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sigh-otter – Feral

Sigh shivered where he knelt along the bathroom floor and then licked his lips, closing one eye against the spray of loose, watery cum that repeatedly jetted out from the rich red, veined canine shaft throbbing through the glory hole. They had been going at it for a while now, the stranger’s panting and scrabbling from the other side making it sound as though they were an absolutely animalistic lover; time and time again had the otter-skunk hybrid thought about getting up, slipping his pants a little bit further down his legs, and then turning around to take them underneath his tail, but something about servicing them on his knees like this just did it for him.

It was something in the scent, and in the taste as well. Different from the other, similarly-equipped visitors he had served since he had first locked himself in this stall earlier in the night. Of course he had taken a few pictures and videos of those other visitors so that he could easily remember – that was half the fun of coming out here – but this one, he knew, would stick around in his memory as strongly as their musk clung to the back of his throat. There was that distinctive note of wet dog smell strengthened to liquid slickness, mixed with a sharp, almost rusty metallic bite to it, all wrapped beneath an overwhelming saltwater consistency that made his mouth water and nose wrinkle, and he just could not get enough of it.

Forefinger and thumb wrapped around the base of the stranger’s swollen knot, Sigh leaned in, sniffed at the twitching, pulsing length, and then dragged his tongue up again. This earned another series of short, quick panting from whoever stood on the other side of the stall divider, accompanied by some fervent trembling, throbbing, spraying again; the hybrid swallowed, tasted all of this, then came up further to wrap his lips around the tapered tip.

Bit by bit those sprays continued emptying out into his maw, streaking the roof of his mouth, soaking around his tongue, pooling within his lower jaw. He closed his eyes, moaned out around the cock halfway in his mouth, dove steadily down with lips tight, came back up… dove down again, tilted his head so he could work himself firmly in against the stall divider, swallowed there. Then he came up once more, swirled his tongue around that somewhat softer tip, and cupped the underside again, where he could feel that fine webwork of veins running all across this richly colored length, red to pink to white to supple, luscious lavender near the full, straining knot, tugging against the edge of the glory hole again and again, just now starting to deflate and retreat.

Seeing his opportunity, he swallowed once more, dove down until his lips brushed up against the rim of that sizeable wad of flesh, and tugged from beneath the base again. This squeezed yet another panting rumble out of whichever lucky dog waited on the other side, along with the sharp, sudden scrabbling of claws across the surface of the divider; Sigh could imagine them hunched along the other side, wobbly knees bumping against the wall, paws reaching up towards the top but unable to reach, claws dragging down, eyes wrenched shut, teeth gritted.

He swallowed yet again, once more able to feel the simmering, salty heat of the canine’s ongoing load pooling around his tongue, and slid that paw away from their shrinking knot to smear their greasy, slick sheen of musk along his own twitching arousal, and to use that as he gave himself a few slow, steady strokes. It had been so, so hard to hold himself back during this whole expedition: there still remained a little bit of the gathered stain along the rim from that stallion who had visited and briefly got stuck when he flared, and then some of Sigh’s own drool had dried onto the surface of the divider from when he had leaned into slip his tongue beneath an offered tail a little while ago, and-

-there was more scrabbling and scratching, panting, and then something almost like an urgent whine that caught the hybrid’s ears. He blinked and drew back, the sleekly contoured surface of the canine’s length slipping free from between his lips as they dismounted – since now that everything was finished, he could see that that was exactly what they did. He had been right about the paws reaching up towards the top of the divider and scraping down, except – his heart thumped in his chest on this realization – it was forepaws that slid down from overhead, to then tap back down against the tiled floor.

And the visitor, the stranger, the canine, the dog, shook himself out, lifted his head, drew his broad, flat tongue out across his chops, then hoisted a leg up and reached underneath to lap himself back into his sheath. As he did so it seemed as though he made sure to glance up at the glory hole, surprisingly sharp, intelligent eyes catching Sigh’s, throat still tingling, belly still simmering with the salty heat of the feral’s rich seed; a few more licks and that tapered, reddish-pink tip slipped back into the pert lips of his sheath, still-heavy balls sagging and swinging behind. Then the dog straightened up again, tossed his head, took in and let out a huff of breath, and tap-tap-tapped towards the door of his stall.

