Continence Issues 2

It's one of those nights.
One of those nights where you keep drifting between slumber and half-consciousness, yet it feels like you never fully sleep at all.
You can't really explain why you just fail to snooze sometimes; the double bed is comfortable, you hit the sack on a full stomach, and you're pretty tired.
Your girlfriend never has this problem, or at least she never mentions it. You can hear her turning over onto her back beside you, and you can feel her warmth, her fur brushing softly against your arm as you stare into the ceiling.
She's the total opposite of you; her sleep is so heavy, she struggles to get up in the morning, and you sometimes envy her for that.
She moans softly, and you think you can hear her mumble something, but you can't quite make out the words.
You can just barely parse a muffled crinkling between her legs, from under the cover.
That's one thing you're not so jealous of.
It's been a little over a year since 'The Accident'. The two of you were out for a Sunday drive one day. You managed to crash the car somehow.
She'd suffered some pretty serious injuries to her midsection but had recovered quickly. All wounds had healed nicely, except for the muscles governing her...
The doctor had described them as 'hold and release muscles', but she'd already figured out what the damage meant. Publicly. Right in her hospital bed, with a bunch of nurses and patients as audience.
She had never quite recovered from the shame of finding out she was partially incontinent. She always does her best to hide it, determined to never show weakness, a common instinct for hyenas.
But sometimes, when her bowels or bladder decide to play a trick on her and empty themselves in the middle of a busy street, you can see her struggling to hold back tears.

She mumbles a little beside you, and you can hear the crinkling of the diaper down there. She always hated the idea of wearing one of those, but after helping you out with wet, yellow laundry for the tenth time, she had begrudgingly conceded to the idea of full-on diapers, at least for nighttime use.
And as she sighs and spreads her legs just a little bit beside you, you're reminded why;
The sound begins as a low trickle, like a broken pipe beneath the covers. But it quickly grows to an aggressive hiss, before it eventually becomes a full stream. Her face scrunches up a little bit, before relaxing into a satisfied smile. She gives a low, elongated sigh, then turns onto her side, facing away from you.
The noise of her bedwetting continues, gradually muffled as the diaper becomes saturated with urine. Soon you can barely hear it down there.
Eventually she lashes her tail against the mattress a couple of times and starts snoring.
You sigh. Sometimes you really wish you didn't have to witness this. It doesn't help that the air takes a slight tinge of fake lavender, a feature of her brand of the diaper; when wet, it releases a particular scent to mask the smell of urine, with varying success. The result is a sickly-sweet flowery aroma, with an undertone of scented hyena pee. It's quite unpleasant to you, but you imagine it must be so much worse for her.
After a few moments of hesitation, you gently trail your hand down under the cover, lift her short night-skirt aside, and trace it up her tail until you find the tailhole for her incontinence briefs.
Groping your girlfriend while she sleeps feels a little off to you, but she specifically requested you do that if she wets herself, just to check for leaks.
You trail your hand along the hole for her tail, but find only dry, smooth fur.
You move down to directly between her legs. It always surprises you how warm it is down there right after an accident; you don't know if hyenas have different bladders or what it is, but you're pretty sure your own pee can’t be that hot.
You gently prod the padding, and it squelches slightly under your touch. Thoroughly soaked on the inside. You wonder how much she must have had to drink for the accident to be so severe.

You quickly line your finger along the leg holes as well, just to make sure, and you're pleasantly surprised to find that her inner thighs are dry as well.
Lastly, you check the top of the wet adult briefs, only to find them clean too.
Relieved, you inch a little closer and hug her. Earlier you thought about how nice it would've been to sleep as deep as her.
But as you lay your hand on her wet diaper, and imagine how bad she will feel in the morning, you don't envy her one bit.

