The weasel had been awake for some time now, but frankly, he didn’t want to open his eyes. This bed he was on was too comfy. The warm fur underneath him called for him to sink into it with its occasional quiet gurgles. It was a call he was desperate to answer. But he had been awake now for maybe ten minutes, maybe twenty, so he had to come to a reluctant conclusion: the part of him that decided such things had decided against continued blissful unconsciousness.

Instead, he was growing bored of the darkness. So, slowly, Toss lifted his eyelids and took in the world around him.

He was in the living room of what he could describe as a mid-rent apartment if he were sure such a word existed. It was dark, but not pitch-black. A TV that he remembered had been playing something a few hours earlier now displayed a “no signal” pattern, blinking and bouncing across the otherwise-black screen. Most of the low light washing across the room, though, came from the kitchen light, which had been left on. It was nowhere near enough to provide proper illumination. That said, being a weasel and thus built for dim light, Toss could see the room fine.

Between himself and the TV, there was a low table. On it were probably too many empty and half-empty drink bottles and snack containers. (Toss winced in half-unpleasant memory. His belly was still a little sore from overfilling.) Across from the TV, of course, was a couch. Toss wasn’t on the couch, though, not directly. Instead, a naked anthro white-tailed buck named Orion was, still fast asleep, his head resting on one of the couch’s armrests. Toss was on the deer’s belly.

The weasel stretched out his back for a moment, pressing tum against tum, trying to shake off the still-present tired clouds in his mind. Gorged as they were when snacking and movie-watching earlier, it appeared that the both of them had pretty well settled their feasts down: Toss was still a little sore, of course, and he could hear Orion’s belly still working on its hoard, though it was considerably less disturbed over it than earlier. But one would have to squint and stare to even notice either of them, and even then one would have to know quite intimately what their normal looked like to think it was anything other than that.

Well, both bellies were flat down to the navel anyway. Below that, Orion’s was distinctly inflated.

Toss let his line of sight drift over the living room, mostly over the empty bottles of drinks, most soft, a couple harder. They had drunk quite a bit. Well, mostly Orion had: Toss could probably fit inside one of the one-liter bottles if he cut the top off and curled up. He’d drink out of a thimble if they didn’t have holes in them. He was only going to fit so much volume into himself.

Orion, of course, was going to fit more, and did, before the two of them grew drowsy and failed to finish watching a movie. As they slept, the fluid had of course passed through him, gullet to stomach to guts to bloodstream to kidneys, and now waited in his bladder for the exit, filling his bladder out far more than was probably healthy for a normal deer.

That was the thing, though. Orion wasn’t a normal deer, not in this measure (among many). Where most others would find merely inconvenience and perhaps pain as their bladders stretched out and filled, Orion find the experience rather pleasantly stimulating, assuming it wasn’t distracting him from something more important. The buck had taught and trained himself to hold it in more than most others would be bothered to, and the resulting bulges were quite the sight, if one were so inclined. In fact, Toss had seen Orion sporting even bigger ones before.

But never while he was asleep. While the deer slept, his belly rose up into a small fur-covered dome between his navel and his groin. Toss could feel, at least, could imagine himself feeling that bulge, wanted oh-so-much to snuggle and rub it...

He failed to notice himself stealthily padding closer, until first one forepaw, then the other, then his cheek and chest, were slowly, methodically, lovingly massaging the warm, tight waterbed beneath. Toss groaned and stretched out, letting his eyes close again, perhaps too pleased by his conquest.

He opened them again when he heard something rustle. He opened his eyes to see Orion’s thighs close, holding the bladder shut more tightly.

Toss risked a glance back over his shoulder.

If Orion was awake, he showed no signs of it.

Somewhat more cautiously, more self-consciously now, Toss resumed his happy little rubbings of the forbidden waterbed beneath his paws.

