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His hole throbbed with fatigue. The feeling was so intense it could only have come from pushing the limits and then some. It throbbed in a way that told Artem he was going to remember every inch of every finger, fist and food that had been inside of him for a while to come. It throbbed with the need for more.

Artem looked over at the apples. They were smaller than the rhino's, Titus', fist and yet they had felt so much wider. Perhaps it was their rounder shape or their lack of shaft for his rim to suck on.

Crawling over, he plucked an apple from the ground. Face down against the fake wood, he positioned it behind himself, spread his legs and began to push the apple back into his hole. Familiarised over the last half hour or so, it spread and accommodated with ease, but just as the apple was about to fall into the abyss…

"Thanks for helping me bring the groceries in, can I call you a cab?" The rhino emerged from the bathroom with a towel in hand.

Their eyes met. Titus caught sight of the apple Artem was attempting to smuggle, and therat's free hand that had snuck into his jockstrap. The rhino's question died in the air. Neither of them wanted this night of disgusting depravity to end just yet. Art spread his legs in invitation.

The towel was thrown to the ground where Artem had left his piss and a moment later the rhino's enormous paws were holding the rat's ass cheeks from either side.

Using his thumbs, Titus pushed the apple in as deep as he could reach. It slowly descended inside of the rat's hole, grinding against Art's prostate to send him into spasms. Titus swapped to using just the tips of his fingers to continue pushing until he felt it bump against the rat's inner ring.

Standing up and stepping back, Titus took a moment to admire his perverted work. The rat's rim was coated in a cream of Crisco. It tainted the fur of his ass cheeks and tight ball sack, but now began to creep down his thighs. The hole itself was gaping enough to make the apple visible, nestled in the pink of Art's tailhole. It could always gape wider though.

“Follow." The rhinoceros ordered as he picked up the shopping bags again.

Titus walked down the hallway whilst Artem struggled to his feet, careful not to push or squeeze the apple out of himself. He was led to the first door off from the living room, which opened up into a styled bedroom.

The four-poster, metal bed in the middle of the room had already had its bedding removed, replaced by clear, plastic sheets that would protect the mattress beneath from lube and whatever else might spill. Coiled around the bed posts were conspicuous, metal chains with equally sturdy clips on the end for easy use. At the foot of the bed stretching the width of the mattress was a rectangular (notably humble leatherette) Ottoman. It too had been protected with a plastic sheet.

“On the bed. On your back. Ass up, legs towards me." Titus spoke slowly and firmly.

As Art positioned himself, he noticed a black wooden shelf a fair distance above the headboard of the bed. Just a glance was enough to recognize the cigar box, bottle of expensive whiskey and Crisco tub displayed there. Art wondered if any of them were real, or if they were just for display.

After removing his lube slathered gloves. Titus retrieved two leather leg cuffs from within the Ottoman. They were attached to Art's ankles with care and practiced precision, adjusted to be just the right tightness and then finally Art himself was adjusted. Titus had him take a position in which his legs were slightly folded back onto himself so that his ass was sticking out to the rhino. Then the chains from the bedframe were clipped onto the cuffs' D-rings.

“Are you comfortable, Artem?" Titus asked with a surprisingly tender tone of voice.

“Huh? Uh- yeah- yeah I'm comfortable."

“Can you move much?"

Art tested it by kicking his legs. He could stretch them wider with ease, but if he tried to close his legs and hide his ass the chains would catch.

“Not really?"

“Good." And just like that the tenderness was gone.

Sitting on the Ottoman, all Titus could see of Art was his wrecked asshole, peachy cheeks and the slightest hint of the pouch of his jockstrap; all beautiful sights The fur back there was mussed beyond belief whilst his stretched pucker was puffy, prominent and enticing.

“Push the apple out."

Artem took a deep breath and focused. He felt this breath in his throat, lungs and diaphragm as he pushed to flatten his belly and force the apple out of his tailhole. One breath. Two breaths. Three breaths. There was no gasp, just a thud as the apple hit the floor. Artem flopped back against the plastic sheets, Titus watched the condom wrapped apple roll until it came to a stop.

Titus began to prepare himself for the 2nd, increasingly challenging but infinitely more degenerate, half of their night. First his shirt was removed, revealing a fat, Dad Bod belly decorated with thick, wiry hairs. A fresh pair of latex gloves replaced the ones he had just discarded, although these reached higher on his arms than the last pair, going all the way beyond his elbows to about half of his bicep. Once the Crisco was applied to these gloves, the fisting could begin again.

