Chapter 5: A Handsome Chap

Into the drying rack went all the plates in a neat little row, then the silverware, and then the garage opener motor started to hum. George made it a habit of announcing himself with an echoing call: “Gila, baby; I’m home!”

Normally the name “baby” or anything denoting youth would tweak Gila’s whiskers, as “youth” meant helpless and dumb. But then again, George was in his twenties when he’d turned his father’s workshop into a five-store chain in Idaho, with its sixth location right here in Spreadings. “Young” did not have to mean helpless nor dumb.

The door burst open and his marbled, muscled leopard gecko sauntered in with two styrofoam containers and three plastic bags he didn’t recognize. In fact, they were quite perplexing, as they were peppered with pastel-colored images of letter blocks, stuffed animals, and stars.

“Hey, sweetheart!” Gila said with a big grin. George was busy pushing the door closed and stepping out of his shoes, but the younger cat made it a big deal to saunter slowly up to him. It was so brazen: even though this was their private home, the kitchen was meant for food prep (not, ahem, food elimination) and the wake-up ritual of breakfast. A general communion between lovers, and sometimes friends and family.

And to be fair, Gila and George had spent many wake-up rituals in just their underwear. George might have a robe around his shoulders for warmth, but would do nothing to close the front, and so his generous genital bundle would saunter, exposed, before his legs. But this was different: Gila was strutting towards him like an exotic dancer, and his bright white briefs were his thong.

And George, to his credit, was looking like an everyman action hero. He was wearing a white tank top with narrow shoulder straps, coyly displaying the tops and sides of his firm, rounded pects. There were those jeans, too: the ones twice as old as their marriage, with faded oil stains from every Northwestern state. Gila remembered the corners of the back pockets were starting to fail, and so whatever color underwear George was wearing that day would show up as four small accents on the top of his rump. The left-front pocket was stitched back up as an emergency repair, but the pinky-sized holes weren’t patched.

“You fix a shitbox with duct tape, not factory parts,” George had occasionally remarked.

As Gila remembered, every crease and intersection of the jeans had all the dye rubbed out of them, and as he better remembered, there was a thumb-sized bulge of underwear peeking out in the crotch. The front, wonderfully, was curved outward.

George looked twice at his husband, once to recognize him there and second to notice what he was doing. “I guess you were getting ready for me, huh?” he said, then stepped out from behind the island so that Gila could walk right up to him. The cat pressed his small chest against the gecko’s broad breast and curved his neck down to look right at him. George took him right in his arms, setting his hands automatically on his mate’s clean cotton-clad rump.

“I’m not sure where I got this energy,” Gila said, tracing the gecko’s chest. George’s narrow tank top, even playing with the sides felt he was revealing a delicate breast. “But I was thinking we might as well ride it, right?”

George’s hands drifted downward, inward, cupping Gila’s sensitive cheeks. Fingers started to grasp. The cat melted into him, buzzing with heat. “You’re not too drained, dear?” he followed up, feeling his own pouch stir.

George growled. “I thought so thirty minutes ago … now, not so much,” he said, and they leaned in for a kiss. Their moist lips touched, and their tongues emerged to brush against each other.

“What’s with the bags?” Gila suddenly asked, his swirling mind swerving to a weird place. He didn’t want to think too much about it.

“They were outta regular bags,” George interrupted, then brought Gila’s face back to him and opened his lips for another kiss.

George smacked the cat’s ass, leaving a thrilling sting. “Oh shit,” moaned Gila, which just poured more lizard tongue into his mouth. “Mmmf!” His fingers were starting to crawl into Gila’s crack, glancing more than a few times against his slit, rubbing the fabric against it. Gila’s tailhole was perfectly clean, and he was so proud to be ready for his husband.

“Hey,” Gila said, breaking the kiss with a gasp. George let him step slightly back, but kept a grip on his undies. The cat’s white pouch was fully tented with its humble spire. George’s jeans were packed, tracing all nine thick inches down one leg. “R-remember our conversation earlier?” he asked. The cat stroked the gecko’s stomach; his thumb twitched to slide under his waistband.

“Which one?” George asked.

“Were you nostalgic about these jeans?”

“Oh,” the gecko grinned. “Oh. You were thinking about some, ‘improvements?’” he asked.

“O-or we could frame them!”

