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Thewonderingcanine - March

Smack had covered his ears even before the train roared into the station, anticipating the awful noise not from experience, but rather from his proximity to the vibrations themselves: it was terrible to start with, and then became even worse for someone of his stature barely a couple of inches above the ground. Conversations tended to magnify and reflect as well, bouncing off the concrete ground of the station so that the tiny foxwolf heard them twice, somewhat – and just his luck, no companies had yet produced a pair of headphones roughly sized for the average person’s thumb.

He nearly lost his balance standing still when the train finally arrived, earthquakes unnoticed by the general public shocking through the platform where he had to stand to have any hope of making it on. His other, normally-sized friends often complained about the bustle of commuting into the city, the stress and strain of trying to not only catch the train on time, but also to find a spot within the car itself; Smack kept his mouth shut to all of this, knowing that they would never understand the daily risk, and common occurrence, of getting trampled by some inattentive stranger who would inevitably carry him further away from his destination than when he had begun. Six inches tall to six feet tall; what was hardly a five minute walk for them could often take upwards of an hour for Smack.

There on the platform, entire world shaking around him from the pumping of the engine and pounding of footpaws, the small foxwolf took a half-step back, paused, pulled in a breath, let it back out… and then pushed himself off towards the edge, using the little ridged bumps along the surface to help spring forward. Both tiny footpaws braced on the rim, and with a powerful push he launched himself up into the air to cross the distance from the platform to the train itself. The first several times he had tried this had resulted in him either only halfway making it or missing completely, terrifying experiences in their own rights, but today when he tumbled his way into the train car-

-he missed his landing and rolled head over heels towards the occupied seat facing the door, and then both his balance as well as his awareness of up from down disappeared under the swirling mess of moving bodies. Or, rather, footpaws, both shoed and bare – and a few hooved, even, making him grimace every time one clacked down so close that he could feel the reverberations through the floor of the train.

Scuffed, dirty, and dusty, the tiny foxwolf managed to roll over onto his rump and sit upright, though still he remained sitting while his head cleared and his balance settled. He reached up, wiped some of the dirt from his fur, wobbled where he sat, then reached back behind himself for support and managed to stand up.

That’s step one done, he thought, looking around the car. Packed to someone of a regular size, it seemed like a treacherous forest to the diminutive like himself, except each and every one of the trees was bound to unpredictably uproot itself and then slam down somewhere else – especially when the train kicked into motion again, launching all of that mass slightly backwards, then forwards again.

The small foxwolf couldn’t help but tumble along with the momentum, arms flailing, legs skittering underneath him. He bumped against someone’s shoe, uttered an apology that he knew would never be heard, then pitched forward, ran face-first into a furry ankle, then stumbled sideways again. It was just his luck, then, that someone leaning against the pole for support decided at that moment to shift their posture, lifted their footpaw, scooted forward, then dropped it back down…

…and pressed Smack flat again, squeezing him between cool, textured rubber floor and warm, dusty pawpad. The stiff squish of developed callouses rubbed easily across his pelt already greasy from his tumble into the car, spreading more of that dirt around, rubbing it in, squishing the breath out of his chest; the foxwolf wriggled, worked one arm free, managed the other a moment later, and with small fingers wrapping around the joint of one of the toes, found a space for his head in between.

Desperate, he sucked in a long, heavy breath, then coughed it right back out. The same dirt and dust from before now laced with a high, dry acridity, slightly sour-sweet, swirled around his head, filling his senses. Try as he might to worm his way free from beneath the stranger’s footpaw – far, far up overhead, past the admittedly flattering view offered from peering up the leg of their pants, they chattered away on a phone call with their muzzle pointed towards the scenery passing by.

Thick, blunted claws scratched against the train floor on either side of his head, the stiff keratin scratched and pitted in lines visible at his scale. Little tufts of thicker, greasier fur jutted out where the pad underneath met the rest of each of the toes, the soft pink skin in that area squishing together as the stranger swung their weight gently back and forth, back and forth, never once noticing that this extra pressure practically drove Smack’s breathing – and that he was breathing nothing other than the gentle scent wafting off of them.

