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Tom panted and thought about wiping the gathered, sticky slickness off from around his lips and muzzle, but deliberately didn't. Rich scent and taste of equine mixed and muted somewhat by her age, an odd, distant touch becoming steadily more familiar to him as his own experiences expanded. The dog had… prepared for this meeting after finding the older mare on their shared app the other week, looking up pictures and videos online, having never been with a properly equipped mare before.

And what he had seen had been plenty nice: the full, pert, plump tailhole, protruding outwards like a wrinkled donut pulled in at the center, on some of the models hanging out a good inch and a half from the crevice in which it lay. Then the long, straight folds of lips down below, sometimes looking as though they were as long as his paw held out with fingers extended. Hard to believe that some of those were real, what with the straight lines, smooth pelt, soft luscious pink… and then Mrs. Gloria here had spread her legs and nudged him down, and he had obliged, and felt himself wrapped in her heady scent, and…

…and this was much better. Even now as he caught his breath Tom looked over the bounty she had presented to him, still somewhat in mind of roast beef left out on the counter overnight, still simultaneously annoyed by that yet deeply loving it. The same sort of wrinkled, fleshy, oily brownish-pink, all wavy and wobbly, loose… limp. And it left the same kind of clinging greasiness on his lips and tongue too, as well as his nose: he swallowed, leaned in again, and nudged his muzzle in between those loose hanging lips, snout quite easily slurping up to a place where he could draw his tongue inside of her as though trying to lap the pudding out of the bottom of a single-serve snack cup.

There was almost no resistance there; he had to stretch his tongue to press up against her inner walls, the soft, velvety flesh squishing gently back around him, sometimes trembling and sucking in as the older mare shuddered with pleasure. Tom remained there a moment longer, bathing in her scent and presence, then stood back up, legs a little wobbly from how long he had knelt there.

“Gimme just, uh – one sec," he murmured, looking around the room. “I brought some condoms in my bag, and I'll-"

“Oh, honey…" A little breathless, the older mare sat up, her loose breasts sagging against her chest. She tossed her silvered mane over her shoulder. “I appreciate the forethought, but won't really be needing one of those."

His ears perked. He looked over at her. “But I thought-"

“I know we're both clean, and even if you could start a new batch baking on me," said with brown eyes drifting down his body towards his very hard shaft, “oven's been shut off for some fifteen years now. So come here, hon. Show this lonely ol' grandma how the new generation does it."

Didn't have to tell him twice. Heart thumping in his chest, Tom kicked the rest of his clothing off and came forward towards her, unable to take his eyes off her body: here and there her pelt and skin sagged with the loose weight of age, bringing out gentle folds in areas he hadn't seen them before. Once again the mattress creaked and squeaked as he climbed up, the heat of her body somewhat distant as he moved into position: the much younger dog knelt between her legs, brought himself forward, reached out, hesitated, rested a paw against her chest, and felt the thin skin, the delicate bones, the still present heat thrumming out from within her body.

“Is this-" He swallowed, and with his other paw angled his shaft down. Equine lips still broad and plump nudged easily around him, still rich with that greasy, slightly tacky wetness of her arousal… “-okay?"

Slowly Mrs. Gloria's arms came up around him, wrapping him in the scent of perfume that had likely stopped production when he was still in middle school. “Why don't you tell me?" she rumbled in return, lifting up against him… drawing him down into plush, silken wet warmth, so that his legs trembled and he couldn't help but reciprocate. Just like for his tongue, his cock easily pressed down within those loose, limp lips – thin yet plump strips of loose meat flopping around him, sticking against one another as well as himself – and then more slid than sank up inside of her, her heartbeat palpable through warm inner walls. “Oh, I bet you're the – envy of the school dance where you go, aren't you, Tom?..."

There was one professor, but Tom doubted that the feelings were mutual – but before he could delve too deep into that, sensation and sweet, indulgent heat flooded through him. Already he had buried himself to the base inside of the older mare, her loose, well-used, well-loved sex slurping easily around him, wide equine lips smushing up against him, her slickness smearing through his pubic fur. He shifted his paws, one moving up to her loose, leathery breast while the other pushed into the spring mattress underneath, then pulled back, held there, thrust forward again, and did so a second time, a third, a fourth.

