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Stripes yawned and came to, at the same time absently feeling around for one of two bodies beside his own; either the cold, muscular bulk of Cobbie the cobra, his live-in boyfriend, or the more feminine, loving warmth of Desmond, the cute young fan he and his partner had entertained as a guest the night before. Finding nothing, he grunted and awkwardly groped around behind his back, ultimately finding nothing but sheets. Finally forcing his heavy eyelids open, he acknowledged that he was alone, and when he sat up, freeing his head from the fluff of the blankets, he became aware of the sound of flowing water in the shower. And, in one last deduction, he saw that Desmond's outfit was still haphazardly strewn about the floor - so he was still around, and off taking a shower with Cobbie, no-doubt getting filthier instead of clean, but that was their choice. With last night's experience still fresh in his mind, Stripes stood, stretched his fine, naked body, and then sat at his computer. The bright glow of the monitor was a brief pain on his unadjusted eyes, especially after awakening in such a dark bedroom; the windows were covered with blackout curtains, whose title was descriptive, and beyond that, he was fairly sure he heard a rumble of thunder now and again, something else that would leave the sun out of commission for awhile, but none of that mattered to the zebra very much as he logged into his own personal blog, one hosted on his website. It was something he and his three fellow studs maintained for the benefit of the fans, but they all derived a certain pleasure from being exhibitionists behind their keyboards, and not just in front of the studio's cameras.

More often than not, the studs found themselves posting sexual anecdotes to their blogs, but whenever one of them happened to have a more notable encounter, every filthy detail would wind up on the internet. For Stripes, a blisteringly hot threesome between himself, his domineering boyfriend, and the sinfully shameless twink of a foxcoon that their cameraman had set them up with was certainly worthy of such attention. Recalling the night before with a curt, dirty grin best reserved for watching porno movies, he recounted the best parts in great detail.

When he showed up at the door... Man, I've seen Cobbie give plenty of twink fags the look {you guys know the one I mean!) but the way he glared this foxcoon fag down, he just totally submitted before the clothes even came off. Which I know is not a stretch for a fox (sorry, you sexy foxes out there, it's true, and I love all of you for it) but damn.

He kept typing and typing, listening distantly to the sound of the shower, the pitter-patter of water hitting the tile below, and though that could've just as easily been rain on the window sill, one sound that was unmistakable was the impassioned howling of a certain twink fox; it wasn't hard for him to picture the cobra bending that sissy fox over in the shower stall. Widening his grin, spurred on by the libido of his boyfriend and their guest, the zebra kept typing pure filth.

I made out with him for a little bit while Cobbie went and waited. Found out he's got this really slutty stud on his tongue. Might have to talk the missus into getting one of those...

The deeper he went, the more lewd the acts he described, but he gave his readers an accurate portrayal of the night. He knew for a fact that Cobbie would exaggerate every single detail regarding his domination of the twink. Of course, it wasn't exactly a coincidence that Cobbie's write-ups often got the most attention, the most comments, the most shares on social media networks.

We tied him up to the chair and fucked each others brains out for awhile, then I started pumping Cobbie's ass while he did the same thing to the sissy's mouth. We kinda man-trained him, love doing that shit.

Though Stripes already sported his morning wood - his black, equine shaft peeked up between his stomach and the computer desk - laying down the nasty details of last night's encounter saw his erection truly come to life; every mighty throb was accompanied by a squirt of precum, which left its' owner panting. He allowed himself a few brief strokes of his meat, but finally, with much reluctance, he forced himself to wrap up his post.

So finally, after just so much raunchy sex, I blew a load up into his ass like Cobbie did, and he gets off so hard into my paw, then passes out. And nah, we didn't keep fucking him, we just kinda cuddled up to him and fell asleep too, lol. Hard to believe a little fox like him could wear us out as bad as we wore him out... maybe size isn't everything, but it's sure sexy. ;) --Stripes

Before he committed the write-up, Stripes scanned through the webcam video he and Cobbie both had recorded of the night before, selecting a few of the more interesting stills to attach - Desmond in bondage upon a chair with the cobra's dick shoved down into his throat, the two studs giving their sissy guest a fine spit-roasting, and finally, Cobbie delivering a condescension-laden cock spank to the fox fag's behind, just post-fuck. Grinning, he added the post to his blog, stood, and headed off to see if Cobbie and Desmond needed any help scrubbing those hard-to-reach places.

It wasn't often that Chance was on his computer, especially so early in the morning, and so when he came across a notification of Stripes' latest blog post, it had a vibe of right place, right time about it. Rare was the occasion that the shark set aside time to read about the sexual escapades of his fellow studs - he most often heard them from their mouths, or at least relayed in some fashion by Mark, his boyfriend - but, with very little to do on a rainy Sunday morning, he decided to see what all the fuss was about. Immediately, he got an eyeful of Stripes' first picture choice - the long-haired twink tied to a chair, Cobbie's meat buried in his throat - and smirked. As he read through Stripes' vivid summary of the encounter and took in the other photos, he found himself doing something rare for himself; he was jerking off to something besides live-action porn. Had Mark been present, he might have propositioned his studly orca for a morning fuck, but he was downstairs exercising. Sometimes you just gotta scratch an itch yourself, Chance thought, licking his lips and stroking himself harder and harder, viciously pumping the thick, uncut flesh of his member, freely abusing his cock, pleasing himself in ways his own hand knew best, which not even Mark could top. With his stroking going even faster, his eyes matched that pace, fervently running along every line of the compressed erotica.

...sticking his cock so deep in the twink's ass I think he could taste dick... when I finally came, I pretty much filled his stomach up with my jizz... jeez, I've seen Cobbie cock-smack people, but seeing him do it to this sissy's ass was just unreal, I mean, the visual is one thing, but the noise, that fucking smack! just made me shudder...

"Uhn, yeah," the shark grunted, reclining back in the comfy office chair he and Mark shared, triumphantly blowing his load, shooting a stream of his splooge hard and high, which hit the bottom of his jaw perfectly and left a messy splatter of white cream down his chest and stomach. The aquatic predator heaved and groaned as he came down from that orgasmic high, licking his lips. At that particular moment, with immaculate sitcom timing, Mark entered, his fleshy hide gleaming with sweat, his body completely nude. It took a moment for the scene to register, but he at last grinned, then leaned over his boyfriend's shoulder. "Heh, cool, that's a cute twink. Looks like Cobbie and Stripes wore him out big-time." In a moment of affection rare to most but common to Mark, Chance kissed the orca, then leaned cheek to cheek against him. "Yeah," he rumbled, taking in the twink's appearance in his afterglow. "Wouldn't mind getting my hands on that hot little piece."

Later that morning, coming up on eleven o'clock, Stripes was eating breakfast, away from Cobbie and Desmond yet again. They were taking a break from being attached at the hip so the cobra could work on his own personal write-up of the night before, a larger-than-life account that the zebra was looking forward to reading. On that note, it was hard for him not to picture the twink fox kneeling under the desk, giving Cobbie's balls a spit-spine, or perhaps delivering the same treatment to his asshole. Interrupting a quiet meal was his cell phone, and the screen told him that his fellow stud Chance was calling him. It was uncommon to get a phonecall from him, and so the zebra answered it immediately, greeting the shark in his usually calm, friendly manner. Given his quiet, deceptively intelligent nature, Chance was not one to commit to idle small-talk with much ease, and so he found himself cutting to the chase after their greetings. "Stripes, hey. I just read your post from this morning, and, uh," he paused, clearly grabbing for the right words - but none really softened what his intention was. "Who's the fox fag? I wouldn't mind getting a bite of that. Might be fun for me and Mark." Stripes wasn't terribly surprised that Chance had taken a shine to Desmond, although the fact that he had already seen the blog post was a shock. "Well, his name's Desmond. Eh, Dez, actually, he likes to be called that. He's Floyd's friend. He's here right now, but I'm pretty sure he's..." Stripes trailed off, explaining the entire situation with a chuckle, one that Chance didn't return, but he acknowledged it with a grin to himself. "Figures. Submissive little thing like that around the house, I'd be surprised if you ever see him or Cobbie again. I'll catch you later, Stripey."