The more he worked at freeing himself, the less headway he discovered he was making. His paws became slick with a thin coating of sweat and natural grease, and before long he barely had the breath to do anything – so it was a surprise when the train lurched to a stop and the doors hissed open again at the next platform. The stranger shifted, turned halfway to face the opened door, thankfully took some of their weight off of the foxwolf trapped underfoot, and finally Smack’s heart leapt at seeing them take one step to leave.

Then, though, it dropped right back again when they lifted the footpaw trapping him down here, and he rose with it, stuck into the crevices between the toes and the little valleys along the pads themselves. The world swung and spun around him again, and again, the breath forced out of him once more each time they took another step. Eventually he resorted to keeping his arms wrapped around the huge toes squishing on either side of muzzle, hoping that eventually they would take him right back to the station here.

Not the first time this week… he thought with a grumble, and probably not gonna be the last, either.

_ _

Lomidepuzlo - March

Lomi shifted where he knelt along the floor, one arm resting along the foot of the bed with the other looped around the hare’s leg. Above him Rhapsody squirmed again, settling more fully into her posture: she leaned far back, keeping herself propped up on her elbows, while both of her legs hung off the edge of the mattress. Some of her weight braced against Lomi’s shoulder there, as he had tugged her down a little bit further than he usually did to get at his desired target.

And the extra effort had certainly been worth it. Even now, his lips pursed against the pucker of her tailhole, he could feel the arousal simmering through her body, little shivers and clenches and twitches tugging in on his lips just before she coaxed herself into pushing back out again. Every now and then her fingers, working smoothly, softly away between arousal-slickened lips just above, brushed down against his muzzle; each breath carried the rich, intoxicating scent of her, dripping down throughout his short, thick fur, occasionally smearing across his mouth when he drew back to catch a breath.

“That good?” he rumbled in one of these spaces. He slid his thumbs in towards the center of her pucker, already thoroughly slickened from his dutiful attention; the overlapping wrinkles of supple skin twitched again, pulling briefly inward, then tugged back out to show glistening, luscious reddish-pink just inside. Unable to help himself, Lomi dove right back in to swirl his tongue into that spot, pushing right past the gentle tension of the rim. He focused there for a moment and then pulled back again, a thin strand of saliva hanging between his mouth and her rump. “Keep on going?”

“Uh huh,” the hare panted. She didn’t even look at him: muzzle hanging off to the side a bit, her other arm rested across her belly as she dug her fingers in against herself, spreading between her lips, plunging up to the knuckle, coming back again. Upon Lomi drawing back she lifted her head and blinked blearily, redirecting her focus to the little nub of her clit nestled in between. “Keep going…”

Lomi eyed that spot for a while, his lips still nestled up around her tailhole but holding still, able to feel the tender little wrinkles as she twitched, and clenched, and shivered, and trembled. Then he swallowed again, licked his lips – and her rim, naturally – and resumed his work, folding his paws more fully around her thighs to tug the hare in against him. Her cotton-ball tail twitched along his neck, tickling the saliva-soaked fur of his chin; he drew the flat of his tongue up over that sensitive spot, slipped a thumb into his mouth, poked in at the center, wriggled in past the squeezing muscle… suckled gently when she reflexively tightened around him.

The longer he went, the closer she came – and he could feel it, too. His own arousal twitching between his legs, Lomi still focused wholly along Rhapsody instead, paying attention to her noises and movements to guide himself. A swirl around the very fringes of her rim brought out this reaction, while poking his tongue in until he pressed through the tight ring and into slick, succulent interior meat made her do that instead; when he sank his thumb in to the knuckle she would shiver, squeeze, and then relax again, but when he dragged the flat of his tongue up across the entirety of her tailhole, she moaned and pushed out against him, rim parting open.

The hare’s upper body fell back against the mattress, then, as she slid her other arm out from underneath herself. Fingers still rubbing at her clit, now she reached down to spread herself with the other, two fingers occasionally plunging in, slurping within the slick, wet walls, then drawing back out; she panted, swallowed, moaned again, braced her footpaws on the foot of the bed, pushed down against Lomi’s muzzle and tightened again.

