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Peegus – Incest

“Erika, please, I’m-”

“What? Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“I mean, yes, but-” Max reached up, one paw on his sister’s waist where she straddled his lower body, and nudged her muzzle to the side. She blinked, pursed her lips, glared; he rolled his head the other way, tall grass flattening beneath his movement. “Look. You can see Orion from here.”

“You can see Orion from the bus stop, dingbat.”

“Only because I pointed it out. And only during winter! It goes away in the summer, and-”

“Hey.”

He blinked again as the soft, arid scent of wild dog crossed with Erika’s chosen perfume trickled down across him. As the months had passed that scent had turned from simple familiarity into something much stronger, much deeper – and breathing it in now, her face framed in the sparkling of pinprick lights across blue-black velvet canvas behind, he couldn’t help but stir and grind up against her. She felt the movement, smirked, and returned the thrust.

“You know,” she murmured, leaning in. Her bare upper chest blocked out the stars, and suddenly her brother’s attention shifted away from sparkling, glittering off-white, to fresh warm pink glistening in the cool light of the open night. “You should change your resume to say you’re employed full-time.”

“But I’m not?”

“Sure you are.” Her paws pressed against his muzzle, thumbs smoothing down soft fur. He couldn’t help but lift up into her touch, his eyes fluttering shut, his mouth coming open… and again he lifted up underneath her, paws tightening on her waist, exploring her body all over again. The siblings’ clothes waited in a messy pile off to the side somewhere, resting over the backpack that Max had taken on their evening walk tonight – and suddenly he was made aware all over again that they were both naked down to the fur.

“What in the world are – you-” Max grunted. Erika smirked, bit her lip, leaned in closer; her lips brushed against his, and that same, sharp flutter shocked through him yet again, this is my goddamn sister, always just as powerful as the first time. She reached back, brushed her fingers across his growing arousal, teased at his sack hanging down in the grass. “-ah – Erika-”

She held herself there for a moment, teasing his upper lip between hers, sucking softly without ever drawing him in. Max had already learned, as much as he might want to, to never be the one to initiate the tongue part of the kiss. She had absolutely no reservations about biting.

“Because,” she murmured, her mouth still grazing his, her breath tickling out along his cheek. She licked her lips as well as his, pursed forward again, sucked softly, grinded her hips against his. “You’re a full-time fucking nerd piece of shit. You really ask me to go out on a nighttime walk-”

“Well, I-”

“-and not expect me to get worked up, out here, with you, and then we even get naked out here in some field and-”

“Hey, wait-”

“-I show you my tits-” She reached down, grabbed one of his paws, and ran it up along her belly, making sure his fingers brushed across the little pinpoints of her extra nipples toward her breasts, softly firm with her mounting arousal. She rode his hips forward and back, deliberately keeping her brother’s shaft nestled against the plump, full lips of her spade, making sure that she smeared him in her scent and slickness, and enjoying his slow, twitching rise. “-and you look at the goddamn stars instead, and-”

“I’m done, I’m done! I promise! I get it! I’ll – I’ll… ah – hah, oh, man…”

And through eyes halfway closed in sleek, delicious pleasure, he saw her smirk. Erika arched her back and lifted up a little bit, her paw still over his, guiding it up to squeeze one of her bare breasts as she sank slowly down onto his length; the other drifted away from where she had angled him up into her, and beneath the soft rustling of the tall grass – Max shifted a bit, a little spiky burr nudging at his shoulder – his radar-dish ears perked in towards the sound of slick wet flesh sleeving snug around him.

His sister swallowed, shivered, and then dropped both paws to his chest for leverage. “Yeah?” she breathed, and leaned in again. He felt her clench around him, walls of her spade sucking snug around him, lips pushing back against his sheath. “How’s that for seeing stars?”

Max groaned. He pressed himself down against the ground, felt the cool dew seeping into his fur, then thrust upward again, footpaws bracing against the grass. Erika gasped and dug her fingers against his chest.