"What's got you so interested in a little twink like that all of a sudden, anyway?" Mark asked amiably enough, just sliding on his gym shorts and a very snug, white wife-beater. Setting down the phone, Chance gazed out the rainy window and offered only an enigmatic shrug of his shoulders. "I bet you're going all soft on me," Mark teased, putting on a broad, playful grin, grabbing the shark's shoulders from behind. "You just can't take real men like me and the other studs now, you just wanna get in touch with your inner sissy, don't you?" Chance didn't take away an ounce of malicious intent from Mark's words, especially since the orca squeezed his nude body from behind - and a moment after that, he felt the orca's chin on his shoulder. "Love you," Chance grunted, laying his arms over Mark's. He didn't change his solemn expression one bit, but such was his way - nevertheless, Mark smiled. "Love you too. But seriously, I guess the little guy was pretty cute. Stripey tell you anything about him?" Leaning back against Mark's somewhat larger, taller bulk, Chance recounted what sparse details the zebra had given him, his eyes never leaving the melancholy scene outside of the window. "Desmond, huh? That's a weird name. But, shit, he knows Floyd? Floyd's been hitting that and he never told us?" the orca laughed, finding himself looking out the window, too. "Hey," Chance said with a rare chuckle in his voice, "look at it this way. If we brought up everyone we fucked, we'd never get anything done at work. It's his business."

"I guess so. Still," Mark paused, "as far as I know, Floyd's really bottomy, hard to say which one of 'em is on top of the other." At Mark's comment, Chance paused to think; now there was a conundrum, a question fit for a thinker like himself. Finally: "They're both foxes. Maybe they just like to blow each other." Mark seemed to like that conclusion, for he nodded and reaffirmed his squeeze on Chance. "Yeah," he agreed, "no way that Desmond could be a top, Floyd either. Then again, lotta people would look and you and say no way he could be a bottom. Maybe that Desmond's a stud when no one's lookin'," he grinned, pressing his cheek against Chance's. The shark grinned in modesty for a brief moment, then shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. But if things go well, we're gonna find out what that little slut's made of."

Right around two in the afternoon, Cobbie and Desmond emerged from the bedroom; the cobra looked especially proud of himself, bearing his usual post-coitus smirk, whereas Desmond's hair was completely messy, and on his nude body were a number of incriminating white smears, scarlet letters of faggotry that he proudly wore. "Finally came up for air?" Stripes asked, greeting Cobbie with a shallow kiss on the lips, one the cobra returned with a chuckle. He sat his nude body down at the kitchen table, then nodded at the fox, and subtly threw his hooded head back towards the fridge. Like a devoted servant, the foxcoon assembled a sandwich for the cobra, a sight that Stripes almost found surreal. We've had him here less than twenty-four hours, and you already taught him to make sandwiches? Contently eating his sandwich, Cobbie countered the zebra's queer look with a single, dramatic raise of one of his eye ridges. The implication was what?, and Stripes took it as such. "If you're gonna keep him," the zebra said calmly enough, "you'll have to pay for his shots and walk him every day." Though Desmond started to cackle with the beginnings of infectious, riotous giggling, Cobbie was not so amused. Dropping his sandwich on its' plate, he yanked Desmond close by the tail, and with the vulpine's body in arm's reach, he possessively groped the young twink's ass, an action that ceased his giggling. "We've got a nasty little fag in our apartment who licks the ground we walk on, and you think I'm not gonna abuse that?" he asked with a smirk, afterward pulling Desmond down to nip upon his neck, savoring the gasp he made. "Guess I should've known better. Doesn't look like he minds it too much. Guess you finally found the perfect wife, Cobbie."

The cobra took the barb with a smirk, giving Desmond's behind a swat before gently pushing him away. "Hey, you can boss him around too, I don't give a fuck," Cobbie casually offered, sinking his teeth back into the sandwich. "Sounds pretty good, actually. Hey, Dez, c'mere," Stripes grinned, sliding out of his bathrobe, setting it aside. "I might tell you my employee Chance wants a turn at you," the zebra said with a calm inflection, and as Desmond stepped closer, his ears perked and his eyes bright with clear interest, he stroked under the adorable vulpine's chin. "If I get a rimjob right here and now, that is." The way Desmond's cheeks lit with a blush, it was almost hard to believe what a whore he could be in the bedroom - almost being the key word, for both Stripes and Cobbie knew what a ravenously sexual creature he was. Cobbie was surprised, but not at Desmond's behavior; what had him stunned into impishly grinning silence was the way his friendly, charming zebra had begun to assert himself so bluntly, a trait the cobra formerly held a monopoly on in that apartment. As the sissy vulpine silently moved around behind the stud of a zebra and knelt, Stripes pushed his taut bottom back into the fox's face, and briefly looked over his shoulder as the twink pried the cheeks of his ass apart with reverent paws. I haven't had a nice rimjob in awhile, should be fun... The stallion expected to feel the twink's tongue immediately, but no. First came the cold nose, which Desmond bumped against his snug pucker, followed soon after by two lungs of hot breath that washed over his intimate flesh and made him shudder. Only then was he treated to a long, sultry lick that began upon the back of his balls, up the run of his taint, and finally across the pucker of his asshole. Though that velvety, hot tongue was a thing to savor, the hard, metallic stud that interrupted the flow of that muscle was another treat entirely, and the feeling of it coaxed a shaking moan from the zebra's lips. Finishing the last bite of his sandwich, Cobbie chuckled and flicked his tail, resting his elbow on the table, and his chin upon his palm. "He'll do that kind of thing all day if you don't stop him. Little fag's a complete pervert," he snickered. Reaching back, Stripes patted the vulpine's head, grinning, but also blushing himself. "I'm not complaining."

