The tension in the air shifted, subtle at first. Nyx's nostrils flared as her breathing grew heavier and more uneven. She moved again, pressing her thighs together as tightly as she could. Ashby knew that the pressure inside Nyx's bladder wasn't going away. It was only rising. Then, a soft whine escaped from behind her muzzle. Ashby stiffened. He could imagine it, her bladder taut, throbbing at her lower abdomen. He glanced toward the fox, but the nurse didn't react. Another whine—strained, involuntary—had escaped Nyx's lips. Her body trembled slightly, and her breath had come in uneven bursts, shallow and desperate. Then, the struggle began. She had jerked sharply, yanking against the seatbelt and the tight confines of her straitjacket. The seatbelt clicked and jolted but held her firmly. Her bound arms tugged at her straitjacket, but it kept them pressed against her torso, her entire body twisted, desperate for some kind of exit. But there was none. The fox finally looks up in the rearview mirror, watching her movements with detached curiosity. His gaze fixed on Ashby, "Don't worry about Nyx. She's just being a bit stubborn today," he said softly. Alder sighed, shaking his head. "Nyx. You’re making this harder than it has to be." She began squirming harder, twisting as much as her bound form would allow. Her breathing quickened and became ragged. Her hand paws writhed with their claws useless under the thick, coarse fabric of the straitjacket sleeves. Her foot paws pressed into the carpet of her foot well, hoping for any leverage to push her free. Ashby watched in frozen silence. Every instinct must have been screaming at Nyx to hold on, but how long did she have? Then, Nyx halted. She let out a long, urgent whine. Her whole body locked up, every muscle going rigid. Her ears clamped flat to her head. Her chest continued to rise and fall rapidly, but she no longer struggled. And then— A soft, unmistakable hiss filled the confined space. Ashby heard it, clear and undeniable. It made his ears twitch and his tail flick. It was the sound of urine flooding into a thick diaper, muffled but still perceptible in the quiet vehicle. Nyx was still locked in the same position. She doesn't make a sound besides the urgent piss stream rocketing out into her diaper. Her body remained frozen, save for the shudder of breath leaving her lungs. Ashby couldn't help but stare as her diaper swelled slightly. The once sharp blue wetness indicator lines began to blur and fade as the thirsty padding absorbed her stream. The air felt heavier now. A new tension. The fox nurse, calm and collected, let a few seconds pass before he spoke. "There we go," His tone is almost approving, like a teacher acknowledging a student finally following instructions. He turned his eyes toward Nyx, his expression softened. "You poor thing, you really needed to pee." The soft hiss faded into silence. Her breathing steadied. The tension in her body disappeared, but something else did, too—whatever fight she’d been putting on. For the first time since she got in the car, she looked... satisfied. The struggle was over. Ashby, still watching, felt something subtle in his body—a slight twinge in his bladder. It wasn't anything serious. Not yet. But they've been on the road for a while, and now that the thought is there, it lingered. Alder didn't say anything immediately. He let the moment settle, allowing Nyx to relax and Ashby to sit with it. Then, his voice cut through the quiet. "Feeling better?" His question was directed at Nyx. She hesitated only briefly, then nodded once. Ashby exhaled slowly, his ears flicking. He did not say anything but noticed that Nyx did seem better. The tension in her posture was gone, and she was not struggling anymore. She had given in, and now she was okay. Alder met Ashby's gaze in the mirror, his expression unreadable. "That's one bathroom emergency dealt with, but that's why we have you both in diapers," said Alder, more to himself than to his coyotes. The car hummed along, steady and unchanging. The road stretched on, a seemingly endless expanse of pavement and monotony. Nyx remained quiet, no longer fidgeting. Her posture was relaxed, and her breathing was even. It was clear—she was okay.   Ashby, however, started to feel something—a dull pressure, faint but noticeable. It wasn't urgent—not yet—but it was there. He kept still, making no indication of discomfort. His ears remained neutral, his body language controlled. But he thought about it. He knew they wouldn't be stopping. He knew the expectations: if he needed to go, just go, and he had seen what fighting it had done, what had happened to Nyx. She had fought it. And yet, in the end, the outcome had been the same as if she had not. His bladder gave a faint pulse—not a demand, just a reminder. He exhaled quietly through his nose, staring at the road ahead. He didn't react, shift, or let on. There was no point disturbing Alder; he wouldn't let him bypass the rules. But the journey wasn't over. And the pressure would only grow. An hour had