“You – call me a nerd, and then go and say – that­-”

“To be fair, you’re still not looking at my tits-”

“What? My eyes are closed. Because you’re… you…” He swallowed again. His head rolled back on his shoulders and his mouth fell open; Erika drew her paws down his belly and squeezed her legs around his hips where she sat, full spade settled against the rim of his sheath. Max could feel the way she worked her muscles, now clenching, now pushing, now clenching again, those sleek, luscious inner walls slipping and working around him, her tail wagging behind her. “Hah… you…”

“Uh huh. Go on. I’m waiting.”

“No, I’m…” Max sighed. He circled his other paw along his sister’s thigh, then moved to sit up; she rumbled and leaned back with the movement, draped her arms over his shoulders, smirked again. And then she gasped and yelped as he kept on going, now pushing her over so that she was the one on her back with him on top, still halfway buried inside of her – and then he gave another thrust, and another, and another. “Okay. There. Is that better?”

Erika took a moment to catch her breath. She glanced to the side, brushed some of the grass out of the way, and then wrapped her legs around him. “It’s a start. But I could say you’re still looking at the stars in my eyes.”

“Maybe I am.” Max smiled. “Is that so bad?”

Anonymous – Heat

“Marcus, stop, we – we can’t, I-”

“I know that.” An unconscious shiver wracked the cross-fox’s body, forcing his ears to twitch, his whiskers to nudge forward, his tail to dance where he held himself above Rola – and, knowingly, he pressed his hips forward and down again, his urgent desire, his need, more than palpable through the front of his pants. “Gods, you think I don’t? All this time, you know I want you, and-”

The vixen underneath him moaned out and returned the grind, bracing her footpaws against the cool earth, pine needles and small bits of gravel shifting beneath the blanket as she did so. One paw held Marcus’s against the middle of her chest, fingers so close to her breasts yet just out of reach; the other reached up, brushed across his waist, teased up underneath the thin shirt that he wore beneath his leather armor.

“And you… keep doing things like that, and I…” Again he thrust forward, the exertion and cresting need focusing along his muzzle. This time his ears flicked back, his eyes wrenched shut, his nose curled, and he drew in a slow, shaky gasp. “I won’t be able to help myself.”

“It’s my fault, is it?” Rola swallowed; she knew her mouth was watering just looking at him, just feeling him against her, having his scent so familiar after all of these weeks on the road together, the ex-knight serving as the armed escort for herself and Duke on their way through the country – but still her throat felt dry. And you’ve got just what I need, she thought for not the first time, arms coming up to hook around his shoulders. He blinked, sharp blue eyes focusing in on her muzzle.

“No, I didn’t-”

“I didn’t choose for my heat to strike now, you know.” It manifested like a hunger, a desire and need so sharp that it bordered on discomfort the longer she neglected it. Rola swallowed another moan, squirmed around, hooked her legs around Marcus’s, hoisted herself up into his lap – and took a certain amount of delight in the way his facade faltered again there, lips curling back so that he showed his teeth, his low voice shuddering out in another breathy moan. “And all I’ve got is you and Duke, and he’s out hunting, and you actually took the step to come over here and-”

“You know I’ve had my eye on you.”

“You don’t make any secret of it.”

“I try to. For his sake.” Marcus swallowed, wet his lips, then leaned in to brush his muzzle alongside hers. Rola shuddered with that gentle touch, his breath warm and soft across her cheek, his lips like smooth velvet as they pressed in, slid along her jawline towards her neck, then nudged down beneath the collar of her shirt to nip and kiss at tender flesh and fur. “I don’t want to disrespect either of you.”

“It’s – not disrespect,” she managed, again lifting her hips up against him… and again he reciprocated the movement, pinning his weight against her, grinding down so firmly that she could feel the shape, the heft of his arousal through layers of clothing. Another long day on the road with the three stepping off into the woods to camp for the night, Marcus and Rola setting everything up while Duke went off to hunt, as he always did; after simmering and stewing with the awareness of the growing knowledge throughout the day, stealing touches and rubs and leg-shuddering moments here and there when neither of them were around, the distant interest had quickly swelled into a searing need, and she had known that both of them could tell. “It’s a natural cycle, Marcus, I-”

“I know it is-”

“-had only hoped that we would have arrived by the time it hit, so that I could rent a room and lock myself away until it passed-”

A firm, strong paw, weathered and calloused for its familiarity with all manner of weapons, tilted her muzzle up with a gentleness that was no longer surprising to her. “Like last time?” Marcus rumbled, and for that moment she thought he would come in and kiss her; the vixen’s eyes fluttered shut and her parted her lips, and felt as well as tasted his breath shivering out across her… and then it dribbled away and she blinked, surprised, only to then squirm beneath that kiss settling in against her neck instead. Then her shoulder, and along the swell of one of her slim breasts, and then across her belly through a part in the folds of her clothing.

