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Joe hadn’t been able to get Rosco to come to the gym with him yet. The big wolf just used their cramped home equipment for his weight lifting and stretching, and Joe knew how much he’d love to have some real space, especially since he could go cool off in the pool afterwards. Rosco’s anxiousness around new people was a hard hurdle for him to cross.

But today, Joe had a special trick held carefully behind his back.

“I just don’t really fit in with your gym friends.” Rosco held his long arms out, showing off the bountiful flesh smothering them as well as the rolling hills of dark fur across his belly. Sitting as he was at their kitchen island, that belly concealed the front of his boxer-briefs.

“Ah come on puppy, Terrel’s a big fatty too.” Joe smirked and let his eyes linger on Rosco’s meaty chest, furry pillows that lifted with each great breath in his wolf lungs.

Rosco’s ears perked, blushing inside. “He’s a beef mountain with some extra fat.”

“Look who’s talking.” Joe took Rosco’s big paws, grunting as he pulled the wolf to his feet. He ushered Rosco into their bedroom with a firm, ass-jiggling pat and positioned him in front of their full-body mirror. Standing behind him, Joe grabbed at an arm and a breast. Rosco yielded to every touch like a big plushy as warm flesh overflowed both of Joe’s hands. He squeezed through all that thick blubber until he could feel the tender but plentiful meat beneath. “Someone’s packing some real wolf muscle in here.”

Rosco tilted his head to brush a chubby cheek against Joe’s bicep. “Yeah?”

“What, you think all those steaks you put away only turn into blubber?” Joe rested his chin between Rosco’s ears, smiling at their tickling fuzz. “Sure, you do have a lot of it.” He stared at the reflection of his wolf. Standing up, his crotch barely peeked out beneath the crest of his belly. Joe gently cupped the lower crest of that belly and lifted, eliciting a pleasant vibration throughout the pup’s spine. “Such a sensitive boy.” With some of that blubber hefted out of the way, Rosco’s hardened bulge appeared, blue boxer-briefs tenting out of the great gray ocean around them. “But these strong legs would put any of my friends to shame.” Rosco’s thighs were vast, and revealed their creamy softness as they squished together. But Joe had gotten his hands on them more than enough times to know that beneath all his padding were truly impressive banks of muscle. “You know, I might get envious if not for all the cushion you have down there hiding your beef. Think your thighs are even stronger than mine.”

Rosco’s tail started to lift, swishing against Joe’s exercise shorts thoughtlessly. “That’s a little silly, Joe.” Rosco looked down bashfully as his paw started to explore his own thigh.

“Wolves have big ones naturally, and I know a certain wolf who does his squats and lunges with more than five-hundred pounds on him.” Joe squeezed his handful of belly fat and jiggled it, indulging in the texture of warm butter.

Rosco moved his thighs, watching how the pliable fat shifted subtly on its great, powerful foundation. “Well… I guess you have a point.” He lifted a lower paw, balancing on the other and wiggling his big puppy pads confidently.

“Look at those nasty claws.” Joe whistled. “Who’d mess with this big wolf jock?”

Rosco put a hand over the one Joe had on his belly, then gathered a roll of skin between his pudgy fingers. Despite how massive he’d grown, Rosco’s hide easily kept up, staying loose enough on his frame that it bunched and folded around certain spots. “That’s another thing, though.” Rosco glanced up at the reflection of Joe’s eyes. “You know how sweaty a guy like me gets. I’ll stink up the whole place so bad we might get kicked out.”

Joe snorted. “It’s a gym. What’s the point if you can’t be a big, sweaty, stinky man?”

“Yeah, but Joe,” Rosco’s voice lifted as if it was obvious, “I’m a wolf.”

“So?”

“So,” Rosco’s words vibrated out with his natural growl, a trait he’d stopped suppressing as Joe got comfortable living with a big carnivore, “you might have burned those nostrils out living in a wolf den, but not everyone’s so addicted to my musk.” He wiggled his shoulders against Joe’s chest.

