Digital Access: The Marked Ones

In the year 2047, humanity had fractured into two distinct populations: the Normals and the Marked.

The Marked — those born with the X-Gene mutation — comprised roughly fifteen percent of the global population, their DNA twisted into something extraordinary, something dangerous, something that came with a price written into every cell of their bodies.

The mutation manifested in countless ways. Some could manipulate fire, conjuring flames from nothing but will and oxygen. Others possessed superhuman strength, their muscles dense as steel cables. Telepaths walked among crowds, drowning in the thoughts of strangers. Telekinetics moved objects with their minds, bending physics to their whims. The powers were as varied as humanity itself, limited only by the imagination of genetics gone wild.

But evolution, as always, demanded payment.

Dr. Elena Vasquez had been the first to document it in her groundbreaking 2031 paper: “Neurological and Physiological Consequences of X-Gene Expression.” The medical community had initially dismissed her findings as coincidental, but the evidence became undeniable. When Marked individuals used their abilities — particularly during intense or prolonged activation — their bodies paid a steep toll. The neural pathways that channeled their powers drew energy from every system, creating a cascade of physiological stress. Muscles trembled. Hearts raced. And most commonly, most humiliatingly, the body lost control of its most basic functions.

Incontinence.

The word hung over the Marked community like a shadow. In the heat of battle, when a pyrokinetic unleashed a wall of flame to protect civilians, or when a teleporter blinked across the city to stop a robbery, their bodies would betray them. Bladders released. Bowels loosened. The heroes who saved lives, the villains who threatened them — all were subject to the same indignity. Some Marked had learned to accept it as the cost of their gifts. Marcus Chen, known publicly as Shockwave, had once told a reporter with brutal honesty: “When I’m stopping a building from collapsing on a hundred people, I’m not thinking about pissing myself. I’m thinking about those hundred lives. Everything else is just cleanup.”

But for others, the shame was crushing. The psychological toll of losing control — of being reduced to something helpless and infantile in the midst of demonstrating godlike power — created a crisis of identity. How could you be a hero when you couldn’t control your own body? How could you command respect when everyone knew that beneath your costume, you were probably wearing protection?

The solution seemed obvious: diapers. Medical-grade incontinence products designed for active adults. The industry had exploded in the 2030s, with companies racing to create products specifically for the Marked. Sleeker designs. Better absorption. Odor control. Moisture-wicking fabrics. They marketed them with euphemisms — “power protection,” “hero support,” “tactical undergarments.” But the reality was less elegant than the advertising. Even the best products created bulk around the waist and hips, a telltale thickness that was impossible to hide completely under form-fitting costumes. The crinkle of plastic backing. The slight waddle in someone’s gait. The way they moved differently after using their powers, adjusting themselves with barely concealed discomfort.

And everyone knew. The public knew. Other Marked knew. The media speculated endlessly about which heroes wore them, which villains had been caught in compromising situations. Paparazzi photos zoomed in on costume lines. Internet forums dissected every movement, every adjustment, every moment of visible discomfort. For the Marked, it became another battle to fight — not against criminals or catastrophes, but against humiliation, against the loss of dignity that came with their extraordinary gifts.

This was the world into which Ethan Cross had been born, and the world in which he would have to find his place.

Ethan Cross had always hated the clinical terminology. “Therianthropy-adjacent mutation,” the doctors called it. “Controlled lycanthropic transformation.” As if slapping Latin words on it made it sound less like something out of a horror movie.

He preferred his own description: “I go feral.”

It was more honest. More visceral. When Ethan activated his X-Gene, his body didn’t just change — it erupted. His muscles swelled, fibers thickening and multiplying beneath his skin until his frame expanded by nearly forty percent. His bones reinforced themselves, density increasing to support the enhanced musculature. His senses sharpened to predatory acuity — he could hear heartbeats from across a room, smell fear in someone’s sweat, track movement in his peripheral vision with perfect clarity.

But the most dramatic change was the claws.

They emerged from beneath his fingernails and toenails, pushing through the nail beds in a sensation that was a chaotic mix of agony and ecstasy. The claws were composed of keratin — the same protein that formed hair and nails — but his mutation had altered the molecular structure into something far more formidable. The protein chains were cross-linked with trace amounts of iron and calcium, creating a composite material with the hardness of tempered steel and the sharpness of surgical scalpels. Each claw extended four inches from his fingertips, curved slightly like a raptor’s talons, capable of shearing through kevlar, rending metal, and carving through bone.

The hair growth was equally dramatic. Within seconds of transformation, thick fur erupted across his body — starting at his spine and spreading outward in waves of silver-gray and black. It covered his arms, his legs, his chest, his face, until he resembled something caught between human and wolf. His facial structure shifted subtly — jaw extending, cheekbones sharpening, ears elongating to points. His eyes took on an amber glow, pupils dilating into predatory slits.

He called himself The Wolf, and in the underground fighting circuits where Marked individuals tested their abilities, he’d earned a reputation as a formidable combatant. His fighting style was brutal and efficient — all slashing claws, impossible agility, and raw strength that could send opponents flying across rooms. He moved like liquid violence, every motion precise and devastating.

But like all Marked, Ethan paid the price.

The first time it happened, he’d been eighteen, sparring with another Marked in an abandoned warehouse. He’d gone full feral, lost in the rush of transformation, when his bladder had simply released. The warmth had spread through his shorts, pooling in his shoes. He’d frozen mid-strike, the humiliation crashing over him like ice water, while his opponent had backed away with a mixture of pity and disgust.

“It’s normal,” the older Marked had said, trying to be kind. “Happens to everyone. You’ll learn to manage it.”

But Ethan had discovered something that night, something he’d never admitted to anyone: he hadn’t just been humiliated. Beneath the shame, beneath the mortification, there had been something else. Something that made his cock stiffen in his shorts, something that sent heat flooding through his body that had nothing to do with the transformation.

He’d liked it.

Over the years, as he’d learned to control his powers, as he’d joined the loose network of Marked heroes who operated in the gray areas of the law, Ethan had come to understand his secret. Every time he transformed, every time he pushed his abilities to their limits and felt his body lose control — whether it was his bladder releasing mid-fight or his bowels loosening during an intense transformation — he experienced a dark thrill.

He wore diapers now, like most active Marked. Medical-grade protection with maximum absorption, designed to handle the inevitable accidents. But unlike his allies who wore them with resigned acceptance or bitter shame, Ethan wore them with secret anticipation. The bulk around his waist, the crinkle of the plastic backing, the knowledge that he was protected — it all fed into something primal in him, something that intertwined with his feral nature.

During battles, when he went full wolf and felt the warmth spreading into his diaper, when he felt the padding swell and press against him, his cock would throb with arousal even as he fought. The dichotomy was maddening — the public persona of The Wolf, fierce and untamed, versus the private reality of Ethan Cross, who got hard from pissing himself in the heat of combat.

He’d never told anyone. Not his teammates, not the few lovers he’d had over the years. How could he explain that the very thing that was supposed to be his greatest shame had become his deepest, most shameful pleasure?

But secrets, Ethan was learning, had a way of revealing themselves at the worst possible moments.

The alert came through Ethan’s encrypted comm at 9:47 PM — a priority notification from the Marked Underground Network. Gang war. Eastside industrial district. Multiple Marked involved. Civilian casualties mounting.

Ethan was already moving before he’d finished reading the message.

His motorcycle roared to life in the garage beneath his apartment — a custom Ducati Diavel modified to handle his enhanced weight during transformation. He threw on his civilian cover: worn bomber jacket, dark jeans, boots. Underneath, pressed against his skin, he wore his “costume” — specialized blue lycra briefs designed by a Marked engineer who understood the unique challenges of his mutation. The fabric was a proprietary blend that could stretch up to 400% without tearing, accommodating the dramatic muscle expansion and body mass increase of his transformation.

And beneath the briefs, secured with adjustable tabs, was his diaper. Medical-grade, maximum absorption, with a cloth-like outer layer that reduced noise. He’d learned years ago that standard products couldn’t handle the intensity of his transformations. This one could. The bulk was noticeable even under his jeans — a slight thickness around his hips and between his legs — but the bomber jacket hung low enough to conceal it. To any casual observer, he was just another guy on a motorcycle.

The ride to the Eastside took twelve minutes of weaving through traffic, the Ducati’s engine screaming as he pushed it past legal limits. Police sirens wailed in the distance, but they were heading away from the industrial district. Smart. Regular cops had learned not to engage when Marked were involved.

Ethan could smell the scene before he saw it — smoke, ozone, blood, and something sharp that made his nose wrinkle. Burning rubber. Shattered concrete. The chemical tang of fear-sweat from dozens of people. He ditched the bike two blocks out, stripping off his jacket and jeans in the shadow of a loading dock. The night air hit his skin, raising goosebumps across his arms and chest. He stood there in just the blue briefs and his diaper, the bulge between his legs obvious now, the waistband of the protection visible above the low-rise lycra.

For a moment, he felt the familiar flutter of shame. Then he pushed it down, buried it beneath the rising tide of his mutation.

Time to go feral.

The transformation hit quickly. His X-Gene activated with a surge of electricity that raced down his spine, and his body erupted. Muscles swelled, fibers multiplying and thickening until his frame expanded from 180 pounds to nearly 250 in seconds. His bones reinforced themselves with audible cracks, density increasing to support the enhanced musculature. The lycra briefs stretched with him, the fabric straining but holding, conforming to his new shape.

Hair exploded across his body in waves — thick silver-gray and black fur that covered his arms, his legs, his torso, his face. His jaw extended with a grinding sensation, cheekbones sharpening, ears elongating to lupine points. His eyes blazed amber, pupils contracting to predatory slits that could track movement in near-darkness.

And then the claws emerged. They pushed through his nail beds with that exquisite agony he’d come to crave — four inches of keratin-iron composite, curved and razor-sharp, extending from each finger and toe. He flexed his hands, watching the claws gleam in the streetlight, feeling the weight of them, the deadly promise.

His senses exploded outward. He could hear heartbeats — dozens of them, some racing with adrenaline, others slowing with blood loss. He could smell gunpowder, concrete dust, and the distinct metallic scent of Marked powers being used. His vision sharpened until he could see individual dust motes floating in the air three blocks away.

The Wolf was awake.

He dropped to all fours and ran, his enhanced musculature propelling him forward at speeds that would make an Olympic sprinter weep. His claws clicked against asphalt, his breath coming in controlled pants, his body a perfect machine of predatory efficiency.

The scene came into view: a street torn apart by violence. Overturned cars. Shattered storefronts. Bodies—some moving, some not. And in the center of it all, two groups of Marked facing off, powers crackling in the air between them. Ethan’s tactical assessment was instantaneous: eight combatants total, four per side, all Marked. The civilians had fled or were hiding. Good. That simplified things.

Then he saw the big one.