He won’t, she thought, watching the cross fox descend through nearly-closed eyes, her anticipation growing, cresting, peaking. With firm, focused movements Marcus untucked her shirt from her trousers, lifted the soft material across fur as plush white as the silk hiding it, and for a moment nestled in there, his eyes closed, his lips pursed, his nostrils flared as he drew in her scent. She could feel the grinding of his jaw as he warred with desire and honor, his paws hooked around her thighs… and then he lifted up, swallowed, met her eyes for a moment – and then dove down just a little bit further, and pressed his muzzle up against the heat-damp fabric between her legs.

His nose nudged up against her through folds of fabric, and she saw his eyes flutter before he closed them, and then he yanked her down against him, dug up at her through her pants, and took in a deep, slow, shuddering breath of her heat-laced scent. Rola groaned and lifted up against his muzzle, wanting to feel his nose, his lips, his tongue, without this damned barrier in between them; Marcus rumbled deep in his throat again as he tasted her scent.

Intense desire thrummed through the cross fox’s body. His claws dug in along her thighs forcefully enough that Rola nearly cried out, but sensing this tension, the ex-knight lightened his grasp and then swept himself away, as though suddenly realizing he had overstepped. When his eyes met hers, though, his mouth partially open as he panted with unchained need, his lips glistening with the gathered wetness of her stirring arousal, Rola felt a small, indulgent laugh bubble up inside of her. Marcus smiled, bemused at first, then flicked his tongue out across his dampened lips-

-and Rola reached up, threw her arms around his shoulders, and yanked him down towards her, the much more strongly muscled cross fox still yielding to her guidance. She could smell herself on him, and the thought just fueled that flame further; once more she wrapped her legs around him, lifted up to grind against him, found his sleek muzzle with her paws, and this time bumped her nose to his, and took in a breath of her own heat-spiced musk. Marcus glanced down across her lips, as though reassuring himself they were really there.

And then she closed the distance and kissed him, then did so again, and again. Panting, Marcus swallowed against her.

“Rola – here?”

“Here.”

“But what if Duke-”

“Now.”

Anonymous – Voyeurism

Duke peeked around the trunk again, his night-adjusted eyes squinting against the glare of the fire, then just as quickly dove back out of sight again. His heart thumped in his chest, his breath caught in his throat, and his mind turned a hundred circles a second; this can’t be right, he thought, gaze dancing back and forth through the darkened forest ahead of him, seeing nothing. I must be wrong. Right? They wouldn’t – there’s no way that… I mean, I was only gone for probably forty minutes, and… and she’s in heat, and I know Marcus’s been making eyes at her, but I never thought that he… might…

The fox closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and took in a slow breath, hoping to steady himself. Then, resolved to whatever it was he might find back at their campsite, he turned again, angled his muzzle so that his snout would not poke out, and took another look-

-and sharply illuminated by the fire even as it had begun to burn low, there could be no denying what really was happening. There was Rola on all fours, her clothing apparently haphazardly tugged open, tails of her shirt hanging about her waist, trousers pulled down to her knees; the white fur of her paws had tinted to a dusty, dirty brown where she pressed them against the earth, the rest of her body bouncing, lurching with the cross fox’s thrusts behind her, her head raised and tilted back, her eyes half-closed in delight, her mouth hanging open. The couple clearly attempted to keep the noise down, but even from here Duke could hear the hungry panting, the half-swallowed grunts and moans, and then, best of all, the slick, wet smacking slaps of hips against rump, of firm hard shaft sinking into succulent, plump lips.