Before he knew it Tom had already started a steady rhythm at the older mare, hips pounding forward between her legs, her wide equine sex smacking, sucking, slurping against him. Wet warmth trickled down his balls and smeared off against the protruding donut of her tailhole, rhythmically flexing at him; he swallowed, gritted his teeth, and leaned in closer, drawing in the essence of her scent, that same perfume crossed with the natural grassy, livestock touch of her species.

When she spoke he heard the saliva in her mouth, sticky, somewhat dry; her earrings jingled faintly with each thrust, just like the old springs in the mattress; her legs wrapped around his thighs, skin turned leathery with age shifting over stringy muscles, everything hanging slightly loose from the frame underneath; and even when she palpably clenched around him, all he could think about was

-soft, sloppy, loose, limp curls of brown meat tinged pink, glistening with oily grease in the light, folding and flopping around, and, and-

_ _

-Tom's back arched, he felt his nostrils flare with the force of his gasp, and the next thing he knew, he had pressed his muzzle in between those loose breasts while his finish pounded through him and deep inside the mare, one of her hands slowly stroking the back of his head. “Good boy," he heard her murmur, “good boy…"

“S-sorry," he panted, then winced as another wave of rich pleasure hit him again. He could feel her clenching around him distantly. “I – didn't mean to – inside, uh-"

“I told you, honey, don't worry about it. Fast, though – it's a good thing I've got you all night. Why don't you stay right here," and again Mrs. Gloria tightened her legs around him, keeping him buried deep in his own slick warmth inside of her, “until you're ready to go again? Your youthful stamina, I'm sure it won't be long…"

A little bit dizzy, the dog lifted his head and rested it on her shoulder, unable to keep his tail from wagging. Somewhere over on the floor he heard his phone vibrate.

Score.

_ _

Kefl

Shekh tried to focus on the road but, naturally, just couldn't. Even looking forward at the seemingly endless asphalt snaking off through the distant low hills, horizon line blending with the sky and seeming to climb steadily upwards the longer he went without blinking, out of the edge of his vision he couldn't help but notice the rhythmic shifting and lurching, the steady up-and-down motion of his passenger's arm.

Arm – try arms. Both of them. One paw on the wheel, the hyena glanced over and saw indeed that Kieran had hitched his seat back a little bit, button and zipper of his pants fly all the way open, boxers tugged loosely down underneath a pair of balls big enough to fill both of Shekh's cupped paws (as he knew from experience) while his similarly plump, full sheath pulsed against his lower belly, slick supple skin bunching up against itself as the werehyena stroked, shaft fully hard, the damn window on his side starting to fog up from the gathering dank heat.

Shekh couldn't believe that he had agreed to this. He knew what kind of position Kieran had been in, having occupied that spot himself a few times: long road trips like this with nothing around but the person in the driver's seat, the bumping and vibration of the road underneath, and then your own thoughts… the well-endowed other hyena had squirmed and wriggled in his seat until Shekh had had to ask him what was wrong, and then it took another four minutes of embarrassed half-conversation before Kieran could admit his predicament. Then Shekh's urging led to two more minutes of unsure waffling back and forth, and he had been the one to reach over and pop Kieran's seatbelt free, and only then did he see the stirring, twitching bulge pressing up underneath the werehyena's shirt from beneath the waistband of his pants, his arm-sized girth pressing itself into his space.

“Okay, fine," he had said, stuck between amazement, interest, and his own arousal, “you can – I dunno, edge a bit? Just don't make a mess. This is Kekipi's car and I gotta make sure we don't mess it up too bad. I'd help out myself, obviously, but I can't do two things at once."

