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Thewonderingcanine - June

Smack rocked in rhythm with the music, slow and soft, sweet, gentle. If he kept his eyes closed for too long he could feel the slight tug and sway of the drink and a half he had had prior to Monty pulling him out to the dance floor, enough to feel, not enough to really impact him otherwise: the warm chill on his breath, the lingering minty fruit of the mix, the slight pang of salt from the meal the pair had ordered still back on their table, washed through and around his senses, indistinct, soft, distant.

The foxwolf turned his head so that he could press his cheek into the warm puff of fur rising against his him, poking out from beneath the collar of Monty's shirt. That was what he wanted, the familiar scent of the werewolf wafting up to wrap around him, for the moment knocking away everything else: both arms draped around Monty's waist, paws lightly entwined above the base of his tail, Smack swung and slid with his partner's lead, eyes halfway open so that he could still watch where he was stepping.

“Got it now?" Monty murmured, voice more palpable than audible beneath the swell of the music.

Smack blinked and looked up at him. There was a puff of warm, soft breath out across his muzzle, lightly tickling his whiskers; Monty's eyes glowed with a light of their own in the dimness of the room, sharp and warm against the cool, almost violet touch of the pale bulbs recessed into the distant ceiling.

The foxwolf wet his lips and nodded. “Yeah," he breathed, one paw coming around and up, to press against the other male's chest. Through the shirt he felt the remainder of that ruff of fur, trickling down to the firmness of his sternum – and then beneath that the similar but different taut pressure of sleek lines of muscle underneath, alternating from one side to the other as he danced. “Yeah, I think… I think I got it."

“We can practice some more once we get home, if you want." Monty's voice rumbled in between them, vibrating the air so low, so smoothly that Smack almost expected to see little fizzy bubbles appear between them, like the trails spinning up within a glass of champagne. The werewolf's arms tightened around him, one around his shoulder and the other at his waist, and spun him a little more forcefully to one side; he followed through with the momentum, bushy tail swinging after him, then reciprocated in turn so that Monty spun around as well, came back in, bumped muzzle to muzzle, and then drew back again.

Then both paws dropped down along Smack's back, slightly curved fingers following the line of his spine, pressing in… dragging trimmed, blunted claws through the fabric and fur, igniting a low, sweet shiver that reverberated throughout his body. Before he knew what he was doing Smack had bent forward against Monty's chest, muzzle pressed sideways, eyes closed, mouth open; the rhythm of the dance hiccupped between them, one foxwolf footpaw coming down across one of the werewolf's, skidding to the side, catching himself.

A little breathless, Smack glanced up again, breathed a soft giggle, and then righted himself, using his partner's balance for his own support. He pressed his paws down along Monty's waist, lifted up, leaned in against him – and then shivered all over again as one of those paws continued down further, fingers rolling in atop the base of his tail, the sensitive nerves there reflexively forcing him to hike it upwards – and then slipping smoothly around underneath.

His ears perked and he tightened up, but just as quickly, Monty rumbled softly in his ear, caught the second judder in his movement here, and swung him along so that he never missed a beat. One finger teased beneath the waistband of the foxwolf's pants, then a second, and then a third… and still they continued further, sliding up along the underside of his tailhole, teasing in, dancing across short, soft fur, running over smooth, warm skin… pressing and teasing at soft, sensitive puckered wrinkles.

“Mon_ty_…"

“What? We're just dancing." The werewolf licked his chops, sharp fangs briefly showing as his lips curled back. “Don't make a scene, and nobody will notice. You could move your paw a little bit further down, though…"

Smack swallowed and tried not to tremble too much, the beginnings of the pleasure beginning to vibrate through him. Soft fingerpads poked up at the center of his tailhole, digging in just enough so that his body naturally clenched, then pulled out from that middle there, without ever actually pushing inside of him. His knees wanted to knock together, and he felt his footpaws shiver in the air each time he picked them up, but still he tried to follow along with Monty's lead and did as he told, running the paw along the werewolf's waist down a little bit further until he, too, felt the waistband of his pants.

“Lower," the lupine purred, muzzle coming closer. “And more in front."

Smack felt his cheeks and ears warming with the blush. Muzzle still against the larger male's chest, he glanced around the room, wondered if everyone else could see as well as he could or if that was just the wolf in him aiding his low-light vision, then continued along: he brushed his thumb beneath the hem of Monty's shirt, slid across the smooth lines of his abs beneath his fur, tilted his fingers in beneath the waistband of his underwear poking just barely out from his pants… and then smoothly, carefully plunged down, hiding the movement with another swinging step in the dance.

His middle two fingers split around the plump girth of the werewolf's sheath, hot and warm, dank, damp. Soft firmness already twitched there, and the further he went, the more it filled out his palm; he twitched his shoulder back a little bit to reach more easily within the awkward angle, fingers now spreading around hefty balls, shifting them up into his grasp, rolling them back and forth, grinding into the steadily growing warmth within his sheath.

