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RussetPotato – Fisting

Lukas fumbled with the bottle a bit before he managed a suitable grip, then turned it over, popped the top, squirted a good glob into his palm… glanced up, tilted his head, squirted another glob about three times the size of the first, and nodded. Then he recapped it, reached over to place it to the side, and used his free paw to rub the lube in, smearing the sticky slickness across his pads and between his fingers; the otter took extra care to work it over his knuckles and wrist, and then spread what was left down over his forearm as well, flattening his cocoa-fur into glistening, matted smoothness.

And then he lifted himself up, his slightly slimy paw tugging down at the edge of the sling. “Ready for more?”

Above him Shen managed a nod, the cat just barely lifting their head as they did so. Both legs had been hoisted up into elevated stirrups, toes flexing, thick claws sliding out and then back in as they kneaded the air in sheer pleasure; their smooth chest rose and fell with slow, unsteady breaths, punctuated by the occasional gasp, swallow, or moan – and their tailhole winked and flexed as well, gaping open just like their mouth, dripping with spare lube instead of drool.

But, still, it worked. Lukas grinned, licked his lips, and got back into position: he leaned partially over the feline held in the sling, the fingers of his well-prepared paw bunched up to a point, and nudged in… and felt that luscious, well-stretched tailhole part easily open around all five of them. Shen had kept hard at work in their practice and preparations across these past few weeks – what had started out with nearly an hour of stretching to get all four fingers in their first time had now proceeded to barely seven before Lukas’s wrist had slurped on in, though he had to tug it back out a moment later so that the cat could adjust to the extra stretch.

And, drool or lube or anything else… it doesn’t really matter if you don’t put in the work yourself. The sleek, velvety wet heat of Shen’s tailhole parting open slid up along the otter’s fingers, pushing along his fur and skin, nudging over his knuckles – and then sucked firmly into place down along his wrist as soon as the two managed that step, Shen’s body arching in the sling, their chest first swelling out with a quick inhalation and then settling back down under a long, trailing shudder of a moan.

Lukas lifted up a little bit further to look at them. Clench, clench around his wrist, the tugs of the rings of muscle weak after so much stretching, each one reverberating through the cat’s loins with their hard shaft lifting up across their belly, then dropping back down into the puddle of leaked pre and likely more, looking at the way it had begun to course down their side and pool in the sling. Happens to me, too, the otter thought, and not for the first time tonight wished that he were the one up there instead.

“All good?”

Shen swallowed, licked their lips, nodded again, and then this time managed to give a verbal response. “Uh-huh,” they drawled, and opened their eyes enough to meet Lukas’s. “Yeah, that’s… God, you’re… hah…”

“Nice, isn’t it? And then I can…”

Lukas bore down a little bit further, turned his arm for leverage – Shen gasped – then rotated inside of the cat, feeling the way the contours of their guts sucked and slurped around his fingers, how the coating of lube mixed with the natural wetness of their insides. Again and again those muscles clenched and squeezed around him, at once pulling him in while still trying to push out: from deep inside he felt the so-familiar burbling blossom of inner folds of meat pressing out against him, everything coming together to sleeve him in sweet, luxurious damp heat.

Shen’s toes stretched out again. The cat swung in the sling a bit, pulling up first, then using their momentum to think sink even further down along Lukas’s arm, stretched tailhole parting further open along his forearm, buried paw slipping even deeper inside. The otter smirked, turned his shoulder a bit further, and poked and prodded at the second ring deeper inside there, feeling like someone had looped a string around Shen’s innards and pulled it close… but, then again, that wasn’t why he had come over tonight. The stretching was one thing, and clearly Shen had that well enough in hand – or on arm, apparently.

So Lukas shifted again, splaying his legs out, running his other lubricated paw down his own bare belly to give himself a quick few gentle strokes. I wonder if I could push on in, he thought as he dug around with buried fingers, slurping and sloshing up into succulent walls of internal meat, and paw myself off inside of them… I wonder if they’d like that.

