FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

When the fisher started pulling him towards the back of the club, Pascal stumbled after her, his legs feeling like jelly after all of the dancing. Some of the other travellers in the hostel had told him that this club was the one he had to visit in his short time in Moscow, and they'd been right. He was a cocktail and a couple vodka shots in, and at some point between the first and the second shots he'd started grinding with the tall, lithe fisher. Now she was leading him off the dance floor, shooting him predatory looks with clear intent.

It wasn't until they'd gone a few steps that she pulled his hand down, and pressed it flush between her thighs. She let the porcupine feel the warmth of her soft flesh under her pants for a moment, making his breath come shorter. Then, she tugged on his wrist, and slid his fingers up a tad higher.

Pascal's breath caught in his throat in surprise at her forwardness, and then again as his fingers brushed against something firm and hot. He blinked, and almost tripped over his feet. He glanced up into her face, and she was still looking him in the eye. She spoke, and for the first time he heard her voice. It had a bit more timbre to it than he would have expected... well, would have expected up until he got that handful.

The words were in Russian, and with the alcohol in his system and the ringing in his ears from the music, it just washed over him. He gave his head a shake, and muttered, "Paljouste, ya ne gavaryu po-Russki."

She blinked, clearly not understanding everything he'd said. Then, she leaned forward, closer, and her hot breath on his ear made it twitch. "American?"

"Canadian."

She nodded. "Do you still want to...?" She was searching for words.

Pascal gulped. He'd read the carefully worded warning in his travel books, and heard the less carefully worded warnings from the others at the hostels in Moscow and St Petersburg. Be careful. Always be careful with the germa, those Russians who blended male and female aspects in their bodies. But, well... he had protection, and if he topped, then the risk couldn't be that high, could it?

"Yeah." She shot him an uncomprehending look, and he cleared his throat, then spoke louder. "Yes. Yes, I want to. I just want to be, uh, careful?"

Her confused look turned into a grin, and she started walking again, faster this time, and pulling him along behind her. He swallowed nervously, and eyed her from behind, those lithe curves, leading down to a pert rump that was perfectly outlined by her tight jeans. He couldn't deny that the added sense of danger, remote as it might be, was pounding in the back of his head.

They pushed through a door in the back of the club, and wove through a few tight, dark corridors. The sound of the club was muffled, but still audible behind them. The fisher occasionally flashed a questioning look back at him, as though to check that he was still interested. It soon became clear to Pascal that they'd stepped into the big, abandoned-looking building that the club was built onto. Clearly this building was a known hookup spot for the club; they passed a few couples, pressed against walls and groaning into each other. Pascal kept his eyes away from them out of politeness, for all that there could be politeness while slipping by somebody fucking in the back of a club in Moscow.

Eventually, the two of them reached a section of corridor that appeared deserted. The fisher rounded on Pascal, then, coming to a halt and pulling him in towards her. His torso pressed against hers, the soft weight of her breasts squeezing against his broad chest. Her hand released his, and then her fingers were sliding on either side of his face. Pascal's hands were draped loosely behind her back, fingers just barely brushing against the softer rise of her rump. His attention was more focused between them, though. He'd been half-hard for a while now, and feeling her body pressing against his was only helping things along faster. It was a bit alien to feel her own arousal, already throbbing in her pants and pressing against his.

Their foreheads leaned against each other, bodies squeezed together as she played her fingertips through his quill-laced headfur. He could smell her hot breath, tinged with the scent of vodka and cranberry, as she spoke. "May I... uh..." She searched for a word, then raised an eyebrow at him. "Potselovat?"

Pascal's mind wandered back through a slight haze of alcohol to the phrase book he'd glanced through before going out to the club. He swallowed. "Ye- da. Please."

Her grin widened, and she pressed her lips to his. He shivered, and kissed back, delighting in the feeling of her lipstick and the taste of the drinks she'd had earlier in the night. Her hands worked to the back of his head, pulling him in more firmly, and his fingers inched further down to cup the mounds of her rump. Throughout it all, Pascal could feel that out-of-place firmness pressing against his own bulging pants. It made his breath come faster.