“End of this song," Monty went on, unperturbed, “let's you and I make a visit to the bathroom. Okay?"

Smack nodded, then felt one of those fingerpads press up against the center of his tailhole again. He gasped, jerked forward, settled back. “Yeah. Yeah, let's… let's do that…"

SoraCasus - June

“Let's see… profits are up… client complaints are down… looks like you're doing – ah – a pretty good job. What was the employee name?"

The office chair creaked and squeaked with the steady, rhythmic movement, the familiar having locked the tilt and wheels as soon as he saw Azzy approaching through the window. As expected she had locked the door behind her when she had entered his office, then drew the blinds and dimmed the lights, and had her blouse open – no need for a bra, being of an avian species – by the time she had made it to her desk. The bluebird clutched a sheaf of papers in one hand, though even from here Vengence could tell that they were blank.

Legs tight around his in what little space the chair afforded, her back straight, her tailfeathers splayed out about his knees, she lifted up, grasped his shoulder with one hand, and then sank back down on top of him, the other shifting the useless papers.

“Well?"

He rolled his eyes, paws gripping her thighs, one thumb coming in to where she had tugged her panties aside beneath her skirt. Slick, delicious warmth spread out around him as she rode, lines of muscles clenching around his shaft, supple lips pressing down towards his sheath, drawing over the bulge of his still unswollen knot, slipping back up again.

He cleared his throat, trying to focus himself enough to speak. “Vengence…"

“Last name?"

“Lunarfrost."

“Mm. Is that – hah – from the German?"

“What?"

“You know." Azzy reached back, spread the papers across his desk on top of what was more important, actual paperwork, then leaned in again to nip at his neck with her beak. He couldn't help but pull in a little gasp and tilt his head to the side, then tug her down into his lap again. “Rrfh. Like-"

“Go on. I'm – at the edge of my seat."

“No. I think I'm at the edge of your seat."

Here she straightened up and leaned back again, until she rested against the edge of the desk. Vengence looked down across his coworker's body, the plush blue and white plumage like sweet pastry frosting. The fringes of her shirt brushed down around her sides, opened in front; the familiar pressed a paw into her feathers and continued up her body, across the smooth belly to the equally flat chest, then back down again. A shiver vibrated through her and she glanced down at him, beak hanging partially open, warmth swelling around him as he thrust himself deep again.

“You know," Vengence rumbled, “you're not even my supervisor. You could come in here and just say, hey, let's bang, instead of bothering with – with the-"

“Sure. But I have fun with it." Then she leaned in again, arms coming around his shoulders, short wings draping around his back like a thick blanket. “And besides, it… ah, yeah, a little… faster… it helps to have the papers if anyone stops me. Oh, sorry, I have to take this report to Vengence, he asked me to run these numbers, blah blah…"

“But there's-" He gritted his teeth, paws once more returning to their familiar positions along her thighs. He squeezed his thumbs in towards her waist, held her back, pushed up into her. “-nothing on them."

“Sure, but… but they don't have to know that, and… an'…"

The bluebird's head came forward to nestle into his shoulder as he thrust into her, the chair squeaking and inching back even despite the wheel-lock. Vengence swallowed, drew in a breath through flared nostrils, and leaned in around her, locking his footpaws around the leg of the chair for leverage as he lifted up; the luscious, silken heat wrapped so snug around him, drawing him deeper, filling him with that urgent, inimitable need that just seemed to ignite whenever Azzy bumped against him throughout the office.

There had even been once in the conference room after a meeting, when something about the bluebird's scent had just kept his instincts on edge so that when they were the last two to leave, Vengence just had to close the door, turn out the lights, and then bend her over the table. His muzzle fit so nicely beneath these crested tailfeathers of hers, and the way she chirped and fluttered and-

-shook, and shivered, and tightened around him so that he had to grit his teeth again and press back against the seat, and then on top of him the avian gasped, jerked, jerked again – and Vengence felt the first squirt of her peak spraying out across him soaking into his dark fur, trickling down around his sheath and sack. But then it kept on going, the slick, wet heat beginning as a slow dribble but then strengthening into a full stream, first around his hard shaft buried deep, then against his lower belly, and then the middle so that he had to yank his shirt up, then up across the center of his chest as the bird leaned back again.

A lazy, exhausted grin on her face, she rested one elbow on his desk and spread herself with the other hand, fingers sliding in around where Vengence's lupine girth filled her out. Succulent pink flesh parted around him, pressed up as she tightened and squeezed and pushed, and – pale yellow arced out from inside of her, sprinkling across his chest, pouring down to drip along the seat of the chair, then rolling from there into a puddle along the floor.