Marcus had stripped off his armor and thrown his sword aside, so that now his undershirt similarly billowed around his well-muscled chest and belly. Both paws gripped Rola’s waist as he pounded against her, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut; he gritted his teeth and flared his nostrils, then leaned forward, dragged his tongue up between her shoulders – the vixen gasp and let out a louder moan – then clamped one paw around her muzzle to stifle the noise. From his hiding place Duke’s ears perked to the sound of her caught breath, the sharp inhalation, the suppressed swallow, then the shaky, voiced series of moans that trickled out between the guard’s fingers, thick and sticky like the wet warmth that dribbled between her legs and stained the blanket underneath them.

That’s my blanket, the fox thought as he watched, disbelief stirring, oddly, into interest and curiosity and, somewhere along the way, arousal as well. There had been no words exchanged between himself and Rola about whatever it was that had happened between the two of them so far, though Duke assumed that no words had been needed in the first place: the way she found his paw when they strolled through the city, how she brushed her shoulder against his, how soft and snug he rested his arm about her waist when they settled in to sleep during the night… but then, nothing more. These past few days, when her heat cycle had begun and progressed, had proven torture to be around her, not out of distaste but rather because he hadn’t wanted to do something he might regret, and-

And Marcus gritted his teeth again, growled, and then thrust forward forcefully enough to push Rola slightly off-balance, one paw scrabbling out across the dirt. She gasped through his fingers and he released her as she toppled, falling partially forward; the white-furred vixen caught herself, muzzle sideways against the ground. She flicked her tongue out across her lips, swallowed through her open mouth, looked back up at Marcus on top of her with her one open eye, and then breathed a shaky, exhausted chuckle.

The cross fox noticed, leaned in closer, then halfway lifted a leg to adjust his angle. Duke clamped his paw around his own muzzle to stifle his resulting gasp: the other male reached in and planted a charcoal-toned paw against the smooth field of bare, soft snow-white along Rola’s haunch, holding her in place just as he spread her, and allowing their unknown audience to watch the way the luscious pink pucker of her tailhole stretched and pulled with his girth plunging into her underneath, fur around her sex slickened with the juice of her heat, that same wet warmth dribbling down his sack where it swung in the air with each thrust.

Breathless, Duke dropped his other paw down his body, his bow forgotten at his side. He felt at his own chest through his shirt, then his belly, then lower… and gave himself a firm, curious squeeze, his own arousal twitching through his pants, halfway hard, growing the more he watched. Silent, he worked at the fastenings of his trousers, paused as he considered this, looked over his shoulder, continued… and then sighed with indulgent relief at the sensation of the first stroke, then the second, then the third. And then he looked over his shoulder again, peering around the tree, and couldn’t help but stroke a bit faster.

Marcus had leaned forward once more, scooped a muscular arm underneath Rola’s body, and now hoisted her all the way upright. Yet again she moaned out, the sound of her pleasure sharp and invigorating in the otherwise quiet night; the cross fox behind her adjusted his posture, braced his knees near hers, and pulled her back, one paw sliding down between her legs while the other caressed one of her breasts, and he continued pounding up into her from behind, her bushy tail wrapped around him, his muzzle hooked over her shoulder, her panting and breathy moans trickling out into the air.

Duke gritted his teeth, his own breath picking up. He spread his legs, wrapped his other paw around his sack, went a little faster and harder as he watched. Why am I still here? h_e thought, now leaning over a little further to get a better view. _I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be watching this. But – they shouldn’t be doing this in the first place. But, still, I don’t… I’m…

His nose twitched, and he paused in his self-pleasure to take another sniff, then another. That’s Rola, he noted, the rich warmth of her simmering heat spreading across him like oil already ignited. And then there’s… something else. Different, lower, not quite as sharp... is that-

In the camp Marcus growled again, ran his paw up Rola’s throat, tilted her head back, and then set his teeth against her bared neck. She shuddered against him, eyes fluttering shut. Duke closed his eyes, sighed his breath out, then inhaled again.

That’s Marcus. Gods, if I could be there, with them… Rola moaned again, as did Marcus, and Duke had to bite his lip to keep from doing the same. He braced his shoulder against the trunk, leaned over further, and watched, halfway crouched over, stroking himself in rhythm with the other male’s thrusts.