George stole another kiss, this time pulling Gila hard against him, and dug his tongue under the cat’s until they were both swallowing spit. Their tents rubbed against each other, cotton to cotton. He broke the embrace with a vacuum-seal pop. “I would say they’ll carry the memories of Fort Knox and our love. You go right ahead.”

The cat’s cock jolted at the thought, christening his heretofore pristine underwear with pre.

Another pair besmirched…

“But what if I mess it up?”

George shrugged. His jeans were also delightfully dotted with a dark spot at the tip of his blatant protrusion. “I’ll throw ‘em away. C’mon. I’m hard and you’re horny. You know where this is going.”

It was as if the gecko’s tongue slithered right into his ear. There was nowhere to go; it was absolute destiny that he would be George’s boyto—his lover, tonight.

“O-okay,” Gila said, then stepped back and started to kneel. George hungrily watched every second, and he made it clear he was watching. The cat delicately placed both his paws on the gecko’s bulging crotch.

The gecko hissed, “You’re so fucking sexy.” As before in front of the mirror, any imperfections washed away. His function, as George’s husband, was perfectly fulfilled.

Carefully, Gila traced the outline of his mate’s groin. Gently, although his own straining tent would say otherwise, pouring more pre into the previously-clean brief, the cat pushed the gecko’s erection back into the center. It firmly thumped back into place, thrusting downwards and ripping the hole at the bottom wider.

Gila could feel his jet of precum travel all the way up the tube of his cock and spurt into his underwear. There was about an inch of cotton-wrapped dick poking out the bottom of George’s jeans: the gecko was now more naked than clothed, pants more ruined than whole. This was the point of no return: a sort of decency BDSM.

He had to suck it. Gila crawled between George’s legs and wrapped his lips around the tip. Even with the gecko’s short errand, his crotch was infused with the light scent of his musk, the heavy balls and cock stored secretly beneath until now. The cotton-wrapped head filled the front of Gila’s mouth, and his tongue worked jealously around the head until, like what George had done before to him, the local region was soaked and gave off muffled smacks of the cat’s lips.

“Shit; just like that…” the gecko groaned. He braced himself on the counter as the cat sucked on the tip of his shaft, feeling his entire region blossom with energy and pleasure. Fixed to the tip with ravenous lips, Gila slipped a finger in the torn hole and pulled it wider. The jeans gave way with a gratifying rip, allowing George’s throbbing erection to rise to a thirty-degree angle, almost as if it were tearing the fabric itself.

The hole now widened, Gila nuzzled his face into the aperture and directly against the gecko’s sac and taint. He inhaled its deep, savory aroma and bathed in the feeling of George’s wet tent on his forehead. Every step was another course of a banquet meal: he was as an exotic male escort, dressed in his best skimpy uniform, and after his first course of sashaying across the kitchen, here came the second, methodically undressing his husband.

The cat pulled at the gecko’s fly, ripping it upwards. With George’s arousal, the rag flew as if spring loaded, and now his husband’s bulge was standing out on full display. Gila lingered in the alcove of his legs for a bit longer, huffing the aroma of his swaddled balls and taint, getting temptingly close to the gecko’s own twitchy ring.

“Mmmf, ahh…” the cat groaned from down below. George watched with a blush, beholding his husband yet again advance upon him like a lust-gremlin. Suddenly he was in an adult fairytale where the horny werewolf chased him through the forest, ripping and tearing at his clothing.

Rrrrrip!

Gila pulled the seat of his jeans apart as if he were spreading his cheeks. George felt more exposed than if he’d just taken his pants off. Then there was the rattle of a drawer and Gila had a pair of scissors.

“Can I cut them?” he hissed, backing out from under George. Snip-snip went the implements.

“The jeans?” George asked.

“No; your—”

“That’s twelve bucks, baby.”

“I got a job!”

“No.”

Gila promptly stood up, towering over him. George had five inches on Gila in the crotch department … Gila had seven in the legs and spine. The cat was still holding the scissors.

“I want to see you, then,” snip-snip, “take it all off, then put those pants back on.”

“We doing a dom-sub thing here?”

“Are we?” asked Gila. A cat, when in a devilish mood, has the marvelous ability to dilate its small, slitted eyes into enormous voids in which only two things stare back at you: yourself, and oblivion.

Snip-snip.

George reached up and put his finger against Gila’s nose. The cat’s prick was poking into his belly, and the gecko’s erection was holding the whole bundle up. “You do what you want.”

