Summer Camp Pick-Up
_Toonces, the Driving Cat, the Cat Who Could Drive a Car
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It was easily the worst job he'd ever signed up for. He felt in his gut, and it showed there, too. The formerly brawn, bulky, and all around built wolverine had fallen into a rut, fueled by depression and greased with fruit juice. He wasn't even entirely sure what his job accomplished, he just knew that it consisted entirely of counting thirty campers leaving the tents each morning to do whatever they did in the woods, and then to make sure that thirty more returned each night. He had no idea what kind of summer camp was populated by 16-20 year olds, or what Art and/or Craft made them come home each day looking broken and sullen. All he knew was that the lack of stimulation and excess of sausage had given him a sizable gut where his abs had once sat square in the center of his toned body. He grabbed the flab in his paws and pressed it, as if he could make the extra pounds sink back into his body and his muscles return. Of course they did not, though. Until he could get out of this miserable place, sleeping on the same old rickety cot each night, he'd have to simply console himself with the fact that his rippled shoulders and steely arms and legs hadn't yet followed suit.
The sun had set and he took his spot outside his tent, at the head of the common living area and separated for privacy from the rest, and did his daily count to thirty. Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine...
Thirty? Thirty? Hello? Thirty?
Number thirty emerged sulking from the line of trees, the rest of his companions already in their tents writing their mandatory daily letter home. He wasn't crying, but he looked as if he should be. He was the only coatimundi in a camp dominated by foxes and wolves, and this seemed to compact whatever problems had plagued the rest of the campers who always seemed like they should be crying, too, but never were. The coati was thin, as if the weight of his problems had shrunk him, and the wolverine almost felt guilty thinking of how sexy the malnourished-looking body was. His stomach seemed perfectly flat, tan and bordered with rich brown fur that crawled from his toes, along his sides, under his arms, and up to his ears. His face was tan with blotches of chocolate fur beneath each eye, and a bulbous nose at the end of a prominent snout. The wolverine stood up to greet him, but had to lean down again when he noticed the petite camper only stood up to his pecs. The coati was already skinny, but next to the mammoth wolverine he looked like a pipsqueak too.
"Mr. Anderson, sir," the coati stammered, a mess in the wolverine's presence, a mess in the camp's presence, a tangled weave of nerved in general. It was all evident in his voice. Angst and trepidation tinged with longing and shame. "Could... could I please talk to you inside your tent?"
Inside they took a seat on the rickety old cot covered with a ratty grey comforter. It had been a hot day and the air in the tent had baked in the lack of ventilation, where the wolverine sat all day reading and sweating. His heavy musk permeated throughout. The scent swirling around the coati, he took a long, luxuriant whiff and shivered as he let out a long, low moan.
The bashful coati kept his hands to himself, looking down at the floor for the strength to say something, anything. He sneaked sidelong glances at the massive wolverine, so vicious-looking in his size, but tender in his expression of concern. The wolverine put a paw on the coati's back and consoled him with scritches that made the slender back stiffen up and a smile creep onto the coati's face, though he hunched over with a frown again as a creeping guilt forced him out of it.
Words failing, the coati simply looked at the wolverine with a face he thought would explain everything. In his troubled eyes, in his hopeless smile, in his sweating brow, the wolverine read the message immediately.
He bounded on top of the small coati, pressing his lips into the long muzzle, the cot creaking under the weight. The coati's tensions melted on contact, and his arms wrapped as far around the hulkish body as far as they could. He tongued joyously back into the wolverine's mouth. His bitty paws clamored for the short hairs, wildly searching every inch they could reach, squeezing muscles, scritching fur, anything that could be done to the wolverine's buff body by the meager paws. The ample stomach pressed against him, soft and comforting.
The wolverine's paws were busy too, grasping the tiny coati's frame and tenderly cradling the graceful body. He kissed with surprising passion that he welled up inside him, that had seized him the moment the pathetic eyes met his, washing him with such a divine sense of pity and affection that he's had to pounce. His mouth floated down the small body, stopping first to nibble and suck on the coati's neck. He slipped off the coati's shirt that was always loose on him, then worked his lips downward still until he reached the navel, licking and sucking at the fragile tummy.
He flipped the coati over on the cot, which creaked and swayed. He tore down the coati's drawstring shorts that all the boys wore but somehow only he could fill. Big buys always had big butts, but only small guys like this coati could have a bubble butt like this. Not objectively big, but it seemed impossible on his tiny body. Tt was pert and perfectly round and heavenly soft to the touch. The wolverine delighted himself in mashing the cheeks with his paws, spreading them apart and pressing them together, overjoyed. The coati's bushy striped tail wagged incessantly, brushing against the wolverine's nose and wrapping lovingly around his neck like a scarf. It stayed there as he massaged the twin hams until he buried his nose between the two magnificent cheeks.
In the heat of the room, and after a day doing whatever in the woods, the coati had his own musk that was masculine yet exquisite, like a fine cologne. The coati's coat shimmered with a film of sweat, especially his butt, which had simmered in sweat thanks for the warm wet shorts. The wolverine could taste the sweat, and even it was magnificent, when his tongue lapped lovingly from taint to tail. The coati choked on his own moans, which seemed to be fighting back against his own desires. The moans become uninhibited when the wolverine sunk his tongue into the tight, virgin hole. The striped tail was a blur. The wolverine reached a massive paw under the coati's body and fondled his package, average but enticing. The wolverine could fit all the bits in his palm, and the fiddled with them as he slurped into the supple hole.