Joe snorted at his playfulness. “Addicted, huh?” He tried not to imagine the numerous times he’d taken a deep whiff of Rosco’s underwear before doing their laundry. “What, to this smelly pelt?”

Rosco scoffed, a bit of mischief playing on his toothy smile. “Yeah. I haven’t even worked out yet, just sniff.” He lifted an arm and tugged at one of Joe’s antlers, bringing his snout downward.

Joe came face to face with the charcoal fur of Rosco’s armpit, thick and scruffy, each strand shiny with a potent mixture of his protective oils and eager sweat. Even just lifting his arm was enough for Rosco’s musk to start wafting out. Being this close, Joe couldn’t suppress a shiver running through his chest at the aromas. Meat roasting in its own fat, sweet smoked salmon, a bright fermented edge, all layered over rain-slick tree roots. Salty enough to make his mouth wet—among other places.

“I’m gonna sweat all through my smelly pelt.”

_ _

“Yeah.” Joe breathed heavily, unable to pull away. “But maybe I want to show my big wolf off? So what if some of those guys tuck their tails between their legs? Either they live with getting wolf stink in their fur, or they wimp the fuck out.”

To Joe’s surprise, Rosco’s scruff bristled excitedly at that.

He kept going, “You shouldn’t have to worry about their prey noses. You’re a big, stinky wolf, and they just have to deal with it. Mark your territory!”

By now, Rosco’s tail was wagging hard against Joe’s side. Keeping his arm raised, Rosco struck a suggestive pose in the mirror, pulling his snout back to reveal the great and terrible meat-rending teeth in his mouth. “You really think so?”

Joe stifled a laugh at the sight of his doughy pup putting on the vicious predator routine. Although, with his hackles raised, teeth bared, and bronze eyes shining, Rosco made the base of Joe’s spine tighten with alarming instinct. “Uh… yeah, of course.” He rallied his nerves at the chance to finally bring his boyfriend to the gym with him. “So, wanna go tomorrow?”

Brought back to the question, Rosco’s energy was tempered. “I mean, it sounds kind of fun, but…”

Before he could finish coming up with a justification for his anxiety, Joe pressed on with his last tactic. “I got something for you, by the way. So you’re dressed for the occasion.”

Rosco’s ears perked with curiosity. Then, they wiggled slightly as Joe produced his gift—a jockstrap, off-white in an old-school style, hanging far from his hand by its girthy waistband. “Where’d you get one my size?” Rosco asked.

“Same place Terrel buys his.” Joe caught the uncertainty in Rosco’s eyes and spoke as if he was just a dumb little puppy, “See, these are called jockstraps. Guys wear them sometimes when we exercise—”

“I know what a jockstrap is,” Rosco growled. “You have a drawer full of them. And…” his ears flicked back with a blush as he inspected it, “this is the kind my dad wears.”

A memory hummed in Joe’s head—trying not to drool over Rosco’s hefty dad when he saw him gardening in that old sweat-stained jock. “Yeah, well I can’t wait to see how good the guy’s son looks in one.” He lowered his voice to a mutter, “Your fluffy ass is even bigger.”

“Hmm?” Rosco tilted his snout.

“Nothing. I thought that if Baldric likes how this brand feels then his pup probably would too.”

“Because we have the same balls?” Rosco chuckled and scratched at his crotch, as shameless as his dad.

Joe’s hand joined Rosco’s under the elastic of his boxers. “Got a nice fat pad like him too.”

Rosco huffed up at Joe and narrowed his eyes. “You like my dad’s fat pad?”

That threw off all of Joe’s teasing confidence, leaving him to gather his words up in a blunt mess. “I… meant… you’d probably want a roomy pouch like him. And a thick waistband wouldn’t dig into your hips too badly.”

Rosco licked Joe’s chin, replacing his mock suspicion with an innocent smile. “I won’t tell.” His fingers drifted to Joe’s hand and started rubbing the stretchy waistband. “I’m not exactly a jock, though.”