_ _

There was the option of pulling over to take care of it, which was becoming steadily more attractive as each inhaled breath just carried the rich, intoxicating scent of equine arousal stronger and stronger. Shekh was already at the point where he had had to shift and adjust his posture, his own pants twitching tightly around him; Kieran's shoulders jerked and lurched as he continued to stroke at himself, supple skin slipping forward towards the blunted rim of his unflared head, then squeezing back down again, pressing over the bulge of his medial ring, stretching out, settling back into place. Already he had squirted a few globs of pre out thankfully across his own chest, leaving glistening, sticky stains across the fabric of his lifted shirt.

Back and forth Shekh glanced between the road and his passenger, seeing first the smooth, flat asphalt pocked and cracked from lasting desert dryness fringed on both sides by the same array of unbroken shades of brown and grey, and then over to rich, velvety fields grey fur striped with black fur twisting and shifting with uneven breaths, succulent pinkish-tan flesh glistening in the sunlight as it slanted through the window. Kieran took in another breath, shuddered, bunched both of his paws up towards the backside of his unflared head, held there, and let another thick drip of pre ooze out, then slid back again. That wetness spread smoothly across his already slick length, and when Shekh flared his nostrils and inhaled again he felt as though he had just leaned over and brushed his nose along the underside of that impressive length.

Back to the road again – and the hyena in the driver's seat had to nudge the wheel back towards the center of the road. I wonder if I really could… he thought, fingers tingling with the idea of reaching over and adding a third paw to Kieran's length, as the other hyena continued to tease and work at himself. But then I wouldn't be able to stop myself. I wouldn't be able to know when he's close, and when to stop so that we don't mess up the interior, and-

_ _

But just as he had expected, Kieran didn't know either. The other hyena sucked in a gasp, pitched forward, swept his paws away from his hard cock, and arched his back in his seat, fingers digging down into his knees where he sat. “Ah-" he breathed through gritted teeth, chest heaving, cock pulsing, throbbing, flaring. It bounced away from his body, twitched in the air, plopped back against his chest, then pulled forward again, moving all on its own, rim of the head pushing up and out to that wide, angular flare. “God – Shekh, I'm-"

“What? I told you n – open the window or something, can't you – oh-"

Kieran tried, fumbling for the control, folding his arm around the other side of his shaft and inadvertently aiming himself across his shoulder. Shekh glanced over, realized he was in the splash zone, tried to duck, and then swerved as the other hyena trembled, groaned, and then moaned out, giving another buck, then another. Shekh just barely managed to dodge the first ropelike spurt as it splattered out across the side of the seat, hitting with enough force that it audibly smacked; the second did the same, as did the third, fourth, and fifth, though at this point Kieran had leaned back and tried to aim his mess across himself, succeeding in plastering his shirt to his body and streaking back some of his mane. His hips bucked at a sixth, then his toes curled at the seventh; he bumped his head back against the headrest just before the eighth, then bumped again at the ninth, and instead of a tenth from that point on it was more just slow, lazy dribbles out across him, rich thick white dripping across his belly and pooling along the seat underneath him.

Exhausted, breathless, he rolled his head over on his shoulder to look at the other hyena. “Sorry. Sorry, it's just the… hah… the bumping, and…"

Shekh had to hold his breath. He squirmed a little bit. “I'm pulling over."

“What? Hey! I said I'm sorry, and-"

“Yeah, and now you owe me. It's my turn."

At least there were some towels in the trunk. Probably a good idea to set those out first, since I'll probably just make another mess…

Thewonderingcanine

Smack dodged deftly to the side again, knowing that at this point in the night his cries of warning fell on deaf ears. Not literally, at least not for the most part, but there was just so much else going on between the music, the conversations, and then of course the drunkenness. The small foxwolf could still feel parts of his fur that were stuck against his skin from when he was standing on the table, and someone knocked their drink over onto him…

But remembering this he slowed his pace and pulled up close to the side of the couch, having to reach up to lean against the skirt. Dripping with premixed keto margarita, there had been no reason to keep his clothes on, so the tiny male had stripped down right then and there, which had naturally led to the owner of the drink picking him up by the scruff, letting him turn and drip in the air, and then lapped as much of the cool alcohol off of him as they could, broad tongue wrapping around his legs, curling between his thighs, pressing across his chest, lifting beneath his chin, and ultimately leaving him panting and shivering with unsatisfied delight.