Vengence stared at her. The sweet, succulent heat continued to flow around him, soaking into his fur, staining his clothing, likely sopping into the chair itself-

“Azzy, what are you-"

“Sorry," she panted, and swallowed. A spasm of muscles squeezed around him again; Vengence groaned and lifted up, knot twitching out, which caused the bird to gasp as well and briefly interrupt her stream. “I just… felt it when you made me cum, and then it was – already there, so I thought, might as well go ahead… and…" She wiggled her hips side to side, pressed herself just a little bit further down, and then squeezed her muscles to once more aim her stream up across his chest. He turned his head away. “You've got wolf in you, right? Somewhere? Or I guess-" And she clenched again, pressed one hand against his piss-soaked fur, lifted herself up, sank right back down again. “-I do, really. Well, now that I've marked you, we could say that I am your supervisor… or your superior, at least, right?"

Still in disbelief, Vengence looked down across himself, over where the warmth of her fresh mark dripped freely from his fur and the fringes of his clothing. He shifted where he sat, felt the cushion of the seat squish wetly beneath him, then noticed his nose twitch with the high, dry musk of her scent.

Then he looked up at her again. The bluebird, still snug in his lap, returned the glance and winked.

“I didn't bring any towels," she said. “So either we can use the curtains, or one of us goes down to the bathroom and gets some paper towels, or we just stay here 'til we dry up, and…"

Then the chair squeaked again as Vengence stood up out of it. Azzy squawked when her back thumped against the surface of the desk, the familiar lifting her up against it, spreading her legs around him, tugging back, thrusting forward inside of her again – careful not to drop her onto his computer or to spill any of her mark across his keyboard.

“Or," he said with a smirk, “you get what's coming to you. I'll just have to mark you back, won't I? Inside and out…"

Peegus - July

Romira took a deep, focused drag of her drink, thankful for once that the ice had locked some of the boba down at the very bottom of the cup. The wolfess's back arched with what she hoped looked like effort, and she twined her footpaws around the leg of the chair as she did so, ears up, eyes closed, jaw set… and then she sighed sweetly back out as the tension finally released, and as, completely unrelated, the little orbs of stuck boba slid free and slurped up her straw.

Gradually she relaxed in her seat, legs spreading, but only just a little bit: the toy held against her, flared root squishing tight against the protruding mass of her plump lupine spade, meant that she had to keep a bit of an odd posture to remain as comfortable as she could, and the fact that Max had just unloaded inside of her from across the fifteen or so miles between the mall where she sat and back home where he certainly hadn't gotten out of bed yet.

Ro closed her eyes, chewing the bubbles, tasting the syrupy-sweetness… feeling her dingo's characteristic post-orgasm twitches and throbs as he dumped the last of his finish out inside of her, feeling as though he were right here beneath her through the magic of the portal device, his hard shaft sleeved so nicely within her inner walls, lines and rings of muscle reflexively clenching around him to coax him out further, his knot smushing up against the lips of her spade where her side of the portal remained steady…

…and she opened her eyes to look across the table at her friend, the cheetess halfway through a mouthful of her own boba. Raised little paint-splotch brows showed some hint of confusion at what was going on; the feline tilted her head, flicked her sandpaper tongue across her lips, swallowed… idly chewed at one of the bubbles, her black-velvet nose twitching.

So Ro offered her best nonchalant smile and stared at somewhere just over the cheetah's shoulder, pretending as though something there caught her attention… when in reality she couldn't help but focus fully, completely on the five and a half-ish inches nestled snug inside of her – about seven if he had managed the knot – which, she also noticed, had not yet pulled out. There was that same, familiar slow grind forward and back, like Max trying to figure out the most comfortable, the coziest spot to keep himself for an extended period of time, each little twist and thrust and twitch sending a webwork of sensation vibrating through the wolfess's thighs, until she had no choice but to clamp her legs together, pitch forward, and suck desperately at her straw again, one paw tugging at an ear to help block out the noise of the mall all around them.

He better not, she thought, opening her eyes, looking around the food court. So many people, so many noses… the cheetess tilted her head the other way and reached halfway across the table with one paw, brushing aside one of the shopping bags from earlier. He better fucking not or I swear to God I'll-

Then inside of her, through the portal, there was a little twitch and tightening, almost unnoticeable were she not waiting for it. Then a shift back, and a press forward again – and Ro could just imagine Max's paws squeezing down on her thighs as he had done so many times before, the dingo's head craning back, his jaw coming open, his eyes wrenching shut with the initial effort… and then loosening as he relaxed and gave into the relief, and-

-and she clamped her legs and clenched her muscles as tightly as she could as the first of the flowing heat welled up inside of her, fresh piss streaming inside of her, rushing up against sensitive, stretched walls, sloshing and dancing… and squirting back out around the root of his cock, around the base of the portal.