passed since the initial twinges of discomfort. The steady hum of the car on the road hadn't changed. Nyx had still sat quietly, seemingly oblivious to the growing tension in the air. She had been relaxed, her breathing steady. But for the male coyote… Ashby's composure had begun to crack. His bladder, which had been steadily filling, was now pressing against him with more insistence. The weight in his lower abdomen had become more pronounced and more challenging to ignore. His breath had caught just slightly. The first subtle sign of strain. His ears flicked back momentarily, an involuntary reaction to the rising pressure. He had shifted in his seat ever so slightly—his body betraying him. The slight movement had only emphasised the discomfort he was trying so hard to hide. Another few minutes had passed. Ashby had shifted again, this time more noticeably. His tail had twitched, and his muscles had tensed that familiar way—fighting against a natural urge. He had glanced at the fox briefly, catching the nurse's eyes in the rearview mirror. Alder's expression hadn't changed. He had been waiting. Watching. The male coyote had swallowed, his mouth dry. He had looked away quickly, pretending not to notice the pressure mounting. But it has become impossible to ignore now. The road began to change. The landscape shifted from an open highway to the city's edges, and the skyline became visible in the distance. The sound of the tyres against the road became sharper as they approached the pavement of the urban area. In contrast to Ashby's quiet struggle, Nyx remained calm. Her breathing stayed steady, and her posture relaxed. She had long passed her moment, already at ease. But Ashby... The pressure had been with him for so long that it felt like it was always there, a constant weight pressing in. His bladder was full—his body taut with the effort of holding it. Every few seconds, he shifted slightly, trying to alleviate the discomfort. He felt the tightness in his abdomen, the slow, relentless need to release. He glanced at the fox again, and the nurse met his gaze briefly through the rearview mirror. Something in the fox's eyes told him the fox had been watching his growing discomfort. Ashby's breath hitched for a moment. The pressure was building again, but the city was so close now. Just a little longer, and he would be able to make it. "It looks like we're almost there," said Alder. Ashby’s ears flicked back in frustration, a subtle but real sign of his struggle. But he didn't let it show fully. Relief was almost here. He needed a little more time, but time wasn’t on his side. Sometime later, the car slowed to a stop. The engine hum faded as the vehicle idled in the thickening traffic. Cars lined the road, a slow-moving river of metal and exhaust, a sea of red brake lights. The facility, Citadel of Minds, was so close now—the building looming just ahead—but the delay stretched long enough to push Ashby to his limits. Inside the car, Nyx shifted slightly. She let out a soft, almost relieved whine behind her muzzle, a sound of acceptance, not struggle. She doesn't hesitate this time. She just let her bladder go. A soft hiss filled the car, barely noticeable over the traffic rumbling. The sound is unmistakable, the last thing Ashby wanted to hear. Nyx had given in for a second time, her body relaxing as the most recent pressure slowly released. Nyx breathed out slowly, almost content, her posture shifting more relaxed. Her body had already learned to accept the inevitability. There was no struggle this time—just a quiet moment of relief. Ashby felt the tension in his own body. His breath hitched again, but this time it was sharper. They were near their destination. The city traffic was a cruel complication. The car barely moved, and with every minute, his bladder screamed for release. His body tightened against the pressure, but it was becoming harder to hold on. Alder glanced back, his eyes fixed on the male coyote. "You look a bit tense. If you need to have a tinkle, you should. We might be stuck here for a time." "I'm fine. I'll just hold it until we arrive," said Ashby, his voice a bit too pitched for his liking. Alder returned his focus to the road, waiting for the traffic to break, the journey's end ahead. Ashby shifted again, trying to make himself more comfortable, but there was no way to escape the feeling of fullness. The need was consuming now—every movement, every second in the traffic, intensified the pressure. He glanced at her again. Nyx is fine now and entirely at ease. He wondered if he would be able to hold on much longer. With the slow-moving traffic behind them, the car finally pulled up to Citadel of Minds. The Citadel of Minds rose imposing and austere, a brutalist monolith of raw, unadorned concrete that seemed to glow in the afternoon sun. Its angular forms and heavy surfaces gave it a sense of permanence and unyielding authority. The rough texture of the outer walls was only disturbed by narrow, recessed rectangular windows, more like arrow loops in a castle than for