You didn't quite realize you'd fallen asleep this time either, but suddenly there's sunlight flowing into your room past the curtains. You're awoken by a stirring in your arms; you must've drifted into slumber while still holding around her, because now your face is full of her mane, and your hands are clasped around her belly.
“Good morning.” you hear her mumble, voice still slurred by sleep.
“Morning, hun.” you reply.
Saturday.
You could both stay in bed for a while... In theory. But theory doesn't always equal practice.
You feel her fumble a bit, before groaning heavily.
“Think I pissed myself again” she states, voice laden with self-loathing and defeat. She's never been one to sugar-coat things.
You put your hand on her padded butt, pretending to check as if you hadn't witnessed it as it happened.
“...Yeah. Looks like you did. But hey, at least the sheets are still dry. It sucks, but this time we won't have to clean anything but you.”
She groans again, a bit less angrily this time, before carefully sitting up. You hear the soggy padding rustle wetly as she shifts her weight on it. She puts head in her hands in a display of frustration.
“I guess that's something...” she mumbles. “God dammit. This is the third night in a row. How am I supposed to hold it in when I'm not even conscious? I can usually make it to a bathroom when I'm awake, but... urgh.”
You give her a pat on the back.
“I don't know. All I know is, we should get you cleaned up. Want me to help?”
She sighs and gives a tired smile whilst considering the proposition. You both know she's perfectly capable of cleaning up after an accident from number one; all it takes is a quick shower-and-scrub and a fresh pull-up.
“Eeeehh sure, why not.” she says after a short while. “I don't mind getting pampered.”
Without putting too much pressure on the diaper, she rises to her feet and starts to waddle towards the door, careful to not cause any leaks. You look after her for a moment before getting up yourself.

It wasn't always like this.
You don't know quite what changed, and you haven't asked her yet, but sometime shortly after a road trip you had back in the summer her level of control plummeted off a cliff. As if to counter her streak of success, her traitorous body had punished her with a week straight of full, pants-ruining accidents, both from her front and her rear, both when she was awake and asleep. The thin adult pullups had done little to help her, never giving her more than a few seconds of time from her floodgates opened until they started leaking.
You remember the specific night that made her cave in to wearing diapers. You had been awake when you heard her grunt in her sleep, and her pull-ups rustling as her bowels began excavating without her input. Her bladder decided to do the same, but it didn't get truly terrible until she woke up halfway through and tried to stop it. She'd clenched her hands and grit her sharp canine teeth, putting an ultimate effort in to control the flow. She'd failed miserably, and you were forced to watch as the urine leaked out of the training pants, and blobs of brown mud forced their way past the leg holes.
The embarrassment of (literally) shitting the bed in front of you like that for the umpteenth time, coupled with the feeling of helplessness made the final dent in her self-esteem, and now she wears the heavily padded incontinence briefs with a frown every night. Her control has improved somewhat since then, but it's still wonky.

You get up, put on some boxers, and head for the bathroom. Your girlfriend has eventually become more mellow, and if not quite comfortable with diapers, at least accepting of their usefulness.
You find her sitting on the porcelain with the padding pulled down to her feet, in the process of forcing out what little pee is left. She no longer closes the door when relieving herself. Said there's a lot less shame in doing her business on an actual toilet than in her pants, and you agree with her on that point.

“So how're you doing?” you ask, taking a seat at the edge of the bathtub. You think you can hear a low trickle from beneath her butt.
“Not great.” She admits. “But as you said... hey, at least there's no leakage. And I only went number one this time, so it'll be easy to clean.”
She looks down at the yellowish padding, and shrugs.
“I'm... not sure if I should be worried about how little this bothers me now. I used to get so angry and sad whenever it happened before. Now it's just kinda… inconvenient and uncomfortable. My control is better than it was a few weeks ago, but I still just shit myself at random sometimes.”
She scrunches her face a little, and you hear a short hiss of liquid from the toilet, then silence.
“Alright, I think that's all.”
She gets up and picks the diaper up by the tips, careful not to touch any of the wet areas, and throws it in the pail you installed a few months ago.
“Shower or mat?” you ask.
She looks between the floor and the shower a couple times, before shrugging; “Mat, I think. Showered last evening. Too much soap will ruin my fur.”
“Mat it is, then.”
You reach in under a drawer and pull out a small changing mat.
This has almost become a ritual for you two; You both know she's perfectly capable of changing her own diapers, especially when it's only pee. But as embarrassing it is for her to have someone else see her like this, she often lets you help her out. You're not quite sure why, but you never bothered asking.
You watch her lay down and let her tail fall. The fur around her groin is matted and a little yellow. The smell is a bit rank, but you've gotten used to it by now.
“Alright, get to it.” she mumbles, blushing slightly.
Cleanup used to be her second-greatest point of shame after public accidents; you get the feeling she hated dragging you into this, as she would insist on cleaning herself as long as it was just a minor wetting.