Fucker, she thought, trying to sharpen her thoughts enough so that he might somehow be able to hear them back home. Fucker, fucker – fucker… but the tighter she clenched around him, the more she pressed the heel of her paw into the base of the portal to wedge it more firmly against her spade, the harder she felt him spray inside of her, until the fabric of her jeans began to soak through with his warmth, and it spread across her fingers, dribbled down along the plastic of the seat… pooled underneath her.

Ro pitched herself forward in an attempt to hide her blush, unsure if she should stand up, or lean forward, or just try to elevate herself out of the growing puddle, but still Max continued to piss inside of her, and with nowhere left to go – fucker pumping me up like a goddamn water balloon – it just spilled out of her, first in little trickles and then in a steady, unrelenting flow from within the plump, full lips of her sex, now flaring out around the released volume.

Mortified, Ro's paw dropped to her muzzle, briefly obscuring her vision. When she looked up across the table, the cheetess still had her paw out towards her, but now her mouth had dropped open and her eyes widened, then met Ro's. Brief misunderstanding flashed there, a faint blush heating cinnamon-gold cheeks, and the cheetah glanced away again, awkward nervousness pinning her ears back; she thinks I pissed myself, Ro realized. God, I'm gonna neuter that fucking dog as soon as I get home, and – she had to set her jaw and clench her teeth against the wave of pleasure that the dingo's warmth pressed through her, tickling across all of her hypersensitive nerves, forcing her to gasp and squirm and swallow and clench, and… buck her hips, then again, and again, her now-soaked rear squelching within the puddle now overflowing to trickle across the tiled floor of the mall.

She dropped her paw to cover her mouth, squeezed her eyes shut, tried to keep her tail from hiking around the reflexive instinct to push out and release this extra volume, now able to feel Max's continued draining through the movement of the currents inside of her… but when she opened her eyes again, a quick glance risked across the table, she saw that the cheetess had halfway turned to her again, paw hovering by her chin in thought, brow furrowed.

Then she tilted her head again. Little feline lips parted; the tongue dashed out; the nose twitched… and then the corner of that mouth quirked up in a smile. She leaned in closer, paws bracing against the side of the table, and to Ro's horror took a slow, deep, deliberate inhalation of the musty heat wafting around her.

Then the cheetess sat back, crossed one leg over the other, and close to her chest, signed – classic forefinger-thumb hoop with one paw, extended finger on the other sliding in, then out, then in again. Sharp little needle-fangs showed in a sly grin, and she nodded the question.

Ro's mouth fell open, then just as quickly clamped shut again. She glanced away, finally felt Max retreat from inside of her, gasped with the sudden tension of having to hold in nearly a full bladder's worth of fresh dingo piss… and then nodded her confirmation: not mine. His.

The cheetess's shoulders bobbed in a suppressed laugh. She leaned in again to take another sip of her drink.

Sooner or later, Ro read in those eyes, we're gonna have to stand up…

_ _

Thewonderingcanine - July

The first thing that Smack noticed was the devastatingly bright light shining down from what felt like directly overhead. Not remembering falling asleep outside, the foxwolf groaned, ground the heels of his paws against his eyes, and then flipped himself onto his side, now thinking that the mattress had stiffened up considerably since he had tumbled into bed however long ago it had been. Then the second thing he noticed was the noise, like someone seizing an entire bank of curtains and sprinting to the other side of the rod as quickly as they could, that loud, grating shwwf – then again, and again, and again, each time stabbing a thousand needles into his sensitive ears.

So he reached up to tug his ears down against his head, then felt the headache pulsing, thrumming again in rhythm with his heartbeat, like the blood had to push through a huge, wadded knot of hypersensitive nerves right at the base of his skull, and then also just above and behind his ears, and then also a little bit behind his eyeballs. He swallowed, mouth dry, and finally pulled himself upright, then realized how much of a mistake this was for the way the world spun around him while he held still.

Desperate for some sort of balance, he wrenched his eyes shut against the dizziness, the throbbing pain, the vague nausea stirring both in his belly and the back of his throat – and when the foxwolf half-suppressed a rather acidic burp, the memory started to fizzle slowly back to him, filling the space left by the foggy dream he thought he might have had.

There had been a party… He rubbed at his eyes a bit more, trying to block out the light, yet still his ears swished to follow that horrible sound as it seemed to come closer and closer. I was drinking. A lot. They brought the usual shrinking mix, and I had some of that, and…

And then that must have led to the dream he had had: Smack remembered vague impressions of the heat of body sweat slipping across his fur, of tight quarters and heat-damp fabric keeping him squished up against soft, plush flesh and fur. The sticky, sliminess of the underside of a tail or inside of a sheath, or – he sniffed at a spot on his shoulder – rolled up underneath that hyena's foreskin so that just his head poked out while everyone was making turtleneck jokes, the foxwolf at that point barely as tall from head to toe as the average thumb.