“Ah – hah-” she groaned. Her leg hooked over his shoulder kicked, then squeezed down to pull him in. “Lomi, I – ah-”

And he couldn’t help but grin. Thumb still buried dip, pushing out at her inner walls, he sucked and slurped at her once more, gladly drawing free the thick coating of drool that he had smeared across her skin, then pulled away, swallowed again – his throat felt slick – and changed his focus. Both of her paws jostled fervently between her legs, fingers digging, swirling, sliding; Lomi coaxed one away beneath her exerted panting, ran his nose along the other, then finally sealed his lips around her clit, suckled there, dropped his jaw, curled his tongue forward, and dragged through the velvety-soft flesh wet with peaking arousal, and-

-then jerked just as Rhapsody did, her moan peaking into a breathy sigh, high and tight. Her hips thrust, then bucked, then thrust again – and Lomi’s cheeks ballooned out with the sudden powerful spray, hot and rich and sharp, that jetted out into his mouth. Delight spearing through him, he hooked his arms beneath her thighs to yank her in against his spread lips, halfway swallowing the flood while the other half squirted out from the corners of his mouth, right in the wake of the next jerking spray to rush out of her. Each squirt came alongside a trembling, breathless moan from the hare, her toes curling, her legs kicking, her fingers clawing at the sheets through the force of her orgasm.

The warmth flowed down his throat as he swallowed, or rather, drank her peak; two fingers pressed up inside of her, Lomi slurped at the flow as it came, freely letting it dribble from his lips and soak through the fur of his chin, staining the bedsheets, flowing down to the carpet below. Slightly salty, musky enough to tickle the back of his throat and nose, weighty enough to pucker his lips, he closed his eyes, enjoyed the sensation, drew his tongue back and forth over where the spray continued to jet out of her, and followed it in until it finally dribbled down… then, slowly, coursed back to a fuller stream, more trailing out into his maw instead of blasting in the short, intense squirts.

Above him Rhapsody sighed, one of her paws dropping down to caress between his ears, and by the time the stream dwindled as well she had released him again. “Sorry,” she panted, an exhausted smile on her face. “I just – had to, and…”

“No need to apologize,” Lomi rumbled in response. He wiped some of the drips off his mouth. “I was hoping you’d do that.”

“I thought so. Y’know, I’d bet I could do that again, if you’ve got another ten minutes…”

“Ten?” He smirked, then nuzzled down to suckle along her clit again. The hare gasped. “Bet I can do it in three.”

SoraCasus – April

Aeon had to pause beside the next rack of clothing, one paw grasping at the metal bar while the other struggled with the phone against his ear. He felt as though he had just run half a mile, when in reality all he had done was step out of his car, cross the mall to the bathroom, slip in there for a few minutes, and then walk all the way back across and up the escalator to this specific clothing store, around which he had wandered for the past – briefly he checked the time – seven minutes.

And yet it felt like so much longer. The hyena-fox wet his lips, swallowed, and made a show of pawing through the fits on display, when in reality he saw none of these. The warm, smooth voice in his ear buzzed…

“How’s that feel?”

…as did the vibrator nestled beneath his tail, the sleek silicone nestling firmly, comfortably into place inside of him after a quick once-over with his tongue in the bathroom. It had vibrated when he had turned it on and pressed it in, and then a quick text conversation leading to a call me from Fyra back at home had led to him sitting there on the toilet angled precariously forward, tail hiked around the constant presence as the hyena across the line spoke to him – and then suddenly kicked the remote control into action.

At first it had been manageable and downright pleasant, something more like a faint suggestion of a massage than anything else. Aeon had had no difficulty standing up, tugging his pants up, and continuing about the mall as though he were here on any regular shopping expedition, chatting brightly with a friend over the phone. And then she’d turned the intensity up, and now worked the waves of vibration as she spoke, and…

The rack rattled as he braced his weight against it, tail trembling at the base, knees knocking together, toeclaws pricking into the thick carpet of the floor. Every time the vibration strengthened Aeon couldn’t help but clench back down around the thumb-sized toy, which just pressed it right up against his most sensitive spots from inside, which then just fed right back into itself so for a moment all of his muscles squeezed together, tingling, shivering, until finally they gave out again.

“Well? Are you there?”

“Yeah-” he panted. The fox swallowed again, then managed to straighten back up. “Yeah. God. Feels like I’m… gonna pee.”