“Ready for me?"

“Yeah…" Art huffed, his hole having grown lonely in the minutes it had been left unattended.

Seating himself on the Ottoman, Titus applied a fresh smear of Crisco to Artem's hole then curled his fist up into a ball. He took his time as he lined it up against the rat's hole, but then soldiered forwards without warning.

“Hhhh…" The rat exhaled as the fist dove deep, pushing Crisco in with a squelch and stretching his walls.

He suddenly gasped when the fist was pulled free…

“Mhm!"

…only to return a second later.

“Ah!"

Titus treated the boy to swift and shallow punches. In, then immediately out. In, and out. In and out without a moment of silence between the squelches that weren't quite loud enough to cover Titus' counting.

“One."

The fist went down to the wrist before it was withdrawn.

“Two."

Suddenly Artem became aware that they'd dropped to an agonizingly slow speed. Fortunately, it was only to ease Artem back into things as the pace already began to pick up again.

“Three."

Squelch.

“Four."

Slhhlurp.

“Five!"

“Fuc-fuck!" Artem squealed, a finger catching his prostate on purpose.

And just like that they were back to a punch a second. The rat's heartbeat with lust, pounding away faster than the punches. As the energy built Artem relaxed further and further to allow Titus deeper and deeper.

Titus helped to keep the rat slack. He rested his spare hand on the rat's thigh, stroking it in reassurance. It roamed occasionally, finding its way to Art's taint to poke and prod. Despite his hands doing different things, there was no change in rhythm, no falt in the beating. It was as if a machine was fucking his ass.

On every 10th punch, Titus would sharpen the inflection of his counting as a way of saying: 'you're doing good', much in the way a Dad encourages his son to ride a bike; though Artem seemed very familiar with riding this particular bike. Art would respond with a deep, shuddering breath.

At 34 punches lube was leaking out of Artem's hole in tandem with the pre leaking from his cock. The lube rolled down towards the bed, then dropped off onto the sheets whilst the pre pooled in the fur of his lower belly. Art could feel the pre, Titus could see the lube. Neither interrupted either river for fear of disrupting their own flow.

At 56 punches everything from the rat's taint up to his belly shook with each punch, trembling in pleasure and a little fear. Though a little worried about what the rhino would do next, Art was happy to have his ass moulded into whatever it was Titus desired. He had long been content with being clay in this master's hands.

At 82 punches there was a flash of a red rose every time Titus removed his fist. It would show itself for just a moment before being punched back inside of the rat's asshole. The next second it would be free to spill forwards once again, only to then be beaten back. Artem didn't even try to manipulate it himself; he lay there and let his budding prolapse be used like a punching bag.

At 100 punches Titus finally withdrew. The squelch as his hands withdrew seemed louder than the rest and left behind an empty feeling in the rat's stomach. He clung to the reminders of the plundering his ass had just received; the feelings of the lube-soaked band of his jockstrap and the feeling of his prolapse peeking out from the rim of his ass. With a shudder, he tried to call it back. To his surprise it obeyed; for now.

Titus stepped away for a moment, retrieved something from a grocery bag that Art couldn't see, and then returned.

“You alright with poppers?" Titus asked.

In his hand, he held a small vial with a white and light blue label.

“How strong are they?"

“Not too strong. It's just propyl."

“Yeah sure, fuck it! Pass me them."

Titus placed the poppers down for a moment before fetching a rigid pillow-like object with soft padding, a sort of leather cushion wedge that he used to prop Artem up. Now his back was angled in a way that he could see the rhino at work and was upright enough that he could bring the bottle to his nose without spilling them. After passing Artem the slightly unscrewed bottle, Titus returned to his work.

As Titus prepared to dive back in, Artem brought the bottle up to his nose. After fully unscrewing it, he covered one nostril and huffed deep. It washed over him in a shiver, bringing warmth and excitement that seemed to sweep away all of the tension in him. His shoulders dropped, his back curled, and his ass went slack just as Titus resumed the fisting.

Art established his own rhythm with the poppers. He'd take a hit of his treat, bring it away and breathe fresh air for a minute or two before giving himself another hit. The tension would return over those minutes, but on that next hit of poppers it would freeze and then drop as he exhaled. It was on that exhale that Titus worked his 2nd fist in.

