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lomidepuzlo

Rachel puffed her way up the flight of stairs, at once loving the sensation of the cool air brushing across the entirety of her nude body, and hating the actual act itself. A place of this size, the caribou thought as she looked down over the banister, and you couldn’t just spread it out across one floor? It had to be on two? Who in the world actually likes stairs?

When she reached the top she paused there, bent halfway over, and braced her hands on her knees to catch her breath… and deliberately hung her protruding hind end back over the stairs themselves, her small cotton-puff tail raised. Mira had been right in that regard, though: there was just something about moving around the halls of the house naked. Even though there was only the two of them at home right now, the only two who could possibly see them – other than when they passed in front of one of the windows, of course – it still felt nice, invigorating, daring to just let loose and enjoy it.

And speaking of letting loose…

The tingle in Rachel’s legs from tackling the stairs had now crept up into her loins, and simmered there behind her belly. She straightened up, swallowed, took a breath, felt that warmth blossom out like an inflating balloon, and dropped a hand down to partially cover itself. Bathrooms, she thought, surely there’s bathrooms? First she looked one way, and then the other, and then picked a direction and went with it.

It wasn’t like they were playing hide-and-seek, really, but still she had seen hardly hide nor hair of Mira – and when she did see her, it was barely hide or hair. Perhaps a flick of the tail around a corner, or a flash of smooth, silky-soft skin glistening in the sunlight… or a glimpse at sweet, succulent puckered skin nestled underneath the base of that tail, as Mira crouched down in the hallway to inspect something on the floor. There was just something so fun about wandering around naked, knowing that they might be watched, knowing who was doing the watching, but not knowing exactly when, or how.

Rachel turned the corner, tracing a hand out across the wall, and tilted her head. She didn’t recognize this part of the house; usually when she came over, her visits remained limited to the ground floor. She looked back and forth as she walked, hooves clacking quietly across the lacquered wood floor. Up here the doors stood mostly closed, and creaked open on old hinges when she pushed against them: inside there was furniture, dusty and forgotten, some covered with the classic plastic sheet, others standing free.

A shaft of light caught her eye. Rachel paused, leaned back to peer into the room she had just passed, glanced back over her shoulder again – she thought she had heard the huff and puff of someone else attacking the stairs, but it was gone now – and then sidled into the room. Inside it was dim but not too dusty, with a smudged window looking out across the side lot of the house, and affording a spectacular view – of the house next door.

Makes sense for why this one isn’t visited that much, the caribou thought, and ran a finger through the coating of dust along the sill. Maybe cover it with some gauzy blinds, get the light but not the view… oh, and it’d be nice to put a desk into that corner over there… is this northern exposure? Maybe some plants here, and, oh, a rug right here in the middle, square but set skew with the walls, and…

_ _

And there was that tingle again, the familiar pressure squeezing from inside, raising goosebumps along her shoulders, sending a cool shiver vibrating up her back and down her tail. Again her hands reflexively went down between her legs, and her knees bent inwards; the caribou gasped, swallowed, looked over her shoulder again, crept towards the door, and paused there. She listened… and listened… thought she heard a footstep down the hall… but then silence afterwards, and figured it was likely just the house shifting in the wind.

She doesn’t come here much anyway… the caribou began to think. The idea had already taken root down in the depths of her mind; slowly she stepped back into the center of the room, thought better of it, moved in towards one corner… glanced aside, and went to the corner facing the window instead. Excitement, anticipation, nervousness thrummed within her. I’m sure Mira wouldn’t mind, or maybe even notice, if… and the caribou looked over her shoulder once more before she dropped down into a squat. Her tail reflexively lifted; she spread her legs out, she dropped a hand down between her thighs, ran her fingers across the soft, supple lips of her sex, and spread herself.