Then, suddenly, the cat jerked, gasped, and moaned again, and even from here Lukas could see their shaft bounce up with the force of the throb squeezing around his forearm. He perked his ears, lifted up a little further, leaned in over them, squelched their paw deeper, and then pulled it back towards their tailhole from inside, fingers bunching up into an angled fist. Shen moaned again, shivered, kicked; Lukas made the same motion, this time turning his paw as he did so, and deliberately lifted up towards their belly. Each time he moved his arm he did so a little quicker, a little more forcefully – and on the fifth or sixth cycle he could finally see the bulging progress push out from within the cat’s belly, lifting up underneath their cock, pressing in at their prostate from inside, and forcing out squirt after spraying squirt of foggy pre.

“Ooh. Right there, right?” He spread his fingers, dug around a bit, felt Shen squirming and shifting to accommodate the prods deep inside of them… then found the wad of trembling firmness layered beneath those inner walls, and gave it a few more strokes and squeezes – and earned another forceful buck from the cat lodged halfway down on his arm. “Oh, yeah. I guess so. You still with me?”

“Y-yeah. Yeah, I’m just… God, that feels… good…”

“Doesn’t it? D’you wanna keep going with this, or-”

“Keep going.” Shen swallowed breathlessly. “Keep going.”

That was what he had expected. Lukas grinned again, shifted to a more comfortable position, and pressed his arm in deeper, until the cat’s tailhole audible squelched around him again.

Drakirion – Smegma

Shekh grumbled and paced down the alley this way and that, one paw clutching his phone, the other shoved into his pocket where he shamelessly kept a good, firm grip on himself through thick sweatpants with no underwear underneath. At each and every flash of movement from the mouth of the alley the striped hyena glanced up, shook his head, and then resumed his fretting.

It had gotten bad enough to where he now practically had to keep not one but two fingers and his thumb pinched around the wrinkled overhang of his foreskin, and even then he still felt little slimy chunks and greasy, squishy bits of warm gunk dribbling out, smearing across the fur of his groin, caking along the interior of his sweatpants and drying there into a flaky crust. Good thing for the night, he thought with a glance to the sky, and the trash right over, since, God fucking damn… and he slid his paw out of his pocket, gave those fingers a sniff, and recoiled back with the distinct musky sharpness, the foul acridity, the oddly invigorating, pleasurable touch of ammonia and old skin and something faintly fishy, setting his nostrils to tingling and igniting a simmering little flame both in the back of his throat and his loins.

And even before he had moved his paw back down to resume pinching, he had begun to feel the result of his slipped grip: those sleek, slick folds of skin, previously extensive overhang suitable for encasing a friend’s tongue or his own thumb to the knuckle or even another friend’s entire cockhead, now rolled slowly back across the built-up cliffs of crumbling, dank gunk that had proceeded to gather over themselves in the past day since he had last washed it all out. Before he had met Drak back here, the most that he could manage to acquire in even two weeks of deliberate attempting was hardly more than a few slimy folds of the stuff nestled within the deeper wrinkles and filling out behind his frenulum, but now-

-now he shivered, and bit his lip, and suppressed a soft exhalation of breath at the sensation of rolling the sensitive rim of skin back up around the developed mass. The longer he kept it hooded inside, the more it seemed to grow and spread, at some points leading him to think that he could actually feel the growing buildup stretch out at his skin from inside; at least I’ll be able to graduate from fiveskin into sixskin, he thought for what was certainly neither the first nor fifth nor twentieth time tonight, and at least it still gave him a little bit of a chuckle.

Then a noise behind him, and his ears perked, and the hyena spun – and finally saw the slouched, broad figure of the very same gnoll who he knew had given him this problem, even if Shekh had been the one to initiate.

“Oh,” Drak said, reaching up to scratch behind an ear. “You meant this alley. Sorry. I took a nap, and got your message a little bit late, and then I couldn’t fit on the bus so I had to walk, and-”

“Did you get the pictures?”

“The pictures?” The other hyena paused, then perked. “Oh! The pictures! Yeah! Hell yeah, man. Fantastic fucking progress; you’re actually giving me a run for my money, and I-”

Shekh plodded over, reached for the much larger male’s shirt collar, and gave an impotent yank down, though Drak still got the idea and swung down accordingly.

