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11. Scat

Anonymous

The huntress crouched down in the brush, looking first one way and then the other, tall feline ears perked and constantly swiveling for any surrounding noise. Really she should do this neither here nor now, but she was no stranger to the workings of nature, and this nature certainly demanded.

Satisfied with her choice of position the leopard shifted her legs and spread them apart, one paw resting against the nearby tree and the other lowering down to swipe her hanging hide loincloth to the side out of the way. Another shiver racked her body, as it had been doing periodically for the past few minutes; she could feel the fur on her arms, her thighs, and the back of her neck straighten up and sick out with the sensation, as well as she could feel the actual source of it.

That was the worst part, really, the actual _presence_of it, the weight and heft inside of her, reminding her of its presence and urgency with each step, each breath, each twitch of her muscles. The leopard glanced down and nearly lifted back up off of her haunches with the sudden reflexive sensation of her tailhole squeezing back against that urgency, ring of muscles tightening against the hot, firm weight threatening to push itself free.

_ _

The worst part, or...

Again she glanced around, that paw still in place between her thighs, heel of her palm along the strap of her loincloth. She could feel the wind brushing gently through the fur of her back, could hear all the little sounds of the forest, could feel the familiar tickle of low-lying plants against her footpaws and the underside of her tail, and... maybe, just maybe, there was a little bit of enjoyment in that sensation, in fighting back the urgency and carrying that weight around inside of her.

She let her eyes flutter shut and relaxed, relishing the feeling of being out here in the open, forced by desperation more than anything else, and then slid her fingers down a bit further. The first touch, the side of one finger slipping up between slick lips, made her twitch and tighten back again, forcing that weight back up into her body from where it had nearly started to drop free... and then the second made her relax further, as did the third, and when she ran her fingers up over her clit, and when she pressed them further down again.

The leopard swallowed and sighed, slowing and then pausing in her self-enjoyment a bit to focus and relax again, and then... shivered this time with the pleasure of relief as she finally managed to let herself go. Her tailhole pursed and stretched, slowly at first until it hugged around the girth of that slick stickiness as it dropped free, the leopard lifting up a little bit to allow it space. As she began to empty her bowels she worked her fingers more fervently at herself, loving the combined sensation of the arousal itself along with the sweet, needed relief, all of that pressure slipping free, pulling its way from her slightly-stretched tailhole, leaving the rim of muscle warm and a bit sticky.

Her other paw dropped down from the side of the tree, her body again lifting up as she reflexively pinched off that first chunk. The scent hit her then, too, heavy and bitter, something that curled her nose a bit and made her turn her head, but the sensation... she slid that paw down along her thigh towards her back, thumb looping around the base of her tail to hike it up while she resumed.

The balance here was tough, and on more than one occasion she nearly toppled forward or backward from her split attention, but still she went on, digging her fingers more firmly at and inside herself in front, keeping her tail raised in back. At one point she let that paw drift down a bit further, thumbpad coming close to the stretched rim of her tailhole; then she let it go a little bit further, beginning to feel the wet heat of the shit as it came, thick heavy chunks that dropped free or stuck together.

It was a whim, then, but with another glance around herself and a tight inhalation of breath, the leopard made her decision. She hesitated, slid those fingers out of herself, let them remain there... and then pushed them down her front, down and around, until they spread around the bit still hanging free from her tailhole. Her heart pounded in her chest, reluctance battling with interest and arousal - but as usual, the arousal won out.

The relaxation turned again to pushing. She felt the weight as it pulled free from her tailhole and dropped down into her paw, around her fingers, filling her palm, sticking to her fur, pushing that paw further down towards the pile that already waited underneath her. The leopard gasped and shivered again, turning her paw over to drop it down, then this time lifted it up until her fingers crowned around her bulging tailhole as it parted again. There she kept it in place, pressing up just as she pushed out, feeling the damp heat fill her paw and then press up against herself, repeatedly pushing, squeezing, pushing again.