“Really?” Joe nestled his snout against Rosco’s neck, indulging in that smelly pelt and the cool brush of the wolf’s natural oils to regain his groove. “You’re big, you’re strong, you waltz around all day in your boxers stinking up the place. You’d make one hell of a wolf jock if you ask me.” He dangled the jockstrap in front of him. “Go on, take it big boy.”

Rosco stuck his tongue out in thought, until he finally plucked it between his claws. “It’ll stand out from my fur.” Rosco gestured to his crotch, where his coat darkened with wild fluff.

“Perfect, show everyone what my big wuff is packing. Let’s get these puppy undies off you.” He slowly lowered to a knee, trailing his free hand down Rosco’s back as he did.

Thick, velvet folds of Rosco’s scruff gave way to a pair of broad shoulders. Beneath them, the fat of his moobs puffed under his arms, creating the first of a beautiful stack of fat rolls. Rosco shivered as Joe’s fingers trailed across his skin, especially when Joe toyed with the loose pelt just above his tail.

He tugged Rosco’s boxer-briefs down, releasing a great bounty of blubbery thighs and wolf butt, then leaned in close to start dressing him.

Before he could, Rosco’s tail wagged suddenly in his face, sending Joe back with a sputter.

Rosco snickered. His neck fat squished against his cheek as he looked over his shoulder at the moose kneeling by his butt, and he stuck out his fat pink tongue.

“You and this big stupid tail.” Joe snagged it by the tip and held it out straight, showing off the thick, lovely fluff.

“Stupid?” Rosco growled, flashing a fang. “You should be worshiping my tail, moose.”

Joe felt his own nub of a tail shift against his waistband. While he imagined it was inconvenient sometimes to have such a big furry thing sticking out over his ass, there was something alluring about it, sensual when Rosco trailed it across Joe’s hips or wagged it slowly over his own big rump. “Why’s that?” He asked, toying with the end to make Rosco’s tail sway.

“You know what happens to moose who don’t?”

“What?”

“They get sat on.” Rosco wiggled his massive, meaty cheeks. As plush as they were, they also took up a lot of Joe’s vision and he knew just how much weight Rosco could throw around.

Joe was unpracticed at putting on a submissive voice, but he managed to draw on that sliver of worried herbivore instinct Rosco’s teeth aroused. “I don’t think I could hold up such a big, powerful wolf. And if you squished me, who’d dress your beautiful carnivore hips in your jockstrap?”

Rosco huffed. “You’d better do a good job. If my balls are even a little uncomfy, you’re done for, prey.”

“I’ll do my best, promise.”

As Joe slowly drew the Jockstrap up his thighs, hoof-capped fingers climbing his silky skin, Rosco shimmied in pleasure. He managed to keep his growl despite the light kneading on his fat. “Feel all that wolf? Think of how much meat went into feeding me.”

“I’m sure a fat, strong beast like you needs to eat a lot.” Joe rubbed a hand along Rosco’s hips. He slipped the band of the jockstrap just over his ass, and started guiding his tail through the split in the back.

“Careful with that, or I’ll turn you into even more wolf fat.”

“And muscle,” Joe murmured while digging into Rosco’s vast inner thighs to adjust the smaller straps running between them. He carefully cupped Rosco’s balls, heavy in their loose sack. The shadowy fur was slick with sweat and precum. “Plus some fuel for these big pup-makers.”

This time, Rosco’s tail swished involuntarily. “Y-yeah, my pup-makers.” As easy as it was for him to embrace a deep, growling lupine voice, the actual tone of dominance was an experiment in nervous excitement for this sweet boy. All the same, he pushed on. “You um… you know what? Before you pull the jock pouch up, you’d better c-clean my pup-makers for me.” He struggled to look at Joe past the folds of pillowy fat and fluff under his snout. “Um, with your tongue.”