First fist deep in the rat, he uncurled it whilst still inside so that his fingers were pointing straight forwards. It was a little extra stretch on the rat's hole, but nothing he couldn't handle. With this achieved, he effortlessly glided his hand out until he could point his thumb up and press it against the rat's taint as a sort of stopper. Then he slid his second hand along the palm of his first, gathering lube as he pushed forwards like an unyielding snow-plough.

The middle finger met Art's hole first. It parted for this finger with no complaint, and then spread wider for his index, then his ring and shortly after his pinky. Titus' two hands pressed flat against one another were no larger than one of his balled up fists, and so he was able to get straight down to the thumb once more.

It was here that he had to wait for Artem's popper induced relaxation, at which point he took the opportunity to suddenly move his thumb's off the rat's taint and into his hole. There was a pause at the ridge of his thumbs, a slight break as if the rat's tailhole remembered it could put up a fight. One shove broke the resistance, causing the rat to cry out in pleasure as both of Titus' hands went down to the wrist. They were immediately removed as Titus withdrew until the web of lube connecting his fingers to Art's gaping hole broke.

Five breaths. Artem huffed his poppers then exhaled. Titus' hands charged.

The brief amount of momentum allowed Titus to return to where he had pulled out, both hands flat and down to the wrist in the rat's ass. Art would scream like a bitch; letting out slightly pained, but ecstatic moans. When Titus bombarded his way into the rat's hole, Artem would gasp or cry out, but whimper and moan when they popped free. Toes curled, eyes scrunched shut; the rat struggled to screw the top back onto the bottle of poppers, but eventually secured it and let them roll out of his hand so that he could let himself go in turn.

Art's head was swimming, and not just from the poppers. His ass was full of fists and his thoughts were just as full. All he could think about was the way Titus' meaty paws moved inside of him. He worked one forwards as the other moved backwards, palms rolling over one another in expert harmony. It felt as if he were washing his hands inside of the rat. They never slipped out, only deeper as the backs of his hands always kept the rat's walls pushed out as far as they could go.

Although his prostate was not the focus, Titus hands could not avoid it and constantly battered or brushed against it. Similarly, his forgotten dick had become trapped under the fabric of a jockstrap that was just a little bit too tight. Rather than standing proud with its head towards Art's head, it pointed down towards Titus. With each thrust it rubbed against the tight material, with each rub it edged closer to freedom having been positioned close to the seam of one of the legs.

The head of it peaked out by the time Art had swallowed most of the rhino's forearms. Titus had to lean forwards to feed more into his bottom's hungry hole when he noticed the pink of his glans poking out. The band sat about 3/4s of the way down on his head, the perfect spot to gently move his foreskin back and forth with each rock to produce a most pleasurable sensation.

His entire body trembled and shook from how far he'd been stretched. Each time Titus lurched to push his fists in deeper, the entirety of the rat's body moved forwards with him. That in turn rubbed his dick, which twitched and throbbed each time. It was unclear if the rat knew what he was doing, but his body certainly did; and it responded the way any one's body would.

After a particularly strong twitch, his cock began to spurt. First it came as a tiny eruption that dripped and petered off within a second. It was clear and impotent, but then came a strong explosion of cum helped by a thrust. Artem's cock erupted once, twice, three times; each time spraying alabaster seed across his thigh before it dripped off. Art shuddered, and moved his leg in a way that allowed his cock to slip back inside of his jockstrap to release the last few pulses of cum into the fabric of his jockstrap. Titus slowly withdrew his forearms from Art and allowed the rat to flop against his chains.

Art was panting, but through his clawing for breaths he managed to speak.

“What's… what's wrong?"

The rhino cocked an eyebrow, apparently the rat was entirely unaware of the cum dripping down his leg.

“Grabbing something. Change positions for me."

“Where'd you want me?"

“On your back, but lift your thighs up for me; so you can see your ass."

“Okay?" Art said, with a curious, but cautious tone as Titus undid the leg restraints.

Artem assumed the position as Titus wrapped a mango in a condom. Art flattened down against the bed, kicked his hips up and allowed the weight of his legs to cause him to fold over – bringing them to rest either side of his head. He had to support his legs with his own hands until Titus appeared with the spreader bar. Even still, it was a little hard to maintain the position; that was until Titus pressed his legs up against the rat's back to support him.