Finally the leopard dropped back onto her rump, not caring that she landed right in the pile of stinking waste. Paw full of fresh shit, she brought it up, turned it over in front of her, let it land between her legs, and then got right back to working at herself, smearing its along soft wet flesh, leaving bits and clumps between her lips, along the side of her clit, in her pubic fur, and then inside of her as well, the sticky heat just barely palpable beneath her own peaking arousal. Three messy, sticky fingers now squeezed inside of herself, pushing and pulling, bringing her closer and closer, mashing her mess into a wet, sticky slurry, until - she gasped, shivered again, and bucked against herself, grinding forward into the still-warm pile and spreading it along herself, the inside of her palm becoming soaked again and again with the force of her orgasm, adding to that mess in a hot puddle streaming down between her legs.

Exhausted, drained, and emptied, the leopard looked down at what she had done, pulled her fingers out of herself, and grimaced. She hadn't wanted to bathe today, but...

Yes. The worst part.

_ _

12. Sounding

ShiningCastor

"So I need to - just..."

"No, you need to hold still. Hold - still-"

Castor squirmed and shivered at the sensation of the slick, liquid lube dripping down over the revealed tip of his shaft. It was such a delicious feeling, magnified further by the foggy, dizzy state of his drunken mind; he thumped his head back against the chair and closed his eyes against the way the ceiling overhead spun.

Half-drunk, maybe. He had been worse.

"Is that... oh." Another shiver bounced up his back, nearly making him kick his leg. "Oh, now that's..."

From between his spread legs he felt the other otter grumble and shift his position. Castor getting progressively deeper in his cup as the two friends spoke over the bar naturally led the conversation to take a certain turn, and soon the two were leaning in close to one another sharing thoughts and fantasies, Castor squirming in his seat hardly able to contain the arousal while Lukas simply smirked and watched.

At one point in the night Castor had expressed an interest in another certain thing, to which Lukas had raised his eyebrows and nodded. "Stay for a while after closing," he said, and then whisked off to the other end of the bar; "I've got something to show you." Then as soon as the lights changed and the door locked Lukas had beckoned Castor over, stood up to undo his pants, dropped them halfway down his thighs, and gave a smooth, slow tug to the end of the silicone plug half-wrapped within his gathered foreskin.

It had kept on coming, the black surface wet and glistening with lube and natural musk, the little bumps along the length of the sound each making the bartender shiver and shudder, until he stood fully hard and at attention by the time he finally pulled the forearm's-length thing free, the end dripping with thick clear liquid and the otter's legs shaking so much he had to hold onto the chair behind him for balance.

The few - or likely several - minutes since then had passed in a hazy, dizzy blur, but now Castor sat with his own pants and underwear around one ankle, his back precariously pitched against one of the chairs from the bar with his sack hanging off the edge of the seat, his half-hard shaft held carefully in warm otter paws, and a tube of surgical lube dripping down against his tapered tip. He watched, enraptured, as Lukas reached down towards the zip-up kit that he had pulled from somewhere and then slid out one of the sounds there, a thin metal bar instead of the floppy silicone dipstick he had had sheathed inside of himself apparently for his entire shift. It now rested on a clean towel on the bar - never, ever let them touch a dirty surface,_Lukas had explained, as though the drunken Castor would remember that later. _You'll regret it after.

"Okay," the other otter murmured, breath wafting out warm between Castor's thighs. He felt everything as though at a great distance, though his body still responded in turn: he twitched again and lifted up, one paw coming down to push his sheath back and coax himself further out into the air. Lukas rolled his eyes and shook his head, though Castor very clearly caught the adjustment in his own pants. "I need you to hold still and relax. That's a big part - relax. If you've never done this before..."

"I haven't," Castor slurred, reaching up to scratch at a spot on his muzzle. He missed. "Unless you count that time you dug around in my sheath with that - that tongue of yours..."

"No. I don't. Remember this is going in your dick," said with a tap of the tapered end of the metal rod to his tip, "and not your sheath."

"Uh huh. How different could it feel? That really... made me... rrh-"

"Very. Hold still."

He quickly found out just how right Lukas was. The lube was cold and slick, sticking to his tip and where the other otter had rubbed it in, but once he had lined up the tip of the rod, angled it down, and started slipping it in... Castor gritted his teeth and lifted up a bit, feeling suddenly hot. A low moan halfway between pleasure and discomfort pushed its way from between his lips just as Lukas continued to press the rod down into his length, one paw keeping his half-hard shaft upright and the other...