It was hard being the life of the party when you were barely six inches tall. Smack pushed himself away from the foot of the couch to begin the trek across the room towards the hallway when another shadow fell across him: immediately his instincts kicked into gear and he moved to dodge, looking up and around him everywhere he could think to do so, for the moment not wanting to get pinned to the floor again-

-even though this was exactly what happened, as he was afforded a quick view of the impending bare footpaw before it came down against him, heel pushing into the padding of the carpet, arch and peak coming forward, nudging against his chest, knocking him backwards, pressing the breath out of him once it sandwiched him to the ground. Firm yet soft along the pads, like great, leathery pillows pushing down on top of and around him, the exterior layer somewhat stiff and solid, calloused over a much softer, much warmer core.

The footpaw pressed down on top of him there, just enough to settle the heel somewhere between his knees while the central pad pushed against his chest, wedging more of his breath out of him. Then as quickly as it had dropped did it lighten its grip, forcing him to pull that breath right back in from between flared, fuzzy toes. The scent washed over him, thick and warm, high, a little salty, a little savory, for lack of a better word: it tingled at his nose and back of his throat and made his tail stir underneath him, and the next thing Smack knew he had sighed out just so he could breathe in again.

The footpads were only slightly greasy, too, or perhaps that was just the remnants of saliva and margarita strung throughout his fur. He felt the soft skin smearing back and forth across his body as he breathed and as the owner of the footpaw adjusted his balance. Thick, dangerous claws curled in on either side of his head, the blunted ends poking down at his shoulders as the footpaw clenched, then flexed out again, broad tendons lifting up beneath coarse fur and soft skin, tugging upwards, stretching out.

Caught in place Smack looked up past the footpaw, past the leg to which it was attached – took a brief detour to glance up the open leg of the owner's shorts – then up further. No shirt hid warm golden fur fringed with a deeper orange, puffing up in a small mane around the neck, settled beneath the angled, downturned muzzle, lips curled back in an energetic grin, sharp eyes wide open. The tail swayed back and forth behind them, behind him, showing his delight in his little hunt.

“My, oh my," rumbled the werewolf, now crouching down. Smack grunted at the shift in weight atop him as Monty came closer. “Look what I caught. Not a Smack, but rather, a snack. Isn't that right?"

The small foxwolf wedged his paws into the warm, dank crevices in between his toes, pressing in at the membranes of skin held out between flared digits. Tufts of slightly sweaty fur pressed out against him, coating him again in that thin layer of clinging grease. “Monty – what are you-"

“What's that?" The werewolf made a show of turning his head, perking his ears, and holding a paw up to one. The other clutched a rather vibrant drink, red at the bottom blending to blue at the top. “Did you say something? I can't hear you over the party. Oh well, I'm sure it was nothing. But it might help me hear better…" He wiggled his toes and squeezed them in, squishing against both sides of Smack's muzzle. “…if a tiny friend of mine were to clean my pawpads for me…"

As it usually went when Monty had a few drinks in him, that didn't quite make sense. Smack pressed his paws underneath the toes squeezing in on top of him, felt the werewolf shift his weight again and lift them up, and then looked above him as those pawpads spread out, pink flesh speckled with spots of black like half-cooked pinto beans blocking out the lights from overhead. Again and again those toes wiggled, claws coming dangerously close to his muzzle, brown fur tickling his nose and chin; he squirmed, huffed, grunted, and finally managed to clap one of them in between his paws, small fingers reaching all the way up and around, looping within the fur.

Monty wobbled where he stood, balance slightly upset, and leaned in to take a sip of his drink while watching. He wiggled his toes once more, then held still once he saw Smack leaning in… and then tilted his head back, nostrils flaring in a soft sight, when the tiny foxwolf parted his lips and pressed the flat of his tongue against the underside of that toepad, immediately feeling the salt and warmth simmer out into his maw, scent crystallizing into taste, making his mouth water.