“I’ll get you those twelve bucks,” Gila grinned, then dropped faster than terminal velocity.

“What? No!” George argued, but then a single cut across the pubic region made his cock and balls fall out into the open. He’d just bought those last week!

“Yeah, there we go,” Gila purred, setting the scissors down so that he could cradle the gecko’s sac. He brought his face in close and nuzzled along the length. His fingers pushed the severed fabric out of the way, making sure every square millimeter of his gonads were accessible by sight, smell, and touch.

“Mmm,” the cat lovingly sighed, opening his mouth and sliding his head down the shaft until he twitched with a choke. Then it came back out, and he rubbed spit up and down his cock while he knelt down and drew his raspy tongue under George’s balls, licking them from the taint all the way to the base of his member.

The cat’s paw was warm and wet as it stroked over his erection, squeezing and pulling until it was slick and glistening. His large sac filled Gila’s mouth, and Gila’s tongue was no less enthusiastic as he played with its weight and heft.

The cat’s lips popped as he let George’s wetted balls fall back in the open, then he gave a reassuring stroke as he delicately snipped the flap of his jeans, then the pouch of his underwear, leaving zero fabric to ever cover the region again.

“These are your work jeans when you’re at home, darling,” Gila lustily said. “I wanna see you in all your glory.”

“That mean my ass as well?” George asked. The gecko’s arousal filled his head with steamy desire; he could think of nothing but stoking his husband’s fire. “What about yours?”

“We’ll see,” answered the cat, then when he stood he pulled at the chest of his husband’s tank top. Before George could object, Gila cut a slit that exposed his pect. Another snip revealed the other. George did not have nipples, but the symbolism remained.

“What do you want your stud to do now?”

The scissors clattered on the counter and Gila backed away, full of cat grace as he winked at George.

“I got what I wanted,” the tuxedo cat purred. “So what do you want?”

George cracked his knuckles. “Upstairs.”

“Butt first,” said George, the two arriving in their bedroom. Gila had been pawing at George’s waist, trying to get in front to grab the prominent protrusion sticking proudly from his chaps, but the gecko led him by his cock, pinching the tip with finger and thumb. Every few steps with a twist of the hips he’d flash the lime-sized head past his body. All that was going inside Gila, into his back tunnel to fill his lower body.

They got to their bedroom. “But first?” Gila asked.

George grinned. “That’s about what I said,” he answered, then pushed the cat until he was around the back of him. The gecko’s tail lifted until it was sitting on Gila’s shoulders, then with a flex of his hind muscles he pushed his husband down to his knees.

Even that walking had widened the hole in the back of his jeans, and Gila was staring at a luscious red bundle of cotton-wrapped buns. George was clean, freshly showered, and so the buttocks peeking through the pants looked like a velvet hotel pillow.

“Oh yeah,” Gila purred, leaning forward to grab the sides of his pants.

“Almost,” said George, then held the back of the cat’s head and pushed him into the cool pillow.

“Mmph!” moaned the cat, eyes and muzzle smooshed between his cheeks. Every aroused breath went through rump fabric and Gila got right to eating. His paws methodically tore at the seat of the jeans, revealing more and more of George’s dark red rear as his tongue and lips lapped and tugged at the final layer of fabric. The barbs on Gila’s tongue finally caught the bottom lip of the boxer-briefs, and he pulled it into his mouth and removed a long flap with a snip of his teeth.

His claws came out, and he traced an outline in the beleaguered jeans to perfectly rip out the seat. Then they traced under the waistband of the boxer briefs, and with a clip of his teeth he ripped out the back to finally, delightfully, expose George’s rump without a scrap of interference.

Seated in the center of the firm, cool-blooded mounds, there emanated the subtle musk of the gecko’s rear hole. Gila pressed his face in until his eyes were seeing stars, then he stretched out his tongue, and he…

“No, no; not mine,” gently hissed the gecko, then with a quick motion reached under himself, exposing his slit even futher. With his tail hiked high, it appeared as a delicious tight treat. Before the cat’s tongue could press against paydirt, however, Gila found himself yanked through George’s legs, smacking his eyebrows against his sac as he swooshed through.

“Oh!” he gasped, and now the toy was the other boy. Gila lay on the bed sprawled on his side, revealing his brief-wrapped, bright white rump and modest sac. George stood before him like a meaty stud. His tank top was cut, revealing his marbled pects, and below his belt lay the delightful surprise where his pants simply disappeared and let his cock stand free. His balls hung like two juicy plums: there was his man.