The Marked was massive — seven feet tall, built like a tank, with skin that had transformed into living stone. Gray rock covered every inch of his body, segmented like armor plating, with veins of darker mineral running through it like fault lines. His eyes glowed with an inner heat, and when he moved, the ground trembled. As Ethan watched, the rock-skinned Marked reached down and lifted a sedan — a full-sized car that had to weigh three thousand pounds — and hurled it like a softball.

Directly at Ethan.

Time seemed to slow. The Wolf’s enhanced perception kicked in, breaking down the trajectory, calculating angles, assessing options. The car tumbled through the air, spinning end over end, glass exploding from the windows, metal groaning.

Ethan moved. He launched himself sideways in a blur of fur and muscle, his body twisting in mid-air with impossible agility. The car passed so close he felt the wind of its passage ruffle his fur, heard the shriek of tortured metal. It crashed into the storefront behind him — a small grocery — demolishing the entrance in an explosion of brick, glass, and twisted steel. Ethan landed on all fours, claws gouging furrows in the asphalt, and immediately launched himself forward. His powerful legs propelled him across the distance in three bounding strides, closing the gap between him and the rock-skinned Marked in under two seconds.

The big Marked turned, surprisingly fast for his size, but not fast enough.

Ethan leaped, his body uncoiling like a spring, and slammed into the Marked’s chest with the force of a wrecking ball. They went down together, tumbling across the broken street in a tangle of fur and stone. Ethan’s claws raked across the rock skin, seeking purchase, seeking vulnerability.

Screeeech.

The sound was like nails on a chalkboard amplified a thousand times. His claws — sharp enough to carve through kevlar and bone — skittered uselessly across the stone surface, leaving only shallow scratches. The rock was too dense, too hard, reinforced by whatever mutation had created it.

Shit.

The rock-skinned Marked roared and threw Ethan off with a surge of superhuman strength. Ethan flew backward, hit the ground hard, rolled, and came up in a crouch. His tactical mind was already adapting, reassessing. Claws were ineffective. The stone skin was too dense. But stone had weaknesses — joints, stress points, areas where the armor had to flex to allow movement. Ethan retracted his claws with a thought, the keratin-iron composite sliding back beneath his nail beds. His hands were still enhanced —stronger than any human’s, with bones reinforced to withstand tremendous impact. If he couldn’t cut through the armor, he’d break it from the inside.

The rock Marked charged, each footfall shaking the ground. Ethan waited, muscles coiled, every sense focused. At the last second, he dodged left, ducked under a massive stone fist, and drove his own fist into the Marked’s kidney area — right where the rock plates had to segment to allow the spine to bend.

The impact sent shockwaves up Ethan’s arm, but he felt something give. A crack. A fracture in the stone. The Marked howled and spun, faster than something that size should move. A backhand caught Ethan across the chest, sending him flying. He hit a parked car hard enough to crumple the door, felt ribs crack, tasted blood.

And felt warmth spreading in his diaper.

The impact, the adrenaline, the intensity of the transformation — his bladder had released. The padding swelled against him, pressing between his legs, the warmth spreading across his groin and ass. Even through the pain, even as he struggled to his feet with broken ribs grinding, he felt something stiffening in his diaper in response.

Not now, he thought desperately. Focus.

But his body didn’t care about timing. The sensation of the wet diaper, the bulk of it pressing against him as he moved, the knowledge that he was pissing himself in the middle of a fight — it all fed directly into that dark arousal that lived at his core. The Wolf grinned, blood on his fangs, hard in his soaked protection, and prepared for round two. Ethan was coiling for another strike, calculating angles to exploit the fractures he’d created in the rock armor, when reality shifted around him.

A translucent sphere materialized in the air — massive, perfectly round, with a surface that shimmered like oil on water. It expanded in a fraction of a second, engulfing the rock-skinned Marked completely. The sphere solidified with an audible thunk, becoming opaque and impenetrable. Inside, the Marked roared and slammed his stone fists against the walls, but the material didn’t even vibrate. Materia’s constructs were molecular-level perfect, unbreakable by any known force.

Ethan looked up, his enhanced vision tracking the source. Materia floated ten feet above the street, her body surrounded by a soft purple glow. She was a striking figure — tall, athletic, with dark skin and silver hair that defied gravity, floating around her head like she was underwater. Her costume was minimal — a form-fitting bodysuit that left her arms and legs bare, covered in geometric patterns that pulsed with light when she used her powers.

“Thanks, Materia!” Ethan called up to her, his voice rough and gravelly in his transformed state. Relief flooded through him — genuine, overwhelming relief. He’d been seconds away from taking serious damage. Broken ribs were one thing; a crushed skull was another.

“You bet!” Materia flashed him a brilliant smile and gave him a thumbs up. With a gesture, the sphere containing the rock Marked lifted off the ground and began floating beside her. “I’ll get this one to containment. You good?”

Ethan nodded, not trusting his voice. His ribs were screaming, his body was covered in bruises that would take hours to heal even with his enhanced metabolism, and his diaper was soaked with piss. But he was alive. Materia flew off, the captured Marked floating beside her like a grotesque balloon, his muffled roars fading into the distance.

The street fell quiet. The other combatants had scattered when Materia arrived — she had a reputation for ending fights decisively. Ethan stood alone in the wreckage, his chest heaving, fur matted with sweat and blood, the wet bulk of his diaper pressing against him with every breath.

He needed to get out of here. Get back to his bike. Get home. Clean up.

He started walking, his gait slightly uneven from the broken ribs. Each step sent a jolt of pain through his torso, but he pushed through it. The transformation was already beginning to fade — his body couldn’t maintain full feral state for long after intense combat. His muscles were shrinking back toward normal, his fur receding slightly, his claws retracting.

He’d taken maybe four steps when his stomach cramped.

Oh no.

It wasn’t a gentle warning. It was a violent, churning sensation that made his entire abdomen clench. His bowels shifted, pressure building with terrifying speed. The transformation, the adrenaline crash, the physical trauma — it had all triggered the inevitable consequence.

He had maybe three seconds.

Ethan’s legs bent slightly, an instinctive crouch, his body trying to find a position that might give him some control. But there was no control. His sphincter, weakened by the transformation and the stress of combat, simply gave up.

The first load dropped into his diaper with a heavy, wet thud that he felt more than heard. It was massive— hot and solid, pressing against the padding, spreading across his ass. Then immediately, before he could even process the first, a second load followed. Just as large, just as hot, filling the back of his diaper until the padding bulged obscenely. The smell hit him a second later — thick, pungent, unmistakable. The stench of mess mixed with the scent of the diaper’s odor control trying desperately to contain it. It was overwhelming, filling his enhanced nose until he could taste it in the back of his throat.

The relief was instantaneous and shameful. The pressure in his abdomen vanished, replaced by a warm, heavy fullness in his diaper. The padding sagged under the weight, pulling at the waistband, the bulk between his legs now massive and impossible to ignore. Ethan’s hand moved without conscious thought, reaching back to touch the seat of his blue lycra briefs. His fingers pressed against the fabric and felt the unmistakable bulge — heavy, warm, yielding slightly under pressure. The diaper had contained it, but barely. The padding was stretched to its limit, the mess spread across his entire ass and pressing up against his lower back.

The sensation of the full diaper, the weight of it, the warmth, the absolute loss of control — it all fed directly into that dark arousal that lived at his core. Even as shame burned through him, he was straining against the front of his soaked, loaded diaper.

Then he heard it. A small sound. A gasp, quickly stifled.

Ethan’s head snapped to the left, his enhanced hearing pinpointing the source. There — partially hidden beneath a collapsed section of storefront awning and scattered rubble — were three civilians who’d taken shelter during the fight. They were maybe fifteen feet away. Close enough to see everything. Close enough to smell everything. One of them was a man in his thirties, wearing a business suit now covered in dust. His eyes were wide, locked on Ethan. His hand was pressed over his mouth, but Ethan could see the corners of his eyes crinkling. He was trying not to laugh. Or maybe trying not to gag. Or both.

Their eyes met.

Horror crashed over Ethan. They’d seen it. They’d seen him — The Wolf, the fierce Marked hero — shit himself. They’d watched him bend his knees, watched the bulge form in his briefs, probably saw the way his body had tensed and then relaxed. And they could definitely smell it.

The man’s internal monologue was written all over his face: Oh my God. Did he just shit himself? I wish I’d brought my phone out.

Ethan stood frozen, one hand still pressed against the loaded seat of his diaper, his face burning with humiliation beneath his fur. The transformation was fading faster now, his body shrinking back toward human proportions, which only made the bulge of his diaper more obvious. The blue lycra briefs, designed to stretch with his transformation, were now loose and sagging, doing nothing to hide the massive bulge of his loaded protection. The smell was getting worse as the diaper’s odor control failed. The diaper’s scent couldn’t mask the thick, organic stench of his mess. It hung in the air between Ethan and the witnesses like a physical presence.

The man’s hand slowly lowered from his mouth. He was definitely trying not to smile. One of the other civilians — a younger woman — had her face buried in her companion’s shoulder, her body shaking. Laughing or crying, Ethan couldn’t tell.

“I…” Ethan started, his voice cracking. What could he possibly say? What explanation could make this less humiliating?

The man just nodded slowly, his expression a mixture of pity and barely suppressed amusement. “You, uh… you should probably go, man.”

Ethan’s hand dropped from his ass. He turned and walked away as quickly as his broken ribs would allow, each step making the heavy, loaded diaper shift and press against him. The mess spread with every movement, warm and disgusting and arousing all at once.

Behind him, he heard the man’s voice, quiet but carrying in the night air: “Holy shit. Did you see that? The Wolf just… holy shit.”

Then laughter. Genuine, uncontrolled laughter.

Ethan walked faster, his face burning, his diaper sagging with the weight of his shame and his secret pleasure. The two-block walk back to his motorcycle felt like miles.

The moment Ethan’s ass hit the Ducati’s seat, the squish was audible — a wet, obscene sound that seemed to echo in the quiet street. The mess in his diaper compressed under his weight, spreading even further against his diapered seat. The warmth was painstakingly apparent.

Oh God.

He needed to get home. Now.

The ride through the city was torture. Every bump in the road, every shift of his weight, every turn made the loaded diaper move against him. The mess was heavy, sagging, pulling at the waistband of his blue lycra briefs. The smell was inescapable. Even with the wind rushing past him at forty miles per hour, even with the city’s usual cacophony of smells — exhaust fumes, street food, garbage, rain-soaked concrete his enhanced nose couldn’t escape it.

He was hyperaware of everything. The way the diaper bulged obscenely in his briefs. The way his bomber jacket, hastily thrown back on, didn’t quite cover the waistband. The way other drivers might glance over at stoplights and see… what? A guy on a motorcycle with an odd waddle when he adjusted his position? Someone who smelled like diapers?