"So," Stripes sighed, reaching down to pump his erection, brought out of its' hibernation once more by Desmond's steadily licking tongue. "I'm sure you know who Chance is, being our number one fan," the zebra chuckled, finding himself involuntarily clenching from Desmond's loving licks. "I'll just be blunt with you, since that feels so nice," he said, his voice laced with a content sigh, "Chance wants to screw you silly like we did. That probably means Mark does, too, but don't hold me to that." Not once did Desmond falter, but the zebra could feel him growing yet more excited as time went on, lapping harder and harder, though not faster. Though Cobbie had turned the vulpine over to Stripes, he was already beginning to regret the decision; once the stallion was done with him, Cobbie had something else for the fox to lick. "If you want, later tonight, I could drop you off at their place. You can have a sleepover with them, then," he chuckled, letting his tail gently lash over Desmond's head, the soft, black hair of it coming to rest upon his own blonde locks. "I have to admit, though," he shuddered, closing his eyes, pumping his throbbing penis harder and harder, showing no shame of pleasing himself in the kitchen, in front of Cobbie and any number of naked windows, "this rimming is definitely affecting my decision. I think we'll have to hang out like this again sometime, Dez." Though neither stud could see it, Desmond grinned - the slutty vulpine took great pride in his skill with his tongue, which was the very reason he chose to have it studded. "Fuck," the stallion rumbled, his body starting to tense and shudder. He pushed his behind back into Desmond's slurping tongue with authority, his tail lashing yet more. The implied order was for Desmond to lick harder, which he did. Dragging his tongue against the throbbing, clenching pucker of muscle over and over with perverted ferocity, his pace was matched and exceeded by the zebra's own grip upon his penis until he finally came, his pumping slowing to an idle as he rode out his orgasm, sullying both his muscular body and the tile floor. For a full minute of his afterglow, he let Desmond continue his work, but finally pulled away from the tod and sat down in one of the kitchen table chairs, huffing and shuddering. "Ugh, damn," huffed the zebra, panting to calm himself, "I don't wanna see that tongue of yours go."

Soon after, Desmond spent the better part of the afternoon with his nose under Cobbie's tail, an enviable position for either party, and it led to a reserved, but potent climax for the cobra - and shortly after, a vicious jerking-off for Desmond at the snake's cold hands. It was well after their antics that Desmond saw himself sitting between the two on their sofa, unremarkably watching television together, passable as a group of friends if not for their nudity and occasionally roaming hands. Stripes glanced up at the clock, and as it neared 5 PM, he turned his eyes down to Desmond. "So, hey, Dez, you wanna go hang out with Chance? I figure after all the ass-licking you've done to Cobbie, I gotta remind him where his place is." The zebra smiled coyly, first at the twink fox, then at the snake, who simply grinned back. "Psh, you're just jealous of how he treats me," the cobra snorted, folding his arms across his chest. The fox just chuckled and stood, but the snake lashed out, swatting him on his prone bottom. He expected something of a squeak or a yelp from the sissy, but none came, only a flinch and a gasp. "Heh! You'd better come back some time, foxy," Cobbie remarked, propping his feet up on the coffee table. "Of course I will," said Desmond, looking back, offering the domineering cobra a grin, one Cobbie returned in spades. "Shit, Stripes, I like the kid. I'd adopt the fucker if I could." As sharp as a tack, Stripes grinned: "So you'd legally be boning your son, then. Talk about weird." For just a fraction of second, Cobbie looked flustered, but he shrugged and glanced at the fox. "Eh. Little fag already screams daddy for me..."

Stripes pulled up outside of the apartment block where Chance and Mark resided, well across town, but just about as far from the studio as he and Cobbie lived. "So, you take care, foxy. It was nice having you around," the zebra said with a friendly smile, briefly resting his paw on the back of Desmond's head, not in a gesture of domination - only friendly contact. The tod smiled back, and leaned closer; gently, the two of them kissed, and then the fox glanced out the passenger window. "Thanks for this. Kinda making my dreams come true," the twink grinned, offering the expression to Stripes, who returned it and chuckled. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Now, go on, Chance is waiting for you, and you don't wanna keep him waiting..."

Desmond left Stripes and Cobbie's "care" with a greater confidence than before; boning your two favorite porn stars all night and day could have that effect. He knocked on the door to Chance and Mark's apartment four sharp times, then let his paw rest at his side. For a few seconds, he waited, but the door finally opened. Slowly, the imposing, nude bulk of Chance the shark came into view, and Desmond briefly found himself relapsing to that excited fanboy that had greeted Cobbie the night before - mercifully, he managed to calm himself, and by some miracle, he didn't stare at the shark's dangling, uncut member. "Hey. Dez, right?" the shark asked amiably enough. Desmond merely nodded, and so the shark stepped aside and allowed him in. Shutting the door behind his young guest, Chance immediately began sizing up the effeminate creature. Nice ass and hips... Probably bends over on command since he's a fox... "So, sit down. Be comfortable. Mark's not here, just the two of us right now." Walking past the tod, he took a seat on the sofa, then beckoned him closer; Desmond sat beside the nude shark, feeling distinctly overdressed beside Chance, something the shark set about remedying with a distinct lack of shyness. Pulling Desmond across his lap, he started to unzip and unbutton the feminine creature's jeans, startling a squeak from the young vulpine. "Heh, what? I can tell you don't wanna be in these clothes, anyway," Chance remarked, tugging them down and off his guest, noting the lack of underwear beneath. "Well, I can't say I mind losing my pants around a handsome man like yourself, but, um," the tod paused, his cheeks lit with a blush, his lips twisted into a wry grin, "how exactly can you tell that?"

"Just the way you carry yourself," said Chance, peeling the vulpine's tank-top off of him, laying it aside. With the twink nude across his lap, the shark began to idly molest the attractive, long-haired foxcoon, teasing along the only mildly athletic lines of his chest and stomach. This gentle, casual touch sent a shiver up the fox's spine, but not one Chance could notice. "I guess that makes sense, a lot of people say I'm, uh," the fox muttered, wondering what word would work best, but Chance beat him to the punch. "I'd say you're relaxed, that you like to just be who you are, and that includes not wearing clothes." With a quick stroke up the twink's body, he rubbed beneath Desmond's chin, then shrugged. "I'm no shrink, though, I just call people as I see 'em." The fox purred at this rubbing, then gave Chance's hand a lick. "So I bet you wanna screw me, don't you?" said the sissy fox, grinning - Chance didn't grin back, and slowly, the grin on Desmond's face disappeared. "Stripes says you and Cobbie are best friends now," the shark said with a low rumble in his voice, letting his hand slide down the fox's body, briefly squeezing his balls to the threshold of pain before nestling itself between his attractive thighs. "Er, yeah, kinda," mumbled the fox, averting his eyes from the shark's own, suddenly finding them too domineering to look at - and that said a lot about the stud. Chance glanced down at the tod's crotch, and he licked his lips in a gesture of idle concentration. The shark rubbed over the snug pucker of Desmond's asshole with his thick fingers, coaxing shudders and gasps out of the fox, but he didn't acknowledge such sounds of pleasure. "Feels like you're pretty tight down there," the shark mused, just beginning to penetrate the sissy with his index finger, "hard to tell you were just getting plowed by Stripes and Cobbie. This is gonna be good."

"Ngh, shit," Desmond said with an endearing whimper, squinting his eyes shut, involuntarily flattening his ears at the same time. Chance wasn't the definition of gentle as he forced his finger in to the knuckle and pumped the sissy fox's tight rear with it, something which coaxed occasional yelps from him, but by and large, just moans and shudders. Another man might have grinned at the vulpine's sexual theatrics, but not Chance. He enjoyed Desmond's obvious pleasure, but to look at his face was to see mild disinterest and concentration. "Hm," the shark uttered to himself, choosing to then work in his middle finger, sliding it in to the knuckle, just as he had with his index. To his mild surprise, this second finger wasn't met with a squeal or even a real moan, just a soft huff and a little bit of squirming, but as he started to pump the twink fox with those two fingers, his largely inoffensive penis began emerging from its' sheath. That bubblegum-pink, knotted shaft came around to a length somewhere between six and seven inches, a respectable size for such a scrawny fox boy, but most definitely small compared to the ones Chance encountered in business and pleasure. Chance took hold of that member with his free hand, at the same time adding a third finger to the pumping and stretching he inflicted on the tod's ass, those three meaty fingers already filling him as well as a cock from another creature of his own size might have. Almost idly, he stroked the vulpine's member, though the true pleasure of the act was those fingers, the way he so ruthlessly explored the tod's ass; the shark very much enjoyed the unspeakably fine, smooth walls of Desmond's asshole, the way the tender flesh squeezed and constricted his digits, a sensation he could hardly wait to feel around his cock, something that had begun to stir, emerging between his own iron abs and the cuddly fluff adorning Desmond's flank.