Sigh scrambled to press his muzzle up against the divider to peek through the hole where he could, from here affording him a fine view of the feral’s backside: lifted tail, swaying haunches, sack jiggling with each step, taut puckered tailhole above twitching and flexing with the beat of his heart. Then the dog disappeared out of sight, soon followed by another scrabbling of deft forepaws along the bathroom door; the click of the lock; the creak of the door itself swinging open… and he watched beneath his own door as all four of those paws padded by, and went out of view.

Still hard, still twitching, still able to taste the distinct headiness of what he now knew as feral dog, Sigh reached up, wiped at his mouth… paused, sniffed his paw, sniffed a little deeper.

I wonder if he’ll be back for a round two…

Drakirion – Feral

Drak sniffed at the air again, a deep, indulgent drag that brought his head up towards the peak of his humped neck and that spread his broad shoulders back. The vicious gnoll let his thick tongue hang out of his mouth as he did so, slurping that breath in through nostrils and gaping maw both; he felt the currents of air twist and dance and slip down his throat, tasted the warm spice of equine arousal and sex and climax, a grassy earthiness layered with that undeniable musky kick that further fueled the flame already sizzling deep inside of him.

He loped through the tall grass of the prairie, leading with one bulbous, muscular arm to drag himself forward, brushy tail lashing, long foreskin plopping and slurping at itself as his swinging momentum tugged it this way and that. The further he went, the closer he came, the more his arousal grew, until his sizeable shaft lifted up out of the grass and twitch, twitch, twitched against his belly, though the wide, sensitive head remained comfortably hooded beneath slick supple folds of skin already dripping with eager pre. At the crest of the next hill he paused, took in another breath, and then had to slurp the drool from the corners of his maw when his mouth watered with the strength of her scent.

Mare. He had known even before he had burst through the fence at the other side of the pasture, the tangles of barbed wire nowhere near enough to slice through his monstrous hide. Estrus. Freshly rutted by a stallion. Delicious.

The thoughts came more as base impulses and senses, impressions rather than coherent words. Drak swung his head around as he took in another breath, centering in on its source, and then tumbled down the other side of the hill toward his target; as he ran he clutched himself in his other paw, calloused fingerpads still surprisingly pleasurable along his full arousal, and used his loping gait to thrust up into his clenched paw, each pull still not enough to roll the thick, leathery skin all the way back.

From a distance the mare noticed his approach – and from a distance Drak eyed the way her raised tail showed off her protruding tailhole pulsing with rhythmic flexes, and how the supple, succulent drooping folds of her recently used sex dripped with milky seed, spritzing out every now and then across the remnants of pleasurable winks. She looked back at the approaching gnoll, tossed her head, whinnied in shock, moved to gallop away-

-but then the beast fell upon her, huge paws grasping her haunches firm enough to hold her in place yet not enough to harm her, and quite easily lifted himself up to her height. His first thrust slid across the warm, coarse-silk side of her rump, then the second nudged firmly up under the velvety base of her tail, and then the third finally struck home. With sleek, slick swiftness and leg-shaking indulgence the gnoll buried himself to the base deep inside of succulent, luscious folds of squeezing interior meat, the silken wetness of the mare’s insides slurping up around him, sleeving nice and snug and holding firm.

She whinnied again, struggled, and shifted, her sex winking up and pressing against him. The gnoll growled with delight, drew himself back, and thrust forward again, then again, and again; already the leaking slop of her recent mate’s load spilled out across him, matting a frothy mess into his pubic fur, dribbling down his full balls in discolored twin trails that flung off dribbles of milky white with each movement.

At this angle, thrusting as he did – one leg came up and braced against the mare’s side, partially pulling her down against him so that he could feel her tailhole sucking in at his lower belly, leaving grease stain kiss-marks in the thick fur there – the gnoll’s thick foreskin tugged back again and again, smearing across his hidden head underneath, rolling back further, folding over itself… until it finally slipped behind the broad rim and lodged there. The sudden extra sensitivity lanced through Drak with each powerful pound, making his tail lash and his mane bristle; he threw his head back and growled with delight so sharp it bordered on discomfort, spittle flinging from curled lips, deadly sharp fangs gritted.