His transformation had faded completely by the time he reached his apartment building. His body was back to its normal proportions — 180 pounds of lean muscle, no fur, no claws, just Ethan Cross in a loaded diaper trying desperately to maintain some shred of dignity. He parked the Ducati in the underground garage, dismounted carefully (another wet squish that made him wince), and made his way to the elevator. The ride up to the fourth floor felt eternal. He stood alone in the mirrored elevator car, staring at his reflection. His hair was wild, matted with sweat. His face was flushed. His jeans hung low on his hips, and even through the denim, the bulge of his diaper was visible — front and back.

The elevator dinged. Fourth floor.

Ethan stepped out and turned down the hallway toward his apartment, his gait slightly uneven. The loaded diaper forced his legs apart, created a subtle waddle that he couldn’t quite hide. Each step made the mess shift, made the padding press against him, made his cock throb with that shameful arousal.

He was halfway down the hall when he saw the figure.

Someone was leaning against the wall beside his door, arms crossed, silhouetted by the flickering fluorescent light. Tall — maybe six-two — with a lean, athletic build. As Ethan got closer, recognition hit him.

Jason.

Jason Miller, codename Crawler, was one of the few Marked that Ethan genuinely considered a friend. They’d met two years ago during a particularly nasty fight in the warehouse district — Ethan going feral against a group of armed thugs, Jason appearing out of nowhere (literally) to take down three of them with precision headshots before Ethan even knew he was there.

They’d bonded over the cleanup. Turned out Jason was a massive nerd — video games, tabletop RPGs, comic books, the whole package. Within a month, Jason was a regular at Ethan’s apartment for gaming sessions. They’d spent countless nights playing co-op shooters, running D&D campaigns (Jason was an incredible DM), and talking about their dreams of forming an official hero team. Maybe even a full organization, something structured and legitimate.

Jason’s powers were perfect for stealth operations. His primary ability was total camouflage — his body could transform into a living mirror, reflecting his surroundings with such precision that he became effectively invisible. The mirrored surface worked with any environment, but it was especially effective in shadows, where he could blend so seamlessly that even thermal imaging couldn’t detect him. He lacked Ethan’s raw physical power, but he was a brilliant tactician and a world-class marksman. Where Ethan was the hammer, Jason was the scalpel.

What Ethan didn’t know — what Jason had never admitted — was that their friendship had become something more complicated for Jason. Somewhere between the late-night gaming sessions and the adrenaline-fueled team-ups, Jason had developed feelings that went way beyond camaraderie. He was attracted to Ethan. Deeply. The way Ethan moved in combat, all feral grace and raw power. The way he laughed at Jason’s terrible jokes. The way his eyes lit up when he talked about forming their team. And yeah, maybe Jason had noticed the diapers. Had noticed the way Ethan sometimes shifted uncomfortably after fights, the telltale bulk under his briefs, the careful way he moved when he thought no one was watching. Jason had never said anything — it wasn’t his business, and every Marked dealt with incontinence in their own way.

But tonight, standing in the hallway, watching Ethan approach with that unmistakable waddle, Jason couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips.

“I see you went to Eastside without me,” Jason said, his voice carrying a note of mock hurt. He pushed off the wall, uncrossing his arms. He was wearing his civilian clothes — dark jeans, a fitted black t-shirt that showed off his lean physique, a leather jacket. His dark hair was slightly messy, like he’d been running his hands through it. “You could’ve at least sent me a text and said, ‘Hey, Jason, I got the dispatch, and I’m now en route. Are you coming?'”

Ethan felt his face flush. The smell had to be reaching Jason by now — they were only ten feet apart. “I know, I know. My bad.” His voice came out rougher than he intended, embarrassment making his throat tight.

Jason’s eyes tracked down Ethan’s body — taking in the disheveled appearance, the obvious diaper bulk between his legs. When his gaze came back up to meet Ethan’s, there was something in his expression that made Ethan’s stomach flip. Not disgust. Not pity. Something else. Something heated.

“If you want to come inside, be my guest,” Ethan said quickly, fumbling for his keys. His hands were shaking slightly. “I just need to take a shower and — “

“Change?” Jason’s smile widened, showing teeth. He took a step closer, closing the distance between them to maybe five feet. Close enough that the smell was definitely noticeable. Close enough that Ethan could see the way Jason’s pupils dilated slightly. “I can tell by your waddle that you had quite the adventure today.”

Ethan’s face burned. The way Jason said “waddle” — not mocking, not cruel, but with a kind of knowing intimacy that made Ethan’s heart skip a beat.

Jason took another step closer. Four feet now. His eyes never left Ethan’s face, reading every micro-expression, every flush of embarrassment, every flicker of something that might have been arousal.

“It’s okay, you know,” Jason said, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. “We all deal with it. Nothing to be ashamed of.” He paused, his smile turning slightly wicked. “Though I have to say, that’s probably the most loaded I’ve ever seen you. Must have been one hell of a fight.”

Ethan made a strangled sound that might have been agreement. His hand finally found his keys, but he couldn’t seem to make his fingers work properly to get the right one into the lock. The loaded diaper shifted as he moved, pressing against him, and he had to bite back a moan. Jason noticed. Of course he noticed. His eyes flicked down again, lingering on the front of Ethan’s jeans, then back up to Ethan’s face.

“Need help with that?” Jason asked, and the double meaning hung in the air between them like electricity.

“I got it. Thanks,” Ethan coughed, finally managing to get his key into the lock. His hands were still shaking slightly — from the adrenaline crash, from the embarrassment, from the way Jason was looking at him with those dark, knowing eyes.

The door swung open, and Ethan stepped inside, immediately hit by the familiar scent of his apartment —coffee, old takeout, the faint smell of diapers, and now, overlaying it all, the thick organic stench clinging to him. Jason followed him in, closing the door behind them with a soft click that seemed to echo in the sudden quiet.

The apartment was a mess. Ethan’s small living room looked like a disaster zone — the coffee table was buried under a pile of letters, all bearing the logos of various hero organizations. Sentinel Solutions. Guardian Corps. Apex Defense Initiative. Vanguard Collective. Every single one a rejection. It wasn’t that Ethan lacked the skills or the power. The hero-for-hire industry was just brutally competitive. Organizations needed full rosters at all times — the Marked were constantly engaged in combat, constantly sustaining injuries, constantly burning out. When a position opened, it filled within hours, sometimes minutes. Applications were processed in bulk, and unless you had connections or a viral reputation, you were just another name in a database.

Ethan had been trying for two years. Two years of rejections, of “we’ll keep your application on file,” of “unfortunately, all positions have been filled.” It was why he and Jason had started talking about forming their own team. If the established organizations wouldn’t take them, they’d build something from the ground up. But that took money. Resources. A reputation that went beyond underground fighting circuits.

Jason’s eyes swept over the rejection letters, but he didn’t comment. He’d seen them before. Instead, his gaze landed on something else.

On the floor beside the couch, partially hidden by the coffee table, was an opened bag of diapers. The packaging was medical-grade, discreet, with a simple blue and white design. But there was no hiding what they were. Several diapers had spilled out of the bag, lying on the carpet in plain view — white padding, blue wetness indicators, adjustable tabs. It wasn’t unusual. Ethan kept stashes of diapers in every room of his apartment — living room, bedroom, bathroom, even the kitchen. Changes needed to be quick, especially between battles or during extended patrols. Jason had seen Ethan’s supply countless times during their gaming sessions, had watched Ethan casually grab a fresh diaper from a drawer or a bag without comment, had heard the crinkle of plastic when Ethan shifted position on the couch.

But for Jason, those moments were never casual.

Every time he saw one of Ethan’s diapers — unused, folded neatly, innocent and clinical — his arousal would stir. Every time he heard that telltale crinkle, his mind would flood with images. Every time Ethan excused himself to change, Jason’s imagination would run wild with what was happening behind that closed bathroom door. Because Jason had seen more than just the unused diapers. He’d caught glimpses. Accidents. Moments when Ethan’s protection had failed or when he’d been caught without any at all. The memories were burned into Jason’s brain with perfect clarity, replayed in his mind during countless late-night sessions when he got intimate with himself.

There was the time six months ago, during a warehouse raid. They’d been ambushed, outnumbered three to one. Ethan had gone full feral, fighting with that beautiful, savage intensity that impressed Jason. But the transformation had been too sudden, too intense. Jason had been in stealth mode, mirrored and invisible, positioned on a catwalk above the fight. He’d watched as Ethan’s body had betrayed him mid-combat — watched the dark stain spread across the crotch of Ethan’s briefs, watched piss stream down his legs and pool on the concrete floor. Ethan had frozen for just a second, his face flushing with humiliation even as his claws were buried in an opponent’s shoulder. Then he’d kept fighting, ignoring the wetness, ignoring the obscene display of his sudden incontinence.

Jason had been hard instantly. Had nearly blown his cover that moment.

Then there was the time three months ago. They’d been at Ethan’s apartment, marathon gaming session, when Ethan had gotten an emergency dispatch. He’d jumped up from the couch, started stripping out of his civilian clothes to get into his costume, and Jason had seen it — the back of Ethan’s gray boxer briefs sagging low, heavy with a visible lump of mess. Ethan had clearly had an accident earlier and hadn’t had time to change yet.

“Damn,” Ethan had muttered, realizing Jason could see. “I — this happened during training earlier, I was going to —”

“It’s fine,” Jason had said, his voice tight, his arousal already throbbing. “Go. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Ethan had grabbed a diaper from his bedroom and disappeared into the bathroom. Jason had sat on that couch, rock hard, imagining Ethan cleaning himself up, imagining the weight of that mess, the smell, the humiliation.

And there were other moments. Smaller glimpses. Ethan adjusting himself after a fight, the telltale bulk of a wet diaper obvious under his costume. Ethan walking with that slight waddle after a particularly intense transformation. Ethan’s face flushing when he realized Jason had noticed. Each memory fed into Jason’s obsession. Because that’s what it was — an obsession. He was drawn to Ethan’s incontinence in a way that went beyond simple attraction. It was the vulnerability of it, the loss of control, the way someone so powerful and fierce could be reduced to something helpless and infantile. It was the diapers themselves — the bulk, the crinkle, the knowledge of what they were for. It was the humiliation that Ethan tried so hard to hide, the shame that Jason could see flickering in his eyes.

Jason wanted to tell Ethan that it was okay. That it was more than okay. That watching Ethan wet and soil himself like a toddler who’d never been potty trained made Jason stir harder than anything else in his life. That he was proud of Ethan for embracing his incontinence, for wearing protection without apology, for continuing to fight even when his incontinence was being brazenly displayed. He wanted to kiss Ethan and whisper all of this against his lips. Wanted to tell him that the humiliation was beautiful, that the loss of control was arousing, that Jason would worship every accident, every loaded diaper, every moment of shame.