Desmond felt the shark's penis rub against his side as it swelled with blood, and he looked down to see the truly awesome sight of it as it peaked, its' length somewhere around a foot, as far as the fox could tell - he didn't carry a ruler on him, though the idea had just occurred to him to start doing so. "I've seen that dick in movies a hundred times," said Desmond, his voice shaken with the tiniest shiver, induced by the subtle anal discomfort he felt, "but seeing it in person is just something else completely." It was here that Chance smirked, but it was so tiny as to be unnoticeable, just a subtle inversion of the corners of his mouth. "Can I touch it?" Desmond asked, shooting a cute smile Chance's way; glancing at the fox sideways, the shark briefly closed his eyes and dipped his head, a half-hearted nod, but it was a good enough answer for Desmond. With a touch laced with reverence, something that Chance found not at all surprising, the twink fox wrapped his fingers around that shark cock. Though often quiet or even silent in his pleasure, Chance shuddered at the feel of Desmond's touch; as much as he was looking forward to burying himself under the sissy's tail, he found the creature's feminine paws, smooth pads, and velvet fur to be an irresistible pleasure. In the vulpine's tender grip, his uncut member throbbed mightily; a wad of pre drooled from the blunt, human-styled tip and into Desmond's paw, sullying that lovely fur with its' musky viscosity. The shark oozed with such vast amounts of pre that the silky-haired tod could only guess at the kind of a mess he'd soon have deposited beneath his tail, though it was a mess he couldn't wait to experience.

As Desmond stroked up and down the length of the shark's penis, smearing the flesh with its' own precum, leaving it shiny and very well-lubricated, Chance had all but stopped his own domineering ministrations upon the tod's behind. Though the stud's fingers were motionless aside from idle twitches to keep from simply going numb, Desmond nevertheless savored the sensation of them spreading him open, and the feeling of his hot walls gripping and resisting those digits - to say Desmond was a textbook example of an ass-slut fox was to state the obvious. "I'll say this much, Desmond," Chance rumbled to the fox, giving his knotted shaft a firm grope, "you've got some nice paws, and you know how to use them." At this compliment, Desmond didn't blush - instead, he grinned for the stud. Like palming the shifter in a manual-transmission car, the twink rubbed his large, smooth center pad against the rounded, moistened tip of Chance's member, savoring the feeling of the never-ending pre smearing into his flesh and fur like a very eclectic skin lotion. "If you like my paws, baby," growled the fox, licking his lips, briefly flashing his tongue stud to the shark, "you ought to try what's under my tail." Chance was spurred into a brief smirk, and, as if reminded where they were, he wiggled the fingers that were buried in Desmond's snug, deep asshole. "What, you mean here?" Chance deadpanned to the fox, leaning down until he was nearly nose-to-nose with Desmond, his eyes glaring intense, burning holes into Desmond's own, so close that the fox couldn't escape the look. "I think I'm gonna do just that, foxy."

Chance casually slid his fingers free, and the tod's asshole was left temporarily loosened - not hideously gaping, but neatly opened up to the point that Chance wouldn't have any trouble at all taking what he wanted. For a moment, he seemed to go entirely idle, and so Desmond took this moment to rise from the shark's lap. Chance stood soon after, completely dwarfing the fox, and though their sizes hadn't changed, Desmond felt much, much smaller without any clothes on - the shark's colossal erection didn't help that intimidation. "Hey, um, one sec," Desmond uttered, at once twisting his slender body, showcasing an almost impossible flexibility as he stretched himself out and allowed his spine to pop. Chance had just been wondering how he might plow his demure young guest, but to see this unintentional display of contortionism filled him with the inspiration to try something truly new and unusual. "Heh," Chance grinned, reaching out to clutch the tod's shoulders when he had finally finished, his eyes nearly glowing with sexuality, "this should be pretty interesting, foxy. I have an idea."

The position Chance ultimately bent Desmond into was not unlike a dirty magazine caricature of yoga; chest-down on the coffee table, his head hanging off the edge, Desmond's spine was bent into a tight C-shape, and Chance clutched the alarmingly flexible creature's hips. However unusual the fox's shape was, however, the penetration was elegant in its' simplicity; with Desmond's bent body propped up on the coffee table the way it was, his hips, and more importantly his behind, were offered to Chance at pelvis-height. As the shark slid into his unusual, young prey, he briefly found the position unnerving, to know that the vulpine's head was somewhere between his knees, but any doubt melted away as the sinfully smooth flesh of those tight anal walls gripped his manhood, resisting his penetration with all their strength, succeeding only in making him want the tod's behind in worse ways. Sinking in to the hilt, he shuddered with a rumbling noise of pleasure, then clutched the tod's exposed penis, which dripped its' pre down the now-unnatural curve of his stomach. "Mmf, god," Desmond huffed from below, his eyes closed, his ears pinned to his skull. To get plowed in such a bizarre position was nothing new to him, but to try it with one of the famous Team Muscle studs, let alone the most quiet and conservative of them all was truly unexpected. Chance began slowly mating that tight vulpine asshole. Both of his heavy hands had since moved to just squeeze the fox's hips, while the fox's legs loosely wrapped around his torso in a twisted - pun intended - mockery of missionary lovemaking.

Chance's eyelids slid shut, and he focused only on his rhythm. Though it took him some time to work into it, the shark finally wound up in a steady, yet almost brutally rough pace - every thrust of his hips saw his heavy, smooth ballsack swing up to slap against Desmond's taut ass cheeks, a truly harmless meeting of flesh against fur, yet the sensation pleased both boys in different ways. The shark was vaguely aware of the tod's panting, but he came to realize he was panting too - damn, am I getting there already? the shark thought to himself, biting his lip almost involuntarily as a twinge of pleasure shot through his cock and up his spine, fanning out into a more mellow, full-body shiver and an audible groan. "Yes," he whispered, more a naughty reassurance to himself, but Desmond heard it with his keen ears - not that he had anything intelligent or even articulate to respond with. Mmm, damn, who cares if I jizz now? I'm not on film... I'm gonna fuck this tight fox the way I want to. Chance opened his eyes, and was briefly a little bit stunned to see Desmond's body, still bent so far that a less flexible creature would've been permanently crippled from it. Chance thought to make better use of the position, and, in some distant way, to see just how flexible Desmond really was. Putting a foot up on the table's edge, the studly shark leaned over the sissy fox, and he used this leverage to plow the squirming, panting bitch that much harder. Chance could tell just from smelling the fox that he was almost exclusively Cobbie's bitch - that wouldn't do at all. Using that tight fox asshole for all it was worth, and maybe even a little bit more, Chance thrusted, humped, and bucked with every ounce of strength in his body. He was only vaguely aware of the cacophony of whimpering squeals and nearly feline yowls from beneath, but his interest in them was negligible. Bearing rows of teeth in an involuntary grimace, the shark squeezed his eyes shut, then clutched the fox wherever he could for leverage - where exactly he held Desmond was a mystery. Between his closed eyes and the sissy's bizarre position, all Chance knew for sure was that he was holding cuddly fluff, and so it had to be Desmond.