Then he remembered getting passed from mouth to mouth, sucked and slurped and swirled around tongue and teeth and gums in one, then pressed into another through a rather sticky, sloppy kiss, and on and on… and that must be why my fur is all matted, he thought, running a paw down his crusty belly, and why I'm naked. At least I don't – smell like-

But then Smack paused again to sniff at the air. Something tickled there, teasing at his nose and the back of his throat; he tilted his head back, sniffed at the air again, held a paw up against whatever this sun-bright source of light was… then suddenly pitched forward with a forceful sneeze rocketing through him, and feeling as though it pumped his brain out like an overfilled balloon squeezed inside of his skull. For a good five heartbeats after the tiny foxwolf couldn't open his eyes through the pounding pain, and then when he did he realized that the sneeze had literally brought him to his knees.

Or at least to one knee, as the other leg had wedged into what was apparently a shallow crevice in the surface of wherever he had fallen asleep, now registering to the foxwolf as definitely not a mattress. In fact, the material of whatever it was – not quite fabric, but neither was it paper – folded underneath his miniscule weight, stray fibers sticking out at odd angles, a stain of some fluid having crept up across one of the distant corners. From here he could smell the stain, thankfully rich and sweet and syrupy unlike the acrid pungency that stuck about his shoulders, and head, and belly, and – something else even stronger wafted up from the end of his tail, though Smack wasn't too invested in figuring out what.

Pain of his headache receding somewhat, he lifted himself out of the crevice, took a half-step forward towards the edge of the stain, and then suddenly froze as something blocked out the light from overhead, then passed again. In that brief moment between the object shifting and the light returning, the tiny foxwolf got just a glimpse of a ring encircling the source of the light, like a huge, inverted dome reaching upwards towards the end of an extended, cable-like arm, and-

-that noise began again from a distance away, quickly approaching. Before long he could feel the vibrations in the surface, and feel the change in air pressure as that something swept in. This, too, looked as though it were attached to an arm, though this was definitely the organic, expected kind – and what swept in looked for all the world like a giant paw, fingers spread, where Smack looked up from a perspective much, much smaller than he last remembered, and…

…and Shekh shook his head and sighed as he swept the coffee table off into the bag of trash in his other paw, held just beneath the edge of the wood. “Fuckers…" he murmured, the stained napkin sticking briefly to one of his fingerpads. “I told them to use a coaster, and – what in the world is all this? Crumbs? I-" But one of them seemed to move as he inspected it, and the surprise and shock led him to shake his paw off into the bag, then wipe it off on his leg for good measure.

“Ick. Icky icky icky." The hyena shook his head again and continued down the way, bending over to pluck a discarded cup off from the ground. Before tossing this one he made sure to smell it, then chuckled to himself. And that's the shrinking mix, he thought, as he had been the one to blend it. Smack sure did go fuckin' hard on it. Never seen him drink that much. Also never saw him again. Here's hoping he went home stuck to the bottom of someone's tail or something…

Lomidepuzlo - July

Huey sighed and leaned in towards the wall of the shower, the malamute's paws pressed up against the smooth tile while hot water poured down from his head and shoulders, washing the thick froth of soap down with it… and while a second pair of paws continued to lather into his short, thick fur, beginning at his shoulders, then coming down beneath his arms, to massage the slight plump heft to his chest, and further down.

He tilted his head to the side a bit, drew his lower lip in between his teeth, pulled in a slow, soft breath tinted with fresh steam and floral soap, and then sighed it right back out as one of those paws continued down his belly, thumb hooking around the base of his shaft, fingers dropping further to cup his dripping sack. Already he was half-hard from the closeness, but the extra attention just sent another twitch through him.

“Don't get too excited, now," a warm voice murmured in his ear, making it flick. Yet again his nose twitched with that scent, so similar to Rhapsody and Melody's, yet still distinctly different in its own right. “You said you have to go. So I thought instead of making you get out of the shower, I'd just… y'know. Aim for you."

Rondo was their younger brother, after all, and it showed in the coloration of his fur, in the swell of hair cresting down from his head, in his build and posture and, especially, in the gentle yet still firm confidence with which he handled the malamute. That thumb slid all the way back to the base of Huey's cock to nestle into the short puff of pubic fur there, then drew forward again, fingers coming up from underneath – and he did indeed hold him out towards the wall. Huey could feel the desire in him, the want to squeeze and stroke and pump him, just as he felt this same want in himself.