The temptation was overwhelming tonight. Ethan was standing right there, maybe eight feet away, in a heavily loaded diaper that was sagging obscenely in his pants. The smell was thick in the apartment now, impossible to ignore. Ethan’s face was flushed, and his eyes kept darting to Jason with a mixture of embarrassment and something else. Something that might have been hope. Jason’s hands were clenched at his sides, fighting the urge to close the distance between them, to grab Ethan, to finally confess everything.

“So,” Jason said, his voice coming out rougher than intended. “That shower. Do you need to take one so soon?”

Ethan took a deep, heavy breath. His eyes locked with Jason’s, and for a moment, neither of them moved. The apartment was silent except for their breathing and the distant sound of the city outside.

Jason took a step forward.

Jason took another step forward, closing the distance to just three feet. His eyes were locked on Ethan’s face, reading every micro-expression, every flush of color, every gasp of air.

“You know what?” Jason said, his voice dropping to something low and intimate. “I’m starting to suspect you actually enjoy it.”

The words hit him squarely between the eyes, stripping away every carefully constructed defense he’d built over the years. His mouth opened, the denial already forming on his tongue — I don’t know what you’re talking about — but the words wouldn’t come. They felt wrong. False. Like trying to deny gravity or the color of the sky. Because Jason was right. And Ethan had never admitted it to anyone, had barely admitted it to himself, but standing here in his loaded diaper with Jason’s dark eyes boring into him, the truth was dangerously close to spilling out.

“I know what I’m about to say is a bit of a gamble,” Jason continued, taking another step. Two feet now. Close enough that Ethan could smell him — leather and cologne and something uniquely Jason. “But hear me out.”

Ethan’s breath was coming faster. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, could only stand there and listen.

“I think you like that people know you’re an uncontrollable pants-wetter,” Jason said, and the words were like gasoline on a fire. “I bet you wish you could flash that full diaper of yours for everyone to see — all that yellow and sogginess from front to back, the heavy mess sagging in the seat. You want people to see that you definitely need your diaper changed.”

Jason’s hand came up, fingers hovering inches from Ethan’s chest. Not touching yet, but the threat of contact making Ethan’s skin burn.

“Perhaps by someone who feels you should be put in your place,” Jason finished, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Baby.”

The word hit Ethan like a lightning strike. Baby. Not hero. Not Wolf. Not even Ethan. Baby. Helpless, dependent, controlled. Ethan’s breathing turned heavy, with his chest heaving. His whole body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending screaming. The loaded diaper pressed against him, warm and heavy and disgusting and arousing all at once.

And the words just spilled out.

“I do.”

Two words. A confession. An admission of everything he’d kept buried for years.

Jason’s eyes flashed with something dark and hungry. His hand finally made contact, pressing flat against Ethan’s chest, feeling his racing heartbeat through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“You never get tired of the feeling, do you?” Jason’s voice was rough now. His hand slid down Ethan’s chest, over his stomach, lower. “The warmth spreading. The loss of control. The knowledge that you’re pissing and shitting yourself like you never learned to use a toilet.”

His hand reached the waistband of Ethan’s jeans. Paused. Then slid lower, cupping the front of Ethan’s blue lycra briefs through the denim. His fingers pressed against the soaked, bulging padding, feeling the warmth, the wetness, the unmistakable hardness of Ethan’s padded tent, straining against it all.

Ethan made a strangled sound, his hips jerking forward involuntarily into Jason’s touch.

“And the feeling that comes after,” Jason continued, his fingers squeezing gently, exploring the contours of Ethan’s loaded diaper through his jeans. “When people tell you that you stink. When they look at you with pity and disgust and amusement. When they know exactly what you’ve done, what you’re wearing, what you are.”

Ethan felt like he was breathing fire through his nose, each exhale coming out as a harsh pant. His hands were clenched at his sides, every muscle in his body taut with tension. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into Jason — his friend had never been this bold, this direct, this fucking dominant — but he was saying all the right things at exactly the right time. Every word rang true. Every accusation hit a nerve that Ethan had been trying to ignore for years. The humiliation, the exposure, the loss of control — it all fed into that dark arousal that lived at his core, and Jason was dragging it out into the light with surgical precision.

Jason leaned in closer, his face inches from Ethan’s. Ethan could feel his hot and steady breath ghosting across his neck, his jaw, his ear.

“You’re The Wolf,” Jason murmured, his lips almost brushing Ethan’s ear. “Fierce. Powerful. Untamed. But here? Right now? You’re just a boy who can’t control his bladder. Who fills his diapers like a toddler. Who needs someone to take care of him.”

Jason’s hand squeezed harder, his fingers pressing into the mess in the back of Ethan’s diaper through the denim. Ethan gasped, his knees nearly buckling.

“Who needs someone to change him,” Jason finished.

For a Marked as powerful as Ethan was — someone who could tear through steel, who fought villains with superhuman strength, who had faced down threats that would make normal people flee in terror — he felt small. Almost powerless. Jason’s relentless teasing, his dominant presence, his knowing touch — it was stripping away every layer of Ethan’s carefully constructed hero persona and reducing him to something vulnerable and exposed.

And the most shocking part? Ethan was willing. More than willing. As proud as he was to assert control on the battlefield, to lead charges and make tactical decisions and dominate his opponents, he was discovering that he wanted this. Wanted to submit. Wanted to let someone else take control. Wanted to be exactly what Jason was calling him.

A baby who needed to be changed.

Jason’s other hand came up to cup Ethan’s jaw, tilting his face up until their eyes met. The hunger in Jason’s intense gaze was unmistakable now.

“So here’s what’s going to happen,” Jason said, his thumb brushing across Ethan’s lower lip. “You’re going to tell me exactly what you want. No more hiding. No more shame. Just the truth.”

Ethan’s lips parted as his whole body was trembling with unrelenting need.

“I want…” Ethan started. “I want you to…”

Jason waited, his eyes never leaving Ethan’s face, his hand still cupping the front of Ethan’s diaper through his jeans.

Ethan took a shaky breath and finished: “I want you to change me.”

“Then get in the shower and clean yourself up,” Jason ordered.

The shower was a blur.

Ethan stood under the scalding spray, scrubbing himself clean with mechanical efficiency, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. Outside that bathroom door was Jason — attractive, dominant, knowing Jason — who had just squeezed his loaded diaper and called him baby and demanded the truth. Who was waiting for him and for the diaper change.

His hands moved over his body — soaping, rinsing, repeating — but all he could think about was what came next. His imagination ran wild. He pictured himself in a bright blue onesie, the kind with snaps at the crotch, with the words “BABY BOY” emblazoned across the chest in bold white letters. Wearing it in public. No jacket to hide it. No shame. Just him in his onesie with a thick diaper bulging underneath, the outline obvious to anyone who looked. And when he transformed — when he went feral in the middle of a fight — he’d fill that diaper exactly as expected. The warmth spreading. The mess dropping. Everyone watching. Everyone knowing. The Wolf, the fierce hero, constantly going in his diaper like a toddler who’d never been potty trained.

But there was a concern too, threading through the fantasy. How would he concentrate during battle if he was constantly aware of his diaper, of the exposure, of the humiliation? Would it distract him? Make him vulnerable?

Then again, maybe it would do the opposite. Ethan had spent years hiding this part of himself, burying it under layers of shame and secrecy. What if that shame was the real weakness? What if letting go of it —embracing it fully, publicly — would unlock something greater? Power without restraint. Transformation without hesitation. No more holding back because he was afraid of what people would think. The idea was intoxicating.

Ethan turned off the water, grabbed a towel, dried himself roughly. His skin was flushed pink from the heat, his cock still half-hard, his heart racing with anticipation.

Jason was out there. Waiting.

Meanwhile, in the living room, Jason was doing something he’d never expected to do.

He was wearing Ethan’s used diaper.

It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision. When Ethan had disappeared into the bathroom, he’d handed Jason the heavily loaded diaper with a mumbled, “Could you dispose of this in my pail trashcan in the living room?” Jason had nodded, taken it, watched Ethan close the bathroom door.

And then he’d just stood there. Holding it. Feeling the weight of it in his hands.

The diaper was heavy — much heavier than Jason had expected. The padding was saturated, swollen with liquid, sagging in the middle where Ethan’s piss had pooled. The back was distended with the solid mass of Ethan’s mess, the padding stretched to its limit. It was still warm. Still radiating heat from Ethan’s body. Jason had brought it to his face without thinking, inhaling deeply. The smell hit him like a drug. And underneath that, something richer, darker. Ethan’s post-transformation musk. The scent of his body after going feral — sweat and fur and something truly feral that aroused Jason deeply.

Jason’s hands had trembled as he’d made the decision.

He’d stripped off his jeans and boxer briefs right there in Ethan’s living room, standing naked from the waist down. Then he’d unfolded Ethan’s used diaper — the tabs still sticky, the padding still warm and heavy — and positioned it under himself. Putting it on had been awkward. The diaper was already saturated, already loaded, and trying to secure it around his own body without making a mess had required careful maneuvering. But Jason had managed it, pulling the front up between his legs, feeling the wet padding press against his eager groin, feeling the heavy mess in the back settle against his ass. He’d fastened the tabs — looser than they’d been on Ethan, but secure enough.

And then he’d just stood there. Feeling it. The diaper felt heavy. So much heavier than any diaper Jason had ever worn himself. The front sagged low, pulling at the waistband, the padding swollen and squishy with what had to be at least three full wettings. Maybe more. The warmth was incredible — Ethan’s body heat still trapped in the saturated padding, radiating against Jason’s skin. The mess in the back was substantial. Jason could feel it pressing against his ass, shifting slightly when he moved. It was disgusting. It was arousing. It was Ethan’s.

Jason had worn diapers himself — most active Marked did, at least occasionally. But he’d never felt anything like this. This was a diaper worn by someone with no control. Someone who’d pissed himself multiple times without hesitation, who’d shit himself in the middle of a fight and kept going. This was The Wolf’s diaper, and Jason was wearing his personal toilet.

Jason heard the shower turn off. Heard movement in the bathroom. His heart rate spiked.

Ethan emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, his skin still damp, his hair wet and messy. He felt clean but electric, every nerve ending alive with anticipation.

“Jason?” he called out. “You can come in. I’m ready for —”

He stopped mid-sentence.

Jason was standing in the bedroom doorway, and he was wearing Ethan’s used diaper. Ethan’s brain short-circuited for a moment, unable to process what he was seeing. Jason’s jeans were gone. His boxer briefs were gone. He was standing there in just his black t-shirt and Ethan’s heavily loaded, sagging diaper. The padding bulged obscenely between his legs, yellowed with piss, distended in the back with the obvious weight of Ethan’s mess. The tabs were fastened loosely around Jason’s narrower hips, and the whole thing looked ready to fall off.

But Jason’s expression was what really got Ethan. There was no shame there. No embarrassment. Just pure, gross desire.

“I wanted to know what it felt like,” Jason said, his voice rough. “To wear a diaper used by The Wolf himself.”

Wow, Ethan thought, his arousal spiking to a level he didn’t think was possible. He likes my diapers that much?