“And it’s your fault,” the striped hyena went on. Again he swung his other paw out of his pocket, again shivered and sighed with the sweet sensation of greasy foreskin sliding back across rolling folds of semisolid grime, again couldn’t resist a slow, deliberate intake of breath through flared nostrils, the richness of his own musk so focused and overwhelming that he could swear the air shimmered with the resultant heat haze. “And you know what you’re gonna do about it?”

Drak swallowed, glanced down towards Shekh’s shaft hanging heavily down with the wad of greasy, dripping gunk falling off in chunks to the ground between his footpaws, then glanced slightly less down towards his muzzle. “Um. Suck it out?”

“You’re gonna get me so dang clean that I won’t be able to tell there was anything there.”

“But I thought you’d be – into this sort of thing, and…” The larger hyena dropped down to his knees, leaned in, took a sniff, shuddered, sniffed again, then gingerly folded his tongue forward. At first Shekh felt nothing, as he plunged directly into the built-up wads of sweat and piss and pre and skin and probably some of Drak’s own grime from before.

“Of course I am. You know I am. But this is just ridiculous, and I know that… that you’re the one… who…”

But as the gnoll got to work Shekh felt the pleasure start to wash across him. He leaned forward, braced his paws on Drak’s shoulders, tilted his head back, let his jaw drop open. It was a sensation like no other, having that deft, broad tongue dig deep underneath luscious, humid folds of hypersensitive skin, dancing across the fleshy surfaces kept so slick and slimy from their contained mess, Drak scooping out chunk after chunk of the stuff until his breath stank so much of it that Shekh could smell it each time he breathed out.

“Sorry…” the gnoll panted. He reached up, picked a chunk out from between his fangs, squished it between his fingerpads, then smeared it across the black leather of his nose instead. “I know I… should have told you that this might happen, but I…” And he rolled the other hyena’s mostly-clean foreskin back, the hood of skin gliding with smooth, luxurious slickness. Shekh’s leg kicked. “...was just so into it, and you were too, and…”

“And it’s contagious?”

For a moment Drak said nothing. Then his eyes shifted back into focus and he swallowed, nose pressed against the bare head of Shekh’s now half-hard cock, slick foreskin rolling back and forth, back and forth – with the excess elasticity from these past few weeks allowing it enough give to slip up over the gnoll’s nose.

“Y-” The gnoll sputtered, seemed to suppress a gag, and then swirled his grimy, gunky tongue out across his lips, resulting only in spreading the mess around further rather than wiping it off. “Yes? Of course? I figured you knew that when you, y’know…”

Shekh grinded forward a bit and throbbed. He felt himself swell beneath his now loose, floppy foreskin, the underside hanging down from his stretched frenulum like a half-worn tube sock.

“Scooped some of yours out and smeared it under my foreskin?”

“Mhmm.” Another deep, slow sniff, for Drak to then breathe right back out and briefly inflate the hood of slimy skin. “D’you, um… want me to…”

“To do the same? Well-” Shekh reached down and with impressive ease swirled a finger to the second knuckle all the way around. “Dang. You really did get all of it. Gimme like, an hour to build back up? And then let’s talk.”

criticalshot1239 – Prolapse

Lukas groaned and shifted in the stirrups again, arms hoisted above his head, legs raised and splayed off to the sides. At least this was one of the comfiest cushions he had ever felt; the slim otter squirmed, settled more fully into its grasp, pushed down, then shifted up again and felt the clinging tug of the device sealed around the rim of his tailhole, pressure still building, suction pulling, pulling, then releasing all over again.

And then it began again…

He shivered, rolled his head back on shoulders already loose with delighted relaxation, and rumbled deep in his throat. One of his footpaws twitched; his thick rudder-tail hanging down towards the ground beneath him flicked and danced as the pump once again felt like someone’s mouth wrapped around his tailhole, sucking at first gently and then hungrily… and then the part that made the fur on his neck stand up straight, and forced him to gasp and shudder and squirt another little bead of pre out across the already soaked fur of his belly: the suction grew further, and made him start to unfold from inside.