The way the shark had begun to bear down over him, Desmond expected his climax to come within seconds - Chance had, too, but it was a chase that went on a little bit longer. He plowed the fox a mere thirty seconds longer than he had expected to, and it seemed like an eternity to both creatures, but it made the orgasm so much sweeter. Grunting, doubling himself over the nearly reverse-folded fox, Chance plowed in to the absolute hilt, and his uncut meat delivered a blast of protein to Desmond's ass that the fox wouldn't soon forget. It was a climax that seemed to go on forever; rope after rope of sticky, hot semen was pumped into the fox, and the slime stuck to his walls, coating them like napalm, delivering not fire and destruction, but simply blissful pleasure. Though Chance was silent in the climax, Desmond was not; the faggot fox groaned and panted throughout, but the only articulate thing Chance heard was "Oh god, it feels like there's so much of it." Slowly straightening himself out, putting his foot on the floor, Chance patted the fox's hip and chuckled. "There is, trust me," he said to the fox simply and effectively. Very slowly, the shark slid his member free, and he took a moment to admire the tod's entrance; though it had been spread nicely by the fingering, the aftermath of his cock was a truly loosened asshole, from which a drop of discarded semen came every second, soiling the tod's silky locks. Chance chuckled and sat back down on the sofa, resting his head on his folded arms. Desmond briefly remained in his position before slowly straightening his spine. From there, he lowered himself until he laid neatly on the coffee table, and finally planted his feet on the floor. When he stood, he seemed entirely unchanged by the experience, yet he winced with a twinge of pain as he clenched his behind. "I'm starting to think I should teach yoga classes," Desmond mused, looking back at Chance with a coy grin, expecting one in return, but the shark simply beckoned him closer.

Desmond sat beside the shark, though Chance said nothing in regards to making a mess - for a pair of porn stars, it was probably a common occurrence. "You're a great lay, Desmond," Chance said in an unbiased tone, wrapping a heavy arm around the twink's shoulders. He looked down at Desmond, his expression quite plain, even stern, yet Desmond met it with a fond smile. "So were you, you were, um," the fox chuckled, leaning against the shark in a cuddly manner, "everything I'd ever hoped." Chance squeezed Desmond closer, unabashedly enjoying the feeling of that cuddly fox fluff against the fleshy hide of his body. Desmond closed his eyes and sighed, relaxing against the bulky musculature of Chance's body, wondering without much intensity what was to come next, but that question answered itself. With his free hand, the shark reached down and clutched Desmond's yet-erect penis, and he began to stroke his young admirer off. There was little love in the act, and Desmond wouldn't have wanted it any other way; the shark jerked him off fast and hard, his eyes locked intently on the sight of his own work. Though he didn't say a word, it was a reward for being such an accommodating fuck - whether Desmond gathered that or not didn't matter to him. In silence, he stroked the cute vulpine off, a little harder and a little faster by the second, gathering the small squirts and wads of precum he produced, using them to lubricate his smooth hand and better please the fox. He listened carefully to the fox and kept a vigil on his body language; every change of pitch in his subtle whining, every quickening breath, it was all very important. He had to know just when the tod was about to get off so he could make it that much better for the little sissy.

"Ahhh, rrf, oh, Chance," Desmond whimpered, afterward biting his lip, silencing his vocalizations, but the more feral sounds like whines and growls couldn't be stopped. Chance listened to these carefully, and he, too, closed his eyes, playing the fox by ear, so to speak. He felt the cute canine begin to buck and twitch, and that was the most damning sign of them all; to put it most simply, Desmond was about to cum. Delivering a few more rough strokes to the tod's shaft, Chance ended his handjob with a tight grope on that bulging knot, and that was all it took, for Desmond cried out and let loose with a mighty orgasm, one that saw him shoot his seed onto the shark's chest and stomach, and from there, the sticky ooze ineffectually dribbled down to his lap. He let Desmond savor his afterglow in panting silence for a few seconds, delivering another grope or two to that bulging gland, but he finally released the foxcoon's penis and allowed him to sit back against the sofa. "Ah, god," the fox shuddered, falling slack against the sofa, "thank you so much for that." Chance, again resting his head on his folded arms, glanced at the fox, then shrugged. "Don't worry about it, Desmond."

For a time, Desmond and Chance simply talked and enjoyed the closeness of one another - really, the shark thought Desmond was a poor conversationalist, being just a little bit of a dumb blonde in some ways, though he was at least genuinely affectionate and sweet. A curiosity from earlier had begun to stir in the shark's thoughts, however - he began to ask who was dominant, him or Floyd, but before he got very far, the front door was opened, and in came Mark, dressed in gym shorts, his hide glistening with a mixture of rainwater and sweat. "Hey baby," he said to Chance, completely missing Desmond - though to be fair, the shark eclipsed the fox from the front door. "Hey yourself," Chance answered calmly enough, picking himself up from the sofa. There, before Desmond, they shared a brief embrace and a meeting of lips - and then the orca looked around Chance's bulk and saw Desmond. All the tod could really do was smile bashfully and wave, and Mark returned this small wave with a grin, one soon directed at Chance. "What?" the shark asked, just barely resisting a smirk, at the same time folding his arms across his chest. "What do you think?" Mark chuckled, stepping around the shark, taking a seat beside the fox, flashing him a playful smile, giving him a little punch on the shoulder. "Desmond, right? My name's Mark!" So clearly stifling the urge to squeal like a twelve-year-old girl, the fox covered his mouth, then nodded to the orca. "Aha, I know who you are, yeah, I'm a big fan," Desmond cooed, setting a paw on the chiseled chest of the friendly orca. "Oh yeah, that's what I heard," Mark grinned, letting the fox touch him any way he pleased, setting one of his own hands on the twink's thigh. "Hey, though, I like meeting my fans," Mark said with a lewd rumble in his voice, and he punctuated his sentence by kissing Desmond on the lips. "Especially when they're as good-looking as you."

Chance took a seat of his own, taking to the armchair on the opposite side of the coffee table, which gave him the perfect view of what was to come. Propping his feet up on the table, he laced his fingers across his lap and closed his eyes halfway, eager to see what his boyfriend might do with the twink fox. "So Chance, hey," Mark said, moving his hand to playfully grope on the twink's balls, "I know you boned our guest, anything I ought to know?" He briefly took his eyes off the fox, but before he'd finished talking, he was already gazing back into those pretty, shallow eyes of his, simply loving that adoring fanboy look in them. "Let me put it this way," Chance started, briefly adjusting his position in the chair, "he's a fox, and he likes well-hung men like us." Even someone as lacking in subtlety as Mark needed no more information than that - the orca pulled Desmond across his lap, and locked lips with the twink fox. The kiss was criminally short-lived, but it was an impassioned meeting of tongues and an exchange of saliva that soon left the orca suffering from a swollen erection, one which tested the limits of his lycra gym shorts and left a spreading stain of precum in the breathable, immensely stretchy sponge of the material. It was with something of a bashful blush that Mark terminated that kiss, clutching Desmond in his meaty hands - one on the twink's hip, the other on his shoulder. "Heh, nice tongue stud," he chuckled, a compliment which saw Desmond unfurl the entirety of his tongue for the orca - and the shark - to see. Even for a canine, Desmond had an impossibly long, broad tongue, one that hung well past nine inches, and in roughly its' center, there was a barbell stud that interrupted the smooth flow of the pink, tender muscle. "Jeez," Mark said quietly, gently rubbing the foxcoon's tongue between a thumb and forefinger, slowly putting on more and more of a lewd grin, "I've never seen that much tongue in one mouth. Not belonging to just one person, anyway." Desmond shivered at the orca's affectionate touch upon his tongue - as though he were being scratched behind the ears, he growled and squirmed, and it gave him obvious physical pleasure.

