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“Actually, maybe we shouldn’t go disc golfing today,” said Gila Straczynksi, already turning back to the car. Which was too bad, because he was all kitted out: he wore smooth tan shorts that stopped above his knees, a fresh green polo shirt, a throwing glove on his right hand, and a sun visor that read, “Fort Knox Motors.”

“Eh?” said George, his husband, just getting out of the truck. The leopard gecko was seven inches shorter than Gila but about seventy pounds heavier, a fine combination of sinewy muscle marbled with fat. “Why’d you make me drive all the way out to Shoresy Hennings if we were gonna turn back?”

“It’s nothing,” Gila said, shaking his head so that his long bangs poutily floofed in front of his eyes.

“Ey, you’re walkin’ real fuckin’ fast away from that gate, babydoll,” said George, dodging past Gila as the latter skated back to the truck. The leopard gecko rolled one shoulder, then the other, both laden with their bags of collectible holographic frisbees. They’d also brought two vacuum tankards of ice water, as well as a three-course picnic basket. George carried it all to Shoresy Hennings’s gate, where he started snickering.

“Ah, hehehe,” said George, sneering back at Gila in their vehicle. His husband was too far away to hear him, so he walked back with a grin on his face the whole time.

Gila Straczynski was a tuxedo housecat with black and white fur, and though he’d been out of high school for nine years, he still flirted with fairly long hair. Gila frowned as much as the leopard gecko smiled; if the two were put together it’d form a perfect circle. Still, as his husband closed in on the truck, Gila rolled the window down.

“Gilaaaaaa,” George singsonged. “We got a chance to win a rare Lugo, or even a super-rare Wesley if we play today.”

Gila huffed through his nose, his spotted snout turned away from George. “You know that’s exactly the reason why we’re not going.”

“Why you’re highly averse to going,” corrected George.

The cat’s eyes squeezed shut. “I do not feel comfortable around … those, whereas you could walk into a Klan meeting and sell Hot Chocolate’s Greatest Hits. On cassette. Today.”

“You make connections with people,” said George, “you’d be surprised what lights a person’s fire.”

“You didn’t say that about the K-U-N-T last week with the transmission problem.”

George gritted his teeth and laughed, rattling with the pained echo of a recent injury. “Welp, a soaked wood pit won’t light no matter how much spark you give it. So I let that … valuable customer … dry out.”

A smile cracked on Gila’s face, then he struggled to straighten it back down. “I half-thought you’d wring her out yourself. Fucking tire rotation turns into that.”

“Oh yeah,” George said, “happens all the time. Your 150,000 transmission was running juuuust fine before I switched the wheels around.”

“Sheezus Christ,” laughed the cat.

George reached in and squeezed at Gila’s belly. The cat was semi-athletic, but post-graduate takeout gave him a little bit of a pudge. Gila jumped at the nip of affection. “Hey, we even got a 1-in-10,000 chance of a Legendary Kioga. Goes for a lot online, if you don’t like it.”

“You already display our discs like NASCAR dinner plates in a trailer home,” said Gila. “I don’t know how much more hipster-redneck we can get.”

“You sure that just because a few folks out there have some dumps in their pants that we can’t have a sunshine gay old time?”

Gila gritted his teeth. “I’d sooner go to Hypotenuse Corners where people have dumps in their pants and they’re talking about concerns of the ‘changing American demographic’ instead of…”

George rested his arms on the truck’s window sill. He had to stand on its running boards in order to see over the door. On top of his meaty, spotted arms, he rested his hairless head. “Instead of naptime and ‘aminal kwackers’?”

“Beeeueuuhghh,” shivered Gila.

“We don’t have to talk with them. Throw a few baskets, have a picnic, maybe some secret you-know in the bushes…” smirked George.

The cat sighed and shook his head. “I’m just being a wet blanket. I didn’t properly look at the Shoresy calendar, so now we’re out here and I really don’t—”

“Then we don’t,” said George. He circled around the truck and got in; Gila gasped and stammered weird solutions the whole time until his husband entered the driver’s seat.

“That’s okay! We can just, uh, I’ll wear sunglasses! I promise I won’t grumble if I see a full diap—uhhhg. By the protection and shield of your love, I will make it through the valley of the shadow of deffffff…ecation. Honey, I—”

It looked like George was giving the same tired smile he gave that lady with the transmission last week. He didn’t say anything, merely pressed the Engine Start and drove them the forty-five minutes home.

They grabbed a picnic in their backyard, and Gila softly came out of his shell by the time the sea bass and the first glass of wine were done. A thousand questions raced through the cat’s mind, but he didn’t know how to phrase them without sounding like he was just apologizing for being petulant.

“Look, hey, sorry,” Gila said, and George, made of meat and rock and bone, just smiled and shrugged.

“Nah. So how about this veal, eh? Think we should club our own calves sometime.”

“That’s gross,” Gila responded, then bit his lip. “Ugh, did that sound bitchy?”

The gecko smirked. “If I was aiming to tug at your balls, and you jumped because I tugged at your balls, then I think it was successful for both of us.”