Fully hunched over the horse, Drak drilled deep inside of her until his hips smacked against her haunches, then slurped back out so that the rim of his head pulled free but the end remained nestled within plush, silken insides. Each time he pulled out, so too did he scoop out another sloshing glob of the stallion’s load, bubbling and frothing from the motion – and when he sank back in his rhythm was just as smooth, just as sleek, just as delicious. His scent began to mix with hers, layering the higher, sharper musky spice of the gnoll’s arousal over her grassier aroma.

Now the mare bore down and pushed back against him, her tail lifted, her head craned back… her sex winking against him with each thrust, supple walls sleeving snug around his length. He took some pleasure in knowing that he would be at least as filling as the stallion before him, and likely with a more impressive load: feeling that peak approaching he switched legs, leaned over her a little further, buried his stout muzzle into her shoulder, sucked in another breath of her earthy livestock scent-

-then grunted, snarled, thrust, thrust again, and felt those inner walls pulse and swell around his buried length with each forceful burst of his own seed, filling her thoroughly, spurting out around his base, emptying out the rest of the stallion’s as it came. The gnoll growled out, drool dripping from his lips, splattering across her chocolate pelt; in one swift, shaky move he dismounted, his still-hard cock tugging free with a liquid slurp, foreskin remaining lodged behind his swollen head, and the mare took her chance and bolted.

But Drak noticed with satisfaction that she left no trail behind her, and even as she winked and flexed, his gift remained buried deep. Panting gently, he plopped down into the grass, swallowed, and lifted a leg so that he could lean in and clean himself off.

Nematious – Feral

Nem covered her snout with her paw, both to stifle the thick, heavy moans that rhythmically dribbled out from between her clamped lips as well as to inhale the scent woven through the fur and across her pads. Rich and warm, metallic yet earthy like wet forest soil, and of course strung through with that heady sharpness that fueled the flame simmering deep inside of her, further tickled by the source of the scent pounding deep again and again.

The fox’s body lurched with each thrust, the middle of her shoulders pressed down beneath a huge meaty paw, the weight of the feral wolf-dragon pressing her down from above and behind. Every time Silas pressed forward into her Nem moaned out between her splayed fingers, breath feeling so heavy that she thought it might as well steam in the cool air. She could taste him every time she swallowed as well, and knew that she would continue to be able to even after he had finished with her, and pounded deep and filled her up, and-

And the huge feral shifted, grunted in her ear, and then squatted down a little bit further, now bringing his other forepaw in to clamp both around her sleek, slim waist, finding easy leverage there. The fox gasped with the change in angle and hoisted herself back up to all fours, her eyes rolling up and her mouth falling open. She dragged her paw down towards her maw and flicked her tongue out to curl between her fingers, continuing to lap off the wetness there; the fox squirmed, sighed, and pressed her rump back against the male as he thrust, welcoming the contoured girth of his shaft as it pumped deep inside of her, the bump of his as of yet unswollen knot, the soft, malleable wrinkles of his sheath folded back, and then those palm-sized balls thumping forward against her from underneath.

She had come across him snoozing partially on his back, one hindleg raised, everything on full display, and – what could she do but invite herself in? First one paw reaching forward to touch and feel and squeeze, basking in the dank, humid heat vibrating off of him, and then a second scooping underneath one of his balls to peel the hefty weight away from his inner thigh, then to grasp at his sheath and work the thick, dense skin forward and back. Then Nem had worked her fingers inside the slick, supple skin, digging around among warm wet walls to coax him out into her paws while she stroked, and kept her parted lips in place to catch the quick little sprays of pre that followed.

Then the wolf-dragon had awoken and started to fervently thrust, and she had thought about straddling his lower body and taking him at her own pace, her paws working his shaft, her gaze fixed along the way his sack stirred, shifted, and tugged with the movements, and how the pucker of his tailhole flexed in rhythm with his throbs. But then the next thing she knew, he had rolled fully over onto that side, reached down with a forepaw against her shoulders, and pushed her down – and then before she could right herself she had felt him against her sex, tapered tip nudging up between the full, thick protruding lips of her vulpine spade.