It wasn’t that something in the device tugged his rim open, or parted him and pushed in. It was more that after so many cycles of this pressure growing and releasing, growing and releasing, that the muscles themselves had worn down and become weak and slack, so that try as he might to clench and keep everything inside, past a certain point the otter felt his bowels literally sucked right out of him in a slow, steady growth of a few millimeters at a time. The dreamy, foggy smile touched his lips again and he wriggled a little more, causing the pump tube to bounce and sag like a second tail where it remained rooted around him.

Such a strange sensation, feeling the thick, slick, slimy heat push out from inside of him, folding out from within the still closed rim of his tailhole… he rolled his head again and leaned forward, wanting to see it as it came. The pressure from the pump seemed to well up inside and then force right back out, flattening his belly the more it yanked out of him and instead filling him with that distinct sensation of suction, as though there were a vacuum inside – not the mechanical, air kind, he thought, a bead of sweat dripping out from beneath the fur of his brow, but rather, an empty space… since my – guts are getting pulled out of me, and there’s nothing to fill the space, so I’m…

He shivered again, swallowed, half-suppressed a moan, and then lifted his legs further to give a firm, deliberate push. Wet warmth dribbled out across his belly and pooled beneath his body with the extra effort, and underneath him he heard the device slurp and squelch and slosh: bodily steam began to condense along the interior of the plastic tube, and before his eyes the thick, sludgy red folds of his lower bowels continued to blossom out inside of it.

The exertion shivered up through his body, pushing out at his shoulders, his neck, the back of his skull. Lukas relaxed for a moment, breath hissing out between his teeth in a slow, shaky sigh; the half-inflated sock of internal meat made external slackened somewhat within the pump, though the constant backwards tension of the device still pulsed through it, and folded it further out into its length like a rose in full bloom.

Lukas curled his toes, shifted again, and moaned out with the sensation of the suction pulling partially away from his tailhole, the seal weakened from constant dripping wetness and now breaking. Much of the heat quickly dissipated out, though so too did much of it remain focused there within the length of the pump; the otter wriggled, lifted up, flumped back down… did so again, and again, and again, each time feeling the tube squirt a little bit further down along his extruded guts. It was more the sensation of the pull and sag that he felt, rather than the actual contact along his insides-made-outsides – the sense of the heft tugging down at his opened rim from inside; the slimy slickness that kissed along the underside of his rudder, leaving sticky strands of mucus clinging to the fur; and then of course the full, heavy, dank heat constantly emanating off from him.

Finally the device pulled completely free and clattered to the floor out of reach, and still Lukas’s bowels hung loose out of him, a good four or five inches draped across the swell of his rudder, his lower abdomen dipped somewhat in the middle around the mass that was no longer inside of him. Heart pounding, chest heaving in shaky, eager panting, the otter lifted himself up in the sling, moaned again when he felt the momentum jiggle out through the slack meat, then reached down with both paws, arms trembling.

He paused just before, fingers spread, pads and webbings simmering in the thick, damp warmth radiating out… and then closed the distance – and squished in around those silken, velvety-soft folds, grasping them in his paws, squelching his bowels into the spaces between his fingers. It was all a bit firmer than he expected, but certainly just as slick and smooth and sleek; when he squeezed with one paw it shifted and squished down into his other, again with that oddly distant, half-felt impression of the movement, more from the nerves around his tailhole tugging in response than the shift itself.

Thick, slightly discolored mucus stretched around his fingers the more he pushed, and squeezed, and pulled, gripping the meat at the base and tugging it further out from inside. Lukas gritted his teeth, swallowed, moaned again; his paw slurped smoothly out across sleek smoothness towards the rosebud end and then squelched free, while his other remained with his fingers spread underneath it, just hefting the loose, slack, sagging meat, rolling back and forth, feeling the folds and wrinkles and contours and half-swollen veins laced throughout…

Panting, Lukas lifted his head, looked across the room one way, then over his shoulder the other. He wriggled a bit, felt this second fleshy tail of his swing and sag, and clenched… then kept on going, the distended length furling slowly back up inside of him, before he had to relax and it just dropped right back out.