“Oh, that’s good then. I hear that happens sometimes. The feeling, not the actual peeing. Though, I mean…”

“Fyra-”

“I know, I know. I’m kidding. Now I want you to go find and employee.”

_ _

“I-” His heart leapt again, as did the vibration under his tail. At this point he could feel the plump stir within his sheath and especially the slow dribble of thick warmth oozing from his revealed tip, and then the shifting and tugging of nerves with every step he took, the source of the vibration stirring inside of him… it was an odd mix of sensations, where he could tell that he was further along than his body would otherwise imply. This felt like two weekends ago, when she had yanked him down into her lap via a rather tight collar and leash, and had him churn his hips back and forth until the hyena’s pseudo had pressed up into him, and-

“Did you hear me?”

Another buzz from the toy sparked his ears and tail both upright. Aeon gasped. “Yes! Yes, I heard you. Find – an employee – and-?”

“Ask them to lead you to where the skirts are.”

Not an unusual thing for Aeon to do, really; some half of his wardrobe either toed or completely crossed where society drew the line for the gender divide, and across several years he thought he had come to a middle ground that was pleasing to both wear and see. This certainly wouldn’t be the first time he had done this, though as he strolled up to the help desk, struggling to keep his pace even and his tail down at the base, he knew that neither would it be the last with a vibrator shoved inside of him.

The otter behind the counter lifted his eyebrows as he noticed the customer. “Good morning,” he cooed in the classic customer-service voice, “how can I help?”

“Hello – ah-” Aeon pinched his phone down against his shoulder, using the movement to hide another spike of the vibrator. “Where are – the – skirts?”

“Skirts?”

“Y-yes.”

“Just over there,” motioned with a pointing finger, “near the back corner. Need me to show you?”

“No, I-”

“Say yes,” Fyra commanded.

“…Actually, yes, that would be nice, if you… could…”

“I would be glad to.” The otter smiled, dipped his head, and then stepped out from around, looking over his shoulder at the customer. Aeon strode after him, now squeezing his rump together around the toy, at once loving and hating the sensation, the warmth bubbling up inside of him: back at home, cozy and comfortable and probably naked and enjoying what she was doing, Fyra expertly set the pace of the thing, working it almost perfectly in rhythm with his stride, so that he could nearly imagine two of her fingers squeezing up inside of him, brushing forward with each step, gripping him like a bowling ball…

Vaguely he realized the employee was speaking to him. Aeon perked his ears, tried to listen, couldn’t. Slow down, he wanted to say, heart pounding, loins tingling, I need to… catch up… with the vibrating pulses continuing in at him, squeezing away from inside, rhythmically coaxing these irresistible throbs from his half-hard cock, sheath straining, muscles tightening. For a moment he felt as though he had been pulled back from the world, to where he looked around and saw the aisles of the store and the other customers, heard the noise of conversation and the quiet music playing over the speakers – to where he sensed all of this but couldn’t quite interpret it, and then-

-then there was that sizzling, searing heat from inside, the steadily growing, pulsing pressure… the trembling, the throbbing, the bucking. His tail lashed, his ears flattened, his legs knocked together; Aeon gasped, reached out to lean against a nearby wall, shuddered – then gasped again, and hissed, and barely suppressed a raucous, breathy moan at the first spurt jetting out into his pants. Then a second, and a third, each one belting out from his still half-hard shaft, sheath pulsing around him: the sticky heat squirted up into the hem of his shirt, then down across his lap when he shoved a paw into his pocket, then partially down one leg. It trickled across his fur and smeared over his skin, and he squeezed his phone between the side of his head and his shoulder as he groaned, trying not to make too much noise, and…

“Is everything okay?” the employee asked from ahead, one paw brushing one of the skirts on display, concern in his eyes.

“Tell him yes,” Fyra purred over the call. The vibration thankfully slowed. “You had to sneeze.”

“Yeah, I…” Aeon wiped at his nose to help sell it, and smelled nothing but the warm, rich muskiness of his peak. “I just sneezed. Sorry. The – the skirts?...”

“Right here. Is there a color or style you’re looking for?”