Armed with a few wet wipes and trained fingers you go to work.
You make your way inwards from the kink in her inner thigh, down to her butt and haunches, and eventually her fluffy groin. Out of the corner of your eye you can see her biting her finger and snort lightly when you scrub her most sensitive areas clean.
“You're not enjoying this, are you?” you jab as you swap a used and yellowed wipe for a fresh white one.
“Not a whole lot...” she mumbles, but gently wagging tail tells a different story.
A short silence passes, wet tissue gliding over nearly clean fur.
“O-okay, this whole part of it ain't so bad... Not anymore anyways.” she admits eventually. “Th-the scrubbing part, I mean. If it weren't for the whole... ‘shitting and pissing myself’ thing, then it'd actually b-ngh-” She stifles a gasp as you put a bit more pressure on the wet wipe to remove a particularly nasty stain on her crotch,
“...It'd actually be kinda hot. J-just a little bit.”
You give her a raised eyebrow, and she blushes even deeper before immediately backpedaling;
“Oh come on, I'm lying here naked on my back with my legs spread for you. Just saying it would've been kinda kinky if it weren't for the changing mat, wet wipes, piss, shit and diapers.”
You shrug. “I guess you have a point; The pee I could do without, but scrubbing you clean does have a sort of therapeutic effect. Like some kinda freaky bonding session.
“Speaking of diapers though: You feel like braving pullups today, or do you wanna play it safe with something a bit sturdier? Was thinking of taking a trip to the mall later. Don't know if you wanna come with me.”
She contemplates it for a moment.
“Eeeehh... I dunno. You have no idea how much I miss my panties...”
She sighs heavily, and you feel a wave of remorse for her; She hasn't had the opportunity to wear normal adult underwear for a long while. Too many heavy wettings in a row had seen to that.
“I wanna be optimistic, but then again I don't think my sanity could handle another 'Park Incident'... Heavy padding it is.”
You nod and pull out a thick diaper. She scowls at it like it's some disgusting bug.
She always does that.
With deft and well-practiced hands, you position it under her, and wrap it tightly around her groin, but still loose enough to leave a little bit of space for... 'added cargo.' The two of you got to learn the exact technique to perfectly fasten a diaper to prevent leaks, by way of embarrassing trial and error.
You may also have been looking up a few tutorials on the web, just to make sure.
Soon her butt is encased in white and poofy padding, her tail curling unhappily through a little hole in the base.
“That oughta do it.” you say, secretly a little proud of how fast and good you've gotten at this. “Safeguard activated.”

She gives something halfway between a frown and a smile.
“You're getting worryingly good at this.” She mumbles, before clumsily rising to her feet.
She takes a few waddling steps, groaning.
“Urgh. Can't even walk normally with this stuff around my ass. That is the worst part: I just know people are snickering behind my back when I come wobbling along. They're just so obvious.”

“Hey now... You'd be surprised at how little most people pay attention to everyone around them. People don't see what you're wearing under your pants unless they're specifically looking for it... And in that case, you should take it as a compliment for what a great ass you have.”

She chuckles.
“Why, always the smooth talker, you. I usually just wear these to bed, so I don't really know what they look like under loose jeans.”