Artem's entire vision was consumed by three things: his thighs, the bulge in his jockstrap and the sight of Titus. The fur of his thighs was practically ruined with lube, and the fabric of his jockstrap had fared no better.

Art's balls felt as sore as his tailhole, as if he hadn't gotten off in months. Even soft he was feeling the urge to cum; entirely unaware of his previous orgasm. And with Titus eagerly looking on from above, with genuine eagerness and excitement, he finally reached the part of the fisting session where he could say 'fuck it.'

“Hey, Sir?" Art said with the same cadence that he used for phrases like 'Hey dude.'

Art took a gamble using that title. They hadn't discussed it, but there was no way the rhino wasn't into being called it. From the way he perked up, Art assumed he'd guessed right.

“Oh?"

“You can like… Touch my dick, if you want."

Grimacing, Art sheepishly looked away from Titus.

“God that was cringe." The rat added, as if the rhino hadn't just been two fists deep in his ass.

“If you say you." Titus smirked. “Let's get this off then."

In one swift motion, Titus removed the rat's jockstrap and carefully tossed it to the side. He then locked the spreader bar around one ankle, then the other and finally helped Artem back into a comfortable position.

The mango was sure to be a demanding challenge. Titus lined the lube smothered fruit up to rat's hole, narrower end first. Art's hole was already twitching at the touch of the fruit's tip. He could feel it on his puffy lips, sending a cascade of tingles through him. The mango was firm and unforgiving, and so was Titus; he began to push the moment Art stopped squirming.

Art's hole was too wrecked to push back, not that any part of him even wanted to resist. The intensifying press had his cock leaking precum like a faucet and the slow spreading of his hole had him descending into a series of incoherent babbles or chuckles. He brayed, laughed in short bursts and twisted about, but Titus kept the rat in place and kept on pushing. It was slow as his hole struggled to go wider, but after an increasing mix of frustration and desperation caused Art to push back sharply, the discomfort suddenly gave way to a rush of exhilaration as the object slipped into his hole.

He became a squirming mess of moans and hisses as his throbbing hole fruitlessly tried to force the intrusion out. It wasn't that he couldn't push it out, it was that Titus wouldn't let him. Every time it peeked out, Titus would push the mango back inside until at last Art stopped writhing; his hole having finally adjusted to the girth of the mango.

“Fuuuckk…." The rat said, his lip trembling after that crash of ecstasy.

“You alright?"

“This is so fucking hot." Was the rat's reply.

Their eyes met. Art found himself biting his lower lip, instinctively almost. Eyes locked with Titus'; he began to force the mango out agaom. He felt his lips spread and conform to the shape, the battered muscles of his hole doing everything they could to expel it. The pop as it passed the largest point was practically orgasmic, but short lived as Titus shoved the mango straight back into Art's hole. No longer pushing, Art's exhausted hole accepted it back with just a moan and a huff of hot air from him.

He pushed it free again, but Titus' hands were there to catch it. Again, Titus caught it. Then again, and again and again. It would surge out with a surprising speed, but each time his palms were waiting for it to push the mango right back in. It was like fucking the rat's ass with a butt plug.

It wasn't long until Titus began to notice the slightest flash of red around the rat's rim whenever he shoved the mango out. Determined to see the rat's rosebud bloom, Titus pushed the mango in one final time and kept his hand pressed down on the fruit. The rat's hole flexed and squeezed around it, but the mango did not move an inch.

Again their eyes met, though Art's were pleading more than before. When Titus didn't concede, he got the message and gave the rhino a nod. Titus began to bury the mango further in the rat's tailhole.

With Art still stretched from the double fisting, all it needed was a bit of a push from Titus and the mango slipped further and further in. It was a slow grind, with huffs and pants, but gradually the yellow and green skin of the mango vanished inside Art's asshole. Soon, enough had slipped inside for Art's hole to suck the rest in without trying.

Balling up his fist, Titus continued to guide the mango forwards by gently bumping it with his knuckle. Art groaned, arching his back as his depths were stretched. He could feel it creeping closer to his inner ring, threatening to barge right on through. He let out a pathetic whimper when he felt it touching the entrance to his colon, but then began to cuss and mewl as the tip of the mango bumped against it. As Titus' efforts grew stronger, Art descended deeper into his babbling until at last his entire body was trembling. When his whimpers sounded as if he was on the verge of tears, the rhino relented.