The two held that position for a few long moments, just delighting in the warmth and the feeling of a stranger's body. It was the fisher who broke the kiss. Her eyes were half-lidded as she pulled her face away, hands coming to rest on Pascal's shoulders. He was panting for breath, feeling a bit light-headed from the booze and the arousal.

Wordlessly, she stepped back from him. The building had massive windows in the wall, mostly boarded up. She pulled back against one of them, then hopped up a tad so that she was half-sitting on the wide sill. Her hands went down to her pants, and she gave her bulge an obvious grope before she started unzipping them.

Pascal took this as his cue. He reached into his pocket, got out his wallet, and fished through it until he found his last condom. He'd bought a pack before he'd left on this trip; all of them were either lost or used by now, except for this one. He unbuckled his belt and undid his pants, slipping them down in the front so that the waistband sat around his hips and rump. It lifted his hard, bared package - average in all respects, not that he'd ever heard any complaints about that.

He was just tearing the package off of the condom when he heard her give a soft sigh. He glanced up and over at her, and his jaw dropped open as his eyes fell on her cock for the first time. She'd unbuttoned those criminally tight jeans and slid them down around her thighs. Her underwear, he noticed, were closer to mens briefs than panties - the extra material was probably needed to properly contain that bulge. He only glanced at them briefly, though, slid partway down her thighs. Instead, his focus was almost entirely on the plump cock and balls sticking out of her thick, dark brown fur. It was every bit as modest as his, its dark foreskin making it almost camouflage with her fur.

He'd expected it to look out of place, framed by her thighs and slightly curved hips, but it didn't. As he watched, her hand came down and gave the shaft a firm pump, and then lifted it and the balls up and out of the way. Under her balls, a dark slit glistened with readiness.

She cleared her throat, and he glanced up at her. The fisher's eyebrow was raised as she leaned back, perched on the window sill while holding her cock and balls out of the way to show off her pussy. "Well?" she said, and nodded down at the opened condom wrapper in his hands.

Pascal blinked, gave himself a few quick strokes, and then rolled the condom down over his cock. It took conscious effort to prevent his hands from shaking as he slid the tight, slick material over his flesh. He sucked in a couple breaths as he gave his cock a few more pumps, making sure the condom was on good and tight. Then he glanced over at her.

Their eyes met for a long few moments. She cocked that raised eyebrow, and then beckoned to him with her free hand. The hand that wasn't cupping her cock and balls.

Pascal took a couple deep breaths. You're wearing protection, and you're topping. This couldn't be safer. There's, like, zero chance of... well...

He stepped in closer to her, between her spread legs. She carefully closed her legs around behind him as he stepped in, being careful not to brush them against any of his exposed quills. One of his hands was gripping his rigid cock around the base. The other went up and rested on the boarded up window, just next to her shoulder. He looked down to guide his cock in, and was greeted by her own length bobbing up at him.

His tip slid up along the underside of her balls, and then it touched against her opening. He felt her shudder, and he couldn't hold in a grin. It was odd, but he knew what he was doing. He knew.

He leaned forward, and pressed his muzzle in against the side of her neck as he pressed his hips forward. Her head tilted back, and she let out a soft groan, her entire body tensing against him. He slid in just a bit, so that only his tip was inside her. The clenching warmth of her pussy made him shiver against her, his quills bristling a bit at the stimulation. He waited there, nuzzling against the soft fur of her neck until he felt her starting to relax. Then, he pulled back a tiny bit, before pressing forward again.

Her breath came out in sharp gasps along the back of his head and neck, and her hands came down onto his back. He was surprised when she grabbed at a couple of the tufts of quills that were poking through his shirt, using them as impromptu handlebars. Using those and the grip of her legs around his hips, she pulled him in roughly. He let out a wet gasp as he felt her balls drag along the bridge of his cock, and more of his length plunge into her.

Okay. He could take a hint. Speed up, quillboy.

The hand that was gripping the base of his shaft slid away from it, and instead grabbed her hip. He gave a harder thrust, making her gasp out a breathy word in Russian that he didn't understand. From the way her hands tightened on his quills, he assumed it was a good thing. He was in far enough now that he could actually pull back a couple inches before thrusting forward this time, eliciting sharp groans from both of them. It also resulted in the tip of her cock pressing against his soft belly and the fur covering it, which was an unexpected but entirely welcome feeling.