He didn’t want to miss a single second of this.

JohnTravoltage – Gargoyle

Riley pressed his paw against the surface of the stone, the texture rough and cool beneath his pawpads. He wobbled there for a moment, all of the night’s booze still sloshing through him, then finally managed to straighten up – and just as quickly leaned back in against the figure crouching here by the side of the path. The hunched shoulders, the rigid posture, the full wings folded partially around the body; knees bent to either side of the body, sharp-clawed hindfeet prickling down into the grass with equally sharp-clawed hands positioned right in between, with the deeper nooks and crannies devolving into shadow made thicker in the night; then of course the head, vaguely animalistic, vaguely humanoid, with the exaggerated features, the hooked nose, the sharp teeth, the pointed ears… the open mouth, the dangling tongue.

The otter straightened up again, blinked, then looked one way along the sidewalk and then the other. Who the fuck – puts a gargoyle in a public park? he thought, then shifted closer. Right here, of all places? But… I mean…

The idea had hit him as soon as he saw the figure crouched over here, even before knowing it was just a statue made of stone. As such, it took little time for him to drop his paw back down to finish unbuttoning his pants fly so he could draw the zipper down, and then flop his shaft and balls out into the cool stillness of the night; I’ll have to… poke Lukas tomorrow about my underwear, he thought, idly running his fingers back and forth across himself; his foreskin was still nice and slick from the tongue-work he had received at the party. Girlfriend gave me that pair, and she has a matching one, and… she’ll be upset if I lose it, and…

On legs slightly unsteady from the events of the night Riley scooted closer, hoisted himself up onto his tiptoes, then flopped his shaft across the gargoyle’s muzzle bridge. There was that cool roughness again, drawn out a bit against such sensitive skin; he pushed forward and then drew back, then lifted up a little bit further to scoop his paw underneath his balls and drop those across the snout as well. Riley leaned back, tilted his head, frowned, looked closer, then giggled to himself.

Yeah. One paw clamped on the back of the gargoyle’s head between its horns, he reached into his pocket to fish out his phone. Yeah, that’s perfect. They’ll love that.

He winced against the brightness of the screen, blinked the reflexive tears out of his eyes, then adjusted the angle so the selfie would capture his face as well as the gargoyle’s, with him resting hefty and limp over the top. I hope I leave a fuckin’ grease stain, he thought as he drew back – then shivered with that rough texture dragging along the back of his sack. The otter paused to investigate if any fur had been pulled, fingers poking and prodding; then he crouched down a bit and this time gave himself a few strokes, casting surreptitiously around the park in case he had any unknown audience.

After everything that had happened at the party tonight it was no wonder that with each tug back he could smell himself a bit, his familiar rich, warm musk wafting up to tickle at his nose and putting him right back in that luxurious mindset. He swallowed, leaned back, and briefly forgot where he was and what he was doing as he stroked himself, forefinger and thumb right there at the rim of slick skin, working himself in rhythm just before the gargoyle’s sizeable, permanently flared nostrils. Wish I could be you, he thought then, angling his phone screen in to help illuminate what he was doing.

From there Riley crouched over a little bit further, felt the burn in his haunches, nudged forward… and rested his now half-hard cock across the gargoyle’s ridged tongue, and held it there while he lined up the shot. Then he had to put himself back in place after a roil of laughter bubbled up through him at his first attempt at the picture, so he made sure to take a second, and a third, and a fourth, each from a different angle and pose: he couldn’t quite fit his balls between the statue’s jaws, and he was still a bit too buzzed to crouch over and press his rump against its muzzle, though he was surprised that nobody had broken the protruding tongue off already.

He straightened up, satisfied with his work, and tapped through his phone to send the shots – then froze when the feeling of rough stone dragged across the underside of his still half-hard length. From in front of and beneath him came the sound of rock scraping across itself, and he thought he wobbled with another wave of dizziness from the alcohol with the way the gargoyle’s head rocked and shifted against his thigh.