Joe stifled a laugh at Rosco’s clumsy demands. This ‘dominant’ wolf had gotten him painfully hard in his own shorts, and Joe was careful not to make Rosco feel bad for trying something new. Instead, he leaned his head around the front of Rosco’s meaty legs, pressed one antler into the yielding cushion of his belly, and inhaled the concentrate of sex from those fat testicles. His brain was smothered under the weight of a great carnivore looking to satisfy himself with the mouth of his prey. “I can already taste your masculinity, big wolf.” Joe worked his jaw, unsure if he could get both of Rosco’s balls past his mouth. While Joe had the bigger pair, being a moose, he didn’t have nearly the meat-swallowing skills of his broad-snouted boyfriend.

“Yeah, uh… you’re gonna…” Rosco’s voice hesitated with a nervous little whine. The half-spoken starts of various words crossed his tongue, each one given up on before it could fully form.

Joe held off on his sweaty feast long enough to glance up at the big puppy’s face. Rosco was looking askance, snout trying to hide in the extra chin and plush collar of blubber beneath it. Although he had to tamp down on the new excitement between his legs, Joe rubbed Rosco’s hip and let his usual confident tone return, “Hey, don’t get all in your head about it. Nobody’s judging you for how good your dom-talk is.”

Rosco scuffed a paw on the floor. “It’s just, I was gonna say something about how much manlier I was, but… I’m scared I’ll hurt your feelings.”

Joe’s hand came to rest firmly on the top of Rosco’s ass, where furry meat burgeoned out around the waistband. “My feelings? I’m not the sensitive one, puppy boy.”

“Well… but I know ‘man’ stuff is different for you.”

Joe stiffened as he realized what Rosco meant. He wasn’t sure how it would feel to have his manhood degraded by the big wolf, but the unfamiliar heat of being obedient and submissive was too thrilling to give up. “Tell you what, you say whatever that nasty predator head of yours comes up with, and if I start getting pissed, I’ll tell you.”

Rosco trailed a chubby finger along one of Joe’s antlers to help keep himself calm. “Or hurt, okay?”

“Sure.” Joe huffed. “Or that. You good to go?”

Rosco nodded, readjusting his shoulders to stand with some bold, moob-puffing arrogance. “You’re… you’re gonna get a taste for a real man and beg me for more.” His rumbling voice trembled slightly with lingering worry.

Joe leaned in close to Rosco’s balls, smirking at the soft wheeze his antlers forced out of the wolf’s squished belly. “Your smell’s already soaking into my fur.”

“Yeah, good luck washing it out.” Rosco fell back into rhythm boasting about his musk. It was, admittedly, well-deserved. He got his dad’s oily, odorous pelt just as much as his fat balls. “Your nose has gotten to enjoy enough already. I want you using that mouth already, before I start dripping on the floor.” He kept rolling on his dommy momentum by lifting a fat paw and teasing it against Joe’s chest. “Unless you want to wipe up my precum with your fur like a dirty rag.”

Joe nestled his snout beneath Rosco’s dribbling cock, the stubby canine meat twitching with excitement and bouncing a shiny strand onto Joe’s nose. Rosco didn’t have much length to work with, but his impressive girth fit well within loose, decadent sheath folds and a bed of fat cuddling the root. His deep red knot just barely peeked out from the skin. Joe imagined what would happen if he tried to suck Rosco off to completion, but hot as the idea of getting his mouth knotted was, the big wolf had demanded something else.

So, Joe obediently brought his tongue down to the bottom of Rosco’s sack. There, a luscious mix of sweat and precum had soaked the thick trail of fur that ran between his balls, leaving a shiny shock hanging down amidst his thighs. Rosco couldn’t separate those without some effort, and the walls of blubber made his balls easy to maneuver. Joe pressed them back and slurped all along that saturated fur. Salt made his mouth water, but no amount of saliva could keep the greasy flavor of fish skin and steak juice from sticking to his tongue. His herbivore instincts were disgusted with it, but Joe’s snout had been trained to ignore its natural reservations by all the affection and desire Rosco stirred in him. That wolfy taste had grown on him like fine wine and cheese.

“Keep licking.” Rosco’s hand curled around the back of Joe’s head. It was a fat-stuffed paw with soft, unworked pads, but Joe felt the strength in Rosco’s arm and happily pretended that he couldn’t overpower it. “Lick me clean and maybe you’ll earn the privilege to suck on my big pup-makers.” The term now rolled off Rosco’s tongue with delight.