“Ah, to annoy me, ah?” Gila grinned, crawling over to George. He tried to walk a couple fingers up the gecko’s bare leg, maybe even under the hem of his shorts, but George just grabbed his wrist and tugged his taller, but much lighter, husband into his lap.

“I gotta press some buttons besides the one in your ass,” grinned George.

“Do you, though?” asked Gila. The cat was twenty years younger than his husband, and he wasn’t sure if it was just George’s normal demeanor, or if it was conscious intent that made it seem like the gecko was holding them over him. Still in his twenties, Gila had replaced childhood allergies with insecurities.

And they stuffed him up just as bad.

“Baby boy—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“My dearest husband, with whom nary am I left with want—”

“Don’t do that, either.”

“Buttfucker, it’s all good and I’m probably abnormally at-ease with … those people more than you are averse to it. We can move to my Kaczsynski location. We don’t have to be in Spreadings.”

The cat chuckled at George’s bluntness. “Uh-huh, so you can be the local celebrity,” He said with a smirk. “I don’t mind living here.”

“You complain about the Kioga billboard all the time,” said George, pointing over their back fence to a distant, now-black rectangle as the sun started to set behind the Wyoming mountains.

“Because it looks like a stock photo with zero creativity,” Gila said. “And while it’s ostensibly advertising burgers proven to reduce colorectal cancer, you can clearly see his you-know-what poking out the back of his pants. I mean really. Burgers? You sure you’re advertising burgers?”

“I think that’s where the burgers go.”

Gila sighed and put his head against the gecko’s firm, pillowy chest. He had to bend down from his height. George stroked his husband’s fur; he loved that he was covered head-to-toe in it. “I’m not too uptight, am I?”

“You got guts. And while they’re strung tighter than a violin, my pretty kitty—”

“Cat.”

“—my lovely feline, those make sweet music. You’re my Stradivarius.”

“Sure it’s not screeching from an elementary school recital?”

George leaned down and kissed Gila’s head. The cat was almost bent double, rolled in a ball like a pet puma. “I just want you to be sure. Been married five years, so we’re as sure as that contract. Thick and thin. Screech and song.”

“Already coming up on our anniversary, wow.”

“Yeah, you didn’t want to wait for your post-grad.”

“Sorry our honeymoon was in my dorm room.”

“It was a practice round.”

“The hottest practice round. The room stank so much.”

“Then we got to do laundry together.”

“Camping with quarter rolls in the dorm basement. Remind me again why we didn’t use your house?”

“My house was back in Kaczynksi.”

“Right, seven-hour drive,” Gila said. The cat normally ran hot, even for a place as chilly as Spreadings, Wyoming, so it was nice that the leopard gecko was cool, like the bottom side of a pillow. Hot and cold, spazz and stolid, fur and scales, thin and thick. He raised his snout up to the gecko. “Do opposites attract because we’re incomplete?”

George just hugged him. “Depends on what type of opposites. You weld half a Plintox to half a Rastufarian? You get a double shitbox.”

“I remember that truck.”

“It was a ‘fuck’ because fffffffuck,” George laughed. “But a motorcycle and a car? Now that’s a complete garage.”

“Just one motorcycle?”

“Do you just have one pair of underwear? Or type?” the muscular gecko asked his thin husband, tickling him under the hem of his shirt. His claws caught the elastic of regular briefs and snapped them.

Gila giggled and swatted at his arm, but didn’t push it away. They were starting to feel tighter. They wrestled for a little bit, George making for coy brushes near Gila’s core, the cat batting him away then trying to get at the gecko’s belly or between his thighs. Eventually, George had both of Gila’s wrists in his hands, and the cat was trapped in his lap with a pretty good lump stretching the front of his shorts.

George saw it right away, and pulled Gila’s arms up so he was flush in his lap. The cat twitched and blushed furiously, because he couldn’t hide it no matter how much he squirmed. Every pose just seemed to make it worse: first he pressed his legs together and twisted to the side. This put him completely flat and stretched out, with the sole protrusion below his neck being a good three, taut inches of dome. He rolled back to the front and spread his legs: now his body was three roads leading up to a khaki mountain peak, with the faint bronze glimmer of his brass zipper. Gila pulled his legs in, which crunched up his bulge to a distinct spire in the middle of a valley.

He felt the warm breath of his husband, and a large, familiar lump prodding up against the back of his shorts, as the gecko put both his wrists in one hand and reached down. “Eh, what we got going on here?” he asked.

“O-oh, that’s just n-nothing,” Gila said. He knew the more submissive he got, the more he was opening himself up. “Just a funny breeze on my leg; we didn’t have our workout today so I guess the blood’s just got to go around…”

“That’s what we’re calling it nowadays?” George asked.

In sex, Gila liked to surrender. It was one great time where he had one, simple, wonderful goal, and nothing else mattered but pleasing his partner.