Then, though, the roughness continued across the underside of his cock, and dragged up across hypersensitive flesh, and then finally teased in underneath the rim of his foreskin. He gritted his teeth, gasped, and tried to jerk back… but even as he did so the rough stoniness dissolved into something closer to genuine muscle and flesh, and soon cool, humid breath puffed out across his bare waist, like a draft wafting through an open cavern. Stone crackled further; wings previously graven flexed, stretched, folded up along the back; tightly muscled shoulders and arms stretched, lifted, reached up towards his waist, grabbed him there, and held him in place-

-and Riley stared down at the opened eyes of the gargoyle, glistening with living moisture in the light of the night, his phone still held in his other paw. He swallowed through his opened mouth, blinked, tried to tug back – and felt the gargoyle’s grip tighten on his waist, and the thing’s tongue slip further beneath his foreskin, coiling around, poking in at the underside hidden within.

The otter glanced out to the horizon. They turn to stone only in the daylight, right? he thought, and swallowed again. I hope to fucking God that that’s true.

Sen – Orientation play

Minky gritted his teeth and dug his claws into the painted threshold of the doorway, the cat’s muzzle halfway hanging out into the next room. Why can’t we do this in the bedroom? he thought, and certainly not for the first time tonight: it was such a strange sensation that tingled across the puckered rim of his tailhole, the knowledge and feeling of thick, sticky saliva coating the previously untouched wrinkled skin, to say nothing about that broad tongue that had dragged across, and circled around, and – and pressed in, just a little bit.

But that – that’s not gay. He grunted again, eyes wrenching shut, jaw clenching, against the thick, almost painful discomfort that pushed up underneath his lifted tail, the movement nudging him forward against the doorway. Plenty of straight guys like their ass getting eaten. I’ve seen it in videos all the time. They make the other one do it, and it’s gay for the guy doing the rimming, and not for the one receiving it, and… and it does feel good, and I kinda wish I could have more of that, and I-

Then rich, warm masculine scent wafted across him from behind as the striped hyena leaned over him, still sinking gradually in. Shekh worked his hips slowly, gently, knowing that this was the housecat’s first time. One of the paws that had just been spreading Minky’s rump now lifted up beneath the feline’s shirt, sharp claws drawing lines in short, thick fur; Shekh’s broad muzzle poked in over his shoulder and nudged against his cheek, the hyena’s lips still slick with drool, Minky’s own musk puffing out on his breath.

He flicked his tongue across his chops – the same tongue that was just in my ass – and swallowed. “See?” he rumbled, and gave another push forward. Minky gasped, reflexively clenched around him, and then let out a low, shivering moan of complain. “Not so bad, is it? Good thing you got me – nobody else would’ve made sure to prep you so thoroughly.”

God, he’s… It felt like instead of his cock, he had shoved his entire arm up underneath the cat’s tail. Minky’s leg trembled as though it were made of jelly, and his long tail lashed and flicked, and he thought he might actually crack his jaw from biting down so hard. Fuck, he’s big. Or – is he? I didn’t look at his dick much, I…

...and he gasped again and kicked at the floor as Shekh’s hips grinded up against his rump, firm bone against plush flesh, and the hyena throbbed once more, buried to the base. And there he held himself, forcing the cat to become accustomed to the sensation of being filled… and filled he was, more than he thought he could handle: sharp, intense heat seemed to spread out inside of him, sensation wrapping in with discomfort and the pull of the stretch, and the groaned and squirmed and shuddered around the hard cock buried beneath his tail, and felt himself clench and twitch again and again.

The paw along his belly tightened, and the second at his waist squeezed in, and Shekh drew back – Minky thought he could hear his guts churn with complaint – then thrust back in, and again, and again. The cat swallowed again, throat dry, and turned his muzzle up with his eyes closed.

When the hyena had brought him over here to the end of the hallway, the first thing Minky had expected was to see Shekh undo his pants, and then the last thing was to have himself spun around to receive broad hyena muzzle beneath his tail, socketing in like a plug into an outlet. Shekh had leaned over him from above, the cool warmth of alcohol sizzling across his breath, and teased a claw down the cat’s chest; he had reached down with his other to undo his pants fly, the button popping free, then the zipper coming down, and then he flopped himself out half-hard into the air between them, and…

I’m straight. I’m not gonna – look at another guy’s dick.