Joe lapped loud, wet noises between the wolf’s legs, replacing Rosco’s precum with damp saliva. “You taste so good, big wolf,” he moaned.

Rosco shivered and tapped his fingers against Joe’s head while he put together an answer, “You’re lucky you get to clean my fur, aren’t you?”

“It’s so thick and soft,” Joe rubbed his nose against the fluff on Rosco’s fat pad. “I’m lucky that I even get to look at it.”

“Y-yeah… it feels so nice to be covered in all this plush fur.” Rosco paused, and his voice took on a mischievous, satisfied tone, “If you suck my balls well, I’ll let you feel more of my beautiful, stinky pelt than you can handle.”

“Please,” Joe said as he brought his mouth to Rosco’s left ball. He started by sucking some of the plentiful sack skin past his teeth, but found that he had to strain his jaw even to pull this one piece of man meat into his snout. Once it was there, though, Joe grunted in pleasure at the heavy warmth in his cheeks. His tongue swept up and down the sides of it, dragging folds of furry skin along with him.

“Y-yeah…” Rosco’s dom voice faltered again, this time from a shiver that brought out some of his natural needy whine, “k-keep doing that, ple—” he caught himself and forced a growl through his throat, “keep… showing me how much you love serving a big wolf jock.”

The nape of Joe’s neck flushed under Rosco’s gentle claws. He supported himself by wrapping both hands around the wolf’s thigh meat and slurped hard on the ball trapped in his snout until he’d gotten every drop of fat jock sweat from the fur. Then, letting it fall from his mouth, Joe turned up to Rosco. He fought down another laugh at the wolf’s face smothered in squishy neck fat, and spoke with the weight of his lust, “You must be such a virile wolf.”

“Of course I am.” Rosco’s voice was a little muffled by his own blubber. “I uh, I bet you can feel my thick seed churning in my balls.”

“So much male heat in this big, heavy body,” Joe rubbed the sides of Rosco’s belly. “No wonder you need such a roomy jockstrap.”

“I don’t call them my pup-makers for nothing,” Rosco blurted, seeming pleasantly surprised by his own line.

Joe followed a strange and tantalizing thought as he nuzzled Rosco’s other ball and groped his flank rolls. The moose’s breeding kink was easy to embrace as the sire, but a new kind of warmth flooded his neck as he ventured into the other side. “Of course not. Your girthy manhood keeps dripping, it must want someone to pump into so badly.” The wolf’s thighs flexed and shuddered against Joe’s hands.

“A-and I’m us-used to getting what I want,” Rosco stammered and huffed a hot breath onto Joe’s head, making his belly jiggle adorably.

“A strong, hungry wolf has to be.” Joe trailed his snout down Rosco’s fat pad, pressing against his half-buried knot and making Rosco gasp. “Heavy, powerful beast bursting out of his jock.” He tugged on the jockstrap, digging its elastic into Rosco’s thick padding. “Too wild and horny to be contained. Are you going to pin me down and fill me with your seed?” While that line made Joe’s ear twitch with a bit of discomfort, it also made his heart race.

“Y-yeah… I…” Rosco panted. He tried to lift his foot up again and prove that he could do it, but his legs were shaking too much and he stumbled back onto both feet. More than five-hundred pounds of fatty wolf sloshed above Joe.

“You scarf down anything you like, lord all this lupine heft over your prey, and pounce on any new mate that catches your nose.” Joe brushed his tongue against the glistening ridge of Rosco’s sheath, where charcoal fur and pink inner skin met. Rosco whimpered and planted his other paw on Joe’s left antler for support. “Pin them with your manly weight and breed a litter of fat, greedy pups into their bellies.”