His pace picked up, and soon he was thrusting hard and smooth, drawing moans and soft curses from the fisher. He couldn't deny how good it all felt - the warmth of his muzzle buried in the fur of her neck, the prodding of her cock against his belly, the way the loose skin of her ballsack dragged over his cock with each thrust into her. She was actively clenching around his shaft each time he pressed in, and loosening her grip whenever he withdrew. It resulted in a hard, forceful fuck that soon had him panting and gasping for breath.

At one point, he was pretty sure he heard footsteps going by behind him, but he ignored the sound. He'd passed enough people fucking on his way to this hallway that he didn't care. If there was somebody, they didn't bother the fisher and the porcupine. The two of them were already well into it by then, lost to all of the world except each other's heaving, bucking bodies. Pascal's hand had migrated up from her hip by this point, dragging along her thin sides and up under her shirt. She let out a sharp noise as his fingers brushed at one of the cups of her bra, squeezing at the breast underneath.

His thrusts were getting choppier now, his own breath getting ragged. He pulled his muzzle away from her neck, needing to suck in deeper gasps of air. Her head was still tilted back, her long bangs swept up and her eyes squeezed shut as she rode out the sensations. Pascal was getting close, so fucking close. He could go off at any second. He was holding back, though, fighting down the arousal while he waited for her to reach her peak as well. It couldn't be long now. His hand squeezed more roughly at her breast, pressing the material of her bra against her nipple and dragging his fingertips over the exposed flesh. Her legs were kicking occasionally against his back, no doubt as spikes of pleasure ran through her body. He could feel pre from her cock rubbing off in his bellyfur, and he loved it. He loved all of it.

Quite suddenly, her hands left those bunches of quills on his back, and he let out a startled grunt as she placed them on either side of his muzzle. She yanked him forward, until his nose bumped against hers, and she was forcing him to look her in the eye. She gave her head a toss to get the bangs out of her face, and then she growled to him. "Cum, Kanadski."

It was the hottest fucking thing he'd ever seen. And he came. Hard. He let out a sharp cry, and then pressed in harder. Hell, he went up on tiptoe, grinding his hips against her balls. He felt her tightening around his cock, and the spasms combined with her own breathy cry told him that she was going over the edge as well.

Their cries trailed off, and in the ensuing silence, all of the small noises were amplified while both of their bodies rode out the feelings. There was still the muffled sound of the music from the club downstairs, along with the occasional sound of one or the other of them shuddering against the other or sucking in a deep breath. Soon the only sound coming from either of them was heavy breathing. Otherwise, it was quiet.

There was a long few moments during which the two of them just held their position; Pascal with his head leaning on her shoulder, panting for breath, the fisher running her hands down the porcupine's back. He could feel the heat coming off of her, the heavy breaths. Even as he was starting to soften, her depths felt warm and tight and inviting around his member.

He finally pulled back a bit, glancing down as his shaft slipped free of her. His eyes were drawn away from the loosening condom around his cock as he eyed the hot, throbbing length still jutting up between her thighs. She looked satisfied, but that cock hadn't finished; apparently the female and male orgasms weren't tied together. He stared at that cock, and then back up at her, past the exposed bit of her trim stomach, the rise of her pert breasts in her shirt, and up to her face. She was reaching up to brush her bangs out of her face, having not quite looked at him yet. He gulped, and then slid a hand away from her hip to grasp her shaft.

Her entire body tensed, and her eyes shot open in surprise. She glanced down at him, and his hand on her shaft. He halted his movement, meeting her gaze. He waited for her to give a small nod before he started stroking again, running his hand slowly up and down. He felt her throbbing, already so close from the stimulation of their fucking moments before. Her breath came in sharper, shorter gasps, her eyes clenched shut.

He kept his gaze trained on her member, and swallowed as he saw a small bead of pre building at her tip. He watched it gather, growing fuller and beginning to quiver with weight, about to drip down...

Her hand came down on his wrist, stopping his movement. He blinked, and glanced back up to her face. She was breathing hard, but there was a serious look there. She nodded down at her cock, and the pre on the edge of dripping down. "Careful."

He swallowed. The porcupine's throat felt very dry, suddenly. Wearing protection and topping, you're safe. Wearing protection and topping, you're safe... "I, uh. I don't want to stop."