If I…

Then another second… and the trickle began slowly at first, then quickly strengthened into a full stream as she began to empty herself out. The relief poured through her just as her piss poured into the corner, cutting through the layers of dust, gathering into a glittering puddle atop the wooden floor. Rachel tilted her head back and sighed with the sensation, the warmth of the relief diffusing out through her legs, blending with the excitement of doing something so dirty, so improper. When she pushed and squeezed, her stream jumped to arc out across the wall, staining the old paint there; she rotated herself to the side, replacing it instead with her own paint, then aimed down again…

…and with her back to the door, had no idea that she was being watched. Mira peeked in around the corner, eyes wide, mouth hanging open: from here she could see the caribou’s tailhole twitching with the effort of her release, the puddle of her mark gradually spreading out between her hooves, trickling in towards the spaces in between the boards. Even from here Mira could hear the splash and patter, Rachel’s forceful stream spraying out into the puddle, spattering up against the nearby wall, trickling down across the slightly slanted floor.

Mira’s hand dropped down a little bit, brushed across herself, pressed into soft, slightly wet flesh – sent a sweet, indulgent shiver through her loins.

If she’s doing it here, then certainly she wouldn’t mind an audience…

_ _

Thewonderingcanine

Smack wriggled a little bit where he lay on his back, one arm shoved up underneath the pillow, muzzle turned slightly to the side, eyes shut, mouth open. The slow, soft breaths puffed out of him in rhythm with the movements of his body, lurching gently up across the mattress and then back down, again and again. The foxwolf’s toes curled; his tail shifted underneath him; one of his legs kicked, then moved to wrap around the firm warmth of the other male before him.

“Is that okay?”

“Mhmm,” Smack breathed, and nodded. He halfway opened his eyes, blinked, tried to refocus his vision, and looked down at the werewolf there, Monty’s paws gripping his waist for leverage as he continued his thrusting. Bright, warm eyes glittered up at Smack: the lupine flashed a grin, exertion and indulgence and sweet, intimate pleasure all radiating out from him, as he pressed deep beneath the foxwolf’s tail again.

Smack couldn’t help but gasp and arch his back with that feeling, Monty’s girth sinking deliciously up inside of him, squeezing out at him from within, pushing and poking at what felt like every single nerve wrapped within him. Again his toes curled, and he tossed his head to the other side, and his breath shivered out in a sweet, shaky moan.

“Oh, man…” he sighed, then deliberately clenched around his partner. Monty gritted his teeth, and he grunted. “That’s… that’s good…”

“Yeah?” The a little shift from the werewolf, hips hitching up against Smack’s rump, paws sliding up his sides to elevate him a bit. “What if I were to do – this, then, and…”

And somehow he sank even deeper, forcing the foxwolf to curl his tail and arch his back, head craning back, muzzle again pushing to the side, mouth falling open to let out another moan. “You’re… gonna make me…”

“Mhmm?”

“Mon_ty_…”

“Yeah?”

Smack pushed his paws down his own chest, fingers running through short, thick fur, across the lines of his ribs underneath, then his smooth belly, then the puff of his pubic fur, his plump sheath, his balls draping down around his partner’s buried length. He felt and loved the slow, steady push and tug of Monty’s rhythm, the werewolf burying himself to the base inside of him, holding there, and then drawing back again; he did so now in an easy rhythm, shifting one paw up from the foxwolf’s hip to brace it against the mattress underneath him, and leaned in to bring his muzzle close.

Feeling the lupine’s closeness, again he opened his eyes, turned his head… brushed his nose to Monty’s. Smack squeezed around his shaft again, letting his own leap up away from his belly, then lower back down. One arm slid easily up around Monty’s shoulders, then caressed the back of his neck; the other hooked around his own sheath, wrapped along his length, squeezed, stroked slowly. Monty felt the foxwolf’s clenches and throbs and adjusted in turn, pushing in a little bit quicker, a little bit harder.

“Like that?”

“Uh huh…”

Smack’s whiskers tickled with Monty’s breath, puffing out across him, warm and soft and familiar. He felt as though he were floating through the haze of sweet, rich pleasure and deep warmth, nerves tingling inside of him with each thrust forward and each stroke. Again he arched his back, felt his chest press against Monty’s, held there, felt the werewolf’s heartbeat pounding through – and couldn’t help but bring his paw up to the back of his head, to tilt his muzzle down to his own and meet him in a kiss.