George was fast, and every word of banter had two deft movements of his free paw. As Gila played aloof, looking up at his husband and making excuses, the gecko had already unbuckled his belt, undone his zipper, and opened the button on his shorts. Like a cotton flower out of its casing, the front flaps opened like petals and the cat’s tighty-whitie bulge bloomed from his shorts. In his squirming, Gila’s shorts slid down his hips the few inches his tail-loop would allow, revealing not only his snow-covered mound but the surrounding foothills of his hips.

George’s cool paw slid under the cat’s shirt, stroking his belly and sliding up. His voice was deep and rich like fresh soil: “You’re a horny kitt— … cat, aren’t you, baby?”

“Sweetheart, you know I’m only horny for you,” he groaned. Every writhe made his shorts spread more, transforming them into gay-grade chaps that framed his stretched, tented underwear. His sac sat outside the joint of his zipper, and the double-fly of his briefs were sliding dangerously close to open. George pinched his nipple and the trapped cat arched his back, pointing his hard-on high in the air.

His gecko was a wall of moving rock under his soft shirt and light marbled fat. Gila could feel him poking him in the back with his bright, simmering lust. George loved every inch of his cat, but when the fragrant bits threatened to come out, the love evolved with deep hunger. Gila felt George’s thumb brush over his nipple, stroking back and forth until it, too, was rigid and protruding. “I dunno, baby, you never felt a tingle when we were shopping for your sexy undies, and the models had just a little too much dickline or back-sac in their bikinis, thongs, and jocks?”

“Because I wanted to be sexy for you,” Gila moaned, scrambling back up into George’s lap. The gecko caught the tailsnap of the cat’s shorts, and with an easy push Gila’s garment slid down to his knees, totally exposing his stretched briefs. George licked his lips as he watched the cat’s tented pouch jiggle between his naked legs, and felt underneath a pair of warm, firm cheeks, covered only in a thin cotton layer, brush against the throbbing log snaking down the leg of his jeans.

The gecko pulled the cat’s arms up as high as he could, then his long sticky lizard tongue slipped out and licked Gila from his collarbone, up his neck and the side of his head, all the way to his ear, which he flicked inside. Gila moaned and writhed, and his wrapped cock indicated the location of its tip with a dark spot of pre on his undies. “That answer your question?” George gruffed.

Gila turned his head and met the leopard gecko’s snout. Their lips pressed against each other and soon a sticky tongue was playing with a raspy tongue. Gila and George entered each other’s mouths, tongues rubbing and thrusting against each other like cocks. The leopard let go of his cat’s arms and Gila turned around in George’s lap. Though he was taller than George, he could fall into the gecko’s girthy muscles; his chest felt twice as wide.

The grass of their backyard tickled Gila’s shins as he kicked off his shoes and struggled out of his shorts, which still insisted to cling to one of his ankles. Grass stains be damned; Gila wanted to be painted in the full camouflage of the moment and call it “love drab.” His pecker managed to stretch upward, painfully, into a full pole, which he thrust against George’s hard gut and even harder crotch as he sucked on the gecko’s tongue.

Gila coughed as he felt the forks against his tonsils, and George’s eyes widened as his cat went from sucking to damn-near deepthroating his ass-licker. The gecko’s mouth opened around Gila’s muzzle, trying to get as much lip contact as possible. Sure as hell, George had started a fire, as now his cat was licking the underbelly of his tongue while trying to swallow it, and down below he was starting to leave wet spots on his jeans, belt, and t-shirt as he humped like a wild animal.

George reached down below to part the fly on Gila’s tortured briefs. Many more sessions like this and the elastic would give up years prematurely. “Unnnngh,” George managed, robbed of his tongue. As his fingers parted the stretched bands, however, and the topside of Gila’s hard, pink shaft saw sunlight, the cat caught his paw.

There was a guttural slurp as Gila’s throat released the invading muscle. “No, no,” he gasped, his chin matted with slobber, “I don’t get rewarded for being a wet diap—a wet blanket.”

George was in a bit of a tizzy, floating down a steamy lazy river of pheromones. “Being with you is reward enou—”

“Shush,” the cat said, then nimbly pulled his legs out from under him to stand. He tugged at George’s underarms, helping him to stand, too. It was more symbolic than practical, with George being seventy pounds more solid. “I wanna say I’m sorry.”

“You wanna say you’re—” George started, but the rustle of paws and clothing beneath his firm belly made it clear where Gila was headed. “O-oh.” The cat’s shorts had stopped at his ankles, above his shoes, and he was soon on his knees, pulling George’s belt out of its buckle, then unzipping his fly, then undoing the button. When the leopard gecko’s jeans opened, his sizable package of bulge and balls flooded over the lip in a neat red cotton package, bringing the question to them both on how the hell he’d fit them inside in the first place.

Gila purred, his own briefs stretching painfully, pleasurably in an inescapable arc of trapped cock. He didn’t undo George’s tailsnap, but rather parted the panels of his husband’s red boxer briefs and started fishing.

George squirted pre into his briefs as he saw his young cat husband wiggle and work beneath him: that green polo shirt of his heaved with breath, his black and white furred thighs flexed with his squat, and his poor white undies strained with effort as his cock cried for escape. He watched his own fat rod leap from his clothes as Gila pulled him into the open, then one ball each, bigger than a ping pong ball, popped out to join it and sat in a tight sac lifted by the elastic.