The cat hooked his thumbs around his underwear’s waistband: he didn’t have the luxury of an open crotch, and he wanted these off before the front was too moist. “Should I…?” he asked, and George shook his head. Gila could feel his own mouth magnetizing to the gecko’s musky, naked, available conspicuity.

Oh God damn it, please… I’ll go feral sex gremlin again; you’ll love it!

“Just getting a good look at ya,” said George, then sauntered to the end of the bed. As soon as his prominent member cast a shadow over their sheets, Gila pounced! He crawled over to the edge of the bed and was stopped with a paw against his throat.

“You can’t just let it all out, baby; you’re still wearing your undies,” he said.

Gila’s heart thumped against his ribs. Did he know? No; impossible.

“First order of business,” said George with a snap of his fingers. The gecko pointed down at himself. The cat leaned down on all fours, opened his mouth, and then froze, tongue stuck way out. In clear 20/15 vision, he saw the rod glisten at the tip with ambrosial precum. “Can I…?” he asked, having difficulty enunciating.

“Just about,” George said, moving his hand to stroke the cat’s chin.

“Why?”

There was George’s smiling snarl. “Just getting another good look.”

Gila realized, in submissive reward, that his rump was a foot higher than his tail, his back was bare, his shoulders were flexed, his tail was up, and George had full view of his lavish form.

“D-do you like it, honey?”

The gecko growled. “I’ll marry just your silhouette, darling.”

Gila’s ears went red and his body shimmered with contentment. “Oh, love; I—”

“Suck my fucking cock, you sexy man.”

FFFFFFFFFFFF—

Gila almost punched his brain out the back of his head with the speed that he leapt upon the gecko’s rod. It filled his mouth and stretched his jaw; it pressed against the back of his tonsils and then, with a dip of his spine, slid down his throat until it covered his epiglottis.

“GLK!!” Gila choked. His nose crinkled flat against George’s pubis. He tried to breathe, but it was mechanically impossible. B-but this was so perfect; here was George and there was so much of him inside him and …

“Babe,” said George, backing out an inch. The cat latched right back on. “Don’t spoil your dinner.”

A soothing stroke through Gila’s headfluff eased him, insatiability exchanging for concentrated want. The cock filling his mouth and his throat was his ritual. The full sight of George’s edited jeans and the top of his crotch was his charge. This was the marital duty of two people in love, a multi-instrument symphony of words, actions, and emotions. His maw filled with his husband’s responsive, ready organ, Gila had his tongue, cheeks, and neck speak through saliva and touch.

This was his gift to his dearest of dears, his oath to this man that his evenings be warm and his nights most cozy, that his heart would never shiver in pangs of loneliness. This soothing charge relaxed his throat, jaw, and back, settling Gila into a rhythm in which George’s prominent organ was a part of his top anatomy. In and out, the cat worked as a perfect machine, the cylinder to the gecko’s piston. Over and over, with the comforting sounds of George’s grunts, and the slick slurps and gulps of his cock traveling, seemingly, all the way to his stomach, Gila made oral love to his husband.

The gecko stroked Gila’s ear, strangely comforted by his revealing clothes. His hips and stomach were cozy; yet his rump, chest, and manhood were readily accessible to sight, touch, and taste. “You want me to finish?” he asked. His arousal was a quiet, easy burn: with Gila’s passionate ministrations, the cat had built it from a flicker to a crackling fire in the matter of minutes. Precum dribbled easily every other thrust, almost a constant stream.

Gila looked up at him, mouth and throat full of his member. He somehow managed a smile at the corners of his stretched lips, and communicated his answer with a wide sway of his undie-covered rump.

Wordlessly, and it was a brief shame as George’s cock popped free from its all-encompassing warm wetness, Gila extricated his face from the gecko’s lap and rolled onto his back. He lifted and spread his legs, revealing his starch-stiff tent and the grand white span over his cheeks.

George put Gila’s long legs over his shoulders and pulled him to the edge of the bed. “So am I gonna owe you twelve dollars?”

“Ah!” Gila said, remembering how to speak. “Um, these were eight, but I only have eleven pairs?” he asked, feeling a little queasy about the fib. The washer swished and rinsed one floor below.

George did some brief math. “Mm. Maybe just buy you some jocks?”