Sleek, smooth foreskin wrapped snug around the shaft, the rim of his head still visible beneath the supple softness, all bunching together to that dense, wrinkled overhang. Maybe there had been the thought of reaching forward to touch it, and had Shekh grabbed Minky’s paw and forced the cat to do so, then he simply would have had no choice but to follow his lead; but instead the hyena had shifted how he stood and slowly stroked himself, forward and back, and he had seen the way that hood of skin had smoothly, sleekly slid back to pop over the rim, then forward where it bunched in over itself, then back again. He had worked himself up, harder and harder, until when he finally drew his paw away to tilt Minky’s muzzle towards his own – and his fingers had smelled of rich, heady musk – his shaft stood at full attention between them, bouncing with the beat of his heart, pulsing each time he throbbed.

Then those paws had slid down Minky’s shoulders to his waist, and next thing he knew his pants had been opened and tugged down his thighs, and then he found himself spun around and pressed against the wall, and then it was lips first and tongue second and-

And the cat suddenly felt that heat inside of him blossom out and burst, and he couldn’t help but arch his back and buck back against the hyena now pumping into him in a steady rhythm. The strange, uncomfortable pressure remained, filling out like a balloon inflating within his bowels, but now there was something else as well: like a boulder pushed towards the top of a hill, hitting that crest, and then beginning its descent, he felt himself tumble over, body shaking, nerves tingling, every muscle clenching and tightening and squeezing and – then Minky gasped, moaned out, moaned again, and again, and felt his own shaft leap and bounce against his belly as he emptied his load out across the wall clear across the hallway, another spurt forced out from a thrust deep inside, pounding against some hidden button.

Was that pleasure he felt? Mouth open, heart pounding, he looked down to see the ropes of white continue to swing and spurt out from him, now dribbling down to the carpeted floor between his footpaws, his pants barely halfway to his knees. This warmth, this intensity…

Throat dry, voice little more than a whining whimper, Minky closed his eyes again, leaned in against the wall, and pushed back against the hyena once more. That’s – okay, he thought, his mind fuzzy. The prostate is – literally a cum button. Plenty of straight guys like… prostate play. This… doesn’t make me… God, I wonder if I could get a second finish…

criticalshot1239 – Property Destruction

Caleb ran his paws up across the otter’s sleek, toned thighs, loving the feeling of silken velvet fur beneath his fingerpads. He pushed his head back against the pillow, flicked his tongue out across lupine chops and fangs, and groaned with sweet, indulgent delight – then gasped, grunted, and moaned out again as his half-swollen knot once more plopped into Mark’s luscious tailhole, both of the otter’s paws reaching back to spread himself for the effort, and with him pushing from inside.

“God, Mark…” the wolf murmured, and ran a paw up his companion’s chest. One of those webbed paws came up from underneath to brush across his. “You’re… really something else, I’ve… never had… a bottom so…”

Sharp blue eyes shimmered down at him through half-closed lids. Mark licked his lips. “Tell me about it,” he purred, keeping his upper body nearly still while his hips did all the heavy lifting. He swished forward, tugged until the wolf’s knot slurped free, then grinded back again – and barely jumped when it eased up inside of him again. “And I’ve… ah – never had a top who’s… so…”

“Of course with the news, I’ve… heard the term… ‘power bottom’, but…” Caleb swallowed again and lifted himself up a bit, at the same time thrusting up with his hips. On top of him Mark gasped, shivered, then returned that paw to its initial, proper place: with two fingers hooked within the loop of the collar Caleb wore, so graciously provided by the otter atop him. “It’s almost as if you-”

But then his ears perked; his whiskers twitched; his hackles shivered in that cool, icy intuitive-premonition way, the very same that had served the hero-in-disguise so often in the past. It was something of a seventh sense – “because,” his mentor had told him once, “‘balance’ is the sixth,” which for some reason always stuck with him – that he had trained, and honed, and refined, and sharpened to deadly efficiency, leading to his climb to where he was now known as the most influential superhero that the quad-city complex had ever seen since the establishment of the program.