The revelation pushed Ethan’s arousal to its absolute peak.

Jason took a step into the bedroom, the loaded diaper shifting with the movement, sagging lower. “You said you wanted me to change you,” he said. “So let’s do it.”

Ethan’s hands moved on autopilot, gathering his diaper changing supplies from the dresser. Powder. Wipes. A fresh diaper from the package. He laid them out on the bed with trembling fingers, his mind racing. What was Jason going to do next? The possibilities were endless, overwhelming. Ethan wanted to set realistic expectations, didn’t want to project his own fantasies onto Jason and be disappointed. But at the same time, there was a desperate desire to see where this would go. To see how their relationship would evolve from friends and teammates into whatever this was becoming.

Jason moved closer, standing at the foot of the bed, his hands resting on the sagging waistband of Ethan’s used diaper.

“Lie down,” Jason said, his voice dropping into that dominant register that made Ethan’s knees weak. “Let me take care of you, baby.”

Ethan dropped his towel and climbed onto the bed, lying back on the fresh diaper he’d laid out.

Jason looked down at him, his eyes dark with hunger, and smiled.

“Transform,” Jason ordered, his voice dropping into that commanding register that made Ethan’s entire body respond. “Give into your desires — the desires that have held you back.”

Ethan’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected Jason to command him to transform, not here, not now, not like this. But the curiosity was immediate. What would happen if he let go completely? If he transformed not for battle, but for this? He’d done it before — transformed for sexual gratification — but the results had been intense.

The memory hit him with vivid clarity: three months ago, alone in his apartment, lying in bed in his full feral state. His body had been massive, covered in thick fur, his cock enlarged and throbbing. He’d been wearing a diaper — soaked through from multiple wettings — and he’d been rubbing it with his clawed hands, lost in the sensation.

But then something had shifted. His enhanced sex pheromones had kicked in — a byproduct of his mutation that he rarely acknowledged. The pheromones were secreted through his bodily fluids, most notably his urine, and they created a self-sustaining feedback loop. The more aroused he got, the more pheromones he produced. The more pheromones he produced, the more aroused he became. His heart had raced. His desires had run wild. His control had evaporated.

He’d grabbed his cordless Hitachi wand from the nightstand, turned it on to maximum, and pressed it directly against his diapered crotch. The vibrations had been intense, the pressure perfect against his swollen cock and the soaked padding.

His climax had been almost instantaneous.

He’d howled — a genuine, feral howl that had echoed through his apartment — and his back had arched so violently that he’d thrown himself against the bed with superhuman force. The bed frame had cracked, the wood splintering, the mattress dropping several inches as the support structure gave way completely. The noise had been tremendous. The howl, the crash, the sound of breaking wood. Lights had turned on in neighboring apartments. He’d heard footsteps, muffled voices, people moving around in frustration at being woken up at 2 AM. Ethan had felt guilty afterward, lying in his broken bed with his soaked diaper and his still-hard cock. But he’d also experienced one of the most intense orgasms of his life.

And now Jason was ordering him to do it again.

Ethan closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. He reached for his X-Gene, that familiar electric sensation at the base of his spine, and pulled.

The transformation hit instantly.

His muscles swelled, fibers multiplying and thickening. His body mass increased — 180 pounds to 250 in seconds. His bones reinforced themselves with audible cracks. Fur erupted across his skin in waves of silver-gray and black. His face shifted — jaw extending, cheekbones sharpening, ears elongating to lupine points.

His fingernails pushed outward, becoming small claws — not the full four-inch combat claws, but enough to be dangerous. His senses exploded — he could hear Jason’s heartbeat, smell the complex mixture of scents in the room, and see every detail with perfect clarity.

Ethan opened his eyes wide and looked around the room.

Jason was standing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, smiling. He was still wearing Ethan’s used diaper—the padding sagging obscenely, yellowed with piss, distended in the back with Ethan’s mess. And he looked completely unfazed by Ethan’s transformation. No fear. No hesitation.

“What a good puppy,” Jason said, his voice warm with approval.

The word hit Ethan like a physical touch. Puppy. Not wolf. Not hero. Puppy. Something small and obedient and eager to please.

Jason’s hand reached out, touching Ethan’s leg. His fingers traced up the fur-covered calf, over the knee, moving slowly up the inner thigh. The touch was casual and possessive.

Ethan watched Jason’s hand with intense focus, his enhanced vision tracking every movement. He was horny — desperately, now overwhelmingly horny — and immediately drawn to Jason. But he understood that he needed to control his feral nature, his impulses. The pheromone feedback loop was already starting, his body producing those chemicals that would make him lose control if he wasn’t careful.

But his body betrayed him anyway.

His cock — which had been hard before the transformation—was now massive. The transformation had enlarged everything, and his shaft stood straight up, pointing directly at Jason. It was thick, veined, the head flushed dark with arousal.

“Looks like someone is a bit excited,” Jason said, his eyes locked on Ethan’s erection. “Is it me? The diapers? Or is it all of the above?”

Jason moved around to the side of the bed, his hand leaving Ethan’s thigh. Then, without warning, he reached out and grabbed Ethan’s shaft.

Ethan’s head jerked up, his eyes going wide. The sensation of Jason’s hand on his cock was electric, overwhelming. Jason’s fingers wrapped around the thick shaft, feeling the heat, the hardness, the way it throbbed in his grip.

Then Jason started to stroke.

Ethan gritted his teeth, his fangs showing. He tried to suppress his feral impulses — the urge to grab Jason, to pin him down, to rut against him until the pheromone feedback loop consumed them both. But it was challenging. The teasing leading up to this moment had created an anticipation that he couldn’t tamp down. His lust was growing, insatiable, threatening to overwhelm his control.

“Or is it about what I’m about to show— ” Jason released Ethan’s cock and reached for his smartphone, which he’d left on Ethan’s nightstand, “— on my phone.”

Jason unlocked the screen and pulled up something. Then he turned the phone toward Ethan.

The screen showed a social media feed. The hashtag at the top read: #WetWolf

Ethan’s stomach dropped.

Jason scrolled through the feed, and Ethan watched in growing horror and arousal as image after image, video after video appeared. All of them featuring him. All of them showing his accidents. There was a photo from two weeks ago — Ethan in his transformed state, mid-battle, with a dark stain spreading down his leg. The blue lycra briefs he wore were soaked through, and a steady stream of piss was running down his thigh, dripping onto the pavement. The photo was high-resolution, clearly taken with a good camera, and it showed everything. The caption read: “The Wolf can’t hold it lmao #WetWolf #MarkedProblems”

Another video showed Ethan from behind, his body in full feral form. He was in the middle of a fight, claws extended, when suddenly his knees bent slightly. The camera zoomed in on his ass, and even through the fur and the blue briefs, the bulge of his diaper was visible. And then it grew. Expanded. Sagged. He was filling it. Right there. In the middle of combat.

The video had audio. Ethan could hear people in the background:

“Holy shit — wow! Bro just shit himself right there. That’s crazy!”

“I can see his diaper over his briefs too! He definitely needs bigger diapers and a change.”

“Dude’s out here saving lives and shitting his pants. Respect, I guess?”

Laughter. Mocking laughter.

Jason scrolled further. More photos. More videos. Different angles, different battles, different accidents. But all showing the same thing: The Wolf, the fierce hero, losing control of his bladder and bowels. Wetting himself. Messing himself. His diapers leaking. His protection failing.

The Marked community generally showed respect when incontinence episodes occurred — they understood the phenomenon, lived with it themselves. But the non-Marked civilians didn’t fully understand. To them, it was just funny. Embarrassing. Something to mock and share online.

And apparently, Ethan had become a meme.

“There are hundreds of these,” Jason said, his voice low and intimate. He was still stroking Ethan’s cock with his free hand, slow and steady. “Thousands, actually. You’re famous, puppy. Everyone knows The Wolf pisses and shits himself. Everyone’s seen your diapers. Everyone’s watched you lose control.”

Ethan’s breathing turned ragged, his chest heaving. His cock throbbed in Jason’s hand, harder than ever. The humiliation was overwhelming — seeing himself exposed like this, knowing that strangers had been filming his most shameful moments, that they’d been sharing and laughing and mocking.

But beneath the humiliation was something else. Something dark and hot and undeniable.

He was heavily aroused.

The exposure, the mockery, the knowledge that thousands of people had seen him at his most vulnerable— it all fed directly into that part of him that craved humiliation. That got off on shame.

“You like this, don’t you?” Jason whispered, leaning closer. His breath was hot against Ethan’s fur-covered ear. “You like knowing that everyone’s seen you. That they all know you’re just a puppy who can’t control himself. That they’ve watched you wet and mess your diapers like a toddler.”

Ethan whimpered — an actual, genuine whimper that came from deep in his chest. His hips bucked involuntarily into Jason’s stroking hand. His claws dug into the mattress, tearing small holes.

“Say it,” Jason commanded. “Tell me you like it.”

Ethan’s mouth opened, his voice coming out gravelly through his transformed vocal cords: “I like it.”

“Louder.”

“I like it!” Ethan’s voice was almost a howl. “I like that they’ve seen me! I like that they know!”

Jason’s smile was wicked. “Good puppy.”

Ethan’s cock throbbed upward, pulsing with his racing heartbeat, as he felt his human sensibilities waning. The rational part of his mind — the part that made tactical decisions, that controlled his transformations, that maintained his humanity — was slipping away, drowning in a tide of feral instinct and overwhelming lust.

Jason returned to stroking Ethan’s shaft, his hand moving with casual confidence up and down the thick, veined length. He stroked for a full minute, watching Ethan’s face, reading every micro-expression, every flicker of pleasure that crossed those eyes.

Then Jason leaned forward, hovering his head directly over the tip of Ethan’s cock.

He inhaled deeply, his nose just inches from the swollen head, and detected that familiar diaper smell. It wasn’t the fresh, clinical scent of unused protection. This was the smell that clung to someone who wore diapers constantly — the kind that took multiple firm washings in the shower before it could be successfully removed. It was embedded in Ethan’s skin, in the creases of his groin, around his balls and the base of his shaft. It was the scent of someone who wore diapers often, who wet them regularly — who lived with that constant presence of padding between his legs.

Jason’s imagination ran wild. He pictured all the times Ethan had wet his diaper to the point that the piss could no longer be absorbed into the padded absorbent core. When the liquid simply pooled around his balls, warm and stagnant, soaking into his skin. When the padding became so saturated it started to leak, dripping down his thighs.

Jason licked his lips, anticipation making his own cock throb in Ethan’s used diaper. He was looking forward to savoring Ethan’s musk and taste — the combination of that diaper smell, the natural scent of his cock, and the thick, primal musk of his transformed state.

Jason opened his mouth and took Ethan’s cock inside.

