FSE

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Fynn squirmed where he sat, head bent forward somewhat against the protruding bar behind him, ears cocked so that he could try to hear anyone approaching, mouth hanging open with slow, desperate panting. The spotted hyena couldn’t believe the situation he was in, and yet at the same time, he absolutely could: I should have known something was up when Asha invited me to hit the gym with her, he thought, remembering the grin on her face, the way she had crossed her striped arms over her chest, how her tail had flicked with eager enjoyment. I mean, I already knew something was going to happen, and God damn if I wasn’t looking forward to it, but… I hadn’t even started to think that something quite like this would-

He tugged against the soft, silken rope keeping his paws bound to the rail of the bench here in the locker room, ears flicking back at the sound of one of the others opening in the next bank. Fynn wet his lips, swallowed, and lifted and turned his head that way, trying to follow the trail of footsteps across the cold tile floor with which he was already quite intimate. At least my spot isn’t so cold anymore, he went on, and kicked his legs out further: fur bared all the way up slid easily across the smooth surface, the hyena stretching out until he finally felt the base of the opposite wall of lockers. Once there he couldn’t help but squirm again, the excitement, the anticipation, the nervousness, the need thrumming through him: he tilted his head, bit his lip, and wriggled back against the bench where Asha had tied him, leaving him with a kiss between the ears and then a thorough, forceful grind and drag of her already sweat-damp sheath and sack across the front of his muzzle, leaving his fur matted and his nose tingling with her scent every time he breathed in.

Not only this, but she had tied one of her old sweatrags around his head as well, completely blocking off his vision of the free-access locker room around him. Fynn knew that he was sprawled out here on the floor, completely naked, hard as a rock, only getting harder every time he inhaled or heard someone pass by; he knew that others were looking at him, and pointing at him, and taking pictures – he could hear the phone camera shutters just as well – and occasionally patting him on the head and calling him a good boy; and he knew that the other gymgoers knew that he had been put here for free use. That had been the last thing he had heard from Asha on her way back out of the locker room, her smooth, husky voice telling someone in the hallway about her new “public fixture”, and for that person to tell everyone else they ran into about him, too.

That person had been a wolf, actually. Fynn knew this beyond a doubt; he could still taste the old, spicy tang at the back of his throat, and it tingled at his nose well beneath Asha’s much stronger, much more familiar musk when he breathed. On that first round the bound hyena had been nervous, unsure what to expect, a little bit fearful, wanting her expected, familiar chaos instead of whatever hell these literal strangers might put him through…

…and then he had sensed that first shadow cross him, and felt the swish and whirl of a wagging tail, and met the brunt of rich lupine freshly post-workout, and naked. Only the barest wisps of the scent of clothing detergent clung to his aura, and those continually fell away as he stood before the blinded, bound hyena on the floor: Fynn remembered turning his head up and sniffing at the air, trying to draw a picture from what he could determine, aware that he was starting to get hard, embarrassed about it, only getting harder from the embarrassment.

Then there had been a little scoff – the unexpected noise had started him – and the next thing he knew his muzzle was again buried into that dense, dank spot between sheath and sack, a strong, firm paw gripping the back of his head, careful not to loosen the impromptu blindfold. On instinct he had nuzzled in, pressing into the squishy-firm warmth, letting the plump skin well up around him and nearly close off his then freshly-anointed nostrils, trying to float off into the myriad of different spices and notes that marked his musk different from hers… and then flicked back again at a low, steady rumble from overhead, slightly accented:

“Balls’re sweaty. Clean ‘em up for me.”

So Fynn had started to tilt his head-

-but the paw tightened, and the voice continued: “No. From there. Tongue only. Reach as far as ya can. I ain’t wanna break ya, but I’ll surely break ya in. Don’t wanna ruin the fun for everyone else.”

Lying on the floor still now, Fynn couldn’t help but squeeze his thighs together, grit his teeth, and thrust forward, the movement helping to roll his foreskin back and tug along the sensitive rim made even more so from his oozed pre. He had kept his nose pressed into place at the base of the wolf’s sheath, fully aware of the weight of the older male’s shaft inside, the rich, luscious heft sagging down along his snout; and Fynn had slid his tongue out to poke at sweat-dampened fur, then poked down, and down further, and further, and… it just kept going, until finally he scooped up in between the wolf’s hanging, sagging balls, drooping down from the exertion and heat of the exercise.

And Fynn had been able to literally slurp one into his mouth, then sucked the other in as well. And with his mouth occupied he had had to breathe through his nose, pulling in slow, deep breaths of musk-tainted air through the damp fur of the wolf’s sheath. Fynn could hold both of the wolf’s balls there in his mouth but couldn’t work them, so he had let one slip back out and slurped and sloshed and swirled around the other, sucking the salty coating of sweat free, swallowing it down, letting it smear across the back of his throat and sit in his belly, and then he had moved on to the other, pausing in between to pant his need and hump up into the air in the feeble hopes that maybe this first visitor would offer a helping footpaw.