Reflexively he swallowed, wrenched his eyes shut, and dragged his tongue up, saliva smearing off across calloused skin. When he closed his mouth he felt the sweat and presence of Monty's toepad filling his senses, then leaned in again to start all over. A little uncomfortable, he shifted underneath the werewolf's heel, then shivered, sighed, and couldn't help but grind upwards into the space between warm pads again.

At least nobody else could see how much Smack was enjoying this.

SoraCasus

“You still hanging in there alright? It can be a lot at once, and it's really best to stretch it out – pun intended – between several different sessions across a span of weeks…"

“Yeah, I'm – ­ah-" Aeon tilted his head back, shivered again, and couldn't help but let the throbbing pulse pound through his lower abdomen and fully hard shaft, squeezing around the metal rod poking deeper inside of him than he had thought possible. His shoulders bunched up, his eyes wrenched shut, his knees bumped up against the hyena where she knelt between his legs, his toes curled… and the throb, the clench, just went on, and on, and on, like an ignited fuse. It simmered and seared through him, the vulpine actually able to feel the muscles tightening and twitching around the rod where it sat inside of him – until that tension vibrated back out, leaving him panting, shivering, tingling. “-hah… I'm… alright."

“Like I said," Fyra went on, reaching over to flip open the top of the lube again. Aeon swallowed, staring down in half-disbelief at himself: fur of his balls soaked and matted with drying saliva where Fyra had slurped and suckled away at them a few moments earlier, sheath fully plumped, shaft twitching hard against his belly with a few inches of glistening, smooth metal protruding out the end. As she squirted another globule onto her fingerpads he reached down, touched at the metal, shivered at the distant pressure sting, then brushed his own fingers along the underside of his shaft. “It'll probably sting for… two, three days at the most, after this. Pissing is gonna be a fucking bitch, but unless you're, y'know… actively oozing, it's nothing to worry about. But for those two days you won't want to do this ever again."

“I dunno, this is…" It was the strangest thing, running a finger down the underside of his shaft, feeling the soft squish of meat along the bulge of his urethra, and then hidden just beneath the surface, that stiff, rigid line of the rod. Like he knew it shouldn't be there, and yet the knowledge that it was just made it that much more enticing. Again he throbbed; his shaft bounced up away from his body, and the rod slid a half-inch out of the end, pressed up from muscles squeezing down inside of him, only to think sink back down again. “Pretty, uh… hah…"

“I know. Trust me on that, though. We're almost done here, and then I won't be breaking out the rods again for another two weeks." Fyra held his gaze as she plucked the rod by its shaft and lifted it slowly, deliberately up out of him, its progress bringing with it a mixed sense of tingling and relief. The hyena gave him a wink, swapped paws, then smeared the thick, chunky goop back and forth across the length of the metal, the tapered tip angling within Aeon's cock and slipping free. It left him with an odd feeling of simmering heat there, and this time when he throbbed he thought he could pick out a little bit of what she was saying – but then the tip nudged in again, the angle shifted, and she simply released the rod, letting gravity and his natural biology do the work.

Yet again he watched, enraptured, as it just sank down into him, pushing through hypersensitive walls as it went, sending little electric zaps all throughout his system. Before he knew what he was doing he had started grinding his hips forward, balls rolling across the edge of the mattress, sheath pulsing with the swell of his knot from within the supple skin; he rolled his head back again, bunched his shoulders, let a trembling breath out.

“But as we get you more accustomed to it," the hyena went on. She pinched the protruding end of the rod and gave it a slow, gentle twist, yet again igniting a strange, unfamiliar sensation deep inside of her prey: Aeon squirmed, feeling the movement deep inside of him, down within the root of his shaft, past the inside of his sheath, and- “-we can start using the rod, and only the rod. It reaches down to the prostate, you know. It's easier with a silicone one, but those aren't really recommended for beginner use."

“Wh – really?"

“Yeah. It's easy to go too hard, too fast with 'em."