...doing nothing, apparently. Castor opened his eyes again and looked down, a complaint on his tongue, only to see that Lukas had released the rod so that it sank slowly down on its own, the slightly-angled tip pushing its way deeper down into the base of the other otter's shaft. And, somehow, the deeper it slid, the harder Castor became: watching it drift down, watching the notched lines along the length disappear into his tip, feeling the slight extra pressure on the inside of his cock, made him squirm and throb and tighten around it. It swung upwards with each throb, his shaft kept upright around it, the other end still poking out from his tip.

"God..." he breathed, panting softly. "That's..."

Lukas sat back and smirked, one paw between his legs. "How's that feel?"

All these feelings swirling around and vibrating inside of him... Castor thrust upwards into the air again. It still felt as though there were paws on him, as though he had a finger or a tongue or something else inside of him poking at all of his good spots, but every time he looked there was just this single rod twitching at the end of, and inside of, his shaft.

"Good," he managed. "Very good. A little..."

"A bit of a pinch?"

"Yeah. But - God..."

Lukas nodded and leaned forward again, carefully taking the revealed end in his finger and thumb and beginning to pull it up. "Good. We'll let you get accustomed to this..." Then he released it and again it sank slowly back down inside of Castor's length, towards the base. The otter twitched again. "...and then move on to one of the others. Or..."

"O - or?"

Blue eyes flashed up to him. "It's double-sided, you know. The other side is one gauge higher. So we could turn that around to size you up, or we could just... you know. Share."

Castor had a response on hand for that, though the sensation of the rod hilting in the base of his shaft again wiped it away. He rolled his head on his shoulder and sighed, again thrusting up into the phantom sensation.

At this rate, he wouldn't be able to get very far in sizing up. That was quite alright, though.

13. Bloodplay/Gore

Vyn~And~Myr

The demon sped through the underbrush, trees and bushes parting for her passing, the shadows all around morphing and melding around her as she went. She kept her prey a certain distance ahead of her, never further and never nearer, as she enjoyed the knowledge of that glimmer of futile hope. While on this plane, while in this form, she was bound to a more mundane physiology: what served as a heart pounded in her chest as did her prey's inside its own, blood rushing through her veins, breath coming hot and hard through flared nostrils and gritted teeth.

It was a white fox that she had been called to hound, a short, stocky male capable of running quickly yet not for long. She wove back and forth through the trees as she went, sparing neither care nor thought for actually maintaining sight of the target. She could feel where it was, could sense its shock and fear, could taste the adrenaline and shivering panic on the air, and it was each and every one of these that kept her aware.

Finally, though, as always the chase came to its end. Arun,_said the familiar voice of her binding; _Arun'natsurae. Delay no longer. Put him down.

She had been keeping her prey at a distance for nearly five minutes now, certainly much longer by the fox's perception, but now she felt herself pulled by the compulsion and began around to cut off its path. She moved with the speed of the stars in the sky far overhead, blinking from shadow to shadow, silent in her passage even with that heart pounding and lungs working in hot, fervent exultation, sharp against the prey's panic. It stumbled over itself, nearly tripped over a protruding root, glanced behind itself for a predator that was no longer there, looked forward again, tried to skid to a halt so it could turn around...

...and ended up clutched tightly in the ice-cold grasp of the demon herself, clothed in the shape of a wolf forged from the night sky. She could see her pale, empty eyes reflected in its own, brimming with tears as it looked back and forth across her muzzle. Arun parted her lips, relishing the way the air thickened with the presence of pulsing, dripping fear: the fox squirmed and tried to break free, though remained caught fast in her grip. She leaned forward, touched her teeth to the side of its neck, let her tongue flick out to drag through soft fur, then settled those teeth in place. The fox wriggled and then held as still as it could, its entire body shaking with panic.