Even now if he curled his lip up against his nose, he could still pick out some of the telltale signs and notes that undeniably read to his instincts as lupine, male in hormone, presentation, and certainly in pheromone, early middle-aged… virile. Aroused, with this last note growing in strength and pungency the longer he worked the stranger’s sack, that weight atop his snout twitching, growing… squirting little jets of watery pre across his blindfold. Fynn had both expected and wanted to take care of that afterwards, of course, only for the wolf to draw himself away, tap his tapered tip against the hyena’s nose, and then saunter over towards the showers with an amused thanks under his breath.

Asha knows what she’s doing to me, he thought, now wriggling the other way. If he tilted his body this way, and spread his legs like that, then he could run his own sack along his legs and push up to then roll his foreskin forward again… She knows it’s the anticipation, the… not knowing. I can still taste that wolf, every time I swallow. I can still feel the weight and size of his balls – though hers are bigger – on my tongue. Hell, I can still taste her, too. But she always makes sure of that, and… and then… And his ears perked and swung again to the now familiar tk-tk-tk of toeclaws across the tiled floor down the hall, the striped hyena having positioned her prey so that he would be the first thing that anyone coming in to towel off would see.

I don’t know if she left a sign, he thought, or if she’s just out there telling… literally everyone… ‘hey, in the free access locker room I have a special… fuckin’ sweatrag for you, feel free to use it, and-

_ _

“Hmm.”

Fynn felt his thoughts freeze in place. A soft voice, warm, lightly spiced… just like the scent of sweat and musk that dribbled over him like a thick fog rolling off a desert stone.

“Asha said…” There was a brief change in the texture of the air as this new visitor leaned in, further wrapping Fynn in their – in his, he assumed again, from the notes and the senses – scent. That smelled like… “…Ooh, yeah, you… definitely smell like her, too. Someone else has already gotten to you, though, yeah? Mm. I’ll have to see if I can find them. But as for you…”

The bound hyena pulled himself upright, bumped his head on the seat of the bench where it jutted out above him, cursed softly, swung his head towards the impression the stranger’s presence left on his senses, pursed his lips, sniffed again. Once again he felt fingers push through his headfur, though this time they were soft, slender, gentle, more guiding and coaxing than directing; a puff of something almost like perfume whispered beneath that sharp, spicy scent of sweat, the usual sour allium acridity cut with a dry, hazy touch; and he swallowed again, wet his lips, and leaned in, waiting for the next pair of balls to drape over his snout, or to press into a sheath like a poolside gunk trap for how much sweat, fur, and lint it would have gathered throughout the course of a good, long workout.

But the first sign that this time it would be different came in the sensation of a leg, a knee, brushing past his own where he sat on the floor. Then another along the other side, as the stranger knelt down before him; then that smallish paw tightened and coaxed him forward again, and tilted his head down, and to the side… and Fynn took in a good, slow lungful of arid savannah spice as he was directed down into the warm, tufted chestfur of this African wild dog male, his pelt short yet soft, slicked down with sweat thick almost like a slime, matted and peaking here and there.

“I sweat most along my belly,” the wild dog explained, guiding him down further. Fynn traced the bump of his sternum with his nose, then down along his stomach, and a little bit further. “So you can lick me clean. All around. Right?”

Naturally Asha had told him not to speak back to his patrons. Instead he swallowed again, nodded, took in another breath – that spiked spice of sweat never failed to give him a good, firm throb – and then tilted his head to part his lips, broad tongue coming out, flicking across this soft tufted fur, pressing in… dragging across. He felt the wild dog shiver and straighten up, arching his back into the treatment, pulling Fynn in closer: the oily, greasy tang of workout sweat quickly coated his tongue and spread across the rest of his mouth, digging down into the spaces between his gums and his cheeks, tingling across his teeth, tickling the back of his throat.

Again and again he lapped at that fur, feeling the loose strands come free and stick to his throat, swallowing them down just as he did the sweat itself. The wild dog rumbled softly in his throat and leaned first this way, then the other, then back again; he lifted up, guided Fynn down a little bit further, gently squeezed the back of his head-

“By the way,” he murmured, “I’m a little… extra sensitive-”

-and Fynn’s tongue slid across the telltale bump of a sleek, flattened nipple nestled among the short fur there, the wild dog’s words cutting off with a soft intake of breath. Curious, the hyena flicked his tongue back in, swallowed, ran his nose down around that spot… and sure enough found it again, tender flesh poking just slightly out, compressing at the slightest touch. Further down than he expected, but he continued anyway, now dragging up, feeling the line of his visitor’s subtle pecs, crossing over his sternum again – where there was the nipple he would have expected, slightly stiffer.