[i]Forbidden,[/i] Toss joked to himself, but he had actually done this before—while Orion was awake, mind, but it wasn’t an entirely foreign experience. He had learned, through a few lucky tests, that when it was this full, Orion’s bladder would often develop these stiff lines, knots or kinks or stitches or whichever word was best, in its musculature and/or lining, Toss wasn’t sure. What Toss [i]did[/i] know was that if he focused his attention on smoothing those out, the tension in Orion’s bladder would lessen a bit, and it could expand a bit more before the deer ran up against his limit. That, and Orion and Toss both found the knots’ being worked out an enjoyable experience unto itself.

This time around was no different. It took a few seconds, but Toss found a line underneath one paw as he gently rubbed, and he ran along it lightly to one end, then dug in with the base of his palm, working back up its length in a multitude of firm, if gentle, strokes. He worried that it would wake Orion up, but his fears were allayed by a satisfied-sounding sigh from the deer, along with the tension melting from the buck’s legs as he spread out again over the couch.

A couple more knots were lazily, lovingly worked out in similar measure, until Toss realized something unpleasantly ironic: he had to pee. Unlike the bladder he was up to this point caressing, Toss’s own bladder found being full no sort of pleasant or erotic whatsoever, so when he filled up, he emptied. This he needed to do.

Quite a bit, in fact.

How had he not noticed it before? Good grief he needed to go—

He hopped down off the deer’s belly, off the couch, and tried to remember for a second where the bathroom was. He had been here plenty of times, how could he not remember? Damn piss brain—

He had been scampering on all fours across the floor (it was faster) while thinking, so it wasn’t long before he found himself at a door. The bathroom door.

He had remembered. Okay. He squeezed through the crack in the thankfully-ajar door and blinked in the light at the bathroom beyond.

The bad news was, the light switch was out of reach. The good news came in two parts: his aforementioned weasel’s night vision, and the fact that Orion had plugged in an automatic night light at some point so it didn’t matter. A bit of mustelid acrobatics later, he had taken care of business and then washed his hand- and footpaws by half-walking, half-slipping across the bar of soap on the counter, turning on the sink and standing in the little puddle of water that didn’t have a straight shot to the drain for a few seconds, then getting perhaps too intimate with the hand towel at the counter’s side.

He hopped down, scampered back across the apartment to the couch, hopped up—

—regretted an inability to turn in mid-air—

—landed on the deer’s still-overfull bladder.

A short spurt of pee was shoved out of Orion as he jerked awake with a [i]snort[/i], his body apparently trying to sit up and kick at the same time. Thankfully for the upholstery, the splash of urine caught Orion’s leg on the way down instead of the couch or the carpeted floor, dripping and beading for a second before its surface tension broke and it melted into the fur of his thigh.

“What was that?” Orion was still too bleary to be angry, having woken up not ten seconds ago.

“Sorry! I had to use the bathroom, and I forgot about... [i]that[/i],” he motioned toward the bladder bulge he’d just stomped, “when I—”

“You didn’t forget about it when you were massaging it earlier.”

“I—...what? You were awake?”

There was an uncomfortably long pause before Orion replied. “Mostly no, but just enough to notice.” He smiled. “And enjoy.”

He picked up Toss by the scruff of the neck for a second before putting him on the couch next to him as he sat up. “Just a sec.” Then the buck got up.

For a second, Toss was mesmerized by the sight of the deer’s naked butt as he walked away toward the hallway. It was a rump the weasel quite liked, he had to admit: perhaps not the biggest, though by no means small of course, but definitely well-built. After that second had passed, though, ogling turned to dejection as he realized that Orion was walking in the direction of the restroom, where he was probably going to pee that bladder away.

Except then Orion turned right instead of left, into the kitchen rather than the bathroom. Toss could see him through the cutout in the wall for the bar between the living room and the kitchen.

Relief followed the prior worry, and then confusion: what the hell was he doing?

Orion rifled through a cabinet for a couple seconds, then produced an empty plastic tumbler and filled it from the fridge dispenser. After that, he paused for a second, looking either pensively or absently, Toss couldn’t tell from this distance, into his cup. After that second was over, the deer closed his eyes and drank it all down.