“I don't think I'd notice if I didn't already know. Yeah, your butt may have some extra bulk to it, but it's practically invisible through clothing unless you bend over. I'd recommend a long shirt though; those edges go pretty far up above your pants.”

“Yeah… Baggy clothing is kinda my staple now.” She replies. “At least on the weekend. It’s a lot more awkward when I gotta dress sharp.”

She struts out of the bathroom to get dressed, keeping her thighs together to suppress the bulk between her legs. The walk looks almost natural, a bit stiffer than normal, but you’re pretty sure most people won’t notice.
Before following her, you take out a small bag from the drawer. You check the contents to make sure you have everything:
One nearly full package of wet wipes, one bottle of baby powder, one pullup, one diaper.
She doesn’t like the idea of carrying a diaper bag, but she’s eventually come to understand the usefulness of it; Ever since the fatal road trip, you’ve brought it along whenever the two of you go out. It rarely came in handy at the start, but when it did, it basically saved what little was left of her dignity.

An hour and a solid breakfast later you’re both on the bus, watching the snowy streets flow by. You’ve taken a pair of seats near the back, and it’s nice to have her lean against you; The warmth from her fur sets a nice contrast to the cold that seeps through the glass, and you’re pretty glad you ditched the car; Riding as a driver and passenger isn’t quite as intimate as this.
“Man… Winter.” She comments. “Underrated season. I don’t get why people keep wishing for summer. This is so much better.”
You chuckle. “Yeah, if you have fur. You don’t have to deal with the cold like I do.”
“Oh, I know. I gotta deal with the heat instead. Do you know how sweaty I get whenever the sun’s out in July? Imagine a jacket you can never take off. One that covers your entire body.”
You nod silently. Overheating has been a problem for her in the warmer days.
“Besides,” she continues, “fur is hard to clean. And it gets heavy when wet.”
You’re pretty much alone on the bus, and you’re keeping your voices low, so you feel like it’s safe to discuss this.
“Oh, I know. I remember a few times when it took hours to scrub it all out. Wasn’t quite as ‘therapeutic’ then.”
She scoffs. “Bleh. The stomach bug, right? What a disaster that was. Felt like shitting water, yet the stuff clung to me like fucking tar. Wonder what the hell I ate to get that effect.”
“Must’ve been that shady kebab shack and their mystery meat.”
“Oh shut up, it’s not like you turned down their 50% offer on chicken in pita.”
“No… but at least my “chicken” had the texture of normal poop when it came out, and not chocolate milkshake.”
You both laugh quietly.
It had taken quite a while for the two of you to build any sense of humor around her condition. With how embarrassing her predicament was, it had been hard to laugh at it in the beginning. But as the months had gone by, you had both come to learn that this problem was here to stay, and that awkwardly stepping around it would only make it harder to talk about.

“The regular mall, right?” She asks after a few minutes, with her head resting on your shoulder.
“Mhm.” You comply.
Your town has a couple of different shopping centers. Like most people, the two of you have one where you’re regular customers. It’s a rather small one with a limited number of stores, which means activity is low compared to the larger ones.
And that’s very much a good thing for someone who can’t control their bodily functions.
Though on a Saturday, it’s not as desolate as you’d prefer.

It’s not quite swarming with people at noon, but you can see quite a few cars on the parking lot when you get off the bus.
You exchange a few glances with her.
“What.” She says. “I emptied the tank before we left. I’ll probably be fine.”
If you had a penny for every time you’d heard that…
She seems to pick up on your thoughts, and sighs. “I know, I know. I’ll head for the bathroom once we’re inside, just in case. I’m not stupid.”
“Want me to come with you?”
She scoffs. “Again, I’m not a baby, at least not last I checked. You go on ahead, I’ll take care of myself. Meet up here in half an hour?”
“Sure.”
You split up, her taking a right to the WCs, and you heading straight ahead for the clothing section; Her birthday is in about a month, and you’re looking for something special.