I don’t know what this experiment is trying to prove… he thought, mouth hanging open, or how long it’s supposed to take, but… I mean, I certainly don’t mind…

1tiamat1 – Genital worship

Rakasai shivered once again, the yinglet’s eyes half-closed, his mouth hanging open, his sensitive nose shoved up into the dank, humid spot between sheath and sack where Cynder’s scent freely washed down across him. He nuzzled in a little more firmly, one paw coming up to heft beneath one of her sizeable balls; it drifted down and sank to fill the entirety of his palm, his somewhat spindly fingers coming up to tease around the back of it, and to drag it even more firmly around his snout perfectly shaped for the occasion.

Tall, wide ears folded back with his ongoing attention; above him the kitsune rumbled in her throat and adjusted how she sat on the couch, pulling herself forward to drape her plump, heavy sheath across the bridge of Rak’s muzzle as well. He focused his eyes to look up at it, the supple skin and succulent firm meat inside already dribbling a thick, intoxicating wetness out between his eyes. At the back of his mind still buzzed that faint, distant nervousness – I’m gonna be late, I shouldn’t be doing this, this’ll take too long – but that was just the thing: a worry for another time. For now, his task was clear.

The yinglet swallowed again, breathed out through parted lips, then flared his nostrils and sucked in another great lungful of thick, rich air so warmly tinted with Cynder’s musk. From there he dragged himself up along the underside of her sheath, loving the way the skin pulled, how it tugged with that tacky slickness of her growing arousal inside; then the sleek wetness of her bare shaft, twitching, throbbing, swelling out atop him, and then against his lips, and then between them, weighing down his tongue, spritzing the back of his throat with constant little sprays of salty, watery pre.

“What are you getting all nice and dressed up for?” the kitsune had asked him upon her returning from work. Rak swallowed around the growing pool of pre in his maw, felt it slip down his throat and stir in his belly, shivered again, dove further down along her impressive length, let three of his fingers slip beneath the lip of her sheath and continue to coax her further out. Above him she sighed and rolled her head back, hips lifting underneath the pleasure. “Oh,” he had said, at that point – as he was now – still mostly naked; “going out to see a movie with the boyfriend…”

“Did you try out the new panties I got you?”

Rak wrenched his eyes shut and focused, his shoulders heaving, his throat tensing as Cynder’s tapered tip nudged against the back of his throat. He held himself there for a moment, breathing cut off, belly continuing to fill with those loose sprays straight from the source, the kitsune’s shaft so far in his throat that he had bypassed the need to swallow – and then he tugged back and drew in a needed breath of air as fresh as it could get down here, with half of one paw buried in her supple sheath and the other trapped beneath her balls where they hung down along the front of the couch.

With effort he worked the one out from beneath her sack, made sure to bring that to his muzzle to sniff – the rich, heady scent swirled up within his nose and tingled down into his lungs – and then reached down… and massaged his own stirring arousal through the silken material of those very panties. “Of course,” he had told her, and then did a little spin to show them off. “They’re super comfy. I’m gonna be wearing them out tonight.” And then Cynder had grinned, flicked one of her ears, curled her twin tails around her legs, and turned to leave the room, and had said-

“Before you get too dressed up,” and she had looked back at him over her shoulder, “come out into the lounge with me. I’ve got some, ah… ‘work stress’ that I’d like your help to relieve.”

Not wanting to go too far on himself, Rak redirected his attention to the kitsune’s full, throbbing shaft here in front of him. One paw slid up towards his muzzle as he bobbed down, while the other returned to its initial place snug within her sheath, the pressure of her slowly growing, twitching knot squishing it back even further into dense, humid folds of buried flesh. Cynder had draped her arms over the back of the couch, her head back, her mouth open, her eyes closed; she lifted up into the yinglet’s maw with increasing rhythm and urgency, until Rak could feel the twitching approach of her finish.