Arun listened as it prayed to a god in which it did not even believe. She let her tongue caress the surface of its throat once more, swallowed... and then snapped her jaws shut. The artery burst and almost instantly filled her maw with hot, slick blood, flooding her senses with the sharp taste of metal; the fox slumped in her grasp, arms and legs spasming and flinging in a final attempt to hold on to life. Instead of let it drop from her grasp the demon dug her claws in, one set punching in through its ribs and the other sinking easily through the soft skin and flesh of its belly. She leaned forward with it, flesh coming free between sharp teeth and sticking to the roof of her mouth, until the belly gave way, too, skin and fat tearing free, innards spilling forth from their binding.

Panting, the demon swallowed, blood freely dripping from her soaked muzzle and down her front. A few loops of intestines remained caught around one paw and wrist, slick and wet and so hot, squishy with a considerable firm weight stuck inside. She gave those fleshy ropes a tug, watching the way they pulled further free from the fox's gaping stomach, stinking juices and steaming fluids pouring out over the forest floor.

Arun's body still shivered with the residual feeling. The thrill of the chase, the delight of the kill, the excitement of the disemboweling, the... arousal of the entire thing. She swallowed again, loving the way the blood stuck to the back of her throat, and crouched down over the still-twitching body, ensuring that she stepped into the growing pool of warmth underneath it.

It was a beautiful creature, really, twisted and broken where it lay, blank eyes staring at nothing, spent life oozing from a tattered hole in its throat and another in its stomach, both showing the rich burgundy-red of flesh, warm yellow of fat, clean white of bone beneath. The demon settled herself atop of the thing, thighs spread around its cloven belly, bringing in the dying warmth, sinking down into the sticky slickness... she shivered once more and slid her paws down, one against her own body and the other plunging deep into the mass of writhing innards. Through the heavy ropes of intestines and half-swollen balloons that had to be its liver and stomach, she could feel the solid rigidity of its spine, the cage of its ribs...

The demon shuddered again, a pair of fingers finding their mark between her thighs, their movement quickened by the clinging slickness of blood and spilled bile. The scent of the kill wrapped around her, thick and heavy and dizzying; she pulled upwards along the intestines, claws digging in and piercing through flesh and tissue and spilling the sick mess inside.

That, too, she rubbed against herself, thighs and abdomen soaked through with the fox's life as well as her own arousal, kept close to its peak from the dwindling warmth around her. Two fingers pressed inside and then slid up, parting around her clit and then slipping back down; her other paw, sticky and matted with all kinds of clinging fluids, dragged up over the fur of her chest towards her breast, wafting the intense odor over her muzzle. The demon licked her lips and thrust forward into the pile of intestines now draped over her legs and around her wrist, rolling and slipping like limp snakes with the movement of her body as she pleasured herself in the mess.

By the time she had finished, the fox underneath her could hardly be recognized as such, its body cavity forcibly torn open and ground into the earth underneath it, muddied in the stinking pool of blood, bile, stomach acid - she loved the slight stinging tingle this last one left between her thighs - and whatever else she had torn from its body. Shivering, shaking, panting with exertion, exhaustion, and enjoyment, the demon gave another thrust forward, then leaned in to plant a single gentle kiss against the fox's neck, making sure to work her lips in through the tattered flesh and torn muscles.

Then, task done, she stood up, wobbled on slightly-unsteady legs, took one last look down over her work, and was gone between the trees.

14. Knifeplay/bloodplay

zapthesergal

The sergal shifted how he lay in an attempt to get into a more comfortable position, but nearly instantly stopped at the continued bite of the knife's point sinking in against his thigh. He grimaced and flicked his ears back, intentionally playing into what he knew was the suitable response - even though another part of his body showed quite another.

The wolfess straddling his thighs ignored this other part of him for now, one arm resting partially behind her body where she had the knife balanced along his thigh. She rolled her paw slowly back and forth, keeping the blade pivoted there with two fingers against the base of the handle; the sergal gasped and twitched again, that sharp, slight pain growing and waning with the movements.

"Razor," she rumbled, tilting her head to the other side. "Didn't I tell you to hold still?"