The mango was not immediately ejected from Art when Titus let go. Instead, the rat's hole tried to close, but could only half-wink and flex. Art's eyes were trained on what he could see of his hole in bewilderment and amazement. They eventually drifted to look at Titus, who nodded:

“Go on then."

Art began to push. He gritted his teeth, tensed his muscles and pressed his head back against them pillow. Despite all the abuse his tailhole had been subjected to, he was able to muster the strength to slowly force the mango out. He could feel it rising, approaching the gaping cave mouth of his asshole. Titus could see it emerging; more and more of the shiny fruit skin becoming visible until it finally surged out. With a pop, the mango fell to the bed sheets; and with it Art's self control.

Art saw his ass prolapse before he felt it; a bundle of red protruding about two inches from his hole. It was even more beautiful from Titus' perspective; a fresh red rose with thick Crisco worked into every petal fold. Better yet were the rat's moans, and the stream of piss flowing from his cock.

At first, Art thought that he had orgasmed. His legs were trembling, his dick was flexing and his mind was flooded. But then he felt the warmth as it flowed through his fur. Artem whimpered as he continued to uncontrollably piss over himself. It was a pathetic stream, but constant enough that it ran down over him before splitting to go either side of his neck where it finally met the plastic sheets. Art didn't even have the thought to turn his face away from it, all he could do was whine, buck his hips and let it all out.

Eventually his stream petered off, ending in him having to squeeze the last drops out. It lasted long enough that it brought their use of the mango to a natural conclusion and so Titus shuffled back to allow the exhausted Artem to collapse. Only then did the rat remember to recall his prolapse.

“Fuckkk… I'm so sorry I pissed." The rat wanted to bury his head in his hands, but simply didn't have the energy.

“No harm done."

“And I'm sorry I prolapsed." Art paused. “That was… kind of gross."

In response, Titus hooked his thumb under the edge of his right latex glove and rolled it down to the wrist. Covering his forearm was a tangled web of what appeared to be tattoos. Tattoos of thorny stems, with vibrant red roses branching from the stems. The folds of the petals were… oddly detailed, looking more like meat than petal.

“See these roses?" Titus pointed a lubed up, latex clad finger to the highest one. “Got one for every rose I've gardened."

The rhino sensually moved his lube-soaked glove over his arm, making the roses shine. Art was too dazed to count, but there was easily more than dozen.

“Oh… Cool!" Was Art's simple reply. “Are you uhh… Going to add one for me?"

That made the rhino chuckle.

“That was more of a bud than a full rose, but I'll add one if you ever really bloom for me."

Titus had meant it as a joke, but Art was deeply serious when he suddenly found the energy to roll himself over, assume the puppy position and reach back to spread his checks for the rhino.

“Hah! I like the spirit, but there's no way you're reaching my standard in just one night…"

The rhino moved two fingers over the rat's wrecked asshole, stroking his sensitive, battered rim and causing him to gasp.

“I only add a rose for someone when I can fuck it like a fleshlight."

To the rat, it sounded crass, downright disgusting and incredibly hot. Hot enough for the last of his hesitance to fade.

Going red beneath his fur, Art replied:

“Yeah-uhh, we can get there. Eventually. I was really hoping I'd see you again after tonight anyway."

“You're making it sound like I'm finished with you."

The two exchanged a laugh, albeit it Art's was significantly more nervous than Titus', before the rhino helped to move Artem off of the bed.

“Bend over the dresser. I need a good angle."

Artem moved to reposition himself with one leg up on the white, wooden dresser. His other leg was slightly parted, and he himself was ever so slightly bent to expose his gaping asshole. He had only just finished assuming the position when he felt Titus behind him and something firm prodding into him.

It was much too large, much too cold and much too solid to be the rhino's cock.

“Is that a strap?"

“Something off that kind."

Titus thrust and something firm shot deep into Art's asshole. One moment he was empty, the next he was so full he was forced into letting out a deep, brayed moan. Art's eyes rolled, his fingers clenched the wood of the dresser and his toes curled as Titus withdrew the implement only to slam it in deep again.