Knowing her productivity and overwhelmingly intensity, the much smaller male shifted again to prepare himself. He cleared his throat, swirled his tongue around her tip, dove down again, then slid both paws in to rub and massage and work; he felt that tension continue to grow, building up like steam roiling within a closed lid; Cynder grunted, pricked her claws into the couch, gritted her teeth. She moaned, moaned again, took in a deep breath, grunted again-

-and then bucked forward, and Rak brought her as far into his throat as he could once more. Now he could feel each thick, rich spurt of her load blasting straight down into his belly, her huge shaft pulsing against his lips with every throb, her sack tugging up towards her sheath, her knot swelling out to completely encompass his paws where they massaged and tugged. Again and again and again she dumped out into him, still going even after he knew he had hit his limit: the yinglet drew back, gagged on the flow, and then immediately set to drinking mouthful after mouthful, his belly already swollen, his head and stomach both swimming with the sheer volume.

And then, exhausted and satisfied, the kitsune flopped back again with her chest heaving in slow breaths. Rak swallowed again, then once more for good measure, and with effort rose to his feet – and felt his overfilled, swollen belly slosh with the amount she had given her. He looked down and noticed that he could no longer see the panties she had given him past how far his filled belly now hung.

That’s… gonna be a problem, Rak thought, as he turned to make his way back down the hall. I might not be able to get my pants on around this…

1tiamat1 – Portal play

Rakasai covered his mouth with a paw, trying to play it off as shoving in another handful of popcorn. The yinglet squirmed in his seat, one leg half lifting for leverage, the other pressing down against the floor; he shifted, swallowed, breathed out another tense moan thankfully hidden underneath the noise of the movie, then slowly, carefully lowered himself back down again… and felt Cynder’s full, throbbing shaft sink up into its proper place inside of him, so deep in his guts that his next move was to stifle a small belch tasting of the kitsune’s load from earlier.

Beside him, his boyfriend reached over, patted his other paw, nudged him, whispered: “Hey Rak, everything okay?”

The yinglet nodded, gritted his teeth, shifted again… tried not to jerk as, through the portal device apparently hidden within the seat of the panties which Cynder had given to him as a gift, the kitsune drew back, held there, and then pressed up inside of him again, her well-lubricated cock easily slipping past the ring of his tailhole to plunge again into succulent, wet bowels. Good thing for the movie, he thought, the action continuing onscreen but still completely lost to him; not only would everyone be able to hear me panting and moaning, but they’d hear how hard she’s going at it, too… I’m gonna need his help to walk out of here, I think.

“Y-yeah,” he managed in response, then nodded to his boyfriend’s inquisitive head-tilt. A little wave of the other paw, the one that wasn’t now clenched into a fist as he felt the contours of the kitsune’s impressive shaft slurp right back out of him, finally shrugged away the concern.

I should’ve – known there was something up, when she… She lifted up inside of him again, pressing at his belly from the other side, forcing him to squirm and gasp and clench and moan beneath the movie’s soundtrack, and likely dump another spurt of pre or cum or at this point who knows what into the front of these damned panties. ...when she grinned like that, when I told her I was wearing them tonight… and I noticed the damn thing in the back near the tail, but thought it was just some extra padding…

Of course she had waited until Rak had left the house to do anything. Of course he had been halfway to the theater when it had begun, and even then it had just been gentle, inquisitive licking beneath the yinglet’s broad tail, certainly a hell of a surprise when he had gone in for the hug; then some five minutes of trying to play that off while they were waiting for the previews to start, and then the tongue had given way to two fingers, then three, then four, and then by the time the title sequence rolled he felt the familiar sensation of the kitsune’s tapered tip nudging up against his well-prepared tailhole.

Wasn’t once enough for you? he had thought, still with the scent of her musk clinging to his nose – his boyfriend had even commented on it when they had met up outside the theater; “oh, is that a new perfume you’re wearing? It’s unique, I love it” – and the taste of her cum coating his throat. At least the swell in his belly had receded somewhat by the time he had arrived, enough so that he could then actually button his pants; clicking the seatbelt in the car around the sizeable, sloshing bulge had been hell and a half, and as he had slipped into the bathroom – with the brief thought of occupying one of the stalls until she had finished again – he had expected to smell nothing but her.