Silas had pressed into her, slowly at first, barely containing the need she had instilled in him. Then the first angular ridge along the underside of his shaft teased past her lips, and rubbed along the sensitive interior flesh, and the vixen had gasped and reflexively clenched – and he had shuddered atop her and railed in deeper, each of the following draconic ridges running in turn like so many fingers rocking throughout her insides. Each thrust had just sharpened her sensitivity there so that every time he pushed in she curled her toes and clenched tighter, and then when he pulled out she shuddered, groaned, sighed, and reciprocated the movement, inner walls of muscle blossoming out around him, the wet warmth of her own arousal dripping down her inner thighs and pattering into a growing puddle beneath her.

Teeth gritted, head swimming, Nem glanced back over her shoulder to get a better look at his hulking, streamlined figure. The broad snout and tall ears, the thick brow, the faint implication of the draconic build all layered beneath plush, silken pelt; deadly sharp teeth and a lengthy, dexterous tongue hung out from his parted jaws as he continued to thrust, his posture reading strongly as wolf while he pounded away, head lowered along her side, paws clasped on her waist, haunches jerking with each push forward. Hefty balls swung underneath him to smack against Nem’s lower body as he did so, the noise just barely hidden beneath her breathless moans coaxed out along those spiked ridges of his shaft, and the slimmer, smoother contours along the other side.

Then hot, dank breath washed out across her face, curling her nose and making her eyes water. Nem licked her chops; Silas’s eyes fluttered open and he looked down at her from a slight angle, his lips curled back to show his teeth, gums, and tongue, then curling further as he gave voice to a hungry rumbling growl. Recognizing her appraisal, he squeezed even tighter with his forepaws, yanked the vixen back against him, and then thrust powerfully forward, this time burying the slight swell of his knot between plump, succulent lips; Nem gasped, moaned out, and stretched an arm out in front of her, once more letting her upper body fall to the ground where he had mounted her.

The thrusts from his hips, the growling in her ear, the thick trickle of hungry drool that dribbled down her shoulder, the sensation, the pulsing, the throbbing from his girth buried deep inside, swelling out as he approached his peak… so animalistic, so bestial, so feral.

Once more Nem covered her muzzle with her still-damp paw, and took a deep, indulgent breath of his scent.

Nematious – Vore (Unbirth)

Nem reached up to wipe some of the sticky slickness off his muzzle, though his fingerpads stuck to the soaked fur and did little more than spread it around further. It dripped from his lips, rolled down his chin, warmed his chest and dripped down the rest of his naked body as though he had been dipped in warm, molten glue; each time he breathed in he had to flare his nostrils out, give a quick, sharp exhale, and then try again to get the air through the coating there, and he struggled to keep his eyes open through the gathered slime as it continued to dribble down across him, and-

-and then the shadow returned from above, swathing him in the same sense of impending motion. By now the fox knew to prepare himself, and he did so by turning his muzzle straight up, clamping his mouth shut, and squeezing his eyes closed… but then he still couldn’t help but shudder with discomfort mixed with delight at the slick, velvety wet heat wrapped down around him, curling across his chin, his neck, his shoulders, his chest.

One of his footpaws kicked, and when he tried to breathe this time all he received was the rich, overwhelming head-fog of luxurious Pokémon heat, filling his lungs just as it continued to soak down through his fur. This kind of thing happened to him with some regularity, it seemed: it just so happened that he had been rooting around among Andrasta’s toys when the feral Zamazenta had thought she had some time to herself, and Nem just so happened to be the proper size to lean back against the base of the dildo where she wouldn’t be able to see, and then she had just so happened to ready herself, hike her tail, squat down, and then sink back around smooth, firm silicone and tiny fox alongside it.

Deep inside of her Nem shuddered again, now opening his eyes and seeing nothing, other than sensing a vague impression of the rolls, the folds, the wrinkles and walls and stretches of plush, silken interior meat wrapping around him. Buried deep there, he turned his head to the side, flicked his tongue out over parted lips, tasted nothing but rich, powerful lupine musk, then gave a small thrust, another, another, rubbing himself up against the inside of her sex… then flattened himself back against the toy as she began to lift up again.