Gila felt his hole twitch under the fabric, his cheeks spread by his mounted ankles. He could feel the heat of George’s enthusiastic shaft against his rear end. When the gecko leaned forward, the cat’s thighs spread around its girth, and the head rested over his small tent.

“I-I guess, but jocks are so sexual.”

“I’m sure there’s a specialty product from that company,” said George, putting a finger on Gila’s tented tip. He moved his hard prick around like a joystick, eliciting shivers from his husband.

“I’m sure it’s secretly absorbent for little-boy accidents.”

A soft, annoyed growl from George’s chest vibrated Gila’s calves. “You don’t have to love Pendrael, Davis, and Co; but why spend energy hating them?”

Gila’s thighs squeezing around the heavy shaft laying on him, holding it for both support and throbbing need. “You don’t like diapers, do you?”

The gecko’s spotted chin rose. “That’s a loaded question.”

The word “load” slapped heavily on Gila’s chest like a cock or fat turd.

“Ehm,” the cat said with a shiver. Images of his marbled muscular man dancing around in a giant crinkling diaper twisted his brain stem. Was diaperphobia a real word? “I mean, do you?”

“Never thought about ‘em,” George said, then reached under to disconnect Gila’s velcro tail-catch. The cat let his stud undress him; his briefs slid up his thighs and then George put Gila’s ankles together to pull them the rest of the way off. Then, still holding Gila’s ankles together, the stocky gecko took a couple pumps from the nightstand bottle and wiped his fingers along the cat’s rump.

Almost as if he’s wiping my rear…

The lubricant was cool against Gila’s ring, which quickly responded to George’s touch. The feeling rippled into him, traveling from the surface of his slit deep into his body. His rectum flared and the bend of his colon blushed, ready for more action. They wouldn’t be flexing to push material out this time; they would be greedily, happily, taking his husband in.

I shit and filled my briefs, he wanted to confess. The warmth and weight was wonderful. But one step at a time.

The head of George’s sex was big. Even though it was a smooth dome, its breadth made it seem as flat as the head of a baseball bat against Gila’s slicked opening. Gila’s anus twitched and tightened: even aided by the memory of taking the imposing shaft down his throat, or the gratifying push of a grand mass into his undies, his rump hesitated to receive his husband. There was just so, so much…

I held back nothing to my briefs. Everything flowed so openly.

“You all right, darling?” George asked. It felt like he was pressing his cock against a couple of suspension bridge cables. He did love Gila’s tightness, but this was a bit extra. His hips clenched, excited to mate.

“My brain’s just been all twisted up today.”

“Got more kinks than a leather convention,” the gecko said. “I mean, do you wanna fuck, or save it to morning?”

Gila felt his legs fall as the gecko started backing away. He looked so amazing in his worn jean-chaps. His erection bounced nakedly before him, large and standing at a perfect ninety degrees. His bountiful sac hung between his denim thighs: fully deployed like this, Gila wondered how he’d ever kept it all smuggled inside.

Be the brief for your husband. Let him fill you… he thought. His bowels started to relax.

“Are you not clean? I can wait five minutes,” asked George.

“N-no! Actually, uh, very clean,” Gila said, trying to hedge his information, “Very, um, healthy cleansing.”

The gecko smirked. “I could smell that air freshener. You cleared that room better than a SEAL team.”

Gila blushed and reached down, spreading his buttocks. He placed his feet on either side of him, presenting his lubricated pink ring to his husband. “Well, since I’m clear, too…”

The gecko nodded and advanced. His slitted eyes gained that masculine, predatorial drive of focus and determination. The cool, hard head pressed against Gila’s ring, dimpling it inwards. George sighed in heat, Gila gasped in pressure.

To be full, the cat thought. To pack all of him inside you. Those several square inches of his person … inches deep, inches wide.

“Unf,” the cat moaned, body quivering. The more he hesitated, the larger George’s penis felt against his petulant passage. His gecko’s ribbed skin felt so cool against the back of his legs; his husband’s dynamic body temperature was a radiant aura and here it showered his whole underside, from his ankles to his thighs to his private pelvic cradle.

It’s not about me; it’s about us, Gila thought. The tuxedo cat found himself relaxing against his husband, ankles to taint. From this angle, aside from a couple cuts in his tank top, George looked completely clothed, as if he was just tinkering with a fussy motor at the shop. But then came that indulgent luxury, that prominent, secretive prod against his naked rear end, and Gila knew that this was a special service call.