“No, I mean th-"

“Prostate?" Fyra grinned again, her thick, sharp fangs glistening in the low bedroom light. She twisted the rod again, lifted it up, let it drop back down, and then pulsed it between her fingers, tugging up and pushing back down. Aeon's toes curled and his tail flicked; his fingers squeezed on the edge of the mattress, claws pricking into the sheets. She worked slowly and carefully, eyes remaining on his muzzle even as he shuddered and gritted his teeth and twitched, her other paw coming down to loop a forefinger and thumb around his sack and tug his balls down into her paw, squeezing, massaging, rubbing her thumb up at the root of his sheath where he could feel the stiffness of the rod pressing out at the slack within various internals. “Oh, yeah. Big time. I hear it can be even more intense than anal stimulation."

That was something with which the vulpine had some experience. Never all the way there, not quite yet, but he could certainly see the possibility.

But then came the thought of receiving it from both ends, her pseudo buried underneath his tail while another rod pulsed within his shaft…

The hyena's surprisingly gentle voice brought him back to the present, around the space of his own panting moans. “There's some great ribbed ones for that," she was saying, “like anal beads, only for the – y'know. Also ones that vibrate. Can you believe that? I've got a fantastic combination vibrator-stretching red that I like to use on myself…" As she spoke she continued teasing the rod inside of him, poking down just enough that he could feel it inside of him, without any of that uncomfortable tingle simmering through him. And each time she did so, Aeon felt himself tighten up a little bit further, his back arching, his teeth gritted.

“First things first, though," Fyra went on, pretending not to notice, “we'll have to get you used to this one. And then we can start sizing you up."

Aeon's eyes flashed open. Sizing up? Like… He met her gaze again, and swallowed.

Fyra winked again.

Lomidepuzlo

“Are you sure about this?" Marcy asked, looking back over her shoulder again. It just felt a little strange like this, bent over the side of the bed with her elbows pressing into the mattress, legs spread, completely naked. Not that she was unaccustomed to that last part; it was just that doing so indoors somewhat defeated the purpose of the exercise. It was about getting in touch with nature, with feeling the breath of the wind and the warmth of the sun on skin bared to the sky, and – and one of Lolo's paws came forward and squished against her rump, fingers digging into soft, plush skin, spreading her gently, forcing her to pull in a short gasp. “It just feels… a little… weird."

“Well, sure," he said behind her, his breath tickling at her bared thighs. The other paw came up as well and settled along her lower back, fingerpads running smoothly along the line of her spine just beneath velvet skin. Lolo leaned in, turned his head, rested his cheek atop her hip, and nuzzled gently into place there. “Everything's a little bit weird. That's what makes it fun, isn't it? Branching out, stepping out of your boundaries…"

She shivered as he nuzzled in closer, paw tightening on her rump, spreading her further. Warm, damp breath trickled down across sensitive puckered skin. Marcy couldn't help but shiver and clench, then blushed at the realization that she had.

“…trying something new," he went on, now so close that she could feel the sensation of his lips moving. A little uncomfortable, she squirmed where she knelt but kept her legs spread, knowing that if anything this was something that he really wanted to do. So she knew that she would at least go through with it for his sake. “And, hey, you might find out that you like it."

Embarrassment climbing, Marcy dug her fingers into the sheets of the bed and twisted to look over her other shoulder at him. Long blue-furred ears perked and then swung to the sides.

“Are you actually gonna do it," she began, “or are you just gonna keep on-"

Then a new sensation, a new feeling, split her words and turned them into something almost like a soft yelp. Now that was different: eyes halfway lidded, lips parted, Lolo had flopped his tongue out and had simply drawn the flat of it up across her puckered rim, dragging smoothly, softly, sweetly over sensitive, warm skin. Marcy clenched again, felt the chill of the air in the room when he drew away, then tightened once more when he dove right back in – and this time remained there, guiding the tip of his tongue to dance back and forth across her, swirling around at the edges, circling its way in, poking and prodding at the tight center point there.

“Oh," she breathed, shifting her arms to rest her head atop them. “Oh. Okay. I… kinda get it, I…"

It was relaxing as much as it was arousing, feeling his broad, smooth tongue flip and drag back and forth across her, coating her in thick, hungry saliva – which dribbled down and mixed with her own arousal underneath, teased out by the side of his thumb running gently back and forth between velvet lips. Lolo swallowed, gave another flick across her rim, then drew himself up, only long enough to lift his thumb and tease the pad there in at the center, pushing with just enough pressure that her body twitched and responded in turn: pressing softly in he returned his tongue to its position there, dancing back and forth, continuing to coax and push gently in, aiding his thumb as he went.