“Black,” Fyra guided. “It looks good on your fur. Oh and, by the way, you’ll be leaving the store in it…”

_ _

Thewonderingcanine - April

Smack gritted his teeth and grasped tighter onto the plastic bars, trying to resist the lurch and throw of the small space in which he was stuck. The tiny foxwolf’s head swam with burgeoning dizziness from everywhere, inside and out: the constant movement of this little cage, the back-and-forth rocking, the thick, rich, salty-spice smell of constant sweaty musk tickling at the inside of his nostrils, the damp, heavy air all around him that was certainly little more than his own recycled breath at this point…

All around him the space expanded again, slick sweat-damp fur pulling away, slipping to the side, and hanging in place there, once more affording him a small chance to catch his breath. He swallowed, pushed his muzzle up to the bars, and tried to take as deep a breath as he could – this time tinted with the cool, synthetic scent of woven polyester, similarly soaked with sweat. Small pinpoints of light filtered in through the breathable pinpricks of the gym shorts wrapped around, keeping his cage nestled in place beneath the raised tail.

Then the movement shifted again, and the walls closed back in, and sweat-soaked fur tickled in between the plastic bars. The tiny foxwolf rolled over onto his back again and sighed, at once loving and hating his predicament: Monty had made him strip down naked before putting him in here, ensuring that he would bear the scent of the werewolf’s sweat more strongly than week-old gym clothes.

Visible between the bars on the other side here, little flashes of wetness glistening in what light came in through the fabric, he watched as the werewolf’s sweat-streaked tailhole pulled, and tensed, and clenched, and puckered inward with the motions of his exercise. Sleek lines of pink skin and muscle flexed, tugging inward as he straightened up in his squats, then holding for a moment and flattening out, and then pushing out again when he dropped once more, nearly coming close enough to the bars that, if Smack were to push an arm out and reach out, he might be able to touch it.

Interest stirring, he scooted closer to the other side there, took in another breath – felt his head swirl all over again with the combination of hot sweat and stale breath and acrid, pungent air – and then did just this, reaching out, spreading his fingers, until… his pads smoothly, wetly brushed in between the valleys of skin, smearing off a few dribbles of gathered sweat. In response the werewolf’s tailhole clenched again, puckering inward, with those overlapping wrinkles clamping onto Smack’s paw and tugging in against the bars. Around him he felt the rest of Monty’s body tightening up as well, the werewolf pausing in his exercise to wriggle, and squirm, and squeeze…

~ ~ ~

…and then the werewolf straightened back up, a smooth, steady high trickling out from flared nostrils. He remembered being told all the way back in gym class to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth when he exercised, and often it was focusing on that specific rhythm that let him push past his normal bounds. Today, though, there was something else, something new: the extra weight of Smack’s cage hanging from the base of his tail, the cage itself jangling around inside the seat of his shorts, bumping against his rear when he walked, nestling up against his tailhole… he liked the way it felt, and focused on that instead.

Especially when doing his squats like this. Monty paused to take a moment to catch his breath in between sets, deliberately leaning forward and slightly to the side… so that the cage rested in against his rump, and he could feel the tiny foxwolf’s frantic movements in trying to find any point of leverage within the crevices there. Little paws grasped at sweat-soaked fur, tugged forward and back and around, and then – the werewolf swallowed, bit his lip, angled his hind end out a bit, and then pushed and clenched again from his tailhole… and sighed in delight when he managed to pucker his tailhole against the corner of the cage and then grip gently around it, the wet, slick skin folding out, wrapping along the side, and then slipping free, like in a loose, light kiss.

See how he likes that, he thought, and then moved back over for another set. Core tight, back straight, arms at his sides… thighs angled, tail raised, rear out. Monty smoothly dropped down again, and added in a little backwards swing at the bottom of the squat, deliberately forcing Smack’s cage to nudge in against his tailhole again. There he clamped it on the way back up, feeling the plastic creak and groan between the forces of his rump, then dropped down again: instead of swing back out, though, the cage remained nestled in place, held still by sticky skin made sticker by the thin, greasy coating of sweat that he could still feel trickling down in between the wrinkles.