“Darling,” Gila sighed, feeling his chest fall, stomach rise, and bowels relax, “I love you so much; everything and anything I’ll put on nine more wedding rings; a thousand Arabian nights and vows…”

George stared as his thinner, taller husband poured himself out, his ears filling with music and his body basking in Gila’s endothermic warmth. Through instinct and a twinge in his hips, he felt his mate’s undercarriage loosen against him, and blushed as Gila’s crenulated pucker spread around the head of his gender.

“I, um, ain’t got anything prepared, but all the same to you, Gila Bratislava. Mount Vesuvius can bust again and I’ll be frozen hip-to-coccyx with you. May the Lord Jesus Christ, Hallowed be His Name, delay his second coming while we’re getting started with our third.”

His young husband brightened. “I’ll take that,” Gila said. “And you, too, please.”

George’s pointy teeth glistened with a silent laugh. “Only because you asked nicely.”

The bed spread vast and soft beneath Gila’s back. Only by stretching his arms like the Vitruvian Man could the cat grope at the corners, and every inch of luxuriation along the way rubbed their downy cotton beauty against his fresh-showered fur.

The warmth of Gila’s lower passage opened to the thick, cool mass of George’s sex. The cat’s pelvic basin opened up; from his sensitive, center slit to his soft, furry cheeks and his moist, intimate rectum; his body greeted his husband in unity.

“It feels like the first time, every time,” George stammered through his teeth. The muscles of his chest, arms, and buttocks flexed in readiness of the mating ritual.

Gila felt the first two inches enter his rectum, permanently spreading his ring. The ectothermic coolness of George’s body made him shiver, and for the few seconds it took to reach equilibrium his cock was an obstinate foreign occupation. His bowels didn’t know whether to push the mass out or pull it all the way in.

“I love you inside me,” the cat said, feeling a full-body blush as he received his mate, legs high in the air. George was, in all senses, a man with a very big presence, filling whichever room he desired.

“I love you all around me,” George said.

Gila’s heart fluttered as his ring stretched and his bowel filled with George’s member. His body became a vessel for his mate, securing him tight. A few breaths hissed through the cat’s teeth: while relaxed and ready for the matrimonial act, the person of George was very, very generous, and there was only so much skin that could relax about him.

The gecko’s bulky shaft seemed to continue for yards, crawling into Gila’s main cavern and occupying every inch. The cat worked to keep his breathing steady, as once he was properly warmed up there would be no better mode of living. George’s girth, however, and the effort it took for Gila’s body to spread around it translated into a great weight sitting at the base of Gila’s pelvis. His lower back ached from the lead plug sitting in his colon.

But George was half inside him: another few yards and Gila would be in nirvana, attached to his lover, filled with him. Gila felt himself deepen out and the weight in his bowel quadruple. “Bit by bit, sweetie,” said George.

The cat lay back on the bed, toes buzzing as they lost feeling. Gila let out a slow breath, emptying his torso as a great, slick, cool mass spread his inner walls. He tried staring at the ceiling, or pawing at the bed, but could not get the sensation out of his head that his rectum and colon were doubling in size. This is why the imperial system was the subject of Euro-Asian ire: a nine-inch sub sandwich was a good meal. A nine-inch penis stretched from here to the moon.

Gila felt George’s cool reptile lips on the pad of his feet. George looked at him with concern; Gila looked at him with a smile. The gecko was kink perfection with his pects hanging out of his torn shirt, and the generous genital mass thrusting from his crotchless jeans. Gila was naked, save for the gold band on his left third finger. He twinkled this at the gecko and his husband nodded. He gripped the cat’s ankles firmly and Gila gave a fey yelp as he felt that indomitable anchor point pulse within his rump: the stake that nailed his hips to his mate.

“Ooooh!” he groaned, and what followed was a fire-hose rush of pressure and weight. Gila’s rear slurped loudly, lewdly, as George pulled his great member from Gila and made the cat twenty pounds lighter. Then it came back in, and the cat felt his body drifting about the shaft, molding to it. Everything below the waist was a slick, vast tunnel, crowned by a small flaccid prick and sac that flopped with every subway train thrust. Squishy blirts of air combined with sopping slushes of lubricant and preseminal: Gila’s pelvic cradle was a vessel solely for lovemaking.

