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Dameron didn't even moan as his cock erupted like a gashed high-pressure hose. You almost would have wondered if he were asleep with his fat wine-hued dick in his hand and a greedy, slobbering St. Bernard between his knees slurping up his night emissions. And doing a horribly graceless job at it, holding his aching maw open as his paws double-barreled the ropes of cum thick as hot frosting into the back of his throat, a dribble of slobber from one side of his muzzle and a stream of spunk from the other. The sharp moans of pleasure rumbling from the dog's chest implied the relief obvious in his face as he took a stray rope across the cheek to begin soaking into the matted fur with all the renegades before it. His tongue lolled out out from his slack jaw to collect the last few drops of nectar dripping from the slit of the burgundy head as broad across as a baseball.

The closed eyelids and chin sunken into his broad chest would made you think the hog had fallen asleep through the whole ordeal, the beer bottle on the flat arm of the loveseat would have made you think he'd passed out, but sure enough as his throbbing cock stilled itself and the last dribble of cum collected on his head to be lapped off, the brawny man rustled himself to clap a hearty hand against the St. Bernard's chin and offer him a few words of encouragement: "I think one more ought to do it."

"Another?!" Casca whined, his numb jaw causing him to slur his protest just enough to be exceptionally ineffective. It had been a long semester, and he'd gone from being impressed to intimidated to in simple awe of the man's production. But tonight broke new ground. He hadn't yet lost count. Four. After this last one- would it be the last one?- when he finally woke up in the morning would Casca even be confident of how many times he'd gotten this hog's rocks off?

"Yeah another," Dameron insisted, not even trying to conceal the sneer as he batted his dick like a siege weapon against the side of Casca's muzzle. "All season I trained for Nationals. Hell, they don't give everybody on the squad a tutor, so if you want to think about it all season you've been sucking my dick for Nationals. I've gone easy on you but if you move your lips from my dick it won't see another pair between now and getting on that bus up to Del Marle, and I ain't gonna let happen what happened" and demonstrated his insistence by stuffing his still-stiff staff in the Saint's muzzle, "at States."

Casca couldn't lie, there wasn't a part of him that was saying no to any of this. A man has needs, and despite the slackness of his jaw Casca could already feel more acutely the tinge of humiliation of having not met the needs of the singularly nicest dick his eyes had ever set upon. He had seen this dick in person. He had had this dick slowly eased inch by inch into the back his throat within 95 minutes of first seeing the man it attached to at the first day of Psychology 101. No part of the tutoring arrangement required him to make any effort to engage with the exceptionally boring practice of shot put. But he still followed the hog to every meet just to see that glorious package in spandex and watch as it pulled eyes like a magnet.

The kneeling dog made his best effort to meet the thrusts, but he could only let his nose sink into Dameron's crotch as the fat pole invaded his bruised throat. The whimpers choked off by the hog's tool signaled the dog's defeat, Casca's lower jaw only wanting to tremble and dribble as he struggled to continue his worship.

And yet the St. Bernard yanked himself from the dick in a rare act of defiance, rubbing his jaw as he sat back on his haunches. The sturdy man was no modest specimen himself, from his broad thighs to the cut of meat dribbling and stiff from lack of attention between his legs- but any man crouched before the specimen that was the hog would appear defeated.

Casca did his best to appease the greedy dick before him, still pulsing and leaking from as much need as ever. He let the length of it, sagging under its own weight, rest along the bridge of his muzzle, his eyes crossing to admire it, the skin under his facefur feeling for the heat it radiated like the rays of the sun on a hot day. He huffed the heady scent of musk and his own saliva that wafted all around his head, mumbling under his breath wonderments and curses about the stamina of the stud he worshipped.

These subtle, humble things weren't getting the hog's balls any lighter. Shifting his mass up from the chair, he took a swaying stand, steadying himself with a hand at the back of Casca's head before using same to hold the prone man still as he thrust his bruising prick into the supple throat. The Saint coughed but the hog thrust past it, squeezing Casca's ears as if daring him to reject the tall order.

"Maybe you can't get one more out of me, but I can get one more out of you," Dameron promised as his powerful hips thrust back and forth, all the grace and precision of his training focused between the dog's lips. All Casca could do was to roll his tongue along the base of the hog's cock as it fucked his face, the prominent vein forcing the dog's writhing muscle to one side of the other as he tried.

Snuffs and snorts started to burst from Dameron's nose as his brow furrowed. The pendulous balls swinging between Dameron's legs smacked under Casca's chin, his eyes going wide as he felt each thrust in his throat become a little more blind with lust, just that less careful of punching a hole through the back of his neck. Dameron snorted, stuttered words under his breath. It was when Casca thought he heard the snarled, clipped words "fucking teacher's pet" that his dick burst like a flash of lightning in the night, bouncing and spitting cum like a lawn sprinkler, the quaking moans in his chest never leaving but only soaking into the hefty meat plugging his throat.

"FUCK ME!" Dameron was clear as a bell now, catching himself as his knees went weak for a moment, his proud cock pulsing again as his juice began trickling onto the Saint's tongue. The wads of Casca's cum against the razorback's legs caught him like scalding water, the shock and surprise of it causing a torrent of his own spunk to flood the dog's stomach. "You're- fucking-" Dameron huffed as he steadied himself on Casca's shoulders, struggling not to collapse on top of his worshipper as the heavy burgundy sack finally gave up the last of its stores.

Casca growled as the cock popped from his lips. Having lost his central support beam, the big dog immediately collapsed backwards, his mouth agape as his chest heaved. The razorback fell back in his place too, the imposing rod finally beginning to soften for the first time that night.

After a moment's rest, Casca felt the energy of the moment coursing through him. The taste of spunk fresh on his tongue, a full feeling in his stomach from the pints of cum chugged, he worked up the energy to return to his knees, deposit his head into the lap of his godsend, and let himself drift between rest and sleep as the soft cock rested against his cheek.

"Alexa," Casca mumbled half into the prodigious gut before him, "Wake us up in four hours."