That was something. Fynn swallowed again, his tail brushing across the floor behind him, and trailed his way across to the other side of the other male’s chest, replacing sweat with saliva where he went, the salt steadily spreading throughout his maw until it felt as though his breath was boiling. A second nipple in its proper place there, with a second gasp and shaky sigh… then a little bit below that, another one directly opposite the extra… and further down another, with Fynn trailing across to find its pair, and the wild dog’s paw drifted down from the back of his head to his neck, and then to his shoulder… and then the other male leaned back, his sleek, flat belly stretching out, freshly-worked lines of muscles pulling taut where Fynn could easily follow them and scoop the drips of scented sweat out from in between, with another pair just below there, and-

“God – dammit­-” the wild dog breathed, voice tense. Fynn’s ears flicked with the exhalation across them. “Look what you’ve done to me-”

That paw returned to his head, now jamming him further downwards – and straight into the hot, dank tent of the wild dog’s gym shorts, full arousal twitching just through the vented fabric, throbbing against Fynn’s muzzle. He swallowed, sighed, reflexively nosed down against the damp firmness, dragged up towards the tip, pushed back down again. The scent here strengthened and sharpened, less sweat and far more musk, heady and heavy, still retaining that interesting arid spice, and – the wild dog shivered, throbbed again, then drew himself back, hard shaft dragging along Fynn’s muzzle and then pulling free, leaving him with his mouth open, his nose aflame, his own cock twitching, throbbing, leaking between his legs.

“And as much as I’d love for you to… um…” There was a little rustle of clothing, and then suddenly that scent strengthened, sharpening to an intoxicating point. Again on reflex Fynn’s jaw fell open, his tongue lolled out of his mouth, and he drew himself in towards the source of that dank, thick humidity, just as Asha had trained into him – and as quickly as he had whipped it out, the visiting wild dog gave himself a stroke, shivered, tilted Fynn’s muzzle away with that same paw, and wiped the natural wetness of his full arousal off across his muzzle before tucking it away again. “There’s a – bit of a line now, and I, uh, get stage fright, so… I’ll just let you… get to this nice fellow behind me…”

And he stood up, once again washing Fynn in his delicious, exotic scent, and then was gone. The spotted hyena shivered where he was still bound, even more aroused than he was before: with his blindfold still in place he could do nothing but imagine what it was he had just done, piecing together all the different textures and feelings and sensations in his head, trying to get a picture of that boy’s smooth, flat chest, the lines of his ribs, the spots where his fur slid back… the soft little pinpricks of the extra nipples decorating his belly, lining down towards what was certainly a puff of thick, sweat-soaked fur nestled behind his sheath.

Then he had always heard that wild dogs had smaller knots, too, as part of some ancestral adaptation. Fynn struggled getting some of Asha’s toys all the way down to the base – not that she used them herself; mostly she just watched him on them – but he found himself wondering, maybe if that wild dog had hung around, if he could have practiced on him a bit, and-

And then an entirely different spread of sensations tickled across his awareness, and he straightened back up. This time Fynn could easily find the presence of his next visitor right in front of him, and as such he swallowed – tasted wild dog belly sweat again, with a few tufts of fur sticking to the roof of his mouth, and the memory of tender velvet nipples between his lips – then opened his mouth and leaned forward. Already he heard the familiar shuffle of gym shorts being tugged down sleekly muscular legs, though the texture of the noise was somewhat different, and as he nosed forward searching for pubic fur into which to bury his muzzle, there seemed to be nothing. What musk he could find was thin and a little bit sour, a little bitter, a little… rounded and pungent like the constant miasma hiccupping about a stagnant tidepool, alluring in its depth and stillness.

“You’re too high,” grated a new voice, sounding like something that slithered out from within those depths. Then Fynn’s fur prickled, and he couldn’t resist giving into a sharp, sweet shiver that bounced down his back like electricity on a wire, as sharp claws traced across his head to guide him. “Bit lower. Probably lower than you’d think.”

He swallowed again, sniffed at his visitor once more, tried to work through the strange mix of scents – and then finally made contact, not with another thick, soft, sweat-damp pelt, but rather with something that felt like freshly oiled leather, or smooth suede, or… sleek, soft scales like taut, stretched silk, fleshy yet firm.

This is interesting… he thought, guiding himself with his lips and nose, freely and gladly mouthing across what he thought to be the lower belly of this… crocodile, perhaps? Alligator? I’m completely inexperienced with this realm of things… maybe even dragon. He dragged his lips across the odd surface, nudged down further, tried to place where he was along the body. When I was in high school I almost dated an iguana, once…

“You’ll have to look around for it a bit,” that stone-on-stone voice went on, long claws now tracing around the edge of the hyena’s jaw. He shivered again. “But once you find it, don’t be afraid to… really get in there. You’ll have to.”

What could he…? And then Fynn figured it out, as his pursed lips brushed across a sleek, subtle part within the leathery skin, a long, slotted spot where the surface dipped inwards – and the tidepool scent strengthened, dragging its warm weight across his already tingling nose. There was something else beneath that scent as well, something higher and richer, so close to him yet just beyond his awareness, and – then the claws tightened again, slicing in through fur to tickle at the skin underneath, and the reptile yanked Fynn’s head forward so that his blunted nose slurped right up in between those curtains of skin, and-

-silken wet interior meat squelched around him, immediately coating his nostrils with their natural slickness, his lips pushing against the outer folds, squishing past, slipping in. Around him the reptile groaned, shivered, and clenched gently, the walls of inner muscle briefly clenching around Fynn’s partially buried snout, then relaxing again – and with a little thrust from the hips and another resounding shiver, a familiar, tapered firm heat welled out from deeper inside, poking up at his lips.