If a neighbor peeked over their six-foot fence, they’d be caught, but their neighbors had better mind their damn business.

So there George was, indecently parading nine hard public inches, with his husband looking like a kinky, sporty mess all stretched out like that: a gay golfer needing an anonymous quickie in the clubhouse bathroom, but the gloryhole was taken.

“Shit, just like this?” George asked, but with the cat smiling that big, and that near his meat, he already knew he was in the clutches of a predator.

“Uh-huh,” Gila sweetly said, and there were no more words amidst the noises that came from his mouth thereafter. George thought he was watching his own porno, but then came the heat, and the wetness, and the tingling-tongue prickles. The cat’s mouth had been a vacuum on his tongue, but now it was a magnetic seal, or a black hole, and the leopard gecko could only stand in place as zapping, sizzling, drooling pleasure washed over his cock and balls.

The cat alternately lapped and suckled the gecko’s big sac, putting one ball in his mouth, then two, and he gulped them as deep as he could while his nose was squished against George’s pulsing rod. George was a thick boy, crowding up enough of Gila’s face that he could only see half of each eye. He flushed first with embarrassment, then dominant lust as he saw beads of his pre dripping in gloppy drops on the back of Gila’s shirt. A wedding ring was one thing, but his sticky sex syrup was really what claimed him.

Still, there was an intimate vulnerability to have his precious jewels swimming around in a hot mouth bath, and moreso as his husband slobbered all over the crotch of his jeans and underpants, making it look like he pissed himself. The slightest breeze tickled the head of his cock, and his lust flared up, making his asshole clench. It wasn’t physically possible, but he wanted to shove all of what Gila pulled out so deep into his mouth that he’d be spraying into the back of his briefs.

“Fuuuuck, darling; what are you doing to me…” George growled. He reached a paw out to stroke his dick, but Gila caught it and intertwined their fingers.

Romantic little bitch.

Then came George’s other paw, but Gila also had one to spare and he did the same thing. They didn’t have to say a thing: the leopard gecko’s fat balls exited the cat’s mouth with an audible, bassy gasp of the air pressure re-normalizing. Gila craned his neck back, way back, with his nose and muzzle dragging up all along the side of George’s great beast. Finally, with nowhere to go—his paws caught by a leopard gecko and his ankles by a pair of shorts—the cat planted his wet, warm lips on the head of his husband’s cock and started kissing. Really kissing.

The first few caresses were soft and passionate like a before-work goodbye. The kisses deepened, each starting and ending with an open-mouth inhale. George looked beyond the cat’s head and chest: Gila’s briefs were dark halfway up the bulge with pre, even having a crystal thread hanging between the tip and the ground.

Then George heard a smack, and while he was staring at his cat’s stretchy, sticky tent, he saw a blurred black-and-white outline descend upon his cock. Gila only got a few inches in at first, but to the gecko it felt like miles: like his entire being was infused into twelve miles of hard, throbbing dick, and the whole of that dick was being squeezed by a slick, tight warm tunnel.

“H-oh-oh-oh shit!” the gecko gasped, pressing back against Gila’s paws as his knees buckled. He went half-blind from pleasure and his asshole clenched hard: smacks and quiet slurps echoed like thunder in his ear-tunnels. The top third of his cock felt like a lightning rod in a hurricane, booming and twirling in sensations of heat and wetness and profound sensitivity.

The blurry image before him was composed of, of course, the pink of his hard sex, and the end was sealed in a fluffy black and white container. Vision slowly came back, as well as the feeling that his balls were sitting atop a band of saturated fabric, with more spit on the way.

Gila looked up at him sweetly, even smiling in the corners of his mouth, then took more of George’s shaft into his hot wet maw. His smiling corners vanished into a full-on stretch as the gecko’s big, sensitive anatomy pressed against the back of his throat.

“Baby, you don’t have to—oh!” George grunted, barely noticing as Gila wrapped their paws around the back of his thighs. To the cat, it was a tight hug of his legs. To George, it was having his paws put behind him for a kinky arrest.

The head of the gecko’s fat cock brushed against the cat’s plush, warm tonsils, and George jolted as his balls tightened against his body and the wet fabric of his boxer briefs. Gila pursued, rasping his brushy tongue over the underbelly of the hard monster filling his mouth. The sensation of thick warm pre pouring down his throat made his own thighs tremble and his cock jolt in his underpants, causing a string to hang from his balls.

Both men were trembling and groaning at this point: Gila swooned as George’s hard rod filled his mouth and prodded his throat; George wobbled as the cat swallowed and slurped his sensitive organ.

The late afternoon breeze felt sweet against the gecko’s misting forehead, and even better against his balls which were wet with cat spit. His cock spread and shrank out of view; even George himself forgot his great girthy length until more and more emerged from Gila’s loving mouth, then disappeared to within a few inches of the base. Gila coughed once or twice, then swallowed with resolve.