That was always the best part, where he could feel her slipping past him, plush inner walls sleeving so snug around the entirety of his diminutive body, muscles clenching in reflexive pleasure as she tried to keep everything inside. Then inner walls gave way to the plump, full squish of her protruding spade, warm interior pink smoothly melding to the glossy vinyl-black of her lips, her sex stretching, tugging along the shaft as well as Nem’s body as the feral lifted up. She shuddered as she did so, coming up just far enough for the fox’s head to slurp free; yet again he shook himself out, blinking through the curtain of sticky wetness, swirling his tongue to catch the dribbles and swallow them down, belly already filling out and roiling with the insistent warmth.

Nem managed to blink most of the stickiness out of his eyes and then craned his head back again to get the perfect view, then, as the Zamazenta lifted just far enough to release her spade-grip on him while still remaining with the upper portion of the toy parting her plump lips. More of that sticky warmth dribbled down from her partially-spread sex, the black exterior just barely showing the pink inside; from here Nem could see the way her inner muscles flexed and tensed with eager anticipation and ongoing pleasure, and readied himself all over again when she set her hindlegs, lifted her tail a little further – the pink pucker of her tailhole winked, clenched, then pushed gently outwards as she, too, prepared herself – and then down she came once more.

The fox closed his eyes but this time kept his mouth open, breathing slowly in so that he could feel, could taste, where his lungs went from filling with somewhat fresh air, to thick, dense, dank humidity. As soon as the plump, plush folds of her outer lips squished down around him he stretched his arms up and out, plunging deeper, delighting in the way that all of these lush inner folds squished and slurped and sucked in around him, parting easily as he dug deeper.

Around him Andrasta tightened, and he imagined that he could hear the breathless moan shuddering through her body when she hilted against the toy’s base. The small fox squirmed deeper inside of her, finally feeling himself pulled away from the toy’s shaft when she began to lift up this time, rings of muscle squeezing in around his chest and pulling him upwards, with all of that supple slickness seeping in behind him.

He swallowed again, still tasted nothing but her, and stretched out in trying to find purchase deep inside of her spade… but as the toy receded – or, rather, as the Zamazenta lifted up once more to then plunge right back down around it, her sex parting around the girth and sliding in around it, pushing him back further – he found that she was far too wet, too slick and slimy and luscious for him to do much.

Surely she would notice before too long – she always did – but certainly not for a while. The fox managed to reposition himself inside of her so he could watch the toy plunging in, spreading her open, and then slurping back out, the protruding plumpness of her spade still tugging further around the slickened surface and, occasionally, nudging him deeper in. For now Nem knew that she would busy herself with her self-pleasure, rocking forward and back, riding the toy, her insides pulling tighter and tighter until the eventual peak, the full-body trembling and bucking, the sudden peak and release and then breathless recovery, if he didn’t end up dumping out along the flow of her orgasm, and-

Nem turned to face her inner walls, pressed himself up against them, closed his eyes, thrust, thrust again. I’ve got time, he reassured himself. She’s enjoying it, and I am too. No rush. Hell, I’ve got all day…

criticalshot1239 – Marking (biting, clawing, etc.)

Matt stumbled and caught himself against the trunk of a tree, legs burning, heart pounding, footpaws sore from the running. Still he could hear the thing behind him prowling along, those long, slow loping strides quite easily keeping pace with him; struggling to catch his breath, the marten wrenched his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, tilting his head down to pin his chin to his chest, digging his claws into the semisoft bark.

I need to get away from here, he thought, and risked another glance over his shoulder. I need to get off the path. Why is it here? Out here, in the park, tonight? He had gone off on one of his routine walks before bedtime, figuring he would make it a quick one since his boyfriend was still out at the store, but… now I’m not certain I’m gonna make it back home at all. God, if only I could see him again, I’d-

But then the air around him changed, shifted somehow. Like the sensation during a summer evening just before a storm, or that time the two of them had gone camping in the woods and heard every single thing out in the trees go silent for twenty minutes; like a stilling, a thickening, so that it felt like he went from breathing the air to sucking it down, swirling up into his nostrils, sliding at the back of his throat…

And then the huge paw came down on his shoulder, surprisingly gentle. Still the claws, each as broad as his entire paw, sliced through the fabric of his shirt and pricked into the skin underneath, little glistening rubies welling up in the divots, sparkling in the moonlight that came down through the trees overhead. Hot, humid breath dripped down around him, tickling his ears, matting his fur – tingling up into his own lungs each time he inhaled again, filling him with dread as well as a strange, misty sense of… wistfulness, it seemed.