Slit, he realized, and worked his muzzle around within the enclosed space. Genital slit… and even without being able to see, he knew that he had his work cut out for him. Nose completely buried amid swampy wet flesh, Fynn could still breathe through his mouth, though felt as well as tasted the thick, slimy moisture every time he did so; he slid his tongue deep, squished it within the walls of churning, malleable meat, cupped around the reptile’s still-sheathed shaft, and then scooped back up – and shivered at the volume of sticky warmth that came with it.

His shoulders ached from how far forward he leaned away from the bench, but at this point he was far past caring. Fynn closed his eyes beneath the blindfold, puffed a breath out through slime- and sweat-coated nostrils, felt the slit sleeving around his snout briefly balloon out, then lifted up and focused there, tongue scooping in like a spoon, scraping across the tight wells, digging out the sour, salty grime and gathered gunk of the reptilian’s workout. It was cooler than he had expected within those folds, barely lukewarm, but still with enough to remind him of just where he worked.

Like walking through the seafood section at the local grocery, except he thought he could detect the earthy bitterness of something almost like coffee there too, then all strung through with the high, acrid astringency of vinegar… every time Fynn dug his tongue back into the depths of the reptile’s slit, his nose having slopped free, his own arousal twitched between his legs again. He couldn’t help but grind his knees together, thrust forward, breathe deeply through nostrils burning with the weight of the scent, and then throb again.

He so, so wanted to use his paws, but only to reach around this reptilian’s body and yank them closer. Fynn’s ears flicked back and his tail swished, and he straightened up a bit, paused just to catch his breath, and then dug back in again, pursing his lips against the upper folds of this steaming slit so that he could scoop his tongue down into it from above. Each time he did he felt the steadily growing girth of the other male’s arousal, too, pressing out from inside, nudging at the tip of his tongue, his lower lip, his open mouth.

Once again Fynn drew back, felt a thick strand of saliva mixed with slit-slime hang down, tremble in the air, and then break, so that it swung back and splattered across his fur like a rope of half-molten glue. His tongue flicked out to drag it back in, and then he had to actually slurp it up, where it spread across his tongue, mushed against the roof of his mouth, flopped into the back of his throat… and the hyena leaned in again but this time bumped his nose right against the tip of that tapered shaft, now protruding from within its luscious, lukewarm folds.

Knowing that he still had work to do, he turned his head to the side, moved down to the revealed base of the reptile’s cock, and swirled his tongue around there across slimy, slick flesh, drawing the clinging moisture of the other male’s slit in again. Please, he thought, lifting back up towards the tip. It slid easily in between his lips, and he found that if he dove all the way down and wormed his tongue into the damp mess of slit-meat at the base, he could feel the reptile continue to grow, further into his maw. Please let me finish you off. I wanna taste it, I wanna drink it, I wanna-

_ _

“Aah…” the reptile drawled, and drew himself back. Fynn tried to follow the movement, tried to lean forward to keep the weight of that sleek, silken-leather flesh on his tongue and between his lips, but even as he sucked the other male drew free. “That’s enough of that, then. You did a good job. Not… quite as good as I can get back home, but still good. Lots of folks struggle with their first time on a slit. And I could tell.” That clawed hand came back down to ruffle Fynn’s headfur. “But still. Not bad. If Asha sets you up here next week, I wouldn’t mind coming back for a second round.”

Still Fynn tried following as he went off, pushing his smeared, sticky muzzle forward, huffing breaths that stank with the scent of slit, able to taste him every time he swallowed. The bound hyena trembled, and shivered, and squirmed against his bonds, legs kicking out from underneath him, his own arousal so hard that it nearly hurt; his heart was pounding and his hips churning, and he realized that he could feel the approaching imminence of a finish, but almost knew that like this, it would continue to evade his grasp until his paws were untied, or Asha came back.

Where are you? he thought desperately, swinging his head around the noises of the locker room. There were certainly others in here, and he thought that he could feel their gazes upon him. He throbbed again, twisted his body towards where he knew the showers were, spread his legs, twitched. If someone would just… all of his senses focused in on the impressions of everyone shuffling around the locker room, many stopping to watch and look across him, others glancing and then looking away just as quickly, some not even caring and instead just focusing on their own days. The strangest part was, Fynn could feel their nonchalance, their inattention – and that just worked on him even further: he imagined them sitting back at their machines, working the rhythm, pushing and pulling, while he would remain bound between their legs, maybe with his muzzle pushing up through the fabric of their gym shorts so he had no choice but to soak in the sweat as it dripped down, and-

His heart suddenly skipped a beat at a somewhat familiar scent washing across him, the usual sweat mixed with spice with a touch of perfume, but – then he realized the aroma was wrong, somewhat. Fynn blinked beneath the blindfold, swallowed, turned his head forward and up again, sniffed closer… and now picked up the distinctive, sour-sharp touch that he knew so well, into which Asha had shoved him over and over back at her ranch.