Then again, and again, and again he repeated the movements, each time focusing on the tiny foxwolf trapped inside, imagining just how Smack was enjoying himself. At one point there was a tiny paw reaching out to the side of his rump, brushing through the fur there, then receding inwards; then another one pushing at the rim of his tailhole, to which he responded with another slick clench; then both of them pushing in at the center inside, quite easily slipping into the ring of muscle, pressing past the sweaty exterior, pushing in a little further.

Monty dropped down once more and this time held there, legs tilted outwards, back still straight. He bit his lip, swallowed, pushed out from his tailhole until he felt the cage shift again… and then with one paw reached back, ran his fingers along the shape of the plastic box underneath his tail, rubbed side to side, back and forth… and with just a little more pressure, a little more effort, and a touch of further relaxation-

-he gasped, shivered, jerked… then relaxed again, once more clenching around the cage, this time with its entirety nestled snug within the first few inches of his bowels, the little rope keeping it fastened to the base of his tail snaking out from inside of his tailhole.

Four more sets, he thought, straightening back up. The cage tugged at his rim from inside; the front of his shorts stirred as well. This’ll be a fun challenge.

Lomidepuzlo - April

Lolo rested his back against the wall of the shower, eyes closed against the mist of hot water as it streamed down across him. All of this lovely heat spreading around him, lightly scented with the oil drizzled along the walls first, then combining with the floral touch of the soap and shampoo… and all wrapped along the higher, drier, somewhat spicier scent that bounced around his short muzzle, wafting up from across the pair of firm yet pert breasts squeezing against him.

Asiri moaned out as she rode him, arms draped around his shoulders, fur tickling at his nose and wet hair falling about her arms. The guinea pig’s body shifted and lurched with her steady, indulgent movements, her knees squeezing alongside the dragon’s thighs, her grip firm and tight against the natural slipperiness of the shower water; Lolo leaned back a little bit further to watch, his eyes halfway closed against the sweet, delicious pleasure.

With one hand he reached forward, ran his fingers through her wet fur, and caressed her muzzle; with the other he traced down the front of her body, spread his fingers about one of her breasts, squeezed into the soft-firm flesh, teased her nipple, and then continued on down. Across little folds of skin and fur, pushing gently into the squish of her belly, then running down further, fingers now pushing through the gathered tuft of pubic fur, wet and matted from the water – and then down yet further until he felt the heat of her arousal trickling across his fingerpads, and his own hard shaft buried inside of her, smooth skin slickened by her presence, twitching hard, throbbing every time she pushed down onto him.

“That good?” he asked, turning his hand the other way. Two fingers slid up beneath that tuft of fur, wiggled easily in between sex-slickened lips – and nudged at the little nub of her clit, immediately drawing a gasp and shudder out of her. “Like that?”

Asiri nodded open-mouthed, her breath coming and going in little gasps, the steam of the shower curling around her head. “Uh huh,” she managed; she reached up with both paws, bunched her hair together, and tossed it back over her shoulders. “That’s… very good, Lolo, I’m… you feel so… mmf…”

“M_hmm_,” he purred in response. The dragon finally lifted his head – with considerable effort – to nuzzle into the wet fur of her neck, dragging in that mixed scent of soap and skin and light, gentle musk, everything coming together to form an identity that was decidedly her. “I can say the same about you…”

Gradually he began to work his hips in rhythm with hers, grinding up every time the guinea pig pushed forward and down across him, his body moving easily across the soapy surface of the seat built into the shower. His hands shifted across Asiri’s body the deeper he fell into her embrace, freely squishing, squeezing, grasping at thick fur and thicker skin: he gripped her arms, squeezed her shoulders, pushed down along her spine – which made her shiver and gasp and groan atop him, muscles clenching deliciously – and over the base of her practically nonexistent tail, the cute little cotton puff twitching vigorously amid her delight.

Then down further, fingers digging easily into the plush plumpness of her rump, bouncing, jiggling, lurching atop his lap and thighs. Lolo sighed into her fur and squeezed tighter, that luxurious give continuing in as far as he could go: he spread her rear, teased one finger in beneath the base of her tail, gripped there, felt and enjoyed the resulting twitch and tug. Asiri shivered again, her back arching, her head swinging back; she swallowed, adjusted her arms over his shoulders, and then drew herself back in, bracing her legs on the seat a little more firmly so that she could lift herself further up.