She eyed him. He could feel her cock tensing in his grip. "Do you have another... uh..." She searched for words, then nodded down towards his cock, and the now-loose condom on it.

Wearing protection and topping, wearing protection and topping... "No. Do you?"

"No. Do you want to continue?" Her voice was very quiet now, her body tense. Pascal gave her whole body another quick once over - that beautiful, lean feminine form, leading gracefully down to her rigid masculinity. With him holding that dick up, he could just make out her slit under her balls.

Pascal gulped audibly. "Da."

He felt her throb, and her hand's grip loosened on his wrist. He took the opportunity to drag his hand the rest of the way down her shaft, torturously slow. Her back arched slowly, her eyes clenching shut. Pascal's eyes were focused on that bead of pre as he pulled her foreskin down. The bead of moisture began sliding down her length, towards his hand. Odds of transmission were pretty low with just contact on the skin. He was pretty sure he'd heard that, though he couldn't quite recall where.

He stopped trying to remember where he'd heard that fact or how reputable the source had been as he slid down to his knees, and his tongue dragged over the head of her shaft. She let out a startled gasp, eyes snapping open as she stared down at the porcupine. He was slathering his tongue down and up her length, groaning as he came back up and slid his lips over the head.

She started saying something, but her voice cut out into a wet moan as he started sucking, running his tongue around the head in his mouth. He clenched his eyes shut as he gave a swallow. Protection and topping, protection and topping... He let the useless mantra fade away as he began bobbing his head down lower, taking more of her into his mouth. His hand was working over the base of her member, pressing against her balls occasionally. Pascal could already feel a soft heat building up in his guts, different from the normal heat of intimacy.

He tried to ignore it, and just focus on pleasuring her for the moment. He worked himself lower, pausing to give his mouth time to adapt whenever it started getting uncomfortable. Her hands soon came down to rest on the back of his head; not pushing, but resting there, giving gentle encouragement. He appreciated it; each time he stopped to let himself adjust, he felt that heat building, pooling in his stomach, building up and preparing to-

And then, with a start, that heat seemed to just jump out, sliding to his hips with enough force to make his thighs twitch apart. He opened his mouth wide, and let out a groan around her dick as he felt the sudden pressure on his hips. He cast his gaze down, and his eyes widened as he saw, actually saw muscle and fat packing on around his lower half. His slight belly slimmed a bit before his eyes, but all of that mass seemed to just migrate downwards to his upper legs, plumping them out and giving him curves.

The fisher's hand on his head gave the slightest bit of pressure. She was leaning down so she could speak in his ear, short of breath. "Keep going. No stopping it now, so just keep going."

He shivered at her words. She was right. He was on this path now, and there was no leaving it. He let out a whimper as that heat began pushing against his rump and filling it out with more mass, and then he started suckling and bobbing again.

The heat spread up from there, sweeping down his legs and up his torso. He could feel small points of more intense heat as it made changes to him in tiny ways that would have been insignificant on their own. As the heat reached his chest, though, it gathered there in force, pressing out against his pecs. He actually slid off of her cock, then, gasping and panting out, "Oh god, oh god it's--"

One of her hands slid under his muzzle. He wanted to look down, at the insistent hot pressure and the beginnings of weight forming on his chest, but she forced him to look up into her face. Her voice was calm, despite how out of breath she was. "Let it happen."

He squirmed in her grip, mouth hanging open. He could feel his nipples perking up to the sensations, pressing outwards with the flesh they capped. "But... I..."

"Let it happen. You wanted this, you chose this. Let it happen." She held his muzzle, still meeting his gaze. Then, she let out a whimper of her own, bucked her hips, and growled out, "And stop it with the interruptions."

Pascal let out a half-chuckle, half-whimper at that. With his hand around the base of her cock, he could feel how close she was. He could feel the gentle throbbing and occasional bucking of her hips. Her legs gave a small kick as he lowered himself down on her again, letting her cock slip deeper into his mouth.

Her foot brushed forward, and bumped against where his shirt was pulled tight over his chest. It was a surprise for both of them, and sent an unexpected hot thrill down the changing porcupine's torso. She didn't pull her foot away as Pascal kept suckling; instead, she used it to prod at his softening flesh, making him feel the shifting heft.