If he lifted his head a little bit further… there was the rhythmic swish-swish of a tail wagging just above him, and the closer he came, the more he could sense the plush, firm presence of the offered rump, crouching down in front of him. The shape of the visitor began to form within his mind: legs spread, hunched over, arms braced on bent knees, back still straight, rear pushing back with tail hiked, waiting and expecting him to…

…to lean in, bump against the soft side of the sweat-streaked hind end, then follow the curve inwards towards the tight, boiling pucker of skin at the center. The salt of sweat quickly washed across his senses all over again, and then before he could stop himself Fynn was lapping and slurping and sucking, drawing his sensitive tongue back and forth across the wrinkles of skin with the little bits of lint caught in between, sweat congealed to something like a paste so close, so tight underneath here. With each brush of his tongue the stranger shivered and tightened, puckered tailhole clenching away from his lips, pulling in, and then pushing right back out again a moment later.

His nose settled into the dock right underneath their tail, simmering with the heat of this exertion. Fynn closed his eyes – not that it mattered beneath the blindfold – and sealed his lips as well as he could around this tailhole, wider, broader than he was used to, large enough that he actually had to drop his jaw a bit to fit it; he pushed the flat of his tongue up against the central pucker and sucked at the sheen of sweat and scent, drawing it into the back of his throat, coating his lungs with their presence. Then his ears flicked forward, brushing against the protruding give of the rest of their rump:

“…Ohh, gosh, yeah, Asha said you would… really love this…”

Her voice slid back across him like her tail resting over his forward. Fynn tugged at the bonds keeping him in place and lifted up, burying his nose deeper amid damp fur; his tongue tingled somewhat as he dragged it across her tailhole, trying to focus in, picking out the dog yet unable to place the specific breed. Fur felt short and a bit coarse, and as his sucking turned back to licking he made his way up along the base of her tail, around the side, and then back down again.

The dog lifted up and back as Fynn made his way down, her rump pushing against his muzzle, her tail hiking over his nose, her tailhole puckering, pouching slightly out so that he could press his lips against her, swirl his tongue just inside, and then come out again. Then the hyena swallowed, swallowed again, and angled his head to drop down further, tongue scooping forward and down, caressing the slight hump just beneath, and… continued down until he felt the familiar sleek, leathery give of a full sack hanging loosely down from the heat, balls swinging as he licked and nosed and then, after a brief moment of surprise, began sucking again.

Just like with the wolf at the start of his “shift”, Fynn tilted his head, dropped his jaw, opened his mouth… drew one of them in along his tongue, suckled across the sweat-soaked skin, felt the dog’s musk spread out across his lungs, then followed in along the silky skin of her sack, this time pulling her in from behind.

While he worked, though, he felt her gasp, sigh, and then pull forward. Fynn followed as she went, not wanting to give up his treasures but letting them slip between his lips without much resistance; her balls dragged across his chin as they went, now smeared with saliva instead of sweat, and he had to imagine the way that they would hang and swing there between her spread legs, her tailhole similarly bearing a thick glob of his own hungry drool. Again and again he swirled his tongue around his lips, scraping off the thin coating of canine grease, constantly digging forward to see if she were still there.

Instead, though, he felt her shadow fall across him again, and thought to move just in time before the dog’s weight settled down into his lap, her balls just barely brushing across his hard shaft. Fynn couldn’t help but squirm and twitch and throb again, grinding up against her, pressing his cock to hers; she giggled in his lap and wriggled down into place, pressing herself against him, unknowing of just how dangerously close he was.

“You’re a cutie…” she purred, one sweaty, damp arm dropping around his shoulders. Fynn felt his head pulled forward away from the bench, swallowed again, opened his mouth for whatever she certainly planned to stuff into his way – and then promptly felt his breathing cut off, as two huge, soft-firm pillows squeezed in on either side of his muzzle, as she drew in down into her chest. “I can see why Asha likes you so much,” she went on, squishing him right there in between her sizeable breasts, matting his fur down with the effusion of her recent workout. Fynn could pick out all the different notes to her scent, the parts that said canine like rusted metal and wet dog smell, the bits that told him female like that high, allium-flower spice, the edge that reminded him of the heavy sack and heavier shaft draping across his lower belly.

Is she naked? he thought, and for not the first time today wished Asha had left him his paws so that he could feel. The spotted hyena churned his hips underneath her, eyes closed beneath his blindfold, mouth open where he remained snug between her breasts, floating in that thick, sticky sea of dank fur, lost in his pleasure. He could feel where her balls draped down around the base of his shaft, and every time he lifted up he felt that slick heat simmering out across him, his own pleasure growing, spreading out throughout his abdomen; he rumbled in his throat, parted his lips, dropped his tongue out into the crevice here between her breasts, dragged slowly across her fur…

“Hey, now, what’s going on here?”