Good grief, buck already had a bladder he could fit a couple lemons into. How much was he going for?

Orion started walking back to the couch to maybe lie back down. Toss asked a question. “You’re not... using the restroom?”

Orion looked down across his bladder bulge for a moment. “Naw, I’ve been bigger. Probably gonna keep me up for a minute, but...” Orion teased the tip of his half-erect dick with a forefinger. “I’m not gonna get to sleep anyway.”

Toss hadn’t noticed Orion’s arousal before.

As Orion sat back down, seated this time, upright, with one arm resting on the armrest next to him and the other cradling and subtly teasing his own bladder, Toss looked at himself, feeling a rather pleasant feeling begin to seep into him.

He hadn’t noticed his own either.

Orion sat back down, leaning into the backrest and letting one hand fall between his thighs, the other onto the couch next to him. He idly rubbed and teased his own bladder with the closer hand, then looked over to Toss, who remained sitting stock-still. He waved toward himself, specifically his rounded dome and rising mast. “You interested, or...?”

The weasel remained frozen for a second before finally answering with a quiet, weak, half-believing, too-rapid “yeah I’d like that very much—”

And then, perhaps desperate to seize the moment before the illusion could break, he bounded across the couch and over Orion’s thigh to his belly, then wriggled down to rest atop the buck’s already overpressured bladder. His thighs, all of his hind legs really, were massaging the warm balloon beneath him. As was his belly. As was his chest, as were his forelegs. Really the only parts of him that [i]weren’t[/i] currently in the process of smushing a quite delectable deer bladder were his tail, which sharply flicked back and forth in his aroused and overjoyed state, and his forepaws, which were currently in the middle of guiding the tip of the deer’s dick to the tip of the weasel’s own tongue.

His lips soon closed around it. For a moment, the pair were content like this—at least, Toss was; Orion’s reaction to this point had consisted of sharply inhaling through his nose and shivering his hands in the air, an instinct rather than an emotion. But his enjoyment was confirmed a second later, along with his impatience, when he lowered his hands onto Toss’s back and pushed him down and forward, pressed the weasel a ways into the deer’s own swollen bladder, quite a bit more over the cock now crammed into the back of Toss’s throat.

Toss hastily swallowed.

The shaft slid in, the tip dribbling pre to lubricate the ride down the weasel’s eagerly gripping gullet.

That was better.

Toss held himself in place on the cock now spitting him for a moment, catching his breath through his nose. (He was never quite sure how he could breathe like this, but he could, and he was loath to question a gift this useful.) Orion had stopped pushing, but whether it was out of concern for the little weasel or simply because he’d applied too much pressure to his own bladder was a matter lost to memory.

Either way, Orion did care. “You good?”

Toss took another second to catch his breath, then tried to reply. The incomprehensible sounds that afterward came from his cock-impaled throat conveyed no information. He instead replied with a less verbal but much more understandable thumbs-up.

Orion still felt a little guilty about the past few seconds, though, so he slowed down, didn’t [i]shove[/i] the weasel further down his shaft so much as [i]assist[/i] him, provide fingers for hindpaws to find leverage so Toss could do the pressing himself. That he did, of course, greedily cramming more cock down his throat while eagerly humping the bladder beneath him, his own erect rod tracing excited lines of pre into the fur of the buck’s lower belly. Perhaps most stimulating, though—besides the warm, wet peristalsis of weasel gullet trying to envelop deer dick—were Toss’s thumbed forepaws, indecisive about whether pressing on Orion’s bladder or tugging on his shaft provided better purchase for him to cram this hot ramrod down.

Further the tip pressed, precum dribbling and lubing its progress, until another small muscular ring, the gate between the weasel’s gullet and his stomach, barred further entry. A tense, tantalizing pause followed, pressure building as the weasel kept trying, briefly failing, to pull himself forward and the penis into him.