Her body smacked against his in rhythm, the force reverberating out through her thighs, her belly, her rump still grasped in Lolo’s grip. He couldn’t help but lean back against the wall all over again, one of his feet kicking across the tiled floor, trying to find purchase yet unable to do so. As she rode Asiri lifted up again, moved her paws to his shoulders, held herself there, then slowed down until she trembled halfway along his shaft, bit her lip, wrenched her eyes shut…

Lolo tilted his head. “Is… everything okay?” he panted, resisting the urge to thrust up into her again.

“Mhmm,” the guinea pig nodded. She sighed out in a great rush of breath, then swallowed, inhaled again, held it; she leaned back, pressed a paw against Lolo’s knee behind her, reached down with the other to spread herself around him; “I’m just… gonna…”

He looked down, transfixed – and then felt his heart speed up when she succeeded in her task, an extra stream of warmth just beginning to trickle out from between her spread lips. Asiri sighed as he piss strengthened, streaming out and down around the dragon’s shaft; amid her release she pressed back down into his lap, churned her hips there, and then lifted up, and settled back into her original rhythm while now draining her bladder across him, the high, dry scent curling up among all of the others, twisting in the shower’s steam, and then just as quickly dissipating, though the heat of her mark remained tingling through his short, thick fur.

She smeared her scent across him as she rode, adding a little bit of extra to the motion, to the slickness already coating him. Lolo swallowed, gripped her rump, and thrust up into her, energy revitalized by the released; his lap smacked against her rear, again and again, and then he, too, moved his hand to join hers, spreading her flowing mark back out across her fur.

“S-sorry,” she panted, slowing again. Asiri leaned forward, nestled herself around him, settled into his lap… and then fully gave in to the relief, her full stream spraying out across his lower belly, pooling in his fur, trickling down his hips. “I just figured… since we’re in the shower, and all, we could…”

“Mhmm,” he rumbled, once more burying his muzzle in her neck. This time there was no way he could resist continuing to thrust into her, sloppy wet meat smacking and slurping with the added heat. “No worries. Just… keep on going, we can… wash it all out…”

Her fingers played at his neck. She drew herself back, blushed, looked away.

“You can have your turn next, if you like…”

Dotcom656 - April

Like most things while drunk, it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Kit squirmed where he lay across the bed, thankful at least that he had thought to squeeze a pillow beneath the small of his back before getting into this position – and gasped at the unavoidable tug between his legs, the firm, broad knot of hot, wet flesh squeezing at the inner walls of the tiger’s canine spade, trying to pull out from inside, locked too firmly in place to do so.

At least the view was nice, too, as much as he could see of it what with the world slowly spinning back into its expected order. It had to be at least thirty minutes now waiting underneath the Great Dane, the feral’s body heaving in those deep, barrel-chested breaths, his tail wagging at each of the tiger’s little tugs and clenches… it had been one thing when he still stood over Kit, long legs on either side of his body, huge paws near his shoulders, but was another entirely once he had shoved himself in, dumped his load deep – still the tiger could feel the little dribbles of loose, frothy warmth oozing out of him – and then turned around, hoisting the feline’s abdomen into the air, wedging him across the pillow, and putting the wrinkled pucker of his tailhole on display, luscious pink winking from beneath the base of his sleek tail.

Kit thought he might have attended to that at some point in the night. He couldn’t quite remember. It had started out with everyone in the living room downstairs, all drinking together and having a great time; then a few of them said they wanted to go on a walk, and Kit thought about going with them but stayed at home; and then Lukas had mixed those rather tasty drinks, with the cranberry and lime, and…

…and what had happened next? Kit reached up, scratched at his nose, felt some kind of dried crust flake off. That’s right, he recalled, the Dane wandered down from upstairs, and Lukas explained that he was watching him for a friend, and… somehow… he and the otter had ended up both on their knees with the feral sprawled out on his side, one hindleg raised into the air, his ears forward in eager anticipation, his brown eyes bright, excited.

“Like this,” Lukas has sad, guiding Kit’s paws forward. The firm warmth of the dog’s belly – Kit couldn’t even remember his name, embarrassingly enough – shifting suddenly to the intense, dank, damp heat of his sheath, supple, soft, surprisingly… velvety, almost. “Rub here, but don’t squeeze. Keep your other paw like… yeah, like that. Oh, you’ve done this before? Yeah. See how he just – perks up? Tail wagging? He likes that. Look at his face.”