a building made for creatures. They hinted at the numerous rooms and internal labyrinth of corridors within. A tall, grey concrete wall stretched around the building, interrupted only by the black metal automated gates marking the driveway entrance. Their smooth, industrial finish contrasted sharply with the roughness of the wall and building and silently commanded respect from all who approached. The surrounding grounds were equally uninviting; spiky plants in concrete planter boxes and a hard-paved landscape amplified the building's intimidating presence. Harsh, artificial lighting shined from behind its uniform rows of windows, reinforcing the sense of isolation and control that the Citadel exuded. This fortress-like asylum was to be Ashby’s new home. The soft hum of the engine idled as the fox shifted the car into parking gear, the sounds of the city fading just beyond the tall concrete asylum walls. The black metal of the security gate clanked closed down the far end of the driveway. Nyx was now wholly calm despite having relieved herself twice in the car and despite the concrete bunker of a building looming across the way. She shifted in her seat, her body at ease, her breathing steady. The relief she sought earlier had settled within her. She was fine, with no barely hidden needs or urges. Ashby, however, was not okay. His body had been taut with the pressure of holding it in, and the tension in his posture was unmistakable. Every breath and every movement of his body had betrayed him. His bladder had felt ready to burst, the weight of it impossible to ignore. But the fox... Alder had been watching him through the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable. He must have known Ashby had been holding back his urge from at least since the traffic backup. Alder looked over at Nyx, nodding toward the building. "Alright, let's get you inside," he said calmly. He got out of the driver’s seat and moved to open the door for her, assisting Nyx in stepping out of the car. Her diaper, now swollen, sagged from the weight of the fluid it had to contend with, but looking down at where she had been seated, Ashby couldn't even see a drip of moisture. Ashby sat taut, frozen in the backseat, his body aching with every passing second as the pressure in his bladder intensified. The diaper between his legs felt dry, but it was constantly reminding him that he had an emergency place to piss. Amplifying how badly he needed relief. The straitjacket pinned his arms, and his posture was stiff, as if every inch of his body was straining to hold it together. He could feel the threat of spasms threatening to burst through the fragile dam of his willpower. The sound of the fox leaning into the car pulled him from his thoughts, and his voice cut through the silence. "How desperate are you, huh? On a scale of mild to heavy?" Ashby's heart skipped a beat. He couldn't let the fox see how bad it was. He had to remain stoic, just like on the drive here. He couldn't let himself appear weak. He forced a calm expression despite the tightness in his chest. "Moderate," he lied, his voice steady even though every muscle screamed for release. The fox gave a slight chuckle, almost as if he didn't believe him, before turning his attention to Nyx. "Okay, since you're good for a second, I better get Nyx inside," the fox said casually, "so she can be cleaned up. Wouldn't want her to stay too long like this." The words hit him like a cold splash of water. Moderate? He had said it so quickly, so confidently, but now, in the silence that followed, the weight of his lie crashed down on him. His mind raced, and at that moment, he realised his mistake. He had sealed his fate by trying to appear calm and pretending to be in control. The fox would be inside with Nyx while he would be left alone, waiting for his desperation to finally break. The fox quietly closed the car door with a soft click, leaving Ashby to stew. Alder's gaze flicked briefly to Ashby before returning to Nyx. He escorted Nyx towards the facility and walked with her toward the entrance, leaving Ashby to watch as they entered the monolithic building. Alder could see on his face the coyote's need wasn't moderate; the pressure in his bladder would be overwhelming by now. Alder walked beside Nyx, guiding her toward the facility's entrance. He was satisfied with the way things had unfolded so far. Still, Alder had hoped not to have to play their last trick of leaving the coyote to pee his diaper alone. He had hoped seeing Nyx pee would help normalise the use of diapers during long drives. "You played the part of an unruly patient so well; it was compelling," Alder said in a low voice. His gaze flicks briefly at Nyx, noting her calm, collected demeanour despite the role she's been playing. Nyx's tail wagged a bit, betraying her pride. "Ashby needs to learn how to be vulnerable," said Alder. Of course, Nyx didn't respond—her muzzle was still in place, tight and restrictive. She simply walked along beside him, but Alder knew she was aware of what was