He let go of George’s paws and undid the gecko’s tailsnap, then pulled his jeans down to his knees and slipped his paws up the elastic bands of his boxer-briefs. He heard his husband moan from above, and the fat cock stretching his jaw pulsed in his mouth, pouring pre in a generous stream. The cat relaxed his throat as best he could and pulled the shaft against his tonsils, then the entrance, then sniffed a deep breath as the rod filled his neck and shut off his breathing valve.

George felt claw pinpricks as his ass was squeezed tight, then went up on his toes as his asshole tied shut and pleasure flooded his pulsing groin. The head of his cock, deep in the hot, slick confines of his husband felt eerily light for a moment, then a rush of electricity shocked him from the head to the base of his balls as he erupted with a gratifying, huge bellow.

“Huuuah fuuuuck!” he moaned, and cum spilled out of him as from a spigot with the valve knocked off. His cat clutched George’s ass for support, but then the gecko saw Gila’s stomach flex and his eyes widen. Be it from pressure or from instinctive lack of air, the cat’s face sprang from the gecko’s cock with a splatter of semen, and Gila fell on his stretched-briefs ass with a fat, heavy rope slapping down the length of his once-pristine golf shirt.

George’s balls churned, tight against his warm, wet underwear, and he aimed his spewing, throbbing cock right at Gila, tossing a second, third, fourth, fifth string all over him. He hit his face, his shoulder, his chest, his belly, his leg, his shoe; and he aimed his last two shots right at his man’s tented underpants, glooping up the front with heavy slime.

“Euuugh, unngh,” the leopard gecko growled, waddling over to his glue-splattered husband and squeezing the last few drops on Gila’s shorts, making sure nothing on him wasn’t sticky and salty. He looked, in dazed, glowing pride as his cum soaked into the cat’s clothes and fur. Gila seemed to have already done a number in his undies, the conical triangle of the not-white front already dark and almost translucent with pre. “H-here,” George said, pulling up his jeans enough so he could kneel, “Want me to finish you off?”

The gecko’s meaty paw squished around Gila’s cummy tent. The cat moaned and bucked a few times, but before he could object, he felt the hot maw of his husband not only around his cock, but seemingly trying to suck his undies right off him.

“Ahhh, hhhah!” Gila stammered, rolling to his back in the cool, fresh grass. At this point he could just stare at the cloudy, golden-purple sky, grinning from ear to ear as sensations ranged from hip-to-hip. Cum dripped from his whiskers, dappling on his shoulders like goopy, manly rain. His thighs flexed around a large, smooth-scaled head engulfing his entire groin. His cock, tied up in sticky, pre and cum-soaked underwear, throbbed as it floated inside the wide expanse of the gecko’s mouth. His balls lay against the floor of George’s maw, and threads of his briefs snapped here and there as the man clamped to his groin threatened to suck those right off his crotch and buttocks.

“Oh my God, love; oh my God!” George heard from above as he gulped at the cat’s cock and balls. The whole musky, wet wad of cotton, cum, and genitals became a sort of pacifier for him, relaxing his mind as it filled his mouth. His own cock and sac, still hanging out of his boxer-briefs, pulsed and let the dregs of a drooly stream out.

Gila’s legs alternated between squeezing his husband’s head, and spreading out as far as he could go, the cat in full submission mode as he was laid out on the ground to his partner’s every whim. George was so happy to just keep sucking, feeling strangely Alpha as he took his own cum back, slurping it off his mate’s briefs. He used his tongue to trace the contours of Gila’s sexual anatomy, running it up the four-inch shaft to appreciate the brushlike spines poking through the fabric at the top, then down below the base to the cat’s precious, sensitive sac all neatly wrapped up.

“Unnh, oh…” were the sounds Gila was making. His tail lashed in the grass, batting George’s semi-flaccid cock a couple times. Under a cum-stained golf shirt rose Gila’s belly as he arched his back, filling the gecko’s mouth with groin, and George knew he was getting close.

Lovingly, and hungrily, George slid his long, elastic tongue into the panel of Gila’s briefs. First he threaded it around the top of the cat’s sac and, slowly, gave it a tug. His husband moaned out in ecstasy, the voice rising to a mewl as he submitted purely to his mate and the pleasure rushing through his body. Then, angling his mouth that the whole length of the brief-strained cock pressed against the top, George ran his wet, moist tongue against the underside of Gila’s bare flesh.

“Hhhhah! Love, I’m … love, I’m … Aaaeeeennah!”

Gila bucked, his ass nearly lifting a whole foot off the ground, and George found himself deepthroating his husband not necessarily by length, but by angle. The bottom of the gecko’s jaw stretched, pulling his tongue from the cat’s sticky briefs as the two formed a seal, asshole to cock, with George’s lips. A replica of the gecko’s head could be exotic swimwear.

With a wad of genitals shoved into the back of his maw, balls resting on the back of his tongue and throbbing, medium cock tickling his sinuses, Gila’s briefs became even slimier as the cat cummed his undies. The precious, delicious fluid piled on the tip and drooled down the stretched cotton to his sac, then poured down George’s throat. The leopard gecko drank his jolting, pulsing husband’s essence, his eyes swooning as that warm body kept feeding him the male ambrosia.