Rosco let out a wavering howl on what little breath he could hold in his antler-squished belly. His big mitts squeezed tight as he leaned most of his weight on the hardy moose and, with his eyes screwed shut, Rosco desperately humped the empty air between Joe’s antlers. Waves of pillowy fat crashed back and forth against Joe’s face. As Joe’s snout pressed those wolf balls deep into his supple fat pad, it took all the strength in his broad moose shoulders to hold up the pendulous heft of Rosco’s thighs and ass.

Joe heard a spurting bounty of cum splatter on the floor behind him, then felt warm, thick trails of the stuff dribble down the back of his head and across the rolling muscle of his back. Eventually, once Rosco had pumped all of that needy drive to breed from his loins, the big pup leaned weakly against him. Joe’s vision was swallowed up by gray belly fur, and he had to push back on Rosco’s fat pad just to get some air into his nostrils. But, even as his shoulders and arms ached from the task of holding back the five-hundred pound tide of wolf, Joe planted his hands on Rosco’s hips and kept him steady.

“Wow,” Joe said while Rosco wheezed some breath past his antlers, “nearly flattened me, big boy.” He chuckled.

Rosco, however, mumbled with a painfully-embarrassed whine, “I’m sorry. I got so excited…”

Joe grunted, hefted Rosco’s belly fat to hold it with the strength of his shoulders, and rubbed his snout against the pup’s navel. “Hey, I got excited too.”

“You didn’t even touch my dick…” Rosco whimpered.

“Like I said, you’re a sensitive boy.” Joe rubbed softly on the top of his butt, digging his fingers under the jockstrap’s waistband and parting Rosco’s oily outer coat of fur to the plush and fluffy down.

Rosco sighed, letting the last of his muscle give in. His voice, even soft as it was, rumbled through Joe’s antlers and down his skull, “I know… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…”

Joe patted his meaty cheek until that big tail started swishing of its own accord. “Shush. I don’t mind, Rosco. Means I’m good, right?”

“Yeah…” Rosco managed to lift his sad puppy tone just a bit.

“Hey,” Joe kneaded the skin there, making Rosco’s hips shimmy, “it’s okay, you big tender pup.” He breathed in the subtle milky scent of his belly fluff. “Honestly, it’s pretty cute.”

“Really?” Rosco asked with clear doubt behind his breath, though he nestled his thighs a little tighter against Joe.

Joe ran his hands up and down Rosco’s ass, from one elastic band to the other, savoring all that fattened meat. “My big wuff just got so excited. All this puppy fat overflowing with horny boy thoughts.” He let a hand linger, holding Rosco firmly by the butt. “I mean it.”

“Thanks Joe,” Rosco murmured, warm breath wandering down Joe’s cum-stained shoulders. He whined softly and said, with a bashful laugh, “Guess that doesn’t make me much of a big, manly jock though.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Joe snickered. “You’re enough of a big, ravenous beast to be marking me on my snout again.” He brushed his chin against Rosco’s cock. It had only spent a few moments soft before starting to rouse again. While it was only half-hard, still mostly in its sheath, precum was already dribbling freely from the tip. “Drippy boy.” He squeezed Rosco’s ass until he felt the great cushion of muscle buried deep under his pudge. “Or, drippy manly jock-wolf?”

Rosco’s paws started shifting beneath him with anticipation as he made his decision. “I leak so much so that… so that I can lube up my mates enough to fit my fat knot in them.”

“Am I going to get knotted by the hungry jock?” Joe asked, only putting half effort into his submissive tone. He licked a glob of precum from Rosco’s tip.

Although he shuddered just from that, Rosco planted his hands on Joe’s shoulders and said, “You’re gonna need to serve me a lot more to earn my knot. You never even finished putting my jockstrap on, moose.”

Joe wasn’t sure where Rosco was going with this, but he’d gladly follow whatever excited whims were pulling the wolf out of his embarrassment. “Right away.” He tugged the pouch into place and carefully nestled Rosco’s balls into the fabric. “You’re not going to punish me, are you?”

As the waistband snapped into place, Joe’s snout lingered right in front of the stuffed, bulging jockstrap. He could make out the different shapes within, fat pad like rising dough, short dick striving to make an impression against the vast bank of softness smothering it, and churning balls already marking the cloth with sweat.