The sergal swallowed, this time half-intentionally lifting up to grind against her. The wolfess's eyes narrowed, though Razor could tell she had to push down a smirk; she leaned forward a bit, dragging that knife forward as she went, until it slid around his thigh and up over his hip and waist. Small severed strands of black fur drifted down to join the rest along the bed.

"Come on. It's not that hard." She lifted the knife - it was one she had brought from home, with an ebony-wood handle and a sleek, flat blade, kept deadly sharp - and then poked it down, point-first, against Razor's lower belly. He swung forward and grunted again with that sensation, this time the point of the blade easily punching through skin; the longer she held it there, the more that warm crimson welled up around it. "I'm amused that you're taking so long to learn how to behave..."

He squirmed again, though stopped when he realized the motion just magnified the sting of the knife where it rested, the weight and pressure causing a little divot in his skin and fur. His body was already crisscrossed with little marks from that knife's edge, long lines running from beneath his shoulder to his rib, then up around his belly button, along the line of his collarbone... up over his cheek and over his brow so he had to keep one eye almost completely closed, else blood would drip into it, and then finally he had to deal with a lingering, continuing throb in one of his ears, where a sudden movement from himself combined with the wolfess's quick response resulted in him losing half an inch off the tip.

Her normally cloudy-white fur was now stained and specked all over with bright red and brown as his blood dried. He looked down over her while he waited, trying to keep his breathing slow and steady: a trail dripped from the side of her muzzle and along her chin; a vaguely paw-shaped print caressed one breast; there were multiple smears along her right thigh, where she always wiped her paw off; and then, of course, between her thighs the sharp red mixed and muddled with clear slickness of arousal.

"Tessa, I-"

His words were suddenly cut off at the end of that knife, swinging up in a smooth, quick movement from that new wound along his belly. The wolfess angled the knife towards his muzzle, other paw drifting down his belly; she ran a pair of fingers through that small pool of blood, spread it through his thick fur, and then continued down with it, the gentle care of the embrace pulling another throb out of the sergal. Tessa kept her knife pointed towards him while she took his twitching shaft in that bloodstained paw, pushing down towards his sheath, spreading a line of smeared blood over his length.

"I thought I told you," she said, again dropping that knife down. Still slowly stroking, she scooted back to sit along his legs and leaned back, spreading her legs around his body. Razor enjoyed the sight for a second before he realized where that knife was going, and even though it shot a powerful wave of panic through him, yet again his body still gave a twitch, throb, pulse in the grip of her paw. "Don't you remember? Don't speak, until... you're... spoken... to."

Each of these last words she punctuated with a tap of the knife's point directly against the underside of his cock, each one making him jerk forward and wince. The stinging pain lingered even after she had drawn the blade away, dragging it down between his balls just as she had done with her nose at the start of tonight's session; Razor lifted his head up a bit, trying to see if she had poked through anything, but then felt himself pushed back down beneath her equally-sharp gaze. Again and again she dragged that knife through short, soft fur, just the weight of it enough to make him squirm and adjust. It felt much the same as if she were to do that with her claws, and yet...

Tessa tilted her head again, once more returning her paw to his length. She lifted it up, stroked a few more times, then angled the knife further down and in along his thigh to rest his sack along the flat of the blade, the back of it in against his body. This meant that the point, however, dug into his other thigh; as he shifted and humped gently upwards, it sank further into his flesh, until he could feel the trickle of blood run down and stain the sheets beneath him.

"I'm not quite done with you yet, anyway," the wolfess breathed, again shifting her weight. Razor watched as she lowered herself down, slipping between his legs to position herself right there, warm breath wafting over stinging wounds. Once more she touched her nose to the underside of his shaft, right along one of the spots that still tingled from the knife's touch; then she nuzzled up, swallowed, wrapped her lips around his tip; then she slid down a little bit; and then he felt the sting of sharp teeth along that same spot instead.

Tessa kept the knife at the ready, though, always in place there along his thigh, now with the blade resting against his fur and skin. Razor wanted to thrust into her muzzle, especially when her tongue joined her teeth, but knew that to do so would be to allow her to slice his leg open - and he was already feeling a little lightheaded from the cumulative blood loss. So he held still, and tried to obey.

Mostly.