Then the weasel won the little tug-of-war with himself and shaft’s tip entered into stomach. Orion drew in another sharp breath and held stock-still for a moment. They both knew what was coming next.

[i]Who[/i] was coming next, rather. They both were.

Orion shuddered and groaned slightly as his shaft twitched and began to spurt spooge directly into Toss’s waiting belly. His hands lowered over the weasel, both feeling his own bladder—stimulating both it and his currently-active prostate—and probing the weasel’s abdomen with an erotically curious finger or two as it began to swell with the buck’s prodigious load.

While it was by no means as productive, the weasel’s cock too shivered and issued its contribution to this gay little affair. It wasn’t going to swell much of anything, both because, well, weasel balls aren’t that big compared to an entire anthro deer, and because it was in no place to. But it was definitely there, a few drops and streaks of oily, salty fluid scribbling meaningless lines across cervine and mustelid fur.

Well, meaningless only literally. In context, they meant a bit more than that.

Orion’s hands lowered between his thighs, which squeezed them together for a moment, while Toss ballooned with the deer’s salty cream, but there was otherwise no motion from either of them for at least a good minute. Loads were spent, twitching ceased, bucking settled. There were only heavy breaths and the choking gulps of a weasel working his throat and gullet over a deer cock that at least he thought deserved it.

Eventually, though, the deer’s hands found their way back to the bladder the weasel called his perch, touched it gingerly—

—winced—

“...Okay, I [i]have[/i] to go.”

Toss couldn’t exactly turn his head at the moment, but his eyes looked downward.

Said eyes widened; his pupils contracted into points. The bladder he was resting on was currently larger than his entire self. He could fit quite a lot into him, but—

Forgetting his present situation, he tried and failed to shake his head. The sides of his teeth scraped against deer cock instead.

“Ow! That—” Orion lifted his hand in thought, from the weasel’s back, where it had instinctively darted. “...hurts? Tickles? Stings? Whatever. Don’t do it.”

“Khaugheegh.” That was [i]supposed[/i] to be “sorry”. Toss still couldn’t fit comprehensible vocabulary and deer penis into the same mouth.

“Anyway...” Orion put one finger each over the weasel’s shoulders and began to pull back, to release the noodle from the shaft. Again the deer’s leg jerked up a bit, and again he had to control himself, but it was a much smoother, faster motion pulling out than it had been pushing in. Not cleaner though: the shaft acted as a sort of vacuum pump, pulling up some cum with itself as it left, which the weasel spit and dribbled a bit of (and swallowed the rest) as he worked his jaw back into place and finally closed his mouth after however many minutes. He sighed and sunk his chest and bloated belly into the overfull bladder beneath to rest in post-coital contentment, letting out a cozy if strange-tasting burp.

Orion jerked up again. “Shit, I really do need to piss.”

“...But I don’t [i]wanna[/i] get up,” Toss lazily protested.

Orion picked up the weasel anyway and half-placed, half-dropped him onto the couch beside himself. Toss landed in a heap; while he picked himself up, Orion got off the couch and waddle-hopped his way toward the bathroom—

—kicked an empty two-liter across the living room—

—got a better idea, and therefore a mischievous smirk.

He leaned down, picked up a different two-liter off the floor (good grief, how many were there?), uncapped it, and sat back down, beckoning the weasel to his former perch.

Toss’s expression was first of bewilderment, then of comprehension, then he joined the deer in naughty little smiles. While he got comfortable on Orion’s bladder once again, anticipating the strange experience of feeling it deflate beneath him, the buck guided the tip of his still half-erect shaft into the bottle’s neck.

It took a second, of course—it [i]always[/i] takes a second, especially when one is still half-hard—but soon enough, both anthro deer and mostly-feral weasel could take strange pleasure in feeling cervine bladder sink and shrink down into the rest of his belly, and in hearing first the trickle, then the splash, of an empty plastic bottle filling up with pee.