Meanwhile Marcy rested forward against the mattress and pushed her rump up and out, half-deliberately grinding back against Lolo's muzzle as he worked. There was just something about the sound of his hungry breaths puffing out across her lower back, the muted slurps and sucks and smacks of wet lips wrapped tight along her rim. Occasionally his tongue flicked down just a little bit further and folded up between her own lips, down between her legs; these moments made her twitch and clench again, squeezing hotly around the thumb pressed just barely past the ring of muscle, soft fur and skin pressed back out from inside only for Lolo to dig right back in.

Gradually his thumb came back away, squishing instead into the plump give of her rump, once again spreading her. Marcy arched her back and pushed into the embrace, finally letting herself fully relax and allowing those muscles to tremble and part open, this time allowing Lolo's tongue to curl up briefly inside of her before the rim reflexively squeezed shut again. She felt his lips at the edges of wrinkled skin there, soft yet tight, firm and sensitive – and then bucked back again when he back to suckle at her, chin moving slowly, tongue pushing up, swirling around, drawing back again.

The longer he went, the further he got into it. Damp warmth puffed out across Marcy's lower back, and in between licks and laps he drew in deep, shaky, hungry breaths straight across her arousal, pulling in her scent and her taste both thoroughly slickened with dripping saliva. Thumbs pressed in alongside her rim and stretched her open, so that he could dig his tongue across the puckered center, curl it briefly into her, and then pull out, again and again and again. Lips smushed in against overlapping wrinkles of sensitive skin, each tensing, clenching, then pushing out again, Marcy's head resting sideways on her arms, mouth open, eyes closed, unaware that she had started drooling out across the sheets.

It wasn't until Lolo pulled all the way back, panting, that she realized how deeply she had fallen into the sensation, and how much she missed it now that it was gone. A little dazed, she lifted her head, looked back over her shoulder, and blinked at him; he grinned, licked his lips, and wiped the back of his wrist across fur matted and smeared with drool.

“See?" he said, then swallowed again. Even from here Marcy could see his own enjoyment throbbing fully hard between his legs. “Not so bad, right?"

Panting a little bit herself, she nodded. “Yeah," she said, and rested her head back on her arms. “Yeah, it's… could you…"

“Keep going?"

“Keep going."

Peegus

Kopa sat back with his arms resting behind his head, eyes halfway closed, mouth halfway open. Occasionally every muscle in his body tensed up, sizzled for a moment, and then relaxed back out, one footpaw hanging off the side of the alcove and kicking in rhythm; he swallowed through that opened mouth, took in a breath through flared nostrils, and sighed again, finally managing to focus his unsteady gaze forward and down-

-at the serval busying herself between his spread legs, her lithe body stretched out across the makeshift pallet up here nestled into a forgotten corner of the great library, one paw draped around Kopa's leg while the other rocked gently between her own, her tail lashing out at the window beside them. She swallowed as well, took in another slow, careful breath, and nudged her nose right into the warm, somewhat damp spot between sheath and sack, fingers coming in to cup the leopard's balls up against her lips, breath tickling gently across sensitive fur there – and Kopa couldn't help but tighten all over again, his toes curling and his sheath giving a little throb.

Mo had long since worked him up, hard shaft resting against his belly, continually leaking into the growing puddle of sticky warmth there along his midriff. He reached down, ran a thumbpad through it, stretched the sticky strands between his fingers, lapped off some of the rich, musky taste – then met her eyes, and reached down to offer the same to her. The serval purred as she lifted up and obliged, tail giving another flick, and then immediately resumed her work, now running her lips down across the tender, soft barbs ringing his length.