The heat soon left his chest, and swept up the rest of his torso, along his shoulders and down his arms, before sweeping over his face in a warm, disorienting rush. It wasn't like the changes in his hips or thighs or chest, where he could clearly feel something shifting. This was all more subtle, harder to place. At first he wasn't even sure if anything had changed, until he let out another moan around her cock. Partway through, his voice cracked, making the muffled noise peter out. He tried again, and his ears perked up as the noise that left his throat was higher than he remembered.

He was startled by this, and about ready to pull off when her hands came down on his head again. Her fingers were a bit rougher this time, betraying how close she was. Her voice was breathy as she spoke. "Good. Yes. Keep making those sounds. Let me hear your pretty voice."

And, well... it was hard to deny a request like that. He pressed back down, and clenched his eyes shut as he let the head of her shaft press towards the back of his mouth, beginning to tickle at his throat a bit. He worked his lips around her sensitive flesh, and dragged his tongue on the underbelly, and oh yes, he moaned. He let his voice ring out, louder than he probably needed to, letting himself get used to the oddly high, muffled noises. The heat all throughout his body seemed to be spread thin, but there was one change that he knew was left. One very, very important change, and it was making his quills bristle just thinking about it...

The fisher let out a sharp cry, and her hands turned into vices on the sides of his head. She yanked him down, and he let out a startled grunt as the head of her shaft slid past the back of his muzzle and into his throat. His focus was drawn away from that, though, as all of that thinly spread heat all condensed down at once, shooting through his body to pool just behind his balls, along his perineum. The porcupine's muzzle opened, and he cried out in startled, intense pleasure. The sound of his high voice calling out almost drowned out the fisher's own cry as her cock gave a mighty throb, and then started spurting into him.

Pascal clenched his eyes shut, and closed his lips around that cock, forcing himself to swallow as she came. It was difficult, though, as the heat in his loins turned into a searing pleasure, churning through his guts. There were a few moments of intense discomfort as he forced himself to swallow those few hard shots of cum that blasted into the back of his throat, while at the same time weathering the shifting feeling inside of him. That heat inside of him seemed to push down, and his legs twitched as it did. It pushed and pushed, firmly working its way down... until his legs gave a hard shake, he gasped, and suddenly he could feel the cool air on hot, open flesh that hadn't been there before.

The fisher leaned back, letting her head loll as she rode out the afterglow of her orgasm. As her hand slid away from Pascal's head, he was finally able to pull off of her softening member. He just collapsed back, fully out of breath as that intense heat quickly fled his body. He just lay back on the floor, staring up at the ceiling as he gasped for his breath. With his underwear around his thighs, he could feel his balls hanging down, resting against a sensitive, warm part between his legs. On top of that, the weight of his body was arranged differently, most noticeably across his chest where his shirt was stretched tight.

Neither even tried to move when they heard footsteps coming down the hallway. Pascal didn't look up as a pair of wolves stepped around his prone body. One hesitated for a moment, and he saw her eyes take him in with uncertainty. He saw her gaze go from his face, to his chest, down towards his hips... and the obvious maleness there. She blinked, startled, then kept walking.

Pascal just grinned, exhausted.

He didn't remember walking home with her after that. He didn't remember if they went out through the club, his clothes stretched tight and hanging loose in places, or if they forced their way out one of the boarded up doors in the attached, mostly abandoned building. He had some vague memories of a lot of raucous laughter; a combination of exhausted afterglow and lingering alcohol.

The next thing he remembered clearly was waking up in a bed, morning light filtering in through a window. The air was a bit chilly, and it made his brown fur puff up a bit as he roused himself. The soft sounds of somebody moving and fidgeting with things were drifting in through the door, while the noise of the constant Moscow traffic jams filtered in through the window.

He slowly sat up, reaching up to rub sleep out of his eyes. He didn't remember what had happened the night before until he lifted his arms above his head, stretching his body to yawn. The combination of the higher sound of his voice, with the feeling of the loose shirt he was wearing brushing over his chest much further out than it ought to, made him freeze in position.

Oh. Right.

"Ah, the sleeping beauty wakes." The fisher's voice drifted in through the door, followed a moment later by her head poking around the corner. Pascal didn't miss how her eyes roamed over his stretched out body for a moment, definitely hungrily. "Um... coffee. Do you use milk? Sugar?"