The kind of clothing you would buy for her has changed over the previous year. Before she would prefer sexy, skin-tight (or fur-tight, rather) tights, short shorts and shirts with exposed midriffs. Such clothing would have seemed overtly lewd for a human, but her body is covered in fur anyways, which meant she was never truly naked.
Now though, her preference has reluctantly changed to a more conservative style, with baggy jeans, (though not so light that they would blow in the wind) and long t-shirts in one size above what would fit her. You know it’s mostly to hide the pull-up, the long shirt to cover the white edges that would poke up above the top of her pants and be painfully visible should she ever bend over or raise her arms above her head.

You saunter through the women’s store, glancing at the wares. You were never good at buying girl’s clothes. They all look pretty much the same to you.
Well, panties are out of the question.
So are tights.
…Would leggings work with a diaper on? Would it stretch if the diaper got too heavy?
Eh, she probably wouldn’t want long underwear anyways, too warm with all the fur and thick padding.
Hmm.
After a few minutes of staring at frilly, tight and brightly colored articles, you decide it may be time to change strategy, so you head out into the men’s store instead.
You instantly notice that this is more her speed, and by extension, yours; There’s a fine selection of cargo pants, jackets and large shirts, perfect wear for someone who would want to look somewhat fashionable while also carrying some extra bulk in the groin and rear areas.
In the end you settle for a gray pair of cargo pants, a roomy Hawaiian t-shirt, some loose long-shorts for summer wear and a light and long jacket for the winter.
Perfection.
You check the time, and see you’ve only spent fifteen minutes on this.
Nevertheless, you head back for the entrance, just in case.

Approaching the revolving door at the exit, you see her standing with her back against the wall, arms crossed and her tail hanging low, looking around nervously.
You know her well enough to know when there’s a problem, and head over at a brisk pace.
“We have a problem.” She mumbles before you can open your mouth.
You can’t help but take a whiff and sneak a quick look between her legs, but it doesn’t look, or much more importantly, -smell- like she’s had an accident.
“Out of order.” She blurts out. “The janitor put up a sign. Some bitch managed to clog one of the stalls, and apparently the whole place is flooded now. They’re working to fix it, apparently.”
She shifts around on her feet and lets slip a short groan.
“Stuff like this stresses me out, and makes my stomach churn. I-I gotta…”
You nod your head knowingly.
“They closed off both the men’s and women’s bathrooms?” you ask, searching for a way out.
She grits her teeth.
“But of course. They’re pretty much in the same place, fucking progressive design right there. Guess they worry people would complain about the smell…”
She clutches her belly and locks her legs together. There’s a low fart, badly masked by a trademark hyena giggle.
“Ahaheh- Oooh, if only they knew! This area is about to smell just as bad. Shit.”
Shit, indeed.
This mall only has a single bathroom. There’s no other way out, and the place is too crowded to squat down behind a corner. Public accidents are the absolute worst, and you feel the shame and panic leak over to you as another ‘pblrt’ sounds from her butt, this time louder and wetter than before.
“Goddammit, why here?!” she curses through her teeth. “There are too many people, and I can’t… I-I can’t…”
You do have a solution. It’s not a good one, but it’s better letting loose where you are right now; you’ve already caught a few turned heads from onlookers who are probably wondering why the dog-lady is clutching her stomach and bending double.
“Can you make it thirty feet without losing it completely?” you ask in a low and fast tone.
She clenches her fists. “I can try. Why?”
You nod to the side. “There’s an old spiral staircase over there, behind a badly signposted door. Leads to the second floor. Everyone uses the escalator or the elevator, so it’s basically abandoned.”
She groans, before nodding. “Fine, fuck it, whatever. Better than here, I guess. Show me.”
You point, and she limps in the direction of the door. You follow her, watching her tight-legged gait grow more and more urgent with every step.
A few feet from the handle, she stops. Her hands clench and her hips tremble for a split second, before a muffled ‘blap’ escapes her rear. You see the bottom of her tail rise and her pants tent slightly from an added load.
With a heroic move, you rush ahead of her and rip the door open like the brutish gentleman you are, letting her stumble in before her bowels give out completely. You barely have time to shut the door behind you before the accident takes it toll.