happening. She had been the one helping orchestrate Ashby's accident from the start. Once they were out of view of the car, more importantly, out of sight of Ashby, Alder slowed. The tension in the air shifted from one of "patient" and nurse to that of two colleagues helping out each other in an unconventional way, and the fox stepped back, taking a moment to address the situation. Alder reached up and began to remove Nyx's muzzle, his fingers deft as he released the straps. After the fox pulled the muzzle free, Nyx exhaled quietly, its weight and tightness no longer restricting her. "That must feel good. I don't know why you insisted on having a muzzle on," the fox murmured, his voice softer now. "Just the diaper and straitjacket was all that was required." Nyx didn't respond instantly as she worked her jaw, which had been locked closed for hours. "Maybe. I like being a biter for a while," said Nyx, adding a playful snap of her teeth for emphasis. "We'll let him sweat it out a bit longer. By the time I return, he'll be soaked," said Alder. The fox's tone had been almost triumphant then, though it was hard to tell if he had been speaking to Nyx or reflecting on his calculated approach. With Nyx no longer gagged, the dynamics shifted back towards professionalism. The fox's gaze lingered on her momentarily before they continued walking past the building's entrance, confident that Ashby's bladder emergency was imminent. The minutes passed, feeling like hours. The sound of the engine idling, the distant hum of the city, and the oppressive pressure in his bladder all mixed together into a torturous soundtrack. Ashby shifted uneasily in his seat, trying to adjust his body, but every movement was met with more pain. His bladder was close to its breaking point, and there was nowhere to go—he was stuck in the car, waiting for Alder to return, with no escape from the pressure. His breath became shallow, and each inhale and exhale of his breathing betrayed the growing panic inside. He had been holding it for so long now, and the feeling of urgency was growing beyond what he could manage. The diapers, designed for patients like him, mocked him in his mind. He had been trained his whole life to control his bladder, to be "normal," to avoid such humiliations. And now? Now, he was there, in that humiliating, helpless position. The soft padding of the diaper beneath him did nothing to comfort him. It felt like a reminder of how far gone he was. The urge to pee is no longer something he can push aside—it's all-consuming. The muscles in his abdomen tightened, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make the panic back, but it was futile. He's going to wet himself. The thought cuts through him like a knife. It's not just the act itself—it's what it means. He's a grown adult. He's supposed to be in control. This moment is alien to him. Sitting stiffly in the car, his arms had been bound tightly in the straitjacket, his posture rigid as he tried to focus on anything but the pressure that had been building inside him. The bulky diaper between his legs had felt like an ever-present weight, a reminder that he had been fighting a losing battle. Bone-dry. He had promised to keep it that way and hold on until the end, but the need was unbearable. His breathing quickened, shallow, as he fought the desperate urge pulsing in his abdomen. Bone-dry, he had repeated silently. But with every passing second, it became harder to ignore the warning signs—his body trembling, the ache growing sharper. He could feel it then, a hot rush building, and he knew—no matter how much he had tried to will himself to hold it—the floodgates were only moments away from opening. As the pressure increased, Ashby felt his body betraying him. His nostrils flared with each shaky breath, the scent of his own fear mixing with the lingering sense of urgency. His heart raced in his chest, and a slight whine slipped from his throat, muffled by humiliation. No. I can't. Just a few more minutes. His body didn't listen. The floodgates opened with a rush, and an audible hiss filled the small space of the car. The warmth spread quickly, and Ashby froze, his body stiffening as he felt the dampness spread beneath him. His mind was overwhelmed with disbelief and shame. His breath hitched as he felt the diaper fill, the reality sinking in: he had just wet himself. The sound of urine filling the diaper was unnervingly loud in the confined space, and Ashby couldn't do anything to stop it. The humiliation was like a weight on his chest, a feeling that pressed down harder than any physical discomfort. He sat there, motionless, as the last of the pressure drained away, leaving him with a sense of cold, soggy helplessness.    