Instead, though, the dog licked his lips, nodded, and dropped one paw from the wall, head tilting up and back, eyes fluttering shut. He swallowed, listened to the pattering rhythm of the water across himself, across Rondo behind him, and then along the rear wall and floor; he took in a breath, tasted the steam and soap, held it, released it; he sighed out, relaxed, breathed again, relaxed further…

…and then had to push, just a little bit, for that impending relief to slip across the rim of the floodgates. Then once it started, he knew that he couldn't stop: Huey opened his eyes and looked down between his arms to see the pale yellow welling out from the end of his shaft, at first dribbling down, rolling across Rondo's fingers lightly cupped beneath his length, then dripping free; and then after a moment it strengthened into a fuller stream, arcing out across the tile wall, catching along the mortar in between.

“There you go," Rondo purred, now aiming him up so that his stream pitched up into the air, arced there, and then splashed back down by his footpaws below. “Doesn't that feel better?"

“Yeah…" Huey breathed, his eyes nearly closing again. He let his mouth drop open with a smooth sigh, and unconsciously followed Rondo's direction in swaying his hips side to side, painting the tile with his mark, then nudging back against the hare's waist – where he felt plump sack hanging along his rump, and hefty sheath nestled alongside the base of his tail. “Do – you have to go, too…?"

Rondo shifted, briefly lifting up to grind himself along Huey's tail, then settled back down. He leaned forward around the malamute, cupped his sack in his other paw, and now aimed him up, up towards where the dog bent forward towards the wall, so that his stream had nowhere to go but across his chest and belly, fervent heat simmering through thick fur to the skin underneath and then dripping free, quickly staining smooth creamy white to warm yellow, then just as quickly washing clean.

It was somehow hotter than the actively steaming heat of the shower water coursing down his back, Huey's own mark soaking through his fur and then dribbling free, pattering across his footpaws, catching Rondo's paw where the hare still aimed for him. Enjoying the sensation, the malamute swallowed again, closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and deliberately pushed to strengthen his stream – and then just a moment later felt a similar heat begin to pour out across the small of his back, from the other male's sheath nestled snug in place alongside his tail.

Rondo grinded forward as he settled into the rhythm of his release, that initial dribble down across Huey's rear for a moment sprinkling away, then picking up again about halfway up his back. The malamute couldn't help but arch up into the searing wet heat, his mouth coming open, his eyes fluttering; he sighed, swallowed, shivered, and indulged in the sensation of the hare's mark streaming down along his back, pooling above his tail and then spreading out from there, coursing down his sides in a few slightly darker rivers, swirling around the drain at his footpaws, joining and soon overpowering his own piss as he dribbled to a finish, both from fully relieving himself as well as from the growing pressure of arousal.

Still he pushed, though, pressing himself back against the hare's release, sliding deeper into the warmth as it swelled around him; Rondo took in a breath and straightened up, at the same time keeping the supple skin of his sheath pinned along the base of Huey's tail, dragging the lip slightly back so that his tip poked out, stream of piss strengthening, arcing up towards his shoulders, splashing there, rolling down… and even as he continued to drain himself across the dog's back, Rondo still worked his hips forward and back from that spot, nudging him forward bit by bit until the side of his muzzle pushed against the wall, and his full arousal throbbed underneath him, and Rondo's flow had dribbled to its own finish as well.

The hare leaned forward again to nuzzle at his neck. “Looks like we'll have to get you clean all over again, Huey."

He nodded, breathless. “Mhmm…"

“You wouldn't mind staying in here with me for another… oh, fifteen minutes, would you?"

In response the dog looked over his shoulder, but his lip, and pushed back again. Rondo chuckled softly and dropped his paws down Huey's hips.

“Good. I thought not…"

Dotcom656 - July

This was probably the least comfortable stool upon which Kit had ever had the displeasure of sitting. Again and again the tiger squirmed to one side and then the other, desperately trying to find a spot that allowed the wriggling, writhing mass held within his belly to settle, while at the same time keeping his legs clamped together and his abdomen angled back, just slightly.

Who the fuck goes to a bar in gym shorts? he thought, looking around the dim space, wondering if anyone had noticed yet. But I sure as hell wasn't gonna come in a skirt. God – dammit…

He hadn't had much of a choice, really: belly swollen out like this, far enough that he could feel the stretch against his skin, along his muscles, through the abdominal wall beneath, with this constant squirming weight pushing down on him from inside, making the tiger's canine spade press out even further than it usually did… he hadn't been able to fit into any of his jeans when he had tried them on earlier, including the extra-stretchy elastic ones. In fact, his paw still smelled of that distinct, acrid blend of his own musk combined with the odd, metallic, almost minty touch of the slime that he knew still dribbled out from inside, when he had tried to take himself in his palm and forcibly shovel his sex into the front of his pants.

“S' how long did that take ya, cutie?"