He received his husband with each guttural thrust: all nerves in his colon shimmered with enlightened pleasure and purpose; never again could his rectum be in a neutral state! It had to be filled, or it had to be emptied. His ass had to be one with the log.

This satisfaction radiated to the tip of his hips and he became hard again. George was thrusting, rutting, occupying every part of his lower bowel and he could feel that grand mass lavishing his prostate in skin and slick leaky fluid. He was being taken, and taken fully.

Thump, slrrp, thump, slrrp, thump, slrrp, went the gecko’s meaty hips, and Gila glowed as his body took him with increasing eagerness and confidence. His lizard’s face was focused, eyes closed, mouth slightly open as he locked into a cycle of delirious mating. The cock on his own groin wagged and dripped, flinging pearly ropes of pre up into the air, across the bed and his stomach.

“Ooooh,” George growled, tightening his grip on Gila’s ankles. Gila knew what was coming, and coming fast. His whole purpose was coalescing into one brilliant moment, a crescendo accompanied by thrusts deeper, and more rapid, bottoming out into his bowels to claim him. This epiphany, clean and clear, relaxed Gila, and his body responded in brilliance by spurting once more.

From his loins sprang pearlescent, viscous treacle; a gracious bounty forming five long, sturdy cords lapped down upon his body with loving impacts. With thickness they traced broad, winding rivers on the geography of his stomach, breast and shoulder. His cock, as the riverhead, hung above the landscape and continued to seep its riches.

Below, in the bowels of his earth, there came a great rumble: a reckoning, as a colossal aquifer broke open and flooded Gila’s cave. The cat’s toes cracked and curled as a cool, body temperature deluge washed through the bends and bows of his colon. The gift of George’s gonads, hanging heavily against Gila’s tailbase, pumped into the cat’s body at a robust rate.

Gila heard a glorp and he was not sure if it was the gurgle of his canal or the liquid itself. His body weight shifted with fluid momentum, and his bowels hummed with the satisfaction of fullness. With his afterglow settling him, reassembling him, Gila felt his body conform around George’s shaft. His stretched ring sealed perfectly around the thick gecko’s shaft, keeping his precious, pearly essence deep inside.

“Oh, love,” Gila trembled, grinning across his short muzzle.

George’s eyes squinted with tranquil bliss. He could have been in a tube on a tropical river, glowing and soaking up the sun. His cat would be curled on his stomach, both of them in bright green bikinis. Bright green because he wanted to see every part of his lover, and to be shown off to him, with of course a little support and containment.

As Gila calmed down, the absolute heft and volume of what his lower body held became a noble burden. Bent upright like this, his stuffed rump was hilted directly against George’s crotch. The girthy cock buried deep inside him kept the cat stretched, and his body gurgled with his man’s plentiful load.

“I wanna stay like this forever,” Gila purred.

George leaned down and Gila leaned up. They kissed passionately, tongues pushing and stroking against each other as if they could spurt, too. All they got was juicy maws full of saliva, and a loud smack as their lips parted. The gecko grabbed the cat’s ankles and spread his legs wide, taking a few more lusty, slick thrusts that slurped into Gila’s sumptuous hole.

“Me, too, but we got lukewarm food downstairs and I gotta piss.”

Gila brightened up. “Pee inside me?”

The gecko’s eyes widened, which made the cat blush. The only bathroom play they’d done was Gila coming up behind George and holding his gushing penis as he kissed and nibbled his neck. “I, um, babe I love you but we’ve been fucking all day. I just wanna eat, sit down, and watch some TV with a beer.”

“Love—”

“I’ll still wear my sexy jeans. And if, somehow, I get hard a fourth time you can blow me while I watch the game.”

Marriage was a compromise. It wasn’t, necessarily, a compromise of each other, where both parties only got half of what they wanted and therefore coexisted with hungry hearts, stomachs, rumps, and half-full balls, but it was a compromise between the ideal and the realistic. Icarus with a parachute, grumbling as he descends and his wings become a gooey tar-and-feather bukkake all over his lovely naked Grecian body.

They both had full days. Gila’s heart ached as he wanted to tell George about his afternoon adventure, but his man was clearly tired. “That sounds wonderful,” he said, trying not to sound too despondent or petulant. “What would you like me to wear?”

The washer beeped, having completed its cycle.

“How about a nice pair of briefs?”

Gila’s tail, sumptuously slimy at the base, wagged.