FSE

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“Here is best, Jura.”

One hand gripping the dog’s rear to keep Circe spread where she stood there on the bed, tail raised and wagging, the other came in from underneath to squish up around plump, protruding spade lips, mushing the supple flesh in against itself and then spreading back out. The feral was wet enough that even where Jura stood away from the foot of the bed, he could hear those inner walls smacking open with the pull.

Of course, he knew how wet she was. He had felt it just a few minutes ago, lost in the depths of his own – and her pleasure, shared in his bedroom down the hall. Then his mother had called for Circe and she had leapt off of him, leaving him twitching there in the open air with the slimy, clinging slickness of the dog’s fervent arousal literally dripping from his hard shaft: there was no way that she hadn’t seen him there through the space in the door, and for what felt like minutes he had remained there on his knees, still hard despite the nervousness, twitching, dripping, until finally the bird built up the courage to make his way down the hall.

His mother’s bedroom door had stood partially open, too, and from within he heard the familiar noises of gentle slurping, wet meat slipping back and forth. Peeking around the corner, hiding his half-arousal behind the insufficient boxers he had thrown on, he wasn’t sure what he had expected to see – but it certainly wasn’t his own mom on her knees on the bed, the Doberman-Dane mix standing upright with her hindlegs spread and tail raised, the older lovebird slipping her tongue back and forth across every inch of bared, wrinkled skin and puckered flesh. Thick strands of feral canine arousal mixed with hungry saliva coated Circe’s inner haunches, and as if sensing her son’s presence, his mother lifted her head, nodded to him, and invited him in.

And now here he stood, boxers resting on the floor around one leg, twitching fully hard again as he watched her demonstration. She had brought him forward, tilted his head up on a talon, and pulled the waistband forward and down with her other hand, making sure to give her son a squeeze and stroke, supple foreskin still slickened by thick canine warmth moving silky-smooth. Two fingers had been enough to slip back and forth, back and forth, and then he tilted his head back, swallowed, wrenched his eyes shut – and then opened them right after at the sound of the mattress creaking again.

Now his mother, with a few well-placed fingers, continued her demonstration. “She likes it if you rub against here first,” wet flesh spread around her fingers, “and then slip on in. It’s good to warm her up on fingers…” …and those two circled around warm, glistening pink – Circe made a small noise, and her muscles visible twitched and clenched – and then tilted in and sank smoothly, sweetly in, the surrounding walls shaping around them, squeezing tight.

Once again Jura heard the smack, the shluck of the dog’s grip, and remembered how she had felt tightening down around his entire hard length. His mother worked her fingers there for a while, digging them in, pressing them to the knuckle, slipping back out, then sinking right back in again; the feral’s legs shook and she bore down with each pulse, tail wagging, entire body thrumming with the sensation.

I guess she does like that… Jura thought, enraptured. He held himself back from stroking himself, not wanting to ruin the moment, wanting to see what else she had to show him.

“And then,” his mother went on, again as though sensing his intent, “you can do this…”

…and, fingers still buried, she leaned in from around Circe’s haunches and dragged her tongue up across the revealed pink folds inside. Jura had felt all of that firsthand, the sensation of silken, wrinkled warmth parting and sloshing and squishing, soft and slick and wet; his mother kept her mouth open as she worked, swirling around, flicking past the lips of Circe’s plump spade, suckling along the rim, drawing the full, soft meat into her maw and holding it there before pulling free, the heat-driven heft jiggling in the open air.

“And then it’s your turn,” she finished, lapping the drips off with her tongue. She slid her fingers free, spread them to show the hanging strand of wetness, and licked that off, too. “Show me how you do it, Jura.”

Stunned, he held still for a moment. “What, you mean-”

But then she leaned forward, ran her fingers along his waist, and with a tug yanked him forward, her other hand easily squeezing around the base of his hard cock. Embarrassed, Jura watched as she gave him a few more strokes, this time with him completely unable to resist pumping, thrusting, following the movement: she knew just how to touch him, just like she knew her way around the feral, and he found himself rolling his head back again, breath shuddering out.

I’m gonna finish just from this, he thought, dazed. She’s gonna get me off, and I’m gonna – all across Circe, and then she’s gonna… make me go and clean her up, and I…

But not quite. Right as he was getting into it the sensation changed, and that warm, wet heat squished in around his head and sank smoothly down onto him, as his mother guided him into the feral standing there on the bed. Jura’s eyes flashed open and he looked forward, first at the other avian and then down at Circie herself: the dog looked back at him with that same expectation glittering in her eyes, the deep, intrinsic desire to experience this with him, to indulge in this shared pleasure.

Worked up as he was already, his mother’s quiet encouragement in his ears, her hand still gripping the base of his shaft even as he sank all the way in so that the dog’s spade squished against his hips, there was little he could do. Pushing forward, pulling back, thrusting forward again, silken supple heat slipping all around him – he jerked, gritted his teeth, pulled in a breath, wrapped his hand around his mother’s arm there against his chest, and then bucked, bucked again, folded partially forward over the feral, bucked again… and felt the sticky heat of his own seed squirting back around him where he unloaded inside of her, the dog’s wet inner walls sucking back down around him.

Trembling all over, a little bit dizzy, he swallowed, tilted his head back again, sighed, and once more opened his eyes, only to see his mother watching him.

“What?” Jura managed, still buried inside of Circe.

His mother slipped her hand out from between them, gave his rump a pinch, and then wiped her fingers underneath his nose. “I didn’t say anything…”