So he did. And that had felt awkward too, even through the misty haze of drunkenness deepening further as those last two drinks continued to swim through his system: looking up at the dog’s muzzle while he had one paw cupped around his sheath and the other at the end, fingerpads teasing in against the buttery-wet inner folds, coaxing the wet warmth of the feral’s shaft out. The Dane had looked down at him, unafraid to meet his eyes and hold his gaze; his ears had twitched back and then perked forward again, and his mouth came open, his tongue fell out… and he leaned forward, bumped his nose to Kit’s cheek, and plopped a good lick right there, as though encouraging him to continue.

That made sense to the drunken feline’s mind. He’s asking me, he had thought, and looked back to the task at hand – or, he’s telling me… and then the next thing he could remember, which wasn’t much at this point, he had sprawled out on the floor with his lips wrapped against the Dane’s sheath, hot canine shaft pulsing across his tongue as it continued to grow into his mouth. He remembered the taste of the little jets of loose, liquid pre, like wet dog smell put to a flavor, lanced through with a touch of metallic rust… and then for a while in between everything became fuzzy, at about the same time as Lukas pushed Kit’s legs apart, yanked his pants down his legs, and buried his snout halfway to his face in the thick, succulent folds of his spade, sucking and slurping and making a mess.

It was only fair, after all. The last time the two had seen each other, Lukas had kept Kit in close attendance while the otter rode another mutual acquaintance, guiding the tiger around his hard cock and full foreskin, showing him where to squeeze and tug and smear…

Then tonight, somewhere along the way Lukas had pulled him away from the Dane’s then fully-hard shaft, rich reddish-white flesh twitching, bouncing in place, spurting those little squirts across the carpet, and led both of them upstairs. Otter first, then feral dog, and then tiger bringing up the rear, and Kit had been unable to take his eyes off the impressive weight of the beast’s arousal, sagging down and bouncing with each of his steps, leaving a spattered trail of dampness across the carpet. The more drunken fuzziness, and then Kit was on the bed and Lukas was nowhere to be seen, and then he had eight inches of dog cock before the knot pounding into him, stretching the arousal-swollen lips of his spade, coating him and soaking the bedsheets in that rich wet dog scent, and-

-now, finally, the Dane’s knot slurped free, all of that girth and pressure easing its way out from slickened, loosened muscles. Kit couldn’t help but yelp with surprise and sensation, the heat of pleasure mixed with discomfort lancing through his abdomen, forcing one leg to kick, making him halfway curl up into himself – and then clench as tightly as he could, though he could tell his well-used muscles refused to respond all the way. A quick, hot squirt sprayed out across the feral’s hindlegs as he dismounted, sex-slickened shaft hanging heavily down underneath him; Kit gasped, jerked again, squirted again, then gave into a wave of sweet, delicious trembling, a mix of his own peak combined with the dog’s watery load dribbling out of him. It tickled across his tailhole as it went, leading him to clench again; he brought a paw to his muzzle, sighed, tried to catch his breath in between panting, couldn’t quite manage it.

The Great Dane hadn’t finished either, though. With a flash of brown eyes and something that looked impossibly like a smirk – maybe I’m still a little drunk – the feral turned a little clumsily, his weight pressing his footpaws into the soft mattress, then ducked his head, nosed up between the tiger’s leg, sniffed at his stretched spade… and then the broad, silken tongue shoveled out, and easily inside Kit’s loose, parted lips.

His head rolled to the side; his breath caught in his chest; he bit his lip, and thrust upwards, and then he was holding the feral’s head in one paw and tugging him down, and yet again the rest of the world fell away.

Okay – okay okay okay, he thought, the world suddenly flashing clearer. Maybe… maybe I’ll just stay here ‘til Lukas comes back, and then… then I’ll… I’ll… He shivered and squeezed his legs tighter, grinding up around the tongue flopping inside of him, into the walls of flesh stretched open around the Dane’s fist-sized knot just a moment before.

Maybe… he can help me out when he… comes back…