Pascal lowered his arms hurriedly, and folded them in his lap. He tried to not get surprised by his own voice when he spoke. "Uh. Black, please." He normally liked it a bit sweeter, but this felt like a black coffee type of morning.

She nodded. "A minute or two, yes?" Then her head slipped back around the corner, leaving Pascal alone in the room.

The porcupine just sat on the bed for a few long seconds, taking deep breaths and getting a better look around the place. It was a bit of a mess. There was a closet with its sliding doors open, and a few pairs of clothes were visible inside, hanging up neatly. Most of the clothing appeared to be strewn around the room, though, either on the floor, hanging from the doorknob, or draped on the desk or the chair. Pascal quickly picked out his own clothes discarded in the mess, but ignored them for now.

"So tell me, porcupine--"

"Pascal."

"Pascal. I am Nina. You have been in Russia how long?"

"Just over a week?" That's your voice, that's your voice... He finally stood. The night shirt he was wearing wasn't his; it was a faded mauve colour, and it was loose even on his thick-set frame. It draped down to just above his knees, obscuring many of his features. When he took a step, it did brush close enough to his body to show a hint of his bulge. He gulped, and kept speaking. "I was in St Petersburg for a few days, and then I took the night train down."

In the other room, Nina made a sound of disgust. "You have done it wrong. Moscow first, then Peter. Then you leave on good impression."

Pascal couldn't hold in a small snort at that. Even that sounded different. He kept wandering through the room, over to a small cork board in the corner. There were a few photos stuck to it, and he glanced over them curiously. Some were clearly her family, and there were a few ticket stubs written in cyrillic. He did catch sight of a picture of Nina there, probably from a year or two previous. The fisher was at a beach somewhere, in a bathing suit. Pascal couldn't keep his eyes from glancing down to check. In the picture, she definitely didn't have a bulge.

He gulped, and glanced away from the corkboard, feeling a bit gross about having looked. To be fair, he'd fucked her in a hallway in the abandoned building behind a club the night before, but... He gave himself a shake, then called out, "Why do I get the impression that you're from St Petersburg?"

She laughed at that. "Yes, I am. But it does not change that you have done the order wrong."

Pascal turned to respond, but she was already walking into the room, carrying a small tray. There were a few plates on the tray, and each one had a pair of what looked like pancakes, folded into triangles, topped with diced onions and a fried egg. She laid the tray down on the messy desk, then backed out of the room again. Pascal noticed that she was wearing a nightshirt similar to his own. He also noticed that her tail lifted it in the back just enough to show off a bit of her rump.

She returned a moment later, carrying an espresso pot with a pair of small mugs. Pascal took a seat on the edge of the bed, and she swept all of the clothing off of the chair. "You have had blini yet?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, once at a restaurant in St Petersburg."

She gave a small sniff as she handed him his plate. "This is bad. I am... not a good cook. But you are guest, so you must eat." She poured espresso into each of their mugs, and placed his on the desk, close enough for him to reach.

The two of them ate in silence for a short while, Nina using the desk, and Pascal keeping his plate on his lap. The blini were good, though every now and again the porcupine's tongue ran along a slightly bitter bit of singed dough.

Pascal was starting on his second when Nina finally broke the silence. "So. Last night was... good?"

Pascal blinked, and glanced up at her in surprise. The fisher didn't look exactly concerned; more appraising. He swallowed down his mouthful, and stammered out, "Uh, yes. Yes, it was very- you were very good."

"Good." She nodded. She waited until both of them had taken a bite before she spoke again. "And, um... this." She gestured vaguely towards Pascal with her fork. It was a broad motion that seemed to take him in entirely. "This is also... good?"

He didn't respond as quickly this time. He reached over to his mug, and took a long sip to give himself some time. That feminine voice was hesitant when he spoke. "Um... I think so. Unexpected. I mean, I'd never considered all this before, but... I think so."

Nina nodded again, slower this time. Pascal didn't miss the relieved look on her face, or the way she released a breath she'd been holding. "This is good. It is... big change."

Pascal nodded back. "Yes it is."