It wasn't just the wet diaper that bothered him—it was the knowledge that he had lost control and had been reduced to something he never thought he would be. He swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the moment. Alder and Nyx walked in a quiet, sterile hallway inside the facility. The polished lino floor gleamed under the bright flooring lights. There was a faint smell of antiseptic, and the clicks of the claws of their foot paws echoed in the nearly silent hallway. Over the last few minutes, Alder had helped Nyx out of her straitjacket. Nyx had removed the wet diaper and conducted a brief cleanup; then, she retrieved a set of light green nursing scrubs and redressed. In her uniform, she looked far more at ease, and the confidence in her stride contrasted sharply with the earlier role she'd volunteered for. As they walked together, Nyx spoke. "I might have overdone it with the extra hydration before we left," she admitted, expressing mild exasperation. "But I wanted to ensure I would feel a rapid bladder urge but didn't anticipate having to pee twice." Alder chuckled lightly, nodding in acknowledgement. "Yeah, but it's hard to judge how much you'd need; plus, it was a last-minute thing." He paused momentarily; his mind returned to the car and the coyote still inside. Alder reasoned that Ashby would have peed himself by now, and even if he had not, just standing would be enough for him to flood. Nyx must have known what the fox was thinking or at least guessed it because her eyes looked down the corridor towards the entrance. Alder's eyes darted toward the hall's far end, then back to Nyx. . "I need to go check on him," Alder said, his tail flicking, betraying his growing concern. "You played your part well, but now... I need to ensure he just uses the protection and isn't suffering in a wet diaper," Nyx nodded. "Those diapers work well, but I was glad to be out of it," "Ashby's not going to like wetting himself; he was holding back while we were stuck in traffic back there," she muttered, glancing toward the hallway.The fox's lips curled into a faint smile. "Yeah, well, I'm sure he won't be thrilled. But it's for his own good; during these drives, I don't like patients holding it for too long; they might hurt themselves." With that, the fox turned, making his way toward the exit. He had to retrieve Ashby. Nyx remained behind; it would hinder Alder's plan if she suddenly turned up as a nurse, putting a lie to her role as a patient. Still, her eyes followed the fox's departure. Her role in the plan had concluded. Part of her missed the embrace of the straitjacket and the snugness on the muzzle. As Alder returned to the car, there was a quiet sense of finality. Ashby's ordeal hasn't entirely ended yet. The fox has one last step, a gentle hypnotic shower for the yote. Alder paused outside the car momentarily, glancing back at the facility before focusing on Ashby inside. The fox opened the door gently; the car's interior was quiet except for the engine's soft hum and the purr of the air conditioning. As Alder peered inside, a slight rustle of Ashby shifting in his seat betrayed that he hadn't moved much. Alder knew what had happened. He didn't need to humiliate the poor coyote further by checking his diaper. It wasn't lost on him that Ashby's posture was now relaxed and loose, not as rigid and tense as he had been before. His eyes softened as they met Ashby's. Alder ensured his expression carried no judgment or harshness, just a quiet acknowledgement of the situation. Ashby looked up at him with exhaustion and embarrassment. The fox chose his words carefully to not worsen the coyote's situation. "Are you okay?" The fox's voice is low, almost soothing, and his tone much more compassionate than it had been during their earlier conversations. He moved closer to Ashby, noting the apparent discomfort still visible in his body. Ashby's shoulders were slumped as much as they could in the straitjacket; the moment's weight was heavier now. Ashby's breathing was shaky, but there was a quiet nod, the only response he could give as he refused to meet the fox's eyes. Alder placed a hand paw on his shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. "It's alright. Let's get you inside." Alder knew Ashby needed to be handled with care. There was no need to hurry. He'd been through enough. He didn't want to punish behaviour; he wanted to see or seem too gleeful that Alder had gotten what he wanted from the coyote. Alder moved smoothly to help Ashby out of the car, undoing his seatbelt and guiding him to stand with gentle encouragement. He was careful not to make Ashby feel any more self-conscious than he already must have felt, allowing him to take the lead but making sure his steps were steady. "Sorry, I made you wait. I had to get Nyx cleaned up. Let's get you inside where you can clean up. I'll take care of everything." Alder's voice remained steady and calm, though there's a subtle kindness to it now. "See, no leaks," Alder murmured as he helped Ashby out of the car. "It's much easier to listen to your urges than fight them." It starkly contrasts the earlier behaviour, but the fox recognised Ashby's fragility at this moment. Ashby kept his gaze downward as they walked toward the facility, avoiding eye contact with anyone they passed. The fox didn't mind—he focused entirely on ensuring Ashby was