Monty rumbled with delight, his breath again tickling out across Smack’s muzzle, and tilted the other way to lock himself deeper. Lips brushed across lips, met, and locked; there was a little bit of suction at first, which then blossomed into fuller, bright wet heat, as those lips parted open and first Monty’s tongue pushed out and into Smack’s mouth; then the kiss opened up entirely as Smack did the same. He dropped his jaw, released his lips, and turned his head further, swirling his tongue around Monty’s, wrapping his lips instead around the lupine’s tongue, drawing it further into his mouth, suckling at it, swallowing around it.

And Monty continued as well, pushing deeper into his muzzle, the pace of his thrusts picking up in turn as well. The arm near Smack’s head pressed even more firmly into the mattress so that the werewolf could find a more suitable position for his movements, his other paw sliding down, settling against the foxwolf’s plush rump, lifting him more fully up into his lap.

Amid the kiss Monty’s breath picked up, faster, harder, until each exhalation puffed out with another shuddering moan. Smack drew in his partner’s breath, warm and humid; it tickled within his own mouth, his throat, his lungs, and then simmered again out his nostrils, the foxwolf still eagerly sucking at Monty’s tongue, swallowing down his pleasure.

With the werewolf now leaning fully over him, hips pistoning away at his rump, he focused both of his paws down between his legs. One scooped his balls up and out of the way so that Monty could thrust even more urgently, and the other resumed its stroking, fast and hard; soon he couldn’t tell if he was drawing his own breath or breathing Monty’s, with both gasps and moans shivering out into the air between them above the squeaking of the mattress.

Then suddenly the werewolf shuddered, nipped at Smack’s lip, and pushed himself upright. A strand of drool flung off from between their mouths, broke in the air, plopped across Smack’s cheek; the foxwolf reached over with his tongue to lap it off, arched his back again, squeezed his legs around Monty’s body and his tailhole around his cock, and-

-lurched, and bounced, and jerked, and lurched again with the werewolf’s forceful, energetic thrusts. Smack could feel Monty finishing inside of him, his already impressive girth swelling, throbbing further as he unloaded inside, spurt after spurt pounding deep.

This would not be the last for the night. Heart pounding, Smack rested his head back again and slowed in his stroking. He could save himself for the second round, which would certainly come later – as Monty hadn’t tied him this time.

Still panting, the werewolf leaned down and brushed his nuzzle across Smack’s. “Still good?”

Smack nuzzled back. “The best.”

SoraCasus

Pippin stepped carefully down the shallow steps hewn into the natural stone of the cavern, the way lit by thick candles already prepared and lit for her visit. This was one of the benefits of being in a position such as hers, not only the ability but also the expectation to arrange appointments like this: the lovebird looked out through the damp, dank cave, the air thick and heavy with the steam of the natural hot spring welling up through the distant spaces, the slightly sulfuric bite lightened with the addition of oils and essences and flowers.

She held her towel snug around her body as she walked, the soft material looped beneath both arms, holding flat against her chest – but still there was the little tingle of knowing she was naked underneath, that she could whip it free at any time and close the remaining distance to her spa with her feathers free to the air. Not that there was anyone around to see her, and even if there was, the dimness of the caves combined with the haze in the air would make it a bit more difficult, but…

But still Pippin worked one hand into the fold of her towel, to run her fingers across her feathers still slightly damp from her workday. Spend most of nearly every day bound up in the oiled leathers and greased plate of the city guard armor, and suddenly being outside of that armor made her feel even more naked than she had been to start with, and that… there was just something to that.

On her way down the stairs to the final platform before the spa, a smooth, somewhat deep bowl carved into the stone from which the spring naturally bubbled, the lovebird glanced back over her shoulders again. The heavy wood door leading to the rest of the bathhouse hall had indeed closed behind her, but even from here she could see silhouettes passing by across the light coming in from outside. But for now it was just herself, and nobody else, and – she slid her claws beneath the fold of fabric, tugged it free, and then let it whisper to the ground by her feet, then finally stepped forward and out.