But, no, of course it wasn’t. This is Cynder I’m talking about, and – and she thrust up inside of him again, straining at his pants as her shaft plunged deep inside of him, forcing him to straighten up around her and shudder and tremble and moan, all the while she probably lounged back on the couch at home, legs spread, wonderful balls hanging off the couch where Rak had hoisted them atop his muzzle before he had finished dressing, and with her plump, succulent sheath peeled nicely back after he had plied his paws on her, and… and his boyfriend leaned over, entwined his arm with his, and snuggled up close, his head on the yinglet’s shoulder.

Rak swallowed, gritted his teeth, and returned the pleasant little embrace, though angled his body to the side a bit so that each thrust from the distant kitsune lifted him up and away. She sure is taking her damn time, though, he thought, with effort: every inward thrust, every time the pressure swelled within him, his bowels and belly filling up with her vulpine shaft plunging deep and wrapping him around her, just wiped his mind all over again so that all he could think about was her. He had long since lost the thread of what was happening in the movie, and each time she tugged out, all he wanted was for her to push back in, and to go a little faster, and a little harder, and to move her slow, steady thrusts into more vigorous pounding, and to fill his belly from this other end as well so that he would once again be able to feel the loose sloshing of her load inside of him, and – his boyfriend nudged him again. Rak glanced over, nervous that he had gotten caught.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You’re – squirming a lot.”

He licked his lips, swallowed, opened his mouth to respond, barely suppressed another grunt as this time he felt Cynder throb inside of him.

“Yeah,” he repeated. “Yeah, I’m… I’m fine. Just – really need to pee…”

Which, to be fair, really is true; she’s fucking wringing my bladder out-

“Well, if you need to go, I’ll hold your seat for you…”

Rak paused again, moved to say something else, moaned again. Then he nodded vigorously; the portal was such a strange sensation, tricking him into thinking that this was Cynder’s lap in which he sat instead of the smooth, soft velvet of the reclining theater seat, and that if he were to stand up then she – and likely several inches of his bowels, it felt like – would slurp right back out. Instead, though, as he stood up, and then nearly fell over on wobbly legs, she remained deep inside of him, then gave another thrust for good measure.

How much longer is this gonna take? he thought, quickening his step down the aisle. Rak felt as though he should reach back towards the seat of his pants, to try to contain any leakage, but at the same time wondered if this was an unnecessary precaution. Maybe she’ll finish before too long, and then I can go back in, and… oh, God, what if she ties me? She wouldn’t.

Then, an extra pressure nudging up at his tailhole-

No. She would. She one hundred percent would.

1tiamat1 – Sounding/urethral penetration

Cynder panted and shifted with the motions of the small yinglet in her lap, the kitsune’s legs spread, her back pressed against the couch, her eyes scrunched shut, her teeth gritted in concentration and focus. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy this – quite the opposite, in fact; the way that Rakasai worked his body in her lap, how his stretched tailhole squeezed and sleeved so snug around her hard cock, how he tossed his head back in panting moans and rocked his rump around her, all were just as good as always – but rather, it was the resulting urgency that she didn’t quite enjoy.

But, even then, the constant strain and tension did have their pleasurable merits, in their own way. The kitsune swallowed again, reached forward to wrap her paws around the male’s waist, and held him down for a moment while she lifted up inside of him; her impressive girth squished deep inside of him, reshaping his bowels around her buried length. She tilted her head back and moaned out, again tensing, clenching, throbbing – and then may have emptied a quick little spritz inside of him when she finally released him to continue his original movement.

Is this a misunderstanding? She thought, rolling her head forward again, forcing her eyes open. Nestled into the cushions beside her still was the bottle, hand-operated pump, and tube she had used, with a little damp spot having leaked from the used end of that tube – just like the puddle that she felt dribbling slowly out from between her legs, back here in the corner of the couch. Or is this what he wants? Since, goddamn, I’m – about to fucking burst…

Rak had been off doing his own thing, whatever it was that kept him busy during the day, and Cynder had taken the opportunity to indulge herself a bit. Two days’ worth of piss kept in that bottle, maintained at the right temperature so that it would remain sterile and nothing would happen to it, then with that tube pushed in towards the bottom and attached to the pump, with another tube coming out the other end, which… the kitsune shifted again, lifted up into Rak to nudge her slowly growing knot against his luscious, supple tailhole, and felt her hefty balls stir along the protruding lips of her full, fat canine spade nestled just below.