Relaxed, hot, and utterly satisfied, George remained latched to his partner’s loins like a second pair of underwear, protecting yet savoring the musky, sensitive organs that jiggled whenever Gila walked around the house with no pants. They had thoroughly soaked the cat’s briefs, with some cum and saliva even making their way to Gila’s earthy pucker. It wasn’t until his taller, lighter husband looked down at him with sleepy satisfaction that George disengaged his reptile maw, and upon the first smile from Gila the leopard gecko sprinted over him to hug him tightly and kiss.

The cat reciprocated with purrs, languidly writhing in the matted grass. His underwear clung to his groin with sticky satisfaction, and his slimy bulge bumped against George’s exposed cock, which was still heavy even when flaccid. Gila gripped the gecko’s meaty, marbled shoulders as he pressed his lips to his mate’s, and when he tasted their squirty essences he reached down and played with both the private parts that made them. Their mouths delicately played against each other’s, light smacks and gratified sighs audible as grass whispered in the wind. Gila squeezed the thick, soft rod hanging from George’s hips, pulling it against his wad to grope both in the same palm. As the head-to-groin lamination on Gila slowly dried, and the two males bathed in the humidity of their musk and their spunk, George gave his cat a final squeeze before rolling off him and standing up.

His cock was still hanging proudly from his pants, and Gila grinned as he tried to struggle upright with his shorts wrapped around his ankles. “We should get you some of those jeans with a zip-away, you know, area. Something that looks perfectly normal in public, but then around the house, you know…” he said, tracing a triangle around his own groin. “Zip! Because I love looking at you so much.”

George smiled, reaching down to grab his husband’s paw and pull him upright. “I say we get some for you. Too bad we didn’t get to enter Shoresy Hennings. I could have stared at your briefies all eighteen holes; no pants for my beautiful kitt— my beautiful cat.”

“Bleeeugh,” Gila said, hugging his shorter, bigger husband. His paw was already gravitating again to the gecko’s meat, and George let him fondle them together. It seemed as if the cat was trying to add another set of muskies to his groin pouch, the way he attempted to thread the head through his panel fly. “I’ve already complained and repented … did I repent?”

“Sex ain’t repentance. That was us basking in the shade of our love-garden. Let’s not go back to that.”

“But you…” Gila started, but indeed canned it. “The second reason, even if I could put on blinders, is that, y’know I’m a little small?”

“You’re not now,” George said, helping Gila pull his balls into his undies. The two marveled at the chaotic, plump bulge that stretched and hung from the cat’s waist. The cummy cotton masked some of the contours of the double-cock configuration, making it look like the cat was burdensomely hung and would have trouble walking without a specialized supporter.

“Oof,” Gila said, cupping the strained pouch. He couldn’t cover it, even with both paws, flashing in his head a public bus fantasy where his cock and balls magically grew, bursting through the crotch of his jeans and laying on top of his lap as a prominent white pile of undies and manhood as wide as his thigh and tall as his head.

Gila shook his head. It wasn’t like any of those types were getting on buses and letting their jeans rip as their … garments … grew with … material. And there was the purple police to intercept them if they were.

George noticed Gila pausing and scritched the back of his neck. “You all right there, sweetie?”

Gila hugged George, loving the big, meaty bundle between them, and the gecko’s similarly thick shoulder. “I’m not too small, am I?”

The gecko’s paw came against the cat’s shoulder with a firm whap. “You’re the biggest I’ve ever had, baby,” he said. At that point, George kissed his husband’s temple and then pushed them apart, stretching his balls since they were still trapped in their little brief-bridge.

Maybe this is how gay couples should tie the knot… and like, lesbians could have a u-bend gold double dildo. George, focus!

“And the biggest I’ll ever need, baby,” the gecko added, carefully extricating his generous cock and sac. Gila’s briefs sagged with the absence, wrinkling as they slowly returned to shape. “A crotch salamander like this would give me hemorrhoids. And!”

The cat felt his groin tingle as his sticky pouch clutched his genitals. Before George could articulate his next point, he grabbed the gecko’s pects and pecked him on the lips.

“It’s really okay, darling,” said Gila. “I’m glad you can accept my body. Both figuratively and … you know.” With a smile, he shook his hips, making his humble bulge jiggle.

“You should top me sometime soon,” said George, pushing Gila’s shoulders forward. “It’s real nice having you heaving and thrusting over me”

The cat giggled. “Like a hiker humping a mountain.”

“A mountain with a really sensitive fissure,” George countered, bouncing Gila’s wad with a finger. “That pickaxe does just right.”

“Aoowwwh,” his partner mewled, feeling like a dressed-up Christmas present. He stumbled because his shorts were still locked above his shoes. Shorts with cum striped up and down them; George didn’t miss a thing. Gila looked like gay golf locker-room bukkake. “Oof, I should probably…”

He started pushing one shoe off with the other, then George put his foot in the crotch of the shorts and pulled Gila over his shoulder, popping both off with one smooth motion. The gecko set the cat back down, then picked the piece of clothing up and turned Gila around.