…then perked his ears and straightened up at that much more familiar voice. Fynn sat up, wedged his muzzle back out from this stranger’s chest, and looked around despite the blindfold, vinegar- and onion-smeared nose tingling with all of these mixed aromas, trying to find the one that he knew felt the most like home. On top of him the strange dog shifted, turned, and then lifted up out of his lap, leaving her scent sticking across him like a leaden blanket.

“Keepin’ him warm for ya,” the dog replied. Fynn licked some of the clinging salt off of his lips. “The others were-”

“Oh, Christ, you really messed him up, didn’t ya? If I were the blindfolded one, I don’t think I’d be able to recognize him…” Asha’s voice came closer as she spoke, until Fynn could finally feel her presence here above him again. He lifted up further, nearly said her name before remembering her command preventing him from speaking, then sniffed up towards her, trying to find whether her workout had gone well, whether she had pushed herself as she liked to do- “I’m really gonna need to fuckin’-”

Then another paw on his head, fingers suitably rough, digging into the skin of his neck behind. Knowing what was coming, the spotted hyena took in a breath, let it all out so that his lungs stung with the emptiness – and then still jumped as the other hyena yanked him forward so hard that his shoulders popped against the rope.

He felt it wrap around him just before he could smell it, the waft of heady, heated air so thick with sweat that he nearly had to drink it. Then thick wisps of matted fur tickled across his nose, up into his nostrils, over his lips – and the congealed droplets of her exertion caught beneath her arm spattered across his muzzle, his snout fitting so nicely into the pit there as both knew he would. Fynn’s first instinct was to swallow, and then second he parted his lips and drew in a breath through his opened mouth, her scent so high, so rich that he could taste it; then he pushed forward, sealed his mouth around her just as he had done to the dog’s tailhole a moment before, and immediately began his work at sucking her clean.

Loose air frothing with half-caught droplets fizzled at the edges of his mouth where he couldn’t quite make that seal around her soaked fur. Asha purred across from him, still forcing his head beneath her arm, trapping him in a valley of wet heat and thick, dank dampness, fur tickling at his lips and tongue, sour salty sweat filling his muzzle, spreading across his throat, rolling down off his chin… she released him just enough to allow him to move around, then took the opportunity to wipe herself around on him, pushing her armpit up along the bridge of his snout towards his shielded eyes, then back down to his nose again and around the front, coating the sensitive skin there in her moisture all over again.

“Like – that,” she growled, and then both paws were on his chest pushing him back. The back of his head bumped against the overhanging bench; Fynn gasped and squirmed, unsure what she planned for him next, arousal still throbbing hard between his legs. “And then what you do is-”

He jumped as a footpaw thumped down onto the bench dangerously close to his ear, then jumped again when her paw resumed its proper place gripping his head. This time Asha tugged him nearly straight upright, until her heavy balls plopped against his face and spread down, loose with the heat; he nuzzled up across the side to the front, feeling the similar thick dribbles of gathered musk, then grunted as the other hyena jerked her hips and moved down, wedging him snug beneath her tail.

Fynn’s paws tugged at the rope keeping him tied to the bench, and he kicked his legs out, and his hard cock twitched again, and he scooped his tongue up along the back of Asha’s sack towards her tail, and then across it, and then back down again – and again, and again, each time digging himself a little bit deeper of his own accord, nearly unnoticing of the firm paw gripping the back of his head. Ears folded back, he didn’t have to hear Asha to know what she was saying to the impromptu audience, and he could feel the movements of her body as she did so: she had stepped one leg up onto the bench and now had pulled Fynn, my sweet little toy or something like that, down between her legs from in front to suck the sweat out of my asshole since I gotta show you how to properly treat someone like him – and she drew her hips back and then ran them forward again, balls lifting away from Fynn’s muzzle only to smack wetly back down against him, the striped hyena deliberately pushing out so that the rim of her tailhole puckered out against his lips. Fynn briefly tasted a touch of the rich, slick flesh inside, tongue slipping just barely in along the tight rim.

Then those hefty orbs resting across his forehead lifted up, smacked back down, then did the same another time. Fynn could feel the small spattering of sweat each time Asha nudged herself down against him; he suckled the sweat out of the wrinkles of her tailhole, not daring to draw himself free until that leg dropped again – and then took his sweet time in dragging his muzzle out from between her thigh and the side of her sack, letting his already-soaked fur smear and mat forward. While she continued speaking to the others Fynn just rolled his nose and snout back and forth around her hanging balls, lifting them up, letting them drape back down across his lips, flicking his tongue out to swirl across and suck them in, all the while her paw remained on his head petting softly.