The amount he managed to take on the first try was surprising — at least five inches sliding past his lips, the thick head pressing against the back of his throat. Jason had practice, had fantasized about this moment countless times, and his body responded with trained ease. Ethan gasped, a sharp intake of breath that turned into a deep, guttural grunt. The moment Jason’s wet mouth wrapped around the tip and moved down the shaft, pleasure exploded through Ethan’s nervous system. His back arched slightly, pushing more of his cock into Jason’s mouth.

Jason heard the moaning getting louder by the second — deep, animalistic sounds that were barely human. But that only challenged him to dive further down the shaft, to take as much as he possibly could. He relaxed his throat, breathed through his nose, and pushed down until his lips were wrapped around the base and Ethan’s cock was buried completely in his mouth and throat. Jason enjoyed every aspect of it. Ethan’s thick, musky flavor with that underlying hint of diaper smell that made Jason’s own cock leak. The shaft’s firm texture against his tongue, the way it throbbed with each heartbeat. The heat of it, radiating against the inside of his mouth.

He pulled back slowly, his tongue dragging along the underside, then dove back down. He quickly established a rhythm — bobbing his head up and down, creating friction, suction, pressure. His hand came up to grip the base, stroking what he couldn’t fit in his mouth, working in tandem with his lips and tongue.

More. More. More. Jason craved it all — every sound Ethan made, every twitch of his hips, every drop of pre-cum that leaked onto his tongue.

Ethan had never been pleasured like this before. Never had his dick sucked. Never experienced the wet heat of someone’s mouth wrapped around him, the suction, the tongue working his shaft. And certainly never by another man. Having his cock in Jason’s mouth caused Ethan’s mind to race, cycling through other forms of carnal pleasure he wanted to experience. He wanted to fuck Jason’s throat harder. Wanted to flip him over and mount him. Wanted to claim him, mark him, make him submit completely.

All the while, his human side was disappearing into the ether.

Ethan didn’t realize that he was continuing to transform past his initial limits. His heightened sexual arousal — amplified by the pheromone feedback loop — was pushing him beyond standard human intuition, beyond the controlled transformation he usually maintained. His muscles were growing larger. His fur was getting thicker. His claws were extending further. His face was becoming more lupine, more feral, more wolf.

He was beginning to see Jason not as his friend, not as his equal, but as his personal plaything. Something to use. Something to fuck. Something that existed solely for his pleasure.

Ethan grinned as Jason loyally bobbed his head on his shaft.

Jason saw the grin and matched it with his own. He knew exactly what was happening. Knew that Ethan was slipping deeper into his feral state, losing his humanity, becoming pure instinct and lust. And Jason was ready for it. He carefully withdrew from Ethan’s cock, his lips sliding off the head with an audible pop. A string of saliva connected his mouth to the tip for a moment before breaking.

Ethan immediately began stroking himself, his clawed hand wrapping around his shaft, keeping the momentum going. He wasn’t displeased with Jason’s service — far from it — but he was now laser-focused on satisfying his growing lust. His eyes tracked Jason’s movements with predatory intensity.

Ethan was blissfully unaware of the plans Jason had for him.

Jason looked into Ethan’s eyes and saw the hunger there. The Wolf wanted him now. Wanted to claim him, fuck him, dominate him. Jason saw that hunger as a challenge. A gauntlet thrown down.

Jason decided that he was going to be the one who would claim The Wolf.

He walked around to the end of the bed where Ethan’s legs were spread wide. From this angle, Jason could see everything — Ethan’s massive cock in his own clawed hand, his heavy balls, and below that, his asshole. The position Ethan was in — lying on his back with his legs spread and slightly raised — left his hole exposed and accessible. Jason reached out with his right hand, extending two fingers. Then, without warning, he pressed those fingers inside Ethan’s hole.

The intrusion was immediate and startling. Ethan’s body tensed, his head snapping up, his lips pulling back to flash his fangs at Jason in a warning snarl. His first instinct was aggression — something had penetrated him, invaded him, and his feral mind screamed threat.

But then the pleasure started to creep through.

Jason’s fingers pushed deeper, curling slightly, searching. He found Ethan’s prostate and pressed against it with firm, deliberate pressure. Ethan’s snarl turned into a choked gasp. His fangs remained visible, but the aggression drained from his expression, replaced by something else. Confusion. Surprise. And then, rapidly, intensifying pleasure. Jason worked his fingers with expert precision — stroking that sensitive spot inside Ethan, stretching him, preparing him. His other hand came up to grip Ethan’s thigh, holding him in place.

Ethan was mesmerized. Jason’s ability to pleasure him in such exquisite ways was beyond anything he’d imagined. The fingers inside him, the pressure against his prostate, the way it made his cock throb even harder — it was all consuming.

He was too far along in his transformation to speak with human words. His vocal cords had shifted, his jaw had extended too far. But Ethan grunted in total ecstasy — deep, rumbling sounds that came from his chest, that vibrated through his entire body.

Jason smiled, his fingers still working inside Ethan’s hole, and leaned down to whisper: “That’s it, puppy. Let me take care of you.”

For Ethan, the pressure against his prostate was exquisite. Jason’s fingers worked that sensitive spot with expert precision — stroking, pressing, circling — and every touch sent waves of pleasure radiating through his body. His cock throbbed harder, leaking pre-cum in steady streams. His breathing became ragged, each exhale coming out as a harsh pant.

And yet it felt like a provocation. A dare. Like Jason was challenging him to accept this pleasure and show restraint. To prove he could maintain control even while being fingered, even while his feral instincts screamed at him to give in completely. Ethan tried to resist moaning, tried to keep from completely surrendering to the sensation. He closed his eyes, blocking out the sight of Jason standing between his spread legs, fingers buried in his hole. He tried breathing through his nose — slow, controlled breaths that might calm the storm building inside him.

But even that proved difficult. The intrusion into his prostate was simply more than he could bear, as strong and powerful as he was. Each stroke of Jason’s fingers pushed him closer to the edge, closer to losing what little control he had left.

Then suddenly, it happened.

Ethan started peeing uncontrollably.

The thick and forceful stream arched up from his cock and splashed directly against Jason’s chest. The warm liquid hit Jason’s skin, soaking into his black t-shirt, spreading across the fabric in a dark stain.

For a few seconds, Ethan looked horrified. His eyes went wide, his mouth opening in shock. He was pissing on his partner without any semblance of control. The stream kept coming, kept arching up, kept splashing against Jason’s chest and stomach. It was humiliating. Degrading. Wrong.

But Jason remained completely undeterred.

He kept his fingers inside Ethan’s hole, kept stroking that sensitive spot, kept staring at him intensely. And then Jason grinned — a wide, hungry expression that showed teeth — while he was being marked by Ethan’s piss.

“Let it all out,” Jason said boldly with arousal. “I am your diaper, after all, and you can’t help but use me.”

I am your diaper. Jason was positioning himself as Ethan’s protection, his absorbent padding, something to be used and soiled without shame.

This was part of Jason’s plan all along.

He’d pushed Ethan into an evolved state of transformation — beyond his normal limits, deeper into his feral nature — and then stimulated his prostate specifically to trigger an incontinence episode. Jason had known exactly what would happen. Had wanted it to happen. Had orchestrated this entire scenario to make Ethan lose control in the most humiliating way possible.

Jason felt the warm, thick stream cover his chest, soaking through his t-shirt and into his chest hair. The liquid was hot against his skin, carrying that familiar and rich scent. The stream cascaded down Jason’s chest and stomach, pooling at the waistband of the diaper he was wearing — Ethan’s used, loaded diaper — before soaking into the already-saturated padding.

The diaper couldn’t handle any more liquid. It was already full of Ethan’s earlier mess and multiple wettings. The additional stream caused it to leak immediately, warm liquid running down Jason’s thighs and dripping onto the floor, creating a growing puddle on the bedroom carpet.

Jason was now as hard as he could possibly be. His cock stiffened to the point of pain, straining against the soaked, sagging diaper, primed and ready. He’d been patient, had taken his time building Ethan up, but now he was ready to claim what he wanted.

Ethan endured one more wave of humiliation — peeing on his partner, marking him, using him like an actual diaper — and his mind fractured between feral instinct and the last remaining fragments of human thought. His breathing turned more frantic. His eyes opened wide, pupils dilated to the point where his eyes were almost completely black. The last remaining thoughts from his human side came to him in short, desperate bursts:

I’m peeing everywhere! I’ve destroyed my bedroom. There’s going to be so much I need to clean up. I peed on Jason! This is terrible! This is —

Then suddenly, Ethan felt something else entering his hole.

Jason had withdrawn his fingers, and now something much larger was pressing against Ethan’s entrance. Something thick and hard and insistent.

Jason’s cock.

Jason had stripped off the soaked diaper in one quick motion, letting it fall to the floor with a wet splat. Now he was positioning himself between Ethan’s spread legs, one hand gripping Ethan’s thigh, the other guiding his cock to Ethan’s hole.

“You’re mine now, puppy,” Jason growled.

Then he pushed inside.

The penetration was slow but relentless. Jason’s cock was thick — not as large as Ethan’s transformed shaft, but substantial — and it stretched Ethan’s hole as it pushed deeper. The fingers had prepared him somewhat, but this was different. This was fuller, more invasive, more claiming. Ethan’s mouth opened in a silent howl, his fangs fully visible, his body tensing. The sensation was overwhelming — pleasure and pressure and a hint of pain all mixed together. He’d never been penetrated before, never had anything this large inside him, and his feral mind struggled to process it.

Jason didn’t stop. He pushed deeper, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside Ethan’s hole. Then he paused, letting Ethan adjust, letting him feel the fullness, the stretch, the absolute possession of being claimed.

“That’s it,” Jason whispered, leaning forward until his piss-soaked chest was pressed against Ethan’s fur-covered torso. “You’re mine now. My puppy. My Wolf. Mine.”

Then Jason started to move, pulling back slowly before thrusting forward again.

Ethan could see Jason fucking him aggressively now, his vision sharp and clear despite the haze of pleasure. Jason’s face was intense — brow furrowed with concentration, sweat covering his forehead and dripping down his temples. His chest was still soaked with Ethan’s piss, the wet t-shirt clinging to his skin, and his expression was full of raw, unfiltered desire to dominate Ethan’s hole.

The only option that remained was for Ethan to fully surrender to the immense pleasure he was experiencing.

And with that surrender came more transformation.

A tail erupted from the base of Ethan’s spine — thick and bushy, covered in the same silver-gray and black fur that covered the rest of his body. It grew rapidly, extending two feet in length, and began to move with his emotions, swishing and twitching with each thrust Jason delivered. His ears shifted next, the human shape melting away and reforming into something more lupine. They elongated, becoming pointed and mobile, covered in soft fur, able to swivel and track sounds with perfect precision. They flattened against his skull when Jason hit a particularly sensitive spot, then perked up again when the pleasure ebbed slightly.

Ethan grunted louder as he was being fucked, the sounds coming from deep in his chest, something primal and barely recognizable as having come from something that was once human.