The coati's shorts held his knees close and the wolverine's own camp-issue shorts were bulging, a second tent pitched. He slipped the shorts down his thighs, though not past the knees just in case. He could already feel pre dripping into his palm in a steady stream, and he put it to use, coating his staff in the glistening, slick liquid of his own creation. The coati's cheeks clenched around the wolverine's tongue, the small body convulsing in before unknown pleasures. The coati spread his cheeks for the wolverine to slurp deeper inside him, who played the small body like a sort of instrument, the moans music to his ears.
Suddenly the wolverine's paw gripped tightly to the coati's shoulder and the cot creaked as the wolvering shifted on it, and soon the husky body covered the meager coati. He could feel the chubby stomach pressed against the small of the back as well as the hard, well toned chest on his shoulders and neck. The coati hadn't a chance to take a look at the wolverine's package, but with it now resting between his cheeks, slippery and with a warmth that can only come from natural lubrication, his spine tingled and a worrisome dread washed over. He could gauge the length as something he'd only experience in videos downloaded off the internet at 3 AM. The girth intimidated him, and he was thankful when the wolverine first sunk a finger into his as-yet untarnished tailhole. He welcomed it with a shrill squeak. The monumental cock continued to tease him as the wolverine slowly worked him open, a second finger making sure the upcoming pounding wouldn't hospitalize the poor guy.
The cot sagged and croaked under the weight, the motion testing it further, though the cot's moans were drown out by the coati's. The moans grew louder, expectant when the coati felt the monstrous head against his tailhole. He was lost, a mess of groans and pleas, until the wolverine fulfilled his requests by burying the hot rod deep in the big ass. The cheeks slapped against the wolverine's body and the wolverine's stomach slapped against the coati's arched back. It arched as much as it could, though not much room was allowed by the body on top of him, a shout of pain rising in his throat that gradually melted into an unreserved moan of bliss.
The amorous wolverine thrust quickly, smothering the small coati with his body that covered the coati's completely. Only the coati's head emerged from underneath it, allowing him to moan, grunt, cry, shout, and stammer in exalted bliss as his hole was hammered by the wolverine. It was hard to breathe under the weight of the body, and because of the humid tent air that made sweat drop from them in thick drops. Each thrust was met with a clipped shout, distinct of pain, but followed closely by shudders of pleasure. The wolverine could even feel the coati quivering under his hefty body.
The cot squeaked and squealed with each thrust, too, and had the tent walls not been made of plaster instead if canvas the bouncing cot would have put holes right through them as it rocked back and forth with the wolverine's motions. It creaked in pain, unwilling or unable to support the weight and the thrusting on top of it. Unaware, though, the wolverine continued to hump away, his balls slapping against the coati's butt. The wolverine's yellowish brown fur was dripping in sweat, his t-shirt, left on in the haste, was soaked through. He grunted into every thrust, the tight hole squeezing his cock with every plunge into the coati's warm, tender ass. In a less frantic moment, the wolverine would come to wonder if he shouldn't have gone easier on the inexperienced coati, and the coati would come to wonder why he couldn't walk, but in this fevered moment of time neither seemed to think about it, and the coati's cries for more belied any discomfort he must have felt.
Suddenly, having given its all, the cot collapsed beneath them, dropping them onto the soft dirt below. The coati shrieked, startled, the force of the landing shoving the massive dick in deeper than before. It still wasn't enough. He spread his cheeks for the wolverine again, begging for every inch he could get, and the wolverine was happy to oblige.
The wolverine still laid on top of the coati's body, keeping him immobile as his ass was violated, his cock sandwiched between the ground and his stomach. The wolverine felt the coati begin to quake beneath him, the sharp cries of pain and pleasure becoming louder. He pounded harder, faster, pulling out to the tip of his cock and burying the bone balls deep with every thrust, rubbing against every little pleasure spot inside the coati with each one. The coati's cheeks clenched tight around the wolverine, who for the first time moaned loudly through gritted teeth, then, his legs suddenly feeling weak and his heart racing, sweat dripping from every pore of his body... he froze. Buried deep inside the coati, his cock throbbed, surged, and spit wads of cum deep into the ass clutching tight around its base. He shook in pleasure, the coati shaking beneath him as much as his limited range of motion would let him. Though he couldn't see it, the wolverine knew the coati had shot his load too. Pulling out and flipping the small thing over, huffing and gasping for breath, he confirmed this. The coati's tan belly was soaked with sticky cum, some of it still dripping from his cock.
Not quite as exhausted as the coati, the wolverine sat up against the canvas wall, pulling the coati into his embrace. He kissed and hugged the silent creature, who seemed alone in a world with himself and his passion, which, crashed like a wave, was not receding slowly back out. He came to a few moments later in the wolverine's arms, and immediately wrapped his arms around the neck like a tree trunk and pulled himself up for a kiss.
A few moments of quiet reflection passed.
"You know..." the wolverine mused, pants still around his thighs, "I've been here a month and never did find out what this camp was."
The coati heaved and turned sleepily over in the wolverine's lap.
"Well? What is it?"
After a yawn, the coati answered him. "Sexual re-orientation camp. It's not going very well for me, so far."