“We’ll see if you put it on well. Better hope it stays comfortable,” Rosco growled. “But you know, I never gave you your reward for being such a good ball-sucker.”

“More of your hide?” Joe glanced at the belly and thighs that had humped so fervently into him just a minute ago. “I’ve already gotten a face full of it, big guy.”

“From the front, maybe.” Rosco hunched down and, before Joe could react, dropped his weight completely into the moose’s chest.

Even as he tried to keep himself up, Joe’s arms and core gave out under so much wolf blubber. He landed flat on his back and felt the air rush out of his chest as Rosco’s fat ass completely smothered it.

Joe gasped, barely able to get his lungs to lift. While Rosco’s shaggy legs were spread out to the sides of Joe’s head, they weren’t supporting nearly any of Rosco’s weight. Thankfully, with so much ass-meat spread out beneath him, the greedy jock’s pounds were at least distributed across a good portion of Joe’s body—enough for him to take shallow breaths. “Holy shit,” he wheezed.

“You should be a little more grateful, getting to be a big wolf’s pillow.” Rosco shifted his hips to get comfortable and peered down at Joe’s face. For a moment, his eyes softened with worry, but as he watched Joe settle his breath, a selfish grin spread across his snout. “Well?”

Joe stuffed some more air down his throat. It flowed hot from the oven of Rosco’s thighs, whose insides surrounded Joe’s head in buttery fat and the most wonderfully soft fur. The wolf’s crotch nearly touched his nose, saturating each breath with humidity and scent. “Thank you, Mr. Wolf,” Joe managed. Just spending the air on a few words made his head spin. All the blood throbbing through his cock wasn’t helping.

“You don’t want me to get up, do you?” Rosco asked, narrowing his eyes.

Much as his lungs might have wanted it, Joe’s loins were raging with the domination of this fat, arrogant, stinking carnivore. “No, please, let me be your cushion.”

Rosco’s tail wagged loudly behind him and he shifted forward just a bit. “All this prey-meat is making me leak again.” A line of precum had clearly soaked through the jockstrap. “Unless you want me to eat you, you’re gonna keep my jock clean until I want to get up.” His big paws pressed down on Joe’s shoulders, just to be sure he could only use his tongue.

Joe could only imagine how stained his own jockstrap and shorts were getting. But only big fat wolves got theirs cleaned. So he craned his head forward and started running his tongue up and down Rosco’s bulge.

Each time he passed the wolf’s balls, Rosco shivered on top of him, vibrating his ribs. Each lick past his cock made the wolf pant, indulging in his deep and uncrushed breath. Each visit to Rosco’s fat pad required Joe to dig his snout under the generous rolls of Rosco’s belly and strain the muscles in his neck to lift it out of the way. His task was impossible, as Joe’s licking made Rosco drool ever more precum into his jockstrap pouch.

Staring up at the spoiled glutton on top of him, huffing away under his decadent breasts from the pleasure of having his wolfhood lapped at, tongue lolling from the side of his snout, Joe could barely withstand the desperation in his own dick. The steel moose flesh pressed his jockstrap tight, and unlike the pleasure-drunk boy on top of him, Joe didn’t have such a fat and stretchy sheath. His ached from the sheer hardness of his moosehood.

Rosco’s legs had his arms pinned down, and the selfish wolf didn’t even notice. “You’re good at that,” Rosco huffed, eyes glazed with horny bliss. “Your tongue is teasing me too much. So, I’m not getting off you until I get off again.”

Rosco had cum just a few minutes ago, and Joe would have to make his tongue work through the thick fabric of a jockstrap. But Rosco was the most sensitive guy Joe had ever been with. He lapped at the creamy-skinned underside of Rosco’s belly, that alone making the wolf wriggle desperately. Joe could probably drive him over the edge again in a minute or two if he just overwhelmed the big pup with a flurry of licks.

But he brought his tongue back to the base of Rosco’s jock pouch and made sure to drag it up as slowly as he could.