But then his ears perked at the sound of his name in her voice, and he paused, blinked beneath the blindfold, and drew back. The other hyena’s paw slid away from his head, and he felt her crouch down in front of him; on reflex he drew back a bit until the bench bumped against his shoulders again, and Asha reached forward, took his chin gently in her paw, tilted him up to – he assumed, since he still couldn’t see – face her, and then… then two of her fingers nudged against his lips, and he opened his mouth for them, and they were sliding back into his muzzle, pressing down on his tongue as they went. Slick saliva mixed with sweat and musk pooled up around them, coating them in a thick, sticky slime.

“Suck,” she told him, and so he did. Fynn wrapped his lips around the base of her knuckles and suckled at her fingers, tasting the metal and plastic of the machines, the deodorant that she had put on before coming here, the distinct, warm spike of her own musk – no doubt she had had to readjust a few times during her workout – and then a little bit of something else, as though she had been having some fun of her own while Fynn was tied up in here. The spotted hyena’s eyes fluttered shut under his blindfold and he drew forward, swirling his tongue around, soaking her fur, feeling her manicured claws scraped across the roof of his mouth – and then felt none of it as she slid them right back out.

“Hey.” Asha whistled, the same way that she did to get the attention of some of the livestock back on her ranch. It echoed around the locker room; the other conversations slowed, one of the showers squeaked off, and Fynn heard some footsteps come around the other corner. “Y’all’ll wanna see this. Fynn?”

He perked again.

“I’m gonna untie your paws. Okay? Don’t speak. I haven’t given you permission yet. But what you’re gonna do-” Her voice came close. It was hard to not lean into her presence, to not tilt his head and nuzzle beneath her chin, to resist folding himself into her cozy, comfortable, familiar warmth. Her scent flooded around him; a shoulder bumped against him, and he gasped, and couldn’t help but squirm, wanting one of those paws to drop down between his legs – but instead they both reached behind, fiddled with his wrists, found the rope… loosened the knot, and let him free. Then came the gentle fizz of freed nerves and muscles; Fynn rubbed at his paws and sagged forward. Asha knew her way around a knot, though, and mostly his discomfort came from his own being out of shape.

“What you’re gonna do,” she went on, “is you’re gonna get up and bend over this bench right here. Raise that stumpy little tail for everyone to see. Okay?”

Fynn nodded, perhaps a bit too eagerly, and moved to obey. One knee skidded across the tiled floor; he reached up, grabbed the edge of the bench, pulled himself forward, and then settled into place there, tail hiked at the base, legs spread – and then spreading further as Asha slid a paw up underneath. She caressed his sack, wrapped her fingers around the base, tugged, then moved up to drag her fingers over his tail, moved over to the side to squish in against plush flesh – and then those two fingers slickened with Fynn’s own saliva teased around his rim, poked at the center… plunged right on in.

Immediately he gasped, arched his back, and squeezed his paws along the bench, still unable to see his audience. Asha squished up inside of him, curled her fingers around within his guts, turned her paw the other way, poked down at him from inside; Fynn squirmed, shivered, grinded back against her, and rode along the curve of her fingers, hard cock dripping underneath him.

“Good boy,” she rumbled, now working her fingers at a slow rhythm from one knuckle to the next. “Feels like nobody thought to get you back here. Disappointing, but it is what it is… and that leaves you for me.”

Then as quickly as Asha had plunged those fingers in did she tug them back out, spreading them as she went, pulling his tailhole open from inside. Fynn thumped his head down against his arm, gritted his teeth, squeezed around her, felt the familiar tug and pull as she slipped out – and then another, different pressure poking up at his still-parted rim, the tapered tip of her canine shaft ready.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” the striped hyena went on, “and what you might be doing in here, with everyone else. And I just… can’t…” Slowly she pressed into him, her impressive girth pushing out at his rim, filling him up, making him shiver with desire and need all over again. “…help but think… this is – mine – and I want – everyone to know…”

Both of her paws slid up his back, bumping over his shoulders, claws raking through fur as she sank in. Fynn pushed back against her, the contours of her familiar length pressing up inside of him, filling him in a way that he hadn’t known he’d needed; he rolled his head the other way, let his mouth drop open, clenched around her, pushed again-

-then lost his breath when one of her paws wrapped around his throat and the other squeezed in on his arm, just beneath his shoulder. With that leverage Asha yanked him back against her so that his rump smacked against her hips, and she jolted herself forward, the bulge of her unswollen knot easily forcing its way past his rim. He couldn’t help but yelp with the sudden movement, then moaned out again.

Already Asha had begun to draw back, though, pulling back towards her tip, holding there, and then pushing back in again, forcing the male hyena’s legs up against the bench, wedging him against her. “Fynn…” she growled, breath suddenly close to his ear, “you can’t see it, but everyone’s watching. Everyone. Let’s give them a show, yeah?”

He could hardly think straight. All of these delicious, intoxicating scents coating his nose, stinging his lungs, dripping from his lips… and her inside of him, pounding deep, each thrust making his shaft slap against his belly and fling out another little rope of pre.