“The top of the service,” Caleb had said in his recognition speech, of course through the mask and uniform he had had specially designed for his powers; “and that is why I am known as Service Top, and-”

And this sleek, slim, unobtrusive otter on top of him quirked the corner of his mouth, started down at him with blue eyes suddenly much sharper, and clenched his tailhole so tightly around the root of the wolf’s knot that he gasped. A fierce yank at his collar brought Caleb face to face with the mustelid, and that little tongue flicked out across pert, tight lips:

“I’ve never had such a Service Top,” Mark hissed, then swallowed. He pulled himself up, squeezed around the lupine shaft buried inside of him, then plopped down again, this time without needing the aided stretch from his paws. “And you… ah, you’ve never had such a – let me guess – Power Bottom, have you?”

Reports in the news of influential figurehead after figurehead hit by the masked marauder, his wiles unmatched in his quest to easily, irreversibly turn them to his views – the supervillain known as Power Bottom had ravaged and ravished the quad-city complex for the worse part of three years now, always evading the heroes’ grasp. Caleb blinked, disbelief pouring through him along the shivering waves of pleasure from an impossibly experienced rump squeezing behind his knot – perhaps a dastardly, villanously experienced rump. A… Power Bottom.

Slowly the wolf reached up, took Mark’s wrist in his paw, and undid his grasp on his collar. Then, just as slowly, just as calmly, Caleb reached around in back towards the fastenings, pulled the tongue through the loop, heard the click and clatter of metal on metal – and reacted just in time against Mark’s sudden change in expression. One second the wolf was lounging back in his bed, wrapped in snug, succulent bliss, likely some three thrusts and knot-pulls away from his finish; the next, he had been blasted through the upper levels of the apartment complex by the force of the villain’s yank, leaving crumbling bits of drywall and foundation falling free around them as he pulled himself free and kicked away into the sky.

Then through the lower stratosphere, that familiar evil voice coming closer, the dark speck that was once Mark in the distance quickly reshaping into the streamlined figure captured in amateur footage of the Power Bottom: “I almost had you! I was so close!”

Panting, Caleb - Service Top - rolled his head on his shoulders, popped his neck, cracked his knuckles, shook himself out… throbbed and then did so again, still-hard shaft lifting up towards the smooth fur of his belly, his sack tugging up closer in the relative chill of the atmosphere. “So was I!” he shouted back, hackles bristling further. “I was about to cum! I meant it when I said I’d had nobody else like you, Mark!”

In the time it took him to blink, the Power Bottom had crossed miles upon miles of open sky, with Service Top’s long-trained reflexes serving as the only barrier between him and what likely would have been his lungs removed from his chest at great velocity. He grunted as the clenched fist impacted his crossed wrists, then glanced down and back up again: still the otter’s fur bore the sleek wetness of lube from when that wrist had been buried beneath his own tail in preparation for Caleb’s knot earlier in the day.

Then the impact resolved… and Service Top felt himself blown backwards back down to his shattered apartment complex, pounding through floor after floor underneath Power Bottom’s unrelenting onslaught. He grunted again and again, just barely managing to alter his block in time, teeth gritted, body lurching with the power of his movements; he’s gonna… shatter my pelvis, Caleb thought, desperate. I’m not gonna… make it out of this one, I-

And the for a split second, there was just Mark on top of him again, the otter’s shaft nudging against his own, balls draping, rudder wrapping around his leg, as the supervillain rested him with surprising grace into the crater he had dug into the earth.

“Please, Caleb,” he crooned. The wolf could smell his own musk on his breath. “Do this for me. For the quad-city complex. Will you come with me?”

Caleb grunted. “I-”

“Will you…” The otter lifted up, quirked his hips, shifted back… and sank all the way down past his knot in one smooth, slick movement, sending a sweet shiver through both of them. “...cum for me?”

Then Service top winced, lifted up – and spat across Power Bottom’s face, catching him by surprise. His small pink tongue flicked out to lap up the frothy mess.

“Close,” Mark rumbled, and tugged back up off of him. “But not close enough. Say goodbye, hero. You’re finished.”

“Not yet, I haven’t…” and Caleb tightened his paws on the otter’s waist and yanked him back down. Both of them hissed with delight. “But one more of these, and we’ll just see who comes out on top.”