comfortable, even in his embarrassing situation. He guided him past the hallways and into a private shower room, where the first steps of recovery from the humiliating moment would begin. There was no rush. There was just understanding, a quiet sense of care. The fox waited until Ashby was placed on a bench before offering him a moment to breathe. "I'll get you out of your straitjacket and clean you up," the fox reassured him, but his tone was not urgent. Just a quiet sense of duty. It wasn’t long before Ashby was stripped and guided into a hi-tech auto shower. He had never seen one before. The metal arms had dropped from above and held him in place. Once restrained, Alder said to have fun or something, like he was on a rollercoaster, before closing the shower stall door behind him. The robotic arms grasped Ashby's limbs surprisingly gracefully for a robot. They held him firmly but comfortably, not pulling his fur or pinching his skin. The auto-shower chirped before it whirred as different arms lowered round scrubbers with a water jet at their centre, like a flower with brush-bristle petals and water and soap dispensing pistils. Then, they began spinning. Next, warm streams of water flowed out of the hydra's head of spinning brushes. It was like a bag of snakes but somehow coordinated to not tingle themselves. Water splashed from all sides before the scrubbers drew closer and sank into his fur. The warm water was heavenly, and he went limp into the arms, holding him upright with his limbs spread eagle. The water abruptly stopped, and liquid soap or fur shampoo began moving out in pulses into the scrubbing brushes. That stopped, and the brushes moved around Ashby's body in a coordinated dance, lathering him up slowly and deliberately. The machine wasn't shy about where it was cleaning under his tail and rear end; his sheath and balls got close intimate attention. Ashby's breath hitched as he felt his coyote meat begin to firm up. It wasn't unexpected that he had endured a few morning woods of frustration since being committed. He had been restrained and, if not in public view, so his base urges had been put to the back of his mind. The brushes continued their work. Unerbated soap suds fell to the grate under his foot paws or were cast out from the spinning bristles flopping over the tiled shower stall walls. More trailing down his body in soapy rivulets. The auto-shower repositioned his lower legs, easing his knees into a bent position, holding his arms and taking his entire body weight evenly with no pressure points of discomfort. His canine penis was in a lipstick state, his crotch and belly still being constantly worked but the rotating brushes. The brushes worked his foot paws working, in between his toes and each of the paw pads, making them gleam. The same was true of his hand paws, the rotating brushes working each finger, thumb, and palm. Ashby groaned in blessedness as the unstoppable sensations of the brushes worked intensely into his thick fur. As the water flow resumed and the soap rinsed out, he could feel his coyote meat at full mast. He wasn't worried about being seen alone in the shower, so he didn't try to get a hold of himself. He dropped deeper into relaxation as the warm water flowed over his body, and the brushes worked intensely into his fur. His muscles went slack, and his breathing began to even out into slow, deep breaths. The water jets were pulsing in a pattern. His eyes felt heavy. Ashby vaguely came to, hearing the soft droning of the dryer fan. It was a deep-frequency oscillating pitch. It was a sound he could listen to for hours. His knot stood proudly out. He didn't remember cumming, but his body sure felt the aftershocks of a full urgent release. The evidence had been washed away. He could also hear a voice that spoke in a monotone and reiterated the same line repeatedly. "Good coyotes obey the staff of Citadel of Minds," The voice sounded familiar. "Good coyotes obey the staff of Citadel of Minds," Huh? "Good coyotes obey the staff of Citadel of Minds," It was his voice; he stopped speaking at the recognition. He was on his knees, his post-orgasm knotted cock out, and he was being held… "Are you feeling okay?" came a new voice. His eyes began to focus, and it became easier as the auto-shower drying fans turned off. He could feel another creature's arms wrapped tightly around him, holding him close from behind. "I just wanted to check on you; you've been in the shower for a while," the tone was professional, totally incongruent with the physical affection shown. Alder held him more like a lover than a patient. Ashby finally arose out of the haze and went to stand. Alder held his hand paw to help him stand. "Are you a good coyote?" the fox asked, his tone soft. Ashby nodded three times in urgent, quick succession, just like Nyx had back in the car as if he was on autopilot. He didn't have a moment for the question to interact with his brain.  "Yes, I'm a good coyote," came his voice. The fox cupped his cheek in his hand paw. "Good coyote," he murmured.