The staircase is cramped, dark and smells like dust and old unwashed concrete. Your girlfriend groans and bends far enough to lean her hands on the iron steps.
“D…don’t look…” she whimpers.
Or you think that’s what she says; It’s a little hard to hear under the loud and sadly familiar noises of incontinence briefs getting filled to the brim; farts, crackling and soft gurgling fills the air, all muffled by a thin layer of pants and a thick layer of absorbent padding. It doesn’t help that the hard stone walls and cylindrical shape of the room amplifies the sound until it’s all you can hear.
But you do comply, and faithfully turn your back to her as the hard crackling of solid waste gives way for an endless bubbling fart, occasionally joined by a sad whine and the low noise of sweat pants stretching to accommodate the wet bulk.

You’ve come to learn through trial and error, though mostly error, how her bowel movements work; If she holds back for long enough to forcibly mess herself like this, it usually ends with her system doing a full blowout, impossible to stop until she’s completely empty. Her doctor explained that it had something to do with the old damage she had taken, but you don’t quite remember the details.
All you know is, by the time the noise stops and you turn around, the staircase smells like an open sewer, her breath is marred by low sobs, and her pants have stretched so far it’s impossible not to notice the massive bulge drooping from her butt, even when she tucks her tail between her legs.
She blushes deeply, shuts her eyes and places her hand on the wall. You can see her claws digging ruts in the concrete as she snarls in frustration.
“God…dammit… Not again…” She mumbles, before another fart and crackle slips out. You see the bulge sag a little lower.
“Oh, I hate it so fucking much. I feel like a child. What… What the hell am I gonna do now? I smell even -worse- than the bathroom here.”
You look at her shivering shoulders, and see the tear running down her cheek.
You know she needs a safe way home, a scrub, a bath, and a few hours of cuddling.
But you also know what she needs first. It’s what you would want yourself, if you were in her shoes.
A hug.
“Hey…” You say.
She looks over at you, eyes hazy from tears; “What?”
Then she sees your outstretched arms and suppresses a sad laugh.
“What, you’re gonna hug me when I’m like thi…”
She doesn’t get to finish the sentence before her face is over your shoulder and your arms are at her back in a tender embrace. The smell of her hair doesn’t quite wash out the rancid stench in the room, but it makes it better.
You feel a few warm breaths over your shoulder, before her body stops trembling and her fur stops brisling.
“Yes. Yes I am.” You reply. “I will hug you when you need it, I don’t care how you smell. I know we’re a little pressed for time, but I feel like we can take a moment here.”
She hesitates a few seconds, before awkwardly returning the hug. Her hands are warm against your back, and you feel her fur strain through her shirt.
Then she squirms awkwardly, and gasps.
“-Ahh!- Uh, I think I-” she stammers, but her body finishes the sentence; there’s a trickle, a hiss, and then the muffled noise of a wet stream between her thighs. She awkwardly spreads her legs and rears away from you a little, but you only hug her tighter.
You can actually feel the bulge grow warmer when you press her against you, as her bladder empties itself for the second time in 24 hours. It’s a smaller wetting than last night, but still significant enough to give the air an ironically sweet tinge of lavender. Her claws scrape lightly against your back, and she whimpers into your ear.