Jason gritted his teeth, his jaw clenched tight as he relished in the tightness of Ethan’s warm, virgin hole. The sensation was incredible — the heat, the pressure, the way Ethan’s body gripped his cock with each thrust. It was almost too much, threatening to push him over the edge before he was ready.

And then Jason’s own powers triggered.

It was inadvertent, a response to the overwhelming intensity of the moment. Jason’s body flickered, his molecular structure shifting, and suddenly he turned invisible. His mirrored camouflage activated, reflecting the room around him so perfectly that he seemed to vanish completely. For a moment, Ethan could only feel Jason — the cock inside him, the hands gripping his thighs — but couldn’t see him.

And then Ethan’s eyes focused on something else: his bedroom mirror, positioned on the wall across from the bed.

In the reflection, Ethan could see himself. His fully transformed body — massive, covered in fur and piss, with his new tail swishing behind him and his wolf ears pinned back against his skull. His legs were spread wide, his hole stretched around an invisible cock, his own massive shaft standing straight up and leaking pre-cum in steady streams. He watched himself being fucked and dominated by something he couldn’t see, and the visual was strikingly hot. The humiliation of seeing himself like this — reduced to a rutting animal, being claimed by an invisible force — sent another surge of arousal through his body.

Jason returned to his normal state a moment later, his body solidifying back into visibility. He immediately reached down and grabbed the hem of his sopping wet t-shirt, pulling it off in one quick motion and throwing it across the room. The shirt hit the wall with a wet splat and slid down to the floor, leaving Jason bare-chested, his skin glistening with sweat and Ethan’s piss.

Between the two of them, the room started to shake.

It began as a subtle vibration, like a distant truck passing by. But it quickly intensified, becoming more violent, more chaotic. The bed frame rattled. Picture frames on the walls tilted. Objects on the dresser shifted and fell. It was like an earthquake, but localized entirely to Ethan’s bedroom.

The lights began to dim in and out, flickering erratically. The bulbs would brighten to full intensity, then drop to near-darkness, then surge bright again. The electrical system was responding to the massive energy output from both Marked individuals — Ethan’s feral transformation pushed beyond its normal limits, Jason’s powers fluctuating with his arousal.

Their combined abilities were creating a feedback loop, each one amplifying the other, threatening to tear the room apart.

Ethan was no longer able to form human speech. His vocal cords had shifted too far, his jaw had extended too much. He was now guided purely by instinct — the feral part of his brain that knew only hunger, pleasure, and the need to submit to the dominant force claiming him. He opened his mouth and tried to growl — a warning, a plea, a sound of pure ecstasy — but before any sound could emerge, Jason reached over and covered his mouth shut. Jason’s hand pressed firmly against Ethan’s muzzle, silencing him completely. The gesture was dominant, possessive, claiming. It said: I’m in control now. You don’t get to make sounds unless I allow it.

Ethan’s eyes rolled back in his head, the whites showing, his pupils dilating to pinpoints. He leaned into the surrender, into the pressure of Jason’s hand, into the pleasure of being completely dominated. His tail thrashed wildly behind him, his claws tore deeper into the mattress, and his cock throbbed almost painfully.

Jason fucked him for about a half-hour.

Thirty minutes of relentless thrusting, of Jason’s cock driving into Ethan’s hole over and over, of the room shaking and the lights flickering and the bed frame groaning under the strain. Thirty minutes of Ethan being reduced to nothing but a vessel for Jason’s pleasure, his body used and claimed and dominated.

And then Ethan’s cock began to pulsate wildly.

The orgasm was building, unstoppable, inevitable. Like his incontinence, he was unable to hold back. His balls tightened, his shaft swelled even larger, and he could feel the pressure building at the base of his cock. Jason watched with satisfaction, his hand still covering Ethan’s mouth, his cock still buried deep inside Ethan’s hole. He could see it coming — could see the way Ethan’s body tensed, the way his tail went rigid, the way his eyes squeezed shut.

“That’s it, puppy,” Jason growled. “Cum for me.”

Ethan’s orgasm hit like an explosion.

Rope after rope of thick, white cum jetted from his cock into the air. The first shot arced high, hitting the ceiling and splattering across the surface. The second landed on the headboard. The third splashed across Ethan’s own chest and face. The fourth, fifth, sixth — they kept coming, each one powerful and voluminous, painting the bedroom with his seed. Cum landed on the walls, the floor, the dresser, the mirror. It covered Ethan’s fur, matted it down, made him look even more debauched and used. The smell filled the room — thick, musky, manly.

And as Ethan experienced his orgasm, Jason felt his own climax approaching. The tightness of Ethan’s hole, the visual of him cumming so explosively, the knowledge that he’d completely dominated The Wolf — it all pushed Jason over the edge.

“Take my cum!” Jason yelled. “All of it!”

Jason’s cock pulsed inside Ethan’s hole, and then he was cumming — filling Ethan’s prostate with his unrelenting, unyielding seed. Shot after shot of hot, thick cum pumped into Ethan’s body, claiming him from the inside, marking him as Jason’s. Ethan jerked his head back, Jason’s hand falling away from his mouth, and gritted his teeth as he savored the sensation. Jason’s warm, thick cum flooding his insides, filling him completely, making him feel owned and used and satisfied in a way he’d never experienced before.

He was now fully appreciative and accepting of being used the way he was. The Wolf had been bested.

One Month Earlier

The diner was a classic American establishment — red vinyl booths, checkered floor tiles, a jukebox in the corner playing oldies, and the smell of grease and coffee hanging thick in the air. It was close enough to Ethan’s apartment that they’d made it a regular spot, a place where two Marked could sit and talk without drawing too much attention.

Ethan and Jason sat across from each other in a corner booth, the remnants of their meal spread between them. Two empty burger baskets, a plate of fries reduced to crumbs and ketchup smears, and a tall glass with the dregs of a chocolate milkshake they’d shared—two straws still stuck in the melting foam.

Jason leaned back against the vinyl, his arms stretched across the top of the booth, looking relaxed. Ethan was hunched forward slightly, his elbows on the table, his expression troubled.

“I just feel like I’m hitting a wall,” Ethan said, his voice low enough that the other diners wouldn’t overhear. “My powers are strong, don’t get me wrong. But against some of the more villainous Marked? The ones with real experience, real training? I can’t decisively win. I get close, but then they pull out something I didn’t expect, or they’re just stronger.”

Jason nodded, understanding. He’d seen Ethan in action enough times to know what he was talking about. The Wolf was formidable, but there were Marked out there who’d been using their abilities for decades, who’d refined their powers to levels that seemed almost impossible.

“I heard a rumor,” Jason said, picking up one of the last fries and twirling it between his fingers. “About power evolution.”

Ethan’s eyes flicked up, interested. “Evolution?”

“Yeah. Supposedly, a Marked’s powers can evolve — like, actually change and grow stronger — if their body experiences some sort of extreme physical stress or tension. Something that pushes them past their normal limits.”

Ethan frowned. “Like what? Near-death experiences?”

“Maybe. Or intense pain. Or…” Jason paused, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Extreme pleasure.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “Pleasure?”

“It’s just a rumor,” Jason said quickly, though his smile widened. “But supposedly, the body doesn’t really distinguish between different types of extreme physical experiences. Stress is stress. Tension is tension. Whether it comes from fighting for your life or from…” He trailed off meaningfully.

“From what?” Ethan pressed.

Jason leaned forward, lowering his voice even further. “From sex. Specifically, sex with another Marked. The theory is that when two X-Genes interact that intimately, when the bodies are under that kind of physical and emotional stress, it can trigger an evolution.”

Ethan stared at him for a moment, then threw his head back and laughed — a genuine, hearty sound that made a few other diners glance over. “You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m serious!” Jason protested, though he was grinning now too. “I mean, I’m half-joking. It’s just a rumor. But think about it — neither of us wants to put our lives in even riskier situations just to test if near-death experiences make us stronger. But sex?” He shrugged. “That’s a lot safer.”

Ethan shook his head, still chuckling. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

But Jason noticed something. A glint in Ethan’s eye. A flicker of consideration that passed across his face before he dismissed the idea outright. It was brief, barely there, but Jason caught it.

Ethan was considering the possibility.

Jason filed that information away, his mind already turning over the implications. If Ethan was even remotely open to the idea… well, Jason had been attracted to him for months. And if there was a chance —even a small one — that they could both become stronger while exploring that attraction?

Jason decided to be patient. To wait for the right moment.

Present Day

Jason paced around the bedroom, his bare feet stepping carefully over debris — broken picture frames, shattered glass, chunks of plaster that had fallen from the ceiling. He rubbed his face with his hands, anxiety gnawing at him. Ethan was still transformed. Still in his full feral state, lying on the destroyed bed, his chest rising and falling with deep, steady breaths. His fur was matted with sweat and cum, his tail was still twitching slightly, and his wolf ears were pinned back against his skull.

Jason was concerned. Ethan had been in his transformed state for over an hour now — far longer than his usual time. Normally, the transformation would fade within fifteen to twenty minutes after combat or intense exertion. But this was different.

What if it was irreversible? What if Jason had pushed him too far, triggered something that couldn’t be undone?

Please, Jason thought desperately. Please come back.

And then, slowly, the transformation began to reverse.

The fur started to recede, pulling back into Ethan’s skin like a tide going out. His muscles shrank, his body mass decreasing from 250 pounds back toward his normal 180. His tail shortened, then disappeared entirely. His ears shifted back to human shape. His face reformed — jaw retracting, cheekbones softening, fangs shrinking back to normal teeth.

Within five minutes, Ethan was human again.

He lay on the bed, completely exhausted, his skin flushed and covered in a sheen of sweat. His chest heaved with labored breaths. Slowly, he lifted his hands in front of his face, staring at them.

Normal hands. Human hands. No claws. No fur.

“Shit,” Ethan muttered to himself, his voice hoarse. Then he turned his head to look at Jason. “You’re going to help pay for everything.”

He gestured weakly at the bed. The frame was completely destroyed — wood splintered, metal bent, the mattress sagging in the middle where the support structure had given way. It looked like it had been hit by a wrecking ball.

Jason turned around at the sound of Ethan’s voice, relief flooding through him. He jogged over to the side of the bed, a wide smile breaking across his face. “Glad you’re alright!”

He extended his hand. Ethan took it, and Jason pulled him to his feet with a firm grip.

The two stood there, naked and exhausted, looking around the bedroom. It was absolute chaos. The bed was destroyed. The walls had cracks running through them. The ceiling had chunks missing. Cum was splattered across every surface. The carpet was soaked with piss and other fluids. Picture frames lay shattered on the floor. The dresser had toppled over.

It looked like a tornado had run straight through the room.

“But it was fun, right?” Jason said, his tone hopeful.