The feline's ears perked and he jumped, though tried to hide it behind taking another sip of his drink. As he did so he turned to the side, legs still crossed, lower body angled away, and looked over his new visitor. Species hard to discern in the low light of the bar, voice hard to place behind the music… and all Kit could smell was the booze of his drink, the smoke wafting up from someone's cigar or something nearby, and then of course that same intoxicating mix of arousal, and urgency, and-

-the slight twitch and pinch of the thing inside of him coiling around itself again, nudging out against him from inside his womb, resettling a moment later. Kit couldn't help but clench down with every muscle, stomach tightening and spade flexing within his shorts, another thick, ropelike spurt of slime squirting out to soak the already sopping fabric. At least that's one thing to be thankful for with the dim lighting, he thought, and tried to put on an inviting face for this nobody.

“Excuse…" Then another twitch and flex, and Kit just barely suppressed the resultant moan bubbling up from inside. “…me?"

Whoever this was, the shape of the head made him think lupine, perhaps, motioned down at the tiger's swollen, protruding belly – and in the same move slopped some of his own drink over the rim of his glass. “Pregnant, right?" that voice went on, then simmered back into a greasy laugh. “Wouldn't think someone like you'd have it in ya, but then I guess – I guess you do, huh? How long?"

Hour and a half was Kit's first thought. That was how long it had taken to get the damn eel-worm to slide up inside of him, much of that time spent on the floor of the bathroom with his legs hoisted up in makeshift stirrups, no fewer than two other friends helping to get him all stretched out and properly lubricated. I've had ten fingers poke my cervix today, the tiger recalled, the phantom ache still simmering deep inside of him a bit, and only two of them were my own… then the eel-worm, its body a little bit thicker around than the wider of the two arms that had been scooped inside of him to make space.

For the entire walk here Kit was almost certain it was just the leftover lube that was dribbling out of him, but now that he had had a chance to sit down, and feel it beneath his rump and between his fingers, and maybe lick some off a fingerpad and scrape some into his drink, he could tell from past experience that this was the product of the eel-worm. It had to keep its immediate surroundings at optimal moisture and acidity, which meant that it exuded its own proper concoction.

“Oh, just this…" Morning wouldn't sound right for how much he was showing, though. Kit clenched his jaw, tried to surreptitiously drop a paw down between his legs, scooped his soaked shorts up against his spade swollen like his belly… felt the fabric suck into place, shivered again. “…Year."

“Oh, lucky lucky! May I-?"

But he was already reaching out with his other paw. Kit's ears flicked back and he opened his mouth to discourage him, but then slightly sticky fingerpads pressed in against the front of his belly, and he felt the eel-worm writhe and readjust inside of him in response. It shifted away from the pressure, then sloshed inside of him to push back up against it, and the stranger whipped his paw away.

“Oh, now, you're just comin' along really nice, ain't'cha?" He leaned away to down the rest of his drink. Kit cupped his arms around his belly. “Say, cutie, whaddya say about… comin' back with me, and I'll – give that bun in your oven some extra kneading, yeah?"

Yet again the tiger tilted his drink up, this time hiding his grimace behind the rim. The bite of cool alcohol wafted across him, briefly dizzying him; he closed his eyes, took in a breath, tried to relax… felt the huge thing, very much like an entire arm wadded up inside of his womb, slither and squirm and coil back around itself again, and – his shorts peeled slightly away from his spade.

It's trying to come out, he thought, eyes flashing open. Other paw still between his legs, he clamped his knees together, pressed a pair of fingers up against arousal- and slime-soaked fabric sealed around the plump, juicy shape of his sex, and barely, just barely, the tapered, wiggling-worm end of the thing's tail, shaft of its body stretching out his inner walls from inside, straining back against reflexively clenching muscle.

The tiger swallowed, then did so again, and gritted his teeth against the wash of booze burning down his throat. “Sorry," he croaked, turning to push himself out of his stool. “I gotta – run to the bathroom – real quick-"

“I certainly hope that drink of yours is virgin," the stranger called over his shoulder, “unlike you! Hah! Ah… I'll, uh, be here, when…"

But Kit wasn't listening. He hobbled and wobbled towards the back of the pair, one paw clutched between his legs, middle fingers stuffing the wet fabric up inside of himself, swollen spade lips sagging down around his other fingers, belly slurping and sloshing around its inhabitant.

Another reason to be thankful for the dim lightning: nobody else would be able to see the snail-trail of leaked slime that the tiger certainly left behind him.