They finished their meal in silence, though it was a comfortable one. They carried the dishes out into her tiny kitchen when they were finished, and Nina dumped all of them into her sink. She walked over to the door to her apartment, and grabbed a bulging canvas bag that hung from the knob. She tossed it to Pascal, who caught it. The contents were soft.

"My friend who lives downstairs, Inessa. She is similar shape to you. These are from her."

Pascal blinked in surprise, and stammered out, "Oh, I can pay if you need to-"

Nina held up a hand to stop him. "No. I helped Inessa with rent last month. This is her paying back."

Pascal nodded, and glanced down into the bag, distractedly. "I see. Is Inessa, uh... is she like you?"

He heard her snort. "No. She is not like us. But her clothes may fit. Finding things that do not show too much, well... it is challenge." She reached down to give her own crotch a rueful grope through her night shirt. "Take as much as you need."

Pascal ran his fingers through the bag, pushing shirts and things aside. He gulped, and spoke. "Well, I've been travelling for a while. I've only really got one other change of pants and a couple shirts. Underwear too, I guess."

"Your underwear will work fine. Maybe a bit tight in sides, but better than tight on cock." Nina stepped over to her counter, and fished a notebook out of a counter. She began scribbling on it as she spoke. "When you get home, or someplace you will stay a while, you can order underwear from this website. So, two pairs of pants, a few shirts. Also bras."

Pascal almost dropped the bag. He glanced up sharply at her. "Bras?"

She shot him an incredulous look. Then, her eyes widened in realization. "Oh. Yes. You were man. Well, still are, if you want, but your body was..." She trailed off, and reached up to rub at her forehead. She muttered something under her breath; Pascal didn't know what it meant, but he'd heard it enough times since arriving in Russia to know it was a curse. "I should show you, um... Yes. Come, bathroom. I will show you."

Nina turned and headed through a door that lead to a tiny bathroom, walking a bit stiffly and leaving the notepad. Pascal followed her in a daze, still holding the bag. Nina grabbed it from him, and gave him a sharp order of, "Shirt off." She then started rooting through the bag.

Pascal blinked at her businesslike manner, and then glanced down at himself. He hesitated for a very long moment, before he reached down and touched the hem of the shirt. Aside from his voice, and the occasional feeling of the fabric brushing against him, he had so far been spared from having to confront what had happened last night.

He gulped, and then lifted the shirt. He did it in one smooth motion, sliding it off of his head and then letting it drop to the floor. It left his fur bared to the cool air in the apartment's bathroom, so he moved to cross his arms and cover himself. That made his arms brush unexpectedly against his chest, which made him freeze, halfway through the action.

Nina glanced up, and her face cracked into a smirk as she saw him standing there. She gave her head a shake. "Come. In front of mirror." She put down the bag, pulling a black sports bra out as she did so.

Pascal hesitated a moment longer, but then stepped out in front of her and faced the mirror. He froze again, and just took a few moments to stare at himself. There was still a lot of him there - visible beneath the curves, there was definitely the frame of a thickly built, slightly pudgy porcupine, with shoulders that were a bit broad for a woman. His fur all looked thicker, and more sleek all across his front. His potbelly had shrunk a bit, but it swelled out into a good pair of hips and thighs that framed his soft member nicely.

He was surprised to see how reasonably sized his breasts were. From the unfamiliar weight and the way they had been brushing against his shirt, he'd been expecting them to be enormous. As it was, though, they might have even been a bit small, relative to the rest of his body.

His gaze wandered up to his face. If anything, that was the strangest part of it all. It was still definitely his face, and easily recognizable as him. That said, there were a number of small changes that all added up to give a different impression. His face was in general just a bit rounder, with the curves and edges all adding together to give a slightly more 'effeminate' impression. All around, looking up and down his body, he had a slightly 'butch' look going on, and he had to admit that it worked.

He must have been looking at himself longer than he realized, because the next thing he knew, Nina was stepping up behind him. She moved carefully, pressing his quills down using her shirt so that they wouldn't prick her. She leaned forward, and he shuddered as she rubbed her muzzle against his cheek. "You know, you did do pretty good. There is one important thing we didn't test last night, though. May I?"

Pascal tilted his head a bit to glance back at her. He swallowed. Well, if he was about to learn how to put on a bra... "Yes."