It was nothing like any strap fucking Art had ever received. A silicone strap would bend for the contours of Art's passage, but whatever this was it was forcing him to open up and keeping him there as it plundered deeper. His asshole clenched around the shaft in a desperate attempt to stop it from going so fast, but failed miserably each time – getting blown even further open each time it was yanked free.

Whatever it was, it was short enough that Titus could keep it pinned between Art and himself with just hips. He used one hand to hold Artem by the hip, the other to tease his rim. He'd rub it, roll his thumb over it or threaten to push inside and hold him open. Sometimes those prying fingers would vanish for just a moment, but only so that he could scoop up more Crisco to smear it over the phallic object, or Art's battered rim. Both helped him to fuck faster and harder, until his thrusts banged the dresser against the wall.

The wood creaked beneath Artem; threatening to break or snap, though Art was sure that he'd break first. Or cum. His prostate was howling, his dick was throbbing, he could feel his prick crying and he'd lost control of his mouth mere moments after this pseudo-strap fucking began. He couldn't stop himself from wailing, eventually he had to bite his own lip before the neighbours heard. In the wardrobe mirror beside them he caught a glimpse of his twisted-up face, eyes wet with tears, before Titus grabbed him by the back of his head furs and pushed him back down.

Art was just barely aware of the fact that there was some part, some bulb on this toy that was yet to go inside of him. He could feel it bumping into his ass with each thrust like the knot on the end of a dog's cock. For Titus it seemed to be the source of some frustration. He was beginning to growl at it, lips curling…

“Come on…"

Spurred by his own command, Titus fucked the rat harder. Art's ass cheeks bounced and his stomach bulged. His toes curled, his tongue lolled, his eyes rolled and yet still Titus had no success.

The battery of hammering thrusts slowed to firm bumps as he attempted to shove the bundle at the end in. His growl was an audible rumble. In fear of having that directed at him, Art began to push back – which seemed to remind Titus that he could manipulate his bottom as well as the strap.

With a whimper from Art, Titus slipped two fingers from one hand in, then two fingers from the other and began to tug. He pushed as if he were trying to put tight boot on, not at all how one would expect someone to try to fight an oversized, makeshift dildo into their sub's abused ass. And yet, it worked and Art felt it finally pop inside. His ears were watering as a full body shiver ran through him.

Titus stepped back. He wore a strap-on harness, but there was no strap attached to the rubber ring. Art knew it was still deep within his ass.

“W-wh…" He took a minute before he continued speaking. “Whwat was that?" He slurred.

“Push it out, and you'll find out." Titus sat down on the bed admiring his handywork. The implement had stretched Art so far that the rim of his asshole was barely visible behind the very few inches of vegetable that hadn't been shoved in. Only the tiniest silver of Crisco covered pink was visible.

Too whored out to be anything but obedient, Artem began to weakly push. At first it was a struggle of such difficulty his legs were trembling as if he'd been working them in the gym all day. He would have bent at the knees, but somehow collapsing felt like it would take more energy than staying folded over the dresser. And without the energy to do even that, it was no surprise that Art simply couldn't force the object out of himself. He gave a few week shoves, some panting and pushing before he finally grunted one last time and gave up.

Gone was the tough boy who'd rolled his eyes at Titus corny jokes, who'd smoked in the elevator and had thought this was going to be a hookup he could laugh at. There was no trace of that Artem in the gossamer strands of precum that clung to his fur, or the thick net of Crisco spiderwebbing between his thighs and cheeks. That Art's cock wouldn't have been constantly dripping the way this one's was, the independent drops clearly visible as they rolled down the wood of the dresser.

Defeated, Art took a moment to muster some energy and used it to look over his shoulder at Titus. Titus, however, was already moving to the rat.

“Push." He commanded, taking a hold of the vegetable's end.

Art did as he was told, and with the help of the rhino's grip managed to dislodge the vegetable after just a few moments of struggling. He felt his ass spill out into a prolapse with it. He would have tried to recall it had he not felt Titus fingers on it just moments later.

As the folds of his prolapse rolled out, they pushed out thick, dregs of Crisco lube. They rolled straight into Titus fingers. Fingers that grasped as they explored, fingers that smeared and marked and covered the rose with shining grease. Eventually Art withdrew it with a groan. He still hadn't moved beyond lifting his head.

“If you want to cum, you'll follow me out onto the balcony and take one last thing."