SoraCasus - July

Galen sighed and shifted backwards a bit, the fox's head propped up on their arm looped beneath the pillow, leaving just enough space beneath their neck for another arm, reaching lazily out across the mattress. Through eyelids heavy with drowsiness, they blinked, looked out… saw the soft whitish fur, like a field of snow lightly dusted in ash, and then the short, trimmed claws painted in glistening mulberry. They reached their other paw out, slid long, slender vulpine fingers up in between the shorter, stockier hyena-hybrid ones. Zara's paw twitched and tightened around theirs in response, and from behind they felt her little puff of dozing breath, her broad nose nestling up unto the crook of their neck, the pressure of small, pert breasts squishing against their back…

…and then the other arm draped over Galen's side stirring as well, claws sliding down through thick fur, pushing lower… teasing the fox's leg back and to the side a bit, slipping up alongside warm, wet, tense flesh. Galen's eyes fluttered shut and they pushed back again, knowing that that had been the main sign: with Zara so close, with the hyena's thick, warm scent wafting over them, and the closeness of her body, the awareness of her half-hard shaft nudging up beneath their tail – just what was I supposed to do? Lie here, inattentive? She knows what she's doing to me, doesn't she? She just… and slowly, carefully, one finger ran along supple, succulent lips, tracing down, around, and then back up, and then again, and again.

The fox bit their lip and squeezed their eyes shut, nose flaring with half-suppressed need. That small, slight touch felt like tiny fireworks across such sensitivity, sparkling and flaring, driving them further; they huffed quietly, pushed back into the hyena's lap, felt the answering throb and grind first, then the amused chuckle puffing out across their neck again.

“I've been able to smell how much you wanna play," Zara murmured, her cool tenor tracing out across Galen's neck, “for the past, like… fifteen minutes. I've been waiting for you to ask, since I didn't-"

“Please," they breathed, grinding back again.

Zara scoffed again, then lifted her head, traced her nose along the line of Galen's jaw, nipped, kissed softly. “That works for me," she said, then tilted the fox's muzzle up and away with a nuzzle from beneath – and squeezed two fingers together, running their clit in between soft pads, pushing down further.

Galen gasped and bucked gently as the pressure slid down, spreading arousal-wet lips, pushing across sensitive, silken flesh… and then gritted their teeth and sighed again when those fingers nudged up inside of them, and then sank deeper, to the first knuckle, to the second. There Zara remained, just holding them, grinding beneath their tail, her own arousal similarly growing until Galen could feel the eager, humid heat, the rhythmic pulse, the occasional throb, nudging up against their tailhole.

But the hyena made no move towards that end. Instead she lowered her head back down, lips parted against the fox's neck, and drew her fingers back out, fur slickened with the wetness of vulpine desire. Sweet, soft fingerpads traced around their clit, once, twice, a third time, then slid back down again, now spreading their lips from just inside; then the two fingers switched, from middle two to first two, to spread again while a third danced across the revealed entrance like a small, firm tongue.

An irresistible shiver pumped through the fox's body, and their arm beneath their head tightened so that the pillow puffed against their face. “O-hoh," they breathed, tongue hanging out, “that's… ah-"

_ _

“Ooh. Yeah?" Zara lifted her head again. She slid her arm out from beneath Galen's head, squirmed around a little bit, and then spread her paw against their back right between their shoulder blades, fingers stretching out, settling in… and then claws dragging down through the soft fur there. “How about that, too?"

With a little bit more space offered to them, the fox partially rolled over onto their belly, mushing their muzzle more firmly into the pillow. Their own hot breath puffed back against them, hips thrusting, lurching all on their own as the hyena continued her exploration, fingers pressing in, sinking deep, squirming and tugging inside of them, then sliding back out, dumping little squirts and dribbles of sticky heat across their inner thighs, spreading it around their lips and clit. The paw on their back, dragging down towards the base of their tail and then back up to repeat the motion, made them shiver and writhe and arch forward, then lift back against her warmth all over again.

“Y-yeah…"

“You wanna get on all fours for me?"

But the best they could manage was rolling over onto their belly, face and chest flat against the mattress, rump hiked up into the air. Zara scoffed again and then moved to accommodate, sheets falling back; Galen looked back between pleasure-hooded eyes across the hyena's shapely body, the slightly broad shoulders, the rounded chest, the waist and hips… the hard shaft hanging down beneath its own weight, the full sack dangling between soft thighs. She gave them a wink and then leaned forward again, once more nestling herself alongside the base of their tail, but still instead of lining herself up she just leaned over them again, one arm wrapping around their chest, the other returning to its initial position down between their thighs, and-

-this time three fingers swirling around, finding their point of entry, plunging in… lifting them up so that their toes curled, and their tail lashed, and they gasped out and clenched around the buried fingers, grinding back, wanting more.

“Zara-"

“Mhmm?" She slid herself down along Galen's back, resting her weight atop theirs, pressing them forward along her hips. “I'm right here, fox."

“That's-"

“Still good?"

“Still good…"

“Good. Let me know when you get tired. Then we can lie back down, and…" And then the paws shifted, the one along their chest pushing down, the one between their legs coming up. Galen opened their eyes, but then just as quickly closed them again as slick, slimy fingers brushed across their mouth, then poked their way in across their tongue. Their own scent and taste washed across them, and they bucked and shivered again.

“…and we can try something else, maybe…"