“What are you…” Gila started, then blushed as he felt his wrists bound again in George’s paws, and finally in a twisted set of shorts, pulled tight. He blushed as he felt, and saw, his modest pouch grow an honest point.

The gecko licked his lips and smiled. “There. Now you’re really my burden.”

“Oh, you stop,” Gila said, hiding his head in his shoulder. Nothing on him could really be hidden. He felt a meaty paw thump his back.

“I’ll draw a shower, get the really hot water out of the way for my lizard stuff. Shouldn’t be too long; headbutt the door when you’re ready, okay?”

Gila’s ears crackled with heat and his crotch buzzed with electricity now he was a kinky prisoner: it might take a few extra tugs but he felt if George held him nice and tight, and maybe even pushed a couple of his thick fingers up his cat hole, he could cum a second time.

George marched him to the house, not a chaste glance between them. Gila still felt embarrassed that his humble pup-tent wiggled alongside the gecko’s big sausage log, which itself slapped each of George’s front pockets as he walked, but the look in the gecko’s eyes was the same as when he sucked the cum out of him through his undies: just pure love and hunger.

“Can we fuck again?” Gila suddenly said. George snorted, eyes going wide.

“Sheesh, already charged back up?” the gecko asked.

“Yeah, just, you know,” the cat said, grinning and backing up into the big lizard so his fingers could fumble for George’s hole-stretcher.

George let him approach, and as soon as Gila’s fingers made a makeshift tunnel around his hanging, half-hard cock, the gecko felt his hips immediately draw into a humping motion. He saw his cat grinning over his shoulder as he repeatedly backed into him, and deep, earthy lust took him over. George’s groin brimmed with life as his shaft rose firm and fat. Ten hungry digits groped at him and he moaned as they seemed to pull the very essence from his balls into his shaft, restoring all hardness and sensitivity. The leopard gecko thrust into Gila’s hands, his breaths becoming shorter as more and more hot electricity built up in his member.

His cat husband looked like a fucking treat as he lustily yanked and squeezed at his cock. His tail was waving like crazy, and George was thrusting into his paws as if he was thrusting into his hole, his wonderful body. God, everything was so beautiful: the cooling evening air, the crisp grass, the potent aroma of their cum, and that reminder therein that their love for each other was sometimes just real fuckin’ slutty.

Gila would be washing the dishes in his pajamas, and George would come up from behind and hug his partner tight, then use his hands to pull the cat’s small cock and balls out through the fly before kissing him. Then he’d shimmy Gila’s pants down to his ankles and bury his face in his mate’s buttcheeks until the dishes were dry and his hole was soaked.

George would get up to take a piss, but Gila would insist that George not use his hands at all. Following him to the toilet, the cat would take care of unzipping him, extracting him, and holding his pisser steady for the whole minute he was draining. Gila would shake him off, then with a blush find that he was a little more difficult to pack away than to take out.

Either of these situations might lead to the bedroom, if not the room they were already in. This current one stayed in the backyard, all three times, and George could feel his pulse throbbing in his throat as well as the cock his cat had captured.

“Hhholy ffffuck,” George groaned, his pants steadily slipping down his hips as Gila tugged at his every inch. His husband sometimes power-bottomed, where he redefined what it meant to “take” a cock. The leopard gecko was trapped in his Goddamn Siren’s Song right now, and wouldn’t be free of Gila’s literal grasp until he… until he…

“Ahah; love!” moaned George, and he shuddered from calf to groin to chest as his balls squeezed tight and fired off rounds and rounds of goopy, lava-hot jizz from his dick. Because Gila’s shorts were functioning as cuffs right now, all George’s spunk ended up flooding and impregnating those shorts, then slowly started glazing the cat’s paws in the after-drool.

Gila released George’s cock with an audible, sticky schhhhlikk, with plenty of spider-goop strings connecting the two.

“Hhhah; hhhah…” Gila said, blushing as he slowly turned around. His posture was half-upright, but his prick stood from between his legs like a drooly white beacon. The cat felt it from every angle of his spunk-soaked lower half, from the sticky fabric pulling at his shaft’s insistent protrusion, to the elastic of his leg cuffs and waistband cutting into him from behind. His ruined briefs, as a whole, were a uniform and a burden of horniness.

The cat turned to his husband, his wrists bound in shorts that felt more liquid than solid. George was a big man and he’d given him two big loads. Now he stood before Gila with his jeans around his knees, his boxer-briefs bunched up in the cracks of his thighs, and his beautiful, drained manhood hanging so far down the cat wondered if all their playtime had stretched it out, though in a more healthy way than Gila’s poor undies.

Gila was drunk on lust, the perfume of their manly excess floating his brain on a cloud of musk. An impulse inside him wanted this to be their majority mode: Gila would be dressed up as George’s boyto—his sexual ward inside the house at all times, and George would be in mostly normal clothes, except with his bulge or his package always exposed. Yes: dad shirt, dad shoes, dad socks—the ones that go up the calves—and dad shorts, except the crotch was cut out and George’s fat pouch, or his fat cock, would swing about as he walked and would be sitting, enticingly, on top of his legs when he was in his recliner. He’d be watching football and Gila would crawl over one of the armrests, past his beer bottle, and suck him off until he blew during a touchdown.