"Seems like you like having stuff rubbed on your tongue, huh," Mark mused, rubbing a little bit harder, stroking along its' length with his thumb, unwilling to pry himself away from its' fine, velvety texture. "I think I got just the thing for that," the muscular orca chuckled, finally unhanding the twink's tongue, but with a clear reluctance. In one quick movement, he lifted his rear off the couch and tugged his gym shorts down by the waistband, and his cock literally sprung free when the tension from the elastic of his shorts was too much. What Desmond was treated to was a cock he'd seen many times before, just as he had with the other studs, but the sight of it in person left him with an involuntary grin and hungry, naughty eyes. Beyond the fact that it was a long, thick, cut shaft, one to rival that of even Cobbie the cobra, the color was irresistible; jet black. Desmond knew from experience that something as simple as color really didn't matter, but black was simply the ideal shade for any penis. "Fuck," Desmond said, his tone not reverent, nor filled with lust, but simply matter-of-fact, "that's a nice dick, there's nothing else I can say." Much like Chance had, Mark rested his head on his folded arms - a gesture which exposed Desmond to the musk of his armpits, which, no matter how clean they were, still bore a masculine scent after his workout - then chuckled. "Yeah. I mean, there's bigger ones, I've seen 'em," the orca conceded, "but it makes people pretty happy." Desmond snickered and took hold of it in his dominant paw, giving the swollen flesh a squeeze, a gesture rewarded with a thick dribble of precum. "I can believe that. Honestly, getting this, it makes me especially happy," the twink said with a grin, planting a kiss on the blunt tip of that shaft. "In a single day, I've gotten some from every one of the Team Muscle studs. How many bimbo-bitch foxboys can say that?"

"Maybe one or two," Mark admitted after some thought, though he shrugged dismissively at the idea. "Anyway, knock yourself out, buddy," he grinned, briefly rubbing the back of the tod's head. Desmond intended to do just that - figuratively, anyway. Clutching that big, black dick around the base, he began to worship that cock in a way the orca wouldn't forget. In a rather humble beginning, Desmond merely lapped across the tender, rounded tip and the first few inches with his sinfully long, studded tongue, giving that meat the lollipop treatment; in place of a sugary fruit flavor, Desmond's tongue was instead coated with a bitter-salty preseminal fluid, one that contained the studly orca's pheromones and musk in liquid form, and it made his head swim with raw, simple sex; there was no other word for the element that flooded his brain and dulled his synapses like a cheap wine, yet heightened his senses in an unexplainable way. "Uhn, jeez, that stud feels really good," Mark sighed, letting his eyes fall half-closed, his expression simply content with pleasure. "Yeah, this stud works great on studs," the foxcoon snickered. It took the orca all of three seconds to get the joke, but he took it with only a chuckle and a small shove on the twink fox's shoulder. Desmond knew it was a groaner, but it was true, after all. Intending to make no more bad jokes, however, the twink fox engulfed that mighty, black erection in the humid, velvety confines of his maw, and he sucked for all that he was worth. Mark took deep, huffing breaths, and he closed his eyes, unable - and unwilling - to focus on anything but that sexy twink's blowjob. "Shit," Mark sighed, letting one of his meaty hands lazily trail down the vulpine's body, coming to rest on that divine vulpine behind. "Ah, god_damn,_ you really know what you're doin', don't you?"

Desmond responded in the best way he knew, which amounted to showing Mark just how good he was. In place of his firm sucking and relaxed bobbing, he started to gulp so hard that he drew throbbing veins to the surface of the flesh, and coaxed out a nearly nonstop stream of pre that continually left his tongue burning with its' sexual pungency. As if that weren't enough, he continued to bob his muzzle, but not in any way the orca had ever experienced; for some, sucking cock was a way to give pleasure. For Desmond, it was a form of art. The tod twisted his maw and raked his teeth along the tense surface of the flesh, bringing his beloved stud to the edge of pain, teasing him with unexpected and seemingly unwanted sensations, but he knew precisely where the line was and how not to cross it. When he'd fully descend, he allowed the blunt tip and a few inches of the shaft past the threshold of his slutty throat, whereupon he gulped and constricted that cock lovingly. With his tender paws, he squeezed the orca's throbbing scrotum, and when the base of that cock wasn't in its' proper place - beyond the soft, black jowls of his lips - it was groped in the loving, padded warmth of his black mittens. All of these expertly-delivered ministrations saw Mark huffing and grimacing, already bearing down for a climax. Chance couldn't help but bear a naughty smile at the show before him. He expected Desmond to get his boyfriend off, but so quickly, with so much skill? That skanky, sissy fox really was something special...

"Ahh, sh-shit," Mark grunted, contemplating just what he should do; would he finish in the twink's mouth, or would he pull him off and stick it up that foxbitch's ass for a nice, messy creampie? As it turned out, he didn't have time to think it through; involuntarily, he felt a shudder crawl up his spine, followed soon after by a burst of pleasure, and then came the tingling in his loins, and at last, the unmistakable feeling of his balls drawing up to his body. He grimaced and clutched the foxbitch's head in both of his heavy hands, holding him down as he blew his thick, protein-laden load down the vulpine's throat, though Desmond would've stayed put of his own accord anyway. The orca grunted some obscenity under his breath, entirely unaware of himself. As he entered his afterglow, he panted and unhanded Desmond, flopping back against the sofa with a deep, therapeutic sigh. "Holy shit," he grunted, his face plastered with a grin that he simply couldn't help, which broadened when he opened his eyes just in time to see Desmond pulling back and licking his lips. The twink grinned right back, then smooched the blunt tip of the orca's shaft. Following that, he gave the yet-erect meat a nuzzle, a gesture that looked like love, but was not-so-secretly lust. "I love doing that," he said modestly, much to the amusement of Mark, who pulled the fox up into his lap and squeezed him in a fond way. "And you're really fucking good at it, buddy," he rumbled to the twink, afterward planting a messy, noisy smooch on his cheek.

The three creatures were temporarily satiated, and so they resigned themselves to an idle conversation, one Desmond spent cuddled in Mark's arms - Chance stayed where he was, not out of isolation or discomfort, but simply a desire to allow Desmond to enjoy his moment with Mark. The shark was not at all surprised that his boyfriend and the sissy fox found each other interesting, easily indulging in small talk, largely benign chatter which Chance stayed out of until he was inevitably prompted. For an unclear amount of time, they happily talked and talked - Mark eventually offered Desmond a beer, but before either creature could stand up, Chance quietly told them not to worry about it, choosing to go get them himself. "Thanks, babe," Mark said, taking a bottle from the shark with a small smile. Desmond was considerably more respectful and gracious, though Chance acknowledged the two of them with a modest wave of his hand. "I'm getting kinda hungry," the orca said, twisting the cap off of his beer, a task Desmond had slightly more difficulty with. "I could cook you guys something," Desmond offered, punctuating this with a sip of his beer. Chance and Mark shared a look, and the shark deferred to Mark's will with a shrug of his shoulders. "Alright, Dez, you're up then," Mark grinned, "pizza's getting kinda boring anyway."