Ethan snickered, a tired but genuine sound, and nodded slightly. “Yeah, it was.” He paused, surveying the damage again. “But it would be nice to get me diapered up. And cleaning up everything would be super.”

“You got it!” Jason said immediately.

They moved to the living room, stepping carefully over debris in the hallway. Jason grabbed a fresh diaper from the opened bag beside the couch — one of Ethan’s stashes — and spread it out on the floor.

“Lie down,” Jason said gently.

Ethan lowered himself onto the diaper, lying back on the soft padding. His body was still trembling slightly from exhaustion, his muscles sore, his hole tender from being thoroughly used.

Jason knelt beside him and got to work. He lifted the front of the diaper and positioned it carefully, making sure it was centered. Then he pulled it up between Ethan’s legs, the padding settling snugly against his groin and ass. Jason smoothed out any wrinkles, adjusted the leg gathers, then fastened the bottom tapes first — securing them at an angle for a better fit. Finally, he fastened the top tapes, pulling them snug but not too tight, making sure the waistband sat comfortably on Ethan’s hips. He ran his fingers along the edges, checking for gaps, making sure everything was secure.

“There,” Jason said softly. “All set.”

Ethan looked down at himself — freshly diapered, the white padding bright and clean against his skin. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, he playfully tossed Jason onto his back. Jason let out a surprised laugh as he hit the floor, and before he could react, Ethan was leaning over him, pressing their lips together in a kiss.

With his back now on the floor, Jason looked up at Ethan and chuckled. “You got me!”

Then he returned the kiss, his hand coming up to cup the back of Ethan’s head, pulling him closer.

They kissed for a long moment — slow and tender, a stark contrast to the aggressive intensity of what had come before. This was softer. More intimate. A connection that went beyond just physical pleasure.

Ethan broke the kiss, pulling back slightly to look into Jason’s eyes. “But promise me you’ll keep me in these and make sure I stay in them, alright?”

Jason’s expression softened. “Promise.”

There was a pause, then Jason added with a small smirk, “Oh, and you’re welcome, by the way.”

Ethan rolled his eyes, but there was affection in the gesture. He reached down and rubbed Jason’s cheek gently, his thumb brushing across his skin. “Fine. Thank you,” he said with playful sarcasm.

Jason grinned up at him, his heart full. They’d crossed a line tonight — multiple lines, actually — and there was no going back. But looking at Ethan now, seeing the contentment in his eyes, the way he’d finally accepted this part of himself.

Jason knew it had been worth it.

One Month Later

The call came during dinner.

Ethan and Jason were at their favorite diner — the same booth where they’d had that conversation about power evolution. This time, though, things were different. Jason sat on the same side of the booth as Ethan, their thighs pressed together, Jason’s hand resting casually on Ethan’s knee under the table. Comfortable. Together.

Both their phones lit up simultaneously with the emergency dispatch.

FORT HARRISON BREACH – BIOWEAPON THREAT – ALL AVAILABLE MARKED RESPOND

The details scrolled across their screens: a coordinated attack by six highly powerful Marked. They’d breached the perimeter at 11:32 PM, killed or incapacitated the first wave of defenders, and were currently fighting their way toward the central research facility. Their target: Project Nullification, a chemical weapon designed to permanently strip Marked individuals of their powers by rewriting their DNA.

If the attackers got their hands on it, they could hold the entire Marked community hostage.

“Fifteen minutes out,” Jason said, already calculating routes and approach vectors.

Ethan nodded, dropping cash on the table to cover their meal. “Let’s move.”

They arrived at Fort Harrison to find it burning.

Not metaphorically. Actually burning. Entire buildings were engulfed in flames, the result of one of the attackers — a pyrokinetic with enough power to melt steel. The heat was intense even from a distance, the air shimmering with thermal distortion.

Jason took position first, scaling the eastern watchtower with practiced efficiency. His sniper rifle was already assembled, the scope calibrated, his breathing controlled. From this vantage point, he could see the entire compound—the fires, the bodies, the six Marked attackers converging on the research facility.

“I’ve got eyes on all six,” Jason said into his comm. “You ready?”

Ethan’s voice came back, deeper than normal, already touched by the beginning of his transformation. “Give me thirty seconds. Then light them up.”

Jason watched through his scope as Ethan moved into position. He was approaching from the south, using the flames as cover, his body already beginning to change. Even from this distance, Jason could see the transformation happening — muscles swelling, fur erupting, the silhouette becoming less human and more lupine.

Twenty seconds.

The attackers were focused on breaching the research facility’s reinforced doors. One of them—a woman with super strength—was literally punching through the steel, each impact creating deeper dents. Another was using telekinesis to tear chunks out of the concrete walls. They were seconds away from getting inside.

Ten seconds.

Jason centered his crosshairs on the telekinetic. Exhaled slowly. His finger rested on the trigger, waiting.

Five seconds.

Then Ethan stepped out of the flames.

The pyrokinetic saw him first — a massive figure emerging from the inferno like it was nothing more than a warm breeze. The fire-controller’s eyes went wide, his concentration breaking, the flames around them flickering and dying down.

Because what stepped out of those flames was unlike anything they’d seen before.

The Wolf stood there, fully transformed, but evolved beyond recognition. His body was enormous — easily 320 pounds of pure muscle, standing seven feet tall on digitigrade legs that ended in clawed feet. His fur was thicker, more lustrous, with patterns of silver and black that seemed to shimmer in the firelight. His face was fully lupine now — elongated muzzle, pointed ears that swiveled independently, eyes that glowed with predatory intelligence.

And he was wearing a diaper.

Not hidden. Not concealed. A thick, obvious diaper with a blue pattern that matched the form-fitting briefs he wore before. The padding was clearly visible, the waistband sitting high on his hips, the leg gathers snug against his powerful thighs. There was no shame in it. No attempt to hide it. It was now a part of him. Part of his uniform. Part of who he was.

The villainous Marked stared. Some of them noticed the diaper, but most were focused on his sheer size, his intimidating presence. This couldn’t be The Wolf. The Wolf they’d heard about was powerful, sure, but this… this was something else entirely.

“Is that—” the super-strength woman started.

Jason’s rifle cracked.

The telekinetic went down, a tranquilizer round hitting her in the neck. She crumpled immediately, her powers cutting off, the chunks of concrete she’d been levitating crashing to the ground.

The remaining five attackers spun around, trying to locate the shooter, but The Wolf was already moving.

He didn’t leap this time. He charged.

His powerful legs propelled him forward at speeds that seemed impossible for something his size. He covered the distance to the nearest attacker — a man with the ability to generate electricity — in less than two seconds. The electric-user tried to discharge, tried to send a bolt of lightning into The Wolf’s chest, but The Wolf was too fast.

He ducked under the attack, his claws extending with a snikt sound, and drove them into the man’s thigh. Not lethal. Just incapacitating. The electric-user screamed and went down.

Four left.

The pyrokinetic tried to engulf The Wolf in flames again, creating a vortex of fire that should have incinerated anything inside it. But The Wolf just stood there, his evolved body resistant to temperatures that would have killed him before. He walked through the flames like they were nothing, his eyes locked on the pyrokinetic, his fangs showing in a predatory grin.

The pyrokinetic’s confidence evaporated. He tried to run.

The Wolf caught him in three strides, his clawed hand wrapping around the man’s ankle and yanking him off his feet. The pyrokinetic hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of him, and The Wolf’s other hand came down — claws pressed against his throat, not breaking skin, just holding him there.

“Stay down,” The Wolf growled, his voice barely human.

The pyrokinetic nodded frantically, terror in his eyes.

Three left.

Jason took another shot from the watchtower. The super-strength woman went down, a tranquilizer round in her shoulder. She fought it for a few seconds, her enhanced metabolism trying to process the drug, but eventually her knees buckled and she collapsed.

Two left.

The remaining attackers — a man who could manipulate metal and a woman with enhanced speed — looked at each other, then at The Wolf, then at their incapacitated teammates. The calculation was obvious on their faces: they were outmatched.

The speedster tried to make a break for it, her body blurring as she activated her powers. But The Wolf’s enhanced senses tracked her perfectly. He could see the individual movements, could predict her trajectory, and when she tried to dart past him, his tail swept out and caught her legs.

She went down hard, tumbling across the pavement, and before she could recover, The Wolf was on her. One clawed hand pinned her shoulder to the ground.

“Don’t move,” he said simply.

She didn’t.

One left.

The metal manipulator raised his hands in surrender. “I’m done. I’m done. Just… don’t hurt me.”

The Wolf nodded, then looked up at the watchtower. “Clear?”

“Clear,” Jason’s voice came back through the comm. “I’m heading to the lab to secure the package.”

Jason climbed down from the watchtower, his rifle slung over his shoulder, and started jogging toward the research facility. The adrenaline was still pumping through his system, his heart racing, his senses heightened from using his powers.

And then he felt it. The familiar pressure. The warning that came too late.

Jason wet his pants as he ran.

The warmth spread across his crotch, soaking into his black tactical pants, creating dark patches that spread down his inner thighs. He wasn’t wearing a diaper — hadn’t thought he’d need one for a quick response mission — but he knew he’d start wearing them more regularly now.

After that night with Ethan, after everything they’d shared and discovered about themselves, Jason was more at ease with his own accidents. The wetness wasn’t humiliating anymore. It was simply part of being Marked. Part of using his powers. A badge of honor that showed he’d been in combat, that he’d pushed himself, that he was doing his job.

Jason didn’t even slow down. He just kept running, heading for the research facility entrance.

The Wolf stood guard over the incapacitated attackers, his massive form imposing even in stillness. His diaper was slightly damp — he’d wet himself during the charge, the adrenaline and transformation triggering his incontinence — but the padding had absorbed it perfectly. No leaks. No discomfort. Just the warm, familiar sensation that he’d come to associate with using his powers. He looked down at himself, at the obvious bulge of his diaper and felt proud. Not ashamed. Not embarrassed. Proud.

This was who he was. The Wolf. Powerful. Fierce. Incontinent. And completely okay with all of it.

Jason emerged from the research facility a few minutes later, a small vial of green liquid held carefully in his hand. Project Nullification. Secured.

He jogged over to The Wolf, his pants still visibly wet, a grin on his face. “Got it. And damn, you really didn’t leave anyone for me, did you?”

The Wolf’s muzzle pulled back in a lupine grin, showing all his fangs. Then he turned and started running toward the perimeter, his powerful legs eating up the distance, his tail streaming behind him.

Jason followed, keeping pace, the bioweapon secure in his grip.

As they ran, Jason couldn’t help but laugh. One month ago, they’d been two Marked struggling to find their place in the world, hiding parts of themselves, afraid of what people would think.

Now? They were unstoppable. Evolved. Powerful. And completely, unapologetically themselves.

The Wolf let out a howl as they cleared the perimeter — a sound of triumph, of freedom, of absolute joy. And Jason howled with him, their voices joining together in the night, two Marked who’d found strength in vulnerability and power in acceptance.

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