Titus moved away. There was a rustling as he retrieved something from a carrier bag, and then a semi-smooth glide as the balcony door was opened. The sounds of the city and the biting chill of the night air poured into the room.

Pushing himself off from the dresser, Art turned and stumbled his way towards the rhino. He saw a lube covered butternut squash on the ground; the object that had been pounding his for however long.

Titus was leaning against the railing, lighting a cigarette.

“I thought you didn't smoke."

“I smoke, my bottoms don't."

As irritating as that was, Art had to admit the element of control excited something in him.

Coming out onto the balcony, Art finally got a sense of how high the elevator had taken them. They weren't the tallest building in the city, but they were easily the tallest for at least a mile. At this height and at this time of night, it was unlikely anyone would see them. Yet, the thrill and the risk was already getting the rat excited.

“What? Going to fuck me against the railing?"

“No, you're going to fuck yourself."

Titus set down what he had carried in from the bedroom; a two litre bottle of pop. Art hadn't really thought about it much before, but it was surprisingly phallic in shape with a clear tip, a wide shaft and even a little dip towards the end before a fatter base. The label had already been removed and Titus was starting to smear Crisco across the final hurdle of the night. The moment Titus moved away, Art was in position to take it.

With one hand he held it steady, but initially sank down onto it at an awkward angle due to its size. Fortunately, the tip was easily and quickly swallowed allowing him to adjust to a more comfortable position. Unfortunately, he was just moments later met with the sheer girth of the thing and found that taking a 2L bottle was not going to be quite as easy as he had thought.

Despite this, the arousal coursing through him was more than enough to motivate him. His cock was rock hard, his nipples stood at attention from the cold and the emptiness inside of his stomach needed to be filled; preferably from behind. It helped that Titus was watching over him like a vulture. The rhino took slow puffs of his cigarette, not looking at the burning end of it but rather at the rat – or rather the rat's ass as it slowly devoured the bottle.

At first, Art had to shuffle and re-adjust with every inch to find the perfect angle to take more of it. Soon though, he had taken enough that he could kneel and took the opportunity to start pistoning himself on then off the bottle. With each bounce he took more, until he could feel the tip poking his 2nd hole. He whimpered at the still unfamiliar feeling, but words of encouragement from Titus spurred him on.

“Come on boy, take it."

And just like that he threw himself down on the bottle with more force than before and felt the tip push straight through. He made a choking wailing sound, but didn't stop trying to push it deeper. His hips bucked faster as the bottle speared deeper and deeper, plundering depths he didn't think possible.

Soon, he began struggling to keep up the pace he had set; until his grinding began to jitter. Titus stepped closer. For a moment, the rat winced at the thought of whatever punishment was coming his way, but instead Titus got down on one knee in front of the rat and took a long drag of his cigarette. Then, with a deep exhale, he puffed the smoke across the rat's face. Art took a sharp breath to catch the cloud. The faint, but oh so familiar, taste of nicotine helped him to relax and sink.

Art found himself leaning in, eyes watching the rhino's lips. He thought about kissing this man, though he wasn't sure if he wanted to do it for the nicotine or for the sake of feeling the rhino's rough lips on his. Art was about to close his eyes and try when the rhino suddenly stood back up.

“There. Wasn't so difficult was it?"

The rhino gestured downwards as he moved over to the ash tray.

It was then that the feeling of the entire bottle distending his stomach reached his brain. He felt swollen, as if he couldn't take even a centimetre more or he'd pop, but also that he'd burst if he even tried to lift himself off of it. His hands brushed at the fur of his stomach, pressing down to feel the 'toy' within.

“I think it's time for a reward…"

Kneeling again, Titus reached his hand towards Art's rock hard prick, but stopped before getting too close.

“Can I?"

Art nodded his head as fast as he could, then gasped as Titus' meaty hand enveloped his cock. The other hand grabbed a hold of the rat's head furs, forcing him to look up the rhino as he stroked his sensitive dick. Art whimpered; half from the feeling of his aching cock finally getting attention and half from the intimidating position.

Sensitive and overstimulated, at first the rat winced. He bit his trembling lip to still it and did his best not to buck against Titus' hand. He was about to moan when he felt a hand clasp itself around his mouth.

Recoiling in confusion, he opened his mouth to yell, but froze when he heard a screen door sliding open.

“Hey can you hear me now?" A man's voice spoke.