If Desmond was stereotypically homosexual in any non-sexual way, it was as a cook. He delighted in preparing an unusual, new-age meal for the two studs, and he did so in only an apron. In the rough hour that it took the twink to make the meal, Mark swatted the fox on the behind a dozen times and playfully remarked, in his best misogynistic, raging alcoholic tone, you'd better finish my supper soon, woman! Desmond was equally playful, but he almost had a motherly side, doing all that he could to shoo Mark away, insisting on one occasion that he'd burn himself if he kept fooling around. It surprised both the chef and his heckler when Chance briefly joined in on their play, though he was considerably more aggressive; as Mark simply sat at the counter and Desmond stood before the stove, idly stirring the simmering contents of a skillet, he squeezed the twink's behind, and then slid his long, thick middle finger knuckle-deep into his asshole. A testament to his species, Desmond didn't flail or make a mess of the stove; beyond a gasp and a brief pause in his stirring, it was nearly impossible to tell what had just happened to him. "Mmm, hey, that's dessert, young man," Desmond grinned, looking at Chance over his shoulder with a coy smile - for but a fraction of a second, Chance smiled back, but it was gone before Desmond could truly acknowledge it. "It is what I say it is, foxy," the shark rumbled, giving the tod's behind a pump or two before sliding his finger free, and with that, he delivered a gentle smack to his hip. "That stuff smells good. Where did you learn how to cook?" the shark asked, his voice surprisingly gentle and inquisitive, entirely free of sexuality. "I've cooked since I was just a little kid," Desmond answered, leaning back to kiss the shark's cheek, a gesture of affection taken stoically beyond a gentle rumbling. "Every guy I've dated has eaten different food. That's how I learned to cook Italian, Mexican, Indian, Greek, whatever. You get good at cooking when the quality of the sex depends on it," the foxcoon finished, winking for the shark before turning his attention back to the food. "Alright, guys," he called out, "dinner's ready."

Mark, as much of a pizza and beer kind of guy as he was, was outspoken in his praise to Desmond for his meal - chicken breast sauteed in an eclectic sauce that was a mixture of orange, walnut, and mushroom, served with an herbal stuffing, the name of which neither the studs nor Desmond could pronounce properly, but it was delicious either way. Chance was considerably more quiet, but when put on the spot by Mark - for Desmond was simply too modest to ask for opinions - he politely and honestly told the fox what he thought. "You've got talent, Desmond," the shark said in between bites, "I can't say I'd mind having you do this for us again." The foxcoon, who ate more or less in silence as he fielded compliments from either side of him, cracked an innocent smile, and he replied only after a drink. "Anytime," was all he said, and in relative silence, they all returned to the meal.

"Fuck, having a stomach full of something besides fast food is always nice. Thanks again, Dez," Mark said, again taking his place on the sofa, with Desmond at his side - Chance bookended the twink this time, choosing their closeness over the isolation of the armchair. "So about dessert," the orca grinned, looming over the sissy fox, tickling beneath his chin in an teasing way. "Mmm, yeah, what about it?" Desmond asked with a rhetorical flair and an almost challenging tone, but it was so very obvious that he was as interested in that "dessert" as the two aquatic studs were. "I want some of it, that's what," the orca rumbled, planting a shallow kiss on the twink's lips. "And don't you gimme any of that bullshit about letting my dinner settle first." Without any quip of his own, the shark reached down and took hold of the twink's sheath, something he intently groped and squeezed upon. Desmond settled back into the sofa with a shiver, one followed by a sigh. "Hey, you're both big boys," he conceded, "if you wanna spoil your dinner so soon, that's your problem." Clearly, that was precisely what they wanted - Mark scooped Desmond up as though he were a bride, and Chance simply unhanded him, standing along with the orca. Though he squeaked at being so quickly lifted, Desmond ultimately wrapped his arms around the orca's neck, and he was carted off into the bedroom. Chance followed along, though none too closely, entering the bedroom a few seconds after the orca and his favorite new sissy.

Mark couldn't resist yet more playfulness, for he unceremoniously dropped the fox on the bed. He bounced on it with a grunt, then came to rest upon his back. Once the sexual aggressor, Desmond chose to play submissive for the orca, which was good; Mark wouldn't have had him any other way. Again sporting an erection that could be used as a murder weapon, he moved to his knees upon the bed, causing it to uneasily sag and creak from having his muscular bulk spread across but two points. "C'mere, you," he grinned, grabbing Desmond by the hips, yanking him closer. Though Desmond squeaked and laughed, he didn't resist or even playfully struggle - that game was over. Mark wanted to fuck something, and it was Desmond's duty as the nearest available fox to offer himself. Splayed out on the bed, entirely prone and in the orca's grip, the foxcoon winked, licked across his fangs, and purred seductively to the stud. "I'm all yours, babe." Leaning over the twink, Mark nibbled and gnawed here and there on the vulpine's neck, but he ended his rough teasing with a smooch on the fox's lips. "Yeah, that's the kinda shit I wanna hear," he grinned, half-closing his eyes in a lazy expression of sexuality and contentment. Straightening himself out again, he clutched his mighty erection and prodded the pre-oozing tip against the sissy's asshole, and from there, he pushed forward. Desmond didn't need time to adjust - not after the damage Chance had done. Though his entrance had again returned to a lovely little pink pucker since the shark had his way, Desmond was still loosened, however reluctant he'd be to admit such a thing. No matter how pliable he already was, however, Mark was still satisfied; releasing his shaft, he moved his hands to hold Desmond, one upon his hip, the other on an ankle. "Ah, god, that's one fucking tight ass," he hissed through gritted teeth, his lips twisted into the most subtle of grins, an expression almost directly inverse to the grimace on Desmond's muzzle. "Mmf, mhm," squeaked the fox, momentarily in that blissfully erotic pain that only a sudden penetration could provide - it was a pain he savored in a masochistic way, for he knew that, in time, he'd gain only pleasure from the act.

If Mark was anything, it was a fantastic lay. With ruthless efficiency, he plowed the twink's clenching, quivering asshole, releasing his hip in favor of holding on to both ankles. He briefly admired the tender, pink pads of his feet, and momentarily nuzzled into one to savor the texture, but feet were far from his thing - his explorations were merely a curiosity. Releasing the twink's legs, they naturally draped over his shoulders, and so he hugged them to his twitching, throbbing chest, finding no need for leverage to fuck the fox. That rough fucking could have been mistaken for cruelty, for cold, callous sex, but it was far from it; Mark liked Desmond, and he was nailing that twink for all he was worth because he knew the little fag loved it - the fact that he, himself, got off in the process was simply a nice coincidence. "Gah, shit, Dez," Mark huffed, momentarily pounding the faggot fox harder and harder, "I've fucked a lot of twinks, and a lot of guys in general, but you, goddamn." Chance, formerly just observing from the sidelines, stroking his erection at an idle pace, chose this moment to chime in. "Good lay, isn't he? There's something else I've been wondering about, too," the shark said, getting an inquisitive look from both the orca and the foxcoon, but as he often did in life, Chance let his actions speak for him. He calmly walked over to the bed and smoothly knelt upon its' surface, and then he straddled young Desmond's head, facing his beloved Mark as he did so. He first pressed his fine, muscular ass against the slender length of Desmond's snout, and then he pushed and wiggled his rear against it. The message was oh so clear: lick my asshole, fox. And Desmond, the creature of sex that he was, had no problems with this development.