“You’ve been – good…” Her breath puffed hot and thick out across his neck. Fynn shivered with the feeling of it, tilting his head forward and to the side; Asha pressed her muzzle into that spot there, took a deep breath through his fur, then pulled him up and to the side so that she could sniff at his snout a bit more. “God. You fuckin’ stink. I’ll have to – finish this up nice n’ quick so that I can – fix all of this, and get you back with my scent, just like you belong, and… hah…”

He so, so wanted to say something back to her, to tell her how good she felt, how he could tell he was already right at the edge of his finish, but the striped hyena’s teeth settling into the soft skin of his neck, gently at first and then suddenly much tighter, took the words from his mouth. The male tightened and clenched out of reflex, squeezing deliciously around her length buried inside of him, each thrust pushing another warm moan from between clenched teeth. Fynn wished that he could look around, too, to see their audience: he imagined the dog from just before leaning against one of the lockers, slowly pawing off while Asha staked her claim on what she couldn’t; he imagined that wild dog boy running one paw down his several nipples while he pawed off with the other; he imagined the first wolf rubbing and squeezing his balls with both paws, using the sensation of the tug and slickness from his sheath to get himself off; and then here was Asha bent halfway over him, teeth digging into his neck, arm wrapped around his body, still smearing him in her sweat with her heavy, wet breasts squishing against his back, her lap smacking up against his rump, her breath and drool rolling down his shoulder, and-

And Fynn gasped again, felt the pressure beginning to expand from deep inside, and squeezed, clenched, tightened around her. Asha no doubt felt it as well, as she dug her teeth in deeper, sealed her lips on his shoulder, sucked as she clamped her jaws down, pushing through the quick crunch of fangs piercing into skin… and with that bright flash of pain came the sudden outward explosion of the spotted hyena’s pleasure bottled up inside of him for so long. His toes curled, his ears flattened back, his lip curled; he wriggled, lifted his back against her chest, pushed himself forcefully back around her girth, squeezed as tightly as he could, and then suddenly pushed – and felt his cock smack against his belly, then again, and again, his quick, urgent gasps of breath doing nothing to hide the sticky wet smacking of each rope spurting out across the tile floor underneath him.

That intensity and relief surged through him, forcing him to groan out between parted lips, claws digging into the painted surface of the bench, but still Asha railed against him, hips smacking, balls swinging, breath puffing from where she bit into his shoulder. He could feel her urgency as well in the way she pounded into him, her knot quickly taking shape and pushing out, stretching his rim each time she forced it in and then yanked it back out, his bowels pulling to accommodate, the sharp pressure of her mating still filling him from inside. Fynn thought he heard a gasp from somewhere else in the room, and a half-suppressed grunt and sigh of relief, but then Asha’s grip on his shoulder tightened, and he yelped, and tightened around her again – and she pulled against his chest to force him upright, using his own weight as well as her superior strength to shove up inside of him, her knot slipping in, popping past his rim, and then holding tight as it finally swelled out, her own load dumping deep up inside of him, the thick heat of her seed squirting.

Even as she filled him up she continued tugging, fist-sized knot pulling at the inner rim of his tailhole, spreading that intense heat throughout his already strained abdomen. Fynn squirmed and shivered all over again, one leg half-lifting, cock bouncing; he couldn’t tell if he had just finished again or if her sizeable length forced inside of him was pushing the piss out of his bladder, and neither did he care.

Gradually Asha slowed, though, and pricked her fangs out from his shoulder, then lapped at the spot. Fynn shivered, panting against her, and just barely managed to lift his head from the shoulder; he turned his muzzle to face her though he still couldn’t see, then received an affectionate lick across the snout, and couldn’t help but smirk when the other hyena audibly gagged.

“Fuckin’ – gross…” she murmured, and gave another tug to his tailhole for good measure. “Once we’re done here, I’m gonna take your blindfold off, and you’re gonna go to the showers. Okay? And once there…” Her paw made its way around his chest and down his belly, to tease at his still-hard shaft. Asha pinched the rim of his foreskin gently between a forefinger and thumb and tugged. “You’re gonna kneel down, right in the center over the drain, and keep that mouth of yours open. Got it?”

Fynn nodded, mouth still hanging open. Each time he clenched, he could feel his abused muscles straining in protest, but – it still felt so, so good. Already he was imagining one of the others coming forward, grasping his muzzle in their paws, and then smacking themselves onto his tongue, to thrust forward into his maw…

Then his ears whipped back again at the sound of Asha’s livestock whistle. “Could use some help, here,” she called to the room: “his mouth needs usin’. Anyone up for it?”

Fynn’s pounding heart fluttered in his chest, and yet again his cock bounced underneath him. He could feel Asha’s larger balls resting against his own from behind, and her hefty breasts flattened against his back, and the tingling sting of her bite to his shoulder… and then footsteps from ahead and in front, perking his ears, drawing his attention. Another unfamiliar wave of musk washed over him, someone in the crowd he couldn’t see who had certainly enjoyed the show.

“Mind if I-?”

“Be my guest,” Asha responded. “I’ve got the best seat in the house, here.”

Fynn swallowed, licked his lips, opened his mouth, and leaned forward.