Oh Jesus, do I have daddy issues? No, no; I just have a fetish for my big strong man and “daddy” is an honorific but not overly-formal term.

“I wish we could go out in public like this,” Gila blurted, and George gave him an eyebrow, going so far as to start packing himself away, which gave his husband a great feeling of dismay.

“Again, we could have gone to the park, where consenting adults have exposed their adult areas and adult diap—”

“I hate that word.”

“I…” George started, then sighed. He knew the argument would flip flop back and forth and sour the mood. “I know you want to be totally dedicated. That’s why we got the rings and the certificate in the first place. But how about you can secretly ogle my clothed ass whenever you want, and know that the crotch of my jeans is hiding a big present for you, all neatly wrapped up. You can use that thirsty imagination of yours to track exactly how it’s wrapped up in my undies, and how it squishes as I move around.”

“I’d love that. But what if we bought some cheap shorts from the bootleg websites, and it’s a size too small, and I used a sander to wear out the crotch, and then I drop a dollar in front of you, and—”

The leopard gecko grinned and laughed. “And yes, then I bend over and my big bulge rips right through the crotch, and it’s so embarrassing but so sexy, and we have to walk out of the store with your paws covering it, and the heat from your paws makes it bigger and bigger until it’s too painful and I rip the back of your shorts right off and I fuck your ass in the parking lot and everyone claps.”

Gila jumped from foot to foot, his hopes bouncing with his strained prick. “Please?”

“No.”

“But what if we used a magic spell so we could be naked in public, but everyone else couldn’t see?” Gila asked, following his husband inside. When George got into business mode, he was a glacier through a valley, or a piano sliding down a slight hill.

But then George stopped. “Actually, there is a magic spell,” he said.

“Really?!” Gila squealed. He, like the rest of Puerto Panuela and suburbs like Spreadings, had at one time or another entertained the rumors that there walked among them extra-natural creatures with limited powers of wish fulfillment: of reality-bending abilities that could make a man ejaculate on command, or pass through the streets completely unnoticed, even though they only wore a butt plug with a clanging bell hanging from the base. Or was the butt plug wearing them?

George had Gila on the tips of his toes. It wasn’t that the cat was an exhibitionist freak; it was that the cat wanted to be totally devoted to the pleasure of their companionship every hour of the day. There was a hole inside him desperately begging to be filled.

Fuck, that came out wrong. Or did it? Fuck.

George put his paws on Gila’s shoulders, and even though the cat had to look down, the leopard gecko seemed to dwarf him. He said, in a conspiratorial manner, “See, the magic spell … people go their whole lives not knowing this … to walk around naked in public … it’s so funny because it’s so obvious, but we don’t look inside ourselves … the magic spell is …”

“Yeah?” Gila squeaked.

“Clothes.” George said, then thumped his husband on the back and opened the glass sliding door to the house.

“Non-answer!” Gila protested, waddling with his gooped-up underwear and spunky shackles. “The definition of ‘naked’ is to be without clothes. It is exactly the same kind of dodge where a prisoner is ‘free’ because he can walk around the yard. The existence of one precisely invalidates the other! Oof!”

Gila didn’t realize George was standing right on the other side of the door and ran into him. George moved as much as a medium-sized cliff.

“Love of my life?” George asked. He’d taken his jeans off entirely and thrown them over his arm. Unfortunately, the legs of the fabric were covering him like a loincloth.

“Y-yeah?” Gila asked.

“If we’re talking magic spells, then the psychic rays in which you mentally undress me completely establish the possibility to be clothed and yet naked. You coming with me to the shower?”

“But your lizard stuff.”

George shrugged. “I don’t need it.”

Gila shook his head; the sexual tension with which he had been saturated was fluttering off him like last season’s fur. It was wonderful, but he supposed he couldn’t be horny all the time … even though it was a delightful service. The cat’s stomach kind of rumbled as he returned to a more stable reality of warmth and contentment. “No, no; you deserve it. O-or you really love them, so I wanna give you that. Then you can wash me in return, if you wanna make it transactional.”

“Sounds like a good time,” said George, raising an eyebrow as the stink of their rutting kicked in. “Phew. You look amazing, darling.” His free arm reached out and he pulled his husband’s head in, planting a full, warm kiss on his lips. “We’ll get ourselves cleaned up for sure; we did a great job.”

The leopard gecko then swiped a finger down Gila’s cum-streaked shirt and his glazed underwear, pushing down on the cat’s small prick until it sprang like a diving board. He sucked his finger of their man-frosting, then winked and went to the master bathroom upstairs.

Then he poked his head down from the top of the staircase. “What are you gonna do?” George asked.

Gila smiled. “Bask in it,” he said dreamily.

“Ah’right,” George shrugged, then was proceeded by thumps of his footsteps on the upper floor.