Chance really wasn't prepared for the kind of rimming Desmond could deliver. With such a long, smooth tongue and a hard barbell piercing to interrupt its' slobbery surface, he was practically made to lick other men inappropriately. Again and again, the twink lapped across the shark's quivering asshole, lavishing its' surface with licks and slurps that left it saturated in warm, loving drool. Chance huffed and grumbled as the twink worked, and he stroked himself off quite hard and fast - if such an excellent rimjob wasn't a cause to masturbate, he didn't know what was. As if he weren't pleasing the stud enough, though, Desmond very soon began to press his tongue against that pucker, and from there, he forced it inside. The smooth muscle of the foxcoon's tongue against the writhing, heated walls of his asshole were a true treat, a divine pleasure that saw even the stoic Chance grimace and groan out long and hard, but then the tongue-stud entered him, and he was briefly in a world of pleasure, of sexual bliss, which few creatures ever visited more than once or twice in their lifetimes. "Mmm, how you doing there, baby?" Mark asked, meeting Chance's huffing, grimacing face with a sultry gaze; the shark could only shake his head and shudder. The two of them knew how to fuck asses; they could do it all day in a hundred different, interesting ways, but Desmond knew how to eat ass. His technique was as elegant as it was sloppy; he slurped across the shark's prostate, yes, but he made this incredible bliss into a treat, doting on that gland only after lavishing the flesh around it, and even that which was far from it. Truthfully, no part of the shark was safe from Desmond's slippery, slobbery tongue, and Chance immediately decided that Desmond was going to be a frequent guest at their apartment.

Chance was only vaguely aware of Mark's climax; the orca started to gasp and grunt, his bucking growing yet more frantic and disheveled, until that blissful moment came when he buried himself in the depths of the vulpine and spilled his manly mess, coating the twink's anal walls in his thick, intensely virile jism. "Ooh, god_dammit," he hissed, tugging his black member free, its' exit followed by a gush, and then an ooze of discarded semen. The orca fell back on the bed with an exhausted huff; in some way, Chance was happy to see his boyfriend enjoying himself in the most erotic way possible, but in another way, he saw - when he looked at Desmond's prostrate hips and erect cock - another pleasure that he wouldn't be denied. Lifting himself up and off of the twink's muzzle, letting out a slightly disappointed huff as that tongue exited him, the shark turned and knelt once again, this time over Desmond's waiting, knotted cock. He didn't bother to grip it and guide it to his well-slobbered asshole; he simply forced his behind down on it, and its' pointed tip bullied open the tight pucker of his ass with minimal fuss. Beyond a grunt, the shark smoothly descended, and as he felt that knot kiss up to him, he sighed. Looking down, he met Desmond's bashful, incredulous expression with a raise of an eye ridge. "_You like getting fucked," the shark said amiably enough, "so don't look at me like that, fox."

"Hey, I'm not looking at you like anything," Desmond purred, resting his paws on the shark's hips. Chance began to ride the tod's modest shaft for all it was worth, finding it to be pleasant, almost perfectly sized for somebody like Chance to impale himself with such reckless abandon. "I haven't had a knot in long time," the shark huffed, licking his lips. He leaned over Desmond, bracing one hand against the bed, the other on the inoffensive plane of Desmond's chest. The foxcoon, merely taking this ride quite passively, sighed in absolute contentment and deep pleasure. "You can have mine all you want," he grinned, though Chance didn't grin back - and in time, the grin vanished from Desmond's face, replaced with an expression that showed submission, of all things. Quietly reveling in this unspoken dominion over Desmond, Chance closed his eyes and started to bounce yet harder and harder, literally slamming his ass down into the twink's lap. With every descent, his asshole threatened to hungrily swallow that fat knot, though it was not his intention to tease the twink. Truthfully, he wanted to feel that bulging gland inside of him, and the gooey mess that would no-doubt ensue after he managed to pop it in. Desmond gasped and whimpered as the shark did all he could to tie that knot, and he stroked over the aquatic stud with supreme reverence and affection, tracing the impressive tattoos on his arms and the creases of his chiseled musculature. Ironically for a fox, he ignored the shark's swollen, leaking penis, but Chance really didn't care; he'd attend to his own pleasure when the time was right, and that time was fast approaching. Shoving himself down with all his weight, momentarily winding the twink fox, Chance impaled himself on that bulging knot with only a muffled expletive; in short order, young Desmond gasped and came, shooting his seed deep into the shark's rear. A heated depth he'd once covered in saliva, he now painted it with his male essence, and Chance's reaction, though modest, was obviously pleasurable.

Mark soon straddled the exhausted foxcoon's legs, and he wrapped his arms around Chance's shuddering body. The two studs shared a mutual rumble of pleasure, one only intensified when Mark clutched his impaled boyfriend's throbbing meat. With a touch that made it abundantly clear just how much the orca appreciated his shark's musculature, he stroked and rubbed every square inch of Chance's twitching muscles, tracing every crease that bisected the pulsing clusters of such dense, fibrous tissue. Chance seemed to savor this touch almost as much as the orca's stroking hand on his penis, which saw him shoot and ooze his sticky preseminal fluid all over the sissy vulpine's belly and chest. Desmond, panting in his afterglow and entirely exhausted from such a day of antics both sexual and otherwise, merely watched this display with a lewd grin. Folding his arms behind his head in much the same way as the studs around him did, he simply enjoyed the show, with the added bonus of feeling every clench of Chance's colon, every shift of his body weight. "Ah, that feels good," Chance sighed, pressing back against Mark's subtly superior bulk with not an ounce of shame, quite happily resigning himself to that handjob. Quicker and quicker, the orca stroked his handsome boyfriend off, now and again pausing to palm the blunt tip, an act of affection, but also with a purpose - to lubricate his hand with the shark's pre. "It's no rush, baby. You just go and ahead and cum whenever you feel like it - this one's on me," Mark cooed to the shark, showing a romantic side that very rarely manifested itself, though it was admittedly more common in person than on film. It brought a brief smile to Chance's face, and to Desmond's, as well - but however heartfelt the sentiment was, Chance teetered on the edge of a climax, one announced by another grunt and another grimace. Desmond gasped at the way this sudden pleasure saw the shark clench down on his already well-loved knot, but the true treat came in the form of an extraordinarily messy, productive climax. It was one that not only left a sloppy line up the faggot foxcoon's belly and his chest, but also hit him full-on in the face like a fist, splattering his muzzle. Desmond blushed crimson, but he also reveled in the filth, rendered squirming and huffing, absently licking off his lips. The two aquatic studs took in the sight of Desmond as he was - Mark grinning, Chance simply observing, savoring his afterglow in relative silence.

After the fact, the two studs lovingly caressed the sissy vulpine with touches that were free of sexuality; they merely enjoyed the cuddly fluff of his body, and his sheer responsiveness. Chance was still impaled on the yet-swollen length of Desmond's member, though Mark had taken to the slender creature's side. "You guys," Desmond said, afterward shivering from a smooth hand rubbing down his chest, "you were everything I'd hoped." Mark leaned down and planted a smooch on the tod's cheek, then glanced up at Chance, who was wearing a rare smile. "I'm so glad Floyd introduced me to all of you." The shark and orca shared a look - the opportunity they sought was finally before them.

"Desmond," Chance began, "we wanted to ask you something about you and Floyd..."