She didn't waste time. Her hands slid around from behind him. One gripped his shaft, already half-hard from looking at himself in the mirror. His legs quivered as she gave him a few hard pumps, sending jolts of pleasure through him. Then, businesslike, she lifted his cock up, and slid her free hand between his thighs. His breath caught in his throat as her fingers slid up, and he instinctively clenched his thighs together.

She shot him an annoyed look in the mirror, and sighed next to his ear. "Come. Work with me. I promise I know what I'm doing better than you do."

Nina kept stroking softly at him, and at last Pascal sighed. He clenched his eyes shut, and then spread his legs for her. The fisher didn't hesitate. Her fingers rose, and then the tips were rubbing against his nether lips. Pascal's voice came in a sharp gasp, and his eyes shot bolt open again. Her fingers kept running along his entrance, and his chest heaved at even that slight contact.

"And here we go..." she whispered. He opened his mouth to speak, but then one of her fingers slid up, and in a hot rush, she was inside of him. It was astonishingly sensitive; almost uncomfortably so as she slid her finger tip in, just budging it around enough for him to feel it. His cock was hard as a rock now, and that thicker fur was beginning to stick up in places. She was still nuzzling at his cheek, and she whispered into his ear. "There we go. How is that?"

Pascal couldn't respond at once. The stroking of his cock was good, but it paled in comparison to the new feeling of being opened, of her finger itching just inside of him, of that feeling of heat and growing wetness. He tilted his head back, took a few shuddering gasps, and stammered out, "Good."

"Good." Her hand gave a few more pumps to his cock, and then slid away from it, leaving it bobbing out in front of him. Her hand slid up along his soft belly, and then it cupped one of his breasts. He whimpered openly at that, especially as her fingers dragged over his nipples. They had never been that sensitive before. Her finger kept teasing at his entrance, and he could tell that her fur was getting damp down along it. When she spoke again, her voice was a hiss. "Do you want more?"

"Yes." He shivered, body bucking. He was looking at himself in the mirror, her hands cupping his breast and sliding up inside of him, his cock rigid and throbbing. He looked good. "God yes."

"Tell me. Say what you want."

"In me. Put it in me. Pl-" He didn't hesitate, and neither did she. His voice cut out into a wet moan as Nina slid her finger up into him, pressing firmly in. He tilted his head back again, gasping for air as warm quivers ran through his whole body. She left her finger there for a moment, and then slid it out to the first knuckle, before slamming it back in. The impact, though not having much weight behind it, sent shockwaves rocking through him.

Her grip tightened on his breast, and she kept sliding her finger in and out. The newness of the pleasure was making it hard for Pascal to keep up, and he knew he wasn't going to last long. The pleasure wasn't entirely unlike being stroked off; it was that same electric chill of ecstacy. That said, whereas being stroked off felt like pleasure running from the rest of his body down to focus in his cock, this was like the pleasure emanating from his pussy - his pussy! - and then defusing out through the rest of his body.

She soon slid a second finger in as well, making Pascal's mouth gape. He could fit that much? It didn't occur to him at the time that most cocks were thicker and longer than two fingers held together. It was all he could do to keep up with the feelings. Nina's arm under his armpit, the one she was using to grope at his breast, was helping to keep him up at this point. His legs felt weak from the alien pleasure.

It didn't take long. A minute, maybe two from the time Nina first slid her finger all the way in. Then, Pascal went up onto his toes, his lips clenched down on her fingers, and he let out a strangled cry as waves of hot pleasure rushed through him. He rode out the sensations, both the clenching of new muscles in his groin, and the hot wash of pleasure.

It felt like the orgasm lasted forever, but it was probably only a few moments. Regardless, when the feelings began dying down, he just slumped, sucking in deep breaths.

"I understand that was a lot." Nina's voice made Pascal jump in surprise. She continued. "But you are very heavy."

He blinked, and then hurried to stand up straight and get some of his weight off of her. His legs were a bit shaky as he stood up, and his thick fur was ruffled up in places. His cock was still hard and bobbing, but he could ignore that for now. He glanced awkwardly to Nina. "Uh. Sorry about that."

She shrugged at him. Then she grinned, and lifted up the sports bra again. "So. Ready to learn how to put one of these on?"

Pascal gulped audibly. "Oh hell yes I am."