Aided by a good amount of spit alongside the tube of surgical lube also nestled somewhere within the couch cushions, she had worked that tube up inside of her spade inch by tender, invigorating inch, pushing it deeper to where she could feel it pushing along her inner walls, one footpaw kicking, the corner of her mouth twitching. Then she had had to bend forward around the feeling of it pressing up against her bladder valve – a strange, distant sensation, more like a nudge deep inside of her than anything – and then her product from today had started flowing, so the kitsune had begun on the pump to counteract that. And inch by inch became ounce by ounce, and the feeling of her bladder filling up from the other side, ballooning out, stretching inside of her to the point where she could feel as well as see the bulge beginning to distend from within her belly, forcing her then half-hard cock to pitch downwards against the growing swell.

She had intended to carry around that extra volume for as long as she could; the thought of each step making her overfilled bladder slosh and swirl inside of her had brought her the rest of the way, and then Rak had stumbled in from outside and saw her there lying back, eyes closed, legs spread, fully hard, twitching and groaning and grumbling to herself, and then he must have misinterpreted the noises. Another few seconds and the kitsune felt the familiar warmth of yinglet tongue working into her sheath and spindly little paws hefting her balls, and then barely two minutes later he had straddled her lap and begun the long process of working himself down onto her, and now…

Now he rocked himself forward and back as he rode, each time pressing dangerously in at her lower belly to the point where she could no longer contain her noises. Rak obviously heard this, his radar-dish ears pitching backwards with each one; he gave an exhausted grin over his shoulder, squeezed his tailhole around her, and quickened his pace, interpreting those sounds as peaking pleasure, as her approaching finish.

You want me to unload, Cynder thought, once again tightening her paws on his waist, then that’s – just what I’ll do – and she tugged him down, thrust up inside of him, lifted up off of the couch, and hissed into his ear. The yinglet shuddered with delight and bent forward in anticipating the thick, powerful flood of her load, and in another second received exactly that.

Almost: Cynder’s toes curled, and her tails lashed, and her ears flattened back against her head, and finally she gave in to the overwhelmingly pressure, and not only relaxed but pushed to ensure that she would completely empty herself out. She tossed her head back and groaned with the first overwhelming relief of finally releasing her overfilled bladder, then moaned as that sensation only continued. She could feel the sheer, sharp heat of her mixed mark pouring through her, this time along her fully hard shaft buried inside of the yinglet; the rich, musky warmth seared out inside of him, transferring from her bladder to his bowels, and bit by bit began to balloon out his innards instead, so that before long Cynder felt as though she had plunged right into a swirling sea of salty warmth instead of plush, luscious folds of inner meat.

“Hah… ah – God, Cynder, you…”

Rakasai trailed off, now leaning back against her with one paw spread across his belly. The kitsune leaned in to wrap her arms around him and watched as his lower abdomen visibly pushed out with her continuing flow.

“Okay, that’s – you’re – come on, that’s… ah… ah-”

And still she continued draining out, now lifting up into him as her knot gradually swelled from the combined pleasure, Rak’s tailhole straining around her root to contain the volume. Cynder’s mouth fell open, and she sighed out, and closed her eyes, and then finally relaxed… and still continued to drain out, now past the point of about to fucking burst at the seams and instead into long day at work without getting up to piss. And, lucky her: she still wouldn’t have to get up, as Rak’s inner workings continued to balloon and swell out around her, his tailhole clenching tight beneath her now swollen knot.

“Cynder, I-” He squirmed and clenched again. “God_damn,_ I think I can… taste you…”

“Oh, yeah?” The kitsune pushed up again, and felt her not-so-fresh piss slosh around her. Past the yinglet’s squeezing rim, there was no touch of his bowels squeezing along her shaft. “You’re about to know you can taste me, then, since I’m – only halfway done…”