The air tickled at her throat as she inhaled, and she spread her arms out at her sides. Long, winglike feathers splayed out, dancing lightly in the low draft that fluttered through the cave; Pippin held herself there for a moment, letting herself be naked, letting herself enjoy the sensation, and found that the longer she did so, the more that awareness grew. It sparkled and tingled inside of her, the idea of being free and vulnerable like this.

A little warmer than when she had first dropped the towel, she blinked, swallowed, and looked down into the bath, the surface of the water slick with small foamy bubbles. Then another step, and another… and the sweet, silken heat spread up across her talons, then her ankles, her shins… her knees, her waist… and Pippin settled down along the side, arms draped over the side of the stone while she let herself acclimate to the heat.

The lovebird lay back with her eyes closed, beak hanging partially open. The natural currents within the spring water trickled across her body, pushing softly between and beneath her feathers, across the tender skin underneath. Often she found that the constant pressure and chafing of the guard armor made her extra sensitive, and even halfway submerged as she was, she felt the sweet little shivers start to vibrate along the rest of her body, the warm chills and sweet, indulgent relief, and… that deeper, thicker pleasure welling up from inside, tingling within her abdomen, spreading out a bit.

Pippin opened her eyes, blinked against the fog, and looked around one more time. She slipped one arm beneath the surface of the bubbling water with barely a splash, felt the oils and salts sleeve themselves around her, then slid in towards her leg, her thigh, a little bit further up… a little bit down, a little bit in. The first brush of a finger against herself felt magnified by the sensation of the water around her, tender supple flesh tingling with the touch; she swallowed and sighed again, then slid up between soft lips, pushed down again, nestled herself down in between.

It was so hard to find time for herself between her duties to the city and the exhaustion afterwards. Even now that weight hung down about her shoulders, nearly pulling her deeper into the water; Pippin spread her legs further apart along the stone shelf, the smooth surface flattening her tailfeathers where she sat.

Another sweet sigh shivered from her parted lips, and now she pressed both fingers in to the first knuckle, held there, slid back out, pressed in again, held… slit out, ran up between soft folds of flesh to the nub of her clit, teased there. It wasn’t that she had any one person or idea in mind that captivated her fantasy: instead it was more the sensation and familiarity of her own body, the impressions and tingles and other such sparkles that each touch sent vibrating through her.

Gradually she sank further into the water, other hand now coming down as well to rest along her inner thigh, legs spread out. Eyes half-lidded, Pippin looked down to watch as she fingered herself, the image dancing and twisting through the surface of the water; all she could smell was the slightly sour touch of the spring itself leavened by the other additives, all coming together to in a way enhance the warmth that sizzled sweetly through the fog of her mind. She bucked and came forward, legs clamping around her arm, then trembled back again; her breath picked up, hitched in her throat, puffed out again like one of the wafts of steam over the spa – and when she drew her fingers back she could see the shimmering trace of herself fizzle out through the water, mixing with the other oils already there.

It just felt so nice…

But then, a long day required a long relaxation session afterwards. Pippin shifted again, brought her hands in, tilted her head back… sighed out again. I’m gonna be here for a while, she thought, and rolled her head along her shoulder. I deserve it.

Peegus

“How is this… so much easier for you than… for me?”

Kopa rolled his head forward when he heard her voice, the leopard’s ears splayed to the sides, his whiskers relaxed, his chest heaving in slow but steady breaths. He couldn’t help but rock his body forward and back in rhythm with those breaths, footpaws bracing on either side of her body in front of him: they lounged back in the little library alcove by the window, far above the public floor, thankfully out of sight, each on their back with rump pressed up against rump.

His balls rested across the heat of her arousal each time he pushed himself against her, the smooth, slick toy buried deep inside both felines at the same time. When he pushed he could feel it press back out of him and into Mo here against him, the rim of his stretched tailhole puckering out, pushing, pressing against hers – and then she would gasp, shiver against him, tighten her legs around his lower body, and reciprocate the push. And that was a hell of a feeling, having her pucker kiss up against his own, the slickness of the thin lubricant dripping between them, soaking into his fur beneath the base of his tail, rolling off to the side where it would surely stain the bare wood up here.