It was coming from beside them. Art's head snapped to the side, expecting to see a neighbour looking right at them. Fortunately, the building had been designed with a concrete block between each balcony that helpfully concealed them. However, if Art made even so much as a squeak the neighbour would almost certainly hear them. So of course, Titus' hand began to move again.

Art bit down on his lip to keep himself from making noise. His legs jerked closed whenever Titus' hand glided over a particular spot; an event that became more frequent when the rhino's hand began to speed up. When he reached the base, Titus would open his fingers to tease the rat's balls, and when he reached the head he'd loosen it again to tease the sensitive head.

This continued until the neighbour's conversation began to close. As he started to say his goodbyes, Art began rocking his hips; humping into the rhino's hands and grinding against the bottle. He moaned and whimpered into Titus' hand, growing louder as his orgasm grew closer.

Two squeezes on his cock and a bump on his prostate and Artem was thrown into his imagination. He felt the cold air around him as soft bedsheets, the grip around his cock as the mattress he was squished against and the rhino's mighty presence was not in front of him, but rather on top of him, pressing him down into the mattress. The sound of the neighbour's door closing was the signal that brought him back to reality, and set him off.

Art trembled in the rhino's grip, doing all he could not to accidentally bite the rhino's hand or cry out as his body tensed. He curled up ever so slightly, scrunched his eyes and clenched down around the bottle as his cock erupted into an orgasm.

Panting and wheezing, Art shot his seed across the balcony – sending it straight through the gaps in the railing and down to the city below. Having already emptied his balls once that night, he only managed two ropes before the rest of it was leaking out into the rhino's palm who had not stopped jerking the rat in an attempt to milk him for everything he had.

Titus continued even after the orgasm had ended, stroking and rubbing the struggling Art's cock until Art looked as if he were about to faint. The moment he was released Art tore away panting, shivering, and shaking.

“Fuck… oh my fucking god, oh my god…" He softly whispered as the bottle slipped out of him with a squelch.

“You alright down there?" Titus chuckled, rising up to his full height.

“Yeah.. oh fuck… yeah… God I'm so tired. Give me a minute." Art exclaimed, as the exhaustion from earlier came rushing back.

After plucking the bottle from the floor of the balcony Titus collected up the rest of the groceries and moved them to the kitchen. It didn't take long to clean what he could and put them away, though halfway through he was interrupted.

“I thought I was supposed to help with that." Art joked, leaning against the kitchen's door frame.

“Ah, I thought you wouldn't walk for at least another minute. Or five."

Art gave a small laugh, mostly because he was much too tired to muster a real response.

“Can I use your shower?"

“Yeah, it's the first door before the front door. Towels are in the cupboard."

As Art showered, Titus used the opportunity to clean what he could. He gently washed his latex gloves in the sink, until they were free of Crisco and lube. Next came the plastic sheets and the restraints – though the restraints received leather cleaner, not tap water – then the wipes for the balcony and whatever else hadn't been protected by plastic. He was wiping a lubey handprint from the balcony door when Art emerged from the shower.

“Hey, sorry I took so long." The rat had only taken twenty minutes.

“Not a problem. Legs okay?"

“Shakey. But I'll be fine. Where are my clothes? I should get going."

“In the bag in the living room. Do you want me to call you a taxi?"

“No its okay, I'm fi-“ At that moment, Art's left leg somewhat gave out. He caught himself on the door frame, but couldn't exactly hide his stumble.

“You can stay on the couch if you want. I'm told it's quite comfy…"

Art took a few seconds to think. Before he could reply, Titus added:

“… though I don't think its as comfortable as my bed."

Art gave the rhino a look somewhere between amusement and disappointment.

“Thanks." He said with no notable inflection.

He then walked out of the bedroom and into the living room, where the sounds of him rustling through the plastic bag where his clothes were could be heard. After just half a minute, he returned in nothing but his boxers and beelined straight for the bed.

“Thanks for letting me stay." Art manged, before flopping right onto it and worming his way under the covers. “And uh… For everything else tonight."

“Anytime."

Titus didn't take long to get ready himself. He retrieved his own clothes for sleeping in, flicked off the light and went to clean his teeth. By the time he returned, Artem was beginning to fall asleep. He was, however, just conscious enough to shuffle backwards and spoon against the rhino who in turn laid a heavy arm across his new sub.