“I… I couldn’t even feel it coming that time! It just poured out like an upturned beer bottle! Didn’t even know I was peeing until I felt the warmth! I-I-”
You hush her while stroking her hair. Your hand rifles through her mane and down her back, all the way to the top of the full white briefs.
“Ssshhh…” You mumble. “Don’t let it get you down right now. We can worry about that later. Right now, we have to think of a way out of this mess.”
She shudders, and you hear a final trickle of urine leaving her.
“Y-yeah. Oh, fuck, what are we gonna do?”
She takes one hand off your back to run it down to her diaper and check the damage.
“What in the- This thing is like a balloon! No wonder my stomach hurt this morning. People will definitely see…”
She sniffs the air, and gags. “Augh! And -smell- it! You have any bright ideas?”
You pull back from the hug far enough for her to see your queasy smile.
“I… do, actually.” You say. “Keep in mind that we’ve been through worse; Last time things went south in this mall you were wearing panties. Remember?”
She shudders. “I don’t want to. Pissed myself right in the open square. Almost had a breakdown.”
You nod. “Well, not much we can do about the smell this time… But keep in mind your nose is way stronger than most. It’s not as bad as you think. As for the diaper bulge…”
You break the hug and fumble through your shopping bags until your hands find the long jacket you bought earlier.
You hold it up with a sly grin.
“…Happy birthday! Well, one month early. Good for cold days, and for tying around your waist when things go wrong like they do today. I -think- it’s your size, but I bought a few levels up just in case. Wanna try it on?”
She blinks a few times. Then her eyes jump between your face and the jacket a couple times, astonished.
“You… You really…?” She stutters.
You nod. “Yup. What do you think?”
Rather than speaking, she lunges forwards and kisses you deeply. The sudden feeling of her warm and soft tongue against your own sets a stark contrast to the horrid smell, but you can’t say you mind it.
Then she pulls back with a huff and an awkward smile.
“You bet your ass I’ll try it on, you fucking lifesaver. You saint. Oh, you god amongst gods. What else do you have in that bag?”
“You’ll find out in a month.”
“You tease.”
It doesn’t take her long to rip the tag off the coat and tie it around the waist. The way it falls down past her rear pretty much hides the visual result of her accident completely.
“Good.” She puffs. “This will work as long as I don’t start wagging. Now what?”
“Now…” You err. “Now we head out. This staircase may not be all that crowded, but it is still public access; Wouldn’t want anyone to walk in on us here.”
You try to clear your head and think, but she gets there before you;
“The outside of the mall. Smells are harder to detect in fresh air.”
You nod. “Smart. And then we… uh.”
You’re a little stumped as to what to do next. To your knowledge, there are no public restrooms for miles, and a bus ride doesn’t sound like the most attractive thing in the world right now. You know you need to get home, but you sure as hell aren’t gonna walk there, and a taxi is out of the question.
“How about we take it from there?” She suggests. “I need some fresh air to think. Gonna choke in this sewer smell.”
You take a moment to think, before nodding again; “Fine. I’ll open the door in three seconds, and then we walk to the exit. Alright?”
She looks you in the eye and squeezes your hand. “Alright.”