Matt could hear the beast’s low, steady growling, and half-turned his head. No longer could see the park lamps behind him, obscured as they were by its hulking figure, its hunched shoulders, its arched neck and broad head. Those eyes glowed all their own, though, sharp yellow predator’s eyes: its broad tongue flicked out across slavering chops, sticky saliva flicking out to spatter across the marten’s cheek, and in what he was certain was his last few seconds alive it tightened his grip – he winced against the pinprick sparkles of those claws digging deeper – and leaned in further. Its jaws parted open, thick strands of drool hanging down, tongue cupping towards its center, velvet gums and inner cheeks shifting apart to welcome him, and then… it clamped down on his shoulder, also surprisingly gentle.

Still the rumbling continued; still the fangs dug and bit and cracked, sending pulsing waves of dull pain ricocheting through his body, sharp spikes quickly devolving into numbness. Matt closed his eyes and turned away again, shuddering in the creature’s grasp, able to feel where his flesh slitted and tore between those teeth, wishing the thing would just bite down and finish him off.

Instead, though, the broad tongue came forward, pressed against the back of his shoulder, and slurped forward, tugging his fur up just as it soaked it through with sticky, glue-like drool. Then a second time, and a third; and the teeth drew back, slid across towards his neck, settled in again, this time even more softly. Then again, and the paw on his shoulder drifted down his arm towards his side, folding up underneath the crook; Matt gasped, shivered, and took that moment to try to run away, not caring that his shirt caught in the beast’s jaws and tore, or that those claws dug shallow gouges along his side that immediately seared with flowing heat, and-

-then that same paw surged forward and pounded between his shoulders to pin him to the ground. All his breath left him in one full, sharp woosh, and for a moment the world around him darkened even further than the depth of night. This time when the beast leaned in it was to investigate him through scent, broad leathery nostrils snuffling at his wounded neck, at the spot on his other shoulder where thick blood still oozed, at the gouges along his side, and then the tongue came out again.

Matt hissed through clenched teeth at the sting of hot saliva on open wounds. He squirmed, tried to drag himself across the gravel pathway, and then gave up as soon as he started. Still the licking continued, as if the beast was grooming him, or trying to take care of him – but still there came the occasional bite and nip, tugging at his fur, deadly sharp fangs more slipping across his skin instead of punching through it. That huge nose nudged in at his hip, pushed, lifted… flipped him over, and in that moment Matt looked up between paws raised in defense at the twisted muzzle, the bright eyes, the slavering jaws.

The beast blinked, tilted its head, leaned in again, sniffed underneath his neck. It turned his head to nudge at his shoulder, licked softly… nudged down further, pressed a huge paw against his chest, pushed down so that again Matt forcibly let out all his breath, and then sucked it right back in with that paw coming tight, claws dragging through topmost layers of skin towards his sternum, then pulling back so that shreds of fur and flesh pulled loose, yet still remained attached.

He winced, panting, chest heaving, eyes watering. The creature sniffed at the tatters clinging to its claws, looked down at the captured marten, touched its nose to the valleys of opened wounds, sniffed again, then dropped its jaws open and let the same bloodstained tongue hang out. Its tail swayed and swished behind it.

Through bleary eyes Matt blinked, swallowed, caught his breath, lifted up again, and then finally got a good look at the beast in the light of the moon slanting in through the trees overhead. Something about that muzzle, the sparkle in the eyes, the scent of the monster dripping down across him… shakily, he reached up with an open paw, figuring that this would likely be the fast few minutes of his life anyway, and managed to brush his fingers across the beast’s snout.

It nuzzled into the touch. Disbelief surging through him, Matt threw his head back and laughed.

“Sam? What in the – goddamn happened to you at the store? Look, I’m… God, I know you like to bite, but – save it for the bedroom, okay? Can you – help me up? I’m…” He barely caught himself, then lowered back down to the ground. “Ooh. Got dizzy there. You better hope these leave some kickass scars, hon, since that’ll at least – make this blood loss worth it…”