“I’ve… had some practice,” he managed between gritted teeth. Slowly, carefully, the leopard lowered himself back down to his elbows. It was a strange position and a stranger angle like this, lying back with one leg underneath one of hers and the other over her other, each grinding against each other, rear to rear, tails curled about one another at the base; Kopa took in a breath, lifted up, pushed himself down against her – and yet again felt the toy slip an inch or two of him, and an inch or two into her.

Mo groaned, the serval’s ears flicking back, and then let out a low, shivering sigh. She rolled her shoulders back, flicked her tongue out across her lips, straightened up again, and took a moment to reposition herself against the other feline. Kopa had no idea where she had found something like this, the semi-malleable, double-ended device being just thick enough for each of their preferences, the small vial of slightly cloudy juice – he didn’t know what else to call it – aiding the insertion, and the holding, and the overall sensation once it was inside.

He had come to her library after his assigned hours as usual, and climbed up here to give her the traditional greetings: a warm smile, a peck on the forehead, the cheek, the lips, the shoulder, the curve of the breast, the center of the chest, then trailing further down. She had sat back and spread her legs, and within minutes had rolled her head to the side and squeezed her thighs around his head, panting, squirming, wriggling – and then abruptly pulled him away. And then he was the one to find his back up against the wall, eager paws working at his clothing.

“I got something today,” she had purred, breath tickling in his ear. The way she had said it immediately ignited that so-familiar fire within the leopard’s loins, the excitement mixed with anticipation. “Close your eyes…” and so he had, then felt her reposition him, pushing him back, tugging his lower body forward, spreading his legs…

…then one paw, then both had begun working at him, and he had moaned and sighed and squirmed as she rubbed his sheath, massaged his sack. Then one paw slid away – and returned again, fingers slick with saliva… teasing around his tailhole, following the little lines of the wrinkles, poking at the center, sinking slowly, carefully in. First one, then a second, and then a third, and Mo had turned her paw to tug at him from inside, and he couldn’t help but curl his knees up towards his chest with that feeling, his eyes shut and his mouth open.

But then the fingers had drawn back as well. Eyes still closed, Kopa hadn’t known what was going on, and then was even more confused when he felt her push up against him like this. Mo had taken a good minute and a half to find a comfortable spot, her body slightly angled so that her tailhole pressed against his – and that was a feeling that he would consciously remember for countless nights to come – and then had slid back, lined up the toy, and eased it into him.

It had taken some work and some back-and-forth, literally, but now it held perfectly between the two of them, halfway inside of her and halfway inside of him. Kopa wriggled again, drawing his paws beneath his lifted legs, curling forward a bit: where he lay he could see the flash of the material in between them, just a small portion of it visible among slick skin, wet flesh, matted fur. The textured surface caught and reflected the light from the nearby window as Kopa pushed, his hard shaft twitching along his belly, his tailhole pursing outwards again, nudging against Mo’s, squeezing the thing further up inside of her.

“Would – you-” And she gasped and squirmed again, then returned the push. Silken lips blossomed as the muscles tensed and tightened, inner walls pushing outwards, swelling with the extra effort; Kopa let her press back against him, maintaining that tension, and then relaxed – and jerked as the toy sank another half-inch, a full inch, a second, a third deeper inside of him, now wet and warmed from her body.

He licked his lips, swallowed, and grinded his rump against hers. The sensation of the toy holding still between them made both of them gasp and sigh.

“Y-yeah,” Kopa managed, and then clenched around it. His tailhole dragged across hers; she did the same as well, then pushed again. “You mean – like-”

Then another quick push, instantly reciprocated. The toy sank deeper inside of him; he caught it along his muscles, rolled his head back, and squeezed it back into her, only for her to do the same all over again.

“Oh…” the leopard breathed, and lifted himself up against her. “Oh, I see, you… want to…” He glanced between his legs and met Mo’s eyes. The serval’s ears swished back, then flicked forward again; she blinked, wet her lips, swallowed, and shifted in preparation for another deep push.

Kopa tightened his arms around his lifted legs and slid his rear against hers in eager preparation. This could, he hoped, go on for quite a while.