There aren’t that many people between you and the rotating door when you take your thirty-foot dash. The hyena walks with a noticeable waddle now, and her face is covered with a deep red blush.
The cold and crisp winter weather is a welcome change from the stench of the musty staircase, and you both take a step to the side of the door to enjoy a few breaths of clean air when you get out.
“Aaahhh,” She sighs. “That’s… a little better.”
You see her hand sneak down to check the damage again.
“I don’t think it leaked, somehow” she mumbles, a little impressed. “Maybe… Maybe diapers were the right call today. If I had worn pull-ups, my pants would’ve been as brown as my fur. It… was a wet one.”
While she takes account of her own condition, you take a moment to lay a battle plan.
The parking lot is halfway filled, and the snow is still falling heavily. You see a plow truck zoom by on the road, heaving a cascade of white snow and brown sludge over the edge of a seven-foot-tall ridge.
Hmmm.
You still have your bag with the cleaning equipment and the spare diaper and pull-up.
“I… think I have an idea.” You say. “But I’m not sure if you’re gonna like it.”
She turns towards you with tilted ears and a raised brow.
“What is it? Can’t be worse than a crowded bus.”
You tell her your idea.
She doesn’t like it.

Roughly two minutes later, you’re both climbing the cold hill of snow that’s been cleared off the road. She’s waddling ahead of you, and the stench is palpable, but bearable.
The parking lot goes parallel to the road, with fifteen feet of space between. As the plow trucks have cleaned the snow off the road and the lot, they’ve eventually built two high ridges of dirty gravely sludge with a steep valley in the middle.
You see her paws slip in the snow a couple of times before she reaches the top of the mound.
“How’s it looking down there?” You ask.
“Secluded.” She admits. “Good spot for a change… But I think I smushed a bunch of poop around while climbing, and it’s all over my crotch now. Ew, ew, urghhh.”
You sigh. “Well… Better than a bus or a taxi, right?”
“Marginally.”
You see her scoot down the other side of the ridge as you vault over the top. She slides awkwardly down towards the center of the valley…
…Then she slips, curses, and lands on her butt with an audible squelch.
You see her pants stain brown where the leg holes of her diaper overflows with wet mess, squished across the inside of her thighs from the impact.
“Yeeeeuuurgh!” She groans. “Ooooh, great! Now it’s all over my… everything!”
You make it down and crouch beside her, diaper bag at the ready. She’s right, the foul-smelling mud is all over her legs.
“Yeah…” You agree. “But in a few moments, it will be my problem, instead of yours.”
She nods and puts her legs together. “Wanna get to it then? It’s gonna get cold in a minute.”
You grab the edges of her ruined pants and pull.
“Sure.”

The view that faces you is probably the worst accident you’ve seen so far. Not only does it go from halfway down her thighs and up to a few inches above her groin, but the mess is also thick, sticky and warm, creating a cloud of rancid steam in the cold air.
It takes half an hour and efficient use of wipes to get her fur to a halfway acceptable state. By that time her anger and annoyance turn to remorse.
“Hey…” She mutters as you scrub away at a stain near her mons. “I’m… sorry if I get pissy at you. I don’t mean to. Having a diaper full of crap ruins your mood like you wouldn’t believe.”
You smile smugly. “So just like with a baby, then?”
“Oh, shut it you. You should try it sometime, just to see what it’s like.”
You chuckle awkwardly and grab a fresh wipe, happy about your foresight to bring a lot of them.
“I’ll… have to think about it. Doesn’t sound all that appealing.”
“It really isn’t.”
Eventually, you run out of wipes. Her groin could still use some work, but it’s mostly clean.
You sigh, and take out a waste bag and the bottle of baby powder.
She looks at it and frowns; “Okay, hold on, what does that stuff even do? I’ve only ever seen it in that old Donald Duck cartoon where it’s used as a visual gag.”
You clear your throat.
“Prevents rashes, subdues smell, helps against chafing… apparently. Not an expert on this, but I brought it along just in case. You want some?”
A moment of hesitation. Then she nods;
“Alright, fine. Powder me up. Not like I can feel any dumber.”
She holds back an awkward cough when you apply the powder to her groin, before you rummage through your diminishing diaper bag.
“Alright…” You mumble. “Pull-ups?”
She nods defiantly. “Definitely. Can’t stand any more waddling. I wanna walk like a normal person on the way home.”
She rises to her feet and slips the padded briefs up between her legs.
Then she looks down at the wet, brown-stained, frozen and generally ruined pair of pants that she wore on the way to the mall with tired eyes.
“…Okay. Here’s the next problem; we both know I’m not putting those back on. Ever…”
You can’t help but agree with her there. “I know… But luckily for you…” You reach down into the shopping bag again.
Her eyes follow your hand as she gasps; “No fuckin’ way. There’s no way you bought a pair of-”
You hold up the gray cargo pants.
“Happy birthday, again.”
She bites her lip.
“Oh, I’m gonna kiss the ever-loving fuck out of you when we get home, you magical man.”
“After you bathe.”
“Of course.”