He sighed out again, this time giving a slight nudge up against her. Breath puffed against the rim of his sheath; her tongue flicked out, caught the rim, slid back in; her fingers tightened around his sack. She held his eyes, smiled around his length, and then dug her muzzle right back in, shoveling into the warm, humid spaces there, digging herself back and forth into place, all the while continuing to work at herself with that other paw, hips grinding, ears flicking, eyes starting to flutter and roll back.

Kopa smirked, reached down, and cupped one of her ears in his paw, rubbing into the sensitive spot just behind the base. “Really enjoying yourself down there, aren't you?"

It was like his words snapped her out of some reverie. When her eyes next opened they did so quickly and suddenly, as though she had just awoken: she looked up at him, focused on him, and then just as swiftly glanced away, though her nose and lips remained fixed at the root of his sheath, breath puffing quick and hard. Barely, just barely, she turned her head and muttered something.

Kopa leaned in a little closer. “What was that?"

Mo risked another glance up at him, her ears starting to tint with the growing blush. “Shut up."

“Hmm?" He flicked an ear. “I didn't quite catch that. Could you be a little more-"

“I said," and this time when she spoke she opened her mouth wide enough that he could see her sharp, white needle teeth, the pink pillow of her tongue. One thumb fit easily into the far corner of her mouth, wedging her jaw open, while the other slid down from behind her ear to grip the back of her neck and hoist her up. Eyes widened as Kopa swiftly readjusted, first sitting up a bit, now moving that paw down to his own length to give himself a few quick strokes, then slip his sheath back further, then rest his shaft atop her revealed tongue-

-and then he closed her maw around him, shifted a little bit more, doubled over her head, and forcibly thrust himself forward until each came to their proper, desired place, him feeling her throat reflexively clench and squeeze around his hard shaft, her with her nose pressing into the small puff of pubic fur. Mo squirmed and strained for a moment, trying to breathe around him; Kopa groaned with the delight, deliberately throbbed in place, and started to draw himself back, relishing the sparkling sensation of his barbs dragging back across her sandpaper tongue and between her lips, then thrust back in again.

And again, and again, each time with the serval's entire body tensing up and squeezing against him, her breath coming either as quick little huffs or as half-suppressed moans around him. The motion was halfway him thrusting forward, and then him pulling her head back down into his lap, his legs folding around her: she had wrenched her eyes shut and now breathed in what small windows were offered to her, one paw tightly gripping his thigh while the other now worked even quicker, even more urgently, between her own legs, eager wetness beginning to soak through the material of her pants.

She squirmed to the side to give herself easier access, then managed to roll completely over onto her back. Again Kopa took advantage of this, readjusting so that he knelt fully over her, legs spread, footpaws braced against the wall behind him… thumbs sliding out across her bared throat, fingers holding her head in place as he pounded forward, now able to visibly see himself press down into her throat, flesh and fur shifting, tightening, molding around to make space for him as he thrust in again and again. Beneath the sound of his own panting he listened to her gulps and gags, the little splutters and half-controlled coughs, each one coming with another sleek tightening of meat and muscles around his buried length; he kept an eye on her to make sure she was still enjoying herself, saw the swift movement of the elbow and swinging of the tail, rolled his head back, let his jaw draw open, felt the heat start to simmer up from inside.

His thumbs drifted up to her chin, lifting her jaw, holding her in place there. Kopa shivered, tightened, bore down, and just barely managed to suppress his own string of hungry, breathy moans when his peak finally hit him, rocketing down through his body and into her – and with him pounding forward so that he could see himself in her throat, so that her mouth parted against his loins, with each spurt shooting through him, Mo wouldn't even have to swallow. Her chest heaved with small, barely-allowed breaths throughout, the leopard's hard shaft throbbing within her throat, thick ropes emptying straight down into her; her knees knocked together, fell apart, bumped in again, and when she drew her paw back out, her pads dripped with thick, indulgent wetness.

Slowly, finally, Kopa pulled himself back – and Mo flung herself upright, coughing, sputtering, wiping at her mouth. She swallowed, suppressed a small belch, swallowed again, and glared at him, though no true anger burned behind that look. Kopa wiped at his mouth, too. He had drooled a little bit.

“So, what were you saying?"